#I blame rereading Rising

[teabiscs]

Me having a Hiro/kai fic idea: did I just think this up, or did I read this a year ago and it’s just resurfacing?

[ryescapades]

*ੈ‧₊༺ “SHE’S BEEN DANCING WITH THE DEVIL ALL NIGHT,”

— a casual night out at a party turns wild when you come face to face with a masked man.

characters: ghostface!itoshi rin (bllk) x fem!reader contents: nsfw mdni !!! mention of drinking, unprotected p in v seggs, mutual + guided masturbation, slight oral fixation, a bit of choking, mirror seggs, dirty talk, creampie, college setting, hint of jealous!rin, swearing, reader wears a skirt

a/n: i didn't write this btw. my inner demon did. (blaming lumi for sending me that ghostface fanart of rin) 2k wc

you feel him before you can even see him.

it’s heavy and persistent, the weight of his gaze pricking the back of your neck like dry needles, except it’s making your muscles lock up tighter, not supposedly the other way around. you look around, eyes roving over the boisterous crowd and taking in the sight of some of them dressed in costumes in some way or the other.

halloween had already ended, but there are people still in the festive mood, it seems.

your roommate had invited you to this huge college party at someone’s house, and with nothing to do with your time seeing as the midterms season just finished, you had agreed to come along. you thought the hang out would only consist of a few chats and drinks with friends, maybe a dance or two, the night ending with you going back home probably drunk and alone.

you just didn’t think some random guy would immediately take interest in you the minute you slid up to the makeshift bar.

reluctantly, you force yourself to focus on the conversation in front of you, barely taking in what the guy is saying. you can’t even remember what his name is and the department he’s from.

jirou… from the medic course? you think? you don’t know anymore. and frankly, you don’t care. you’re pretty sure he was flirting with you - still is, in fact. but again, you’re just not listening. not when as soon as the guy started talking, he appeared in the corner of your eye.

silent yet deadly imposing, he towers over most of the people here like he owns the place. clad in a black hoodie and equally dark pants, he looks almost out of place with those casual clothes, if not for the ghostface mask he adorns.

goosebumps prickle on your arms when you accidentally glance at the inky depths of the eyes on the mask.

“hey, you listening?” jirou’s voice takes you by surprise, and the glass of fruit gin your roommate had graciously requested for you almost slips out of your hand from your flinch, making the cold liquid inside to splash out to your hand.

“shit, sorry! i didn’t mean to startle you—“ jirou panics, but you’re already shaking your head and waving your hand off as you rise from your seat. “no, you’re good. i just - uh, i’ll be right back,” you lie through teeth.

you’d rather spend the next hour rereading the materials for your previous tests than listen to him talk for another minute, if you’re being honest. swiftly making your way to the washroom, you sigh wistfully at your lack of luck in getting a good new company tonight.

you don’t get far, unfortunately.

out of nowhere, there is a hand taking a hold on your elbow, causing you to let out a shriek as you’re being pulled into an empty room. the door closes, your back pressing against it as the culprit of said hand looms over you.

it’s the man from earlier. the one whose gaze had been burning holes in the back of your head from across the room. your body turns rigid, unnerved at the ghostface mask he’s wearing. “it’s you,” you whisper.

he doesn’t say anything, but his hand reaches up to your face, cradling your jaw with his fingers as his thumb places itself on your lip. your pulse quickens when he gently traces the seam of your mouth, pressing onto the plush cushion.

words instantly die on your tongue the moment he uses the same hand to hold yours— the one still sticky from the alcohol from earlier— and brings it to your lips. your breath hitches at the insinuation. “wh-what…”

without any warning, the masked man pushes your middle and ring fingers in, breaching past your lips and into your mouth. a muffled sound rips out from you, one that takes both you and him by surprise.

holy shit, did you just pathetically whimper from having your own fingers shoved into your mouth? yes. yes, you did.

sweet and tangy tinges from the gin hit your tastebuds, and something inside you flares up then. the man lets out a hiss, palming his erection with his free hand when you swirl your tongue around and in between your fingers, taking them deeper into your mouth as your lashes flutter from your own action.

there’s a hushed curse, and suddenly you’re being shoved onto the bed in the middle of the room. you don’t fight it. you don’t even want to.

desire pools deep in your core, your body alighting from the sensitized nerves. you can feel yourself getting hotter, the growing wetness between your thighs making your panties feel uncomfortable to be in.

“hands and knees,” your breath stutters at the voice, pussy clenching around nothing as you move to obey his command. you’re doing something wrong, however, when he audibly clicks his tongue. “lower,” he says.

you bite down on your lip, finally understanding before you descend lower, your head laying on the bed and hips lifting in the air as you nervously fist on the sheets below you.

you feel so… exposed. vulnerable. and yet you’re so pitifully turned on you don’t know what to make of yourself.

shivering as his hands drops to your hips, he pulls your skirt further up to bare your ass for his eyes to see. he teases the hem of your soiled panties before tugging them down your thighs, cursing low under his breath at the sight of your wet, dripping cunt.

“play with yourself,” he instructs. swallowing down the nerves, you bring the fingers you’d sucked on earlier to your pussy, tentatively rubbing at your folds as more slickness seeps out from you.

you let out a small whine when you hear the clinging of his belt behind you. “faster,” he orders, and you do. your pussy clenches again, whimpering into the sheets as your fingers get more coated with your sticky wetness.

you can hear him breathing heavily, and you know he’s stroking himself at the sight of you. shoulders rigid against the bed, you desperately want to turn around, to see how he looks like, how his dick looks like.

“please…” you whisper. you almost rejoice then, when you feel the bed dips on both side, his knees appearing beside your own. “god, you’re so soaked i could just push it right in,” he groans.

and that’s what he’s planning to do.

grabbing both of your arms, he pulls you up to lean back against his chest, the soft material of his hoodie a contrast to the hard, throbbing cock against your back. the audible dreamy sigh you're trying to hold back feels fatally difficult after feeling the sheer size of him.

goddamn, he’s gonna make you feel so fucking full.

he rests his head beside yours, bare muscled thighs caging yours in between. “look up,” his voice enters your ears. you bring your gaze up out of mild confusion, and the gasp he elicits out of you is not just out of surprise.

right as you lift your head, he plunges his cock straight into your awaiting hole, straight away hitting the deepest part of you. what you didn’t expect however, is the mirror that sits adjacent to the bed, reflecting the obscene view of you getting railed by a ghostface from behind.

“f-fuck!” your sweet little cry causes his cock to twitch inside, a rough grunt ripping out from his throat. he barely gives you time to accommodate to his size - then again you don’t think you need any. you’re already dripping so much that his dick can easily mold your pussy to the shape of him.

“you’re so tight,” he starts thrusting in and out, cock dragging against your insides in the most delicious way. the needy moan you let out is high-pitched, a keening sound that echoes around the room.

“you love getting fucked like this, huh? love getting ruined by masked men?” he sneers through clenched teeth, one of his arms reaching to hold you captive by the throat and the other slipping under your shirt to keep a possessive hold around your waist.

zaps of pleasure form at the base of your spine, your toes curling from the pure desire coursing through you. your filthy, desperate noises only grow louder when he picks up the pace, bullying his cock into your cunt just as desperately.

“pleasepleaseplease—“ you sob through the tightening of his lithe fingers around your throat, clamping down on him as you choke on the slight lack of air.

you grip onto his forearm like it’s your lifeline, back arching as you can feel yourself getting into the precipice of your climax. the sound of skin slapping against skin bounces off the walls, the loud squelching of your pussy sending your mind into overdrive.

your eyes become heavily lidded, but you hold yourself back from closing them as you both continue to watch in the mirror, the unsettling look of the ghostface mask only adding to the tingling in your stomach.

“that’s it, baby. look at you. so pretty, so perfect,” he murmurs against your ear, clearly enjoying the debauched expression on your face. “gonna fucking destroy this pussy till you cum so hard around my cock, yeah? not even that pathetic excuse of a guy downstairs can wreck you as bad as i do,"

“yes, yes, only you, please wanna cum - mmnghfuck, please,” you slur, incoherent babbles beginning to fill your mouth as the the coil in your stomach draws taut.

he’s hitting all the right spots inside you, ones you didn’t even know existed, and the glimpse of the creamy ring around the base of his cock in the mirror from how much you’re gushing only gets you closer and closer to the edge.

his hand presses deeper into the soft dip of your waist, hints of red dents making their way onto your skin as he slams into you harder and faster. soon enough, the tightening in your gut snaps, your body trembling in his hold with a shattered, wanton sound.

“so fucking good for me,” he growls, feeling your pussy squeeze down on him as he chases his own impending climax. a few thrusts after and he’s stilling his hips, burying himself as deep as he can with a broken moan. warmth spills inside you, filling you to the brim as your pussy clenches down to milk him for what he’s worth.

the both of you heavily pant as you’re coming down from your high, flushed red from exhaustion and icky from the sweat through your clothes plus the bodily fluids dripping down where you two are still joined together.

your eyes, clouded and hazy, trails to the mirror in front of you. chest heaving, your mind turns dizzy as you stare at the ghostface, both of his hands slowly dropping to your hips.

one second your weight is fully leaned back against him, and the next you’re suddenly thrown onto the sheets, a depraved mewl slipping past your lips when your hole is suddenly emptied, thick globs of your mixed cum freely seeping out of your pussy.

he hovers above you, and your heartbeat quickens when he promptly reaches a hand to his face, grabbing the bottom of the mask to pull it off and toss it away.

dark ivy strands and teal eyes greet you, his hand ruffling the hair to somehow fix his disheveled appearance. “rin…” you breathe out, cheeks tinting with a darker crimson.

your eyes lock, something akin to that familiar connection you’ve always had with the striker clinks into place. “i knew it was you,” you mutter.

you knew from the very first time your eyes laid on him tonight, and you’d confirmed it when he’d first uttered a word to you.

his eyes gleam under the dim light of the room, and he closes the distance between you again as he reaches down to strip himself off the hoodie, toned chest and abdomen from all his rigorous soccer training coming into view.

“good. because i’m gonna fuck you without the mask this time,”

ghostface!rin art by @/akatsuha on tt.

never posted two smuts in a row before dawg this is Not me

also not gonna elaborate on how rin even had the mask in the first place :p some ppl forced it onto him maybe (spoiler it’s bcsg)

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[fakebwitch]

drew starkey dating victoria’s secret angel

you met for the first time during one of your shows, drew had accompanied a friend of his who went to attend his girlfriend's show, insisting that drew might find someone who would finally catch his eye, and he did. when it was your time to walk down the runway, as you walked confidently looking in front of you you felt a pair of eyes burning into you, even though you shouldn't have, you gave a quick glance at him. you met drew's blue eyes, his eyes twinkling under the catwalk lights as he observed every inch of your body. you stopped, posing in front of the cameras and then turned back, all the while feeling his gaze fixed on you.

when the show was over, after changing, you and your friend headed for the exit, her boyfriend and the mystery boy who couldn't take his eyes off you during the show were waiting. as your friend kissed her boyfriend you met his gaze.

"drew" he said, the corner of his mouth rising in a small smile as he held out his hand to you, you shook it with pleasure as you said your name to him.

drew wasted no time and immediately asked for your number that night, since he had seen you walking he knew he had to have you, and he did. months later you were finally a couple.

he loved, loved seeing you walk, he always did his best to attend each of your events. he admired you with so much love, his gaze observing every inch of your body as you wore the most beautiful lingerie. of course he was always in the front row, ready to cheer you on. sometimes you let a small grin slip out as you met his gaze, or when he was luckier even a wink.

before some show he would always try to peek at the pictures they had taken of you, eager to know what you would be wearing, especially your wings, but each time you always pushed him away, saying it would be a surprise.

when you were at home and he was waiting for you lying on your comfortable bed, and you came out of the bathroom wearing the sexiest set of lingerie he had ever laid eyes on, he didn't fail to be shocked by your body, he was so obsessed with it. you loved putting on little shows for him, just for his eyes, and he loved it too.

after the shows he couldn't wait to take you back to your house so he could finally stick his hard cock inside you. let's be serious, no matter how hard he tried to be good and hold back all the dirty thoughts he could think of, he couldn't help but feel his cock harden under his pants as he watched the way your hips swayed from side to side, your tits bounced in the provocative bra or the way your ass moved, could you blame him?

sometimes you felt a little down, after all you worked with your appearance, the way you looked was everything, you had to be perfect. drew was always waiting for you with open arms, his muscular arms would push you onto his lap as he held you tightly, embracing you as he whispered reassuring phrases. “you did soo good baby, don’t even stress about it, you looked so beautiful and your walk was amazing, everybody was admiring you, my perfect pretty girl”. he always knew the right things to say to you.

on those very rare occasions when he couldn't attend your shows (and trust me, there was nothing he hated more than missing his beautiful girl’s show) because he had to record an interview or was busy with some movie, he always made sure to send you the most beautiful bouquets of flowers. while you were in the backstage, finishing your hair and makeup, a staff girl would come to you holding the bouquet. as you took them in your hands, the floral scent flooding your nostrils, you would read his handwriting on the little card, where he would tell you to don’t stress too much, that as usual you would rock and be the prettiest girl. the other girls would tease you each time laughing as your cheeks blushed, busy rereading the card for the tenth time.

he couldn't always hide his jealousy. I mean, you were walking semi-naked in front of hundreds of people, not to mention all the people from home who would see you, he knew full well what he was up against, but he couldn't stop his jaw from clenching when he spotted some guy in the audience indulging too much on your body. he couldn't wait to get home and fuck you, just to remind himself that you were his.

a/n: actually obsessed with victoria’s secret angel :((, i just know drew and her would have the best relationship, hope you enjoyed it!

[lady-ashfade]

Please do a alicent hightower x rhaenrya targayren twin brother who she marries and become princess consort. Alicent want him to herself ,so she tries break relationship with the male oc and rhanearya.

Manipulation

Yandere!Alicent Hightower x Male!Reader

I made this last night very late, the sun rising. But I just now reread it and idk if you meant rhaenrya marrying the reader or Alicent. But I made this think Alicent married the reader because that’s what I did all the way through until I went back to edit it. I apologize but I still hope you like it!

Warnings: Yandere tactics, manipulation, obsession, stalking, one mention of something gory.

Readers very existence changed everything about what happened, there would be no war. Do to the reader being the first born son, raised along side rhaenrya he would be it’s rightful hair.

Aemma was proud to have birthed a son for Viserys and a beautiful daughter. She loved her children and always kept a close eye on them, them both being strong headed.

Viserys loved both of them equally. But most of his time was filled with teaching y/n how to be a man and one day a king. From the age of three he took y/n with him on hunts, a memory he cherishes deeply. Rhaenrya was with her mother and was the talk of all the ladies as they gushed over her Beauty.

This being said rhaenrya was raised to believe in her brother who she loved to death. He was her twin and the gods created them together to be in this world. So as time went on she did not resent her brother because she did not feel like she was being replaced for a male heir.

Alicent knew y/n for a short time while she was by the young princess side. Y/n loved to play with rhaenrya and in his free time spent most of it with her. Alicent, being her best friend, was there a lot. He was charming and even though he was younger she never failed to blush when he would comment her. He was a gentleman, his mother and father made sure of it. But y/n never really payed that much attention because he was talking with his sister.

A feeling started to fill her mind of wanting his attention to on her so she started to speak up more. She’d dropped somethings and the reader would help, or get close to him and say something. Her crush got deeper and within a year after realizing, she had fallen deeply in love with the prince. Her attitude started to change when he was around and become all about him. Butting in on conversations, grabbing his arms slightly.

Things took a change when the prince was sent to study in Pentos and around the world to become a better king. Alicent was heartbroken over this news and she cried for days. She never was the same again. After two years her obsession slowly faded but she always seemed to think of him when she got lost in thought. His laugh, the way he made her smile and feel.

Rhaenrya looked passed her obsession for a small crush and did not blame Alicent back then since they were children. Her brother was a handsome boy and she couldn’t blame alicent. Tho, she did like to tease her friend sometimes.

Alicent and Rhaenrya sat together while Alicent read to her. They laughed and tried to get by with rhaenryas consent bickering and pokes of fun. But the city rang of a dragons roar and a deep one at that, their eyes looked up and saw a black dragon with spikes fly above them and casted a shadow down.

Rhaenrya hops up with a huge smile and a laugh, “He’s back.” She shot up and ran off without another word. Alicent was panicking to grab all the stuff she had brought and follow the princess. As she ran her chest filled with butterflies and her mind flashing of images of the boy she remembers. He was still young but could he have grown a beard? How tall was he now? Would he remember her, or better yet, would he be kind to her? She felt sick but her feet ran faster to see her prince.

When they got outside to the dragon pits she placed the books on the ground and grabbed ahold of rhaenrya in excitement. They watch his dragon land and the ground shake below their feet. The beasts mouth opened and screamed at the top of its lungs, a faint male voice shouting. Y/n petted his dragon and spoke to it and laughed. Everyone saw their prince stepping off his dragon and he looked different. His pale skin and freshly cut silky white hair, his frame grown and more muscly toned.

“Quite the entrance brother. Always loved attention.” Rhaenrya pulled away from Alicent and walked towards her brother with a fake face. The boy turned with a smiled while taking off his gloves, “And you dear sister, being betrothed to Lord Strong? Quite a lovely tale.” He smirked as they stood a few steps away from each other.

Rhaenrya broke and leaped towards her brother and hugged him close, his arms wrapping around her and lifting her up. The two laughed in joy to be reunited together again after years. The hug lasted a few seconds before he placed her back on the ground but still holding onto each other. “We must see mother and father at once.” Rhaenrya smiled and tugged him backward with her.

“I’m sure they eagerly await your return.” A new voice pulled the twins apart and around. Y/n took a moment and his breath hitch’s as a bigger smile popped onto his face. Alicent Hightower, the girl who always was kindhearted and soft. It seems her beauty grew with age. She was once’s one of the most beautiful girl he has ever seen but now he is not sure she could be topped in rank.

“Alice Hightower?” He let go of rhaenrya and walked closer and the brunette bowed her head down in respected. “It seems you both grew into beautiful woman, how jealous the other ladies must be.” Her cheeks flushed and the pressure in her chest she felt all those years ago returned. But harder then before. Rhaenrya rolled her eyes at his comment and pulled his arm. “Mother will not like you taking long to see her. Neither father really.” Alicent watched his attention go back to rhaenrya and she felt anger.

Alicent from there got his attention anyway she could. Learning his schedule and always “Bumping” into him at times. Or how she’d dress in prettier dresses to show herself off. Y/n found his alone night walks to never be alone with the hands daughter following him everywhere.

Otto did the same thing he did to Viserys and pushed his daughter into y/n. But Alicent was already doing it by herself and had no problem. Slowly otto got into the kings mind of marrying the two.

“Any girl peak your interest my boy?” Viserys asked while they chatted in the kings chamber. “Have you already picked a woman for me?” His father only smiled and patted his back and took the figure from his sons hands and placed it back down. “You are the future king but my son, I want you to find a match like I did with your mother.” Y/n smiled and looked back down. “There is this one girl…” Viserys cheered and shook his sons shoulders more.

“Is it the Lady Alicent?” The boys head shot up and looked surprised to hear her name. “I see the way you look at her, or the way she looks at you.”

“She’s kind, will make a loving queen.”

Alicent was surprised when one day the reader asks her to take a walk with him in the garden without rhaenrya. But she didn’t hesitated to take his arms and walk with him. The reader was sweet when he asked her to marry him and had a fresh flowers picked just for her. He said she did not have to marry him if did not want but the thought didn’t even cross her mind.

After the betrothal she started to pull the reader away from everyone to keep him to herself. Especially rhaenrya. The thought of having to share her darling made her fingers dug into her skin at the thought. The reader was hers, only hers.

Alicent didn’t even want the reader be around his family at the wedding. Rhaenrya couldn’t even ask for a dance without Alicent pulling him on the dance floor by herself.

The castle saw less and less of him because if he wasn’t studying or with the king, then he was with Alicent. Aemma got to see her son if he had time but rhaenrya was out of the question. The dinner table was awkward with tension between the girls. If rhaenrya was around then Alicent would be right at the readers side.

Reader is so blind to see what’s happening. Alicent is good at playing the innocent girl so he suspects nothing of her manipulating tactics. She is his wife and he needs to care and love her, plus he is very busy with heir things so it is no one’s fault he doesn’t get to see his family anymore.

But does shit get worse she Alicent announces she is pregnant. You think her possessiveness is bad before then this is like hell. You study with in your chamber at the table while Alicent relaxes and reads. She wished for this child since you came back so she loved it dearly, even happy about it as she rubs her belly and whispers. “You are a gift of our love, he has given you to me.”

You love your wife dearly so you do anything you can to make this easy for her. Until the death of your mother happens. She was pregnant again, surprising everyone after years of no children being born. But sadly died in childhood birth along with your baby brother. Everything gets hard on you.

You sneak around to comfort your sister when Alicent thinks your out at the library, or your father when you can since you still see him a bit. Everything is hell and they all look for you but Alicent has you in her clutch.

I haven’t mentioned Daemon yet so here it is. Hates Alicent since he watched her flirt with you in the halls or at feast when you came back. Hates her so freaking much for stealing you away from your twin and even him, platonically. His anger gets more like rhaenrya when she kept you away from your family and took over your mind. Thinks she was a witch and put a spell on you, drugged you, or even threatened you if you did not love her. He constantly tries to get you away.

After months of mourning and your mental state being drained your body was restored by one second of seeing your son. He was so tiny and beautiful. He looked like you so much and you took him in your arms and cradled him. You cheered around the room that you had a son and praised your wife for her hard work. Making sure she had the best of medication and care after. Alicent loved that you focused on the babe while knowing it was a new way to keep you with her.

Aegon was his name, and he was raised by a loving father. Next, a daughter who you were very protective over with her strange like ways but loves her no less. Then your son aemond who couldn’t hatch a dragon egg but you held no grudge. You would tell him stories of how one day he will have a dragon and you will help him hunt it. Daeron your youngest who took mostly after you, his kindness and level head.

Your children grew to be just as protective of you as their mother and hated to let you go. Always kicking and screaming when you tried to leave and cry, they were slightly spoiled. But they followed you around like ducklings and the boys tried to act like you. Even watching you practice and copying your moves, walking even and everything about you. Rhaenrya had children and you wanted to be in their lives so you forced Alicent to have the children spend time with them. You missed your family and it was time to be together.

Oh, but did your kids hate rhaenryas kids- Well, Helaena and Daeron didn’t mind because she was sweet, and Daeron was off in old town. But Aemond and Aegon didn’t like their cousins every much. They hated when you gave them attention or trained them as well, so they’d trip the boys or do something to get your attention.

Rhaenrya tried to talk to Alicent about how she wished no harm to steal you away in hopes to calm her down. Maybe even hang out with you once and a while. But Alicent didn’t give up.

Not only did you have a yandere for a wife, but Yandere children as well who can manipulate you. You belonged to them and no one else.

Extra because why not:

The only way I see Rhaenrya trying to take back the throne is with Daemon in her ear. They see how Alicent has you in control and knows she could do anything. It wasn’t about you because if Alicent was never in the picture you would be a good king. But now Daemon thinks that Rhaenrya needs to have a claim to the throne as well.

Rhaenrya named her fourth child after the reader and Alicent gets pissed about it. Even asks/screams for her to change it because she had no right.

Aegon is different from the show and is more..Better? A loving parent can make all the difference so he turns out, kinda okay. Don’t get me wrong he’s still a dick but he’s better about it. But with the reader by his side actually trying to do good, Aegon wants to impress him and becomes a good man.

Aemond clings to y/n the most because he feels lesser then his siblings for the lack of a dragon which the reader never puts him down for. If the boys are teasing him all it takes is one word to dad and everything will be okay.

Helaena really loves her dad so much. He listens to her, reads to her or gets her bugs from around the world. Even asks her questions of what she is saying. Helaena feels a comfort in him unlike anyone else. She is a daddy’s girl for sure.

[cameronspecial]

Let Me Calm Your Mind, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Description of Anxiety

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.5K

Summary: Y/N loves to read, except her brain loves to give her a hard time and Rafe wants to be able to calm her anxiety.

Masterlist

Y/N knows she can’t remember every single detail of the book she reads, but her anxiety tells her that she should. It likes to blame the fact that she speed-reads for making her forget, instead of being a human who can’t hold everything in her mind. Sometimes, she can let it go. Other times, she is riddled with anxiousness and tries to hold on to every single event in the book. Y/N sits on the armchair in the frat house’s living room, reading her book in solitude. This is her second reading of the book. Kelce comes into the living room and starts up a conversation with the girl, which she doesn’t mind as she puts her book down. However, once Kelce is gone, her mind gets on her about reliving every aspect of the book she is reading. The couch creaks under the release of pressure from Kelce rising and leaving the room. Her palm digs into her closed sockets. She can easily remember what happens at the beginning of the book, yet as she gets closer to the middle, the order gets a little more fuzzy. She keeps rearranging the order in which things happen and her mind is screaming at her for being careless. Rafe finds her with her eyes closed and hands covering her face. He spots the book on the coffee table before her, knowing exactly what is wrong with her. 

He picks her up and sits where she once was seated. Her bum falls into his lap and he pulls her hands away from her face. “You don’t need to memorize everything about the book,” he mutters to her. She sighs with a slight nod, “I know, but my brain is telling me that I am missing something. And I feel like if I don’t remember it then I didn’t actually read the book.” Rafe’s mouth presses against her forehead and he nods against her skin. “Let me calm your mind, Angel,” he offers. “Did your eyes glance over the words of each page you have read?” Her head bobs. “Can you tell me the plot of the book?” She again indicates that she can. “You always tell me that you reread books to be reminded of certain details of the book. You say if you wanted a play-by-play of the plot, then you would reread the summary you write for the books you read. So tell me, did you come out from reading this book with one more specific detail that you didn’t remember before?” She looks up at him with a smile, “Yeah, um… It’s an enemies-to-lovers book and before they get together, he makes her a plate to eat when they are given their food at a restaurant. It was a family-style restaurant. It was cute.” “Then it sounds to me that your goal of reading the book again was achieved,” he hmms. This helps dull the criticizing voice in her head, “You’re right.” “Are you enjoying the book and do you remember some of the stuff you are reading?” he asks. 

“Yeah.”

“Well, then tell that beautiful brain of yours to leave you alone. I don’t like it when it bothers you like that.”

“It’s harder to do than you think, Rafe.”

“I know, so how about I read you the rest of your book and you can blame me if you forget anything, Angel.”

“I think that is an acceptable compromise.” 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[kechiwrites]

light of day toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader part 6/?

synopsis: trust is hard to build when the foundation is so shaky, and while you and simon certainly aren’t on the same page, at least you can stand to be in the same bookstore.

wc: 2.5k

cw: afab!reader, some fluff and domesticity, very light angst, hurt and comfort, language, you and simon sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, heavy petting, trust issues, tommy being the light of both your lives, no gendered language. no use of y/n ever.

author’s note: long time no see! this is a direct continuation to white flag. I strongly recommend you read it first, hell you may wanna reread it, it has been a while. thank you all sm for your love and patience, it means a lot that you're still interested in this lil 'verse.

new to baby blue? start here.

Navigating around Ghost in the morning is bizarre. A new reality you aren’t quite sure you’re ready for. Your son, to his credit, takes it in stride, opening your bedroom door and beaming at the sight of his father laying next to you.

It’s hard to stave off more tears when Ghost doesn’t miss a beat, sliding out of your sheets and whisking Tommy up into his arms, while the little boy lets him know that Sundays are always for pancakes, and how you make the best ones, and how he’s just so happy “dad will get to try them!”

They leave the bedroom door wide open, allowing you to hear the rumble of Ghost’s answer, but not necessarily the words. Tommy’s laugh chimes in afterward, like tinkling glass and carefree joy.

You’re uncharacteristically slow to rise. You blame it on having someone else to divert Thomas’ attention so early in the morning. Someone to listen to his early morning babble and chime in with appropriately timed ‘hmm’s and ‘is that so’s. It’s nice. Paralyzingly nice. Fills your chest with this balmy, uncertain kind of calm, one you haven’t felt…maybe ever, Certainly not since you’ve had Tommy. 

When you do finally get up, Tommy is already directing his dad on what to take out of the fridge, boasting about how helpful he is when it was just you and him. 

“Best sous chef within a hundred miles!” You scoop up your son, nuzzling your face into his neck while he screams between peals of laughter, wiggling in your hold. You catch Ghost staring at you, the both of you, with the weird look on his face, it's inscrutable, like he wants to smile but doesn't think he should? Maybe he can’t? It wouldn’t surprise you. Either way, you ignore it, spinning Tommy in a circle before you approach his father. You extend your baby as best you can towards him (he's way too big for you to be holding him like an infant, but old habits die really, really hard). Ghost holds his arms out to receive him, handling Tommy's weight better than you do, shifting the boy under his arm like a sack of potatoes. Father and son leave the kitchen to you, opting to sit in the living room and entertain each other (meaning Tommy will likely do whatever he wants, and Ghost will pretend he has the will to stop him). Immediately, the four year old digs in the toy box you keep near the sofa, his body half inside the plastic tub. You start mixing the components into pancake batter while Tommy tells Ghost the names of his toys, a seminar during which Ghost nods seriously, affirming he's listening when Tommy inquires after his attention. 

“What do you want in your pancakes?” You ask, leaning over the kitchen island to peer at the blond, who has Tommy strewn across his legs, smashing plastic dinosaurs together. His confusion, his wariness is a picture, honestly, you could almost laugh.

“Plain’s fine.” He responds, and Tommy unhelpfully shouts; “Ew dad! Plain’s gross!” before he brings a plesiosaur up to his father’s face, making the toy reptile kiss his dad’s cheeks. 

Your expression is a mirror of your son’s when you grimace at the soldier. 

“Plain is gross.” You keep eye contact with him as you toss a heavy handful of chocolate chips into the batter. 

He shrugs, standing and letting Tommy hang on to his bicep, his little feet dangling and kicking in the air, an impressive move that has the boy squealing with laughter. 

The batter sizzles in your frypan, a warped, scratched, old thing that’s definitely seen better days. The non-stick has worn off from years of use, but you manage to scrape the pancakes off the surface and flip them back down. 

The vintage radio on your coffee table sputters out a scratchy, slightly distorted version of an upbeat pop song, surprising you. It’d been mostly decorative, a cute little brown and white centerpiece for your, frankly, feeble living room set up. Tommy croons out of tune over the music, and you can’t stave off the smile while you plate more breakfast.

Simon must’ve been fiddling with it.

-

You have to talk. You know you have to talk. About the night before. About the future, whatever that future even looks like. So when Tommy’s maple syrup sugar high succumbs to the inevitable crash, you tuck him in for a nap and return to sit next to Simon. Closer to him than usual. Close enough that he can cover your knee with his palm, and when he does, the calloused skin is so hot you worry he might have a fever, his body overheating in response to processing more emotion than he probably has in the last ten years. 

“I appreciate you…staying this morning.” You start, and when he turns to face you his eyes are fathomless, dark brown and so painfully familiar. Immediately, you bury the sentiment in safe territory under ten tonnes of dirt; “Tommy was happy to spend the morning with you. Doesn’t usually get that.” 

You feel like a coward, even though you have every right to be scared, to hide how you're feeling from your son’s father. 

Simon, to his credit, merely bobs his head and gruffs back to you; “Thanks for asking me to.” 

And you did ask him, didn’t you? You finally asked for something of him, and he’d given it so freely it had shocked you. Scared you so bad, you poured your heart out in response, finally laid it all on the table for him to gawk at, to poke at, to ‘hmm’ and ‘ahh’ over. 

And it had felt good, in the light of day.

You can’t stop staring at his hand on your knee, his skin overwritten with plenty of silverskin scars, crisscrossing over each other, puckered and healed. When you drag your fingers over them, you find two you don’t recognize, two injuries he must have gotten somewhere far from here, some place far away where problems like teething and daycare and tantrums must have seemed so small, so insubstantial.

You’re surprised you could identify them as new, and you follow the longer one up his arm, flipping his wrist over, pushing up his sleeve, and tracing it with your finger until it ends near the crook of his elbow, running parallel to a vein in his forearm. Simon’s exhale is shaky, rattling out of his chest, uneven and fast like he’s been holding his breath. You raise your head and just fucking stare. Catalogue the halted, cautious look in his eye, the way his mouth is downturned and tense. 

And then, all at once, you’re all over him. Grabbing at the collar of his shirt and pressing kisses to that uncertain mouth, plastering your chest to his and falling apart with wanting. 

You used to do it all the time. Sit on this same leather sofa and kiss him, half in and half out of his lap, with your arms wrapped around his neck, only breaking your hold to slap at his hands whenever he tried to escalate. And he always tried to escalate, because he “didn’t come over to make out like 13 year olds”. But you knew deep down he liked it. Like being pliable in your hands, letting his ever present guard down, liked when your lips skimmed his throat and when you bit down, sucking bruises into his pale skin.

“Do you ever get any sun?” You’d said, teasing, pulling away from his exposed jaw. You’re home, both of you, after he’d taken you out for the first time. To a pub. To meet his workmates. Not friends, he’d spoken vehemently, and you suspected from the way Johnny MacTavish (Soap, he’d wanted to be called) had stared at you, bug-eyed and disbelieving, Ghost didn’t really consider anyone his friend. Maybe not even you. Talk about a red fucking flag.

“Enough.” And whether he’d been answering your question or just voicing his frustration with the lack of action, you never found out, opting instead to submit to searching hands and the straining fly of his pants. You let him spread you out and take.

Now, Ghost doesn’t try anything. Now, with four years and endless bullshit between you, he lets you do what you want. You aren’t quite sure what he’s trying to prove, what all this; the pancakes, the sleeping over, the fucking book, means. You just know you don’t want to think too hard about it. Don’t want to ruin what could very well be a ceasefire during a war you were painfully ill-equipped for.

He stays still, lets you kiss him, lets you pull and touch and take. Lets you drag your tongue over the edge of his teeth. He’s hard, and under the hand you have on his chest his heart thumps erratically, hummingbird fast. With your other hand you take hold of one of his wrists, urging him to touch you, anywhere. He takes the gift, pressing his digits into your thigh and crowding in close. One of his hands finds your throat, settles at the base where it slopes into your shoulder. You aren’t quite sure who deepens the kiss, but ultimately, it doesn’t matter when Simon pulls you into his lap, biting at your bottom lip and chasing your tongue with his own. He groans his contentment into your mouth, letting his fingers slip into the waistband of your pants before they stall in a rare bout of hesitation.

He tries to pull away, probably means to say something, but you don’t give him the chance. Instead, you nod jerkily, pressing your face to his collarbone, using both hands to pull down the neck of his shirt so you can mark the expanse of scarred skin. You’re desperate, and it shows in your actions, how you sink your teeth into his skin, how you grind down against the hard column of his cock, straining against his fly. All of it speaks to just how bad you want this, want him. Just how badly you want to forget any of it ever happened in the first place.. 

All the crying and confessing, the slow, soft, silent domesticity of your morning together and the familiarity of making out on your worn, cream coloured couch, compound together. It has you crying out in defeat, in relief, in pleasure when Simon pushes his hand underneath your clothes, slides his fingers against your clit, rubbing slow sure circles that force gasps from between your lips. He murmurs into your throat, not really saying much of anything, just whispering your name, humming and sighing while he pushes your underwear to the side, dragging his fingertips over your entrance, tracing your hole until you shudder with need.

“C'mon, c’mon.” You urge quietly, shifting your hips so he has easier access. His fingers are deep within you and so goddamn thick. Blunt, calloused and moving so slowly, fucking into you and revelling in how you bear down, tightening like a fist around him. You can feel how soaked you’re making his hand, the slick noise fills the room around you, a perfect accompaniment to the heavy breathing between you. You shift so you’re able to unzip his pants and put your hand on his cock, the warm length searing the skin of your palm. His hips jerk up to meet you, fucking the soft circle formed by your fingers and his head falls back, allowing you to nip at his Adam’s apple. It must feel very good, because he forgets he’s in the middle of fingering you for a while. Just lies back and chases his peak, to which you think, fuck that. You stroke down to his groin, and linger there, squeezing at his base until he gets the idea. Soon both of you are moving in tandem, teasing each other under your clothes like teenagers. Like two people who like each other, who can’t keep their hands off each other long enough to undress. Like two people without trust issues, and arguments, and the looming fear of being abandoned. Your peak hits you fast, crashing down on you in waves, unrelenting, over and over. Your face is buried in the crook of his neck, your mouth basically plastered to the skin there, using your lips to deduce just how fast his heart is beating, how close he is. 

Simon spills over your hand soon after, his cock twitching in satisfaction, his chest rising and falling in time with your own laboured breaths. The room is at a standstill, and the quiet sits between you, pleading with you to interrupt the slowing pattern of your breathing, nagging you to say something. Something that will fix everything. Because it has always been your job to fix the problems, to fix him.

You open your mouth, to joke, to sigh, to say or do something that’ll diffuse the tight, anxious, aching sensation in your chest but Simon beats you to it. 

“The book was good.” He mumbles, letting his head fall back, until it’s resting on the back of the couch, rather than remaining nested in the hollow of your throat. 

“You finished it?” It’s hard not to smile when he nods the affirmative, the bodice-ripper had to be at least 20 years old, maybe more; a relic you’d uncovered from the take-one-leave-one library at the local laundromat. The Rancher and the Runaway had a strapping blond cowboy and his brunette virgin charge on the cover, locked in a passionate embrace. It was smut, good smut, barely held together by family drama. 

And Simon had finished it. He’d liked it.

The very idea starts a fit of near hysterical laughter in you, so bad it jump-starts a bout of short-breathed hiccups. 

“Okay, okay wait.” You huff, clutching your stomach in-between cackles. “Which brother is your favourite?” You cover your mouth with the hand not covered in drying come when he glares at you, your shoulders shaking with glee. His dick is hanging out of his pants and your clothes are rumpled and half removed, the both of you smelling of sex and each other, but somehow, that just makes it funnier.

You bet it’s fucking Garth.

“Garth.” He rumbles, and you fucking howl. 

disclaimer: reader’s opinion on pancakes are not my own, i fuckin love plain pancakes. also the rancher and the runaway is a real romance novel, not technically a bodice ripper but i recommend it if you like harlequin romance and cowboys. If u read it come tell me. series masterlist here

support city girls, reblog what u like

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

omg bond would be an incredible choice for a knight/queen au,, I would go so crazy if you ever wrote that

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Minors interacting with this work will be blocked.

Notes: Not beta-read. Reread several times and will probably spot 87 typos once I hit post.

Sometimes you write a regular fic and other times you find yourself googling whether or not people performed oral sex in the medieval era. it's all a crap shoot.

anyway.

Length: 7.9K

Warnings: Slow burn; explicit sexual content - oral sex; vaginal sex

From the moment that he kneels before you—as the light sets a halo about his blond hair, and as he tips his chin up to meet your eye and murmur his oath of fealty—you know that he’ll be trouble. It’s in the flash of his eye. 

His crisp blue gaze flickers to yours, and he shoots you a wink with such speed that your husband hardly has the chase to catch it. It makes your stomach flip with an allure and vehemence that nearly unseats your stern concentration.The feeling that rises in you isn’t love. It’s not even interest. 

It’s fear. 

-- 

He trails you like a shadow. 

You can’t blame him; you know that he acts on your husband’s orders. Blofeld worries for your youth, and fears the possibility that you may stray. You have a guard set on you every day and night. On the evenings that you don’t spend with Blofeld, you sleep with Bond posted just inside your door on your husband’s insistence, ensuring that your bed remains empty, and cold.

On those nights that he occupies the stool beside your door, you sleep very little. He stays awake out of a sense of duty; you stay awake with the lingering, heavy knowledge of the man just a few feet away. You know that he’s popular with the ladies of court. He can’t stride or ride by without inspiring the twittering of giggles and whispers by the ladies gazing from behind their fans, or over the tops of their books. You hear of his bawdy teasing, his warm smiles, his winks. You’ve never been privy to them, save for the single flash of a wink as he swore his oath to you, and to Blofeld. When your protector’s name and nighttime companion are brought up in conversation among your ladies, you force a straight face regardless of their speculations and teasing. For all of your interest and fascination, you have no right, no daring to look toward a knight with interest. 

Even if you did—even if you had any sort of designs on Bond, any interest in the way his gazes hold to yours, and the way his careful grasp lingers as he helps you from a horse or carriage—your affair would be nigh on impossible. 

It’s no matter. 

Your husband has spies in the court, so many that you have no trust in Bond’s exclusion among their number. You hardly trust your ladies maids. For all of their own secrets that they share, and their encouragement to trust them with the matters that occupy your head and heart, you shield yourself from them. 

Well, from most of them. 

Lady Eve is the only one of your ladies maids that came to Blofeld’s court with you when you were sent to wed him. She’s your only true confidant, quick with a smile and a joke if needed, and skilled at unsheathing her sharp tongue to guide the other ladies back into line if they begin to speak or act out of turn. She manages several duties that you wouldn’t trust others with: running messages, communicating with cooks and servants. Between Blofeld’s controlling insistences and Eve’s obliging care, you slowly build a wall around yourself, separating you from the court, and the people that look to your husband for guidance. 

--  

“You ought to try smiling one of these days.” 

It’s not an unexpected criticism, but it’s certainly an unwanted one. You’d be happy to spend the afternoon in the garden in a companionable quiet, but it seems that she has other plans. You cast Eve a surly glance, but her smile remains bright and unwavering. Her hands work just as steadily, knitting needles clicking softly as she casts off. 

“I mean it,” She insists, finally lowering her gaze to her work. “If you’re not careful, you’ll forget how.” 

You sigh softly, shoulder slouching slightly as you look around the expanse of grass, and the vines creeping up the sides of the castle walls. 

“I’ve no reason to smile.” 

“You’re alive. Is that not reason enough?” 

“No. It is not.”

“...You know what you ought to do.”

Your stomach churns with the conspiratorial edge to Eve’s voice. You glance toward her again to find her pointedly fixated on her craft. 

“It would never work,” You insist. 

“It could.”

“He would have my head.” 

“Only if you were caught.” 

Eve’s conspiratorial gaze flickers to you again, her smile widening. You can’t bring yourself to feel the same sense of mirth, of excitement. 

“Your Majesty.” 

You whirl around, spotting one of your husband’s advisors. Bond lingers not too far behind, his hand poised on his sword as if the man is a stranger—as if you’re about to ask him to take the advisor’s head off. 

“The King insists on your presence in the throne room.” 

You nod, stony-faced. “I will join him presently.” 

The advisor gives a low bow before he turns, striding away without you. You shift up onto your knees, wobbling as the fabric of your dress catches beneath your shoe. Before you can tumble backward, a firm hand rests against your lower back, and another hand catches hold of your own flailing one. You freeze at the steady contact, your eyes widening as you look up at Bond. He draws you up gently. Your legs feel unsteady, even when you’re drawn to your full height, with your feet planted firmly on the ground. Bond’s arm skims against your side, his fingers flexing in the fabric of your desk as his thumb sweeps tenderly across the side of your hand. It sends heat skittering through your body, and sets your heart fluttering in your chest. Bond’s eyes search yours in silence, his brow scrunching slightly. Your gaze drops to his lips, and damnably lingers as his pink tongue sweeps across his lip. 

You’re jolted by the clacking of Eve’s knitting needles, and the sound of her pointedly clearing her throat. You step out of Bond’s grasp, yanking your hand from his as you avert your nervous eyes. 

“...Thank you, Sir James.” 

“At your service, Your Majesty.” 

You stalk around him with Eve hot at your heels. You feel him tracking you as you leave him standing alone in the garden. 

--  

He would have your head. 

Blofeld is not known for a tendency toward kindness. He has a reputation for his traps, for tricking opponents into showing their hands for the purpose of identifying their weak spots. He makes no attempt to shield you from his bloodlust and cruelty. You take each instance of outward barbarism as a warning, each smiling goad and teasing admonition as a silent threat: 

This could be you.

--  

The festivities to celebrate the day of Blofeld’s birth are a mighty affair. The events are to last a week. Lords, ladies, vassals, and knights arrive from all over the kingdom. There are dances, plays, poetry readings—and most importantly, a tournament. Of all of these events, you know that it’s crucial that you’re present for the tournament. With all of his barbarity, Blofeld adores the play of war. He takes inordinate pleasure in watching his knights fight for his attention, and finds amusement in the spilling of their blood. 

You have little interest in watching men beat one another senselessly, but you know that you must make a public showing, not only for your husband, but for the court, and his people. 

For all of your impatience and disinterest, you can’t help but keep your eyes trained on Sir James. His form and composure are a fascinating sight. You see the man nearly every day, but hardly ever in this way. It bolsters your belief that should you be attacked in the night, the man hunkering by your door will protect you with his life—and come out cleanly on the other side. 

When he approaches the stands on horseback before the joust, you’re certain that he’ll ask your husband to look on him with approval. But after he dips his head in deference toward your husband, he turns his attention to you. 

“Your Majesty,” He speaks up loudly enough for others in the stands to hear him, “Would you do me the honor of allowing me to wear your favors today?”

You can see Blofeld turn to you expectantly out of the corner of your eye, and hear the murmur of others around you. In the two years you’ve been married to Blofeld, you’ve never given your favors to any knight—every knight has been too afraid of your husband to ask. And since the very first moment you saw Sir James, since he gave you that quick wink as he swore his fealty, he has avoided untoward outward displays of interest. This is hardly untoward, but you know that it’ll set tongues wagging among the court. Now, you rise from your seat, fingers twining in the rich purple fabric. Sir James raises his lance, resting it on the railing for the stand. You look down, fighting to steady your shaking fingers as you carefully tie and knot the favor around the lance’s blunted tip before you step back again. The two of you trade a genial nod before you lower yourself to sit on your cushioned seat again. With nothing else to hold to, you rest your hands on the arms of your seat. 

It’s no great surprise that with his skill, Bond rises through the standings throughout the tournament. You watch time and again as he lowers his visor, tilts his lance, and sends his opponents off-kilter, or crashing through the ground. But his form, while near-perfect, is not invincible. Perhaps it’s just as well that the one man that matches him equally is the one that he’s closest to in court. In the rare moments that you’ve seen Bond relaxed, he’s been with Sir Felix. They were squires with the same knight, became warriors in the same war—and, if rumor is to be believed, became men with the same woman. They are as near to brothers as any two unrelated men could be. 

Perhaps it’s this familiarity that drives them both to tilt with such ferocity—a ferocity that nearly knocks Bond from his horse during the second round. A gasp catches in your throat as James’ body is bounced, nearly prone in his saddle. It’s another moment before he straightens. As he removes his helmet, you can just make out his expression twisting with discomfort, his startled, dazed blinking as blood runs from his forehead, nearly obscuring one of his bright eyes. Your stomach flips, and you tighten your grip on the arms of the chair to keep from rising to your feet. You have a damnable urge to run to him, to use your sleeves to wipe the blood from his face, and insist that he leave the tournament to see a physician.

Bond just impatiently pushes his squire’s hand away as the young boy tries to clean the blood from his master’s head. Bond crams his helmet back onto his head and grasps his previously fallen lance. Your gaze darts between him and Sir Felix as each man takes up their positions. Blofeld leans in to you, mistaking your panic for rapt interest. 

“Now all Felix has to do to finish him off is land a blow to James’ arm,” He says, “And he’ll win the championship.” 

“Has he ever won before?” You ask. 

“No. There’s yet to be a tournament that Bond hasn’t won. But that is all about to change.

Turning to look at your husband, you find his smile split wide into a bloodcurdling giddy grin. When he turns it toward you, you push a smile onto your lips, and murmur, 

“If his defeat pleases you, then it shall please me.” 

Blofeld’s grin manages to widen, and he claps his hand over yours with stinging force. You break your attention from one another as the thundering of hooves fills the air. Your gut tightens, your heart sinks—and then soars as a solid blow sends Felix tumbling from his horse and onto the ground. The crowd roars as James hoists his lance high in victory with your favor blowing in the wind, and you have to bite back your own sound of excitement. You feel Blofeld’s grip go slack, then drop away to grudgingly applaud Bond’s efforts. 

Bond’s face is as victorious as he tosses off his helmet, despite the river of red obscuring part of his face. He turns finally to the stand again and slides from his horse, kneeling to Blofeld. 

You know that Bond will be crowned champion. You’re certain that your husband is displeased. 

-- 

For all of his cruelty, Blofeld hardly exerts that power over you in your bed chamber. You spend most nights alone, and it’s rare that he orders for you to join him. His birthday is always one such occasion. You resign yourself to a dispassionate evening—a handful of thrusts, an encouraging pat on your cheek, and a mumble of producing an heir before he rolls away from you. You’re certain that he spends most nights with other women. 

You are at once grateful and pitying of their place in your husband’s affections.

Tonight, there is no knight in your chamber. It’s simply you, your husband, and the shock of Bond’s bright gaze and shining halo of hair in your mind’s eye. 

--  

You’re told of Bond’s carousing. Eve recounts how the evening unfolded to you as you breakfast together in your chambers. She tells you that Sir James and Sir Felix’s antics continued through the evening, starting with an arm wrestle, and ending with a drinking contest. She teases that Sir James was seen leaving the hall, following Lady Vesper into the night. The news unsettles you so much that you lower the last of your bread, unable to stomach it. For all of Eve’s teasing, she quiets when she notes your discomfort. 

“...You would have enjoyed yourself,” She finally offers. 

“I did enjoy myself.” 

It’s a hollow insistence, and one that she knows as well as you is a lie. 

-- 

Despite his victory and the whispers of his evening with Lady Vesper, Bond is as attentive and consistent with his attention toward you the following day. He has a bandage on his head, and you recognize a smear of salve that the physician uses on wounds. You go about your day as usual, fighting the urge to ask Bond if he needs rest, or if he’s in any pain, if he feels that your favors brought him any luck. 

The question sits on your lips all day. In the evening, alone with him, you can’t bring yourself to quiet it anymore:

“Are you quite well?” 

He hasn’t settled on his stool yet. He stands firm by the door, his hands clasped in front of himself. Surprise flits across his expression so quickly that you nearly don’t catch it, but he smooths it away again. 

“Well, ma’am?” 

You swallow thickly, tightening your robe around yourself and gesturing toward the bandage on his forehead. 

“You took a hard hit at the tournament yesterday.” 

His hand raises to it, but he stops and lowers his hand before he can touch it. 

“I have taken worse.

“I’m sure.” 

Perhaps that was a wrong thing to say; Bond’s gaze seems to narrow just a touch. 

“I am well, ma’am.” 

You give a short nod, mumbling, “Good,” Before you shuffle over to your bed. You blow out the remaining candles, plunging the room into darkness before you shrug your robe off and toss it aside. You curl up under the covers, curling your arms under your pillow and peering toward the window as you hear Bond lower himself to the stool. Tonight, you can’t abide by the quiet. Tonight, you find yourself fearing that you may have offended James when you simply meant to ask after his help.

“Goodnight, Sir James,” You murmur. You hear nothing for a few long moments, and you resign yourself to a cold loneliness. And then, so softly that you nearly miss it— 

“Goodnight, ma’am.”   

--  

The trip is a mandatory one, and something that you’ve undertaken twice before. It’s customary for Blofeld to make the journey, as he has every year since he was a young boy. The trip is long and arduous, tracked over the same path time and time again. You school your focus and try to embroider or read, despite the lingering headache that it inspires. You’ve learned the hard way that Blofeld doesn't care for idle hands, even if the efforts are to your detriment. 

Still, you squint narrowly, fighting to hold the book steady as the carriage rocks and jostles along the forest path. You push off the lingering fatigue that you feel, certain that if you nod off, Blofeld will level some whack or shove to bring you to again. It’s no use. Your eyelids begin to droop, and your head begins to hang over your book as your focus grows…dim…

You’re awakened at a thwack on the side of the carriage. Your eyes snap open, and you startle, shrieking when you spot an arrowhead buried beside your head in the wall of the carriage. You realize that the carriage has come to a standstill, and the air is filled with shouting voices and the hammering of hooves. The carriage door is flung open, and you cower as best you can as you hear Blofeld demanding, “Take her!” 

You think that you may be greeted with the concern of one of your loyal knights, but shock and fear twine in your belly as an unfamiliar bandit shoves his face through the door. He gives you a sinister grin, showcasing his scant, yellow teeth before he grasps your wrist and yanks you roughly from the carriage. You scream as you’re dragged out into the cold, your face pelted with torrential rain. You try in vain to dig your heels in, struggling and tugged through the mud. You can hear a fight around you, the yowling of Blofeld’s commands in his thin, screeching voice. For all of your efforts, you’re pulled nearer and nearer to the tree line. You wobble, losing your footing as your toe catches on the root of a tree. You stumble, and are shoved to the ground as your attacker lets go of you. You shriek as he catches hold of your collar, yanking you along like a disloyal dog. 

You draw in tight breaths, hands scrabbling with your clothing. You hear the thudding of boots running through mud before you’re abruptly dropped to the ground. Looking up, you hear the singing of steel, and the clash of it makes you wince, the sound grating to your ears. You recognize one of the knights as one of Blofeld’s men, but you can’t make out which. It’ll win. You scramble to stand, hands suctioning to the mud as you push yourself up before hurrying away from the road, deeper into the woods too dark to see which one—and for as much trust as you have in their skill, you have no certainty that they’s. 

You pant as you run, looking back every few moments to ensure that there’s no one following you. When you see a shadow falling into step with you, your heart pounds impossibly harder, and you face forward, pushing your legs to pump harder than your screaming muscles ought to allow. Someone catches hold of your hand, and you scream as you’re yanked to turn. A gloved hand claps over your mouth, and familiar blue eyes catch on yours. 

Sir James hushes you, snapping, “It’s me!” 

You push his hand away from your mouth, heaving in greedy breaths. You glance around as you hear the clashing of steel, the shouts of men that must still be by the road. Sapped of speech by your panic, you allow him to pull you along through the woods, winding a path that you’ve never known and will never be able to remember. Night is falling as quickly as the rain tumbles from the sky, and it becomes harder and harder to keep up with Bond. You finally manage to yank your hand loose from his, leaning back against a tree. You’re weak with fatigue, and your lungs and legs are pained. Sir James turns to face you, glancing around the tree that you’ve leaned against. 

“We cannot stop, ma’am.” 

“I need—I need a moment,” You insist between pants, bracing your trembling body against the tree. Bond glances around you again, taking a couple more steps toward you cautiously. 

“We need to get to safety before these woods grow too dark to travel.” He shifts his saddlebag on his shoulder, glancing over you as well as he can. 

“Are you hurt?” He asks. 

“No.” 

“You’re shaking.” 

“I’m cold.” 

Sir James reaches out, gently sweeping a few drops of rain from your cheek. Heat pulses through you despite the chill, your lip wobbling a touch. 

“Your Majesty,” He urges, “I know that you are tired, but we must go. There is an inn not far from here. We will room there for the night, and then we will find a way back to the castle, or to the king.” 

The king. You hadn’t thought of Blofeld, had time enough to well up your righteous anger. It surges up so harshly and suddenly that it pushes your breath from your body in a harsh pant. You swallow thickly as the sound seems to rouse Bond’s concern. 

“Alright,” You concede softly, “Alright. But…Must we run so fast?” 

Bond’s lips twitch slightly, and you know that he’s fighting off amusement. 

“Perhaps not quite so fast, Majesty.” 

--  

The inn is a ramshackle little thing compared to the castle that you’ve become accustomed to. You can’t help your embarrassment as passersby cast you curious and pitying looks, taking in your mud-soaked garments and chilled body. Your confusion is jolted when you hear Bond’s barked argument, the slamming of his first on the table. You turn toward him and find him staring the innkeeper down. 

“I told you,” You hear Bond growl, “I will pay you in four days time.” 

“You pay me now, or you sleep outside, in the mud.” 

You start forward before you can stop yourself, yanking your wedding ring off of your finger and joining Bond at the table. 

“This will cover it,” You insist primly, pressing it into the inn keeper’s hand, “Along with firewood, and meals. We will need hot water as well.” 

The innkeeper seems stunned by the sight of the thick gold band encrusted with rubies. Shock radiates from Bond beside him. You keep your gaze on the innkeeper before you clear your throat firmly. The innkeeper snaps to, stumbling over himself to round the table. His words fumble, offering to take Bond’s saddlebag in the same breath that he urges you to follow him. 

-- 

The room is nicer than you expected, but only slightly. There’s a large bed across from a fireplace, with a wool rug in the middle. There’s a shallow washbin in the corner with a pile of linen beside it, and a bar of soap sitting atop the fabric. Bond waves the servants carting the water deeper inside, and nods innkeeper away as he tries to further offer services. Bond simply insists that food and wine is brought as quickly as possible. Once he’s gone, Bond lowers his saddle bag. He looks around, catching sight of a solid partition divider. He takes hold of it, moving it around to the basin and setting it in front. You watch him stride back to his saddlebag then, drawing off his gloves and tossing them aside before he begins to look through his things. After a few moments, he draws out a long tunic, and rises. 

“It…” His gaze drifts over your muddied clothing. “I’m sorry that it isn’t what you’re used to.”

You shake your head a touch. 

“It is clean,” You insist, “And at this moment, that is all that matters.” You pluck it gently from his hands, muttering your thanks before you round behind the partition. You remove your soiled garments one by one, wincing at the dried mud crackling and dirtying the floor. 

“If you give me your garments,” Bond’s voice rings out on the other side, “We’ll have them washed.” 

Embarrassment churns your stomach, but you force it back and away in favor of throwing them over the divider. You wince as it rocks, then puff out a breath of relief as it settles without falling. After a moment, the cloth slips over the other side of the partition. You wash yourself as thoroughly as you can, scrubbing away the muck and the sweat and the panic. You feel yourself relaxing incrementally. It doesn’t disappear fully; it can’t, with you fully bare on one side of the partition, and your protector fully clothed and waiting just on the other side. Your heart flutters in your chest when you hear him move, or sigh, or clear his throat. Once you’re clean, you pull the light grey tunic on. The fabric is a little itchy, but it’s a far cry from the fabric you’re used to—lighter, and…Shorter. It hardly brushes your knees. You go warm with nerves as you gaze at the expanse of your bare legs that will be revealed to him. You’ve really no other choice, and you try to make peace with that. 

You’re about to step from behind the partition when you hear the door open, and freeze. The murmur of Bond and the innkeeper’s voices exchanging food and soiled clothing drops away quickly enough, and is chased by the door behind closed again. You wait a few moments in testy silence before speaking up:

“May I come out now?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You step out from around the partition, pointedly avoiding Bond’s eye as you walk to where plates laden with food have been set down on the wool rug. 

“Smells good,” You mumble, lowering yourself to the floor. When Bond makes no response, you glance warily uup at him. You thrill when you find his gaze sweeping your bare skin with covetous fascination. When his eye catches on yours, it lingers. You’re a touch stunned by his boldness, though perhaps you ought not to be. This man sees you every day—but not like this. He finally turns from you, mumbling that he ought to freshen up. You sigh softly once he’s moved behind the partition, scooching closer to the fire and letting your legs stick out straight, warming your feet with the heat coming from the hearth. You wiggle your numbed and chilled toes, resting back on your hands as you listen to Bond disrobe, then the babbling sound of cloth being pressed into water, wrung out, and, presumably, scrubbed across his body. 

What must he look like? You can only imagine—and you have imagined before. Seeing him at the tournament had only bolstered what you thought his body must look like, the expanse of muscle. Would there be a scar, or two? All accumulated before his squireship? Some during his knighthood, surely. 

When Bond rounds the partition, pink-cheeked from his vigorous washing, he seems surprised. 

“...Have you not eaten?”

You shake your head a little, pushing yourself to sit up straight. 

“I was waiting for you.” 

He seems even more stunned by the prospect, but he lowers himself to sit on the other side of the plates, and the pitcher of ale that had been brought up with the food. The taste is far sharper than the wine that you’re used to, and you just manage to stave off a wince. It warms you right through as well as the fire, and you take two deep swigs. You hear a soft huff, a warning of, 

“Perhaps you ought to slow, ma’am. You’ve had nothing to eat.” 

You grunt softly, setting the glass aside and using the long sleeve of the tunic to swipe at your messy mouth. The food isn’t much, but it is delicious. It’s nearly enough to fill you—and would be if there was only one of you there. Bond eats with less ravenous hunger than you do. Perhaps he’s less hungry; perhaps he’s doing his best to oblige you for the sake of how trying your day has been. Regardless, when you’ve finished, you lean back against the wall behind you. You point your toes again, wiggling and watching them as fatigue begins to creep up in the place of hunger. 

“...I will get you home safely.” 

Sir James offers it without provocation, and you wonder if your face has belied some concern, some confusion. You glance up toward him and find you watching him closely. 

“I am sure of it,” You nod. 

“And I am certain the king is well.” 

You laugh bitterly, then. You can’t help the way it falls from your mouth, or force it away again in the twist of his confusion. 

“I am sure,” You agree dryly. “I am sure he is well. God save him. God save the noble king.” 

If Blofeld were there, he would order your head struck from your shoulders. If Bond relayed your words, you were certain you would face the gallows. But now, with your belly fool and your head swimming slightly from panic and ale, you can’t bring yourself to care. You take your tankard up again, wincing at the scent that rises from it, the low slosh of liquid. 

“You shouldn’t have given that man your wedding ring,” Bond chides. 

“He told them to take me,” You tell him. “When those…Men,” You spit it, “Came to the carriage, the King told them to—” Your breath hitches in your throat, hand tightening around the tankard further. You raise it and swallow roughly as tears prickle your eyes. You set it aside once it’s empty, sniffling as the tears rise further. For all of his cruelty, Blofeld’s blatant disregard for your life was a step too far. How were you to know whether or not he’d set the attack himself? You’d always feared that he’d grown tired of you, your charms. 

You hardly registered the shift of Bond’s shadow until he’s standing over you.

“Are you still cold?” He asks softly. You nod, and Bond holds his hand out to you. You take it, allowing him to tug you to stand. You wobble a little, stilling only when his other hand rests on your hip to steady you. He tows you to the bed, and you let him push the covers back and nod you in. You scooch down against the mattress, pouting at the feeling of the odd piece of straw poking through. You watch as Bond turns his back, settling down on the wool rug again. You push yourself up onto your elbows, frowning. 

“Where will you sleep?”

He turns to look at you, brows furrowing a touch. 

“Here.” He gestures to the rug. 

“But,” You shake your head, “You’ll freeze.” 

“We’ve a fire.” 

“We’ll take turns.” 

“Ma’am.” 

“We will.” You use your most imperious tone, but he doesn’t so much as blink. 

“You need rest,” He insists. 

“As do you. If you fall ill…” You consider for a moment. You know this man, a little. You think you know what may spur him to action. You force a slight pout, urging: 

“What will I do without my protector?” 

Darkness flashes across Bond’s gaze. It’s another moment before he pushes himself up again, walking around to the other side of the bed. He pushes the covers back, carefully lowering himself to the other side of the bed and tugging the sheets up around the two of you. You glance over toward him and find him stalwartly watching the ceiling. You hesitate before you finally scooch a little closer. His gaze skates sharply toward you, and you bite your lip to silence your panic. 

“I’m still cold,” You mumble. Bond is quiet for a moment before he rolls onto his side, shifting closer. 

“Give me your hands,” He urges softly. You roll onto your side as well, holding your hands up from beneath the covers. Bond cups them, drawing them close and puffing his hot breath against them. Your fingers twitch in his gentle grasp, and you shiver softly as his lips brush against your fingertips. You well up your courage, your want, your sorrow, and turn an index finger toward his lips, pressing it gently there. It’s a moment before he presses a tender kiss to it. You gently draw it back as if moving too fast will startle him, turning your finger toward yourself and pressing a kiss to it in turn. Bond’s gaze drops covetously to your lips, his own parted as his grip tightens on your other hand. You shift a touch closer, brushing the tip of your nose to his. His eyes hold steady on your lips, even with you this close. 

“Your majesty,” He warns softly. 

“Sir James—” 

“We ought not to—” 

“Please.” 

Your plea seems to shock him. Perhaps he’s never heard a queen beg. Perhaps he can’t imagine her needing to. Perhaps what spurs him is his oath of fealty, to serve at your pleasure. Before you have any further time to question his motives, he dives in, pressing his mouth to yours. 

There’s far more heat to the embrace than you’ve ever felt with Blofeld, and it’s hardly more than a kiss. But James’ jaw grasps warmly at your cheek, holding you steady as he spears his tongue between your lips. You whimper softly, raising your free hand to slip into his hair and keep him close. He draws away with a slick sound, and before you can whimper or whine, he pushes you onto his back, covering your body with his own. You splay your thighs for him, whimpering as his warm, solid body settles over you. Your fingers grapple with the fabric of his tunic, nails catching in the odd snag. James kisses you with an almost ravenous force, as if there’s some great fire in him that only your lips can quench. 

James’ hips rock down against yours, and you quiver at the feeling of him hardening against your thigh. It’s not a sensation that you’re unfamiliar with, but you’ve never thrilled in the sensation in quite this way before. You tip your hips up toward him, letting out a pleading moan as your cunt throbs. 

You expect it to be perfunctory, and you’re resigned to it. For all of Bond’s passionate kisses, you’re content with a handful of quick thrusts before settling into sleep and silence. But Bond pushes the fabric of your tunic up, drawing it over your head and off. You lick your lips as his kisses skim over your neck, brushing along your clavicle, then drifting over the swell of your breast. You suck in a soft, stunned breath as his tongue swipes out, swirling around one of your pebbling nipples before toying it tenderly between his lips. You bite your lip, desperate to stifle your moan as his thigh presses against your core. You don't know what possesses you, but your hips seem to roll on instinct, chasing the tantalizing pressure. Some part of you brushes against the muscle of his thigh, and your hips give a jolt of their own volition. 

The sensation that ripples through you knocks loose an embarrassing moan. Bond’s smile goes rakish and wide, his hands and lips tenderly smoothing their way down your body. You’re dismayed as he draws his knee away, certain that your time together is nearing an end. But rather than spear into you as you expect, he pushes your thighs wide. You bite your lip as his finger trails gently over your slick, aching skin before you feel the tender brush of wet heat. You jump in shock, but Bond’s arm keeps your hips pinned to the bed as he gives your cunt another tender lick. Your body goes hot as you catch sight of his darkening eyes peering up at you in the dim light of the room. You push out a shaky breath, your hips giving an exploratory tip toward him. His eyelids flutter as he laves his tongue along your plumping lips. You slide your hands down over his head, chasing your stunned pleasure. Your mouth parts as you pant, as Bond laps and licks and teases you with his fingers and tongue. 

For every tumble into your marriage bed, you’ve never felt yourself come alive like this before. You’d been a virgin when you met Blofeld, and have only ever been with him. For the scant whispers that have made their way back to you in court, you’ve never heard that Blofeld has any additional vigor or passion with the other ladies at court. You’ve just assumed that that is what the act of lovemaking was: quick, simple, and unenjoyable. 

You’ve never been so happy to be so wrong. 

When James hikes your leg up around his hip and eases into you, your mouth drops open in a wail. He claps his hand down over your mouth, shushing you softly. His already-bright eyes are brighter still with mirth; his lips and chin are slick from his lapping and teasing; color is rising in his cheeks. 

“You don’t want them to know what we’re doing in here, do you?” He murmurs. “If they should learn whose ring that is, who you are…” He rolls his hips, “It’ll be both our heads.” 

You nod slightly in agreement, cunt throbbing as his hips begin to drive more roughly. Your mouth drops, and you pant hotly against the broad stretch of his palm. The odd whimper and whine still slip from your lips as James fucks you with an almost leisurely pace. You’re used to a shove, a harsh pounding, a spill—but James lowers his hands and strokes reverently over your body, loving you with an unhurried pace, as if he has all the time in the world. 

– 

Waking is slow going. You immediately feel that something is…wrong. Your bed isn’t nearly as soft as it normally is; you can hear the calls of voices below, bellows for breakfast, and hot water, and for someone’s horse to be brought. You draw in a deep breath, shifting and wincing as a piece of hay jabs at your back. You still as you feel someone’s foot brush yours, then draw in a quiet breath as you feel James’ lips brush your shoulder. You turn your head to find him still blinking the sleep from his eyes. You raise your hand, gently stroking over his cheek. He smiles softly, tipping his head toward you and pressing another kiss to your skin. You let your hand slide down from his cheek before you roll onto your side. James’ smile drops away for a moment as you nudge his shoulder, urging him on to his back. It blooms again as you slide your leg over him, straddling his thighs. You let your gaze drift openly down his chest, trailing your fingers over fading scars and raised scratches from yesterday’s fight. You bow over him, nuzzling into his neck as his hands smooth over your back. 

“How did you sleep?” He murmurs. You have to fight away a shiver at the sound of his voice, so much deeper than you’re used to hearing. 

“Well enough.” You brush your cheek against his, drawing in the still-lingering scent of the soap that he’d used the night before. 

“We’ll need to leave soon,” He warns. You don’t let him see you pout; you just hum your agreement as you tenderly draw his earlobe between your teeth, giving it a tug. You feel James’ hips twitch beneath you, and a little thrill curls in your stomach as James’ hands smooth over your thighs. Your body is a touch sore, but you know well enough that it’s a result from your stumbling through the woods as quickly as you could the day prior, and not from your night with your knight. You smile as James tips your head to the side, his nose nudging gently against yours before he catches your lips with his. You let out a happy little sigh, shifting atop him. Your cunt throbs as the apex of your thighs brushes against his muscled stomach. James’ hands raise to cup your cheeks, loosing a soft, encouraging hum as you begin to roll your hips down against him. 

Your night of tender care has brought out a boldness in you that you’ve tempered for a long time. James urges you on, his hands closing around your hips and guiding your aimless grinding. He eases you back after a few moment, your plumping cunt catching against your opening. 

You don’t need convincing, and he doesn’t need urging.

--  

You’d clung to him as long as you were able, but your grip had grown slack as the castle had come into view. Sir James had lowered his hand, resting it gently atop yours. 

“What do you say if he should ask where your wedding ring went?” 

“I lost it in the woods,” You mumble obediently. 

“And where we were?” 

“It was dark, and I can’t remember.” 

“Good girl.” 

You press your face into his neck, grip tightening around him again. 

“And if he should ask if you took care of me?” You murmur. James gives your hand a soft squeeze. 

“That answer is at your discretion.” 

--  

He isn’t happy that you’re alive. 

Blofeld manages to feign relief for a few seconds, but it quickly drops away, leaving behind an apparent disdain, one that you wouldn’t know if you hadn’t known him for so long. But you throw yourself at his feet, and sob, and swear that your only thought for days has been for his safety. 

Blofeld insists on staying with you on your first night back, but he hardly touches you. It’s not for a lack of trying. You force yourself to curl up to him, to rest your forehead against his shoulder and grasp his hand, dropping kisses to his skin and pressing as close as you dare. It’s a relief that he doesn’t take as he likes, knowing that Sir James is just on the other side of the door. 

--  

He’s been your shadow for so long, but he sticks even closer now. James is hardly a step or two away from you these days, close enough that you can feel the heat of him bleeding through his armor as he lingers behind you. 

Your bed is no longer cold in the evening, and James’ stool sits unattended. His body covers yours, his cock sheathed in your loving cunt as you bite your tongue and dig your fingernails into your muscles, silencing your moans and whimpers. 

You’ve never known what it was to be cuddled and held through the night, to wake up day after day with the press of lips to your forehead, a murmur of, “I must go,” and, “I shall see you soon.” He’s always at your side, in your bed, in your arms. Sir James gives you the constancy that you were meant to expect from your husband. It occurs to you that you are breaking your marriage covenant, that your actions may lead to trouble, to Hell. 

But as you peer up into James’ eyes, and tenderly swipe the beads of sweat from his forehead as his cock softens inside you, you realize that you’ll take your steps into the underworld happily. 

He begins to openly slight other women. Lady Vesper makes her advances. She flirts in the dining hall, and makes eyes as she sits with you and your other ladies maids. You can’t help but glance toward Sir James as she does, as she bats her eyelashes and pushes out her chest. They’re valiant attempts for a valiant man, but Sir James keeps his gaze focused ahead of himself, hardly flinching, not even bothering to give her a wink. It makes your smile widen villainously as you lean back in your seat, raising your book to cover your grinning face. 

--  

“They want you, you know,” You murmur. James shifts his head questioningly on the pillows, tipping his head to the side as you ghost your lips over his strong chest. 

“My ladies,” You clarify, waggling your brows. He smiles a touch, raising a hand to stroke your cheek. 

“I haven’t noticed.” 

“Oh, no? It’s been difficult for me not to notice,” You argue. 

“I’ve no interest.” 

“None?” 

James grasps your jaw gently, tipping your chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes bore warmly into yours, mischief and affection sparkling in his gaze. 

“Whose bed am I in now?” 

Your skin heats at the reminder. 

“Mine,” You murmur. 

“And you think I care for anyone else’s affection?” 

“Your king’s?” 

James gives you a shove that catches you off-guard. You land on your back, sucking in a gasp as he grasps your thigh and tugs you closer. You lay flat and open beneath him, heart pounding in your chest. 

“I have no king,” He swears. “Only you.” 

-- 

It’s Eve to notice it first, and it’s no great shock. You don’t think of it at first—you have other things on your mind. Your body is constantly aching; you’re so satisfied that you simply don’t think of it. 

But after two weeks—after she grasps your arm upon your waking and asks if your courses have stopped—your heart plummets. 

You don’t call for a doctor. You think that perhaps you’re merely late. But you know, deep down, that that simply can’t be it. You haven’t been with your husband in months, not since your birthday—not since you tried and failed to entice him on your return. There’s no doubt of whose it is. 

--  

James groans, shoving your hips more harshly against the castle wall as his hips push more insistently against you. You’ve taken your leave early from a banquet, pleaded your shadow to follow you into an alcove so that you might have a chance to talk, unable to wait until you reach your bed chamber. 

A child. 

His hands had grasped and tugged at your skirts, spreading you wide in the darkness and pressing into you as if he can give you another just now. You press your face into his neck, muffling your moans. 

“I have nothing but you,” He growls, sliding his hand down to smooth over your belly, “We have nothing but this.” 

-- 

“It isn’t safe for us here.” 

He murmurs it against your hair as he smooths his hand up your bare back. You consider for a moment, fingers trailing over his shoulder as sunlight begins to creep into the room. 

“Where could we go?” 

“France.” 

You frown, tipping your chin up to get a better look at him. His gaze is fixed on the ceiling as he adds, “Blofeld only has enemies there. We are to become traitors to the crown.” 

“We are already traitors to the crown.” 

James hums in soft concession, and you let your eyes slide closed. 

“When would we leave?” You mumble. 

“As soon as we possibly can ” 

“And how?” 

“You leave it to me.” 

“But James—” 

He looks down, running his thumb over your lower lip and silencing you. 

“Do you trust me?” 

You turn your head, pressing a kiss to his thumb. 

“Of course I do.” 

His smile widens as he ducks in for a gentle kiss. 

“Then you leave it to me.” 

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @amneris21 ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ;

[latibvles]

"Bubbles has a crush on you." for Inez, bc I was just reading her description on your oc list and I think it would be funny and also Bubbles having a crush is adorable.

merc, this is delightful. you and @upontherisers lined up on this and it's definitely snowballed into something a lot more than what it was. but for now we can have some funny and sweet baby beginnings. everybody say thank you jean for your service.

—

To Harry’s credit, he waits until they’re a few feet away from the sick bay before springing it onto her, handing off his letter and making a poorly-executed attempt at “suddenly remembering” what Mrs. Jean Crosby wanted him to tell her. He moves his thumb from the part of the letter he’d been hiding from Bubbles when they paid their sick friend a visit — Inez takes the letter in full anyway, skimming its contents, squinting to make it easier on the eyes.

‘Sounds like Bubbles might have a bit of a crush on Inez! Can’t say I blame him, she’s a big sweetheart after all. Let me know how that goes, will you?’

She feels herself go red from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

“Huh?” Harry is smiling at her now, closed-lipped, hands in his pockets. “I don’t— that’s not— I don’t think…” Harry kisses his teeth, head bowing to watch as he kicks at the dirt.

“Damn, guess that’s a no-go on a double date when we’re back stateside huh?”

“Harry!” Inez hears her own voice rise in pitch and she wants to wither away at the sound. Still she reaches to swat at his arm and he leans to the side like she’s hit him hard enough to knock him off balance. He laughs at that like he had when shoving his damp hair in Bubbles’ face only a couple minutes ago.

“Just trying to figure out what I should say to Jean.” He puts his hands in the air in mock surrender. Inez huffs, cheeks burning as she looks back at Jean’s neat script, rereading the sentences over and over again.

You should say nothing to Jean, she thinks, thoroughly ruffled. She doesn’t even know what she’s supposed to say to that — much less what he should be telling Jean about it. What even was “it”? What’s she supposed to do with this information? If it’s even true, that is.

“What’ve you even told her, Harry?” Inez asks, still trying to wrap her head around the statement. A million different scenarios start racing through her brain: all of them circulating about censors, and fraternization, and they all end with her in Harding’s office having to explain in soft humiliation that no, she isn’t having… “relations” with Lieutenant Payne. The very thought makes her feel like she might spontaneously combust, which might just be better than—

“Nothing crazy. Promise,” he pulls her from her thoughts but she can only glare at him in a way she knows isn’t intimidating because he’s still smiling.

Bastard.

“Just… y’know, he wanted to ask you to dance last week but talked himself out of it. And uh— he was asking if you and Hambone were close.”

“Oh my God.”

“I can stop talking if you want,” Harry offers. If she hadn’t already hit him once, she’d do it now. But she doesn’t do that, just hands back the letter while he snickers and tries in a weak attempt to calm down her brain, which is already leaping back to the blue of his eyes and the gap in his teeth. She huffs and squints at him.

“Don’t tell Jean nothin’ or I’m telling June to come set you straight, Croz.”

[ Send "____ has a crush on you!" to an OC to see their reaction! ]

[bayofwolves]

Rereading Tales of the Great Beasts

I'm back after another reread! This time, I'm going over what I've discovered to be my favourite of the special editions. Let's get into it!

Kovo: Rise of the Reptile King

Feliandor talks to animals just like Shane does. Aww.

"[The mongoose's] obvious intelligence left no doubt -- this was a spirit animal." So canonically, Bile-bonded spirit animals have the intelligence of natural ones. That's got to be a crazy experience for the animal. Imagine you're just a normal mongoose, living your mongoose life, until suddenly you have the intelligence of a human. There's some serious psychological horror potential there, especially for the Bile-affected animals at the time of the Second Devourer War, who were presumably reduced to their previous state when the Bile lost its power.

The unnamed Niloan woman proves that humans have had access to the Bile for some time before Feliandor started the war. I wonder who the very first person Kovo and Gerathon entrusted with the Bile was. That would be an interesting story to tell.

"If the bird is not released within five days... my benefactor shall move on to others who may be more interested in his offer." You have to wonder what exactly Kovo's backup plan was. Go to the other world leaders and appeal to their unique problems, I'm assuming. What if instead of the king of Stetriol, the Devourer was an Amayan chief or Zhongese emperor? Infinite AU potential!

Fel's parents were killed? By whom??! My best guess is that they were assassinated, considering Fel blames the captain of the king's guard for not protecting them, but who would want to eliminate the much beloved king and queen? I wish we got more information on this.

Thylacines canonically exist on Erdas, at least in Feliandor's time! Yay!

Kovo was the one who gave Feliandor the title of Reptile King. Paralleling this, Briggan gave the Greencloaks their name.

I wish we learned what Fel named his crocodile. Unlike Shane, he thinks of his spirit animal as something beautiful, so he probably gave it a name.

Since Feliandor probably couldn't be the direct ancestor of the present-day royal family (there's no mention of him taking a queen or having children before his death), I made it so that they are descended from his cousins in A Revised History of Erdas. I believe this is already canon, but I may be wrong. When Fel died with no heir, the throne passed to his paternal cousin, Lysander -- the forefather of all kings to come. I plan to write a novella about his life eventually.

Jhi: Yin and Yu

Yin and Luan's chaotic bond is a good example of how things must have been before the Greencloaks. Before there was an organization dedicated to building upon the spirit animal bond, the Marked and their animals had to figure things out on their own.

I think Yin's father was formerly part of the Zhongese military, or held some other position in government. Yin mentions that her family had once had access to "important secrets" like the layout of the Bamboo Maze, but not anymore. I wonder what he did to lose his position.

Surprisingly, Yin and her family don't seem to know anything about Jhi before being told by the healer. And it's not that they can't remember her off the top of their heads, like Conor in the first book, either. When Yin tells Yu about her, he reacts like this is his first time hearing of her.

In ARHoE, Meilin can trace her lineage back to Teng Yin and Teng Yu. She is descended from Yu through her father. Meilin grew up hearing stories of her many-times-great-aunt Yin's adventures, and idolized her from a young age. The Sword of Teng (renamed from Tang to match their family name) is in their family's possession at the time of the first arc. It passes to Meilin in Blood Ties, after the death of General Teng, and she wields it like her famed ancestor thereafter.

Uraza: The First Greencloak

One of Uraza's titles is the Great Cat of the Grasslands.

I love how Uraza calls Tembo a kitten (although baby leopards are called cubs). I bet she thinks of Abeke as a cub, too.

Very ironic how the first green cloak was stolen from a Conqueror.

"I met in secret with young men and women I knew from other villages and nearby tribes... One night last spring, we all left behind our tribe colours and allegiances and replaced them with green cloaks..." Not all of the first Greencloaks were Marked!

Uraza marvels at how Tembo and Omika have learned to control precisely where she appears when she comes out of passive state, and in The Dragon's Eye, she masters this same skill with Abeke. I love all the little threads that are being woven between these ancient humans and our four protagonists.

We learn a lot about Nilo in this section, which I am over the moon about. Tribe names and customs! Landmarks! It's not much in the grand scheme of things, but it's something.

Getting inside Great Beast Uraza's head has only strengthened my belief that she should have taken a whole lot longer to accept being bonded to Abeke. Sure, she may have learned from her time with Tembo that humans are not all bad, but being one's spirit animal is another thing entirely. Uraza values her freedom and independence above all. Being tethered to a human, no matter how pleasant they may be, should be a hard thing for her to come to terms with. It would have been true to her character if she took a while to warm up to Abeke, wary and aloof until the girl earned her trust, and struggled with being her partner until the rewarding moment when she agrees to work together with her. They gave that arc to Essix, though -- who doesn't think badly of humans or the spirit animal bond in her short story.

In ARHoE, Tembo has three living descendants in present-day Erdas: Abeke, Soama and Irtike. Tembo married Jinta a few years after the war's end, and they had three children together. Chinwe and Ikenne would be born into this line many years later. Abeke is unaware of her connection to the first leader of the Greencloaks for much of the series. When Tembo chose to leave his family to hide the bond tokens and never returned, they grew bitter towards him. Some people on Erdas said he was killed on his journey, attacked by his enemies. Some said he spent the rest of his days away from the public eye on a secluded island, troubled by the war and the genocide he had overseen in Stetriol. Whatever the case, his wife and children never forgave him for abandoning them when they needed him the most. Refusing to speak of him to their descendants, he soon faded from living memory, and future generations would never know the Tembo of legend was their ancestor. (Author's note: This made me really want to write something about Tembo's family, especially since I imagine his kids retraced his footsteps years after he had left to try and find him, so maybe I will do that.)

Briggan: The Packleader

Considering her mission and how she had joined Briggan's Great Pack by the time of the Last Battle, I think it would have been more fitting if Katalin's spirit animal was a canine. I'm thinking a silver or cross fox could have served the same purpose as a black mink. This could have explained why the Marked resistance sent such a young, unassuming girl to convince Briggan to join them -- they thought her being bonded to one of his fellows might make him more willing to hear her plight.

Spirit animals can leave the passive state at will and don't have to wait to be called out by their human partner. Every day, they teach us something new about the spirit bond.

"Received your mark" is a cool way to say you've summoned a spirit animal.

Great Beast Briggan's presence giving people visions of the future, and that affect lasting even long after they've left him, is quite possibly the coolest thing ever.

We don't get much information on the human protagonists in this book, but as you can see, that hasn't stopped me from fleshing them out more. In my mind, Katalin is mixed Euran and western Zhongese (Arab-coded), a result of intermarrying being far more common in the days before Feliandor's war. (I'll go into this another time.) Conor is her direct descendant, through Fenray.

Essix: Fall of the Four

I wonder if the forest Tellun created on Stetriol remained after the Great Beasts had gone.

This section makes it seem like Rumfuss has always spoken haltingly, even though it was said in Hunted that this was likely a result of him going many years without saying a word.

Considering this book was released right before Rise and Fall, the hints pointing to where Halawir's true loyalties lie are nicely placed. It'll be fun for me to explore the full extent of his involvement in the First Devourer War.

"While the Evertree stands, our destinies are tied to Erdas. If one form is lost, another will rise." The Great Beasts always knew they would return to Erdas in some way, shape or form!

I always remembered Uraza, not Jhi, being the one to lend Tembo the speed and agility needed to kill Feliandor.

This section is so painful to read. I will never be fond of the other Great Beasts (besides Ninani, Tellun and Mulop). They were complicit in the deaths of the Four Fallen and the near-destruction of the world. They failed in their duty as protectors of Erdas. (The three I just mentioned can be excused... somewhat.)

I really do wish that Essix got a longer chapter where she encountered a human who convinced her to join the Greencloaks' cause, like all the rest. They might have skipped that with her because Amaya was uninvolved in the First Devourer War, it appears. Still, I want to know how she lost her talisman, and what made her decide to join the fight.

Ninani: Ninani's Nectar

Note: This short story is unfortunately only available online. You can read it here.

Tepin reads like a kid who has an innocent crush on his slightly older babysitter and it's honestly adorable. We only see them interact in flashbacks, but their friendship was beautiful to read.

The bonding sickness affected pre-existing bonds as well as new ones. That's horrible. I was previously under the impression that only the bonds that formed after Kovo damaged the Evertree were at risk.

I believe Tepin would have contracted the bonding sickness as well if not for the Nectar of Ninani. In one of his dreams, he asks Ninani if the Nectar will save him, to which she nods. She doesn't answer when he asks if it will save Ifa, who, as we know, dies from her illness.

Ninani can make plants grow! It would have been nice to show Tasha harnessing this power through their bond.

This chapter was so bittersweet. I'm not ashamed to admit I teared up a little at the end.

And with that, I've finally finished the first arc of Spirit Animals!

Although the arc ended at The Evertree, it has books that directly accompany it, such as this one. And now I'm done! I enjoyed this one quite a lot. I'm very grateful we got a special edition that explored some of Erdas during ancient times, and that gave us a brief glimpse into the lives of the Four's ancestors (to me!). This book had some awesome scenes -- Tembo riding on Uraza's back, the snakes being released in the throne room, the Great Pack tearing the Conquerors apart and, of course, the Battle to End All Battles. Tepin's story was probably my favourite, but I loved Yin and Katalin's, too, despite the relative lack of action in them. I just loved how atmospheric and emotional they were, and the experience of seeing the Four Fallen as Great Beasts through someone else's eyes. The dream-like quality of Tepin's chapter well and truly captivated me. I do think this book should have been told entirely from the Four Fallen's perspectives (with the exceptions of Feliandor and Tepin), but the humans' perspectives were done so well that I can't really complain.

Exciting stuff is coming next week. Stay tuned!

This is part of an ongoing series.

Wild Born | Hunted | Blood Ties | Fire and Ice | Against the Tide | Rise and Fall | The Evertree

Immortal Guardians | Broken Ground | The Return | The Burning Tide

Heart of the Land | The Wildcat's Claw | Stormspeaker | The Dragon's Eye

Tales of the Great Beasts | The Book of Shane | Tales of the Fallen Beasts

[so-much-for-stardust6]

Best Friends or Lovers?- John Frusciante

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summary: you’ve had feelings for your best friend for a while, but attending one of his shows deepened them. what happens when you finally confess backstage?

lowercase intended

warnings: smut

a/n: i wrote this at like 2am and reread it for mistakes around 3:30am so pls bare with me if there’s spelling mistake 😭

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i watched my best friend on stage, looking like he’s cumming as he plays his guitar. least to say, i was mesmerized. his beauty was captured in the perfect way by many things. his sweat slicked hair stuck to his face, the straps to his overalls slightly falling off his toned shoulders and the bright stage lights complemented him perfectly. the way he parted his mouth and furrowed his brows had me feeling some way. well, it powered the way i was feeling towards him even more. i felt like every other fan girl of his, thirsting over the way he expresses himself while playing, but i honestly couldn’t blame them.

i knew the band was reaching towards the end of their show, all of them covered in sweat. i mentally cursed myself at the feeling deep down in my stomach, guilty of how i feel about my best friend. i wished to go to the bathroom and freshen up but being right up front prevented me from doing so. after two more songs they finally ended their show, thanking everyone for attending. i stood in the same spot for a bit, waiting for the place to empty out before heading backstage.

i reach in my pocket for some pass i was given to flash to security so no hassle would happen over me trying to “trespass”. the blank white walls was all i saw as i made my way to his dressing room, carefully reading the signs so i wouldn’t walk in on anyone else. i scan the handwritten sign taped to the white door in front of my eyes.

‘john frusciante’

i quietly knock on the door, stomach doing flips as i picture his sweaty self opening the door. and that’s exactly what i saw. he grinned brightly at my presence, his strong chest slicked with sweat.

“i thought you’d get lost.” he joked, walking back towards the couch in his room.

“i honestly thought i was for a sec.” i laugh back, walking in and closing the door behind me.

“how’d you enjoy it?” he wiped the sweat off his neck with a hand towel.

“eh, it was okay.” i lie.

“staring at anthony too long kinda ruined it, huh?” he joked.

the joke caught me off guard as i let out a laugh.

“you read my mind, they should have you in the front.” i suggest, sitting down next to him.

“nah, seeing my beauty is a privilege.”

i nod in agreement, so lucky to be close with him.

“i saw you kinda spaced out towards the end, anything to share?”

“huh? oh, nah nothing to report. just thought some…thoughts.”

“oooo, who’s the lucky guy?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“what? what makes you think it was like that?” my nerves began slowly rising.

“that pause you did indicates it was about a guy. since i’m your best friend i’m obligated to know who’s on your mind.”

“no way, i’m not saying.” i awkwardly chuckle, hoping he’d leave it alone.

but knowing john, he won’t. and that’s exactly what he did.

“oh come onnnn, pleaseeee.” he began leaning on me.

i try to shove him off but he put his dead weight on me, head sliding down to eventually rest in my lap.

“please?” he pouts and attempts puppy dog eyes.

“no.”

“why not? i tell you stuff like that.”

“against my will.” i lightly laugh, trying to distract him.

“is it one of my band mates? please don’t tell me it’s anthony.” he quickly sits up at the thought of me thinking about anthony like that.

“what? no, it’s not your band mates.” i immediately shake my head.

“describe him then.”

“i literally hate you.”

“i think you absolutely love me.” he cheekily smiles.

he gives me a pressuring puppy dog eye look that works this time. i sigh in defeat, guessing that it’s better to tell him now rather than having me awkwardly bring it up later on.

“he has this gorgeous facial bone structure. his hair is an absolutely beautiful color, complimenting him wonderfully. his body is sculpted in a way you’d never think would be possible. i hate when his eyes look at me, they’re breathtaking and they make me feel like i’m on fire. his touch is so delicate when he doesn’t mean to be. his fingers are a blessing, crafted to move in an articulate way to match the way he does what he does for a living. the way his mind works is crazy to me, his words like addicting honey that stick me to him forever. i hate thinking of him like this but it’s hard not to.” i spit out.

the entire time i stared at the floor, fingers playing with one another. i’m self conscious of his eyes on me, no emotion on his face as he dissects my words in his brain. as each silent second goes by, i panic even more. i immediately start cursing myself out mentally, why did i say that shit? i open my mouth to apologize but he cut me off.

“what a lucky man..” his eyes dug into mine.

“d-do you not know who i’m talking about?”

i’m well aware i never mentioned him directly but i thought he’d somehow get it.

“no? should i know?” he furrows his eyebrows.

i mutter a soft ‘fuck’ and i put my face into my hands.

“but what i know is that i’m a very lucky man.”

“you suck.” i roll my eyes at his stupidity.

“is that how you really feel about me? please be honest.”

“everything i said was as honest as i can be, johnny. i’ve been feeling like this for a while but i didn’t want to ruin our friendship. i love you so much and i don’t want to lose you.” i lift my head up to look at him.

more silence filled the room as i wait for his answer. before i could even react, he practically lunges towards me. his big hands grabbing my face to hold it as his lips met mine. my eyes widen in complete shock, is he really kissing me?

it took me a bit to realize what was happening for me start kissing back. my eyes slowly close as made out. my hands slowly snaked their way to his head, one pressing against the back of his neck and the other on his cheek. he slowly started to guide me to lay down, holding himself up with his arm. i imagined how it would feel to kiss john but i never knew it’d feel so blissful. my entire body buzzed with adrenaline, heart rate probably being a crazy number. his lips were so soft and plump, moving perfectly with mine. i go to run my fingers through his brown hair, tugging at it slightly.

“fuck.” he muttered against my lips.

before anymore kissing could happen, he pulled away. his lips even more plump and red from kissing, quick pants escaping from them.

“do you want to do this? i-i didn’t want to force you to do this, i’m sorry.” a worried look prominent on his face.

“of course i do. i want this. i want you.”

he quietly groaned out at my words, not wasting any time to kiss me again. i go to touch his torso, my fingers dance against his hot skin. feeling him like this, so intimately, just provoked that feeling in my stomach even more. my brain couldn’t form any words for me to say so i just whine into our kiss.

“you trying to ask for something? use your words.” he breathes out.

“please…now..” i hate how i’m already wrapped around his finger but let’s be honest, i’ve always been.

“you want me now? can’t wait even a few minutes. so needy..” he trails his kisses down my neck.

he stays there, marking me to show every guy that i’m taken. i think? i was too caught up in my thoughts that i didn’t notice he began taking off my shirt. the fabric trailing over my face snapped me back into reality. my odd choice of a raunchy bra for today paid off, his eyes focused mainly on my chest. the feeling of his hands groping my boobs caused my heart to beat faster, which i don’t think is even possible at the rate it’s at.

he messaged my boobs as he went back to biting, sucking and kissing my neck. i moaned out, back arching which made me feel his boner poking my thigh. i subconsciously began rubbing against his overall jeans, attempting to pleasure him. he lets out a throaty moan, his grip on my boobs hardening. he pulled away from my chest and stood up. i watched as he unclipped his overalls, letting them fall to his ankles to reveal his white boxers. a very visible white spot was the first thing i noticed on the boxers.

“are you able to take off your clothes? or is the adrenaline stopping you?” it was like he knew exactly how i was feeling.

i shook my head before reaching back to unclip my bra. i sat up and let it fall to my lap, grabbing it to throw it on top my previously discarded shirt. john’s hand tried to sneakily grope himself through his boxers at the sight of my bare chest but i notice quickly. i bit my lip knowing that he’s hard because of me. i go to unbutton my jeans, shimmying them down my legs.

“god, like i said, i’m such a lucky man.” he eyes me.

at the same time, we both pulled the last pieces of clothing off and threw them on the floor. john climbed back on top of me, his lips back on mine. completely naked, bare skin touching as we made out was definitely not how i imagined this night to end. my fingers ended up in his hair again, tugging harder than before. he very obviously loved when i did since he’d moan every time.

“you ready?” he rested his forehead on mine.

“have been.”

he grabbed his dick, aligning it perfectly with me. one last kiss to my lips is what he did before slowly sliding inside me. a long, low moan escapes his mouth as he felt me. i moan out at the stretching he was doing, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“faster, please john..” i beg.

he needed no more words from me as he started to thrust. at first he carefully thrusted, watching me to see if i’d get hurt but after noticing that i’m fine he went faster. the couch creaked and moved with every thrust, probably scratching the floor.

i gripped his body, hands roaming all over place not knowing where to stay. at one point i pushed his head back to me and connected our lips. our tongues fought for dominance, exploring one another’s mouth. one of his arms held him up as he thrusted harder, the other playing with my boob. everything felt so right, like this was meant to be. i wished i confessed to him earlier, imagining how it would’ve felt to be so close to him like this sooner.

we’re both well aware how loud we’re being, not a single care in the world crossed our minds. john wanted everyone to hear us, to know that no one else is making me feel as good as he his. for everyone to know that he’s so hooked to me and only me. little to my knowledge, john’s always loved me. also not wanting to ruin our relationship, he kept quiet about his feelings and desires. but today he got quite lucky at my sudden confession. he grabbed onto the cushion tightly as the feeling in his abdomen began tightening.

“fuck i’m close, baby.” he moaned.

i whine out at the pet name. he abandoned my boob and moved his hand down to my clit, rubbing it to fasten my orgasm. i gasp out in pleasure, damn near pornographic moans spewing out my mouth.

his “trick” worked as i felt the coil in my stomach tighten. i only hum out to signal him that i was close. he understood and went harder and deeper. i tighten around him, which caused him to cum quickly. he spat out ‘fuck’s as he came, hips stuttering as he tried to keep going to get me to cum. his eyes squeezed shut at his sore dick still thrusting inside me, pushing his cum deeper inside. that definitely was not intentional. seeing john in such a state made me reach my peak, moaning out his name over and over as i came all over his cock. the feeling of me cumming all over him caused him to cum once more. he slowed down his thrusts before coming to a stop, collapsing onto my chest from exhaustion.

i lay there to catch my breath, his hot breath fanning over my collarbone. i reach to kiss the top of his head, even going to stroke his hair.

“you did so good.” i whisper in his ear, kissing it afterwards.

“i love you.” he hugged me tightly.

“i love you too, johnny.” a huge smile forming on my face.

“can we go home? i’m tired.” he mumbled.

“alright, get up and i’ll help you get dressed.”

he sluggishly pulled himself out of me and sit up on the couch.

“you should be doing this.” i joke at the fact that i’m taking care of him after.

he starts to get up but i was quick to push him back down.

“i’m kidding.”

i wobbly stand up and grab the hand towel he used earlier. the ticklish feeling of his cum slowly dripping out of me made me grimace, and also reminded me to get a plan b. i clean myself off first then moved over to him. he hissed at the contact but got over it quick. i put my undergarments on before i grabbed his boxers, lifting them up his legs.

“you need to work with me here, john. sit up please.”

he lifted his hips up and sat back down once the boxers were on. i pull him up and off the couch so i could put the overalls back on, even going far to clip them back on.

“can i help you? it’s the least i could do.” he grabbed my shirt.

“go ahead.”

after helping me with my clothes, we both made ourselves look decent.

“so, what are we?” i heard him ask.

“best friends?” i nervously say.

i wasn’t too sure on how he felt about me, even though we just fucked. and he also said he loves me but i need more confirmation.

“what about lovers? i like that better.”

“are you asking what i think you’re asking?”

“yes ma’am. y/n, would you wanna be my girlfriend? i love you more than anything in the world and i’d be the happiest man on earth.”

“even more than guitars?”

“what?”

“you love me more than guitars?” i smirk, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“hmm, you should know better than to ask that.” he jokes.

“oh fuck you.” i laugh and push him away.

“i’m kidding, obviously more than guitars.”

“i believe you. but let’s get going cause now i’m getting tired.” he laughs at my words.

he grabs his guitar case and other belongings before walking up to the door. i held it open for him, following behind him. he snaked his arm around my waist as we walk back to my car.

[itsabouttimex2]

Platonic Yandere Clotted Cream Cookie

You try your best to bear it. You really, really do. But you’ve been locked inside for six months on end, and the boredom and isolation has been getting to you. You had paced the hallways until the the dough of your feet cracked and began to ooze jam, earning you a gentle earful and an order to stay in bed and rest up until your feet had properly healed up.

The books provided to you have been read and reread so many times that they’ve begun to fade and wear out. You’re getting sick of putting puzzles together and then taking them back apart. And you miss going outside. By the Wizards, you miss going outside. What right did your brother have to take that from you?

And speaking of the devil, there’s a gentle rapping on the door. You don’t get a chance to answer before it creaks open, Clotted Cream Cookie peering in at you. He smiles for a brief moment, before it turns into a concerned frown.

“Oh, sister. You’ve been pulling out your hair again, haven’t you? And bits of your own dough…”

His frown deepens. You might’ve felt guilty for worrying him some six months ago, but that well of sympathy has long run dry.

“Hello, Clotted Cream Cookie. Have your affairs as Consul of the Crème Republic been going well?”

The formalities you greet him with leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Once, you had been an escape from the burden of his position as Consul, a way to leave his stressful life behind for just a short while and be himself. It was a temporary reprieve from the expectations of perfection and grace, a short time where he could make mistakes and slip up and fall short.

Now, it seems like you can’t wait to remind him of everything that’s been placed on his shoulders. Can he really blame you for that, though? Good reason or not, he’s locked you up inside and even confined you to your bed. You’re only hurting him the way that he’s hurting you.

You’re both trapped. He by his devotion and dedication to serving the Republic, and you by him. He by his fear of what an enemy of the Republic might do to you, you by the methods he employs to prevent such a thing from occurring.

He’s well-intentioned, sure. After the incident with Custard Cookie, the two of you are more than aware that threats can come from even within the sparkling and opulent Crème Republic that you both call home. But that doesn’t make this situation any more bearable. Yes, it makes sense. But it’s still misery beyond reason, to be kept locked away from your beloved homeland, knowing that it’s only just a few steps out of reach.

Inside, you know your brother hates it too. He’s hurting, doing this to you. You both want to go back those peaceful days of youth and innocence, where you walked side by side, unaware of dangers lurking all around you. Where you held his hand as he walked you along the glimmering streets, eyes wide as you took in every towering building that stood proudly above you, a testament to the strength and prosperity of the Republic.

Clotted Cream Cookie sits beside you and takes your damaged hand into his own, gently rubbing at the cracks running through it.

“Little sister… I would do anything for you. So please… bear with me a little longer. Just until we have Custard Cookie in our custody, I swear. And then we can go back to how things were. Please believe me when I say that all will be well. You need only put your faith in me.”

He smiles down at you, noting that’s your expression lightens just a bit. He gives your hand one last rub, and sets it back on the bed. However, when he rises to leave you in peace, you snag the end of his cloak.

“Please don’t leave just yet. Talk to me for a little bit longer, Clotted Cream Cookie.”

“Anything for you, little sister.”

[wimbledon2008]

so i just finished the captive prince series about a week ago and am rereading it now. just finished the hello lover scene and honestly im still so confused over what's going on in laurent's head lmao like??

was he previously compartmentalizing his resentment so well that real feelings developed, but now he finally has a chance to truly let his anger out, he's locking down the positive feelings?

was he being truthful about manipulating damen the whole time (highly unlikely to me)? or was the cruelty in and of itself a play, either to push damen away despite not actually wanting to, or some other convoluted reason? bc damen really would have done anything he asked, trying to outmaneuver him like that was unnecessary.

my first theory feels the most right to me, and he just needed more time to process and purge his desire for revenge but idk im a taurus and very akielon coded. i love laurent but i do not understand that man lol

okay, disclaimer, i haven't read the books in quite some time so this probably isn't the fullest or deepest analysis. i welcome any additions or corrections from those who are better at meta than me <3

so the hello lover scene is incredibly complex and nuanced, a standard of pacat's writing that makes his works so infinitely re-readable. based on my personal understanding of the scene, there are a few key things that help to explain why laurent behaves the way he does in the tent scene:

1. laurent needs damen and the akielons to win against his uncle, which he very much wants to do. charcy didn't go how he'd originally planned, and he knows damen is pissed about it and probably thinks the worst of laurent right now - that he intentionally abandoned the akielons at charcy for his own purposes. so laurent is being manipulative; he is trying to outmaneuver damen. because what damen says is true: laurent has no allies, no friends, he's ruined his reputation by aligning himself with akielos, etc. we as the readers know that damen cares deeply for laurent and wouldn't just abandon him, and if laurent simply explained what happened and asked damen to help him, damen wouldn't hesitate to stay at his side. but laurent doesn't think damen has any reason to trust him, so laurent can't trust damen either. so instead of being honest, he chooses to be cold-blooded, to assert control over the situation and force damen's hand to ensure that the alliance he worked so hard to establish stays intact. he could've just asked, but this is laurent, and there are other factors at play, such as the fact that

2. laurent is already in love with damen by the tent scene, or at least most of the way there. but laurent can no longer pretend damen is anyone other than the person who killed his brother. damen walks into that tent as prince damianos, in full akielon regalia, covered in blood, with a sword. laurent has been doing some aggressive compartmentalizing, especially in order to have allowed himself to sleep with damen. who killed his brother, which was the inciting incident that made laurent's life a living hell. laurent has not forgiven damen for auguste, and he's having to really confront that hatred and anger for maybe the first time since the first book. and laurent is also punishing himself for caring for and sleeping with damen, his brother's killer. can you even imagine? it's better not to. laurent probably hates himself as much as he hates damianos in that moment. so he shoves all those glimmering, positive feelings down because he wants to hurt damen, and himself too. and none of this is particularly rational because

3. laurent is very upset at the beginning of king's rising. this is an understatement. he's still reeling from nicaise's death, which he blames himself for, he's losing damen, the only person he trusted, he was recently stabbed, and everything is spiraling out of his tightly held control. and when laurent is upset he's cruel. he's not at his best in the tent scene. he's clinging to his own self-preservation, and he's making it up as he goes along because whatever his original plan was got blown to hell, which is clear because he's saying shit that doesn't even make sense. see, e.g., this post about him allegedly enduring damen's "fumbling attentions" to win a battle he didn't even know about at the time. while laurent is being cold and ruthless to secure his position as best he can (see no. 1), he's also acting from a place of emotion instead of strict rationality, which is how he typically operates, and how he prefers to act. he's on the defensive, he's deeply confused and unable to cope with all of his conflicting feelings about damen, and he's lashing out - protecting himself before damen can hurt him first. and then damen literally sticks his thumb in his stab wound. basically: our boy laurent's going through it in a major way.

going back and re-reading your message i realize i've essentially just reiterated everything you initially said but with a lot of extra words. so i guess the long and short of it is: you're right. honestly there are so many ways to interpret the tent scene and everything else laurent says and does, which is what makes him so fascinating! so thanks for giving me the opportunity to dive back into his psyche for a little while <3

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Oh my goodness, you are open! I love your work so much!! I have no idea how many times I reread your works. One work got my attention. It was about RoR, where the human reader left their s/o for agree with destroying humanity. Can I have one with Thor, Odin and Loki?

-You could only stare with wide eyes, completely stunned, your hands over your mouth in pure horror.

-You were watching from the safety of the highest levels of the meeting of the gods, out of sight, watching the gods debate about eradicating humanity and almost every single one of them wanted to go through with it.

-Brunnhilde stunned you with her bravery, willing to fight for humanity, with her Ragnarok tournament, a small bit of hope appearing for you.

-After the gods accepted, you turned to leave, angry tears filling your eyes, easily falling as you left your lover behind, as you had seen him voting for the eradication of humanity, which would include all of the souls in Valhalla, yours included.

-Your heart ached painfully in your chest as you made it home, but it would no longer be your home, a thought that brought a sob to your throat as you quickly moved to pack your belongings.

-Your lover was stunned, seeing you packing your things as he walked in, immediately coming forward, confusion and worry in his features.

-You shocked him by slapping his hands away from you, a glare in your eyes, taking a step back, “Don’t bother, I know your true feelings about me.”

-He was stunned, as you were so gentle and sweet, but to see you like this, so furious, he tried asking you what he had done, to make things right, thinking you had misunderstood something.

-You bit your bottom lip, turning from him as more tears welled, “You voted to eradicate humanity. That would also destroy all the human souls here in Valhalla, including mine. You seemed to have forgotten that. If Brunnhilde didn’t stop you from eradicating humans, I would be gone.”

-His voice was stuck in his throat, gawking as he realized this, like he had forgotten, but you wouldn’t hear any of his apologies, the damage was done, “Goodbye (God).”

-You left, breaking his heart, but he broke yours first, which he came to realize while searching for you, but it was like you had disappeared completely.

-Years later (God) was roaming, he had refused to take another lover, as you had left such a hole in his heart, but he knew that he was to blame.

-Humans had managed to win their salvation and those who had perished had been returned to life right after the tournament, the gods now having much more respect for the humans.

-He was passing by a park and heard a familiar giggle, one that made his heart leap, turning to see you there.

-Thor- His eyes widened, wanting to call out to you but instantly his voice was stuck, seeing a little boy running up to you, “Mama!!” you giggled warmly, bending to hug him, spinning him up into your arms as he pecked your cheek. You smiled down at him, “Where’s your father?” your sun just grinned, “Papa’s back there!” you looked over to see Buddha grinning as he approached, walking while your son had run over. Thor’s chest ached, seeing you with another man, and to have a child with that other man on top of it. He knew he had messed up when he had agreed with the other gods, if he had spoken up, spoken against humanity’s destruction, that could be his child you’re holding, and you would still be beside him. He turned, anguish taking over as walked away from you, unable to look at you any longer, his heart couldn’t take breaking again.

-Odin- You had a child, a little girl, sitting next to you on the picnic blanket, putting a flower crown on your head, making you smile down at you. Odin couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, shocked to see you with a child that looked exactly like you and his throat clenched as he noticed you put a hand on your round belly, hinting at another child. Your daughter perked up, “Papa!” Odin could feel his heartrate rising as Buddha approached the two of you, holding some water bottles, “There’s my favorite girls! And my little man.” As he said this he patted your belly, making you smile as he pecked your cheek softly. Odin’s heart hurt, he clutched his cloak over his chest, wanting nothing more than to be able to turn back time, not being able to bare seeing you with another man, wishing so desperately that was his daughter calling him papa, his son in your belly. He turned and Muninn and Huginn, who were just as stunned to see you with a family, happy, went to speak and Odin’s voice, soft and weak, “Leave me.” the two ravens shared a look before flying off, leaving Odin to his grief that was his own causing.

-Loki- His eyes lit up and went to call out your name when a pair of voices called out, “Mama!!” Loki froze, seeing two children running towards you as you were sitting on the park bench, watching them run towards you, a boy and a girl. Loki couldn’t move, seeing you kiss both of the children on the cheek, greeting them before Buddha of all people approached you, pecking your cheek and you returned it as your children hauled you up, “Come look at the ducks, mama!” you couldn’t help but giggle, letting them drag you along. Loki wanted to scream, wanted to shout how sorry he was, he wanted you back. He turned, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, hard enough to make it bleed as tears stung his eyes, as much as he wanted to blame someone else, he had no one to blame but himself, regret filling every inch of his body as his tears fell, wishing he had tried to save the humans.

[metalandmagi]

If Captive Prince was a musical, it would be set to Taylor Swift's Reputation album and here's why:

Since I just reread Captive Prince again, I wanted to revamp my original post about how I broke down the Reputation album a little bit. Because that album eerily follows the narrative for Captive Prince so well and I don't want to be the only one who has this living in my head...

...Ready for It?

This could work in a few places, but I see it as Laurent’s POV towards the end of Prince’s Gambit. I see him singing it as makes plans for the battle at Charcy. He’s figured out that he has genuine feelings for Damen, but he’s putting all the pieces into place after parting with him at Ravenel so the real game with the regent can begin. The first verse: 

Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him

Wondered how many girls he had loved and left haunted

But if he's a ghost, then I can be a phantom

Holdin' him for ransom, some

Some boys are tryin' too hard, he don't try at all though

Younger than my exes, but he act like such a man, so

I see nothing better, I keep him forever

Like a vendetta-ta

At this point in the story, he would dream (“in the middle of the night, in my dreams”) of being alone in the summer palace with Damen (“I-island breeze and lights down low”). It also manages to describe Damen’s feelings for Laurent at first sight, (“knew I was a robber, first time that he saw me, stealing hearts and running off never saying sorry”) or at least, what Damen assumed about Laurent: that he was an ice cold bitch who probably toyed with men’s feelings for fun.

The downside is, immediately after this song, Laurent is captured by Govart and Guion and Damen is left to fight alone. 😭

End Game (Ft. Ed Sheeran & Future)

I can’t really decide on who exactly would sing which verse (maybe Laurent would beTaylor’s parts, and Damen would be Ed and Future’s verses), and there’s less of a concrete timeframe for this one. One option is in Kings Rising after the scene where Laurent sucks Damen off. But I also like to think about Laurent going back to Vere alone eventually (after the Summer Palace and Adventures of Charls) and needing Damen to reassure him that he won’t find someone else while the two of them have to rule their countries separately (until uniting them can be their end game). Both of their reputations in each other’s respective countries are a little…all over the place (“you and me would be a big conversation”) so Damen has to remind Laurent that the two of them understand each other on a completely different level than anyone ever has:

And you understand the good and bad end up in the song

For all your beautiful traits and the way you do it with ease

For all my flaws, paranoia, and insecurities

I've made mistakes and made some choices, that's hard to deny

And I also consider this verse to be extremely accurate for Laurent:

I hit you like bang, we tried to forget it, but we just couldn't

And I bury hatchets, but I keep maps of where I put 'em

Reputation precedes me, they told you I'm crazy

I swear I don't love the drama, it loves me

And I can't let you go, your handprints on my soul

It's like your eyes are liquor, it's like your body is gold

You've been callin' my bluff on all my usual tricks (Ooh)

So here's the truth from my red lips (Ah)

This one’s just fun. It doesn’t have a major plot in the story or anything.

I Did Something Bad 

I imagine this as Laurent’s confrontation with the regent after whipping Damen. Pretty self explanatory. And who could blame him? If Damen had killed my brother, I’d do it over and over and over again if I could. This song is kind of an odd situation because it deals more in romance than what would be applicable to this point in the story. He’s explaining that Damen laid hands on him in the baths, so he deserved to be whipped, but at the same time, Laurent is thinking about the ways men have manipulated him, so he shouldn’t owe it to anyone to be sweet and docile. So I think it would be like Laurent singing the chorus to the regent and certain verses and the bridge to himself.

Though, I’d say the “he” in the verse: 

He says, "Don't throw away a good thing"

But if he drops my name, then I owe him nothin'

And if he spends my change, then he had it comin'

Refers to the regent, instead of any sort of romantic interest, obviously. And then of course this exchange ends with the regent taking everything except Acquitart from Laurent 🙃

Don't Blame Me

Okay, this take is dark as hell, but I actually see this working as Aimeric’s thoughts about the regent, either right before his suicide or during his confession to Laurent (“I’m glad I did what I did. I did it for my family, and for the south. I’d do it again”). The whole thing is about how “love” or the idea of being loved and needing love from someone made him do crazy things.

I imagine the pre-chorus:

For you, I would cross the line

I would waste my time, I would lose my mind

They say, "She's gone too far this time"

Being Aimeric’s complicated feelings about what he’s done in the name of “love,” everything from killing Orlant to “seducing” Jord. Of course in the book, once he meets Jord, and gets a handle on what real love looks like, he at least apologizes to Jord, but the song isn’t necessarily apologetic to anyone else, so it would be a much darker take on Aimeric 😅

I really want to be able to fit the Eras Tour “Don’t Blame Me For What You Made Me Do” transition in here somewhere, but I don’t know if it would work out timing-wise. Maybe if “Don’t Blame Me” ended with Aimeric’s suicide, it would immediately transition into Laurent making plans for Charcy singing “Look What You Made Me Do.”

Delicate

Dual POVs for Damen and Laurent during Prince’s Gambit. Probably a montage of their time spent hunched over maps, realizing the other person isn’t who they thought they were. Laurent would sing the intro/pre-chorus (“This ain't for the best, My reputation's never been worse”), Damen would sing the first verse (“oh damn, never seen that color blue”), and they’d both sing the chorus. I think the song would pick up again when they’re in the Vaskian camp the first time, with Laurent singing the second verse (“do the girls back home touch you like I do?”) and alternating verses as the song goes on, always singing the chorus and bridge together. 

Look What You Made Me Do

Laurent’s entire relationship with the regent, obviously. It’s hard to know where the song would be exactly, since the books are from Damen’s perspective. Maybe this would be after Laurent kills Govart with the chair or it would transition to this after Aimeric sings “Don’t Blame Me” (like in the Eras Tour). If that’s the case, it would be while Laurent is in a horrible mood (since both Nicaise and Aimeric are dead) and he turns his anger on Damen while he’s planning for Charcy. So the song would be directed at both the regent and at Damen. It would be his big dramatic number before an intermission XD 

Everything about this song describes Laurent and his relationship to his uncle so perfectly. I mean come on!

I don't like your kingdom keys 

They once belonged to me 

You asked me for a place to sleep

Locked me out and threw a feast (what?)

But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time 

Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time 

I got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I could also see the regent reprising it at some point, maybe during the trial, for extra effect, because it’s extra insulting when he would be the one singing it.

So It Goes... 

This is basically a running commentary of what’s going on in Laurent and Damen’s heads during their first kiss on the battlements, but I imagine it as a stripped down acoustic version. The first verse, pre-chorus, and first chorus would all apply to Laurent. For example: “Gold cage, hostage to my feelings, back against the wall”  is basically Laurent’s entire experience in Vere and then realizing he has feelings for Damen.

And of course the pre-chorus: “Cause we break down a little, But when you get me alone, it's so simple”  is so fitting because Laurent would be the one to commentate on how everything seems like it should be so simple with Damen, even though their history is the furthest thing from it.

Then the second verse and chorus would apply to Damen. And the rest of the song would be a duet.

The bridge: “You did a number on me, But, honestly, baby, who's counting?” is certainly accurate. These two really have done a number on each other by now, but they’re finally giving in to their feelings 😆

Gorgeous 

Literally any time Damen thinks about how attractive Laurent is, this plays in the background 🫠 The scene in the baths? This plays. When Laurent is relaxing before the assassination attempt? This plays. Then it starts playing when Laurent thinks Damen does something attractive. Damen rips the bars off the window? This plays. The inn at Nesson-Eloy? This plays. Then by the time they’re in the Vaskian tent (the second time) they sing it to each other directly (Laurent would sing the first verse–since it literally references Laurent getting drunk after he first meets Damen, and it references an “older boyfriend”--and Damen would sing the second). The song is the perfect blend of horny and frustrated that encapsulates these two during the first two books.

Getaway Car 

Jokaste reflecting on her actions in the first book when she’s imprisoned. I don’t know if she’d be singing it to herself or to Damen when he finds out about the deal to exchange her child for her freedom.

The first verse is all about deception and lying to a man:

It was the best of times, the worst of crimes

I struck a match and blew your mind

But I didn’t mean it and you didn't see it

The ties were black, the lies were white

In shades of gray in candlelight

I wanted to leave him, I needed a reason

The “X” in "X marks the spot where we fell apart, He poisoned the well, I was lyin' to myself” refers to the baths in the first scene of Captive Prince, where her betrayal really begins and she convinces herself that Kastor is the person to back. The song isn’t a perfect comparison, but it does have some good lines that I associate with her, especially: “should have known I’d be the first to leave” and “but with three of us honey, it’s a sideshow, and the circus ain’t a love story, and now we’re both sorry”

I see her as constantly being pulled by her affection for Damen (because I don’t think she loves him, but she does care about him) and her ambition, so the bridge:

We were jet-set, Bonnie and Clyde (Oh-oh)

Until I switched to the other side, to the other side

It's no surprise I turned you in (Oh-oh)

'Cause us traitors never win

I'm in a getaway car

I left you in a motel bar

Put the money in a bag and I stole the keys

That was the last time you ever saw me

Feels really appropriate for her.

King of My Heart

Laurent’s running commentary during the Summer Palace. Just pure happiness and sap from the ice prince whose heart has melted. If this trilogy was a movie, this would be the end credits song, preferably a stripped down version like in the Eras Tour acoustic set.

Dancing With Our Hands Tied 

I see this as Laurent making the decision to give himself up at the Kingsmeet. We get a little snippet from Laurent’s perspective when they’re traveling through Akielos with Charls, the night that he frees Jokaste. Damen is asleep, and I can see this being Laurent’s internal struggle as he watches Damen sleep right before he goes to the wagon and frees Jokaste.

Again, I see this as a softer, acoustic version of the song that plays on the feeling of helplessness. During the first verse and chorus, he’s fully realized his feelings for Damen, but he knows the regent is always one step ahead of him. He hopes he can use Guion’s wife to his advantage, but he’s skeptical that his uncle would give up Jokaste’s son, so he still feels like his hands are tied when it comes to actually having a future with Damen. This part of the first verse:

Oh, twenty-five years old

Oh, how were you to know? And

My, my love had been frozen

Deep blue, but you painted me golden

Fits them really well, considering it even gets Damen’s age correct.

I can also see this being reprised later, maybe when Damen and Laurent are walking through the Kingsmeet together. Damen would echo the second verse:

I, I loved you in spite of

Deep fears that the world would divide us

So, baby, can we dance

Oh, through an avalanche? And

Say, say that we got it

I'm a mess, but I'm the mess that you wanted

Oh, 'cause it's gravity

Oh, keeping you with me

Damen knows that even if they manage to win their thrones back, people might not accept their union (he even thinks about how if Theomedes was alive, Laurent would never be allowed in the Kingsmeet at all), “people started talking putting us through our paces”  but he ultimately wants them to end up ruling together by this point. So he and Laurent reprise the chorus together. 

Dress 

Ancel and Berenger’s entire relationship lol 😆

The first line highlights everything about their arrangement: “Our secret moments in a crowded room, They got no idea about me and you” Ancel is specifically with Berenger so they can keep up appearances at court!

Then: “All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation, My hands are shakin' from holdin’ back from you” describes Ancel’s slowly building attraction to Berenger, and his quest to get Berenger to sleep with him.

Even the line: “And if I get burned, At least we were electrified” works, because they are playing a dangerous game with the regent and have no guarantee that Laurent will take back the throne. Berenger could lose everything, but Ancel doesn’t care. So I think this would take place at the very end of Pet, right when Ancel asks “But if he wins?”

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

I actually see this starting out as a villain song for the regent, probably admonishing Laurent after Damen is whipped in Captive Prince. (“So why’d you have to rain on my parade? I’m shaking my head and locking the gates”) I think he’d sing everything up until the bridge after Damen is whipped, and maybe he’d reprise the chorus during the confrontation at the Kingsmeet.

BUT THEN AT THE END OF THE TRIAL LAURENT WOULD SING IT BACK TO HIM WITH THE BRIDGE INCLUDED! 

And this time, “But I’m not the only friend you’ve lost lately” would refer to Aimeric, Nicaise, and Guion. 

I just like the idea of Laurent singing the bridge, specifically, “And here’s to you, ‘cause forgiveness is a nice thing to do Haha, I can't even say it with a straight face” before the regent is beheaded, and then singing the rest of the song as a victory lap.

Call It What You Want

Another duel POV song, either just before or after their second time sleeping together. This is the time when Damen and Laurent are being intimate with the knowledge of Damen’s identity out in the open. Both Laurent and Damen are emotionally vulnerable, because this is when Laurent comforted Damen after he overhears Laurent’s conversation with Jokaste about Kastor murdering his father. Laurent would have the first verse and chorus:

My castle crumbled overnight

I brought a knife to a gunfight

They took the crown, but it's alright

All the liars are calling me one

Nobody's heard from me for months

I'm doin' better than I ever was

Damen would get the second verse and chorus (“All the jokers dressing up as kings, They fade to nothing when I look at him”)

The song is about how Laurent never expected all of the tragedy in his life to lead to his biggest victory, and Damen never expected to find comfort in a man who is meant to be his enemy. And the lyric: “You don’t need to save me, but would you run away with me?”  feels like it would be a callback or response to the “We hold the center” line from Prince’s Gambit.

New Year's Day

This is Damen reflecting on his relationship with Laurent (either while he’s recovering from his stab wound from Kastor or as Laurent is crowned at the end of Adventures of Charls). I think it works for how in the past, Damen never felt a deep connection with anyone he’d ever been with, but with Laurent, he’d stay and clean up after the party. “Don't read the last page, But I stay when it's hard or it's wrong or we're makin' mistakes” refers to how difficult it will be to unite their kingdoms, but he is convinced that they will be together through everything, and that makes it all worth it ❤️

It’s a straightforward song that fits Damen’s honorable personality very well. Deep down, Damen is a little scared of Laurent becoming “a stranger whose laugh I would recognize anywhere” once they’re back on their thrones, but if they “hold on to the memories” of their struggles together, they will make it through anything.

[starliteradio]

Sparktober bingo prompts: "hit them harder!", "make it stop!"

Kind of cheating since this was started a few months ago but quickly abandoned however upon rereading, I decided I hated this less than I remembered. I've always wanted to attempt a Long Goodbye fic. There are many things I'd probably change here and I should figure out how to end it better (sorry it's a bit abrupt 🙃) but I figured it would be fine for tumblr bingo.

(10/7: well shit I wasn't finished editing and didn't mean to post this just now but tumblr randomly did instead of saving the draft for some reason...formatting on here is a pain so I'll just leave it 😬)

Tw: violence, blood, psychological angst, abusive relationship

*

Elizabeth leans in with distant eyes, hands clasping Sheppard’s neck and drawing him close - closer - staccato breathing stopped with her mouth hot upon his, her fingers curling into him as something triumphant explodes in the pit of her stomach. 

“Mine,” something hisses poisonously within, as she breaks apart and feels her mouth curve into a smirk, while somewhere distant she screams within a mind no longer her own. 

*

She wrenches awake, gasping above the fading crack of gunfire. Pain floods her within several long seconds. 

“‘morning,” floats a casual drawl, as though from miles away. 

Blinking watering eyes, she turns her head stiffly. John's in a bed next to her. He doesn't look at her. 

“How long - ?” Her head pounds dully. 

“Left in the middle of the night. Kicking and screaming.”

Something shocks her brain. She squeezes her eyes against the apparent flash of light, forcing down a sudden fury at his dispassionate tone. He could look at her, at least. 

Everything hurts, her muscles sore and stretched beyond their limits. Her left knee, the bad one, is assaulted every few minutes with a stabbing pain. Her mind is a black and foggy wasteland. 

As she slowly remembers, her stomach roils and she swallows back the bile rising into her throat. 

John doesn't look her way. 

*

Elizabeth feels a light breeze walking through the halls, whispers gathering strength around her.

She meets no one's eyes.

In the conference room, she sits in the darkest corner possible. Words wash over her…damage control…alien device protocols…trust…

“I should've shut this down from the beginning.” Caldwell’s voice is almost self-directed.

She burns with shame but somewhere, deeper, an anger also simmers.

They'll never trust you again.  

She's not entirely sure it's her own voice, softly mocking. The bile rises again. 

“You can't blame yourself,” Teyla says in the corner of the hall, golden light haloing her hair. Her voice is soft, a sadness in her eyes. “There's no way you could've known.”

Elizabeth bites back an acid tongue, trying to soften her response. “And that's why I should've never approached that pod. We couldn't have known.”

“Elizabeth - “ Teyla starts. 

John passes them, all three quickly averting their eyes. When Elizabeth glances back at Teyla she suddenly seems awkward. Elizabeth’s face starts to burn. 

Within, she swears she can hear ghostly laughter.

*

Images flash into her mind, even outside of dreams. A bombed out shell of a civilization, jets tearing apart the cloudless sky and glinting in a white sun. She feels dizzy, white light flooding her vision as she falls towards a barren land, barbed wire spread unruly like underbrush. 

Always, over and over, she sees him…feels herself draw closer, and she can't tear herself away, can't bear to even as the kiss turns to poison.

When she finds herself staring back into cold black eyes, and wants to rip out his throat.

“No.” Her voice wavers as she recoils in cold morning light, her vision blurring and Phoebus laughing coldly. 

She shoves herself up and into the bathroom, furiously scrubbing her face with ice cold water and tossing more into her mouth to chase four useless ibuprofen tabs. Her knee still pangs. 

She catches her own eyes in the mirror, and in the shaft of sunlight they appear cold, colorless. 

She grits her teeth and suppresses a scream. 

Why me? Why him…? 

She doesn't want to think about it too much. 

Squaring her shoulders, she swipes an impatient hand over the door sensor and faces another day.

*

“Maybe…” John's voice is more hesitant than she's ever heard. “...we should talk about this.”

Elizabeth looks up too quickly, trying to mask the surprise she knows is written all over her face. She feels her body tense. 

“About…?” she begins, not trying to be flippant - just trying to grasp at words.

But she catches a glint in his eye that sends a chill down her spine. “Damnit, Elizabeth, you know damn well…”

“It's been two weeks,” she clips him off, fighting a rising ire that unnerves her. "It was an appalling failure of judgement that will never happen again." Her voice is bitter, self-directed.

“I'm not talking about…” He breaks off with the slightest scoff, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here but reluctantly determinedly. “...mitigating future threats. I'm talking about…us.” He gestures a bit desperately between them. 

Her heart thuds and seems to stand still. She's suddenly very aware of how they're alone in the deserted corridor outside the conference room, earlier than anyone else cares to rise. 

Her hands twitch as she sees herself push him up against that wall and kiss him senseless, all tongue and scraping teeth and hands ripping at his fly as she takes what she needs, his blood metallic on her tongue…

Elizabeth winces.

…her hands suddenly in his hair, twisting, tearing, slamming his skull back…

…the floor quaking beneath her in bone-shattering turbulence as her stomach swoops and they pitch from the sky, his ravaged jet spewing black smoke…

“I…can't,” she stammers in panic, fighting a sudden urge to vomit. “Not now.” 

In her quarters, the room seems to spin, coppery blood still assaulting her nose and gravelled shouting in her head. "Hit ‘em harder!” screams a voice on a knife's edge of sanity, before there's a roar and fire in her eyes through a windscreen, the swoop of Phoebus and Thalan falling to earth, the cold smirk pulling at her lips as she watches Thalan (John) through grainy security footage as she coolly threatens to annihilate them all.

She hangs over the toilet where she emptied the meager contents of her stomach, glassy eyed, sick in the knowledge that she's no longer in control. 

*

“I don't think…she's gone,” she finally confesses in desperation. 

Kate nods soberly. “Your body and mind were hijacked. To say that's a traumatic experience would be an understatement…”

“I don't know if he's gone either,” Elizabeth overrides her, her expression distant as she remembers the chilling light in John's eyes. 

*

She crashes awake again, still aching in an entirely different place -

…John's hands grasping her bare skin as she lifts above him and comes down hard, capturing his lips in that same burning kiss…

…harder and harder…

She curls in on herself, fighting a scream of anguish as the scene goes all wrong, again -

…cold eyes, bruises rising where he'd threatened to kill her for real this time - bone-shattering turbulence as they fall…

“What do you want?” she grits out, but only the soft hiss of the ocean answers. 

*

She lets Phoebus in.

To her mild disgust, she can't help but empathize with the woman, her entire life hard and violent and in service to military and country. She wonders if Phoebus ever dreamed of a quiet life, if she was even capable of imagining such a thing. 

She wonders, yet again, why Phoebus chose her as a host - disturbed that she was apparently so easily corruptible, that Phoebus could've sensed it. Taken her curiosity and empathy and turned it against her. 

Or what Phoebus saw in John that reminded her of Thalan. 

With echoes of their violent, traitorous relationship in her head, she sees little resemblance to her relationship with John, save for intensity of emotion. 

Unbidden, she remembers their blistering kiss, and for once, it's not Thalan’s eyes staring back. 

Perhaps Phoebus perceived something deeper than Elizabeth realized. Or at least, tried to bury deep into the recesss of her subconscious.

Unnerved, she slips out into the night. 

He's there, standing alone on the south pier. She can practically feel the nervous tension shivering through him, sees the way his eyes spark as he becomes aware of her quiet approach.

But the fire lasts mere seconds before it's gone, black eyes shifted to melancholy hazel.

And she knows it's John again, and she stares back as Elizabeth, so it's just the two of them and their exhaustion and pain - at least she's sure the hiss in her mind is from the distant waters and not the ghost in her head...

She swallows hard. Then steps closer, and tentatively takes his hand.

"I'm ready to talk."

*

[bluepeachstudios]

Was thinking about the inevitable Rise Movie plot for Ghost in the Shell and got emotional, so I'm haunting your inbox about it. Was rereading the fic and making note of just how much self blame Ghost has for 16 year old him for accidentally opening up a portal and getting stranded. It got me thinking about how he'll react to Casey Jr. who is nigh a direct parallel to him, getting stranded from his world/timeline at a similar age. Ghost realizing just how young and scared he himself was. I don't know how exactly it'll pan out, but Ghost having to walk his grandson another kid through the same thing he went through is gonna be so angst-filled I just know it.

The Ghost and Casey parallels are gonna be so strong you guys have no idea. I've been suffering heartache for months thinking about the movie plot you guys have no idea what you're in for.