#( and forget some people don't feel the same rip )

[hydrasaura]

when i said that mha ripped off naruto (which i said only to piss off mha stans anyway) I didn't mean to sound like i was praising naruto. it was actually more like a sigh of disappointment, a reaction to seeing that all the problems that naruto had as a show transpired trough mha too and i was tired because watching naruto was enough for me but then i realized that my problem actually is that i can no longer stand watching shonen anime and i chose not to tire myself by cringing at the repetitive tropes and cliches anymore

[casiavium]

All of these "who has more anything gender!" polls are just. white man without extreme body builder muscles v white man without extreme body builder muscles. The gender is "masculine" stop pretending it's universal

[yazmarina]

walk me through it

for the love circuit series

—you're used to being flirted with in front of the camera. but something about franco is really doing you in.

franco colapinto (f1) x fem!reporter reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex (no condom, yes birth control), guided masturbation, lewd photography, lots of flirting, franco is shameless (naturally), some Spanish sentences and phrases

a/n: will resume hit play for a bit after this one! enjoy franco girlies mwa

Your job was simple enough. Well, for today, at least.

Stand in the media pen, gather statements, and piece together a couple of stories later that evening for publishing first thing tomorrow morning. All in a day's work, like all the other days before.

You've grown immune to the charms of rich, adrenaline-seeking men. Didn't take you too long, the illusion breaking as soon as any one of them opened their mouths. Some you tolerate more than others, but some you'd rather steer clear of completely.

This isn't to say that you've brushed all of them off. You might have agreed to a date here and there but nothing ever stuck, the nature of your jobs a bit too similar and all too different at the same time. You've given up on the prospect that you'll somehow end up with one of the many Formula 1 drivers you've interviewed and spoken to. And you've spoken to a lot. You've had this gig since you were shipped off fresh from uni and one too many 'What happened there?'s and 'Tell me about qualifying's can put a damper on the romantic side of things.

But someone new's in town. Well, er, new in the paddock. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't even a little bit excited.

He's charming, that much you can already tell. He walks into the media pen like he's done it thousands of times before and you have to actively suppress a smile as he walks over. Confidence is always a plus. For the interview, of course.

"Hola, Franco. Antes que nada, enhorabuena," you greet warmly, extending your arm over the barrier to place the microphone nearer to him. Hi, Franco. First of all, congratulations.

Franc's eyebrows shoot up, a wolfish grin settling on his face. "Oh. I thought this was an English interview?"

You smile back. "It is, but I know my way around Spanish, as well."

"Ah," Franco nods. "Gracias, _______."

"You know my name?" You ask, momentarily forgetting that you're being taped and recorded. You clear your throat, ignoring the quiet snicker from your cameraman.

"Yeah, I've seen you around and watched some of your other interviews," Franco confirms, a hand settling on his hip as he leans against the barrier, closer to you.

You can smell his perfume from where you stand.

"Thank you, I've heard and seen a lot about you as well," you respond, trying to return to your original train of thought.

"Which is why I want to ask you how it feels on your first day as a Formula 1 driver," you quickly follow. "Have you done anything special to prepare for this weekend? Other than the obvious, of course."

Another easy smile spreads across Franco's lips. "I've definitely added to my training and done some new things to prepare. I haven't done a full F1 weekend before so everything will be new."

"We definitely don't have reporters like you in the lower Formulas," he adds.

You feel a violent blush rip up through your neck all the way to your cheeks. As if the Monza heat wasn't enough.

"Well, I'm glad you could meet me here," you manage to get out.

The thing is, Franco isn't even the most attractive driver you've met. He's definitely up there, but not the most.

That's a discussion you have with yourself semi-weekly: ranking the drivers in terms of attractiveness, factoring in personalities and general attitudes towards the people around them, specifically the media.

Look, people love to shit on the media and press, calling journalism all sorts of derogatory words, but you're just here to do your job, like anyone else. And it gets pretty fucking hard when your boss is ringing your phone every five minutes demanding four stories by tomorrow and drivers are sassing you out as if you asked them if they've murdered their whole family.

So, naturally, the way they treat you determines a big chunk of how you think your day is going to pan out.

And right now, Franco seems to be lifting your spirits just fine.

"What are your goals for this weekend? Are points on the horizon for you at your first F1 race?" You continue, trying not to stare at the way Franco starts to rub at the back of his neck, bashful all of a sudden.

"We'll try," Franco begins. He plants both his hands on the barrier and leans even closer. You have to physically take a step back.

You gulp. Franco smiles.

"Anything is possible this weekend."

-

"You broke the internet last night."

You scoff, sending your cameraman a vicious side-eye. It's crowded in the paddock today, everyone wanting to get a glimpse of the new rookie, it seems. Such is the eagerness for this young driver that even that 30-second clip of your interview with him blew right up in your face. Your inboxes at capacity, your own voice speaking back to you with every other swipe on your TikTok.

It's not all bad, though. A tweet with one of your Instagram photos attached to it captioned 'TE ENTIENDO MUCHO FRANCO ES MUY LINDA PERIODISTA' did weasel out a chuckle from you.

Your cameraman shrugs, gesturing with a jerk of his head in front of you.

"There he is. I'm sure he knows all about it."

You look over to where he's pointing and lo and behold, Franco is right there, chatting with a few Williams team members, his race suit hanging undone around his waist. He turns to you even before you can fully register that it's him you're looking at.

But your training kicks in even faster. A megawatt smile appears on your lips and you wave enthusiastically at Franco.

"Hi."

"_______," Franco says, face lighting up at the sight of you. Your name seems to fall even more effortlessly off his lips.

You reach over and pull him into a half-hug with one arm, but both his arms wind around you and you have no choice but to squeeze back.

"You saw?" Franco asks, a gleam in his eye as he pulls away. His hand remains casually on the small of your back.

"Saw what?" You know what it is he's asking but you'd like to hear it from him.

"We went viral, no?" Franco says with a laugh, reaching further around you and squeezing your waist. You lean into his touch, heart jumping as his fingers graze just underneath your cropped top.

"That's all because of you," you reason, pointing an accusatory finger at Franco. "I bet you say that to all the other reporters."

The Williams team members standing nearby burst out laughing and even your cameraman affords a snicker. A deep blush spreads across Franco's face as he rubs your side reassuringly.

"No, no, I don't. Just you," Franco admits with another lighthearted laugh.

"Sure," you say with exaggerated skepticism. You pull away from his touch, catching his hand before he slips it fully off of you.

"I'll talk to you later," you say. And it's fully intentional, the words you choose to say. I'll talk to you later. Not 'I'll catch you later' or 'I'll see you later'.

I will talk to you later.

Franco understands, giving your hand a squeeze.

-

Later that day, you pray that no one catches you grinning behind your hand as Franco takes the chequered flag at qualifying.

P11.

Almost there.

-

"Hi. Come in."

Franco beams at you from across the threshold, stepping into your room with slow, measured steps.

"Great qualifying," you compliment, eyes traveling down Franco's body, noting the way his team kit hugs his frame just right, his hands shoved into his pockets, exposing just his arms, veins and all.

Your eyes snap back up to his face when you hear the door shut in place.

"Q2 on your debut. Not bad," you go on, taking a step back. Franco takes one toward you.

"You're just repeating what you said at the media pen earlier," Franco points out. He reaches out and gently circles an arm around your waist.

Always straight to the point.

Like this morning.

You tried not to make it so obvious when you ran into Franco earlier, but all you could think about was The Message.

You were doing your cursory social media checks a few minutes after you had woken up, still snug in your bed and unwilling to get up just yet. A message in your Instagram inbox caught your attention, sitting at the very top of your 'verified followers' tab.

Franco Colapinto: hola, hermosa 😉

It took a minute for your motor functions to return, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you pored over what to reply. You settled on a nonchalant greeting, asking if Franco needed anything.

You realized rather belatedly that this was looking a little familiar. You wished he wouldn't say the dreaded answer, the more-than-predictable response that every man liked to use.

Franco Colapinto: you, maybe?

You groaned into your pillow, not because you were repulsed by his answer, but because you liked it. If you were easy, then so was he.

You: i finish work at 9 pm tonight...? 👀

It's 9 PM now. Franco's in the room and your hand is running up his chest.

Easy.

"It's such an honor," Franco teases, backing you up further into the room. His hands feel heavy on your waist and your heart hammers against your chest.

"I get to work with people like you now," Franco continues, stopping right in front of the bed.

The kiss comes as a shock more so because of how good Franco kisses. One of his hands is now cradling the back of your head, keeping you in place while he licks into your mouth, groaning with every pucker of your lips.

You pull away for barely a second to get both of your tops off before you dive back in, seemingly too desperate and too starved for each other's mouths. Franco's hands are everywhere; they run down your arms, paw at your waist, tugging at the belt loops of your jeans.

You giggle as he pulls you even closer, your bare chests pressed against each other. Franco pulls back and peers down at you, reaching behind to unclasp your bra. You let it fall, already guiding one of his hands to your tits.

"Couldn't stop staring at them?" You ask, your voice rising with an innocent lilt.

Franco kneads at the mound beneath his hand, eliciting a moan from you. He grins.

"I wanted you to notice," Franco admits simply, kissing you again.

"Perv," you mumble against his lips. Franco laughs, already undoing his trousers.

You wiggle your own way out of your jeans, letting Franco get the shortest of glimpses at your baby pink underwear before you discard them off to the side.

"Mierda, you're so sexy," Franco compliments as you crawl backward onto the bed, laying back and letting your hair splay out beneath you.

Franco pounces on you like a man starved, bare atop your own naked body, his arms caging you in.

"Big moves from somebody so new," you whisper, carding your fingers through Franco's soft locks.

"I like to make a statement," Franco says with a shrug. He glances up momentarily, something piquing his interest off to the side.

"Is that your camera?"

You crane your neck to see where he's looking and sure enough, your personal DSLR is right there on the bedside drawer. You look back at Franco, an eyebrow raised.

"You wanna use it?" You ask, not expecting him to actually say yes. But a mischievous grin settles on Franco's face and you feel your heart skip several beats.

"Knock yourself out," you say.

Franco reaches for the camera and fiddles with it for a few seconds. His eyes scan over your body and you suddenly feel the urge to hide away with how hard he's looking.

"May I?" Franco asks, brandishing the camera. Your mouth falls open as you realize what he's asking.

"You can keep them for yourself. For your eyes only," Franco hurriedly adds, planting his knees firmly on either side of you.

You stare up at him, a million thoughts running through your mind.

"Just...touch yourself."

You gasp, stunned at his proposal. Franco watches through the LCD monitor, glancing up at you through his lashes. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth, and as if on instinct, your hand inches down slowly between your legs.

"You're in front of cameras all the time," Franco reminds with a smirk. "This should be easy for you."

You suppress a whimper at his words, your fingertips swiping through your slick folds. You're already soaked and you start to wonder if it started even before Franco got here.

The shutter clicks and the lens whirs, sharp against the soft breaths you're letting out. Franco is concentrated, snapping photo after photo as you rub yourself closer to release. But it's not enough. You need more.

"Franco...," you implore, peering up with bright, begging eyes.

"Slowly, mi amor," Franco coos. "Just where you like it. Right there."

Click.

"Harder now, but still slow. Yes? Feels good?"

You whine, eyes fluttering shut as your pleasure picks up again. Several clicks. You're panting now, the tendrils of release wrapping themselves around you.

"Faster, yes, like that," Franco eggs on. Your fingers speed up against your sensitive clit and a litany of Franco's name spills from your lips. Before you know it, he's putting the camera away. You reach for him, gripping the back of his neck as he smashes his lips into yours.

Franco bites down on your lip and you cry out, your orgasm washing over you like a tide. You arch against Franco, feeling his own stiffness heavy on your thigh.

You blink, Franco's face coming into focus, barely an inch from yours. He watches you closely, pupils blown wide and plump lips even redder. You hook your legs around his waist, letting him know that you're not done yet.

Franco is quick to pick up, smiling as lines himself up with you. The groan that escapes him is nothing short of delicious as he pushes himself in. You gasp along, the stretch a welcome sensation.

Franco wastes no time and pounds right into you, catching you by surprise. You let your head fall back against the mattress, a long, drawn-out whine erupting from deep within your chest as Franco licks a stripe up your neck.

Your whole body quakes with how hard he's thrusting into you but you're clearly enjoying it if your wanton moans are anything to go by. Franco meets your eyes and you pull him down, wanting nothing more than to drown in those lips of his.

It's feral and it's unrestrained, spurred on by the knowledge that this is more than unprofessional in your line of work. Not illegal by any means, but risky enough to warrant warnings from your coworkers. Never sleep with a driver unless you're committed.

Oh, well.

Franco groans loudly in your ear, movements losing their rhythm as he speeds up. You're clinging to him as if he'd disappear if you let go, your own belly tightening once more with that familiar feeling.

Franco. Franco. Franco.

He kisses you just as he finishes. Passionate, eager, heady. You feel him inside you, a different kind of elation filling you as you release all over him.

Franco pulls away to allow yourselves to breathe. He pulls out, rolling over to your side. You hug your folded knees to your chest, too lazy to get up and find something to deal with the mess.

"No hagas eso. Eso es demasiado doméstico," Franco jokes, moving closer and planting a kiss to your shoulder. Don't do that. That's too domestic.

"Relájate, estoy usando anticonceptiva," you reassure with a lighthearted roll of your eyes. Relax, I'm on birth control.

Franco hums, laying an arm over you. He pulls you close and you face him, reaching up to brush away some of his unruly hair.

He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Happy that you're a Formula 1 driver?" You ask, grinning.

Franco chuckles. "Very."

[hxney-lemcn]

Care for Yourself my Love — Overblots x gn! reader

summery: taking care of yourself wasn't your best skill, thankfully you have someone to help you build it up.

tw: unhealthy eating habits! If you're sensitive to this please don't read this fic! I'm not glorifying or romanticizing this, I just wish I had someone to help keep me on track (you'll notice I make the reader actively try to better themselves). mentions of depression/depressive traits (leona, idia).

a/n: I wanted to write something, ik people have done this already but here's my two cents because I've delt/deal with this too

wc: 1.7k (~250 per character)

Master List

❥ Riddle Rosehearts

You don’t try to be so forgetful, it’s just you're either always running late or you find yourself procrastinating to the point you don’t have time. Unfortunately, your carelessness has gotten to the best of you and you found yourself nearly passing out while preparing for the upcoming unbirthday party. Even more unlucky, you swayed dizzily in front of Riddle, nearly toppling over and knocking over paint buckets. At first he felt his temper flare, that paint wasn’t cheap and now they’ll have to get more. Not only that, but now your shoes, socks, and pants were covered in red paint. But then he noticed the concerned look on Trey’s face and how you held onto him for support while holding your head, eyes closed tight. That was when the worry set in, were you alright? Why had you been so clumsy in the first place? You apologized to the two, casually bringing up how you can’t remember eating anything yet and that was most likely the cause. After that, Riddle tried keeping track for you, scolding you anytime you mumbled about forgetting to eat. How could you forget something so important! You couldn't learn properly if you didn’t take care of yourself. Not to mention the heart attack he nearly gets every time he recalls that moment of you nearly fainting in the rose garden. He doesn’t want that to happen again, so he’ll continue to help you out until you learn to take care of yourself better.

❥ Leona Kingscholar

Honestly…I think he’s in the same boat. People call him lazy, selfish, and rude, and his only escape from all his problems is his dreams. Where people love him, where he’s important, where he’s cherished. So this can go one of two ways. 1) You both feed into each other's bad habits and become worse. Or 2) you notice his bad habits, and in trying to correct them (Ruggie helps tremendously with this…he also gets free food so he doesn’t mind) you find yourself improving on your own. Leona lets you take however much money you want, little does he know, most of that money is being used on him as well. You end up buying matching water bottles on a whim and you find yourself actually drinking a healthy amount of water now. This also goes for Leona, as every time you get food, you bring some for him, every time you go to get water, you bring some for him. In fact, he actually uses the water bottle you bought him, but it's only cus it reminds him of you…not that you’ll ever know. Slowly over time, you both improve each other, and you find yourselves feeling more healthy than ever before. Especially when Leona decides to have you join him for his spell drive training, making you participate in it as well. Not because he hates you, but he sees what you’ve done for him, and wants to help you in his own way in return…he just makes it seem and feel like a punishment. 

❥ Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is a sharp one that never lets a detail go. He noticed your bad habits from the start. It only bit him back when he started to genuinely care for you. He felt his mind want to tear itself apart when you came by the lounge after school, immediately being placed in his VIP room, and him hearing your stomach growl. When he asked if you wanted food you denied, stating you didn’t have the funds. That made him want to rip Crowley apart. Instead of letting that anger show, he only smiled, making up some bullshit about how its on the house today. Azul made sure that the Leech twins kept an eye on you, and if your self-destructive habits got too out of hand they would step in. At first you were apprehensive when Jade would randomly appear, asking if you’ve eaten or drank anything recently. Azul nearly broke down in tears when one time you shrugged nonchalantly, asking if it mattered. It was then that you realized that your habits not only affected you, but the people you cared about as well. So you promised him you’d try to better yourself. If you forgot breakfast you at least had a granola bar on hand. If you forgot water, Floyd would throw a water bottle at you. It was a slow process, but after a while you started taking better care of yourself, and all Azul could do was breathe a sigh of relief. He was not going to let someone he cared about become their own greatest downfall. 

❥ Jamil Viper

At first, he’s annoyed. Out of spite he won’t help you, his gray eyes watching to see you stumble with slight gratification. Those feelings soon crumbled the closer you two got, and that gratification slipped into apprehension. Jamil was going to lose all his hair at this rate. So when you forgot to buy food, or used all your money for other necessities Jamil started packing you a lunch alongside his own and Kalim’s. He quickly grew annoyed at how pleased he felt when he watched you scarff down his food, exclaiming how great it was. You forgot how warm the Scarabia dorm was and were currently sweating to death beneath all your layers? Don’t worry, Kalim had bought you tons of outfits already (no matter how much Jamil tried to stop him), he’ll take you to a spare room for you to change. You start feeling woozy, there’s a seat nearby and he’s already got water and a snack. Even though he’s still a bit annoyed he had to do all this in the first place…you had managed to wiggle your way into a soft spot in his heart. So for you, he doesn’t mind taking care of you. Not as long as you promise to try and learn to take care of yourself as well, because he’s not sure how much more his heart can take seeing you accidentally hurt yourself in one way or another. Plus, he won’t always be there to stabilize you…not unless you choose to stay by his side. 

❥ Vil Schoenheit

This mf knew right away. He could tell with the way you cared so greatly for others, that you had no room to care for yourself. Vil makes a whole schedule for you, when you should eat, drink water, and exercise to be your best self. You are now an honorary pomefiore student with the way he treats you. Even with the added slack of not living on the dorm grounds…you’re still not safe. Vil gets spider senses with you slacking on self care and sends Rook to check in on you. He makes you set alarms, gets you a fashionable yet hefty water bottle for you to carry around. Honestly…he works the best when it comes to self care. He doesn’t even have to text you anymore, you’ll be slouching and he’ll pop in your mind and you fix your posture. Talk about living in your mind rent free. He’s also the harshest, his whole thing is being your best self and he’ll be damned to see you hurt yourself because you weren’t thinking clearly due to not eating enough. It all comes from a place of care though, he’s just not the best at expressing that. Just know that every time he scolds you it’s because he cares about you. If it gets too much though just tell him, he’ll pamper you a bit with a self care spa day sometime soon. At the end of the day, he wants to see you thrive, not survive. 

❥ Idia Shroud

…worst person. Sorry. He’s worse than Leona. At least Leona is a part of a sport and still has to slightly take care of himself because of that. Idia has no motivation whatsoever. He is in his room nearly 24/7 with barely any contact outside. Never drinks water, barely eats (it's mostly snacks at that), and does he even sleep? Ortho is the one who does constant check-ins and brings him food and water. Although Ortho keeps constant health checks, he can’t help but be sad everytime he sees his brother push food to the side and forget about it. So if you’re looking for someone to help you with your habits I’m sorry but Idia will feed into your bad ones. If anything, it's Ortho helping you out. One time, you and Ortho had a little cooking hang out, and you brought a portion to Idia, and he ate it right away. It was then that Ortho found out a way to make you and his brother eat more. So expect more invites to cook with Ortho. In fact, he even got Idia to join! How fun! Even though the outcomes were more or less mid, you all had fun while making it. It got to the point that you and Ortho would keep challenging yourselves and would have Idia be your taste tester. Besides, how could he say no to you when you stared at him so expectantly? Just don’t ask why he never rates your food under a 7 out of 10. 

❥ Malleus Draconia

Fae’s and humans were similar and different. One big difference was how much one needed to consume in order to sustain themself. You’d think a dragon fae would need to eat a lot in order to sustain such a powerful body, but they actually eat less. So if anything, Malleus didn’t see anything abnormal about how little you ate or drank. So when you immediately fell back in your seat after attempting to stand up, Malleus had rushed to your side, unsure what was wrong. You smiled in a carefree manner while trying to wave away his worry, explaining how you probably should’ve eaten more. It was then that he realized he had been negligent about your health and went to Lilia for answers. He visibly paled when Lilia told him humans needed to eat at least three times a day and drink tons of water. Now you have a dragon fretting over you 24/7. He knew humans were fragile, but every day he finds out they’re more fragile than he originally thought which caused him to fuss over you. You needed to eat more, child of man, he doesn’t want you leaving him earlier than expected. Humans die if they don’t drink water for three days? He now carries a water bottle for you everywhere you go. You’ll never have to worry about forgetting to eat again…in fact, you’re probably pleading with Malleus to give you a break, you’ll die if you overeat too…which causes him to spiral again…

[typing-catastrophe]

Stanford Pines x audhd!reader hcs

💕 fluff

loves to listen to you ramble about your special interests and latest hyperfixation

"that sounds lovely, do tell me more"

makes sure to catch up on all the research done, reads every paper he can find on adhd and autism

puts together a profile on how they show themself in you (e.g. your symptoms and behaviour)

figures out through you that he himself is neurodivergent

will make sure you eat and get all the important nutritions. knows that you tend to only eat one thing or not at all. also makes sure you have your safe food on hand at all times

has a list of all the things you loved over time. food, media, sensory input, clothing styles, jewellery, decorations...

makes sure you don't forget anything important and reminds you of any appointments etc.

"dear, have you taken your meds already?"

helps you figure out what things help you cope (certain types of reminders, plans/to-do-lists, noise cancelling headphones, kinds of stimming...)

understands you need to rest and decompress after being out and leaves you alone if you need it

will give crushing hugs if you like the deep pressure. and i mean you will think your rips are about to crack.

i need this so bad and i only have like two people who actually do that and i rarely see them :')

comfortable silence

makes sure everyone closes doors silently and does not let them shut them loudly - will get angry if people disregard it. also warns you if an inevitable loud noise is going to happen so you can put your hands over your ears (like a door slamming shut because of a draft)

being hyped about the same thing and getting all excited together, rambling on an on about it

being in the same room but doing different things silently, fully content with it

learns that this feeling he has from time to time has a name. going non-vebal. and that it's absolutely okay

agreeing on/working out ways of doing specific things together - because some things just have a right way to be done. and that needs to be respected

reminding you not to be too hard on yourself

feels like the luckiest guy in the world when you share his interest and excitement for things

-------------------------------------------------- thank you for reading <3 reblogs are appreciated

a/n: requested by this lovely anon! connected to this post

[actual-changeling]

An angel and a demon walk into a bar.

It sounds like the beginning of a joke, one that would have annoyed Crowley greatly before- before. Maybe it would have been mildly amusing, were it not for the fact that it is a pub, not a bar (a mere technicality that somehow still mattered), and it is the first time in seven months that he is looking Aziraphale right in the face.

He chose the place, walked right out of the bookshop and across the street the second Aziraphale looked at him with his stupid purple eyes and opened his mouth. Same table, same drinks. New silence.

A demon leads an angel into a pub so he does not kiss him again.

Less of a joke, more like the beginning of a nightmare he has had every single time he tried to sleep, woken by whispered words either confirming his worst fears or greatest desires; both incite fear, one way or another.

The low table between them is enough of a barrier to prevent a repeat of their last interaction, it has to be, although this time Aziraphale is looking at him with violet-coloured longing and an apology on his lips, no longer pleading, no longer angry. He is asking for forgiveness, and if that isn't a deeply ironic twist of fate.

Before either of them says a single word, Crowley finishes his drink and raises his hand to order another one, clinging to the familiar sting of alcohol in his throat to burn away the questions lingering on his tongue.

An angel followed a demon into a pub because he loves him.

Aziraphale wishes he could tell himself Crowley looks like he did seven months ago, that he hasn't changed, but he is done lying to himself, to either of them. Behind his shades, dark, darker if that is even possible, he can feel his golden gaze heavy on his face, familiar and the answer to an empty longing in his chest.

His drink goes untouched as Crowley downs one, then another, and it is after the third that he finally begins to talk.

"What do you want?"

Bitter, sharp, spit at his feet with an anger he expected and yet doesn't know how to react to. Underneath it is pain—more pain than any being should ever have to experience—and instead of trying to carry some of it for him, he only added to it.

"I want to apologise."

"Fine." Crowley shoves his empty glass away and gets up. "I don't forgive you."

Reflexively, Aziraphale reaches out and curls his fingers around his wrist when Crowley tries to walk past him, blinking up at him with eyes the colour of dying Myosotis.

Forget-me-nots.

They both freeze, the point of contact a crack in the walls they have spent centuries building and seven months rebuilding, and he knows he has made a mistake immediately.

Crowley stares at him, still as stone, until he suddenly rips his arm out of his grasp, almost cradling it against his chest. With dawning horror, Aziraphale realises he is shaking, tremors running through him like waves breaking apart on a rocky shore.

"Don't you dare touch me." Panic, not anger. Pure, unfiltered panic blooming beside a mountain of fear that could outlast an eternity.

"I-" He doesn't know what he wants to say, what he is trying to say, what he needs to say to make him stay. Oh, the irony of it all.

Crowley leaves the pub, and the Supreme Archangel stays behind.

Not a demon anymore, not technically, he is done with sides, and deeds, and choices; he never makes the right ones anyway. His wrist hurts with the ghost of a kiss, and he cannot get the glint of purple where summer sky blue should be out of his head. 

The Bentley is waiting for him, providing an escape from the noise, the people, him.

Apologies instead of I'm coming back.

A sickening aura of holiness tinged with the burn of ozone instead of books and dust and soft, silly angel.

Seven months of waiting, of pleading with God, of cursing Her, cursing him, cursing the entire fucking world for taking and taking and taking from him without pause, without even a fragment of mercy.

For this.

An angel returns to heaven. Crowley curses the stars and cries.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 24 Lambs to the slaughter

Chapter 24 of Moonlight

A/N- *TEHEHE*

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy and SA, angst, fluff!!!, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 465-469 & just a part of 480

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

Aemond. What of Aemond? Aemond this. Aemond that. Aemond, Aemond, Aemond is all you hear, it’s all anyone talks to you about like if you’re his keeper, like if…

They think it’s easy growing to hate him like they despise him, but have they really asked if it’s easy for you to view him with anything but with the eyes of love? Have they considered the fact that you grew up together, that even despite your feuding families, he and you never treated each other with anything but kindness? Don't they remember that you have a son together and have two more children on the way?

Did they forget that you married each other months before your supposed date?

Just because you left his side weeks prior doesn’t mean that you still don’t harbor the same feelings of deep love, because you do. You still hold hope and great love for Aemond—it’s a sickening fact for them to comprehend maybe; he did kill Lucerys and your grandmother. Your mother also has Daemon by her side so she doesn’t yearn, Baela is heartbroken but she loved Jacaerys, someone on the same side of the war so she could never understand, and Rhaena hasn’t found anyone to love so dearly and deeply so she doesn’t understand the ripping pain one feels when they mention killing him as easy it is to breathe; and you hope she never gets to feel such torment.

Maybe if Cregan was by your side, forgetting the love you hold for Aemond would be easier, but he’s leagues away and will remain leagues away. Thus you’re stuck being tortured with each word uttered in the Small Council hall, feeling like a blade is sinking deeper into your flesh.

“Would you have me pardon the Kinslayer, the False King, and Daeron as well?” Your mother presses your grandfather, making you suck in your cheek and gnaw on the inside as you let the winter sun bask your face as it casts through the glass doors—“Would you have me send them to the faith like Helaena and Alicent? They who stole my throne and slew my sons?”

You can hear the anger in her voice, the utter disbelief brought by such a daring suggestion.

“Spare them and send them to the wall,” your grandfather dares to continue sharing despite the visceral anger in your mother's tone. “Let them take the black and live out their lives as men of the Night’s Watch, bound by sacred vows.”

Daemon scoffs and Baela retorts against your grandfather. “What are sacred vows worth when you have dragons there to accompany you and give you an escape from such a fate?”

That’s true. There’s no use sparing them and sending them to the wall if their dragons still live, and you can’t imagine either of the three men letting their dragons go.

“And what are vows to oathbreakers?” Your mother echoes. “Their vows did not trouble them when they took my throne.”

“Giving pardons to rebels and traitors will only sow the seeds for fresh rebellions,” Daemon interjects to agree with your mother, making you dig your nails in your palms as more and more come to an agreement over something that you already knew was going to happen. Yet it never felt as real as it does now as they finally agree on the fate of your husband.

“The war will only end when the heads of the traitors are mounted on spikes above the King’s Gate, and not before,” Daemon adds. “Aegon will be found in time hiding under some rock, and I alone will finally depart to go after Aemond.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as his threatening words steal your breath and finally shove the rest of that sharp blade into your chest.

“Baela and I could go after Daeron,” you suggest and spin around to face the table of people, catching your mother snapping her head toward you and looking at you with horror she can barely hide—“Daeron’s dragon is small, Astraea and Moondancer can easily bring him down together. Or I could go with Addam and Seasmoke, Astraea and Seasmoke are well acquainted, they work well together.”

Both Baela and Addam don’t speak to argue, they look at you with determination, but your mother shakes her head right away without as much as thinking about it. “No…no. You are with child,” she finds the best and most effective excuse. “And you are my heir. I cannot put you at risk.”

You blink in disbelief and then slowly walk towards the table to argue. “It’s because I’m heir that I should be out fighting. When I was with the Green Army, men were more inspired when I spent my time with them. Now imagine when the army of men sees me fighting with them. The crown has to be seen fighting with the army, and if not you then I should do it.”

Your mother challenges your narrowed gaze but before she can counter, your grandfather does. “The Queen and you are both right,” he says but neither of you or your mother let go of each other's gazes—“You should be seen fighting along with our men, but you are with child, and already far out. It’s dangerous. Perhaps once the babes are born you can go out on dragonback again.”

“Then what am I supposed to do until them?” You ask with a scoff.

“Learn by my side,” your mother snaps back, making you hold her gaze for a tense second before you realize that you won’t win against her, so you roll your eyes away and return to your seat around the table, causing Ser Cane to push the chair in for you the moment you sit.

The truth is you knew the answer before your mother could say it but you were hoping that you were wrong. But nope.

“Ser Hugh and Ser Ulf can take the war to Daeron,” Daemon offers a solution. “They will fly to Tumbleton to help defend the town as it stands between the Hightower army and the city, and that’s where they will at last destroy the dragon and the boy.”

You glance at Ser Ulf, and right away as if he can sense your gaze, Ser Ulf spares you a glance and sits up rigidly before averting his gaze and agreeing to Daemon’s plan.

“It will be an easy feat for Silverwing and I sense you lot say the dragon is only a babe.” He still manages to be stupid, making you roll your eyes.

“My wife resides at Tumbleton with her brother,” Ser Hugh speaks with more grace. “Vermithor and I will fight with our lives.”

Your mother nods gently in appreciation and comprehension before her attention returns to her husband as he interjects. “The Lannister’s and the Baratheon’s should be destroyed as well, so their lands may be given to men who have proved to be more loyal, such as Ser Hugh and Ser Ulf,” he says ever so calmly as if he didn’t just utter the worst thing he could possibly ever suggest. And you don’t stand alone in your horror, your grandfather quickly shares his disagreement with the outlandish idea.

“Half the Lords of Westeros will turn against us if we are so cruel as to destroy two ancient and noble houses.”

Ser Ulf’s eyes that were quick to bulge out at the idea of being a Lord, then slowly droop back to normal as he hears the quick protest. And you don’t make him any happier since you too speak up against the terrible idea.

“My grandfather is right, we will lose this war if we just give the noble houses away to people who were nothing but strangers mere months ago,” you don’t shy away from being so bold even if the men share a look.

“We,” you pause and sigh, choosing to sit back with your back straight and your nose slowly rising in the air. “We can offer them pardons and fair terms. Nothing more and nothing less, they still rebelled against the crown. They should be grateful that we are not asking for their heads.”

Your grandfather looks at you and offers you an agreeing nod and a proud smile before he turns to your mother and Daemon. “The Princess is right. Her suggestion is wise.”

Your mother and Daemon share a speechless look before she focuses on her clasped hands and thinks for a moment, letting a silence blanket over the table in which you find Ser Ulf again and make him squirm once more.

Addam catches you torturing the man this time and finds your gaze to shake his head at you and share a twitching smile that he doesn’t let himself fully express. You albeit don’t feel shame, you beam at him in return before you look away and return your focus to your mother.

“Alright,” your mother breaks the silence and drags her eyes up. “I will follow the Princess’s suggestion, but only after we put an end to the usurper, the Kinslayer, and Daeron.”

Your amusement dies and you look at the table with conflict.

“Once they are dead, the rest will bend the knee,” your mother continues to spew. “Slay their dragons so I may mount their heads upon the walls of my throne room. Let the men look upon them in the years to come so they might know the cost of treason.”

You agree with her, you want to show your support, but Aemond comes to mind and you can't muster the will to want him dead. You only hurt at the thought.

“Very well, so we are agreed then,” Daemon interjects and nobody voices any protest, bringing a conclusion to the matter.

“Good, now we can go to our respective tasks,” your mother chimes in. “Daemon will go after Aemond. Ser Hugh and Ser Ulf will set off to Tumbleton. Rhaena will return to the Eyrie with Morning to at last go through our part of our pact so Lady Arryn may finally send her men. Baela will return to Dragonstone to defend it, and Addam will remain here to defend the city. Seasmoke, Astraea, and Syrax will suffice for the defense of the city.”

You nod lightly without looking back at her since your thoughts have all returned to Aemond, to the point you stay glued to your seat until it’s just Ser Cane, your mother, and you in that hall.

“What is it?” Your mother tries to probe, but when you meet her gaze you offer her a soft smile and a different response than the one she was looking for.

“May I go with the others to the Dragonpit so I may take Astraea out? I’d rather have her out so she’s able to just fly in and fight if the need arises.”

Your mother nods right away. “I don’t see why not. Ser Cane, why don’t you accompany her, the others will depart with their dragons, I don’t want the princess to return alone.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Ser Cane assures your mother of something he had already planned to do.

“Thank you, Mother,” you offer her before you finally rise from your chair and leave with Ser Cane, Rhaena, Baela, Daemon, and the other two Dragonriders toward the Dragonpit. Albeit the carriage is taking a longer way to avoid the smallfolk's wrath considering taxes were raised and they don’t like that they did.

“So Rhaena,” you interject in the silence and drift your gaze to her across from you. “Are you ready to shove it in the face of the old hag that you have a fierce dragon now?”

Rhaena scoffs and shares an amused smile with Baela before she responds. “She’s not old.”

You shrug and flick your wrist. “She was a bitch, so it’s the same thing. Shove it in her face.”

Rhaena smiles at her hands and you lean toward her. “Are there any cute knights or wards there?” You continue to pester her to make the ride more tolerable. “Someone who’s caught your eye?”

Rhaena’s eyes widen and she passes her father an awkward look before she looks back at you and whispers your name, making you scoff in amusement. “What? I can ask, I’m a married woman with a child, there’s nothing wrong with it. Ah! I can introduce you to some Northnermen if you want.”

Rhaena sinks further in her seat and Baela nudges your arm so you can keep teasing her sister, letting Daemon see the remnants of what you all used to be before this war tore your old selves to shreds.

“There’s Addam too,” you say and giggle. “Mayhaps you can stay here and…keep watch with the good knight.” You nod and Baela grins. “For I am too far along in this pregnancy to do a thing.”

“Stop,” she whispers and turns her head away to look out the window.

“I know! I’ll slip something in your late-night teas and toss you in a boat!” You exclaim. “Nothing screams romance like a good adventure!”

“Oh, a good adventure?” Baela whispers in your ear. “Is that what you and Lord Stark did?”

You snap your head to her and push her gently. “Baela,” you hiss between laughter.

“Oh and Addam is good with kids, Aerion adores him,” you keep trying to warm Rhaena to Addam. “And he’s funny and sweet.”

“Then you marry him,” she mutters, making you and Baela laugh.

“Oh well if Aemond dies, then Baela and I have decided to travel to Yi-Ti and there we will find our husbands bathed in gold,” you share lightheartedly as you and Baela hold each other's gaze and try not to burst out laughing. “If not well I hear Dorne has some very handsome bachelors. Or well…we’re up for anything really.”

Rhaena rolls her eyes and you and Baela just share a teasing smile before you pat her leg and let your face fall soft yet serious. “It’s not wrong to let yourself find some pleasures, Rhaena. It’s a war not the end of the world, so don’t forsake your heart's desires.”

Finally, Rhaena looks over at you and loses that annoyance she carried on her face and offers you a soft look before she nods in comprehension, making you smile at her before you drop your gaze and caress your belly as both Aemond and Cregan come to mind.

Will you curse your twins because you let your heart love too freely?

You didn’t mean to, but you couldn’t help what you felt either. He was oh so kind, his love just consumed you, and Aemond…you loved him since you were a little girl. Not because in the back of your head, you knew that you would be married off since you were Targaryen, no, your love for him was born from your own desires. Your love for him consumed you too. And now you’re paying the price.

What a travesty...

Not loving them, just the complication of it all.

Nevertheless, the rest of the ride to the Dragonpit is silent since everyone’s mind is on their tasks, on the war, and the worry over the Smallfolk possibly seeing the carriage.

They don’t but it's not like you would have worried either way because as messy as it would've been, Daemon and Ser Cane are with you. They would’ve handled things a lot better than Aegon’s Kingsguard did when it came to protecting Helaena and Alicent that one time.

Yet, since you weren't spotted in the carriage or walking in the Dragonpit, you all had an easy transition from the carriage to the pit where you go to unchain Astraea yourself.

“<Hello, my girl,” you greet your dragon who already has her eyes set on you. “I’m here to free you at long last.>”

Astraea groans and you chuckle as you pat her side.

“<I know you’re upset, but now you can be with Seasmoke, and hunt over the water with your heart's desire,>” you tell her which she huffs to in response.

Once you set her free she shakes her neck like a dog shakes their body and then turns her head to press her snout against your belly.

“<Ah,” you breathe out and caress her. “Yes, they’re getting bigger. Heavier too.>”

Astraea keeps her snout pressed against your belly, causing the babes inside you to start moving which in turn makes you start smiling in awe.

“Oh,” you coo before you lean down and press a kiss on the top of your dragon's snout, making her open her eyes and pull her head back to look at you with her pupils wide and focused on you. “<Are you still mad at me?>” You ask before you shoot her a grin and then turn around. “<Go out, I’m going to get Shyrkos out for Aerion.>”

Astraea does as you say and you do as said, taking Shyrkos out of her crate and letting her perch herself on your shoulder before she wraps her long tail around your neck. The moment you’re out of the caves you see that Rhaena and Baela had stayed behind to wait for you, albeit Astraea and Moondancer have both put a good distance between them and the wild dragon Morning, choosing to ignore her existence and sticking close together instead.

“Be careful, the both of you,” you direct at the twins. “And Rhaena, please no more running off.”

“The same goes for you,” she redirects, making you smile at the ground but say nothing in return.

“If you find yourselves in trouble send a raven,” you let them know. “I will try to be there. Or you know, I will let someone know.”

Baela scoffs and closes the gap between you to pat your belly before she grabs your hands and gives them a comforting squeeze.

“By the time I see you again you might have already birthed twins,” she says with a tiny smile. “I hope they're boys. Jace bet that you were going to have all boys. All seven of your children.”

Your breath hitches and your eyes soften at the sweet mention. “Did he now?” You ask softly. “Well, I hope he’s wrong. Aemond and I want girls.”

Baela grows physically disgusted at the mention of your husband's name so you leave it at that and just work towards ending the conversation. “Well, I hope Jace’s ghost knows he will be wrong.”

A sad smile appears on her lips and you mirror it before you stroke her knuckles with your fingers. “Until we see each other again, cousin. Take care.”

Baela meets your gaze and nods softly. “Until we see each other again.”

You offer each other one last smile before you meet up with Rhaena, and unlike Baela, you grab Rhaena’s cheeks, and she cups yours before you embrace each other.

“Don't strain yourself okay?” She tells you sweetly.

You nod but you can’t truly mean it, you just nod to assure her. “Don't get too wild now that you have a dragon, hm?”

She scoffs softly and nods too. Does she mean it or is she just assuring you like you did with her? Who knows, but you can’t pick at it so you let it be and trust that she’ll do the right thing.

“Take care,” she says as she pulls away.

“You too,” you return the comment before you step back and watch the twins go to their dragons. When Baela has mounted Moondancer, and Rhaena has mounted Morning and starts holding on for dear life since the dragon keepers say that the wild dragon is too old and wild now to be saddled, you walk them all the way to the exit, choosing to remain hidden under the shadows of the Dragonpit so you’re not seen by onlookers as you watch your cousins descend to the skies and get lost in the clouds.

After they're gone you stay where you are and Astraea walks to the exit to wait for your okay to leave since you haven’t mounted her to descend to the skies together.

“<Go,>” you let her go free from the confinements of the dragonpit which she probably thinks is a dungeon, and once she is also lost in the clouds you crave some freedom as well before you return to the Red Keep.

“Why don’t we walk back to the Red Keep,” you tell Ser Cane as he walks up to you.

“It wouldn’t be wise,” he says right away, making you turn to face him and throw a hood over your head that covers your hair and keeps Shrykos hidden.

“And if I close my cloak,” you trail on as you button your cloak and hide your elegant and expensive gown. “My gown is hidden. See. I am like them now.”

Ser Cane tilts his head up and looks at you with a quizzical brow. “I could overpower you and force you on the carriage,” he shares but not as a threat, more as a warning. “It would save my heart from strain.”

You flash him a smile. “Strain? Ser, it’s a simple walk. Besides I need it, the twins need it. The Maester says it’s healthy to walk. I must walk actually.”

Ser Cane draws in a deep breath as he narrows his gaze to a pointed look and weighs whether to disobey your desire or give in.

“It’s a long walk,” he says as he puts his hands on his hips. “We walk halfway. The carriage will be waiting for us at that halfway point so we can ride the rest of the way back home. It’s that or I sweep you off your feet here and now.”

You hold his gaze for a moment, feeling your smile turn to a grin before you beam at him and nod. “Okay,” you give in without a fight, making him sigh deeply in annoyance before he walks away to let the carriage driver know about the plan, leaving you waiting under the exit, wishing for the sun to return and once again bask you with its warmth.

Alas, the clouds are greedy and steal the sun’s spotlight, forcing you to bask in a winter chill instead, but you don’t curse it and wish to disappear, you welcome its cold embrace and you can only do that so easily because you’ve been surrounded by a colder climate. Otherwise, you too would cower inside your home to stay close to your fire, and not even dream about walking amongst the people who need to be out and about in the coldness, and those who don’t mind the winter's chill, like you do when you leave the Dragonpit.

“…barbarity! Demons!”

Shouts catch your attention, taking your gaze to a cobbler square down the street from the Dragonpit.

“They crawled out of the pits of the Seven Hells!” A skinny man proclaims to no one. No one is gathered around him, but he still carries this passion in his eyes and in his voice that doesn't let him care that he speaks to an empty square. “They are unnatural creatures made by sorceries of Valyria!”

You finally come to a complete stop and become the old man’s only listener.

“They are a curse upon our earth! Both Dragons and Targaryens alike!” He keeps proclaiming and shaking his fist and stump.

“Princess let’s keep moving,” Ser Cane presses as he grabs your arm, but you stay put, forcing him to stay behind like a tall lurking shadow.

“Risen from the vile cesspit where brother lay with sister and mother with son…”

You scoff at the lie and mutter. “Sheep.”

“…where men rode demons into battle whilst their women spread their legs for the dogs!” He continues and this time one single person takes their time to stop not so far from him and listen to the trash that comes out of his stinking mouth.

“Sheep,” Ser Cane echoes. “But in a time of fear the Shepherdless sheep gather around the bravest of them,” he speaks wisely, making you step back to fall by his side instead and continue to watch the old dirty man, but also steal glimpses at your sworn protector.

“The Targaryens escaped the doom, fleeing across the seas to Dragonstone, but the gods are not mocked!” The man follows up with more cruel words. “Now the second doom is at hand!”

“Yes,” the single person agrees, making the corner of your lips curl to a displeased frown.

“The False King and Whore Queen shall be cast down with all their works,” the old man continues to shout. “And their demon beasts shall perish from this earth!”

You fist your hands and start to narrow your gaze to a piercing glare.

“The Whore Queen birthed a demon who disguises itself as an alluring siren, but it walks amongst fire! It’s a Fire Demon!”

“Infected sheep should be taken out before it infects the rest of the flock,” you speak to your sworn protector as you keep your eyes trained on the old man spewing nothing but false claims.

“He’s an innocent and ill man, Princess,” Ser Cane responds without hesitation so his own advice doesn't go unheard. “Take him down now and the tension between the crown and smallfolk increases. They are looking for any wrong step to use as an excuse to revolt.”

You hum and study the scene while you listen carefully. “All those who stand with them will die as well! Only by cleansing King’s Landing of dragons and their masters can Westeros hope to avoid the fate of Valyria!”

“Fear clings to anger,” you speak up and slowly take your eyes off the dirty old man. “If we let him speak he can attract attention, but a shepherdless flock leads themselves to the slaughter.”

“Aye,” Ser Cane agrees. “So it’s said.”

“We either let him snuff himself out, or let the infection spread until that takes them all out.” You finish saying and then meet Ser Cane’s gaze to seek his thoughts.

“Yes, in matters like these, there’s no penetrating them. Not us…”

“They’ll see it as an attack. They’ll believe he’s right, turning them all against us,” you continue for your sworn protector. “If attention is what he manages to get, that is.”

Ser Cane hums. “Exactly. Best leave it be. Now come on.”

You hum and steal one last glimpse at the old man, but don’t let your gaze linger so he doesn’t catch you staring and manages to recognize you.

Yet even as you continue walking away you continue to probe on the matter. “If the infection doesn’t kill then, if they don’t lead themselves to slaughter…then what?” You ask. “If we kill them that would hurt us. His word and belief would be spread and kept alive.”

Ser Cane sighs and parts his lips to give you an answer. Yet before he can he points his chin at you. “What do you think we would do at that point?”

You blink and look around to find your thoughts, finding one in particular that you pick on. “If one person turns too many then…we infiltrate them, tear them down from the inside so they think they sabotaged themselves. That would turn his words and belief to nothing because the people want to be angry, but they won't want to suffer the same fate so their same fear will disillusion them.” You say and quickly return your gaze to Ser Cane, noticing his lips tug to a smile.

“Wise. Spoken like a true heir,” he praises you, making you smile proudly.

——

*NOT SO MUCH LATER*

“Just down there,” you let Addam know as he follows you downhill where you would sneak off to train, where ocean waves hit the stone platform, and you’re far from the busybodies that occupy the castle and have a chance at disbursing your peace.

“Are you sure?” Addam queries hesitantly from behind you before he jogs down to fall by your side. “I mean I don’t want someone to get the wrong idea.”

A smile flashes on your lips and you show your amusement to Addam before you tap your belly. “The wrong idea with these two? I’m sorry but given my current state I’m not considered desirable, so no one will think a bad thing at all.”

He huffs. “I think that carrying children doesn’t make you any less beautiful,” he tries to assure you.

“Thank you, Addam, but…it’s complicated, besides, Ser Cane is with us. He'll stop you before you can even form a mischievous plan, isn’t that right Ser?”

“I’ll push you in the water and no one will be the wiser,” he deadpans, making Addam confused on whether he’s joking or not since Addam can’t read Ser Cane like you can.

“He’s joking,” you soothe Addam’s worry before you nudge his arm. “Should I worry about you? You're quiet.”

Addam meets your gaze and parts his lips, but he lets a breath of air escape first before he forms his words. “Why do you trust me so wholeheartedly and not the other two? I haven’t given you a reason to deserve your devotion and yet you are devoted to me. I…” he trails off and drops his head, bringing you to a slow stop and forcing him to one too that has quite the distance in between.

“I am no one yet you treat me like you’ve known me our whole lives. In a way no one else has. No one here I mean,” he continues to say, making your lips form to a pitiful frown—“You have every reason to look at me the same way you did at the Gullet. The Velaryon name doesn’t change who I really am, so why?”

You swallow back a thick lump that forms in your throat and study his face twisted with insecurity and confusion.

“I…tend to trust too blindly,” you admit in a lighthearted tone. “It’s a problem that’s been brought to my attention before, so maybe you’re right, maybe I should doubt trusting you. I shouldn't rely on my beliefs, but,” you pause and take a couple of steps closer to him before you come to a stop and continue softer and with a hint of sorrow in your voice. “The truth is that you out of everyone here has made me feel less alone.”

You catch him by surprise, making him lift his eyes off the floor to look at you with disbelief—“That day at the Gullet I was a bitch, I was insecure about what I thought you were going to take away from Aerion and I had no right. I was wrong and I'm sorry. You are a very great guy from what I’ve witnessed so far, and ever since that night at the dinner, you’ve kept me from sinking into a pit of darkness.”

His breath catches and his lips twitch to a smile. “And you…have saved me from feeling alone without my brother while I stay in this strange place,” he shares, making you slowly grin. “So thank you for trusting me.”

You nod softly and blink repeatedly as tears sting your eyes. “Thank you…for reminding me how it feels like to laugh. It’s been only a couple weeks but having nowhere to go has made it feel like we’ve known each other for years.”

He laughs and nods in agreement. “It really does.”

You share a breathless laugh before you close the gap between you to pat his chest with your fist, making him look at the gesture before he lifts his fist and mirrors your actions, but in a much more gentle manner. It’s like a light feathered touch that you still feel and leaves you lingering in his presence for a moment longer before you finally continue down your path side by side.

“You know I always had these big dreams,” Addam shares. “And now that I’m out here doing something it's nothing like how I expected it to be.”

You sigh deeply. “Yes,” you talk softly. “I understand what you mean. Do you regret any of it though?”

Addam shakes his head. “Not yet.”

You pat his back and praise him. “Good for you.”

He meets your gaze and offers you a tiny smile. “Thank you.”

You chuckle before you skip forward to get a bit ahead of him. “Tell me, Addam. Now I'm being serious, how many sailor shanties do you know?” You probe and peer at him over your shoulder.

“Many but unfortunately I was not blessed with the right set of pipes to sing any,” he says before he shoots you a pointed look. “I hear you have a gifted voice. The Siren of Driftmark is your name, no?”

You flash him a smirk over your shoulder before you nod proudly. “Yes. I love singing, that's why I asked if you know sailor shanties. I want to learn more, and with my father gone, I have to rely on you. It’s too bad you can’t sing though, we could’ve formed a band.” You frown dramatically before you spin around and face your sworn protector.

“Can you play an instrument or sing, Ser?” You direct your question at Ser Cane, causing the man to lay his eyes on you and remain quiet for a long moment hoping you’d drop it, but you wait with your eyes on him the entire time.

“I can play the lute…quite well,” he reveals, making you beam at him.

“Great! Thank you for sharing, I shall keep it in mind for my own personal advantage,” you tease him before you turn back around and face the platform you’re approaching. “Thank you by the way Addam, for agreeing to come train with me.”

Said man scoffs. “You didn’t really give me an option. Using your power over me kind of forced me to train with you.”

“I had to,” you remark. “No one else will because I am with child. And a woman.” You complain with annoyance before your tone quickly flips to excitement. “But I do plan to keep my promise and teach you how to do archery from your dragon. I must teach you on the ground first though, I can’t just throw you in the water and tell you to swim.”

He hums and then giggles at your choice of words before he picks up his pace to walk at your side and reach the platform at the same time.

Yet, the moment you step foot on the stone ground a racing pair of footsteps echo, stealing your attention to the incomer who turns out to be Ser Jason.

“I’m sorry to disturb you Princess, but, the Queen Dowager has requested an audience in the throne room,” Ser Jason shares between heavy pants.

Yet as out of breath as he is you don’t take his news seriously. “The Queen can handle it by herself. I’ll stay here for this audience.”

Ser Jason shakes his head. “No,” he breathes out. “Alicent requested an audience with you alone in the Throne Room.”

You’re hit with overwhelming curiosity, slight surprise, and annoyance only because of course Alicent is requesting an audience with you without the presence of the Queen in her own throne room. It makes you wonder what she’s up to.

“All right.” You nod lightly before you draw in a small breath to give Ser Jason a command. “Let the Queen know of the audience. I want her to go.”

Without hesitation Ser Jason nods before he turns around and runs off again, letting you turn to Addam with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, perhaps we can come back later, or tomorrow. Is that fine?”

Addam nods, of course, and reassures you so you don’t feel guilty. “Of course it’s fine.”

You offer him a thankful smile before you retake the path you just walked and return to the Red Keep. Once you’re inside and approaching the Throne Room, you don’t linger back to wait for your mother. You know she’ll join you eventually, she’d be curious as to what Alicent could possibly want; that’s why you let the guards open the doors for you and let Alicent see you and believe that you're there to fulfill her request without an ulterior motive.

She must think you’re like her and her children, but you’re not and the moment you strut down the room with your nose in the air, bathing yourself in every beam of light that casts through the windows on the walls, she sees that. She didn’t want to see it before out of her own hate and pride, but as her eyes follow you down the great hall she sees just how much your presence alone steals the breath of the great hall.

She looks at you now and it’s like the sun came out of hiding to shine just for you. Viserys would tell you that all the time, “the sun shines just for you,” he would say from the moment you were born and he laid eyes on you for the first time. Alicent’s stomach always twisted with jealousy so she refused to acknowledge anything great about you, but here you are now, walking past her without sparing her a glance, as if you don’t exist in the same realm and she sees it. She sees you and you are what every heir should strive themselves to be.

You are everything her children could never be. She sees that and realizes how much Aegon would have benefited from marrying you instead, but then again you would have eaten him alive. Aemond and you could have been such a glorious example of what a ruling couple should be, but you are right, he is the way he is because of her, she wronged him. She wronged them all, she sees that and so much more, but doesn’t acknowledge it. She can’t, so she pushes it to the back of her head and instead notes that you don’t even climb the steps to the throne. You keep yourself at the foot of the stairs that lead to the throne and take command from there.

“Goodmother,” you greet her with surprise. “What a surprise.”

Alicent curtsies, causing her golden chains to rattle. When she’s up right again she meets your gaze and you continue to fill the silence. “To what do I owe this surprise? I mean an audience in the throne room without her grace is quite the scandal.” You chuckle dryly.

It’s almost like she herself had an ulterior motive. It’s like she wanted you to feel superior and steal control above your mother.

“I’ve come to plead for your help,” she reveals, piquing your interest. “I heard of your mother's plan to slaughter my sons and I must ask you to save them.”

Your lips slightly part in surprise but before you can think of uttering a word she continues.

“You love Aemond. You are married to him and share a beautiful child. Y-you were on our side once, so I must ask you to change again, to save Aemond, to help Daeron who is innocent in this war. And Aegon…”

You raise an eyebrow to await what comes out of her mouth for him.

“He’s an invalid now. He can’t father any more children. He’s a cripple. He will be no threat I swear, just please—You who has the power and the skill, please help me. Save them. Save Aemond and you can be the ones on the throne instead,” she pleads desperately with actual tears creeping out of her big brown eyes. “Please.”

You narrow your gaze to watch her closely and just as you gather a breath to respond, the doors open and your mother, the Queen walks in, pausing in her stride to look at Alicent who now looks baffled by your mother’s presence.

“Your Grace,” you greet her with a mischievous smirk as you curtsy. When she reaches you you move aside to let her walk past you before you swiftly turn around and follow after her. Albeit you stop by the Iron Throne to stand beside it and let her be at the center of attention to take command now.

“The Dowager Queen has sought my audience to beg the mercy of her children,” you tell your mother to catch her up. “She wants me to spare them from their fate, but Daeron is no innocent boy. He’s slaughtered men with the armies because of the war you helped start. And Aegon,” you pause to scoff finding it crazy that you have to tell her why he’s not worth saving.

“Did you know he barged in my quarters when Aemond left for Rook’s Rest,” you begin to share, feeling your mother's eyes on you, and seeing Alicent’s hurt at what you’re preparing to share—“It was no friendly visit. He didn’t come looking for his brother, he went in there drunk looking for me. Do you know why?”

Alicent averts her gaze and with that look alone you know she has an idea. Yet you still share it.

“It seems you have some idea, but I’ll share it anyway. He went there to grope me, to assault me while Aemond was gone because he knew I wouldn't fight back. He would’ve gone further if it wasn’t for my sworn protector barging in,” you sneer and glare at her for demanding the mercy of such a disgusting man—“I can’t imagine what he’s done to other poor girls who weren’t as lucky, but I’m sure you can and still you want me to save him? And all behind the Queen's back?” You scoff and look at her with disgust as you go quiet and let your mother interject now.

“Is this your plan Alicent? Scheme behind my back hoping my daughter will betray me? Then again why am I surprised? You promised to surrender Aegon and the Red Keep, and your son was gone proving you a liar. So I’m not surprised that you stoop so low,” your mother seethes, and Alicent shakes her head before she tilts it up to meet your mother's gaze and finally give a response.

“Is trying to save my children stooping low when it’s something you yourself would have done in my position? Can you blame me for trying to save them from such a fate?” She cries. “Is that a sin?”

Your mother shakes her head. “No,” she says back. “But going behind my back hoping to plot something with my heir is.”

“And she proved ever so loyal,” Alicent mutters. “I praise you for that, but please hear me,” she begs as she falls to her knees, making you and your mother share a look before you return your attention to Alicent.

“We can divide the realm. You could have the Vale of Arryn, the North, the Crownlands, all the lands watered by the Trident, and the Isles,” Alicent shares, making you smile at the floor—“Aegon could have the Stormlands, the Westerlands, and the Reach, to be ruled from Oldtown. Please,” she pleads with tears crawling down her cheeks and eyes, and that desperation breaking her voice.

Alas, your mother doesn’t even debate what she asks. She gives her a response immediately. “No.” She feigns a laugh and scorns her. “Your sons might have had places in my court if they had kept faith, but they sought to rob me of my birthright, and the blood of my sons is on their hands.”

Alicent drops to her hands and mutters something you and your mother manage to catch. “Bastard blood, shed at war.”

You quickly look to your mother and she rises from the throne right away but stays where she is to snap back.

Yet before she can Alicent continues to throw out her angry filled words. “How many more must die to slake your thirst for vengeance?”

“You tell me,” your mother spats. “If you hadn’t raised your son to take my throne their lives wouldn’t be put at risk, your lover and your brother wouldn’t be dead, and you would not be in chains, but alas these are the consequences of your actions.” She huffs and walks to where you are to continue. “Speak again of bastardy, and I will have your tongue out.”

Your mother turns swiftly and storms out. You linger behind and face Alicent to speak about her. “Have her locked in her chambers with no more visits from her daughter or grandchildren. If she wants to plot behind the Queen's back again, have her tongue cut out, and then we can decide where she goes.”

“Princess,” the guards say in comprehension and then bow their heads before they grab Alicent’s arms, whilst the Dowager Queen herself snaps her head up and looks at you with her eyes widened in horror.

“Your Grace?!” Alicent asks for your mother's support and your mother stops in her tracks but only supports you.

“Do as the Princess says. It will serve as punishment for what she tried to scheme today.”

You flash Alicent a sweet smile laced with malice before you give her your back and follow after your mother, finding yourself catching up to her right away and following at her side instead.

“Forgive me, Mother,” you interject once you put some distance between you and the throne room. “For giving Alicent that punishment just now and putting you in a difficult position where you had to choose my choice.”

“No,” your Mother doesn’t hesitate to answer. “You don’t have to apologize. It had to be done. She tried to scheme behind my back. She’s lucky that her punishment wasn’t more severe.”

Yet she’s unlucky that she got a punishment. Alicent almost returned to her quarters without consequence and all for what? Your mother's soft spot for her?

Then again can you blame her when you have your own soft spot for Aemond?

“You were quick and smart with the choice,” she praises you sweetly. “Good job.”

You can’t help yourself, you let a proud smile tug on your lips as those words have a way to make you feel flustered.

“I want you to accompany me to my chambers before we go visit the children,” your mother interjects with a colder shift in her voice, but when you face her you don’t see disappointment or something that tells you that she feels concerned and therefore you should too. You instead see her lips formed into a frown and her eyes slowly filling with conflict.

“Alright,” you give in and do as she says, proceeding to follow her to her quarters and see her walk to her bed to sit on the edge before patting the empty seat next to her.

You flash her a look of confusion but you also don’t sense that you should stay put or be hesitant, so you take her offer and lock eyes to speechlessly question why you’re in the position you’re in now.

“Why,” she begins quietly and drops her gaze. You follow her line of gaze, catching her fiddling with her rings—“Why didn’t you tell me about what Aegon did?” She finally asks what was troubling her mind and what made her bring you here. And you expect to feel tears, but your chest just tightens as you recall that memory.

“The truth is,” you pause and take a minute to collect your thoughts before you scale your eyes up and look at her averted gaze. “I’ve been trying to forget because maybe I was over dramatic. I…told Alicent now to make her feel bad and give her a reason why Aegon out of all her sons can’t be saved.”

Your mother slowly brings her eyes up and catches your gaze with her eyes brimming with tears and her eyebrows knitted together as anger, pity, and agony also fill her heart and become present in her features.

“But it’s not over dramatic. Aegon…he still took advantage of his power to take advantage of you,” she says as her voice breaks and trembles out of guilt. “It’s not over dramatic and I’m sorry you had to be in that position because of me. Because you wanted to fight for our cause.”

You lean forward and grab her hands to try and offer her consolation. “Don't blame yourself, okay? It was not because of you and it was not because of anyone else. The only one to blame is Aegon, okay? Just him.” You whisper and stroke her knuckles, causing your mother to look down at the way you’re softly caressing her before her eyes find yours again, and she then suddenly embraces you.

“I’m still sorry it happened,” she whispers and cups the back of your head to press you firmly against her.

Your smile trembles as the corner of your lips pull up to a wobbly smile. Yet as much as you feel the need to, you don’t cry, you hold your tears back and put all your emotions into clutching onto her as if fearing her comfort and her warmth will disappear if you don’t hold onto her. “Thank you,” you share your gratitude before burying your face in the crook of her neck.

After a while of being wrapped in each other's embrace you pull back but just enough to lay your head on her shoulder and have her lay her head on top of yours.

“Did you tell anyone at least? I would hate that you kept it in for so long,” she says softly in the silence, and you nod gently.

“I told Aemond, he comforted me about it and only spared Aegon because he was already half dead.” You scoff with amusement and find yourself smiling softly like some love-struck fool as you remember Aemond’s comfort.

“Hm,” your mother hums and you can sense her judgment, but she doesn’t say a thing about it, choosing silence over saying something offensive. She just can’t fathom Aemond, introverted, black sheep, and kinslayer Aemond being anything but angry.

“Are you…worried about Daemon?” You change the subject as you let yourself touch on a specific matter in hopes of relating to someone about this pit in your stomach that you feel every time you think about Aemond when you’re apart.

“When he’s away I mean,” you clarify. “When he’s in a dangerous situation like now. Do you ever feel a pit in your stomach?”

Your mother sighs deeply and takes a moment of silence before she gives you a response. “Yes. I never had a reason to feel it before,” she shares. “But I do now. Why do you ask, my Sweet?”

You shake your head gently. “I just wanted to know if it was normal. I wanted to know if anyone else felt it too for someone they loved.”

Silence follows once again. It lasts longer than before but once again she breaks it and this time she’s much quieter as if she’s being careful. Not because she’s afraid of hurting you, she’s afraid of hearing your response because she knows what you’ll say and she knows the pain that comes with it.

“Do you love him?” She asks.

You draw in a deep breath and after releasing a deep and shuddering breath you give her the response that makes her stiffen. “I do,” you speak softly with each word filled with sincerity and such an obvious affection. “I love him with all that I am. All that I’ll ever be. And all that I ever was. I try,” you breathe out shakily. “I try not to, trust me,” your voice quivers. “I try, but…I can’t let him go. My heart refuses to let him go. Even if I have love for another my heart still calls out his name. The very memory of him makes my heart sing and dance even though I know he’s done things to hurt me.”

“Why?” Your mother asks hesitantly even though she knows that question is stupid. She just has to ask because she can’t imagine how someone could love someone who's killed people they love, who’s pure evil and twisted with darkness.

“I,” you pause and take a small breath. “Love him,” you sigh. “Because he’s entangled in my soul. Because he loves me, every part of me, like the darkness that would scare many others away. Because he understands what it’s like to yearn for something that’s in our reach but couldn’t be ours. Because without saying a word he knows everything I feel and everything I want to say. Because I enjoy being the one to make him smile and laugh, and because he loves me in such a deep and selfish way that I have always wanted to be loved…and I could give you thousands of other reasons without growing tired, but I know you would so…that’s why.”

Your mother swallows thickly and understands why you stayed with Aemond as long as you did when you had every chance to leave him during the war. She understands the pain that shows on your face every time someone mentions having to kill him.

“But I know he can’t be mine forever,” you mutter and she hears it now, the pain that she can’t see because you’re not facing each other—“I know what has to happen. I…know,” you say something that you didn’t even have in mind, you just said it on the spot because if you said what you truly wanted to say, then it would be a lie. And even if you have lied, even if that’s not something you struggle with, saying that you made your peace with Aemond having to die can’t even form into words in your mouth.

“It will hurt,” your mother says softly as a way to warn you of the pain that you have yet to experience. “Every time you look at your children it will hurt because you will see him in them. But before you know it, your heart will sing and dance and swoon for someone else and all he’ll be is a memory of your long life.”

You nod and want to say those two words you uttered before, but you can’t even form them in your mouth, so you just nod so very lightly that it barely would count as a nod.

“Like Lord Stark,” your mother brings him up again. “You love him too, yes?” She asks.

“Yes,” your voice quivers.

Your mother wants to probe like she did with Aemond, but it wouldn't be appropriate so she’s just left wondering.

“He’s a good man from what I hear and he’s your friend, and I want you to know that you can choose who you want to be with. I won’t force you into a loveless relationship just for some political advantage, okay?” She asks for comprehension—“You have the freedom of choice.”

“Okay,” your whisper comes out shaky and you cling onto her more firmly than before as you seek her comfort for the ache that already torments you.

If only you could hold onto her forever. The world would feel safer that way and any pain would immediately be cured, but alas what you want can’t happen, so you let her go and try to fill the rest of your day with other things that won't make that torment hurt you any deeper.

And it works.

For a time.

“<Ready?>” You ask Aerion and his blue eyes turn to his dragon, letting you place another piece of meat in front of her. “<Dracarys Shrykos>,” you command, and the hatchling steps back before she blows out fire and burns the piece of meat, making Aerion laugh and then attempt to talk or give the same command, but he can’t form the words so he coos and Shrykos crawls to him and nuzzles her head against his chest.

You smile with awe and as you do an urgent knock raps on the doors, piquing your interest and turning your head to face them. “Come,” you welcome the visitor and watch the doors of your chambers open and reveal Helaena in her night attire and with her hair flowing down her back.

“Why can I not see my mother?” She gets right to the point as she averts her eyes. “I could not have dinner with her, and now I can not bid her goodnight, why?”

You share a speechless look with Vanessa and when you get off the floor she takes your spot to watch over Aerion, while you approach Helaena.

“Your mother has to be locked in her quarters because she wanted to scheme with me behind the Queen’s back,” you share even though you know that will offer her no comfort. “She’s already a prisoner so to spare her from death we took away her freedom. I’m sorry Helaena,” you speak confidently but yet in a comforting tone so she doesn’t stress out more than she already is.

Yet she can’t seem to accept her mother's fate. “But I always bid her goodnight, and who will I have dinner with now?”

You sigh and feel pity for her but you don’t take back your decision. “It had to be done. I’m sorry.”

Helaena shakes her head and begins to pace, making your ache for her even worse.

“Helaena,” you try to speak to assure her but she puts her hand up to motion you to be quiet.

“It’s all what must be done,” she mutters something you can barely catch. “Everything. Why?”

She stops so you make your way to her and try to cup her shoulder to have her give you her attention, but she then turns around by herself and looks at you with her eyes wide and glistening with tears, but also laced with distress.

“What will you do?” She directs her question at you now. “Aemond will die in fifteen days. What will you do about it?”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief as you feel that pit in your stomach again, followed with that deep heart aching agony.

“What?” You ask breathlessly and she clutches onto her hands and slightly narrows her eyes.

“It has to be done,” she remarks with a hint of frustration. “And you can’t do anything about it.”

You shake your head as you don’t accept what she just revealed even though everything inside you knows she’s not lying. Because why would she?

“No,” your voice cracks as you look at her with desperation.

“He was never going to live through this. Everyone knows that” she continues to say, bringing frustration out of you now—“It’s his fate. And nothing you do will ever change it.”

Tears break out of your eyes as you clench your jaw and look at her with frustration and anger before your emotions flicker to desperation. “Please,” you beg and grab her arms. “There…” you trail off as you think about her words, as you think about that son that you will have in a future that you accept and acknowledge that it’s how the story will unfold, but that part of you that loves Aemond blindly and with every part of you pretends to be clueless as to what you know to only focus on what you want.

“There must be a way,” you try to get an alternative out of Helaena since she knows so much, but her expression remains pointed and frustrated.

“There isn’t. What will you do about it?” Her voice slightly hisses, making you pull back and look at her with a slow-forming glare.

You don’t continue with an answer. The room is left deafening, and since you won’t give her what she wants she leaves and you’re left standing in your agony and desperation that is so blinding and demanding that it overwhelms you with the thought of one single solution. A daring thought.

You must go to him. Convince him to let this fight go. You have to find him.

Thus you march out of your quarters and take the path to Helaena’s quarters knowing that’s where she’ll be headed, and luckily she didn’t make it far at all so you catch up to her rather quickly. And when you’re face to face it’s that same desperation that demands her knowledge of Aemond’s whereabouts.

Helaena gives them to you so you march back into your chambers and right as the doors close, Vanessa presses you since she knows you all too well. “What are you doing? You cannot go after him. He can’t be saved. He won’t want to.”

You face her with agony clinging in your eyes that makes them glisten with unshed tears before you utter one single thing. “I have to try.”

It’s stupid. Foolish and thoughtless, but you leave the Red Keep through the tunnels, find Astraea resting in the cove she usually is to be close to you if a need arose, and at last fulfill that longing to get lost in the clouds.

Once again you’re leaving without saying a word, out of desperation and high emotions. Your stance is still with your mother, that hasn’t changed and won’t change anymore. You still have the need to fight in this war, that need hasn’t left either, but you have to try and save the man you love. You have to for the sake of your love, for the sake of simply trying to save him from his doom because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you love someone.

Leaving was selfish you understand, chasing after him was selfish but the disappointment your mother, your cousins, and even Cregan will feel when they hear you went after Aemond doesn’t cross your mind when you find him, and when your eyes meet in the middle of that lush and lively forest.

In a way, it feels like he knew you were coming, that you were going to be outside of the hut he’s staying in, but after he surpasses his own self-conflict between reality and an illusion, he’s completely overwhelmed with disbelief by your presence. The kind of disbelief that has his lips parting just slightly, and makes his blue eye wide and glimmery as the spots of moonlight that burst through the treetops enlighten his long and beautiful face.

“It’s you and me,” your voice travels through the quiet night, hitting his ears and only breaking it to him more that you’re not some illusion cast by his solitude and yearning to see you. You’re real, you’re there before him holding his eyes with a teary gaze that only makes your eyes that much more beautiful.

“You and me,” you whisper again and step forward, falling in the soft and bright white light that the moon casts down on the earth, making Aemond gasp softly as he sees how truly divine you look in your silk light sea-green gown that’s accompanied with a pearl and crystal chain over your torso.

Truly your beauty transcends that of the moons, the suns, and all and every goddess that ever existed. He’s always known it, but as you stand before him under the soft light of the moon that fact is much more true because you’re there for him.

How could he be so stupid as to make you leave him? And how could you be so stupid as to return to him?

“Now and forever,” you finish and make tears run down his face as he nods in agreement.

Your lips pull to a shaky smile as you see his reaction and before you know it a force that’s not your own pulls you to each other, causing you to meet in the middle and kiss as if you’ve been apart for decades and only had each other's imaginations to feel the taste of each other’s lips. Nothing of what happened only a couple weeks ago comes to mind, it’s like it never happened at this very moment. It's like he was never angry that you left. It’s you and him and your dragons in the middle of some forest in the Riverlands until it’s just you and him in that hut unable to even think of letting each other go.

You are one flesh, one heart, and one soul for who knows how long. All you know is the taste of each other's mouths, the feeling of each other's flesh on the tip of your fingers as you run them over the perimeters of each other's bodies, and the sound of every pant, gasp, and moan that leaves your lips.

It’s all bliss, every second that your bodies and hearts are intertwined. Nothing else matters, nothing continues to matter, and the definition of love, true love was, and is clear as you take in the sight of each other while you remain in bed ignorant to the outside world.

“You know,” he speaks in that soft and gentle voice that you love and makes you feel relaxed. “I saw Alys and she told me something,” he says and places his hand on your belly, piquing your interest.

“What?” You ask in a whisper against his lips as if it were a secret that the space around you can’t know.

A smug smile tugs on his lips and he glances down at your belly covered by furs and shares what he knows against your lips. “The twins are girls.”

You look at him with disbelief for a second before you begin to grin without even bothering to question him. “Really?!” You exclaim and throw your hand on the side of his face to cradle it and press your own face closer to him.

He hums in agreement and you pull back to turn and smile at the ceiling. “So it’s Daenys and Daenerys?” You muse as you caress your own belly. “Yay.”

“What about Daenys and Naerys?” He suggests but you don’t even consider it, you just turn him down right away.

“No, Daenys and Daenerys has a much better ring to it don’t you think? Considering they’re twins?” You quire as you turn back to your side to look at him.

“I suppose,” he mutters.

“You suppose right.” You nod, making him chuckle breathlessly.

“Aerion?” He asks when his laugh dies down.

“Big,” you share happily. “Scooting on his behind to get to places. And wanting to burn down the Red Keep with Shyrkos. He keeps wanting to say Dracarys but he can’t. Luckily.”

Aemond flashes you a grin and goes quiet. He then lets his eye wander down, and it’s at that moment that you bring your hand up to cup his face with the gentlest touch, and take your time to caress his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb while you just study his face slowly falling as he grows flustered by your softness, that he knows he doesn’t deserve you after what he did to hurt you.

“Forgive me,” he mutters and moves his hand up your belly to stroke a scar that is no longer marking your skin. “I hurt you that day and I’m sorry. I…” he trails off as his voice cracks and takes in a deep breath before he slowly finds your attentive gaze. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know what I was doing. Harrenhal…was driving me mad. Every night I closed my eyes, I saw you die or I saw Lucerys. My greatest fear haunted me every time. My past followed. And it all chipped away at my sanity a little bit at a time until I couldn’t know between what was real and what wasn’t. And it’s no excuse, nothing could excuse what I did, but I needed to tell you,” he says with a deep breath that lets you see that weight rising off his shoulders.

“You understand right?” He asks for reassurance, and you exchange a breath in and out without changing that softness in your eyes and give him the reassurance he seeks.

“I understand,” you say sincerely and lean in to press a gentle kiss on his lips. “I understand you,” you repeat yourself against his lips, making him bring his hand up to clutch onto your cheek before he presses his forehead against yours.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile and butterflies flutter in your stomach before you echo his sweet words. “I missed you too.”

He hums and you hum back to tease him, holding his love-stricken gaze and taking a small breath in, leaving the room in silence. However, it’s in that comforting silence that the memory of why you came to him in the first place finds you, creeping into your mind and making your lips slowly lose hold of that smile, and making your eyes slowly droop and lose that happy glimmer that was caught within them.

Aemond notices your shift in emotions and looks at you with concern, but you can’t utter why you’re in agony so quickly with that breath you just drew out. You don’t want to ruin the moment that just had him smiling and enamored.

You want to live in the bliss for at least a second longer, so you close your eyes and stroke his cheek with your hand to be a part of that moment for just a little longer.

Just a few seconds longer…

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Next chapter someone finally croaks…

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber

[solargeist]

i keep mistaking some of ur kidxelqua art for ur grian art so i have to stop and read the captions/tags every time 😭😭 is there a fundamental difference im missing that would make it any easier

hi !!!!!!! no i understand it can be pretty confusing !! its pretty messy on my blog ahahah i'll try to explain them and their place in the AU

All the kid drawings are Xelqua ! Originally it was Grian, but as the character Xelqua developed, I changed it to him. When people send requests for kid Grian, i'm drawing Xelqua, as that is the AU.

This isn't 100% accurate as I forget to do it, but Grian and Xelqua part their hair differently, kid Xelqua does too. Xelqua's hair is always a bit longer. (Grian got a haircut when he joined the Watchers, thats why his hair parts different now in evoAU and HC, he just kept it shorter ! Xelqua used to wear his hair in a ponytail during his time with the Watchers.)

The reason why i say they're "technically the same" is bc Xelqua is just another Grian from a different timeline, he just has a different name. Xelqua only exists because this one Grian joined the Watchers, new possibilités opened new timelines, ones where he died, ones where he's a Listener instead, or ran away to different servers, or stayed. Xelqua is the only one to have reached Sainthood.

Because of this, Xelqua can hop around timelines, he usually just bugs other versions of himself, helping them, giving them tnt. He finds This Grian during s8 of HC, bugging him through the boatem void, briefly possessing him later, but hey ! water under the bridge !

Xelqua's timeline doesn't exist anymore after becoming That, but by becoming That he has essentially rewritten history in other timelines, solidifying himself as a saint of destruction, a destroyer, this is what the Watchers know him as, this is what evo Grian knew him as, even if Grian caused it--It already happened--Xelqua has always been here. (It makes Grian's head hurts when Xelqua explains this to him.)

Basically: Grian set off a chain reaction when he joined the Watchers, and that opened new universes, and in doing that, Xelqua is made.

Xelqua is powerful, but also very lonely and has a lot wrong with him, which is expected he spent many years with the Watchers. Xelqua can mimic any version of Grian he wants, but if he stays in that form for too long, he'll start to forget himself and instead think "Xelqua" is a patron, rather than himself. This is why kid Xelqua will usually praise the Saint Xelqua and be proud of his own name, he just doesn't know ! It takes a little while to remember himself and change back. This also happens in high stress, (bc of course it does, i love when a character loses control of their powers hahaha,) the memory is much worse if it happens from stress. You can't talk kid Xelqua out of this, it'll stress him out further and you'll just have a little god child throwing a temper tantrum then, never a good idea.

After s8 in HC EvoAU, Xelqua hangs around, popping up sometimes in s9, mostly in his adult watcher self. They don't get along too well at first, Xelqua has a little bit of bitterness over Grian having such a fun life, all these friends, needed, wanted..... But whatever ! Xisuma doesn't know how he keeps getting in, but Xelqua has been on good behaviour, so...... Shrug... Just let him visit sometimes....

Xelqua's version of the Watchers are gone, the unfortunate conséquences of becoming a destroyer, you kinda rip your own timeline apart. This, added with the fact that he is a cautionary tale in every other reality to Watchers, means if he tries to visit other versions of his Watcher family, they won't really know who he is, and just see something destructive and chaotic. If he wants to see Aether, he'll just... hop in a timeline and change himself into a kid and quickly forget what he's done. He's lonely, ok !!

Xelqua starts doing this kid bit on HC (late s9/early s10) too, he doesn't exactly mean to, but he does feel safe there. He eats Grian's food and takes over his couch and no one can get mad at him bc he is just a little kid--grian puts him in the corner. timeout. a few dead birds hit the roof as a result.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

the albatross ii - matt murdock

a/n: my first part two! i really love odd reader shes my favorite person ever. uh i don't really have much else to add i just love their dynamic. sorry the beginning is kind of bad im trying to figure out how much i want to delve into readers past like that. also im going to start a taglist for this so let me know if you wanna be included :)) warnings: cursing, drinking, lots of talk of death, reader has a lot of insecurities, reader has boobs my bad, oh! like a very brief mention that reader has sexual trauma, and lots of talk of sex though nothing happens-- word count: 5.2k summary: if there's a stunning woman with questionable character in the room, matt murdock is going to find her, and foggy nelson is going to suffer. pairing: matt murdock x winter soldier!reader the albatross series : i // ii now playing: the albatross - taylor swift "i'm the albatross/i swept in at the rescue/the devil that you know/looks now more like an angel/i'm the life you chose/and all this terrible danger"

September 19th, 1972

When you wake up, you’re freezing and out of breath. The initial moments after those long-term freezes were always frightening. You do not know how long it has been since you were taken, and part of you wonders if you ever will. You’re only ever conscious here, surrounded by generals and guards.

As soon as you wake up, a muzzle is clamped over your mouth. You’re a screamer, or at least you used to be. But now the muzzle is put on as a reminder that you are truly trapped and have no autonomy.

Someone will come in soon to say a list of words that will snap you out of your brain—Maybe snap is the wrong word. You will be locked out of your brain, conscious enough to know what you are doing but not at all in control.

You’re sitting in this big metal chair that might have scared you all those years ago, your arms strapped to the arms of the chair. The dimness of the room almost makes you scared as if you are a six-year-old who is afraid of the dark.

 A gruff looking man walks into the room, and behind him, you can see some soldiers dragging along an exhausted man, whose hair is long, but your eyes are drawn to him. Are there.. are there other people who are in the same situation as you?

In the back of your mind, a foreign emotion sparks, something that you cannot name at first, but then you find it— hope. Maybe hope is a strong word, maybe what you should be feeling is dread, that the things you are being forced into are happening to some other poor soul. You almost want to throw up when you realize it, but like everything else in your exhausting existence, you are ripped out of your thought by commanding forces around you. The man in front of you follows your eyeline to see you watching the man, and you think you see him grimace.

You have found something that was meant to always be a secret from you. You recall a foggy memory that isolation is the key to abuse.

The man nods towards you, and suddenly, you feel a violent shock go through your body as the man wills you to forget the small detail that you will hang on to for as long as humanly possible.

When a second jab of shockwaves hits you, you black out for a few seconds, only—

• • •

You sit up in bed, gasping or air as you try to orient yourself. Your hands come up to push sweaty hair out of your face, and you grip it tight to try and ground yourself. Your heart is racing as you take deep breaths in your nose and out of your mouth, not wanting to spiral into a panic attack.

You get up from bed to go shower, before changing your now drenched in sweat sheets, and it’s only then do you turn on your light and grab the book you’ve been reading.

You sit on the floor next to your bed, feeling disgusting and upset. You try to read, but you are rereading the same paragraph repeatedly. After twenty minutes of that, you grab your flip phone off the bedside table and dial Matt’s number.

You know it’s four in the morning. He’s asleep. He has to be up for work in the morning, but you cannot help it. You have been seeing the handsome stranger for a little under a month, and he has become your drug.

But there’s a couple of things.

First, you are still lying to him. He has no idea about your time as who is known in government circles as “The Midnight Agent”, and he has no idea that you will never be able to give him the life he deserves. Hell, you haven’t even spent the night with him, your relationship has been the definition of taking it slow.

Which leads to this: You have not slept with the man.

Back in 1945, you were surrounded by purity culture. Sure, you could have had a handsome soldier in your bed, but there was a part of you that always felt guilty when you looked to your large catholic family who were always insistent on saving yourself for marriage.

But you recall the memories of your time trapped, of guards who went unchecked and memories of men who took advantage of the fact that you were brainwashed, and how you might freakout if Matt’s hands wander too far..

And you recall Matt’s comment on your first date, about how he thought a long time to go without a date was a few months.

He picks up the phone before your thoughts can spiral any further.

“Hey, baby. You okay?” His voice is thick with sleep, and you feel a pang of guilt for waking him up. But you also melt at the simple pet name, not quite used to it yet.

“Hi.. I’m sorry I woke you up..”

“No, no, it’s okay.” He lies, “You didn’t..”

“Liar.”

“Okay, you got me.” He chuckles softly, “But seriously, it’s okay. What’s up?” He asks, and you let out this sigh. What to tell him, what not to tell him..

“Can’t sleep.” You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Wanted to hear your voice. I tried to read The Outsiders, but I couldn’t focus.” You cannot seem to do anything right..

“Okay.” He says gently, “Why can’t you sleep?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“..Not really..”

“Okay, that’s fine.”

“Sorry..”

“Why are you apologizing?”

You pause. It’s a good question.

“I dunno..” And then after a few moments you ask, “Matt?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Is it okay that we haven’t had sex yet?” The question eats at you. You recall Matt’s assumption that a ‘while’ since your last date had meant a few months. You’re worried that you’re not satisfying him and that he’ll get bored. Bored of you, bored of your quirks and oddities, bored of all of it.

And you don’t know when you’ll be okay to have sex with him, or if you’ll even be able to make it all the way through when you get to that point. And it’s eating you up— You could at least be good at something if you insist on being odd and bizarre throughout this whole relationship.

“Of course it’s okay,” He promised, “Why wouldn’t that be okay?” Sure, Matthew had his fair share of partners in the day, but this was different— You weren’t just a date to him, you were fascinating. If he hadn’t been such a realist, he might have accused you of being a time traveler.

And sure, sometimes he thought about you, about being buried between your thighs, about making you shake and cry with pleasure, and about how well he could fill you up..

But those lewd thoughts always take a backseat to how utterly interesting you are— Your odd taste in ice cream, odd movie and book tastes, the way you speak, some of the things you say..

“Because you’re hot,” you blurt out and then sigh. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, you’re so fucking handsome and I can’t even..” The words die out in your mouth, as you curl up into yourself on your floor, holding the phone pressed tightly against your ear.

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need to sleep with you to know that I care about you.” He promises. “Do you want me to come over? Maybe you’ll sleep better if we’re together.” He says softly.

You hesitate, looking around your apartment. If you had a nightmare, he’d question what happened.. But on the other hand, you were fucking exhausted, and maybe Handsome Matthew would be the trick to you getting some sleep.

“Sure.. but uh.. My apartment’s super messy..” You confess, and he just chuckles.

“Somehow I don’t think that’ll bother me.” He teases, and you laugh.

“Right, Right.. Sorry..” You say. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“See you soon.” He promises, and as soon as he hangs up, you immediately get up and start shuffling around to clean your apartment.

You do the dishes, you throw all your dirty clothes in the hamper, you make your bed with pristine edge and of course.. You grab the gun you keep under your pillow and stuff it right next to your vibrator next to your fuzzy socks.

You’re finally finishing up with your minor chores when you hear a knock at the door. You open it and have to take a beat to catch your breath since Matthew looks especially good with his grey sweatpants and black sweatshirt.

He grins at you, leaning into greet you with a kiss as he steps into the apartment.

“So, this is where the magic happens, huh?” He asks, and you smile bashfully.

“Something like that.” You shrug, letting him lead you through the apartment. His cane tip-taps against the floor, and your hands come up to rub your arms. It is your apartment, and yet, you feel absolutely exposed. “Uh, just… Keep going straight and the bedroom is on the right. Do you need anything?” You ask, unsure if he has some weird hypervigilant bedtime routine at.. you know.. Four in the morning.

His cane shifts hands and he holds his free hand out behind him, for you to take.

“Just you.” Your face flushes as you take his hand,

“You’re such a flirt.” And he laughs.

“How can I help myself when I’m in a pretty girl’s place?” he asks, and you go to answer but he leans against the wall right next to the doorframe, dropping his duffle bag and cane in favor of pulling you close, your chest against his. Your breath catches and he smirks as if he can see your flustered nature.

“You’re a decent young man,” you start, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s rude to grab people?”

“No, the nuns never mentioned that.” He does that adorable half chuckle before tilting his head. “Why? Do I make you nervous, sweetheart?”

Your face flushes.

“Everything makes me nervous, Matthew, you know that.” You accuse and he laughs again, nodding.

“Yeah, maybe I do know that. Seems familiar.” He hums, his grip on you loosening a bit. He presses another kiss to your lips. “Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart.” You don’t protest, simply grabbing his hand and pulling him along to bed. He’s more than happy to follow you through.

You find yourself laying in the bed, and he’s standing to the side as if he’s staring at you. You raise an eyebrow to him.

“What? What is it?” You ask, and he quickly moves, jumping on top of you. You laugh a bit to hide your nerves, and he grins. He leans down and presses a long kiss to your lips before whispering,

“If we never have sex, I’ll still stay with you forever.” He says gently, and your face is deeply flushed.

“Forever?” You ask gently. He nods, leaning down and pressing another kiss to your lips.

“As long as you’ll have me.” He says gently, and then, he rolls over and lays next to you. His hand finds yours and he laces his fingers with yours. You look at him for a long time, just holding his hand. “What is it?” he asks softly, glancing over to you.

“I just..” you laugh a bit. “I’ve never had a boy in my bed before.” You confess, and he laughs, his arms wrapping around you.

“You’re so odd.” He says softly, his hands finding your hair to play with it gently. “I love it.”

• • •

And this is how you spend your early morning. You sleep soundly in the arms of the one who loves you, something you have never had the privilege of before.

You slip out of bed rather early considering that you don’t have work today. But you can’t help yourself, you find yourself making breakfast for Matt. Pancakes, sausage, and coffee, just for him. At some point, he calls out to you,

“Hey, babe, where’s the shower?” And it’s rather domestic, in a way that makes you both uncomfortable and giddy. At the same time. Weird.

“Uh, right across the hall from the bedroom,” you tell him. And after about twenty minutes, Matt comes out to the kitchen. He’s dressed for work, but his tie is undone, sitting on his neck. His jacket hangs over his arms, and for a minute, you are just as you were always meant to be—

A young woman, in love with a man who has a good career, who loves you and is kind, whom you cook breakfast for and anxiously wait for him to get home.

And before you can stop yourself, you walk on over to him and begin to fix his tie, and he tilts his head.

“Where’d you learn to tie a tie on someone else?” he asks curiously. Your brain flashes to the soldiers who were never taught to tie a tie, so you learned, making sure to help them make sure their uniforms were in pristine condition.

But better than telling your boyfriend about that, you settle on a different truth.

“Needed to tie my brother’s tie a lot before work.” You settle on, and he smiles. That was the first time you had mentioned any of your family, so he just nods.

“What was his name?” ‘Was’ is a cruel but accurate detail.

“Anthony.” You tell him, finishing your work on his tie. Then, you press a kiss to his cheek. “Ready for breakfast?” He smiles and nods, as you direct him towards your table.

Yes, even though you ate mac and cheese while sitting on the floor when you first met him, you do own a table.

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Pancakes and sausage. Oh, and Coffee,” You tell him. You serve breakfast and sit across from him, placing a jar of jam on the table as well as syrup. When you pop the lid off the jam, Matt tilts his head.

“Why do I smell strawberry jam?” He questions, and you just raise an eyebrow.

“For my pancakes?”

He begins to laugh.

“This is what I mean when I say you’re odd. The only other person I know who’d do that is my dad, who learnt it from my grandparents.” He tells you. You shrug.

“I grew up with jam. Syrup’s too sweet.”

“Of course you did.” He smirks, taking a bite of his breakfast.

• • •

After Matt leaves for work (After breakfast, a make out session and then ten minutes with you fixing his disheveled look), you begin to actually clean your apartment. But your apartment is only so big, so by lunchtime, you’re bored again.

So, you start cooking and making these chicken ceaser wraps and french fries, before hopping in the shower. You’ve never dated anyone who you’ve felt the need to make and bring lunch to, but there is a first time for everything.

When you get to his office, you take a while to notice and observe every little thing about the walk. When you get to the front door, your hands run over the sign that reads ‘Nelson, Murdock & Page.’ And then you remember that in going up these stairs, you’ll meet his two best friends, and your stomach flips at the idea of it.

But your fingers twitch at the idea of seeing Handsome Matthew again. You’re incredibly down bad for the man you refuse to sleep with, so you push open the door, making your way to the office. When you step inside, you’re faced with a blonde man holding a cup of coffee, talking to a different, more blonde, woman who eats her lunch. 

Maybe you have the wrong office.

“Hi— Uh, I’m looking for Matt.” The words tumble out of your lips, and you wish you could say something more.

“Yeah, he’s in his office, I can grab him for you.” The man says kindly, and steps towards the only office door that’s closed. You nod and stand awkwardly. This is weird, you know that. You are a stranger in this office holding a big lunch box.

Matt steps out of his office and smiles in your direction. Immediately, you relax. There he goes, Handsome Matthew completely messing up your thought patterns and making you go against everything you ever thought you’d do.

“Hi.” He says, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

“Hey.” You smile, and you see a moment of recognition on the faces of his coworkers.

“Oh, you’re the girl—” The man starts, and then it clicks that these people must be his best friends.

“And you’re Foggy and Karen.” You smile, sticking a handout for them to shake, and they do. You introduce yourself, and they do the same. It’s not as awkward as you would’ve thought, but you’re making it so much worse in your head.

“What’s going on?” Matt asks, and you redirect your attention to him.

“Uh, I made lunch. I thought I’d bring it to you.” He smiles at this.

“Thank you. Here, let’s uh, eat in my office.” He takes your hand, and you tell Foggy and Karen that it was nice to meet them, as he closes the door behind him. You sit down in one of his chairs.

“Sorry for just barging in on you guys. I probably should have called first.” You decide, but he shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine.” He smiles, sitting down in his own chair as you unpack lunch. You’re seriously not used to any of this, so it’s as if you’re taking foreign steps.

The two of you make pleasant conversations before Matt asks you,

“Hey, do you want to come to the bar tonight?” He asks, “We have a usual spot we go to. I thought it might be a good way for you to get to know my friends.” He hums.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude...”

You also don’t really want to get drunk around Matt, afraid of what you might say. But he answers,

“Don’t worry, Foggy’s wife is going and so is Karen’s boyfriend.” You notice the shift in Matt’s body language.

“You don’t like Karen’s boyfriend.” You immediately recognize.

“What? No—“ He chuckles, “It’s just a complicated history..” The part of you that never grew up, that wants to dive head first into drama, the part of you that is still twenty something, clutching the arm of your sister as she spills about all the people she doesn’t like gets to your mouth before you can stop it,

“What do you mean, ‘complicated’?” You ask, and he just laughs a little.

“Really, sweetheart, it’s not—”

“Let’s make a deal,” You say, “In exchange for me bringing you a delicious lunch,” You start, “And for telling you something about my messy past, you have to tell me about that complicated history.”

“Deal.”

“Okay, than spill.”

“You remember a few years back, the uh, Punisher?” He asks, and you tilt your head. No, you don’t. It was probably before you were allowed to have autonomy and live on your own.

“Uh.. No.”

“What? It was all over the news.”

“I wasn’t living in New York until a few years ago.” Not untrue, you were living in the middle of Europe until recently.

“Oh, right.” He nods, “Well, he killed a lot of people he thought deserved it, and, as someone who has great respect for human life, I don’t know, I just can’t imagine dating someone with a kill count at all, let alone over thirty people.” He sighs, “But Karen sees something in him, I guess.”

A shiver runs down your spine. You realize that you can’t ever tell Matt about what had happened to you. He wouldn’t understand, he’d see you as a monster. Well, you are a monster, but you cannot ever tell him that! Is this a mistake? Are you supposed to break up with him now not to hurt him?

“Yeah, I can understand that.” You take another bite of your wrap.

“I believe I’m owed some of your messy history.”

“Right,” you nod, “Well, Before I moved here, I was living in Europe.” You tell him.

“Really? Where in Europe?”

“Here and there.” You shrug. “I just sort of went wherever I was needed.” You explain, again—Not a lie. Definitely not a lie. You were ordered around and told to go here and there.

“What did you do there?” He asks.

“It’s all kind of a blur,” You’re really being truthful now.

“Has anyone ever told you how weird and odd you are?” He acts, voice full of affection.

“You. Last night.” You grin, and he just grins back.

“Right. I really have a way with words, huh?”

“Yup. You’re a real charmer.”

“I meant it though.”

“Which part? The part where you called me strange?”

“The part where I asked you to come out to the bar with us tonight—And the part where I told you I’d stay with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Yes.”

“Yes you’ll come to the bar with us or you’ll let me stay with you for a while?”

You get up, circle around his desk, before placing your hand on his jaw, tilting his head up to you. Your other hand comes up to take his glasses off. For a minute, you just admire him, before pushing the hair from his face. Then, you lean in to press a kiss to his lips.

When you pull away, his lips try to follow yours, but your thumb just gently wipes away your lipstick stains from his lips.

“Yes.” You repeat, and he just grins.

He absolutely adores you.

• • •

You make sure to fix your hair before you leave your apartment, and then, you find yourself leaning on the brick wall outside of the bar. Your heart is racing, and although you do not smoke, god you need a cigarette.

Your foot taps anxiously against the pavement.

This will be fine, you tell yourself. Matt likes you, surely you can get the others to do the same. Or at least, you can try your damn best, and not just sit out here like a bitch.

Your head glances over to the door as a rather tall and gruff man approaches the door. He sees you staring at him, and opens the door before asking,

“You coming in, kid?”

Kid.

You’re a hundred years old, but okay.

“Uh, yeah.” You answer, before heading into the bar, “Thanks,” He just nods back at you. You walk in and look around for Matt and his friends. You immediately soften when you see him. Of course you can do this.

As you make your way over to them, the man who opened the door for you also heads over to them. You tilt your head as you get to your boyfriend and his friends before Karen comes over to you guys, sends you a smile, before greeting the man with a kiss. Oh. This is the boyfriend that Matt doesn’t like.

Matt greets you with a kiss, before Karen asks,

“What are you drinking?” You realize she’s asking you. What do you drink?

“Uh, whatever. I kind of like everything,” You smile weakly, before shrugging. She just nods, and then her and her boyfriend head over to the bar. You glance over to Matt, and smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiles and kisses you again. “I’m glad you decided to join us.”

“Well, I did say yes earlier.”

“Yeah but you were being very vague and odd.”

“You said you liked that!”

“Shhh,” and then he kisses you again.

“You two are gross.” His friend, Foggy, says, and his wife just swats his arm.

“Sorry,” You smile, and then Frank and Karen are back at the table, and this large bottle of whiskey is placed on the table, and six glasses are placed along side it.

“Woah, big bottle.” Foggy whistles, and Karen shrugs.

“Long week. Lots of whiskey required.” Matt leans over to you and says,

“You don’t have to drink that if you don’t want to—”

“I said I like everything,” You told him, “And I meant it.” You remind and the people around you laugh, so it definitely gratifies your desire to please them.

“See, this is the type of energy you needed in a date,” Foggy grins, and Karen laughs as she pours the whiskey for you all.

“I agree, I like her a lot more than I liked the last one.”

“Flattered, I love when people talk about me like I’m not here,” You tell them, as you take a long drink of your whiskey.

“You are odd,” Foggy says, and again, his wife swats his arm.

“Franklin, you cannot say that to someone you just met!”

“I was just joking, really it’s fine,” You assure, and take another sip of your drink. Then another drink. Your eyes get a glint of dog tags hanging around Frank’s neck. You nod to him. “Military?” Everyone’s head snaps to look at you, and then to him.

“Marines.” He answers, and he waits.

“I was a nurse overseas for a while.” And you almost slap your hands over your mouth, horrified at the words that just left your lips. Everyone looks at you, very confused, including sweet Handsome Matthew.

“Wait, you were in the army as a medic?” He asks, and you just nod.

“Yeah, I don’t.. really like talking about it..” You sigh, “It was a long time ago.. Before I was in Europe doing whatever, I was in Europe being a nurse.”

“Europe? There hasn’t been active combat in Europe since the 40’s,” Frank says, and you shrug.

“That’s where they had me. It’s where I learned to drink.” You finish your drink and go to refill it, “You’d be surprised how many young cadets try to assert their dominance over drinking games.” You laugh fondly at the memory.

Matt leans in to kiss your cheek, whispering in your ear, “Odd.”

• • •

You and Frank get into your own form of a drinking game as the night goes on. After two glasses, Foggy and his wife stop drinking, something about brunch with her parents in the morning.

Matt stops drinking after three, and Karen after four.

But here you and Frank are, swapping war stories like old army buddies as you make your way through the bottle. Five, six, seven.. You can’t remember by the time the bottle is empty. All you know is you’re leaning against Matt, and Frank is holding Karen close, and you are happy.

You don’t feel hidden anymore.

When the bottle is done, Matt’s fingers run up and down your arm.

“We gotta get you home, honey.”

“You need to kiss me.” You blurt, too drunk to know what you’re saying.

“What?” He grins.

“Kiss me. I want you all over me,” and you lean over to kiss him, and after a few moments, he pulls away from the kiss.

“Alright, but let’s get you home first.” And then you nod, because that’s a good idea. You don’t want Frank and Karen to see all the vicious things you want to do to Handsome Matthew. He helps you up and wraps his jacket around your arms, before glancing back to his friends. “Have a good night guys. See you Monday.”

You take a minute, before smiling at his friends.

“Thanks for having me. I had fun.” You cannot remember the last time you had this much fun. “Sorry I’m so fucking odd,” You start giggling, “But I had fun.” Everyone else, too tipsy and drunk to say much else, just laughs and sends you on your way.

You and Matt stumble home, as you mumble soft things about how much you like him, how pretty he is.

When you get back to your apartment, he locks the door behind you and helps you to your bedroom. Once there, you begin to kiss him.

“Sweetheart,” He mumbles into your lips, “Wait,” He pulls away and smiles at you. “Pajamas first.” He requests, and you nod.

“Yeah. Great Idea.” You mumble, going over to your drawers (Not the one with your vibrator, socks and gun) and pull out an old tee shirt and shorts. You begin stripping down, and you stop and glance to Matt, in just your shorts and bra, before asking, “Wait, how do I know you’re not staring at me?”

He almost laughs at how drunk you are.

“Honey,” he begins softly, and then taps the space between his eyes. Then you laugh, feeling silly.

“Oh.” You unclip your bra and slip on your tee shirt. You sit on the bed, and then lay down. You sigh deeply, your bed surprisingly comfortable after all of those drinks. You watch as Matt begins to strip down. “Handsome.” You mumble, and he laughs.

You fall asleep as he kicks his pants off before crawling into bed with you.

• • •

You wake up at some god-awful hour, maybe around two in the morning. You run over to the bathroom and vomit into the toilet. After a while of throwing up, you wander on over to the kitchen.

You take a big, long drink of water, before sighing deeply.

Your stomach growls. You find a loaf of sourdough bread you had brought home from work yesterday and begin to butter a few slices. You munch on your food, and remember Matthew in your bedroom.

Your Matthew.

You finish your snack, and then find yourself sitting on the floor of your kitchen. Just like you did the first night. Your lean your head back against the cabinet. You think about your boyfriend, and you think about everyone you lost.

In your half drunk state, You only smile when Matt sits next to you on the floor.

“What’re we doing on the floor, baby?” He asks softly.

“Just.. Sleepy..” You mumble, and then a grin spreads across your face. “I’m thinking about my best friend.”

“Your best friend?”

“Taylor.” You say softly, “She was my best friend.”

“And where is she now?” He asked, leaning over to brush your hair out of your face.

“Oh, she died ten years ago.” You say, and then laugh as if it’s funny. “Natural causes.” You shrug. She had died of old age.. And you weren’t there for her. Your best friend..

Matt’s arm is around you in an instant.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He says gently, and leans in to kiss your head.

“And you..” You glance over to him. “You.. I don’t even know what to do with you.” You laugh, and he frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I..” You sigh. “I mean that no one’s ever made me feel like you have..” You mumble, and then you admire him, only in his boxer briefs. “I love you, Handsome Matthew. And I don’t know what to do about it..” You mumble.

Matt just leans in to kiss your head again.

“If I said I love you too, would that help?”

“It would be a start..”

“I love you.”

“Even though I’m odd?” You ask, “Weird and bizarre? Off my rocker, completely out of my fucking mind..?”

“Especially because you’re odd.”

--------------

taglist: @writtenbyred , @indestructeible

[melodic-haze]

YK HOW CLORINDES BUTTON IS FIGHTING FOR ITS LIFE ON HER UNIFORM RIGHT. Then imagine reader noticing it and just tearing it apart and suck her tits. That’s a need fr 🤤

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Clorinde x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Nipple obsession 🫶, she gets kinda perved on a lil bit but that's just people looking at her and her whoreass fit like!!! What!!!!!!!, idk what else ngl

☆ — NOTES: Dude how the fuck do her clothes even work. Like I've been staring at it for a while now like what. How???? Anyway it's 1 am sorry if it isn't coherent

Clorinde's buttons are fighting for their lives and so am I

"Appropriate uniform" my nonexistent left NUT how the HELL!!! Is that allowed!!!!!!!

No but seriously it must be such a struggle to watch her walk around like that. Like what. What why what

You couldn't help but stare at your lover's chest—more specifically, her button-up that was practically struggling to hold on.

"..Clorinde?"

She lifts her head to look at you with a light smile on her face, temporarily pausing her movement to put on her shoes, "Yes, my dear?"

You cleared your throat as you leaned on the wall, looking at your eyes still locked onto that same spot, "Do you not get.. you know, a clothing violation or something?"

"Why?" She tilted her head in what is indesputably, undeniably real confusion, "I do not see why I would."

She probably feels it though. Or at least you'd assume so, with how tight her clothes seem to be on her.

"..Nothing. Just, um," you scratched the nape of your neck sheepishly before shaking your head and forcing your eyes on her own, "good luck at work today."

She nods and says her goodbyes before leaving out the door.

Hm.

When you're outside, for some reason you can't help but notice that people are staring at her awfully lot!! It could be because like she's the Champion Duellist so obvs they'd be in awe.........but it doesn't seem like they're in awe for that reason, with the way they look at her restricted chest when they're close enough. Is it just today that they're noticing this?? Or is it just today that YOU'RE noticing them looking at her??????

Whatever it is, it's pissing you off a little (a lot)!!! She has the audacity to say she doesn't know what you're on about when she's being gawked at bc of the same reason YOU were gawking at her for

By the time the day ends you're about to lose it (I would personally 🫶) so you're waiting in your room for her before she comes back, all oblivious to the MANY stares she's had and the. Wardrobe malfunction that was going on there. The moment she gets back, dude POUNCE HER because I fuckin would 😭😭😭

Don't give her time to even think of anything—not like she'll need the time, she'd abandon all trains of thought for once the moment you're both in the mood. Kiss her HARD, she'll happily let you and your tongue lead like a familiar dance between the two of you

What ISN'T familiar, though, is when you grasp onto the opening part of her button-up and tug on it. And not tug on it normally like you would to suggest that she takes her clothes off, nonononono I mean FORCING IT TO SPLIT

She breaks the kiss to ask you what you're doing and that you're putting a LOT of force into-- OH SHIT IT POPPED OPEN!!!! The buttons didn't really need any encouraging by that point but with your help it popped off to god knows where 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ but colour her SURPRISED she did NOT expect you to do that

Or did she

Anyway she's quite literally about to complain to you, saying that that was her clothes you JUST ripped open what the heck!!!! But then you kinda easily shut her up the moment you tug her bra down and start paying attention to her tits

Bite em hard, suck em real nice and leave a VERY obvious mark on them so that she thinks twice about wearing things that will DEFINITELY expose her at any given minute. Play with her nipples too, and don't forget to give attention to the neglected side❗️❗️

She'll shut up real quick if you pay SOOO much attention to them, pulling you in even further via holding your head closer to you. She'll even comb your hair too, if you have any :3 though she might accidentally tug on them if you do smth that particularly gives her a shock lol

Atp rip her tights for access too, she won't even care anymore now that you've ripped her shirt open 🤷‍♀️ she says she has more anyway what's one loss gonna do?? Rip it and massage her clit as you don't stop spoiling her breasts, sucking them as if something's gonna come out if you persevere hard enough, and I promise she'll be breathing so fucking heavily as she begs you for more. More of what? She can't even clarify, the ever so composed Duellist is at an utter loss!!!!!

Plunge your fingers in and you can feel how wet she is, how Easily your fingers just slip into her and move in and out, how her folds practically flutter around your digits from every lick and suck of her nipples like a bitch starved AND possessed

If you curl your fingers a certain way and suck on her tits at the same time too???? Oh FUCK you're ripping out SUCH a huge orgasm from her that has her bucking her hips and grinding them into your palm and you need to fuck her through it!!!! Fuck her through her high and bring her down......and even after that she kinda don't gaf if she's absolutely dirtied her attire atp or made a mess as she drags you off for more, hat probably on the ground and forgotten

She'd care when you're like DONE done though, with her sighing in such a way that you do feel like you should probably help bc you DID still rip her shit apart 😭

But yeah dude everyone can stare all they want but only YOU get the privilege of going feral and tearing her clothes apart just to touch her and taste her in any way you can. Mark her up so that underneath her clothing, as embarrassing as they are, are all the proof that everything under the fabric?? That's all for you babe 🙏🙏

It was the day after, and you were looking at her and her clothing once again.. along with everyone else's looks on her, once again more filled with a mix of filtered lust and quite a bit of jealousy from some of the women due to how form-fitting her attire was.

She did say that she'll make a note to buy some looser versions of her outfit, but...

At the end of the day, it was Clorinde's decision to wear what she wants to wear. And it's not like it's ever hindered her work before—if anything, the fact that it's the way it is probably helps with her mobility somehow, especially when such a chest is sure to be a nuisance when she moves around so much.

..You can't really help but feel a bit jealous of your girlfriend, though. Or maybe possessive?maybe, but such a word feels like you want her all to yourself.

(You do, but still.)

But then you realise that maybe such worries are unfounded after all, especially when you overhear someone speaking of a dark mark on her neck, which she describes as a nasty bite on patrol.

You know it wasn't some random bite though, and it seems that she knows full well she's lying, especially when she sees you and gives you a small smile before pretending to scratch her neck to reveal that dark mark you had inflicted.

[thewulf]

Sunflowers and Second Chances || Darrel "Darry" Curtis

Summary: Request - Can you do a Darry x Winston sister reader? Maybe she's Dallas's twin or like a year younger and he's just super protective over her. I was thinking maybe the two of them show up for a bonfire at the park with some greasers and reader forgets her jacket. She's shivering by the fire and Darry (ever the gentleman) gives her his jacket.... Read Rest Here

A/N: Def went overboard but mannnn do i LOVE writing for The Outsiders. This will NEVERR be a dead fandom for as long as I am alive hahaha. please keep sending these my way! I'd love to try a Sodapop or even Ponyboy :) Enjoy!

Pairing: Darrel "Darry" Curtis x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k +

TW: General The Outsiders

It wasn’t that cold when you and Dallas left your shared apartment for the evening. After nagging and bothering you for what felt like hours Dallas had finally won, he was getting you to go to the annual start of summer bonfire. A tried-and-true greaser tradition. It wasn’t really your scene, most of the time. But at the mention that Darrel Curtis was going to be there you’d changed your tune rather quickly. Dallas knew of your little crush on the eldest Curtis brother. Because of course he did. He wasn’t dumb. Quite the opposite really. He caught your longing glances for Darry pretty early on. Your cute crush only got slightly concerning for Dally when he started noticing Darry throwing the same looks your way.

Dallas might’ve used Darry as the excuse to get you out of the house. See, Dallas had never taken school seriously, but you always have. He was worried you were spending far too much of your limited time studying or doing homework instead of being an actual teenager.

As you and Dallas strolled through the dimly lit streets toward the outskirts of town where the bonfire was blazing, you couldn't shake the feeling of nervous excitement that ripped through your body. Dallas, your favorite charismatic troublemaker, seemed to sense your nerves and threw an arm around your shoulder, giving you a rough but reassuring squeeze.

"So, kid sister, what's got you all wound up tonight, huh?" Dallas smirked. His eyes gleaming mischievously in the faint glow of the streetlights.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Nothing, just looking forward to hanging out with the guys, I guess. Haven’t seen them in a while is all."

Dallas shot you a knowing look, his eyebrows raised in amusement. "Uh-huh, the guys sure thing. Are you sure it’s not one guy? Don't think I haven't noticed those puppy-dog eyes you've been throwing at Darry lately." He had a habit of calling you out on your bullshit, even if it made you uncomfortable.

Your cheeks flushed at that comment. You stuttered in protest, but Dallas just laughed, his voice rumbling with amusement. "Relax, kid, ain't no crime in having a crush. But who knows, maybe tonight's the night you finally make a move." He winked knowing that was a load of crap. You’d never make a move on Darry, wouldn’t even dream of it. In his eyes you were Dallas’ baby sister. He could never see you like that.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that bubbled in your chest at the mere thought of it. Darrel Curtis was everything you found attractive in a man - strong, dependable, and with a heart of gold hidden beneath his tough exterior. The idea that he might feel even a fraction of what you felt for him sent your pulse racing. But you knew better, knew better than to get your hopes up.

The two of you approached the bonfire, the familiar sight of your friends greeted you. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and the sound of laughter, with the occasional burst of music from someone's battered radio. It felt like home. You and Dallas had finally found it after years of moving and running.

Dallas led you through the throngs of people, his boisterous laughter mingling with the chatter of the others. Until you finally caught sight of Darry standing by himself next to the fire. His gaze was fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart skip a few beats. You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling acutely aware of every movement, every breath. Dallas nudged you playfully with his elbow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he gave you a not-so-subtle wink before sauntering off to join the other greasers.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you squared your shoulders and made your way over to where Darry stood, his eyes never leaving yours. And as you drew closer, the crackle of the fire seemed to fade away, leaving only the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears, “Hi.” You smiled up at him once you got within ear shot.

He smiled right back at you. His annoyed face melted away once you got close. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight. What a treat.” He smirked loving the little game the two of you shared when it was just the two of you. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but he had developed a not so innocent crush on you. Dallas Winston’s little sister. Probably the worst girl to have a crush on. But how could he not? You stepped up and helped him in ways he could’ve never imagined after his parents passed. You pulled Pony and Soda along right with you instead of letting them drown in grief. You were an angel. His angel.

Despite the lively atmosphere, you couldn’t shake off the chill that seeped into your bones. You cursed yourself for forgetting your jacket, but with the comforting heat of the fire so close, you hadn't noticed the cold until now. Darry glanced down at you once you were standing next to him, sensing your discomfort. "Are ya’ cold, Y/N?"

You nodded, teeth chattering slightly. "Yeah, just a bit."

Without a word, Darry shrugged off the leather jacket he had on. "Here," he said, draping it over your shoulders. "You shouldn't be freezing out here." While it fit him it was about three sizes too large for you. Not that you minded.

You blinked in surprise as Darry's jacket enveloped you, radiating warmth and carrying his distinct scent. Grateful, you offered him a small smile. "Thanks, Darry."

He nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Anytime, Y/N. Don't want you catching a cold."

As the night wore on, you huddled closer to the fire, Darry's jacket shielding you from the biting cold. Despite the flames eventually dying down and the group dispersing, the memory of Darry's protective gesture lingered, a comforting presence in the darkness of the night.

In the dim light, you caught Darry's eye and offered him a silent expression of gratitude. He returned it with a nod, silently promising to always look out for you. Feeling a warmth not just from the jacket but also from his concern, you find yourself drawn to him. "Thanks again, Darry. Dallas rushed me out of the apartment. You know I’m not usually so forgetful." you say softly, your voice carrying a hint of flirtation you can't quite suppress.

Darry's lips quirk up in a half-smile, his eyes holding a glint of amusement. "No problem, Y/N," he replies, his voice low and gravelly. "I’m sure it’s not easy being Dally’s sister."

You chuckle at his teasing tone, enjoying the banter that flowed so effortless between the two of you. "You could say that again. Guess I owe you one though," you say playfully, nudging him with your elbow.

Darry's smile widens, and he leans in a little closer, the warmth of his presence sending a shiver down your spine for an entirely different reason. "Oh, I'll be sure to collect on that debt," he murmurs, his gaze intense yet tender.

Your heart nearly stops at his words, and you find yourself blushing despite the chill in the air. Maybe forgetting your jacket wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Just as you're about to respond to Darry's playful banter, a familiar voice interrupted you from behind. "Well, well, what do we have here? Little sis all blushy-cheeked and heart eyes on our very own Darrel Curtis?" Dallas's voice carries a teasing edge, his smirk evident even in the dim light. He knew how much you not so secretly liked the oldest Curtis brother. You may not have said anything to him, but it was evident in the way you looked at him. Dallas knew eyes couldn’t hide much. That’s how he also knew the oldest Curtis brother felt the same about you. So, he did what any older brother would do, tease the shit out of the both of you.

You turn to see Dallas walking over, his usual cocky demeanor in full force. But something about the way he looks at you, a mixture of amusement and something else you can't quite place, makes you more nervous than ever. Darry stiffens slightly beside you, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. His jaw clenches, and you notice a subtle tension in his shoulders.

"Easy there, Darry," Dallas continues, his grin widening. "I'm just messing with my kid sister. No need to get all uptight Curtis." He had a full-on grin now not realizing the damage he was causing between the blooming relationship that had yet to begin.

You shoot Dallas a playful glare, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Ignore him, Darry. He's just being annoying, as usual." You turned back to the man standing beside you, closer than you remember from just moments ago.

But Darry's gaze remains fixed on Dallas, a silent warning in his eyes. "Nothing’s happened Dallas.” The joyful tone in his voice from moments ago had vanished sending you into a minor panic as the two most important men in your life stood there staring at each other.

Dallas raises his hands in mock surrender, his smirk faltering ever so slightly. "Alright, alright, no need to get all serious," he says, taking a step back. "I'll leave you two alone. Doing whatever you were doing.”

As Dallas walks away, you feel a pang of disappointment wash over you knowing that something was suddenly amiss. You glance at Darry, hoping to see his usual warmth and playfulness, but instead, you find him distant, his gaze fixed on the ground. He was thinking and thinking hard at that.

"Hey, everything okay?" you ask, reaching out to touch his arm.

When he pulled away from you sharply you tried to hide the disappointment evident in your gaze on him. Darry looks up, his expression guarded. "I’m sorry. I just... I can't do this. Not with Dallas being your brother," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart sank as Darry's words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something more between the two of you. But now, faced with his rejection, you felt a wave of embarrassment and hurt wash over you. You tried to hide the sting of tears threatening to spill from your eyes, forcing a weak smile as you withdrew his jacket from your shoulders. "I understand," you replied softly, trying to keep your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. "It's okay, Darry. I-I didn't mean to make things awkward." You handed him the too big leather jacket back. You didn’t miss the disappointed look in his eyes as he took it back from you.

But before Darry could respond, you turned on your heel and began to walk away, the weight of his rejection heavy on your shoulders. You could feel the eyes of the other greasers on you as you made your way through the crowd, their whispers echoing in your ears like a cruel reminder of your own vulnerability.  You were halfway down the street when you felt a hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. Startled, you turned to find Dallas standing there, his expression unusually serious. "Y/N, wait," he said, his voice soft yet urgent. "What happened back there?"

You tried to brush off his concern, plastering on a fake smile. "It's nothing, Dallas. Just a misunderstanding, that's all."

But Dallas wasn't buying it, his gaze piercing through your facade. "Bullshit," he said bluntly. "I saw the way Darry was looking at you. And I saw the way you looked at him." He grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

You felt the tears welling up in your eyes once again, unable to hold them back any longer. The floodgates opened, and all the pent-up emotions came pouring out, overwhelming you with their intensity. Dallas's grip on your arm softened, his expression shifting from skepticism to concern as he watched the tears stream down your cheeks.

"Y/N, what's wrong?" he asked gently, his voice laced with worry. “What happened?"

You took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself enough to speak. "It's Darry," you confessed, your voice trembling with emotion. "He doesn’t want me because... because he's worried about what you'll think or something."

Dallas's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his grip on your arm tightening ever so slightly. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You swallowed hard, mustering the courage to explain. "I don’t know. It was fine then it wasn’t," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "You were teasing us, and he... he thinks you don't approve. I don’t know Dallas he didn’t give me a reason. Just said he couldn’t do it."

Dallas's eyes widened in realization, a mixture of guilt and frustration flashing across his features. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I was just messing around, you know?"

You nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy for Dallas's distress. "I know, Dallas," you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "But sometimes things don't turn out the way we expect them to."

Dallas's shoulders sagged as he let out a heavy sigh, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by an air of vulnerability. "I'm sorry, Y/N," he said sincerely, his voice thick with remorse. "I never meant to hurt you or Darry. You know that, right?"

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat as you fought to hold back the tears threatening to keep spilling from your eyes. "I know, Dal," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

Without hesitation, Dallas pulled you into a comforting brotherly hug, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. You felt a sense of warmth and security wash over you, knowing that no matter what happened, you had Dallas by your side, always ready to support you through thick and thin.As you leaned into his embrace, Dallas's protective instincts kicked in, his mind buzzing with thoughts of how to fix the situation. But before he could voice his intentions, you pulled away slightly, a pleading look in your eyes.

"Dallas, please," you said softly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. "Don't do anything rash. I don't want things to get any more complicated than they already are."

Dallas's expression softened as he registered your plea, his gaze filled with concern. "I just can't stand the thought of Darry hurting you like this," he admitted, his voice laced with frustration. "He's being so damn thick-headed, and it makes me want to sock him one right in the jaw."

You shook your head, a firmness in your voice. "No, Dallas, no fighting with your brothers," you insisted, your tone leaving no room for argument. "We'll figure this out without anyone throwing punches. Let's just leave it be for now, okay? I don't want anything to happen when everyone is emotional."

Dallas hesitated, his jaw tense with the effort of restraining himself. But as he looked into your eyes, seeing the conviction in them, he relented. "Alright, Y/N," he conceded, his voice quieter now, but still edged with frustration. "We'll do it your way. But I swear, if he keeps hurting you, I won't be able to hold back."

You gave him a grateful smile, appreciating his loyalty but relieved that he agreed to your terms. "Thank you, Dallas," you said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "For respecting my wishes."

Dallas nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Always, kid," he replied, his voice softening with affection. "Now, let's go inside and take a breather. We'll figure out our next move when we're all thinking straight."

As you followed Dallas into the apartment, a sense of relief washed over you, grateful for his support and understanding. Exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders, and you couldn't fight the urge to collapse onto the couch, the events of the evening catching up with you all at once.

Dallas lingered nearby for a moment, watching over you with a protective gaze. He hesitated, torn between staying by your side and his burning desire to confront Darry. Eventually, with a heavy sigh, he made his decision.

Quietly, Dallas slipped out of the apartment once you were fast asleep on the couch, leaving you to rest, and made his way towards the Curtis house. Determination fueled his steps as he navigated the dimly lit streets, his mind focused on one goal: to talk some sense into Darry.

When he finally reached the Curtis house, he didn't bother with niceties. Instead, he pounded on the door with a forceful urgency, his knuckles rapping against the wood in a demanding rhythm. Soda was the one to answer the door, his expression shifting from surprise to concern as he took in Dallas's agitated demeanor. "Dallas? What's going on, man?"

But Dallas didn't waste any time with explanations. Without a word, he brushed past Soda, his eyes scanning the living room in search of Darry. He didn't care about being polite or waiting for an invitation. All he cared about was finding the one who made his sister cry. Soda called after him, his voice tinged with confusion and concern, but Dallas paid him no mind. His focus was singular, his determination unwavering as he sought out Darry, ready to have a long-overdue conversation that would hopefully set things right.

Dallas's footsteps echoed loudly as he made his way towards the backyard, his heart pounding with a mixture of anger and concern. He found Darry leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips, while Ponyboy sat nearby, a troubled expression on his face. Without preamble, Dallas stormed over to Darry, his eyes blazing with intensity. "What the hell is wrong with you, Darry?" he demanded, his voice thick with emotion. "You made my sister cry, and for what? Because you're too damn stubborn to see what's right in front of you?"

Darry looked up, startled by Dallas's sudden outburst. "Dallas, what are you talking about?" he asked, confusion evident in his tone.

Ponyboy, sensing the tension in the air, glanced nervously between his older brother and what felt like his second one. "Guys, what's going on?" he asked tentatively, his brow furrowing with concern.

"What's going on is that Darry's being a complete idiot," Dallas snapped, his frustration boiling over. "He's too blind to see that Y/N cares about him, and he's pushing her away because of it."

Darry's expression softened, his defenses crumbling under Dallas's relentless barrage. "Dallas, it's not that simple," he protested weakly, but Dallas wasn't having any of it.

"Not that simple?" Dallas echoed incredulously, his voice rising with every word. "You think you're doing her a favor by pushing her away? You're just hurting her, Darry. And you're too damn stubborn to see it."

Ponyboy watched the exchange in silence, his eyes darting between the two brothers with a mixture of concern and apprehension. He knew better than to intervene when Dallas was in one of his moods. Finally, Darry let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I didn't mean to hurt her, Dallas," he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with regret. "I just... I don't know how to do this. I'm not good at this stuff."

Soda, who had been observing from the doorway, stepped forward with a smirk playing on his lips. "You got that right, Darry," he interjected, his tone teasing. "You're allergic to pretty girls."

Ponyboy couldn't help but chuckle at Soda's remark, a small smile breaking through the tension that hung in the air. Darry sighed, shaking his head at Soda's comment, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Thanks for the reminder, Soda," he said wryly, his voice tinged with self-deprecation. "But I guess I'll just have to figure it out."

Dallas leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips as he listened to Ponyboy's words. "Yeah, she's got a heart of literal gold, man," he chimed in, nodding in agreement. "I've seen it. She's too kind for this world sometimes."

Ponyboy nodded fervently, his eyes reflecting admiration. "Absolutely. Remember that time when she stood up for Johnny when those guys were picking on him? She didn't even hesitate. Just marched right over there and gave them a piece of her mind."

Soda grinned, his eyes sparkling with fondness. "And she's always nice to everyone, even those stuck-up Socs who don't deserve it," he added, his voice full of admiration.

Darry sighed, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't help but smile at his brothers' words, despite himself. "Yeah, she's something else, that's for sure," he mused, a hint of pride creeping into his tone. "But sometimes, I worry she's too good for her own good."

The room fell into a thoughtful silence for a moment before Soda broke it with a chuckle. "Well, Darry, you might just have to deal with it," he teased, nudging his brother playfully. "After all, love's got its own way of figuring things out."

Darry rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Yeah, you're right Soda," he conceded, his gaze drifting off into the distance as he thought about you. "I just hope I can keep up."

The brothers shared a knowing look, a silent understanding passing between them as they contemplated the impact you had made on their lives. Dallas leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "You know, Darry, you gotta give yourself some credit too," he said, his voice carrying a rare sincerity. "She sees something in you, man. She wouldn't stick around if she didn't believe in you."

Darry shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I know, Dallas, but... I've messed up so many times," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "I've let her down more times than I can count."

Ponyboy reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Darry's shoulder. "Hey, we all make mistakes," he said softly, his eyes filled with empathy. "But what matters is how you learn from them."

Soda nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "You gotta show her, Darry," he chimed in, his voice firm. "You gotta show her that you're willing to do whatever it takes to make things right."

Darry sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I know, I know," he muttered, his voice heavy with guilt. "I just... I don't know if I'm capable of being the person she deserves."

Dallas shook his head, his eyes locking with Darry's. "You are, man," he insisted, his tone unwavering. "But you gotta start believing it yourself. You gotta start believing that you're worthy of her love."

The room fell into a contemplative silence as Darry let Dallas' words sink in. And as he sat there, surrounded by his brothers, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope stirring deep within him. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make things right with you. Maybe there was still a chance for them after all.

Dallas let out a gruff laugh, a hint of his usual tough demeanor creeping back into his expression. "Alright, enough of this mushy crap," he declared, straightening up and running a hand through his hair. "I swear to God, if this gets back to her or you say some soft shit, I'll kick all your asses."

Ponyboy chuckled nervously, shooting a glance at Soda and Darry. "Got it, Dallas," he replied, trying to suppress a grin.

Soda raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, no worries, man," he said with a smirk. "Our lips are sealed."

Darry nodded in agreement, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Thanks, Dallas," he said sincerely, his eyes reflecting gratitude.

Dallas gave them all a nod before pushing himself off the wall. "Alright, I’m out out of here before I start feeling like I need to hug it out or something," he quipped, striding towards the door with his usual gate. He hoped you had stayed sleeping on the couch as he made his way back to your shared apartment.

The next day, Darry found himself restless, pacing back and forth in his room as he wrestled with his overwhelming sense of guilt. Every step he took felt heavy, burdened by the weight of regret that had settled like a stone in his chest. He knew he had hurt you deeply, and the thought churned his stomach with unease. Despite his usual stoic demeanor, Darry couldn't shake off the nervous fluttering in his chest as he clutched the bouquet of flowers tightly in his hand.

Darry found himself seized by a sudden determination to make things right with you. He knew that a simple apology wouldn't be enough – he needed to show her just how much she meant to him. And that's when he remembered the little details about her that he cherished.

With a sense of purpose driving him forward, Darry made his way to a nearby flower shop. The bustling streets seemed to blur around him as he searched for the perfect bouquet, his mind focused solely on one thing: your beautiful smile that brightened his day. He rifled through the colorful array of blooms, his heart racing with anticipation as he sought out the flowers that would convey his heartfelt apology and adoration.

And then, amidst the vibrant sea of petals, he found them – sunflowers. They stood tall and proud, their golden faces turned towards the sun, just like Y/N's radiant spirit. Darry's heart swelled with certainty as he reached out to carefully select the most beautiful blooms, knowing that they would bring a ray of sunshine to your day.

But as he stood at the checkout counter, a sudden doubt crept into his mind. How did he know that sunflowers were her favorite? Had she ever mentioned it to him before, in passing? Or was it just a gut feeling, a subconscious knowledge born from the countless hours they had spent together? For a moment, Darry hesitated, his brow furrowing in uncertainty. But then he remembered the way your eyes had lit up the last time you had passed a house that was growing them, how you had exclaimed with delight at the sight. And in that moment, he knew – sunflowers were your favorite, and he was determined to make sure you knew just how much you meant to him.

As he made his way to your apartment, each footfall echoed with the rhythm of his racing heart. The short journey felt like an eternity, his mind filled with worry and doubt. What if you were still upset with him? What if you didn't want to see him? The uncertainty gnawed at him, threatening to consume him with fear. He couldn't bear the thought of facing your disappointment, knowing that he was the cause of your pain.

With trembling hands, Darry finally reached your doorstep. He took a moment to steady his nerves, drawing in a deep breath to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. But no amount of preparation could ease the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest as he raised his hand to knock on the door. Each rap of his knuckles felt like a thunderclap, reverberating through the silence of the neighborhood, and echoing the tumultuous turmoil in his own heart.

For a fleeting moment, Darry hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainly in the air. He couldn't help but worry that you would be furious with him, that you would turn him away without a second thought. The thought made his pulse quicken with apprehension, his palms growing slick with sweat as he grappled with his fear of rejection. But deep down, he knew he couldn't let his fear hold him back. He had to face you, to confront the consequences of his actions and make amends for the pain he had caused. With a silent prayer on his lips, Darry squared his shoulders and knocked once more, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead.

As the door swung open, revealing your surprised expression, Darry felt his heart almost stop. He could see the shock flicker across your features as you took in the sight of him standing there, a bouquet of sunflowers clutched tightly in his hand. But then, to his relief, your expression softened, your eyes lighting up with warmth and affection.

"Darry?" Your voice was soft, filled with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "What are you doing here?"

Darry swallowed hard. His throat suddenly dry. He extended the bouquet towards her, his hand trembling ever so slightly. "For you," he managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper.

A smile spread across your face, brightening his mood with its warmth. "These are my favorite! How did you know?" you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling with delight as you reached out to accept the flowers. You pushed the door open letting him in as your searched for a vase for your sunflowers.

Darry felt a weightlifting off his shoulders at your reaction, a sense of relief flooding through him. Maybe he hadn't completely messed things up after all. "Just a lucky guess," he replied with a shy grin, though deep down, he knew it was more than just luck. He had been paying attention, learning the little things that made you happy, and he was determined to make it up to her.

Darry watched as your smile grew wider, and he couldn't help but feel a rush of happiness seeing you so pleased with the flowers. "I'm glad you like them," he said, his voice soft with sincerity.

You wrapped your arms around him in a spontaneous hug, and Darry felt his heart swell with warmth at the gesture. "Thank you, Darry," you whispered, your voice filled with genuine gratitude.

The embrace felt like a balm to Darry's soul, soothing the lingering doubts and fears that had plagued him since last night. But as he held you close, he knew there was still something he needed to address, something he couldn't ignore any longer.

"I need to apologize, Y/N," Darry began, his voice tinged with regret. "I was a jerk last night at the bonfire. I shouldn't have dismissed you like that."

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a furrowed brow. "Darry, it's okay," you reassured him, though there was a hint of hurt in your eyes.

But Darry shook his head, his gaze earnest. "No, it's not okay," he insisted, his voice firm. "You deserved better than that, and I'm sorry for treating you like you didn't matter."

Your expression softened as you listened to Darry's heartfelt apology, and a sense of understanding washed over you. "I forgive you, Darry," you replied, reaching out to gently caress his cheek. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me."

Darry felt a wave of relief wash over him at your forgiveness, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to make it up to you somehow, to show you just how much you meant to him. As he looked into your eyes, he could see the depth of your care and affection reflected back at him, and it filled him with a sense of gratitude. He realized in that moment just how lucky he was to have you in his life.

A mischievous glint sparked in Darry's eyes as he felt a surge of confidence coursing through him. "You know, since we're both feeling so forgiving and all," he began, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, "how about I make it up to you by taking you on a proper date?"

Your eyes widened in surprise at his suggestion, a smile spreading across your face. "A date?" you echoed, a hint of excitement in your voice.

Darry nodded, his grin widening. "Yeah, a date," he confirmed, his tone filled with determination. "How about we go to that fancy restaurant downtown? The one with the candlelit tables and that amazing carbonara dish you love. I know it's your favorite."

A delighted laugh bubbled up from your lips at his suggestion, and Darry felt a surge of pride knowing that he had guessed right. "You remembered," you said, your voice filled with warmth.

Darry shrugged nonchalantly, though his heart swelled with satisfaction at your reaction. "Of course, I remembered," he replied with a wink, his flirtatious side coming out to play. "I pay attention to the important stuff. You're the important stuff."

And as you laughed and agreed to the date, Darry couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building within him. Maybe this was the start of something new, something wonderful – a chance to show you just how much you meant to him, and to make up for his past mistakes with little moments like these.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff

[fairydares]

loook i get why the idea of riding the "anti/pro" fandom disk horse makes people gag a little in their mouth and try to opt out entirely, but here's why i went from feeling exactly the same way to taking a firm profiction stance. I've been meaning to make this post for a while.

~10 years ago, I posted a fic for the first time and it got its own harassment campaign. The fic wasn't even sexual, and wasn't going to be (it remains incomplete). It was accurately rated T on fanfiction.net. Anyone in the Fairy Tail fandom will understand this: I literally got harassed for writing a "Lucy leaves the guild" fic💀.

After many nice comments, someone left a pretty nasty one. Hurt, I messaged them back. They acted super attacked that I'd responded (lmao) and after we argued, threatened to "rip my shitty story apart in the comments section" if I responded again. I told them "go ahead lol."

They went ahead.

Now know that it was a relatively small harassment campaign, but at the time, it was devastating. Right around then, I wound up in the hospital. After I got out, I went to excitedly check my fic, and found several reviews saying things I wouldn't repeat to my worst enemy. I was suicide-baited more than once, told "thank fuck you finally abandoned this shitty story, dumb cunt," stuff like that.

There were several accounts involved, and I can't say for sure, but I suspect at least a couple different people were involved, though probably at least half of it was one person.

All the other comments were screeching about how I hadn't updated, mostly. "NO UPDAAATEE WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS TO MEEEE??!!!" was one that stood out after I'd been miserable in a hospital for an extended period of time.

Idk what people think is going on when FT fic authors write this trope, and frankly I don't give a fuck. Because while I was partly writing the story out of some young, cringe feminist rage, I also did genuinely have a real story I was compelled to tell. I was inspired by another, popular fic I loved which used the trope to talk about how trying to shoulder our burdens alone really just hurts both ourselves and everyone who cares about us.

My own story was ultimately going to have similar themes, with more focus on strength, what it means, and in what contexts earning and having it actually matters. In retrospect, no wonder I wound up in hot water, because at the time "Lucy vs. Strength vs. Misogyny" was the FT fandom's Designated Nonsensically Activist Debate™. But that's partly why i wanted to write about it; engaging with the fandom had gotten me thinking about it 🤷‍♂️

Not too long after that, FFNet oh-so-benevolently granted us the ability to delete comments from our own stories (they never took my reports seriously at all, afaik). I deleted all or most of the harassers' comments (may still be a one or two up, and i'm fairly sure there's a couple comments defending my fic from the harassment) without saving screenshots, which I really regret now. I was just so mortified and full of self-loathing about the whole thing that i wanted to forget it completely. Something that had brought me joy at a very lonely, vulnerable period of my life had turned so negative, and i couldn't even tell the people closest to me about it without being made fun of for writing anime fan fiction.

I didn't understand why this happened at the time, but--after a period of trying to forget/bid out of it all with a slight anti lean (a common approach I see people use, and one which I'm not proud of adopting)--I just had to figure out What the Fuck Even Happened There. And I'm telling you, after years of reflecting, wrestling with both sides, and educating myself, that this "status quo of harassment" culture which pervades fandom goes way deeper than you think and comes out of a way darker well than you probably realize. An astonishing amount of this is, quite literally, TERF shit and evangelical shit.

Trying to be in fandom and take a stance of, "Anti/Pro shit? Ew, I'm Not Touching that," is like swimming in a heavily polluted river and being like, "Poison? Cringe. Not me lol."

You might be lucky enough to be in a less-polluted part of the river (AKA a relatively non-toxic fandom, in which case good for you!)...but tbh this rhetoric and peer-signalling will still seep in.

I can't stress enough that pro-fiction, AKA "proship", is the normal, leftist-about-art-and-sex opinion. Pro-ship is against all the horrible things you're against; in fact, pro-ship isn't trivializing real trauma by equating it with fictional trauma, or trying to apply literal evangelical/radfem solutions--which are proven not to prevent or help. Profiction/proship is literally just saying, "Fiction is fiction, reality is reality, and the two don't have a 1:1 relationship. And historically, trying to censor just things we've decided are bad has done nothing but get LGBTQ+ and POCs censored. Therefore, depictions of illegal things shouldn't be censored." That's it. "Proshippers all ship problematic ships," is a brazen lie. Many of them share other fans' disgust for those ships, they just don't believe in censoring fic authors over it.

It is also taking a stand against harassment because--and I hope my own story has helped drive this home--as with all groups who adopt ingroup/outgroup thinking, antis are defined by their tactics, not actual stances on real, serious issues. What happened to me was absolutely a result of anti, "it's okay to 'bully out' anything I just don't like" mindset pervading fandom. In a way, this was the mindset's final form. They didn't even feel the need to cite a reason the trope was "bad" or "wrong"; it annoyed them, and they viewed their own feelings as a valid enough pathway for policing to go right ahead and do so.

In the interest of offering solutions instead of just bitching about problems, I might make a "how to know if you've bought into these types of views"-type post sometime. Also might come back to this and provide some sources/citation.

[ashwhowrites]

Fwb to lovers Eddie x Reader, Eddie decides to end things with her friend with benefits (reader ) because lately he had seen reader and Steve very close to each other, but Reader doesn't know that Eddie ended things with her because of Steve, and she was just trying to give advices to Steve about dating other people to forget about Nancy, so Eddie goes to Family Video to rent some movies and he sees Steve, and Eddie asks Steve how are things going with reader and Steve's like I don't like reader and she doesn't like me, so Eddie discovers that he had feelings for Reader and when he goes to her house he finds her crying in her bedroom and he confess to her and comforts her and Reader tells Eddie that she likes him too!

I hope this is what you were looking for :) thank you for requesting

FWB..again?

Y/N has forced Eddie to watch countless movies about friends with benefits never working out. The guy falls for the girl or the girl falls for the guy. It was a common plot line. And Eddie was pissed that he found himself in the same situation.

Eddie and Y/N started hooking up months ago, on a random night when they were both drunk. The next morning they tried to remain just friends, making sure nothing was awkward. But that didn't last long. They fell into each other beds over and over. Neither had a conversation about feelings or calling things off when their minds changed.

But lately, Eddie sensed something between her and Steve. And it made his blood burn. Eddie couldn't stand Steve as it was, but now he's coming after his girl? Well, not his girl, but pretty damn sure felt like it. When they were alone, she never talked about Steve, not even a tiny sentence. But every time he saw them together, they were always in a heated discussion. It was like Steve waited on every word that left her mouth.

Eddie never knew how to handle his feelings. Why else would he be friends with benefits with the girl he's secretly been in love with for years? He knew sex and he knew he did it well. But a relationship? He wasn't sure if he had what it took. Steve Harrington was a relationship guy, maybe she knew that.

Eddie didn't want to feel second best to the King Steve Harrington. He also didn't want to be her plaything while she made advances towards someone else. So he called it off. He ripped the band-aid off as fast as he could, watching the confusion take over her face. She questioned him, but he didn't give answers. He didn't admit that he was insecure and jealous of Steve. He didn't want to stand in the way of her finding the love of her life.

He just didn't know that he was the love of her life.

Eddie knew calling it off would be hard, but he didn't think of the aftermath. How even more painful it was to sleep with her scent on his pillows. Or how bad it hurt that every night it was less and less strong. He didn't talk to her much anymore. He was too embarrassed to be around her while he was keeping his heart together. She tried to keep the friendship alive, calling him and inviting him out. But he always declined. Being with her was a taste of what he couldn't have.

~~~

Y/N wasn't sure what changed with Eddie. She couldn't remember anything changing that would lead to him breaking them up. But when she asked, he didn't have anything to say. It hurt more than anything, she loved him and loved having parts of him that no one else did. Maybe that's what changed? Maybe he found someone else?

She tried to stay focused on Steve. She's been helping him with his dating life and it was a good distraction for her. Her love life was failing, but maybe she could help him.

~~~

Eddie walked around the video store for a few minutes before he caught Steve. He wanted to run before he noticed, but Steve was already waving him over.

"Hey Steve," Eddie said through his clenched teeth, passing over the horror film. Steve greeted him back and rang up his movie.

Eddie didn't want to ask and he didn't want to know. So why the hell did he ask?

"So...how's things with Y/N?"

Eddie wanted to smack himself. Steve looked at him confused as he grabbed the receipt.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh nothing, just figured you guys were together or something." Eddie shrugged, acting like the thought hadn't kept him up for days.

"Isn't she with you? Like aren't you guys together?" Steve was confused. All she talked about was Eddie, Eddie, and more Eddie.

"We aren't together." Eddie rushed out. "I mean we were! But not together, together. Just having hot sex but like that's it." He rambled

"....yeah I didn't need to know the last part." Steve cringed. He loved Y/N as a sister and hearing that made his stomach turn. "But anyway, why did you think she and I were together?"

"Just figured from seeing you guys together," Eddie explained, but now he had a feeling he sounded like an idiot.

"Oh no. I don't like her and she's into you, bud." Steve said, patting Eddie's shoulder with a tight smile.

~~~

With the confirmation from Steve's mouth that Y/N was into Eddie and Eddie alone, he raced to her house.

He nervously knocked on her door. He wasn't sure how she would react to seeing him again. Considering he ignored every possible interaction with her. To his luck, she opened the door. Her eyes were red and puffy. But she smiled at him.

"Oh hey!" She greeted him, she sounded happy and bubbly. But he could tell she was crying minutes or even seconds before she opened the door.

"Hey, can we talk?" To his surprise, she welcomed him inside and led him to her room. A room he'd been in many times but now felt like a stranger standing in it.

"What's up?" She asked, sitting on her bed as she faced him. He stood near her doorway, ready for a fast exit in case she wanted to scream at him for messing everything up.

"I think you deserve to know why I ended things." He said, playing with his rings as he watched her. Her smile fell, like the reminder of what he did washed over her again.

"Um, yeah. It would be nice to have that closure." She agreed.

"I'm kind of an idiot," he began, smiling as she laughed. "I like you, and I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you. And it scared me. But I also got scared because I thought something was happening between you and Steve. I didn't want to be in the way of a relationship that would be good for you! So I figured running away seemed like the best idea. I'm sorry for hurting you and us."

"I don't like Steve at all " she said quickly.

"Which I know! He told me. He said you were into me." Eddie explained

She blushed and was a little annoyed Steve told him, but at the same time that's what brought Eddie back to her.

"Well it's true, I like you. And I'm pretty sure I love you too. Then you dumped me out of nowhere and I thought maybe you found someone else. I was only with Steve because he wanted help with his sucky dating life." Y/N chuckled.

Eddie finally moved his legs, sitting next to her as he grabbed her hand.

"Never will there be anyone else. It's like those shitty movies you make me watch. Where you scream at the TV because the two characters are in love but don't do anything about it." He explained. He loved the way she smiled and laughed again.

"Maybe we shouldn't be those characters. Maybe we should do something about it." She whispered, leaning in towards him.

"I think so too " he whispered back. His lips melted against hers as he kissed her. He hummed at the familiar taste and feeling.

Eddie Munson could be a relationship guy too

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93

[btscontentenjoyer]

BTS Summer Fic Recs

Here are some summer fanfic recommendations if you need something to read on the beach, by the pool, or just in your room while you're trying to escape the heat! If you enjoy any of these stories, please don't forget to let the author know by reblogging and leaving feedback. Most of these stories contain smut or other mature themes so MINORS DNI!

kim namjoon

solace by @m-yg93 (13.5k) fluff/smut

[roommates to lovers]

summary: Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.

kim seokjin

all you’re giving me is friction by @hot-soop (28.3k) angst/smut/fluff

[surfer!seokjin x lifeguard!f.reader, lovers to enemies (lite) to lovers]

summary: You’ve graduated! Congratulations - you’ve got one thing checked off your parents ten year plan! Now all that’s left to do is start your dreary office job, drag yourself up the ladder to CEO, marry your (as yet unknown) dream guy, and carve out some time to pop out a few kids before your ovaries shrivel up… Except all of that sounds horrendous, and you’d much rather spend the next three months at Hoseok’s beach house with your closest friends - relaxing, partying, and sleeping late while you still can. And it would be your last perfect summer break, if it weren’t for the most irritating man on the planet (and his chickens) living next door.

min yoongi

the landlord by @ppersonna (4.3k) smut/light crack/pwp

[landlord!yoongi]

summary: your air conditioner breaks right at the height of a recordbreaking heat wave.  good thing your hot landlord, yoongi, knows how to attend to any needs you may have.

watermelon sugar by @yoonjinkooked (23k) smut/romcom

[strangers to lovers, vacation au]

summary: Travelling alone to your dream destination had sounded like a good idea at the time. And you don’t regret doing it, of course not - you’re in Greece! The food! The sun! The smell of the sea! The white walls and blue chairs, the hills, the warm days and colder nights. A little company wouldn’t hurt, though. That’s how you end up talking to Min Yoongi, your next door neighbour with whom you practically share a balcony. He’s quiet, he barely leaves his room but when you reach out, he doesn’t push you away. That’s how your Greek adventure begins.

jung hoseok

strawberry sundae by @youtifulhobi (6k) fluff

[lifeguard!hoseok x olympian swimmer!reader, meet cute]

summary: A few years after you begin dating Jung Hoseok, the two of you reminisce about how you met when he was a lifeguard and saved you from drowning, when in reality you had just fell off your strawberry floatie and he just wanted to talk to you.

a taste of paradise by @theharrowing (8k) light angst/smut

[strangers to lovers, chance encounters]

summary: A handsome stranger helps take your mind off of all of the drama that awaits you back home. It is bittersweet, isn’t it, how a chance encounter that makes you feel so good can also just leave you craving more.

park jimin

i need you tonight by @minisugakoobies (1.5k) smut/slight angst?

[pool boy!jimin]

summary: You’re tired of watching your evil stepmom waste your father’s money. So you steal one of her toys.

you dtf? by @sailoryooons (10.2k) smut/pwp

[strangers to one-night stand]

summary:  You’ve never had a one night stand. Jimin has had countless. You’re trying to experience new things. Jimin loves doing the same old shit. So when you meet the man going around the club inviting people to touch his ripped abs, you think perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to try new things. It’s Labor Day weekend at the shore - what can go wrong?

into the wilderness by @gukyi (27k) angst/fluff/comedy

[friends to lovers, camp counsellor au, unrequited love]

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was… disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

kim taehyung

summer feelings by @jjkeverlast (558) fluff/crack

[childhood best friends to lovers]

summary: taehyung catches you off guard during your first trip to the beach.

himbo hours by @gimmethatagustd (7k) pwp/smut/humor

[himbo!taehyung x reader, strangers to lovers]

summary: Trouble always seems to follow Taehyung. An innocent night of finding new friends to share his alcohol, drugs, and boxy smiles quickly turns into a mess when he accidentally punches you, a poor, unsuspecting clubgoer, right in the face. Whoops!

trip by @daechwitatamic (22k) fluff

[friends to lovers, camping au]

summary: Your gigantic crush on Kim Taehyung is so bad that you drop whatever you’re holding every time he speaks to you. Your dirty liar of a best friend SWORE to you he wouldn’t be on this camping trip, but he is. Luckily, the trip gives Taehyung the chance to see you in a new light, admittedly with some help from his best friend (and definitely hired spy) Park Jimin.

jeon jungkook

in which sour and salt could be so sweet when jungkook’s existence reminds you that there is still good in the world. by @onlyswan (3.1k) fluff/a pinch of angst/suggestive

[established relationship]

baecation by @1kook (5.9k) smut

[richboy!jungkook, vacation au]

summary: “Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.” He truly knew the way to your heart.

heartless by @here2bbtstrash (7.4k) pwp/smut

[exes hooking up]

summary: after a wild summer at the shore where he made more than a few mistakes, jungkook is ready to remind you why you always take him back.

no longer strangers by @soft4gguk (9.4k) fluff/smut

[jungkook x inexperienced!reader, strangers to lovers, summer love au]

at the end of the day by @starshapedkookie (13.3k) fluff/smut/a little angst

[ex-baseball player!jungkook, high school friends to lovers, beach/vacation au]

summary: You and Jungkook have been best friends for 8 years, going through absolute hell and back together. After senior year of high school, you and Jungkook began a tradition of taking annual vacations together during the summer months. This summer is no different, with you and Jungkook celebrating graduating college just a couple months prior. You're set to move to NYC after the summer, with you and Jungkook soaking in the sun and as many moments as you can together. You'd think nothing could ever tear your friendship apart with him, but when you've sat on the beach for too many days in a row watching him surf, you can't help but wonder - when did your best friend get so hot?

lemon sherbet by @extravaguk (15k) fluff/smut/angst

[tattoo artist!&piercing artist!jungkook x popular!reader, ex high school classmates, kinda frenemies to lovers, summer au]

summary: But above all things, the last thing you expected to happen when you came back was to show your tits and get pierced by none other than motherfucking Jeon Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

concrete king by @bratkook (16.7k) fluff/smut

[skaterboy!jungkook x reader, himbo energy]

summary: when a cute boy in a tacky hawaiian shirt lands a trick in your honor there’s no way you could ever say no to him

ex on the beach by @beahae (mini-series, 18.2k) fluff/light angst/smut

[exes to lovers]

summary: You and Jungkook broke up. But it would be very silly of you to let the fancy beach vacation you both won go to waste, right?

stars behind waves by @taegularities (22.7k) angst/fluff/smut

[estranged childhood best friends to lovers, beach/vacation au]

summary: With a decade’s distance between Jungkook and you, your paths cross on the same island you deemed your second home years ago. And you realise once again – the ocean can never compare to the twinkle in his starry eyes.

paddle with me by @yoongsgguktae (two-shot, 30k) angst/smut

[enemies to lovers, camp counsellor au]

summary: when your camp leader forces you and jeongguk as partners in a team building activity. with frustrations and anger flaring during your journey down the river, how will all this pent-up emotion get released?

Thank you so much for taking the time to check out my list! I read some of these stories while on vacation this year, and some have stayed with me for a while since I read them last summer. If anyone has more summery recommendations, I'd love to hear them, so don't be afraid to put them in the comments or send me an ask <3

[bonkbobl]

beautiful fool

ROOSE BOLTON X READER | PART 2

a/n: wait okay i didn't mean to fall down this rabbit hole but roose bolton can get it i dont really care. genuinely sometimes i forget that hes a bad... bad bad bad man. he has that flavor of bad thats just so alluring though i cant resist. i forget that the boltons often torture people for fucks and giggles but rewatching the scene where roose just fucks with jamies head for no reason other than thinking it might be funny made me think to what lengths would he go for something he actually wants. warning that its unedited and unplanned and this is more or less a train of thought fic.

summary: he had to have you. whatever it takes.

warning: REALLY explicit, major dubious consent, honestly headed toward straight noncon. very problematic trope of being forced to fuck but then enjoying it. forced marriage. id say dark roose but lowkey this is pretty in character for this bad bad bad man bad man. bad man.

Your heart raced out of your chest, fear even threatening to bubble and explode out of your throat. You almost got away. You nearly escaped. And here you were, tackled into the mud just by the river by men who wanted to hurt you. Hurt you and whatever was left of your family.

The men who whispered taunts in your ear as they tied your hands behind your back laughed. These were the same men who just two days ago invited the woman who you call mother and the man who was like a brother to you into their home to feast and murdered them.

You knew they'd send out a hunting party after you. But you thought swimming in the water might throw them off your scent. You weren't so lucky.

And as they dragged you back, the words of those men rang ominously through your head, "It's too bad the lord wants her untouched. I'd very much like to touch this one."

A lurking feeling told you that you'd probably have preferred to fall into the river and crack your head open on some jagged rock than find out what use the Lord of the Dreadfort had for you.

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"What happens if I refuse," You asked, lifting your chin in defiance, as much defiance as you could manage with your arms tied behind your back.

Roose tilted his head at you almost like he was amused that you'd even think you have a say in the matter in the first place. "Then I'll put a bastard baby in you," he responded, his frankness and lack of shame sending cool shivers down your back. "And once the bastard is born I'll put another in you."

You couldn't help the frustrated tears that pooled in your eyes and you ripped your gaze away from him, fear bubbling in your chest and making you feel sick.

"Whore of Winterfell, or Lady Bolton. It's your decision, love."

Ever since that conversation you had pondered how likely it is you'd make it even a few miles before you were captured, either by Bolton hunters or the Ironborn. Either would be unpleasant. You wondered if you could find a way to just be done with it all and join your ward family in the seven heavens rather than fight. But you knew you could never bring yourself to. You were one of the living, through and through. You had to run.

And plan, you did, but no opportunity came. It was only a matter of time before you were put in a pretty white dress and brought under a Godswood to speak your vows to the man who betrayed your true king.

All you could think was why. Why cant he just let you go. You have no legitimate claim that could threaten him. You're not a stark. You're just a girl. You don't come from a large family. Not one of influence. There are no banners to raise. No substantial actions you could take against the new wardens of the north. You were more likely to die trying to run north than you were to be any kind of threat.

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It wasn't like Roose to hold affections for any particular person. It was rare for him to even feel a vague sense of fondness towards anyone. A person is useful and competent. If they aren't then at best they are a nuisance that he could do without, at worst a threat to the Bolton name.

But you.

You were every bit as much a fool as the man who took you in as a ward, and that same mans son who grew up with you. You fretted over honor and doing the right thing when your enemies would not pay a second thought. You argued in favor of the late Queen Talisa's insistence on helping both Northern and Royal forces, allocating countless coppers toward medicating the enemy.

You aggravated Roose to no end when you first began to speak out. And yet he found that his eyes would always meet yours, rake downward against his will really. And though it only added to his aggravation, he brushed those feelings aside as the natural desires of a man.

He, in no way, found you difficult to gaze upon. It was infuriating, even more so that you seemed to understand the effect you had on men, flirting about with the son of Karstark and joking crudely with the men as if you weren't a lady to be respected.

And yet he found a stirring in him when you'd make an innuendo that was a little too risque.

He soon found it difficult to not think of you. Especially when you, the beautiful fool, revealed yourself to be of a sharper mind than even the King in moments.

"I love Talisa, truly, but think about it, Robb. You may be winning battles right now. But if you become too close to her, your closest advisors may falter. You risk losing the war."

"We have little food to sustain the rest of the camp, perhaps it'd do the Northern cause some good to do something about the overflowing kennels. As distasteful as it is to execute so many."

"Karstark will be avenged if you go through with this, please Robb. His forces make up a third of ours. Think. Think about it, I beg you."

Roose was irked by the fact that he agreed with you on more occasions than not, but he was impressed nevertheless. And it only kept you on his mind more. No, it wasn't love, Roose was sure of it, it erred more on the side of an intrigue that escalated to the point of near obsession. You were, after all, young, beautiful, thoughtful, and you held a level head. More strong than his first wife, less stiff and rigid than his second. More alluring and exciting than both.

The way Roose saw it, Robb Stark was becoming more dangerous to the interests of the North, growing increasingly reckless as the war went on. It was really his duty to usurp the so called King in the North, whod surely lead all the great Northern Houses to extinction if this masquerade continued on. You, however, would be a great loss if you were to drown alongside the wolf.

A great loss, indeed. Not to any higher purpose, you were not from any significant house. No, you just deserved to live. It baffled Roose to know he felt that way about any one person. But he reasoned it's simply because he wants you for himself. His pretty little wife — you'd fit that role so well.

He even remembered the way the old Lord Frey cackled when he stated his intentions with you.

"Marry any of my daughters and I will give you her weight in silver, My Lord. An offer of good faith and my grandson shall become Warden of the North."

"I'm honored by the offer, believe me. But I already have a prize that I've set my eyes on."

Frey's eyebrows arched in amusement.

"The Stark Ward," Bolton answered the unspoken question.

And the old man laughed, harder than a man his age should be able to, and sure enough his joy was cut short by a few uncouth coughs. "Pretty slut. I cannot say I blame you, Lord Bolton. I'm embarrassed I didn't think to take that pretty thing as my spoils before you did."

Roose offered a polite smile and hum, "I'll wed one of your children or perhaps grandchildren to whatever child I will have with my new wife."

Frey chuckled, nodding, "Hm, expect me to remember such a promise, my lord..." Then with a sardonic smirk, the lecherous old man spoke again, "Eh, I assume you aren't the type of man to like to share, are you, Lord Bolton."

And Roose's smile dropped into a hard glare. Frey laughed again, waving him off.

"A joke," he reassured, "Alright. After we kill the boy and his mum, you keep the whore. I cant wait to see how you deign to tame the bitch."

------------------

The very same halls you grew up in echoed terribly as your husband led you to the chambers you would share. The Lords chambers. You remember running to this very room to pester your Lord and Lady, sometimes Sansa or her older brother running alongside you.

Lord Bolton hardly spoke a word to you. All the better, for you could not bear to look at him. All those months of sitting across him as both of you counseled the proclaimed King in the North, and you thought you knew the man. You even admired him, vied for his approval. You thought him to be intelligent, more clear headed than the men that are easily driven by anger or lust and other vices of men. You'd smile to yourself on the occasions he'd agree with you or appear to approve of your advise.

To be honest, you thought Lord Bolton had no such love or affection toward you, especially in the very beginning when he wouldn't even stop to regard you, or he'd clearly speak over you, brush you aside, advise your king the opposite of the words you'd spoken. You thought he saw you as a mere child, playing at king and hand like you and Robb would as babes.

Now you think he really must have hated you. You wonder how long he hated Robb, and all the Starks, all their allies. But you, he must have hated you especially. Why he would feel the need to subject you to the greatest torture of living with him, being bred by him, carrying child after child, you wondered why why why. Why does he hold so much resentment toward a young girl. He must be a sad man.

You suddenly realized he was staring at you, watching your teary eyes, your clenched jaw, your shaky breath. You stared him in his cold eyes, defiant. Though you knew it was useless. You knew what would come next. He made it clear.

Whore of Winterfell, or Lady Bolton.

Was there any difference?

For Lady Bolton, the children you bear him would be heirs rather than bastards. For Lady Bolton, you'd have a title, your "honor" in tact. But everything that mattered would remain the same. Youd take him nightly. You could only hope for him to cease his visits once a babe has taken to your belly

"Lady Bolton," your husband commanded your attention.

You faced him, inches away from the bed. He towered over you and you did your best at a feeble attempt to not let him intimidate you. You were scared. You wanted to be strong but the thought of what was to come next was scaring you. There's no escape.

"Lord Bolton," you replied, nothing but spite in your tone.

He breathed a humorous scoff, shaking his head slightly, "Undress yourself," he said, barely above a whisper, challenging you by tilting his head to the side. His eyes were so cold, barely feeling. You'd not be surprised if he told you he wasn't human.

Swallowing, you began unlacing your dress, attempting to remain hard as steal. But a tear finally trickled down your face when his hand reached up to cup it.

Your fingers stalled to a halt when he leaned in to kiss the tear, an action that would be comforting from any other man but you knew he meant to mock you. This was meant to be humiliating. He doesn't care for you. He kisses your tears away to remind you he doesn't care. He might even like it. Stop crying.

But you couldn't. You squeaked out a small sob as his lips came down to meet yours, hungry and demanding. Your shaky breath let out a heavy sigh through your nose and the feeling of fear strangely extinguished from your chest for a moment. Instead, your chest rose and you met him in his kiss.

His lips were surprisingly soft, his tongue felt dirty in your mouth but you couldn't explain why you didn't want to bite it off and spit it out. Instead you felt helpless and you let his tongue roam your mouth with little to no fight. When he pulled away from you, a string of spit tried desperately to keep the two of you connected but smacked against your chin after a mere second.

Your breath was heavy, cheeks wet with tears, flushed and probably looking a mess. You didn't want to imagine it. The vague sense of disgust with yourself remained but it just felt slightly different. You didn't know how to place it. It stirred rather pleasantly in your lower tummy and you felt really tense down there.

"I will repeat this command. But for the future, I want it to be known that I don't enjoy repeating myself. Undress yourself."

You heard his words clearly and allowed him to kiss you again. Your fingers clumsily and hurriedly worked at your dress. You stripped yourself bare as he did as he liked, kissing, nipping at your lips. His hands explored the new inches of your body as they became more and more exposed to him.

They roamed over your back, and back in front to cup your soft tits, weighing them, toying with your nipple... roamed back down your back, squeezing your firm ass. You couldn't place the feeling, you couldn't place it. You didn't like the feeling. You wanted it to stop. And yet if he pulled away you felt as if you might lean back into his touch inexplicably. You'd hate it but you'd go back for more.

Whenever he groped you a little too hard, you'd whine without even realizing it and Roose's pleasure would grow. Once you were fully naked, you grew awkward, not knowing what to do with your hands so you backed toward the bed. But he followed.

The rough fabric of his clothes felt harsh against your soft skin. You had nothing to do but whimper again and when you turned your head away, he simply let you, instead taking the opportunity to finally look at you, his little wife. Beautiful, clever, stubborn little wife.

You ducked your head, crying, confused at the way you felt, confused as to why you weren't fighting him harder. And that spurred you to begin.

Roose realized you weren't fighting him the second he kissed you and he shared your confusion for a second until he felt your tongue caressing his in reciprocation. He's sure you hadn't even fully realized your own actions as you had rushed to comply with his orders.

He half expected you to be a shy blushing bride but this reminded him that you were a little of a tease with Robbs men, cracking nasty jokes that a lady should not have been aware of. You were no blushing bride. In fact, you were a bit of a slut. A tease.

And suddenly, it struck him that the behavior hadn't so much aggravated him in the way that he thought. In fact the memory of you flirting with those men who were now burried in the ground or thrown into the river, gave him this strong sense of accomplishment to have you here.

Roose began undoing his trousers, unsheathing himself to your horror and you pushed him away, escaping the only way you were permitted, crawling on the bed and trying to get over to the other side. Roose was too fast, grabbing your ankle and pulling you down.

You fell but you kicked him in the chest and he laughed, dropping your ankle, but only so he could grasp your hips firmly and pull you back along the edge of the bed.

"Down, girl," he commanded, as if you were a dog.

You cried, clawing at anywhere to escape to. But he was right behind you and as you looked around, you knew it was hopeless. Still the fight burned on in your chest. Then you heard a smack and a sharp pain in your buttock, jolting you under your husband.

Another one came because you refused to calm yourself, then his hand slipped between your thighs and he spanked you again as another feeble warning.

"My lady," He started, waiting for you to calm finally before chuckling. Then your torturer informed you of something, no doubt to break your spirits, "Are you aware, Lady Bolton, how wet your cunt is?"

His rough weathered fingers rubbed at your entrance, barely pushing in and sure enough the sound of your slick being rubbed and spread around, filled your ears. Your fists balled the sheets under it and your legs helplessly kicked up, though with no purpose. You couldn't get away. From him. From your shame. From your body's betrayal.

"Your womb is begging me to fill it. You feel it, don't you?" He taunted, "You're confused, aren't you. Stupid, confused, little wife."

His fingers slipped away and you fought to catch your breath, fists relaxing because he stopped. But then his fingers were replaced by something thicker and hotter and your struggle resumed. Your hips squirming but all it did was slicken his cockhead for an easier entrance.

"Let me clear your confusion, stupid little wife." Roose cooed to you, the tone of his voice unfitting of the cruel words. "You are exactly where you belong. Under your husband, serving your husband. The Warden of the North. There's no need to fight your fate or fight your pleasure as you are exactly where you belong."

Then he began pushing into you and your toes clenched, back arching inexplicably. The new angle that you provided made it easier. You knew it didn't make sense but it made perfect sense to Roose, who chuckled behind you, smacking your ass, this time not in displeasure but as a praise. Your body twitched at it, cunt squeezing and pulsing around him as if it were trying to suck it in.

Your moans grew more wanton as he pushed in torturously slow. And of course it hurt, stung, when he forced past your maidenhead but you couldn't even bring yourself to squirm away from that. You were rightfully his.

When his hips met yours, he just held himself buried inside you for a few seconds and you continued to contract and twitch around him, small squeaks of confusion escaping your throat against your will. You couldn't stop squirming. The sensation of something so big filling you stirred you uncontrollably.

A hand trailed down your thigh, nudging it upward and you followed the movement, allowing him to prop your leg up on the bed. Then he began thrusting and your face heated up when you heard just how wet you were. Each time his hips pressed flush against you, youd feel the cool sensation of your slick on his balls.

It was all so vivid. Even if you couldn't see what was going on behind you. You knew. And the most shameful noises forced past your throat as your husband fucked you deeply and slowly.

"Listen to yourself," Roose muttered, hands coming up to grab your shoulders.

It allowed him to hammer deeper and harder into you, the sharpness of his thrusts contrasting the slow strokes he started with. You cried out, shameful but you were horrified to find that you did not want him to stop. Not when he was... oh his cock was hitting something inside you. Deep inside you.

"Keep making those noises, darling wife. I cant tell if I enjoy your pleasure more or your tears."

You cried out, a small sob at the end of it. And despite your better judgement, you turned your head to look at your husband. Your naked body contrasted so much with his garments, which stayed mostly unmoved. Only his pants and breeches were pulled down to his mid thigh.

His expression hardened upon evaluating your features. There was nothing more beautiful, your lips parted in a pleasure that confused you. The tears had dried by now but your hair was a mess and your eyes swollen and pinkish. Not to mention the way you were splayed out beneath him. He landed a firm spank to your buttocks again, aiming to leave marks.

You whimpered, eyebrows coming together as your pussy clamped down around him. Roose grabbed your hip that was propped higher than the rest of your body due to your leg that was positioned on the bed. And he used that hip as leverage to pull your body into him.

The confusion within you turned to fear when an unfamiliar feeling began building within you. You cried out loudly and involuntarily clamped down even harder around him, pulsing uncontrollably as he jackhammered into you ruthlessly, intensifying when his hands abandoned your hips for your neck.

You couldn't help but feel as if you were reduced to a little object. He could grab you wherever and however he wanted and pull you against his cock and you had nowhere to run and yet you couldn't even deign to lift your legs and kick at him. You surrendered to the smallness that he made you feel, cries and distress replaced by whimpers and submission.

You came to find your body shaking and convulsing with a blinding kind of pleasure. Even your moans died into a breathy, shaky sigh, back arching as you sank further into the sheets beneath you. Your lord gave no sign of stopping, another self satisfied hum rumbling from his chest.

"Good, so good, darling. I knew you would come to enjoy your new position."

And with that you were filled again with shame, though not yet strong enough to overshadow the stubborn pleasure which muted any feelings that might incite discomfort. You especially could not feel displeased when your husband firmly snapped his hips into you, releasing a grunt. He continued to pump into you, slowly but firmly. sighing along with his thrusts. It was the only compromise in composure that he allowed you to see and you were only sure at this point that he was finished with you.

Surprisingly the spilling of his seed didn't feel like much but your cunt squeezed him, as if it was aware. And you felt satisfaction wash over you, as if your body was also aware.

To your shock and shame, your ass gyrated beneath him, rolling itself against him to fully milk him for all he had to offer you. And you hid your face, pausing once you realized.

After recovering from his release, Roose watched you closely, appreciating the way you still squirmed, restless. You moved your leg back down to the floor and pushed back, hips meeting his and your cunt convulsed again around him due to the overstimulation. He stood like a barrier, looming over you a he rested his hands on the edge of the bed where your hips were and your restless little cunt continued to twitch and pulse as you tried to compose yourself desperately.

You breathed deeply but it was hopeless. You could not walk away with your dignity, fully aware of how Lord Bolton stared upon his Lady Bolton, satisfied with how you gave into him so easily.

You shivered and your breath hitched when he landed a kiss to your shoulder blade. Then you sighed, settling down again for him. And a needy whimper confirmed your submission.

Roose loomed over you, giving you another small kiss on your temple.

"You did well, my lady."

The approval got to you. Your days on Robbs counsel trying your best to say anything intelligent that would make him accept you as an equal. It all led you to this moment. But you never did accomplish your goal of being viewed as an equal, at least it didn't feel that way in this moment. His softening cock still inside you, the only thing stopping his spend from trickling down your leg. Oh the shame of it all.

"I'm pleased to find that you enjoyed it as much as I did."

"No," You protested but in your voice you could tell you didn't even believe yourself.

Lord Bolton merely laughed. And you whimpered again, willing yourself to sink into the bed and disappear. Then your husband pulled back and spread your ass cheeks apart, giving you a lengthy thrust. Though he was not as hard as he was moments ago, the movement was enough to make you shiver.

"Then we should try again in a half mark of an hour. I shall train my lady wife to welcome me into her bed."

You bit the inside of your mouth to prevent another whimper but it was ripped from you when Lord Bolton spanked you again.

Oh yes, Roose Bolton would commit a thousand betrayals and massacre a hundred false Kings if it meant he'd end up with you, here, to warm his bed.

[nocturnesmoon]

A mistake to remember

Archaic Blood Masterlist: TF141 x Vampire!GN!Reader Callsign: Solis

-You're reminded of your reflection, which doesn't exist-

Vanity; The excessive pride or admiration of one’s own appearance. To use countless hours in front of a mirror to perfect a hairstyle, to make sure the clothes fall right, the perfume or the makeup applied properly.

Petty vanity.

Do you miss it? Of course, you do.

As far as you can remember you've never been too obsessed with appearance. So much of your life has been based on pure survival, most things you did was just done to make sure you would see another night.

That doesn't mean that you don't sometimes ponder that type of question; what do you actually look like? Mirrors are no help; your reflection won't even show up in them. You've spent a lot of time in front of mirrors, trying to trick your brain into seeing something that it couldn't, trying to conjure the image of your looks, and if you weren't deathly afraid of rivers and large bodies of water, you might've been able to use the reflection in that, but alas…

You did know the basics of it, hair color, skin complexion, the fact your eyes are eerily red, from other people having told you, but what did your eyes look like before they turned to a red glow? It's so long ago now you can no longer remember. Maybe they were blue, green, brown, did you inherit them from your mother or your father?

You tried not to dwell in the details, you had spent a lot of years doing that when you first started to forget, and it collectively became a very low point in your life, if you exclude your time in literal captivity.

Humans barely noticed it either, some of them could be so unobservant. When you'd pass a mirror, and there would be no reflection, they typically didn't notice it if you pretended you didn't either. Sometimes they would ask you about it, but you could usually gaslight yourself out of a situation like that, unfortunately leaving them feeling a little crazy.

Except for very type specific encounters, you could usually get away with pretending it's a thing you don't care about. Nobody acknowledges it and you don't put attention to it, but then of course one unfaithful day, you're reminded in probably the weirdest way possible.

It had been a busy day already, and it was going to be a busy night. Paperwork overflooded your desk, and the meetings became relentless after the third one. You had hoped for some reprieve during your break but then you noticed a specific letter in your pile. The name stated on it sent a chill down your spine, you hadn't used that name in 30 years, and you were most certainly sure that the person who sent this was supposed to be dead.

It's not the first time you've gotten a mildly threatening letter from someone who supposedly knows what or who you are. It's usually taken care of by whoever is your current handler, and you never see to it again, yet it doesn't fail to rattle your bones, nonetheless.

You look to the clock to see the time, already too late to turn anything over to Kate, she wouldn't be here. So instead, you decide to take a break from your overflowing work, you could use some fresh air anyway. It's how you end up out here in the parking lot, having just come back from a refreshing walk in a nearby forest.

You already knew you shouldn't have brought the letter, but you couldn't resist. It had you stopping behind a row of cars and bringing out a combat knife you kept lodged in your belt, to rip the flail thing open. You craved to know what new creative threat these people came up with, though you found it to be duller and duller each time it happened, the thrill of danger no longer hitting quite the same as the first few times.

The words take your attention, reading through every scribble carefully and distracting you from your surroundings. It makes you completely miss how your surroundings change, a lot brighter from being illuminated by the car’s backlights, and it make you completely dull to the fact it's backing out with an alarming speed. It's only when it rams into you, sending you flying to the side with a hissed shriek.

The car stops abruptly, the tires making a jarring squeaking sound as it jostles in place. You groan when you feel the pain from hitting your head against the ground, though it's not the searing pain you allow yourself to notice first, but the fact you just let something very embarrassing happen.

The fuck kinda apex predator are you supposed to be who can't even stand out of the way for a car trying to exist the parking lot.

You raise yourself on your elbows, looking around a little disoriented. "Solis?!" the car door is opened harshly, and the familiar voice rings out. You look towards him as he quickly makes his way towards you.

You had seen Soap in a lot of different kinds of stress, this was a special one, mostly reserved for whenever someone got hurt in battle. "What the fuck are ye doing?!" he shouts panicked as he looks at you (not so) comfortably laying on the ground.

Your eyes squeeze together slightly, comprehending what exactly just happened before you formed your words. "What am i-" your eyes widen as you look up at him, "What are you doing!! Didn't you see i was right there?!"

"Ye don't show up in the mirror yer dumbass!!"

"Oh-"

Soap groans a dramatically, burying his face in his hands and muttering something that's too mumbled together Scottish for you to catch. "Yer a bloody eejit, what are ye even doin' out here anyway, ah just wanted to finally go home and- STEAMIN' BLOODY JESUS, YER CALF, SOLIS."

At his outburst your eyes shoot down to your calf, this was only getting more and more ridiculous by the second. You had sharpened your tools last night but how the hell did your knife manage to create a big gash through your pants and leave your calf bleeding.

"Oh god…" the pain finally got through to your brain now that you were made aware of the injury, the shock no longer letting you have any reprieve. Soap continued to panic, clearly too tired to really think straight. You didn't blame him, you knew how hard everyone in the 141 worked, and you weren't the only one swamped with duties today.

"Fuck fuck fuck, ach we need to get ye to medical stat," Soap shakes his head and quickly scoots over to you. He hoists you up, hooking an arm under your knees and one under your back to carry you despite your protests.

"I'm fine Soap," you groaned, looking up at his worried eyes just as he started walking, "I can walk on my own you know, it's not that bad."

"Shut yer pretty mouth, we need to get that cleaned and closed so ye don't get an infection," he pressed on. You were about to remind him to lock his car but there was only one thing in his sentence you could focus on now that he had said it.

"Pretty?"

"Shut."

And you did, with a small smirk resting on your lips while you let him fuss over you. The infirmary was quiet and almost empty this time of night, only one unlucky person left that was practically forced by Soap to treat you.

Despite how much you insisted that it was fine, and it would heal on its own, the poor medic was all too intimidated by Soap's stare to just leave without checking it out. It didn't take long to look over and get bandaged up. Just as you had been saying, it wasn't that bad, and it was more impressive that you had actually managed a stunt like that in the first place.

Soap doesn't seem to relax even after the medic managed to escape the room, leaving the two of you alone. His eyes were fixated on your calf as your legs dangled off the bed. It was only when you cleared your throat that he sprang into action, in a rather unexpected way.

"Ye can take my blood," he says abruptly and extends his wrist to you. Your eyes widen, flickering to the dark veins on the back of his wrist, so invitingly calling out to you. However, the pure surprise you get from his sudden offer gives you opportunity to look away and back to his eyes.

Your face scrunches up in slight confusion, you had fed recently, and he's never offered his blood before, why now? He seemed to understand the confusion on your face quickly, as he offered the answer before you had to ask. "Ye need blood to heal right?" he still didn't take his wrist back, but you could tell it was starting to put strain on his outstretched arm.

He wasn't wrong though; you did heal better by consuming the blood of another living creature. Though that was mostly needed for fatal wounds, things that would be hard to come back from. This was just a cut, hardly needed anything more than a bandage and time to heal.

Still, you can't help yourself when looking into his pleading blue eyes, he looks almost choked up as he asks the question. He clearly feels bad, and he wants to make it up to you, it won't do anything to keep telling him it's fine.

So why not let him?

Gently, you pick up his wrist, so he doesn't continue to strain himself in his desperation. "Are you sure?" you ask carefully, raising an eyebrow as you look at him quizzically. You didn't mind his offer of free blood from him, but you had expected more resistance instead of this.

"I'm sure…" he says in the same moment of exhaling his breath. He braces for impact, his eyes locked on his wrists rather than you and your movements. The groan he lets out when your teeth penetrate his skin is downright sinful.

It almost makes you choke back on the blood that pours into your mouth, your eyes looking up to his pink tinted cheeks. His hand covers his mouth as he avoids your gaze like his life depends on it. He'd never tell you that the only reason he offered was because he wanted to know what it was like, feeling jealous that the captain and Gaz already had the honor, though he had a sneaking suspicion you had seen right through him.

And now that he got what he wanted, he knew that he couldn't let this be a one-time thing. The feeling of your lips on him, and your tongue occasionally swirling across his skin, was too much for him to not feel warm and fuzzy about. There was a slight tingling pain, but you must have some kind of sweet toxin on your fangs that made the experience easier, either that or Johnny just discovered he's a massive masochist.

When he finally gets the courage to look back at you, you still haven't looked away, locking his eyes in with yours. The eye contact almost makes it more intense for him, and he has to fight to not rip his hand away out of embarrassment for how he must look to you.

It's an experience that's indescribable to him, and it's only after you've licked his wound clean and released him that he fully realizes the whole thing. To say he's giddy afterwards is an understatement, he feels so light, and a little dizzy.

You haven't seen the effects on your prey too much before, usually you drain them dry, so the effects Soap exhibits is new to you as well. It's a bit like him being drunk, a much lighter version that still puts him out of commission. Maybe you took a bit too much blood…

It ends with the both of you having to lean on each other trying to get back on base, and for the rest of the team to find you the morning after, passed out on top of each other after having failed to get to the couch in time.

Wooo i'm getting a new tablet soon, i'll finally be able to write in other locations except at my stationary pc. I've been feeling really tired recently, and it's gonna be so nice to be able to lay in bed and write. I've tried to use my laptop but i can't use it for long before it fries my legs off-

Anyway, am i the only one that thinks Soap would be a masochist? Maybe just me? Alright then-