#'i can still hear you saying we would never break the chain'

[captainqster]

I can still hear you saying 'we would never break the chain'

[chirpsythismorning]

📝 💐 🛼 💔⏪️💭🧊🌄❤️‍🩹

The Chain by Fleetwood Mac

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[shiveringfrogspawn]

you see me on a bus. i am sitting by myself, looking sad. bass thumps from my headphones. a solitary tear trickles down my cheek. my ofmd playlist has just reached The Chain by Fleetwood Mac.

[hello-sweetheart]

You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.

Clumsy in Love Part 2

It’s hard to listen to Eddie talk about this guy the same way Steve wished he did about him. Eddie, already so full of life and words, doesn’t seem to need to take a breather between his praises.

“Can’t believe this guy is actually into me, did you see him? Oh my god!” He groans and smacks his palms against the steering wheel, literally bouncing in his seat.

The van swerves a bit to the left.

“He’s just my type, too. Those eyes, prettiest eyes that have ever graced human existence, and they were looking at me. Me! Wow! The darkest green— I don’t think there’s any precious stone that can compare actually.”

He beams at him and Steve’s traitorous heart still flutters like a wounded bird helplessly flapping its broken wing. Eddie is smiling so hard his cheeks must hurt, eyes crinkled at the corners and teeth on full display.

Steve will close his eyes at night and replay these words, pretending that this excitement and instant adoration is about him. That Eddie’s love-struck smile is for him.

“And, to top it off, he’s a geek. A fucking nerd. He actually knows DnD! What are the chances, Stevie? I’m no religious man, but an angel must have heard mine desperate pleas.”

His name is Adiel, Eddie’s perfect guy.

Steve spends that night feeling the need to cry, the hurt is right there at the base of his throat refusing to spill.

Steve kind of wishes he did, maybe letting everything out would leave him feeling empty instead impossibly full of heartache.

Adiel is blond, a dirty blonde that means he must’ve had light locks as a kid. Face slim and cheek bones prominent, but his features are soften by button nose. Maybe Eddie is right, he looks like the angels depicted in stained church windows, but whereas angels are depicted in white, Adiel wore exclusively black.

He wasn’t decorated in rings and chains like Ed, only a few silver piercings in his ears and a couple on his lips. But it was evident they had much in common, even just by looks. More than Steve could ever say about him and Eddie.

Over the next couple of weeks they share their music, intrinsically understanding what it means to one another.

Getting it.

Getting it the way that Steve never could, even with hours of Eddie breaking it down for him. Maybe Steve never understood, but he loved those moments shared between them. Wonders if Adiel cherishes those moments too. If he takes it for granted.

They share everything with each other and Steve hears every little detail gushed between sickly sweet sighs. He’s trying to be a good friend, to listen and share Eddie’s happiness, but something inside him grows bitter. Angry. He hates feeling this way.

“I met his friends already, they’re a really cool bunch. I really think you guys would get along. They know all the best spots for people like us. There’s a whole world out there, Stevie—“

Stevie. His breath stutters.

“Of people like us with places for us. We could take Robin and Vicky and be surrounded by people that won’t, that won’t think we’re… wrong. And who knows,” he nudges Steve’s side with a suggestive smile, “maybe you’ll meet the one there, huh Stevie?”

“Stop. Just, just stop!”

Steve doesn’t mean to yell. He just can’t take it anymore. Everything that has been building up inside him has reached a point where he just can’t. He pushes Eddie away from him who looks startled. Offended and bothered and confused.

“I don’t want to meet his friends, or least of all him. I don’t get it, okay! I thought—“

What did he think? That one day he would confess to Eddie or vice versa? That they’d kiss and go on double dates with Robin and Vicky? That he would fall asleep each night in love and loved? It seemed plausible at some point. That’s what hurts the most.

“Hey, Stevie—“

“Don’t call me that! You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“What? Your name? You don’t want me to call you by your name?”

A bitter laugh, “yeah. My name from your mouth.”

“I, You’re not making any sense!”

Steve knows. He knows. But Stevie, Big boy, Ozzy… even his own name, can’t bear to hear them. Not from him. Can’t bare the way his heart squeezes.

Eddie’s looking at Steve with furrowed brows and down turned lips, standing still. Has Eddie ever been still before in his life?

Once. When he was still and pale and red. His chest gone quiet for the most terrifying seconds of Steve’s life.

Steve looks at him, his eyes burn. Steve’s breath from his own chest brought Eddie back to them. Eddie’s lungs still carry his desperation. His ribs healed but the cracks must still be there from the palm of his hands. He’s tasted Eddie’s blood before from his mouth—

He’s kissing him. Steve, dumb stupid in-love Steve, has his lips on Eddie’s once more, but this time they’re warm and full of life and his ringed hands are on him and,

They’re pushing him. Away.

“Eddie,” his sight is blurry, eyes hot, and breath stuttered. “I, it hurts. You with him. I can’t—I just can’t.

And Eddie looks, terrified, dark eyes searching Steve’s face. For what, he does not know. Sincerity, maybe. Truth. Maybe looking to see if he’s really shattered inside.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t…I don’t…”

And Steve?

Steve smiles. It’s watery and his lips quiver.

“I know.” And that’s the problem, isn’t it. It’s always the problem. “I know, Eddie. I’m sorry. It’s, it’s okay.”

Eddie leaves Steve there in the living room.

There’s still two cans of Coke half full on the coffee table but only one person left in the room.

Part one < 💛 > Part 3

Tagged: @bananahoneycomb @margaglitterdeath

[star-girl69]

Little Bit

Georgia Amoore x Fem!Reader

—-

synopsis: georgia keeps coming back to you.

a/n: georgia said she liked this song and i coincidentally like this song too (actually lol) so here we are 🥰

Little Bit - Lykke Li

warnings: NOT PROOFREAD, mentions of a slight injury, the usual swearing, reader and georgia are exes and ended on bad terms, the bad terms being that georgia never had enough time for r, no cheating here dw!!!! despite the rumors… sigh, girl idek if this would work, UMMM WE GET FREAKY, making out, mentions of sex… yeah…, lmk if i missed anything!!!

—-

“Hello? Who is it?”

It’s dark. It’s 10:54pm. You have to rub some of the sleep from your eyes.

Whoever is knocking at the door is panicked. You can hear it in the way they knock- they’re nervous, maybe. Something is wrong. They knock too fast, too hard. Not like they’re in a hurry, but more so like they wish the door wasn’t there in the first place.

“Can I come in?”

Fuck.

You know that voice, even if it’s through a door.

“Georgia,” you sigh, hand on the doorknob, not quite opening it yet. You can hear her let out a small sound that’s a cross between a begging plea and a scoff, then the shuffling of feet.

“Please, Y/N.”

You loved her for so long. You still love her. Maybe some part of you will always love her, and you’ll just have to grow around the mark she made.

You open the door just wide enough for the chain lock to be pulled taut, finally laying eyes on her- she looks like a shell of herself.

“Georgia?” You ask, your brows furrowing, eyes wide in shock.

“Y/N,” she says your voice so sweetly. “Can I please come in?”

You look around her, but she’s in the empty hallway of your apartment building. There’s no one there. You don’t know how she got here, you don’t know what happened- but you know she came here. She came to you.

“I just really need you right now,” she says, and your heart breaks at the sound of tears in her voice, and suddenly you can see them shining so brightly in her eyes like stars.

You probably shouldn’t let your ex in. Especially not when she’s in such a vulnerable state like this, and you’ve been thinking about her more often then you care to admit…

“What happened?” You finally ask, voice small. She stays silent. “Did it- a game? Did something happen at a game?”

Your eyes suddenly widen and you tug on the door, forgetting the chain is there- “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she says, wiping something from her eye. “I’m fine. Please, Y/N, I know… okay. I know, but I still need you.”

You stumble over the words.

“W-we’re not da-dating. We’re not dating.”

“I know,” she says, kind of sadly, kind of resigned. “I just need you.”

If she says that sentence to you one more time you might actually break down and love her again. Love her, really, fully. But you can’t do that. The only way you can love her is secretly, in a tender part of your heart she had carved out so lovingly, and eventually left with scars.

And maybe… maybe you can love her in the darkness of your apartment.

You probably shouldn’t do this. But you’ll deal with that guilt later.

“You can always come here,” you whisper, shutting the door softly, almost like she’s a wild, scared animal that will run away at any movement too loud or sudden. You unhook the lock. The chain falls, it hits against the door.

You tighten your hand on the doorknob, about to pull it open- but you don’t have too. The door suddenly slams open, Georgia bursting in through the door like water through a broken dam- because you swear that’s what this night feels like. That’s what every interaction you have with her feels like. A dam- your resolve- breaking, and her rushing in past the broken pieces, taping you up behind her.

She wraps her arms around your waist, just like she used to do, and puts her face into your neck, just like she used to do.

It takes a second for the world to come back into focus, for your body to process the feeling of her skin on yours again, suddenly your hearing comes back and you hear the sounds of soft sobs. Tears are falling down, wetting your skin- but you can’t be bothered.

“Georgia,” you whisper, finally wrapping your arms around her after a moment of shock. “What happened?”

She shakes her head, cries a little harder- and immediately tries to stop herself and choke it back.

“Hey, hey,” you whisper, softly placing your hand into her hair and playing with the thick locks there, like you always used to do. “It’s okay, b- Georgia. It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it. I can just hold you for a while?”

She nods, after a tense second.

“I can do that,” you continue, still whispering. She once told you that she liked your voice.

“Keep talking,” she whispers, her voice thick and scratchy.

“Okay,” you say, letting out a breath.

You feel like a lighthouse letting a ship know where the port is. You feel like Orpheus trying to lead Eurydice out of the underworld with just his voice, trying to lead Georgia back to herself from wherever dark place she is.

“I had McDonald’s for dinner,” you blurt out. “It was really good. It’s Friday, I wanted to treat myself. Um, I had a pretty hard week. Just school wise. I had, like, three tests this week. Studying was rough, but I survived. I was watching the Office before you knocked. It was that one episode where Micheal goes into the woods and tries to survive on his own- I don’t know, it was funny. But Dwight followed him out, and, um, yeah. It was funny. I miss you.”

Her tears have dried by now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

And it’s suddenly so right that you’re standing in front of your doorway, holding her in the faint glow of the TV.

“Don’t be. I’m glad you came here. Would rather you here than the streets,” you laugh, dryly.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, because you both know she’s not really sorry about coming here, but for some reason- neither of you have the heart to say it.

And you can’t tell her it’s okay. You can’t say it’s fine.

Softly, like she’s made of glass and you’ll break her, you press a kiss to her hairline.

“Come lay down with me?” You try to sound convincing, but it’s a question.

“Yeah,” she mumbles, and your stomach drops back down from where it had jumped to your throat in anticipation.

Your heartbeat increases at the thought of getting to sleep next to her again, knowing you’re about to sleep so good next to her, touching her skin. The TV continues to glow, continues to talk in low voices.

You softly let go of her, hand drifting to hold hers, watching as she wipes her tears.

She doesn’t need you to guide her to your bed. She knows where it is, but you take her there anyways with a hand that’s maybe a little too tight. But her grip is just as tight.

You know she’ll leave before you wake up.

She can’t face you in the light. And that’s fine, because you can’t really face her in the light either.

She squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.

It feels a little bit like you never broke up.

—-

Everything is a giant fucking blur.

It’s so dark in here, all of the lights are turned off, and it feels more like a rave of some sort instead of a random frat party. They have these stupid neon strobe lights going, making green and yellow flash obnoxiously over everything- making it kind of hard to see. Making it kind of hard to keep the contents of your stomach actually inside of your stomach.

You’re supposed to be with your friends, celebrating one of your friend’s friend breaking up with her boyfriend who was apparently cheating on her, and the entire time all you could think about was your breakup with Georgia.

And the weeks before you finally toughed up and broke up with her- the weeks where you never saw her, where she forgot about you.

You head towards the counter strewn with half-empty bottles of liquor and red solo cups. You grab one that’s hopefully unused, mixing yourself up some random concoction that will definitely taste like shit, but you hope that you can’t think about her anymore if you drink too much.

You weren’t stupid, despite what someone may think- watching you spill a perfectly good bottle of vodka over the side of the cup, you really don’t have good hand-eye coordination right now- you’re not stupid. You knew it was going to be hard dating a D-1 athlete, you knew you would come third, and you were completely fine with that.

You didn’t get mad when she came home from practice and simply kissed you on the cheek before collapsing into bed, you honestly found it kind of sweet- because she would drag you into bed with her, beg you to run your fingers through her hair, or massage her aching muscles.

You didn’t get mad when she choose to spend one of her rare free nights with her friends- you were a little jealous in the moment, but the pictures she posted on Instagram with the biggest smile on her face made up for her.

You did get mad when she just stopped coming over, when suddenly your bed was too far, not even the promise of your soothing hands could get her to come back to your place. You did get mad when she didn’t answer you for days. You did get mad when you told her you were feeling a little neglected, and then cancelled last minute on your date she had planned- not for any reason, except to go shoot hoops by herself in an empty gym, drilling herself.

You did get mad when you spent every night alone without her.

You put the bottle back down, lifting the red solo cup and taking a big sip.

No. You can’t do this. You can’t feel like this, not tonight.

You take another sip, and another, until suddenly you’re floating through the dance floor and sticky alcohol is splashed on your front, and you can’t really see straight, and everything is kinda hazy and beautiful.

You find your friends in the crowd, downing the rest of your drink before crushing it in your hand and throwing it somewhere, hands in the air as you dance loudly and unapologetically.

You dance until your feet scream at you, your heels digging into your feet, following your friends through the crowd until you lose them, you can’t see them anymore.

Tears well in your eyes. Your breathing picks up.

“Y/N!” A bright and cheery voice exclaims.

Oh, it’s Liz.

“Liz,” you say, your voice not sounding like your own.

Her face quickly turns to one of concern. She takes in your slightly rucked up outfit, your teary eyes, the sweat pouring down your face.

She puts her hand on your shoulder, leaning down close to your ear so you can hear her.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

Okay, you start to say- but where Liz is, Georgia will be.

“No-”

“Bloody hell, Y/N.”

Your eyes widen at the sight of your ex-girlfriend.

“Nope,” you say, popping the p, laughing a little. “Nope, nope, nope. I need my friends, not you.”

You can tell Georgia is a little hurt by that, but she doesn’t back down. Liz stands kind of awkwardly to the side of you, but you keep yourself pressed against her and as far away from Georgia as you can.

You love her, you’re drunk, and she’s looking really kissable right now.

“Well, I don’t see your friends,” she shoots right back. “Do you?”

Her tone is a little condescending.

“Oh, shut up,” you say in disgust, taking a step forward- in your head, you’re gonna knock into her shoulder and strut past her. Hopefully she’ll even look at your ass as you leave.

Instead, you’re drunk, you don’t have your footing, you’re in godforsaken heels- and you careen forward, right into her waiting arms.

She sighs as she wraps an arm around your shoulder, her other hand immediately going to hold your hip.

She pretends to be annoyed.

You’re not surprised by this act, she was so vulnerable last week when she came over and said she needed you, cried in your arms- and you’re putting on this bratty act because you’re mad at yourself for letting her in.

But in your drunk state, you can feel her skin on yours so vividly, and you can feel the way her fingers slightly curl into you. Greedy. Possessive, almost. You fall into her and you let her take you, and suddenly she’s taken it upon herself to make sure you’re okay all-too easily. 

“Okay. c’mon,” she sighs, like it’s some big inconvenience to her, but she slides her arm around your waist and holds to her so quickly, again so possessively.

And you would be lying if you said you never felt as safe as you do when her arm is around you.

“I’m fine,” you hiss at her, trying to push her off of you- but she doesn’t really want to let go, and neither do you. She simply tightens her grip, and you simply stop fighting.

She brings you to a much quieter, much emptier part of the house, helping you sit on a couch before asking Liz to find you some water- or just anything that wasn’t alcohol.

“How much did you drink?” She asks when she sits down next to you, putting her hand on your back. You sit with your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands, staring at the floor intently.

“A lot,” you mumble.

She laughs softly in response.

“Do you feel okay?”

Her thumb is rubbing back and forth against your back. Fuck, fuck, you lost your friends and now she’s so close and so far, and it’s so dark in this room- you can barely see a few feet in front of you.

It feels so secret- because everywhere else music is blasting. But in here, it’s just your voice and hers.

Tears well in your eyes yet again.

Maybe you should stop drinking. It makes you too goddamn emotional.

You turn to her.

You can’t face her in the light. But here, it’s so dark.

She’s let her hair down tonight. She almost never wears her hair down, so you’re kinda shocked- and you kinda wanna run your fingers through the waves.

“Why’re you here?” You ask, words muddled by alcohol.

She shrugs. “Just for fun.”

“You don’t know how to have fun,” you accuse.

She laughs, scrunches her nose. It’s all kinda condescending, still. Like you’re some little girl who doesn’t really know anything.

“Yeah, I do.”

“You never had any fun with me.”

She looks away.

“So it’s me, then? I’m the problem?”

“You’re not the problem, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Don’t be a brat,” she scolds.

Her? Scolding you?

You narrow your eyes. “Fuck. You. You’re selfish as shit, and I’m glad I broke up with you everyday.”

Saying that feels like you’re coughing up your organs, but whatever.

She smiles, scratching her nose.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

“Whatever,” you echo.

She rolls her eyes. “Fuckin’ brat.”

“You can leave. You know that, right? You don’t have to stay here. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to sit on the same couch as a “brat” like me.”

“I’m not gonna leave.”

You find yourself inching closer to her.

“Scared of the dark or something, Amoore?”

Suddenly her eyes meet yours.

“Oh, no. I know what you’re scared of.”

She leans back against the couch, adjusting her legs, arms out wide along the back of the couch.

“Really?” She laughs. Genuinely laughs, as if the idea of you something knowing personal about her is so unbelievable.

Suddenly, you swing your leg over hers and climb into her lap. You straddle her, hands pressing into her shoulders as she stares at you in shock.

“Y/N,” she says, swallowing- suddenly not so cocky anymore. “Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You ask, twirling a piece of her hair. “Need to me to talk some more? ‘Cause you love my voice so much, right?”

She puts her hands on your thighs and barely tries to push you off. She could, if she really wanted to. She’s strong. You love her arms.

“I’m really drunk,” you confess, still twirling with a piece of her hair. You can feel her gaze on your pouted lips. “I’m probably not gonna remember this in the morning…”

“Y/N.” It’s a very clear warning, but you push past it. There’s something between your thighs and a burning desire in your stomach.

“Maybe you should show me why I shouldn’t be a brat.”

Her hand moves up from your thigh to cup your waist.

“Fuck, princess.”

“Yeah?” You say, feeling kinda like a giddy schoolgirl at the way she hungrily rakes her eyes up your body, finally landing on your lips. You bite one of them- and the alcohol prevents you from feeling kinda silly, and you can see it on her face. The way she wants you right now.

“Bloody hell,” she whispers, finally leaning forward to place a kiss to your bare chest. She lets her lips linger, and you know you have her right under your thumb- but now it’s not about the power play.

Now it’s about how fucking badly you want her to touch you.

“Touch me,” you say, hoping she doesn’t tease you about the fact you’re practically begging for her, but she seems to want to touch you just as bad. “Touch me, Georgia, please.”

“Shh,” she whispers, before finally pressing her lips to yours.

It feels a little bit like you never broke up.

—-

It’s annoyingly bright. And loud. Your eardrums might burst.

And in all honesty, you never really understood basketball all that well.

You kinda hate this entire thing.

You sigh, leaning back farther into your chair as a buzzer sounds and people cheer- and you straighten up only to realize that it’s just the first quarter.

It’s only been 10 minutes?

Your friends are all super into the game, of course, and it’s not like you don’t like supporting the girls on the team- Liz Kitley, at least, you still consider her to be one of your friends.

Having to watch Georgia completely command the court is probably one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do. The way she’s so completely in her element, her hair tied back and sticking to her forehead and neck with sweat- you find yourself wanting to lick her skin.

You shake your head and groan, trying to physically get the annoyingly horny thoughts out- but, fuck. All you can think about is the last time you saw her.

The way her hands trailed your skin so hungrily, getting lower and lower, and the feeling in your stomach that felt suspiciously like an actual fire coming to a burning climax before slowly coming back down, reassured by her sweet kisses.

The way she held you that night was possessive. She made you feel like hers. The way she kissed you that night was like she had been starved of you for years, and thought about you every second.

Your friend nudges you. “Starin’ real hard.”

“I’m not,” you hiss, but you know you are.

“No, it’s okay,” she laughs. “I support it. You both miss each other.” You roll your eyes, but she doubles down. “You’re both still in love with each other, babe.”

Some odd emotion takes root in your chest. It squeezes.

“I’m not in love with her. I’m just… in like with her.”

“Mhm,” she says with a smile. “Well, we’ll all be here to celebrate when you guys finally admit it.”

“Jane, shut up.”

She nudges you again with a teasing smile. “I saw those suspicious looking bruises on your hips after that one party you both disappeared at… I might even say those suspicious bruises were kinda… Georgia shaped.”

“Shut. Up. Jane.” You narrow your eyes, and she only smiles widely before laughing and turning back to the game.

“Take your time, babe. Take your time.”

From what you understood, this was the Elite Eight game for the Hokies, and it was kind of a big deal. This game was the one that worked best in your and your friends schedules, and the stadium wasn’t exactly that far, so you came to have fun with them. To support your school, and Liz, and watching Georgia sink a few threes was an added guilty pleasure of a bonus.

You continue watching, your eyes staying mostly on #5.

Surprisingly, you aren’t watching when she gets hit.

You’ve actually managed to tear your eyes away from her and focus on the ball- when suddenly your friends gasp.

You look around the court, eyes finally landing on someone in a Hokie jersey laying on their back, face in their hands.

Someone in a red jersey walks past her, revealing a head of hair you know is Georgia’s.

You straighten, practically jumping out of your seat, your leg immediately staring to bounce up and down in anxiety.

“Get up,” you mumble to yourself. “Be okay. Get up. You’re fine, please. Please get up.”

She doesn’t get up. When you see the athletic trainers step onto the court you stand up quickly.

Jane is watching it from next to you, still sitting down, biting her nails- she looks up at you.

“Hey, Y/N, calm down,” she says, grabbing your hand. Squeezing, trying to bring you back to reality.

“Oh, fuck,” you mumble as Jane pulls herself to stand. “They have to help her off? She can’t walk herself? W-where’d she even get hit? I didn’t see, I- I-”

“Y/N.”

Jane grabs your shoulders.

“Take a deep breath… wipe your tears… and go get your girl.”

You follow the first two steps but falter at the third.

“What?” You mumble, bringing your hand down from your face.

She looks towards the court, and that’s when you realize she’s walking right past you to get to the locker rooms.

You’re thankfully at the end of the aisle, so you carefully make your way down the stairs, to the barricade, kinda feeling like you’re floating. Now that she’s at least up you feel a little better, your tears are starting to dry.

All you want to do is make sure she’s okay.

And even though she’s not yours, and you only love her in the dark- you need to know.

Besides… it’s been two weeks since you’ve felt her skin on yours.

“Georgia!” You call, hands on the barricade bracing yourself. “Georgia!”

You probably didn’t even need to call a second time, because she turns towards you.

A security guard steps in front of you with a large hand, asking you to please get back to your seat- you lock eyes with Georgia.

Her chin. It’s bright red and slightly swollen.

Silently, you ask her to please let you in- but she keeps walking, two athletic trainers helping her.

“Ma’am, please get back to your seat,” the guard says again.

Does she regret that night at the party? Is this feeling in your chest ever since Jane said she was in love with you hope? And it is being crushed now?

“Okay,” you mutter, feeling tears form in your eyes tenfold.

“You’re Y/N?” One of the athletic trainers has run over to you. The security guard gives her a look, but she glares right back.

“Yeah?”

“Georgia asked for you, c’mon.” She beckons you to follow her-

“Really?”

“Yes,” she deadpans. “She said she needed you. I don’t care what she needs, as long as she checks out, I want her to get back out there.”

“Me too,” you nod, sensing this lady took her job very seriously.

“Well c’mon then,” she sighs, patting the barricade, encouraging you to hop it. The security guard rolls his eyes and walks away, and you quickly clamber over the barricade and follow the woman- who walks very fast.

“Did she really say that she needed me?”

Your voice sounds like a stupid Disney princess.

The smallest smile makes its way into her face.

“Yes. She said she needed you.”

Georgia needs you.

You enter the locker room full of fluorescent lights, squinting as your eyes adjust and the door shuts behind you.

She’s sitting on a bench, her fists clenched as the other trainer softly holds her face to look at the mark already forming.

Georgia needs you.

You softly sit next to her, and it takes her a second to finally notice you out of the corner of her eye- an eye which is scrunched up in pain.

“Georgia,” you whisper. Her hand is shaky when you grab it. “What happened?”

“I think everyone saw,” she mumbles. You brush back some hair sticking to her forehead.

“I was actually playing attention to the ball, so, I didn’t.”

“You paid attention to basketball?”

“Well, not very well. But I tried.”

You move closer to her so your thighs are touching, her hand squeezes yours as she turns her head- and you spot the bruise on her chin.

“She got me in the chin.”

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, looking up wide eyes to the atheistic trainer. “Is it normal to be a bruise already- God, is your jaw broken? Are you okay?”

Georgia and the trainers all let out a laugh, and you feel kinda silly, but Georgia squeezes your hand as if to reassure you. You feel a little bit better.

“Completely normal,” the woman before explains. “And, a little tip, usually if people are talking- jaws aren’t broken.”

“Oh, whatever,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks get a little hot. One of the trainers hands you an ice pack.

You.

“You’re medically checked out. Ice it for a minute, catch your breath, and you’re ready to go back out there if you want to.”

“Okay, thanks,” Georgia nods, smiling tightly- but you can hear it in her voice. The weight of it all. The pressure.

“We’ll give you a minute alone,” the trainer says, kind of suggestively, but you force yourself to ignore that as her and her colleague let the door shut behind them.

You softly press the ice pack to her chin. She shuts her eyes, and you can tell she’s willing herself not to cry.

“Does it hurt a lot?” It’s kind of a stupid question, but you can’t think of anything else to say.

“No. It’s not too bad.” Her eyes shut, and you place your other hand on her jaw to steady yourself. She lets out a breath.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you whisper, hand moving to smooth back her ponytail.

“Mm- no, no. I’m fine. I just need you right now.”

And it’s in moments like this, when Georgia says she needs you, when she’s touching you and looking to you for comfort… this is how you know you’ll never be able to fully tear yourself away from her.

She’ll always run back to you. And you’ll always let her, with open arms.

You kind of want to ask her what needing you means. But you don’t.

“I should get back out there,” she says. She’s whispering, like this moment will break.

“Yeah,” you agree, swallowing.

“Yeah.”

You meet her eyes again, and her pupils are slightly blown, she looks a little breathless-

“Oh, to fuck with it.”

She slams her lips onto yours, hands cupping your face and keeping you pressed close to her, the ice pack falling and your hands immediately winding around her neck- this is how you need her. You need her hungry and kissing you. You need her touching you and loving you.

She needs you to comfort her and you need her to fuck you.

Any shyness you had is long replaced, especially when one of her hands drifts down to squeeze your ass, making you moan her name into her mouth.

The kiss is disgusting, messy, kind of dirty.

“There’s so much riding on this game,” she breathes out when you move down to kiss her neck.

“I know,” you mumble back against her skin. “But you’re so talented.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, tilting her head back. “I only forget about it when I’m with you.”

Her hand drifts down to your neck, and she pulls you away to start kissing down yours, both of you careful to not leave marks- but you can feel her kissing a little harder then she should.

You’ll probably be leaving this place tonight with at least one faint mark on your neck. And the thought thrills you.

“Really?” You gasp. “Maybe you should stop fucking me over and spend more time fucking me.”

“I will,” she whispers against your skin, leaving one final kiss on the mark you could feel her forming. “I promise I will.”

“Good,” you say back, trying to sound confident. But she looks into your eyes, her ponytail messy from when you had tugged on her hair, and completely melt.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, pointing awkwardly to the hickey. But you know she’s saying sorry for more than that.

You cover it with your hair. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” she smiles, a little wickedly.

“Please.”

“I really have to go back now,” she stands up, rubbing her jaw. “Sorry- shit. You distracted me.”

“Sorry,” you shrug.

“I really gotta go before I kiss you again.”

You smile. You smile so big and she smiles right back.

“Well, now you’re definitely gonna win because you’re all fired up, huh?” You stand up, following her to the locker room door.

“Definitely.”

She doesn’t promise to text you or anything, and you don’t mind. You know she’ll come back.

You smile softly instead of saying goodbye, and she stares at you kinda in amazement for a second before shaking her head and running right back over to the game.

It feels a little bit like you never broke up, but you’re kinda glad you broke up.

—-

[scoutswritingcorner]

omg can u do an angel dust x masc/male! reader ans husk x gn! reader (or huskerdust x masc/male reader either or is fine) that is basically the hozier song too sweet ☹️☹️ i think the song would work so well for them, esp since they both think that their partner could do so much better than them??

sorry if this ask is a little confusing 😭 my brain isnt working correctly

Sweet

HuskerDust x Male!Reader

TW: ANGST

A/N : I LOVE YOU SO MUCH- I WANTED TO WRITE THIS FOR SO LONG BUT KEPT PUTTING IT OFF-  

Husk sat behind the bar watching Angel as he was on his phone, it was too early for him to be up but Alastor and Charlie had pulled him awake for some odd reason. Which had subsequently made Angel wake up and go with him, you had yet to be awake or you were already awake just too busy. He didn’t really know. It wasn’t until the doors opened and you walked in still in your work clothes from yesterday, did you even sleep at all last night?

He watched you walk over, pressing a kiss to Angel's cheek as you slid them both coffee. “You sure you aren’t an angel, sweets?” Angel hummed as he held the coffee closer to himself and you chuckled, “No, I just know when you both wake up you both are grumpy until an hour later.” You hand Husk the steaming cup of coffee, “Thank you, Babe.” he grumbled out as you shot him a wink and grabbed your cup before excusing yourself to get busy with working. 

“He may not be an angel but he’s a fucking life savor.” Angel smirked at Husk, who only nodded and sipped at the coffee. Husk watched your form disappear down the hall, both men’s hearts were sent fluttering hearing your laughter echo down the halls of the hotel. Even if it was early, you were bright and bubbly as ever. Something that took even Husk to see, you were too sweet for both of them. 

~~~

Angel was never good at his emotions especially now when he was on a fucking chain. He hated being pitied and he even hated it when people tried to downplay his sufferings. So when he was pissed he did everything he could to strike hard and fast, pulling out the shittiest part of someone else and using it against them, allowing the venom to lace his tongue as he talked with so much anger that he was sure he’d break himself.

He stays away from his phone when working, he doesn’t need Valentino to find out about you and Husk, he’s scared to find out what he’d do. He knows you worry, he knows but he’s just focused on getting the job done to get home to you both, his loving boyfriends. Once he gets back to the hotel he immediately goes to the bar, Husk checks in on him softly while pouring him a drink. Soft whispers as Husk holds one of Angel’s many hands. Angel teared up as he felt you hug him from behind, the glass of whiskey in his hands shook, he was so tired.

 “Want me to run a bath?” You had asked softly, no hint of pity anywhere in your voice. Only the question that made his heart swell up in happiness. He sent a wordless nod towards you and Husk who had now busied himself to clean up the bar for the night. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder carefully squeezing him into a hug before quickly making your way up the stairs to start a bath for him. He sipped on the whiskey, allowing it to burn his throat as it went down, “..how did we end up pulling the sweetest demon this side of hell?” He asked, watching as Husk only glanced back for a second busy making sure the bottles were actually locked up. Charlie had made it into a rule so no one could steal any at night.

“I don’t know but I’m not afraid to say it’s a miracle.” He replied standing up to his full height to stretch his wings out with a yawn, “C’mon, Angie..let’s go get you a bath and some well deserved cuddles.” He whispered, holding his hand out to Angel, who graciously took it after knocking back the rest of the whiskey. “He could do better than us..” Angel whispered as Husk wrapped an arm around him, guiding him up the stairs. “..I know..” Husk whispered out his wings folding onto his back.

~~~

As you all laid in bed, you snuggled between both men as you carefully rubbed Angel’s back as Husk curled up behind you purring loudly. Both men dead asleep as you stayed up admiring them both. Their hands rested on your side, intertwined with one another, your hand stopped to rest on Angel’s lower back. Eyes slowly closing as both his snores and Husk’s purring allowed your body to fully relax.

Slowly drifting off to sleep you reached behind you to scratch at Husk’s cheek, which made him softly chirp and rest his head on your shoulder, “I love you both..you’re almost free to be who you wanted, just need a couple more days..hang in there for me.” You whispered out to be met with soft snores and heavy purring. 

You’d sell your soul to the Devil to make sure of it.

[maybeelse]

(Previously)

"So," you ask, "why am I still alive?"

She's sitting at the little table outside your cell doing paperwork again. The Liberation has more paperwork than you ever suspected. "We disabled your mech's countermeasures," she says, not looking up. "About an hour before you spotted us, in fact."

"That's not what I meant—WAIT, an hour!? But I spotted you barely an hour into the patrol!"

"Yes," she finally looks at you, smiling, "your command/control system is full of holes, dear."

That's a vital piece of intel, for whenever you manage to escape. Hopefully she can't see that thought on your face. She probably can—if she can't just read if off your implants.

"Well, um. I meant. What do you want from me?"

"Aside from the obvious?"

You break eye contact. Stare at your cell's open door instead. At least you didn't look down, this time; you're not hungry enough to ~~ask~~ give in again. Not yet.

"T-there are easier ways to, uh," you don't know why you're being so bashful. It's just sex, coerced and nonconsensual as it is. "I mean. If that's all you want."

"Mmm, maybe I have morals?" She shakes her head. "You're an enemy combatant, dear, and your bunch kill us whenever they can get their hands on us. What's the thing they say, 'no civilians in the Liberation'? Something like that."

"I-I never," it's true. You never got a chance. "I wouldn't have ..."

"You would have. Maybe you'd have been reluctant, but half your training is about obeying the hierarchy. A general tells you it's a military target, are you going to object?"

She's right, of course, but you don't answer. You won't give her the satisfaction.

"Hell," she continues after a long pause, "you haven't even tried to escape. The implied hierarchy of the prison cell and the warden is stronger than whatever convictions you thought you had. You couldn't even starve yourself properly!"

"W-what do you mean? If I tried to get out you'd just ..."

"I mean, yes," she allows, "I would. But you haven't even tried. I never even had to lock your cell's door. Or those chains."

"... what?"

"Try it," she says, smiling. You are suddenly very, very aware that her handgun isn't in its holster.

She could stop you with a thought, of course. You're not sure how deep her control of your cybernetics actually is, but she's perfectly capable of fucking with your motor systems. But the chains come off your ankles with just a bit of force, and she just watches as you creep out of your cell, pausing for a long time just inside the door. Expecting your cybernetics to stop you with a flood of pain, like they would in an Empire prison.

Nothing stops you.

It's strange, standing in front of her. Upright. So much taller than her, when you're not on your knees. Her handgun is hanging from a hook on the wall, right outside your door. You could grab it, flick the safety, and fire in one smooth motion. Point blank; you wouldn't even have to aim.

It would be easy.

And probably she'd stop you—probably she's already written something into your cybernetics that would stop you—but at least you'd have tried, right? At least she'd know that you're loyal to the Empire. You'd know.

Standing up in front of her—looming over her, really—feels wrong, though. It's much more comfortable to be on your knees. A more proper height, for a prisoner before their warden. And her skirt's worn-leather scent is so warm and reassuring, so it would be a shame not to rest your head there, just for a moment. You're not giving in, of course, just ...

Just what?

Her fingers against your scalp ruin whatever justification was brewing in your struggling brain. Kneading, stroking, lingering on that sensitive place just behind your ear. Somehow more intimate than when she's grabbed your head before, to show you how to move or to encourage you as you labored to please her—not because you wanted to please her, of course! So that she'd let you eat. Only ever for the reward. Of course.

"Wow," she murmurs, almost too quiet for you to hear, "they really did a number on you, huh? Just a dog desperate for a new master ..."

---

Eventually she loses interest in you, which is just as well. You need time to put your thoughts back together, half-collapsed on the floor, leaning against her legs. Clinging to her. Waiting for everything to make sense again.

"Should I go back to my cell?" You eventually ask.

"Mhmm, if you want to. Anyway, do you know any words that rhyme with 'persimmon'?"

"Um," you blink, "women?"

"Already used that one. Damn, I'm going to have to start from scratch again ..."

"D-does the Liberation make you write paperwork in verse?"

"What?" She scoffs, "No! This isn't paperwork! Half the reason I joined was to get away from the damn stuff, your empire is drowning in it."

It might be the first genuine reaction you've gotten out of her since you were captured.

"W-what is it, then?"

"Poetry. Don't they still have that in the empire?"

"O-of course we do! It's patriotic. It tells us what we should be!"

"Not this kind of poetry."

[typingwithmyhandstied]

we could call it even. listen to the wind blow. you could call me babe for the weekend, running in the shadows. and if you don't love me now, you'll never love me again. there's an ache in you put there by the ache in me. damn the dark. damn the light. if it's all the same to you, it's the same to me, but if you don't love me now, you'll never love me again. i'm staying at my parents house. if you don't love me now... but we could call it even. the road not taken looks real good now. chain keep us together. you can run, but only so far. i escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave. chain keep us together. if you don't love me now, you'll never love me again, but if it's okay with you, it's okay with me. we could call it even. tis the damn season. chain keep us together. you would never break the chain. time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tires, watch the sun rise. now i'm missing your smile. we could just ride around. and i can still hear you saying you would never break the chain. sleep in half the day just for old times sake. damn the dark. damn the light. i won't ask you to wait. if you don't ask me to stay. but if you don't love me now, you'll never love me again. you would never break the chain so i'll go back to LA and the so-called friends who'll write books about me if i ever make it. listen to the wind blow, down comes the night. wonder about the only soul who can tell which smiles i'm faking. you'd never break the chain. and the heart i know i'm breaking is my own. to leave the warmest bed i've ever known. damn your love. we could call it even. damn your lies. the road not taken looks real good now. and it always leads to you. chain keep us together (running in the shadows). we could call it even. you would never break the chain. still hear you saying we could call it even. i can still hear you saying. you would never break the chain. we could call it even. you would never break the chain. we could call it even. even though i'm leaving. chain keep us together. it always leads to you. chain keep us together. if you don't love me now, you'll never love me again. we could call it even. chain keep us together. it always leads to you.

[misspelledwordswizard]

I would love to see the chain react to reader from the atla universe or just one that uses bending in the same way? Just using bending unconsciously and freaking them all out because of it.

I love Atla, I loved writing this! I didn't know what kind of bending you were expecting, so I did waterbending, I hope you like it.

A notice about orders; I'm doing them in order, so if yours takes a little longer, it's probably because I'm working on others, but they'll all be done! And I'm very happy with them too, don't worry about it, you can send them, I'm loving your ideas.

It was a hot sunny day, so much so that Chain mutually agreed to take a break to go into the nearby river. It was a calm river with a small waterfall that made a pleasant noise in the environment. Wild and Wind were the first to jump in, excited as children, well, at least one of them was one. I couldn’t have been happier. You could say that the water is my territory, so on a day like this, being in cold water was paradise for me. 

Little by little, the others started to enter the river too. It was easy for them, they could just take off their tunics and equipment and get in, while I had to temporarily separate from the group to change and put on a bathing suit, but that was okay, it didn’t take long. Soon I was also entering the river to enjoy the sunny day. 

The cold water touched my body bringing a welcome feeling of relief, cooling my hot and sweaty skin, but this moment of peace was short-lived after I felt a wave of water hit me directly in the face, followed by the sound of childish laughter. That brat.  I imitated his attitude, pushing water with my hands towards him, hitting him with everything and stopping his laughter. The sailor still had the audacity to better himself with indignation, as if he hadn’t been the first to start. I could hear the others laughing in the background too, but they didn’t have the courage to get involved in this. Now it was war. 

Soon the area of the river where we were became a mess of water being splashed in all directions incessantly. Until I could feel a particularly strong attack coming from Wind, and instinctively wanted to retaliate even more. The movements so natural to me happened without me even being able to think about it, soon a small wave, but bigger than any I could generate with my bare hands, appeared next to me and went towards the Sailor, strong enough to make him stay underwater for a few seconds, raising his head in surprise and confusion right after. 

— Aha, I won! – I exclaimed excitedly, but my excitement died when I saw the lack of reaction not only from the sailor, but from all the boys. – What happened? Was I too harsh? 

— How did you do that?! – Wind was the first to speak, coming towards me excitedly. Only then did I understand my mistake. 

— Yeah, was that some kind of magic? – Wars asked, intrigued. 

— I’ve never heard of magic like that. – Hyrule replied, looking curious and suspicious at the same time. 

— Well, that’s because it’s not magic. – I replied, creating even more doubts in everyone, who remained silent waiting for me to continue. – You know, you may not know much about the place I come from, but there’s no magic there. On the other hand, there are people there who can have some control over one of the elements of nature, using specific movements. We’re called benders. 

Even when I tried to explain, they seemed terribly confused and incredulous.  Of course, they already knew I came from a different kind of world, and had somehow ended up here through a strange portal, but I’ve avoided talking about my home to them, precisely because I thought it might be too much for them to take in. Just as it has been for me. 

— So, you can simply control the elements of nature? – The Champion questioned, not very confident about it. 

— Not all of them, and we call it bending. There are four main types of bending, water, fire, earth and air. People who have this ability can only bend one of the four, with the exception of the Avatar. – I can’t tell if throwing all this information out was useful or just made the situation worse. 

— That’s cool! – Wind exclaimed. – Show me more, that’s really cool! 

— Well, that’s definitely interesting, could you demonstrate more of that? – Time asked, and I could tell he wanted to analyze it better. 

— Yeah, what do you normally use it for? – Twilight was the next to ask. 

— Well, waterbending can be used as a medicinal method, and each bending can be used for various everyday things, and for fighting. 

— You mean you could have used it to fight this whole time and you just chose not to?! – Legend seemed indignant at that. 

— Well... I already imagined it would be difficult to explain about this.  – I replied, while using my bending again as they had asked me to, making a large ball of water float over the river. 

— Cool. – Wild said. – Now that we know and you can use it, I’m sure it can be very useful. 

— Yeah, you said it has medicinal properties? That would be really good. – The Traveler questioned, receiving a positive answer from me. 

— Guys, you’re forgetting the main thing! – Wind said, getting everyone’s attention. – Have you thought about the games we can play with this? 

Everyone snorted at the boy’s childish answer, when we expected something a little more important than that. I was afraid to talk about it with them, but they ended up being much more understanding than I imagined. That’s good. 

— But I must admit that I’m very curious about this too. Can you show me other things you can do? You said there are four main bends, does that mean there are other smaller bends? – Sky asked excitedly, and everyone seemed as curious as he was about the subject. 

— Hey, this would be really useful for forging swords, can you help me next time I work on the Champion’s sword? – The blacksmith was the next to ask, which created a gap for a flood of different questions. 

— Can you close wounds? 

— What exactly would an “avatar” be? 

— How does earthbending work? 

— Can I be considered an airbender? 

— How do movements influence this? 

Soon, I was surrounded by curious blondes and being drowned in their curious questions. I think we’re going to spend a good amount of time on this subject. 

[warping-realities]

Commitment - Final

After eating a wonderful meal prepared by the house's cook and playing some online games, Pete found himself on the edge of the mansion's luxurious pool, dozing while sunbathing, enjoying the best that life had to offer. Until he was suddenly woken up when someone knocked him into the pool.

"Motherfucker!" He said after recovering and getting up irritated in the pool. And be greeted by Dan's smiling face.

"You piece of shit, you almost scared me to death. I’ll break you all apart!"

"You can try bro, but you need to be a lot bigger if you want to hit me."

"Big enough, bro!" He responded showing his big sculpted body.

"You can't resist a little show, can you? That way you'll make the girls go crazy!" Dan replied in turn, with a malicious expression on his face.

Girls? What girls?"

"Hi Pete!" Said a beautiful young woman while another as beautiful as her giggled next to her.

"Their shift at the gym is over so I invited them to come along. Don't worry about Julia, they'll behave, right girls?"

"Yes Dan, we won't do anything Pete doesn't want." Emily replied with a smile.

"You pay me for this you Asshole" Pete whispered to his friend.

"Hey, aren't you the faithful guy? Just stay that way, brother." Dan replied, his mischievous smile widening.

Somehow Pete managed to hold on, despite the advances from the women. When the situation became too difficult to control, he left the pool and went to Think of a way to send them away before Julia arrived. While he was swinging his long, thick cock, he was surprised by Emily who pushed him, still naked, against the wall and gave him a professional-level blowjob. So professional that he found himself unable to protest and after all it was just a blowjob, it's not like it was a terrible betrayal.

He was already looking for justifications for the fact that that blowjob had ended with him fucking the woman right there in the bathroom, when he heard his cell phone vibrate and received a message on his cell phone from Julia saying that she was already at the front gate of

the house. He quickly freed himself from Emily and instructed Dan to hide with the two women in one of the guest rooms. While he himself ran to his suite to take a quick shower and wash the smell of sex off his body.

When Julia arrived at his room she found him naked on the bed waiting for her smiling at her.

"Hey babe, how about that blowjob?" He asked with a smile, as if nothing had happened.

Pete woke up the next day after a strange dream in which he was a wimp living with the slut he had slept with the night before, without the courage to admit that he was being exploited by the gold digger. As if it were possible. Yet before opening his eyes he felt his bulging muscles and his face feeling that everything was the way it should be. It was terribly early by his standards. But it was his own fault for havingaccepted that partnership with Dan and now having to work helping to organize the new Dan's Gym units around the city. Just having to think that they would still have to find a new name for the franchise almost made him want to not get out of bed. But he still forced himself to get up.

As he passed the living room on the way to the kitchen he He received a message from the social manager of the gym chain with the next promotional video for Instagram. Dominating the screen were him and Dan, looking more like two real brothers than best friends, laughing and flexing their muscles after an intense workout that had pushed them to the limit.

A momentary thought of doubt crossed Peter's mind, how was it possible for two people to exist as physically similar as they were and with the same habits, tastes and thoughts? But soon this fleeting doubt dissipated, never to return, as he was interrupted by the voice Pete had expected to hear, making him look up.

"I personally thought the final result of the project is excellent."

"I agree. And I see you're quite comfortable as a guest." He replied with an mocking expression.

"Brother, I've been going to this house for years, your parents consider me a second son, I'm much more than a guest."

A smiling Dan replied, wearing only underwear spread comfortably on the couch.

"What's more than I can say about that woman you brought home last night, really scandalous in bed. Who was the diva?"

"You don't know, a girl I picked up at college, we met again recently and I decided to give her a revival, but it turns out she expected a lot more from me than I had to offer. She wasn't very happy when I told her I had called a car for take her home."

"You know, for someone so rich, you lacks class, bro!"

"Look who's talking, I heard very well what you did to that girls in the guest room."

"But I'm not the senator's son."

"It was my fault. I should have ignored her advances and stuck to my policy of no repeat women. I don't want any commitment."

"Good thing this doesn't extend to work."

"Dan, if there's a relationship that I'm fully committed to, it's ours, both at work and in friendship."

"I know that brother, and I'm grateful for that, my life wouldn't be the same without you!"

[kissitbttr]

a sweet moment of frat!miguel and muñeca that we rarely get to see

to miguel, relationships are complex.

he’s not built for one and never meant to. the idea of having to commit to one person when he still wants to have fun sounds like a real torture. the constant clinging and demands of going out on dates just enough to make him scowl. like what’s the point of it all? spending money on gifts or valentines dates just seem to be a waste of time.

until she entered the picture. gone were the days where his money were spent on booze and gears.

now, he’s having the ultimate pleasure of spoiling his girlfriend, walking her to classes, stay during cheerleading practice and begging her to stay over at the frat house. all that he did out of consciousness,

even curating the image of what their wedding would look like in the future.

yeah. that much.

the couple decides to have a small picnic at the campus park during their free period. whereas the rest of the students are busy with studying and walking from building to building, these two lovers find the spare time to be with each other.

“i love hibiscus flowers. they’re pretty” muñeca mentions, laying on her side with palm supporting the head. “sunflowers too—much better than a rose”

miguel fixes himself a smile upon his beautiful girlfriend, deciding to mirror her action by laying on his side as well. “how abouut cake flavor, cariño?”

she looks over at him and the sight is making her drool. the shirt that he’s sporting compliments his rippling muscles, not to mention the few unbuttons at the top showcasing a bit of his chest hair and gold chain around the neck.

“are you going somewhere with this?” she questions with a smile, seeing him shrug,

“just asking” he replies, eyes staring intently into hers. “i want to know what my girl likes—because if she mentions vanilla then i’m out”

muñeca giggles, head shaking at the ridiculous assumption. “i would never!” miguel grins even wider hearing the sound of that laugh. “i love red velvet—and anything fruit infused desserts”

he nods, making a mental note on that one. “what if I prefer chocolates?”

“then we can have both” she answers casually, hand sneaking through its way towards the slope of his calloused one. “chocolates and raspberries are good combo, anyway—not white or milk chocolates though. dark is the way”

“that’s my girl” miguel praises, his thumb drawing circles around her skin. “i love this dress on you, by the way—wear it often”

“you say that pretty much about everything i wear miggy!” she smiles, kissing his jaw. “you’re biased”

“is it my fault that my girlfriend looks good in everything?” he asks as if he’s proving his innocence, tightening the hold of his hand around hers, “got the prettiest girl on campus by my side and there’s no way i’m missing the chance to let her know how hot she is”

her cheeks warm at the compliment, looking down momentarily to hide the large grin that’s threatening to break through, “you just want to fuck me” it’s a joke,

“is it working?” he jokes back with a raised eyebrow, earning himself a punch on the shoulder making him grunt and laugh, “caray, ma!—you sure got some strength in you”

“thanks to my handsome linebacker’s workout routine” she winks, curling a loose hair around his forehead,

“put me in a headlock next, i beg of you” he says, and she can’t tell if he’s really joking or serious but she wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter,

“ugh! you’re so unserious sometimes!”

they both share a laugh after. “okay back to question number—five!” he picks a chocolate covered strawberry with his free hand off the plate and pop it in his mouth. “dream destination?”

her lips curl into a thinking mode and so are her eyebrows, clutching their interlocked hand against her chest. “hmm—bali, malaysia, and rome”

miguel hums, nodding as he looks down. she tilts her head to the side with confusion written all over her face, watching him. “what is this, intervention?”

“what, no. can’t a guy ask his girl a few things to get to know her better?”

“miggy, we fuck at least three times a day, i think we already went past that kind of formalities” she rolls her eyes playfully, seeing how he shrugs innocently and grin. “so? what is this about? first it was about my favorite decorations, second it’s about my favorite dish and drinks of choice and then third, and fourth—“ she trails off, watching the shy smile on his face appears as he avoids her gaze,

“what?” she asks confused, yet his smile is contagious and that makes her smile too,

“just thinking about how everything would look like for our wedding someday”

“a wedding?”

“y-yeah” he scratches the back of his neck nervously, “i’m making notes, you know? i trust them all with you, muñeca—want you to handle everything”

her heart somehow blooms in her chest, gaze softening when he mentions about marriage. tying a knot. living happily ever after. with her.

she feels the little girl inside of her is squealing at the thought of a prince charming asking her for a hand. like ones she read on fairy tales and bedtime stories.

he wants to marry her

upon hearing no response, he feels the embarrassment creeping in as he gulps, his hand trembling slightly at the thought of being rejected. he would probably cry if she told him that she doesn’t see the future together.

“look you don’t—“

“baby” she coos, her hand moving to cup his face. “you want to marry me?”

he feels somehow at ease when he hears the tone of her voice, realizing that he may not look like an eager idiot whom he thought he’d be in front of her, “i do” his response is firm and set. “do you?”

the way he’s looking at her with hopeful eyes makes her wish that they’re both alone right now, just so she could straddle his lap and smother him with kisses. but seeing that they’re not and at a public space, especially on campus, she’s holding herself back.

instead of that, she cups his face before leaning in for a kiss. miguel sighs into her mouth, kissing her back with much more passion as he snakes a hand around her waist. the kiss is somehow becoming more intense and hungry. he then moves himself to move on top of her in swift motion, making her giggle at his enthusiasm.

what’s supposed to be a simple kiss, turns into a heavy makeout session. she squeezes both his shoulders as a gesture to take it easy, not wanting the head of security to catch them in the act. again.

miguel huffs when she pulls away, but the taste of her lips remains to be the reason why a lovesick smile attached on his features.

“of course i do” she replies, “just make sure that the ring is ready after we graduate, o’hara” and miguel will hold onto that. he will buy the most expensive and prettiest ring ever for her.

she swears that the love she has for him is bigger than anything. he had changed a lot for the better and she couldn’t be more proud. miguel had learned so many things during the times he had shared with her, and it would be so crazy to think that she didn’t bring any positive impact in his life.

her existence is the key of him growing. not just love but as a person as well. and he would argue to hell and back with anyone just to prove the point of his gratitude to her will always be bigger than this girl,

none of these two lovers knew what fate had in stored for them. to have a committed relationship with someone wasn’t in either’s bucket list, let alone getting married. but everything seems to have changed.

before this, they didn’t even know each other. there had been a time where miguel didn’t know muñeca exist and vice versa. and there’s some sort of twinge rattle in his chest, knowing that someone else could be loving her instead of him.

he doesn’t like that. at all.

the negative thought that plagued into his mind somehow gets pulled when he feels her soft padded thumb traces his lower lip. his pupils dilating when he looks at her, with the pretty smile that he never gets tired of. seeing that often makes his heart fail to find a steady rhythm.

gaze in her eyes speaks so kindly to him. a look in which helps to remind him that she belongs to him and so does he to her. and miguel finds himself exhale a breath of relief yet once again.

‘she is so unbelievably gorgeous and all mine’

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Unhappily Married (Jason Todd)

Summary: you're in an arranged marriage. You won't be unhappy.

Warnings: Flangst, Arranged Marriage

WC: 770

A/N: really proud of this one, ngl.

Read on Ao3!

--

The grand hall was cold, despite the warmth of the chandeliers overhead and the rich velvet curtains that adorned the windows. Your wedding gown, heavy with intricate lace and satin, felt more like a chain binding you than something meant to celebrate the happiest day of your life.

But this wasn’t the happiest day of your life.

Jason stood across the room, leaning against a table, his tux slightly askew, his hands shoved into his pockets. He was scowling—though to be fair, he was always scowling. But tonight, it felt sharper, the weight of the forced union hanging between you like an impenetrable wall.

The marriage had been arranged, a deal struck between families—his and yours. It wasn’t love, and you doubted it ever would be.

You walked over to him, needing to break the tense silence. "We should talk."

Jason didn't even look at you, his gaze still fixed somewhere out the window. "What's there to talk about?" His voice was rough, distant.

You crossed your arms, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I get that you’re not happy about this either, but we can’t ignore each other forever."

Jason finally turned his head, meeting your eyes with that intense, hardened stare he’d perfected. “I never wanted to marry you,” he said bluntly, his voice cold but filled with an honesty that cut through you like a blade.

You stiffened at his words, though they weren’t exactly a surprise. You had known, from the moment the arrangement was announced, that Jason Todd was not a willing participant. But hearing him say it aloud? That hurt more than you had expected.

“Trust me, I never wanted to marry you either,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “But here we are, so what do you suggest we do? Just hate each other forever?”

Jason sighed heavily, pushing himself away from the table and stepping closer. His eyes softened just slightly, though the tension in his posture remained. “I don’t hate you. I don’t even know you.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” You met his gaze, refusing to look away. “We don’t know each other at all. And now we’re stuck in this… this marriage. I’m not asking for us to fall in love overnight, but we can at least try to make this bearable.”

Jason ran a hand through his hair, looking conflicted. “Look, I get it. This whole thing is messed up. But I’m not exactly great at… letting people in.”

You sighed, the weight of the situation pressing on your chest. “I’m not asking for you to pour your heart out, Jason. But I can’t be in a marriage where we’re just pretending the other person doesn’t exist. We owe each other more than that.”

Jason’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret, maybe? Guilt? He took a deep breath, stepping closer, his voice lower now, softer. “I never wanted to marry you… because I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “What do you mean?”

His eyes held yours, and for the first time, you saw the weight of the life he carried—his dangerous world, his enemies, the shadows that always seemed to follow him. “You don’t deserve to be dragged into the mess that is my life. I’m not exactly the kind of guy who can promise you some perfect, fairytale marriage.”

Your heart softened as the pieces started to click into place. Jason wasn’t just being difficult—he was trying to protect you. He was pushing you away because he was scared of what being with him might mean for you.

“Jason…” you said quietly, stepping closer. “I don’t need perfect. I just need honest. And I can handle more than you think.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time, some of the hardness in his expression melted away. He still seemed conflicted, but there was a shift, a tiny crack in the armor he kept around himself.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I’ll try. For you.”

Your breath hitched, surprised by the vulnerability in his words. Slowly, you reached out, taking his hand in yours. His grip was hesitant at first, but he didn’t pull away.

“That’s all I’m asking,” you whispered, giving him a small smile. “We can figure this out together.”

Jason’s gaze softened as he looked down at your joined hands, and for the first time since the marriage had been arranged, there was a glimmer of something you hadn’t seen before—hope.

--

consider joining my tags list?

[holllandtrash]

Can you do a quick lando angst

in the kitchen | lando norris

1k words - loosely based on the song by Reneé Rapp But now it's just me And a hundred square feet of bittersweet memories

You reached for the chain around your neck, yanking it off with a harsh tug, not even bothered to see where in the kitchen it landed. Maybe it slid under the fridge or tucked away in one of the corners and wouldn’t be found until the next time Lando swept.

Regardless, it was gone.

The necklace he bought you six months after you started dating meant nothing more than the dust that layered the ground. The golden initials, LN, could rust away for all you cared.

You imagined a day where Lando tried to find the necklace. He watched you pull it off with such force, it had to be in the kitchen somewhere. You thought about him on his hands and knees, searching for the last remnant of your relationship until finally, weeks later, he’d come across it covered in a layer of crumbs and grime.

What would he do with it?

Would he throw it out? Or would he just hold onto it, on the off chance that you came back for it, for him? Would he stand there in the kitchen and ask himself what went wrong?

You used to dance in that kitchen. You in one of his shirts, Lando in a quadrant hoodie with the matching crew socks. He’d spin you under his arms and you’d laugh as he fought not to slip on the tiled floor. Quiet music would play through the bluetooth speaker sitting at the edge of the counter and the only light to guide your movements flooded in dimly from the hallway.

You used to cook together in this kitchen. Side by side, breakfast, lunch and dinner when his obligations didn’t whisk him away. You’d argue over the good cutting board because even though there were three other perfectly good cutting boards tucked away in the cupboard, it was more fun for Lando to pinch your sides and tuck you into his chest as your laughter filled the confined space, it was a sound Lando easily became accustomed to. 

There was a point when he would do anything to hear it, to be the reason your face lit up and that breathtaking melody passed through your lips. He loved to be the reason for your laugh, your smile, all of it.

He told you he loved you for the first time in that kitchen.

It was during the winter break, a week or two before Christmas and you had just gotten back from a holiday party one of your friends hosted. As you were in the process of sliding your jacket off, you verbalised those worrying thoughts you had about still not being able to find a gift for his parents, something you had been muttering about for a few days and you expected the same response when you turned to face Lando. Don’t worry, we still have time.

But he stood there in the kitchen, twisting one of the rings on his finger and staring at you with a look he had never given you before. The only way you could describe it was new. Like Lando had a fresh set of eyes and he was looking at you in a way he had never been able to before tonight.

“What?” You asked, trying to figure out what was going through that head of his. Usually, you could. You knew him better than he knew himself.

But you didn’t expect him to reach for your hand and pull you into his chest. Your arms wrapped around his waist as you stared up at him. The lack of light in the flat didn’t falter your ability to see him so clearly, it never did. 

“I love you,” he whispered, so quietly you almost didn’t hear him. The corner of his lips tugged upwards and he nodded, like he was happy with those words, proud that he finally got them out. “I love you,” he repeated. 

He loved you.

At that point, he did. He meant those words and you didn’t doubt it. 

Now? You wondered if the times he did say it, he said it absentmindedly before walking out the door, like he had to remind himself how he felt about you, like he needed to say those words for you, not because he wanted to. 

You didn’t dance in that kitchen anymore, you hadn’t in months. 

You didn’t cook together, relying on delivery apps or eating at separate times. 

You didn’t laugh anymore.

Those words, ‘I love you’ hadn’t been spoken out loud in twelve days. You counted. 

You stopped saying it first, waiting to see if he would take it upon himself to not be the response, but you had too high of expectations for him. Lando stopped telling you that he loved you the second you stopped telling him. 

Did he even realise it? That you had pulled away, that you stopped meeting him at the door to kiss him, stopped dragging him into the kitchen to dance with you. All of those moments, those sweet intimate moments that once meant so much to both of you, had vanished. 

If he noticed, he didn't say anything.

If he noticed, why didn't he say anything?

Why was he still not saying anything?

Why were you just staring at each other? Why were there tears streaming down your face while he just stood there? Why wouldn’t he just tell you that he loved you? When did he stop loving you?

When did he stop loving you?

And when did you stop loving him?

You looked away first, maybe you were looking for the necklace for a quick second or maybe you just couldn’t take that distant stare anymore. He wasn’t looking at you like you were brand new. His eyes were tired, drained. They carried no love for you. 

Without a word, you stepped away from him, mind and heart empty but that’s how the kitchen felt for months now anyway. Four cutting boards just seemed like too much. The music was too loud. This 100 square feet of space was too dark for you to find any sort of comfort anymore. 

There was nothing there for you to hold onto. 

It was just a kitchen.

- this is not edited im sorry if theres mistakes - also sorry i havent written in a hot minute i love u

[aleydraws]

And if you don't love me now, you will never love me again

I can still hear you saying we would never break the chain

-

I know everyone and their second cousin has drawn locked tomb art based on this pose but if the shoe fits

[justaragdollysblog]

Conscious Conscience

Here’s my entry for the bunnydoll writing week! Cutting it a lil close but oh well :))

I’m doing prompt 18 about Jax letting Ragatha take the fall for something:))))

TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst

———————————————————————

Jax was having a good day, on all accounts. The adventure had been a painting and art kind, and they were to paint whatever they wanted on the canvases. Unlike most adventures, there was no stakes or objective. It was…peaceful.

If it was peaceful for everyone else, it was mind numbingly boring for Jax. He didn’t even really care about art or painting. But he did care about chaos, so he indulged a little.

‘A little’ meant using Gangle’s comedy mask as a paint pallet, causing a chain of events that more than satisfied his need for instigation.

Pomni was crying, overwhelmed by all the noise in the artsy room they were in. Ragatha was chasing the rabbit, trying to get Gangle’s mask back. When Jax had enough of tormenting her, he moved over to a pricklier opponent. He threw her mask down, effectively breaking it. He strode over to Zooble, grabbed their arm, and used it as a paintbrush. The whole room was coated in over saturated primary colors.

Jax had never felt so alive, just in his element. Which happened to be discord and pandemonium. He was still laughing as he causally strutted through the portal.

Caine gasped at the state of his performers. Ragatha was covered in paint, Pomni was hyperventilating, Gangle was tangled and crying, Zooble’s limbs were in the wrong spots, and Kinger was just Kinger.

“Gadzooks! What happened to you all?” He questioned. No one said anything, and Ragatha was about to speak up about the perpetrator behind their appearances, when-

“It was Ragatha. I was *literally* trying to paint, and, I don’t know, she just went crazy in there.” Jax accused, hiding his smug smile so it would be believable. Ragatha bristled, looking back up at the ringmaster.

“What- No, that’s not-“ She stammered out, holding her hands up in front of her in a defensive way. Caine seemed a bit surprised, too. He quickly composed himself. “I can put up with this behavior from Jax, but we can’t have you going down the same path, my dear,” He began.

Ragatha was furious. How did he not believe her? In all the years she’s been here, how did he believe Jax?!

“That being said, we need to…what do humans say…nip it in the bud. You need to stay on the straight and narrow! No sewing for a week.”

Ragatha’s plush heart dropped.

That couldn’t have been what he said. She must’ve been hearing things. A simple miscommunication.

“…What?” She choked out, looking back up at him. “You, you’re not…serious, are you?” She asked, and she hated that she whimpered while doing so.

“Very serious, Ragatha. You need to learn this behavior is unacceptable!” He declared, still in that bouncy, official voice.

“But- When…-When have I ever?! Caine, please-“She begged. She didn’t care how pathetic or weird she seemed. She was shocked, and she wouldn’t be surprised if her tan-ish plush skin was pale.

“I’m sorry, my dear. Hopefully after this you’ll be good as new! Take time to think about what you’ve done.” He wagged his finger at her.

Jax grinned at her. That stupid grin. “Yeah, you’ll have a lot of free time now!” He laughed. Ragatha felt herself about to boil over, so she used a tactic that served her well in her time here. She turned her heels and ran to her room.

She felt herself sob as she closed her door. She knew it was beyond stupid and childish to cry over this, but sewing wasn’t just a casual pastime.

It was calming. It was her somewhat mindless downtime, a time just to herself, creating personal items and requests alike.

What was she supposed to do now? The one thing that helps here, occupying your mind with something relaxing, was stripped of her for a week.

A. Whole. Week.

For something she didn’t do. For something she had absolutely no say in happening. She also felt somewhat betrayed. Everyone knew Caine was A.I., there was no doubt about that.

But if Jax, the resident trickster, can lie right through his teeth and convince Caine she would do that…why’d she ever bother trying to be good? To be friendly?

She wiped hurt, angry tears from her eyes and snuggled into her bed. She didn’t know how she’d get through this punishment. She just wanted to sleep.

It was day three. Ragatha had tried to, despite her better judgment, bypass the barrier placed on her sewing shelf in her room. It had yellow caution tape (which was surprisingly solid, forming a force field of sorts), and Caine’s face. She may or may not have hit slammed her fists a few times on it.

She was so tired. She didn’t want to bother anyone by asking to hang out or talk or be in the same room as her. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t correct Jax about what happened.

Speaking of the rabbit, he’d been acting…off. Ragatha almost knew he’d be relishing the punishment bestowed upon the doll. But, she caught him looking at her a few times. It was almost…sympathetic. She really needed to relax again, her mind was obviously on the edge.

Ragatha can barely remember the adventure that day. She didn’t realize just how much she came to depend on her hobby. It was a soothing task she yearned to do again. She didn’t know what else to do in her free time.

It’s not like she misses the act itself, but the distraction and peace of mind. When you find something here that occupies your mind, you cling to it and never let go. Because if your mind isn’t occupied, it’s wandering.

Wandering places it has no business being in.

—————————-

Jax had decided he had enough of this. It was fun, at first, to see her mope around. But then it was worrying. I mean, she was the happy one. The optimistic one.

What would he anyone else do without her?

He stood outside her door, nervously and impatiently shifting weight from one rabbit foot to the next. He knew he’d hate himself later, but he needed to do something.

He knocked on her door, also unlike him, since he had keys. It took a minute, and the door eventually creaked open.

To say she looked absolutely exhausted was an understatement. Her hair was messy and there was a deep ache of sadness in her one good eye.

“Oh. Hi. What do you need, Jax?” She still had a whisper of a friendly tone. It made Jax burn with shame.

“Don’t get too excited, doll. I…brought you something.” He looked away from her as he handed her something. She eyed it, understandably hesitant.

It was in sloppily wrapped gift wrap, and felt soft under her already soft hands. She opened it up, and gasped softly at the contents.

It was a small teddy bear. The sewing was BAD. The fur was soft, though. A beautiful shade of light brown and beige flourishes.

She looked back up at him. “Jax, what is this…?” She had a hint of hope and awe behind her words. He blushed a bit, if a rabbit *could* blush.

“The punishment didn’t apply to me, and I needed to do something before you ended up in the cellar.” He explained. She giggled softly. In a backwards way, it helped.

She took it, holding it to her chest. “And, I…may or may not have owned up to Caine.”

Now that was a shock. She looked back up at him, and, to her relief, he made eye contact. “I’m…sorry, doll.” He finally whispered. She smiled a bit, genuinely. There was a small spark between the two, despite the less than stellar circumstances. She looked back up at him, cradling the teddy bear.

“Thank you, Jax.”

—————————————————————-

AYAYAYA got this doneee

i have more ideas for fics i also need to continue If I Hadn’t Gone In lol

but yeah! here’s my entryyy

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Who Taught You How to Love Like That? - Chapter Two

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. Word count: ~2.8k

Chapter summary: Alicent's birthday dinner proves to be eventful in more ways than one.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

She flops down onto the sofa next to her flatmate, once safely back inside, huffing a dramatic sigh and replaying in her mind the mortifying moment that Aemond refused her kiss.

Mysaria takes out her earphones and closes her laptop, turning to her with a smirk. “So, sugar baby, how was your evening?”

“Shit.” She shoots back, dipping a hand into the open crisp bag that sits between them and taking a few.

“Let me guess, didn’t look anything like his picture?”

She shakes her head, speaking around a mouthful of crisps. “Exactly like his picture. I tried to kiss him and he said no.”

“Sounds like a win to me.” Mysaria says with a shrug. “If you can get away with not doing that sorta stuff and still get the money then you absolutely should.”

She sighs. Therein lies the problem, with Aemond she wants to do that sort of stuff.

The rest of the weekend passes by uneventfully, with no further word from Aemond, no matter how hard she wills for it as she stares at their existing text chain.

She has to suppress a strangled sounding squeal on Monday when he texts her while she’s at work. Her hand flies to her phone the moment she sees his name light up her screen with a buzz.

Are you working today?

She is almost embarrassed at the speed with which she replies.

I am. Why?

She feels her breath hitch as his response comes instantly.

I’ll swing by at lunch time.

She’s unable to concentrate for the rest of the morning, too nervous to focus on anything other than the fact that she’ll be seeing Aemond in a few hours. The time passes painfully slowly and she feels as though she’s anxiously drummed her fingers on every available surface until finally it’s noon.

She spots him in the foyer as she heads downstairs. He is instantly recognisable; taller than almost everyone, the top half of his pale hair is pulled back from his face in a bun, while the rest hangs loose around his shoulders. His fitted black shirt is rolled up to the elbows and paired with a well tailored pair of suit trousers and expensive looking dress shoes.

He gives her his subtle trademark smirk when he sees her and she immediately feels self conscious under the intensity of his gaze.

“Thanks for giving up your lunch break for me.” He says after she’s greeted him. “I figured it would make our story more believable if I’d actually seen you at work. We’re bound to get asked questions at dinner on Wednesday.”

“Oh…sure, no problem.” She feels herself deflate a little upon hearing that this isn’t a visit because he simply wants to see her.

“I brought you a little something, guessing you haven’t had lunch yet?”

He hands her a thick, white box that has ‘Cédric Grolet’ inscribed in gold lettering. It’s a bakery she’s read about in Time Out Magazine, but never visited. In her opinion, anyone willing to spend six pounds on a croissant has more money than sense. She opens the box, her eyebrows raising in surprise as she looks at the delicate pastry inside.

“You brought me a custard tart.” She meets his eye with a grin.

Aemond scoffs. “Parisian flan, actually.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks heat up as she holds his gaze. “I’ll eat this later. Don’t want to risk it around the exhibits.”

He nods, a mixture of amusement and something she can’t quite place evident in his eye as he looks at her. “Shall we then?” He gestures for her to lead the way.

She guides him around the museum and she is impressed with the depth of his knowledge as he tells her what he knows regarding Ancient Egypt and Greek history. Likewise, he pays rapt attention when she explains the timeline of the Vikings and Saxons, asking relevant questions and nodding enthusiastically as she answers.

For the first time in a long time she feels genuinely listened to when she speaks about the subject she’s so fiercely passionate about. It’s nice to have someone take an interest. The conversation flows easily and all too quickly an hour slips by.

“I should let you get back to work.” Aemond tells her, pulling his phone from his pocket and checking the time. “I need to get back to Vhagar anyway.”

“Vhagar?”

“Yeah.” Aemond says, and for the first time since they met, his face lights up with genuine happiness. “She’s my doberman. She’s getting on a bit, so I try not to leave her with the dog walker for too long if I can help it.”

She feels herself melt a little at this admission. As if he wasn’t already perfect, he was an animal lover to top it all off.

He’s quick to compose himself, clearing his throat and returning to his stoic demeanour. “Anyway, I’ll pick you up at six on Wednesday, okay?”

She nods and they wave goodbye to each other. She heads back to work, a slight spring in her step for having seen Aemond. She can’t believe how much they have in common, smiling to herself as she wonders when she’ll get to meet Vhagar.

She’s brought crashing back to reality when her phone buzzes with a text from Aemond.

For working through your lunch break.

It’s immediately followed by a notification from her banking app. A one thousand pound deposit from A. Targaryen.

She knows she should feel elated by the money, but it’s a sobering reality check. He’s not your boyfriend, this is transactional.

When she arrives home from work on Wednesday afternoon, she is overwhelmed by the idea of having to get ready for Alicent’s birthday dinner. There is no way she can reuse the dress from Jace and Baela’s engagement party, and everything else in her wardrobe feels far too casual for a family as high end as the Targaryens.

She’s distracted momentarily when she catches sight of a package sitting on the kitchen side.

“Parcel on the side for you!” Mysaria calls out from her bedroom.

“I see it, thanks!” She shouts back, working to remove the packaging.

Inside is a Cartier box, with a note; ‘Would really like you to wear this to dinner - A.’

“Well, then, what is it?” Mysaria asks, creeping up behind her and resting her head on her shoulder. “It arrived this morning and I’ve resisted the temptation to open it all day!”

She gasps as she opens the box. A white gold necklace inlaid with diamonds, and a single sapphire at its center, rests inside.

Mysaria lets out a low whistle. “You could sell that and put down a deposit on a bloody house!”

She rolls her eyes. “I think he intends for me to wear it, not sell it. But what the fuck am I going to put it with? It’s going to look like I’ve put tinsel on shit!”

An hour later, having rummaged through Mysaria’s wardrobe, she’s finally ready, having paired a long sleeved, silky button down top with a faux leather skirt. Simple enough for a casual dinner, yet dressy enough to compliment the completely over the top jewelry that now sits around her neck.

Aemond arrives and is ever the gentleman, opening the passenger side door for her as she climbs into his car. Her eyes linger a little too long on the way his expertly tailored suit hugs his body. Thankfully, his attention is focused entirely on her throat, so he doesn’t notice.

“Necklace looks good.” He says buckling his seatbelt. “We’ll have to do something at some point about the rest of it though.”

Her mouth gapes open in shock. “What’s wrong with my outfit?!”

He reaches across, rubbing the material of her top between his thumb and forefinger. “Polyester.”

The touch of his fingers in such close proximity to her skin makes her feel so light headed that she can’t find it in herself to be offended. Wordlessly, he starts the car.

“So, I should brief you on what you’re getting into before we arrive.” Aemond glances over at her as he drives. “It's my mother's birthday. She won’t have cooked, she never does; she’ll have ordered Thai food. Her partner, Criston, will be there, so will my brother, Aegon, and my sister, Helaena. There’ll also be my half sister, Rhaenyra.”

She doesn’t miss how Aemond tenses up as he speaks of Rhaenyra. She can’t help but feel panicked at how intimate of an affair this will be, especially as this is only her second date with Aemond, if date is even the right word for it.

“What about the rest of your family that were at the engagement party?”

“Most of the people there were not anyone I’d consider family. My grandfather’s away on business and ‘Nyra knows better than to bring her boys. Mum won’t want them there. None of us do.”

The grip that Aemond has on the steering wheel tightens and his jaw clenches. She decides not to push the subject any further, it’s clearly a touchy one and she simply doesn’t know him well enough to pry. The rest of the drive passes in silence.

The townhouse they pull up outside of is lavish, a blanket of green ivy covers the outside. Aemond is quick to take her hand as they walk up the path to the front door. Her heart races at the feel of it, and she has to battle to remind herself that it’s all for show.

Alicent gives them both a warm welcome, pulling them into a tight hug with a kiss on both cheeks. She looks radiant as ever as she leads them through to a large dining room, with a long mahogany table at the center of it.

Helaena jumps up as soon as she sees them, giving them both a hug, while Aegon opts to remain seated, making a mock salute as he takes a swig from his beer bottle.

Aemond was right about the Thai food, as Criston enters shortly after they arrive, carrying several paper bags from a place called Patara and places them in the middle of the table.

Aemond pulls out a chair for her and she takes a seat, her eyes fluttering closed involuntarily as he presses his lips to her temple. A shiver runs through her.

“Get me a fork, would you, Hel? I’ll be here all fucking night trying to eat with chopsticks.” Aegon says, leaning forward to rummage in a bag.

“It’s Thai food, you eat it with a spoon, not chopsticks!” Helaena shoots back.

“That’s not a fork though, is it?” He rolls his eyes exasperatedly, pulling out tubs and setting them down. “Get me a fork!”

“Get your own fork, dick.” She fires back.

“Will you two stop it?!” Alicent hisses. “I just want one family dinner without an argument. Rhaenyra isn’t even here yet, stop opening the food. Aegon!”

She hurries from the room as the doorbell rings.

The mood around the table shifts. She notices Aemond rubbing his fingers together absentmindedly, his teeth grinding ever so slightly. Without thinking, she reaches over and takes his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He squeezes back, shooting her an appreciative look.

Rhaenyra sweeps into the room, looking glamorous. Her long, light hair is pulled into an intricate braid and a pair of teardrop ruby earrings hang delicately from her lobes.

“Apologies for my lateness.” She says with a tight smile. “Difficult to be on time when you have to make separate dinner plans for the side of the family that aren’t welcome.”

“Oh god, she’s started already.” Drawls Aegon. “Come on, who had ‘as soon as she arrives’ in the sweepstake for when ‘Nyra would start her bitching?”

“Aegon!” Alicent scolds him, her brown eyes widened with anger. Her face softens as she turns back to Rhaenyra. “Ignore him, I’m so pleased you could make it.”

The two women exchange a warm embrace before taking their seats.

The meal passes in relative high spirits, in spite of its awkward start. Expensive red wine is shared around the table, as they all dig into dishes of soft shell crab mango salad, chicken massaman and vegetable pad thai. 

Alicent asks her more about her line of work, while Aemond interjects that he’d dropped by to surprise her with lunch. This little anecdote is met with excited coos from both his mother and sister.

He plays the part of attentive boyfriend perfectly. Dishing out food onto her plate, feeding her from his fork and placing his hand on her knee at regular intervals. The longer it goes on for, the more difficult it becomes for her to remember that it’s all an act. The way her body responds to his touch is certainly not for show, however; there is no pretending when it comes to the gooseflesh left in the wake of his hand on her skin.

As the meal is drawing to its end, Rhaenyra sits back in her chair, running her fingers along the stem of her wine glass. “So, I was planning on making a gift of Dragonstone Cottage to Jace and Baela, since they’ll be needing a place to live together once they’re married.”

“That’s not yours to give away.” Aemond tells her, staring at her with an intensity that’s almost frightening.

“Father didn’t name an owner in his will. Technically, as first born, everything goes to me.” She says with an offhand shrug.

“That’s such bullshit!” Aegon seethes, over the rim of his glass.

“Don’t.” Criston warns. “You’ll upset your mother.”

“Maybe this is best talked about another time.” Alicent says, shooting an apologetic look around the table.

“That’s the problem though, isn’t it, Mum? You never want to talk about it and she always gets her own way, just like when Dad was alive.” Aegon says, his voice raising an octave with every word.

“Oh, I think you’ve gotten far more than what is owed to you.” Rhaenyra glares at him.

Aemond slams his fist on the table, causing everyone to startle. He stands abruptly, storming from the room.

She isn’t sure of where to look, she has never felt more uncomfortable in her entire life than she does right now. The atmosphere around the dinner table is horribly strained and she is suddenly glad of the opportunity to play up to her part of concerned girlfriend in order to get away from it.

“I’ll…um…I’ll just go and see where he’s gone.” She says shakily, eager to get away from the sour, sullen faces that now surround her.

She finds Aemond stood outside in the back garden, leaning against the railing of the patio decking as he smokes a cigarette.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t.” He responds, taking another drag.

“Anything in there that you wanted to talk about?” She offers meekly.

“I don’t pay you enough for that.” He sighs.

Her face falls slightly at this. Each reminder of what their relationship really is is like a punch to the gut. She leans against the railing, placing her hand next to his.

“Whatever it is, I’m sorry. If you ever do need to talk though, I’m happy to listen.”

Aemond flicks the cigarette away, crushing it under foot. “I just…just once it would be nice to feel appreciated.”

“I appreciate you.” She tells him honestly, her little finger stroking over his as she stares up at him.

His face softens as he looks down at her and for the first time since she stepped outside she feels like he is seeing her, really seeing her. His hand moves from the railing to brush her hair away from her face and as his eye moves from hers to her lips, she leans up and presses them to his. This time he doesn’t stop her.

He tastes of cigarettes and red wine, it’s a heady combination, intensified by the plushness of his lips. All too soon, he is pulling away, breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done that.” He admits.

“But I wanted to.” She pleads earnestly.

He wraps his arms around her then, one hand clutching desperately between her shoulder blades, as the other buries itself in her hair. He kisses her like he is a man starved of oxygen and he needs her to breathe. She whimpers as she feels his tongue work itself against her own. Nobody has ever kissed her like this before, it makes her head swim and heat lick at her lower belly.

“Go to dinner with me on Friday.” He says breathlessly, once their lips part. “Just me and you.”

“I’d love to.” She whispers.

Chapter one || Chapter three || Series masterlist