#and i can hear and see the scene in my head

[mggslover]

Reflections pt. 2

In which Spencer sees himself in a suspect, making him willing to do anything to protect her.

PART 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Genre: crime x angst x hurt/comfort Content warnings: post prisoner!spencer (but no spoilers since i’m not on that season yet, can contain inaccuracies), reader cuts longer hair short, guns, reader isn’t the best person, emotional, vague mentions of sa and suicide, kidnapping, fade to black smut (so suggestive content) Word count: 5,8k A/n: turning a supposed to be one shot into a series is more difficult than i anticipated lol. i’m hoping you guys will enjoy this part as much as the first one :) i'd love to hear your thoughts!!

Vibrant flashes of the pixelated scenes on TV reflected against the motel room walls. You were reminded of how your mother always used to say that watching television in the dark is damaging to your eyes. You never doubted her. Never felt the need to confirm her words by looking it up. It’s in human nature to trust one another. It is only when someone betrays you — or when you betray them — that trust gets damaged.  You sit on the edge of the bed, mindlessly picking at the loose printing of the Caltech shirt you’re wearing — Spencer’s Caltech shirt — as you watch the umpteenth news segment since you left the state. “Authorities are still on the lookout for a suspect following the poisoning of three men. The men were murdered at a college reunion that took place inside a bar, their bodies found just a street away. These promising young men had bright futures ahead of them, which were brutally robbed by this suspect–“

The screen flickered to your passport picture, showing a list of your physical descriptions on the right. 

“She’s believed to be armed and dangerous. Please, come forward if you have any information on her possible whereabouts. The FBI have stated that they will not stop their search until they have the suspect in custody. Justice will be served.”

With a scoff, you grab the remote, the screen fading to black with a simple click of your thumb. 

Young promising men, my ass. Hearing that sentence out loud left you with a bitter taste in your mouth, burning your throat as you swallowed. You let out a deep exhale, your body falling back onto the hard mattress with a thud, allowing the darkness to envelop you as your thoughts swirled through your head. 

Your whole life you had run away from the things that scared you, preferring to flee than live with the reality of the situation. You’d made the conscious decision to change your behaviour once you had decided to walk into that bar. But one thing led to another, and without being aware of it at the moment, you’d found yourself in the same situation: fleeing. Only this time around, it was different. This time you were on the run. And it wasn’t a question of if, but of when you’d be caught.

Ignoring the remorseless pounding in your head, you roll over the mattress. The cheap sheets rustled underneath you in protest as you threw your legs off the side. Your hand patted the bedside table until you felt the switch on the night lamp, turning it on. The room, as a result, illuminates in a soft, golden glow. 

Your eyes adjusted to the light, slowly taking in your surroundings. You noticed a large bookshelf against the right wall that you swore you hadn't seen before. Although your mind had been so clouded these past days that it wouldn’t be strange if you looked over it. Curiosity got the better of you, and with steady steps, you walked toward it. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. The words played in your head as your fingers grazed against the dusty spines. When the melody came to its natural halt, you grabbed the book that your finger had landed on.

Gone Girl.

You scoffed a breathy laugh, “Obviously.” You held the book mockingly in the air, giving an ironic nod and tight-lipped smile toward the ceiling. “Thanks, universe.”

The irony hit you as you flipped through the pages. Maybe you’re more like the protagonist—Amy Dune—than you’d like to admit. Always having the need to orchestrate the outcome of your life, selfish enough to not care about the consequences it has for others. What if the universe is not trying to mock you, but merely giving you a hint? Were you supposed to change your appearance? It worked for Amy. 

Your feet carried you to the stuffy bathroom, the book still in hand. With your elbow, you turned on the light switch, cringing when you saw yourself in the mirror. The only sleep you’d gotten in the past days was in Spencer’s arms, and damn was it a good sleep. 

Sleeping with an FBI-agent sounded like a good plan. Well… at least to you. What are the chances of being a suspect in a crime, not being believed by anyone, and then being interrogated by a man who had heart eyes for you? There was no other option than to play into it, and you thanked yourself for taking those theater classes in high school. 

However, it wasn’t all a ploy. It affected you to have someone be so gentle with you, to have an absolute stranger care so much for your well-being. And when you kissed him… you knew your heart was involved too.

Still, your brain overpowered your feelings. The second you woke up, you knew you had to leave. They already knew about Natalie, and the more time you gave them, the more dirt they’d find on you. Taking that gun? Call it a precaution. Hijacking a car to get to the motel? Well, you stole it from a hobo. Could’ve been worse. 

“God,” you groaned, thinking back on the events of the past few days. You rubbed your eyes and dramatically slid your hands down your face.

Your eyes landed on the nail clipper placed on the sink. This is so, so bad. You placed the book down, then picked the item up, circling the cool metal around your fingers. The ghost of your face reflected back at you in the mirror. Oh, your hairdresser will kill you. But who will care if you’ll be locked away in prison, anyway? At least your humor was still working.

You brought the clipper to the ends of your hair, your thumb pressing down as you cut a lock. The sound sent shivers to your spine, a sour face impaled on you. 

“I swear to god Amy, don’t fail me with this,” you mumbled to the sky in a prayer. 

-`♡´-

3 Days Ago

Being frustrated was an understatement for the way Spencer was feeling. 

Once he left the bedroom, it took him less than a second to notice the slight gap between the cupboard doors. His pulse quickened, he stood frozen for a moment as he felt a tight knot form in his stomach. In a sudden rush, his senses came back to him. He took a leap toward the cupboard, slamming the doors open, and to his suspicion, he found the safe unlocked. His gun vanished in the same way as you had. 

He couldn’t help the string of curses that escaped his lips. His hands reached through his hair, tugging at the loose curls as his mind raced in every possible direction, none of them making sense. 

How could he have been so stupid? He’s a profiler, for Christ’ sake. It’s his job to read people, to see through their lies. His cheeks heated in embarrassment, recalling the disapproving looks of his team members when he told you that he believed in your innocence. 

You were innocent. At least, that’s what he thought. Now he wasn’t sure anymore. An innocent person wouldn’t run, and they especially wouldn’t steal the gun of a federal agent while they’re at it. 

He thought back on your arrest. It happened quickly. The team had received a call from someone at the reunion who had been taking a smoke break in an alley near the bar, the first to discover the bodies. Finding you was simple. Your behavior was suspicious on the camera footage. You looked nervous as you walked into the bar, wiping your clammy hands on your dress, scanning the room as if in search of something. When your eyes landed on the three men, your gaze grew cold. It wasn’t difficult to connect the dots when you rushed out of the emergency exit right after the men had accepted their poison-filled drinks. 

But now it was a completely different story. You could be anywhere. The uncertainty gnawed at him. He felt responsible for this, even though it wasn’t his decision to let you go. He’d been insistent on getting you out of that interrogation room as fast as he could. The guilt pressed down on him, the pressure on his ribcage accumulating with every second that passed. Every second that he didn’t do anything was another chance for you to run. Spencer had no choice but to call Hotch as he stepped into his Volvo. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he didn’t know what you were capable of. 

-

Spencer made sure to evade Derek’s sharp glances as he walked through the bullpen, headed straight for the small flight of stairs. 

Hotch was standing at the door frame, waiting on him. He never had experienced being scolded by his parents, but this sure seemed like a similar situation. Spencer swallowed, his hands tucked in the pockets of his pants, trying to hide his nerves as he braced himself for the words that were about to follow.

“I’ve informed the rest of the team,” Hotch explained, his eyebrows edged in an irritated frown. “The only reason that you’re on this case is because you could give personal insight into the unsub. We’ll discuss this afterward,” he added in a warning tone, “Behaviour like this is not tolerated.”

“I know,” Spencer muttered, his voice coming out hoarse. I don’t agree, but I understand. “I’m sorry.”

Aaron nodded, seemingly satisfied with his response. His body leaned forward, head tilted as he called the team to gather around the round table. 

-

“Man, you slept with her?!” 

Derek hadn’t even properly sat down before the criticizing jabs slipped out. The tone was instantly set, an awkward tension lingering thick in the air.

Spencer’s mouth opened, his fingers flexing, but before he could respond, Emily rose from her seat. “It’s in the past. Right now, we should focus on finding her before she’ll devolve.”

Hotch nodded in agreement. This discussion was pointless; there was no time to lose. “Garcia, can you go over her documents again?”

“Of course, sir. Uh, let’s see–,” her purple colored nails tapped against the keyboard of her laptop. “She hasn’t been very active in the last few years. Most activity was during college. She majored in chemistry.”

Spencer’s heart did a jump at the mention of chemistry. He barely got the chance to ask you about yourself, and he was fighting the urge to ask Penelope for more information, wondering what else you’d have in common. 

“Wait a minute,” Spencer wondered out loud when his brain made the connection. “Chemistry.”

“The victims were poisoned,” Rossi noted, connecting the dots.

Spencer suppressed the rising nausea by forcing his eyes shut. His knee tremored, anxiously tapping against the underside of the table. He really didn’t know you, did he?

Hotch’s furrow deepened. “Another confirmation that she’s the one we’re looking for.” He turned to Garcia, “Did we receive the results from the lab?”

“Not yet, sir. But this is interesting though,” her nails continued their rhythmic clicking. “She dropped out of college a couple of months before graduating.”

“You wouldn’t just do that,” Rossi mused. “Can you find any reasoning in her archives?” 

Penelope shook her head. “Not really. The whole thing seemed pretty sudden. She had good grades.”

Hotch leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Let’s look at victimology.” 

“Okay, so we got Shaun Dallas, Eric Zimmer and Nathan Johns. Tight buddies throughout college and they still seemed to be according to social media. Different majors, none of them chemistry.”

“She seemed disgusted when I brought them up,” Derek added, referencing your interrogation. “Said that nobody in college liked them.”

“Well, they seem like the standard gross jock types,” Penelope commented. 

“Does she have any history with them?” Emily asked.

“Uh, not that I can see,” Garcia replied. “I don’t even think they shared any classes.”

“What about them personally? Anything you can tie to her wanting them dead?”

“Let’s see, boy wonder…” Garcia mumbled in response to Spencer, eyes focused on the screen. “Here! I got something.” 

Everyone stared at her in anticipation. “Nathan Johns was involved in a Peeping Tom “incident” when he was fifteen. He had a habit of peeping underneath the bathroom stalls in highschool, and one girl decided to press charges with her parents. Claims were quickly shut down though, because, obviously, his father is a lawyer.”

Hotch’s lips pressed into a tight line. “What about the other two?”

“Zilch. Squeaky clean records.”

“Let’s leave that for later,” Rossi suggested. “We have more to say about her MO.”

“She poisoned her victims,” JJ chimed in. “That makes sense with her chemistry background. She’s also shown that she’s meticulous and pays attention to detail.” She continued elaborating, “She managed to poison the drinks without the bartender noticing and she made sure to keep an eye on Spencer as he typed in the code to his safe.”

The team nodded like-mindedly. Spencer bit down on his bottom lip. He didn’t have much of a say in all of this. He didn’t even know why he still tried to make sense of it all. Whether he genuinely believed in your innocence or if this was an attempt at finding a theory that would sooth his mind.

“She’s rather chaotic, actually,” he eventually spoke up. “She snapped during the interview when Natalie Fisher got mentioned. She took my gun while I was in the room next to her. To be more specific, she—“ he cleared his throat, “I woke up and she walked back to me before heading out. It doesn’t match the MO of the killings.”

“What are you suggesting, kid?” Rossi asked, confusion visible on his face.

“She doesn't have to be the unsub.” 

“Oh, come on, man. Then how do you explain the dumping of the bodies?” Morgan inquired, his tone laced with accusement. “She went from meticulous to dropping the bodies in the middle of an alley where anyone could pass by. She’s shown dramatic changes in MO before.”

“The bodies could have been placed there to set her up. The unsub must have known she’s disorganized, so positioning the bodies there could be connected to her. If the unsub is as diligent as we’re assuming, he could’ve easily disposed of the bodies in a place where we wouldn’t be able to find them. Instead, he dropped them right in the face of any passersby.”  

“Spence, I thought we’ve been over this,” JJ said, offering a sympathetic smile, her hand sliding over the table to reach out for him.

Spencer quickly pulled his hand back, seeing the obvious hurt on his friend’s face. Yes, they had been over this. He was positive that he would snap if he had to go through another “Are you sure you’re ready to be back? The change from prison to society is a huge change” conversation. 

“Did she share anything else that makes you think this way?”

Spencer blinked at Hotch's question. The moment was still fresh in his mind. He remembered how nervous he felt when he had asked you to take you to his place. He had replayed the hypothetical conversation in his mind a thousand times, how he would first open up about his past, wanting to make you feel comfortable enough to open up about yours. But when you kissed him the way you did, there was no space for any other thoughts in his mind.

“Reid,” Hotch repeated.

“No.”

“No?” 

“She said that she likes the sea,” he shared, the corner of his lip slightly lifting at the memory. 

“I feel safe in your arms,” you whispered, your breath tickling his chest as you lay your head on top of it. His arm was wrapped around you, tracing patterns on the bare skin of your arm, wondering if you could feel his pounding heartbeat. 

“The only other place I’ve felt this safe is at sea.”

He smiled as he gazed down at you. Then he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Really?”

He felt the movement of you nodding. “It’s the only place that calms my mind.”

The sound of ruffling paper snapped him out of his thoughts. He lifted his head to see Rossi unrolling a large map of the country. 

Spencer could feel the prying eyes on him. Geography of the unsub is his strength. He inhaled a deep breath before leaving his chair, reluctantly walking toward the wall where Rossi had pinned the map.

“She told you that she didn’t have a place to stay,” Prentiss stated, her words sounding like a question for affirmation.

Spencer nodded, trying to focus on the case like it was any other. “She walked to the reunion, probably taken by cab, and then we found her walking around the area when we arrested her. So, she has no vehicle.”

“For all we know, she could’ve taken the first plane out of the country,” Morgan interjected.

Hotch clicked his tongue. “We alerted Border Patrol when Reid had called me, which was less than an hour after she had left his house. If we assume she’s chaotic, she wouldn’t be able to book a flight that quickly. The only place you can disappear this smoothly has to be a place in her comfort zone.”

“Can we assume she’s still in Virginia?” Rossi asked.

“I don’t think so,” Spencer replied. “Her picture is all over the state, and Virginia’s beaches are very populated, with a minimum of in the hundred thousands. Virginia Beach, for example, has a population of 453.649.”

“She doesn’t have a car,” Rossi thought aloud. “There are no records of her having a stable job, so she doesn’t have a lot of money in her pockets either. Knowing cab drivers, they won’t want to drive around for hours, which leads us to—“

“Delaware,” Spencer finished. 

-`♡´-

A sea breeze gently caressed your face, blowing through your cut hair. With your eyes closed, you cherished the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the scent of saltwater in the air. It was a nostalgic smell that came with a flood of memories: building sandcastles on the beach, running barefoot across the hot sand before diving into the sea, loud laughter as you splashed the water and got splashed in return. 

The flashbacks were a stark contrast to your current predicament. When you opened your eyes, it was dark. The sea in front of you looked black, only reflecting a small glimmer of the moon that hung low in the sky. The sand beneath your fingers felt cold. And there were no sounds of laughter, not even the sound of annoying seagulls. You were surrounded in absolute silence.  A crunching noise came out of the darkness. The sound so sudden and intense, similar to being whipped across the face. Though, your head didn’t turn. You knew who was out there. 

The sounds grew louder. Sweat started forming on your face and hands. Your fingers trembled as you reached into the pocket of your jeans, the tight fabric cutting into your hand as you pushed deeper until you felt the cool metal of Spencer’s gun.

“Don’t.”

The word cut through the air. Your grip on the gun tightened in an effort to keep your fingers from shaking. No words left your mouth as you carefully tilted your head. 

In front of you stood Spencer, exactly as you had predicted. But unlike your predictions, he was on his own. Was he here by himself to personally arrest you? To revel in your loss?

You continued to stare at him, though you weren’t really seeing him. Your vision blurred by the tears that had welled in your eyes. You blinked them away, focusing on his gun, which he held tightly in between both hands, aimed straight at your skull. 

“Is that a new one?” 

He seemed taken aback by your question, glacing down to the firearm in his palms. When he looked back at you, you stood in front of him, mirroring his stance, gun directed at his chest.

“I like this one better,” you commented, clicking the safety off.

Spencer cocked his head, maintaining his unwavering eye contact. He seemed to be challenging you. You clenched your jaw, anger boiling hotter inside of you. 

“Put the gun away,” he strictly ordered, though his tone remained unnervingly calm. It was too calm for your liking. He should be scared. At least show a sign of nerves. Instead he looked at you like you were a joke, like you weren’t capable.

“You’re not going to use it anyway,” he dismissively adds, fueling your anger.

“Yes, I will!” 

Your voice taunted as you took a step forward. Your legs trembled at the move, your heart thudded painfully in your chest to the point of nausea. It was difficult to comprehend the next words he spoke, your ears ringing before you even fired the shot.

“You didn’t kill those people,” Spencer declared. The words sounded like he was repeating a scientific fact. Like it was the only possible truth.

He then called out your name.

The word rolled off his tongue like it was crafted just for him to say it. Akin to a gentle symphony. His pronunciation was just as soft and full with longing as it had been when he breathily whispered it into your ear over and over again.

“I would’ve!” you shouted out, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. You strode forward until the barrel of your gun pressed into his chest, jabbing the cold metal into his clothed skin. 

He didn’t flinch. Instead of his breathing hastening, it slowed down. His eyebrows drooped as he looked down at you. 

“I would’ve,” you repeat just as loudly, digging the weapon harder into him. Pity remained on his face and you couldn’t stop the tears threatening to spill again. Whether it was from frustration or sorrow, you weren’t sure. 

“I would’ve, I would’ve, I would’ve!” 

The words tumbled from your mouth like a mantra, each repetition feeling like the only way to catch your breath. With every spoken word, you hit his chest, though your punches weaken with every syllable.

Spencer continued to watch you, observing you as he gave you the space that you needed. When you looked up at him, his eyes were glistening, triggering something inside of you.

A sob broke free from your chest. Spencer’s gun slipped from his hand in reaction, falling into the sand with a muffled thud. 

“I should’ve…” you choked out, the words a combination of an apology and a confession.

Spencer nodded compassionately, his hands reaching out to gently cup yours. 

 “Should’ve done it. Should’ve been me.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” he spoke reassuringly, carefully taking the gun from your limp fingers and tucking it in his back pocket. His hands quickly returned to yours, without you even registering his movement. “I know.”

“I’m so sorry,” you softly cried. The words weren’t meant for Spencer, but somehow, he understood. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, holding you against the spot where your gun had been only seconds ago.

Sorries became the new prayer you desperately muttered against his chest. Sorries to Natalie. Sorries for being weak. Sorries for not giving her the justice she deserved. Sorries for dishonoring her when she needed you most. Sorries for everything.

The apologies to others turned into a plea to receive them yourself. Sorry for making you so naive. Sorry for making you weak. Sorry for giving you the need to run from yourself. 

Your head hung low against him, your grip on his shirt tightening, your lungs constricting like it was painful to breathe. 

“You’re angry.” Spencer noted, noticing the change in your posture. 

You sniffled against him, not having the energy to lie. “Yes.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your hair. The gesture made your stomach flutter. 

You felt conflicted by his kindness. How was he able to hold you so tightly? To choose to stay by your side despite the mess you were.

The delicacy of his touch parallel to the fury still simmering inside of you. 

“I am so mad,” you admitted in a resigned breath.

His hand slid from your head to your neck, gently cupping your jaw. “Let it out on me.”

You had to furrow your brows, not sure if you understood him correctly. 

“I mean it. Your body is full of cortisol and epinephrine. Stress hormones,” he explained. “You need to be relieved of those.”

His fingertips trailed lightly over your arm, and you followed his touch with your eyes. 

“Use me. Let me offer you relief.”

You stood frozen in place, swallowing the breathless laugh that almost escaped your lips, as you noted the genuine look expressed on Spencer’s face.

His eyes bored into yours, the hazel of his irises altering into a darker shade of brown.

Tentatively, your hands moved up his body, and only then did his heartbeat quicken. Your fingers continued trailing upward until you gripped his collar, the fabric soft in your tight grip. His eyes don’t leave yours, mouth just slightly agape as you pull him in closer. 

Then you kiss him — hard.

*link to smut (pt. 2.5)

-`♡´-

The ventilation quietly hummed in the back of the motel room from the shower you had just taken. After the intimate moment on the beach, Spencer had convinced you to take him back to the motel you were staying at. “They’re all fast asleep. They haven’t noticed me leaving” he assured you. 

It didn’t matter anymore if they knew your whereabouts, you’ve told Spencer everything anyway. How Natalie has been your bestest friend in college. How you were tied to the hip. How you never left each other’s sight — except for that one night…

You had cried in his arms, and he had let you. He held you close as you lay in bed. He comforted you with statistics about guilt and trauma, as you told him why you went to that reunion that night. It marked the anniversary of the week Natalie had died. Of the week you received an email from her: a final note. Telling you by the time you read this, she’d be long gone.

You hadn’t gone to her funeral. Didn’t even receive an invitation. You hadn’t been in contact with Natalie ever since she had called you from that party. You’d picked her up that night, taken her to the hospital, and left the second the doctors told you she’d be fine. 

You didn’t tell Spencer this part. You only told him that you expected there to be a memorial at the reunion, a way for you to have a proper goodbye. Your heart had stopped in the same way it had years ago when you walked into the bar and found that there was nothing. Nothing but loud music, colored lights, and drunk people. It was as if Natalie had never existed.

Your ears had rang. Your breaths came in short pants. With all your might, you suppressed the rising panic attack, using the last bit of strength to walk toward the three men you’d spotted from the start. The men that had done this to Natalie. Who had killed her, although not with their hands. 

Naive little birdie, Natalie had always called you. The sweet nickname now sounded more haunting as the three men stared you up and down. Your heart beated in expectancy, but then you noticed their dilated pupils. The way their breath reeked of hard liquor. Their lips still glossy with alcohol as they gave you a sluggish smirk. They hadn’t even recognized you. Naive little birdie.

Spencer had squeezed your hand, bringing you back to reality. “It’s okay.”

You had shaken your head, the memories tearing apart into small pieces in your mind. Quickly, you had finished your story, telling him that after that moment, you didn’t have it in you to walk past everyone again. Too terrified to see the laughs on their faces. Instead, you marched straight to the emergency exit.

The both of you stayed quiet after your confession. The air hung heavy with silence, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable.

“We need to talk about it at some point,” Spencer brings up.

You nodded. Spencer had been kind to you, given you the time to process, but the conversation was inevitable. You hadn’t killed anyone. So someone else had.

“Someone is trying to blame this on you. Someone wants to see you gone,” he softly whispers, his voice cracking with emotion.

The subject made you feel uncomfortable. You had thought about it before. Plenty of times, actually. But every time you did what you did best: ignore it. It wasn’t as easy to disregard when someone was looking you in the eyes, their pain so visible.

Still, you shrugged, brushing aside his comment. “It doesn’t matter. I wanted them gone, and now they are. It doesn’t matter how.”

“It does matter.” 

The rise in his voice made you flinch, and he instantly cupped your hands, pulling you back to him. “‘M sorry. I’m just scared.”

It was strange to hear someone be so honest. Spencer had been honest with you from the start. He’d said that he would protect you, and he was still keeping to that promise.

You moved your hand to your hair, wanting to twirl  the locks as a nervous habit, but then realized most of it was cut short. 

“I guess we can tell your team tomorrow,” you settle on saying, swallowing as you envision their dirty looks.

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows in a questioning gaze, leaning forward as he hid the small, grateful smile that lingered his lips.

You chuckled, feeling relieved by his response. You nodded your head against the pillow. “Really.”

The room returned to silence. Surely now deeply comfortable. No more questions that lingered in the air. The back of Spencer’s fingers lazily traced the side of your face. His warm hand trailed down the skin. His eyes flickered over your face, expression filled with awe as he grazed his fingers through your short locks. “Your hair looks pretty.”

A soft snort escaped you, “It looks horrendous.”

He responded with a breathy laugh, and you can’t help but smile widely back at him. 

“I think this suits you better. Not that I didn’t like your other haircut,” he quickly corrected himself, making you chuckle. “I like your face. The longer hair hid it. Now I can see you.”

Your cheeks warmed. Spencer did see you. Not just your appearance — he saw you. He had seen you from the moment your eyes had locked when he and his team had found you and brought you to the station. He had seen you before you’d even seen yourself. The thought of stopping your hiding, your fleeing, didn’t seem so scary anymore. Not when staying would bring you to him. 

The comfortable silence was interrupted by a low rumble, followed by a louder one. Spencer’s hand slipped from your hair as he placed it on his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

A bright, childlike laugh bubbled from your chest. Spencer snickered, grinning from ear to ear. He bashfully brushed his fingers through his messy curls. “I havent really eaten since we’ve gotten here.”

“Let me grab you a snack.” You crawled out of bed, legs still a little shaky as you stood up. 

“Do you have snacks in the room?

“No, but there’s a vending machine outside.”

He propped himself up against the pillows, his eyes following you as you made your way over to the bathroom where your clothes were bundled up on the tile floor. He let out a small sigh as you walked out of sight.

He naturally timed the minutes till the door creaked open again. You had washed yourself up in the sink, some water droplets still clinging to your neck. Your hair less frizzy now that it had been dampened. You wore your clothes from earlier, though one could tell they had been taken off of you multiple times.

“I’ll be right back,” you promised, grabbing the key and some coins from the cabinet. And he believed you.

-

The door shut behind you, a cold breeze immediately hugging your skin. The LED lamps brightened the exterior corridor. The vending machine at the end of the walkway shone even brighter, catching your attention.

You walked straight toward it, curiously peering into the transparent door. You pressed the numbers for trail mix and beef jerky — something that could pass for dinner. You inserted the coin, impatiently bending down in front of the opening.

The rumbling sound of the machine was followed by a whoosh of air.

Then a sharp bang echoed through your skull.

Then you were gone.

-`♡´-

Shadows of bright lights flickered in front of your eyes, giving the illusion that you rubbed them too hard.

You forced your eyelids open, and if it weren’t for the fact that you were lying down, you would’ve stumbled. With effort, you scrambled yourself up into a sitting position, taking in your surroundings.

Four tiled walls enclosed you. The room resembled a lab: a sink with a counter to the left, an iron door on the wall right in front of you, and an air vent to the right. 

A bitter odor entered your airways, making you scrunch your nose. You turned your head to the left — a little too quickly — the throbbing pain catching up with you, making you groan in pain. 

Your hands shot to the sides of your face, trying to hold your head still in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. 

A warm liquid coated your fingers. You pulled your hand back and saw it was stained crimson. A gasp left you, followed by a string of whimpers as you felt yourself growing faint. 

You spotted a red first aid kit on top of the counter. On your knees, you slumped toward it, taking several breaks despite the distance only being ten feet. 

With clammy hands, you clutched the counter, inhaling a deep breath before dragging yourself up. Your body hovered over the table, and you reached your arm out to pull the kit closer to you. You fumbled with the lock on the box. “Open up, please,” you begged to whatever God that was listening.

The acid smell grew stronger, and it was then that you noticed the small vial next to the first aid kit. Its contents contained a light yellow solid. Cyanide — poison. 

The metal door creaked open, the sound stinging straight through your skull. You cried out as you fell to the ground. You backed away to the nearest wall, curling your knees to your chest just in time for the door to fully open. “Naive little birdie. You’re awake.”

PART 2.5

[harrysfolklore]

So since the Oscars are happening next week I wanted to ask if you could please write something about charles leclerc and actress!reader where she's been nominated many many times before but never won (kind of like saoirse ronan) but this time she finally breaks the curse and win her first Oscar and Charles being just proud husband

u know you can always count on me for a charles x famous!reader fic and honestly i loved this one 🥺 i hope you like ittt

The Dolby Theatre buzzes with anticipation as you sit between Charles and your co-star. This scene is familiar - the sixth time you've been nominated, the same butterfly-inducing wait during the Best Actress category. Your first nomination came when you were just twenty-three, and now at thirty, you've earned the title of 'most nominated actress without a win.'

Charles has been there for four of those nominations, watching you smile gracefully through each loss. You remember how devastated he was last year - more than you, even - when you lost for what critics had called 'the performance of the decade.' He'd held you all night, whispering about how the Academy didn't deserve you anyway.

Tonight, though, feels different. Maybe it's the way Charles keeps pressing soft kisses to your temple, or how he hasn't stopped playing with your wedding ring - a nervous habit he picked up during particularly tense races.

"Mon coeur," he whispers as the Best Actor category wraps up, "no matter what happens, you're already the winner in my eyes. But tonight... tonight feels like magic, no?"

You're gripping Charles's hand so tightly you might be cutting off his circulation, but he doesn't seem to mind. Your heart is pounding as Emma Stone opens the envelope on stage, the same way it has during the previous ceremonies where you'd left empty-handed despite the nominations.

Charles leans closer, his lips brushing your ear. "I'm proud of you, no matter what happens," he whispers, his thumb stroking soothing circles on your hand.

"And the Academy Award for Best Actress in a Leading Role goes to..."

Charles's grip tightens imperceptibly. You feel him holding his breath alongside you.

"YN!"

For a moment, you're frozen. The applause sounds distant, like you're underwater. Then you feel Charles's hands on your face, see his beaming smile through your blur of tears.

"You did it, mon coeur!" he exclaims, his own eyes glistening as he pulls you into a kiss. "You finally did it!"

You're trembling as you stand, Charles helping you up. He's looking at you the way he does after winning a race - no, even more intensely than that. Like you've just won every championship in existence.

The walk to the stage feels surreal. You can hear the announcement echoing: "This is YN's sixth nomination and first win..." Through your tears, you see the standing ovation, catch glimpses of familiar faces who've been on this journey with you.

Your hands shake as you accept the Oscar, its weight both foreign and familiar after years of dreaming about this moment. You take a deep breath, looking out at the sea of faces until you find those green eyes that have been your anchor through every high and low.

"Wow," you begin, your voice trembling. "They say sixth time's the charm, right?" The audience laughs warmly. "I've had this speech written in my head since I was a little girl playing pretend with my mom's hairbrush, but now that I'm here, those words don't seem enough."

You pause, gathering yourself. "To the Academy - thank you for not giving up on me. To my incredible director who trusted me with this role that scared me as much as it thrilled me. To my amazing co-stars who pushed me to dig deeper, be braver."

Your eyes find Charles again, who's watching you with such pure adoration it makes your heart swell. "To my husband, who has sat through more award shows than F1 races this year so far, who runs lines with me even though he says my accent is better than his, who believes in me more than I believe in myself - ti amu. You've watched me practice acceptance speeches in our kitchen, held me through the disappointments, and somehow made me feel like a winner every single time. You told me once that in racing, it's not about how many times you don't make the podium, it's about never stopping until you do. Well, my love, we finally made it to the top step."

You can see Charles openly crying now, nodding proudly through his tears. "To my parents who let their little girl dream big, to my team who've been with me through every 'maybe next year,' to every young actor who's been told 'not yet' - keep going. Your time will come."

Looking down at the golden statue in your hands, you smile through your tears. "And finally, to every person who's ever felt like they're always the runner-up, who's heard 'better luck next time' so many times they've lost count - this is for you. Because sometimes the longest waitings lead to the sweetest victories. Thank you, thank you so much."

Later, at the Vanity Fair after-party, Charles hasn't let go of your Oscar once. He's been carrying it around, showing it off more proudly than any of his race trophies.

"My wife," he keeps saying to everyone who'll listen, his accent thick with emotion, "she's brilliant, no? I told everyone she would win. I knew it."

"Charles," you laugh, watching him polish the statue with his pocket square for the third time. "You're going to wear it out."

"Non, I'm protecting it. It's very precious." He looks at you with those soft green eyes. "Like you."

You lean into his side, feeling the familiar warmth of his arm around your waist. "You know what this means, right? Now we both have something gold to polish obsessively."

He chuckles, finally setting the Oscar down to pull you closer. "Oui, but unlike my trophies, this one was a long time coming." His expression softens. "You deserved this years ago, mon coeur."

"Well," you say, straightening his bowtie, "someone once told me that the sweetest victories are the ones you have to fight for."

"Sounds like a wise man," he grins.

"He's alright," you tease. "Bit of a show-off though. Keeps trying to steal my Oscar's spotlight."

Charles laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Never. Tonight is all yours, my love. Though..." he adds with a mischievous glint in his eye, "I might need to win another race soon. Can't have you being the only champion in the household."

You reach up to wipe a smudge of your lipstick from his cheek. "Race you to the next gold trophy?"

"Deal," he says softly, pulling you into a proper kiss. "But you've already won the most important race."

"Oh? Which one is that?"

His smile is tender as he touches his forehead to yours. "The race to my heart."

"That was terrible," you laugh, but you're already pulling him closer.

"Terrible but true," he murmurs against your lips. "Now, shall we go home? I need to practice my 'proud husband watching his wife's Oscar-winning performance' face for when we rewatch your movie for the hundredth time."

"You love that movie."

"I love you," he corrects.

And as you watch him carefully wrap your award in his suit jacket for the journey home, you think that maybe this victory is sweeter than you imagined - not because of the golden statue, but because of the golden heart beside you who never stopped believing it would happen.

[mrsstarkey1]

nothing good (getaway car) - d.s.

yn is in a loving relationship with a guy she has no complaints about. tom(blyth, holland, hiddleston, take ur pick) is amazing. only problem? it's too good. restless, always searching for an exit, she never expected to find it in drew starkey. one lingering glance from across the bar and suddenly, she’s slipping into the passenger seat of a getaway car she knows is bound to crash. but that’s the thing about running—it only ever feels good until the chase is over.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: slight smut, infidelity, cursing

obx masterlist

The theater is dark, the screen flickering with golden light, but you can’t focus.

Tom is sitting beside you, his hand resting on your thigh, the way a good boyfriend’s should. He’s completely absorbed in the film—his film—the one he’s poured his heart into. Every time the audience reacts, he squeezes your knee in excitement, like he’s saying, Did you hear that? They loved it.

And you try. You really do. You keep your eyes on the screen, laughing at all the right moments. But your mind drifts, the way it always does.

Because here you are again—bored.

It’s always like this. You get restless, your fingers itch for something new. You don’t mean to be this way. You don’t want to be this way. But no matter how good a man is, no matter how many red carpets or candlelit dinners or whispered I love yous you collect, you always end up feeling like this.

Detached. Distant. Disconnected.

Tom leans over, whispering, “That was my favorite scene. Did you like it?”

You force a smile, turning to him, trying to shake yourself out of it. “I loved it.”

His brows furrow slightly, blue eyes searching yours. “Are you okay?”

You nod quickly, turning your attention back to the screen. “Of course. I’m just tired.”

He believes you. Because why wouldn’t he? You’re the perfect girlfriend—always there, always smiling, always saying the right things.

But tonight, you’re not sure how much longer you can pretend.

The weight of it all presses against your chest—too many eyes, too many expectations. You can feel Tom’s hand at the small of your back, warm and steady, a silent reminder of the role you’re supposed to play. You force a smile, let him guide you through the crowd, nodding at familiar faces, laughing at jokes you barely register.

And yet, beneath the shimmering lights and flowing champagne, something inside you itches, restless and uncontained.

It’s loud. Too loud.

Hollywood types fill the room—directors, actors, agents, all talking too fast, laughing too hard. Tom is in his element, shaking hands, flashing that charming grin. You squeeze his arm. “Go socialize, movie star. I’m gonna grab a drink.” 

He hesitates for half a second before kissing your temple. “I won’t be long.”

You nod, already turning toward the bar.

But once you get there, you don’t leave.

One drink turns into two. Two turns into—who’s counting? The ice in your glass melts as you swirl it idly, your mind still elsewhere.

And then, you feel it.

A pair of eyes on you.

You look up, and there he is.

Drew Starkey.

Sitting across the room, leaning back in his seat, one arm draped lazily over the back of the booth. He’s watching you, a slow smirk playing on his lips, the kind that makes your stomach flip in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

You should look away.

You don’t.

He tilts his head slightly, as if to say, What’s a pretty girl like you doing drinking alone?

And that’s when you realize it—this is the moment. A moment you experience all too much. The point of no return.

You can get up, find Tom, pretend you never locked eyes with Drew Starkey across a crowded room. You haven’t done anything wrong, yet. 

Or you can pick up your drink, take a sip, and see what happens next.

You don’t look away.

Neither does he.

It’s a game of chicken now, the kind you shouldn’t be playing when your boyfriend is just across the room, laughing it up with his costars. But Drew doesn’t seem to care about that little detail—not with the way his lips curl at the edges, amused, like he already knows exactly how this will play out. 

And then—he stands.

You exhale slowly, turning back to your drink like you don’t notice. Like you don’t feel the heat of his gaze cutting through the crowd as he moves toward you.

A beat. Then, a voice, smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.

“You looked lonely.”

You glance up. He’s already leaning against the bar, a lazy confidence in the way he takes up space. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of his collarbone, sleeves rolled up in a way that feels entirely calculated.

You arch a brow, playing along. “And you just couldn’t let that stand?”

Drew tilts his head slightly, eyes flickering over your face. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he orders a drink, “Old Fashioned, please,” before turning his full attention back to you.

“Let’s just say I’m a humanitarian.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Saint Drew Starkey, patron of lonely girls at bars.”

He smirks, tapping the rim of his glass before taking a slow sip. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

The conversation is easy, effortless, a kind of push-and-pull that makes something in your chest tighten. You’re intrigued—because of course you are. Because he’s intriguing.

And hot as hell.

You knew that before, in a vague, yeah-he’s-attractive kind of way. But now that he’s right in front of you, now that you can see the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his blue eyes flicker under the dim bar lights—yeah, you get it.

He studies you like he’s trying to figure something out.

“So, what’s a girl like you doing sitting at a bar alone at her boyfriend’s movie premiere?”

There it is.

He knows who you are. He knows who you’re here for. And he’s still standing way too close, still watching you like he wants something.

The smart thing to do would be to laugh, brush him off, go find Tom.

Instead, you tilt your head, tapping a nail against your glass. “Maybe I like a little space.”

Drew hums, like that answer doesn’t surprise him. Like he already knew it.

And then, he leans in—just enough for his voice to drop into something lower, more dangerous.

“Or maybe you’re just looking for an exit.”

Your breath catches. "Is that an observation?" You tilt your head to search his eyes, "or an invitation?"

Drew’s lips twitch like he wasn’t expecting you to match his energy so easily. He takes a slow sip of his drink, watching you over the rim before setting the glass down with a quiet clink.

“Depends,” he muses, running a finger along the condensation on his glass. “Would you take it if it was?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. He’s good—too good. The kind of smooth that should make you wary. Key word being should.

Instead, you angle yourself toward him, elbow resting on the bar as you meet his gaze. “You always talk in circles, or is that just for me?”

Drew smirks, tipping his head slightly. “Maybe you make it more fun.”

His voice is easy, teasing, but there’s something beneath it. A challenge. A dare.

Your fingers tap against the bar. You should excuse yourself, find Tom, do anything but sit here, entertaining this.

But instead, you lean in just slightly, close enough that his scent—something sharp, something expensive—wraps around you.

“You think I’m here for fun?” you ask, lips barely curving.

Drew hums, eyes flickering to your mouth before dragging back up. “Here—meaning sitting at this bar with me?”

You nod once, unsure of his angle.

He pretends to think it over, tilting his glass in his hand. Then, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach tighten, he murmurs, “No. I think you’re here because you hate events where you have to pretend to be in love with your boyfriend.”

Your fingers tighten around your drink. The ice clinks against the glass.

Because he isn’t wrong.

And the fact that he sees it so clearly? That should bother you.

But you find yourself leaning in just a little closer. "And what makes you think I’m pretending?"

Drew smirks, slow and knowing. "Because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t still be sitting here."

You stare at him, your brain and heart running on overdrive.

You know what should happen next. You should finish your drink, put on a smile, and go find Tom—stand next to him, wrap an arm around his waist, remind yourself that he’s good. That he’s kind, and sweet, and proud of you. That you’re supposed to be his.

But of course, you don’t.

“And if I left?” you ask, voice quiet, just for him. “Would you follow?”

His lips twitch, his amusement barely concealed. “That depends. Are you running?”

Your pulse jumps. You swallow, setting your glass down. 

Because yes. Of course you are. You always do.

Drew watches you carefully, fingers tapping against the bar. He could call your bluff. Could smirk and let you go back to your perfect little life. Could make it easy for you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in, close enough for his breath to ghost against your cheek. “You want an exit?” he murmurs. “I’ll give you one.”

You don’t have time to second-guess.

Because suddenly, your feet are moving. Your heart is pounding.

You don’t check to see if Tom notices. You don’t check to see if anyone does. You just slip through the crowd, past glittering gowns and crisp suits and clinking glasses, and push through the doors into the cool night air.

A sleek black car is idling by the curb. The driver barely glances up before stepping out to open the door.

Drew nods at him, then looks at you. A silent question.

You take one last breath of hesitation. One last chance to stop this before it starts.

The second you slide into the car, a laugh bubbles up in your throat—light, breathless, entirely uncontrollable.

Drew gets in after you, shutting the door with a quiet click, and that’s it. You’re gone. No cameras, no flashing lights, no careful smiles. Just the two of you and the city slipping past in a blur.

You press a hand to your lips, still grinning, the adrenaline coursing hot through your veins. This is so bad. Reckless. Messy. But God, it feels good.

Drew watches you, amusement flickering in his eyes as he leans back, stretching an arm along the seat. “You always run this fast?”

You shoot him a look, “Only when there’s something worth running to.” He's good, you've seen that throughout the night. But you know you're better.

His lips twitch, and instead of answering, he reaches forward—plucks a chilled bottle of champagne from the car’s minibar like it was meant for this exact moment. The foil crinkles, the cork pops, and you flinch before giggling again, head tilting back against the seat.

“Jesus,” you exhale, watching as he pours, the bubbles rising in the glass.

Drew smirks, passing one to you. “To running.”

You clink your glass against his, eyes glinting under the streetlights. “To the story of my life," you mumble.

The champagne is cold and sharp against your tongue, fizzing like the thrill still buzzing under your skin. You take another sip, letting your body sink into the moment, into the warmth, into the sheer wrongness of it all.

Drew watches you over the rim of his glass, gaze flickering to your lips before dragging back up. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to.

Because you know.

This is the part where you should hesitate. Where you should remember Tom, the careful life you just stepped out of, the lines you’re about to cross.

But you don’t.

Instead, you lean in, setting your glass aside, hands bracing against the seat as you crawl onto his lap, fabric slipping high on your thighs.

Drew hums, low in his throat, hands finding your waist like it’s second nature. “You move fast.”

You smirk, fingers curling into the undone knot of his tie. “You just noticed?"

Then his lips are on yours, hot and insistent and God help you, you can't remember Tom's name.

The kiss is messy, rushed, all tongue and need, like you’re making up for lost time neither of you even knew you missed. You fist a hand in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth.

The car takes a sharp turn, and Drew pulls back just enough to look at you, lips swollen, eyes dark. His fingers ghost over your jaw, then trail down, slow, deliberate.

“This is the part," he licks his lips, eyes scanning over your face, "where you tell me if you want to go home, or to the hotel on the end of the street."

You could play coy. You could make him chase. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean in, lips brushing against his, and whisper, “Make sure it's a suite."

The grin that spreads across his face is pure sin. 

The next few minutes are a blur of heat and hands and whispered things you won’t remember in the morning. The car stops, a door opens, and Drew is pulling you out, his grip firm around your wrist.

You follow him through the back entrance, avoiding the glow of security cameras overhead. The way he moves—quick, confident, like he’s done this before—sends a thrill down your spine. Inside, the lobby is quiet, dimly lit. A night worker barely glances up as Drew approaches the desk, exchanging a few low words you can’t quite catch.

It’s the way it happens so smoothly, the way the worker nods without question, slipping him a key card like it’s routine, that has something twisting deep in your stomach.

You should probably wonder. Ask questions. But instead, it just turns you on more.

Drew glances back at you, lips twitching like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He slides the key into his pocket and reaches for your hand, his grip firm, leading you toward the elevators.

The moment the doors slide shut, his hands are on you again—palming at your waist, pressing your back against the cool metal, mouth hungry at the curve of your jaw.

The ride to the top floor is torturous. Every second feels stretched too thin, charged with heat. When the doors open, he doesn’t let go of you, walking backward down the hall like he can’t bear to break the contact.

The second the suite door shuts behind you, Drew’s on you again—his hands firm on your hips, his mouth already seeking yours like he’s been starved for it. His kisses are deep, urgent, but teasing too, like he enjoys dragging this out just to watch you fall apart.

Your fingers work quickly at the buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders, reveling in the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. He lets you undress him without protest, but his hands aren’t idle—his fingers skim under the hem of your dress, pushing it up inch by inch, teasing.

As he tugs it over your head, he leans in, breath warm against your ear. “You always this impatient, or am I just special?”

You scoff, raking your nails down his chest. “Shut up and take your pants off.”

His low chuckle vibrates against your skin, but he obeys, kicking them off to be long forgotten. The two of you leave a careless trail of clothing across the hardwood floor, stumbling blindly toward the bedroom.

You pull back for a breath, chest rising and falling, but Drew doesn’t let you go far—his lips immediately attach to your collarbone, teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin. A sharp sigh escapes you, your head tilting back to give him more access.

Your eyes flick around the room, momentarily distracted. "God, this place is nice," you murmur.

Drew hums against your skin, his lips still working their way lower. “Yeah? You thinking about interior design right now?”

You chuckle, fingers weaving into his hair as you tug lightly, forcing his gaze down to yours. "No, baby, only thinking of you," you tease, looking at him through your lashes.

A slow smirk spreads across his lips, dark and knowing, before his hands slide down to your thighs—gripping firm before lifting you with effortless strength. You barely have time to react before he all but throws you onto the mattress, the plush bedding sinking beneath your weight.

He towers over you, his eyes raking over your body like he’s committing every inch to memory. Then, he tilts his head, voice rough yet laced with amusement. 

"You know," he muses, finger tracing down your bare stomach, dancing around the fabric of your thong. "I don’t feel great about stealing Tom’s girl, especially on the night of his big premiere," he tsks. "He’s a great actor. Seems like a great guy."

You freeze for half a second, your brows lifting as your eyes snap to his. The smirk playing on his lips is lazy, arrogant—like he knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how to get under your skin.

Your fingers ghost over the waistband of his briefs, "Are you saying you want to stop? Hmm? 'Cause I'm sure he'd be happy to come take your place. I mean, you've already got me all hot and ready for hi-"

Drew lets out a sharp breath—almost a laugh, but darker. His mouth ghosts over your jaw, trailing down your neck, teeth grazing over your pulse point as he mutters, "Careful."

Heat pools low in your stomach, and you don’t bother fighting the grin tugging at your lips.

"Then shut up the fuck up about Tom."

He huffs out a low chuckle against your skin. "Who?" 

That’s enough talking, you both decide. 

His lips are slow, teasing, dragging across your skin in a way that has you gasping, hands grasping at him, nails digging into his back. He takes his time, savoring every reaction, every breathy moan he pulls from your lips.

And when he finally gives in, it’s fast and slow all at once—like he can’t get enough of you, but also wants to make this last. His touch is firm, controlled, but there’s a hunger beneath it, an urgency that makes heat coil low in your stomach. His hands roam your body, memorizing, mapping, claiming.

He’s good. Too good. The kind of good that makes you dizzy, that makes you forget your own name, let alone the one of the man you left behind tonight.

“God,” you breathe, fingers digging into his shoulders as he moves against you, burning skin on burning skin. He makes a noise in the back of his throat at the sound of your voice, like he’s reveling in the way you come undone beneath him. His name spills from your lips, a whisper, a plea, a curse all at once.

Drew’s mouth finds yours again, swallowing every sound, every broken breath. His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, like he knows this can’t last but wants to make it count anyway.

And you let him.

You let him pull you under, let him ruin you in the best possible way, let him set a fire to everything you thought you knew.

Because for the first time in a long time—you feel something.

And it’s intoxicating. 

Drew is asleep beside you, his arm hooked around your waist, his breathing slow and steady. The room is dark except for the city lights bleeding in through the window, painting streaks of gold across the sheets.

Your body is still buzzing, your mind still running in circles. You stare at the ceiling, your heart pounding with something that isn’t just adrenaline. It’s something deeper, something heavier. The weight of everything you just did, everything this means.

You should leave.

But as you shift slightly, testing the idea, Drew’s grip tightens in his sleep, his arm flexing just enough to pull you closer, as if even unconscious, he can sense you trying to go.

You freeze.

A sharp inhale. A pause.

Your eyes flick toward the hotel desk. A notepad and pen sit untouched beside the lamp, waiting.

You think about what you’d write.

I’m sorry. No. Too simple. Too empty.

This was a mistake. A lie.

Don’t follow me. You don’t even know if you mean it.

The words swirl in your mind, shifting, twisting, refusing to settle.

You press your lips together, staring at the blank page from across the room.

And you wonder if you’ll actually write anything at all.

---

requests open!

[c-oupsie]

okay, my love, i am here to officially request ruining vernon with some kind of vibe around these dialogue prompts "do you know how long I've been waiting for this?" and "Use me. Fuck Me. Do whatever you want, but god, please touch me"

like that general vibe of desperate vernon wanting to be ruined and used??? i am feral at the mere thought

you can go wild with the rest of it, and you dont even need to write it smutty if you don't want, just do what you feel it right, bby. i just request the vibes, man, the vibes.

i fear i will go insane and ramble forever if i don't send this rn omg

luv u bby 💗

[9:12AM] - vernon

ⓘ college student! vernon x tutor! f! reader — college au, SMUT (MDNI), reader is mentioned to have big tits and thighs and some pubic hair, kinda bottom! vernon, sloppy make out, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, handjob, spitting, overstimulation, bodily fluids (cum).

1.8k words — note. thank you for requesting, my love! (and thank you @haologram and @beomcoups for beta reading ‹𝟹) you know I love writing a desperate vernon, so I had a field day with this one. hope you enjoy ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

oh,

oh,

oh, fuck.

this is not what you're used to seeing during your advanced arithmetics tutoring private lessons, but alas, you're not one to complain; not with such a delightful sight first thing in the morning.

not when said sight makes your eyes twinkle, your heart pound, and your pussy clench impossibly tight around thin air the more you look at it—the more you look at him, your favorite student sitting on his single bed, back resting on the wall behind him, eyes closed and head thrown back, his usual adidas sweatpants pulled down just enough for his impressive dick to be free of restraints as his slender fingers jerk it off with expertise.

and your eyes lock in on it, completely entranced by how flush, and long, and curved, and pretty it looks—just like you always imagined—just like its owner: vernon, a second year student that, although actually pretty good in arithmetics, begged you to tutor him for an exam he just couldn't seem to pass. today was supposed to be the final session before his test, but with the scene unfolding in front of you, you suppose that's not going to happen.

to be fair, you should've texted him to let him know you'd be coming over about half an hour earlier than agreed—but how were you supposed to know that you'd be catching him like this? moaning and groaning and whimpering while desperately milking his own cock? so desperate he didn't hear your knocks, or you opening his bedroom door?

and fuck. you know you should turn away and erase this moment from your mind, but instead your eyes trail up from his dick to his blissed, completely fucked out and sweaty face. his lips are full and plump and red because of all the slow torture his teeth are putting them through in a futile effort to stay somehow quiet and not be heard from his roommates—the same ones who let you in just moments before.

your naked thighs start rubbing together, seeking some kind of relief, but all it does is make you even hornier. you can feel your own arousal slowly trickle down your inner thighs, eyes again locked on his angry cock, leaking and leaking non stop as it gets fucked with his hand.

then, a deep, guttural moan leaves vernon's lips, and you quickly go to look up at his expression, only to find him already looking at you. desperate, frantic—needy. you gasp at how intense his look is.

“____” vernon's voice is broken, breathless, his hips now jolting with every stroke. “please, please-”

“fuck…” you whisper, the knot in your lower stomach starting to tighten as he whines your name, as he begs you to help him in the prettiest, dirties way. 

you're getting dizzy just looking at him—and there's no way you can resist him, so, heart pounding, you turn to lock the door and seconds later, you find yourself standing between vernon’s spread legs.

you groan as you throw your backpack on the floor, eyes never leaving his clouded, lustful ones. how someone can look this fucking pretty and pliant, just waiting for your next move, is a wonder to you.

“hands off.” you say all of a sudden, and his eyes widen. hesitantly, he stops stroking himself, his pink tip drooling with precum, but he doesn't unwrap his hand. you click your tongue, then, bend forward so you can face him. 

“____ …” vernon whimpers when your minty breath hits his flushed face, his adam’s apple bobbing at the sight of your full tits being held up by your tank top—the sluttiest one he’s seen you wear thus far. the amount of times he’d gotten off with them in mind, dreaming about kissing, licking, fondling, fucking them was embarrassing. 

thoughtlessly, his fingers start moving on his shaft again, but you hastily grab his wrist. 

“off.” 

and this time, he obeys, the look in your eyes causing a shiver to run down his spine, and he can’t help it when he groans: “use me. fuck me. do whatever you want, but god, please touch me.”

at vernon's words, your pussy clenches, another trickle of arousal running down your hot skin. you don't think you’ll ever hear anything hotter than this, from a pretty boy like him nonetheless, for the rest of your life.

you're so fucking wet.

“do you know how long I've been waiting for this, nonie?” you mewl, your thumb tracing his bottom lip while your other hand drops his wrist, your fingertips now lightly tracing the veins on his length. he shudders. “wanna know how many times I pictured you saying those words to me?” you continue, your voice charged with raw lust. “how many times I’ve had to hold myself back from pulling these fucking sweatpants down?” 

he forces his eyes to stay open, forces himself not to cum the moment you spit on his cock and wrap your hand around it before starting a slow, lingering up and down movement—however, vernon's eyes do roll back a little when you push your manicured thumb inside his mouth. 

“and hell, do you never put underwear on? or is it just for our tutoring sessions that you skip out on it?” you lightly squeeze his weeping cock, thighs rubbing together when he moans around your finger. “god, I could see your cock twitch every time I took a glance at it. bet you loved watching me drool at how hard and big it looked under these.”

vernon's dick throbs in your hand, his hazel eyes jumping between your eyes, tits and fingers covered in his precum. 

“fucking perv.” you mutter, popping your finger out of his mouth to grab his wrist and bring his hand to your chest, the little black tank top you picked today doing nothing to hide how hard your nipples are for him.

“god–” vernon’s voice cracks when he gets a hold of your boobs, his long fingers wasting no time before starting to knead them, and his warm, sticky with sweat palm, paired with the rough fabric rubbing against your sensitive nipples causes a whimper to leave your lips, pussy pulsing under his mesmerized gaze.

in a swift movement, he pushes down your top, and his length twitches in your hold when he finally sees them naked because, as always, you had— “no bra…” he breathes, admiring your perked up nipples with a dreamy look. if he didn't start toying with them the second after, you probably would've giggled at how adorable his face was.

“yeah. made me a perv too. look—” you whine, your hand still jerking him off painfully slow as the other reaches for the one button holding your skirt up. you unbutton it, and the cloth falls down to the floor, revealing your bare, drenched cunt to his eyes. “look what you do to me, nonie.”

he could see your arousal dripping down your legs, the morning rays dancing on the skin of your plush thighs, and the sight of you, your pretty, fiery eyes looking down at him, glorious body almost naked between his thighs, pretty pussy on sight, his own hands playing with your tits while yours stroke his dick—

fuck– vernon wonders how he still hasn't busted the fattest nut in the universe.

“you’re–” he gasps out, “so, so, gorgeous-” he barely manages to say before your lips finally smash against his own with a high-pitched moan coming from you. and as you whine and whimper in his mouth, your tongues clashing for the first time, all he can think is how much better this is compared to all of the wet dreams he’s had about you.

and then, he can feel it– can feel his high approaching, fast. your hand’s strokes become quicker, more expert, and he can barely fucking think as he can feel your knees sinking on the bed, now straddling him.

“wan’” he struggles to speak, mind clouded by so much pleasure he feels as if he’s about to see the golden gates, but still, his hand slides from your full tits to your hips. his words are muffled when he says: “wan’ you to feel good too–” 

your hips jolt forward when his slender fingers trace your pussy lips and the little patch of hair on top, before immediately finding your clit—throbbing, waiting to be played with. and so, vernon does.

he wastes no time trapping it between his fingers and teasing it with his thumb, making you gasp and yelp in his mouth desperately, your hand struggling to keep a steady tempo jerking him off, your kiss becoming sloppier, messier by the second. 

“s-slow down—” he’s the one to beg when he can feel his balls and abs starting to tighten, his high imminent. “ple– fuck– no-” he continues, but instead, you keep going– even faster, your melodic moans, your bouncy tits his hand is still kneading, your warm pussy as he continues toying with your clit only speeding the process.

“don- don’ hold back, nonie–” you almost sob, nails raking at his scalp as if begging him. “cum for me. wanna see you cum–”

and vernon is but a man—a man who’s been having a crush on you for months. a man who's been jerking off for a good twenty minutes before you walked into his bedroom. a man who truly hopes this isn't the nth dream he has about finally getting to have you. a man who, even if he’d love to make you cum first, he knows he’s reached his limit—so, he cums.

he cums with a whimper, his eyes crossing, and with his hands fondling the soft skin of your thighs. and god, does he cum a lot. thick ropes of release shoot out and land on his stomach and torso, half covered by the black zip up on him as he moans and gasps your name. 

that’s almost enough to make you cum too, your cunt dripping even more as you help him ride out his high, your lips drinking in his every sound and sigh. then, after what feels like forever, vernon pulls back from your kiss and, if you could, you’d take a picture to immortalize the moment.

he’s unsurprisingly gorgeous, even more post-nut. his eyes are glazed, his cheeks are deep red, and so are his lips: full and puffy after being tortured by yours. 

then, a glint in his eye, and a finger tracing your drenched folds before it slowly teases your entrance.

“this is the last time I’m coming first.”

⨯ taglist: @aaniag @dokyeomkyeom @soonsgrl

[twice-inamillion]

The Company Series

Sister Reunion

Smut 

Chapter 21

2,040 Words 

(Welcoming someone new is always nice, so is having a bit of fun. )

“Just one more, you almost got it.” 

“Argh, fuck… I can’t! I can’t…”

“Come on, you can do it.” 

“Shut up, you’re why I’m in this place.” 

Jessica squeezes your hand with all her might. “Argh, I’m so tired…”

The doctor enthusiastically says, “Just one more, almost there.”

Jessica gives one final push, “Argh!” 

You feel like your hand is about to break off from the force when you hear a loud cry. 

“There you go, “Congratulations to the both of you.” 

Jessica finally lets go of your hand and asks, “Doctor, how is he?” 

“A perfectly healthy baby boy.” 

“Thank god.” Jessica’s relieved after going through so much, “Can I hold him?”

“Of course.”

You watch as the nurse approaches Jessica and gives her the newborn. She holds her baby with precaution and moves the thin blanket covering him. The baby is so tiny, its eyes struggling to open. 

“My… my baby,” she says, caressing his face. Hearing his mother’s voice, the newborn slowly extends his hand, wrapping its fingers around her thumb.

——-

It’s been a few weeks since the baby was born. You’ve spent most of your time with Jessica and your child. At first, it was a bit nerve-wracking as you didn’t know how to hold or even change the baby. 

Luckily, you picked things up quickly and enjoyed your time with them. You watched as the baby would cry whenever he was hungry and Jessica would immediately feed him. You could feel the sudden change, the motherly warmth she displayed.

“How is it that I’m jealous of my kid?”

Jessica looks at you and says, “This is for the baby.” 

“Come on, let me have a taste,” you say as a tease.

”Stop… don’t say that in front of the baby,” she says in a playful tone.

“Then let me put him to sleep.” 

Gently, you put the baby in the crib after a few minutes in your arms. It’s hard work but something that you hope to get used to. 

As you turn your head, you see Jessica in a relaxed position, her blouse unbuttoned and her breasts completely exposed. She waves you down, “Come on, get mommy’s milk.” 

You hip your lips and walk towards Jessica, laying your head on her lap. She slowly kneads her right breast, causing a slight cream fluid to appear from her nipple. She teases you and says, “Come get your drink.” 

“Are you for real?”

“You said you wanted some, so here, have a taste.”

There’s no need for second thoughts as you trace your tongue across her nipple. Jessica feels goosebumps from the sudden sensation but doesn’t stop you as she watches you take her breast into your mouth. 

“There, there… does it feel good drinking mommy’s milk?”

You nod, increasing the pressure of your suckling. She caresses your head and slowly gets turned on by the position you two are in. 

“Let’s have some fun while we’re at it,” she says, looking at your shorts.

She slowly moves her hand, unzipping your shorts, not wanting you to get distracted. She fishes out your limp cock and wraps her cold hands around your member. It startles you, the cold sensation, but you don’t lose your attention on her breast. 

Jessica gets a firm grip and slowly pumps your cock, peeling your foreskin until your mushroom head is in full view. 

Hungrily, Jessica says, “I missed this cock so much.” You slightly open your eyes and see Jessica licking her lip. “It’s so nice and thick.” You feel her grip get stronger as she pumps you, “I know you’re fucking other women while, in a way, you're a fucken man whore.” 

All you do is listen as you continue to suckle on her breast. Her strokes intensify, using your percum as lube. You grunt, “fuck… keep going.”

As she increases her stroking pace, you hear the door suddenly open, “Unnie, I brought you something to eat…” Krystal’s eyes widen at the scene before her, “Umm… sorry…” 

“Don’t, it’s fine, come in.”

Krystal walks into the room and tries to avoid eye contact, but the sound of your meat being stoked prevents it. She stands a few feet away, but Jessica calls out for her, “Come, remember this cock?” 

Krystal shyly walks towards the both of you and just watches as her older sister strokes your cock. Her eyes focus on the large amount of pre cum leaking from your cock. 

With Krystal just above you, Jessica grins and increases the intensity of her strokes. “Remember his cock inside of you? How his cum filled you inside.” Jessica watches as her sister’s breathing becomes heavy, the memory of her being taken by you. Krystal feels herself getting wet just thinking about it.

Suddenly, she feels a hot sensation on her face, which snaps her back to reality. She touches her cheek and looks at her finger, a semi-transparent liquid. “What the hell… did he cum on me?” 

Jessica looks at Krystal and says, “Sorry, he couldn’t hold it any longer. Look, he’s still leaking.” Krystal remains silent, watching as the tip of your cock slowly releases a stream of cum.

“Be a good younger sister and clean him off, please.”

“What? Wh…why should I?”

“Please…. You know I would, but, you know…” and looks at you, still sucking on her breast. 

“Fuck, fine… where’s the tissues…”

Jessica tries to hold her grin, “Oh, I didn’t mean to use tissues; that’s a waste. How about you use your mouth.” 

“What? Why?”

“Don’t you know how precious his cum is?” 

“But…”

“Do it…” 

Krystal realizes how serious her sister is about this. She nods and slowly sits on the opposite side of Jessica. She gulps as she sees your cock covered in cum. Her body trembles as she puts her tongue on your slimy cum covered cock. 

“Come on, Krystal, lick it off like a good girl.” 

She whines, but deep down, she feels a sense of adrenaline from being treated so poorly. Slowly, she licks the base of your crotch, working her way from the bottom. 

Eventually, after much licking, she gets to the tip of your cock. “Go on, have a taste from the source.” 

Krystal grabs your cock and slowly presses it between her lips. Her mouth stretches as she takes most of your cock. She slowly bobs her head, remembering the previous time she had with you. 

On the other side, you feel Krystal’s hot mouth on your cock and give a slight view. Jessica turns your cheek and kisses you, distracting you from what’s below. She suddenly whispers in your ear, “Go on, baby, have a little fun. She’s told me she can’t forget that one night.”

Your expression changes, and grabs Krystal’s head, “Your sister said you like my cock.” Krystal lifts her head and notices your smirk, causing her heart to suddenly beat faster. 

“Come on, this cock isn’t going to suck itself.” 

“Uh..uh…”

”Uh.. what? Go on.”

Krystal's body trembles, and nervously nods her head. She goes back to pleasuring your cock. She feels your gaze, knowing that you’re watching her as she goes down on you. 

“Fuck… try taking more of it…”

She tries taking more of your member into her mouth, but it’s too much. Her mouth is already at her limit; she feels like her mouth would break. Krystal looks up and sees your face, “Go on…”  

You get frustrated as Krystal takes her time and decides to give her a helping hand. Without her noticing, you put your hands around the back of her head and push her down. Krystal eyes widen by your sudden action. She feels her mouth stretch to its limit and tries to pull away but can't. It might just be a slight amount of pressure, but it’s too much for her small frame. 

Krystal feels like her jaw is about to break, and a slight panic kicks in. She looks up at you and notices your face of satisfaction. She’d seen that face before with her boyfriend whenever she would go down on him and get upset when he would be forceful. With you, it was another story; she knew that you could be sweet based on your interaction with her sister but knows that getting you upset wasn’t something she would want to do. 

She takes a deep breath and lets herself be used by your cock. You bob her head on your cock, feeling every part of her mouth and throat. You feel no resistance coming from Krystal and continue to enjoy yourself. 

“Your mouth feels so good. You two are really sisters, haha.”

You press her head deeper, reaching her throat even more. The deeper you push, the more of a reaction you get from her. “I can’t stand it anymore, I’m going to fuck your face.” 

Krystal’s facial expression changes as she feels a tighter grip around her head. She begins to gag as you thrust your cock back and forth. “Fuck, yes. That’s it.” 

“Gawk, gawk, gawk…”

All you hear is the sound of your cock hitting Krystal’s throat, becoming a real-life fleshlight. Little by little, the lack of air causes her to panic; she puts her hands on your thighs and tries to push you off. 

Instead, you hold her tighter than before, wanting to see her struggle with the remaining air she has. Krystal pushes you once more; she gives you a few smacks on the leg, signaling that she’s about to pass out.

She looks at you, and you can see the look on her face; she is begging you to help her. Words like,  “Please, stop, I can’t breathe” go through her brain, but she can’t say out loud. 

With her head on your hands, you feel Krystal tremble, her eyes twitching and starting to roll back. Suddenly, your balls explode and pour into Krystal's throat. You hold her with all your might as you pump her stomach full of your thick milk. 

Krystal’s eyes finally roll back completely as her last remaining air runs out. “That was good,” you say as you pull out your flaccid cock out of her mouth. 

Krystal slips off and hits the floor, your cum oozing out of her. You watch as there is no reaction from her. You kneel and grab her face, giving it a gentle slap.

 *Cough, cough*

Krystal coughs heavily as her body takes in as much air as possible. “Look at the camera, little sis.” 

Jessica snaps a series of pictures of her sister and says, “This is what you get for getting on my bad side.” 

———

You’re returning to Korea after spending a few weeks with Jessica and your child. Currently, you’re in a conference call with Jieun to discuss the final details about the survival show that you and JYP plan on doing soon. 

“Everything is going well with the preparations. You should have the most up-to-date information on the survival show.” 

“Thanks for your hard work while I was gone.”

”It’s no problem, sir. I’m more than happy to step in when needed.”

There is a brief silence, “Something on your mind, Jieun?”

”Yes, sir. I have some news.”

”Go on.”

”I’m sending you a file through your secure phone.”

*Ding* 

You grab your phone, see it’s a jpeg attachment, and download it. The screen changes, and you see Jisoo, Jennie, Rosé, and Lisa standing in a line, holding something in their hand. Your expression changes, “Is it what I think it is?”

”Yes, sir. Congratulations on breeding all four members.”

You can’t help but have a large smile and ask, “What was their reaction?”

”Jisoo and Jennie took it quite well. Lisa was a bit confused at the beginning but accepted the fact. Rosé, on the other hand, was bawling at the news and locked herself out for a whole day, but after a firm talk, I made her understand her position in the company.”

”Good…”

“I’m glad you’re pleased, sir.”

”Relay a message to them.”

”Of course.”

”Tell them that I expected a lovely welcome when I arrive.” 

[bigtittiecomitte]

It is still unbelievable that Nuzi became canon like I still can’t wrap my head around it. When I came into the fandom around November 2022, Nuzi was HATED because of the implications that Uzi was a teen and N was not even though ages were never specific so I kept to myself like I always did in a fandom. Watching the Episode 3 premiere and seeing Uzi first blush at N bro I was SCREAMING, honestly the whole episode made me scream

It just got better and better each episode for Nuzi and so many fights going on whether it was a proship or not I was in the battlefield 😭 Obviously then the holding hand scene happened and that was amazing, I can’t even describe my feelings when I saw it because I knew that somehow people were going to try and make it look as platonic as possible

Being a hardcore Nuzi shipper since day 2 and hearing the words “So are we like…dating?” YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

This was my very first fandom where I actually interacted with it. I made an entire account dedicated to it and made theories and junk, I had never done that before with any other fandom. I definitely think it was best of me to have started this account during the 2023 hiatus just cause if I made it earlier I probably would’ve gotten death threats or something over liking the two drones from Killer Drones (just know I’m never making a tiktok account tho, over there they still think that Nuzi shippers paid Liam for it to be canon 🦧)

So thank you Nuzi, you will always be my forever OTP someone please ask Liam if drones can smoke weed

2021 ❤️ 2024 💖

[rosenclaws]

For the fluff prompts, the second to last one is really cute 👀👀👀

prompt - absentmindedly playing with their hair at all times

wc: 456

a/n: I pictured this with trilogy Logan and his gorgeous fluffy hair lol

Movie night was one of your favorites, even if it got a little crowded sometimes. The living room was packed with everyone who could fit. You on the very edge of the couch with Jean and Scott next to you. Jubliee, Rogue, and Kitty were sitting on their stomachs too close to the screen as always.

"Logan, you're just in time." You hear Scott say, a smirk on his face knowing that Logan hates these kinds of things.

"Yeah no thanks." He grumbles.

"But Logan it's a classic! Pleaseeee" Rogue and Jubilee plead.

"Classic? I saw this when it released kid." He says with a snort. As he turns to leave he catches your gaze, a silent pleading look on your face. He could never say no to you. With a sigh he makes his way over towards the TV.

"Fine. But anyone starts talking and I'm out of here." Call it lucky or call it a punishment but the only spot left for Logan to sit was right in front of you.

"Hope you don't mind sweetheart," He says with a wink, letting your legs sit on his shoulders as he leans against the couch.

You're hyper aware of the attractive man sitting right in front of you, you can barely focus on the movie. This has to be some sort of ploy by the others or something. Slowly you find yourself getting wrapped up in the movie, during a particularly suspenseful scene you start to move your hands, just to give yourself something to do as the tension increases.

Suddenly you hear Logan let out a low groan. It's only then do you realize that you've been playing with his hair. You've always loved Logan's hair. I mean it just looked so fluffy and was always pointed up so unnaturally. You swore he used hair product but as you run your hands to the little tips there's not a hint of gel in sight. Your face burns in embarrassment as you slowly let go of his hair.

Only for his hand to come grab your wrist. He looks back at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he puts your hand back on his head. You look around and see everyone too wrapped up in the movie to notice. Yo gently dig your fingers back into his hair, playing with the tips and brushing it down just to point it again.

When the movie credits roll everyone disperses. You're a little sad knowing your time with Logan was over but he seems to catch the look on your face.

"Don't look so sad," He purrs, pulling you into his chest after everyone leaves the room.

"You can play with my hair anytime sweetheart."

[nereidof40k]

I wrote a little thing. Contains the Night Haunter and Nostramo. Might actually be sweet for Nostramo.

It’s always been dark on Nostramo. But somehow it seems darker now that she’s alone. With nobody and nothing to turn to, she knows her time is limited.

She bends over the sewing, working as fast as she can with cramping, bloody, sore fingers. The Night Haunter is no mere legend, she fervently hopes. Something is killing those who prey on the poor of Nostramo Quintus. That much is certain.

It is hours later when she staggers to her feet, stretching her aching body. Winding her shawl around her head, she brings her massive piece of sewing with her as she leaves the dilapidated room.

Walking the streets she stifles a giggle. This is undoubtedly the most insane idea she has ever had. She is probably not coming back from this alive, but that is inevitable whether she acts or not.

It is not raining for once, as she scans the buildings for movement.

Finally she hears a scream from a nearby alley. Before she can second guess herself, she moves that way.

In the middle of a scene of utter carnage is a dreadful towering figure. Moonlight pale, with long, midnight black hair. For a moment she freezes, unable to speak.

Then she clears her throat. “My Lord Night Haunter?” She asks quietly as he turns to look at her with raised eyebrows. It is hard to look him in the eyes, her heart is beating so hard it can probably be heard streets away.

Steeling herself, she holds up the bundle she holds. “I made this for you?” She squeaks.

He moves so quickly it’s impossible to see, taking the garment from her shaking hands and unfolding it.

Then he laughs. Long and loud. She is certain she is going to die, but her feet are glued to the ground.

To her eternal surprise, he gives her a toothy, blood stained grin and puts the tunic on. Somehow it fits him perfectly, covering him from throat nearly to knobby knees.

Then he picks her up. Once brought to his face, she wraps her arms around his neck in the closest approximation of a hug she can. He freezes with his teeth just touching her shoulder. For what seems like hours neither of them move. He feels cold.

Then, he shifts her in his arms, holding her tightly with one hand as he leaps away from the scene. This wasn’t how she had expected things to go, but the Night Haunter’s lair might be safer than her room. If he isn’t taking her home to eat her.

Part 1,5

[archiewantsheetmetal]

Phantom Railway Rambles!!

so im gonna yap before the first chapter comes out!! Which should be by tomorrow or the next day.

So! As you know, the two bugs (layton and luke) are going to be travelling together after losing everything they know. I wanted to really highlight their codependency and their jarringly similar situations in canon but in like. a different font.

In phantom railway. Hershel has literally EVERYTHING taken from him. Like it's more than just the evidence of the accident and nearly his life. They take his money. They take everything he owns that's of any interest. Oh and now that I'm thinking about it. Maybe they didn't beat his ass into a coma but maybe he had to drag himself away from the scene. Run hershel run. So now he's got poorly healed injuries and breaks.

I've had a conversation with someone and they mentioned Hershel having trust issues developing in the years following. Like he's definitely going to have seen how dark humanity can be and how dark is actually is. The world is a very dark shade of gray to him now. Things are never going to be given to you, especially if you have nothing to give in return. People are always going to take, and if they're desperate enough for something, they'll kill you for it.

With that being said, I think he would never let himself become too attached to anyone. He'd never stay in one place for too long, either. He doesn't want to get attached to anything, really, because he knows that nothing is permanent. Things that hold love are fleeting. Love sharpens the claws of grief. Also he never stays in one place because of something else too but yk. that's mostly it.

Luke!! However. I'm thinking of having him seeing the brighter shade. I want him to take after his mother in seeing the good in things. Maybe even to a fault. I want him to parallel Hershel that way. They're going to get on each other's nerves so so so bad at first.

Siiiiigh. I want Hershel to start seeing a little bit of past loved ones in Luke. And I want him to be a little reclusive to have anything to do with him because of that. Like the bare minimum would be all he does at first. Makes sure he doesn't freeze. Makes sure he eats. That sort of thing. But Hershel "I crave the company of another person" Layton is obviously. going to get attached to him whether or not he likes it. Sorry buddy. He's your godson but now he's your boy. Go root through trash together.

Luke's also gonna lie to him. Lie his fucking heart out btw. Luke your ass is not lost. He's going to find out soon you stupid boy. He hears you crying in your sleep.

AND!!! about their clothes. Because I've been thinking about it a little. I think Hershel would have learned to sew from Lucille and so he knows how to patch up his clothes. But he ALWAYS. makes sure. the hat is ok.

Also Herhsel. patching up luke's shirt. for him. scratches my head.

Okay sorry. Thinking out lioud here. I think it might be out by morning or sometime later in the afternoon. I hope you guys like it. Grin!

[prettyboykatsuki]

I know you've mentioned you dislike for light(which I am sooo for I hate him) but can I ask how death note as a series influenced you with characterization? Same with haikyuu I love it sm

i know death note and haikyuu are polar opposites in series content but in my opinion, they both do a really good job in handling the cause and effect of character interaction and demonstrating the influence of a chain events on both a characters mindset and their actions.

in death note, you spend most of the series listening the lights monologue - but you don't really get to see whats wrong with his ideology until L comes in the picture and consistently challenges lights ideas, intelligence, and demeanor. lights paranoia increases with each push and pull of their relationship - and it's explicitly because light and L understand each other. they're probably the only people in the world who knows the other so intimately and there's legitimacy to their relationship that unifies them that even light cannot completely ignore.

the complexity of L's death is largely responsible for lights spiral out as a character. on the roof top scene just before L dies, he confronts light head on for the first time. aware of both his betrayal and circumstances, and their participation in this cat and mouse game. ultimately, L hears the bell toll. in the end, light is unable to tell L the truth even up to his death

but their connection, their bond is undeniable. when L dies, even at the peak of ligths god complex - he is no longer a version of himself that is able to keep up with kira. they needed each other. without the threat and challenge of L in lights life - he was unable to carry out his work. they became crucial, integral to each other, over the course of the series.

the way death note goes about building, developing, and executing this relationship is brilliant. light, on paper, is a genius with a perfect life. so extraordinarily intelligent in his own right that becoming god of the new world felt truly feasible to him because he viewed all people as somehow beneath him.

but l comes into his life and challenges him. rouses him. forces him to outsmart him all the time. they truly, deeply, and sincerely understood each other under the layers and layers of circumstances - so much so that it makes you wonder how their lives would've been had they had a relationship from the start.

death note mostly influenced how i handled a character dialogue and conversation. how do people interact with each other? how are actions interlocked with a characters word choice? for what reasons would a characters internal monologue be incongruent with their behavior and how does this effect the relationship? what does it say? what things are they choosing to lie about etc

this is already very long so ill try to keep the haikyuu section shorter - but haikyuu is easily the most formative piece of media in my life and teen years and i think it accomplishes similar feats with its characterization.

the story relies primarily on character interaction in a way that feels very similar to me. there's no supernatural elements, no magic to demonstrate the efforts of the characters. reaching new heights is something that is done alongside another person. growth and develop and practice on your own can only take you so far. you are most influenced by who you are around. this is a common theme in sports manga but no manga does it as good as haikyuu

anyways. sorry for this ramble. these series r both super dear to me.

[writingisart-yes]

Game #7 - Not Blushing, You Are

Game 1 Game 2 Game 3 Game 3.5 Game 4 Game 5 Game 6 Game 7

Brief spicy scene, but nothing too bad.

I say it over and over again, my new personal mantra. It was just a dream. I whisper it under my breath with every step I take. I shut up as I get closer to the dining room, the words taking place in my thoughts instead. Can’t have them thinking I’m insane can I? Oh Fuck it. It’s hell everyone’s insane.

I felt off today. It might just be my hangover, but I couldn’t shake this feeling. I paused in the doorway. Alastor. He’s not doing anything special, just sipping his morning coffee while talking to Charlie about what I presume to be hotel plans.

But damn, he’s infuriatingly beautiful. Was he always this pretty? I choose to forget about the event, asking Alastor would only give him leverage. He’d probably say something irritating like "Dreaming about me, darling? How scandelous?” or some other pompous shit.

I slid into my usual seat next Angel. “Hey.” I greeted him, tearing my eyes away from Alastor before he noticed.

Angel looks at me weirdly. “You don’t look so good. Was it the achohol?” I shrug in response. Honestly, I was drained. I didn’t really feel like talking or listening or anything at the moment.

“Back to square one huh? Ice for miles.” He teases and spreads his arms out to emphasize the “miles” part. “And to think we got somewhere"

I chucked. “Nothing like that, I’m just tired and hungover.”

"Hungover? Yeah, maybe. But you look like somethin’ else is eatin’ at ya."

My gaze flits to Alastor to see if he’s listening before returning to the plate in front of me. “I’m fine, just a bit troubled about the prank war.”

It wasn’t a total lie. The prank war was between Alastor and me, and I had trouble with Alastor so same thing. I felt bad lying to Angel. That’s the problem with me I get so attatched and after last night, I wanted to tell him everything.

“Yeah, alright. I won’t push.” He smiles, and offers me one of the pastries on his plate. Even though it’s hard for me to down food in the morning, I take it.

My gaze kept landing on Alastor throughout breakfast. I couldn’t help but notice the sharpness of his smile. I don’t remember the edges being that pointy.

Even though it’s probably just a dream, I want to make sure. I want to make sure it’s all in my head. I need to find proof.

I break out of my daze when I hear my name fall from Angel’s mouth. “Hmm?” I ask turning my attention back to him.

“I asked you if you want some coffee. I was about to go get some for myself. You know, work day today.” Angel asks giving me a knowing look.

“I’m good, and it’s not like that.” I huffed.

“I didn’t say nothing!” He laughs.

As Angel leaves to grab his coffee, I shift my gaze back to my plate, trying to shake the gnawing feeling in my chest. The room hums with chatter and clinking silverware, but it all dulls when I hear his voice.

“Lost in thought, dear?”

I almost jump out of my seat at the sound. He must’ve finished his conversation with Charlie. His voice slips through the air—like honey laced with something sharp. I glance up, and he’s already watching me with amusment.

“Something like that” I don’t bother forcing a smile and instead glare at him. He doesn’t have to know he’s consuming my every thought right now.

His grin widens, just slightly. “I do hope you’re not letting our little games keep you up at night.”

His words are harmless, but they send a chill down my spine. I swallow thickly. “Not at all.”

Alastor hums, tilting his head, and for a second—just a second—the shadows around him seem darker. But when I blink, everything looks normal again.

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?” he asks, mock concern dripping from his tone.

“Absolutely not” I shut down his question with narrowed eyes. “You are the last person I’d spill my heart to.”

I get up from my seat and walk away. “It’s rude to leave in the middle of a conversation~” His voice follows me as I walk out the dining room. Fuck him.

I’m sitting on my bed, headphones on, crouched over my laptop. I was emailing the advertisement I just made to my latest client. I had to make ends meet and freelancing was easy enough if you had tech skills so that’s what I did.

I stretch, take my headphones off, and shove the computer off my lap. I fall backwards onto the plush pillows and cushions with a huff. I love my bed.

I exhale as my body sinks into the mattress. My body feels heavy and the sheets are cool against my skin. My eyes flutter to a close.

Then, a change. I feel warmth. A scent lingers in the air—rich, intoxicating, familiar. My breath hitches. It’s not my sheets that I’m sinking into.

A whisper, low and smooth, curls around my ear.

“Did you miss me, darling?”

My stomach twists, heat blooming under my skin before I even open my eyes. I’d know his voice anywhere. Alastor.

I feel him before I see him—his presence, the electricity in the air, the ghost of fingers tracing down my arm. My heart pounds. This isn’t real. It can’t be.

But when I open my eyes, he’s there. And he looks ravenous.

I’m straddling him and I have no idea how we got here, but I want him. Then—soft fingers graze my skin, tracing up my arm. My pulse stutters.

Alastor leans in as if he’s about kiss me, but stops. We’re so close I can feel his breath on my face. I feel my body react before my mind catches up. A slow smirk curls at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, darling…”

His hands trace up my sides, slow and deliberate, setting my skin ablaze. My breath catches, but he doesn’t rush. He wants to hear it—to feel how easily he unravels me. His voice is silk and sin when he speaks.

“You want me to stop?”

It’s not a real question. And we both know the answer.

“No.”

And just like that we become a tangle of arms and legs. He’s on top of me, pinning my wrists to the bed. His grip tightens, and before I can think, fabric is slipping away, heat pressing into heat—

My eyes fly open, my chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. For a second, I swear I can still feel his touch. The room is dark, silent—too real. Fuck.

What is wrong with me? This is the second time I’ve dreamed of him, and I’m wet because of it this time. I make my way to the bathroom and splash water on my face.

I stare into my reflection. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask out loud. God, I really am insane. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes.

An idea emerged. I would just prank him. Get back to the war, do something to pay him back. I smirked. Yeah, that works. I’ll get myself stuck in his head like he is in mine. I have a lot of work to do.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Here With You

gawyne x niece!reader

anon request - tytyty for bringing gwayne to my attention 

Summary: With war on the horizon your mother sends you to Oldtown to seek safety. Your estranged uncle escorts you back and makes sure you don’t have to want for anything. You’ve never felt more at peace than at his side as he leads you through the clean and welcoming city. Feelings bloom between the both of you and between secret kisses and confessions the two of you become closer than either of you thought reality would offer you. 

Warnings: 18+ religious aspects - reader likes to pray but nothing too pious lmfao, like a swear word maybe 2, mentions of the war, time skips, preg!reader at the end, secret kisses, humping, fingering, p in v, breeding kink(lovingly💞), emo asf at the end that i had to add an extra scene bc i couldn’t leave it like that!!!!! 

Authors Note: first time writing for this ginger knight and i hope i got him right 🫣 i kinda loved writing this 

Word Count: 8.3k i thought this was gonna be chill :)

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You’re kneeling next to your mother with your hands folded as you look up at the statue of the Mother. Your eyes are welled with tears as you pray for the strength to get through the journey to Oldtown. You know you’ll have your uncle and a small company but you haven’t seen your uncle in ages. You’re scared to travel with so many strangers and all of them men no doubt. You blink back your tears as your mother grabs your arm and helps you rise.

She leads you out of the sept and your guards fall into a protective formation around you. You both enter the carriage and allow the silence to wash over you as you look at the passing city that you won’t be seeing for some time. Your mother grabs your hands as you pick at your nails and brings them to her lips. 

“Tell me what is bothering you, sweet girl.” she rests your hands in her lap. “I can tell something is the matter.” she nods and searches your eyes. 

“I’m scared.” you whisper. “If it’s so dangerous, why am I the only one leaving?” your voice cracks. “How will all of you stay safe? Protected? I pray to the Gods daily, yet I’m still weary at how this is to end.” you whisper. 

“Do not worry yourself with such things.” she leans over and brushes your hair back. “Your brothers will see that we prevail. You’ll be home with us soon enough.” she offers you a reassuring smile. 

“I’m nervous for the journey to Oldtown.” you whisper looking down at your intertwined hands.

“Your uncle will be by your side the whole time. He has personally picked your company himself. I promise that he will keep you safe. I know this.” she nods. 

“That still doesn’t mean I know him. He is as a stranger to me as the men that he picked to accompany us.” you shake your head as the carriage stops. 

“Once you see him all of the memories will come back.” she looks you over before exiting the carriage. 

You follow her out into the main courtyard and hear your heart pounding in your ears as you see Oldtown knights and soldiers flooding the walkways. You grab onto your mothers arm and she holds you closer guiding you to the steps of the Keep. You keep your gaze down as you follow quickly behind her and sigh in relief when the familiar stone greets your eyes. 

“Sister.” you press against your mother when she suddenly stops.

“Gwayne.” she turns around with a smile. 

“And surely this isn’t my sweet little niece?” your breath catches as your eyes meet his.

“Hasn’t she grown?” your mother turns to you with a smile. “You remember Gwayne don’t you, sweet girl?” she adjusts your hair. 

“I’m afraid my memory doesn’t serve me.” your cheeks burn as his full attention is on you.

“Then might I introduce myself.” he holds his hand out waiting for yours. You place your hand in his and he brings it to his mouth to place a soft kiss on you. “Sir Gwayne, Princess.” he bows his head to you. “I’m here to escort you to safety.” you blink up at him and nod. 

Your mother ushers you into the castle while she continues to speak with her brother. You glance behind you and find him looking after you already. He offers you a small smile before you turn and walk up the steps. You seal yourself in your chambers trying to think of anything besides how you’ll be leaving your home at day break. 

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A week on the road

You’ve slowly become more relaxed with Gwayne as your traveling companion. He’s been nothing short of doting and you can’t help but to think of another life where you got to spend your life growing up in Oldtown with his kindness, his gentleness. He wakes early with you and sets up your candles and makes a small area for you to have your time and silence as you pray to the Gods. 

Gwayne stands at your back, ever the faithful watcher, protector. When you rise and come to his side he gathers your materials and packs them into the bag and clips it to his horse. By this time the men are awake and finishing breakfast before the lot of you start off on your journey once more. You stay glued to his side until your legs tire then he lifts you up the horse and guides you down the path. 

“Might we stay at an Inn tonight?” you whisper and Gwaynes neck is craning up to you before you finish your sentence. “I would like a bath.” your cheeks redden at the thought of how many days it has been. 

“Of course.” a small smile spreads across his features. “I would welcome a night on a bed. Not that our blankets aren’t comfortable.” he raises his brow at you and you let out a small laugh. 

“Thank you.” you nibble your lip before turning back to the road. 

Gwayne lets his mind travel to laying in a warm bed for once. He knows you don’t feel too many of the effects of sleeping on the ground because you’ve been draped across him every night. He stares at the top of the tent as you curl on top of him. The first night you both shared a tent it was because he wanted you close by, safe. Now he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to find sleep without you curled against him. 

He trusts his men but not with you, Gods he’s not even sure he trusts himself with you. The mornings are the hardest for him. Your night dress is bunched up, legs tangled with his, and your warm breath fanning across his neck. He always brushes your hair back to wake you and he’s greeted by the smallest whimper as you cling onto him tighter. 

“We’re off the trail.” he’s brought back to the present by your soft voice. 

“I am so sorry Princess.” he shakes his head and watches his men turn back at him and snicker. “We’re stopping at the next Inn.” he calls to his men and they sigh in relief and continue walking once more. 

“Can we still share a bed?” you hope you don’t sound too desperate. 

“Of course.” he looks up at you. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.” you smile at his words and whisper a thanks before letting your mind drift to hot water and soap. 

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Your face falls when the Inn finally comes into view. If you hadn’t thought about a bath for the past couple of hours you would’ve requested to just keep going and stay in the tent once more. Gwayne lifts you off the horse and you frown as mud tracks on the bottom of your skirts. He winces at how upset you look and hopes a bath can distract you, but when he leads you into the Inn he watches your frown deepen. 

“At least there will be a bed and a bath.” Gwayne glances at you and sees your scrunched face.

“Yeah.” you force a smile and he sighs leading you up to the Innkeeper. 

The steps that lead up to the small room keep snagging on your dress and Gwayne cringes at every whine that comes from your mouth. When he pushes open the door he hears your gasp and ushers you inside quickly. He sets your bags down and turns to find you standing near the small tub, more like a large bucket before you turn and look up at him with round eyes.

“Just for tonight.” he cups your face and you nod once. “After we get to Oldtown you’ll never want for anything else.” he searches your eyes. “The finest gowns and the sweetest smelling soaps and oils. I’ll see to it.” he nods.

“Do you think they even have soap here?” he can’t help but crack a smile. 

“I’m sure they do. It might not be the best but it’ll do the job.” he watches you nibble your lip. “What’s wrong?” 

“Could you help me?” you whisper and he tilts his head confused.

“With what?” he searches your eyes.

“My bath.” your cheeks redden. “I’ll put one of my night dresses on but..” you shake your head. “I don’t know..” your voice cracks and you feel your eyes well with hot tears. “I don’t want to be traveling anymore.” he’s cupping your face the second your tears start to fall. 

“We’re almost there. We can travel through the night, if it would please you.” he nods. “I can carry you so you can sleep in my arms. Anything, just say the words.” you fold against his chest and he holds you as you let out soft sobs. 

“How much longer?” you mumbled against his chest. 

“Just a week.” he smooths your hair back and holds you closer. “You’ve been so brave.” he whispers. “The best traveling companion I could’ve asked for.” you pull back and look up at him with puffy eyes. “Go put your night dress on and I’ll go fetch some water and soap.” you nod and he watches you walk over to your bag. 

He clicks the door shut behind him and thuds down the stairs in search of what you require. He knows he shouldn’t be bathing you but who else would? Gods and now he’s thinking about you in a wet night dress. He stops on the stairs and closes his eyes trying to get the picture out of his mind. He starts down the stairs once more and thanks the Innkeeper when he hands him a bucket for water and a bar of soap. 

Gwayne shoves the soap in his pocket and walks over to have his bucket filled. When the man grabs the bucket from him he grunts and fills it until water is sloshing out the sides. As Gwayne makes his way back to the stairs he jumps when some of the water seeps into his sleeve and groans at how cold it is. He’s half tempted to say they didn’t have any water for a bath but he doesn’t want to upset you further. He pushes the door open and finds you sitting on the bed with your hands in your lap. 

“It seems as if this is all they could spare.” your eyes catch on the small bucket that has water dripping down the side of it.

“Okay.” you nod and rise from the bed. “I’m sorry I’m causing so much trouble.” you look at the uneven floors as you walk to the small basin. 

“You’re not, sweet girl.” he sets the bucket on the ground and offers you his hand to help you step into the tub. He watches your skin pebble as you sink into the empty basin and curl your legs up to your chest. “I just don’t think they expected to be housing a Princess.” 

“Did they give you soap?” you look up at him and he pulls the bar out of his pocket and watches your face fall. “I don’t want that in my hair. Can you get me something to tie it up?” you look from the offensive bar of soap to his crumbling face. 

“Yes, of course. I’m so sorry.” Gods he should’ve never taken you here. This has to be worse than the tent. Surely you must loathe him by now. When he turns back to you he sees your cheeks are flushed and he steps behind you and starts to scoop up your hair. “I could braid it later if you’d like.” he whispers, trying to delicately pull it up to secure it off your neck. 

“You can braid?” you look up at him with a hint of a smile. 

“I was practically your mothers most trusted handmaiden growing up.” he cups your cheek and caresses your jaw with his thumb. “I can do your hair however you would like.” his heart swells seeing a smile back on your face. 

“I would like that.” you nod and watch as he grabs the bucket of water. 

“The water is cold.” he watches you close your eyes and nod. You hear his footsteps and fabric being ripped and you peek open your eyes and see that he tore apart one of his tunic. “They seemed to be out of cloths as well.” he offers you a half smile. 

“You didn’t have to.” you look up at him with scrunched brows. 

“Of course I did. It’s for you.” he cups your cheek before squatting down next to the basin. 

For the next couple of minutes he dips the fabric in the water and rubs the soap into it before bringing it to your arm. He tries his best to ignore your small whines about the temperature and get it done as quickly as possible. You push his hand away, shivering and rising out of the basin. He watches you stand there hugging yourself and when he offers you his hand to get out his eyes widen at your now see through night dress. 

“Let’s get you into something warm and dry.” he turns and grabs your bag. He pulls out a dry night dress and turns to you. “I’ll go stand by the door so you can change.” he lays the fabric on the chair and faces the door, shutting his eyes as he hears you shuffle around. 

He knows he shouldn’t be feeling anything he’s been feeling for you the past week. You’re his niece. Gods you’re just so sweet and innocent. Somehow unsullied from growing up in the Godless city of Kings Landing. He never wants to let you go back there. He just wants to keep you for himself. To protect you and keep you safe. He wants to braid your hair and give you hot baths with towers of bubbles and petals. Yet all he’s done is have you sleep on the ground and take you to an Inn that is probably worse than any building in flea bottom. 

“I’m still cold.” he turns and finds you in your dry night dress hugging yourself. 

“Let me tuck you in and I’ll start a fire in the hearth.” he nods and leads you over to the bed. 

“I want you to come to bed with me.” you pout. “You’re always so warm.” you curl against him and he swears his heart stops when your cold fingers press under his tunic into his skin. 

“I will once I get the fire going.” he squeezes you against him once before tucking you into the bed. 

You watch from under the covers as he moves about the room. The walls whistle from the breeze outside and you can feel the cold creeping back in. He quickly gets a fire going and gets rid of some of his layers before getting under the covers with you. He knows he shouldn’t and that his sister would probably have his head for this but he can’t help it. He’s just making sure you’re safe and protected. He smiles when he hears your even breathing in his neck as you cuddle on top of him. 

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A week after arriving in Oldtown

Oldtown is grander than you ever could have expected. Gwayne has been showing you around from sunup to sun down and you can’t recall the last time you were so happy. The great sept here has never made you feel closer to the Gods and you can almost hear them whispering to you in the breeze to be happy. Gwayne never lets you out of his sight and has even allowed you to continue to share a bed with him. 

Gwayne was sure the servants were going to cease to exist at the thought of you both sharing chambers but he had come up with something they couldn’t argue. You were still scared, unsure and he just wanted to make sure you’re safe. He told them if you weren’t by him you wouldn’t get any sleep and would be plagued with night terrors. When these excuses left his mouth he was wondering if he did it for you, himself, or the others within the walls of the castle. These thoughts leave his head when he sees you yawning and stretching in your silk pouting for him to come to bed. 

When he first brought you to his chambers he leaned against the wall and watched you inspect every surface. Your eyes lingered on the massive tub and then you turned to his bed and fell back onto it in a fit of giggles. His heart warmed and he stepped over to you and asked if there was anything else you would like to be brought in. You shook your head and pulled him into the bed with you and curled against him and fell asleep. He watched you as you napped that first day and vowed to himself that he would never let you go, never leave Oldtown.  

The moon has been high in the sky for hours and he’s been content to listen to you tell him about your life growing up in Kings Landing. Your complaints of not wanting to marry Aemond solidifies his decision to keep you here with him. You’re too kind to your two brothers, too kind for this world. He’s half tempted to steal you away now and take you far away and keep you all to himself. 

“So what do you think?” you blink up at him and he shakes his head cursing himself for letting his mind drift. 

“I’m sorry, sweet girl. What did you say?” you offer him a small pout. 

“I asked for a kiss.” he chuckles and presses his lips to your forehead. “No,” you whine. 

“Then where would you like a kiss? Hm?” he presses his lips to your cheek. “Here?” he kisses your other cheek. “Or here?” he kisses your nose quickly. “Where would you like a kiss, sweet girl?” he hovers over you on the bed and peppers kisses across your face as you giggle. 

“On my lips.” you watch him lean back and tilt his head. 

“I can’t.” he watches your smile fall. 

“Why not?” you search his eyes. “I want my first kiss to be with someone gentle and kind like you.” you search his eyes. “Please?” you blink up at him and the reality of his situation comes crashing down on him. 

He moves from above you and sits up on the bed next to you. He’s allowed himself to think too far into this fantasy world where he could have you. Take you away from here. Build a life, a family with you. He buries his head in his hands and focuses on his breathing until he feels you drape against his back. His shoulders relax when you bury your fingers in his hair and softly rake your nails against his head. 

“Did I do something wrong?” you whisper and he shakes his head. “Do you think I’m a whore?” he hears your voice crack and he turns around in an instant. 

“Gods no.” he shakes his head. 

“Am I not good enough for you?” his heart cracks watching you frown. 

“You are too good for me.” he cups your cheeks. 

“It’s just one kiss.” you blink up at him with glossy eyes. 

“Just one?” he feels his will breaking. 

“Please,” you scoot closer to him. 

“Close your eyes.” he whispers and you snap them shut. “Are you ready?” you can feel the heat coming off his body. 

“Please,” you lean forward. 

His hands engulf your cheeks as he softly presses his lips to yours. He starts to pull back before he can’t but you push forward and connect your lips again. He pulls back but you start to crawl into his lap, “Please, Gwayne please.” He pulls you back against his lips and wraps his hands around you back holding you closer. When he pushes his tongue into your mouth you let out a small whimper and melt into him. He doesn’t care, he can’t. Not when you’re begging like this and pleading for him. You both stay mended together until you have to pull back for more than just gasps of breath. 

“We need to go to bed.” he looks at your swollen lips and flushed cheeks. 

“No.” you shake your head. 

“Yes.” he clears his throat. “Under the covers.” he nods and starts to pull them back as you pout.

“If I go under the covers can I have another kiss?” you tilt your head and he groans. 

“And you must go to bed after.” you nod and scoot under the covers. 

He’s barely under the covers when you’re on top of him and pressing your lips to his. Everytime he lifts you off you press against him harder, whining into his mouth. He can feel every curve of your body, the way your nipples are peaked and pressed against his chest. Your night dress slowly bunching up as you absentmindedly rock against him. Every small gasp and whine is the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. He pulls you off of him and presses you into the mattress next to him. 

“Go to bed.” he settles into the bed beside you. 

“Please.” you whisper. “Can I still cuddle with you?” you turn on your side. 

Gwayne sighs and pulls you against him. You smile and tangle your limbs with his as you do every night now. You press your lips to his neck and he squeezes your sides with whispers of going to bed or he’ll move to the couch. 

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A month after being in Oldtown

Gwayne waits patiently for you outside of the sept as he’s done every morning since bringing you here, yet he’s never been this tired. You spent hours after you were supposed to be asleep attached to his lips. Then this morning you stayed attached to his neck. He's sure a mark is blossoming under his collar at this very moment. Every morning he looks up at the sept as you scuttle up the stairs and then turns and stands guard as if he hasn’t broken every rule. Once the sun crests over the walls you’re skipping down the stairs and clinging onto his arm.

“I’m ready for our day in the forest.” you lean onto his arm. “Though I don’t know why we must go back out there.” you sigh. 

“I wish for you to see how enjoyable it can be. How beautiful and bountiful the land is.” he leads you over to his horse and helps you up before taking a place behind you. “It’ll be just us. No company of men. No tents, we can sleep in our bed tonight.”  he nods. 

“If you insist.” you lean back into him, enjoying the way his arms hold you as he grips the reins. 

“I do.” he leans closer and whispers in your ear. 

As Gwayne leads you through the city he smiles watching you so at ease and happy. You wave at the people you both pass by and they wave back offering you a warm welcome. As the city gates come into view he feels you tense as you approach them. He wraps an arm around your waist and holds you closer and you seem to relax at the comfort. 

“You promise we won’t sleep out here tonight.” you look up at him. 

“I promise, sweet girl.” he nods at the guard as they open the gates for the both of you. 

You turn back when the gates close behind you both and then back to the greenery all around you. You crane your neck and take in how tall the trees truly are. Gwayne watches as you let your eyes close and listen to the sounds of different life. The soft breeze blows through your hair as he continues to lead you down the path. When the horse comes to a stop you open your eyes and tilt your head at him. 

“May I offer you a walk?” you look down at him on the ground and his outstretched hand. 

“For a kiss.” he grins at your soft words. 

“That could be arranged.” he grabs your waist and helps you down but you wrap yourself around him, wanting to be held by him. “One kiss. I still want to show you around.” you nod and press your lips to his. He lets you get caught up in the kiss for another minute before he’s pulling you off and setting you down. “You are so beautiful.” he brushes his fingers on your cheek. 

He watches a blush rise to your cheeks before he grabs your hand and leads you deeper into the forest. You both come to a clearing and his heart starts to thunder. He looks down at you as you look up at the small opening in the canopy and back at the clearing bathed in sunlight. You walk through the long grass and wildflowers and turn with a pout when you see him still standing at the edge. 

When he starts to walk towards you he watches you turn once more and smell the flowers. Your hands delicately trail through the tall grass catching on a few flowers but letting them be. You turn and find him standing in the tall grass. You slowly walk back over to him and he engulfs you in his embrace. You can hear his heartbeat through his tunic as you rest your head on his chest. 

“I don’t wish to see you go back to Kings Landing.” he whispers. 

“Did my mother call for me?” he can hear the small amount of fear. 

“No, the war is still waging. You are safe here with me.” he holds you closer. “I just.. I want to keep you here with me forever.” you bury your head further into his chest. “Right here. I’d clear out the field and build you such a beautiful home.” he hums. “Far enough away where we won’t be disturbed but close enough where I can get you supplies, maesters if needed, the sept is there..” he trails off. “But I’d make you your own praying circle with candles and a bench. I’d build you your own sept if it would make you stay with me.” he nods. 

“I would do all these things for you. I would do anything you ask. I’d be your protector, I’d hold your secrets,” you’re holding onto him so tightly now. “I’d be your husband if you’d wish it. Give you all of the kisses you want. We could build a family.” he lets his mind drift to the thought of you round with his child. 

“Please,” he pulls you back and searches your eyes. “I want that so badly. Please.” your voice is so soft he can’t take it anymore. 

He presses his lips to yours and you wrap yourself back around him. You smile against him when he slowly lowers you to the ground and the grass envelopes you both. His lips press against yours once more and you wrap your legs around his waist enjoying the way he’s pressing against you. You feel so safe, so loved. You relish in the silence only hearing yours and his panting. He’s trying to show restraint but he’s rarely the one on top because he knows it would just take one small moan and he would devour you. 

He lifts up and looks at your lips before kissing down your neck. The high pitched whines leaving your mouth cause him to push his hips into yours and you hold him tighter with a small plea. He rolls his hips once more just wanting to hear your noises again before he stops but this time it’s a moan of his name. His hands find your thighs to untangle you but he’s met with your skin as your skirts have risen up your thighs. He digs into your soft flesh as he continues to kiss and suckle at your neck. 

“Move your hips again.” you whine jerking your hips up. “Please, please Gwayne,” you claw into his back. “Oh, yes,” you squeak as he grinds into you. “More.” you feel your body heating. 

“We mustn’t.” he pulls back from your neck and takes in your red cheeks. “We’re not even married.” he shakes his head and unwraps your legs from him. 

“Then let’s marry.” you whine when he pulls your skirts back down your legs. “Then you can build our house while I carry our child.” you nod. “Please,” his heart is thundering so loudly at your words. “Tomorrow at daybreak.” you nod. “I know just the septon to do it.” he watches a smile bloom on your face. 

“What about a gown?” he chuckles, watching you stand and pull him up. 

“I have plenty of gowns to choose from.” you put your hands on your hips. 

“Show me where you want the house to be.” he presses his lips to your forehead. 

For the next couple of hours he lets you lead him around the clearing telling him where you would like everything set up. He takes dutiful mental notes and nods at every suggestion. You steal small kisses from him throughout the afternoon and once the sun starts to sink he begins to lead you back to the horse. He helps you up and smiles when you lean against him as he takes his place once more. 

You smile and wave at the people again as you both pass through town. He takes you on a longer route back to the castle, letting you both off when something catches your eye. By the time you both make it back the sun is set and you’re now carrying a bag of new jewels and sweets. He asks a couple of servants to bring up some supper to his chambers for the both of you before he leads you up the stairs and seals you away with him. 

Once the doors are shut you’re on him. Kissing at him, pulling at his clothes and whining when he grabs your wrists to stop your wandering hands. He chuckles into your mouth when you press yourself against him. He grabs your waist and pulls you back and places one last kiss on your lips to rid you of your pout. Both of your heads snap to the door when there’s a couple soft knocks. 

Gwayne opens the door and accepts the trays from the servants and closes the door behind him. He turns and finds you clearing the table and setting up places for you both to sit. He spreads the food across the table and fills your plate and cup. You both glance at each other with smiles and thoughts of how this will never cease. Your mind drifts to asking the septon in the morning and being wed under the rising sun. You clean up the table and drift over to the wardrobe to pull out the gown you had in mind for the morning. 

He watches you float around the room readying your clothes for tomorrow. His heart swells when you start to pick his clothes, having a vision of what he’ll be wearing as you seal yourselves together for eternity. He watches you start to pull on the laces of your dress and he takes quick steps over to you to replace your fingers with his. Once the dress is on the ground he helps you step out of it before he turns to the wardrobe and reaches for your night dress. 

“Gods above.” he fists the fabric in his hands when he turns and finds you standing naked and your slip in the pile with your gown. 

“Take me.” you whisper, stepping towards him. “I just want to be close to you.” 

“We can wait another day.” his voice hoarse. 

“Gwayne,” you whine and he drops the night dress to the floor. “Please,” you’re directly in front of him now blinking up at him. 

He lifts you up and smashes his lips to yours. You sigh into his mouth and melt against him. One of his hands is holding onto your ass and you whine when he squeezes the tender flesh. His other hand is wrapped around your waist and splayed against your back holding you closer. He starts to walk you back over to his bed and reluctantly pulls back from your lips. He gently lays you back on the bed and starts to remove his clothing. 

“Your trousers.” you whine when he starts to crawl over you with them still on. 

“I’m not taking you tonight.” he shakes his head before pressing soft kisses against your neck. 

“Why not.” you arch up into him as his hands roam down your sides. “Please,” he starts to kiss down your chest and presses his forehead just under your collarbone trying to reel himself in. “Oh,” you gasp as you jerk your hips up against his. “This feels different.” you grind against his trousers. 

“That’s because you’re not wearing any small clothes.” he groans, grabbing your hips and stilling them. 

“Take them off. I just want to feel you.” you start to move your legs up and try to push them down with your feet. “Gwayne,” he groans at the breathlessness of your voice. 

“Okay, okay.” he shushes against your chest and untangles from you. 

He stands at the edge of the bed and watches your head pop up as he starts to unlace his trousers and push them down. He sighs in relief when he’s free from the fabric. Your cheeks flush when you take in his length bouncing against his stomach. He smirks as you slowly lay back down, spreading your legs giving him the perfect view of your glistening slit. He starts to crawl over you once more leaning down to kiss up your torso, between your breasts, and finally stopping at your lips. 

“Gwayne,” your voice trembling almost as much as your body at his soft touch. 

“What would you like, sweet girl?” he leans down, letting his lips brush against yours. 

“Just touch me, kiss me, anything.” you wrap your arms around the back of his neck and bring his lips to yours. 

Gwayne is positive he must be dreaming or dead because there is no way this is his reality. The second your legs wrap around his waist he knows this is real at the feel of his tip sliding through your wetness. You whimper into his mouth and start rocking your hips and his head spins. He tries to press you back into the mattress but he just ends up sliding through your wetness even more. 

“Take me.” you plead. “Please, just take me.” you hold him closer and rock your hips. 

He presses his lips to yours and brings one of his hands between the both of you. The second he slides a finger up your slit you cry into his mouth. You’re practically dripping and when he brings his finger down to your entrance you arch up into him and he’s greeted by a pool of your arousal. He brings a second finger down to circle your entrance before sliding them both back up to your bud. The noise that leaves your mouth after his first swirl has his cock aching. 

“Mm, more,” he circles his fingers faster and your legs squeeze around his waist. “I- I’m,” you feel such immense pleasure as you try to keep kissing him. You hold onto his neck and he watches your face scrunch as you pant into the small space between you both. 

“How does it feel?” he leans down to press his lips to your neck. 

“Good.” you gasp. “So good, ple- mm,” he chuckles into your neck and speeds up his fingers. “Gway-Ah,” you claw onto his back and pleasure slams through you. 

He lifts up as he’s still swirling his fingers to watch your face. Your lips are parted and your eyes are squeezed shut as you continue to whimper. He slides his fingers down and circles one of his fingers around your core. He dips a finger into you and groans as he feels you fluttering around him. He brings his thumb up to your bud and watches your face as he slowly pumps his finger. 

“Yes,” your chest heaves as he slowly works your body. “Please,” you roll your hips against his hand. 

He watches you squirm beneath him and his resolve is starting to weaken. Your soft whimpers and pleas are going straight to his cock which has been aching for some time now but this is about you, it’ll always be about you. He starts to press a second finger into you and you cry out his name. You peel your eyes open and find him already looking at you. 

“Kiss me.” you pant and his lips are on yours the next second. “I want you, not your fingers.” you whine into his mouth. 

“Tomor-“ he grunts when your hands wrap around his cock. 

“Please,” he can hear your pleasure in your voice as it soaks his hand. “Just the tip then,” you swipe against his leaking tip and he presses his forehead to yours. 

“Alright,” he wraps his hand around yours and removes it. “Tell me if it’s too uncomfortable and we’ll stop.” he searches your lidded eyes. 

“Please, please, I need it please,” you’re panting and squirming underneath him. He groans and takes his pleasure coated hands and strokes himself, mixing his pleasure with yours to slick his cock. “Mm,” you chew your lip as he starts to press the head in. 

“Fuck,” he softly curses as your cunny sucks in his tip. “This is as much as-

“Mor- oh,” you gasp when you jerk your hips pushing him further in. “Please,” your chest is heaving as he stills all of his movements. 

“We shouldn’t.” he pants but his cock is already inching further into your warm cunny. 

“Move.” you whisper, holding onto him tightly. “Gwayne, please,” you move your hips and gasp at the continued stretch. 

Your eyes lock with his as he continues to push into you. He watches for any sign of genuine discomfort or pain as he continues. He watches your lids get heavier and when his hips are flush with yours you let out a small whimper. You both stare at each other and breathe heavily until he leans down and presses his lips to yours. He starts to slowly pull out as he swallows down all of your whines. 

“You’re doing so good for me, sweet girl.” he starts to kiss down your neck as he pushes back in. “Taking me so well.” he starts a steady rhythm that has a continuous string of whimpers falling from your mouth. 

He presses his lips to yours once more as he continues to rock into you. Soon to be his wife. Soon to be carrying his child. His hips snap into yours with a little more force at that thought. Your walls hug him as he starts to move faster. The high pitched moans coming from your mouth only spur him on to move faster. He feels his pleasure approaching and from the way you’re squeezing him he knows you’re right there with him. 

“I can’t wait to start a family with you.” he mumbles into your mouth. “Keep you all safe.” he rolls his hips. “Keep you swollen with our children for a couple years.” your nails dig into his back as you nod your head. “Yeah? Would you like that?” 

“Please, yes, I’m,” you babble, nodding your head feeling your toes curl. “Mm I,”

“Shh shh, I've got you.” he kisses back down to your neck. “I’m gonna fill you up and give you the life you want.” he grunts. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me.” his words are filled with pleasure and outright devotion. 

With one last cry of his name you fall apart around him which causes him to follow with his pleasure. He slowly pumps his seed into you watching your face scrunch with every slow thrust. He presses his lips to yours and gently pulls out. He collapses onto the bed next to you and you turn and curl into him immediately. His hand rubs your back soothingly as he whispers soft words of praise. He watches your eyes shut and pulls the blanket over the both of you. 

“We’ll marry in the morning and I’ll start making plans to build you a home by the afternoon.” he presses his lips to your forehead before letting sleep take him over as well. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

6 months later 

Gwayne stands behind you in the once overgrown clearing just beyond the city gates. You’re sitting at the stone bench he made for you with a couple candles lit in the small patch. Your eyes are shut and your usually clasped hands for prayer are instead tenderly holding onto your bump. You had insisted you could still kneel but once he saw you wince when he helped you up he wouldn’t allow it anymore. Now he brings out a feather pillow for you and helps you settle more comfortably. 

You rise from the bench with ease but he’s still next to you with a hand on your lower back and the other protectively on your bump. He places a chaste kiss on your lips, then your nose, and lastly on your forehead. He begins to escort you back to the house and the candles and incense caress your nose as he leads you over to the couch before he goes to prepare your tea. He knows you’ll say he’s overbearing but it’s his job. To protect you. To see to every single one of your needs. To dote upon you. To love you. 

“Gwayne,” he drops everything at the slight worry in your tone. 

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” he’s kneeling before you and looking over every inch of you. 

“There’s some people coming.” you look out the window and he sees a couple guards and someone walking in the middle of them. 

“Stay here.” he goes to the front door and clenches his jaw when he feels your hands wrap around his arm. “At least stay behind me.” he whispers and you nod. 

“Her Grace, Alicent Hightower, requests entry.” one of the men grunt out. 

You push Gwayne aside and pull open the door. Alicent takes you in and her eyes widen but you pull her into a fierce hug. Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you cling to your mother. Alicent holds you and is all too aware of your swollen stomach. Her eyes move from you to Gwayne who looks at the guards and back to her. He opens the door wider and shuffles the both of you inside and seals the door shut. 

“I have prayed for you everyday.” you sniffle, wiping your eyes. 

“And I for you.” she hums watching Gwayne help you sit back on the couch. 

“Could I get you a drink? Something to eat? How was the journey?” she’s aware of his nervous ramble, something he’s been doing since they were kids. 

“Tea.” she nods once and turns her attention back to you. 

Alicent settles back into the chair and looks around the home. Your touch is all over the place with small accents of Gwayne. The house is warm and inviting and she softly shakes her head because this is the home she wanted to have when she was a girl. Her eyes move back to you and take in the soft glow coming off of you. Pregnancy looks well on you, you’re so at ease. Your white curls spilling over your shoulder as you wear a sage dress. How is it that she's looking at her little girl but before her sits the Mother?

“My sweet girl,” she can’t help the tremble in her voice. “Are you happy here?” she chokes back her tears. 

“I don’t think I’ve been happier.” a smile spreads across your face and seems to illuminate the room. 

“Tea for you.” Gwayne hands her a cup on a saucer with shaky hands. “And tea for you.” he takes a seat next to you and offers you the cup. 

His eyes slide over to his sister and she takes a sip of her tea. The warmth settles into her chest, “Our childhood tea.” 

“It’s my new favorite.” you hum. “The babe seems to dance everytime I drink it as well.” you place a hand in your bump. 

“I..” Alicent shakes her head at a loss for what to say. You look between them and grab Gwayne's hand. 

“Our love was a surprise to us.” you whisper. “It took us both by surprise. I..” you shake your head. “He is so very gentle and sweet. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so safe and loved.” you don’t mean for your words to stab your mother but you see the impact of them. “I’m sorry.” 

“Do not apologize for choosing love and gentleness.” her glassy eyes snap up to yours. “I’m sorry.” she grabs her chest. “I just l..” she can’t blink away her tears as they fall. “I wanted a life like this long ago.” she whispers. “The Gods had chosen differently for me.” she offers you a weak smile. 

“The Gods did not choose that for you. Our father did.” Gwayne shakes his head and reaches out for her hand. 

“I want you to remain here with Gwayne.” she looks at you and swallows back her sorrow. “I’ll say you were lost to the war.” she shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling. 

“What of my siblings?” your words hushed. 

“Do not worry.” she quickly wipes away her tears. 

“Mother,” you start to rise. 

“No.” she shakes her head and stands. She walks over to you and cups your cheeks. “My sweet girl.” she presses her lips to your forehead and offers Gwayne the same. 

“Stay here with us.” he grabs her hands. “I’ll build you your own home.” he searches her eyes. “Anything.” he starts to rise. 

“My fate has been decided long ago.” her voice cracks. “I find solace knowing the Gods were gentler with the both of you.” she nods and turns to the door. 

You look after her in confusion and send Gwayne after her. When he steps out of your home Alicent and her guards are already clearing the tree line. He turns back to you and seals the door and kneels before you. He wipes away the tears that keep flowing down your face. He engulfs you in a hug and you curl into his chest. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

5 years later

You bite your lip to hide your smile as your little girl tugs at your dress. You shush her and clasp her hands back together as you continue to pray with a soft smile. Your two sons are next to you softly giggling and you hear Gwayne silently scold them. You open your eyes, abandoning prayer until they’re down for their nap. Gwayne helps you up and places his hand on your once again growing bump. 

“Soon you will need to be on your bench again.” he whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead. 

“Soon you’ll have to build another bench.” you smile up at him. “I don’t think two will suffice anymore.” you chuckle as your three children circle around the both of you. 

“Then expand our house, get more livestock, plant some more vegetables..” he trails off, pinching your children’s cheeks causing them to squeal and run around in the wildflowers. 

“Father,” your little girl tugs on his tunic. 

“Yes, my sweet little princess?” he scoops her up. 

“Could you braid my hair like mothers?” she smiles shyly. 

“Of course I can, Ali.” she wraps her arms around his neck before wiggling out and running off with her brothers. 

Gwayne helps you take a seat and takes his place next to you as you both watch your children frolic around the tall grass and flowers. The sun shines on your boy's silver hair while it radiates warmth in your daughter's red locks. You lean against Gwaynes side and shut your eyes listening to the laughter and the breeze. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist  ⏾  wips  ⏾  taglist

bruh when i was writing the Inn scene i had to show so much mf restraint bc im a hoe for the ‘only one room and one bed’ trope but it wasn’t their time yet 🥲

and we already got another gwayne fic in the works let’s gooooo 

@ka1afbr @ninihrtss @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @alexxavicry @misspendragonsworld @papichulo120627 @ashovertheriver @gabriella-aesthetic @moonymoo1 @faenyra @uwuuness @lizzylovebooks280501 @nostalgiagoth03 @multilover19 @summer-and-sunflowers @eternalwinters @rere10 @sxlsvv @sarahrosw36q @tricksterreaper @somethingsaladsomething @naty-sunshine @supernaturalwitch89 @the-wife-of-fictional-men

[yourhornysister]

After having an amazing talk with @fidesvirtusobsession all creds goes to you babes I can't get this idea out of my head

Set the scene with Yan!Hero and Villian!darling but we need the drama so imagine one day Yan!Hero is purposely left out of the knowledge that someone else is fighting his darling and he only hears about it on the news.

His heart breaks as he sees his darling thrown off a building and barely surviving before attacking the hero fighting her.

He rushes out of the office his heart racing as he flies as fast as he can towards the fight and if he hadn't made it in time the sword thrown hazards at his darling could've seriously injured her. And now he's pissed, he makes sure his darling is okay before stalking slowly to the hero and suddenly the feed from the camera reporting the live fight suddenly cuts.

This idea is haunting me sm @fidesvirtusobsession but also I was thinking about Yan!hero stopping a fight between his Darling and someone else and he tries to talk some sense into her maybe and be like "what are you doing? You could've hurt yourself or killed him! Do you know how traumatised you would've been if he had died at your hand"

And Darling is just dumbstruck like "wot" so confused that he didn't care about the man dying but at that, it could've hurt her mental state if she'd have killed him

[amutamika]

Another random teenage moshang idea. They all connect in some way or form.

„You really should learn how to fight. How can a disciple of a renowned sect be this talentless when it comes to this?“ Mobei Jun furrowed his brows as he looked at his human servant, who was patching up a small cut he got during one of his delivery runs.

„I can fight… just not with a sword.“ He let out a ‚hmph‘ and shook his head. There had been a reason why he always wrote the same fight scenes. Shang Qinghua had never been able to wrap his head around sword fighting - not in his last life, and surely not in this. And why should he? He got a stable position and would become Peak Lord in the future. All without having to trouble himself with sword fighting.

Mobei Jun puffed his cheeks and rolled his eyes. „I have never seen you fight. Not with a sword and not with your bare hands either. And I need someone who can at least stand his ground.“

„You have a whole army. You don‘t need me to fight.“ Shang Qinghua looked over his shoulder to the young demon prince sitting on his bed.

But in the next moment that prince was suddenly standing up, with a determined look on his face. „That‘s it. I am going to train you. Now, lead the way to a place where we won‘t be seen.“

When Mobei Jun had set his mind on something, there was nothing Shang Qinghua could do to stop him. And so he lead him to a quiet place where they could train. It was a small clearing in the lush bamboo forest surrounding the peak. Far enough so that no one would hear them, much less stumble upon them on accident. Most of the other disciples of the 4th ranked peal shared Shang Qinghua‘s ambition, read they had no ambition whatsoever. So they hardly ventured out of the common areas. Shang Qinghua found this place by accident way back when he first came to the sect and needed at least some private space. Now it would be no longer his alone. But he didn‘t mind sharing this place with Mobei Jun.

„Here we are. You will find no better place to spar on An Ding Peak.“ Shang Qinghua had spread out his arms as if he was presenting the great hall of a castle and not just some dusty field. Mobei Jun had to hold back a laugh. Only this guy could be proud of such a place. But he also had to admit that it was kind of cozy, just like the small room where Shang Qinghua resided in. Every place this human deemed as his seemed to be glowing in a warm light for Mobei Jun. He just couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was just the warm sun paired with the deep gurgling of a small stream running on the southeast edge of this clearing.

„Let‘s see how good you can actually fight. You against me. I will only use my bare hands, nothing more. You can use whatever you want. If you manage to knock me down, I won‘t be bothering you again with this.“ With that he got in fighting position. His pupils retracted into slits and Shang Qinghua could feel his blood run cold. There wasn‘t exactly killing intent in the air, but he knew that Mobei Jun wouldn‘T be gentle. With some delay, he also got in position. Shang Qinghua slowed his breath and focused on the flow of qi around him.

As soon as Mobei Jun started to move, the disciple reacted. He ducked away. With a side step he brought distance between them again. But the demon had anticipated this. He lunged forward, trying to grab the human. But before his hand could even come close to Shang Qinghua, he had dropped to the ground, grabbing both of Mobei Jun‘s legs. Taken by surprise, stumbled and lost his balance. As soon as he landed on the ground, he turned around only to find Shang Qinghua right on top of him, pinning him down.

His smile was bright and triumphant. „Knocked you over,“ he exclaimed with a dumb grin. Some of his brown locks had escaped his knot, standing in al directions from his head. He already worked up a sweat and the humidity had made all the stray stands curl up. Especially the hair around his face framed it now in a playful manner. Mobei Jun‘s heart clenched, but he shoved the feeling aside. Instead he pulled the young man closer and with a skilled move of his leg, he was now the one sitting on top.

Shang Qinghua had been taken by surprise, for a few seconds he just stared at Mobei Jun above him. His black hair falling around them like a curtain. But just like Mobei Jun, Shang Qinghua didn‘t want to be defeated just like that. He struggled, but in the next moment he was on top again.

This repeated a few times, their fight transforming more and more to a childish wrestling match. They were both gritting their teeth, shoving and pulling each other until they were both totally disheveled. But they still didn’t stop. Both of them too proud to give up.

Before long, Shang Qinghua decided to use his secret attack. He started tickling the demon prince. Not even someone like Mobei Jun could withstand Shang Qinghua‘s magic hands. He tried to stifle a chuckle. But it build up inside of his chest until the pressure became too much and he broke out in a loud cackle.

Taken aback by the laugh of the prince, Shang Qinghua paused for a moment. Had he ever heard Mobei Jun laugh this freely? His heart was pounding against his chest and he would much rather kiss this guy beneath him than tickle him. But Mobei Jun had other plans, starting a counter attack that now made Shang Qinghua laugh loudly. He tried to get away but Mobei Jun was surprisingly good at tickling. It was like he knew exactly where to tickle him, so that he wasn’t even able to defend himself.

Their fight ended with them both breathing heavily, laying on top of each other. Mobei Jun leaning on his forearms to not burden Shang Qinghua with all of his weight. Their cheeks were read. Shang Qinghua couldn’t move a single muscle. He was absolutely drained. Even too exhausted to realise how close his dream man was too him, or how they must look from an outside point of view.

„Tie?“ Shang Qinghua groaned and with a warm ‚hm‘ Mobei Jun agreed. He rolled himself off of Shang Qinghua and looked at the sky, that was slowly turning pink. When had he ever felt this free in his life? Right now, Mobei Jun was just a young man. A young man that had just been play fighting with a friend. A friend? Yes, maybe a friend. He closed his eyes and smiled. Shang Qinghua made him feel ways he never felt before.

<—— Previous Next ——>

[advluv4life]

1 and 8 for the tgr ask game?

-@aftgphoenix

I was really excited to get this! I just had work and homework and chores and errands but I’ve been so excited to talk about it! I also had to scroll through the book because there’s so many scenes for each of these questions. & I don’t trust myself not to pick and then just change my mind in five minutes, so I chose a few/couple of scenes that I love/can’t get out of my mind for both (& there’s more, like the entire book, but I tried to not go on too long).

1 - What is your favorite part?

Rhemann decking Zane. Easily. Handsdown. I’ve said it before, but if I wasn’t already in love with Rhemann prior to this moment…I would’ve fallen so hard.

Also, following that moment, when Jean tells Jeremy all the things he doesn’t want; he doesn’t want Jeremy to be like Zane, doesn't want Coach to be like Tetsuji, doesn’t want to teach Tanner contrition, doesn’t want to harm Cat even if he thinks she should have performed better, doesn’t want to go back to how things were before… “We will do it your way and we will win anyway.” Oh, my heart. I was in tears for multiple reasons but this moment healed a little bit of my heart. Seeing his progress and growth, and hearing him express things he’s come to realize over the course of both books. Oh my god, I was so proud of him. I am so proud of him.

Honorable Mentions:

The part after the banquet where Jean reflects on hearing people talk well about him had me crying tears of happiness.

Jean telling their opponent to have a winning day still makes me scream (and also the Trojans reactions lol)

When Jean tells his therapist that he deserves to get better (*tears*)

Jean’s reaction when Jeremy called Faser his ‘partner’. I think that protective!Jean is right up there with protective!Andrew for me.

The stairwell scene with Jean and Jeremy. I held my breath. Every time Jean grabs hold of his chin, or they demand the other look at them- and they can't help but listen. And it's as if they have no room for people in their peripherals when they are together.

Jeremy and Jean in the hotel room! Jean leaning over him, the blatant flirting, the painful confession of Jeremy's history-

Kevin and Jean’s interactions overall: “I hate you.” “Sometimes you do. I don’t care.” // “How long do you think you can hold [Queen of the U.S. Court] when you’re drinking poison?” “Always, the last person who tried to take it from me died. Checkmate.”

Literally probably any part where Jean mentions/quotes Neil (I’m very much biased here, I was craving Neil before the book’s release and I obsessed over his every mention, I’m not going to apologize, I’m already crossing my fingers that with the trial in the next book Neil and Jean will have wayyyyyyy more interactions). Some moments:

When Zane told him to admit he would have rather had Neil as a partner and Jean couldn’t deny it.

When he recalled Neil brushing off his warning about Ichirou in regard to Andrew “I’m sure he knows." as he comes to terms with his attraction to men not being wrong like Riko made it out to be.

Andrew and Jean’s conversation outside the interview.

“Pop. How easily these monsters die in the end.” quoting.

“It was Rhemann’s voice in his head, Rhemann’s and his friends’ and Neil’s, drowning out his miserable thoughts and excuses with unrelenting force.” -LITERAL crying as I type it now because this is definitely in my top 3 favorite quotes in the book. Just the fact that Neil is included in the list of people who he thinks of/hears as he puts his own wellbeing first moves my soul.

Okay, I’ll stop lol. I could go on and on and on.

8 - Which scene is living rent-free in your head?

This doubles as a favorite scene (of course):

Jean extending his list by adding ‘Fireworks’ but mainly him giving Wymack and Rhemann the title of ‘Fathers’. 

Jean remembering how he was told he was one of Rhemann’s kids and taking comfort in that- him being able to take comfort in that despite his own father being an awful awful man was just a lot to me. I think about it a lot. I think about and compare it to Kevin not calling Wymack ‘Dad’- even in private and then I think about how much Jean has faced and been forced to face and if that says anything about either one of them in regard to their progress and development after leaving the Nest- but I don’t want to get into that because people move at their own pace and they’re both safe now and in environments where they are loved and appreciated and can focus on themselves and things that make them happy. But I think about it a lot (‘a lot a lot a lot’ lol).

And Wymack calling him when he found out about the fire! My whole heart. I really didn’t expect that, maybe Renee or Kevin- possibly Neil (unlikely due to injury) but I didn’t expect Wymack and…I love him.

Another scene, Honorable Mention lol, for different reasons that isn’t as sweet and heartwarming- but where I had to pause and I also continuously mull over it, is when Jean is fighting Zane and Lucas comes in and instead of Zane continuing going after Jean he makes Lucas his target because he looks so much like Grayson.

Like, Zane betrayed Jean. He turned Jean over to Grayson and turned his back on him and yet going after Grayson is still so strongly ingrained in him…And Jean knew he would go after Lucas in that moment… It doesn’t make me like Zane. But it adds to the weight and complexity of the Nest and the Ravens’ mental states because before this we really only saw how quick they were to turn on Jean- and Zane did but Jean still saved his life and there’s still a part of Zane that is protective of Jean (though it’s not anything trustworthy because of his previous betrayal)- Still hearing Zane go off about how being Jean’s partner meant so much to him (even if it was for selfish reasons) and when Jean goes off about how it was a lost cause regardless, both because of Riko’s/the Ravens’ dislike of Jean but also because of the fact that Zane himself stood in the way of Riko/Grayson, put so much more stuff into perspective in regards to their relationship and how strained yet vulnerable it was. Why it was awful but also why it meant so much to both of them. (Okay I’m going to cry, I’m going to stop now). This moment/scene/fight silenced me. I was so mad and so sad and so…smh.

[bozhenkamoya]

#notmylouis