#I wonder how long they have been in there

[hedgehog-moss]

I saw an astronaut walking on the side of the road today, which is the kind of thing my brain will placidly accept at first, only to go "Wait, an astronaut" a minute later once I'm done with my previous train of thought. By then I felt like it might be too late to stop my car, but I ended up stopping anyway because I didn't want to spend the rest of the afternoon wondering.

I waited for the astronaut to catch up with me since they were going in my direction, but they didn't. Eventually I got out of the car and retraced my steps, and after a bend in the road when I saw no one walking towards me I decided the visitor must have gone back to their spacecraft and I would never get an explanation for this—and then in the distance I caught a glimpse of the white space suit disappearing into the forest.

I managed to catch up with them and they turned out to be a distant neighbour of mine (let's call her M.), and what looked like a space suit when I was driving by was a beekeeper's outfit! (Sorry for the pointless suspense but I was taking you on the same little journey my brain went through.) M. was tickled when she learnt that I mistook her for an astronaut—she told me she'd borrowed her husband's too-big shoes which made her drag her feet, hence why she looked like she was having trouble readjusting to Earth's gravity.

Then she said that one of her hives had swarmed, and she was pretty sure she knew where the swarm was. I had no idea how swarming worked so as we walked in the woods she explained that when a hive becomes too crowded, the queen will get replaced by a new one, and the old queen will leave along with half of the bees. After this split, the swarm will cluster somewhere nearby and wait while scout bees fly away in search of a new hive location. "That's when you have to catch them—if you can find the swarm. But here it is!"

I wasn't expecting quite so many bees!! I'm pretty scared of all flying creatures so allow me to pat myself on the back for what came next—I thought I was about to learn how to catch a swarm from a prudent distance, but M. asked if I could give her a hand, seeing as her husband was supposed to be here to help but clearly wasn't.

The first step of catching a swarm was spraying the bees with sugar water, and I was glad not to be asked to help with that, as it seemed like something that could make bees angry. ("On the contrary, it makes them less agitated!" I was told, but that remained to be seen.) Step 2 was pulling on a rope tied to the tree branch in order to lower the swarm into the new hive, and that was the job I was recruited for. The rope was long enough that I could stand several metres away to pull on it, but my role in this swarm-catching business was still all too clear to any angry bee looking for someone to blame.

I remembered reading that bees can sense the electric field of flowers, so I thought there was no way they wouldn't sense the staticky nervousness coming from the rope-puller, but thankfully they completely ignored me.

M. was offering one fun fact about bees after the other, in a very relaxed voice, which was very interesting and very soothing for both me and the bees. She said this particular colony was very sweet ("some bee colonies are meaner than others?" "yes of course"), and that swarming usually happens a bit earlier in the year "but it's been raining so much lately, the bees had to postpone all their activities, just like us" and also "swarming involves quite a bit of planning ahead of time; for example worker bees have to put the queen on a diet so she won't be too fat to fly. Did you know that?" I did not!

Unfortunately our first attempt to catch the swarm failed. The bees entered the hive, had a quick look around their new home, then left in disgust and formed a thick, angry, buzzing cloud over our heads, while I tried to think nothing but bee-loving thoughts to make my electric field harmless and friendly.

Then one after the other all the bees returned to the exact same spot on the branch where we'd first found them. ("Because it smells like the queen" said M.) We examined the near-empty hive and found that a mouse had made a nest in there! She was no longer here but the traces of her passage were evident (some of the comb was very nibbled.)

As we were removing the supplies brought in by the mouse (sticks, hay), M.'s husband joined us and he had brought a spray bottle containing some sort of bee-attracting liquid (pheromones?) (I didn't have a close look at the bottle because I made sure to stay far away from the bee-attracting liquid, while he sprayed it inside the hive.)

He had also brought a white sheet which he spread under the tree, explaining that the bees will want to get away from the bright surface and look for darkness, thus hopefully getting inside the box. Another thing I learnt is that once the queen enters the hive, the nearest worker bees will spread the message by turning round and fluttering their wings to send a chemical signal in specific directions, which will be picked up by other bees farther away; at strategic intervals some bees will light the beacons of Gondor turn round and fan their wings to relay this scent-message until the entire colony is informed of the queen's new location.

We were more successful the second time around! This time the bees who went in didn't immediately get out again to return to their branch. Well I say "we" but I didn't volunteer to pull on the rope again, so I can't claim any role in this victory. But my personal victory was that I stood quite a bit nearer this time so I could watch everything closely, and I felt more intrigued than nervous. Bees were constantly zipping past me but it had become clear that my electric field was pure and they bore me no ill will. I was always fond of bees from afar and happy to see them do their thing in flowers in the spring, but today's adventure got me interested in their daily life as well, so I think I'll read some books about bees this summer!

I was reading last month about the morality of termite colonies (Maeterlinck's La vie des termites) and I had a feeling this man must have written some poetic stuff about bees as well—and he did. Here's a translated excerpt from his book "La vie des abeilles" :)

[nellasbookplanet]

An interesting aspect of Laudna and Imogen's relationship and how it has developed is the fact that they got together early in their campaign, long before either of them had any chance to work through their respective issues. Vax confessed his feelings for Keyleth early on (relatively so; c1 had been going for a while before it started streaming), but she explicitly turned him down at the time, and they didn't actually get together until she felt she was ready, later in the campaign. Percy and Vex didn't get together until after Percy had worked through his figurative and literal inner demons. Jester and Fjord didn't get together until he had moved away from Uk'otoa and his self-worth issues, and she from her romanticized ideas of romance. Yasha and Beau didn't become a couple until both of them had moved away from their self-destructive tendencies and Yasha had let go of Zuala and Beau of Jester. Caleb and Essek didn't get together until the epilogue, when Caleb finally let go of the past and embraced the future.

When Laudna and Imogen got together, Laudna was at one of her lowest points (and has since started digging), having just invited Delilah back in, and Imogen was (is) still struggling against the temptation of Predathos. While Imogen has since gone great strides in growing, Laudna has regressed, using her feelings for Imogen as an excuse to further give in to Delilah to protect her. She's too bogged down by her own self-worth issues to uphold a healthy relationship, and keeps hurting Imogen by hurting herself, not realizing how or why this upsets Imogen.

And I can't help but wonder, would Percy and Vex's relationship have been as destructive had they gotten together before or during the Briarwoods arc? Jester and Fjord if they got together during the pirates arc? Yasha and Beau if they got together before or just after Obann, when they were both self-destructing massively? Caleb and Essek if they got together while they were still low-key manipulating and honeypotting each other for information?

But even without the romance, Laudna and Imogen likely wouldn't have escaped the situation they're now in. They started out already kind of co-dependent, and remind me of Vax & Vex and Caleb & Nott in that way. But whereas the twins and Caleb and Nott's arcs had them learn to question each other and embrace love for other people rather than isolate themselves, Imogen and Laudna has only gotten more entrenched in each other's issues, and more unwilling to push each other to grow.

[tvobsessivefanatic]

DP X DC Prompt: Bodyguard!Danny

Danny(aged up) is a bodyguard for Bruce.

With how often Bruce gets kidnapped, it'd be suspicious for him to not finally get a personal Bodyguard to follow him around and protect him, so they finally convinced him in getting one.

But becoming a bodyguard for a Wayne will obviously have a lot of things you have to fill in, they'd do a throughout and detailed background check on you before considering on even putting you in their trials to test your fitness abilities and how you react in certain situations, but Danny is desperate, and well, the contract said they'd provide a place to live, and of course an insane amount of cash, all he had to do was guard this one guy as longs as the contract says. To make a background that's unsuspicious, Danny had to get a little help from Technus, or maybe Tucker to make him an identity fit for the job. He's already been trained by Fright Knight the way of the Knight, so pretending to be a bodyguard won't be that hard.

While the trials are being done, Bruce had to personally be there to see who would fit the role the best, Duke and Tim wanted to tag along out of pure curiosity, so imagine the surprise they had when Duke sensed some strange vibes coming from one of them. So they chose Danny, just because they wanted to keep a close eye on a "potential meta".

I like to think that the Batfamily just easily accepts this random meta as their Dad's bodyguard and just casually chats with him overtime whenever they can, they even probably got comfortable enough to walk around the Manor using their full gear while Danny is still inside.

And just to be a good bodyguard, Danny might or might not sometimes follow Bruce around as Batman while being invisible and intangible just to keep him safe...

I imagine Bruce and Danny's relationship to be platonic, but if you want it to be a ship, that could be good too.

Got this idea in the middle of rewatching YJ, saw Lex Luthor with Mercy, just realized how much trust Lex puts into Mercy. And I wondered, It'd be a cool idea if Bruce just casually has a literal King of the Infinite Realms as his bodyguard, so why not?

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats (Pt. 3)

Aegon ii x Velaryon(Strong)! Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, angst, violence. S2 SPOILERS

Part 1 | Part 2

“With free reign of King’s Landing, Aemond will focus his attention on the occupation of bast-” Aegon’s face flushes bright red. “Harrenhal.” He corrects himself, “and the extermination of house Strong.”

“What did you call it?” Daemon arches a brow.

“Harrenhal,” Aegon repeats.

“Before that,” Daemon prods.

Aegon sighs, looking to his wife.

“Bastardhal.” Y/N rolls her eyes.

“My brother’s term of endearment.” He explains, “a slip of the tongue.”

“Mmm,” Daemon hums. “Perhaps allegiance to your brother runs deeper than you let on.”

“I have left my siblings and abandoned my post to be here. I remain loyal to Rhaenyra’s claim and her line of succession. What else would you have me do?” Aegon scoffs.

“There are a number of things.”

“If you refuse to believe that Aegon is loyal to our queen, believe that he is loyal to me and I am loyal to my mother.” Y/N takes a protective step in front of her husband.

Daemon’s jaw ticks, frustrated and teetering near sanity’s edge. “You then, are responsible for his indiscretions.”

“I take full responsibility.” Y/N agrees, “he is here for me.”

“Perhaps he might further demonstrate his loyalty.”

“And how, do you suggest, I do that?” Aegon wonders.

“Deliver us your brother’s head on a platter.” Daemon sneers.

“Mother!”

“Am I wrong, Rhaenyra?” Daemon scoffs.

“That is enough!” The Queen slams her fist against the table. “Thank you, Aegon for the information you provided. We will coordinate with our army and send reinforcements to Harrenhal. We will send word to Cregan Stark-”

“By raven?”

“However I see fit, Daemon. Stay your hand.” Rhaenyra snaps. “You are all excused.”

Aegon is out the door just as swiftly.

Y/N flinches as it slams behind him.

Jacaerys remains stoic in the corner, saying nothing for a long while as his mother and step father begin bickering. “Sister,” he nods toward the hallway.

Y/N returns the gesture, following him out past the royal guards. “The nerve of him.” She is fuming as they begin strolling the grounds.

“That is Daemon.” Jacaerys breathes. “Pay him no mind.”

“It’s not as if I don’t want Aemond’s head. Luce is our brother, for the gods’ sake.”

Jace swallows, mouth set in a firm line. “He was our brother.”

Was…is he not anymore?

“In these dealings with Aemond, you must remember that killing him will not bring Luce back.”

“It would be even.”

“A son for a son was also even.” Her brother reminds her. “Your grievance with it hath brought you here.”

“I should have allowed the murder of a child?”

“I did not say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“What is even is not always right, I expect you know that by now.”

“Indeed.”

“Ravens will take too long.” Jacaerys laments, “but mother will not let us deliver messages anymore. It is a shame that our safety comes at the expense of other’s.”

Y/N draws in a steadying breath. “Pity.” She turns away, in the direction of her chambers. Aegon is waiting for her there, sipping from a pitcher of wine. “Did they not give you a cup, my darling?”

“Hmm,” Aegon hums into the container, “of course.” He lowers the pitcher from his mouth, “but this is faster.”

The princess puts a hand to her head.

“I am not a dog that’s been kicked, do not look at me that way. As if I am weak.”

“I love you and you are hurting.” Y/N sighs, “I do not know how else to look at you.”

Aegon mulls this over for a moment. “I did not mean to call it bastardhal.”

“I know that.”

“You are not a bastard.” He presses on, “I am sorry for ever calling you one.”

“You are forgiven.” It is nothing more than a word. It cannot harm her anymore.

“If no house would claim you, then I would.”

Y/N gives him a sad smile, “thank you, Aegon.”

“You think I jest? Or does it simply mean nothing coming from me?”

“It means everything coming from you,” Y/N takes a step toward him. “Forgive me if I have made it seem-”

“No,” Aegon shakes his head, “forgive me. I am lost in this. I mustn’t take my frustration out on you.”

Y/N cups his face in her hands. “If you are loved by no one, know you are loved by me.“

“Without you I have nothing.” He reaches a shaky hand out, stroking her hair, reverently. “I am nothing.”

She draws back, searching his eyes. “That is not true.”

“If you ask me to slay my brother, I will do it.” Aegon breathes.

Y/N presses her lips together. She had not asked, Daemon did. But Aegon does not bend to Daemon’s will, only hers.

“Please do not ask.” He murmurs with wide, sad eyes.

Y/N cannot stand to see him cry. It tears at the depths of her soul. She wraps her arms around him, “I will not ask.”

Aegon clings to her. “I would do it.”

“I know, my love.” Y/N presses kisses to the side of his face. She knows his sadness, the burden of being least loved by everyone else. Some part of him will always seek to win her approval, her affection… her love.

He is pawing at her then, at the laces of her dress. He does not know how to comfort her, nor himself. He knows how to bring pleasure so blinding it nearly drowns out the pain.

Y/N helps him remove his clothes, wrapping him up in her arms. “I love you.”

“As I love you.” He’s stumbling backwards then, hovering over her on the bed. Easing his cock into her.

She sighs, losing herself in the gentle rocking of his hips. There is no haste to reach their peak, taking what little comfort they can from each other.

It is not until his thumbs skate over her cheeks that Y/N realizes she is crying. Even here, on their marriage bed, there is no end to suffering. Only an end to loneliness.

————————————————————————

Y/N waits until Aegon is sleeping soundly to clamber from the warmth of his arms and dawn her riding gear. Dragonstone is quiet as she makes her way down to the dragon pit. Stormborn is nestled in beside Sunfyre, her light blue scales complement the golden hue of her companion.

“Where are you off to at this hour, your grace?” One of the keepers asks.

“I’m going to take Stormborn out for a bit of fresh air. The moon is beautiful this evening, don’t you agree?” Y/N smiles, tucking a bit of loose hair behind her ear.

“Indeed, Princess.” He eyes the sword, sheathed at her back.

“This is only a precaution,” Y/N lies, “we can never be too careful in these times.”

He nods, “I will saddle her.”

“Thank you, Marcelo.” Y/N nods, tugging on her riding gloves as she waits. Tapping at her wedding band, beneath the cool fabric.

“She is ready, your grace.”

“Thank you, again.” She says, climbing up onto Stormborn’s saddle.

“It is my great honor.” The man smiles, watching in wonder as the princess sets off across the sea.

Only a few torches are lit at the entrance of Harrenhal.

Y/N lands near the stone walkway, striding up to the tall hooded figure and ripping back his cloak.

Aemond turns to his assailant. “Y/N?”

“Take out your sword.” She demands.

“Lucerys death was a tragic mistake, a lapse in judgment I do not care to repeat.”

“I will not kill you with your back to me, I am no coward. You will face me, take out your sword.”

“For the sake of the gods, Y/N,” Aemond growls. “Do you aim so desperately to break my brother’s heart?”

“I will not allow the slaughter of innocent people. This ends here.”

“A brother for a brother it will be then, not a son for a son.” Aemond reluctantly withdraws his weapon.

Y/N charges him, in a blind rage, their blades meet, clanking together.

“You make a better sparring partner than most.” He draws his sword away, narrowly dodging her next attack.

“This is not a children’s game, I want your head!”

Aemond purrs, “you must earn it then.”

She sees red, swinging at him again, until his blade slices across her side and she has cut deep into the flesh of his leg. Bringing the Prince to his knees, with her sword at his neck.

“Do it,” Aemond insists, “you will not get another chance.” He stares up at her blade, dripping with his blood. The fear etched into her eyes, tresses of dark hair clinging to her sweat damp skin.

In this light, each of them resemble their brother.

The end Y/N desires is so near she can taste it, rising like bile in her throat. She chokes on it. “No.” She drops her blade from his neck, covering her aching side instead. “No.”

Aemond hangs his head. “I am sorry for that business with Luce. I lost my temper that day.”

“And I lost my…” No, she cannot say it, the pain is too great.

“Let me see your wound.” Aemond insists.

In her shock, Y/N obeys.

He tears across the bottom of his cloak, knotting the material firmly around her torso. Unbothered by her hissing protest. “This will hold until you reach Dragonstone. Go to Aegon, he will tend you.”

“You must leave this place.”

“You have my word.”

“And you must leave King’s Landing.”

Aemond smirks, “where would I go?”

“Anywhere.” Y/N suggests, “take Helaena and your children. We both know, she is too kind to bear the weight of the crown and our blood. Take her away so she might be happy…and free.”

“Do you not wish to be free from the weight of the crown?”

Y/N hesitates for a long moment. “I am the crown. I am my mother’s heir, her only daughter. I cannot abandon her, she has lost too much.”

Aemond swallows, “very well. Helaena will write you. You and my brother might visit, once we’re settled.”

“Perhaps we will.” She will never forgive him for Lucerys. They will never be as they were before Storm’s End. “You are my husband’s brother and husband of my dearest friend.”

“I am also your brother’s murderer. A title that trumps all, despite your best intentions. You are good, and kind, but human all the same.”

————————————————————————

“Aegon.”

“Hmm?” He reaches for his wife, blindly, stroking a hand over her dark waves. “What have you done to your hair, darling girl?” He grumbles, “it is awfully coarse.”

Jace bats Aegon’s hands away. “My sister is gone, you buffoon. Get your clothes on.”

“Jacaerys?” Aegon springs up, covering himself with the top sheet. “What are you doing?”

“Y/N is missing. The dragon handlers informed me that she left on Stormborn nearly two hours ago. Sunfyre has been yowling ever since.”

“Alert your mother,” Aegon demands, “raise the guard. Who on earth let the heir to the throne take a dragon from the pit in the middle of the night?”

“She is a princess, not a prisoner.” Jace reminds him, “I have a hunch as to where she went.”

“Harrenhal.” Aegon begins tugging on his clothes. The little brat bedded him and snuck off; again. “She will be a prisoner upon her return. I tire of these games.”

“You mustn’t be so harsh, my sister would go to the ends of the earth for you.”

“Yet she will not stay with me.” Aegon steps into his boots. “Surely she loves me so dearly that she flees at every opportunity.”

“Do not see it that way.” Jace sighs.

“I have no other way to see it.” Their chamber door swings open, revealing the woman in question.

“Aegon,” Y/N chokes. The blinding rush of battle is gone, leaving only her pain.

“Leave us,” Aegon waves a dismissive hand at his nephew.

“Y/N,” Jacaerys looks to his sister instead.

“I am well, brother.”

“You are bleeding.”

Y/N glances down at her wound, “perhaps you might go quietly to the maester and request milk of the poppy?”

“The maester should tend you,” he argues.

“Aegon will tend me, tis but a scrape.” Y/N insists.

Her brother squares his shoulders. “Very well, I will be back.”

“Thank you, brother.” Y/N forces a smile as Jace exits the door.

“What happened?” Aegon demands, squinting into the dim light as his wife stands before him, in her riding gear.

“I could not do it.” Y/N curses her own weakness. “I went to Aemond, I stopped him from taking Harrenhal and I let him go.”

Aegon shifts her garments aside to reveal the damage. A long bleeding gash, beneath her ribs. “Aemond did this to you?” He sits her down on the foot stool, pacing in the small space before it.

“We dueled,” Y/N admits. “I made my mark on him as well.”

“Gods be good.” Aegon breathes.

“If Daemon catches word of this-”

“You are injured. That is where my interests lie, not in the folly of men.” Aegon seethes.

“He has already condoned the murder of children. Helaena’s children, of all people. What will he do if he hears of this?”

Aegon passes a hand over his face. “Surely we cannot leave the wound open like that, it will fester.”

“I know,” Y/N nods. “We must seal it up, with a heated blade. We can do it here, no one need know.” She reaches for his cup on the dresser, chugging the foul liquid down for some relief.

“You’re asking me to…” his eyes dart to his dagger, abandoned near his boots. “No.”

“Aegon.”

“I can’t.”

“It will be quick,” she reasons. “It will scar, but it is on my side, you will not look upon it often.”

“That is what you’re concerned with,” Aegon snaps, “of all things, you think I care about the scar it will leave? That I might frown upon an imperfection?”

“I-”

“You are maddening.”

“I am sorry. I do not wish to fight.”

“It is unavoidable from what I’ve heard. Marriage causes strife and disagreements.”

“Not ours,” Y/N insists, “you are the only person who understands me.”

“I do not understand why you would put yourself in danger.”

“For you.” Y/N tells him. “So you would not have to choose between your wife and your brother.”

“I would choose you, imbecile.”

Y/N bares her teeth. “I couldn’t let you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are mine, Aegon! I protect what is mine.”

In the way of the dragon. And that, Aegon understands very well.

“Here it is,” Jace returns with milk of the poppy.

“Thank you,” Aegon takes the gauntlet, bringing it to his wife’s lips. “Drink all of it.” He demands.

“Is there anything more I can do?” The other man asks.

“Rest the blade of my dagger over the fire until it glows red, then bring it to me.”

Jace nods.

“First, might you find something for her to bite down on. Leather works best.” Aegon purses his lips, “bring me my belt.” One of them is still etched with her teeth markings from Laenor’s birth. He’s delivered two of their children, surely he can do this.

Jacaerys rushes to the armchair beside the bed, tugging Aegon’s belt free and placing it on the foot stool beside his sister.

Y/N curls her fingers around the harsh material. Her vision has doubled, swaying from side to side.

“Are you going to faint?” Aegon catches her face between his hands.

“I feel fine,” Y/N slurs.

Aegon taps her chin. “That is good, my dearest love. I am going to remove your shirt.” He eases the material over her head, leaving only the bindings to cover her breasts.

“The blade is ready,” Jacaerys calls, from the fire place.

“Open.” Aegon tugs at her bottom lip with his thumb until her jaw goes slack, taking the leather belt from her clenched fist and placing the strap between her teeth. “Bite.”

Y/N clamps her teeth around it.

“Good girl.”

Jacaerys approaches, handling the instrument with care.

“You will hold me around the waist, you are not to let go until I say.” Aegon instructs, waiting until she is wrapped around him in an awkward sort of hug. “There you go.” He pats her head before taking the dagger from her brother. He offers no additional warning before lying the blade flat across the expanse of her wound. The cut is a clean one, without jagged edges.

Y/N lets out a muffled cry.

“Shh,” he hushes her, holding the heat to her skin for just a moment more before tossing the dagger away. Gingerly withdrawing the belt from her teeth. Resting his forehead against hers as whimpers settle to deep breathing. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nods.

“If you dare leave me again, Gods help me, I will shackle you to my side.”

Y/N strokes a hand over the side of his face. “Yes, Aegon.”

“I do not jest.”

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[spiderbeam]

lando + 22😇

22. falling asleep on the other’s shoulder

pairing: best friend!reader x lando norris

“HEY, LANDO, HAVE YOU SEEN WHERE I LEFT MY—”

Oscar looks up at the sudden shushing noise, brows pulled together. His forehead creases, mouth parting to respond —because, yeah, rude— before his eyes land on his teammate. The confusion and slight offense vanish in a blink, the corner of lips curving upwards.

He chuckles, to which Lando responds with a low ‘shut up’. Oscar can’t help smiling, biting his bottom lip to try and hide it. “Don’t you look comfortable?”

Lando sits on the McLaren couch with his legs outstretched over a glass table. He looks surprisingly comfortable— given the fact that you’re resting your head on his shoulder, leaning most of your weight against him. Your eyelids flutter in your sleep.

“Mate, what part of shut up are you not getting?” Lando hisses, glancing briefly at you as he feels you shift against him.

Oscar tilts his head at you. “Has she been out long?” he asks, this time in a whisper.

Lando’s jaw twitches. He sighs, nodding his head only slightly. “An hour, I think.”

“You’ve been there for an hour?” Oscar’s voice rises, and Lando’s glare sharpens. He grimaces.

“Told me she’s in exam season. Has been pulling all-nighters for a while.” Lando’s glare drops as he glances down at your sleeping frame. His eyes soften, and Oscar would comment on it, if he wasn’t already toeing the line between Lando’s good and bad graces. “It’s been intense.”

Oscar hums, but he’s not really focused so much on what Lando is saying, but more so how he’s saying it. Because, sure, he’s seen many sides to Lando. Competitive on the track. Funny and supporting behind the scenes. Flirtatious with girls at clubs and parties. This side doesn’t feel new, but it feels… different. A certain softness only reserved for a select few. He wonders if either of you are aware of it.

“Anyways, we were watching my Drive to Survive episode, but she started nodding off like halfway into it.” You shift, muttering a incoherent, barely audible mumble. Lando’s voice quiets. “She deserves a little sleep.”

Oscar is asking the question before he can think better of it. “Isn’t your shoulder tired, like, at all?”

Lando shrugs. “I can’t really feel it anymore.”

Oscar’s eyes widen just a fraction. He doesn’t think Lando’s reading the situation as he is. “So, just to recap, you’ve been sitting there with her, not moving, not making a sound, for a whole hour?”

Lando’s nose scrunches. “Why are you making it sound so weird? It’s fine,” he responds defensively. His jaw ticks, annoyance rippling off him in waves. “Could you get out? You’re gonna wake her up.”

You move on the couch, nose brushing against Lando’s exposed neck. Lando freezes for a fraction of a second. Oscar bites his lips down to prevent the laugh that threatens to escape him.

They both hear you inhale deeply, exhale.

“You guys are shit at whispering,” you mumble, voice sleep-ridden. It takes you a couple of seconds to come to your senses. You blink a few times, lifting your head away from Lando’s shoulder. And even now that you’re awake, Oscar can see what his teammate had been talking about. Your eyelids look heavy, the bags beneath your eyes more prominent.

Lando tilts his head, lips pressed apologetically. “Sorry for waking you up,” he says quietly, softly.

“S’okay.” You don’t seem to register the tenderness to Lando’s voice— or maybe you are simply far too used to it. “Do you have the time? I should’ve gotten started with my research paper a while ago, but maybe it’s not too bad if I just—” you stop, as if finally catching up with your thoughts. “How long was I out?”

“Not long,” Lando lies, and when Oscar meets his gaze, he shoots him a look.

“Oscar?”

You’re staring up at him, expectantly. Oscar swallows. “I— uh, I just came in.”

“See?” Lando says. “You can afford a few minutes of sleep.” When that doesn’t seem to convince you, he adds, “You said your professor is a Red Bull fan, right?”

“I’m not bribing my professor.”

Lando rolls his eyes, but he has that half-smile that brightens up his face. There’s nothing happening, and yet Oscar suddenly feels like he’s intruding on something private.

He clears his throat. “Right. Uh, well,” he watches as both of you turn his attention to him— Lando more reluctantly than you. Oscar throws his thumb over his shoulder. “I was about to head out, so…”

That seems to wake you up, if only a little. You blink a few more times. “Could you drop me off on your way?”

Oscar finds himself nodding. “Yeah, sure, where do—”

“I’ll drive you.”

Both you and Oscar turn to Lando. He’s already standing up as he’s saying it, as if the decision has already been agreed upon. He barely spares Oscar a glance as he tilts his head back at you, as if telling you to follow.

“But Oscar’s already leaving. I don’t wanna be a bother—”

“I’m done for the day too,” Lando shrugs, and Oscar knows that to be a lie. “C’mon,” he juts his head towards the door. “We can get one of those teas you like on the way.”

Any skepticism you would’ve usually shown is nowhere to be found. And though Oscar can tell you want to protest, you relent.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

And as Oscar leaves out the main doors with the two of you, he pretends not to notice you reaching for Lando’s hand— just like he pretends not to notice Lando’s smile.

a/n: i’m writing this after procrastinating on studying so yeah. this was very self-indulgent. en fin. reblogs are always appreciated <3

[thewritingrowlet]

The Loving Wife, ft. Red Velvet Irene

tags: creampie, anal (I think it counts), throatfuck, cum-in-mouth, daddy kink

word count: ~3k

author's note: surprise, mothertruckers

You lean back in your big chair as exhaustion finally settles on your mind and body. You look through the tall glass behind you, “oh, it’s dark already—what time is it?”. You flip your phone on its back and tap the screen twice. “Oh, it’s almost 10”, you murmur, “Irene will kill me”. Irene? The smiling woman on your lock screen? Are you sure?

You’re not sure, but you’re not in the mood to fuck around and find out—not after spending the whole day away from her, making her go through her day by herself. “I’m coming, love; please wait a moment”, you say to your phone, the picture a representation of her being.

It’s nothing but a moment for you, as you find yourself stuck in the sea of cars. “Where are these fools going?”, you wonder. Well, “these fools” are trying to get to their safe havens, just like you are. “These fools” are trying to unwind after working their asses off to provide for them and theirs, just like you are. “These fools” are trying to go to the harbor where their hearts are anchored, just like you are. You chuckle as you think about it, “I guess we’re more alike than we know”.

-

A wave of joy washes over you when you see the black Genesis sedan parked in front of your house. You resist the urge to just stop the car right here as the acute avidness to see your cherished wife is mighty. You park your car in the driveway next to her car and jump out right away.

“I’m home”, you say softly as you turn the handle of your front door. That is correct: you are indeed home. This is the safe haven that you’ve worked hard for and saved up for so that you and your wife have somewhere to unwind after spending long days at work—this is the harbor where your heart is anchored.

You see a lady draped in white run towards you, and another wave of joy washes over you. “My love” is all the greetings you can come up with, as the sight of her takes your breaths away, no matter how frequent you see it. Irene wraps her arms around your frame, fighting your cold with her warmth. There are plenty of sounds you find to be enjoyable, but your lady’s sob is not one of them. “Where have you been? I was so worried about you, honey”, she asks tearily. You put your lips on her forehead to soothe her, “I’m so sorry, my love; I was neck deep in work that I lost track of time”.

You know that you can’t offer comfort when standing up, so you lift her up by her thighs and take her to sit on the sofa. You pet her softly in the back of the head as she sobs to her heart’s content. She finally falls silent after a few minutes and hums softly in rhythm, imitating a cat’s purr. “Feeling better, love?”, you say to her. “Y-yes”, Irene says, “I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to be burdensome to you—I-I’m sure you’re tired, and-and I wasn’t being helpful”. You peck her cheeks thrice, just like how she likes it, “I’m sorry for coming home so late, love; I had so much work to do”. Irene returns the pecks to you, “thank you for working so hard all the time”.

You lay down on the sofa for a cuddle, and you hear Irene’s stomach rumble faintly. “You haven’t had dinner, love?”, you ask her. “We-we were supposed to eat out, r-remember?”, she says. You punch yourself internally as the memory returns to you, “I’m so sorry, love”. Irene used to voice her disappointment whenever you forgot about something, but she ditched that habit when you two got married. “We have sliced beef in the fridge, don’t we? I’ll make us something if you’ll let me go”, you say to her. Irene reluctantly unwraps her limbs from your body, seemingly sad about not touching you.

You open the fridge and grab half an onion and some sliced beef and put them on the counter next to the stove. You throw some minced garlic into a preheated nonstick pan that already has a bit of oil in it and wait until the fragrance fills the kitchen. Since Irene doesn’t really like onion, you cut the onion in half again, only using a quarter of it. You throw the onion—chopped largely so that Irene can avoid it easily—into the pan and cook it down until it’s soft. You look over your shoulder and see that Irene is still on the sofa, presumably asleep. “I hope this meal can convey how much I love you, my dear Irene”, you say to yourself as you dump sliced beef and sauces into the pan.

You put the food on a large plate and reheat some leftover rice in the microwave. You walk to the sofa and take a knee in front of the sleeping beauty. “Irene, my love”, you poke her forearm gently, “let’s eat, baby”. Irene wakes up slowly from her peace, “carry me, love”. You carry Irene on your back and take her to the dining table, and the overwhelming smell wakes her up entirely. “Wow, that looks so good, love!”, she gasps in excitement, “I want to eat! I want to eat!”. You silence the beeping microwave and take the rice out of it. You take a seat in front of your wife as she starts eating excitedly. “Oh my fucking God, that’s so fucking good”, she says. “Love, what did I tell you? Save the profanity for when we’re in bed”, you scold her. “Well, bed is where we will be after this”, she murmurs, not loud enough for you to hear.

You wash the dirty plates and pan after finishing the very late dinner with Irene. Irene stays silent as you do, which is curious, because she usually praises your cooking endlessly while she waits for you. “Did you like it, love?”, you ask her as you’re walking towards her. In your head, you expect Irene to say that she did like it—love it, even—but she says something else. “Daddy”, Irene bites her lip sexily, “I want my dessert”. You know what she means by that, and so does your cock. “You better earn it, then”, you say as you carry her to the bedroom.

Irene shakes herself off your arms and starts kissing you in arousal. She even goes as far as invading the space in your mouth with her tongue. The fact that she’s the one doing all this and is the first to break the kiss is funny—Irene can’t even keep up with herself. “Dad-daddy—fuck”, Irene struggles to breathe, “plea-please, I-I need you—I need my husband’s big cock”. You sit on the edge of the bed and rouse her, “I’ve always told you to work for it if you want something, so come and work for it”.

Irene kneels in front of you and frees your cock from your trousers and boxers. “I can’t live without—”, you cut her off by forcing your cock into Irene’s mouth. These fools only call Irene a cold person because of her front; everything about Irene is anything but cold, take her mouth for example. “Stop talking, start doing”, you command. Irene’s gags sound incredibly hot, and you’re desperate to hear it right now. There’s only one way to achieve that, and that is by fucking her mouth hard. You hold her head with both hands and bounce her on your cock. You feel the tip of your cock reach the back of her mouth, and Irene starts making the gagging sound that you love. “That’s my good wife”, you groan, “fuck, that’s so fucking good”.

You mercilessly fuck Irene’s mouth, sometimes stopping to make sure you don’t hurt her too much—with what you have in mind, however, her voice is guaranteed to disappear after the night ends. “Fuck, I’m getting close”, you announce. Irene looks at you and winks, and you can hear her telling you to cum in her mouth. Once you feel that your cum has accumulated on the tip of your cock, you plug your cock deep in Irene’s mouth and blow your load with a deep groan. You let her head go and Irene pulls away from your cock. She pokes your knee to get your attention. “Yeah, baby?”, you ask, and Irene swallows your cum in one gulp in front of your eyes.

“I—hah, holy fuck—I hope we’re not done”, she says. You shake your head, “we’re far from done, honey—strip, please”. As much as you like seeing Irene in a shirt, it’s not comparable to Irene in nothing. Irene starts her ritual by tying her hair in a bun and biting her lip—she’s making it really hard for you to resist the urge to just rip her clothes off. She reaches for the buttons on her shirt and undoes them one by one, letting the shirt drop to the floor after. “If you’re trying to tease me right now, sweetie, it’s working”, you admit your defeat, “I want to fuck you so bad right now”. She walks towards you after taking off her trousers, “and I want to get fucked by you so bad right now, daddy”.

You tell her to sit on the bed while you leave to get something to cover her eyes with. “I hope you’re down for something naughty, baby”, you say as you show her a silk blindfold. “I was expecting you to have me do the work because you were tired”, she says as she puts on the blindfold herself, “let’s get naughty, daddy”. You help her move to the center of the bed, and since Irene can’t see through the black silk, she doesn’t know that you’re grabbing more silk cloths to tie her limbs with.

“Daddy, where are you?”, Irene sniffs around the bedroom, trying to pick up your scent. You softly rub her cheeks with your thumb, “I’m here, love”. She blindly grabs your hand and guides it to her pussy, “I’m so wet for you, daddy”. You play with the nub of Irene’s pussy with your middle finger, “how bad do you want daddy, hm?”. Irene squirms around as your finger keeps stimulating her, “ahng, ngh, fuck, daddy—I-I need you so fucking bad. Please, daddy, I’m begging you”. You stop fiddling with her clit, “do you trust me, love?”. Irene nods to your question, “I-I’m sure daddy will take care of me”. You peck her lips before tying her hands together. “Next time I tell you to strip, I want you to take everything off—but it’s okay, I forgive you this time”, you say as you unlatch her bra and pull her panties down. Irene whimpers softly as her arousal peaks, “daddy, daddy—ngh, fuck—punish me, daddy; I’ve been naughty”.

You flip Irene onto her stomach and lift her waist up. “Ask nicely, love”, you say to her, your cock hard as rock. “Please-please-please—OH, FUCK”, Irene screams when you put the tip of your cock in her ass, “daddy, it hurts—it hurts so much”. The only thing coating your cock is her spit from the blowjob earlier, “you asked me to punish you, so this is your punishment”. You know that Irene will say the safe word if she wants to stop, so for now, you keep moving forward until your cock is fully lodged in her rear. As you keep fucking her ass, however, Irene lets out screams of pain that sound genuine. You’ve done anal with Irene before, but considering that she wasn’t prepared for this today, you feel bad for doing this, so you retreat from her ass.

You lay Irene on her back and take off her blindfold. “I’m so sorry, baby”, you apologize to your sobbing wife, “that must’ve hurt so bad, right?”. Irene shakes her head, “y-your pleasure comes first, daddy; I-I’ll do whatever you want me to”. You free her wrists so that you can cuddle her properly. “There’s no need for that, love. I’m not more important than you”, you spray kisses on her face, “I’m sorry for acting without consent”. Irene takes off her bra that has been hanging loosely on her arms and throws it away, “c-can we have vanilla now, daddy? I-I can do the work”.

You grant her request and lie down flat on the bed, giving Irene the chance to do whatever she wants. Irene lines up her pussy with your cock and goes down on it until she reaches the base, letting out a long moan as she goes. “I’m so glad I’m married to you”, she says, “ah, ngh—your cock makes me so fucking happy, daddy”. You palm her soft tits that are bouncing in front of your eyes, “I’m glad I’m married to you as well, love—God, fuck, you’re so tight”. Irene plants her hands on your chest and starts fucking herself with your cock, “ah, ah, ah—I-I will always be tight for you, daddy”. If you were to rank the top 3 sounds Irene makes, the order would be her moans, her gags, and then finally her laughs—her moans are simply angelic and deserve the top spot.

Irene keeps bouncing herself rapidly on your cock as she’s more comfortable taking you in the pussy than in the ass. “Daddy, would you let me cum? Please let me cum, daddy”, she begs. You tell her to cum whenever she wants, “you’ve earned it, baby; you’ve been so good”. Irene screams and trembles as she cums, and you feel her pussy squeezing your cock. “Daddy, daddy”, she falls limp on your body, “thank you—ah, fuck—thank you so much”.

You let Irene catch her breath as you whisper praises and affirmations into her ears. “Can I mark you, daddy? I want to show people that you’re mine”, she says. You chuckle, “the ring on my finger already does that, love—but sure, mark me if you want to”. Irene latches her mouth on the side of your neck, kissing and nibbling it to plant her hickeys on your skin. You’re usually the one doing the marking, so you never knew that getting kisses and nibbles in the neck feels this good. “Love, I like having your lips on my neck”, you say. Irene doesn’t say anything and keeps focusing on applying her love mark on you. “That should be enough”, Irene straightens her back, “your turn to mark me now”. She slaps your hands away when you reach your arms out towards her. “No, no, mark me from the inside”, she points at her pussy, “you haven’t cum yet, so give me your cum, please”.

You roll over and get on top of Irene, “you want my cum in your pussy, love?”. “Breed me, daddy”, she rubs your cheeks softly, “I’m so fucking fertile today”. You look at Irene in the eyes, “are you sure? You have a career to chase, love”. Irene rolls her eyes in annoyance, “fine, you’re right; I’ll take the morning after pill then”.

Seeing that you’ve come to an agreement, you start thrusting into her warm core. You’re instantly reminded of how tight she is. “Fuck, love, I don’t think I can last long”, you say, hoping that it won’t disappoint her. “Th-that’s okay, daddy; I won’t last long either”, Irene replies. You guide Irene’s hand towards her pussy, indirectly telling her to touch herself as you’re fucking her.

The two of you are busy with your own tasks: Irene is touching herself and you’re fucking her balls deep. “Ah, ah, I-I think you hit my cervix”, she says between moans, “are you sure you don’t want to breed me, daddy?”. She places your hand on her stomach, “just imagine, daddy; my tummy would start getting bigger and bigger, and I’d be so fucking horny all the time that I’d cum just by humping your thighs”. “What—fuck—what about your career, love?”, you ask, still doubtful about this whole pregnancy thing. Irene moans loudly as she feels the increased pace, “I-I’ll gladly throw it away as long as I get to please you every day”.

You’re still not entirely sold on the idea, but her words make you so damn aroused. You hug her tightly and continue fucking her—you can hear your orgasm knocking at the door. “Babe, I’m cumming”, you announce to her, and Irene tells you that she is about to cum as well. You grit your teeth and release your load deep into her pussy, possibly sending it straight to her cervix. At the same time, Irene shakes as she rides the high of orgasm. You reject her request to stay inside and walk towards the drawer where Irene keeps pills and condoms. You take one pill and a bottle of water and hand them to her. You tell her to take it in front of your eyes to make sure she doesn’t throw it away or something.

“Look, love”, you softly say to her, “I do want to have a child with you, but we haven’t talked about this thoroughly before; me getting you pregnant right now is not wise—I hope you understand, love”. Irene nods, “y-yes, honey. I’ll be patient and make sure that I’m ready for motherhood before you breed me”. You smile gently, “one day, when we’re both ready, we’ll have sex all day long to make sure you get pregnant, okay?”. “God, you’re making me so wet”, Irene says, “I swear I’ll drain every drop of cum out of your cock, honey”.

[13uswntimagines]

The Royal Playbook (Alessia X Leah X Royal!R)

Summary: It wasn't often that you used your name or your titles, but to see your girlfriends, you would do just about anything. Even if it means going head-to-head with your new security. 

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, but otherwise nothing. It's a fluff piece.

Your life was complicated. Well… that may have been putting it lightly. 

Everything in your life had been planned for you since well before you were born. You had a tutor, an etiquette instructor, and an equestrian coach from the moment you came screaming into the world. Along with a security detail and a personal team of butlers to help you navigate life. 

It was simple, you would be academically trained, coached in diplomacy (and swordsmanship as was customary on Braavos), and exposed to different cultures so that you could continue to lead your country like your father and his mother before him. You would marry a foreign diplomat, and make political bonds that would strengthen your little island nation’s place in Europe. 

Falling in love had never been a part of that plan. 

Neither had your absolute obsession with football. Specifically, your obsession with English football. 

But your parents had taken it in stride and were far more accepting than you had any right to believe they would be. They were supportive even after they found out you preferred the fairer sex, and they absolutely adored the women who had stolen your heart.

You happened to adore them too. 

Well, something stronger than adore. 

You would do anything for them. 

They made you willing to break all of the carefully constructed rules you had grown up with. They made you forget the weight of responsibility that had been balanced on your shoulders since your coronation date was set the day you turned 16. 

They treated you like Y/n instead of Her Majesty the heir to the throne. They made you feel normal. 

It killed you that you couldn’t be… open with your relationship. That having the world know would put them in the firing line. 

You sighed, leaning back into the leather seat as the SUV slowed, turning in front of the Emirates. The dark window tint blocked out the flashing lights, and the thousands of pounds of armor plating dulled the chanting from the throngs of people. The little flags on the cars in your motorcade told them all who was inside, even if they didn’t know which of the 4 cars you were in. 

You shifted, tugging at the hem of your jersey. “Do you think we’ll make it in time for warmups?”

The new material was still tight on your skin, so much different than the cotton dress shirts you normally wore, and the two little names above your favorite number felt unnaturally… weighted. 

They were in a way. As soon as a photographer caught a picture of them, your secret would be out. 

“I’ve sent a team ahead to clear your entrance and the box you’ll be staying in, so as long as we can get through this crowd we should make it,” Davis said, glancing up at you in the rearview mirror. “I know they’re your favorite part,”

You hummed, glancing back out of the darkened windows at the masses of people dressed in white and red. 

A part of you envied them. 

You would never be able to walk into a stadium through its entrance. You would never get to see the mural of the team that existed in the main hall of the Emirates. You would never get to sit in the supporters section, surrounded by the various chants. 

The other, larger part knew how much you despised being surrounded by people. How claustrophobic it made you feel, and how hard it made it for you to breathe.

But you still wondered if it would be different if those people weren’t carrying cameras and screaming for your attention. You wondered if watching your girlfriends do the things they loved would negate how incredibly uncomfortable you got when people were too close. 

“It just completes the whole experience,” You mumbled into the glass. 

Davis made a noise of agreement. “Yes, it does,”

He knew that one of the reasons you loved it so much was because it gave you time to not have to think. To just exist in a space where you weren’t the air to the throne. Where all that mattered was what was happening in front of you. 

You didn’t have to say it for him to know. 

He could read you like a book. He had experienced every day of your life with you. He acted more like a father than your own father did, and you trusted him implicitly. 

The car inched forward, past another gaggle of people holding their phones up to video the caravan.

“We might have to go with plan b if Her Majesty wishes to see the warmups,” Your driver said more to Davis than to you.“There’s an obstruction ahead,”

Your eyebrows pulled tightly together as the car crawled forward through the growing crowd. 

Your head of security made a gruff sound, already lifting his phone and speaking rapidly into the receiver. 

You barely paid attention to what he was saying. It didn’t really matter anyway. 

You knew he would explain when they had a plan, just like he had always done before. 

The car came to a stop, and men dressed in bright yellow jackets came pouring out of an entrance you hadn’t recognized, forming a human tunnel. 

Davis turned in his seat to face you. 

“We’re going to go in a different entrance. I’ll guide you, Gabriel and Tomas will flank us,” He explained. “It’s 16 steps to the door. Stadium security will make sure that they’re unobstructed,”

You hummed. “Will you cover my back?”

It wasn’t that you were ashamed to wear your Loves names. 

It actually made you incredibly proud and had a warmth blooming in your chest that was hard to explain. 

But you weren’t quite ready to share that with the world yet. 

You wanted to protect them from your world for as long as you could. To prevent the people who didn’t agree with your family’s policies from hurting them to get to you. 

“My jacket will block you,” Davis assured you, understanding glinting in his eyes. “We’re ready whenever you are,” 

You leaned back into the leather seat, glancing at the little walkway that had been created. Fans pressed against it, and you could imagine the wall of sound that would meet you. 

You flipped your sunglasses down over your eyes. “Let’s get this over with,” 

“I’ll get out and open your door,” Your security chief said, reiterating the protocol you always followed when you had to exit your car in a crowd. 

You nodded, never looking away from the window. 

You took a deep breath when the car door opened, letting in the onslaught of screams and cheers. They only got louder when Davis opened your door and held his hand out to help you out of the car. 

He shielded you as soon as your feet were both on the ground, wrapping an arm over your shoulders, directly blocking the names on your back. 

You tucked your face into his chest, closing your eyes at the roar of squeals and cheers that met you. 

You never did like crowds. 

You felt Tomas take up your other side and counted down the steps in your head as they guided you through the crowd. You didn’t look up at the calls of your name, or the blinding flashes of light, or the jostling that your security tried to protect you from. 

This was routine. 

The press didn’t pay for photos when your face wasn’t clearly visible. 

You let out a long breath when the entrance doors closed solidly behind you. 

“It’s over little commander,” Your burly chief of security mumbled into your hair when you didn’t immediately begin to untangle yourself from him, running his hand up and down your back. 

You really didn’t like crowds. 

You sucked in another long breath before carefully pulling away from him. 

“Thank you,” You said, straightening your hair and jersey. Smiling just a bit at the name he had given you after an incident involving your country’s general and an assassin when you were five. 

“I don’t think anyone caught a photo of your jersey, your majesty. The Captain's jacket was covering the lettering,” Gabriel added, glancing out the glass doors. “Though I think it’ll be harder to hide if we leave with guests. We’ll also need extra security,” 

It made you sigh. 

Gabriel was not a bad person, but he was young, and far too serious all of the time. 

He hadn’t learned that you didn’t need to know all of the inner workings of their operation yet, or that you were the one who would dictate what you wanted. 

You hadn’t even decided if your girlfriends would be leaving with you yet, and when you did, Davis would work it out. 

He always figured it out. 

“We’ll cross that bridge later,” Davis said, glaring at the younger guard (they would pull the SUV on the fucking field if that’s what it took), before his eyes returned to you, softening. “First, I believe your attendant is waiting to scan your ticket,”

Your eyes lit up at the prospect, looking past your burly squad towards a very shy looking girl. 

“I can scan you in,” The girl's voice shook as she spoke, her eyes darting towards your guards before meeting yours again. “Your majesty,” 

You rolled your eyes at the title. 

You hated it as much now as you had when you first learned you would be your fathers successor. As much as when people started using when you were 16 and your coordination date was set for the day you turned 22. 

Davis passed you a paper ticket and nudged you forward. 

It was a superfluous detail that your girlfriends had teased you mercilessly about. 

No one used paper tickets anymore, they said. Everything was mobile, not that you had ever needed an actual ticket. 

You stepped towards the girl, holding out the ticket with a grin. 

She very gently took it, running it under the little scanner. You walked past her after it beeped. 

It was nice to get the full experience, even if it was a bit outdated. 

“We’ll take that back,” Davis said, as the girl turned to throw the scrap of paper away. 

He reached for the ticket, tucking it into his jacket for safe keeping. 

“To the box little commander?” He asked you directly, stepping past the girl. 

You shook your head, a smirk playing at your lips. “I think a little… exploration is in order first. Especially since we’ve never come into the stadium this way before,” 

“Lead the way then,” He matched your smirk, gesturing for you to head down the hallway. “The mural you’re obsessed with is to the left,” 

Your eyes brightened again and you looked down the hallway he had gestured to. 

You would definitely have to check it out before warmups started. 

******

Alessia and Leah were… distracted, even as they passed the ball back and forth. 

Warmups had barely started and they couldn’t help the way their eyes kept falling to the box now occupied by a tall, bald man in a well-tailored suit, his aviators reflecting the field back at them. 

They should have expected it. Tomas was always the first of your personal team to arrive to a location, but usually, you followed closely behind him. 

“The queen has arrived,” Millie chuckled, intercepting the ball Leah had passed towards  Alessia. 

“She’s not queen yet,” Alessia huffed.

“How could I forget? The coronation isn’t for 2 more months,” Millie said, waving her arm dramatically. 

Leah rolled her eyes. “3 more months, actually,”

“And Y/n isn’t exactly counting down the days,” Alessia added, stealing the ball back. “She doesn’t seem too keen on the title,”

“I’m not surprised,” Ella said, catching the ball when Alessia tried to pass it to Leah. “She got mobbed coming into the stadium,”

Leah’s eyebrows furrowed. “I thought she was using the player entrance,” 

You had discussed the plan with them in detail during your nightly phone conversation, asking about the location of the locker rooms in relation to the entrance your security wanted you to use. 

They weren’t sure if you intended to surprise them before or after the match, but it didn’t really matter. 

“Apparently not,” Ella said, skirting around the forward's outstretched leg and passing it to Millie. “I saw the clip before we came out here. Looked like they formed a wall of security and then ushered her in the front gate,” 

Leah and Alessia shared a look. 

They knew how much you disliked being in a crowd. 

They could picture you tucked into your security chief’s chest like a small child, trying to hide yourself from the noise of the crowd. It was an image that had been splashed across front pages of newspapers more times than they could (or wanted) to count. It still never failed to break their hearts. 

“I never realized how big her security team was,” Ella mumbled, glancing up at the box again. “Like physically. They’re fucking mountains,” 

More of your team had joined Tomas, all wearing the same black suits and dark aviators, tall, and muscular.

They looked intimidating. Like they could take down any threat that would come at you. 

Neither Alessia nor Leah had any doubt that they would. 

Alessia shrugged. Frankly, they had both been very nervous too until you had actually introduced them to your security. They learned quickly to expect pranks from your security when they weren’t on duty, and that their protectiveness extended to them as well as you when they were. 

Considering all 12 members of your team had given them the shovel talk, they knew you were in very good hands. Hands that looked out for your mental health as well as your physical health. 

“Looks like she only brought half her team,” Leah hummed, counting the men in the suite, noting your missing head of security. He would certainly be wherever you were, and she found it slightly strange you weren’t in the box yet. 

You hated missing warmups. 

But then a group standing near the benches, behind Serina caught her eyes. 

There were 4 tall, burly men surrounded by stadium workers dressed in bright orange vests. 

“Maybe not,” Alessia mumbled, her gaze also falling to the growing crowd behind the benches. “She doesn’t usually try to come down to the field,”

“She’s never had to come through the front door before either,” Leah answered. 

Ella wiggled her eyebrows, shimming between them. “Maybe she wants to do something wild before she has the weight of a country on her back,” 

“She already has that,” Both blonde women said in unison, eyes snapping away from the sea of orange towards the midfielder. 

“She’s had that since her father put her in charge of their trade negotiations,” Alessia added. “And their UK commerce,”

Frankly, you had been taking more and more responsibility for years. Trying to gain the trust of your people so the transition of power was an easy one. A safe one. 

An uncontested one. 

“And she’s been doing a bang-up job,” Leah said, just as Davis appeared in the mix of security next to a blonde man she had never seen before. “She’s actually coming in the field,” 

“You mean we finally get to meet the Queen?” Millie said dramatically, standing on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse of you, the ball forgotten at her feet. 

Alessia slapped her stomach. “You’ve met her before. You tried to get her drunk after our Euros win and convince her to fly the England flag on her father’s palace,”

“Details,” Millie rolled her eyes, shoving the striker. “How can she see through the mass of people though?”

“It’s a special formation,” Leah grumbled, pushing Millie, and stealing the ball they had all disregarded as she moved it forward she saw Davis shift and the flash of a pair of aviators. You were certainly on the field. “Designed so she can see out but no one can see her. They’re trying not to draw attention,” 

Ella snorted. “Well, they failed at that,”

It was true. 

The fans in the stands seemed to be clamoring over themselves to see why there was a substantial crowd near the benches. 

Leah and Alessia shared a look. 

They both knew how much you hated attention. It was why you usually stayed in your box and came in through back entrances. They joked you were like a ghost coming to their games, never seen or heard. 

But this. This was different. 

Before they could respond Geriant clapped his hands, “Alright ladies let’s do some through balls on goal. Lineup,”

Leah tapped him the ball and followed Alessia to the back of the line. 

There would be time later to figure out why you had come down in the field. 

Right now they had to focus on beating Australia, especially if they wanted a good game kiss from you after the game. 

You only kissed winners. 

******

You shifted awkwardly as you leaned against the cool, stone wall outside the locker rooms, playing with the identification lanyard around your neck. 

It wasn’t often that you used your… status to get into areas no fans could. That you finagled your way into the tunnel of the stadium after a game. 

You were much more prone to letting your security whisk you in and out so you weren’t seen and no one knew if you were actually there, but today, you had been feeling bold. 

Well, kind of. 

Davis had been the one to suggest that seeing warmups at field level might be fun if you were going to venture to see the mural. 

You had agreed. 

And he had been right. 

You had gotten to chat with Serina about tactics and formations while getting a close-up view of your girlfriends in action, even if it was just warmups. 

You had gone back up to your fancy box for the game, but couldn’t resist Serina’s invitation to wait for the team in the tunnel after. 

That’s how you ended up here, shifting nervously from foot to foot while the players made their mandatory lap around the field. 

It wasn’t really being in the tunnel that had you on edge. It was that Davis had gone to coordinate your motorcade out of the stadium, and left you with Gabriel. You didn’t feel as… safe with the blonde man, and his seriousness was really starting to set you off. 

You would have to very carefully bring it up with Davis later, though you hated doing anything that could potentially make his job harder. 

“Can you, um, not stand so close please?” you mumbled, as he pressed more closely to you as players from the Australian team started to make their way down the tunnels. “I want to say hello to the players,” 

Gabriel shook his head, standing firmly. “They haven’t been checked through security,”

“They just played a match,” You rolled your eyes, pushing him away from you, trying to create some space. “I doubt any of them are smuggling a weapon between here and the locker room, or have Ill intent,” 

They were your friends. People, your girlfriends played with every day. People you had spent a lot of time with. People who saw you as a person and not as a title. They wouldn’t cause you harm. 

“We can’t take that risk, Your Majesty,” Gabriel answered, already pressing back to pin you between his back and the wall, as his head whipped back and forth. 

You shoved him off of you more harshly, stumbling with the force. “I told you to go away. Why don’t you go stand at the front of the tunnel if you’re so worried,” 

You would have face-planted had strong arms not caught you. 

“Whoa there Princess,” Leah’s warm voice chuckled in your ear, using the term of endearment that annoyed you when it came from anyone but your girlfriends. “You only had to fall for me once,”

“Leah,” Your shoulders instantly relaxed at her voice, and you looked up to meet her eyes. “You guys played so well!”

She smiled brilliantly at you, and you leaned up to place a gentle kiss on her lips. 

It only lasted a second before a large hand appeared between you. 

“No physical contact please,” Gabriel said, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “It’s policy,” 

You glared at the side of his face. 

You were definitely going to have to talk to Davis about this. 

“What about me pretty girl?” Alessia asked,  materializing to Gabriel’s right. “Do I not deserve a kiss too?

“You definitely do. That goal was a fucking banger,” You said, pulling away from the defender, and throwing out a foot mocking the way Alessia had smashed the ball. “Lee crossed it in and then woosh,”

You threw your arms out, mimicking the goal celebration that Alessia did. The one that reminded you of an airplane, right into her waiting grasp. 

She leaned forward, brushing your nose with her. “You’re adorable,”

You closed the last millimeter, connecting your lips in a gentle kiss. 

She tasted like mint gum, and blue Gatorade, and something so… Alessia. She tasted like home. 

“And you look very fit with our names on your back,” Leah added, running her fingers across the bold letters across your shoulders before she wrapped her arms around the two of you. 

You buried your face in Alessia’s chest to hide the red blooming across your cheeks, earning a giggle from both women. 

“Your majesty, I don't feel comfortable with this situation,” Gabriel said, clearing his throat, and stepping into your space. He leaned down and lowered his voice like he thought it would prevent Leah and Alessia from hearing him.  “We’re in too public of a place. It’s not befitting of the crown,”

You froze, your back going rigid. 

It was one thing for him to not understand personal boundaries. For him to be hyper-vigilant. 

You could chalk that up to his… newness. 

But this. This you could not tolerate. 

Your fingers caught Alessia’s top before she could pull away, forcing her to stay pressed against you, as your other hand reached back to hold Leah’s hip. You didn’t need them to move. You didn’t want them to move. 

You took a deep breath before pulling your face out of Alessia’s chest to stare daggers at the bulky, blonde man. 

“Call for backup,” You said, your voice deadly calm. 

He raised an eyebrow at you. “There’s no need. I have it-“ 

“It wasn’t a request,” You cut him off icily. “Call for backup now, or I will do it myself,” 

He paused at your tone, glancing at the teammates and friends that had been on their way to the locker room, also frozen at the foreign chill in your voice. 

It was the tone you saved for meetings with world leaders you didn’t particularly like. Ones with foreign dignitaries who thought they could walk all over you, your family, and your country. 

He took a step back, lowering his voice like he was talking to a child. “Your majesty, I don’t think this is a proper conversation to have with an audience,” 

You weren’t in the mood to be scolded. 

“And I don’t care what you think,” You bit back, letting go of Leah’s hip to reach up to your necklace, pressing the bottom button hidden on the pendant twice. 

The signal that you needed assistance, but it wasn’t emergent or life-threatening. 

Still, within 30 seconds Tomas was rounding the corner near the locker rooms, speed walking towards you. The crowd of white and yellow jerseys parted for him like he was Mosis. 

You were slightly disappointed it wasn’t Davis, but Tomas would do. 

“Little commander,” He nodded his head in greeting, his eyes flickering across the scene before returning to you. “How can I be of assistance,”

You appreciated that he had addressed you first. 

That he acknowledged that you were the one in control here. 

But Gabriel didn’t seem to get that message. 

“Your presence isn’t needed,” The blonde security man huffed, “Her majesty is throwing a temper tantrum,”

Alessia’s fingers tightened around your hips, and you didn’t have to look at her to see the scowl pulling across her lips. Leah’s arms similarly squeezed around your shoulders and you knew daggers were being thrown his way. 

Had this been any other circumstance you were sure the growing crowd of footballers would have oooed. 

Not that you needed them.

You had this all under control. 

“Take Gabriel to the exit,” You said evenly, command and… dominance, radiating through the simple words. “or to the dumpster or the Thames. I don’t really care but get him away from me. He is relieved of his duty,”

The blonde security man sputtered. “You can’t do that. I’m-“

“Actually I can,” You cut him off. “I can do whatever the fuck I want. Tomas, please remind Gabriel of the terms of his service,”

Tomas cleared his throat, suppressing a grin. “We serve at the pleasure of our charge, Her Majesty, Princess of Braavos, heir to the throne,”

Your chest puffed a bit at your full title. 

One you generally despised, but it served its purpose here. 

“And you certainly have not… pleasured me. Not that you’re capable,” Your lips turned upwards in a cruel smirk, as Alessia and Leah, and the surrounding crowd didn’t hold in their giggles. “Perhaps you should work on your listening, and little things called consent and common sense,”

“Let’s go,” Tomas caught Gabriel’s arms before he could protest or argue with you, not that there was anything he could say. The taller, balder security man made eye contact with you before he hauled Gabriel away. “Davis and Matthew will be by shortly. I’ve left Carson at the top of the tunnel and I’ll have him perform personal security until they arrive,”

You sent him a stiff nod, standing at your full height until they were out of sight before you let yourself collapse back into Alessia. 

You would never. Could never truly be alone. 

“I fucking hate doing that,” You groaned into her chest, and Leah leaned forward to press a kiss to the back of your neck.

“We know love,” The defender hummed into your soft skin, and Alessia made a sound of agreement, shooing the crowd of football players around you to go about their way.  

“But on the bright side, you did look proper sexy,” Alessia said, gently pinching the skin just beneath the hem of your jersey. “Her Majesty, Princess of Braavos, heir to the throne,”

You couldn’t help the giggle that bugged from your lips at her terrible rendition of Tomas’ heavy accent. The one you worked incredibly hard to suppress.

It had come out slightly in the exchange, the only indicator that English was not your first language. 

It was something that happened when you were annoyed, which was rare in itself. You didn’t like to wield your power, and thankfully, you usually didn’t have to in your personal life. 

“For a second I thought you were going to yell at him in Valyrian,” Leah said, her lips working from the back of your neck up to just behind your ear. 

You hummed. “I try not to do that in mixed company,” 

Despite how much you had pushed against the mold of your upbringing, your impeccable manners could not be changed. 

Plus you knew how much Leah and Alessia loved when you spoke in your native language. How… wound up… it made them. You didn’t want to associate your annoyance with that. Ever. 

Alessia smirked. “So he can’t pleasure you?” 

You rolled your eyes at the change in subject. 

“No. He was only on my team for 3 days, and I wanted to strangle him for most of it,” Your lips pulled up in an impish smirk. “Plus I could tell that he’s never given out a feminominon in his fucking life,” 

Leah mirrored the expression against your neck, and Alessia’s eyes sparkled.

“I think we could definitely show you what we know about feminominons,” Leah said, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin just below your ear. 

 “Would you like to shower with us?”Alessia’s thumb ran over the skin just above your pants. “We promise we won’t bite, “

“Unless you ask nicely,” Leah finished, her teeth grazing over the wet skin she had just kissed. 

It was sometimes scary how they could finish each other's thoughts, though you weren’t convinced that this had been their endgame all along. 

You melted into them, the rest of your annoyance fading. 

“I would love nothing more,” 

They nodded at Carson as they dragged you towards the locker room, the shorter, muscular man shifting to stand by the door, already talking into his earpiece. 

You just needed some time with your girls. 

It’s what you wanted and the security team would respect that and leave you undisturbed. 

They served at your pleasure after all, and so did your girlfriends apparently. 

Well, at least at the moment, they would serve to pleasure you. 

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter Fifteen Dead Disco masterlist

AO3 Warnings: Angst. The storm.

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.” Your heart breaks on it, on two little words. Breaks apart again at him standing in your door. The silence between the two of you is a scream, and though your tears have dried, there’s still an ache stretching infinitely before you. You peek over his shoulder, hoping Johnny is here too. Wanting to fix the mess you just made, but he’s not.

Simon is alone.

He pulls it wide. His face is twisted. His eyes are red. He’s been crying. The realization nearly brings you to your knees. “Can I come in?”

You didn’t clean the kitchen up, and neither did Johnny. He stood there for too long, kissing you over and over on your cheek, your forehead, your mouth and profusely apologizing, tugging his jeans up over his hips. Frozen afterwards, the two of you, fire and fuel once burning in your veins now ice cold, slithering under your skin like a disease.

That’s what you are. Who you are, who you were. An illness. A plague.

A slowly healing thing.

You always thought they made you better.

“I’ll stay, I should-“ 

“He’ll wonder.” You stared at the floor. “And he’ll worry, you know he will. He’ll be scared something happened to you.” 

“Darling, I dinnae want to leave ye right now-“ 

“I’m fine. Go.” 

Simon doesn’t try to touch you. He takes inventory of the mess, the caramel puddle of coffee spilled over the edge of the counter to the floor, the knocked over stagnant water and paintbrushes.

You become starkly aware, too aware of the state you’re in. The state of your apartment. The state of your brain.

You wish Johnny was with him. You want it to feel like before.

You can see his face so perfectly in your mind, the slope of his nose, the plush of his lips. Anxiety twists your stomach, worry about how he’s doing, what he’s doing weighing you down.

Still. Simon is steadfast. He’s the ship in a storm and you’re the sailor, clinging to a mast, praying to god you’ll survive.

“Are you-“

“I’m sorry I was so emotional on the phone.” You rush out, cutting him off. His brows knit together, prodigious sympathy in his eyes, golden brown refracting.

“I’m sorry for calling.”

“I’m… I’m glad you did.” He steps closer, and then away, opting to stand to the side, still taking stock of the kitchen, studying the orange pill bottles on the counter. “New meds?”

“Yeah.” The conversation is stilted, a dam preventing a flood.

“Are they working out?” You shrug.

“The one makes me really forgetful, but it’s not so bad.”

“That’s good.” You’re nodding and can’t stop. There’s a part of you wanting so badly, so desperately, to go to him, to bury your face in his chest and let it all go.

And there’s another part that doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to reconcile any of this.

“Will you tell me how you’re feeling?”

“Confused. Sad.”

“That’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, darling. Whatever you’re feeling is okay.” Your stomach rumbles at the exact same time, and his lips quirk to the side. “Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“Have you eaten today?” You can’t force your mouth to give the answer, the obvious no, so you shake your head. “Do you have groceries?”

“Some.”

“Can I make you something to eat?” You suck in a sharp breath. Can he? Will you let him? Will the two of you revert to these roles, like no time has passed? Have you not made progress, have you not grown? 

You pack the shame of it away, burying it deep. You’ll try to unpack it later, on the couch, in front of the doctor. You’ll talk through every second, pick it apart and try to put it back together again. You’ll rip yourself open, expose your soft spots, the ones that bleed more than any other.

She’ll tell you it’s okay.

She’ll ask you how you feel about the decision.

You’ll say you don’t know, as you always do, and she’ll say that’s okay too. You don’t have to know right now. She’ll tell you there is nothing wrong with the way you feel, just like Simon does.

There’s been intensive therapy, to get you to this place. To drag you across the finish line. Sessions after sessions, four days a week.

It was a bargain. She promised not to have you sent involuntarily, and you promised to be in her office every other day.

Still, she doesn’t know Johnny, doesn’t know Simon. She doesn’t see how they love, how they exist.

You take a deep breath. “Yes.”

You watch him from the couch. Curled over the armrest, your chin on your elbow. His shoulders, chest, flex under his t shirt, opening cabinets, searching for things in an unfamiliar place.

You’ve never felt more loved by him than you do in this moment.

A man willing to push everything away to take care of you, to disregard himself in favor of you, to put himself aside every time he steps through the door to focus on you.

A man who knows what's coming. Who's always been able to see inside you, and yet, still makes you dinner. Still cares for you in the way he knows how. 

All you ever wanted, was to feel loved by them. Separately and together.

Now you feel it more than ever.

You tried to force a circle into a square. 

You think about Johnny again. About how he’s at home, penitent, destroyed. You think about how he must feel, knowing Simon is here, and he’s there. You ache for him. Wish you were settled between them in bed, his body against yours, the steadfast pace of his breathing evening your own out. You want him to hold you. 

You wish he was here.

You ache without your pieces.

But you know it’s not supposed to be this way.

“Darling?” The cadence of your moniker pulls you away from yourself, and you look up.

He’s crouched in front of the couch, nearly eye level with you. “You’re crying.” You tap your face, surprised. You are, the realization abrupt, the onset of them too acute.

“’m sorry.” You choke, and he murmurs softly.

“It’s alright. You’re okay.” His thumb finds your cheek, carefully sweeping them away.

“I’m not.” The truth is agony. You’re not okay. You weren’t okay when you fucked Johnny, and you’re not okay now. You haven’t ever been okay, and it hurts so badly. It stings deep down in your heart, your belly.

Your tears rush out of you, and Simon moves, comes around the side of the couch.

He pulls you into his arms, and you bury your face in his chest.

Hiding. Relying. Letting him carry you through. 

“Simon…” You sob, and he rocks you, arms tight, resolute in their hold.

“Shhh, I know. I know, it’s okay.”

“I d-didn’t mean for this to happen.” You’re talking about Johnny, but you’re talking about everything. The struggle, the agony. Everything.

“I know you didn’t. I don’t want you to worry about that.” The feeling inside you is more than pain, it’s death, it’s excruciating. There’s a piece of you dying, crumbling, turning to ash. You’re trying so hard to hold onto it, to keep it inside, but it comes out with these wretched sobs, the ones that split your ribs open and bleed you dry.

He holds you through it. Holds you tight enough the pressure eventually calms you, and there’s nothing left except the soaked circle on his t shirt and your tired, wet eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes a deep breath, still clinging. “Let me feed you.”

“Okay.”

He sits next to you at the little table where you usually try to eat alone. Where you drink your coffee, alone. Where you pick at your food, where you swallow a handful of pastel-colored pills with a glass of juice every morning like clockwork. Like a robot.

You manage more than a few bites. Breakfast for dinner, one of your favorites. You know he picked it because you love it, and he wants to make you happy.

It only makes you lachrymose. “I’m sorry about Johnny.”

“It’s not your fault, darling.”

“Don’t be mad at him.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“It wasn’t… he didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who put him in that position. I kissed him and-“

“He knew better. I don’t want you to dwell on… that.”

“I love him.” Your voice cracks.

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know you do, darling. I know.” You’re going to cry again; you can feel it. The acid starts up behind your eyes, and though you’re not sure you have anything left, they pool along your lower lids. “None of that.” He soothes. “C’mon. stay here, stay with me.” You shake your head.

“I l-love you both, so much. It hurts.” He blinks furiously, and then through your own blurry vision, you see his tears. The ones that slip reluctantly through his lashes, down his cheeks.

“We never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know, and you d-didn’t. It… it hurts Simon. It hurts and I don’t know why.” He tugs you from your chair and into his lap, hauling you up onto his thighs. “P-please-“

“Just… let me- let me hold you, darling. I don’t want- I want to feel you.” He cheek rests on the top of your head, and you cling to him, a child lost, a sailor scared in a storm.

He knows.

You know he knows. You feel it in the rapid pace of his heart, the shudder of his shoulders.

He knows. He knows it better than you do.

And maybe he always has.

“You were right.” After a while, he whispers in your hair. “And so was I, even though I didn’t want to see it. It was never fair.”

“We wanted it… too much.” That much is more than true. You wanted it so desperately, and so did they, you know it. You don’t doubt their love for you, though the scales have always been imbalanced. Imperfect puzzles, trying and failing to click together.

“I’m sorry, I… we, were so selfish.”

“I wanted you to be.”

“It still wasn’t right.”

You sit there for hours, curled up on his lap, listening to him breath, memorizing his heartbeat.

You think of Johnny for the hundredth time. You want him to be here. You want him to hold you too. You close your eyes and try to remember how he feels, your love for him overflowing into a mountain of more and more agony. For both of them. 

“I should go.” Simon finally says, shattering the moment, and you nod.

It’s a death march to the door.

“Will you come by, to see us? I mean… to… talk to us. Together.”

“Yeah, I… I will.” The guillotine waits in the wings, a final chorus cut off by a symphony.

“Tomorrow?”

“Okay.” He leans in, presses his lips to your forehead.

“I love you, darling. We always will.” You nod, but say nothing, cheeks wet again.

He turns away, rolling his shoulders, heading down the hall.

There’s something building in your heart, an explosion, fear compounding.

“Simon! Wait.” He stops. You close the gap, tugging him down until your lips crash together, warm and salt soaked and full of torment, suffering. “I love you.”

This time, he says nothing. Only kisses you again, long and slow, before taking you by the shoulders and intentionally stepping away.

“I know.”

You stand in front of their door for too long.

You wish there was something you could take, something you could do, to release you from this. To build a barrier around your heart so you don’t have to feel it. Any of it.

There’s not, and you know that.

You know you must succumb to the water, dip your head below and hope you come up for air on the other side.

There’s nothing left to do except this.

You lift your fist to knock.

“This is my fault.” Johnny cries, and you squeeze his hand.

“It’s not. It’s… it’s all of us. We did it together.” Simon kisses his temple, rubs his back, and he leans into him, face buried in his shoulder. The guilt eats you alive, knowing that the last time you truly spent with him was when he was inside of you. You wish you talked to him more, made him feel loved, told him how much you cared.

But you were selfish.

And so was he.

“It’s not your fault, sweet boy. I promise.” Simon tries to soothe him, but  Johnny slams a fist into his knee, so hard you wince, and Simon grabs it, fingers firm around his wrist. “Stop. Stop now.” He strokes a hand through his mohawk. You struggle to breathe. 

“I love you so much. That’s… that’s never going to change.” Johnny shakes his head as Simon closes his eyes, nose dipping down into his hair.

“Ye cannae leave us, darling. We need- I need ye. I love ye… p-please.” The three of you are crying, sliced open, surgically diced into cross sections for an autopsy.

The death of a relationship.

The death of three parts to a whole.

“Johnny.” You say his name, over and over, until he pulls away from Simon and tugs you close. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, committing his scent to memory.

Simon wraps his arms around you both.

You feel whole. A puzzle complete. A sunrise after a storm.

And that’s why. 

“I love you.” You kiss the shell of his ear, soaking him with your tears. They’re everywhere, dripping down your face, your neck, your shirt. You can barely keep your breathing steady, despair restricting your lungs. “I’ll always love you, Johnny. Always.”

“Please.” He sobs, shakes, holding onto you so tight. “Dinnae leave me. Please.” Your heart is shredding to pieces. Ribbons of blood and muscle trying to contain too much, unable to cling together. His pleas are enough to make you second guess yourself, to make you nausea enough to nearly throw up.

It’s beginning to become overwhelming, and in the throes of your building panic, you glance wildly at Simon.

He stares back. Nods. Wraps his hands around Johnny’s shoulders and tucks him back into his chest. “No!” Johnny hisses, but Simon holds him steady.

“I’ve got him.” He says, voice broken.

You sit frozen like a deer in headlights.

“I love you.” You cry, and hope they know it’s meant for both of them.

It’s always meant for both of them.

Simon takes one last long look at you and closes his eyes. “I’m proud of you.” He whispers, hoarsely, and the final piece of your heart breaks. “Go.”

Can you? 

Do you have the strength? 

The sun is bright on your face.

It’s warm, and beautiful, the promise of something new, something different. You stand on the sidewalk, devastated but-

Unafraid. Imperfect pieces, slowly stitching together to make you whole, all on your own.

Without Simon. Without Johnny.

Just yourself.

It’s terrifying. Heartbreaking. And it’s only you now.

You, figuring out how to exist in a world too harsh for your heart. You, without the protection and promise of your other pieces, the ones who came home to you every time, the ones who put you back together. You, learning how to take care of yourself, to truly do it, for the first time.

You, who is not broken.

You, who is stepping forward without darling.

You who is just… you.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (3)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

all my other works ▪︎ part one ▪︎ part two

Both having busy schedules and working in different cities, the reader and Ewan make an effort to keep contact with each other. Will Ewan ever make his feelings known? Will a possible scandal derail their budding romance?

A beautiful floral arrangement awaits you as you return to your hotel suite in LA.

Luxury red roses preserved in an elegant black velvet box, accompanied by a printed note on the side.

Congratulations on your new project, darling.

All my love, Ewan.

Your assistant had alluded to a special package having arrived just before you came in, and you're met with this.

It's the loveliest of gestures and you instantly wish to call Ewan to express your thanks. However the hour is late, the digital clock face reading 10 pm. You'd had a long day at work, having gone through the entirety of rehearsals once more. Filming will officially begin in September, and your focus is much needed as you step into a new role.

Noting the time difference - it would only be around 6 am in the UK - you decide to put off calling him for tomorrow.

It's only been a week since he first confessed that he misses you, and since then, he's had no trouble saying it each time you speak, almost as if the floodgates are opened and he's more confident in expressing himself with you.

I told you, Phia had simply said when you shared this with her.

The strong possibility of Ewan harbouring feelings for you has caused you to become distracted the past few days. If he does, why hasn't he asked you out yet? Granted, you'll be working long-distance for a while, but still.

You quickly wind down from a long day and soon find yourself comfortably huddled in blankets with your laptop propped open in front of you. Winding down, of course, includes some time scrolling on your phone or watching things without a care.

A new video catches your attention on Youtube's home page. One of the segments from Ewan's Vanity Fair feature.

Ewan Mitchell on his firsts and currents

You smile to yourself before you even realise it.

The video starts with Ewan introducing himself - "Hi, Vanity Fair. I'm Ewan Mitchell and I'm here to talk about my different firsts and currents." - He smirks at the camera. You smirk right back as if he can see you.

"So first ever role?" he says, directed by prompts behind the camera. "Technically, my first ever role was for a very small, short film called Stereotype ..." He laughs, remembering how young and inexperienced he was. "... and my current role - none other than the One-Eyed Prince. So far, my favourite as well I have to say."

He continues with his first and current favourite film, pets, song or type of music to get into character... and so on...

Then he gets asked about - his first ever and his current celebrity crush - "Uhhhmm," he looks to the side bashfully, clicking his tongue as he thinks of the simplest answer, "I don't think I had celebrity crushes growing up. It could have been some of the actors I admired, that inspired me... "

Such a classic Ewan answer, that one. You wonder how he would also dodge the question of his current celebrity crush.

"As for my current crush... well... it might be someone from the cast of House of the Dragon, actually." He smiles knowingly, as if he's aware that your stomach is in knots as you watch. Who will he say? Phia? Olivia?

"I really admire ... " He says your name, and your eyes widen like saucers. "She's an amazing actress - I think we can all agree - and a very dear person to me... "

Ewan, you sneaky charming bastard.

" ... so yeah," he shrugs, nonchalantly, but he surely knows he just sent you - and the entire fandom - into a tailspin. "I guess you could say she's my current celebrity crush."

Curious, you pick up your phone and get to scrolling. You've turned all your notifications off, not wanting to become occupied because of them during work.

Sure enough, it's an endless flurry of likes, comments, and messages.

In your most recent post, tons of people comment about Ewan's interview, trying to bring it to your attention.

hotdpolska29: girl, go watch Ewan's Vanity Fair video RIGHT. NOW.

melodygellerr: be honest, is this photo for Ewan???

peraltajake99: now she has to say that Ewan's her celebrity crush too !!!

cassiethemendler: forget Ewan... guys she's acc with jacob frickin elordi. Did yall not see the pictures

There's simply too many comments to go through. One statement and already everyone has formed their own opinion, their own conclusion about how things are in your personal life. It's one of the drawbacks of being in the public eye, and you still don't fully know how to handle it.

As part of PR for your new film, you and Jacob had been tapped to make appearances in public together, photographers hired to make it seem like the two of you are on a date.

The whole thing confused you. You're friends with Jacob, and naturally you hang out with him anyway. All this celebrity subterfuge seems unnecessary. But he was kind enough to guide you through it. "It's just part of the job," Jacob assured. "This whole Hollywood thing is silly, isn't it?"

Since you're both single actors, it wouldn't hurt for people to believe you might be dating. It attracts attention and any publicity is good as they say.

As long as you know what's true, then the public can believe whatever they want.

You end up liking and responding to some comments, and ignoring most of the other ones that pry too much into your private life. Never mind the haters, who also give their own two cents about your alleged involvements with Ewan or Jacob.

Suddenly, the screen is brightened from an incoming call from Ewan One-Eye . You are still pleased with yourself about the name. Your excitement is spiked as you press answer. Having a crush never gets old.

"Mornin', you," you greet him. 11 pm for you in LA, 7 am for him in England.

"Evening, darling," he says with a smile. He's still in bed, with one hand behind his head while the other has his phone pressed to his ear. First thing in the morning, and he feels compelled to call you. If that's any indication, the boy doesn't lie when he says he misses you every day. "You about to go to bed?" he queries.

"Mhmm," you hum, lying down and mirroring his position. "By the way, I think I've got a secret admirer or something."

"What? Who?"

Struggling to hold back a laugh, you continue, "I think you're missing the point of a secret admirer."

"Yeah, yeah," he sighs. "Anyway, what's going on? Are they bothering you?" He sounds worried already, but a bit more should be fun.

"No, but I found a box from them in my room."

"Did they break in?" He sits half-upright, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," you breathe out a tired laugh. "Ewan, I'm - " ... kidding, you want to confess, but he rambles on.

"If you need me, I can take the next flight out."

"Ewan - honey - I am messing with you. I do appreciate the floral arrangment box, by the way, thank you."

A beat of silence. He slumps back down on his pillows. A smile creeps up unrestrained on his lips. He fondly thinks that his girl almost gave him a heart attack at 7 am.

And he loves it.

"You're welcome," he replies. "And if I wasn't fully wake before, then I am now. Good work, darling."

You're pleased - he didn't deny the admirer bit of it all.

"Seriously now, thank you. They're the best surprise after a long work day."

"I'm glad you like them," he says sincerely. "Rehearsals still going on?"

"Yup, two more weeks of this, then a month-long break, and finally filming in Atlanta."

"Hmm," he says, then pauses, framing his next question as best he can. "Are you... do they... that PR relationship business, is that - "

You help him to it. "Well, technically, yeah," you respond. "But they're not laying it on thick with Jacob and I. Everything is alleged by the media and no one will make any sure statements."

When you shared the truth of the pap walk, he had a bunch of questions about it. He had sounded detached and cold at the beginning of that call. Then you complained about relationships for publicity, and he quickly got the gist. You'd think his mood took a complete 360 then.

From sounding completely disinterested with Jacob, Ewan then took to reassuring you that he's a good guy who would respect your boundaries. He's still not a fan of the whole thing, but it's your job.

And... well... it's not like he's your boyfriend or anything. What claim could he have over you?

"And something you said has the public divided," you add.

"What did I say?" he smirks, playing it coy.

"Ewan."

"You're going to have to elaborate, darling."

An idea pops up in your mind. Two can play at this game, Mitchell. "Listen, I'm flattered that I'm apparently your celebrity crush, but you can't say shit like that! I don't think my boyfriend Jacob would appreciate it. He's very protective, you know."

A full minute passes, you hear his heavy breathing on the other line. He wants to curse out at the picture you presented but holds back for you.

Then, "You're so funny, darling."

You laugh genuinely, and all his worries dissipate. "I know."

"A downright comedian."

"Thank you."

"I can't believe you're my celebrity crush," he sighs dramatically.

"You put that on to yourself, mate."

"Hmm." He sure did. He wasn't lying in that interview - you are his celebrity crush, but that seems reductive. He likes you, he misses you, he loves being around you. "The only right answer would have been you. You're the one I think about all the time."

He says things like this, so sweetly, and it's everything. It drives you off kilter that you get tongue-tied at work when you think about it.

But he hasn't said or done anything more. The flowers were a nice touch, sure. Maybe he's gearing up to it? Does he have something up his sleeve?

In the moment, it appears not. He's flirty, as he always is, but you've had a damn long day and the butterflies in your stomach are exhausted too.

"Ewan, I'm gonna go to bed."

"Oh. Right."

"Long day tomorrow. You know how it is."

"Of course. I... I miss you, darling. Sleep well."

"Mhmm," you find yourself responding, not mirroring his statement. "Bye, have a good day."

You end the call, wondering if he caught on at the end. Perhaps you sounded a bit too dismissive, but a voice in your head says, hey - if he wants you, he gonna have to show you. It'll take a lot more than flattery and banter to win your heart completely.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

That night in London, Ewan sits in a corner booth of a pub with Tom, Luke and Elliott and it's relatively causal, with the boys just catching up over a few pints.

Until Luke mentions you and Jacob, questioning whether that whole story was real or not.

"Absolutely not," Ewan says immediately, shifting in his Adidas tracksuit as if to take up more space so the boys will pay attention. "I talked to her about it and it's all just PR nonsense, trust me."

"Look at this one gettin' all defensive." Tom claps Ewan on the back in jest.

"Well it's true," Ewan just shrugs. "They're not together."

Elliott jumps in, eager to rile Ewan up even more. "For now at least. I've heard that these PR couple things eventually get a little too real, if you know what I mean. The lines tend to get blurred."

Ewan slings his pint back, before engaging. "What do you mean?"

"Well, look at it this way," Elliott explains. "She hangs out with the guy a lot. They laugh, dine and work together. Maybe they even have to make out several times for the film. It's easy for feelings to spring up from all that business."

"Life imitates art, innit?" Luke offers.

"Yeah, maybe soon it won't just be PR. I've heard of some celebrity couples who did that," Elliott says.

Luke adds, "Wasn't there that one PR couple that got married and all? Who was it - I can't remember now - "

Tom intervenes, wary of the way with which Ewan grips his pint glass. "That's all nonsense, come on. Surely that's not a common occurence. I worked with all you guys, and I can't stand any of ya. If anything, she'll be so sick of Jacob after they work together." That earns him a laugh from the twins, who then assign him to get the next round as payment for that jibe.

Ewan stays silent, his mind whirring. Usually, the boys wouldn't mind. They know it's just his way, being a focused and observant lad on and off set. But they sense something else underneath.

The twins share a look, a bit guilty due to Ewan's expression.

Ewan looks up and reassures the table, "Hey, it's alright. Whatever she chooses to do, I get it."

"But come on, mate," Tom says. "Everyone knows you like her. Literally everyone. Even she knows it, I bet. Why don't you just make the bloody move already?"

"I dunno," Ewan starts, not sure of the answer himself, "it just didn't seem like the right time, with her being off across the pond for the rest of the year."

"So what, you're just going to let it slide? Do you want her or not?"

"Mmm, I do." Ewan keeps to himself most of the time. But Tom's got a way to loosen his taut edges.

"Well, as promised, I'm gonna get us all another round," Tom declares, earning cheers from the twins.

Two pints turned into three, then six, seven and so on. Pretty soon, the lads get properly and well smashed. Ewan's never been the biggest drinker, but when the social situation calls for it, he can put them back just as well as the next guy from the Midlands.

"So come clean, mate," Tom drawls, his arm slung around Ewan's shoulders. "Are you in love with her already or what?"

Ewan laughs, rubbing a hand over his face to wake up a little. It doesn't work - the glare of the warm overhead lights is strong and make him feel woozy.

"Could be," he says. "But that's none of your business." Smirking, he points at Luke, "Or yours," then at Elliott, "or yours."

"Hey! C'mon," Tom protests, feigning hurt. "Am I not going to be the best man at the wedding?"

"No way, Aegon the Magnanimous," Ewan shakes his head. "My brother'll be the best man."

"So there will be a wedding," Luke says. "Does the bride know about it?"

"He hasn't even asked her out yet," Elliott teases. "I triple dare you to ask her out right now. Right fuckin' now, Ewan."

"No," Ewan says, but in his sloshed out state, he secretly considers just doing it. "I gotta go for a smoke, lads. Tom was right, I can't stand you anymore."

"Oh, boo!" Tom shoves him out of the booth. "Hurry back, lover boy."

Ewan makes his way to the alley behind the pub. He's thankful that a pub at midnight offers the perfect setting to disappear into anonymity. Everyone's just as drunk or they simply don't care about celebrity culture.

He takes a few puffs of his cigarette, the nicotine quickly reawakening his nerves. Thinking back to the twin's suggestion, he thinks, why the hell not? Why shouldn't he ask you out already? Who cares about the PR shite? If word gets around that you're his, the facade about you and Jacob will get shelved.

With his cig lodged between his teeth, he has to take extra care to call you, the glare of the screen not doing wonders for his inebriation.

The lines beeps, and he's met with your voicemail. You must still be at work or just getting off it.

Still with Jacob. Something in him stirs, and it's not just the bloody alcohol.

He clears his throat, prompted by the notification to leave a message - "Hey, darling. Hey... beautiful... I guess I'm missing you and I... I miss you, isn't that funny?" he starts, proud of himself for making the joke. "I'm out with the lads right now... had a couple of pints. Maybe one too many? I don't know. And... uhhh - "

He stomps his smoke under his shoe, nervous ticks getting the best of him. Here he goes, make it or break it. "I was thinking about you. As I always do. Because I've never felt like this about anyone before. Ever. And I'm sorry it took me this long to ask, but I want to be with you. No - that's not right, it's too quick... I mean, yes, I want to be with you, but I gotta do this right. I want to take you out, properly, on a date. Will you... will you please? I've got some business stateside and I could have that scheduled sooner, and I could come see you. And we could... I just want to see you. So fucking badly, baby. I - I - okay then, I suppose that's all. Good... good morning? No - evening. You're beautiful and I just..." he sighs deeply, because words will never do you justice. "... goodbye."

The line cuts off and he tucks his phone away. Smiling to himself, he feels euphoric from getting that off his chest. The message was coherent enough, he thinks proudly, and it couldn't have sounded better all things considering.

If he could pat himself on the back, he most definitely would. He can already see it, the perfect first date with you.

The lads are going to go nuts over this, he knows for certain. He makes his way back inside the pub, a boy renewed.

A lover boy, as Tom and Phia call him.

No truer words have been spoken.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

It's 10 pm yet again when you make it back to your suite. Having notifications on your phone turned off while you're at work, you're met with a barage of messages and the usual social media frenzy.

But only one thing stands out - a voice message from Ewan One-Eye, sent just around 4 hours ago.

You settle in for the night, making sure you're all prepped to go to bed before playing it, thinking you can maybe call him afterward.

You hear the beep, and the message starts - "Hey, darling... uhhhh so hey, I - uh fuck I'm missing you right now, must be at work eh? And I miss you - " You note how he sounds drowsy but his words are punctuated. Like he's making an actual effort to simply speak. You realise he must be drunk. What's a drunk Ewan doing calling you? " - that's so funny, innit? Which suits cause I'm just a bloody joke cause I took too long... to tell you... that I... I think about you all the time, I'mcrazyboutyou y'know... I wanna be with you... withyou - " He's drunk, you keep reminding yourself that he's drunk. But the effect of his words aren't diminished. He's got you hooked. " - I got work out there too... so I'll - uhhh - see you then and... take you out then and - fuck - kiss ya... I want to kiss you so fucking badly, baby. You're perfect for me, and so beautiful, and I wish Aemond would wed your character cause - as th'twins said - life imitates art!" He snickers at his own remark, and it's the most endearing thing ever. "So... yeah, good, darling. Goodb - " and the line cuts off.

"What the fuck," is all you can speak out into the quiet room. Lying back on your pillows, you actually laugh out loud and kick your feet like a puppy-love drunk highschooler.

The sun is rising across the pond and Ewan has probably just made it back home, immediately collapsing in his bed all wasted.

But he's getting a call tomorrow - and you pray to the fictional Westerosi gods that his intentions are clear, drunk or otherwise.

Kismet is a funny thing. Once a fan of the show, you're now an actress on it, about to date the Aemond Targaryen.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Ewan's eyes flutter open. The sunlight is weakly coming in from the window shutters in his room. Confused, he glances at the digital clock face and it reads 6:18 PM.

So he slept through the whole day. Brilliant.

It's unlike him to mind his phone first thing after waking up, so he trudges to his bathroom to douse his face with cold water and brush his teeth for a good long while, trying to recall the events of the previous night.

It had the usual workings of a proper pub night with his lads, and he barely remembers the last night he got that sloshed. But anyway, all in good fun, and he genuinely enjoys their company so it must be worth the pounding headache he feels right now.

The lads... an unknown and possibly excessive number of pints... Oasis playing on the speakers... Tom generously buying a round of drinks for everyone in the pub... and of course, you.

The memory has his attention, and he thumbs through his phone as he makes his way to his kitchen to prep his staple black coffee with seven sugars.

He remembers it - kind of - leaving a voicemail, and he's pleased that he finally, finally asked you out. Never mind that it took him getting drunk off his noggin to do it.

But there's nothing from you. Not a message, nor a missed call, nor a voice note.

He tries not to let it worry him right away, but it does. Maybe you didn't hear it yet. Maybe you were too tired from work and weren't checking your voicemails.

Maybe... maybe...

His phone suddenly buzzes in his palm and he mumbles, fuck's sake, out of surprise. But it's not you calling. It's his publicist.

"Hello, good evening. How are you doing?" he greets cordially.

"Ewan!" she exclaims. "Finally! I've been trying to get a hold of you all day."

"Oh, right," he says guiltily, "I'm so sorry, I just had a long night and - "

"I know, Ewan, I know. The whole country - no - the whole world knows by now. Bloody hell, it's always The Sun, isn't it? Those idiots, I swear."

He straightens at that. If a tabloid is involved, it can't be good news. "What's happened?"

His publicist sighs, ready to relay the news, "The Sun did a story on you and the other cast members. About having a wild night out in the pub. It's useless fodder, really, nothing wrong with having a night out."

"Right, right... but - " Ewan says, sensing there's something more. Something worse.

"There's a picture of you with a girl - "

"What?"

"I think I've seen her before. She must be a cousin of the Tittensors? You know her, of course."

"I... I don't - "

"Anyway, according to the paper, you and her were flirting it up a storm at the pub. She had her arm around you and everything. Do you want to look it up now? I can give you a moment. I'll stay on the line."

"Fuck," Ewan mutters to himself as he does a quick search of his name. The headlines make him wish he never did so.

House of the Dragon Stars On A Wild Night Out: INSIDE SCOOP!

EWAN MITCHELL SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY LADY

Aemond Targaryen IN LOVE? See PICTURES Inside!

"I don't think I remember her," he swears to his publicist, "I was just drinking with the lads and there might have been others that joined us but I - what the fuck - I don't - "

"It's okay, Ewan," she reassures him. "We can deal with this. This bullshit just comes with the job, as you should know. It'll be fine."

No, it's not fine.

Because it dawns on him why he hasn't heard back from you.

"Fuck."

Taglist: @sprinklesprinkle888 @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @uwuuness @strbellz @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @rhaenys-nyra @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @cardiganlovesblog @strangersunghoon @darktrashsoulbear @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @chixnugg22 @athenafaes

Not drunk Ewan thinking his voice message sounded a lot better than it did! 😂

The story will extend further than 3 parts, as it turns out! In the next one, the reader and Ewan will be reunited - any guesses on what will happen?

Comment and let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist 💕

[ln4smiamitrophy]

𝐈𝐓’𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐘

𐙚 summary; the one where the reader meet charles and realises that maybe soulmates do exist

ʚɞ pairing; charles leclerc x singer!reader

ᡣ𐭩 fc; maisie peters (& a pinterest girl for the ferrari post as maisie hasn’t attended a gp)

⭒ type; smau

⟡ a/n; this isn’t my best work at all but i haven’t posted in forever because i’ve been really busy so enjoy this lovelies

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y/nusername

liked by taylorswift, florencepugh and others

y/nusername “the prophecy” out everywhere now <3

comments…

user1 AAAAHHHHHHHH

user2 IM CRYING WTF

taylorswift it was such a pleasure to write with you

⤷ user4 THEY CO-WROTE THIS!? OMFG

user5 “don’t want money just someone who wants my company” HEARTBREAKING 💔

user6 her exes better know how to fight, i’m coming for them

⤷ user7 i’ll help you !!

user8 i don’t think the bridge to a song has ever hurt me more

⤷ user9 NO CAUSE ID Y/N SEES NO SIGN OF SOULMATES WHAT CHANCE DO I HAVE!? she’s literally perfect and she thinks there’s no soulmate for her 😭😭😭

florencepugh i love you, you’re incredible

⤷ y/nusername i love you most flo

user10 the day i get over this song is the day i die

and more…

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scuderiaferrari

📍• melbourne grand prix circuit

liked by y/nusername, charles_leclerc and others

scuderiaferrari look who popped in to say hello 👋🏻 ❤️ (i am your biggest fan - admin)

tagged y/nusername

comments…

y/nusername and i’m your biggest fan admin❤️

⤷ scuderiaferrari ❤️❤️

user1 NOT HER RELEASING THE SADDEST FUCKING SONG EVER AND THEN ATTENDING A GP ALL SMILES LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED 😭😭

user2 since when was y/n an f1 girlie!?

⤷ user3 since forever!!

user4 i’m living for y/n x ferrari

user57 another female celebrity pretending to like f1 for more fame, great 😒😒

⤷ user5 stfu she has literally been an f1 fan for years, there are so many videos of her talking about it

user6 manifesting a ferrari win today

user7 when my two worlds collide

and more…

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y/nusername

liked by charles_leclerc, sabrinacarpenter and others

y/nusername 4 weeks in 4 pictures

comments…

user1 loving the sunglasses

⤷ y/nusername they’re so fun aren’t they??

user2 she’s so unbelievably beautiful

sabrinacarpenter i miss you 😢

⤷ y/nusername i miss you more angel, see you soon

user4 i wonder who the guy is

⤷ user5 call me crazy, kinda looks like charles leclerc and he’s in the likes

⤷ user6 you’re crazy, it’s been like 2 months since the aus gp

taylorswift i’d like my hot water bottle back please

⤷ y/nusername no 😢😓

and more…

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charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari and others

charles_leclerc 🛥️🛥️

comments…

user1 charles with children is the cutest thing ever

⤷ user2 no cause he’ll deffo be the best dad

user3 DIDN’T Y/N JUST CUT HER HAIR THIS SHORT!?

⤷ user4 SHE DID!!! IT HAS TO BE HER!!!

landonorris 🫣

⤷ user5 LANDO WHAT DO YOU KNOW!?

⤷ user6 TELL US NOW!!

carlossainz55 not even trying to hide it anymore

⤷ charles_leclerc i hate you

⤷ user7 Y/NCHARLES CONFIRMATION!?

and more…

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f1

liked by y/nusername, scuderiaferrari and others

f1 THE ONE HE ALWAYS WANTED 🥹🏆

Charles Leclerc is the first home winner of the Monaco Grand Prix for 93 years!

What a moment for the Monegasque native ❤️🇲🇨

comments…

olliebearman ❤️

user1 jules is smiling down at him, i know it 🥹

⤷ user2 and his dad

user3 ngl i sobbed

⤷ user4 we all did

carlossainz55 a long time coming ❤️

user5 WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT HOW HE LITERALLY RAN TO Y/N AND KISSED HER!?

⤷ user6 LITERALLY I SCREAMED!!!!

⤷ user7 I FUCKING KNEW THEY WERE TOGETHER

and more…

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y/nusername

liked by charles_leclerc, taylorswift and others

y/nusername surprise single time! “the alchemy” out now !!

tagged; charles_leclerc

comments…

user1 SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.

user2 she really said “THIS SONG IS ABOUT CHARLES LECLERC!!!”

⤷ user3 fr!! she’s leaving no room for rumours

charles_leclerc mon coeur ❤️

*liked by y/nusername*

⤷ y/nusername je t’aime ❤️

user4 “WHERE’S THE TROPHY?! HE JUST COMES RUNNING OVER TO ME!!!!”

⤷ user5 NO I ACTUALLY DIED

taylorswift i’m so proud of you

⤷ y/nusername i love you

user6 I LOVE HOW SHE INCLUDED THE PICS

⤷ user7 THEY ARE THE F1 COUPLE

charles_leclerc i told you soulmates do exist my girl

⤷ y/nusername shush

⤷ carlossainz55 this is sick(eningly cute)

⤷ user8 carlos really speaking for all of us

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taglist; @danielshoe @amorrziinho @soamericn @urfavwelshie @xylinasdiary @cleaswn @marknolee @shineforever19 @formulaal @manicpixiemom @lemon-lav

comment to be added to taglist <3

[sugarcoated-lame]

Sometimes A Bride | Jake Seresin x Reader

18+ only, minors DNI

Jake Seresin x female Bradshaw!reader

part two of Always A Bridesmaid

Synopsis: You’re having some pre-wedding jitters and there’s only one person you know can help calm you down.

or

You and Jake sneak off for a quickie before the two of you say ‘I do.’

WC: 11.5k (another long one oops)

warnings: a smidgen of angst?, anxiety, mentions of alcohol, smut, fingering, unprotected piv, slight overstimulation, i think jake calling reader a good girl deserves a warning, unspecified age gap (reader is in around mid-late 20s, jake is in early-mid 30s), once again jake being too damn charming for his own good, tonssss of disgustingly sweet tooth-rotting fluff, really sweet fluffy moments with big bro bradley, natasha being the best sister-in-law and maid of honor, jake still being an absolute menace, i'm literally the worst at coming up with titles for my fics, moodboard is not any indication of reader’s appearance

a/n: The very long-awaited (I’m sorry 🤍) sequel to Always a Bridesmaid. Thank you so much to everyone who’s stuck around and shown the first part so much love and support, and waited so patiently for this story! I love y’all 

beautiful dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

〰・♡・〰 reblogs, comments, and feedback are greatly appreciated! 〰・♡・〰

You love weddings. 

It's a fact you try to remind yourself of as you take a deep breath, taking in your reflection in the vast vanity mirror.

Hair styled to pristine perfection, professionally done makeup better than anything you’d ever be capable of doing yourself, in a gorgeous white dress that fits just right and makes you feel more beautiful than ever.  

You love weddings. You love the fancy clothes, all the chatter and the sweet scent of champagne flowing through the air at the reception, the contagious laughter and dancing.

But, most of all, you love getting to watch two people profess their love for each other and promise themselves to one another for the rest of their lives through beaming smiles and tears of joy. 

It’s been a little over three years since Bradley and Natasha said ‘I do’, and after meeting the love of your life at your big brother’s wedding, how could you not love them? 

Three years since that fateful night that you met Jake and both of your lives were changed forever, and the two of you have been pretty much inseparable ever since. Well, nearly ever since.

Initially, both you and Jake were scared by just how much you liked one another. 

After spending the night together at your brother’s wedding — and the morning after — you had feared that it was just that rose-colored haze of love in the air that comes along with weddings, and you wondered if that magical pixie dust was going to wear off eventually — and take your feelings with it. 

But it never did. 

Even at the beginning, back when Jake had tried to push down his feelings for you and said he couldn’t offer much more than no strings attached fun, ‘because I’m going to be away on deployments and dangerous missions all the time, and because you’re Bradshaw’s little sister.’ 

Because he ‘didn’t have time for anything serious’ – but really, because he was afraid of just how strongly he felt for you – even then, you were so drawn to him and Jake couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed spending time with you.

How he thought about you and that amazing night you’d spent together nearly every second of every day. 

From the moment he’d wake up in his boring, lonely apartment, to the hours spent in briefings or flying dangerous maneuvers in his F18, to the moment he’d go to sleep alone every night in his bed that all of a sudden seemed too big. 

And, what scared Jake the most was that it wasn’t just the sex – though, that was definitely a great part of it – that he yearned for. It was just you. 

You, with your bright eyes and your radiant smile, your melodic laugh and effervescent personality. You had quickly wormed your way into his heart and lit him up from the inside out. 

He no longer found himself wanting the mundane and meaningless hook-ups or one night stands that places like the Hard Deck had to offer, which had become routine for him since his time as a young pilot at Top Gun. 

You brought Jake’s world from dull grayscale to vibrant technicolor and he found that he just always wanted you around. 

He’d never felt that way about anyone before, and it terrified him.

You’d never wanted anyone so bad, and you were fearful that it wasn’t going to last. 

But, try as you might, the two of you just couldn’t seem to stay away from each other for long. 

Once Jake got his head out of his ass and he took you out on a few proper dates – which, naturally, ended in you fucking each other’s brains out a few more times – you both agreed to try to take things slow, because your feelings for each other were real and neither one of you wanted to mess things up. 

However, you quickly learned that there was no such thing as slow when it comes to you and Jake. Before you knew it, things between the two of you had become pretty serious, and you realized – much to your brother Bradley’s dismay, that the two of you share a very real connection. 

Through all of the ups and downs — triumphs and hardships, happy times and tears, the silly fights and even sillier make-ups that these past three years have brought the two of you. 

From going mad missing each other when Jake is away on deployments, up until his recent request for a more permanent position at Top Gun so he can be closer to home – closer to you –  you and Jake have stuck together through it all like super glue.

Three years of unconditional love and support, of growing and becoming better together, loving and living life with your best friend.

You’ve never been quite sure if you believe in the concept of soulmates, but if they do exist, you’re positive that Jake is yours.

And, you love weddings… so why are you currently freaking the fuck out, today of all days? Oh, right… because it’s your wedding day. 

You’re pretty sure that your vision is beginning to blur, your body growing a little dizzy as you watch the constant stream of people flitting all around you through the glass of the large vanity mirror.

Your bridesmaids chatter excitedly as they too work to finish getting ready, sipping from mimosas as they make their way into their dresses while Natasha – the best sister-in-law and best maid of honor you could ever ask for – helps to keep everyone focused and on schedule. 

She paces the room with her phone in hand, probably texting Bradley to make sure things are running smoothly in the groomsmens’ suite as well. 

There are at least three people at any given moment hovering around you like bees, fussing over your hair, doing last minute touch-ups on your makeup, and making sure there’s not a wrinkle in sight on the beautiful wedding gown of your dreams that you’re oh-so nervous for Jake to finally see. 

Not nervous because you’re worried he won’t like it – he’s told you plenty of times that he’d be more than happy to marry you if you were wearing a trash bag – but because this is your big day, the beginning of the rest of your lives together and you just want it to be perfect. 

After all the months of painstaking planning – from centerpieces to seating charts, the choosing the color of the napkins to the dinner menu and countless trials of cake flavors. From finding the perfect venue, to the best floral arrangements, and of course the dream wedding dress. 

After being so hyper-focused on this day for months, now that that day is actually here, you just need everything to be perfect.

Not even the two and a half mimosa’s you’ve had this morning have been enough to quell the stress currently coursing through your veins, and the buzz of the busy bridal suite is beginning to make your head spin. 

Between all of the running around you’ve done since waking up — way too early — this morning, the little bit of alcohol and all the commotion going on around you now, your face feels too hot, a tiny sheen of sweat beginning to shine through your makeup.

You can’t help but wonder if Jake is feeling this flustered right now too. Probably not, the man is cool and calm about just about everything; it’s one of the things you love about him.

As the makeup artist powders your nose for the fifth time in ten minutes in an attempt to tamper down the shine, you feel your resolve beginning to crack. You try to take in a deep breath to shake the nerves, but feel as though there’s not enough air in the room to fill your lungs and you find yourself feeling like you need to escape. 

As if she can sense your distress from all the way across the room, Natasha — ever the dutiful maid of honor — materializes behind you with a comforting hand on your shoulder, politely excusing the makeup artist and everyone else that’s currently milling around you, before meeting your gaze through the mirror with a gentle smile. 

Though, you know your sister-in-law too well and you can see the concern in her brown eyes.

“You okay?” When Natasha gives your shoulder a comforting squeeze, you close your eyes and heave out a deep sigh, grateful for a moment of calm. 

It’s in the same moment that you open your eyes and give her a nod and an unconvincing smile that there’s a knock on the bridal suite door just behind you, and you turn your head to find Bradley opening it a crack and peeking his head in. 

“Everyone decent?” Your older brother asks, meeting your eyes with a soft look and you swear you could cry.

Through all her running around to help make sure that your day is perfect, you’d seen Natasha on her phone and you figure that, always knowing just what you need, she must have texted Bradley – and that’s exactly what she did. 

Natasha had let her husband know that his sister was feeling some pre-wedding jitters and could use some reassurance that she knew you could only get from your big brother, and he immediately made his way from the groomsmens’ suite to come to your aid.

“Yeah, come on in!” Natasha calls out with one last squeeze to your shoulder before meeting Bradley at the door and greeting him with a quick kiss on his cheek.

She gently pushes him towards where you stand in front of the large mirror smoothing your hands over an invisible wrinkle on the flowy white skirt of your dress, before ushering the rest of your bridesmaids and everyone else to the other side of the large suite to put their finishing touches on their looks and give the two of you some privacy. 

You turn around to face Bradley, standing there in a classic black suit with a bow tie, and you could swear your brother gets a little misty-eyed as he takes in the sight of you in your lavish white dress, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mustached lips when he asks, “You okay, sis?”

You think about lying for a second and telling him that you’re just fine, but this is Bradley -– your big brother and self-appointed protector for all your life, even when you don’t always want or need him to be, and you know that he’d be able to see right through you.

Blowing out a small sigh, you carefully take a seat on the plush couch that sits in the nearest corner, making sure to arrange all the layers of fabric that surround your lower half in a way that they won’t become too wrinkled.

“Honestly… I’m kind of freaking out.” You tell your brother as he joins you on the sofa. Your voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough that he’s able to hear due to his close proximity.

You’re looking down at where you nervously wring your hands in your lap when Bradley speaks. 

“Why? You’ve got nothing to worry about.” His words are matter-of-fact, but his voice is soft in that comforting, brotherly tone that’s only reserved for you.

“I- I don’t know.” You tell him with a light shake of your head. “I guess I’m just nervous?” 

The words come out as a question and your gaze lifts to meet Bradley’s before you continue on.

“You know, it’s such a big, important day that I’ve spent so long dreaming of and planning for and– that I’m going to remember for the rest of my life and I just…” your voice trails off as you realize you’re rambling, stopping to take a breath before you continue. 

 “I just love Jake so much and I… I just want everything to be perfect.”

Bradley takes in your frazzled expression, nodding in understanding. “You’re right, it is a big deal, and it’s totally normal to have some nerves.” 

The pensive look on his face shifts to one of what looks like amusement as he glances across the room to where his wife is chatting away with the rest of your bridesmaids, before leaning closer to whisper conspiratorially. 

“I was scared shitless when I married Nat.” 

Your eyes widen at Bradley’s confession, a small puff of laughter escaping your lips as you question him, “What? Really?”

“Yeah,” Your brother’s smile grows at the sight of your own, a quiet chuckle leaving him. “But, then I remembered that I was marrying my best friend and all of those nerves just sort of melted away.”

“Which is why you should believe me when I tell you–” Bradley reaches over to take your hands in his, his brown gaze warm as he speaks earnestly.

“It’s going to be perfect no matter what happens, because you and Jake will be together.”

Your lips can’t help but quirk up a bit at your older brother’s reassurance. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Bradley gives your hands a gentle squeeze. “In fact, I know so.”

“Because, I have never seen you happier than you have been these past few years since you’ve been with Jake.” That small smile never leaves his lips as he continues talking and your heart nearly melts in your chest at the sincerity of your big brother’s words. 

“It’s clear that the two of you love each other very much.”

You have to admit it’s a bit of a shock to hear those words from Bradley of all people – sure, things have gotten a lot better between your brother and your fiance over the years, but you’d still consider them frenemies at the best of times. 

You realize that you haven’t said anything in response, being too stunned to speak, when Bradley continues on with a knowing smirk on his face as he takes in your dumbfounded expression.

“Trust me, I wasn’t the biggest fan of the idea of you dating Jake in the beginning, but I see how much he cares about you. Above anything else.” 

You nod your head in agreement, but not without a laugh and a playful roll of your eyes. With your brother’s reassurance that everything would be okay so long as you and Jake are together, and the reminder of just how much your husband-to-be loves you, now you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face if you tried. “Yeah, he does.” 

Bradley takes in the lovesick smile on your face and tilts his head, raising a brow in question. “We feeling better now?”

“Yeah,” Feeling much more calm now, it’s your turn to squeeze Bradley’s hands, nodding happily at him before releasing them. “A lot better. Thank you.”

“Good.” Bradley stands, offering his hands to pull you up off the sofa as well, before pulling you into a hug. 

With a quiet instruction to ‘call me if you need me’, your brother releases you from his arms, venturing over to Natasha to place a small peck to his wife’s lips before making his way out the door and back to the groomsmens’ suite.

You really do feel a whole lot better, but all this talk about your fiancé and his love for you, and how truly, utterly happy he makes you, has you missing him. Yearning to be with him in this very moment, and you realize that the only thing that would really put your mind at ease is right now Jake himself. 

Jake’s head perks up as the door to the groomsmen’s suite opens for the second time in about fifteen minutes to reveal Bradley, adorning a tux matching that of all the other groomsmen. 

It’s still crazy for him to think about the fact that your brother, who was so adamant about you not seeing Jake all those years ago, would be one of the groomsmen at his and your wedding. 

“Where’d you disappear to, Rooster?” A relaxed smirk lifts up the corner of Jake’s lips as he fixes his tie in the mirror.  

“Just went to check on the bride-to-be.” Jake’s smile softens just a bit at the mention of you.

“You know, I never thought the two of you would last this long, so I had to check and see if my sister was ready to back out yet.” 

Bradley drops down onto the sofa next to Bob and Coyote, who are quietly snickering at his teasing of the groom. 

“Oh, ha-ha.” Jake’s smirk grows devilish at the joke, turning his sights on the mustached man ready to tease him right back. “Face it, Bradshaw. We’re gonna be brothers real soon.” 

Bradley only rolls his eyes goodnaturedly at his soon to be brother-in-law, a fact that Jake has made a point to remind him of, all the time, since the two of you got engaged a little over a year ago. 

“How is she, though?” Jake asks, and Bradley can hear the sincerity creeping into the blonde’s tone. 

“She’s good. Was just dealing with the usual pre-wedding nerves, but it’s all good now.” Bradley tells him honestly. 

Jake only nods in response, already retreating into his head, into his worry for you, causing your brother to speak up again.

“Jake, I promise, everything’s good.” Bradley reassures him with a small smile.

“Yeah… good.” Jake nods once more, making an attempt to paint the best smile he possibly can on his lips.

He’s not worried because he thinks that you might not want this, or him – he knows without a shadow of doubt just how vast your love for him is – but, because he knows how you get when you put your heart into something and that you’ll drive yourself crazy trying to get everything perfect.

Jake’s seen firsthand just how painstakingly you’ve worked to plan this wedding, all the months spent making sure that every little detail is just right. 

He knows that all of that time and stress, culminating to this one day, is likely weighing on your mind now that the day has finally come. 

And in this moment, Jake wants nothing more than to just be able to see you – to hold you and comfort you and let you know that everything is going to be just fine.

He knows the old superstition that the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride before the ceremony, but…

“Fuck it.”

The two words escape under Jake’s breath just before he’s shrugging on the jacket to his tux and quickly making his way to the door. 

“Where are you going, man?” Javy questions his best friend, drawing the attention of the rest of the Daggers — sans Phoenix who’s with you getting ready in the bridal suite — toward where Jake stands in the now open doorway, one hand on the knob and one foot already out in the hall. 

“Just gotta check something with the wedding planner. Be right back.” 

It’s not a total lie. Sure, you had forgone hiring a wedding planner and chose to do everything yourself — with the help of Natasha and Penny of course -— but that technically made you the wedding planner. The guys don’t have to know that.

Jake traverses the winding halls of the venue, the anticipation of seeing you building up as he walks briskly in his dress shoes until he finds a door with a paper sign that reads, ‘Bridal Suite’ in loopy, cursive lettering.

Taking a breath, he knocks on the door, and he’s lucky to find that a moment later, it’s you who answers.

“What-” Your eyes widen in surprise and you’re hardly able to get a word out as one of Jake’s hands grasps yours, swiftly pulling you out of the door and into the hallway with him. 

You don’t get a chance to finish your question, because within seconds your fiancé is practically sprinting down the long hallway, pulling you along with him with his large hand wrapped around your smaller one. 

You can't help but giggle at Jake’s antics as the two of you run through the halls, watching his free hand reach for a few knobs along the way only to find them locked, finally stopping when he finds a door that seems to be open. 

He quickly peers into the room just to make sure that it’s empty before gently pulling you into the dark space, lit only by the natural light that shines in through the windows, and closing the door. 

You're still laughing breathlessly when you find your words again, Jake’s own breathy chuckle mixing with yours in the quiet of the room.

“Wha— Jake? What are you doing, you’re not supposed to see me in my dress before the ceremony!”

“Screw that, my girl needed me.” His warm hand is still in yours, his free hand moving to clasp your other one. That emerald gaze that you’ve come to know so well bores into you as he smiles down at you lovingly.

Your eyes lift to meet Jake’s and it’s like any and all nerves just melt away.

You always feel safe when Jake is near and just the sight of him now, being in his presence, has a toothy grin making its way onto your face.

Another giggle escapes you, trailing off into a content sigh as you look up at the gorgeous man in front of you.

The two of you just gaze into each other’s eyes for a long moment, and with a light shake of your head, your grin becomes coy. 

“Hi.” You find yourself whispering into the quiet of the room.

Jake lets out a chuckle, the outer corners of his eyes crinkling up in the way that you love when smiles at you. “Hi.”

Without letting go of your hands, Jake takes a step back to really take you in for the first time since breaking you out of the bridal suite just a few minutes ago. 

Finally getting a good look at you in your wedding dress that beautifully accentuates the shape of your body, your makeup done to perfection — though Jake doesn’t think you ever need it — and hair styled prettily but still flowing and free just the way he likes, renders your soon-to-be husband practically speechless. 

All he can say is, “Wow…”

You can hear the pure awe in that one word and can’t help but smile bashfully, heat rising in your cheeks. Jake’s compliments still manage to make you flustered, even after all this time. 

“Wow, yourself.” Your gaze sweeps up and down the length of his body, taking in the crisp black tuxedo and matching bow tie, and the white dress shirt underneath. Appreciating the way it fits him just right, how you’re still able to tell just how toned his body is even under the layers of clothing.

Jake’s hands tenderly squeeze your own, pulling you a little bit closer once again as his eyes search out your own. “You doing okay, honey?”

And though you were definitely feeling anxious before, you couldn’t be more content than you are now when it’s just the two of you, standing here holding hands with the love of your life.

“Yes,” You nod gently. “I’m just a little nervous.”

You look down at your joined hands before quietly continuing. “I just want this day to be perfect.”

“Hey,” Jake lightly swings your joined hands to get you to look up at him again, and when you do, you see that he’s still wearing that confident smile. “It’s going to be perfect because it’s all coming from you. And everything you do is perfect in my eyes.”

You have to bite back your giggle at his sentiment, in disbelief that this sweet man is soon going to be your husband.

“It’s going to be perfect because it’s us. Together.” You correct him with a playful grin. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jake’s hands leave yours, wrapping warmly around your shoulders to pull you in for a hug. Nestled in his embrace, your own arms wrap around his middle, your head moving to lean on his chest, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne as he leans his head on top of yours. “Together.”

The two of you stand like that for a few moments, wrapped snugly in each other’s warmth, Jake beginning to sway you just lightly as you breathe each other in.

It’s with your cheek pressed against his pec that you finally take a look around the room the two of you are standing in, realizing that it’s another suite similar to the one you had been getting ready in earlier.

“You know,” You lift your head from Jake’s chest to look up at him as you speak, a playful tone filling your words. “This feels oddly familiar to the night we met.”

“Sneaking off to a dark, empty room,” You continue with a growing smirk, arms unlatching from around Jake’s waist and pulling back just a touch, his own arms falling from around your shoulders. “Just the two of us.”

Your hands slide gently up Jake’s torso over the fabric of his suit jacket, up past his broad shoulders to rest at the back of his neck. 

Jake’s gaze leaves you for just a moment to glance at the space around you. An airy laugh leaving his lips as his hands reach for your hips over the soft fabric of your dress to pull you a little bit closer, his green eyes falling back onto you. 

Faces just inches away from one another, the two of you share matching silly grins as you think back to the night of your brother’s wedding. A look of pure love and adoration passing between your eyes and his as you both absorb the fact that you’re here, three years later, at your own wedding. 

“Yeah, we’re just missing the champagne.” 

Jake softly brushes his nose against yours, your eyes fluttering shut as he leans in to connect his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. 

Tasting the remnants of the sweet mimosa on your lips, he hums against them before pulling back just slightly. “But it seems like you’ve already got that covered, Sweets.” 

The familiar nickname paints his favorite smile on your lips that has Jake diving back in for another kiss, this one deeper as his tongue dips into your mouth to taste the lingering sweetness of champagne and orange juice on your tongue.

His large hands pull you in closer by the waist as your fingers find the short blonde hairs at the nape of his neck, a groan falling from Jake’s mouth and into yours as your fingernails gently scrape along his scalp.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly your body still responds to his touch after all this time; your knees going weak, and you’re practically melting into him as you feel wetness begin to pool in the skimpy, lacy white panties of your bridal lingerie that you’ve been dying to show Jake since you picked it all out a few months earlier.

The kiss quickly becomes more heated, lips slotting feverishly together as though one can only find much-needed oxygen within the other’s mouth, tongues swirling in a well-known dance and relishing in the familiar taste of one another. 

Jake’s hands are all over you, pulling your body flush against his as he sucks your bottom lip between the both of his. Your skin feels hot from his touch even through the fabric of your dress, and the realization of his quickly hardening length pressing against your hip has you mewling against him.

Jake pulls back from the kiss, his gaze still hungry, but you also catch the mirth in his eyes as he chuckles at his bride-to-be.

“Always so needy for me.” He slowly shakes his head with that classic, cocky Jake Seresin smirk that still makes you weak in the knees. 

“Me?!” You scoff, eyes wide as you look up at him incredulously, though you’re fighting back a smile because you know he’s right. 

“Well, I’d say someone is also pretty needy.” 

Your hand leaves the back of his neck to travel between your bodies to prove your point, reaching down to palm at his hard length through the fabric of his dress pants. Your brows raise in a playfully vindicated look that screams ‘I told you so’, as Jake lets out a groan at your touch. 

“Yeah, o-okay.” Jake’s chuckle is breathless this time as you cup your hand around him a little more firmly, grinning up at him and batting your lashes. “Always needy for you too, Sweets.” 

His hand wraps around your own to remove it from his bulge, already missing the friction as he brings your knuckles up to his lips in a sweet kiss before letting it go.

Before you even know what’s happening, both of Jake’s hands are reaching down to grip your thighs through all the layers of lace and tulle, a squeak emitting from your throat as he sweeps you off your feet and carries you over the nearest wall. 

“Jake! What are you-” Your arms circle around his shoulders, legs parting of their own volition to make room for him between them. Bracketing his hips as your back lightly hits the wall, the fabric of your dress all bunched between the two of you exposing your calves as he holds you in his strong grasp.

Large palms wrapped around the underside of your thighs, his weight pressed against your front and the wall at your back keep you upright as you giggle in your soon-to-be husband’s arms. 

Jake is beaming back at you, the adoration in his green eyes clear as they crinkle up due to his grin. 

“I love you, so much.” He lifts a hand up to your face, the backs of his fingers caressing along the soft skin of your cheek and Jake shakes his head as if he can’t believe that this is real, that you’re real. 

He leans in to press a soft, but dizzying kiss to your lips before murmuring against them, “I wanna show you how much.”

A part of you feels like you could cry at the sincerity in his voice, at just how well Jake loves you and how he’s never shy to make it known. 

But mostly, you just feel the white-hot pooling of arousal growing in your belly, your eyes glazing over with a look of both love and lust as you gaze back at him.

“Yeah?” You nod up at him in a daze, biting back a grin as you take in the hunger in those pretty green eyes. 

“Yeah.” He places a feather-light kiss to the corner of your mouth that makes you whimper and you can feel his smile against your skin. “Let me show you.” 

You nod your head again, mind in a haze of want at the feel of his warm breath on your skin, your hands squeezing at Jake’s broad shoulders. 

Feeling the velvety-soft fabric of his black suit jacket beneath your fingers, it’s only then that you’re shaken out of your stupor and you remember where you are – what today is.  

“Wait-wait, Jake, we can’t!” Your fingers continue to absentmindedly play with the fabric covering his shoulder. We’re supposed to be getting married like… now.” 

You can’t help but giggle at the predicament you’ve found yourselves in, though it’s very unsurprising for you and Jake. 

Jake’s laugh mingles with your own as you begin to lightly shake your head, and you feel his strong shoulders shrug beneath your grasp as you watch his lips quirk up into a mischievous grin. 

“All our guests–” Jake interrupts your words with another quick peck on your lips, laughing at your stunned expression. 

“The guests…can wait.” He states matter-of-factly. “Can’t exactly have a wedding without the bride and groom, now can they, Sweets?” 

Jake’s smile is smug and you can’t fight the one materializing on your own lips as you continue to shake your head. 

“Besides, would we really be us if we didn’t sneak off to have sex at a wedding?” He finishes off the question with a kiss to your jaw before trailing his lips down the column of your throat, lightly nipping at the skin of your neck – careful not to leave a mark – before soothing it with his tongue.

Jake was right. It had happened the night you first met at Bradley and Natasha’s wedding, and had become a tradition of sorts for the two of you at every wedding you’d been to in the three years since – and there have been quite a few.

You can feel your resolve quickly beginning to crumble as Jake presses his hips more firmly against yours, his hard length pressing up against where you need him most, the friction not nearly enough through all the layers of fancy clothing. You’re already soaking through your panties for him and you know you’re a goner.

You drop your head onto Jake’s shoulder with a sigh, before looking back up at him through your lashes. 

“Fine, but we have to be quick.” Narrowing your eyes at him, you give in, but with the most stern tone you can muster and it only makes Jake laugh. 

“Ain’t nothing slow about me, sweetheart.” You can’t stop the snort that escapes you, or the playful roll of your eyes at his words, leaning up to kiss that stupid grin off of Jake’s face. 

“Please, just– just shut up and fuck me already, Seresin.” you manage to get out through your giggles.

“With pleasure.” Jake’s lips claim yours in a hungry kiss and you feel one of his big hands venture underneath the skirt of your dress, traveling up your thigh and past the frilly fabric of your white garter in search of your core.

When his fingers brush against the damp lace of your panties, you choke out a gasp against his lips and Jake pulls back to take in your expression — your brows furrowed in pleasure and eyes heavily hooded with need. His kiss-swollen lips lift up into a smug smirk as he feels how wet you are for him. 

Jake’s deft fingers press more firmly against that wet spot, rubbing along your seam through the damp fabric. You can’t hold back your whine, already writhing against him as his thumb finds your clit, expertly circling it through the lace. 

“So wet and I’ve barely even touched you.” He breathes out a laugh and there’s a hint of smugness to his words — because of course there, it’s Jake — but you can also hear the awe present in his voice, see it in his emerald gaze that burns into you lovingly and it makes heat creep up your cheeks.

His hand dips beneath the waistband of your panties and you and Jake groan in unison as his fingers make a few quick circles around your wet, swollen clit. 

Your head falls back against the wall behind you and Jake takes the opportunity to kiss at your neck again as his hand dips down further to collect more of your wetness. 

“Already all ready for me, Sweets?” Jake’s words are whispered next to your ear as his fingers graze your entrance, your hips bucking toward them of their own volition.

“For you, ahh–” Your words are cut off by a shaky moan as Jake slides two long fingers inside of you, up to the knuckle in one swift motion. Your breath hitches and you’re practically melting against him, your voice already sounding wrecked as you whimper for him, “Always.”

Jake groans at how easily your slick walls envelop his fingers, gushing with new arousal as he fucks them in and out of your tight hole to get you ready for his cock -– not that you really need much prep with the way you’re already soaking his hand.  

“Such a good girl for me.”

Your walls clench tight around his digits, from both the praise and the way he curls them inside of you, that coil in your belly quickly winding up. 

“Fuck- Jake!” He can hear the desperation in your plea of his name, can feel it in the way your hips chase his fingers each time he pulls them almost all the way out. You’re already feeling so close, but you’re needy for more. Need to be full of him. 

Your perfectly manicured nails dig into Jake’s bicep, the heel of your foot pressing into his backside in an attempt to pull him closer as you gaze up at him through your lashes. “Please, baby– need you.”

“I got you, honey.” 

Your chin falls against your chest and you cry out as Jake scissors his fingers inside of you a few more times before they retreat completely, leaving you clenching around nothing and keening at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

The hand that was in your panties begins to trail slowly back down your thigh, and though you can’t see it through all the fabric of your skirt, you can feel the trail of slick it leaves along your skin in its wake. 

As Jake clutches your thigh in his firm grasp to hold you more securely against the wall, his other hand moves to the tent in his tight trousers where his throbbing length has been neglected.

How he’s able to hold you up with one arm while the other hand unfastens his dress pants is beyond you, but it’s moments like this that you’re grateful to have a big, strong naval aviator for a husband-to-be. 

Jake pushes his suit pants and underwear down just far enough to finally release his cock and you can’t help but moan at the sight of it. Long and looking almost painfully hard, the tip red and angry and weeping with precum. 

Jake lets out a groan as he wraps a fist around his length, relishing in the friction as his hand moves along the shaft and works to spread the pearls of his arousal from his tip down to the base. 

His hand then leaves his cock to push up the skirt of your dress as far as it can go. 

Deft fingers pry the seat of your panties from where they stick to your slick-soaked core, and gingerly move the fabric to the side so he can access your dripping cunt before he grabs ahold of himself again.

Jake lines his tip up to your entrance and pushes in slowly, his lips claiming yours in a kiss that pushes the air out of your lungs, stealing your breath and leaving you dizzy with it as his tongue tangles with yours. 

Your hands glide up the soft, expensive fabric on Jake’s arms, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as you gasp and writhe against him. Relishing in the feeling of him all over you. 

His lips covering your own, short breaths mixing with yours as you both pant and moan into the frantic kiss. His strong body, solid as the wall behind you as his front presses taut against you to hold you up, his long cock pushing deep inside of you with every single thrust and leaving you feeling so unbelievably full of him.

Jake pulls back from the kiss and looks down to where the two of you are connected. His length glistening with your arousal as it moves in and out of your tight walls, your beautiful, intricate wedding gown all bunched around your hips as he fucks you, and he can’t help the chuckle that escapes him when he thinks about how crazy this is.

“Wha-what’s so funny?” You ask breathlessly through kiss-swollen lips, your eyes that had previously been shut tight in bliss now opening to search out his green ones. 

“Just— this,” Jake’s gaze lifts to meet your eye as he continues to laugh, unsure if his brain is going fuzzy with pleasure, or if that’s just the intoxication of being with you. 

“My beautiful, perfect bride,” his hips slow just a touch, pressing forward in a particularly hard thrust that has you gasping and clutching onto his shoulders tighter, you and Jake moaning in unison before he continues, panting through his words.

“All a mess for me — fuck– right before we’re supposed to say ‘I do’ in front of all our family and friends– and pretty much everyone we know.”

Your eyes widen, lips tugging up into a bashful smile and you can’t help but giggle along with him, burying your head in his shoulder and speaking into the soft fabric of his jacket as he continues to fuck you.

“Oh god… well, I’m sure there’ll be some time to steam the dress again before I have to walk down the aisle.” 

You can feel Jake’s laughter reverberate against your cheek just before he cups your chin, lifting your face back up to be level with his and beaming at you with that megawatt smile. “There's my wife!” 

You’re both still grinning when he pulls you in for another kiss. Teeth gnashing against one another’s, mingled laughter and moans coming out in breathy puffs against each other’s lips as his cock works inside of you, his hips still moving against yours at an even pace.

“This is crazy.” You can barely get the words out, still giggling between messy kisses. 

“Yeah,” Jake punctuates with another press of his lips on yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip and drawing out a quiet whimper as he pulls it back towards him and releases it before continuing. 

“It is crazy,” – Another kiss – “You make crazy, Sweets.”

With one more firm peck to your lips, you feel both of Jake’s hands wrap tighter under your thighs, rough fingers squeezing your ass as he hikes you up a bit higher against the wall, pressing impossibly closer to keep you firmly in place. 

The change of the angle combined with his thrusts accelerating in speed has you crying out loud as he ruts up into you, Jake’s lips moving to cover yours once again and muffle the sounds of your moans. 

You shudder against him as his tip prods against that spongy spot inside you that makes stars appear behind your closed lids with each and every thrust, and you feel that coil beginning to tighten again, the familiar heat rapidly licking at the base of your spine.

Jake knows you’re close when your nails begin to dig into his shoulders through the jacket of his tux as you gasp for air, your lips parting from his with a string of saliva still connecting them for a moment that makes him growl as your head lulls back to lean against the wall. Eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as you quietly, breathlessly, cry out his name like a mantra.

Your body is sandwiched tightly between Jake’s and the wall as his length fills you, hips pinned to yours and barely able to pull out on each thrust for how tightly your walls are clamping around him, the coarse but neatly trimmed hairs at the base of his cock deliciously grazing your clit and setting your whole body alight.

He's the only thing keeping you upright when your orgasm hits you. His mouth swallows your cries as your whole body goes taut, holding Jake in a vice grip as you fall apart on his cock. 

Jake can feel it as all of the tension leaves your body. He continues in slow, shallow thrusts, the quiet of the room only accentuating the salacious sounds of your release flooding around him as he works you through your high. 

He pulls back from the kiss as your moans begin to subside to get a look at your fucked out, blissful expression. 

Your eyes are still closed, lips parted and now devoid of any of the nude-pink lipstick shade you’d been wearing before, and your skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat. 

Your chest rapidly rises and falls beneath the fitted white bodice of your wedding gown, accentuating your cleavage with each little pant as you try to catch your breath.

“So fucking pretty, honey,” Jake begins a light trail of kisses from the corner of your mouth to your warm cheek, and up to your hairline where he whispers against the slightly damp skin. “My beautiful bride.”

Your hands scramble for purchase on his back, whimpering as you attempt to pull him in closer. 

“Jake- '' Your legs tighten around his hips, heels pressing against his backside where they’re crossed at the ankles, your desperate mewl mixing with Jake’s deeper grunt as the movement pushes him even deeper inside of you.  

“‘M so lucky to- to get to call you my husband,” Jake swears that his cocks swells just that little bit more at your loving words. “Cum for me. Wanna feel you.”

“Fuck.” The sweet praise whispered from your pretty lips sends him into a tailspin. 

You’ve barely come down from your high when Jake’s hips quicken their pace as he begins to chase his own release, the beginnings of overstimulation making you cry out a string of broken moans, incoherent whimpers of curses and his name. 

The fullness and the delightful drag of his cock through your tight walls making you clench around him harder, and the assault of his tip against your g-spot leaving you feeling boneless, your grip on his shoulders tightens like you’ll float away at any moment.

The way your velvety walls are squeezing him, your release soaking his length and the obscene sound it creates as he continues to fuck into you, have Jake right on the edge of his own high. 

His head falls to your shoulder where he grunts deeply into the crook of your neck. 

“So good, baby. So good for me.” He praises, peppering sweet kisses to your hot skin, a stark contrast to the harsh force of his hips pounding against yours as they begin to lose their rhythm. 

After a few more sloppy thrusts, Jake finishes inside you with a strangled groan. The familiar sensation of his cum filling your still-spasming walls pulls a contented sigh from your lips. 

Jake’s lips dot a trail of soft kisses along the heated skin of your shoulder and neck, then under your jaw before he lifts his face to be level with yours. Pressing his forehead against your own, the two of you stay there just breathing each other in as you catch your breath.

When the groomsmen realize just how much time has passed with still no sign of Jake, and with only minutes until the supposed start of the ceremony, Bradley is seeing red. 

For a moment, jumping to the worst conclusion — that Jake may be standing his little sister up on her wedding day — and he’s just about ready to murder the groom.

It’s only when Natasha knocks on the door to the groomsmens’ suite, looking frazzled as she asks him and the other Daggers if any of them have seen the bride, letting them know that you’ve gone missing as well, that Bradley and his wife both quickly come to the realization that the two of you must be together. 

So, Natasha and Bradley begin the hunt to find the soon-to-be newlyweds, the latter rolling his eyes before grumbling, “They’d better not be off somewhere fucking.”

Natasha only responds with a snicker because she knows that’s probably exactly what the two of you were doing. She offers her grumpy husband a sympathetic look and gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze before they split up to search through the maze that is the halls of your wedding venue. 

In no rush to move just yet, you and Jake just rest for a moment, foreheads pressed together, your body still sandwiched between his broad frame and the wall. His softening cock still inside of you, puffs of air warming each other’s lips as shallow pants become more steady breaths.

You know that you and Jake’s little er —detour— has almost definitely put things behind schedule for your big day, but in this moment you honestly couldn’t care less. 

When it’s just you and the love of your life, bodies intertwined and relishing in each other’s warmth, shared breaths becoming one, you can’t help but think that this day already couldn’t be more perfect.

You feel a flurry of excitement, your heart bursting at the thought that it’s always going to be like this. Solace in the fact that you’re Jake’s and he’s yours, that this is only the beginning of the rest of your lives together. 

He seems to share in the sentiment, pulling back to admire you for a moment before you feel his smile against your skin when he lightly presses his lips to your forehead. 

One of his hands reaches up to cradle your cheek, those green eyes are boring down into your own with that look of pure adoration once again as Jake moves to speak.

“God, I can’t wait to marry you,” His voice is breathy and full of awe–almost a laugh, eyes crinkling up at the corners in that way that you love as his smile begins to take up more of his face. “I’m so happy that you’re gonna be my wife.”

“Jake…” If you thought your heart was bursting before, you think it’s about ready to break free from your chest now, your eyes glistening with emotion as you lovingly look up at him through your lashes.

“You’re gonna make me cry and I don’t want to mess up my makeup any more than I probably already have,”

The two of you share a quiet laugh, smitten as ever as your hand makes its way up to cover his where it still rests on the side of your face. “But, to have you as my husband… I couldn’t be happier.”

Jake leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips before whispering against them. “Love you, Sweets.”

It’s only after you return his kiss and those three little words that have become as easy to you as breathing, that Jake finally pulls out of you and the two of you let out a simultaneous sigh. 

He reaches down to where the mix of his and your release begins to dribble out of your spent hole, a shattered moan falling from your parted lips as your head lulls back against the wall once more. 

Your legs begin to shake from the overstimulation as two of Jake’s long fingers push his cum back into you, expertly thrusting them in and out a few times before pulling them out again, and you find yourself grateful for the sturdy wall behind you when he purposefully brushes them against your oversensitive clit, leaving you breathless as he shifts your panties back into place to keep his cum inside. 

Your mind is cloudy of all things but Jake — his scent and his warmth and the feeling of his hands all over your skin, his pretty green eyes and his voice and his gorgeously cocky smirk — each one of your senses being invaded by him and you couldn’t be more content. 

And, you love knowing that underneath all the layers of fancy lace and tulle, right before the biggest moments of your lives, that you have his cum inside you.

Just as you part from one another, a knock on the door causes you to jump. 

You can hear Natasha out in the hall calling out your names and you and Jake share a look, wearing matching guilty smiles. 

However, it’s not long before his smile shifts into a more of a smirk, and you have to bite back a giggle as he rolls his green eyes playfully before leaning in to peck your cheek, pulling back to mouth the words ‘you good?’. 

With your grin and nod of confirmation, Jake leaves you with one more kiss, fastening the button on his pants and straightening out his dress shirt as he makes his way over to the door.

He pulls it open, still wearing that signature smirk on his face and Natasha glances up at him before she cautiously peeks her head in to see you too, hair smoothed out as much as you could manage on such short notice, the skirt of your wedding dress now back in place and hiding the fact that Jake’s cum is soaking through your underwear and beginning to drip down your thighs. 

“Thank god you’re clothed. I wasn’t looking to get scarred for life today.” Natasha breathes a sigh of relief and steps fully into the room. 

“You’re lucky you didn’t find us five minutes earlier.” Jake chuckles as you lightly smack his chest, that ever-cocky smile on his handsome face that you’ve come to love so very much over these last three years. 

You can’t help but snicker along with him when you catch sight of Natasha’s nose wrinkling in disgust. 

“Ok, ew… And you’re lucky I found you and not Bradley.” Natasha gives Jake a glare before clapping her hands in front of both of your faces. “Now come on, hurry the fuck up. The ceremony — your wedding ceremony — is about to start soon.”

You nod your head frantically, as if only just remembering where, and when, you are.

“Right, yeah! I just gotta go… clean up a bit.” you squeak out to your sister-in-law with a bashful grin before scurrying off the bathroom of the suite you’d snuck into. 

Natasha just gives Jake a deadpan look that conveys her slight disgust before leaving the room, making her way out into the hall to call Bradley and let the him know that she’s located the happy couple. 

After taking care of the mess between your legs and wiping off the smudged remnants of your lipstick in the bathroom mirror, you return to find Jake, who’s leaning up against the wall opposite the door, looking cool and calm and handsome as ever in his tux. 

Making your way over to him, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, letting out a little snort as your hands reach up to delicately fix his hair where it sticks out in a few places—no doubt from your tugging on it during your recent activities. 

Once Jake’s golden locks are back in a more presentable state, you smooth a hand down the nape of his neck, leaning up to attach your lips firmly to his. 

Jake groans into it as his mouth moves against yours with just as much fervor, his hands reaching blindly for your waist to pull you in closer, and the two of you share one last passionate kiss that you hope conveys both your love for him and your excitement to be marrying him — though Jake already knows. 

“Alright, Natasha’s going to kill me if I don’t get back in the next two minutes.” You pull away from his lush lips, reluctantly and breathlessly, wanting to live in this moment with him forever. 

Your arms unwrap themselves from behind Jake’s neck, but you don’t get very far when he reaches out to take one of your hands in his own, and you can tell he’s just as reluctant to end the moment too when he brings it up to his lips to kiss a trail from your knuckles to the tips of your fingers.

“Yeah, I’m not really looking forward to dealing with your brother either.” 

His words make you laugh in that sweet, boisterous way that he’s so ready to hear for the rest of his life and with that, Jake chuckles and lets you go, his hand still holding onto yours until you’re too far out of reach. 

Jake calls out your name just as you reach the door and you stop short, turning around to face him just as you pull it open. You stand in the threshold, brows raised, and look at him expectantly. 

“See ya out there, my beautiful bride.”

You’re surprised your cheeks don’t perpetually hurt from how much this man makes you smile.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, my dashing groom.” You leave him with a playful wink and that intoxicating smile, in a flash of flowing white fabric as you quickly retreat into the hallway. 

Jake chuckles to himself, moving over to the mirror to make sure he looks presentable, smoothing a hand over his hair and giving himself one last once-over before he makes his way back to his groomsmen. 

Trailing behind Natasha, you quickly make your way through the halls back to the bridal suite, giving her your most innocent smile when she peers back at you over her shoulder with a pointed look.

Your sister-in-law sends you a half-hearted scoff and a playful roll of her brown eyes, but you can see the smirk just beginning to grow at the corner of her lips before she turns and reaches out to open the door. 

“Come on.” Natasha half laughs, half groans, ushering you into the room.

Before you know it, you’ve got a plethora of people surrounding you once again — one giving your dress a very last minute steam to get rid of any wrinkles your activities with Jake a few minutes earlier had caused, others rushing around to touch up your hair and makeup and to finally pin up your veil. Although, this time around, you find that you’re unbothered. Feeling a lot more at ease, and you’re back in tip-top shape in record time. 

You’re practically vibrating in excitement and anticipation as Natasha and the rest of your bridal party shower you with hugs and their own squeals of excitement and encouragement before they make their way outside to the beautifully set up venue to get into their places for the ceremony. 

You give yourself one final once-over in the mirror, unable to curb the smile that grows at how beautiful you feel. 

It's only a few moments later when Bradley pokes his head in the door once more to ask if you’re ready. He takes in the giddy — and much more self-assured than earlier  —  smile on your face when you turn to him and nod your head excitedly. 

“Ya know, you can still back out of this if you wanted.” Your brother jokes, his tone teasing as his mustached lips form into a sly grin.

With a punch to your older brother’s shoulder, you pin Bradley with a pointed look and a sarcastic ‘ha ha’.

“Come on, I’m sure the Bronco would make a great getaway car!” He chuckles as your eyes widen in surprise.

“Bradley!” You move to punch his arm again, but he quickly ducks out of the way this time, and though your eyes are now narrowed at him in a feigned scowl, Bradley can tell that you’re not really angry with him by the way your lips are fighting back pulling up into a smile. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to hold my peace when that part comes up.” He raises his hands up in surrender and you can’t help but laugh along with Bradley’s joke, though not without a playful shake of your head and roll of your eyes. 

“You better!” Your big brother flinches as you lurch at him again, but this time, instead of hitting him, your fingers reach up to pinch his ear and it’s like the two of you are kids again; you giggling maniacally while Bradley — now a big, tough 6’1 fighter pilot — yelps in pain, arms flailing as he tries to get out of your grip.

He’d probably pull your hair like he did when you were kids too, if it wasn’t all styled to perfection with your beautiful sheer veil pinned to the crown of it, all ready for your big day. 

“I will, I will!” Bradley hisses through his teeth, chuckling as you release your hold on him to grab your bouquet that’s a beautiful mix of both yours and Jake’s favorite flowers, and then move to link your arm with his to begin the path down the hall. The path to the rest of your life and you couldn’t be more excited. 

As your brother guides you through the venue’s winding halls towards the doors to where the outdoor ceremony is being held, a gentle grin befalls your lips as you think about how you got here — and your big brother’s part in all of it. 

“You know… I know you told all the guys at your wedding to steer clear of me.” 

Bradley stops in his tracks at your divulgence, pulling you to a quick stop as well and nearly tripping you over your heels and the fabric of your long wedding gown.

“You wha- huh? You know?!” 

Admittedly, Bradley thought he was taking that secret to his grave.

“Yeah, I know.” You can’t help but giggle at your brother’s flustered expression. “Jake told me, a few months after we started dating.”

You’ve known for almost three years and you never said anything. Huh. 

Bradley stands there with his lips parted, but no words are coming out. He’s still in shock at the fact that you’re laughing about this. 

“So… you’re not mad?” He asks the question apprehensively, a grimace on his face as he awaits your answer. 

“No, I’m not mad.” You shake your head, still smiling as an airy laugh escapes you. 

“Well, maybe I was for like a second back then. But, I appreciate how much you want to protect me, Bradley. Even if it does make you an idiot sometimes.” 

You playfully roll your eyes and Bradley finally relaxes, shoulders dropping as he laughs along with you. 

“For what it’s worth, you and Jake actually aren’t a half-bad couple.” You playfully smack his chest in response to the — albeit sweet — jest. 

“Thank you.” You beam up at your brother, content knowing that that’s his way of letting you know he truly is happy for you and Jake. 

Bradley links his arm with yours again and continues leading you towards the doors. “I wish Mom and Dad could see how beautiful you look today. They’d be so proud.” 

“Oh, come on, Bradley! You’re gonna make me cry off my makeup!” You whisper-yell at him half jokingly as you finally reach the doors that will lead you out to the ceremony — to where you’ll very soon be married to the love of your life. 

“Me too.” Giving Bradley’s arm a gentle squeeze, the two of you share a smile, knowing that your parents will be there in spirit. And grateful for the fact that your uncle Mav who’s always been like a third parent to you will be there too. “Now, come on. Let’s go get me married!”

The wedding ceremony goes off without a hitch — albeit a little bit later than planned. 

When the music starts and Bradley walks you down the aisle, you’re surrounded by the smiling faces of friends and family. 

Although, your eyes are only on Jake — looking so unbelievably handsome in his tux and his wide smile and you can’t believe just how lucky you got — and his mossy green eyes are focused on only you. 

Both of your eyes shine with tears and it’s as if only the two of you exist in that moment when you meet him at the altar, the two of you happily joining hands with matching lovesick grins adorning your faces.

Though he’ll never admit it — and Natasha will never let him live it down — Bradley definitely shed a few tears himself as he listened to you and Jake exchange your vows. 

It’s been a long day of running around getting ready for the ceremony — and sneaking off for a quickie, of course — before marrying your soulmate in front of practically everyone you know, then taking countless family photos and enjoying a cocktail hour with your friends and family showering you and Jake in congratulations and well wishes. 

But, it’s all worth it because you’re finally able to call Jake your husband and you couldn’t be happier.

You’re both more than ready for the reception, ready to let loose and enjoy your time together as a newlyweded couple. 

After a nice dinner comes the best man and maid of honor speeches from Javy and Natasha, and a speech from Uncle Mav that includes a few embarrassing anecdotes about your childhood that have you giggling as you hide your face in Jake’s shoulder. 

Then it’s time for the newlyweds to make a toast before sharing your first dance to Fleetwood Mac’s Everywhere, the first song you and Jake danced to on the night when you met three years ago at your brother’s wedding. 

The two of you hold each other close and sway along to the music without a care in the world, Jake dipping you towards the end of the song and claiming your lips in a long kiss that has the entire room cheering — although again, it’s as if you and Jake are the only two who exist in that moment.

When Jake pulls back from the kiss, one of his large palms is still cupping your cheek, fingers gently grazing your skin as his green eyes gaze down at you in adoration. 

“I can’t believe you’re my wife.” He lightly shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m never gonna stop saying that — my wife.”

You’re smiling against one another’s lips as you pull Jake down for another kiss, giggling when you mouth parts from his. 

“I love you so much, my husband.”

You can see that familiar look of both adoration and hunger beginning to overtake Jake’s features in response to your words as your first dance comes to an end.

After sharing what would traditionally be a father-daughter dance with Mav, he returns you into your husband’s loving arms as others begin to join in on the fun, the dance floor now filling up with your guests. 

Jake sees his opportunity to whisk you away from the dancefloor, using the commotion to make a sneaky getaway — again. 

You should be used to it by now — his large hand warmly encompassing yours and pulling you along with him — but you still can’t help the giggles that break free as you quicken your pace to match his as best as you can in your heels, sprinting until the two of you have disappeared from dancefloor, and soon from your wedding reception entirely.   

Out of the ballroom doors and into the empty hallway, the loud music and sounds of your guests having fun now a muffled to barely-there background noise, you find yourself alone with Jake. Your husband.

You pull on Jake’s hand to bring him to a stop in front of you, turning him around and pulling him in closer to you as you lean your back against the closed door, gazing up at him with a lip-bitten smile. 

“What are we doing?” You question through a breathless laugh, although you’re pretty sure you already know the answer. 

Jake’s broad frame crowds you in closer to the door and you find your breaths coming in quicker as he presses the front of his body up against yours.

Your eyes flutter shut as he leans down even closer, his nose gently brushing yours, lips just shy of touching your own. His breath fans against them and it sends a shiver down your spine, a jolt going straight to your core when he speaks.

“Well, we’ve gotta consummate our marriage, Sweets.” Jake whispers against you, his mouth just barely grazing your own. “And I’d like to consummate it as soon as possible.”

The evident hunger in his voice has you frantically nodding against him, eyes still squeezed shut when you feel his front press impossibly closer to you — and the growing bulge there. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, honey. Gonna consummate the shit out of you.” 

Jake’s whispered words, and their mirthy tone, have you bursting into a fit of giggles, your head falling back against the door behind you. His own laugh joins in with yours as you shake your head at his silliness. You love this man so much.

Your hands reach up to the sides of his neck to pull your husband down for a kiss, lips and teeth clashing as neither of you can break the smiles from your faces. 

“You’re such a dork, Seresin.” You whisper sweetly against Jake’s lips.

“Yeah, but you love it… Mrs. Seresin.” His large hands squeeze your hips, both the heat you feel on your skin through the lacy fabric of your dress and the name making you giddy.

“Well… lead the way, Mr. Seresin!” 

You’re unable to contain the massive smile that breaks out on your face as Jake presses one last kiss to your lips, before grabbing your hand and beginning to pull you along with him once more, and you don’t care where takes you as long as your hand gets to be intertwined with his for the rest of your lives. 

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Thank you for reading! x

taglist: @sebsxphia @chaoticassidy @dempy @ohgodnotagainn @shanimallina87 @mavrellover91 @memoriesat30 @that-bitch-bri @classyunknownlover @hisredheadedgoddess28 @foreverrandomwritings @lt-spork @princess76179 @gigisimsonmars @kidd3ath @averyhotchner @sammyrenae68 @tv-fanatic18 @one-sweet-gubler @kmc1989 @onethirstyunicorn @avengersfan25 @fictionalmenloversblog @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @praline357 @girlsclub2004 @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @marvelogic @djs8891 @diorrfairy (pls let me know if you'd like to be removed 🤍)

tagging some others who might be interested: @hangmanssunnies @blue-aconite @sunlightmurdock @rhettabbotts @watchtowerindistress @doreenwnsng @dingochef @floydsglasses @lynnestra44 (i'm going to reblog and also tag all the rest of the people who reblogged part one! 🤍)

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Demon Children Are Multiplying

This idea is still stuck in my head, and I might even end up writing something out of it, but for now, I just thought of something equally really, really stupid and really, really funny.

What if I combine that idea with Al Ghul Twins. I don't know how. Maybe Talia was cautious about Ra's not wanting to keep two kids for a position of Heir, or maybe she staged Danny's death, or maybe something else entirely happened. But anyway, Danny is Damian's twin.

Then, Dani is the same age as Danny in this AU. And Dan is de-aged to be the same age as both of them.

Now behold an absolute train wreck of a situation where Bruce attends a Gala hosted by Vladimir Masters. Together with Damian, of course, and maybe other batkids are there too. They all part their ways to make their rounds or whatnot. And they all keep seeing Damian wherever they go. Just everywhere.

Dick is talking to someone, and Damian walks past him, not paying him any attention. Which is not surprising, but a little rude, and, wait, wasn't he wearing a red tie? When did he change it to green one?

Tim is just going on the top floor to greet a lady he recognizes from some other event, and Damian all but storms in the opposite direction, only letting Tim catch a glimpse of his face. But when Tim turns around, he is really confused: the person running down the stairs is clearly a girl, albeit she is wearing a suit. Her long hair is up in a complicated braid. Why did he even mistake her for Damian?

But the ultimate confusion happens when Bruce is talking to Vladimir Masters, and a very familiar voice calls, "Father". Because both he and Vladimir turn to face the boy and ask, "Yes?" at the same time.

Damian is standing there, looking between Bruce and Vlad. He looks a little off somehow, but before Bruce can figure out why, the boy blinks and focuses on Vlad.

"We've been looking for you," he tells the man, and, wait, when was Damian looking for Masters? Furthermore, who is we?

But then another child comes closer. And-

That's Damian.

That's two Damians.

Wait, no, none of them are Damians.

"What is it?" Vladimir raises an eyebrow, not paying too much attention to Bruce's blanched expression.

A third child comes towards them, and this one also looks like Damian, only this one is a girl.

"Template's duplicate is here," she says, and Vlad frowns, turning to the Damian lookalike in the middle.

"Have you had another incident that I don't know of?"

Whatever answer the boy wanted to give is cut off by a n o t h e r child who looks like- no, this is real Damian, thank God, Bruce had started to wonder if the champagne was spiked with hallucinogens.

"Father-" he stops in his tracks as the three other children turn to him, and the four of them just stare at each other for a long moment. Then the one in the middle takes a sharp breath in and stage-whispers:

"Quick, do the meme!"

And all three not-Damians start pointing at each other.

Bruce is going to have an aneurysm. Judging by Vladimir's face, he is also not far from one.

Just my ramblings under the cut

I think you all know what meme I'm talking about, but I'm still gonna add it

This is so fucking hilarious to me, I'm sorry, I just can't

Danny is not missing this opportunity of a lifetime, even though Vlad specifically asked all three of them not to cause a scene. And yes, they all call Vlad "father" just for the spite of it or for shits and giggles. I'm going with Bad Fentons idea here, although I'm not sure to which degree they are bad, but anyway, Vlad is their legal guardian, and he is redeemed.

Yes, Dick took a picture. Yes, it's already in the group chat. Yes, other batkids are going wild.

Damian is greatly confused because, first, he thought there was a clone of him at the gala, but apparently, there were three of them, and second, why are they pointing at each other? Should he join them? He is under the assumption his brother is dead (he's not exactly wrong on that account), or he doesn't even know he existed.

This is as far as I got now, feel free to add anything!

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 4

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

ANGST, very bad self image, some sort of non graphic self-harm (if you squint), Rhys is kinda an asshole, vomiting

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

There wasn’t so much as a scratch on his son. 

Not a hair on his head was harmed. 

Nothing. 

Feyre cleaned him with shaky hands, running a rag wet with warm water over his skin. Nyx was babbling in response, shaken but clearly…alright. 

Nyx. His son. 

The sudden weight that was lifted off Rhys' shoulders, as he crossed the room in three long strides...it felt like he could breathe again…as he pressed a kiss to Nyx’s head breathing in that scent that was unmistakenly his and then doing the same with Feyre. 

Her scent was thick with misery, shaking against him…Lilac and Pears, usually so perfect...

“Eira’s blood is all over him,” Feyre whispered. “I’ll wipe it off and I just find more.” 

Elain was sitting across from them, silently drinking tea, eyes concentrating on something far away. He wondered if she saw anything…any vision at all? But she didn't say anything. 

Feyre hung onto his hand and he cast out his mind, feeling Madja’s determination, as she…she tried to…

Save her. 

Save her from dying because she had thrown her own body between death and his son. 

For years, Rhys had believed the second-born Archeron sister to be... 

She had just been there. 

Existed in his periphery. 

She had been the only one who had at least tried to make Feyre’s life easier, the one who had cooked and cleaned and hacked up wood and washed the blood out of Feyre’s clothing and mended it when she had taken a tumble…Eira had at least tried. He still didn’t think that it had been enough but she had that going for her. 

Privately, Rhys had thought that the only thing that was fierce about Eira Archeron was her ability to love. 

The one and only time she had outright argued with any of them… had been about her sister… about Nesta and their intervention. 

She had argued harshly and fiercely about how they had no right to do this, about how it wasn’t fair…about how she would pay back that money if it meant that they would leave Nesta in peace. 

It had not only surprised him but also Amren and even Feyre…and even when they hadn’t listened to her…

It didn’t matter what Nesta threw at her head, her sister was still there every week, waiting for him to bring her up to the House of Wind. 

Every week. Like a clockwork, she had been there. 

Rhys easily admitted that he hadn’t been particularly understanding to her at that time.

And now, that ability to love had been…it was going to be the one thing killing her, wouldn’t it?

He hadn’t said it. He had only said that it looked bad…but he could feel how Madja was slowly reaching the limits of what she could do for her. 

Everything that was…

Eira Archeron, the one cauldron-born sister with no great ability. The one that had seemingly adapted well enough to being fae…never complained, never said anything. If she had suffered, she had done so silently. 

The quiet one, the one that liked the background…the one that had pined away silently over his brother, when her twin sister had been the object of his desires. 

Rhys had half expected that to end in a brawl, but once again…Eira hadn’t…nothing had been said. She had been willing to silently pine away.  

And then the mating bond had snapped for Az and that had been…

Quite frankly, the last fucking thing Rhys had expected. 

Every…every other female would have somehow made more sense in his mind. 

“Where’s she?” Nesta stormed into the room, Cassian hot on her heels. 

“Upstairs,“ Feyre answered. “Nesta, let Madja work,” his mate tried but Nesta fixed her with one look. 

“She’s our sister. If she dies, I am not letting her die alone!” Nesta snapped out, stomping upstairs. 

And that was that. 

Nobody tried to stop her. 

“She won’t die. It’s Eira,” Elain said, her voice strangely detached. Like that was written in stone, with all the trust in the world and Rhys wished, he had some of her confidence. Nobody else had it. 

Mor sat on one chair, knees hugged to her chest. His normally always so bright, colourful cousin curled together in one miserable ball. Feyre shook next to him and he reached out for her hand, gently squeezing it, before he let her go. 

He could feel the very foundations of his brother's mental shields wobble. 

His eyes snapped to Azriel.

To Azriel who stood there, hands still covered in Eira‘s blood, red streaks on scarred skin. 

Outwardly there was only a flurry of shadows trailing around him, worriedly. No other signs. 

But his eyes…his stare was empty. 

*Cassian. Don’t let him leave your sight,* he told his other brother sharply, mind to mind. *And try and get him to clean his hands,* he added as an afterthought. Maybe that…Maybe that would help…maybe…

*Rhys,* Caddian whispered into his mind. *If she dies…I don’t know if we’ll be enough.* Cassian didn’t say anything that Rhys wasn’t thinking. Nothing that he wasn’t dreading. *You know how he…he spent centuries waiting. He never talks about it but we both know how much he wanted a mate. How much he just wants to be loved…and…*

And the mating bond had just snapped. And if Rhys hadn’t pushed for Azriel to wait, they wouldn't even be in this fucking situation. 

Azriel’s mate’s blood…Feyre’s sister’s blood…Eira’s blood…it was on his hands. On Rhys’ hands. 

*I know.*

*If she dies, I don’t know what he’ll do.*

Neither did Rhys. 

“Madja is the best. If anybody can save her it will be her,” Cassian said aloud, probably for Azriel’s benefit, crossing over to Az, gently reaching out to touch their brother’s shoulder. “Come on, we’ll get you cleaned up,” he said quietly, gently pushing Azriel from the room, probably in search of a bathroom. 

Rhys pressed a kiss to Nyx's head, who was looking around the room wide-eyed, not understanding a thing what was going on. There seemed to be no sign of their son being exhausted from the magic he had expelled. Nothing. 

A problem for another day maybe. As long as he seemed fine... 

 “Mor?” he said quietly as he kneeled at his cousin’s side, reaching out for her, hand hovering…Mor looked at him, brown eyes wide and tearful. 

His cousin. He had killed Keir with nary a thought. 

“I never thought he would…do this,” Mor whispered, reaching out for his hand. “I thought…”

There was a tiny part of Mor that still believed that her family could change…that had still loved her parents…hadn’t wanted them dead. And he had taken that from her. 

“I know,” he whispered and she squeezed his hand in response. 

*I am sorry…* he said nonetheless in her mind and he could feel her surprise and then her acceptance. Mor wasn’t angry. Even when she had every right to it...Right to hate him for killing her father, even when Rhys had every right to do that as well. Hate could fester easily under such circumstances. 

*I am not,* Mor disagreed. *He got what he had coming…* A pause. Then she pushed a memory at him…Eira’s still body…the grey pallor of her usually pale skin…the way she had been limb and cold in Mor’s grasped as she had winnowed them to the River House and then fetched Madja…all in the span of seconds.

The blood…the dagger to the heart she had taken…Azriel’s magic pulsing around her, the shadows that hovered…all of it…it looked like the scene out of a nightmare. 

*It’s not looking good, Rhys,* Mor whispered. *Az doesn’t deserve this.* No, he didn’t. But neither did the female laying up there and fighting for her fucking life. 

All of it just because of…

He had pulled it all out of Keir’s head before he had killed him. The whole hare-brained plan, if one could call it like that. 

Nyx’s wings an obvious sign of his “half-breed” status…and with that, not something that Keir could stomach the thought of bowing to one day. Kill the heir, destablise the whole Night Court…Hope that Rhys could be baited. And then Keir would have made his move and the Night Court would be reunited under the glorious reign of Keir. 

And because of that, of the obsession of one male…his son had nearly died. 

He looked up sharply as he heard the steps. “Madja.” 

“I removed the knife. I stopped the bleeding,” Madja said, the dress she wore blood-flecked. “I did all I could.” 

He didn’t doubt that. The question was just if that was going to be enough. 

“She’s alive. For the moment,” Madja cautioned them quietly. “She’s…She’s fighting. The poison they dunked that knife in was…particularly nasty. It stops the blood from clotting…makes the pain feel much worse than it is.” 

She didn’t need to spell it out. It was torture. “Is…Is there an antidote?” Feyre asked, her voice shaking. 

“None that her body would be able to absorb without killing her right now,” Madja said carefully. “She’s…magically exhausted. She expelled…most, if not all of her magic.” 

“She never had much in the first place,” Mor choked out. “She probably tried to winnow and…”

And that hadn’t worked. It had failed. 

“What…what can we do?” Feyre asked, her voice shaking. 

“We wait,” Madja answered calmly. “I gave her every potion I could…I healed as much as I could… If she pulls through the night…I would be cautiously optimistic,” she told Feyre, her voice gentle. “Infection has already set in. She’s feverish. Lady Nesta is with her.“

And Rhys didn’t doubt for one moment that Nesta would stay right at her side…she was stubborn like that. 

“Is she…is she in pain?” Feyre asked, her hands tightening on Nyx, who was sucking on his thumb. 

Madja hummed softly. “She will be for days, High Lady,” she told Feyre, not unkindly. 

*Rhys…Could you…Please, I don’t want her to be in pain. Even if she doesn’t…even if she dies, Eira shouldn’t be in pain.* 

No, she shouldn’t be. 

*Of course, Feyre Darling,* he agreed quietly. As much pain as he could take from her, he would. 

“Mor?” he said aloud, and his cousin looked up, unfurling from her little ball. 

“I’ll deal with the fallout,“ she said, her voice only shaking around the edges. “Amren and I will manage." 

“She should be back soon,” he said aloud.  *She’s dealing with…the carnage,* he said into Mor’s mind and his cousin just nodded. It was better that…most people didn’t know what had happened...they didn't need to deal with the bodies…especially when they themselves didn’t even know how it had happened yet. 

Instead, he pressed another kiss to Nyx’s head and then, even when he didn’t want to leave him…he walked up the stairs to Eira’s bedroom. 

She had taken over a room on the third level of the house…away from both the master bedroom and also the room Elain had chosen, overlooking the garden. 

Eira’s room overlooked the River. It wasn’t the biggest bedroom either, with sloped ceilings that made it look smaller than it was…and the usual furniture that Feyre had picked for every room in the house. 

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but maybe he had expected the room to have gotten a little bit more personality in the over 2 years that Eira now lived there. Something. Anything. 

The only thing that made it obvious that it was her room, was a box of thread spilling over her desk. 

Eira was on her bed and Nesta was sitting at her side, glaring at him as he opened the door. “Out!” Nesta snapped. “I do not want you to see her like that.” 

“See her like what?” Rhys asked, eyebrows climbing into his hairline. Half dead? Her skin was still grey, breath raspy…as he stepped closer to the bed, he could see the sweat beading at her hairline…

Nesta glared at him as she tugged a sheet around her, covering her.  

“In a state of undress,” she told him sharply. 

He blinked twice. 

He really couldn’t care less about it. Besides, she was still wearing a dress, even when Madja had cut it open to make it easier for her to reach the wound on her ribcage. And he had seen her in less…when she had been thrown into that cauldron and spat out again, the white cotton of her nightgown had become translucent. 

He hadn’t cared, because the only female he even wanted to look at anymore was Feyre, and her sisters were his now…

“I really don’t care about that,” he assured Nesta, who just glared at him. 

“She would,” Nesta spat out. “Eira would care, Rhysand.  She saved your son at the expense of her own life. The least you could give her is some fucking respect and her modesty.”

Right. 

“Is there ever going to come a day where you don’t expect the worst of me?” he asked with a sigh, moving to her desk to pick up the chair and bring it over to her side. 

He watched with surprise as shadows started to cover her body…becoming nearly solid in places, obscuring her torso from view, only leaving out her face and her limbs. 

Nesta stared at them for a moment but then seemed to think that they couldn’t possibly make it any worse. 

“Why are you here?” Nesta demanded from him. 

“I am a daemati,” he gave back drily as he sat down in the chair, mustering Eira’s prone form. Fine-boned, pale skin with a smattering of freckles just like Feyre. Not fragile, but…delicate.

“You are not poking around in her head,” Nesta seethed. 

“Even if it would take away her pain?” he offered lightly. Nesta harrumphed.  

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for?”

 Rhys took that as the only agreement he was going to get.

He reached out with his mind, expecting to carefully brush up against Eira’s mental shields…It seemed to be the only magical thing that she had easily caught on to. 

He had always left her mind alone, no reason why he should delve any deeper than surface sweeps he did on instincts…not when Eira’s mind had always been…soft in a sense. More worried about how other people felt than herself…

Now…unconscious. Ravaged by fever…there were no shields. Her mind bloomed under his touch, suddenly, harshly... She dragged him inside and he tumbled right into her memories. 

One quick snapshot after another. So quickly…too quickly. 

***

Wooden Ruler to her knuckles. Pain biting. Hard. Crying. Do not lie to me. 

She hadn’t lied. She hadn’t. The letters had truly changed places in front of her. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t…

***

A hand grasping underneath her chin, so tightly that it hurt. Steel grey eyes. Her eyes. She inherited them. 

Your resemblance to a mole rat is rather unfortunate. But don’t worry. I am sure you’ll make a proper wife someday. To a farmer maybe. 

That was alright. She could be a wife. She wanted to be a wife. Even to a farmer…she…She wanted to be a wife. She wanted to have children…a baby…

***

Molten ore being poured into her veins. Humanity burned away. Fury. So much fury poured over her body. Your sister stole from me… And she paid the price. In blood and pain and drowning. 

Heat and Cold and burning alive and freezing…

She hit the floor, her whole body not her own…not anymore. 

Not her body. Never her body. Never again. 

***

Again. And Again. And Again. 

Back and Forth and Back and Forth and Back and Forth…

A quiet moan as she pulled at her ears, too long, too pointy, not hers, not hers, she never wanted these, but they were there sprouting from her head and they heard too much and she saw too much and she…

Back and Forth and Back and Forth…Iron taste in her mouth, too sharp teeth biting into her lip. 

She didn’t care. 

Back and Forth and Back and Forth and Back and Forth and maybe she would fall asleep and she wouldn’t hear heartbeats and she wouldn’t hear voices and she wouldn’t be heard, sat in that closet, in that tight and dark little place, because everything else felt too much. 

Back and Forth and Back and Forth and Back and Forth…

***

Peace. For the first time…in a long time. Peace. Just her hands, stitching on that button, one after another…the notes building in her throat. A children’s lullaby. Feyre had loved it. 

Stop your screeching, girl, I am getting a headache.

Said the scary one. 

The words stuck in her throat. 

She didn’t do it again. Not where anybody could hear it. 

She should make no noises. She wasn’t allowed to make any noises. Not allowed to take up any space. 

***

Screams muffled by pillows, shaking and crying and weeping and she didn’t know how she could stand it…Griefing and crying and she wanted to shout and scream and she couldn’t…she couldn’t…she couldn’t…

***

She was a failure. She always was a failure. Never enough. It didn’t matter what she did. She was dumb, she was stupid, she wasn’t good enough. 

As far as cauldron-made goes, she is pretty much useless.

So pretty. So beautiful…so blonde, with golden hair. So powerful. Everything she wasn’t. 

Everything she shouldn’t be.

Laughter. 

It was the truth. She was useless. 

She couldn’t do what came so easily to everybody else. No winnowing. No anything. Not good enough. Regardless of how hard she tried. 

***

Please. Please. Please. Just once…Just one time…

Garden. Wrought Iron table and chairs…broad wings sunning in the sun…a quiet conversation…a male’s laugh. So beautiful…so handsome…so kind. 

Her sister turned…he smiled. 

So beautiful.  So handsome. So kind. Hazel green eyes…dark curly hair. 

She wanted him. 

But he didn’t want her. 

So in love. With Elain. 

Not with her. Never with her. Never would be. 

Nobody would ever want her. He wouldn’t ever want her. 

***

Her sister. Her sister. Regardless of anything. 

Don’t come crying to me if she bites off your head. I warned you.

She wouldn’t. Her tears didn’t matter. To anybody. She would deal with them herself. It was her own fault. She didn’t listen. 

She couldn’t listen. Her sister. Her sister. 

Her fault. 

She should know better. 

***

Don’t you have anything better to do? Like make another ugly dress?

Silver embroidery floss, red silk. 

Black thread. 

Little hands painstakingly stitching, only for the dress to be just as painstakingly wrapped up and put in the chest at the bottom of her bed, never to be seen again. It was better that way. 

Never would be worn by a bride on her wedding day…or a Valkyrie on the day of her mating ceremony. 

Ugly Dresses. Not pretty enough. Not good enough. Never good enough. Not for Nesta. Not for anybody. 

***

Her own fault. Shouldn’t eavesdrop. They never heard anything good about themselves. 

We don’t need Eira. Quite frankly, it’s better if she doesn’t go. Elain is the prettier one, anyway.

Nobody needed her. Better if she didn’t bother anybody. Elain was prettier. Always was. Always would be. She was the ugly one. She wasn’t needed. She was worth nothing. 

***

Delicate tea. Ginger Cookies. Her sister’s favourite. Sun outside in the garden, dancing on the wooden floor…

Eira, find somewhere else to be. I really have more important things to do. 

Of course. She was a bother. She shouldn’t. She should know better. Others were more important. Shouldn’t bother. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID. 

***

Quiet. Don’t bother anybody. Make yourself useful. 

Nyx. 

So beautiful. 

Just like Feyre. 

Sing. Softly. So nobody could hear. 

So nobody… just Nyx. Hers and not hers. Feyre’s. 

Envy. So much envy, because she wished she had what her sister had. She wished she had a husband and a baby and somebody that loved her. 

Somebody who didn’t hate her. But she didn’t. 

So she sang. Another human lullaby for the future High Lord. 

Again and Again and again and her broken heart broke even more. 

***

Blue velvet box. Winter solstice. 

Pearl Earrings. Beautiful. So beautiful. 

But for her…for her useless. Her ears weren’t pierced. 

He hadn’t even noticed that. It hurt worse than even his smiles at her sister. 

He had brought her a gift…but it wasn’t a gift that she could use, no gift that…no gift that was special to her…no thought behind it… just an item on a list to be checked off. 

Something for Eira. Beautiful and Impersonal and…

No attention paid to her. 

She didn’t deserve his attention. Never. 

But she wanted it. Just once…

Please, Please, Please, Please…

***

She wanted to help. She always wanted to help. 

At least I found two males in my life willing to marry me. The one you have your ridiculous puppy crush on is never even going to look at you!

Her sister. Her sister. Her sister. 

She wished to cease existing. She didn’t care anymore. 

She could disappear and she would do them all a favour. 

Especially him. 

***

Fledgeling happiness shattered like a glass bottle on a stone floor. 

Could you at least try to get over him? It’s…it would be better for…this court.

Her feelings. An inconvenience. Should get over them. Now. Before they make trouble. 

Even when she never told anybody. Kept that secret close to her heart….

Of course. She would never tell him. 

She would never say a word. She would close her eyes and wish herself far, far away. 

Better that way. 

Wasn’t good enough. Useless. Stupid to think that she had a chance. She didn’t. Ugly. Not Enough. Worthless. Do not take up space. Melt into the background. Cease to exist. 

***

Rhys snapped himself from her brain, and then promptly wretched, vomiting onto the floor. 

[jeonghunny]

— “thank you, i love you.”, kim mingyu.

comfort | 624

mingyu could tell that work had been stressing you out lately. you were leaving for work earlier than you usually would and coming back home way later than you should. he noticed how dark your under eye circles had gotten when you walked through the front door at slightly past 11pm the night prior. your eyes were bloodshot and hair messy as you kicked your shoes off and left them in disarray before the shoe cabinet that was pushed against the wall, thinking what was the point in keeping them when you’ll be putting them on again in a few hours.

mingyu got up from the couch to pick up your shoes so he can place them inside the cabinet and you walked past him to your shared bedroom without a word. he gets it though, even without you having to tell him anything, he could sense immediately that you’ve had a long day at work and all you wanted to do was just to take a shower and go straight to bed. he was wondering if you’ve even had dinner when he heard the water start running. mingyu knocked on the bathroom door gently then pressed his ear to the door and he heard your soft “hmm?”

“have you eaten yet?”

“no, but i’m not hungry. i’ll just head to bed after this.”

“you shouldn’t be skipping meals,” he chided. “i’ll just make something quick and light for you so you can eat and go to sleep.”

he doesn’t wait for your response and headed to the kitchen to look through the ingredients that were available. eventually, he settled on making a simple sandwich.

you came out of the shower just as he was placing the plate on the dining table and you sat down on one of the chairs to start eating. mingyu quickly moved behind you and started drying your hair with the towel and the soft movements of his hands were so soothing you instantly felt yourself relaxing for the first time in weeks. when you were done with your meal, mingyu insisted on cleaning up and told you that it was getting late and you should wash up and go to bed. you tried to fight him, telling him it was a single plate and would only take you a couple of seconds to wash but he wouldn’t relent so you gave up.

after you were done with your night routine, you found mingyu still busy in the kitchen at the stove. you went up to him quietly and wrapped your arms around his waist tightly, your cheek flushed against his back. “what are you doing?” your voice comes out slightly muffled.

“i’m making you a lunch box for tomorrow.”

you felt the vibration on his warm back as he spoke and for some reason you started tearing up. maybe it was the exhaustion or maybe it was the fact that he was staying up to make you a lunch box in the middle of the night instead of sleeping.

mingyu felt the slight dampness on his back and turned the stove off so he can turn to look at you. “what’s wrong?” his eyes widen with concern when he saw your tears.

you sniffled then shook your head, “i’m just tired.”

he cupped your face then wiped your tears with his thumbs, “go rest then, it’s very late. i’ll be done here soon.” he smiled at you and your heart overflowed with so much affection and warmth.

you’re leaving the kitchen and mingyu was about to resume cooking when he heard you calling him. “gyu?”

“hmm?” he turned his head slightly so he can see you standing at the entrance of the kitchen.

“thank you, i love you.”

[azsazz]

Tell Me I'm Your Midnight

Kinktober Day 13: Cassian x Reader [Virgin!Reader]

Summary: In the middle of the night in the middle of your thoughts, you want a distraction.

Warnings: Smut, descriptions of death,

Word Count: 3350

Notes: Yeesh, bout time I hopped back on these...OOF Cassian how i've missed you big boy 💙💙💙

_________________________________________

The moonlight spilling in through the open doors of your balcony does nothing to settle the aching in your chest. From your place in bed, you watch the stars sparkle in the blackness of night. The gentle and cool breeze makes your curtains sway, and the moon is so bright in the sky that you can make out the shapes of every piece of furniture in your room, the silhouette of the Starfall dress wrapped tightly around the figurine in the shape of your body. 

Cerridwen and Naula had been so very eager to show you what they came up with for Starfall and the dress had brought you to tears—your first glimpse of the deep navy fabric draped elegantly across the bodice of the dummy had the tears you’ve been desperately trying to shove inside of you for months spilling over. You had collapsed into a puddle of emotion on the floor like you aren’t the High Lord’s sister, but the sight of your mother’s Starfall dress from last year reworked to fit your body made the dam of emotion burst within you.

Oh, how deeply you miss your mother.

The thick comforter surrounding you does nothing to ease the clenching of your heart. It’s another sleepless night, haunted with images of what happened to your mother out in those lands of the Night Court she shouldn’t have been riding alone in. All to see your brother and check in on him during his time at the camps.

Something in your gut twists like a hot knife. It’s your anger flooding your senses at the thought of how she’d been brutally attacked and left for dead, succumbing to her own injuries. She was all alone out there, and you would have been too, if it weren’t for the request of your father that you stay in Velaris with him until his meeting with Keir was over, the promise that he’d winnow you to the camps and meet up with Rhysand and your mother later.

You’d always been excited about the prospect of winnowing, and you thought that if you stayed back to tag along with your father that he might teach you how to do it yourself.

These days, you wonder if he had set the ambush up himself, a deal struck with those from the Spring Court who you’ve been told had done the terrible awful. 

He died before you got the chance to ask. 

With a heavy sigh, you shove the blankets back and climb out of bed. You forgo a robe, letting the perpetual chill the deepening autumn airs bring forth settle into your bones. You need the bite of the cold floors to ground yourself, the prickling of your fingers, toes, and the tip of your nose because it had been the same cold your mother had endured for so long.

The House of Wind is silent except for the soft padding of your feet against the hardwood floors. You slow your pace, treading very carefully as you creep past Azriel’s room, biting your lip at the sight of the swirling shadows like a cloud of smoke curling beneath the doorframe, always on lookout for their master. If they report to him that you’re awake, he may try to console you in that way of his, where he sits silently in the same vicinity as you. Most of the time, you appreciate his ability to care for others without words, but tonight, you just want to be alone.

In the kitchen, you fill the kettle and set it on the burner, flicking the flames as they lick the bottom of the teapot. While you wait for it to heat, you slice into a lemon, breathing in its fresh scent. It’s relaxing, even though it reminds you of your mother, who would make you a cup of warm lemon water on the nights you were unable to find sleep. She’d often join you in the kitchen, lending an ear to whatever was on your mind.

Tonight, it makes your throat tight.

You climb up to the counter with your made mug between your hands, feet dangling off the floor as you think about her. You swear you can feel her presence, see her at the kitchen as she looked out over the vast mountains of your home, watching the butters and creams of the sunset. Or how she’d pretend not to notice when you snuck into the kitchen and snagged a taste of whatever she was making that night.

It brings a soft, sad smile to your face that falls at the sound of approaching footsteps drawing your attention to the door. Your shoulders sag because you wanted to be alone, but your heart kickstarts in your chest when Cassian is the one who stumbles through the archway.

His hair is mussed with sleep, but it looks like it may have been a restless attempt. He blinks groggily, clearing his throat at the sight of you.

“What are you doing down here?” You ask him. It’s a whisper of your surprise and delight of the beautiful male creeping into the kitchen. The cup in your hands is warm, matching the feeling that his eyes bring forth.

His sleepy gaze hardens into something that you can’t make out in the dark as it creeps up your bare legs to where the hem of your night shirt rests against your thighs. You’re careful not to move as he takes his fill, a moment of weakness in the dark for the both of you, a small acknowledgement of the charge in the air.

His hazel eyes sweep upward, lingering on the perk of your nipples where they’ve gone tight under his gaze. You swear you catch him shuddering, but he’s shaking the tightness from his wings, finally stepping further into the room with a shrug, his stare now pinned to the ground.

“Felt like this is where I needed to be,” he answers lamely, but it means more to you than maybe it should. He could be awake for any reason this late at night. Surely, he has enough on his mind with the looming war that’s headed the Night Court’s way. “Why are you up?” He asks, leaning against the counter across from you and crossing his arms over his chest.

You have to consciously remove your eyes from the sight of his bulging muscles, instead focusing on the slice of lemon that’s swirling around in your cup. “Couldn’t sleep. Was thinking about mom.”

Before your next breath, Cassian’s body collides with yours, those strong eyes you were just forcing yourself not to ogle wrapped tightly around you. You squeak in surprise, you didn’t even hear him launch himself across the kitchen, but you easily melt into Cassian’s comforting hold, tears prickling at the back of your eyes as you squeeze them shut tight.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he admits softly, and the warmth of his breath caressing your hair makes you shiver, makes you want to burrow even further into him. He has nothing to be sorry for, he’s not only lost one mother, but now two, since she had taken both Cassian and Azriel in like they were part of her own brood.

When Cassian straightens, he’s already too far away. He stays close, hazel eyes boring into yours as he brushes some of your hair behind your ear, examining you. His touch is a brand across your skin, sending electric zipping through your veins, making you sit taller. Cassian still towers over you, but he seems distracted, thumb stroking across your cheek, drifting down to your mouth to where your tongue darts out to wet them.

His admission is a whisper that strikes you to your very core. “As selfish as this may sound, I’m glad that you weren’t there that night.”

“Me too,” you breathe, trying to crane yourself further into him, to see if he’s finally going to act on the arousal a thick cloud surrounding the both of you.

You don’t need to stretch far because he’s as drawn to you as you are to him, and he kisses you full on the mouth, hard at first, like a desperate man finally getting a taste of the nectar he’s been yearning for his entire life.

Cassian’s hands caress your face, turning you this way and that as your tongues brush in a motion that makes your mind short circuit. He steps closer and your thighs open wide for him to fit between like two perfect pieces of a puzzle.

His hand slips between your legs and you whimper with anticipation that he might touch you there, but he’s only taking your cup in hand and sliding it away so that it doesn’t fall and shatter.

There’s no time to be disappointed though because the feeling of the warmth from your mug is easily replaced by that of his cock trapped in his sleep pants, especially when his hands grab a firm hold of your ass, dragging you closer to grind against him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Cassian says, even though his cock twitches because you’ve captured his lower lip between your teeth and refuse to let go, knowing that he might try and push you away after so quickly giving into what he’s desperately wanted for years.

“Don’t,” you pant, burying your fingers in his hair to keep him close. If this is the only taste of Cassian that you get, you’re going to make the most of it.

He falls into you easily, and the both of you lose yourselves in each other. Your pussy is uncomfortably wet and grinding yourself against his clothed cock isn’t doing much to relieve the aching in your clit. Your whimper of frustration is swallowed greedily by the man towering over you.

“Please, Cassian,” you plead when he’s finally able to tear himself from your lips. Your fingers are fisted around the waistband of his pants so that he can’t escape. “Help me take my mind off of everything.”

He curses because it sounds fucking tempting to have you right here and now, with the moonlight washing in through the kitchen windows and spilling across the counter, your body.

The way you’re looking up at him has him fucking weak. He’d fall to his knees right now, which is exactly what happens when he sees that confidence manifest in your gaze, releasing him only to lean back and strip yourself of your night shirt, baring yourself to him completely.

Your name is a low growl from his lips. It makes your incredibly hard nipples tighten even further, and you hiss in pleasure as he flicks one of them, his gaze hot and dark and utterly consumed by you.

His palm flattens and you arch into his warmth with a soft moan. Your head rolls back on your shoulders because you’ve never had this before, never felt something so sure, something so perfect. Cassian growls at the exposure of your neck, drawn into you like a moth to a pyre, shoving his nose into your throat to catch your scent, heady for him.

“We shouldn’t,” he groans like a dying man.

“We should,” you cry at the nip of his sharp teeth, melting under the sweep of his tongue he uses to smooth the hurt. “Want you to be my first, Cass. Please!”

He freezes against you, completely ignoring the way that you’re writhing against him because all he can focus on are those few words.

“Your first?” His voice is husky, settling right between your thighs. Cassian’s gaze is enamored, desperate almost. You’ve seen that look on the battlefield once or twice, a bloodthirsty one that screams his victory. You’d shy away from its intensity if you weren’t so sure about this.

You swallow harshly. “Yes.”

“You mean that no one has touched these beautiful breasts?” He asks, dragging his large hands to where he’s mentioning. He’s completely consumed by you as he tweaks a nipple in his hands, his mouth coming down hot against the other. You nearly bite through your lip to keep from screaming, your fingers already clawing down his broad shoulders.

“No one has tasted this perfect skin,” he murmurs, mouthing down your body. It makes you want to collapse against the counter, but you need to stay sitting up, you need to see his facial expressions and what he’s doing with his hands. His breath is hot as he lowers himself to his knees before you, hooking his hands beneath your knees, dragging you forward so that your ass is nearly teetering over the edge of the counter. “That no one has tasted this pretty pussy?”

“No,” you breathe, shuddering as his knuckles brush softly across your cunt. Cassian looks like a beast untamed, no semblance of brown in his eyes anymore. They’re all pupil. “Want you to be the only one who does, Cassian.”

Your admission is his undoing. He all but tears your panties from your body and you don’t have time to properly prepare yourself before he splits your seams and drags his tongue up your cunt.

“Cassian,” you say desperately, pressing the back of your hand to keep the noises threatening to escape inside. It feels too good, the hot press of his tongue against your most intimate spot. He’s undeterred by your pleading, your nails digging into his skin. He’s finally had a taste and he’s never letting you go.

He brings you to the edge much faster than you thought was possible. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t getting wetter by the second with his tongue fucking into you, then one finger and two, three before he’s sucking on your clit and flickering his tongue against it in a motion that sets your body on fire.

You’re a shaking mess when you come down from your high, blissed out with the cold cut of stone beneath your bare body. You shut your eyes as you try to catch your breath, only to rip them open when Cassian stands, his hands undoing the ties of his sleep pants. “You know we’re not done yet, right sweetheart?” He asks, and your jaw drops at the sight of his cock bobbing from its confines. He hadn’t been wearing underwear, and your cunt clenches, dripping when he takes himself in hand, giving himself a rough tug before he’s slotting himself between your thighs and rubbing the head of his cock through your slick. “It’s not over until my cum is painting your insides and you are officially mine.”

“Yes,” you groan, spreading yourself wider for him. You’ll take anything he gives you, everything he gives you. “Please.”

Cassian hushes you softly. He needs another taste of your lips before he takes you for the first time. You’re so perfect for him, all spread out on the counter like this, more than eager to be impaled on his cock. And no one else has experienced this, has touched you in the way that he is right now.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever begin to thank you for this gift.

When you part, he helps guide you back onto the counter, making sure that you aren’t too uncomfortable. Your back is going to be sore tomorrow, but he’ll spend the day hiding away in your room, massaging your tight muscles before he’s easing himself back into you.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the breach of his cock in your channel. His thick fingers hadn’t quite prepared you for this. He’s fucking huge, an apologetic look on his face as he eases his way inside of you as slowly as he can manage.

“Relax, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Good girl,” Cassian groans, “Almost there.”

You both share a heart stopping gasp when he’s fully sheathed inside of you. It awakens something slumbering deeply inside of you, that thing you’ve only heard stories of rousing in your chest. You swear you can see it, the thread of essence that moves from your body to Cassian’s, who’s completely enthralled by the feeling as well, eyes locked onto yours.

It’s the feeling of two souls reuniting after so long apart, here in the kitchen while he’s hip deep in your cunt.

You feel whole.

You feel settled.

You feel complete.

“Cassian?” you ask tentatively, because you’re still in shock.

“Will you be my mate?” He blurts, and it’s when he leans in, pressing himself flush against you that you see the glittering of emotion in his eyes. His hands caress your face again, but it’s tendered this time, like he’s going to explore every part of you all over again.

“Yes,” you breathe, a grin breaking out across your face. What a night this has turned into, from your heart broken and sad to fuller than you ever thought it could be.

Cassian kisses you hard, like the emotion of the bond has him feeling completely new, needing to taste your acceptance off his lips.

It hits you when he gives a gentle grind of his hips that this bond isn’t complete until you offer your mate food.

Cassian releases you at the gentle push at his chest. His brows furrow in confusion, biting back a noise when you twist, reaching out for your abandoned mug and digging around inside.

“Here,” you offer the lemon to him and his eyes shine in amusement, even if he gives you a playful pout. He doesn’t crack a joke though, because he’d lick the dirt off your fucking feet if that was what you offered him. He takes the lemon into his mouth, rind and all, chewing thrice before swallowing it back, and it’s official.

“My mate,” he purrs and holy Gods, does that sound perfect rolling off his lips.

“My mate,” you agree, brushing a falling strand of his hair behind his ear. It soft, an intimate moment, then, “Can you please start moving now?”

Cassian’s responding chuckle makes your heart swell. “I promise to make this up to you, but I need you to know that I’m not going to last long.” You laugh and he groans at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him, constricting his cock. You’re not going to last long either, your emotions so heightened that everything makes you feel like you’re right on the precipice of orgasm.

“Deal,” you answer, and he begins moving, pulling out before he’s pressing in again, reveling in the way that you cling to him so quickly, are a mess for him so easily.

Cassian hooks his hand under your knee and pulls it up over his shoulder, changing his angle. The noises you’re making are loud, but neither of you care because of the rawness of the mating bond, the heightened emotions, touches, everything. It’s better than they always told you it would be, not just sex itself, but finding your mate.

And you can feel just how much Cassian loves you with his sweet words, the way his grip is as harsh on you as yours is on him like you might slip away from one another if there’s a part of you that isn’t touching.

That fire builds between you, you can feel it through the bond, blurring your mind as you crash life a wave against the reef, letting your orgasm consume you.

Cassian’s mouth finds your as he plunges over the ledge himself, following you obediently into oblivion. He’s lost in the feeling of you as he fucks his cum deep into your womb. He’s going to have to take you to a healer for a tonic when tomorrow comes, if he’s done with you by then. For now, he’s going to bask in this, the feeling of you in his arms and wrapped tightly around his cock.

He's going to bring you upstairs just as soon as he can catch his breath, but with you as his mate, he doesn’t ever think he’ll be able to catch it again.

And he’s more than okay with that.

[bks-writing-adventures]

Love? Match. (Aemond Targaryen X Stark! Reader)

This is for a request I got! If people like it, i'll do a part two <3

“Delusional. She is absolutely delusional!” Aemond grumbled, mostly to himself as Vhagar landed on a mount of snow with a low grumble. His breath was turning to fog everytime it left his body, his nose and cheeks flushed from the icy cold. This was the worst type of cold in the world. No sun, no fluff to the snow, just bitter. His nose ached, and his body shivered as he slid down Vhagar’s wing. The great beast would not meet his eye, and he could tell that she was certainly not pleased with him right now.

“I know, I know,” He mumbled, reaching to rub the scales that covered her face. “I will be quick,” he said, but he didn’t think that to be true. The North was stubborn, it was cold, and it was the closest thing to The Seven Hells. With every step, he cursed beneath his breath. Perhaps he should’ve landed closer to Winterfell, but landing that close with a dragon would not be a good look. And while he did love to intimidate, it would do nothing but create enemies. Of course, there was always the option of burning the land, but that was not truly his style.

 When he finally caught a glimpse of the building, his eyes narrowed into slits, his lashes coated with snowflakes and his vision frosted 0ver. IF one were to cry, their tears would turn to ice on their face. He was surprised that the very saliva in his mouth had not hardened. Taking in a deep breath, he rubbed his hands together to create a heat, hoping with every bone in his body that it would spread. He was told to aim for Cregan Stark. His mother believed it would be the best of ideas, since men could bond easier, and perhaps he could fish out some sympathy. He would have to get to them before the Blacks, or else they could plant whatever ideas they wanted, and it would grow out of his control. When he finally saw the first flashes of black hair, it was a miracle. 

“My Lady,” He called out quietly, taking a few steps closer. She was covered in a heavy cloak of animal skin, and her dark hair was twisted into small buns around her ears, like makeshirt earmuffs. Her face was red from the cold, and her eyes were big and endearing, almost like that of a cow about to be slaughtered. His eye lingered for a moment before he took the rest of her in, noting the metal jewelry around her neck and fingers. She wore several rings, each with a different stone, and he wondered what it would feel like to press a kiss to the back of her hand. “Are you a Stark?” He asked, despite knowing the answer. This would be difficult to play out. He wasn’t a man to stay away from violence, to use words over a sword. And it was hard to convince himself that this would work out, but he swallowed his doubts as he spoke. 

“Yes. You are a long way from home, are you not?” She asked. Her voice was quiet, but it had a certain power to it, her head tilting upward, almost as if challenging him. Her dark eyes looked him over, and a smile pulled at her mouth. He was glad for the cold now, because the redness of his face would hide his blush.

 “I am, My Lady. The West is in great need of help,” He spoke. She nodded, and she began to walk, not saying anything. It baffled him slightly, and he quickly started to follow her. Perhaps leather in the cold was not the best of ideas, because he grimaced every time it touched his skin. Fur would have been a much better choice.

 “And so I have heard,” She sighed, leading him further into the snow, until he could see smudges of people in the distance. “But what I fail to understand is how that is our problem,” She spoke, a brow raised. Ugh. Her voice was just so enticing, and he could feel his body warming up from how flustered she was making him. It was disgusting, and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. 

“You understand that Targaryen’s do not back down from a fight. We will destroy each other, and we will destroy you, too. You must pick a side, there is simply right, and wrong,” He spoke, pausing in his steps as she walked along the ice. He was not nearly as graceful as her, and he moved with caution, trying not to go sliding into the mountains of snow. 

“And who is decide what is right from wrong? Because forgive me for my honesty, but I do not believe your brother has ever done a right thing in his life. The wind speaks, and we hear of his sins. We would never bend the knee to such a man,” She spoke, and he felt himself groan internally. Her words were.. Well, true. He had no interest in submitting to Aegon either. His ultimate goal was to get himself on the throne and hope that his elder brother would drink himself to his death. It was a terrible thing to think, but Aegon was a terrible man. Such a fate would only make sense. His life’s worst regret was helping Ser Criston into searching for the boy. He clearly didn’t want the weight of the crown on his head, and he knew nothing about anything. He could not tell his right from left, and he knew nothing of history or politics. 

“And I deserve to be punished for that?” He asked, looking down at her. She was a fair bit shorter than him, but just as muscular, if not more. She had broad shoulders for a lady. His Uncle Daemon had once said that a Northern woman was about as feminine as a beast, but… she was, well, she was pleasant on the eyes. 

“Do not twist my words,” She spoke. “Besides. The North has nothing to give to you. We are dying left and right. The winter is harsh, and the cold is taking limbs and lives. We cannot fight in your silly war,” She responded. He didnt’ say anything for a long moment, following her gaze out to the wall. It was haunting. The sky was dark, and it was impossible to tell night from day. He didn’t like it one bit, he could not imagine living here, or how they could survive at all. He wondered where the food came from, before he realized, it wasn’t coming from anywhere. They couldn’t grow food, and there was no warmth.

 “What if, in exchange for your loyalty, we provided food and safety to your land?” He asked. He could practically see the gears turning in her head, and he fought the urge to smirk. She definitely didn’t see that coming. “Ah, you would like that, wouldn’t you?” He asked softly, his voice tickling her ears. Her eyes were clouded with thoughts, and it took her a moment to respond.

 “I would like you to speak with my brother,” She spoke, leading him toward the building. The change from the cold to the heat was shocking and welcomed all at once. Itches grew across his body, and he could feel the snow in his hair melting down into water, making his white hair cling to his head. 

“How are we to know that you are not speaking just to speak? I could agree, and you could give nothing.” She spoke, leading him through the building. Her boots left wet footprints across the stone, and he took in a deep breath as he scratched at his neck. His clothes were sticking to his skin. This really was hell.

 “I am not one to back down on my word, My Lady.” He said quietly, drawing in a deep breath as she started climbing up the stairs. He had no idea how much time had passed, chewing the inside of his cheek. “That does not mean much to me, My Prince. I do not even know which one you are,” She said, making him chuckle.

 “Ah, so I see my fame does not spread this far,” He spoke, and his ego was a bit bruised. “I should have introduced myself. I am Prince Aemond Targaryen, My Lady.” He said, gently taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, his mouth lingering for a moment. Her skin was warm on his cold lips, and he looked at her hands curiously, reaching for her left. No wedding ring. Fascinating. 

“Ah, the infamous Kinslayer. I know you now,” She said. Her eyes showed nothing, and he squinted slightly. 

“As could be said for most of my family members. We are not known to be… agreeable,” He said softly. He wanted to know more about her, but she was hard to read. His hand was still wrapped around hers, tracing patterns along the veins beneath her skin. 

“Hm.” She hummed, saying nothing more as she held his hand, practically dragging him up the stairs like a dog. When she reached the top, she pushed open a door, a group of men sitting awkwardly, their heads whipping toward the sudden intrusion. “Brother,” She spoke, making a boy sigh. “We have an offer from the West,” She spoke, making the room go quiet. Aemond could tell that she was a mighty little thing, no one spoke a word against her. It was a bit of a culture shock, seeing the way that women were treated here compared to back home. At the small court, his mother hardly got a word in, and she’d have to use him and his brother as puppets.

 “An offer?” He asked, standing up. He was a big thing, as all Northern men seemed to be. He had a face that looked like it was carved in stone, permanently unimpressed. He was not nearly as beautiful as his sister, in Aemond’s opinion, at least. “This… boy claims that in exchange for our support and men in his stupid, meaningless-” She paused, drawing in a deep breath. “In exchange for our support in the Western war, he will provide us with food and materials to last us the winter,” She spoke, brows raised. The two seemed to be communicating with their eyes, and Aemond could tell by the way that she stood that she was challenging him.

 “Sister, what of-” The man didn’t seem to know what to say. “We pledged our loyalty to the Targaryens long ago. But with them going against each other, either side is a fair pick. We may as well choose the side that will benefit us both,” She said, staring at an older man that was sitting in one of the chairs, a brow raised. After a moment, he got up, moving a few paces back so she could take the seat, crossing her legs. Cregan looked at Aemond, head tilting. He was intimidating in a way that was different from the Prince. While Aemond had a carved face and relied on his dark clothes and gaze, Cregan had a natural superiority to him. He was broad and calm, which was the worst. He didn’t show any displays of anger or distaste, he just nodded slowly. “

And is the Prince unwed?” He asked. Aemond’s heart thumped, and he straightened his back even more. This was not part of the plan. He just had to hope his mother would not be angry with him. Marriage was one of the greatest weapons at all. It could be used to bond and manipulate, and it was something that would be in the history books. It would combine their names and their value, and hopefully, give him more access to the other side of the Kingdoms. 

“He is not,” Aemond said in response. No one had really spoken directly to him, he felt like such an outsider. Cregan’s face broke into a smirk. 

“Well, sister. If we are taking all that we can..” He trailed off. It was weird. Aemond had never been spoken to in this way. It was both humbling and exhilarating. He wanted to argue and say that he never agreed to it.. But at the same time, it wouldn’t hurt.

 “And it would give us access to more weapons and money,” The Stark girl nodded in return. When Aemond came to the North, he did not expect to be leaving with a betrothed. But when two hours had passed, she was following him back to Vhagar, a quarter of her things packed into a bag on her back, her eyes narrowed as they walked. He was so awkward, not saying anything as they approached the giant beast that was Vhagar. He just hoped that the Lady Stark would not react negatively, or Vhagar might eat her. “Gīda, Vhagar. Sȳz va se riña.” He spoke, slowly stroking Vhagar’s snout. 

“I did not realize how big she was,” Lady Stark admitted after a moment. She did not look horrified, in fact, she seemed almost awestruck. Aemond smiled a little at her words. 

“The largest in the world. She is the greatest protector of Kings Landing at the moment, protecting us against our treasonous kin. My uncle has been our greatest threat, you would not like him very much,” He said quietly, taking her hand and leading her to Vhagar’s giant saddle. “Are you ready to fly?” He asked softly. He wanted to reach out and touch her face, and he was thrilled to feel her arms around him as they climbed onto the large dragon. 

“Is now a terrible time to mention that I am afraid of heights?” She asked softly as her arms went around his torso. Her arms were strong, maybe just as strong as his. 

“That it is,” He smiled, placing one of his hands over hers before they took off. To his delight, she did not scream, she just clenched her eyes shut nice and tight, and held him as they shared warmth. He knew that Vhagar could feel it, this odd feeling growing in his belly like a disease. It wasn’t love, it was.. Infatuation, perhaps. He held his lady as Vhagar’s wings steadied, rubbing her hand in slow, circular motions as she eventually fell asleep. He just hoped that she would not fall. The flight was long and covered the both in snowflakes, and he let out a breath of relief as the air grew heavy and humid once more. The air of the West tasted warm and almost oily on his tongue, the smell of mud and trees tickling his nose with familiarity. 

“Wake up, my beauty.” He mumbled softly, nudging the Stark as they made their descend back to the land, Vhagar’s mighty claws slicing into the dirt, sending a spray of dust across the field. She groaned softly, and she seemed to already be reacting to the change in weather, sneezing as she got off of the dragons back. There was not a moment for them to speak before his mother was rushing toward him, her face falling a bit when she saw the girl. Her mind was going to all the wrong places, praying that her son had not kidnapped the girl as ransom or something. 

“Mother,” He spoke, taking her arms as she approached. She was stressed constantly nowadays, and the death of his father had aged her ten years. Her brown eyes were tired, and her hair was disheveled, despite the constant conditioning treatments. 

“Aemond,” She said, her voice coming out sleepy and cautious as she eyed the dark haired lady. 

“Relax, mother. This is my betrothed,” He said softly, reaching over for her arm, slowly bringing the Stark closer as though trying to introduce two dogs, hoping they would make friends. 

“Your betrothed?” She asked softly. It was hard to tell if she was angry or simply shocked. But after a moment, a tight smile spread on her face. “And you did not think to ask? Or…” She trailed off, swallowing her words. 

“We do not have the luxury of taking things slow in war, mother. And with our marriage will come a bond between us and the North. They will fight with us if we give them the resources they need,” He said softly, and her brows scrunched. 

“And what resources would those be?” She asked, seeming rather irritated. 

“Food, clothes, safety. We need the soldiers to stay alive if we want them to fight for us. And Lady Stark has much knowledge, politically and socially,” The more he spoke, the more she seemed convinced, and after a moment of thinking, her gaze softened.

 “Very well, then.” She said, gazing back at Lady Stark. “We will get you a nice warm bath and some tea immediately. You can sleep in the guest chambers,” She spoke, slowly nodding. Some servants came to take Lady Stark’s bag, but she quickly waved them off. She did not like being separated from her belongings, and when the brunette was finally out of earshot, Alicent turned to her youngest son. “You cannot simply make decisions like that without warning,” She spoke. She didn’t know why she was angry.

It didn’t have much to do with the war at all, but rather, it was the feeling of losing her youngest child. He had remained unwed this long, and he was her best child. She would forever regret what she did to Aegon and Helaena, and she had prayed every night to The Maiden and The Mother for Aemond to get a love match. To find someone that could give him the care and understanding that she could never provide. And now he would be marrying a stranger. But at the very least, they were the same age. And Lady Stark seemed kind enough. 

“It is not a good idea to get married when the world is like this. If Daemon finds out..” She trailed off. She was very aware that Rhaenyra’s family was seeking revenge due to Aemond’s disgusting actions. And she would hate to see the Lady Stark be caught in the crossfire. “You will have no grand wedding. There will be no celebration. It will be private, and you will say nothing to anyone at the court. There are spies everywhere,” She warned, and anxiety burned in Aemond’s chest. He hadn’t thought about that, and he did not care to think about it anymore.

When he finally found himself in bed, he watched the ceiling as he desperately hunted for sleep. When it did not come, his mind wandered and his eyes shut as he thought about Lady Stark. Her arms around his torso, the feel of her head on his back, the way her breath hitched the higher they got, all those rings on her fingers- and how she would wear one from him soon, too. The more he thought, the more he wondered, and slowly, his feet touched the stone floor, and he crept to his door, slowly opening it. His guard stood outside, brows raised. 

“Going somewhere?” He asked. 

“Yes.” Aemond responded, slowly making his way down to the guest chambers. It was a walk of shame of sorts, having to walk past all the guards as they stood by his siblings and mothers chambers. They all gave him small nods, and he sighed, considering turning around. The servants would talk. The Knights would talk. It was a bad idea, but he was so close, and slowly, he knocked on the door of the guest chambers. When there was no answer, he was about to knock again, when the door suddenly whipped open. Lady Stark was staring at him, her skin still rosy and warm from her bath, her hair wet and combed out, slowly curling up again as it dried. Her ears had been covered previously, and he smiled as he saw her in full. She had such little ears, like a cute little mouse. He could almost laugh at the thought. 

“Can I help you?” She asked, arms crossed. He smiled at her feistiness, looking at her nightclothes. Her robe was comically large, and he made a small promise to himself that when the war was over, he would have some fine clothes made for her.

 “I cannot find sleep. I was hoping you would speak with me about our arrangement,” He said slowly. She looked suspicious, but nodded after some time, stepping aside to allow him into the room. The guest chambers were nothing special. A big bed with generic blankets, a washroom, a bathtub, a chamber pot, some towels, and a fire place. A dresser and a wardrobe, a bookshelf with only two volumes on it. It was dull, but she seemed to light it up.

 “My mother says that our marriage will be a quiet one. This is a dangerous family, you understand,” He said softly, following her mindlessly and heating up when she sat on her bed. She just looked so lovely like this, and he cleared his throat, averting his gaze. 

“I am well aware. When are the supplies going to the North?” She asked. She had her mind set, and her desires were clear. 

“Soon, my lady. We will marry tomorrow once the sun falls, and the day after that, I will bring the delivery myself,” He spoke. They were big promises, but he knew he could do it. When he was very young, he had an obsession with agriculture for some months. For his 14th name day, he had requested only books and seeds, and of course, a greenhouse. A greenhouse that was run by servants and farmers, and was full of plants and vegetables that were ready to go. Perhaps they could build a greenhouse in the North, and they could use mirrors and glass to direct the sun toward it. 

“Very good.” She says softly, shifting a little on the bed. “Are you going to stand there forever, or will you sit?” She asked, staring up at him. His eye widened, and he looked at the mattress. It was far softer than his own, and he could only imagine the back ache if he fell asleep on it. But he could not deny her, sitting a good foot or so away. 

“...I cannot imagine this is what you envisioned when you were a girl, dreaming of marriage,” He said quietly, making her let out a laugh. Not a soft giggle, but a full belly laugh, a soft wheeze escaping her. “You think young girls dream of marriage?” She asked, as though the idea was ridiculous. “Tell me, My Prince, have you ever spoken to a woman?” She asked him. The answer was of course, no, not really. He had interacted with his mother and sister, but outside of that.. Well, did the Septa count? Probably not. 

“Not often.” He admitted. She nodded, smiling a little as she reached out to touch his cheek.

 “Oh, I imagine you scare off the western ladies like the plague, with this little thing of yours,” She said, reaching for his eyepatch as he turned his head away. Yes, of course. That. 

“It is not my best feature,” He said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. 

“Says who?” She asked, head tilted. He couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not. He grew hot at that, looking awkwardly at his hands.

 “Says most,” He spoke. He sounded pathetic. He hated what she was doing to him, but he couldn’t get enough. 

“Most people are not worth your time or mine. Now, I am tired, and I am looking forward to sleeping on this giant thing,” She sighs, flopping back on the bed, arms above her head and her legs parted like a starfish. 

“You enjoy it, my Lady. When the war ends.. I will get you the biggest bed the world has to offer,” He said softly, and after a moment of thinking about it, he finally reached out and touched her hair. It was slightly rough in his hands. It was not silky like his own, and it was much thicker, as though she had adapted to the cold air of the north. 

“You make a lot of promises. We will start with the marriage, then the supplies, and we will see where we end up,” She spoke, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. Gods. He felt like he was full of Milk of Poppy. Utterly euphoric. Now he understood why men loved brothels so much. He would pay an embarrassing amount to feel this way every day. 

“Sounds.. Sounds good,” He says, voice cracking a little. She smiled teasingly, gently pushing on his chest. 

“I will see you tomorrow, my Prince.” She spoke as he headed for the door, and he mumbled under his breath. 

“I will see you tomorrow, My Love.” He mumbled so softly that not even the strongest of ears could hear it. That night, he slept like an infant, dreaming of the days to come.

thank you to everyone who reads!! <3

-BK ♡