#Shes Sent Home With Angry Red Note

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - four

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

warnings: gun violence; blood;

word count: 7.1k

You woke up confused staring at the oddly familiar ceiling, filled with posters ripped from the old magazines you’d gotten at a second-hand store. When you were sixteen is sounded like a great edgy idea. 

You were home.

What the—? How? 

Sitting up, the room felt stifling, the air thick with the stale smell of old wood and the faintest hint of your father’s cigarette smoke, a scent you had hoped never to encounter again. The heavy feeling in your chest wasn’t just the dread of being back; it was the memories flooding back, threatening to drown you.

The sound of a muffled argument seeped through the thin walls, pulling you back to the present. Your heart pounded in your ears as you recognized the angry, slurred voice of your father.

He was shouting at someone, probably your brother, just like he used to. The familiar clinking of bottles and the crash of something being thrown sent a shiver down your spine.

No. This wasn't real. This couldn’t be real.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the rough crappy carpet under your feet. You stood up shakily. The hallway stretched out before you, longer than it should have been, and the flickering light cast eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper.

As you approached the living room, the noise grew louder, more distinct. Your father’s voice, filled with venom and rage, scared the living hell out of you.

You reached the doorway and peered in, your breath catching in your throat. There he was, towering over your JJ, his face twisted in anger. Your little brother was cowering, trying to make himself as small as possible, his eyes filled with fear. The scene was a haunting echo of so many nights you’d tried to forget.

“No,” you whispered, fear bubbling up inside you. “This isn’t happening.”

But it was.

Your father, with his disheveled hair and red-rimmed eyes, swung the bottle in his hand dangerously close to JJ’s head. Each wave of the bottle sent droplets of amber liquid flying, dotting the floor like gruesome confetti. JJ flinched with every movement, tears streaming down his cheeks, and the sight made your heart ache.

“Get out of my sight, you worthless—” your father roared, his voice a terrifying growl.

“No!” you screamed, stepping into the room before you even realized you were moving. “Stop it!”

Your father turned, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as they focused on you. For a moment, he only stared, probably to drunk to realize it was his own daughter.

Then, recognition set in, and his scowl deepened.

“You,” he spat, disgusted by your sight, “You think you can just walk back in here and tell me what to do?”

You couldn’t back down, not now. Not ever again.

“Leave him alone,” you said, your voice trembling, “He’s a child!”

Your father took a menacing step toward you, the bottle still clutched in his hand. “You’ve got some nerve, coming back here and talking to me like that. Looking exactly like her!”

Every instinct screamed at you to run, but you stood there. “I’m not afraid of you Luke,” you lied through your teeth.

His eyes flared with rage, and he raised the bottle, ready to hit you. You tensed up, waiting for the blow.

“Dad, please!” JJ’s voice broke through the tension, “Don’t hurt her.”

JJ’s plea just hung there, like this thin, fragile thread barely holding things together. For a second, your dad froze, his hand twitching, eyes darting between you and your brother.

And then, with this pissed-off roar, he chucked the bottle at the wall. It exploded into a million pieces, glass flying everywhere. The sound echoed through the house, loud and final, like it was the last brutal note in this nightmare that felt way too real.

“You’re a coward, you know that? Hitting your own children. You’re trash.” you spat out, the words flying from your mouth before you could stop them.

His face twisted, “What did you say to me?” He lunged at you, his hands going straight for your throat.

Panic hit hard as his grip tightened around your throat, stealing your breath. You clawed at his hands, desperate to break free, but he was way too strong, too determined.

Dark spots started creeping into your vision. You gasped, fighting for air, but he only squeezed harder. The room blurred and started spinning, and just when you thought you were about to pass out, his face began to change, shifting right in front of you. You blinked, trying to clear your head, and when you opened your eyes again, it wasn’t your dad choking you anymore.

It was Rafe.

Rafe's face, with a sickening grin, loomed over you. His eyes, filled with a cold, calculating malice, bore into yours. “You thought I’d be any different?” he sneered. “You signed your death sentence, pogue.”

The fear was paralyzing, like ice-cold dread flooding through your veins.Your heart hammered against your chest, but you couldn’t scream, couldn’t shout for help. His grip was solid, unbreakable, like he had no intention of letting go.

You struggled with everything you had, but it was like fighting through quicksand. Every move felt slow, heavy, like you were trapped in molasses.

As the edges of your vision began to fade, a new sound cut through the suffocating haze – JJ’s voice, calling your name. “Sis! Please, wake up! Wake up!”

With a final, desperate burst of energy, you tore yourself away from Rafe, his grip suddenly gone. You were falling, tumbling through darkness, and then–

You jolted awake, gasping for breath, your body drenched in sweat. The familiar ceiling of the motel room came into focus. The terror of the nightmare clung to you, and it made it hard to breathe.

Your hands went to your throat, feeling for bruises that weren’t there. It was just a dream, you told yourself, trying to calm your racing heart. Just a nightmare.

As your breath began to steady, you turned your head, feeling the sheets rustle against your skin.

The dim light of the room cast long shadows, and your heart sank when you saw Rafe lying next to you, his chest rising and falling in a deep, peaceful slumber. He was naked, his body partially covered by the sheets, a reminder of what you’d done hours ago.

A wave of nausea hit you, your stomach twisting with disgust — at him, at yourself. The nightmare still clung to you, the image of his hands around your throat fresh and terrifying, making it hard to process how he could sleep so soundly. You slipped out of bed as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake him, and hurriedly grabbed your clothes, dressing in silence.

Standing in the cramped bathroom, you splashed cold water on your face, hoping it would wash away the nightmare. The coolness gave you a quick moment of clarity, but the dread still clung to you, heavy and unshakable. You stared at yourself in the mirror — pale, tired, and haunted.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. You needed to leave, clear your head, figure out what the hell to do next. Quietly, you slipped out of the bathroom, grabbed your keys from the nightstand, and took one last glance at Rafe. He was still asleep, completely clueless about the fear swirling inside you.

The motel hallway was dark and dead silent, except for the low hum of the vending machine down the hall. You made your way to the exit, and the cool night air hit your skin like a slap of reality. It was like stepping out of one world and into another — the difference so harsh, it almost felt unreal.

You walked a few more steps, but suddenly everything started spinning. Your vision blurred, and you felt lightheaded, your legs giving out as you slumped against the wall, struggling to breathe.

The panic attack hit you full force, your chest tightening, and your mind racing. You couldn't let Rafe see you like this. You couldn't let anyone see you like this. You sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to focus on something, anything, to calm yourself down. You started counting your breaths, focusing on each inhale and exhale, trying to slow your racing heart. You thought of JJ, of how much he needed you to be strong.

You couldn't fall apart now.

You kept counting, kept breathing, the cool air helping to clear your head. Slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease. The world started to come back into focus, the shadows in the hallway retreating.

You wiped away the tears that had slipped down your cheeks and stood up, feeling a little more in control.

Sleeping around—no, not just sleeping, practically baring your soul to one of the people that had destroyed your life? That had taunted and beaten your brother? Your friends? That killed a cop and got away with it? The thoughts circled in your mind. You were a dirty traitor.

The cold didn't couldn’t wash away the shame eating you alive. How did it come to this? How did you go from hating Rafe to being tangled up with him like this? 

You thought of JJ, of your friends, the people who had been there for you through everything. They’d never understand.

Hell, you didn’t even understand it yourself. You stopped and leaned against a lamppost, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You had to sort through this mess, had to figure out what was real and what was just the lingering effects of captivity and longing. Maybe you were holding on to the only person who managed to pull you out of Ward’s grasp, fooling yourself into finding some good in someone who had caused so much pain. 

An hour later, you made your way back to the motel, the guilt and self-doubt threatening to consume you entirely. You couldn't ignore the feeling that you'd betrayed everything you stood for by letting Rafe into your life, even if it was just for a moment of weakness.

As you got closer to the entrance, you spotted him at the front desk. He looked a mess — worried, disheveled, like he’d just woken up and thrown on some shorts in a rush. His face was tight with tension as he talked to the front desk guy, hands moving wildly, gesturing around like he was freaking out. 

Your pulse pounded as you walked in, not sure of what to say, what to do, how to approach him. The nightmare was still fresh.

Rafe's voice cut through the air, his tone urgent, "How the fuck did you not see her leave? Did someone take her?”

The front desk guy shook his head, his expression apologetic.

"Sir, I haven't seen anyone come through here."

With a deep breath, you stepped forward, revealing yourself, "I'm here," you said quietly, voice rough from not speaking since you woke up.

Rafe's head snapped up, his blue eyes widening in relief as he caught sight of you. "Thank God," he breathed, his shoulders visibly relaxing, “Fucking hell, Maybank.”

His arms were around you in an instant, his warmth enveloping you. You should feel repulsed.

His hands rested gently on your back; fingers splayed wide. For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace for the last time, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly. And then, you pushed him away, your movements sharp. His hands fell away from you. The hurt in his eyes cut through you like a punch, but you couldn’t bring yourself to think much of it. It was you or him.

You took a step back, putting some distance between you and Rafe, needing the space to breathe, to think, to figure out what came next.

Your gaze flickered to the floor, unable to meet his eyes, unable to face the consequences of your stupid actions, "Just needed some air," you muttered, “Sorry for not leaving a note.”

Rafe's expression shifted from relief to concern as he watched you, his brows furrowing.

"You okay?"

You still couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, "I'm fine," you replied, your voice lacking conviction even to your own ears. "Just felt a little nauseous.”

His hand reached out tentatively as if he wanted to comfort you, but he hesitated, letting it fall back to his side. “I just woke up and you were gone, and I...I panicked."

You hated the fact you could pinpoint the sincerity in his voice so easily. It nearly killed you. 

“We should go back.”

"Will you... will you be okay?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

You nodded, trying to muster up a reassuring smile, but it felt hollow and insincere. "I'll be fine," you lied, the words tasted bitter on your tongue, “Just need some rest.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, let’s go back.”

As you stepped inside the room, he watched you carefully, as if he was afraid you would’ve disappeared again at any given moment. He tried to reach out and grab your arm, but you moved too quickly, and he was left grasping air.

You offered him a weak smile, ignoring the look on his face.

"I'm sorry for leaving like that," you said, your voice tinged with genuine regret. "I’m fine.”

You didn’t think he believed you. He was watching you so closely. He took in how disheveled you looked. The mess of your hair, and barely laced-up shoes so you could get out the door faster. He was smart enough to read your bullshit, but he only took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Is this about last night?”

Your body froze instantly. What were you supposed to tell him? Lie? Tell him the truth and make him hate himself even more? Keep your pain down to hold his?

“It was a mistake.”

You went straight to the chase.

He stalked closer to you, and you took a step back reflexively, “A mistake?” he echoed between labored breaths, “A mistake?”

“Yeah," you stammered, trying to articulate your thoughts, "It's not right. We, we're just lonely."

You despised yourself for even hinting at it, but the tumultuous month spent with him had been bewildering, to say the least. You questioned whether you were truly good for each other. You couldn't be.

"I thought..." he began, his voice trailing off. The vulnerability in his voice pierced your skin, a consequence of your actions. But you needed to put yourself first.

“I’m sorry.”

Rafe's face contorted, his features tightening into a mask of disbelief. And you couldn’t blame him for whatever he was about to unleash on you. You probably deserved it.

“So, what? You're just gonna walk away?" He tried to bark, but his voice quivered from grief, “Stop looking at me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He scoffed, lips twisting into a sneer, as he started to pace around the room, his movements restless and agitated. “That’s funny.”

Rafe could act cold and stoic all he wanted; you could hear the hurt in his voice and sense the sadness in the words. He sounded broken.

"You're angry,” Your mouth ran dry, your heart lurching into your throat. "I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he seethed, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, “Angry? You think you mean enough to me to make me angry?”

His words struck you like a physical blow, a slap to the face. You recoiled instinctively, even though you knew he didn't mean it.

"I don't know what I mean to you," you admitted quietly as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I just know that I can't keep doing this."

Rafe's laughter was bitter and mocking, "Can't keep doing this?" he repeated, his voice laced with derision. "And what, exactly, is 'this'? Fucking? You can’t even say it.”

“You’re being an asshole.”

"An asshole?" he spat, "Is that what you think of me?"

You held his gaze, refusing to back down despite the hurting coursing through your veins. "You're acting like one.”

“Maybank,” His voice was still harsh as he lowered his head to try and meet your eyes. He was close enough that you were able to smell him, "You don't know anything about me, remember? Maybe the fucking really did confuse you.”

“Stop it,” Your voice broke a little, fighting the waterworks that were threatening to run down your cheeks, “Stop making it sound like it meant nothing to you.”

His eyes shut tightly, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s wrong! Rafe—don’t you see it? I can’t do this, not with you of all fucking people, okay?”

He looked down at the carpet, a look of shame falling over his features as he ran a hand over his face, “You knew who I was since the beginning.”

You felt so much frustration rising within you, "Yeah, and every time I look at you now, I see everything that's wrong with me."

“And whose fault is that? Hmm? You said you didn’t want to stop. You wanted it, you wanted me.”

You staggered back, feeling as if the ground beneath your feet was unsteady.

"I wanted it," Rafe repeated, fingers digging into his chest, "I wanted you."

You wanted to reach out to him, hug him as you had just hours ago, but you knew you couldn’t.

“We can’t.”

His eyes were slightly dewy, a somewhat defeated look to his gaze as he walked towards the door.

“Well, congrats Maybank. You won.”

The sound of the door slamming echoed through the room, the finality of it hitting you like a punch to the gut. You stood there, motionless, as the silence enveloped you. Why did it feel like this was going to crush you?

You sank to the floor, your back against the wall, and the tears came in a torrent, for the second time that morning. Sobs wracked your body, each one more painful than the last, as the reality of your situation became clear as day. You had pushed him away, and hurt him, but what other choice did you have? 

The quiet without him was almost eerie. You weren't used to being alone anymore. You couldn't deny that you had felt something for Rafe, something more than just anger and resentment.

But it was twisted, born out of shared trauma and desperation, wasn’t it? It had to be. It was the only explanation that made sense.

Wiping your tear-streaked face with trembling hands, you tried to gather yourself. You still needed to get home. In five days. How the fuck were you going to live in the same room with Rafe for five days after what went down?

You sat on the motel room floor for what felt like hours, the silence driving you up the walls. Eventually, exhaustion won out, and you crawled into bed, your mind too restless to allow for more than fitful dozing.

It was around 4 a.m. when the door to the motel room creaked open, startling you awake. You sat up, your heart pounding, straining to see in the dark. The figure that stumbled through the door was unmistakable: Rafe. His movements were unsteady, his clothes disheveled, and the sharp scent of alcohol hit you even from across the room.

“Rafe?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned heavily against the doorframe, his eyes unfocused. He looked lost.

The anger that had driven him was gone, replaced by a hollow, almost haunted look. You had done that to him.

You got out of bed, approaching him cautiously, “What are you doing?”

He finally looked at you, his eyes bloodshot, “I... I couldn’t stay away,” he slurred, his words thick with the effects of too much alcohol. “I tried, but...”

You sighed, “Rafe, you’re drunk. You need to sit down.”

He let you guide him to the bed, his body heavy and uncooperative. Once he was seated, you grabbed a bottle of water from the small table and handed it to him.

“Drink this,” you instructed.

He took a sip, his hands shaking slightly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, staring down at the floor. “For everything.”

It was the first time he ever apologized to you.

You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was okay, but another part of you was still reeling from earlier.

“You need to sleep this off."

He nodded but didn’t move.

Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “I don’t want to be like him,” he confessed, “I can't."

If you allowed him to keep sputtering out his drunken thoughts you would’ve ended up crying your eyes out again, so instead you squeezed his hand, “Let’s just sleep, okay?”

He nodded again, his eyes drifting shut as the exhaustion and alcohol finally took their toll. You helped him lie down, covering him with the sheets. As you laid back down, you watched Rafe’s breathing even out, his face softening in sleep. 

That night? It never happened. It felt like everything was happening all over again.

Rafe didn’t spare you a glance from the moment he woke up, choosing to care for his hangover by himself. You and he moved around each other like ghosts, the motel room becoming a prison. You barely slept, the nightmares coming back, leaving you exhausted and on edge.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw your father, Rafe, or the hauntings of your past, blending into a tiring cycle of fear. You knew he’d been having nightmares as well, but you pretended to be asleep every time he woke up, chest heaving. He never asked for you help.

He seemed so caught in his torment. You could see it in the way he clenched his jaw, the way his hands would flex into fists and then relax as if he was battling some inner demon. He avoided you, constantly, and when he did speak, his words were clipped and distant.

Your shared meals were silent, the clinking of cutlery the only sound breaking the oppressive quiet. Even the TV stayed off.

On the fifth night, you lay awake in the dark, listening to the rhythm of Rafe's breathing from the other bed. It was uneven, indicating he was also awake. Maybe you should've kept quiet, but his druken monologue was still very much killing you inside.

“You’re not gonna end up like him.”

Rafe's breathing hitched, and you could almost feel his eyes on you through the darkness.

"I mean it," you continued, turning slightly to face his silhouette. "You're not your father."

He didn't respond immediately, but you sensed a subtle change in his posture. Finally, he sighed, "How can you be so sure?" he murmured.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Because I've seen you. I've seen the parts of you that fight against becoming him. The parts that want to be better. And that matters."

He let out a bitter laugh. "I'm not sure it’s enough.”

“It is.”

“It’s not, Maybank. I’ve done enough damage for a lifetime. It’s the reason why you’re sleeping on the other side of the bed instead of right next to me.”

You wanted to reach out, to reassure him that he wasn’t alone, but you knew it wasn’t that simple. 

“I’m still here,” you said softly, “I’m not leaving.”

“You already did.”

Ouch.

Before you could utter a single word, he turned his back to you.

“We’re leaving tomorrow. Sleep.”

“Rafe—”

“Goodnight.”

It took you hours to fall asleep. You lay in bed the events of the past weeks replaying in your mind. You thought of Rafe, of the hurt in his eyes, the way he had looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. That didn't matter anymore to him.

The next morning, you didn’t bother much with packing, only shoving the pieces of clothing you’d collected in a backpack. It felt torturous, to be so close to Rafe yet so far away. He didn’t speak a word as he packed his things, his movements stiff and mechanical. You wanted to break the silence, but every time you opened your mouth, the words seemed to stick in your throat.

The taxi drive to the port was just as unbearable. You stared out the window, watching the landscape blur past, your mind racing with thoughts of what could have been, what should have been. 

Once you arrived, you and Rafe stepped out, the silence between you as impenetrable as ever. It was over. He took the lead, heading towards the ticket booth with his shoulders hunched, and you followed.

You were still scared shitless of those men. They were only helping you because at some point Rafe had helped them smuggle drugs into the States, and that did not leave you the least bit reassured over their intentions. 

Finding a spot on the deck, you both settled into a tense silence, the hum of the boat’s engine and the cries of seagulls filling the void between you. The beauty of the scene did little to ease the anxiety tightening in your chest.

He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his face still void of any emotion.

You watched him for a moment, torn between wanting to reach out to him and the fear that doing so would only make things worse.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you cleared your throat.

“Rafe,” you began hesitantly, “I—”

Before you could finish, he turned to you, his expression weary. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said, his voice flat. “Not now.”

Not ever, that's what he meant.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

“Just stay low, stay quiet. My dad got eyes everywhere.”

From the corner of your eye you spotted one of the men. Tall, burly, with a scar running down his cheek. He simply nodded towards the cargo boat and for a minute you’re taken back to your first day stuck with the Cameron’s, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Rafe walked in front of you again, entering the ship, rounding his way through the halls behind the sketchy guy, only stopping when he knocked on a door, after a moment, it swung open to reveal a bald shot man, eyes way too big for his face, which flicked over you and Rafe, a predatory smile curling his lips.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “You’re late.”

“Had some complications,” Rafe replied curtly, his posture tense.

You didn't like it one bit.

“Complications, huh? Well, come on in”

You followed Rafe inside, heart racing. The interior of the room was pretty dark, the air thick with the smell of smoke and something you couldn’t quite identify. Nor did you want to. 

“Rafe,” the older man announced, his voice cold and commanding. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about our arrangement.”

“Never,” Rafe replied, his tone clipped. “I brought the money.”

He handed over a thick envelope, and the man behind the desk took it, flipping through the bills with a practiced eye. After a moment, he nodded, satisfied.

“Good,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Now, let’s discuss the other part of our deal.”

Rafe stiffened. “I told you, I’m out. I’m not running anything for you anymore.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, his smile turning dangerous. “I don’t think you understand. You don’t get to just walk away.”

You felt a chill run down your spine. This wasn't the plan. Right? The man behind the desk stood up, his gaze shifting to you.

“And who’s this?” he asked, his tone menacing.

“No one,” Rafe said quickly. “She has nothing to do with this.”

The man chuckled, a low, sinister sound. “Oh, I think she has everything to do with this.”

He took a step towards you, and instinctively, you backed away, Rafe moving to place himself between you and the older man, “Leave her out of this.”

“You see, your daddy dearest called in last night. Told me about a loose piece he had to get rid off…a pretty one. Guess this is her?”

"That's none of your business," Rafe growled, his voice filled with a warning, body still shielding yours.

The older man laughed, the sound grating against your nerves.

"Oh, but it is my business, Rafe. You see, your daddy and I, we go way back. And when he asks for a favor, I don't say no."

You knew this had to be a trap.

"Rafe, we need to go," you whispered urgently, tugging on his arm.

He didn't move, his eyes locked on the man before him. "We're leaving."

The man smirked, his gaze shifting between you and Rafe. "You think you can just walk out of here? You're in deep, Cameron. And now, so is she."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. "We're not doing this.”

The older man took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. 

"You have two choices, Rafe. You either do as I say, or she pays the price like Ward asked.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear coursing through your veins. You couldn't let Rafe get pulled back into this world, but you couldn't think about what might happen to both of you if you stayed.

"Rafe, please," you pleaded, your voice trembling at that point.

Rafe’s gaze flicked to you as if he was memorizing your features, from your eyes down to your lips. Oh hell no. You could see the gears turning inside his brain and it made you sick to your stomach when he took a deep breath, his eyes hardening with resolve.

“Run.”

Before you could protest, Rafe launched himself at the older man, tackling him to the ground. The suddenness of the movement caught everyone off guard, but you knew you had to act quickly.

Heart pounding, you turned and bolted out of the room, dropping your backpack in the process, your footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridor.

Behind you, you could hear the sounds of struggle—grunts, crashes, and the thud of bodies hitting the floor. You didn’t dare look back, knowing that every second counted. Rafe had told you to run.

The ship's layout was confusing, with identical-looking hallways and doors leading to who-knew-where. You sprinted through the maze of metal and dim lights, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The distant sound of shouting and commotion indicated that the fight wasn't over. You turned a corner and collided with one of the burly men from earlier.

He grabbed your arm like you were some kind of animal, “Where do you think you’re going?” he snarled.

You stomped on his foot and jabbed your elbow into his ribs, wrenching your arm free as he grunted in pain. Without wasting a second, you continued running, your legs burning.

You burst onto the deck, the cold, salty air hitting you like a slap. The early morning light was just beginning to brighten the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck. You looked around frantically, searching for any means of escape. Your eyes landed on a lifeboat secured to the side of the ship. Without hesitation, you made your way towards it, fumbling with the ropes that held it in place. Your fingers were shaking, but you managed to free the boat. As you were about to lower it into the water, a rough hand grabbed your shoulder and spun you around. It was the man with the scar, his face twisted in anger.

“Going somewhere?” he sneered.

You tried to fight him off, but he was too strong.

Just when you thought all hope was lost, a loud bang echoed across the deck. The man with the scar froze, his grip loosening. You took the opportunity to break free, scrambling away from him.

Rafe stood at the entrance to the deck, a gun in his hand and determination in his eyes. The man with the scar raised his hands slowly, backing away.

“You okay?” Rafe asked.

“I think so.”

“Come here.”

Without thinking, you ran to him, your heart pounding with relief. He was okay. You were okay.

His arms wrapped around your lower back tightly, and gently pulled you back, his eyes searching your face to make sure you were okay, but before you could assure him you were fine, he kissed you.

It felt so…real, it nearly brought you to your knees. As cheesy as it sounded, it felt like time stood still for you, the rest of the world ceasing to exist. 

Until reality broke you again.

Rafe's body tensed suddenly. You heard a muffled sound, like a distant pop, but it took a moment for your mind to register what had happened. His grip on you loosened, and he staggered, his breath hitching in pain. No, no, no, no.

"Rafe?” You caught him as he fell to his knees, eyes darting around, searching for the source of the shot. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head as you watched a showdown between the so-called human traffickers and the fucking police. This had to be a fucking nightmare, no way, were you getting caught in a crossfire. 

Rafe clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers, staining his white shirt. His face was scarily pale, and he struggled to stay upright.

"You need to...get out of here," he managed to say, his voice strained, “Right now.”

“I’m not leaving you, you fuckin—Shit, Rafe. Fuck!” You looked around frantically, your heart pounding in your chest. "Can you walk?" you asked, trying to keep the panic from your voice, you didn't want to scare him.

“Does it look like I can walk, pretty Maybank?”

A sob broke through you, “Don’t try to be fucking funny, you got shot!”

“Baby, you—“ he coughed, blood seeping through his teeth, "You gotta go home.”

"Stop talking!" you repeated, your voice trembling with desperation.

You looked around again, trying to find a way out, a way to save him, anything. But the chaos around you was too much. The police and the traffickers were in a fierce shootout, bullets whizzing through the air, ricocheting off metal, and splintering wood. There was nowhere to run.

Rafe's hand tightened weakly around yours.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice just a whisper. "You have to...Go gome."

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head. "I can't leave you here."

You knew you had to move, had to find help, but leaving him there felt like tearing your heart out. As you turned to peek around one final time, you heard a shout from behind you.

"Freeze!" a police officer yelled, his gun trained on you.

You stopped, your hands raised, your mind racing. "Please, help him," you begged, pointing to Rafe. "He's been shot."

The officer's eyes flicked to Rafe, then back to you. "We need to secure the area first," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

"Please," you repeated, your voice breaking. "He's dying."

The officer hesitated, then spoke into his radio. "Officer down, need medical assistance immediately."

Another officer approached, his gun drawn, and you saw his gaze soften as he took in Rafe's condition. "We'll get him help," he assured you, "but we need to get you out of here safely."

“I’m not leaving without him,” You made the mistake to glance back one last time, your heart breaking as you saw Rafe's eyes close, his body slumping against the ground, “No, no, no! Keep your eyes open, I swear to god—” Your hands trembled as you tried to staunch the flow of blood with your already stained clothing, "Stay with me," you pleaded, your voice cracking. 

His eyes fluttered open briefly, a weak smile touching his lips, "Go."

Before you could tell him off, you felt hands grip your shoulders, pulling you back. "We need to get you to safety," one of the officers said firmly, trying to drag you away from Rafe.

"No! Let me go! I can't leave him!" you screamed, fighting against their hold.

"Ma'am, we need to get you out of the line of fire," the officer insisted, his grip tightening as he pulled you to your feet.

Through your tears, you saw more officers surrounding Rafe, their voices urgent as they called for medical assistance. You watched helplessly as they began to administer first aid, their movements efficient and hurried.

As the officers dragged you away against your will, your eyes never left Rafe. "Please, don't let him die," you sobbed, your voice breaking with despair.

"We're doing everything we can," one of the officers reassured you, guiding you towards the edge of the deck where a police boat was waiting.

You stumbled, your legs weak with fear and exhaustion, but the officers held you steady. As you were helped onto the police boat, you turned back one last time, your heart breaking at the sight of Rafe lying on the deck, surrounded by officers and paramedics. You clutched the railing, your knuckles white, as the boat pulled away from the ship, the distance between you and Rafe growing with each passing second.

The journey back to shore was nothing but a blur of sirens, flashing lights, and the distant sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air. The police officers tried to reassure you, but you wouldn't rest until you saw him again. Alive.

When the boat finally docked, paramedics rushed forward, checking you for injuries, while police officers asked you questions about what had happened. You answered them mechanically, your mind still focused on Rafe, praying that he would survive. Hours seemed to pass in a haze of questions, medical checks, and statements. You told them everything. Finally, you were allowed to sit down and a police officer approached you.

"Rafe Cameron is being taken to the hospital," he said gently. "He's in critical condition, but the paramedics are doing everything they can."

You nodded numbly, "Can I see him?"

“’No visitors will be allowed, kid. We checked your backgrounds. If he survives, he’ll be taken into custody, his father is Ward Cameron, the feds are going to need him.”

You nearly threw up at how easily he said, “if he survives”. There couldn’t be no fucking ifs, he wasn’t dying. Not like this. Not after everything. 

Your knees buckled, and you had to sit down again. The officer helped you to a bench, his face sympathetic, “I understand this is hard, but we need to follow protocol. He’s a key witness and suspect in multiple ongoing investigations.”

You nodded. The world felt distant, and surreal. “Can I at least know which hospital?”

The officer hesitated for a moment, then relented. “St. Michael’s. But you won’t be allowed to call until we clear things with the authorities.”

“Call? I want to visit.”

He sighed, taking a seat next to you, “Kid. I’m really sorry, but you won’t be here. You’re a kidnapping victim and there’s a direct order to take you back home, you’ve been reported missing for over a month now.”

Your mind reeled, struggling to process the officer's words.

Missing? For over a month? It felt like a lifetime and no time at all had passed since you'd been caught up in this nightmare.

"I can't leave him. Not like this."

The officer's expression softened. "I understand, but this is out of my hands. We need to get you back to your family. They'll be worried sick."

What family?

You wanted to shout in his face. JJ was still missing for all you knew and Luke hadn't stepped foot home in months. You felt so helpless.

“I can't just leave him."

"We're going to get you home safely. You'll be able to follow up on Rafe's condition, but right now, you need to come with us."

The officer stood up, motioning for you to follow. Reluctantly, you got to your feet, without another option, every step feeling like a betrayal to Rafe.

As you were led out of the station and into a waiting car, you could only imagine him lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life, by himself. You couldn't bear the thought of him waking up alone, without knowing that you were there for him.

If he ever woke up.

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch.12

WandaNat x Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Ch. Notes: It's a converstion so dialouge heavy, non-sexual nudity

Summary: Natasha and Wanda reveal their feelings.

An: Ok... ok late again, but tell me it's not worth the wait. (Please don't) Hopefully you love it because it's 2:25am but I'm still doing this for yall and yes if everything goes right new ch. on Monday

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Wanda couldn’t look at you when she was speaking. You could see she was trying to find the words, but you didn’t know how to help her.

Natasha knowing what her wife is trying to say tries to take over.

“ Before I met you I was a little jealous. Seeing the love of my life light up talking about someone who was quite literally thousands of miles away, was a hard pill to swallow. I haven’t known you as long as Wanda, but I can see now why she had always spoken so highly of you.”

You want to interrupt the red head and say anything back to her, but you don’t. They had said they wanted to tell you everything before you spoke so you intended to let them.

“When Papa sent me away, I resented him for it. It was a great opportunity and a show of good faith, but I was angry with him because I didn’t want to leave you here. I thought we had grown quite close, little krolik. You were the best part of all my days. So much so that even thousands of miles away I couldn’t shut up about you. Even after I fell in love, you’d always find a way into my mind,” Wanda plays with her wedding ring as she speaks.

You look between the two woman silently urging them to continue.

“I’ve been many places, lived many lives, and have met many people, but I've never met anyone like you. There’s this light inside you that you keep so close to your chest. I can feel it behind all the walls you put up. I see it in how intensely you care about your family and I admire it. I admire you,” Natasha isn’t scared to take your hand in hers.

Wanda continues, “It’s hard not to admire you. If Natasha has seen it in these few months, it’s safe to say I’ve always seen it. I saw it before you put all these walls up, when you let it be known to everyone. I think that’s what startled me so much when I came home. I felt like a soldier come home from war to see his home was no longer his.”

The woman begins to get emotional. You reach out your other hand for her to take, not knowing what else to do.

“When I saw Wanda interact with you for the first time, I felt something. It wasn’t jealousy or hatred or anything like that. It was this overwhelming warmth. Seeing her hold you as if you’d disappear, seeing her smile as big as our wedding day, it made me happy,” Natasha recounts.

Wanda sighs, “When we were in my old room at the dinner I was terrified. I thought you were going to tell me the same thing everyone else had when it came to you, but you didn’t. You held me, dried my tears, and I think things really started to fall into place for me then.”

“I met Wanda when she was technically on a job. She was leading and in charge of operations. I had seen her get angry or upset on multiple occasions, but I don’t know if I ever saw her as mad as that night. I could almost see the steam coming out of her ears when she had Pietro against the wall. As far as I knew, I was the only one who could calm her down, but then you did it like it was second nature.”

You speak quietly, “She’s always had a temper.”

You think the woman will roll her eyes, but she doesn’t, “I have and you have always been there to calm me down. I don’t know how to say this, Y/n. When I met you, you were just my little brother’s best friend, but then you became my friend and then a part of my family. You were so delicate back then, you weren’t even 18 for Christ sake.”

Natasha tries to help her wife find her bearings, “But by the time she left you were 22 and you had grown into a young woman.”

Wanda shakes her head a bit, “You had done a lot of growing, that I didn't want to see, that I was trying to ignore because I didn’t want you to think that I had intentions of taking advantage of you. I felt like at the time I was too old, you were too young, and we were too close.”

You look at her with confusion on your face. There’s only one thing that she could be talking about in your mind, but this can’t be happening.

“What are you saying Wanda?”

For the first time in the conversation her eyes meet yours. You see the fear in them, the uncertainty, the desperation. Her hand let’s go of yours and finds itself on her bouncing knee.

“I don't want to ruin this and I'm so scared of losing you, but if you would’ve died in that alley not knowing that I’m in love with you it would’ve destroyed me.”

You feel your heart beating against your chest. Your mouth opens and closes a few times as you try to find your voice. You find yourself stuttering for the first time in years, “Y-you w-what?”

Wanda stands abruptly trying to run from the conversation. This makes you panic and try to stand as well. However, you forget about your ankle and yelp at the weight you put on it.

Wanda’s arms are quick to steady you before you do anymore damage to yourself. She’s close to you and you swear you can hear her heartbeat.

“D-did you s-ay-” you give up frustrated with your reappearing stutter.

Wanda’s grip on you tightens slightly, “I’m in love with you.”

“Wanda I- you’re married,” you look back at Natasha only to find her staring at you.

She stands from her place on the couch, and closes the gap between the two of you.

“I have my own feelings for you Y/n,” Natasha is confident as she speaks.

Her assertion makes you turn red, “Y-you also?”

Natasha smiles sweetly, “Maybe not love just yet, but I could see myself falling for you.”

This situation was short-circuiting your brain, it felt like you were dreaming. This couldn’t be real. As you stood between the two woman it felt like less of a dream.

“I loved you before they sent you away,” you blurt out to your friend’s sister.

Once you start it’s like the words just pour out of your mouth, “You were way out of my league. You’re still out of my league, I mean does it get more taboo than falling for your best friend’s older sister. You’re just so easy to love, but I never thought I had a chance and then you came back with a wife; a very beautiful, very intelligent, ex-Russian spy of a wife, and I just knew I didn’t have a chance.”

“The chance is now. Admittedly, we don’t know how something like this works, but I think we can figure it out together,” Wanda levels with you.

“If you're interested,” Natasha adds on, leaving the ball in your court.

“It would’ve been nice if you guys had told me before I got a cut on my lip. I could’ve done the whole dramatic kiss to cut you off,” you tease them.

Wanda rolls her eyes, “If I could shove you and you wouldn’t fall over, I would.”

“You talk to every woman you’re in love with like that?”

Natasha chimes in, “You get used to it after awhile.”

You share a laugh and when it dies down Wanda speaks, “So we’re doing this?”

“I want to try, but I don’t want to ruin your marriage,” you speak honestly.

“You won’t,” Natasha declares with certainty.

“How do you know?”

She thinks for a moment, “The love Wanda and I have for each other is endless, I’ve never for a moment thought anything could break it up. We’re not changing the way we love each other, we’re just adding you into the already existing dynamic. Eventually it should end with the three of us loving each other endlessly. Does that make sense?”

You nod slowly, “It sounds perfect.”

Natasha places a kiss on your cheek like it’s second nature to her, “Good.”

Your ears heat at the contact and before you can respond Wanda places a light kiss at the corner of your lips.

The movement leaves you wanting more. Against better judgement you try to lean down and kiss her. You succeed in placing your lips against hers for a brief second but as you pull away you almost fall again.

Natasha is the one to steady you this time. She teases you, “Someone is eager?”

“My ankle doesn’t want me to be great.” you pout.

Natasha hesitates, but delicately she touches her lips to yours. It’s as quick as your attempt at kissing Wanda.

“Your ankle won’t stop us, bunny,” Wanda looks at you with shining eyes.

Your face heats at the nickname that’s only familiar to you in the woman’s native language. The women chuckle at the pigment of your skin.

“We’ll see who’s laughing when my lips don’t hurt and I can kiss you properly,” you try once again standing on your own.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Wanda lets her eyes fall to your lips.

You roll your eyes, “Stop teasing, and help me get ready for bed. This has simultaneously been one of the best and one of the most painful days of my life. Truly unforgettable.”

Natasha speaks first, “I’ll get some stuff ready for a shower.”

“I’ll help you to the bathroom,” Wanda finishes.

It’s an all too similar feeling as you find yourself perched on the bathroom counter with Wanda standing between your legs.

Her fingers play with the end of your shirt. She looks at you for permission and you give her a light nod.

Slowly as to not aggravate your injuries she takes your shirt off. She’s careful as she unwraps the bandages from your torso.

“You’ll need help in there,” she speaks softly as her eyes scan your body.

“I know,” the pain starts to catch up with you.

Leaning forward slightly you rest your head on her shoulder. She smells good and it calms your nerves.

Wanda can’t help herself as she speaks up, “Isn’t this a familiar scene?”

You raise your head off of her shoulder and smile, “It’s ringing a few bells.”

Natasha enters the restroom with some towels and pajamas, “I’m going to get some food going, if you guys are alright in here?”

Wanda nods, “I’ve got her, Nat.”

Natasha nods and proceeds to exit the bathroom, “Just holler if you need me.”

Wanda steps away from you to turn the shower on. She’s back in front of you in no time.

“How do you want to do this?”

You feel nerves as you speak, but you try to sound objective, “I think you should join me. Not because I want to see you, not that I don’t want to see you. Its just I can’t really stand and-”

She quiets you down by pulling her own shirt over her head. Her feet pad against the bathroom floor as she makes her way back over to you. Wanda’s hands place themselves on the top of your pants. Her movements are slow but sure as she begins to pull them down. She takes extra care when they're around your ankle.

Once they’re off she takes a step back swiftly removing her own pants. The only thing left on both of you is your underwear.

The sound of the shower rings heavily in your ears as you watch Wanda take her bra off. You can’t move even if you want to. Your eyes glance over her chest before following her hands path lower. She’s not teasing as she removes her panties.

Once again you find yourself with her standing between your legs, but this time there was significantly less fabric in the way. She reaches behind you back to place her hands on your bra clasp.

“Y/n, do you mind if-"

“Take it off,” you finish for her.

She does as you say, a shaky breath releases from her. Your bra falls off your shoulder, but you keep looking in her eyes. Her hand slides down from your back and her finger hooks around your underwear.

“Take it off,” you repeat in a hushed tone.

She follows your instructions. Her eyes snap back to yours. The two of you stare in silence. There’s an underlying tenderness to the moment.

Wanda’s hand reach for your waist, “Ready?”

You nod and she assists you off of the counter. The water hits your skin and you sigh. You enjoy the heat against your bruised skin. Wanda’s hands stay in place for a moment just keeping you steady.

It's a silent delicacy as Wanda soaps up a towel and begins to gently clean your skin. You marvel at the lightness of her touch.

She turns you around so you face her. You look down at her and can’t help but brush your nose against hers. You hear her breath hitch. Carefully you use your hand to guide her’s across your body.

Neither of you dwell as she cleans every inch of you intimately. You lean against the shower wall a bit so Wanda has room to wash herself. You take in the details of her body as she cleans herself.

She gets out first and then helps you put the pajamas laid out for you on before dressing herself.

“I love you,” you say it easily when everything is done.

Wanda places a kiss on your forehead, “I love you too.”

Wanda helps you to the kitchen table. Your eyes find Natasha moving about in the kitchen.

“Almost done, I know you’re tired lisichka. We can eat then get in the bed,” Natasha speaks to you.

“Thanks Natty,” you look at her with your hand on your chin.

“Did you re-wrap her torso detka?” Natasha asks her wife.

Wanda snaps her fingers, “I knew I forgot something.”

“Take over here, and I’ll do it?”

Wanda agrees to these terms. Natasha goes to fetch the medical wrap and quickly returns. You’re sitting down, so Natasha kneels to be level with your torso.

Carefully with tentative hands, she lifts up your shirt. Her hand finds the small of your back, to encourage you to sit straight. You follow her instructions.

“Tell me if it’s too tight, okay?”

You’re looking down into her eyes and you momentarily get lost in them. The hues of green draw you in like emeralds.

“Baby,” she says again a little more firm.

You snap out of it and nod, “I’ll tell you if it’s too tight.”

She brings the wrap around your torso multiple times, each time looking for any extensive discomfort in your expression.

When she’s done with your torso, she quickly does your ankle. Your ankle was more sensitive, so she made sure to be extra gentle.

“All set, lisichka,” the woman places a kiss on your forehead as she stands up.

“Food is ready,” Wanda announces bringing plates for the three of you to table.

At this point exhaustion was knocking at your door. You eat in comfortable silence and once you’re finished, they help you to bed.

When your head hits the pillow, you almost fall asleep instantly.

“If I didn’t want to kill him for what he did to my father, I’d kill him for this,” Wanda says to her wife.

“The men involved have been dealt with already,” Natasha relies to her Wanda.

“You work fast malyshka,” Wanda places her hands on Natasha’s hips.

Natasha looks at your sleeping figure, “I’d move at the speed of light for either of you.”

Natasha ends her statement by kissing Wanda.

“I love you,” Wanda pulls the woman closer to her.

Natasha smiles pecking the woman’s lips once more, “I love you too.”

The two of them climb into the bed, making sure to give you adequate space due to your injuries.

“Why does this already feel so natural?” Wanda questions.

Natasha answers instantly, “It’s just meant to be like this. This feels like the final piece to our little puzzle."

Wanda was more than content with that answer, closing her eyes, unable to fight rest.

Somewhat like before, but entirely different at the same time, the three women lay together.

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25 @lezzylover @og-kxsh-420 @vanessashands @untoldreader @sxlfishbrokenheart @marvelgirlx @elle161989

[novaursa]

good evening I saw that you were still taking requests

I had an idea where fem!targaryen is Aegon's twin sister, she was sent at the same time as Daeron to Oldtown She was always extremely close to her twin brother but his character didn't match the court.

She looks a lot like Daemon, a bit of a rebellious princess and her grandfather sent her to their house to help her recover. but arriving in Oldtown she created a more than close bond with her uncle Sir Gwayne.

If we could have the complexity of their relationship, like the first time their outlook on each other changed, first kiss but they are still consumed by the fact that it's not right

They would have a very close relationship, Gwayne is someone who is very teasing and even a little arrogant. They would probably marry under the old and new gods like Targaryen and for many years no one else knows except Aegon

then when Aegon was made king, Alicent contacted her brother again but at the same time would hear about several children with white hair and purple eyes who would be in Oldtown, she would immediately think of bastards but she would never have thought of her brother and her daughter

Otto and Alicent would be angry and even disgusted by Gwayne's behavior but when they return to King's Landing they are welcomed wonderfully by Aegon who is more than happy to see his nephews and nieces again 🫶🏼👀

A Flame in Exile

- Summary: Your mother and grandsire have sent you away to Oldtown. You were too unruly like your uncle Daemon, they said. But Gwayne never shied away from fire.

- Paring: niece!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are closed!

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The wind bites at your face as the ship draws closer to the towering spire of the Hightower. You shiver slightly, though not from the cold. Oldtown is a world away from the Red Keep, and though you’ve heard much of its grandeur and history, the thought of calling this place home sits uneasily within you. Yet, the unease is nothing compared to the aching emptiness left by your separation from Aegon.

Your twin. Your other half. His tear-streaked face is burned into your mind, his voice—trembling and desperate—echoes in your ears. "Please, don’t leave me," he had cried, clinging to you with a desperation that had nearly broken your resolve. His arms wrapped around you so tightly that it felt like he was trying to fuse your very souls together, as if by sheer force of will he could keep you by his side.

But your mother had intervened. Alicent���s voice had been cold and firm, like steel wrapped in velvet, her eyes flashing with something you couldn't quite place as she pried Aegon’s arms from around your neck. "Do not make a scene, Aegon," she had hissed, her grip on him as unyielding as her will. And then, with one last pained look, you had been pulled away, ushered towards the ship that would take you to Oldtown, to the Hightower. To your new life.

Even now, as you stand on the deck, the memory haunts you. Aegon, your other half, left behind in the Red Keep, with no one who truly understands him. The thought that you are the only one who ever did brings you little comfort, for what use is understanding when you are not there to provide it? 

You glance down at Daeron, your little brother, standing beside you. His wide eyes are filled with awe, and a hint of fear as he stares at the looming city before him. He is too young to understand the full weight of what has been done, but you see the uncertainty in the way he clutches at your hand. You squeeze his hand in return, offering what little comfort you can, though the gesture feels hollow. 

The ship finally docks, and the crew is quick to lower the gangplank. As you descend, you are met by a small party of retainers, dressed in the colors of House Hightower. At their head stands Gwayne Hightower, your uncle, and eldest son of Otto Hightower, your grandsire. His presence is commanding, yet there is a warmth in his gaze that eases some of the tension coiled within you.

“Welcome to Oldtown,” Gwayne greets, his voice smooth and gentle, with a hint of the formality you’ve come to expect from a Hightower. He bows his head to you first, acknowledging your status, before turning to Daeron with a softer expression. “Prince Daeron, it is an honor to have you here.”

Daeron blinks up at Gwayne, unsure of what to say, but Gwayne’s easy smile seems to relax him. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” Daeron finally replies, his voice small but polite.

“And you, Princess Y/N,” Gwayne turns his full attention to you, his grey eyes meeting yours with a curiosity that is hard to miss. “It has been many years since we last met, but I can see the blood of the dragon runs strong in you. You have grown into a fine lady.”

You offer him a nod, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. His words are kind, but you see the caution in his gaze. You are a stranger to him, a puzzle to be unraveled. And in this moment, you feel more alone than ever. Yet, there is something in Gwayne's demeanor that draws you in—an undercurrent of understanding, as if he too knows what it is to be caught between duty and desire.

“We have prepared quarters for you both within the Hightower,” Gwayne continues, gesturing to the towering structure behind him. “Your retainers will find all the accommodations they require as well. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask.”

You incline your head in thanks, finally finding your voice. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne. Your hospitality is appreciated.”

As you follow Gwayne through the streets of Oldtown, Daeron trailing close behind, you cannot help but marvel at the city around you. It is a place of ancient history, where every stone seems to hum with the weight of the ages. The Citadel looms in the distance, a symbol of knowledge and power, while the Starry Sept stands as a beacon of faith. Yet, despite the grandeur, you find no comfort here. This is not your home. And though Gwayne’s presence is steady and kind, you know it will be some time before you can truly trust him, or anyone else here.

When you finally reach the Hightower, you are led through its winding corridors to your chambers. They are lavishly appointed, far more luxurious than anything you expected, but the opulence feels cold, impersonal. You cannot help but think of the warmth of the Red Keep, of the fire-lit chambers where you and Aegon would hide away from the world, finding solace in each other’s company.

Once you and Daeron are settled, Gwayne excuses himself, leaving you alone with your brother. Daeron, still so young, looks to you for guidance, for reassurance. And though you ache to give it to him, you feel the weight of your own uncertainty pressing down on you.

“Do you think we’ll be happy here?” Daeron asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look down at him, his innocent face so full of hope, and force a smile. “We’ll make the best of it,” you reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. “We have each other, and that is what matters.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and you pull him into a hug. But as you hold him close, you cannot shake the feeling that something has been irreparably broken. You are no longer whole, no longer tethered to the one person who understood you completely. And as you close your eyes, you wonder if you will ever feel at home again.

As the night falls and the Hightower grows quiet, you sit by the window, staring out at the city below. Somewhere out there, in the vastness of this world, is Aegon, your twin, your other half. You hope he is safe, hope he knows that you did not want to leave him. But hope feels fragile in the face of the reality you now face. 

In the distance, the Starry Sept’s bells toll, their mournful sound carrying on the wind. You wonder if Aegon can hear them too, wherever he is. You wonder if he is thinking of you, as you are thinking of him.

And as you drift into an uneasy sleep, you cling to the memory of his tears, of his desperate pleas. For they are all you have left of him now, and you fear that, without them, you may forget what it feels like to be whole.

The days in Oldtown have blurred into a monotonous routine, a far cry from the vibrant, if chaotic, life you once knew in the Red Keep. The city, with all its ancient grandeur, has become a gilded cage, and you find yourself suffocated by the very walls meant to protect you. Daeron, though still young, has adapted better than you expected, throwing himself into his lessons with the maesters. You, however, remain adrift, seeking solace in the only companionship that has begun to mean anything in this new life—Gwayne Hightower.

From the moment you arrived, Gwayne has been a constant presence, hovering at the edges of your life in Oldtown. At first, you found his attentions burdensome, a reminder of your exile from King's Landing. But over time, the sharp edges of your resentment dulled, replaced by a begrudging acceptance of his company. Now, months after your arrival, Gwayne’s presence has become something you not only expect but anticipate. His arrogance, his teasing remarks—they no longer irritate you as they once did. Instead, they have become a strange kind of comfort, a link to a life that feels farther away with each passing day.

On this particular afternoon, you find yourself in one of the Hightower’s many courtyards, the sun hanging low in the sky. The air is cool, the first signs of autumn creeping in. You sit on a stone bench, watching as the shadows stretch long and thin across the cobblestones. Gwayne is beside you, his usual smirk in place, though his eyes are softer than usual.

“You know,” he begins, his voice light with mockery, “I never thought Oldtown would see the day a dragon would be caged within its walls.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Caged? You speak as if I’m some kind of beast, Gwayne.”

“Aren’t you?” he retorts, though there’s no malice in his tone. “You have the blood of the dragon in you, after all. And from what I hear, more of Daemon’s fire than Viserys’s... whatever it is he has.” He leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “That’s why they sent you here, isn’t it? To keep you away from your dear twin. To keep you from burning down the world.”

You bristle at his words, even as a part of you knows there is truth in them. “And what would you know of such things?” you snap back, though there’s little heat behind it. “You Hightowers are always so certain of yourselves, always so sure of your place in the world.”

Gwayne laughs, a low, rich sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “We are sure of our place because we make it so. That is what my father taught me. But you… you are different, aren’t you? You don’t fit neatly into anyone’s plans, not even your own.”

His words sting because they cut too close to the bone. You are different, an anomaly in your own family. Not quite the dutiful daughter Alicent hoped for, nor the rebellious one like Daemon that Viserys once admired, you have always straddled a line that leaves you belonging nowhere. And here, in Oldtown, that difference is magnified, a glaring fault line that Gwayne seems all too eager to point out.

But today, something is different. The way Gwayne looks at you, the way his voice lingers on your name—it’s all sharper, more intense. He’s leaning in closer, the space between you shrinking with each passing moment, until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. The tension between you crackles like lightning before a storm, dangerous and thrilling.

“Why do you do that?” you ask suddenly, your voice softer than you intended. “Why do you always bring up my uncle? Why do you always remind me of why I’m here?”

Gwayne’s smirk falters, just for a moment, before he straightens up, the teasing mask slipping back into place. “Because it’s the truth, and I’ve found that you prefer truth over the pretty lies most would tell you.”

You can’t argue with that, but it doesn’t ease the knot in your chest. “It’s a bitter truth,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

“Perhaps,” he agrees, his tone shifting, becoming more serious. “But it’s the truth nonetheless. You are fire, my lady. Wild and untamed, just like Daemon. And it scares them—all of them. My father, your mother, the king… they don’t know what to do with you.”

“And you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do I scare you, Gwayne?”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for the first time, there’s no arrogance in his gaze, no teasing light in his eyes. “Yes,” he says quietly. “But I find that I’m drawn to the flame, even knowing I might get burned.”

The admission hangs between you, heavy and charged. The world seems to narrow down to this moment, to the space between you and Gwayne, a space that feels both too vast and too close. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he fights against something he doesn’t fully understand. But then, so do you.

“I should go,” you say, the words an echo of what you think you should say, but not what you want. 

Gwayne’s hand reaches out before you can move, his fingers curling around your wrist with a gentle pressure. It’s a small touch, but it ignites something within you, a spark that quickly flares into a dangerous blaze. His touch feels like the first real thing you’ve felt since you left King’s Landing, since you left Aegon behind. 

“Stay,” he says, his voice a soft command, a plea wrapped in steel. “Just for a little while longer.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know this is wrong, forbidden, and dangerous. The Seven would condemn it, your family would disown you, and yet... there’s a part of you that doesn’t care. A part of you that craves this, that wants to feel alive again, even if it means stepping into the flames. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you look into Gwayne’s eyes, seeing the same conflict mirrored in his gaze. And then, slowly, you nod. 

He pulls you closer, his hand moving from your wrist to your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch. For a moment, neither of you moves, the world suspended in a fragile balance. And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Gwayne leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss.

The contact is electric, sending shockwaves through your body, waking something within you that has been dormant for too long. You respond without thinking, without caring, your hands moving to his shoulders as you press closer to him. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more desperate, as if you are both trying to fill the void that has been gnawing at you for months.

When you finally pull back, breathless and trembling, Gwayne’s eyes are dark with something you’ve never seen before. “This… this is madness,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion.

“Madness,” you echo, your own voice shaking. “But it’s the only thing that feels real.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, the weight of what you’ve done pressing down on you. You should feel guilt, shame, regret—but all you feel is a strange kind of relief, as if a burden you didn’t know you were carrying has been lifted.

Gwayne’s hand still rests on your cheek, and he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch lingering. “We can’t do this,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his words, no real intent to stop.

“I know,” you reply, though you don’t mean it. You both know the truth—you will do this again, and again, until you’ve burned through all the self-control you have left. It’s inevitable, like the pull of the moon on the tide.

But for now, you just sit there, in the fading light of the courtyard, your hands still intertwined, the air between you charged with a promise of something more. Something dangerous, something forbidden, but something that, for the first time in months, makes you feel alive.

It's a night that feels suspended in time, where the old gods and new alike seem to hold their breath, watching, waiting.

You stand beside Gwayne, your heart pounding in your chest, each beat a thunderous drum in the stillness of the room. The decision to marry in secret, away from the eyes of the court and the judgment of the realm, was one made in the quiet moments between stolen kisses and whispered confessions. It was born out of a love that neither of you could deny, a love that defied the rules of blood and duty, a love that could only be sealed in the shadows.

The septon who stands before you is not one from the grand Starry Sept of Oldtown. He is an ostracized man, a septon fallen from grace, his robes frayed and worn, his face lined with the scars of a hard life. But his eyes are sharp, and there is a solemnity in his bearing that speaks of a deep connection to the gods, both old and new. It is this man that Gwayne sought out, a man who would not only marry you in secret but who would bless this union under the eyes of both the Seven and the Valyrian gods—an acknowledgment of the blood that flows in your veins, the fire that binds you to your ancestors.

The chamber is small, tucked away in the bowels of the Hightower, a place known only to a few trusted souls. The only witnesses to this union are the flickering candles and the ancient stone walls that have stood through centuries of history. And here, in this hidden place, you are about to make a vow that will bind you to Gwayne for eternity.

Gwayne turns to you, his eyes soft and filled with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. The man who once teased you with sharp words and arrogant smirks now looks at you with a love so profound it feels like it could consume you both. He reaches out, taking your hands in his, his grip firm and warm. The callouses on his palms are a testament to his life as a warrior, but the way he holds you is gentle, reverent.

"My love," Gwayne begins, his voice steady but thick with emotion, "before the eyes of the Seven, and in the presence of the Valyrian gods, I take you as my wife. You are my fire, my light, my salvation. In you, I have found not just love, but a purpose, a reason to be. I vow to protect you, to cherish you, to stand by your side, no matter what trials we may face. From this day until my last, you are mine, and I am yours."

His words send a shiver through you, the weight of his vow settling deep in your heart. You can feel the truth of them, the way they resonate with the very core of who you are. When you speak, your voice is soft but unwavering, carrying with it the depth of your own love and conviction.

"Gwayne," you begin, your eyes locking with his, "you are my heart, my strength, my true companion. In a world that seeks to tear us apart, you are the one who has always stood by me, who has seen me for who I truly am, and loved me all the same. I vow to stand with you, to fight for us, to love you with all that I am. We may walk a dangerous path, but I choose it willingly, because I choose you. Now and always, I am yours, and you are mine."

The septon steps forward, his voice low and gravelly as he intones the ancient rites. "Before the eyes of the gods, both new and old, I bless this union. By the light of the Seven and the fire of Old Valyria, may your love be eternal, may your bond be unbreakable. What is done here in secret, let it be known in the hearts of those who bear witness."

He raises a small vial, pouring the contents—a mixture of oil and salt—into a shallow basin. The scent of it fills the room, sharp and cleansing. He dips his fingers into the mixture and anoints your foreheads, first Gwayne’s and then yours, marking you with the symbols of both faiths. The coolness of the oil against your skin is grounding, a reminder of the gravity of this moment.

"By the authority granted to me by the gods," the septon continues, his voice carrying the weight of the ages, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You are bound by blood, by love, and by the will of the gods. Go forth as one, in strength and in unity."

Gwayne pulls you to him then, his hands cradling your face as he kisses you deeply, passionately, in a way that speaks of all the love he has kept hidden from the world. The kiss is a sealing of your vows, a promise made flesh. You melt into him, your hands gripping his tunic as you pour every ounce of your heart into that kiss, into this moment that is yours and his alone.

When you finally part, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting together as you share the silence of the moment, the weight of what you’ve just done pressing down on you. There is a quiet reverence in the room, a sense that something sacred has just taken place, even if it is a secret that must be kept from the world.

Gwayne doesn’t release you, his hands still holding you close as if he’s afraid to let go, as if by doing so, this moment will shatter. His eyes search yours, and what he finds there makes him smile, a rare, genuine smile that softens the edges of his features. “You are mine now,” he whispers, a note of wonder in his voice. “And I am yours.”

“Always,” you whisper back, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “No matter what comes.”

The septon quietly gathers his things, his presence now a shadow in the background, but before he leaves, he pauses at the door, looking back at you both. “May the gods watch over you,” he says softly, and there’s a hint of sadness in his voice, as if he knows the dangers that lie ahead for two who dare to love in defiance of the world.

And then, he’s gone, leaving you and Gwayne alone in the dimly lit chamber, the only witnesses to your union now the flickering flames and the silent walls. 

Gwayne takes your hand, leading you to a low table where a small feast has been laid out, simple but thoughtful. The food and drink are symbols of the life you will now share, a life that must remain hidden in the shadows, but one that is no less real for it.

You sit together, the silence between you comfortable, each of you lost in your own thoughts. When Gwayne finally speaks, his voice is quiet, but there’s a fierceness to it that makes you look up.

“We will find a way, my love,” he says, his hand reaching out to cover yours. “No matter what, we will find a way to be together.”

You nod, squeezing his hand in return, your heart swelling with love for this man who has become your everything. “Yes,” you agree, your voice filled with the same determination. “We will.”

The night stretches on, and eventually, Gwayne rises, pulling you into his arms once more. He leads you to the bed that has been prepared, and as you lie down together, the weight of the world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by vows spoken in secret but no less sacred.

In the quiet darkness, Gwayne’s fingers trace the outline of your face, his touch tender and full of love. “Sleep, my wife,” he murmurs, his voice a balm to your soul. “For tomorrow, we begin the rest of our lives.”

You close your eyes, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm that lulls you into sleep. And as you drift off, you know that no matter what the world might say, no matter what the future holds, you and Gwayne are bound together by something far stronger than duty or blood. You are bound by love, a love that defies the gods and the world alike.

And that, you think as sleep finally takes you, is all that matters.

The night outside the Red Keep is eerily still, as if the very air is holding its breath, waiting for something momentous to happen. Inside the queen’s chambers, the atmosphere is equally tense. Alicent Hightower sits at her desk, a single candle flickering beside her, casting shadows on the stone walls. Her hands tremble slightly as she unfolds the letter she has just received, the familiar sigil of House Hightower stamped in red wax at the seal. She has been waiting for this letter, though she dreads what it might contain.

Otto Hightower stands nearby, his hands clasped behind his back, his face an impassive mask. His eyes, however, are sharp, watching his daughter closely as she reads. The silence in the room is oppressive, broken only by the soft rustling of the parchment as Alicent’s eyes scan the contents.

As she reaches the end of the letter, her face pales, and her breath hitches. Slowly, as if the action costs her all the strength she has left, she lowers the letter to the desk. Her hand lingers on it for a moment before she crumples it in her fist, the delicate paper crinkling loudly in the quiet room.

“What does it say?” Otto asks, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

Alicent doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stares down at the crushed letter in her hand, as if by squeezing it tightly enough, she could somehow undo the words it contains. But no amount of denial can erase what she has read. Finally, she raises her eyes to meet her father’s gaze, and the look she gives him is one of profound unease.

“He’s coming to King’s Landing,” she says, her voice low and strained. “Gwayne. With… his family.”

Otto’s brows knit together slightly, though his expression remains carefully controlled. “His family?” he echoes, the words heavy with unspoken questions.

Alicent swallows hard, a sense of dread settling deep in her gut. “Yes,” she whispers, her mind racing as she considers the implications. The rumors she has heard, the whispers that have reached her ears in recent months, suddenly take on a new and terrifying significance.

She looks back at her father, her voice trembling as she asks, “Have you heard the whispers, Father? The rumors coming from Oldtown… about bastards walking the halls of the Hightower? Children with silver hair and purple eyes?”

Otto’s gaze narrows, a flicker of something—concern, perhaps—passing through his eyes before he schools his features once more. “Rumors, nothing more,” he replies, though there is a carefulness to his tone now. “Gwayne married a noble lady, a match arranged by our family in Oldtown. It was a quiet affair, nothing that would draw too much attention. The children you speak of are likely theirs, legitimate, though the Hightowers have chosen to keep their names and details discreet, to avoid unnecessary scrutiny.”

Alicent’s heart hammers in her chest, the dread in her stomach deepening into something closer to panic. She stands abruptly, pacing the length of her chamber as she tries to make sense of the situation. The image of those children—silver-haired, violet-eyed—flashes in her mind, and with it, a terrible realization begins to take root.

“The only woman who could give birth to children with those features,” she says slowly, her voice thick with fear, “is a Targaryen. A woman with the blood of Old Valyria. And the only one who has been close enough to Gwayne… is her. My daughter.”

Otto remains silent, his eyes following his daughter as she paces. He understands the gravity of her words, the implications of what she is suggesting. But he is also a man who has spent his life navigating the treacherous waters of court politics, and he knows better than to give in to panic.

“Alicent,” he begins, his voice firm but not unkind, “we do not know for certain. These are only rumors, whispers in the dark meant to sow discord. We cannot act on mere speculation.”

But Alicent is not so easily reassured. She stops in her tracks, turning to face him with a look of desperation. “And what if the rumors are true? What if she has given Gwayne children? What if those children come to King’s Landing with him? What then?”

Otto exhales slowly, his mind already working through the possible scenarios. “If the children are indeed of Targaryen blood,” he says carefully, “then we must ensure they are seen as legitimate. We must present them as the offspring of Gwayne’s marriage, no matter the truth. If they bear the look of Valyria, it will only serve to strengthen their claim as trueborn heirs of House Hightower.”

Alicent shakes her head, the fear in her eyes now mingled with a deep, gnawing guilt. “But what of her, Father? What of my daughter? If it becomes known that she has married her own uncle, that she has borne his children… it will be seen as a scandal, a sin in the eyes of the Seven.”

Otto moves toward her then, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “We will deal with it as we must,” he says, his voice resolute. “We have always been able to navigate the complexities of power, and this will be no different. But for now, we must be calm. We must wait and see what Gwayne brings with him to King’s Landing. If the whispers are true, we will control the narrative. We will ensure that whatever happens, our family remains strong, untarnished by scandal.”

But Alicent can’t shake the image of her daughter, the girl she sent away so many years ago, now grown into a woman whose life has taken a path she never anticipated. A path that has led her back to the very heart of the storm that Alicent herself helped create.

As she looks into her father’s eyes, she sees the determination there, the cold pragmatism that has always defined him. And she knows that whatever happens, Otto Hightower will do whatever is necessary to protect their family’s legacy. But as for her… Alicent is no longer sure where the line between duty and love lies. And the thought of what might come to light when Gwayne arrives sends a fresh wave of dread coursing through her.

Because deep down, Alicent knows that the rumors are more than just whispers. They are the truth, a truth she has tried so hard to deny. And that truth is coming to King’s Landing, wrapped in the guise of her brother’s family—a family that should never have existed, yet one that now threatens to unravel everything she has fought to preserve.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm golden light over the sprawling courtyard of the Red Keep. The air is heavy with anticipation, the kind that prickles at the back of your neck and settles uneasily in your stomach. Dowager Queen Alicent stands with her father, Otto Hightower, at her side, their eyes fixed on the great gates that lead into the heart of King’s Landing. Today, Gwayne Hightower returns to the capital, and with him, the secrets that have festered in the shadows of Oldtown.

As the gates creak open, the first thing Alicent notices is the Hightower banners, fluttering proudly in the breeze. A small company of knights and retainers rides in, their armor gleaming in the late afternoon sun, followed by a carriage flanked by more soldiers. But it is the figure on horseback at the head of the procession that draws her attention, making her heart skip a beat.

Gwayne Hightower rides in with all the confidence of a man who has nothing to hide, his expression calm, almost defiant. But it is not just his presence that sends a chill down Alicent’s spine—it is the woman who rides beside him. Her daughter, the princess she sent away so many years ago, now a grown woman with the unmistakable look of her Valyrian heritage. Her silver hair, cascading down her back in loose waves, catches the light, and her purple eyes, sharp and discerning, seem to pierce through the crowd.

But it is not just her presence that shocks Alicent and Otto—it is the way she and Gwayne sit side by side, unashamed and unafraid, as if daring anyone to question their union. Behind them, four children trail on smaller horses, their features a striking mix of Hightower and Targaryen—silver hair, purple eyes, and faces that mirror the legacy of both bloodlines.

Alicent’s heart sinks. The whispers, the rumors, they are all true. Her worst fears have materialized before her very eyes. She can barely breathe as she steps forward with Otto, her voice trembling with barely contained fury.

“Gwayne… what have you done?” Alicent’s voice is sharp, almost a hiss, as she locks eyes with her brother. “How could you be so reckless? So shameless?”

Otto steps forward as well, his usually composed demeanor now laced with anger. “This… this is an abomination,” he declares, his voice low but filled with authority. “You bring shame to our house, Gwayne. And you—” he turns to his granddaughter, his voice tightening—“you have brought dishonor to your name and to the memory of your father.”

But before either of them can say more, there is a sudden movement, a blur of silver and gold as someone rushes past them. Alicent barely has time to process what is happening before Aegon, now king and clad in his royal finery, sweeps forward. His face lights up with pure joy as he closes the distance between himself and his sister.

“Sister!” Aegon exclaims, his voice filled with delight. Without a second thought, he pulls her into a tight embrace, laughing as he buries his face in her hair. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”

You return the embrace just as fiercely, the years of separation melting away in an instant. Aegon’s warmth, his familiar scent, it all feels like home, like a piece of your heart has been returned to you. When he finally pulls back, he keeps his hands on your shoulders, his eyes scanning your face as if to reassure himself that you are truly there.

Aegon then turns his attention to the four children standing quietly behind you and Gwayne, their wide eyes watching the scene with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. His face softens as he approaches them, kneeling down to their level.

“And who are these fine young dragons?” Aegon asks, his voice gentle as he ruffles the hair of the eldest boy, who looks so much like his mother.

“They’re my children,” you say softly, pride evident in your voice. “Your nephews and nieces.”

Aegon grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief and affection. “I see they take after you, sister. They have the look of Targaryens—strong, bold.” He then looks up at Gwayne, his smile never wavering. “You’ve done well, Uncle.”

Gwayne inclines his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s face drains of color as she watches the scene unfold, her worst fears confirmed. She steps forward, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Aegon… did you know about this?” Her eyes bore into her son, searching for any sign of deceit.

Aegon straightens up, turning to face his mother with an expression of calm amusement. “Of course, Mother. Did you truly think my sister and I would not stay in contact? We’ve always been close. She wrote to me often from Oldtown. I knew everything.”

Alicent’s hands shake, her nails digging into her palms as she struggles to contain her emotions. “And you… you approve of this? Of this union?” Her voice breaks on the last word, the full weight of what has happened crashing down on her.

Aegon’s smile only widens, a hint of defiance in his eyes. “Approve? I rejoice in it. They’ve done nothing wrong. They’ve followed their hearts, and that’s more than most in this wretched world can claim.”

Otto’s face is a mask of stone, but his eyes burn with anger and frustration as he steps forward. “This is not just about following one’s heart, Aegon. This is about the sanctity of the family, of the realm. A marriage like this… it will bring scandal, division. It goes against everything we’ve worked to build.”

But Aegon only laughs, a sound that echoes in the tense courtyard. “What scandal? The Seven Kingdoms are mine, and I will decide what is scandal and what is not. My sister and Gwayne are married, and their children are legitimate in my eyes. That is all that matters.”

He turns back to you and Gwayne, his expression softening once more. “Come,” he says, extending his hand to you. “Let us go inside. You’ve been away from home too long.”

Without waiting for a response, Aegon takes your hand and leads you toward the entrance of the Red Keep, Gwayne and the children following closely behind. The knights and retainers part to let you pass, their faces a mixture of shock, confusion, and respect. As you walk, you feel the weight of your family’s judgment pressing down on you, but with Aegon at your side, you feel an unshakeable sense of confidence.

Alicent and Otto remain rooted in place, watching as you and your family disappear into the castle. Alicent’s face is ashen, her eyes wide with disbelief and horror. She opens her mouth to say something, to call out to her son, but no words come. The truth of what has happened, the reality of the situation, is too overwhelming.

As the doors to the Red Keep close behind you, you can feel the walls of the castle seem to close in, suffocating in their familiar embrace. But there is also a strange sense of liberation, of triumph, in walking beside Gwayne, your husband, with your children in tow, and the support of the king himself.

Whatever the future holds, you know that this moment—this homecoming—will be the beginning of something new. Something that, for better or worse, will change the course of your family’s history forever.

[strawberrysainz]

romanticism. charles leclerc

“ being charles leclerc’s assistant was a piece of work. you loved him though. ”

charles leclerc x reader

a warning — crude language, mentions of food, alcohol consumption, semi-mature scenes.

word count: 2.8k

“Do you want a biscuit?” He pointed to the box of red, racing-themed biscuits, mouth already full with one. “Please don’t tell anyone.” He added as an afterthought, and you snorted to yourself, setting down a notebook to take a gingerbread man decorated as him.

The instagram handle for the baker was loud and proud on the box, and you took a photo of the little Charles, making a note to post it later.

Qualifying hadn’t gone very well for Charles, hence the angry biscuit-eating. He’d ended up third, but an incident in the famous tunnel of the Principality had cost him three more places. His white suit was blinding in the tiny room, and his frustrated little huffs as he flung things this way and that made you slightly on edge.

You had been scrambling to catch up with him this season; you had been dealing with a family crisis until Miami, leaving Charles with some guy as his assistant for the past races. You had thought he was decent at first, but Charles was a precise guy; if he was relying on you to keep it together at work for him, then you’d better fucking do it the way he wanted. Even you didn’t mess with Charles on a race weekend. He was so nervous or upset or he was the happiest guy in the world - it didn’t matter, you just had to be consistent, comforting and take things as they went.

You swore he could’ve kissed you when you arrived on Monday.

But here you were on Saturday, still uneasy; Monaco had always freaked you out - you didn’t believe in the curse because Charles scorned it, but a part of you had anticipated that a stroke of bad luck would always have its way here. It was nine in the evening, and the crowds were still insane. You were prepared to walk back to your apartment at this point, even if it would take you about an hour with the blocked off roads. You handed Charles his clean clothes to change into after his shower, and you were about to go home for the night -

“Do you want to have dinner with me?”

You tilted your head. You knew Charles’ new girlfriend had arrived this morning, surely he’d do something with her?

He must’ve seen the look on your face, and his unsureness- the way he couldn’t believe what he were saying- made you embarrassed.

“No, it’s alright. Get a good night’s sleep. I’ll struggle to get back to mine anyway.” You said abruptly. “Must I make you an Instagram post while you’re in the shower?”

He nodded, unlocking his phone. You immediately went into Google Drive to get some pictures as he left, when a message from Alexandra came in.

You blanched; usually, bar your forgetfulness, you put the phone on the do not disturb function so that you didn’t see what he was getting sent- but the full stops and seriousness made you guiltily keep a finger on the notification.

You’re being ridiculous. I can’t give up my job to come cheer you on. I know it’s Monaco but I thought I made it clear. I can’t make it after all, C. My job is equally as important as yours. You’ll be fine.

You inhaled sharply; she was pissed. You thought she was reasonable, but you knew how much it meant to him to have people here; he struggled in Monaco, and even if he didn’t admit it he was so anxious to please.

I’m sure she’ll have a little fuckin hug and a kiss for you. I’m not a cheerleader, that’s her job, Charles. Watch her under the podium instead. Or maybe not after all- I saw you got P6

Talk tomorrow

Your eyes widened. Was she talking about you?

You were being too nosy. You selected the pictures and put them together, locking his phone on the caption section so he’d write what he’d like. As you opened the door to leave, he was there, his eyes meeting yours; and he must’ve known that you knew something because he lowered his gaze.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You said quietly, patting his arm. “Sleep well.”

There was a desperation in his tone when he asked you again to supper.

Well, how the fuck could you say no? He was clearly desperate.

“I’ll invite Joris and Lorenzo, and Arthur.” He said quickly, and you sighed; “The usual?” It was a little tapas restaurant 15 minutes away.

You closed the door then, confused, and walked away, opening your phone to call Joris for a lift.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

You were in the front seat surrounded by the familiar smell of Joris’ car; you two had become good friends- always together, waiting, working because of Charles.

You were busy typing about the gingerbread man when Joris asked you about the lack of Alex (Charles had probably been talking about her first Grand Prix together with him).

You paused. “They seem to be having some sort of rift. Not sure. Ask him.” You said shortly; you tried to stay out of his love life as much as you could. You’d liked his previous girlfriend to an extent, but the final events leading up to their breakup made it awkward for you to say goodbye. You tried desperately to be professional but at that point you were a really close friend of Charles’.

Joris nodded. You two did enjoy a paddock gossip now and again, but when it involved Charles alone you really weren’t into it.

You ended up taking longer to get to the restaurant because you made him stop at your house - you weren’t going to turn up in Ferrari gear - and showered, put new clothes on and sprinted back to his car in the drizzle.

Walking through the restaurant to your table in the corner, Joris was busy chattering on about the home GP content he was busy with; you were fiddling with your hair, your bracelets, your clothes, irritated to be there. Trying to be normal around Charles in non-work situations like he didn’t fucking employ you always stressed you out.

Not to mention he was being so awkward as of late.

You slid into the bench next to Lorenzo, giving him a warm pat on the arm as Joris sat on your other side. Charles was smiling at the sight of you - you greeted Arthur, and then him, and you were presented with some iced tea (no one drank next to Charles on a Saturday before the race).

You were lost in the conversation between Arthur and Charles (Arthur hadn’t done so well in F2 today either) when Lorenzo caught your attention.

“How are you?” You adored the way he spoke French; it was low and comfortable, in the kind of way that reminded you of a warm hug.

“Alright.” You said, giggling, and he nodded seriously. He knew about your stress - he’d never raced as intensely as his two brothers - and you’d always found him a comfort.

He was busy telling you about something - a trip with his girlfriend - when you heard the distress in Charles’ tone and turned to him. He was staring at the paella in front of him.

Joris was silent; Arthur just looked lost.

“What’s wrong?” You said quietly, and you noticed a few stubborn tears in his eyes that he was dying not to let fall.

“I’m just not feeling good about the race.” His tone was terribly melancholic, and you felt a bit frozen. “I- Cha-“

Lorenzo was stiff; you blinked.

Charles sat up straight. “It’s okay. Sorry.” His tone indicated no more talking about it, and Joris launched into a conversation about something, Arthur hurriedly joining in. You made eye contact with him sternly; we were talking about this later.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

Supper had come and gone, the bill had been paid, and you found yourself alone in Charles’ car at 10:53 pm on the way back to your apartment.

“Please come in.” You had said to him, after he refused to go home immediately to sleep; promising a cup of tea before he got home.

You had dropped your keys by the front door and entered, your cat greeting the two of you. “What’s wrong?” You said, starting the kettle with a tenderness in your tone you could never replicate with anyone else.

Charles was just sighing, complaining, choking with emotion as he spoke of his fears - dear God, he was struggling - you poured milk and sugar, biting a lip, and eventually it became too much that you brought him in for a tight hug in the light of your kitchen, a song playing in the corner.

You pulled away, and to your surprise he was looking into your eyes softly, a gentleness in his expression that freaked you out. You felt your body soften as his hand met your hip, and you knew, despite yourself, you could never refuse him.

“Cha…” you murmured, gaze on his lips. Holy shit, this was so wrong.

He let out a little sigh that had you going insane, and you turned around to fetch the tea, overwhelmed; this was the only way you could prevent whatever what was happening, not happen.

He murmured your name again, and you turned around slowly, guiltily watching his beautiful face, certain feelings you’d suffocated return just like that.

His hand met your arm, gentle pressure prompting you to put the tea down. You gasped quietly as his hand on your hip brought you together, eyes wide and wanting.

He met your lips with his, and it was like a wildfire that burned, bright and haunting, kissing you everywhere, his touch burning, thigh in between your legs, arms and hands touching you everywhere, you were gasping and he was moaning, the desire in the air thick, scary, and his facial hair tickled you in a delicious way that made you shiver, eyes lidded, dark, and suddenly he was moving to take his shirt off and you stepped back, terrified, lonely.

“Charles, you have a girlfriend.” You said lowly, hair messy. You noticed your lipstick all over his lips and face.

He looked scared of himself. “Fuck. I have to go. I need to sleep.”

“And talk to Alex.” You said, scaring yourself with the heaviness of your tone, and he was gathering his things, tea forgotten.

When he left, you waved him out, mouth wobbling, and you burst into tears after closing the door, clutching your mouth, your sobs shaking you, sinking down to the floor.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

You’d agreed to lift Joris the previous night, so you were glad to ditch seeing Charles until you really had to - an hour later, you walked into his driver’s room; he was doing some exercises with Andrea while the social media intern videoed him. You stayed out of sight of the camera, leaning against the wall, trying to distract yourself from the previous night’s events.

You were wearing more makeup than usual to hide your puffy eyes from the tears last night, determined to act as if nothing had happened. You really hated that Charles had cheated on his girlfriend with you; you could put it down to him being vulnerable, but you were at fault as much as he was.

When everyone had left, Charles was left on the couch staring sheepishly at you. You crossed your arms, an invisible ocean separating you two, you two continents.

“I told Alex.” He said calmly.

“And?”

“She said she can’t be with me if I’m not being faithful and she’s not there all the time. We’ve only been together three months. She’s not into it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was my fault. I made a move when I wasn’t meant to. I’m sorry for putting you in that position.”

From the way he was moaning yesterday, you weren’t sure if that was true.

“Okay.” You snort, moving to open the door. “Driver’s parade in 20 minutes. I’ll see you later?”

He nodded, waving a goodbye as you left.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

P6, like he started.

It was consistent, Joris had joked in your ear as you shook your head, trying not to laugh. He’d had a pretty good race, the team hadn’t fucked up, it was just the way it went.

He had been busy with press and much more before he ended up back with Andrea where you and Joris had been waiting for about three hours (you were also a bit drunk; you’d had too many glasses of champagne from Paddock Club).

“Hi!” You giggled, high-fiving him. “Good job.” Joris also cackled, and Charles shot you a glare. “Are you drunk?”

“No.” You said firmly, shaking your head. “I am very sober.” You said, and Joris nodded seriously. “We had a little bit of champagne.”

Andrea gestures to the bottle that was on the table beside you. “What’s that?”

“For Cha! A well done.” You beamed, and presented it to him. Charles couldn’t help but laugh. “I am going to have to drive you two back in her car, no? Put my bicycle in the back.”

You and Joris were squealing with laughter at the idea, and the two standing before you were laughing at you.

“Come, you fucking idiots.”

“No! You can’t insult me, you kiiiiissssed me,” you giggled, and Joris didn’t catch it, but Andrea did, shooting Charles a glare, who if looks could kill, would’ve shot you dead. He looked so pissed.

“Come,” he snapped, and Andrea said that he’d take Joris.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

He pulled up to your apartment. “Come in.” You said, and Charles scoffed. “Not for a long time now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You looked so vulnerable, rain falling on your head as you peered down at him. “Are you taking my car? I’ll come fetch it tomorrow.” You said softly. “Thanks for taking me. I’m sorry, I was stupid. I needed to relax for one fucking minute this week.”

Charles’ eyes softened, and he opened his mouth to say something before he closed it, nodding curtly, and drove away.

You couldn’t differentiate the raindrops from your tears, forcefully wiping them away.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

You knocked on his door at midday the next afternoon, wanting to thank him before flying to Spain. You hated the energy he’d given you since you’d kissed; it was wildly different and you loathed it.

He answered a minute or so later, glasses on and a scruffy jumper, eyes tired. “Hi,” you were out of breath all of a sudden; he was so terribly attractive.

He looked surprised to see you. “I came to say thank you. And get my keys.”

“Come in. Do you want coffee?” He said instead, and you felt a bit of déjà vu from two nights before, hauntingly familiar.

You loved his apartment. The red and white was a colour scheme you adored, and you sat on the sofa while he made you a coffee, one spoon of sugar and a splash of milk just how you liked.

“I want to say sorry for how weird I was this week. I just hate the Grand Prix in Monaco, you know?” You said hurriedly, and he set down the coffee, sitting down next to you. He laughed. “I know. I know.” It had been this way since 2021- when you had started working for him- and he kept having shit races here.

He held out his hand. You squeezed it. “Let’s move on from it.”

He smirked. “Am I such a bad kisser?”

Your jaw dropped, throwing your head back laughing. “Cha!”

He was dead serious. “Why do you want to move on?”

“I work for you?” You said, disbelievingly, and his mouth twitched. “Charles, come on.”

He picked up the mug and took a sip.

You quite literally wanted to die.

He set it down again, looking seriously at you. “I don’t regret the kiss, if you want to know.”

You stare at him. “It literally broke you and your girlfriend up.”

“I like you.” He shrugged. “More than her. More than I thought.”

You laugh, bringing the coffee to your lips. “And when I saw your lipstick on my face…” he trailed off, blushing, “Fuck.”

You swear you were as red as a mother fucking tomato at this point.

“Slow down.” You retorted, trying not to spit the coffee out.

“Kiss me.”

You stare at him again. Was he fucking delusional?

“What?” You hiss.

He rolls his eyes and kisses you.

You’re pulled onto his lap, breath gone, kissing him as hard as you can. Your head is thrown back as he goes for your neck, and the sounds he’s making make you moan.

“You’re really hot with glasses on,” you tell him, and he falters, giggling, before carrying on.

This time you let him take his shirt off, matching him.

You fall back onto the couch. Those eyes on yours, the eyes of your beautiful boy.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

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thank you, monaco 💋💋

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lorenzotl Padel boyssss

user i wish I had your job girl

carlossainz55 Please give me a shirt @charles_leclerc

maisonde.monaco ❤️‍🔥💋

user So glad to see you back in the paddock again!!

thanks for reading bestie ❤️‍🔥

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[highonmarvel]

hi hope ur doing well. i was thinking, could u do a buckyxreader where hes paralyzed and like needs a caretaker. through some means reader ends up as the caretaker and all is well. but actually bucky was just pretending and hes not realy paralysed and he just pretended to get closer to reader and reader start expresing the idea that she might have to leave for whatever reason and buck does not like that so like he kidnaps her or something. I rlly luv ur work this is the first request iv sent

this is so good, i’m upset i didn’t think of it first. i’m so sorry for taking so long to get back to you, i really hope you enjoy, and thank you so, so much for the love. okay, here it is:

Himalayan Salt

Bucky Barnes: You’re assigned to a notoriously grumpy war vet, but he’s different with you.

content warnings here!

You nod as your supervisor goes over your final notes: James Barnes, World War II veteran, quadriplegic.

You follow her from the overcast weather into a beautiful but modest home in a fairly quiet suburb to meet the man sitting in a wheelchair in the centre of the room.

“Good morning, Mr Barnes,” your supervisor calls, tucking her clipboard under her arm as she waits for him to turn around. When he does, you’re surprised. You hadn’t seen a photo of him beforehand as this had been a pretty impromptu assignment, but you’re sure you were told he was born in 1917, yet he sits looking like he’s in forties, and aging well, at that.

“Hi, Mr Barnes!” you smile warmly at him, and he returns a friendly smile, introducing himself as Bucky and insisting you call him that.

“I just need you to fill out the last of the forms quickly,” your supervisor mutters, waving goodbye to Bucky as she leads you back out to her car.

You’re leaning against the boot of her oldish, red car, pen scratching against paper when she says, “He really likes you.”

“Hm?” you offer, raising your eyebrows but keeping your eyes focused on the form.

She leans her back against the trunk and shifts down a bit, speaking to you but looking over at your handwriting, “He’s known to be grumpy. You see the left arm? I don’t think he likes being dependent, I’ve had to swap out a lot of people.”

“And you didn’t tell me this before I took the job?” you frown, still finishing off the document, “Didn’t think I could handle it?”

“I know you’re capable, but I thought you wouldn’t want it. But listen, the organisation needs this, I don’t know if there’s anyone else we can find for him.”

You complete your signature with a satisfied smile, handing back the clipboard, “Don’t worry, I can do this.”

She nods then gets in her car and drives away, leaving you in the driveway. You stretch your arms then make your way back inside. When you enter the living room, there’s a draft you swear wasn’t here a few minutes ago. Bucky hasn’t moved, but you notice an open window. You furrow your brows as you look down at him, “Can I close that? It’s a bit chilly in here.”

“Go ahead,” he nods, and you walk over, pulling the handle it, and ignoring the recent-looking fingerprint marks on the glass.

***

A few hours into your first day, you’re a little taken aback by how friendly he is; even despite your boss’ warning, you’ve never had a patient so willing to co-operate, especially not veterans — they tend to be angry they need help, or have episodes due to PTSD, but Bucky seems perfectly in his right mind and understanding of both his and your position.

“Did they tell you I was a pain in ass?” Bucky asks before opening his mouth for a spoonful of food.

You laugh as you pull the spoon back, scooping up more of the rice and curry you made to lift to his lips, “Kind of,” you admit, “Said you were grumpy, is that true?”

He smiles, “I tend to be,” he confesses, “But I can’t keep that brooding persona up around you,” he takes a spoonful.

“So that’s what it is?” you raise an eyebrow as you pile the last of the meal onto the utensil, “A persona?”

He swallows the last of it and shakes his head with a grin, “No, but I can’t not be amused around you.”

***

You have no idea why your supervisor said he was difficult, your next few weeks with Bucky are light and fun, and you feel you’re even developing a friendship. You don’t see to him at night, and he has minimal needs during the day — some days it just feels like you’re there to keep him company.

You’re doing so well, in fact, that your supervisor wants to transfer you to a veteran from Vietnam who’s apparently even worse than Bucky (by other people’s stories — to you, if he’s anything like Bucky, he’ll be nice to see), convinced you have some magic touch.

As much as you’re developing affection for Bucky, you have to put work first, and you’re compelled to leave him for the other man who clearly needs you more. Bucky seems to be doing well, you’re sure you can’t be that special, and you’re sure someone else could take care of him just as well, if not better.

“Hi, Buck,” you greet with a smile as you close the door behind you. You hear his motorised wheelchair come rolling down the corridor to greet you.

“Hi, why could you only come in at ten today?”

You usually come in at seven on weekdays and eight on weekends.

“Sorry, I had a meeting,” you sigh, setting your tote bag down as Bucky switches his chair to manual.

“A meeting?” he asks as you take hold of the handles and push him to the other side of the kitchen island.

“Mhm,” you nod as you open the fridge, rummaging around for something to make, “There’s this other guy my boss wants me to help,” you call with your head still in the cold, “A Vietnam vet, no one else in the org will take him.”

You emerge with some eggs and milk, shutting the door with your foot before placing the contents on the island, “Did you eat? I assume Carol made breakfast but I can make more.”

“Are you going to take it?” he inquires, ignoring your question, “The job.”

“I mean, maybe,” you answer, placing your hands on the counter and tilting your head as you think, “I’m not sure yet.”

“But what about me?”

“The other guy needs full-time care, I’d have to spend virtually all my days there, but if I leave, Carol can take over for me, she can go from night to day, she’s amazing, and she doesn’t complain about you, at least not as much,” you wink, but he doesn’t crack a smile.

“Bucky, I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s just that—”

“It’s your job, I get it,” he replies, and you can see the stoicism build up.

“Nothing’s final, yet,” you say as you walk over, “And you’re doing great either way,” you give him a kiss on the forehead, “We don’t have to talk about that, let’s just eat, I’m starving.”

He nods and attempts to smile, but you can tell it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You try to make conversation as you make yourself an omelette, but you can tell he’s not in it, giving short answers and not reacting to your jokes. When you reach to grab the salt, he stops you.

“Not that one,” he says, “Use the pink salt, Himalayan, I swear it makes everything tastes better.”

You grind some onto your food and sit across from him on the island. Digging your fork into it, you see something flash across Bucky’s eyes. Your first thought is hunger, but he’d just eaten and swore he wasn’t hungry. You ignore it as you bring the fork to your mouth, savouring the taste, though it’s not necessarily a chef’s rendition.

It tastes fine, but there’s something off. At first, you think it must be the salt, but it’s not the taste that’s off; usually when you eat, you feel that warmth in your throat and then your stomach, but now, it’s like it went to your head. You press a hand to your forehead, feeling like you’re burning up. Trying to stand, you immediately sway, only not falling by gripping the counter so harshly and hastily you bend a nail. You try to look to Bucky to tell him you’re not feeling well, but he’s out of focus. In fact, he’s not there. Just as you collapse and close your eyes, you feel a tall shadow over you, but you don’t have time to figure out where it’s coming from before you fall unconscious.

***

You groggily wipe at your eyes when you finally stir before turning over to reach for your phone, at first thinking you had had a dream, but your phone’s not there, and the nightstand isn’t yours. You shoot up in panic and look down at your sheets: Bucky’s sheets. Okay, maybe Bucky rang Carol and she came and set you in bed. Your head still hurts, and everything’s a little hazy.

When the door opens, you expect to see Carol, but it’s Bucky.

“Bucky!” you gasp as you throw the sheets off of you.

He gives a lopsided grin, and for the first time you notice how tall he actually is, because he’s standing.

“Christmas miracle?” he offers.

He walks over to you and sets a glass of water on the bedside table.

“That Himalayan salt is really exotic, isn’t it?”

You don’t even have time to process exactly what he means by that, he’s still standing over you, using his arms and legs just fine, in fact, like he’s been doing it every single day forever. You should have suspected something was up; how could a paralysed man stay in such good shape? The thought briefly crossed your mind once when you ran your fingers over his muscled arm, but you brushed it off.

“Bucky! You- you—”

“Are perfectly fine, I am, and you will be too, soon, those drugs just need to wear off. I know you’re having trouble understanding, just drink some water and sleep it off a little longer.”

He leans down to give you a kiss on the forehead, but you dodge him, nearly falling off the bed in the process.

“Woah, there,” he chuckles as he catches you with ease, his reflexes so sharp it’s nearly unnatural, “Now I’m taking care of you.”

You’re not sure if you can’t speak because of the drugs or if it’s because you’re in shock. He gently sets you back down and your head falls against the pillow as you struggle to keep your eyes open, spots of black blocking little bits of your vision.

“I’ve been needing someone, I’ve gone through a few, but you, honey, you’re special, and I knew it from the moment I saw you. You can’t leave me, I still need you.”

✪

[taglist; @cjand10]

[beenbaanbuun]

Bunnnnyyyy I'm having yuyu withdrawals 😭😭

I recently stumbled across the spiderman yuyu edit on Instagram again and it has me running LAPS

Like can you imagine being roommates with photography major spider!yunho, noticing his odd disappearances and late nights but never saying anything, which he appreciates because lord knows he doesn't have the capacity for it rn sinde I'd headcannon this is right after his uncle's desth when he's still in his angry grief era.

But MC would be sweet even though he's cold and kinda mean, she wouldn't be nosy or pry, always asks him to eat with her out of courtesy (which isn't a big deal for her but it kinda chips away at his heart because she's so sweet about it).

Still he maintains certain boundaries till one day he comes home all beat up and bruised, and MC patches him back up, there’s so much tension in the room when she has to peel off his shirt to check the bruises on his sides, when he softly asks why she cares about him so much, when she quietly admits that it's because she likes him-

AKSHSKSHDKSDBJSBZSJ

I'm just..... obsessed with Yunho

-lyra

so this sent me a little insane and i wrote so much more than i was expecting to 😭😭 spidey!yunho has sent me down a rabbit hole and this is what we ended up with…

——————————————————————————“can we eat together tonight?” you ask as you stir the pasta around the pot. you made two portions, as usual, in the sheer hope that he wouldn’t be going out again. “i found this recipe i thought you’d like. i figured it might help cheer you up!” you shrug as if it’s no big deal.

but it is to yunho. as he picks his backpack up from the floor, he feels his heart break just a little. it would be so much easier for him to leave the apartment every night if it wasn’t for the fact that you were such a sweetheart. the fact that you always cook for him whenever you make something for yourself is something that has been slowly chipping away at his hard exterior for months now. the way that you put it in the fridge along with a cute little note whenever he isn’t there to eat with you has almost properlybroken that exterior in two.

yunho can’t deny that half of those precious little notes are stashed in the drawer of his nightstand; he rereads them whenever his emotions get the better of him. seeing the sweet messages scrawled onto the yellow post-it-notes never fails to make him smile. your pretty little words in your pretty little handwriting… he’d be insane not to keep them.

you turn around, taking your attention away from the pot for just a moment, and spot him with his jacket on and his rucksack slung lazily over one shoulder. as your face falls, he can’t help the way his heart breaks just a little more. you probably think you’ve hidden your disappointment well, and to anyone else you might have done. it’s just a shame that yunho is the way that he is, because he sees the way your shoulders deflate and the shadow of a frown disrupts your pretty face. he can practically feel the sadness radiating from you in waves, the hairs at the back of his neck standing up slightly as your not-so-obvious upset puts him on edge.

but then you seem to remember yourself, and within seconds you’ve picked yourself back up and are offering a small smile to him. he still feels that prickling at the back of his neck, though.

although it becomes apparent pretty quickly that that sensation may be caused by his own disappointment, rather than yours. as much as he’d like to pretend otherwise, he can’t deny the way that the feeling in his neck grows as he watches you pull a tupperware from the cupboard. you swap it with his dish - it was really yours, but you’d named it his because it’s red and red reminds you of him, for some reason - and he has to stifle his own frown. for some reason watching you replace the ceramic bowl with the plastic tub hits him right in the chest…

“i’ll put yours in the fridge, then,” you say as you turn back to the pasta and give it a stir, “you can grab it whenever you’re hungry; maybe when you get back tonight?”

sweetheart, his brain repeats over and over like a mantra. it rattles round his skull whilst he tries to find the words to thank you. to let you know just how much he appreciates it, even if he doesn’t always show it. and the words are right there. right on the top of his tongue…

but for some reason he can’t get them out.

“i’ll see you later,” is all he mumbles before he slips out of the doorway and dashes down the hallway to the open window that awaits him at the end.

you try not to let the way the door slams shut hurt you, but even with the strongest will in the world you wouldn’t be able to take away the ache in your chest. he’s just going through a rough patch, you try to convince yourself as you spoon his serving into the tupperware and clip the lid shut. he just needs some time alone after everything that’s happened to him, you think as you slip it into the fridge. it’ll be better soon, you pray as you pull out a pen and think about what to write on his note.

hope this pasta cheers you up, yun! if you like it, let me know and i’ll make it more often for you!!

the words make you cringe, but you slip it next to the tupperware anyway, closing the fridge with a huff. you doubt he even reads the notes anyway, so why does it matter if what you write on them is a little sickly-sweet.

with a sigh you grab your bowl and turn to the couch, ready to settle in and do nothing for the night. as usual, yunho’s portfolio stuff is everywhere, as well as the photos of that one spider-guy that he’s been collecting for his new job at the daily bugle. you hate the newspaper yourself, thinking that the conspiracy-led journalism is nothing but fear mongering nonsense, but you can’t fault yunho for working there; he’s only in it for the money, afterall. it’s just the life of a collage student to have to sell out your morals for a paycheck.

you pick it all up, organising it into somewhat-coherent piles on the coffee table before flopping down onto the ratty sofa and flicking the TV on. the volume is barely at a whisper, and you can’t help but curse yunho for having such good hearing; no doubt he feels the same when he turns the TV on to a deafening wall of sound after you’ve used it. the thought gives you a quick chuckle as you flick through the channels to find something to watch. you settle on a dumb reality show, quickly settling in for the evening so you can eat your pasta in peace.

———

hours pass before yunho returns, swinging the door open and startling you out of your TV-centred tunnel vision. you turn to him in surprise, ready to gently scold him for putting what would no doubt be another dent in the wall. that will have to come out of both of your deposits, you prepare yourself to tell him, but when you actually see him you pause.

he’s hunched up against a wall, chest rising and falling as he struggles to breathe. there’s a wheeze when he inhales, which only gets stronger when he breathes out, and the look of pain on his face that comes each and every time he respires sends you straight into panic mode. you don’t bother to turn the TV off as you stand up and rush towards him.

“fucking hell, yun,” you cry as you reach him. he winces at your shrill tone, drawing back into himself as you invade his personal space to check for injuries. the obvious one is his side, which he’s clutching in his grip like his life depends on it; you assume it’s a cracked rib, which would explain why breathing looks like it’s taking all of his effort. despite its necessity, its a notoriously painful thing to do with a broken rib.

a broken nose can make it difficult too, and as you begin to scan his face, you realise that he definitely has one of those. the way it twists to the side slightly, blood oozing from his right nostril like a faucet makes you flinch back a little, as if you’re the one that’s injured. you compose yourself quickly as you continue your search. black eye, split brow, split lip - the list goes on, but thankfully none of it seems too irreparable. with your basic knowledge of first aid, and yunho’s weirdly extensive first aid kit, you’re bound to have him fixed up in no time.

“bathroom,” you stutter out, taking a step back to give him some space. he almost misses your warmth as he watches you take a few steps towards the room that separates his bedroom from yours. he chases it, pushing himself away from the wall and stumbling after you. he doesn’t know why he wants you so close all of a sudden, but he feels like he needs it to survive. those brief few seconds he had you close somehow made him breathe a little easier. he follows you into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

silently, you gesture to the toilet and he takes a seat on the closed lid. his broad torso leans back against the tiles, and he relishes in the way that the cold seeps through his shirt and washes over his too-hot body. his head tips back against it too, and he watches you through hooded eyes as you scramble through the cabinet to find his first-aid kit.

sweetheart, his mind whispers again as you sit there on your knees in front of the cabinet, pushing rolls of toilet paper and bottles of cleaning product to the side. only you could be so adorably caring towards him after all these months of him actively pushing you away. only you would be so worried for him after he’d been trying his hardest to avoid you for months on end.

only you.

that feeling at the back of his neck comes back, only this time it’s stronger. every single hair on his body stands on end as he watches you pull the black bag from the back of the cabinet, whispering a cute little ‘a-ha’ to yourself. he smiles at that, not even bothering to hide it from you when you turn to him with the kit in hand. he doesn’t need to anymore; you’ve already seen everything else he used to hide.

which reminds him of his tattered spider-suit in his grasp. yunho holds out the red spandex for you to take from him, half expecting you to examine it and unveil all his secrets, but you don’t. you don’t even look at it as you toss the filthy fabric into the bathtub and turn the cold tap on. it’s the best for getting blood out, afterall. with little more thought about the piece of fabric, you turn back to yunho and unzip the black bag.

“unbutton your shirt,” you mutter as you pull out some wipes, a tube of antiseptic cream, and a large square bandage. you have no idea if his side is actually bleeding or not, but it’s best to be prepared, right? you look back at him with the materials in hand, only to see him staring back at you with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“what?” you grumble, taking notice of the fact that he hasn’t moved an inch. his hand was still clutched over his side and his shirt was still messily buttoned up. you sigh and move towards him, thinking nothing of it when you drop to your knees between his thighs and begin to unbutton the white fabric. his breath hitches as your fingers brush against his chest, but you pay him no mind, “yunho, move your arm - i need to get your shirt off.”

he doesn’t, remaining still as ever as you undo the last button that you can. you sit back on your haunches and watch him from where you sit between his spread legs.

“yun, come on,” you whine, and he closes his eyes at the sound. so beautiful; if only he wasn’t in pain so he could enjoy it more, “i need to undo the rest of your buttons and i can’t when you’re not letting me!”

you lay a hand on his wrist in a pleading gesture, asking wordlessly to let you take care of him. he listens this time and loosens his grip on his ribs. you pull his hand away, sucking in a breath as you catch sight of the red stain that his hand was previously covering. it’s not huge, but it still needs seeing to, so you go back to unbuttoning his shirt.

yunho tries not to think too hard as your hand brushes over his crotch when you undo the last two, just like when you eventually finish and push the sides of his shirt open to reveal his bare chest. it’s covered with bruises, and he bites his lip to suppress a groan as your delicate fingers dance softly across his damaged skin. he finds himself wishing the circumstances were different, and that you sitting between his legs, touching his chest could be so much more than you just worrying about him. as he watches you pick up the antiseptic wipes again, he’s reminded that that’s all it is; you being worried.

but that too confuses him. after all this time of him being a downright dick to you, you’re still so gentle with him. he’s abrupt and rude, and yet you still smile and say hello whenever you see him. he’s never around to eat with you, and yet you never fail to make him a meal every time you cook. he’s kept so much from you, and yet here you are, taking care of him like none of that ever mattered. like you can somehow see the man he is underneath all that.

he whimpers, and he’s not quite sure whether it’s because of the pain of the antiseptic wipe, or the pain he feels in his heart. either way, he needs something to take his mind off it all.

“why?” he asks as you clean his wound with a kind hand. so soft, your touch, as if you’re scared of hurting him. as if anything you could ever do would hurt him.

“why what?” you respond as you toss away the bloodied wipe and move to grab the cream. you put a dollop on your finger and begin to gently press it against the wound. he groans, and you mutter out a small apology. you mean it too; you don’t want to cause him any more pain.

“why are you doing this?” he says through gritted teeth, breathing heavy and laboured as he tried to power through the sting that he feels in his side, “why are you so nice to me when i’m - oh fuck, it hurts - when i’m anything but nice to you?”

you pause for a second, mulling over his question, repeating it in your mind until you can settle on an answer. well, an answer that’s palatable for him, anyway.

“you’re not not nice,” you say, capping the cream and putting it down on top of yunho’s thigh; you’d need it layered anyway. then you grab the bandage and rip off the adhesive cover, “and even if you were, i don’t think that wouldn’t change how i feel about you as a person.”

he watches with confusion in his eyes as you line up the bandage and smooth it over his skin. you run your fingers along the edges, pressing it down the make sure it’s secure. he’s sure that they linger on his skin for a moment longer than they have to, but he says nothing as you pull your hand back and rest it on your lap.

“how do you feel about me?” he whispers quietly into the cold air of the bathroom. it’s quite possibly the worst place he can imagine to have this conversation, and yet it seems the fit the atmosphere perfectly. somehow it feels so natural, talking about feelings whilst you patch up his injuries in the bathroom.

“i’ve fallen for you,” you bite the bullet, just coming straight out with it, “hook, line, and sinker, yun.”

it feels good to get it off your chest at long last. even if it doesn’t lead anywhere, or it makes things weird between the two of you. even if he begins to avoid you more, or just straight up moves out, it’s feels nice to have it out in the open. you’ve cast your net, it’s up to him whether or not he lets you catch him…

“oh,” is all he says at first, and you try not to think too much into that single syllable. you pick up the tube of antiseptic cream again and turn your attention to his eyebrow, “you like me?”

you nod as you put another globule on your finger and lean into him to get closer to the cut. you ignore the way he stares at you as you work, trying you hardest to avoid making eye contact. you already feel like your heart is about to beat itself free from your chest; you don’t need to worry it any more.

but then you feel a finger brush softly against your face, a scabbed up knuckle teasing your soft skin as it’s traces your cheekbone. a breath gets caught in your throat, and your finger stills against yunho’s brow bone. against your better judgement, you let yourself focus on his expression, making eye contact with the chocolate pools that never failed to draw you in. they’re beautiful, as always, but they reveal so much more than they usually do. the corners crinkle up into crows feet as his pupils twinkle with an emotion you’ve never really seen on his face before. it suits him… a lot.

“that’s a relief,” he breathes out, the semblance of a chuckle in his voice, “i’ve been calling you sweetheart in my brain since the moment we moved in together; it’ll be nice to be able to call you that to your face… sweetheart.”

[thegettingbyp2]

Needy peacekeeper!coryo finally gets a letter from you after no hearing from you the entire time he’s out in district 12, but it’s only photos

Can't Wait to Come Home

A/N: I've changed this slightly so it's not really smutty but I hope it's okay and that you like it :)

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Coriolanus was going insane. He’d been a Peacekeeper in District 12 for coming up to a year and he’d heard absolutely nothing from you. After being shipped off to District 12 without a chance to explain to you what was happening, he’d written you letter upon letter, trying to explain to you what had happened, almost begging you for a response, but he receiving nothing for you. A part of him was angry. Angry at you for ignoring his letters and shutting him out but there was a bigger part of him that was scared (not that he’d ever admit it). Scared that you’d moved on from him, that finding out he’d gone to District 12 had tainted him in your eyes and you’d found someone else from the Capitol.

Even though he still sent letter to you, they were more infrequent and he was worried that, if he had to stay there for much longer, he’d give up and stop sending them full stop. So when, like every week, he went to check to see if he had any mail, he was surprised to see a letter waiting for him and his heart sped up when he saw your neat handwriting on the envelope.

He rushed back to his bunk as quickly as he could, without making it obvious how excited he was to finally have a letter from you. Breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that the room was empty, he sat on the edge of his bed and practically tore the envelope open, his pulse quickening and a small groan erupting from his chest when he saw what was inside.

Inside the envelope was 3 pictures of you and a small slip of paper. The first picture was of the two of you only a couple of days before he left, when everything in his life seemed perfect, he had the most beautiful girl by his side, he was well on-track to winning the Plinth Prize and he had his whole future ahead of him. He had his arm wrapped around your waist and you were standing on your toes, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek. As he looked at the photo, he swore he could still feel the imprint of your lips on his skin.

The second photo was only your face pointed at the camera, bright red lipstick on your lips as you blew a kiss to the camera, a soft smile playing on your features.

It was the third and final picture had Coriolanus groaning as he felt his cock harden in his trousers. The third photo was a simple full length photo of you naked. You were sprawled out on top of what he recognised to be his bed in the Capitol, your hair spread out around you and your lips painted that same shade of red.

The piece of paper that was also in the envelope simply red You’re coming home x, but Coriolanus didn’t get much of a chance to understand what you meant because Sejanus into the room at the same time, causing him to quickly shove the photos and note back in the envelope.

‘What you got there?’ Sejanus asked.

‘My girl finally wrote me,’ Coriolanus replied, trying and failing to keep the grin off of his face.

‘What did she say?’

‘I’m going home,’ he said quietly, not quite believing it. He quickly excused himself before making his way to a phone, desperate to hear your voice.

You picked up after one ring and the moment he saw your face, he felt his whole body relax as a grin took over his face. ‘There she is,’ he said quietly as he just looked at you for a couple of seconds.

‘Coryo!’ you exclaimed, returning his smile. ‘I take it you got my envelope.’

‘Is it true?’ he asked, not wanting to believe it and get his hopes up. ‘Am I actually coming home?’

‘You are, baby,’ you replied softly. ‘In a couple of days. This time next week we’ll be together again,’ you said, not even attempting to hide the excitement in your voice.

‘Why haven’t you written until now?’ he asked, a small frown appearing on his brow that had your heart clenching in your chest. ‘I thought that you’d given up on us.’

‘Never,’ you replied quickly, almost cutting him off. ‘I wanted to write, I have a stack of letters that I’ve written to you but I was told that I wasn’t allowed to write to you. Dean Highbottom said that if I sent you a letter, he’d make sure it got destroyed before you could read it.’ At your words, Coriolanus felt a hot flame of hate for his old Academy professor curl in his stomach for keeping you away from him. ‘He came to visit the other day and told me that you were coming home and that I could be the one to tell you, I’m sorry, Coryo.’

‘You don’t have anything to be sorry about,’ he reassured you, wanting more than anything to hold you in his arms. ‘Though, when I get home, I will be making you sorry for sending me those photos when I can’t have you this second.’

You giggled softly, your cheeks flushing slightly. ‘I thought you might like those. I had to give you a taste of what you had waiting for you back home.’

‘The moment I get home, I’m getting you in that bedroom and we’re not leaving for days,’ he said darkly, his eyes staring holes through you through the phone and you couldn’t stop of shiver that ran down your spine. ‘We have a year’s worth of catching up after all.’

‘I’m going to hold you to that, though I am going to miss your hair. It was easier to hold on to’ you replied, smiling cheekily at him.

Coriolanus felt his face heat up at your comment as his need for you grew even stronger and he tried as hard as he could to not adjust himself in his trousers. ‘I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Fuck, I can’t wait to come home,’ he muttered, letting his head fall forward to rest on the top of the frame.

‘Not long now, baby.’

‘No. And then nothing is going to rip us apart again,’ Coriolanus said as he felt that flicker of hate he felt for Highbottom earlier, strengthen.

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

The cold truth

Artful Dodger one shot. Jack Dawkins x fem reader

Before Fagin's return, before Belle, before it all there was y/n. The first woman to break Jack's heart. He kept her portrait in a silver locket, the chain hanging on his bed. One day, long after her operation Belle sits in the hospital going over medical text when Hetty comes into her. Seeing the locket in Belle's hand she tells her the story.

"She was a lovely girl, a nurse here. Odd though because she was married. So many of us live a solitary life but not y/n. She was such a wonderful spirit. I'm convinced she could make the dead dance with her joy. None of us could have known. Jack was the first to notice the changes, they were so small at first. Y/n had always had the most beautiful red hair, it was so thick she could hardly contain it and would have it tied several plates pinned about her head. I remember Jack coming to me one morning, the spirals were gone. It was all chopped off up to her shoulders. Y/n wouldn't tell us what happened.

Then it was the bruises. Poking out of her dress on her neck, her arms you know. She just kept saying she was clumsy, but we spent hours with her and none of us ever saw her even trip. Jack tries to ask her once but she brushed him off.

I don't know if it was her original joy or the subsequent lack of it, but the doctor seemed fixated on her. He needed to know what was happening.

One time he bumped into her, knocking her ribs and the touch sent y/n to the floor. Shocked by the reaction Jack took her aside and checked her over. Y/n had a bruise that covered her whole left side. Angry and red, purple, blue. Still she wouldn't tell us a thing. Jack took it upon himself to look after her. Noting that she would often work a whole day without a bite of food he began making extra lunch and sitting with her.

He would talk about her when she wasn't around. Retelling her jokes and talking of her beauty.

Of course we know now that it was her husband. He cut her hair off with an axe. Said she was too vain about her appearance and a nurse didn't need long hair. The beatings were worse. He would attack her for any little mistakes. Her ribs? That was because she had burnt dinner one night. He was an awful man. We only found out because Jack found her wandering the streets on his way home for the cat and bagpipes. He had kicked her out of their house. I don't remember what for, but Jack found her and he took care of her. By then the only time I saw her happy was when they were sat together. She told him everything and he promised to help her. Said she could have a bed in our nurses quarters. She even appeared happy for a while, the two of em did.

A week or so later she went home to collect her things, convinced her husband would be at work. He wasn't.

She managed to get back here. I'll never know how she made it. One broken leg, a fractured elbow and a knife in her gut. She did though, she came stumbling in. I think I screamed when I saw her. Jack rushed her into the theatre, but this was about a year before you came along. There was nothing he could do with the knife wound. That damn blade was wide enough to take down an elephant. Ripped her up so badly inside. She couldn't breathe and the blood was pouring into her lungs.

Jack tried and tried until she asked him to stop. Exhausted and covered in her blood, Jack was ready to collapse himself. She held tight to his hand and looked into his eyes.

"No, no y/n, you gotta fight this. You can't die." Jack begged her.

"Jack, I have to go. I'm sorry. You can't save me." Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. Jack held on to her. I had hoped his will alone might make God knit her back together. My faith took a knock that day and I'm not afraid to admit it. The look on that boys face when they insisted on taking her away. Tim had to hold him to keep Jack from following her body to the grave.

We all changed after that day. The first time one of our own bad died so brutally. Jack wasn't the same. He threw himself into his work, his competition with Sneed.

You know there are times when he still visits her grave. Maybe that's why he was so desperate to save you, Lady Belle. Jack's poor heart couldn't take another love being ripped away from him. It's a lovely portrait of her. " She finishes by glancing over Belle's shoulder at the lockett.

"he's in prison, so you think, do you think you could take me to her grave?" Belle asks.

It's a small wooden cross with her name carved into it.

"we couldn't afford a real headstone. " Hetty explains. Belle bent to touch the wood, running her fingers over the carved wood.

"What happened to the husband?"

"Got himself hanged for his troubles three weeks after. It took three hours for him to die. Come on now miss we should get you back before you're missed." Hetty reminded her.

"of course. I shall bring y/n flowers tomorrow."

"very good Milady "

[danikamariewrites]

A New King

Ruhn x reader

Notes: Happy last day of @ruhnweek ! For Ruhn’s fall from grace I thought what would cause him to be disowned. Could he finally have partied too hard? Spent too much of daddy’s money? But none of that would piss the Autumn King off or make him pay attention to Ruhn. What would really piss the Autumn King off is if Ruhn started getting into politics, shadowing his father, attending important meetings.

Getting into a large disagreement about how to rule the Valbaran and Avallen Fae, the Autumn King casts his son out. Angry and on his own, Ruhn leaves Lunathion with his most loyal subjects following him. Establishing his new rule in the north, just outside of Nena, the rogue prince starts his campaign for his father’s throne. Ruhn is looking for alliances, even if it means getting married. The prince will go to any lengths to take down his father.

Warnings: none

Watching the snow covered country side blur past the car window you fidget with the fur gloves in your hands. Your winter ensemble was fit for a princess, which made sense, as you were going to be one in a week.

The maid had dressed you in a snow blue dress, heeled boots of the same color. Diamonds dangled from your ears with the matching pendant around your neck. The set was a gift from Ruhn, along with the promise of a ring to match.

You had been counting down the minutes until you would arrive at King Ruhn’s stronghold. Once a headquarters for the Asteri they abandoned, Ruhn thought it the perfect place to take up residence. It was out of reach from his father and any unwanted visitors would surely die of frostbite or hypothermia if they didn’t travel in from the main road, which was heavily guarded.

You were getting closer now. The increase of military vehicles on the side of the road gave away your proximity. When Ruhn left Lunathion he took a good chunk of the Aux and the 33rd with him. Once the news broke of the war between the king and his son more defected to his side, including some of the Asteri’s army.

Whether the Asteri sent the soldiers or not remained a mystery to the public. Questions ran through your mind when your parents told you they were allying with Ruhn. Would the Asteri let this happen? Would the fae and the city change for the better? You had even more questions when they told you you’d be his bride.

You had no issue about marrying Ruhn, besides the fact that your parents just gave you up without warning. Ruhn wasn’t cruel or crazy. You had never really thought he was serious about ruling in all honesty.

Your family was the wealthiest and oldest fae families after Ruhn’s. They had power and influence, everything the new king was looking for. Clearly your parents liked his idea of ruling better than the Autumn King’s. Otherwise you’d still be at home in the city, not hiding away in the country side.

The car pulled to a stop a little ways away from the entrance, parking near a row of military vehicles. Your nerves had your stomach in knots. Taking a deep breath you slip your gloves back on in anticipation of the few minutes you’d be outdoors.

“Ready?” Your mother asks enthusiastically. Shooting her a nasty scowl you open the door, sliding out of the black SUV.

Looking around you spot angels and fae dressed in thick winter wear, checking crates and cars, standing guard armed with guns and knives strapped to their thighs.

The old metal doors creaked open, catching your attention. A familiar looking red headed female makes her way over to you, her smile dazzling and welcoming. “Hello, I’m Bryce Quinlan, the king’s second hand.” She said in greeting, clearly very pleased with what her brother is doing. “You must be y/n. I’m here to take you to Ruhn.” You slightly bow to her, “It’s wonderful to meet you Bryce. Thank you for greeting us.”

“Come, I don’t want to keep him. The King has a packed schedule unfortunately today so you might not see him again until dinner.” Bryce turns to lead you and your parents into the stronghold.

Walking through the halls you expected the place to be more run down. It was quite the opposite, everything was polished and pristine. Everything was updated to be more modern looking from the flooring to the first lights.

Before you knew it you were all entering the “throne room”. Bryce had used air quotes when describing it because it wasn’t exactly that. More of a meeting room with a slightly larger chair for Ruhn. He was intent on an ostentatious display of power. You figured it was to not be anything like his father, which you respected him for.

Bryce cleared her throat, breaking up the conversation between Ruhn and three males you didn’t know. The one with angel wings gave the princess a loving look, only snapping on a cold look when he realized the company she was with.

The three males stood to the side, leaving the dark mysterious prince and you to just stare at each other. You couldn’t help but be captivated by his beauty. You’d only ever seen pictures of him on your phone and thought he was hot. Up close was something else. Ruhn’s blue eyes sparkled as they roved your body as your own took in each of his exposed tattoos and muscles outlined by his tight shirt.

Remembering your position you cleared your throat dipping into a small curtesy. “It’s an honor to meet you, your grace.” You didn’t know if he preferred prince or king. Ruhn, a slight smirk pulling at his full lips, bowed his head. “It’s an honor to meet you, y/n. I also want to thank you for agreeing to this, and for your support.”

“Of course,” you respond quietly. You could feel your parents staring intensely at the back of your head making your nerves return. It seemed Ruhn could sense your discomfort. Standing taller, commanding the attention of the Ruhn, all eyes went to him. “Could I have a moment alone with my bride-to-be,” he phrased it as more of a command than a question.

The three nameless males nodded along with Bryce, leaving with your parents in tow. Your mother seemed reluctant to leave you alone with Ruhn. Not for safety concerns, more because she was nosy and wanted to control the situation.

Once the doors shut and you were alone together you felt more relaxed. A shyness you had never felt before in your life took over, making your cheeks heat. Ruhn approached you, pulling out a chair for you from the long meeting table. “Thank you,” you whispered, taking a seat.

Sitting next to you he gives you a reassuring smile. “I know our marriage is not something you anticipated or even wanted. It’s a sacrifice whether you think so or not, and I will do everything in my power to make this as easy for you as possible. If there is anything you want or need please don’t be afraid to ask.” The sincerity in his voice made your heart soar.

When contemplating an arranged marriage by your parents you had always pictured them choosing a male who was stuck up and in his own world. While Ruhn is in his own world there is a kindness to him you’ve never seen in other males.

Ruhn continued asking you questions about yourself. What you went to school for, your interests, favorite foods, stuff like that. Before you knew it over an hour had passed. Staring at the clock you slightly jolted, remembering Bryce saying Ruhn had a busy schedule. “What is it?” Ruhn asks, worry lacing his tone.

“Oh, umm Bryce said you have a busy day and I didn’t mean to keep you this long,” that shyness came creeping back in, a blush dusting your cheeks again. Ruhn smiles sweetly at you. “Don’t worry about it. I am prince of this place, remember.” He teases with a raised brow, his piercing glinting in the sunlight coming through the tall windows.

“I don’t want to stress you out by thinking you’re keeping me.” He says, standing from the table and holding out his hand for you. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.” You laced your fingers with his, letting Ruhn pull you along.

As he gave you a history of the stronghold you let your mind wander. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as you thought. Ruhn seemed to want to get to know you and he was quite charming. With time maybe your relationship can grow into something…more.

[meieis]

The commander is now cold towards you (Lute x reader)

My note: It's not a long fic, it's a short fic. Actually, I'm thinking of writing demetrius desmond X reader from spy X family, so... I just wrote this because it's been on my mind for a long time, I use translate, so I may miss mistakes from time to time

Synopsis: The commander is now cold towards you, She trying to push you away to avoid pain if something happens to you.

Warning(?): In the first part, Lute's dream contains sexual innuendos and a swear word or two. Nothing

fic series : The favorite one! Lute x reader

“Lute” you mumbled as Lute kissed your neck, You two were naked, your clothes were on the floor, kisses and all… over because she just heard the sound of the alarm and woke up, “fuck.” That's all she said, dream feel so real, but it wasn't real.

She had to continue her cold behavior towards you. She didn't want to lose someone close to her again, she couldn't. In conclusion... She tried to ignore that dream today. Even though she's been having these kinds of dreams for a long time, it's a bad habit, but her subconscious probably wanted you around. As usual you were around her as her assistant but just now it was different, she kept sending you for something, buy coffee, you brought the coffee and she said it was wrong, repeated at least 3 times. Then she said she wanted sweets and sent you to buy sweets many times, you found this strange Lute didn't like sweet things. Still you didn't question. You did.

In fact, she was like this all day long, she didn't keep you around, the person you worked with, the person I was loyal to, was kind of cold towards you, she was quieter today. No mention is made of what Sera did, what happened, or the stupidity of the exorcists. It felt a little bad, had something happened? Or did you do something wrong?

The same thing was happening for a week, and as a result, you had to talk to Lute somehow. You had to change the pen that Lute wanted you to buy, constantly saying it was wrong, and finally you came with the correct red pen, you talked without her speaking. "Sir-" Lute interrupted your conversation without even looking at your face. "not now y/n" you ignored what she said "I'm sorry-" lute who was reading the paperwork looked at you in surprise "What?" You continued your conversation "I'm sorry if I did something to hurt you... I-" Lute interrupted you "You didn't... You can't" she spoke unexpectedly calmly. "So why are you trying to push me away?" She frowned and got angry. You shouldn't have understood this so easily, she can't say she's in love with you! "I don't-" Lute said quietly "-It's just... You're making a mistake and I want you to fix it, you must have misunderstood." She didn't say anything more and went back to work.

Actually, she thought a lot at home, maybe... She should have given permission, it would be nice to be friends with someone again... Being alone was painful, not talking to anyone... She changed her decision at that moment, she wants you. Stay her friend or be her wife, that's her new want to strive for.

extra :

Tomorrow, everything went back to normal, as if Lute hadn't been acting weird towards you for weeks.

"Sir-" Lute interrupted, "Come and do half the paperwork yourself. Do" she said sounding angry, although... That... It meant she forgave you.

[evalevaeva]

Strangers | Sieun x reader

; in which Sieun values his academics over his partner.

warning: argument, breaking up, ignoring.

eva notes! : yo this kinda hit home a little.. :] enjoy

The day seemed like the usual days. Youngbin was busy messing with Sieun and you were sitting in the seat next to him. You took the chance to glance at your significant other next to you as his ears were filled with music and the tip of his pen busy on the notebook infront of him.

"Sieun, Sieun, Sieun!" You tried to whisper-shout to get his attention as he finally took off his earpieces and turned to you, his body language calm as he waited for you to continue.

"Isn't Miss Yeon returning the test papers from the weighted assessment tests the other day?" you asked him as he nodded, his eyes still as dull as when you first met him in school.

It definitely did not go unnoticed. His cold demeanour signalled that his stress levels were over the roof once again, and he definitely was not in the mood for Youngbin's shennanigans or anything happening today.

"Everyone, please return to your seats. Let's begin with checking our assessment papers," Ms Yeon began as she walked over to the podium at the front of the class with stacks of papers, marked with red ink and big numbers on the front, the total scores.

"Miss Yeon! Who got the highest score?" A voice questioned as another student scoffed loudly, "God, you're asking that as if Sieun hasn't topped the last 20 exams since we entered this school!".

Miss Yeon took a look at the stack of papers infront of her as she smiled.

"Actually, we have a new top scorer this examination, Y/N achieved the highest score for this assessment!" Miss Yeon said with a smile as a round of applause was heard.

You looked around, ears red as you'd never have expected to be the top scorer, much more against your own boyfriend.

That was until a bang was heard.

You turned to see Sieun, hands in fists as his eyes burned holes into your face. You've never seen him this angry before, even when Youngbin had thrown a sandal at him.

"Sieun, are you alright?" Miss Yeon asked as Sieun turned to her with a blank face, and responded plainly, "Yes Miss Yeon."

You ran up to catch up with your boyfriend after school as you realised he had left without you, walking to the cram school that you both entered back in your first year of high school.

"Sieun!" You shouted as you ran to reach him, but realised he had his earpieces in, causing him to not hear you. You tapped his shoulder but was met with no response as he continued walking as if you were never there, as if you never existed. You grabbed your phone from your skirt pocket and pressed on his contact on your phone.

"Sieun, are you mad? Let's talk it out?" You texted and sent the message as you followed behind him to the bus stop to the Cram School.

Even at Cram School, he blatantly ignored you as his eyes only switched between the notebook and the large blackboard at the front of the room, ignoring any signs of you trying to get his attention. You tapped his arm, tried to move his notebook, and tried to hold his hand, and still he did not respond. It was as if he changed overnight as it was. . . terrifying to say the least.

"Sieun!" You called out to him as he walked down the path from the cram school to the bus stop to go home.

You'd had enough of him ignoring you the whole day and act as if he didn't know you. This needed to stop.

"Sieun! Stop it." You stated as he stopped in his tracks and turned to look at you.

"What do you want?" He asked for the first time in the many hours you've spent together in school and cram school and all the time in between.

"You blatantly ignored me the whole day, and you have the audacity to ask me what I want? What's wrong with you? You ignored my messages, ignored me, ignored my existence, and treating me like trash. God, even trash would have to be picked up and discarded," you spoke as he stared blankly at you, as if he was, bored.

"You did this," He stated as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Did what exactly?" You questioned as his gaze became sharp.

"You knew. You knew that this was everything I had. My studies, my grades, they're all I have. Yet, you take them away from me like you don't even know me," He spat out as your jaw dropped from the absolute audacity he had to say what he said.

"You think I chose to score higher than you? Well, sorry, mister arrogant, but I studied just as hard as you did, and you knew that. Just because I scored higher than you in one assessment, it gives you the right to treat me like garbage? You're insane," you responded as you tried to remove your gaze from the stranger in front of you.

"Let's break up." Sieun stated as your eyes widened.

"Just like that?" You questioned as he turned, not bothering to answer your question at all.

He wasn't worth it anyway, right? That's what you tried to tell yourself for the next 4 weeks as days passed by like hell. You requested Miss Yeon to change your seat, away from Yeon Sieun. You did not want to associate yourself with such a jerk, and your academics shouldn't suffer because of a piece of trash like him.

A new student joined the class, and soon, Sieun was buddies with Sooho and Beomseok. Maybe a month ago, it would hurt seeing him having company with other people other than you, but now you were strangers, nothing more.

[mtayl0rr]

The Anomaly: 1

Prologue Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x f!Original Character Rating: Mature Length: 1.2K Summary: Nobody gets the upper hand on Spider-Man 2099. Nobody, until a strange anomaly slipped from his grasp. Now, he’ll stop at nothing until he finds her. Warnings: enemies to lovers, eventual smut, cannon typical violence, graphic depictions of violence, Miguel is a bitch but so is she, cursing, angst, etc. trauma Note: First full chapter!! I promise the escape trope isn't finished after one chapter have faith i have stuff planned

Earth-B9402 was not Madelynn’s typical jump. Her brawl with 2099 left the watch she’d stolen broken and almost unusable. Although she still had her hacked day pass, she was stuck in a new universe. The jump killed the watch, sending her to the only coordinates she could punch into the cracked screen.

She managed to find shelter in the basement of an abandoned department store. It had all she needed: a couch, some blankets, miscellaneous materials she could use to repair her suit. Coming from where she did, she was used to living off of nothing. The shower in the old break room was stained red, a mix of blood and boxed hair dye. She didn’t take the time to wonder what store needed a shower for employees, but if she had the opportunity, why not take it. Now her hair will mirror the color of the blood she’ll draw from those who stand in her way. Those who side with 2099 in trying to capture her. All traces of brunette were wiped from the canvas of her body as every memory of the life she used to live washed down the drain with the blood and chemicals streaming off her skin.

Madelynn cursed under her breath as she ran the washcloth over her puncture wounds. 2099 was close to scratching bone when he finally caught her back on Earth-904H7. The coarse scabs forming over the exposed flesh looked angry as soap mixed with muscle. Hopefully, she’d never see 2099 again, and he’d never know that his wound elicited tears.

She’d never forget his haunting voice as he whispered in her ear threats of death if she dared to run. His low timbre sent a shiver down her spine, but she knew it was hollow. He wouldn’t be the one to kill her. Someone back home would. He’d just be the one to send her there.

Once she was dry, and her suit was repaired, Madelynn basked in the warmth of the torn up blankets left in the store. Anything was better than sleeping on the rooftops the past two nights. But, her relaxation was short-lived. The familiar tingling of her spine woke her up. The room was illuminated with a red hue, the same color of 2099’s glowing webbing. He was here, outside, looking for her.

Her suit was still half repaired; the blood was removed but the claw marks remained, her skin showing through the ripped elastic. Quickly, she ripped the vent cover off the corner and crawled through, swatting through cobwebs and rat shit. She had no idea how he tracked her down; the locator on her day pass and the watch were disabled. But, she didn’t have time to dwell on the “how.” He was here, and probably angry.

Through the echoes of the vent system, she heard his voice bounce off the walls; an agonizing scream of anger. He knew she was there, or at least had been. The shower was still wet, the blankets still rustled on the old couch. But he couldn’t fit through the vents like she could. He could assume where she was hiding, but he had no means of following her. As much as she hated to admit it, 2099 had an impressive physique. Heightened strength aside, he threw her around as if she was nothing. That night on Earth-904H7, his broad shoulders blocked the moonlight, drowning her in darkness. But, it meant that he couldn’t follow her.

Madelynn reached a vent gate that led to the outside of the department store, but she couldn’t risk taking such an obvious path. She pushed the gate open, shooting webs to make it look like she’d swung away before continuing her path through the vents. The whirring of the system grew louder the farther she climbed through the maze of metal tunnels and cobwebs, but her pace never faltered. She occasionally flinched at the sound of something hitting the dented paths, but she assumed it was simply her weight on the flimsy material. There was no way she was being followed.

Eventually, she made a big circle through the system, ending up right back where she started in the basement. Before she slid through the still open gate, Madelynn scanned the room, waiting for her spine to tingle at any danger, but nothing came. She’d successfully averted 2099 again. Her knees ached from all the crawling, the scabs gracing her skin nearly reopening from the abrasion of her suit’s fabric. Falling onto her couch, she lifted the edge of her mask and took a sip of the drink she’d stolen from upstairs before melting into the covers, only accompanied by the sound of something tapping on the metal of the vents.

Little did she know, while 2099 had fallen for her staged escape earlier, he hadn’t fully trusted it, sending a camera drone to search the vents he watched her crawl into. Now, it lurked in the opening where the vent grate used to be, waiting for 2099 to return.

He returned on foot, the red hue of his webs not giving him away this time as he gently rushed down the stairs to the basement. He could hear her labored breathing, her shoes tapping on the concrete floors. Curses ran through his mind as he calculated how much time he wasted falling for her simple deceit. He was nearly outsmarted again, but he wouldn’t let a slip up like last time happen.

One thing Madelynn neglected to remember about 2099 was despite his towering stature, he was abnormally stealthy. The last thing she expected was to be pushed against the wall, hearing the sound of her bone crack as 2099’s exposed face was inches from her own. Before she had time to react, he ripped her mask off her head, exposing the soft skin of her neck, and sunk his fangs into her flesh.

The effect of his venom was nearly instantaneous. Her body grew hot, the poison intertwining with her blood, leaving her limbs limp and dangling as 2099 crushed her body to the wall. She tried to speak, but her mouth wouldn’t move as she lost control of her jaw and tongue. All that came out was a pathetic scream of agony. All she could do was breathe, look, and listen as 2099 pulled away from her neck, licking her blood from his fangs as it dripped from his lips. His eyes glistened with a sick triumph as he moved his mouth closer to her ear.

“There’s nowhere to run,” he whispered, letting go of her body. She fell to the floor with a hard thump, her red hair mixing with the pool of blood flowing from her neck, watching helplessly as 2099 tapped at his watch, wiping curls of sweat soaked brown hair from his forehead.

The last thing she remembered was cursing how horrifyingly handsome he was under his mask before she succumbed to the lulls of the venom and passed out on the cold concrete.

Chapter 2

Comment or dm to be added to a taglist <3

[ellabsprincess]

Hi sweet pea.Could you write something about reader being in a famous like rock or metal band and basically being a total slut but then she gets a girlfriend (Ellie) and tells everyone she has a girlfriend but not showing anyone what Ellie looks like or telling them her name and then one day reader is doing an interview with another band who they are on tour with and talks about having a girlfriend and the other band is like wtf no u don’t ur literally a whore and then reader brining Ellie out to show them

it’s okay if you don’t feel comfortable doing this okay bye love you <3

omfg sweat pea??? literally marrying you rn cause that's so cute!! also i literally LOVE this idea like rockstar ellie has been on the brain!!

also i followed the main inspo of your ask, but changed it slightly, sorry!! i just think it fit better as i was in the middle of writing!

enjoy my love!!

p.s. love you too!!

"rock n' fucking roll" (rockstar!ellie x rockstar!reader)

word count: 3.5k

warnings: 18+, lowercase intended, switch!ellie, switch!reader, marijuana use, ellie is kinda a loser for reader, twinge of angst from ellie, smut, they fuck while high but they're like barely high, ellie has a happy trail and a hairy pussy, cunnilingus, nipple sucking, fingering, relationship talk, love confessions, mutual pining, reader has nipple piercings bc i'm living vicariously through this

also i am not really knowledgable of bands, music, or performing, so if something is inaccurate, you saw nothing...

important note: ellie and reader are referred to as "sluts" in this fic. that is simply for the purpose of the story and because the anon asked for that specific element. i do not encourage or condone slut shaming of any sort

tags: @m-3-ijiworld @seraqhites @uraesthete @hehatesmati @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @elliespookie @dropsofs4turn @millersaurora @jjmaybankslittleslut @lonelyfooryouonly

wanna join my tag list? click here

can't stay at home, can't stay in school

old folks say, "you poor little fool"

down the streets i'm the girl next door

i'm the fox you've been waiting for

hello, daddy, hello, mom

i'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb

the music is deafening in your ears as you begin to perform. singing your heart out to the angry and aggressive beat, with ellie by your side on bass, and dina behind you on drums.

the venue was dirty and full of drunk and stumbling people, but you didn't care. not when the sound of the bass was nearly rupturing your eardrums as you swayed your hips in your miniskirt and pranced across the stage, mic in hand. your thighs were adorned with provocative garters and ripped tights, and your shirt was a 90's baby tee with some alt band's logo plastered on the front. you were a perfect mix of girly, provocative, and alt, just unashamed to be yourself when on stage.

ellie was quite the opposite next to you. her dirty and beaten black converse stomped the floor to the beat of dina's drums. she wore ripped, tight jeans, with a vintage flannel opened over a white wife pleaser.

her guitar was cherry red, almost the same shade as the lipstick you were wearing, and she had her signature rainbow guitar strap slung over her shoulder.

pouring your soul out into the lyrics and feeling the music, you fell to your knees on the dirty stage, whipping your hair around messily as you stared into the audience. you felt ellie get closer to you, standing just above you and looking down at you with a nefarious glint in her eyes as her fingers flew over her guitar strings.

the song finally came to an end, and you sung the lyrics as you continued to hold ellie's gaze.

hello world i'm your wild girl

i'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb

cherry bomb

cherry bomb

cherry bomb

cherry bomb

cherry bomb

ellie strung her guitar a few more times, letting the sound echo through the room before reaching her hand down to grab you by the chin, pulling your head upwards and signaling you to stand up. her signal of dominance sent the crowd into a frenzy. cheers and screams filled the room as you heard distant comments like "i love you ellie!!" and "top me please ellie!"

you just rolled your eyes at the panic of the crowd. you were used to ellie's stage antics at this point, and you knew it was for nothing more than attention and crowd engagement. besides, you always had your own fans at the shows. finally standing to your feet and catching your breath, you spoke into the mic.

"thank you all so much for coming out tonight, you guys were amazing! have a great night!"

you, ellie, and dina all threw up peace signs at the cheering crowd before retreating backstage. the three of you were exhausted, all covered in sweat but high off adrenaline and the praise of your fans.

you all entered the green room and found yourselves collapsing into the nearest chairs. ellie handed you and dina bottles of water to ease your sore throat and dehydrated states.

"wow, what a fucking night," ellie commented.

"yeah, i think you made about half the girls out there drop their panties," you teased.

"oh shut up."

"come on, don't act like you don't know what you're doing," dina chimed in.

ellie could only laugh and roll her eyes before letting her head roll back and rest on the plush chair, too tired to argue with the both of you.

after a few minutes of reflecting on the night's show and wolfing down water and snacks, you noticed dina making her way out of the room. when you asked her where she was going, she explained that she had made plans earlier with her friend jesse and was going to be out the whole night. how she had the energy to go out after that show, you had no idea, but you honestly didn't care in your exhausted state.

you suddenly realized how much pain you were in, and how uncomfortable and sticky your outfit had become, and you felt a need to change immediately. all you wanted was just to go back to the band trailer and slip on some comfy clothes and relax the rest of the night.

ellie clearly had similar ideas.

"hey, wanna go back to the trailer and smoke and chill the rest of the night?"

"fuck yeah"

back at the trailer, you wasted little time before making a beeline for the shower. you nearly moaned at the pleasurable feeling of washing away all the sweat and exhaustion from your skin. you probably wasted too much time in that small room, but you didn't care. stepping out of the cramped bathroom in nothing but tiny sleep shorts and a tank top, you found ellie relaxing on her bunk. she had stripped down to her wife pleaser and some black boxers, and was scrolling through her phone.

hearing you move towards her, she looked up at you, sitting up to grab and light the blunt hastily thrown on the table near her bunk. as you crouched down to sit next to her, you didn't notice how she looked you up and down, staring at your chest through your thin top.

were those nipples piercings?

her thoughts were interrupted as you held out your hand to take the blunt from her, taking a long drag and turning your head to blow the smoke away from where you were sitting. you took another, shorter, drag before passing it off to ellie. she took the blunt between her fingers with a shaky grip, and nearly choked on her inhale as if it was her first time smoking. she couldn't take her eyes off of you.

she shamefully stared at your soft thighs barely hidden and covered by your short shorts and your tits perfectly in her eye level as you relaxed and enjoyed the beginning of your high. you looked tired, but blissful and almost angelic. her heart ached and longed for you, tired of her desperate stage antics just for an ounce of your attention, and a second to stare into your pretty eyes.

she wanted you so bad. she wanted your body, of course, but she wanted your heart even more. her chest twinged with pain every time she heard you laugh loudly at someone else's joke, or when she pretended to be asleep as you got fucked by some random chick in your bunk after a show. your moans were just too pretty to sleep through, and she wanted to commit them to memory so she could imagine it was you under her every time she had a quick fuck on a bathroom counter.

she always left those girls satisfied, and she gained quite the reputation as a good lay among the fanbase, but it was never enough. every time she made a girl cum on her tongue, or fucked someone until they were dripping all over her strap, she just imagined it was you. not as a one-night thing, but as her girlfriend.

of course that would never happen. you didn't do relationships. you were a rockstar and you were on the road constantly, who had the time? you only wanted to get off and forget a girl's name the next morning. you would never want ellie. you would never love her, never belong to her, never moan "i love you" as she fucked her strap into you over and over-

"earth to ellie?" you looked at her concerned, your eyes wide.

"oh shit, sorry. my bad." she had drifted into her own mind, and had been holding the blunt, sitting and dreaming about you for the past few minutes, without addressing you or caring to even pass the blunt back.

"it's fine, are you okay?"

"yeah, m'good."

"okay, will you pass me the blunt then?"

ellie didn't know what came over her. maybe it was her starting to feel her high, the slight fuzziness in her brain, or maybe it was just exhaustion.

"actually, no."

"no??" you responded, looking both offended and confused.

"no, we're gonna talk instead."

"ellie we can talk and smoke-"

"no, i need you to hear me."

"okay, els, you're freaking me out." you backed away from her slightly, your eyes narrowed, confused by the change from her usual kind nature to this abruptness and rudeness.

"sorry, i don't mean to scare you, i just..." she sighed. "i'm fucking tired of this shit. i'm tired of what's going on with us. it needs to end." shock was evident across your face.

"ellie, what? are you tired of the band, a-are you tired of me?"

"no! i mean, yeah, but that's not it."

"ellie just fucking spit it out!"

"i'm in love with you!"

your eyes softened, and your mouth gaped slightly.

"i'm in love with you and i have been for a while," ellie's voice quieted, and she looked down at her lap, unable to meet your gaze. "i'm tired of pretending like i don't want something with you. all those stage antics, fooling around and flirting with you in front of our fans? i just want you to look at me. and i fuck around with the fans because i have to distract myself from you or else i'll lose my mind. and i'm fucking tired of hearing you fuck other girls out there when i know i could treat you so much better. i just want you, and i'm tired of pretending that i don't." ellie sucked in a deep breath, almost winded from her rant. she slowly looked up, to find you looking at her with tears in your eyes.

"wha-," she started before you were practically leaping into her lap. you grabbed her face in your hands, forcing her to look at you.

"els, you have no idea how long i've waited to hear that."

you crashed your lips onto hers, meeting in a messy and desperate kiss. she whined into your mouth as you licked at her bottom lip, relishing in the fact that you were finally able to kiss her. pulling away, you left her breathless.

"sooo, you feel the same way?" ellie was flushed bright red, but all you could stare at was the love in her eyes and the prominence of the small freckles all over her nose and cheeks.

"yeah, i do. i love you, els."

"fuck me..."

"planning on it," you quipped back with a giggle and a smirk on your face.

"oh no, i didn't mean- we don't have to if you don't want to. we can go out on a date first, take it slow if you-" you stopped her ramblings with a kiss.

"els, i've been wanting to do this for so long. we're gonna this right now, okay? unless you don't want to, or?"

"no no i definitely want to i just wanted to make sure you didn't feel like we were rushing this."

"not at all, baby," you said with a smile, returning your lips to hers as as the kiss quickly got heated. ellie was whining into your mouth as her hands found your hips and your hands started to travel up under her wife pleaser. you started to tease her, finding that she had gone without a bra as your fingers brushed the underside of her small tits, making her shiver. her hands traveled lower on your body, cupping your ass and massaging lightly as you both moaned quietly, full of desperation and overwhelmed from the relief of the pent-up tension between you.

"fuck, els, go ahead and lay back for me,"

ellie looked up at you with a puzzled look on her face. "what, oh no, you really don't have to, this isn't about me."

"i promise i want to, okay? now lay back and let me play with that pretty pussy."

ellie nodded reluctantly, before laying back on the bed. you slid down to the floor so you were kneeling between her spread thighs, taking in the sight before helping ellie slide her boxers down her legs.

you could've cum from the scene before you. ellie was looking up at you with pure need in her eyes, desperate to feel your mouth, your fingers, whatever you would give her. she was absolutely dripping, so worked up just from kissing you, and her pussy was so pretty. she had a gorgeous happy trail leading down to her hairy pussy, and you couldn't believe it was all just for you.

"again, you really don't have to, girls usually don't-"

"shut up and let me taste you"

you dove in, your tongue finding her clit and causing her to moan above you, her thighs closing around your head before your grabbed them and pinned them to the bed. you finally reach her needy hole, already clenching and dripping for you as you start to fuck into her. you were moaning at the sweet taste of her as she pleaded above you.

ellie feels like she's in a dream. the girl she's been miserably pining over for months actually loves her back, and now that girl is between her thighs doing magical things with her tongue. already she's overwhelmed because no one's really ever pleasured her like this before, and she still can't believe that it's you that's making her feel like this.

"gonna use my fingers now, okay?"

ellie can only let out a high pitched whine as you take you hand off of one of her thighs, and bring it to her hole as your tongue finds her clit again. you suck lightly on her throbbing clit as you plunge your fingers in, slipping in easily from all her arousal and your spit.

you look up at her, making eye contact as you find that sweet spot inside her, speeding up the pace of your fingers to hit that spongey spot over and over again. ellie was seeing stars, and she was already embarrassingly close to cumming.

"fuck...gonna......cum....fuck"

"shh, baby, just relax. cum on my face els, i know you can do it baby."

without warning, her thighs tremble uncontrollably and she gushes all over the lower half of your face. you fuck her through her orgasm, slowly pumping your fingers in and out as you lick up her juices and carefully leave feather-light kisses all over her sensitive pussy.

she sits up on her elbows, smiling down at you as you finally pull away from her, putting your soaked fingers in your mouth and sucking, tasting her once more.

"holy fuck, baby. you're gonna be the death of me," ellie teases breathlessly. "now get your ass up here so i can return the favor."

you obey, climbing up into her lap. she smirks knowingly when she feels the wet fabric of your sleep shorts touch her thigh. her hands find the hem of your tank top, meeting your eyes for permission before slowly pulling the clothing off of you. she gasps when she sees that her suspicions were correct.

adorning your pretty puffy nipples are cute heart-shaped nipple piercings. her mouth gapes wordlessly, and you start to get worried at her silence.

"do you not like them?"

"oh my god, no, baby, i love them, i'm just speechless because they're so fucking pretty."

"oh," you giggle at her astonishment. "do you wanna suck on them?"

ellie doesn't even answer you before her mouth is latching onto your left tit, bringing her hand up to circle and pinch your right nipple as her tongue starts to flick deliciously and she starts to suck lightly.

you moan and gasp at every suck and lick, the pleasure almost overwhelming on your sensitive nipples. you grab ellie's hair harshly, pulling her hair impossibly closer, and feeling yourself soak your shorts even more when ellie moans at your roughness.

you start grinding yourself on ellie's thigh, seeking pleasure and relief from the wet mess that is now between your legs. "ellie…mmmf….need your fingers baby."

only continuing to worship your tits, ellie takes her free hand and snakes it down into your pants, moaning when she feels how you've dripping down your inner thighs. she circles your clit lightly before finding your hole and sliding two fingers in. her fingers move slowly, as she wants to savor the moment and the feeling of your puffy nipples in her mouth.

she continues alternating between your tits, making them shine in the light from all her spit. you move your hips to the rhythm of ellie's fingers, fucking them deeper into you. ellie is relentless on your tits, absolutely fixated on them as well as the feeling of your dripping and clenching pussy on her fingers.

you moans start to get louder as you let our desperate pleas for your release, babbling incoherently.

"ellie, please let me cum, oh god i just wanna cum."

ellie detaches from your nipple for just a few seconds to answer you, "cum for me baby, never said you couldn't."

and so you do, feeling your release drip all over ellie's hand as she enjoys the last few moments of her mouth on your tits, sucking on them through the waves of your orgasm before finally moving away, not wanting to painfully overstimulate you.

you're both speechless, just enjoying the bliss of your orgasms that is heightened by the few hits you took earlier.

"wow," you say, your thoughts too flighty to think of a more coherent statement.

"yeah, wow." ellie agrees.

wordlessly, she kisses your forehead and moves to place you down on the bed. she grabs washcloths and clean clothes from your bunk, cleaning you and herself up, wiping away all the sweat and cum. she helps you into your new clothes, and she dresses herself in comfortable sweats before moving to lay down next to you.

your mind is now clear of the fog from your orgasm, but the exhaustion has finally hit you, and you feel yourself drifting off as ellie pulls you into her muscular arms.

"love you els"

"love you more than you'll ever know, baby"

1 YEAR LATER ...

"thank you so much madison square garden, you've been amazing! have a great night, we love you new york!!" you call out in the roaring crowd, signaling the end of your show as you make your way off stage, ellie and dina in tow.

you enter the green room, in disbelief and still riding the high of the show as you're met with the sight of your opening acts relaxing and enjoying the refreshments and peace of backstage.

"holy fuck babe, i can't believe we just played the garden!!" ellie comes up behind you, scooping you up in her arms and kissing you passionately.

"i know els!! i'm so proud of us!!"

"get a room you two," dina grumbles, making you roll your eyes playfully.

"babe? that's a surprise," a voice calls from the other side of the room. your head whips around to find it belongs to the lead singer of the first opening act for your show.

"excuse me?" you ask, your tone clearly full of annoyance and surprise.

"well, sorry, just never thought that either of you sluts would commit to a chick," he comments, smiling devilishly at your surprised look.

"what the actual fuck is your problem dude?" ellie shouts, before you can even think of a response.

"in my book, once a slut, always a slut," he taunts, causing a small chorus of laughter among his bandmates.

you and ellie move in sync towards the man, but a flash of dark brown hair is faster. dina steps in front of the man, winds up, and punches him clean in the nose, causing him to stumble backwards and fall as he trips over his own feet.

you and ellie stare in shock at dina's actions.

"i'd suggest you get the fuck out of here," dina says, seething. the band members quickly scramble to the feet before practically sprinting out of the room. "oh, and you're never opening for us again, you sick fucks!"

dina smiles as they exit the room, before turning to you and ellie as you're both still frozen in shock.

"what? no one messes with my favorite couple."

<3 <3 <3

hope y'all liked this!! i honestly love the rockstar au and i'm totally willing to do more fics and drabbles with these characters!! send me some asks if y'all want more :)

[daydream-cement]

The Neighbor Lady Ch. 3

Larissa Weems x Reader

Authors Note: The final part! Thank you for all the support for the series and a huge thank you to @bri-sonat for your help with this chapter!

“I have to go.” You tore your wrist from Larissa’s grasp, pushed past Luci and Em, and rushed down the stairs of her porch. 

As you sped back to your home, you watched your husband pacing back and forth on your own porch. You caught his gaze as you approached, the rage radiated from him. You stopped at the bottom of the stairs, too scared to move any further. His glare combined with the way his lip curled told you how disgusted he was with you. 

“Get in the house,” he growled and pointed towards the front door of the cabin.

You bit your upper lip and sent your gaze to the wood floorboards of the porch. Trudging up the stairs, you chose not to look at him, not wanting to anger him any further. He moved swiftly to open the screen door and, once you were in reach, he seized your upper arm and sent you stumbling into the cabin. He followed you in, the screen door slamming behind himself.

Larissa had been watching this from afar, her own rage beginning to boil. 

He maintained his grip on your arm, causing you to whine in pain. He finally released you when he shoved you towards the couch, “An affair? Really?"

His questions were rhetorical, this you knew. You took a seat on the couch and began staring down at your hands, readying yourself for the tongue lashing to come. He began to pace in front of you, his hands gesturing wildly as he ranted and raved. 

“I’ve fucked all my secretaries and I’ve kept it hidden. You could have at least done the decent thing and tried to keep it secret, but no.” The revelation shouldn’t have been a shock to you. The marriage had been loveless for years, but you couldn’t deny that hearing it aloud stung. His voice turned to a growl when he stopped his pacing and stared you down, “No! You had to make a huge fucking messy display of it all.”

“I didn’t-” You begin, hoping to defend your relationship with Larissa.

He was quick to cut you off. He was so angry. You watched his face turn bright red and he spat as he screamed, “I didn’t say you could speak! I won’t let you tarnish my reputation!” 

You felt sick to your stomach with embarrassment and guilt. Tears were beginning to prick at the corner of your eyes. For the first time in your life, you could say that you truly despised this man. Before you felt a mild apathy towards him, but the way he screamed at you turned any neutral emotions negative.

“You know what they are going to say? He couldn’t pleasure his wife so she switched sides.” He laughed, almost as if he was mocking your sexuality, but you knew he wasn’t upset with you being with a woman. It was all about him and the image you cast upon him. While you loved Larissa deeply and felt no shame for this, he knew where to strike you where it hurt the most. “You’re a goddamn embarrassment. You would be nothing without me.”

The screen door creaked open causing both you and your husband's gaze to turn at the intruder. Larissa. Her expression was deadly, almost as if she was considering the millions of ways she could kill your husband. 

“Well at least she isn’t ugly. Bit too tall though.” Your husband scoffed, earning a disgusted eye-roll from Larissa. 

She gave him a side glance before turning her eyes to you. Larissa raised her chin and adjusted her posture, wanting your husband to feel inferior, “Collect your things, darling.”

“You think she is going with you?” Your husband didn’t seem to be intimidated by Larissa, but his words elicited no emotional response from her. Rather, she took another step forward into the home and stared down at him apathetically. Your husband turned his gaze from Larissa back to you, “I’ve already done damage control. You aren’t going anywhere.”

You felt frozen in place. You wanted to go with Larissa, but your husband’s rage from earlier made you nervous of what he might do. He had never raised a hand to you before, but then again, you had never cheated on him before. 

“I think she is perfectly capable of making that decision herself. You truly have no say in what she does.” Larissa was calm and collected, her words so matter-of-fact. You look back and forth between them, knowing whatever happened next was based solely off your actions. 

There was no future with him. 

Larissa. It had to be Larissa. She made you feel alive.  

You clenched your fists, watching them open and close. With a deep breath, you twisted your wedding ring off your finger, tossing it on the coffee table before you. Larissa couldn’t hide her satisfied smile as the ring clinked across the wood, knowing you had chosen her over him. 

“If you leave me, you will have nothing. You won’t see a cent.” Your husband was begging you to stay in his own horrible way. Slowly you stood from your place on the couch, breathing in deeply to gather yourself. You ball your hands into fists again so he couldn’t see the way your hands shook.

“Okay.” You only shrug, offering a light smile. Once the ring was off your finger it felt like a weight had been lifted. You felt as if you could breathe again.

“You- I- How could-” Your husband wasn’t expecting your reaction. He was struggling to come up with reasons why you needed to stay. You weren’t listening either way. Your eyes were focused on Larissa and the way her red lips curled into a smile. 

“Pack up your things, darling. I’ll wait right here.” Larissa was speaking to you, but she side-eyed your husband, making it clear she wasn’t leaving the home without you. 

You turn on your heels and head to your back bedroom where most of your belongings were. Quickly, you pull your suitcase from the closet, tossing it on the bed, and leaving it wide open for you to shove most of your belongings. Rather than fold anything nicely, you pull your clothes from the closet in large groups, pushing them into the suitcase haphazardly. All of them could be refolded later.

You pull your clothes from the dresser drawers, tossing them into the suitcase, not wanting to waste a second more in this hellish cabin. Next you rush to push all of your toiletries into a separate bag. You left behind some of the clothing that belonged to your husband along with the dresses he would ask you to wear for work parties. You did take the jewelry he had given you for different birthdays and anniversaries, knowing it could come in handy to start a bank account of your own.

Once you were sure you had everything from the bedroom, you stacked the toiletry bag on the top of the suitcase and pulled it behind you into the living room, knowing the last thing to grab would be your purse. Larissa remained standing in the exact same spot, her hands laced in front of her. Your (soon to be ex) husband was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. 

You almost felt sorry for him, knowing his future would only be loveless marriage after loveless marriage. He was too self-absorbed for anyone else to matter. 

You pull your suitcase behind you until you stand by Larissa. She placed a hand on your back, looking down at you with concerned eyes, “Do you have everything, darling?”

“I need to get my purse from-” You feel something grab at your hand, stopping your sentence short. You look down to see your husband leaning over the arm of the couch, clutching your hand in desperation.

He sounded as if he was crying, but you knew the tears were fraudulent, “You can’t leave me. Don’t do this... Please, don’t do this.”

You clench your jaw and crinkle your nose at his pathetic behavior. You had never seen him behave like this before. Knowing you have the opportunity to truly cut deep with your words, you choose them wisely, “I have to, dear... After all, I don’t want to tarnish your reputation.” 

You pull your hand from his grasp with a defiant lift of your chin. Larissa smiled at you, baring her teeth as she found your response to be witty and quite ruthless. You turn away from both of them to grab your purse from the dining room table. While you fetched your purse, Larissa took your suitcase by the handle, moving it away from your husband who was beginning to sob in a dramatic fashion.

With your purse on your arm, you approach Larissa once more. She raised a hand to your face, fingers dancing over your forehead to tuck hair behind your ear, “Ready to go?”

You gaze up at her with a smile, giving her a nod. Larissa’s hand rests on your cheek for a moment, “Go ahead. I’ll get your bag.”

As you step out of the cabin, you take a deep breath, savoring the feeling of being freed of your marriage. You continue down the steps, ignoring the sound of your husband begging for you to stay. The whole while, Larissa couldn’t deny her elation at the thought of spending life with you completely uninhibited by your relationship with another person.

Larissa lifted your suitcase by the side handle and began carrying it towards her car. You follow along beside her, opening the side door for her to place your bag in the back seat, “We are going to put your bags in my car. I’ll pack my things and then we can take you home.” 

“Home?” You question, immediately thinking back to the home that you shared with your husband. You were disappointed with the thought of returning there, but hopefully she meant only to grab more of your belongings. 

“Yes, back to our home in Vermont.” Her clarification caused your heart to swell in your chest. She was taking you back to her home. The thought of her referring to it as ‘our home’ made you blush wildly. Larissa didn’t seem to think her words were as big of a deal as you did. She packed your suitcase and toiletry bag into the backseat. 

Shutting the back door, Larissa took you by the hand and pulled you behind herself, up the stairs to her own cabin. Once she had you inside, her hands were on the sides of your face, pulling you into a searing kiss. You reached upwards and held her face in return, hungrily accepting the intimacy. 

Larissa parted the kiss, a breathy laugh escaped her lips as she saw your eyes begin to water. You couldn’t help yourself. You couldn’t deny how happy you were at that moment. You couldn't deny how happy you were to be with her. 

“My girl. My darling girl.” Larissa pressed kiss after kiss over your cheeks, forehead, and nose. Then she wrapped you into another hug, squeezing you so tight you feared that you may not be able to breathe. Moments passed you by, Larissa alternating between kissing you, leaving little pecks all over your face, and squeezing you tight. She wasn’t about to hide the joy she felt for you choosing her. 

When she finally felt like she had displayed her love adequately, she pulled away from you, holding you by your shoulders, “I’ll get packed up and then we can be on our way.”

Larissa packed up her belongings quicker than you had. She saved most of her time by originally not taking most of her clothes from her suitcase. You lended a helping hand, carrying her things to the car when she asked. On your last trip, you gazed back at the house where you left your husband and he was now sitting on the front steps, watching you grievously from the front steps. 

You turn your back from him and watch Larissa carry out the last of her belongings. She ended up shoving the two toiletry bags in the trunk and slamming the trunk shut to make sure it closed. Larissa spinned to face you, her arm traveling around your waist, “Ready?”

“Let’s go home.” You say with a playful shove, breaking away from her so you could jump in the passenger seat. You give your husband a final glance before slipping into the front seat. Larissa pulled out from the driveway and you gazed out of the window, lifting a hand to wave at Luci and Em as you passed them by. Both of them wore a grin, not shocked by the path you chose. 

The drive was a few hours long. You chatted for about half of the drive and enjoyed the rest in a comfortable silence. 

Larissa spoke up as you turned down a long road that wound through the woods, “We are almost there...”

As Larissa drove you through the front gates, you leaned forward to stare up at the gothic building through the front windshield. The structure looked extraordinary and you couldn’t imagine the secrets it held inside. Gargoyles protected the building from the roof and whilst intimidating, you truly thought you could learn to call this place home.

“It’s beautiful...” Your voice was hushed, awe keeping your volume from increasing. 

Larissa smiled widely at your enamored reaction. She was hoping you would love her home as much as she did. She spoke softly, holding so much pride in her voice, “Welcome to Nevermore.”

-----

Your eyes parted slowly, the gentle early morning light had pulled you from your slumber. The form of another human is pressed to your side, their hot breath against your neck and legs tangled with yours. You turn your head, feeling their forehead under your chin, and gaze through your eyelashes to see Larissa’s white hair messy from sleep. 

Breathing deeply, you inhaled the citrusy, floral scent that lingered about her. You turn into her embrace, trying to snuggle even closer to her almost wishing you could be under her skin. You felt such a deep, impassioned love for her that you couldn’t bear to be away from her for a moment longer. 

This was the first morning you had ever gotten to wake up in her embrace, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

[silver-dragonborn]

Draft: Right Hook

please do not repost or reblog

This is just a little something I concocted because I wanted to write Rhaenyra going absolutely feral and snapping. I'll probably have the final version done by next week.

Rhaenyra did not hesitate under the shadow of the dagger and punched Alicent on an instinct with her right hand (just like how Daemon taught her), gasped as her knuckles jarred against the Queen's delicately soft cheek, and sent a jolt of pain to her shoulder. Chaos erupted as Alicent collapsed in a heap of green skirts with a squeal, dagger clattering, and hair twisting across her cheek now bloodied by the full set of rings on Rhaenyra's fingers. Alicent looked up at Rhaenyra in a daze, blood leaking from her nose and her split lip, and for an instant, she had this strange expression. Hurt, yes. Angry, of course. But more afraid than either one. Like the look Rhaenyra had herself, maybe, when that horrid woman had commanded that Joffrey be brought to her.

"RHAENYRA!" Viserys was roaring now, face red, eyes bulging with outrage, but Rhaenyra was miles away, eyes never leaving Alicent's, she bent down and slowly picked up the dagger, fingers curling around the hilt. Hard. "No, father," she said, her tone an eerie calmness that cut through the chaos. "She attacked me, your heir, with a knife and I was given no choice, but to defend myself and my sons." Alicent was trembling now, the bloody smear Rhaenyra's rings left behind now fully bleeding. 'It will scar,' she thought distantly feeling a curl of satisfaction in her gut. 'Was this how Alicent felt when she insulted me again, and again within the walls of my own home?'

Rhaenyra's eyes slowly slid across the stunned faces of her father's Kingsguard, taking note of their reactions before stopping on Aegon himself, face pale and trembling. It was time to put an end to this. "You have a choice, brother. Family," she pointed to herself, "Or treason," Rhaenyra pointed the blade's tip at the fallen Queen who was still too stunned to scream and demand punishment. They were Ladies of King Viserys' court and Ladies did not fly at each other with knives or throw punches like brawling soldiers, but it would seem Driftmark had unpeeled the hidden layers of the Hightower's savagery and Rhaenyra's carefully hidden fire.

"Viserys, please, our children," Alicent bleated, but Rhaenyra would not be swayed by her tears. Even the most pitiable posed a threat and her old friend had proven time and time again that she would not stop until House Targaryen was torn apart.

"Family or Treason. Choose now, little brother."

"I-I.."

"CHOOSE!!"

Whether it was the realization that his mother had gone too far or the unnatural fire in his sister's eyes, Aegon practically scrambled to Rhaenyra's side and pointed a finger at Alicent, shrieking, "It was her! She spread the rumors! She and Ser Criston! It was them! It was them! They wanted to make me King! Her and Grandfather! They committed treason! It was them!"

Visery's cane clattered, Otto swayed and Alicent wailed.

It would be a long night indeed.

[sinner-sunflower]

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 7/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22, PART 23, PART 24, PART 25, PART 26

Thank you for everyone giving their thoughts in my dms as well as reblogging and liking each chapter!

Italics are flashbacks and I'm sure you can tell which ones haha

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Lucifer doesn't go back to the hotel right away. Instead, he opened a portal to the Palace. The place is as barren as the day his wife and daughter left, no servants, not a single soul except his.

He wondered why they even built something this big. He thinks it's probably because of Charlie and their need to give her a sanctuary that's untouched by Hell but him and Lilith weren't even planning a child when this was first proposed.

Lilith: You need a palace! Fit for a king!

Lucifer: I don't feel like a king, Lily. Besides, we're just two people. I feel like we won't even see each other with all this space.

Lilith: My love, it is only a matter of time before human souls arrive and we must establish our authority the moment they step foot in Hell. No king should mingle with the commoners. You are no human, you are an angel! A being so divine that you must stay untouchable.

Lucifer: But I don't want that, honey. I'm no angel, not anymore and this isn't my kingdom, it's my punishment.

Lilith: Then we make it one.

Right. It was Lilith.

He guesses it was fitting for her. All her life, she was told to basically be a servant for Adam. And when the opportunity of being something higher arose, she took it. Who was he to deny her of her newly found purpose?

Lucifer never wanted to be King but his wife was right, someone has to keep the sinner souls in check. That's his only reason and definitely not because of the guilt eating him alive every second of every day.

Keekee meows at his feet, demanding pets. He smiles at the cat, moving to bend down and giving in to her requests.

Lucifer: Sorry I had to cut the meeting short. I got pretty angry there didn't I? I don't even know why...

Keekee meows in response, head nuzzling his hands. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she's understanding but also berating him.

Lucifer: Yes yes. Your wish is my command.

Michael had done one thing right and that's gifting him Keekee. He may have been the angel of creation but back then, he wasn't powerful enough to magically summon the materials needed to build the Palace out of thin air.

Whether it was because his guilt or some other reason, Michael sent down the one-eyed cat their way. Not necessarily delivering it himself but there was a note that indicated it was from his brother.

Lilith was understandably apprehensive at first but grew to love the cat (Keekee! Cause she turns into a key, my love!) overtime.

He stands up and makes his way further inside his house. Not home. It hasn't felt like a home for a long, long time.

Stopping at the end of the hallway to a dead end, he addresses his companion once more.

Lucifer: Would you mind opening the garden, Keekee?

Without hesitation, the cat jumped morphed through the wall. Not a second later, the wall glowed with an almost Heaven-like pattern, runes moving to unlock a door that was never there.

Lucifer felt a breeze hit him as the door opened like an old friend greeting you with a kiss.

It's the one place in the Palace that he, Lilith, and young Charlie used to spend time on. A place that's made to be a total contrast of Hell's red and chaotic environment. A place where they can pretend to be okay, to feel like a normal family. A place that can rival the original made by his Father.

His own little Garden of Eden.

With Lilith's help, they managed to copy Eden from the unique clouds to the flow of the stream. He remembers almost crying when they looked at it finished for the first time.

Lilith: It looks just like home, Lucifer.

Lucifer: Yeah. It does.

And when the exterminations started, it was where they take Charlie to keep her safe.

Didn't last long anyway. They were all taking a nap one day but then Charlie found a way out and saw her first demon killed by an exorcist blade.

'It all went downhill from there.'

Keekee must be irritated with him zoning out because she scratches his leg to get him back to reality. He laughs at her attempt to pull him inside.

Lucifer: Sorry, sorry! I'm coming, I'm coming.

The cat pulls him to his usual spot under the tree with the flower bed. He picks up Keekee as he sits.

Lucifer: Why don't you go and tell Charlie or Al that I'm back? Tell them I'm just exhausted and that I'll talk to them after resting.

Another meow.

Lucifer: Okay... but only Charlie can come here if she asks where I am.

After licking his face, Keekee bounced off out the door back to the hotel.

As Lucifer drifts off to sleepyland in the comfortable bed of grass, surrounded by flowers and peace, he pats his jacket for a specific pocket containing something that he never got rid off. When he finds what he's looking for, he holds is up to the sky, blocking the artificial sun of not-Eden. A piece of paper that, though he may never admit out loud, gave him just a little bit enough will to continue and live.

He holds the paper to his heart as his eyes flutter shut and dreams of ducks.

'Thrive, Samael.'

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the note and keekee are from Michael!