#I think I danced when he got convicted

[thebestofoneshots]

A LITTLE BIT OF PAINT | wolfstar x reader

Pairing: R.L. x S.B. x Reader

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings: smut, threesome, finger fucking, oral (male receiving), handj*b, dry h*mping, thigh ridding, p in v, Remus is a mess, mild Dom!Remus (if you squint really hard), he might also have a praise k!nk, Sirius is a flirt (danger to humanity honestly), homoerotic scenes(?), you and Sirius can’t take your eyes off Rem, Rem can’t take his eyes off you either, consent is sexy!

Prompt: Sirius and you are art students and you’ve got an assignment, a nude painting, but you can’t paint each other. Trying to convict Remus to model for you was hard enough, but painting him, while he looks so damn stunning, might prove a harder endeavour to accomplish.

♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut

“So?” Sirius asked as he leaned onto Remus, “would you do it?” 

“Pretty please?” you asked with a small pout and a few blinks. 

Remus sighed, “Why don’t you just paint each other?” 

Both you and Sirius had been trying to convince Remus to be your nude model for an assignment for the last 20 minutes. He was your best friend, and both you and Sirius had always wanted to use him as a model, but had never been too keen to do it, not even clothed. But you needed him now. 

“We can’t do someone we’ve fucked,” Sirius said with a sigh, “We’d already done it otherwise.” 

“Just use each other and draw a face from a magazine,” Remus offered. 

“It won’t work either,” you responded now, “We’ve both been models for the class, they know our bodies.” 

Remus tried not to blush at the thought of Sirius and you, naked in the centre of a room for hours on end while people stared and drew all the small details of your bodies. The details that he assumed had only been seen by the other, now he regretted not taking the class, but scolded himself out of those stupid thoughts. 

He sighed, “Ask James?” 

“Regulus’ gonna do James,” Sirius responded, “He was obviously more than thrilled to oblige him.”

“We wouldn’t be asking you if we didn’t need you, please Moony!” 

Remus looked to the side, licking his lips before biting on the bottom one and sighing, however could he say no to the two of you. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Wait, really?” you asked in disbelief, a huge smile dancing on your lips, it made you look stunning. 

He nodded, “But you’ll owe me, big one.” 

You leaned in to hug him and then Sirius did the same, both of you sandwiching Moony in between the two of you.

“Anything for Moony,” Sirius added. 

Just a few days later, you were outside of one of the classrooms. It was a smaller cosy one that tended to be used for models, with huge windows but near the top of the building so no one would be able to look inside. You had rented it for the rest of the day since both you and Sirius were determined to finish in one sitting, and neither of you was sure if Remus would subject himself to more than that either. 

“You think he’ll come?” you asked as you looked at your watch for the third time that day. 

“He’ll come, luv. Don’t worry about it.”

You sighed, Remus was seldom late. And it took you some time to convince him, you were scared he wouldn’t want to anymore. 

You were fumbling with the keys to the room, and just as you inserted them inside the keyhole, you heard a fumbling at the end of the corridor.  

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, his bag hanging on the side and a coat hanging on the other side. I got held up by the traffic, “I brought the car since it said it was gonna rain, thought I could give you both a ride back, when we were done.” 

You smiled when you spotted him and flipped the keys as Sirius gave you an “I told you so look”. 

Remus was breathing heavily when he reached the two of you, “and then I couldn’t find the room, this place is a bloody maze.” 

Both you and Sirius chuckled at that. “We arrived late to our first class,” Sirius said. “The teacher told us we’d have to find our own model for being late and we made a deal to model for each other, that’s how we met.” 

“I know,” Remus said. He remembered when Sirius and you became friends, first Sirius didn’t shut up about you, then he introduced you to each other, and he understood why Sirius couldn’t shut up about you. Remus and Sirius went way back, they had been friends since elementary, along with James, Peter, Lily, Marlene and Mary. You had quickly gotten along with all of them, and they had made you a part of their little group.  

Finally, the door clicked open and you pushed on it, allowing both boys to get in before shutting it down and putting both the hand lock and the latch bolt. Remus threw you a look. “We’ve heard stories of people walking in on people painting and ruining their stuff by knocking things out. I doubt you’d want someone walking in on you.” 

Remus nodded and moved to sit on the small coach on the side. Thankfully the room was designed in a way to make models feel at ease. There was a music box where you could play tapes on the side, a sofa for them to feel comfortable, and then there was a table in the middle of the room. Both you and Sirius walked to the closet and he pulled on the easels while you went for the props you were planning to use. A small basket filled with fruits. “You brought the sheet?” 

“On my bag,” he said as he nodded to the side. 

“Kay,” you said as you leaned down to get it. 

“You may start changing Moons,” Sirius said, as the boy moved to help him with the easel. They had one in their apartment, and Remus already knew how to set it up from seeing Sirius do it so many times before. 

He swallowed and made sure to finish setting up the easel before nodding and walking towards the table. Sirius was taking off his leather jacket, and Remus attempted to ignore the way his friend’s muscles bent as he did. Sirius had always been beautiful, but this attraction he felt for his best friend was relatively new, he could barely stand it. 

You were still looking for the props when you turned around and spotted Remus pulling his soft brown jumper over his head. He wore a soft beige cotton shirt underneath it that was just a little tight over his arms. You tried not to bite your lips as you stared. Both Sirius and you had talked about how pretty you both thought Remus was, what a shame it was he wasn’t into either of you, if only you knew. 

Sirius gave you an amused look, his lips curling into a mocking smile and his brows shooting up and down. You pushed him lightly with your shoulder and walked toward the table before your cheeks warmed even further. 

“We’ll do mine first,” Remus explained, at least my sketch, Sirius’ next and then we’ll alternate. 

“You’ll do different poses?” Remus asked as he looked up at you, pulling the other shirt over his shoulders little after. Sirius tried not to laugh at the way you were looking at his friend. He had already seen how ripped Remus was, they were roommates, after all. 

“Yeah,” you responded as you got a hold of yourself. “We are gonna make it seem like we drew different people.” 

Remus nodded in response. He was slightly self-conscious about his scars, he’d gotten them as a kid in an accident. His parents were zoologists and worked with wolves, they had taken a puppy home since he was hurt, and Remus thought it was a dog. He pulled the hurt animal out of the cage to “play with it” but accidentally grabbed him from the part he’d been hurt, the animal retaliated by slashing him, face, torso, back, and legs. Remus had been 4 and had no way to defend himself, he also didn’t want to hurt the puppy so he allowed it to happen. When his parents found him, he was crying in a pool of blood, and the wolf pup had hidden somewhere in their garden. 

There was apprehension in your eyes as you stared at his scars, not because they were ugly, you thought Remus was beautiful, but because you thought of the pain they had once caused him. You cleared your throat. “I got this for you,” you explained as you showed him the basket of fruits, you had bought them all yesterday and left them in the small fridge in the room. “You’ll be holding in both of your arms, it’s like a recreation of an older painting,” you explained. 

Remus nodded, taking in the information as he fumbled with the button of his trousers. Half focused on what you said, half mortified over getting naked in front of you and Sirius. 

You pulled the basket in your hands again, “Kind of like this, okay?” you said as you grabbed the basket in the way he would be grabbing it, giving the fruits one last arrangement and taking a picture for reference in case they moved around. He gave you an understanding nod and you gave him a thumbs up in return. Sirius walked over to take Remus’ clothes from the table, and hastily dropped them over the smaller sofa, bringing over a bottle of wine, a decanter and an empty cup. 

“Our concept is based on gods, she’s going for Bacchus,” he explained, Remus was fumbling around with the trousers at the end of his feet, taking longer than he normally would to take off his clothes, Sirius obviously noticed. “She wants to capture the youth and lust of winemaking.” 

Remus gave him somewhat of a stern look and Sirius smiled cheekily in return. “And yours?” he asked. 

“Eros and Psyche,” Sirius responded with a slight tilt of his head. 

“And Psyche?” 

“Don’t worry your pretty head with it yet,” Sirius added condescendingly and got a shove from Remus in return. 

You were looking at the two of them with a smile, you’d always loved the relationship with the two, there was never a time they were more at ease than when they were with each other. 

Sirius sighed, and you smiled. Remus still felt nervous, taking his socks off and keeping his boxers on as he waited for new instructions. Sirius gave him a look as he sat on the window just behind you, and your easel, looking at how you sharpened your pencils and charcoal for sketching. “Would you help me pose him?” You asked, turning your head slightly to Sirius before focusing again on your pencils and canvas, taking a ruler to break down the piece into smaller squares to make sure you got your proportions right. 

Sirius nodded, jumped down from the window seal and picked up the white sheet he’d brought from his backpack. 

“Time to take them off, mate,” he said. Remus swallowed and nodded, taking off his boxers carefully and throwing them in the same direction Sirius had thrown the rest of his clothes. Then he placed his hand over himself and stared in between you and Sirius nervously. You were still focused on your canvas, so you didn’t quite see the interaction, but Sirius did and smiled. He had the inkling little feeling that maybe Remus was into you. He had told you about it but you had shrugged it off, Remus had become something like your best friend, there was no way. 

But Sirius had known Remus for longer than you did, and he knew his friend like he knew the back of his hand –and boy he knew that one well from seeing it so much while painting. And the nervous glances Remus kept throwing your way, made him feel a little more confident of his theory. Perhaps all the two of you needed was a little push, and then that one recurring dream he had could become a reality.

Sirius extended the sheet over Remus and placed it on his arms, just falling off the shoulders like some kind of shawl, he then accommodated the sheet covering one of his legs and his private parts. Remus seemed reassured by that, and Sirius again, tried not to smile knowingly. He then passed Remus the basket and helped him accommodate it in place.

“It's not too heavy is it?” 

“Not right now,” Remus said as he held it between his hands. Sirius then proceeded to place his hands on Remus’ bare back and traced his fingers over his friend’s muscles in a reassuring and discreet manner, giving a light squeeze near his neck. 

“Relax,” he said as he looked at the boy. Sirius had no idea how little relaxing that devious smile of his was, Remus’ skin burned at his touch. “Lean your head back a little bit, would you?” Remus swallowed and did as told, anything to have Sirius step away before he noticed the things he was actually doing to him. “A little bit more,” Sirius insisted and placed his hand on the boy’s neck. Allowing it to linger as he moved him around as he pleased. 

“Hey Angel,” he called, and you looked up, smiling at the sight of the two boys, “Is this all right?” 

“Come here,” you told Sirius, he finally let go of Rem and walked towards you, standing just behind the easel just at your side. “What do you think? Isn’t he a little too stiff?” 

“Yeah,” Sirius responded. 

“Thought so,” you breathed and left your pencil and charcoal on the easel before walking towards Remus. “Close your eyes, would you?” you asked softly. Remus hesitated before doing what told. “Take a deep breath for me, good, that’s good… Remember that time you told me about your trip to Dover? You told me you climbed to the very top of the castle, that it was freezing cold and that no one but you had been brave enough to climb up to the roof. It was empty but there was a thin layer of snow on the ground. So thin that when you pressed your feet, it melted away allowing you to see the stone. 

“You mentioned you leaned over the edges and got to see the castle, the grounds and then, then you got to see the ocean.” Remus' tense self was slowly starting to subdue. “You said you could hear the distant waves, and then you felt a small prickle in your cheek.” 

“It started snowing,” Remus said softly. 

You smiled, took a grape from his basket and placed it near his mouth, pushing it in between his lips. He opened his mouth when he felt the fruit and ate it with a frown, opening his eyes to look at it, and then at you. You were so bloody close to him. 

“There you go,” you said with a smile. “Much better now, keep that relaxed face of yours so I can paint it, will you?” you added teasingly. Remus was munching on the grape with a confused and yet amused face. You gave him a short wink and then went back to your spot, missing the slight flush that coated his cheek. 

“Comfortable?” Sirius teased. 

Remus threw him a look and you swatted Sirius with your pencil softly. “Stop teasing him, he’ll tense again,” you scolded. Remus couldn’t help but smile at the small interaction between the two and you finished up with the sharpening, picking up the pencil and starting to sketch. Remus let his head fall back as you traced, closing his eyes and changing his stance every once in a while, pulling his head off and watching you knit your brows together as you moved your pencil over the canvas. 

“You’re getting the proportions wrong,” Sirius said. “His hand is bigger than that.” 

You grumbled in return, “I know! I just–“ you pulled an eraser and started to furiously move it over the canvas, Remus was looking at the two of you carefully. “I can’t get it to work out.” 

“Want help?” 

“You can’t keep helping me when I don’t get the hands right…” 

“Why not? You always help me with light and shadow, you’re an expert.” 

You sighed, “It’s not the same Sirius.” 

“Yes it is,” he said in a no-nonsense kind of way, then he placed his hand over yours, and started guiding your sketch. “Come on, loosen up.” 

Meanwhile, Remus was looking at the domestic scene between the two with a mix of admiration and longing. The two of you looked stunning as you painted him, both deeply focused on the canvas, with a casual glance straight at his hand holding the basket, he smiled as he saw Sirius lean even closer to you, obviously unnecessary but something Sirius did often anyway. He had never seen his friend as smitten with a human as he had seen him with you. 

Eventually, Sirius let go of your hand and you added a few other touches. “Do you want to start painting or should I start with my sketch first?” he asked. 

You turned your head and stared at the cloudy sky, “I’ll use the sunlamp for my lighting, we can do yours if you want, that way you take advantage of natural light for your drawing.”

He nodded, “Okay, get ready, I’ll work on the canvas.” 

You sent him a short wink and he walked behind his easel. Remus took the time to put down the basket and accommodate the sheet around him a little better. “Cold?” you asked, “we can turn off the AC.” He shook his head. Just self-conscious then, you realised. Well, he won’t have to worry too much about that.

You took your hoodie off and then, but it wasn’t until you took a hold of your shirt and flipped it over your head that Remus realised what was going on. Your hands were behind your bra when he averted his gaze to the side completely blushed. “Sirius, If you’re painting her, can I leave?” 

“Of course not,” Sirius said simply, “I’m painting the both of you.” 

“You what?” 

“Eros and Psyche, remember?” 

“But you said you couldn’t paint people you’ve fucked,” he retorted in a rather accusing manner. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’ll switch her hair colour and you’ll cover her face.” 

“You never said I’d have to pose with your naked girlfriend!” 

“It’s okay Rem, I don’t mind, I’ve been a nude model for the class a couple of times.” 

Remus, as he would naturally turn to look at you when you spoke, but quickly turned his head to the side when he realised you were now completely naked. 

But I do! He thought as he tried to think of anything other than the curve of your breasts. Naked grandma, naked grandma.

You eyed Sirius, “Maybe we can–“ you started, biting your lip. 

“Nonsense. We’re all adults, go on.” 

You gave Sirius a stern look and he gave you back an equally determined one, nodding towards Remus, a clear indication for you to walk his way. 

You took a deep breath but did what he wanted anyway. Walking towards Remus and gently placing a hand on his shoulder, “Hey, If you really don’t want to do this-“

Remus’ head snapped your way, he focused his eyes on yours as best as he could, “No, I– I just– I wasn’t mentally prepared.” 

You smiled and tilted your head. You could see the self-restraint he was using not to look at your chest, Sirius was really trying not to cackle behind you as he sharpened his pencils, “You can look,” you said, “you’re gonna see them anyway Rem.” He gave you a frustrated frown. You smiled teasingly in return. 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked. He was about ready to just stare for half a second and then move on with his life but he couldn’t quite look away. Not when he saw them perk up for him, his warm breath so close to you causing such a reaction. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Sirius said with a smile from behind the easel. The kind of confident smile of one who knew he could touch them whenever he wanted. 

Remus cleared his throat and looked at Sirius. Naked grandma. NAKED GRANDMA. “Go on with your painting, yeah?” 

“You haven’t even posed,” he retorted with a smile. You turned your head over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend, “where do you want me?” 

Remus tried not to think of those words, and not to memorise them either. He didn’t want to have dreams about it. Sirius on the other hand, smirked and walked over to the two of you, “Alright mate, time to lose the sheet,” he said as he pulled the one thing covering Remus’ body. While Rem shot to cover himself, Sirius gave you a look and then winked. 

You narrowed your eyes at him as you tilted your head, what the hell are you up to, pretty boy?

“Okay, Moony. I need you to sit on the table.” Remus did as told, “Now open your legs a little bit.” Remus gave a stern look to Sirius but did as told, still using his hands to cover himself. “Please Rem,” he added, “I’ll show you mine and you’ll show me yours? Take those hands off, would you? We’ve both seen plenty of dicks already.” 

You were looking at Remus’ clavicle as he did, trying to avoid the spot that made him so self-conscious, but Sirius was way bolder than that, and he stared straight at his friend’s cock instead. Was that a twitch? Sirius smiled, bit his lip, and turned back to you. 

“You’ll be in between his legs, he’ll have his arms around your arms and his head on your shoulder, is that okay?” 

“Okay,” you said simply. Now, had it been any other person, perhaps you wouldn’t have accepted the pose, but this was Remus, you trusted Remus. 

Remus, who realised there was no use in arguing, did what Sirius had described, leaning forward so you wouldn’t have to stand so close to him. He tried to avoid his chest brushing into yours, ever the gentleman. Anyone else might have just taken advantage. 

Sirius nodded and walked behind his easel again, “Luv, hide your head on his neck, okay?” 

“Mhm,” you said and did as told. Being so close to Remus was making you feel things. He was really warm and strong. You enjoyed the way he held you, Sirius could tell. He also knew you as the back of his hand. 

“Would you mind leaning in a little closer to him?” 

You nodded and did as told. Now your chest was brushing against his, Remus could feel your hardened nipples against his chest, the tip of his ears was now red, even if a good deal of blood was going south. You assumed it was due to embarrassment. 

Sirius had already started to draw, and you decided you’d try and ease him, you bent your elbows and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, allowing his grip to become a lot more secure, “It's okay,” you whispered. “Sirius is way faster at sketching than me, he’ll be over in a second. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” 

“No, I’m sorry for making this so awkward,” he said softly. “I bet you are used to this and I’m making it weird.” 

“Not really,” you said honestly, leaning your head on his shoulder a little more, that was something you had done often, with clothes, though. “I’ve never modelled with anyone other than Sirius. I only said I would because it would be you.” 

“You what?” Remus asked, you accommodated and your lips accidentally brushed against his neck, he felt the blush spreading, he was losing control. He couldn’t keep thinking of a naked grandma when he had you pressed against him, whispering on his neck, your warm breath against his skin igniting him like a match against dry leaves. 

“I only agreed to Sirius’ pose when he proposed it because you’d be the male model. I don’t like modelling so close to other people.” 

Remus sighed, closing his eyes, his cock was already half hard, and here you were talking to him about trusting him to be the male model, he was a total dick. 

“Luv, lean in a little closer would you?” Sirius asked. 

Remus didn’t even have enough time to give Sirius a warning glance since you confidently did as told, and that’s when you felt it: hard, brushing just under your belly button. You pulled apart just for a second and looked down.

He is huge.

Remus was beet red and staring at Sirius with a mix of exasperation, embarrassment, and anguish. But neither of you seemed to mind, you just pulled your hips slightly back and went back to the previous pose, your nipples brushing against his chest again and making his boner grow even more. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured, “It’s actually quite normal, you’d be surprised how many times it happens.” 

Remus had his eyes closed shut and was trying not to think, not of your soft chest against him, not of your soft breath fanning against his skin, and certainly not of how close your pussy was to his dick. 

You could tell how much more tense he was now. “Do you want to take a break?” 

“No,” he said quickly. “Let’s just get over with it.” The last thing Remus needed was to take a break only for it to happen again the minute your skin came into contact with his. 

“Are you sure? You’re a lot more tense now, Moons,” you said with a frown as you gently brushed your hand on his soft back, tracing a finger over one of his scars without quite realising you were doing it. 

He shook his head, “No, it’s okay.” 

“Remus–“ Sirius started. 

“It won’t work,” he snapped a little harsher now. 

Sirius’s perspicacious look turned into a smirk, he knew he wasn’t imagining things. He gently placed his pencil on the easel and walked over to Remus. “Why not Moony?” 

“Sorry?” He asked, nervous. You felt him tense even further and pulled back, he got a glimpse of your breasts again and he only became harder. 

“Sirius, you’re making him more nervous,” you added with a frown, your hand still brushing reassuringly on his back. 

“No,” he replied, and focused his gaze back on Remus. “I want to know why it wouldn’t work.” 

Remus grabbed the basket that was still lying around and placed it over his lap, covering his ever-growing boner. 

“You don’t have to respond to that, Rem.” 

“He does,” Sirius insisted. 

Remus looked at Sirius in disbelief before huffing. “You’re making your bloody gorgeous girlfriend, pose with me and hug me, and lay her head on my shoulder, all while naked. And you’re looking at us, with that, piercing fucking gaze of yours while you do. A break is not going to help because you’ll make us do it again!” 

Sirius still had a stern face on, but you noticed the small twist on his lips, he was holding back a smirk. 

“Sirius,” you warned. 

“No,” he said and focused on Remus again. “Remus, you think my girlfriend’s gorgeous?” 

“Everyone thinks your girlfriend’s gorgeous.”

“No, Remus. Do you think she is?” 

Remus avoided Sirius’ gaze, red with embarrassment and anger. More at himself than anyone else. His jaw was clenched and his eyes squeezed shut. 

Sirius threw you an amused look and you gave him an impatient one. You could tell he was playing with Moony and you didn’t like it one bit. Sirius, though, wasn’t one to stop things so easily, and he pulled you softly from your spot in between his legs and took it, placing both hands on Remus’ shoulders who just tensed even further. He leaned closer to his ear, “I’m asking you something, Remus.” 

Remus didn’t reply, the muscles of his jaw clenching and unclenching. You were about to pull Sirius back but he spoke again, “I’m asking because–” he tone was softer, the threatening tone from earlier fading into a more lewd one, “It’s okay of you do,” he whispered, and then pressed his lips to Remus’ tense shoulder. Remus’s eyes snapped open and he spotted you, you gave him a short smile, and then he felt Sirius’s lips pressed against him again, “because we both have the hots for you as well,” Sirius mumbled against his skin.

Remus swallowed thickly at that, and you could feel a familiar pulsing between your legs.

Remus pushed Sirius off, the other boy just stared at his friend with a smile, “don’t play with me, Black!” he warned, angry and steady. 

“He’s not,” you interceeded. Sirius was a flirt, it was hard to believe him sometimes, but for you, who had been with him for a while, it was easy to see the shine in his eyes when he saw Remus, it wasn’t there when he saw other men. You walked over to Sirius and took hold of his arm, laying your head gently on his shoulder and allowing your entire front to be exposed to Remus. “The question is, Remus, do you like us back?” 

Remus’ breath was caught in his throat, he wasn’t sure what to respond, could he even?

“And what does that mean?” 

You shot Sirius a glance, there was a silent understanding between the two of you, a small nod from Sirius, and you walked closer to Remus, “It means we like hanging out with you,” you said softly and took a step towards him, “It means we like having you around, It means we like it when your eyes brighten as you speak of a new book you love and it means we love the way your hair falls on your face when you forget your umbrella and you borrow one of ours.” You were dangerously close to him now, “It means we like it when you stand close to us, it means we would like to touch you,” you placed a hand on his leg, and traced from his knee to the thick of his muscle, and left it there while making soft circles with your thumb. 

“It means when we invited you to model for us we were being selfish, we wanted to have more of you than we normally did,” Sirius said, also walking closer, “It means I specifically had to wear bigger pants because I knew the moment I saw you naked along with her, my mind would roam, and take me back to my dreams.” 

“Your dreams?” Remus asked as he gulped, gaze darting between your hand on his leg and Sirius approaching both of you.

“Our dreams,” you interceeded, having him turn back to look at your face. “The question is, Remus–“ You grabbed onto the basket and started to drag it away from him. “Do you want us? Or is this just a natural reaction?” you asked, nodding back to his hard cock, trying not to lick your lips as you did. 

Sirius still hadn’t touched Remus, but he was standing so close he’d only have to lean in to kiss the boy’s neck. “I–“ Remus hesitated, and looked at Sirius, trying to find confirmation. He could barely believe what was going on, perhaps he had fallen asleep on your shoulder and this was just a figment of his eager imagination. 

Sirius smiled and nodded down. His pants were big, but not big enough to hide the tent that had formed in his pants. Remus swallowed again. By now you had already discarded the basket of fruit, a couple of them rolling out and scattering on the floor with a loud thud. None of the three seemed to hear it, all of your gazes were firmly set on each other. 

“It is real, Remus,” you said and leaned close enough to kiss his neck near the spot Sirius had kissed initially. You had wanted to do that while Sirius was sketching the two of you, and you took the chance to finally do it. Still, neither you nor Sirius had touched Remus’ cock, you wanted him to say yes before you did something irreparable. But unlike Sirius, you didn’t leave your kiss as a small innocent one, instead, you opened your mouth to his skin and started licking and sucking lightly. 

A strangled moan escaped Remus’ lips. and you smiled, continuing to kiss him in the same way, eager to hear the sound again.

“Should we take that as a yes?” Sirius asked, voice raspy and low from how turned on he was at the sight of the two of you. 

Remus let out a soft scoff, and then he pulled you from his neck, he hated the disappointed glance you had as he held your face in between his hands. Your eyes were blown with lust and your lips were wet from the kiss. 

You swallowed, ready to pull apart but Remus dragged your head towards his and leaned in just enough to plant a desperate kiss on your lips. You were surprised at first but quickly melted into him, moaning as he dragged his demanding tongue over your lips, which only fueled him further, he wanted to hear those sounds, he wanted to hear the both of you make those sounds over and over again until he was deafened by them. 

“Yes,” he whispered as he pulled apart, panting for air and dropping smaller kisses around your face, “bloody hell yes!” he insisted. 

Sirius leaned in, and whispered on Moony’s ear, “Should have told us earlier.”  He pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, but quickly moved down to kiss the boys jaw, “We’ve been dreaming about you for months.” 

“Imagine my surprise when Sirius woke me up, panting your name,” you said, “I thought it was a nightmare until I felt how hard he was.” 

Remus sighed and leaned his head on your shoulder as Sirius continued to kiss him, you took that as an opportunity to place your hand on his back again, allowing your fingers to feel and touch every single part of him that you hadn’t been able to touch earlier, and that you found absolutely stunning. 

Another moan escaped Remus’ mouth when he felt your hand on his back, and Sirius smiled, the wicked smile of his and he pulled apart from his neck and easily sat on the table before moving behind Remus in a kneeling position, taking both of his shoulder and pulling him back from the hunch he’d been on. The sight of both boys almost set you on fire, Sirius noticed, he noticed almost everything. 

“Moony, love,” he said as he leaned into the boy’s neck and allowed his hand to softly massage Remus’ back muscles, “Isn’t she stunning?” 

You threw Sirius an inquisitive look and he just winked, he seemed to always know what to do. 

“She is,” Remus breathed, eyes hooded as he allowed Sirius to touch him, clearly lost on him. 

Sirius smiled, “I want you to touch her,” he said with a smirk, “touch her like you wanted to touch her when I was drawing the two of you behind the easel. I saw you looking at her, I saw the way your hands fought to stay in place.” 

“Sirius,” Remus warned. 

But Sirirus’ smirk only grew wider, he knew his words were sending both you and Remus into a state of absolute frenzy, all he’d have to do was push you into each other, “Touch her, I know she wants it as much as you do.” 

Remus was hesitant, but he placed his hand on your shoulder and dragged you closer to the two of them in a soft pull. You looked up at him and smiled, squaring your shoulders and allowing him to see your almost throbbing nipples, desperate to be touched, and to be held by either of the two. 

He was slow and hesitant, allowing his hand to fall from your shoulder to your arms, and then to your waist, and to the small of your back. Sirius placed a soft kiss just over Remus’ ear and then whispered, “Touch her, Remus, touch the place you’ve wanted to touch since you saw that little black bra of hers that makes me lose my mind.”

Remus breathed, he remembered the little piece perfectly, he allowed his hand to drag up, and let his thumb rest right under your breast, feeling the soft bounce of it and gently rubbing underneath, an innocent touch, almost a graze, nothing in comparison to the way Sirius would sometimes grab at them, and yet, it was just making you wetter. “Remus,” you whined as you leaned your head on his free shoulder. That seemed to be the fuel he needed to drag his hand even further up and allow his thumb to brush against your nipple. You clenched against nothing as he did, and moaned. He had a small scar tracing just around his thumb, the feeling of textures against your skin dragging you to heaven.

Sirius smiled at your reactions and started to kiss his neck. Which had Remus’ head tilt back in pleasure. That’s when you leaned your hand down again, eager to feel him, you were gentle and decided to give him enough time to stop you if he wanted, but the slow massaging of your hand towards his cock was only making Remus grow harder, a small droplet of precum already coming from his tip. He hadn’t even dared to dream of such a moment, and here you were, making it happen. When your hand finally wrapped around him he let out a breathy moan, his hand on your breast tightening. You smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder. 

“May I?” you asked softly. 

“Please,” he managed to say, Sirius chuckled at his neediness but Remus was quicker and pulled on his hair to drag him to his mouth. The longer-haired boy was surprised at first but quickly smirked into Remus’ demanding kiss, swallowing all the moans that would leave him as you slowly brushed your fingers over his cock. First, tracing a thin line from the bottom to the top, right over the pulsing vein. And then you wrapped your hand around him, firm but gentle, and rubbed the tip with your thumb. 

Sirius pulled from the kiss that Remus chased into just to let you hear his moans and whispered, “Do you hear that, love?” he said as he placed a hand on Remus’ neck to keep his desperate lips from crashing against his mouth again. “You’re turning him into an animal.” 

“We are,” you responded and tightened your grip around him, starting only now to gently stroke. You got to hear another moan from Moony before Sirius returned to kiss him. You leaned your head on Remus’ shoulder again, that place proving to be one of your favourite sports of the night, and started to trace kisses up his neck. You could feel his reactions in the way he would sometimes squeeze your breasts a little harder, or when he moved his hand down your waist. “And he makes such lovely sounds, doesn’t he?” 

Sirius hummed in return, not daring to tear his lips away from the kiss. 

Then you reached Remus’ ear. “If only you knew how wet you’re making me,” you whispered, a sly, fox-like smile appearing on your lips. Sirius threw you a side glance in between kisses and raised one of his eyebrows at you. 

“Show him then,” he said before going back to kiss Remus, but using one of his hands to place it on the boy’s waist. “Pull back a little, Moons.” 

Remus did as told, giving you enough space to be able to climb into the table as well, both legs on either side of one of his, and then slowly you let yourself down onto him, sighting at the feeling of his muscles against your sex. Remus gave you an encouraging squeeze on the waist, and that was enough for you to start grinding yourself onto his leg. Somehow, you managed to maintain the strokes on his cock as you rubbed onto him. 

“Do you feel that, love?” Sirius asked as he broke the kiss to have the two of them look at you. You had your eyes closed and were focused on both your hips and hand movements. You felt Remus’ cock twitch, but you didn’t know it had been because he was looking at you. “Do you feel how wet you’ve made her?” 

Remus looked at his glistening leg as you slid down and then up again, firmly pressing yourself against him, even if it was hard with the position you were in. He flexed his muscles and he felt your hand tremble in his cock, “She’s so pretty, Pads. You get to see her like this all the time?” 

Sirius chuckled and decided to kiss Remus’ neck, so they could both continue delighting at the sight of you riding his leg. Remus seemed hesitant at first, but he dragged his hand down to your waist and towards your leg. Clearly giving in to the temptation to touch.

“Go ahead, she likes it,” Sirius encouraged in a chuckle and Remus didn’t think twice. You stiffened when you felt his hand brush against you as you pushed yourself into him, now opening your eyes to figure out whose hand had been bold enough. You smirked when you realised who it had been. 

“Still curious?” you asked and pushed yourself towards his hand again. 

Remus didn’t speak, instead, he focused on brushing his fingers over your folds which had you sight in content. But Remus was slightly hesitant as if he wasn’t sure how to touch you properly. When Sirius realised the lack of moans, he decided he’d help. He placed a quick kiss on Remus’ temple and then moved behind him again. Allowing one of his hands to rest on Moony’s neck and then using the other to trace his arm until he reached the hesitant hand still brushing against your sensitive spots. 

“Like this,” he said as he took hold of his hand and started making his movements more determined. You moaned at the new, more purposeful touch, and Sirius’ smirk grew. “Slow and determined,” he instructed. Remus himself found your clit after that, and he gently pressed his finger over it, testing. 

“Fuck do that again,” you managed to whisper as you leaned your head on his shoulder again, Sirius placed a soft comforting kiss on your temple, your hands on Remus’ cock becoming dumber as the pleasure consumed you. 

Remus did as told, and you moved your hips towards his fingers almost instinctively. “Such a fast learner,” Sirius praised, and you’d swear you saw Remus inflate slightly at his words. 

“Yeah, Moony!” you sighed, voice mellow, something in between words and a moan. “You’re amazing,” you added as you kissed his neck, chasing all the way to his mouth. The hand that Sirius used to teach him, had long forgotten its purpose and had somehow found its way to your breast, pinching and squeezing like he knew you loved. His lips glued to Moony’s neck in the meantime. 

Moony pressed a tentative finger to your entrance, you smiled into the kiss, and pushed into him, he bit your lips as his finger dug inside you, “Fuck,” he whispered into your mouth, “so tight.” You clenched around him, as you pulled from the kiss and brushed the tip of his cock with your thumb, you were eager to hear another one of those melodic moans of his. And you did, reeling on the power he had given you before going back to kiss him. 

“She is Moony, it’ll feel insane around your cock too, I promise,” Sirius whispered to his ear. If you had been thinking properly, you might have swatted him for assuming how things would end, but the idea of having Remus’ cock inside of you only made you wetter, your hips chasing his finger a little more desperate as you used it to chase your own pleasure. 

Remus used his free hand to take yours from his cock and placed it on his shoulder since he knew that would help you be a little more steady, he missed your touch, but the moans he pulled from you were enough compensation. He went for another finger and you moaned at how much more full you felt. Remus had longer fingers than Sirius did, and the scars added a layer of textures that you had never felt before but that you could easily get used to. 

His touch was much more curious and soft than Sirius’ had been the first time, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t aiding you into a state of absolute bliss. Sirius, ever the clever, figured out you were close in a second. He pulled Moony deeper into the table, pulling you along with him, took off his shirt and moved behind you. Both of his tights around yours, Moony’s in between. He pressed himself onto you allowing you to feel his warm and slightly sweaty skin. You could feel his boner pressing onto your ass which had you sight in pleasure. 

“How’s that, my love,” he said. “Do you like having Moony’s hand all over you? His fingers inside?” 

“Sirius,” you sighed. His hands were now on your hips, helping you ride Moony’s fingers with much more ease. Moony’s fingers got faster, and you could feel Sirius holding back from dry humping you from behind, his hips sometimes chasing against your ass, you had neglected him a little. “Like that,” you managed to whisper once Remus did a particular movement, a flick of his finger, and he instantly repeated it. 

“She’s close Moony,” Sirius warmed as he felt you tense, he moved his hands on your body reassuringly, but in the way that he knew you loved, you tensed, tightening around Remus’ fingers, and then let out a long, and quiet moan. “There you go,” Sirius added softly as he brushed his fingers over your leg, both of them helping you ride down from your high. Eventually, Remus took his fingers from inside you and placed a reassuring hand on your leg. You closed your eyes, head still pressed onto his shoulder as you breathed in, Remus had always smelled delightful, but you’d swear he smelled even better today.

You then reached your hand down but Sirius beat you to it, “My turn,” he said as he pushed you closer to Remus and took a hold of his cock. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked Remus with a smile, knowing well his answer. 

Remus gulped and shook his head, which had Sirius smile like a wolf and start playing around with his friend’s cock. He clearly knew what he was doing much better than you did since he had Remus panting and moaning a lot faster than you had. He also had you firmly pressed against Remus as he touched him, if you had wanted to –which you obviously didn’t– you wouldn’t be likely to get out in between the two. Still, you busied yourself with kissing Remus’ neck again, that spot that you seemed to be addicted to.

Remus sighed, and you started to brush your hands all over his body, moaning and grunting growing louder. Sirius felt his friend’s cock twitch in his hand and he knew he was close, so he stopped. Remus gave him a pleading look but he pulled his hand back completely and the you along with him. You didn’t realise what was going on until you saw Remus’ throbbing cock and confused look. 

“Sirius!” you reprimanded. Remus seemed to be struggling to form proper words. 

“He won’t get to fuck you if he comes into my hand,” Sirius responded then leaned his head into your shoulder and looked at Remus with a knowing pout. “Would you rather come into my hand than feel her tight little pussy around you, Moons?” 

Remus scoffed. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting by getting sexually involved with Sirius Black, but he should have fucking expected this kind of behaviour.

Sirius smiled, “How about we help him cool down a little but keep him hard, darling?” 

You leaned your head back onto Sirius, opening your legs a little for Remus to get a better view of your glistening sex. “What do you like, Remus?” You asked in the most innocent tone. As if you were asking about the taste of ice cream he preferred and not the kind of shit that turned him on. 

But frankly, neither you nor Sirius would have to do anything special to turn him on, he already pretty much worshipped you. Remus was still at a loss of words, he stared at both of you, then down between your legs and then up at your faces again. 

“Do you want me to eat her out?” Sirius asked as he tilted his head. 

“Or would you rather see me blow him?” 

“Cowgirl?” 

“Doggie?” 

Remus was sure that if you didn’t stop you, you might just list the entire kamasutra before he made a choice, “anything.” 

You tsked and shook your head, “No, Moons, that’s not the deal,” you replied. “What do you want?” 

Again, he saw you tense and relax between your legs as you asked him, and he didn’t miss the smirk that drew on your lips when he started. “I want” –he hesitated– “touch him.” 

“Your wish is my command,” you said with a smirk and instantly turned to Sirius, making sure to have him spin around enough so that you wouldn’t have Remus just look at your back, although he would have been more than happy staring at the way your ass moved. 

“Did you hear that, Pads?” 

Sirius hummed in response as he helped you accommodate, you were now cradling him. You first went for a kiss, soft, but demanding, as you two kissed, you lowered one of your hands and gripped Sirius over his pants. He moaned into your mouth and you pulled back from the kiss, no matter how addictive his lips were, you wanted Remus to hear his precious moans as well. 

Remus’ hands were itching to go back to his cock when he heard Sirius’ moan. He was too pretty, both of you were, he could still barely believe what was happening, but he sure loved every bit of it. “Help me get this off,” you said as you turned to Remus and pressed your hands onto Sirius’ belt. 

He raised his eyebrows amused and you gave him a short wink. He did as told. Leaning in closer and unbuckling the belt before sliding it off Sirius who was a moaning mess since your hand was still on him. Once Remus managed to move the button off, you were quick to digg your hand in and Sirius raised his hips a little to take it off along with his boxers. 

Remus’ cock twitched when he saw Sirius’ hard and proud. He wanted to touch it as much as he wanted to see you touch it, but he wasn’t sure Sirius would want him to touch it so instead he moved his desperate hand to the boy’s neck. You smiled at that and brushed yourself against him, passing his cock over your folds a few times to coat him with your wetness before gripping at him securely. 

“Sto–p teasing,” Sirius managed to say, and you laughed, placing a soft kiss to his cheek before wrapping your hand around him and starting to stroke. Remus seemed fascinated by the way you moved your hand on Pads, like you knew exactly what he wanted when he moaned or moved his hips slightly to the side. At some point Sirius started to chase your hand with his hips as well but Remus placed his hand on his legs to keep him down. Sirius turned to the boy with a frown and Remus smirked.

“I said I wanted her to touch you, not for you to fuck her hand,” he replied in a low tone. 

You giggled at the stifled moan that left Sirius’ lips when Moony said that, and continued with your strokes, turning your wrist so you had a bit more control and toying with the tip whenever your thumb got close enough to it. 

“Close,” Sirius breathed and you smiled, looking at Moony with a small smirk before pulling back a little from both of them but still stroking. Then you pulled further down and Sirius almost came in your hands at the mere image of what you were about to do. You pressed a kiss to kiss your stomach, and gently lowered down, allowing your nipples to brush over his cock causing him to shudder. 

You licked your lips before going down and pressing a soft and gentle kiss over his tip, you could feel the blood rushing and his cock twitching. You then pressed your tongue to him and Sirius let out a low, almost imperceptible groan. The first, soft splurt of his cum fell on the outside of your mouth before you wrapped your lips around him and sucked the rest of him dry. By the time you were done, Sirius was panting and gripping onto Remus’ leg as he attempted to catch a breath. You raised yourself back up to look at them both. 

You opened your mouth to show you had yet to swallow it all and then turned to Remus, “Want a taste?” 

Sirius was already sore, and yet when Moony nodded and pulled you in for a desperate kiss, he swore he felt himself twitch again. In a matter of seconds, you had climbed onto his lap, leaning into the kiss and only pulling apart to see his reaction, a line of spit still connected the two of you as smirked. 

“Fuck,” Sirius said in a low moan at the sight. 

“How was it?” you asked as you bit your lip. 

Remus tilted his head and dragged your hips to his, “Is not over yet, is it?” 

“I meant the taste,” you replied as you rolled your hips on his cock. 

He licked his lips, and laid his head on your shoulder as he looked at Sirius. “Fucking delicious,” he said.

You pressed a soft kiss to his neck. “Bet,” you added before rolling your hips against his again. “Ready?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Good,” you said, and then lifted yourself, brushing on his cock a couple of times before bringing your hand down to it, brushing his tip on you, making sure to brush your clit, and then slowly, sinking yourself onto him.

You breathed out as you did, getting used to his size, and he waited patiently for you to finish. 

“You all right?” he asked softly. 

You let out a breathy “Yeah.” 

“Tell me when I can start moving.” You squeezed your walls around him. “Fuck–“ 

Sirius laughed from the side and placed a hand on Remus’ arm, “Did I not mention she has a tendency to do that? I almost came the first time she did it to me.” 

You squeezed again and then started to move, slow and steady at first, Remus was a groaning mess again and it only fueled your resolve to continue moving and squeezing, eventually, his hips started thrusting up into yours and your movements seemed to synchronise. 

“Touch her too,” Sirius suggested and Remus did as told, quickly bringing one the hands that rested on your waist to your clit. You started to roll your hips so you could increase the pressure and he helped by moving his finger closer. 

“Is that good?” 

“Fuck yes,” you responded. 

You continued for a while, and you felt Remus get extremely close, if his moaning indicated anything but then he stopped thrusting into you and you slowed your pace with a questioning frown. 

“Can…” he panted. “Can I try something?” 

You nodded in return and Remus smiled, he pulled you up with his hands on your waist –his cock still inside you– and flipped you around, now your back was laying on Sirius’ chest and you could feel his semi-hard on your ass. 

“Moony what are you–“ he started but was shut up by a kiss as he thrusted into you. Both the kiss and your asscheeks brushing onto him had Sirius harden even more as Remus thrust in and out of you. 

“Touch her the way she likes,” he said to Sirius in between kisses and the other boy did exactly that, chasing in between the entanglement of bodies until he found your clit, tentatively, he brushed his hand down to feel where Remus and your body connected and Remus moaned at the feeling of Sirius’ hands on him again. “I said touch her,” he added with a sigh, “I want her to come again.” 

Sirius smiled and pressed a short kiss to Remus’ lips. “Your wish is my command.” 

Seconds later Sirius’ expert fingers were on you, brushing and circling your clit the way that made you brainless, your ass pressed onto his cock and Remus rutting into you quickly made you feel absolute bliss. 

“I’m about to–“ 

“She as well,” Sirius said as he felt the way you moved on top of him. 

Remus reeled at the thought and groaned out as he started to come, he tried to pull out but Sirius was quick to keep him in place. “She’s taking something,” he said simply, and that was enough for Remus to allow your walls to milk him. As he did, Sirius was fast with his hand and you were cumming on Remus’ cock, squeezing him even more as his pace started to slow down. 

Sirius, who was already sore, came for the second time that night a little after, surprising you since you were not expecting to feel the sticky wetness against your ass. 

Remus felt it too, since part of it spluttered all the way to his legs and he looked at Sirius with a mildly impressed stare. 

“You two are fucking hot,” he said, unapologetically. Remus pushed into you a couple more times and then he allowed his weight to fall on both of you. 

“Too heavy?” he managed to ask. 

“No,” you said as you accommodated your head next to Sirius’ and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. He sighed in contentment.  

Eventually, Remus drew himself out of you and then pulled back from his position on top and instead laid with his back against the table. He bit his lip, “I guess you’ll have to find another model.” 

“No way in hell we’re ever gonna look for another model,” you said with a laugh, also rolling from Sirius and letting yourself fall right in between the two of them, “Moony’s just perfect, isn’t he?” 

“Thought you couldn’t paint someone you’d fucked…” he breathed. 

Sirius laughed, “Well, they don’t have to know we’re a thing…” 

Remus felt so many emotions at once, you were a thing, but also Sirius doesn't want people to know.

“…until after we’ve handed in the paintings, and gotten our grades,” he added with a cheeky smile. 

“Besides, the sun is gone,” you added. “We’ll have to come back another day.”

“Didn’t you mention a sunlamp or something?” Remus asked.

“We’ll have to come another day,” you repeated with a smirk. And Remus gave you an impressed look. 

“Do you guys have anything to do?” Sirius asked.

You shook your head and Remus said a quick “No.”

“Why?” you asked.

“I think Prongs is sleeping over at Reggie’s.” 

“Is he now?” Remus questioned. 

“I thought we could have a sleepover of our own.” 

You scoffed a laugh, of sleep, it wouldn’t have much.

Want to support me? Like and reblog this post. Comments are my life fuel, so send them out if you have any.

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Read more Marauders Fiction

[queenofwands89]

Stolen Hearts and Cuddles

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader

Summary: While cuddling, Jake tells Y/N that she made him believe in love at first sight.

Warning: Tooth rotting fluff.

Notes: Hello, this is my first Jake fic. I just watched twisters with my family last week, and it got me back in my Glen Powell feels (Always been down bad for him the movie just reignited that spark lmao), so yeah I hope you enjoy byeeee.

The sun has set, and the soft glow from the table lamp casts a warm, cozy light across the living room. You’re nestled together on the plush leather couch, your head resting on Jake's chest as you listen to the gentle hum of the city outside your window. The faint aroma of popcorn lingers in the air, remnants of your impromptu movie night.

Jake's arm is draped protectively around you, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on your shoulder. You find solace in these moments – the simplicity of being close to him, away from the chaos of the naval base and the pressure of his duties as a aviator.

“Y’know,” Jake's voice breaks the comfortable silence, a confident lilt even in his softer moments, “I used to think love at first sight was just a myth. A fairytale people tell themselves to make life seem a little more magical.”

Tilting your head slightly, you look up at him, your curious eyes meeting his green, mischievous yet earnest gaze. “Oh really?” you tease, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “The great Lieutenant Jake Seresin, charmer extraordinaire, didn’t believe in love?”

A chuckle rumbles from his chest, making you vibrate with the sound. “Hard to believe, huh?” he smirks. “But yeah, I was always about the next mission, the next challenge. Love seemed like a distraction.”

Your fingers play with the hem of his navy blue T-shirt, your touch sending electric shivers down his spine. “So, what changed?” you ask softly, genuinely intrigued.

Jake’s expression softens, the cockiness melting away to reveal the depth of his feelings. He gently cups your face with his hand, his thumb caressing your cheek. “You,” he says simply. “You changed everything.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and you lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against your skin. “How?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Jake’s eyes lock with yours, reflecting a sincerity that’s often hidden behind his confident exterior. “The first time I saw you, it felt like someone had flipped a switch inside me. Suddenly, life wasn't just about flying high and chasing adrenaline. It was about finding a way to keep you by my side, to protect you, to love you.”

He takes a deep breath, as if steadying himself to say something deeply personal. “You didn’t just capture my attention, Y/N. You stole my heart. Completely and irrevocably. And for the first time, I realized that love isn’t a distraction. It’s what makes all the risks worth taking.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your emotions welling up at his heartfelt confession. “Jake…” you begin, but he gently hushes you, his gaze soft yet intense.

“I’m serious, Y/N. You’re my everything. My whole world. The one I’d sacrifice everything for,” he continues, his voice filled with unwavering conviction. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as your lips meet in a tender, passionate kiss. Each touch, each breath seems to reaffirm your bond, a silent promise of the future you will build together.

When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, your heart racing. “I love you, Jake. More than words can say.”

“I love you more baby,” he replies, his voice a soft murmur in the intimate space you share. “More than you could ever know.”

You settle back into his comfortable embrace, the weight of the world outside disappearing as you lose yourself in each other. In that moment, in the safety of your love, you find a tranquility you have never known before.

As you drift off to sleep, the world outside continues to spin, but for you and Jake, your universe is right there on that couch – wrapped in each other's arms, in a cocoon of stolen hearts and unyielding love.

[mingtinys]

" i can't wait to spend forever with you "

pairing : kim mingyu x gn!reader

"13 ways to say "i love you" with seventeen"

warnings : none

word count : 0.4 k

a/n : this is sheer mingyu brain rotting fluff and i am not the least bit ashamed

You wake before him. Soft light filters in through the sheer curtains, warming your skin and painting Mingyu's features with a delicate glow. He looks surreal. Like a statue carefully sculpted from pure marble. A dream come to life before your very eyes.

It's hard not to admire him when he's like this. His eyelids lax, long lashes splayed out beneath,  the freckle at the tip of his nose, the pout on his lips. Every little detail that makes Mingyu, Mingyu. The rise and fall of his chest is easy and even, bare skin framed by the white sheets that slipped from his shoulder during the night. You tug them up when he shivers, letting your fingertips linger at his jaw.

You try your best to trace along the sharp curve with a feathery light touch. But it isn't long until your impulsive thoughts win over and your lips move to capture his. You think you've been pretty discreet until you feel Mingyu hum against your lips and start mirroring your movements.

He's all teeth as he smiles into the kiss. "Good morning to you too." The laugh he lets out is melodic and just hushed enough to not disturb the calm and quiet atmosphere.

"Sorry, I promise I wasn't trying to wake you."

"You are more than welcome to wake up me like that any day." There's a rawness to his voice, raspy yet airy at the same time. It makes your insides melt.

"You have the day off?"

"Mm-hm."

"How do you wanna spend it?"

"With you." He's still got that dopey smile on his face, eyelids droopy from not being fully awake quite yet. He really is a dream, you think. Mingyu pulls his arm from the warmth of the sheets and takes the hand you have resting on his jaw into his own. He intertwines your fingers and holds your clasped hands up where he can see, before bringing them down to his lips and pressing a long kiss to the back of your hand. The simple gesture makes your heart swell with a familiar warmth.

He readjusts, slipping his hand from your grasp in favor of holding yours at the bend of where your palm meets your fingers. The way a prince would when asking for a dance. And as his thumb ghosts over the base of your empty ring finger, your heart stops for a beat. His eyes never break contact with the spot as he speaks.

"I can't wait to spend forever with you." There's a conviction to how he speaks. The lack of hesitance in his words implies he's thought about this before. The lovesick glaze over his eyes only makes it all the more sincere.

taglist: @matchahyuck @dontwannaexsist @minnieminshi @myfavoritedelusion @tanya596carat

[guardianofnightmares]

Sunrise

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

----------

Alright, fellas, next entry to the @blitzbee-week event is finally here)). The prompt of the second day was "Sunrise" and I decided to go more figuratively with it rather then depicting a literal "appearance of the sky" at a particular part of a day. As you can guess by a provided description, Bee basically becomes a "leading star" for a brooding Blitzwing, who, as it seems, is not that thrilled by discovery of his partner.

Just as a previous entry to a mentioned event, this picture is dedicated to my fanfic called "TFA: Icarus". Here's a [link] for the series "folder" which also includes an existing teaser (future prologue) for a story if anyone wants to give it a try. Again, can not thank you enough for all the support you've shown for it so far, I will try my best to come up with updates soon enough.

As it usually goes with such works of mine, I will provide the full snippet of one of chapters, which a depicted scene is taken from, under a cut line for anyone wishing to read more about the scene. Hope you'll enjoy it)

To the surprise of many comrades he’d worked with, the Triplechanger proved to be the most patient mech on a team when it came to long lasting missions. Usually he didn’t find it difficult to lay low and wait for orders to come, even if it meant to stay idle for several solar cycles. It was a useful trait of character which Decepticon rightfully prided himself of. 

Yet, even a seemingly boundless patience had its limits. 

“Can you see anything of use out there?” Blitzwing finally asked his unfortunate “partner in crime”.

A brightly colored mech slipped on the spot upon hearing Con’s voice but managed to regain his balance. 

“Not yet, Blitzwing, give me a klik!” A minibot shouted over his shoulder, holding on the steel bar for dear life. “Climbing is not as easy as I’m surely making it look in your optics.”

If Bumblebee planed to cheer up a Warframe with such a comment, he failed miserably, for it only seemed to sour up an already bad mood of a tall mech. 

To a Decepticon, it felt like forever since the minibot began his ascend up a steep scarp of a crumbled wall. One would think that, thanks to his light frame, he’d manage to reach the top level in no time. But even this uneven terrain, made of torn sheets of metal and broken cables, proved to be a challenge to an agile Autobot. 

The damned energy chain, which linked limbs of both mechs to each other, clearly was the greatest obstacle for Bumblebee, barely giving him a chance to move as far away from a somber mech as possible. Not to mention that a Decepticon was forced to stand on one pede in order to accommodate his companion’s slow conquest of new heights. 

Admittedly, a Triplechanger considered an option of tearing the bug’s pede he’s bound to off. But that type of cuffs always latched onto anything in their vicinity (while being activated). Meaning, the chances of getting tied to a nearby wall, as a result of said actions, reached more than 90%. 

Tearing his own pede off was not part of a Warframe’s plans. 

“If you haven’t noticed it yet, Bumblebee Prime, we don’t have plenty of time left to hide in these tunnels,” A “former” convict grumbled in response while surveying his surroundings for an up-tenth time. He didn’t notice how a Bot winced at the mention of his new title.

Minibot knew he deserved that snide remark. But it did not make him feel better about his recent promotion to an Elite Guard. Or about a decision to become one for that matter. The decision which led to a situation where an Autobot and a Decepticon got lost under an Iacon city. 

They had to hide in maintenance tunnels from the times prior to a Great War. Tunnels built by Decepticons for Autobots’ use, and left by them to slowly rot in an utter disrepair after the said War was officially ended. Sealed off since the banishment of Warframes from Cybertron, eventually the structure turned into an urban myth not many of currently living mechs remember or even know about.

An old complex Blitzwing and Bumblbee were currently navigating in was once part of the major supportive structure. Meant to protect veins and tubes once full of energon, that section was made of sturdy materials which stoically passed the test of time. 

The Decepticon would’ve lied if he’d said he’s not pleasantly surprised by that discovery. 

But it did not bright up his mood by much - they still needed to find a way to the surface level of a planet. 

“Foolish of me to expect a scout with no field experience to do a Warframe’s job,” the mech muttered under his breath, words bitter on his glossa. “Perhaps I should have been the one to search for an exit after all”.

Blitzwing had no intent for the last sentence to be heard by his peer, but an aforementioned scout, apparently, had nicely tuned audials. 

Figures. 

“And to risk exposing your Decepticon signature to raging authorities? No, thanks!” Bumblebee chirped after successfully reaching for a rod sticking out of a long abandoned structure. “It was already enough of me putting everything at risk by making stupid decisions - I don’t want to see you following my lead.”

Somehow the fact that a minibot admitted his mistakes helped to somewhat cool Blitzwing down. He said nothing in return but did glance at him once prior returning to surveying desolated surroundings. 

Bumbler’s changed since the promotion to the ranks of an Elite Guard. He seemed to act more mature, even if he’s still naive about most things happening around him. For strangers it’d be an unexpected change of character for such an optimistic and energetic Bot as Bumblebee. But Blitzwing was no random outsider, whether he liked to be on closer terms with a current companion of his or not. 

Death of a teammate has effected the minibot on a much deeper level then he’d ever admit to anybody, even to himself. Yet, despite how horrible it might’ve sounded, the Decepticon thought that that was an important lesson every soldier had to live through. And as a mech, who’s witnessed deaths of many of his comrades throughout the Great War, he had to agree that Bumbler was holding up pretty well for someone so inexperienced in mentioned matters. 

Even Blitzwing, who did not know Prowl as well as a yellow Bot did, felt the loss of a mech effecting him as well to a certain degree. No matter how secluded and cold the cyber-ninja seemed to be, he always had a special aura around him, the one that made people feel at ease in his presence. Though how he could so freely speak to a Con about importance of life and probability of peace among Cybertronians remained a mystery to him to that solar cycle.  

What was that thing black and golden Autobot’s talking about during the last conversation of theirs? 

“To have Faith not in Primus, not in The Allspark, but in each other”?

What exactly made him see it being possible back then and, especially, at a current stage of the reignited conflict between factions? Triplechanger had no answer to that question either. He didn’t view how the world should work the same way Prowl did. Could not fully comprehend the intricacies of a philosophy of an Autobot, but, at least, did not lack the courage to make it very clear during a mentioned discussion of theirs.

Blitzwing didn’t have Faith in anyone anymore, and he surely wouldn't in a foreseen future. 

For who could remain being supportive of their unhelpful, unwanted partn-… Autobot, while being lost in Allspark forsaken place with no means of escape?

…

“… -es! I see the gap in a wall!.. Blitzwing, I actually see it!”

The joyful voice tore Triplechanger from a deep melancholy state he slipped into while looking down a dark tunnel to his left. He raised his ruby optics, their faint glow barely lighting sharp features of his blue faceplates.

“Right where you’ve predicted it to be,” The Autobot added after turning around in order to face his unfortunate companion, unintentionally giving him quite a peculiar view of his small form.

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

...

Blitzwing huffed in mild annoyance at himself and his artistic side of a processor - it was not the right moment for poetic comparisons. Hope and Faith had no place in a situation he was stuck in, only cold calculations. He and Bumbler had to get out of that place, no matter the cost. And the sooner they’d get rid of an energy chain, the better.

[chlerc]

soft spot ; lando norris

— summary; being his academic rival doesn’t justify why he’s got a soft spot for you, but he does. and he finds himself giving you everything you wanted and if he could.

pairing — academic-rival-lando norris! x f. reader ( third person story )

word count — 1361.

content — he’s sharing his study notes with you because he wants you to do as well as he does though he’s sure you don’t need his notes because you’re really smart, like smarter than him. got him wrapped around your finger too!!!

NAVIGATION + author’s note: surprise surprise, we got educated lando norris can you believe it?? i'm joking!! i just thought this would be a cute thing to write about, old situationship-ish-kinda inspired lolol

song recs for this fic — soft spot.

Lando sat at his usual spot in the library, the steady hum of muted conversation floating through the air as he lazily twirled his pen, his textbook sprawled open before him. He scribbled half-hearted notes on the margins, his mind far from the equations in front of him. Across from him, she sat with an air of quiet determination, eyes focused, every gesture deliberate as she effortlessly worked through the problem set. There was a certain grace in the way she moved, her concentration almost tangible, and he couldn’t resist the urge to break the silence.

“You’re staring,” she murmured, her voice low but tinged with amusement, though her eyes remained fixed on her work. The scratch of her pen was soft, almost rhythmic, as if even her distraction couldn’t break her focus.

He leaned back, a smug grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Just wondering how many hours you'll spend on that before you realise I’m still ahead of you in class.” Her gaze flicked upward then, sharp and challenging, a subtle gleam in her eyes. “In your dreams, Norris. I’m just letting you think you’re ahead, so you don’t feel too bad when I crush you in finals.”

Lando’s smirk deepened, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand. “Is that right? Because, if I remember correctly, I outscored you on the last mock exam.”

“By half a point,” she retorted smoothly, the gleam of competition still in her eyes, though a soft smile tugged at her lips. “And I was sleep-deprived.”

“Oh, of course,” he said, his voice laced with teasing. “Always an excuse with you.”

She arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as if conceding, though her expression told him otherwise. “Not an excuse — just facts. You should get used to it, because next time, you won’t even come close.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically, but beneath the playful façade, there was something else. He enjoyed these moments far more than he’d ever admit — the way they pushed each other, a constant dance between rivalry and something more tender, something unspoken. The tension between them hummed with an energy that was undeniable, though he’d convinced himself it was merely competition. Yet, no one else made him feel quite like she did.

And after every other gruelling lecture, she would pull him along on yet another one of her spontaneous convenience store runs. He trailed a step behind her, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression one of mock reluctance.

“Do you really need something this time, or are you just dragging me out for the fun of it?” Lando’s voice was laced with faux exasperation, though his gaze softened as it lingered on her.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, a knowing grin lighting up her face. “I like the company. Besides, I know you don’t mind.” His lips quirked into a smile he tried to hide. “I definitely mind,” he muttered, though his tone held no real conviction, and they both knew it.

“Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that,” she teased, her laughter ringing out softly as she reached for a snack on the shelf, tossing it into the basket. Her movements were effortless, as if these small, mundane moments were enough to make her day brighter. “You should be grateful I’m keeping you out of trouble. What would you even do without me?”

Lando leaned against the shelf, watching her with a smirk. “Probably live a quiet life. Go home, play video games in peace. Not have to deal with your very demanding schedule.” She laughed, a light sound that danced in the air between them. Nudging him with her shoulder, she shook her head. “Come on, you love it.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he replied, though the way his eyes lingered on her told a different story.

Later, on a night he would’ve sworn he’d never be caught in — under the dim lights of a club, with music vibrating through the walls — Lando found himself in his least favourite environment. The bass thrummed through the floor, and the crowd pulsed around him, but she was there, pulling him onto the dance floor with that irresistible smile.

“You really don’t dance, do you?” she teased, her voice barely audible over the music as she tugged him closer, her touch light but insistent. “I told you, I’m not a fan of this whole scene,” he muttered, his feet shuffling awkwardly, though his gaze never left her.

“And yet, here you are. For me,” she said, her smile widening as their bodies moved in sync, her laughter soft and sweet against the chaos of the music. He shook his head, feigning exasperation. “Only because you begged.”

“Begged?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she spun around, catching his gaze again. “Please, Norris, I didn’t beg. I knew you’d come.”

“And why’s that?” He has an eyebrow cocked up, smirk on his lips with his arms crossed. “Because you can’t say no to me.” Her voice was light, teasing, but the truth in her words hung between them, undeniable. He sighed, his hand slipping to rest on her waist, pulling her closer. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I know,” she replied, her voice dropping just slightly, her eyes locking onto his. “And you secretly love it.” Lando chuckled softly, though there was no denying the way his heart stuttered in his chest at her touch. “Yeah, okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

But even as he said it, there was something deeper. He didn’t want to admit how much she got under his skin, how much she’d already wrapped him around her finger. She was his academic rival, the one who always challenged him, pushed him — but she was also the only one who made him feel like this, the only one who could shift his world so effortlessly.

And yet, there were nights when his world felt like it was tipping too far. His workload piled up, deadlines looming, and he found himself cancelling their study plans more often than not. But one evening, after cancelling yet another one, he showed up to her seminar unannounced, determined to make up for lost time.

She spotted him as soon as the seminar ended, her brows knitting together in confusion as she walked over to him. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you have, like, a ton of work?” He shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, but I figured I’d spend time with you anyway.”

Her stern expression softened into something more amused. “You don’t have to come to my classes to prove a point, you know,” her hand running through his dirty brown strands. “I know.” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just… missed you.”

The teasing look in her eyes faltered for a second, replaced by something more tender, something unspoken between them. “Well, I missed you too, you idiot. But don’t think this gets you out of cancelling our last three study dates.” He laughed, pulling her into a gentle hug. “Fair enough. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better,” she replied, her face pressed against his chest, and for the first time in days, the weight on his shoulders felt just a little lighter. “Here’s the notes I collated from our recent classes.” He tosses her his notebook, decorated with sketches of different cars and though he never said it, sharing his notes with her was just a quiet way of showing her he cared. Because he had a soft spot for her.

But late at night, when the world fell quiet, Lando often found himself thinking of her, unable to sleep. She had become the constant in his life, the one who made him feel things he never thought possible. He didn’t want to fall in love — not really — but there she was, challenging everything he thought he knew. She didn’t ask for anything, but somehow, he found himself wanting to give her everything. 

And though he fought it, though he tried to convince himself that it was just rivalry, just competition — deep down, he knew. He was already hers.

[morbidmorbid]

Daryl finally reaching the point of the relationship where he can just surrender to the one he loves. Him, on his knees, face buried in your cunt just because he understands now just how much he loves you and can bare himself to you completely.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ADD TO THIS!!! THAT PERSON HAS SINGLE HANDEDLY LEFT ME FERAL OMG!!!! i need that man, I think we ALL need that man 💳💥💳💥

i got uuuuu and sorryyy i’m so late to this i’m a slow writer plus life but here u go !! um this wasn’t supposed to be.. all of this but i can’t help myself. explodes.

18+

⁀➷

it was challenging to get daryl to sleep sometimes.

eyes peel open, gradual, slow. sleep doesn’t weigh heavy on your lids, hadn’t deemed the chance to for prolonged rest was difficult to come by. still, finding idleness was an almost unfamiliar casual occurring and while slow to get comfortable with, it wasn’t completely unwanted. so when your muscles ache and the death in your face suffocates you, you take the chance of a bed and a falsified home even if it comes to be fleeting.

daryl sits perched on the windowsill, cigarette alight.

his dislike for new or change wasn’t the case now, perhaps it was that constant uneasiness that came with the ignorance of another world. daryl, in this state of the world, didn’t kneel to forged comfort—he’d told you that not with his words but with the emptiness in alexandria where his presence should be. he’s recruiting with aaron, he’s on a run, he’s not here. you understand his reservation and while you often touched convictions with him, this was a bit different, this one felt close enough to right.

you don’t bother maneuvering much, only turning a curious head over in his direction. the tidied sheets beneath you ruffle in contact.

“so that’s why i couldn’t sleep.” you say and it’s light, a quip that gently prods. it’s a joke at him forgoing the spot in bed beside you for hard wood beneath him and smoke in his lungs.

daryl takes a drag and pinches it between fingers. inhale, eyes you, exhale, turns away. “right, sorry.” he apologizes for it in his seriousness, watches your eyebrows scrunch in hilarious disbelief and tips in: “looked pretty damn sleep to me, though.”

he hadn’t bothered to crack a window amidst his smoke and it infiltrates the air. it fills your lungs and keeps you from biting back at him that, yeah, you might’ve been somewhere drowned in a dream—whatever those conjured up to be in this time—and it’s an odd thing. to sleep, to fall in deep enough to become unaware of the real around you, and you stick daryl on that development. perhaps things wouldn’t be that simple or easy, there wouldn’t be the opportunity, the comfortability in letting go for a breath.

if not for him perched right where he sits against the glass and looming around you in your vulnerability, likely ignorant to the umbrella of defense he creates.

the sun is long gone and doesn’t burn against the glass like before you’d dozed, only now the enveloping darkness.

“when did you get back?” you ask. his crossbow leans dirty against the wall near the threshold, arrows bloodied. daryl hasn’t shaken the vest or his shoes, nor the dirt on his hands and wedged beneath his fingernails. you reckon thirty minutes, though daryl surprises you.

another drag. “sun was still shinin’ over ya.” he says. it’s been a long while, then. had he eaten? or had he’d smoked his few stale cigarettes and chewed on his thoughts in the stretch of time and that itself is an upsetting possibility.

you purse your lips and your locked fingers dance against eachother, thoughtful. while he seems as he always is, he isn’t. there’s a reason behind everything, the good and the bad, and this one fell between both. “can you come over here? i’m cold.” daryl was a cautious man with little trust and that was good in this world, but right here his hesitancy to pursue not only this false town but you as well was not as pretty as good reasons go.

but that was selfish thinking and unfair to daryl’s morals.

he watches you and years prior he’d been unreadable, but you’re accustomed and he looks like someone who doesn’t believe your words. “it’s sweatin’ balls in here.” he unnecessarily shoots back. daryl, always running behind with your jokes, or maybe he understands but shies away from what you’re asking. daryl was always someone who’d have to work back into accustoms if detached for a while, always slow to reciprocate—even though he so strongly did—lest you’re persistent.

“well, i’m shivering.” you’re saying as you make to rub two hands together to search for warmth. warmth you didn’t need for it already filled you, but a tactic is a tactic.

daryl scoffs a laugh that’s too quiet to catch, but it’s seen. he stubs out his cigarette then, marks the wood in an ugly manner. when he makes the small walk towards the bed, towards you, you’re meeting him halfway as you walk on knees to the edge.

he stops when you speak up. “you’re not getting in bed with all that shit on, are you?”

“was.” he confirms and shrugs and it’s humorous to see how serious he is, how he doesn’t grasp onto the issue.

“take it off, it seems uncomfortable.”

“i ain’t uncomfortable.”

“daryl.”

daryl could be good with orders—could be, a meticulous sort of arrangement—when he agreed with them. this was a mixed case whereas he seemed pulled between the two; the look in his eyes and the firm stance before you screaming i’m fine, i’m staying put. then the other end of the stick with what he eventually complied with in the form of slouched shoulders, guard down, capable of finding that same comfortability in your ways that strived for his growth that he does in his own ways.

still, he grumbles. “ya killin’ me.” and then his jacket goes, his vest, his worn stitched gloves.

you know that daryl prefers to be prepared no matter the situation, doesn’t like to be bared to the world for not even a breath and his heedfulness is commendable. though right here in the warm box that isn’t your inauthentic bedroom but your presence, you recognize his needs are a broad category and this is one of the many.

daryl needs his own relief to come back to despite the state of the world—everyone else has their own, whether in another or in themselves or in between, and daryl deserved just as much.

when he goes to indulge you, two hands coming down against the mattress, you dodge. “don’t forget your shoes, dar.” and he’s all eye contact before finally crouching down. “no shoes in bed, it’s barbaric.”

“guessin’ i oughta get my underwear off, right?” he smiles a small one, sarcastic. “beat ya to the punch.”

you shrug for the joke and he scoffs at it. he bends at the knees nevertheless, lightly hitting the floor and fingers reaching to shove themselves in the heel of his shoe. one goes and joins the pile, but before he can twin the other foot, you’re bringing a hand to his hair. he’s a bit sweaty there, strands darkened in consequence and instead of grimacing, your chest swells with pride, gratitude; daryl’s a fighter and it shows even in the smallest things.

“thank you, by the way. really.” you say when you notice he’s halted his movements. he doesn’t budge even when you move from strand to strand, fixing him, watching his forehead come into view. his brows and shoulders remain lax which is good, encourages you. had it been before he would’ve been a quick hand on your forearm with alarm, unfamiliar in the intimacy, hesitant.

he doesn’t look up yet. “thankin’ me for?” and against your palm he leans.

“i don’t know, everything—for fighting.” you elaborate and it’s then that he’s lifting his head, squinted eyes sharp.

daryl was always shy eyes when commended. he holds your gaze in increments now and you take the moment to let your hands travel. they’re slow and deliberate where they land along the expanse of his jaw and against the hairs on his face. daryl moves with you in whichever direction you think to turn him, and while it’s cute and certainly heavy intimate development on his part, you don’t call him out on it for he embarrasses easily and having him shy away now was not a good call.

“ain’t just me.” he finally says and since he doesn’t like spotlight, “it’s you, michonne, rick—“

“i know.” you cut in. daryl reads into your simple response almost immediately if the expression he holds is telling; a bit taken aback, slightly flustered, understanding. there’s something in your chest that screams pride when daryl comes to realize when you’re making things about him, when you’re specifically singling him out, when you’re picking out all of his goods and positives and displaying them before himself.

daryl preens under your touch. the touch of yours that continues to travel, dancing in his hair, brushing against the skin of his face, running knuckles over cheekbones and forehead wrinkles. every crevice, every bump different. it’s distracting for daryl, you learned prior, lures his mind to a standstill, tugs the words back down his throat. he’s typically left with little to say to you when you’re on him like this, instead speaks with his eyes of a solace he finds between the both of you.

“your hands.” he eventually comments.

“my hands?” although now under scrutiny, they don’t pause their exploration.

“warm. said you were freezin’.”

your lips purse then at his delayed reckoning, laughter at the tip of your tongue. it slips despite your efforts, low and loose, makes daryl squint in situational ignorance. at the prison, daryl had once complimented your laugh under and against the metal of the cell beds, had thrown a ‘nevermind’ in quickly after you’d cooed at him for it.

“well, of course they’re warm now.” you bring them to his neck now, tip of your thumbs caressing his ears. “still cold all over, though.”

and instead of questioning you further, instead of coming up to engulf you in a hug, daryl brings his face into your abdomen. it’s not a punch of air that you lose, but your ability to form coherent thoughts. it’s him not exactly nuzzling, but breathing steadily into the cloth of your shirt, soft inhale, soft exhale. this means something because it always means something.

daryl hides the sudden salacious fervor on his face in the shield that your body creates. it’s obvious, so obvious, because he’s strong and unmoving where you attempt to lift his head.

while it is sudden, the dots seem to connect—daryl, with his lack of space to ever position himself to submit, does so openly right now because there is an opening for it. while he so genuinely kneeled for his shoes, you picked up on the way his pupils dilated when he did find your eyes—ever so brief during those three second variables. it was then that you knew.

“everything okay?” you ask lightly. everything is okay, daryl is so evidently okay which is why he pursues this. you ask anyway, though. daryl says he likes verbal confirmation and reassurance from you and he’d be a hypocrite to not like for you to reciprocate.

“mhm.” it’s muffled against your body which begins to gradually curl around him, between your legs which have swamped him in. “just ain’t comfortable down here.”

“really? you aching already?” you retort with a low laugh.

daryl doesn’t say anything else, nor does he make to stand.

“dick’s hard.” is what he comes up with and it’s so sudden and not at all vague.

you’ve thought it to be the case, so it doesn’t surprise you much. it was apparent the moment he hide himself in what you’d call shame. shame that looked to only follow him in the structure of built up carnal strain that’d been canned inside of him. daryl behaved like he didn’t have a clue that he had it or how to exactly deal with it. when the relationship had sprouted into a much more personal manner, it was always you who’d ‘handle’ daryl even when he struggled finding it in himself to.

he’s bringing hands up and they’re situating themselves on your waist. his hold isn’t suffocating, but it’s tight, fidgeting where he tries to keep his energy levels even.

“if you want something, daryl..” you begin slowly, anticipating where this will take you both. where your hands still sit in daryl’s hair, you pull again and he finally gives way and holy shit.

“ask ya for it.” he finishes, and before you can ponder too long why he already looks so fucking out of it, he’s already beating you to it. “think i busted.” he grunts around the words, fingers twitching against you and he forgoes his hold to wipe the back of his hand against his lips. it looks to be a habit that has budded from his nerves which he strives to conceal.

“did you?..”

daryl curls his lips inwards, another habit, adjusts his knees on the floor. “well, it ain’t piss.“

“oh. you wanna clean up and come up here? we can just—“ daryl was weird with embarrassment, and while it was fun to poke and prod, he’d probably string himself dry thinking back on this, so you try to move it along—not mention it for a moment longer.

“nah.” i’ll stay here is what he says with his actions, bringing his face back to your abdomen, kisses through the shirt. despite his own interference daryl is still there; he shows that he still feels the sensual crave all within himself with the way he simply picks back up regardless of the mess in his pants.

admittedly, it brings a slight tremble down into the pit of your stomach.

you’re whispering out a light okay as he proceeds, hands at your waist shifting and bringing your shirt upwards, tidbits of flesh now exposed. it seems purposeful because he’s then all dry lips and scratchy facial hair against your skin, drinking you in, dirty hands squeezing where they can.

you’re calling out his name to which he responds to with a stronger aggression in action; oddly firm presses of his lips evolving into these tiny nips of teeth, pushing against you enough to send you back onto your palms.

rare were the moments that daryl’s usually subdued needs make such a sudden head. when he’s functioning one moment, high off plenty cigarettes in his normal, and the next he’s chasing you lewdly like he’s just always been without fornication—and he has.

daryl advances south, hands still at your waist, breath fanning over your pants. they’re of comfort with no zipper or buttons to act as a task to undo, so daryl gets to you easily. his hands shake a little as he hooks fingers in the waistband of your pants, not all nervousness but moreso an eagerness that it seems he struggles keeping at bay.

though despite this, he handles you with a certain gentleness and allows himself this moment of vulnerability, of exploration in a way that leaves you both bare in every sense.

your bottoms pull down and you help to kick them off and away.

“gentle.” you say when he stuffs a sweaty face directly into you, hands cupping your legs from beneath, spreading them enough to fit himself comfortably between. “i’m not as flexible as i used to be.”

“can’t tell.” he shoots back in his playfulness that is typically delivered dryly.

he shifts on his knees again, but doesn’t seem entirely too bothered, instead doesn’t spend another second without a tongue pressed wetly against you through the fabric of your garment. he laps at the cloth, grunts incoherencies, presses thumbs into your under thigh, tries to hide the not so subtle clenching in his abdomen. he’s hard again, straining and obvious, at the mercy of his body’s natural instinct to relieve the pressure by humping, rutting, fucking up into anything, searching for something.

“daryl, daryl.” you hiss when he tries to get his mouth on you whole down there, not stalling for anything. “shit, you—let’s take it slow.”

and you know in his current state it’s absurd to ask, he’s already gone.

but still, he hears you because he’s reluctantly pulling away, obedient.

“alright, now take them off, please.” you order, bringing a hand to his hair again. it creates a sort of stability for yourself, whilst for daryl it only tips him more towards the edge.

and since daryl runs on orders, he’s quick to move again with hands sliding you out of the underwear and down your legs. you assist with kicking them off and away, and daryl doesn’t give you a breath in between because he’s a wet tongue on you in an instant.

it’s like something shifts in him—like something breaks, gives way to a heavily chased after relief—seeing the way his shoulders slack. you gasp, feeling the pleasure ripple up your spine, sit hotly in your gut.

“look at you, oh my god.” you begin to taunt and it’s s bit broken off, but still holds its weight. “you look so right down there.”

daryl gives a groan in return, fingers squeezing in protest, but you know he believes it, too.

your chest fills with a breath when he pops off, and it’s beautiful how concentrated he seems with the task. for once, his cheeks tint an airbrush of pink, featherlight and detailing to you just how aroused he is.

to use emphasis, in his still state, you use the opportunity to reel him back in at the hair. it elicits something loud and ruined out of him—a moan, a whine almost. he breathes through his nose when he’s tongue and teeth and cheeks all over you again, and it makes your back arch. the sounds he produces alongside the wetness that you are has you bringing ankles to his backside, locking him in and daryl’s moans are muffled and slightly garbled in reaction.

“you’re gonna—“ cracked. “you’re so good for me, you’re gonna make me cum.”

at that, he pursues you heavier now. like he’s eager to taste you, like he wouldn’t miss it for the world, daryl brings a hand up to rub what he can’t get. it’s wet and nasty and lewdly noisy, and your moans alike. with him using two times the pleasure, it sends you over just as fast.

your eyes squeeze tight as your body racks with the aftershocks, and daryl is ragged breaths somewhere in the void and you’re not sure if it’s him coming as well or the hand deep in his strands has him that strung out.

the wound up muscles in your body release as does your hold on him, and you’re falling to your back against the mattress.

it’s a while before your eyes are peeling open again, head lulled a bit. daryl stands to his feet again at the foot of the bed, cracked bones and all.

“hey.” he starts quietly, haphazardly wipes his mouth. he hovers over you laid out on the bed, arms encasing your head and body heat transferring. “we alrigh’?” his concern etches outside of his tone and into his hot hand that now covers your cheek and ear. his thumb runs over your moist cheekbones and his eyes stick to yours like syrup.

you nod. “yeah.” you assure and watch his expression ease up. “i’m definitely alright. are you?”

he mimics your nod. “mhm.”

“don’t.” you say when he attempts to embrace you entirely. “shower. both of us.” and when he doesn’t respond—“shower. you came twice in your pants.”

daryl shoves his face in the crook of your neck then, ears red.

when the water eventually does come down on you both, it’s shameless in its lack of purity. daryl, despite the night, used a handjob from you underneath the stream before he’d grown shaky in the shoulders and grumpy in the tone, apprehensive in his age. (“ain’t built for another, you’re killin’ me.”)

and he would know himself best because he’s droopy eyes and clean hair against the pillows afterwards, sleep weighing him down. he’s still like he doesn’t feel your gaze, but squints open an eye when you speak.

“i lied about being cold. wanted you in bed.” you smile to contain laughter.

daryl scoffs. “mhm, well .. shit worked.”

[lenaellsi]

on aziraphale's insecurities in S2

i'm pretty sure one of the lines in the end scene where crowley shoots himself in the foot the most is "i think i understand a whole lot better than you do," and i don't even think he realizes how badly aziraphale takes it.

it's just a fact to him: he knows better than aziraphale what heaven is like. it's also a fact to the audience, who knows that the metatron is doing this for bad reasons and that aziraphale is walking into a trap. but it's not a fact to aziraphale. and that's the moment aziraphale goes from panicky and anxious to angry.

aziraphale's self-doubts and anxieties concerning his identity as an angel are shown frequently in s2. we start 2x01 with him deeply insecure in his 'retirement': crowley mentions that aziraphale frequently calls him to "tell him about something clever he did," and aziraphale confirms that he is essentially using these conversations as a stand-in for reporting to heaven. he misses being on The Good Team and doesn't know what to do with himself now that he's not.

so aziraphale doesn't know who he is if he's not an angel, but he also knows that he's a bad angel. he was frequently mocked and condescended to in heaven (by seemingly everyone, not just the archangels; even the quartermaster in s1 called him pathetic). he lied to heaven, he lied to god, he enjoys earthly pleasures, he loves works with a demon, and he doubts the Plan. he never fit in with them. lonely, remember?

and later in the season, we learn that shax, for all that she apparently is not great with sarcasm, is remarkably perceptive when picking up on insecurities. she mocks aziraphale twice, first in the car for his relationship with crowley (which, interestingly, doesn't faze him a bit--remember the eyebrow? he's not at all insecure in his knowledge that crowley loves him. crowley has always been the thing he's most sure of, even very early on--look at how much faith he has in him with job.) the second time she hits much harder: "crowley's emotional support angel," "shall we send in the sushi?" "the softest touch" etc. it hurts him, you can see it.

and there's another tiny moment in 2x05 I don't think I've ever seen anyone talk about, where crowley has just bluffed to the demon horde and is trying to get all the humans together to leave. crowley says, "I won't leave you on your own," and aziraphale says, "I know. But I have a suggestion--" and crowley brushes him off, saying "I got this." aziraphale looks very frustrated by this exchange, which--yeah! fair!

and over and over, we just--we see crowley be right. right about job and god, right about elspeth, right about the magic trick, the nazis, the arrangement, the apocalypse. "you were right, you were right, i was wrong, you were right." crowley's never done the dance before, he says. how many times has aziraphale had to?

and crowley's not just right, he's confident in it! he moves through the world and makes choices that fly in the face of everything aziraphale knows about Good and Evil, and it seems to come so easily to him. he's loud, and he's brave, and he's full of conviction, and aziraphale often feels overshadowed by that surety, because he's so often full of doubt. "you sound jealous, angel," is what crowley says at job's mansion, and i think he's more right than he knows.

all this to say: when crowley says "I think I understand a whole lot better than you do," what aziraphale hears is you idiot and how can somebody as clever as you be so stupid and I was right, I was right, you were wrong, I was right. and he's fucking sick of it.

and so he doubles down, and he gets in the stupid elevator, and he makes the worst mistake of his life, because he's sick of being treated as heaven's lackey or crowley's sidekick. the metatron knew exactly what to say to get him there, and crowley had no idea he was playing directly into it.

[partywithoutsmiling]

Another AU that has been knocking around my mind for a while XD I call it Moonlit AU

It can be summed as such: Pop Trolls are pretty wild bunch when it comes to looks, varying in colours, flocking/fur patterns, glitter, freckles, hair, you name it

It got me thinking, what sort of thing would they find attractive in prospective partner? While singing/harmonizing could be a part of it (and ngl, that did made me think of the Happy Feet movies, as silly as those were), my mind turned towards more physical attributes

Thus, this AU was born- where one of the reasons why Pop trolls like to be most active at night (to party) is that a Moon's Light also allows them to appreciate fur/flocking patterns otherwise hidden, where the complexity and style varies from troll to troll, as is thought to show one's inner self

Contrary to what one would expect from the Princess (and future Queen) of Pop, Poppy's patterns are rather simple- but striking nonetheless, firm and bold stripes, like taking a wide brush to a canvas- straightforward but chaotic in their hardly orderly fashion Poppy struts her patterns; they are unique and dominant among the general showing of swirls, polka dots and flower like spottings She is aware her stripes are not considered the most attractive of features- too similar to that of a predatory critter, too sharp for who is supposed to be cheerful queen of equally cheerful people- but she is a romantic at heart and believes that when it will be time to choose a consort, those physical features are surface-level importance at best, and this is the mentality she has going forward, looking at the glowing marks of her friends and considering them equally beautiful no matter what.

Until she manages to spot Branch one night outside under the full moon light that is.

Branch's pattern, in high contrast to Poppy, is far more complex. Symetrical but delicate in its filigree, and far more detailed than anything the Princess has ever seen before. Usually, Branch ventures out only on moonless nights, as he feels the glow of his marks are too visible, too dangerous to just show out and about, for every dangerous predator to see- and it is purely bad luck when bad weather caughts him outside longer than he would have liked, and Poppy manages to catch the sight of him while he is completely unaware he had been seen.

All her conviction flies right out of the window, as she looks at his delicate patterning and her mind just goes blank and - Oh

Usually she would have called out to him, ask him to come to a party- but she feels mesmerized, hypnotized by the elegance of the filigree, and her mind longs for a way to memorate it forever- with a photo, or a painting- and she stares at the entrance of his bunker long after he vanished inside, completely stupefied and wrong footed.

Before, Poppy hardly ever gave Branch a thought, when it came to this part of Pop Troll culture; as part of her, guiltily, sort of assumed that with his lack of colour, his patterning would be rather bland as well- and besides, it's not like he ever shown a desire to participate in courting dances.

But now she is left with sudden new, and unexpected feeling- her heart and breath going now a bit faster everytime she catches a glimpse of him from now on, her cheeks flushing and her tail wagging in excitement

(Her desk's drawer is filled with failed cut out scrapbook pieces of leaves and tiny detailed filigree, as she attempts to journal her sudden and new discover and cant get it quite right)

Tldr; Pop Trolls have fur/flocking patterns that appear only under the moon's light, and Poppy finds Branch's so irresistibly attractive she hardly knows what to do with herself

This pushes her to try and spend more time with him- just spend time with him, no trying to push him to go to parties with her or trying to get him to sing or hug

For his part, Branch is both secretly pleased his own crush is now paying more attention to him than to Creek (who is not happy with this development) but also holy shit Poppy is paying more attention to him, so it is kind of unnerving for him, freaking him out

[disgustingtwitches]

A ROSE IN HARLEM

You're stuck in a romcom with your new asshole neighbor, Simon Riley

Masterlist

PART 2

I've got it bad (and that ain't good)

***

You have a ghost in your place. It follows you from room to room. The stench of smoke lingers in the air long after you think it should have dissipated, curling around you like an unseen presence. Shadows play tricks at the corners of your vision—on the fire escape, on the stairs that lead up to your place. There’s a persistent, nagging feeling of being watched, though when you turn to look, there’s never anyone there. And then the dreams. Oh God, the dreams. They leave you breathless, your chest heaving, your skin damp with sweat. You wake up disoriented, heart racing as if you've run miles.

“Astral projection,” 

Ishta declares, as if it’s the most obvious explanation in the world. She’s holding your chin up, dabbing setting powder onto your face. You sigh, exasperated. Why are all the people in your life so unserious?

She shakes her head, undeterred by your skepticism, and rifles through your makeup bag. 

“No, he doesn’t seem like the type to do that.”

You raise a brow, but she’s already leaning in again, biting her lip in concentration as she carefully fills in your eyebrows. 

“I wouldn’t put it past him to use the O method, though.” 

She adds, almost too casually.

“The what?”

“Oh, you know. When you, uh…” 

She pulls back just enough to mimic a jerking motion with her hand, her bracelets clinking together.

“Ishta.”

Her grin widens, unapologetic, her frenulum piercing glinting as she flashes her teeth. 

“I’m serious! It’s like, sex magic or something. It’s doing, uh,”

She makes the jerking motion again.

“But with intention. Picturing what you want.”

You stare at her, deadpan. 

“I think that’s just called masturbating, Ishta.”

She clicks her teeth, as if you're being ridiculous.

“No! I promise it’s different!”

You narrow your eyes, but her conviction doesn’t waver.

“It’s about manifesting your future.” 

She says, voice sweet as she brushes out your brows. 

“That's great. Maybe he should find someone who wants to be in his future.” 

You mutter, your voice more defensive than you intended.

Ishta’s grin widens.

 “He already did.”

You roll your eyes.

“You're being delusional.” 

“You're in denial.” 

She leans back, tilting her head to assess her handiwork. You hate the way her words settle into the space between you, like she’s unearthed something you’ve been working hard to bury. Something you've been trying to hide from yourself.

“Perfect,” 

She says, brushing off her hands. 

“And if you keep avoiding him, you’ll just make him work harder. Men like that don’t back down easily.”

You frown, her words a revelation you knew before but didn’t want to accept. She holds your hands, brushing your knuckles with her thumbs.

“If you don't want him, I'll happily take him off your hands.”

She prods, hoping to get a reaction. 

“Okay. That's fine, I don't care.”

You shrug, not taking the bait. She raises an eyebrow, mischief dances in her dark eyes.

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

She's not buying it though. You sigh,

“I don't care.”

You insist, not sure who you're trying to convince. 

“Well, if you’re sure… I’ll see if he wants to come to kickboxing with me. Bet he’d look great sweating it out in a tank top.”

You try to hold back a smile, but it's too late, she saw it. She raises her eyebrows and bites back a laugh.

“Your hands are sweaty. God, you're so easy to read.”

“I hate you.” 

You pull your hands away, wiping them on your dress. 

“Hate me all you want, you still like him.”

“I don't like him. He's just hot.” 

“Ok, you think he's hot. And he obviously likes you too.”

You point a finger at her, 

“No, he just wants to fuck me.”

You correct her. She sighs and rolls her eyes. 

“Fine, so what? You need a good dicking anyway. You think he's hot, and he wants to fuck, so do it!” 

“I am not fucking my neighbor.” 

“You two have chemistry!”

She says, fiddling with the hemline of your dress.

“Insulting each other is not chemistry, Ishta.”

You push her hands away playfully.

“Wanting to rip his head off is not sexy.”

“Tell that to a praying mantis.”

She simply retorts, picking up a mirror and some eyeliner. You open your mouth to say something but are caught off guard once you process what she said. A laugh escapes you.

“See? Not even denying it. Admit it,”

She simpers while lining her eyes. 

“The tension, the sparring—it's hot.”

“It's vexing,”

You watch as she flicks her wrist to draw a perfect wing. 

“He vexes me.”

She closes her eyes, letting the liner dry.

“You know what rhymes with vex?”

“Come off it, please.”

“I will once you get on it.” 

You groan, swatting her arm while she cackles.

“Be serious.”

She tucks away her eyeliner and swipes some lipgloss on. 

“I'm very serious, this is a dire situation. You need 10cc of his dick stat.” 

You stand, pulling down your too-short dress and grabbing your bag, ignoring her vulgarity. 

“Come on, let's go before we miss happy hour.”

She gives herself a once-over before slipping on her heels. She saunters to the door, keys jingling in her hands. 

“You know, the male praying mantis can finish the mating process without a head.” 

•

You've been ignoring him. 

Every morning when you pass by in the foyer. Practically running past him in the hallway. Rushing to close the elevator door when you see him coming. You don't even blast your music anymore. As unseen as he can make himself be, it's like you have a god-damned sixth sense of when he's near, scurrying away as soon as your hackles raise.

It irks him. 

He thinks about picking up the drill again, making holes at the shared wall where he knows your bedroom is. Seeing your face twisted up in anger, spitting curses at him, the daggers you shoot at him. It stirs something inside him, something dark and primal—thoughts he'd never want you to know, or anyone, really.

He'd be happy to lose sleep if that meant you'd give him that look again, like you could kill him where he stood.The thought of your hands tightening around his neck, fingers digging into his skin, eyes wide with rage, your arms trembling with the effort it takes to hold him there—he's found himself finishing to the idea a concerning amount of times. 

He needs to call in the cavalry.

***

Kyle makes a face while he finishes his beer.

“You asked her ‘if she needed good dick’? Ever the charmer, LT.”

Johnny shrugs, shredding up his paper coaster.

“It's a valid question.”

“Of course you think that,”

Kyle waves down the bartender for a refill. 

“You’re a dog.”

Price ignores the two, fully facing Simon.

“Don't terrorize the poor girl, won't do you any good.”

“Woman. She is a woman.”

Kyle interrupts. That gets an unamused look from the captain. 

“Yes, woman. You can't just keep pushing her buttons, this isn't primary school. You've got to try something else. At least take her out before asking to fuck her again.”

Johnny chimes in. 

“Nah, she likes to get riled up. I vote for hammering the wall again. Worked like a charm last time.”

Kyle sneers.

“Of course you'd say that, you like when women scream at you, you debauched lunatic.”

Simon doesn't linger on the fact that he and Johnny share the same type in that regard. 

“Aye, I like a passionate woman.”

Johnny’s smile remains unfaltering, foolish, his eyes going dreamy, like he’s imagining having a fight with his bird right then and there—probably picturing her throwing something at his head for good measure. He and Kyle start to bicker, both too hard-headed for their own good.

Simon goes quiet, swirling his glass, eyes glazed over that signals he's blocking out the world around him before he loses temper. 

“Enough.”

Price growls, sharp and final. He was always protective of Simon—even when it was his own sergeants getting into it. John addresses Simon, talking to him in that way that brings him back to reality. 

“If she's avoiding you, it's because you pushed too hard. You don't fix that by pushing harder.” 

Simon snorts, thinking of how Captain bullied his way into his girl's life. She is soft though, pliable. No bark or bite. Not like his girl at all. 

“And what do you suggest? Flowers and poetry?”

“If it works, why not?”

Kyle answers, ever the lover boy. It's so easy for him to say. So easy for all of them. It grates on Simon's nerves. Not like Simon tried to pursue someone often, he doesn't have the patience for it, barely has the desire. 

He stands abruptly, chair scraping the floor. 

“Right.”

His voice is flat, face blank. He's halfway out the door when Kyle calls out to him, 

“Good luck, mate.”

He doesn't respond, letting the door swing shut while he steps onto the sidewalk, lighting a cigarette. 

“Fucking useless.”

He mutters, though he's not sure if he means his teammates or himself. 

***

He knows he should feel bad about this. Watching you. He avoids the word stalking, settles on something softer—surveilling. Doesn't sound as sinister. 

He likes watching you. He wealses his way into your Instagram, because a private page isn't stopping him from seeing you.

You post photos from your weekend nights out—bathroom selfies with friends, smiling and carefree in bars he'd never step foot in. You're pretty when you smile, almost as pretty as you pout. You wear a small dress out on the town. Something he could easily slide a hand under while you are distracted. 

He likes your sense of humor. 

He watches as you take pictures of new installments at your exhibition. Today, a small clay figure of a woman on horseback captioned,

“A hot new bombshell enters the villa”

He keeps track of other things too. Your cycle. Not in a creepy way, not exactly, but you make it very obvious when you're ovulating. Stories playfully carnal with captions like,"Raw, next question.” He takes note of it, filing it away, making sure he knows exactly when the window opens.

And during one of the hottest weeks of the summer, he decides it's the perfect time. 

He's been building up to this of course, tugging off his hoodie after his morning runs so you see him sweaty and panting while you walk past in the foyer. He doesn't mind showing a bit of skin, putting on a show for his girl. As long as he gets to see those shameful little peeks you take. Eyes unwillingly darting from the floor to his arms then back to the floor. 

And he waits. 

Waits until you put your guard down a little. Your shoulders don't tense up as much when he walks by. You stop glancing over your shoulder as often. You even start playing your music each weekend again, confident he won't come knocking on your door. 

***

It's hot. Too hot. The heat wave that stretched out to over a week now. It's got him agitated, irritable. Impatient. 

So he heads to the elevator and down to the basement. She doesn't even turn when the elevator dings, bent over in some slutty little shorts while loading up a dryer. He stands by the elevator, watching. Tucks away the anger that bubbles up when he thinks of someone else coming down and seeing her like this. He'd never let that happen. 

She jumps when she turns around.

“Jesus!”

Then, as always, you try to scurry away. But he planned for this, blocking her only way out. 

“Hiding from me?”

“No, why would I do that?”

“Too busy for me, then?” 

That gets her to narrow her eyes at him. 

“Why would I even think of making time for you?”

There she is. His pretty girl. 

“Don't wanna see me anymore? Thought we were getting along.”

“You thought wrong. Thought I made that clear.”

She tries stepping around him, he mirrors her, broad frame unyielding. 

“Not clear enough.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“I don't want you bothering me. That clear enough?”

“I don't believe you.” 

He says plainly. 

“You don't believe me?”

Her irritation grows. He sees it in the way her jaw clenches. 

“You're a bad liar.”

“So I've been told.”

She doesn't even look at his face, just straight ahead to his chest. Like looking at his face would push her over the edge. 

“You looked nice last night.”

“When did you-how? Nevermind, don't answer that. I need to go.”

Another attempt to pass him. Another block. She grits her teeth. 

“You're aggravating.” 

“So I've been told.”

He mocks her. She shoves at him—a gentle nudge really for his stature. His mind blanks for a moment. When's the last time a woman has touched him, he thinks, even like this?

He lets her slip by, nearly reaching the elevator. Nearly. 

Then he hooks a finger into her belt loop and tugs. 

“Where's my good girl?”

His hold keeps her in place. She still tries to pull away, reaching for the elevator button. 

“I'm not your girl.” 

Her fingertips graze the button when he tugs again, pulling her off balance, close enough for him to catch the faintest whiff of her perfume. 

“Simon!”

She grabs at his wrist—not even able to fully wrap around him. 

“Name sounds so nice coming out that pretty mouth.”

He mutters, more to herself than to her. His other hand pulls at her waistband. She's all protests and curses that he tunes out, too busy running a finger along the inside of the top of her shorts. 

Everytime she half-heartedly pushes at his chest or scratches his arms, he tugs her closer, polishing the button of her shorts with his thumbs, fingers dipping just under her waistband, firm grip keeping her in place. 

“Tell you what,” 

He finally says, eyes still locked on where his hands are.

She pauses, her defiance flickering for a moment. 

“Say you don't want this, and I'll stop.”

She pauses. 

For a long time, she stares at him, her lips parting slightly like she's about to speak, but no words come out. Simon doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Unnervingly, doesn’t even blink. His stillness makes her unnerved, he can see it in her eyes. 

Eventually, he gets bored of waiting for her answer. He casually tugs at her tank top, looking down her shirt. She snatches the fabric away from him, holding it close to her chest, scandalized as if she wasnt just contemplating on fucking him. 

“They're pretty.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

This time when she steps back and he tugs at her shorts, she comes to him without much resistance. 

“On paper? Nothing.” 

When she puts her arms down, he still stares at her chest.

“For some reason, I don't believe that.” 

He hums in acknowledgment, casually flicking at a raised nipple poking out her top. She slaps his hand away, hard.

“Would you stop that?”

She sternly admonishes him. He rests a hand on her hip, the pad of his thumb tracing lazy circles on the denim. 

“Why aren't you leaving?”

“You won't let me!”

“Yeah,”

His murmurs, devoid of remorse. 

“Elevator’s broke anyways.”

She snaps her head to her only way out. 

“I just saw you use it.” 

“I broke it.” 

He gently turns her by the shoulders, coaxing her to the lift.

“Try it.” 

She looks at him, unsure. His face is infuriatingly neutral, offering no hint of a joke. Slowly, she steps forward and presses the button.

The doors slide open, smooth and functional. Relief floods her chest, her path clear. She steps inside, pressing the button for her floor.

Before the doors can fully close, his boot wedges between them. The mechanism stutters, the doors bouncing off the leather before sliding open again. 

“See? Broken.”

He steps between the doors, keeping them open, effectively trapping her into an even smaller space. 

“You think you're funny.”

“Hilarious.”

He holds himself back from grabbing her face when her nostrils flare. 

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Want you to play nice.”

The words roll off his tongue so smoothly, so audaciously, it takes her a moment to process. His gaze doesn’t waver, steady and unrelenting, locking her in place as effectively as the metal walls around them.

“Play nice?” 

She echoes, her voice sharp, incredulous.

“Yeah,” 

He says, a slight tilt of his head, as though he’s genuinely surprised she’s asking. His thumb brushes over his knuckles, a lazy, practiced motion that only adds to her irritation.

“And what the hell does that mean?”

He steps closer, closing what little space remains between them, the heat of him almost suffocating. “Means stop running, angel.”

The button clicks under his thumb, their floor lighting up. The doors slide shut with a groan, and he doesn’t look at her. Just faces forward like nothing happened. The lift jolts, shuddering upward. She presses herself against the wall, her movements awkward, trying to find a place in the tiny box where his heat doesn’t reach her.

“Thought I told you to stop running.”

He warns, staring straight ahead. His hand reaches out, clamps onto the back of her neck. Not rough, not quite gentle, but enough to stop her breath. She squirms away from him. It's enough to make his blood boil. 

All this planning. All this waiting. If he lets her get away this time, he won't get another chance. 

He waits for the elevator to slide perfectly between floors before hitting the emergency stop button. The jolt is harsh, the sudden silence worse.

“What are you doing?” 

She asks, the words tumbling out. 

“Making sure you listen this time.”

The quiet hum of the stopped lift vibrates between them, but it doesn’t drown out the sound of her breathing. She presses her back harder against the wall, but there’s nowhere to go. His hand grabs her face. It’s not rough, but there’s no softness in the gesture either. His thumb brushes along her jaw. 

“Think you owe me an apology.”

His voice is low, harsh, almost mean.

“What?”

“Ignoring me all this time. And for what? What did I do?”

“You-”

He cuts her off, pushing two fingers into her mouth. 

“Didn't do anything. Suck.”

She bats her lashes at him, wide eyes looking up at him, and wraps her lips around his fingers. 

“Nothing.” 

Slowly, he slides his fingers in and out her mouth. 

“Now look at us. Can't go on like this, only gets us in a mood. Is that what you want?” 

He pulls his fingers out of her mouth and shoves them down her shorts, rolling her clit between his fingers.

“All pent up. No good for either of us.”  

He leans down to murmur in her ear, watching as she melts under his touch.

As she opens her mouth to retort, he uses his other hand to stick another thick finger in her mouth.

“None of that.”

A loud beep from the intercom elevator interrupts their moment. She panics, trying to squirm away from him, pushing at his arms.

“Hello?” 

A voice comes through the speaker.

Simon shuffles closer to her, practically pinning her against the corner of the elevator, slipping slick fingers into her. 

“Yeah, just pressed the button by accident.” 

“Alright. No problem.” 

The voice on the other end replies before there is a click and they are alone again.

He watches as her eyes fill with panic and embarrassment. He feels for her, he didn't want this to happen here. Wanted to take her somewhere proper, like her bed, or bent over his counter.

The elevator suddenly jolts back into motion.

“Relax. There's no cameras here.” 

He tries to calm her, pulling away and slipping his fingers out of her wetness before popping them into his mouth. 

The elevator dings, and he steps out first, unhurried, as though nothing unusual had happened. A neighbor passes by, her gaze shifting from him to his girl trailing behind, her concern clear in the way her brow furrows.

"Everything alright?" 

The neighbor asks, her voice hesitant, probing.

His girl’s breath catches, her answer quick but unsteady. 

“Mhm. All good.”

Her tone betrays her. Too high. Too quick. The neighbor lingers for a second too long, glancing between them, before the doors slide closed, cutting off any chance for further questioning.

He walks ahead, straight to her door. She follows, curling into herself like if she made herself small enough, she could just disappear. 

He stops just short of her door. When he finally turns, his eyes lock onto hers. Her eyes bounce between him and her door.

“What are you doing?” 

“Not done. Think I’m gonna let my girl go home like this?”

Her lips part, like she might argue, but she hesitates, biting down on her lower lip instead. Her fingers curl around the doorknob. She turns it, the latch clicking softly.

The door creaks open, a darkened room greeting them on the other side. She steps over the threshold but stops, half-turning toward him. Her body is halfway in, halfway out, caught in the tension of indecision.

“Go inside.” 

He says, his voice quiet but firm. She steps further inside, her back to him now. When she hesitates again, he walks forward, using his body to herd her into her place. 

“Nice place.” 

He kicks off his shoes and flops on the couch, it squeaks under him. A small flimsy thing. He'll get her something nicer when this one inevitably breaks from bending her over the arm too many times. 

“Sit.”

Back in the comfort of her own home, she regains a little confidence, mumbling something under her breath while moving towards him. 

“Didn't catch that angel, say it again?”

She huffs, and sits on the edge of the couch, still playing hard to get. 

“Nothing.”

He doesn't have to reach too far to snatch her and maneuver her into his lap.

“Say it with your chest, love. You know, communication is important in a relationship.”

The corners of her lips twitch upwards before pouting again. 

“We're not in a relationship.” 

His head tilts, studying her with mock seriousness. 

“Feeling alright? Not the most coherent thing you’ve ever said.”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“Female hysteria, very dire.”

He leans back, taking her with him, pressing her back against his chest. 

“Heard treatment is particularly intense. Being hung upside down, leeches on the abdomen, forced orgasms.” 

She tilts her head back, looking up at him.

“Brutal. Wonder if they still make house calls for that sort of thing.” 

“No need, I'm happy to help. Prone bone.”

She raises a brow. 

“Pro bono, you mean.”

“Yeah, that too.” 

Her snort gets cut off with a gasp when he lifts her hips up with his, tucking his thumbs into the sides of her shorts and shucking them down. 

“I like these.”

He snaps at the thin elastic of her underwear. 

"Careful," 

She warns, her voice breathy. 

"Those are my favorite pair."

“Mine too, might nick ‘em.” 

When she rolls against his hardening length and snickers at him freezing up. 

“Don't think they'd fit you.” 

One swift move and his pants are around his thighs. He ignores her complaining about having his bare ass on her couch and holds her hips, guiding her slick panties against his length. She laughs nervously while he moves her hips to grind her up and down him,

“Jesus, just goes on forever, doesn't it?”

“Based on my experience, seems like you enjoy a challenge.” 

Her hands look for something to anchor herself, his wrists being the closest thing she can reach. 

“Do I?”

Her eyes lock onto his, pupils blown out, hungry. He slowly, so slowly, moves a hand from her hip to stomach and creeps down, fingers moving the dainty fabric out of the way and-

There's a knock.

prev | next

[kitkat13001]

｡𖦹 ⏾ ˚｡⋆ 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚕 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚍?

>> tomura shigaraki x reader

>> brief mentions of injury and canon-typical violence (vague, nondescriptive), based on this post and lana del rey’s song ‘let the light in’, divider by @/anitalenia

for as long as tomura can think of, he never really feared death. against all common sense, it never really felt like a possibility. he’s the symbol of fear, isn’t he? it can’t be game over until his mission is complete.

it’s seemed that way for so long now. this game of life in his mind, with his expendable lives and missions to complete. 

and then you came waltzing into his life, worming your way into his heart with that stupid smile on your face and fierce conviction in your eyes. 

and suddenly he had something to lose. 

it was a distant worry in the back of his mind as he held you in his arms late at night. but when you were injured on a mission, lying unconscious on the street a few feet away from him, it was the only thought on his mind. 

it’s still pressing on him now, even though he can feel the warmth of your body against his, the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe. 

it seems like everything’s going too fast lately, like time’s slipping through his fingers. it’s only a matter of time before he’ll have to undergo the procedure and go through with the plan. he knows you’re worried, even though you haven’t told him as much. he can tell by the way you look at him when you think he’s not paying attention. like he’s going to vanish into thin air at any second. 

he doesn’t blame you. in all honesty, he looks at you the same way.

you’re the only good in life. he’s always known that, but seeing you hurt only cemented the notion in his brain. it hits him just now, like a ton of bricks. it’s you. 

he doesn’t know how long he’s got left. but he knows that he wants to spend it with you.

“marry me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple as he speaks. the words leave him before he can stop himself. marriage is a concept completely foreign to someone like tomura. it doesn’t mean anything to him. it’s not something people like him get—or deserve for that matter. but he doesn’t care. the selfish devil that lives in his chest wants to hold you close, keep you with him until your time together is up for good. 

“sure,” you mumble in reply, voice thick with sleep as you toss around in his arms. your eyes are still closed. 

just like that. you’re handing him the rest of your life on a silver platter. without thinking. without opening your eyes. no marriage certificate (fuck the government), no ring (you never liked jewelry that much anyway), no vows, no party, nothing borrowed or blue. just you and him for the rest of your miserable lives. 

“dance with me,” he says, giving your hand a gentle tug. 

“aren’t you just full of demands today,” you reply wryly, peeking one eye open and flashing him a coy smile. 

he tugs on your hand again, face pinching into a teasing pout. “c’mon, if we’re getting married we need a first dance.”

“first and only,” you snort, gesturing to your broken leg, propped up on a pillow and wrapped in a cast. “on what leg?”

he huffs, pulling you both into a sitting position. “i’ll carry you. just dance with me, okay? first ‘n only, i promise.”

“fine, fine. whatever my husband wants.”

oh. that’s new, he thinks. this absurd feeling like a hundred butterflies in his stomach. it’s so unlike him. he’s many things, of course. evil legacy? yes. murderer? for sure. criminal? absolutely. but husband? that’s something he never thought he’d be, not in a million years. 

he’s careful as he hauls you up, balances your weight against him and props your casted foot on top of his. 

he’s slow and gentle as he sways to the faint music kurogiri left playing on a record somewhere in the back of the bar. he takes in the feeling of you in his arms, indulging in this moment for as long as he can. just you and him for the rest of your lovely, miserable lives — however short they may be. 

this is a little all-over-the-place, and probably incredibly self-indulgent, but what else is new? i couldn’t get the scene out of my head. also the dancing scene is twilight coded like at the end of the first movie when edward dances with bella at the prom w her broken ankle, please someone tell me you know the one 😩

[novaursa]

The Veil of Fire (3/3)

- Summary: Conclusion of the Dance and your terrible purpose.

- Paring: aunt!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon.

- Note: For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This was requested by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❤️

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Word count: 7 000+

- Previous part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

You storm down the corridor of the Red Keep, the heavy wooden doors rattling in their frames as you pass. The servants who normally crowd these halls shrink away at the sight of you. They know better than to cross your path when you’re in such a state. Your blood hums with the fury that has been building since you left Aegon’s chambers. The image of your elder brother lying helpless, swathed in bandages, the flesh of his body charred and raw, is seared into your mind. And now, all you can think of is the one responsible.

Your brother Aemond.

The thoughts tumble in your mind as you reach his chambers, pushing the door open without knocking. Aemond stands by the window, his back to you, seemingly lost in thought. The light of the setting sun casts a long shadow across the room, a stark contrast to the heat you feel boiling within.

“Aemond,” you say, your voice sharp as Valyrian steel. “Why did you do it?”

He turns slowly, his one remaining eye locking with yours. For a moment, you think you see a flicker of something—surprise, perhaps, or regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the cold, calculating expression he often wears.

“What are you talking about?” His voice is measured, but you can hear the tension beneath it.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you snap. “Aegon. Why did you burn him?”

Aemond’s lips tighten into a thin line. “He was unworthy of the throne,” he says, his tone clipped. “He’s always been unworthy. He was a drunkard, a fool who laughed at me every chance he got. I merely did what needed to be done.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, and you take a step closer to him, your anger morphing into something more complex—something tinged with sorrow. “Aegon is our brother,” you say softly, the fury in your voice giving way to something else, something pleading. “He is family. Your family. We are not your enemies, Aemond.”

For a moment, he says nothing, merely watching you with that unblinking gaze. Then he takes a step toward you, his expression softening. “You spoke to Helaena, didn’t you? She always knows what lurks in the shadows, even when the rest of us do not.”

You nod slightly, your throat tight. “She knew… but that does not change what you’ve done.”

His hand twitches at his side, as though he wants to reach out to you but cannot bring himself to. “He was a threat,” Aemond insists, though his voice has lost some of its earlier conviction. “To me. To the realm.”

You shake your head slowly, your eyes never leaving his. “You’re wrong. The real threat isn’t Aegon or any of us. It’s the idea that we are enemies, that we must destroy each other to claim power. Is that what you’re planning, Aemond? Will you strike me next?”

The question hangs heavy in the air between you, and for a moment, Aemond looks stricken. His gaze drops to the thin scar that now mars your cheek and lips, a reminder of the horror you faced to protect Helaena’s children. You see the way his jaw tightens, the conflict playing out in his mind. He’s always been so fond of you and Helaena, always protective in his own way, and yet now, he stands on the precipice of something dark and unforgivable.

“No,” he says finally, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I could never… not you.”

You take a breath, your heart aching with a mixture of relief and sorrow. “Then do not let this madness consume you, Aemond. We are Targaryens—blood of the dragon. But we are still human, still family. Do not lose yourself to this war.”

He meets your gaze again, and for the first time since you entered his chambers, you see the boy he once was—the brother who would debate with you for hours, who sought your approval as much as you sought his. But that boy is fading, buried beneath the weight of ambition and the demands of the crown.

“I will consider your words,” he says finally, though there is a weariness to him now. “But do not ask me to abandon my duty.”

“I would never ask that of you,” you reply, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “I only ask that you remember who you are, and who we are to you.”

He nods, though you can see the turmoil still simmering beneath the surface. This conversation is far from over, you know that much. But for now, you’ve said what needed to be said. You’ve planted a seed of doubt in Aemond’s mind, and you can only hope it will take root before it’s too late.

As you turn to leave, Aemond’s voice stops you in your tracks. “Sister…”

You glance back at him, waiting.

“Thank you,” he says, and though his voice is still strained, there is a sincerity there that you haven’t heard in a long time.

You nod once, a small gesture of understanding, before slipping out of his chambers. As the door closes behind you, you feel the weight of the day settle on your shoulders. But there is a small glimmer of hope now, too, fragile but real.

You leave Aemond’s chambers, the heavy door closing with a soft thud behind you, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. The conversation still lingers in your mind, a tangled web of emotions—anger, sorrow, fear for the future, and a thread of hope so thin you’re afraid it might snap at any moment. Your hand trembles slightly as you brush it against the stone wall, steadying yourself as you navigate the labyrinth of corridors that make up the Red Keep.

The fortress, usually bustling with life, feels eerily silent in the wake of Rook’s Rest. The weight of the events—of the war that rages beyond these walls—presses down on your shoulders, making each step feel heavier than the last. You try to shake off the oppressive thoughts, focusing instead on the task ahead. There are still things that must be done, plans to be made, and words that must be spoken.

As you turn a corner, you nearly collide with a tall, familiar figure—your uncle, Gwayne Hightower. He catches your arm instinctively, steadying you before you can stumble. His eyes  widen with surprise, and then soften into concern as he takes in your expression.

“Niece,” Gwayne greets you, his voice low and cautious. “You seem troubled.”

You offer him a small, tired smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s been a long day, Uncle. The burden of our house grows heavier by the hour.”

He nods, his expression grave. Gwayne has always been a steady presence, someone who prefers to stay out of the more treacherous waters of court politics. Yet, like you, he has been drawn into the web of deceit and ambition that has ensnared your family.

“I tried to confront Ser Criston earlier,” Gwayne says after a moment, his voice hushed as if the very walls of the Red Keep might be listening. “About his… affair with Alicent.”

You pause, surprised by his admission. You had written to Daeron about this in one of your letters to Dragonstone, knowing that Gwayne would likely read it, but you hadn’t expected him to act on it so soon. The thought of Cole and your mother… It has always made your skin crawl, but in these times, you’ve had to push it aside, focusing on the greater dangers looming over you all.

“And?” you ask, though you can already sense from his tone that the conversation did not go as he had planned.

Gwayne sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. “It didn’t go well. Ser Criston… he’s not the man I remember. He’s… broken, shattered, perhaps beyond repair.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, a cold reminder of the man Ser Criston Cole has become. The once noble and honorable knight, who served as your mother’s sworn shield, now reduced to a creature of bitterness and cruelty. You’ve seen it firsthand—how he treated Jace and his brothers when they lived here, how he sneered at them, never missing an opportunity to remind them of their supposed illegitimacy, to belittle them. The memory stirs a deep anger within you, one that simmers just below the surface.

“He’s not broken enough,” you mutter, the words slipping out before you can stop them. There’s a sharpness to your voice that catches even you by surprise, a reflection of the anger you’ve been holding onto for so long.

Gwayne’s eyes narrow slightly, his concern deepening. “Niece…”

You shake your head, brushing off his worry. “I just… I remember how he treated Jace and his brothers. How he tormented them. This war… it’s turning us all into something unrecognizable, something dark and twisted. I don’t know if any of us will be able to find our way back.”

Gwayne regards you quietly for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’ve always been strong,” he says finally. “Stronger than many realize. But you must be careful, child. This war is a poison that seeps into the soul. Do not let it take hold of yours.”

You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle heavily upon you. He’s right, of course. The war has already changed you, made you colder, more calculating. You’ve had to become this way to survive, to protect those you love. But there’s a part of you, the part that remembers the girl you once were, who fears that you might lose yourself entirely if this continues.

“I’ll be careful,” you promise, though the words feel hollow even as you say them. How can anyone be careful in a world that’s falling apart around them?

Gwayne nods, though you can see the doubt in his eyes. He knows, as well as you do, that there are no guarantees in this war, no promises that can be kept.

“Take care of yourself, Uncle,” you add, reaching out to squeeze his hand briefly. “We need to look after each other, now more than ever.”

He returns the gesture, his grip firm and reassuring. “We will, niece. We will.”

As you part ways, the weight of your conversation settles into your bones, mingling with the exhaustion that’s been building since the events of Rook’s Rest. The war is changing everything, and everyone. But as you continue down the corridor, you can’t shake the feeling that the worst is yet to come.

The cool air of the Red Keep wraps around you like a shroud as you walk through the corridors, your thoughts occupied with the latest reports from the warfront. It has been almost a year since the events of Rook’s Rest, a year of bloodshed and betrayal, and the toll of it all is evident in the weary faces of those you pass. You’ve learned to navigate the treacherous waters of this war with the same care you used to avoid the serpents of court. But despite your best efforts, the tide seems to be pulling you under.

As you pass by the council chambers, your attention is caught by the low murmur of voices—a conversation too hushed to be meant for anyone but those within. Yet, something about the tone, the urgency in the words, draws you closer, until you find yourself lingering just out of sight, listening intently.

“…fleet from the Free Cities,” comes the voice of Jasper Wylde, the Ironrod, who has become a frequent presence in these halls as the war drags on. “Tyland Lannister has secured their support, and they are en route to the Gullet as we speak. They should reach it soon.”

Your blood turns to ice, your heart skipping a beat as the words sink in. The fleet from the Free Cities, the Gullet—it all aligns too closely with something Jace told you not long ago. The secret letter he sent you, so carefully worded and hidden, comes rushing back to you in a flood of memory.

“I will be escorting my brothers to Pentos, across the Narrow Sea,” Jace had written, his words full of determination but also a sense of foreboding. “We must ensure their safety, away from the reach of those who would see them dead. I will return once they are secure.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you piece it together, the realization hitting you like a physical blow. Jace is taking his brothers across the Gullet—right into the path of the enemy fleet. 

The voices in the chamber continue, unaware of your presence, but you can no longer focus on the words. The world around you narrows to a single point of panic, a sharp, suffocating fear that grips you with icy fingers. Jace and his brothers are in danger—real, immediate danger. 

You turn on your heel, your feet carrying you swiftly down the corridor as your mind races. There’s no time to lose, no time to think. You have to act. You have to warn Jace, to do something, anything, to protect him and the boys. But how? The fleet is already en route, and there’s no way to send a raven in time, no way to intercept them before they reach the Gullet.

The panic claws at you as you reach your chambers, slamming the door shut behind you with trembling hands. Your heart pounds in your chest, and for a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and the weight of what you’ve just heard threatens to crush you.

But then, in the midst of the chaos in your mind, a thought surfaces—a memory, a power. Morgoth, your dragon. You share a bond with him, one that goes beyond the usual connection between dragon and rider. It’s something deeper, something primal, and you’ve used it sparingly, only when there was no other choice. 

But now, with Jace and his brothers’ lives hanging in the balance, there’s no question in your mind. You have to do this. You have to warg into Morgoth.

You close your eyes, forcing yourself to take a deep breath, to calm the storm raging inside you. You focus on that bond, the thread that ties you to your dragon, and you reach out with your mind, searching for him. It’s a feeling like plunging into icy water, the sensation of your consciousness leaving your body and traveling through the air, across the distance that separates you.

And then you find him.

Morgoth is there, a massive presence in your mind, all fire and fury, a living embodiment of power. He feels you as well, recognizing your touch, and you can sense his confusion at your sudden intrusion. But there’s no time to explain, no time to ease him into it. You push forward, letting your consciousness merge with his, until you are no longer two separate beings but one.

The world shifts around you, and when you open your eyes, you are no longer standing in your chambers. Instead, you are high above the world, the wind whipping past you as you soar through the sky. You can feel the powerful muscles of Morgoth’s body, the heat of his fire burning within you, and the clarity of his senses as they become your own.

The Red Keep is far below, the landscape spread out like a map beneath you, but you barely notice it. Your focus is entirely on the sea, on the Gullet, where the enemy fleet will soon arrive. You can feel the urgency in every beat of Morgoth’s wings, the need to reach them before it’s too late.

You push him harder, faster, your combined will driving him toward the narrow strip of water that could become Jace’s grave if you don’t intervene. The cold air bites at you, but you barely feel it. There’s only the mission, only the desperate need to protect your brother.

As you fly, your thoughts remain with Jace, with the secret letter he sent you, and the promise he made to return. You cannot—will not—let that promise be broken. Not when there is still a chance to save him.

And with that, you and Morgoth fly toward the horizon, the weight of your mission pressing down on you, the fate of your family resting on the power of your bond. The war has taken so much already, but you refuse to let it take Jace and his brothers.

Not while you still have the strength to fight.

The Battle of the Gullet is one of the bloodiest and most devastating clashes of the war, as recounted in the histories of Westeros. The Free Cities’ fleet, backed by their gold and hatred for the dragons, sought to break the Targaryen stranglehold on the Narrow Sea. It was meant to be a decisive blow against the Blacks, a maneuver to cut off Dragonstone from the support of the Crownlands. But history, as it would be written, tells of how that battle turned into a massacre for the attackers, thanks to a shadow in the sky—one that was not entirely expected.

The day was clear as the Free Cities’ fleet approached the Gullet, a narrow strip of sea separating Blackwater Bay from the waters of the Narrow Sea. Hundreds of ships sailed together, their sails marked with the sigils of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. They came prepared for dragons, armed with scorpions and vast nets meant to bring down the winged beasts. They believed their numbers and preparations would grant them victory.

But they had not accounted for the presence of Morgoth, the Cannibal. Nor had they considered that one of House Targaryen’s own, your spirit merged with the ancient dragon, would be waiting for them.

You had flown fast and far, Morgoth’s powerful wings cutting through the skies. You could feel the rage within the dragon, the deep-seated hunger for destruction that had earned him his fearsome reputation. But you harnessed that rage, directing it with your own will, focusing it on the threat below.

From your vantage point high in the sky, you spotted the fleet before they saw you. The sea was dark with their sails, a sprawling mass of ships moving toward their goal. And in the midst of that fleet, you saw him—Jacaerys, riding on Vermax, leading his brothers on their fateful journey across the sea.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized how close they were to disaster. The ships were spreading out, forming a net around Jace and his brothers, their scorpions aimed skyward, ready to strike. There was no time to lose.

You dived.

Morgoth responded to your command without hesitation, folding his wings and plunging toward the fleet with the speed of a falling star. The wind screamed in your ears, and the sea rushed up to meet you. Below, the sailors saw the dark shape hurtling toward them, but by then it was too late.

You opened Morgoth’s jaws, and the world below exploded into flames.

The first ships were engulfed in a torrent of dragonfire, their wooden hulls splintering and burning, their sails catching like dry kindling. Screams echoed over the water as men were thrown into the sea, their armor dragging them down, or they were incinerated where they stood. The carefully laid trap was unraveling before it could even be sprung.

You and Morgoth weaved through the fleet, breathing fire, slashing with claws, and smashing into the ships with the full force of the dragon’s massive body. One after another, the ships fell, their crews fleeing in terror as the once mighty fleet was reduced to burning wreckage.

Jacaerys, still astride Vermax, turned at the sight of the devastation, his heart racing. He had expected to fight for his life, to protect his brothers as best he could, but what he saw instead was something entirely different—Morgoth, the dread dragon of legend, was laying waste to the fleet. And more than that, Jace could feel it in his bones, in the way Morgoth moved, the way he struck with precision and purpose. This was not a wild dragon on a rampage. There was a mind guiding him, a mind Jacaerys knew all too well.

“(Y/N)…” he whispered to himself, realization dawning. His heart swelled with a mixture of relief and awe. You had come for him. Even across the distance, he knew it was you, controlling the beast with the power of your warg. 

And then, the reinforcements arrived—Ulf the White on Silverwing, Addam Velaryon on Seasmoke, and Hugh Hammer on Vermithor. They had expected to find the fleet in full force, prepared for a difficult battle. Instead, they were greeted by a scene of utter devastation, the sea littered with burning wreckage and the screams of drowning men. Morgoth was already amidst the destruction, tearing through the last remnants of the fleet, leaving nothing but charred remains in his wake.

Ulf, Addam, and Hugh hesitated for a moment, their dragons roaring in the skies, but there was little for them to do. The battle was already won—by you.

Jacaerys urged Vermax forward, guiding his dragon closer to Morgoth. He needed to see you, to confirm what he already knew. As he approached, Morgoth turned his great head toward him, and for a moment, their eyes met. And there, in the depths of Morgoth’s dark, ancient eyes, Jace saw a flicker of recognition, a spark that told him he was right.

“(Y/N)!” Jace called out, though his voice was lost in the roar of the wind and flames. But it didn’t matter—he knew you could hear him, feel him, just as he felt you.

The battle of the Gullet was over before it had truly begun, the fleet of the Free Cities shattered, their hopes of breaking the Targaryen hold on the Narrow Sea crushed under the might of Morgoth and the iron will of his rider. When the histories were written, they would tell of how the Blacks secured their victory in that battle, how Jacaerys Velaryon led the charge, and how the dragons burned the enemy to ash.

But you and Jace would always know the truth—how you had saved him and his brothers, how you had taken control of the fiercest dragon in the world and turned the tide of the battle with fire and blood.

As the last of the enemy ships sank into the sea, you guided Morgoth away from the wreckage, feeling the dragon’s rage slowly subside. The bond between you and Morgoth was still strong, still thrumming with the power of what you had accomplished. But as the adrenaline of the battle faded, you felt the strain of it all weighing down on you.

You knew it was time to return, to pull yourself back into your own body, to leave Morgoth to his own devices once more. But before you could fully withdraw, you felt a gentle nudge in your mind—Jace, sending a wave of gratitude, of love. He didn’t need words to convey what he felt. He knew you had saved him, and he would carry that knowledge with him always.

With a final, lingering look at Vermax and Jace, you released your hold on Morgoth, letting your consciousness slip away from the dragon’s mind and back into your own.

The world went dark, and when you opened your eyes again, you were lying on the cold floor of your chambers in the Red Keep, your body trembling with exhaustion. But despite the fatigue, a smile tugged at your lips. You had done it—you had saved Jace and his brothers, and you had struck a blow against your enemies that they would not soon forget.

The Red Keep was a fortress of dread and uncertainty, its halls echoing with the uneasy silence that had settled over King's Landing in the days following the fall of the Gullet. The tension in the air was palpable as the city awaited the arrival of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the rightful queen in the eyes of her supporters, and the usurper in the eyes of her enemies. You stood in the throne room, your heart pounding in your chest as you gazed upon the Iron Throne, that jagged seat of power that had brought so much strife and sorrow to your family.

Helaena stood beside you, her presence a quiet comfort amidst the chaos. Your twin had always been a beacon of gentleness in a world that often lacked it, but even now, you could see the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty of what was to come. Her children, Aegon’s heirs, had been safely hidden away, but the thought of what might happen to them, and to Helaena herself, gnawed at you. Your mother, Alicent, stood further apart, her face a mask of stoic resignation, though you could see the lines of worry etched into her features. She was trying to be strong, for herself, for her family, but you knew that beneath that composed exterior, she was breaking.

The doors to the throne room opened with a resounding creak, and the sound of boots echoed through the hall. Rhaenyra Targaryen entered, flanked by her loyal forces. Her presence was commanding, her violet eyes sharp and filled with a cold determination. She was the Dragon Queen, come to claim what she believed was hers by right.

And beside her was Jacaerys.

The moment Jace saw you, his eyes softened, the harsh lines of his face relaxing as he broke away from Rhaenyra and the others, striding across the throne room with purpose. Without hesitation, he gathered you into his arms, pulling you into a tight embrace. The warmth of his body against yours, the familiarity of his touch, brought a rush of relief that nearly overwhelmed you. He was here, he was safe, and for that moment, the world outside the two of you ceased to exist.

“You saved me,” Jace murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved us all.”

You clung to him, letting the tension of the past days drain away, if only for a brief moment. “I had to,” you whispered back. “I couldn’t let you go, not like that.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. The gratitude in his gaze was matched by something deeper, something that made your heart ache. But there was no time to dwell on it, not now. Not with Rhaenyra standing mere feet away, her gaze locked onto the Iron Throne, her claim finally within reach.

Jace reluctantly released you, stepping back as you turned to face Rhaenyra. The room was silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. Helaena squeezed your hand, her grip trembling, and you knew you had to act now, before things spiraled out of control.

“Rhaenyra,” you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I ask for your mercy. My sister, Helaena, and her children—innocent children—had no part in this war. Neither did my mother, who was bound by duty to her House. I beg you, spare them.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze flicked from the Iron Throne to you, and for a moment, you saw the conflict in her eyes. This war had taken so much from her—her children, her home, her peace—but it had not yet taken her humanity. You knew that she had every reason to despise Alicent, to see her as the architect of much of her suffering. But you also knew that you had done something that few others had—you had saved her children, the precious heirs she had feared she would lose.

“You saved my children at the Gullet,” Rhaenyra said slowly, her voice measured.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I did it because of my love for your son, Jacaerys. Please, let that be enough. Spare them.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened, if only slightly. The steel in her eyes melted into something warmer, something that spoke of gratitude and perhaps even understanding. She looked over at Helaena, who stood silently by your side, her face pale and drawn, and then to Alicent, who had yet to speak a word.

“Your sister and her children will be spared,” Rhaenyra said at last, her tone decisive. “They will not be harmed. They may remain here in the Red Keep, under guard, but they will not be harmed.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding escaped you, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Helaena’s grip on your hand tightened, a silent thank you in the midst of the storm.

“And my mother?” you pressed, knowing you were asking for a great deal, perhaps too much.

Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened, the softness giving way to the resolve of a queen who had suffered too many betrayals. “Alicent will be confined to her chambers, along with Aegon,” she said, her voice hardening. “They will remain there until Aemond has been dealt with. Once this war is over, we will decide their fates.”

You nodded, understanding that this was the best outcome you could hope for. Alicent would be spared, for now, but her future, like Aegon’s, was uncertain. But at least, for the time being, they would be safe.

“Thank you,” you said, bowing your head slightly in respect. “For your mercy.”

Rhaenyra gave a curt nod, her attention already drifting back to the Iron Throne, the symbol of power that had caused so much pain. The room began to stir as her forces moved to secure the Keep, but you remained where you were, beside Helaena, Jace close at hand.

As the days ahead promised more bloodshed, more loss, you knew that you had done what you could to protect your family. You had brokered a fragile peace, one that could shatter at any moment, but for now, it held.

The city lay under a blanket of darkness, its streets silent as the tension of the past days began to settle into an uneasy calm. But within the private chambers where you and Jacaerys now found refuge, the weight of the world seemed to lift, if only for a little while.

The room was dimly lit by a single candle. You sat on the edge of the bed, your heart racing as you looked at Jace, who stood before you, his expression tender yet filled with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Jace,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness. The way his name fell from your lips, laden with emotion, seemed to draw him closer. He stepped forward, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against the thin scar that ran across your face—an indelible mark left by the horrors you had endured.

“(Y/N),” he replied, his voice low and husky. The way he said your name, with such reverence, made you feel like the only person in the world that mattered. His touch was warm, comforting, and you leaned into it, savoring the closeness between you.

Jace’s other hand found yours, and he pulled you to your feet, bringing you flush against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and you felt your heart steadying in his presence. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. There was no need for words; everything you felt, every emotion that had been building between you, was clear in the way you looked at each other.

Slowly, as if afraid to break the fragile moment, Jace leaned down and captured your lips in a gentle, lingering kiss. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the intimacy of the moment. His lips were soft, yet there was a hunger there, a need that mirrored your own. You kissed him back, your arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as your heart pounded in your chest.

Jace’s hands slid down your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your waist, pulling you even closer. You could feel the strength in his arms, the way his body molded perfectly against yours, and it sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You had been through so much together—so much loss, so much pain—but here, in this moment, there was only love, only the fierce need to be with each other.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he rested his forehead against yours, his hands framing your face. “I was so afraid I’d lose you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “When I saw you in the skies, when I realized it was you… I’ve never been so relieved in my life.”

You smiled softly, your fingers threading through his dark curls. “I couldn’t let you go, Jace. Not when I had the power to save you.” Your voice was a whisper, your words carrying all the love and fear and hope that had been swirling inside you since that fateful day.

Jace’s hands tightened around you, and before you knew it, he was guiding you back toward the bed, lowering you onto the soft mattress. He hovered above you, his eyes searching yours, as if asking for permission, for reassurance. You gave it to him with a slow nod, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch.

He lowered himself beside you, his body pressing against yours as he kissed you again, this time deeper, more urgent. The weight of him against you was grounding, a reminder that despite the chaos of the world around you, this—what you shared—was real, was something worth fighting for.

Your hands roamed over his back, tracing the lines of his muscles, memorizing every inch of him. The feel of his skin beneath your fingertips, the way he responded to your touch, made your heart swell with love for him. You wanted to lose yourself in him, to forget everything else and simply be here, with him, in this moment.

Jace’s kisses trailed from your lips to your jaw, to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and you couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you. He smiled against your skin, his breath warm as he whispered your name like a prayer, a promise.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back to you, needing to feel his lips on yours again. He obliged, kissing you with a fervor that matched your own. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his body moved against yours, igniting a fire in your veins.

“I love you,” Jace murmured between kisses, the words, a reaffirmation of a confession stated long ago, a vow. “I’ve loved you for so long… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your heart soared at his words, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “I love you too, Jace,” you whispered back, your voice trembling with the intensity of your feelings. “More than anything.”

The night stretched on, the two of you lost in each other, your bodies and souls entwined in a dance as old as time. The love you shared, forged in the fires of war and tempered by the trials you had faced, was unbreakable, unyielding. 

In that quiet, intimate moment, there was no war, no throne, no crown—only love, fierce and unwavering, binding you to Jacaerys in a way that nothing, and no one, could ever sever.

Excerpt from Fire and Blood by Archmaester Gyldayn, detailing the events following the fall of King’s Landing and the end of the Dance of the Dragons:

The Fate of Aemond Targaryen, Aegon II, and Helaena Targaryen

With the fall of King’s Landing to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her forces, the war known as the Dance of the Dragons reached its bloody climax. Aegon II, the deposed king, was confined to his chambers within the Red Keep, his body broken by the fires of Rook’s Rest and his spirit shattered by the weight of his defeat. His sister-wife, Helaena Targaryen, remained by his side, her gentle presence a balm to his tortured soul even as the world crumbled around them.

Aemond Targaryen, the most feared and relentless of the Green faction, continued his campaign of terror from Harrenhal, vowing to bring down his enemies in a storm of fire and blood. Yet, despite his ferocity, he was ultimately undone by his own ambition. Reports from that time tell of Aemond’s fateful encounter with the so-called Witch Queen Alice Rivers, who was said to have foreseen his doom. Whether through sorcery or sheer force of arms, Aemond met his end in the ruins of Harrenhal, his body found amidst the scorched remains of Vhagar, his dragon. It is said that Aemond died laughing, unrepentant to the last, his eye fixed on the west where King’s Landing lay, just beyond his reach.

Aegon II’s fate, however, was far less grand. Confined to his chambers, Aegon lingered in a state of despair, plagued by the injuries inflicted upon him by Sunfyre’s fall. Queen Rhaenyra, now on the Iron Throne, decreed that Aegon be kept alive, not out of mercy but as a reminder of the price of ambition and betrayal. His mother, Alicent Hightower, was likewise confined, her influence over the realm broken. Helaena, spared through the intercession of her twin sister, remained in the Red Keep, caring for her children and maintaining a fragile peace between the remaining members of the divided family.

In the end, Aegon II perished in his chambers under mysterious circumstances. Some say it was poison, a final act of mercy by his sister-wife Helaena; others whisper that it was his own hand that delivered him from his suffering. The truth remains shrouded in mystery, as does much of the Dance of the Dragons.

The Reign of Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen and the Union of the Houses of Black and Green

Following Rhaenyra’s ascension to the Iron Throne, the realm was plunged into a brief but brutal period of chaos. Yet it was her son, Jacaerys Velaryon, who would ultimately bring the Seven Kingdoms back from the brink. After Rhaenyra’s tragic death, Jacaerys assumed the throne as King Jacaerys I, the first Targaryen monarch to successfully unite the warring factions of Black and Green.

Central to this reconciliation was Jacaerys’ marriage to his cousin, the daughter of Alicent Hightower and twin sister to Helaena, often referred to in histories as the Scarred Princess or The Silent Protector. This union, born of both love and political necessity, helped to heal the rift that had torn the Targaryen family apart. Together, they ushered in a period of relative peace and prosperity, remembered as the Redolent Peace, a time when the wounds of the Dance began to slowly heal.

The marriage of Jacaerys and his queen produced several children, ensuring the continuation of the Targaryen line. Their eldest son, Viserys, would inherit the throne, carrying with him the legacy of both the Black and Green factions, and serving as a symbol of the unity that Jacaerys and his queen had fought so hard to achieve. The peace they fostered, though not without its challenges, proved lasting, a testament to the strength of their bond and the wisdom of their rule.

The Conclusion of the Scarred Princess and Her Terrible Purpose

Yet for all the peace and prosperity she helped bring about, the Scarred Princess carried with her a dark secret, one that weighed heavily upon her throughout her life. This secret, known to only a few, was her bond with the fearsome dragon Morgoth, once known as Cannibal, and her ability to warg into him. This power, unheard among Targaryens, had been both a blessing and a curse, enabling her to protect those she loved but also tying her to a creature of immense and terrible power.

In the later years of her life, as the weight of her past and the fear of what her abilities might mean for her children grew, the queen made a decision that would forever change her legacy. Accounts vary, but it is said that she warged into Morgoth one final time, flying the ancient beast away from Dragonstone, far across the sea, to the lands beyond the known world. There, in the desolate wastes where no man or dragon had ever returned, she released her control over Morgoth, allowing him to live out his days free from her influence. Whether she returned to her body or perished in that distant land is a matter of speculation and legend.

What is known is that after her disappearance, Morgoth was never seen again, and her body, pale and cold, was found in her chambers, her face at peace for the first time in many years. Her children and her king mourned her deeply, and she was laid to rest beside her husband, Jacaerys, in the crypt of Dragonstone he had commissioned to be built for them, a queen who had given everything for her family, for her love, and for the realm.

In the years that followed, she became a figure of legend, remembered not only for her role in ending the Dance but for her quiet strength, her fierce love, and the sacrifice she made to ensure that the darkness within her would never again threaten the peace she had helped to create.

And so ended the tale of the Scarred Princess, a woman who, though born into a world of fire and blood, forged a path of love and redemption, leaving a legacy that would echo through the halls of history for generations to come.

The Shadowlands

Far to the east, beyond the known world, where the sun rises over the jagged peaks of the Mountains of the Morn, lies a land shrouded in mystery and dread—the Shadowlands, a place where the sky is perpetually dark, and the air itself seems to whisper ancient secrets. It is a land where few dare to tread, where magic runs wild, and where dragons, long thought to be creatures of the west, still haunt the skies.

In the vast, foreboding wilderness of these Shadowlands, a great shadow moved across the sky, its wings blotting out the meager light that filtered through the perpetual gloom. This was Morgoth, the dread dragon once known as Cannibal, and within him, the spirit of the Scarred Princess—her consciousness intertwined with the ancient beast's in a bond that transcended time and space.

As Morgoth flew, his powerful wings cutting through the thick, heavy air, the Scarred Princess within him could feel the pull of this strange and ancient land, a place where the old magics still held sway. The landscape below was a desolate expanse of twisted rock and blackened earth, dotted with ruins of civilizations long lost to the memory of men. Rivers of fire ran through the land like veins of molten blood, and the very air seemed to hum with a dark, malevolent energy.

But Morgoth was not deterred by the inhospitable terrain. He was a creature of fire and shadow, a dragon born of the darkest recesses of the world, and this land, so unlike the green hills of Westeros or the sunlit skies of Essos, felt almost like home to him. Here, he was truly free, far from the conflicts of men, far from the eyes of those who would seek to control or destroy him.

Yet even in this place, Morgoth was not alone.As he flew over the darkened peaks, Morgoth sensed it—a presence in the sky, another dragon. The Scarred Princess, her consciousness still entwined with his, felt the thrill of the hunt rise within him, a primal instinct that she could not fully suppress. This was a place where the old ways held true, where dragons ruled, and there could be no sharing of the sky.

Morgoth’s keen eyes spotted the dragon—a great beast, pale as bone, its scales shimmering with a faint luminescence that seemed to draw in the darkness around it. The dragon, larger even than Vhagar, flew with a grace and power that marked it as a creature of immense age and strength, a relic of a time when dragons ruled the skies without challenge.

But Morgoth was not daunted. With a roar that echoed through the mountains like thunder, he descended upon the pale dragon, his massive form cutting through the air with terrifying speed. The other dragon, sensing the approach of its rival, turned to meet him, its own roar shaking the very ground below.

The two dragons clashed in a fury of fire and claws, their roars reverberating through the mountains, sending flocks of terrified birds into the air. Morgoth struck first, his jaws snapping at the pale dragon’s neck, his claws tearing through its scales with savage ferocity. The other dragon fought back with equal fury, its tail lashing out, its own fire scorching the sky as the two beasts twisted and turned in a deadly dance of power.

The Scarred Princess could feel the raw strength of Morgoth’s body, the immense power that surged through him as he fought. She could feel the heat of the fire that burned within him, the rage that fueled his every move. And yet, even as she shared in his primal fury, there was a part of her that remained distant, watching, waiting, knowing that this was the final act of a story that had been building for so long.

Morgoth’s jaws found purchase on the pale dragon’s throat, and with a savage twist, he brought the great beast crashing down to the earth below. The impact shook the ground, sending up clouds of dust and ash as the pale dragon struggled beneath Morgoth’s weight. But it was no match for the ancient black dragon, who tore into its flesh with a hunger born of ages.

The pale dragon let out one last, pitiful cry as Morgoth’s teeth sank deep into its neck, tearing through flesh and bone, ending its life in a torrent of blood and fire. The Scarred Princess, still within Morgoth, could feel the life drain from the other dragon, could feel the satisfaction that pulsed through Morgoth as he claimed his victory, as he consumed the flesh of his fallen rival.

As Morgoth fed, the Scarred Princess allowed herself to fully merge with the dragon’s mind, feeling the primal joy of the hunt, the savage satisfaction of victory. But within that wild exultation was a deep sorrow, a melancholy that came from knowing that this was the end of her journey, the fulfillment of a purpose she had never fully understood until now.

Here, in the Shadowlands, far from the conflicts of men, she had found her final resting place, her final act. She had come to this place to free herself from the bonds of the world, to release herself from the terrible power that had both protected and cursed her. And in doing so, she had become one with Morgoth, with the ancient dragon who had always been her shadow, her companion in the darkness.

The pale dragon was consumed, its bones left to bleach in the eternal twilight of the Shadowlands. Morgoth, sated and triumphant, lifted his great head to the sky, letting out a final roar that echoed through the mountains, a sound that spoke of power, of victory, and of an end.

And then, as the last echoes of that roar faded into the distance, the Scarred Princess released her hold on Morgoth, letting her consciousness drift away, leaving the dragon to his own devices. Her spirit, tired and worn, slipped from the world, leaving behind only the memory of a woman who had walked the path of fire and blood, who had flown with dragons, and who had found peace in the end.

Morgoth, the dread dragon, flew on, his wings beating against the darkened sky, a creature of legend, of terror, and of freedom. He was no longer bound by the will of men or women, no longer tied to the conflicts of the world. He was a force of nature, a creature of the old world, and he would live out his days in the Shadowlands, far from the reach of men.

And so ended the tale of the Scarred Princess and Morgoth, her terrible purpose fulfilled, her legacy left behind in the children she had borne, and the peace she had helped to forge. In the histories that would be written, she would be remembered as a queen, a protector, and a woman who had faced the darkness within herself and emerged victorious.

But in the Shadowlands, she would be remembered as the last rider of Morgoth, the black dragon who had flown beyond the known world, to a place where legends are born and where the shadows never end.

[softshuji]

CW: NSFW, ptv, daddy kink mentions, reader wears makeup and a dress, marking and lots of pet names. this is pure smut that's literally it, just pure filth I am so sorry I had to get this out, I'm pretty sure I blushed writing this, extremely self indulgent bye.

Hanma's been eyeing you for a while.

You think maybe he'd know that you knew how often his eyes are shifting from the mirror to you in front of the vanity as you apply a light coat of blush to your cheeks. You're leaning forward to see yourself better in the mirror, rocking back on your feet when you turn to look at the makeup and find a complimentary shade of lipstick.

He's done and undone his own tie so many times, a little excessive maybe, but he likes to watch you - and it's even better to him that you don't mind and will let him for as long as he wants to.

You do like an audience after all, he knows that first hand. And he's yet to shrug on his jacket when you feel his hands, creeping along your sides as you hold up a hand mirror to inspect your handiwork more closely. To him, the waiting is unbearable, and of course it is, when you look so delicious so effortlessly and he can't simply be content to just watch you and wait till you notice and turn around.

"New dress?" He says, lips dropping down to where your hair meets your ear, a soft trail of kisses and a light brush of his lips against your soft and open hair.

You cast a glance back, a smile inlaying your now coated lips before you pop them experimentally, a little internal relish at how his Adams apple bobs and his eyes drop to the matted sheen of them. "Mhm, yeah, you like it?" You know he does.

"Yeah," he says, muffled and whispered as his warm breath falls and dances further down with a caress and gentle trail along your skin. "Real pretty sweetheart, you look perfect. Looks nice with your pretty hair too." He knows you know that he thinks that already, because he makes it known often just how pretty he thinks you are. And oh how often he reminds you, as you know he wants to do now.

"Yeah?" And you can tell, so easily. When he bites his lip, and his teeth are grazing along the juncture of your neck and shoulder, big and rough but assured hands now coming around your hips to pull you flush to him, it's almost too easy to tell. "I got it cos I thought you'd like it."

"oh you did it for me? That's sweet and I do like it princess. How'd you know?"

"It's easy to tell. You like the ones with easy access." You grin at him in the mirror, slightly pushing your hips back against him and he laughs, pulls his hand up to your throat to tilt you back till the back of your head rests against his chest, a firm but confident grip on your neck that has your thighs twitching- a visceral reaction you know he can feel from where he's pressed up against you from behind.

"mhm, yeah I do. Got me rock hard so early in the morning, I should punish you." And with that he grinds his now hard cock against you- hips fully flush to yours as his breath ghosts and curls over your lips.

Your chest trips, eyes flitting up and then down to where his other hand creeps and dances over the hem of the white dress. "You'll be late, I'll be late too," you say, without conviction, tongue swiping at your bottom lip to wet it in anticipation, your hips still meeting his in tandem, a heat pooling between your legs.

"I'll be quick pretty girl." Although he knows you don't need any convincing when your eyes are clouding with lust, that familiar glassy shine glimmering in them as you - expectedly, press your lips to his. "Five minutes princess, just wanna feel you."

You always start off soft- a little push and pull, him pressing himself into you with a needy and eager bite, and you curling your tongue along his from the underside, soft breaths and gasps as you try to drink him in entirely. You push, press yourself further against him, an unmeasured whimper against his mouth when he drops his hands to massage and squeeze your thighs, fingers dancing and stroking at the soft inner sides. Back and then forth, and back again.

"You always say that, and then you make us late," you whisper as you pull away for air, a thin string of saliva now pooling on your lips. It never lasts and he knows your rebuttals are half-hearted, that the wetness now dampening your underwear says enough.

He chuckles, a hot breath curling along your skin when he flips you around, his size and shape and the entirety of him backing you against the dresser. "Oh you don't wanna? How wet you are says otherwise pretty girl. You think I can't tell? You're dripping."

"That's your fault," you say even as you lift a leg to hook it around his waist, ankles locking around the lower end of his back to keep him in place and pressed firm to your hips, as his thumb lightly circles your clit over the seat of your panties- a sharp and broken whimper lost against his lips as he bites and nips at you.

"oh my fault huh? So shall I stop then pretty girl? Want me to leave you dripping and wet and aching?" And he pulls your panties to the side now sticky and hot, thumb pressed to your clit to draw firm and measured circles against the achy bundle of nerves.

Your eyes flutter, teeth biting down on your lips as you twitch and your thighs squeeze together. "No please, please, I need you." And oh how he draws it out from you easily, with so much need, an eager rock of your hips to feel him more, the rough pad of his thumb and then his fingers slipping inside you.

"yeah? What do you need sweetheart? Use your words for me. Tell daddy what you want." Middle and ring finger curling inside you, slow and drawn out and perfectly punctuated against the soft and twitchy sensitive spot, thumb still caressing your hot and wet clit, arousal now drooling down his wrist.

A broken whine escapes your lips. "I need- need you inside me, please please? It hurts. Need you to cum in me."

And be laughs, giggles in fact, with a grin that you can feel against your neck from where his lips are sucking harsh deep and purpling marks into your skin. "Good girl, that's My girl. Don't worry, I'll give you what you want." And then, as his nose nudges against your collarbones, scent of your perfume on his tongue, "Gonna cum in that pretty pussy of yours. You feeling good? Like having my fingers In you?"

Saliva pools on the edge of your lips as his fingers repeatedly curl and press against that soft and swollen spot, thighs clenching and lifting to meet him more, till his knuckles brush absently against your clit. And then deeper still, broken and gasped choked moans pressed to his shirt from your saliva now dribbles onto the white linen- too much for you to form a response in return.

He coos at you, soft and teasing, till that tight wire of heat and tension simmers in your tummy, moans and breathy broken whines getting quicker and sharper and you tightening around his fingers with every curl of them against your soft, warm walls.

"shuji- fuck, oh, I think I'm-" you try, and it comes out as a heavy breath, you panting and gasping against his shoulder where your cheek is pressed until suddenly, he pulls them out, cool air now pulling your orgasm further away from you as cry in protest.

"shhh, relax princess, I got you," he says, undulated under the sound of metal as his belt comes undone. "You trust me right?" And he lifts your hips, easily, your thighs now resting on the dresser as his aching hard cock springs free, now dripping and drooling with precum.

You stifle a gasp, tongue pooling in anticipation as your eyes trail, unashamedly from his darkened gaze to where his cock now twitches with need.

"I- I trust you baby, promise. But please, I Need- need to cum so bad." And as if to enunciate your point, your hips lift and jerk, an eager shuffle that has his tip pressing against your clit.

"I know, I know Doll, take a deep breath for me yeah? Relax, let me make you feel good," he says, a slow and measured press of his cock further into your pussy, loud moans from the both of you now whined and broken against each other's lips.

"I- I can't, it's too much-" quick and sharp gasps now lost in the wet and sticky sound of your arousal spreading further along your thighs and you're clenching still, sucking him in, ankles now tightening around his waist, a hand coming up to his hair to tug at and the other bunching his shirt between your shaking fingers.

His hands find your hips, smooth and reassuring circles rubbed into the skin even as he sinks deeper and deeper still. "Shhh you can do it sweetheart, just relax and ease up a little- look at how much you're sucking me in." And then, somehow, his hips press flush to yours, buried in you to the hilt and his tip now kissing lightly at your cervix.

You take sharp breaths between the broken whimpers, the pitch of your sweet voice rising as he begins a languid grind of his hips, his hands now bruising at your skin gripped tight between his fingers. He drops his forehead to the crown of your head, hips snapping as the dresser shakes behind you.

"shit that's it pretty girl- so warm and tight and perfect for me, so fuckin soft and pretty." He slurs, half lost in the clouded daze, lips parted and reddened, sweat clinging to the nape of his neck as you pull and tug at his soft curls.

"fuck, oh my god, sh- shuji-" you whine and whimper, moan and whisper, loud and broken and it's all lost under the wet sound of his hips snapping against yours, the repeated slapping sound punctuated by the rock of the dresser against the wall.

"I got you, I got you pretty doll,- hah, you feel like heaven, pretty princess pussy was made for me huh?"

Your lashes flutter, lips grazing his neck as you pull and tug and tighten your fingers in his curls, the one scratching down his shirt that clings with to the shifting muscles in his back. "I was, I promise," you babble, tears forming in your eyes as the mascara runs and smudges on the white linen. "I'm yours- I'm yours- I'm yours, all yours."

His cock twitches, pulses and stutters, hips stilling momentarily. "You're mine?" And then. "All mine? Only mine?"

You shuffle and grind up against him, that all too familiar wire of pleasure bubbling in your tummy. "Only yours, forever. Please, let me cum, can I cum?"

He lifts your chin then, a soft and tender kiss to your forehead, cheeks now tinted pink, a rosy sheen to his skin as his lips press softly to the crown of your head and you almost keen, a fluttery beat that only increases tenfold when his thumb finds your clit again to run smooth circles into it.

"Cum for me then sweetheart, cum for daddy and let me feel you," he says, and your lips part, hips rocking as you spasm and twitch with the orgasm that has your vision clouding white. You choke out his name and it feels reverential, feels tender and intimate and delicious coming from your swollen lips now wet and smudged with lipstick and he loves you dearly, loves you in a way that's terrifying and otherworldly.

He thrusts messily, a few pumps of his cock till he's spilling into you, warm and hot and sinking his forehead to yours, your name chanted and sweet on his lips till he slows his hips down and your breath softens as the heady pleasure carries the both of you into bliss.

"I love you," you say, mumbled against his shoulder as your breath evens out, hands running softly up and down his back as he pulls out.

"I know sweetheart, I know you do." And he presses an extra kiss to your cheek, hands now smoothing reassuring and loving circles into your hips as you both come down together.

It's overwhelming in the moments like this, somehow more intimate than the sex, when he looks on you and your reflection shimmers in his pupils blown wide with love and an adoration that borders on worship and he waits and kisses you softly, small little murmurs of your name on his lips.

"we're late, you made us late," you say with a hazy smile as your hands trail along his forearms, finding the veins and junctures, small scars and fissures in the skin that are silvery and pink in the light.

"such a greedy needy little thing aren't you? Came on my cock and now it's my fault we're late?" And it makes you laugh - so unreservedly, that the tension and pressure of the moment slips and peels away.

"you're the one who liked the dress a little too much."

He grins, thumb and forefinger taking your chin between them. "Well it is a nice dress isn't it? My pretty girl is just too pretty." And you love him entirely, so big and beautiful in all that he is, all the bad and the good that comes with him that maybe, being late is worth it.

You know he's worth it all and more.

I am not proofreading, I'm too embarrassed to go back and read it, take what you're given.

Reblogs appreciated though

[stargirlrchive]

This is Simon and his daughter when she wants to do dance and has one of those recitals where the child’s parent dances with them. He gladly walks up there with his little princess and does the dance with her. And obviously you would be recording the entire thing to watch over and over.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRc6C9tc/

this made me ascend out of my body !! and i word-vomited a little

like you’re a little hesitant to bring up to simon that there’s a father-daughter dance because you know it would break his heart if he couldn’t make it. and when you do bring it up, he’s so quiet.

you can see the cogs turning in his brain, the turmoil he’s feeling clear as day in his eyes before he’s blinking and it’s gone. giving you a small nod and mumbling something along the lines of ‘i’ll make it work.’

you don’t hear much about it after that. especially because the week practices are starting he gets deployed. you’ve honestly thought he’s forgotten all about it.

so for father-daughter practice you show up, not wanting to let your little girl feel left out.

weeks of practice go on, and you’ve both gotten the steps down. you’re so happy that your little girl doesn’t seem to be too bummed out that simon won’t be able to make it. she understands, even at such a young age, that dad’s got an important job!

but unexpectedly on week three, little riley’s ballet teacher comes up to you beaming. “i’m glad to hear mr. riley was finally able to get the recordings i sent over.”

and you’re so confused because you have no idea what she’s talking about. you hadn’t been able to speak to simon since a few days after he left. but as she explains that simon had asked her to send over a video of the routine so he could practice while away, your heart warms. tears pooling at your waterline as you give her a watery smile and bid your goodbye.

it’s about half an hour later that you’re both home and you get a facetime call from simon. instantly little riley is reaching for the phone and babbling away over all the things she’s done since he’s been gone.

reluctantly passing you the phone when simon asks to speak to mama. your eyes tracing over his masked face, smiling softly as you remember his hidden features. your heart lurching in your chest because you miss him so terribly.

“so, you’ve been practicing.”

the way he scratches at the back of his neck, you know he’s blushing under the mask. a bright smile blooming on your face as he nods.

“ask’d johnny to stand in h’r place to get the movements right.”

and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your throat, “gaz ‘nd capt’n been giving me pointers, but i’ve got most of it down.”

you sigh softly, just hearing him speak makes your heart thrum in pure happiness. but as your eyes flicker over to your daughter, you feel it plummet.

“m’not gonna tell her you’ve been learning the dance. it’ll get her hopes up and i don’t want her to be disappointed if you can’t make it.”

“i will be there.”

the conviction in his voice causes the sadness swirling in your chest to simmer down because you know he will.

but it’s only the day before the recital that simon gets back home. your daughter clinging to him desperately the whole day.

babbling excitedly about how he’s gonna be home to see her and mama perform. you both decided to let her find out it would be simon dancing with her until she was on stage.

which you are then sitting front row, camera ready and already recording as your little girls brows furrow in confusion as she sees you sitting in the seats. but before she can think too much about it, simon is coming out from the side of the stage, dressed in all black, a black tutu and a simple black balaclava.

the smile on your daughter’s face is the brightest you’ve ever seen and you have to force down the tears that are threatening to fall.

before the music starts you see little riley tugging on his arm, and after simon bends down to hear her, he barks out a laugh. your daughter’s giggles filling the room before the music starts and they start dancing.

her eyes shining brighter and brighter because her dad knew the dance. and caught her anytime her slippery shoes slid a little too much on the stage.

when she’s finally able to get back to you, she’s bolting into your arms. her words jumbled and excited over the fact that she got to dance with her dad, just like all her other little friends.

and when she finally calms down, simon is wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer as he presses a kiss to your temple and you can feel how fucking happy he is.

“what did she tell you before the performance started?”

a warbled noise left his mouth, his eyes full of mirth as he tried so hard not to laugh, “she asked me to not step on her cause mommy always does.”

[tonydaddingham]

oh my god but crowley didn't fully believe that whatever he was idly toying with confessing at the ritz was gonna work, did he? he impatiently looked at his watch, flumped into the chair after stress-tidying the shop - not because the metatron had dragged aziraphale away, but because when aziraphale eventually comes back, and crowley manages to ferry him off to the ritz, crowley wasn't yet sure whether he should say the unspoken thing. he was still weighing up the idea, was debating whether or not he should. because here's the thing - crowley hadn't cottoned on.

he hadn't worked out what the dance meant. the lingering touches. the longing glances that he thought he might have caught in the corner of his eye, but couldnt be sure. maggie and nina came to talk to him, and he was nonchalant and dismissive and brushed off what they were saying because crowley doesn't want his vulnerability seen. he wasn't even sure that a confession would actually work - so don't encourage him, because what if aziraphale doesn't feel the same way? what if giving voice to it is still too fast?

but they seem to think that aziraphale feels some kind of way about him... so maybe, actually, he should? he should say something, he should tell aziraphale how he feels, oh god he should take this spark of bravery and fan it into an inferno... because that glimmer of hope, buried within, that aziraphale won't reject him is burning a little brighter.

so he decided to take the leap, to confess then and there, because that little flicker of courage is so delicate, and it has to be coaxed into a flame, and if he doesnt do it now, he won't ever feel he can. "if i don't start talking now, i won't ever start talking". he wasn't set on confessing at the ritz, only considering that if anything was going to be said it should happen there. he went out to the bentley, after handing maggie and nina back to their reality, to put Their Song on the deck - it might help! - and then came back nervous and excited and impatient and terrified. but the girls said that they never say what they're really thinking, and what crowley's thinking is that he ought to say something, but doesn't know if he should.

but crowley took the leap, decided to just do it whilst he's still got a grasp on that conviction and bravery. and is smacked back with the shock and repulsion of being offered restoration, the heartbreak that aziraphale does reciprocate what he does, but only if he's an angel again. only if he goes back. only if only if only if. he doesn't hear what aziraphale actually means, doesnt think about what aziraphale is actually trying to say to him - that aziraphale does want him, does love him, does want to be with him, just as he is, but it can only happen if they're safe, working from the inside to change things so they can be safe - because all he can think is that maybe he shouldn't have said anything at all. took the leap, and found out all over again what it is to fall.

[pinkthrone445]

-Abbott's house-

Pairing:Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Gender:Fluff, funny, soft

Warnings:none(?) future smut

Summary:The district gives the school the idea of spending a month living together to strengthen bonds, you never thought that would change your relationship with some so much.

Hi! This is an interactive story, if some thinks about something funny that one of the people of Abbott would be like to do, and you would like me to introduce it in the second part of the fic, you can leave it on the comments. I hope you like this part!

Abbott's shenanigans

There are a lot of things that influence the relationship we have with people, spending a lot of time together, going on vacation together, going on dates, being with someone when they're sick and taking care of them, having a fight or a problem that requires assistance, living together, and so on. It could change the relationship for the worse or strengthen the existing friendship, or sometimes even make love grow.

You and your Abbott classmates commonly spent a lot of time together at work, so you never thought that living with them would make much of a difference, but you were wrong and didn't know how much until Ava walked into the teacher's room accompanied by Janine to make an important announcement.

-"Please, if I can get your attention... I have an important statement, as the vacations arrives, Abbott will begin to do a month of interaction together to reinforce the fellowship and friendship between us so we can work better together as a team an as a family, you can say that you do not want to go, but keep in mind that it will be an all-paying month in a shared house, the groups will be 8 people per house, which if everyone says yes, this group will be a house shared by Melissa, Barbara, Jacob, Gregory, Ava, (Y/N), Mr. Johnson and I"-Commented a very excited Janine seeing everyone-"The house has 5 rooms, so some will have to share a room and others won't, we will fix that later depending on who says yes... It also has 1 private bathroom per room and a large one downstairs, it has a fully equipped kitchen, a dining room and living room with television, a terrace, a patio and a heated pool... The only thing you would have to bring is the clothes you would use, personal towel and any hygiene items you prefer besides personal medicines... You will also have money to go shopping, there will be group activities and you will have 2 days completely free to do whatever you want or go visit your family. If you want to be part of this, talk to me or Ava and we'll write you down, I hope you take advantage of the time the district decide to give us something for free..."Janine muttered the last part before leaving the teacher's room, leaving you all a little surprised with the news.

Immediately the murmurs and questions began

-"Gregory let's go together and share a room!" - Jacob murmured excitedly, grabbing his friend's arm

-"I don't know... I have my day to day planned even to what I eat, it would be a big change" - he replied without much conviction

-"Please! If we do this I'll have one more month to find a new apartment... Besides this will help me with my breakup...You know how sad I've been"-Jacob was using the pity card and Gregory knew it, but he loved him too much to say no...

-"Fine, but you better keep the room clean" - Gregory muttered under his breath, and Jacob jumped and danced happily

-"Are you going Barbs?" - Mel asked her friend she shrugged her shoulders

-"I have to ask Gerald first, but if I go, I want a room to myself so I can use my breathing machine... You?" - Barbara asked

-"I think maybe...I'm very bored alone, it will be a good distraction... You?"-Mel asked you this time while you were eating

-"I want to... I mean, paid vacation? Count me in, besides I don't have anything else to do"-You smiled looking at the redhead.

Little by little, everyone else got on board with the idea of spending the vacation together, so before you could think about it much more, you were already driving to the house where you would spend the next month of your life.

You were one of the first to arrive, even though there were already two cars in the driveway. You carefully unloaded your bags and walked inside the house, suddenly finding Ava and Janine talking and arguing.

-"Hello girls..."-You whispered trying to go unnoticed and not interrupt or get involved in the discussion

-"(Y/N)! Welcome!" - Janine yelled, walking away from the principal and getting closer to you-"All the rooms are assigned already... Yours is the one to the right in the second floor, you can settle in and when everyone arrives, we will handle you sheets with the schedule for the month, Okey? Enjoy" -The petite woman barely let you say hello before going back to her chat with Ava. You carefully brought your bags up and noticed that you had a shared room, although you still didn't know with whom.

After settling everything in, you felt more people arrive at the house and before you knew it, your roommate had walked through the door

-"Hello roommate" - Mel muttered, leaving her bags on her bed and smiling at you

-"Oh, hi Mel... I thought you will be sharing a room with Barb... I mean, sorry, from everyone that I could got, I'm happy it's you..." - You muttered a little embarrassed

-"Yeah... Barbara wanted a room to herself, but Ava and Mr. Johnson asked for it first, so Barbara was assigned with Janine, Gregory, and Jacob together and you and me together..."-The redhead began to unpack her bag as you looked at her

-"Do you want me to swap rooms with Barbara so you are together? It's not a hassle at all" - You responded, helping her with her stuff

-"Don't bother, Ava did this because she wants us to strengthen our bonds with people that we don't get together as much, so we are stuck together... Also, Ava did this arrangements because she wanted a whole room for herself"-she muttered, arranging her clothes on one of the furnitures

-"Okey... Do you want to set some ground rules or something? I don't wanna bother you"-You asked sitting on your bed looking at her

-"Just by saying that, I already like you a thousand times more... I just don't want the light on after 12 if possible and dry the bathroom thoroughly after a shower. I think that's it. You?" - she commented, turning to look at you and you shrugged your shoulders

-"I don't think so..."-You muttered before you pulled out one of your books and started reading while she sorted out her things.

The week began to pass normally, each one received their activity sheet, which included movie nights (each one would choose one movie per night), you had physical activities together, walks, reading nights, month game night, each one was assigned a place in the house to clean and other chores together. Everyone would have to cook or go shopping from time to time. Take some classes for school, etc.

It would be a busy and interactive month.

Your coexistence with Mel was going well, more than well, the fact that you didn't make her angry so far said a lot.

When the first movie night rolled around, Jacob chose the movie "It", which you tried to avoid because you didn't like horror movies and because you hated clowns, but Ava said it was a must-do activity so you had to stay, although the truth was that she wanted to laugh at how scared you were.

Before the movie started, you made popcorn for everyone and sat next to the redhead who was the only empty spot on the couch. Mel smiled at you and covered your legs with the blanket she had, sharing it with you.

At first you avoided watching the movie by looking at your phone, but Ava told you to turn it off so you no longer had any distractions, nervously, you started playing with your fingers but Mel noticed your fidgeting, carefully she took one of your hands with hers and intertwined her fingers with yours smiling at you

-"It's okay, it's just a movie, I'm here with you..."-she whispered close to your ear, making you blush. You never thought that sharing just a couple of days together would make the redhead more fond of you and want to take care of you.

The rest of the movie you saw it without letting go of her hand and shaking a little when the damn clown appeared, witch was all the time.

At the end of the movie you were one of the first to go to your room, as soon as you entered you lay down on your bed and started watching cartoons on your cell phone trying to get the face of the damn clown out of your memory. Mel carefully entered the room and stared at you tenderly, you looked like a small sacred child

-"Are you watching Bluey?" - she whispered, trying not to alarm you

-"Yes... I hate clowns and now I'm scared and I won't be able to sleep if I'm like this... Don't laugh at me please"-You muttered in shame and she shook her head

-"Never... I'll go take a shower, you can leave the lights on tonight if you want..."-She responded taking off her clothes in front of you, seeing her in her underwear made you forget your fears for a moment, it wasn't until the redhead walked through the bathroom door that you came back to reality and back to your cartoons.

After a few minutes, the room filled with the scent of flowers when the redhead came out of the bathroom, you followed her with your eyes waiting for her to go to her bed, but instead she stood in front of you

-"Move a little, give me a little of room, I'll sleep with you so you don't get bad dreams"-Mel suggested and you gave her space a little confused, thinking maybe she was joking. She carefully climbed onto your bed with her pajamas on and gently hugged you making you snuggle on her chest, consciously or unconsciously, this was making you feel safe and calmer.

Your heart began to beat more slowly and your head stopped thinking, her hands gently scratched the back of your neck and the beating of her heart over your ear made you breathe more calmly and steady, even the darkness and silence of the room provided a calm atmosphere now that she was by your side.

When Mel began to feel like you were falling asleep, she kissed your forehead gently

-"Good night hon, I'll take care of you..."-She whispered before you fell asleep completely.

Unable to believe it, you slept through the night without any nightmares, and when you woke up Melissa was still by your side sleeping and cuddling you. Not wanting to wake her, you tried to gently snuggle closer to her. You couldn't believe how good she smelled and how beautiful she looked while she sleeps. When you were about to snuggle up on her chest, her voice startled you

-"I'm already awake hon... Good morning" -she commented in a thick voice making you blush

-"I'm sorry...I...it's just that you're so warm that I wanted to get closer to you... Besides you smell so nice..."-You began to stutter from nerves that you had been caught in your attempt to be close to her-"I didn't want to disturb you, just feel your warmth..."-The redhead snuggled you with her arms putting you close to her chest making you shut up by being almost between her breasts

-"I said good morning... And you didn't answer" - She commented in a raspy voice

-"I... I'm sorry, good morning Mel" - You replied and closed your eyes taking a big breath to etch her perfume into your memory

-"Did I help? Did you have any nightmares?" - She asked and you shook your head with your eyes still closed-"Good... Do you want to go cook breakfast together?" - She asked again and after a few seconds of thinking, you nodded. Although you'd like to stay in that bed for as long as possible, if you said something, you might make her feel uncomfortable. Gathering all the strength in the world, you sat up on the bed and stretched out your arms under the watchful eye of the redhead.

After the two got ready, you went to the kitchen with the redhead to make breakfast. No one was up yet, so that gave more peace and quiet to cook. You and the redhead worked together like a well-oiled machine, it seemed like you had been cooking together for years as you saw how you helped and understood each other. The redhead put on Italian music and was surprised when you started singing, seeing you with different eyes than she did a few days ago.

At the time you didn't know it, but that month would be one of the most intense and crazy where your life would take a 180-degree turn, changing everything, especially your relationship with your coworker and roomie.

[angelofsmalldeaath]

movement — a.h.b.

cw: nothing i can think of for this one (apart from the usual fluff)

“you’re really bad at sneaking, you know?” his voice makes me jump. i push away from the doorframe, stand up straighter, and curse under my breath. 

he’s on the floor, starfished, face up at the ceiling with his eyes closed. his face looks so soft and tranquil, so relaxed that for a moment there i was sure he’d fallen asleep, nodded off while thinking like he so often does. 

“how d’you know i was sneaking?” i challenge. “maybe i just got here.”

it only takes him a second to click his tongue. “have been smelling your perfume for five minutes now.”

i smile to myself, walk in and stand over him. “and you couldn’t say that five minutes ago? you kept me waiting?” 

without opening his eyes, he shrugs. “kinda like it when you stare at me. especially when you think i can’t tell.”

his face turns from relaxed to smug, the corners of his mouth lifting up. quietly i roll my eyes and stick my tongue out even though he can’t see, and get on the floor next to him. 

the wood digs into my back until i find a comfortable spot, our arms touching, my head tilted towards his. the ceiling is the same plain beige it has always been. i wonder if he sees it differently—the colour and the shadows and the contrast. i wonder if his version is prettier than mine. 

“you’ve been in here for hours. i missed you.”

“it’s been hours?” he raises his brow and finally opens his eyes. “i didn’t realise…”

“did you fall asleep?”

he frowns, tries to look insulted even though we both know it’s likely. “no,” he sighs, “don’t think so at least. i was just…lost in thought. well no that’s not right—if i were lost in thoughts, i would have thought about something. heh, redundant, isn’t it?”

“baby, you’re rambling.” i turn to him, caress his cheek and smooth away the crease between his brow. “something bothering you?” 

the crease i’d worked hard on, reappears. “i don’t know. i feel…i don’t know. i feel…empty?”

“writ—”

“don’t say that word. i don’t have it, that’s not what’s happening!”

his insistence on not using that word—on never using that word—is endearing, and yet i keep it to myself. teasing is not what he needs right now. 

“right, get up!”

“what…?”

“come on,” i insist, tug on his hand, “get up. you need something better. there’s no point in lying there like a dead fish, is there?”

he glares at me and even that lacks conviction. ultimately he gives up, but he makes sure to groan and sigh as loud as possible before standing up. towering over me. 

“hi,” i smile, “there you are.”

“there i am,” he tries to smile. it comes out more as a grimace. 

“play something for us. what were you listening to before?”

he averts his eyes and hedges, a pink tinge taking over his entire face like he’s just come inside from being out in the sun. 

“my own music,” he mumbles. “i wanted to see what people liked about it so much, if i could recreate it.”

“you could bang pots and pans together and still create a masterpiece.”

“you’re biased!”

“and also right,” i retort and try not to melt when he places his arms around me. “those two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know? now,” i step to one side, wait for him to follow my lead. then step to the other. then i throw him a cheesy wink. “make me sway.”

he rolls his eyes but i don’t miss the tenderness that creeps in them, don’t miss the way his grip on me tightens. don’t miss the way he’s suddenly the one leading us, swaying to his own song. his voice is all around us, i rather like it like that. 

“what’s the point of this, can i ask?”

“does there have to be a point?”

for a moment, he’s silent. then he shrugs, twirls me around. “i guess not.” 

“and are you not having fun?”

“dancing to my own song?” he scoffs. “‘s arrogant.”

“and dancing with me?”

that gets at least a tiny smile out of him. it’s enough to make his eyes crinkle, to make his smile lines appear. and for a moment in the sunlit room, i fall for his smile again. 

“that’s lovely,” he picks me up, twirling us together and gently sets me down again. “maybe i should write about that. about you. about how when you move, i’m moved.”

“catchy,” i laugh. “maybe you should. i’d love to be a muse.”

“darling, you are a muse,” he smiles wider, then bends down to kiss me. “my perfect muse.”

buttery warmth spreads through my body, right down to the tip of my toes. “you give me too much credit. all i did was walk in here. and dance. if you want to call swaying at a glacial pace ‘dancing’.”

“and you give yourself too little credit,” he speaks, breathes more like it. if we weren’t standing so close, i wouldn’t have heard him at all. “you’re perfect for simply existing.”