#so sometimes i do have to ask them to repeat the order because i heard shit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lolabangtan · 1 year

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sideshow | jjk

You’re a successful cam girl in need of a hot guy with a big cock, and you think you’ve found your match.

Word count: 9k

Warnings: smut, dub-con fantasy.

# cam girl!reader, coffee shop AU, mutual pining, hand job, oral sex (female and male receiving), squirting, face sitting, restraints, unprotected sex, face-fucking, dacryphilia, overstimulation and post-orgasm torture, teasing/degradation, cream pie, cum play, recording kink, dub-con role play, they’re so cute *sobs*

A/N: let’s not ask about this and enjoy it without wondering where the inspiration came from.

You’re always staring at him. When you’re in line waiting for your order, chatting with someone else when he’s nearby, or even when you secretly spot him working as you pass by the window – you’re always staring at Jeon Jungkook.

Your friends mock you for it whenever they get the chance. It’s almost as if you, the sexy, mysterious girl who records herself for a living, having such a silly, wholesome crush on someone was the most amusing thing they’ve ever heard. But a guy like him, so kind and hot and funny, is worth it, and you won’t deny it.

But being honest, they’re right by showing their surprise. You just don’t come off as the kind of girl who’d fall for a guy like him.

Apart from being kind, hot, and funny, Jeon Jungkook is also extremely popular while still being down to earth. An endangered specimen – if there’s ever been one before. He’s got his tattoos, and his adorable dog, and his decent schoolwork managing skills, and his outstanding talent at any sport to ever exist. And in the meantime, you sometimes catch him staring back, so your mind has to work twice as much to fish for an excuse. You just think it’ll be better in the long run.

Because honestly, people always talk. They point at you, make comments, or ask creepy questions. Surely Jeon Jungkook, with his brilliant future, doesn’t want that just because his cock might get hard with one of your videos.

In a way – a stupid, pointless way – you’re always staring at each other.

“You could try and talk to him one day, you know. Maybe then you’ll see there’s literally not a single thought behind those silly doe eyes.”

You can’t help laughing at Seokjin’s words, almost choking on your coffee. “Isn’t that a bit mean? I thought you liked him.”

“And I do!”

“Hm, look at the time.” You check your phone before putting it back into your purse. “I’d better hurry if I don’t wanna keep my sister waiting. We’ll talk later, okay? And I will not approach him just because. I really don’t need any gossip about me.”

Well, you’re just stressed. You need some money for your Spring break trip to the beach, but you aren’t exactly thrifty. Actually, you’re quite the opposite.

So, you’ve come up with an idea: charging for requests and uploading them to your website. The answer from your subscribers was immediate and increasingly positive, with only one problem.

The most voted idea was a POV, which sadly required another person to join you. Someone with a big, nice cock if it’s possible. You’d ask Seokjin, but he’d never let his almost little sister-like friend suck his cock and give him four orgasms in a row. And it’s not something you’d do either in a world where you weren’t desperate.

You’re not going to lie, there’s only one person you’d want to do that video with – and he’s walking out into the backbar right now.

The two of you stop at the same time as you walk past each other. Not noticing his presence next to you, you keep looking at the poster with the newest sweet additions to the menu and sigh with satisfaction at the fact that you’ll be able to keep enjoying your good old butter croissants.

Then you turn around.

“Oh, shit— sorry! God, I’m so clumsy! Let me help you.”

You squat down to pick up the broken pieces of glass scattered on the floor. When you look up, you’re met with the sight of a staring Jeon Jungkook bent in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to repeat.

His lips twitch as if he wanted to say something, but the man keeps quiet as you hand him back his stuff. You can’t help looking down at his muscular arms, covered in black ink. Although Jungkook remains impassive and cool, here you are, practically malfunctioning – while he’s probably wondering why the cam girl hasn’t left yet.

“Just— be careful. Don’t cut yourself.”

He does look like a bunny, now that you think of it. A really hot bunny.

Fucking shit, you can’t help it, can you? To stare, to drool, to picture your hands stroking down his chest, kneading the flesh. You love ripped guys, especially when it doesn’t get over their heads. You’d eat him up in a second, pinky promise.

“Sorry,” you say again, standing up. “I wasn’t looking.”

“Y/N! Are you okay?”

Namjoon rushes up to you, breaking the strange silence between you and Jungkook. He sees the mess and starts to pick up the broken pieces, asking you to step back just in case. With a nod, the youngest offers to go and fetch a broom, and Namjoon thanks him.

Your friend lets out a laugh. “Only with my homeboy, huh?”

“Hm?”

“You only get like this with Jungkookie,” he explains. “The rest of the time, you’re a merciless succubus.”

“Shut up, he’s gonna hear you,” you groan.

Namjoon starts wiping the floor, and you help him by picking up the plastic bag.

“Do you think he likes you back?”

You shrug. “I guess he might be attracted to me, but I don’t think he likes me... in that sense. I don’t care, though – it’s not like we’re a match or something. I’m probably just attracted too.”

Jungkook comes back with the broom and cleans the floor while you look around in a poor attempt to avoid his eyes. You don’t notice the way he looks at you, nor the pent-up frustration with which he grips the stick of the broom, his lips twitching again.

“Well, I, uh— I’ll leave you to it. And sorry again, I wasn’t looking.”

With that, you rush out of the coffee shop and run down the street until you reach the number you were looking for. Taking out your keys, you open the door and walk in, going directly to the second floor.

When you get into the flat, the storm unleashes:

“God, I was so worried! You should’ve told me you’d be running late.”

Like always, visiting your older sister comes with a nagging and a steamy cup of coffee. You’re enjoying both of them sitting in her kitchen.

“You’re exaggerating,” you groan.

“Yeah, sure, it’s not like any of your creepy fans could ever doxx you or something and kidnap you.” With a raised eyebrow, you stare at her over the mug. “Hm, okay, just build the habit of telling me if you’re gonna be late, okay?”

“Okay.”

“So” – she turns around with a grin and leaves her mug in front of you – “who is this Jungkook guy and why haven’t you asked him out already?”

Your face turns a bright red. “How do you know about—? Fucking Jin...”

“Come on, you’re usually bolder. You really like him, don’t you?” At your shrugging, your sister chuckles. “You’re entitled to like people, you know that, right? And hit on them, and ask them out. Just because you had a few bad experiences—”

“It’s just not gonna happen,” you blurt out. “You know why? First, because he’s not remotely interested in me. And second, because I know, I just know how this is going to end if I do,” you continue, your face growing warmer. “And I don’t care about all the nice guys out there because, in the end, they’re all the same; dicks with an excuse of a brain.”

“You want to have sex with him, don’t you?”

“Uh, yeah?”

She laughs again. “Then try the opposite! You think he’d only be interested in the shagging? Go shag. And then see if he stays.”

You bury your face in the palms of your hands, thankful for the chilly contact. The skin cools down, and a sigh escapes from your lips.

“What if he says no?”

“Then he doesn’t want to fuck. That’s uncommon for a man so, one point for him.”

Ah, yes, your sister and her logic; it’s utterly stupid and yet, you always fail to rebuke her absurd reasoning. It’s almost a talent, you think. Maybe that’s why she’s a lawyer.

“Well, I do have a plan,” you murmur.

Her eyes brighten immediately. “Then go for it, tiger! He’s super cute, and super hot! Better get your heart broken by a ten if all men suck.”

The coffee shop is almost closing when you arrive; you had asked Namjoon who was closing tonight so, when you heard it’d be him, you rushed out of your sister’s place to get there in time. This is a one-time chance.

You spot him behind the window, wiping a cup.

There’s a sigh coming out from his mouth when the door jingles open. The common frustration of having a last-minute customer.

“Hey.”

“Ah— it’s you,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, and you frown. “I-I mean, I thought you were some annoying random, sorry… I don’t mind making you a coffee.”

Oh, that was nice. Very nice.

You quietly take a seat at the counter. “Thanks.”

“Uh, so…” You’re lucky Jungkook isn’t facing you, turned from you instead as he turns on the coffee machine. Otherwise, he’d notice your red face and the eagerness with which you listen to him as he stutters, “I-it’s pretty late— for a coffee. Do you have to stay up late tonight?”

“Not exactly.”

Finally, Jungkook turns around and hands you the coffee, looking pretty much puzzled.

“I was wondering if you’d like to work with me,” you finally let out, and your chest feels weightless for a second— until you come back to earth and realise that you’ll have to hear an answer.

He’s looking at you in complete silence.

Maybe he really doesn’t know that you’re a cam girl? Maybe he’s just thinking about what your job could be and how could the two of you possibly work together. Or maybe he’s just zooming out, who knows? It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Do you want me to, uh, e-edit a—?” Jungkook gets cut off by his own coughing as his cheeks turn red. “Sorry, edit a video... for you?”

Ah.

Of course he knows.

He knows, so there’s a chance he might have watched one of them. Maybe all of them. Perhaps Namjoon told him about it, or perhaps he thought you looked familiar and asked him. In his mind – and that’s what makes it awkward, and not the fact that he’s probably watched you naked or touching yourself – he knows what you work for, and every single interaction is stained with that.

“Uh— not... Not really.” You don’t notice, but Jungkook holds his breath, and his heart starts beating faster. “It was more along the lines of making one together.”

Your heart is beating fast too.

“Me?”

Well, I’ve been told that you’ve got a big cock, oh, and because I have a crush on you.

You shrug. “Thought you could use the money, and you do have a nice body— your face wouldn’t show, though.”

“I, uh...”

“Just asking if you were down!” you blurt out then, stepping back. “Of course, it’s up to you. I understand if you’re not comfortable with us, uh, having—”

“I-I get you,” he laughs. Now his face is as red as a strawberry.

In silence, you stand there, waiting for an answer. However, it seems like neither of you is functioning properly at the time, so you clear your throat with your heart clenching painfully in your chest and let out a shaky laugh:

“Of course, it’s too weird, so, uh— forget I said anything. Thank you for considering it, have a nice day!”

You rush out of the café, but his voice stops you:

“Wait!”

You turn around and look at him; he looks positively embarrassed, even more than you, although it’s understandable – probably due to the circumstances – so, you wait, breath hitching, for him to continue.

Jungkook looks away. “I— I didn’t say no.”

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” you rush to clarify. “That’s my number.” You hand him a business card, which he seems too afraid to check. “Call me… if you’re interested. I’ll leave now, thank you for your time. And— uh, nothing. Bye.”

“Bye…”

By the time you leave the coffee shop, your heart is beating so hard that you think it could be a stroke. Your cheeks are boiling hot, and you struggle to walk down to the bus stop while your legs wiggle. You did it, it’d done – you’ve already asked Jeon Jungkook to film an erotic video with you for your page.

You don’t get any signs of life from Jungkook until two days later, at two in the morning.

Namjoon told you that they had met some friends for a drink after closing time, so you’re not surprised that he’s up so late. He also tends to go to bed late when he stays up playing console games.

[Saturday, 2:17 AM] Unknown: Hello, Y/N.

[Saturday, 2:17 AM] Unknown: It’s Jungkook.

[Saturday, 2:18 AM] Unknown: I have been thinking about it and, if the offer still stands, I accept.

Your heart immediately somersaults the glowing letters on your screen. Reality fell on your shoulders, and you finally understood that you would be filming that video with Jeon Jungkook. Maybe you could ask him out on a date later, but it’d be tomorrow’s you’s nuisance to worry about rejection. For the time being, you’re going to get on with the script so that you can send it to him as soon as possible.

[Saturday, 5:43 AM] You: Cool, I’ve attached the script. Just let me know if there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable with or want to change. When are you free?

[Saturday, 5:44 AM] You: Of course, we’ll go through your limits before filming.

Jungkook’s reply doesn’t arrive in time for you to read it; as soon as you’re done with it, you plummet into your bed and fall asleep, totally exhausted.

[Saturday, 5:49 AM] Jeon Jungkook: Looking forward to it!

[Saturday, 5:49 AM] Jeon Jungkook: I mean

Jeon Jungkook has deleted this message

The bell goes through your head like a nail. Your mouth is dry and your body trembles, but you get up to open the door in the hope that it’s not Jungkook behind it.

After you had sent him the script, it took him a while to answer. Then, after three hours, he only answered ‘okay’ and asked you when you would be meeting. You agreed on the day and time, and here you are, turning the doorknob with your heart beating through your chest.

“Hi, come in.”

You step aside, and Jungkook walks into your small flat; it’s cute and cosy, with the golden light coming in through the windows. His black clothes soak in it as you watch him get comfortable and, for a second, it feels like he’s coming over for a date, just to hang out. It feels nice, that small, minute, short second.

“Want anything to drink?”

“Yes—” Jungkook clears his throat. “Yes, please. Water’s good.”

You come back with two glasses of water and sit in front of him on the couch, determined to calm down your nerves.

“Okay, so, I understand that you read the script, right?” you ask, and he nods instantly, perhaps too quickly. “Uh, so… is there anything you’d like to change? Anything you don’t feel comfortable with?”

Jungkook glances at you only to look away in the blink of an eye. He’s biting his lip again.

“No, hm, everything sounds good so far. I mean— t-there’s nothing I don’t like, like… there’s nothing that turns me… off.” He eventually gets discouraged to keep talking and gulps down the glass of water in front of him. “Sounds good, you know, with the angle you suggested.”

“Nothing at all? Are you sure? I wrote a lot of things.”

He keeps avoiding your eyes. “Yeah, I’m cool with it… And I brought the test results.”

“Good,” you murmur and take the papers as he hands them out to check them. “All clean, that’s good. I’ve got mine too, and I’m on birth control, obviously.”

“Cool.”

“I liked your suggestions for the plot, by the way.” Maybe it’s better to give Jungkook some praise for his effort, that way he will relax a little around you. “A bit wicked— but in a good way. Did you get it from a movie?”

He turns red in a second, and you have to press your thighs together. “N-no, I— it just came to my mind. I can add the effects later.”

You nod slowly and clear your throat.

Once the both of you have gone through every single detail of the script, you’re half turned on, half mortified. It’s almost as if your brain hasn’t fully processed that you will be doing all of this with Jungkook in an hour, or maybe even earlier.

“It’s okay if you’re nervous,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t come off shaky. “And, well, we can stop at any moment, okay? We’ll just stop everything, no hard feelings.”

“Thank you…”

You give him a robe and show him the bathroom, where he gets changed and washes up only to return to your bedroom; that’s where you record everything, but there is a tarpaulin covering the whole wall, including the window. This way, and with a VPN, you make sure you keep your affairs decently hidden.

You’re also wearing a robe when Jungkook walks in, revealing the sight of your cleavage.

You walk up to him. “All good?” you ask. “Do you want anything? A glass of water? Viagra, or an energy bar?”

Jungkook stares at you, a bit surprised, or taken aback by the joke. You turn around in shame, with an apology on your lips, before you notice the way his cheeks turn red and an amused smile creeps to his own.

“A glass of water’d be great, thanks.”

When you return from the kitchen, you’re also bringing along a bunch of papers. “Here are the test results, I’m all clean. Thank you” – Jungkook hands you his own results, and you skim-read them – “I’m also on birth control, in case I didn’t tell you already, so feel free to, uh…”

“O-okay, gotcha.”

Luckily, he doesn’t make any faces as you shut up, discouraged; why are you acting like an idiot who has no idea what she’s doing? He’s probably regretting it already.

You have prepared the props for filming in your room; your bed, which you insisted on buying with a bar headboard, is already set with the ropes, so all that remains is to tie the victim with them. You’ve done the same with the foot of the bed, as well as the POV camera that’s fitted just above his head. He’s wearing a shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and you’ve put on a shirt that shows your nipples through and a pair of panties that are a bit too small so that your folds are marked.

What can you say: you consider yourself a meticulous creator.

“Okay, so I think everything’s ready. You can lie down now; I’ll take care of the rest.”

When Jungkook is finally lying on the bed, you straddle him to fasten the ties around his wrists and ankles.

It’s weird to feel his warm body beneath you after pining for him for so long; you can feel his thighs tensing and flexing under your ass, how he shifts on the mattress, looking down at your hands and how they skilfully tie him to the bed headboard. His eyes burn wherever they land, you fear you might be getting a bit of stage fright.

“How are you doing?” Jungkook murmurs a ‘good’, looking up at you. “Cool… Then we can get down to business.”

Holding your breath, you lean into him to turn on the camera and, as soon as the red light appears, you realise you’ve been holding it for too long and let out a deep sigh. Time to get into character. Don’t think about it, Y/N.

You look down at him; Jungkook stares back, waiting for you to get on with the script.

Faking a wicked smile, you bend over him and dive on his neck for a kiss, being as loud as possible, slurping and groaning. He shivers beneath you, and you feel yourself already getting turned on just by having him at your mercy like this. After all, this is supposed to be erotic.

Suddenly, Jungkook fixes your knee on his crotch and moves it a bit to the left, taking you by surprise.

“Are you awake, sweetheart?” you ask, pretending you aren’t surprised.

As you wait for a response, you bend down to leave a trail of pecks down his jaw and neck, peppering kisses on his shoulder now, as Jungkook stirs beneath you again.

“Uh… w-where am I?” he asks as he stares down at you with a pitiful frown. “Who are you?”

You let out a giggle. “I was hoping you’d recognise me, but I guess I need to be humbled… I’m the girl of your wet dreams, baby.”

“I-I don’t know what—”

You attack his lips this time, delving for a deep kiss. Jungkook eventually closes his eyes and gives in to your kiss, uttering a meek whimper against your lips and pulling at the ropes to no avail. When you move away, you sit on his crotch, happily surprised.

“Oh, what do we have here? Someone’s waking up, look.”

Before he can say anything, you pinch his tip over his trousers. He twitches again, leaking precum, as you can tell from the way a wet patch appears in the fabric.

“I’m sure it’s small, so tiny I wouldn’t even feel it,” you snicker, “but I’ll use it anyway, maybe as a plug for my butt.”

Jungkook whines, feeling himself getting even harder. “I-it’s not small—”

Honestly, when you dropped by the coffee shop and asked him to work with you on a video, he couldn’t believe it. It had always remained a fantasy, and he feared for a second that someone had ratted him out about his crush on you. ‘Someone’ as in ‘Kim Namjoon’, of course.

Jungkook has spent many hours thinking of different ways to ask you out on a date. Ever since he met you, he’s grown obsessed with you and your personality, charm, beauty, and confidence. When he started to notice you getting shy around him, a small flame of hope lit up inside of him, but why would you be into a guy like him? Yes, he isn’t bad looking, but surely, you’d be more into big, strong, sexual guys, wouldn’t you? Real men who had lots of experience in bed.

On the other hand, Jungkook becomes such a mess every time he’s around you; he drops things, he’s unable to form a coherent sentence, and you never seem to be too interested in talking to him for more than five seconds.

Now, is Jungkook in love with you? Before, he would have denied it, that this was just another crush. But now that he’s so close to you, that he can feel the sweat on your skin, that he’s one with you, he has to ask you out. Otherwise, he’ll never be happy again.

Especially now that the feeling of you straddling his lap and playing with his cock is ingrained in his memory.

“Let me go,” he barks, suddenly remembering that he has a script to follow. “I— I won’t tell anyone if you let me go now.”

You lean into him and stroke his cheek. “Why would I?”

Sucking his bottom lip into your mouth, you silence any possible reply from him and kiss him hard against the mattress. Your ass ruts against his cock mercilessly, almost by instinct, eager to feel his whines die in your mouth.

Your hands find their way beneath his shirt. With eager fingers, you brush his nipples and, hearing him whimper, keep pinching them as he stirs, fleeing your touch but at the same time seeking it. You chuckle and tease him for it, and Jungkook can only close his eyes with the genuine wish that he won’t come too soon, or at least before you get the footage you want.

You keep humping his clothed cock, now visibly hard and standing proudly against the fabric of his sweats. Between kisses, you tell him how well he’s doing.

“Let’s make a deal, shall we?” you suddenly say.

Jungkook struggles to peel his eyes open. “W-what deal?”

“If you manage not to cum before me, I’ll let you go,” you continue. “You will be totally free.”

“And— if I do?”

Shit, you forgot about this part. What happened if he came…? You can think of the paragraph and the page, but you really can’t remember the rest of the lines, shit. You totally suck at this—

“I’ll milk your cock dry until you beg me to stop – and only then will I think about it.”

Jungkook stares at you in shock, and for a second, you fear that your impromptu response has gone too far. But then you feel something hard rubbing against your pussy, and you realise that he is unconsciously humping you, twitching and getting bigger and harder.

“You’re fucking nuts,” he cries out.

But you only giggle in response, shoving your hips together as if you were actually riding him. You let out a loud moan, too exaggerated to be true. The constant pressure of your pussy against his crotch makes him arch his back, desperately trying to hold his own whines and grunts to save you the satisfaction of proving you right.

“Look at you! You poor thing,” you exclaim in laughter. “I’m gonna fuck your virgin cock until you pass out.”

Jungkook goes still.

“Oh, thought I didn’t know?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“I—”

You bend down and bite on his neck only to soothe the sting with your tongue. “You thought I didn’t know you’ve never been touched before? You’re popular, but women terrify you, don’t they? You see them and only notice their hard nipples through their shirts and their tight pussies peeking from under their short skirts, and that makes you nervous; if they’re nice to you, you’re not interested. If they’re mean, you spend all day imagining them spanking you or sitting on your face… Don’t lie, you’re a sicko who wants a woman to spit in your mouth and fuck your cute little cock. Do you call them mommy in your fantasies? A mean mommy with a fat ass to hump your pathetic dick and huge tits to suck on.”

“S-shut up,” Jungkook cries out. “Shut up, shut up— you have no fucking idea, y-you don’t know shit—”

“I’d show you my tits and you’d come on the spot,” you laugh.

“S-stop lying!”

“Jesus, you’re gonna burst your pants from how hard you’ve got, sweetheart. And I’m nuts? At least I’m not getting hard just because a girl is making fun of me.”

You start bouncing on his crotch, laughing. The constant pressure of your ass against his cock makes him squirm, spilling out an amusing mixture of insults and plaids for mercy. His cheeks are warm with a blush of embarrassment and arousal.

“No wonder no one has ever touched this cute little cock!” you chirp, finally shoving your hand into his pants. “I bet you spend all day locked in your room, watching porn or hentai or whatever losers like you are into. Fucking into your own hand like a bitch in heat. Thank goodness you live alone, because you would live in constant fear of your mom finding your dirty comics or the huge amount of dry jizz all over your plushies and pillows.”

“I— I always clean up after myself,” he whimpers in the sweetest voice possible, and you wonder if he’s actually being honest.

Time to find out. “Yeah? You don’t fuck into your pillow thinking it’s your crush’s wet pussy and leave it full of your cum with the pathetic feeling that you’re filling her up?” you grunt, getting riled up. The thought of Jungkook wanting to do it to someone else makes your blood boil.

“Y-yes!” Jungkook finally cries out. “Shit, shit— I always fuck my pillow thinking it’s you!”

The woman was too stunned to speak.

“Fuck, it— it always leaks out, I’ve always got so much cum saved up for— for you, mommy. I imagine it’s your pussy I’m filling up, want to milk my cock into your cunt until you’re happy.”

The ache between your legs worsens, and you have to rub your thighs together to ease the pent-up arousal; you’re dripping, could simply sit on his pretty cock and ride him until he’s a crying mess – but this has got way out of hand, you need to get the video back on track.

And you shouldn’t think about why he immediately thought of you when you brought up his crush.

You lean on him and spit on his lips, making him yelp. “Yuck.”

“M-mommy, please—”

“Ugh, shut up.”

Raising your hips off him, you take off your panties; indeed, they are ruined and soaked with your juices. Their only use is to gag Jungkook, and there they go, straight into his mouth.

He has to close his eyes when the scent of your arousal reaches his nose.

It takes him a couple of seconds to process that you’re naked now, at least from the waist down. Only your breasts are covered behind the thin white fabric of your tank top. It’s too small, so the sides of your tits stick out, and the neckline is too wide and barely covers your nipples.

Now, his eyes wander down to your pussy; glistening and dripping wet, Jungkook notices the way you rub your thighs together from time to time.

Kneeling over him, you sit on his chest and lift up your shirt, trying not to care that you’re leaving a trail of your juices across his skin. You’re right on top of the camera, and it really looks like Jungkook’s point of view. So, you grab his head and push it between your tits.

“Slow, dummy babies don’t get to suck on mommy’s boobs, darling. Hurry up.”

His eyes locked with yours, Jungkook opens his mouth to suck on your left nipple as you cradle his head. The contact sends shivers down your spine. Still bound to the bed, he struggles to turn his head and reach closer, eager to flicker his tongue around your sensitive nub.

“That’s it, baby, so good,” you groan.

He shifts to your other breast, and you allow him, too hooked on the pleasure to question his intentions.

Jungkook flicks his tongue with eagerness, hunger, almost desperation. His hips buck into the air, and his restrained cock keeps leaking precum, a wet patch appearing on the fabric. He sucks on your nipple like his life depends on it, unhinging his jaw to reach what he can’t touch.

Shit.

You’ve gone off script enough as it is.

You push him away, and he whimpers. “Well done, sweetheart,” you groan, “but mommy has other plans for you.”

Taking off your shirt, you’re now fully naked on top of him. Jungkook’s eyes roam around your figure and drink it up the sight of your bare body on top of him like it is water and he’s dying of thirst.

It’s time for the good shots, so you turn around so that your dripping folds are right in front of the camara – and right on top of his face, but that’s just a little gift for you. You’re facing his crotch, and with eager hands, you pull down his pants and underwear at the same time, letting his big, red, leaking cock spring up against his stomach. It’s the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, and your mouth waters just at the thought.

Meanwhile, Jungkook has been struggling with the tempting sigh of your pussy right above his head. It tickles his tongue, makes his lips twitch; he can only think about ravishing your cunt like a madman.

It’s practically instinctive when his neck is stretched upwards. You said you were okay with oral. In fact, you enjoyed it. The script is just something to guide you as to the plot; the rest, it can go as it comes up. That torture you promised him wasn’t scripted either, but it’s made his cock hard as if he was in heat. And, if you don’t like it, you can use the safeword too.

Just a bit more while you keep playing with his cock in your hands.

His tongue is already out, like a dog. That’s pretty much what he feels like right now, desperate to fuck your pussy with his mouth.

Shit, you’re dripping.

“I wonder if you can get even harder,” he hears you ramble.

As you get comfortable on top of him, your hips are getting closer to his reach. Your ankles rest under his forearms, you didn’t notice he could lick you for at least a few seconds.

Jungkook doesn’t stop to think and delves his tongue into your pussy, proceeding quickly to suck and lap at your clit. Your juices soak his face, but that only makes his erection grow. Your clit reacts instantly, throbbing between his lips.

“What the— s-shit, Jungkook, what are you—” you manage to moan.

Your first instinct is to push your legs away, but Jungkook is pressing down with his forearms and, by the time you think of moving your hips away, you’re already melting with pleasure. His tongue is quick to lick your clit over and over, relentlessly, as you thrust back. Using his forearms again, he pulls you by your legs so that you’re practically sitting on his face, bent over him, grunting his name.

Saliva runs down his chin. Your taste on his tongue has shoved him into a thoughtless state, he’s only thinking about making you come. His tongue parts your lips and fucks into your entrance with wet, sloppy strokes.

Jungkook lets out a whimper. “Fuck, as good as I thought it’d be,” he cries out, his voice muffled by your folds. “Mummy got dripping just from playing with me, so fucking m-mean—”

You arch your back and thrust back against his tongue, feeling the tension in the pit of your stomach.

He’s got your ankles well locked, and you’re still torn between control and pleasure, so you simply squirm on top of him while Jungkook keeps ravishing your pussy now that you can’t close your legs – nor do you really want to.

But shit, he’s going to make you come if he keeps this up. And, if you do, the deal is off, and the video is over. You’d love to squirt all over his face and force him to drink it up, but you’ve got other plans for him and for you so, as much as you’re loving getting tongue-fucked by this bratty little shit, it’s time to stop him.

“My baby really wanted to lick mummy’s pussy, didn’t he?” you blurt out with a laugh, and his cock twitches, a drop of precum rolling down from his tip.

“W-what?”

“How was your first cunt, sweetheart?” you continue. “Better than your hand, huh? Better than the sad, pathetic hole you make in your stuffed animals to stick your dick in and think it’s me.”

A tear of embarrassment rolls down his cheek. “T-that’s not—”

“Let me return the favour.”

While Jungkook, in a desperate attempt to make you cum, keeps licking and sucking your pussy, you keep yourself decently composed and let a trickle of saliva drip onto his tip. Before he can say anything else, you’re engulfing his cock until your nose is pressed against his pubic bone.

“F-fuck!”

You try to fight a wicked smile with his cock around your lips.

Jungkook’s hips twitch, but that only makes the tip of his cock bump into your throat, ripping a sob from him.

You start bobbing your head up and down; he pulls at his restraints, his head turning to his sides as two thick tears of pleasure roll down his cheeks. Guess this probably is his first time being deep-throated, so better ruin it for everybody coming after.

Fortunately, his bratty tongue is too busy crying and moaning to pay any attention to your pussy, so you sit on his chest and get momentum.

His cock feels hot in your mouth, leaking precum. It’s salty as it mixes with your own saliva running down his shaft. Jungkook is sweating all over, his head spinning like he’s having a fever; after all, the wet heat of your mouth around his cock is too much to handle. It’s coated in your spit, sending waves of pleasure down his spine, making his toes curl, his throat sore from grunting and sobbing. You hollow your cheeks and swallow around him, the vibrations of your moans only worsening the pleasure pooling in his lower back.

“Fuck!” he cries out again. “Of fuck, p-please—!” Jungkook can’t even properly thrash with his feet as they’re tied to the bed as well. “So good, so fucking good!”

You pull the foreskin back to expose the head and dip your tongue into the slit, savouring the taste of his arousal. For a second, you wonder if he’s never really got proper head or if he’s just very sensitive, but you shove the thought to the back of your head and keep going.

“Got anything to say about that misbehaviour from earlier?” you ask, licking down to the base.

“Dunno—”

“Ah, yes, you do.” Your voice comes out soft, too soft. It sends chills down his back. “You grabbed mommy’s ass and ate her pussy without permission, remember?”

Leaning on his thighs, you manage to turn around to face him. You notice his red face and dilated pupils, and he notices your slick, swollen lips.

To your surprise, Jungkook smirks. “But mommy loved it, didn’t she? I almost made her cum—”

You shut him up by swallowing down his cock again, even if he is right; only a couple of minutes more and you would have come all over his face. But you haven’t, and that’s all that matters. Now you have to make him cum so that you can start torturing his spent cock until he’s crying for you to stop.

Jungkook may be used to keeping it down at his shared flat and know how to be quiet, but you can always tell when a guy is close, and you’re surprised at how much he’s been holding it. From how swollen and purplish his cock looks, how much he’s leaking, and the way it reacts, throbbing and twitching at your touch, he must have been on edge for a while.

“Are you a masochist, perhaps?” you ask, rather to yourself.

Your hands find his base again and start pumping him, both of them. The contact feels kind of dry, though, despite his arousal dripping through your fingers, so you bend down and spit on the head again.

“I wouldn’t be surprised, really,” you continue, jerking him off like it’s just one more chore. “A crazy chick ties you to the bed to fuck you and the first thing you do is get a hard-on. No wonder only your plushies are willing to let you hit it— though they can’t really say anything, can they?”

With a shaky gasp, Jungkook bites his lip and closes his eyes; he needs to stop either seeing or hearing you if he wants to hold on any longer, but your breasts are right in front of him, covered in a glistening layer of sweat, your erect nipples that he just had in his mouth, your pussy radiating heat and dripping down your inner thighs. If only you would sit on his cock and ride him until you cum and scream with pleasure, choke him, spit in his mouth, use him like he uses his poor childhood stuffed animals.

Then this torture would be over, he would climax inside you and stuff you with his cum, til it’s dripping. And the next torture would begin.

“Come on, the last test. If you pass it without cumming, I’ll let you go, okay, sweetheart?”

Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts; suddenly, you’re straddling his lap, the tip of his cock brushing against your folds. The brief pleasure, more like a feeling-induced fantasy turned into a touch, makes him shudder and take a deep breath.

“This” – you yank off his shirt, buttons popping out – “off.”

Raking your nails through his hair, you yank it and force him to look at you in silence. His chest heaves and falls as he stares into your eyes.

Your thumb strokes his bottom lip. “It’s a pity that such a pretty face belongs to a pervert like you.”

“I’m not a pervert!”

“Yadda, yadda,” you mock him, tilting up his chin to get access to his jaw and bite him. “Whatever, I have no interest in your pathetic excuses – if you weren’t a pervert, you wouldn’t be hard right now.”

“I-it’s a biological response!” Jungkook insists.

“Hm, yeah, sure. Then you won’t mind if I don’t fuck you, right—? What’s more, you’ll be glad.”

To add weight to your words – and torture him a little in the process – you start moving your hips up and down against his cock, rubbing him with your folds. He twitches between your inner thighs, and you keep circling and undulating your hips over his tip, every now and then pretending you’re going to finally sit on him. His head penetrates you for a second, and you fuck yourself on it, one, two, three thrusts until you decide to press your ass against it.

“Just imagine if I let you fuck my ass,” you laugh. “Just think about it, sweetheart.”

“It’d be s-so tight,” he blurts out, “around my cock! Shit, I wish I could— I wish I could eat your ass, and then your pussy, and then fuck you open with my cock—”

“Fuck—”

You find yourself grinding on his swollen tip, rubbing your clit against his sensitive skin, too turned on by his words; yeah, you’d like him to eat your ass as well. Jungkook is trying to muffle the whimpers coming through his lips, but the pressure is getting heavier.

Moving in a quick thrust, you sit down on his cock. He works you open as it disappears into your body, a moan leaving your lips. Your fingers dig into his shoulders for leverage, hips setting a pace as you bounce on his cock. It massages your inner walls, with sounds of smacking flesh, working thigh muscles as you melt at the shocking waves of pleasure.

“Ngh—” Jungkook lets out a whimper and pulls at the restraints. “Fuck! Oh, fuck—”

Your skin prickles, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone. It’s dripping, the ache between your thighs expanding while you chase your climax.

Jungkook pants, head bumping against the headboard, victim to the rolls and thrusts of your hips. Your tits are bouncing right in front of him, their round shape and hardened nipples so, so tempting, making his mouth water while his cock throbs and twitches between your walls. You clench around him, and he whines again. His nerves feel on fire, and the sight of your bare figure fucking yourself on his cock only worsens it.

Your hand slithers to pinch one of your nipples. Playing with it, arching your back, you let out a huff and roll your hips in undulating waves, cunt engulfing him over and over and soiling it with your juices.

You feel his tip bumping against your sweet spot when Jungkook suddenly cries; two thick tears roll down his cheeks, and you bend over to kiss them clean.

“Slow, s-slower, please, go—” he sobs, face red. “Shit! I’m— fucking hell, go slow! G-go slow!”

As he pulls at the restraints in pure desperation, his hips buck into you, jerking and trembling like he’s got no control over them. Jungkook is begging you to slow down, but the blazing way he’s fucking up into you, trying to reach your breasts and suck on your nipples again, wanting to get rid of the restraints so that he can grab your ass and pound into your dripping pussy only fuels him.

“Shut up, little bitch,” you grunt.

Before he can say anything else, you shove your nipple into his mouth and hover over him, your core aching at the wet pressure of his tongue around your hardened buds. You pull at his hair, and his eyes suddenly roll back.

He grows harder inside of you. “Oh fuck, oh, n-no, fuck, stop!” he cries out. “Shit, stop! Slow, slow down—!”

Only when you feel him going still on the mattress and the sweet feeling of hot cum filling you up do you understand he just came inside you.

You keep bouncing on his cock, and Jungkook’s seed eventually gets pumped out of your insides by his own cock. It leaks down your inner thighs and pools on his lower stomach, but you only lean onto him to bite on his neck while he sobs at the painful yet glorious feeling of your pussy milking every last drop of his yummy cum.

“Oh, baby,” you coo with amusement, scratching down his chest, “you just made this so much easier.”

Overstimulation kicks in when you resume bouncing on his spent cock, careful not to let him slide out of your cunt; Jungkook sobs and grunts as he writhes on the bed, pulling the restraints.

You grab his chin and spit into his mouth before you kiss him hard. Your teeth leave small bites on his lips and chin, peppering short kisses to swallow his sobs, embracing him to restrict his squirms. He’s crying so prettily into your lips, you want to eat him up.

“Please, p-please—! Hurts!”

Sucking the flesh of his neck, you let the red mark blossom. “A deal is a deal, sweetheart.”

Deal or no deal, you ride him chasing your climax, sweating and melting into him. Your clit rubs against his pubic bone, and the coiling tension in the pit of your stomach tightens. Jungkook writhes beneath you, and his toes curl in a poor attempt to let out a little of the pleasure that pushes him towards another orgasm. The sight of his cum dripping down your legs mesmerises him, your pussy engulfing his cock over and over again.

Fuck, you look so hot right now; he’s going to explode in a heart-shaped puddle of pleasure, he can’t stop the tears either. It’s torture, the best kind, how you’re touching him, stroking his skin, licking down his lips to his sweaty chest, playing with his hair. There’s almost a certain sense of affection in the ways of your hands.

“Please,” Jungkook cries out.

“Fuck,” you moan, closing your eyes. “Baby, you’re gonna make me come~“

Your words make his heart stop for a second. They fuel a fire in his abdomen and raise goosebumps all over his skin, and Jungkook sucks in a sharp breath as the pain starts to mix with the tortuous pleasure.

You keep bouncing on him, ass striking against his hips at a brutal pace. “God! Shit, shit, baby, I’m gonna cum, fuck!”

“Please!” he begs.

The ache between your thighs makes your core tighten, your muscles burn, your sweat is boiling on your skin, dripping down between your breasts.

With one last powerful thrust, the tension snaps, and suddenly you’re bursting out in an explosive orgasm, squirting all over him. You scream out, squishing his cock with your dripping walls, moaning his name and burying your nails in his chest. The shockwaves grip your body, and you ride out your orgasm with slower rolls of your hips.

“Fuck, baby,” you let out in a weak breath, “you made me spill myself all over you.”

When you finally peel your eyes open, you notice Jungkook staring down at the pool of fluid on his lower stomach. His pupils are so dilated that they merge with his irises. You can feel his cock twitching inside you, and his hips are bucking into you subconsciously.

“M-mommy—”

You’re too exhausted to be careful not to drop on top of him and leave a feverish trail of kisses down his neck, holding his face and brushing your lips together, swirling your tongue around his.

“Mommy,” he calls again.

“Yeah…?”

“I’m—” Jungkook lets out a whimper when you shove your hand between his legs. “I’m c-close.”

“Again?” you ask with a hint of mockery in your voice.

He pouts and closes his lips in embarrassment, but the way his cock throbs and twitches as you circle the tip of your index finger on his cock feels too good to stifle his noises. You have such cute hands; he’d die just to see them covered in his cum.

You move down his body in a trail of kisses and nibbles, enjoying the smell of his skin, so warm and intense. The room smells of sex, and it turns you on so much that your mouth salivates.

“Let me take care of you.”

Scooting between his legs, you stroke up and down his Apollo’s belt as he arches his back into the touch, desperate to come. His cock pressed against his tummy, you grab it and spit on it right before dipping your tongue into the slit. Jungkook pants in surprise and squirms and, making eye contact, you part your lips around his cock and swallow around it.

Jungkook whines and tries his best to hold his hips still, but the feeling of being engulfed in your wet heat only engorges the tension in the pit of his stomach. Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, not yet, he chants in his head.

Sucking and bobbing your head on his cock, you enjoy how he responds to your touch; Jungkook is burning all over, writhing, twitching between your lips at the suction.

“Fuck,” he gasps, “y-your mouth—”

You don’t bother to reply and simply hum around his cock, and the vibrations send shivers of pleasure down his spine. His eyes stare at your lips, darkened and wet with saliva so, using hands and lips together, you start sucking his tip with sloppy strokes of your tongue and suction from your lips as your hands play with his balls. Jungkook lets out a breath moan, increasingly agitated and desperate.

Then you slide him out of your mouth, and he stares at you a bit confused – until he sees the way you just hover over him with your mouth wide open above his tip and gets it. Shyly, Jungkook bucks his hips into your wet heat, letting out a muffled moan.

“You— you can’t be for real—” he whines.

You tilt your head in silence, waiting for him to shove his cock into your mouth again.

He starts fucking your mouth with desperate thrusts, hitting the back of your throat. Tears make his vision blurry, and a wave of heat spreads under his skin. He’s half ashamed, half turned on just at the very thought of him having to fuck your face to cum while you stay there, hovering over him with your mouth open. The grip of your tongue around his cock is heavy and wet, you’re so mean to him, just letting him jerk his hips like a bitch in heat.

“I’m gonna— fuck!” Jungkook lets out a grunt and a desperate gasp, fighting the restraints and fleeing your mouth; but you grab his ass again and bury his cock into your mouth until your nose is pressed against his pubic bone, and you hollow your cheeks, fucking him between your lips. “C-coming! Slow, s-slow down, I’m— oh fuck, please!” he sobs.

His hips stutter, and suddenly he’s spilling himself into your mouth, dissolving into pleasure with a choked sob and your name on his lips. It’s bitter, but Jungkook’s contracted face, with two thick tears soaking down to the corners of his lips, and red cheeks makes it all worthwhile.

You help him ride out his climax with your hand wrapped around his cum-stained cock, but soon Jungkook is writhing beneath you and bursting out in tears of actual pain, and you let go of him.

Lying eye to eye, he watches you lean onto him and open up your mouth; a pool of cum rests on your tongue, and he doesn’t hesitate to open his mouth and lets you kiss it back into the source system, massaging your tongues together and rolling them over each other. A drop of white cum rolls down the corner of his mouth, but you’re both too busy making out naked on top of each other to care about it.

“We’re gonna have so much fun tonight, sweetheart,” you whisper.

After a pause, you get up and reach the camera to turn it off; suddenly Jungkook snaps out of something like a dream, and he remembers that you’re actually working. A feeling of shame and sadness washes over him, and he's so exhausted both mentally and physically that he feels the urge to cry.

“Okay, I turned it off.” You rush to undo the restraints on his wrists and massage the red marks with your thumbs to get the blood circulating again. “Does it hurt? I’ll get you something for the marks.”

In a thoughtful silence, he shakes his head.

“Good.”

You turn around and lean on his legs to undo the knots of his ankles as well, and Jungkook closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. His heart is still trying to burst his ribcage open and get out of his chest, and now that the frenzy of the video is over, a dread falls over him; what is he going to do about you now?

“Uh, Y/N?” he asks, unsure.

Smiling, you look up at him with the rope in your hands. “Yes?”

Courage.

“Can I… take you out to dinner some day?”

“Don’t laugh!” you exclaim, laughing. With a napkin, you wipe away the milkshake foam that stains your chin and the corners of your lips. “It’s not funny, you should have told me earlier. I’m sure everyone has noticed.”

The terrace where you are sitting is practically deserted except for a few tourists and a couple of birds circling over your food. With the sun shining brightly above you, you prop yourself up on your elbows as your tummy aches from laughing so hard, and Jungkook glances at the menu with a growing smile.

“I didn’t know you cared so much about the opinion of three people and seven birds,” he jokes.

“Hey, it’s eight birds, sweetheart. And the tourists are carrying a camera,” you insist, grabbing the menu from him with a playful frown, “what if I come out in the background looking like Father Christmas? I’d never get over it.”

“Then Father Christmas had a glow-up – when he was a kid, he’d just eat the biscuits and leave. Anyway, should we order to share or is it every man for himself?”

“We’d better share, I want to try it all,” you murmur as you take a sip from your drink.

Jungkook frowns. “You’ll get a tummy ache like last time.”

“You don’t have to remind me!” With a giggle, he takes the menu again. “It was so embarrassing, on our first date on top of that.”

He scoops to the other side of the table and steals a kiss from you, letting you cup his face and deepen the contact. “Okay, just order anything you want,” he says, sliding the menu back to you. “I’ll eat what you can’t fit in your tummy.”

You thank him with a short peck on the lips, and Jungkook returns to his seat.

“Oh, by the way,” you say casually, stirring your milkshake with your straw, “I have some good news and some bad news, which one do you want first?”

He frowns. “Well... The bad one, I guess?”

“The bad news is that I can’t use the video we made because you can hear us saying each other’s names. The good news is that it means we can make it again.”

Don’t hesitate to like, reblog, and leave some feedback if you liked it! It’s always good and encouraging to know what you think <3

TAG LIST

@jkkkkkay @veronawrites @iadelicacy @hobihearteu @bloodline1632 @myyeoubi @jingerbreadoutofstock @preepree95 @spicybeejeon @ash07128 @jungkookie94 @ohyeahjk @jksteponme @leiiecleo @yourbobaeyestell @hobiswhore @barbiethingzzz19 @leslietendo @zetaares @cvppid-mqqn @giyous @cherryjungkookie @lilyflowerguk @tatamicc @rurup04 @marrslt @foulempathpsychicherring @luxejeon @1-in-abillion @lovebts-beca @lily-lilacsky @sashas-meat @taecondafatass @daddypkj

#jungkook smut #sub!jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #oneshot #jungkookff #661010 #romance #mutualpining #coffeeshop #camboy #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook bts #bts x reader

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nonesenseushi · 9 months

Text

My first time posting. I wrote a thing and got told to share it.

The Walking Dead x Male Mute!Reader HC’s

Daryl probably didn’t trust or like you right off the bat:

• He didn’t like how quiet you were, like deadass you never made a sound, even while walking

• Doesn’t realize your mute at first and figured you just thought you were too good to talk to anyone

• Probably has beef with you because you use a bow and arrow

• He soon comes to respect you when you prove your willingness to help protect the group

• Even more so when he realizes you don’t talk because you just 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵

Rick probably trusts you right away, although he isn’t much of a fan of how you just kinda do your own thing:

• He likes that you’ll usually do what he asks(orders) - little does he know that what he tells you to do, you were already planning on doing it

• Because of your quietness, you can easily get in and out of places without being noticed - be that by walkers or people - and he 100% uses that to the group’s advantage

• Rick doesn’t like that you disappear from the group at times, even when your hunkered down somewhere; the prison for example, you’d sometimes just vanish and no one could find you

• When you come back though you usually have stuff that the group needs or wants, so they can’t be too mad

Glenn is pretty neutral towards you at first, although you somehow become pretty good friends:

• He was really unnerved from you at first, with how quiet you were and the hard RBF you got

• Because you both were quiet and quick, you often got sent on runs together and he 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘥 it

• Glenn realized you weren’t so bad when you made a joke one time on a run;

You both were in some sort of hardware store gathering supplies when Glenn bent down to grab something. A fart noised sounded in the store and with how quiet it was, Glenn heard it loud and clear.

He stood up and looked at you in embarrassment, truly believing that sound had come from him, only to stop when he saw the grin on your face and the playful glint in your eye. You repeated the noise, blowing a raspberry at him before your shoulders shook in silent laughter.

• After that you both became good friends

• He also realized that you weren’t some hardass that was constantly judging people

• Although he’s definitely caught you staring at the others when they did something questionable, definitely judging them.

• Glenn always found those moments funny, seeing the look of confusion or disbelief on your face

Carl likes you, he thinks your really cool:

• He thinks it’s really cool how you use a bow and arrow (something Daryl is totally not a little jealous of)

• Would beg you to teach him how to use it

• You would, only to grin and silently laugh when he somehow smacks himself in the face with the bow string

• You of course would apologize for laughing and properly teach him how to use it, although he can’t for the life of him draw it back at first

• Carl also thinks it’s really cool how quiet you are as he gets older

• Young Carl was definitely afraid to approach you because of your RBF

• As he gets older though he admires your stealth and will even ask how to be stealthier like you

Other characters:

Merle:

• Merle was convinced that you were lying about being mute

• He probably followed you one day while you went for a hunt or something to confront you

• You beat his ass six ways till Sunday

• He didn’t pester you after that, although Daryl tried to kick your ass for beating up his brother

Maggie:

• She probably thought you were kinda weird at first

• But she was also really curious about you

• Her and Glenn both went to you about the other, Glenn to be an absolute simp, and Maggie to see if Glenn was truly a good guy

Shane:

• Bro hated you from the start

• Because of how quiet you are, he felt like he was always being watched (he was)

• You always had this blank stare when you looked at him, it made him feel like you knew all his secrets (you did)

• You knew about him sleeping with Lori, at first you didn’t care for it but then Rick showed up and turned out to be her husband

• Shane was only a little thankful that you were mute so you couldn’t tell everyone what you knew

• He still knew that you could destroy him through, so he was very careful

• You only tortured him psychologically a 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦

• Especially after Otis died

• You had gone with them on the run and had supposedly gotten separated from them when the walkers showed up

• Shane knew better by that point though

• You seemed to know everything

Hershel:

• Just like the rest of the group, he didn’t want you on his farm

• He seemed to like you the most though because you didn’t carry a gun - at all - and you weren’t aggressive like Daryl

• It helped that you put your bow and arrows down whenever he asked for no weapons

• Overall you were just respectful towards the man and he appreciated it

#the walking dead x male reader #mute reader #rick grimes #daryl dixon #twd headcanons #headcanon #male reader #glenn rhee #carl grimes #x male reader #twd x male reader #maggie greene #shane walsh #merle dixon #hershel greene

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silent-stories · 11 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐓

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: Eddie likes the girl at the Hideout, one night, he finally talks to her.

Warnings: underage drinking, Eddie being cute and clumsy

The Hideout was never crowded, and usually the only ones who stayed until it closed were four old drunks and someone who had nothing better to do than spend the night listening to a band of four outcasts play.

Once one of them had even yelled at them that if they didn't stop their noise pollution he would have called the police. Not nice.

The lights in the room were often dimmed, creating a certain atmosphere that Eddie particularly liked and the sound of his shoes or boots against the wooden floor always reminded him of what he had imagined when he read the scenes set in the taverns of the Lord of the Rings.

Eddie knew that continuing to play there when hardly anyone listened or cared about them was pointless and they certainly weren't going to be famous by keeping doing that but he had a good reason to stay.

You were always there.

You were always there, behind the counter, making a drink or opening a bottle of beer looking bored like your only coworker, a girl who must have been around your age. Sometimes you read a few pages of a book and Eddie found that extremely attractive but he would never had the courage to tell anyone.

The owner of the Hideout was your uncle and that was probably the only reason you worked there (you never seemed too excited to spend the night there).

Eddie had never talked to you but he liked to look at you from his table and try to catch some details to get to know you better. In the months that his band had played there he had only understood that: you enjoyed beer (it was the only thing you drank there), the books you often brought therr were by Stephen King so you must have liked the horror genre and, strangely, unexpectedly and surprisingly you seemed to like how his band played.

Eddie thought that not only because every time they played you put down your book and looked up at the stage with a slight, almost invisible smile on your lips but also because every time they finished playing you offered the whole band a drink.

Your uncle certainly didn't tell you to do it and they never asked you to, but you always did, even if it was usually just a glass of some cheap liquor for each of them.

Eddie remembered the first time you did that, after they stopped playing without getting any applause and sat down at a table for a few minutes with the intention of leaving soon like they usually did.

You had arrived at their table with four glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Mh... we didn't order anything." Gareth had said looking up at you, probably worried by the fact that he didn't have any money with him.

"It's okay. It's on the house." You said by pouring the liquid into the glasses. "My uncle told me you don't even get paid to play here so...that's all I can do for you."

Eddie, like his friends, thanked you, you smiled, and he felt like he might pass out.

"Have a good night, guys." You had grabbed the bottle, your rings clinked against the glass, and then you had taken a few steps back to the bar.

After a few seconds, however, you had stopped. "I'll pretend you're all over twenty-one okay? Don't tell my uncle and don't spread the word or we'll all get in trouble."

Eddie had chuckled, he was the only one not doing something illegal for once.

After that night, you always brought them a drink after each of their "shows".

Eddie had never really talked to you, you just exchange a few "hey", "hi", "thank you" and "you're welcome".

"When are you going to ask her out?"

"What?" Eddie nearly spat out his drink.

"Y/N. When are you going to ask her out?" Gareth repeated, sitting across from Eddie at their usual table.

Y/N. Eddie knew your name well because he'd heard your uncle call you that one of the few nights he'd shown up there a few months ago and never forgot it.

"Mh... why should I?" Eddie asked looking at the bottom of his glass trying to avoid the drummer's gaze.

"Because you like her and that's what people usually do when they like someone?"

"I don't like her!"

"Okay. Either you think I'm stupid or you are stupid."

"Hey!"

"So?"

"I don't like her." He repeated.

"So it's okay if I ask her out?" Gareth asked, suddenly standing up.

Eddie jumped up causing his friend to raise his eyebrows, as if to say "I told you so".

"Ah! I knew it!" Gareth laughed before falling back into his chair.

Eddie snorted, his gaze meeting your figure behind the counter.

"Dude, at least go talk to her. This is getting exhausting." Jeff butted into the conversation.

Eddie rolled his eyes.

"If you don't go talk to her now, we'll drag you to her and I don't know how much she'll like you after that." Jeff added with a smirk.

Eddie huffed again but this time he finally got up from his chair, his feet moving towards you.

"I don't understand why we still let them play here if they clearly suck." Rachel snorted as she sat down on a stool behind the counter, next to you and twisted a strand of hair between her fingers and scrutinized it as if she were looking for split ends.

That night at the Hideout there were few people as almost every other night, two men were playing cards in a corner of the room, an old man was drinking from a bottle on the opposite side, the neon light above his head flickered from time to time, in the table near him two young men were getting ready to leave, probably on their way home to their families.

In their usual place Corrored Coffin was chatting and drinking after their "show".

"Oh c'mon. They don't suck." You retorted placing your book on the table.

Your coworker raised her eyebrows. "Really? You like that stuff?"

Your gaze instinctively rested on the guitarist, whose back and curly hair you could see from where you were sitting.

"They're good. They have potential and I think they deserve more recognition."

"Pff" She snorted, obviously not agreeing with your attempt to defend the band. "Jason says they're geeks. One of them is repeating his last year of high school for the third time. Third time, can you imagine? He must be really dumb. And there's a rumor that he has a cult or something."

"Ew."

"See? I told you so."

"No. The "ew" was for Jason. Are you still hanging out with that guy?"

Rachel opened her mouth, as if in shock. "I am, actually. Are you jealous by any chance?"

You laughed at the stupidity of her question. "Jason, of all the people in the world, is the person I'm least jealous of. Trust me."

"I'm not just hanging out with him, I'm dating him. I started talking to him during chemistry and it turns out…we have chemistry." She laughed at her own joke.

"Rachel, please. I just ate, I might throw up."

She rolled her eyes. "Ugh…you're so boring. Just because you never like anyone doesn't mean you should hate any guy I'm dating."

"It's not true that I never like anyone." You muttered, your gaze landing again on the table where the band was chatting.

"God, don't look at them." She commented.

"Is there anything you don't complain about?" You huffed.

Rachel grabbed the bottle you were drinking from off the table to take a sip of beer, knocking your book to the floor on accident.

She bent down to pick it up, then turned it over in her hands and looked at the creature drawn on the cover.

With a disgusted face, she rested it next to you. "God, you'll end up like them, worshipping the devil."

You crossed your arms over your chest. "I'll say it again. Is there anything you don't complain about?"

Rachel was about to retort but when her gaze fell behind you, somewhere in the club, her expression suddenly changed. "Jesus, he's coming here. I think I'll go to the bathroom for a moment."

Rachel disappeared into the room behind you before you knew it. "Wait, who..."

When you turned around and found yourself face to face with Eddie, standing in front of the counter that separated you two, you nearly gasped.

"Whoa, hey. I didn't mean to scare you." He raised his hands slightly as if to show he meant you no harm.

"Oh, no, you didn't scare me. It takes a lot more to scare me. You just... surprised me. You never came to the counter." You said leaning on the table and observing him closely for the first time.

His curls were a bit messy, his leather jacket was still the same, in his Airon Maiden shirt there was a small hole near the collar and the rings on his hands glittered under the light above the counter.

He looked at you with his big chocolate brown eyes as if, despite what he had just said, he was the more scared of the two and you wondered why.

After a moment, he finally spoke. "So... do you come here often?"

You looked at him quizzically and maybe that's what made him start to stutter and panic a little as he went on talking.

"I mean, no. That's a stupid question. Of course you come here often, you work here. I wanted to ask if... you work here often. No, wait.... that's another stupid question, of course you work here often: it's the your job. I just wanted to…you know what? Forget it. Maybe I'd better go."

For a cult leader or whatever they said he was, he was pretty clumsy. Especially with you.

"No no no. Wait." You leaned over to the counter to grab his hand and stop him from his sudden escape, it was soft and warm in yours.

You chuckled as he turned to you in surprise, staring at you like a puppy who doesn't understand what's going on.

He's pretty, you thought. Not beautiful, maybe. He's not the man all the girls turn to look on the street when he walks.

But he's different and he has such pretty eyes.

"Stay?" It was a question, a proposition, something you wished he was going to do.

Slowly, he sat down at one of the stools and you left his hand.

"Yeah. I work here every night, even when your band isn't here." You answered his sort of question, resting one arm on the table and your head on your hand.

"Cool." He simply said, the ghost of a smile was on his lips now.

"Meh, not really. But it's better when you guys are here." You nodded towards the table where the rest of the band sat.

This time, a real smile appeared on Eddie's face, dimples appeared on his cheeks and wrinkles around his eyes.

Yeah, definitely cute.

"So you like us." He said.

"You are not bad."

"Well, that's the best compliment we've gotten in weeks. I could almost call you our first and only fan." He brought a hand to her heart in a dramatic way, the initial embarrassment completely gone.

"Take it easy Van Halen. I just said you're not bad." You laughed, causing him to chuckle.

"Okay, I'll take that."

You stayed to talk to Eddie for a few more minutes even if it seemed like only seconds, the rest of the people in the club had all already left by that moment and the sky outside was completely black and moonless.

"Hey, time to close." Rachel's voice from behind you distracted you from your conversation with Eddie.

You looked at the clock on the wall, it said three in the morning.

Eddie got up. "I tell the guys it's time to go."

You nodded, but you were sorry to stop spending time with him.

"So...will I see you tomorrow night?" He asked with a hopeful tone in his voice.

"I already told you, I come here often." You laughed, repeating his words.

"Yeah, right." He smiled. "See you tomorrow then."

"Good night, Eddie."

After a bit, the band left and you couldn't help but follow Eddie's figure in the parking lot in front of the Hideout with your gaze.

"Don't tell me you like that weirdo." Rachel commented as she grabbed her purse.

You continued to stare through the dirty glass at Eddie's van disappearing into the distance.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do."

In my head this was the beginning of a possible mini-series but I don't think I liked it enough to continue it. Let me know what you think.

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat @michaelfuckinglangdon

#eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fluff

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beanmachine69 · 11 months

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can you write a fake dating situation with lance stroll??

Now and Later | Lance Stroll

Fuck, not this again.

This was one of the reasons you avoided hanging out with this particular group of friends back at home. Sure, they were great fun and all, but they all still had your stupid ex on instagram and were quite fond of posting stories- location tag and all included. They weren’t super close to you, but since you landed that fancy job in the media management department for Aston Martin, they just loved to pretend like they gave a damn about you or your life. Clubbing with them was fun though, and you needed a distraction from the stress your home-life had sprung at you. God, how you missed your old friend group, you were happy for them, but you really missed hanging out with them; they were fun, sweet, supportive, and were fully aware of how obnoxious your ex-boyfriend was.

You had moved away from the dance floor when you saw him, hiding your face near the bar. He saw your group and was slowly advancing towards them, so as to not raise any alarms. You reached the bar and ordered another drink, if you were going to talk to that bastard, you were going to do it drunk. You downed the first drink faster than you expected and were ordering the second when you felt someones’ hand on your shoulder as they sat next to you on the bar.

Welp, this was happening.

You turned, adorning the most annoyed expression that you could, only to see your much loved (by you) colleague. His smile dropped when he saw your expression, confusion washing over his face.

“Uh, hey is this a bad time?” He asked hesitantly.

“Oh my God Lance, I’m so sorry, I thought you were someone else.” You apologized, expression dropping immediately as your face turned bright red.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, just some old problems that won’t fucking leave me alone.” You mumbled into your glass as you brought it to your face.

Lance laughed, and there began another problem which you’d been desperately trying to avoid. He looked so ridiculously adorable when he smiled, and even more so when he laughed. The way his usually intense eyes would soften and crinkle on the sides, and how cute he sounded when he laughed. God, having a crush on Lance was terrifying, not just because of the power dynamic, but also because you could never be sure if he actually reciprocated anything. You had caught him staring a few times before, but sometimes you’d also seen him completely zone out and stare at things, and so, for the sake of your own sanity, you brushed it off as that.

“What type of problems are we talking about here?” He laughed, politely gesturing for the bartender to bring two of what you were having.

“Oh y’know, I don’t wanna bore you.” You replied, almost embarrassed to be talking to him about this.

He seemed to not have heard you, so he leaned in, allowing you to get a pretty good smell of his cologne. Sure, you’d been in accidental close proximity before, but this was so much more different. You both were out of the green Aston-Martin apparel you were accustomed to seeing each other in, and you were certain that he lingered a moment too long after you had repeated what you said.

“Oh, you’re not boring me at all, I’d love to know more about you, we barely get to talk at work.” He replied, bringing his stool closer to yours, “Plus, I’d love to see what's got you drinking like this.”

He had to have been drunk, or at least a little tipsy. You two had joked around and had your laughs before, but this just felt so different, he suddenly seemed so much more comfortable and confident. Maybe the lack of cameras and the general stress of the job was doing its magic or maybe it was your low-cut top that had him acting differently. Either way, you weren’t complaining. You liked it when Lance would talk to you, even more so when it would be a one-on-one conversation between you two. It always felt natural almost, like you two were great friends in the past or something.

“Oh Lance, y’know how it is,” You tried stalling, there was no way you were going to dish about your ex with him, nope it was far too embarrassing, “This and that..”

“This and what? Come on, tell me already.” He laughed, determined to find out why you looked so stressed at a bar and why you had managed to finish your drink this fast again.

“I-” You were interrupted when you spotted your friend pointing at the bar, directing your ex towards you. Panic set in, and you knew you didn’t want to have this conversation, especially in front of someone who was technically your boss.

Luckily for you, Lance was quick to read your eyes, following their direction and understanding that the man slowly approaching you two was definitely coming there with a purpose; considering the look in your eyes, he also understood that you weren’t particularly excited to be at the receiving end of this supposed purpose. He was slightly tipsy, and you looked really pretty tonight, so he decided to take a barely calculated decision. He knew he had to act fast, considering the man was barely a few feet away, Lance grabbed your face, turning it in his direction. Your eyes widened at the unexpected physical contact, barely managing to process it before he pulled you in for a kiss. His lips felt soft in contrast to how heated the kiss was, his lips passionately moving against yours as one of his hands slipped down to your waist, hooking his finger in the loop of your jeans and pulling you onto his lap. You were surprised, to say the least, but you reciprocated it nonetheless, leaning onto him as you straddled his lap, surprised at the stability of the stool you were seated on. And for a moment, when you two pulled away for air- and you locked your eyes into his- you forgot about the reason for the kiss, melting as his eyes looked in yours before he pulled your face in again, thumb stroking your cheek as he deepened the kiss.

If it wasn’t for your ex clearing his throat, you two would have probably gone at it for longer, with neither one of you having any objections at all. You turned your face at the man who stood half a foot away from you two, staring angrily at you. You readjusted yourself in his lap, leaning into the facade, you brought a thumb near your lips, cleaning the slight smudge of your lipgloss.

“Hey.” He said, glaring at Lance.

“Hi.” Lance smiled, both hands now on your waist.

You could cut the tension with a knife if you wanted to, your ex-boyfriend had no right to be this annoyed, especially not at Lance. His anger was unjustified, and almost annoying, who was he to get mad if you were dating someone? It's not like he knew it was fake.

“Who’s this babe?” Lance asked, looking at you with the sweetest eyes imaginable, making you melt momentarily.

“I’m her ex-boyfriend.” He replied, inching closer to the two of you.

“Do you have somethinggg to say?” Lance asked, turning to him.

He opened his mouth for a minute, surprised at how direct the question was. This was definitely not what he was expecting.

“No?” Lance asked, barely allowing him to answer, “Alright, cool.”

He turned back to kiss you, his hand finding its way back to your cheek that was now currently bright red. Sure, you thought Lance was pretending, but to him, he just saw this as an opportunity to act out on something he’d been feeling for a while now. He’d thought you were cute the moment he saw you, but it wasn't until he talked to you separately did he realize the fact that he liked you. He was way more than excited when he saw you walk into the club with your sexy little top on, and he was more than glad when you came towards the bar. Sure, he’d have wanted to ask you out in better circumstances, but he was definitely not going to complain about his current situation with you on top of him, slightly grinding on him as you two were making out infront of your bloke of an ex.

You were the one to pull away, coming to your senses when you thought the room was clear to drop the pretense. You were flushed, your breath uneven as you fixed your top that hiked up slightly because of Lances’ exploring hands.

“Uh,” You weren’t sure what to say, “Lance, I-”

“I’m sorry for not asking, I just thought it’d be better than talking to that loser.” Lance chuckled. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or if it was how cute you looked when you were flushed, but he really did get an urge to drop all possible formalities. If you could have given that guy a chance, then maybe Lances’ odds weren’t so bad at the moment. Plus, at one point, he was certain neither of you were pretending.

“No no, I didn’t mind that at all.” You replied, dipping your head down a little to hide the blush that was painting your face.

“Good girl.” Lance whispered, face close to your ear.

You didn’t think you could blush any harder than you were at that moment. You felt like you were going to explode, everything had happened so fast, and you ran through so many emotions, you were practically feeling lightheaded. Chugging all those drinks didn’t help either, because now you were certain that you had passed out and this was all a dream. Snapping yourself back to reality, you became aware of the fact that you were sitting on Lance Strolls’ lap in a busy bar. You hopped off him, fixing your hair and lip gloss as you stood next to him, looking around to see if anyone had witnessed all that happened. Luckily your friends were too busy dancing and your ex hadn’t seemed to recognise Lance, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Uh, thanks for saving my ass right now,” You mumbled, barely able to look at him, “I really didn’t want to talk to that guy.”

“Hey,” Lance stood up, towering over you as his arms got a hold of your sides, prompting you to look up at him, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just uh, a little surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised in a good way or a bad way?” He asked, eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

“A good way.” You smiled, entranced by his eyes enough to not care about how hard you were blushing.

“Good, because I was hoping I could make this pretense a reality, and uh take you out for dinner tomorrow?” He asked, a small spark of hope in his eyes.

“Uh, yeah that sounds great.” You replied, almost needing to pinch yourself to accept the reality of the situation.

“Great, I’ll pick you up at 8.” He smirked, “Why don’t you go tell your friends that you’re going home and I’ll drop you home right now.”

A/N: Hi! sorry I got carried away, thank you so much for the cute request anon! I loved writing this, hope you liked it! <3

Also, I don't know if this was cliche? like I thought of a plus one to a friends wedding type of fic, but that was also kinda cliche? idk, I hope I didn't disappoint haha

As usual, my ask box is open for requests and criticism, lmk how you like it!!

#lance stroll #lance stroll fic #lance stroll fluff #lance stroll one shot #f1 blurb #f1 fic #f1 fluff #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll x reader

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nrdmssgs · 11 months

Note

I'm crazy and this is mainly based off my oc, but yn is prices adopted daughter that works with him, and the read is like 22-24 and price is supposed to be 45, and he kept it a secret because he's want to protect yn. I wanna see how the 141/könig reaction, can be romantic or platonic don't care lol, yes i know it's stupidly specific, but I'm stupidly specific.

The reader being Prices adopted daughter (part1)

Masterlist

Summary: you are Johns adopted daughter. This is how different members of the 141 find out about that and how they react.

AN: Hi! I'm almost through with this absolutely beautiful request! I've decided to split it into two parts, I really hope, you don't mind. I've kept it all really platonic and very comforting, and I just wanted to express my gratitude for such a wholesome request! Two important remarks: 1. My interpretation of your OC has turned to be a bisexual person. 2. The order in which the characters appear in the story does not affect their proximity to the main character in any way. This is simply the order in which the characters learned that she was Price's adopted daughter. She loves them all the same) I will, of course, tag you in the second part!!

There were four important names in your life. In your darkest hours, you kept repeating them in your mind. They were so much more than just colleagues, teachers, friends… they all were your family.

John

You were the oldest in your group in an orphanage. Others came and went, but not you. It happened so that you had to grow up ahead of time, get used to the fact that adults more often wanted to adopt babies. But you accepted this world and the rules. You never thought of it as some kind of noble mission, but you took care of your younger friends, worried about them, rejoiced with them. Whenever someone from your group left the shelter forever, you are separated from your friend, but at the same time rejoiced. Caregivers jokingly called you “the Keeper” sometimes, as you cared for other kids as much as a director of the orphanage.

So when one day one of your teachers came up to you after class and said, "There's someone here who wants to meet you," and pointed to a man standing in the doorway, you were confused. The teacher led you to a stranger, and he squatted down so that your eyes were on the same level. "Hi. I'm John." He held out his hand, but noticing your uncertainty, lowered it and smiled warmly at you.

You hit it off quickly. John asked you a lot about life at the orphanage, about your interests. He himself turned out to be an incredibly interesting person: he visited all the corners of the world that you heard about on TV. John told you about jungles and canyons, about villages where all the roads were just small bridges thrown over the water, about ghost towns where it is so cold in winter that the steam from the mouth immediately turns into snow. Your stories seemed not that big to you. What is the story of how you and your friends fed a bumblebee worth compared to John's travels? You were embarrassed by this and quickly reduced such conversations to stories about your younger friends. What if he likes someone and takes one of them home?

“You seem to care for all of them dearly.” Johns looks on the horizon as you two sit on the bench. “You have it in you, kid. Willingness to help, to stand up for them. I see it clearly. Teach me to be like that, will ya?”

You look at him with big eyes full of disbelief. What can you teach him, an adult? Are you used to everyone teaching you something...

"I'm not doing anything special..." You look high into the sky above you. "Well, when any of them is very sad, I hug him with all my might. Maybe you can try to do the same and become like me?"

"Hug with all my might?" John chuckles. "Yes, Simon will be impressed..." But then he sees your worried stare and encourages you, "Hey, that's great advice! I'll try it. But I think, it's now time for you to have dinner, and for me to go home. Don`worry, kid, I promise to come in a week and update you on my progress!"

You do not believe that this man will return, so you try not to wait for him. Most often, adults come back for babies. You remember it. But he comes back a week later. Then he visits you again and again.

Then you end up visiting him. John has a whole house with a backyard! You build a bird feeders together, play board games late into the night, and even go hiking.

These are the best days of your life, and when it's time to go back to the orphanage, you turn your back on John and hide your tears, so he won't notice. "Hold on just a little longer, kid. I'll sort it out soon," he says, and puts a hand on your shoulder.

Whenever he takes you to his house, he gives you something: a plushie or a book or some clothes. But you never took those gifts to your orphanage because you were afraid that one day he would simply stop coming, disappear from your life, and all these trinkets would remind you of him. This little biter habit of yours broke Johns heart over and over again. You were still a child, but you were already afraid to get attached to someone.

One day he takes you back to his house once again. After an evening with cocoa and a board game, he hands you a simple envelope. "This is something very important. Take a look. I need your opinion on it." You are confused, but still open the envelope and start reading the document, that was inside it. You can hardly make out the text, overloaded with terms you are unfamiliar with. And then, little by little, understanding comes to you and the letters begin to blur before your watering eyes.

“Is… is it? I…” You try to say anything, but words fail you. So you jump off your chair and run to John. He barely has time to move away from the table when you do not even hug him - you cling to him with such force, as if your life depended on it. You've always tried to hide your tears in front of him, but now they're rolling and rolling down your face. John hugs you back and pats your head to comfort you. “It's ok, it's ok, I got you. You're gonna be ok, little one. We're gonna be ok. Not ok even - we're gonna be good. Together.” His voice is soft and quiet.

Simon

“I'll need you to take the mask off this time. Don't want you to scare anyone in m`house.” Ghost grants John a side eye and scoffs. “John Price lives alone no more?” John nods and continues to drive silently. Initially, Ghost was supposed to visit Captains house just for business, but now he is tormented by curiosity. “Someone trustworthy?” Ghosts voice is still muffled with the mask. “The most trustworthy person out there,” John smiles and Simon takes the mask off. Ghost enters the house before Price, who lingered at the trunk in search of something. Simon hears joyful kids voice. "John is back!" A girl of about twelve years of age runs down the stairs with a loud clatter. But when she sees Simon, she stops in her tracks. Price often leaves for some time, and she is already used to the fact that strangers often appear in the house: Johns relatives, acquaintances who look after the child while he is away. But Simons menacing appearance made her dumbfounded. She takes a tiny step back when Price's voice comes from the street. “It's ok, kid. This is mister Riley, he's my colleague and friend.” Both Ghost and the girl look at each other startled, not knowing what to say. John finally comes into the house and defuses the situation. "Look who we met on the way home," he says, and hands the girl a plush tiger cub. Her face immediately changes and she happily skips to John.

At dinner, she sits her new toy next to her and bombards Price with questions about his work and stories about what she has been doing in his absence. Simon looks from her to John and remembers how the captain stayed in his office until late at night, endlessly filling out some forms a couple of years ago. Ghost thought it had to do with work, but when he once offered to help Price with this paperwork, John refused with strange zeal. And now Ghost sees, what was it all about. And it all was hella worth it: she was the nicest, most well-behaved and happiest kid, Simon seen in a while.

When they finished their dinner, the girl grinned conspiratorially. "Hey John! Guess what." And before Price could even react, she burst out impatiently and with ill-concealed delight: "I made your favorite dessert!"

"You? Or was it Aunt Meg?" John smirks and Simon realizes he's never seen the captain so happy before. "No, it's definitely me this time! She was just… looking out!"

Price walks into the kitchen and an awkward silence spreads across the living room. Although it seems that only Simon feels awkward - the girl stares at his tattoos with the most sincere interest. "Ehm, so you... love animals?" Ghost squints at the toy tiger cub. The girl smiles broadly and nods, never taking her eyes off Simon's arms. "Do you maybe… want to be a veterinarian when you grow up?" Simon continues this awkward conversation. "No!" She looks up at him and continues loudly, "When I grow up - I want to be a soldier like John!" The shrill sound of spoons and forks scattering across the floor comes from the kitchen.

“Soldier… I thought, kids in her age were supposed to want to become… I don't know, pop stars? Princesses? Figure skaters?” rants Price later that evening, when the girl is already sleeping and he and Simon are standing on a backyard.

“She doesn't want to become any soldier. She wants to be 'a soldier like John'. You are her hero, Captain.” Simon chuckles, masking the fact, that he envies Price a bit. The undisguised delight with which the girl looks at John, her admiration for even the simplest, most trivial of his stories… No money could buy that.

Ghost visited Prices house throughout several next years, and every time he gradually became more comfortable around the girl. In some time, they could hang out together without any awkwardness. She brought her homework down to the big table in a living room and asked Simon to tell her stories about his work with John. Of course Simon tried not to mention anything too disturbing, but it was difficult, and the stories came out short and inconsistent. But she still thrived on them. “Seems like you are quite good at what you do!” She sounds almost as exited as when she talks to John. “Quite good? Lieutenant Ghost is the legend, kid,” comments Price, entering the room. Little do John and Simon know, this was the exact moment, that predetermined the girl's life for years to come. Now she had not just one, but two heroes and a dream: to become like them.

A few years later, which flew by for Simon like a few days, he and John were already present at her oath. Of the two, Ghost, who kept aloof from the others, seemed the calmer. John seemed to be worried about everything: because his daughter was one of the shortest in her formation, because of the bad weather and the fact that she was about to get wet, because of the form "which was of much better quality back in his time" ... But when she got out of line, when she began to recite the text of the oath, Simon shuddered inwardly. Price's daughter, this little dear miracle, who had been running around the house what seemed like just yesterday in funny pajamas, was reciting the oath... Ghost couldn't believe it.

And when she, with burning eyes and a happy blush on her face, ran up to them and saluted with the words "Captain, Lieutenant", Simon felt his eyes tingle. He left her alone with John so that they could share this very special moment. But a few minutes later he heard her hurried steps and she lightly squeezed his arm in a short friendly hug. "Starting your service with insubordination?" Simon scolded her, but in fact it was one of the brightest, happiest moments of his life. He never thought that someone else's adopted child could become so important to him.

Johnny

“Let go!” The fabric of Soaps T-shirt was stretched, and the seams began to crackle dangerously, ready to burst. "Johnny, cut it out!" - your voice echoed between the gray walls of the neighboring buildings of your base. You tried to work things out quietly, but with Soap, that's impossible. If he decides something, it's as good as done.

You try to hold him by force, but it's not so easy: to a greater extent, it's not your hands that clutched at his T-shirt that stop him, but the risk of ruining that T-shirt forever.

"Hey Soap! The hell is going on here?" Price's voice sounds so close that both you and Johnny flinch and turn around at the same time. "She's holding me by force! And you still ask me what happened?" Soap sounds fierce, but his posture shifts, and he unconsciously shields you from Price, who is looking from him to you.

"Sorry, Captain. It's all right, the Sergeant and I were just joking." You answer, turning away from Price. But nothing ever escapes John. He walks around Soap, catches up with you and looks into your eyes. "You've been crying." It's not even a question, it's a statement. Price sees your reddened eyes, swollen eyelids. He also knows that you almost never cry. You want to be a good soldier so much, you look up to him and Ghost, you never let your emotions get the better of you. But if something brings you to tears... Something or someone... It's really bad.

“Gonna ask it once…” Prices eyes pierce right through the mask of dumb jolliness, you desperately try to put on. “What happened?” You try to come with anything, but your best shot just sounds pathetic “It's just an allergy, Captain…”

“Allergy my ass…” - Price walks around you and comes back to Soap. “Ok, Sergeant, let's see if you have anything better for me… Same question, I'm waiting.”

You look at Soap with a mute pleading, but he does not notice this, his eyes are riveted to Price. “She was dumped today. I wanted to find the bastard and have a word with him.” Soaps voice is still harsh from your fight. You shut your eyes and let go of his T-shirt at last. Price slowly exhales. You know that sound. A quiet long exhalation, a harbinger of a storm. “Who?” - Johns` voice sounds cold and distant.

“Your guess is as good as mine. She doesn't tell, so I was heading to the barracks to find out myself.” Soap finally looks at you, his gaze is absolutely fierce, as if rejecting you was some kind of personal insult to him.

Price turns around to you once more. One word is enough for him to express both a question and an ominous threat. “Name.” You shake your head, not daring to look up at him.

John clearly doesn't want so sound menacing to you. And if Soap wasn't around, Price would already wrap you in a tight embrace to hide you from your own pain. But the fact, that someone dared to hurt, to reject you, his little treasure (and it doesn't matter, that the last night you turned 22), makes his blood boil with rage. Of course, he is overprotective as your father, but he believes, it's you, who deserves to choose partners, and they just have to be eternally happy and grateful for your attention. You understand, that your problems have just doubled up… Now both Soap and Price are waiting for you to drop the name, and every next moment of silence seems to only make it worse.

“I need the name, kid. Now, there won't be any fights, we'll just talk. Nice and calmly… And if that bloody moron just happens to slip and fall on the Sergeant's fist - I may not notice …” your Captains` voice was quiet, menacingly quiet. Johnny didn't look any friendlier, his posture was tense and his eyes - furious. You bite your tongue, afraid to say a word. “As you wish. Off to the barracks we head then,” commands Price, and they walk past you.

In a fit of desperation, you take off and rush after them. "Wait! There's no need to 'talk' to anyone, please... It was Sarah... from the office."

They both stop in their tracks and look at each other. This... changed a lot. Of course, they still care about you and want to help, but now, obviously, they will have to reconsider their plans. Soap looks completely lost, Price checks time and rises his gaze back at you.

"In two hours, both of you. My office." Johns` voice is echoing in your head as they both leave you alone. It's hard to even roughly imagine what awaits you and why John also needed Soap. Perhaps the Captain just wanted to lecture you about relationships at work, and so he invited Johnny, who had several... similar experiences.

But when you and Soap meet on the threshold of Price's office at the appointed time, the captain silently nods to his desk with three empty glasses and a flask. The rest of the evening, these two vied with each other to tell you about different failures in their personal lives. At first you feel awkward, but gradually you relax. Some stories make you sigh sadly, others are so funny that you almost choke with laughter. Little by little, you're feeling less pain from being dumped. Yes, maybe you didn't get someone, you wanted, but you have John and Johnny, who are not embarrassed to tell you the most silly and sad personal stories, just to make you feel less alone even in such a situation.

When you leave Price's office, both you and Johnny's faces are flushed with constant laughter. He puts his hand on your shoulder and says: “Hey, don`ya spend y`tears on that dafty, ok? She lost more than you today! We'll find you a nice lass or lad, that papa Price approves of!” You almost fall over in surprise. Nobody but Ghost knew that Price had ever adopted you. Here at the military base, you and Price were just colleagues.

"What, you think m`blind?" Soap stops and stares at you. "The captain takes care of everyone in his own way, but arranging something like this... The last time, I was in a similar situation - the man just filled me up with paperwork so that I had no energy left for anything else." When he puts it that way, it darts to be obvious to you too: you may kept your secrets, but the way you and Price cared for each other was sometimes on the surface. “Johnny… I don't know, how to put it right, but we really try to keep it…”

“Keep just to yourselves? Dinae worry, I get it.” He smirks. “Price is protecting you and so will I from now on. So, ma mouths shut.”

And Johnny keeps his word: he never mentions how you are related to Price, never publicly reminisces about that evening at Captains office. And he also starts a whole operation to find and select the perfect candidate for you, but that's a whole another story.

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reminiscingtonight · 1 year

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It’s All Fun and Games...

Leah Williamson x Morgan!Reader

Word Count: 662

A/N: These burbs aren’t in any specific chronological order

Sisterly Love Masterlist

[WOSO Masterlist]

As a professional soccer player, sometimes you don’t want to be playing soccer in your downtime.

Today’s not one of those days.

You can’t really remember who proposed it, but someone said something about a little friendly 2-on-2 and the next thing you know, the four of you are trudging to a nearby park.

Alex (Morgan) was visiting for a couple days, so like the proper best friend she is, Alex (Scott) also wanted to tag along when she heard Leah making plans. The four of you had just had a nice little brunch, and with the great weather in London, it seemed like such a shame to let it go to waste. The solution ended up being a small 2-on-2 match, something that surprisingly no one objected to.

You’ve just dropped the ball on the ground when Alex asks a pretty reasonable question. “So how are we choosing teams?”

Leah opens her mouth, but before she can answer, you’re blurting out a response of your own.

“I call Scott!”

“What?” Leah whips her head around, face scrunched up in confusion.

“What?” Your sister’s glaring at you, a little offended at not getting picked.

“Me?” Alex looks a little pleased, but still feigning nonchalance to avoid the wrath of both your girlfriend and sister.

Shrugging, you try to hide your grin. You slip an arm around Alex’s. “Sorry gals, you snooze, you lose. Plus Alex is like a football legend, of course I’m gonna want her on my team.”

“I’m sorry, which one of us has won two World Cups, gotten an Olympic gold, and--”

“Vanity isn’t a pretty color on you, Al,” you tsk, ignoring the offended gasp your comment earns you.

“Excuse you, forget Alex. What about me?” Leah pushes her way in front of your sister. She’s looking pretty peeved at being left out of consideration. “I’m your girlfriend. Where’s the Arsenal loyalty, babe?”

“Legend,” you repeat, pointing at the woman still attached to you. “Arsenal legend. If anything I’m being even more loyal to Arsenal by choosing her.”

“Oh shut it, you know what I mean.”

“You know what, Leah? It’s fine.” Alex (Morgan) places an arm on your girlfriend’s shoulder. “I for one am happy to have you on my team. And we’re going to have a blast creaming them.”

Never one to be left out of conversation, Alex (Scott) speaks just before the four of you head to your respective halves. “So is there anything at stake in this game? Do the winners get anything? Or punishments for the losers?”

“Loser has to adopt (Y/N),” Alex (Morgan) grumbles, tightening her shoe laces.

Leah’s eye twitching is the only evidence of how close she is to considering it. “Losers buy dinner tonight?” she proposes instead.

“Hope you like pasta!” you sing out, pretending not to notice the dirty look Leah instantly shoots your way.

While Alex and Leah quickly huddle up to talk strategies, you and your Alex huddle up to do the same.

Before you can get a word in, Alex is putting a hand on your arm, tilting her head at you inquisitively. “Love the vote of confidence, ‘go us!’, but you do know I’m the only one out of the lot of you who doesn’t play professionally anymore, right?”

You shrug. “And? Don’t say you’ve never wondered what it would be like to score against Alex Morgan. Or better yet stop her from scoring.”

You must’ve said something wrong because Alex is instantly trying not to laugh. “Oh honey,” she coos, lips twitching in amusement. “How old do you think I am? I’ve most definitely played against your sister before. Not really something I’m looking forward to doing again, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

You should’ve heeded Alex’s warning a bit more.

Leah tries not to be too smug when you end up getting Nandos for dinner.

Your sister on the other hand, well she doesn’t even try to hide her glee.

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #Ace writes

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 7 months

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darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 7: Gone

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your sister prepares for her wedding to Laenor Velaryon.

Hello! this one took a while, so am sorry, lol! My cat got attacked, which I hope is at least SOME excuse. This is another 8000+ word chapter, so yay! This covers the Episode 5 stuff, which is fairly self-explanatory. Thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs for coming back to me and beta-ing this thingo!

TRIGGERS: Episode 5 shenanigans. Nothing much else, really.

These are the things you have learned—

One: Uncle took ’Nyra somewhere at night.

Two: that ‘somewhere’ was terribly improper, a place that not even a maid would go if she wanted to be seen as respectable.

Three: he was caught kissing her and doing things with her, even when there were lots of people in the room at the same time.

Four: he left her there, and it was only because of Ser Harwin that your sister made it home safely.

Five: Uncle asked Papa if ’Nyra could be his wife, and Papa said ‘no’.

These are not things you tell others that you know. Septa will likely strike you with her switch if she hears you repeating any of it. If anyone finds out what you have managed to find out, they will start minding their words more carefully around you. That is not what you want.

Because you are small and quiet, it is very simple for you to collect secrets. For example, Lord Bar Emmon’s lady wife has been dallying with a knight from House Massey. Lord Rosby is in debt to bankers in Essos for borrowing large sums for gambling. Lord Darklyn has a bastard son that no one knows about. You overhear little things here and there, spot details that others might miss, and you learn, tucking information away inside your mind just in case. You make sure that these secrets are proper ones, too—from the hands and mouths of those they are about.

After the accident that gave you a small scar on your arm, Papa made it a rule that you must come visit him each day so that he can keep an eye on you. This is how you had heard ’Nyra and Papa talking in his chambers.

“…have exposed yourself. Now, we must both suffer the consequences.”

“Were I born a man, I could bed whomever I wanted. I could father a dozen bastards, and no one in your court would blink an eye…”

“…an end. You will wed Ser Laenor Velaryon, and you will do so without protest… You are my political headache!”

“… my duty as heir… you must first do yours as King.”

You had waited for a beat, then knocked, hoping that the look on your face was innocent enough that they did not think you had heard. It worked—you had been let in and conversation had turned away from things-you-are-not-allowed-to-know to things-you-are-allowed-to-know. After that, it was not so difficult to piece together what must have happened from the rumours flying around the court.

Now, you understand why ’Nyra and Uncle were sharing all those long looks. Why they would stand so close to each other. Why they would jump apart whenever you came. They are in love, or maybe they just want each other in the way grown-ups sometimes do, the way that means they wish to put their parts together and make babies. Whatever the reason, whatever they feel, it had been enough for Uncle to ask Papa directly; enough to be exiled for.

You keep Uncle Daemon’s letter—‘I will be back soon’—to yourself. If you tell Papa, he will just make it impossible for Uncle to return.

If Uncle marries ’Nyra, will they go to live on Dragonstone? you wonder. Will they have many babies together? Will they bring me if I ask very, very nicely? You would like it best with them, you are sure of it.

Thoughts of what life might be like with Uncle and ’Nyra entertain you on the days you are made to wait for ’Nyra and Papa to return from Driftmark, which is where Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys and Laenor live. Even though your sister wants Uncle, she has agreed to marry Laenor. You don’t know what to think. You hardly remember Laenor. It doesn’t matter, you decide. Uncle will stop it from happening.

Lord Lyonel has gone with them as the new Hand of the King. It was not hard to find out that Lord Otto had his spies follow your sister out of the Keep and report back to him, or that he had then gone straight to Papa to tell of what Uncle and ’Nyra did. Your sister often says that Alicent seduced Papa to become Queen and give him half-Hightower children so that they would inherit what rightfully belonged to her, and that Lord Otto made her do it. She has been telling Papa that for a while now. It seems he has finally listened, for Lord Otto has been made to go back to his family seat even though his daughter is Queen and he has princes and a princess for grandchildren. He has gone too far in spying on ’Nyra.

This all means that, even though Uncle is no longer here, Alicent still wishes to keep an eye on you. She does not have many friends in the Keep now that her father has left, and it has made her nervous. You are only seven summers old, but you understand the way of things well enough—you understand that she wants to be your friend now that she’s realised she is alone.

I’ve been alone this whole time, other than for ’Nyra, you think. It is an unkind thought, so you push it down and tell yourself that it really isn’t Alicent’s fault that she forgot all about you with three babies to take care of.

Septa Marlow takes you to the nursery each morning as always so that you can see the Queen and your brothers and sister. In truth, you quite like this arrangement—because they are so little, it gives you the chance to play with them, to pretend not to be so grown-up for a while. Or, rather, you play with Helaena. Aegon is at a stage where he likes to throw things, so you mostly avoid him. Helaena is a quiet companion, so playing with her mostly means passing her toys and watching her arrange them in neat little piles that make no sense to you but seem to give her a great deal of joy.

“Here, ’El,” you say, passing her the next item. She stops her normal routine when she sees what you have for her. “This is Marya, and this”—you take the other doll out from the makeshift wrappings you devised when still within your own chambers—“is Hana.”

Helaena babbles to herself as her pudgy fingers twist through the brown hairs sprouting atop the wooden doll’s head, surprisingly gentle for one as young as she is. She beams, a gummy spreading of lips that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle, and pats Marya’s wooden face.

“Dolly,” she whispers. “Marya?”

You nod. “Yes, it’s a dolly. Her name is Marya.”

Sometimes, you find that you need to repeat things to her. She often poses questions like this, as though she is unsure if she has heard you right, as though she wants approval. You wonder if you did that at her age.

“That is very kind of you, darling.”

You look up. From her seat by the window, Alicent surveys you and your sister with a small smile. Aemond sleeps on in her arms, seeming to care little for playtime. Is he not too old for that? you think. She can barely fit him in the cradle of her arm, but you suppose that Alicent has always been quite small-bodied.

You smile at her words. She has taken to calling you ‘darling’ as of late. You know not why. Still, it brings a flush of warmth tingling through your blood. “I thought she might like them,” you say.

It makes sense; your dolls were only laying there, doing nothing at all, and Aegon keeps breaking your little sister’s toys. Because she is so quiet, you sometimes wonder if her nurses just don’t realise that she is there and that she needs just as much to play with as her older brother. Your dolls are rather sturdy. They were made for you when you were three summers, so they ought to withstand anything he can subject them to.

It is as though your thoughts summon his attention to you.

“I want them, Mama!” Aegon cries, pointing in your direction. It takes you a moment to realise that he is not pointing at you, but at the dolls in yours and Helaena’s laps. “I want!”

“They are for Helaena, Aegon,” Alicent says, but it is no use. Aegon takes a deep breath, and you brace yourself as the scream pierces through the quiet of the room, quickly followed by the squawk and sobbing of Aemond.

Gwenys stands from her place beside Aegon and lifts him into her arms, trying her best to hush him. There is little point—now that he has it in his mind that he is being denied something he wants, there will be no dissuading him until he is spent from crying too much. As usual, she heads for the door, taking with her the low sounds of her soothing voice drowned out by the wails of your brother.

Alicent has not moved at all, aside from swaying Aemond gently and patting his back. She rarely ever tends to Aegon. There are times when she looks at him as though he is a complete stranger, as though she did not make him and carry him and birth him. You sometimes catch yourself feeling sorry for him, for the fact that his mama so clearly loves his younger brother more than she loves him. In some ways, you and Aegon are very alike—Papa loves ’Nyra more than he loves you. He loves ’Nyra more than he loves any of his other children, but that is because she is the heir and that means she is the most important. It is one of those facts that belongs in the drawer in your mind labelled ‘the way things are’.

Still, Aegon does not do any of the right actions that would get Alicent or Papa to love him more. He throws things and breaks things and yells and runs, and sometimes he will say the nastiest words like ‘I hate you’ to everyone when he is in one of his moods. At least you try. You use your manners and follow instructions and keep quiet and calm, which Septa says is what makes a lady respectable. Perhaps that is why Alicent is calling you ‘darling’ now.

“Dolly?” Helaena whispers again.

She is staring at Hana, so you prop the doll in her lap beside Marya. Your sister clutches them to her, burying her face in their hair so gently that it makes your chest feel tight and a lump grow in your throat.

You watch Helaena hug the dolls that used to be yours but now are hers, ignoring the little voice in your head that reminds you of the one you didn’t bring, the one you have kept all to yourself even though you’ve no need for it now. Of Alysanne, the doll with silver hair and purple eyes, no longer tucked away in a chest but resting beneath your pillow, hidden from the sight of all but you.

It seems like barely any time passes between the return of Papa and ’Nyra and the beginning of the wedding celebrations. Of course, that is not true, for there are days upon days of preparations—ravens to send out and replies to be received, journeys to be made to the capital and rooms to be cleared of dust to house the visitors, banners to be erected and decorations to be installed—that sweep seemingly all of King’s Landing into a frenzy. Not even you are free of it. Thankfully, your only role is to stand up straight with your arms out as the seamstresses pin and hem your dress for the event.

“What do you think, Princess?” Lina, the head seamstress, asks. You don’t know if she is speaking to you or to ’Nyra, who looks on with a smile.

“Lovely,” ’Nyra says, answering your unspoken question. She steps forward to brush light fingers against the neckline of the gown. It tickles. “Silver ribbons for the hair, I think. Could a belt be fashioned in the same colour?”

“Of course, Princess,” the seamstress is saying, but your attention has drifted to the guard that stands watch at the door.

Ser Criston has been strange as of late. Though he is usually always more quiet than not, there is something very unhappy about the way he surveys those in the room now. He is ’Nyra’s sworn shield, and yet his eyes seem to slide right past her, almost like he wants to pretend that she doesn’t exist. What surprises you the most is that ’Nyra notices—she gives him fleeting looks every so often, especially when he is fixed and still—but does nothing about it. She is not one to let an insult lie.

You have always liked Ser Criston. Before, when you were allowed to go about more freely, he would let you sit by him and talk while ’Nyra was busy pestering the minstrels to play more songs about Nymeria.

Your sister claps as the final note rings. “Again,” she demands.

Samwell sighs, flexes his fingers, and readies himself to play once more. As he plucks the strings of his mandolin, he lets his voice carry the melody forth.

“She fled with her ships and her people,

Her heart broken for those who had died.

But if they remained, they would perish

Under the dragon’s eye,

Under the dragon’s eye.

A hundred fell to the sea’s cruel sweep,

A hundred more to the Summer Isles’s tide.

The Queen lost many souls fleeing from

Under the dragon’s eye,

Under the dragon’s eye…”

You turn away from your sister and glance to the side, to where Ser Criston is sitting next to you on the bench. “You’re Dornish, Ser Criston. Are you not?”

It is what all the ladies at court say—even Ser Harrold has said so. It certainly makes sense, for the knight’s colouring looks the same as Nymeria’s in all the illustrations of her you have seen.

Ser Criston smiles at your question. “Not exactly. I… my father is Lord Dondarrion’s steward.”

“Oh.” You frown, thinking hard. “He’s from… the Stormlands?”

“Yes, Princess. Well done,” he says. You beam at the praise. Ser Criston turns to listen to Samwell’s song for a moment, the tale of Nymeria floating faintly through the air and carrying a great sadness with it.

You wait for him to continue. When nothing comes forth, you try again. “Why does everyone say that you are Dornish, Ser? You should tell them they are wrong.”

He laughs, a quiet sound. “They aren’t. My mother—she was Dornish.”

You have learned much about the difference between ‘was’ and ‘is’. ‘Is’ is for people who are living, who breathe and think and talk and laugh, like you; but ‘was’ is for those who are no longer here. Who have died and left the living to mourn them.

“What House was she from?” You keep your voice gentle. You don’t wish to make him sad.

Ser Criston shakes his head. “She was lowborn. A member of the commonfolk. My father encountered her on an incursion into Dornish territory. He fell in love with her at first sight, or so he’s always said.”

“That sounds nice.” You have never seen or heard him be so free with telling someone about himself before. Even now, after serving in the Kingsguard for as long as you can think of, this is the first you have learned of who he is beyond his ability to use a sword. “What was she like? Your Mama?”

At that, he says nothing. You sit and listen to the music, to the tale of a queen who is forced to begin again in an unknown land. You wonder if Ser Criston sometimes feels as strange in King’s Landing as Nymeria did in Dorne all those hundreds of years ago.

“I cannot recall my mother well, Princess,” he finally says. You just barely stop yourself from startling at the sound of him. He stares out at the grass, at nothing, appearing for all the world like he is unspeakably lonely. “She passed on when I was… very young. I know she was beautiful; I remember dark eyes”—like his, you think—“and the shape of her smile. At least, I think I do.”

He looks angry, or perhaps upset. It is hard to tell. You are not surprised, though, for men are often angry when they are made to think of sad things. There is little you can do to change his mood, but you still let your palm come to rest on his arm, patting it softly. He peers over at you. His face softens. You and he take shelter from the sun in silence, looking out as the final refrain of the minstrel’s song flows through the Godswood.

“… Th’ Dornish have yet to bow or to break

Under the dragon’s eye,

Under the dragon’s eye.”

You know what it is like to long for someone you cannot recall. You understand. In brief moments, Ser Criston has been a creature with a spirit much like yours. But he always disappears within himself and the Kingsguard returns, ready to do his duty no matter what. He is another of those that your sister sometimes strays a little too close to, so perhaps he is upset that she is in love with Uncle Daemon and not him. That would be very scandalous, you think, suddenly feeling rather sorry for him.

“… Well? Do you like it?”

You startle. Everyone is staring in your direction, so you shake such thoughts from your mind and glance over at yourself in the mirror. The dress itself is a shade of pale purple that gleams from the silver threads woven into the fabric; the collar is beaded with pearls and tiny diamonds; the bodice decorated with flowers and vines in dark purple and grey thread the colour of steel. It is far more elegant than anything you have worn before. You look like a real grown-up lady in it.

All you can do is nod, your eyes shining bright with excitement. Even though you will be wearing it to the feast for ’Nyra’s wedding to Laenor—to someone who is not Uncle—you are filled with a sudden impatience for the eve to come sooner.

The screech and roar of unfamiliar dragons drifts in from the distance, their dark shadows in the sky a balance with those of the Velaryon ships upon the water. The banners have been raised; the Great Hall prepared; the food made ready. Those who live within the Keep’s walls, including you, linger around the room in wait of the guests that come from all corners of the Realm.

You kick your feet beneath your chair as lords and ladies file into the hall, the booming voice of Ser Harrold announcing them each in turn.

“House Redwyne with their lord, Oren Redwyne!”

“House Hayford with their lord, Mathis Hayford!”

The arrivals become of greater importance the longer the festivities continue. Soon, the incoming nobles are declared with all sorts of titles after their House and name. “House Lannister with their lord, Jason Lannister, Lord Paramount of the West, and Master of Casterly Rock!” Ser Harrold calls out.

You do your best to avoid notice as Lord Jason walks down the steps, surrounded by people in different shades of red and gold to match his House. He makes his way forward, up, up, up the dais to stand before Papa and ’Nyra. Neither look very pleased by his presence, though he doesn’t seem to realise this.

“Congratulations, Your Grace,” he says, smiling as though he is an old friend of them both. “You have made a fine match for the Princess.”

Papa does not reply, just stares with his mouth frozen in an upturn. It forces ’Nyra to speak. “Thank you, Lord Jason. I could think of no better man than Ser Laenor.”

Uncle. Uncle. What about Uncle? you think, but you do not say it aloud.

Lord Jason makes a soft noise. You cannot tell if he agrees or if he is still upset that she refused him. “Well. If this is only the welcome feast, I admit I cannot imagine what you might have planned for the wedding.”

“My daughter is the future queen.” Papa looks at your sister with a great deal of love. She turns toward him, a glow of happiness on her cheeks. “I wanted this to be a wedding for the histories.” You wonder if your own wedding will be one for the histories someday, or if Papa only intends for his heir to have such treatment.

“Where is the Queen?” Lord Jason asks, glancing around. “I had hoped to pay my respects.”

It is a question you yourself had been thinking of. Alicent is not one to be late to important gatherings. It is very unseemly for a lady to do so. If she were still under Septa’s care, she would probably be scolded most terribly for it.

Papa pauses for a moment. “I understand the Queen is still readying herself for the celebrations.”

“This is why men wage war,” Lord Jason says with his chin tilted high. “Because women would never be ready for the battle in time.”

He laughs at his own words, though he is the only one. It is not a very good jest, for you can think of at least three ladies from history—Visenya, Rhaenys, Nymeria—who had waged war and done well at it. Papa and ’Nyra do not seem to find it funny either, for they merely look at him like he is stupid.

“Your presence is always such a pleasure, Lord Jason.” Your sister tries to be polite, but you can hear the bother in her tone.

The smile disappears from Lord Jason’s face. He bends at the waist in a short bow. “Princess. Your Grace.”

As he rises, his eyes flick to you. It is like he has only just spotted you here, two seats down from the King. He looks you up and down as though you are a prize horse. The curve of his lips as he does so is very off-putting. “Good evening, Princess,” he says to you.

Papa clears his throat loudly before you can respond. His hand is clenched tight around his cup, causing one of the scabs to crack slightly. A thin film of blood spreads slowly across the knuckle. It all serves to startle Lord Jason, who quickly averts his gaze and slinks back down the steps to where his brother sits.

The next group to greet Papa and ’Nyra begins their approach, only to be interrupted by another man. He cuts in front of them all. You do not recognise him. “Your Grace. Princess Rhaenyra. Congratulations are in order.” After he says this, he turns to you. “And my greetings to you, Princess.”

It is the first time someone has addressed you so far without making you uncomfortable, so you cannot help the warmth that spreads through you. “Hello, Ser.” It is as good a guess as any. You hope you have not erred.

Papa’s smile is much more real. “We are very honoured to have you as a guest, Ser Gerold.” His expression changes, dims, his brow twitching. “I must say,” he adds, wiping the back of his hand on the kerchief resting by his plate, “I was most distressed to hear of the Lady Rhea’s tragic passing. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Rhea? Uncle has a wife named Rhea, you think with a frown. You notice Papa’s kerchief is streaked with red.

“Lady Rhea was a unique character,” Ser Gerold says. “Her kind… is not soon to be seen again.”

’Nyra surveys him with kind eyes. “If there is anything the crown might do to aid House Royce…”

It is Uncle’s wife who has died is the thought that crosses your mind as the drums begin to beat, signalling the arrival of someone very important. The guests that were lining up to pay respects separate to either side of the hall as the doors open and Ser Harrold cries, “Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark.” At that, the Velaryons make their way into the hall in a sea of glittering black and gold. There are more of them than you ever thought possible—far more than your own House has. “And his lady wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen; and their son and heir, Ser Laenor Velaryon, the future king consort.”

Everyone claps as they walk toward the dais. Papa and ’Nyra stand and you follow—those who had been sitting do the same, rising to their feet in welcome of your Valyrian kinsmen. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys bow and curtsey before you, Laenor stepping forward to do the same. ’Nyra leaves her seat to move around the table, and you are surprised to see her grinning at Laenor as he comes to meet her. She takes his hands; he kisses hers, and the applause begins anew.

As Laenor takes his seat beside ’Nyra—as Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys take theirs beside him, and the audience moves to find their own seats—someone comes in unannounced.

Uncle.

The room goes very quiet, and then the murmuring starts. Papa’s face is like thunder as Uncle Daemon strolls down the walkway with a smile and comes to a halt before him, as though daring him to make a fuss of his return. For a moment, you wonder if he will have the guards throw Uncle from the Keep.

Papa gestures to an attendant, who brings another chair to the end of the table. He will let him stay, then, you think. But Uncle does not sit in it. Instead, he looks at Lord Lyonel next to you, his brow raised.

“Well?” he asks. Lord Lyonel says nothing. Uncle scoffs. “Move. I would sit by my niece, Lord Hand.”

“My Prince—” The Hand of the King stops at the sight of Uncle’s barely concealed glare, a threat all on its own. He clears his throat and rises, the chair skidding back with a squeak as he steps aside. Uncle settles in the empty seat, shoulders hunching in that way he gets when he is trying to show everyone how carefree he is. He glances down at you and winks.

Papa turns from his brother to those gathered in the hall. “Be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning…”

“Āmāzī,” you whisper, only just loud enough for Uncle Daemon to hear. You have come back.

He leans into your space to whisper his reply. “Kīvio sētetan, gōnton daor?” I made a promise, did I not?

You nod, thrilled. He remembered. He kept his promise. Your hand finds his below the table, hidden from view. He is warm as he always is, like fire, and he squeezes tight even as his expression shows a picture of boredom. Though he lets go quickly, the warmth remains.

“With House Targaryen and…” Papa suddenly falls quiet, staring out at the end of the hall. Everyone’s eyes, including yours, turns to follow his line of sight.

Alicent stands alone in the entry. That is not the strange part, of course—but what she is wearing is unlike anything you have seen her in before. Her gown is a shade of emerald, off the shoulder, a deep cut in the neckline exposing an indecent amount of flesh for a respectable noblewoman. It is beautiful, but alarming, for the oddity of it is matched by the almost angry look she wears as she silently approaches, people rising in turn when she passes.

She stops to greet ’Nyra. “Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you.”

It is cold, completely different from the way she normally speaks to your sister. It seems ’Nyra notices, for she cannot come up with a response before Alicent is kissing Papa on his cheek, taking her place like nothing is out of the ordinary.

“Please be seated,” Papa says with a cough. The hall echoes with the sound of shuffling. “Where was I? Oh, yes.”

He grunts. This time, he lets his voice carry to fill the room. “With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dragons in Westeros.” The guests applaud. “And after tonight’s small affair”—everyone laughs—“seven days of tournament and feasting.”

More clapping. “At the end of it all…” He is starting to sound out of breath, which is worrying. He has been unwell as of late. “At the end of it all, a royal wedding… between my daughter, my heir… your future Queen… and Ser Laenor Velaryon, the heir to Driftmark.”

Papa sinks to his chair like he has just run up and down every step in the Keep, and you can see his chest rising and falling like he is trying to find air. The sound of it is drowned out by the music that begins to play. ’Nyra and Laenor leave their seats to perform the first dance, impossibly graceful in their movements. They look rather lovely together, you cannot help but think. Still, it is not he she should be dancing with. Glancing over at Uncle, you see he appears to be thinking much the same thing. You are unsure if it is a petty sort of amusement playing along the corner of his mouth or a snarl threatening to reveal itself as he watches your sister with a man who is not him.

The dance comes to a close and everyone claps, followed by a rush of lords and ladies rising to join ’Nyra and Laenor on the floor. Alicent stands. You observe her making her way to the Hightowers at one of the lower tables. You stay in your seat.

“Pōnte imazumbilā?” Uncle asks, jerking his chin toward those dancing in the middle of the room. Will you join them?

“Mirtys drējī rhēdiō daor,” you say with a twist to your mouth. I don’t really know anyone. In truth, you would like to go and dance, but you dislike the idea of doing so with a stranger. Or worse, with someone who looks at you like Lord Jason did.

Uncle grunts. “Konir drives qubys issa.” That’s a poor reason.

You feel your cheeks heat with your embarrassment. It is not very brave of you, you know. “Usōven, kepus,” you say with a small voice. I am sorry, Uncle. A sting prickles behind your eyes.

“Aōma lilinna.” He gazes down with a softness he uses only for you. I will dance with you.

“Really?”

Uncle Daemon shrugs. “Lo jaelā, darilaros.” If you like, Princess. His head turns to face the gathering dancers again. You know, though, that he is really looking at ’Nyra, smiling and beautiful in her white gown. “Yn ēlī, mirros gaomagon ajorrāelan.” But first, I have something to do.

You wonder what he intends. Will he take Laenor to the side, ask him to run away and leave ’Nyra a woman without a betrothed once more? Will he grab hold of her and force her to the High Septon’s rooms, make him wed them before anyone can stop him? Will he declare his love for all to hear, give Papa no choice but to do away with the Velaryon match? Each thought, wilder and wilder, circles through your mind. Whatever he means to do, it will surely be worthy of a great deal of court gossip.

But then, a voice interrupts. “In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes. Even Targaryens.” Ser Gerold takes one step, then two up the dais.

Uncle remains unimpressed. “Who are you?”

“Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone.”

“And?”

You can see the clench of the man’s jaw. Uncle is being horribly rude. “I am cousin to your late lady wife.”

“Ah, yes,” Uncle says. “Terrible thing. I'm positively bereft. Such a tragic accident.” You want to sink to the ground, to hide away from this conversation. It goes against everything Septa has taught you about courtesy.

“You know better than anyone,” Ser Gerold says, “it was no accident.”

You glance between Uncle and Ser Gerold, worry churning your belly to sickness. The salted flavour of roasted boar turns sour in your mouth. What does he mean? you think.

Then, there is a faint brush of fingertips against your arm. You startle, peering to your left. Papa is leaning across Alicent’s seat. Though he has just touched you, he is staring across at Uncle and Ser Gerold. His eyes slide to you, and he nods to the dancers.

Go, he mouths. Your lips part with your rising protest, but he frowns hard at you. Now, he mouths again.

Scurrying from your chair, you crane your neck to find someone to take company with. There are not many options—’Nyra is busy dancing, though now with Ser Harwin, Lord Lyonel’s son, and Alicent is still speaking with her kin. Everyone else is a stranger to you. For a moment, you wonder if anyone would notice should you sneak to the doors and make your way back to your own chambers.

“Hello.”

Laenor Velaryon has broken away from the throng. Standing beside you, he looks every bit as lavish as a man about to be wed ought to be. His coat is richly embroidered in black and gold; the pendants upon his gold chain glimmer. There is so much detail to his attire that you do not know where to look. He is smiling down at you, his face gentle.

“Hello,” you say, wary.

“It has been quite a while since last we met, hasn’t it?” There is a way about him that makes me feel as though he’s an old friend, you muse. His expression is open, his arms relaxed at his sides. “You were rather a great deal smaller.”

“I am seven summers now.”

“And I am eighteen. Strange, how time changes us.” He folds his hands before him. “Would you care to dance?” he asks.

You shake your head, though a part of you wants to accept. He is very easy to be around, you are finding. Perhaps he is not so bad a choice after all. “I am waiting for my uncle.”

“Ah.” Silence reigns briefly. Then, he bends closer to your height, his pointed finger directed out to the crowd. “However… I do believe he’s occupied, Princess.”

You stare out onto the floor and watch as Uncle makes his way from Laena Velaryon, shifting between bodies like a snake slithers in grass, straight toward your sister. You watch him murmur something indistinct to Ser Harwin—he takes the man’s place—he swarms up against her, and the pair seem intensely concentrated on their conversation. They are barely dancing, swaying together in a vague rhythm to the music.

“Wonder what that’s about,” Laenor says.

You think you might know, but you say nothing. It is hard enough to keep the threat of jealousy from rising like poison at the sight of Uncle with ’Nyra—with her and not you. He promised you a dance.

Laenor sighs. “Look,” he says. You glance up. “I get the feeling you are not exactly pleased by this match. No”—he waves off your protest with a laugh—“it’s alright. I cannot say I was very happy, either. At first. But your sister… she’s quite the woman. I’ll be… content with her, I think. I just hope I can offer her the same.” He lightly places his hand on your shoulder, firmer when he realises you do not plan to shake him off. “I trust that you’ll set me right, should I behave in a manner less than what she deserves.”

He is painfully earnest as he looks at you, like he truly does intend to seek your guidance. You cannot say that of many people. At the very least, he is good at pretending you are important enough to need a high opinion from. It is more than you expected.

“I will,” you say.

It is too quiet, and you think he probably hasn’t heard you over the noise. But he smiles, pats your arm, and disappears back into the mass of people. You feel oddly thrilled by his kindness.

Now that you are alone once more, your eyes drift back to where you had seen Uncle and ’Nyra, near to the middle of the dancers. You spy two shocks of silver, bright against all the darker heads of hair—you see Uncle take ’Nyra’s face in his hand—he leans in—

He pulls away.

What is he doing? you think, frowning. Uncle is stepping back—’Nyra reaches out, though for nothing—he’s stalking off—

You don’t even realise you have followed him, that you have sidled along the edge of the wall to the door and slipped behind the guards, out of notice, until you are facing the looming dimness of the passages outside the Great Hall.

Behind you, someone screams. Then another. Another. More yelling. The door closes and the noise disappears, as if it never was.

You did not realise just how many guards had not been in attendance at the feast until now. They jog seemingly in pace, the crash of armour too loud, echoing as they rush toward the room you have just left behind. Perhaps they have been drawn by the sounds that had taken your attention also.

It forces you to seek a hiding place. You dart into the nearest alcove, and though it is not covered, you pray that it is too dark for anyone to take notice. Thankfully, it works. Your Papa’s men thunder rumble past with nary a look your way.

A creak from the door. A faint thudding, and whispers, and a gruff voice sounds out, clearer than the rest. “Something to cover it with… for the body… and fetch the High Septon to… wedding will take place when he arrives…”

“Now?”

“Yes, now! So, go and…” A wail, and then it is quiet again.

A manservant hurries his pace, footfalls ringing in the near-silence as he takes the steps up and up and up. You watch him disappear from view, surely having gone to carry out the order given to him. To fetch the High Septon, withdrawn into his own rooms somewhere far, far from your own, awaiting the day he is called to perform the ceremony. Tonight’s ceremony.

Tonight? The wedding is tonight? There was to be seven days before ’Nyra was married to Laenor! That is what Papa said earlier… is it not?

It takes a moment for you to remember how you have come to be here, so caught up are you in your whirling thoughts. A part of you wishes to return, to make sure that Papa and ’Nyra and Alicent are safe. ’Nyra is a Princess, you remind yourself. Alicent is the Queen, and Papa is King. Everybody will want to keep them protected. Besides, there is little you could do that the guards could not. You are only a little girl.

Then, it strikes you. Your purpose. Uncle. Where has Uncle gone?

You peer out, and immediately snap back into shadow. The hall is not empty as you had assumed, though it was perhaps silly of you to think otherwise. It is always full of life and activity. There are guards stationed by the stairs, by each archway projecting a further passageway, branching out from the main corridor; two or three messengers await, milling nervously opposite the doors you had just exited from; maids and servants walk by, uncaring of the chaos within, busying about with their duties as normal. Any one of these people could see you and know in an instant who you are. Your hair—your dress—it is all too easy to identify. And if they see you, know you, they will pass you off to a waiting guard, who will ensure you are returned to your rooms, to Septa Marlow.

How will you discover where Uncle is then?

You wait, hoping that the bevy of bodies will thin with each passing minute. As you wait, you listen to passing snippets of conversation from those who walk by. Then, you hear it. Uncle’s name is like a clanging bell out of the mouth of a nearby maid. Your ears strain to catch the rest. “… for Prince Daemon’s belongings to be… King’s Landing tonight… waiting in the courtya…”

“Yes, ma’am…”

Footsteps. Your mind races. No, no, no… Not again. Not now. Not so soon.

Belongings. Tonight. Waiting in the courtyard. You may be young, but you are no fool. Those words, in that order—it can really, truly only mean one thing.

It means that Uncle is leaving.

You wait. You wait through the fractured exchanges drifting to your shoddy hiding place, the morsels of what life must be like for those who live and work in the Keep. You wait through the spilling of people into the hall, the nobles who had witnessed whatever it is that had been hidden from you. You wait through their bewildered conversation—“a Kingsguard!” and “such a terrible omen!” and “what a ghastly sight!” being some of the choice fragments you can hear—and through their slow scattering back to whichever lodgings they had managed to secure themselves. You wait through the barking orders of the Kingsguard to “find the Princess!”—it seems all have finally realised you are no longer in the room—the thud of their boots easy to detects as they grow fainter, fainter, fainter.

Finally… quiet.

Well, not entirely. The doors are open once more, and you can just barely hear voices within, the sound of something heavy being dragged out. Grunting, as with some great effort. None of these are important. What is important is that finally, finally, the way is clear enough to steal out of the alcove and just across to the staircase, to sidle out of the hall and down the corridor. You thank whatever gods had favoured you that something shocking or maybe even horrid had occurred and given you a free path to the courtyard.

Your mind immediately rebels. What a terribly wicked thing to be glad for. If you had spoken it aloud—if Septa had heard you—you know you would pay the price for such sin.

When you arrive, the sight that awaits you is one you had hoped against hope you would not be greeted by. Even though you had heard the proof, the crushing weight of disappointment still feels heavy in your chest.

“Where are you going?” you ask, standing on the steps that lead to sand, to dust. To Uncle.

There he is—tightening the bridle on Varlet’s muzzle, reins in hand. Dark Sister is at his hip again. He must have fetched it from his rooms before commanding the servants to pack up his things, to send them along who knows where.

“Fu—” He cuts himself off, spinning to face you. A bad word, you presume. You see his face relax as his eyes scan you, recognising you even in dim torchlight. “Go back inside, sweetling,” Uncle says.

You cannot help the rush of tears that prickle behind your eyes. “You—Uncle Daemon, you cannot leave now!” You cast around for some reason, any reason you can find that might persuade him. “The—’Nyra is going to be married in the Great Hall soon. You have to be there. You said you would dance with me.”

This makes him release the reins, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, his eyes like slits beneath the steel shelf of his brow. The horse nickers cautiously behind him, toeing at the ground. After a moment where he does nothing but stand, silent and still, he moves, taking large strides toward you. Up, up, up the steps he goes, and then he is crouching before you.

“Talītsos”—little niece, he says, and as he speaks, his fingers reach out to swipe loose hair back behind your ear—“the King has asked me to leave. I must do as he says, correct?”

When have you ever cared what Papa says? you want to tell him. What about ‘Nyra? You are leaving her behind.

What about me?

Instead, what comes from your mouth is this: “When—when will you be back?” Your lower lip begins to shake. One of the tears falls, even though you tried so hard to keep them from doing so.

His thumb brushes it away. You can still feel the sting of it in the cool night air, though his skin leaves a trail of heat over your cheek. “I’m afraid… I’m not coming back.”

His face is unbearably soft as he says this, but it does not banish the shock, the dread that rises. You feel ill. You feel ill. Bile burns in the back of your throat.

“But… you promised,” you say. You wonder if you look as lost as you sound.

Uncle smiles, though it is weak. “I know. If I had a choice, you know I’d stay.”

You cannot count the number of people who might hear such a thing and take it for a falsehood. He is a rake; a villain; a rogue. He lies, steals, cheats. He is mad, he is cruel, he is the very worst thing that has happened to House Targaryen since your great-great-great-uncle.

But you know he means it. You know.

“Will I ever see you again?” you ask, close to a whisper. Any louder and you’ll burst into sobs, and that will surely bring the guards—you can hear them faintly calling your name—right to you.

Uncle takes your hand. His eyes are bright, sad. “Kostilus,” he says slowly—perhaps—using the language of Old Valyria the way he does whenever he wants to voice something fond, something gentle and warm. “Kostilus daor. Jēda ivestrilus.” Perhaps not. Time will tell.

That is not good enough. That is not nearly good enough—but what can you or he do? If Papa has decreed that Uncle must leave, then he must, for he is the King. There is nothing to be done. Nothing at all.

Before you even realise it, you’ve thrown your arms around him, burrowing as close as you can get. He smells the same—of salt and smoke and love love love. “Aōma ozmijīnna, kepus.” I will miss you, Uncle.

Instead of replying, he just hugs you tight, so tight that your ribs ache and you think you can feel his pulse against your skin, even through so many layers of fabric and leather. You can barely breathe from the force of it. It doesn’t matter. You try to carve out a space in your mind for the memory of this moment, this single point in time where he is here and you are loved and the rest is trivial.

But, like all good things, it comes to an end. He pulls away. He stares at you, almost as though he means to say something. He doesn’t. He cups your cheek, and then he stands. He walks back to Varlet. He mounts his horse.

The grief of it bursts from you like an almighty cannon, wrenching with heaving, painful gulps. It surges with loud, ringing sobs, your nose stoppered up so wholly that you cannot breathe, so much so that it blocks out all sound, all feeling. You do not hear any last words. You do not hear the gate open. You do not hear the striking of hooves on the ground as Uncle Daemon rides away, getting smaller, past the gate, out of reach, going, going…

Gone.

It will not be long before the guards are drawn to you by the sound of your tears. It will not be long before they march you back inside. It will not be long before you must sidestep a crumpled Targaryen banner in the entry of the Great Hall, before you are brought into the grasp of Papa and ’Nyra, before you are made to listen to their panicked reproaching.

“Don’t ever run off like that again!” Papa will cry out, grabbing you by the shoulders with unsteady, shaking hands. He will loom over you, an expression battling between relief and anger playing out over his grey face. “We thought… we thought…”

“It does not matter what we thought, Father,” ’Nyra will say, lips tipped up in a smile despite her wet eyes and dishevelled hair. “All that matters is that she’s safe.”You will wonder why she appears so untidy, but there will be no time to ask.

As the High Septon performs the ceremony, as ’Nyra and Laenor repeat their vows in stunned, shaking voices, you will stand beside Alicent, in front of Papa. And, after your sister kisses her new husband on the cheek, Papa will collapse to the ground, knocking you lightly on the way. Alicent and ’Nyra and Lord Lyonel and Lord Corlys will crouch to his aid, booming voices clamouring for the guards to fetch help. Papa will be taken out of the hall on a pallet, speedily dispatched to his chambers for tending to by the maesters. Everyone will rush about, fretful beyond measure for the King’s health, while you are overlooked once more.

You will find yourself staring at the discarded banner of your House, the red of the dragon darker, deeper, like blood. You will feel a twisting in your belly at the sight. You will return to your rooms where it is dark, where you are alone, and you will ready yourself for sleep with no joy for the day that is to greet you when next you wake.

All of this will happen.But right now—here, on the steps leading to the courtyard which leads to the city which leads to a world far, far out of reach—you will watch the gate, wondering if Uncle will change his mind, waiting for him to come back.

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femdomlieeh · 6 months

Text

Wearing a skirt for you pt. 2 (m)

Sub!Seventeen (maknae line) x Dom!GF!Reader

WARNINGS—boys wearing skirts/dresses ✧ dom/sub dynamics ✧ praise ✧ degradation ✧ name-calling ✧ pet names (master, mistress, mommy, baby boy, kitten/kitty, prince/princess)

NOW PLAYING—Bounce Back ✧ Little Mix

SCENARIO—GF asks them if they can wear/try on a skirt

A/N. Hyung line ver.

M.LISTS—random idols ✧ latest updates ✧ read on wp

✧ ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ✧ ੈ ✧

이석민 / dk / dokyeom / seokmin

He would be such a cute, blushy baby boy when he heard your request. He'd choke on his strawberry milk and ask you to repeat what you said in case he was hallucinating or heard you wrong. When you confirmed you really wanted to see him in a dress or skirt he would be as pink as his drink. His wonderful smile would be on display for you because he had been curious about this stuff for a while.

"C-Can you say that again, Mommy?" he asked with a nice voice.

"Don't you think you would look so so pretty in a skirt/dress?"

"M-M-Maybe. I can try one for you, Mommy," he stuttered with red cheeks and a huge smile covered by a hand out of embarrassment.

He will get more comfortable with it overtime but it will never fail to make him blush and feel cute.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧...✧...✧✧✧✧✧

김민규 / mingyu

Mingyu would be so blushy. Big boy wouldn't know what to say. Were you trying to give him a heartattack? He was never one to be embarrassed, but he would be red when you said what you said. He liked feeling small in your presence. He liked being humiliated by you. He liked getting orders from you. With no doubt he'd put on a skirt/dress for you too.

"Who are you?"

"Your slut," he whispered.

"Louder."

"I'm Mommy's little slut," he moaned as he felt your hand go up his naked thigh under the skirt.

This one is a bit shy about making moves or doing anything without your orders, so you'll have to bring it up if you want to see him wearing anything like that in the future. But don't worry, he's just waiting for you to tell him and he'll put on a matching set of a crop top and short skirt for you.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧...✧...✧✧✧✧

徐明浩 / the8 / minghao

Minghao wears crop tops sometimes so it wouldn't be too out of his comfort zone to try on a skirt/dress. He would feel more comfortable putting on a skirt/dress if you asked him to do so because then he knows you're into that or at least curious and interested — he wouldn't take the first step though just in case you didn't like it. But he's been waiting for this and is therefore prepared and has a sexy skirt hiding in his closet already.

"Can I wear one of your skirts/dresses, Mami?" he batted his eyelashes innocently.

"Of course."

He went to your room and when he came out you didn't expect to see him in stockings too.

"Dirty Kitty."

This will become regular. He will surprise you in your skirt or new skirts and pair them with crop tops, thigh highs and garters etc. And whenever he's feeling like a bad kitten he will send you nudes with your favourite skirt on.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧...✧...✧✧✧

부승관 / seungkwan

Seungkwan would do anything for a kiss even if it's something he doesn't quite get yet like wearing a skirt/dress. But he was the goodest boy for you after all so he would try with an open mind. He'd be pretty nervous though, because he'd want to be pretty for his Mommy so it's important to encourage him with your support, love and kisses. Praise your Babyboy and he'll be even gooder — if possible.

"Do I get more kissies, Mommy?" he gave you puppy eyes and puckered up his lips.

Who were you to deny this precious angel?

His face brightened up and he happily put on the feminine clothing item.

"Do I look pretty for you, Mommy?"

He'll surprise you with a cute skirt or dress every now and then when he's missed you extra much, or if he's in deep need of your attention. Give him your love, he deserves it.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧...✧...✧✧

최한솔 / vernon / hansol

He would try to joke around a bit to lighten up the mood or try to hide his real feelings about it. In reality he would be so damn shy about it, because it might've been something he'd seen in a dirty clip or pic before. And he maybe had a thought about surprising you in a crop top one night (taking baby steps) before you even asked him to put on the skirt/dress. He would be grateful he was in a relationship where you were comfortable enough with each other to try new things.

"You look cute," you played with the edge of his skirt.

"T-Thank you, Mommy," he stuttered and blushed.

He will not be shy to introduce new sides of himself. You two will make mental lists of things you want to try out because you know you can trust each other and have fun.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧...✧...✧

이찬 / dino / chan

He would shake his head and be against it the exact moment it came out of your mouth. This brat would decline in a bad manner too. He wasn't that unholy, right? But he only acted bratty because he wants you to be meaner to him. If he heard your stern tone he would put on a skirt/dress it in a split second. Although the idea of using skirts/dresses isn't the sexiest thing he could think of, he certainly wouldn't mind giving you a lapdance with one on, it would be a win-win situation.

"Nope."

"Put it on. Now," you used the voice he didn't dare go against.

"Yes, Mommy."

Putting on a dress/skirt as you edge him will be his go-to punishment if he misbehaves — which happens often — because it's a bit humiliating to him. But he'll enjoy it more than he'd like to admit.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧...✧...

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wrotethisat12 · 7 months

Text

Old habits

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

request:

Hiya! Is it possible for you to do a y/n x Natasha where y/n sometimes gets teased by her teammates as a joke . The result for that is that she ends up throwing up what they eat this started at a young age aswell so its like a relapse ❣️

can you include Natasha also seeing sh scars and she gets worried but y/n has been clean for a while so they tell her that.

Thank you!

Length: medium?

Tw: pûrg!ng, mentions of past s3lf harm, eat1ng d1sorders, mention of fire (metaphorically), ummm a comment about somebody’s ass at the beginning too.

this can be interpreted as either platonic or romantic, I didn’t specify the relationship. Not proofread.

please if you ever feel like this I have open dms and open arms I’m here for you, please find some help.

“Ooh, you’ve got some ass to grab, L/n!”

You tried to hide your flinch. They don’t know. They didn’t mean it. Calm down. You kept running, ignoring the comment of your teammate, who was sitting on the edge of the field with sweaty hair and a Nalgene water bottle. I am beautiful. I am healthy. I am loved. You repeated the affirmations that your therapist, Miriam, had taught you.

By the time you had finished your laps, most of the burning wildfire in your head from the comment was gone. You sat down next to your teammates and laughed with them, drinking your water.

“Hey.” Natasha, a fiery redhead, had finished her laps and sat down next to you. The two of you had never been close, having just met each other this year, but she seemed pretty nice. You turned towards her.

“Guess I beat you this time,” you said.

“this time.”

when the rest of the team finished running, one of you ordered pizza, and you all ate it next to the field.

nononono don’t- you took a bite of it, eyes nervously glancing around to see if anybody had noticed your struggle.

No one. Good.

after dinner, you took your time in the locker room, making sure that you were the last to leave. Before you left, you went into one of the bathroom stall and, as quietly as you could, rid your body of its dinner.

———

Nat’s pov:

through the rest of the week, Natasha noticed a change in you. You could never finish your laps before her, often ending last, you avoided everybody, and you always left last. She was beyond worried.

one night, she decided to stay late to see what was happening. She stood on the toilet seat of the far right stall, where no one ever went because of an unsavory amount of spiders, and peeked through the crack. She saw you step out of a shower and walk into a stall. Then, after a minute or two, she heard gagging noises.

Oh no. She realized what you were doing and the blood drained from her face. She rushed into your stall, which you had not bothered to close. Powerless to stop you, she kneeled behind you and hers your hair back, a hand on your shaking back.

Your pov:

this had become a routine. Soccer, dinner, food, purge. This Friday, as usual, you had done the regular pattern, and now you were here, bent over the toilet again.

a hand pulled your hair away from your face and then a matching one settled on your back. Who the fu- when you were done, you pulled your head away from the toilet shakily.

a pair of green eyes looked at you, forehead tight-knit with worry. Natasha grabbed a piece of toilet paper and wiped off your mouth. After that, you leaned against the side of the stall. Natasha did the same, wrapping her arm around your body, which was still shaking.

“so… you wanna tell me what’s going on?” Natasha asked.

“I… I did this a lot, back in middle school and high school. But my parents found out when I was fifteen, and they made me go to therapy. I got better. But now…”

“so… what happened?”

“Carol and Maria… you know how they kind of hit on everyone on the team?”

Natasha nodded.

“so…” your cheeks heated up from embarrassment and shame. “They made a comment about… me having more butt than I used to…” tears started to slip from your eyes, and you expected Natasha to walk away.

surprisingly, she did no such thing. She pulled you into her chest, where you sobbed unapologetically.

When you were done, you sat up straight again.

“I’m taking you out to dinner,” Natasha told you, “and you’re gonna stay with me the whole time after, okay?”

you nodded and stood up to wash your hands and rinse out your mouth. When you reached the sink, you rolled up your sleeves.

you heard a gasp from Natasha. She ran over to you and made you sit down on a bench by the lockers.

“are these new?!” She asked, gently holding your forearms in her soft hands. “Please, are you cutting yourself?” Her hands were shaking, as well as her voice.

“Don’t worry, Nat. I’m not cutting, I’ve been clean for two years now.” You hugged her.

“Okay… thank god… and I’m proud of you. For two years. My sister had a struggle with self harm, and… it was really bad, to see her like that.”

“I understand… I promise, Nat, I’ll try to get better.”

you washed your hands, picked a restaurant, and drove off in Natty’s car.

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thepixelelf · 8 months

Text

Oh Baby, You Part 25 - Completely Surrounded

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You wonder, absently, if hearing the word "dividends" for the fifth time in ten minutes constitutes an emergency signal. Certainly, Jeonghan has heard the word an uncountable amount of times in his years as Mingyu's assistant, but to you, it's nothing rousing.

Choi Seungcheol seems like a nice enough person— well, if you were someone who didn't know he's asked someone out purely to squeeze information out of them. (Which he's doing a terrible job of, by the way, seeing as he's done 90% of the talking since you sat down.) He's good looking, in the guy you'd ask to chop wood for you kind of way (although the three piece suit detracts from that a bit and adds a more you can't afford me aura to his whole thing), plus he offered to buy your drink before he realized you'd already ordered.

But it's just so… awkward. You already know he's not actually interested in you, and you're so tense trying to keep all your secrets under wraps that you can only focus on what not to say rather than what to say.

At least part of what you're going to tell Seungcheol is true. You really do think you're not ready to get back into the dating game. It's not just that you need to keep everyone at arm's length — you're already skirting the rules enough with Vernon and Co. You've also thrown yourself so deep into raising your son that no one has even remotely caught your romantic eye. Or maybe that part of you is broken now. Retired.

You keep telling yourself that you're over Wonwoo and the unfortunate circumstances that tore you apart.

Sometimes it's not a lie.

It's not very nice, you know, to compare Seungcheol to Wonwoo. To think about how you miss the easy way you could always speak to each other; how Wonwoo used to let out these nerdy yet adorable chuckles; how he could make you laugh with just a side eye.

Then again, it's not very nice of Seungcheol to do this to you, either. Both the not-so-subtle interrogation tactic and the stocks talk.

As soon as your phone vibrates with an incoming call, though, you instantly regret wishing for an out.

No news is good news when it comes to babysitting, and a call from Vernon with no precursory text—?

Your heartbeat picks up.

"I'm sorry," you say, completely cutting off whatever Seungcheol was going on about. "I need to take this." Without a second more of hesitation, you bring your phone up to your ear. "Vernon? What's going on?"

He speaks quickly. "Have you talked to Chan?"

"No." You frown, one of your fingers tapping nervously against your leg. "Why?"

"Fuck…"

"Vernon," you repeat. "What is going on?"

"Okay—" Vernon takes a deep breath, and the words flow out of him so fast, you struggle to keep up. "So I had to go pick up my little sister because she found herself in a bad spot so I left Chan with Orion because he's a fully capable human being most of the time except when I picked Sofia up I texted him that I was coming back and he didn't answer at all and didn't pick up the phone when Seungkwan and I tried to call and now I just made it back to your apartment and Chan's car is gone and neither of them are in the room and I don't know what the fuck is—"

"They're gone?" you whisper. Your fingers have wrapped around a napkin, gripping onto it much too tight. Across the table, Seungcheol furrows his thick brows as he observes you, but you can't find it in yourself to keep up any sort of facade right now.

Vernon groans, and you can picture him running a nervous hand through his hair. "I don't know— I don't… wait."

"What?"

"Seungkwan said he might've found Chan's phone GPS location?"

You make a confused noise. "How?"

"I don't know," Vernon says, "but he said they're at the hospital?"

You stand abruptly, the legs of your chair screeching as they scrape against the floor. "The hospital?!"

"I'm gonna head there now." Vernon's starting to sound out of breath, not far off from how you feel despite not moving anywhere. "Do you want me to pick you up? But wait— that café is on the other side of town—"

"You go," you tell him, more concerned with finding Orion and Chan faster than you needing to be the one to find them. "I'll find my own—" You glance outside at the traffic flooding by. "Maybe a bus, or—"

"I'll drive you."

Turning back to Seungcheol, you see nothing in his expression except for concern. Your first thought is that he shouldn't look concerned. He should be smug. An opportunity to see your son in person has fallen right into his lap.

But you're anxious. And scared.

So you take him up on his offer.

You say nothing for the duration of the ride to the hospital, silently stewing over the idiotic choice to bring CEO Choi with you. It wasn't like you had many options, but still…

You ignore all of Jeonghan's frantic texts.

When Seungcheol pulls up in front of the building, you step out of the car so quickly that you almost trip. Before you swing the fancy car door shut, you lean down and give him a genuine smile. This is the perfect opportunity to leave him behind. "Thank you," you say. "For the ride."

The fact that there's a line to the front counter of the emergency room makes your heart clench painfully in your chest, but no sooner do you run up to the queue than you hear your son calling out to you. Frantically, you turn this way and that, until you see Orion sitting, perfectly unharmed, on Wonwoo's lap in the waiting area.

"Orion!" You hurry over to them, your hands immediately cupping Orion's face and brushing through his hair to check for anything amiss. He looks completely fine, as opposed to Wonwoo, whom you refuse to make eye contact with.

His eyes are watering at the edges, and he looks at you like you took his world and crushed it between your evil fingers.

You did, once upon a time.

Gathering Orion in your arms and standing up straight, you press a kiss to his forehead and pat his hair. "You okay, baby?"

He nods, attempting to fit half of his fist in his mouth. You can't help but laugh, relief flooding your veins as it settles in that your son is alright.

Which means…

You look at Wonwoo, despite every cell in your body begging you not to. "What happened?" you ask. "Where's Chan?"

And why are you here? But you don't say that.

Slowly, Wonwoo stands, his eyes never leaving yours. He's trying to read you, his lips pressed in a thin line, his arms limp at his sides as he stands right in front of you.

It's unnerving, and it makes you take half a step backwards.

Wonwoo takes one sideways glance at Orion before his eyes return to yours. "Tell me it's not him," he whispers, voice strained.

You try to brush it off with a breathy laugh. "What? What do you mean?"

This is why you didn't want Wonwoo to see Orion again. You know exactly what he means.

Wonwoo whispers your name like it hurts him to pronounce. It hurts you, too, but you push it all deep, deep down.

"Please," he says. "Please, just… If it was anyone else…"

"Is everything alright?" Seungcheol's voice appears behind you, and you instinctively hug Orion closer, hiding his face against your shoulder. He snuggles up without complaint, completely unaware of the turmoil happening around him.

You break away from Wonwoo's unwavering gaze, only slightly thankful for the reprieve considering the other option is a power-hungry CEO vying for your friend's position in their company.

"When did you—"

"Orion!" Vernon bursts into the waiting room, out of breath and sweating. He jogs right up to you and your son, and he pats his hand on Orion's head. "You okay little buddy?"

Orion shifts in your arms, moving to lift his head and answer, but in your panic, you gently hold him in place. Seungcheol is too close for comfort, and frankly, you don't want Wonwoo seeing Orion's face either.

Wonwoo says your name again, beckoning your attention, just as Seungcheol asks, "What happened?"

Vernon looks between the two men, and pauses on Seungcheol. "Wait, aren't you—?"

"Guys?" Chan emerges from somewhere. You're too disoriented at this point to tell. "What's going on?"

He joins the group, and you can't even chastise him for the dumb shit he did to land you in this situation because your blood is pumping so hard you can hear it in your eardrums. You're completely surrounded, all by people who don't know—

Once again, Wonwoo says your name, but this time he speaks clearly, loud enough for the three other men to go quiet and look at him even though the only one he's looking at is you. He reaches a hand up, and you're frozen in place as he places it gently on your cheek. The touch alone makes you want to cry.

"Tell me," he begs. "Tell me it's not Mingyu."

The silence that fills the space between you is solid and thick. It threatens to drown you.

"I…" You open your mouth, but it's suddenly dry. "I…"

You hear Seungcheol breathe out behind you.

"I have to go."

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oby tagging 1, 50/50: @shiningstar-byulxx @shuabby-woowoo @90s-belladonna @xavi-in-kpopland @kachren @xmessaroundx @chwevernonlover @kwanisms @dalamjisung @1ntaktak @crazywittysassy @butterfliesinthenightsky @ddaengpotate @dorrysstuff @ckline35 @vanishingboots @potatofrieswithketchup @minhwa @oncecaratorbit @sugacookees @royal9 @doodlelibrary @myjaeyunn @yksthings @jundundun @amosmortese @jaeskz @seungmintree @woozarts @my-chaos-in-stars @yoonychoik @ksywoo @kellesvt @candidupped @sharkipoonis @wooahaeproductions @capsiclesworld @hellodefthings @sunshineshouchan @calumsfringe @caratinluv @pinkysinnerbaby @winterwallacehenderson @jvhoons @woo8hao @sxftiell @wondering-out-loud

#seventeen smau #seventeen social media au #svt smau #svt social media au #wonwoo smau #wonwoo social media au #jeon wonwoo smau #jeon wonwoo social media au #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #svt scenarios #svt imagines #svt x reader #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios

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amariemelody · 19 days

Text

So I finally got the courage to get my hearing aids today and...

Holy shit, I cannot overstate how much I cried and cried and cried and in sheer awe in my audiologist's office.

(Long story short, I've had mild-to-quite-moderate hearing issues since...as long as I can remember. It took me a metric shit ton of courage (and a steady job for the money, once again Fuck U.S Healthcare) to admit I needed and deserved help. I could still feel the stigma, but didn't need to give in to it. My audiologist has been endlessly patient with me as I mulled this big, big decision these past few months.)

(Con't.: To confirm my bravery, I asked my audiologist if there were pink hearing aids available, and if so could she order them for me. She squealed with enthusiasm and promised me she would do so. So I got the pink hearing aids. They are a beautiful soft rose-colored pink and my audiologist ooh'd and aww'd for me as she fitted them over my ears.)

So...yeah.

It was...kinda-sorta uncomfortable when my audiologist (I'll call her Em) turned them on because there was initially static and then everything Sounded Fucking Different And Too Loud And Is That The Air Conditioner, Why.

The first thing I heard with my new hearing aids was Em's voice asking me how I was hearing things and how I felt.

She smiled big because I know my eyes popped wide. Em's and everything else in her office sounded so crisp and clear and amazing. For the very first time in my life, I could make out consonants.

She turned down the volume for me when I asked and reassured me this would be a huge adjustment for my life and we'd be making follow-up visits to continue to monitor and titrate the hearing aids as needed.

But during the appointment today my hearing aids have felt overwhelmingly new but perfect.

So I only had to ask her to repeat something about 1x instead of my usual average of 2-3x, sometimes up to 4x.

I almost immediately started crying and Em automatically put the tissue box near me. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose and...

I found that I hate the sound of blowing my nose. So, so loud and unpleasant.

But tissue...makes a sound when you crinkle it/rub it together.

Tissue makes the most amazing crhh-shh-crhh-cruhh sound when you rub it together.

I kept rubbing it and rubbing it and crinkling it and crinkling it and Em just smiled, smiled, smiled in delight for me.

Some things...I found I didn't like with my new hearing aids. I don't like the elevator. I don't like doors because they may creak. I don't like the sound of driving and the traffic outside (it's like...a roar present in the background?).

But I love, love, love the sound of my blinker (I didn't know it had a sound!!!). I love the sound of people's voices that I've been listening to for a long time sounding crisp and clear. I love the sound of my purse when I rub the side. I love the sound of birds chirping. I love the sound of the elevator button when I press it.

Just...guys.

Tissue makes a sound when you rub it together. And birds chirp and squeak all day.

It's like...hearing color for the first time. You get to have the world's color in your ears for the first time, like most everybody else.

It's all loud and clear as thunder, but oh what a beautiful thunder.

#I am legit tearing up #(Again)#Amarie talks #Disability #Accessibility

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whumpshaped · 4 months

Text

prompt by @whumpingaround and also tagging @writinggremlin bc u asked to be tagged i hope its ok

tw no holds barred beatdown, dehumanisation, captivity, kidnapping mention, threat of death

Whenever Whumpee was left in the dark about what they had done wrong, it was always more difficult to bear the punishment for it. And with Whumper absolutely refusing to speak a language they understood, that was most of the times they got punished.

It was their fault, really — at least they tried to tell themself that. If only they had put more effort into listening when Caretaker tried to teach them some common words, maybe they could've avoided a beating like this. Even now, as Whumper continued yelling and calling them names, Whumpee could only pick out a few of the insults.

Stupid. Mutt. Bitch.

Those were impossible to forget. Whumpee had heard them repeated every single day since their captivity had started. They didn't make anything easier; they could pick up on Whumper's anger through tone of voice and number of lashes alone, they didn't need to know what sort of vitriol they were spewing at any given moment.

What they needed were the commands, the ones more complex than heel or sit. Sometimes Whumper asked them things and all they could do was stare like a deer in headlights, petrified of saying the wrong thing. They usually said nothing at all, which proved to be at least half-effective, with Whumper laughing it off whenever they were in a good mood. They weren't in a good mood today.

Once they were a bloody, broken pulp, Whumper stepped away and let out a heavy sigh. They said something quite full of disdain before leaving, but Whumpee had no idea what, and in times like this, they desperately wanted to know. They wanted to understand. They wanted a chance to avoid this happening again.

They had no idea how long they'd spent lying there before they heard footsteps. They closed their eyes and prayed it was anyone but Whumper, and they knew they were listened to when their saviour spoke in English.

“That’s the last time you’ll ever forget your Spanish lesson, huh?" Caretaker. "Don't even answer. I know you'll keep doing this to yourself."

Whumpee managed a quiet whine, and Caretaker's diapproving expression softened into something more understanding.

"I know," they said gently, walking over to kneel by Whumpee's mess of a body. They put the first-aid kit on the floor and opened it, taking some cotton swabs and a bottle of disinfectant. "It's unfair. You hate it. 'Why don't they learn English if they want to order me around so badly?'"

Well, that was pretty accurate. It was unfair, and Whumpee did hate it. They hissed when Caretaker touched the wound above their eyebrow, and they hushed them.

"You have to understand, Whumpee. They've been doing this for decades. They're convinced that someone's gonna take them out any day now, with how notorious they've become. They're brushing up on their gunmanship, not their language skills."

"Why– why not take a dog that speaks Spanish, then...?" they whimpered. "I– I don't know what they want, I don't understand–"

"Because the dog that happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time unfortunately didn't have an no hablo español jacket on. Maybe they would've thought twice, then." Caretaker pulled their hand back, and Whumpee had the feeling that behind the dumb jokes, they were concerned about something.

"What?" they asked anxiously.

"They really don't think they have long left, you know. They're getting paranoid, they lose their temper a lot... They're getting trigger-happy."

Whumpee swallowed. "It's– it's not like that's my fault," they choked out.

"No. But maybe you should work on giving them as little reason to shoot as possible."

#whump #whump drabble #crack whump #no holds barred beatdown #dehumanisation #captivity #kidnapping mention #threat of death

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21aurora · 10 months

Note

Hiii! So I saw your eunhyeok post and loved it! (This is my first time requesting btw) I was wondering if you could write a fic of eunhyeok having a crush on reader except he’s very shy

My secret crush | go eunhyeok

Eunhyeok pov:

I like y/n for a long time. We are friends but not close. Every time I try to get close to her, confess to her, or ask her to go out on a date, something stops me, I stay in my place, I can't move , and all I do is watching her and smile like an idiot .

I even knew everything about her, her birthday, her close friends, everything she likes and everything she hates, and her favorite drink is chocolate milk. Sometimes I buy it for her and I can't give it to her and back off .

even on her previous birthday, I bought her a gift and I didn't give it to her. I think about her a lot, as if she is controlling me, but I really can't take any step, I'm afraid of rejecting me, and this is not because I don't have self-confidence, on the contrary, but I'm afraid that she likes someone else and when I confess I lose her forever .

Her features are very cute that makes me just want to hug her, and her personality is simple, gentle and kind with everyone, she cares about everyone around her, brave and smart, even her small flaws I love them , her mess and spontaneity sometimes.

while I am immersed in thinking while I am walking in the school corridor I noticed her presence in the music room , She plays the piano, I kept watching her from the outside as usual, until I found that she could not make a certain tune, despite my hesitation, I decided to help her .

" H ... Hey y/n do you need help?" I said after approaching her.. " Hey Eunhyeok, yes please, I'm playing this note but I don't know what I do wrong "

" Let me see. " I sat down next to her in front of the piano, and she shifted a little to sit make space to me to ." Which part exactly do you mean?" She told me which part she meant . “Well, start from the beginning and I will see what do you do wrong.”

She started to play, her playing was not bad, on the contrary, I enjoyed it, I focused with her hand to see what she was doing wrong, and when she reached the required part, I moved closer to her and held her hand and put my fingers on top of her fingers on the piano in order to guide her, she smells like lavender, I wished I could stay this close for a longer period But the presto ended after about a minute. And she kept repeating it until she knows how to play it. Her playing was beautiful, but her eyes were more beautiful as she smiled and thanked me for her help.

" Thank you Eunhyeok, I don't know how to return the favor " " you are really cute "

When I heard her say that, my face almost exploded from the heat, I could hear my heartbeat, I couldn't believe she saw me like that, "You're cute too y/n " And I found that this was the perfect time to ask her for a date, if I missed this opportunity I wouldn't be able to Do it later .

I collect my courage and looked to her eyes and said to her" W ..Would you mind going out on a date with me? " ..

She looked at me with an expression that was unreadable to me as if she was trying to comprehend what just happened. After a few moments of silence, I felt embarrassed and said, "If you don't want to, consider that I didn't say anything." I stood up and hurried to leave, “No, no, wait, Eunhyeok.” She held my hand and looked at her.

" I'd love to " " I just was surprised that you like me too "

I felt as if my heart was going to fly out of my chest from the feelings that hit me now, and trying to realize that the person she had a crush on was me.

I smiled and didn't say anything and she also kept like this for a few moments looking at each other, until I found her standing on her tiptoes and kissing me on my cheek and ran outside, I touched my face where she kissed me, and I stayed in my place, smiling and blushing.

#fanfic #x reader #webtoon #webtoon x reader #pure love operation #operation: true love x reader #operation true love #go eunhyeok xreader #go eunhyuk x reader #go eunhyeok #go eunhyuk #eunhyeok x reader #eunhyuk x reader #otl x reader

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vodika-vibes · 5 months

Note

May I request the „I want you“ „then come and get me“ for delta squad’s Boss? Maybe while he’s doing some late night sparring with the reader? And perhaps smutty?🫣

💖💖

Training Session

Summary: You've had a bad day, and decide to work out your frustrations on a punching bag, Boss, however, has different plans.

Pairing: Clone Commando Boss x F!Reader

Word Count: 2164

Warnings: Smut. Smut with plot.

Tagging: @trixie2023

A/N: So, Wookieepedia says that Boss is "Taciturn", which I took to mean quiet and intense. I really want to write a letter to the Star Wars people and ask for a detailed personality profiles of all the clones. Just. "Dear sir or madam, please write a complete personality profile for all 2 million clones. Yes. All of them. Thanks." Anyway! This isn't so much sparring, because I wasn't sure how to write that, but I hope this is okay?

Divider by Saradika

Your fist slams into the bag over and over again. You’re long past the point of trying to improve your form, right now you’re just trying to exhaust yourself to the point where you can sleep without nightmares.

A tall order, you’re sure, but anything is better than laying in bed and watching the men you serve with die over and over again in your dreams. Your nightmare flashes to the front of your mind again, and you grit your teeth as you slam your bare fist into the bag even harder than before.

If you cared, you would have grabbed a glove from the box against the wall…or even grabbed some tape to protect your knuckles. But you don’t care. Can’t bring yourself to care.

At this point you’re probably going to break your fist…and you can’t help but wonder if that will help you feel a little better.

You go to slam your fist into the bag again, only for a strong arm to shoot past your head to tightly grip your wrist, holding you still. “You’re going to break your hand.”

Boss’ voice is low and stern, and while normally you would apologize for being in his way, and existing in his space, because the gym is his space, tonight you can’t seem to bring yourself to care.

You try to tug your wrist free, and fail spectacularly, “Do you always manhandle people, sir?” You ask through gritted teeth.

“I do when they’re acting recklessly.” He counters.

You hiss under your breath, and use your long, almost forgotten, self-defense lessons to try and twist out of his grip.

All you manage, though, is turning your body so you’re face to chest with Boss. You glower up at him, and he arches an unimpressed brow, “Nice try.”

“Well, not everyone can have superior fighting abilities.” You snap as you uselessly try to try your wrist from his grip.

“You’re a Doctor, you don’t need superior fighting abilities,” He mocks your words with an inflection that you’ve never heard from him before.

“I should still know how to defend myself,” You snap, without thinking about it.

“Can you?” Boss asks.

“Can I what?”

“Defend yourself.”

Your face burns with anger and embarrassment, and you turn your head away from him, “I do just fine.” You retort, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in your voice.

His gaze is even, and you bristle under his gaze. Stupid judgemental genetically perfect man. With his stupid perfect hair, and his stupid perfect face and his stupid perfect voice-

“Punch my hand.” Boss’ comment interrupts your mental triade, and you blink up at him, genuinely startled, not even noticing that he released your wrist.

“What?”

“Punch my hand.” He repeats, his gaze serious.

“I am not punching you!” You blurt, eyes wide.

His eyes narrow, “What are you going to do if clankers get by me or my brothers and make it to your medical tent?”

“I’ll…die. Probably.” You retort honestly.

He scowls, “Unacceptable. Punch my hand.”

“Why?!”

“I want to see your form. Just do it.”

“I…you…that’s…” You throw your hands up, “Ugh! You’re such a…a guy sometimes!” You snap, “Fine! Fine. I’ll punch your hand.”

You do as you said you would, though it’s not anywhere close to being a proper punch. And Boss recognizes that. He closes his hand around your fist, “Try again. And do it properly this time. You can’t hurt me.”

“You know, when you say stuff like that it makes me want to hurt you,” You grouse.

“Good. Maybe you’ll take this seriously.”

“Oh, come on! Why do you even care?”

“You’re a medic. My medic. And you’re my responsibility. But I won’t always be there to protect you. So you have to learn to defend yourself.” Boss replies, his voice short and matter of fact.

“Okay, so, first of all. I’m not your medic-”

“Yes,” He interrupts, “You are.” Boss’ gaze is intense, and your words die on your tongue, “Try again.”

This time, when you slam your fist into the palm of his hand, it’s a proper punch, though it’s a little clumsy. In your defense, you’ve not taken a self defense class since you were a child.

“Better. Again,”

You sigh and punch his fist again, and again, and again.

And then, when you’re about to punch his fist again, “Why are you awake, anyway?”

You stumble in surprise, your fist glancing off the palm of his hand and hitting his chest, “I…sorry.”

“You’re fine.” Boss says quietly.

You hesitate, and shrug, “It’s dumb.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I kept going over everything that happened today and what I did wrong, and…” You shrug, “Sometimes I think you all would be better off with a better doctor.” You punch his fist again.

“You saved half of my brothers today.” Boss points out, closing his hand around your fist to make you look at him. “They’d be dead if you weren’t here.”

“Or maybe more of them would be unhurt with a different doctor.” You point out.

“No. I don’t agree.” Boss says, opening his hand as you pull your fist back, “You know, I chose you, right?”

“Chose me?” You ask.

“Of all of the natborn medics in the GAR, I picked you.” Boss confirms, “Because of your skillset, because you refused to be cowed when one of my brothers yelled at you, because you were polite in spite of us being clones.”

“You’re still men.” You say with a sigh, “Everyone else is just dumb.”

His lips quirk up until a small, amused, smile. “Maybe.”

“Not maybe, definitely.” You shift your weight onto your heels, “I didn’t know that you picked me.”

“I did. And I keep picking you. Everytime we get the option for another doctor.”

“I just don’t get why.”

He folds his hands behind his back, “It’s easy.” You’re pretty sure he stands at attention when he’s trying to mask his emotions, and it works really well, “I want you.”

“Like…in what way?” You ask as your stomach flips nervously.

“In every way that matters. Romantically. Sexually. Platonically. All of them.” Whatever you were expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. “But I’ll go at your pace.” He continues, “And if you’re not interested at all, then that’s fine too.”

“You want me.” Your voice is low, thoughtfully.

“Yes.” He doesn’t even sound remotely embarrassed about it.

“Okay then,” You reply slowly, “Okay.” You flash a small, impish, smile, “Then come and get me.”

His hands fall to his sides, and he smiles, something slow and predatory, and you feel arousal shoot down to your very core.

He advances on you, and you lightly hook your fingers around the collar of his shirt and you walk backwards until your back hits the wall. Boss cages you between his arms and his lips crash against yours, his kiss both hot and demanding.

You moan into the kiss, and your hands slide down his chest to slip under the top of his blacks. His muscles jump under your touch, and you know, immediately, that you want more.

So you tug on the hem of his shirt, and pull away from his kiss just enough to speak, “Off.” You order, or plead. You’re not sure.

Boss groans, low and deep, in the back of his throat, “Yes, ma’am.” He replies, his voice a low rumble that you feel all the way down to your bones. He pulls away long enough to grab the collar of his shirt, and he pulls it off in one smooth motion.

Your hands are immediately on his chest, smoothing over hard planes, and lightly tracing the raised skin of the scars dotting his body. He melts into your touch, and his lips find purchase against your jaw, your throat, your neck, your shoulder-

Boss’ hands burn a trail down your sides, up your back, and then back down over your plush rear. And then, to your surprise, he sinks to his knees in front of you. He looks up at you as he slowly slides your leggings down your legs.

You set your hands on his shoulders for balance as you step out of the clingy material, and you shiver as he kisses your hip and then lazily trails his tongue down your outer thigh. And you can feel yourself getting more and more wet with every passing second.

“Boss…” his name falls from your lips in a soft moan, more of a sigh than actual words.

You feel him smile against your leg, and then he lifts one of your legs and sets it on his shoulder, and he turns his head to press a soothing kiss against your inner thigh. And then he turns his gaze to the junction of your thighs, and he releases a deep sigh of pleasure.

His hand slides up the back of your leg and you jolt when you feel his finger pressed against you through your underwear. “You’re so wet,” Boss murmurs as he leans in and presses a light, lingering kiss over the wet spot on your underwear, “Is all this for me?”

You card your fingers through his hair, “Wasn’t that the point?” You ask, slightly breathlessly.

Boss’ gaze meets yours, a slightly amused smile lifting his lips, and then he turns his head slightly and kisses your inner thigh again. “Tell me, cyare.” He murmurs against your skin, as his gaze drifts back to your core, “Are you overly fond of these?” He asks as he gestures to the underwear shielding you from his gaze.

“Not especially,” You reply immediately.

“Good.” He grips the material in one hand, and before you realize what he’s planning, he’s managed to tear it off of your body.

Boss drops the shredded cloth to the side, and he presses a hot, open mouthed kiss to your thigh, before he moves and drags his tongue along your wet slit.

Your grip in his hair tightens as you moan, and he groans in return. “You taste amazing,” Boss breathes out as he pulls away for a moment to press a light kiss against your hip, and then he dives right back in, his lips finding the little bundle of nerves that has you seeing stars.

He slides a single finger to your opening, and you release a louder moan. His fingers are so much longer and thicker than your own, and so, when he curls his finger and gives a particularly hard suck on your clit, your legs nearly buckle.

Boss chuckles and he pulls away for a moment to look up at you, “Sensitive, cyare?”

“It’s been awhile.” You admit, your voice slightly breathless. And when he eases a second finger to join the first one, your hips jerk towards him.

He smirks at you, lazily fucking you with his fingers, “You’re so tight, cyare.” Boss says, his voice low, “I have to prep you for my cock.”

You shiver and moan softly.

He twists his hand slightly and flicks his thumb over your clit, pulling a louder moan from you, and then he carefully, very carefully, eases in a third finger to join the first two, and you clench down on his fingers.

He curls his fingers as he fucks you, and his thumb lazily circles your clit in time with his thrusts, and it’s almost too much. You can feel the coil in your abdomen tightening, and you know you just need a little more. “B-Boss, please.” You plead breathlessly.

“Shh. I have you, cyare.” He kisses your hip again, “Going to make you feel amazing,” Boss promises, “And then I’m going to ruin other men for you.” His fingers start moving even faster.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and he grins sharply.

“Cum for me, mesh’la.” He orders, his voice soft but unyielding.

“I-”

“Now.”

And you’re helpless to do anything but obey as he plays your body like a fine tuned instrument. The coil snaps, and you fall apart on his fingers, with the sound of his voice, low and soothing, murmuring praises up to you.

When you come back to yourself, you’re sitting on your knees, and you’re still trembling slightly. Warm hands smooth down your back and sides, and you blink hazily at Boss, “Are you back with me now?” He asks, quietly.

You nod once.

“Use your words, cyare.” His voice is still so gentle, “Are you okay?”

“M’okay.” You mumble.

“Good.” his fingers ghost against your jaw, and then he sets your leggings in your lap, “Put these back on.”

You stare at the pants, and then at him bewildered, “But…you didn’t-?”

He laughs and leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t worry, cyare. I’m not anywhere close to being done with you.” He murmurs, “But I’m not fucking you in here. So get dressed.”

You grin up at him, delight running through you once again. “Yes sir.”

#star wars #tcw #clone commando boss x reader #boss x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #18+ fic #answered asks #clone thirsting

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cecilysass · 29 days

Text

Shine On (4/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 4: The Art of Profiling

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 20, 2015

The pizza that Fox Mulder ordered isn’t from a pizza place Jackson has ever heard of, like Domino’s or Pizza Hut, but it’s really good anyway. Or at least it tastes good to someone who hasn’t eaten all day. Jackson eats the first piece really quickly, then he grabs for a second without thinking, forgetting his manners. When he realizes what he’s done, he hesitates.

“Go for it,” the older man says, his eyes darting sharply back and forth between the pizza and Jackson’s face. “Eat as much as you want.”

Fox Mulder has been acting much more intense ever since Jackson told him about the red-headed lady.

Jackson’s tired, and he has only barely skimmed the surface of the man’s difficult mind, but he can tell that the guy’s stunned by the news. Fox Mulder’s mind is channeling down a dozen different paths right now: fast, mazelike thoughts, like bobsleds going down tracks. A current of sharp worry running through like a winter chill.

It’s honestly exhausting to try to figure out. Jackson closes off the shine for now, takes another big bite of pizza. This sausage is a little spicy, which is exactly how he likes it.

“I have a lot of questions for you,” Fox Mulder says, his voice low. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. But I … gotta ask some of them.”

Jackson nods reluctantly, his mouth full. He doesn’t feel like answering questions at all. Still, he supposes the more he gets out of the way, the better.

“You said you have visions,” the man says, setting his own piece of pizza down. “Do you have other … abilities?”

Jackson studies him cautiously as he finishes chewing his bite of pizza. He’s not in the habit of discussing what he can do. It’s only really ever been trouble when he has, so he’s almost instinctively secretive about it. But things are different now. And Fox Mulder, well, he seems to know all about this kind of thing.

“Yeah,” Jackson says carefully. “I do.”

The man runs his hand over his mouth. Jackson notices he’s only eaten half of his slice of pizza. Either he’s not hungry, or he’s too distracted.

“You can read thoughts,” Fox Mulder guesses, leaning back, speaking with certainty. He folds his hands in front of him. “You can focus on other people’s thoughts. Not just one person, but several at once.”

Jackson sets his slice of pizza down in shock. “How did you know that?”

“You can move objects, too.”

Jackson blinks at him. “I have been able to do that. Some. I could do it easier when I was little.”

“What else?”

“I can, like, change people’s perceptions. What they see. Not for forever, just for a little while. So, if I, like, need a distraction in class or something, I can make the teacher think someone opened the door and mooned us. Stupid stuff like that.”

Fox Mulder looks undeniably fascinated. “Wow,” he says. “Interesting.” He taps his fingers on the table. Jackson doesn’t have to use his shine to see that the man is thinking this over. “So does that mean you could effectively shapeshift? If you wanted to?”

“Yeah,” admits Jackson. “At least I can make other people think I look like someone else.”

“Huh,” the man says, squinting thoughtfully. He tilts his head, looking at Jackson again. “Are you reading my mind right now?”

“No,” Jackson says honestly.

“Why not?”

“I’m tired,” Jackson says. “It’s work, sometimes. And no offense, but you’re kind of complicated and hard.”

Fox Mulder chuckles. “I don’t know if I should take offense at that or not.”

“I did read your mind earlier,” Jackson confesses. “And the red-haired lady …. she was really easy. I hardly had to try with her at all. It was like her thoughts just flew at me. I was wondering if that was because she was my birth mom. Do you think that could be right?”

The man stares at him blankly, not directly answering. “Her name is Dana Scully.”

“Dana Scully,” repeats Jackson.

“Have you ever heard that name before?”

“No,” Jackson says. “I don’t think so.”

“Did your parents tell you anything about your birth parents? Who they were, where you were from?”

“I don’t think they knew anything about them,” Jackson says. “It was a closed adoption.”

Fox Mulder nods, scratching his chin. “Yeah,” he says. It’s like a cloud of sadness has fallen over him. “Yeah, it would have been.” He fixes Jackson with a curious look. “Do you … have any questions for me? About any of this?”

“Uh. Sure.” Jackson looks around the room, slowly, as if the best question to ask might be scrawled on the walls. The faces peering out of the framed photos draw his attention again, but it’s all so much. He looks away, back at the box of pizza in front of them instead. “Is it… okay if I have another slice, Mr. Mulder?”

The man laughs a little, crossing his arms. “You can just call me Mulder.”

“I think I’m eating more than you, Mulder,” Jackson points out seriously. “It doesn’t seem fair. It’s your pizza.”

“I told you, eat as much as you want.”

Jackson feels like he has been polite enough. He shrugs. “Thanks,” Jackson says, taking another slice.

“Jackson,” Mulder says, watching him eat, his voice suddenly too casual. “Do you have any idea who your birth father is?”

Jackson picks up his piece of pizza and studies it, pulling off a particularly delicious-looking piece of sausage and sampling it. “Well,” he says, through a mouthful, “I’ve got a guess. Based on certain clues. But I don’t know for sure.”

“Clues you’ve read in people’s minds? Or clues you’ve noticed?”

Jackson shrugs again. “Both, I guess.” He gives Mulder a look, raising his eyebrows.

There’s a pause.

“What clues?”

“Well, I’m not stupid,” Jackson says matter-of-factly. “That woman, Dana Scully, was here, fighting with you. Lots of big feelings. Then, the way you’re acting now. Like you think I’m a brand new iPhone and you can’t stop looking at me. And how you seem to know things about me. That’s a bunch of clues.”

Mulder has been sitting with his arms crossed, and he hasn’t moved the entire time Jackson’s been talking. But now Jackson can see a tear sprouting in his eye. It surprises him. Wayne Van De Kamp, his father, would never have cried in front of him. Mulder blots it with his sleeve, and Jackson sees his hands are shaking, too.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that so carelessly, kind of flippantly. It’s obviously a big deal to Mulder. Really, truthfully, it’s a big deal to Jackson, too—something he’s wondered about his whole life. But right now he just can’t have everything feel like a big deal all at once. Or he’ll explode or something.

He meets the man’s damp eyes.

“Yeah,” Mulder says roughly, trying to smile. “Okay. A lot of clues.” He pauses, uncrosses his arms, places his hands on the table. “I get the sense you can’t handle a lot more emotional drama right now, Jackson, and I get that, I really do. Believe it or not, I’ve been in that place myself.”

Jackson’s speechless. It’s like the man read his mind, but that’s not possible.

“I just want to say, we can talk about it whenever you want to,” Mulder adds. “No pressure.”

Jackson nods his head up and down, licking his lips nervously.

***

After dinner, they go back into the part of the room with the couch, which is surrounded by all the messy piles of books. Jackson sits on the floor and starts picking up volumes curiously. “The Art of Profiling?” he says. “Is that an art book?”

“No,” Mulder says with a smile, trying to kick piles out of the way. “It’s psychological profiling. Like for criminals.”

“Oh,” Jackson says, making a connection. “Like on Criminal Minds.”

“What’s that? A TV show?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “My parents love it. It’s about a team of FBI agents who profile dangerous criminals.” An exciting thought occurs to him. “Wait, is that what you did?”

“Yes,” Mulder says. “No. Kind of. I was a profiler, years and years ago. But then I was put on the X-files, where I investigated cases that had unexplainable, supernatural associations.”

“That’s why you have books like this,” Jackson says. He lifts the book Sasquatch: Diverse Perspectives. “Or this?” Extraterrestrial Abductions Beyond the Media.

“Yeah,” Mulder says, a self-deprecating shrug. “That’s right.”

“That’s badass,” Jackson says, a root of an idea occurring to him. He belatedly realizes his mistake. “I mean, that’s cool. Very cool,” he corrects himself.

“It was badass,” Mulder agrees, seemingly unaffected by Jackson’s profanity. “Although… it could be difficult. We went through a lot, working on the X-files. Scully and me.”

Jackson absorbs this information. “So you and Dana Scully worked together on the X-files. In the F.B.I.. That’s how you knew one another?”

“We were partners,” Mulder says with quiet precision, like this sentence is very important.

They’re just three words—we were partners—but Jackson can tell they tell an entire complicated story the length of a book or more. His shine cries out to be used, but Jackson pushes it aside.

“Mulder,” Jackson says slowly. “Is it a coincidence that you and my birth mom worked on these X-files … and that I have these abilities?”

“No, Jackson,” Mulder says, sighing heavily. “It’s probably not a coincidence.” He sits on the couch, looking down at Jackson still sitting on the floor. “There are things that both of us were exposed to that could have … caused the abilities.”

“But you guys don’t have them yourselves, right?”

“No. Not like you.”

It’s a frustrating answer. “Not like me? Or not at all?”

“Some things I want to wait to talk to you about,” Mulder replies. “Until we’ve had a chance to talk to your mother, too.”

Your mother.

Jackson inhales sharply, the words sending an unexpected shock through him.

“I meant Scully, of course,” Mulder says quickly, noticing his reaction. “I’m sorry.”

“Dana Scully isn’t my mother,” Jackson says with emphasis. “I have a mother.”

“I know.” Mulder’s eyes look impossibly sad. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I know.”

“I’m not looking to replace my parents,” Jackson says tightly. “That’s not why I’m here or what this is about. They’ll always be my parents. I love them.”

Mulder appears to sink further into the couch. “Yeah,” he says. “I can tell you do.”

Jackson looks down quickly at the stack of books again, playing silently with the cover of Criminology Through The Ages. He knows he shouldn’t have gotten angry. He knows Mulder didn’t mean anything by it, and he’s having to struggle with his shine now to keep from sensing any bad feelings or thoughts coming off of Mulder.

It’s just Jackson feels almost disloyal, sitting here talking to this man, learning this information about his birth parents’ lives, when his parents just died. When they probably died because of him.

“Jackson.” Mulder’s voice is kind. “What were they like? Your parents. Do you want to … tell me about them? I don’t know anything about them.”

Jackson pauses, still staring at the book in his hand. “Yeah,” he says. He tries to find the right words. He has to be the person who remembers them, who speaks for them to the world now. “They were … they weren’t anything like me. But they were great.”

Mulder waits patiently, his soft eyes on Jackson. Jackson puts the book back carefully on top of a pile.

“My dad was the shop teacher at Rawlins High School. He was good at woodworking, cabinetry. He was always trying to teach me.”

“Were you good at it, too?”

“No,” Jackson says with a tiny smile. “I was really, really bad at it.”

“Oh yeah?” Mulder echoes the tiny smile.

“I couldn’t cut straight. I forgot to measure,” Jackson says, shaking his head. “I was always disappointing him.”

“Not really,” Mulder guesses softly.

“No,” Jackson agrees, just as softly. “Not really.” He’s quiet, thinking more about his goofy, sweater-vested dad. “He was always cheerful. He thought you should look on the positive side of things, you know? Really into baseball. He coached my Little League team for a while.”

“That’s good,” Mulder says encouragingly. “It’s good to play sports.” He’s quiet, too. “And your mom?”

“Her job was running the church preschool,” Jackson says. “She was always singing. She loved holiday decorations, and to cook and bake.” He feels tears threatening. “She is just … she was a really good mom to me. Like, she hugged me all the time. I acted like I didn’t like it, but I did.”

“I’m glad she did that,” Mulder whispers. “I’m so glad.”

“She was really Christian. Really into church. They both were.”

“You were raised religious?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “Lutheran.” He glances at Mulder wryly. “But I was really bad at that, too.”

Mulder returns the look. “I’m not very good at that myself,” he says. “Scully’s religious, in her own way. But I’ve never been … that kind of believer. It’s just never made sense to me”

Something warm blooms in Jackson at being understood in this way. It’s never made sense to him, either.

“What are you good at?” Mulder asks. His tone is gentle, but Jackson’s shine is suddenly alert, suddenly aware of what’s underneath the man’s exterior. Mulder is hungry to know more about him, desperate for any detail. His need is so overwhelming, Jackson closes the door on it quickly.

“I don’t know,” Jackson says casually. “I’m good at math, I guess. Math comes easy to me.”

Mulder’s face lights up. “Scully’s amazing at math.” Looking over at Jackson, he seems to regret his words. His scolding to himself shines through. —stop making everything he says about me and Scully. “Sorry. You’re telling me about yourself.”

“I like to run,” Jackson continues. “I’m pretty fast, and I think I’m a good distance runner. I was thinking maybe I’d try out for the track team in high school.” He pauses. “But I guess I’m not going to high school now.”

“Come on,” Mulder says. “Of course you’re going to high school. Your life isn’t over.”

“I’m most likely going to prison,” Jackson mumbles darkly.

“Nah. Not going to happen.”

“I don’t even know where I’m going to live,” Jackson adds. “Where I’m going to stay tonight.”

“You’re obviously going to stay here tonight,” Mulder insists. “After that, we’ll figure it out.”

The lightning-fast image of a school building with a sign— Farrs Corner High School—and then another fast image, the two of them, Mulder and Jackson, running side by side on a country road, a road that looks a lot like the road right outside the farmhouse. Then almost instantly, more scolding in Mulder’s mind: Way ahead of yourself. Stop it. Haven’t even told Scully. Need to confirm.

“How will we confirm?” Jackson asks quickly. “What does that mean?”

Mulder’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Sorry,” Jackson says. “That was kind of rude of me, probably.”

“I have to remind myself you’re listening,” Mulder says with a small smile.

“I normally try to hide it more,” Jackson says. He stands up, stepping around the books to sit next to Mulder on the couch. “But I mean … what’s the point if you already know, right?”

“I was just thinking that before we introduce you to Scully, we should run DNA,” Mulder says. “Yours against mine. To confirm it.”

“Why?” Jackson says, frowning. “You don’t believe me?”

“Can’t you tell that I believe you?”

Jackson sighs. “Yeah, I think you do.” He kicks out his long legs and leans his head back against the back of the couch. “But like I said, you’re not the easiest.”

“The people that Scully and I used to be involved with,” Mulder says, “were the kind of people who would go to extremes. Even extremes like convincing a kid his birth mother was someone she wasn’t. Like planting ideas into people’s heads. I don’t think you’re lying, but I think it would be smart to know for sure.”

Jackson swings his head to look at Mulder. “Who were these people?”

Mulder regards him with a troubled expression. “I’ll answer that, Jackson. But I think you need to answer this, too: who drove you here? To Virginia?”

“I told you,” Jackson says, folding his arms defensively, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?” Mulder’s eyebrows draw together in concern. “It worries me a little. Did the person who drove you ask you not to tell me?”

“Yeah, they did,” Jackson admits. “But I don’t think they’re one of these bad people you’re talking about. They were just trying to help me.”

“But Jackson,” Mulder says urgently, “you need to understand that—”

“You’re just going to have to trust me,” Jackson insists, and his voice sounds younger than he intends. “Please. Just trust me.”

Mulder rubs his temple with one finger. “Okay,” he says simply. “I can do trust.” He leans forward on his forearms. “But still, Jackson, I think we gotta do the DNA test. If you’re not … the person we think you are—and who Scully thinks you are, it would be too hard for her.”

“She’s been wanting to see me that bad?”

Mulder is surprised. “Of course she has. Of course.”

“But it was a closed adoption. Her choice.”

Mulder opens and closes his mouth, again seeming not to know what to say. “Since the second she let you go,” he says, his voice strained, “she’s been wanting to see you again.”

Jackson’s shine pulls in an image then of a baby in a crib, crying, and then the woman Mulder calls Scully, younger, crying and crying, inconsolable.

It’s all too sad, and Jackson is sad already.

“Okay. DNA test tomorrow then,” Jackson says, shrugging. “No big deal.”

“Great,” Mulder says, standing up. “Now I thought I’d show you where you’ll be sleeping if you want. I’ll have to put sheets on the guest bed first. Maybe you can help me. This place used to be a little more organized when Scully lived here.”

“You have a guest room, huh?” Jackson says. “Fancy.”

“Yeah,” Mulder says in a strange voice. “It’s just an extra bedroom. Small. Not too fancy.”

It was supposed to be your room. In case we got you back somehow. Mulder’s thoughts are suddenly and unexpectedly clear.

“Then I guess I better sleep in it,” Jackson responds flatly, following along behind him.

***

#xfiles fanfic #the x files #x files fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #x files #xf fanfic #msr #jackson van de kamp

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