#//this is a reach on my part but I’m referencing the time where out of nowhere he once said ‘I saw 20 men killed by one cannonball’

[isthenapoleoncute]

@flowers-and-fichte

No offense, but are you certain that you have a Napoleon?

Maybe your Napoleon is a little shell shocked, is all I can guess. Let him take control and burn some papers, and he might feel a little better!

[puck-luck]

code-breaker | jack hughes

warnings: pining!, unprotected p in v, lots of miscommunication but it is resolved duh, lmao uhhhhh jack fucking his best friend's sister maybe? kind of a big plot point fasho, a lame excuse for a squirt, cum on da body (chest), eating come, lots of banter, tiny TINY bit of angst and insecurity on fem!reader's part pairing: jack hughes x zegras!reader request: cappy's "sister of the best friend, lake house, etc. sister makes the first move and the guy tries to turn her down out of loyalty to the other boy and she gets a little hurt and insecure thinking he's rejecting her and she's like "am i really that bad?" with her voice craking and he's like fuck then... smut!" wc: 4327

Jack is here. 

Jack, who you’ve been in love with since your twin brother started hanging out with him when they were in NTDP together. Jack, the New Jersey Devils’ prized star, the number one pick. Jack, the most annoying and most attractive brother of the esteemed Hughes family from Michigan. Yes, that Jack is here– ‘here’ being your apartment that you share with your brother in Anaheim now that Jamie has moved out and away.

Jack is here. You are here. Trevor is not.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you tell him awkwardly, still holding the door open and blocking the doorway. You’re all too aware of your lazy, solo-movie-night outfit as you stand in front of him. You’re clad only in a big shirt, one that normally reaches the middle of your thighs but has ridden up since your hands are raised and resting against the doorframe, and your favorite pair of panties. You did laundry earlier and showered, your big exciting thing of the day being that you could but on your favorite underwear and be lazy as soon as you finished the chore of folding your clothes. “Trevor’s in New York right now.”

“I know,” Jack says, a hand on his suitcase. The other is clenched by his side. “I have a meeting in LA tomorrow so he said I could stay here while he was gone.”

“Oh,” you reply, feeling silly. It would’ve been nice if your brother had told you that Jack was coming and staying here while he was gone, considering you’d made plans to be alone all night tonight. Trevor always does shit like this– he makes plans and then forgets to tell you until someone shows up or he has to leave to meet them. It’s frustrating. “Come on in, then.”

You move to the side, gesturing for Jack to enter the apartment, and he does. His suitcase rolls in behind him, just a little carry on, and he leaves it beside the door where he kicks off his shoes. 

Your hands make their way to the hem of your t-shirt, tugging at it. “I’ll, uh, go change into something more–”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Jack interrupts, waving you off. He clears his throat. “You don’t have to change on my account. I’m interrupting your night of–” 

He looks to the couch and the coffee table, littered with a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of wine that you had been drinking out of, straight from the spout. Your movie is paused on the screen, a silly Disney Channel movie that had come out when you and Trevor were children and still hadn’t lost its touch yet. You’re hoping that Jack doesn’t recognize the screencap, but Mel’s Lemonade machine fills the screen and if he’s seen Lemonade Mouth at all, he’ll know what movie you’re watching.

“Disney Channel and wine,” Jack finishes, pinching his lips to hide the amusement in his voice.

You frown, even though you want to burst into laughter with him. It is silly, what you’re doing, but you were supposed to be alone and who are you to be ashamed of your guilty pleasures?

“Don’t make fun,” you admonish, crossing your arms with a pout. “I thought I had the apartment to myself.”

“I’m not making fun!” Jack denies, holding his hands up in surrender. “I think it’s nice that you’re having a me-party.”

He’s referencing the other time he’s interrupted when you’re having a movie night on your own, when you watched The Muppets (2011) at the lake house because the boys were out on the boat and you had gotten a nasty sunburn the day before, so you’d stayed in. Jack had come back early because he was hungry, making the boys drop him off at the dock before going back out, and caught you red-handed with his favorite kind of pretzels and a half-full bottle of margarita next to the blender. 

You blush, glaring at him slightly. “Shut up, Jack.”

“No, this is perfect,” Jack continues, glowing a little as his shit-eating smile builds. He walks over to the couch and plops down, grabbing the bottle of wine and taking a swig before wiping his mouth. “I’m already dressed for a lazy night in, I shouldn’t waste it.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re such a dick,” you complain. “You know you don’t want to watch this movie with me.”

“Why not?” He challenges, another tilt of the bottle pouring the fruity liquid down his throat. He spreads his legs when he sits as all the boys do, taking up as much space as he can. 

“Because you won’t like it,” you say. “And because I wasn’t planning on having you here.”

“Were you planning on having someone else here?” Jack teases. “Popcorn, red wine, a movie, no pants… I think I see the writing on the wall.”

“No, God, shut up, Jack!” You repeat with a huff, returning to the couch and curling up against the opposite arm, far away from the boy. “Just be quiet while I watch my movie. If you’re good, I’ll let you have some popcorn.”

Jack wiggles his eyebrows at you, sticking out his tongue. You pull at the bottom of your shirt again, making sure that your panties aren’t visible when he looks over. This is already humiliating enough– you don’t need your long-time crush seeing your underwear, too.

You hit play and turn the volume up loud enough to drown out any comments Jack might make. You’re lucky the movie is short, because he’s an antsy boy who loves to talk, just like your brother, and you can tell that he’s anxious to start another conversation.

As the credits roll, you mute the television and turn to him. “What?” You demand, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce and shoving your hands into your lap to stretch your shirt over the space between your legs. 

“You really didn’t have plans tonight?” Jack asks. “It’s a Saturday night and you live in LA. You’re in your twenties. You didn’t want to have anyone over?”

You flush, but it’s less out of embarrassment and more out of anger. “Judgemental much, Hughes? Not all of us have people throwing themselves at our feet any given day of the week.” You grind your teeth, clenching your jaw and taking a deep breath. You stare at him, refusing to break eye contact. Jack shouldn’t be allowed to form opinions on your life. You know exactly what he’s insinuating– why aren’t you out there getting laid, Y/N? and it’s frustrating because it’s the same question you ask yourself whenever your friends text about their recent hookups or whenever Trevor brings a girl back to the apartment. 

More than anything, you don’t want Jack judging you. You know that your Saturday night plans are lame, but that’s why you wanted to be alone. 

Jack falls quieter, your reaction diluting his crooked, toothy smirk that he reserves for the people he knows well. “I’m surprised you don’t have– people. Throwing themselves at you.”

He’s awkward when he says it, too awkward not to make you suspicious.

He’s avoiding eye contact, picking at his nailbeds. 

“Would you?” You ask, directly to the point. You’re making a point, too– you’ve known Jack for years and he has never, not once, implied that he thinks you’re desirable. 

Jack says nothing, running his fingers through his hair and looking down. 

You nod to yourself and stand from the couch, still tugging at your shirt. You’re pulling it even lower now, the neckline dipping and stretching as you cover your legs up as best you can. “That’s what I thought,” you say quietly, a cold feeling washing through your chest and pressing down on the skin that your heart beats beneath. 

“I would,” Jack calls, just as you walk away. You’re positioned right in front of the door that leads to your bedroom when he says it, head hanging towards the ground so that he doesn’t see the frown on your face. 

His silence was a rejection and his afterthought is even worse. Nonetheless, you turn to face him. This time, it’s your silence that rings throughout the space.

“I would,” Jack repeats. “If, y’know. You weren’t–”

“Trevor’s sister,” You say, filling in the blanks and finishing his sentence. You nod, a tight, close-lipped, and pointed smile on your face. “You don’t have to explain, Jack. I realized a long time ago that my world would always revolve around Trevor.” Your hand is on the doorknob now, twisting it and cracking your door open. Your bed is right there and you can collapse into it in mere seconds, able to let your tears leak into your pillow silently as you remind yourself that you’re not as good as your twin brother once again, just as soon as you get these words out. “I know I can’t do or say the things I want to with the people I want to because they’re always thinking about Trevor.”

You could add, And why would you be any different? You know him best. Of course he’s the one you’re loyal to, but you decide against it. It’s too petty. It’s too mean. It’s too– real. 

You look at him one last time to bid him goodnight, already craving the following day when his meeting is over and he heads back to Michigan, far away from you and your un-desirability. The tight smile returns to your face, trying to smooth out your upset yet resigned features. It’s always the same thing. It’s not Jack’s fault, really, it’s not. You’ve imagined this conversation in your head many times and each time you think rationally, you know that this is how it has to be.

He’s Jack Hughes, for God’s sake. You’re just Trevor Zegras’ less successful, lesser known twin sister.

“Trevor would kill me,” Jack says on a whim. “Really. He would. He would stand me up and punch me, right here.”

You’ve got one foot in your bedroom and one foot out. Despite the ice piercing through your chest, you can’t find it in yourself to be rude and close the door on him. You turn to face Jack again.

He’s sitting forward on the couch, hands clasped in front of him like a prayer. He moves them when he talks, lowering them and spreading them and gesturing with them. He’s always done that, ever since you’ve known him– it’s another way that he calls attention to himself and takes up space. It’s part of the reason why he’s so charming– he knows how to use his hands, how to touch someone to politely get them to move or to pull them closer or to playfully shoo them away. 

“If I had a sister, I’d do the same thing to him,” Jack continues. “It’s just– we can’t go for each others’ family. It’s against the code.”

You nod, slowly, exaggeratedly just to show him how nonsensical that sounds. “You realize it’s not up to Trevor to decide who you go out with,” you say. “That’s kind of your choice, Jack.”

“It’s not that simple.”

You shrug, then look away. Outside the living room window is a dark night, leaves blowing with the wind. 

“It could be,” you say after a moment. You’re not surprised to hear how resigned you sound. You learned to live with this a long time ago, so you know that pointing out how easily things could change is futile. You say it anyway. “If you wanted it to be. But, I get it. I’m your best friend’s sister. Maybe if I wasn’t, you’d consider–”

“I have considered,” Jack interrupts. “I’ve– well, you’ve seen it. All the guys have.”

You’re lost. It’s like he’s speaking in code. “I’ve seen what?” You ask, monotonous and silently yearning for your bed. Your patience is growing thin.

“You can’t be serious,” Jack responds with a laugh. He buries his face in his hands, muffling the noise. “Are you?”

“I’ve seen what,” you repeat, straight-faced and not entertaining this sudden bout of humor from the brunet boy.

“How I look at you when you’re in those tiny little swimsuits on the boat, or how I laugh when you make one of your stupid jokes that aren’t funny to anyone but you and Trevor,” Jack says. “You really never noticed?”

Now he’s just dangling your hopeless crush in front of you. You assumed he had noticed sometime over the years, but this is overkill. He’s never felt the same– that much is clear. It’s cruel that he thinks he can lead you to believe otherwise as a means to further tease you for being alone tonight.

You shake your head. “I never noticed because you never did any of those things, Jack. You’re just saying that to say it.”

He’s up in a flash, coming towards you and placing a hand flat on your bedroom door to prevent you from closing it and ending the conversation. “I can’t believe you don’t believe me,” Jack says.

“I don’t think it’s funny that you’re making fun of the little crush I’ve had on you since we were kids. You don’t feel the same way and I’m not an idiot.” You move to close the door again, but Jack pushes it open again. 

“You– I’m not making fun,” Jack stammers out, looking surprised. He leans forward, narrowing his eyes. “You have a crush on me?”

Your jaw drops and your face flames with humiliation. You thought he knew that you liked him and that he was making fun on purpose– and now you’ve accidentally revealed your massive, well-kept secret to his face. This was never supposed to happen. “You didn’t know?” You hiss, covering the lower half of your face with your hands. 

“You have a crush on me,” Jack repeats, a smile spreading across his face. He steps closer, prompting you to back away.

“No. No,” you moan out, feeling positively ashamed and destroyed. Tonight is not turning out as you hoped it would.

Jack’s still smiling, closing your bedroom door softly behind him as he follows you into your room. 

You knock into the edge of your bed and sit, sinking into the mattress. Your hands are still pressed over your mouth as Jack kneels in front of you, prying your hands away from your face and holding them gently. 

“You have a crush on me,” Jack says for a third time, his voice soft and subtly optimistic. The corner of his mouth curves up into the tiniest of smirks and you swear your face couldn’t get any more red.

All you can give him is a frown and a devastated wobble of your bottom lip. 

“Well, this changes everything,” Jack says, regaining his ability to joke, it seems. His next question is rhetorical and makes you swallow hard. “Who gives a fuck about Trevor when you feel the same way I do?” 

“You’re– you’re serious,” you say, still a thread of disbelief sewn into your words. “You weren’t kidding. You actually– thought about it.”

“Thought about it?” Jack asks. “Fuck, Y/N, I almost told you right before you left last summer, but then you said you were talking to that guy.”

You roll your eyes– that guy had only been in your life for about a month and you had only mentioned him because Jack had mentioned a girl he wanted to see. You tell him such– “I only brought him up because everyone was talking about their romantic interests and who they were interested in, I didn’t want to seem like a loser. You had some girl, too, Jack.”

“Some girl– that was you,” Jack reveals incredulously. “I thought I was being so obvious.”

“You weren’t obvious at all!” You deny, mouth open in a scoff. 

“I thought that you mentioning that guy was your way of letting me down easy!”

“Yes, Jack, because I was going to reveal my feelings for you in a room full of both of our brothers. Good idea. You fucking idiot!”

Jack laughs aloud, throwing his head back. His face scrunches up and he smooths his face with his big palm at the end of his amusement. He fixes you with a look of glee and astonishment– something only hindsight can bring to his expression. “We’re so fucking stupid.”

You shake your head, laughing with him for a moment before he swipes a thumb over your cheek, which stills you. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, smile still gracing his face. “I can’t believe–”

“Me neither,” you say.

“Can I–”

“Absolutely.”

Jack’s rising up, kissing you and laying you back on the bed so that he can completely cover your body with his own. One of his hands cups your cheek, while the other grips your hip, atop your underwear but underneath the big t-shirt that is now riding up your body as you move. Your hand is on his bicep and his chest, clutching his sweatshirt. The strings dangle down into your space, brushing against your clothes and tickling you.

His hands memorize you like a topographic map, clutching at your dips and curves and anything else he can get his hands on. 

“Wanna take this off,” You mumble against Jack’s mouth, tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt.

Jack pulls back immediately, reaching behind his neck to grab the collar of his top and bring it above his head. He balls it up and drops it somewhere on the floor. 

“That, too,” you tell him, about his t-shirt, before he can bend back down and kiss you senseless again.

Jack chuckles and pulls it off, too, leaving him half-naked just like you. His chest is tanned and swollen from his recent workouts in Michigan since his shoulder surgery, something that Trevor had told you about but about which you’d never checked in. You’re gentler on that side of his body, especially as he comes back down into your space and you get to touch him. You run your hands over his muscles. You feel out the ridges of his body, trying to match his own confident movements as he feels you up.

One of your hands makes its way to his v-line, something you’d seen over plenty of boat trips. You’d always wanted the opportunity to touch it, to trace it, to watch it bend and flex as he rolled his hips. You’re being afforded that opportunity now and it is sweet.

“I thought you might like that,” Jack murmurs. “Caught you staring once. Was the same day you wore my favorite red swimsuit out.”

“I still have it,” you tell him, gasping a little when his hand slides up to your chest. He tweaks your nipple, then his hand retreats. 

“Mm, a treat for tomorrow,” Jack says. “I’m gonna have you walking around in that thing all day just so I can look at you. For now…”

He trails off, pushing the bottom of your shirt up and leaving your lips to attach his to the freshly revealed skin of your torso. He kisses up your body with each inch he reveals, between your breasts and up your neck. He pulls your shirt off, letting it join his own on the floor, and gets his first proper look at your tits.

“Been waiting to see these,” he continues, eyes fixed on your chest like he’s being hypnotized. He places his hands on you and squeezes, feeling your supple flesh between his fingers. You moan out at the sensation, the noise spurring him on. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding and tugging at his joggers, hoping he’ll get the hint and remove them.

“‘ve wanted to come on these tits since I first saw it in a porno,” Jack reveals, still mesmerized by your chest. “Thought about it a hundred times.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Come on my tits all you want, but you have to fuck me first.”

“Guess your Saturday night wasn’t so boring after all,” Jack says before he stands from the bed and tugs his pants off. He joins you again, wrapping your legs around his waist and kissing over your face. He grinds against you, his clothed cock sliding against your damp panties in a way that has you both keening into each others’ mouths. 

“Guess not,” is your reply, cut short by another moan when Jack’s hand claims your chest again.

You move without speaking after that, fueled only by the desire coursing through your veins after years of pining and aching for the other. 

Jack feels you out and eventually discards his own underwear before removing yours, returning to the missionary position that you had assumed as soon as you had first kissed. It’s sweeter this way– and you both need to see the other’s face, to feel their breath mix with your own. Your chests are flush together, your nipples scraping against the defined and broad swoops of his skin. You grind against each other for a few minutes more, his dick sliding between the wet lips of your pussy with nothing blocking it. He groans into your ear as your juices coat his length, eyes closed in a grimace that is completely charged by his pleasure.

“Condom?” is the last thing he asks, with you shaking your head and replying, “Pill.”

He lines himself up, mouth agape with a choked breath as he thrusts into your tight, wet heat. Your head finds the mattress beneath you, your back arching up as he fills you. You can feel his veins sliding against your walls, the blunt and weeping tip of his cock poking at your deepest parts.

He moves like a man possessed and fighting the beast– like he wants to let loose but at the same time, restraining himself. When you tug on his hair, the subtle waves that he’s been growing out over the summer and hiding beneath his hat in every picture you’ve seen, and whine out his name, Jack’s control vanishes.

He starts to piston his hips into your cunt, burying his face into your neck and letting out ecstasy-fueled whimpers each time you clench down. He curses in your ear, voice a little higher than it normally is, and the intimacy and vulnerability of the moment has your heart clenching. 

“J– J–” You chant, mewling as his cockhead drives against the back wall of your pussy in hard thrusts that make your head spin. 

“So good,” he grits out, kissing over your neck and catching your earlobe between his lips for a moment before dropping it. One of his hands is splayed over your hip, the other securely planted next to your head. “So tight.”

“Coming,” you warn, your fingers finding his bicep and clenching, fingernails digging into his skin so much that you won’t be surprised if you break skin. Your voice is high, too, octaves higher because of the pleasure you’re experiencing.

“Fuck, yeah, baby, come on my cock,” Jack pants out, the hand from your hip coming to rub circles over your clit. 

It sends a shock up your spine and has your hips bucking up to meet his, your entire lower half shaking as your climax approaches. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your vision goes spotty when you do come, just seconds after his groaned encouragement. Your entire body tenses, freezing with Jack still inside of you, making it damn near impossible for him to continue pumping his hips. 

He slides from your opening as you’re coming, bringing some of the slick with him in a feeble excuse for a squirt. His dick bobs, hard and an angry red that might be the most beautiful color you’ve ever seen in your hazy, post-orgasmic state.

Jack comes up to straddle your stomach, stripping his cock quickly with a tight fist, chest heaving. You know he wants to come on your chest, having already given him permission, but your mouth opens and your tongue lolls out in an invitation that Jack can’t deny. He shuffles up further on his knees, his whimper sounding pained as his milky cum spurts from the tip of his cock and lands along the flat of your tongue and your lips.

His spurts grow weaker, although he’s still stroking his dick in a fervorous pace, whining a little more at the oversensitivity. His cum makes his way to your chest, just dripping down the length of his shaft and pooling over your tits. 

You reach up with one hand and trace your fingers through the seed, causing Jack to sway a little on top of you at the sight. His cheeks are flushed and pink, eyes blue and clear like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Your fingertips brush your nipple, spreading the cum over it before you bring your hand up to your mouth and suck the remaining liquid off of your skin, swallowing it with a hum.

Jack is off of you in a flash, pulling you on top of his lap and joining your lips. The last of his cum, painted across your tongue in a thin layer, mixes with your spit as he kisses you. He’s desperate, filling your mouth with his tongue until you can barely breathe, tasting himself on you until it’s indistinguishable– where you end and he begins.

It takes a long time for Jack to finally pull away, for you both to come down from your highs and take a breath.

In typical Jack fashion, he can’t stop himself from joking around.

“Trevor’s really going to kill me now,” he says. “There’s a chance he’ll never let us be in the same room again.”

You laugh, knowing already that neither of you will be willing to let this– whatever this is– go just because your brother has something to say about it. “In that case, we’ll just have to sneak away.”

notes: I WANTED TO NAME THIS "BFB" AFTER THE VICTORIOUS SONG SOOOOOO BAD!!!!! but alas. it's best friend's sister. maybe some other time. blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. well now wait that's a good idea...

[jamilynfx]

Do You Wanna Build a Snowman? (No, the fuck, I don't)

This is part 2 of this post 💖

Summary: Winter has come to New York and that means only two things: being cold and putting up with Wade's obsession with the movie Frozen.

Pairings: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: sexual humor, mentions of oral sex, referenced drug use

Winter. 

A time for singing carols, decorating a Christmas tree and eating unhealthy amounts of gingerbread. For some, an ideal season for various, cold-oriented activities that include skiing, snowball fighting or drinking hot chocolate right after ice-skating on the overpriced ice-rinks in the city center. 

You hate it all passionately.

Well, maybe decorating a Christmas tree is somewhat enjoyable and worth looking forward to but other activities that require being outside during winter are a hard no for you. 

Which brings you to the problem you encounter every other time that the weather decides it’s high time to spawn tons of snow in the city, or, more accurately, a problem with Wade’s obsession over that godforsaken children’s movie.

“Do you wanna build a snooooowmaaan?! COME ON, LET’S GO AND PLAY.”

Logan growls for, what seems to be, the hundredth time in an hour. Al looks defeated and only Laura completely ignores Wade’s crazy bouncing and twirling in favor of cutting out a perfect circle out of the cookie dough.

“Shut the fuck up, bub. No one wants to build a snowman with you,” Logan grumbles lowly, getting the volume all the way up on the TV, since it’s difficult to hear anything through Wade’s singing. 

Laura makes a face. 

“Ouch, that was a bit harsh, even for you.” 

“Sorry if I’ve had enough of this performance that’s going on for two hours now!” he exclaims heatedly but without real irritation behind it. That’s his way of saying that Wade really got on his nerves and he’s almost reached his daily limit for Wade’s bullshit.

“It’s fine, Lo, don’t shout,” you say with love, cutting out your own shape in a dough, a crooked star with rough, uneven edges. Making cookies is something that you enjoy doing, mostly because it’s all done inside the house, not outside, where all hell breaks loose. “Why don’t you go by yourself, Wade?” 

He looks kinda cute with Elsa’s costume he’s thrown on his suit and a plastic tiara set atop a blond wig he’s stitched to his head but hearing the same song being performed over and over again starts to tug on your nerves, too, especially when you know Wade is completely serious in saying he wants to build a snowman.      

“Because it’s BOOOORING! I would ask Al, but, well, she can’t fucking see, can you imagine what the snowman would look like if I did that with her? A fucking carrot up his ass, that’s what would happen! And the only snow she likes ain’t the one outside, hot pups.”

Al, sitting beside Logan on the couch, sighs loudly and nudges Logan’s side with her elbow. 

“What’s on now?”

“Hot pups?” you question, raising your brows and smiling at Laura, who tries not to laugh.

“That’s new,” Logan comments on a nickname that Wade’s just made up, simultaneously switching between the channels. “A western, soap opera or reality…”

“Reality!” Both Al and Laura are unanimous on this one. Logan changes the channel to trash reality tv without any protest.

“Exactly, hot pups or baby girl, that’s basically the same thing. Anyway, I’m not asking Laura because she’s our guest and I for sure won’t ask peanut, don’t wanna end up with that claws up my ass today. Something else would be fine, tho.” Wade winks to Logan who only rolls his eyes, not once looking in Wade’s direction. “I was gonna ask you but you hate winter activities, besides that one time when you sucked my dick in the park after we went to a Jonas Brothers concert.”

You almost get a whiplash from the way your head turns to look at him, your cheeks immediately turning a deep shade of red. 

“Wade!”  

Althea looks visibly disgusted, Laura blinks a few times muttering damn under her breath and Logan stares at you with and you haven’t done that to me? look on his face. You stifle an urge to run to the bathroom and not come out for the rest of the evening, covering your face with your hands.

“Motherfucker, I wish I was deaf,” Al laments out loud with Wade’s sick laughter as her background before he starts do you wanna build a snowman all over again. 

“Someone has to go out and build that damn snowman with him, I can’t hear a fucking thing!” Logan shouts abuse, his patience running thin judging by the way his claws unsheathe in his left hand. 

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Laura suggests good-naturedly for you to only whine in surrender. That’s enough chaos for this evening.  

“No, I’ll go with him,” you sigh with exasperation and get up to go get dressed. “But you’re soooo going down on me after this, Wade!” 

As soon as the sentence leaves your mouth, Wade squeaks excitedly, running to get his brand-new Frozen mittens, which he managed to yank out of a little girl’s hands while you were at the thrift store last week. 

“You got it, baby girl!” he exclaims and high-fives Laura on his way out, not waiting for you to catch up. You can only hear his do you wanna build a snowman while he hurries down the stairs of your compound.

Al, Laura and Logan all seem to breathe out in relief, focusing all their attention on the TV show that’s currently on. 

Even Mary doesn’t perk up from Logan’s lap and you can’t help but feel a little bit betrayed. 

______________

You have to admit, it’s not all that bad.

Wade does everything in his power to make it enjoyable for you, despite the low temperature and cold wind that blows in your face every other minute. There’s a lot of snow outside which makes for a really long snowman-building session, turning Wade into a literal five year old, but he still manages to make you laugh multiple times. You can’t really be cross with him when he’s having such a good time and, after your initial reluctance, you find yourself having a great time, too. 

The snowman turns out really cute and quite big, three sizable balls of snow each atop of the other, now standing guard in front of the entrance to your building. Somewhere between creating the top ball and sticking branches into the snowman’s sides to imitate arms, Laura comes down and says goodbye, reminding you both how late it is and that you should probably wrap the whole thing up. 

Now, you’re so cold it’s difficult to think straight. Your hands are shaking, teeth clattering and you’re sure that your lips have the color of a ripe plum. 

“We’ve made one hell of a snowman together, baby girl.” 

Your body trembles involuntarily but you smile happily, once again inspecting your work. 

“Yeah, we did.”

Wade hugs you closely and kisses your forehead, then your blue lips. 

“Come on, hot pups, let’s get you back to the warmth.”

Thank god you don’t have to go far. As soon as you’re back in the apartment, you ditch your shoes and outside clothes, which makes you feel even colder than when you were outside. It’s quiet inside, which means that Al is probably already asleep. Wade is somewhere behind you when you find Logan already in bed, Mary snuggled in between his legs, your old man reading a book. 

“All done? How was it?” he asks, setting the book aside and immediately raising the covers for you to join him. 

“COLD! Fuck!” 

You jump on the bed, choosing the quickest way to find yourself in Logan’s warm arms. Mary definitely doesn’t approve, getting her little ass up and pattering towards Wade, who has just entered the room. 

“Fuckin’ A, that’s what our snowman is, peanut,” he says, taking Mary up into his arms, kissing her and then setting her back on the bed to undress properly. Logan gives him a foul look.  

“She’s freezing, you idiot,” he grumbles at Wade, then smiles at you encouragingly. “Come ‘ere, bub,” Logan spurs you on, opening his arms for you and offering his chest to be your private pillow. You gladly accept, letting your body tremble and your teeth clatter as much as they want to while snuggling up in Logan’s embrace, your cold arms finding their way onto his back, your head falling into place half on his shoulder and half on his chest, allowing you to glue the front of your cold body to his heated one. He weaves his fingers into your hair while his other palm comes to rest on your waist, pulling you as close as it’s physically possible. 

Wade follows quickly behind to lock you in between them. When glorious heat starts radiating from both of them, enveloping you on both sides, you sigh contentedly, kissing up Logan’s chest, then finding the best slot for your cheek and straight up fawning on Logan.  

“I still want that head, asshole,” you mumble already half-asleep, feeling Wade’s hands roam over your legs and belly when he’s aligning himself with your back, covering your body with his and slowly heating you up from behind, making you melt against him. He throws his arm over your body to reach Logan, who growls warningly. 

“One day, I’m biting it off, you fucker.”

“Yeah, do it, it’s gonna grow back anyway, Wolvie,” Wade says mockingly, then trails the kisses behind your ear. “I’ll wake you up with it, snookums. Deal?” he asks, his low tone is making you shiver but this time it’s not out of cold. 

You smile dreamily, pressing your butt into his hips.

“Deal.”

[vgilantee]

dorm room antics {ethan landry}

ethan landry x fem!reader

requested: n/a

words: 2k

a/n: surprise! turns out when my brain decides to work, i can write a 2k word fic in three hours. which means you guys get a march fic! this fic is part of what i like to call “char’s ethan fic universe” in which i haven’t written any other fics, but it’s all apart of the long ask i sent julie (this one here) so i will mention a couple things here that reference it. Also on referencing things, i was tempted make a star wars reference in here, but julie doesn’t need more reasons to point and laugh at me and call me a star wars nerd (julie would never point and laugh at me, i love her). This is not a smut but things get a little steamy. There may be an alternate version that starts the same but is nsfw (oh my god finding a gif for this fic was too hard and this isn't even the one i wanted, but tumblr hates me)

warnings: steamy!, if you were reading fanfics in the 2000s/early 2010s this would count as an orange

pronouns: none used

You had everyone’s timetables memorised, all of you did. It was one of the first things the four of you did at the start of each semester; you sat down and learned each timetable so you always knew where each other was throughout the day. It was how you knew that Chad would be out of his dorm. 

You knocked on the door, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Ethan didn’t know you were coming over, you wanted to surprise him with your company on his day free of classes. After your first and only class of the day, you would usually be with Mindy in the library or Tara in one of her lectures. But Mindy had ditched you to spend time with Anika, and Tara was in bed with the flu. Not that you needed the excuses to spend time with Ethan, but Mindy didn’t entirely trust him, so the excuses were required to satiate her. 

The sounds of moving around came through the door, and you heard Ethan muttering that he was coming. 

“Oh, hey.” Ethan’s curls bounced a little as his head tilted in surprise. He gave you a dopey smile and stepped to the side, letting you move past him and into the room. You had been in the dorm a few times, but you still couldn’t help turning in a slow circle to look around. On his bed was a textbook and notebook, as well as various pens scattered on the sheets. 

“Sorry, did I interrupt your studying?” You turned back to face him, lazily pointing at the study supplies on his navy sheets. Ethan blinked, almost as if he forgot the stationery was even there, before shaking his head. As he did, you noticed just how long his curls have gotten, falling into his eyes more than usual.

“No. I mean yeah but-” He bit his lower lip gently. “You’re always welcome to interrupt my study.” Ethan’s mouth quirked in a shy smile, trying to hide how he cringed at what he said. 

You took a step toward him and reached your hands up to his shoulders, lazily looping them around the back of his neck. Almost immediately, Ethan’s hands moved around your waist and pulled you flush against him. 

“Are you sure? I can leave you to your…” you glanced over at his bed to try and decipher what subject he was studying, “I have no idea what that is but I’m sure it’s important.” You felt the breath of Ethan’s laugh against your hair. 

“It’s programming and yeah, I’m sure.” You turned back to him, making quick glances down at his mouth that was so close. “Don’t leave.” Ethan’s voice was barely a whisper, embarrassed but pleading, and you stopped fighting the voice in your head and leaned up to finally kiss him. 

It quickly deepened, one of your hands moving to his face and the other weaving into his hair. Ethan’s fingers dug into your waist, pulling you even closer to him, so close that one of his feet ended up between yours.

When you pulled back to take a breath, you kept your eyes closed, foreheads rested together. 

“Bed?” You felt his hands tighten slightly as your breath hit his mouth. You and Ethan had slept together before, but only a handful of times, and every time Ethan started out quietly excited, and shy. 

Ethan let out a single hum before dropping his hands to the backs of your thighs, encouraging you to jump lightly and wrap your legs around his waist. As soon as he was sure you’re safely held up, he took the five steps from the door to his bed. You expected him to place you on the bed, but instead he turned and sat down, sitting you on his lap. As soon as you’re comfortable (which took a fraction of a second) you pulled him forward by the back of his neck, reigniting the kiss more desperately. You left one hand weaved into his curls, but the other dropped to grip his bicep. 

His hands slide up from your thighs, pausing briefly on your ass to give the muscles a gentle squeeze. You rolled your hips gently forward in response to the squeeze, and you felt the light vibration of his hum against your mouth. Ethan moved his hands up a little further, encouraging your movement, and you gently bit his bottom lip. Ethan opened his mouth and the kiss quickly became messier, tongues rolling against each other and teeth occasionally bumping. 

As you moved to pull away, you pulled Ethan’s tongue into your mouth and sucked on it gently pulling a moan from deep in his throat. You opened your eyes, seeing him with his cheeks flushed red and his eyes still closed, his mouth opened slightly. 

You could never get over how pretty he was, especially when so flushed. And you always felt a swell of pride because you were the one able to get him like that and the only one who got to see the sight underneath you. 

Ethan slowly opened his eyes, pupils blown. He slowly raised a hand, pushing some of the hair that had fallen out of its place in your ponytail behind your ear before quickly leaning down and gently bit and kissed at your neck. Your head rolled to the side, desperately exposing more skin for him to give attention to. His tongue rolling over his teeth marks elicited gasps from you, your fingers lightly tugging at his hair in a silent plead for more. 

A soft moan broke from your throat as Ethan bit down, slightly harder, and sucked, determined to leave a deep mark. You pulled harder at his curls in retaliation and rolled your hips against him. Ethan dragged his tongue across the mark, continuing to move it up your neck and along your jaw until his mouth meets yours again for a short kiss. 

“You sure?” Regardless of how many times you made it clear to Ethan that you wanted him, he always asked, checked to make sure that you hadn’t changed your mind. You rolled your hips again in a silent reply.

“Completely.” Ethan let out a whimper before pulling your hips down, letting you feel his need for you under your core. You let out a choked sound before pulling Ethan into a rough kiss that left him gasping. 

For every roll of your hips, Ethan responded with a sound against your mouth, though it didn’t take long for him to begin retaliating instead with soft thrusts upward. Your head fell back with a breathy moan, and Ethan quickly began pressing open mouthed kisses to your throat, humming every time he felt you make sounds. 

“Ethan.” You whispered out his name and his hips twitched forward, further into you than his teasing rolls. Using the hand in his hair, you pulled his face back to you, and your other hand slid down his chest before slipping under the hem of his shirt. Your fingertips grazed across his abs, and you smiled against his mouth as stomach flinched from your touch. Your hand continued to move up to his chest, dragging his shirt with him, until you pulled away, silently begging for him to take off his shirt.

Ethan dragged his hands from your waist, across your thighs, prolonging taking his hands away from you, but finally he did, following your quiet ask and took off his shirt. You raked your fingernails down his chest to his stomach pulling a whimper from Ethan, before your hands quickly moved to loop around the back of his neck, moving to kiss him as his warm hands met your skin again, one hand snaking under your shirt to rest on the bare small of your back, and the other resting softly on your cheek.

You gently let out a moan as Ethan bit down on your bottom lip, your nails digging softly into the skin on the nape of his neck.

“Oh, fuck!” Chad’s sudden voice caused you to jolt. You hadn’t even heard the door open, you were so engrossed in the feeling of Ethan. Ethan quickly pulled away from you, and you tried not to follow after his suddenly-missing mouth. “Ew, that is so not what I wanted to see in my dorm.” You rolled your eyes, flipping Chad off over your shoulder. 

You tried to fight the soft smile as Ethan pressed his face into the side of your neck, wanting so desperately to hide from his roommate. His soft curls brushed against your skin, raising goosebumps. 

Turning to follow the movement of your arm, you glared at Chad, who had a hand over his eyes while dramatically using the other to feel around for his side of the room. 

“Oh fuck off, Chad.” You said with a slightly amused laugh. Ethan sighed into your neck and the sudden breath made you realise that you were gently stroking his hair. Your fond smile won against your fighting as Ethan hid. 

“This is my room!” Chad threw his hand up, keeping the one already over his eyes pressed firmly in place. “Now, are you done dry humping each other so I can grab my shit?” You reached for the bed beside where Ethan was sitting and grabbed one of his pens, throwing it at Chad but missing. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Slowly, ever the drama queen, Chad peels his hand from his eyes, letting out an exaggerated sound of relief.

“I can’t believe you almost defiled my poor, virgin eyes.” He pressed a hand to his heart while walking toward his desk to grab his forgotten textbook. “Corrupting my innocent soul with your filth.” You threw another pen at him, this one hitting him square in the head. 

“Innocent, my ass.” Chad let out an indignant gasp. “Don’t you,” you mocked the sound he made, “me, fucker. I’ve walked in on you doing worse.” He gasped again. 

“I would never!” His voice was weighed down with sarcasm and he pressed his textbook to his chest. Chad tsked at you before walked back to the door. “Don’t get cum stains on my bed, assholes.” Ethan let out an embarrassed groan against you skin, and you flipped Chad off again.

“I’m going to move to your bed just to spite you.” Chad scrunched his nose in disgust and Ethan pulled back from your neck to stare at you in shock, praying you weren’t serious.

“You’re fucking disgusting.” Chad, ever the dramatic, pulled the door shut, ensuring that he got the final word. When you looked back to Ethan, he was still looking at you, eyes wide in horror. You winked at him with a smile. 

“You wouldn’t..?” You snorted out a laugh and your head fell back, shaking your head. 

“Fuck no.” You ran the backs of your fingers across his cheek softly, revelling in the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. Ethan sighed, leaning into your fingers. “He would be so lucky.” His mouth dropped open again and you leaned forward to kiss him on the tip of his nose. Ethan let out a contented hum, and the soft sound caused your hips to grind against him on their own. Once again, Ethan’s fingertips dig into the soft flesh of your waist.

“Did he ruin the mood?” Your voice was shy, unsure whether his bruising fingers was a warning to stop, or him trying to hold back. 

“No. Not for me.” Ethan leaned forward as he spoke, saying the words against your shoulder before pressing a light kiss to your skin, rolling his hips up lightly against you to pull a sigh from you while your head rolled back. “Not when you look like that on my lap.” Neither you nor Ethan knew where his confidence came from, but you quickly pushed your questioning aside as he pulled your core down against the tightness in his trousers and bit down on your shoulder softly. 

moot tagging: @websterss

[written-in-flowers]

Be the Light: Pt. 2 (SeongjoongxFem!reader)

Pairing: Hongjoong x Seonghwa x Fem!reader

Word Count: 7k

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

AU: historical!au, arranged marriage!au, royalty!au

Summary: YN has spent her entire life in service of Han Sookmyung, Queen of Hanseong. She never dreamed above her station, or that she'd ever be in reach of Sookmyung's concubines, 'The Golden Ones'. But, when secrets are brought to life, her world is turned upside-down.

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, heavily referenced torture (briefly), heavily referenced abuse (briefly), heavily referenced sexual abuse (briefly), enslavement, slight gaslighting, lost sibling, political drama, historical drama, joseon!au, concubine!ateez, nsfw content, virgin!reader, polyamory, polygamous, throuple, threesome m/m/f, oral sex (m. and f. receiving/giving), cunnlingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, virgin sex, virginity discussed.

Taglist: @scarfac3 @tunaasan @lelaleleb @sevngmin148 @meljoongiee @puppyminnnie @sunasmoke22 @kyourixr

And thanks to my @daesukiii for beta reading this for me! It's so hard to find a good beta reader, and they've never disappointed me! ❤️

Part 1 < | > Part 3

***

Hongjoong learned long ago that the best release of anger was having sex with Sookmyung. Not in the heated passionate way he might’ve with a real lover, but in a hateful way. He pinned her down. He pulled her hair. He bit her neck, bruised her thighs, and slapped her ass until it turned red. He rammed his hips into her quickly and fiercely. All the while pretending that it is his desire for her making him act harshly. He held Sookmyung by her arms as he guided her onto Yunho, who laid beneath her naked and erect. Her loud, feral grunts told him she was close to her third climax today. He hated her. He hated her for making them do this. Her insatiable libido was limitless depravity. Nothing is ever too vile for her. Nothing is ever off limits.

He hated how she’d made San whip Wooyoung, all because she thought they’d coupled together without her permission. The two sat on a couch nearby, kissing softly as ordered to be Sookmyung. He saw the long red welts and purple marks along Wooyoung’s tanned back and torso. According to her, they’d been laying in bed together half naked. San told him they hadn’t touched or kissed. They’d only laid there talking as friends do at night. It enraged her. She’d scowled and screamed, throwing a tantrum in San's bed chamber. Hongjoong remembered hearing Wooyoung’s cries as she barked orders at San. San still had bite marks on his shoulders where she’d bit him. This made Hongjoong suck and bite into her neck to retaliate.

“Don’t stop,” she growled as he and Yunho pushed into her, “Don’t…Don’t..Oh god, keep going!”

She eventually came, and Hongjoong stayed inside until it subsided. Every muscle in his body ached, burning hotly and begging to rest. He and Yunho both withdrew and moved away from her.  He did not fully rest as Yunho did. Standing on wobbly knees, Hongjoong grabbed a robe from nearby and slid over his shoulders.

“Hongjoongie,” he heard Sookmyung whimpered behind him, “Where are you going?”

“I’m famished, beloved,” he muttered.

“I can have food brought to us,” she called, but he shook his head.

“No need,” he assured her. “The others will keep you company until I return.”

He kissed her before walking out of the circular room. Hongjoong walked down a hallway into another, smaller sitting room where a servant left  plates of food and a pot of tea. This sitting room is the farthest from the main lounge, where most of the guards and attendants would be, leaving him entirely alone. Taking a sip of tea, he took a quick peek through the wooden lattice windows.  The setting sun gave their garden a russet glow that broke between leaves and branches. It is a beautiful sight, he admitted. Lush green bushes and vibrant flowers basked in the spring time season, while fish swam in the ponds and lakes across the grounds. Cobbled walkways circled brass fountains, and trees outside sometimes bore fruit for them to eat. It reminded him of his own garden back at home, where he played with his siblings and companions while his mother looked on. He still remembers all the times she’d chase him around the garden or taught him about the different flowers. Sookmyung had taken that from him. Shed stormed in with her vast army, and slew his entire family. He thought of his mother’s lifeless eyes looking at him as a knife plunged into her chest, her last breath echoing in his ear.

‘I’ll take better care of you than she ever did,’ Sookmyung whispered to him as his mother lay dying on the ground. 

He hated her. He loathed her. He despised her with every fiber of his being. Queen Sookmyung had stormed into his home, killed his family, enslaved his people, and then took him. It sickened him. He did not eat a single portion left on the table; he could barely stomach the tea. She must be stopped. He’d said this to himself a million times over the past eight years. Hongjoong often laid in bed and thought of killing her. Simply putting a knife in her chest as she’d done to his mother. But, no. That will not do. Her council, no matter how much they despise her, will be forced to act. Also, there’d be an even major problem: there’d be nobody to claim the throne. King Siwon had old uncles, and they had children, but they’re so low in rank now that nobody remembers their names. Sookmyung put any possible challenges to the sword: children of the king’s concubines, close cousins, and people who might stake a claim however small. There’d be nobody to guide their kingdom; nobody to speak on behalf of its people and rebuild what Sookmyung destroyed.

Hongjoong might hate Sookmyung, but he did not hate the people. The subjects whom he’d hoped to serve one day called out for help and he is unable to answer their call. It made him feel helpless, useless, and powerless. That is, until he’d met Naeun.

He’d gone into the garden alone a few weeks ago when he heard a disturbance near the apricot trees towards the side walls. The scrape of metal against stone caught his ear in the dark corner of the garden, followed by a soft thump of feet touching ground. When Hongjoong went to discover it, someone put their hand over his mouth and pushed him into the bushes between the trees. There, he’d seen the intruder: short and slim as a tree branch, the young woman wore a half mask and dressed in all black. He’d originally been scared, seeing the dagger on her belt, but then she pulled down her mask.

‘Your Grace, I come on behalf of Seo Changbin. He says hope is not lost.’

It took him a moment to place a face to the name, but it hit him quickly. While never having met the man in person, he’d heard Sookmyung mention his name disdainfully before. A resistance leader, he’d once been a military soldier until his defection some years ago. According to Naeun, he has been gathering recruits to his cause while remaining underground. Hongjoong had no idea why he’d contact him; he’d lost his crown and his people. He held no power to help them. Changbin seemed to think differently.

‘The people of Wonju have not forgotten you, my prince. We must free you from this prison.’

'That is much easier said than done, I'm afraid. Sookmyung takes as much care to keep us imprisoned as she does keeping others out. The most I can do for him is to remain here.'

'You wish to be kept here?'

'Yes. Sookmyung foolishly boasts about her plans in front of us. I know things about her bases, her forces, and her battle plans than most. I can leave messages for you in the tree whenever I have something to pass along.'

'Your Grace, if she were to catch you…I believe you do not understand. You are our only hope.'

'I am more useful to the rebellion inside these walls than out. Trust me. I know what I'm doing. Come to me a week from now, and I shall have information for you.'

Naeun agreed to the plan. Sookmyung never suspected anything when she began idly chatting about her various strategies. Hongjoong made note of her words and passed them along to Naeun, who then told Changbin. It helped them in the short term, but they needed something stronger. Simply cutting off trade routes, attacking military camps, and liberating political prisoners is not enough. They needed to get rid of Sookmyung permanently. 

An assassin sounded easy, but Sookmyung is so closely guarded, getting a moment with her might be hard. The one time a person did manage to reach her chambers, she’d killed them. He told Naeun that Sookmyung is no delicate kitten. She has claws that are long and sharp, and she enjoys sinking them into her enemies slowly. 

They would need to be careful if they wished to proceed.

“Tired already, Joongie?”

He heard Seonghwa call from somewhere behind him, and he turned around to see him by the door. Wearing his own black robe, seeing him in the faint orange sunset, he understood why Sookmyung took him as a concubine. His dark eyes twinkled with a thousand stars, and his plush lips resembled rosé petals. After being captured by Sookmyung, Hongjoong realized he had companions in his misery: the other sons of people Sookmyung killed. One of them being Seonghwa, son of a chief advisor in another nation. Sookmyung must’ve hoped he and Seonghwa would fight over her; that they’d rip each other apart for a special spot beside her. That is the only disappointment she let them get away with. The pair of them both realized the only people they’d have in this world is one another; they’d never see home or their families again. The “flowers” learned long ago that they can only depend on one another.

“Far from it,” he replied. “I thought it’d be unfair to keep her from enjoying the rest of you.”

‘I wanted to get away from her.’ 

Even in this room far from ears and eyes, they practiced caution. Seonghwa sauntered over to him, “I think she’s plenty occupied with the others for the moment. A bit of rest will not upset her.”

‘She’s busy. Let’s talk.’

Their casual expressions became serious once Seonghwa reached him, their backs facing the doorway. Seonghwa poured himself tea, and the elder sipped quietly.

“Will you see your friend again tonight?”

“I might,” he said. “She told me to meet her by the trees a week from then. She said Changbin uncovered information that could be very instrumental in removing her, but he needed proof of it.”

“What could it be?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Maybe he discovered Sookmyung is some foul demon and has discovered how to banish her from this world.”

The pair of them giggled softly. Seonghwa drank from his tea cup, and said, “Have you heard anything about that maid?”

Hongjoong hesitated. His stomach twisted into knots when the picture came back to him. He pictured a young girl, about sixteen by his estimation, laying on the pavilion floor as she cried out in pain. It had been a mistake. An older servant told him that the young girl came to them looking for work, and was given a job in the kitchen. She’d been putting down wine cups when she accidentally knocked one over which spilled onto Sookmyung’s lap. Naturally, the queen went into an immediate rage.

“One of the attendants told me they’d thrown her into the cells for a week,” Hongjoong said flatly, putting his drink aside. “Over an accident. She beat that child for spilling wine, then imprisoned her.”

Sookmyung beat her with a bamboo switch until she drew blood.  Hongjoong remembered flinching every time the thin wooden stick met flesh; his heart sinking in every cry he heard, her pleas for the abuse to stop. A proper monarch would not have risen to anger so quickly. To be fair, he’d never seen anyone rush to rage like Sookmyung. The girl left the scene bruised and whimpering, being dragged away by two armed guards. They’d all wished to speak out. While the others wept for the young girl, he fumed with hate. It swelled in his chest until it tightened, causing him to take deep breaths. The child did nothing wrong. She’d only been a bit careless, possibly nervous at serving a queen for the first time.

“She needs to be stopped, Hwa,” Hongjoong said under his breath. “This madness must not be allowed to continue.”

“It will be stopped,” Seonghwa assured him. “A revolution is at hand.”

“Revolution? What revolution?” he spat. “The citizens of this city are too frightened of her and her men to raise up arms against her. The few who can be encouraged do not have the proper support. A revolution can only happen if enough people stand up and speak out.” He thought of that girl, and what she must be feeling now. She must still be frightened. “That woman has stomped out any glimmer of hope those people might have had long ago. She killed anyone who would have opposed her or helped them stop her. Do not forget, love, she has her people everywhere as well.”

“Perhaps the news your friend brings will be the very ray of hope we need,” said Seonghwa.  Hongjoong sensed a change in subject when his brother smiled softly, “YN looked lovely today, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” he nodded, thinking about you as he admired the flowers beneath the window. “She did.”

“Good idea in distracting Sookmyung,” Seonghwa said, doing the same. “Chaewon mentioned she hadn’t seen YN for the past two nights.”

“I thought she could use the time.”

You looked lovely at court today. Even though you wore the same hanbok, the same slippers, and the same hairstyle every day, he and Seonghwa still found you lovely. If Hongjoong pitied anyone outside of himself and his brothers, it’d be you. While they only saw a small percentage of Sookmyung’s cruelty, you saw all of it. You saw the things she did as a princess, you saw the horrors she committed during her conquest, and the deplorable things she did as a queen. He heard Sookmyung often makes you join her in the palace jails where she keeps her victims. You've seen Sookmyung’s true nature. He imagined she might’ve even forced you to participate. If she enjoyed making you watch her have sex with them, then she definitely delighted in forcing you to torture people with her.

“She is clever, you must give her that,” Seonghwa cut through his thoughts. “From what the handmaidens say, YN is the only other person who can navigate Sookmyung. Remember when that seamstress accidentally made her jacket too short, and Sookmyung almost hit her for it? YN managed to convince her that Queens are trendsetters, and how popular she’d be to have started a new trend in hanbok fashions.”

“She’s brilliant.”

Words he instantly wished he could take back. Those words may float through the air and over to the very front of the house where she’d hear him. Hongjoong could never look at you the way he wanted with Sookmyung so close by, but he liked catching glimpses of you. He knew you likely did not feel the same way. Sookmyung’s wrath kept you from looking too long or speaking to him directly. The things he learned about you had been through others. Late at night, when the weight of his plight robbed him of sleep, he envisioned what would happen if he’d still been a prince. He would’ve come to Hanseong as a diplomatic envoy or as a prince to discuss alliance terms. You’d likely still be Sookmyung’s handmaiden, but he’d be allowed to speak to you. He could talk to you without the threat of death looming behind you. He could enjoy your company leisurely in the open and be free to seek you out if he wished.

Perhaps, once he’d deposed Sookmyung and reclaimed his homeland, he could pursue you the way a man pursues a woman he admires.

“I sometimes wonder what it'd be like if I was still an advisor’s son,” Seonghwa mused, “We wouldn’t be the same rank but I still would’ve married her, if she accepted. I’d keep her safe. She wouldn’t need to live in fear anymore.”

“And if she married me, she’d be free to do as she wished,” added Hongjoong.

“What makes you think she’d marry you?” teased Seonghwa. “Because you’re a prince? You cannot marry someone so below your rank. You’re supposed to marry a princess.”

“Sookmyung murdered all the princesses, remember? ” said Hongjoong, “Besides, I wouldn’t be a prince anymore. I’d be a king, so she’d surely say ‘yes’ to me.”

“Being a queen is complicated and stressful. Being the wife of an Advisor is much more relaxed. She’d have a comfortable lifestyle and also freedom she wouldn’t get as a queen.”

“She’s strong enough to handle the responsibilities. She handles Sookmyung every day, so it wouldn’t be so hard.”

Hongjoong did not mind the idea of being with both you and Seonghwa. He’d grown to love Seonghwa, and after sharing a bed with him on many occasions, the intimacy nurtured the fondness. Hongjoong learned to put his trust in a handful of people, and Seonghwa became one of them. His brilliant mind and tender heart drew in anyone who spoke to him, Hongjoong included. 

“Or you could both be my concubines to make things easier for everyone,” he winked. “Kings have very big appetites, you know.”

Seonghwa punched his arm and laughed, “I’d never be a concubine to anyone ever again. I’ll settle for your Chief Advisor position, however.”

“In that case, I get to marry YN and you cannot protest.”

“Trade YN for a seat on your council? Hm, perhaps I should think more on it before giving an answer.”

“You’d be Chief Advisor, second to The King and second most powerful man in the country,” he explained. “Surely, that will be a reasonable trade.”

“May I at least kiss her before you take her from me, Your Grace?”

“If she accepts, then you may.”

“Hongjoong! Seonghwa! Where are you?”

The sound of her voice demolished any laughter between them. Hongjoong’s  hatred immediately boiled inside him. He glanced back to the garden, the sun nearly set and darkness waning over them. He knew you’d come to bring Sookmyung her supper, and then disappear again. Perhaps those few minutes you stayed in his presence may be enough to soothe his anger.

“Hongjoong!” she screamed in a firm tone.

A third call will result in chastising. Hongjoong finished his drink, then stood up with Seonghwa to walk back into the main room. Draped with red, black and gold, plush couches and cushions decorated the circular room. It had every comfort or luxury people outside the palace would faint over.  If she wanted, musicians would stand in a corner to entertain them while Yunho, Mingi or Wooyoung danced for her. Jongho or Yeosang would be ordered to sing songs as she lounged herself across Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s laps. The “garden”, as she called their quarters, was her private playground and nobody is permitted inside unless under extreme urgency.

Sookmyung laid on her back on one of the couches, still nude and sweaty from the strenuous love making. His brothers rested around her, their privates no doubt aching from the constant orgasms, and their muscles burning due to the exertion. He supposed she’d tired herself out, since all physical touching stopped in his absence. Though, knowing Sookmyung, that desire can turn its ugly head around very easily. He must not do anything to entice her, yet still placate her. Perhaps he can convince her to retire to bed early or return to her quarters for the night. Meeting Naeun will be easier if she’s away.

“There you are,” she said, rolling onto her side and looking at him through tired eyes, “I was beginning to think you’d fallen asleep without me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He thought of straddling her to wrap his hands around her throat, yet instead, he did so to kiss her softly. Her lips, warm and tasting faintly of their combined juices, disgusted him instead of exciting him. The thought of kissing you instead was what pushed him through it until they broke apart. 

“I had someone go fetch YN,” she told him, putting her legs across his lap. “I’m starving, and she hasn’t appeared yet.”

“I’m sure she’s preoccupied elsewhere, and it slipped her mind,” assured Hongjoong.

“How can I slip from her mind?” she snapped. “I’m her queen. My welfare is all she should be concerned with; it’s her role as my handmaiden and head of my household. She is my oldest companion, but she can be so simple-minded sometimes.”

He wanted to slap her, but resisted the urge by giving her thigh a slight squeeze disguised as desire.

“Maybe I should take her down to the cells again,” she said pensively. Rolling her hairpin between her fingers, he saw her turning the idea in time with it. “I can show her what can happen if she forgets about me.”

His eyes looked to Seonghwa, whose jaw clenched tightly. He saw similar expressions from the others around them. Hongjoong knew they cared about you just as much as he did.

“I don’t think such a harsh display is necessary, Mistress,” said Yunho, coming to her opposite side, gently moving his fingers through her hair. “There are many duties she has besides tending to your needs. She has to manage your household staff, plan out your meals for you, and make sure everything is prepared for your nightly routine. The kitchen might not have finished your supper, for all you know.”

“Hm, I suppose.”

“And I believe you’ve exerted yourself enough for one evening, no?” he proposed.

“I guess,” she said, sounding almost disappointed. “It’d still be funny,” she snorted. “She’s so squeamish sometimes. She'd looked away when I cut off a man's hand once, and cried like a baby." 

Hongjoong remembered that man. While thievery is frowned upon, the man’s reasoning was sound to Hongjoong: he was hungry. Rather than remove a finger for theft as is customary, Sookmyung chopped his hand. Piece by piece, he'd heard. Hongjoong did not see it, but you did. He wished he could remove the images from your mind, and replace them with ones of warmth and happiness. Yet, that is one thing a king cannot do.

“She’s delicate, Mistress,” Yeosang said next, coming up and kneeling beside Yunho. “Ladies like YN are sensitive to certain ghastly sights, and cannot handle them. She is not as strong as you; you cannot fault her for what is a part of her.”

“You all seem to be quite fond of her…” they all heard the accusation laced into her words, and Hongjoong knew what to say.

“She is not only your handmaiden, but your childhood companion,” he said, “She has become a large part of you. She’s almost an extension of yourself, and how can we not be fond of something that is a part of you?”

‘She is your slave. She is your property, therefore we care for her safety and spirit.’

"She is,” Sookmyung agreed, “I have known her my entire life. She has been there for me through the toughest times, and has never betrayed me. YN might be naive and simple, but she is the only person whom I can trust entirely.” Hongjoong saw her eyes glaze over as you crossed her mind, “If she serves me well, perhaps I’ll find a suitable husband for her myself. Someone worthy of my handmaiden and companion. Nobody of noble birth, of course, but maybe a nice stable boy or a cook-”

“-You summoned me, Your Majesty?”

Speak of an angel, and she shall appear. You parted the curtains leading into the harem room, still in your white uniform and hair braided down your back. The concubines did their best to not get an eyeful of you, but Hongjoong couldn’t help himself. While Sookmyung displayed pride and power, you showed more purity and grace. He liked that about you. 

“There you are,” said Sookmyung, standing up from the couch as if she hadn’t spent hours having sex with her concubines. Without an order, you picked up the bed robe hanging over one of the chairs to slide onto her arms. “I’m starving. Tell the cook to bring my supper here.”

“I already told them,” you said, pulling her hair out from inside the robe, “I know how exhausted you must be, so I thought you may find it more comfortable to eat here.”

“Ah, YN…” she smiled in satisfaction, “My father used to say the mark of a true servant is them knowing your commands before you’ve given them. You know me so well, YN.”

“It is my job to know you.”

Your eyes found him in the room as you quickly braided her hair from her face. Hongjoong knew complimenting you would raise suspicion with Sookmyung. 

“You’re an excellent handmaiden, YN,” said Yunho, “Knowing exactly what our Mistress needs at any given moment is a true talent.”

You bowed your head to him, but did not answer. You’re not allowed to unless Sookmyung permits it. You finished tying her hair, and stood aside while Sookmyung returned to one of the sofas nearby. Hongjoong forced himself to look away from you, knowing a lingering glance may have consequences for you. If she suspected anything between you both, you’d no longer be allowed in the house, and that would kill him. 

Sookmyung lounged across a sofa, resting against Wooyoung’s chest with her feet on San’s lap. "She truly is,” Sookmyung said. “YN, I was just telling my flowers that I should find you a proper husband.”

“That’s kind of you to consider, Your Majesty.”

“But, I have no idea what kind of men you like,” she frowned, and Hongjoong feared where this might be going.

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “What kind of men do you like? Athletic? Intelligent? Creative? Mysterious?”

“Um, I’ve never really thought about it before. I don’t have much time for men.”

“Well, if you did think about it.”

You averted your eyes from the men staring right at you. No doubt you think she is trying to trick you into a punishment. “I prefer simple men, Your Majesty. Ordinary people like me.”

“Psh, that’s no fun,” she scoffed. She paused for a moment, then said, “A woman like you needs a protector type. You know, somebody strong who will take care of you and be a proper provider. Your father isn’t around anymore, and once he’s gone, you’ll be a vulnerable little mouse. Sannie,” she turned to him, “Stand up.”

“Mistress?”

“Stand up,” she repeated more firmly.

San did not question her again and stood from the couch. “Take off your robe,” she said. “Let YN see what a protector’s body looks like.”

San removed his robe, letting it slide down his shoulders. Hongjoong saw red flushing up to his neck, cheeks, and ears as the room took in his naked form. You certainly did your best to not look at him.

“YN, look at him.”

“I’d rather not, Your Majesty.”

“Why not?”

“Because he isn’t my type.”

“You won’t know until you look.”

When you looked up at San, you did your best to not glance at his exposed groin. “Do you like it?”

“Um…well…”

“I won’t know what you like unless you tell me.”

“I think he’s nice, Your Majesty.”

“Nice? You clearly aren’t looking in the right places,” she said. “Yunho, make her look.”

“Mistress?”

“You heard me. YN clearly needs a bit of guidance. Show her where she should look.”

“Mistress, is this truly necessary?” asked Seonghwa. “YN is not as versed in sexual practices as you. Women like her are-”

“-She will be after tonight,” she grinned maliciously at your nervousness.

Yunho had taken two careful steps up to you when the doors at the end of the hall burst open. The sounds of struggling and feet stomping on the wooden floors froze everyone in place. A terrible feeling stirred in Hongjoong’s stomach when he heard a woman grunting. Through the curtains came two of Sookmyung’s guards, each of them holding the arm of someone dressed entirely in black. Naeun. Hongjoong let his shock show on his face, but disguised it as shock at the intrusion.

“What is the meaning of this?” Sookmyung shot up, outraged by their interruption. “What is going on?”

“We found this one sneaking about in your flower garden, Your Majesty,” one of the guards said. “She was carrying this.”

He showed a long dagger Naeun kept on her person at all times. The red band around the pummel made every lewd thought in Sookmyung’s mind disappear. Dark eyes glared at Naeun, who glared right back at her.

“A resistance fighter, huh?” She walked towards Naeun slowly, like a lioness stalking prey. “You truly believed you could sneak in here under the cover of night, armed with a pathetic little blade,” she took the blade from the guard and weighed it in her hands, “And think you can kill me? Hm, is that what you hoped to accomplish?” Naeun had the smarts not to respond. “You resistance bastards are like roaches. Right when I think I’ve stomped you out, you crawl your way back in.” She stuck the knife right underneath Naeun’s chin to force her eyes on her, “As I told the last rebel scum who snuck into my palace, your cause is hopeless. I control the trades. I control the fleet, the army, and the elite. Everyone and everything on this earth belongs to me, and I can do with it as I see fit.”

"You bitch,” Naeun gritted. “You won’t get away with this. Soon, our true monarch will rise from the shadows and strike you down. Death is coming for you, Sookmyung.”

“Not before it comes for you!”

“No, Mistress,” you rushed to her side to stay her hand, “Do not kill her.”

“What?!”

“Your Majesty, if this woman truly is a resistance fighter, she may have information on the people who sent her,” you explained breathlessly. “If you question her enough, she may tell you where the rebels are hiding. Those rebels have been a thorn in your side for so long, you might have the key to their undoing right in front of you.” When Sookmyung seemed unconvinced, breathing quickly on the verge of a kill, “Wouldn’t putting her in the cells be more fruitful than merely killing her? Particularly in front of the present company. You wouldn’t want your flowers to see the ugly side of you.”

Sookmyung mulled this option over, then said, “Yes. Yes, it would be more fruitful.” She smirked at Naeun, sliding the flat of the blade across her jawline, “I think we can learn very much from our ambitious friend here. Take her to the cells. YN and I will be there soon.”

“Yes, my queen," one of them said, bowing and taking Naeun away. 

“Should you not dress yourself properly, Your-” you'd begun to say. 

“-And get blood on my dress? I think not." Sookmyung turned to the men behind her, “Sleep well, Flowers. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Beloved,” Hongjoong called out to her, standing to meet her by the door, “How about you let YN go for the night and I will accompany you to the cells? She is not very well suited to interrogate someone properly, and she’ll be no help to you.” He pulled her closer to him, then whispered, “The others might find it ugly, but I find your fierceness to be…inspiring.” He brushed his lips on the edge of her ear, aware of you watching him.

“You do?”

“Always. A good queen should know when to be strong. YN isn’t like you; she’s soft and simple. Dismiss her for the night, and let me go with you.”

“You just want me all to yourself, don’t you?” she giggled, pecking his lips. “Fine, I will allow it this one time. YN, you’re dismissed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Hongjoong needed to get to Naeun. He's sure you stopped Sookmyung to keep Naeun alive or otherwise kill her quickly. But, he still had a greater need for her. He walked with Sookmyung out of the house, feeling your presence behind him. Naeun is a woman dedicated to the cause. Hongjoong sensed she will not give up the information easily, if at all. Knowing Sookmyung, she will drag out the pain for as long as possible before letting Naeun succumb to her wounds. Naeun will be alive enough to pass on the information she’d gotten from Changbin. Letting Sookmyung into the palanquin outside the house, he looked over to see you already walking away. You must feel relieved at being spared embarrassment and guilt for tonight. As he climbed into the seat, he knew he’d done at least one thing right tonight.

He braced himself for what he’d witness tonight. 

***

Sookmyung’s torture chambers ran deep underneath the palace jail. Sitting behind metal bars, “prisoners of interest” were locked up in small, low-ceiling rooms with nothing but a bed of straw to sleep on. Hongjoong’s nose wrinkled at the foul smells emanating from the different cells as they passed them. He did not dare glance inside any of them, a bit fearful of what he might find there. A sense of despair and dread came over him as he followed her down the aisle to the room at the end. He could imagine himself being a prisoner here, dragged out of a cell and inflicted with unimaginable agony. It sent shivers down his spine. 

“What do you think, love?” Sookmyung asked him, excitement dancing in her eyes. “Do you like it?”

“It’s innovative,” he said, having to come up with something. 

He dared peek into a cell, where he saw a long wooden box on the floor. He thought it might be a storage room before he saw the box begin to quake and faint screams came through the wood. It made his blood run cold. 

“You built this place yourself or was it always here?” he asked, moving along with her. 

“I built most of it, but it’d been in disuse for decades,” she said. “My father never approved of torture. He believed the punishment should fit the crime. I think differently. If the punishment is extreme, then the offender won’t think of doing it again.”

Hongjoong didn’t disagree. Not that he agreed either, but he wouldn’t say it out loud. Loud, painful screaming echoed from behind a wooden door, and this made Sookmyung stop to look through its small window. “Blossom, come look,” she smiled, glancing over to him and beckoning him forward, “They’ve lifted him to the ceiling.”

He made himself step over to her, and she let him see the naked man dangling from a pulley system. The jailors tied baskets of weights to his ankles so his legs stretched further. From what he could see, the baskets were nearly full. 

“You see, what they do is hang them from the ceiling,” she explained excitedly, “And then they keep adding weights to the baskets to bring their body downwards. It’s like a stretching rack, but vertical. I’ve found it quite marvelous to watch. If they hang there  long enough, their bones start dislodging from the sockets.”

“That’s…Beloved, we have an assassin to question. We shouldn’t keep the confessor waiting.”

“Oh alright,” she huffed, like a child being refused sweets, “But when we finish, I want to show you The Box. YN squirms whenever I open it, but you’re a strong man and she’s a little girl, so you can handle it better than her.” 

Hongjoong did not want to see ‘The Box’. He did not want to see any of this. If he asked, he’s sure whatever crime these people did to deserve these punishments is minor. ‘They stole a loaf of bread’, ‘They said treasonous things’, ‘They happened to be wearing the same color as me at a special occasion’. A queen, or any person, should not delight in the misery and pain of others. Capturing the revolting scenes before him only fueled his hate more, and solidified his cause. He’d get rid of Sookmyung. He’d kill her himself, if he must, and the consequences be damned. These people, whatever their crimes, do not deserve such torment. 

They finally reached a room at the end of the hall, which turned out to be a singular space with a fireplace, a tub of water, and a wooden chair. At a desk in the corner sat a record keeper, who prepared a new sheet of paper and an ink bottle to record whatever transpired here. Why this was needed, Hongjoong could only guess it was meant for Sookmyung to revisit later on her own. Strapped to a chair in the middle of the room was Naeun, blood dripping from a broken nose and a harsh mark on her cheek. He stayed in the shadows as Sookmyung approached her, eyes widening at the sight of her helpless victim. Naeun glanced over to him, and he wanted more than anything to save her, but that’d mean revealing his intentions for tonight. 

She’d started softly: questioning Naeun about the assassination attempt, who sent her, where were they and what else did they have planned. When Naeun did not answer, Sookmyung started slapping her. Then, she changed from a hand to a thick strip of leather. Then she used a long bamboo switch to strike Naeun’s hands until they bled. This did not disturb Hongjoong, since he’d witnessed such things during the war, but what Sookmyung escalated to shocked him. 

Teeth pulling. Nail ripping. Bone breaking. Stretching her until her bones popped. Naeun’s screams of pain bounced off the damp, stone walls and into his ears. Hongjoong knew he could not look away, even for a moment, because Sookmyung would notice. The queen herself cackled at Naeun’s pain, only asking questions as an afterthought. Hongjoong saw the delight in her eyes, and the gratification the torture gave her each time. He wondered if this is what you witnessed every time you came down here, and, if so, you are much stronger than he could ever be. 

“Fuck me,” Sookmyung growled at him, her eyes flaring and already lifting her robe. 

“What?” he asked, stunned by her appearance. Blood stained her fingers, and light sprays covered her face. She pressed him into a wall, and began untying his own robes. “Sookmyung! Mistress!”

“Doesn’t this arouse you like it arouses me?” she asked, feral and panting as she stroked him. “Do you not feel adrenaline coursing through your veins in every snap? Do her screams not make your loins burn like mine? Put it inside me, Hongjoong. Please. Your queen demands it!”

He pushed her away from him hard, and she gasped at his refusal. “I will not do this here,” he explained himself, fixing his robe closed, “I think you have gone far enough, Mistress. The woman will obviously not speak tonight. Let her wallow in her pain and reflect on her choices.” 

“I knew you were spineless,” she scowled at him. “A goddamn coward. That is how you ended up my whore, because you’re too cowardly to fight me. You’re a gormless, worthless, useless coward!” She grabbed a nearby pot of iron nails and threw it at him, though missed him by a few inches. “Let the bitch rot here for tonight, but come tomorrow, beloved,” she let the endearment hiss in her voice, “We’re going to return, and you’re going to question her for me.” 

“Mistress…”

“We’re done here,” she said to the room, her eyes burning on Hongjoong. 

He’d kill her then. He’d strap her to the chair and make it last as she would to him. Hongjoong watched her storm out of the room, and the jailors lifted Naeun from the floor. Her soft groan brought him out of his rage, and he looked over at her. From her half-opened eyes and shallow breaths, she still lived. Hongjoong followed the men out of the cell, then in the opposite direction of the entrance. The men did not question why he followed them, and nobody batted an eye when he watched them dump her body on straw. Hongjoong waited until they left to crouch down beside the bed. They must’ve assumed he wouldn’t try helping her, or that she'd die before he could. 

“Naeun,” he whispered as quietly as possible, worried his voice may carry, “Naeun, can you hear me?” 

Her head on the straw, he saw her remain motionless. 

“Naeun,” he said once more, the worse coming to mind. “Naeun, please…” She muttered something incoherently, and he moved in closer to listen. “Naeun?”

Naeun wriggled on the bed, shifting as little as she could before stopping all together. Hongjoong held his breath. For a few seconds, Naeun stayed silent and still. He considered the fact that she may have died before her head slowly turned upwards to him. One eye swollen shut, the other suffered enough damage that blood vessels popped and filled the white of her eye. He noticed her mouth stopped bleeding from the pulled teeth, and a bloody gash congealed on her chin. Despite all this torture and pain, he still spotted a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. He saw her rifling around underneath her collar, bloody fingers barely grasping the necklace around her throat. When he saw her struggling to remove it, Hongjoong took it by the charm and tugged the thin rope. Opening his palm, he saw a wooden dove in flight. 

“Crack…it,” she slurred, unable to move from her position. 

Hongjoong took the wooden charm and smashed it against the floor. After a few hits, it split open to reveal a thin scroll inside. Hongjoong picked it up and gave her a quizzical look. 

“Read it,” she croaked, “Alone.”

Tightly holding it in his fist, Hongjoong nodded and put the scroll in his pocket. Then, he looked at her. “You were brave, Naeun,” he said, “I wish I shared such resilience.”

“You d-do, Your Majesty,” she said, coughing and breathing deeply. “You do.” She took his hand in hers, and said, “Your people need you, sire. Please…help…help them.”

“I will,” he nodded. “I promise I will.” 

Hongjoong knelt there for several minutes, listening to Naeun’s shallow breaths becoming fainter and fainter with time. When the torchlight fell on her face, he realized how young she was. He wondered about her. She must have a family; a husband too, perhaps, and possibly a child. A child who will now grow up without her, never to feel her warm embrace or gentle kisses again. Sookmyung took that from them. She'd taken it from him too. He watched her eyes slowly closing through his tears. 

“I am going to make her pay, Naeun,” he said, sniffling. “You have my word. She will receive justice for what she has done.” 

He recalled every time he could’ve ended Sookmyung’s life. He thought of the times she laid soundlessly sleeping in his bed or the moments they spent in the privacy of their garden. All the times he could’ve fed her poison, or how he could’ve strangled her during sex. Yet, he had not. He’d let her live, afraid of the consequences each time he thought of them. Seeing Naeun fade from the world spilled tears down his cheeks, and filled him with self-loathing. He is a coward. He should be the one Sookmyung tortured, not Naeun. 

“Forgive me,” he whispered thickly, breathing back his tears. 

Naeun did not speak, and he did not expect her to either. Yet, with her last breath she said, “For Wonju…” 

And then she was gone. Hongjoong finally stood, and walked out of the cell. He informed the jailor, but did not stick around to elaborate. A sudden weight held him down. He trudged through the foul chambers, with the guilt holding him down. He did nothing. He’d watched the woman be senselessly tortured, and there’d been nothing he could do to help her. When he walked outside, he found Sookmyung waiting for him in the palanquin. He stared at her hard. The scroll in his pocket felt multitudes heavier than it should. 

“Don’t be so weepy. Real men don’t weep,” she said in a yawn. “I’m tired. Get in and let us be on our way.”

He climbed in without a word. Naeun did this for him. She’d risked her life to give him this information. Naeun knew this scroll was the key to saving their homeland; she’d died getting it to him. He would make sure her death was not in vain. 

Thankfully, Sookmyung’s exhaustion kept her from speaking too much. It gave him time to think without her incessant interruptions. By the time they reached the house again, he’d jumped out of the palanquin and stormed off. This sign of resentment made her call after him, but he did not hear her. He did not care. Her voice only irritated the rage brewing inside him. Let her beat him tomorrow, if she wishes. Tonight, he had more important concerns.  

As expected, the only light in the house was the moonlight coming in through the windows. He suspected his brothers already ate and retired to their rooms. Good. He did not wish to be disturbed. Rushing into his chambers, hot tears streaming down his cheeks, he didn’t realize someone was already there until he’d shut his doors. 

“Hongjoong?”

Seonghwa sat on his bed, reading a book by candlelight. He’d changed into a long tunic, and tied back his hair from his face. He stood up the moment he spotted Hongjoong’s puffy eyes and wet cheeks. In the safety of his embrace, Hongjoong sobbed hard. He clung onto his lover’s broad shoulders, fingers pressing into the muscles, and sobbed against his shoulder. Everything that transpired in the past few hours crashed onto him and only Seonghwa’s soft shushing and back rubbing soothed his cries. Quietly, he let Seonghwa remove his clothes, but not before Hongjoong withdrew the scroll. 

“What is this?” Seonghwa asked in a hushed whisper, seeing the scroll. 

“Naeun,” he explained, taking a breath, “This is what she wanted to give me.”

Seonghwa nodded in understanding, then stood by as he broke open the seal. In thin writing, Hongjoong saw a message scribbled:

‘Han Sookmyung is not King Siwon’s only living heir. The person who gave us this information will meet you in the palace temple at noon tomorrow. They will ask you what you pray for today. We pray for home. We pray for Wonju. For Wonju, we serve.’ 

Seonghwa and Hongjoong stood there in silence. The words marinated in their minds, and he still had difficulty believing them. Hongjoong reread the message again. ‘The person who gave us this information…’ A person? What ‘person’? Nobody in particular came to mind immediately. It also seemed borderline insane to write the starting line. Changbin seemed confident that nobody else but Hongjoong would read it, if he so brazenly wrote this down. 

He was confident because he’d sent it with Naeun.

“Another heir?” Seonghwa gaped. “Could it be?”

“There is only one way to find out.”

“You will meet this informant of theirs, then?”

“I will. I must." 

He slipped into bed, and surprisingly, Seonghwa joined him. “And I will go with you," Seonghwa said, pushing hair from his face. 

The two men curled beside one another, enjoying each other’s warmth and presence. His last thought, as he drifted, was of Naeun’s dying words. 

“For Wonju…”

***

A/N: thank you so much for the love and feedback I got from some people! I wasn't sure if people would like a historical au, but I love them so I wrote one lol I hope you guys liked this one, and please feel free to like and reblog <3 spread the love <3

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

xii. oh no, i’m falling in love again.

— the one where he changes your ticket home.

“𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰.” ― 𝘎𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘭 𝘎𝘢𝘳𝘤í𝘢 𝘔á𝘳𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘻, 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘢.

warnings: this is fiction so we're going to ignore everything that doesn't adjust to our real world timeline, okay? okay. ft. timothée chalamet, paris inaccuracies, alcohol consumption. 3.4k words (+articles!)

currently playing: labyrinth by taylor swift!

also the song referenced in the first article is this one.

masterlist ✢ next

by Alan Gomez

After months of awaiting its release, Aidan Kim has graced us with the first single of his upcoming album “MIRRORS”.

The first song off the album, called “In Your Pocket” was released last Friday august 4th, and reached its peak at #7 in the billboard 100. The track, in which Aidan participated both as a lyricist and producer, talks about a dying relationship thanks to the girl being a cheater and protecting the evidence by not showing her cellphone to her counterpart.

With a constant “show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” and “it should be really easy if you have nothing to hide” Kim depicts what could be his personal experience with ex-girlfriend y/n y/ln, who was accused of cheating with a Formula 1 pilot last May.

The album expects its release in October 5th.

SEE ALSO:

→ Victoria Presley takes a break from social media: "My free speech is being disrespected."

→ Who did Aidan Kim date before y/n y/ln?

→ Mia Kim loses role on Netflix's Heartstopper.

By Beatrice Mann

With the release of his first single, Aidan Kim keeps pushing the same old narrative that he got cheated on by his ex-girlfriend actress y/n y/ln.

The thing is, there is absolutely not proof of this to be true. y/n herself has said that despite everything going on in her relationship with Aidan Kim, cheating never crossed her mind. Plus, the allegations that involved Formula 1 driver, Charles Leclerc have been debunked by the monegasque himself saying he had “the pleasure of meeting y/n” in April.

Aidan Kim is manipulating the narrative to make himself look as the one who was blindsided, however no one is holding these facts against him, when it’s clear lying has never been past him.

Even Joel Austin who spent most of the 2010’s working with Aidan Kim in Star-5 has called him “deceitful” and “jealous”.

It is extremely harmful that, despite y/n refusing to say Aidan Kim’s name in public and choosing to only refer to him as “my former partner”, Aidan can’t keep her name out of his mouth to save his life. Tell me Aidan, who really is freeloading of the other one’s fame?

SEE ALSO:

→ Former Star-5 staff says Aidan Kim played a key part in the group's disbandment.

→ y/n y/ln looks radiant leaving Columbia Pictures HQ.

→ Swifties prove they're #TeamYN with new trend praising the actress.

August 15th, Paris, France.

Laughter fills your hotel suite, you're stumbling around the room barefoot, in an attempt to dance to ABBA's 'Dancing Queen' while Matilde takes pictures with a disposable camera and holds her aching middle.

You're supposed to be getting ready for a Fashion Show happening in an hour and a half, one both Matilde and you got invited as guests for Dior. Your outfits are hanging by the door to the suite, away from the mess you've made with spilled champagne and a half-eaten fruit platter.

It's the first time in days that the lyrics to 'In Your Pocket' aren't playing in the back of your mind as you try to go on with your day. Being with Mati always helps you forget the outside world, even for a little while.

The music fades as you pose in the middle of the room and Matilde snaps a picture that leaves you seeing stars for the following seconds.

"Okay, let's get serious now," you say through a chortle. "We need to be ready!"

These public appearances are becoming increasingly important for you, they are the few chances you get to show everyone that you are still likable enough to get invited to events and therefore, not an awful person at all. Although actual awful people get invited too, you're hoping to give the opposite impression.

Your styling team will be getting there in ten minutes, assuming you're showered and ready and not in pajama shorts and your hair in a bun on the top of your head.

"Fine!" Matilde takes a deep breath, soothing her laughter before giggling again. "Go on, take a shower and I'll pick our stuff up."

"Thank you!"

You make a stop before running to the bathroom. Your cellphone rests on top of your bed, facing down. A text from Charles pops up as soon as you lift the phone, the screen unlocking with your face. It's a simple 'see you later, soleil' that has you smiling like an idiot against your will.

"What's that?" Matilde wonders, picking runaway crushed grapes from the marble floor. She knows exactly what it is that's got you smiling like that, you spilled everything last night, when you were drunk on red wine.

Your stupid little crush on Charles isn't your best kept secret anymore, but there is no one you trust more than Matilde to keep it with you.

Surprisingly, despite her initial warning, Matilde didn't judge you at all as you hiccuped and whined about how good Charles looked at the wedding and how unfair it was that you felt butterflies every time you thought of him.

The butterflies didn't last long, though, supplanted by worms of anxiety. Falling in love was not a conscious decision, no matter how much you wish it would be otherwise. And it was so frightening. Falling felt like flying, until you ended up crushed on the ground.

“Nothing,” you say, locking the phone again.

“Huh,” Mati is holding back a smile, wiping the stickiness from her hands on her pajama top. “Weird.”

You smile at her, a sheepish ‘I’ve been caught’ smile that finally makes Mati herself grin. You’re glad she didn’t repeat her “you don’t wanna do that” sermon, although maybe it would have helped you make your mind up about whether you want to explore your feelings or throw dirt on them to extinguish the fire.

Maybe you just have to get through one day at a time, if there's anything you've learnt since your downfall began is that the future is unpredictable. You wish you had a crystal ball, though.

─────────

It's at the After Party that you actually get five minutes alone with him, or as alone as you possibly can in Le Carmen, surrounded by half-drunk people and loud music blasting.

"Here, soleil," Charles hands you the Vodka Soda you ordered, before taking his whiskey. It makes you remember the smell of his breath, so close to your neck, while you danced at the wedding.

You take a sip of your drink before Charles can clink his glass to yours, and he just laughs as embarrassment fills you. "Sorry."

He looks impeccable in his tailored suit and with his hair slicked back. Your hands are sweating and you try not to let it show how nervous you suddenly feel, this isn't you. Not around Charles, anyway.

"It's okay," he says, sipping his drink too, a smile still on his lips.

Red lights flash on your faces as you try your best to hold a conversation about the fashion show. Charles was a guest for Armani, and had to sit exactly opposite to you facing the runway.

"Hey! y/n!" someone is grabbing the upper part of your arm before you have even turned around.

"Oh, hi!"

You saw Timothée around a couple times tonight, but with his popular kid aura, all he'd done was greet you with a smile and a wave before disappearing through the crowd with a drink in his hand. To be honest, after what you'd said about him on your Youtube video you felt a little shy, but he never seemed to remember or mind your comments, he said he was on your side once or twice, even.

"How's it going?" he asks, his hand has left your shoulder and dropped to his side, but you notice the way Charles' eyes follow it. "Also, nice to meet you," he offers the same hand to Charles who takes it immediately, giving it a strong squeeze.

"C'est mon plaisir," is all Charles responds.

"All good," you half-sigh. Stress is a normal part of your life now, but it doesn't mean you're okay with it. "You?"

Timmy shrugs, imitating your response before drinking from his glass. "Just wanted to say hi, i'll see you soon, yes?"

"Hopefully?"

The exchange can only mean one thing. He has gotten the call.

Your little trip to Los Angeles was for a chemistry read at Columbia Pictures with Timothée for Greta Gerwig's new version of Little Women. It's the furthest you've gotten all year to landing a role and just thinking of it has the vodka churning in your stomach.

Charles watches the conversation with his brows furrowed, gripping the whiskey glass tightly. You give him a smile that he doesn't return before downing his drink.

"I'm sure I'll see you," Timmy is smiling again and his long fingers squeeze your bare shoulder once more. "Exciting, right?"

"Oh, you have no idea," you finish your vodka soda and immediately regret it. The alcohol is going to go straight to your head if you don't slow down.

"What are we talking about?" Charles questions, finally done with being the outsider, and letting his annoyance get the best of his manners.

Timothée and you open your mouths at the same time, but before words can come out, someone is dragging your could-be-costar away not caring at all that he's busy, and all he does is say a quick 'sorry' and 'bye'.

Awkwardness falls between Charles and you as you stare at your shoes, then his, and finally look up at his face, the lights have changed to blue and green and hide the color of his eyes.

"Want to get some air?" you suggest, "I'll tell you all about that." you signal to where Timothée disappeared with your head and bite your lower lip. Charles' expression softens and he nods, following you out as people woo for Rihanna's 'We Found Love'.

You take a deep breath once you're out of the club, the air is warm and pleasant. Charles observes you, leaning against the wall of the building. The back is empty, albeit a little creepy, but you don't mind. It's quiet and you're alone with Charles. Okay, maybe that you mind a little. When did you forget how to act around him?

"So," you begin, standing in front of him. Charles' demeanor is still mildly off-putting and you know you'd be the same had you been excluded in the way you did to him. "It's not a big deal, really. I haven't told anyone because, well, you know how things are right now and, yeah..."

Charles raises both eyebrows, his lips form a thin line briefly, before he switches to a good attempt at being neutral.

"I auditioned for a movie, Little Women, and finally got a callback. We had a chemistry reading a couple weeks ago," you explain quickly, rubbing your forehead in an anxious gesture. "His 'see you soon' is just wishing me luck, he's already got the role."

"Soleil, that's wonderful," Charles pushes himself off the wall, holding both your shoulders with his warm hands. "Why didn't you tell me?"

You shrug, making his palms slide to your biceps. "I didn't want to die of embarrassment when I didn't get the role. Which I can still do, by the way. Die, I mean."

Charles laughs, and you break into a smile too. "Seriously, Charles."

"You're not dying of embarrassment, not on my watch," he squeezes your shoulders. "I'm so proud of you."

"I'm sorry that you felt left out back there," you apologize, and it takes more than a little effort not to look away from his eyes. "It was really rude."

Charles shrugs—all nonchalant—as if he wasn't about to crush a whiskey glass with one hand just ten minutes ago. "That's okay, soleil. You can keep your secrets."

"You can keeps yours too," you joke, and it's like the air shifts around you. Heavy with secrets and unspoken words.

Charles lets go of you then, taking a step back. "I don't want to keep secrets from you, y/n."

Your heart wants to jump out of your chest, and the knot in your stomach tightens so much it turns heavy. You cannot say that you don't want that either, because keeping this secret from him is self-preservation.

It's not the time to think about him, and you hate yourself for it, but when Aidan's face flashes through your mind you're filled with fear. And you hate him more than you could possibly loathe yourself. Because he's made you afraid of falling in love.

You plan to meet up with Charles for brunch the next day. You ignore Mati's chants of 'It's a date!' all morning as you move around your shared suite, trying to pick out the perfect outfit, excusing the indecision with how 'unpredictable' the weather is. Although it's been mild for the past fourteen days.

The flight you're taking back to New York with Matilde leaves the next day, and you're carrying the dread of packing the mess you've left at the hotel. The press has been right about one thing only that involves you or your friends, Matilde is going back to Broadway and since your home is finally just yours again, you offered it to her while she figures her stuff out.

"y/n, chill, okay?" Mati is lying on her unmade bed, holding her phone above her face. "Your packing will be done just in time, just worry about your date."

"It's not a date," you repeat, running the brush up and down your cheeks again, painting them a glowy peach. "Is it?"

Mati rolls her eyes, and before she can turn to face you, she drops her phone right on her face. "God damnit!"

You burst out laughing before you can help it, but still leave your chair to check on Matilde. "Are you okay?"

She rubs her nose, tears in the corner of her eyes. "Never better,"

"You'll be fine," you assure, blood doesn't come out and the redness is probably just from her incessant rubbing. "Be careful next time."

"Sure mom," Mati rolls her eyes again and sits up on the bed. "Oh, loving the makeup!"

"Thank you," you stare at your reflection in the mirror for thirty seconds straight, urging your eyes to find a flaw. Is the line on your eyelid crooked? Are your teeth stained pink? Maybe you should have chosen another shade for your blush.

"y/n," Mati is still pinching the bridge of her nose and you feel really sorry for laughing. "You look beautiful, okay? Stop looking at yourself like that."

You flashback to a time Victoria told you maybe you should just 'stick to what suited you' when you tried a shorter haircut.

"Thank you, Mati," you take your eyes away from yourself. "Sorry for laughing, are you sure you're okay?"

Mati nods, showing you her clean palm. "This has happened to me more times than I care to admit."

You giggle, running your fingers through your hair one last time. "I promise I'll finish packing as soon as I get back."

"Can you just focus on one thing at a time?" Mati picks a stray hair from your forehead and puts it back in place. "If Charles doesn't tell you how beautiful you look, I will kick his ass, by the way."

You laugh, but you hope he will actually think so.

You get a déjà vu feeling when you get to the restaurant and Charles is already there, tapping his foot on the white linoleum and fixing his empty cup on the little plate.

"Am I late again?" you ask after the host leads you to his table. You're smiling and your cheeks are about to protest in pain.

"I'm just too early, again," Charles gets up to pull your chair, and you hold your breath as he kisses your cheek before moving on to the next task. "You look gorgeous, soleil."

At least Mati won't have to kick his ass.

"Thank you Charlie," you beam wider, enjoying the moment of satisfaction before anxiety presents itself. "You look very handsome."

His beige shirt and glasses aren't otherwordly on a normal basis, but you love the way they look on him. And you're proud of yourself for being able to return the compliment for the first time.

Lunch goes by smoothly as you recap last night's party, the good, the bad and the ugly. You spent the rest of the night dancing with him and Mati, and doing your best to stay away from the vodka to soothe your nerves. You even saw Timmy again before he left, and he wished you good luck in his own strange way before saying goodbye in slurred French to Charles and you.

"So, what are you plans for the rest of the break?" you're on your third cup of coffee, not your best idea, really.

There's around twelve days left before Charles has to go back to racing.

"Maybe taking a trip, spending a few days at home too. I just want to rest."

You nod. As an actress sometimes you have to travel a lot, but it can't compare to the way he's always away from home, you just got the tiniest taste as an Elix ambassador.

"Sounds like a great plan, Charlie,"

It's like Charles is always inviting you to join him in anything he plans to do, and this is not the exception, as the words that come out of his mouth next are: "Do you want to come with me?"

“Come where?” You laugh, to be honest, most of the time you think his offers just come out of being polite. Like when you offer someone a piece of your food and you secretly hope they’ll say no.

But Charles is always authentic when it comes to his offers, especially to you. “Anywhere you want,” he smiles, his eyes become small behind his glasses. “Have you ever been to Greece?”

You can’t help but throw your head back and laugh. “Seriously?”

Charles nods, semblance unchanged. He is smiling but he isn’t joking at all. “Italy? though you know that already thanks to Matilde. Carlos says Tenerife is beautiful.”

“Why?” You gulp, your right hand is gripping your thigh under the table, anxious.

“I want to go with you,” Charles admits, and it’s the first time his calmness falters, just for a split second. “I like being with you.”

The line between what you two are and what you’re not is blurring again, and you’re uncertain as to which side it’s the one you want to choose to remain at, although you’re sure which is the safest.

“Why?” You repeat, your tongue is sandpaper in your mouth. You want to hear him say it, and you dread it all the same.

“Because I like you, y/n. I like you a lot, and I want to be with you.” Charles doesn’t skip a beat and the juxtaposition between how soothing his words are and how nervous they make you, has your head spinning. Sure, it’s not the first time he tells you he likes you. But you know this is different. "Why don't we hang out before you get busy with filming?"

You scoff. "Oh you do have a lot of faith in me, don't you?"

Charles frowns, always disliking every time you self-deprecate. "Yes, and so should you. I'm sure you're getting that role."

"Right," you sigh, annoyed at yourself for going straight down the self-hate line in front of him. Though it's not like he hasn't witnessed it before.

"So?" Charles jumps back to the previous topic swiftly, "Where should we go?"

"I have to go back to New York, though," you wince, your excitement and anxiety dying at once. "I made a promise to Mati."

Charles is unable to hide his disappointment as he looks down at the table. He's unsure of how much longer he can keep playing this game where he's okay with being just friends with you although it's clear you keep crossing each other's lines and taking a step back every time it gets too real. And he promised himself he'd be patient, because what he feels for you is real. But the pain he feels every time you find a polite way to reject him is also very real.

"I understand," he assures, smiling.

"Thank you, Charlie. I'd love to go with you, though."

It's the first time Charles isn't sure you're not lying to him.

"Are you actually out of your mind?" Mati gasps, her fork clanking against the plate as she lets it go. "Why did you say no?"

"H-How was I supposed to say yes?" you mutter, directing an apolegetic look to the rest of the customers Mati has startled.

"y/n my beloved, you just had to say yes, just like that. "Yes Charles, I'd love to go" finito."

"Right, you make it sound so easy."

Mati softens then, drinking from her sparkling water to gain some time. "Did you want to go with him?"

You find yourself nodding.

"Then why did you say no?"

"We have to go back to New York, Mati, I couldn't leave you hanging."

"First of all," Mati's accent comes out with her slight exasperation. "I can stay at a hotel, y/n. It's not the end of the world. Or you could always give me a key, you know," she raises both eyebrows, and it makes you laugh. "Why don't you put yourself first, y/n?"

This refers to pretty much everything going on in your life for the past 6 months. But the one time you put yourself first meant the beginning of the end.

"I'm scared," you whisper, avoiding Mati's eyes.

"I know," Matilde reaches for your hand and gives it a soft squeeze. "But you deserve to be happy, inspite of the fear. Maybe Charles can add on to your happiness. How will you find out if you don't even let yourself try?"

You know you cannot keep letting fear control your actions and stop you from getting what you want. You've done that enough, it wasn't patience that stopped you from speaking up for yourself all that time while Aidan and Victoria ran you through the dirt. It was fear.

"Could you excuse me while I make a phone call?"

Mati just cackles in response.

─────────

The prickle on the back of your neck has returned, and you're trying to get more air into your lungs while you wait for Charles to pick up the phone.

"Allo?"

"Hi Charlie," you breathe, failing at hiding your anxiety.

"Hello, soleil," you can hear the smile in his voice, "Are you okay?"

"Um, yes. I just wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead,"

"So um, is it too late to join your trip?" you speak too fast, but you barely have time to wonder whether Charles understood, because he lets out a short, breathy laugh that's filled with relief.

"It's never too late to change your mind. Can New York really wait, though?" Charles fears he's said too much, or that he sounds sarcastic enough to make you regret taking the initiative.

"New York will be there, and so will Matilde," you laugh.

"Let's change your ticket, then, soleil."

You're still falling. You're still afraid. But you're going headfirst.

─── team principal radio: ❝it's finally here! thank you for reading! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. please let me know what you think, i appreciate all of your interactions with delicate so much! if you're a ghost reader, don't be afraid to interact too. we're all very nice here❞

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[aethes-bookshelf]

we promised we'd save you || astarion/tav/halsin

This chapter took me way longer than I expected it to. I had to finish my biggest commission to date a few weeks after posting part one. It seems it took a lot out of me ^^"

But! I promised comfort, I deliver comfort. I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Astarion/Tav/Halsin

Warnings: implied/referenced past character death, hurt/comfort (mostly comfort)

Wordcount: 1.3k

Summary: The first thing Tav felt was pain.

ao3 link || part 1

When they came back, Halsin carrying Tav’s dead body, stunned silence washed over the camp. The entire time the party knew Tav, they seemed indestructible. Larger than life, powerful and confident. But now, with their limbs limply swaying with Halsin’s movements, they looked like a little doll; fragile and lifeless..

Their skin was much, much paler than usual, dirty with dried blood and grime. They weren’t wearing their armor; it might have been lost or destroyed at the bhaalist temple. Without their shoulder guards they seemed so much smaller, dwarfed by Halsin’s broad shoulders.

‘What happened?’ said Wyll, eyes wide.

‘Orin happened,’ said Karlach. She had a look of grim determination on her face. ‘Where’s the skeleton?’

* * *

The first thing Tav felt was pain. Every single muscle in their body ached with that deep, crushing kind of pain that made even the slightest movement hell. Their head wasn’t doing any better. Their pulse pounded in their skull, each beat of their heart bringing an uncomfortable sensation in their temples. They were parched, their throat so dry and tight they were sure it would start bleeding at any moment.

They were hurting all over. But if they were hurting, that meant they were alive.

That realization slammed them right back into themself. The last thing Tav remembered before everything went black was being thrown onto the sacrificial altar in the middle of the bhaalist temple.

Tav opened their eyes. Above them was the fabric of their tent — they were back at camp. They were back at camp! Relief flooded their system. Their friends must have come for them before it was too late.

Granted, they couldn’t really move much because of the pain, but it probably wasn’t anything a bit of healing magic couldn’t fix. And a little pain was to be expected after whatever the hell Orin did to them. They would manage with a few more healing potions and Shadowheart’s help.

Tav groaned at the ache as they tried to adjust their legs under the covers. A puff of white hair suddenly came into their vision. It disappeared almost immediately when someone crashed into their chest with a relieved sob. Tav made a short, pained sound.

‘Shit,’ Astarion hissed and reluctantly moved away. He settled for holding Tav’s hand instead. ‘You made me forget myself there, my sweet.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you must’ve been so worried,’ Tav said, their voice teasing and hoarse. They squeezed Astarion’s hand just a little bit tighter; he squeezed back. ‘Still, there’s no need to break my ribs over it, is there?’

Astarion was strangely silent for a beat too long. Tav tried to rise to get a better look at his face but decided against it after the pain pushed them back into their bedroll. ‘What, no witty banter? Are you okay, love?’

That made Astarion snort, unamused. ‘It’d be quite hard for me to be okay after you went and quite literally died on me.’

It was Tav’s turn to go silent. ‘...What do you mean “died”?’ They said after a few moments.

‘I mean “died”.’ He sounded annoyed. Still, his voice shook all the same. ‘You… you died. Orin killed you.’

‘Oh.’ Tav cleared their throat. They refused to let the true weight of that statement reach them. ‘Well, then I’m glad you brought me back. Though we’ll probably have to restock on scrolls of revivify. We’d been running low for a while now, anyway.’

‘See, that’s the thing,’ Astarion had to grab onto the fabric of his pants to stop his hand from shaking, ‘we couldn’t bring you back. We tried the scrolls, they…’ He swallowed, grief thick in his throat. ‘They wouldn’t work. We had to rush you to that blasted skeleton. For a moment I thought I’d…’

…lost you.

Astarion couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. He felt as if he was on the brink of a cliff, staring down a bleak, lonely future. He’d rather not think about what his life would be like if Tav had not come back to him.

Tav wished to sit up and cradle Astarion to their chest. But they couldn’t; and they cursed all the gods, devils and hells for it.

‘Lovely, look at me,’ they said instead.

Astarion did as they asked. He was trying very hard not to cry again; he wasn’t sure if he had any tears left to spare.

‘I’m here now, okay? I’m still here.’ They tried to give Astarion a reassuring smile, but it came out as a weak grimace. He smiled back anyway.

‘I know, love. And am I not grateful for it,’ Astarion said, quietly. He wiped his eyes with the back of his free hand. ‘Give me a moment, I have to tell Halsin you’re okay.’

‘Is he alright?’

‘He’ll be now.’

The tent fell into silence when Astarion left it. Tav’s world shrank down to the pull of their muscles and the pounding in their head.

They died. Almost for good this time. The reality of that crashed down on them so suddenly they felt like they couldn’t breathe.

But they were still here. Was Orin dead then? Did the rescue party get her Netherstone? What of Gortash? Had any progress been made while they were out of it? Just how long had they been out of it?

Their racing thoughts stopped when the flaps of their tent parted and both of their lovers came in. Halsin rushed to their side, worry clear on his face.

‘My heart!’ He was by their side in an instant. He grabbed their hand, just as Astarion had before, and planted a kiss on it. He held it to his face like a drowning man would hold a piece of driftwood.

‘Hi,’ Tav smiled. ‘Glad to be back in the land of the living.’ They could taste the copper tang of blood in the back of their mouth.

Astarion settled next to Halsin and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s okay, you big oaf,’ he said, doing his best to sound exasperated, ‘they’re okay.’

‘You say it as if you, too, haven’t been beside yourself with worry.’

Astarion scoffed. ‘Yes, yes, the pot calling the kettle black and all that.’ Despite his tone, Astarion’s eyes, locked on Halsin, remained soft.

Halsin rested his and Tav’s intertwined hands in his lap. ‘How are you feeling, my heart?’

‘Like I just died,’ Tav said, in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Everything hurts, I can’t really move.’

Halsin’s brow creased with worry. ‘Let me.’ He lifted his free hand and passed it over Tav’s body. The soothing coolness of healing magic did away with some of their pain.

Relief must have been clear on Tav’s face; Astarion perked up almost instantly. ‘I take it you’re feeling better already, aren’t you?’

‘I suppose I do,’ Tav adjusted their legs under the covers, this time without most of the pain. ‘I wager I’ll be up and about soon enough.’

‘You should rest for a few more days at least,’ Halsin’s voice was firm. Tav suspected there would be no changing his mind.

‘I know, I know.’ They sighed, bored already. ‘And thank you for the healing spell, honey.’

Halsin smiled. ‘The pleasure is mine, my heart.’

‘How long was I out?’

‘Almost a week,’ said Astarion. His head was resting on Halsin’s shoulder. The druid laid his free hand on the vampire’s lap. ‘None of the others knew what to do without you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t, either.’

‘None of us did.’ Halsin sighed. ‘Until now,’ he said and gave Tav a look so full of pure, unfiltered adoration they had to look away for a moment.

‘Until now,’ whispered Astarion.

‘Rest, my love.’ Halsin’s voice was warm and soft. ‘We’ll be here, watching over you.’

Tav nodded and closed their eyes. Sleep came for them quickly.

Their head was no longer pounding.

[sapphire-writes]

Bandaids & Butterflies (modern hospital AU)

Do No Harm part 2 || masterlist || next part

pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader

summary: Your week continues at Citedal General. You try to figure out what ails Cece Lannister while tensions rise between you and Aemond.

word count: 4.1k

disclaimer: yall, I am not a doctor, I am simply a Grey's Anatomy stan. If something is off or incorrect please just suspend your disbelief! I am trying my best to make it as accurate as possible but its just for fun!!

warnings below the cut!

warnings: medical terminology, medications, CT scan, blood, infectious diseases referencing spicy times but nothing explicit in this chapter

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

“What happened to you?” little Cece Lannister says when you walk into her room the following day, “You look terrible.”

There’s something about kids; like they’ve been force-fed truth serum and have to say the first thought that comes to their mind. You cock your head to the side, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

“Cerelle,” her mother hisses, cheeks red at her daughter’s brutal honesty. 

“What?” Cece says, eyebrows creasing together, “She does.”

“It’s okay, really,” you tell Mrs. Lannister, as she scolds her daughter again, “Maybe I should get a bed next to you.”

Cece shakes her head, golden curls vibrating as she does. Her hospital gown hangs too big, drooping off her thin shoulders. You wonder if she’s been eating much more than the ice cream they serve after dinner. 

“No roommates, please. I like my alone time; I get to choose whatever station I want,” she says smiling, holding the remote control to the television on the wall. 

“How’re you feeling this morning Cece?” you ask, reaching for the chart that hangs at the foot of her bed. 

The nurses of Citadel General are on top of everything; without them, the hospital would not be able to function. You flip through her chart, eyes scanning her nighttime vitals. 

“Okay,” Cece says, tugging the ear of her stuffed lion.

“I see they increased her muscle relaxant,” you note, “Did you have a hard time sleeping?”

“She always does but I think the spasms are getting worse, especially at night,” Mrs. Lannister says, concerned in her voice. 

“Are you gonna have a scar?” Cece chimes in, pointing to her temple, mirroring where your stitches are.

“Cece-”

“Probably not,” you tell her, giving Mrs. Lannister a small smile, “The doctors here are pretty good you know.”

Cece leans over in her bed, pulling out a small toy doctor kit. 

“I’m a good doctor too,” she says, rummaging through the bag, “Tyrion has had extensive surgical procedures.”

She points at her stuffed lion, and you suddenly notice the different array of bandages and band-aids covering the golden fur. 

“Oh has he?” you ask, as Cece pats the bed beside her. You move to sit on the edge of the bed, holding her chart across your lap.

“Yes,” Cece says, holding out an assortment of bandaids for you to choose from, “I’ll let you choose. I like pink the best.”

You smile, pointing at the pink bandaid with yellow paw prints decorating it. Cece smiles, approving your choice. She peels the backing before pressing the bandage over your stitches, gently pressing on the edges to make sure it sticks.

“There, much better,” she tells you.

“Thank you, Dr. Lannister,” you tell her, which causes her to smile.

“There she is!” Jace calls as you arrive at the nurses' station. His face scrunches as he looks at your forehead, “Nice bandaid.”

“Thanks,” you say, touching the pink bandage, “Courtesy of Cece Lannister. You run that CT scan for her yesterday?”

“You mean after the ruckus you caused?” Jace asks, leaning against the nurses' station, “No, Baratheon put me in the pit. Which is probably where I will stay for the rest of my life.”

“Did anyone get a CT?” you ask, frowning at his theatrics. 

“Um after you left Cory was supposed to cover her labs and stuff,” Jace tells you, “I’d ask her she’ll know-”

“Know what,” Sara says, placing a handful of clipboards between you, “I’ve been on scut duty all morning. Does anyone know why Baratheon is in such a foul mood?”

“Fouler than usual?” Nettles says, stepping up beside you. 

“I’m not sure if I’m able to determine that,” Sara says, groaning, “But she definitely seems angry.”

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” Cory says, weaving through residents, holding two coffee cups above her head, “Seven hells, doesn’t anyone know how to walk in this place?”

“Apparently not,” Nettles comments, as Cory holds a coffee out to you. 

“For you. Figured you’d need the extra caffeine,” she says as you take the cup. Her smile turns down into a frown, “What is on your head?”

You roll your eyes. This is clearly going to be a whole-day occurrence. 

“Interns!” Dr. Baratheon’s voice calls out, and you all turn, straightening yourselves. 

Dr. Baratheon looks down at her clipboard, before bringing her steely blue eyes to look at the five of you. She sighs, flipping through her pages. 

“Martell, now that Dr. Y/L/N is back I want you to assist me on Lyonel Beesbury’s Whipple this afternoon; You can write that on the board,” she says, nodding to herself. 

Cory lets out a soft ‘yes’ before quickly rushing across the hallway. Nettles’ jaw tightens and you can tell she’s disappointed to have not been asked. 

��Waters I want you shadowing Dr. Targaryen today in pediatrics, Dr. Y/L/N you may join her,” Baratheon continues.

Targaryen.

Your heart lurches.

“Dr. Baratheon, I’m supposed to get Cece Lannister that CT scan,” you tell her, as she raises a brow.

“That’s fine. After that bring it to Dr. Targaryen up on peds, she’ll be interested in seeing it,” Dr. Baratheon says, returning her gaze to her clipboard.

“She?” you ask the question leaving your mouth before you can stop it.

Dr. Baratheon sighs, placing her clipboard across her stomach. Her eyebrows lift toward her hairline, blue eyes fiery.

“Yes, she,” Dr. Baratheon quips, “Was there someone else you thought I was referring to?”

“No ma’am,” you say, shaking your head. 

“Good,” she says, eyes moving past you, “Snow, Velaryon, you’re in the pit.”

Sara and Jace audibly groan. Baratheon gives them a stern look which stops their complaining.

“No drama today,” she says sternly, “Understood?” 

You all murmur words of agreement, and Dr. Baratheon brings her eyes back to your face; they flicker up to your forehead. 

“Take that thing off,” she comments, shaking her head and walking down the hall.

“She’s right. You look silly,” Nettles tells you.

“I can’t take it off, it was a gift from a sick kid. You know how much bad luck that will bring me?” you tell her, walking down the hallway.

“Speaking of bad luck,” Nettles says, smiling, “When are you going to tell me about how you know Dr. Sexy?”

“Dr. Sexy?” you say through a laugh, “Not the greatest name.”

“Girl but he is sexy,” she says fanning herself, “Guy’s name should be McDreamy.”

“McDreamy, Dr. Sexy, it’s nothing,” you tell her, “We….we may have hooked up. Once! That’s it and it was before I knew he worked here.”

“You bad girl,” Nettles hisses, though she’s smiling; her eyes bright, “How was it? Does McDreamy live up to his name?”

“Literally the best sex of my life,” you tell her, “But we already decided it can’t happen again.”

“What?” she says, her smile dropping, “It’s not like he’s your boss, he’s a coworker! People fuck coworkers!”

“What happened to not shitting where you eat?” you tell her.

“Girl you already did, might as well see it through! Especially if he’s that good,” she says, leaning closer, “Just….how good, if I may be so bold.”

You wet your lips, trying to fight your smile.

“Five orgasms good,” you admit and Nettles squeals loudly, jaw dropping.

“That does it,” she says, “You’re getting Dr. Sexy back. Do it for me.”

“Don’t you need to get to peds?” you ask, “And see…Dr. Targaryen?”

“Yeah I noted your confusion around that,” she says with a sigh, “Dr. B was talking about Dr. Helaena Targaryen. You know, renowned pediatric surgeon? She does fabulous research on infectious diseases as well; she came and spoke once when I was in med school about…”

Your mind trails off as Nettles speaks, still focused on Aemond. You hadn’t seen him today and yet he was all you could think about. Since dropping you at home you hadn’t spoken, besides the text he sent you. The door couldn’t still be open. Could it?

“...especially in the southern climates like the Summer Isles, Sothoryos, and Naath..are you listening to me?” Nettles says, punching your shoulder slightly, “Right. Anyway, Sounds like you’re boning her brother.”

“Brother?” you ask, connecting the dots, “Shit. He did say he moved back here for family. But a family full of doctors?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” Nettles says, shaking her head, “Sorry. That sounded mean. But the Targaryens are like a huge deal in the medical world.”

“I mean, I’ve seen names on research,” you admit, “And maybe a Ted Talk or two but….I mean I didn’t even know his last name when we…I didn’t realize..”

“You’d come straight into the lion’s pit?” Nettles says with a chuckle, “It’s okay, girl. But I’m giving you some homework. Seriously, look them up. Learn a thing or two.”

“I can’t google Aemond,” you tell her, “It’s just…I don’t know that doesn’t feel right.”

“Understandable,” she says with a shrug, “I mean, Spark Notes version, they’re a huge name within the medical community. Big money, big name, big influence. So don’t go pissing any of them off.”

“Right,” you tell her, “Got it.”

“I’m heading to pediatrics,” Nettles says, pressing an elevator button, “See you soon?”

“Yeah,” you tell her, “Just have to get this CT and I’ll be there.”

“Cool. Later, klutz,” she teases as the doors open.

Cerelle Lannister’s CT scan takes much longer than anticipated. The wait is long and the small girl trembles when being taken into the machine, legs flailing each and every way. Only when they’re strapped down is she somewhat still enough to enter the machine. 

“I feel like a mummy,” she says when the straps are secured, “Being put in a sarcophagus.” 

“That’s pretty spooky,” you tell her with a grin.

“I like to pretend when I’m scared,” she says softly.

You reach out and take her hand.

“No need to be scared of this. The machine is just really loud, that’s all. I’ll be just outside,” you assure her.

“Okay,” she says softly, squeezing your hand. 

She does great, staying as still as she can the entire time. You praise her through the microphone and wave as the nurses escort her back to her room, wheeling her in a small wheelchair. Her stuffed lion was safely on her lap. You’ve noticed she rarely lets go of the toy. 

You sit in the room outside, watching as the scan produces results. Forehead creased, you click through the images as someone knocks on the door. You turn, smiling at Jace leaning in the doorway.

“Hey there,” you greet, “Shouldn’t you be in the pit?”

“Had to sneak away for a second,” he says, “Those Cece’s scans?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, beckoning him forward, “See that inflammation there?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, leaning forward, hands on the back of your chair, “So what’s your thinking?”

“Something bacterial,” you tell him, “I mean, there’s no sign of tissue or nerve damage, her labs are stable despite her on-and-off fevers. But it's progressing significantly. She’s having trouble sleeping due to the spasms.”

“Have you ever heard of something that causes this?” Jace asks.

“No, at least not off the top of my head,” you admit, “I’m heading to peds. Maybe Dr. Targaryen will have a better idea. Nettles says she specializes in infectious diseases.”

“Oh…..yeah,” Jace says, straightening up and rubbing the back of his neck. You frown as he tenses, his friendly disposition vanishing.

“Just an idea,” you tell him, gathering your things.

You follow him out of the room. Jace seems uneasy, he rubs at his face, and the collar of his scrubs. 

“No it’s a good one,” he agrees, “I should get back to the pit---”

“Strong,” a voice calls, sending your heart racing. 

Aemond takes several strides toward the two of you, a smug smile on his face. Something in your gut tightens, the memory of your night together burning in the back of your mind. He wore a similar expression then, one full of confidence. Goosebumps erupt on your skin. You can hear his voice from that night, as he whispered in your ear while sheathed to the hilt inside of you. 

“Who’s my good girl, hmm?”

You blink, shaking your head, trying to physically expel the memory from your mind. Your cheeks heat up and you notice Jace has turned several shades darker as well, fists clenched at his side. 

“I thought you were assigned to the pit, Strong,” Aemond asks, cocking his head to the side, “I would hate to have to tell Baratheon you’re disobeying orders.”

Aemond’s sentence hits you like a slap in the face. He’s not as cool, calm, and collected right now as he was the last time you’d seen him. He’s bordering on being cruel. You glance at Jace. 

“It’s Velaryon,” Jace says, through his teeth.

“Come again?” Aemond asks, “Don’t mumble, Jacaerys, it’s unseemly.” 

“My name,” Jace says sternly, “Velaryon.”

Aemond’s mouth quirks into an amused grin. 

“My apologies,” he says smoothly, “You’ll have to forgive me, it’s easy to forget.”

“Sure,” Jace says, nose wrinkling.

“Give my best to your dad,” Aemond says, “Whichever one, you’re choice.”

Aemond turns to you, something flickering across his eyes. 

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he says with a curt nod, before walking away, hands tucked behind his back.

Jace exhales, striding over to the elevator. You follow close behind as his pager beeps.

“What the hell was that about?” you ask, stepping inside with him.

“Nothing.”

“Jace, that wasn’t nothing.”

“He was just messing with me,” Jace insists, not meeting your eyes.

“Why was Dr. Targaryen messing with you?”

“Because he’s a narcissistic pig!”

Your eyes widen and Jace sighs, shaking his head. 

“He’s….he’s my uncle okay,” Jace admits. Your eyes widen.

“Your uncle?”

“Yes, and my side of the family doesn’t really get along with his side,” Jace says, as the doors open to your floor.

“But why-”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Jace says, shaking his head, “I have to go. Sara just paged, some drunk deadbeat riling everyone up downstairs.”

You step outside the elevator but turn back to him.

“I want the full story, Velaryon. Not the Cliff Notes, the whole story,” you tell him. 

“Okay!” he reluctantly agrees, “Later.”

“Tonight, Dragon’s Den, tell Sara!” you call as the doors begin to close.

“So I can air my dirty laundry to everyone?!” 

“Exactly!” you call as the doors shut. 

Turning on your heel, you head down the hall to pediatrics. You can’t wait to share the details with Nettles as you push through the double doors and head to the nurses' station. 

“Excuse me,” you ask a nurse, “Have you seen Dr. Targareyn?”

“Which one?”

“Dr. Helaena Targaryen,” you clarify.

“She was just here, she’ll roll around in a moment.”

“I’m sorry…..roll?”

Just as the question leaves your lips, the sound of wheels against linoleum is heard from down the hall. A woman in light green scrubs and a white lab coat rolls on her heels down the hallway. Nettles jogs behind her as she turns, coming to a stop in front of you. 

Her silver hair is shaggy, but the resemblance to Aemond is uncanny. A large butterfly pin holds some out of her face and she smiles brightly as you greet her. 

“Been waiting for you,” she says, holding a hand out for you to place your scans in, “Aemond told me all about you.”

You nearly choke on your saliva and Nettles’ eyes go round.

“He--he did?” you squeak.

“Mhmm,” Helaena says, flicking through the scans, “Quite the first day you had.”

“Oh right,” you say, relief washing through you.

“Glad you’re okay,” Helaena says, glancing up at you, “Nice bandaid.”

“Thanks,” you tell her.

“Cece Lannister,” she muses, “What is going on with you.”

“I was hoping you’d have thoughts,” you ask.

“Has she traveled anywhere recently?” Dr. Taragreyn asks, frowning at the scans, “You’re thinking it’s some sort of infection, correct?”

“Yes,” you tell her, “And I’m not sure about her travel history.”

“Find out,” she tells you, “If you’re going to find out what this is, you need to find out what caused it and where.”

She hands you the scans, smiling once more.

“Nice to meet you,” she says with a smile, “Officially this time.”

Your cheeks heat up. She knows. She remembers. You vaguely remember Aemond speaking with his sister before leaving; you’d barely caught a glimpse of her. 

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling weakly. 

You hurry off after that, eager to get back to Cece Lannister’s room to inquire about her recent travels. Walking down the hall you enter one of the many elevators, waiting patiently as it stops on nearly every floor, doctors coming in and out. 

Then it's just you and someone else, you look out of the corner of your eye and recognize him. 

Dr. Cole smiles at you.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

“Better, thanks to my cool bandaid, not the stitches and rest,” you tell him, cracking a smile.

“So cool,” he says with a laugh, “I had a kid give me a bandaid covered in oranges the other day.”

“Tropical,” you comment as the doors open.

“Good to see under better circumstances,” Dr. Cole says, beginning to exit, “Ah Dr. Targaryen.”

Your blood runs cold as Aemond enters the elevator.

“Will I be seeing you this afternoon?” Dr. Cole asks, “I’ve got an aneurysm clipping if you’re interested.”

“Always, if you’ll have me,” Aemond says, and Dr. Cole nods as the doors close. 

You’re alone. With him. Alone with him. Your heart pounds frantically in your chest, anxiety making your senses heighten. The elevator suddenly feels very small, and closed in; the air not being pushed through the vents quick enough. Aemond stares straight ahead, not looking at you and not attempting to engage in polite conversation. Your stomach sours and you swallow. 

“Hey,” you say tentatively. 

You glance at Aemond out of the corner of your eye and watch him look down at his feet. You scoff softly, annoyed by his ignoring of you. The elevator hums and your anger pools quickly in your belly; flames licking upwards to your face. 

“So you’re ignoring me now?” you ask, getting no reply, “Really mature.”

Aemond continues looking at his shoes, hands folded behind his back. 

“We’re colleagues, the least you could do is make polite conversation,” you huff, pressing the elevator button once more.

You know it won’t make it arrive quicker, but you need something to do with your hands. 

“And that whole thing with Jace?” you say, pressing the button again and again, “I don’t know what your problem is, but clearly that was an asshole move--”

Your hand is yanked away from the button, long fingers wrapping around your wrist and suddenly his lips are on yours. The hand around your wrist falls and both his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

Your anger dissipates almost immediately, as you link your arms around his neck fisting the hair at the nape of his neck. The moan this causes him to release, sends your knees buckling, and he brings one hand to your ass, squeezing harshly. 

Spearmint and tea. He tastes so good, mouth so warm and soft moving against your own you can’t help but whimper as he cradles your jaw with his free hand. Desire pools in your belly, and a desperate gasp leaves your lips.

Aemond drags his lips to kiss your jaw, and your neck as his opposite hand cradles the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. You’re so needy, so responsive to his touch, you want him so desperately, and then---

The elevator dings and you push away from each other, breathing heavily as the doors open and more residents and attendings enter. You quickly get your bearings springing out of the elevator and onto your floor. 

“Y/N!” Aemond calls, walking after you. 

Your pager goes off just as he reaches you, and you squint down at it. 

“Code White Cerelle Lannister,” you tell him, going numb with shock, “I just saw her-”

“Go,” Aemond says, before turning to a nurse, “That’s a medical emergency, page Dr. Helaena Targaryen!”

You hurry down the hallway, breaking out into a run as you enter Cerelle’s room. Dr. Baratheon is there already, Mrs. Lannister sobbing holding onto Cece’s stuffed lion. Cece’s sheets are soaked with sweat as she thrashes. 

Not sweat.

Blood.

It’s as if Cece is sweating blood. 

“Hematidrosis,” Dr. Baratheon says, readying a syringe, “Push one of epi.”

“Cece it’s gonna be okay,” you tell her, as Dr. Baratheon hands you the syringe. 

Cerelle’s eyes are wide, tears streaming down her face leaving clear rivers through his red-tinged cheeks. 

You give her the epinephrine. Slowly but surely her sweating ceases, and her forehead begins to dry. Her legs spasm, stronger than before. She’s getting worse. 

“Mrs. Lannister,” Dr. Baratheon says, trying to console the weeping woman, “Mrs. Lannister it’s alright. While Hematidrosis is quite disturbing, it’s not serious.”

“Not serious?!” Mrs. Lannister says in a shrill voice, eyes wide, “My daughter is sweating blood, and you’re telling me it’s not serious?”

“Paged,” Dr. Targareyn says entering the room, “Dr. Baratheon.”

“Mrs. Lannister, this is Dr. Helaena Targaryen, one of our pediatric surgeons and infectiology specialists.”

“Infecto..what?” Mrs. Lannister says as Helaena moves around Cece’s bed. 

Cece’s eyes are panicked and she holds onto your wrist with a vice-like grip.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you tell her, “Dr. Targaryen is just checking on you.”

Helaena brings out a penlight, instructing Cece to follow it with her eyes.

“Mrs. Lannister, have you traveled anywhere recently?” she asks, continuing her assessment. 

“Um,” Mrs. Lannister struggles to find words, placing a hand on her forehead and closing her eyes, “Yes. We got back a couple of weeks ago.”

“Where?”

“Naath. It was Cece’s idea, she’d been reading about the flora and fauna, she’s such a bright kid she loves all that stuff,” Mrs. Lannister says through tears.

Helaena smiles at Cece.

“I like that stuff too,” she tells the young girl, “Cece, what did you see on your trip? Any cool plants, bugs, animals?”

“L-lots,” Cece answers shakily, still holding on to you tightly.

“Tell me about them.”

“Um well…they’re famous for their butterflies,” Cece tells her, “They’re huge.”

“They are,” Helaena confirms, “I’ve never seen them in person, but I’d like to. Did you touch any butterflies?”

“Yes, but I washed my hands! Right after!”

“What color was the butterfly you touched?”

“There were so many--”

“Try and remember, the ones you know you touched.”

“Blue…..green…..one that was black and white,” she says teary-eyed, “Did the butterfly hurt me?”

“It didn’t mean to,” Helaena says softly, “They don’t know any better.”

“Butterfly fever. It’s a bacterial infection spread in Naath,” Helaena says to you and Dr. Baratheon outside Cece’s room, “She’ll need a routine of antibiotics, I can consult with my team on a proper regime.”

She turns to you.

“Good work,” she praises, “Butterfly fever can get pretty nasty. Skin sloughing off, and so forth.”

“She’s right, Y/L/N,” Dr. Baratheon praises, “Good work.”

“Thanks,” you tell her. 

After establishing Cece’s antibiotic treatment and giving it to the nurses' station, you make your way to the intern locker room. You quickly change out of your scrubs, eager to be back in normal clothes. Closing your locker, you check your phone. Jace, Sara, Cory, and Nettles have texted saying they’re waiting down in the lobby.

You leave the locker room, putting your phone in your pocket when you see him. Leaning against the door Aemond’s head turns as you walk out.

“Hey,” he says, straightening up. He’s still in scrubs, clearly, his shift isn’t over.

“Hey.”

He’s quiet for a moment, wetting his lips as he tries to find the words he wants to say.

“Look about earlier--”

“Aemond,” you cut him off, “We can either do this or not. You’re either in or out, but you have to make a decision.”

Aemond is silent, blue and violet eyes watching you. 

“What do you want?” he asks quietly.

“I just want you,” you answer honestly, “What do you want?”

“I….” Aemond struggles to speak, biting the tip of his tongue.

It’s not an outright rejection, but it still hurts like one. You sigh, looking down at your shoes. 

“I can’t decide for you,” you tell him, beginning to walk by, “That’s up to you.”

He doesn’t stop you as you continue to walk by, doesn’t reach out and pull you toward him. He lets you go. You find your friends in the lobby, force a smile on your face as you travel to the Dragon’s Den, and eagerly accept the tequila shots Cory buys you. There’s no text this time. 

Perhaps he made his choice. 

note: hope you liked it!! LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!

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[nicoline1998enilocin]

"Marry me" || Chapter 2

PAIRING || Fiancé!Tony Stark x Fiancée!Nurse!Fem!Reader

WORDCOUNT || 10.1K

SUMMARY ||For the past few weeks, you and Tony have been enjoying the excitement of his proposal without anyone knowing. But now it's time to make it public. First, you're going to announce it to your closest friends and family with a party. After that, it's time to share the news about your future with the world.

RATING || Explicit (E)

TAGS || Canon divergence. Everybody lives AU. Age gap. Nurse!Reader.

WARNINGS || Explicit sexual content. Implied/referenced insecurities. Use of Y/N. Tony is described as being tattooed.

SMUT || Teasing. Dirty talk. Praise. Nipple play. Hair pulling. Back scratching. Oral (F receiving). Fingering. Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). Cream pie. Multiple orgasms. Cockwarming. Aftercare.

A/N || I want to thank you all for all the love and support you gave me on part 1, as it has led to my excitement to get part 2 ready for you all, too! After this, there will be more stories before their love story comes to an end for us all, and I’m also looking forward to sharing those. I want to give extra special thanks to @ccbsrmsf1 because you have helped me get this story to where it is now. I love you, bestie, and I feel fortunate to know someone as amazing as you! 🤍

EVENTS @anyfandomfluffbingo || Engagement party @fandom-free-bingo Book Night || 'Look at the stars' @fandom-free-bingo Maritime May || Christmas Day @fandom-free-bingo Pride || Both? Both.

@fandom-free-bingo Pride || 'Lead me out of the dark' + "Soft hearts make the universe worth living in." @fandom-free-bingo Wild || 'I was the white knight in your movies' @kinky-things-happen || Oral @sweetspicybingo Winter || Stocking stuffer

GIF: @ccbsrmsf1 || All other graphics are made by @nicoline1998enilocin

Main Masterlist || Tony Stark Masterlist || Series Masterlist

It's been nearly two weeks since Tony officially asked you to marry him, and today is the day you'll finally be telling the Avengers about the good news. Now, you're curled up in bed against your fiancé after he pulled you against his body with a soft groan, placing soft kisses all over your neck.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look wearing only my shirt?" Tony asks with his deep, gravelly morning voice, and you can't help but chuckle at his words as a flurry of butterflies goes wild in your stomach, right where his hand is softly digging into your flesh.

"Hmm, maybe once or twice," you tell him, feeling his smile against your skin as you do.

"There's one thing I know for sure, Gorgeous, and that is that the shirt looks even better when it's on the floor," he whispers as his hand trails to the hem of it and slides under, leaving goosebumps where his fingers trail softly over your now exposed skin.

"How about I give you a little show when I take it off?" you ask, and Tony has never refused an offer like that. He lets you go before turning to lie on his back, and you move to straddle his lap, his long, throbbing cock nudging against your clit as you do.

"Fuck-" you say as a jolt of electricity crawls up your spine, and Tony's fingers dig gently into the plush flesh of your thighs. Your hands glide over his exposed abdomen before caressing the tattoo of your name that's proudly displayed over his heart. A small smile forms on your lips as you trace every letter before placing your hand flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under the palm of your hand.

"You feel that, Gorgeous? It's beating only for you," he whispers, and you can feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes. He notices and reaches to wipe them away before they get a chance to glide down your cheeks, and you take the opportunity to nuzzle into the palm of his hand as his thumb carefully caresses your cheek.

"I love you, Beautiful," you whisper almost inaudibly, making Tony smile. As you look at him, you admire how the little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes appear and how his smile shapes his face with nothing but pure happiness. The sparkle in his eyes as he looks at you finishes it off - as if he's looking at the center of the universe - his universe.

"I love you too, Gorgeous, more than I can ever express to you," he tells you before you take his hand, placing small kisses on his knuckles. The butterflies in your fiancé's stomach are fluttering wildly, and he has never been happier than he is now.

Once Tony's hands have found their way to your thighs, you move to grab the hem of the shirt covering your otherwise bare body, and you lift it ever so slowly, revealing the fact that you're wearing absolutely nothing underneath.

The moment your breasts spill free, Tony gasps softly as he revels in the jiggling motions, his lip pulled between his teeth as you feel his cock throbbing underneath you again, the mischievous smirk on your face only intensifying by the second.

"Do you like what you see, Daddy?" the nickname slips off your tongue with a teasing edge, and Tony's reaction is instant. Without a second thought, his hips buck up, making you moan involuntarily as the feeling of his clothed, hard cock rubs over your sensitive clit. Your eyebrows are knitted together as you squeeze his thighs to ground yourself, your pleasure rapidly growing.

"Does that answer you, Kitten?" Tony asks, using the nickname he only reserves for moments of complete domination over you. As he does, you want to squeeze your thighs together for relief, which is impossible as you're still straddling him.

"Hmm, cats got your tongue, Gorgeous?" Tony asks teasingly, which sends a warmth through your cheeks that you've rarely felt before. He doesn't give you the chance to answer, though. Instead, he rolls you over so that you're lying on your back, and he's now on top of you.

"Allow me to take care of you this morning, Gorgeous," Tony whispers as he nuzzles your neck, placing soft kisses on your shoulder and collarbone as your nails softly drag over his bare skin. As soon as you nod to give him your approval, he trails his kisses downward, where he stops for a moment to pay some special attention to your pebbled nipples.

"I can't wait until these are swollen with milk because I'm definitely having a taste or two of your sweet milk once you're carrying my baby," he tells you, arousal laced thickly in his voice. The idea of Tony doing that has you moaning and arching into his touch, your hands tugging on his soft locks as you pull him impossibly closer.

He doesn't stay long there, though, because as soon as both nipples have had their fair share of love, he continues his trail until he's settled comfortably between your thighs - he can spend hours there if you give him a chance. Even though every last freckle and mole, every inch of your body is engraved in Tony's memory at this point, he will gladly take his time between your legs, whether it's by teasing you or eating you out like a starved man. It's his happy place, and he's going there at every opportunity.

The first time he licks a stripe through your folds catches you off-guard, as you were solely focused on the way his breath and kisses felt across your skin, but Tony's reveling in every sound he's pulling from you. Every moan, whimper, and groan goes straight to his cock, which is throbbing under his stomach as he takes the time to taste you - to devour you.

Your pleasure builds like a hot coil inside you, the edge nearing with every movement of your body and every little sound that escapes from you. It's when Tony adds two of his long, thick fingers into the mix that you find your undoing with a scream of his name, your thighs trembling as his broad shoulders are spreading them, and your hips bucking up against your fiancé's face. It's too much and not enough, but most of all, you never want him to stop.

"T-Tony, don't s-stop-" you pant as he pulls his mouth from your dripping folds, but he just smirks as he keeps working his magic with his fingers, still stimulating you from the inside out as he carefully brings you down from your high.

"I wouldn't dream of stopping when you're this fucking beautiful for me. You're like a goddess when you cum for me, Gorgeous," he whispers against your stomach, his fingers now slowly pulling out as well as you're panting - a light layer of sweat adorning your body to make you look like you're glowing with the rays of golden sun shining down on you.

"Open up," he orders gently, and you do as he asks so you can clean his fingers for him, humming at your taste on his digits. Your eyes slip shut as you savor the musky taste of your arousal on his fingers, and he can't stop smiling at the sight in front of him.

"Good girl."

Tony takes his time to kiss you all over your body as you're basking in the afterglow of your orgasm, and his lips all over make you feel like you're floating. At the same time, Tony feels like he's on top of the world as he explores your soft curves, his hands wandering everywhere his lips can't reach until he's happily settled with his hips between your legs, only thinking about what it'll be like to sink into your heat again.

"Take a deep breath for me, sweet girl," he whispers in your ear as he lines up his veiny, thick cock, his warm breath leaving goosebumps on your neck as you do what he asks. A smirk plays on his lips as he breaches your entrance with his leaking tip, a soft groan escaping as he feels your wet heat encompassing him again.

"I love you, Gorgeous, so fucking much," Tony mutters as he drives his cock deeper and deeper, your bodies melding together into one. With each drag of his length inside you, it feels like you're starting to float again, and Tony's right there alongside you.

He takes his time as he looks at you through lidded eyes, drinking in your features as they're taken over by pleasure. He revels in the way your mouth slightly opens each time he hits your sweet spot or the way your face contorts as your orgasm washes over you - he has it all memorized, but simultaneously, he never wants to stop seeing it either.

"You're doing so good for me, hot mama; you feel phenomenal on my cock," he says through gritted teeth, making you clench around him as he does. You feel the familiar pressure of your orgasm building inside you with every motion, your back arching to give yourself just the right amount of friction and movement to let you tip over the edge.

With a loud and uncontrollable moan of Tony's name, you clench down on his length, your orgasm crashing violently through your body as you scratch his back to ground yourself - earning a deep groan from him in return as he spills every last drop of his warm seed inside you.

As you both come down from your highs, Tony peppers kisses on every inch of your skin he can reach, all while you're still trembling underneath him. Your mind has gone completely blank for a moment, and Tony's starting to worry when you look up at the ceiling with a blank stare. However, you smile wide as soon as you return to your body.

"That. Was. Amazing." you tell him before grabbing his face and kissing him passionately, which he happily reciprocates as he's still buried deep inside you. He could spend the rest of his life like this if it were up to him, as he can never get enough of your touches, your voice, the way your body molds together with his so effortlessly, but unfortunately, all good things must end eventually.

"Shall we shower before I take you out for a nice breakfast today, Gorgeous?" Tony asks you after he's pulled out, your body still feeling like cooked noodles as he cleans you up with some of the wipes he has lying on his nightstand. All you can manage now is a nod, as your sudden burst earlier has cost you more energy than you thought, and you're starting to get a little sleepy again.

"Alright, I'll go warm up the shower while you get some more sleep," he says before gently kissing your forehead, making you smile as his facial hair tickles you. Before you know it, you feel Tony moving off the bed, and you doze off when he's getting everything ready. Once it's ready, he comes to get you, and you both share a sweet, loving shower with lots of small kisses, whispered sweet words and many 'I love you's before getting ready to go on a breakfast date together.

"Are you ready, Gorgeous?" Tony asks as he's standing in the kitchen; you're just finishing getting ready for breakfast this morning and picking out a dress for your engagement party later. The mornings tend to be chilly, so you're opting for a comfortable outfit with one of Tony's oversized shirts, and when you walk into the large kitchen, Tony can't help but wolf whistle.

"Damn, I'm the luckiest man in Manhattan today, that's for sure! Being seen with you looking like this by my side is a privilege I'll happily enjoy," he compliments you as you twirl a few times, a giant smile on your face as he showers you with compliments.

"Careful there, Tony, you don't want to become dehydrated, now do you?" you tease him with a wink after you’ve steadied yourself, and you walk past him, a little extra sway in your hips on your way to the elevator that'll bring you to the grand entrance of Avengers Tower. After a short, muttered protest, he follows you, and as soon as the doors of the elevator open, he pulls you inside. However, before the doors even get a chance to close, he gently pushes you against the wall of the elevator, his face mere inches from yours.

"It's impossible not to drool over you, Gorgeous, especially when you wear my clothing," he tells you as he reaches his hand up to fix the collar, the dark brown of his eyes almost completely taken over by his pupils as lust threatens to take over his body again. A soft whimper leaves your lips as he presses his large, muscular body against yours, leaving not a single inch of space between you both as he kisses you deeply and passionately.

Your hands slip into his hair, pulling on it and making it messy as his fingers dig into your waist and ass to draw you impossibly closer to his body, your tongues fighting for dominance as the elevator makes the trip from the penthouse to the grand entrance. The two of you are so deep into your make-out session that you don't notice you've arrived at the ground floor, and it's only when someone clears their throat that Tony pulls away to look at who would even dare to interrupt you both.

"Sorry, lovebirds, but I'm afraid I'm going to kick you out of the elevator because I need to use it to get to my meeting," Natasha says with a sly smirk. It takes you a moment to catch on to what’s going on right now, as your mind is still focused on what was just happening, but Tony’s face has turned dark red at the sight of her standing there with her arms folded and a smirk. When your mind finally catches up with what’s happening, you feel embarrassment spreading through your body and a burning sensation on your cheeks.

“Don’t worry, Detka. I understand being unable to stay away from your man,” she says as she makes way for you both to leave the elevator. However, before you can go too far, she stops you by touching your shoulder, bringing her fiery red lips to your ear, and whispering, “Congratulations on your engagement.”

Her words only intensify the blush on your cheeks, and it feels like your entire body is on fire. As the elevator doors close, you see Natasha standing with a satisfied smile, and you can’t help but laugh at everything that just happened. One moment, you were in a heavy make-out session with the man you love, and the next, you realized your friend had figured out you were engaged, even though neither of you had mentioned it to anyone.

“What’s going on, Gorgeous?” Tony asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. He pulls you close, his hands resting on your hips while yours are on his chest. You sigh almost inaudibly as you smile at the situation, and Tony’s waiting patiently for your answer. While Tony’s not particularly known as the most patient man you’ve met, he seems to have endless patience for you, and it’s something you’ll always be grateful for.

“She knows. I don’t know how she found out, but I’m also not surprised, seeing how she’s a former spy and unbelievably observant,” you tell your fiancé, who chuckles in response. It’s not a chuckle that makes you feel like what you say is wrong, but rather one that lets you know he agrees.

“I guess we weren’t as subtle as we thought, but I’m okay with her knowing about us,” Tony whispers before kissing your forehead, which calms your thoughts down tremendously. For a moment, you thought he may be mad at her knowing, but he has shown you the complete opposite. Once the moment’s intensity has passed, you peck his lips before grabbing his hand and interlacing your fingers, ready to go for breakfast.

Tony is taking you to the diner a few blocks from Avengers Tower, as it is the place you tend to visit often - especially after you have had a long, tiring night shift. On those mornings, Tony will always treat you to your favorite breakfast there as you two talk about everything that happened, and when you go back home, he takes a shower with you before tucking you into bed.

Now, you’re greeted by one of your favorite waitresses - Carol - before she seats both of you in a booth by the window. This’ll forever be one of your preferred seats, as it gives you a chance to look at the people passing the diner while you’re enjoying breakfast, giving them backstories with Tony that have you both laughing so hard your stomachs hurt from the laughter.

Your eyes scan the menu as your stomach starts to tell both of you that it's demanding to be fed. Tony chuckles at the rumbling sound, making you smile as the butterflies in your stomach go a mile a minute. A warmth spreads through your cheeks as you look up at him through your lashes, only to find him looking at you with pure adoration.

"Y'know, sometimes I still can't quite believe you said yes to marrying me, Gorgeous," Tony says as he carefully grabs your hand, his thumb gently caressing the skin where your engagement ring will be proudly displayed after today; when you don't have to hide it anymore.

"Tony, there is not a single thing I want more than to marry you. I don't have to sign a piece of paper to declare my undying love to you, but I will do it to feel even more connected. By saying yes, I will say yes to loving you for the rest of our lives and yes to being there for you through everything. We've already been through a lot together, but I know that with you, I can get through so much more than I could by myself."

A lump forms in Tony's throat as he hears the words that flow out of your mouth, and tears are starting to prick at the corners of his eyes. Out of the two of you, he's always been the one who struggles with words, but he also knows he feels the same about you. He wants to grow old with you and protect you in every way possible. But most of all, he wants to love you until his heart stops beating, as it beats for no one other than you.

"I love you," he whispers, and you nod with a smile lighting up your features. You know he isn't good with words, but it doesn't matter. Every ounce of emotion is poured into those three words, and you can't stop hearing them from him. Each time they tumble from his lips, your soul glows, and your heart feels like it's being healed just a bit every time you hear them.

"I love you too, Tony, but I'm also starving after our morning gymnastics," you say with a smirk and a quirked brow, and he can't help but let out a boisterous laugh at your words. You both take a moment to look at the menu, and Tony can't help but notice how you look as your eyes scan the menu. It's a facial expression he's seen countless times before and always finds endearing.

"What're you trying to decide between?"

"Well, I'm thinking of getting the luxury cream cheese bagel with salmon or the fried eggs with toast and bacon." You tap your finger against your chin as you weigh your options, a habit you picked up years ago that Tony finds cute each time he sees you do it.

"How about both?" Your eyes snap up to meet Tony's.

"Both?" "Both." His answer is almost matter-of-fact, and you nod as you think more about it.

"I'm okay with ordering one of those dishes and then sharing it with you, Gorgeous. Even though I had my heart set on those delicious pancakes they serve-" Tony says with a fake pained look on his face, "- I'm more than happy to share half of it so you can have a bit of both."

The solution seems so simple, yet it makes you feel nothing but love, as he always seems to know you better than you know yourself. As you look at your future husband, you feel the butterflies going wild again as you remember you will marry him in a few short months and officially become Mrs. Stark.

"I can't wait to marry you, Beautiful," you tell Tony after ordering your breakfast, and you're holding his large hands in your significantly smaller ones, your thumbs rubbing over the back of his hands as you tell him what's on your mind.

"I'm looking forward to having a simple, small ceremony with our closest friends and family, and we will all go out to dinner to celebrate before partying like never before. But most importantly, I'm looking forward to our wedding night. Our first time as husband and wife," you admit to him as your voice trails off near the end, shyness creeping in.

"Yeah? Is that what you've been thinking about?" Tony asks confidently, his brow raised as his smirk lightens his features. You nod as you look at your connected hands, and he gives them a reassuring squeeze as he admits to his thoughts.

"So have I, Gorgeous. It's the only thing I can think about - what it'll be like to make love to my wife," he says softly, and you smile at his confession. Every time with Tony is fantastic, but you'll only get so many first times - your first as husband and wife is the one you've been looking forward to most.

Before you can answer him again, your breakfast is served, and you're both diving in, seeing how you both need a good breakfast after the morning you had so far. Having sex the way you two did always makes you both ravenous, and the delicious food at the diner hits the spot just right as you take a bite out of the bagel you've been craving.

"I have a surprise for you, Gorgeous," Tony says after he pays for your breakfast, and his words immediately pique your interest.

"I have rented out a special boutique this morning so you can have a private shopping experience to pick out a perfect outfit for our engagement party tonight. You can pick out a dress, shoes, a sexy set of lingerie-" he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows, "- everything your heart desires, without worrying about other people shopping. It's a special occasion, so I'm pulling out all the stops for you today."

And that's how you find yourself in one of the most high-end boutiques in all of Manhattan, trying on a set of baby blue lingerie that accentuates all your curves perfectly. Tony's seated by the dressing rooms, and as soon as you open up the curtains to show him the set, his mouth goes slack from pure amazement.

"Wow." That is all he manages to whisper, as he's otherwise speechless. He takes in the light blue lace that compliments your skin perfectly - it's like it has been made just for you. It's simple, but it makes you feel very sexy as you walk over to your fiancé, an extra sway in your hips as his eyes rake over your body, making your insides feel like they're on fire with pure lust and sexiness.

"What do you think?" you ask Tony as you place your index finger under his chin, lifting his face to meet your gaze. He reluctantly pulls his line of sight off your soft curves, his hands now trailing gently over the skin of your thighs.

"Perfect," he says with a soft smile, and you nod in agreement. Tony always makes you feel sexy and seen, no matter what you're wearing - or not wearing -but after seeing his reaction, you know it's something you'll put on more often.

"I also have a few dress options for you," the boutique owner tells you as she rolls in a large rack with a few dresses, all varying in color and style. Your line of sight is immediately pulled to a deep red velvet dress with a deep neckline. It's a color you've worn previously and know Tony will go crazy for, so it's the first one you'll try.

The dress is tight on top before it flows beautifully over your hips and legs, the split on the side still allowing you to show off some more skin. Your arms are covered by tight, long sleeves that reach your wrists, and the neckline is deep enough to make it a bit spicier but not so deep that it'll show everything. As you look at yourself in the mirror, a smile lights up your features as you know you've found the one.

"What do you think of the dress, Gorgeous?" Tony asks, and he's gobsmacked when you walk out of the dressing room again. It's only the first one you've tried on, but it fits you perfectly, highlighting all your best features as you twirl in front of him. When Tony gets up and grabs your hand, he pulls you close before placing both hands on your hips.

He leads you as you sway back and forth, your gazes locked on one another as you dance to the soft music playing in the store. He can't stop smiling as he looks at you with pure, unabashed love and knows he has fallen in love with you all over again. He's going to marry you, and tonight, he gets to share your love with everyone as you announce your engagement to the Avengers. Tonight will be the first step of the rest of your lives, and neither of you can wait any longer to share the amazing news.

"We have one more stop to make before we go back to the Tower, Gorgeous," Tony says, his voice tinged with a hint of mystery, after paying for your entire outfit. You look at him, a mix of surprise and curiosity on your face. You were fully prepared to go back and get ready for the party, but now, you're intrigued about what else he has planned for you both.

"Oh? Where are we going?" you ask, your curiosity piqued, and Tony's smile warms your heart.

"Well, I think I will keep it a secret for a little longer because I want to see your reaction when we get there," he says before pecking your lips, and you nod in agreement. After a last thank you, you and Tony walk out the door before turning to the right and walking down the street to a shelter where he has arranged for you to pick a cat to adopt.

Tony has arranged for all the necessary things to arrive while you were out for breakfast and shopping for the outfit, so everything from a large cat tree to multiple cat beds, feeders, and water fountains, and of course, plenty of toys will be waiting for you once you get back to the penthouse, so your new addition to your family can settle in nicely from the moment they arrive.

Once you two get closer to the shelter, Tony keeps glancing over at you to see your reaction, and you smile back at him once you notice he keeps doing it.

"Is everything okay?" you ask with a raised brow, and Tony laughs heartily at your question.

"Everything's perfect, Gorgeous, but I'm just curious to see your reaction when you realize where we're going," he explains, and your curiosity has now shot through the roof. You look around to see if anything stands out, and when you see the large sign for the animal shelter, you let out an excited squeal.

"Are we going to the shelter to cuddle with cats today?! Oh, I cannot even tell you how badly I need that!" you exclaim, unable to contain your excitement, before letting go of his hand and running towards the shelter, where a few cats are playing in a large pen by the window. You can't stop smiling as you look at them, and Tony's enjoying every second of what's happening. He can't wait to see your reaction when he tells you you can take one home today.

"Look at them, Tony, aren't they adorable? Oh, I can't wait to go in and cuddle with all of them," you tell him excitedly, and he can't stop smiling as his heart feels like it's overflowing with nothing but love for you.

"They're very adorable, Gorgeous, but I think it's time we head in; otherwise, we won't have enough time to cuddle with all of them before we have to leave for the party tonight," he says, and you nod before getting up. You grab Tony's hand before pulling him into the shelter door, where you're greeted by a kind lady who's happy to let you handle all the cats there.

"Why don't you go ahead and cuddle with them? I'll use the bathroom and join you after, okay?" Tony asks, and you nod before pecking his lips and walking into the large room with all the cats. Your heart will burst out of your chest as you hear all the chirps and meows.

While Tony goes over the last things he needs to know before the adoption process, you find a comfortable spot on a large cushion as you let yourself be covered in cats of all shapes, sizes, breeds, and colors. However, one cat in particular seems to grab your attention. An older tuxedo cat walks over to you before getting comfortable in your lap, and you're immediately melting at the sight.

"Hi, sweet baby!" you coo as you pet the cat over her head and back. She lies happily in your lap, purring away at all the attention she's getting while you also try to divide your attention to some of the others there.

"Ah, there you are, Gorgeous! I almost couldn't see you between all the cats here," Tony jokes as he walks into the room, and your face immediately lights up when you hear his voice. As much as you love being between all the cats, you love spending time with your husband-to-be even more.

"Can I tell you a little secret, Gorgeous?" Tony whispers in your ear after he gets comfortable beside you, and the cat seated in your lap first has now moved into Tony's arms, where she's comfortable. You turn your head to meet Tony's gaze, and curiosity again enters your mind.

"I have arranged for you to pick a cat today, which we can adopt. I have arranged everything needed, so you can pick the one you like the most. I know we've talked about getting a cat before, so this will be my engagement present to you," Tony tells you as he sees the tears forming in the corners of your eyes at his confession.

"Please tell me you're serious, Tony. Can I pick out a cat to adopt today?" you ask in a small voice, and he nods with a broad smile before you capture his lips with yours in pure excitement. Your hands immediately grab his face to pull him closer as you kiss him excitedly, the happiness inside you threatening to spill over in the form of happy tears.

"It's an easy choice, actually," you tell Tony, as you already know who you want to take home today.

"The one who's comfortable in your arms immediately crawled into my lap when I sat down, and seeing how happy they are in your arms makes me want to take them home," you tell Tony, your voice filled with a mix of joy and tenderness. Tony nods in agreement, and you spend about another hour cuddling and playing with the other cats and kittens before signing the paperwork and taking home your cat, your heart full of love and gratitude.

"We have found the perfect cat to take home today," Tony tells the lady as you two head towards the front again. The lady's excitement is evident as she sees who's being adopted today. Domino has fallen asleep in Tony's arms as the three of you talk a little more about her, and you can't stop smiling at the fact that he did this for you.

"You have made a wonderful choice by adopting Domino! She's such a loving, cuddly cat who's amazing with other animals and children. She's been in the shelter for almost two years now, and I'm glad to see she has found her forever home with you two," she says, and you're glowing as you find out her name.

"Are you excited to go home with us, Domino? I can't wait to introduce you to Alpine as well; she will be thrilled to have a friend to play with," you whisper as Tony hands her to you, ready to sign the paperwork. Once that's done, it's finally time for all three of you to head to the Avengers Tower. You came in as a family of two, and you'll be leaving the shelter as a family of three, making today perfect.

"Thank you so much for everything today, Beautiful; this is the best present I could have ever wished to have gotten from you." As Tony kisses you, Domino meows from inside her carrier, letting both of you know she agrees with your statement. As the three of you walk home, you can't stop talking about what it'll be like to have a cat now and how happy everyone will be to meet her.

The moment you have waited for is finally here, as you and Tony will officially announce your engagement to some of your closest friends and the Avengers. A few weeks ago, Tony asked Pepper to prepare a small engagement party without giving too many details, and it is safe to say she has truly outdone herself once again during the party planning.

While Tony's still on an important conference call, he has asked you to do a last walk-through with Pepper before it's officially time to greet the guests. You're dressed in a Stark Industries tracksuit combined with a pair of worn-out sneakers; your hair is in rollers, and your face is bare in preparation for the make-over you'll receive once you're done here.

As you walk into the room, you gasp softly. It has an ethereal look, and your eyes glide over all the little details. The color combination of silver and white is a beautiful contrast against the room's darkness, and it fits perfectly with tonight's theme. From the outfits the servers and bartenders are wearing to the flower arrangements that brighten the room in all the corners, it's all considered to make it a party no one will ever forget.

"Pepper, it is beautiful!" you say as you turn to her, standing in the middle of the dancefloor. The DJ is sound-checking with some soft music.

"Well, I just did my job-" she starts, but you cut her off in the middle of her sentence.

"You went above and beyond for us and exceeded our expectations for tonight. You deserve to hear that you did an amazing job, and you don't need to be modest about it," you reassure her, and she smiles shyly at your words. Though Tony often praises her for all her hard work, she still gets a little caught off-guard by the compliments you give her.

"Well, thank you, Ms. Y/L/N," she whispers, her cheeks turning pink as she accepts the compliments.

"You should go and get changed for the party, too. It would be a shame if you couldn't enjoy your work tonight," you tell her, and she smiles politely before nodding and looking over her list to see if a few last-minute arrangements are to be made. After a few more instructions, you both go your separate ways to get ready, and nerves settle in your stomach.

Once you're in the elevator leading you to Tony's penthouse, you let out a trembling sigh, the nerves threatening to get the best of you. Usually, you're the one who's keeping a level head when everyone else is stressing, and you're the one who holds it together when everyone else loses their mind. But today, everything is different. As you look at the floor numbers rising, your heartbeat increases, and a slight panic settles in your body. However, this all melts away when you see Tony in the penthouse; his arms spread as he waits for you to be held in them.

"I missed you, Gorgeous," Tony whispers as he pulls you tight against his body. You stay silent as you take in your fiancé's comforting scent and feel his warmth. You listen to the soft hum of Tony's arc reactor as your cheek is pressed against his shoulder, calming your nerves slowly.

"Are you okay?" he asks when you pull away, and you smile reassuringly.

"I am now, thank you. I suddenly got hit by a bunch of nerves, but being in your arms has calmed me a lot," you tell him, and he nods in understanding.

"It's okay; you don't always have to be strong - even the best nurses can get nervous sometimes," he whispers against your forehead, and the words make you tear up. You know he's right, but it's not in your nature to show emotions like this. It's something you started to work on after getting together with Tony - it's okay to be vulnerable, and it's okay to show your vulnerability.

"Thank you, Tony. Thank you for being there for me when no one else was and believing in me when no one else did. Thank you for giving me a chance, and thank you for loving me." As you tell him this, you can see tears gathering in his eyes, too, and you cup his cheeks as you look up at him. You've never felt more sure about anything than when he asked you to marry him, and this moment cements it for you.

"I love you, Beautiful. More than I've ever thought I could love someone, and I can't wait to get married to you," you tell him as the corners of your mouth curl into a smile.

"I love you too." With those words, Tony's lips descend on yours in a soft but passionate kiss, your tongues dancing together as you bask in the moment's beauty. However, before you two get too lost in one another, it's time to get ready for the party, as there's still a lot of preparation to do for you before you're officially party-ready.

It takes you nearly two hours to get completely ready for your party. The make-up artist and hairdresser are finally finished, so it's time for you to put on your dress and heels. As you're about to ask one of the assistants to zip up your dress, Tony walks into the room and kisses your exposed skin before zipping it for you.

"You look even more beautiful than I could have imagined, Gorgeous," Tony says as his hands lie on your hips. Your soft blue lingerie is still engraved in his memory as his gaze wanders over your outfit. From how the dress's neckline shows off your breasts beautifully to the necklace that matches the dress to the split of the dress and your heels, he's rarely seen you look more beautiful.

"Something is missing," he suddenly says before letting you go, and he fishes something out of his pocket before taking your hand. He flips open the box containing your engagement ring and gently slides it onto your ring finger, where it'll be proudly displayed, finishing your look.

"That's better, Gorgeous. Now you're officially the most beautiful woman in the United States," he tells you as he interlaces his fingers with yours. You take this moment to admire his suit as well, as it's tailored to perfection, the fabric spanning beautifully over his body. Your gaze lingers for a few seconds when you see his bulge, dirty thoughts already swirling through your mind at the thought of what you want to do to him once you're home tonight.

Tony lifts your chin using his index finger and smirks as he knows exactly what's going on in your head, but he shakes his head to let you know there's no time to do anything before leaving. Instead, he leans in to capture your lips in a gentle kiss that has your eyes fluttering shut and your heart beating faster.

When you hear little footsteps and a soft meow coming into the room, you pull away from the kiss with a smile and crouch down to greet Domino as she walks over to you both. She meows louder before plopping down in front of you, and Tony also crouches down to give her some love. She has been settling nicely and exploring the penthouse to her heart's content.

"I'm so happy you allowed me to bring her home, Beautiful. She's so sweet, and now I will have even more love to take in when I'm coming home from my shifts every time," you tell him, and he laughs heartily.

"You're right, Gorgeous. She's perfect," he says as Domino purrs loudly. She's not bothered by the elevator doors opening, and Pepper walks into the large penthouse dressed in a long, silver dress that shows off her figure beautifully. Her hair is loose around her shoulders instead of in her signature ponytail, which softens her facial features immensely, and you're smiling as you look up at her.

"Are you two lovebirds ready to go? It's party time," she says proudly, and you nod before saying goodbye to Domino. Once you're standing up straight, you lace your fingers together in a way that hides your engagement ring from her, and she heads towards the elevator, which she's sharing with you both on the way to the party. As you're standing in the elevator, you let out a small sigh, and Tony squeezes your hand reassuringly while looking at you with pure adoration.

"How're you feeling, Gorgeous?" Tony asks before walking into the party, and you take a moment to consider it.

"A bit nervous; I've never been known to enjoy being the center of attention, but I'm overall okay. As long as you're there with me, I'll be fine tonight, Beautiful," you tell him as you let your hand glide softly over his cheek. His facial hair tickles under your fingertips, and you get lost in the kiss he gives you, giving you all the support you need to walk into the room together.

The moment the large doors open, you're both greeted by your closest friends and family, as well as the Avengers, as they're all dressed in elegant outfits, and you're both greeted by everyone while making small talk with most people as well, all while still hiding the ring around your finger. As you're trying to make your way to the bar, you suddenly run into Natasha and Yelena, who are dressed in long, black evening gowns that enhance their figures perfectly.

"Yelena, I didn't know you'd be joining us tonight! It's so good to see you outside the medbay, too," you tell her with a broad smile, and she can't help but laugh as she pulls you in for a hug.

"As soon as Nat told me about the party, I knew I wouldn't miss it for the world - I even came back early from a mission. We have so much to catch up on!" she says excitedly, pulling you away from Tony and towards the bar. You waved at him before returning to Yelena and Natasha, now discussing that Yelena had shortened her mission.

"What?! It's not like you wouldn't have done the same," Yelena says with her thick Russian accent, making you laugh as you order a glass of champagne, and they do the same. You listen to their chatter while your eyes scan the room, and you flash a smile at Tony once your eyes cross paths again. When you're about to say something to Natasha and Yelena, you feel a hand on your shoulder that has you turning around, curious as to who could be asking for your attention.

"Thor! Loki! I'm so glad to see you both here on this wonderful night," you say as they both envelop you in a hug. The brothers have always managed to intrigue you to no end, especially regarding their lives on Asgard and their being Gods.

"We were delighted to be invited to such an extraordinary party, Ms. Y/L/N. You have always taken such good care of my brother after getting injured that I wouldn't even think of declining an offer to celebrate you and Tony. It's the least I can do to repay you for that," Loki says, making you blush at his words.

"There's no need to exaggerate, Brother," Thor tells Loki with his Australian accent, which is a funny contrast to Loki's British one, only amplifying that one of them is adopted. As they banter for a little longer, you see Tony walking over to you, and your features light up as your gazes cross. After snaking his arms around your waist and pecking your lips, Tony asks how you're doing, and you're practically glowing now that you're reunited.

"I was doing wonderful, but now I'm even better because you're by my side," you tell him, making him show his fantastic smile. It's very contagious, as you're immediately smiling alongside him, which everyone notices. The second he approached you, your demeanor changed as you visibly relaxed.

"If it's okay with everyone here, I will steal you momentarily and take you to the dancefloor. I have prepared a speech to thank everyone for coming. I would love for you to be by my side when I do it," Tony says, looking at you for reassurance. You nod before saying thank you again to everyone who's come tonight, and you allow your fiancé to lead the way to the middle of the dancefloor.

On the way there, you both grab a glass of champagne, and you then take a seat on the large stool that has been placed there for your comfort - standing in your heels for a long time is not something you particularly enjoy, so you'll gladly sit down as Tony ensures you're comfortable. Once the DJ has handed him a microphone, all eyes are on you both, and your heartbeat starts to rise as you know what will happen.

"Can I have everyone's attention for a moment?" Tony asks, and shortly after, everyone is silent and focused on the two of you.

"First off, I want to thank you all for coming tonight. Having you here to celebrate a wondrous occasion means a lot to Y/N and myself. Most of you have wondered why I would throw a party, but I only invite those closest to us. We have a special reason for that. About two weeks ago, I asked the strong, amazing, and gorgeous woman next to me to marry me, and much to everyone's surprise, she said yes!"

For a few moments, there's a roar of laughter, applause, and congratulations throughout the room as Tony kisses your temple, and you're both smiling the entire time. They now know about your secret, and you no longer have to hide. When you find Natasha in the crowd, she winks at you to let you know she is right, and you give a slight nod in return.

"I want to take this moment with you all to look back on the moment she asked me on a date, as it will forever be one of my most cherished memories with my future wife," Tony says before reliving that faithful day in detail.

You have been a nurse at SHIELD for a little over a year, and ever since you started working for them, you've been one of the nurses who would provide care to the Avengers - but mainly Tony Stark. Your first encounter with him was during a mission where he sustained a severe injury, and you were the one who nursed him back to health. Since then, you've been his go-to nurse, and a bond has formed between you. More often than not, you find yourself looking forward to seeing him again - even though it's usually in less-than-ideal circumstances.

It's Christmas Day, and there's a thick layer of snow outside, glistening under the soft glow of the streetlights as you treat Tony after another extended mission. This time, there's nothing life-threatening going on, much to your relief. However, you've been more silent than usual as you're working up the courage to ask him something that has been on your mind for a long time.

"A penny for your thoughts, Gorgeous?" Tony asks, and your cheeks heat up at the nickname he has lovingly awarded you. The first time you were invited to one of his parties, you attended while wearing a red and gold dress, which earned you the nickname. Since then, he has been calling you that, a name that fills you with warmth and affection.

"I- uhm… Sorry, it's nothing-" you say, but Tony has never been known to take no for an answer.

"I'm sure it's not 'nothing,' Gorgeous. Your hands are trembling today, so I'm pretty sure something on your mind wants to come out," he says gently, and you feel a knot in your stomach loosen at his understanding. You sigh before nodding - Tony's right.

"You're right, but- I want you to know it's okay if you say no," you tell him shyly, meeting his dark brown eyes this time. "I was wondering if you want to celebrate Christmas together tonight. I'm all alone, and I was hoping we could spend it together if you'd have the time." As the words leave your lips, you can't help but feel a mix of hope and fear, unsure of how he will respond.

As Tony lets it sink in, you try to read his face, but there's no luck. No matter how hard you try, you cannot tell anything from his face.

"I would love nothing more than to spend Christmas with you, Gorgeous. Is it okay if we have dinner at my penthouse? I will ask Pepper if she knows a chef willing to spoil us with the most delicious meals on this beautiful night, and after, we can drink hot chocolate in front of the fireplace as we watch The Nightmare Before Christmas," Tony says. Your face instantly lights up at the mention of your favorite movie.

"You remembered!" you exclaim excitedly, and he nods with a broad smile.

"Of course! I remember your favorite Christmas movie and that you love your hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and a sprinkle of cinnamon, too," he says, filling you with joy and surprise. You never expected him to remember these things you've told him as throwaway comments, and the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

"That was the first night of many we would spend together, and I'm glad I said yes. That night was the first moment she helped to lead me out of the dark, even though she didn't know it then. Before Y/N, I didn't care if I lived or died, but now I have someone to live and fight for. Someone who's there for me no matter what and who will show me the bright side of everything, no matter how minimal it may be," Tony tells everyone, and you nod in agreement. If it weren't for you asking him out, you wouldn't be where you are today.

"If you had asked me at the beginning of our relationship, I might have told everyone that I was the white knight in your movies, but over time, I have learned that nothing could be further from the truth because Y/N has always been the one in mine. She saved me in ways I could have never foreseen, which is something I will forever be grateful for. I love you, Gorgeous, and I can't wait to call you my wife in a few months."

Tony leans in to kiss you as everyone applauds loudly for you, and he hands back the microphone before helping you back to your feet. It feels like your entire body is on fire the whole time, and your heart threatens to spill over from all the love. You're fortunate to share this beautiful moment with those closest to you, and tonight is only the beginning of the rest of your lives.

"Thank you for caring for me and showing me what it's like to be loved. Thank you for being you."

With those words, Tony pulls you into a deep, loving kiss, his hands cupping your cheeks while yours are around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. You have given yourself completely over to him, your body feeling like it's completely on fire. Tony's hands dip lower until they're digging into the soft curves of your hips as you're getting lost in the moment - completely forgetting about everything and everyone for a moment.

"Fuck, I love you so much," Tony whispers breathlessly after pulling away, and neither of you can stop smiling. The rest of the evening is spent dancing, always touching in one way or another, and countless kisses are shared between you two. Now that you don't have to hide your engagement anymore, you can't get enough of the kisses, but no one seems to mind. Tonight is all about you and your love, after all.

As the night progresses, you decide to go outside and get some fresh air on one of the balconies that look out over the Manhattan skyline, which will forever be your favorite sight. While New York isn't where you were born and raised, you will always call it your home, as there's never been a place where you felt as free as you feel.

"What're you doing out here alone?" you hear a voice behind you. Looking back, you see your fiancé walking towards you, holding out his jacket to drape over your shoulders. You accept it with a small 'thank you' and a small peck on his lips.

"I needed some fresh air, so I thought I'd come here and look at the stars. The sky is clear, so we have a nice view of them," you tell Tony, who nods in agreement. You let your thumb glide over your ring as you look up at them, and a smile lights up your features. Tony can't stop looking at you as you do, making the love inside you grow even more significant.

"One of the good things about growing up in a small town is that you learn to enjoy the simpler things in life, such as the brightness and beauty of the stars and the way the sun rises every morning without fail," you tell Tony, who's now standing next to you, leaning on the railing of the balcony.

"Can I tell you something I learned from you over the years?" Tony asks, and you look up at him with a questioning look.

"You have taught me that soft hearts make the universe worth living in. Without you, God knows where I would be right now; I'd probably be so deep in stress and anxiety that I'd practically be ripping my hair out every day. But you taught me to enjoy the little things in life, which makes our lives beautiful and gives our lives meaning, too," Tony says as he turns to you, his fingers carefully caressing the curve of your jaw.

He leans in for a kiss, and you place your hand on his chest, right over his heart and tattoo, as his lips capture yours. The kiss is unrushed, soft, passionate, and powerful - perfectly combines all the feelings battling throughout your body. As you pull away, Tony looks at you with a soft, adoring look, and you stand on your tiptoes to peck his lips again.

"I brought a small surprise for you, Gorgeous," Tony says as he reaches for his jacket pocket. He plucks a small, felt star from his pocket that instantly has your features lighting up. To anyone else, it's just an unassuming star, but to you and Tony, it signifies the start of something beautiful: the beginning of the rest of your lives.

"I can't believe you brought it!" you tell Tony excited. Inside his hand is a handmade star you quickly put together before spending your first Christmas with your future husband. Even though neither of you had a stocking back then, you still told him it represented a little stocking stuffer, after which he joked about 'him happily stuffing your stocking.' It was that moment you knew he was the one for you, and you have never looked back since.

"Of course, I kept it because it has an indescribable meaning, Gorgeous. I always bring it with me when I need extra encouragement because it means I have a piece of you with me, and it has never let me down. When I'm with you, I know I can do anything, so I take this with me to give me the encouragement I need at that moment," he confesses shyly, and your heart melts at his words.

"I- I love you so much, Anthony Stark, and I can't wait to be able to call you my husband," you tell him as your fingers glide over his hand holding the star. Nothing can describe what you're feeling right now other than feeling fortunate. When meeting Tony, you have won the jackpot, and his asking to marry him only amplifies that feeling for you.

The night of the party has brought you and Tony many precious and happy memories, but you were also delighted to finally fall asleep as you were curled up against your fiancé, and your cat, Domino, was curled up by your feet. Now, you're sitting with your back against the large headboard, Tony by your side, and Domino lying on his lap as you pick the perfect photo for the public announcement.

Tony has prepared a large breakfast spread for you both to enjoy in bed while you took the chance to sleep in. You're now enjoying the food while looking through the seemingly endless pictures. Tony pops a raspberry in your mouth, quickly following it with a kiss that has you smiling like crazy, and you're enjoying every second you two spend together.

"What do you think of this one?" you ask Tony, and he hums approvingly as he's just eaten the toast he made. Your ring is shown beautifully in the photo, and it's your favorite photo of the two of you.

"I think it's perfect, Gorgeous, just like you," he says before popping a juicy strawberry in your mouth, making you moan at the taste of it. Your eyes slip shut as the taste invades your mouth, and it's time to work on a caption to accompany the photo.

It doesn't take long for the two of you to think of the perfect caption, and the reactions to the post are almost instant. Countless congratulations are coming in, and many people are reposting it with the announcement that you're both officially off the market and getting married.

"I love you, Beautiful, and I can't wait to live up to the photo's caption," you say, and he can't help but smile at your words. He also wants it to come true, and you two look it over one more time before you put the phone away and pay all your attention to your husband-to-be and your cat, who's happily purring on his lap. And the caption? It's rather simple:

Here's to growing old together 🤍

[longstoryshort22]

Peter is brand Taylor talking to real Taylor, I Look in People’s Windows is real Taylor talking to brand Taylor (the two were supposed to become one, but the more famous she gets the harder it is)😭😭

The whole theme of the album is Taylor herself and her career and how the industry has affected her, joe/matty/travis/kim are just red herrings bye im gonna go cry listening to Peter

(more details⬇️)

I’m not saying that some songs aren’t about those specific people, I’m just saying they’re only PART OF the theme, I believe her father (and other big heads in the industry) had a big influence on her career and forced her to stay in the closet from the very beginning, that messed her up, she had to hide her true self and keep bearding, and in 2019 she planned to come out but didn’t because of the masters heist, now it’s because she’s gotten more famous than ever that she has too much to lose. So maybe these men he dated, she did like them and she had multiple feelings when these relationships ended, but it’s all part of who the industry had made her into; she had one true love (maybe Karlie) but she couldn’t be with that person that’s why some songs are about a true deep love lost, but that’s still part of the “her career” theme, because of her career, she can’t be with that person. (more details⬇️)

What’s really interesting in this theme is that she’s calling out her father in multiple songs because he really made her life harder…

In Cassandra, (the obvious theory is that Cassandra representing gaylors bc we’ve been saying the truth but never believed. And the first verse is about her getting the news of her masters heist just before her coming out plan, and then “stone’s thrown” is referencing Stonewall.) And in the bridge “They knew the whole time that I was onto something. The family, the pure greed, the Christian chorus line. They all said nothing. Blood's thick but nothing like a payroll. Bet they never spared a prayer for my soul” she’s saying her family knew something but said nothing because greed and money, we saw the leaked emails of her father and how he cares more about making money out of Taylor’s career than caring about her as his daughter, so I think this bridge is about her father, also about religious trauma may or may not due to him.

In The Bolter, “A curious child, ever reviled by everyone except her own father. With a quite bewitching face, splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless, excellent fun 'til you get to know her, then she runs like it's a race” she’s talking about herself being a precocious uniquely intelligent ambitious child, which everyone reviled except her father. why? because he wanted to invest money on her, he controlled how she conducted her career from the beginning.

What’s crazier is that Robin may be about her father too. That song sounds like a sweet song but she’s faking it like “all this showmanship to keep it for you in sweetness”. If she’s referring to her father (only wanting to make money out of her career) in this song then “you’re an animal, you are bloodthirsty” makes so much more sense. And the “buried down deep and out of your reach, the secret we all vowed to keep it from you in sweetness” her father probably knows about her queerness but wants her and everyone to keep it quiet.

In But Daddy I Love Him, “people only raise you to cage you” is pretty obvious about her father forcing her to stay in the closet, and “people try and save you cause they hate you” is literally about homophobes. “Dutiful daughter, all my plans were laid” is about her father laying all the plans for her, which isn’t always what she wants. “I'd rather burn my whole life down, than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning. I'll tell you something about my good name, it's mine alone to disgrace” reminds me of that scene in Miss Americana where her father was lecturing why she couldn’t public her opinions. “Thinking it can change the beat of my heart when he touches me. And counteract the chemistry, and undo the destiny” is so queer coded. “Sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I'll never see / You ain't gotta pray for me” another reference to religious trauma.

So all of this, about her father, about her lover and other men, it’s all connected to her career and she’s looking back at it, thinking and reflecting on it, that’s it that’s the blog

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part thirty-two] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of sex (mdni ; 18+)

word count: 2.2k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

The first time you met Jisung was at a party on campus. It was a month into your first semester of college and one of the frats had passed out fliers in the residence halls in the hopes of getting lots of the freshman girls to attend. 

You had dragged your roommate with you, insisting that you needed to get out there and start meeting people since you were each other’s only friends thus far. 

But the joke was on you because she ditched you not even five minutes after arriving, having recognized an ex-boyfriend from her hometown. You didn’t hold it against her, you had been the one to convince her to come in the first place and you understood the whole ex thing. 

But you were a lot shyer back then, less confident. So you stumbled your way through the house until you reached the kitchen. No one had offered to make you a drink yet so you figured you might as well make one yourself. You’d need a little liquid courage if you were going to get the balls to talk to any of these people anyway. 

That’s where you ran into Jisung. He was bent over the stove cooking what looked to be a grilled cheese sandwich. He turned his head when he heard you come in and nodded at you in acknowledgement.

“Want one?” he asked.

“What is it?”

“Grilled ham and cheese.”

You nodded. “Hit me.” 

He finished simmering the one in the pan and slid it onto a paper plate before grabbing the ingredients for yours. 

“How long have you lived here?” you asked conversationally. 

“Oh, I don’t live here.”

“Are you a pledge then?”

“No.”

“You’re not… affiliated with this frat?”

“Nope.”

“Are your friends?”

“Nah.”

“So you’re just…”

“Stealing their food? Kind of.”

You shrugged. “I won’t tell.”

He cracked a smile. “Good, because I’d really regret making you a sandwich if you did.” 

You hadn’t noticed until that point but he had an accent. 

“English?” you asked.

“Yes, that’s what we’re speaking. Why, do you know another language?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“No, I’m from Korea, actually,” he explained after chuckling. “But my English tutor was British so I picked up a little bit of an accent.”

“What made you decide to come all the way over here?”

“A mix of things, really,” he sighed.

“You’re probably tired of that question, I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s okay. I just don’t have an interesting answer or anything so conversations usually fizzle out after that.”

“I get it. It’s like when everyone in your hometown asks you what you’re going to study and what job you’re getting your degree for.”

“Pretty much,” he agreed. “Your grilled cheese is ready.”

He plated the sandwich and handed it to you, turning the stove off and depositing the pan and spatula in the sink. 

“Thank you!”

“You might want to let it cool down a bit, though.” 

“Yes, chef.” 

He gave you a look, making you freeze in place. 

“What? Should I not call you that?”

“No, it’s just- I’m a culinary major. I’m always saying that to my professors but no one’s ever said that to me before. I know you didn’t mean it mean it but it sounded weird.” 

“I was just referencing Hell’s Kitchen,” you admitted. 

“Just so you know, not all chefs are like Gordon Ramsay.” 

“Only the majority?” 

He winked at you. “Bingo.”

“So if you don’t want me to call you ‘chef’, what should I call you?” 

“I never said I didn’t want you to call me that,” he clarified. “But you can call me Jisung.”

“Jisung. Nice name.”

“Thanks. Do you have one?”

You grinned. “I do.”

He gave an exasperated little sigh. “And what is it?”

You told him, leaning forward and whispering it like it was a secret. 

“You have a nice name too.”

“Thank you.”

“By the way, your sandwich should be cool enough to eat by now.”

You leaned back against the island and took a bite of your grilled cheese. Jisung gauged your reaction, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“Good?”

“Great. Best grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever had.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” he warned. 

“I’m not! Listen, I can’t cook for shit so I’m very easy to impress.” 

“I’ll take your word for it. It’s better for my ego if I ignore the last part.” 

“I can make a mean Moscow Mule, though. My talents lie in mixology, not gastronomy.”

“Make me a drink, then?” he asked. 

“Gladly.” 

You set your paper plate on the counter and made your way over to the fridge. 

“Let’s see what they have in here.”

“Oh, now you’re the one stealing food?” 

“Guess that makes us partners in crime.” 

You fell silent as you looked over the contents of the refrigerator, gathering a bottle of orange juice and half-empty jar of raspberry jam. You checked the expiration dates before continuing because you didn’t trust frat guys and then set them on the island with a handle of tequila that had been left out. 

Jisung watched as you spooned the jam into an empty solo cup, visibly skeptical. You couldn’t blame him for not trusting you, you had just met him, after all. You poured the orange juice in next and mixed the two together, finally adding a shot and a half of tequila. 

“Don’t want to get you too drunk,” you explained. 

He scoffed. “You think that’ll do me in? I’m Korean, remember?”

“Fine, suit yourself.” 

You poured what you approximated to be another shot of tequila into the cup. You filled another cup with ice from a nearby cooler and poured the contents of the first cup into it. Instead of shaking them and risking making a huge mess, you rolled them between the cups until you were satisfied that everything was properly mixed. 

You presented Jisung with your creation, eyes shining. “Here you go! It’s a makeshift tequila sunrise.”

Jisung reached for it but you stopped him abruptly. “Wait! Hold on.”

You took a sip of the drink yourself, just to make sure it was actually palatable, before passing it off to him. 

“Sorry, wanted to check.”

“Not confident in your abilities all of the sudden?“ he mused. 

“I’m trying something new,” you grumbled defensively, “artists make mistakes. I’m not above admitting that and therefore want to quality check my products to make sure it’s good enough for my consumers.”

“Didn’t realize you were taking this so seriously.”

“I take everything seriously.” 

He eyed you suspiciously. “Something tells me that’s not true.” 

-

That night, and all the others you spent with Jisung flashed before your eyes like some sort of sick slideshow as you stood there with him in the hallway. The fractures in the glass were beyond repair now, spindling inward threatening to shatter.

You supposed it was what you deserved, watching your relationship with your best friend crumble right in front of you. 

“Why do you ask?” you said quietly, still testing the waters.

“You think I haven’t noticed you sneaking off every night?” Jisung demanded.

“Uh-”

“At first, I thought you just needed some space. And I understood because you’ve been stuck with us for over a month now, but then it happened every night and you’d be gone for so long,” he sighed. “So finally, I followed you-”

“You what?”

“I know, I’m such a bad friend for invading your privacy.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm and you could already feel the tears welling up. 

You tried to hold them back because you didn’t deserve to cry. You’d put yourself in this situation, and you knew it was wrong, but you still did it anyway. You clutched your towel closer to your body, trying to shrink into yourself. 

“I heard what I needed to,” he continued. “So how long have you been fucking my brother?”

“Jisung, I-”

“I asked you a question.”

“Long enough,” you muttered. “He found out we weren’t actually dating. I didn’t tell him-”

“That makes it better?” 

“No, I just thought you should know.”

“What does it matter anyway,” he spat. “We had an agreement. You had one task and you couldn’t even do it. I should have never invited you on this goddamn trip.”

You couldn’t help but agree. “I’m sorry.” 

Jisung laughed humorlessly and shook his head. “I don’t believe you. If you actually felt any guilt over this you never would have done it. Or you would’ve at least stopped before it got to this point.”

“No, I am sorry,” you tried. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” he asked, eyes widening suddenly. “You’re not pregnant, are you?” 

For a fraction of a second, you were thrown back in time. The best friend that didn’t hate you was suddenly standing in front of you, eyes full of concern. It passed just as quickly as it had come when you denied it. 

“No, it’s just… I f- I’m in love with him.” You couldn’t even look Jisung in the eye when you said it, too afraid of his reaction. 

It was dead silent all throughout the house after your confession. You stared at the floor where a puddle had appeared at your feet from your dripping hair. 

He chuckled again in disbelief, breaking the silence. 

“You’re not in love with him,” he said matter-of-factly. “You don’t even know what love feels like. You’ve only known him for a fucking month, how could you possibly love him?” You were crying now, furiously wiping away the tears that fell onto your cheeks. “You’re just lonely, y/n, and desperate, and grasping at straws for anything that feels like ‘love’.”

“That’s not true,” you insisted. You weren’t sure why you were trying to defend yourself. He was probably right. 

“It is true! I’ve known you for how many years now? You’ve never had a real relationship with anybody. How could you possibly know what love feels like?”

You shook your head adamantly, convincing yourself he didn’t mean what he was saying. “You’re lashing out.” 

“Is it lashing out if it’s true?” he quipped. 

You swallowed hard, choking a bit. 

“I can’t fucking believe this. My best friend and my brother. I went away to school to be on my own and have my own life, and somehow Minho manages to take that too.” He was mostly talking to himself now. “What if someone else had caught you two? How fucked up would that have looked? I put no flirting with my brothers on the list of rules for a reason, obviously. Although I guess it didn’t matter in the end anyway, did it? You didn’t take them or this seriously.”

“Ji, that’s not true and you know that. I’m the one who wrote out those flashcards. I memorized all that stuff about your family. I flew halfway around the world for you— I did take it seriously.”

“Until Minho offered his dick to you on a silver platter?”

“Oh my god!”

“Am I wrong?” 

You sighed. “It’s a lot more complicated than that.”

“Explain it to me then. When did this all start anyway?”

“Minho kissed me for the first time in, um, Italy.” 

“Oh my god, I’m the biggest fucking idiot in the world,” he groaned. 

“But it wasn’t like that then… he still thought we were together then.” 

Jisung threw his hands up. “That makes it worse!”

“I know but he was drunk.”

“That’s not an excuse. You of all people should know that.” 

You let the dig slide since he was in an emotional state and you were in no position to argue anyway. 

“I know.”

“So you guys have been sneaking around behind my back for like a fucking month now?” 

“We didn’t sleep together until Shanghai, when he found out we weren’t together. But I feel like I should tell you I kissed him in Japan. Just so that you know everything.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” Jisung deadpanned. “Thank you for being so honest.” He spat the last word at you, which again, was deserved, but hurt nonetheless. You sniffled. “I can’t believe you’re the one crying right now.” 

You couldn’t believe that Jisung wasn’t crying but then again he wasn’t the type to cry when he was angry. He only cried when he was sad, and that probably hadn’t hit him yet. 

You were starting to get cold wearing nothing but a towel but tried not to let it show. Of course, Jisung noticed instantly. He sighed as you shivered and pursed his lips. Even when he was furious with you, even when your relationship was irreparably damaged, he cared about you. It wasn’t something he could just turn off, though maybe with time, he’d learn to. 

“Anyway, go to bed. I’m going to sleep on the couch.”

“O-okay,” you mumbled. 

Jisung brushed past you abruptly, muttering to himself loud enough for you to hear.

“God, I wish I’d never fucking met you that night.” 

You bit down on your lip as hard as possible to choke down a sob. All you could do was stand there motionlessly and stare at the floor. You waited for him to walk away into the living room but the footsteps stopped suddenly. 

“Oh, and a word of advice-”

“Hm?” You turned around to face him, trying your best to pull yourself together. 

“You should try getting over your feelings for Minho as fast as possible. He doesn’t love you back. He’s just using you, babe. I know he’s pretty smooth but that’s why he’s so good at his job. Easier said than done, I know, but you’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.”

hard one to write (and i imagine to read) but lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

iou tags: @gimmeurtmi @phobia0325 @fwess @hipsofafangirl @galaxleeknow @urmomma0324 @bangmechanpls @102598s @farfromsugafanfic @ritzy-roo @dimpledsatan @bvslines @wonderfulshinee @imwithurmother @smollquokka @rosexjimin @skizzel @endzii23 @lady-lena @kwanisms @ch4nniebang @lilramennoodle @babyphotos0325 @dearalice @sojohns @mistlitmoonlight @yoontaethings @babebatter @mal-lunar-28 @shy-kisu @zerefdragn33l @downbadreading @saquso @bunnispaces @reianagarcia @hyunehans @imtooyoungforthisshitbaby @i8rsie @honeslykindahorny @214racha @hgema @chillllli @vixensss @smhlino @feiyaa @borahae-reads @bigbearenergy @hoodiesandicedcofee @darkacademic2512 @y00nzin0 @i8yul @shinypieceofgarbage @woozarts @just-a-little-delulu @djeniryuu @hbzzzbork000 @mimzibee @sofiaslayed @kangyounghyunhands @lexxxxs-things @baejinswrld @gaysontheprince @emogril @ngengngeng @tenshimara @stopeatread @seungminniesgf @lydatataylorsversion @cheolbs @bxnnyhwa @zheav @pinkskiesdream @soohyukazz @spearb-gf @lonely00sbrat @lino1ino @simple1605 @ninashellhole @yoorimin @catiuskaa @gemini-demon @kronikk

add yourself to the taglist here!

[feyreswaterybowels]

Shadows Dance🐦‍⬛ (#4)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel is losing his shit. He tries to keep it together for Sarah but he needs (Y/N) back—needs her far away from Jarek.

Warnings: Reference to implied sexual assault. Implied sexual assault that led to pregnancy. Referenced forced miscarriages.

Word Count: 1.5k

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 ↓

“Here,” Feyre says gently, sitting a warm cup of tea in front of Sarah. Gazing at the small child asleep against her chest, thumb tucked in his mouth.

She reached forward with shaking hands grabbing the cup. “Thank you,” Sarah breaths in a shaky voice before taking a sip.

“Sarah, dear, we need to ask you some questions,” Rhys begins but Feyre cuts in.

“Maybe we should give her a minute to settle,” She offers but her mate shakes his head.

“No. Every minute we waste is a minute she’s alone with Jarek.” Feyre nods in understanding, she knew very little of this Jarek male but it didn’t take much to figure out he wasn’t a good guy.

“Can I lay him down somewhere first,” Sarah asks, voice breaking and raspy. Rhys' shoulders lose a bit of rigidness, eyes softening as he looks at the girl he loved so much and nods.

“I’ll take the child,” Mor steps forward. “He can lay in (Y/N) and Azriel’s room.” She shoots a look towards the shadowsinger, who doesn’t respond but doesn’t protest either. Sarah nods, letting Mor take the boy, leaving the room and ascending the stairs.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Sarah says, shrinking in on herself. She was finally back with her family and it was wrong, it was all wrong.

“Just start at the beginning,” Feyre offers gently as Mor joins the room again. Sarah meets her eye and sniffs.

“Okay, um, well, I met Jarek two months before my birthday

The Day Court was absolutely stunning. Sarah parts from her sister heading out the back of the large mansion, admiring the beautifully crafted architecture. Intricate designs laced with gold. I reached out to touch a particular pillar that had swirling designs all the way to the top.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” A voice asked. Sarah turned, blushing at the sight of the male next to her.

“Indeed,” She nods, drawing her hand back to herself, taking a sip from the glass in her hands. Some sparkling juice Rhys has slipped into her hand.

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you traveling from Night Court?” He asked, Sarah looked over at him and offered a small nod.

“I am, this is my first time visiting Day Court,” She nodded, watching as he took a drink from his own glass—sure it was the faerie wine the rest of the people were drinking. “I’m here with my family. The High Lord is my uncle.”

“What is your name, dear?” He asks, offering his hand. “I’m Jarek of the Autumn Court, formerly Night Court. I wasn’t aware Rhysand had a niece.”

“Oh!” She gasps, offering her hand. “I’m Sarah. Rhys isn’t my uncle by blood. I was raised by my sister (Y/N) and her mate who are close with him.”

“Ah, I see,” He nods, a charming smile pulling at his lip, before offering his arm. “Well, you allow me the honor of showing you around?”

Sarah’s cheeks heated, nodding at the handsome male, looping her arm through his. “I would enjoy that.”

“That is how we met. After that we seemed to run into each other quite often. I didn’t think much of it,” Sarah tells the story, sadness and regret laced in every word. “He told me we should keep quiet about seeing one another since I was younger, but that on my birthday he would be willing to meet my family—meet all of you. A-and he convinced me to sneak out and meet him before the dinner. He kissed me for the first time, I’ve never been able to fully remember anything after that and he wouldn’t tell me either. Just that I woke up at his house days later.”

Everyone in the room was angry. Seething. Not at Sarah but at Jarek for taking advantage of her in her young innocence. Azriel’s shadows were a brewing storm around him as he listened to what his girl said.

“Did he—did he hurt you?” Azriel asks, a painful lump in his throat simply at the thought.

Sarah’s gaze drifted towards the stairs Mor at went up with her child before looking down. She didn’t have to say it for everyone to know what she meant with that look. He had forced himself on her and the result was pregnancy.

“It wasn’t the first time,” She whispers, “it happened a lot, usually his healer—who was also a prisoner—would make a tonic to rid the aftermath.”

Her voice broke, eyes welling with tears, Azriel was at her side in an instant, wrapping her in a strong embrace.

“With Elias,” She continued after they pulled away, “it was too late to take the tonic. I escaped two years ago but I had no clue where I was going. I didn’t even know where I was because he never allowed me outside. His men found me, brought me back. By the time I realized I was carrying a child it was too late.”

“Sweetheart,” Rhy’s breathed emphatically—trying to keep the thoughts of what had happened to himself under the mountain at bay. Knowing this sweet girl had gone through something similar hurt.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Feyre speaks, reaching out to grab Sarah’s hand, glancing at her mate, feeling his emotions through their bond.

“Sarah, dear, when you got out, where were you?” Cassian asked, arms folded across his heaving chest.

“It was hard to tell, it was dark and we were in the mountains but I—I’m pretty sure it was the Autumn court,” She says, looking around when everyone remained silent and stone faced. “What is it?”

“It’s just that the Beron is still over the lands there. He isn’t exactly our biggest fan. We could have…trouble gaining access to his lands,” Rhys explains gently, watching the girls eyes water.

“This is all my fault.” Her voice crack into a sob. Azriel grab her face shaking his head.

“No. It is no one's fault but his. I promise you, we will get (Y/N), back,” He says standing. “We’ll get her back or I’ll destroy all of Prythian trying.”

════════════════════════

Azriel stands at the window of his destroyed bedroom in the house of winds. Arms crossed, jaw clenched, fists sore and snarling quietly to himself, shadows storming around him, whispering to him.

He doesn’t look back when the door opens but he knows who it is.

“Az,” It’s soft, of course she’d be the one to come check on him. “Are you okay?”

He nearly scoffs. If it was anyone other than Mor he may have. Is he okay? Was he supposed to be okay knowing his love, his mate, was stolen away and at the mercy of a man that probably wanted her dead?

“Sorry, dumb question,” she said, coming to a stop next to him.

Azriel glances at her but doesn’t say anything.

“We’re gonna get her back—”

“Yes, and what pain will she have suffered by the time she is back?” Azriel bites, bitterness and hatred lacing every word.

Mor sighs, leaning against the windowsill. “What happened in here?”

Azriel snarls to himself as he remembers what sent him into his rage that left the bedroom in absolute shambles. His fists clench, he wants to his something.

“I can’t feel her.”

“What-”

“(Y/N). I can’t feel our bond. Obviously it wasn’t broken but it’s not there either.”

“Oh, Az…”

It’s silent. They stand there together, the stars of the night sky twinkling in the vast darkness of the sky.

“We spoke a bit more with Sarah,” Mor starts, and Az tenses—anything she says could send him into another fit of rage. “We know there’s wards placed on the home that’s probably what’s blocking the bond.”

It’s not the right thing to say. Azriel hisses, tearing himself from the window, pacing back and forth not caring about the debris being crushed under his boots.

“Az-”

“I can’t do this. I need to go find her. I need to be out there and Rhys has ordered me to this room. To our room. And I-I can’t,” He bites, still pacing. “When she leaves it’s different. It’s her choice. I know I’ll see her again. But this? He could kill her. He could force himself on her just like he did with—fuck.”

“You need to get your shit together, Azriel,” Mor snaps, Azriel looks up at her shocked. Opens his mouth to snap back but she holds her hand up silencing him. “Rhys ordered you here because he knows you aren’t in your right mind right now. (Y/N) needs you. She needs you strong and out there doing your job to find any and all information to find her. She is waiting for you—for us and you’re sitting here having a melt down.”

Azriel stares at her. Mouth ajar eyes wide. Fuck. Fuck, he’s so stupid. How could he be so selfish? So self absorbed? His girl was out there, out there alone with his and he was brooding in his room.

“Are you ready?” Mor breathes, looking at expectantly, arms cross and brow raised.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m ready.”

[leveloneandup]

Christen Press’ long journey back from injury: ‘The last six months have been the best of my life’

On Tuesday, Christen Press returned to team training with Angel City FC, exactly two years to the day from when she tore her ACL in a 2022 match against Racing Louisville. While her involvement in training is still limited, with her only taking part in the warm-ups and a passing drill to start, it’s one of the many milestones Press can celebrate on the arduous journey she’s undertaken for a full return to the sport.

As she noted in a call with The Athletic, most of those milestones have been reached in private. At first, she wanted this moment to be private too — well, as private as it could be with a full team and staff around, but in a closed practice where she could evaluate how she felt. With further thought, she changed her mind: this milestone was one that could be celebrated, and with so much uncertainty still left about what milestones remain, she might as well embrace this one.

“If this is something we can all celebrate, let’s just go for it, because this journey has been really, really long,” Press said on Monday, a little more than 24 hours out from the return to training. “When you don’t play, you do have a different relationship with the fanbase, and it’s nice to see this as the re-entry point. People are going to get videos of me in team training, and I’m just going to be around.”

Back in February, Press referenced her “relentless optimism” that has helped her on this wildly unpredictable recovery process, which required four surgeries and resulted in her missing out entirely for competing for a 2023 World Cup roster spot. Her fourth surgery was timed right around when the USWNT was heading to New Zealand, which released her from being tied to a recovery timeline and feeling the pressure to return.

“When I found out I had to have the fourth surgery, I was like, well, I’m not going to the World Cup because I’ll be in surgery during the World Cup,” she said in February. “So that was the moment I actually exhaled. I had to grieve that.”

The release from external timelines has extended to another tournament, the Olympics, which Press said on Monday she’s never really focused on in terms of a potential return. Despite the standard recovery timelines lining up from her fourth and final ACL surgery, last summer’s World Cup experience wasn’t something she wanted to repeat.

“There’s no way your mind can’t start doing the math, right?” Press said this week, saying she’d catch herself counting down the weeks to this summer’s tournament. She doesn’t want to turn off the part of herself still dreaming and striving for a roster spot or any accomplishment on the field, but it’s all a balance.

There’s also a delicate emotional balance in other ways through the recovery process. She’s been in with the team at their training facility, watching the rest of the players train; she’s been at games supporting Angel City, too. Injuries can be isolating, but there’s a weight to being around the team, unable to participate.

“Some of the hardest days of my week are game days when I watch my team play, and there’s a lot of nuance to that. I do feel part of the team. I’m very loyal and dedicated to my teammates and to the club, but it’s actually really hard and painful to watch,” she said.

Having her own space at her physical therapy clinic provided a healing environment. One that lives outside the specific pressures and stresses of the week-to-week grind of the NWSL season, one where the coaches turn from a Friday night result to the new outlook of Monday morning.

“It was a huge blessing to be able to be outside of that, and then the re-entry has been just so great because I have been in a bubble. I’ve been saying, I’ve been bubble-wrapped for so long and now to get in and experience the shift in moods, the shift in energy that comes with preparing for a game and dealing with the results is really important,” she said, now having been more integrated with the team over the past three months.

She’s adjusted now, but shifting from the PT clinic, where she saw the same three people every day, to the full Angel City experience was a bit of a shock.

“It was so social,” she said, laughing a little, recalling just how many people were suddenly talking to her on a daily basis. “Oh my god, I am so introverted. I can’t be around 23 people that are asking me about my life. This is wild! I kept being like, I want to wear a shirt that says, ‘Please don’t ask me about my knee today.’”

With the integration underway and the public milestone achieved, Press has also been busy with the return of The RE-CAP Show, which she hosts with Tobin Heath. Now into their third season, they’ve already recorded with guests like former USWNT player Abby Wambach and Glennon Doyle (who both are in the Angel City investment group, too).

Press and Heath were among the first players to balance active careers with stepping into the media realm, a path shared by the likes of Sam Mewis, Becky Sauerbrunn, Lynn Williams, Midge Purce and others. But still the far more common path is for a player to retire, then start talking about soccer for a living. Press and Heath embrace the tension and perspective this provides.

“Neither Tobin nor I are retired, and neither Tobin nor I have put that chapter behind us,” she said. “We always say it’s a very unique insider/outsider perspective with the USWNT.” As she noted on Monday’s call, you can’t get cut from the national team — a player can always get left off a roster, but they’re also always in contention for the next one. “With the national team, we’re both like, ‘You never know.’ If we can play, we’re going for it right?”

Press noted that discussing the NWSL felt different to her on the show — she’s actively contracted to a team, after all. But either way, her and Heath approach the show with an “active eye” rather than two players who are looking back. But they’ve also focused on building a community along with their foray into the media space. Press has been providing videos with an intimate look into her recovery process for paying members of RE-INC, something that she didn’t think she’d want to create in a more public forum.

“We’ve been able to stay inside the women’s soccer community, having a relationship with our community and our fan base through it all,” Press said.

“We’re simply having the same conversation that we have on our living room couch. I carry a weight of being thoughtful and careful and intentional all the time, inside my own home, so it’s easy for me to translate that. So when we have our banter back and forth, we can stand in a place where we’re challenging each other, and that makes the show more of a provocation than an answer,” she continued. “It’s a question. It’s not an answer.”

Press’ reputation is built in many ways around that thoughtfulness, but it’s not an act either. And sometimes, the way she approaches the world in her “cerebral” fashion means that she wants things to make sense, like her ACL injury and all four surgeries. “I want this fairy tale story where I come back, I’m delightful — that’s actually what I want. ‘I went through all of this, and now you all find me delightful.’”

Press is also all too aware of another reputation, one earned because she’s not afraid to ask for what she wants. She’s fought for everything she wanted. She knows her value.

“Before, you called me a diva, and now I’m delightful. It’s not going to be like that; that’s not what life is. But I will say, the last year of my life — maybe even shorter, the last six months — have been the best of my life because of the space that my ACL created for me to heal as a human. I’m still on that journey, and I intend to stay on that journey.”

Press said this time has allowed her to process and work through all the things she wanted to work through when she actively took a break from the national team, following the previous Olympics. That was the last time she put on a USWNT jersey, after all, and it was and still is a big part of her identity. There have been chapters of her life since then though, and through the recovery process she has asked herself time and time again not when she wants to come back, but how.

She acknowledged there will be fear and pressure with this milestone and the ones yet to come, but the simple goal is for her to be delightful as a human being, for others to be around. Someone that can mentor or be good on the field, laugh at themselves and tease a little too. That doesn’t feel like too much to ask.

“Getting that role in the team where I can be happy and joyful and chasing excellence, really appreciating what I’m doing and what I’m able to do.” That’s what’s important, after a stretch when she did not enjoy the sport itself. “Because if I go back, and I go back and feel the same way that I did about soccer and winning and scoring, then that will feel like a bigger failure than not making it back at all.”

“The competitor in me and the perfectionist in me and the Capricorn in me and the Enneagram three in me just wants to be this delightful, great soccer player that has so much fun and scores all these goals and can totally deal with stress and is always laughing,” she said.

That’s the dream part. The real answer is simple.

“With delight.”

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

 

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: mentions of child abuse, masturbation. (separately, not related to one another)

Words: 2.4k

[A/N: we are so back yall, i think... (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

Previous

V. (NSFW)

Preach, pray, consume, forgive, kneel, repent, repeat.

Viktor’s  worn fingers traced the grooves of the heavy missal as the morning light filtered through stained glass, casting lazy hues upon the cold stone floor. The scent of incense, mingling with the earthy aroma of old wood and dust, rose in spirals as thoughts meandered like the smoke. He recited every prayer, absent from the materiality needed but without a misstep. Not a single one of the faithful that had congregated on that Sunday morning noticed something was amiss, which in retrospect made it seem like he had been doing this for a while, unbeknownst to him.

Their eyes, some pious, others wearied by life's burdens, stared back in expectation, and in their collective gaze, he intoned the familiar prayers, his voice a low murmur resonating through the vaulted space. No part of his body registered the passage of time; only the ashen-colored light that now bathed the right-most side of the altar accused the hours he had lost to the liturgy. A soft voice calling out to him gently nudged him out of his stupor. 

“Father” The altar boy whispered with an outstretched hand that held the washed communion plates. 

“Thank you, Tobias.” Viktor said as he reached out to grab the plates, “I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit distracted as of late.” 

The boy nodded animatedly and skipped his way down to the altar again. Tobias was a lad of scarcely ten summers. Like many others—including Viktor himself—he had been ‘donated’ to the church. To everyone else, this was seen as a foolproof way to skip purgatory, a show of mercy from his parents that proved their love for him and their devotion to god. To Viktor—who was there on the day he arrived and was charged with paying his parents an appropriate amount for him—it was a desperate plea to guarantee his five other siblings did not starve to death.

Viktor looked down again, and the boy was still walking around, clad in a robe slightly too large for him, its hem brushing the floor. His small hands worked with care, putting out the candles with a long, brass taper. Viktor watched as the boy handled the sacred objects with a reverence that belied his tender age, so full of potential and untainted by cynicism. When he was done with his duties, he walked back over to where Viktor sat and stood there in silence, waiting for more orders. 

“What do you wish to be when you grow up?” Viktor asked casually.

He spoke quickly, like he had rehearsed it. “A priest, like you.”

Viktor let out a small, good-humored chuckle in response and raised an incredulous eyebrow. Tobias looked on both sides like he was afraid someone would be there to hear him before speaking again. 

“A stonemason, like my father.”

“Do you miss him?”

His glossy eyes didn’t escape Viktor’s, but he didn’t wish to pry for answers any further, afraid the boy’s feelings would end up triggering memories of his own. And even though Tobias quickly left after Viktor nodded in understanding, the memories he was trying to repress came flooding down. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day his parents took him away was etched in Viktor’s memory with painful vagueness. Cold hands pried him from his mother’s skirt, her eyes wet and empty, filled with a sorrow too deep for words. He barely remembered her face, and now and then, when he tried to latch onto her ghost, she escaped him like smoke. His father’s voice, gruff and resigned as he muttered it was ‘for the best’, was the only thing he managed to recall clearly. He was never able to tell if he felt sad; although his tone seemed tired, it always had, this time seeming nothing more than a feeble attempt at justification. 

The heavy monastery door closed behind him with a finality that echoed through his young heart, and despite the fact that they lived nearby, he never saw them again. Stone walls towered over him, pressing in, their cold embrace devoid of the warmth and comfort he had known. Father Isidore's face, nothing more than a priest back then, loomed hard and unyielding, offering no solace.

Lonely nights were spent in a narrow cot. This was, for all intents and purposes, a better sleeping arrangement than what he previously had, but he longed for home, for the familiar sounds of his mother’s cooking and his father’s laughter as he woke up before sunrise, which had been replaced by an oppressive silence and whispered prayers. Days blurred into weeks, and the unfamiliar routine and stern discipline pressed down on his spirit as curiosity, once a joyful pursuit, became a dangerous trait to have.

He remembered the sting of Father Isidore’s cane against his skin, the punishment for asking questions deemed too freethinking. The pain on his back that burned with each strike, shame and pain mingling as his stern gaze bore into him, and the sickly feeling in his stomach when he smiled at him with the slimy insincerity of someone who believes he’s doing you a favor.

Back then, he bit his lip to stifle his cries, the taste of blood trickling down his throat that for so long he associated with fear, and now it had mutated into a morbid parade of all the wrong sentiments: pleasure, anger, and defiance. If only little Viktor the altar boy knew that the joy of discovery that was crushed under the weight of dogma and the vibrant world of his imagination that was stifled by the constant threat of retribution were once again enkindled, and by the spine-chilling yet exciting presence of a demonic creature nonetheless, he would not believe it. 

The university days provided a brief respite from the oppressive confines of the monastery. The city, alive with possibilities, offered a tantalizing glimpse of freedom. The rush of independence was exhilarating, a stark contrast to the rigid discipline he had known. Yet, even as the world beyond the monastery beckoned, he found himself bound by an inexplicable sense of duty. The decision to return was made—a choice that haunted him. The familiar chains of the clergy tightened around him, the opportunity for escape slipping away.

And although each passing year brought a deeper sense of regret and the burden of faith grew heavier, the ache of what could have been was, at this very moment, no longer a constant. His path led him to where he stood now, an experience so formidably unique that it felt tailor-made for him. Did he deserve such a test from god? It depended on how you saw it. If this was a punishment, then it was fit for all the sin that blackened his soul, and he would endure it in silent penitence. But if this was a reward for being a pious servant and having endured the temptation of unbridled knowledge before, a bigger and more difficult challenge for Viktor to prove his worth, then he did not feel deserving of it. 

Either way, no matter how he sliced it, he was failing. Whether this test had been put before him to teach him restraint or not, it was doing quite the opposite. She had given him a new set of eyes, and now he found a fresh and bitter perspective for every aspect of his practice that he had accepted and embraced before.

Confession was no longer a way for him to provide the people in his community with relief and forgiveness; it was a dirty show of egos for people who are disgustingly contaminated by greed and gluttony to flaunt their superiority in the eyes of a corrupt institution. Their opulent vestments were nothing more than a vainglorious boast of wealth, unfit for a group of men who made a vow of poverty to mirror the temperance of their god. The altar boys were only an unfortunate bunch of children stripped of their choices due to their inescapable place in society, a society where the poor, the vulnerable, and the young were exploited with the promise of salvation if they paid tithe and served their godly emissaries. 

And then there was the liturgy. Granted, he was never too entranced by any of the rites he had to perform; they had always felt like a distant repetition of nonsensical words that he felt no real connection to, as he always felt closer to god in silent and private prayer, but now, with his unintentional new perspective, it was the aspect that felt the most different to him. 

For decades, he had been taught to be passive, to repress, and to contain. To escape anything that was even remotely tempting and to be satisfied and held in contempt by the only nude body he’d ever be allowed to see, the one nailed to a cross. Why is it then that the art scattered around the church puts such an intent focus on the immaculate figures of naked men? Why is it that he is thought to rub, to whisper, and to consume in that context but is forced to repress such acts once he steps down the altar?

Viktor took a deep breath. His long fingers twirled the beads of his rosary absentmindedly as he pondered, and before realizing what he was doing, he brought it up to his nose, taking in the faint smell of roses that still lingered from when it was made. While he did that, images ran through his mind—of himself kissing the crucifix during Holy Week, the defined torsos carefully painted in the sacred images of saints, the almost ecstatic feeling brought by communion. Flashes that appeared in quick succession fused with the intense pleasure of flagellation and the still vibrant recollection of what She had made him feel. 

___________________________________________________________________

He knew those thoughts would lead to these, and not only did he purposefully not repress them, but he was hoping as much. There was that distinct tension, that heightened awareness of his body, that sense of electricity that seemed to hum just beneath his skin. Something that was no longer new to him and also no longer unwelcome. 

He stood from the chair he had spent the afternoon rotting away in deep thought on and lethargically walked back to his quarters. Once there and with the door tightly shut behind him, he fell on his back against the stubborn mattress, not waiting even a moment before pulling up the fabric of his cassock to reveal the tight clasp of his trousers. 

His fingers trembled as they moved to untie the sash with deliberate slowness, the anticipation heightening his senses. He hesitated for a moment, as if seeking some final absolution, before he grasped his swelling desire. An almost cynical laugh escaped his lips as he began to stroke himself, the motion tentative at first, then more assured as he slowly understood the intensity of his own touch. The sensation was electric, his body responding with a fervor that he had only experienced deep in prayer. 

His free hand, with his rosary entangled between his fingers, gripped the edge of the cot, knuckles white with tension as the wooden frame creaked under the strain and the beads etched small marks into his skin. As the feeling of that distracted him from the pressing heat gathering with each pump, another unusual feeling took him out of the moment. 

The same bone-chilling breeze he had felt for the past few days, every time she came around. There was no fear inside of him this time and no guilt either, so when her figure became clear and visible, he didn’t flinch, freeze, or even stop what he was doing. A silent acknowledgement was given in the form of a lingering look, before the pleasure building to an almost unbearable intensity urged him to start moving his hand once again. 

She looked at him with pleased eyes, contemptuous but not gloating. She recognized that her role had been simply one of a catalyst for something that had been inside of Viktor all along. Did she want to participate? Of course, but there would be a time for that; this was his victory to enjoy. 

He continued stroking with a rhythm characteristic of someone who was slowly trying to connect with his own body, not rushed by guilt or fear. In the midst of one of the pauses he took to prevent himself from coming to his release too early, he took notice of her again, still standing opposite him near the door. 

“Will you be in hell to welcome me when I die?”

“Hell is now, this, and here.”

“So there is no realm of eternal punishment?” Viktor chuckled bitterly. 

“If there was, it wouldn’t be for people like you.” 

“Eh, I don’t believe that.”

“Can you confidently say...” She started as she walked over and kneeled near the edge of the bed where Viktor sat, gently placing one of her cold hands over the one that gripped his cock. “...that something that feels like this is undoubtedly immoral?”

She slowly guided him up and down once again, increasing the pressure of his grip with her own as Viktor looked into her obscured eyes, mouth agape. 

“Perhaps, though I’m prepared to pay the price.” He said, almost in a whisper. 

They both continued moving, aided by her firm touch over his hand, and the pressure building became almost unbearable. In those final moments, his thoughts became a blur, a cacophony of want, desire, and need, with part of him wanting to touch her and another part wanting to completely lean back and let her finish him off. Instead, his body tensed right where he was, every muscle tightening as he reached his climax with a shuddering release that left him gasping for breath.

The crucifix dangled on his neck as he started to lean over. 

[lunarbuck]

Parasite - Slaughter pt. 3

Pairing: dark!Winter Soldier x f!reader (any race)

WC: 2.2k

Summary: It's been too long since you've seen the Soldier

Warnings: dark, smut (p in v, unprotected, public-ish), edging, overstimulation, swearing, pet names [little lamb]

A/N: I can't believe I haven't updated this since september of last year... i'm sorry it took so long!!!! this was a doozy lol i hope you guys enjoy :)

Song referenced: Parasite Eve - Bring Me The Horizon

series masterlist | my masterlist | requests are open

part 1 | part 2

He’s been away from you for too long. His fingers itch to touch you, to ravage you. To ruin you. It’s all he can think about. Every mission he completes gets him closer and closer to returning to you. 

You’ve been craving him. Nothing feels like him; nothing comes even close. Heat floods your body whenever you think of him, his hands on you, his words.

Don’t thank god, little lamb. Thank me. I’m your fucking god.

You go about your regular life, hiding the masked man away from everyone around you. He’s your dirty little secret, your wildest fantasy come to life. 

Even though it’s fucked up, you miss him. It’s been weeks, and he has yet to return to your bedroom. The star he carved into your leg is scarring over nicely, and it serves as a reminder every time you see or feel it, of what he did to you. What he’s done. What he will do.

Tonight, as you dance with a man whose name you don’t quite remember, it’s him that you think of. The masked man with eyes that can see right through you. You think of him as this new man grips your hips just a little too tightly. He dances just a little too closely.

And then you see it.

A flash of metal, those eyes… 

You shake your head. There’s no way he’s here. Even before that first night in your bedroom, he never followed you to places like this. He only ever saw you in public, not at a club or bar. 

The dancing man behind you grows bored, finally picking up on your disinterest, and abandons you on the dance floor. But you’re not paying attention. No, you’re staring at the corner of the room.

There, hidden in the darkness, you see him. He devours you with his eyes, setting you alight.

You walk to him as if tethered by some invisible force. He pulls you in, hypnotizing you with his presence. 

“Little lamb,” he whispers when you’re finally standing in front of him. He’s not wearing his mask, and it takes everything in you to not stare at his lips. They’re soft, plump, and pink. You want to kiss him, to press against those perfect lips and taste them.

His fingers grip your chin, and tilt your head up so you have to meet his eyes.

“You’re here,” you say breathily. His eyes search your face, but for what, you’re not sure. 

The Soldier’s fingers reach out and brush up your arm, sending shivers through your body. Your dress is sleeveless, leaving your skin out for him to devour. And that’s what it looks like he wants to do. 

“And you were dancing with a man.” His voice is gruff and laced with lust. But there’s anger there too.

All you can do is nod, already falling into his trance. Without speaking another word, the Soldier cocks his head and tugs you toward the back of the bar. You follow him, practically tripping over your feet to keep up with his long strides.

He shoulders open the back door of the bar, and it doesn’t cross your mind to wonder how he knew where the exit was, how he barely had to look for it at all. Instead, your thoughts linger on the way the low light casts shadows over his beautiful, sharp features. You drink him in, committing the slope of his nose, the angle of his chin to memory.

The Soldier presses your back against the rough brick wall of the alley, and suddenly the world comes back into focus around you.

“Thought you were gonna be good for me,” he whispers roughly, metal fingers curling around your chin. His other hand dips down, running up your knee to your thigh. You shiver when he makes contact with the star he carved into your skin.

“I- I have been good, I promise,” you reply, watching the Soldier’s face closely. His brow furrows as his fingers trace higher, finding your pussy already wet for him beneath your panties.

“I don’t believe you.” His words are harsh as he applies pressure to your clit. “You were letting that man touch you. How often have you done that since I last saw you?” Frustration washes over you, overtaking your lust. You push on his shoulders, shoving him back slightly.

“I don’t even know your fucking name,” you say, trying not to be afraid of the man in front of you. “Why would you care what I do when you’re gone? You’re the one who always disappears, who never showed me your face before tonight. Since when do you control my fucking life? You don’t own me.”

The Soldier’s eyes narrow, darkening at your words. He’s back on you in an instant, fingers finding their way back to the mark on your thigh.

“You are all I think about when I’m away, lamb.” Cold fingers trace the star over and over, the gesture practically obsessive. “Your eyes, your perfect body. Only you.” He leans his forehead closer to yours, knocking your nose with his. “I have no choice; I have to leave. But you…” he trails off, dragging his fingers back to your clit. “You chose to give me control that first night.”

“No,” you whisper, not even meaning it one bit.

“You begged for me,” he says, nipping at the tip of your nose. “Fucked yourself to the thought of my cock.” His fingers slide beneath your panties, finding you soaked. “You really going to tell me you don’t want me? Don’t want this?” You moan, feeling his strong fingers circle your clit.

“What’s your name?” You ask with a shaky voice. The Soldier grins, and you feel your knees go weak.

“I don’t have a name anymore.” You can tell he feels conflicted, but you want to push him for more. “I am called Soldat now.” 

“Soldat,” you whisper. The sound of his name on your lips sends his mind to dark, dark places, but for you, he would go anywhere. 

The Soldier’s blue eyes gleam down at you, and your lips part with a sigh. He’s working you up so perfectly; he knows your body better than you know it. When his lips connect with yours, it sends sparks flying through you.

He kisses you like he’s starving, like he’s devouring you. Your hands wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer. You gasp when he moves one of his legs between yours, spreading your feet apart further.

“Take it back,” he grunts. In a swift movement, he tears your panties down your legs. They fall to the ground, shredded. Confusion must flash across your features because as he fusses with his belt, he continues. “You said I don’t own you. Take. It. Back.”

Two of his fingers press inside of you, and you gasp loudly, suddenly aware of the possibility of someone walking past the alley and seeing what he’s doing to you. You try to cover his mouth with your fingers, but he easily dodges your grasp.

“Say it.” Your eyes roll back when his fingers graze the perfect spot deep inside of you. “Be a good little lamb for me, and maybe I’ll let you come. How’s that sound?” You preen at the idea of being good for him, but part of your brain scolds you for it. You don’t want to tell him he owns you, that you crave him, that you’re infected. 

Instead, you shake your head, your orgasm growing closer and closer. 

The Soldier clicks his tongue at you, withdrawing his fingers from your pussy. He shoves his pants down his legs, and your mouth waters at the sight of his dick. 

He chuckles at your reaction and the way your tongue traces along your lower lip. “Pull up your dress.” His commanding tone sends shivers down your spine, and despite worrying about people that might walk past, you find yourself following his orders. 

“What if someone sees?” The Soldier grips your legs at your knees, hoisting you up and against the wall. You instinctively wrap your legs around him, tugging him closer. His cock nudges against your clit, and you bite back a moan.

“Then they’ll know what you can’t seem to get through your dumb little head. That I fucking own you.” As the last word leaves his lips, he thrusts into you, stretching you around his length. This time, you can’t hold back the moan that rips from your throat.

“Soldat,” you whimper, head lolling back as he fucks you with fast, deep thrusts. Suddenly, he’s pressing something against your face. You realize a moment later that it’s his mask. He hooks it around your head, securing it into place. With the way it’s positioned on your head, you can’t open your mouth fully, and it muffles most of the sound you make.

“But those sounds,” he grunts, “are all mine.” His hands scour your body, grabbing and feeling every inch of your body as he fucks you. It’s all you can do to stay upright, and you give in to the feeling of him taking you.

His metal fingers find your clit, and he works you in quick, tight circles. It doesn’t take long for you to reach the edge, and you grip his shoulders, begging for release. But he doesn’t give it to you. The moment you’re about to come, he stops all his movements.

You groan at the loss, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“Take it back, and I’ll let you come,” he tells you, thrusting shallowly. The Soldier holds you against the brick and watches his cock as it slides in and out of your pussy. “Three little words, that’s all it takes.”

Your silence must last too long because he starts fucking you again, clearly trying to work you back up to your orgasm as quickly as possible. 

He brings you to the edge more times than you can count, keeping you from coming each time. Tears stream down your face, and your muffled noises are music to the Soldier’s ears. 

“You look so fucking perfect with my cock in you, little lamb,” he groans, pressing a hand against your lower belly. You whine from being sore, but it just makes him go faster. “If you wanna come so bad, you know what to say.”

He likes playing this game with you, especially since he wins either way. He loves seeing you take him, loves watching your body give him everything even though your mind won’t quite let go yet. He knows you’ll say it eventually. It’s only a matter of time, and he can’t wait to push you to your limit.

Your fingers dig into the Soldier’s shoulders, and you feel him shudder, his hips stuttering from their consistent pace. He comes on a low groan, but he doesn’t stop fucking you. He’s still hard, still pressing deeply inside of you.

Your eyes widen, and he grins, dipping his head to bite your neck. “You thought I was done with you, little lamb?” You can’t find the words to respond, your mind full of him . “Can’t ever get enough.”

“Please, please, please,” you whimper, muffled through the mask. 

“I know you’re sore, little lamb. I just can’t help it; you look so fucking perfect. Your pretty pussy takes my cock so well.” His words are music to your ears, and despite any discomfort, you might be feeling, you grind your hips against his pelvis, shifting yourself to his pace. 

“Soldat, please,” your voice sounds broken and hoarse; it just fuels his fire.

“Tell me what I want to hear.” His fingers slide up your body, caressing every curve, before curling around your neck. With an unexpected tenderness, he pulls the mask off your face. You suck in a shaking breath and groan as his cock hits your G-spot.

“You own me,” you whisper. His thrusts still, and your body jolts from sensitivity.

“Again.” The Soldier’s fingers drag down your front, tracing over your nipples. Your entire body feels like it’s been electrocuted, even though a layer of fabric separates his skin from yours. 

“You own me.”

“Good fucking girl.” He thrusts into you slowly, deeply, before working up to a pace that makes you see stars. His fingers circle your clit as his lips suck at the sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder meet. Tears fall freely down your cheeks as you get closer and closer to orgasm.

Heat builds like a raging storm in your belly from being worked up for so long. You sob, hiccuping as you hold onto him for dear life.

“Lemme see those tears,” he whispers, gripping your chin between his fingers, “Come while you’re fucking crying on my dick, little lamb.”

The Soldier’s hand covers your mouth as you come on a loud moan. You feel him fill you again, pulsing inside of you. The two of you remain, pressed against each other and the brick wall for what feels like an eternity.

“You own me,” he tells you, leaning his forehead against yours. You gaze into his bright blue eyes and see the devotion. 

There’s so much you want to say, that you should say. But as silence falls over the two of you, you can’t help but feel that this is how it was meant to be.

When we forget the infection

Will we remember the lesson?

If the suspense doesn't kill you

Something else will

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[clumsiestgiantess]

Survivors — people barely a foot tall who were forced to take refuge in our world — have become a normal part of society. Unfortunately.. it’s not in the way they were hoping.

(original story here)

There’s no way I lost my 90 dollar ball.  Are you kidding me?!  I spent months saving up for that thing; how could I lose it?  I’d torn up my bedroom in search of my prized possession: a professional-grade soccer ball.  It had come with me to every practice session since the day I bought it.  I stormed out of my room, heading towards the garage.  Maybe I’d left it with my gear.  

“Woah!  Where are you headed so grouchily?”  My older sister asked snidely as I stormed past her in the hall.  “You wouldn’t care,” I huffed.  She shrugged offhandedly, “That’s probably true.”  Digging out all of my equipment — even my old stuff that I knew couldn’t possibly have my ball in it — I still couldn’t find it.  Ohh wait…  One of my friends had shown up halfway through practicing at a nearby park.  He’d dragged me away to a local store because one of our favorite games was on sale.  Dang it, I left it there, didn’t I?

“If Mom gets home early, tell her I’m at the park!” I yelled through the doorway.  “Why are you going to the-?”  The door fell closed on my sister’s voice and I rushed to my bike.  The park wasn’t too far from my house; I could be there in 15 minutes if I hurried.  

“Hold it.”  Julie stopped me as I wheeled it to the garage door. “Mom told me to keep an eye on you today.  Where are you going again?”  “The park,” I responded innocently.  “For?”  “I think I left my soccer ball there.”  “Oh?  The survivors have probably taken it by now.”  I sighed at her joke.  Ever since the little human-like creatures had stolen the phone right out of her purse while she was distracted — true story — she was constantly referencing it.  At first it was out of spite, then it became a habit.  “Come on, I’ll drive you.  It won’t be long, right?”  I shook my head, grateful for the lift.  

As I rode along with Julie, I begged the universe for things to work out in my favor.  Please let it still be there.  Don’t let someone take it.  By the time we reached the park entrance, my anxiety was calmed.  I could see the white spot of my ball towards the end of the field.  “Yes,” I cheered quietly as my sister pulled into a space.  “Alright, go get it,” my sister nodded.

I stepped out of the car and ran across the field in a half-jog-half-walk.  But I stopped as I got closer — staring in open-mouthed horror.  My ball was lopsided; punctured toothmark holes of a large dog pierced the sides.  “Are you kidding me?!  At least if somebody took it I wouldn’t have known they’d done this!”  Angrily, I ran up the last few feet and kicked the deflated ball as hard as I could.  It sailed across the field and hit the fence as a startled yelp reached my ears.  Below me, a survivor was hunched over on the ground, looking around in fearful confusion.  He gasped, scanning the sky above him intently.  

“Huh?  What are you-?  Oh.”  Following his gaze up to the sky, I watched a hawk or some other large bird circle around overhead.  “Are you hiding from that bird?”  The survivor glanced fearfully at me, then back up at the sky, whispering something I couldn’t understand.  “Right,” I sighed, “You have your own language.”  

The survivor was.. different than the ones I’d seen — maybe because they looked to be about my age, or maybe because they were actually alive and well rather than the few depressed half-dead ones I’d seen before.  Whatever the case, I didn’t feel like leaving them there to get picked off. 

I went to go collect my ball so the survivor would have cover again, but he yelped and rushed after me, cowering under my shadow.  His gaze finally tore away from the sky and landed on me.  Eyes wide, he asked me something I didn’t understand, but I could guess.  

I sighed, but nodded.  “Come on,” I gestured for him to follow me, and began walking back the way I’d come.  The survivor sprinted after me.  Halfway across the field, he wheezed something that vaguely sounded like he was asking me to stop.  Oh man, even when I’m walking I’m going too fast for him.  Poor guy.  I stopped and let the little guy catch up with me.  He sat down on the grass, out of breath.  However, that bird noticed we’d stopped moving.  I watched as it swooped down and landed on the telephone wires beside the field.

“Dnimreven!  M’i enif!  S’tel tsuj teg tuo fo ereh!” the survivor gasped, scrambling to his feet.  He walked on and I kept up with his pace, walking beside him at whatever speed he wanted.  It was slow going, but when we reached the parking lot, he stopped.  “I.. hhu.. t’ndid yllaer kniht siht raf daeha.”  Glancing around the lot, he looked over at the bird, then glanced up at me.  “What?” I asked, “It’s alright, I’ll follow you.  Just go back to the woods or something.”  I waved a hand at the woods, but he slowly shook his head.  “You.. no?  Don’t you live there?”  He just pointed at the bird and shook his head.  I squatted on the ground beside him.  Still he was shorter than me, but not by nearly as much as when I stood.

“Hey, it’s alright!  Just go hide in the woods for a while.  That bird will have to stop following you eventually.”  A car horn startled both of us just as the survivor was about to speak.  “Hey!” Julie called, “What are you doing?  I thought you said you’d be quick!  Stop pestering that little survivor and get in the car!”  “Alright!” I shouted annoyedly back, standing up again.  “I’m coming!  One second!”  I started walking to the trees nearby and the survivor raced after me.  When I got to the edge of the parking lot, I stopped and pointed towards the forest.  “Go on.  I’m sure some other survivors will come along and help you.”

But would they?  He gave me a solemn look and trudged towards the underbrush like I was exiling him.  The car horn startled him again and he ducked away into the foliage.  “Ok!  Ok!  I’m coming!”  The whole drive home I was, according to my sister, ‘unnaturally quiet’.  I blamed it on my popped ball — and normally that would make me angry — but I was just too caught up thinking about that survivor.  I tried to remember every time I’d ever seen one.  Surely one of them looked like they were doing ok, didn’t they?

Yet, as much as I wracked my brain, I couldn’t think of a time when I’d seen one happy.  They always looked scared.  At best they seemed kinda.. out of it.  At worst they were, well, dead.  I hope that survivor doesn’t end up like them.  He was my age.  Surely he’ll survive better than the older ones, right?  But there was that bird…  I was up the whole night coming up with a plan to sneak out of the house and return to the park.  I had to go find him again — to make sure he was safe.  

I’d never actually interacted with a survivor before.  It wasn’t at all what I expected.  My friends said they were little scavengers who liked to steal.  All the articles about them said they were a kind of mimic of us from a whole other mimic of our world.  But everyone made them sound like little animals.  The guy I met today — he seemed so familiar in a weird way.  He spoke to me, gestured for me to understand, and even his expressions were so human I could understand him just by reading them.  Then again.. maybe he was just a really good mimic.

During lunch the next day, I passively mentioned going to hang out with some friends at the soccer field, and was thankfully met with little opposition.  My mom reminded me to wear a helmet when I went out, but that was all.  I wrapped up half a grilled cheese I made for myself, tossed it into my bike basket, and pedaled off.  I think I beat my previous record of biking to the park by a few minutes, that’s how anxious I was.  I scanned the sky as I arrived.  No predatory birds in sight.  

Stepping over to the place where I left the survivor the other day, I made my way into the woods.  I searched the ground with every step until I came across a survivor laying on the ground.  A sickening feeling lurched in my stomach watching flies buzzing around them, landing on unmoving limbs.  Shit...  I’m too late.  I carefully stepped over to the body and knelt beside it.  I turned away after only a moment, but as I went to cover it with dirt, I realized their hair was much too long to be the survivor I saw before.  Holding my breath, I bent down to get a better look.

Firstly, their chest had been torn wide open, and their arms and legs picked clean down to the bone.  The position they were in looked painful, as if they’d been struggling.  I realized in my examination that the survivor was a female, and let out a relieved breath.  Whatever had caught it.. caught her — had eaten her.  Wait.  I shouldn’t be relieved by that!  What the hell am I thinking!?  I was just glad that it wasn’t my little friend who’d died, but I felt extremely guilty about thinking of this survivor’s death in that way.  She’d died likely being hunted — eaten.  Was she still conscious during all of it, or had the animal killed her by then?  I just hope I’m not too late to help the other survivor.

Gently taking a few handfuls of dirt, I covered the little corpse.  With a quick glance around myself, I spotted some wildflowers, picked one, and laid it carefully on the small mound.  “I would’ve helped you too,” I said softly, as if that were any consolation for how horribly they’d died.  No wonder the guy I’d met yesterday had given me such a desperate look when I sent him out here.  I was basically sentencing him to a horrific struggle for survival in a place where he wasn’t meant to live in.

Standing back up, I backed away from the little grave and headed in a different direction.  “Hello?” I called, “Survivor dude I met yesterday?  I’m sorry I don’t.. know your name.  And I’m really sorry I left you alone out here!  Please be alright...”  I walked through the forest along the outskirts of the soccer field, watching my every step and calling out once and a while.  I began giving up hope as I rounded the end of the field, but something stopped me before I could turn around: my popped soccer ball.  It wasn’t left where I’d kicked it earlier.  It was tucked beside a tree a little ways past the wooden fence that separated most of the park from the overgrown trees and whatnot that I’d been trekking through.

Heart pounding, I raced over to the ball and yanked it away from the tree.  A fearful yelp came from beneath it as the survivor from the day before huddled up against the side of the tree with his arms over his head.  “Hey!  Hey, it’s alright!  It’s me!  Remember me from yesterday?” I asked excitedly.  The little guy looked up at me with a bewildered expression before his face slowly fell into shock — recognizing me.  “Tahw?  S’tahw gniog no?  Tnaig edud, t’nod llet em er’uoy ereh rof ruoy llab niaga…”  I had no clue what he said, but I was too relieved to even listen.  He was alive — still using my ball for shelter.  “Oh, here!  I brought you something.”  Digging into my pocket, I pulled out the bag of my half a grilled cheese and took it out.  

“I wasn’t sure if you had anything to eat out here, so I brought you this.  It.. might actually be a bit too big for you.”  Laughing slightly, I handed the piece of sandwich off to him.  It was half his height, but he took it eagerly.  I sat down lightly, keeping watch for anything that might hurt him as he chowed down.  “Yeh tnaig?”  The survivor startled me from surveillance.  “Hmm?  What’s wrong little guy?”  He pointed to his throat, then cupped his hands and pretended to drink.  “Oh!  You’re thirsty?  I have some water, but it’s back with my bike.  Sorry, I should’ve brought it.”  The survivor gave me a confused look.  He didn’t understand me.  I knew he couldn’t, but I kept forgetting.  He looked so normal that I expected him to speak a language I knew.

“Come on,” I gestured for him to follow me like I had the day before.  He promptly got up and headed after me.  The pace was even slower than yesterday.  In the field, the little survivor could easily keep walking all the way across, albeit his steps were much shorter than mine.  Here in the uncut forest, he had to weave and duck through the foliage like it was a jungle.  He was exhausted after only a short time, and made the same gestures for a drink again, as if I hadn’t understood him the first time.  I wanted to go and bring him one, but that body I’d found had me scared.  What if I left him and something attacked?  I’d feel awful if I came back to find a similar scene to the first survivor.

I.. I can try taking him there myself.  But is he going to run away from me if I do that?  Wild animals generally don’t like being held.  But he wasn’t some wild animal.  Surely he was smart enough to understand that I was helping him.  Taking a knee, I slowly reached for him.  “I’m just gonna help you out, ok little guy?”  The survivor backed away from my hand uncertainly, but he didn’t run.  “I'm just taking you to get a drink, like you wanted,” I told him, pointing towards the edge of the woods and the parking lot.  

The survivor glanced between me and the distance he had to travel several times, then eventually glanced down at my hesitating hand.  I came closer again and he held his hands up slightly, squeezing his eyes shut.  However, he stood perfectly still. 

His reaction hurt slightly.  Doesn’t he know I won’t attack him?  He looks scared of me, but I’m not a predator.  I’m a person; I wouldn’t eat him or kill him for no reason.  Slowly, I gripped his torso in a light fist and lifted him into the air.  He yelled — dangling legs instantly pulling in against himself as he rushed to grip my fingers.  The survivor’s eyes were wide open now, looking around himself fearfully.  

“Hey, come on, really?” I asked, causing his head to whip back around towards me.  His breathing picked up against the palm of my hand.  “Is it really that scary?”  Apparently it was.  He readjusted, trying to cling even tighter to my fingers.  I sighed, “Man, you’re like.. the same age as me!  Can’t you tell that I’m not some big scary animal?”  I headed back to my bike with him in my hand. He struggled so much I nearly dropped him accidentally.  It wasn’t violent struggling like he was in danger, but still.  

Finally, I reached my bike and released him on the asphalt.  He scrambled backwards and tripped over his own feet, glancing around at the sky before taking a few steps closer to the bike, shying away from the open space.  “It’s alright," I assured him, taking out my water bottle and pouring him a capful.  “I’ll shoo away anything that tries to get you.”  “I- I t’nod tnaw ot eb tuo ereh,” he said nervously, ducking closer to the bike’s wheel until he was pressed against it.  Tsuj- t’nac uoy ekat eht retaw revo ot eht sterof daetsni?  Stnaig t’nod yllausu ekil em gnignah dnuora ni eht nepo, dna eht sdrib ekil ti a elttil oot hcum.”

I chuckled and shook my head.  “I have no clue what you’re saying, but you sure are talking.  Here, have some water.”  I handed him the bottle cap filled with water, but he only pointed to the woods.  I didn’t move until he begrudgingly took it.  Sitting on the curb beside my bike, I watched the little survivor.  A few dogs passed by on the opposite side of the lot.  Both of us eyed them warily, but they were well-behaved pets.  They ignored us and continued on after their owners.  

Wait.. pet.  I glanced down at the survivor.  He’d relaxed a bit once the dogs passed us, but he was still on alert.  I’d been thinking about that body — the poor survivor who could do nothing to save themselves from such an awful death.  “Hey little guy?  What do you think of becoming my pet?  Some people keep survivors and train them, you know.  You’d be a lot safer with me!  I’d have to hide you from my family, though,” I grumbled.  “Maybe I can make you a little home in my backyard or something.  What do you think?”  He just gave me a blank, confused look.  “Right…” I sighed, “Before I teach you any tricks I think I’m gonna have to teach you some words first.  At least you understand gestures.”

The only thing my musings were met with was a small gesture for more water.  I thought for a moment as I refilled the survivor’s bottle cap.  “I guess I should start with a name.  Hmmm.. should I give you a human name or more of a pet name?”  I thought for a moment, “What if I name you Bandit?  Because you took my soccer ball?  My sister did warn me that your kind likes to steal things.”

Once Bandit was done with his drink, I stood up decisively.  He startled, but calmed down soon after.  That was until I reached for him again.  Bandit dodged away from my grasp and stepped away from my bike.  Pointing towards the woods, he told me something and started walking in that direction.  “No, look!  I’m going to give you a real home now!  Your name’s gonna be Bandit and I’ll take care of you.  You don’t have to fight to survive out here anymore.”  I stepped over to him and tried to pick him up again, but he took off at a run — surprisingly fast for something so small.  Thankfully, it only took a little jog to catch up with him and corner Bandit with my hands.

The survivor began yelling as I stood back up.  His legs were pinned in one hand and his torso in the other.  “Tahw eht lleh?!  Tahw era uoy gniod htiw em?!  Tup em nwod!  I t’nod tnwa uoy ot yrrac em dnuora; I nac klaw tsuj enif!”  He sounded angry, but he just didn’t understand.  He probably thought I was taking him back to that sad little spot I’d found him tucked up in.  “Man, you gotta calm down!” I told him surprisedly, “You’re yelling like I’m going to murder you or something.  I’m literally saving your life!”

As gently as I could with all his struggling, I placed Bandit into my bike basket and hopped on.  He peered over the edge for a moment, confused.  However, he gasped and ducked down inside as I lifted the kickstand.  “Yeh!  I- I thguoht ew erew sdneirf!  Erehw era uoy gnikat em?”  “That’s right,” I said softer than before, “I’m getting you out of here.  Now hold on tight!  We’ll be at my house before you know it!”

I biked slowly through the parking lot and across the road, but once I hit the bike trail, I took off — excited to bring home my new pet.  Bandit yelled a few more times, and I slowed down each time.  However, I kept forgetting and speeding back up again.  About two-thirds of the way there, my little pet finally had enough.  While I was focused on a blind turn up ahead, the little thing lept out of the basket.  A heartstopping thwack resounded off the dirt path as he hit it.  I came to a screeching halt a few feet further and dropped my bike to the ground, rushing to his side.  

Blood had begun pooling through his pant leg as he hastily scrambled to his feet before immediately falling back over again.  “Bandit!  Holy shit!  Why’d you do that?!  I thought survivors were smart enough to know not to jump out of a moving vehicle!”  An agonizing cry stopped me from scolding him any longer.  “Shit, I..  I gotta get you home and bandage that up.”  Scooping him up in my arms, I drove the rest of the way single-handedly — Bandit gasping and whining the whole way back.  The sound made me sick.  I don’t understand!  He knew it was moving!  They’re supposed to be the second smartest creatures in the world besides humans!

I drove straight into the backyard when I got home, rushing for the back door.  However, when I threw it open, my sister stood in the doorway, arms crossed.  I had quick enough reflexes to hide Bandit behind my back, but that was all.  “I knew you were up to something when Mom told me where you were going!” she accused.  “No!” I yelped, covering up a groan from my little injured pet.  “I was at the park!  I swear!”  “So why are you sneaking in the back-”  Julie’s face paled mid-sentence.  “Ritchie?  Is that blood on your sweatshirt?”  Shit.  It was.  Bandit’s leg must’ve bled into my clothing while I was holding him tucked against my chest.

There was no use trying to lie.  Julie was a veterinary major — specializing in surgery.  She knew blood when she saw it.  “I- I can explain.”  Before I could explain anything, she grabbed my arm and fearfully yanked it out from behind me.  Bandit cried out in pain as he was jerked forward.  Protectively, I tucked him back against myself as my shocked sister let go of me.  “I knew you would go back for that survivor,” she said under her breath.  “But what the hell did you do?”

“I- I didn’t do anything!  He jumped out of my bike while I was riding it and-”  “Give him to me.”  “What?  No!  What are you going to do with him?”  She held out her cupped hands, “What do you think I’m going to do with him?  I have to stop him from bleeding like that or he will die.  Please, just let me have him.”  “I- It’s not that bad!” I lied, backing away, “This stain isn’t even that big!”  “It is to him.”  Julie’s voice suddenly turned hostily serious.  Hesitantly, I tried to give Bandit to her, but he gasped and tried to avoid her hands.

I was about to tell her that I should just bring him wherever she wanted him, but Julie spoke first.  “S’ti thgirla; I t’now truh uoy.  M’i ereh ot pleh uoy.”  I blinked, dumbstruck.  Even Bandit stopped struggling.  “Did.. you just speak survivor language?” I gawked.  Less than a second later, Bandit practically flung himself out of my grasp and into Julie’s arms.  He started speaking so quickly, even she gave him a confused look.  “Tsuj gnah ni ereht,” she said gently, “Ll’i teg uoy dexif pu.”  She rushed off into the bathroom.  The rumbling of medicine bins filled the air along with the sound of rushing water.  I was so stunned I stood in the doorway for several minutes before quickly closing the back door and rushing after my sister.