#I'll make long chapters to make up for it

[rvp32]

Heir to the clan's legacy- Chapter 3

White cum spills out of Yoona's stuffed pussy and your cock is covered in her juices and your seed.

You turn around and smirk.

"Mommy…why don't you clean my cock?"

"Y/N Do you know what the fuck you have just done!" Taeyeon screams as she walks toward you.

The loud scream makes you lose your concentration a little allowing Yoona to escape from your binding

"What have I done, mommy? I fucked Auntie Yoona because she's sexy. I'm an adult. Why are you so mad?"

"I told you specifically not to do any such thing before you left and not only did you go ahead and fuck your aunty and cum inside of her you also had the audacity to call me here," Taeyeon screams

You then turn to Yoona.

"She enjoyed it. Didn't you, mommy" You say smirking, calling Yoona mommy.

Yoona was still recovering from the orgasm and she was also scared but she shyly said, " It was some of the best sex that I have had in a very long time,"

You smirk smiling, but then Taeyeon flash-stepped and you barely reacted since you weren't on guard. You manage to bat her arm away.

"I'm not a kid anymore, mommy…if I want to fuck YoonA. I will."

"Enough, put on your clothes you are coming home with me right now and we will talk about your behavior," Taeyeon says

she then looks to Yoona, " We are going to have a really long conversation about this Yoona,"

But you shake your head.

"No. I'm not going with you. I didn't do anything wrong." You flash step and put your clothes back on but then you also grab your sword and assume a challenging position.

"Y/n don't do this, all I am suggesting is that we talk. I am not trying to hurt you or even fight you. So calm down, " Taeyeon says trying to calm you down

"Talk about what? You can't baby me anymore. I want to be with Yoona…I will be with Yoona. I'll be with whoever I want. You know I asked Kazuha to be my girlfriend today?"

Yoona was also shocked by this information because she didn't expect you to have already a girlfriend whom you just started dating today. She felt bad because she was your side piece and the second option.

"I am not babying you anymore! I won't do it. We left off at a very bad place in the morning so I just want to clear it up. For fucks sake just listen to me just this one fucking time," Taeyeon said her showing more and more frustration as the conversation goes on

You turn to Yoona.

"Just so you know, you aren't a side piece or a second option…I need to restart my clan…I want you, need you as a partner, Yoona…I love you just as I love Kazuha."

Yoona's expression turned softer after hearing that, she also realized the huge responsibility you had.

You then turn to Taeyeon.

"Don't you understand that? I love you…I want you…who better to restart my clan than you, Mommy?"

"I am open to that and I would be really happy to help you with it as well but Y/n you need to learn to take consent before you jump onto people like that, I was confused and didn't know what you really wanted," Taeyeon explained

You then flash step to her and kiss her deeply again.

"I want you…I want both of you…" Your spiritual pressure rising again.

"Calm down, you don't need to release so much spiritual pressure, I am right here," Taeyeon says as she brushes a little bit of your hair

"I need both of you…" I say with lust, as I derobe once again. "Both of my mommies…sucking my cock…I'm still so full mommy, you said you'd always take care of me.." You pout like a child, playing on Taeyeon's motherly affection for you.

"I will baby boy, I will always take care of my pretty little boy," Taeyeon says before grabbing your cock and slowly rubbing it

"Oh.." I moan, finally. My mommy..my hot mommy.

"Yoona mommy…Taeyeon mommy…please both suck my cock…worship it…"

Yoona crawls to you, with your cum still dripping out of her freshly used pussy. she massages your balls as Taeyeon plays with your cock

"Oh fuck yeah…yes…use your lips my mommies…fuck.."

"aww is that so if you want mommy to use her lips you are going to have to beg pretty boy," Taeyeon whispers in your ear and bites it

You counter and kiss at her neck. You were kissing your mommy…your beautiful Taeyeon and you nibble at her ear too.

"Please Mommy…suck my cock…I've wanted to feel it for so long…your beautiful lips and tongue.."

"Now, that's a good boy, " Taeyeon coos before getting on her knees and taking the tip of her cock into your mouth.

Yoona takes this opportunity to stand up and kiss you passionately

"Mommy it feels so good…you were meant to do this right? My cock…to take care of me…this is the only cock you ever need…"

Taeyeon speeds up, taking in more of your cock every time she went down, trying her best to fit your entire cock into her tiny cute mouth

"Holy fuck mommy…oh my god…that feels so good…yes all of it.."

You kiss Yoona too, but you begin to thrust into Taeyeon's mouth.

Yoona pulls away from the kiss, "Go on fuck that throat like you mean it, show her who she belongs to," Yoona moans into your ear and goes on to kiss your neck and leave marks all over it

This turned you on a lot. As you begin to ram your cock into Taeyeon's thrust over and over.

"My mommy whore…my mommy bitch…my slutty mommy…" You chant as you finally get what you want. Taeyeon began choking on your cock a little but she still continued to take it into her throat as much as she could.

"Go on paint your mommy's throat white with all the precious cum, " Yoona moans as she uses your fingers to stimulate her clit

You bite at Yoona's breasts and suck on her tit..trying to draw out milk. You don't stop fucking Taeyeon's mouth as you shove as much as you could in there, watching it bulge.

"Holy fuck baby that's so hot, are you trying to get milk out of me baby," Yoona moans as she pets your hair like a child who is getting breastfed

"Fuck if only there was milk coming out right now!" You moaned in between sucking Yoona's tits

You had to figure out some spell for that or something…

"Oh, mommy…I'm going to cum…down your fucking throat…"

"GO on baby cum all down your mommy's throat," Yoona cooed you dumped all your cum down Taeyeon's throat

You pant and huff, pulling out and smiling.

"How does it taste Mommy? Your first taste of my cum? Your baby boy's cum?"

"It tastes amazing baby just as I expected it to but holy fuck don't you cum a lot. this is your second load and it is so much I wonder how thick the first load must have been," Taeyeon states,

"Oh the first load was massive and thick alright, his cum is still leaking out of my pussy and I am 100% sure that I am already pregnant with his baby," Yoona says

You pull Yoona in for another torrid kiss with your tongue.

"Your feet next…both of you…I need to taste them and fuck them…" You say with desire.

"aren't you an insatiable horny bastard, if that's what you want then your mommy's shall oblige," Taeyeon says

You growl.

"Oh? Calling your baby boy a bastard? How naughty of you, mommy!" You grab both of them and toss them on the bed. You lie down and have Taeyeon and Yoona sit near you by your cock. Taeyeon folds out her legs towards your face and you begin to lick at her toes and the underside of her feet.

Yoona meanwhile gives you a footjob.

"my baby boy is so naughty and always horny for his mommies isn't he?" Taeyeon questions as she enjoys you worshipping her feet

"I love your white nail polish Mommy…and Yoona's black…so sexy…your feet are so fucking good.."

Taeyeon's feet were so soft and you try to suck on all five toes from her foot at once.

"Aren't you a greedy boy wanting so much all at once, If I had known that you were a feet-loving boy then I would have gotten a pedicure before coming here," Taeyeon says before moaning

You suck on her toes harder.

"No, your toes are so good…so hot…I love them…please give me a double footjob mommies!"

"you are so impatient," Taeyeon says before using one of her feet to push your cock into Yoona's other foot. Both of you matching the rhythm together to jerk off your big hard throbbing cock

"HOLY FUCK MOMMIES.." You howl loudly as they worked together perfectly to stroke your cock off with their feet. The contrast of pedicure colors was amazing

"oh you are really enjoying this so much aren't you, my little perverted loser," Taeyeon teases you as she continues to play with your hard cock

"He loves it so much Unnie, he blew such a huge load when I gave him a footjob before," Yoona says

You pout. "Mommy…that wasn't nice…I'm just so attracted to you…"

"You don't have to lie baby I can feel your cock throb whenever I say things like that," Taeyeon says

"It turns me on when you want me, mommy…you're all mine right?"

"Yes baby I am all yours, both of us belong to you

I then flare up my pressure and jam my cock back into Taeyeon's tight cunt, growling as I use flash step and slam her into the wall and begin drilling into her gasp "Fuck!" Taeyeon moans out as you drill into her the sudden invasion of your cock stretching out her pussy a lot more than expected

"What was that mommy?" I growl as I hammer into her and then kiss her neck, biting at it a bit.

"It feels so fucking good baby, keep pounding Mommy like that use my hole however you want!" Taeyeon growls

"Remember you're my mommy…and my caretaker…I am your Master and baby boy…and you…I fucking own you…to fuck…and use as a whore!"

"Yes, you own me, fucking use me as your whore! make you your cum dump!" Taeyeon moans out pleasure completely taking over her brain

I kiss her with my tongue and speed up. The tightness of her cunt was immaculate..my whore mommy getting fucked by my cock was something else.

"Mommy…I want to drink your fucking milk…"

"Go on baby you can have how much ever you want!" Taeyeon allows you

"Unnie, What is he talking about?" Yoona asks confused about what milk you are asking Taeyeon for

I then lower my mouth to her right breast and swirl my tongue before latching on and sucking. I was finally drinking her milk…my mommy's milk…it was perfection.

"NGHH" Taeyeon moans, the pleasure getting too much for her. It felt like absolute heaven, she hadn't had something feel this good in such a long time

A little milk leaks out from the corner of your mouth and this surprises Yoona. So many questions popping into her head and you see her eyes lined with confusion. To distract her you push your fingers into Yoona's wet pussy and finger her as you continue to pound Taeyeon

"Mommy's milk…mommy's cunt…you're both mine…" you growl.

You were fucking Taeyeon so hard…your mommy…your whore…your bitch…was now truly yours.

Taeyeon's moans now sounded like screams absolutely tearing through thr roam and they were accompanied by Yoona who was also on the cusp of another orgasm

"I'm going to fucking cum mommy! Going to fucking cum so hard!" You roar.

"Go on baby cum inside your mommy, breed her just like you did me," Yoona encourages you and Taeyeon is just simply beyond the ability to speak right now

You were finally going to do it, you were going to breed your mommy Taeyeon…

"FUCK!" You slam your cock all the way inside her cunt and explode…cumming the hardest and longest you ever have…you weren't pulling out and waited minutes until you fully emptied, painting her walls white.

Taeyeon's mind was going absolutely haywire, completely taken over by pleasure. The cum was so warm and felt perfect inside of her. satisfying everything that she had ever wanted.

You then kiss Taeyeon with more tongue.

"Mommy…Yoona…on your knees both of you…fucking clean my cock…it's official now…you're both my whores to breed and restart my clan."

Without any replies, the both of them were on their knees, cleaning up your cock.

You hiss in pleasure as both their tongues and sweet lips worked your tip and they cleaned every bit of cum left. They shared it between them and you pressed their heads together to make out with your cock.

"I've been developing a kido spell…" You say before using the enchantment and a marking of the Uzumaki clan forms just above their cunt before disappearing.

"what is it supposed to do baby?" Yoona asks innocently.

Taeyeon is also curious and is just waiting to see what you answer

"This will make it so nobody else is allowed to fuck you…your body will only respond in pleasure to my touch alone."

"Oh someone is possessive!" Taeyeon and Yoona say at the same time

"Of course…my clan…my whores…I need to keep it all in line…now then…YoonA..I think you should move to the clan compound. We can use this place as a safe house."

"Oh am I finally being allowed to move into the Uzumaki's compound" Yoona questioned

"Yes you are, You belong to me now so you should stay where I can reach you any time I want," You reply

YoonA stands and kisses you lovingly.

"Good…it's settled then… let's head back. I have my first official day tomorrow so let's try and take it easy for the rest of the day."

"Yayyy!" Yoona cheers as she puts on her robe and begins to grab things that she will need.

The three of you get back and head back into bed. You were so happy having them on either side of you…you snuggle with Taeyeon and kiss her.

"I love you, mommy. You're mine."

"What about me?" Yoona whines as she hugs you

You kiss her too.

"And you too.." All three of you drift to sleep shortly after.

[soaps-mohawk]

I'm so sorry to everyone that I freaked out with the last post, I was trying so hard not to 😭 I have that like instant fear as soon as I see "we need to talk" or something in the same vein. I always think it's something bad.

This isn't bad, at least depending on how your perspective I guess.

So...I'm having thoughts about CRCB in October. I planned out posting schedules for Kyletober and CRCB and my Patreon stuff and it's going to basically be a post every day, sometimes multiple in multiple places.

That's a lot.

So, I am set on doing Kyletober since all of the fics are already written, but I was planning on continuing CRCB during October as well. But...I think I need a little break from CRCB. It's been about eight months of posting almost every single week and it's been a lot. I'm struggling with chapters right now and with work it's vastly limiting the time I have to write and focus on things and I'm kind of burning out right now.

So, what I wanted to discuss was potentially putting CRCB on hold for October while I focus on Kyletober and everything involved with that. Trying to do both is a lot and I'm not sure I can handle all of it, plus life, plus work.

I was planning on not necessarily putting CRCB on hold, but doing more of a "whenever I can/am inspired" random posting chapters kind of like I did in the beginning when I first started writing the fic, in November/December because those are very busy months and I will be dead tired from work and just general life.

I think I might still do that for November/December and possibly into the new year since there's no way the fic will be finished even if I posted every week until the end of December.

BUT

That's something I'll think about and make a decision on later.

Right now, my thought is...would you hate me if I put CRCB on pause in October? IF I do, I promise I won't end Chapter 39 on a cliffhanger. I wasn't planning on it anyway, but I promise I won't end it on a cliffhanger if I decide not to post any chapters in October.

That way if I do put it on pause, then I can not focus on it for a bit and give my brain a refresh, and I can also focus all my energy on Kyletober.

So yeah, it's going to be a lot doing both at the same time, and honestly I'm ready for a little break from CRCB. It's been going for a long time and it's a lot of words to get out in a week. I've been super stressed lately and I'm just struggling a lot trying to get through chapters.

So yeah. That's basically the dilemma here and the discussion to be had. I know y'all will tell me it's my blog and I can do whatever I want, but I would like opinions on it. Are y'all okay with me putting CRCB on hold to focus on Kyletober? Then pick it back up for probably just whenever I can chapter updates for the rest of the year? In January things will calm down and I'll have more time to relax and write and maybe get close to finishing the story. Plus I know a lot of my readers will be busy the next three months with the holidays and vacations and family and school and all of that, so you won't have to worry about getting behind and having to catch up with a bunch of chapters.

So...let me know...

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (3)

Summary: Terry get's a lesson in love and shares it with Patrice.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 5,049

Part: 3 of ??

Warnings: Smut (18+)

One. Two.

"Well, James, how you been?" 

"Honestly, Pop. I don't know where to start." 

Wooden spoons banged and scraped across pots on the stove while Marvin scooped red beans and rice into a small ceramic bowl. He'd long shed his work coveralls for an open flannel shirt and khakis to spend some quality time with his only son. 

James was their shared middle name in a long line of Richmond men dating back to their family migration from New Orleans to Fayetteville in the 50s. Marvin was a proud, honorable man. He never said a bad word about anybody, and no one had a bad word to say about him. He taught Terry how to play football, make a pot of dirty rice to perfection, and the importance of ensuring a lady never touched a doorhandle in his presence. He was the reason Terry joined the Marine Corps after a career in the NFL looked unlikely. He was the reason his boy spoke softly and carried a big stick. And he was one of only two people Terry trusted with his heart. 

With two bowls and spoons on a serving tray, Marvin made his way to the kitchen table. He stopped short to get a good look at his son with blue green eyes even more captivating than Terry's. He noted the new frown lines developing on his brow and the lone grey hair sprouting in his goatee. His boy was stressed and confused. He didn't need a conversation to tell him that but welcomed it anyway. 

After sliding one bowl across the table, he took a seat with his signature grunt. "Start at the top. Plenty of time still left in the day." 

Terry quietly thanked his father for his generosity and avoided the question by eating the first bite of his meal. They ate in silence for several seconds until Terry took a deep breath. 

"I think I've been okay. More ups than downs lately, but the downs are pretty damn low. I'm having a tough time sleeping. I'm barely working. I feel like a burden for Treece more than I feel like a man who can actually do something for her." 

"Being a man is about more than what you can do." 

"Yeah, but…" Terry trailed off, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's just - things weren't supposed to be this hard. I gave this country a lot of my time, and I guess I expected to say my goodbyes and roll into my next chapter. Now, my plan b needs a plan b, and I'm out of options." 

"You're not out of options. You don't like askin' for help. Proud like your grandaddy." 

"And you too." 

Marvin chuckled and shook his head as he took another spoonful of food.  "This ain't about me."

The two men shared a laugh, their voices sounding nearly identical as they bounced off the walls. He was the spitting image of his father, both in stature and moral compass. 

"What do you need, James?" Marvin had grown serious again, making Terry avert his eyes to focus on his food. "I'll save you the stress of asking, but you gotta tell me what I need to offer. Is it money?"

"Not much. Enough to pay some bills until the end of the month, and I can have it back to you. I think I have a shot at this job on base if I can get through the second interview."

"How you getting back and forth? I know y'all do the Lyft and Ubom thing these days. Ridin' around with strangers like we didn't spend a whole decade tell y'all not to." 

Terry laughed. "It's Uber, Pop. But, no. Treece is out for the summer, so I'm…using her car when I need it. I don't wanna take advantage of her." 

"Those some of the bills you need help paying?" Marvin's question was answered with a silent head nod and eyes filled with shame. He softened his voice as he reached into his wallet for the cash he had on hand. "It's what you're supposed to do. Ain't no shame. That money is for yourself. Give me til tomorrow afternoon to have more. Five grand enough?" 

"Ah, Pop, I don-" 

"We didn't work as hard as we did for nothing. Plus, it's your college fund money we never withdrew. You're lucky your mother hasn't used it for renovations. She's been eyeing your sister's old room for an indoor she-shed or whatever the hell it's called." 

Marvin sounded exasperated by the concept of his wife's latest project, which amused Terry. They hadn't changed since the day he left. They were just two people who had been in love since the day they met and remained committed to supporting each other through the ebbs and flows of life. 

Standing from the kitchen table, Marvin shuffled around the corner to the garage entrance and returned with a ring of keys and a pile of mail. He tossed them at Terry and returned to his seat. 

"What's this?" 

"Keys to GMC outside. Take it. You might need to run it for a little bit and change the oil, but it works fine. The rest is your mail." Terry opened his mouth to protest and received a glare from his father in return. "I gave you my best speech about askin' for help, and here you go ruining things. Take the truck before I tell your mama."

"Alright, alright," Terry laughed as he raised his hands. "I love you, Pop." 

"Love you, man. I'm proud of you." Not ones for the warm fuzzies of hugs, the two extended their arms across the table for a quick fist bump before returning to their meals. Marvin let his son eat in peace for a few moments before the corner of his lips curled in a knowing smile. "So…Patrice Ellis, huh? That little love letter you wrote in 10th grade finally coming true?" 

"Pop." 

"Ah, come on. It's alright to be in love, son. She's a good girl. Got good folks, too. What's the holdup?" 

In love? The more Terry attempted to negotiate the gravity of the phrase within himself, the more he had to reckon with the idea that his father may not be that far off base.

Terry slowed his eating and looked at his father for help. "You think I'm in love?" 

"Oh, I know you are. You didn't come back to Fayetteville for me, did you?" 

"How would I know, though? How did you know?" 

Marvin stopped eating to sit back in his chair. A fond smile crossed his face as he thought of his younger years. 

"I knew I was in love when I wanted to show up every day and do the work to be with her. It didn't matter if she pissed me off or if we disagreed about decisions. At the end of every day, I can look at her and know I'm where I want to be forever. Plus, I still get a little fired up when she walks through the door all these years later. I ain't much to look at, but your mother is…" 

Marvin let his sentence drop to whistle at the mention of his wife. Terry pretended to take exception but eventually laughed at his father's antics. He quickly relaxed into a contemplative state. 

"I wanna be the best I can for her," he spoke softly. "I get…sad when she's gone for too long. Sometimes, I find myself forcing conversation just to make her look at me because the light in her eyes is the only thing keeping me grounded most days. What does that mean?" 

"You don't need me to answer that, son. Go with what you know." 

Before Terry could seek more advice, the mechanical roar of the garage door made Marvin nearly spring out of his seat to greet his one true love. 

Outside, Patrice was nearly doubled over from laughter in the front seat. 

Diedra "DeeDee" Richmond was the quintessential Southern black woman. Like a prim and proper belle, she wore her color-treated blonde hair big to match an even bigger personality.  She wore heels with every outfit and never left the house without earrings, but she could also drink and cuss like a sailor. 

When she offered Patrice the chance to tag along for her monthly Sister Circle meeting, there was no chance she'd miss the opportunity to ditch Terry and kick it with the upper crust of Black women. 

"And, girl, Rita thinks we can't tell that she took every one of those appetizers out of the damn freezer section. At least go to the Publix bakery. Finger sandwiches ain't that expensive." 

Amid their gossip session, the garage door's chime caught Dee Dee's attention, effectively ending her one-woman show in favor of giving her husband the eye. Behind him, Terry stood with a nervous smile and puppy dog eyes that he directed at Patrice. 

"Marry a Richmond, child. You'll never lift a finger for the rest of your life. Lord knows I love me some him. Hey, baby!" DeeDee advised as she watched Marvin nearly float to the driver's side to open her door. 

Patrice watched Marvin and DeeDee fawn over each other like teenage lovers until the faint pop of her door opening brought her back to life. 

Terry stood in the gap with his hand out to offer assistance. She accepted without protest, letting him gently pull her from the passenger side with her bags in tow and close the door behind her.

"I missed you." 

Terry's admission came in a sweet voice as he dipped his head to place two chaste kisses on Patrice's lips. Only the knowledge of his parents 10 feet away kept her from turning an innocent display of affection into something vulgar. 

Patrice chased his lips once he pulled away, earning a deep chuckle that vibrated her chest. 

"We kissing in front of the parents now?" 

"Too much," he asked, suddenly embarrassed. 

She used her thumb to wipe lip gloss from his bottom lip before rising to her tip toes to kiss his nose. "No. You're perfect." 

Dee Dee and Marvin watched the young couple giggle at nothing in particular with broad smiles and full hearts. 

"Treece, when's the last time you had some of my red beans and rice?" 

Marvin's question made both of them jump like children caught in the act with the realization that they weren't alone. 

"Way too long," Patrice answered, her stomach almost growling at the mention. 

"Then have dinner with us. We'd love to have you." 

Patrice looked toward Terry for confirmation, making Dee Dee cackle as she started up the stairs into her home. "Child, forget him. Terrence don't run nothing 'round here! Come get this food."

Terry's eyes grew wide at his mother's dismissal while Patrice dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at his expense on her way into the house. 

"Oh, that's funny," he asked, following her lead. "That's the last time I let y'all hang out unsupervised." 

Three extra hours at Terry's parents' house wasn't enough for the tandem to abandon their new night routine. 

Patrice stood at her bathroom sink, scrubbing the day from her face while Terry made himself comfortable on her closed toilet lid. Sometimes, he read something from Patrice's bookshelf, both preferring to simply exist in the same room. Other times, he watched baseball on his phone and attempted to provide color commentary despite Patrice not showing interest. This time, though, he sat with relaxed shoulders and low eyes while she moved through her beauty routine. 

Something about the sleepytime body wash had him laser-focused on how her legs looked a mile long beneath her nightshirt, oiled to perfection and glistening under the warm vanity lights. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Maybe pull her closer by her thighs and whisper every single nasty thought on his mind below her navel until she promised never to leave his side. 

But, he shook his inner man loose and leaned forward to re-engage with her as she called his name. 

"You know you should use a gentle exfoliant every once in a while. It'll help your breakouts. Use some of my sunscreen, too. It's dangerous for you to let the sun hit your face with no protection."

Blah, blah, blah. Everything she said sounded like a chorus of 1000 angels to him. She could've revealed the cure to cancer, and he would be too lovestruck to notice. 

Knowing his restraint was dwindling, he stood abruptly and stretched his arms above his head with a yawn as she added moisturizer to her face.

Patrice watched him take up space behind her through the mirror, shifting so he could leave something to remember him by on her shoulder and neck. 

"Good night," he spoke between kisses, the words muffled against her skin. 

"Already? It's not that late, is it?" 

"I promised Corey I'd help him with football practice at Francis tomorrow morning."

"He'll run you ragged if you don't speak up." 

"I'll speak up. I promise." 

Using what little space she had, Patrice turned to rest her backside on the counter and face Terry. She used her index finger to hook his gold herringbone chain and bring him down for a kiss. Or kisses. It'd been so long since they could have each other in this way. Time and experience, both together and separately, had them maneuvering like professionals. Each kiss was teasing and sensual in equal measure. A tangible mastery of retreating and aggression made the pursuit of one another worth the wait. 

They'd lost track of their exhibition until Terry's phone buzzing against the toilet seat jolted them back into reality.

Patrice flattened her palms against his chest to create some separation and end what would surely turn into blurred lines if they weren't careful. "Good night, TJ.  Grab that exfoliant out of my shower before you leave. It's in the caddie." 

Terry took the gentle redirection in stride, smiling at her through the mirror before turning to do as she had asked. Patrice used what little focus she could muster to secure her headscarf to her head, desperate to extend her box braids for one more week. 

"What's this?" 

"What's what?" She didn't bother to look away from her task until the low hum of her vibrator caught her attention. She whipped her body around, too stunned to reach for the bright pink toy that had Terry smirking as he examined its buttons. "That is my personal property for personal and private use." 

"When's the last time you used it?" 

"It's been a while. A month or so." Mostly true. She couldn't say she hadn't thought about it more recently.

"Since I've been here?" 

She shrugged. "Kinda hard to get comfortable when there's a person on the other side of the wall." 

The mere sound of the only thing to touch her in two years made the hair on her arms stand at attention. Her eyes darted between the toy and Terry, who made himself familiar with each speed and pattern, cycling through dirty thoughts and intrigue as he held the device against his arm to get a feel for the intensity, 

Setting one? Bearable. A softball. Setting three? Maybe she'd call out his name from the pleasure? Setting seven? Surely, she'd hang on to him like a wet t-shirt on a Playboy model while she rode the crest of her orgasm. 

The possibilities excited him to no end. He needed to test each and every theory.

In two clicks, he returned the toy to its original setting and then off completely, holding it in one hand while taking slow steps to close the gap between him and the only person on his mind. 

She shifted her weight nervously as he approached, unsure how to respond until he towered over her with a look she knew all too well. 

Desire. 

Their senses were heightened. Everything felt surreal, almost as if one misstep could send them flying through a portal back to a more disappointing reality. 

Terry could smell the faint hint of mint on Patrice's breath before dipping his head to nip at her bottom lip with his teeth. She responded like he knew she would by making him work for his prize. Patrice never let him intimidate her. Not for their first time together all those years ago, certainly not now. 

He chuckled before leaning in again, this time leaving a trail of short kisses from her jaw to her clavicle. He inhaled deeply, breathing in vanilla and the subtle spice of his cologne from moments earlier.

Suddenly, Patrice felt weightless. Her feet dangled briefly and without warning as Terry took her from standing to sitting on the cold, hard counter before she could protest. 

Patrice fought for stability, using the peaks and valleys across the expanse of his muscled arms as her anchor in the dizzying experience that was his affection. Her lips parted to draw in sharp breaths and release airy sighs of approval in a feeble attempt to remain present. At the same time, he kissed his appreciation wherever his lips saw fit. Her legs acted under their own power to spread wider and make room for whatever came next. 

Her hands left a trail of tingles as she dragged them from his arms to the back of his head, down the sides of his face, over his tank top, between his pecs, and, finally, into the waistband of his shorts. 

Surprised by her touch, he lurched forward to grab her wrist. "Not this time," he whispered, unsure he meant what he was saying. 

Patrice nodded in understanding, earning a sloppy kiss for her obedience. 

There was no discerning where his mouth ended, and hers began. They were on one accord, hungrily tasting, exploring, and consuming each other without holding back. 

Then, the low hum returned. This time, it was closer than Patrice remembered. 

Cold silicone soon caressed her inner thigh. A low whimper escaped past her lips as she made eye contact with Terry. He leaned close enough to speak against her mouth. 

"You trust me?" 

"Mhmm," she answered, fighting to keep her eyes open as he moved further up her leg. 

"Let me take care of you, then. Take these off for me." 

Trembling fingers latched onto her boyshorts, pushing them to mid-thigh for Terry to take care of the rest. As quickly as he was gone, he'd returned for another taste of her tongue. Languid and unhurried, he used the time to relax her while slowly inching the vibrator to her center. 

Initial contact made her hips buck forward, and her head softly hit the mirror behind her. Terry chased her with sloppy kisses at the base of her neck. 

The slow and steady setting was enough to get her wet and sticky. Terry'd be lying if he said the thought alone didn't have him wanting to renege on his early statement and dive in with reckless abandon. But, he remained steadfast in his pursuit of her pleasure. 

Once the initial shock had worn off, Patrice ground her hips slowly, making small circles while the vibration worked to settle her nerves. Terry took a break from leaving praises in the form of kisses on her throat to smile at his girl. 

"You're beautiful. You know that?"

She gripped his chin and pulled him closer for a fiery kiss that he let her lead. "Yeah. But, I love to hear you say it." 

"Good," he answered, grinning at her confidence as he upped the intensity on her vibrator. Her eyes clamped shut as her entire body tensed. "Stay with me." 

A deep, steadying breath turned into a silent scream as Patrice gave in to the natural urge to hold her breath. Terry used his free hand to sneak up her tank top and grope one breast while pressing his lips to her ear. 

"Breathe, baby. In and out." He modeled the behavior until she found the strength to match his tempo. "There you go. You feel good?" 

"Yes, yes," she whisper-chanted to the ceiling, her head thrown back in unimaginable euphoria. 

"I want you to feel this good every day. You deserve it, right?" 

A twisting, turning feeling at the pit of her stomach forced her to draw in a deep breath to steady herself. Her answer came in a soft moan. "Right." 

"Damn right." Pressing his forehead to hers, he zeroed in on each of her features twisted in unthinkable pleasure. 

She kept her mouth open to sigh and moan as she saw fit. Her nostrils flared in a rhythm as she tried to force herself to breathe through every peak and valley of the moment. Her brows were knitted, and her eyes closed as if she were too afraid to look at him. He wondered what she was thinking. 

Did she want him inside of her as much as he wanted the same for himself? Was she yearning for more pressure? Could she feel how much he loved her?

"Don't get quiet on me. I want everything. Let 'em hear you. You need more?" 

A quick glance down helped him reposition the vibrator on her already sensitive bud, earning a guttural curse as appreciation for his good deed. 

"Fuck! Don't move. Please don't move." 

Terry obliged for the moment, too entranced by his view of her flower on full display for his viewing pleasure. Glistening. Wet. Beautiful. Appetizing like nothing he'd ever seen before. He pulled the toy away and replaced its presence with his thumb. Slow circles and firm pressure made her want to close her legs to escape the overwhelming stimulation, but her attempt was futile. She was at his mercy. 

"Damn," he whispered to himself, enamored by the way her body reacted to his touch. 

Every revolution around her clit brought with it more wetness at her entrance and indentations in his arms from her nails gripping for dear life. 

It wasn't enough to touch her. He needed to taste. 

Using his middle and ring fingers, he teased his introduction with gentle brushes against her inner lips. She keened for more against his mouth as she held his face close. He granted her wish and pushed into her slowly, immediately feeling her warmth envelop his long digits. 

Their mouths hung open, breaths being traded between the two as he set a slow pace. Not enough to bring forth a release. Just enough for Terry to get what he came for. 

Removing his fingers left him with a coating of clear arousal nearly dripping to his knuckles. Patrice watched him as he smirked at the sight, examining it like a jeweler appraising precious diamonds. 

When he'd seen enough, he put both fingers into his mouth and closed his eyes to savor the taste. Patrice's mouth hung open as if waiting for her turn to experience the wonders of her juices. 

Had she closed her eyes for even a second, she would have missed Terry extending his tongue from his mouth to allow a mixture of his saliva and her essence the chance to slide from his tongue in anticipation of a new host. 

Something profound and hungry within her made her lean her head back and hold her tongue out to receive all that he had to give. It excited her, delighted her, and aroused her like never before.

Like a lewd work of art, spit connected their tongues in what would otherwise be seen as an infraction among more proper circles. But fuckin' wasn't proper, and all forms of affection were welcomed in their home. 

Almost immediately, Terry rushed to reward her with a wild and frenzied kiss that nearly surprised him. 

Primal. Carnal. Intense. Fucking disgusting. He loved every minute of it.

The race was on. Terry kept their lips connected as he returned the vibrator to her clit, dialing up the settings to a level below their max. 

Patrice's moans and his couldn't be distinguished from one another. Her hips bucked wildly. Her fingernails left marks in their wake as they scratched at his arms and back. Her body twitched and seized in anticipation of the inevitable. 

"Oh my - fuck!" Satisfied tears slid from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks to her man's awaiting lips. "Terrence!" 

Terry remained locked in. A man possessed. A one-track mind focused on nothing other than completing the mission. 

The first stage of her orgasm came without a warning. Heat washed over her as if she'd stepped outside at high noon, making her skin almost unbearable to live in. Her toes curled, her voice caught in her throat despite the intense desire to release a scream from the depths of her soul into the atmosphere. 

She thanked Terry and God in Heaven for blessing her with the opportunity to touch the moon and the stars without ever leaving her home. Terry used his free hand to grip and massage her thighs, knowing that the best was yet to come. 

Patrice's voice began to climb as the main event approached. Shallow breaths gave way to loud gasps for air, which came rapidly while she did the same. She was suspended in a beautiful bliss and already sad about the prospect of coming down. 

Her lover reveled in the opportunity to see her unraveling at the seams. 

"I'll always come back to you, beautiful. No matter what, okay? Look at me." His request earned intense focus from Patrice under hooded eyes. "You're so pretty. Say it back to me. Tell me you're pretty."

"I'm so pretty!" Impending release sent all her words out in one breathless sentence. 

He smiled at her compliance. "I know you're close. Hold my hand."

Her fingers scrambled against the counter, filling the spaces between his fingers and gripping with enough force to turn her knuckles a lighter shade of brown. 

"That's my girl. I love you," was all he could manage before Patrice let out something akin to a squeal, turning his declaration into background fodder. 

Sensitive, overstimulated, and completely spent, the after-effects of her release had her panting to recover. Her ears rang with a heady feeling that could only be compared to a few puffs of homegrown bud. 

Terry held her through it all, propping her up while her body sagged against him for stability. He put aside the vibrator to run his palms up and down her legs while he showered her temple with whispered praises and sweet kisses. 

He waited until her breathing was even before gingerly pressing his forehead to hers. "You good?" 

His smirk was incredibly smug. He was proud of himself, and for good reason. She was open to giving credit where credit was due. 

"You can never leave this house without me again. I hope you're happy." 

"That's the whole point. My granny taught me some things during them summers down in New Orleans, you know?" 

"Oh, so this is some magic shit?" 

"Family business, baby. Gotta have the last name to find out." A playful glint in his eyes and a squeeze to her waist made Patrice's stomach feel butterflies that she thought would never return. Terry tapped her nose with his index finger and stepped back. "Stay put. I'll clean you up." 

Patrice scoffed. Stay put. As if she could go anywhere. As if she wanted to go anywhere.

Like the perfect gentleman, Terry was tender with his care. A warm towel to soothe sore muscles and ensure a thorough cleanup was mandatory. The extra loving was complimentary for only his favorite lady. 

"Stay with me tonight," Patrice requested as he slid her panties back up her legs. 

He shook his head and smiled while prompting her to lift her hips. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Treecey." 

"I just wanna be next to you. Nothing more." 

Terry regarded her doe-eyed plea with a small smile as he helped her off the counter. He pulled her into an embrace, fiending for one more kiss. She obliged happily until he'd had his fill. 

His hands slid from her sides to her ass for a generous squeeze before answering. 

"Okay. Whatever you want. Let me handle something real quick, and then I'll meet you there." 

Patrice accepted her victory with a silly happy dance before turning to make enough room in her bed for an extra person. Terry sent her on her way with a light tap to her ass, amused by how something as simple as sleeping next to each other was exciting for her. 

Once she was safely out of the bathroom with the door shut behind her, he finally found time to take a deep breath and compose himself. The actual test of his strength was in the next room, and he couldn't risk the trust he'd worked so hard to build. 

After adjusting his shorts, he picked up his phone and sat on the toilet lid, hoping that watching dog videos or Nationals highlights would clear his mind.

He had every intention of opening the web browser on his phone until he noticed a series of messages from an old friend.

From: McBride 

You check your mail? 

Trial against chief starts in two weeks. Gonna need you to testify to take him down

Know you said you weren’t coming back

Do it for Mike

---

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @deja-r

[watermelonlovershigh]

A Trip to the ER {part. 16} (housemate!harry series)

Aftercare {part. 15} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

AN: this took me so long to write. one because i didn't even know what to write for this chapter for a while until one day this idea came to me and i thought it would be a perfect filler chapter between all the smutty chapters. i hope you enjoy. make sure to leave your feedback and feel free to send in your ideas.

This story contains: mentions of sex (sexual acts), crying, distress, comfort, vulnerability, mentions of vomit, mild angst, fluff

{ housemate!harry - boyfriendrry - soft!harry - teacher!harry - au!harry }

word count- 3,118

You accidently fall in the shower and end up breaking your foot, which results in Harry having to leave work early and come home to help you get ready for a trip to the ER.

This was not how you envisioned your week going. It was supposed to be the week you went on a date with Harry and he makes you wear those vibrating panties you purchased on Amazon. Teasing and edging you all night until you get home where he can fuck you senseless. But that all changed when you had an accident that landed you in the emergency room.

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

It's Monday morning, and you ultimately decided to leave the comfort of your bed. Harry left for work roughly an hour earlier, and you needed to get up to start the work you do from your laptop. However, after the activities you and Harry did the night before, the idea of a shower was quite inviting first and foremost.

While your shower was heating up, you stand at the sink and brush your teeth. Once your mouth is feeling and smelling fresh, you hop in the shower and begin your normal shower routine. Everything's going smoothly until your foot slips on a glob of shampoo you dropped a minute prior, causing your whole body to fall down.

Immediately, you feel a sharp pain radiating from your ankle to your toes on your right foot. Tears well up in your eyes as you attempt to stand, only to realize that's impossible for you to do. You can't put any weight on your foot. Great, you've likely fractured your foot, and in the shower, no less. How embarrassing.

Sitting on the shower floor, you're overwhelmed with pain and tears, praying that the next seven hours will not stretch on until Harry returns. As you look to your left, just outside the shower curtain, you notice your phone lying on the closed toilet seat. A sense of gratitude fills you. Your phone is conveniently within reach. Once you turn off the shower, you gather your strength to stretch your arm out and grasp your phone.

With wet hands and tear stricken cheeks, you dial Harry's number. You truly hate to bother him at work but this is sort of an emergency. It rings approximately three times before you hear a quiet, "Hello." You're sure if he wasn't in class he would have said 'hello baby', but opted not to say that in front of his students.

"Harry," you cry helplessly over the phone, "I..... I'm sorry.... to bother..... you. But, but, I fell.....in the shower and, and my foot. I think it's broke. It hurts so bad." As soon as Harry hears the real distress in your voice, he steps out in the hallway to have more privacy.

"Baby, slow down f'me. You fell in the shower?"

You nod but realize he can't see you, so you mutter in a weak voice, "Yeah."

With his phone to his ear, Harry reassures you in the most calming voice he can muster in this moment of internal panic for your wellbeing, "S' gonna be okay, baby. Gimme twenty minutes and I'll be home. Think you'll be okay until I get there? If not, you should call 999 f'me."

Still crying, you answer back, "I'll....I'll wait for you. It just hurrrts."

"I know, baby. I'll be there as soon as possible."

The call ends and Harry steps inside his classroom to tell his students, "Class, v' got to run to the office for a second, be on your best behavior, alright." All twenty-five students nod their heads and continue on with their worksheets. Harry books it down the hall until he reaches the schools office.

"Mr. Styles, everything alright?" the older secretary asks as a frantic Harry bursts through the double doors.

"Um, actually, is there anyone who can watch my class for the rest of the day? M' girlfriend is in a bit of an emergency and I need to leave school."

The secretary gives Harry an apologetic look and assures, "I'm sure we can find someone. Go gather your things and I'll send someone down to your classroom."

With relief, Harry replies, "Thank you so much, Mrs. Mabel." He marches back down to his classroom and once inside, hurries to pack all of his things that he normally takes home each day.

"Mr. Styles," one of Harry's students begin curiously, "you're leaving?"

Taking a brief pause, he raises his gaze to address the class, explaining the situation. "M' girlfriend is experiencing an emergency, and I need to leave for the rest of the day. A staff member will be comin' to supervise you until school ends. I expect you all to behave appropriately in their presence, understood?" The students nod in acknowledgment, though some show their disappointment at the fact he has a girlfriend. Like their prepubescent selves had a chance with their hot, much older teacher anyways. He rarely talks about his private life with them because they are still very much kids, so it's understandable that they didn't even know he has a girlfriend.

As Harry steps out the classroom with his satchel slung over his shoulder and an empty coffee cup in hand, a member of office staff arrives to take over the class for the day. He hurriedly approaches his car, and the moment he's inside and starts the engine, he speeds off in the direction of his home. The knowledge that you're suffering alone fills his stomach with nausea and his chest with worry.

He manages to reach home in half the time it typically requires, clearly driving above the speed limit. When he nears his street, Harry calls you to notify you that he's almost there. "Harry......" he hears you cry through the phone and it's breaking his heart.

"M' here, m'love. Pullin' in our driveway now."

With a voice hoarse from your sobbing, you manage to whisper a quiet, "Okay," before hanging up the phone. Just then, the front door opens and you hear hurried footsteps making their way to the bathroom where you are. Harry, not pausing to knock as he occasionally would out of respect, enters without hesitation to assist you. The moment you catch sight of your boyfriend, you're engulfed by another surge of tears—tears of relief that he's actually here, tears of embarrassment over this entire ordeal, and tears resulting from the actual pain in your foot.

As soon as Harry catches sight of you, his eyes become misty with his own tears. He's pained to see you in such distress. He rushes over to the tub to see exactly the situation he's dealing with. He first notices you're soaked, likely due to your inability to grab your towel, and unclothed, clearly from your recent shower. He takes your towel that's hanging up beside the shower and kneels down beside you. "Shhh, everythin' will be alright. M' gonna take you to hospital. You'll be okay."

He drapes the towel over your shoulders to provide you with warmth and then rises to his feet while lifting you. Harry gently scoops you up in his arms bridal style before placing you on the closed toilet seat. "It hurts, ouch, ouch," you cry when your foot lightly touches the floor.

Once you're comfortably seated on the toilet, Harry initiates the drying process to prepare you for clothes. He positions himself beside you and gently runs a towel through your dripping hair. Luckily, you had rinsed all the soap out prior to your fall. He then kneels down in front of you and continues to dry your body. When he reaches your injured foot, he opts to not drying it, recognizing that it will air dry on its own, eventually. The swelling in your foot is quite pronounced, indicating how serious your fall was, which encourages him to move quickly in getting you the help you require.

"Alright, all dry. Do you want me to carry you to your bedroom to get dressed? Or do you want me to bring your clothes in here?"

You respond softly, "In here." Following your words, Harry steps away to fetch you a set of clothes, leaving you feeling particularly exposed while seated on the closed toilet. Although you're aware that Harry's your boyfriend now and you've witnessed his vulnerability on numerous occasions throughout your relationship, even recalling a time when he saw you in a vulnerable state before you became an official couple, when your period caused you such distress. However, him coming to your aid while you're naked after injuring your foot in the shower is quite embarrassing at present, though you're certain that in the years to come, you'll find humor in this incident.

A minute later, a distressed Harry comes in with clothes for you to wear. He places them by the sink and reaches for your bra first, but you stop him. "No bra, we're just going to the hospital. Plus, I'm already in pain and I don't want to add to that."

"Understood, no bra then." He hangs your bra on the hook located behind the bathroom door for your convenience the next time it's needed, and then retrieves your shirt. This shirt is one of his t-shirts that you've made your own. Despite the urgency of getting you to the hospital, he takes his time to assist you in dressing. With care, Harry places the shirt over your head and helps you maneuver your arms through the sleeves. He then kneels down to pull your panties up your legs until they're positioned mid-thigh. He selected a pair of shorts, believing they would be the most practical choice for your injured foot, and you appreciate his thoughtful approach.

Harry attentively helps you rise on your good foot, taking hold of the waistbands of your underwear and shorts to pull them up until they provide full coverage over your bottom. Him doing this evokes the feeling of being a small child that's having help getting dressed by a parent. Once you're seated again and fully dressed, minus shoes, Harry verifies that he has his keys and both of your phones in his pockets before lifting you into his arms once more to carry you to his car. As he exits the bathroom, he ensures that your potentially broken foot doesn't strike the doorframe.

Right as Harry steps outside with you cradled in his hold, your arms looped around his neck, you moan, "I feel sick."

Harry stops dead in his tracks to question, "Are you gonna throw up?" If you were, he'd much prefer you to puke outside in the grass before you got in his car.

"I don't knowww. It just really hurts, H.... The pain is making me nauseous." He chooses to help you into his vehicle anyways, ensuring that your injured foot remains undisturbed as he helps fasten your seatbelt. He then hurries to the driver's seat to begin the journey.

Before departing for the hospital though, Harry opens the glove compartment and retrieves a hospital-grade vomit bag, commonly referred to as an emesis bag. Due to his previous experiences with motion sickness and passengers with motion sickness, as well as drunk friends, he keeps a supply of these bags for emergency situations.

Harry hands you the blue barf bag and says softly, "If you feel like you're gonna be sick, use this alright." You take it from him and he speeds off in the direction of the closest hospital.

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

Thankfully, you reach the hospital without getting sick, despite feeling queasy during the entire trip due to the pain in your foot. Harry parks the car near the emergency entrance and swiftly enters the building to obtain a wheelchair. He emerges quickly with the wheelchair and goes around his vehicle to opens your door, followed by helping you sit inside the wheelchair and pushes you towards the entrance.

Upon entering the Emergency Room, Harry approaches the receptionist and explains your circumstances. She provides him with the necessary paperwork and informs him of the estimated waiting time. Fortunately, the wait is shorter than you anticipated it would be for an ER to have.

Because you're in a considerable amount of pain and unable to concentrate, Harry takes the initiative to fill out the papers himself, although he does ask you a few questions that he's not 100% certain on. You just sit beside him in your wheelchair, clutching the emesis bag, trying not to get sick in front of the few people also sat and waiting to be seen for their injuries and illnesses.

After completing and submitting the required paperwork, you find yourself waiting for an agonizing forty-five minutes until a nurse calls you into room number four. Harry helps by pushing your wheelchair into the room, where the nurse begins to take your vitals and poses relevant questions to determine the cause of your injury. "I observe that your foot seems to be a bit swollen. Can you tell me how you injured it today?"

Breathing deeply through the pain, you respond, "I was... taking a shower. I must have slipped on some shampoo that had collected on the tub floor. I didn't hear a crack or anything, but the pain is unbearable. I think it's broken. I can't apply any weight to it."

The nurse listens closely before glancing up at Harry. "And you are?" she directs at him.

"Oh, um, m' Harry. Y/n's boyfriend. We also live together. But um, I was at work when this happened. She called me at the school where I teach, and was cryin' and distraught, tellin' me she fell in the shower and asked me to come home. Which, of course I did. Then helped her change and brought her here."

"Okay, well let's get some x-rays of your foot and from there we'll determine what needs to be done next."

You and Harry spend an additional ten minutes in room four of the emergency room before the nurse arrives back to escort you to the radiology department for an x-ray of your foot. The entire time, Harry remains by your side. It's evident that he's making an effort to appear strong for your benefit, yet it's clear that he's quite shaken up by the situation. His reaction is entirely reasonable; if you were to receive a call from Harry saying he had been involved in an accident, regardless of its severity, you would likely feel just as distressed, if not more so.

Once you finish getting the x-ray, you're placed back in room four to wait for an actual doctor to show up with the x-ray's results. "Harry, why aren't the going faster? We've been here forever. I'm in so much pain!" you groan with your head leaning on Harry's shoulders as he stands beside the tall bed that's wrapped in white paper, which you're currently laying on.

"I know, baby. M' sure they're goin' as fast as they can. There's a lot of people with emergencies in London." You whine at his words because they don't make you feel any better. Luckily, the next thing you know, a doctor knocks on the door and steps inside with photocopies of the x-rays of your foot.

"Ah, Ms, Y/L/N, how are we today?" Dr. Smitts questions as he comes in the room cheerfully.

Giving him a moody look, you rebuttal, "I'm in the emergency room. How do you think my day's going?!? Just tell me if my foot is broken or not!" Dr. Smitts and even Harry are taken back by your biting tone, though they both understand you're in tons of pain, which explains your sour mood.

"Alright, Ms. Y/L/N, from looking at your x-rays today, it looks like you did fracture your fifth metatarsal bone. The good news is, it looks to be a clean break, so no surgery is needed. The bad news is, you'll need to wear a cast for six to eight weeks for it to heal correctly."

Although you're unhappy about the prospect of wearing a cast for two months, you're grateful to have received a clear diagnosis of your injury. The doctor takes you to another room, where he carefully places the cast on, with Harry present for support of course. You select a black cast to ensure it wouldn't draw too much attention.

When the cast is secured around your foot and lower leg, the doctor prescribes you pain medication for the first few days to help manage your discomfort. He makes sure to ask if there's any history of addiction in your family, to which you reply with, "No." Nonetheless, he cautions you to use the medication sparingly and only when absolutely necessary.

(^ photo not mine!!)

The hospital provides you with a set of crutches, yet allows you to use a wheelchair until you reach Harry's vehicle. Harry assists you in getting inside, carefully positioning the crutches on the back seat, and then proceeds to drive to the pharmacy to collect your medication.

On the drive to the pharmacy, you speak up, "This sucks! How am I gonna do anything for myself. Oh God, even worse, how are we gonna have sex."

Harry glances over to see you actually have tears in your eyes and laughs. "Y/n, you just broke your foot and your first thought is how we're gonna have sex?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I'm sure I'll still get horny but you won't be able to fuck me with the ginormous cast on my foot and leg. Oh my God, what are we gonna do. I guess I can always use one of my vibrators to rub one out. Or..."

Harry interrupts you, "There's still options, baby. I can always finger you. Or eat you out. I love doin' that for you. We don't always have to have intercourse to be intimate."

Looking over as he drives, you fight back, "Yeah, but what about you? You'll get hard sometimes and.... and, we won't be able to have sex."

"Y/n, you didn't break your hand or your mouth did you?" His words shut you up real quick, realizing he's right. You could always use your hands or mouth to pleasure him while your foot is healing.

The remainder of the car ride is silent, besides your low groans from the pain that's still present. When you arrive at the pharmacy, Harry goes inside to pick up your prescription and purchases you a bottle of water so you can take a pill in the car.

Upon his return to the vehicle, you swiftly open the bottle of pills, extract one, and place it in your mouth, hoping to alleviate your pain, even if only temporarily. As Harry drives back home, your thoughts are consumed by your exhaustion of today's events and the apprehension you feel regarding the recovery period for your foot.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(if you want to be apart of my new tag list, let me know right here !! )

tag list: @swiftmendeshoran // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @hsonlyangelxo // @lunabai // @ppleasingg // @harryscherrysugar

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

[pressplay-if]

I saw that the single mum route is the less angsty when it comes to family stuff. Which is lovely. However, it reminded me of something I was thinking the other day. I was trying to figure out what kind of depressive thoughts my MC may have (as I'm still deciding if he'll have depression or social anxiety). And since I always pick the single mother route (I love the idea of MC being the poor friend of the band), I got some ideas.

Basically, I guess my MC would feel a lot of guilt. He knows that his mother is busy with so much work not out of being a workaholic, but by need. Need that is significantly exacerbated by MC's existence. I do imagine a young MC especially feeling guilty and as a burden to their mum, since the poor woman has to raise them and work full time.

This is further increased as the years come by and MC decides to dedicate their lives to a band. A high reward but high risk kind of job. My MC could easily fail to achieve any major success. And then what? It's very easy to feel guilt. Maybe he should have tried to find a more stable job? Something to help his mother so she can lower her workload significantly?

Then again, I am sure my MC's mother would prefer MC to go after his dreams. So, I imagine, MC is also in a weird position where he also would feel guilt if he didn't pursue the music life. Because he is sure his mother would know, and she would feel bad. His mother could easily blame herself that her child is leaving their dream behind. And my MC couldn't bear such idea. So, he is stuck in a weird limbo.

Of course this may be just me overthinking. But it could be some kind of ideas that my MC could fester on his mind as he grows up. Since it's very easy to go from guilt to be burden, to guilt about existing, and then to decide to remove himself from life as that would, in a way, "fix the problem" (which is not true, of course, since suicide doesn't fix things).

Well, I'll stop rambling. This is perhaps a bit of a downer, so I understand if you prefer to ignore it. In any case this basically comes from me thinking a lot about my MC and this IF.

Why would I ignore it I love long asks. Although it does make me think that perhaps (given the current state of the hospitalization interlude) MC may need more options to describe their depressive thoughts. Bc in the interlude, it's all mostly symptom-based, and there's more screentime to MC getting better than MC experiencing the depression. This is partly for the sake of brevity (I'm worried about the interlude getting to long, given it's just another flashback basically, albeit a really important one). But the MC CAN in fact say they felt like a burden to their single mother in a later decision (not chapter 2, it's when they move out).

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

On Rotting Planks

Part Six of The Pirate!AU. MDNI 18+, CW: some crass language, blood, death, and remnants of the smut from the last chapter. (We finally get back to sea!) ~3.5k words

The rest of the night passes as a blur of whispers and in bursts of stars. Jason doesn't let you rest until the candles have long since burned to the wicks, leaving nothing but stumps of wax.

Your bath was seemingly good for nothing, as he covers your skin in sloppy kisses, makes your body shine with sweat, leaves your thighs, and the bed covered in a mix of his and your releases. You try to lose yourself in him, in desperation.

But it's hard to ignore what's between you when his steady, gentle hands tighten around your thighs. When he crawls up your body to settle his hips against yours.

When he tells you he knows you wanted to get caught. That a city only a day and a half ride from the nearest port could have never really hid you from him for long.

You rake your nails over his back, catching scars, in an almost desperate attempt to get him to stop talking. He doesn't, not until his voice is raw with words of devotion and love and heavy feelings you don't know how to hold in your heart.

He doesn't fuck you into the sheets. He does something you would argue worse. He makes love to you. Over and over until your brain is mush and all that exists is him and the idea that he loves you.

Only then does he kiss your eyelids and entwine your limbs together. Only then does he let you sleep.

You don't wake until sunlight bathes the room in a warm, golden glow of dawn. Your husband snores softly, arm thrown over your waist. His face is relaxed, and he looks so much like he did back when you were first married, hair falling into his eyes and lips slightly parted.

The thought drives you out of bed, almost stumbling over yourself to get dressed. You're lacing your shoes and tugging on your cloak when Jason calls your name.

Your head whips towards him, but he doesn't seem bothered to see you dressed.

He lounges lazily on the bed, eyes half open, "You should wear the pin, treasure."

You hesitate, but it's a simple request. So, you pull the silver rose out of the pocket of your cloak, and fasten it to your hair. You leave the room without another word. You're confused that he lets you do this, that he doesn't offer any sign of resistance.

At least you are until you get to the exit of the inn and an arm drapes itself over your shoulder, "Going somewhere, Sweetheart?"

You shouldn't be as excited to see Roy Harper as you are. You hadn't realized you'd missed his easy-going smile so much, that it almost distracts you from the fact that he's guiding you away from the door and to one of the tables scattered around the inn.

"Harper," You breathe out, eyes darting for the rest of the crew, "I was only– I was going to look for an apothecary." It's the truth, you weren't planning on going far. You had only wanted something to prevent any accidents that may befall from last night.

His hands settle on your shoulders as he guides you to sit down in a chair, the rest of Jason's crew smiling and continuing their conversations without missing a beat.

"No need to worry about that. Just get comfortable, I'll get you your favorite for breakfast," Roy chirps, not acknowledging your attempt to leave at all. You stare after him as he saunters off.

It's disorienting, how they're acting, including you like this is an everyday occurrence. It's like your months away from them never happened. That it's just another morning enjoying food that's not from the ship's galley.

You've hardly gotten to center yourself when the inn falls to hushed whispers. Your eyes trail to stairs as Jason swaggers down into the dining area. He grins when his eyes land on you.

It's not the sight of his fabled dark red tricorn hat that makes your breath catch. It's not even the way his long overcoat seems to sweep across the room that pulls the air from your lungs.

No, it's the sight of red and purple marks bitten into his skin that makes your eyes go wide and your face feel hot. He didn't even attempt to try to hide them. If anything, he looks smug as he settles in the seat next to yours, resting his arm on the back of your hair.

"Jason, your neck," You hiss immediately, looking between his crew and him. They seem to be pointedly ignoring the telltale signs of you mauling their captain last night.

He seems to just grin wider at your embarrassment, "My love, I'd let you leave all the marks you desired on my skin, just so that I may carry you with me."

You laugh, out of pure disbelief, "You cannot be serious."

"It's a pleasure to hear you laugh, treasure, even better to be the cause of it," he says happily and seemingly more interested in playing with the threads of your cloak.

Roy sets down a large tray of food in front of you both before you can argue further, "Eat up, we best be leaving soon if we want to make port before noon."

He's followed by a few staff members, who place more food down around the table.

Jason haphazardly tosses a pouch of coins to the staff, and pushes a tray closer to you, "Enjoy, love."

The crew dig in, and the atmosphere of the inn relaxes for the first time since Jason appeared on the stairs. You eat slowly, too wrapped up in how easy it is to fall back into a rhythm with them.

Teasing, tales, and laughter sound around the table, and Jason's relaxed grin grows with every time you crack a smile at his crew.

You're so distracted by one of Kori's stories that you don't notice how you've fallen into step with the crew as Jason guides you towards the stables. It's not until he offers his hand to help you into your horse that you stop short.

"I wanted– I was supposed to stop somewhere," You start, trying to avoid the reason why you want to stop at the apothecary.

"All the necessities you could need are on the ship, treasure," he drawls, lifting you by your waist despite your protest, "and anything you desire we can find in the next port."

He doesn't give you a chance to argue more as he pulls himself onto his horse, and before you know it, you're on the road towards port, surrounded by Jason and crew.

They don't let you get too wrapped up in your mind, and you have a feeling it's to prevent you from planning any escapes. You're not sure how you could even escape from them, if you wanted to.

Donna has just left you in a fit of giggles, recalling how Jason had reduced a well renowned naval commander to a blubbering mess with just a point of his finger, (You're almost positive it's more fiction than fact) when the smell of the sea and the sounds of the city reach you.

The clear blue of the ocean fills your vision as your traveling party crests the hill. It feels like your heart gets tugged in your chest. You hadn't realized how much you missed the water. How much it had felt like home.

"Beautiful," Jason murmurs, as if it's only for you to hear. You turn to face him, but his gaze is already set on you. He holds your eyes for a long moment, then slowly turns to face the ocean.

You exhale shakily as you follow his lead into the city. He always seems to find a way to make your head spin.

The people mulling about the city have the same hushed awe as the patrons of the inn did. Jason– The Red Hood and his crew of Outlaws are well-known, respected, and feared.

Just the sight of his signature red leaves the crowds parting, leaving a clear route to the docks.

The closer you get to his ship the more eager he seems, you catch him drumming his fingers over the pommel of his sword, and he's off his horse as soon as you get to the docks.

"My horse," You start to ask, swinging your leg to lower yourself to the ground.

"Will be well taken care of by people we trust," he promises, threading his hand with yours to pull you towards the ship.

You let him, but it feels like your world is closing in on you. Your throat tightens, and you come to the stark realization that this is it. There's no way out, nowhere to hide.

Jason leads you right to the familiar sight of his ship, and you stop short when his boot hits the plank. You rip your hand from his, and his head snaps to you.

"I can't," You choke out, hating the panic that catches your voice.

He stares at you for a moment. It only makes your heart pound harder. He reaches for you, and you instinctively squeeze your eyes shut.

You wonder vaguely if he'll haul you over his shoulder again, the same way he dragged you from Gotham to the sea.

He doesn't.

He takes your hand gently and lifts it to his mouth, pressing a slow kiss to your knuckles.

You open your eyes in time to watch him reach into your cloak pocket and remove the shiny ring you've been keeping alongside the hair pins.

You freeze when he slides it onto your finger. "Treasure," he says quietly, "there is nothing to fear from me. From my crew. From my ship. It is yours as much as it is mine."

You are scared. You just don't think he understands of what. It's the fear that it could be perfect again. That it's so easy to believe in him and the family he's found for himself. It's the fear to trust in your marriage– in him again, only for it to all be ripped from you.

You don't know how to tell him, how to make him understand. So you follow his measured steps up the plank, and before you know it, he's shouting orders to haul in the lines, to cast off the dock, and drop the sails.

You stand at the railing the entire time, grip tight around the edge of the ship.

It rotates, who stands watch at your side. But they hover so close that you're sure that they're expecting you to jump.

You have no intention of jumping, not that you don't think you could make the swim, but more that you don't think you'd get very far before someone followed you in.

You watch the port grow smaller and smaller. It feels like something is ending, but the salt, sea air that blows at your skin is almost soothing.

You're pulled out of your thoughts when Artemis presses a telescope in your hands, "We're being followed."

You blink once, then twice, "What?"

She gestures to the ship, flying the colors of the navy off the ship's stern, "They're hardly a danger. A few months ago, they wouldn't have dreamed of–," She cuts herself off, like she's trying to save you the guilt, "You'll be safer below deck."

"Or," Roy says happily, leaning onto the railing at your side, "You can stay and watch us work."

You frown, as far as you're aware, Jason's ship is the fastest on the seas, "Can't we out run them?"

"We could," Artemis agrees, "but the captain is intent on refreshing our enemies' memories."

Roy pats your arm, "He's not called a pirate lord for nothin', Sweetheart."

"That title is ridiculous," your husband mumbles, inserting himself between you and Roy so he can hook his arm around your hip.

"It's good for inspiring fear," Artemis supplies, and you have to agree. Before you know who Red Hood was, the idea of an unbeatable pirate lord did sound foreboding.

Jason hums reluctantly, watching the naval ship grow closer, "Take over the helm, Roy." He turns his focus to you, "I'll escort you to my quarters, treasure."

"I want to stay on deck," You say quickly.

He raises an eyebrow at you, "It could be bloody, my love."

"I know," You tell him, but if you're going to be a part of this, a part of his life, this is a piece you'll have to learn.

He studies you, then gestures to Roy, "Stay with him. Keep a weapon on you."

You nod quickly, and follow Roy to the helm of the ship.

Roy doesn't question you, doesn't push, just cracks lazy jokes as the navy ship gets closer, "Commodore Bullock's been after us for years. Thinks he can get his big promotion this way. I think he's lost more ships to us than the entire navy combined."

The knowledge is reassuring, even as the ship sails parallel to Jason's, even as they shout for him to surrender.

Jason offers the sailors a wicked grin, points his pistol, and shoots. Your eyes go wide when the feathers set in the commodores hat explode into bits and pieces.

You have to stifle your giggles at how red his face gets, how he gestures wildly to Jason. Your giggles fade when the sailors start to grab ropes and swing themselves to the deck of the pirate ship.

None of the crew seems half bothered, and Roy draws his sword with all the rush of someone who just woke up from a long, relaxing nap. He offers you a dagger, but you pull your own, one you keep hidden under your clothes.

He grins at you, and turns to the approaching men. It's almost embarrassing, how easily Jason and his crew disarms and takes down the sailors.

It's like dancing, how they evade slashes of swords and duck under wide swings. They laugh as they trip their opponents, shout to each other how many they've taken out, making bets and teasing without a care.

It's almost fun to watch, until you notice how the men seem to be converging on you and Roy.

You'll be the first to admit, your little training with a knife was months ago, and Ted focused more on showing you how to throw a solid punch.

Roy seems to notice this, too, and he sets himself closer to your side, trading his sword for bullets.

But you don't quite realize how much danger you're in until a sound of wood hitting the railing draws your attention. The Commodore himself walks across the creaking plank, sword drawn and smiles dark and gleeful.

"If it isn't the Captain's whore. Quite a pretty thing. I can see why he abandoned the sea for you" he says, eyes raking over your form.

Roy, for his part, does try to get between you and Bullock. It only takes a wave of the commodore's hand to send a group of men to keep him occupied.

For as sloppy as Bullock seems to be with a sword, his years of experience outweighs yours, and terror grips your throat when he knocks your knife out of your hand.

It all happened too fast. He raises his sword, swings for your chest, and all you see is red.

The dark, telltale red of Jason's coat. He stands steadfast between you and the sword, his fingers wrapped around the blade.

You don't know if you want to cry for yourself, or over the sight of blood dripping down his hand and onto the steel.

"It seems as though the seas have forgotten how I earned my name in my absence. But do not worry, commodore, I will remind you," Jason says lowly, voice flat and full of threats.

The atmosphere on the ship shifts. Any fun and lightheartedness disappears. Silence falls, and Bullock visibly pales, stuttering out nonsense and pleas for mercy. You could only imagine what he sees. How dark Jason's eyes must be.

The commodore tries to pull his sword free, but Jason doesn't budge. A few of the sailors rush to help their commander, and then your world goes dark. Fabric covers your eyes, a bandana thrown over your head, you think, and someone pulls you back.

"You shouldn't have to see this," they murmur, and a steady hand settles on your back. It's the only thing that keeps you tethered.

You might not see what happens. But you hear it. Smell it. Iron permeates in the air. Begging and screams fill space around you.

It's a massacre.

It's evident there's no fight that the sailors can put up. There's no sounds of metal on metal, only the tearing of flesh, the thumps of bodies hitting the wooden deck.

You stay still the entire time, fingers clenched into fists, and sight obscured by the fabric throwing over your head.

Eventually, the screams fade, and are replaced by the sounds of splashes in the water. They're throwing the bodies overboard, you realize.

"Sink their ship, Harper," Jason's low voice makes your head turn. You want to speak, but the words catch in your throat.

"Aye, captain," Roy answers, and the safety of the warm hand against your back leaves.

You lower your head to stare at what you can see, the familiar wood that makes the deck of the ship. And the tips of Jason's shoes, stained with drops of blood. That's not so familiar.

"Can you walk," he asks softly.

You nod, fingers twisting into the fabric of your clothes.

"I'm sorry, my love. I would carry you but," his voice trails off. You appreciate it. You think getting blood on you right now would send you spiraling.

He offers you his hand, carefully holding it out to where you can see it.

It's the hand he didn't use to catch the sword, you notice, and it's surprisingly clean of any blood. You take it, and he squeezes gently, as if he's trying to reassure you.

He carefully leads you away from the helm, off the deck, and to his quarters. He helps you sit at the edge of his bed, "I'll be right back, treasure."

You nearly laugh. You're back where it all started. You hear him rustling in the closet, and then hear a door open and close.

You tug the bandana off your head. The room is empty for the moment, and you start to fidget with the ring on your finger.

You're not alone for long, Jason returns freshly changed and not a drop of red on him.

"Are you hurt," he questions immediately, walking over to kneel at your feet.

You want to laugh again at how familiar this all is. You shake your head instead and reach for his hand, prepared to see a deep, nasty cut from when he caught the sword. You're ready to clean it, to bandage it, to apologize for being a poor fighter.

But when you lift his hand, there's only a fresh scar.

"What–" You breathe out, the shock of seeing his hand nearly completely healed, pulling you out of your dazed state.

He winces, "I wasn't– I haven't told you the whole truth. About what happened to me."

You drop his hand, hurt flashing across your features, "What?"

He starts slowly, avoiding your gaze, "I didn't know how to tell you. Back when– when I was captured, I died."

"Died," You echo, almost hollow.

He nods a little and looks up at you, "Died. The League, the people that brought me back– I don't understand it completely myself, but I– when I'm at sea, my injuries heal. No matter how major, no matter how small, wounds that should be deadly, simply turn to scars."

"What does that mean," You ask weakly.

"Nothing," he says firmly, "it means nothing. It only makes me a better captain. It only lets me protect you better."

You twist the ring in your finger faster. It makes your stomach churn. He jumped in front of you because he can't die on his ship. He threw his life around, risked everything, because there was no risk. Not for him.

You're almost relieved that he was never in any danger. But you can't shake the thought that maybe he wouldn't have done it if there were actually consequences. You know it's unfair, but the idea grows louder by the second.

"I'd like to be alone," You murmur.

His face hardens, like he can see exactly what conclusion you've come to on your face, "Treasure, whatever you're thinking–"

"Please," You don't mean to sound like you're begging, but it slips out nonetheless.

He falters, stares at you, then slowly stands, "Very well, darling. I'll send Kori to check on you."

He hesitates for a moment longer, and then he leaves.

A part of you wants to break down. A part of you wants to cry the same way you did on that wagon. But you don't.

You stare out the porthole, stare at the ring sparking on your finger. Cannons begin to fire, and you watch as the commodores ship begins to sink. And for the first time in a long time, you don't have a plan.

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

hello :D i'm so in love with your writing i actually came up with a request for the first ever time *ever* since i joined like 5 years ago lmao

-reader gets into trouble with the chain for self endangering, reckless behavior, reprimanding/arguing ensues, maybe with reader not valuing themselves all that highly in comparison to the others? preferably with some rather rough lovin' as an escalation, just to get it through reader's thick skull that they're wanted and important

-i'd love to see Time, Warriors or Sky with this, but if you think someone else fits better that's perfectly reasonable too

-feel free to switch up any details you can't really work around (but no degradation please)

Absolutely!! I love this idea so much, so thank you for gracing me with it! I was also really inspired by this ask so it's going to be about 3-4 chapters long <3

The Bluest Eyes

Pairing: Warriors x Reader

Warning(s): A whole lot of smut and a few scenes of Reader suffering from PTSD. Reader is requested to be female.

Notes: Set in the same AU as Burning Love, where Reader is a retired war medic from Warriors' Hyrule. Also, a "night rail" is a type of nightgown :)

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"Get down right now!" Hyrule's shout rang through the clearing, unusually annoyed for the typically patient traveler. Warriors lifted his head, blanching when he caught sight of you sitting atop the thick branches of one of the nearby trees, feet swinging down as you yelled back. 

"No! Go heal Wind!"

"Wind has a scrape on his arm," the traveler stressed, gesturing to the snoozing hero as the others began to gather under the tree, expressions ranging from concerned to downright shocked. "You've been stabbed, (Y/n)."

"I'm fucking fine," you hissed back as blood dripped onto the ground from the wound in your shoulder, and Warriors was caught between terror at your condition to complete bafflement at how you managed to climb the tree in such a state. "Leave me alone!"

"Not until you let me heal you," Hyrule ground out with a stormy expression, hands twitching as if he intended to make you come down with sheer force of will alone. 

"(Y/n)," Time tried in a soft tone, ever the voice of reason. "Denying yourself care will only hurt you further."

"Then I'll be hurting and Wind will be alive," you snarled, snapping your legs up when Wild took a running jump for them. More blood splattered from your shoulder, staining the sleeve of your tunic beyond repair, and Warriors finally noticed the unaltered fear in your expression. 

You were afraid, and he had an idea why. Being a medic during the War of Eras, there was no doubt in Warriors' mind that you had seen terrible things–death, disease, perhaps even betrayal--and the way your eyes nervously shifted to study each of them only confirmed his theory. You were trying to sacrifice yourself for them, though he couldn't fathom why; they had more than enough health potions to go around, and Hyrule had hardly even used his magic when tending to Wind. 

There was no reason for you to be acting this way, yet he knew exactly what you were. There was a faraway gleam in your eyes, like you were looking at something that didn't exist anymore. 

Warrior's stomach churned as he couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since you felt truly safe. 

"(Y/n), please..." Legend's voice was uncharacteristically soft, eyes wide with worry, an expression they all shared. "It was only a lizalfos attack, no one else got hurt."

"He did," you spat, pointing to Wind, and Warriors couldn't take it anymore. 

"That's it, we're coming up."

You gasped as the captain took a running start, leaping up and just barely latching on to the branch below your feet. "Get down right now, you're going to hurt yourself!"

"We're just trying to help you," Sky took a less physical approach, moving to stand beneath the branch with a look of barely disguised regret. 

"I'm fine," you repeated in a weak voice, and Warriors knew he had to act fast. 

"You're bleeding out," he grunted as he heaved himself over the branch, ignoring the blood dripping down onto his scarf; it wasn't like he couldn't wash it later. 

"It's just blood," you said, and he could have laughed at how disappointed you looked in yourself when the words sunk in. 

"Just blood?" Warriors pulled himself onto the branch, settling next to you, hand reaching around your waist to stabilize your swaying form. Your hands valiantly tried to bat him away, but you were far too weak to do any real damage. 

"Please," his heart ached at the beginning of tears forming in the corner of your eyes. "Get down."

"Not without you," he countered quietly. 

"You're hurt," you whimpered, and it was as if all the air had been sucked from the space. Your gaze was worryingly unfocused as you turned your head to look at him, and Warriors could only imagine what you were seeing. "I can't heal you."

"I'm not hurt," he replied gently, not wanting to scare you even more than you already were. "It's all yours."

"Oh," you blinked slowly, as if you were struggling to comprehend his very words. "I'm sorry."

There was a knot in Warriors' throat. He tried to gulp it down, but it bounced back with more force than he expected. "Don't be sorry, just let Hyrule heal you."

Your gaze flicked slowly to the heroes waiting below, a protective glint in your slowly-focusing eyes. "...What about them?"

"They'll be okay," Warriors promised, and you nodded weakly, head lolling to the right to rest against his shoulder, pressing your wound to his chest with nary a hiss. 

"Okay," you whispered in the most broken tone he had heard from you. 

Warriors was sure he hadn't moved quicker in his life, carefully gathering your limp form in his arms and dropping back to solid ground. He remained silent as Hyrule dashed over, hands already glowing with green magic. 

"Lay her down," the traveler said in a wavering voice, and Warriors did as instructed, placing you on the ground as if one wrong move would shatter you, and it was then that he truly noticed the ashy pallor your face had taken on, eyes squeezed shut as Hyrule worked his magic above you. 

Slowly but surely, the exposed wound on your shoulder closed, your skin knitting together under the traveler's hands, leaving behind a wide rip in the blood-soaked sleeve of your tunic. The fitful expression on your face softened some, but he could still see the slight frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. 

Warriors' hand found your uninjured shoulder, shaking it softly as Wild plopped down beside you, face twisted with worry. "How are you feeling?"

There was no response, and his heart could have damn near stopped when he registered the tell-tale softness your breathing had taken on. Nearly shoving Hyrule aside, he pressed two fingers to the side of your neck, fearing the worst. 

"Is she dead?!" Four exclaimed in absolute, unadulterated horror, and the others began to murmur in fear. Warriors' pressed harder, motions unusually desperate as he fought to find a pulse. No, his mind whispered, a cacophony of dread as his fearful thoughts soared, cursing himself for not acting sooner. He shouldn't have waited, and now you were paying the price for his stupidity--

The very notion of time seemed to skid to a standstill when you wheezed suddenly, throat bobbing harshly against his prodding fingers. 

"She's alive!" Hyrule exclaimed in palpable relief, and the tension in the air began to dissipate. Warriors took several breaths to calm his racing heartbeat, removing his hand from your neck as you coughed, turning your head to the side, groaning softly. "Fuck," you said, and the captain was torn between crying and laughing. 

"Are you alright?" Sky was quick to help you into a sitting position. You winced, rubbing at your healed shoulder with your free hand. 

"Yeah," you mumbled, looking around with mounting apprehension. "...Where's Wind?"

"Here!" called the sailor, having just woken up from his nap, and you gave him an exhausted half-grin. 

"Good," you tried to stand, only to be pushed down by Hyrule. 

"Not a chance, (Y/n)," the traveler chided, obviously still shaken from your initial refusal of help. "You're staying right there."

"I'm okay--"

"No," Hyrule said in a tone that brokered no argument. "You are– you are going to sit there and get better, or Hylia help me I will tie you down until you do."

You opened your mouth to respond, but Warriors noted how quickly you reconsidered the idea when Hyrule fixed you with a dark glare, crossing his arms over his chest in a manner that screamed 'try me and die'. 

"...Fine," you relented, slumping backward, and the captain had a distinct urge to ruffle your hair. Your cheeks pinked and you all but hissed: "Stop that."

"Nope," said Warriors, laughing softly when you fixed him with one of your practiced stares, though even a fool could see that there was no heat whatsoever in your gaze. He rose to his feet, deftly dusting the tops of his pants. "Time, do you–"

"Um, guys?" Wind's voice interrupted, filled with apprehension. Warriors turned to face the sailor... only to blanch. 

A portal had opened in the center of the clearing--pure white mixed with swirling hints of gold. The air around it crackled softly, charged with an explicably dangerous energy that had the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. 

"Is that...?" You trailed off, letting the situation speak for itself. 

"Time," Warriors drew his sword, stalking over to put himself between you and the portal. "Do we have another–"

"No," the oldest hero cut him off, tone unusually icy. "This isn't anything I recognize."

"We'll have to go through it, then," said Wild, already advancing forward. Warriors gazed back at Twilight and Legend, who both nodded, unsheathing their swords while the captain re-sheathed his, bending over to gather you in his arms. 

"I can walk," you half snapped, though you made no real move to prove that point. 

"No, you can't," Warriors responded, turning to face the portal as Time and Twilight entered it, disappearing in a flash of light. The others followed swiftly, and he could only hope they'd be able to survive what awaited them on the other side.

You recognized the castle gates as soon as you saw them. 

You had long since wrapped your arms around Warriors' neck, holding on for dear life despite the fact that you knew he wouldn't drop you, deftly studying the bustling streets as the group stepped into Castle Town. 

It was undoubtedly your Hyrule, and there was a certain comfort in being home again. You remained silent as the others chatted, half because you were nearly asleep and half because you couldn't fathom what to say to any of them at this point. Embarrassment coursed through you as you recalled their terrified expressions when you scaled the tree, too lost in your thoughts to realize what was going on. 

You liked to think you kept decent control of your emotions, but now...

"Hey," you felt the words rumbling from Warriors' chest before you heard them. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," you said quickly. Perhaps too quickly, from the way he cocked an eyebrow down at you in response. "I'm fine."

"You keep saying that," the hero paused, then continued in a far quieter tone. "But I don't think I believe you anymore."

"Maybe because it's none of your business," you hissed... and immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry, I just–"

"I understand," said Warriors. The hand on your ribcage tightened as he hefted you tighter against him. "I really do."

You didn't doubt that, you really didn't, but a thick ball formed in your throat and you didn't trust yourself not to start bawling in the middle of the street. With a shaky huff, you tucked your head against the broad expanse of Warriors' chest, letting familiar darkness consume you. 

You couldn't sleep. 

The bedroom Queen Zelda had so graciously gifted you was too cold, yet your pillow felt hot enough to burn a hole through metal. You flipped onto your stomach, gripping the pillow as you buried your face into it. Every time you closed your eyes, memories of the War would pop into your mind's eye like flies, only dropping when you awoke, panting like you had run a lap around the castle itself. 

"Fuck..." you whispered to the empty room. Warriors had passed you off to Twilight and Hyrule as soon as his boots crossed the foyer, declaring that he had a meeting with Zelda, only returning with a grim expression and ten keys. The Queen had heard reports of a black lizalfos roaming the land, but they were largely unreliable, leaving everyone with no choice but to stay in the castle for the night. 

While you were grateful for the unexpected privacy, there was something to be said about sleeping in the open with what you now considered to be some of your closest friends. The room, decked out in purple tapestries, was terribly lonely, as four-poster beds typically weren't the chattiest of company. 

The bed creaked as you shifted onto your back, staring up at the stone ceiling, hands fisted in the soft fabric of the creme night rail you wore. You tried not to think of how Wind had almost been slashed, or how close Time had gotten to being bisected by a moblin, but they kept popping up the harder you willed them away. 

It was hopeless, you realized. Completely, utterly hopeless. 

You swung your legs off the side of the bed, kicking your slippers on and shuffling to the nightstand, where a lone candle sat. With trembling hands, you lit it. A fierce orange glow illuminated the room, and you used it to guide you to the door, peering outside at the empty hallway. 

You were no stranger to the castle, which is why you stepped out for a short walk, shoes scuffing gently on the polished floor. 

Aimlessly, you wandered, uncaring of where you ended up. Dark shadows stretched and spun before you, quickly vanquished by the light of the candle. You walked beneath one of the many arches, entering a hallway you didn't recognize. A large portrait hung on the very back wall, a stunning caricature of Queen Zelda and... Warriors. 

You approached the portrait, holding up your candle for a better view. Their faces were relaxed–not too relaxed, of course–and could be vaguely described as peaceful. Warriors himself looked younger, like the burden of being a hero had not yet hit, with a small grin that made the corners of your lips quirk up. 

"...(Y/n)?"

You nearly dropped the candle as you spun around, heart nearly leaping from your chest. 

"Wars?!"

And there he was, in all his blonde-haired, bleary-eyed glory, dressed in nothing but a pair of pants. You tried not to look at his chest, mostly because it was highly inappropriate and partially because you were supposed to be upset, and looking at that glorious abdomen made you feel anything but sad. 

"You're not asleep," he observed in a matter-of-fact tone. "Why was I expecting this?"

You crossed your arms over your chest. "I could say the same about you."

"I know," his gaze flicked to the portrait, then back to you. "Do you want to talk?"

"Not really."

"Liar."

You bristled. "Excuse me?"

"You're unexcused," Warriors shot back, and you became distinctly aware of just how close a two-foot distance was when you were alone. "Tell me the truth."

"And that is?"

The captain fixed you with a half-hearted, largely exhausted glare. "Gee, (Y/n), maybe when you climbed a tree to avoid medical attention?"

"That's diff–"

"Or perhaps when you refused to let Hyrule heal you until we climbed the tree?"

"That's not–"

"Or should I mention that time you attempted to give Wild a healing potion after he stubbed his toe?"

"You–"

"I'm not done," Warriors cut you off, running a hand down his face. "Do you have any idea how worried we were? How worried I was?"

There was silence, because you didn't trust yourself to speak without breaking down. 

"Well?" the captain prompted. "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

You stared at him. This was pointless; you didn't want to talk, you wanted...

A knot formed in your stomach. What did you want? It had been so long since you considered something so... well, you felt it was rather mundane, but that didn't excuse that you had no idea what you wanted. 

You didn't realize you had begun to cry until Warriors' hand swiped gently at your face with a gentleness you didn't know he possessed. For you, at least. 

"It's going to be alright," he said, and, before you knew it, you were bawling, thick sobs shaking your shoulders. Wars wordlessly pulled you to his chest, wrapping his arms around your trembling form. 

"I can't do it," you whispered against his clavicle, arms encircling his bare back. "If I can't help him, how am I to help the rest of you?"

"You don't have to," the captain responded softly, hugging you a bit tighter. "You've helped enough-- no, more than enough."

"I know, b-but," you hated how your voice wavered noticeably when you spoke the last word. "I can't lose you."

"You won't."

"How can you promise that?" you hiccuped, pressing yourself closer, heavy tears blurring your vision. "Wars..."

"We're strong, (Y/n), we'll always be here," he responded slowly. Carefully. "Always."

“Promise me,” you whispered, unable to force any other words out. You needed to hear him say it, and the anticipation was tearing you from the inside out. 

“I promise,” said Warriors. He sounded genuine, but, then again, he always did. 

“Good,” you sniffed, feeling slightly sheepish for crying on him in the middle of the night. “I’m sorry, I just…”

You froze when Warriors put a finger over your lips, shushing you softly. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, holding you like he would never let go. “Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault, okay?”

That… that was new. You had always liked Warriors; he was kind and reliable, not to mention an excellent strategist. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, but you willed them away, hoping the night was dark enough to conceal the burning flush on your cheeks. 

“...Okay,” you agreed, distinctly aware of the flexing muscles lying just beneath your fingertips. Warriors was strong–they all were–and you felt as much anxiety over it as you did comfort. “Why… Why were you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he responded quickly, and you couldn’t help but chuckle half-heartedly. “What is it?”

The words slipped from you like a knife through butter, like the softest silk and the quietest breeze. “We’re both hopeless.”

Warriors hummed and turned his sparkling cerulean gaze to you. “Maybe,” he whispered to the night. “Helplessness can be helped.”

“You think?” You were almost afraid to ask, but you could have done anything to hear his voice again. 

“I think it’s time for bed.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself. Warriors released you when you pushed lightly on his chest, arms hanging loosely by his bare sides. “Isn’t that Sky’s line?”

“...I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Deal.”

With slightly-lifted spirits, you peered outside, studying the star-spangled sky with mild interest. The moon was bright, bathing the hallway in a milky sheen that made it all the more eternal, and you wondered why you hadn’t taken the time to study it before. “It’s so–… I never noticed…”

“Beauty comes in many forms,” Warriors intoned softly with a glance in your direction. “There are people who go their whole lives without appreciating the little things.”

“And you are?”

The captain hesitated, shoulders slumping slightly, making you wonder if he would appreciate a hug. “I’m still working on it,” he admitted softly, and made the executive decision not to pry.

“So am I,” you shot an exhausted grin his way. “...How mad do you think Hyrule will be if I don’t sleep?”

Warriors ran a hand down his face, and only a fool would miss the very obvious, very large smile he was attempting to conceal. Until it shifted to a grin, then a smirk. 

“If I have to sleep, you do too.”

“Actually–”

“Hush,” you blinked dumbly when his hand extended, palm up, toward you. A few seconds passed, and Warriors let out a small huff. “(Y/n)–”

“Present.”

“...Just take my hand.”

You did.

First chapter done! This is the second ask that has activated me like this, and I'm excitedly-terrified of the other wonderful ideas y'all might send me in the future!

[lw77]

Diet Pepsi 💈 (LSxMV)

Chapter 5. - Twister

All twisted up ft. Fernando being a menace

Author's note: This one is even worse, I promise I'll go touch grass. 18+ DNI Otherwise.

Soon, everyone had taken their turn spinning the bottle, and Logan found himself sitting next to Max as the group shuffled around. When the bottle lands on Logan, spun by Charles, he quickly blurts out, “Truth!” before Charles can even finish asking.

Charles grins widely, making Logan regret his choice. “Perfect! Now, what were you and Max doing on the boat before you suddenly went for a swim? No lies, cheri .”

Logan glances at Max, who just pulls him a little closer by the waist. “N-nothing! He was just putting sunscreen on me, right Max?” Logan shoots Max a pleading look.

Max nods, “Yeah, just making sure he didn’t get a sunburn.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “Sunscreen? Is that what we’re calling it now? And did he rub this sunscreen on you?” he adds with a wink.

Even though Charles is close to the mark, Logan insists for his own sake of mind, “It’s the truth!”

“Alright, alright, I get it— lingo,” Charles teases, winking again as a few people chuckle.

As the laughter dies down from Logan’s truth, the bottle spun again, it lands on Carlos. On his fourth turn now, he confidently picks a dare from Fernando, whose scheming smile makes Charles’s earlier grin look modest by comparison.

Fernando strokes his chin playfully, pretending to think, his eyes glinting with mischief as he announces, “Kiss the person on your right, but you have to kiss longer than that little display from Alex and Oscar.”

Looking at Charles, Fernando asks, “How long was theirs?” Charles glances at Fernando, understanding the ploy. “Bouff, I think it was more than a minute, no? Tough competition, Carlito.”

Charles and Fernando exchange twin shark smiles as they look at their friend. Waiting to see what he’ll do. 

Carlos nods seriously and points at them. “Fine, time it then, Charles, 90 seconds.” He then turns to his right to look at George, whose eyes widen slightly, showing either his surprise at Carlos’s acceptance or his own excitement.

Logan glances at his two best friends and notices how tense they are—Oscar alert on Alex’s lap, and Alex sitting straight-backed and focused.

Carlos moves closer to George, cupping his cheek and softly asking, “Okay?” George gives a jerky nod in response. “Words, Princesa ,” Carlos gently reminds him, his thumb stroking George’s cheek while his fingers spread around his neck. “Ye-yes,” George stammers. Grinning, Carlos leans in.

Carlos’s large, tan hand against George’s pale face is already a striking image, but when their faces meet and a flush blooms across George’s cheeks, it's even hotter. 

Closing the distance, his lips meet George’s with a heat that’s both unexpected and overwhelming. One hand grips the back of George’s neck, while the other slides to his waist, pulling him closer on the floor, their knees bumping as Carlos deepens the kiss.

George’s breath stutters, his half-unbuttoned shirt falling open as Carlos tugs him in, pressing their bodies together. Carlos kisses him with an intense, devouring hunger, his lips firm and unrelenting. George’s hands instinctively clutch at Carlos’s arms for balance, overwhelmed by the intensity. Carlos’s tongue slips into his mouth, exploring, claiming, leaving George gasping and flushed. A soft whimper escapes him only to be instantly swallowed by Carlos, whose grip tightens as he pulls George closer by his waist, their hips brushing.

The heat from George’s face spreads down his neck and onto his exposed chest, the flush deepening with each passing second. Carlos’s hand, firm on his waist, holds him close, making George arch against him, helpless under the raw force of Carlos’s kiss. The closeness, the pressure of Carlos’s hand on his bare skin, sends a shock of heat through him.

Charles’ watch begins to trill, signalling their ninety seconds are up.

Carlos finally pulls back, leaving both of them panting, their lips swollen and red. George’s chest heaves, his skin flushed, eyes dazed with building arousal. Carlos hovers close, his nose brushing George’s cheek as his thumb strokes just beneath the hem of George’s open shirt.

With a wolfish grin, Carlos asks, “I think we won, no?” His voice low and husky, betraying his own arousal.

Fernando, hands raised in mock surrender, fixes his expression into his signature no idea look, then quickly points toward Oscar, who’s nearly toppling forward from his perch as he unconsciously leaned in closer while Carlos and George kissed. “There’s your answer then, sobrino ,” Fernando quips, sparking laughter from the group.

Carlos and George, still catching their breath, shift their focus toward Oscar and Alex, their stares pointed and heated.

“Okay, seriously, what is going on?” Daniel says incredulously. “Have I just been oblivious, or is this the night everyone explores their sexual tension? Because there will be no orgies in this lake house—my nonna comes here! She even likes it here!” He surveys his friends with shocked eyes and hands on his hips. “And you two—stop it with the dares!” He points at Charles and Fernando, who look like two kids caught with their hands in the candy jar. 

“We said kiss! For 60 seconds and longer, right? Fernando, didn’t we? We never said dare you to eat each other! That was their heart's desire. We would have settled for a simple press of lips.” Charles argues, despite the guilty look on his face.

“Game’s over, you horn dogs! And no Twister either! I don’t trust you,” Danny announces, standing up and wagging a finger at the group. “Drink, dance, but no more defiling this living room with your saliva. My grandmother’s old-school Italian—she has a sixth sense for where people have tried to make babies. Trust me, I know. She never stepped foot in my car in high school without laying down a tissue first.”

Chuckling, Max leans into Logan and adds, “His Nonna would always pray whenever she got in the car too.”

“No way! Was it really that bad, or was it... a sex car ?” Logan asks, raising an eyebrow.

Max smirks. “Let’s just say he and his sister had to share a room until university.” 

“Oh. Gross,” Logan grimaces.

Max grins and stands, offering his hand to Logan. “Come on, Angel, let’s go find something else to do that isn’t Twister.”

—---------- 

As the party winds down and more people start to drift away, Danny, his girlfriend, and surprisingly Fernando help usher everyone to their rooms or any available spots to sleep.

Max leads Logan to a room, explaining it’s his when he stays at the house. A flutter of excitement stirs in Logan at the thought of spending the night beside him. But as they brush their teeth together, Logan can’t fight the heaviness weighing down his eyelids. He manages just enough energy to slip out of his jeans and slide under the covers. Max follows, slipping an arm around Logan’s waist, and with a contented sigh, Logan's eyes flutter closed, drifting off with Max's warmth pressed against him.

—---------- 

When Logan’s eyes flutter open, Max is still behind him, holding him close, his head resting against the back of Logan’s neck. As Logan tries to shift away, careful not to wake him, Max's arms tighten around him, a muffled “Angel?” murmured against his neck.

Logan pauses, his heart skipping at the sleepy endearment. He settles back into Max’s chest as Max hums in response, his grip loosening but still holding on. Pressing a kiss to Logan’s neck, Max rolls onto his back, pulling Logan on top of him.

Max looks down at Logan with soft, sleep-filled eyes, his lips puffy and hair mussed. One hand reaches up to smooth Logan’s hair. “You look like a little chick, Angel, all fuzzy with your golden hair,��� Max chuckles at his own observation. Logan just hides his smile against Max’s chest, the cool metal of his cross necklace brushing against his warming cheeks.

He lifts his head to meet Max’s gaze. “Not talkative in the mornings, are you, Angel?”

Logan, soft from sleep, shakes his head gently, a small smile playing on his lips as Max’s fingers continue to stroke through his hair, their eyes locked in a quiet moment. A question, in Max’s eyes. Then, with a gentle pull, Max brings Logan’s face closer, brushing their lips together in a soft, tentative kiss. Their first.

Logan melts into the kiss, eagerly pressing back against Max. Max’s hand slides to the nape of Logan’s neck, deepening the kiss as their mouths move slowly, savouring the connection. Logan shifts, pressing more fully against Max’s chest, his legs wrapping around Max’s thigh, pulling himself closer.

Logan feels a rush of need as he rolls his hips against Max. Max reacts instantly, fingers tangling in Logan's hair, tilting his head back to kiss him deeper. Their breaths grow heavier, punctuated by Logan’s soft gasps as Max's other hand slips under his shirt, warm palm gliding over the smooth skin of his lower back.

With a teasing touch, Max's fingers press lower, sending shivers through Logan. He arches into him, craving more as their bodies move together, each subtle shift igniting sparks of pleasure. Breaking apart, he whimpers into Max’s mouth, “Please, Maxie, need more,” his voice a soft plea, wide eyes filled with desire.

Max’s grip tightens as he shifts both hands to palm Logan’s ass, guiding his rolling hips against him. Logan whines softly, tugging at his shirt, desperate to shed the barrier between them. “Off, please,” he breathes, voice shaky. Max responds instantly, pulling the fabric over Logan's head and tossing it aside, exposing his skin to the warm air. The sensation of Max’s body against him intensifies. Logan’s heart races as Max’s hands explore his bare back, sending shivers down his spine.

His world fades, leaving only the intoxicating presence of Max. All he can think, breathe, and feel is Max. Max pulls him up higher on his thigh, hands gliding up Logan’s body, brushing over his nipples.

Logan whines, throwing his head back, pushing his chest against Max’s hands. He feels frenzied with desire. There’s a noticeable wetness where his cock head rests in his briefs, steadily leaking. Logan grinds against Max, desperate for more. “Please, Maxie…” he gasps, lost in overwhelming sensations. He’s babbling now, pleading, “Need–,” chanting “more, more, more” between kisses.

Max suddenly flips him onto his back, his legs falling open at the change in position. Crying out at the contact as Max slots his thick, muscular thigh between Logan’s legs, pressing it against him. 

Max leans down, mouth brushing against Logan’s, their breaths mingling as he whispers, “Still need more, Angel?” Logan nods, eyes filled with need. The friction of Max’s thigh sending delicious shivers down his spine.

Keening at the sensation, Logan arches his back, craving more as he grips Max’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Max’s mouth moves to Logan’s nipple, wrapping around it, sending shockwaves of pleasure through him. Clutching Max’s head, he tries to keep him against his chest. While Max’s hands guide him against his thigh, hands obscene where they wrap around his hips. The pressure builds inside Logan, pushing him closer to the edge as he writhes in need.

With a loud keen, Logan arches his head back, overwhelmed. “Ma-Maxie, kiss me,” he demands, and Max eagerly complies, capturing Logan’s lips, deep and devouring.

Pulling back slightly, Max’s breath is warm against Logan’s skin. “You’re such a good boy for me,” he whispers, a teasing smile on his lips. The words thrill Logan, making him crave more. “For you, only you,” Logan garbles, pressing his hips down against Max’s thigh, desperate for friction.

“Yeah? You’re my baby boy,” Max replies, voice low as he leans back in, kissing Logan deeply again. Each touch ignites a fire within Logan, pushing him closer to the edge. “Just keep moving for me, Angel,” Max encourages, guiding Logan’s movements as he grinds against him.

Logan's body instinctively chases the pleasure. Each thrust against Max’s thigh drives him wild, craving more, wanting to drown in everything Max gives him. 

But Logan feels crazed at the torturously slow pace Max has set. Clutching at Max’s arm, he feels deliriously aroused. “Please, Maxie, ju-just touch me. I’ll be good,” he whimpers, garbled promises spilling from his lips. He needs more.

Looking up at Max, he sees the intensity in his stare. “Show me what you need, Angel,” Max asks, his voice gruff and low. Logan reaches for one of Max’s hands on his hips, pulling it toward his aching cock.

Max’s hand is teasing yet claiming as he places it on Logan’s navel, almost covering the area. He pushes it down slowly, guiding it to where Logan desperately needs him. Logan tries to push up against Max’s hand, craving friction. “-ff, Off, Maxie, please,” he gasps.

Max looks back up at him, eyes searching. “Are you sure, Angel?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

“Yes! Please, or I’ll cry,” Logan pleads, his voice trembling with need. The urgency in his tone drives Max to finally give in, moving his hand to where Logan aches the most. Logan’s breath catches in his throat as he watches Max push down his briefs, his large hands skillfully pulling them off his legs.

The cool air hits Logan’s skin, heightening his senses as he feels Max’s warm calloused palm wrap around him, relief flooding through him as the pressure eases. It doesn’t take much; his precum makes the slide in Max’s fist slick and smooth. Logan gasps, his body responding instinctively to the sensation, his hips bucking slightly as Max begins to move, slowly at first.

“Easy, Angel,” Max murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he matches the pace to Logan’s desperate gasps. Each stroke is deliberate, building the tension within him, making Logan writhe in need. “Tell me how it feels,” Max urges, his grip firm yet gentle, keeping Logan anchored as the pleasure swells.

“Wish you were inside,” Logan gasps, his voice trembling as he whines, his back arching at each stroke. His tongue feels thick, heavy with need, and he manages to stammer, “Can’t wait, wanna feel you…” followed by a hiccup, “all the time.”

Max’s eyes darken with hunger, his grip tightening just enough to send another jolt of pleasure through Logan. “You will, Angel,” he promises, his voice low and filled with heat. “When I have you all to myself, not here.”

He quickens his pace slightly, coaxing Logan closer to that sweet release. The tension builds like a coil, ready to snap at any moment, and Logan can feel the heat pooling deep inside him. Each stroke pushes him closer to the edge, the sensations washing over him like waves, leaving him breathless and craving more. “Maxie, please,” he whimpers, lost in the moment, his body responding eagerly to every touch.

As Max maintains his rhythm, Logan feels the tension build to an unbearable peak. The pleasure overwhelms him, and suddenly, he can't hold back any longer. Moans spill from his lips, high-pitched and desperate, filling the room with sound.

“Maxie!” he gasps, his voice trembling as he arches his back, his body responding eagerly to the relentless strokes, his hands clutching at the bedding. The feeling is too intense, and he can’t help but whimper and keen, each sound more frantic than the last. 

“Angel, shh,” Max urges, his voice a husky whisper as he presses a hand over Logan’s mouth, trying to muffle the sounds. “We don’t want anyone to hear you, do we Angel?”

Logan nods, eyes wide with need, but the pressure inside him is building, and he can’t help but whimper against Max’s hand. He tries to quiet himself, but each stroke makes it harder. “Max!” he cries out, unable to hold back the sound, the desperation in his tone echoing in the room.

“You can do it, Angel,” Max murmurs, his hand stroking Logan’s cheek. 

Logan feels the heat coiling tighter, the world around him fading away again until it’s just him and Max. “I can’t… I’m gonna—” he stammers, feeling the familiar rush of his impending orgasm.

“Let go, Angel,” Max encourages, his voice low and steady, the sound wrapping around Logan like a promise. “I’ve got you.”

With a few more strokes, the tension snaps, and Logan cries out, his voice muffled but desperate as he comes undone beneath Max. “Maxie!” he moans, the waves of pleasure crashing over him, leaving him breathless and trembling.

Max keeps his hand pressed over Logan’s mouth, his other hand never faltering in its movements, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from Logan’s body. “That’s it, good boy,” he whispers, his voice thick with satisfaction until Logan is shuddering through his orgasm, feeling completely lost in the moment.

As the pleasure begins to fade, Logan collapses against the pillows, panting and spent, the warmth of Max’s body anchoring him in the afterglow. Max’s hand slowly retreats, brushing Logan’s hair back as he whispers, “You did so good, Angel.”

Logan feels soft—boneless in the aftermath, his heart racing as he looks up at Max, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Max gazes back at him, warmth in his eyes, before moving to the ensuite. He returns with a wet towel, gently cleaning him up, his touch tender and reassuring.

“Mmm, need a shower now,” Logan mumbles into the pillow, the warmth of the towel contrasting with the cool air.

Max chuckles softly, his fingers gliding over Logan’s skin. “Let’s get you cleaned up, then,” he replies, his voice low and inviting. He finishes up and leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Logan’s forehead.

“Shall we hop in the shower together?” Max asks, a playful glint in his eye.

Logan’s heart skips at the thought. “Yes, please,” he replies, a shy smile spreading across his face.

Max offers his hand, helping Logan up from the bed.

Afterwards, Max dresses Logan in one of his own T-shirts and a pair of boxers, the fabric soft and comforting against Logan's skin. As he helps Logan pull his jeans up, there’s a gentle care in his movements, as if he’s handling something precious.

“Got it, Angel?” Max asks playfully, a teasing smile on his lips.

Logan chuckles softly, feeling the warmth of their shared moments lingering in the air. “Yeah, I’m good,” he replies, though he leans into Max’s touch, enjoying the intimacy of the moment.

They bask in each other's presence, wrapped in their bubble of comfort and affection, the simple joy of being together before they have to venture outside. Max leans down, brushing his lips against Logan’s neck, grounding them both in the sweetness of the morning.

—------- 

As they enter the kitchen, they find Fernando buttering his toast way too happily. “Good morning, Logan! Maxie! Did you have a good rest—or should I say, good morning?” he asks, hiding a grin as he bites into his toast.

Realizing Fernando must have heard a bit of their morning, Logan coughs and stutters out a polite, “Yes, and yourself?” completely ignoring Fernando’s hint. Max just chuckles and moves to make himself an espresso, turning to ask Logan if he’d like one too. “Sure, Max,” Logan answers softly.

“Oh, actually, Fernando! Do you know which room Oscar and Alex stayed in last night?” Logan asks, remembering Fernando was one of the people allocating spots.

Fernando’s eyes shine for a moment. “Why, yes! They’re down the hall, two doors down from you and Max’s room, but I wouldn’t go in there if I were you… I’d let them come out.” His grin is almost maniacal.

“Uh, okay,” Logan decides, scared to see what Fernando means.

But he doesn’t have to wait long, as both his best friends slowly make their way into the kitchen, still half-asleep. This isn’t surprising, but the bruises littering their necks and the shirts they’re wearing—definitely not what they had on last night—catch his attention. It’s as if they pulled on the first things they found off the floor as soon as they smelled coffee.

As they crowd around Max and the coffee machine, Logan hears another set of footsteps patter into the kitchen. It’s George and Carlos—oh my god—in a similar state of dress. George yawns widely, his hair tousled, and as he slumps into a seat, Logan notices how Carlos moves closer, casually resting a hand on George’s shoulder.

As Carlos passes the fridge, he sweeps a hand against Oscar’s back while another brushes down Alex’s, the easy intimacy between them clearly evident. The four of them together like this is a stark contrast to the dynamics from yesterday.

Logan, still processing, looks toward Fernando, who is smiling wolfishly. Suddenly, it makes sense why Fernando helped allocate sleeping arrangements; he no doubt placed those four together the previous night.

Logan feels a smug satisfaction as he recalls his earlier words to Oscar about possibly having both men in his bed—now it’s three.

He returns Fernando’s grin.

[misasimagines]

this isn't well written or anything I'm just. I'm Desperate to get Ren out of my head he's been living here rent free and I NEED to switch into Taiga mode to write that request so. Please enjoy structureless Ren rambles. He doesn't come off as character with Much Nuance (like some others, Rui!! Jin, Subaru, Haku, etc) but like. When he's been sitting in your head for the past 14 business days....things unravel.

I'm not like citing sources here. This is pure vibes. Please don't crucify me if I got smth wrong 🙏

So he has a Thing about the ocean. He watches horrors movies related to it, he seems especially grossed out by it, but he doesn't seem like he's never had experience with it. Which is why I just can't not think he came from a small, coastal town (like from Aquamarine lmao). The kind that has a Barrage of tourists in the summer and over holidays and he Hated it because now he can't just go anywhere without risking being in the background of someone's vacation pictures. And I also can't help but feel like he probably had a parent/parents who parentified him, probably not maliciously, but they still did it. Like two immature parents or one immature parent and one completely absent one, so when it came to actually being responsible about things, he had no choice but to step in. Which is why he's so annoyed by and against hard work- he's done enough of it and he doesn't want to keep getting involved when he now doesn't feel the responsibility to. He probably feels a lot of resentment towards them for what he had to take on. Whether he feels bad about that resentment or not, I can't say.

He doesn't like messes or the animals in Jabberwock. He doesn't want to have to care for anything besides himself. Haru might remind him of his family which is why he's so hostile towards him. Because like Notably, Ren isn't BAD at hard work. He does go to classes, does missions, has a job at the diner, and still has to help around Jabberwock no matter how much he tries to avoid it. He's even dedicated to his mobile games, which seems silly, but those require a lot of routine daily to keep up and it seems like he has a few he keeps up with! And if we consider the Jabberwock chapter, even though he was against Calamari and resented taking care of it, he still did and he still felt guilty when he didn't do a good job at it, so much so that he ran off to the beach to try to revive the poor thing. Not the actions of someone who truly is selfish and doesn't care. Him carrying Haru to safety too- yes, leaving him to die would have been really. Kind of reprehensible but he carried the guy and rejected any kind of thanks and appreciation for it. He could have used that as guilt-leverage to try to get out of things later but...did he? Not as far as I know.

Like he does all of that no matter how much he complains. Also, who ELSE has a campus job? I'll wait. 🥱. Sho doesn't count, the food truck is a passion project. Even BROKE ASS Kaito doesn't have a campus job. Why is Ren working? Does he NEED the money or does he feel some kind of compulsion to make it for some reason? Because he's responsible? Because he sends it back home? Because he wants to have money for post Darkwick life? Who knows!!!!! He got that job like INSTANTLY bro enrolled and got that work study like the first damn week.

And this is way less in the realm of Theory Crafting and conspiracy and more just a pure hc but I just feel like maybe his hostility towards other people, the MC included, is because he might be dealing with the aftermath of a damaged or lost relationship. Not exclusively romantic but like possibly? Like if he grew up in a small town, he probably knew the people around him from childhood to adulthood. And it's not unlikely that he had a childhood friend that stuck through all the years with him. And it's not unlikely that, if they were friends that long, that people would start making jokes and suggestions about them ending up together long term. And! It's not unlikely that! He felt some kind of pressure to at least pretend to reciprocate feelings towards them. So maybe a close friendship became a relationship and maybe he did have feelings for them and maybe he didn't or just wasn't ready for them. Either way, now he's in Darkwick and given how unhappy he is, it doesn't seem like it was his first choice to be there. Is he running away? Does he not have a home to go back to (either self imposed or true exile)? I just. I have questions.

Please someone ramble with me I'm going crazy here. I'm like God I'd kill this guy [thinking about making out with him sloppy style]. Hate him truly he's so annoying I'd argue with him every day. What if this were us

[sarah-bear706318]

Chasing Storms and Finding Love. Chapter 3:

Series Summary: When Tyler's baby sister joins him and his team for a season she seems to catch the eye of a certain StormPar member much to her brothers dismay... will she listen listen to her big brother or follow her heart?

Chapter summary: Tyler talks to the rest of the wranglers about the possibility of teaming up with StormPar. Reader goes on her first chase and it doesn't go as she thought it would and Scott gets worried watching the stream and seeing things going south.

Pairing: Scott Miller X fem!reader, Tyler Owens x sister!reader

Warnings: Sneaking around, Pissed off Tyler, Love Struck Scott, ALOTS of kissing, A little age gap, Cussing, Drinking, Storms(duh), Falling in love, Slow burn

@nikkicloudie @papichulo120627

As you walk into the diner you look around trying to find the crew, it doesn't take you long to spot them in a large rounded booth in a back corner. They all seem to have coffee and and are just chatting with each other,waiting for you and Tyler.

"Morning crew" Tyler greets his crew

"Good morning yall" You greet everyone with a small smile

The crew say their good morning and all start scooching over to make room for you and your brother to slide in. You end up in sitting in between your brother and Boone.

You all look over the menu, everything looks so good,y ou see about 15 things you want to order. It's safe to say your mouth was watering. About 10 minutes of looking the waitress is back at the table and taking everyone's orders.

When it's your turn you order the cinnamon roll pancakes and a side of bacon. Once everyone has place their orders the waitress collects all the menus and heads to the back.

"So T what did you want to talk to us about" Boone ask looking over to your brother

"Before I say anything I want yall to keep an open mind and listen to what I have to say before you comment or give an answer" Tyler says looking at his crew, seeing them all nod and promising they would.

"So we know they are predicting this to be the biggest busiest and the longest storm seaon in over 40 years right" he pauses and looks to his crew before continuing.

"So as I was getting coffee for me and Y/n this morning and saw Javi, got to talking and we think it would be a good idea if the wranglers and stormpar to team up for some chases. What does everyone think of that? I'll him no everyone isn't on board."

You kinda tuned out while they were all discussing the partnership. You weren't an official member of the wranglers so even you want the partnership to happen it wasn't up to you, so you sat quietly scrolling through your Instagram.

When the food arrives you place your phone your phone down and dig right in to your pancakes, and they were amazing. So amazing your brother tried to sneak a bite but you just stab him with your fork.

As you are all eating Javi and Scott walk up to the table, and Scotts eyes immediately land on you.

"So Owens your crew on board" Javi ask Tyler.

"Yeah they are as long as they can still film and help after the storm like we always do"

"Yeah that's fine with me what about you Scott?" Javi looks over to Scott who's eyes are still on you. When he doesn't replyJavi nudges his arm. Scott looks away and between your brother and Javi before answering "Yeah that's fine as long as the work isn't affected and we still get the data and you get me in as little as possible"

"Yeah man I film everything so I'll do my best not to get you in to many frames" Boones says to Scott.

Scott nods, and Javi and Tyler set up a time for later that night to sit down and hash everything out. Before they walk away Scott looks over and smiles and bids you a good-bye, you don't see it but you can feel your cheeks heating up as you smile and say bye back.

"Ohhh I think Y/n had a bit of an admirer" Lily says looking at you

"I didn't even know Scott knew how to smile" Dani chimes in.

"That's enough I already told her it's not happening" Tyler looks to his crew then over to you.

"And I already told I'm grown and do as I please big brother" you say to Tyler. "Now are you gonna pay for your little sisters breakfast" You ask with a smile taking a sip of your dr.pepper.

"Yeah yeah I'll pay for ya" Tyler says rolling his eyes waving the waitress over. "You are a pain in my ass you know that right" Tyler says looking over at you. You take a big bite of your pancakes and smile before saying "I know but you love me" and Tyler just rolls his eyes

The waitress comes over and starts asking how the bill is gonna be spilt "I got myself and my sister" Tyler says pointing to you. "Oh sir your sisters meal been taken care" the while table looks around confused before Tyler ask "Who paid for her food?"

"The taller man with the hat that was over here talking to you asked me to put her meal on his bill" Your jaw drops and you know you're blushing hard at this point. Tyler has a look that is a mixture of annoyed and pissed as he hand his card to the waitress to pay for his own food, the rest of the crew are doing their best to hold back their laughs.

Once your outside Tyler goes to his truck and looks at the radar while your eyes scan the parking lot for Scott, you can't believe he paid for your breakfast and you really want to thank him.

"Hey little sister you ok with riding shot gun while wrangling your first tornado, there is a good strong cell over the east come look and put that PhD to work"

You walk over and look at the radar and just as Tyler said the cell to the east is looking very strong and looking to be moving fast, so it shouldn't be more to big of a tornado.

"Hell yeah" you say giving your brother a high five and a big smile.

"OK great, crew get your last bathroom break and drinks we leave in 10" Tyler yells his crew

After using the restroom and paying for yours and Tyler's drinks you walk out of the gas station and run right into someone. You are about to fall when 2 hands catch you. You look up and come face to face with Scotts blues eyes, and you swear you feel your heart stop and the skin on your arms where he is hold you up tingle.

"Oh my gosh Scott I am so sorry I wasn't looking where I was going, are you ok"

"Yeah I'm fine are you ok" Scott says with a smile with his hands on your arms

"I'm fine I promise again im really sorry"

"Please don't apologize no harm done" he says.

You both stand there a few seconds in silence just looking at one another before Scott breaks the silence. "Yall heading to the east"

"Yeah the cell looks promising hopefully everything goes good for my first chase" You look up and Scott can see the hint of fear in your eyes and that makes him worried. After a few seconds you break the silence.

"Oh I wanted to thank you for breakfast that was so sweet of you, but you really didn't have to do that I was going to make my brother pay for it" you laugh and look at the ground. "You're welcome it wasn't a problem at all" Scott says with a smile while chewing his gum. Before you can say anything else you hear your brother yelling your name. You look over and see him standing by his truck with his arms crossed looking very annoyed.

"I guess I better go before he comes over here. I'll see you later?" You ask with a little hope in your voice.

"Yeah I'll see you later, have fun on your first chase, don't get to crazy" Scott says with a smile

"I'll try but you know my brother and his crew" you say with a little laugh as a stray piece hair falls into your face. Before you can move it yourself you feel Scotts hand reach up and brush it behind your ear

"Yeah I do, so do me a favor and be careful sweetheart" Scott says softly with a smile reaching his eyes

"You too" you say with a smile and a face heating up. You walk away still smiling at the nickname and thinking about how he pushed your hair from your face. There was defiantly growing between you and Scott, you could feel it in your soul.

You make it to your brothers truck only to be met with his scowl. "I dont wanna hear it Tyler" you say has you hand your brother his energy drink. Tyler goes to say something but the look on your face makes him decides against it, instead he rolls his eyes and opens the door for you.

As your brother is driving and chatting with Boone in the back seat you are keeping an eye on the radar, and your mind on Scott. You can's stop thinking about the feeling you got when he pushed the stray hair behind your ear, it was a simple yet intimate exchange but it made your heart skip a beat.

You're brought out of your thoughts by your brother saying your name. "Y/n we're about to start the stream you ready for your camera debut" Tyler says looking over to you with a smile. "Ready as I'll ever be" You smile back feeling a bit nerves but excited at the same time. Next thing you know your brother is hitting a button on the camera to start the steam.

"Howdy yall and welcome back. Today is going to be a very special chase because I have joining us is my baby sister Dr. Y/n Owens, yes you heard that right Dr. She just graduated from UT Austin with her PhD in meteorology and is joining us for the season. So everyone say hello to my beautiful baby sister. Tyler turns the camera over to you.

"Hey yall its amazing to be here with my big brother and his crew, I'm so excited for my first up close chase hopefully my brother and Boone dont go wild" You say with a smile and looking at the camera.

Little did you know a certain other chaser tuning in to the stream on his laptop

Scott's POV:

Scotts decides since StormPar is sitting this storm out he'll tune into the Wranglers Stream. He told Javi he was only going to watch it so he can see what they got themselves into by partnering with them, Javi just nodded not believing a thing his friend says just sits down and watches with him

As starts the stream he hears Tyler introduce his sister, he watches as you say hey to the viewers. "Hey yall its amazing to be here with my big brother and his crew, I'm so excited for my first up close chase hopefully my brother and Boone dont to go wild" You say with a smile and looking at the camera. Scott can't help but smile

"Don't go to wild really coming from a former Texas Longhorns cheerleader AND sorority sister who use to live for wild parties" Tyler says with a smirk to his sister

"shut up that was different that was beer pong, keg stands,and cheering on my Longhorns HOOK EM" Y/n says then looks at the camera and hold up the longhorns hand sign. "Not driving into a tornado risking death"

"Man Owens never anything about Y/n being a cheerleader or a sorority girl but both man that's hella hot" Javi says looking at the screen watching the stream, Scott eyes snap to Javi with a look ready to kill. That was his girl(well hes hoping will be his girl) and he didnt like the comment from his partner

They both continue to watch, and Scott has rolled his eyes to many times to count, and lets out an "you have got to be kidding me" as Tyler says something about shooting fireworks into an active tornado. But look in Y/n eyes and the smile on her face makes him smile to himself, she look to be having a great time until her faces changes.

"Damn it the anchors arent deploying" Tyler says

"What the fuck Ty how the hell does that happen fix them now" Scott can hear the fear in your voice

"I'm working on it Y/n, Boone hand me that screw driver i think the trigger is jammed"

"Screw it just hit the gas and drive Tyler i dont feel like dying today"

"Were not gonna die little sis just give me a second"

"Tyler i mean it screw the tornado just dive get away from it"

"Y/n its to close if i drive off that could put us in more danger"

Scott is hearing her argument with her brother, and can see her with your knees to her chest, the truck is shaking and he can see the tornado getting closer. He feels helpless, he just wants to wrap her in his arms and get her out of that truck.

"Got it" he hears Tyler say and Scott lets out a breath he didnt know he was holding.

Y/N POV:

You feel the truck start anchor but you still have your knees to your chest and head down.

"Y/n look up" you hear brother say and you slowly left your head and what you see is completely breath taking. You stare out the window in awe looking at a grey wall twisting around and right in the center you see an opening of blue. You are so fixed on what is going on around you you don't even notice Boone or his camera pointing at you.

Your brother sits watching you with a smile and it reminds him of when you were little and would sit and watch a storm from the porch swing.

When the tornado passes, Tyler opens his door to get out with Boone and his camera hot on his heels. You open your own door and step out watching as the tornado moves away and disappears back into the sky.

"So little sister what did you think of your first time in a tornado"

"That was incredible Ty" you yell and jump on your brothers back laughing, Boone filming you and your brother laughing at how so much alike you bother are.

Tyler turns to the camera, you still on his back "Looks like my baby sister might just use the fancy PhD for storm chasing" he says to the camera. "As long as your truck doesn't malfunction again I just might" you say with a laugh.

Tyler laughs and turns to the camera "Well another chase done join us next time and as always IF YOU FEEL IT" "CHASE IT" you yell before your brother can finish.

[aihoshiino]

chapter 161 thoughts

Chapters Since The 143 Kiss Happened And Went Entirely Unacknowledged And Unaddressed Count: 18

Aqua Hoshigan Status: For the future

Never has an OnK chapter gone from It's Hoshinover to We Are Oshi no Back quite as hard and fast as this one. I have issues with this chapter in terms of what it implies about the story's overall structure and the fact that it sort of ruins 153-4 by association but this chapter's back half is so fucking good and the chapter itself works so well in isolation that much like 153-4, I kind of uhhh don't care about the structural issues because the story's heart is, for the most part, not just intact but beating harder and more passionately than it has in a long time.

To get what I don't like out of the way, the story seems to have settled on Super Evil Serial Killer Mastermind Kamiki as his final form characterization with some helpful Tsukuyomi exposition to just straightforwardly Tell Us things the manga probably should have spent some of the last 70something chapters Showing Us about Hikaru. The basic idea of Hikaru being some sort of serial killer so dedicated to upholding Ai's legacy that he kills women with the potential to surpass her was more or less always where I expected his character to land and this settling of his character does at least preserve what I think is the most important thing: that he genuinely loved Ai and his bent towards villainy only came after her death.

What I don't love as much is that this chapter seems to continue leaning into Uber God Manipulator Mastermind Kamiki like last chapter. I already talked at length about my issues with this framing in my previous chapter review so all I'll reiterate here is that the story's attempt to frame Hikaru as being equally or even more culpable for the actions of Nino and Ryosuke fall entirely flat to me, especially when the manga itself does such a pisspoor job of actually explaining how or why Kamiki was able to control and/or predict their actions to the extent that he supposedly did. And ESPECIALLY especially given that Nino and Ryosuke seem to have already been dangerously obsessed with Ai by the time they approached him.

In general, Hikaru's character is honestly just so inconsistent at this point that making any sense of his actions feels fruitless. If I really dig into what's going on, I can infer that maybe he fell into the same trap as Aqua by overcompensating for his trauma-induced helplessness by becoming overly controlling and guess that his fucked up trauma response to Ai's death combined with those terrible words Kindaichi gave him at Airi's funeral lead him down he road he's traveling now. I can even extrapolate that Aqua showing him the DVD message in 153-4 pushed Hikaru to this extreme and now that he has nothing to lose, he's lashing out at his children too - though, it should be noted, that the manga still hasn't actually established what Hikaru's culpability is in Nino's attempt on Ruby's life, outside of Aqua saying "well you didn't use your psychic powers to perfectly predict nino's actions so it's on you".

But like - this is all stuff I'm having to infer and extrapolate and guess, reverse engineering logic from our end point in an attempt to create a stable foundation for this characterization. The manga has done such a poor job of properly establishing Hikaru both as an antagonistic force and as a consistent character that I feel like I'm trying to assemble a coherent image from two different puzzle sets with all the fucking corner pieces missing and that's with Crow Girl looking into the camera and Explaining Him to me.

And listen, I am a bitch who LOVES to infer things. One of my absolute favourite pieces of fiction of all time ever is Umineko no Naku Koro Ni, a mystery story that literally does not contain any straightforwardly explicit, textual confirmation of the culprit's identity or motives because it believes so strongly that you, the reader, are smart enough and empathetic enough to put in the time and effort necessary to understand it regardless and it deeply, deeply values being able to give you that experience. But OnK feels less like it's intentionally encouraging me to think hard and enjoy the process of putting my head and my heart to work - it feels like it's leaving its homework unfinished and letting the reader do the actual hard work of sewing up the internal logic.

I probably won't talk much more about Kamiki this chapter cos I'd just be saying all this shit over and over but I really just am struggling to understand from a perspective of authorial intent what the vibe is even supposed to be. Like I mentioned in a previous ask, if this is where Kamiki's arc is reaching its conclusion then it means that the Movie Arc was essentially a whole-ass waste of time in and out of universe. Blech. Hate that.

Also, before I move on, I don't want to leave this just implied - making Kamiki explicitly a CSA victim and then ending his arc on Aqua (and implicitly the narrative) dismissing him as being too broken/corrupted to be saved is a really major misstep that I think represents a huge black mark on OnK's handling of CSA as a topic. The idea of an eternal defilement or an unfixable core wrongness in the self is already something real life CSA victims struggle with in the process of unpacking their trauma and having our likable and supposedly morally superior protagonist espouse this unchallenged in a work as prominent and relevant as Oshi no Ko is irresponsible bordering on dangerous. It's incredibly disappointing that after all the care Aka and Mengo seemingly took in handling this topic that it was whiffed so badly at the last second.

ANYWAY!!! Now all the beef's been dealt with, we can cleanse our palettes and move onto everything else I liked which was… basically everything else in this chapter!

Admittedly, Aqua's overall arc is still suffering from us being kicked out of his head from like 123 onwards for no real apparent reason and while 150 was a welcome refresher on where he's at in this part of the story, it still feels a bit like the story is prioritizing preserving the surprise factor of its twists over making these surprises feel earned. Compare it to volume 1 - you are basically told exactly what is going to happen to Ai, especially in the manga when Saitou and Gotanda outright say as much - but her death is still incredibly impactful and upsetting. I think this chapter is very effective, but could've been a lot moreso if we'd spent more time in Aqua's head leading up to it.

THAT SAID… If the intention of keeping us out of his head was to recontextualize Aqua's behaviour across the past ten or so chapters in this new light, I don't hate it as much as I might have. I initially took issue with what felt like the story off-screening and not addressing the resolution to Aqua's suicidal ideation so whipping back around to prove that it was still very much present puts some particular Aqua moments over this past volume into a very different light. As some people pointed out, Aqua missing Kana's pitch - literally dropping the ball in responding to her feelings - and his wide-eyed look of alarm in 151 seemed very ominous omens for the success of her confession and that beat of him covering his face when Kana approves of his dream… very incheresting knowing Aqua was still struggling with 'love or revenge' at this point.

Most interesting of all to reconsider is Aqua breaking down in tears in Miyako's arms in 155 when she addresses him as her son for the first time. At the time it read like catharsis but now I can't help but wonder if this was Aqua grieving for something he desperately wants but thinks is out of his reach.

i do have to say though. i get the general vibe of this plan and think it works fine as the apex of aqua's self-sacrificial protectiveness for the people he loves but how is being the daughter of a serial killer somehow any less scandalous for her career than being the sister of someone who killed one dude. does aqua think they just won't notice that kamiki happens to be their biodad or something. wasn't that the whole point of the movie. goofy ass plan.

What really saves this whole scenario is the emotions at play, though. This really does feel like Aqua at his most Aqua in a really long while and this chapter has so much love and respect for his life as Aqua and the bonds he has formed as a result. The dreams Aqua lays out are so agonizingly simple, too - he wants to pursue the career he finds rewarding. He wants to date the girl he likes. He wants to accept Miyako as his mom and Himekawa as his brother and to make things right with Akane after hurting and using her. He wants to see Ruby achieve her dream and be there to support her when she does.

But Aqua's always considered his dreams impossible, hasn't he?

I fully admit; I got spoiled with the full page spread of Aqua stabbing himself way in advance of the chapter and initially hated it as a twist. But with the full chapter as context and the sheer weight of Aqua's longing to just fucking live and find joy, it's not just effective but absolutely gutwrenching. It is the synthesis of Aqua's series-long battle to choose love or revenge and it resonates perfectly because it has never been one or the other for him - Aqua's revenge has always been rooted in the fact that he loves others so wholly and completely and hates himself so utterly that he thinks sacrificing himself to preserve their futures is the only path for him to take. It's the culmination and final release of the suicidal ideation Aqua has been dealing with since he was four years old and like Ai's tragedy before him, there's a horrible sense that maybe there really was no other way this could've gone.

Aqua being the character who actually takes the knife also firmly cements him as Ai's narrative echo in the text which has me barkin and howlin because it's what I've been saying all this time. Not just that, but so many of Aqua's expressions in this chapter pointedly and deliberately echo Ai's after she was stabbed. Not just that, but Aqua's achingly simple dreams echo Ai's own heartrendingly simple regrets - all the two of them ever wanted was to be happy with the people they love.

This also reframes the story's prior establishment of Ruby as paralleling Ai and seems to place the twins in the position of echoing not Ai in her entirety but Ruby as 'Ai of B-Komachi' and Aqua as 'Ai Hoshino'. This was actually something I outlined in one of my very first meta posts on the series, but I think making it more specific to 'Ruby as Ai the idol' and 'Aqua as Ai the human', this actually gives Ruby's arc in relation to Ai a bit of breathing room. Don't get me wrong, everything I've said about her post-BH writing being underbaked and inconsistent is still the case, especially when it comes to how confused the story is on whether Ruby is her own idol or New And Improved Ai 2.0 but giving it less ground to cover helps in terms of her writing no longer being spread quite as thin.

Speaking of Ruby, that beat of her seeming to react or sense something is up the moment Aqua takes the stab. 'Something happened to my loved one far away and I just Feel It' is a trope I'm always a sucker for and I really dig it here.

"The public don't care about the truth, so let's tell them a lie" is such a crazy hard sentiment to go out on too. Holy fuck.

There go our boys…!!! Quite a few people predicted they might go over the edge when Aqua showed up in his Mephisto fit (Mefitsto) and I'm interested to see if we get any parallels to the ED's imagery in the next few chapters. Overall, though, I'm really excited for where things are going - I don't think Aqua will die, but I do have some theories about what might happen. I can't think of a more traditional misogi purification experience than the middle of the ocean in late December, after all…

No break next week! Woohoo! While the delay of episode 12 means we won't be getting them on the same day, that is the same week S2 of the anime will be concluding and Aka does like lining up his bombshells with the anime. So who knows what we'll see.

seriously tho aqua. everyone already knows kamiki is you and ruby's biodad. HOW IS THIS ANY BETTER THAN HER BEING THE DAUGHTER OF A SERIAL KILLER AS IT ALREADY STANDS

[hms-no-fun]

i have an intense love/hate with godfeels because it is beautifully written but it also makes me viscerally uncomfortable. something something disturbs the comfortable and comforts the disturbed probably. engaging with that discomfort teaches me more about myself and is definitely worth it for something like godfeels. any advice for constructively engaging with media that Pisses You Off, by no fault of the creator? what would you say to your haters in good-faith, if you could?

well, to be fair i have said plenty to my haters in good faith previously, but that was a very direct response. if you and i were having a polite conversation amongst the two of us, my first question would be "how far did you get?" godfeels has been going for six years now (!!!), and it's gone through many phases in that time. i'm at a point now in my life where if someone tells me gf2 didn't click with them, i'll probably nod and say "yeah it's rough around the edges, there's a lot of stuff i'd do differently today." the most vocal contingent of haters i've ever gotten were the handful of people who dipped at gf2.2 when june got superdrunk and accidentally murdered a bunch of people, assuming the story was going to be about how cool and based that decision was. anyone who's actually read gf2 to completion should find that misconception laughable. it also makes a difference if you finished gf2 and stopped there, or started 3.1 and fell off, or if you got through chapter 8 and fell off, or if you're currently reading Double Album. each of those is a slightly different conversation with its own pros and cons. whether or not i'd try to talk someone into continuing their read depends entirely on those questions (and also how self-confident i'm feeling in the moment).

i guess i would say to someone who is not enjoying godfeels that they should stop reading godfeels. it's an extremely heavy story that digs into a wide variety of traumatic subject matter. it is also deeply personal in a lot of ways, which is perhaps a weird fit for a Homestuck fanfiction. so i can understand someone from the wider fandom hearing about godfeels as "the June Egbert fic" being disappointed that it's not fluff. i've documented in the past how gf2 emerged out of my dissatisfaction with the image of "Hairclips June," whose transition exists off screen and whose acceptance by her friends is an obvious expectation. i kind of feel bad for how that shook out in the long term since, between the lengthy hiatus of hs2 and the broader strangulation of the post-canon movement during the pandemic, the canonical "Hairclips June" story (or at least "June Who Doesn't Suffer 100% Consequences" story) doesn't seem to exist. i don't mean literally canonical, i mean "seeped into the fandom's collective unconscious" canonical, like Detective Pony. there are plenty of fanworks that do a good or at least interesting job with June, but they're not *about* June in quite the same way godfeels is. it's entirely possible that such a thing DOES exist and IS popular (i freely admit to being out of touch with modern fanworks), but for better or worse godfeels still seems to be the thing that comes up most often-- and not always in a positive light.

for a while now i've been working on an "Author's Introduction" which on the surface is an attempt to contextualize the phases of godfeels for new readers, but in actuality is more of a history of/commentary on the post-2019 fandom and the so-called "Homestuck Renaissance." i see this as necessary because godfeels is an extension of that moment, in particular the loudly recuperative pro-Vriska boosters and their exquisitely galaxy-brained VrisRezi meta. then gf3.1 responded to the fandom backlash, chapter 8 responded to my experience watching every foundation of my post-transition life crumble during the pandemic, and then Double Album is an exploration of building yourself and community back up in the aftermath of tragedy.

it's not that this context is necessary to understand or appreciate godfeels, just that i think it helps put things in perspective. when i started gf1, i hadn't written fiction in nearly 7 years. today, the series is sitting just shy of the 500,000 word mark. at every step of the process, the quality and ambition of my writing has increased exponentially. there's a reason i've written Double Album as a jumping-on point for new readers-- besides being better in virtually every way that matters to me, it's also largely shorn free of the baggage that can make godfeels a hard sell for folks. whether or not it actually SUCCEEDS as a jumping on point is another conversation entirely.

so i guess all of that is to say, if we were having a private conversation just the two of us, i freely admit that godfeels is a wildly disjointed story on top of being extreme and often emotionally masochistic. i am proud of this work from start to finish, but it fundamentally is the process of its authorship in a way that a thoroughly drafted and edited novel simply isn't. i used to publish chapters the instant they felt done to me, with only minimal revisions. these days i let chapters bake a lot longer and put much more thought into how they fit into the larger whole. i kinda miss the old way but the new way results in much better work.

i'd be curious to hear what exactly it is that Pisses You Off about godfeels, and why you nevertheless feel it's a worthwhile reading experience. you ask me for advice on how to constructively engage with media that pisses you off, but i don't have any because in general i don't engage with media that pisses me off. i stopped reading fanworks after 2020 because everything that survived seemed to cater only to the sector of the fandom that harassed my friends out of their jobs and platforms. i found their interpretations/extensions of canon lacking, their tendency for straightforward fluff rather grating. i COULD have made that everyone else's problem, but what would be the point? i wasn't the target audience. i didn't enjoy the work, so i stopped reading it. i'd rather move on to media i enjoy than suffer through media i don't.

BUT. there's a fine line here, because it actually takes a lot to Piss Me Off. i don't really believe in rules or standards in art as Inviolable Laws Of Nature. my measure of whether something is good has a lot less to do with its inherent quality and a lot more to do with the balance between intention and execution. it rarely matters how amateur something is, if it meaningfully accomplishes the thing it set out to do then i'll probably like it (or at least respect it). i look for expressions of authenticity, moments where the artist and the medium are in perfect sync. there are plenty of critically praised pretty-looking movies and games with big production values that i don't particularly like. sometimes that's because they're a naked moneymaking enterprise disguised as art. sometimes it's a problem of too many cooks in the kitchen. and then sometimes an artist is just full of shit and doesn't really know what the hell they're talking about (i like to call these people "Californians"). mostly, i just embrace that art-making and art-viewing are inherently subjective experiences, and i find little value in numbered rating systems of any kind.

a lot of my favorite movies and albums underwhelmed me my first time through. they challenged me in a way that i at first interpreted as incompetence, but have come to see as brilliance. there's stuff i found alienating in high school and early 20s that i find deeply relatable in my 30s. as a film student i've had so many conversations with so many people who have wildly different takes on the same movie that i've completely given up on the idea that anyone is an objective arbiter of what's good and what isn't. the only real thing is if it works and if it works for you. i search for the best in everything, because at the end of the day i'm just here for the love of the game and i don't much enjoy hating things. for media to really Piss Me Off, to elicit a genuine I Hate You response, it has to be more than just, like, poorly edited or whatever. it has to embody a repulsive worldview, be a tool of jingoistic propaganda, or otherwise act as an extension of corporate greed and wealth extraction. these days i reserve my hatred for that which has connection to real Power and exerts a mass cultural Influence, or that otherwise blindly reproduces the same problems.

i think it's far easier to critically engage with work you don't like when you search for the things that work, rather than the things that don't. when it works, when it really clicks, you see what they were going for, and only with that perspective can you see why what doesn't work doesn't work. all i ever ask is for readers to take my stuff as it is, good and bad, and judge it on those terms. i find your use of "comforts the disturbed, disturbs the comfortable" funny and fitting. art that wants to be for everyone is art that cannot be for anyone. it is a perfectly round grey sphere that all who gaze upon it can agree "exists" and "succeeds at what it's trying to do." good art is imperfect, because it is the result of a perspective you may not share. i've never wanted to make art for the masses. i want to make the kinds of things that i wished existed when i was younger. there are a surprising number of people who feel that godfeels positively affected their lives, and i know that i have very little to do with that. godfeels is an object that exists in the world. i had ideas of what it was when i wrote it, but i can't control what anyone else sees no matter how much digital ink i spill trying to explain my original vision. if it truly comforts the disturbed and disturbs the comfortable, then on some level i must have succeeded in what i was trying to do even if the path to getting there was spotty and rough.

i did the best i could at every stage of writing godfeels. i would do things differently today, but i also wouldn't be here at all if i'd done it differently back then. i try to extend this grace to other artists as much as possible, that we're all just figuring it out as we go along. but i also know that everyone goes to art for different things, and finds value in different aspects of its expression. really, all i ever want is to have a conversation about the object without the looming specter of Respectability Politics and Moral Hazards. it's when people start acting like godfeels is Dangerous, and that i'm dangerous by extension, that i start having opinions about where critics are fucking up. tell me what it does or fails to do. point at the text and show me you've read and comprehended it by citing your sources and arguing through the text instead of around it. absolutely fuck off with the moral hand-wringing about Transgender Representation and Glorifying Violence and Perpetuating Toxic Stereotypes. it's a fucking Homestuck fanfiction, for god's sake.

but anyway you're not doing that, so, good job! i'm glad you find the experience of reading godfeels illuminating even if it pisses you off. i hope you found this lengthy answer enlightening, and maybe a bit annoying also. consistency is key, or so they say

[chrysanthemumgames]

Could you share a little more about your writing process? Do you outline? I’m struggling with keeping the amount of choices down in my game but also keeping it customizable

I may not be the best person to ask about this, as I'm honestly still quite an amateur, but I'll share some of what I do, and maybe it'll help.

I do think some amount of outlining is pretty necessary for writing an interactive fiction. Flying by the seat of your pants (that is, just writing until you're done, then going back to rewrite everything into coherence) isn't really sustainable practice for a (long) choice game. You really want to know at least where all the major branches of your game are going, and where they can meet back up again.

Those meeting places are called chokepoints, and they're vital.

For example, in Chapter Four of FoA, the player has three different routes of investigation they can take. They can go talk to Lethe and try to help heal her, they can go into the city to see if the spirits know anything, or they can go to the riverbank to try and pinpoint the source and nature of whatever is ailing the river Lethe. This results in three distinct scenes, each with their own choices, and if I'd wanted to, all of them could have further branched in some big way that would affect the plot, and so on, and so forth.

The thing is, that's not really doable. There needs to be some place the branches meet up again so the story can continue, at least as early in the game as Chapter Four! In this example, it was literally a meeting where everyone talked about their findings, but of course it doesn't have to be. The point is, it brought the branches back together again and allowed the story to continue. You should probably at least have a sense of when the bigger branches are going to occur, and what's going to bring them together again. That alone will help you control the number of choices and branches you offer. If you know they all have to eventually get the player to the clock tower at midnight or something, then you know how to steer things within each branch.

My outlines tend to be a little more detailed than that. I start with a beat chart for the game (or, in the case of BotL, a beat chart for each subplot, because it's basically several subplots stacked together wearing a trenchcoat), and from there I put them in the right order and make a beat chart for the whole thing.

A 'beat chart' here is just a list of the big things that happen like 'PC meets Iasion' or 'Trial of Pirithous and Theseus.' Once you have a really general outline like that, you can stop outlining if you want. You have a roadmap, and if you're more of an improvisor, that should still be enough to help you steer yourself towards the necessary chokepoints. If you prefer to plan more, like me, you can break your outline into chunks and add levels of detail. I will do a chapter-by-chapter outline with a list of scenes for each, and then when I come to the specific chapter I will actually outline the scenes with code before writing my way through them. Sometimes all at once, sometimes in the form of outline, scene, outline, scene.

Finding the process that works for you is a big part of succeeding at finishing an IF, I think. Yours might not (probably won't) be the same as mine; the important thing is that it keeps you moving forward (and not just laterally, into more and more branches). Branches are great, but you have to prune them back sometimes for the healthiest plant. IF. You get what I mean, I hope.

[wannabehockeygf]

State of Grace | Clayton Keller

"We are alone with our changing minds, We fall in love 'til it hurts or bleeds, or fades in time, And I never, Saw you coming And I'll never, Be the same."

*** request: "☁️ (fluff) w keller inspired by the song state of grace by taylor swift" summary: same people, seven years of distance... word count: 9.2k pairing: clayton keller x fem!reader warnings: public drinking/alcohol, pda (kissing, making out), very very slight sexual innuendo notes: - tbh this isn't my best work. but I worked hard on it and didn't want to scrap it so I hope you like it ! - this is def giving slightly cocky more confident flirty clayton... but i will probably make him a lot softer and sweeter in the future. just felt like doing him this way this time. - also, I have 2 more keller requests. so if u requested him and this wasn't ur request they are coming. - I have never been to salt lake city. apologies if I completely slandered it. - red is my fav ts album, just felt like I should mention. ***

You never thought you'd see Clayton Keller again.

He was supposed to be a chapter you’d closed long ago—one you’d shoved into the back of your mental bookshelf, never to be opened again. You had plans, big ones, bigger than the swoon of your teenage heart. You had meticulously plotted your path to Boston University, intent on becoming a sharp, hard-hitting journalist. You could see it now: your name, printed in bold letters, beneath a thought-provoking headline in The New York Times.

But then he came. His blue eyes locked with yours, his stupidly perfect hair falling just right, those dimples of his flashing at you like some cruel joke. You didn’t stand a chance. The kind of falling you did for him wasn’t cute or accidental—it was more like falling flat on your face in front of a crowd. Painful, embarrassing, and lingering.

He was your first everything. And you gave him everything—not a piece of you left unshared, unexposed. It felt romantic at the time, but looking back, it was more like you emptied your entire emotional bank account and let him walk off with the cash. Seven years ago, when he told you he was moving to Phoenix and that you two should “see other people,” you didn’t buy his polite words. What he meant was that he wanted to be young and free, without the burden of a long-distance girlfriend dragging behind him.

“Wait, wha–”

You never even finished your sentence. The door had slammed behind him before the rest of your thought caught up to your lips.

That was then. Seven long years had passed, and you were standing in a press area in Salt Lake City, feeling like all your well-laid plans had been thrown into a blender. You weren't in New York writing world-changing pieces for a big-name paper. You were pushing through a horde of sweaty, exhausted journalists, armed with a press badge that read "Utah Hockey Club"—a new team you hadn’t even thought much about until you got the assignment. You’d taken this job because, well, rent. Plus, there’s something humiliating yet poetic about going from wanting to change the world to covering idiotic brutes who give two-word answers between mouthfuls of Gatorade.

The Delta Center hummed with the energy of a big game, the walls vibrating with the echo of shoes shuffling, cameras clicking, and reporters murmuring amongst themselves. The fluorescent lighting overhead gave the place a washed-out look, amplifying the wrinkles in everyone’s faces. Hockey’s a fast-paced game, but the post-game press scrum felt like watching paint dry. You pushed forward, determined to at least pretend you were thriving in this moment.

“Excuse me, sorry—coming through!” You elbowed your way to the front, probably earning a few disgruntled glares. But at least you’d get the scoop firsthand, even if it was on some sweaty player who would grunt a few words before retreating to the locker room.

The door on the far side swung open, and the team’s PR person stepped aside as the hero of the night walked out. You barely had time to register who it was before the sea of reporters parted slightly, and there, standing in front of you, was Clayton Keller.

No fucking way.

Of all the faces you expected to see tonight—sweaty athletes, fellow journalists, maybe a stray beer vendor—his was not one of them. And yet, there he was, stepping out like a ghost from your past. Clayton Keller, in the flesh. For a moment, the crowded press room shrunk, the shuffling reporters and camera flashes dimming into the background as your gaze locked with his. His eyes widened, a flicker of recognition crossing his face, but neither of you said a word. It was like being hit by a rogue puck, stunning you into stillness.

Clayton freakin' Keller? You blinked rapidly, trying to process the cosmic joke unfolding before you. How did you not know he was playing for this team? You’d been on autopilot since you accepted this job, barely caring who laced up their skates for Utah as long as you got a paycheck at the end of the week. And now, standing mere feet away from you, was the boy—no, the man—you’d once mapped out a future with in your mind. The same guy who had practically evaporated from your life with nothing more than a mumbled excuse and a slammed door.

Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, racing like they were being chased down the ice. Part of you wanted to turn around and melt into the crowd, become invisible like you had all those years ago. But the other part, the journalist, the professional, forced you to stay rooted in place. You had a job to do. You had moved on. You were fine.

Except you weren't.

The lights in the room seemed harsher now, bouncing off his ridiculous helmet hair—seriously, how did it still look that good after a game? He looked annoyingly fit in his compression shirt, like a real-life action figure, and it felt unfair. You, on the other hand, were wearing the same tired blazer from two seasons ago, still trying to convince yourself it was "timeless."

The pit in your stomach deepened as Clayton’s eyes bore into yours, his mouth tugging into a half-smile that sent a wave of heat rushing to your face. That stupid smile. You’d seen it a thousand times when you were together—playful, slightly cocky, but never without charm. You hated that your body still reacted to it like this, even after all these years.

Don’t smile back. For the love of God, don’t smile back.

Too late. Your lips betrayed you, quirking up before you could stop them.

Suddenly, the PR person began talking, but you didn’t catch a word. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe. The room seemed to shift back into focus, the noise returning as questions were fired off at him—none of which you could hear through the roaring in your head. Your fingers clenched around your press badge as you watched Clayton respond to the reporters, his voice low and steady. You didn’t need to hear what he was saying. His presence alone was enough to throw you into a tailspin.

What does he think? Your mind raced with a hundred possibilities. Was he surprised? Regretful? Did he even remember how you left things? Of course, he does. You’ve never quite forgiven yourself for the way you let him walk out without a fight. And now, here he was, larger than life, as if fate had decided to throw you together just for kicks.

The press scrum started to disband, the tension loosening as the cameras lowered and the reporters shifted toward the exit. You should’ve done the same—should’ve grabbed your recorder and escaped with what little dignity you had left. But your feet refused to move. And then, suddenly, neither did his. Clayton looked right at you. The air around you crackled, thick with unspoken words, neither of you daring to break the silence.

Before you could decide whether to run or speak, he was walking toward you. Your breath hitched, every nerve in your body buzzing. The gap between you felt like miles and inches all at once. Each step he took seemed to echo in your chest, like the beat of a drum getting louder, faster.

He stopped just in front of you, close enough that you could smell the faint hint of sweat and Gatorade. The grin had faded from his face, replaced by something unreadable—soft, curious, maybe even a little sheepish.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet, like he wasn’t sure how to start.

Hey? That was it? After all these years, after everything, and all he had was a “hey”?

Your mind screamed a million things at once, none of them appropriate for public spaces. But what came out of your mouth was... “Hi.”

Nailed it.

The awkward silence stretched between you, both of you clearly unsure of how to navigate this weird, tension-filled reunion. It was like standing at the edge of a frozen lake, knowing one wrong move could send you crashing through the ice.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus. “So... you play for Utah now?” Wow, groundbreaking journalism. Really killing it.

“Yeah,” he said, a hint of a smile creeping back onto his face. “I do. Yotes are no more. Guess I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same.” Your voice wobbled, betraying the chaos in your chest. You weren’t sure if you were more mad at him or yourself. For not seeing this coming. For caring. For still feeling something after all these years.

His eyes softened, as if he could read your thoughts. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Seven years. Seven long, winding, confusing years, filled with everything you thought would erase him but never quite could.

“Yeah,” you whispered, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “It has.”

Another pause, thicker this time. You weren’t sure where to go from here. He didn’t either. But here you were, both stranded in this moment, waiting for something to break the ice—or for the floor to swallow you whole.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit you’d forgotten about but instantly recognized. “Maybe we could... catch up sometime? After all this?”

Your heart skipped. There it was—the opening, the question that could send you spiraling back into something you weren’t sure you could handle. You should say no. You should walk away, hold your head high, and leave him standing in the echo of his own question. But, of course, that’s not what happened.

“Yeah,” you found yourself saying. “I’d like that.”

What was wrong with you? This was the exact opposite of moving on. But standing there, with Clayton looking at you like no time had passed, like maybe you were both still the same people you’d been before everything fell apart... how could you resist?

*** It had been a few days since the interview, and you were still trying to wrap your head around the surreal fact that Clayton Keller, that Clayton Keller, was back in your life. You'd both exchanged numbers after that painfully awkward conversation, the kind where every word felt like walking on eggshells and every pause seemed to echo louder than it should. A part of you hoped he’d never use it—let the number sit in his phone, untouched, like some relic of a past better left buried. Another part of you, though… well, that part was curious.

So when your phone lit up late one night, your stomach did a little flip when you saw his name. FaceTime. Of course, it was FaceTime. He’d always preferred that over a regular call—something about needing to see your face when he talked, like the words didn’t count unless he could watch them land.

You hesitated for a split second, staring at the screen. What could he possibly want? At this hour? A thousand scenarios played out in your mind, but you knew you’d overthink yourself into oblivion if you didn’t answer. So, with a quick swipe of your thumb, you connected the call.

And there he was.

Clayton, shirtless, lying in what looked like a messy bed with white sheets, his hair damp and tousled, the way it always looked after a shower. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he’d just finished a long day of skating and was too tired to care that he looked half-dead. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on his face, making his eyes look even bluer than you remembered. He looked exhausted, but somehow still infuriatingly good.

“Hey,” he breathed, his voice a little hoarse.

You blinked, trying to process the sight of him. "Hey," you managed to say back, though it came out softer than you intended, like your voice wasn’t quite ready to handle the weight of this unexpected late-night call.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. He just stared at the screen, blinking slowly, his lips quirking into a lazy smile like this was totally normal, like you weren’t both swimming in a sea of unresolved feelings and unspoken words. His half-smirk sent an unwelcome rush of heat to your face, and you cursed your body for still reacting to him like this.

“I, uh… didn’t wake you, did I?” Clayton asked, his tone casual, but there was something in his expression that felt… tentative. Like he wasn’t sure if he was crossing a line by calling, but had decided to do it anyway.

You shook your head, the corner of your mouth lifting in a small smile. “No, I was just… working on something.” Which was technically true, if by ‘working on something’ you meant binge-watching Netflix in your sweats and trying not to think about him.

“Good,” he said, sighing like he was relieved. He stretched his arm behind his head, his bicep flexing a little, and you tried—tried—not to stare. But come on, the guy was practically a walking thirst trap, even when he wasn’t trying. “I figured it was late, but…” His voice trailed off, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture that tugged at something deep inside you. “I don’t know, I wanted to talk to you.”

That admission hung in the air for a second, and you weren’t sure how to respond. He wanted to talk to you? After all these years? After everything? Part of you wanted to ask why. What did he think he’d get out of this conversation? Closure? Redemption? Or was he just bored in his bedroom, flicking through his contacts until he landed on a name that felt familiar?

Instead, you settled for a simple, “What’s up?” You hoped your voice sounded more casual than your heart felt, which was currently doing cartwheels in your chest.

Clayton shifted on the bed, the sheets rustling softly under him. “I’ve been thinking about… you know… us.” His eyes flickered away from the screen for a moment, like he wasn’t ready to face the weight of that statement. “I mean, it’s been a long time, right? Since we’ve, like, actually talked.”

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah, it has.” The understatement of the century. Seven years wasn’t just a long time—it was practically another lifetime. And yet, here you were, talking to him like no time had passed, like the years between you had folded in on themselves.

He let out a soft laugh, one that sounded more self-deprecating than amused. “So, uh… what have you been up to? I mean, other than, you know, writing and all that.”

You let out a short breath, trying to figure out how to distill the chaos of your life into something that didn’t sound pathetic. “Well, I’m not exactly where I thought I’d be,” you admitted, leaning back into your pillows. “Thought I’d be in New York by now, writing Pulitzer-worthy exposés. But, surprise—here I am, covering hockey in Salt Lake City.”

You watched as Clayton processed your words, his expression softening, a faint smile playing on his lips. His gaze never left yours, even through the screen, and for a moment, you felt that old, familiar connection stirring inside you, the one you thought you’d buried beneath years of moving on—or at least pretending to. He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, his movements slow and languid like he wasn’t in any rush to end this conversation.

“I noticed,” he mused, his voice low and scratchy, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. “Never would’ve pegged you for a Utah girl.”

You tilted your head slightly, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on you through the screen. His words floated in the air like an awkward icebreaker at a high school reunion—too familiar, too uncomfortable, and yet, impossible to avoid. Covering hockey in Salt Lake City. How had that become your life?

"Salt Lake's... different, you know?" you finally added, giving a small shrug like it wasn't a big deal, even though you felt that weird tightness in your chest whenever you thought about how your career hadn't exactly gone according to plan. "I mean, I didn’t expect to be here either, but hey, life happens, right?”

Clayton’s blue eyes narrowed, his lips twitching in amusement, though there was something behind that look—something like understanding. He was watching you carefully, and it felt like he was seeing more than what you were saying, like he could tell just how much you'd needed that reminder to yourself, more than him. That quiet acknowledgment hung between you both, the years of growing up, of failed dreams, pushing at the edges of the conversation.

“You always made it look easy, though," he said suddenly, like he'd just remembered something. “Everything, I mean. You had this way of… handling stuff. I used to think it was kinda badass.”

Your eyebrows shot up, his words catching you off-guard. Badass? Was he serious? You could barely handle anything these days without second-guessing every decision. Yet here he was, casually throwing compliments like it was nothing.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure badass isn’t exactly what people are thinking when they see me asking sweaty hockey players questions about their game-winning strategy.” You tried to sound light, but there was a hint of something vulnerable under the joke.

Clayton let out a low chuckle, the sound sending an unexpected flutter through your stomach. “I don’t know. You’ve always been good at getting people to talk. Especially me.”

Your breath caught for a second. There it was—that little jab at the past, not sharp enough to hurt, but just enough to remind you of all the conversations that had gone unfinished between the two of you. His compliment, while soft, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken things.

You rolled your eyes a little, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t give me too much credit. I wasn’t exactly a therapist back then.”

His face softened, a different kind of look crossing his features now. “Nah, but you listened. You always did. Even when I was being an idiot.”

The admission hung in the air, and you couldn’t help but bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to let your emotions show on your face. What was he doing here? Dredging up memories that had long since been buried under years of moving on, of pretending you hadn’t spent too many nights wondering if he’d ever think about you again.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t always know what to say," you admitted, your voice a little quieter now. "But I tried."

There was a moment of silence, the kind that stretched out too long, where every second felt loaded with thoughts neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Clayton shifted on the bed again, running a hand through his damp hair, and you caught yourself staring at the flex of his arm before quickly looking away. Damn him for still looking this good. Even better, actually, because since the last time you saw him, he’d grown into his body and had gained the ability to grow a moustache.

“Look,” he began, his voice dropping a little, “I know I wasn’t… the best back then. To you, I mean.” His words came out slowly, like he was testing them, gauging your reaction. But instead of following through with what felt like the start of an apology, he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the screen.

You waited, expecting more, but it didn’t come. Instead, Clayton leaned back on his pillows, a faint smirk curling his lips. “But you still looked cute when you were pissed off at me. I always liked that.”

You blinked, the sudden shift from what might’ve been an emotional breakthrough to yet another casual compliment leaving you disoriented. “Are you… serious right now?” You couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that escaped you. Only Clayton would steer an almost-apology into flirting territory.

He shrugged, a lazy smile still playing on his lips. “Just saying. You had this look. Like, when you were mad, but you were trying not to be. Your nose would scrunch up a little, and your eyes—”

“Okay, stop,” you cut him off, raising a hand to your face to hide the fact that yes, you were blushing. Damn it. “You can’t just… I don’t know, throw that out there after all this time. You’re still deflecting.”

“Deflecting?” His eyebrows rose, a mock-innocent expression spreading across his face. “I’m just being honest.”

“Honest?” You scoffed, leaning back against your headboard. “What, by bringing up random stuff from eight years ago?”

Clayton’s smirk widened. “Seven. Not random. I remember a lot, actually.”

Of course he did. The way he said it, too—like he was deliberately nudging you, reminding you of all the things you hadn’t forgotten either. But you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Oh yeah? What else do you remember?” you asked, your tone playful but with an edge, daring him to see just how far he’d take this little game of his even though you felt like you were about to throw up.

His eyes sparkled, that familiar mischievous look you’d known so well flashing across his face. “Like the time you sent me that–”

Your stomach did a full somersault, heat flooding your face instantly. Oh no. He was not going there. “Nope. No, we are not talking about that,” you cut him off quickly, your voice coming out a little too high-pitched as you desperately tried to keep the conversation from veering into dangerous territory. “That was a one-time thing, and we agreed never to bring it up again.”

Clayton leaned back into his pillows, that damn smirk still glued to his face. “Okay, okay, I’ll drop it—for now,” he teased, his voice low and smooth, sending a ripple of something through your chest. You could almost feel his presence through the screen, that mix of nostalgia and charm making you momentarily forget all the reasons you’d been trying to stay away from this exact moment.

You let out a small breath of relief, glad to have dodged whatever embarrassing memory he’d been about to dredge up. But the silence that followed wasn’t exactly comfortable—it was thick with things left unsaid. You couldn’t tell if the tightness in your chest was from anticipation or dread. Maybe both.

“Anyway,” Clayton said, stretching his arms overhead in a lazy move that only drew more attention to his already distracting physique. His voice had that familiar playful tone, the one you used to hear all the time when he was up to something. “I was thinking… we should actually catch up. Properly.”

You raised an eyebrow, shifting in your seat. “Properly?” The word hung in the air, vague but full of possibility. “What exactly do you mean by ‘properly’?”

Clayton tilted his head to the side, his lips twitching with amusement like he was letting you in on some kind of secret. “Well, what are you doing tonight?”

You glanced at the clock on your phone screen. “Uh, it’s already like, midnight, Clay. What could I possibly be doing?”

His grin widened. “Exactly! You’ve got no plans. So let’s fix that.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether he was serious. “And how do you suggest we ‘fix that’ at midnight in Salt Lake City?” You emphasized the city name, because let’s be real—Salt Lake City wasn’t exactly known for its wild nightlife. You were pretty sure the most exciting thing happening outside right now was… nothing. “There’s not exactly a lot of options here. The city basically shuts down after dark.”

Clayton gave you a look that was equal parts amused and mischievous, like he knew something you didn’t. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t discovered the real Salt Lake yet.”

You squinted at him through the screen. “The ‘real’ Salt Lake? What, you’re gonna tell me there’s some secret underground club scene I’ve missed out on all this time?”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, like it could melt away the awkwardness that had been sitting between you. “Maybe not exactly an underground club, but I could show you a thing or two. You free? I’ve got nothing going on tomorrow, so… why not?”

You stared at him, your brain struggling to catch up with what he was suggesting. Was he serious? A late-night tour of Salt Lake City with Clayton Keller? The guy who’d ghosted you years ago, now offering to play tour guide like it was no big deal?

“You want to go out,” you clarified slowly, feeling like you needed to repeat it just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. “In Salt Lake City. At midnight.”

Clayton shrugged, completely unfazed. “Why not? If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all these away games, it’s that every city has something going on. Even the Mormon capital of America.”

You narrowed your eyes, still half-convinced he was joking. “Are you really trying to convince me there’s a hidden nightlife here?”

“I’m telling you, it’s not as boring as you think,” he said with a wink, clearly enjoying how skeptical you were. Then his voice dropped a little, a teasing lilt sneaking in as he added, “You still like your wine, right, sunshine?”

Your heart stopped.

Sunshine.

The old pet name hit you like a sucker punch to the gut, the way it slipped out so casually as if no time had passed at all. He hadn’t called you that in years, but hearing it again now sent a shiver down your spine. It brought back a flood of memories you thought you’d buried—a thousand late-night phone calls, stolen moments when you were younger, when he would look at you with that same mischievous grin and call you his Sunshine.

You blinked, forcing yourself back to the present. The screen in front of you, Clayton’s blue eyes twinkling with the kind of trouble he used to drag you into without a second thought. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

His face softened for a moment, the playfulness easing into something more sincere. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly, almost like he hadn’t meant to let it slip, but now that it was out there, he wasn’t going to backtrack. “But it still suits you. Always did.”

You felt your stomach do another flip, that knot of unresolved feelings tightening all over again. Damn it. How was he still doing this to you? You had no reason to trust this—no reason to believe this wasn’t just some spur-of-the-moment thing he’d forget about by morning. And yet, something in the way he was looking at you made it hard to resist. The old pull between you, still there, lingering just beneath the surface.

You let out a slow breath, leaning back into your pillows, your mind racing. Was this a terrible idea? Probably. Was it also incredibly tempting? Absolutely.

“So… where exactly are you planning on taking me at midnight, Keller?” you asked, adding a bit of edge to your tone, trying to regain some control over this conversation.

Clayton’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming like he’d just won something. “Guess you’ll have to come find out.” He paused, then added, “I’ll pick you up in fifteen?”

You stared at the screen, still trying to process the fact that this was actually happening. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Yep.” He was already sitting up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, ready to go. “Better get moving, Sunshine.”

Before you could argue or talk yourself out of it, he flashed you that damn grin, and then the screen went dark. The call ended.

You sat there for a second, staring at your phone, a thousand thoughts swirling through your head. What were you doing? Going out with Clayton at midnight? Had you lost your mind?

But despite the logical part of your brain screaming at you to stay home, your body was already moving, throwing off the blankets and scrambling to find something halfway decent to wear. You might’ve been completely out of your depth here, but there was no way you were backing out now.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to figure out why in the world you had just agreed to go on a midnight adventure with your ex-boyfriend. You were practically sprinting around your apartment, rifling through drawers and closets as if your life depended on finding the perfect outfit. The truth? You had no idea what "perfect" even meant in this situation. Was this a date? Was it just two old friends catching up? Was he seriously about to show you some secret Salt Lake City nightlife, or was he just messing with you like old times?

Your hands shook as you grabbed a pair of jeans and a cozy sweater. Casual, but not too casual. It was chilly outside, and something about layering up made you feel a little more in control, like the extra fabric might protect you from all the feelings currently fighting their way to the surface.

What am I doing? you thought, your heart racing faster than it had any right to at this hour. The rational part of your brain was screaming for you to stay home, to crawl back under the blankets and pretend this whole thing never happened. But your body—the traitorous thing—had other ideas. It moved on autopilot, pulling on sneakers, brushing your hair, applying just a hint of makeup, because apparently even at midnight you still cared what he thought.

You caught your reflection in the mirror and sighed. "You’re insane," you muttered to yourself, but the slight tug at the corner of your lips betrayed you. There was no denying it—you were excited. The nervous, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of excited that you hadn’t felt in a long time. And for better or worse, Clayton Keller was at the center of it.

By the time you heard a knock at your door, your hands were still trembling, but you pushed aside the anxiety and opened it.

There he was.

Clayton leaned against the doorframe, his hands shoved in the pockets of a jacket that fit him way too well. His hair was tousled, like he hadn’t bothered with it before heading out, and his grin—God, that grin—was the same cocky, boyish one you remembered from years ago. Except now, it carried a weight that hadn’t been there before, like he knew exactly the effect he had on you and wasn’t about to let you forget it.

"Ready?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that made your skin tingle.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "You really think there’s something to do here at this hour?"

He chuckled, that low, familiar sound. "Guess you’ll have to trust me."

Trust. That was a loaded word.

Still, you stepped out, closing the door behind you, and followed him to his car. The night air was crisp, biting at your skin just enough to remind you it was almost fall. Clayton opened the passenger door for you—something that shouldn’t have surprised you, but did—and you slid in, trying not to think too hard about how close he was when he leaned over to shut it behind you. The scent of his cologne lingered, a warm mix of something woodsy and clean, the same one from all those years ago, and it was enough to make your mind go blank for a second.

As he got in on the driver’s side, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. His jawline was sharper than you remembered, more defined, and he had this maturity that wasn’t there before–some stubble, barely-there fine lines. It was a face you knew well, but now it felt foreign, like you were seeing him in a new light.

"So," you said, trying to distract yourself from the knot forming in your chest, "What’s the plan? Are we sneaking into a speakeasy, or are you going to take me to one of those places with $12 coffee?"

Clayton laughed, and the sound was like a balm to your nerves. "Oh, come on. Give me a little credit. I’m not about to drag you out at midnight for overpriced coffee." He shifted the car into drive and shot you a sideways glance. "Unless that’s what you’re into now, Sunshine?"

There it was again. The nickname.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but your heart did a little flip at the sound of it. "You really need to stop calling me that," you said, but your voice was softer than you intended.

He didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, the air in the car felt thick, like the space between you was shrinking by the second. He drove in silence, the streets quiet and still, as if the whole city had gone to sleep while the two of you were still wide awake, caught in some strange limbo between the past and whatever this was turning into.

"You gonna tell me where we’re going, or is this part of the whole ‘mysterious night tour’ you’re so committed to?" you asked, breaking the silence with a quirk of your eyebrow. Your voice was light, but the tension was still there, hanging between you both like a thread stretched too tight.

Clayton smirked, not taking his eyes off the road. "Be patient. You’ll see soon enough." His voice was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something more, like he was just as aware of the weight between you as you were.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. "You still haven’t outgrown that whole ‘man of mystery’ thing, have you?" you teased, your tone playful, though your heart was pounding a little harder than you wanted to admit.

"Wouldn’t be any fun if I did, would it?" he shot back with a grin, glancing at you briefly. And that’s when you noticed it—the way his eyes lingered just a second too long, as if he was memorizing the details of your face, taking in the little things you hadn’t even realized he’d noticed before.

You felt the energy between you shift again, and it was suddenly harder to breathe. There was a tension simmering beneath the surface, bubbling up in the things you both were dancing around, the memories neither of you had acknowledged yet. You glanced down at your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater, the silence growing louder the longer you stayed in it.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you felt Clayton’s hand brush against yours, his fingers grazing your knuckles absentmindedly. It wasn’t intentional—at least, you didn’t think it was—but the warmth of his skin sent a ripple of awareness through your entire body.

You glanced up at him, startled, but he was still focused on the road, like he hadn’t even noticed the accidental touch. Except… you knew he had. The way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, the way his one-handed grip on the steering wheel shifted, knuckles going white for a second before he relaxed again—it was all there, in the small, nearly imperceptible gestures that spoke louder than words ever could.

Your heart thudded in your chest, a familiar ache starting to form. Damn him for being able to do this to you without even trying.

"So," you said, desperate to break the silence before you could lose yourself completely in the warmth of his touch. "You’ve been in town a lot recently, huh? Since the team got moved?" It was a lame attempt at conversation, but anything was better than the whirlwind of thoughts currently swirling in your head.

"Yeah," Clayton replied, his voice casual, but there was a slight tension behind it. "Trying to get used to it. A lot of home games lately. But I don’t mind it. It’s kind of nice getting to see places like this again."

You raised an eyebrow. "You mean you enjoy being stuck in this city at midnight?"

He chuckled, and the sound sent a warm shiver down your spine. "When you put it that way, it sounds awful. But, you know, every city’s got its charm. And besides"—his voice dropped lower, a little more serious—"it’s not the place that makes it worth it. It’s the company."

You froze for a second, the weight of his words settling in like a stone in your chest. The way he said it—so effortlessly, like it wasn’t loaded with a thousand layers of meaning—made your stomach flip. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you did what you always did when you were caught off guard.

You deflected.

"Is that your way of saying I’m good company?" you teased, trying to keep your voice light even though your pulse was racing.

Clayton shot you a sideways glance, that damn smirk returning to his face. "You always were," he said, and the sincerity in his voice knocked the wind out of you for a second.

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling like you were eighteen again, sitting next to him in the car, wondering if he was going to reach for your hand like he used to. And just like back then, the possibility hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension.

You turned to look at him, studying the way the dim light caught on the sharp edges of his jawline, the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheekbones. His face had matured, sure, but the boyish charm was still there—the same Clayton you’d fallen for once upon a time.

"You really haven’t changed much," you found yourself saying before you could stop the words from slipping out. "I mean, you’re still… you."

He glanced over at you, his expression softening as he caught the hidden meaning in your words. "Neither have you, Sunshine," he murmured, his voice almost too quiet for the small space of the car. "You’re still… you."

The way he said it—like he hadn’t forgotten a single thing about you—made something inside you ache. You wanted to say something back, to tell him how much you’d missed him, how much you hated that he still had this power over you after all these years. But the words wouldn’t come. They stuck in your throat, tangled up with all the things you hadn’t been able to say back then, and now.

Instead, you reached for his hand—just a simple, fleeting touch, your fingers brushing his in a way that felt almost accidental. But it wasn’t. Not really.

His fingers curled around yours, just for a moment, just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin and the way it made your whole body hum with something familiar, something you hadn’t felt in far too long.

And then, just like that, he let go.

You blinked, pulling your hand back and staring out the window, the city lights reflecting off the glass in a blur of color and motion. Your chest felt tight, too many emotions crashing into you at once. But you couldn’t deny it—no matter how hard you tried to keep your walls up, they were crumbling. And Clayton? He was still the one person who could knock them down without even trying.

"So," you said, your voice a little breathless, "Are we almost there?"

Clayton glanced over at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiled softly. "Yeah, we’re close."

The rest of the drive was silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was the kind of silence that was full of possibility, of things left unsaid but not unwelcome. You didn’t know where this night was headed, but you knew one thing for sure—whatever happened, it wouldn’t be something you’d forget anytime soon.

***

The city streets blurred as the car slowed to a stop in some tucked-away corner you barely recognized. The soft glow of the streetlights overhead cast a warm hue on the pavement, but you barely noticed. Your mind was still spinning from the weight of Clayton’s words, from the way his hand had felt when it lingered on yours for just that fleeting second.

“We’re here,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure this was the right place, or the right time, or maybe the right anything.

But you didn’t care. The night felt charged, like the two of you were moving in slow motion while the rest of the world was speeding by. It didn’t matter where “here” was, not really.

You both stumbled out of the car, the cool night air rushing at you as you wrapped your sweater tighter around yourself. But it wasn’t enough—not with the way Clayton’s presence seemed to radiate heat just inches away. You were on edge, your senses heightened, and every part of you was hyper-aware of how close he was, of the way his breath lingered in the crisp air, of the way he watched you with a look that made your heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips as he grabbed a bottle of something from the back seat. “We’re not done yet.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Is this still part of the mysterious tour?”

“Maybe,” he teased, already uncorking the bottle and handing it to you. His fingers brushed yours again, and it was ridiculous how that tiny touch sent another shiver down your spine.

You took a swig, the liquid burning as it slid down your throat, but you welcomed it—the warmth, the distraction from the pounding in your chest. Clayton took the bottle back, and soon you were both drinking far too much, far too fast, but neither of you seemed to care. You walked aimlessly, shoulders bumping, laughing at nothing and everything, the weight of the past slipping further away with each step.

It didn’t take long before you found yourselves outside some random corner store, the neon sign buzzing faintly in the distance. You leaned against the brick wall, head tipped back as you took another swig, giggling at something Clayton had just said—something about how ridiculous it was that he had to move here, that his dogs liked it better in Arizona.

But then, suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore. Not when you felt his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze burning into your skin. You turned to face him, your breath catching in your throat as the space between you disappeared in an instant.

He was close. So close.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your hand finding the front of his jacket, tugging him closer until there was no more room left between you. And then his lips were on yours, soft but insistent, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as you had.

The first kiss was electric. You could taste the alcohol on his lips, sweet and sharp, but that wasn’t what had your heart racing. It was the way he kissed you—hungry, like he was trying to make up for all the time you’d lost, all the time you hadn’t spent together. His hands were on your waist, pulling you closer, and suddenly, the entire world faded away, leaving only the two of you under the dim streetlights.

You didn’t care that you were making out in public, that anyone could see. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as you kissed him harder, more desperately, as if you were afraid this would all disappear if you stopped for even a second.

You broke apart, gasping for air, but Clayton didn’t let go. His forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as you both stood there, hearts pounding, the night spinning around you. “God, Sunshine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, “What are you doing to me?”

You couldn’t find the words to respond, so you kissed him again. This time, it was slower, deeper, and the warmth of it seeped into your bones. His hands roamed your back, pulling you against him in a way that felt reckless, like neither of you cared about anything except the feel of each other.

Somehow, in your drunken haze, you ended up wandering through the streets, arms wrapped around each other, stumbling over your own feet as you laughed and kissed and touched like you were teenagers again. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your hips, sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair—and you couldn’t get enough of him.

At one point, you found yourselves pressed up against the side of a building, your back hitting the cold brick as Clayton’s body pressed against yours, his mouth hot against your neck. You were both breathless, both lost in the moment, and you couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped your lips as his teeth grazed your skin.

“God, Clayton,” you gasped as he kissed a trail down your jawline, his stubble scratching deliciously against your skin. “We’re in the middle of the street.”

He grinned against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “So? It’s not like anyone’s around to stop us.”

You laughed, a giddy, breathless sound, and shoved him playfully, though your hands were still clutching the front of his shirt. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And yet,” he murmured, pulling you back in for another kiss, his hands sliding to rest on your hips, “you’re still here.”

You couldn’t argue with that. Your body pressed against his again, and suddenly all your protests faded away as he kissed you like he had something to prove. You could feel the way his fingers dug into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, and your whole body felt like it was buzzing with energy. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, the way he touched you, kissed you, like he was trying to make up for all the lost time in one night.

The two of you were a tangle of limbs and breathless kisses, stumbling down the sidewalk toward what you assumed was his apartment. Neither of you seemed to know—or care—where you were headed, as long as you were together. The past, the complications, the years of distance—they all melted away, lost in the heat of the moment.

And you? You were drowning in it. Drowning in him. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to come up for air.

*** You woke up to the sound of an obnoxious alarm blaring from somewhere across the room, the kind that felt like it was drilling straight into your skull. Your eyes fluttered open, your brain struggling to catch up with the sudden onslaught of noise, and you groaned, pulling the covers over your head in a desperate attempt to block it out.

That’s when it hit you.

This wasn’t your bed.

The sheets were soft, unfamiliar against your skin, and the room smelled like him—clean, woodsy, with that faint hint of his cologne that you’d been way too aware of last night. Last night. Oh, God.

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing as the events of the previous evening slammed back into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. Clayton. The kiss. The way he touched you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted. The way you hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t even wanted to stop him. And now, here you were, tangled in his sheets, his bare chest pressed up against your back, his arm slung lazily over your waist like it had always belonged there.

You squeezed your eyes shut again, praying this was some whiskey-induced fever dream and that in a few minutes, you’d wake up in your own bed, alone, and none of this would have actually happened. But no amount of willpower could change the fact that you were very much awake, very much in his bed, and very much aware of the fact that you’d slept with Clayton.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding in your chest like it was trying to break free.

Beside you, Clayton stirred, groaning as he stretched lazily, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he shifted. “Mornin’,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, and you could hear the smile in his tone even though you couldn’t see his face.

Oh, he sounded way too casual for someone who had just turned your entire world upside down.

“Morning?” you squeaked, your voice coming out far higher than you’d intended. You shifted out from under his arm and sat up, clutching the blanket to your chest like a lifeline. “Clayton, what the hell—?”

His eyes cracked open, blinking at you with that groggy, lopsided grin that would have been charming if you weren’t currently having an internal meltdown. He looked… annoyingly good. The kind of good that made you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time, and the conflict was making your brain short-circuit.

“What?” he asked, his grin widening as he stretched again, the muscles in his arms flexing. “You’re freakin’ out. I can tell. Relax, Sunshine.”

“Relax?” Your voice pitched higher. “You told me you didn’t have anything going on today!”

Clayton blinked, then frowned slightly as if he was trying to recall. And then, like a lightbulb flicking on, you saw the realization dawn on his face. “Oh. Yeah… about that.”

Your heart sank. “Clayton.”

“Okay, look, technically I don’t have anything going on until later…” he started, but you shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel.

“Then what is that?” you asked, pointing accusingly toward his still-blaring phone, the sound making your skin crawl. Clayton sighed, pushing the covers off and swinging his legs out of bed. He crossed the room in nothing but a pair of his boxers—of course he looked ridiculously good in them—and smacked the alarm off with a casualness that made you want to scream.

“I might’ve… uh, forgotten to mention that I have practice this morning,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s just a quick thing. Early session. In like… 20 minutes.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You lied to me?”

“I didn’t lie!” he protested, his hands up in mock defense. “I just… omitted some details. For the sake of the night. I didn’t want to kill the vibe.” He had the audacity to smirk at you, that same cocky, infuriatingly charming smirk that used to make your stomach flip when you were younger—and still did, apparently, despite everything. “I figured I’d have enough time to grab a shower, kiss you goodbye, and get outta here. No big deal.”

No big deal? You gawked at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish, trying to find some coherent response to that. Was he serious? After everything that happened last night, he thought you could just… what? Kiss him goodbye and pretend like nothing had changed?

“Clay,” you said slowly, “We slept together.”

He shrugged, that damn smirk never leaving his face. “Yeah. I remember. Pretty sure you were there for that.”

Your face flushed hot, embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside you. “How can you be so—so chill about this? I’m freaking out! We haven’t seen each other in years, and then you just show up and… and this happens?” You gestured wildly, like the whole situation was somehow his fault, which, okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely fair, but still.

Clayton’s smirk softened into something gentler, his eyes searching your face as he stepped closer to the bed. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low, calming, as if he could sense that you were on the verge of spiraling. “I’m not freakin’ out because… because I wanted this to happen. And not just last night.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. "I know it’s complicated," he said, his voice steady. "But I also know that I don’t want you to leave."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you finally turned to face him, your eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation. But there wasn’t any. He was looking at you like he meant every word.

"What are you saying?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, clearly trying to find the right words. "I’m saying… I don’t know what last night means either. But I do know that I don’t want it to be a one-time thing. I don’t want to wake up and find you gone. I don’t want to go to practice and come back to an empty apartment. I want you to be here when I get back."

You stared at him, stunned into silence.

"I didn’t realize it until last night, but I’m not… I’m not the same without you, Sunshine," he continued, his voice soft but sure. "And I don’t think I want to be."

Your heart felt like it had taken off at a sprint, and suddenly, all the panic, all the confusion that had been swirling in your head since the alarm went off, started to melt away.

You didn’t know how to respond—hell, you didn’t even know if you had the right words to respond to something like that. But as you looked at him, sitting there with that vulnerable look in his eyes, you felt something inside you shift, something that told you that maybe—just maybe—this was worth the risk.

You still loved him. Him, and those blue eyes that practically glew, all of his awkward, uncoordinated limbs paired with the way he never failed to make you laugh.

How could you not?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I’ll be here."

Clayton let out a breath he’d clearly been holding, his shoulders relaxing as a relieved grin spread across his face. "Good," he said, his voice lighter now, teasing. "Because I was really hoping to have breakfast with you after I kick ass at practice."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that broke through. "Oh, you were, huh?"

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ as he leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “And if you’re really nice, maybe I’ll even make you coffee.”

You laughed, shaking your head as the tension between you both dissolved into something warmer, something familiar. "Wow, lucky me," you teased back, tilting your head up to peck him on the lips. Your heart felt lighter now, like maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something neither of you had expected but were both willing to explore.

A love that’s worth the fight, even if it hurts, if it faded in time a long time ago, because it just feels so right. 

He’s it for you, and even though he was always notoriously bad with his words, the way he’s looking at you speaks all of them for him.

[fakeagatha]

Wrong Reality | Chapter Two | The Cafe

Summary: Eve introduces Agatha to her friends, and takes her to a coffee shop to forget about her stress of being temporarily unavailable to go back to New Jersey.

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1569

Agatha stirred, opening her eyes which adjusted to the brightness of the room. She rolled over to avoid the light coming through the curtains, and groaned when she realized where she was, and that it wasn't all some strange dream.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and making her way towards the living room, where Eve had already made breakfast.

"Hey Agatha, did you sleep okay?" She asked, holding a plate in her hand.

Agatha nodded, "Yes, thank you... Eve."

Eve smiled, "I see you remember my name then!" She said enthusiastically, making Agatha roll her eyes and sit down.

Eve gave her a plate of food as well as a drink, and the witch took them. She didn't stay quiet for long, as once again she looked up at Eve, "I need to go back to my home, I don't live here."

The woman nodded, "I guess I could drive you there, I wouldn't want to make you fly or take any public transport on your own so soon," She sighed. "Unless you'd rather do that?"

Agatha nodded, "Well, considering you ran me over, a drive back would be nice," She said, and Eve shook her head. "Right, of course."

The two woman looked towards the door as they heard a knock, Eve answered, to see her friend and co-worker, Amanda. 

"Eve, are you alright? You didn't show up to work yesterday and didn't respond to any of our texts, we got worried!" She said, peering at the strange woman on her friend's couch.

"Shit, I'm so sorry, I had a bit of an incident..." She mumbled, "Would you like to come in?" Hearing that, Agatha muttered under her breath, as Amanda entered the house.

Agatha and Amanda silently stared at each other for a few seconds, before Eve broke the silence, "Amanda, this is Agatha, my..." She paused, looking at her awkwardly. "Why don't I just tell you what happened?" Eve sighed, and sat down opposite Agatha, as Amanda sat in a nearby armchair.

Agatha bit her lip, "Long story short, this woman hit me with her car and was kind enough to give me a place to stay for the night, as I have no fucking idea how I ended up-"

"Yep, exactly, what she said." Eve smiled nervously, and Amanda stared at the two in silence for a while, before speaking. "Seriously? You ran someone over again?" She deadpanned, and Agatha gasped, "Oh, so I'm not the first person you've almost killed?"

Eve put her hands up in defense, her eyes widening, "It was just a bump this time! I barely touched her! See? Shes completely fine!" Eve gestured to the witch, and the other two rolled their eyes.

Amanda shook her head, before standing up. "Well, I best get back to work. I'll let the other's know you're taking the day off. Don't run anyone else over in the meantime, okay?" She smirked, and Eve shut the door behind her.

As a moment of silence filled the room again, Agatha spoke, "Can you take me home now?"

Eve nodded, "I just need to prepare myself first, I suppose, it's not a short drive you know." Agatha shrugged, leaning back into the couch. Truthfully, Eve assumed that Agatha wasn't mentally well at this point.

After a short while, the two walked outside towards Eve's car. As she attempted to turn on her engine, the car didn't start. "Dammit..." She muttered, and Agatha seemed more annoyed than her.

After several failed attempts, she took out her phone, "I'll have to get it serviced, I can't not have a car," She sighed, and Agatha groaned dramatically, watching the younger woman as she tapped her screen and made a few phone calls.

Eventually a pickup truck came by and took Eve's car, while they walked to the nearby car service. "I can't believe this!" Agatha shouted, crossing her arms as they walked down the road.

"It's not even your car." Eve frowned, putting her hands in her pockets.

"And you're not in some random state that you don't live in!"

Eve shushed Agatha as they arrived after around twenty minutes, and walked over to her car which was being looked at by a young man.

The guy looked up, nodding at the two, before speaking. "It seems like it has been affected by some force, did you notice anything off about your car earlier?" He asked.

Eve bite her lip, "It was making a strange sound yesterday, but I didn't think anything of it." She responded, and the man nodded.

"This will take a couple days to fix. Can you give us a number to call so we can notify you when the car is running?" 

She agreed, writing her phone down on a crumpled piece of paper she was offered. She thanked the staff, and dragged a sulking Agatha out of the shop.

After a while of complaining, the women ended up in the town's center, as Eve turned to Agatha. "How about we stop and get coffee somewhere?" She offered.

"Whatever." Agatha grumbled, being dragged once again into a random cafe.

They sat down together, adjusting their chairs while taking in the atmosphere, the scenery of potted plants and dim lighting giving a sense of peace. "I assume you're paying?" Agatha asked, and Eve nodded. "Yes, Agatha."

Eve's face suddenly brightened, as she was approached by a waiter. "Julian!" She exclaimed, "I didn't know you worked here. What about the convenience store?"

The teen smiled as he greeted Eve, "Well, they fired me," He rolled his eyes, "They were convinced I was using my phone during my shift, which I was, but they still didn't have any proof! I think it was more of an excuse so they could hire the owner's daughter instead," He scoffed.

Eve's expression turned into shock at his words, "They fired you for that? That's so unfair! How is that even allowed?" She said, staring at him with slight anger in her gaze.

Agatha crossed her arms, "Life in unfair, Eve." 

"Right. Julian, this is Agatha. Agatha, this is Julian." 

Julian extended his hand, and Agatha reluctantly shook it, "I didn't know you were friends with children." She muttered, and Julian turned red as he looked at Eve.

"Well, first of all, he's almost twenty. Not a child." She said calmly, and Agatha laughed, "Oh Eve, he's quite literally still a baby!" 

She shoved Agatha, and Julian cleared his throat, "Can I take your orders then?" He asked.

"I want one of those breakfast sandwiches, and an apple juice. Specifically the box." Agatha demanded, and Eve raised an eyebrow, "Uh, I'll just have a coffee, thanks." 

Julian nodded, and walked away, before returning after a while with their orders.

They had their food and drinks in peace, surprisingly, as Agatha seemed to forget the whole incident for the time being. 

"So, how do you know that kid?" Agatha suddenly asked. "He's a little young to conveniently meet someone so old. What's the story behind that?"

Eve chuckled nervously, "He's in my writing class, that's all." 

Agatha scoffed, "I've been alive for more than 300 years, I can tell that kid is literally in love with you. Am I good at observing or are you just blind?"

Eve stayed silent, completely astonished. She wasn't sure which surprised her more- The fact that this delusional woman claimed 'to be more than 300 years old' or the fact that she was able to tell so easily that Julian liked her. "When my son left for college, I had more time to myself... I guess I started exploring a bit. I joined the writing class that I wanted, and I reached out and met new people." She said hesitantly. "He does like me, he's told me."

"And you're just fine with that?"

"... I like him too, in a way." She said quietly, and Agatha looked at her in surprise. "Oh."

Eve sighed, "But it's not just him I like. It's really complicated, I'm just kind of going with the flow, I suppose." She explained, and Agatha looked away in thought, then continued eating. "You do you then."

Eve smiled awkwardly, taking a sip on her coffee, before trying to lighten the mood, "Well, what's your love life?"

Agatha immediately stopped chewing, and looked up at her. "Divorced, that's it."

"Ah, right, sorry." She said apologetically.

A moment of silence went by, before she spoke again. "Her name was Rio. We were together for a while." Agatha muttered through her food. "Oh, I didn't realize you were-" 

"A lesbian?" Yes, ever heard of them?

Eve chuckled, "I have yes. In fact, the other person I mentioned I was interested in, is in fact a woman." 

Agatha looked up at her in surprise, but also amusement. "Huh, that's ironic. It explains a lot actually." Eve went to question her, but decided against it.

After they finished, Eve paid the check, and walked back to her house with Agatha, who became slightly moody again upon remembering her situation.

They arrived back shortly after, and Eve set her things down. "Why don't you get some rest like the doctor said, and we can do something later?" She asked, and Agatha surprisingly complied.

"See you later." She said as she walked into the guest room, and sat on the bed, delighted to notice that there was a TV, so she could at least have some form of entertainment.

She laid down, flicking through some of the channels, falling in and out of consciousness every now and then, trying to focus on the movie she had come across, as the hours went by, waiting for something she didn't know.

[queen--kenobi]

Like a Cigarette (Drag Out, Never Quit) Part I

My entry in @hotd-bigbang for this year! The header, dividers, and the moodboard are all done by the wonderfully talented @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Fic summary

When the Greens realized Rhaenyra invaded King's Landing, Elayna, Aemond's wife and mother of his children, was among those who fled. Not trusting Larys, Elayna had made a plan with Tyland Lannister should the worst ever occur. Seven months later, freshly widowed Elayna and Tyland return to King's Landing. The pair of Westerlanders grew close in the intervening months, making many wonder what happened. King Aegon II decides to see for himself exactly how close the pair became.

Chapter summary: Having made their way back to King's Landing, Elayna has to deal with some personal matters.

Warnings: heavy discussions of grief, character death (not in fic), lots of angst. NSFT (m!receiving oral, f!receiving oral, PiV, some praise kink, and previous D/s dynamics referenced.) Also, dub-con. They both are given an out, but it's still there.

Word count: ~10.3k

Part 1 of 3

A/N: Thank you to both @emilykaldwen and @/ewanmitchellcrumbs for doing this year! I had a lot of fun with this, and y'all did a fantastic job putting this on.

Elayna closes her eyes. 

Despite her exhaustion, she can't seem to find sleep. Every jolt of the carriage shakes her awake. The movements aren't what keep her from sleep but what they might do; the thought of her twins waking up is almost enough to bring her to tears. It took far too long to get either of them down for a nap. In theory, she knows she could give them to someone else. In practice, the idea terrifies her. An almost animalistic fear hits her at the thought of someone else handling them. 

Aelon and Reynard are all she has left of Aemond, left of her old life. She'll be damned if she lets someone take that from her.

“You can go to sleep. I'll wake you if they do.” Elayna cracks one eye open at the sound of Tyland’s voice. He sits across the carriage from her. He could have chosen to ride with everyone else, but he chose to stay with her. 

“I cannot ask that of you. You have already done far too much for me.”

Elayna wouldn't be alive if it weren't for Tyland. The twins wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him. If he hadn't managed to sneak her out of King's Landing just before Rhaenyra took the city, all three of them would be dead, and it wouldn't be a swift or painless death. 

Aemond killed Rhaenyra's son. 

Killing his wife and two unborn children would be one of the first thing Rhaenyra sought to do. Elayna cannot find fault with the logic; she would do the same for her children. 

The carriage jostles almost violently. Elayna lowers her head to look at the twins, missing Tyland pursing his lips together at her statement. Aelon opens his eyes. Panic surges through Elayna. If he begins to cry, Reynard will surely wake as well. She tries to carefully adjust Aelon, wanting to better cradle him if he should start to cry. The adrenaline coursing through her combined with her exhaustion makes her movements sloppy, jostling the twins more than the carriage.

“Elayna...”

“Don't!” She snaps instantly. Elayna winces when she hears her tone. She tries her best to soften the edges when she opens her mouth again. “I... I know you mean well, but I. I cannot . I will not let anyone else take care of them.”

“At the expense of yourself?” Elayna frowns. She glares at Tyland across the carriage. It's all sheer emotions mixed with sleep deprivation; no true ill will sits in her gaze. Tyland doesn't flinch; he stares back at her evenly. “You can't keep going like this.”

“It doesn't matter if I can or not. I must.”

He sighs. Elayna looks away, cradling Aelon closer to her. One part of her brain sees how emotional and illogical she's being, but the majority of her brain refuses to look at it.

“I know you're right. But. How do I know she won't hurt them?” Elayna's voice cracks slightly at the last word. She swallows and clears her throat in an attempt to disguise it. Tears begin to collect along her waterline without permission. “I couldn't trust before, but now. How can I? How can I trust anyone to not hurt them?”

Her voice rises an octave without her permission. She slaps her hand over her mouth in an attempt to push the words back inside her body, but it's too late. The increased desperation in her tone finally triggers Aelon. He lets out a piercing wail. 

The wave crests, and each member of Elayna’s family falls.

Aelon's wail causes the trapped sob in Elayna’s chest to burst violently from her. She has no idea if it's in solidarity or if it's because the sound of Aelon's crying makes her want to scream. Upon hearing both his mother and brother crying, Reynard joins. The look of alarm on Tyland’s face would be funny in almost any other circumstances. 

“Elayna...” 

Elayna tries. She tries to tell him she's fine, she's okay, she just needs a moment. All that comes out is a choked noise and then an unholy wail. Her cries mix with those of her babies. Tyland's eyes go wide. He opens his mouth to say something, most likely words of comfort, but nothing comes out. Elayna curls around both Aelon and Reynard.

A soft hand on her shoulder nearly makes her jump. Tyland sits beside her. His expression is equal parts alarm and concern. His fingers flex and curl, as if he's not sure if touching her is the right move. Elayna buries her face into his shoulder. Tyland stiffens at the contact. Elayna opens and closes her mouth, trying to assure him she's fine, it's fine. Nothing comes out. 

“There, there.” Tyland rubs her back very awkwardly. He clears his throat. She hears three thumps on the carriage door. She feels the jolt as the carriage stops. Elayna wants to push away from Tyland in case people look in on them, but she doesn't have the energy. Instead, she pulls Aelon and Reynard closer while pressing herself further into Tyland.

The door to the carriage opens. Elayna panics. The thought of someone seeing her like this sends an intense spike of panic through her. She tried to push away, but Tyland keeps the one hand on her shoulders. She can't hear what he says to the servant who opens the door.

Elayna hears other voices. One of them gives soft commands. Tyland occasionally speaks, but she can't hear it because of the noise in her head and wails coming from her. Eventually, two other voices join, this time feminine. Elayna lifts her head from Tyland’s shoulder. 

“No. No!” She shakes her head violently and clutches Aelon and Reynard closer to her.

“Elayna. Elayna!” Tyland takes a gentle hold of her shoulders. “It's okay. ‘Tis okay.”

“I don't. I don't want them to!” Elayna's voice cracks as it reaches a new octave. Tyland brings one hand to her face.

“ ‘Tis okay. It's okay. They're not going to hurt them. Aelon and Reynard will be fine.” Tyland wipes some of the tears from her face. “They will be watched. The nurse maids will have others around them. No one will hurt them. I swear.”

Elayna stares at him, her lip wobbles even more. Tyland clears his throat. 

“You need to let them. You can't do this by yourself.”

“But I-”

“We'll call for them once you've calmed down.”

Tyland's logic makes sense. It goes against every instinct in her body, but it makes sense. She stares at him. Tyland’s movements are stiff and hesitant as rubs her back. 

“Okay. Okay.”

She tries to stay calm as she carefully hands over Aelon and Reynard to the nurse maids. Both wail even louder when she passes them; it takes all of her self-control to not fall apart again hearing them. 

It isn't until the carriage door closes again and she and Tyland are left alone that she lets herself break down once more. 

This time, Tyland seems to expect it. He holds her, at first clearly unsure if he should. When she grabs the collar of his doublet, collapsing into him as she sobs, he pulls her closer. He doesn't say anything, just holds her in his arms and rubs a small circle on her back. The gesture brings more tears. Her body feels so heavy. 

She's tired. She's so so so tired. Her entire being feels like a giant lead weight. The more she cries, the more sheer exhaustion creeps upon her. Elayna splits apart at the seams, everything finally too much to handle.

She wakes up warm.

Elayna sighs. She vaguely registers the sound of the carriage rolling over cobblestone now, the clack of horse's hooves against them. She turns her head with a grunt. Her left cheek slides against silk as she tries to bury her face. A light, soft sensation rests on her right cheek and neck. 

The fabric doesn't give. 

It takes Elayna a moment to realize the reason as to why. Her sleep addled mind slowly arrives at the conclusion. She struggles to open one eye, crusty from the salt in her tears. Red silk greets her first then a moss green velvet. Sluggishly, she tilts her head upward. In her periphery, she notices her head rests in the crook of someone's neck. She sees the lines of a jaw with a blond beard.

“Tyland...?”

Tyland’s eyes flick down to look at her.

“We should arrive at the Keep soon.” Elayna becomes aware of his arm around her, his hand resting on her shoulder. His hands seem broad against her. She idly admires his fingers. She wonders what his hands would look like against her bare skin, what colors bruises in the shape of his fingers would take. 

“How long was I asleep?” Words float in and out of her brain. She lets her eyes close again. 

“Half the day. I've kept Aelon and Reynard with us as much as I could.”

At the mention of her children, Elayna's eyes fly open. Before Elayna can even try to sit up, Tyland quickly reassures her.

“They're in here with us.”

Elayna still pushes herself up to look at the space. The sight makes Elayna's shoulders drop. She lets out a deep breath before slowly letting herself settle back down. Her head finds Tyland’s shoulder once more. 

She should be worried what people might think if they saw the two of them. She shouldn't let herself relax. She needs to be on guard.

Instead, Elayna closes her eyes. 

The two of them stay like that for a long moment, Elayna's head on Tyland’s shoulder and Tyland’s arm around her. At some point, Tyland’s hold moves. His arm rests loosely around her waist. Elayna sighs. She nestles closer to him, almost instinctively, at the change in positioning. They sit in silence. Elayna listens to the sounds of the horse's hooves and the creaking of the carriage. She listens to the soft rise and fall of her breath, of the twins's breath, of Tyland’s breath. She listens intently to a moment of peace she might never get again.

After a while, Elayna sighs. While she enjoyed the blissful break from the realities of her situation, she has to clean up the pieces. 

“ ‘m sorry.” She manages. “For earlier. I didn't mean to... cause concern.”

Tyland sighs. It's not necessarily at her but more world weary.

“I imagine being a widow with two babes is difficult.” Tyland looks down at her. “You have help. Use it. Not everyone means you harm.”

Elayna doesn't say anything for a long moment. Instead, she stares ahead. He's somewhat right; not everyone means to harm her but enough people do she cannot risk it. The truth of the matter is the minute she married Aemond, both herself and any children they had were in danger. It wouldn't have mattered who won, she and her children were always going to be on the chopping block. They didn't afford any decency to Aegon and Helaena's children, why would hers be any different? If anything, Aelon and Reynard were more in harm's way, given Aemond's actions. Elayna tries to find the words to explain this, but they stay stuck inside her mouth.

“They're all I have.” She whispers. It's the closest thing she can come to getting him to understand.

“And they will have nothing if you continue on like this.” He counters. Elayna swallows. “They're children of a Prince. Aegon won't let anything happen to his nephews.”

Tears threaten to fall again. She doesn't try to fight them this time. Instead, she lets them fall. This time, her body grants her the mercy of them being silent.

“I... I know that. But ‘tis hard.”

Tyland stays silent. She fights to keep her gaze forward, not wanting him to know how much just saying those words aloud hurt her. 

“Do you trust me?”

Elayna lets out a humorless little giggle. Tyland stiffens, but Elayna quickly turns her head up to look at him. 

“Of course I do.” She smiles at him. The motion almost feels foreign to her. “If I didn't, I would have had your head for seeing me cry.”

Tyland raises an eyebrow at her. Elayna stares evenly back at him.

" 'Tis a joke!"

"I somehow doubt that." Before Elayna can react, he clears his throat. "Nothing will happen to them. I promise."

Elayna buries her face back into his shoulder. She wants to tell him he's too kind to her, but the words won't come. Instead, she presses herself more into his side.

They stay like that, Elayna's head in the crook of Tyland’s neck and his arm around her waist, until they reach the gates of the Red Keep.

Everything feels off, almost to the point of being tangible. She can almost taste something acrid and mournful in the air.

The greeting party was small; Aegon cannot move much without being in pain so his absence was expected. Queen Alicent, however, did not come out to see them. Elayna was under the impression she would until she was later informed Alicent doesn't leave her chambers for much of anything anymore.

She understands.

Elayna often thanks the Seven the twins were born before the news of Aemond's death reached her. She has no idea what the devastating news would have done to the twins if they were still inside her belly. Even then, it almost killed them. In the days after, Elayna stayed in bed all day, only getting out of bed to feed Aelon and Reynard. The thought of doing anything more hurt her deeply. It took both Johanna and Tyland to coax Elayna not just out of bed but out of her chambers. Guilt still eats at Elayna; Johanna had her own losses yet Elayna selfishly took all the space to mourn. 

Perhaps the sight of Alicent's two new grandchildren may do the Dowager Queen good. Elayna tells herself this as she carries the twins to Alicent's chambers. When the guards open the doors, and Elayna sees Alicent, Elayna almost gasps.

She doesn't recognize the woman before her.

Alicent's curly hair sits tangled, almost in mats. Her eyes are sunken, red rimmed from crying. She almost curls in on herself, any and all previous confidence long gone from her body. Elayna hurts. She physically aches looking at Alicent.

“Your Grace.” Elayna steps forward. Alicent finally looks up to Elayna. She looks so much older than the last time Elayna saw her. 

“Elayna.” Alicent's voice lifts with relief, but she doesn't smile. “You're alive.”

“Aye. Thanks to Ser Tyland.” Elayna clears her throat. “I am not the only one alive thanks to him. Your grandchildren are as well.”

The news of two grandchildren doesn't take all of the sorrow away from her, but it visibly puts more life into Alicent. She almost perks up. Her eyes brighten.

“Grandchildren...? You were with twins?” Alicent carefully stands up. Delight creeps into her voice, the delight of a mother learning they're a grandmother. At the sound, Aelon lets out a pleased giggle. Reynard coos softly.

“If I may present Aelon and Reynard...”

Alicent makes her way over to Elayna. Elayna gently maneuvers Aelon out of his sling as she approaches. Alicent stops just short of Elayna, as if waiting for permission. It almost seems as if she thinks Elayna will tell her no. Instead, Elayna cradles Aelon and hands him to her.

“This is Aelon.”

“Aelon.” Alicent repeats. She takes a moment to study him. Elayna watches as Alicent notices how light Aelon's hair is and how his nose matches Aemond's. Alicent looks up. Tears threaten to fall. “He looks like his father.”

Elayna does her the courtesy of pretending to not notice the slight break in Alicent's voice. 

“He does. But he has my temperament. Nothing is ever quite right for him.” The subtle jab at herself makes Alicent shake her head. Elayna turns to Reynard. “This one looks like me, but I think he shall take after his father.”

Elayna lifts Reynard from his sling with a grunt. She cradles him close to her chest, positioning him so Alicent can look at his face.

“He has your hair but Aemond's eyes.” Alicent remarks almost absent-mindedly. Aelon babbles in her arms, a plea for attention. Alicent shifts him. He quickly grabs onto her hand with one of his own small and pudgy fists. Alicent almost smiles. Her face relaxes some, the harsh lines on her face easing up as she does so. Her eyes brighten a bit at the same time. Yet she still doesn't smile.

Elayna doubts Alicent ever will again. 

Elayna steps close to her. Reynard reaches out to clasp one of the many strands of hair free of Alicent's braids. He looks at her, eyes wide. 

“I...” Elayna begins. She pauses to take a deep breath. “Is it silly one of my wishes is I could have told Aemond we had twins?” Elayna wants to look at Alicent and meet her eyes, but she can't. All the strength to lift up her head leaves her body. Instead, she reaches across to smooth out one of Aelon's hairs.

“No.” Alicent manages. “No, ‘tis not.”

Elayna inhales shakily. This time, her head begins to hurt before her eyes water. 

“I hope they become men their father would be proud of.”

Elayna's words make Alicent break first. She lets out a choked sob, placing her free hand delicately over her mouth. Elayna presses her lips together and averts her eyes. 

“I... I miss him.” Elayna confesses. “I miss him so much.”

Alicent lets out a strangled sob, a noise Elayna is all too familiar with herself. The sob quickly turns into heavy crying. Alicent's shoulders heave with each attempt of an inhale. Silent tears fall down Elayna's face. 

She can't hug Alicent properly because of the twins, but she tries her best. She stands as close to Alicent as she can and wraps her free arm around her. Alicent doesn't respond in kind but grips Elayna's arm. She almost seems as if she might collapse.

When Alicent does fall into Elayna, Elayna catches her as best she can. Elayna carefully guides her towards a chair. Once Alicent is close enough to lean on the chair, Elayna speaks. 

“Here. Give me Aelon.” 

Elayna shifts so she can take both infants. Alicent hands Aelon over. Elayna tries her best to carefully guide Alicent towards the seat of the chair, mostly to ensure Alicent doesn't fall. Alicent manages to get into the seat. Elayna kneels in front of her.

They stay like that for a moment. 

Eventually, Alicent clears her throat. She looks at Elayna from underneath her eyelashes. Elayna nods.

“Would you like to hold Reynard now?”

“I would.”

Elayna hands Reynard over, cooing as she does so. Reynard kicks his feet but does nothing more in the way of protest. Alicent carefully cradles him in her arms. Elayna watches for a minute before Aelon, clearly upset with the lack of attention, lets out a high pitch scream. When Elayna looks down at him, he grins and giggles.

Elayna's summons aren't unexpected. 

“The King wishes to speak with you.”

Elayna slowly stands. She turns to face Alicent, but she doesn't need to ask. Alicent offers before she can ask.

“I'll watch them.”

Elayna offers her a small smile. She trusts Alicent. The loss of two of her grandchildren and two of her children means she understands Elayna's pain, Elayna's fears. Alicent won't harm her children.

Elayna follows the Kingsguard. She expects to be taken to the Throne Room. Instead, the path leads towards the King's chambers. Aegon holding an audience in there feels strange in her mind. Perhaps he has yet to fully recover from his injuries. Elayna never saw him, at least, not the full extent. She had been willing to look at him if he wished, but she opted to give him privacy instead. 

It wasn't out of disgust she did not look but respect. When she went to see him, his wounds were still fresh. The thought of another person seeing her as she might have seen him, weak and hurt beyond belief, meant she averted her eyes. 

They stop in front of the doors. Elayna takes a moment to inhale and steady herself before the doors open.

Aegon sits in a chair in the antechamber of his rooms. Elayna notes the blanket covering his legs but opts not to say anything. 

“Your Highness.” Elayna curtsies deeply. She looks up as she straightens back up. Aegon nods.

“Lady Elayna.” 

The two stare at each other from across the room.

“I was glad to hear of your survival.” Elayna starts. She does mean her words. While the news of him being alive was entwined with the news of Rhaenyra's death, she finds herself more comforted by the fact Aegon survived. “I... I did worry.”

“Lord Strong planned well.” Aegon dips his head. “Almost as well as Ser Tyland. Getting all the gold and you away, that is a lot to keep track of.”

“And I'm thankful he was able to do so.”

Aegon scrutinizes her. He narrows his eyes and stares at her in an almost calculating way. Elayna shifts. It's not an expression Elayna has seen on him before, and it almost makes her nervous. Aegon seems to see what he wants because he leans back slowly. A playful smile makes its way onto his face. 

“Did the two of you fuck?”

Elayna barely manages to keep herself from withdrawing in shock. Instead, her nostrils flare with indignation. Aegon tries to raise his eyebrows. The motion causes him pain; it makes his jaw clench and eyes screw shut.

Instinctively, she steps forward, wanting to offer help and ease the pain in any way she can. Elayna almost reaches out to grab his hand but catches herself.

"Well?" Aegon still sounds in pain. His question covers his slip-up. "Did you or did you not fuck?"

“No. We didn't.” Her words come out a hiss. Aegon nods. He doesn't seem entirely convinced.

“Do you want to?”

“That is not an appro-”

“ 'Tis a yes or no question.” Aegon looks at her. 

“I...” 

If Aegon were not so injured, he would raise his eyebrows and jut out his chin. He stares at her. Elayna screws her eyes shut.

“Answer me.”

She takes a deep breath. 

“Yes.”

She tries to force herself to sound authoritative. If she owns it, it shan't feel so shameful. It shan't feel like a betrayal. It would be an answer to a question. 

Instead, Elayna's voice comes out a soft whisper. It cracks almost. The single word rips and tears at something deep within her. Her husband has not even been dead a year, and yet, she openly admits to wanting another man. Shame swirls and screams in her brain. 

She opens her eyes and looks back at Aegon. Aegon studies her, not quite detached but not necessarily in a familiar way. Her internal agony must show on her face because he speaks after a long moment.

“I don't ask to cause pain.” Aegon begins slowly. She can almost feel him roll his words around in an attempt to select the right phrasing. Eventually, he sighs. “The Small Council wants you to marry already.”

“They wish to get rid of me.” The words fall from her lips without thought. “They wish to get rid of the wife of a kinslayer.”

Aegon stays silent. He looks away for a moment. His throat bobs. Elayna needs no more confirmation.

“I know you love Aemond.”

The use of the present tense nearly brings Elayna to tears. Aegon doesn't seem to notice his slip up. Perhaps it wasn't a mistake. Perhaps the wording was intentional. Aemond may have di- 

Is dead. Aemond is dead, but that doesn't mean Elayna's love for him died as well. Even if she herself feels as if part of her own soul passed the minute she was given the news, the love still lives on.

“I do.” She swallows. She blinks rapidly. The tears threaten to fall despite her efforts. Elayna turns her gaze to the ceiling and clears her throat. “His loss cannot be easy for you either. He is your brother.”

Aegon nods. 

“He would want you safe.” 

An idle question crosses her mind. She appreciates the warning about the Small Council's intentions, but to bring them up now seems strange. Tyland should be irrelevant to this conversation. Why does he feel like a focal point?

“What does this have to do with Tyland?” Aegon blinks with surprise at Elayna’s question. “You start by asking if I wish to sleep with him, and then speak of the Small Council and Aemond's wishes.”

“Nothing gets past you, dear sister.” Aegon nearly chuckles. The sound comes out weak. Elayna frowns. A small conversation such as this shouldn't be taking such a toll on him; it makes a small part of her ache to see him in such pain. “People need assurances. Especially the Westerlands.”

Elayna tilts her head. She regards him quietly. Each breath of his seems so labored. If she figures out what he's getting at, she can save him some agony.

“Aemond's children should grow up in their home.” Aegon rasps. Elayna studies Aegon.

“Are you... are you suggesting to marry me off to Tyland?” Elayna raises an eyebrow.

“You should have a husband you want to fuck.” 

Elayna purses her lips and turns her head away, not because she finds herself disgusted with his comment but because she may laugh at it. 

“I should.” Elayna decides on saying. Were she two years younger, she might have remarked on the fact most women don't get that choice. Instead, she holds her tongue. She turns back to face Aegon. “I accept.”

“Excellent.” Aegon raps the arm of his chair. He doesn't say what they're both thinking; Elayna's acceptance is just an illusion. The choice was already made. “You're dismissed.”

Despite the sun being above the horizon, the air grows cold as the chill of night begins to roll in. Elayna pulls her light cloak tighter around her shoulders. She's glad she thought to bring it on her walk in the gardens with Tyland. 

It had become a daily ritual at Casterly Rock for the two of them to walk in the evenings. Despite what the maesters said, Elayna had refused to stay bedbound during the last months of her pregnancy. Tyland offered to walk with her after supper so she might get the movement she wanted while still supervised in case something were to go wrong. The ritual quickly became the favorite part of Elayna’s day.

“Aegon seems to have grown. He thinks more as a King should.” 

Tyland nods his agreement. He keeps his stride even with Elayna's as they walk.

“I noticed much the same at the Council meeting. He's already looking forward to what the next year should bring.”

Elayna arches an eyebrow. “Had you told me two years ago that could even be possible, I would have called you a liar.”

“I'm sure it would not have been the worst thing you would have said of me two years ago.”

“No.” Elayna shakes her head almost violently. “Not you. Never you.”

Tyland raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything in regards to that. Instead, he turns back to look in front of them. 

“The King thinks we may need to bring a more favorable image back to the Crown. He seems to have an idea in mind already since he was asking about our reserves.”

“Well, an easy way to do that would be a royal wedding, but he has to be careful. I wouldn't trust just any bride.” Elayna purses her lips. “He could use that to his advantage. While he cannot mourn Queen Helaena all his life, a certain level must be expected. so long as the wedding occurs within a year, I don't think people will be too upset.”

Tyland tilts his head slightly before nodding in silent agreement. 

“That is a way to bring people together, yes.” 

The two walk in silence for a moment. As they do so, Elayna studies him. He looks almost lost in thought. His eyebrow almost press together while his mouth stays in a thin line. No one else is present in this portion of the gardens. Elayna nudges Tyland gently with her shoulder. 

“Anything you wish to share?”

“Aegon brought up an interesting proposal to me.” Tyland turns to face Elayna. “He told me it may be suggested I take a wife.”

“Oh? And did he have anyone in mind?”

“Yes. You.” Tyland looks Elayna in the eye. “He suggested it as if the Council thought of it themselves.”

“And you think he came up with it himself?”

“I do.” 

Elayna nods. “I think so too.” At Tyland’s confused expression, Elayna laughs softly. “He spoke with me about it earlier today.”

“And? What did you think?”

Elayna feigns an indifferent shrug.

“ ‘Tis a sound plan.” Elayna watches Tyland, gauging his reaction. She wants, no, needs to know if he wants to marry her. She could live with it, she supposes, if he doesn't want to. The cold and sudden feeling of dread at the thought of him saying no tries to tell her otherwise, but she does her best to ignore it.

“That's not an answer.”

“Tell me what you think first. Then I shall give my opinion.” Elayna bites the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling at Tyland’s expression.

“You're acting childish.”

“Oh? How exactly am I being childish?”

“ ‘Tis a yes or no answer.”

“And I shall answer once you give me yours.”

Tyland sighs.

“I agree with the decision.” He phrases his answer carefully. Elayna hums.

“Luckily for us all, I also agree with it.”

Sleep evades Elayna that night. 

She tosses and turns, doing her best to let slumber overtake her. It never comes. Eventually, after the Seven knows how many hours, she gets out of bed. She might as well take advantage of her wakefulness and do something useful.

The knock on her door almost doesn't surprise her.

“Come in.”

The guard from earlier comes inside.

“The King wishes to speak with you.”

Elayna raises an eyebrow. The temptation to remark upon the hour is strong, but she keeps it to herself. If Aegon summoned her at such an hour, it was no doubt important. She wants to ask if she has time to change into a more acceptable robe at the very least. Instead, she reaches down and tightens her robe more. 

“Very well.”

The halls are almost eerily silent. Elayna remembers even at night, she could hear people, albeit speaking more softly than usual. People fleeing the Keep no doubt contributes to it; most still seem to think it unsafe still. It unsettles Elayna. Nothing is as it was when she left, and it breaks her heart once more to think of all the little things lost. Nothing compares to the pain of losing loved ones, yet the lose of familiar sights and sound, of laughter and whispered gossip, hurts as well.

When she and the guards round one of the corners, she's surprised to see another set of guards. Tyland follows behind them. Elayna raises an eyebrow. Why would Aegon summon both of them? And at this hour nonetheless? 

They follow wordlessly behind the guards. Elayna has no idea what to say. Eventually, Tyland leans towards her. 

“Did they tell you what we're being called for?”

“No.” Elayna shakes her head. 

Once they arrive at the doors to Aegon's chambers, the door swing open. Both of them enter, Elayna stepping in before Tyland. At first, Elayna doesn't see Aegon. Her eyes dart around the room, trying to find him. She notices a large mound of cushions stacked in the corner. Eventually, she notices a gauzy curtain drawn across part of the room. 

The doors shut behind both her and Tyland. Elayna turns to her head to look at Tyland. Tyland raises an eyebrow. 

Aegon's voice comes from behind the curtain. In unison, the two of them turns towards the source. 

“Are the two of you in agreement about the plan?”

Elayna looks to Tyland. She reaches her hand out to touch his. Her heart leaps into her throat when he takes her hand in his and intertwines their fingers. 

“Yes.” Tyland speaks for both of them. 

“Good. Then I shall proceed to the matter at hand. I want the two of you to fuck. And I want to watch.” Neither Tyland or Elayna move. Even though she can’t see him too well behind the curtain, Elayna knows Aegon makes a face and juts his chin out some. “Fornicate? Have sex? I know my dear sister knows how, but do you, Ser Tyland?”

Tyland genuinely looks offended. He pulls his head back and purses his lips. He doesn't manage to catch himself from twitching his upper lip with irritation and disgust. Elayna’s heart skips a beat for a second. His expression is endearing, not because it was a particularly attractive expression but because it makes sense for him. 

“I do!”

“Excellent!” Aegon claps. “Then the issue is resolved.”

Heat rushes to Elayna’s face, embarrassment turning her pink. Tyland blinks. 

“Your Grace, I'm not sure th-”

“Elayna has suffered enough misery. I won't stand by and let her suffer a husband who can't fuck her properly.” Aegon tilts his head. “Unless you can't get it up?”

“Aegon!” Elayna hisses. 

“I do this for your sake.” Aegon tilts his head. “Would you rather take a chance on him not being able to please you?” He eyes the both of them. “If you are truly uncomfortable, you are free to go.”

Elayna meets Tyland’s eyes. Tyland stares at Elayna. He brings his hand up to her face. When he gently cups her face, Elayna's knees buckle at the tenderness of his touch. Behind the comfort and concern, Elayna sees a hunger mirroring her own. Tyland’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“We don't have to do this.” He whispers. “We can ask for oth-”

His genuine concern breaks her. Elayna closes the small distance between each other. She presses her lips against his. Tyland doesn't react for a minute. Panic begins to rise in Elayna for a second.

He kisses her back. The fear and anxiety evaporate.

Tyland kisses her as if he has wanted to do nothing more in his life. Elayna wonders if that's true. One hand finds the nape of her neck, fingers curling into her hair. Elayna responds in kind. Her touch isn't as gentle as his. She sinks her fingers into his hair. She traps the surprisingly soft and lustrous strands between her fingers. 

If she's going to do this, she might as well do this as if it's the only chance she gets. 

Experimentally, she tugs at his hair, not hard enough to truly hurt him but enough to see if he likes it. Elayna is no stranger to pain and rough treatment. Giving and receiving are as familiar as old friends. Either sets her body alight. 

An idle thought crosses her mind. Tyland’s gentleness and consideration for her is the only instance where her body thrums as much as it did when Aemond manhandled her. It almost makes her want to provoke him. If she feels this way from him being caring, him being rough with her would turn her into a whimpering mess within seconds. 

Elayna trusts him to build her back up once he breaks her. Hopefully he puts the same faith in her. 

When she pulls again, Tyland lets out an unmistakable noise of pleasure. He squeezes her hip. Elayna grins into the kiss, following it with a nip to his lower lip. Tyland squeezes hard. He slips his free hand around to her back. She rewards him by scratching his scalp gently with her nails.

Elayna pulls away first. Tyland gazes at her with an almost dazed look. She likes it on him, how his lips are kiss bruised and how his eyes are dark yet gentle. He brings his hand from her back to her chin. He strokes his thumb over the curve of her cheek.

“Can I?” Tyland brings his other hand to the tie of her robe. From the look on his face, Elayna thinks the question isn't just about her robe. Elayna nods.

“Yes. Please.”

Tyland inhales. He undoes her dressing gown with deft fingers. The fabric slides off Elayna’s shoulders and hits the floor with a very soft, almost airy, noise. Her nightgown is a red silk, not as delicate or dainty as her robe. Elayna moves forward to kiss him again. One of his hands finds her hair while his other skates gently down her arm, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake.

This kiss is a little more desperate, a little more teeth and tongue. Her skin buzzes at every point of contact with him. She pushes against him, desperate for more. Her fingers dig into the fabric of his tunic.

“Take this off.” She pulls at the fabric. He nods. Elayna moves to give him space. 

Tyland tosses his shirt off as Elayna turns behind them to the pillows she noticed stacked up in the corner. She grabs one of them and sets it on the ground in front of Tyland. Before she can lower herself down, Tyland leans down to kiss her. She almost giggles into the kiss.

“You don't have to.”

“I know. I want to.”

Elayna sinks to her knees. The plush pillow underneath her feels good. Her hands come up to begin to help him with his belt. 

She pushes back onto her knees. Elayna moves with her intuition. She opens her mouth, sticking her tongue out expectantly. She hears two sharp inhales. Only one of them matters to her.

“Fuck. You have a gorgeous cock.”

Before she can be embarrassed, Tyland groans at her words. Elayna smirks up at him. She looks up at him from under her eyelashes. 

“Like it when I compliment you? Do you like hearing how handsome you are? How gorgeous this cock is?”

Oh, fuck. Elayna actually watches his dick twitch. It almost slaps against his stomach. The sight makes Elayna squirm, spreading her knees ever so slightly. Tyland brings one of his hands down to cup her cheek. 

“Do you think I can take it all?” Elayna purrs. She revels in this new found confidence. She pushes her braids back. However, when she goes to lean forward, Tyland stops her by pressing his thumb to her lips.

“Let me... let me help.”

Elayna tilts her head but nods. Tyland presses his thumb against her lips more insistently. She parts them, wanting to see where he's going with this. 

Her gasp of surprise doesn't make it past her lips. Tyland slips two fingers inside of her mouth. He looks down at her, concern clear on his eyes. Elayna opens her jaw wider to accommodate for the stretch. She inhales through her nose and smells metal, no doubt from Tyland’s rings. Tyland presses down experimentally on her tongue. Elayna lets out a small noise at the feeling.

Elayna about chokes when he presses the pad of his fingers on the back of her tongue. Her eyes water. She tilts her head up more to try and let his fingers slide further down. Tyland places his palm on her cheek.

“Good girl.” He murmurs. Fondness covers every word. “Can you take a little more?”

She tries to reply. A bit of drool slips down her chin. Elayna nods. Tyland pushes his fingers a little further back. This time, Elayna gags. Tyland shushes her. 

“ ‘Tis okay.” He assures her. He pulls back his fingers for a second before pressing them forward again. Elayna accepts them eagerly. She flicks her tongue upward and along his fingers. She looks up at him from underneath her eyelashes. She wants more, needs more. 

Her eyes nearly roll back in her head when he moves his fingers. Tyland starts slowly, giving her ample time to get used to the sensation of his fingers sliding back and forth along her tongue and towards her throat. Elayna moans. He thrusts his fingers at a slightly faster pace. She tries her best to take him further. The idea of her lips touching his rings makes her squirm.

“Breathe.” 

Seven above. The simple command makes her head spin. She inhales through her nose as best she can. Tyland brings his other hand to her cheek. He strokes his thumb along her cheekbone. The gentle touch sits at odds with the way he's outright finger fucking her mouth now. Elayna spreads her legs. Her hand sneaks down between her thighs without her permission. 

Tyland pulls his fingers from her mouth. Elayna gasps for air. Spit connects her lips to his fingers. She looks up at him. Instinctively, she opens her mouth wider and presents her tongue for him. Instead of spitting into her mouth, he leans down and places a gentle kiss on her forehead.

She gasps at the contact. Elayna meets his gaze. 

“You're doing good for me.” He praises. Elayna nods desperately. She wants him but needs to be good for him.

“Stick your cock in her mouth already.”

Tyland’s jaw twitches at the rudeness in the command. Nevertheless, he moves forward. Before he can even take his cock into his hands, Elayna pounces. She surges forward and licks the vein on the underside. Tyland chokes. Her free hand finds his base to keep him where she wants. As she traces her tongue along his length, she closes her eyes. She feels the tension in his body. Wordlessly, she reaches forward and takes one of his hands. 

When Elayna pulls back, she opens her eyes. 

“I don't mind.” Elayna carefully places Tyland’s hand at the back of her head. Tyland looks down at her. She gazes up at him from underneath her eyelashes. She tries to hide her grin. Tyland presses his thumb to her bottom lip. She opens her mouth in response.

Tyland takes himself in hand. Elayna flattens her tongue as much as she can. Carefully, Tyland pushes the tip into her mouth. Elayna works to curl her tongue around him. She watches as Tyland lets out a low hiss of pleasure. 

She wants to hear more. She needs to hear more.

Tyland outright moans when Elayna pushes her head forward to take more of him in her mouth. She suction her cheeks as best she can. Her eagerness takes him by surprise. His fingers curl into her hair as she begins to move. Elayna brings her free hand up to work what doesn't fit in her mouth. Despite his length, she fits more into her mouth than she anticipates. After several minutes, she touches her lips to her hand. 

The sounds in the room are positively obscene. All Elayna hears is the slick noises with every shallow thrust into her mouth, two sets of ragged breathing, and her own breath and heartbeat. Tyland begins to shallowly thrust into her mouth, still clearly trying to not hurt her. Elayna rewards him; she lets out a satisfied hum next thrust.

The moan he lets out goes straight to her head. She almost feels her eyes roll back into her head at the sound. Fuck. Listening to him makes her head spin in the best way. Elayna pushes her legs even further apart and rests her free hand on her upper thigh. Tyland tightens his grip on her hair. His chest heaves. His thighs tremble to keep himself in check. 

She doesn't want that, she wants to see him lose control. She wants to see him lose control because of her.

Elayna looks up at him again. Tyland stares down at her. The look in his eyes almost makes Elayna whimper. He gazes down at her with an expression equal parts love and lust. A air of adoration lingers in his face, and the way he pushes her hair back gently just proves it. It fuels something deep within her. She pulls back to give herself a moment to breath. 

When she goes back, Elayna takes him all the way to the base. She keeps her eyes locked on his. Tyland’s eyes go wide. His chest heaves, and he almost seems to struggle to breath for a second. Elayna doesn't stop until she feels her nose touch his skin.

“Fuck.” Tyland’s voice comes out as praise and want. In the single word alone, Elayna hears how much power she has over him. A giggle tries to escape her. Tyland throws his head back with a moan, fingers digging into her hair. “Don't...”

If she could, Elayna would smirk. She tries to relax her throat more around him. Tyland groans. His fingers tighten in her hair, and he pulls her back. Elayna looks up at him. The whine that escapes her even takes her by surprise. 

Tyland kneels down to in front of her. He kisses her deeply once more. Elayna's eyes flutter closed at the sensation. His hands settle on her thighs. The sensation is muted against her because of her clothes. Elayna pulls away from him. 

“Let me-”

“I've got it.”

Elayna pushes up enough off her knees and calves to pull the hem of her nightgown out from under her. Tyland's hands meet hers when the fabric comes up over her knees. She places her knees back down and presses more into a seated position. They work together to pull her dress up over her head and off her body. 

“Beautiful.” 

Elayna's skin heats up, from her chest to her ears at the compliment. He says it as if he wasn't even aware, as if the words just fell out of his mouth. Elayna's eyes find his. Tyland’s eyes are dark with desire.

“Lean back.”

Elayna leans back on the thick pillows, black with silver and red embroidery. Her chest heaves. Tyland grabs three pillows, two for him to presumably lay down upon. Having Tyland so close to her naked body makes her shiver. He has yet to look at her most intimate parts. The thought terrifies her. What if he is repulsed by her? Or doesn't want to?

Tyland’s hand on her hip brings her back to the present. She makes a small noise and turns her gaze to him.

“Up.” He taps her hip twice. Elayna presses upward; Tyland slides the pillow underneath her. The angle eases some pressure from her lower back. He pushes back, hands warm on her thighs. He pauses for a second to look up at her, expression soft. Elayna's heart pounds in her chest at the wordlessly check-in, and she nods. 

“Yes. You can.”

She squeals when he grabs her thighs and pulls her to the edge of the pillow. The urge to pull away and hide herself almost overtakes her. She starts to pull away but before she can get far, Tyland takes careful hold of her calf. His beard brushes against the inside of her leg, just below her ankle.

Elayna gasps softly. He presses a gentle kiss to her skin. Her chest heaves. She stares at him with wide eyes. Tyland adjusts his hold on her and moves his lips lower. She lets her head fall back as he inches his lips down the inside of her leg. Her heart rate noticeable increases. She outright moans at the first contact of his beard and lips on her thigh. Her other leg falls out to the side.

When he reaches the top of her inner thigh, Tyland stares at her for a long moment. Elayna watches him. Her chest heaves, blood singing in her veins. Tyland wets his lips.

Her entire body erupts into flames. Heat surges through her. He hasn't even put his mouth to her, yet a keeping whine escapes her lips.

As soon as his tongue makes contact, Elayna's hands shoot out and find their way into his hair. Tyland starts with a slow, broad stroke. At the top, he stiffens his tongue to flick her clit. 

“Fuck.” The curse leaves her as a sigh. Her hips follow the movement of his mouth. She tries to push up onto her forearms, but it isn't long before the pleasure racing through her means she can't keep herself propped up. 

Tyland surprises her. He makes out with her pussy, not just eats her out. Every movement of his tongue is slow and methodical yet passionate. His mouth moves against her as if he was taking his time to kiss her. Elayna arches into it. When his tongue presses just to the left of Elayna’s clit instead of dead center, she moans.

Tyland notices. Of course he notices. 

He turns his head slightly. The new position gives him better access to the spot. He puts a little more pressure there, not enough to hurt but enough to make every part of her body sing. Elayna's moans get louder. She grips his hair as she throws her head back. Pleasure surges through her with such intensity she almost tries to pull back. Her legs tremble around his head. Tyland doesn't let her escape, instead pining her down with one of his palms flat on her stomach.

“I-” Elayna tries to find herself, but the steady movement of his tongue against her makes all rational thought impossible. She nearly ruts against his face. All she thinks about is the feeling of his mouth against her. 

She arches almost entirely off the pillows when he slips his tongue inside of her. Tyland curls his tongue up until he presses against something inside of her that makes her wail. Her whole body trembles. He moves his head, and the dam inside her breaks. 

Tyland slowly makes his way up her body, his lips ghosting over her skin. The care with which he treats her makes her float as much as what he does. Tyland stops and hovers above her.

“You can.” She murmurs.

The stretch as he pushes inside her cause a moment of discomfort. It's the first time someone has been inside her since she's given birth. She breathes through it until he bottoms out. 

Oh, she's missed this, this feeling of fullness, of slotting together perfectly. Elayna stares up at him. Eyes wide as she does so, she brings her right hand to his face. Tyland groans. He takes the silent invitation. His thrust start slow and unhurried. She rocks her hips into his. It feels good, pleasure coursing through her veins. 

Still. She wants more. She needs more. 

Elayna wraps her legs tight around his waist. She tries to encourage him to go faster by digging her heels into his low back. Tyland hisses.

“Elayna...”

“I'm not going to break.” 

The encouragement makes his hips stutter. Elayna squeals when he shifts back onto his knees, bringing her hips with him. Her head stays down and back arches. The angle causes her eyes to roll back into her head. 

“Fuck.”

Despite the change in angle, he keeps his movements slow and unhurried. The drag of his cock inside her, along her walls, sends a pleasant rush through her. Having her head down with her lower body lifted helps. Elayna whimpers. 

“Harder.” The word spills from her lips unbidden, both a demand and a gasp at the same time. Tyland gives into her. It's still not enough. 

Elayna doesn't want tenderness. Her whole body and soul aches for it, but she doesn't want it. She wants rough and hard; she wants to forget everything. Elayna craves the idea of being broken down into nothing.

“Fuck me like you hate me.” Elayna gasps out. “Like you should.”

She doesn't know how she means it. He should hate her, loathe her. What has she done but asked of him, taken and taken without ever giving? He should fuck her as he sees fit. Elayna wants that, to finally give.

Tyland stops. Elayna actually whines her displeasure. She stares at Tyland, fighting to keep both her confusion and hurt off her face. He's still hard inside her. She clenches around him in an effort to make him move, but he doesn't. Tyland lets out a low hiss but his hips stay still.

“Why'd you stop?”

Tyland looks down at her. His normal put together and slicked back hair falls in his face. His eyes trail over her face. 

“No.” He murmurs. Elayna feels her bottom lip tremble. Tyland quickly shushes her, pressing his lips to her forehead. He swallows. “I... I've wanted this. Far longer than you realize.” 

“I feel the same.” Her heart pounds hard against her ribs at the admission. This time, when Elayna bucks her hips, he matches her movement. 

“Elayna. This is, mmhmmm, this is serious.” Tyland drops down onto one forearm. He presses the other between them and across her hips in an attempt to keep her still. “I... fuuuck, I want. To do this. I want to do this how I've been dreaming about.”

Fuck. She clenches hard around him. Tyland hisses. Elayna swallows hard. A longing, the ever present longing, rears its head. Hesitantly, she nods. 

“I trust you.”

Each stroke stays slow yet intense. Tyland keeps his movements unhurried, as if he's trying to savor every moment. He keeps his gaze on her, watching and drinking in every expression on her face. Elayna finds herself watching him back. Even as she digs her nails into his back, her eyes stay on his. 

Every noise falling out of Elayna’s mouth comes out soft yet sweet, a symphony she wasn't even aware she could make. She knows how loud she can be or how high pitch she can get. The noises coming from her almost feel brand new, different. They feel natural. Each breathy moan fits perfectly into the moment. 

Elayna presses her palms flat on Tyland’s shoulder blades. The urge to dig her nails into his skin never appears. Instead, she clings to him. Her legs lock around his hips, ankles crossing over the other. He shifts slightly, and the angle makes Elayna tilt her head back with a soft sob. 

He presses his forehead to hers. Elayna tries her best to keep eye contact with him, but between the building pleasure and tears, she struggles. An almost whine escapes her. Tyland adjusts, lifting his forehead to press a kiss to her forehead. 

“I've got you.” He moves one hand and takes hold of hers. Tyland interlaces their fingers. Elayna gasps. The simple gesture makes her head spin in a delicious way. She finds an odd eroticism in it. Even now, his tenderness takes her breath away.

This time, Elayna doesn't fight it. She lets herself accept it. The thought she doesn't deserve such treatment never surfaces. She squeezes his hand back. 

Tyland shushes her gently. Elayna realizes a second later she's crying. Tears stream down her face, not big fat ones she associates with sadness. 

He kisses her. 

Tyland kisses her, and her whole world collapses. Elayna nearly sobs as she crests, body trembling in pleasure. The edges comes slowly and gently at first. However, as it begins to wash over her, she feels it build. The pleasure goes from nice to intense as it continues. Elayna clings to him. She holds onto him as if he's her lifeline. When she squeezes his hand, Tyland rubs his thumb over the back of her hand. 

He loves her.

The realization washes over her as her orgasm did, a steady and pleasant feeling that builds in intensity. Tyland loves her. He doesn't have to say it; she sees it now. The look on his face as he stares at her, lust and awe written on his face in equal parts, tells her as much. 

He loves her.

Fuck. She loves him too.

The words almost fall from the tip of her tongue. She keeps them at bay. Instead, she buries her face into his shoulder, letting out a pathetic whine. She pulls him as close as she can, heels locked around his back and palms on his shoulder blades to pull him even closer. Tyland moves his hips in shorter movements. Elayna pants against his skin. Her mouth won't form words; she settles for kissing his neck. 

That undoes him. He gives three more shallow thrusts before he stills. He collapses, trying his best to keep himself from pining her completely underneath him. After a moment, Elayna feels a small amount of cum begin to leak out of her. 

Unbidden, the thought of her being pregnant again rises to the forefront of her mind. Elayna sees it so clearly in his mind, the way Tyland would hold her and dote on her. She'd want for nothing. She clenches around him, causing him to hiss. 

A rustling catches her attention. Behind the curtain, Elayna spots movement. Aegon pulls away and pushes back. An undeniable air of shame comes from him. Tyland senses it too; he presses himself back onto his forearms.

“Go.” Aegon croaks from his unseen position. Elayna says nothing, just lets Tyland pull her up once he gets to his feet.

Her body sits heavy, exhausted yet satiated. Every bit of her feels boneless. A relief sits within her she hasn't felt in a while. Between her crying fit and finally feeling the touch of someone after months, every bit of resistance and ache in her body disappears for the moment. Everything from her legs to her jaw loosens, almost to the point of making her wobble. 

Elayna almost feels fuzzy at the edges. Not in a bad way. If anything, she needs it. For too long, her walls have been up. She’s held onto her need to be a bastion, both for those around her and the idea of being seen as weak and wanting tears her apart. This need has only been detrimental to her; Tyland was right when he told her she couldn’t keep on as she has. 

The walk back to her chambers takes a minute. Elayna makes a mental note of the look on Tyland’s face when he watches her; she can’t give him any hell right now, but she can at a later point. 

Once back in her chambers, Elayna makes her way over to her vanity. She doesn’t need to look into the mirror to know her hair is a mess, multiple thick strands out of her braids. Carefully, she sits down at the vanity. Elayna undoes her braids. A quiet satisfaction builds within her body as she begins to brush out her hair. 

It’s been so long since she’s done this. Elayna knows she can explain away her hair by citing bedhead, but she likes doing this. She always did it as a post-sex ritual when married to Aemond. She moves almost on autopilot. 

She inhales slowly and then exhales slowly. She lifts her head to look at herself in the mirror. Elayna stares at her reflection. A smile plays about her lips. The woman looking back seems content, fulfilled. It's not a familiar sight but a sorely missed one. 

Eventually, she stands and stumbles over to her bed. The sheets lay rumpled from earlier, but it's easy enough to make herself comfortable.

She falls asleep almost instantly when her head hits the pillow. Her sleep is dreamless.

Only when she wakes up does the reality of yesterday hit her. 

She stretches slowly, the pleasant ache in her body reminding her of what happened. Based on the low light filtering through the curtains, she thinks it must be early morning. Her back cracks. Elayna smiles. She rolls over onto her side, preparing her speech as to why they should stay in bed the rest of the day instead of attending to important matters.

The other side of the bed sits empty and cold.

Tyland isn't there. Elayna frowns softly and reaches out into the empty space. She blinks. Despite no one being around to see her blunder, she feels silly, foolish. Of course he wouldn't be there.

Aemond should be the one there.

Aemond isn't either. 

Aemond is never going to be there ever again.

Instantly, Elayna shrinks and curls in on herself, all good mood gone with a single thought. Even after all these months, she misses waking up beside him. It's been worse since the birth of the twins. The amount of times she's woken up, hoping against all odds it was a dream and Aelon and Reynard will be snuggled between the two of them is uncountable. Elayna sighs. She buries her head in her pillow.

Aemond isn't here. He'll never be here again. Elayna blinks back tears. An ugly voice rises amongst the wave of sadness hitting her. She thought first of Tyland when she awoke. She didn't think of Aemond, her deceased husband, but thought instead of another man. Not just another man but a Lannister.

She bites down hard on the edge of the pillow she curled around in a desperate bid to hide her face. Still, she doesn’t manage to muffle all of the wail wanting to break free from her. An almost detached part of her likens it to a wounded animal. Elayna wishes the thought hadn’t occurred to her; it feels as if she ripped apart a wound on her own and poured salt inside of it.

As she lays there, another thought begins circling her brain. This one is worse than the others. This one makes her want to puke, bile threatening to rise. It’s a summation of everything, she supposes, of every blunder and mistakes.

What has she done.