#and dare I say it's one the best books of this series...

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Boyfriend Era is a Go

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

NOV 2024 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) ep 9 of 12 - I have to say it, the heist stuff is stupid and all the sidekicks are idiots to the point of annoyance. But Yin and War are truly stellar at these parts. And in general in these roles. Can’t knock 'em. It’s been a year of some very good kisses and this has to have been the best. So this show is top of the standings this week for that kiss alone. Like srs boys? I mean to say, BOYS! How dare. Breaking the internet like that.

Honestly, let's be clear, these two have had killer chemistry since the En of Love and we all expected great things. And now, here we sit, suffering great things from these kings. Thank you, Sirs, may we have another?

Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sun iQIYI) ep 8 of 15 - I'm chronicling my experience with 2024 as compared to 2014 here. The Per Win story arc never interested me in 2014 and I’m not enjoying it now either. But Mick and Ohm are better in 2024. Nong Mick is a standout character, and a brilliant glow up in this version and he’s a confident little shit (affectionate). The mains are good too, but Phun and Noh always were great characters, and these actors are quite good. Possibly better than the original. 

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 10 of 12 - More bf era delightful diabetes. They are the best boyfriends and the cutest family in the entire world. No exceptions. Next week is definitely doom tho. 

Every You Every Me (Thai Mon Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - Talk about making consent and communication sexy! *fans self* Whoah! That was unexpectedly great. The blatancy of the lust in this one was fun too. And the general casual switch nature of the relationship = delightful.

I like the little acting course we're getting from these tw. They are both quite good. I’m not sure I really enjoy the stories that they’re telling, but I do like how they are telling them.

Fourever You (Thai Thurs YT) ep 6 of 16 - Hill is the premier torch carrier of this year. My goodness. He sure nursed that crush. While I really like this main couple, I’m happy to have some of the others start to creep into the narrative at this juncture. Alone HillTer are a bit intentionally miscommunicative and saccharine. But the screen-time distribution amongst couples seems a little strange. That said, couple 2? No thank you. I really don't like North as a character at all. I find him incredibly unappealing. Ordinarily I'd be on his side because....... blackmail trope renders Johan automatically a complete arse. But at least this is 2 unlikable characters being jerks to each other?

Perfect 10 Liners (Thai Sun YouTube?) ep 2 of 24 - Say it with me Thailand: negging is NOT romantic. Frankly, Arc is just an asshole and a bully with anger issues. But…… Yay cute sides! PondSand they funny. (Book, to me = never very funny. I don’t think comedy is his bailiwick. Look, comedy is HARD ya’ll and usually not in that way.) 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Our Youth AKA Miseinen: Mijukuna Oretachi wa Bukiyo ni Shinkochu (Japan Tues Gaga) ep 1 of 11 - They’re doing some interesting stuff with the framing (both filming style and narrative) that makes this extremely old-fashioned feeling (like Takumi-kun level). I keep saying that this year, but it feels like BL is doing a lot of rediscovering its roots right now. This one even had a goldfish. And abuse. (The two, oddly, often go hand-in-hand in JBL ) And overall...... it’s a bit weird. Which I don’t mind from Japan. Japanese BL can get weird in a good way. Oh I like it. Bully meats smart loaner, total opposites attract, both are lonely and broken and NEED each other, and all that.

See Your Love (Taiwan Weds Gaga) ep 4 of 13 - Oh dear, our poor little rich boy is very broken indeed. The sides are utterly ridiculous.

My Damn Business (Korea Sat YT) eps 6 of 7 - I don’t normally like a love triangle, but I kind of like this one since it gave our uke a bit more depth and agency. And charm, quite frankly. So far he’s been a very dower character.

Eccentric Romance (Korea Weds Viki) eps 9-10 of 12 - Okay boyfriend era is a go. Goodness but they sure are adorable. 

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 7 of ? - The slow burn is really very slow. To the point of frustration. But I'm still enjoying the show, just not as much as I was.

Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 8 of 10 eps - Even Japan is going through a bf era rn I see. How unusual.

Love in the Air: Koi no Yokan (Japan Sat Gaga) ep 2 of 10 - I’m slightly less annoyed by this one than the original (but I was VERY annoyed by that). I think mame is being tempered by a few things:

There’s so much less time spent on the back-and-forth, because this is a much shorter show, so I have less time to be frustrated by it and the utter uselessness of 75% of these characters.

Also, there's that innate Japanese awkwardness of portrayal & social interaction, which makes the unpleasantness of the characters' behavior and touch more understandable.

This, in turn, is married to the natural kink factor of JBL.

There’s a clearer Dom sub from the get go with this version, makes the blackmailing a little bit more tolerable because it's clearly Play. (negotiated or not) Simply put, daddy wants his brat to beg. And honestly? So say we all.

On a completely different note, the wardrobe for this show is terrible. Like truly bad BAD.

Blue Canvas of Youthful Days (China Sun iQIYI) eps 3-4 - Well I guess that’s that disability dealt with. Meanwhile, competitive bullying art students? I am very amused. Zoo date was cute. This is unquestionably a BL (I’m even more scared now). Still, the gay boys dealing with the straight dude’s crush was truly hilarious. So much "our gay drama doesn’t have time for your het bullshit." Classy move, I smell some Taiwan in this show.

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo (Korea Thurs Gaga) eps 4-8 end - I was reliably informed this has an HFN end so I decided to watch. Noble and self sacrificing with both of them taking the blame.

My thoughts are...... mixed.

High school student Do Hoe lives with his brutal father who runs a Taekwondo gym. When cheerful Ju Young arrives to train, they fall in love. An unexpected incident forces them apart, they reunite over a decade years later. Essentially this is a brilliant narrative about finding love at the worst possible time, surviving chronic abuse, and the way we process mental, emotional, and physical trauma overtime. Yes it’s also a romance, but that’s not primarily what this story is actually about. I can recognize its genius, but this type of narrative is not for me. I’m reminded of bittersweet painful shows like To My Star 2, or The On1y One, or even Not Me. Is this BL tangential or is it some other genre entirely? Am I questioning my own taste because I did not like its content, or because I do not like its genre? And if it’s not BL should I even render judgment? I think I have to lean into the way I approached some of those other shows, which is to say: it is not for me but I recognize that it is of an extremely high-quality that is certainly for someone else.

Recommended, but only if you like masochistic cinema. Under those circumstances 9/10

(but know that if i were rating for my personal taste? 7/10 I’m never re-watching this, and there is a small part of me that wishes I never had) 

It's airing but......

Love for Loves Sake got some kind of special supposed to air 11/9. Not sure what, why, or where. Only the rumor that it...... is. I'll believe it when I see it...... literally.

The Hidden Moon (Sat WeTV) 10 eps - I've been reliably told not to bother, so I won't.

Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) 10 eps - I DNF'd at ep 7, I couldn't make it. I am weak. Life is hard enough right now, this show is making it harder. It’s not what I want from my entertainment.

Bad to Bed (Taiwan Sat YouTube) 10 eps - This is a little too low production value even for me. And just very very odd. DNF

In case you missed it

Uncle Unknown finished its run on YT. Censored Chinese BL with paralytically bad production levels. But certainly BL. Boys reunite after a break up only to discover one of them is the step-Uncle of the other. Much to my own shock and surprise I watched all 12 episodes of this. Fortunately, each episode is about 5 minutes long. Under those circumstances is it worth it? Maybe. It’s bad. But not offensive. So that's a win. And you know me, I love a weird take on the stepbrother’s trope and incest taboos. 5/20 watch it only if you have nothing better to do

Next Week Looks Like This:

Gosh there's a lot on right now.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

November BL:

11/15 Caged Again (Thai Fri Gaga) 10 eps - Penguin escapes zoo by turning into a human. Gets trapped again and a panther falls in love with him.

11/17 Your Sky (Thai Sun iQIYI) 12 eps - A naive freshman and the campus’s popular senior agree to pretend to be a couple - but their fake deal begins to generate real feelings.

11/20 Winter Is Not The Death of Summer (Thai Weds YT) ?? eps - Criminals who meet in prison fall in love

11/20 The Heart Killers (Thai Weds YT iQIYI) 12 eps - Jojo directs FirstKhao & JoongDunk in an action romcom about assassin brothers (Khao & Joong) who meet a tattoo artist ex-booster (First) and a mechanic (Dunk). I'm highly amused that Joong plays the older brother to Khao and that we have a take on the Taming of the ShrewBL. I like that everyone is morally gray. This has all GMMTV's best chemistry in one BL and some fresh concepts that I've only seen tackled in m/m romance novels (check out Amy Lane's Racing for the Sun, thank me later). I'm excited. My only quibble is Jojo, I like his style but his characters can get unreliably messy so…... this gonna be interesting.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

The insane level of his babygirl heart eyes.

Just, have mercy.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[romanticatheartt]

I'll never understand the hate toward acofas...

[shycoconutt]

Life changed a lot after Nanami Kento came into it.

Nights alone in your apartment feasting on cup ramen with microwaved broccoli (for your health obviously), turned into homemade dinners under candlelight. The long ride to work in the back of an Uber turned into riding in the passenger seat of Nanami’s luxury car, hands intertwined over the middle console. Quick showers turned into long, steaming baths with essential oils. Winding down from a long day turned from nights out at the bar to nights in under the covers while he softly reads to you.

“Darling, hey, wake up,” you hear Nanami whisper in your ear as you feel your shoulders shake lightly. You groan in protest, not wanting to be broken away from the warmth and smell of him all around you.

“I know, I know,” he softly chuckles, “but we need to get ready for bed properly.”

You nuzzle into his side more and wrap your arms around him. Squeezing him slightly, you take one long, dramatic inhale of his scent in the crook of his neck, fluttering your eyelashes to give him butterfly kisses.

“What are you doing?,” he laughs, “It tickles!”

“Just taking some for the road,” you smile into his skin.

“You’re such a dork.”

With Nanami, everything always seems to be taken care of. There is no need to over-extend your brain power, because once a thought or worry passes through, you know it’s been meticulously mulled over by your other half.

Your appointments are scheduled and on the calendar. Your laundry is clean and neatly put away in the proper place. Your memories and photos are filed and categorized, with some of your favorites even framed and displayed in your home and offices. Your books, CDs and other media are sorted alphabetically in pristine condition.

“But wouldn’t it be cool if they were categorized by, I dunno, color? We could make a rainbow wall!” you suggest as you marvel at his work.

Nanami, who is currently kneeling on the floor putting the last of your books on the shelf, turns and gives you a disapproving glare, “Absolutely not. It would be a disservice to your collection.”

“A disservice to my collection?”

“What happens when a series contains books of all different colored covers? Am I supposed to just separate them?”

You blink.

“You’re right. I apologize for even suggesting something so foul.”

But, most importantly, over everything, your body, mind, and soul are finally at ease. Past anxieties rarely present themselves anymore, and, if they do, you never dwell. People say you’re glowing, and they aren’t wrong. Your skin is clear, your hair is shiny and smooth. Your favorite clothes fit a little better, and your shoes are always polished to look brand new.

“Nananmi Kento looks good on you, girl,” Shoko muses, watching you over her lunch in the breakroom.

You smirk, daring not to look across the table to conserve your blush, “Feels good too.”

“Gross!” 

You curl over in laughter as Shoko chucks a strawberry at your head.

All this and more, because Nanami cares, protects, cherishes, and respects you. He would never, ever in a million years try to hurt you in any way. He is honest and loyal, vowed by his duty to be a man. Ever since he was young, he put immense thought into its meaning, only to be confirmed by one look at you.

One look and he knew that you were the one he would spend the rest of his life with.

“I think I should take you out on a date, if you don’t mind of course,” Nanami stutters, gently pulling you aside after one of your meetings.

“You think we should date?” you question, head reeling.

“Yes,” he starts, “I think we’ve been friends for long enough and it’s time to move forward with our relationship.”

The disbelief you feel must be painted on your face because Nanami’s normally pale skin is flushed cherry red just looking at you.

“I mean, long term,” he’s babbling now, “I want to make you my wife. Well, I wanted you to be my wife from the beginning, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, but they always say the best relationships start from friendships, so I thought it would be best to take our time. Naturally, now is as good a time as any. We’re at good places in our careers, we already spend a lot of time together, our personalities mesh, and, I don’t mean to be coarse, but I think we’d look pretty good tog-"

Before your mind has a chance to catch up, you’re already cutting him off with a passionate kiss, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down close to you. After a beat, you feel Nanami’s broad, warm hands grab hold around your waist, pulling you to him. 

His lips feel so soft, and more plush than you anticipated. You part yours slightly in an invitation, and he’s quick to swipe his tongue against your bottom lip. You reciprocate and smile when you feel the vibrations of a small moan escape him.

You break the kiss first.

“I’d marry you yesterday if I could, Kento.”

Where he ebbs, you flow. With the few traits he lacks, you flourish. In social settings, you pick up when he doesn’t have the bandwidth to keep going. You can read his mind from his body language alone. You've shown him how to aim for the ideal, even when his pragmatic nature leads the way. You’ve taught him to slow down, even when life is relentlessly shoving him along.

“Kento, are you- are you crying?” you question in shock.

It’s difficult to process the information in front of you. You’re not seeing things, right? That’s definitely a tear falling down his cheek. Quickly, you bring your thumb to his face, swiping it away.

Catching your wrist, he brings your pulse point to his lips, giving you a small kiss there.

Here, feet in the white sand of the island of Redang, under the dark, starry sky, Kento goes down to kneel before you.

Recognizing the gesture, your heart swells and all the air leaves your lungs. Both your hands immediately cover your mouth, and the burn of tears forming ignites behind your eyes.

Through the blur, you see him smile. 

Regaining composure over your senses, you remind yourself to take everything in. The way his honey-brown eyes reflect the lights in the distance, the way his open collar ruffles in the breeze, the appearance of the new freckles from the Malaysian sun that decorate his exposed chest, how his unstyled, blonde hair moves freely, how one of his hands takes both of your own, while the other holds out a breathtakingly beautiful solitaire diamond ring.

Your eyes take him all in and land back on his face, one that displays the most loving, adoring expression you’ve ever received. 

“When you came into my life, everything changed. I knew, from that point forward, I would dedicate my existence to ensuring your happiness. Nothing matters to me more than seeing you smile. It gives me purpose—fills the air in my lungs. I have never, and will never need anything more.”

You watch the tears cascade down his cheeks, mirroring your own.

“Please do me the honor of marrying me and making you my wife.”

One second passes, and you squeal, “Yes!”

a/n: This was supposed to be smutty and turned into something fluffy. I can't help it! I just adore him so much. also, how do we feel about this format? I've never done something like this before!

[luludeluluramblings]

I’m the anon who sent the pregnant Reader ask! And omg Sugar Baby! Reader is such a delight. Imagine the absolute 😦😧😨 journey on Bruce’s face upon realizing this man who is closer to him in age, old enough to be his daughter’s dad not only MARRIED but had the audacity to knock her up to. I can see little menace Damian asking Husband plenty of indiscreet questions and being straight up rude. Bruce lets him, and he has plenty of questions for the husband, too. How dare he seduce Bruce’s young, impressionable and sheltered daughter, has he no shame?

And of course they offer for Reader and husband to stay at Wayne manor while she recovers. All the hotels in Gotham are suddenly booked so they have to stay over, right? Husband can go right back to work too, Reader will be fine with her family. And why don’t they look at midwives or some of the best hospitals in Gotham, consider giving birth here? Not that they all wouldn’t track the rest of her pregnancy and fly out when she gives birth, but it keeps things simpler.

The sad thing about this concept, fun as it is, it’s that the Batfam is absolutely going to ruin Reader’s relationship either by sabotaging her husband, his business, maybe plant cheating evidence for her to find like Meta! Reader’s prom date. Obviously they will all be there to help pick up the pieces and aid Reader in recovering as well as caring for the baby.

Bruce holding his grandchild and Damian as an uncle too! Wholesome despite the circumstances.

Adding to this and adding a slight NSFW warning for at the end!

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

See, I feel like the counter to this would be Husband having a begrudging Alfred in his corner. Like, Alfred isn’t happy about this guy being married to Reader. But, unfortunately, this is the healthiest relationship anyone in the family has ever been in and he doesn’t wanna ruin that for Reader.

Although, the petty passive aggressive bullshit Hubby’s gonna go through at the manor will probably escalate to the point of them sabotaging his business or making Hubby and Reader snap at the family together.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Reader’s not stupid enough to fall for planted cheating evidence. They know their husband (man’s too old to be trying that nonsense and they also take good care of him themselves.) Plus, they probably told Hubby about how neglected they were by their family. Hubby’s gonna be prepared mentally for the bullshit, even if it does eventually overwhelm him.

But, if you want angst, which I’m guessing you do. I’d say Hubby could tragically die. The family either went to far with the sabotage or an accident happened at work.

(Or, because the dude I imagined Hubby being is Philip Graves, he has to fake his death temporarily for work reasons. Oooo, hubby can grovel and show the Bat family how it’s done when he comes back.)

Either way, you have a distraught Reader. But, I would also add Reader has a difficult pregnancy . That’s why hubby was spoiling her so much.

Imagine the bat family dealing with a hormonal pregnant reader that blames them for their husband’s subsequent death while also being in pain?

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Also, if the family ended up insisting y’all stay at the manor you KNOW your husband would fuck you on every available surface without fucking care. He’d clean you and the place up right after, but everyone in that house would know how good he’d be dicking you down.

Alfred don’t care, he dealt with horny Bruce. Bruce, though, he just sit in his bed silently screaming in his own personal hell. Everyone else is traumatized. Especially when you be calling hubby daddy when he be hitting it just right.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

(I’m tagging this as SugarBaby!Reader and this is going to have to be a series at this point. One day, one day.)

[hoshifighting]

Hockey Captain!Reader x Nerd, Diner Owner!Seokmin

— Synopsis: You're the hockey captain at your university, rocking a cool leather jacket and cruising around in your dad's vintage car. Seokmin, on the other hand, is just a nerd from your Campus in a dirty shirt from washing dishes at his dad's diner—a spot you frequent for pre-game meals. — WC: 4.1k — WARNINGS: Emotional struggles, smut, fluff, fingering, penetrative sex, body fluids (cum), chocking, dirty talk, creampie.

[Issue Club Serie]

You arrive at the diner, and park your dad's old, sleek car in the garage out front. The familiar little bell above the door jingles as you step inside. The scent of greasy burgers and fries on the air.

Sliding onto a stool at the counter, you notice the middle-aged man behind it, drying a cup with a warm smile. His kind eyes crinkle at the corners, and you can't help but smile back.

"Hey there, Y/N," he greets you.

"Hey, Mr. Lee," you reply.

You take a moment to glance around the diner, absorbing the familiar sights and sounds. The jukebox in the corner plays a soft tune. your gaze lands on a table near the counter, where a familiar figure is hunched over a pile of biology books. 

"The usual?"

You nod, brushing your hair back.

Seokmin had noticed you the moment you walked in, Y/N, the hockey team captain from his campus. You, with your cool leather jacket adorned with silver details, and your dad’s vintage car. You walked confidently in your fine shoes, exuding an aura of confidence, making him feel small—like, really small. 

He kept his head down, trying to become invisible as he pretended to be deeply engrossed in his biology notes. The white shirt he wore still had faint smudges from washing dishes, and he felt a wave of embarrassment. He hoped you wouldn't notice him.

"Seokmin, can you serve Y/N a strawberry milkshake while I prepare her burger?" his father’s voice called out.

Seokmin's stomach dropped. He closed his eyes briefly, dreading your reaction. You always had that serious, kind of threatening look on your face. He was certain you would think he was a loser.

"Sure, Dad," he mumbled, making a beeline for the milkshake machine. He focused on the task, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. He felt your eyes on him, but he didn’t dare look up.

When the milkshake was ready, he placed it on the counter in front of you, his hand still holding the cup. He was about to retreat back to his table when he felt your hand on his, holding him in place.

"Oh, Seokmin! I didn't know you worked here!" you said with a smile.

Seeing you smile with a friendlier expression than when you are walking down the halls. It was something Seokmin rarely saw.

Seokmin stared at you in shock. You knew him?

"Uh, yeah, my dad owns this diner," he stuttered, feeling a flush creep up his neck.

"Really? Wow, that's so cool! Does that mean you get free strawberry milkshakes?" You took a sip, your eyes widening in delight.

"Kind of," he managed to say, still in disbelief that you were talking to him.

You peeked over at the table he was studying at. "What are you studying for?"

"Biology," he replied, feeling a bit more at ease.

"Hmm," you said thoughtfully, sipping your drink. "I saw your score on the last test. You're really good."

Seokmin's eyes widened. "You saw my score?"

"Yeah, it was impressive. Actually, I heard you were tutoring. Do you think you could tutor me?"

Seokmin blinked, momentarily speechless. "You want me to tutor you?"

"Yeah, if you have the time. I mean, you're one of the best in the class."

"Uh, sure, I can do that," he finally said.

Seokmin watched as you left the diner, your cool leather jacket catching the light as you waved. His heart did a little flip when he noticed the money and a note with your number under your plate: "Text me! :)". He glanced out the window just in time to see you accelerate the car away, leaving a faint smell of exhaust.

Seokmin always thought you were too intimidating, with your serious expression and occasional grumpiness. He never expected you to be this kind. 

He knew you frequented his father's diner but always avoided you, preferring the back where the employees smoked cigarettes. He hated the smell, but your presence scared him more. Yet today, you had been gentle, asking him for tutoring. It had almost made him drop his books.

The next day, Seokmin arrived at the library early, choosing a round table at the end of the hallway between two bookshelves. It felt strange, expecting to see someone like you in this academic setting. You, the intimidating captain of the hockey team, among the quiet, studious crowd.

He spent the whole night preparing the content, wanting to make sure he could teach you effectively. When you arrived, he was surprised at how attentive you were. Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, you took notes diligently as he explained the concepts and showed you images from the book.

Not that he expected you to be on your phone or filing your nails, but he wasn't used to this side of you. His only other memories of working with you were from a few group projects in your second year, and back then, you had always seemed distant and totally unapproachable.

you find yourself genuinely interested. Seokmin is a good teacher, his explanations clear and concise. You take notes, asking questions when something isn’t clear. You notice how passionate he is about the subject, his eyes lighting up when he talks about cellular structures and genetic coding.

"You’re really good at this," you say, interrupting his explanation.

Seokmin looks up, slightly startled. "Oh, thanks. I just really like biology."

"I can tell," you reply with a smile. "It’s nice to see someone so passionate about what they do."

Seokmin blushes slightly, looking down at his notes. "Well, I’m glad I can help you."

The session continues, and you realize that Seokmin is not just smart but also incredibly funny and patient. You find yourself relaxing, enjoying the time spent learning from him.

As the session ends, you gather your things, feeling a bit more confident about the upcoming test. "Thanks, Seokmin. I really appreciate this."

"No problem, Y/N. Anytime you need help, just let me know."

You give him a genuine smile. "I will. And hey, don’t be a stranger. I’ll be back at the diner soon."

[...]

You had two productive sessions with Seokmin, and the biology concepts were finally making sense. You felt confident that you would pass your upcoming test with flying colors. But then, something changed. Seokmin disappeared.

He had texted you to meet him at the library after his shift on Thursday. You arrived early, settled in, and waited. As the minutes ticked by, 7 p.m., 7:30 p.m., 8 p.m., there was no sign of him. You called him, sent messages, and even tried to focus on the content alone. Nothing.

"Hey, I'm waiting."

"Where r u?"

"Are you serious?"

"nvm, I'm going home."

"You at least should've told me you wouldn't come."

You walked back to your car, stomping your rage on the asphault. Friday came, then Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Seokmin's absence from college was unusual, and as the days passed, your anger shifted to worry.

Seokmin wasn’t the type to skip classes.

Determined to find out what happened, you headed to the only place you could think of—the diner. If Seokmin wasn’t there, at least you could talk to Mr. Lee.

As you approached the counter, you noticed a young boy in place of Mr. Lee or his wife. Confusion clouded your face as you walked up.

"Hi," you greeted, your voice tentative.

The boy looked up from the counter, giving you a polite smile. "Hi, what can I get for you today?"

"Actually, I was looking for Mr. Lee or... Seokmin," you said, your worry evident.

"Oh, they’re not working today, but I can serve you," he replied.

"Thank you, but I didn’t come here to eat. I’m worried about Seokmin. I haven’t seen him at college," you explained, hoping for some answers.

The attendant gave a sad smile, his expression softening.

Seokmin had been excited about your study sessions.

But life had a way of throwing curveballs. On Thursday, just as he was about to leave for the library, a family emergency struck. His father, Mr. Lee, had collapsed from exhaustion and had to be taken to the hospital. 

Between helping out at the diner and taking care of his father, Seokmin hadn't found a moment to breathe—let alone check his phone. He knew he was letting you down, but he didn't have the energy to reach out.

The guilt gnawed at him, especially knowing you were waiting for him at the library. He had been so excited to tutor you, to spend more time with you. But now, everything felt like it was falling apart. The texts from you kept popping up on his phone, but he couldn't bring himself to respond.

The young boy at the counter seemed to hesitate before speaking. "Mr. Lee... he’s in the hospital. Seokmin’s been with him."

Your heart sank. "Oh my God, is he okay?"

The boy nodded slowly. "He’s stable now, but it was a scare. Seokmin hasn’t left his side."

Guilt washed over you, replacing the worry. "I didn’t know. I’ve been sending him messages, but I had no idea."

The boy offered a reassuring smile. "I’m sure he appreciates your concern. If you want, I can give him a message."

"Yes, please," you said, scribbling a quick note. "Tell him I’m sorry for being upset and that I’m here if he needs anything."

Returning home for a brief moment to shower and change, Seokmin found the note you left at the diner. He felt a wave of relief. He texted you immediately:

"Hey, Y/N. I’m so sorry for disappearing. My dad was in the hospital. Thank you for understanding. Can we reschedule our session once things settle down?"

You text Seokmin back immediately, telling him not to worry about it. "When your dad gets well, we can continue. No rush." Seokmin responds quickly, "Thanks, but the exams are next week already."

You assure him that you can get by with what he’s already taught you.

When Seokmin finally returns to university, you make a point of asking how his dad is doing. Some of your friends tilt their heads in surprise at the sight of your smile. Seokmin, still feeling guilty about skipping your tutoring sessions, tries to teach you some things during shared classes. He’s pleasantly surprised by how quickly you grasp the material.

One thing that makes you feel a bit sad is how Seokmin hides everything. Despite his dad’s situation, he’s always there, cheering you and his friends on, looking like the happiest person in the world.

You’re surprised by how quickly he have broken through your icy exterior. You catch yourself laughing at his jokes or sharing subtle glances, trying to hold back your laughter when you both notice your funny teacher’s odd clothing choices. You can’t help but wonder how his demeanor changes when he faces his problems at home.

Today, your hands fumble with the edges of the paper from the test, determined to get a high score. The thought of making Seokmin proud crosses your mind. He’s taking the test in another classroom, and you’re anxious to meet him afterward.

When you leave the classroom, test paper in hand, you find Seokmin sitting on a bench outside. He’s holding his own test paper and looks up as you approach, a smile spreading across his face. You run to him.

"How much?" he asks, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"9.5 out of 10," you reply, grinning. "And you?"

"9.75 out of 10," he says, then adds excitedly, "And I have good news!"

Your eyes light up. "What is it?"

"My dad is already home!" he exclaims.

You feel so happy for him that when he suddenly hugs you tightly, you can’t help but hug him back. You both jump up and down in the middle of the hallway, laughing with joy. The teacher inside the classroom looks at you two, confused, through the window of the door.

For as much as you wanted to visit Mr. Lee, you decided to go home to give them family time, thinking about paying the visit another time.

The next day, before your hockey game, you pass by Seokmin’s dad’s diner. You’re so distracted by the upcoming game that you arrive at the counter, asking for the usual. The new guy with the notebook and pen in his hand looks at you confused.

Before you can speak, someone chimes in, "Her usual is burgers with fries and a strawberry milkshake." The attendant nods, and you widen your eyes.

"Mr. Lee? What are you doing here? You should be resting! You just left the hospital yesterday," you exclaim, approaching one of the tables where he’s seated.

"I know," Mr. Lee replies, "Seokmin and Mrs. Lee won’t let me work, so they made me sit here." He glances at them as they look at him from the kitchen.

You cross your arms, "As they should."

Mr. Lee smiles, "Why don’t you sit with me and keep me company?" You agree and sit down. Seokmin glances over from making your milkshake, surprised to see you sitting with his dad, smiling warmly.

When Seokmin approaches your table to serve you, he hears you mention how nervous you are about the game. "You’re going to do well, as always," he interjects.

"Do you think?" you ask, biting into your burger.

He hums in agreement, "You always do."

"Have you ever watched me before?" you tilt your head.

"Yeah... very often, even," Seokmin admits, sitting beside his dad, across from you.

"Oh, I never saw you there," you say, widening your eyes.

He laughs, "Maybe because you’re so focused on your game."

You blush, nodding, "Are you going to watch me today?"

"I have to work," he says, glancing at the clock showing 5:06 p.m.

Mr. Lee puts a hand on his shoulder, "The new employee is doing well. Go cheer for her."

"Really?" Seokmin asks, wide-eyed.

Mr. Lee nods, "But go take off that apron and freshen up. You’re not going to watch her smelling like fries, right?"

Seokmin runs to the back of the diner, and Mr. Lee just nods.

After finishing your lunch, you leave the diner—without paying since Mr. Lee insisted it was his treat so you could do well in the game. Seokmin is in your passenger seat as you drive to the campus.

He looks around the car, "Oh, your car really is all red inside. The rumors are true."

"Rumors about the inside of my car?" you ask, glancing at the road.

"The book club wouldn’t stop talking about it," he says, making you laugh as you arrive at the campus garage.

Your stomach churns with anxiety. Seokmin notices too. You take off your seatbelt and lay your head on the seat. "Fuck, I’m so nervous..."

Seokmin looks at you, "Wow... but you’re the captain. I thought—"

"I get nervous every single time before my games," you cut him off, nodding. "I just hide it in my car before all of them."

Seokmin fumbles with his fingers. You rub your face, trying to calm your nerves. Suddenly, Seokmin leans in and kisses your cheek. "You’re going to rock it," he says.

The sensation of his lips on your cheek puts you on alert. You turn to him slowly, his face still close to where he kissed you, so you’re millimeters apart. "Do it again," you whisper.

His eyes widen. "Here?" he asks, pointing to your lips.

You nod, closing your eyes. You hear him gulp, then he presses his lips to yours in a fast kiss. But you pull him by his collar, making it last longer. Your hands find his hair as you slide your tongue inside his mouth. Seokmin can taste the strawberry milkshake he’s so used to, sick of even, but it suddenly tastes new and special on your tongue.

If you knew Seokmin kissed this well, you would have kissed him during your first tutoring session. 

Your mouth seeks more of his kiss, and you have to leave your seat to sit on his lap, Seokmin gasping in surprise. You feel him melting in your hands as you lower your kisses to his neck. 

His hands squeeze your thighs, but you guide them to squeeze your ass through your game uniform shorts. He squeezes it, bringing you further on his lap, making you hump on his bulge, a whiny moan escaping your lips. As you repeat the motion, Seokmin’s perfect nose grazes your cheek as he moans. You’re sure that if you hump again, your shorts won’t hold your wetness anymore.

You glance at your watch. The game starts in 30 minutes. "We don’t have a lot of time," you mumble.

Seokmin gets the message. His hand slips inside your shorts and panties, fingers playing with your wet folds, making you flinch, a broke moan leaving your lips. Your head almost hits the car ceiling, and your hands clench his shirt. 

You expected him to suck a titty or something. But you are far from complaining about it.

He feels you clenching as he teases your sopping hole. He can’t help but slide a finger inside, your pussy swallowing his long finger as you moan all whiny in his ear. Seokmin’s eyes close in delight, and he slides another finger in just to hear you moan slyly in his ear. 

Despite your shorts muffling it, he can still hear the wet sounds your pussy makes as he slides his fingers in and out.

His fingers are so long, and you never thought fingers could make you break like this. Yours never did all of this. You feel a bit stupid for how loud you're moaning just from fingering. Your face hides in the crook of his neck as his fingers slide in and out fast, your body contorting above his.

Your moans grow louder. He tries to hold your hips still, but he fails. Your hips hump against his fingers as he closes his eyes to savor every second of your reactions. He can feel your juices drenching more of his hand, and your continuous moans turn into a silent gasp as you writhe.

You suddenly hold his forearm, moaning desperately, announcing, "I cummed... I cummed."

His hand slides out of your shorts, and you leave his neck to look at him and his glistening fingers. You hold his hand to your mouth, sucking his fingers just to give him a little show of how you would suck his cock. 

He moans, clearly affected by the sight.

"Let me take care of you too," you coo. Your fingers race to his belt and jeans, as Seokmin lowers his pants and underwear down his thighs. His cock slaps against his stomach, the head pink, almost red, with veins apparent as it stands proudly on his abdomen. You bite your lip at the view, salivating.

However, you are short on time, and the space is very limited. You can't even take your shorts off. You pull the mesh to the side with your panties, aligning his cock with your messy pussy. 

Seokmin rolls his eyes as you begin to slowly lower down. His cock is so long that you thought it would never bottom out, but when your pussy touches his pelvis, you sit down. Seokmin lets out a breath he had not realized he was holding.

You wanted to go slowly, but before you knew it, your hips were doing their own thing. The windows are becoming blurry, and whenever you rest your hand on them, you leave a handprint on the glass. Seokmin's face is contorted with pleasure and almost pain as he looks at you. His hand on your ass makes you push harder, while the other slides up your belly to your neck, choking you.

When he does, you gasp, your mind going numb as you concentrate solely on the sensation of his cock digging into you. 

When he stops choking you and caresses your neck as you breathe in again, you have a blissful view of him. His cheeks are flushed, his hair clings to his face, and he moans constantly, his cock twitching inside you. 

He occasionally checks the windows to see if anyone is in the garage, but it is located behind the campus and is completely empty. However, if anyone passes by your car, they may have a clear view of your captain's college jacket with your name on it, as you roll your hips nonstop on his destroyed form.

You grip the headrest behind Seokmin as you ride him, your moans filling the confined space of the car. The car windows are completely fogged up now, creating a humid cocoon around you both. You lean down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "You're so deep, Seokmin. I never knew you could fill me up like this."

Seokmin’s eyes flutter open, meeting yours, “You’re so tight, Y/N,” he groans, his voice shaky. “I can feel every inch of you squeezing me.”

You feel a surge of confidence at his words, your hips moving faster, the wet sounds of your connection filling the car. “Is this what you imagined when you watched me, Seokmin? Did you think about fucking me like this?”

He moans louder, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your movements. “Yes, I thought about it all the time. Watching you out there, so strong and confident… I wanted to see you like this, falling apart on my cock.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palms. “Well, now you have me. Do you like seeing me like this, Seokmin? Do you like making me cum?”

He nods, his face flushed and eyes dark with lust. Seokmin's cock moves deeper with every thrust of his hips as they rise to meet yours.  

"Oh, God, Seokmin," you gasp, your body trembling with the need for release. "I'm so close. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

His hand moves from your neck to your breast, squeezing and teasing your nipple through your shirt.

His fingers work magic, and you feel the coil tightening inside you. Your groans become frantic screams as every shove brings you closer to the brink. "Seokmin, I'm gonna— Oh fuuck!" Your tone falters. 

His voice strained with need, he begs, "Do it. Just do it, please."

Your orgasm crashes over you, causing your muscles to tighten and your head to tilt back. A loud moan escapes your lips. Seokmin follows you as your pussy clenches around him, his own climax striking him hard. He groans your name as he thrusts up into you one last time, spilling inside of you.

When you finally slide off Seokmin, your shorts snap back into place, trapping the warmth and wetness inside you. Both of you are sweaty and breathless, as if you'd just run a marathon. You dress quickly, trying to make yourselves presentable before leaving the car. Your hockey bag feels heavier than usual as you sling it over your shoulder and start towards the locker room.

Seokmin’s voice calls out behind you, “I’ll be at the grandstand!”

You stop in your tracks, turning back to him with a sudden impulse. His eyes widen, not knowing what to expect. You run back to him, grabbing his face and kissing him passionately. His hands instinctively grip your waist, pulling you closer.

When you finally pull away, you look into his eyes. He whispers, "Good luck," before giving you a soft peck on the lips.

You rush to the locker room, parting ways with him, but the feel of his touch lingers on your skin. As you arrive, your friends ask where you’ve been, and you mumble a quick excuse, your mind still racing.

The game starts, and the crowd’s cheers are deafening, but your focus is on Seokmin, standing out in the grandstand with a smile that lights up the entire field. You feel his support like a warm embrace, grounding you in the moment.

The game is intense, your adrenaline pumping as you skate with a renewed sense of purpose. Each play, each pass, each shot—everything feels sharper, more precise. Seokmin’s presence fuels you, his smile a beacon that keeps you going.

In the final moments, the score is tied. The puck is passed to you, and time seems to slow. You weave through the opposing team, your muscles burning, heart pounding. With a final, powerful shot, the puck sails into the net. The crowd erupts, and your team rushes to you, lifting you in celebration.

As you look towards the grandstand, you see Seokmin standing, clapping, and cheering louder than anyone else. 

As you charge forward, a single thought echoes in your mind, a mantra that fuels your every move: Play like you’ve got nothing to lose, because in this moment, with Seokmin watching, you’ve already won everything that matters.

[anisangeldust]

Blind faith 𝜗𝜚⋆

Summary: it’s not an obsession. It’s a need.

Pairing: young President!coriolanus x maid fem!reader

Part: i →

Warnings: misogyny, stalking, Coriolanus’ fucked up mind, mentions of violence, forced sexualization, masturbation (m), non-con, somiphillia, p in v, normal bipolar behavior from Coriolanus, borderline domestic abuse.

A/N: False God series pt 1! Enjoy!

The aroma of coffee and mildew ridden books danced around the confines of Coriolanus’ office; the large, dark oak desk piled high with important paperwork and other such tedious documents that ate at his soul. Many bad decisions had led him to the thoughts he was having at the moment, ones that made him want to peel his skin off and lay in a pool of his own blood.

He should be happy—he should be, but he wasn’t, and it was his own goddamn fault. Any woman in Panem, his pick of the best, and he chose the one that, in his opinion, was so immeasurably insufferable that she was better off in a grave somewhere. But alas, Livia Cardew was an important person, so she ended up with the rock on her finger. She’d be the one in a months time to wear white and be proclaimed his beloved. At least she wasn’t putrid to gaze upon.

Layered on top was the stress of finding a new maid. The old one died right before Ravenstill stepped down from the position, and Coriolanus was just now getting around to replacing her. In his option, the least Livia could do was her duties as a woman and clean, but he’d never dare to let his tongue slip and ruin this important engagement, not after he’d worked so hard to get back up to the top.

Sometimes he was bewildered at how someone who graduated the same year as him at the academy could be so dim witted, did he truly not see how little she brought to society until she moved in? The thought of someone like her as First Lady of such a great nation made the hairs on the back of Coriolanus’ neck stand up. But he dug his grave, and now he was mere weeks from laying in it.

——

Dinner with Livia was as dull as usual. Coriolanus felt it would take a miracle for her to hold a genuinely intellectual conversation, she’d always tilt her head and giggle like a toddler, or drawl on about some useless capitol gossip; things Coriolanus had no patience for. The sound of his voice was nails on a chalk board, and his patience for her was wearing thin already.

“I’m hiring a new maid, I think it’s best.” He says coldly to whatever useless but of information his fiancée was babbling about. He was hoping perhaps she’d give insight, or best case scenario she’d offer to clean instead, but he should’ve known better.

“Sounds great, I’ve noticed that it’s been a bit dusty around here” Livia giggled, her laughter making it impossible for Coriolanus to want to do anything but hit her over the head with a candlestick.

That night, the feeling of arms shaking around him was what greeted him in bed. “Coriolanus..” a familiar scratching voice cooed into his ear. He knew what she wanted before she said it, and it was the only thing he’d been pushing back hard on. Sex.

“Really Livia? I’m tired” he grumbled and pulled her off of him, her touch lingering like a disease.

“Please? I’ll just blow you then, I just want something Coriolanus! We’re getting married soon and we haven’t done anything!” She was right, he didn’t what to was the thing, but the way a woman was begging to get him off appealed to the human desire in his DNA. He was a man after all, and it was his right to receive pleasure.

“Fine, I’ll let you blow me. But that’s it.” He grunted and sat up, pulling the covered off of his body and grabbing her, roughly forcing her to her knees on the side of the bed. Coriolanus grumbled something incoherent and yanked down his boxers, his dick was barely hard, so he jerked it a few times before grabbing his otherwise useless fiancées jaw and forcing her mouth onto his cock.

“Is that what you wanted yeah? Slut.” He hissed and took a right hold of her hair. He figured he could get used to this, at least she was mediocre at something, and maybe over time he’d start to enjoy it more. He fucked all the frustration he felt with her into her throat, not caring at all about the hot tears streaming down her cheeks, or the gagging sounds she was eliciting as his fat tip bullied the back of her abused throat.

Cumming down Livias throat, he groaned and pulled his cock out of her mouth. Slapping her reddened face with his softening dick. “Swallow it bitch” he commanded and stood up, pulling up his pajama pants and climbing right back into bed, not caring at all what Livias doing as long as she’s quiet, not a single positive thought about her crosses his mind before he’s pulled into the clutches of sleep.

——

Coriolanus had barely skimmed the applications for maid, picking the one he felt was most suitable, young, semi-important family, and good enough looking, that’s all that Coriolanus needed to be honest. Perhaps she could be someone else to take his anger out on, it’s just a woman after all, they’re replaceable.

The young president was looking out of his big windows when a poised knock and slight creek of the door caught his attention, it was his assistant, Basil. “Sir? The maid that you hired is here to meet you per your request.” He politely reminded.

“Thank you Basil. Send her here please.” Coriolanus replied and sat down at his large desk, leaning back and waiting to simply hire whatever young woman he had employed and get in with his day.

The rhythmic clack clack clack of heals down the hall was both intriguing and confusing for Coriolanus, Livia didn’t walk like that, perhaps this maid wasn’t a lost cause, and oh was he correct. You opened the door gently and walked in, the aura you carried was that of a divine presence, you looked so young, so corruptible, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but salivate at the thought of destroying that youthful innocence.

He could tell you had made yourself considerably more presentable for this meeting.. your lips were rosy and your hair was long and shiny. The simple but elegant dress you wore was simply too much, Coriolanus found himself wanting to bend this new aphrodisiac of a stranger over his desk, but he refrained for the sake of professionalism.

“You must be Y/N, nice to meet you. Since I’m employing you, you may call me Coriolanus. I also have a-“ he almost chucked in the word “-Fiancée, her name is Livia. Any questions? I’m a very busy man.” He said as he propped his legs up on his desk to hide his growing boner.

“Not at all, thank you Mr. President” your voice was intoxicating, the sweetest drug, and Coriolanus decided right there that he would stop at nothing to indulge in it. He almost corrected the you as you called him by his title and not his name, but the way you said ‘Mr President’ almost made him cum in his pants. A crude and disgusting idea flashed through his mind.

“Perfect. Well, it’s customary for the maids to wear clothes of a traditional French maid, I expect your measurements by tomorrow so I can have your work uniform made as soon as possible.” He was lying through his teeth, but he needed an excuse to know more about you, and a uniform he could make slutty was the perfect way he could be exposed to the newfound object of his desires more easily.

“I understand President Snow, I’ll have them in by tomorrow” you were shaking visibly, Coriolanus surmised it was due to the kind of job working for the president had to offer, or perhaps he himself is an intimidating presence.

“Wonderful. You’ll start work next Monday. I’ll get you aquatinted with the rest of the staff, and of course with Livia as well” He leaned back and almost scoffed at the name. Who was she to you? She’d never hold a candle to your beauty, to your obedience.

“Wonderful, thank you for your time Mr. President.” You stood up and didn’t even take a step before a deep command left the politicians throat.

“Call me Coriolanus.” It wasn’t a question, a mere suggestion. It was a command, one he expected you to follow.

“Yes of course, sorry sir-Coriolanus!” You were visibly flustered as you left his office, and he didn’t even try to hide that his eyes were glued to your round ass as you walked away.

——

A maid for the president, that was your job now, only to keep the house clean. It was easy right? That reassurance swirled around your head like milk in a bowl, the president was surprisingly kind, and surprisingly hot. But right now your job was to the clean the mansion, and after a brief introduction with his other staff, you went to one of the wings and looked out for where he said your uniform would be.

On a table in a small lounge was a small bouquet of flowers, a bag that looked of a luxury clothing store, and a card addressed to you. Upon opening the box inside the bag, you were greeted with a typical maids outfit yes; but it seemed much sexier than you would’ve thought would be appropriate. But who are you to say ‘no’ to the president?

The card was short, telling you what parts to clean and parts to avoid, where all the cleaning stuff resided, and how to reach Coriolanus if need be. Along with the information was a key to the mansion, and a keycard for anything that may be restricted (and not so subtle warnings annoy what would happen if either privileges were to be abused) With all said and done, you went and changed to start on your work day.

——

“Who are you?” An entitled voice said from behind you, her tone like someone who just witnessed a person puke. You stopped dusting for a moment and turned around, this lady looked at you like something on the bottom of her boot.

“Hello ma’am, I’m Y/N. Coriolanus hired me as a maid, you must be his fiancée Livia, I’m honored to meet you.” Your reply was kind, despite the obvious lack of kindness from this stranger whose house you were cleaning.

“Oh, my bad, I didn’t realize you’d be so.. provocative” she snarled and rolled his eyes at you. Reaching one of her hands out and knocking over a small vase of flowers, the glass cracking and water spilling. “Oops!” She taunted smirked. “Well? Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning?” She jeered and giggled, walking away as you sighed in both defeat at her actions, and relief that she was going already.

——

To say Coriolanus was fuming would be a severe understatement. What was supposed to be a perfect opportunity to spy on his new eye-candy of a maid in her perfectly pornographic outfit was soiled by his entitled brat of a fiancée. Looking at her made him ill, how could she? How dare she? Her actions were only solidifying her spot on his shit list, as to which she was a repeat offender.

The aftermath made it slightly better, the image of you on your hands and knees, sweeping up broken glass, made Coriolanus harder than he had ever been. And he may or not have snapped a few pictures of you bend over various surfaces.

The young president say in his bed much past after he usually would go to sleep, Livia passed out next him. He slowly palmed his boxers to the thought of you and your outfit, imagining that he was pushing you against the table and fucking your tight cunt.

“f—oh fuck..” he sucked in air as he began to tease his tip with his thumb, thinking about how he’d wrap his veiny hand around your throat and use you like a fleshlight, fucking you hard fast with his fat cock. He imagined how it would feel if you were riding him, fat ass in his grip and tits on perfect display he stroked up and down his dick as the image become more real, the want for your little pussy became unbearable. Coriolanus almost came when he imagined not even stepping you of your maid outfit, simply cumming inside and forcing you to clean while his seed pooled in your cunt.

Close to orgasm and pathetically desperate to cum in a warm pussy, Coriolanus ripped the blankets off of his sleeping fiancée. She wouldn’t care, at least he didn’t care if she did, and a clean tear of her panties granted him access to her, surprisingly wet, pussy.

It was easier to imagine it was you, the darkness and ability to shiver her face in a pillow really helped. He eased his fat tip inside her sleeping pussy, and began to sloppily thrust; not caring about anything but finishing.

“Coriolanus..?” A sleepy voice murmured, only to be taken breathless by a slap.

“Shut the fuck up you slutty bitch, let me use your pussy, fuck! And- then you can sleep-!” He grunted through sloppy thrusts and lewd squelches. His large hand went up to her mouth, allowing her no room to talk or complain.

Coriolanus came quickly to the thought of being buried in your pussy. The image of his milky cum dropping girl your puffy lips, coating your clit with his cream. He quickly pulled out of the pliant body of his fiancée and took his hand of her mouth. He rolled over and the strongest wave of clarity hit his system.

How the fuck was he going to survive being around you?

Taglist!

@daenerysqueenofhearts @caramelandvenus @yoursrosie @wearemadeofstardust0 @kay-lla @mrsriddlenott @sleekervae @ianales @qoopeeya

[miraclewoozi]

ELECTRIC. - y.jh

your best friend is many things. smart, funny, empathetic, a complete and utter pain in your ass to name but a few. and on the evening of his twenty-eighth birthday, you discover something a little unexpected: jeonghan is very afraid of thunderstorms. 

pairing : jeonghan x fem reader. content : f2?. smut. fluff. a bit of angst. comfort. (MINORS DNI) w/c : 6.3k warnings : swearing. jeonghan has astraphobia / a fear of storms (for a brief period, he's a little fragile). intentional lowercase. smut tags utc. PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. notes : happy birthday to this sweetest of sweethearts. i would chew my right arm off if he asked me to. (barely proofread. if you see a typo, no you didn't.<3)

smut tags : pussy drunk jeonghan (my beloved), no real power dynamics but jh is a cocky mf and a bit of a dick, panty sniffing hehe, fingering, oral sex (f rec), reader is turned on by the storm. they're very unserious about it.

the lead actors meet in a kiss. the screen fades to black. so ends yet another round of your annual birthday movie nights.

jeonghan reaches for the remote and silences the end credit theme to the film you’ve just finished watching at the same time as you lift your head up off his shoulder, stretching high above your head and letting out perhaps the loudest yawn (-stroke-moan) of your life. your joints ache from too long spent in one, rather cramped, position, your eyes feel heavy in the late hour. the room falls almost silent around you both, save for the harsh splashing of rain against the windows. 

(this really doesn’t help the fact that you’re seconds away from falling asleep.)

“what did you think?” jeonghan asks, stretching his long legs out in front of him. 

“not my best pick,” you say, scrunching your nose a little. “not my worst, either.”

your best friend gives a short ‘ha’ of agreement, finally standing up off the couch. “couldn’t have said it better myself.” 

he gathers up the takeout boxes currently decorating his coffee table and grabs the now empty drinks glasses with his free hand, grunting softly as he stands fully upright again. you see him trying to roll out a kink in his neck and laugh from where you’re still settled comfortably in the couch cushions.

“you’re going stiff in your old age,” you tease him, grinning brightly. he fires a look at you that simultaneously dares you to keep going down this path, and yet also, tiredly agrees. “remind me to book you a good massage for your birthday next year.”

he grunts something that sounds suspiciously like an instruction to go fuck yourself as he takes his leave from the room, carrying everything that needs to be thrown away or washed up into the kitchen. you busy yourself on your phone while he’s gone, deciding to check in on your weather app. you quite like the rain and you’re really not that worried about driving home in it; you’re just curious how long it’s going to last for. 

in the delay of the app opening, a series of bright flashes bounce off every single wall in the living room. when you glance outside, the rain is falling harder than before; barely ten seconds later, a thunderclap roars through the ajar windows and you feel it all the way down into your tummy. 

you don’t have a chance to excitedly run across the room to get a look at the storm, though. a loud swear and the sound of crashing glass stings your eardrums before the rumble is even over. instead, you’re bolting through in the same direction jeonghan disappeared off in just moments ago, your heart having taken dangerous residence your stomach.

“what’s wrong?!” you ask as you skid around the corner in your socks, just managing to catch yourself from sliding straight into the wall at the end of the hallway. “i heard a—”

you freeze, then, falling silent. jeonghan is gripping onto the kitchen counter like his life depends on it with both shattered glasses laying at his feet; he looks like he’s seen a ghost, all white-knuckled and clammy and pale-lipped. it’s terrifying. 

“hey,” you say, slowly making your way into the room, mindful not to startle him and even more careful not to stand on one of the many shards on the laminate. “what happened? are you okay?”

he nods, weakly. swallows hard. blinks a few times, curls and uncurls his fingers, steps back from the counter. 

“yeah,” he breathes eventually, uncertain and still visibly shaken. he wipes his palms on his sweatpants and looks over at you, forcing a smile, but you’ve known him for entirely too long to be sold on this terrible performance. “i, uh-...”

but jeonghan stops short, shaking his head, running out of words to say. for a moment, you think maybe he’s about to apologise; that’s the shape his lips make, anyway. you cut in before he gets the chance.

“it’s okay,” you say, leaning one hip up against the counter. “go sit down, i’ll clear all this up. watch where you stand, though.”

“you don’t have to–” he starts, but you interject before he can even entertain the idea of cleaning the mess himself.

“i know i don’t, but i want to. go. i’ll only be a minute.”

begrudgingly, he agrees; you grab the broom from his kitchen cupboard and start slowly sweeping the broken glass into a dustpan while he carefully steps on the safe parts of the floor and makes his way back through to the living room. you make reasonably quick work of everything, emptying the fragments into the bin on top of the takeout boxes – all that’s left by the time you’re finished a couple of minutes later, is to try and figure out what caused all this in the first place.

jeonghan isn’t an easily shaken individual; you know this from years of experience. he seems to be able to catch you every time, without fail: whether he’s just popping out at you from behind a door and making you yelp, or he’s near-on giving you heart failure by texting you that something terrible has happened and that you need to come over, immediately, only for said ‘terrible’ thing to be that he got really comfy on the couch without making any popcorn. but regardless of all the numerous ways he manages to terrorise you, you’ve never, ever managed to do the same back to him. 

he’s always shrugged off your attempts, bragging that he just isn’t afraid of anything. so… you’re not really any closer to finding an answer at the time of going back through to the living room with your backpack slung over one shoulder.

“you wanna tell me what happened in there?” you ask, sitting down next to him on the couch. you’re sure his posture is supposed to be an attempt to convince you that he’s absolutely fine, now, but jeonghan looks stiff and is outright refusing to meet your eyes, despite your best attempts. again, unfortunately, you aren’t so easily fooled.

“i just came over dizzy,” he lies, doing his best to play it down. “maybe i stood up too fast and had a delayed reaction, i don’t know.”

“i’ve known corpses get up faster than you did, hannie,” you deadpan, laying one hand by his knee. “come on. that’s crap.”

he doesn’t quite jerk away from you, but you do feel his thigh muscles tense under your touch. you slide your palm down onto the couch between you instead in an effort to make him a tiny bit more comfortable. 

“it’s nothing,” he tries. “really. it’s–”

“jeonghan–”

“y/n.”

the room around you falls silent, both of your stubborn personalities at a stalemate. he won’t talk, and you won’t let him stay quiet. it’s been this way for years. since you were teenagers, even. you’d think he would have learned by now. (he hopes that you might have, too.)

but, there is a fact at play that makes you stop staring him down, and you relax your shoulders slightly as you sit forwards.

“i’m only letting this go because it’s your birthday,” you sigh, clasping your hands together. “if it was any other day of the week–”

“yeah, yeah. trust me. i know.”

there’s an edge to his voice that almost sounds like your jeonghan. like the teasing menace you know and adore. almost. it’s missing something. missing his usual spark.

“i swear to god, though, if i find out you’re sick and you’re not telling me,” you mutter under your breath. not quite under your breath enough, mind – he hears you perfectly, and you can see, out of the corner of his eye as you start to rummage through your backpack for your car keys, the way his ears prick up.

“don’t be stupid, i’m not sick,” he says. the truth in these words, specifically, is evident in the weight of his voice, in the way his fingers brush against the small of your back. “i swear.”

“pinky swear?” you ask, turning to look at him over one shoulder.

he holds out his little finger on his right hand for you, both eyebrows raised in a silent challenge. you pinch your lips tight before hooking your own pinky through his, leaning in and pressing a short kiss to the pad of your thumb. the way you used to when you were kids. ‘you really can’t break those.’ he used to say. ‘they’re like, triple the strength’. saved for really important promises. when he does the same, you know you can believe him.

“okay,” you concede, going back to your search. “in that case – i think i’m gonna head on home before the roads get flooded.” you had to learn the hard way that the drains in this part of town aren’t known for their ability to handle much more than a middling rainfall.

somehow – always, somehow – buried at the very bottom of your backpack, you manage to find your keys and your hand curls around them as soon as you feel one of the rough edges against your fingertips. it’s barely been three seconds since your announcement, but jeonghan has managed to shuffle right into your personal bubble anyway and is now sitting with one arm pressed fully against your own.

“i don’t know if it’s safe to drive when it’s like this,” he says quietly. “it seems dangerous.”

“i think i’ll be okay if i leave, like, soon,” you try to reassure him. 

“you think,” he repeats, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“i’ve driven in so much worse, believe me,” you say. “don’t worry, i’ll be careful.”

“why don’t you just stay the night?” he offers. “you’re not working tomorrow, are you?”

“i’m not,” you confirm, and you do genuinely consider the offer for a moment before deciding to decline. “but i need a shower, and–”

jeonghan interrupts you, a little too quickly. “you can use my shower, i’ve got spare towels. i’ll sleep on the couch. don’t drive in this.”

“hannie, stop worrying,” you laugh, starting towards the door. “i promise, i’ll go slow and i’ll text you the second i’m home.”

“y/n,” he sighs, stepping towards you, jaw tense. “please. just this once.”

you swallow, looking all over his face, trying to figure out what train of thought the cogs behind his eyes are turning in tune with, why he’s so stressed about this. you’ve never known him behave like this sober. (you’ve only ever known him to be like this once, at all, and he tried to kiss you, then, so–)

“i really…” you start, only to be interrupted by another brilliant white flash. your eyes dart to the window just in time to see the lightning bolt through the clouds, and you feel your face noticeably soften in wonder. barely four seconds later – it’s getting closer – the loudest thunder clap you think you’ve heard in your life drowns out every thought you’ve ever had. 

every thought, except the sudden pressure of jeonghan’s fist around your forearm. every thought, except the stuttered gasp he lets slip. every thought, except the sudden fear in his too-wide-eyes.

oh, you think, realisation dawning on you as the blunt press of his nails grows just a fraction softer in time with the end of the rumble. that’s…

“it’s okay,” you say softly, taking a step closer to jeonghan and opening your arms for him to step into. “it’s okay. i’m here.”

he falls against you like an unsteady house of cards, his arms tight around your back and his head buried into the place in your shoulder where it fits the best. you’ve never seen him like this, and you’re not really sure what to do with yourself; he’s always been the sturdy one, between the two of you. he’s always been your rock. there’s a little bit of an irony in how he’s always been the one to help you weather the storm, but with the shoe on the other foot…

“how can i help you?” you ask, trailing your fingers up and down his back, not really sure that he can feel you through the thick material of his sweatshirt but you’re trying your best, anyway. 

he squeezes you tighter, buries his head further down into your shoulder, takes a few shaky breaths in through his mouth and screws his eyes shut a little more before he makes his request. 

“please stay with me.”

if your heart wasn’t aching for him before, it most certainly is now. you nod to the room at large, hoping jeonghan can feel the movement even a little. you don’t loosen your hold around him, though: you let your best friend cling to you for as long as his muscles will allow before they start to ache and he has to step away. 

“come with me,” you say once he’s finished running his fingers through his hair, trying to set it back to rights. “it’s okay.” you hold one of your hands out to him and he takes it, albeit apprehensively; giving his palm a squeeze with your own, you guide him through the apartment towards his bedroom.

“what are you–?” he asks, and despite his earlier hesitance to hold onto your hand, he doesn’t want to let go of you now you’ve reached your destination. he just stands next to you, fingers threaded through yours, looking at your face with tired eyes and a lifted brow. 

“grab your bedsheets,” you tell him, shaking your hand free. “and your pillows. we’re gonna make a fort.”

“a what?”

“a blanket fort,” you say. “to hide from the storm.”

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, and for a brief second, you think maybe the idea has offended him. his face hasn’t lifted into the smile you sort of expected it to; instead, he’s just staring down at his bed as if he’s trying to will himself out of existence.

“we don’t have to do all that,” he says. “it’s… that’s way too much?”

“it’s your birthday,” you counter. “and i want to make you a birthday fort. like we used to, when we were kids. it’ll be fun!”

he gives a little sigh, but it’s not one of sadness or exasperation with you. it’s defeat. except, you think if you could taste it, you’d be able to pick up a tiny lacing of sweetness in his exhale. 

“fine. you’re building it, though.”

you think it’s safe to say that perhaps, you’re a bit out of practice. you distinctly remember this being much easier when you were young: throwing bedsheets and blankets over the couch and propping them up with chairs or broomsticks. the forts that you would make as a child were, truly, a sight to behold: you used fairy-lights to decorate one, once, and it still remains one of your most prideful projects to date. the slight catastrophe that sits in jeonghan’s living room by the time you’ve finished laying out the last few pillows is… more a cave, in your opinion, and not a very pretty one, but you emerge from it smiling anyway and jeonghan looks at you so fondly that no matter how rubbish it is, it’s worth the half an hour you spent putting it together.

“what do you think?” you ask, sitting back on your heels.

“it’s not your best,” jeonghan teases as he walks towards your monstrosity masterpiece, critically eyeing the ‘roof’ that would definitely fail any kind of health and safety audit. “but it’s not your worst, either.”

a bright smile lights up your face as he drops down to his knees and crawls inside the space alongside you, letting the ‘door’ (a particularly thick blanket) fall down behind him. one of the (many, many, many, many, many) problems you encountered was trying to make one of these to fit two grown adults, but with him tucked away inside with you and a few flashlights to prevent you from being plunged into darkness… ignoring the potential for it all to come collapsing in on you at any given time, it’s surprisingly comfortable. 

you lay back against the pillows first and jeonghan follows soon after, a weirdly gleeful smile playing at his lips as he does. he curls into your side and you talk, and talk, and talk. about everything. about nothing. it doesn’t really matter.

you’re not quite sure why, but the deep roars of the storm outside don’t seem to bother jeonghan quite as much in here. maybe it’s because he’s not alone, and there’s no imminent threat for him to be: maybe your company really is making a difference. he still reaches for you every time there’s a particularly loud clap, still closes his eyes and takes a series of deep breaths until his stress passes, but for whatever reason, he feels significantly less tense.

and when, after the third boom, he decides just… not to let go of your hand? who are you to try and force him?

there’s… just one problem, though. you’re ecstatic that the storm isn’t bothering jeonghan as much, now. that he can talk absolute nonsense to you in your private little hideaway, that he can lean his head against your shoulder and chuckle at your bad jokes and even crack a few of his own. genuinely, you could not be happier. for him.

but there was more reason than wanting to sleep in your own bed that had you desperately trying to get home before you realised the gravity of your best friend’s situation. 

with every new growl of thunder outside, something low in your stomach twists, accompanied by an ache, a warmth, a throbbing between your thighs. at first, it was easy enough to battle through. you kept telling yourself that the thunder never lasts too long, that you could get through this without jeonghan being any the wiser, that everything was going to be fine. but now, almost an hour later, the buzz of electricity in the atmosphere and the entirely-too-addicting scent of your best friend’s fabric softener has you feeling hot enough you could faint.

you twist and shuffle over and over, hoping to find a position that eases the throbbing. it’s fine, you think, taking a deep breath and praying to every deity you can recall by name that jeonghan doesn’t notice your discomfort. i can do this. it’s fine. just a little while longer.

a spectacular boom sounds through the apartment and jeonghan’s fingers tighten around yours so much that, against all your better judgement, you let out a loud gasp. not out of pain, though – no, you wish. if only it was that easy. ha. no – as he squeezes your hand, images flash through your mind of him being the one to relieve you of the tension building up beneath your skin. of him gripping and grasping and tugging, thrusting, tasting, adoring. your throat runs dry and you squeeze your thighs together desperately, pinching your lips tight, willing your pounding heart to calm the fuck down. willing your cunt to stop drooling into your panties.

“fuck,” you breathe when he finally lets go. you feel him shuffle at your side and prop himself up on one elbow, looking down at your face with mild terror written into the lines of his own.

“i’m so sorry – did that hurt?” he asks, searching your eyes for any kind of clue. you wish he wouldn’t. surely, you think, pressing your tongue harshly against the roof of your mouth, surely my pupils are blown to oblivion, right now.

you shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“are you sure?” he asks, slowly running his fingers down your arm, moving to take hold of your hand again if you’ll let him. you flinch, the drag of his nails akin to an electric shock – like being struck by lightning, you tell yourself – and he snaps his hand back straight away. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you hurry, pushing yourself up to sit (almost head-butting him in the process) and groaning at the way the seam on your jeans rubs against your clit. who wears fucking jeans to a movie night? what absolute moron–

“do you feel okay?” jeonghan questions, sitting fully upright now too. “do you think it was the foo–”

“oh my god, please,” you whimper, bowing your head, letting your hair fall around your face, shielding you from him. just a little. not quite enough. “please. i’m fine. stop asking. i’m fine.”

“said everyone, ever, who was in fact – not fine,” jeonghan quips. “do you need water? i can help, just talk to me–”

“jeonghan,” you snap, whipping your head back up. your face feels hot and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt this tense before in all your years on this earth. all your muscles are tweaking in anticipation for something that most certainly is not going to happen, and you really need him to stop talking in that deep, smooth, caring voice. with immediate effect. for the love of god – 

…and heaven above, the penny drops. 

jeonghan’s concerned expression turns to one of complete shock and you cover your face with both hands, trying so desperately hard not to be perceived by him in this most humiliating of moments. he doesn’t say anything for a second, and you tell yourself that he’s probably trying to find either a terrible joke to ease the tension or a way to tell you to go home. you don’t know which would be worse, but it’s only a matter of time until you find out.

therefore, you definitely don’t expect him to pry your hands away from your cheeks, and for his shit-eating, impishly charming, handsome-as-fuck grin to be the first thing your eyes land on when you open them.

“really? thunderstorms?” he asks, close enough that you feel the breaths that his words don’t quite steal. “that’s your kink?”

“it’s not a kink,” you whine, throwing your hands down either side of you. he doesn’t release his hold on your wrist, though. “come on, don’t be–”

“of all the things you could be into,” he says. oh, he’s back. he’s back with a vengeance. you suppose, really, you should be glad that he’s feeling more like his usual self, but the fact that it’s at your expense? that there’s no-one else around for him to turn on instead? that this is your topic of conversation at ten past midnight on his living room floor?

“hannie, please,” you huff, lips drawing downwards into a frowning pout. the ache isn’t going away. why isn’t it going away? why is this cocky, smirking version of your best friend making you feel even hotter under the collar? what’s going on? “don’t you think i’ve suffered enough?”

“not even nearly,” he says, sitting up on his knees, resting his palms on his thighs. “since when? how did you even fig–”

boom.

and his jaw falls slack, watching you squirm.

you’re quite literally fighting for your life. or, at minimum, for your friendship. because, really, you could jump jeonghan’s bones right now and you don’t actually think he’d turn you down (something to be filed under: thoughts that are not making this any easier). but that’s not what you’re trying to do; you’re trying to help him feel better, and take his mind off his fear, and when he pulls his bottom lip between his bottom teeth before speaking –

“okay, wait. hear me out.”

to both of your surprises, you do. you don’t try and protest, which he was sort of expecting you to do. you don’t tell him to shut up, you don’t try and get away from him. you sit there, eyes wide, hands curling into the blankets beneath your slowly numbing ass, and you wait for him to continue.

“i can help you.”

your heart shoots up into your throat and you struggle to swallow around it. your breaths are heavy, laboured, your lips parted and a little swollen from how you’ve been biting at them for the past hour and a bit.

“you don’t have to–”

“shut up, y/n,” he says dismissively, crawling in front of you and lifting your hands away from the bedding you’re kneading (pathetically, in his professional opinion) like a cat. “listen. you’ve helped me so much tonight, you don’t even know. let me return the favour.”

“hannie…”

“hannie,” he whines, in a poor imitation of your voice. “hannie, i only helped you because you needed me– is that it? look at you, y/n. you’re a mess.”

if this were anyone else, you’d be livid. not only at the way he so effortlessly makes fun of you, but at the fact that he accurately finished your sentence without having anything more than an affectionate nickname to work from as a hint. you don’t know what to say, suddenly stunned into silence, but it’s all right. you don’t need to say anything; he keeps going.

“you need me. let me help you – look. it’s my birthday.”

he wants this, you think to yourself, growing slightly concerned by the way your heart continues to hammer in your throat. he wants… me.

you give one slow, but definite, nod of your head and jeonghan’s grin grows from cocky to genuine. he crawls until he’s right up in your space, lifting a hand to your cheek, and you forget how to breathe for a moment as he looks you in the eyes with more heat than the mid-august sun.

“lie down,” he says, pushing that last little bit closer and capturing your lips in a kiss. it’s short, but mind-boggling. your brain goes totally blank when he pulls away. “it’s okay. i’ve got you.”

but you do as he says and shuffle around the little fort so you’re on your back, head resting against one of the many pillows you’re grateful you brought in here with you. he crawls on top of you, then, caging you in with one hand either side of your head, settling with one of his knees slotted between your just-parted thighs. 

“okay?” he asks, searching your face for any signs of discomfort or worry. he doesn’t find any, though – he’s met only with a perhaps too enthusiastic nod and your hands playing at the hem of his sweatshirt. he chuckles, bending down to kiss you again, a little deeper this time, a little longer. open-mouthed and hot, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip, dropping onto one elbow so his torso lies almost flush against yours. 

“easy, tiger. taking care of you, right now.”

you sigh as his lips start to descend down the column of your throat, and you press your shoulders back into the blankets to try and push that little bit closer to him. one of his hands slips beneath your own shirt and his palm comes to rest flush against your hip, dragging his thumb in small circles over your skin. 

“this,” he mumbles into your collarbone, tugging the neckline of the garment between his teeth for a moment so you know what he’s referring to. “off.”

“bossy,” you mumble, your body cold all of a sudden as he sits back away from you and you tug your t-shirt off over your head. as you do, he reaches behind his neck and tugs off his sweatshirt as well before he tosses it up near your head, out of the way.

now, this is certainly not the first time you’ve ever been around jeonghan without anything covering his top half, but it is something that you rarely get the chance to see. if it’s not the fact that he’s chronically freezing cold, it’s because he’s grown emotionally attached to some of the baggiest tops known to mankind, or he’s worried about getting a sunburn so is still covered up at the beach. for one reason or another, this just isn’t something you’re blessed to see very often, and he looks so good you almost forget that it’s him.

of course, that only lasts until he says something really fucking dumb. in other words, all of about three seconds.

“how… practical,” he says, eyes trained down on the bra covering your tits. in a way, it’s probably a good thing you’ve snapped back to your senses, because you once again find yourself thinking that if this were anyone else, you’d have told them to get off you and never call you again.

but why is jeonghan, of all people, criticising your choice of comfy underwear… weirdly endearing?

“sorry,” you grunt, making no effort to hide the (flesh-toned, full-coverage, entirely too old) bra that he’s looking at like it’s personally offending him. “didn’t expect to need to impress, tonight.”

“don’t be sorry,” jeonghan says, shaking his head as he unpops the button on your jeans and tugs them down over your hips. “just… do better next time, yeah?”

you laugh so suddenly, so abruptly, so loudly that you choke on your own spit and end up coughing a little, propping up on one elbow to try and relieve the burn in your lungs as he continues to work your pants off your legs. by the time he scrunches them into a ball and puts them to the side, too, you’ve managed to catch your breath, and gasp out, “next time?”

“next time,” he nods, making himself comfortable between your thighs. he lays one palm on the inside of each knee, pushing them as far apart as your hips will allow, before he brings one hand over your covered cunt and drags his thumb up and down your slit.

you don’t even get a chance to ask why he’s so sure there’ll be a next time. he skillfully works you through the material and in seconds, has you tipping your head back into the pillows, moaning at the overwhelming feeling of finally being touched.

“so fucking wet,” he sighs, feeling your arousal through the cotton of your underwear, pressing the material between your folds. his thumb circles your clit over and over, the pressure just right – not so light that he’s teasing, not so hard that you’re squirming away from him. hell, if you knew he was this good, you’d have dragged him into bed years ago.

“come on, hannie,” you gulp as he starts to work his thumb faster, starts to massage at your inner thigh with his other hand. “need more…”

well, he doesn’t need to be told twice. you lift your hips and he tugs your panties down your thighs, unhooking them from around your ankles. you expect him to, you know, return to business, but he does something just a little bit unhinged first and brings your soaked underwear up to his face. you hear how deeply, how loudly he inhales, the subsequent groan he gives even louder, and you swear the reason you end up bumping his hip with your knee is to bring him back to earth, because it actually feels like he’s forgotten you’re lying right there.

“i’ll do it myself, in a minute,” you threaten, and jeonghan grins wickedly down at you as he lowers your panties down to join the rest of your discarded clothes. 

“no you won’t,” he tells you – he tells you? – , finally now lying down between your legs, just inches away from your glistening cunt. “god – as if i’d ever let that happen.”

“i swear– ” you start, half a second before one of his fingers presses against your hole. you stop talking with a gasp, a hand flying to your chest and squeezing against your tit. just like that. in a heartbeat, you’re done for. 

he seems intent on gathering as much of your arousal on his fingertip as he possibly can, running it through your folds, pressing it inside you, smearing your slick all over and then some like a fucked-up painting. only once he’s satisfied does he finally start to work his finger in and out, pressing his lips just above where your clit is begging for his attention.

“don’t play stupid,” you chide him when he looks up at you through his lashes, eyes wide and feigning innocence. “if you can find it through my underwear, you can find it now.”

“bossy,” jeonghan tuts. “what’s with the rush, huh?” 

and he adds another finger to the first, both long and elegant and reaching spots inside you that your own physically can’t. you keen against your will, hips reacting of their own accord, trying to fuck your pussy down against his hand. he makes no effort to stop you.

“m’not gonna beg,” you tell him. “just – fuck, get your mouth on me. now.”

to his credit, he does.

and more to his credit, being eaten out has never, ever felt this good.

the hand not grasping at your chest shoots down to tangle in his long, silky hair, and jeonghan moans loudly against your pussy as he laves his tongue everywhere he can. over your clit, between your folds, slipping it inside your hole in place of his fingers – he’s relentless, slurping and groaning and finding some sort of insane stamina from somewhere deep in his soul. you swear to god, this is not the man who sometimes falls asleep with his light on because he doesn’t have the energy to get up and turn them off.

within a matter of minutes, you can feel the coil in the pit of your stomach growing tighter and tighter, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your moans and whines only getting louder by the minute. your legs are shaking. your thoughts are little more than static, and him. at some point – you don’t know when –, jeonghan reached around your hips to pull your thighs together and clamped them around his ears, mumbling against your clit something to the effect of to help with the thunder. (you don’t mention that there hasn’t actually been another thunder crack since he started making out with your pussy. it doesn’t feel relevant, somehow.)

every time you tighten your thighs, every time you squirm, he hugs you tighter against his cheeks and you just end up humping against his tongue. something tells you maybe that was the plan all along? 

sparks of energy start to prickle all over your skin as you teeter on the edge of your high. your fist tightens in jeonghan’s hair, your breaths become fewer and further between. it’s frankly a bit of a miracle you’ve even managed to last this long – you held back as long as you could, determined to milk as much of the pleasure his hands and his mouth so skillfully bring as you can. just in case there’s no next time, but… hell, do you hope there is.

“hannie, i’m–” you gasp, his fingers curling upwards again and resuming their earlier assault on your g-spot. “fuck, hannie, i’m so close–”

“mm, have been for a while, huh?” he asks, drawing his mouth away from you, licking his tongue over his arousal-slickened lips. “you’ve been holding out on me.”

“yeah, but-... i wanna come so bad,” you swallow. jeonghan flicks his tongue out over your clit again and you jolt up into the touch. “please, don’t stop.”

“won’t,” he promises. and it’s the last thing he says before his lips meet your pussy again and he brings you over the edge into the most electrifying of climaxes.

by the time you’ve stopped twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, jeonghan is sat up on his knees again, softly massaging at your hips with his thumbs. your vision is still kind of fuzzy at the edges when you glance up at him, and for a moment, with a hazy outline and an amber glow behind him owed to the flashlight you set at the entrance to the fort, you think he looks a little too much like an angel.

“where the hell did that come from?” you ask him, fighting against the squirming in your belly. fighting against the sensation that feels a little too much like butterflies. 

“really?” he asks in a breathy laugh. “that’s-... i mean, do you actually want to know, or…?”

you mull this over for a moment before crossing your arms over your eyes and concealing yourself from his view, shaking your head. one part of you is morbidly curious as to how he got so good at giving head. the other part of you is too busy trying to gather the brain cells he just sent flying across about eight different dimensions.

“i think you’ve broken me, jeonghan,” you breathe, feeling more than seeing him lie down next to you again. his lips press sweetly against the curve of your shoulder. warmth radiates from that one spot, all over your body. you smile, like a complete loser. 

what’s worse is that you really don’t mind.

“is that a yes, then?” he asks, slinging an arm over your waist. you turn your head to look at him, eyes crossing a little with how unexpectedly close he is. 

“yes to what?” 

“to next time,” he says. his grin matches yours and you nod your head at him, yes. in your peripheral vision, you notice how he lifts one hand, extends his little finger. straight in front of you, you see both of his eyebrows raise.

you pinch your lips tight before hooking your own pinky through his, leaning in and pressing a short kiss to the pad of your thumb. the way you used to when you were kids. ‘you really can’t break those.’ he used to say. ‘they’re like, triple the strength’. 

saved for really important promises.

“to next time.”

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.&lt;3

[hisonlykiwi]

"With that kind of power at your disposal, the possibilities are endless."

synopsis: azriel, who's never bothered to acknowledge your existence seeks you out for help.

wc: 1.3k

warnings: mentions of gore memories and trauma.

a/n: hey guys, i'm thinking of making this a small series with multiple parts. please let me know what you think <3

part two

____________________________________________

I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration, looking over the report Rhysand had given me a few days back. I look at the clock ticking away on the wall beside me; It’s been exactly 5 hours and 27 minutes since I came down to the library. 5 hours and 27 minutes of studying the reports of the numerous attacks on Velaris and I’ve got no lead or clear motive.

I let out a sigh, shifting my gaze over to the shelves around me brimming with books that are probably older than me. I wonder how Rhysand keeps such good care of this place, it’s truly a sight for sore eyes. Since a child, I’ve loved nothing more than hiding away in the library and stuffing my face with any book I could- I freeze.

The air around me shifting slightly. I felt a shudder dance down my spine, the air thick and heavy. I move my hand down to my thigh where I keep my dagger. I feel something, no, I feel someone’s eyes watching me. My eyes fix on a darkened corner of the library, instantly seeing a familiar figure. Our gazes instantly lock, and I stir slightly in my seat. An uneasy feeling pooling in my stomach, how long had Azriel been standing there, watching me? I didn’t dare break eye contact until I gasped at the feeling of a cool breeze on my ankle, I looked down to see a tendril of black smoke, very similar to the ones I’ve seen around Azriel. It must’ve felt me staring at it because it hurried back to the unlit corner where Azriel stood.

 I awkwardly clear my throat and release the tight grip I had on the dagger, “Can I ask why you’re lurking in the shadows and watching me?” I say to him, monitoring his every movement. I felt odd asking him a question seeing as we’ve never talked before. I see him all the time but always at a distance, he never talks and always has a stoic expression. The only thing I know of him is he is the spymaster shadowsinger who has been Rhysand’s best friend since childhood and just so happens to be, one of the most powerful Illyrians in Prythian history.

“Just gathering information.” He says, stepping out of the corner, the soft light accentuating his strong features. I tracked his every movement; It was no secret that Azriel was devastatingly handsome. I felt a nervous pang in my chest watching him approach me. “You’re quite fascinating to observe.” He continued, I raised an eyebrow at his statement, “And what exactly is fascinating?” I could feel his eyes scan over my figure, "Your movements, your expression, your presence... It's all quite intriguing." He said in a low deep voice.

I felt a small heat rise to my cheeks, I ran a hand through my hair, unsure of what to do or say. Oddly enough, I felt anxious, but I refuse to let it show. “Is there something I can help you with?” I ask him in a stern voice. I’m confused as to why he is speaking to me in the first place. I watch him take a sit on the chair in front of me, suddenly this table felt quite small.

He watches me, gaze still piercing. "Help me? Well... There is one thing I was curious about..." He said in a suggestive tone. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest, “About?” I stared back at him. I watched as he mirrored my position, also crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back.

There was curiosity etched in his features, “Two words; reality altering.” I made no movement; the air so tense I could slice it with my dagger. I only stared back at him, expressionless. There is no possible way he knows about my powers, the only two people who know are Rhysand and Amarantha, who’s head I personally saw get impaled to a wall, so safe to say it wasn’t her. And Rhysand wouldn’t be careless enough to give away this vital information, even if the man in front of me was his best friend. “Yeah, I’ve read about it.” I say to him, trying to sound bored.

My comment caused for a smirk to break out on his beautiful face, “A little mouse told me you have a powerful gift. A gift so powerful that people would go to war over it.” I chuckled, “Is that so? When you find that powerful gift, please let me know, I would love to have such power.” I finished with a smile. Azriel's expression remained unflinching as he kept his eyes locked with mine, his intense gaze not wavering.  “Is that what you told Bodhi before you made him brutally murder his entire family?” I felt my breath hitch in my throat, I shut my eyes, memories of Bodhi’s face and his family’s mutilated bodies flooded my mind. The painful memories serving as a reminder of why I will never know peace nor deserve peace. It’s haunted me every single night, their horrific screams replaying over and over in my nightmares.

"Ah, so now it's confirmed." He said, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I knew there was something special about you.” I deeply sigh, trying to push away the thoughts of what Amarantha forced me to do nearly 50 years ago to the back of my mind, like always I’m rendered unsuccessful. I open my eyes to meet his golden eyes once again. “What’s it to you, Azriel?” I spit out at him, his name tasting like venom in my mouth. He leaned over the table, his voice dropping dangerously low. "With that kind of power at your disposal, the possibilities are endless... You could control armies, change the course of history... Or you could use it for more hedonistic pursuits."

Now it’s my turn to mirror his movements, I put my elbows on the table and lean over the table, our faces less than a foot apart. “So, I ask again, what’s it to you?” He replied, his voice low and cold, "It's simple, really. I want to know exactly what that power of yours can do." After a few moments, “No.” I plainly say, I tear my gaze from his and start collecting the report from the table so I can make my way out. "Running away already, are you?", his deep voice said, carrying authority. I ignore him and continue to get my bag, when I felt his hand on my wrist, stopping me from standing up.

“I need your help.” I pause and look back at him, a pleading look on his face. “Why? You’ve never spoken to me, let alone acknowledged my existence. Then you barge in here, provoking me and suddenly you want my help? I have to laugh.” I pull my wrist away, but he grips tighter, “Please.” He says, and I tug my wrist away again, but he doesn’t budge.

 “Let. Me. Go.” I say, unable to withhold my anger. I blink and suddenly, I’m standing in the middle of the woods with Azriel still holding my wrist. He fucking winnowed us to the middle of nowhere. “Azriel, what the fuck are you doing?!” I give him a hard shove, but he doesn’t budge, of course, he doesn’t, he’s a 6’5 man made of pure muscle, ugh! He holds me close to his chest, “I have strong suspicions the inner circle is in grave danger and your abilities would be able to prove if I’m correct.” He quickly says, I stop moving, processing what he just said. He notices, slowly lets me go and moves away a bit but stays close. I peer up at him, confusion and concern laced in my features. “What do you mean, exactly?”

I furrow my eyebrows, still processing. Danger? How could they possibly be in danger? Is that why he brought us out to the middle of the woods, so no one would hear him? I hear Azriel take in a deep breath, “I think Elain is working with Hybern.”

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

David and Michael in the interview with Ali Plumb for BBC Radio 1, 10th July 2023

I compared it with it's podcast version and there are some bits that are cut out in the video 👀 but I added them into the transcript ❤ 🐍😊 .

AP: If you're thinking I'm the kind of guy that rocks up to a Good Omens interview with...

Michael: With the book.

David: Oh, well done.

Michael: We'd be correct.

AP: Yeah.

[GOS2 Promo]

AP: So after such a successful and well received first series, what gives you guys?

David: Why risk it?

AP: Why risk it.

Michael: What gives you the right?!

AP: What gives you the cojones to do another one?

Michael: I know.

AP: How dare you?

Michael: It's terrible. When I wrote it.... Well, no, I mean, that's the thing, really, I mean, it's Neil and Terry's baby. And we'd always known that they'd gone beyond the world of the first book. In fact, there's stuff that's not in the first book, in the first series. So Gabriel is a character, you know, who's not there. So we'd always known that there was a lot more.

David: The ideas, the threads.

Michael: Exactly. And they even had a name for a sequel. 668: The Neighbour of the Beast. Which is hilarious.

[A cut out part that is not in the video, but you can listen to in the podcast version of it:

AP: Just take, write the joke and then work it out later.

Michael: The best Good Omens joke isn't even in the Good Omens book.

David: Yeah.

Michael: And so we knew there was all that. So I think given that, that gave certainly us the confidence to know that we were in, you know, safe hands.

David: Yeah.

Michael: And I think gave Neil the sense that it was worth exploring, going further, because I think without that, he would never have done it. If he didn't feel that Terry was part of that ride as well, then I don't think he would have gone on it.

]

AP: At the risk of reading from the scripture, this is what's in the hardback copy of Good Omens: 'Why isn't there a sequel? Neil: Well, we know how the sequel goes. We played around with the idea whilst we were on tour. We even discussed a few scenes, but we could never quite work up the enthusiasm. It'd have been fun. We'd split the cash. But we both had other things to do'.

Michael: Yes. It's very much how we felt, isn't it? We'll split the cash.

David: Yeah.

AP: And run.

Michael: You know, and if we got nothing else on.

David: Well, yeah.

Ap: And you kind of enjoy each other's company?

Michael: I mean, enjoy is a strong word.

David: We're very good at faking it.

AP: Actors. I love it.

David: Yeah, exactly, exactly.

Michael: Yeah, exactly.

AP: When, outside of a show's context or the film's context, have you felt physically, visually the silliest? Because I think in this show there have to be moments. Green screen, full orange wig hair, that you go, no one take a photo of me right now.

David: The opening scene of Season Two is set in space and we're dressed as sort of old fashioned-

Michael: That makes it sound like sort of an episode of Blakes 7 or something, it's not Sci-Fi space, is it?

David: There's nothing wrong with that.

Michael: No, there's nothing... I mean I love it.

David: Jesus,

AP: Are you stepping up saying Sci-Fi's rubbish at this-

Michael: No, no, no! Of course not! No. But what I'm saying is-

David: I don't know who this is

Michael: David is making it sound like it's like Aziraphale and Crowley are in a rocket ship.

David: It is set in space!

Michael: Well, yeah.

David: First series set in space! You can't... it's just factual.

Michael: But not like space 1999.

David: Just space.

AP: It's pure, undiluted space.

David: It's set in space. In fact, it is undiluted space. And for that, we were dressed as a traditional angel in a sort of nighties...

Michael: Yes, we weren't in silver spandex.

David: We were in nighties.

Michael: We were.

David: And we were strapped to make this floating in space - and they didn't have this on Blakes 7 - we were strapped onto these gurneys and moved up and down.

[hehe bonus pic :)]

Michael: I had a jetpack.

[again, cut out in the video but present in the podcast version

David: I mean, it looks beautiful. The finished, the finished piece.

Michael: It was very odd, wasn't it? Yes. We were both sort of just like.

David: Yes.

Michael: Hovering around each other.

David: And it was, it was ignoble. Some of the being strapped in and out.

Michael: It was. Yeah.

]

AP: At least it's not Jon Hamming into a room... full Hamm.

[GOS2 Promo]

[again, cut out in the video but present in the podcast version

David: The naked Hamm? The naked Hamm was... yeah. He seemed pretty...

Michael: He seemed very relaxed.

AP: He insisted on spending more scenes in that costume.

]

Michael: That was never in the script.

David: No, he just turned up on set.

Michael: That's how he showed up.

David: I had an idea, guys!

Michael: Yes. No, there's lots to look forward to.

AP bursts out laughing: Sorry.

Michael: And lots to look back on.

AP: This second series, having a little bit more wiggle room in terms of where you might be able to take the characters, I think it's fair enough to say. Do you feel more active input.

[again, cut out in the video but present in the podcast version

AP: Into where they might go? Because to me, they strike as having a very strong Woody and Buzz factor of...

David: Right.

AP: Bear with me here. You're both not very good at your jobs.

David: How dare you?

AP: It's true. One's no angel. One's far from evil.

David: That's true.

AP: And you kind of are fudging it constantly.

]

AP: Do you feel you have more room to kind of fudge here and fudge there and really muck about with the characters now?

Michael: I mean, I every day when we start, I like to first of all say, Neil, I've got no interest in hearing what you're going to say. This is what I think should happen.

David: Yeah.

Michael: I mean, the thing is, when you've got Neil Gaiman writing it-

David: Yeah.

Michael: -you should have just go, off you go, mate.

David: The last thing you want to do is start putting in your ideas. You don't want to limit anything that's going to come out.

Michael: It's like brain. It's like when Ringo says, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

AP: Yesterday, I have notes.

Michael: Listen, listen to what I've come up with.

AP: There's too much guitar in this.

David: Yeah.

AP: More drums.

David: Yeah.

Michael: Yeah. I think one of the things about Neil that is so wonderful is that he is so open and generous with ideas,

David: Yes.

Michael: and he's so not precious about what he's written. He is very respectful of what he and Terry created and is probably a bigger fan than any other fan, but he's not precious about it and he's very open to collaboration. In fact, he's probably the most collaborative

David: Yes.

Michael: I'd ever come across in my life.

David: Yes, absolutely.

Michael: So he loves watching what other people bring to the table, not just actors, but, you know, designers, everyone. And then I think he takes from that and is influenced by that. So it's very collaborative in that sense.

David: Yes. But if we influenced where the characters went in season two, it was sort of circumstantially.

AP: Right.

Michael: Yeah.

David: It was sort of by the act of what happened during season one and getting to know Neil and getting to know each other. But the great joy for us is turning up to these wonderful scripts and going, oh, I get to take this character here now. What a lark.

[again, cut out in the video but present in the podcast version

Michael: I mean, I wrote some very stern emails to him.

David: Yeah.

Michael: Which I was glad to see that he totally ignored.

AP: Screen time for me.

Michael: Yes, exactly.

AP: I like to think the 'I was right, or rather, you were right and I was wrong' dance was organic in the moment, not in the script. And could you give us a quick how might I recreate that beautiful...

David: Absolutely not. No. I worked with the choreographer for some days.

Michael: It's true.

David: Yeah.

Michael: It's true. And am I right in saying that... I wonder if this exists? But when we were filming it, didn't I, on the last take, I made you do it once with you thinking that you were doing it for real, but actually it wasn't for real. It was just so I could do.

David: It was so you could have-

Michael: So I could Strictly Come Dancing [british dance contest]-

David: Exactly that. Does it exist? I think it does exist.

Michael: It must have actually built... I had cards made with scores on them and David, God bless him, came in and did the whole thing again, thinking that he was doing it for the filming. And in fact, it was literally just so at the end I could go, 'SEVEEEEEEN'! [It was filmed, hehe, see here :)]

David: Yeah. But I don't want Amazon to think we're wasting your production...

AP: Money and time. No.

David: And it will show up on a blooper reel somewhere.

Michael: There was no film. There was no film.

AP: It was definitely not a waste of time. No, absolutely not.

]

AP: What would you say the fans have responded most to from the first series when you meet them at comic cons or on social media or what have you? Are there moments from the first series where they love talking about that scene?

Michael: Well, I think people really enjoy the going through history stuff, don't they? I mean, we thoroughly.

David: We certainly do. There's just something about the characters and their relationship, though, that seems to have just caught fire. I mean the amount of...

AP :I won’t read some ot the stories I’ve glanced upon.

David: Right.

AP: Yes. Fanfiction is quite….

David: Oh, I see. Oh that is not for us to read.

Michael: Oh I read it all.

AP: Oh you should. You write most of it, right?

Michael: I write most of it.

David: But it's lovely to see. And I have seen more than I can count. Aziraphale and Crowleys showing up. People dressed and always in twos, always in pairs.

Michael: Yes.

David: You know, and that's lovely. And that seems to absolutely encapsulate what the whole show is about, I think.

AP: Tattoos, fan art.

David: Definitely, yes. Seen a couple of tattoos.

Michael: Yeah.

AP: Yeah. Do you get fans in the street quoting lines or just pointing and staring? Because you two together can't really walk down the street.

David: Michael doesn't walk anywhere.

Michael: Those days are long gone.

AP: Jackpack.

David: Yeah.

Micheal: Yeah.

AP: Yeah, that's fair.

Michael: Well, I get a lot of ‘To the world’.

David: Oh, yes. Nice.

Michael: People like to… yeah.

David: Yeah.

Michael: And 'You go too fast, Crowley.’

David: Ooh.

Michael: There’s a lot of that. That gets jumped around.

AP: What about... and this is a kind of BAFTA winning question, so just send it my way.

David: Wow.

AP: Would you say these characters are in your top three most fun characters you've ever played? Because they strike me as being... I'd probably play these characters forever if I could.

Michael and David: Yeah.

Michael: This is like on what's that show when people have to say whether they want to date each other again? You go first. Top three?

David: I mean...

AP: Number two...one?

David: It'd be a weird scenario to say it wasn't.

AP: Yeah, I agree.

David: In this situation.

AP: Yeah.

David: To start something: well, I mean, it's sort in the little twenties. But... No, we did have an irresponsible amount of fun.

Michael: Yes. Not really like working.

AP: No.

Michael: I mean, I very much hope that we eventually get to, in one way or another, in one form or another,

David: Yeah.

Michael: get to play them just very, very old. And it may well be... I mean, we joke about doing a theatrical tour.

AP: And swapping.

David: I'm not joking. I'm not joking about that.

Michael: No.

David: It's a lovely little retirement plan.

Michael: I know.

AP: I'm dead keen on Good Omens 666. I think...

Michael: Oh!

AP: It's just there.

Michael: Yes.

David: Yeah, yeah, yeah.

AP: Think about it. Post apocalyptic...

Michael: Part, like Good Omens 1, 2, 3, all the way up to 666. I mean, that's a long running series. That's longer than Frasier.

AP: Big words. If a bad joke's worth telling. 666.

Michael: Telling over and over again.

AP: Over and over and over.

David: Yeah.

AP: Guys, I'm going to ask you one last favour as I wrap things up, which is I have at the front of this book, one Mr. Neil Gaiman.

[shows a copy of Good Omens signed by Neil Gaiman].

AP: He signed it and he said as he often does: Ali, have a good doomsday. Would you care to deface?

Michael: I heard the other day that someone went to interview George Harrison and the person who interviewed him said, would you mind signing this record? Whatever it know, the white album, whatever. And he went, do you want them all? And they used to all write each other's name, all sign each other's names.

David: Wow.

Michael: Because they had to do it so much.

David: Do you want to do mine?

Michael: Just get Neil to do that.

AP: Could you please sign as your man? I'll be very lucky.

Michael: On a different page.

AP: You pick your own page, deface as you will.

Michael: Yeah. Look at that. I do a little halo.

David: Oh, that's given me an idea.

Michael: Oh look at that, yeah.

AP: And then while I'm here, I'm going to do the super unprofessional thing of asking for a photograph, if that's allowed.

David: Yeah.

Michael: Oh, look at that.

David: That's perfect.

Michael: That's nice, isn't it?

AP: Beautiful. Would you mind helping me out?

David: Do you see what we've done there, Ali?

AP: Oh, thank you!

Michael: And yours is D for...

AP: I'm going to kneel behind you.

David: Sure.

Michael: I thought I should turn my M into wings.

David: Oooh.

Michael: This is, this is...

AP: Guys, as you may have worked out, big fan.

David: Cheers, Ali.

[asvterias]

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣: 𝖧𝖾𝗂𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖣𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇

the cast // series masterlist

chap. 1 || chap. 2 || chap. 3 || chap. 4

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Canon-Divergence, Targ!Cest, Implied Mentions of Same-Sex Romantic Relationships, Flirty Undertones, Some Slight Foreshadowing & Typical-Period Homophobia

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Teen!Rhaenyra Targaryen ✘ Fem!Velaryon!Reader, Teen!Alicent Hightower ✘ Fem!Velaryon!Reader, (Brief) Platonic!Ser Harrold Westerling ✘ Fem!Velaryon!Reader ✘ Teen!Rhaenyra Targaryen, Platonic!Queen Aemma ✘ Fem!Velaryon!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Dragonrides across King’s Landing is enjoyable as one might think, especially when The Realm’s Delight urges her Lady Y/N to tag along. The female Targaryen royals; Princess Rhaneyra and Queen Aemma seem to admire a certain Velaryon girl, wishing to seek comfort and reassurance for very different reasons.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.6k+

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @username23345 @fae-the-wanderer @hippivanhan34 @harjasblog @feyresqueen @ithemaduh @poopietomuch @starless-nightz @yelenaslyubov @chittakii @laiahernandeeezzz @flowerluzx

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Okay, my first chapter is done, tell me how you like it so far! Sorry for the delay, I was putting some finishing touches. If you wanna be tagged in this book, comment below and say ‘future tag’! Also go check out my tiktok page @/localgirlie, where I post videos relating to this fanfic!

🌊 ✘ 🔥

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣

𝖲𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖮𝗇𝖾: 𝖤𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝖮𝗇𝖾

𝟏𝟏𝟏 𝐀𝐂

𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨’𝘴 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨

••••

Lady Y/N of House Velaryon and Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, close cousins, and dear best friends, constantly updating each other about their lives. They’d known each other since the many years of childhood and had always been close.

Due to the close friendship between your mothers and political matters between your fathers, your handmaiden always packed an overnight bag whenever your parents decided to visit The Red Keep.

It was a splendid day to ride your dragon, Silverwing, out in the fresh air above the city skies. Simply for the fun, certainly not to convince your dear cousin Rhaenyra to finish her joyride and return to her princess duties.

Were you filled with outright urgency to have her back on the ground? Nope.

Regardless of your numerous attempts, it would have all been worth futile. Rhaenyra didn’t have a care in the world, sparing no expense to those around her. She lived in the moment alone, not doubting what could have been.

Not only was The Small Council hosting a discussion at this very moment but you were late. It would be noticeable the two teenage girls’ absences from the men’s council, wasting no chance to nitpick on the delay. Certainly not to your faces, they’ll be chastising the princess and her dearest Lady to the King himself. No one dared to defile Princess Rhaenyra or Lady Y/N, for the consequences were always quite fatal.

To secretly scrutinize the dragons was one thing but to blatantly insult the dragons was another danger in itself. Best to keep your humble opinion lingering around in your mind if you are smart enough to do so.

So, no you weren’t hurriedly urging the princess to return back to The Red Keep, for the sake of your status. Or the higher sake of hers as a Targaryen princess.

Instead, you allow her to enjoy herself, she requires a breather, and time to develop the recurring sense of another sibling being born. The Royal Targaryen family of three all had anticipated another child as Rhaenyra preferred a baby sister yet held no indifference to the unborn child’s gender.

Soaring and flying through the calm winds, you breathed in the fresh air, enjoying the nostalgic feeling. Going on dragonback was your favorite pastime alongside Rhaenyra, it was no secret nor have you considered it as such.

Allowing the wind to pass through your silver hair as Silverwing released occasional roars, whizzing above the commoners who stopped to glance. No view from below could compare to the ones over the clouds. Every dragonride spent with Silverwing further proved that the beast was displayed in complete adoration whenever you visited her.

You reminded her of her former rider, your great-grandmother Queen Alysanne, whereas she claimed you as her next rider.

The sight was for sore eyes, two female dragons and their female riders, content with each other’s company.

While Syrax was a carefree dragon, Silverwing was quick-witted with her movements. The mother-daughter dragon pair loved their time spent together, often skimming through the high skies and feasting on their well-prepared livestock.

You laughed, pulling onto the reins to control Silverwing’s sharp dodges made against Syrax.

“Would you slow down? It’s not a competition!” You laughed, the grip on your reins firm.

“It is to me!” She shouts back, turning around to face you, her silver hair flowing in the thick wind. You fought back an urge to roll your eyes as Rhaenyra smiled at your acceptance of her unsuspecting victory.

“We should head back to King’s Landing. Isn’t Alicent waiting for us?” You yelled over the sharp gusting winds.

“Yes, she is,”

Once the four of you landed safely on the broken terrace landscape of Dragonpit, you unbuckled your saddle from your waist. You quickly dismounted Silverwing, sliding down from her beautiful wings. As your shoes hit the dirty ground, you run your fingers against her rough scaly skin, gently tracing across it. Silverwing craned her head downward, giving more access to her vulnerable state, cooing as she blinked at you. She purred, shaking her head as you moved to pet her snout.

“My beautiful girl, Silverwing,” You kissed her nose, giggling when she nudged you backward in response. It was a soft shove, barely sending you a few inches away before you immediately embraced her again. She hummed, exhaling roughly, her hot breath radiating onto you.

“Should we leave you two alone?” Rhaenyra teases, sneaking up behind you.

Your interactions were different each time, but so unique in a way. In a way that only you and Rhaneyra could fully comprehend.

In truth, your relationship with the princess was complicated to say the least, typically swerving the line between platonic and romantic love. The Targaryen Princess always held a large role in your heart, but as your age and body progressed, so did your feelings toward her.

But still, you couldn’t openly express your affection for the silver-haired girl, reminded of the period you lived in. Where such love was forbidden and shunned, no one openly hated it but whispering around surely backfired. Then with the consistent whispers follows the judgement alongside the shushed snide remarks. Refusing to condemn yourself to a judgmental life, but once again, you weren’t living based on other’s opinions.

Most of the people who were most likely to talk about you were ranked as handmaidens and other ladies of the court, none of whom had a higher power.

None of those other highborn names were equal to both of your family names. The other common houses owned some land and livestock, but never true power. The real fiery power that House Targaryen solely possessed allied with the blinding sea salt of House Velaryon. Great Valryian houses came with many demands, and luckily you were a combined product of both.

Not when you were a bold Targaryen woman, who reclaimed one of the most notorious dragons.

Therefore, nobody divulged their inquiries about the closeness between the Princess and Lady.

Now, onto Rhaenyra…how could you describe her?

She was truly beyond any simple words to describe her fiery spirit, a true Targaryen woman embodiment, making her even more desirable. Even though she fully understood how her presence affected others, beaming in delight, she’d allow them to swoon over her. Her regal posture and swaying saunter, matched with the stunning outfits she modeled around the castle grounds.

A true princess, indeed.

“Very funny,” You plastered on a fake smile, squinting your eyes.

Silverwing tilted her head at Rhaenyra, almost teasing her to come any closer to you. It wasn’t threatening in any way, just a warm invitation to the reluctant princess. The mother-daughter dragon let out a synchronized shrill of laughter.

Syrax coddled into Rhaenyra’s touch, purring gently, luring the girl into her grasp. The she-dragon had roughly nudged her head against Rhaenyra’s body, basically thrusting her closer toward you, only further signifying true love surrounding the two girls.

Unknowingly to you, the few rushed padded footsteps behind weren’t an over-confident Rhaenyra. Surprisingly, it was a rather shocked and embarrassed princess.

You turned around to be met with an embarrassed Rhaenyra, who tried to keep her cool, failing miserably with each passing second. Her actions made your heart swell in her fondness, eyes twinkling in admiration as she stammered on her forthcoming words.

Making it easier for her, sparing some time to process her thoughts thoroughly. You piped up, tone playfully intriguing.

“Are you embarrassed or flustered, my princess? Or perhaps, both?”

Oh, curse all of Seven Hells! And that switch of sudden formalities sent her brain into overdrive. Yes, everyone else called her princess formally, so it was casual to hear frequently.

But this was coming from you. My princess. She was your princess. You spoke with a clear mixture of elegance and teasing when using formalities on her. It was getting hard for Rhaneyra to control her urges, especially with all these potential witnesses, disguised as workers for the castle. She couldn’t allow you to face dire consequences just for her lack of self-control. Besides, if she truly had the opportunity alone with you, confessions out in the open, this encounter would be very different. All alone in her chambers, with no disturbances, creating an intensified atmosphere, and intimate actions were taken.

During all of your time spent with the princess, she’d never expressed a nerve-wracking emotion such as embarrassment. Even if she hides her embarrassment, your annoying inkling detected it.

It has been a thorn lodged into her side for as long as she knew you. She had hoped that intuition would diminish for your time spent apart. But, sadly, it didn’t, only to flourish and become a source of irritation for the princess.

“Quite frankly, I’m unsure myself.” Rhaenyra maintained a timid voice, struggling to keep eye contact.

You hummed, unconvinced by her staggered voice, supposedly telling the entire truth. “If you say so, princess.”

While Rhaenyra denied your assumptions, Silverwing wasn’t so easily gullible.

However, the older dragon knew the true tension between her rider and the Targaryen princess was more than platonic. Not that the two teenage girls didn’t have anyone else fooled by their closeness. Others had keen eyes, their suspicions being proved right but didn’t dare speak up. Unless they wanted to be met with the terrifying fate of an open dragon’s mouth and the horrid spewing fire following after.

If given the chance, Rhaenyra would protect you, from bold smallfolk stating such accusatory titles unfit for a young princess having close relations with another female, more necessary what meets the eye. The young Targaryen princess would even go against her father’s strict orders, acting out if it regarded you.

How could she not? Especially when you meant so much to her.

Other than that, Rhaenyra would portray the bold daughter of Queen Aemma and King Viserys, the dutiful princess of the smallfolk, and more importantly, The Realm’s Delight, granted by all of the kingdoms to speak upon.

To fall prey to a man’s heart was deemed normal, an acceptance into society. Many people would congratulate the newlywed couple, praying blessings on future children and a great household. God forbid if a woman falls in love with another woman, then it’s considered improper, disgusting behavior.

But being a royal means your love and desire is not your own, but simply a piece of a board game called ‘The Targaryen Dynasty’. Most of the time, it’s unfair, depending on the compatibility of the betrothed or the dedication to developing a certain arrangement that pleases both spouses.

Being a Targaryen meant valuing your duty more than anything. Many gain the demanded power, the dragon blood coursing through their veins, and the ability to claim a worthy dragon.

Targaryens never made their living peaceful, well…some of them thrived on wars rather than peace. Even for one of the greatest houses, nothing else can create its downfall other than House Targaryen itself. Their dangerous dragons were a vital and powerful force. After all, it’s the very symbol used to describe Targaryens and their ascension to royalty.

Death. Dragons. Destruction. That’s all most people think about upon hearing the sacred name of ‘Targaryen’ whispering among many lips.

Is it better to be feared than adored? Would you gain support from genuine love or unwavering fear?

Eventually, Rhaenyra broke out of her trance, embarrassment tinting her cheeks once again.

“Did I break you?” You asked meekly, reaching out a hand for comfort. Stopped yourself halfway, unsure if Rhaenyra would accept it, and retracted your hand. Removing your black leather gloves and anxiously smoothing out your all-black rider’s outfit.

Confusion was laced on her face, eyebrows creased, “What? What do you mean?”

“You’ve never spoken with such shyness, you’re always bold and honest. Embarrassment is not also a common feature of yours.”

“I’ve never seen someone so smitten with their dragon,” Changing the subject was Rhaenyra’s best ideal option at the moment.

What else would she do? Further, embarrass herself in front of you? Gods, no, she had a reputation to uphold, not to wither away by your mere easygoing presence and gentle words. No matter how much of a cocky temptress you proved to be.

She stood a few feet behind you, weary of the older dragon’s sharp gaze. It was obvious Rhaenyra was embarrassed by her sudden fear of your dragon when she had been nothing more than kind to Silverwing.

After all, Silverwing was the most docile creature in the entirety of King’s Landing, maybe in all of the Seven Kingdoms. It made no sense why Silverwing immediately became annoyed by Rhaenyra’s presence.

Very anxiously, Rhaenyra waited for an answer, her body becoming tense and rigid, hoping you’d go along with it.

“Good news, now you have.” You retorted with a huff, oblivious to the obvious relieved look passing onto Rhaenyra’s face.

“Should you call Silverwing your beautiful girl, it’s a little too endearing for a dragon, is it not?”

The princess slowly stepped forward, losing her temporary fear of Silverwing, approaching you.

“Would you prefer I call you, my beautiful girl, princess?” You teased, maintaining her gaze while giving your dragon one last pet on her snout as she softly shook her head at the gentle touch. The Velaryon girl turned to her lovely dragon with a raised brow, “I think she would rather, Silverwing.”

Much to Rhaenyra’s dismay and slight surprise, the dragon nodded at your statement, glancing at the princess. Silverwing slowly opened her mouth, baring her many rows of teeth, displaying a similar action to a small taunting smile aimed at your dear cousin.

Only an amused chuckle left your mouth at Rhaenyra’s bewilderment. It was not often witnessing Rhaenyra being rendered speechless, only fueling your teasing.

“You’re not disagreeing, my princess. If there’s something you wish to inform me on, now’s the time for it.”

“No! I- I never said that, you implied that!” She argued, stammering over her own words, allowing the embarrassment to soak into her features. Any attempt of feigning indifference was now diminished, your cousin was aware.

Not that she’d like to admit, your simple words or gestures made her flustered. She felt absolutely embarrassed to be this flustered over a measly few phrases and bypassing touches.

Raising an eyebrow in confidence, you continued, “I wouldn’t be against it at all. For once in your life, you have to plead a little for good measure.” You grinned, “Would the Princess be considerate to begging for her own sake?”

In an instant, Rhaenyra blushed, an obvious shade of crimson red decorated her cheeks, and an overwhelming smile crept on her face. She tried to suppress it by straightening her relaxed composure or darting her eyes elsewhere.

No matter how she reacted, it was no use at all. You caught onto her movements quicker than anyone else could. Weirdly enough, Rhaenyra liked how easily you have her figured out every time without even trying.

Rhaenyra removed her gloves, giddy to focus on another task than maintaining your intense concentration. As small as it was, she was internally grateful for the little distraction. It was helping her cheeks to return to their normal skin tone, all porcelain with the distinctive Targaryen facial features.

“We should go, you’re delaying us even further.”

“Whose fault is that in the first place? It’s definitely not mine.”

She scoffed, ignoring your statement, retreating to the carriage. Of course, you were right, but the princess always had to have the last word. You knew it and she knew it. It was one of her many admirable traits you loved about your cousin, her unwillingness to back down from an argument even if she’s in the wrong.

“Welcome back, Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Y/N,” Ser Harrold greets, prompted high on his horse, “I trust your rides were pleasant,”

“Try not to look too relieved, ser.”

“I am relieved,” He admitted, “Every time that golden beast brings you back unspoiled. It saves my head from a spike,”

“You mustn’t worry too much about the princess, Ser. She can handle herself.” You replied with a fond smile.

“As can you, Lady Y/N.” He gave you a firm head nod.

Deciding to skip ahead of you, Rhaenyra approached your other friend, Lady Alicent, who was standing by the carriage. You chuckled at her flustered state, catching up to your cousin. Smiling ahead at Alicent, propped on the little carriage steps.

“How were the dragonrides?” Was the first thing to leave Alicent’s mouth with a shy soft smile.

Her eyes squinted in confusion, scanning Rhaenyra’s flushed cheeks, red as ever, making it very hard to ignore. The auburn girl leans closer to the princess, further analyzing the red tint of blush, and whispers to her. “What’s wrong with your face?” Her whisper was low, almost inaudible. So low, that you were unable to hear, despite you straining your ears to intently listen. Alicent was a soft-spoken girl so her voice volume was always at a minimum, having the ultimate advantage of blocking out gossipers.

“I’m fine,” Rhaenyra mumbled, swatting her friend’s hand away, shifting her attention elsewhere. Just avoid making eye contact with you. Everywhere but your piercing gaze that can immediately unravel her true feelings.

Alicent nodded, brushing over her flustered state, deeming it to the weather. The heat from the sun surely brought the redness to her cheeks, nothing else. Alicent had so naively claimed and stuck with it.

“Syrax is growing quickly,” Alicent commented, glancing at the golden dragon, who was intently watching the trio of girls interact. Silverwing has already been guided by the dragonkeepers into the dragon pit. Once you dismount her, Silverwing will disappear, your presence no longer beside her.

“She’ll soon be as large as Caraxes,”

Rhaenyra cleared her throat, the shy timidness in her voice replaced by her regular brazen tone.

“That’s almost large enough to saddle two,” Rhaenyra suggests, implying a future new rider for Syrax; Alicent, if she’s willing to experience the terrifying thrill.

“I believe I’m quite content as a spectator, thank you.” Alicent lifted the bottom of her dress, turned around, and entered the carriage. “For the both of you two, yes Syrax and Silverwing are beautiful, but I will not fly on their backs. I very much prefer to remain on ground level at all times.”

You nudged Rhaenyra’s shoulder, sending her a sly smile, venturing upon the little carriage steps. As expected, the princess kept her intense gaze trained on you, never diverging or faltering, not once.

To her, you were a stunning young woman. You flawlessly completed all the qualifications of marriage into a royal family.

If she were a man, her courtship would already pass, the wedding festivities between you two joyous as ever and the consummation would be passionate and meaningful.

If she were a man, she could do as she pleased, roam around the city whenever. Everything would be at her disposal and would receive little to no consequence. A life without consequences seemed entertaining enough.

But she was not a man. She couldn’t pursue an open romantic relationship with you. She could never court you nor she shouldn’t dream of marrying you. You are both women and couldn’t be thriving wives in a loving marriage.

Your movements halted midway onto the carriage steps, pausing and turning around at the other silver-haired girl.

“Are you to stare at me all day, my princess? If you find me breathtaking, there’s no shame in saying it.” You taunted her, your skirt slightly swaying in the wind.

The familiar flush on her cheeks returned, causing it to be more noticeable, realizing her gaze set upon you was longer than necessary.

Or maybe she was just confused. Did she really like you or were you just a mere distraction? Only until her Uncle Daemon’s sudden secret visits made an expectation.

“What controls your mind with such deep thoughts, princess?”

“Nothing of importance.”

“Your eyes fog over when you highly adore the thoughts running wild in your mind. Surely, it is of much importance.”

“How do you know that?”

“Your mimics?”

“Yes exactly,”

“Years of practice, your attitude stayed intact but your body language seems to defer from you. It’s very detectable when your mood changes.”

“Don’t you have nothing better to do with your time and energy?”

“I would if a certain princess should lessen her time spent with me. Now, I call that being observant.”

“That’s not what I call it.”

“What do you call it then?”

“You’ll never know anytime soon, will you?”

“For now. Your needs and inquiries are often fulfilled by me.”

“When you speak in that manner, you speak as if we’re romantically involved.”

“Should they not be? Who knows what will happen in the future?”

Your tone was insinuating, letting on more than Rhaenyra desperately needed to know. Her heart sped up and the blood coursing through her veins began to heat up.

Why must you be relentless when teasing her?

She swears your intentions are purely cruel when regarding her. Yet, she doesn’t demand answers from you, unless she’s truly too inquisitive.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Y/N.” Her statement was meant to be brazenly sharp, but the delivery was timidly startled. The purpose of her intended delivery and actual response didn’t seem to be conceded correctly. She muttered, cursing in High Valryian at her stupidity.

“My tongue has a mind of its own, princess. I hope you haven’t forgotten that.”

“Don’t apologize, I find it quite endearing hearing your thoughts out loud.”

“Perhaps if you like listening to my thoughts, I have something more intriguing to share.”

“Tell me, as your princess I command.”

“Okay, princess.” You huffed, a small grin gracing your face, taking a seat in the carriage. “We’re already late to the King’s council and we both smell of dragonback because someone wanted to go on a joyride.”

She groaned, walking up the small steps and into the carriage, sliding beside Alicent. The Velaryon girl was sitting across from her, merely an arm’s length away.

“And someone else agreed to accompany them on that joyride,” A footman closed the carriage door behind Rhaenyra.

“If I didn’t, you’d force me to go.”

With the horses’ hooves clicking against the dirty ground, the carriage started its journey back to King’s Landing.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Rhaenyra clicked her tongue, tilting her head slightly. You shake your head, chewing on your bottom lip, holding Rhaenyra’s gaze. Her gaze shifted to the auburn girl, gulping down any growing desire, ridding her mind of impure thoughts while clearing her throat. “Tell us Alicent, why do you refuse to go on a dragon ride?”

“Alicent is too afraid of heights…it’s a common fear, one that I had developed not long ago,”

“See you understand, Y/N. I don’t see why Rhaenyra can’t do the same,”

“If you’re not up for the challenge, Alicent, just say so.” Rhaenyra smirked, “There’s no use beating around the bush.”

“You’re quite difficult at times, princess, are you aware of that?”

“You never make me forget so I’m obligated to prove it even more,”

“Oh, the Realm’s Delight at her finest moments,” You chuckled, glimpsing at your well-trimmed nails.

“Aren’t all my moments my finest ones, Y/N?”

“Maybe so,”

The carriage ride to The Red Keep was relatively a long one, but a relaxing one at that. While you kept your gaze out the carriage window, unknowingly Rhaenyra had her eyes intently focused on you, studying each facial feature perfectly.

The princess thought she was smart, thinking you were unaware of her lovesick staring but you were highly aware. You fought back a wicked grin, a hand resting underneath your chin as the silence overtook the carriage. It was best to not confess that the princess was admiring you, not so subtly either since Alicent caught on to Rhaenyra’s longing gaze. Her eyes followed Rhaenyra’s own, brows furrowed in confusion as she observed the silent connection.

So much palpable tension wafting in a royal carriage, yet so few words were exchanged.

But there was a certain glint in Rhaenyra’s eyes that exceeded beyond a platonic relationship. It was almost as if she was yearning for your touch, craving to hear those teasing remarks and desperate for even the slightest bit of attention. Safe to say, Rhaenyra, herself, didn’t understand these new feelings sparking within. Of course, this certain feeling wasn’t unfamiliar to the princess whatsoever, but a recurring one.

Unsure of these newfound recurring feelings for the Velaryon girl, she loomed her heart in denial, obtaining a different interest. Her uncle Daemon was another pursuit she often indulged herself in.

Did she harbor romantic affection for her Uncle Daemon? Or did she share them with her beloved cousin, Y/N?

••••

Now inside the castle gates, the trio of girls kept their arms looped together, the Velaryon teenager in the middle, giggling as you sullied the halls.

You rounded up the stairs, venturing closer to Queen Aemma’s birthing chambers. Finally entering the room, filled with busy maids scurrying around, continuing their daily tasks, attending to the Queen.

“Oh, Rhaenyra,” Queen Aemma rejoiced, fanning herself to keep cool. It was a hot strenuous morning, dousing everyone in sweat.“You know I don’t like you to go flying when I’m in this condition.”

“You don’t like me to go flying while you’re in any condition,”

“Your grace,” Alicent acknowledged her friend’s mother with a small smile.

“Good morrow, Lady Y/N and Lady Alicent,”

“Good morrow, Queen Aemma,”

“Believe me, Queen Aemma, I tried to stop her, but she’s stubborn.”

“She joined me, Mother,” Rhaenyra interjects with an eye roll, taking a seat before her exhausted mother.

“Only because she forced me!”

“False accusations. Is there anyone to vouch for your claims?” She asks, sharing a skeptical glance with the other highborn women, none objecting.

A sense of pride overtakes the princess’s facial features, ignoring the pointed gaze sent her way from you.

The Targaryen princess smiles in gaining another victory, “My point stands corrected,”

“Your point stands unfair.”

“Same thing.”

“No, but I’m one of the only people you’ll listen to.”

“That’s not a privilege most people can claim for, especially from a princess. You should be honored, tasked with such a great deal,” Rhaneyra firmly nods.

“Honoured, perhaps. Dealing with you frequently is a bigger burden than anyone else can handle,”

“Oh, so I’m a burden now?” The Princess raises her eyebrows.

“Don’t let it get to your head, my princess.”

You chuckled, venturing closer to the Targaryen women, settling right beside Rhaenyra.

“I’d like to believe that you’re in way over your head,” She turned her head slightly, eyes trained on your small movements.

“Believe what you must, my princess. You’ll still love me regardless.”

“Yes, I always will,” She mumbles to herself, glancing down at her lap before lifting her head.

“Did you sleep, your grace?” You asked the Queen.

“I slept.”

“How long?” Rhaenyra interrogates her mother.

“I don’t need mothering, Rhaenyra.”

“Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you.”

At her daughter’s statement, The Queen remains silent, almost contemplating how to further proceed with the conversation.

She hits her foot on Rhaenyra’s dress, “You will lie in this bed, soon enough Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the realm.”

“Do you agree, Y/N? That women should be made to squeeze out children and nothing more?”

“Leave me out of this, she’s your mother and I’m not going against your mother. You’re on your own.”

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes at you, refocusing her gaze onto her mother.

How convenient must you be when siding with her mother instead of her?

“I’d rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory.”

The Queen laughs at her daughter’s comment, finding amusement in her words.

“We have royal wombs, you and I. The childbed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.” The older Targaryen woman solemnly informs, both tone and expression filled with sorrow.

For a moment, Rhaenyra wondered about her future as a grown woman. Marriage and children ultimately occur later, mindlessly staring out at the window. She spares a glance your way, dread filling her mind with the mere thought of you being married off to a dense lord and swollen with his heirs. The thought creeping into her mind caused a grimace to appear on her face.

Not only would you forget about her, you’ll be leaving her in these castle walls. The very castle that you both grew up in. Many memories wandered passed these castle corridors, some rare ones too. By Rhaenyra’s remembrance, you lived in the Red Keep longer than Driftmark with your family.

All she wanted was for you, her and Alicent to remain unmarried and childless.

Is that so much to ask for? Apparently in this society, where men ruled the world, unfortunately, it was too much to ask for.

For once, women couldn’t be bound to marriage and be viewed as an incubator for their husbands. Taught to raise their children and care for the household. Knowledge was limited to women and men made sure of it. Only the Septas and highborn women gained the luxury of knowledge and owning a dozen historian books.

You sent your friend a tight-lipped smile, strumming your fingers against the fabric of the chair, watching as her attention redirected back to her mother.

“Now take a bath, you stink of dragon.” The Queen shoots you a teasing grin, “The both of you,”

“Together, your grace?” You jested, raising an eyebrow, moving closer to your cousin. That little gasp coming out of Rhaenyra’s mouth went by unheard. “I’m sure Rhaenyra would love that, wouldn’t you?” Your eyes met hers, enjoying the dilation in her brown eyes expanding to the very core.

“Hmmm….I reckon so. Would you like that, dear daughter?” Queen Aemma joined in on the teasing of her only daughter.

“Doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Yet you’re still dodging the question.” Your tongue clicked against your mouth at her reluctance to admit the plain truth.

The silver-haired princess chuckles, standing up from the small chair, ready to take her leave with Alicent.

“Will I get an answer or not?”

“Leave you guessing, that’s my way of things.”

“You’re a minx, princess.”

“Careful of the words you speak, I could have your tongue cut off for that.”

“You could but you wouldn’t.” You stepped forward, slow but subtle pace.

“Are you so sure?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You must think highly of yourself.”

“When a princess is righteously spoiling me, what mindset must I inherit?”

“An indifferent one.”

“So if I did that, you’d go overboard with the luxurious gifts, yes?”

“Things would take a different approach, I agree.”

“If anything, this is your doing, princess.”

“Is that so?”

You hummed in agreement, relishing your little banter. So ever as the innocent bystander, Alicent smiled at the interaction, and Rhaenyra tilted her head, brown eyes twinkling with fondness.

“I should have you know–“

“Stay behind Y/N, I seek your kind words.” Queen Aemma interrupts her daughter’s statement, knowing that conversation sparked much undeniable tension and Rhaenyra had little restraint.

The silver-haired princess, already standing, complied with her mother’s wishes, approaching the Hightower girl.

“Very well, I’ll talk to Alicent in the meantime,” Your cousin loops her arms around your friend and they leave the chambers.

“So, how the pregnancy’s treating you, your grace?” You seated yourself in the latter chair.

“To put it into short words, not very good. I fear I may not survive this one.”

“Oh well…” You frowned, glancing at her swollen belly. Queen Aemma was frightened, for herself and the developing babe. Your observations are keen and clever, nothing can get past you so there was no sense of hiding it. Evidently, her movements were just as predicted, her tense posture rolling on her emotions, her forehead creased heavily in frustration and her hand softly clutching her swollen belly.

After Rhaenyra, all of the Queen’s pregnancies were taken by baby boys and it was stressful, to say the least. According to Queen Aemma, the birthing pains were devastating but the grieving pains were far more excruciating.

You hoped to never experience the pain that The Queen succumbed to as Rhaneyra secretly made a vow to never produce heirs, for her own safety.

Sadly, none of the babes survived the birth or even endured the 9-month term as required. For a while, Queen Aemma gave up on birthing her husband any more children, for the sake of her health and well-being. Yet, she still attempted again and again, risking her health, bound by her marital duty, to fulfill the King’s need for a son, a male heir. Rhaenyra witnessed the toll it took on her weary mother, exhausted and desperate to provide a son for The Seven Kingdoms but her efforts were all in vain.

Seeing The Queen’s hopeful spirit vanish with each passing baby was too unbearable to watch.

Of course, this only further increased your worries, despite you not trying to show it, but the entire ordeal was beyond any control.

“Doubt is a common thing, but we shouldn’t let it cloud our perspective. We should have hope, maybe the gods might bless us and finally give the King a son, so you can stop suffering from pregnancies. I don’t even want to think, the outcome if we were to lose you, the effect it’d have on Rhaenyra….”

“My dear, you shan’t worry about the possibilities, it’s not your concern,” She places a hand on top of yours, squeezing the soft flesh. “And there’s something else you should know…”

“What is it, your grace? Shall I fetch for a chambermaid?”

“No, no, I’m fine, leave the chambermaids to their duties.”

“Then, what else might you inquire, your grace?”

“You never fall short of telling me the truth,”

“Of course,”

“So tell me the whole of it.”

“Your grace, please don’t mistake me as a deceitful girl. I’m nothing of the sort.” You reassured the older woman.

She nodded, appreciating your kind reassurance to ease any impending doubts lingering in her mind.

“If you harbor romantic feelings for my daughter in any way, you have my full blessing,”

“Excuse me, my queen?”

“Y/N rest assured I hold no ill feelings towards you nor is this an attempt of mockery,”

“You’re giving me a blessing over something that hasn’t come to pass yet?”

“Only time will tell,”

“So you’re hoping that me and Rhaenyra share affection for each other?“

“It may be now or years from now. All I know is that your relationship with Rhaenyra goes way beyond platonic.”

“What you’re implying is far-fetched, your grace.”

Somehow, you refused to believe her words, choosing to keep your hopes at a bare minimum. It was the best default option for you. As a result of either decision that occurs, you will remain neutral and hold no resentment towards Rhaenyra, your friendship overruling unrequited love. You intend to move past the eventual rejection or surprising acceptance, your heart lies in Rhaenyra’s words.

“Is it? I doubt that. I’ve seen the way my daughter looks at you, simply as you hold the moon and stars for her. As if only the two of you exist in this world and your bond is unbreakable. The love you share for one another is unconditional in so many ways.”

“My queen, since when are you so poetic with words? If I didn’t know any better, you sound more invested in this relationship than me.”

“I’m only invested because I know it’s true.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Instead of replying to your statement, she changes the entire conversation.

“Run along, now, Rhaenyra needs her partner in crime, and Alicent shouldn’t be led astray because of the princess.”

“Your grace, are you purposely dodging my question?”

She tutted you, shaking her head, “No I’m not, just delaying it, there’s a difference.”

“You amuse me, my queen.”

“Where do you think Rhaneyra got her humor from? Certainly not from her father.”

“Well wishes on your pregnancy, your grace. I truly hope the labors and recovery goes smoothly.”

“You’re not the only one.” She chuckles, dismissing you with the shoo of her hand. “Stop fretting about me and go find Rhaenyra. God knows, what will happen without you in her presence.”

“Plenty of mischief rooted from boredom, and ultimately more added stress to The King.”

“Go find her before she does.”

“So, I’m the princess’s protector, now?”

“Much more to her.”

“You have no regard for the peering ears or eyes, your grace? The maids or guards might overhear us and start rumors.”

“What will they do? They have no real power or authority to stand on because they all rely on the mere gossip of others, especially a royal family at that.”

“I see where Rhaneyra gets her resilience from, no doubt about it.”

“Hush now, I’m the Queen, they know to keep quiet about certain issues if they wish to remain employed.”

“Are you certain, your grace?” Hesitant crept onto your expression and you couldn’t bother concealing it.

“Yes, now stop being such a worrywart, it’s a horrible look for a Lady. Run along, for real this time.” She gestured her hand out to the chamber’s doors.

A faint smile carved at her lips, sensing the hesitation in your movements. Still, you ignored the slight hesitancy in your mind, getting ready to take your leave.

“I’ll see if I can visit you tomorrow before the tournament, your grace.”

“Until then, I’ll see you.”

At her command, you politely curtsied and left the chambers, searching for the rebellious princess. Besides, the princess couldn’t have gotten too far, especially with Alicent accompanying her, the girls would be easy to find.

••••

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[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part six

summary: all the stars aligned, and it was you.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: i just finished writing s1, and we're halfway through! so in case anyone was wondering, s1 will have 12 parts :) i haven't started s2 yet but i am so excited to!!

series masterlist // playlist

Days passed, no sign of Coryo. The only reason you know he isn't dead is because Sejanus came and told you he would be alright. That didn't do much to quell your worries.

Selfishly, you were scared you wouldn't get to see him again. You knew you wouldn't, actually. Now you were truly alone. Just you and his blanket, the book he gave you, and the dress your mother made. And Sejanus Plinth, you supposed. None of the surviving tributes would even talk to you- not that you really felt like talking. Just reading. You've read and re-read Romeo and Juliet no less than three times since Coriolanus passed the book through the bars to you the night before you went into the arena.

"I know you asked for this, and it's a little early, but happy birthday." Coryo whispers, smiling as the dark of night encases the two of you into your own little world.

He hands you a small box, wrapped in parcel paper and complete with a ribbon made of some kind of knitting thread. You grin, taking it from his hand and carefully untying the bow, delicately pulling the paper apart where it's taped together so as not to rip it. A copy of Romeo and Juliet. Old, tattered, falling apart; well-loved.

"Oh, Coryo, you didn't have to give me anything. That's too sweet." You grin, immediately flipping through the pages despite the dark preventing you from seeing a single word. "Thank you."

"Of course." He says, watching only you as your eyes flick over the pages. What little light falls from the moon is reflected in your eyes, and he wouldn't dare look away.

"My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite." You say softly, and at first, he thinks you're talking to yourself until you look up at him. A small, almost shy smile fit perfectly onto your lips.

"You like it?" He asks, the answer obvious even to him.

"I love it."

You were his tribute. Not a friend, certainly not more, but as he reaches through the bars to let his fingers brush over your cheek all rational thought means nothing. He doesn't realize he's staring at your lips until you comment on it.

"Is this why you asked if I have a boyfriend?" You whisper, your natural smile returns, and he's quickly looking anywhere else. Your eyes, your hair, the spot where his fingertips meet your cheekbone just below your hairline. Anywhere else. "Because I know it wasn't on that list of questions."

He's quickly backtracking, dropping his hand. This was wrong and he knew it. "I, uh, Tigris made you some cake. It's not good, but it's the best we could do." He says, redirecting his attention to his bag as he pulls out the small paper bag.

You sit back, blushing furiously. "I'm sure it's delicious." You smile, and it comes across more nervously than you intended.

"Here." He hands it to you, and you gently place the book next to you on the ground so you don't get any crumbs on it. "I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow."

And just like that, he's gone.

You're grateful when you see Sejanus coming back with his bag of food and water. It had become some form of a routine, at this point. The citizens of the Capitol weren't allowed to bring you food anymore, he was the only one who did for you now that Coryo was gone, and now that his tribute had escaped as well.

"Sejanus." You smile, standing up as he gets closer.

"Y/N. Holding up okay?" He asks, a sad look behind his tired eyes. He looked almost as tired as you, you were sure, but you hadn't seen a mirror since you left your house before the reaping.

You sigh. "I'm holding up." You answer simply. Sejanus is the only person you feel comfortable being totally honest with, but at the same time, you don't want to because you know he already feels bad for what you're going through. He's the only one outside this cage who kind of understands. "How about you?"

"I'm alright." He shrugs, reaching into his bag and pulling out a sandwich for you. You could never get sick of these. "I also have salt, if it needs more of that." He hands you a small bag of table salt alongside it.

"Thank you." You grin, tucking the bag into your pocket incase you needed it. "Any news about Coryo?" You ask hopefully, taking a bite. You already feel your starvation-induced nausea fading away.

"Not really. He's recovering, though." Sejanus answers. "Are you ready for the interview tonight?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." You grin. "I was right, I didn't need the book. I already had the whole thing memorized, but it's been so lovely to get to read it again."

"It must be." He nods. "Gives you something to do."

You hum in agreement, looking around at the other tributes. No one is even moving much anymore. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

You look down at your sandwich while you think about how you want to word this. "Is Coryo..." No, that's not it. "I got the feeling that he actually cared for me. Is that true?"

"Coryo has never been one to tell anyone what he's thinking." Sejanus says, entirely unhelpfully. That's not his fault, though. "But if I had to guess, I would say yes."

"I'm just wondering because it's nice to have friends now. Here. At the end." You smile sadly before taking another bite. "And I was worried I had upset him."

"You? No." Sejanus shakes his head. "I don't think you could if you tried."

"Why's that?"

"Well... It's hard to explain. He's always been super focused on school, on the prize, but now, when it matters most, I feel like he's more focused on you and making sure you actually win." He tells you. "But, like I said, he wouldn't talk about it even if I asked him outright."

You nod. "Thank you, Sejanus. For always being honest with me."

"Of course. It's the very least I can do, all things considered."

"Can I ask you for one more favour?" You ask hopefully. "If not I understand, you must be quite busy."

"I have the rest of my life to be busy." He shakes his head. "What do you need?"

"Will you tell Coryo thank you, for me?"

"Yes. Of course." He agrees without hesitation.

"And do you have a pencil and paper?"

Sejanus headed home for a while and then back to the hospital after his visit with you, armed with your note in his pocket to pass on to Coryo. He was hoping he would be awake right now, he had been so on and off the last few days. More grumpy than normal, and Sejanus could tell it was driving him up the wall that he couldn't go see you. But the interviews had already started, so he would get to see you soon- even if it's just through the screen.

"Tigris." He whispers, pulling back the curtain as he sees the familiar girl sitting at his friend's side. She hadn't left her cousin most of the time he'd been bedridden, she was there every time Sejanus checked in.

"Oh, hello." She whispers, smiling at him. "He's still resting, but he's feeling a bit better today I think."

"That's good. I'm glad to hear it." Sejanus agrees, taking the seat next to her. "I went to see Y/N. She's eaten. She doesn't look good, though."

Tigris nods, returning her gaze to her sleeping cousin and pushing his hair away from his eyes. It's not like he needs to see, but she would do it anyway. Just to make sure he wouldn't be annoyed when he woke up. "He's been worrying about her. I can tell."

"She asked me if she did something to upset him. Has he said anything to you?"

"No, nothing." She shakes her head, lip jutting out at the confusing statement. Nothing at all would indicate to her that he was upset with you, but it's entirely possible that stuck in that cage day in and day out you could quickly become paranoid about who you could trust.

"Okay, good. That's what I told her anyway." He tries to be quiet as he speaks, but the whispering wakes his friend anyway.

Coryo's eyes fly open and he gasps, eyes landing on the two of them sitting in front of him.

"Coryo," Tigris says softly, a small, worried smile on her face.

"Y/N?" He asks, his voice husky from sleep. "Is she-"

"She's alive," Tigris promises, gently rubbing his arm, landing her hand on his and squeezing it gently.

"Is she hurt?"

"Not badly." Sejanus shakes his head. "A few decent cuts and bruises, but she'll be okay. I brought her some antibiotics the other day so nothing will get infected." You won't be okay, they both know that, but you certainly wouldn't be dying from the minor injuries you sustained in the rebel bombing.

He nods, slightly, trying to sit up. "How long was I sleeping? What did I miss?"

"Another tribute died from injuries," Sejanus replies. "Everyone is still scared. No one will go see them anymore, I haven't seen any of the other mentors there either. But I've been feeding her. She's okay."

Coryo nods, wincing at the pain in his back as he moves. The burn was bad, but apparently, it was healing well.

"Marcus is still missing. I haven't heard anything about him. They're hunting him but I still think he has a better chance out there than he would tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Coryo asks, rubbing his head with his free hand, Tigris still holding his other one. "They're still going ahead with the games?"

Sejanus just slightly shakes his head, looking away. Coryo knows that that is a yes.

"Oh no... Y/N.... She could've run," He mumbles. "But she saved me."

"I tried to convince her to. I did." Sejanus reminds him. "She wouldn't budge."

All heads turn as Lucky's voice on the TV catches their attention. "And now, our final tribute. I first met this young lady in the zoo not too long ago. From District Twelve, Y/N Y/L/N. Come on out here!"

Lucretius motions for you to step out onto the stage and you do, gently placing the book and the blanket you had brought with you on the floor in a neat pile before joining him.

"Lucretius." You smile. "It's good to see you." You're nervous in front of so many people, the audience in front of you is much larger than the small one you spoke in front of at the reaping, and being in front of a camera without Coryo by your side made you antsy.

"You as well, Darling. Now, I was told you had something you wanted to do for us so I'll just leave you to that. Charm us! Remember, the world is watching." He smiles, gently patting your shoulder before walking just out of view of the cameras. His statement was far from reassuring.

"Uhm..." You stare out at the audience, and suddenly you're scared you've forgotten the entire thing. You had to do well. For Coryo and his prize. He needed this. "I've become aware that not many people know this play." You chuckle, trying to hide your nervousness behind it. "But Romeo and Juliet has always held a special place in my heart and I want to share that with the world, before I go."

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes. You wonder if Coryo is watching. He's not here, you're sure of that, but you do hope he gets to see. And he does.

He stands up as soon as your face first appears on the screen, declining help from both Tigris and Sejanus as he limps over to the TV, cranking up the volume. Your fate depends on this, he knows it, but he can't look past the blue tint under your eyes and the bruises that litter almost every part of your exposed skin. The cuts are what get him the most. Your knuckles are cleaned up, mostly, but red and irritated as you twist your hands together nervously in front of you. Same with the crude black stitches on your upper arm. Irritated, neglected by professionals, but at least it wasn't serious.

"Come on... You can do it." He mumbles mostly to himself, and Tigris reaches up to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder as the three of them watch.

"O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?" Immediately, he is confused. He expected to be, of course, but he could also tell as soon as you started reciting it, after the first line, your confidence was coming back to you. This play was your safe space.

"Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love; and I'll no longer be a Capulet." You look out at the silent audience as you speak, a smile forming on your lips. They're listening. "'Tis but thy name that is my enemy: Thou art thyself, though not a Montague."

Coryo is wishing you had explained more to him about what this play is about. "What's Montague? It is nor hand nor foot, nor arm nor face nor any other part belonging to a man. Oh, be some other name." He should have asked. Why didn't he ask? You told him yourself that you could talk about it for hours. Why didn't he take advantage of that when he had the chance?

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; so Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title." A rose. Of course a rose, was this for him? He longed to understand it better as he watched the donations tracker tick up and up toward the thousands.

"Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name, which is no part of thee," You take a deep breath for the first time since you started speaking. "Take all myself."

It was a beat or two before the audience clued in that you were done, and then the cheers started. A standing ovation, people wiping their eyes and clapping for you like you had changed their lives.

"Wow! Now wasn't that something, everyone!" Lucky laughs, coming back into the frame of Coryo's view from the camera. Tigris was in tears. The continual uptick of the donations counter was reassuring to him. As you smiled, cheeks flushing red. "The donations are just flooding in with a record high! That must feel good."

"Thank you, it does." You nod at Lucky, trying to place all your focus on him so you don't get too embarrassed in front of the crowd. At least you knew Coryo would be pleased. If you understood his prize situation as well as you thought you did, this was very good for him. "I just want to make my family and my mentor proud."

"You have a real talent. It's such a shame." The host says to you and you laugh awkwardly.

"Well, everyone loves something. I just loved books."

You continually referring to yourself in the past tense makes Coryo want to puke, looking away from the screen only briefly to take in the other nurses and patients watching too.

"We have just a few moments left, but I need to know, what is that about?"

"Oh! Well, Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy." You explain, back to yourself again. "It's about two star-crossed lovers from feuding families. So, what Juliet was talking about, to put it very simply because I could go on and on about this, was that she loved Romeo for who he was- not just his name or his family. It didn't matter to her that they came from different places. She loves him anyway, and if he couldn't let go of his family, she would give up her own life for him."

Coryo's eyes widen. So it was about him. He can't help the tug on his lips that threatens to form a smile.

"Alrighty then, that's very sweet." Lucky replies. "Now, you said it's a tragedy. What is so tragic about a love story?"

"Well," You chuckle nervously. "They both die at the end."

taglist: @soulessjourney, @keziahcore, @that-veela-girl, @motorsport, @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs, @Lanadelrey3, @rawrmameh, @3zae-zae3, @babyspice6, @pastel0rchid, @maysileeewrites, @articxari, @Urfavpouge, @Multivitaminfy, @baybieruth, @kitscutie, @annaelise, @serrendiipty, @fratboyharrysgf0201, @totallynotkaibiased, @stelleduarte, @klplynn, @secretsicanthideanymore, @bejeweledreverie, @fals3-g0d, @drewsandsebastianswife, @niicole-87, @queenofshinigamis, @innercreationflower, @nallasstuff, @spring-goddess1, @baybieruth, @lovelyxtom, @throughgoeshxmilton, @enwonie, @scorpiolystoned, @iovemoonyy, @kodzuvk, @soupasoup, @eedwardss, @thatmarvelchick19, @wearemadeofstardust0, @regulusblackcore, @kbakery , @qardasngan, @omgsuperstarg, @kuroosbby001, @puredreamagination, @fantasticchaosthing, @coolcatyarb, @yokolesbianism, @becauseseaotters, @KimmiB13

if your user has a strikethrough i wasn't able to tag you! i'm so sorry!

[writer-in-theory]

tying you to me — i. i dared you to kiss me

Summary: From play weddings in the suburbs of Las Vegas to lavish hotel rooms in New York City, Spencer and Reader find their way back to each other every time. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Content Warnings: Smut in later parts (18+ only), mentions of bullying A/N: This is a rewrite of a wip series called "the way i love(d) you" that can be found here. Thank you so much @reidsaurora for beta reading!

Playlist Series Masterlist

The story starts how so many do: with a move.

Your parents moved to Las Vegas when you were barely a toddler for a job opportunity. They were nervous about your chances of meeting kids your own age—that is, until they met the Reids. The Reid family lived in the house across the street from yours, and neighborhood legend has it that they were the first to introduce themselves to your family (though Diana would often insist your mother was the welcoming one). Your parents were overjoyed to find out that they not only had a child of their own but that he was only two years younger than you. They liked the couple well-enough; your fathers able to bond over sports and your mothers talking about anything from the novels they’d read recently to all of the best spots in town to visit. 

Many kids became friends simply due to sheer proximity, and at first you and Spencer Reid were no different. When your parents spent so much time at each others’ houses, it was easy for you to befriend the boy. He was quieter, sure, and it took some work to find which activities you could enjoy together (the chess vs checkers debate went on for far too long, really), but he was the best friend you’d ever had. 

Your mothers would get used to the two of you constantly being around each other. Oftentimes, the two of you would go on what you called ‘adventures’, which really meant you’d be allowed by your parents to explore the small town together. Each day was different—some days you’d spend with Spencer in the local bookstore, and others you’d convince him to explore nature with you. No matter what, though, you spent your days together. Quietly, when you two were busy playing in the yard, your mothers would smile at each other and say, “You know, they’ll get married one day.”

Spencer was brilliant, and everyone in town knew it. Any time he was around they’d say the same thing: “He’s going to do great things someday.” You were never sure what sort of great things they meant or how they were supposed to know that so early on, but you did know that Spencer was special. He knew about things you didn’t even know existed, and could explain them to you so well you felt like an expert by the end of it. At first, your mother worried for you, scared all of the compliments given only to him would make you feel badly, but you’d enjoyed all the attention and would loudly proclaim to anyone who would listen that you had the smartest best friend in the world.

Perhaps, then, you might’ve seen this coming if you really thought about it.

The two of you sat in your secret hideout the day before school was set to start again. It was a hill in the Vegas suburbs that looked over the desert highway, found on one of your grand adventures. The first time you’d found it, it had taken nearly four hours for any of your parents to find you and Spencer. Immediately, you’d known that you’d come back if only for the feeling of freedom it brought. When you were there, it felt like you and Spencer were the only people in the entire world. 

“Can I tell you something?” Spencer asked after several minutes of quiet. He had a book open on his lap but he hadn’t turned the page in minutes. You had been drawing, but upon seeing the nervous look on his face you quickly abandoned your notebook. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked, turning on the blanket to face him. Your mother would be upset you got her blanket dirty, but she just didn’t understand that you had to bring it outside or Spencer would be upset about having to sit in the dirt. 

“You know how we were in the same school last year?”

Because you were two years older, you hadn’t actually gotten to see Spencer in school until last year when he made it to the elementary building. It was exciting, because you could see him in the lunchroom or even during library time. 

“Yeah! Sammy said second and fourth grade get recess together, so we can play kickball with all my friends if you want.” Already you were thinking about how well he could fit in with your group of friends.

Strangely, that invitation didn’t seem to lift Spencer’s spirits. Instead, he almost got sadder, curling his shoulders in a little more and picking at a loose thread on the blanket.

“We don’t have to play kickball if you don’t wanna. We can read books together or play hopscotch, or whatever you wanna do,” you tried, but no matter what you said Spencer wasn’t happy.

“They put me in middle school this year. I won’t see you at all,” Spencer sighed, staring at the thread in his hand. “They said I was too smart for elementary school.”

“Well, you are,” you answered, knocking his arm with yours. “You’re the smartest person in the whole entire world.”

“That can’t be true,” Spencer said, finally laughing for the first time since coming to your hideout. “I’m only seven, and there’s so many adults who are smarter.”

“Well, I’m older than you so what I say goes,” you told him matter-of-factly. 

You knew sometimes Spencer got sad when people talked about his brain. Your dad said it was because it’s a lot of pressure being so smart. That was the trouble with being so brilliant, you supposed. He was constantly being pushed forward and told to hurry up and do all the great things the adults wanted from him. Sometimes, you wanted to kick them all the shins and tell them to leave your best friend alone. He had so much time to be great, so why couldn’t he just be your friend right now? You wanted to, but you knew your mom wouldn’t approve so you never did it.

Instead, all you could do was support Spencer through whatever the adults were having him work on.

“I just…do you think we’ll be friends still?” Spencer asked then, practically crumbling your heart into pieces then. “We won’t ever see each other.”

“We’ll have to see each other,” you told him. “Every day after school, come here. We can do our homework and you can tell me all about being a middle schooler. I’ll bring blankets and snacks, and you can help me with my math homework.”

“Deal,” Spencer said with a grin, placing a bookmark between the pages of his book he’d been pretending to read. “You’re learning long division this year.”

“I know, and I still say I won’t need any long division to be a movie star.”

“What if you decide you don’t want to be a movie star?”

“That’s silly, Spence,” you laughed, resuming your drawing in your notebook. “Of course I’ll be a movie star.”

The two of you fell into quiet then, but you didn’t mind. Sometimes you could sit like this with Spencer for hours, both of you working on separate things but enjoying each other’s presence nonetheless.

“I’ll miss you this year,” Spencer said to break the silence. His face was all twisted up with an emotion you didn’t know but felt too heavy for someone so little.

“I’m gonna miss you too,” you answered, your voice a little higher in pitch as you fought to hold onto the joyous feeling of being with Spencer rather than the idea of being without him all year. You didn’t want to imagine the school without him, walking the halls without seeing that mop of curls or playfully sticking your hand in front of the pages of his book at lunch to get his attention. You didn’t want to think about having to make new friends, and you definitely didn’t want to think about Spencer having to do the same. Because you were outgoing and loved talking to people, but Spencer definitely didn’t. He was shy as your dad said, and that was okay but it meant he needed you around to help make friends for the both of you. 

Just as you screamed to the world how much you loved Spencer Reid, he quietly did the same every day. Sticking so close to your side at street barbecues that his arm constantly bumped yours, holding your hand after you stood up for him in the hallway, telling you that you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen when he caught you crying over something another girl had said about your hair. You wondered who would keep him company in the cafeteria now that he’d be in the middle school building, or protect him from stupid bullies in the hallways.

“What if I don’t fit in?” he asked, watching you with near tears in his eyes. “I don’t know how to be a middle schooler.”

“My cousin is twelve, and I talk to her all the time,” you announced then, determined to come up with a wonderful solution to his problem. “And you know what she said?”

“What?”

“She told me that Hannah Walkins had her first kiss in middle school and she was the coolest girl in school.”

“What does that mean?” Spencer asked, and you sighed dramatically as if it should have been obvious.

“It means, that if you get your first kiss in middle school then you’ll be cool and popular!”

“But who would I kiss? I don’t know any girls,” Spencer said.

“Um, hello? I’m a girl, Spence!” you shouted, waving your arms around at the clear skip over you. “You could kiss me!”

“But you’re my best friend!”

“Right, so you know I don’t have cooties,” you countered immediately.

“All girls have cooties,” Spencer corrected, “I asked my dad and he said so.”

“Well your dad’s wrong,” you said. “You know what? I dare you to kiss me!”

And this, the gauntlet was thrown. You knew Spencer didn’t have to accept your dare, but if he didn’t then he’d be the biggest weenie for not doing it. The last time one of you didn’t accept a dare was when you refused to pick a book from the library outside of the kids section, and he hadn’t stopped teasing you for a whole week after. It felt like an easy solution to helping Spencer calm his fears about fitting in with the middle schoolers, all he had to do was take it. 

You stayed still as Spencer worked up the courage. Your heart raced as Spencer began to lean in closer, wondering quickly if this was one of those things your mom would gossip to her book club about if she found out. The second you felt his lips on yours, you squealed and leapt from the blanket.

Immediately you could feel your cheeks heat up as you shrieked, “Oh my God, ew!” You both were laughing while you each wiped off your lips, trying to forget that any of that had just happened. 

“So gross!” Spencer whined, “I’m never kissing you again.”

“Good,” You agreed. How did people in movies ever want to do that kind of thing? It was so gross!

Once the excitement of the moment died down, the two of you ended up lying together on the blanket. The sun was beginning to set, which meant you’d have to walk back home to make it in time for dinner. But you could have a few more minutes with your best friend, hoping that you’d at least calmed some of his nerves about school.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Spencer told you. “You really are my best friend.”

“That’s what besties are for, Spence, I’ll always be there when you need me,” you said back. “As long as you promise never to kiss me again.”

Spencer laughed and held onto your hand then, squeezing it as if to say once more that you were his best friend. As the two of you walked, your hands slipped until only your pinkies were held onto each other, a constant tying you together even as you faced the new school year without him. 

“I promise.”

[leeknow-thoughts]

୨୧ POLY!MINLIX X READER HEADCANONS

𝝑𝝔 cw : bullet point format, smut under cut, sfw and nsfw sections, mommy kink (everyone act surprised), sub and dom dynamics, some sub!reader and some dom!reader, pegging, mxm action, poly!minlix, petplay, rimming, some stoned! sex, some stoner!minlix

𝝑𝝔 SFW :

oh my fuck literally the best bfs everrrr

just so so so much love??? it's almost overwhelming???

Minho is so gentle and he takes so much pride in knowing every single stupid thing about you and lixie

oh oh oh he also thinks it's so cute when you and Lix give him nicknames

AND LIX :c MY LIXIE PIXIE :cc

he gives so so so so much love just all the time

whether it's bc he's cuddling into your side at night or he's making you brownies or he's buying you cute little gifts

"oh I saw this and I thought you'd like it!" - Lix (as if the gift isn't an EXPENSIVE ass designer bag or perfume or novelty item)

oh yeah Minho buys you and Lix jewelry a lot... like gets you 3 matching sets for Christmas, birthdays, holidays, new years, anniversaries, etc.

but Minho is a simple man, he lovesssss quality time

oh yeah aquarium dates SO MANY AQUARIUM DATES???

the kitties love looking at the fish

oh oh oh and Lixie loves physical touch???

so the 3 of you are cuddling in bed and probably either playing Mario Kart on the Nintendo switch (which always gets complicated bc Felix rages everytime he gets hit by one of minho's red tortoise shells) or watching a movie (it can't be a horror movie bc lix will cry, and it can't be a movie where an animal dies bc Lix will cry, and it also can't be a detective movie bc Lix will get bored halfway through) or taking a little cat nap (Minho curses, tosses, turns, and talks in his sleep so most of the time he is waking you or lix up, but you 2 don't dare say anything bc it would make Minho feel bad)

oh oh oh and you never have to step foot in the kitchen bc mimo lovesss cooking for you :c

so much praise??? you could literally just breathe and they'd be telling you just how much they love you??? LIKE HELLO?!--

also also also they FUND your hobbies and interests

oh, you like an anime series?? Guess who bought you 5 new figurines of your favorite character just so you'll smile? Lixie did!!! it doesn't matter that it costed a ridiculous amount of money bc it made you smile and that's what matters to Lixie!!

oh, you want to visit Japan someday?? Guess who booked a flight there just bc he loves you sm?? Minho did!!!

oh oh oh they're def sharing their clothes with each other and with you

they think you look so cute in their clothes

𝝑𝝔 NSFW :

the most versatile duo ever oh my fuckkkkkk

oh yeah, two mommys... when they're dominant at least

felix is def nicer when he's dominant :c he's so sweetieful, he's brushing back your hair and kissing your forehead while Minho fingerfucks and spanks you

also also also pet play with them :c

a pair of cute kitty ears and a cute little butt plug??? maybe even a pretty little collar??? oh yeahhhhh

oh oh oh and they're just so full of love for you :c constantly worshipping you like you hung the fucking moon

ORAL FIXATIONNNNNN holy shit lix has the craziest and most insane oral fixation

he's CONSTANTLY sucking on your tits <3

oh oh oh ohhhh and Lix loves sucking on minho's fat cock <3

lix has the CUTEST little cock :c and lovesss when you and Minho take turns kissing it :3

OMG AND Lix lovesss getting pegged and getting his ass fucked by minho??? oh yeahhhhh he'd KILL FOR IT

also also also rimming with the two of them??? letting Minho sit on your face while you lap at his cute little hole?? IF I EXPLODEEE

oh oh oh and minho loves fingering you while you lay on his lap, especially if you have your kitty stuff on, oh oh oh and while lixie humps his leg??? LITERAL HEAVEN

and they're subby too ??? :c

subby Minho needs to be spoken of more bc yeah :c

after a long day of dance practice and Minho is tired and you and lix just want to help him feel better?

sit him down on the couch and let Lix ride him while you let him suck on your pretty tits <3 he'll love the two of you forever

oh oh oh and fuck minho's cute little hole while Lixie sucks on his cock?????

they're just so full of love for you and it shows <3

also SHOWER SEX!!! this is the only form of a quickie that they like is early morning shower sex

also also also wake and bake + sex??? they loveee especially on their mornings off or their days off?? they're taking turns eating your sweet cunt as the sun comes up >:3

[neil-gaiman]

Hello, I know I’m a little late after the release of good omens season 2 but I did only watch it at most 7 days after it’s release on BBC iplayer (or Amazon Prime, my memory is bad I can’t remember what platform I watched it on). I have only just thought of something to say:

how dare you

I’m joking I’m sorry, beautiful and tragic and I never cry over films or shows but this was one of the few that had me… verging on tears (trust this is not a criticism but one of the highest compliments I can give lmao). The love the loss all that poets like me love for 😔💔💔💔.

I can’t wait for season three if it comes, and thank you (coincidental or not) for making all the fan canons canon, that was really fun to have us included. I’m asking for the book of good omens from my parents and I’d love to see your work written as I’ve loved all your books so far.

another topic to bring up: casting. Just 👏👏👏👏✨✨ bring one of the (if not the) best welsh and Scottish actors together. David and Micheal are becoming my world in the topic of acting. It’s just brilliant.

finally the questions, sorry if this was formal I just want to express my gratitude for how f-ing amazing the series was. Sorry if these questions have been asked before I’m just here to ask:

since there were obviously some fandom inclusion in s2 is there any chance we might be seeing theories or headcanons from the fan base become canon? For example the coffee theory might not as that could change the whole plot but little things like ships or backstories might be considered?

what are your thoughts on the coffee theory? Is it somewhat accurate? Does it intrigue you how creative people get? Are you shocked the fan base is that amazing at guessing your plots? Haha

is it conformed that Crowley was archangel Raphael pre-fall since he could access the files in Heaven?

And what are your thoughts on the ways your fan base is going? Are you proud of how good omens is doing ? And how silly creative your fans are? Do you like what people are doing with your creations?

thank you for reading !! seeing all your interviews and replies to past questions makes you seem like a really fun guy, you’re amazing ! I’ve made several friends start watching just so I can get rant to them and possibly get a s3 !!

- a very silly reader and watcher who was painfully formal in this ! :)

If there was fandom theory inclusion in Season 2 I wasn't aware of it, and I'm doing my very best to keep as far as I can from any Season 3 theories or ideas.

[604to647]

Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

First Movement (Adagio sostenuto)

5.5K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader, a childhood best friends to lovers story

Summary: About to make your society debut and enter London's marriage mart, you don't expect an old friend whom you haven't seen in over 10 years to make a surprise appearance at the first ball of the season.

Warnings: None! Fluff! B, C, D, E, F Bridgerton make appearances. It's me so there's a cute nickname (won't spoil). The masterlist includes a few words about how this reader insert is written - essentially, no reader description other than having hair and wearing dresses in the style of this era, reader has a backstory; much of this part is exposition (so maybe a little slow but we'll get there!😊)

A/N: My plan is to post the entire series before Season 3 of Bridgerton airs, because the story is intended to take place in the background of the same season and if things don't make sense after the show comes out then oh well 🤭 I'm also only 2/3 of the way through Julia Quinn's books, so please forgive me if some of my characterizations of the Bridgertons are not wholly correct 🙏🏻

Wonderful Bridgerton inspired dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Series Masterlist

The Duchess of Hastings stands behind you, admiring the reflection in the mirror of the two of you together, “I dare say, if you had debuted with me during my season, there is a good chance that I may not have been the Diamond.”

“Oh, shush, your Grace,” you make a funny face at her in the mirror, to which she laughs and pokes you in the ribs, “Don’t you start with this ‘Your Grace’ business with me.”

That Daphne Bridgerton is your dearest and oldest friend in England is something you consider to be one of the great fortunes of your life, of which, as the daughter of a Count, you have many.  Violet Bridgerton and your mother, the Countess, had been dear friends and as such, much of your early childhood in England had been spent at Bridgerton House, running around with not only the same aged Daphne, but her elder and younger siblings as well.  The Bridgertons are one of the most beloved families of the ton, their good natured and spirited personalities recommending themselves to everyone, and accordingly, your memories of when your two families would gather remain some of the most joyous of your childhood.

Sadly, your dear mother passed away from illness when you were only seven years of age and your beloved father, who loved her more than life itself, could not bear to stay in England much without her.  The Count was one of several nobles charged with governance of Her Majesty’s Royal Naval Fleet; a gentle man, his purview was primarily diplomatic (as opposed to militaristic) and he thus travelled widely, often and always for long periods of time.

Though he did not wish to remain where so many of his memories dwelled, the Count could not bear to leave his only child behind, and consequently, you had joined your father on his travels.  He proudly raised a cheerful, spirited daughter who loved the seas and adventure as much as she did reading and music.  Your father found that exposing you to and requiring you to immerse yourself in so many foreign cultures at a young age led you to be the most sympathetic and kind hearted child, one who others found easy to converse with and befriend on account of your good humoured nature and open minded heart.  Unencumbered by the rigid etiquette requirements (and dress code!) of British high society, you happily embraced many freedoms that other young ladies of your age and breeding did not have the opportunity to enjoy.  Your father taught you much about the ships and business of the naval fleet, subjects to which you took a great interest; to this day, you know your way around most ships better than some sailors.  The Count was especially proud of your affinity for diplomacy, understanding the importance of fairness and tough negotiation both in foreign matters and managing fleets.  You loved all of it – spending countless hours pouring over maps and letters of diplomatic matters with your father and absorbing all you could; as you got older, you took great pride in the way your father would sometimes seek your opinion and advice on business matters and delighting when he would praise you on your ideas.

While he was unorthodox, your father could not be accused of being neglectful; he would not forgo your formal and societal education, knowing that one day, you would have to return to live in England.  Hiring only the most adventurous and brave governesses to accompany your travels, the Count ensured that your literary, numerical, musical and artistic accomplishments and pursuits could rival those of your peers back home.  You learned to dance the dances of grand balls, though you had only the few foreign dignitary hosted events to practice.  Your only other occasion to practice came when you would return for your infrequent visits to England, reuniting with your beloved Bridgertons to spend nearly all your time catching up and laughing with Daphne and her siblings, and take in what you could of British society before once again being swept away on another ship.  Though brief, these reunions with your friends, coupled with your frequent letters were enough to ensure your friendships remained strong and cherished over the years.

Two years ago, Daphne had made her societal debut, meeting and marrying her love, the Duke, during the marriage season and you could not have been more delighted for your friend.  That season should have also been your debut season, except that you and your father were in the Far East and would not have been able to complete the Count’s business and return in time.  Since you had postponed one year, what was two?  If you had your way, you would have made it three, not eager to give up the life of travel and leisure that you’ve grown accustomed to.  However, when the Queen wrote to ask why the daughter of one of her esteemed Counts has not yet been presented, both you and your father had to regretfully concede that your life as a carefree sea farer was over.

And thus, you find yourself in your present circumstance: in a luxurious silk gown the colour of swan feathers, wearing what might actually be swan feathers in your hair, about to be presented to the Queen before embarking on your first social season.  To be honest, you’re not terribly nervous, save for whatever nerves one always has whenever attempting something new, and you have good reasons not to be.

The first being that you are in the very capable hands of your great friend, the Duchess.  The now Dowager Viscountess had promised your mother that when the time for your debut came, it would be the Bridgerton family’s honour to sponsor you.  If anything, you felt that the honour was all yours – not only were you to have the support and backing of one of the most respected and revered families during your season, you would also be blessed with their company.  As fortune would have it, due to the timing of your debut, Violet had prepared herself to take on the duty of presenting not one but two girls: yourself and her third eldest daughter, Francesca. 

Fearing it was far too much work and pressure, you had assured Violet, whom you loved as a second mother, that she need not fret too much over you; you’re a woman of twenty-three with more world experience than most men twice your age, and encouraged her to focus her attentions on her own daughter.  Violet had been aghast at the implication that she didn’t think of you as one of her daughters, and you were about to be on the receiving end of a scolding that only a mother could dispense when Daphne came to your rescue.  As the Duchess of Hastings, she herself had the right to present young ladies at court, and she declared herself delighted to be your patroness this season.  This was decidedly a win-win; not only could Violet concentrate on Francesca’s prospects, you could now look forward to spending the season with your dear friend by your side.

The second reason you’re not overly anxious is that despite being older than most of the girls debuting at the same time, you know you have plenty to recommend you to potential suitors.  No, you are not terribly conceited nor do you hold your own attributes in such high esteem, but rather, very practically, you know most suitors will not let a small thing such as age deter them from the handsome fortune your father has bestowed upon you. 

The Count was forever exasperated with the shortcomings of the laws of inheritance and how they prevented his one child from inheriting his estate, but he made up for it the best he could with the legal avenues available to him.  First, he set aside a healthy dowry for you, so that you would be sure to attract a similarly healthy crop of high society gentlemen from which to choose a husband.  Second, via his will, you would be provided for for the remainder of your life with a generous per annum allowance that rivaled the income of many estates; you were to want for nothing even if you never married. 

And finally, known only to a select few, your father had a vast investment in an international fleet separate from the naval fleet of the queen; a beloved exploration and trade business venture that was the Count’s passion project - you and him spending many enjoyable hours pouring over the plans and movements of this fleet.  The dividends from your father’s shares went directly into a trust of which you (and any future children of yours) are the sole beneficiary, though the capital had to be held by a man.  It was the Count’s thinking that in addition to the income, it was only fair that you benefitted from a venture that you had invested much of your own heart and time into.  Naturally, being a part of your father’s estate, this investment could be passed down to the next Count (a distant relative), but your father had other plans.  If the intended recipient was willing, you father wanted to sell his shares to his future son-in-law, allowing for the dividends to continue flowing to you and so that you may remain close to the business via your husband’s involvement. 

In other words, there are plenty of reasons that potential suitors who might otherwise be dismissive of your age and lack of societal presence, may find you attractive (the least of which were probably your charm and wit); you can afford to be choosy and you fully intend to be.  And while you’re not quite so hopeful to wish for a great love like that of your parents, or even Daphne and her beloved Simon, you dearly wish for a husband that will understand and respect you; one who will celebrate you for your mind, experience, opinions and all the reasons why you’re different due to having grown up the way you did.

Daphne seems to have high hopes that there will be many potential suitors who will live up to your expectations.  You’re less confident than she, but still more optimistic than not.

Flopping yourself down on the chaise next to Eloise, the two of you heave heavy sighs in unison.  After the nerve-racking presentation to the queen earlier this week, the following days have been a non-stop flurry of ribbons, fittings, etiquette lessons and teas with the express purpose of study in the who’s who of the ton.  In just a few hours, all of Violet and Daphne’s hard work and preparations will be put on display when your contingent attends the first event of the season: the Danbury Ball.

Eloise passes a box of candy to you and you select a treat gratefully.  Though Daphne is your closest friend, you’ve sometimes found yourself having a fair amount in common with Eloise and know her to be a trustworthy confidant; this is one of those times.  While you don’t think you have it in you to hate anything as much as Eloise despises the marriage mart, the both of you at least have the good fortune of being able to be picky with your suitors and moreover, wish to exercise that particular privilege.  For Eloise, marriage is a cage.  For you, it’s the not marriage itself, but a union with an imprudent match that you wish to avoid.  If you can no longer be free to sail the seas and wander through the valleys and streets of the foreign lands that call your name, you must insist that the home you’re being called home to roost is at the very least, pleasant.

“I beg of you,” murmurs Eloise, “Please let all the fashionable young men fill up your dance card so that there shall be none left for me.”

You steal another piece of candy, “I’m afraid there’s more than enough young men to go around, El.  Plus, you really ought to beseech Franny for your request, my dance card may struggle for applicants on account of me being such an old maid,” you giggle.

“None of that negativity now,” chimes in Daphne from the open door, “tonight is full of possibilities.”

During the season, you’re staying at Bridgerton House so to be close to all the finery of dresses, jewels, shoes, ladies’ maids and moral support that you may need.  Your father is staying nearby in another house on Grosvenor Square, and comes by most days to see his daughter and dear family friends for breakfast at the very least.  You have loved your life with your father, but at times like these, when you are laughing at and listening to the loving snipes and bickering of the Bridgerton siblings, you often wonder what it would have been like to have a more traditional upbringing.  Pushing that thought out of your mind, you stand and pull Eloise up with you so that the two of you can follow the Duchess to the next room where you’re expected to choose from the glittering selection of dresses laid out for tonight.

As you lean towards selecting a pretty lavender gown, Daphne fills you in on the processional arrangements for your entrances tonight, “Mama, Franny, Anthony and Kate will take the first carriage, then you, Eloise and I will follow in the second.  We will enter the ball in that order as well.”

“What about Colin and Ben?”

“They’re meeting with some friend from Colin’s travels whom he met in… I want to say Greece?  They will make their own way and meet us at the ball.”  You nod agreeably; as long as everyone is together at some point or another, your first season event will feel a lot less daunting.

---

As you walk into the Danbury estate, you cannot but feel a bit overwhelmed by all the elegance and glamour on display.  Though no stranger to luxury and finer things, it’s not very often that you find yourself amidst so much opulence.  Eyes shining as you take in the finery, your voice is full of excitement and genuine awe as you compliment Lady Danbury and thank her for hosting tonight’s soiree.  Hand clasped tight in Daphne and Eloise’s as you make your way down the main hall to the ballroom, you see Colin further down on the right side of the hallway, waving alongside Benedict.  Waiting by the wall with the Bridgerton brothers is a third gentleman, tall and broad shouldered with soft, curly brown hair who currently has his back to you; Colin has on a mischievous grin and he’s speaking to the stranger quietly, eyes flitting back to you and his sisters periodically as you approach.  This can’t be good, you think with suspicion.  When you’re a few steps away from meeting with the brothers, Colin gives the stranger a slight nod and he turns around; before you even have a chance to look upon the newcomer’s face, you hear a familiar sweet baritone voice say, “Hello, Dulce.”

At first, you’re in shock; the Spanish word for candy is not a nickname people commonly call you and it’s one you haven’t heard in over ten years.  Then joy of recognition and realization overtake you and you completely forget where you are, crying out, “Pero!!!”  Your arms behave of their own accord and fly open to wrap around his neck as you launch yourself into the handsome man’s arms.

He hugs you back firmly and whispers low in your ear, “Happy to see you, too” before releasing you, the both of you immediately stepping apart and drop your hands to your sides, remembering where you are and that the eyes of the ton are always watching.  But you can’t help but beam; nor can you look away from Pero’s face. 

Pero Tovar had been your most constant and beloved friend for many of your happiest childhood years spent abroad.  Pero’s father, a Barón of Spain, was in charge of naval governance for his country in a similar capacity as your father was for England and accordingly, their paths crossed regularly in foreign countries.  Both men of gentlemanly dispositions, the Count and the Barón had forged a deep and lasting friendship as they conducted their business.  Another thing that they had bonded over was the fact that they were both widows who uncharacteristically chose to bring and raise their children with them on their travels. 

So, although Pero is eight years your elder and already in his early teens when you first met, being the only two children of sea loving foreign diplomats in the strange lands you found yourselves in readily recommended you to each other and you had become happy and frequent playmates.  Pero devoted hours and hours to your amusement, allowing himself to play more juvenile games of pretend that he may not otherwise with compatriots of his own age, and with his encouragement you grew to be brave and curious, always wishing to keep up with the older boy.  He helped you with your studies, and you played music for him, learning and mastering the pieces he enjoyed the most.  The two of you shared a love of literature and it became your special version of a traditional hunt in each new country you landed in to find foreign language versions of the other’s favourite books so that you could read the translations alongside your worn English copies.  Some of the most cherished copies of your favourite books, ones you carry with you from country to country still, were gifts from Pero. 

As you got older, your shared adventures expanded to include exploring the streets of new cities, trying local cuisines and frolicking on the beaches of the coasts of Italy, Portugal and even India.  The last time you had seen him, he was a strapping young man of twenty and you had been twelve.  His father was returning to Spain for an undetermined amount of time to deal with affairs of his estate, and Pero would be entering university, having postponed his acceptance for two years already.  Although you had each promised to write, the letters were far and few between and eventually you lost track of Pero – you can hardly blame either of you; you were travelling with your father and not always easy to find, and you didn’t really expect a young man concentrating on his studies to have the time to write to a young girl despite having been her very best friend for so many years.

But now he’s standing right in front of you and you can hardly believe your eyes.  He’s impossibly tall and wide, a far cry from the lanky boy with whom you scrambled over rocks on the beaches of Portugal, but he’s still tanned, leading you to surmise that he must still sail or at least get a healthy amount of sun regularly.  And while his face is older, devastatingly handsome with a cutting jawline partially hidden by untamed facial scruff, he’s completely recognizable to you.  An easy clue is the scar that runs from above his left eyebrow down past his eye, though faded from when you saw it last, but it’s the indulgent smile he’s giving you right now that gives him away to you.

“What are you doing at this ball? Did you know I would be here?” you can’t help but continue to stare at Pero wide-eyed, grinning like a fool.

“Oh!  We made the connection earlier this week at dinner,” chimes in Colin, “We were going to bring him over to the house but thought this would be more fun.”

You make to swat at Colin’s arm. “How did you meet this scoundrel?” you jest, with absolutely no malice in your voice, pointing your thumb at the still laughing Bridgerton brother.  As your group starts to move towards the ballroom, Pero falls into an easy step by your side, “We met when Colin was taking in the crisp sea air of Mykonos, and then again last year in the vineyards of Tuscany.  He made for excellent company after a long day of helping the locals prune grape vines.  Naturally, when I arrived in London for business this month, I had to look him up.”

Daphne is now tugging you towards the ballroom by your hand, and in turn, you’ve grabbed onto and are practically dragging Eloise down the hall with you.  You shout back to Pero, “I want to hear everything!” and can’t help the smile that spreads across your excited face when he nods after you.

“Oh!” you breathe, invigorated from the surprise of seeing Pero, as you come to a stop right before the entrance way.  Daphne smiles over at you, “It was so hard keeping it a secret from you!”

You’re astonished, “You knew about Pero as well?”

“Yes, I thought it might give you an additional boost of confidence to have another friend’s support during your first event.” 

You smile at your sweet friend and squeeze her hand affectionately, “Thank you!  It does and I’m delighted to see Pero again.  But in truth, my confidence could never be lacking when I have a friend like you next to me.” 

Daphne gives you her biggest smile and squeezes your hand right back.  A moment later, the three of you step into the ballroom and meet the gazes of the other attendees as you’re announced.

---

The ball is a whirlwind.  It seems you hardly have a moment to even catch your breath, never mind catch up with Pero.  From the moment you walked in to the grand hall, you were pulled in this direction and then that, introduced to new person after new person, some of whose names were familiar from your visits home over the years, and others only from the copious amounts of study you’ve done on the ton over the past week.  You’ve certainly forgotten all their names by now. 

Then it’s dance after dance after dance with the young gentleman that Daphne parades in front of you.  The dancing itself is quite pleasant and a lovely way to shake out some of your jitters, but you find the small talk hardly enough to get to know your partners, and when the dance is over and you’re once again being whisked away to another introduction or meeting that the Duchess has lined up for you.  The few opportunities you’ve had to take a breather and indulge in a glass of lemonade, you’ve been happy to retreat back to Pero and your small familiar group; but just when you’ve started to entreat your old friend to open up about his adventures since you saw him last, another potential suitor will be introduced and the entire cycle starts over again.

It’s only when you’re halfway through the evening that the frenzy has died down enough that you can observe and be amused by Pero’s behaviour at the ball.  While you’re constantly twirling around the dancefloor, you notice that he never leaves his position against the wall and doesn’t dance at all; he mainly scowls and looks displeased, hardly speaking to anyone other than the Bridgertons or you when you have a free moment.  You feel his eyes follow you as you glide across the dance floor with the young men that have asked you to dance, and even when you’re making your way through the room on Daphne’s arm, meeting and making small talk with the other families of the ton.  When you do happen to look up and search for him, you often find him glowering and looking dissatisfied, though if you catch his eye, his expression will soften slightly. 

Once while you were dancing with Lord Whitfield, you had caught Pero’s eye mid-turn and made a silly quizzical face at him, as if to ask What’s going on with you? and you think you see him laugh briefly before the steps of the dance require you to turn away from him.  You wonder why frowns so fearsomely and if there’s a reason for him to be so stoic and curt with the rest of the ton.  It’s so odd to you as you’ve never had so much as a cross word from him in all the time you’ve known him, not even when you had snuck out of the compound in Singapore when you were nine so you could watch the fireworks display.  Pero had come looking for you, his face serious and eyes panicked when he finally found you in the busy square, but he never once got mad.  Instead, he swore not to tell your father, and promised that if you had wanted to see the fireworks up close, he would accompany you.  And then he did just that the next night and the night after that.  But here, when not engaging the company of his friends, Pero’s countenance is positively sour.  Any hopes harboured by the mamas of the ton for snagging a Spanish nobility son-in-law this season are quickly dashed.  Barón Tovar is decidedly not here to find a wife.

With the evening more than half over, you realize that unless you make the point to do so, an opportunity to speak more than a few minutes with Pero will surely not present itself.  And while you are having fun meeting potential suitors, your mind consistently wanders to Pero throughout the evening.  Aside from simply wishing to catch up with him and be in his comforting presence, you do have something important you feel compelled to speak to him on.

After a particularly spirited quadrille, you curtsey your gratitude for the dance to Mr. Sedgewick, and before any of the young men you spy hovering nearby can approach you, you hurry as elegantly as you can toward where Pero is standing awkwardly pressed to the wall. 

Pero, having seen the look of determination on your face when seeking him out, asks with concern when you come up to him, “Is everything okay, Dulce?”

There he is, you smile when you see the kind, gentle expression of the boy that you knew for so many years, “Everything is fine, Pero.  Although I must admit to needing a respite from all the endless socializing.  Do you think we could get some lemonade?”

“Of course.  I would be happy to accompany you in fetching a glass.”

With Pero by your side, any person who previously had designs on engaging you during this brief break between dances now thinks better of it; you chuckle to yourself as his fearsome expression comically paves a clear path for you to the refreshments table.  Once having secured your drink, you ask Pero if you can speak to him privately.

Careful not to lead you from view of other people lest it incite a scandal, Pero finds a quiet place in the entrance hallway and turns to find you looking up at him rather seriously.

When you’re certain you have his attention, you launch into your confession, “Pero, please allow me to tell you how sorry I was to hear of your father’s passing.  I remember him as such a kind, generous man, and such a wonderful friend to my father and by extension, me.  I will always think of him with tremendous fondness.”

“Thank you, Dulce.  I know he thought very highly of both you and your father and forever treasured your friendships.”

But you’re not done and start to shake your head, eyes filling with tears, “And I’m so very sorry that I did not write to you at the time.  I didn't know where you were, but I should have been more diligent in my efforts to find you.  I deeply regret not being there for you if you needed someone.  I hope you were not alone during that difficult time.”

You hang your head in shame.  Pero feels a deep affection for you blossoming in his chest; before him is the same sweet and compassionate girl he knew when he was a boy.  Tender-hearted and endlessly considerate of the feelings of others, you always had more empathy than you knew what to do with; he himself had been on the receiving end of your care and concern more times than he could count.  Pero gently tips you chin up with his gloved finger, “It was a tough time and I miss him a great deal.  But he was an incredible man and I strive to follow the example he set for me everyday.  So, in many ways, he is still with me.  No need for any apologies.”  He gives you what he hopes is a soft and reassuring smile.

In return, you grin, “Who are you and what have you done with my friend?  The boy I knew would have made me pay dearly for even the slightest offense - my portion of dessert for a week, at the very least.”

Unable to hold back his own grin, Pero is finding it easy to slip back into this familiar type of playful banter with you, “Well, I was trying to be a gentleman, but since you think me nothing more than a brute, I shall have no trouble devising an appropriate punishment.  For your transgression against me, I demand… a dance.”

You laugh whole-heartedly and it feels wonderful to laugh loudly at something genuinely funny rather than the quiet polite laughter you’ve been making most of the evening. “A dance?  Well, that is hardly a concession for me!  One dance with you means one less spot on my dance card for some lord I don’t know but who Daphne thinks I might find charming,” you joke.

“Are you finding your potential suitors so far to be villains or are they all just very boring?” smirks Pero.

Giving him a little punch in the arm to show him you’re not really complaining, “I am not so terribly unfeeling.  They are for the most part fine enough gentlemen.  The particular circumstance we find ourselves in just makes them so very eager.  It can feel terribly awkward.”

“None of them are good enough for you anyway.”

“Oh, and you are?” you jest, eyes full of mirth.

“Dulce, I’m the worst of the bunch,” counters Pero, leaning in close.

“I don’t doubt it,” you haven’t smiled this wide all evening.

“Be that as it may, the price you must pay to regain my favour remains the same.  Shall we?” Pero holds out his arm, waiting for you to accept his dance invitation; you hold on to him gratefully and head back into the main ballroom, realizing this is the first dance of the ball that you’ve truly looked forward to.

When Pero takes his place across from you, the tittering from the crowd that the Barón has finally taken to the dance floor can be heard over the opening notes of the music.  You can’t help but giggle, and Pero beams back at you – your light laughter more melodic than any music he’s ever heard.

Hand firmly curling around your waist, Pero sways you to the beat and the two of you carry out the steps of the dance comfortably together.  You hadn’t realized how much stress you’ve been under or how much tension you’ve been holding in until now, when you find yourself actually relaxing in Pero’s strong hold.  For the first time this evening, you’re dancing without nerves or the pressure of having to make polite conversation or a good first impression; you can simply be.  You sigh in contentment.

“What is it, Dulce?  Are my dance skills not to the standard set by your other partners this evening?”

“Hardly,” you chuckle, “I know for a fact that you dance remarkably well.  And if I were to have any complaints, the blame would rest squarely on my shoulders since we learned these dances together.”

“That’s true, we can only be as good as the partners we practice with.”

“Exactly. At least that’s what Madam used to say, right before she would rap you on your shoulders with her rhythm baton,” you muse, nostalgic.

“That weapon had a name?  I have not thought of Madam for many years now, but upon my word if I did not straighten up and stiffen my arms just now.”

You share another chortle as only two close friends with a long history of fond memories and inside jokes between them can.  When you sigh again, Pero cocks his scarred eyebrow at you.

“Do not think me dissatisfied, my Lord.  It is simply just so comfortable dancing with you, as if it has not been over ten years since we last did so.”

“I feel the same way, Dulce.”

You smile sincerely at Pero; although you could explain yourself further, you somehow know that he understands your meaning without you having to do so.  Feeling content, both heart and mood light in the safety of Pero’s closed frame, you find yourself wishing that you could spend the rest of the ball dancing with only him.

I've never done a tag list before so please let me know if it doesn't work, or you don't/do want to be on it, or it sets your phone on fire 😅 @drewharrisonwriter @inept-the-magnificent @tuquoquebrute @titabel

[simp4wom3n]

The Quiet One Pt.I

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x fem!Reader

Requested: Yes/No ~ request @perfectartisanwerewolf

Summary: Ghost face's dramatic return causes many to point the finger at 'the loner' of Woodsboro High, Y/n, a horror loving, lonesome girl who appears to have an obsession with ghost face's first victim, Tara. ~ Word Count: 5.272k ~ Warnings: descriptions of being stabbed and blood, a lot of swearing

A/N: Hi!! first Tara fic and omg I fkn LOVED writing this although it got looooooong which is why i'm making this is 2 (maybe 3) part series. Hopefully you guys enjoy the first part and want more because, maybe its just me, but writing about horror is incredibly enjoyable. I love you all and enjoy <3

Pt1 ~ Pt2 ~ Pt3 ~ Pt4 ~ Pt5

"I dunno that y/n kid is weird. She seriously creeps me out." Amber spoke with a grimace, briefly glancing in your direction. Like every other day, you were sitting alone on your chosen bench, only a few metres away from the others, with nothing but the sound of your music playing softly through your headphones and the words of the book you had chosen to read accompanying you.

You used to try and be sociable, consistently putting yourself out there despite your introverted nature. You tried you really did. After many failed attempts and being met with nothing but resentment, you eventually just gave up, deciding that you were destined for solitude.

The only person who even acknowledged your existence these days was Tara Carpenter, the very girl you happened to have a massive crush on. Before you had shut yourself off from society, she was the one person who showed you any bit of kindness. You would often exchange small talk when walking between shared classes, or even on occasion try to sit with her at lunch, although that didn't last long - you learnt pretty quickly that her friends didn't enjoy your company.

Tara absolutely captivated you. It blew your mind that someone even looked at you without judgement, let alone have their eyes brighten at the sight of you. She was the one person who you felt safe around at school, the one person you knew wasn't just talking to you for a dare or some stupid prank. Perhaps that's why you fell for her as quickly as you did.

Whenever her eyes met yours, butterflies would erupt in your stomach and your heartbeat would increase tenfold. Whilst your time with her was very limited, every conversation you had, every laugh you shared, your feelings for the girl only grew.

Along with your cowardice, there was always something stopping you from telling Tara how you felt. Her 'best friend' Amber. You would have to be legally blind to not see that Amber hated you with her whole heart - you were clueless as to why though. Whenever you and Tara had been talking for 'too long', she would always swoop in and pull her away, leaving you once again alone.

It was one particular occasion that had changed you.

Pulling your headphones out of your bag on your way towards you bike, you were about to put them on before you heard a voice that instantly made your lips quirk into a smile. "Y/n hey wait up" Tara called after you, causing you to turn around and watch her run towards you. "Hi" you laughed as she finally reached you, slightly out of breath but with a warm smile nonetheless. "You seriously thought you could just go home for the holidays without saying goodbye?" she laughed in feign offence, causing you to chuckle awkwardly.

You hadn't necessarily been 'avoiding' her, you were just taking the easy route, knowing that if you kept talking to her, you were inevitably going to confess your feelings for her - something that you definitely wanted to avoid. She was the only friend you had. Sure, your heart longed for you two being more than friends, but to you, nothing was worth losing what you already had.

"Sorry..." you gave her a tight lipped smile as you fidgeted with your hands, all of a sudden feeling very awkward as your thoughts started getting the better of you. "No need to apologise" she smiled, "I just wanted to see you before you went home so... yeah... I'll see you next year I guess". She went to turn around and head back to her friends, but without realising it, before she could walk away, you had swiftly grabbed ahold of her arm.

Her questioning eyes met yours as she turned back towards you, your words caught in your throat as you try to comprehend what the fuck you were doing. "Sorry I... I just need to tell you something." 'Y/n stop it what the fuck are you doing', Your heart and your brain were at war with each other as you stared at Tara, who was patiently waiting for you to find your words.

"Ok... ok I'm just going to say it... Tara, I really, really li-" "Hey Tara! what the hell are you doing talking to this weirdo" Your face dropped as you caught a glimpse of who had interrupted you. Unsurprisingly, you watched as Amber walked past you and wrapped her arm around Tara shoulders.

You stood frozen. Your heartbeat ringing in your ears as you felt tears begin to well in your eyes. 'This cannot be fucking happening' is what was replaying in your mind as you turned away from the two girls, trying your best to hold back your cries. Tara remained silent, half annoyed at Amber for interrupting your conversation, but also confused as to what you were going to tell her.

She watched as you swiftly grabbed your things and unlocked your bike, obviously trying to get away from the situation as fast as you physically could. "Y/n wait-" she finally spoke before you cut her off, "See you next year Tara" she could hear a slight break in your voice as you hopped on your bike and quickly rode off.

You hadn't been the same since.

Ever since you returned for the new year, you had been avoiding Tara like the plague, knowing full well that if you talked to her she would ask you what you were going to say.

Your interactions diminished into short-lived glances. You were often so caught up in your own world that you wouldn't even notice Tara's presence anymore, despite her many attempts to interact with you. She was now left with only being able to watch you as you walk through the halls, and risk a quick glance to the back of the classroom where you now sat alone.

"Don't be mean, Tara seems to like her so she can't be that bad." Wes defends you, evidently having some sympathy. Amber looks back at him with eyebrows raised. "Yeah, and look where that got her." "Amber!" "Dude what the hell!". A myriad of complaints came from the group's mouthes at the comment. It had been less than a day since Tara had been attacked by the new ghost face, sending waves of fear throughout the small town and sparking the so-called blame game to erupt.

When the news of her attack broke, you felt numb. You blended further into the background as you did your best to ignore the news. You wanted to visit her, make sure she was ok, talk to her, but you knew that even if her friends weren't protecting her like hawks, you would never build up the courage to go.

"What?! Have you not seen the creepy stares she gives her? And from what I've heard, she's obsessed with horror movies... most likely including Stab" She wasn't wrong, you did love horror movies, it was even one of the things that bonded you and Tara together, but you were more into the classics, choosing to stay away from new franchises such as stab - not that they knew that because, well, why would they.

"She has a point" Chad answers after a moment of contemplation, earning him a slap on the arm from his girlfriend. "What?! I'm just saying it would make sense" he pauses as he looks around the group, everyone giving him either a neutral expression or nodding along. "She doesn't talk to anyone, instead she just watches them, she is nowhere to be found when anything happens, and I can guarantee you she doesn't have an alibi for when Tara was attacked... It make's total sense"

"Look, I just don't think we should point fingers just yet. Everyone is a suspect so we can't trust anyone" Wes argues, earning another glare from Amber who rolls her eyes and grunts, "Sure, but don't expect me to help you when she's slitting your throat", before walking off.

You lived alone, residing in a sad little trailer in a small trailer park on the outskirts of Woodsboro. Months ago, your parents had packed up all of their things and left to an undisclosed location, for an undisclosed amount of time, leaving you alone and without any income, struggling to stay afloat in an ocean of bills and debt. Despite this, you rather enjoyed your life alone and away from the busy-ish streets of the small town - not to mention that the eerie location added to your horror movie viewing experience.

The only thing that connected your little 'community' of four people to the centre of town, was your neighbour, Dewey. The oh-so famous ex-sheriff Dewey. As much as you admittedly hated the fact that people knew this place existed because of him, you truly did love the guy. He was like a father to you. To the best of his ability, he tried to fill in the massive void left in your life after your parent's disappearance.

He was basically the only person you actually talked to anymore.

Everyday after school, when you would ride your rusted bike down the secluded and winding streets that surrounded your home, your first stop was always his trailer. Most days he would be waiting expectedly on his doorstep, greeting you with a smile as you ranted to him about your day.

He even knew about Tara.

He was the only person holding you afloat, and for that, you would do absolutely anything for the man.

That being said, your bike screeched to a halt as you pulled into the trailer park, instantly noticing an unfamiliar car parked outside of his home. 'Odd' you thought to yourself as you hopped off your bike, letting it fall to the ground before taking small and almost hesitant steps towards his door.

As you reached Dewey's truck, you heard the door open as two strangers practically fell out of it. You immediately ducked behind the truck as the door slammed shut behind them, attempting to peer around the side of the vehicle to catch a glimpse of who they were.

"Jesus" the man starts, "Yeah, he's way more fun in the movies". Your brows furrowed at the statement. 'What the fuck is happening' was your immediate thought as you saw them head to their car. "Ok... So what's next?" "The friends". You stayed hidden as they hopped in their car and drove away, still incredibly confused about the whole situation.

No one ever came out here.

Waiting until the car disappeared down the road, you reappeared from behind the truck and began walking towards his door. Just as you were about to knock, the door swung open and you were met with an obviously somewhat distressed Dewey. He looks at you, surprised before he sighs and moves past you, heading for his truck.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on or are you just gonna leave?" you call out to him, noticing the gun holstered on his hip as his steps didn't even falter as he walked hurriedly to the driver-side door. "Hello?!". Again no response. Deciding to run after him, you quickly jump off of his small porch and bolt towards his truck, managing to grab ahold of his door handle before he could reach it.

"Really? so we are ignoring each other now" He looks far from amused as he looks at you, a hint of fear in his eyes, causing your gaze to soften. "What going on?". He stays silent for a moment, contemplating whether or not to tell you. "It's about Tara." He starts, looking at you cautiously. "Her sister and her boyfriend came and asked for my help... with ghost face" "Ok... and your helping them? I thought you said you never wanted to go through that again" "Yeah well I don't, but I don't really have much of a choice" he finishes, pulling your hand off of the handle and opening the door.

You could see the mix of concern and fear in his eyes, whether it was for himself or for someone else you didn't know, but what you did know, was that if he was in danger, so were you - after all you basically depended on him.

"Well in that case... I'm coming with you" You stated firmly as you rounded the truck and quickly hopped into the passenger seat. "What! No you are not, get out and go back inside." "Not happening" you mumble as you fasten your seatbelt, choosing to ignore his words as you wait for him to start the car. "Y/n I swear to g-" "I said no!" You yelled, causing Dewey's eyes to widen slightly.

There was a moment of silence in the car when neither of you dared to speak. You sighed in relief when you finally heard him start the engine, fastening his own seatbelt. Just before he started backing out, he glanced at you, signalling that this was your last chance to get out.

You didn't budge.

As Dewey's truck groaned to a stop, you watched as Tara's sister and her boyfriend got out of their car and headed towards the door of a suburban home. You both stepped out of the truck before slamming the doors behind you, the noise of which caused their two heads to turn.

The sister looked at Dewey in a mix of confusion and relief as he spoke, "I have decided to temporarily assist you in your investigation". "Thank you" she replied, the ghost of a smile appearing on her face. Her eyes briefly shifted to you, stood behind Dewey as if he were a barricade, your face blank as you chewed on your lip in slight panic. She didn't question you though, she was just thankful that Dewey had offered to help, and if you were with him, she was all the more thankful.

As the four of you walked towards the door, you heard the boyfriend ask who you were, her reply being "I don't know". You understood their hesitation, I mean you were some random kid they had never met before who decided to tag along for a murder investigation so it wasn't necessarily 'normal'.

After the sister rang the door bell, you froze slightly as you watched Mindy answer the door. You suppose it was obvious that when Tara's sister said 'the friends' you should have caught on, but here you are looking like you had seen a ghost.

Sure, Mindy was always one of the nicer ones, or at least she had never openly threatened you or looked at you like you had committed some heinous crime, but that didn't make you any less terrified as to what was awaiting you inside the house you now knew belonged to the twins.

Hesitantly following the others, your head began to pound with the sound of your own heartbeat. As you entered the living room, you begged whatever was out there to let you disappear, turn into useless particles and drift away, because sat in front of you, was Tara's whole friend group.

The tension in the room sky-rocketed as all eyes landed on you. You felt like you were about to implode. Thankfully their resentful glares only lasted seconds before Tara's sister pulled their attention away from you, talking bout why she had brought everyone together.

Following Dewey, you reluctantly walked further into the room, slowly taking a seat next to him on the couch. With your hearing almost completely overcome by the sound of your own pounding heart, the words of Tara's sister, who you now know is called Sam, went in one ear and out the other.

You only blink back into reality when you hear Wes mention Dewey, "What about Deputy Dewey here? maybe he's the killer... no offence" "None taken, but what's my motive?" "You got stabbed a billion times, got dumped by your famous wife and crawled into a bottle. I think it's safe to say you're on the suspect list."

You don't think you had ever looked at someone so intensely, your eyes burning holes into his skull as he accused the only person you could ever trust. "That's bullshit" you couldn't help but call him out - sure his explanation made sense but it still pissed you off.

"Well what about you then". Your head whipped towards Amber's smug words, shock painting your features at her accusation. Your mouth hung open as she continued with a smirk. "I mean come on!" she laughs, "Your a horror fan right? So you love horror AND your a lonely freak who creepily stares at people for a hobby... Classic ghost face I'm telling you."

Speechless. You are absolutely speechless. Everyone's expected looks burn you as you attempt to find some kind of rebuttal, to say something. Anything. "I-I don't" "Where were you when Tara was attacked?" Amber interrupted.

You sucked in a harsh breath knowing you were home alone at the time, no one to back you up - not that anyone would've. "At home" you mumbled, Amber scoffing at you. "Alone I presume". You bit your tongue to stop yourself from cursing her out, eventually nodding hesitantly as your eyes began to burn with unshed tears.

"That's what I thought"

After the whole 'interrogation' process had left you on the verge of a breakdown, you had grown evermore attached to Dewey, following him around like a lost puppy. So, naturally, when the news of Wes' murder broke, you were right beside him as he approached the fresh crime scene.

It was safe to say that he was concerned about your insistence of sticking with him, that added pressure of keeping you safe weighing on him as he inevitably brought you into something that you should never have had to worry about.

You felt cowardly as you became Dewey's extra limb, following him around as if he was the only thing that could protect you - and the sad truth was that he was. You were his own personal fly on the wall, rather unfortunately overhearing his conversation that he had with Gale.

Your face was blank as you had remained zoned out ever since you had heard the details of Wes and his mother's murders, even the thought made you sick to your stomach. You didn't know much about ghost face and their history, but one thing was for sure.

This one was a fucking psycho.

You were broken from your gruesome thoughts when you heard rushed footsteps approach from behind you. Your eyes were quick to notice Sam's figure approaching, coming to a halt in front of Dewey and the deputy he was talking to, a panicked look covering her face.

"Who's at the hospital?"

Your heart sinks. Everyone’s eyes stare at the deputy, awaiting an answer that never came.

"Who's watching my sister?!"

Images of Tara being attacked whilst helpless and unprotected in her hospital bed flash through your mind, sending a paralysing shiver down your spine.

"I-I just heard about the sheriff" You hear Sam scoff in a mixture of disbelief and fear, turning around and running to her car. You muttered ‘Fuck’ before you quickly followed suit. For once Dewey was on your tail as you make a desperate dash towards Sam’s car, needing nothing more than to get there already.

You swing the car door open as you scramble into the back seat. Sam, still unsure as to who you are, gives you a puzzled glance before Dewey enters the passenger seat next to her. She just stares at him for a second, almost as if she’s in a daze, until Dewey snaps her out of it.

"What are you waiting for? Drive! Come on let's go!"

The drive to the hospital dragged on for what felt like hours. You had pushed Sam's call with ghost face back to a more-or-less distant thought, only tuning in when they mentioned Tara - the only thing you cared about.

The whole drive, you had been anxiously waiting on the edge of your seat, so as you finally parked outside the hospital, you rushed out the car door and ran towards the elevator.

Watching the floor levels tick by, the sound of Tara's whimpers echoing through the call filling your ears, you swallowed down your tears as you inhaled shakily, attempting to compose yourself for what you knew you were about to face.

As you approached Tara's floor, Dewey pulled his gun out of his holster and glanced back at you. "You ok kid?" he asked softly, his brows slightly creased as he noticed your seemingly panicked appearance. "I'm fine... let's just save Tara and get the hell out of here". Despite still being on the phone, Sam offered you a small, warm smile, clearly realising how much you must care for her sister.

"Or maybe I'm stalling for time, fuckhead"

The elevator dings and you watch as the doors begin to open. Through the growing crack you notice ghost face looming over Tara's helpless figure, your jaw immediately clenching at the sight. You flinch slightly as Dewey is quick to fire a shot at the masked figure. His aim clearly having deteriorated since he retired, he missed multiple shots as the figure dashed into a room for cover.

As ghost face disappeared into the room, you were quick to follow Dewey out of the elevator, immediately heading towards Tara. Just the sight of her tormented figure made you want to cry. Falling to the ground next to her, you were quick to cradle her head as you scanned her body for any new injuries.

Despite her bandaged hand having turned a bright shade of red, relief washed through you when you couldn't see any new wounds. If you thought the sound of her whimpers through a phone call was bad, this was utter torture. You attempted to compose yourself - although you would be lying if you said you weren't freaking the fuck out. Sam was quick to help Tara off the floor and towards the elevator as you comforted her the best you could.

"Tara... your ok... your ok come on" you whisper hurriedly, glancing over your shoulder to see Dewey helping Richie off the floor. You return your focus on getting Tara to the elevator, not noticing her glossy eyes looking at you dazed. "Y-Y/n... w-what are y-you d-doing here?" she brokenly asks, your eyes finally meeting hers.

You are unable to respond before you hear a large crash from behind you. The three of you quickly turn around, your face dropping in horror as you witness ghost face jumping towards Dewey. "Dewey no!" you scream as you let go of Tara and run towards him, the protests of the sisters falling on deaf ears.

Dewey's gun fires off a stray bullet as your hands grip onto ghost face's costume, successfully pulling them to the ground. You collapse next to the masked individual, only now realising you were completely unarmed and didn't really have a plan past this point.

'Oh fuck'

Your eyes widened in fear as ghost face jumps on top of you attempting to stab you in the chest as you push against them with all your strength. Dewey attempts to pull them off of you as you struggle to hold the approaching knife from impaling your chest. Not appreciating his attempts at heroics, Ghost face quickly elbowed Dewey in the face, causing him to collapse onto his back and his gun to fly out of his grip.

"No no no no" you whimper as the mask looks back at you, its rich black eyes staring through your soul. You wrestle in their grip as they wind their knife back before thrusting it into your torso. You scream as you feel your abdomen burn, the knife piercing your skin and lodging itself deep within your gut. Your shirt quickly turned a bright shade of red as the blood began to flow from your new wound.

You cry out in pain as the knife is viciously ripped out, your vision beginning to blur with tears as your body erupts in pain. You hear Tara screaming your name as the knife pierces your skin for a second time, your body simultaneously burning and freezing as you feel yourself slowly sinking into the floor.

And they keep stabbing you. Again, and again, and again.

Stab wounds litter your body as you continue to scream, each one becoming quieter as you quickly lose energy, the sound of blood gargling in the back of your throat now accompanying your helpless screams.

You could almost sense their smile from behind the mask. The anger behind each of their strokes increasing as they went to town on you, blood now beginning to slowly seep from the corner of your mouth.

Your energy was seeping from your body as fast as the blood that continued to pour from your eight stab wounds. You curl in on yourself as ghost face is finally tackled off of you, coughing violently as blood splatters into the pool of your own blood that had seeped across the floor.

You were barely conscious when you heard numerous shots ring out through the hallway, instantly waking you from your looming coma. Turning your head as far as you could in your dazed state, you saw Dewey rushing over to you with what appears to be an unconscious ghost face behind him.

"Y/n" he breathes, scanning your weak and bloodied figure. Sucking in a hesitant breath, he carefully picks you up, his hands already covered in your warm blood. You grunt in pain as you feel your wounds stretch and pull. Your head falls onto his shoulder, your entire body aching as he limps towards the elevator, passing a concerned Sam and Tara. Tara watches as your blood leaves a trail behind Dewey, already seeping through both of your clothes.

Even when on deaths door, the sound of Tara's sobs cause you to look in her direction, worry filling your glassy eyes. To your surprise she is already looking at you with a similar expression. You try your best to put a smile on your bloodied face, but at this point any kind of movement sends shocks of pain down your crippled frame.

You clench your eyes shut in pain as you feel Dewey put you down on the cold elevator floor- why was he putting you down?

"The head" he says as he stands back up. Fading in and out of consciousness, you struggle to comprehend what he is saying, looking at him through your drooping eyes. "What?", "You have to shoot'em in the head, or they always come back.". You watch as he slowly steps backwards out of the elevator. Your mouth falls open as it finally starts sinking in.

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be fucking happening.

"Dewey! Who gives a fuck?!"

"I do"

"Dewey! No!" you let out a blood curdling scream, using all of your remaining energy to try and keep the door open, only for it to close in front of you. "No!" you screamed again, you voice shattering as you slam your fist continuously into the door. "No no Dewey come back! Come back please! I need you please!" you begged, knowing all eyes were on you but not caring how broken you looked.

"Please Dewey... please..." you cried, eventually collapsing of pure exhaustion, a metallic taste overtook your senses as your adrenaline finally ran out, the world around you turning black.

As the world falls in around you, you catch a glimpse of Tara's distraught expression watching you from behind Sam who attempts to keep you awake, inevitably failing.

Bright lights sting your tired eyes as you slowly blink away your exhaustion. 'What the fuck' is your first thought, your mind blank as to how you ended up in... a hospital? You try to sit up in an attempt to look around, stopped when you feel a sharp pain shoot through your torso, causing you to grimace.

You exhale shakily as you collapse back onto the bed. Hesitantly, you reach your shaking hand down to pull up your hospital gown, revealing what can only be described as 'a shit ton' of bandages. "What the..."

"No...", it hits you like a truck. "No... no no no, this can't be happening". The steady sound of your heart monitor starts to beep rapidly. You begin to panic as you breath erratically, trying to disconnect all the useless wires that were connected to you in an attempt to escape this all to realistic nightmare.

Apparently hearing your struggle, Sam walks into the room with a worried look on her face. "Hey! y/n calm down... calm down it's ok... it's ok." She rushes over to the bed and takes your hands in hers. You were a stuttering mess, your eyes unable to focus on anything in particular as you tried to wrestle out of the bed, her firm grip stopping you from going anywhere.

Eventually her gentle touch grounded you, her hands stroking yours gently as she looked at you sympathetically - a look you appreciated but knew couldn't be good. "Wheres Dewey?" Was the first thing that came out of your mouth once you had calmed down. You noticed how her posture slump slightly as her eyes fall to the ground - that can't be good.

"He's fine right? tell me he's ok... please" you brokenly begged her, tears rolling down your cheeks as you knuckles turned white from the strength in which you were gripping her hands. When she finally lifted her head back up, her eyes brimming with her own tears, a whole new wave of pain erupted through you.

"No no no no no!" you sobbed, Sam instantly pulling you into a tight embrace whilst remaining careful of your stitches. "He was all I had" you cried into her chest, her own heart breaking at your words.

She allowed you to cry into her chest as she gently stroked your hair. It had been a very long time since you had experienced such affection, not sharing a proper hug since before your parents had decided you were a lost cause. It was a feeling you missed.

Despite never wanting to leave her warm embrace, you eventually pulled back, wiping your nose as you sniffled away the remnants of your tears. You slumped back into your bed, feeling nothing but numbness overcome your body. Sam just sat there with you for a while, offering you whatever comfort she could whilst you let everything sink in.

You had nothing left. Absolutely nothing.

Just as that thought crossed your mind, you heard something approaching from the doorway, causing you to raise your head slowly, expecting a nurse or something to be coming to check on you. Instead, you watched as Richie rolled Tara in on a wheelchair, the injured girl flashing you a small smile.

If you hadn't been paralysed by your overbearing emotions you would've returned the gesture, instead your eyes looked back towards Sam whose lips similarly showed a small smile. "We're getting the fuck out of Woodsboro... wanna come?"

You looked back over towards Tara, her sweet features still offering you a warm smile. Your heart swelled as something inside you told you that it was her idea for you to accompany them. Your eyes welled with tears at the thought, finally offering her a wet smile, chuckling despite your tears as you nod enthusiastically.

"I would fucking love to"

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