#and her taste in men was HIGHLY questionable

[laurapetrie]

So much jewellery was flung at her in the opening months of her queenship that she may have struggled to keep up with it all. Her clasps were capped off by emeralds, her buttons were set with diamonds, and for her brooches rubies were crafted into the shape of flowers, then trimmed with diamond and pearl petals. There were earrings and French hoods trimmed with gold. She had seven diamond-and-gold rings. The ladies of the privy chamber circled Catherine’s little waist with golden girdles or double rows of pearls routinely interrupted by rubies.

[Later, during] the great purgatorial wait for a horrible finale, Catherine was once again ‘taking great care of her person’. Like a candle flaring before it went out, she had apparently never been more beautiful than she was during that winter at Syon. Staring death in the face in a mood of hubristic hedonism, she became as preoccupied with her toilette as she had been at Hampton Court. She made the most of her denuded wardrobe, dressing and coiffing herself, donning her few remaining jewels. Preening in her loveliness, Catherine kept her pulse beating at Syon with the appearance of someone who might live for ever; but in her more sombre moments, when no amount of make-believe could distract her, Chapuys heard from her servants that ‘her only prayer is that the execution be secret, and not in public’. - Gareth Russell, Young and Damned and Fair

[zaldritzosrose]

Bring Me To Salvation (Criston Cole x Whore!Reader)

Summary: Ser Criston was nothing if not dutiful, steadfast in his dedication to his role as protector and knight. All to the detriment of himself. A chance meeting with a Silk Street woman began to open his life to delights far outside his usual tastes.

TW: MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, mentions of sex work, submissive Criston, edging, orgasm denial, handjob, Criston being a sad, pathetic, whimpery mess.

There will be a part two.

Words: 3859

The life of a Kingsguard came with rules. Rules on how one must act in public, how to live one's life. No marriage, no titles. But what had become Criston's downfall was one rule.

Abstinence.

Well, a Kingsguard was not forbidden from sex itself, but from fathering children of their own. But Criston took his vows to heart. Complete abstinence reduced the risk of siring a child, a logical path. Duty meant everything. For the most part.

That was until he was chosen to protect Princess Rhaenyra. He had done his best, resisted for as long as he could. But every man breaks. And Criston’s resolve broke one night, letting the princess entice him to bed.

He had foolishly hoped she may feel more than lust for him, but he was left with nothing but bitterness instead. Years passed, and he watched her not only fawn over Prince Daemon, but also Ser Harwin.

That hurt him most. It weighed on him and turned his countenance sour. Something akin to hatred burning in him as he watched the princess birth bastard after bastard. Criston did his best to push his focus elsewhere. Swearing himself to Queen Alicent and helping her sons train and learn to be men.

And it worked. For the most part. He was not quite the same man he had been, he was highly strung and tense more often than not. But the two princes were a distraction he welcomed.

Until Rhaenyra and her sons returned. Walking through the Keep as if nothing had changed. The two dark haired princes joining Aemond and Aegon in the training yard as though they belonged there.

To make matters worse? Ser Harwin was there to greet them.

Criston held his ground as he sparred with Aemond, the younger prince having grown to be an excellent swordsman. His brother however, had taken the role of spectator. Sitting on the sidelines and pouring cup after cup of wine down his throat.

“Well done, my prince,” Criston praised, as Aemond once again proved himself skilled.

He could feel eyes on him. Jacaerys and Lucerys watched intently, but those were not the eyes Criston could feel. He turned slightly to find Ser Harwin glaring.

“Is there a problem, Ser Harwin?” Criston asked, motioning for Aemond to take a break.

Criston rolled his shoulders, frustration rising in him as Harwin smirked.

“You seem a little tense is all, Ser Criston,” Harwin called back, smirking wider as Criston scowled.

Even Aegon snorted a laugh in response, earning him a glare from Criston. Tense was an understatement. Criston could not remember a time where had actually been relaxed.

“And you seem far too relaxed, ser, do you not have better things to be doing?”

The tension was clear, so thick it could have been sliced. Harwin simply shook his head and walked closer, clapping Criston on the shoulder.

“You need to enjoy yourself more. Spend a little less time playing knight.”

Harwin walked away before Criston could respond, and with a tight jaw, Criston turned back and began sparring again. The words ringing in his head.

Weeks passed and the words Harwin had spoken continued to bother him. It was not the first time anyone had told him he took his duty too seriously. But it was the first time it had bothered him so much. Maybe it was because the words came from Harwin, a man whose mere presence was enough to frustrate him beyond belief.

But at the same time, maybe all those people were right. Did he take himself too seriously? Surely it would not be too out of the question for him to take some time for himself?

Those thoughts were soon knocked from his mind when he was called to the Queen’s chamber.

“Ah, Ser Criston,” Alicent smiled, though the expression seemed strained.

“I have a request, that needs the utmost discretion.”

Criston nodded and listened to her instruction. And what he heard did not surprise him at all. He was to retrieve Prince Aegon from one of King’s Landing’s brothels, yet again. The prince had a taste for all kinds of depravity and Criston knew it was not about to be an enjoyable endeavour.

He was dismissed and made his way through the city as the sun fell. And it was not long before he found the right place. Whispers of the silver haired prince led him quickly to his destination.

With a sigh, Criston entered the whorehouse, finding the Madame and demanding Aegon be brought to him. The woman did not hesitate, disappearing to search for the prince.

Criston waited patiently, two Kingsguard behind him as he averted his gaze from the debauchery around him. He was not a prude, but at the same time he was not as comfortable here as other men may be.

But in averting his eye, he found the gaze of you. There was no doubt you were one of the girls working here. The soft silks draped around your body were not something he saw many noblewomen wear. The second he caught your eye you smiled, making your way through the crowd and towards him.

There was something about you that had him entranced. Eyes that seemed to bore into his, see into his very soul. It was like you knew just what he desired the most.

"It is not often we get Kingsguards in here, ser..." you almost purred the words out to him.

Just by looking around the room he was in now, this place was built for the deepest and most depraved sins. So, it was no surprise Aegon had ended up here. People were draped over every available surface in every possible state of undress and debauchery.

Criston simply nodded at your words. Aegon has already been dragged out to him, already demanding to be left alone. Criston broke eye contact with you momentarily to glare down at the prince.

“Your mother wants you home, my prince. There are two guards outside for you.” Criston said simply, and Aegon wailed profanities at him as he was dragged away.

But you were not deterred. He did not know when you had closed the distance between you both, but soon your rounded nails tapped his armoured chest. Kohl lined eyes gazing up at him and he internally chastised himself for the desire that pulsed down his spine and through his cock.

"We cater to all tastes here, ser...I am sure I can find something you will enjoy."

Criston’s mouth felt dry at those words. The way you let every syllable roll of your tongue, the feeling of your hand on his chest. No, he could not let himself break so easily again.

“A pleasant offer, I am sure, but I must return the prince.”

He did not wait for your response before turning to join his fellow Kingsguard at the door. But that did not stop you calling out to him before he left.

“The offer will always stand, ser, should you desire it.”

Weeks passed before Criston even thought of you again. He put his focus on serving his queen and keeping the royal children safe and protected. But when he was alone, his thoughts would drift back to you and what you had promised.

But nothing came of it until Princess Rhaenyra and her children returned to King’s Landing again. Bringing back the anger and bitterness that seemed to linger and simmer within him whenever he saw her. Reminding him of everything he almost had. What was worse? She now had Prince Daemon at her side. Not only now as her uncle, but as her husband. A custom he never understood, but it only deepened his resentment further.

The King organised a ‘family’ dinner, something that every member knew would not end well. But when the King made a choice, no one was ever truly willing to go against it. Tensions were high as it was.

Criston took his place in the dining hall, where he could easily watch each member of the family he was sworn to protect. And he did his best to ignore Rhaenyra and her family entered the hall, barely acknowledging his presence as they sat.

The dinner passed with little consequence, save for the childish remarks passed between the four young princes. Criston did his duty and escorted them all back to their chambers before returning to the Queen’s side.

“Is there anything you need from me, Your Grace?” Criston asked, standing just inside the doorway to her own chamber.

Alicent looked at him with a smile.

“No, Ser Criston, you may retire if you wish,” Alicent replied, but Criston could sense that she had something more to say.

“Thank you, Your Grace, I will see you again in the morning.”

He turned to leave but Alicent, as expected, called him to stop.

“Actually, Ser Criston, there is something,” she said, walking closer to him.

He stopped, turning back to her and waiting. Her face was coloured with concern and it had him on edge. But he said nothing.

“I have one request to make, and a concern to raise.”

Criston nodded and Alicent continued. Explaining how she felt the tension that had settled in him recently. Whether it was due in part to Rhaenyra’s arrival or something else, she did not press him for an answer, but it was her request that surprised him.

“Please, take some time for yourself. Find a way to relax.”

The knight was silent. He could hardly deny his Queen’s request, though it was not phrased like an order, it felt like one. He made a promise that he would take her request to heart. But he had little idea on how to do that.

He soon left for his own chamber, making quick work of stripping himself of his armour and settling into his bed. And it was only then that his thoughts began drifting back to you.

"We cater to all tastes here, ser...I am sure I can find something you will enjoy."

“The offer will always stand, ser, should you desire it.”

He could not get those words out of his head, combined with Queen Alicent’s suggestion of finding something to relax him. His mind went back even to Ser Harwin’s jibe about his tense demeanour.

“You need to enjoy yourself more. Spend a little less time playing knight.”

He knew he should not. His honour and duty warred with his desire to take up your offer. Would it be so bad? To visit you once, to see if you could be the ‘something to enjoy’?

It took only mere seconds more of thought for Criston to pull a cloak from his wardrobe and make his way quickly down the quieter side of the Keep and out into the city.

Tonight was a quieter night, for a brothel. A few regular patrons were in attendance, but none had yet to call for your services. Yet.

You heard the heavy swing of the door, and the Madame calling your name over the soft chatter of patrons and whores. You fixed your silken robe, making a smooth path through the room and out to the entrance. You assumed it would be one of your regulars, your talents were quite…specialised.

What you did not expect was the Kingsguard, Ser Criston, stood before you. He looked so different, unencumbered by his armour. He seemed to shrink in on himself, as if he was already regretting coming here.

The Madame nodded to you and left the pair of you alone.

“I see you took my offer, ser?” you said softly, closing the distance between the two of you.

Criston seemed to stiffen a little, making it clear he did not frequent these places often.

“Please, do not make me regret it.”

You simply smiled, taking his hand and noting the coin in the Madame’s hand as you passed her. The knight had paid, you were his for the night. Criston’s eyes drifted over the room around him, seemingly the main area of the brothel. It was quieter than when he had been here last, and he felt himself relax a little with that knowledge.

And thankfully, you continued to lead him down a corridor and to a private room. You both entered in silence, yet it was not uncomfortable. Your hand was soft in his, and nothing about you made him feel as though this was a mistake.

It was only when you crossed the threshold did you let go of his hand, urging him gently to sit down on the bed as you closed the door and lit some of the candles littered about the room. Criston took this opportunity to take in his surroundings. The bed was large, dressed is plush fabrics in deep tones, the headboard half covered with plump pillows.

The rest of the room, however, took his interest.

The wall to his right was home to a large glass fronted cupboard, showcasing a plethora of oils and scents that he knew immediately were what you used to ready yourself. The wall to his left was something entirely different. Locked chests that had him wondering what was hidden inside. Something about you told him that you were more than just a typical woman of the Silk Street.

“Now, my sweet knight, what have you come here for?” You asked, walking back over to him and reaching gently up to run a hand through his hair.

Criston, despite himself, leaned into the touch. Eyes closing as he let a soft sigh escape him. What exactly had he come for? He did not really know himself.

“I was hoping you could help me…relax.” His voice was quiet, a low rumble that was tinged with the faintest hint of shame.

You realised then, that you would have to start from the beginning. Bring him out of whatever cloud of shame he seemed to be hiding in. You made quick work of his cloak, taking your time and letting him ease into the whole situation.

“Shall we start with some wine?”

Criston nodded and gladly took the cup when you handed it to him. Letting the sweet liquid ease his mind. You sat beside him on the bed, your hand moved back to his hair and began to rub soft circles into his scalp. Criston could not stop the way he leaned back into your touch again, soft sighs leaving him as your lips soon latched on to the skin of his neck.

The pleasure you gave him was slow, but intoxicating, seeping into his veins and pulsing down through his cock. He felt you smirk against his skin as you noticed the prominent bulge in his breeches, watching it twitch as you pressed a firmer kiss to his throat.

“We will start simple, kiss and touch until you are comfortable…”

Criston could only groan in response, all thoughts leaving him as your palm found his cock. Palming him through the fabric, the heat of your hand and the plump flesh of your lips sending his mind into a void of nothing but pleasure.

His hips chased your hand, desperate for whatever friction you could give him. But at the same time, you could tell he would need instruction. Permission to give in to his desires.

“You can touch me, sweet knight.” You whispered into his ear, taking one of his hands and placing it on the swell of your breast.

Your now free hand untied your robe, letting the smooth silk fall from your shoulders and exposing your bare skin. You revelled in the soft groan that left the knight as his eyes opened, widening as he took in everything that was happening.

The bare skin. The warmth of it beneath his palm. The gentle friction of your hand against his hardened length. But he wanted more.

“Please…”

He could not seem to form any more words. While he was not the most eloquent of men, he could barely process that you had him speechless from the first touch.

“Please what, my darling? Tell me what you want, and you shall have it.”

His fingers tugged at the soft bud of your nipple, the way he licked his lips giving you a good clue as to what he wanted. Your hand in his hair guiding him down and letting him bury himself between your breasts. He may not know it yet, but everything he was doing told you one thing.

The stoic knight was submissive. Desperate for affection, no matter where it came from. In need of having someone else take control away from him. And you were more than happy to do that for him. It was your specialty really. Taking powerful men and reducing them to panting, begging messes of themselves.

You tugged his head back, already seeing the damp and wide-eyed look in his eye. Telling you, your assumption was right.

“Stand up and take off your shirt.” You ordered, letting your voice taking a little more of a commanding town and smiling when you saw his cock twitch in response.

Criston hurried to remove his shirt, throwing it behind him and waiting for your next instruction. Just the idea of being at your mercy, at his pleasure being held solely by you, had his skin heating and his cock already leaking onto the fabric of his breeches. You licked your lips, letting him wait just a little longer before your next command.

“Now, strip bare. Let me see you, Ser Criston.”

He had never removed his clothes faster, near tripping over himself as he kicked away his boots before pushing his breeches down his legs. He could tell immediately that this was what you enjoyed. The smug expression, the commanding tone, it suited you perfectly. Your eyes roamed his now bare form, watching the flush that coloured his chest and moved higher under your gaze.

You stood from the bed, letting your robe fall entirely from your body as you closed the distance between you. He held his breath as you touched him, soft hands starting at his shoulders and working their way down, mapping every inch of his muscled form.

But when you reached his cock, his knees felt like they would buckle. It had been a long time since anyone but himself had touched him so intimately and he was already on the brink of overstimulation.

“Now, we can do this two ways. I can be gentle, bring you to your release with my hand, my mouth or my cunt…” you whispered, pressing your lips to his jaw between words.

“Or…I can do what I know you really need. To surrender. To relinquish the control, you hold on so tight to.”

You punctuated your words now with gentle squeezes to his cock, not quite enough movement to make him come, but enough to have him grunting under his breath. He did not know what to answer. Deep down, he knew that the second option was what he wanted but he was too embarrassed to say the words.

His silence, however, was not acceptable.

“Words, I need your words.” Your hands stilled on his cock, and he could not stop the whine that left him when your movements stopped.

“Please…the se-second…please…” Criston was verging on incoherent, and you had barely started.

A mix of shame and desire surged in his veins, a war raging in him between grabbing his clothes and fleeing and staying at your side and following your every command. You could see it, his eyes flicking still between the door and you. You resumed your movements slowly, working up to pumping his cock faster and faster and watching how he slowly but surely folded under your touch.

You pressed your lips to his, feeling him melt under your touches.

“You will not come unless I say. You will only touch me when I say.”

Criston nodded quickly. He may not have known it, but his body did. Relaxing into your touch and surrendering completely. You released his cock, another whine leaving him, but he knew from the look you gave him that he would not be without your touch for long. You ordered him to lay down, walking over to the cabinet and taking out a small bottle of oil.

“We will start slow, ease you into it. Let your body get used to the feeling of submission…”

Criston’s head fell back against the sheets, feeling the heat of your body as you crawled up to lay beside him. Your lips kissed a trail down his body, supporting yourself with an arm on either side of his torso. His moans were soft, the evidence of just how much control he had already let slip.

Your kisses covered his entire body as your hand sped up, working his cock until Criston was panting and begging beneath you. And when you felt him twitch in your palm, you stopped. Denying his orgasm and forcing a harsh whine from his lips.

“I..I..?” Criston stammered, beads of sweat already forming on his forehead.

“You will come when I tell you to. Not before.”

Criston sighed in frustration, but the combination of the denial and your words sent a rush of desire through him. He nodded, and you began your ministrations anew.

Four times. Four times you denied him before his body was so flushed, so sore, so slick with sweat that he began to give in and beg you.

“Please, it hurts…I need to…please...” His voice was pathetic almost, he could hear it. If he was not so deep into his arousal, he would have been embarrassed.

Your hand wrapped him tight, the other slipping down and adding pressure around his stones, massaging and squeezing until you could feel his cock twitching again. His eyes searched for yours, waiting for the permission he needed.

Those sad brown eyes, wet with tears and filled with desperation. If you were crueller, you would have denied him a fifth time.

“So good, well done, you can come, my sweet knight.”

That was all he needed. With a rough, strained moan, his orgasm ripped through him. Leaving him panting and gripping tight at the sheets beneath him. You could not help but smile. There was something quite satisfying watching strong men like Criston fall apart at your hand.

Eventually, your hands slowed, moving from his cock to his stomach and hips. Stroking soft circle into his skin as his breathing slowed. He sat up on his elbows, wiping a hand over his face to clear the tears and sweat.

“I am impressed, ser, not many submit so easily.” You praised, planting a kiss on his hip before sitting up between his legs.

Criston huffed out a laugh, his mind still in the throes of pleasure and almost unable to form any answer except for one.

“Thank you.”

Criston left your side in the early hours, but not without the promise of his return. And your promise of more means of…exploration.

Even after one meeting, Criston could feel himself walking lighter, less tense.

Maybe, just maybe, you would be his salvation.

@bucknastysbabe @elaratyrell @fairyslunaluna @towriteloveontheirarms @aemondsbabe

[zeldasnotes]

Hi, i’m sure you’ve heard of the ariana grande stuff. Cheating and stealing boyfriends/husbands. Is there a part of her chart that you’d attribute this to?

Let’s take a look:

HER PLANETS:

Ariana have her Venus, Lilith & Ascendant in a Scorpio degree (20°) + her Mars is in her 8th house. All this Scorpio energy makes her very drawn to secret and taboo relationships and also situations where she holds the power. Venus in a Scorpio degree can make someone highly competetive with other women and enjoy forbidden relationships.

Her Venus is Square Saturn/Chiron and Opposite Pluto indicating a low self esteem and a deep rooted sense of having to compete with and win over other women. She was probably hurt herself by love once and now she lets the pain spill over onto others. Venus/Saturn shows that she was not considered attractive when younger and now that she is finally considered attractive its time to play it and finally get a taste of that power that other women had over her when she was unattractive.

Her Sun Square Jupiter shows ego issues. This gives a STRONG need to boost the ego to cover up for a lack of self esteem. This also shows that she feels a sense of moral supriority. ”I do what I want but you cant”.

Her 7th house ruler is conjunct Jupiter so no wonder she have such luck in getting what she wants when it comes to partners.

Her Saturn in the 2nd house shows a very low self esteem and insecurity surrounding her body and looks which adds to the need to compete. This also shows lack of self worth which makes her attracted to low life cheater men.

HER ASTEROIDS:

Lilith(h13) in the 2nd house shows questionable moral values or even a complete lack of a moral code.

Chiron, Sado(118230) and Juno(3) all conjunct eachother in Leo in the 7th house shows just a huge mess when it comes to what she is attracted to. Definitely attracted to situations with a touch of pain, drama and even sadism. A relationship based on pain. Reminds me of the people who leave their partner at the altar to run away with someone else and getting turned on by the situation, sadism.

Her Waldemath(h58) Lilith is conjunct her Venus. According to me Waldemath Lilith is the darkest of all so she likes some messed up stuff. Here we also see dark feelings towards other women and a twisted sense of female rivalry until she grows up and learn that women are not the enemy.

Paine(5188) conjunct her North Node shows a lifetime of inflicting pain on others because anything conjunct the North Node is a life theme.

Her Mars is conjunct Asmodeus(2174) the demon of lust and one of the kings of hell under lucifer and satan.

Nessus(7066) and Dejanira(157) conjunct MC shows that the whole victim/abuser thing is a part of her life. Since its conjunct Psyche these themes are part of her mentality. And since its conjunct MC its there for everyone to see.

Disclaimer: The aspects in her chart won’t make someone do what she did im just analyzing the possible effect of some of her aspects so no need to be offended!

[razorblade180]

Furina:Aether? So you know how I have a flair for dramatics?

Aether:I’m highly aware of this, yes.

Furina:*holds hands* Well right now I need you to understand that I’m not being dramatic when I say this. *looks left*

Arlecchino: *standing in the distance*

Furina:I am physically going to cry and shake if I have to see her often.

Aether:Hmmm I see.

He kisses her forehead and hugs her. Furina sorta…melts into the embrace rather easily.

Aether:Feeling better?

Furina:No, but this is really nice. Don’t let go yet.

Aether:Honestly she wasn’t on my radar. She’d have to be pretty convincing for me to even consider it. I’ll probably skip.

???:But what if you didn’t?

Aether:*looks right*

Lyney and Lynette:Hear us out. What if we told you she had a few redeeming qualities?

Aether:Do you see Childe here?

Lynette:…

Lyney:We need a new plan of attack.

Wanderer: *watching* How did I get in here if that’s the bar?

Mona:Because Aether has questionable taste in men.

Wanderer:You’re dating me.

Mona:I didn’t say mine was any better.

[hexidous]

Pretty As You Feel

Part II to Silk and Sweat. I highly recommend reading part I for context.

Series Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Summary: You find yourself back at the club Joel manages and try your best to seem unafflicted. As hard as you try, you may end up playing it a little too cool.

Warnings: Depictions of stripping, general adult content, oral sex, fingering, spitting, praise kink, degradation kink, daddy kink, the holy trifecta, praise Joelsus

Word count: 4.4k

-

Slowly sinking down into the epsom salt bath you drew, you feel your tense muscles begin to relax in the hot water.

You imagine Joel behind you, enveloped in his strong embrace. His touch lingered on your skin, your nerves still whirring from his strong hands.

Enough, you think.

You had a rough night and he helped you get through it. Nothing more.

Unfortunately, you were used to men feeling entitled to your body because you chose to put it on display. They pay for a show and get angry when they want more.

When you were young and new to the life, you developed your own mantra to cope with the way you were treated.

What happens to Starla doesn’t happen to you.

What happens to Starla doesn’t happen to you.

You repeat it over and over, distancing yourself from the woman you pretend to be.

It works when it’s a random, rowdy customer causing you to question whether or not the money is worth the shit you put up with. It doesn’t work with Joel.

The way his face contorted into disgust and rage as he pulled that pathetic man off you flashes behind your eyes as you try to relax. How he beat a man bloody for you with ease, seeming to be holding back still.

You think of his face donning a similarly intense look, possibly indecipherable out of context, as he slammed his thick fingers into your desperate cunt.

Joel was a man no little mantra could force out of your head.

-

You mindlessly worked on whatever jobs came in, the days coming and going in a dull blur. A week went by and you had only petty design jobs coming in, alongside the occasional copywriting gig you’d pick up eagerly.

It wasn’t enough to pay the bills.

You trudged through five thousand words about cooling units and designed a logo for a shitty tech start up before calling it a day. Well, your day called itself because you didn’t have any more work to do.

“You got any rent money this month?” You ask the bemused cat laying on your desk, stopping mid lick of her belly to stare at you. “No? Shocking.”

You scratch behind her little ear before getting up from your chair. “I guess only one pussy is bringing home some money tonight.”

You start to put a bag together, rifling through folded dresses.

Which one would Joel like the most? You find yourself asking.

He strikes you as a man who likes a tasteful woman, not one eagerly putting everything on display. Obviously you didn’t have any modest dresses to wear, but you opted to toss in a few of the less skimpy ones.

Trying to breathe through your nerves, you watch as the bright red sign comes into your view. You park off to the side and grab your bag, clutching the strap tightly.

Play it cool, you warn yourself.

You greet the host at the front desk as you walk past her. You arrive a little later this time, the club already bustling with movement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got superstar Starla in the house tonight,” Tommy teases in his sultry club DJ affectation.

Joel’s head snaps up from the clipboard he’s holding. You smile and shake your head at him with a roll of your eyes, conveying your disbelief over Tommy’s silliness.

“Glad you decided to come back,” he tells you as you pass by his preferred spot on the floor, tucked away between the bottle service section and private dance room.

“My bank account didn’t give me much of a choice,” you half joke with a shrug before heading to the dressing room.

You don’t feel the need to find an isolated section this time. You take a seat at one of the many chairs lined up facing the stretch of illuminated mirrors. A couple other girls are seated along the row and a few flitter behind you, going to their lockers or on and off stage.

You slip your clothes off, folding them neatly and setting them on the counter.

The dress you decided on for the evening was short and black with long sleeves. The top came down to just low enough to tease at your cleavage. The dress was tighter on you than it used to be, but it hugged your curves nicely. There wasn’t room for a bra beneath it, but the back of it looked much better without one. It was a thick lace pattern, tightly woven flowers and loops dancing down your back, coming to a V-shape at the lowest point of your back. You strapped on some matching black shoes, grabbed your wristlet, and stashed everything else away in your locker.

You make your way through the narrow dressing room and walk up a few stairs leading to the hallway behind the stage, ending with the DJ booth.

“Ready for my spotlight,” you tell Tommy, poking your head into his booth.

“Here’s my superstar!” He bellows happily. “The night can finally begin.”

“Do I have to pay you up front to not torment me?” You joke.

“That was just a little first day hazin’,” he assures with a sly grin.

You turn from his booth and walk back down the dimly lit hallway, toward the pulsing red light of the club.

You exit just beside the stage, taking a good look at the dancer occupying it. She’s naturally brunette with blonde bangs and chunky highlights. Her face dons multiple piercings, one at the center of her bottom lip, a stud on her high cheekbone, settling like a sparkly little tear, and many in her ears. Her tattoos were all black and ornate, slithering across her body, perfect with her fluid, sensual movements.

You take your eyes away and head to the bar, turning slightly to continue to watch the dancer on stage.

Tommy’s voice dwarfs the song playing as it reaches an end. “Give it up for the fine, the feral, the absolutely fierce Fiona!” He bellows enthusiastically. “Now don’t be too scared gentlemen, she don’t bite… much.”

You’re ready for your first drink so you wave to the first man you see walk through the club like an old friend.

“I feel like it would be hard to forget a face so beautiful,” he says, putting a hand on the back of your chair. “But I’m terribly sorry to say I don’t remember you.”

“Oh you don’t know me,” you admit, pretending to look bashful. “But I’m new here and wanted someone to talk to.”

“Well I am honored you chose me,” he says politely before holding out his hand. “David.”

“Starla,” you tell him, shaking his hand softly.

“Oh come on, honey, I know your name ain’t Starla.”

“Look where you are, David,” you poke. “What did you expect? For me to say, ‘Hi, I’m Annie Mae, just a simple girl lookin’ for a husband.”

“Shit, you got me there,” he says after a beat, holding his hands up and feigning surrender. “So, you want a drink, Annie Mae?”

“Why, I’d love one.”

-

You don’t rush things with David, you know you’re not far off in rotation and it would be nice to have someone stage side for you.

Sure enough, you hear Tommy call you up for the next song as he transitions the music.

“Come see me up there?” You ask as you finish your drink and grab your small sequined clutch.

“Of course, darlin’,” he promises with a smile.

You take long strides to the DJ booth,

“Hey,” you say, getting Tommy’s attention. He turns to you but you cut him off before he can deliver whatever cheesy line he’s churning. “I know it’s not typical strip club music, but can you play Jefferson Airplane’s Somebody to Love?”

“Oh, my brother will love you for that,” he tells you. You cock your head, wondering if his brother was in the crowd, maybe David, but don’t think much of it as he starts to call you up.

“Alright gentlemen, get ready for the sensational, sensual, downright sinful… Starla!”

You take your cue and fling the curtain back dramatically as soon as the song begins.

You know the song well, adjusting your movements from soft and flowing to harsh and abrupt as the melody changes.

You climb the pole deftly before snaking around it and then finally dropping down down into a split on the floor.

Your eyes, I say, your eyes may look like his

You swing your leg around to face the small crowd and bend your knee slightly. You’ve got one hand gripping the pole beside you for leverage as you arch your back and lift your ass, rolling your pelvis slowly. David’s eyes are locked on you. Your gaze moves to the left, unable to help yourself.

Joel’s eyes are locked on you too.

You don’t break your stare until you see David making his way toward you. He sits beside he stage and you crawl toward him, flipping your hair dramatically before rising to your knees, playfully toying with your breasts. You shimmy your hips and bounce up and down like you’re riding an invisible ecock. He slips a twenty in the waistband of your thong as you hold it out. You snap it back and give him a wink.

You casually turn your head toward Joel and find him still staring. Your heart rate picks up, despite already thumping hard from your dancing. He had never watched you so brazenly.

You finish your song and thank David. You try to focus on steady breathing, fluid movements, and not looking back at Joel.

A few more men come up to tip you, though not quite as generously, until finally your set ends.

“I told you he’d like it,” Tommy jeers from his booth. You walk toward him, quickly throwing your dress back on and adjusting your suffocating tits.

“Who?” You finally get to ask. “David?”

“No,” he scoffs. “Joel. Didn’t know he was my brother?”

“Huh. I guess not,” you say in a flat voice, trying not to give hint to any emotion.

“Well you did the song justice. He doesn’t usually watch the girls on stage.”

You try not to blush or seem like you care at all, giving a quick, “Hmm.”

“Probably just zoning out, thinking about getting high in the basement while our parents were at work. I’d hear that shit blasting all the time,” he says with a laugh.

Your stomach drops. Maybe he hasn’t been staring at all, just lost in thought. “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

“I used to barge in, asking him why his room smelled so bad," Tommy laughs. "He'd get so mad, moodier than any teen girl."

You smile at the thought of Joel as an angsty teen. "Well I better get back. Think I got something real special with Dave out there."

"Get 'em, superstar," he calls out as you walk away.

-

You get a few dances out of David. He tries to get your number or buy you another drink, but you decline.

When you emerge from the private dance room, you're not really sure where to land next. It's slim pickings with most of the men already occupied.

You hear your stage name called by one of the girls sitting at a table of dancers. You walk over and sit down at an empty seat.

“It is Starla, right?” A pretty brunette asks. You nod in response. “I’m Tiffany.”

You exchange pleasantries with the women. You’d known almost all of their names already, it was easy when you heard Tommy announcing them every 10 minutes. But it was nice getting to know them, feeling like less of an outsider.

You chatted casually with the group, tipping them off to the still seated man you had just danced with.

“He just wants to think he has a chance in hell,” you scoff. “Easy money.”

One of the girls, a petite woman named Amber, stands up from her seat and makes her way over to him.

“God damn Joel looks sexy tonight,” Tiffany huffs from across the table, her eyes settling just over your shoulder. “He doesn’t even have to fuck me. Just spit on me. Anything.”

Tiffany notices your silence among the other girls agreement and calls you out.

“You seriously don’t think so?” She asks incredulously.

“I mean, he’s alright,” you lie.

“Right, you’re into Tommy,” she prods teasingly.

“No I’m not,” you scoff.

“He’s fun, but he’s easy,” Tiffany laments. “Joel is a challenge and fuck if I don’t love a good challenge.”

You try to quell the jealousy that begins to brew in your gut.

“Tommy will fuck anyone and Fiona will fight anyone,” another girl says with a laugh.

“They’re fucking but not exclusive,” Tiffany explains. “Doesn’t stop Fiona from losing her shit though.”

“Remember when Valerie blew him in the DJ booth? Bitch went full Monday Night RAW,” a tan, dark haired woman called Raven recounts, evoking laughter from the small group.

“You might want to keep it on the low, Starla,” Tiffany warns. “Fiona’s already caught whiff of you two.”

“Hand to god, nothin’ to smell,” you swear. You weren’t eager for Fiona to hate you but you were comfortable knowing no one had any idea of your infatuation for Joel.

“He’s got a nice dick,” Raven says with a shrug, a couple girls nodding in agreement.

“Before Mary Jane left she told me that Tommy is big but Joel is huge,” Tiffany admits. “Lucky bitch.”

Your cheeks run hot again as you picture Joel’s intimidatingly large bulge inches from your face. You also can’t help but angrily think who the fuck is Mary Jane?

“Well this has been informative, thank you ladies,” you tell the group as you rise from your seat. “But I better go find someone who’ll help my poor landlord pay off his Ferrari.”

-

The night is winding down to a late end. You hear Tommy play Closing Time as he tells the customers they don’t have to go home but they can’t stay here. It seems very on brand.

“Starla,” you hear Joel’s deep voice call to you. Your pulse quickens and skin becomes tingly from the mere sound of your stage name on his tongue. He continues once you step closer, “I must have tossed your paperwork by accident. Can you hang back for a bit?”

“Yeah, sure,” you tell him, unsure why it couldn’t wait another day. Not that you mind.

You’re slow to get everything together, taking your time organizing your bills and bag. It may just be missing paperwork, but you wanted the club to be empty on the off chance something more may happen. You give it another minute after the last girl leaves the dressing room before making your way to Joel’s office.

You knock lightly on the open door to announce your presence. He turns around and stares at you with an intense look written across his handsome face.

“You wanna suck my cock?” He asks, his demeanor taking a 180 since he last spoke to you.

Your stomach flips. “Yeah,” you reply, stunned. “I really do.”

“Tommy seems to think you wanna suck his,” his gravely voice speaks with a snarl. “That true, too? You just another slut tryna fuck every man who won’t pay you for it?”

“Nope,” you reply cooly, forcing your tone to stay even as your heart tries to escape your chest. “Just a slut who can’t stop thinking of you every time she makes herself cum.”

“Christ,” he mutters, running a palm over his growing cock. Your rapid heartbeat moves lower.

“May I?” You ask innocently, taking a tentative step forward.

“No,” he barks. You take a startled step backward.

He stands up and closes the distance between you two, towering over you now that your seven inch heels are replaced by a pair of comfy slip ons. His broad chest heaves as he stares down at you, the look in his eyes almost scaring you.

Joel brushes past you, leaving you alone in his office.

“Anyone here?” He bellows out to the empty club.

He’s met with silence so you follow him out.

“Wait here,” he tells you as he walks toward the club entrance. You hear the heavy lock fall into place.

Your head is swimming with anticipaion as he stalks back to you. Hell, your panties are too.

“Move,” he commands, pointing to the bottle service area. You do as he says, walking up the few stairs that lead to the semi private area.

The open facing entrance had the trademark red silk curtains strung open. Joel pulls them closed, leaving only the light filtering through the top of the curtains and three quarter wall to illuminate the small area.

“Alright,” he says, facing you. He rubs his hand over the thick cock straining against his pants. “Y’say you want it so damn bad, better make me believe it.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, biting your lip with anticipation as you take him in.

“Excuse me?” He says with a cocked brow, bringing his hands to his hips.

“I will,” you assure in a breathy voice. His brow stays cocked. “Sir,” you add meekly.

“Atta girl,” he says, his gravelly voice sending chills down your spine.

You slowly sink to your knees before him, looking up to meet his dark gaze.

Your hands shake as you bring them up to undo his belt. You don’t think you’ve been this nervous in front of a man since you were a teenager.

You reach into his soft, elastic boxer briefs and grasp his heavy cock, barely able to fit your hand all the way around it.

Your eyes widen as you take him in. His cock is literally mouthwatering. You press your tongue flat against his thick head, precum already beading at the top. You let your pooling saliva run down his shaft before tracing your tongue over the vein that runs down the length of it. You pump his dick slowly with one hand and while sliding his underwear down further, freeing his balls. You duck your head low and bring them into your mouth, gently licking at them.

You hear Joel groan quietly from above you. You look up to find him peering down at you. “Such a good girl,” he says breathlessly.

His praise sends warmth through your entire body. You return your mouth to his cock but gently cup his sensitive scrotum, squeezing lightly. Your jaw feels tight trying to fit his entirety into your mouth without accidentally scraping your teeth against him.

You remember Tiffany’s words from earlier and think how you love a good challenge too. Especially ones that paid off.

You feel the head of Joel’s cock reach the back of your throat and you gag a little before forcing a deep breath in through your nose. You do your best to relax as he starts to thrust his hips up into you, meeting your eager movements. Your free hand grips him at the base, gliding in time with your mouth. You use your thumb to add pressure to the underside of his dick, mirroring the action with your tongue as well.

Moans are escaping with his deep breaths. You look up again and see his eyes clenched shut and his mouth agape. The way his brows furrow and lips curl into a snarl the same way when he was enraged and aroused turns you on endlessly.

You quicken your pace, aching to feel him come undone.

“Wait,” he says weakly, getting closer. “Stop, stop, stop,” he pleads in quick succession.

But you can’t. You’re too drunk off his pleasure to ever quit.

His orgasm spills over, unleashing hot spurts of cum onto your tongue. You swallow him without hesitation.

You tilt your head up, pleased with yourself, but he’s not blissed out like you were hoping.

He seems… angry. Or turned on still. It was really fucking hard to tell.

“Thought I told you to stop,” he snaps.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you mewl.

“Sorry,” he scoffs. “Get up.”

You stand to face him, searching for something other than anger in his expression. He grabs you by the back of your hair, yanking back roughly. You let out a gasp.

“Since ya like swallowing so damn much.” You watch in awe as he spits directly in your open mouth. It partially paints your puffy, sensitive lip. “There you go.”

You swallow his saliva, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. It’s ironically the closest thing you’ve had to a kiss with him.

“Don’t I get a thank you?” He half questions, half demands in a harsh tone.

“Thank you, sir,” you tell him softly, giving your best innocent doe eyes.

“I guess you didn’t want my cock buried in that pretty pussy, huh?” He taunts.

“I want it so bad,” you whine, “but I wanted to make you feel good.”

His expression softens. “You did, baby,” he says, moving his hand to cup your cheek.

Your heart swells at the pet name and newfound tenderness.

Joel moves his hand again to lift your dress and dip past the waistline of your panties.

“So wet from sucking my cock,” he hums. “I should just leave you like this. Aching for me.”

You don’t want to beg but you shake your head quickly.

“You need to be punished somehow, sweetheart.”

“However you want,” you pant desperately.

His eyes fall on the couch behind you. He takes a few steps before turning to sit on it. He extends a hand out to you.

Tentatively, you make your way toward him. He holds your hand in his as you stand between his open legs, feeling a shyness take over.

“Over my knee, baby,” he tells you.

You turn to the side and bend forward until your hips are resting on his strong thigh and your forearms are resting on the couch. Joel yanks your underwear down swiftly.

Before you can brace yourself you hear a loud smack and feel the sharp sting of his hand. You hiss through your teeth, wondering how many more you have left.

He slaps his hand down again in the same spot, causing you to yelp this time. As he continues, the pain begins to mix with pleasure. You keep yourself from rubbing against his thigh without his permission.

He delivers another blow and you moan loudly. “Fuck, Da-“

“Say it,” he coaxes. “Who am I?” He asks with another sharp slap.

“Daddy!” You cry out, tears threatening to spill over.

He lands one more smack before switching to a soft caress. Your skin is so sensitive, it sends a harsh shiver through your body.

“Your ass looks so pretty covered in my handprints, baby,” he says, continuing to run his fingers lightly over the reddened skin. “You did so good for me.”

“I’m sorry you had to punish me, Daddy,” you sniffle, the tears finally coming down.

“Come here,” he tells you, repositioning your body to face him, straddling his thighs. You study his face in the dim lighting. His eyes always looked a little pained, you realize. Deep set lines etched themselves in his forehead over the heads, softer ones around his eyes. Your gaze wandered over his prominent nose and strong jaw, covered in graying, patchy scruff. He’s not your usual type and yet you couldn’t think of a man you’d ever found more attractive. Your eyes landed on his full lips, dying to kiss them.

He doesn’t leave you wanting for long, closing the gap between your faces. His lips felt somehow softer than they looked against yours. You part your mouth eagerly and he takes no time to enter your mouth. His tongue expertly licks at yours. You moan desperately into his kiss, grinding your drenched pussy into his half hard cock.

“Please,” you beg him.

He chuckles gently at you. “You’re expecting an old man to fuck like a teenager.”

You let out a huff, wishing you had listened to him.

“I won’t leave you hanging, sweetheart.” He brings his hand down between you, rubbing your clit with his thumb for a moment before pushing two thick fingers into you with ease. “But you gotta get yourself off this time.”

You start slow, dizzy with lust as you move yourself up and down on his fingers. He curls them slightly, hitting your sweet spot perfectly.

“That feel good, baby?” He purrs.

“So good, Daddy,” you answer, quickening your pace and grinding down on his palm.

He brings his free hand up, pulling the straps down on your dress. He ducks his head down and his mouth is at your chest, surely salty from sweat. He licks and kisses over your breasts before dragging his nose up your neck, inhaling your musk.

The simple movement send you that much closer to the edge, the pleasure threatening to bubble over at at moment. You chase your release, bouncing and grinding on Joel’s hand while you think about the orgasm you gave him moments ago. The twisting coil in your center comes free as you cum on his fingers with a loud cry.

“Good girl,” he praises in a strained whisper before planting a warm kiss on your forehead.

You come down from your high with shaky breaths. He takes his fingers away, wiping them on his already ruined pants.

You throw your arms over his shoulders and bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, trying to burn it into your memory.

He lets you stay that way for a while, running his hand up and down your back.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs in your ear. “We gotta go.”

You hate that you have to leave. You would sleep at the club if it meant spending more time with Joel. But you relent, climbing off his lap and retrieving your underwear.

Joel is first to exit the room, you follow slowly behind and see him emerge from his office with your bag in his hand. You hold your arm out to take it but he ignores your gesture, carrying it for you as he walks you to your car.

Yours and his are the only two left in the lot, well beyond close.

“Text me when you get home,” he tells you, giving you your bag back.

He pulls his phone out and hands it to you for you to put your number in. You enter it in alongside your real name and save the contact.

“I will,” you promise. “Goodnight, Joel.”

He bids you goodnight with another kiss on the forehead.

It’s late and you are beyond exhausted when you reach your apartment. You pull your phone out and see one new message from an unknown number.

Joel Miller

You smile, and send him a quick text back.

Home.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

All Too Well

Pairings: Chuck Grant x reader Summary: So this a little fic inspired by a moodboard that the very lovely @sweetxvanixlla requested and is also inspired by my recent trip to Henri Chapelle American Cemetery in Belguim. I highly recommend if anyone gets the chance to visit an American Cemetery then to do so. It’s a very emotional and moving place to visit. Warnings: death, mentions of war, PTSD, grief, post war reunion.

“Come on, Y/n. You’ve got to get up,” Chuck called, sticking his head around the bathroom door, toothbrush hanging from his lips as he looked upon the form of his sleeping girlfriend. “Y/n, come on. We’re going to be late otherwise.”

Y/n groaned and reluctantly crawled from beneath the covers, moaning incoherently at Chuck as she wandered into the bathroom, dragging the covers behind her like a child. Chuck just grinned, smacking her backside as she walked past. She shrieked and turned round to face him, scrunching her face up in annoyance. Chuck just grinned back at her, rinsing his mouth from the fluoride taste and placing his toothbrush back in the bathroom cabinet in its pot.

Chuck Grant didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky with Y/n, she was funny, smart, beautiful and she’d put up with his teasing ever since Toccoa. She followed him out of the C47 on D-Day, fought beside him in Carentan and shared his foxhole in the Bois Jacques. Even when he was injured she stayed by his side, holding his hand as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

Half an hour later, the car horn outside drew Chuck from his thoughts. It was Floyd Talbert, his battered green Chevrolet pulled up onto the pavement outside. He was giving them a lift to Easy Company’s first yearly reunion. The men had all kept in contact after going their separate ways back in the States and between them, George and Bill had organised for them to all get together. Most of them were bringing their wives and girlfriends along and Chuck was pleased to have Y/n by his side.

“Y/n, come on, Tab’s here,” Chuck called, starting in amazement as his girlfriend appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a baby blue dress flowing around her frame and her hair was curled and pinned neatly to the back of her head. She looked as beautiful in that dress as the day she had in Aldbourne. Chuck kept the picture of her from their first date in his jacket pocket and it went everywhere he did. “I’m coming.”

They hurried down the path, Chuck shutting the white gate at the end of the pathway. “Hey Chuck,” Tab greeted him as he hopped into the front seat beside his friend.

“How have you been?”

“We’ve been good. Can’t complain. How about you?”

Floyd looked at him confused but did ask any more questions. “Yeah, I’m okay. Doing the best I can but I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon.”

They mainly travelled in silence after that, with the occasional conversation and Chuck reached across to hold Y/n hand, squeezing it gently.

Floyd pulled into a parking space and watched in amusement as George Luz came barrelling across the car park towards them. “TAB! CHUCK! YOU MADE IT!” He shouted, throwing himself into both the men’s arms. Floyd and George were laughing and chatting as Chuck helped Y/n down from the truck, taking her hand with a smile. “Well let’s face the music. George is as wild as ever.”

Y/n sniggered, “did you honestly expect him to change.”

“No, not really.”

“Hey Chuck, come see the others,” George grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the building where the other members of Easy Company were already waiting.

The reunion was going well, Chuck was so glad Y/n had talked him into going. He’d been reluctant at first, still haunted by the nightmares of the friends he had lost, he didn’t know if he could face seeing the men he went through hell and back with.

“So how’s things going with Vera?” Chuck asked, leaning against the bar beside Eugene Roe, nursing his beer that he came accustomed to enjoying while staying in Aldbourne.

“Real good, there ain’t a day goes by where I’m not smiling anymore. It helps to have someone to get you through each day,” Eugene suddenly looked up a little shocked. “Oh Grant, I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean to… well you know… I just… I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for Gene? Y/n and I are very happy. We moved into our new house a few months ago, and it's all going well.”

Eugene rested his hand on Chuck’s arm, “Grant, it’s okay to not be alright. None of us are ever going to be alright again, it haunts us all but I know things will get better. I have to believe that.”

“Gene, I’m fine. I couldn’t be better. Y/n and I are very happy.”

Eugene bit his lip as if trying to find the right words to say. He looked over Chuck’s shoulder where George and Floyd had both appeared and had heard the conversation.

“Chuck, I know you miss Y/n…” Floyd began and Chuck turned around to face him.

“What do you mean? Y/n is right there,” he pointed through the crowd to an empty corner of the room and waved. “See she’s waving at us.”

“Chuck…” Floyd approached carefully, resting his hand on his friend's shoulder. “Y/n isn’t there Buddy. Y/n isn’t here. She died, Chuck.”

Chuck snorted, “No she didn’t. If she’d died, who have I been living with?”

Chuck had to admit that the house was often quiet but Y/n had never been very loud spoken, and only one side of the bed had ever looked as if it was slept in, and there was only one toothbrush in the cabinet…

“No, but she’s right there…” Chuck trailed off as he pointed to the empty corner, Y/n was no longer there waving back at him.

“But… but where is she?” He cried, feeling hot tears fall down his red cheeks as the realisation hit, turning to his friends and demanding answers. Where was his girl? What happened?

“She got hit, Chuck. The same night Bill and Joe got hit. She was trying to help them, remember?”

Chuck couldn’t remember. No, he couldn’t remember any of it. Y/n had been with him though. When they left Foy and moved on to Noville she had been there. When they found the concentration camp she was the first one to help them. When they were in Austria she had been there watching the baseball game.

“But where is she, Tab? Where is she?” Chuck slid to the floor, sobbing and clutching hold of Floyd who sat beside him, hugging his friend firmly. He knew none of the men there would judge him, they only watched in sympathy as Chuck fell apart. They had all been in his position at least once since the war ended a little over a year ago. “She’s in Belgium, Chuck. She is a cemetery in Belgium.”

“I need to see her. Please can we find her?” Chuck buried his head into Floyd’s neck.

“Sure thing, Buddy. We’ll find her.”

3 months later

Chuck didn’t quite know what he expected when Floyd first told him that Y/n was buried in Henri Chapelle American Cemetery in Belgium. For some reason that seemed to make it real. George, Eugene and Floyd had gone with him, feeling as though he’d need some kind of support when it all fell down.

The car park was empty but they could already see a few rows of neatly placed white crosses beginning to appear. Chuck was reluctant to get out of the car at first, he wondered that maybe this was all a bad dream and that soon Y/n would be kissing him and telling him it was time to get up.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Floyd asks when Chuck finally found the courage to get out of the car.

“Maybe if you could come part of the way with me?”

The three men nodded, following Chuck up the long, concrete paved pathway and up the steps, following the steps down the other side. All four of them gulped as they looked upon the rows of parallel, ivory crosses, each row was diagonally and vertically lined up to perfection. Some of the crosses had flowers placed at the base and some weren’t crosses at all but the Star of David instead stood proudly above its soldiers.

“Didn’t realise how many there were going to be,” George choked, trying to hold back the tears for Chuck. Eugene squeezed his hand gently and nodded, tears trickling down his own cheeks. Many of the US soldiers had been repatriated back to the States after their deaths so they could be returned home but many remained in the fields of the country they died. Y/n didn’t have a family to repatriate her and so she lay beside her other fallen comrades.

The men followed the path down the steps, looking upon each row. The names of men they had never had the privilege to meet were etched into their minds, each life that was taken far too soon. When they reached the right section for Y/n's surname they all considered turning back, avoiding it would be far easier than facing the truth. They had all seen her die, had all seen her lifeless frame fall but none of them had ever wanted to relive that experience again.

Floyd watched as Chuck walked down the rows, wondering if he should follow his friend but accepting that this was something Chuck needed to do alone.

Chuck felt great relief with each name he read not finding Y/n amongst them, but his relief was short-lived and sure enough halfway along the second row her name appeared - Y/n Y/l/n, SGT 506 PRCHT INF 101 ABN DIV, OREGON Jan 9 1945. As each letter sank in Chuck felt his throat tighten and his heart still in his chest. He felt as though he couldn’t breathe, a sob wracking his frame as he fell before the cross, gripping hold of the white stone as if he could pull her back into his world.

“Please, Y/n. Please,” Chuck wailed, his short fingernails digging into the grass at the base of the cross, grounding himself as though his grief may pull him from Earth. Chuck had been told that sadness comes with anger but he felt no anger now, only unimaginable pain.

Ever since the reunion his grief had come in waves, small waves at first, sometimes without warning like when he’d open the bathroom cabinet and there was only one toothbrush when there should have been two. This wave of grief was different, it was violent and Chuck felt as though he’d never be whole again. Y/n had always told him that only brave people cry because they are brave enough to show they are vulnerable but Chuck didn’t feel brave, he felt broken, more broken than he had ever felt throughout the whole war.

“Why did you do this, Y/n? Why did you leave me?”

“I never left you, Chuck, I’ll always be here just waiting for you. What we had was a masterpiece but this war tore it all up.” Y/n placed her arms around Chuck, holding him close to her.

“I’d like to be my old self again but I can’t find him, Y/n.” Chuck sobbed, grabbing hold of her arms and pulling her even closer.

“I’ll wait for you Chuck, I promise.”

Chuck closed his eyes, savouring their last embrace. “I loved you so.”

“Back before you lost the one real thing you’ve ever known.”

“It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well,” Chuck whispered as Y/n faded from his embrace and he was left once again floating alone in his ocean of grief.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @desert-fern @mayhem24-7forever @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @hesbuckcompton-baby @sweetxvanixlla @noneedtoamputate

[teecupangel]

billiam’s mistress being from a big irish immigrant family and they see a picture of the man that impregnated her and she’s like “He was hot to me!” And her younger brother would probably like “Yeah, hot from be near Hell’s doorway,”

Connected to The William Miles Gets A Woman Knocked Up Grieving Desmond’s Death idea (and its minisequel and The Reader having a bad time and making it Basim’s problem) and the Statistically speaking she would be 30~40 years younger than him.

Considering Squirtle was taken away from their mother and Abstergo has shown that they don’t mind killing innocents (ex: Elijah’s mother), it’s highly possible that this happened when Squirtle was just born.

Maybe their mother tried to look for William to let him know that he has a child, posting his picture on social media. (A spur of the moment choice brought by the sudden realization that she now has a child and all alone and… might also be the painkillers, who knows?)

That’s how her brother learned of the man in the photo and questioned her taste of men as a way to make her laugh.

That’s the last time he saw her.

Next time he visited the hospital, she was dead and her baby was also pronounced dead.

It was too much of a coincidence.

Not to mention, he tried asking around about the older ‘gentleman’ that was her baby’s daddy and one of his close friends who worked for some private security company told him to stop looking for the man.

He was bad news.

And that was how…

Squirtle’s maternal uncle started to look for William Miles, believing him to be the one who killed both his mother and, as far as his uncle knows, themselves.

Bill only learned of her death a day late, Erudito’s photo flagging system being slower than Abstergo’s.

He remembers her.

And he learned that she had a baby who apparently died due to complications or something?

No.

It was Abstergo.

Abstergo has his kid.

.

It would be funny if Squirtle’s uncle (and mother) were descended from Liam O’Brien. Sure, Shay Cormac would be the most obvious choice.

But Liam would be so left field.

Or…

Anne could also be a good ancestor.

Or if you wanna doubledown on the possible importance of their bloodline to the Isu: Ciara. XD

[aermageddon]

omg can you pls share your thoughts on hyuna's longer 'attitude' performance vid? the 'no' make up look?? the fact i dont hate how it sounds?? if i could somehow get this hyuna in a collab with height-of-their-power BEG's gain to do a collab it would killll

wait i was so confused THIS IS THE FULL THING??? i really thought we only had the teaser cause this was literally announced like two days ago 😭 but also why is this song so short is this like a pre release why is it not on spotify i have so may questions....

anyway. wow. a long time ago I coined the tag #alpha bitch of cuntyland to refer to hyuna and i firmly believe i was so right for that. there are very few performers in kpop men or women that can channel the energy and charisma hyuna can. she is very sexually aggressive in a non feminine way that reads to me as kinda queer adjacent - in a way she is the mirrored version of taemin.... and while her singing abilities are adequate at best she knows how to modulate her voice (which i admit can be an acquired taste for some) but she can emote REALLY well. whatever she wants to sell people WILL buy

plus i think she stands out from the rest because unlike your other run of the mill cunty female soloists like sunmi or hyolyn for example - hyuna does not adopt an image that appeals to the male gaze. she doesn't shy away from ugly and while very sexually charged her performance and visuals always have that "her pussy might actually have teeth" vibe you know? idk if i'm making sense but it's like. she is simply a very weird woman and she doesn't objectify herself for the camera or at least not in a way that you can expect men to watch her and fantasize about her. she exploits her sexuality for herself and for whoever is weird enough to catch her and resonate with it which i think is amazing and in a society as misogynistic as south korea - highly admirable.

re: this specific performance i really like the song it reminds me of an early 2010s azealia beat but i wish they'd gone further with it. i'm missing a punchy bassline. i also think it's horribly short and i'm confused by the rollout so i really hope she has a full comeback in the works

[mixelation]

do y'all wanna read some plasticity crack

spoilers kinda maybe

this takes place in the far-flung future after ~events~ land tori in konoha, the exact details of which might get changed around. but she keeps dropping icha icha references while looking pointedly at kakashi for a reaction

xxx

“Maa, you could crash with me,” Kakashi offered. He brushed his toes against Tori’s ankle in one long, purposeful motion. 

Tori blinked at him, doing her best dumb-cow-eyes routine. 

“What, like on your couch?” Naruto asked loudly. 

“Something like that,” Kakashi agreed, not looking away from Tori. 

“Rei-san, I highly doubt Kakashi-sensei has a very good couch--” Naruto started, but Tori ignored him. 

Kakashi was giving her eyes. Kakashi was hitting on her. Holy shit. What the fuck. 

“I wouldn’t mind… surveying… the couch,” Tori finally said, working extra hard to keep her voice even and unaffected. 

“It’s decided then,” Kakashi said, then wrapped an arm around her waist and flash stepped them away from the ramen stand. 

“...Aah,” Tori said as a sort of belated reaction when Kakashi put her down. She thought a regular civilian woman probably wouldn’t like being grabbed by a ninja and forcibly moved to a secondary location. 

“Sorry about that,” Kakashi said. “I wanted to be sure Naruto got your bill.”

Kakashi had also, very conspicuously, left his student to pay Kakashi’s bill as well. Tori didn’t comment on this. When she just sort of stared at Kakashi instead of making a real response, he cleared his throat. 

“Anyway. I thought maybe you’d like…” He cleared his throat again. “I have some Icha Icha fanzines, so if you wanted to look…”

“You’re nervous,” Tori observed, letting herself crack a grin. She wanted to point and tease and be mean about it, but she had to stay in character. “That’s adorable.”

Kakashi made a pained noise in the back of his throat. 

“I would like to see your porn collection very much,” Tori said helpfully. Kakashi made the noise again but led her towards his apartment complex. 

Kakashi lived in a completely normal apartment building, with open-air hallways between units, and he brought her up to the third floor. Somewhere around the second floor, it finally fully Tori that she was maybe being invited over for something a little bit sexier than reading fanzines and flirting. 

The thought made her miss a step, and Kakashi grabbed her arm to steady her 

“You okay?” he asked. 

I’m fucking NOT, Tori thought even as she nodded and smiled. Kakashi was inviting her over sex. Kakashi wanted to fuck her. 

Did she want to fuck him…? 

Maybe. Tori didn’t usually have much interest in men, but Kakashi was nice and funny and she did like him… Plus, the fan part of her had a lot of questions about Kakashi’s sex life she could easily get answered this way. 

Also, if Obito found out, he would probably lose his goddamn mind. 

Yeah, I should definitely do it, Tori decided, following Kakashi into his apartment. For science.

Kakashi’s apartment was, given what Tori knew of him, bizarrely normal. It was an open plan, with the kitchen separated from the living area by an island. One corner of the room had a little dining table and several large book shelves. It was clean and neat if not a little lacking in decorations, and the couch did look comfortable enough to sleep on. 

You know. If Tori ended up sleeping there. Which she might not. 

“Do you drink?” Kakashi asked. “I think I have sake somewhere…”

Tori stood awkwardly in Kakashi’s kitchen while he rifled through cabinets. They were less bare than Tori might have predicted, and Kakashi eventually produced a bottle of plum sake. 

“I think this is the type you’re supposed to drink cold,” he said, frowning at the label. 

Tori ended up seated on the couch with a beer from the fridge while the sake chilled. It was not a very good beer. Kakashi apologized lamely with something about keeping it for friends with no taste. 

Which friend? Tori wondered. Gai? Genma? Were Kakashi and Genma actually friends, or was that fanon?

Tori wanted to quiz Kakashi on this, but it seemed unwise to blatantly interrogate the badass jounin. Instead, she settled for watching him pull books and zines off his shelves. 

((I think if this scene sticks around i'll tone down him blatantly hitting on her LMAO. more like him genuinely being like DO YOU WANT TO SEE MY COLLECTION and tori belatedly being like: ......am i being hit on?))

[ystrike1]

Please Don't Eat Me! - By Saha (9/10)

Is it love or cannibalism? That is the ultimate question. This is a reincarnation story, but it's set in a dark fantasy world that is actually dark. When I say dark I don't mean "brooding sexy loner falls in love". I mean "every single waking moment of the protagonists life becomes a political game because a powerful man is interested in her". That's the difference between a fast food burger and a rare steak. I highly recommend this one.

Ertha has two siblings. They are very special. Both of them are destined to become magicians. She knows that because her world is actually inside a novel. An R-19 novel for men that she couldn't finish in her past life, because it was too brutal. She knows most of the plot, but not all of it. She's the "sexy irresistible side character girl that dies". Her siblings are more valuable than her, but they don't have magic yet, so all three of them get treated like trash. Ertha is drowning in debt. The Arlez family used to be prosperous and noble, but then her parents killed themselves after they fell into debt.

There's only one way out. Marriage. Ertha needs to find a man who can protect her until the powers in her siblings awaken. Ertha is beautiful, but that's not why she's irresistible. She's special too. She's a purifier. Only one is born every generation, and the magicians of the world always fight over that person. Erthas touch, and blood, can cure magic induced madness. When magicians in this world use spells they lose some of their sanity. Most magicians don't die of old age. Madness is the most common cause of death. Ertha doesn't give a shit about the other magicians. She only wants to use her powers to support her siblings in the future.

Duke Zahid is too smart. He's smart and rich and willing to get married. He's also a sociopath that likes to bludgeon his enemies to death with hammers. He's literally a torture expert. His sanity is still in tact because he doesn't have to use magic much. He's the perfect killer without it. He's overpowered in a believable way. In this setting all magicians are sociopaths who don't really feel empathy like regular humans. Magical powers came into being when a fallen angel descended to earth. They're kind of like a curse, and being a purifier isn't fun either.

There is alot of child abuse in this. Ertha has to do shady shit to protect her siblings. She thinks she can save them from the insanity that affects all magicians. She is the purifier after all. If she raises the children in a good, peaceful environment they have a chance. So, she uses the Duke as a shield but she also plans to leave him. This is the princess, Diana. Her delusional mother beats her and her father is going senile. She wants to destroy the royal family. She is one of Erthas secret allies. Ertha needs very powerful friends to get away from the Duke. He won't let her go without a fight. He paid off her debt to marry her, and all magicians are attracted to the purifier. His attraction is growing into an obsession. So, Ertha agrees to work with the suspicious princess.

Duke Zahid lets Ertha, who lived in poverty, taste true power. He tries to seduce her with money and his good looks, but that doesn't work. So he tries to appeal to Ertha's dark side. This is Ronja. Ronja is an insane assassin who will kill anyone who disrespects Ertha anytime, anywhere. Ertha doesn't use her at first, but then the jealous governess in charge of her siblings decides to beat them (because they are fallen nobles). That jealous governess ends up in a torture cell. It's strange watching Erthas morals twist. She had to marry the Duke for the money, and now she has to play along with psychos to escape. It's a tough situation.

Prince Hession is another side character. I think he's important. He's a delusional prince who thinks everything is fine, even though his country is falling apart. He's a water magician. He acts like a polite, warm prince. He thinks he would be a better husband, so he boldly asks Ertha to divorce Zahid. She doesn't, because even though Hession is a magical crown prince he has no power. When he becomes king he'll be a terrible leader. He's the kind of guy with no empathy that would tell a sick person to cheer up, because they're bringing down the mood at the party for everyone else. He almost eats Ertha alive after he smells her blood.

Herrkan is a young man from a desert nation. When Ertha meets him he's insane. His magic has driven him past the point of no return. Ertha uses him as a pawn. She cannot completely save him, but she can make him sort of normal again. She tells his country that she'll take him in and purify him over a long period of time. Herrkan can't function like a normal person anymore, so they have to say yes. Herrkan acts like a dumb kid after Ertha makes the pain go away. He's very sweet, but his flashes of insanity are hard to deal with. He ran across the country to find Ertha, because he knew he was dying. He would do anything for her, and she's going to use that.

This is the holy pope. There are a lot of fun plot twists in this story. Everybody thinks Holy Magic is pure and wonderful, but it's actually just regular magic that looks pretty. The pope is just as insane as the other magicians. He has a garden fertilized with dead bodies. He wants Ertha to pick him as well, but he's the worst choice by far. He was a whores son, and as soon as he received holy powers he killed everyone he didn't like. He enjoys having the power to control people, and he thinks religion is the best tool for that. His character design is much better than Zahid's, which sucks. Sometimes Zahid is drawn funny by the way.

Let me make this very clear. Duke Zahid is very evil, even though he loves Ertha. He would kill her siblings to have her. He massacres mercenaries to protect her. He tortures everybody who was mean to her when she was poor. He does want to eat her, but he would also love to have sex with her. His love is connected to his need for violence. He also wants to take over the world, and he'll probably win.

Ertha might be connected to the fallen angel that created purifiers and magicians. This is bad, because that means she can see visions of the past. She can see how twisted the past was, and how it created the fucked up mess she's stuck in. The plot twist is that the fallen angel never betrayed anyone, and the horrible hell that magicians on earth must experience is an unjust punishment. Ertha of course falls in love with Zahid, but she cares about her siblings more.

She tries to run until the very end.

[boxenstopp]

green carnations - 1.7k words

pairing: florist!charles + rich boy!max

summary:

Max seeks out the flower shop of a highly esteemed, and eccentric, florist, in order to mend his relationship with his girlfriend.

The florist, Charles, makes him question his intentions.

OR

Charles and Max are big dumb idiots, and Max really wants to know what green carnations imply.

LINK HERE or read more

A/N: prompted by @sennaverstappen and green carnations have ties to gay men.

It’s been a long time since he’s gone on a drive by himself. It’s a surprise, after all. Or at least that’s what he’d told them in order to get off his back.

Every window is shiny, reflecting the summer sun into his eyes. Ugh, he hates summer sometimes. Heat and all. Both the good and the bad seem to be able to bite him in the ass regularly.

Max steps out of the car, parked a couple blocks away for safety’s sake, and makes the short walk to the florist. He passes a couple shops, blatant tourist traps meant to lure those who clearly don’t have taste, and stops in front of a large, stained glass and wood door. The front is decorated with large carved flowers and Max thinks it’s a bit overdone.

He steps inside anyway (he drove all the way there for a reason) and the bells jingle lightly, alerting the owner to his presence. The inside is spacious but just as embellished as the outside; flowering vines hang from an ornate chandelier, rows of roses in multitudes of colors and scents decorate the hall, and a skylight gleams above a bed of tulips.

Something else catches his eye, though. A figure, dressed in a shirt patterned in rose and ivory, walks towards him with a smile. He has dimples set in his face, and green eyes that speckle under the dappled light. There are 2 rings on his left ring finger, and a golden snake curled around his right index. This unknown man, the owner, most likely, waves at him, and Max waves back. There’s no reason to. They’re only 5 meters apart.

“Bonjour monsieur, flowers?” He asks, gesturing everywhere, really.

“Did you get the call and brief from my team? I’m Max Verstappen.” Max answers. Of course he wants flowers, what else would he go to a florist for?

“Ah, yes.” He confirms. “You are Mr. Verstappen?”

“Yes.” Max replies, stepping further into the store, admiring the numerous flowering buds. One surprises him. “Flowers can be green?” He asks, pointing towards the tea-colored blossoms in the bed labeled ‘carnations’.

“I do not think you want those, monsieur. I have a dozen pairings already laid out for you, if you would like to come into the back.” He turns away, gesturing for Max to follow him.

“Why would I not want them?” Max demands from behind him.

“Ah, monsieur, you have a girlfriend, yes?”

“Uh, not right now. That’s what the flowers are for. Did you read the brief?” Max wonders what he’s missing out on. If only the man didn’t have his back turned.

“Yes, of course I read your brief. Far too short, by the way. It was very hard to figure something out. But that is not the point. You want a girlfriend.” The man states as if it’s a fact. Maybe it is to everyone else.

Max just hums and enters the back room. The lights are more focused and bright in the room, with a setup that looks part craftsman and part photographer.

“Here I have the pairings.” The florist says, placing down the bouquets of carefully arranged flowers. “You can also get a vase, there are some on the shelf for you to pick.”

Max looks over them for a couple seconds. What did she say was her favorite color? He can’t exactly remember. Women always love roses, though, so maybe he should pick the one with those. There’s a bouquet that’s yellow and orange with bits of blue that smells like some sort of soap. It looks artsy, like her hair, which is blonde and ginger, so it fits, he supposes. He points to it.

The man stares at him blankly.

Max points to it again.

The man raises his eyebrow at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“Pack it up! I have other things to do.”

“You cannot have chosen already.”

“What, do your customers normally take all day to choose? Are you paid by the hour?”

“Tell me why you chose it.” The florist crosses his arms and ignores Max.

“Why do you need to know? Can’t you just bill me? I have a dinner date.”

“Why are you getting flowers?” God, could this man just let him leave? He didn’t need to flex his muscles.

“Are you sure you read the brief? You don’t sound like you did.”

“Mr. Verstapppen. I read your brief. Now will you please tell me what you see in those flowers.”

“What I see in them?” Max squints at him judgingly, and then looks back at the flowers. “A good relationship, hopefully.”

“A good relationship, he says.” He scoffs, “You should not be getting flowers just to get flowers, monsieur.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Then you aren’t thinking correctly. You are getting these flowers to get back with your girlfriend, yes?”

“Yes…” Max looks at him questioningly.

“Why flowers?”

“Because it’s a relationship… that’s how it works.”

“Max. Can I call you Max?” He asks, looking over at Max. Max nods at him. “If you get flowers, you should be thinking about the life those flowers will live. The emotions they will inspire. When your girlfriend looks at the flowers, she should think of your shared love.” By the end he looks quite red in the face, as if just thinking about the usage of flowers was getting him worked up.

“But-” Max tried to interrupt.

“No.” He counters, looking down at the bouquet Max chose. He bites his lip adorably and fiddles with his rings. “If you do not understand what you are saying with your flowers, then she will not too.”

He reaches out and messes up the flowers he’d carefully arranged, plunking ones out of almost every arrangement. “Pinks and reds for love, yes?” He asks, holding up a red rose. “White for purity and maybe a bit of blue or purple. For some remorse. It should not be overwhelming. It should not be boring. It should be you.” He looks furious at the idea that a flower bouquet could be anything but ‘you’, whatever that means.

“Mister, I think you do not understand.” Max sighs, bringing his hand up to brush through his hair.

“Charles Leclerc.” Charles’ eyes immediately catch the movement, “Then make me understand. You are not telling me with your flowers. When you think of your love, what comes to mind?”

“Absolutely nothing. Most people don’t have wet dreams about flowers like you seem to.”

“No no, that cannot be right.”

“Fine. The green carnations in the front there.”

“No.” Charles is frustrated, gesturing to himself and to Max in a way that doesn’t explain much of anything.

“No? What do you hate about green carnations so much? Why aren’t they in any of your bouquets?” Max’s voice is high and teasing.

“Max. You did not study floriography and you clearly don’t know your history either.” Charles’ voice isn’t. It’s been growing lower and lower ever since he brought up green carnations again.

“I guarantee you that I have a better education than you.”

“And did you major in the same things I did?” Charles is deadpan.

“Just- Shut the fuck up. I do not want to be late. Pack up this bouquet, and you know what? Add some of the green carnations.” Max turns to leave.

“Have you looked at the bouquet? I spent at least an hour on it, I will not ruin it with green carnations.” Charles calls from behind him.

“What, do you hate the carnations because they’re ugly?” Max replies back.

“Max! That is not what I said.” Charles stares after him. “Please, a symbol of your love should not be manufactured by someone else.” Charles says, begging slightly.

“Right. Our love.” Max didn’t really want to address it.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know why you think we love each other.” Max turns back to face him. “Did you even look me up? Her father’s the owner of the largest hotel branch in the world. I’m not throwing that away.”

“I never look up customers, it’s quite rude that you think I did.” Charles says, smirking as if he’s got the upper hand.

“Right, you’re a fucking saint. Let me get this straight, okay? I do not love her. She most likely does not love me. It’s that simple. Just give me the flowers, yeah? I’m not going to be late to this.”

“You- Don’t disgrace the language of flowers for this idiotic sake. She has all the reason to love you, but you are not showcasing that by getting one dimensional flowers.” Charles says in a weird tone, gazing right into Max’s eyes. It makes Max a bit uncomfortable.

Max looks away, “Don’t suggest some weird ‘finding your inner tone’ course. I don’t need a thousand color palettes contrasted with my face.”

Charles looks at him oddly. “No, no. Has no one ever seen you?”

“What, are you seeing my soul or something? Is that something you majored in too?”

“I don’t see your soul. I see the reflections of your soul. You see, your eyes are pearl-like, I think they would look good with my light blue irises, for hope. And you have a very wide, joyous smile. I think I would add these small, white chrysanthemums. Akin to the stars, yes? They will mean loyalty. I am thinking of a sky, a beautiful blanket, encapsulating how you radiate and how you protect.”

“Right.” Max’s eyes are boring right into Charles, who’s looking at him proudly like he’s just exhibited some sort of great power. It makes Max a bit flustered.

“You are. Ah. You are blushing.” Charles is back to smirking, this time accompanied with his dimples. They don’t help the crisis Max is in.

“Shut up.” Charles can’t possibly have come up with those ideas from 20 minutes of arguing.

“Maybe I will add some green carnations, then.” Charles says, and walks right past Max and into the front room, picking up his clippers.

“You haven’t told me what they mean yet.”

“Can’t you figure it out?” Charles asks him, winking horribly. It’s cute either way.

“Wha-” Squinting at the flowers. He misses when Charles comes back up to him.

Charles kneels (weird) and holds out his lush, freshly picked green carnation, “Go out with me?”

“I literally have a dinner date in less than an hour, Charles.”

“Please?” Charles looks up at him pleadingly.

“Sure.”

[my-my-my]

Yeah! You are back!

Would it fancy you to do something with Aizen’s preferences when it comes to “entertainers” at a tea house in the red light district? Plz and thnx!

This one was fun to think about!! I think Aizen's tastes are particular, and as pretentious as it sounds, "refined". He's also secretive and manipulative - he's very much cognizant of how he's being viewed by others. The type of entertainers would need to make sense to what other people project Aizen to be.

But that's not to say he can't have fun 😉.

🌺 CONTEXT 🌺

Going by my limited knowledge of how the courtesan system worked in Feudal Japan (in which Sereitei is loosely modelled off of), Aizen, prior to his captaincy, would likely be entertained by oirans. I think he would have 2-3 oirans he would visit regularly, and as his rank was more established, would just really visit 2 oirans he preferred the most.

These oirans would be entertainers who were not only well-versed in traditional entertainment such as the musical kind, but also in whatever politics occur in the Sereitei.

Aizen is an intellectual person, so these oirans would need to be eager to learn and be receptive of what he shares. It's one thing to talk (he was a teacher after all), but Aizen also wants to be engaged.

Where the corruption kink might come in? Well oirans are not the highest level of courtesans, that in fact, were tayu. These entertainers did not engage in sex work and only catered to the elite.

She would be a "gift" to Aizen when he establishes his captaincy.

At the same time, this tayu wouldn't have sex with Aizen - he would need to woo her over.

But Aizen is the Master of Charm after all, so he sees it as a game between this tayu and him. When will she cave and give in?

TW: corruption kink, sex work

Tags: @stygianoir

Note: I took heavy liberties in how the courtesan system works in Sereitei. The basis is similar to how it was in Japan, but I modified it to fit Soul Society! I'll also probably flush this out more and post it on AO3 later lol.

This was Captain Aizen's fifth visit to your tea house, more specifically, fifth visit to you. You hated to admit you were counting.

You blushed deeply as you recalled the first time you met him. There were whispers in the red light district about how a lieutenant got promoted, but at the time you paid no mind.

Months went by and you nearly forgot about it, until your matron announced that you would be entertaining someone new rather than your regular, noble clan, patrons.

You had very little interactions with the captains of the 13 Court Guards. The only ones you knew of, were Captain Kyoraku (who had his own little harem of women he frequented in the district) and his friend Captain Ukitake. Your seniors would speak highly of them, but admitted that they didn't visit them as often.

Which to you, made sense, these were military captains, their visits for entertainment should be few and far between.

But that wasn't how you felt with Captain Aizen.

You hated to admit it, but you wanted him to see you more. His kindness and brilliance won you over. In your civilian clothing, you heard Soul Academy students praise him.

It made you wonder why he kept visiting you. Normally you were confident in your abilities to make men swoon. Some of your patrons (albeit drunkenly) make poems about your beauty and grace.

But Captain Aizen, no Sosuke, seemed amused by you. You were able to hold a conversation with him, but he would ask a small question, or a quick-witted comment, that left you flustered and embarrassed that you couldn't respond quickly.

At the same time, your matron became unimpressed by you as well. Unlike the few other tayus at the tea house, you still held your virginity intact. Many bidders had come forward, some from the noble clans themselves, but not Sosuke.

It bothered you. You wanted him to put himself in the running.

You knew Captains made a high salary, those who were frequented by Captain Kyoraku said as much. It wasn't like Captain Aizen couldn't afford you.

Maybe he was humouring you. Visiting you was something he did when he was bored.

But it bothered you nonetheless. Although his visits were sparse, he consumed your mind. On his 3rd visit to you, to sway his mind in putting in a bid, you mentioned casually that many nobles had begun requesting your company exclusively, that you may not be able to entertain him in the future. You wanted to spur him on with jealousy.

You recalled that moment so vividly. His gentle smile as he placed his teacup down, "That's too bad, isn't it? I'm not surprised your company is highly sought after." He told you, his deep voice soothing you, "I was hoping to enjoy your presence for a little longer though. There's still much we don't know about each other." He murmured, staring softly at you.

Those words haunted you. He was getting under your skin. And although his comments were seared into your mind, a small part of you knew it wasn't anything remotely meaningful or personal. It seemed like you had no effect on him at all...

Even tonight, as he sat across from you, sipping the tea you specifically purchased only for him, you felt like your body was on fire. He inspected your every move, from the flick of your wrist as you poured his cup, to the batting of your eyelashes as he complimented you. He was analyzing every part of your being.

But you wouldn't let him get the best of you tonight. You prepared yourself for weeks for his next visit, hoping that he would go to your matron to put in a bid.

You made notes on what to talk about, rehearsed witty comebacks and quick retorts. Something that would push him further.

"This tea is nice, but do you have any sake?" Captain Aizen asked. You nodded your head and gave him a few options of your personal favourites.

As you brought the warmed bottle and cups, you noticed he had loosened his attire. His chest was more visible, and you were more thankful than ever for the white makeup covering your skin. Your cheeks felt as if they were on fire. You bit your lip as you looked over him again. His broad shoulders, soft brown hair, strong arms and hands.

"Are you alright?" Aizen asked.

You shook your head, giving him your kindest smile, but inside you were angry at yourself for slipping like that.

But you carried on, and so did the night, with singing (Aizen accompanied you for some songs) and finally dancing. By then, you two had finished 2 bottles of sake. Aizen still seemed relatively sober, but you started to feel flushed.

You paid yourself no mind though, and kept going, wanting him to rush to your matron with payment ready - you were more than eager to spread your legs for him.

And just like that, as you danced to Aizen's voice, you tripped. Face planted right into his muscular chest.

You were mortified. But as you felt his warm, strong hand stroking your back, and the deep rumble of his voice, you felt yourself sinking further into him.

You weren't sure if it was the sake, the warmth of Captain Aizen's body, or the soft-lighting of the room, but without thinking, you gave him a kiss.

And to your surprise, he kissed back. And his grip on your body tightened. You moaned against his lips as you felt him grip the stiff cloth of your clothing, as if he was trying to grab on to your bare body, but you pushed him away.

You were panting, but he stared at you with a smirk across his face. His lips stained with your lip makeup.

Now you were annoyed. You undid a few of your sashes and robes and sat in his lap again, pulling his haori off his shoulders. You kissed him all over, your hands pulling and prying at him. You heard him pant, his grip tightening and loosening as he went over your body.

You wanted more. As you were about to pull his uniform off him, he grabbed your wrist.

"I think that's enough for tonight, little one. Let's continue again next time."

You gawked at him. The nerve! You thought to yourself as you threw yourself at him. And he had the audacity to rebuke you?!

"No!" You shouted, but not loud enough to draw attention to your room.

Aizen grinned, "and may I dare ask, why not?"

"I want you Captain Aizen" you pleaded, not realizing what you were saying, "no, I need you to touch me, please".

"Stop playing with me." You begged. You didn't realize how upset you were by his actions, "I just want to please you." You whined, fidgeting in his lap.

Aizen gripped the back of your neck as he steadied you for a kiss, then cruelly pulled your hair, snapping your head back.

"Is that so?" Aizen asked, as he looked at your face with curiosity in his eyes.

"Yes!" You pleaded again. "I don't want the others. Just you."

You winced as he gripped your hair even more, some of your hair adornments and accessories falling out. Tears pricked your eyes, but then he released you, gently massaging your head.

"Unfortunately I have to leave now, little one." Aizen said, you saw the gentleness appear in his eyes again. "But, we can meet here" he placed a note in your hands, with an address to somewhere in Rukongai. You nodded your head.

As you helped Aizen with his uniform and fix up his appearance, you gave him another quick kiss, to which he whispered in your ear, "don't come in this attire", followed by a nip to your earlobe, "wear something simple".

"Yes, sir." You murmured, as he stroked your back. You escorted him out of the teahouse and watched him leave the area. You heard your matron yell at you about not persuading Captain Aizen for a bid, but you felt euphoric. You retired to your room and slept peacefully.

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

No one at the teahouse understood what had happened to you in the following days. You rejected all your bids and left. There were whispers that maybe "she wasn't cut out for the job", "not everyone has the skills to be a tayu". Harsh words that would've left you in tears, but now? You didn't care.

You only wanted Captain Aizen's attention. And here you were, on your knees in a small house in Rukongai, your mouth wrapped around his cock.

Aizen smirked at you as tears streamed down your face. "Good girl" he murmured, tucking your hair behind your ear, and pulling your head off his cock. You gasped as saliva dribbled down your chin, with a trail linking your mouth to his cock, "not even the beauty of a full moon could compare to the sight of you like this".

"Thank you for your kind words, Aizen-sama". Aizen's smirk grew deeper as you flashed him a genuine smile.

[flightfoot]

Hi!

I hope I'm not bothering you but if you don't mind, can I ask for ML Wings AU fic recommendation? I really love that AU but I'm too scared to open AO3 to scroll through it. ^^;;

Much love. (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)

Don't worry, I get it, I've got ya covered.

We're breaking free (there's not a star in heaven we can't reach) by @pauliestorylover is a must read of course.

Wing binding was a symbol of prestige in high society, but Adrien would much rather be born a pauper than be forced to bind his wings for another day. Becoming Chat Noir might be the chance he had been waiting for to break free and gain a taste of the heavens.

Meanwhile, Nino and Marinette were quickly learning the joys of the pastime called ‘hating rich old white men who moonlighted as supervillains’.

I especially love the worldbuilding that paulie comes up with here, there's some unique cultural traditions involving wings that end up being highly relevant, like exchanging feathers with other people and hanging them in certain spots on your own wings to show what kind of relationship they have with you. It was very clever, I loved that!

falling, flying by @peachcitt

“It’s not supposed to hurt,” she said softly. “Flying, I mean. It’s not supposed to hurt.”

His jaw worked. His mouth settled on a smile. “I know.”

or

in which marinette and adrien speed toward a foreseeable end on purpose. and also a little bit on accident

"Adrien's wings are bound" fic here! Though that's pretty much a staple of the genre.

Of course, I wrote my own Wingfic, called Ruffled Wings though it's for DJWifi.

Slowly, Alya pulled off her wing covers.

The feathers of her small, gray wings stuck out at odd angles, many hanging lifelessly, dull and uncared for. The wings themselves appeared to be in good shape - at least, nothing appeared to be obviously wrong with the shape or musculature of them - but the state of the feathers was concerning, to say the least. ----

In a universe where people's wings change to reflect their mental states, Nino is concerned about why Alya is suddenly so adamant to keep hers hidden.

So this one I haven't read yet but I really, really need to.

Free Falling by Creative

Miraculous Ladybug Wingfic Winged! Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir

Binding one's wings is dangerous. It is no secret, especially not to Adrien Agreste who is forced to live with the chronic pain of overbinding in order to uphold his father’s flawless image. When the pain from his private life almost gets him killed in his superhero one, Adrien is forced to make some difficult choices. To make matters worse, the media and his partner keep asking questions that hit a little too close to home.

Marinette is always prepared to save Paris. It’s her purpose, her responsibility, and she takes it very seriously. Thankfully her partner makes the burden a little easier. When Ladybug is too focused on purifying an akuma to notice her partner struggling, she is almost too late to save him from certain death. Trying to atone for her mistake, Ladybug begins to notice strange things about a partner she thought she new. All the while, trying not to blow her identity by befriending him as Marinette.

[sofreddie]

The Lion's Den - Part 7

Characters: Gadreel x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (Protected Sex, Asphyxiation)

KINK: ASPHYXIATION (@anyfandomkinkbingo)

WC: 1626

A/N: I know it's been ages since I posted LD. I really, truly struggled with this part, both from the character and the kink. But the point of LD was to challenge myself with unfamiliar things. So in that aspect, success? LOL. Two more parts after this are still being written. Hopefully, they won't take as long as this one did. 

Series Masterlist

Part 6

It had been weeks since Y/N had last been at The Lion's Den. She was supposed to finally have her chance with Crowley, the delicious tease that he was. However, duty called, and work needed her time and attention. Crowley was more than understanding, as she expected he would be, and rescheduled her for a private session. Though, she had to admit, after their phone call it felt more like a pending date and she wasn't so upset about that.

Now that she finally had the time to return to the Den, eager to satiate her desires, Crowley was away on his own business. Most likely expanding his empire seeing as The Den was doing so well. While she was pouty that she would have to wait a little longer for a peek beneath those tailored suits, she knew the club had plenty to offer to fulfill her needs and hold her interests.

Greeting Garth at the bar, she ordered a drink, settling in on a stool and surveying the room. The men she was familiar with were not around, but there were plenty of others for her to feast her eyes on. She wasn't sure what she was looking for or even what she was in the mood for, suddenly missing Crowley's intuition all the more.

Until she saw him.

Tall, chiseled jaw, looking like a living, breathing marble statue as he glided through the room. She bit her lip as his eyes locked with hers across the room, a sinister smirk tugging at his lips as he made his way over.

Y/N turned back to the bar, taking a sip of her drink, smirking when she felt his presence. She turned her head towards him with a smile as he took the stool beside her.

"You are Y/N, right?" he spoke, his voice sounding so strong, his words spoken with precision. "Crowley and others have spoken highly of you."

"Glad to know I'm a favored client," she chuckled.

"More than that, maybe," he said but continued before she could question. "I'm Gadreel."

He accepted her hand, kissing the back of it, to which she was now accustomed. Though it still made her heart flutter the same every time, the simple sweetness of it took her breath away.

"Are you spoken for this evening?"

"Not yet," she grinned, loving his charm. "But I'm wondering if you're available?"

"It'd be my absolute pleasure," he responded, his voice deeper as he helped her off the stool.

She was giddy as she allowed Gadreel to guide her up the familiar staircase to the hall of rooms. She wondered what this large and solid man with an air of mystery had in store.

As soon as the door closed behind them, she pounced, her desire ramped up after weeks without. Wrapping her arms around his neck she kissed him hard, pressing herself against him. He responded eagerly, letting her take what she needed from him.

Clothes were stripped and strewn carelessly, Y/N's need driving her into a frenzy. It didn't hurt that he seemed to ooze absolute want for her. As his body was revealed to her, her eyes widened, taking in the taut skin and muscled physique. Was every man at The Den a chiseled God? She pressed herself against him once more, moaning into his mouth at the feel of his firm body against her own.

With little effort he hoisted her up onto his hips, kissing her breathlessly as he moved. When the kiss broke she realized he was sitting in a chair and she was straddling him. She moaned, her hands running over his chest and abs as she ground against him.

His kisses alone completely distracted her, his lips and tongue tasting and consuming her, stealing her breath away. She gasped as she felt his hand reach her eager core, his fingertips teasing lightly against her dampened folds.

Y/N ground her hips against his hand, silently urging him to touch her how and where she needed. She could feel the smirk against her lips as he found her clit and teasingly rubbed small circles against it.

"You're a tease," she whined against his mouth, gasping once more as he slid a finger deep into her core.

"Mmm, and you're needy," he responded against her flesh as his lips wandered along her neck and collarbone.

"Please," she begged, not caring how desperate she sounded.

It had been far too long for her liking since she'd been with anyone and the attentions she received at The Den only left her craving more and more. Now that she found and frequented this place, she wasn't sure she could do without it.

And really, why would she want to?

Sliding two fingers within her core he instantly found her most sensitive spot, making her choke on a breath. He held his fingers firm against her spot, barely moving them, creating intense pressure and desperation. Her hips began grinding against him of their own accord, seeking much-needed friction.

Gadreel chuckled as he studied her intensely, catching her off guard by suddenly fucking her swiftly with his fingers, unrelenting on her g-spot.

"You're so responsive," he groaned, never missing a beat in his ministrations, adding his thumb to her clit to make her gasp and squirm harder. "No wonder everyone enjoys you so much. The perfect playmate," he moaned as her juices dripped down his wrist.

The teasing was too much, holding her on edge but keeping her just out of reach of her climax. She wanted him just as desperate as he made her. Slowing her grinding, she slid a hand down his torso to his throbbing length, grinning as she took him in hand and he groaned.

"You're pretty responsive yourself," she teased back. His responding snarl made her wetter than his fingers had.

Producing a condom from seemingly nowhere, he continued to devour her mouth as he slid it on with practiced ease. He smirked, an arm wrapped around her waist, his muscles bunching beneath her fingers as he hoisted her just enough to slowly lower her down onto him. Her mouth hung open as she slid down his length, her ass settling against his thighs.

"Go on then," Gadreel teased, nipping at her ear lobe, his grip still tight around her. "Ride me."

He emphasized his point by thrusting his hips upwards. Y/N groaned, starting a gentle rock as she lifted herself and dropped back down onto him, gasping as each stroke hit her deep. She tried to move faster, but his grip on her was unyeilding, controlling her movements and driving her mad.

She quickly realized that just because she was on top, didn't mean she was in control. The thought had her clenching around him, drawing a deep moan from his throat. One of his hands rested on her lower back, the other over her collarbone. His hand drifted towards her neck, his fingers wrapping ever-so-lightly.

Her breath hitched and her hips stuttered at the implication.

"Have you ever tried breath play?" Gadreel asked, his hot breath fanning over her ear as he slowly thrust upwards into her heat.

"No," she responded in a breathy moan. The thought excited her. Everything she had tried so far had been amazing, she wasn't about to stop now.

"Mmm, I think you'd really like it," he explained, thrusting harder. "I know Crowley loves it, both on him and others."

Well, she really wanted to please Crowley when she finally got the chance to be with him.

"Okay," she agreed with a nod, holding his gaze so he knew she meant it.

He increased his pace, bouncing her on his lap, his grip around her throat tightening with his pace. She could feel the air being cut off making her lightheaded, but the pounding of his thick cock into her pussy was amplified, building into a crescendo. Her heartbeat throbbed in her temples and the walls of her pussy. It felt like a race: would she cum first, or die?

He released his grip and she took in a deep breath, her orgasm crashing into her as she did. The intensity of it had her wrapping herself around Gadreel, desperately clinging to him as if she might fly off somewhere if she wasn't grounded. Her whole body trembled, her walls convulsing and throbbing desperately against his thick and unyielding length.

"So beautiful when you cum," Gadreel whispered reverently, his hips working a steady rhythm as she ground against him, working through her high and building back up once more.

He took her hand, guiding it to wrap around his own throat, "Try it on me," he insisted with an encouraging nod.

She nodded in return, moving her hips and riding him harder as she began to squeeze.

She could see the change on his face, the same as she felt it happening to her, as he grew close. She released her grip and Gadreel shouted, holding her hips tightly as he fucked them both through their final orgasms.

"Oh my God," she chuckled, her body still twitching and spasming from the intense encounter.

"You okay?" he asked, his hands running soothingly over her body, helping to ease and soothe her muscles.

"Yeah," she nodded, climbing from his lap now she felt more stable. "That was…incredible," she admitted.

He lowered his gaze bashfully, a light blush adorning his skin, "Thank you for allowing me to be your date tonight, to share something new with you."

As she headed home, she thought over the different men she had spent time with and the various things they had opened her up to experience. She was eager to take her new knowledge and apply it to Crowley when she got the chance.

Part 8

FOREVERS:

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[witchersmistress]

The Basement part 2

Hello my lovies!! Part 2 of the basement scene, this is part three for rainstorms and hate sex, im know there will be a few unanswered questions.

as per my usual. i do not give permission to copy my work or use my work in anyway without permission. so help me if you do, i will haunt you for the rest of your days.

Trigger Warnings: Clausterphobia, small spaces, foul language, 18+ highly reccomended.

Word count: 6.4K

 Fuck. My phone’s battery is about one percent. Still, it’s better than the alternative. I tense as I step past Baron, sure he’s going to grab me. He lets me pass, but Duke reaches out and pinches my tit. Okay, talking shit is one thing, and his rape jokes are bad enough, but now he laid a hand on me. “Oh, you want to get physical?” I ask, my hands balling into fists. “Yeah,” he says with a sloppy grin. “That’s right, baby. Let me taste that sweet cherry pie.” I swing, and he doesn’t even duck. It’s a beautiful right hook that meets his temple with the aim of a fucking archer. He crumples to the floor in a heap, and I jump back, fists raised and adrenaline pumping through me, ready for Baron to come at me.

“You gonna come get yours?” I ask. He just shakes his head. “I’ve felt your fists. Besides, I’m more into the challenge than taking what I can by brute force.” I didn't trust him for a second, so I went back into the next room. It’s dark in there, since this is the only flashlight. I swallow hard, wiping my hands on my jeans, and feel my way to the dirt tunnel. It’s chilly in the basement, and my clothes are still damp from the rain. At least, I tell myself that’s why I start shivering the second my shins are on the cold dirt floor of the tunnel. I force myself onwards, my heart thudding in my ears. To avoid thinking about the ceiling collapsing, I focus on the tunnel behind me, trying to hear if Baron’s coming in with me. Each scrape of my own knees on the floor makes me tremble. God, it’s so tight. My shoulders are pressed against the walls, and I wonder if maybe this tunnel doesn’t lead out at all. Maybe it leads to… Nothing.

 I’ll be stuck in a dead end in the dark, waiting for Duke to come rape me and probably kill me. Because fuck if I’m just going to lie there and take it without fighting back. I’ve seen way too many movies where people go into a cave or a tunnel looking for escape and instead come upon a pile of skeletons left by all the other idiots who tried to escape before them. The ceiling of the tunnel brushes my back—or was it a bat?—and I think I’m going to be sick. I close my eyes and try to breathe, though it feels like there’s no oxygen in the tunnel. What the fuck am I doing? I’ve just basically buried myself alive. I press my palms to the cold dirt under them and think about the nights I spent locked in the closet at home. The hours I’d be in there, sometimes so long I wet myself before Mom dragged her hungover ass up and remembered where I was.

 Then she’d rage at me and smack me around a little and tell me to clean myself up, that I was a disgusting pig. Or if she had a boyfriend over, she’d howl with laughter at my wet pants because she didn’t want men to see her pissed. A sense of humor is sexy, after all. No one likes an angry woman. I take another ragged breath, forcing it into the constricted airways to my panicked lungs. This is not that bad. And if I could clean up myself and the closet without crying back then, I sure as fuck won’t cry now. I didn’t freak out then, and I won’t freak out now. Once, she locked me in a cabinet because she said I’d lose my claustrophobia if I just faced it. I was curled up in a ball, with my knees to my chest, for hours. I have all the room in the world here. I could lie down flat and crawl on my stomach. I can roll over. I can move. I start forward again. After a time, I hear echoing scuffles high above. I reach up a tentative hand and can’t feel the ceiling. I climb to my knees, then my feet. Relief floods through me in a rush that brings tears to my eyes and a whoop of relief to my throat. Blinking back the wetness, I hold a hand in front of me and one on the wall, and I walk until the wall falls away. I turned on my phone for the last time. No skeletons. No cage with Mabel Darling being held captive like Gretel waiting for the witch to eat her. There are two tunnels off the side of a cavernous room. I continue straight ahead, and at the far side of the room, I find a door, just like Baron said. Heart galloping in my chest, I find the knob and twist. It doesn’t budge.

Fuck. I sink down on the floor, shaking with spent energy, the adrenaline leaving my limbs. My fingers are trembling and stiff with cold, but I try to pick the lock for a while, anyway. When I can’t, I consider sleeping here. At least I’m away from the guys. But it’s so fucking cold, and I’m shivering so hard I can’t possibly relax. My phone dies, and suddenly, the darkness seems close and oppressive and terrifying. Even though I wasn’t using the light, there was comfort in knowing it was an option if I needed it. Now, a drunk obnoxious Duke seems preferable to staying here alone, not knowing if someone will come through the door and who it might be. But going back to the twins means facing the tunnel again. I did it before, though. I can do it again. I know there are no forks until the tunnel opens up, which means I just have to find the tunnel in the dark and hope it’s the right one. It’s not too hard. I just have to go straight ahead. I gather all my courage and creep across the room in the dark. When I find the tunnel, I take a deep breath and barrel in. I don’t think, just charge through as fast as I can. Somehow, it doesn’t seem so bad on the way back. When I finally see a scant light ahead, my heart starts racing with relief. I burst out of the tunnel into the dirt room in the basement of the CIA office. The familiarity itself is a relief, and I can finally breathe easy. Duke is sitting up in a chair, a beer in one hand, his eyes unfocused and his jaw slack. A lump has already formed where I decked him. Baron sits on the stone slab, his phone sitting beside him with the light on.

 “How was it?” he asks, holding up his beer. “Fuck you,” I say. “You knew it was locked.” “Faced your fears, though, didn’t you? One more Midnight Swan challenge down.” “Is that what this is?” I ask. “My initiation?” “Depends,” he says. “It could be.” “Bullshit. August said I could never join.” “August’s not the only Swan,” Baron counters. “He’s your leader.” “He’ll be done with you after tonight, and then he won’t care what happens to you. That’s how it works with him. When he’s done, you don’t exist to him anymore.” “Fine,” I say, planting my hands on my hips. “What do I need to do next?” “You tell me, Stalker Girl.” “Betray a friend for a Swan. See, that one might be hard, since I don’t have friends.” “Gloria’s a friend,” he says. “I’m a friend.”

“Are you, though?” He holds out a beer, the cap still on. “Have a beer. Relax. We’ll be here a while.” “I like to stay sharp.” “Me too,” he says, taking a drink from his beer. “But one beer won’t hurt.” I relent and take it. At least it might warm me up a little, and to be honest, I need to calm down and think this through. Like when they threw me in the dumpster with Colt, I’m attacking a big problem with a tiny knife. If I chill and wait it out, someone will come open the door. If this is some kind of hazing for the Midnight Swans, then I need to see what they want me to do. So, I sat down on the stone slab next to Baron. “What’s the last challenge?” I ask. “The gauntlet.” “For a girl?” he asks. “That means we sex you in.” I force myself to swallow my beer without reaction. “Who does?” “All of us.” I squeeze the cold bottle to keep my hands from shaking. “All the Swans?” “A gangbang, baby,” Duke slurs, holding up his beer. “And this has happened before?” I ask.

“No,” Baron says. “Because no chicks at this office  would do it. But I bet you would.” “You bet wrong.” “Well, technically, the gauntlet only requires the participation of three Swans,” he says. “And you’ve already fucked August. So you're a third of the way there.” “This is your chance,” Duke says. “Three for three.” He leans forward in his chair, then tilts slowly until he topples out, as if in slow motion. It would be comical, but I’m a little worried he’s going to choke on his puke and die in his sleep. “He’s not wrong,” Baron says. Duke rolls onto his back on the floor. “Gonna rest my eyes,” he mumbles. “Then we’ll tag team her.” “My phone died,” I say after a minute, nodding at Baron’s light. “Want to call someone to let us out?” “No can do,” he says, taking a drink. “No service down here.” “Right.” We sip our beers in silence for a few minutes. Then Baron climbs off the rock and sits on the floor beside Duke. “My phone’s going to die if I don’t turn off the light,” he says. “We should all just get some sleep.”

“Why don’t I trust you in the dark?” “Because you’re paranoid and think everyone wants to fuck you.” “Says the guy who was just trying to get in my pants.” “That was me,” Duke says, not opening his eyes. “Come sit by us,” Baron says. “It’ll be warmer. I won’t mess with you.” “Fine,” I say, sliding off the stone and going to sit by them. Despite Duke’s usual drunken asshole behavior, they haven’t done anything. Baron’s right. They are my friends. We’ve been hanging out for a few months now. I sit with them every day at lunch, go to their games, and am part of their circle. It’s not like it was at the beginning of the year, before I was a Walker's  girl. I’m under August’s protection now. They might want him to be done with me, might try to convince me it’s true. But I know different things, and they know it, too. He didn’t lock us down here. Baron did. Baron has the key. He wants August to dump me, but he won’t risk his brother’s rage by touching his plaything before August gives the okay. Baron turns off his light, and we both lie down. He turns toward me, and I tense, but he only lays an arm across me. “So, not into being a Swan if it means you have to work for it?” “Would you let three dudes fuck you to get in?” “Touché.”

For a while, none of us spoke. After a while, Baron sighs. “You know, this is where they kept August when he was kidnapped,” he says drowsily. A chill explodes over my skin, and I lose my breath for a second. “What?” “Not in the main room,” Baron says, petting my hair absently. “Back here, in the dirt like an animal.” “And he still comes down here?” I ask, remembering that weird encounter in the dark, when he brought me down here and started kissing me and said all those creepy things… It’s safe here, in the dark. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Suddenly, I’m dizzy with the realization of how sick this all is—him forcing girls down here to blow him, those things he said that probably some sicko said to him… “Are you kidding?” Duke asks. “Our brother’s not afraid of anything.” 

I can hear the pride in his voice, and it’s sweet how much he thinks of his big brother. But it doesn’t change how fucked up this is. Maybe it was him that locked me in here with his brothers, knowing what they might do to me. “He’s the one who wanted to keep the Swans going after the office  and the police shut them down,” Baron says. “He wanted to come down here when we all thought it was a bad idea. But he wanted to keep the meetings here.” “Why?” I ask, too terrified to even think about it.

“Probably to show how little it affects him,” Baron says. “To show the Darlings they didn’t win.” I’m not convinced. If anything, it shows me how much it still affects him. He can’t let it go, just like he can’t stop going to the bridge, where I’m pretty sure his sister died. Instead of avoiding everything, he revels in the pain of it like a masochist, never letting himself forget. He’s punishing himself, though I can’t begin to imagine what he thinks he did wrong in either instance. “He’s not going to let that shit own him,” Duke says. “He rules his past.” “Can I ask you something?” I say after a minute. “When he was kidnapped… Was he assaulted?” “Yeah,” Baron says. “They beat the fuck out of him. Like, half his teeth are implants. He had a concussion, but he wanted to go right back out on the field.” He sounds so proud, like that makes his brother a hero. My ribs ache at the thought of August needing to prove himself that badly. “Dad had to find a doctor who would sign off for him to play,” Duke says, laughing and then hiccupping. “He was so pissed the first one wouldn’t. I think he got him fired. Then he found a good one.” “Now they golf together,” Baron says with a chuckle. “You never know when you’ll need a medical professional. Helps to have all kinds in your pocket.”

A shiver rolls through me. I wonder how much of that fight was August’s, and how much was Mr. Dolce’s. This is how they took power. Paying off people to do what they want, bulldozing those who wouldn’t. Nothing stands in their way—like a father, like sons. Despite August’s resentment, they’re all on the same side, all in it together. August is eighteen. He doesn’t have to obey his father or even live there. He could stop going to Hockington if he wanted, but something keeps him going back. Is it the same thing that keeps him coming back here, some kind of penance? I clear my throat. “I meant, like, sexually assaulted.” “Dude, that’s fucked up,” Duke slurs. “August’s a man.” “Men get raped, too.” “August would never take it up the ass,” Baron says. “You really are sick, Jailbird” “Yeah,” Duke chimes in. “How could you ask that about a guy who’s fucking you? Does he seem gay to you?” “The ignorance of that statement is honestly astounding.” “Nothing like that happened,” Baron says flatly. “Old Man Darling brought him here, and he was beaten to within an inch of his life, had half his teeth knocked out, his skull fractured, ribs broken, shoulder dislocated… He

was starved and dehydrated and all kinds of shit. But don’t even think about anything perverted like that.” “Because none of that’s perverted,” I mutter. “Where’s my beer?” Duke asks. “Did they catch the guy?” I ask. “Sort of,” Baron says. “That whole investigation was botched from the start, though. The redneck cops around here don’t know how to deal with real problems.” Or maybe the problems weren’t as real as Baron thinks. Dixie told me that their own sister sent some letter saying it was all faked. But August couldn’t have faked that, could he? I mean, I guess he could have let someone beat him up and then say it was the Darlings, but damn. Those are some extreme lengths to go to just to frame someone. But then, August’s nothing if not extreme. And Dixie could be wrong. Maybe there was no letter, and if there was, maybe it wasn’t from Crystal at all but from a Darling trying to get the charges dropped. And here I am, helping them. “You found him here?” I ask, rubbing my arms, trying to get the goosebumps to go away.

“Has anyone seen my beer?” Duke asks, groping at me until I slap his hand away. His voice is slurred and sleepy, though, and I know we’re about to lose him for the night. “No one found him here,” Baron says. “Devlin’s dad put him in their attic to hide him until he died. But they found him before he did.” “Who found him?” “Crystal and Devlin.” I shudder harder. All I’ve ever heard from Colt and Dixie and even August is how great Crystal was—that everyone loved her, wanted her. She taught them so much. She was such a good, selfless person. But I haven’t heard this part. “After his dad tried to kill August, she still chose Devlin over him?” I ask. “Yeah,” Baron says. “August called her on it, too. He’s blunt as fuck. He thinks he did something wrong because of it, but she needed to hear it. And August’s never been afraid to hit those hard truths, y’know? He’ll say what everyone’s thinking, do the hard shit that no one else wants to do. He doesn’t let anything stand in his way. He gets shit done.” I can practically hear Baron and Duke both swelling with pride every time they talk about August. It’s clear they worship him. But that doesn’t mean they always agree with August. This is the first time I’ve heard anyone paint Crystal as anything less than a saint. I want to hear more, but I’m too fucking cold to ignore it. “Any chance someone left a jacket down here?” I ask. “Or a dry change of clothes?” Baron’s hand finds mine in the dark. “Damn, you are cold,” he says, sitting up. He moves around, and a second later, his warm hoodie envelopes me in its cozy fabric and the scent of him, like boys and faint cologne or deodorant. I pull it down over me and huddle into it with such gratitude I might be tempted to fuck him again if he asked. “Come here and put your head on me, and I’ll tell you both a bedtime story,” Baron says. “I’ve got an extra sucker you can eat while you listen. This is a little tale I like to call, The Fall of the Darlings. Don’t worry. It has a happy ending.”

I adjust my position so I’m lying perpendicular to Baron so I can rest my head on his stomach. It’s better than the cold floor. “Are you going to tell me about how August called your sister on choosing the Darlings over him, and she went ahead with it, anyway?” “Fucked up, right?” I can’t help but agree with him. Who would choose anyone over August? But then, that’s not fair. I’m just learning how crazy love makes a person. Who’s to say I wouldn’t sell out my own family for August? “Did his dad go to jail?” I ask, thinking of Mr. D, who wanted to live vicariously through my sex stories. No conjugal visits, apparently. “For a few months,” Baron says, pressing a sucker into my hand. “They charged him with conspiracy or intent or something along those lines. But his lawyer got him off. The legal system here is even more fucked up than New York. But we got justice.” I unwrap the sucker slowly in the dark. “You killed him?” “Nah,” Baron says. “August doesn’t believe in murder. He says death is easy. Life is suffering.” “So, he’s like an angry Buddha?” Baron chuckles. “Sure. If you die, your suffering ends. If you live, you can suffer for a long time.” “And you made him suffer?” “The whole family,” Baron says proudly.

 “While Devlin’s dad was in jail, we made his mom play with us. That lasted a couple months, until she checked herself into Cedar Crest.” Even though people like me could never afford Cedar Crest, of course I’ve heard about the treatment facility. It’s one of the few local claims to fame, since celebrities hole up there for treatment on occasion. It’s basically a resort, or a psych hospital for the rich and famous. “Is she still there?” I ask, suddenly wondering if Mr. D is a man at all. “Nah, when Devlin’s dad got out of jail, he took her out and they moved away. Never even came back to see if they could salvage anything from the fire.”  “That’s the house next door?” I ask. “Devlin’s house?” “Yep,” he says. “Such a tragedy it was lost in a fire.” I roll my eyes in the dark. “I’m sure you had nothing to do with that.” “Would we do something like that?” he asks, his tone filled with mock innocence. “You don’t know where he went?” “We know,” he says. “But they were gone from Faulkner, so we moved on. You know what was really fun, Harper?

 Seeing their empire crumble as we dismantled it brick by brick.” “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a sociopath?” “Aw, now, you like watching people, too, don’t you, Harper? Always nosing around our business, digging into August’s life. Trying to get him wrapped around your little finger. We’re not so different, you and me.” I shrug my shoulders against his side. “Maybe you’re right.” I’m not so sure, though. I don’t glory in people’s downfall. Or maybe I do. Before August meant something to me, I vowed to take them down. Not to take their throne, but just for the joy of watching them fall. Maybe I’m exactly like Baron, I just don’t hate the Walkers anymore. When they were my enemies, I wanted to watch them burn.

After a minute of sucking on our candy in silence, Baron shifts around to get comfortable and then goes on. “The grandfather Darling, John, had seven sons. All started with J. So we went through them all. After Devlin’s dad, Justin, there’s Joseph—Preston’s dad—and Jacob. That’s Colt and Mabel’s dad. Joseph went to prison for murder. That guy was definitely involved in August’s kidnapping. Get this. He’s such a dick that even Preston refused to be a character witness at his trial.” That’s the Darling I suspect is Mr. D. The one I’ve been feeding information to. I’ve thought of him as a friend before, but I know that’s an illusion created by my own lack. He’s not a friend. He’s a guy so evil his own son wouldn’t stand up for him. And I’ve been giving him information about a boy I love. It makes me feel sick and dirty in a way even his creepy sexual interest never has. Baron goes on when I don’t answer. “We fucked with Lindsey a little, but she was too easy, and then Preston threatened Gloria, so we moved on to Colt’s family. We had some fun with them.” I think of the missing finger on Colt’s hand, the burn scars. His dad’s missing finger, and his cane. Mabel is not just blowing out of town but changing her name so they can’t track her down. I swallow hard, wanting to hear the details I’ve been in the dark about for so long, but fuck. The blasé tone in Baron’s voice makes my skin crawl.

“And then there’s Jeremiah and Jedediah. Twins, actually. Jed had some kind of accident and died of blood loss. He had kids, but they’d already grown and moved away. Jeremiah has two kids. His son would have been a sophomore this year, but he disappeared mysteriously right before he would have started at Willow Heights. But he didn’t change his name, and see, I’m pretty good at finding people. We’ll be watching, and if he ever comes back, we’ll be ready. And then their daughter Magnolia will be a freshman next year. That’ll be fun.” “You don’t even know these people, and you’re literally torturing them until they die?” “They tortured August,” he says, as if that explains everything. “Some little twelve-year-old girl tortured August? Or, wait, she’d have been ten at the time?” “She’s a Darling,” he says. “They would have done the same to us. They tried. The difference is, wherever they tried, we succeeded.” “All because one of them dared to love your sister?” “They killed our sister,” he says, his voice hard. “There are two more Darling men, too. They were disowned by the grandfather and changed their names, but we found them. One of them had moved away, but one of them actually lived in the same trailer park where I believe you hail from. John Jr. I hear he was close with your mom a while back, maybe when you were really little?”

I don’t say anything to that. Lots of men have been close with my mom, and it’s not like I want to explain to Baron Dolce that my mom is a trailer park slut. “Never heard of him,” I say after a minute, because it feels like Baron’s expecting something. “Oh, well, I guess he OD’d, so he’s out of the picture, anyway.” “You literally studied Darling family history and found anyone with that name and just destroyed their lives?” “Not just their name,” he says. “Their blood. Blood makes family, not a name. A name is something you can hide behind or run from, but you can’t hide your DNA. Their blood is poison to this town. And poison has to be eliminated.” “That’s… Harsh.” “They started it.” I lie there not even sure what to say. I want to laugh at the ridiculous pettiness of his response. That’s all he has to say? They started it? That’s the excuse of a five-year-old on the playground. I’m pissed off for the Darlings and I barely know one of them. But shit. No wonder people say the Walkers are evil. They’re brutal as fuck, and Baron just sounds like he’s recounting a boring story about our grandparents when he talks. This isn’t something that happened to someone else, though. He and Duke and yes, August, did all this. Drove people to suicide. Had them imprisoned and committed to mental institutions. I shiver at the thought of what they would do if they found out I was reporting to someone about them. They’d fucking kill me is what. So I better get Mr. D what he wants and cut all ties, the sooner the better. “The Darlings started it by kidnapping August?” I ask, pulling the sucker from my mouth. “That, and stealing Crystal, and even before that, they fucked with our dad when he was in office  here. Walkers never forget.” “Can I ask you something?” I say after thinking that over. “Why do you do anything your dad says? August’s 32, and you’re what? 26? You don’t have to do that.” “You wouldn’t understand,” he says. “You come from a fucked up family.” “And yours is so functional.” “Family is everything to the Walkers,” he says. “That’s what Crystal forgot.” “Damn,” I say. “That’s cold.” “It’s a fact,” he says. “People always say that—cold hard truth, cold hard facts. But facts aren’t cold anymore than they’re hot. They’re just facts.”

And that’s the cold part, I think to myself. This guy isn’t just cold, his heart is made of ice. August can make himself that way, but there’s some switch he flips inside to get there. But August feels. He feels a whole fucking lot, probably more than he wants to. Enough that he goes into that dead-eye mode to protect himself. Baron, though… Baron’s ice cold to the core. I remember thinking that about Mr. D, and I wonder yet again if I got it wrong, if it’s not a gross old guy but a hot young guy. “So, she forgot, and she died for it,” I say. “Is that what your dad says to get you to obey him? He threatens to kill you?” “Dad would never threaten us,” Baron says. “He used to use Crystal to get August to do what he wanted, though. But he’s not blunt like August. With Dad, it’s always a subtle suggestion, a gentle reminder of where we stand.” “You admire him,” I say. It’s laced through every word he speaks, in his tone of voice, as clear as his admiration for his brother. That makes him that much scarier. He’s so detached it’s unnatural and a little terrifying. How can that same boy be lying here stroking my hair and pillowing my head, giving me his sweatshirt when I’m cold and telling me I’m his friend? “He’s a self-made millionaire,” Baron says. “What’s not to admire?” The fact that he pimps out his own kids, first off.

I don’t say anything, though. I don’t know if their father does that or if it’s August’s doing. I don’t know if the twins know, or if they do it, too. And I’m not about to spill that kind of information to anyone, not even August’s brother, without knowing. “Duke’s passed out cold,” Baron says after a few minutes. “Guess we’re alone.” “Yeah,” I say, moving to sit up. Baron’s hand tightens in my hair, though, and he sits up, so my head is in his lap. “Stay,” he says. “Maybe now that we have a minute alone together…” “What?” I ask, turning toward him even though I can’t see him in the dark. “You’re going to hit on me?” “No one would know,” he says, his fingers gently stroking my hair. “I’d know,” I say. “You’d know.” “Just a little suck?” he asks, and a second later, he pushes himself against my face. I don’t know when he whipped his dick out, but it’s hard and hot and so shocking that for a second, I don’t move. Then reality kicks in and I scramble away. “What the fuck, Baron.” “You make me so hard,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I saw you going down on August. And listening to you lick that sucker… I know you feel it, too. You’re attracted to me.”

“Look, Baron,” I say. “Sure, I’ll admit you’re hot. Maybe if I wasn’t into your brother, I’d be into you. But I am, and I’m not.” “Just for a minute,” he says, his voice almost pleading. He takes my hand and gives it a little squeeze. “I just want to feel your mouth. I won’t even make you swallow.” He pulls my hand down, wrapping my fingers around his hard length. It throbs in my hand, and I gulp at the sensation. “No way.” I yank my hand back, my heart hammering. “You shouldn’t even be asking. The only way that’s happening is if you rape my face like your brother did.” “I’m not going to force you to do anything,” he says. “If I did, you’d tell August, and he’d kick my ass. But if you want to do it, no one will tell him. It’ll be just between us. Our little secret. Like what I told you here tonight. I trusted you. Don’t you trust me?” “It’s a little hard when you’re literally telling me to keep a secret from the guy I—the guy I’m seeing.” He’s quiet for a second, and I think he’s going to ask what I was about to say, if I was going to let slip the L-word. “Just this once?” he asks instead.

“Fuck you, Baron,” I say, getting up and feeling my way through the dark. I don’t know where I’m going, but I want to be further from him and his dick. My pulse is still stuttering, and I don’t like the uncertain feeling in my belly one bit. “I could make it worth your while,” he says. “I could make you a Swan.” “What?” “Just because you didn’t let us take turns with you, that doesn’t mean it couldn’t still count. If you fucked multiple Swans… You’d be sexed in.” “You said three of you.” “I bet I could convince Duke,” he says. “Maybe if you just gave him head, too… It’s not even sex. But we could tell them it was.” “And I’d be a Swan.” “Betray a friend for a Swan…” he says, quoting the challenges I read. “And I faced my fear in the passage?” “Didn’t you?” “So that would be all the challenges. And the gauntlet—blowing you and Duke—would get me in.” “Just like you wanted.” I think about that for a second. I could be on the inside. I’d give Mr. D everything he wanted.

. But I’d lose August, and somewhere along the way, he became more important. “I’ll pass,” I say. “I try not to go around trading sexual favors to get what I want.” “Not even when it’s what you want, too?” he asks, his voice closer than I expected. “Touch me, and you’ll see exactly how much I want it,” I say, dropping the sucker stem on the floor so my fists are ready. “And you’ll be pissing out a hole in the side of your dick for the rest of your life.” “Jesus,” he says. “You’re fucked up, you know that?” “You know what’s more fucked up? You continued to harass me when I said I wasn’t interested. I’m interested in August. That’s it. Not you, not Duke, not any of your other Swans.” “You’ll change your mind when you’re the meat in a twin sandwich,” he says. “But I’ll let you have it your way. For now.” “Gee, thanks for not raping me. Don’t let me forget to give you a gold star on our way out.” “I’d appreciate that.” I stalk over to the side of the room and find a chair. I curl up in it to wait for morning. Even with the hoodie, it’s so fucking cold I’m shivering, though.

“Come on, don’t sleep over there,” Baron says. “I put my dick away. Come over here by us. It’s too cold to sleep alone.” “I’d rather not get raped in my sleep.” “That’s not our style,” he says. “Though, if you have a kink about that, I have a friend who could help you out.” “No, thanks.” “For fuck’s sake, just relax,” he says. “I was just seeing if you wanted it bad enough. Obviously, you don’t. You’re not committed enough to be a Swan.” “And you’re not going to try to molest me in my sleep?” “What fun is that?” he asks. “If you don’t fight back, it’s not worth taking.” “You’re really selling this.” “Come on,” he says. “It’s cold down here, and you stole my hoodie, and I don’t want to snuggle my brother’s blacked-out ass. You’re going to freeze over there by yourself. I promise I won’t fuck with you anymore. I get it. You’re August’s, and until he’s done with you, you’re off limits.” “I’m sleeping with my pocketknife in my hand,” I say. “I’ll cut you if you grope me.” “Deal,” he says. “Now get over here and let us keep you warm.”

I make my way back over and slide down next to Duke. Baron scoots over and wraps an arm around me. I have to admit, it’s nice to feel them on either side of me, keeping me warm like he promised, instead of holding onto my pride and freezing my ass off in a chair. Still, I don’t sleep until I feel him relax, his breathing going deeper as he falls into sleep first. I blink awake when the electricity comes back on, the light on the ceiling flickering a few times before remaining on. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust and see August standing over us. I scramble up, my heart stampeding in my chest. My hands fly up as if to defend myself from the accusation in his eyes. “It’s not—we were just sleeping.” “Did you fuck them?” he asks quietly. “No,” I say, my hands falling to my sides. I remember Duke’s threat from last night. No matter what happened, there’s not a damn thing I can do to convince him if they say otherwise. “Not for lack of trying,” Duke says, stretching his arms over his head. Baron sits and picks up his glasses and my knife from the floor before standing. “Didn’t touch her,” he says. “We tried everything you said to.” I snatch my knife back and turn on August. “What the fuck? Is this some kind of game to you?”

He gives me a cool look. “You wanted to be a Swan. I just wanted to know how bad you wanted it.” “You were testing me? You really think I’d fuck your brothers? That’s not even part of the initiation, is it? You just wanted a reason to dump me.” “Hey, don’t be upset about it,” he says with a lazy smile. “You passed.” “You were never going to let me into the Swans, were you? This is all just a hilarious game to you, seeing what you can make me do.

Even if I passed every challenge, you’d never let me in your little, preppy boys club.” “And you should thank me for that,” he says quietly, his dark eyes going serious. “Fuck you, August,” I say, stomping past him and up the stairs. “Oh, I will,” he says behind me. “The only question is, should I let you cool down first or rage fuck you right now?” “Try it and see what happens,” I snap. It feels good to step into the library and slam the door in his face. I’m tired and sore from sleeping on the floor, not to mention I’m wearing the same clothes as yesterday but with the addition of a good amount of dirt. On top of that, I don’t even have my bag. But there’s only fifteen minutes until the morning meeting starts, which means I can’t go home without missing it. No matter what I said to Baron last night, I still fucking hate August half the time.

[lilylovessev]

playing games || snamione

“No.”

“Oh, come on! You know you want to play...”

Hermione glanced at them over the top of her book, rolling her eyes, “There are impressionable ears around here.” She then pointedly glanced across the common room at the small group of second or third years whom should have been in bed by then. “I’m not going to partake in your immature games. I’m enjoying reading.” She turned her attention back to her book; which was, admittedly, a collection of extended essays on feminism. 

A few moments later, the book was snatched from her hand. She groaned, looking up at Ginny before slowly shaking her head. 

Why did they always have to drag her into these things? 

Honestly, she just wanted to be left alone. This was precisely why she hadn’t thought that it was the best idea for certain people, who were already immature enough, to return to Hogwarts. It wasn’t doing them any favours in that respect. Although admittedly, they were all doing surprisingly well, despite the trauma that they’d so intensely suffered there. They all understood the importance of doing themselves justice, earning what they’d not had the chance to achieve before given they hadbeen in the midst of a war.

She slipped down from the sofa, muttering under her breath as she did so, entirely displeased by feeling as if she had to join in. She merely scoffed as Ginny then suggested that they play ‘spin the bottle’. Her immediate reaction was to say, “Are you actually kidding me?” She then sighed as they called her a spoilsport, but she knew them far better than to think that this wasn’t just a way of probing one another for information. Particularly, her. 

That or they’d try and make her bloody kiss Ron or something. She’d already done that, and it had quite possibly been one of the biggest let downs of her life thus far. They didn’t talk about it though, for very obvious reasons, given that they were still friends. 

She looked around their small group, waiting for someone to make the first move. She watched closely as Harry set down an empty firewhiskey bottle, spinning it rather forcefully so. She almost willed for it not to stop on her, they were magical, surely that would work. Nope. It was safe to say that everyone laughed when the bottle did, in fact, slowly come to a stop pointing at her. She smirked, shaking her head before holding up her hands, “I am not kissing anyone here.”

“Oh, come on! Not even Ron? It’s not as if that’s unfamiliar territory.”

“It’s a territory that I am definitely quite happy not to visit again,” she responded firmly, widening her eyes at Ginny in an almost threatening manner. “Sorry, Ron.” She glanced over at him, smiling slightly as he shrugged nonchalently. “I’m simply not interested in any of you. You’re not to my... taste.” She teased, trying to at least appear a tad more laidback than she had done during that evening. As much as she had her hackles up, these were her friends, and she wanted to have fun with them.

“Really? What is your taste, ‘Mione? Who is your type then?”

The question clearly came forth a tad more bluntly than Ron had expected for it to, and so Ginny swiftly interjected, “Do you like younger men? Or, older men?”

What on earth was going on? 

The colour rose in her cheeks and she immediately became flustered, refusing to allow herself to get stuck in this particular corner. “This is ridiculous.” She moved to stand up, grabbing her book off of the table, “So what if I do like older men? And? It’s not as if there are many around here that I’d go for. You all need to stop with this stupidity.” She knew that she was getting wound up over nothing, and that they weren’t really being serious, but it was enough to get under her skin. She had always been highly-strung, but it had been worse since everything had happened. You’d think that she’d be more relaxed, that wasn’t the case.

“What about Snape?”

The room fell silent, even the literal children in the corner turned to look at them at the mention of that name.

“Excuse me? Are you out of your mind, Ginny?” At this point, she moved to sit back down on the sofa, shaking her head. “You’re mad.” She laughed, because it really was so ludicrous. “What? Do you think I should waltz up and plant one on him?” Of course, everyone started laughing at that. “Hmm?” 

“I dare you.”

“Pardon?”

“No, I don’t dare you. Let’s put a bet on it. Who’s in? Who wants to place a bet that our lovely Hermione will find love here in this very castle with a certain older man?” 

She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing, and quite frankly, it was particularly amusing. For a moment, she had wondered if Ginny was joking, but she could soon tell that she wasn’t in fact joking. 

However, like hell was she going to take this serously. For the sake of a laugh perhaps, and because she knew fine well that it would only rile up trouble if she didn’t appear t partake, she merely shrugged and nodded. “Okay.” 

They were all mad. They were truly mad. As if any of this was going to happen.

What on earth were they expecting? That she actively pursued Severus Snape, of all people? Please. Of course, deep down, a small part of her wondered if she should... No, that was barking. It was crazy. However, why not? They knew that he wasn’t a terrible person, even if he still made out to be to an extent. That and it wasn’t as if anything was actually going to come of this. She would never have behaved like this before, not in a million years, but everything was different now.