#I don't think I want them to go /dark/ to do it - as much as I love the trope of like... LI pulling their S/O out of a Feral Haze

[shouyuus]

Yeahhhhhh I'm gonna need the mutual cockblocking with Vi, yup.

based off of this ask. PHEW alright so uh, bullet points today bc /pops open another bottle of champagne/ it's that kind of day:

is it rly called bullying if u and vi r bullying each other and ur both like... into it? (neither of u are being subtle, everyone can see the yearning and they're all either super invested in when ur gonna hook up or tired AF of ur shit)

pitfighter!vi who glares at anyone who tries to chat you up at the bar that you frequent after all her fights (u volunteer at the dingy little clinic two doors down from the fighting ring and she thinks ur too naive for the mouth you've got on you -- and you do have a mouth on you dear sweet god), pays the bartender extra to keep an eye on you and double dose whoever is trying to chat you up that night bc hell be damned if vi'll see you leave with any of these weird fuckers

loris is so over vi's tantrums whenever you push yourself between her and someone she's sweet-talking; he knows that vi's just doing it bc she knows that the moment you see her reach out to push the hair of out of another girl's face, you'll be shimmying your way over and wiggling between them, pressing your tits up against the bar, snagging the drink that vi was gonna offer her potential hookup (and yeah, what if vi ordered a drink she knew you'd like better? huh? that's got nothing to do with anything)

"why don't you just take her home?". vi squinting at loris in the dimness of the alley behind the bar, "wh-what? i don't want that -- that conniving little... rabbit -- i like someone who's a bit more bite -- or... whatever." loris hitches an eyebrow, watching vi with a deadpanned look before sighing, "yeah. whatever you say."

whenever your friends ask you why on earth you're so hell bent on keeping vi from hooking up with a rando, you'd frown and huff and "you should see the way she comes into the clinic every other day -- i'm -- i'm doing a public service! she's gonna ruin whoever she gets her hands on and -- and i've gotta watch out for the sisterhood, yknow?" cue all ur friends rolling their eyes, "uh-huh. yeah. right."

the one night that vi manages to get someone halfway to the door, you catch them right before vi manages to lead the girl out into the street, draping yourself across vi's back, giggling as you loop your arms around her neck, "vi! i was looking for you everywhere -- you promised we could hang out after your fight tonight -- did you forget again?" you purposefully stumble into the girl she's with, knocking their hands apart. vi grimaces, narrowing her eyes as she rounds on you, intent on telling you off when she catches sight of what you're wearing -- a black leather skirt that barely kisses the tops of your thighs and a tiny little red croptop that leaves nothing to the imagination, dark fishnets criss-crossing up your legs (her mouth waters at the thought of ripping them apart to bury her fingers in your cunt) --

"uhm... friend of yours?" her would-be date asks, clearly a bit put-off as she looks you over. you pull your face into a girlish pout, batting your lashes at vi, "aw... are you doing this to get back at me for the other night? i said was sorry -- would you feel better if i let you eat me out in the back alley again --"

at that point, the girl vi's with pulls away and vi barely tries to get her back before rounding on you. the dopey grin slides off your face and your eyes glitter like shards of broken glass as vi growls at you, yanking you behind her till you're both in the dim alleyway behind the bar, the thick metal door slamming shut behind you

"what the fuck is your problem?!" she asks. you roll your eyes, scoffing, "whatever the fuck is yours. i've told you that you're supposed to be resting, and you never listen --" "i come to you so you can stitch up my face not so you can give me life advice --" "well i won't have to much of your face to stitch up if you keep on going like this cause you're gonna get yourself killed!" "why the fuck do you care?!" "cause it's my job!"

vi groans, jerking away from you to kick at an already toppled over trashcan, the metallic clank of it ringing through the narrow street

"you don't get paid to cockblock me at the fucking bar --" "and you don't get paid to spend all your winnings bribing the bartender into double-dosing all my potential dates!" vi whirls around then, eyes wide, "i -- i don't know what the hell you're --" you let out a wild shriek of laughter, "oh please! you're not subtle -- and you don't think pete and i have known each other for way longer than he's known you?"

vi huffs, folding her arms defensively over chest, glaring down the alley at the thing strip of light cresting in from the street out front, "that's -- those people -- they're not good for you. they'd --" she swallows hard, "they'd hurt you -- chew you up and spit you back out and --"

you cock your eyebrows, "you don't think i know that? i am from the lanes too, yknow."

vi scowls, "then you should start acting like it."

"what?" "nothing." "no, seriously -- what is it with you?" "nothing! god fuckin' -- forget it -- i'll find another bar to --" "violet."

her eyes jerk up, "how -- who -- how'dyou know my name?"

you sigh, rolling your eyes, "your friend? loris? he told me after the first time you punched a guy for trying to talk to me. you're probably too drunk to remember but --" vi shakes her head, "no i -- i do -- that guy was an ass -- i knew him from back when i used to run jobs for -- well, doesn't matter much now but --"

"i can look after myself, violet," you say. vi scoffs before she can stop herself, "yeah. okay." you sigh, leaning back against the bar's back door, "or are you just so caught up in needing something to protect that you don't see it?"

vi very nearly flinches. "what?"

you purse your lips, "i said what i said." "yeah well, say it again." she closes the space between you both in a few quick strides, crowding into your space, slamming a palm against the door next to your face. to your credit, you don't even blink.

there's a flicker of something behind your eyes that licks fire along the length of vi's spine; "i said -- you should find some other little puppet to work out your problems on because i'm done --"

she's kissing you before you can finish your sentence, and there's nothing caring or gentle about the way she bullies her tongue into your mouth and licks along the backsides of your teeth, nothing kind or caring about the way she yanks you forward by the back of your neck till you're sure you'll be able to feel the ghosts of her fingers against your skin for days and days to come

you moan into her, biting down hard on her bottom lip, grinning when the harsh, metallic tang of blood seeps across your tongue. when she pulls back, you're both panting, and you've never seen her eyes so dark, so hungry and crowded with sharp, thunderheads of lust

"mm, that's one way to shut you up," vi muses, running a thumb along the line of your jaw. you grin, a slanted, fox-sly thing. "admit it, you've been wanting to do that for ages."

vi's lips curl; she leans in close enough for you to taste the cheap whiskey on her breath as she says, "sure, and so have you."

[yourtypicalhuman09]

Beyond The Bat

(Neglected reader x Yandere batfam)

Chapter 1: In The Shadows

TW!!! Cursing !!Dark AU!!

Living in the Wayne manor isn't the sweet luxurious dream you'd think it'd be, reality is in fact much crueler. For as long as I could remember I had lived in this dreary mansion, but lived isn't the word I'd use. I was more trapped here if anything. My "family", if I could even call them that, are well respected people. They're highly skilled and talented people, someone like me could only dream to be like them. I tried so hard to get close to them, I really did try, but no matter what I did nothing worked. I did everything, gymnastics, martial arts, theater, art, music, coding, dance, volleyball, cheerleading, heck I was even in the honors society. Despite being an A+ student and a role model in high society they never once went to any of my recitals, games, or showcases. I went to galas all alone, I had to deal with the sneering faces and snide remarks of high class men and woman alone since I was 8. Not very safe for a child huh? I didn't think so either but my "father" doesn't seem to care.

Nevertheless, I have no choice in this matter and it's not like life here is unbearable. Sure I get beatings and tongue lashings every now and then, but for the most part everyone in the manor tends to forget me eventually and leave me alone. It's pretty isolating but I got used to it, after all I have duties to perform. I have my job as Student council president and I don't intend to slack off. I got that job with my own blood sweat and tears and I will not let all those sleepless nights go to waste. I don't have time to wallow in self pity I have countless of students looking up to me and counting on me to do my job.

"Young master, are you okay? You seem to be staring off into space."

I looked up to our old butler, his face jaded and littered with wrinkles that seemed to contort pathetically in worry. I knew better than to accept his pity. He seems to be a wise gentle man on the outside with his elegant wardrobe, worn old body, and soft spoken demeanor, but do not be fooled. In truth, Alfred Pennyworth was a foolish coward. This was the same man who abandoned his own daughter just like my idiot of a father. I gave him a chance, but nothing's been the same since the day he accidentally called me Julia. I was nothing but a stand in for him, someone to relieve his guilt with.

"I'm fine. Don't you have something better to do? I'm sure Bruce has some kind of task for you, no need to bother yourself with my problems"

"...Very well then...Take care of yourself young master."

He clearly had something more to say but he decided to do nothing and walk away. Like I said he's a coward. Still I'm not new to disappointment, whether it's the disappointment of missed birthdays or the way they all see me as the disappointment, it's nothing I haven't experienced before. I quickly packed up my things and headed to school. Sure riding to school on an old worn out bike isn't exactly ideal, but I have to deal with what I have. Although, I do have to take some back alleys to school since I don't want anyone seeing and starting a scandal. I can already see the blaring headlines, "Daughter of Gotham's richest man caught riding to school on a beat up bicycle!". What a bunch of nosy bastards.

"Good mornin' (Y/N)!"

I turned to face the sunny senior calling my name, his unadulterated joy making him stand out in the crowd of groggy gothamites.

"Good morning Cyrus."

My crisp responses never seems to deter the boy as he continues to walk beside me chattering endlessly.

"(Y/N) I got things you asked! It's super cool what you're doing for the school, I'm so happy I get to be apart of it! If you ever need help with anything please do ask me!"

I sighed, his joyful energy was contagious. I couldn't help but crack a smile. Though it quickly disappeared as I regained my composure, but obviously not fast enough since Cyrus' joy seems to only be growing.

"Ahhhhh (Y/N) just smiled! I made the student president smile! I'm so sigma"

Here he goes again with those weird words and that cocky grin. I sighed once again, I'm too tired for this.

"Yes thank you Cyrus get to class now, I'll pick up the things I asked for after school."

"Yes ma'am!"

I watched as he playfully saluted and ran to class almost bumping into several people along the way. I facepalmed, he was such a handful but strangely I don't really mind. It's probably the lack of sleep I'll make sure to go to bed early today, for now I have to get to class myself.

Author's note: Omg chapter one is finally out! This took me a lot longer than expected but I hope it's good I went through a tiny writer's block😅. I hope you guys like Cyrus I tried to make him a silly and sunny character but trust me he'll have lore and be a much deeper character. I also tried making (Y/N)'s backstory pretty vague since they're the narrator and I figured they wouldn't like talking about it, but their lore will be revealed more throughout future chapters. Anyways as always thank you all for reading and have a good day/night!

Credits to khaer for the dividers

@simpingpandas @rosalietodd013 @sirenetheblogger @cim0nnin @00hellohello00 @crazycaoticsimp @lovebug-apple @youdontknowshtaboutfk

[vmlnrzmp4]

nsfw

a/n: this was a request. it was a bit embarrassing to post but i left shame back in 2024 so without further ado, enjoy<3

the bathroom door opened rather too loudly. too hurriedly. itoshi sae entered, seeing you sitting in the empty bathtub—your eyes hazy, your lips parted, your hair messy and your hand down to your panties—you were wasted.

you were in one of the rooms at the party, getting shots after shots till you got drunk and needy.

sae, tho your ex, rushed to find you the moment he got to know about your state—knocking on every door in the house till he found you there. "i'm taking you home," sae said in a firm voice as he walked in.

you pouted, "go away," you say childishly but that doesn't stop him as he warns you that he'll have to manhandle you out if you don't listen to him. to which you counter by saying that you will scream if he doesn't listen to you.

he runs his hand over his face, coming over to you and crouching down—almost giving up convincing you. he himself had a few shots but his was right in his mind(atleast that's what he thinks), sitting by the little stool, "what are you doing y/n?" he asks, a hint of pink coating his cheeks as he sees where your hand is.

"nothing," hiccup "nothing you should be worried about," hiccup "now go away or enjoy the show. i don't care," you say, rubbing yourself even faster and faster and faster.

"stop it y/n," he says firmly, reaching for your hand but oh, you already came all over your fingers.

giggling, you give him a mischievous look, "wanna taste?"

"you're out of your damn mind."

"maybe i am," hiccup "that doesn't answer my question. do you wanna taste or no?" you laugh giddily.

there was a silence. and maybe the shots of alcohol made sae feel something he couldn't put a finger on, "...give me that damn hand."

you snickered as he takes your middle and ring finger into his mouth, licking them clean. "can you send in some guy," hiccup "i wanna get eaten out."

sae looks at you in disbelief, "you're gonna regret this next morning y/n."

you laugh saying you regret nothing—saying that what happens will happen. you don't really care. you've left the shame back in to the time where you and sae used to date.

"i have one request i want you to fulfil, itoshi sae," hiccup "bring someone in."

the thought of some other guy getting his hands on you alone pissed sae off. pissed isn't even the right word. whatever emotion it was—jealousy perhaps—made sae pick you up from the bathtub bridal way, making you yelp.

sae settles you down at the edge of the bed, kneeling down in front of you, rolling your dress upwards till he has a perfect sight infront of him—the panties you wore on had a dark wet patch at the centre thanks to your own fingers.

before he could dive his head in between your thighs, you held onto his hair, tugging back, "not you."

"...not me?"

"not you." you hiccup again. then again as you say, "you're not my boyfriend anymore."

sae reaches for your hand that rested on his head, kissing the knuckles, "y/n...let me."

you were starting to sober up but the fire inside you didn't die down, "fine." with your permission, sae exhaled in relief as he places multiple kisses and occasional bites on the inside of your thighs, trying to mark you as his possession.

he slides your panties to the side, letting out a throaty hum at the sight of your pretty wet pussy, "fuck," he breathes out. without waiting much, he attaches his lips to where you needed him the most.

with his tongue, he drew little tight circles, zig-zags, figure eights, and every pattern he knew that would get you off—as he was basically making out with your pussy.

you keep squirming and whimpering—moaning his name and even the nickname you would call him when the two of you used to date. he groans at that, the vibrations on your pussy puts you over the edge and without warning, you come undone on his tongue, without him knowing.

and when you do so, you fall back on the bed, giggling to yourself, so tired, closing your eyes, on your way there to the dreamland.

you don't care—or even have the strength to complain about the overstimulation by the ministrations sae is providing you with.

when he's finally satisfied, he looks up at you but you were already fast asleep. sae sits besides you on the bed, running a hand through his hair, panting as he looks at your vulnerable figure.

you don't belong in her life anymore.

a voice echoed in his head.

she deserves better.

another one said.

sae gets up from the bed, fixing himself. one step, two step, three step...more steps and he'll be out of your life completely.

so he halts himself, turning around to you. you were carelessly sleeping. a drool rolling from your mouth to your cheek as you snored lightly—this elegant sight of you that sae loved dearly.

how can you walk back into her life like nothing?

"i can," he counters, making his way to you. adjusting your dress so you're not uncomfy. he pulls the duvet—covering you with it.

she deserves better.

"she deserves me."

[burnforyou]

FIGHT & MAKE UP - LUIGI MANGIONE x READER

!SUMMARY! a fight with your boyfriend, luigi, ends up causing you to be bent over the bathroom sink.

!WARNINGS! fighting, accused cheating (no actual cheating), a bit of crying, he's a little insecure, reader is sensitive, make-up sex (kinda public)

if you don't like this, don't read it.

“hey, lu...“ you approach him sitting on a kitchen stool with caution, the wound from your argument still fresh.

“i don’t want to talk to you.” he states curtly.

“please, we won’t settle this unless we talk.” you beg.

“well, i wanted to talk to you this morning,”

your stomach drops in realization, your heart aching.

“but you weren’t here. so i stalked your location and went to where you were, and of course, i saw you with luke.” he snarls, his voice echoing in your kitchen.

“we were just talking? I… i wanted his advice. i wanted to talk to someone else about it, get another opinion.” you cautiously place a hand on his shoulder. he stiffens under your touch.

“it’s always him, isn’t it?” he turns his head to lock eyes with you. his eyes are wide with expectation.

“no,” you pace in the kitchen and rub your head, a headache stirring. you stop and look at him. “this is a big misunderstanding.”

“no, i’m not misunderstanding anything.” he gets up from the stool and stalks up to you. you have to tilt your head up to look in his eyes, now dark. “i’m telling you as i see it. to me it looks like every time we have an issue you go running back to him. literally anyone else, anyone else, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

he loses himself in the argument and you see it in his face. he’s lost the color in his eyes, replaced with a darkness you've never seen before.

“i’m sorry luigi, i wanted his opinion because he’s a man and i figured he would try and understand your side too, and i’d get unbiased advice from him.” your ramble on and on, struggling to get him to understand you.

“in what world would you get unbiased advice from him?" the adrenaline courses through his veins, "he probably begged you to break up with me, called me a loser, an evil man, the whole thing!”

“no, that’s not what happened,” tears begin welling up in your eyes, but you don’t let them fall. taking his accusations felt like walking on broken glass.

he grasps onto your shoulders with a force that almost makes you fall back.

“you can’t see it? that he just wants to get into your pants? he just wants to take you from me?” he growls in your face. his eyes search your face for any inkling of an answer.

“do you really think i’d leave you for him?” your voice comes out as sharp as a knife.

he opens his lips to reply, but closes them before saying anything. he doesn’t have anything to say to you.

he drops his hands to his sides after they left red marks on your skin.

“really, luigi? really?”

you start backing away from him. disappointment fills your heart.

“and since you care so much, he didn’t tell me to break up with you. actually, he told me i should apologize to you. but now, i don’t think you deserve my forgiveness.”

every stair creates a creaking noise as you storm up to your bedroom. once you meet the bed, you're out like a light.

you blink your eyes open, feeling a hand caressing your face softly. you're met with a stricken luigi looking down at you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"can we talk?" he proposes carefully.

you sit up and lean back on your hands.

“you talk and i’ll listen.”

he takes a deep breath and leans down beside the bed and brings a notebook up from the floor. he looks down at the notebook and up at you again.

“i wrote down what i wanted to say, um…” he stammers off.

a smile threatens to grace your lips. it’s hard to stay mad at him, with his big brown eyes and little apology script.

“i’m sorry y/n. i didn’t mean to accuse you of cheating on me. it’s just.. my parents didn’t have the most, solid, relationship, as you know, and my father made me believe every woman would leave me. i’m really trying to break the pattern, to prove him wrong, to let you prove him wrong, but it’s really hard for me. but i am really trying for us, y/n."

"okay." you sigh.

"I don't mean to make excuses for my actions. I know what I said to you was wrong, and I'm sorry. for all of it, for the fight last night too."

you're weak. you're weak and you know it. you can't stay mad at him for anything. you climb into his arms and let him cradle you like a baby, his warmth engulfing you. "I'm sorry" you mutter weakly into his chest.

his thumb caresses the back of your head and he leaves a soft kiss on your forehead.

"i know. l'm sorry too baby." his voice comes out soft, his tender touches holding you to him.

you gave luke a hesitant side hug, eyes locked on luigi. he gives you a lazy smile and winks.

"thanks for having me," luke politely shakes luigi's hand and you take note of their size difference. luigi looms over him, not just in height, but size too. luigi makes small talk with luke as he leads him to the rest of where the rest of his guests are sat.

when you finally get a moment where all the guests are distracted, you sneak off to the kitchen, where you know luigi is hiding away. you lean against the counter next to him.

“why did you invite luke to your birthday party?”

“i wanted to…" he turns to look at you with a coy smile and your heart flutters. "get on better terms with him.” he watches your shocked reaction with satisfaction.

“wow luigi. that’s really.. nice of you.”

his lips turn up into a slight smirk that you catch. a sneaky suspicion he’s lying arises.

"that's not the real reason, is it?"

he crosses his arms across his chest and his biceps bulge in his short sleeve shirt. you bite your lip.

"you want to know the truth?"

"um, yes?" you reply like it's the most obvious thing in the world. he grips onto the counter next to you and leans over you, forcing you to look up at him. he leans down right next to your ear, his breath making the hairs on your neck stand up.

"I wanted him to see that you belong to me," he nibbles on your earlobe, "firsthand."

"you're joking." you bite your lip. he retracts from your ear, his signature hung smile lighting up his face.

"nope!" he says, popping the 'p.'

"and I thought you were being mature." you shake your head and roll your eyes with faux annoyance, trying to pretend like his words don't make you inexplicably needy. he leans into your neck again and presses hard kisses on the soft skin where your ear meets your neck.

"you know you like it." he casually reads you like a book. his slight scruff scratches your neck just the way you like it. "you know you've wanted this all day, prancing around here in this short skirt."

"lu," you whimper, quiet so the party-goers won't hear.

it was risky, but the rush, the adrenaline, the fact that luke could walk in at any second, it made you weak in the knees and left you aching for more.

he comes up and leaves his forehead against yours, eyes dark with need, pupils completely dilated.

"bathroom?" your heart pounds in your chest.

you shake your head, going against your own wishes.

"they'll notice we're gone."

"not if we're quick enough." he smirks, grabbing your hand. "come on."

he leads you to the downstairs bathroom and closes the door quietly after you. he presses your hips against the cold counter top and roughly pulls down your panties from under your skirt.

he wastes no time getting down on his knees, holding your ass apart with his hands, and playing with your already wet pussy.

"you want this bad?" he slaps your ass and groans at your reaction, jolting forward with a small gasp and a red mark appearing. his eyes meet yours in the mirror and he pushes a finger in you, still watching your reaction carefully.

"i want it now," you whine and stick out your bottom lip.

"look at you, so desperate." he shakes his head, pulling his shorts down enough to pull his hard cock out. he lines the tip up with your pussy and pushes his hips right against your ass, filling you up in seconds. your mouth falls open but nothing comes out, your lips completely dry.

as he thrusts into you, his thighs meeting your ass make loud, obscene noises that slip through the door.

you try and look back at him over your shoulder, but he forces you to look into his eyes in the mirror, bent over and fucking you desperately. "i'm gonna make this quick." he whispers into your ear, "look at who's fucking you this good."

you open your eyes and meet his dark ones in the mirror. instantly, his hand finds your clit and rubs it, adding stimulation. a moan flies out of you uncontrollably and you bite your lip to silence yourself.

"don't," he groans, "be loud f'me." he moans as you pulse around him. he smiles at you, watching your head bob as he fucks you braindead.

"could luke ever fuck you this good?" he asked with a rasp.

you gasp and he watches you struggle in the mirror with pleasure. he brings his other arm around your throat, his bicep now pressed against your throat. you try and shake your head but he just squeezes you harder.

"say it.” he growls roughly.

his cock kisses your cervix with every harsh thrust. your eyes flutter shut and your lower stomach bulges, heat growing with every movement.

"n-no,” you stammer, face red and sweat dripping, “fuck!"

"say my name.” you hold onto his arm and try and pull the weight off your neck, but he prevails.

"Luigi, please!”

"there ya go, that's it." he moans and slows his pace, grinding into you.

"say who you belong to." he slaps your clit carefully and your legs begin to buckle beneath him, body convulsing with pleasure.

"you, luigi. I'm yours." you purr and arch your back into him more, watching his eyebrows come together in the mirror.

"I'm gonna cum,” you whine, digging your nails into his muscles.

"cum baby," he demands, "make 'em hear you cum with me.” your vision fades to black when luigi thrusts into you as deep as possible, your skin meeting his with a dirty slap one more time. you buck against him, throbbing around him while he fills you. he quickly slips out of you and pulls your panties back up before any of his cum could drip out, forcing you to spend the rest of the party with his cum dripping out of you.

MASTERLIST - PREV. WORK

!TAGS!

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[siriuslylantsov]

shut-eye

spencer reid x reader blurb. fluff. r's job isnt specified, feel free to make up whatever :) wc: 682

it wasn't often that spencer found himself at home without you–rarely, if ever. having finished his case, he got home sometime after sunset, stumbling into a dark? apartment, only dimly lit by the burglar's lamp that sat in the corner of the living room. where are you?

he sets his keys into the bowl and hangs his bag and coat up. a light blinks from the answer machine, signalling there's a message waiting, so he presses play, letting it ring out as he peeks further, looking for sights of you.

“hi, baby. an emergency came up at work, so i offered to pick up the shift. hopefully you get this, i think your phones dead. there's pasta in the fridge and brownies in the oven, they're probably cold, eat up. i’ll be home by 12. i love you.”

ah, so there you are. you're right, his phone is dead, so he swiftly plugs it in. a pout pulls at his lips as he makes his way to the kitchen. he wishes you were here. he wanted to come home to you, but he kicks himself for feeling sad because this is exactly what you have to go through every time he's away.

he eats in silence on the couch, pesto pasta with chicken and a brownie laid on a tissue for later. his mind drifts back to moments of you next to him, on the couch, also eating dinner. the soft glow of the tv illuminating your features, he usually spends more time watching you than whatever plays on the tv and has to look away guilt ridden when you chastise him for not paying attention. how can you blame him when you look so pretty? 

when he finishes eating, he decides to read, still dismal because your lap isn't there to lay on or your fingers to play with his hair. he lays back against the side of the couch with a pillow tucked under his arms. soon, unbeknownst to him, the book falls to the floor with a soft thump because he, unsurprisingly, falls asleep.

-

you drag yourself up the stairs, shaking out your limbs and clothes to air out the lingering scent of work that usually clung to you at the end of the day. you unlock the door with a jingling bunch of keys, dropping them into the bowl, where spencer's ones are already waiting. 

your actions mimic his from earlier, peeking out of the hallway to find him, and you do. dozed off on the couch clad in his undershirt and boxers. with quick tiptoes you change into your pyjamas because you have the slightest inkling that spencer will want you closer and you don't want to get your work germs on him. 

you carefully sit beside him, on the portion of the couch not occupied by his limbs. he's got this mopey frown on his face; he looks like a sad puppy, and it makes you chuckle fondly. you cup his cheek, caressing him lightly with your thumb and his features instantly soften.

“hi, sweet boy,” you whisper, smiling down at him.

your voice causes him to stir and break out in his own sleepy smile, elated to see you. “hey.”

“you wait up for me?”

“tried to,” he admits sheepishly, rubbing his eyes. he paws at your shirt, trying to pull you closer. “c’mere.”

you shift to lay beside him, and he immediately curls into you. “we can’t sleep here, spence.”

“mhm, just 5 minutes,” he mutters, entirely unconvincing as drowsiness takes over again, you can hear it in his voice, words drifting off at the end. a heavy arm falls over your torso and curls around your waist, binding you to him.

you toe the blanket on the other end of the couch, not so expertly kicking it up. you move too much and spencer whines petulantly, settling when you manage to throw it over your bodies. 

“goodnight,” you sigh, melting into the cushions.

“g’night,” he murmurs, laced in triumph as he presses a kiss to your neck and drifts back to sleep.

[viagracex]

could you do a George Clarke one shot where him and maxs sister are secretly hooking up? All good if not x (love your work btw)

Off Limits

george clarke x balegde!reader

summary: george is secretly hooking up with max's sister. what starts as no-strings-attached turns into something more

warnings: brief mentions of sexual content

note: if this feels a little rushed im sorry, i tried not to have to write it as two parts.

4.4k words

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

You weren’t meant to be here.

The rational part of your brain knew that.

Yet, lying in George Clarkey’s bed, tucked under his sheets, skin still warm from his touch, you feel the weight of his arm draped over your waist. You know this is a disaster waiting to happen. But at this point, it’s almost tradition.

A night out turns into tipsy flirting. Flirting turns into one of you cracking first and texting where u at? And before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re tangled up in him, his hands gripping your waist, his mouth pressing hot, lazy kisses against your neck, and the world shrinking to just you and him. The way his mouth moved against your skin, the way his hands gripped your body—it always felt like an electric current between you.

This had been going on for months now—longer than you ever expected. What started as a drunken mistake had turned into a routine. Nights out ended with you texting him, or him texting you, or one of you finding an excuse to be at the same place at the same time, until you ended up here. Sweaty, satisfied, and entirely too comfortable in his bed.

It was just sex. Really good sex. That’s all.

But it couldn't be more complicated.

For one, George Clarkey was one of your brother's closest mates.

And Max had made it painfully clear that dating YouTubers was off the table.

"They’re all walking red flags, babe," Max had said once, waving his hands for emphasis. "All of them. You’d just become another London Content Creator’s Girlfriend, and I won’t be having that."

Not that you and George were dating.

You were just… shagging George Clarke in secret.

And maybe that was worse.

But that was the key difference—the thing that made this somewhat okay.

You weren’t a couple. You weren’t sneaking around because of some grand forbidden romance.

You were just fucking.

And it was casual.

Totally.

Absolutely.

…Okay, maybe there were some complications.

Like the fact that George could be an oblivious idiot at times and that you were slowly falling for him.

As you turn your head on the pillow, watching George lazily stretch in front of you, his hair a messy tangle on the pillows, you can't help but admire how good he looks even after just waking up. He catches you staring and a smirk tugs at his lips.

"You're thinking too much," he says in a rough, sleep-filled voice, and when you glance over again he’s watching you through lidded eyes, his dark hair sticking up in every direction.

You scoff, turning onto your side. “I’m thinking about how screwed we’ll be if Max ever finds out about this.”

George smirks, his grin only grows wider as he pulls you closer until you’re pressed against his chest, his warm skin against yours sending shivers down your spine. “Then we just don’t let him find out.”

You let out a resigned sigh. "Easy for you to say. You don't have to live with him."

George chuckles, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder, and fuck—that should not feel as nice as it does.

“Relax,” he murmurs against your skin. “We’re being careful.”

You want to believe him, but a nagging doubt persists. "Are we though? Being careful?"

George's fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Course we are. Max hasn't got a clue, has he?"

You bite your lip, remembering all the close calls. The time Max almost walked in on you two in the kitchen. The suspicious glances when you laughed too hard at George's jokes. The way your cheeks flushed whenever he was mentioned.

"I don't know," you mumble. "Sometimes I think he suspects something."

George's hand stills on your waist. "You worried?"

You turn to face him, studying the lines of his face in the dim light. His blue eyes are soft, filled with concern. You hate how much you like looking at him.

"Maybe a little," you admit. "It's just... Max has always been so protective. And he's made it clear how he feels about his friends dating his sister."

George's lips quirk into a half-smile. "Good thing we're not dating then, eh?"

You roll your eyes, but can't help smiling back. "Right. Just fucking."

"Exactly," George says, pulling you closer. "Nothing to worry about."

But as he kisses you, slow and deep, you can't shake the feeling that this is far more complicated than either of you want to admit.

Weeks pass, and your "arrangement" with George continues. The sneaking around gets easier, the guilt less noticeable. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But then there are nights when you catch yourself staring at him too long. When your fingers linger in his hair, when you laugh too hard at his jokes, when his hands slip under your hoodie, and you realize—this doesn’t feel casual anymore.

You don’t just look forward to those stolen moments—you need them. You tell yourself it’s about the thrill, the secrecy, the rush of slipping out of Max’s flat unnoticed. But the truth is, you like waking up in his sheets. You like the way he pulls you back into bed, groaning that it’s too early. You like how he makes you tea in the morning, knowing exactly how you take it, without needing to ask.

And suddenly, the thought of this ending makes your stomach twist.

You should say something. You should ask him if he feels it too.

But you don’t.

Because once you say it out loud, you can’t brush it off anymore. 

If you admit it, you can’t take it back.

And you’re not sure if you’re ready for that.

One night, after a particularly wild party at some private club celebrating another one of the Sidemen’s achievements, you end up with a group of friends back at George‘s. The bass from the music downstairs thrums through the walls as George presses you against the door, his lips hot on your neck.

"We shouldn't," you gasp, even as your fingers tangle in his hair. "Someone could come up..."

George grins against your skin. "That's half the fun, innit?"

You're about to retort when the door handle rattles. Your heart leaps into your throat as you hear a familiar voice on the other side.

"George! You in there?"

It's Max.

You freeze, panic flooding your system. George's eyes widen, but he quickly springs into action. He shoves you towards his closet, motioning for you to hide. You slip inside just as George opens the door.

"Yeah, mate. What's up?" George's voice is impressively casual.

"Have you seen my sister? Can't find her anywhere."

You hold your breath, praying Max doesn't decide to search the room.

"Nah, sorry. Maybe she went home early."

There's a pause, and you can picture Max's suspicious frown. Your heart pounds as you listen to the conversation through the closet door. You can practically feel Max's suspicion radiating through the wood.

"Right," Max says slowly. "Well, if you do see her, tell her I'm looking for her."

"Course, mate," George replies smoothly. "I'll let her know if I spot her."

You hear the door close and let out a shaky breath. A moment later, the closet door opens and George's face appears, a mix of amusement and concern in his eyes.

"Coast is clear," he whispers, helping you out.

You stumble slightly, the adrenaline making you unsteady. George's hands catch your waist, steadying you. The touch sends a familiar spark through your body, but the fear of almost being caught overshadows it.

"That was too close," you mutter, running a hand through your hair.

George nods, his expression sobering. "Maybe we should call it a night. I'll sneak you out the back."

You agree, and with George's help, manage to slip out of the house unnoticed. As you make your way home, you can't shake the feeling that your luck is running out.

The next few weeks are tense. You find yourself jumping at every sound, convinced that Max is about to burst in and catch you in the act. George notices your unease and suggests taking a break, but the thought of not seeing him makes your chest ache in a way you're not ready to confront.

As autumn creeps in, painting London in shades of gold and crimson, you find yourself spending more time at George's flat. The cozy nights in, wrapped in blankets and each other's arms, start to feel dangerously domestic. You catch yourself imagining a future where you don't have to hide, where you can walk hand-in-hand with George down the street without fear of being spotted.

One chilly evening, as you're curled up on George's sofa watching a movie, the weight of the secret becomes too much.

"George," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think we need to tell Max soon."

He turns to you, surprise etched on his features. "You sure? I thought we agreed to keep this under wraps."

You nod, twisting your fingers nervously. "I know, but... I'm tired of sneaking around. And honestly, I'm starting to think that this might be more than just casual."

George's expression softens, and he pulls you closer. "Yeah," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I've been thinking the same thing."

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

It wasn’t meant to happen like this.

but apparently, George is an idiot.

The tension in the air was palpable as you walked into your shared flat to find Max holding George's hoodie like a piece of evidence at a crime scene. His eyes narrowed as he asked, "Why is this in our flat?" Your heart raced as you tried to play off the situation nonchalantly. "Maybe George left it here," you suggested with a shrug.

Max's gaze flicked between you and the hoodie. "In your room?"

Your throat tightened as you replied, "Maybe."

Max's mind worked like a detective on a true crime documentary at that moment, piecing together the puzzle before him. And then, his expression changed from confusion to horror, his jaw-dropping.

"You're shagging George," he exclaimed.

You winced and tried to downplay the situation. "Max—"

"YOU'RE SHAGGING GEORGE," he repeated, his voice growing louder.

Frustration and embarrassment washed over you as you dropped your head into your hands. "For fuck's sake, can you not say it like that?"

But Max was already caught up in the drama of it all, looking around wildly like he was in an episode of punked. "How long has this been going on? When did this start? Why am I just finding out now?!"

You shifted uncomfortably. "Uh...a while?"

"A while?!" Max's disbelief was evident.

"...A few months?" You offered weakly.

"MONTHS?!" Max couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"It's not a big deal!" you insisted.

"Not a big deal?! You’re shagging my mate!" Max's frustration reached its boiling point.

You flinched and pleaded with him to lower his voice, but he continued to express his disbelief that this was happening behind his back. In a desperate attempt to calm him down and protect your relationship with George, you blurted out, "It's nothing serious! We're just...having fun. Casual."

Max blinked in surprise. "Casual? With George?"

You nodded, trying to defend yourself. "Yes?"

"With George?"

"Yes, Max!" you exclaimed in frustration.

Max's expression shifted as he absorbed the information and then whipped out his phone.

"What are you doing?" you asked nervously.

"Texting George," he replied, his thumbs flying across the screen. "He has five seconds to explain himself before I track him down and make him piss himself."

Before you could stop him, George walked into the flat at that exact moment.

Perfect timing, you thought sarcastically.

George froze upon seeing the tension between you and Max. His eyes flicked from you to his hoodie in Max's hands, and it was clear he knew exactly what was going on, it doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

"...Shit," he muttered under his breath.

"So it's true!" Max shouted. "You absolute little—"

But before he could finish his sentence, George raised his hands like a hostage negotiator. "Alright, before you get mad—"

"I'M NOT MAD!" Max yelled, which only confirmed how mad he actually was. "I'M JUST CURIOUS AS TO WHY YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?"

Max paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "I can't believe this. My best mate and my sister. It's like a bloody soap opera!"

You and George exchanged nervous glances as Max continued his tirade.

"How long has this been actually going on? And don't lie to me!" Max demanded, his eyes narrowing as he looked between the two of you.

George cleared his throat. "About... six months?"

"Six months?!" Max's voice rose an octave. "You've been sneaking around behind my back for half a year?!"

You winced. "We didn't mean for it to go on this long. It just... happened."

Max let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, it just happened, did it? What, you tripped and fell onto his dick?"

"Max!" you exclaimed, scandalized.

George stepped forward, his hands raised placatingly. "Look, mate, I know this isn't ideal—"

"Ideal?!" Max interrupted. "This is the opposite of ideal! This is a bloody nightmare!"

He turned to you, his expression a mix of hurt and betrayal. "And you. I warned you about getting involved with YouTubers. I told you they were all walking red flags!"

You felt a surge of defiance. "George isn't like that. He's different."

Max scoffed. "That's what they all say. And then next thing you know, you're just left high and dry”

"It's not like that," George interjected, his voice firm. "This isn't just some fling."

Max's eyes widened as he looked between you and George. "What are you saying?"

You took a deep breath, reaching for George's hand. "We didn't mean for this to happen, Max. But... it's more than just casual now."

George squeezed your hand, a small smile on his face. "We care about each other. A lot."

Max stares at you both, jaw clenched so tight you think he might actually crack a tooth. His fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s debating whether to pace, punch something, or just scream into the void.

Finally, he exhales a sharp breath and rakes a hand through his hair, pacing a tight circle before stopping in front of George. His glare could burn a hole straight through him.

"You," he says, voice tight. "You, out of all people."

George swallows, standing his ground. "Look, mate—"

"Don’t 'mate' me," Max cuts him off, shaking his head. He lets out a humorless laugh, but there's no amusement in his eyes. "This is actually happening. You—" he jabs a finger at George's chest, then turns to you, scandalized. "And you?!"

You don’t answer. What could you possibly say? Sorry I broke your one rule? Sorry I fell into bed with your best mate and accidentally started catching feelings?

Max lets out another deep, exhausted sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but—" He levels George with a look so sharp it could cut glass. "You actually give a shit about her?"

George doesn't hesitate. "Of course I do."

Max narrows his eyes, searching George’s face like he’s waiting for him to blink, to crack, to say something stupid that will give him an excuse to deck him. But George holds his gaze, unwavering.

After a long beat, Max scoffs, shaking his head. "Fuck me."

He turns away, pacing again, muttering something under his breath. You barely catch the words "This is my villain origin story."

Finally, he stops, pinches the bridge of his nose, and points a finger directly at George.

For a long moment, silence filled the room. You could practically see the gears turning in Max's head as he processed this new information. Finally, he looked up at you both, his expression resigned.

"You're serious about this? Both of you?"

You and George nodded solemnly. "We are," you said softly.

Max sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "I can't believe this is happening. My best mate and my little sister. It's like some bad rom-com."

He stood up suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger at George. "If this is just some game to you, Clarke, I swear to God—"

"It's not," George interrupted, his voice firm. "I care about her, Max. More than I've cared about anyone in a long time."

You felt your heart flutter at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest.

Max's gaze softened slightly as he looked between the two of you. He could see the genuine affection in your eyes, the way you unconsciously leaned towards each other.

"Fine," he said finally, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I can see this isn't just some fling. But I swear, George, if you hurt her—"

"I won't," George assured him quickly.

Max continued as if George hadn’t spoken. "—I will end you, I will make your life a living hell. I will start beef with you publicly. I will make a YouTube exposé, I will get you cancelled on Twitter. I will make sure your brand deals drop like flies. I will be so fucking annoying that you will never know peace again."

George nodded solemnly, as if this was a completely resonable response  " Understood."

Max turned to you, his expression softening. "And you. You're sure about this? You know what you're getting into, dating a YouTuber?"

You smile softly at Max, touched by his concern despite his outburst. "I'm sure, Max. I know it won't be easy, but hes worth it."

Max groans dramatically, flopping back onto the sofa. "I can't believe this is my life now. My best mate and my sister. What's next, Mum dating KSI?"

You and George both choke back laughter at the mental image. The tension in the room eases slightly as Max's dramatics break through the awkwardness.

George chuckled nervously. "Does this mean we have your blessing?"

Max shot him a withering glare. "Blessing? Don't push it, mate. I'm still processing the fact that you've been sneaking around with my sister for months."

You winced. "We really are sorry about that, Max. We didn't mean for it to go on so long without telling you."

Max ran a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "I just... I don't understand how this even happened. When did you two start... you know?"

You and George exchanged glances, silently debating how much to reveal. Finally, you took a deep breath and launched into the story.

"It started at Cal's birthday party," you began. "We were both a bit drunk, and one thing led to another..."

Max groaned. "Please spare me the details."

You rolled your eyes. "Nothing happened that night. But after that, we kept running into each other at events and parties. We'd flirt, maybe share a dance or two. It was harmless at first." As you speak, Max's expression cycles through disbelief, anger, and grudging amusement.

"...and then we just kept finding excuses to see each other," you finish lamely. "We didn't mean for it to become anything serious, but..."

"But it did," George adds softly, squeezing your hand.

Max groans, flopping back dramatically on the sofa. Muttering something about how this wasn’t how his day was supposed to go.

He sits up suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at George. "And you! What about all those girls you're always banging on about in your videos? That better all be a lie?"

George has the decency to look sheepish. "Ah, well... might've exaggerated a bit there, mate. For content, you know”

Max's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Exaggerated? Or flat-out lied?"

George shifted uncomfortably. "Well..."

You jumped in, trying to diffuse the tension. "Look, Max, the point is, George and I are together now. For real. No more sneaking around or lying."

Max sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. "I still can't believe this.” He stood up suddenly, pacing the room. "And what about when this all goes public, eh? Have you two geniuses thought about that? The fans will go mental. You'll be harassed non-stop."

You and George exchanged glances. It was clear neither of you had given much thought to the public aspect of your relationship.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," George said finally. "For now, we just want to focus on us. And making sure you're okay with this."

Max scoffed. "Okay with it? I'm far from okay with it. But..." he trailed off, looking between you and George. Despite his anger, he could see the genuine affection in your eyes, the way you instinctively leaned towards each other.

Then, after a beat—reluctantly, begrudgingly, like it physically pains him to say it— " I mean, I'd rather you weren't shagging one of my mates, but honestly?" He turned to George with a knowing look. "You could've picked worse. At least I know George. Even if he is an idiot sometimes."

George protested, but there was no real heat behind it. He knew Max was right - he could be an idiot sometimes. But when it came to you, he was determined to do better.

Relief washed over you as you threw your arms around your brother. "Thank you, Max. Really."

He hugged you back, then pulled away to point a finger at George. "And you. No funny business when I'm around, got it? I don't need to see my best mate snogging my sister."

George nodded solemnly, though you could see the mischief dancing in his eyes. "Wouldn't dream of it, mate."

Max gives him one last death glare before sighing dramatically and turning back to you. “I hate this. I hate it. I swear, if I ever walk in on anything, I'm moving out and never speaking to either of you again."

You laughed "Deal."

You and George share a glance, and suddenly, it doesn't feel as scary anymore. The weight that had been pressing on your chest for months lifts, replaced by a giddy lightness. You can't help the smile that spreads across your face, mirrored on George's.

As Max continues to grumble and mutter about the unfairness of it all, you and George gravitate towards each other. His arm slips around your waist, pulling you close, and you lean into him, reveling in the feeling of finally being able to do this openly.

The autumn sun streams through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. Outside, you can hear the bustle of London life - cars honking, people chattering, the distant rumble of the Tube. But in here, in this moment, the world has shrunk to just the three of you.

George's thumb traces lazy circles on your hip, sending shivers down your spine. You breathe in his familiar scent - a mix of cologne, laundry detergent, and something uniquely him. It's comforting, and grounding.

Max catches sight of you cuddling and makes exaggerated gagging noises. "Oh God, it's starting already. I'm going to need therapy after this."

You and George laugh, the sound mingling together in a way that makes your heart skip. You realize that this is the first time you've been able to laugh freely together in front of others, without worrying about giving yourselves away

As the days turn into weeks, you and George settle into a new rhythm. No more sneaking around, no more hushed whispers and furtive glances. Instead, there are lazy Sunday mornings spent tangled in his sheets, the London rain pattering against the windows. There are impromptu double dates with Max and Andrew, where you catch yourself marvelling at how natural it feels to be out in public with George, his hand intertwined with yours.

You find yourself falling deeper in love with George every day. It's in the little things - the way he makes your tea just right without asking, how he laughs at your terrible puns, it just makes your heart swell.

The YouTube world explodes when news of your relationship finally breaks. Your social media notifications blow up, a mix of excited fans, shocked friends, and the occasional hater. Your DMs are flooded with a mix of congratulations and jealous messages. You learn to ignore the hate comments and focus on the supportive messages from friends and fans.

Max, true to his word, makes a show of dramatically covering his eyes whenever you and George so much as hold hands in his presence. But you catch him smiling softly when he thinks you're not looking, and you know that deep down, he's happy for you.

As autumn fades into winter, you find yourself spending more and more time at George's flat. Your toothbrush migrates to his bathroom, your favourite mug finds a permanent home in his kitchen cupboard. One night, as you're curled up on his sofa watching old Sidemen videos (George insists it's "research"), he turns to you with a nervous smile.

"Move in with me," he says, his voice soft but sure.

Your heart skips a beat. "What?" you ask, barely above a whisper.

George takes your hand, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. "Move in with me," he repeats. "Half your stuff is here anyway. And I... I want to wake up next to you every morning."

You study his face, taking in the hopeful glint in his eyes, the slight flush on his cheeks.

Your heart swells with emotion as you look into George's eyes. The nervous hope there, the vulnerability – it's a side of him you've grown to cherish over these past months. You think about how far you've come from those first furtive encounters, sneaking around and convincing yourselves it was just casual fun.

"Yes," you whisper, a grin spreading across your face. "Yes, I'll move in with you."

George's face lights up, and he pulls you into a kiss that leaves you breathless. When you finally part, you're both laughing, giddy with the promise of this new chapter.

The next few weeks are a whirlwind of boxes, packing tape, and furniture rearrangement. Max helps you move, grumbling good-naturedly about being demoted to "pack mule" status. But you catch him giving George a stern talking-to when he thinks you're not listening, something about "taking care of my little sister, or else."

As you unpack your life into George's space – now your shared space – you're struck by how seamlessly your belongings fit together. Your books nestle comfortably next to his on the shelves. Your favourite blanket drapes over the back of the sofa, adding a pop of colour to the room. In the bedroom, your clothes hang side by side in the closet—proof that you’re done sneaking around, done pretending this is casual. Proof that this is real.

[princess-flufflebutt]

After my family and I moved into our new house, I used to have a series of nightmares for a while. I guess my brain didn't like sleeping in an unfamiliar environment. I was in the living room, usually playing with my toys. My mom was there. I remember it being really bright in there. But there was a door. It was always closed and I just knew there was something behind it. The dreams would usually end with knocking coming from the door. Whatever was doing that wanted to hurt me. I turn to my mom but she isn't there any more. I panic and I wake up. There is one standout dream though. I was in the living room, as I always was, and my mom was there. The knocking came again and I looked towards my mom. Except she wasn't my mom. The door was open and I went inside. It was dark and all I could hear were these rumbles. Kinda like a growling dog. The room seemed endless and the further I went in, the louder the rumble. Eventually, I found the end of it. The rumbling was so loud at this point. I figure whatever's making it was really close. Anyway, there was

a

door.

I opened it and all that greeted me was

a void

I woke up

My dad was not there. He had gone further into the house to explore. Didn't make sense to me since the house wasn't all that big. He wanted to show me that there was no monsters inside that room. This house was just like any other.

I think I woke up.

Maybe there was another dream.

Anyway.

My dad had gone further into the house to explore. Didn't make sense to me since it wasn't all that big. He didn't want to let me go into that room. Kept it locked at all times. That did nothing to help with the nightmares, obviously.

Actually, I just remembered another dream. This time we were in the kitchen. Mom was making something. No matter how I tried she would never turn around and face me. Dad was not there. He had gone behind the door to explore the house. I ask mom when he'd be back and she said he´d be back before dinner. There was knocking sounds throughout the dream. And loud, echoe-y rumbles.

Anyway, my dad had gone further into the house to explore. Didn't make sense to me since it wasn't all that large. My mom was pretty nervous about it though. She kept eyeing that one door. Like she was expecting something to spring forth. Maybe she was hoping for it. Maybe she was afraid of it.

I think I woke up. My dad had gone further into the house to explore. Didn't make sense to me since it was just average sized house. What needed to be explored, really?

He stayed inside that room for weeks. Kid me couldn't make much sense of it. I could tell mom was scared. Even then, I think fondly of those times. It was just me and my mom, playing board games and such. I remember those nights having this eery but cozy vibe about them. I kinda miss those times.

Dad wasn´t too keen on talking about what he saw inside the room. I was an attentive kid though and sometimes I managed to eavesdrop when they thought I was asleep or otherwise not listening. He had found several new rooms, empty and dark. Impossible, he'd say. He locked that door soon after. I don't think he went in there again. I think he was scared of something coming out.

Oh yeah. Another dream I had. I was in bed and I was awake and yet not awake. I couldn't move or breathe. There was a dark shadow in my room. There was this loud rumbling coming from it and it only grew louder as the shadow crawled towards me. I screamed. It took everything I had to pull myself awake.

It came from that room, I think. That was dream logic anyway.

Anyway, TL;DR: We moved to a new house, I had nightmares about this one room

Anyone else have recurring dreams of finding extra rooms in their home or school? Rooms that you didn't know existed, or you'd forgotten about? Whole wings that have sat unused for decades? And your family or parents knew about them but just never told you for some reason?

Finding them is always a massive exciting moment, and when you turn around to ask those who knew about it, they never have a good reason why it was hidden? For me it was a whole wing of my house under the staircase. And a dimly lit third floor to my elementary school.

[cheralith]

slytherin’s prof. michael kaiser, who normally teaches defense against the dark arts, has to sub in for the potions professor who had accidentally ingested some jawbind potion after spilling it on his morning bagel, making him completely incapable of speaking.

it’s nearing valentines day and he’s boredly teaching the fifth years about the seasonal lesson of amortentia, the most powerful love potion known to man, and while many pay a little too much attention to his lecture and gazing upon the bubbling baby pink liquid in his cauldron, he just wants to get this class over with and go back to his regular schedule—especially since he’s also the coach of slytherin’s quidditch team and the highly-awaited slytherin vs ravenclaw game is coming up and he especially is itching to see the absolute look of defeat that’ll succumb not only ravenclaw’s players, but also their coach—you—his long-term academic rival. he needs to train them as much as he can and he can’t meddle any more time in unnecessary things like potions.

“right, so you’ll know it’s ready to be simmered down once you added the rose thorns,” he sighs as he plops in thorn by thorn, the students ooh-ing as a shimmer rides over the potion’s tides in the cauldron. kaiser brings the heat down, watching as the steam slowly coils up into the air.

“the most prominent thing about amortentia is its smell,” kaiser states, “there’s a distinct smell to amortentia, but at the same time, there’s also no distinct smell to it. anyone understand what i’m saying?”

a young gryffindor raises her hand. "the smell of it depends on the person! usually it smells of things that a person finds pleasant or reminds them of someone they love."

"i wouldn't exactly say 'love', but yes, that's correct," kaiser hums as he gently stirs the pot. he had always been fickle with the term, especially since the topic of love had always seemed foreign to him. he was always able to grasp other concepts rather well, but love? it seemed a little too distant for his liking and he had no initiative to try and chase it to understand it. "the scent of it varies amongst everyone, so no two people will smell the same things."

a hufflepuff boy chimes in, "what do you smell, professor?"

kaiser looks up from the hypnotizing glimmer of the potion and raises a brow. he supposes it had been awhile since he had made the potion since his fifth-year and can't remember exactly what he had smelled, so he leans over the cauldron and wafts its scent towards him.

freshly baked bread is what rushes to him first. most likely from the bakery he used to steal from as a young boy.

second is the mild spice of cedar. that was most likely from his broomstick that was given to him when he got scouted to be in slytherin's quidditch team. the scent is familiar to him, considering he'd spent so much of his youth dedicated to it being by his side.

but the third... is lavender. kaiser furrows his brows and thinks that can't be right. he'd know where the scents would be from, but lavender seems a little foreign to him.

his concentration to try and trace the origin of it is suddenly broken when the door opens to reveal... you.

"sorry professor abernathy," you start as you gather the attention of the students. "my students are out of—you're not abernathy."

kaiser cocks a brow at your confused and irritated gaze as he scans your figure. "well clearly. i'm subbing for him for today since he's out sick. need something, (l/n)?"

you scoff at his snarky and unprofessional tone, making some of the students giggle. your long-standing rivalry with slytherin's head of house was quite famous amongst the generations of students at hogwarts, both when you and him were students and during your careers as professors. "that's professor (l/n) to you, professor kaiser."

"we all know that you don't care to call me that behind the scenes," he says casually. "no need for a filter."

a heated huff escapes your lips as you shake your head. "i advise you to have a knack for one. would do you some good, perhaps, especially since you racked up quite the detentions back when we were students."

a couple of ooh's wisp by from kaiser's students and he grits his teeth. not wanting to let himself be humiliated any longer from your presence, he hisses out, "what do you need, professor (l/n)?"

"mmh, that's more like it," you hum lightly as you make your way across the classroom to the jars that sit behind the professor's demonstration desk. "my students ran out of griffin's claw for their fertilizer. i just need a pinch of it, so i'm sure professor abernathy won't mind."

kaiser bites his tongue back to hurl an insult of that he'd mind, considering you were disrupting his class, but he falls silent, merely watching you with sly eyes as you make your way over and pass him by, your cloak fluttering behind you.

he freezes suddenly.

that's when he smells it.

the fresh scent of lavender fills his senses again, but this time, it doesn't come from the cauldron.

he looks back and when your figure enters his field of vision, the scent grows stronger despite him not facing the cauldron of amortentia.

that unique scent of lavender... is coming from you.

a/n ; @baepsays had suggested in a prior post that he'd prob have green dyed tips instead of blue and i was just so utterly consumed by it that i rewatched three hp movies. i'm ruined

[unintentionalseductress]

Why does everyone portray Caleb to be 'dark romance, zade meadows' coded? :/

Yeah he's got yandere traits to wanna keep her forever and for himself but he never implies that he'll hurt mc- instead expressing a fierce desire to protect her, so why do ppl write ffs Abt him being manipulative? Making him have 'rough jealous s*x' in which he's spewing a bunch of hurtful things just to manipulate mc to his liking?

I guess it's because of the initial show of possessiveness in his trailer, but literally every love and deepspace guy is possessive so why portray him so darkly?

I like that you portray him more realistically to his character and not so ooc because that's what it feels like most of the time

Hello there anon! I'm glad you think my portrayal of Caleb feels more realistic than some other interpretations. I really don't know where this concept of comparing Caleb to Zade comes from since Zade literally r**es the MC in that book and I simply can't picture Caleb doing that?

This might be a much longer response than you'd expected and I'm sorry, but I've been taking little notes as I went through Caleb's memories, anecdotes, and myth. I feel like most of the people that are portraying him in this sadistic way simply didn't read all the material and just clicked through to get the diamonds.

So let me start by saying, all the other 4 LI's met MC quite recently, meaning they had no say in her life and weren't there when the Chronorift Catastrophe occurred. They met her as an adult, when she'd had time to put herself together and act like a rational grown woman.

Caleb met her at the worst time in their lives as a child until Josephine adopted them. They trauma bonded and after all they've been through together, they're extremely possessive of each other. Not just Caleb, but even the MC as well. She's just as paranoid and possessive about Caleb as well, and this is evidenced in their memories which I will delve into shortly.

But imagine being so close and growing up with this person that you think you know like the back of your own hand. She and Caleb appeared to be quite close up until the explosion. Now MC had to deal with the loss of her second family, and possibly the love of her life. Yes, I said it. The love of her life, because after going through the memories, there's nothing that can be said to change my mind that these two weren't in some kind of relationship before Caleb's death.

Now Caleb is back. MC is wary of him, she's scared to be possessive of him like she was because she knows what it's like to lose him. Caleb has no idea where he stands in her life, and inside it's because he knows he fucked up. He realizes he wants her back, the same woman who was just as obsessed and possessive of him like how he was with her and he has no idea how to fix it.

Caleb imo slides into the tip of the yandere iceberg because of that scene in the main story where he says he'll rebuild their house in Linkon and they can move in together etc. To me, that's the effect of the chip (more to be discussed about that below), and also him literally breaking down because MC said his worst fear to his face; she doesn't need him anymore. How do you recover from having the one person you've loved for most of your life look at you with so much hate and say they don't need you? (reminded me of Sylus a little bit when he's told MC is disgusted by him) For him to be truly yandere, he would have locked her up then and there but he doesn't. He backs off, allows her to get back to her life unharmed, and he keeps himself busy with work. That doesn't look like true yandere behavior to me.

NOW. MYTH EVIDENCE. The part with the chips. The chips seem to exacerbate certain feelings that already exist and take them to the extreme, hence why people who are chipped are very emotionless and almost have a robotic character to them, perhaps to avoid the pain of being emotional. In his myth, we find Caleb actively fights the chip, and it puts so much strain on his body that he falls unconscious or goes into fits. I think that 'yandere' scene is because the chip and his body are at odds with each other. Even MC when she chips herself, finds herself being manipulative of Caleb, trying to make him think of memories that were only half-truths. They're both obsessed with each other, and without the chip, it was fine, but with chip, things get crazy.

Also, I think it's safe to say, Caleb hasn't shown yandere tendencies towards MC in the past pre explosion, beyond telling her to be careful during missions or to let her know when she got hurt. He wasn't upset because she wasn't staying at home, he's upset because she's hiding things from him (like when she lied about getting scratched by a cat pre explosion).

NOW ONTO THE MEMORIES. Because omg, there's so much evidence in the memories that Caleb realizes his limitations in his ability to care for her. In their bond memory Rain's Embrace, when MC is asleep on his shoulder, Caleb literally says something along the lines of "I promise not to be so overprotective of you." He says something similar in Endless Summer and Exclusive Aftertaste, stating he knows his tendency to protect her isn't good for either of them.

And to show how possessive MC was of him. In the memory Longtime Yesterday, we find out Caleb was super popular in college and many girls tried to befriend him by giving him bento boxes. His friends teased him saying "Miss Apple" helped him avoid having to accept the bento boxes. MC literally sulks all the way back to the airport and when Caleb asks her what's wrong she goes, "You have a Miss Apple," like that was a perfectly plausible explanation. Miss Apple turns out to be a hairtie that Caleb took from MC that has apple shaped beads on it and he wears it (presumably on his wrist) all the time, which drove away unwanted attention from other girls. MC was so upset prior to hearing this, and Caleb reassures her that he doesn't want anyone else's attention but her's.

In Borrowed Promise, which occurs when MC is still in high school, Caleb is visiting from college and MC has a fight with a friend who is a girl (important). Caleb notices she's unhappy and takes her to a fair of sorts to cheer her up and she tells him she's worried someone may not like her anymore. Caleb tries to act nonchalant but you can tell he's thinking MC has a boyfriend or a crush and he goes "their loss but oh well you're not for everyone." It's at this point she tells Caleb it's a girl and he's dumbfounded but his relief is evident.

And my favorite, Stage Observer. MC is helping Caleb empty his dorm since he's about to graduate from college and she finds an envelope tucked away in one of his books with cutesy apples on the surface. She mistakenly thinks this is a love letter and then gives a very confused Caleb the cold shoulder for the rest of her visit. Then on his graduation day, she softens and helps fix his tie as he's about to give his valedictorian speech. During this time, she admits she's scared about him finding someone else and he says he worries about her meeting someone else too, but he's happy having just her and grandma in his life. In his speech, Caleb talks about how people go through their whole looking for meaningful connections with people but he's fortunate to have found the one person he knows he can count on. Afterwards, MC runs to him and gives him what I think is their first kiss. And why does she do this? She says, "I kissed you so you can't have a girlfriend now!" Caleb is confused and then she finally admits seeing the envelope. Well guess what? It turns out the envelope actually holds a good luck charm she had sent Caleb but the cover got ruined so Caleb replaced it with the apple envelope. He teases her but the ending implies they now know how they feel for each other and that was the start of a more romantic relationship between them.

So there. MC is just as possessive and obsessed with Caleb as he is with her. He knows that and it's because he's so in tune with these feelings that to him, his actions don't seem out of line, because that's how he expects her to be with him as well. I think like the other boys, his love is limitless, he literally says, "I love you more than you realize" in his myth. He's struggling with mental health and trauma and I think people just want to downplay him for various reasons without delving into the complexity of his character, or the incredible history he has with MC, not from a past life, but in this very real, present one. He was there with her during a time when she didn't know a Xavier, a Rafayel, or a Sylus (maybe Zayne since Caleb mentions him).

There. It feels good to get this out. I will end this by saying, sure, Caleb qualifies as a dark romance, maybe a mild yandere, but definitely, nothing along the lines of Zade because I genuinely don't think he'd want to hurt MC by doing something that could hurt her or violate her consent.

I'm open to more discussion on this. And a reminder about my usual policy; if you have nothing nice to say, scroll on by.

[callmemonster68]

HEESEUNG - Human Blood Bag ( smut )

Y/N makes a deal with the vampire Heeseung to save their family from poverty, becoming his blood source in exchange for wealth. But what begins as a cold pact transforms into an intense and dangerous connection, where desire and vulnerability break the barriers between the human and the immortal.

Pairing: Heeseung X FemReader

Genre: Obscenity / Dark Fantasy

Warning: graphic description of gore ( bloond/injuries ) explicit content, unprotected sex, suggestive, penetration, explicit language, climax, sex, swearing, loss of virginity, hickeys, messy make-out sessions, dirty talk, compliments, rough sex, touching bruises, handcuffs, chains, sadomasochism , masochism, brands, group sex,double penetration, oral sex, anal sex, masturbation

In an isolated village, where poverty was the only constant and the night winds carried whispers of something beyond death, a young woman named Y/N accepted a proposal that would change her life forever. The offer came from an ancient vampire, known as Heeseung, whose eyes shone with the accumulated knowledge of millennia and whose needs were as deep as his eternal void.

Heeseung had made similar deals before, but something in Y/N's blood was different. He could feel the difference from the first sip, an energy that seemed to invigorate his strength and restore his energy in a way he had never experienced before. She was not just a source of blood, but something more, something he could not immediately name.

She, on the other hand, accepted the offer not out of a desire for power or luxury, but for her family. The agreement was simple: she would be his source of blood, going wherever he went, doing whatever was necessary for him to live. And, in return, he would ensure that her family lived a life free from the shackles of poverty, taking care of her parents and siblings with wealth and comfort. But this exchange required her to live far from them, with no contact whatsoever. Her life was now dedicated to Heeseung, no longer to her own desires or feelings.

Heeseung treated her coldly, like the tool she was to him. And she, although overwhelmed by loneliness and the pain of not being able to see her own, felt a strange attraction to the vampire, a connection she couldn't fully understand. He, in turn, seemed only to care about the blood issue and nothing else, until something began to change.

Every night, he fed on Y/N, and over time, he began to feel a strange and intense desire for her. Her blood not only nourished him but also awakened him in ways he had never imagined. It was more than just a physical need. He found himself wanting more from her, something that went beyond the desire for blood and touched on something more primal, deep, and sexual. This was new to him, and he didn't know how to deal with it.

For millennia, he had avoided getting emotionally involved with humans. He used and discarded them, without any attachment. But Y/N was different, and he felt a growing fire inside him whenever he was near her. She was not just his walking blood bag. She was... something more. What was that? He didn't know. Until, in a moment of vulnerability, he confessed to her, without his usual coldness.

Heeseung: I... feel something for you, (the voice softer than she has ever heard) Something I have never experienced before. I... don't know how to deal with this.

Y/N looked at him, surprised, but without fear. She felt the same way, but in a way she couldn't articulate. And, without thinking much, without hesitating, she offered herself to him in a way he didn't expect.

Y/N: I can be more for you, (with a shy but sincere smile) If you wish... I can be everything, I can give you everything.

He watched her with wide eyes, surprise mixed with desire. She was offering herself in a way he had never imagined, no longer just her blood but now also her body. And, with a gentle gesture, he approached, touching her face with a delicacy he never knew he possessed.

The desire between them ignited, transforming into something that surpasses the thirst for blood. Something carnal, primal, and at the same time, inexplicable. He surrendered to her like he had never done with anyone before, and somehow, the barriers between vampire and human, between predator and prey, began to fade away.

Heeseung has always been authoritative and controlling, but with his sexual inexperience, the confusion of feelings and desires he had never felt before driving him crazy and even scaring him, he trusted her and let her guide him.

The room was enveloped in a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of Y/N's slow and hesitant breathing, while Heeseung watched her from a distance that felt both too close and absurdly far away. The dim light of the candles flickered, casting dancing shadows on the cold stone walls, but the heat emanating from them was enough to ignite the atmosphere.

He was not used to feeling something so chaotic within himself. Immortality had always protected him from these human weaknesses – desire, uncertainty, vulnerability. But now, there, in front of her, he felt like a man, not a monster.

Heeseung took a step forward, hesitant, as if a single movement could undo all the tension that kept them connected. He extended his hand, his cold fingers brushing against Y/N's arm. The touch was subtle, but it carried a promise.

Heeseung: Y/N (whispered, almost inaudible) I can't pretend anymore. You are... much more than I deserve, much more than I should desire.

She raised her eyes to him, feeling the weight of the moment and the confusion behind his words. But there was something in his expression, something that said that, this time, he was surrendering, not to her, but to himself.

Y/N: I don't want you to hold back (your voice firm, but full of sweetness) Not now.

The air seemed to vanish from the environment when she took a step towards him, closing the distance between them. Her hand rose, touching his face, exploring the sharp and perfect lines of his jaw. He was a predator, a being forged by darkness, but in that moment, he seemed broken and human, surrendered.

Heeseung: Show me who you really are (he whispered, his lips dangerously close to his)

And then, it was as if something broke.

Heeseung pulled her to him with a fervor that took her by surprise, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was both desperate and reverent. His arms enveloped her, as if he were afraid she might disappear. The taste of Y/N was an intoxicating mix of sweetness and warmth, something he could never fully satisfy.

He pressed her against the four-poster bed in the center of the room, his movements almost reverent as his lips traveled down her neck, where he had quenched his thirst so many times. But this time, it was different. He didn't just want her blood. He wanted everything.

Y/N guided him with a patience and courage he didn't expect. Her delicate fingers slid over his shirt, slowly undoing the buttons, exposing the pale and cold skin beneath. He watched her, the tension in his muscles was evident, but he didn't stop her. For the first time, he allowed someone to lead him.

The night promised to be long, full of discoveries and deliveries. Both knew that moment would change everything. It was not just a night of passion; it was the beginning of something that neither of them could fully comprehend.

While Y/N slid her hands over Heeseung's shoulders, slowly pushing the thin fabric shirt away from his body, he couldn't take his eyes off her. His eyes were fixed on hers, capturing every nuance of emotion that passed across her face. There was desire, yes, but there was also something deeper – something he had never seen before, not in his countless years.

He felt her fingertips against his cold skin, sending a shock that reverberated to his bones. It was an overwhelming and strangely comforting sensation, as if she were igniting a part of him that he had forgotten existed.

Y/N: It's all right (murmured, almost as if reading your thoughts)

Her touch was gentle but firm, a promise that she was in no hurry. Heeseung took a deep breath, or at least tried to. He didn't need air to survive, but now it seemed like each breath was vital, as if he were trying to absorb something only she could offer.

Heeseung: I don't know what I'm doing (he admitted, his voice low and full of hesitation)

He hated how weak and vulnerable he sounded, but at the same time, he couldn't lie to her.

Heeseung: I... have never done this before.

Y/N stopped for a moment, surprised, but her eyes shone with understanding. She raised her hand, touching his face tenderly.

Y/N: It's okay, Heeseung (your voice full of patience) We don't need to rush anything. I'm here with you.

The simplicity of her words disarmed him. He, who had always clung to the facade of strength and control, felt the barriers he had erected over the centuries beginning to crumble. With her, he didn't need to be the powerful and impenetrable vampire. He could just be... him.

She leaned towards him again, her lips touching his in a slow and exploratory kiss. There was no hurry, just the silent exchange of emotions that words could never capture. With each touch, with each gesture, Heeseung felt as if he were being redrawn, as if she were tracing new contours in his immortal existence.

As she guided him, he began to relax, allowing his own instincts to emerge. He let his hands glide over her waist, feeling the softness of her skin under his fingers. It was such a stark contrast to his own coldness that he got lost in the moment, marveling at the life she radiated.

The tension in the room changed, transforming into something more intense, more profound. He could hear Y/N's heart beating fast, and for the first time, it didn't make him think of hunger, but of fascination. Each beat seemed to synchronize with something inside him, a rhythm he had never felt before.

While she pulled him even closer, Heeseung hesitated. It wasn't fear of her, but fear of himself.

Heeseung: I don't want to hurt you. (the voice almost trembling)

Y/N smiled at him, a gentle smile that carried more courage than he had ever seen.

Y/N: You're not going. I trust you.

With those words, something changed inside him. He knew he couldn't go back, that this connection with her was as inevitable as night after day. And then, he surrendered completely, allowing her to guide him, allowing her to show him what it meant to feel, live, and love.

When Y/N's hands traced Heeseung's pale skin, he felt disconnected from everything he knew. There was no hunger, there was no immortality, there was no darkness that always enveloped him. Just her touch, the warmth that seemed to radiate through every inch of her skin and warm parts of him that he thought were doomed to eternal cold.

She approached slowly, her lips brushing against the curve of his neck.

Y/N: You are so beautiful (whispered against your skin)

He shuddered. No one had ever said that to him. Not like this, with so much sincerity and tenderness.

He pulled her closer, his hesitant fingers sliding into her hair, intertwining with the soft strands. He was still struggling against the insecurities that vulnerability imposed on him.

Heeseung: I... don't know how to repay what you're giving me. (murmured, his voice full of confession and surrender)

She turned her face just enough to look into his eyes, her smile full of patience and understanding.

Y/N: You are already giving back – she said, her fingers tracing the sharp contours of his face, each line marked by eternity.

And then, in an unexpected move, she gently pushed him to lie down on the bed. The force was minimal, but he yielded, allowing her to lead him. He fell against the sheets, his gaze fixed on her every movement as she approached.

Y/N delicately mounted him, her legs wrapping around him with a confidence that seemed to disarm the vampire. Her fingers slid over his skin, feeling the tense muscles. Heeseung felt as if he were at her mercy, but at the same time, it was a welcome surrender, something he didn't know he needed until that moment.

Y/N: Let me guide you, Heeseung (the voice low, but laden with a firmness he couldn't ignore)

He nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on her, and it was at that moment that he realized he had never trusted anyone as much as he trusted her. She undressed, still on top of him. His hesitant fingers began to explore her body, tracing each curve as if memorizing every detail.

When Y/N's lips met his again, it was different. It was not just passion or desire. It was something deeper, something that connected their souls in a way that transcended the barriers of their opposite natures. She knelt to remove the remaining clothes from him, while they maintained eye contact.

She touched his cock, he shuddered, his chest heaving in anticipation. She pumped a few times, spreading the pre-cum along the shaft, before slowly sitting on him, feeling every inch of him filling her. The movements were slow, almost like a dance, a rhythm they discovered together. With each touch, with each kiss, Heeseung felt something inside him changing, breaking, but not painfully. It was as if she were rebuilding the parts of him that had been destroyed by time and loneliness.

Y/N continued to guide him, her hands tracing paths across his body while her lips explored every piece of skin they found. Heeseung watched her, fascinated by the intensity of her eyes, by the way she seemed to put her whole soul into each touch, into each movement.

It was more than physical pleasure. It was something that touched the depths of her soul, something that made her dead heart seem to beat again, even if just for a moment.

Heeseung held her firmly, but without brutality, as if she were the most precious and delicate thing he had ever touched. He pulled her closer, their bodies moving in perfect sync.

The night seemed infinite, each second filled with emotion and surrender. When they finally reached the climax, it was like an explosion of light in the darkness, a connection so deep that it left them both breathless.

Y/N collapsed onto him, her heavy breathing as Heeseung wrapped her in his arms. He closed his eyes, feeling her weight against him, the warmth of her skin contrasting with the coldness of his.

Heeseung: I never thought I could feel something like this (his voice almost inaudible)

Y/N lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. She smiled, and in that smile, there was the promise of something more, something he never thought he could have.

Y/N: You can, Heeseung (touching his face) Because you're not just a monster.

And, at that moment, he believed her.

The life that Y/N knew would never be the same again. She was no longer just Heeseung's source of blood, but something much more intimate. And yet, the price for this new bond was high, for as she surrendered to the vampire, with each night spent away from her family, she began to question whether the true cost of this agreement was the loss of her own identity.

✿ If you don't reblog and comment, you can be sure I'll be showing up in your dreams tonight... and I won’t be as sweet as in the story ✿

[freddleafton12345-blog]

Movie Shadow x fem! Reader! 18+ only! Reader can be mobian or human!))

You told Tom you wanted to go out and try your new skates that he got you from your birthday. He agreed, but told you to be careful.

Were you? Yes

Did you still fall and scuff your knees open? Yes

"You have to be very cautious, especially on cement road like the driveway." The ebony hedgehog warned you, currently tending to your wounds.

Your lover was none other than Shadow the Hedgehog. So strong, so deadly, but so caring.

You giggled. "Relax, Shads. I've suffered worse! Honest! Oh-" you blushed when he kissed the bandages on your knees.

"I can help you. But we need a more suitable environment. More even ground that isn't bumpy from small pebbles." He got onto his motorcycle, holding a hand out. "My lady.."

"Such a gentleman~!" You took his hand, allowing him to pull you up behind him. Once you wrapped your arms around him, he zoomed off.

"WOOHOOO~!! YEAH!" You raised a fist into the air as Shadow swerved through traffic, ignoring the honking of the cars.

As he drove, he handed you his phone. "You can have control of the Playlist if you'd like. I got speakers installed onto this."

"Thanks, Shads!" You picked a song, then tucked his phone safely into your pocket, going back to hugging him.

The Hedgehog smirked. "Ah, My World Is Burning Down Around Me? That's one of my favorites, really."

"Yeah, same here! It's so relatable, haha!"

~~~

He brought you to a skating rink when it was dark outside. So you wouldn't feel embarrassed if you fell and someone saw you.

He hovered infront of you, holding your hands as you started skating. "That's it, my dear. That's it."

You almost fell a few times, but you knew he'd never let that slide on his watch.

"I think I'm getting it! I'm doing it!" Once he key go of your hands, you began skating the same way he did.

And he adored that you tried copying him.

"Then I think you deserve a reward. Change to your normal shoes, then follow me, alright?" His ear flicked.

"Sounds good, babe!" You removed your skates, then put your normal shoes on again.

Once that was done, you followed him behind a large tree.

What was he gonna do???

"Now then..your reward, is me." He got onto his knees and tugged at your pants.

Your face felt hot, but you helped him pull your pants down anyway. Something about the possibility of being caught by a stranger made your pussy get wet.

And Shadow noticed it immediately. He ran his tongue along your newly exposed thighs, before flicking against your clit.

You groaned and gently tugged at his quills. "S-Shadow..ohh.."

"Shh. Let me handle this." He started lapping at your pussy like he was starving for weeks, even inserting two fingers into your slick folds and pumping them.

The pleasure grew and grew, as did his pace. But you didn't wanna cum until he was inside you.

"Shadow, please..I-I need you inside of me n-now.."

"Beg like you really want it.." he continued eating you out.

"Shadow! Please~! I- I-"

"What?" He snarled.

"I want your dick inside of me right now~!"

At this, he pulled away and stood up, his erection hard and throbbing. He gently gripped your hips and slid you down the tree, so you were sitting on the ground. Then he lined up at your entrance and pushed his way inside.

"I'm going to make you scream." He warned, before thrusting into you.

You moaned loudly and threw your head back, not caring if anybody saw or heard you. This felt way too good. Might as well enjoy it.

Pretty soon, your walls clenched around Shadow's length, and you felt it throb inside of you. He was close.

"Ah~! Oh yeah! Harder, harder Shadow!" You begged, gripping his back quills.

"God- your going to be the death of me, Jesus christ." He groaned out, picking up his pace.

Your orgasm was mind blowing, to say the least. Usually, sex between the two of you was passionate and slow. This?

This was much better.

You panted as he pulled out of you, a mixture of your fluids leaking out of your entrance.

"Better clean up. Don't wanna have to explain yourself to Tom and Maddie, do you?" He tutted, gently poking your cheek.

"S-shut up-"

That's right. I knew u thirsty movie Shadow simps would search 4 this. Reblog if u want!))

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blurred Lines 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Note: Let's get through Monday yall.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You follow Nick back to his house. It's a long ride. You're so caught up in your anxiety that you don't even turn the radio on. The silence feeds into your nerves. 

When you park, you notice your phone light up. It's Joey. You want to answer but you can't. You're not sure you can keep your cool. 

Nick's cryptic behavior worries you. If you lose this job, you're not sure the next one will be enough to keep Joey in school. You don't put in the long hours because you enjoy scrubbing floors, you want to do the best by your daughter and your husband. 

You get out and catch up to your boss as he struts inside. He has the garment bags over his shoulder.  

"I could take those--"  

"I think I can handle it," he scoffs. 

"Sir, uh, about, er..." you stumble over your words as your thoughts tangle. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry. When you sent me home--" 

"We're past that. You're back now." He opens the door and lets you through first. "So do what you're told and stop worrying."  

He shuts the door behind him and strides up to you. He dangles a dress bag on one finger. You take it as the tension strangles out any protest.  

"Go get ready." 

"Ready?" You echo thinly. 

"Big dinner. Pull yourself together." 

He sidesteps you and struts off. You look after him, confused. You sigh and carry the dress to the half-bath behind the staircase. 

You shut the door and hang the garment bag. You put your purse on the counter and sift through it. You have a tube of gloss and some mascara. Oh, some old liner that might do if you wet it. You're good stuff is at home. 

You do your best. You just need to be presentable. It wouldn't matter if you had your BB cream or some blush, you can't get rid of the wrinkles or the spots. 

Your hair. There's a comb but it's not much use. You use your fingers and find some pins in your bag. Again, nothing special, just something. 

The door handle clicks and you spin around. Nick wears his new suit. It's perfect on him. The jacket is perfectly cinched and the pants hemmed just so. 

"Can I get a bit of help?" He smirks and wiggles the paisley tie at you. 

You stare at it and take it. Your cheeks are taut. He steps into the bathroom and unfolds his collar. You loop the tie around his neck and focus on knotting it. 

"I should've asked if you needed anything else." He says. 

"The dress is very nice, it will do," you assure him and tighten the tie. "There. You're all put together." 

"And your not," he challenges. 

You meet his gaze, "I'll be quick." 

His brows flick up and he turns to unzip the garment bag. He takes out the dress and feels the fabric. He faces you again and holds it up. You gently grab it by the sleeves and pull it away. 

"Thank you, sir." 

"Nick. For tonight, call me Nick." He insists. 

"Yes, s-- Nick," you repeat as you turn and examine the velvet. 

You wait and he lingers. Finally he backs out and shuts the door.  

You ignore the mirror as you change. The dress is no better the second time. In fact, it feels tighter. Your chest is compressed beneath the fabric, your cleavage bursting. You wish he'd put an end to this already. 

You find the shoes in the bottom of the garment bag. You sit on the closed toilet and put on the heels. You haven't worn those since Joey's graduation. You don't miss the painful arch. 

You stand and tidy up your clothes. You fold them and stop before the door. You contemplate the other side before you open it. 

You step out and find Nick waiting.  He comes close and you watch him senselessly. He takes the clothes from you and sets them on the bench near the wall. 

He returns and offers his arm. His mouth is slanted in a silent taunt. Your lips pinch and you put your hand in the crook of your arm. 

He guides you down the hall and into the entry way. You feel as if you're making the walk down a plank, about to jump to your fate. Earlier when you pulled up to see your husband, you couldn't predict any of this. 

"You look good, by the way," Nick says as you reach the door. "Really good." 

Your cheek twitches. You get it. You know what he's doing. He's reminding you that he's in charge. 

"Thank you, Nick." 

He opens the door and angles you through. You focus on your feet, on not letting your ankles bend. That small task is much simpler than the unknown you find yourself wandering into. 

🔷

You enter the room of finely dressed people. Despite the new attire, the price tag that made your stomach drop, you feel out of place. The men are in ties and brocade and velvet, the women in satin and silk. The latter are all at least a decade younger than you and many sizes smaller than you. 

Nick touches the middle of your back and drags his hand down. He slips around your hips and pulls you against him, urging you across the room. A man greets him, beckoning him over with a wave of his large hand. 

You catch his stare, the question mark in his forehead as you approach. He's taller than Nick, broader too. His jaw is speckled in dark stubble and a thick line of hair covers his upper lip. He's handsome with his bold blue eyes and cleft chin. 

"Walker," Nick greets him. You glance at the woman with curly black hair on the man's arm. She's gorgeous and sips daintily from a stemmed glass. 

"Fowler. Late. Again." 

"Always here exactly when I'm needed," Nick banters. 

"Sure, we'll see what Pine says about that." 

"Pine's head is so far up his ass, I doubt he'll notice," Nicky rolls his eyes. "Aliana," he turns to the woman, "I still don't see a ring." 

"Fowler," Walker warns. 

"Forgive me. You'll get there, in time. Like me," he winks. "Oh, and this is..." 

He introduces you and reminds you that you're more than just a spectator. You force a smile.  

"Hello, nice to meet you." 

"August," Nick gestures to the larger man the the woman, "Aliana." 

The woman flutters her lashes. You sense the judgement in her gaze. It's nothing cruel, only reality. She no doubt sees your ages and is asking the same questions you would. If this was real... 

"You finally brought a date to one of these things. Might get Abnesti to shut up." 

"I'm not worried about what he has to say. Not as worried as some people should be about leaving their drinks unattended near the guy." 

They laugh and you suppress a frown at the insinuation. You had that talk with Joey. You can never be too safe. 

"He thinks he's playing spy games," August snorts. 

"Anyway, I should make the rounds," Nick says. "Act like I want to be here." 

He ushers you onward. His name comes from your back and you nearly twist your ankle as he pulls you with him. You turn and face a slender blonde man grey slacks and a checkered jacket. His features are sharp but elegant. 

"There you are. I thought you might play hooky, as you American's say." 

"I told you, I had a thing," Nick counters. "Jonathan," he offers his hand and they shake firmly. He pulls free and gestures to you, reciting your name. 

"Nice to meet you," you say and accept his hand as he holds it out. 

"A pleasure," he turns your hand and kisses your knuckles. "I must say that colour is immaculate." 

You look down and nearly flinch at the sight of your bulging bosom. You want to cover up but that would only make it more obvious. Your face burns. You're not the sort for this. You're too old, too boring. You'd rather be at home with your book. That pairs better with wine than whatever this is. 

"Krissalyn is around somewhere. She was unhappy with the rose so likely she's pestering some poor server," he drawls dully. "Stubborn, though she might let some of that go for a bit of grace." He doesn't look away from you even as he speaks to Nick, "I must ask how you met. He never mentioned a lady." 

"Oh, uh..." you peek over at Nick. 

"She likes to read. We met at a bookstore," he lies seamlessly. "She recommended a good book. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a smarty pants." 

"Ah, and what was the recommendation? I can always go for a new addition to my library," Jonathan says. 

You blink as you stare back at his expectant eyes. His irises are somewhere between jade and aquamarine. Are all Nick's acquaintances this perfect?  

"Oh nothing special, I think it was Odd Thomas," you say. You're not as convincing as Nick. 

"Dean Koontz? Yes, I've read that one. Very unique," he praises. "I am disappointed in his more recent publications." 

"Yeah, I stuck with Odd series," you reply, comfortable to stay on a topic you know well. "Did you read all of it?" 

"A few but I think I've lost track of the story," he replies. 

Nick clears his throat, "if you don't mind, I'll just be stealing my date back. I see Turner's here." 

"I didn't think you were fond of him," Jonathan remarks. 

"Not really but who's really fond of who in this room," he leads you away. 

He approaches another man. This one is flustered as he tugs at a lock of his sandy brown hair. His blues eyes rove over the room frantically. 

"Turner," Nick calls to him. "You didn't bring another mole, did you?" 

"She wasn't a mole." 

"She stole your clearance pass," Nick retorts. 

The other man huffs, "please, I don't want to hear it." 

You feel bad for the man. Nick's teasing doesn't seem in good nature.

"Hi," you interject and introduce yourself. "You work with Nick?" 

"Cole," he smooths his hair then fumbles with his suit button before offering his hand. "Uhh, pleased to meet you." 

"Of course. There's so many people here," you peer around. "I don't think I was prepared for this." 

"Me either," his shoulders lose a bit of tension. 

"I'm the kinda person to find a quiet corner, you know?" You say. "Let everyone else get distracted." 

Nick's fingers curl into your hip. Is he trying to rein you in? Well, he didn't really give you guidelines. 

"Yeah, uh, reminds me of a family reunion," he chuckles nervously. 

"Oh, I don't miss those," you smile. "My husband's family was so judgy. I couldn't even make jello without a full critique." 

"We should keep moving," Nick says. 

"Oh, sorry, I don't want to keep you," Cole says apologetically, "Nick, sorry. I didn't mean to." 

Nick grunts and leads you away. You stop and make him do the same. "You're not very nice to your coworkers," you say. 

He snickers, "oh, I'm not." 

"Well, not really, but I hope you don't mind if I try to be." 

"You do whatever you like, sweetheart," he pets your arm and you wince. Your bag vibrates. Again. You've been ignoring the jittering, hoping it's just your nerves. 

"I'd like to know why you brought me here," you say. 

His grin stays firmly in place, "I told you that. You're my plus one." 

You swallow down his reply. He's not going to say it. He's going to draw this out and make you squirm. 

"Nick, might you point me to the ladies?" 

He squints and his cheek dimples. He points past you, "down there. I can show you--" 

"I'm sure I can find my way," you pat his hand as it lingers on your arm and you step out of his reach. 

You turn and walk away. You just need a moment to catch your breath and to figure out why Joey's still calling. It has to be something important. 

You find the restroom and lock the door. You pull out your phone. Another call comes in as you unlock the screen. You answer and quickly put it to your ear. 

"Hi? Josephine?" 

The speaker scuffs, then it sounds like the phone falls. You turn up the volume. You cup your hand over your other ear and listen. 

"Mr. Barber," Joey's voice is shrill and wobbly, "I think I should--" 

"Shh, shh, shh," the low scratching hushes barely reach you. "It's okay, Josie," the deep voice cooes, "you're doing fine. Have I told you that?" 

"Thanks, but I think... sir, please, sir..." she begs as you hear the struggle in her tone. "Can you just..." 

"It's okay. I just want you to know how much I appreciate you," he purrs. "You're a very smart girl, huh?" 

"Mr. Barber," her words crack. 

"Call me Andy, baby," you hear a kissing noise. "It's okay, just relax." 

"No, no," she grits her teeth. "I'm-- don't, please." 

"I'm not hurting you, am I? I'm being nice, baby." 

You stare into your own eyes as you glare at the mirror, in disbelief and horror of what you're hearing. Barber. Andy Barber. That man she told you about from her internship. Her boss. And you don't need to be able to see to know what he's doing. To your daughter. 

"I'm coming, Joey," you hiss and keep the phone to your ear. 

You twist around and storm through the door. You stride out and through the room full of babbling guests and clinking glasses. Your name comes from behind you but you don't turn back. 

"Where are you going?" Nick latches onto your elbow and spins you around. You have to keep from slapping him as your eyes fill with tear. Josephine is crying. She's crying for you. 

"Mom..." 

His eyes search your face and he wraps his hand around yours. He pulls the phone to his ear and listens. He doesn't look away. His jaw ticks. 

He keeps a hold of your hand and forces the phone away from his ear.  He yanks you after him as he charges for the door. 

"Let's go," he snarls. 

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

Hit Me Where It Hurts The Most p. 3 | S.B

feat. Sirius Black x Rowle!reader

SUMMARY: In an attempt to distance yourself from your brother, you inadvertently spend the afternoon with the Marauders, bringing you and Sirius even closer. Later, Rabastan extends an invitation you can't refuse.

CW: strong language, dark themes, kissing, failing love triangle, a whole lot of angst, toxic!brother, protective!Sirius, platonic!marauders, mentions of abuse, reader is traumatized and doesn’t know how to love or accept love properly (pls forgive her)

series navigation | part one | part two | masterlist

You pushed past a gaggle of Ravenclaws into the library, only breathing when the door clicked securely shut behind you.

Thorfinn wouldn't be caught dead in the library. Especially since his face was still healing after Rabastan smashed it in four days prior.

The two days your brother had spent bed-ridden in the infirmary had been peaceful, quiet even, but it was short lived. He was back and surlier than ever, and you were desperate for a bit of respite.

The library was quiet, most students out enjoying the abnormally sunny day. It spilled through the stained glass windows, painting the floor and shelves watercolor, and creating delicious pockets of warmth while you walked through the aisles searching for a comfortable place to settle in.

“Y/n?” A male voice called, vaguely familiar. You turned on your heel, spotting none other than James Potter standing in the Spells section with you.

“Potter,” you said, dipping your chin in acknowledgment before turning to escape down a different aisle.

“Hey, wait!”

Shit.

James jogged after you, and you turned to face him, putting on your most disinterested scowl. “Yes?” You asked.

“Are you here to study?” He asked, glancing at the books in your arms, a few of the ones his very best friend purchased for you.

Does he know?

“No, I'm here to hunt lions,” you replied.

But he only chuckled, unperturbed by your attitude. Fucking Gryffindors. “Well, there's a pack of ‘em over here.” He nodded his head towards the back of the library. “Plus a snake. You should come, ah, hunt with us, yeah?”

“And why should I do that?” You quirked a suspicious brow.

“Because it's no fun to be alone.” He shrugged, oblivious to how hard his words struck you. “C’mon, we don't bite.”

You eyed him up and down, debating what you should do. Sure, you didn't want to be with your brother, but did that mean you wanted to be alone? You were always alone. Thorfinn made sure of it. You had no real friends that weren't hand selected by your parents, and you couldn't stand half of them.

Plus, there was a 90% chance that Sirius was there. You hadn't seen him since Hogsmeade, though you thought of him constantly, keeping his note stuffed in your pocket everywhere you went.

You longed to see him, apologize for how you treated him, how foolish you'd been. Tell him how much you wished it could be different, that it wasn't so…complicated.

But it was. Rabastan had kissed you, making his intentions crystal clear, and you had liked it. He wanted you. Sirius wanted you. And you had no idea what you should want, who you should want.

Your head pulled one way, your heart another, your soul being ripped in half.

“I know we don't know each other that well.” James said, interrupting your thoughts. “And I'm not going to push you. But, it could be fun, y’know, hanging out with nice people.”

You snorted despite yourself. He wasn't wrong.

“Lead the way, Potter,” you sighed.

His face lit up like he'd won the Quidditch Cup. “M’lady,” he said, offering you his elbow. You rolled your eyes, but looped your arm through his anyways.

Anxiety churned in your gut as he led you through the library, jabbering on about last week's Quidditch match, but you tuned him out.

Would Sirius be there? Would he be happy to see you? Angry? What would the rest of his friends think? Do they know who you are? Hate you already?

The two of you turned a corner into a cozy alcove, where several students sat around a large, round table surrounded by bookshelves.

Your eyes immediately locked onto Sirius’, who was perched on the edge of the table by the pretty, redhead girl that hangs out with Snape. His eyes widened, but he managed to school his reaction.

“Y/n!”

You turned just in time for Dorcas to crash into you, throwing her arms around your neck. You immediately exhaled in relief, leaning into her hug.

“Merlin, it's so good to see you,” she murmured, pulling back to cup your face. “Are you alright?” She whispered, and you forced a smile, nodding.

“Aren't you going to introduce us?” The redhead asked, her tone curt but not unfriendly.

“Oh! Everyone this is y/n Rowle,” Dorcas said, turning you to face the group.

You braced yourself for their negative reaction, but they only nodded, looking over you curiously.

“This is Lily Evans.” She gestured to the redhead, who gave you a warm smile. “And that's Peter and Remus.” Two boys sat to Lily's left, the smaller one waving shyly at you, while the other gave you a tight nod. “And you know my girlfriend, Marlene. And Sirius and James, of course.”

You nodded and smiled, waving at them. Sirius immediately clocked the bandages around your fingers, the bones still not quite set since you opted for the less painful treatment, and frowned.

You tried to hide them behind your books, but it was too late. You braced yourself for him to get angry, to start yelling and making threats, but his eyes only softened, laden with concern.

“Move, Padfoot,” Lily said, trying to shove Sirius off the table and shifting his attention. “Come sit by me!”

“Oh, uh, okay.” You walked over.

Sirius slid dramatically off the table and pulled the chair out for you. A giddy nervousness tingled under your skin at his proximity when you sat down, his fingers brushing against your back, his head leaned down by yours.

“Anything for you, darling,” he whispered while pushing your chair in. Before you could retort, he was walking back to his own spot between Remus and Marlene.

“So, what are you working on?” Lily asked, and that was all it took for you to welcomed with open arms. You and Lily talked for an hour about course work and other things while the boys bickered and teased in the background, Dorcas and Marlene too wrapped up in one another to pay mind to anyone else.

Sirius’ eye continually drifted back to you, assessing, but he never interrupted, or interjected. If anything, he seemed pleased that you were getting on with his friends, unbothered that he wasn't the center of your attention.

And you were surprised at how easy it was to talk with them all, how receptive they were to you and your opinions, genuinely interested in what you thought about things. James was right, it was refreshing to hang out with nice people who had no ulterior motive, nothing to gain from you.

With Thorfinn and Rabastan, all of them, really, you felt like a toy being tossed around. Theirs to play with until they got bored and cast you aside. Theirs to control, to mold. Even with Rabastan and all his charm, his tenderness, you knew he had something to gain from tying himself to you, and vice versa.

How much of it was genuine?

A chill raced down your spine at the thought and you shoved it away. You wouldn't let those thoughts ruin this afternoon for you, the first normal few hours you'd had in weeks.

You laughed at one of Peter's jokes, so loudly that you surprised yourself. A big laugh that made your head tip back on your shoulders, tears well in your eyes.

Merlin, when was the last time you laughed like that?

When you wiped the tear tracks away, giggling like an idiot, you noticed Sirius was smiling back at you, affection shining like stars in his eyes.

Your breath seized in your chest, butterflies rioting in your stomach. No one had ever looked at you like that before. Like your joy was their joy, and it turned your heart inside out.

A few more hours passed, everyone shifting around the table periodically until you ended up between Remus and Sirius, helping Remus decipher a text from his Magic History course.

Sirius was warm at your side, his spiced cologne tempting you to lean closer, but you resisted.

Watching the couples being openly affectionate, Lily stroking James hair while he talked, Marlene and Dorcas holding hands while they read, it made your chest ache. You wanted that, the easy affection, the simple gestures, and carefree vulnerability.

And when you imagined doing that with someone, holding hands, kisses on cheeks, mindless touches, it wasn't Rabastan you saw, but the boy sitting beside you, his long black hair hanging in his eyes while he worked on an essay.

How badly you wanted to tuck the hair behind his ear, place a kiss on his cheekbone before pulling away. Maybe his hand would rest on your thigh, knees knocked together. Or maybe he'd press a kiss to your inner wrist, a quiet ‘thank you’…

“Hey, y/n, what happened to your hand?” Peter asked, jarring you from your daydreaming, and the table fell silent.

“Oh, uh—”

Sirius’ eyes trained on the side of your face, his quill hovering over the parchment.

“I fell in the common room, caught myself wrong,” you said, shrugging a shoulder.

“And Pomfry couldn't just fix it?” Marlene asked, ignoring a warning look from Dorcas.

“No, uh, the damage was too severe for a spell, and I wasn't about to take Skelegrow for a few fingers,” you answered.

James grimaced. “How bad could a fall be?”

A hand landed on your knee, heavy and warm. Sirius.

“Drop it,” Sirius warned, glaring daggers at his friends, a stark contrast to the gentle way he was touching you.

They all went wide eyed and quickly turned back to whatever they were working on. Dorcas’ eyes flicked back and forth between the two of you, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him and he squeezed your knee before releasing you, eyes dropping back down at his work.

“I'm starving. Are we ready for dinner?” Lily asked a few minutes later, clapping her book shut.

“Fuck yes,” James, Peter, and Remus said in unison.

Everyone shifted to get up, collecting their things and shoving them in bags, wondering aloud what would be served in the Great Hall.

“You joining?” Lily asked, stopping beside your chair.

“Oh, uh—” you glanced at Sirius, who was shelving one of his books on the other side of the table. “My brother is expecting me, but thank you,” you replied, hoping she knew you were being sincere.

It was actually Rabastan that was expecting you. He’d left a note on your bedside table asking that you eat with him around 7 pm. You hadn't seen him since he escorted you back to your room that day, but it wasn't uncommon for him and some of the others to disappear for days at a time, following orders you'd rather not think on lest you lose your lunch.

This entire time, you'd been trying to convince yourself that Rab was the logical, safe pick, but there was nothing normal or safe about that world. His world. The world that Sirius abandoned.

“Well, you're always welcome.” Lily squeezed your shoulder, following the others out.

“Pads, you coming?” James asked, pausing at the door. Sirius was still hovering by the bookcase, searching for something.

“I'll catch up,” he said, waving James away.

You almost laughed. For all his charm and smarts, Sirius was not great a subtlety.

But James didn't comment, winking at you before his girlfriend dragged him out by the collar. Soon, they were out of ear shock, and a reverberating silence settled over the alcove.

“Did you…did you tell them about us?” You asked, unable to bear the quiet.

“No, I didn't,” he said, shelving his book.

“Then why did they just…accept it?”

“Accept you, you mean?” He asked, turning to look at you. “James is still bent out of shape about the other day in Hogsmeade. He gets all worked up when he sees your brother in hall. And Remus and Peter don't care about your House, blood, or lineage.”

You mulled that over, trying to decipher what the catch was. What their motive could be.

It was like Sirius could see the gears turning in your mind. “Doll, they're just nice people. I know we aren't used to it, it took me ages to stop waiting for the metaphorical shoe to drop. But they really—they're just good mates, is all.”

“S’weird,” you mumbled, and he chuckled.

“It's normal, love. How we grew up…it's a far cry from normal. Or healthy.” He perched on the edge of the table beside you. “They're half the reason I left. I finally could see what else was out there.”

Silence fell between you, and you folded your hands in your lap, trying to hide your bandages. But of course, he noticed.

“I'll only ask once,” he said, lifting your chin so you'd look at him. His expression was deeply serious, jaw tight with tension. “Did Thorfinn break your fingers?”

You clamped your mouth shut, refusing to answer, but you couldn't stop the tears that welled in your eyes.

Evidently, that was all the confirmation he needed.

He eased off the table, lowering himself to his knees in front of your chair. “Does it hurt?” He asked, taking your hand in his and inspecting the bandages.

“Not anymore,” you sniffled, watching as he pressed a kiss to the back of your hands, your knuckles, your palm. Like his lips alone could heal you.

“I'm so sorry, love,” he murmured, meeting your eyes. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Not unless you have some spell that can make me disappear,” you sighed.

Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it, something mischievous sparking in his eyes. “Actually…come with me.” He tugged you up out of your chair, piling your books into your arms before steering you out of the alcove.

“Sirius, what are we—”

“You!” Sirius barked at a random Gryffindor boy. “I’ll give you ten galleons for your robes.”

“Sirius,” you hissed.

“Ten? Deal.” The student quickly shirked his robes and tie and tossed them to Sirius in exchange for a handful of coins. Then Sirius dragged you into an empty aisle and handed you the robes.

“What the fuck are we doing?” You asked, taking the robes from him.

“Going back to my dorm,” he replied, like it was obvious.

“That's very presumptuous of you,” you argued, fighting a smile.

“Not for that, unless—”

“Sirius.”

“Right, so James has something that might help if you ever need to make a quick getaway. I'll show you when we get there.”

You sighed. Leave it to the prank-masters of Hogwarts to have some weird, probably forbidden artifact. “Fine.” You tugged off your Slytherin robes, heat climbing up your neck at the way he was watching you with open appreciation. You pulled on the Gryffindor ones, a bit oversized, but fitting well enough to pass, and shoved your Slytherin ones into your bag.

Sirius smiled, his hands coming up to straighten your tie. “I like seeing you in my colors,” he hummed, shifting his weight to press you against the bookshelves.

“Down, boy,” you chastised half-heartedly, pushing against his chest. If only you were one of those regular couples, and you could snog anywhere and everywhere. No hiding, no sneaking around, no secrets.

“Just one? Please, baby?” He asked, the tip of his nose grazing your cheek.

You smiled, heat spreading under your skin, and pecked the corner of his mouth. “Lead the way, Padfoot.”

He grinned. “Padfoot? Only my friends call me that.”

“Aren't we friends now?” You teased, swiping your lipstick from his cheek with your thumb. “Or are we still pretending to hate each other?” You could hardly believe the words were coming out of your mouth, but it felt so good to be honest, to be real. You were so tired of the song and dance.

With Sirius, you could be yourself. You always could, it's why you felt comfortable pushing his buttons so much.

Deep down, you knew he was safe. It was caring for him that was risky.

���I'll be your lap dog if that's what you want.” He leaned into your touch, his hands finding your hips through the layers of fabric.

“Guard dog, more like,” you said, baring your teeth in a fake snarl, a poor imitation of the spine-chilling one he gave Thorfinn.

He chuckled, the sound low and borderline sinful. “Whatever you need, love.”

“Take me to your dorm,” you said, nudging him backwards.

His brows lifted. “For…”

“For whatever illegal thing you and your mates are harboring.” You shook your head, smiling, and Sirius smiled back at you, a soft, sincere thing.

“I think I've seen you smile more today than the entire time I've known you,” he said, making you blush. “Now c’mon, think you can try to act like a Gryffindor?”

"Obnoxious and self-obsessed? Think I can manage."

Sirius snorted a laugh, and lead the way. You traversed the halls together without rousing suspicion, and Sirius led you into his House’s common room.

You scrunched your nose at the decor. “So garrish,” you ribbed, and Sirius rolled his eyes.

“You literally live in a dungeon,” he argued, and you burst out laughing.

He led you up the stairs and into his dorm he shared with others. It was very burgundy and lightly cluttered, smelling distinctly of mens cologne and chocolate. Even after that short time knowing them, you could immediately tell whose bed was whose.

James had his broom resting by the headboard. Remus had a pile of books and an open chocolate bar on the side table. Peters was the messiest. And Sirius’ had a leather jacket hanging on the bedframe.

He started rummaging through James’ trunk, and you sat on the edge of Sirius’ bed, brushing your fingers over his quilt.

“There you are,” he said triumphantly, withdrawing what had to be the ugliest brown cloak you'd ever seen.

“And what on earth is that?” You asked.

With a flourish, Sirius wrapped it around himself—and vanished. You gasped, jumping off the bed.

“Sirius?” You asked, mouth hanging open in shock.

“Boo.”

You yelped, whirling around to find Sirius' head floating behind you, snickering at your response. He shrugged the rest of the cloak off, becoming visible once again.

“It’s an invisibility cloak. Very handy for quick escapes and sneaking around.” He waggled his eyebrows, setting it on the bed.

You stared at him in awe. “And James won't mind if I…?”

“Not at all. I'll square it away with him tonight.” Sirius reached for your hands, drawing you back towards him. “Your safety is the most important thing, okay? I need you to prioritize that above anything else.”

You nodded, his words bringing tears to your eyes.

“You could take that and disappear forever and I wouldn't blame you for a second,” he murmured.

“Why do you care so much?” You asked despite knowing it wasn't a fair question, nor one with a clear answer.

Sirius was quiet for a moment, looking down at your joined hands. “I--I saw you, y’know, ten years ago when my father kicked Kreature during that dinner? You threw a massive fit. Thorfinn laughed at you for getting so upset, so you put half the damned shaker of salt in his pudding when you thought no one was looking.”

You blinked at him, the memory filtering back, shocked that he had noticed you at all that day. Remembered it after all those years.

“And I saw when you helped a servant girl clean up a mess of spilled champagne. When you buried that dead bird that felt into the fountain in fifth year. Tried to scare me off when you thought your brother would pummel me. Let him take you away in Hogsmeade so none of us got hurt.” His fingers rubbed over your knuckles, grounding you both.

“I see you, y/n, and you're not like them. You aren't vicious, or cruel, or hateful. I just wanted to help you and I—” his voice fractured, laden with emotion. “I didn't expect…” he trailed off, meeting your eyes. “I didn't expect this.” He squeezed your hands, the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth as your heart swelled, threatening to carry you away like a great, big balloon.

“You have helped me,” you said, releasing his hands to wrap your arms around his neck. “I know you want me to worry about my safety—and I am. But Sirius, you—I feel like myself again because of you. Like I’m somebody, and not just—someones.”

His hand came up to caress your cheek, drawing you closer. “You’re everything.”

You closed the remaining inch between you, tugging him forward by his robes and crashing your mouth his. He groaned low in his throat, tongue sweeping across your lower lip in a request for more. You parted for him, battling his tongue for the first taste.

Suddenly, he lifted you into the air, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, and he laid you down on the bed, his weight settling between your legs, never once breaking the fevered kiss. You melted into the mattress, clinging to him as a wave of desperation seized you.

Suddenly, his words from the other day made sense. You were running out of time.

You didn't know what you wanted with Rab, or for your future, but you knew you weren't ready to let go of Sirius. To extinguish whatever connection burned between you.

But the path forward was murky, rife with threats. We're you willing to drag him back into the world he'd escaped from? To put him in danger once again?

The air constricted in your lungs, your muscles coiling with panic, and Sirius pulled back.

“Hey, hey.” Sirius sat up with you and caressed your face, catching the tears you didn't realize were falling. “What’s going on?”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don’t know what to do,” you admitted.

Sirius stiffened. “Do you actually…care about him?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t tell. I can’t tell if I actually do, or if I’m just supposed to. If it’s me, or them,” you answered honestly, and you felt him pull away, eyes flashing with anger.

“He's a cunt, y/n,” Sirius said, blunt as a spoon. “And he’s lying to you. He doesn’t care about you, he only cares about the potential pure-blooded heirs you can give him.”

You gasped at him, shocked by his crass words.

“M’sorry, doll. That's just the truth. The Lestrange’s are awful, the whole bloody lot of them are.”

“I don't want to talk about this,” you muttered, retreating back behind your walls, hurt by his cold response to your honesty.

Sirius sighed, guilt streaking across his face. “I know, I know. C’mere.” He opened his arms to you, and you were powerless to resist the temptation. “We don't have to talk about anything. I just want you to feel safe, okay?”

“Even if it isn't with you?” you grumbled, pettiness letting your tendencies towards hate seep through.

“Even if it isn't with me,” he replied without hesitation, and it stunned you silent, banishing the darkness spreading in your mind. “You could go get some little cottage in London and never see me again, so long as you were away from them.” He nuzzled into your hair, taking a deep breath. “I could live with that,” he said, though his voice twinged with sadness.

No one has ever put your needs before their own. You've always been a bargaining chip, not a priority. Not something to be loved, but bartered. Used.

You sat up on your elbow, studying his face. “You mean that? I don't have to…choose you?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. You can choose whatever you want.”

“But we—”

“Darling, I would love if there could be a ‘we’,” he admitted, his fingers ghosting along your cheek. “But you are under no obligation to chose me because we’ve slept together, or because you didn't chose Rabastan. Your life is your own.”

You shook your head, tears burning behind your eyes again. “I don't think it is.”

He held you a little tighter. “It is. You can leave, like I did. I can talk to James—”

“Sirius—”

“I know you're afraid, so was I. And I know Thorfinn has made you feel helpless, but you're not, love. You're strong as hell—”

You shook your head. “You don't understand, Sirius.”

“What don't I understand? I grew up in it too! I was crushed under their heel too! But I left. And so can you.”

“You aren't listening!” You cried, jumping out of his bed, and he snapped his mouth shut, teeth grinding together. “I can't just leave.”

He climbed out bed, reaching for you. “But I—”

“Sirius, you're a man!” You shouted, and he staggered back. “You’ve always had more agency than I have. I was passed from my father, to Thorfinn, to Rabastan like a cigar. They each took a little bit more of me every time. There's nothing fucking left! I have nothing left!”

“Love—”

You angrily wiped at your cheeks, turning away from him. “Don’t,” you hissed when his hands fell onto your hips.

“Darling, you know that’s not true.” He murmured against you ear. “You’re so much more than a fucking pawn for them—”

“I need to go,” you said, jerking yourself out of his hold and tugging the Gryffindor robes over your head.

“No, baby, please don’t leave—” Sirius followed your towards the door. He caught your wrist, pushing a bundle of fabric into your hand: the invisibility cloak. “At least take the cloak, please.”

You almost refused, but rationality won over your emotions. You threw it over yourself, casting Sirius’ heartbroken face in an obscured haze, and you slipped out the door, throwing it shut behind you.

The walk to your dorm was a blur of tears, everything muffled and fuzzy through the cloak. As soon as you got back to your room, you shoved it to the bottom of your trunk and collapsed into bed, a mess of hiccuping sobs.

The clock tower rang seven bells, but you just pulled your pillow over your head, determined to rot in the safety of your bed until the castle crumbled around you.

“Darling,” a gentle voice cooed in your ear, cool fingers stroking your cheek.

You jerked awake, your dorm dimly lit with candles, moonlight spilling over your quilt. Rabastan was crouched beside your bed, heavy brow knit with concern. “Rab?” You croaked, throat dry from crying. Merlin, you must look like a wreck. Guilt sat like a bludger in your stomach, tugging you down, down…

“Are you feeling alright, love? I was worried when you didn’t come to dinner,” he said, speaking so softly, like you might startle.

"Sorry for missing dinner," you mumbled, unable to meet his eye.

"No harm done," he soothed. “Though, Thorfinn was incorrigible. Going table to table, demanding to know if anyone has seen you, throwing dishes, yelling at ghosts and portraits.” Rabastan chuckled at the cringing face you pulled. “He got so out of hand at the Gryffindor table that Potter got in his face—”

“What?” You asked, interrupting him. “Why would he do that?”

Rabastan shrugged. “You know Gryffindor’s, always sticking their noses where it doesn't belong. Whinging about justice or something. My cousin talked some sense into him before Thor beat him to a pulp, though.”

“Sirius?” You asked, feigning surprise. What the hell were they thinking?

Rabastan nodded. “Seems he hasn't lost all of his sense.”

“Where's my brother now?” You asked, anxiety coiling in your cut.

“Outside the door, I imagine.” Rab caught the nervous twitch of your mouth and frowned. “Don't worry about him, love. It'll all be sorted out soon.”

Soon. Your freedom, vanishing like sand through an hour glass.

“Do I need to take you to the infirmary again?” He asked, resting the back of his hand against your forehead. “You've gone pale.”

“Sorry, no, I—it’s just a headache,” you whispered, pulling the duvet up to your chin.

“Fragile thing,” he hummed, smoothing your bedraggled hair. “First your hand, now this. What am I going to do with you?” There was no malice in his voice, but it still stung. You were supposed to be perfect, but instead you were a mess. A shell of yourself.

“I’ll be better,” you said automatically, a phrase you often used to placate your brother. Tears were collecting along your lower lashes.

He shushed you. “None of that. It's alright to be fragile, little doe.”

“I just—I think I need a good nights rest,” you said, taking his big hand and squeezing it. “But thank you for coming to check on me.”

He brushed a kiss to your knuckles. “Of course. But, before I go—” your heart tripped over itself “—my parents are hosting a dinner this weekend, and your family has been invited as guests of honor.”

You almost laughed at the image of your father receiving that news. He'll be smug for a year.

“And I’d like for you to attend as my date,” he finished, thumb smoothing over your knuckles.

“I'd love to,” you whisper, nausea churning in your stomach.

Rabastan beamed, kissing your knuckles again. “I'm glad to hear it. Now, get some rest, my love. And I'll see you at the train station Saturday morning.”

“Goodnight, Rab,” you murmured, lowering your quilt so he could press a kiss to your temple.

“Goodnight, darling.” He blew out the candle by your bed and slipped out of the room. You heard someone shuffle out of his way, muttering an apology.

Thorfinn. You would cringe if you weren't about to faint.

You needed to figure out what the hell your were doing, and you had less than 48 hours to do it.

taglist: @lovelykat001, @carmenschemtrails, @lolalleins, @fangirl-swagg, @batboysanonymous, @watchmerora, @iheartnostalgia, @simars3, @elizabethblood9

[mrs-starkgaryen]

This chapter has me like

Girl where do I start? The wording in this was 😘🤌

Let's dive in to my analysis like I'm back at uni-

1. "You turn to the mint green wall where your paper airplane resume rests on the hardwood floor like the wreckage of the Titanic sits at the bottom of the ocean."

A) This symbolises their relationship will feel like they're flying high at one but come crashing down eventually. Whether that be one of them dies, personal issues or LA fucks them up.

B) my first thought reading 'Titantic' was 😱 the last time I read something about the Titantic was your last Aegon x Reader but they both survived... Is this your way of hinting that they won't be so lucky this time to have a happy ever after?

2. "He snickers, shaking his head. “Don’t let a man make you uncomfortable. Don’t believe anyone if they say they want to drive you somewhere to see you audition or take your picture and nobody else you know is going. When you go to clubs and parties, watch the bartender make your drink and never put it down until you’re done. Don’t get talked into plastic surgery. Yes, that includes Botox and fillers.”

A) Forget reader, does he want to bend me over? This was so hot, he loves taking care of us.

B) Is this because he's used to what goes on in LA or this possibly him speaking from experience? Has he had such a traumatic experience that made him want to leave acting behind and go into something that will protect future actors from the same fate?

3. “I’m getting married. Figured I’d do the whole settling down and living a quiet life thing.” He spins around one of the photographs on his desk so you can see it. In the frame, Aegon is standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon with a woman around his age, tall and willowy, long thick dark hair, flowing white sundress, wearing black aviator sunglasses to match his."

A) the fuck he is?! Not on my watch

B) I feel like this Becca is someone his family set him up with, to calm him down maybe? I don't feel like he's attached

C) Or he does like her but not enough and he'll realise that when he realises reader is amazing

D) Something defo happened for him to want a calm life..

4. "But you’ve already bitten over the same spot, enlarging the wound, your tongue grazing the notches left by Aegon’s teeth. You giggle as you lick juice from your lips. “It’s so good. You’re delusional.”

A) idk if it was because it was Aegon's bite mark but that was one of the most sexiest things you've written.

B) I bet Aegon watched that and gulped, thinking "oh shit."

C) if when they have sex or whatnot and this is not mentioned or reenacted, I'll riot

5. “Why did you stop acting?” You Googled Aegon before your meeting, so you know some abbreviated version of his story: a wealthy and prominent family in the production industry, several years spent as an actor beginning when he was around your age, a shadowy withdrawal into working as an agent with a practice so small and off the beaten path that it must be deliberate. He could have coasted his whole life on effortless roles in Lifetime movies or Hulu original series. Instead he chose obscurity, and a drab little office in half of a duplex on a run-down street in Elysian Park, and Brandon the receptionist as his sole employee, and clients who are nobodies like you."

A) something has happened for him to disappear like that...

B) could be an illness like people are saying but I feel like it was something traumatic and his family told him not to talk about it as it would affect their image. So he chose to stay close but not in the spotlight

C) Feels a lot like the Olsen sisters, like we have Elizabeth but where did the twins go? Very much like Aegon??

D) I can't wait to see what his sister and brothers are doing in this industry lmao

E) I feel like they're in trouble somehow- celebrity vs celebrity

6. “Um…well I think I got sick of how superficial it was, all the obsessing over height and weight and wrinkles and who’s in and who’s out, the unwinnable contest of who can be perfect the longest. We’re supposed to play real people but we’re not supposed to be real people, you know? And there are just a lot of things about this place that can leave people jaded and fucked up in all sorts of ways we weren’t before. And I don’t want that to happen to you, so I’ll try to make it as good of an experience as possible.” He smiles. It seems genuine. “I don’t really miss it. I’m a better agent than I was an actor.”

A) again something happened and he doesn't want it repeating

B) I copied this mainly because it was probably my favourite section due to how spot on you are? How well you wrote it? Fake people playing real people, barbies and bratz games

7. "You warn Aegon as you return his fork: “You’re going to die early.”

“I know,” he says, watching the oscars scowl at him through the glass."

A) like everyone said, you're going to kill him off, aren't you?

B) unless you've made it so obvious that he isn't. Maybe not physically but mentally, emotionally. You'll find a way around it

C) maybe she dies

D) is the way she described that food going to describe the way one of them ends up? Covered in blood?

8. Aegon grins and slips black aviator sunglasses out of a pocket inside his jacket and says as he puts them on, maybe to the sky, maybe to you: “You are so bright, sunshine.” Then he climbs the steps to the front door of his small, inauspicious office.

A) double whammy, sky and her are bright

B) we've found the reader's name, pack it up

C) and he goes into his office to get away from the sun of the sky and her? So he's defo gonna try and keep away from her romantically as his feelings would be too much and he'll be scared she'll find out what happened to him cuz he doesn't want to break her optimism

9. “Okay. I hope you get the star.”

A) I've got a star spot sticker on rn, so I've technically got it

B) the Hollywood star?? His or hers? Omg I'm banging my head on the wall, I feel like this is significant (or I need to go bed)

10. “Don’t thank me. This place is a curse.”

A) we've got the title, pack quicker guys

B) oh ho, oh ho. We knew it was a curse but why is it to him? WHAT HAS HAPPENED??

11. “Yeah, that’s awesome,” Jace agrees as he shovels pieces of a shrimp tempura roll into his mouth. Jace is Baela’s boyfriend of six months. He’s allegedly getting a PhD in Musicology at UCLA, but he only goes to class one or two days a week and does exceptionally little other than that. Once in a while you’ll overhear him pounding on the Yamaha keyboard he keeps in Baela’s room, cursing to himself and kicking the wall in frustration.

A) oh you really don't like Jace lmao

B) the orcas will be coming for u

Overall, sorry for an essay. I know I repeated a lot of the same stuff but I'm sure something happend. I keep thinking of the Brandon Fraser case (bless him) but idk if you'd go that dark.

Either way, great story so far and I can't wait to delve into the dark underbelly of sunny LA

A Curse [Chapter 1: Chinatown]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent...at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon's right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), a lil age gap, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, big doomed situationship energy, erotic apple eating, Minnesota.

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

He takes your hand without looking at you. He had been lounging with his green Nike Killshots up on the desk when Brandon, the receptionist, brought you in. He had also been playing a translucent orange Nintendo 64; now the game is paused and Mario is frozen on the screen of the 24-inch television, deep underwater and in pursuit of a gold star affixed to the tail of a giant eel.

“Nice to meet you,” Aegon says without much interest. You’re smiling, not that he notices. Then he nods at the receptionist. “Thanks, Brando.”

“Oh, no problem at all!” Brandon trills buoyantly, pulling out your chair for you as Aegon flops back into his own. “Can I bring anything? Iced coffee, matcha latte, Perrier?”

“I’m good,” Aegon says, glancing at your resume where it rests on the desk amongst framed photographs, manilla folders, takeout menus, gum wrappers rolled into tiny balls. You have the impression he hasn’t read it. Nonetheless, you are still smiling.

“How about you, hon?” Brandon asks you.

You don’t want to make him run to a Starbucks or anything. “Um…I’ll take a Perrier, please. That’s easy for you, right? You can just grab it out of the minifridge in the lobby?”

“You betcha!” Brandon darts out of the office and returns in ten seconds. In the elapsed time, Aegon has not looked at you once. Instead, he slouches in his chair and thumps his Nikes onto the desk, sighs, and gazes longingly at the television screen. You sit up straight with your hands folded in your lap. You have dressed in business casual attire for the occasion: a modest yellow sundress and TOMS wedges, warm understated eyeshadow, sparkly champagne pink Dreamer by Anastasia Beverly Hills, matte brown Hope by Huda Beauty. Brandon returns and hands you a green glass bottle of Perrier, ice cold and slippery with condensation, and closes the door behind him as he leaves.

“Look, I’ll be honest,” Aegon tells you, picking up your resume and scanning it blandly. “I don’t want to waste your time, but I’m really not in the market for new clients. Brando made this appointment before I told him that, and then he really didn’t want to cancel it. He liked your resume or something. So I’ll hear you out but don’t expect much.”

“Oh. Well…I really appreciate you taking the time to see me anyway!”

He gives you a swift sideways look as if suspicious of your enthusiasm. It’s not that complicated; you haven’t had an audition in weeks, and none of the other six agents you’ve seen have signed you. Aegon Targaryen’s drab little office in one half of a duplex in Elysian Park is a relative paradise. His blonde hair is gelled back from his face. He wears dark jeans, a teal t-shirt, and a wrinkled tan sport coat jacket thrown carelessly overtop. You’ve Googled him; he’s thirty-five, so a decade older than you. “Where are you from?”

That’s on your resume he hasn’t read. “Minnesota.”

Aegon’s eyebrows shoot up. “No wonder you left. City or country?”

“A town called Apple Valley, it’s about a half hour outside of Minneapolis.”

“So you’re not a nepo baby.”

“A what?”

“Your parents aren’t connected to the entertainment industry in any way.”

“Oh right, no, they definitely aren’t. My dad’s a cardiologist. My mom worked as a waitress while he was in med school, and now she just has a lot of Akitas.”

Aegon flips over your resume and skims the back. “Are they supportive of you being out here?”

“Um…” You chuckle uneasily. “Not really. My older sister’s a pharmacist and my brother’s in law school, so I am definitely the underachieving child. But they’re not too mean about it. They’re just waiting for me to get it out of my system.”

“Law school where?”

“Michigan.”

“State or University?”

“University.”

“So you’re really smart,” Aegon says. He has begun to fold your resume into a paper airplane. “Intelligence is genetic. If your siblings are book smart, you probably are too.”

You smile and shrug, not knowing what to say. “I guess so.”

“Do you have a boyfriend back in Minnesota who’s calling you every other day trying to convince you to come home and marry him and have two kids and a Goldendoodle?”

You laugh. “No, no boyfriend. I mean, I have an ex-boyfriend there. I see him sometimes when I fly home to visit. But he’s not standing in the way of anything.”

Aegon nods like you’ve passed a test. “Do your parents send you money?”

“Yeah, but not a lot. They don’t want to encourage me. I work at a Cold Stone Creamery in Harbor Gateway, it’s just a few blocks away from my apartment. I have a roommate, she’s trying to be an actress too.”

“Ice cream,” he muses. He launches your paper airplane resume; it sails across the room, hits the mint green wall, nosedives to the floor. “Do you like working there?”

“It’s fine. It’s a paycheck. Back in the spring I was doing after-school programs for Mad Science, driving all over Watts and Southeast teaching children about bugs and magnets and outer space, so that was really cool.”

Aegon looks up at you, brow furrowed. It’s the first time you’ve had his full attention. “You were doing after-school programs in Watts?”

“Yeah, it was awesome. The kids were so fun. But I needed something that was more flexible so I could be free during the middle of the day for auditions and stuff.”

He blinks at you a few times. “Why do you want to be an actress?”

You stall, twisting open your Perrier and taking a gulp. “That’s a hard question.”

“It’s literally the most obvious question. If you can’t answer it, I don’t know what you’re doing here.”

“Well, I never wanted to be an actress,” you say. “I just kind of…am one. I can’t read a book without my expressions and my posture changing to match what’s going on in the story. I can’t watch a movie without feeling like I’m in that world with the characters, or, or, or imagining how I would have delivered the lines differently. And then even when I’m doing something totally unrelated…math homework, walking my mom’s Akitas, making ice cream…I envision where the cameras would be if I was being filmed, which way I would tilt my face to catch the light. It’s something I think about all the time and I can’t turn it off. So how am I supposed to be a doctor or a lawyer and spend my entire life trying to avoid every thought that occurs to me organically? It sounds like torture.”

Aegon stares at you, a long golden silence as daylight pours in through the windows facing the east. Then he drops his green Nikes to the floor and straightens up in his chair, studying you. He points to the windows. “Look that way.”

You do, closing your eyes when the glare is too bright.

“Now the other side of the room.”

You turn to the mint green wall where your paper airplane resume rests on the hardwood floor like the wreckage of the Titanic sits at the bottom of the ocean.

“Stand up.”

You set your bottle of Perrier on his cluttered desk and obey, but with some reluctance. “Please don’t ask me to bend over.”

Aegon snorts a laugh. “That’s not what I’m doing. I want you to go to the door and then walk back to me like you’re angry.”

“I have a bunch of acting reels on YouTube—”

“I don’t want to see your acting reels. I want to see you in front of me right now.”

“Okay,” you agree. You go to the closed door, take a moment to shake off the real world, and then walk to his desk, your footsteps heavy and your eyes hard. Aegon’s dark blue gaze follows you and does not waver.

“Look at me like you’re sad.”

You imagine he’s said something horrible to you, a husband who’s broken a vow, a doctor with a grim prognosis.

“Good!” Aegon says, animated now. “You get it. It’s in the eyebrows, not the mouth.” He gestures to your chair. “Now sit down like you don’t want to be here.”

You move sluggishly, like you hope someone will interrupt you; your eyes float boredly around the room. Then you plop heavily into the chair and stare at Aegon, a little vacuously inane, a little resentful like a petulant teenager. You pretend to chew gum you don’t have.

Aegon smiles, amused. “If I’d asked you to bend over, would you have done it?”

“I’d like to say no, but I’m pretty desperate.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “Don’t let a man make you uncomfortable. Don’t believe anyone if they say they want to drive you somewhere to see you audition or take your picture and nobody else you know is going. When you go to clubs and parties, watch the bartender make your drink and never put it down until you’re done. Don’t get talked into plastic surgery. Yes, that includes Botox and fillers.”

You sip your Perrier. “Well, I might get a boob job.”

“Don’t get a boob job.”

“Why not? Basically everybody here’s had one. I think Taylor Swift got two.”

“You don’t need a boob job,” Aegon says impatiently.

“I’m not sure you have all the knowledge to make an informed decision about that.”

“I am so sick of this bullshit,” he mutters, pushing the takeout menus and manilla folders around on his desk but leaving it no tidier. “People cutting up their perfectly normal bodies…people stuffing themselves full of poison…so afraid to look human they end up like motherfucking Bratz dolls.” He sighs and peers up at you again. “Just so you know, I’m getting out of L.A. I’m only going to be here until September. So by then you’ll have to find someone else. But I can get you started, I guess.”

You are beaming. “You’ll be my agent?”

“Yeah, but like I said—”

You squeal and leap to your feet, taking his left hand with both of yours and shaking it vigorously, Aegon gaping up at you. “Thank you! Thank you so much! I am going to be the best client you’ve ever had, I will never ever complain, I will do anything you say, I will audition with snakes and tarantulas, I will swim with sharks.”

Aegon grins, perhaps despite himself. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Why are you leaving in September?”

“I’m getting married. Figured I’d do the whole settling down and living a quiet life thing.” He spins around one of the photographs on his desk so you can see it. In the frame, Aegon is standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon with a woman around his age, tall and willowy, long thick dark hair, flowing white sundress, wearing black aviator sunglasses to match his.

“That’s exciting!” You love weddings. “And you two look so happy together!”

“Yeah, Becca’s pretty great.” Aegon takes a stick of Juicy Fruit out of a pack on his desk, shoves it into his mouth, distractedly rolls the white and red wrapper into a ball. “She’s a real caretaker type. Always trying to do my laundry and pack me lunches and bake pies and whatever.”

“And that’s something you look for in a woman?” you tease lightheartedly. Aegon gives you a lightning-quick annoyed glance, and your smile abruptly dies. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. Please don’t fire me.”

He chuckles and stands up from his desk, his hands in the pockets of his tan jacket. Mario is still underwater, forgotten on the frozen television screen. “Let’s go grab some lunch.”

“Right now?” You slide your phone out of your purse—crossbody, wildflowers, Patricia Nash but found at T.J.Maxx—to check the time. “It’s like 10:30 a.m.”

“They’ll be open by the time we walk to Chinatown.”

“Okay!” Lunch can only be a good thing. Still clutching your Perrier, you trot after Aegon into the small lobby, scuffed wood floor and cheap IKEA couches. Behind the reception desk, Brandon is making notes in a planner using one of those pens with a fake flower on top. He looks up at you and Aegon as you pass by.

“Brando, I’m taking an early lunch,” Aegon tells him.

Brandon is hopeful. “Are you signing her?”

“Yeah, but it’s just until—”

“Oh for cute!” Brandon cries out, and Aegon is stupefied. But you know exactly what Brandon means. He must be from Minnesota too. So that’s why he liked my resume. Los Angeles is kind of like the military; once you’re swimming in this multinational fishbowl, everyone from your home state is a friend.

“What part?” you ask, smiling.

“Duluth.”

“Bet the Pacific Ocean beats Lake Superior any day.”

“Have you been to Venice Beach yet?”

“Oh yeah. Heaven on earth.”

“Good luck with everything,” Brandon says, and then he winks. “I hope you get to stay.”

Stay in L.A. Stay here chasing the dream. Me too. Then you follow Aegon through the front door and down the concrete steps to the sidewalk, out into breezy mid-70s air and sunlight peeking from behind pure white tufts of cumulus clouds. You can hear music and dogs barking. The street is lined with quaint midcentury houses with metal fences and humming air conditioning units in the windows; any businessowners here are hanging their own shingle, beauticians and pet groomers and bakers. On the horizon, you can see the silvery skyscrapers of Downtown.

“So about that resume I clearly didn’t read,” Aegon says as he walks with his hands in his pockets. “Have you done any meaningful acting work since you’ve been out here?”

Why lie? “No.”

He gives you a shellshocked look like this is the worst case scenario. “Well…I appreciate your honesty. So you’ll take anything.”

“Absolutely anything. I mean…” You take an anxious swig of your Perrier. “I’d really rather not be naked.”

He’s laughing again. You’re not sure if he thinks you’re funny or ridiculous. “I’m not going to pitch you for roles that require nudity.”

You are relieved. “Okay. Cool.”

“Where did you act before?”

“After college I did some short films for grad students…they’re all pretty terrible, I’ll admit it, but I didn’t write them…and I was in a bunch of shows at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis. And I worked in the gift shop.”

“Guthrie?” Aegon says. “Like Woody Guthrie?”

“No, common mistake. A completely different Guthrie. Some English lord who was a director.”

“Which shows were you in?”

You describe your roles, all supporting, none leading: Romeo and Juliet, Othello, A Streetcar Named Desire, Pride and Prejudice, Julius Caesar, Anastasia, Frankenstein, August: Osage County, Richard III, Dracula. Aegon listens but he watches you too, the way you stride in your TOMS wedges over the cracked and uneven sidewalk, the way you use your hands too much when you talk, a habit you’re trying to break. His eyes on you—that deep and tumultuous blue—do not feel like a leer, and you think you’ve acquired enough experience in your past three months in Los Angeles to know the difference. Aegon’s gaze is no longer disinterested but methodical, practiced, ever-seeking, notes transcribed not in ink but electrical impulses and ineffable cyclones of neurotransmitters.

“Dracula,” Aegon jokes. “Vampire experience, huh? Maybe we could get you in the Twilight reboot.”

“Is that really happening?”

“It is, but it’s going to be animated. So it’s only voice acting. And I think we can aim higher than that.” He pauses at an intersection and looks lost for a few seconds, then remembers the way and bears to the right. This street is busier, hectic with shops and pedestrians, teenagers on skateboards, vendors advertising their fruit smoothies and boba teas. Red banners printed with twisted dragons and Chinatown 2025 hang from the streetlights. Towering palm trees cast shadows in the shape of windblown leaves. “Do you get along with your roommate?”

This is a random question. You finish your Perrier and discard the glass bottle in a trashcan. “Yeah, she’s really nice, we’re friends. Why?”

“Good. Housing instability is a huge source of stress for young actors, just wanted to make sure you weren’t in danger of ending up sleeping under a bridge.”

“I might be if her boyfriend ever gets a job and can pay half of the rent.”

“Well if it happens, let me know. I can help get you set up somewhere.” Aegon yanks his phone out of his jeans pocket to check the time. “We’ve got a few more minutes to kill,” he says, and ducks into a market strewn with crates of produce: bitter melon, bok choy, pears, pomelos, dragon fruit, peaches, plums, durian, sweet potatoes, kumquats, lychees. You follow after Aegon as he weaves through narrow, crowded aisles, inspecting the wares and waving to shopkeepers that he recognizes. He asks you as he points to a dozen cardboard boxes overflowing with apples: “Does this make you homesick for Appletown?”

“Apple Valley,” you correct him, laughing. “And not quite. I’d rather have Venice Beach.”

“What’s the state apple of Minnesota?”

“I have no idea.”

“Let’s find out.” He uses his phone to Google it. “Honeycrisp.”

“Oh neat! Those are pretty good.”

“Are they?” He searches until amongst the Granny Smiths and Fujis and Golden Delicious apples he finds a box labelled Honeycrisp. “I don’t think I’ve ever tried one.”

“Now’s your chance.”

Aegon picks up a large, glossy apple, pinkish-red and striped with yellow, and takes a massive bite. Juice dribbles down his mouth and chin; he wipes it away with the back of his hand. “I’m going to pay for it,” he assures you when you look startled. He chews, deliberating. “This apple sucks. This is a flop apple.”

“You are blinded by your anti-Minnesota prejudice.”

“It’s boring.”

“How can an apple be boring?”

“It’s like…too sweet. Not tart enough. Not as good as a Braeburn or a Pink Lady. Here.” Aegon tosses the Honeycrisp apple and you catch it. Then, when you stare at the sizeable bitemark he’s left in the fruit: “Wait, I mean, you don’t have to eat that part, obviously. Try the other side—”

But you’ve already bitten over the same spot, enlarging the wound, your tongue grazing the notches left by Aegon’s teeth. You giggle as you lick juice from your lips. “It’s so good. You’re delusional.”

Aegon watches you for a while before he speaks. In the meantime, you finish eating the apple with quick chomps. “Are you medicated?” he says.

“What? No, why?”

“You just seem…I don’t know. Bizarrely happy.”

“Why wouldn’t I be happy? I’m in Los Angeles, I’m living the dream, I have a brand new agent. My life is amazing.”

“Okay,” Aegon says uncertainly; but he’s smiling. When you pitch the apple core back to him, he catches it. Then he grabs a plastic bag off a hook and drops one fresh Honeycrisp apple inside. “We’ll let Brando be the tiebreaker.” He shows two fingers to a shopkeeper and pays in cash. You steal a glimpse of your phone; it’s just after 11:00 a.m.

Down the street from the market is a set of steps leading into what appears to be a basement. Instead, when Aegon opens the red door, on the other side is a restaurant already filling up with patrons. The tables are round and covered with crimson tablecloths; at each seat is one of those paper Chinese zodiac calendars with all twelve animals and their descriptions.

“Good morning Mr. Aegon!” a tall middle-aged waitress says warmly and ushers you both to a table by a large fish tank with opalescent pebbles lining the bottom. From the other side of the glass, colossal black-and-orange oscars gawp menacingly. The waitress passes you a menu.

“No,” Aegon says, snatching the menu out of your hands before you can open it. “Order what you’d normally get.”

Obediently, you turn to the waitress. “Do you have moo goo gai pan?”

She nods. “White rice or fried rice?”

“White rice, please.”

“Mr. Aegon?” the waitress says.

“Boneless spare ribs with fried rice. And a pot of tea, and two wanton soups. Thanks, Lanying.”

She hurries away to tend to other customers. You ask Aegon playfully: “Did I make the right choice?”

“You did. Naturally low-calorie but high in vitamins and protein. If you’d ordered the sesame chicken and only taken two bites I’d know that you probably have an eating disorder. But now I’m optimistic.”

“And you got the most unhealthy thing on the menu. What does that mean?”

“Life is short. I try to keep it delicious.” He taps the side of the fish tank; one of the oscars attempts to maul him through the glass. “Do you exercise?”

“Not by choice. I force myself to walk to and from work, and that’s the best I can do.”

Aegon seems alarmed. “I don’t think you should be wandering all over Harbor Gateway. Especially not at night.”

“There are always other people around.”

“Yeah, and some of them might mug you.” The waitress arrives with a pot of tea and two small, handleless cups. Aegon fills both with tea, slides one to you, and reaches for the little plastic container of sweeteners on the table. “Splenda?” Aegon guesses correctly and then flings several yellow packets across the table to you.

“Can I ask you something now?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Aegon says. The waitress returns with two bowls of wanton soup and makes conversation with Aegon briefly. She inquires about his health, his parents, his business. You wait until she leaves to ask your question.

“Why did you stop acting?” You Googled Aegon before your meeting, so you know some abbreviated version of his story: a wealthy and prominent family in the production industry, several years spent as an actor beginning when he was around your age, a shadowy withdrawal into working as an agent with a practice so small and off the beaten path that it must be deliberate. He could have coasted his whole life on effortless roles in Lifetime movies or Hulu original series. Instead he chose obscurity, and a drab little office in half of a duplex on a run-down street in Elysian Park, and Brandon the receptionist as his sole employee, and clients who are nobodies like you.

Aegon slurps broth from his spoon, stalling. He’s caught off-guard; you can tell by the way deep troubled grooves appear in his brow. That’s part of being a good actor. You have to learn how to read people until you can feel their emotions as if they are your own, until you can mimic them so convincingly your own pulse quickens or your stomach drops. “Um…well I think I got sick of how superficial it was, all the obsessing over height and weight and wrinkles and who’s in and who’s out, the unwinnable contest of who can be perfect the longest. We’re supposed to play real people but we’re not supposed to be real people, you know? And there are just a lot of things about this place that can leave people jaded and fucked up in all sorts of ways we weren’t before. And I don’t want that to happen to you, so I’ll try to make it as good of an experience as possible.” He smiles. It seems genuine. “I don’t really miss it. I’m a better agent than I was an actor.”

“And you’re not even that good of an agent.”

He laughs and shakes his head, just watching you, just trying to figure you out. He looks down at his Chinese zodiac calendar. “What are you?”

“I’m a dragon.”

Aegon reads aloud: “You are eccentric and your life complex. You have a very passionate nature and abundant health. I could see that. Kinda sounds like you.”

“Which animal is yours, the horse?”

“Yeah, 1990.”

You study his description. “Popular and attractive to the opposite sex. You are often ostentatious and impatient. You need people. I don’t think you’re very ostentatious.”

“But no qualms with the other parts?”

“No, the rest seems accurate.”

He stares at you, those overcast blue eyes curious, searching, maybe a little puzzled. When the waitress brings out the entrees, Aegon spears a piece of his boneless spare ribs with his clean fork and offers it to you. “Here, you want to try this?”

You really shouldn’t, but you make an exception. You take his fork and eat: saccharine blood red sauce, glistening gelatinous fat. It’s one of the most delicious bites of food you’ve ever tasted…and then it’s gone. You warn Aegon as you return his fork: “You’re going to die early.”

“I know,” he says, watching the oscars scowl at him through the glass.

You walk back through Chinatown together, Aegon swinging around his plastic bag with his Honeycrisp apple for Brandon, you listening as he tells you what each shop is known for and points out a temple dedicated to the goddess of the ocean. Now the sky is clear and the sun is high, and hot, and blinding when you aren’t under the shade of awnings or palm trees.

You say cheerfully once you have returned in Elysian Park and you can see Aegon’s office, a blue neon sign that reads Targ Talent Agency pulsing in the window: “So do you have any fun plans for Father’s Day?”

“Nope. My dad’s dead.”

“Oh my God.” You’re so mortified you almost trip over your own feet, your TOMS wedges stumbling over the pavement. Aegon instinctively reaches out to steady you, and you grasp his hand gratefully. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine. It happened when I was in college so I’m used to it.”

“He must have been young.” Forties? Fifties?

“Yeah,” Aegon says shortly, letting go of you. “Are you doing anything special?”

“My parents are paying to fly me back to Minnesota. But I won’t be gone long, I promise. It’s just a few days.”

Aegon smirks roguishly. “Going to make time to see that ex-boyfriend while you’re there?”

You smile, a little bashful, a little mischievous. “I might.”

He chuckles. “Enjoy. Don’t get pregnant and ruin all your hopes and dreams.”

“Oh no, don’t worry, I can’t take the pill because it made me suicidally depressed but we use condoms.”

Aegon is bewildered, his jaw hanging open. “You don’t overshare like this in auditions, do you?”

“No, sorry, I thought you were asking me a question.”

“It wasn’t a question, it was a comment.”

“Oh. I thought it was a question.”

He shakes his head and stops at the 2003 Honda Accord—painted in a shade called Desert Mist Metallic—parked curbside, a gift from your parents when you went away to college only to return in disgrace with a Theater Arts degree that they lie to their friends about. From one of the nearby houses, you can hear Take It Easy by The Eagles drifting out into the sun-drenched street. “Is this your ride?”

“Yup! This is me.”

“Well I’m going to make some calls and see what I can get you, and I’ll let you know either way in a few days how it’s going. Brandon has your phone number and headshots…and I can find your acting reels on YouTube if I need them…yeah, I think that’s everything. Okay?”

“Okay. I hope you get the star.”

Again, you have confused him. “What?”

“In the Mario game. The one on the eel’s tail.”

Aegon grins and slips black aviator sunglasses out of a pocket inside his jacket and says as he puts them on, maybe to the sky, maybe to you: “You are so bright, sunshine.” Then he climbs the steps to the front door of his small, inauspicious office.

“Aegon?” you call after him. At the top of the concrete steps, he pauses and turns around. Here in the shadowless midday light, you are overwhelmed with gratitude. It’s difficult to speak without your voice breaking. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

“Don’t thank me. This place is a curse.”

He opens the door and disappears inside.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Guess who has an agent?!” you announce ecstatically as you burst into the apartment. Baela and Jace are in the living room on the velvet orange couch, eating sushi and watching True Blood on the 40-inch flatscreen television that Baela’s parents bought for her.

“Congratulations!” Baela says from the couch. “Finally! I’m so happy for you!”

“Yeah, that’s awesome,” Jace agrees as he shovels pieces of a shrimp tempura roll into his mouth. Jace is Baela’s boyfriend of six months. He’s allegedly getting a PhD in Musicology at UCLA, but he only goes to class one or two days a week and does exceptionally little other than that. Once in a while you’ll overhear him pounding on the Yamaha keyboard he keeps in Baela’s room, cursing to himself and kicking the wall in frustration.

“Is he nice?” Baela asks, meaning your new agent.

“I think so,” you say thoughtfully. You aren’t sure that nice is the right word. “He’s kind of weird and grumpy. But I really like him.”

“Is he old?”

“Not at all. Aegon’s thirty-five.”

“Ew,” Baela says. “Old.”

“I really like him,” you say again, smiling to yourself without realizing you’re doing it.

Baela groans. “Please don’t be one of those girls who fucks their agent.”

“No, it’s not like that. He’s engaged to someone super gorgeous. They’re getting married in September.”

“Huh,” Baela replies, losing interest now. Her eyes have drifted back to the tv. She hasn’t landed a role as a film lead or a series regular yet, but she’s been working steadily since she got to L.A. and her star is ever-rising. Tomorrow she is auditioning for Yorgos Lanthimos’s new movie. She’s not allowed to tell you anything about the script. It’s a secret; it’s an honor.

You go to the kitchen for a drink and stop when your gaze catches on the calendar affixed to the stainless steel refrigerator with plastic magnets shaped like pineapples. Friday, June 20th is circled with red ink; in the box below, you have scrawled the necessary details.

Baela twists around on the couch and sees you. Her voice is gentle; she knows you’re nervous. “When’s your appointment?”

“Next week.”

“You’re really getting sliced up?” Jace says.

You smirk at him, less than appreciative. “It’s just a consultation. But yeah, probably.”

“You scared?” Jace asks, gnawing on a pod of edamame.

Obviously. You sigh. “I think it has to happen if I want to land roles.”

“I haven’t gotten any plastic surgery yet,” Baela says, not meaning to sound smug.

You murmur as you ponder the time and address written in red on the calendar: “Well nobody is saying you need to.” You’ve had no less than ten people suggest implants outright, and far more have implied it. Aegon is the only person you can think of who dismissed the idea summarily…and that includes your parents. Your father has been emailing you doctor recommendations. He must think it’s a good investment for your post-California-detour life.

“It will give you more confidence,” Baela says as she turns back to the tv. “A little extra something to take you to the next level.”

You stare at her forlornly from the kitchen. You are suddenly very aware that you miss being outside: the sun, the heat, the swaying palm trees, the radiant kinetic potential. “That’s part of the problem? My confidence?”

She shrugs, using her chopsticks to dunk a piece of her tuna roll in a small plastic container of spicy mayo. She seems oblivious to how deflated you are. “It’s just so hard to stand out here, you know? The phrase ‘California dime’ exists for a reason.”

Jace glances at you over the back of the couch. “I think you look fine.”

“Thanks, Jace.”

“I think you’re easily a California nickel.”

“That’s super sweet, Jace.”

Now Baela is telling him to shut up and they’re bickering back and forth, but you aren’t listening. You take your phone out of your purse and open Instagram. You search for Aegon and find his account; his username is superstargaryen. You follow him. Within a minute, just long enough for you to click through one of his highlight reels—mostly pictures of the beach and trips to In-N-Out Burger—he follows you back. Then you receive a DM.

Aegon has typed: Brando says the apple is good

You giggle to yourself as you tap out a reply. Told you :)

Aegon responds: Or!!! All Minnesotans have no taste

And then he adds a few seconds later: I had to Google that word…Minnesotans…sounds fake

You reply: Please use Google to get me a job instead

He starts typing something, then stops and reacts with a laughing emoji instead. You pull a can of Diet Coke out of the fridge, wondering what he was going to say before he changed his mind.

Late that night, after a nine-hour shift at Cold Stone Creamery, you shower and crawl exhausted into bed wearing an oversized blue L.A. Dodgers t-shirt that you’re swimming in. You turn on your laptop and open YouTube, search for Aegon’s acting reels from ten years ago, fall asleep listening to his voice like the endless ethereal rush when you hold a seashell to your ear.

[thedissonantverses]

"I wish you would write a fic where..."

Davrin & Lucanis talk about the assassin's assertion that it's unfair to turn a predator against its nature (its purpose). The griffins are in Arlathan forest, and maybe the two men are out there, watching them.

Davrin on how he used to think he needed to be a weapon, and a sacrifice, and how maybe that's not true for him anymore.

OOOOO I like this a lot thank you!!!

Davrin stretched out in shade with Lucanis. They passed his water skein back and forth. Some of the griffons were lolling around after their training session, Suledin and Revas pouncing on each others' tails while Assan had fallen asleep on a tree branch, precariously perched in a way that had both Lucanis and Davrin glancing over at him. Rook and Taash had run off with a handful of the others, chasing them in a game of tag that only they seemed to understand.

"You're sure you don't require my services for their training?" Lucanis said at long last.

His eyes were soft as he looked at the griffons. Davrin was still getting used to the assassin's mode of expression. It was like he held it back, careful not to show too much. Even watching the fledglings, his look of wonder was dimmed. But Lucanis was just as enamored of them as Davrin was, that much was clear.

"I don't think I can afford you. And I don't want to raise them to be assassins, no." Davrin turned back to Assan on his branch with a smile. He'd earned his rest today. "They're not killers."

"But they are." Lucanis gestured to the bone that Ginger was happily gnawing on.

Davrin snorted, Eldrin's words tumbling from his lips. "'Vir Tanahdhal. Not everything in the forest is quarry'"

Lucanis turned to him. "Vir Tanahdhal."

"'The way of the Three Trees.'" Davrin cut his hand through the air.

Lucanis cleared his throat. "I'm...familiar."

"I'm not going to ask why." He really didn't want to know what Lucanis' messed up training had taught him about the Dalish. "The Way of the Arrow."

Lucanis voice softened. "Vir'Assan."

"Yeah well. He grew into it." He smiled, watching Assan's feet twitch as he dreamed. "They're not killers. They're guardians. That's a very different thing."

"Be swift and silent, strike true, and do not waver. Is that not what you want them to do? Waver from their nature."

Davrin ran a tongue over his teeth. A flash, the archdemon's spirit swirling around him, all of that malice and hate, meant for him. Stike true indeed.

"No. They're more than weapons. They belong here. A shield, against the darkness." Rook and Taash had run back and something loosened in his chest, seeing them relaxed and happy with the fledglings. "They were never made for war."

"Is anyone?" Lucanis' face was too knowing.

Then Rook broke out the gingerwort truffles and he groaned. "Not again."

Assan woke from a dead sleep and pounced. His siblings followed suit. Davrin and Lucanis exchanged a glance and ran to intervene.

[skyfallscotland]

The constant "maybe you should have re-read Fourth Wing and Iron Flame before jumping into Onyx Storm, don't blame the author for you being confused" posts are getting on my last nerve.

Stop being a pick me. Do you think we're all over here saying there were "so many people" because we're referring to Lynx & Baylor?

Sorry, I'm upsetti spaghetti. I was fighting for my life with my brain trying to remember all this in the first ten chapters, sorry I thought it was going to be important 🙃

Duke of Calldyr - short blond beard, four different consorts in four years

Duchess of Elsum - dark brows

Duchess of Morraine - high pitched voice, golden-brown skin, ruby earrings and necklace

Duke of Luceras

Queen Maraya - light brown skin, dark eyes, curly hair

Captain Anna Winshire - talkative, strawberry-blond, brown eyes

Captain Henson - female, tightly woven black braids, air wielder

Lieutenant Pugh - male, blue eyes, farsight

Lieutenant Foley - male, agrarian (plant-wielding)

General Tinery - in command of the Southern Wing

Ewan Faber - stocky, sour-faced, Navarrian Fourth Wing wingleader

Iris Drue - wingleader of Navarrian First Wing

Theophanie - long silver hair, high cheekbones and full mouth, pale skin, tattoo on forehead, beautiful, venin sage or maven

They were all introduced in the first ten chapters. Of a 60+ chapter book. This doesn't include description only characters, dragons, or places.

She did a really good job in the last book of introducing the Assembly as "silver beard" or "battle-axe", getting their descriptions stuck in our heads before we moved onto actual names and that, in my opinion, worked really well. That kind of technique can sometimes be greater than throwing a whole bunch of names in off the bat like she did with all these captains and lieutenants, especially if they're not going to be important.

Sometimes giving them a name is giving them significance—to me, it signifies to the reader hey, these people are going to be around a lot, you should know them!

I've also seen people saying "well there's a map and an index" ...these people aren't on there. The Isles aren't on the map. I have no visual for where we're going. If you're worried about spoilers, you can always put the "new" map at the end of the book for those who want to see.

I'm not 'blaming' Rebecca Yarros. She's allowed to make whatever choices she wants, it's her book, but these are choices she's made that she could have made differently, and I don't think it's kind to be calling other people idiots because you think we're all out here forgetting who Tecarus is because you only took in the surface level.

How are we supposed to know who is going to be important? We don't know where the story is going and all of this is getting shoved at us one by one in the opening chapters.

Also, as a generally nice human being, if I were on the other side of this discourse, I would have said "I'm not sure how people are so confused, what are you missing?" Not, "sorry you're too stupid to understand, maybe you should not be reading fantasy" 😃

The internet has made it far too acceptable for people to be rude to others. We're allowed to all have our own experiences and disagree. You can do that without denigrating other people's opinions and gatekeeping fantasy? Ew.

I don't dislike Rebecca or the series in general, I think she did a fantastic job with introductory world-building and introducing characters in the first two books, it's why I like it so much. The techniques she used worked. I just don't think she used them as effectively this time 🤷‍♀️

As I constantly say, if you only read it on surface level, if you're just here casually for the vibes, I love that for you! I wish I was you! But the toxic positivity can fucking go.