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therogueflame · 1 month ago

Text

The Diplomat

Hi friends,

Since I'm a Daemon girly through and through and horny as fuck, I imagined what it would be like to have terrible, angry sex with Daemon. None of the fics were hitting the spot, so I wrote one instead. There are two parts to this story, but the second part can be read as a standalone if you squint a little. Here is part one, enjoy!

✨My Masterlist✨

Summary: Your marriage to Daemon has been marked by tempers and tempests, but when he proposes setting the Riverlands ablaze, the need for reason has never been more urgent.

WC: 9.4k

Warnings: 18+, just fluff and a lil suggestiveness, no use of y/n, light descriptions of fem!reader, kind of a little jumping around (let me know if i put too many sword dividers in)

Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

The small council chamber was thick with unease. Though the warm spring breeze drifted through the high windows, stirring the black banners bearing the sigil of House Targaryen, it did little to lighten the atmosphere. The men gathered around the long oak table wore the weight of the discussion in their stiff shoulders and furrowed brows.

Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, spoke first, his voice measured but edged with authority. “The Blackwoods insist their knight acted in self-defense. He claims the Bracken lord drew steel first and would have struck him down had he not defended himself.”

Across the table, Lord Lyman Beesbury adjusted his spectacles, his aged face lined with worry. “Regardless of intent, a Bracken heir lies dead. His father demands retribution, and he’s mustered men to see it done. This feud risks spilling over into open conflict, my lords.”

“It has always been this way between the Brackens and Blackwoods,” chimed in Lord Tyland Lannister, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. He leaned back in his chair with an air of indifference. “Their hatred for one another is practically tradition. Why should the crown involve itself in their petty quarrels?”

“Because they are sworn to the crown,” Otto replied sharply, his gaze narrowing. “Their lands and titles are held in service to the Iron Throne. If we do not intervene, their conflict will destabilize the Riverlands and undermine royal authority.”

Daemon scoffed loudly, drawing every gaze in the room. He lounged in his chair, though his posture was more calculated than relaxed. His dark eyes glittered with impatience. “Destabilize? Spare me your dramatics, Otto. This is nothing more than two dogs fighting over scraps. Let them tire themselves out.”

“And when those scraps include burnt villages and dead smallfolk?” Otto countered, his tone clipped. “You would have the crown turn a blind eye while the Riverlands descend into chaos?”

Daemon leaned forward then, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “I would have the crown remind them who they answer to. Send riders, summon their lords to kneel before the throne. If they refuse, then you send swords.”

Lord Beesbury sputtered, his hand trembling slightly as he adjusted his quill. “Violence is hardly the answer, my prince. Surely, diplomacy—”

“Diplomacy has done nothing but embolden them,” Daemon snapped, cutting him off. “Every year, it’s the same. Bracken blames Blackwood, Blackwood blames Bracken. It’s a waste of the crown’s time and patience. They need to be reminded that their squabbles end where the Iron Throne begins.”

“You speak of violence as though it’s the only solution,” Tyland interjected smoothly. “The Riverlands are already tense. A heavy hand might unite them—against us.”

Viserys, who had remained silent until now, raised a hand, commanding the room’s attention. His weary expression spoke of a man burdened by the crown he wore. “Enough,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “This matter is not so easily solved. Both houses have their grievances, and both claim to act in the right. I will need time to consider our response.”

Daemon’s chair scraped against the stone floor as he rose, his movements sharp with irritation. “While you consider, brother, they will act. And your indecision will be seen as weakness.”

Viserys’s gaze hardened. “Do not mistake thoughtfulness for weakness, Daemon.”

“Call it what you will,” Daemon muttered, turning on his heel and striding from the chamber, his dark cloak billowing behind him. The remaining lords exchanged wary glances but said nothing, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.

Viserys sighed heavily, the sound of a man long accustomed to the burdens of the throne. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair as he watched the doors swing closed behind Daemon’s retreating figure. For a moment, the chamber was silent, save for the distant cries of gulls from Blackwater Bay and the faint murmur of activity in the Red Keep below.

“This council is concluded,” Viserys said at last, his voice quieter now, the fight drained from it. He rose from his chair, and the lords followed suit, their expressions a mix of relief and unease.

“Your Grace,” Otto began, stepping forward as the rest of the council prepared to file out. His tone was deferential, but the gleam in his eye betrayed his eagerness to press his point. “Might I suggest—”

“Not now, Otto,” Viserys interrupted, waving him off. “I’ve heard enough for today.”

The Hand of the King inclined his head, though the tightening of his lips spoke volumes about his displeasure. One by one, the council members departed, their whispered conversations trailing behind them like smoke.

Viserys lingered for a moment after the chamber was empty. The answers would come, but not today.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

Daemon stormed through the halls of the Red Keep, his boots striking the stone floor with forceful purpose. Servants and courtiers scattered at the sight of him, their eyes darting to the crimson and black of his cloak, the Targaryen sigil embroidered in rich gold on his tunic.

The prince’s mind churned with frustration, the council’s deliberations replaying in his head like a wound he couldn’t stop picking at. Otto’s pompous tone, Tyland’s smug indifference, Viserys’s endless dithering—all of it grated against his pride.

By the time he reached the chambers he shared with you, the heat of his temper had reached its peak. He flung the doors open with enough force to make them shudder against the stone walls.

Inside, the room was a picture of calm. Sunlight filtered through the open windows, casting soft, golden light across the chamber. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the sweet warmth of spring.

You sat near the hearth, cradling your young son in your arms. His small fingers grasped at a strand of your hair, his innocent laughter filling the room as you smiled down at him. The sight was a balm to any who might witness it—anyone but Daemon in his current state.

The nursemaid, standing a few paces away, froze at the sight of the prince’s thunderous expression. Her hands faltered mid-curtsy, and she looked to you for guidance, her face pale.

“Out,” Daemon barked, his voice sharp enough to cut. He didn’t bother looking at her as he strode into the room, his dark eyes locked on you.

The nursemaid hesitated for only a moment before gathering the child in her arms and retreating swiftly, her footsteps nearly silent against the rush of Daemon’s presence.

When the door closed behind her, Daemon’s pacing began, each step a sharp, deliberate motion that mirrored the storm in his mind. His hands flexed at his sides, as though longing to grip the hilt of Dark Sister and channel his anger into something tangible.

“This is what passes for leadership now,” he began, his voice low but vibrating with suppressed rage. “My brother, the king, sitting in that gods-damned chair, twiddling his thumbs while the Riverlands teeter on the edge of chaos!”

You set your book aside, folding your hands in your lap as you watched him. You had seen Daemon in this mood before, his temper a force of nature that could not be stopped but only weathered. It was better to let him speak, to let the storm rage until it spent itself.

“I told them what needed to be done,” he continued, his pacing growing faster. “Ride out, demand their fealty, remind them who they serve. But no—Viserys would rather sit and think.” His lip curled as he spat the word, as though it were a curse.

Daemon’s pacing was relentless, his steps carving invisible lines into the chamber floor. His voice rose as he continued, his words dripping with scorn. “Otto’s solution? Send letters. As if words written on parchment will mend generations of blood feuds! And Tyland—he all but shrugged! ‘Let them fight it out,’ he said, as though it’s his lands that will burn when the fighting starts. Useless, the lot of them.”

He paused, finally turning to you, his dark eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and expectation. “And my brother,” he growled, his hands clenching into fists. “The great Viserys, King of the Seven Kingdoms, paralyzed by his own fear of making the wrong choice. He’ll sit there until it’s too late, as he always does, and then expect me to clean up his mess.”

You met his gaze calmly, though you could feel the weight of his fury pressing against you like a tangible force. “Daemon,” you said gently, your tone an attempt to temper the flames threatening to consume him.

But he wasn’t ready to be calmed. “No,” he snapped, cutting you off before you could say more. “Don’t tell me to let it go. You weren’t there. You didn’t see the way they looked at me—like I was some brash fool for speaking sense. They undermine me at every turn, and Viserys allows it!”

His voice echoed off the walls, and for a moment, the room fell silent. The distant sounds of the Red Keep seemed impossibly far away, muted by the tension that filled the space between you.

You rose from your seat slowly, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you crossed the room to stand before him. He watched you, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger, his jaw tight.

“I’m not telling you to let it go,” you said softly, placing a hand on his chest. His tunic was warm beneath your palm, the steady thrum of his heartbeat betraying the tempest within. “I’m asking you to save it for when it matters most. You’ll have your chance to be heard again. But not if you burn yourself out now.”

For a moment, Daemon said nothing. His eyes searched yours, his expression still tight with frustration, but the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. He placed a hand over yours, his fingers curling around it as if anchoring himself.

“They don’t listen,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice had dulled. “Not to me. Not unless I force them to.”

“Then make them listen,” you replied, your tone firm but kind. “But not like this. Not in anger.”

His lips twisted into a smirk, though it lacked its usual sharpness. “You think you know me so well,” he said, his voice softer now, almost teasing.

“I do,” you replied simply, holding his gaze.

Daemon sighed, the last of his anger bleeding away as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was strong, almost possessive, as if you were the only thing grounding him in that moment.

“You’re too clever for your own good,” he murmured into your hair.

“And you’re too stubborn for yours,” you replied, earning a low chuckle from him.

When he pulled back, his expression was lighter, though the frustration lingered in his eyes. “The feast,” you said gently, steering him toward a different focus. “Rhaenyra’s wedding is in a few days. You should be thinking about that, not letting the council get under your skin.”

Daemon snorted, but there was no heat behind it. “Unity,” he muttered, echoing words he had likely heard too many times already. “A grand spectacle to pretend the realm isn’t fracturing beneath us.”

You arched a brow. “Then let them believe otherwise. Isn’t that the game of thrones you so enjoy?”

He let out a short laugh, the sound both bitter and amused. “You’ve been spending too much time around me.”

You smiled, brushing a hand along his arm. “Perhaps.”

Daemon released a long breath, the tension in his shoulders finally softening as he stepped away, his gaze drifting toward the open window. The warm spring breeze ruffled his silver hair, and for a moment, he looked less like the fearsome rogue prince and more like the restless man you had come to know so intimately.

“The wedding feast,” he said, the words tasting foreign on his tongue. “A spectacle of union for a realm that can’t even decide which house to favor in a petty feud.”

You stepped closer, your tone light yet pointed. “And yet it’s not the realm’s union we’re celebrating, is it? It’s Rhaenyra’s.”

Daemon turned back to you, his expression softening further at the mention of his niece. His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he tilted his head. “I’ll admit, the girl’s managed to surprise me. Agreeing to wed Laenor Velaryon of all people. I thought she’d have burnt the keep to ashes before conceding.”

You chuckled softly, reaching for his hand. “Perhaps she learned from someone that rebellion isn’t always about fire and blood. Sometimes, it’s about choosing when to bend, so you can strike harder later.”

He raised a brow at that, his smirk deepening. “If you’re insinuating that I’ve taught her anything resembling restraint, I fear you’ve misunderstood me, my lady.”

“Not restraint,” you countered, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “Strategy. She’s clever, your niece. As clever as you are, and just as stubborn.”

Daemon’s gaze softened further, and he let out a quiet laugh. “She’ll need that stubbornness to endure what’s ahead. The Velaryons are not without their pride.”

“And neither are the Targaryens,” you replied with a small smile. “It’s fitting, really—a match to unite two ancient houses and bolster the realm’s strength. A necessary union, no matter how imperfect it may seem.”

He sighed, his free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “A necessary union,” he echoed. “And yet, Viserys sees it as more than that. He thinks it’ll heal old wounds and inspire loyalty. As if a feast and a wedding can undo years of division.”

“Maybe it can’t,” you admitted, your voice softening. “But it can remind people of what’s worth fighting for—family, unity, the realm’s future. Even if it’s only for a night.”

Daemon looked at you then, his expression unreadable. But there was a warmth in his gaze, one that seemed to melt away the last of his earlier frustration. He pulled you closer, his hands settling on your waist.

“You have a way of making everything seem simpler,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Even when it’s not.”

“It’s a gift,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Now, will you let me dress you in something appropriate for the feast, or will I have to endure your complaints the entire evening?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Oh, you’ll endure them regardless. But yes, my dear, I’ll wear whatever ridiculous finery you deem fit. I wouldn’t want to shame you in front of the court.”

“Nonsense, perish the thought,” you said with a grin, resting your forehead against his.

For now, the storm had truly passed, and in its wake, a fragile peace remained. The feast loomed ahead, a symbol of hope for some and an illusion for others. But in this moment, there was only you and Daemon, and that was enough.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The grand hall of the Red Keep was resplendent, its vaulted ceilings adorned with streaming banners bearing the sigils of the realm’s great houses. Flickering torchlight and the warm glow of chandeliers lit the space, casting dancing shadows over the lavish feast laid upon long trestle tables. The scent of roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and spiced wine filled the air, mingling with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

Rhaenyra sat at the head table beside her new husband, Laenor Velaryon, her expression poised but faintly distant, as though she carried the weight of the realm’s gaze with practiced indifference. Her silver hair was woven with pearls, and her gown shimmered with dragonfire embroidery, every inch the picture of Targaryen majesty.

The lords and ladies of the realm had gathered in full force, a sea of vibrant colors and glittering jewels, their movements a choreographed dance of subtle rivalries and unspoken alliances. Among them sat the Brackens and Blackwoods, carefully separated and positioned at opposite ends of the hall. Their faces were schooled into neutrality, their hands busy with goblets of wine or trencher bread, but the tension between the two houses was palpable to those who knew where to look.

You were seated at Daemon’s side at a table reserved for the royal family, a position that afforded you a perfect view of the festivities—and the undercurrents of unease beneath them. Daemon was dressed impeccably in dark crimson and black, his usual defiance tempered into a sharp elegance that suited him well. His expression was unreadable as he sipped his wine, but you could see the way his gaze flickered over the room, cataloging every interaction, every veiled slight.

“They’ve managed not to kill each other—for now,” Daemon murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear. His eyes flicked toward the Brackens and Blackwoods, a glint of amusement mingling with his sharp scrutiny.

“Give them time,” you replied dryly, reaching for your own goblet. “The wine hasn’t yet worked its magic.”

Daemon chuckled, his smirk deepening as he leaned closer. “Or its mischief.”

You arched a brow at him, though you couldn’t help but smile. “You seem far too entertained by the prospect of chaos at your niece’s wedding.”

He shrugged, his gaze shifting back to the hall. “Chaos keeps the night interesting.”

Before you could respond, a herald’s voice rang out, calling for the first dance. All eyes turned to Rhaenyra and Laenor as they rose from their seats, their movements graceful as they stepped onto the polished floor. The music began, a lively tune that seemed to ripple through the hall like a spark catching fire.

The lords and ladies soon followed, filling the floor with a swirl of color and movement. Laughter and applause echoed as couples spun and twirled, their steps weaving together in intricate patterns.

Daemon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming idly against the table. “Are you going to make me dance, too?” he asked, his tone teasing.

You smirked, leaning closer to him. “I was going to let you off easy tonight. But if you insist…”

He groaned in mock exasperation, earning a soft laugh from you. For a moment, the tension of the evening faded, replaced by the warmth of shared humor.

But even as the festivities unfolded, you couldn’t shake the sense that the peace was fragile, a veneer that could crack at any moment. The Brackens and Blackwoods were not the only ones walking a fine line tonight, and in the shadow of the Iron Throne, every move felt like a gamble.

Daemon’s groan was followed by a mischievous grin, the kind that always made your chest tighten and your resolve weaken. “You’re insufferable,” he said, though there was no heat to his words as he extended a hand toward you.

“And you’re predictable,” you countered, placing your hand in his. His fingers wrapped around yours, firm yet careful, as he guided you from your seat.

The music shifted as you both stepped onto the dance floor, the melody lilting into a slower, more intimate tune. The crowd parted, eyes subtly following your movements as you took your place in the center of the floor with the rogue prince at your side. You could feel the weight of their attention, but you were no stranger to it.

Daemon’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his other holding yours as he began to lead you in the dance. His steps were confident, fluid, each movement purposeful yet unhurried. “They’re watching us,” he murmured, his voice low and for your ears alone.

“They always are,” you replied, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’re hard to ignore.”

His smirk deepened, his thumb brushing against your hand. “And you,” he said, his tone softer now, “make it impossible.”

You rolled your eyes at his flattery but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. The dance brought you closer, his hand at your waist pulling you just shy of propriety, but enough to make your heart race.

The world around you seemed to fade, the music and laughter becoming a distant hum as you moved together. Daemon’s presence was magnetic, his intensity grounding yet exhilarating, as though the two of you existed in a world apart from the one where alliances were made and broken over cups of wine.

“You’re rather light on your feet for someone who pretends to loathe courtly things,” you teased, letting him spin you gently before drawing you back into his arms.

“Don’t mistake talent for affection,” he replied, though his smirk betrayed him. “I’d burn this entire hall if it meant avoiding another round of politics.”

“And yet, here you are,” you said, your tone light but pointed. “Dancing at a wedding, pretending to tolerate the people you claim to despise.”

“For you,” he said simply, his voice low and sincere in a way that made your breath hitch. “Always for you.”

For a moment, the tension of the feast melted away, replaced by the warmth of his confession. But it was fleeting, a stolen moment in a night that promised anything but peace.

As the dance came to an end, Daemon held your gaze, his hand lingering at your waist. Applause filled the hall, but you barely heard it, your focus locked on the man before you.

“You’re going to set tongues wagging,” you said softly, stepping back as decorum demanded.

“Let them wag,” he replied, his smirk returning. “They’d do it anyway.”

The spell was broken as the music shifted again, and other couples moved to fill the floor. Daemon led you back to your seat, his hand brushing against yours one last time before he turned his attention back to the feast.

The hall was alive with revelry, yet beneath the surface, you could feel the fragile balance of the evening teetering. The Brackens and Blackwoods had kept to themselves so far, but there was no denying the sharp glances exchanged across the room, nor the tension lingering like a storm on the horizon.

Daemon, of course, noticed it too. He leaned toward you, his voice low and conspiratorial. “How long do you think it’ll take before someone breaks the peace?”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “Hopefully not before dessert.”

His laughter was soft but genuine, a rare moment of levity in a night that felt like a game played on the edge of a knife.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The revelry continued unabated, the music and laughter rising to fill the cavernous hall. Goblets were refilled, plates heaped with delicacies, and the scent of roasted quail and sweet pastries hung heavy in the air. Yet, despite the vibrant atmosphere, an undercurrent of unease persisted—an unspoken tension that seemed to ripple just beneath the surface.

At opposite ends of the hall, the Brackens and Blackwoods remained in their carefully orchestrated positions. Their eyes rarely wandered toward one another, but when they did, it was with the kind of simmering disdain that no amount of protocol could conceal.

Daemon leaned lazily back in his chair, one arm draped over the back of your seat. His eyes roamed the hall, sharp and assessing despite the deceptively casual posture. He sipped his wine, his smirk growing as his gaze lingered on the Bracken table.

“They’re twitching like hounds on a short leash,” he muttered, the words meant only for you.

“You’re not helping,” you replied, though your own gaze flickered toward the Blackwoods, where a young lord’s hand gripped the stem of his goblet just a little too tightly.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of a raised voice—a sharp, mocking laugh from the Bracken side of the hall. Heads turned as Ser Amos Bracken, a stout man with a ruddy complexion, leaned back in his chair, his booming voice carrying over the din.

“Tell me, young Blackwood,” Amos said, his words dripping with condescension, “is it true your family still claims descent from the First Men? Seems a bold thing to boast when all it’s earned you is a table in the corner.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter followed, and for a moment, it seemed as though the insult might go unanswered. But then, a young Blackwood lord—tall, lean, and barely out of boyhood—rose from his seat, his face flushed with anger.

“And yet we’re here,” the Blackwood retorted, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “Unlike your ancestors, who’d sooner kneel to any conqueror who offered them a scrap of power.”

The hall fell silent.

Daemon’s smirk widened, and he leaned closer to you, his voice a low murmur. “Here we go.”

You shot him a sharp look, but before you could reply, the tension in the hall snapped like a drawn bowstring.

Ser Amos Bracken surged to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. “You’ve got a sharp tongue for a boy who hides behind his mother’s skirts!” he barked, his meaty hand slamming down on the table.

“And you’ve got a lot of nerve for a man whose house clings to its titles like barnacles to a sinking ship!” the Blackwood shot back, stepping forward.

The two were separated by the breadth of the hall, but the air between them was charged, their mutual hatred igniting like dry kindling.

From his place at the head table, Viserys rose, his voice booming over the commotion. “Enough!” he commanded, his face flushed with the effort of asserting authority. “This is a wedding feast, not a battlefield!”

The hall quieted, though the tension lingered like smoke after a fire. The Bracken and Blackwood men glared at one another, their hands twitching near their sword hilts despite the king’s warning.

Beside you, Daemon watched with unveiled amusement, his smirk never faltering. “Viserys will tire of this soon enough,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And when he does, the real fun begins.”

You sighed, your hand reaching for your goblet. “It’s a wonder we ever manage to call ourselves united,” you muttered.

The feast continued, but the mood had shifted. The Brackens and Blackwoods returned to their seats, though their tempers simmered just beneath the surface, waiting for the slightest provocation to boil over.

And in the shadows of the great hall, as wine flowed and music played, you couldn’t help but wonder how long this fragile peace would last.

The feast dragged on long after the first sparks of conflict had settled into the deep, tense silence of uneasy truce. The Brackens and Blackwoods remained seated at opposite ends of the hall, their eyes darting sideways, but never meeting. The music played, but it seemed faint, muted by the hum of strained politeness. The air was thick with the weight of unsaid words and the knowledge that the night was not done with its drama yet.

Daemon’s hand never left your side, though he barely spoke throughout the evening. His gaze, sharp and watchful, moved across the hall with the same intensity he had shown in the small council, as if he were cataloging every movement, every slight. Yet, when he turned to you, the ever-present amusement lingered in his eyes, softened by the flicker of warmth that only you could evoke.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

Finally, the night wore on long enough that the revelers began to tire. The hall was slowly emptied of its guests, many of them still nursing their drinks, their conversations lowered to murmurs. It was only then that you and Daemon rose from the table, both of you feeling the weight of the evening—its many unspoken tensions—and the need to retreat from it all.

As you made your way through the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, your thoughts were heavy, your feet quickening to match the pace of Daemon’s long strides. The air had cooled slightly, but the heat of the feast still lingered in your chest, the pressing weight of what had transpired and what might yet come. You were both silent, the quiet of the corridors filled only with the faint sound of your footfalls.

Upon reaching your chambers, the door was barely shut before Daemon’s mouth found yours in a fierce kiss, a hungry press of lips that spoke more than words could. It was a fire that hadn’t been stoked since the tension of the council, since the weight of the evening’s events, and now, it erupted between you both, a spark turning into a blaze.

His hands were quick, unhurried but firm, as they sought the fastenings of your gown, the fabric brushing over your skin like a whisper. He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear, as he murmured words that had no need for meaning—just the undeniable presence of him, the demand of his touch. You responded in kind, your hands threading through his silver hair, pulling him even closer, your own lips demanding, pushing, surrendering.

The world beyond your chambers ceased to exist, only the feel of his body pressed against yours, the heat of your skin mingling in the dim light of the room. The frantic pace, the shared desperation—this was the only way to truly escape the suffocating expectations of the night, of the court, of the world that always surrounded you both.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as you moved together, your bodies in perfect sync, the world beyond the stone walls forgotten. And when it was over, when the storm had finally subsided, you lay together in the coolness of the sheets, breathing heavily, the weight of the night still lingering but now softened, shared between you.

For a moment, there was only quiet, the kind that spoke of an intimacy deeper than any words. But eventually, Daemon’s voice broke the silence, his tone low and thoughtful.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his fingers trailing lazily down your arm. “I expected you to have more to say about tonight.”

You shifted slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow as you looked at him, his silver eyes darkened by the faint candlelight, the weight of the evening still present but subdued now. “What more is there to say?” you asked, your voice soft, though a trace of the earlier tension remained in it. “It’s all a game, isn’t it? A dance between houses, between power, between… everything we can’t control.”

Daemon’s lips quirked into a faint, almost rueful smile. “Not everything is a game,” he said, his voice low, his hand coming to rest on your waist. “But sometimes it’s the only thing worth playing.”

You let out a small laugh, but it was tinged with weariness. “And we’re all just pawns.”

He turned toward you fully now, his eyes sharp but softer, the edges of his smirk fading into something more sincere. “Not pawns. We’re the ones pulling the strings, whether we admit it or not.”

You met his gaze, searching his face for any sign of doubt or calculation, but found none. For all his cynical remarks, for all his posturing, Daemon was a man who knew the weight of power—and the way it could be wielded.

And yet, there was a part of you that wondered if, beneath it all, he still feared being pulled into the same web of politics, of manipulation, of being a player rather than a kingmaker.

“I suppose we have no choice but to play,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now, more resigned. “And if we can’t win, we make sure no one else does.”

Daemon chuckled, the sound low and dark, and he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead. “That’s the spirit. And if the night’s mischief didn’t satisfy you, you can always count on me to make things interesting tomorrow.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers idly tracing patterns along his chest. “Let’s sleep first,” you said, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you. “We can fight the battles tomorrow.”

Daemon’s arms tightened around you as he kissed your hair softly. “Tomorrow, then. But for tonight, let’s leave the world outside.”

And as the flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, you closed your eyes, the weight of the night finally lifting, knowing that come the dawn, the battles would still await—but for now, you were content to simply rest beside him, the world outside a distant echo. ▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The next morning, the tension that had hung heavy over the wedding feast still clung to the air in the Red Keep. Even the rays of sunlight filtering through the high windows of the small council chamber seemed to carry an oppressive weight, as if the very castle itself was holding its breath. The room, normally filled with the dull murmur of routine affairs, now buzzed with the friction of yesterday’s simmering conflict.

Viserys sat at the head of the table, his usually placid expression marred by a faint crease between his brows. The day after Rhaenyra’s wedding feast, it seemed the wounds were still fresh, not just in the eyes of the Brackens and Blackwoods, but in the silent resentments of the council members who had grown all too accustomed to the tense dance of alliances.

Daemon sat with his usual relaxed posture, though there was no hiding the coldness that lingered in his eyes. He had never been one to mince words or tolerate the games of court, and today, it seemed, his patience was thinner than ever.

The council’s discussion was still focused on the aftermath of the previous evening’s altercation. Some spoke of ways to soothe the ruffled egos of the Brackens and Blackwoods, but it was clear no one quite knew how to do so without further escalating the situation.

Lord Mervyn, a portly noble with the tendency to speak before thinking, suggested, "Perhaps we should offer them gold—some measure of coin to settle their quarrels, a show of goodwill."

The Master of Coin, Lord Ormund, a sharp-eyed man with a wry sense of humor, laughed aloud, his voice cutting through the tension. “Gold?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “And where, pray tell, do you expect to find this coin? We are in a constant state of debt, Mervyn. Should we start selling off the castle to please the Brackens and Blackwoods?”

The room shifted uncomfortably, though Lord Mervyn, his cheeks growing redder by the second, remained silent, his suggestion now hanging in the air like a poorly timed joke.

Daemon rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps we should all just stop speaking entirely, seeing as it’s become a contest to see who can drone on the longest about the same petty squabbles.” His words were not aimed at anyone in particular, but they struck a chord in the room.

The rest of the council fell into a strained silence. Viserys sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead as if to ward off the growing headache he surely felt. “Enough,” he commanded, his voice quiet but firm. “Let us take a break for now. I will consider all your suggestions and call upon you when I have come to a decision.”

The meeting, like so many before it, ended without resolution. There were no clear answers, no easy solutions to the brewing tensions in the realm. The room emptied slowly, each member of the council filing out, their faces etched with the same frustrations.

Daemon stood quickly, brushing past his fellow lords without a glance, his movements sharp and restless. He had never been one to tolerate idle chatter, least of all in a place that made him feel like a caged animal.

With a grunt, he headed for the exit, intent on blowing off steam in the training yard. It was there that he could find his peace, if only for a moment—away from the endless plotting and bickering of the council.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The council meeting had ended in a tense, uncertain silence. Daemon’s comments had left the room heavy with discomfort, and the usual murmurs among the lords had subsided into a quiet unease. The entire realm could feel the tension as it thickened in the Red Keep, especially with the lords now speaking in hushed tones about Daemon’s latest tantrum. His temper, unchecked and untamed, was becoming too much even for his own family to ignore.

You, however, were no stranger to Daemon’s anger, and as much as it threatened to boil over, you knew something had to be done. The matter was already critical—his pride had endangered everything, and the last thing you could afford was another of his impulsive decisions damaging the realm.

You had not attended the council meeting; there was no need. You knew that the key to solving this issue would lie not in words spoken around the council table, but in private action, taken swiftly and subtly.

When the last of the councilors had left the chamber, you’d already made your way to Viserys’s solar, your mind fixed on a plan. The moment you stepped into the room, you could sense the quiet weight of the king’s exhaustion. His shoulders slumped under the weight of the crown, and there was a weariness in his eyes that had grown familiar over the years.

He turned slowly as you entered, a faint glimmer of recognition in his gaze. “So, it’s done then,” Viserys remarked, his voice low and heavy with the same tension that clung to the walls. He knew. The moment Daemon’s rage had been unleashed, it had been clear that something would need to be done, but you had taken no part in the council’s discussion.

You closed the door softly behind you, moving closer to the king. “Daemon’s actions cannot go unchecked any longer, Your Grace. The Brackens and Blackwoods have made their demands clear, and the council is growing restless. This will escalate if we don’t step in quickly.”

Viserys’s lips tightened in a frown. “And you have a solution?” he asked, though the weariness in his voice suggested he was more than ready to hear one.

You nodded, settling yourself beside him at the table. “I do. I’ve already considered it carefully.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity but no doubt. “Speak plainly, then. What do you propose?”

You hesitated for a moment before diving into the details, your voice steady and measured. “The Brackens are proud. They demand recognition, something that will soothe their wounded egos and quell their desire for vengeance. We offer them a royal boon—a land claim that will satisfy their pride and keep them from seeking bloodshed.”

Viserys listened intently, his gaze not wavering. You knew that he understood the importance of keeping the peace, especially in the wake of Daemon’s volatile temper. “And the Blackwoods?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he sought clarification.

“The Blackwoods are more about justice. They’ll demand the life of the knight who wronged them, but we can’t allow that. Instead, I will offer them exile to the Night’s Watch. It’s a compromise—justice without bloodshed.”

Viserys nodded slowly, considering the weight of your words. “And how do we prevent Daemon from knowing about this?”

You smiled softly, though there was no humor in it. “That’s where you come in, Your Grace. This needs to be seen as your decision—your action. We will stage a public reconciliation ceremony, where both the Brackens and Blackwoods will swear oaths of peace before the Iron Throne. The realm will believe it was your command. Daemon will not suspect a thing.”

Viserys stared at you for a long moment, his expression shifting as he absorbed the intricacies of your plan. You could see the internal conflict on his face—he had always strived to maintain the appearance of unity between himself and his brother, but there was no denying the mounting pressure to act swiftly. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he sighed, his shoulders drooping.

“This will anger Daemon,” he said, the words heavy with the weight of a decision he knew he would have to make. “He will not take kindly to being excluded from such an important matter.”

You nodded in agreement. “I know. But we cannot afford to let his temper ruin everything. We need to act swiftly, before the situation spirals beyond our control. The realm depends on it.”

Viserys stood slowly, walking to the window and staring out over the city below. You could see the exhaustion and the weariness of ruling in his every movement. Finally, he turned back to you, his expression resolute.

“Very well,” he said, his voice carrying the heavy authority of a king. “I will handle it. But you must understand, this may not be the last time we face such a challenge with Daemon.”

“I understand, Your Grace,” you replied quietly, your voice resolute. “But for now, we act. This will prevent any further escalation, and it will protect the realm.”

Viserys gave a small nod, a faint trace of a smile appearing on his lips as he stepped forward, his resolve hardening. “Then we proceed as you’ve outlined. You’ve made it clear that Daemon cannot know, and I’ll ensure that the public sees this as my decision, not his. It will work.”

You bowed your head slightly. “Thank you, Your Grace. This is the only way forward.”

As Viserys turned back to his window, the weight of the crown settling back on his shoulders, you knew that the plan was in motion. The Riverlands would be pacified, the Brackens and Blackwoods would be brought to heel, and Daemon would never suspect that it was you who had orchestrated it all behind his back.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The quiet hum of the Red Keep was always present in the early morning hours—footsteps echoing down long hallways, servants bustling with preparations, the distant sound of metal clashing as the guards went through their drills. But in the stillness of your chambers, there was no sign of movement save for the careful glide of your quill as it moved across the parchment. The dim light of the hearth flickered, casting shadows across the room, and the quiet whisper of ink meeting paper was the only sound you allowed yourself to hear.

The plan had been set into motion after a whispered discussion in Viserys’s solar. He had agreed, reluctantly, that action needed to be taken—but he had trusted you to carry it out. You had laid out the details of the diplomatic approach, and while it was Viserys’s seal that would adorn the letters, the intricate work, the precise wording, and the careful manipulation were all your doing. The king, though burdened by his crown, knew you were the one with the strength to handle the delicate negotiations.

You’d already sent word to the Brackens, a carefully worded letter crafted with precision. To them, you’d extended an olive branch wrapped in gold. A recognition of a contested land claim, something that would soothe their pride without pushing them too far. You had given them a reason to let go of their anger, without allowing them to feel they’d lost face.

Now, it was time to turn your attention to the Blackwoods.

You dipped your quill in ink once more, the tip gliding across the parchment. This letter was more delicate—more intricate. The Blackwoods had a deep sense of honor, and while they were willing to settle, their thirst for justice could not be ignored. You’d offered them the exile of the offending knight to the Night’s Watch, a compromise that would keep his life intact while still serving a form of justice. It would appease their pride, for their enemy would face punishment, but without the bloodshed that would only fan the flames of rebellion.

Each stroke of the quill was deliberate, forming words that sounded gentle but carried the weight of authority. You wrote as Viserys would, sealing your words in the king’s name, though it was clear to both of you that it was your own hands guiding the outcome. Viserys’s approval had been given with the understanding that the matter would be handled quietly, behind closed doors. The lords wouldn’t question the king’s actions—they would simply follow his lead, as they always did.

The letters were ready, each addressed to their respective families. You carefully rolled them, ensuring no trace of ink stained the edges, before sealing them with the king’s seal. You paused for a moment, looking at the waxen emblem, the sign of Viserys’s rule. It was a symbol of power, but it also carried the weight of everything you were trying to protect.

Ravens were summoned, and you entrusted them with the sealed letters. They would carry your carefully crafted words far from the Red Keep, bearing messages that would shape the future of the realm. And while Viserys would ultimately take credit for the decision, it was you who had orchestrated it all.

With the letters dispatched, you turned your attention to the next step of the plan: ensuring that the public reconciliation ceremony would go smoothly. But for now, you allowed yourself a rare moment of quiet. The ravens were on their way, and there was no turning back.

The small council chamber fell silent as Viserys took his seat at the head of the table, his weary eyes scanning the gathered lords. The air was thick with tension, remnants of Daemon’s outburst still hanging in the room.

“Let us be clear,” Viserys began, his voice steady but firm. “The situation with the Brackens and the Blackwoods has been resolved. There will be no bloodshed, no more open hostilities.”

Daemon, who had been sitting quietly, his expression simmering with frustration, leaned forward slightly, his voice low but sharp. “And you believe you can simply end this, without consulting me?”

Viserys’s gaze met his brother’s, unwavering. “I did not consult you, because this matter required swift and delicate action. It needed to be handled quietly, with the authority of the crown, not driven by emotion or pride.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, but Viserys continued, his voice cool. “I’ve sent a message to both houses. The Blackwoods will receive the justice they desire, but in a way that preserves peace. The Brackens, meanwhile, will be granted a significant boon—a recognition of their claim to disputed lands. A small price to pay to prevent further bloodshed.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “And what of my role in this, brother? What role do I play in this ‘delicate’ matter?”

Viserys looked at him, unflinching. “Your role, Daemon, is not to interfere. You are the Commander of the City Watch, but this was not a matter for the City Watch. It was a matter of diplomacy. Of keeping the peace.”

He paused, allowing the words to settle in the air. “The reconciliation ceremony will take place before the Iron Throne. Both the Brackens and the Blackwoods will swear oaths of peace, under my direct orders.”

Daemon opened his mouth to speak, but Viserys raised a hand, silencing him. “The matter is settled. There will be no further discussion. The lords of the realm will see this as a wise move—one that ensures peace in the Riverlands.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his expression softening as he glanced around the room. “Now, we move on. We have more important matters to discuss. The realm cannot wait.”

The silence in the room was palpable as Daemon, his temper barely contained, stood up abruptly. His chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as he stormed out, leaving a tense stillness behind him.

Viserys turned to the remaining council members, his voice once again calm. “Let us proceed with the agenda.”

And with that, the council resumed, but the air was thick with unspoken words.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

You weren’t expecting to find yourself outside the council chambers today, but the moment you heard raised voices echoing through the halls, you knew something was amiss. You didn’t need to hear the words to understand what was happening—Daemon and Viserys were locked in yet another heated argument.

As you neared the door, you paused, quietly listening to the tension that hung thick in the air between the two brothers. You knew this wasn’t a casual disagreement. No, this was deeper, more volatile than anything that had come before. Daemon’s temper was a fire that could not easily be quenched, and Viserys’s patience had long since reached its breaking point.

“—and you’re willing to let them do this without me?” Daemon’s voice rang out, full of disbelief and fury. “You sit there in your throne and make decisions that should be mine to make!”

Viserys’s voice followed, sharper, colder. “I am the king, Daemon! Not you. And you’re not in charge of the Riverlands. You’ve made it abundantly clear that your temper will only make matters worse, and I will not let you jeopardize everything we’ve worked for.”

You couldn’t help the tightness in your chest as you slowly opened the door. You knew that Viserys had been under pressure, but hearing the raw anger in both of their voices made your heart ache.

Daemon’s eyes snapped to you as you entered, his features momentarily softening when he saw you. But it didn’t last long. His frustration was too much to hide.

“You heard all of that, didn’t you?” he growled, his words aimed not at you but at the air around him. “He undermines me, as always.”

Viserys, still seated at the council table, gave a weary sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s for the good of the realm, Daemon. Your actions, your temper... they’ve made it impossible to move forward.”

Daemon took a step toward him, eyes blazing. “And you think I haven’t sacrificed enough for this family? For you?”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on Daemon’s arm gently, though the weight of the argument still hung between the brothers.

“Daemon,” you said softly, “let’s not do this now.” Your voice was calm, but firm, a gentle anchor amidst the storm. “You can talk about this later, after you've both had time to breathe.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his eyes still locked on his brother, but his posture softened ever so slightly as your touch worked its magic. He exhaled deeply, frustration still etched in every line of his face, but he made no further move toward his brother.

Viserys looked between the two of you, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. There was a faint flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he stood, straightening his robes. “I’m done with this conversation for today,” he said coldly, and Daemon shot him one last, bitter glance before Viserys turned to leave.

As the door closed behind the king, the weight of the room seemed to lift, but Daemon’s anger still simmered beneath the surface. You could see it in his clenched fists, his furrowed brow, and the way his shoulders tensed with each breath.

You didn’t say anything at first. Instead, you gave him a moment to calm himself, knowing all too well that a conversation now would only lead to more frustration. Slowly, Daemon turned to face you, and when his eyes met yours, they were softer, though still clouded with the storm of emotion he was struggling to contain.

“You shouldn’t have heard that,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, the anger in it fading, replaced by a weariness that had settled deep within him. “It’s not for you to hear.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “I know you’re frustrated, Daemon. I don’t like seeing you like this.” You paused, your gaze steady. “But this fight... it’s not one you’re going to win. Not now.”

Daemon was quiet for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all this,” he admitted, his voice raw and vulnerable. “I don’t know how to make it stop.”

You held him a little tighter, feeling the weight of everything pressing on him. “I know. But we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

His arms tightened around you as he buried his face in your hair. For a moment, the tension seemed to lift, and all that remained was the two of you, holding on to each other in the quiet aftermath.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

A week passed since the resolution of the Bracken and Blackwood dispute, and while Daemon’s anger had simmered down to a quiet brooding, the tension in the Red Keep was palpable. The lords had spoken their piece, the council had concluded their deliberations, and the kingdom, for now, appeared to be at rest. Yet you knew better than to believe in a calm that came too easily. The peace had been achieved—quietly, subtly—without Daemon’s direct knowledge.

It had been your plan, executed with careful precision. The letters sent under the king’s seal, the meetings with the Brackens and the Blackwoods, the subtle maneuvering to avoid bloodshed—all of it was your doing. Daemon remained unaware of your role in it, and you intended to keep it that way. His temper, as volatile as ever, had quieted somewhat since the ceremony in the throne room. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the quiet between you both was fragile, and the whispers of the court only added to the unease.

The public reconciliation between the Brackens and the Blackwoods had been nothing short of a spectacle. The Iron Throne witnessed their sworn oaths of peace, pledging loyalty to the crown under Viserys’s direction. And while the ceremony had been regal and well-executed, the true work—the work done behind the scenes—remained a mystery to most.

But not to you. The weight of the success felt heavy, and you knew it would not stay secret for long. Even as you stood in the shadows of the throne room, observing the lords of the Riverlands make their pledges, you could hear the faint murmurs beginning to stir. First, it was a passing remark. A raised brow. Then, it grew louder, until it was impossible to ignore.

It was Daemon’s wife who had orchestrated it, they said. Not Viserys, not the king—Daemon’s wife. The rumors spread like wildfire. How had she managed to bring two feuding houses to the table? How had she secured the peace when all seemed lost? The whispers spoke not of Daemon’s involvement, but of your quiet influence. It was you who had orchestrated the peace—through your diplomacy, your steady resolve, and your deep understanding of the delicate balance that held the realm together.

At first, the whispers were faint, almost unnoticeable. But the longer the court simmered in its quiet post-celebration lull, the louder they became. A glance here, a sidelong comment there, as courtiers spoke behind their hands, careful not to draw too much attention. You overheard their theories—the reader of the letters, the one who had soothed the lords’ tempers, the one who had convinced the Brackens and the Blackwoods to lay down their swords.

Daemon had been busy in the training yard, his mind focused elsewhere, and so the whispers were a quiet storm that he hadn’t yet noticed. Yet, you knew it was only a matter of time before he pieced it together. For now, you kept to your silence. Your role in the peace had been deliberate. The credit, you were certain, would fall to Viserys. He was the king, after all, and it was his decision in the eyes of the realm. But it didn’t make the whispers any less insistent, nor did it quiet the growing suspicion in your heart that your husband might soon learn the truth.

You didn’t seek attention for your actions; your only goal had been the realm’s safety. But with each passing day, you could feel the weight of what you had done. Viserys had given you the freedom to act, trusting you to handle it, and you had. But now, as the court grew more talkative and the truth became less veiled, you couldn’t help but wonder: When would Daemon learn the full extent of your involvement? And what would his reaction be when he did?

The whispers only grew louder as the days wore on, echoing in the hallways and chambers, but for now, you remained tight-lipped. The peace had been secured. The rest, for the moment, didn’t matter.

230 notes · View notes

sc0tters · 22 days ago

Text

Agreeable | Trevor Zegras

summary: when the boys decide that you and trevor can't hate each other forever, you realise he may not be all that bad.

request: yes/no

trope: enemies to lovers

warnings: mentions of drinking, swearing, minimal hints to sexual acitivies at the end.

word count: 3.84k

authors note: okay hello! this was such a fun one to write and it was also a little different in comparison to the normal enemies to lovers prompts we end up writing. This is our second to last fic in the 500 celly, and I am so glad we changed this one over to this man because I am so much happier with this one.

Trevor found this to be a trip to his own version of hell.

The lake house was meant to be peaceful and a moment to unwind with his best friends. But that whole idea was made so much more complicated when you always decided to show up.

Jack met you at a bar in New Jersey, and as you both came in with fake IDs, there seemed to be something that you bonded over, and the friendship hadn’t looked back since. Before you both knew it, Jack got the title upgraded from friend to best friend to then roommate.

The forward soon started bringing you along to the lake house during the summer. Which most people loved, you knew how to hold your own in both drinking and banter. And it did help that you also were surprisingly good at pool.

Trevor, on the other hand, wanted to send you the quickest thing to get rid of you. He didn’t care if you had to catch a cab or even hitchhike to leave, he just wanted you gone. But it wasn’t always like this, in fact, the first summer you were there. Trevor actually thought you were kind of cute.

You were sat on the hammock as Trevor flirted with you “you sure you don’t got a man?” He asked as you let out a laugh “trust me, the only person in my bed is me.” You scrunched your nose as he looked at you.

Trevor leaned in as he brushed the hair out of your face “think we should change that no?” His voice was soft as he let his lips dance over yours.

The kiss was soft but as you heard the clear sounds of the boys inside you were reminded of where you were “we shouldn’t Trev.” You breathed out making him scoff “not like I would even want you.” His words were a clear dig at you, trying to be some personal attack as he got up and left you alone on the hammock.

Now Trevor wasn’t that childish, you rejecting him wasn’t the only reason for his newfound hatred of you. Sure it hurt his ego but there was more to that than just a simple I’m not interested in you.

That night the boys had thrown a party and invited all of their friends along from the area. As fun as the night was as well, you were starting to feel the effects of one too many vodka red bulls as you made your way back to your room.

With Jack downstairs you knew you could just walk right in “what the fuck!” A girl screamed from your bed as she immediately dropped down to lay flat against your sheet in an attempt to cover herself.

Your eyes were wide as you froze “Z get her out.” She added looking up at the boy where your eyes finally stopped “why are you fucking someone in my bed?” You scoffed trying to ignore the fact that you had definitely just seen his dick and that he was a lot bigger than you thought he’d be.

Truth be told he didn’t know it was your bed, but now that he did it made the whole thing just a little bit sweeter “Cole got a girl in our one.” The way he said it made it sound as though you were the weird one for bringing it up “you gonna just stand there or you wanna join us?” Trevor smirked as he saw how your cheeks turned a bright shade of pink.

Words struggled to get out of your mouth “fuck you!” You spat as you let the door shut with a slam as you opted to go downstairs instead of dealing with him in that moment.

Jack somehow knew not to question you as you ended up sleeping top to toe with him that night.

It seemed from that moment on, you were both destined to hate each other. The majority of it came during those two weeks at the lake but even the roadie to New York and New Jersey seemed to fall victim to it.

Trevor bursted into the apartment Jack never did seem to lock the door “Hughesy you will not believe who I sa-” he cut himself off as he walked into the kitchen to see you stood in front of him.

You had woken up a few minutes before and decided to leave the warmth of your bed, for a cup of coffee “since you’re so excited why don’t you share it for the group?” You sipped at your coffee as you smirked when his face dropped “Jack is in the shower.” You explained as you placed your cup on the counter.

You knew your nipples were hard as your body was cold. Trevor’s eyes stared at the red fabric of your top that fully encapsulated the two stiff peaks “you excited to see me?” He teased as you crossed your arms, doing your best to cover them “perv.” You grumbled grabbing your coffee to go back to your room.

Trevor laughed “c’mon ain’t you gonna make your guest a coffee?” He honestly didn’t even want one but when you sent him a glare he knew it was worth it asking “if you’re gonna walk into this apartment like that then you can get your own coffee.” You spoke in a duh tone as you walked past Jack who had just come out of his own room.

He frowned seeing the irritated look on your face “did you really have to be a dick to her?” He groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose “ain’t my fault she is so easy to screw with.” Trevor shrugged as he got himself a cup of coffee.

Things never got better for the two of you because you couldn’t even learn to put up with each other. Each time the two of you were in a room, you were bound to argue at least once “why does she have to come?” Trevor whined knowing that you were stood downstairs helping Jack with drinks “because she is Jack’s friend and most of us get on with her?” Cole answered with an obvious statement.

Of course, everyone had to love you. So as Trevor huffed as he threw his head down onto his bed, “so you all like Jamie, and I don’t bring him along to the lake.” Honestly, if Trevor was given the chance he would have asked Jamie to come along, but that wasn’t the point in that moment.

It made Cole laugh “when you are done with whatever this is would you like to come down?” Cole’s words reminded Trevor of his mom when he was having a tantrum as a child “yeah, yeah I will.” Trevor rolled his eyes as he stared at the ceiling.

You were downstairs playing a broken game of catch with Alex as he attempted to throw a grape into your mouth “you do know that my eyes are not where my mouth is right?” You asked as another hit the bridge of your nose “it’s not my fault you’re just short.” Alex shot back as he stuck his tongue out as you.

Trevor came down to see how another grape had this time hit your forehead “can you seriously not find a way to entertain yourself that doesn’t involve our snacks for the boat?” Trevor’s question was logical but the way his eyes stared at you made you irritated.

He watched you clench your fists “I mean I could throw them at you and actually make it hurt too if you’d prefer.” He offered finally making scowl at him “I will shove this up your ass if you’re not careful.” You warned making Quinn finally place his hands on your shoulders.

The older boy clicked his tongue “and on that note why don’t we get to the boat?” Quinn mumbled guiding you out of the door.

It was meant to be a space that Trevor could finally be in peace during, but now he had to be sat there watching you get a deeper tan in the new red bikini you had brought along for the trip “just play nice Z.” Cole warned seeing how the boy had looked at you.

But this time it didn’t seem to be that he was mad or even in the slightest bit annoyed at how you threw your shirt into a chair before you ran up to Jack who helped you onto the boat “said that I am not the problem.” Trevor muttered as he followed out to the boat.

You had been helping Jack set up the stuff for the waterskis when the Ducks player stopped by the side of the boat “you sure this is going to be enough for you?” You asked as you held up the life jacket “pretty sure I know how to swim.” Trevor shot back as you smirked watching him get onto the boat.

A sigh left your lips “well you know with a mouth as big as yours you might drown.” You shrugged going back to what you were doing “you been looking at me y/n?” There was a teasing sense in his voice was he clearly wanted to taunt you.

A warmth spread across your cheeks “no-I-” you were cut off by Jack “Y’know I’m pretty sure that I can find an old getting along T-shirt that my mom used to use on Quinn and I if you two want to fight again.” His warning was enough for both of you to send each other a glare.

If this was an action movie playing out there would have been a split screen scene that only showed your eyes turning into sharp glares “I am not fighting.” You both spoke at the same time

Cole looked over to Alex who sighed “if I didn’t know any better I could say they had a chance.” He mumbled knowing that their words were not going to match their actions “hey as long as we’re not bringing a body back to shore then we should take it as a win.” It was clear the older boy was laughing but his words almost manifested that scene.

There were many times that everyone thought you and Trevor were about to throw each other off of the boat, so much so that, they genuinely wondered if they were going to have to be fishing someone out of the water. And the explosiveness of the afternoon meant that everyone assumed they were dreaming as the night actually managed to calm down.

The familiar crackle of burning wood echoed in your ears as you found yourself falling asleep as the boys voices became mere background noise “I will see you in the morning.” Luke squeezed your shoulder softly waking you up.

Your eyes blinked as nobody else seemed to notice “is it past your bedtime grandma?” Trevor teased seeing you let out a yawn “ain’t my fault you’re boring me.” You grumbled sending him a glare.

It made him laugh as he looked at you “we can talk about all the reasons you are going to die a-” with that you cut him off “on that note I’m going to bed.” You clapped your hands together as you saw Cole come out of the house “guys this fire is dying let’s do something in here!” He called out wanting to go back inside.

You ignored the conversation opting to follow Luke inside as you wanted to go to bed as the rest of the boys went to play pool “why are you looking at me?” Trevor asked as he sipped at his beer.

Jack was clearly beyond irritated “because could you not just try to be nice to her for one week?” Jack felt as if he was asking a shark to walk on water “if she wasn’t such a pain then maybe I would have something nice to say to her.” Trevor shrugged as he looked down at his phone.

The middle Hughes boy realised that he was going to have to do something to put this all to a stop. Sure you and Trevor did not have to like each other, but the least you could both do is put up with each other “I think I am going to go to bed too.” Jack announced chugging back the remainder of his beer as he finally got up.

Cole and Alex both tried to send him protests “boys we have an early start after all.” He pointed out making the older boys go quiet. As Jack let the door shut behind him, he knew he was going to have to get to plotting if he was going to enact a plan before you left for the apartment again in five days.

After you spent your morning enjoying a lie-in as the boys went for a morning skate you got to do some of the mundane luxuries that the boys didn’t give you the time to enjoy. It wasn’t even tasks that you longed for but after a coffee in silence and a bubble bath, you finally felt as if you were ready for the day and whatever arguments that Trevor would now throw your way.

The boys were setting up for the afternoon as you walked onto the deck, Jack, Alex and Cole all seemed to have mischievous looks on their faces as they saw you “do I want to know?” You asked as you placed your hands on your hips making Jack jump away “we are just talking about possibly going for a skate tomorrow.” He was quick to send you a smile as you raised your eyebrows thinking that he was hiding something from you.

It was clear that Jack could read your suspicion on your face as he rubbed the back of his neck “I was wondering if you could go get us some more chairs from the shed though?” The question made you nod as you placed your phone on the table in front of you “I’ll come with you.” Quinn was quick to offer as he figured you could use a hand.

Jack raised his hand to stop his brother “you can’t!” His raised voice made you both look at him, confused “I just need to ask you a question before we start grilling.” Now, this was enough to fully distract Quinn as Jack was useless with a grill and Quinn wanted to eat edible food that night. You carried on down the grass as you didn’t mind grabbing them all yourself.

You walked into the shed wanting to find more chairs “god this place is a dump.” You let out a laugh as you ran your fingers along the dusty shelf. If you wanted to find a visual definition of organised chaos that needed a clean, it would have been this place.

You made your way to the back of the wooden building, remembering that Jack thought Quinn was stupid for putting them in the back when they’re often used.

Unbeknownst to you, with the further you went Trevor walked in “what are you doing in here?” He scoffed seeing you through the shelf “I came to get chairs.” You spoke in a duh tone.

It made Trevor laugh “no Jack told me to get them.” He corrected you, as if you were the idiot for already being in there. Sounds of people walking outside made your eyes go wide “Jack!” You yelled seeing the door to the shed shut with a lock.

Cole’s laugh could be heard from out there too “I’m sorry but you two have to talk!” Jack apologised as he looked into the window seeing a sorry look in your direction.

Trevor hit at the door as he groaned “y’know that’s not gonna work right?” You remembered the one time when you and Luke got stuck in there when the door got jammed, a locked door you assumed would come with the same or even more difficulty “how do you know?” Trevor turned and sent you a glare.

You sat on the floor as you had also seen that the boys also took out all of the chairs “you know the door opens towards us right?” With those words, it seemed that the boy accepted defeat.

He sat on the opposite side of you as he sighed “so how is the boyfriend?” Trevor asked as he tried to make up some kind of conversation.

The boy was never one to shy away from just his bad he thought your boyfriend was “broke up with him in December.” You confessed “yes you can laugh all you want about my taste, get it out now and I won’t even be mad.” You motioned to him to taunt you like he loved to do so.

But Trevor instead frowned “thought you really liked him.” You had been with him for almost four years now so it was assumed you’d be with him for even longer “well it’s hard to like someone after you catch him in bed with the biggest pain in your ass.” You were surprised that Jack hadn’t told Trevor that your boyfriend was gone, the Hughes boy hated him too.

Trevor placed his hand on his chest “I don’t remember sleeping with a guy.” The comment made you erupt into laughter “seriously, I think I should be hurt that I am not your number one.” He added which made you laugh even harder.

He hadn’t been someone who ever did get to say that he got to make you laugh “I have to say that you sleeping with someone on my bed and just being irritating doesn’t make you all that bad compared to some people.” You nodded as you cringed, thinking back to that time.

Trevor sighed as he shook his head “the look on your face when you walked in.” A smile formed on his face, remembering it like it was yesterday “I made Jack let me sleep in his bed for the rest of that trip really.” Your confession made him laugh.

The boy looked at you as he thought back to the earlier conversation “why are you still single?” His question made you furrow your eyebrows “hey if we are looking into my love life let’s look at yours too.” You knew he hadn’t had a girlfriend since the weekend you met him, four years ago.

Trevor rolled his eyes “I have been busy with hockey, what’s your excuse?” You knew his words were bullshit, Jack had his fair share of partners whilst he was in the room across from you “I want someone who makes me feel like we are perfect for each other.” The confession made your cheeks turn red.

The boy again let a laugh escape from his lips “I knew this was stupid.” You sighed getting up as you wanted to find another way out of there.

God he knew he was an ass “think you’d have better luck shoving your head into one of those books of yours.” The words struggled through his giggles as his chest began to hurt “hey at least I know what I want!” You snapped, letting your hand hit the wall next to you.

It made the boy raise his eyebrows in surprise “and I’m focusing on my career!” Trevor didn’t like how your voice got so much louder “thats bullshit and you know it!” You grumbled pointing your finger at him as he got up.

He now towered over you “god there you go bitching again.” It seemed that a switch had been flipped as you were both back to arguing with each other “and to think I was genuinely caught up about you.” The words made you laugh as it suddenly dawned on you, just how stupid you had been.

The words made the boy freeze, “no you weren’t.” Trevor shook his head, refusing to believe you “watching you fuck someone in my bed was actually a pretty good way to shut that one down fast.” You pushed your hair out of your face.

He managed to make you so mad “I should have fucking hated you.” Your voice was cold as you sent him a glare.

His silence you met by turning back to the door as you wondered if there was a spare key on the shelf that Jack often left his copy of “you should.” Trevor nodded, sucking at his teeth “because I hate you.” The words made you scoff as you shook your head, ignoring him.

But Trevor didn’t stop there as his hands formed fists “I hate you so damn much.” It was then enough for you to stop searching for that ring “look I might be stupid but I am most certainly not deaf, heard ya the first time.” You snapped wanting to turn around and hit him truthfully.

His hand gripped at your arm, finally turning you around “I hate you so much because somethings you are all that I can think of.” Your mouth went dry as he walked closer to you, making your back push up against the shelf behind you “you’re lying.” You squeaked out letting your eyes scan his face.

There was a level of hunger in his eyes as he let out this low growl, “you’re right.” He nodded, licking his lips “you consume my damn thoughts till there isn’t any space for anything else.” Trevor’s confession made your legs feel like they turned to jelly.

You tried to use your strength to push him away, but Trevor counteracted it as he kissed you when his hands gripped your waist. The taste of your lipgloss was still the same on his tongue as the first time that he kissed you, “tell me you still think that I’m some pain in the ass.” His words taunted you as his lips ghosted over your neck.

A breathy moan escaped from your lips as he forced his knee between your legs “c’mon, you think you can hurt my feelings, doll?” The hockey player sucked at your earlobe “god you are insufferable.” You scoffed making him smirk.

Trevor tucked your hair behind your ear “there's, my sweet girl.” He mumbled, dropping his lips back down to kiss yours as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Trevor squeezed your ass, allowing him to slide his tongue into your mouth as you moaned. His cock grew hard as he picked you up, locking your legs around his waist so he could bring you away from the door.

Unbeknownst to you both, on the deck, the boys sat “you think we should go check on them?” Jack asked as he cracked open another beer “nah it’s about time that they sort out their shit.” Alex shook his head as he looked down in the distance, not hearing any alarming noises.

Cole sat there in agreement “besides what’s the worst thing that they could do right?” Oh if only he knew…

#amber writes fics #ambers 500 celly #trevor zegras fics #trevor zegras imagines #trevor zegras oneshots #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagines #hockey one shots #hockey fic #trevor zegras x reader

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scarletwinterxx · 4 months ago

Text

hearts don't break around here - jeon wonwoo imagine

hiiiii ~ this is a long one.... and kinda one of my favorite from all my works this year😅🤭😊 hope you have fun reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it🥺 i said before the exes to lovers trope isn't my fave but i loved it here hahah

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

genre: fluff, kinda angst (?), exes to lovers, they get steamy but that's the most i can write HAHA consume responsibly.

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

If you count how many times people have told you it was a mistake to sign those papers, you would probably need more than 10 fingers. That’s more than the reasons why the two of you divorced in the first place.

After only 3 years of marriage, you and your ex-husband finally pulled the plug on your relationship and filed for divorce. Was it the ending you expected when you accepted his ring? No. But life happens and sometimes it just doesn’t go the way you want it to. It was a quick separation, both parties arrived at an agreement. You get the apartment, even though he was the one who bought it for the two of you, he knew you loved that place and even though he can’t share it with you anymore at least he knows you’ll be safe there. He gets exactly what he had before he married you.

You believe a part of you, the tiniest part, was still hoping the two of you would make it work. But that wasn’t enough for you to stay. You were unhappy and so was he. It felt empty coming to a place you thought you could call home only to be welcomed with coldness.

It’s been a year since then. At first it was weird for you, not having him around when you’ve been with him for almost a decade. Well you’ve known him for decade. The two of you dated for 5 years before he popped the question, 3 years of marriage, a decade of friendship.

That’s a title you can never take away from Wonwoo. He was your friend, a close confidante. One of your reasons why you fell in love with him, he knew how to make you feel like you’re heard. The same way you knew just how to listen to him even without the words.

When things were too much, you made it bearable for him. You silenced the chaos in his mind, you were his solace.

To this day he still thinks of you as one of his closest friends, it might seem weird to some that he’s still friends with his ex-wife but that’s who you’ve always been to him. The two of you didn’t work out as a couple but you’re great friends.

Sometimes he thinks that friendship blurs the lines of your failed marriage. The two of you are aware it’s not normal that you still have a key to each other’s place or how Wonwoo would always ask you out to grab dinner with him or how you would drop off some of his stuff at work when he forgets it. It’s like the two of you are still together minus the commitment and legalities, or at least that’s how your friends describe it.

You’re never afraid to speak your mind when you’re with him.

Now you’re on your way to his apartment, you could’ve called him but you think it’s not a conversation you can start over the phone. It’s easier to talk to him when he’s right in front of you, at least you’ll get to see his reaction real time instead of hearing silence over the phone.

Instead of barging in or using your key that he gave you, you ring the doorbell instead. From the other side of the door, Wonwoo wonders who the unexpected visitor is. Usually the concierge would call if it’s a stranger, so it could only mean either one of his friends or you. And sure enough when he checks the screen there you are waiting outside his door, rocking back and forth on your heels. Something you do when you’re nervous or have something to say to him.

He strides towards the door, unlocking it to let you in. The moment his eyes met yours he knew he was right, you had something to say to him and he’s not sure whether it’s good or bad news.

“You’re home, why are you home? I was kinda hoping you weren’t here” you mumbled

“Then why come here?”

“I was taking my chances, gonna let fate decide what to do. Since you’re here I guess I just have to say it” now you’re just rambling. Another habit you have when you’re nervous. He follows behind you as you walk inside his apartment. You don’t come here that often but you’ve been here a couple of times before.

Wonwoo takes a seat on the sofa while his eyes stay on you, watching you prance around his living room while clearly having an internal debate.

You take deep breath before facing him, readying yourself to say what you came here for

“Now, before you say anything I need you to hear me out. I know this will sound crazy, I might sound crazy but believe me I’ve thought this through. I already lost so many nights thinking about this okay but I need you to know I am sure about this. I need you to remember that” you tell him

“Okay” he simply answers

“I want a baby, and I was thinking if you would agree to be the father”

Wonwoo’s not sure if he heard the right words or if he’s dreaming right now. The day the two of you sat down and agreed about the divorce is easier to comprehend than this.

This… this was definitely not what he was expecting to hear.

“Hear me out, okay. I know what I’m talking about, don’t look at me like I’ve gone insane. I want to have a kid, believe me I’ve looked at many options. Adoption, surrogacy, donors. There’s nothing wrong with those but it just doesn’t feel right for me. My doctor told me to do what feels right and something I’m sure of and this is it”

He still hasn't said anything which is worrying you, maybe it was too much to ask him. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“You want to have my baby?”

This makes you look away from his stare for second, feeling that nervousness erupt in your chest

“To make it simple, yes” you answer him, “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say anything” Wonwoo tells you, leaning back on his seat while taking it all in.

The two of you have talked about having kids before. That was a possibility the two of you never said no to. You’re lucky enough to be in a place in your lives to comfortably start a family and be able to provide for your children but your marriage never reached that stage. He didn’t expect to experience this stage of your lives together, especially now that you’re no longer married.

You take the seat on the other side of the room, shoulders slumping downwards. “You probably didn’t expect that, sorry for ambushing you like that. I’m not pressuring you, you can say no”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean?” you ask back

“If I say no, then what will you do? You seem like you’re set on this plan and you’re never the one to only have a plan A. Some people settle with only having a plan B but not you, you’re not stopping until you run out of letters to use” and he only speaks the truth.

What he doesn’t know is that fact doesn’t apply to him. He’s not wrong, but not right either. You always have a backup plan, you don’t like going into things unprepared.But not when it comes to him.

It wasn’t in your plan to fall in love with him but you did.

It wasn’t in your plan to marry him but you did.

It wasn’t in your plan that you had to end it with him either.

When you’re with Wonwoo you never need a second choice, he is always first. Everything else is an afterthought.

“I dunno, back to the drawing board I guess”

He chuckles at your answer, ever the witty one. “Are you sure you’re not just having baby fever right now?”

“No, why would I even come here and ask you if I wasn’t serious?”

“Ovulating then?”

“Asshole” you grab a throw pillow to throw at him which he quickly dodges, letting out a laugh

“I’m being serious here, Wonwoo” “So am I, a baby is a serious topic. It’s a life we’re talking about”

“I know, I’m aware”

“Let’s say I say agree, how will that work?”

“What do you mean? Are you asking me how babies are made?”

“I know how babies are made, I can make you one like you’re asking right now. I’m talking about what happens after the baby is born, what happens then?”

You blink back at him, to be honest you didn’t think that far. You were half sure he was going to say no.

“If you’re asking about child support, you don’t-” “I’m not going to abandon my child like that”

“Hypothetical child, they’re not even here” you interrupt him

“I’m not going to abandon my hypothetical child, I’ll be there if you want me to be. He or she can have my name if you want, or not totally up to you. If you’re asking me to do this then I want you to know I’ll be all in. I’m not going to knock you up and leave you”

“Geez, that sounds…”

“Now, does that answer your question?” he ask you, leaning forward resting his arms on his knees

You nod like a child that’s been told off, looking at the carpet instead of him. You can hear him chuckle from the other side of the room before he stands up, “A few minutes ago you were asking me for a child, now you’re all shy”

“To be fair I thought you were going to say no and say I’m crazy” you shrug your shoulder

“Oh you’re not wrong, you are crazy” he walks towards the kitchen to grab a drink for you and him, he can hear your footsteps behind him

“Hey!”

He smiles upon hearing your protest, even with his back turned to you he can still picture your annoyed pout.

Wonwoo takes two bottles of water from the fridge, opening one before passing it over to you and opening the second one for him.

“So, how do we do this? Do we go to your doctor?”

“For what?”

“The part where we make our hypothetical child into a real child”

“I’m already seeing my doctor, she said everything’s okay. I’m healthy, all’s good” you say

“Okay, that’s good but I’m talking about the actual baby making part”

“I don’t get it”

The two of you look at each other, waiting for the other one to speak. You’re the one who break the short silence “Are you sure you know how babies are made? Do I have to give you the sex talk?”

This makes him laugh, like a big loud laugh making you more confused before Wonwoo speaks again “Oh sorry, I get it now. I just thought we were going to the hospital to do it”

“Why? I’m good, like I said. Aren’t you?” genuinely confused by his statement

“I’m clean if that’s what you’re asking” he tells you

“I wasn’t but good to know” you answer, you can feel him still looking at you like he’s waiting for your answer “What?” you ask him

“Should I be the one giving you the sex talk or you already know how babies are made?” he smirks at you.

It takes everything in you to not throw the drink at his head, clearly he’s teasing you. He’s very knowledgeable at how and which buttons to push when it comes to you. You try to pretend you’re not blushing at his words so you just take another gulp of water from your bottle before screwing the cap back on.

“Haven’t thought that part out but we can do it, we’re two consenting adults” you clear your throat as you explain while your ex-husband’s smile grow bigger by the second as he watch you try to put it into words.

“So just so we’re clear, you’re saying yes?” you ask him

He nods “Yes”

This is the part you didn’t think through at all. Now that he agreed you’re not sure how to take the next step.

He notices you’re getting lost in thought, taking this moment to look at you. He doesn’t see you as often as before but it’s good to see you doing okay. You look healthy and happy, that’s all that matters to him anyways.

“Hey, you okay?” he walks over to the other side of the kitchen island to stand beside you.

Knocking his shoulder with yours, making you look up at him. You’ve been in this exact place before, many times. In many different eras of your life. Wonwoo has always been right beside you, even now as you take the next big step he’s still here with you and for that you’re thankful.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? I feel like I just pressured into doing it” you mumbled

“I’m an adult who can think for himself, believe me you didn’t pressure me into anything” he assures you “Are you backing out now?” he asks

“No”

“Then what? Talk to me” his voice now more gentle

“I was just thinking how this is getting very real, that maybe a few months from now I… we’ll have a child. I’ve always wanted that” you say with a small smile

“Sorry” that’s all he could say to you but you just shake your head at him

“We’re not doing that, we agreed to never apologize for that. It was a decision we both made, and we’re okay now. We’re better now”

He looks at you, reading your eyes as you read his. “What?” you ask, almost whispering the word out

He just smiles again at you before leaning down, you let your eyes close as you feel his lips on your forehead. An act of affection he loves doing to you.

After that you don’t say much, he walks you out to your car. He knows it’s been a long night for you, you must’ve been overthinking for a while before asking him so he lets you rest. He doesn’t say it outloud but he’s already planning to take care of the rest.

“I have a question” he says when the two of you are outside, standing beside your car

“Mhm?”

“Since we’re doing this, you have to tell me you’re okay with…” “It’s okay, Wonwoo. If it’s permission you’re asking, here you go” you giggle

He reaches behind you to open the driver’s side for you, “Was I being too awkward?”

“Kinda, and it’s not like we’ve never done it before” you joke, he just rolls his eyes at you

“Goodnight, drive safe. Text me when you get home”

You thought after getting all of that out of your chest you would finally fall asleep with no trouble, but oh boy you’re wrong. It just kept you up all night, making you overthink things that haven't even happened yet.

Not to mention Wonwoo is also taking over your thoughts. It’s silly, you’re a grown adult thinking about your ex-husband like you’re a schoolgirl having her first crush. You would be lying to yourself if you say he doesn’t affect you anymore, even if you try your hardest Wonwoo will always always have a way to your heart. How could he not when he drew the map out himself.

The next few days went by like normal, the two of you busy with your own lives that the whole topic of baby making became overshadowed by other stuff.

It’s not rare for Wonwoo to go over at your place, it used to be his’ too. When you said you’re the one moving out after the divorce he was very adamant that you stay, it hurt to see him packing his stuff but it’s part of the process. There are days though that he comes to visit, either to cook and eat dinner with you or grab stuff he has yet to pick up or some lame excuse he made up so he can spend some free time with you.

He would never admit that, not after separating with you. He doesn’t want you to overthink things like he is, it’s enough he gets to miss you even though you don’t feel the same.

Oftentimes when he does feel that way, he finds himself knocking on your door and you always open the door for him.

Like tonight, it’s a Friday night. Instead of going out with his colleagues for dinner, he came here to cook and have dinner with you. He prefers your cooking anyways and you always make cookies just the way he likes it. Not too sweet, enough to satisfy his cravings when he has them.

“Try this, it’s a new recipe I found online” you call for him, holding a piece of bread you baked. Instead of taking it from your hand, he takes a bite straight from your grasp. Gripping your wrist gently to hold it steady as he chews the freshly baked pastry

“Mhm, that’s good. Not too sweet, I like it”

“Right? I didn’t use as much sugar as the recipe said since I know you hate it when it’s too sweet. Good thing it came out okay” you smile to yourself, slicing a few more pieces to share between the two of you. He watches you fondly, listening to the words that flow freely like you didn’t even think twice about thinking about him.

The two of you eat dinner and desert before settling on the living room couch to watch a movie. He’s sitting on one end while you’re sitting on the other, your feet resting across the space between the two of you. At first there was no contact between the two of you, then his hand rest on your ankles but it never moved.

You were too focused on the movie to notice Wonwoo looking at his phone when suddenly you hear him let out a chuckle making you look over at him

“What?” you ask

“The guys went out tonight, as expected Dino’s drunk. Look at this, he won’t go in the taxi again” you scoot closer, folding your legs to sit next to him to look at his screen. When you see the picture you also laugh at the scene

“Looks fun, why didn't you go with them? Could’ve told me you were busy tonight”

“Not really in the mood to drink tonight, Mingyu asked me to go golfing with him tomorrow so I’ll see them tomorrow anyways” he shrugs, turning his phone off before throwing it back on the coffee table. Throwing his arm behind the couch, he looks over at you

“Aren’t you tired yet? You had a busy week”

“How did you know?”

“You didn’t message me as much” he answers

“It’s weird enough we’re still hanging out, now you’re saying I don’t text you enough. Why did we spend that much on the divorce then?” you joke, he laughs too. The two of you share those jokes back and forth, sometimes some of your friends hear it and say you two are indeed weird.

“You’re calling me weird when you’re the one who asked me to have a baby with you”

“And you said yes! Which makes you just as weird as me” you argue back

He just stares at you, it’s like time slowed down all around him and all he can focus on is you. It’s been so long since he’s been this close to you, and the thought that he can be closer to you is sending chills down his spine.

“Earth to Wonwoo” you wave a hand in front of his face, he takes that hand and holds it in his. Intertwining your fingers with his. He misses seeing the ring on yours and his fingers, he can’t tell you now but he still has them hidden in a drawer back at his place. It will only ever be yours anyways.

“You know for an ex, we really don’t really know the concept of personal space” you mumble, voice suddenly getting more quiet as you look back right into his eyes

“It’s overrated, and like you said I have permission to invade this personal space. You can tell me to stop if you want” he breathes out.

You don’t know when or how but now he’s much closer to you. Your noses touching each other, you can feel his breath on your lips.

“Why? You haven’t even done anything” you answer back, he smirks at you leaning even closer until his lips is one breath away from yours

“I’m about to do everything, you sure about that”

“Shut up and give me a baby”

And that he did. He kissed you, after a long long long time you finally felt his lips again.

You feel it against your own, you feel it all over your skin, you feel him everywhere. Wherever his skin touched yours is like fire burning you but in the most pleasurable way.

You’re not sure what it feels like to ascend to heaven but tonight Wonwoo gave you a glimpse of it. It’s not the first time for the two of you but tonight feels different, maybe because it’s been so long or maybe because there’s a reason behind this but everything feels so much more.

Everytime he dove right in you, it’s like he’s making it his sole purpose to make you remember this. That you’ll never forget how he feels against you, in you.

The rest of the night was a blur to you, too lost in a blissful haze. You remember being on the couch then the next you’re on your bed. Then you remember taking a not so quick shower before ending back on your bed where you fell asleep finally.

And it’s the best sleep you had in months. When you wake up you can feel your muscles screaming in pain, feeling sore all over.

Mentally sending a curse to Wonwoo, who you notice is nowhere to be seen.

“Oh you’re awake, here I ordered breakfast for us” speaking of the devil, he walks into the bedroom already dressed in jeans and a plain shirt he found in the closet.

You sit upright, wincing when you move your legs under the duvet which Wonwoo notices. Biting his lips to suppress a smile

“Wipe that smirk off before I strangle you”

“Thought you’re into that”

“Shut up” You say, hugging the sheets against your chest as you look at the food he laid in front of you. Taking a sip of the coffee first, iced vanilla latte. He still knows your favorites.

“Forgot to ask before we got carried away, are you off of any birth control?”

“Mhm, have been since the beginning of this year. Wasn’t really with anyone so I asked my doctor if it was okay. I wanted to rest my body from all of that”

“You haven’t been with anyone?” he asks, not meaning to pry on your personal life but he already asked before he can think twice about it

You look at him, shaking your head slowly “No, I was very busy with work and it’s not really in my mind at the moment. Have you? Not that you that bothers me or anything” you mumble

He watches you pick on the piece of strawberry on the plate, he takes the fork from you before eating the fruit knowing you don’t like it then he slices the french toast for you before passing the fork to you.

“Don’t want to piss you off this early in the morning”

“So you have” you stare at him, the annoyed expression on your face evident. This makes Wonwoo smile and let out a laugh “You’re right, we’re bad at the whole personal space thing” he teases you

“Whatever, you can go if you have somewhere you need to be” you grumbled

How can he walk out now when you’re acting all cute. When will be the next time he’ll get to see you like this, the morning sun glowing against your bare skin. His marks still evident on your skin, unbeknownst to you. Hair all messy from last night, and your lips oh god those lips. He can get lost in them again if you let him.

“I’m going out with Mingyu, you can call your cousin to ask” he says, taking his phone from the bedside table and passing it to you but you brush him off earning another laugh from the man

“I’m gonna go shower, want to join me?” he asks so casually

The coffee you were drinking goes down the wrong pipe making you cough, Wonwoo scoots over to gently tap you on the back “You good?”

“It’s too early for this” you scowl at him when you see the teasing smile he had on. Smiley Wonwoo has always been your favorite and you’re always weak when you see him this happy. You’re not really annoyed at him, just a bit annoyed at how he knows how much power he still has over you

“We’ll be quick. I need to go or else Gyu will talk my ear off for being late”

“Heard that before” you chuckle “You know what, nevermind. I’ll just tell him I was busy, I can be late for today. You like long showers right?”

Suddenly the sheets are pulled away from your body and his arms are under you, carrying you towards the bathroom “Wonwoo, wait I didn’t mean it like that. Wonwoo” you screech as he takes you inside.

More mornings and nights like that happen often, the two of you forgetting the piece of paper you both signed a year ago signaling the end of your marriage. Most times he finds himself waking up on your bed and you safely tucked by his side.

There’s this lingering fear in his mind that if he gets used to this again then what will he do when it’s gone. What if one day he has to wake up again, alone. The thought alone makes him restless, he pulls you closer to him and you make yourself comfortable on his chest. Seeking his warmth like it’s a need. And that there is enough to shush his worries.

The initial goal got lost in your head until your phone notified you that it’s supposed to be that time of the month again. You double check the date and indeed the reminder was right but no sign of your red friend.

It’s probably too soon to tell but you hurry home and lock yourself in the bathroom where a few hours later Wonwoo found you.

“Where are you? Are you- hey, there you are. You had me worried” Wonwoo kneels in front of you, brushing the hair away from your face to look at you “Talk to me��

You don’t say anything, you just look at the counter making Wonwoo follow your gaze. There he sees a few boxes of pregnancy tests opened.

“Did you check it?” he asks but you shake your head

“Do you want me to?” you nod your head.

He gives your knee a squeeze before standing up, with careful steps he walks over the counter to see the results. There’s a few on the counter all lined up with, he flips them over.

You watch him instead of peeking at what the tests say, the expression on his face was enough for you to decipher what they say

“Oh, baby” he breathes out, smiling at you before engulfing you in a hug and there you break down. The tears flowing down your face.

“Shhh it’s okay, we wanted this right? It’s a good thing” he whispers against your hair

Wiping the tears away, you step out of his embrace then walk out of the bathroom

Wonwoo follows behind you, “Hey, talk to me”

“Is this really what you want? What if you’re just saying that because of me, what if you feel trapped once the baby is here? What if this isn’t even what you wanted? We already separated right, what the hell are we even doing”

He rushes in front of you, holding your face in his hands, “Hey hey don’t say that. You’re not trapping me, and I wanted this too. I’ve wanted this for a long time but we just… it didn’t work out for us the first time. I’m sorry we had to go through that but I’m not leaving you again. Whatever you want me to be, wherever you want me to be that’s where you’ll find me” he assures you, wiping the tears as they cascade down your cheeks

“What if the love you’re feeling for me is only because of this? I want us to be together again in the right time, for the right reasons and not just because we will have a child together”

He smiles at you, never stopping from wiping the tears aways and he never will. From now on he vows to never let a tear slip down from your eyes ever again, there wouldn’t be a single thing he wouldn’t know how to fix if it meant he’ll never see you cry again.

For you he’d try and fix this.

He pulls the sleeve of his sweater inside out, showing the end of the sleeve to you. There you see the familiar simple stitch in the shape of a heart. The purple thread bright against the black fabric of his sweatshirt.

“Remember when you sew this on all my clothes? You know I still have all of them. Remember what you told me? You stitched them there so I’ll never forget how I have your heart on my sleeve. We didn’t say it alot but I know how much you loved me. And me well…I love you, I have always loved you and I never stopped. I don’t think I can, not ever. If you think right now isn’t the right time for us then I’ll wait. We can walk together side by side until we get there, I’m not leaving you. Never again. And when this child comes, it’ll be the three of us. Like I told you, if we’re doing this I’m all in”

You’re not looking at him, still looking at the tiny purple heart on his sleeve.

“You think.. I should do that to the baby’s clothes too?” you ask, finally looking at him with teary eyes and pouty lips. Wonwoo smiles at you, giving you the gentlest kiss on the forehead over and over again

“Ofcourse, you can. We’ll do whatever you want”

“So we’re really doing this?” you breath out, finally it’s starting to sink in

“We’re doing this” he nods his head

And that marks the start of your story once again. Your new beginning with him. And there’s no better happy ending than that.

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undefinedkosmos · 1 month ago

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Fanbinding: The Devil in Us All

I joined @renegadeguild 's annual bound books exchange this year, wherein participants create a hand-bound book out of a fic or public domain work of their giftee's choosing. One of my giftee's choices caught my eye immediately with its summary description of double-sided unrequited pining, identity shenanigans, and Steve discovering that he is into kink while moonlighting as an artist for a BDSM magazine in order to make ends meet. Now that both giftee and author @sineala have received their copies, I'm pleased to share pictures of my creation.

Duo bookcloth in Blue Jean, with red foil applied using my trusty foil quill. Since Steve's initial moment of self- discovery involves a loving description of someone (who is definitely not Tony Stark, what are you talking about?) tied up, I leaned hard into the rope theme while designing this bind.

Red marbled lokta for the endpapers and Oxford hollow felt like the kinky underclothes to the subtle outerwear of "but we're just friends and teammates, and that's all we'll ever be."

I set both the text and the title in Lora, a typeface that feels modern and readable on the book page, with interesting asymmetrical details on the serifs at larger sizes.

Titles and drop caps were set in Ropest, which out of all the rope-themed typefaces I tried managed to strike a balance of elegance and readability while still being notably rope-looking.

Once I finished the two full-size copies, I decided I wanted a copy of my own after all, but didn't have enough of the red lokta left for full-size endpapers. I ended up shrinking down the typeset to fit a letter-octavo page instead of half-letter and am quite pleased with my bitty book, though the text is small enough that it won't be particularly legible when my eyes get older. It's such a satisfying size to hold in the hand.

The Devil in Us All is free to read on Ao3.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #my binds #feral stitch press #sineala #the devil in us all #stony

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bluejayblueskies · 1 year ago

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ten thousand flowers in spring | bluejayblueskies

[ID: Three photos of a hand-bound book from different angles that show the front, side, and back respectively. The book has dark green bookcloth, a decorative red and gold ribbon along the front cover and a black ribbon along the back cover, and a gold painted cherry blossom design on the front and back covers. The title and author name are also in gold on the front cover and spine and read, "Ten Thousand Flowers in Spring" and "bluejayblueskies." /End ID]

Last November, I got a Silhouette cutting machine for Black Friday. This weekend, I finally got the chance to use it for a bookbinding project! I bound my fic ten thousand flowers in spring as part of one of my Fandom Trumps Hate typesetting gifts, and I had a lot of fun going all-out with the flower iconography.

[ID: Two photos of the interior of the book. The first is the title page spread of the book, showing a pastel-colored painting of a cherry blossom-scattered hill with sheep and a shepherd that spans both pages. On the right page, there is the title "Ten Thousand Flowers in Spring" and the author name "bluejayblueskies" in a sans serif font. The second is the colophon (left) and table of contents (right) of the book. The colophon has details about the binder, the original fic, and the fonts and image sources used in the book. The table of contents has each chapter title and corresponding page number listed in a grid format with flower icons above each chapter title. /End ID]

Each chapter is titled after a flower that has a specific meaning that ties into the chapter content. I decided to style this bind after old botany books. Along with the cover, which is inspired by the covers of old botany books, each chapter header has an image of the titular flower pulled from public domain botany book scans, along with the flower's name and meaning below it.

[ID: The inside of the book, showing a page of text on the left and the chapter header on the right. The chapter header has an old-style image of blue salvia on it, with the name "blue salvia" and the meaning "friendship, family, thoughtful gestures, thinking of you" beneath it. /End ID]

Each chapter also begins with a faux-excerpt from the book Jon is writing throughout the fic:

[ID: The inside of the book, showing the introductory faux book excerpt on the left and the beginning chapter text on the right. The faux book text has an image of a flower beneath it; the beginning chapter text has a drop cap with a floral design at the beginning of it. /End ID]

Some more notes and pictures on process are below the cut!

The binding style of this fic is sewn boards binding, which I like for thinner books as the spine is much less fiddly to work with. It's also a really nice binding style in general because it eliminates my least-favorite part of the binding process: casing in. When casing in a regular case-bound book, you construct the entire case separately from the text block and then attach the case to the text block via the endpapers. Inevitably, I always end up just a little bit crooked, and because my brain currently refuses to let me try using paste instead of PVA, it's very hard to fix once the endpapers are pasted down.

With sewn boards binding, the boards are attached to the text block via an extra signature of folded cardstock on the ends of the text block. The case is then constructed directly onto the text block, and glueing the endpapers down is very, very easy and near-impossible to mess up.

The ends of the boards do end up exposed with this binding style. The first time I did it, I covered them with paper. This time, I painted them gold to match the cover:

[ID: A side view of the book, showing off the exposed boards near the spine which are painted gold. The front cover of the book can also be seen at an angle. /End ID]

I plan to experiment more in the future with potentially adding endbands to this binding style, as that's one thing I wish this book had that it does not.

For the cover design, I first cut out the stencils using my Silhouette:

[ID: A cutting mat with white vinyl stuck to it that has been cut and weeded to expose the backlit cherry blossom design. The title "Ten Thousand Flowers in Spring" and author name "bluejayblueskies" can be seen in the designs for the front cover and spine. /End ID]

I'd heard a lot of things about weeding, positive and negative, but I actually enjoyed doing the weeding on this 😂 it was like doing a puzzle in a way. I think I would like it less if I had to keep all of the tiny little pieces and make sure they looked nice, but as it was, all I had to do was remove them and it didn't matter if they got bent in the process.

The fabric paint I have dries very quickly, so I got very little bleed on my stencil and was able to remove it almost right away:

[ID: The back cover of the book with the vinyl stencil stuck to it, painted over somewhat messily with gold fabric paint. /End ID]

Overall, I was very happy with the stenciling process and will probably continue to do stencils as opposed to heat transfer vinyl unless I want to do some bigger, blockier designs in the future.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #ficbinding #bookbinding #jay's bound books #fanbinding

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coralearei · 9 days ago

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Fantasie-Impromptu -- Sunday/Dreamweaver!Reader

summary: your client gets you to stay with him for a while longer... wc: 2.7k author's notes: there isn't any deeper reason beyond the title other than that it sounds cool and it's what sunday played in his trailer. this was supposed to be a winter holiday fic that i initially wrote a month ago and dropped and picked up again, so there might be references to baby it's cold outside and other media content: mdni -- somewhat yandere tendencies and whatever that implies: dubcon/noncon, no explicit sex but it gets pretty touchy throughout, a bit of a power imbalance, potentially ooc, gender neutral reader, implied drugging

---

Although the Family Head has been your client for many months now, you've never completely accustomed yourself to the nerve-wracking kindness that has only grown increasingly more evident with every commission he's given you. Sunday's 'acts of kindness' are almost too subtle for you to call attention to; a luxurious trinket every now and then might just be a token of goodwill, and the occasional gloved hand lingering on your shoulder too long could simply be unintentional.

Still, being the keen Dreamweaver you are, you pick up acts like these nevertheless. They're more than just coincidences— but Sunday seems like a man higher than mere accidents. Everything he does is indeed very carefully and meticulously planned, and the way he corners you in his office at this current moment is no exception.

"Stay a while longer." he says to you now as you prepare to leave his office. Today's session has been rather short, much to your relief— consisting of You inadvertently freeze in your motions as he speaks, standing still with your palms pressed to the desk below you. Your head is kept steady in its bowed position, not noticing the way that Sunday marvels at your refusal to return his warmhearted gaze.

The offer is somewhat arbitrary, almost out of the blue, but it adds to the pattern of similar gestures from before. At first, he was cordial enough, but still formal— he remains both of those things towards you, but a few almost-invisible actions make you shudder. Over time, you start to give him excuses to stay at his mansion for gradually shorter amounts of time, and tell him that you have a good idea of what he wants out of whatever you're working on. You don't want to waste any more of his time, you’ve told him once, and you promise to give him articulate, expedient designs before you bashfully scurry out of his office as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, you haven’t mustered up the courage to politely decline him today. Instead, you take a look at his office, and how its clean luxury only helps to perpetuate Sunday’s tendencies towards stateliness and decorum. There doesn’t appear to be a speck of dust in the room, and the only semblance of a mess lies in the sketches you’ve brought. The papers are strewn about his desk; you continue to gingerly pick them up as you begin your reply.

“I couldn’t possibly, sir. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience the rest of your evening, and-”

“Not at all, not at all,” you bite your lip as he raises a hand to cut you off. “I enjoy listening to you speak.” he admits, giving a nearly demeaning smile. Sunday’s halo innocently gleams a glowing gold in contrast to the faint lamp of his office, as if he really is after a simple chat and nothing else.

“I’m honored, sir.” You concentrate on carefully guiding your various plans and sketches into a thick manila folder while you stare down the oak table below— hoping to avoid the way the eyes of the Halovian in front of you linger on your more… flattering parts. “B-But I really don’t want to bother you, you’re a very busy man- ah!”

Your hand barely brushes against a foreign, unfamiliar piece of silk, causing your folder to make a thumping noise as it hits the floor. In nervous shock, you turn around and see Sunday standing less than a step behind you, his lips almost perking up. You jolt back frantically, but lose your balance and fall on your bottom ungraciously. You feel your papers press against your behind.

“Clumsy little thing…” you think you hear him say to himself before he lets out a barely-present laugh. In one birdlike swoop, you’re on your feet again, your folder reconciled with its contents and safely returned to your bag. Your cheeks begin to grow hot as you feel Sunday’s sturdy hands stabilize you, gently gripping your shoulders before he gives you a soft head pat. He leans in closer, letting his lips graze your ear’s helix. You find yourself staying still as Sunday starts to murmur in your ear.

“Did you say something, sir?” you ask, trying to reclaim the professionalism in this moment that is all but gone.

“I haven’t… try to relax for me, alright?” Sunday hums in your ear, quiet but reassuring. The buzz he leaves behind sends jolts of worry throughout your body. “

Your hands are quite icy, you know that? And do be careful with yourself next time… I really wouldn’t want you to harm yourself on purpose, dear.”

You press your palms to your warming face in response, your fingers just short of clawing out your widened eyes. You’re too flustered to not remember the name that he had just used— it makes you lightheaded just to think about it. You would have fell over a second time if Sunday hadn’t grabbed you by the waist and held onto you with his strong, slender fingers.

“What’s your hurry?” Sunday hums, taking his index finger to put under your chin and point towards his beaming face, more playful than what it once was before. You hold your breath for a moment when he forces you to look up at him, hesitantly meeting the angelic amber that looks upon your face with a mysterious, ambiguous glint.

As your eyes make contact with Sunday, his features soften once more, accompanied by a reassuring smile. When you start to sputter out a response, he takes his index finger once more and presses it against your lips, making a low shushing noise. Both of you fall silent, leaving only the roaring crackle of the fireplace to be heard.

“Please don’t hurry,” he muses, wrapping his surprisingly strong arm around waist. “I wouldn’t want to leave you all alone… Why don’t you join me for a drink? I’ll call for some wine.”

You give a meek nod and Sunday slightly pulls on your wrist in approval. Soon, Sunday and you are now both situated in the parlor of his manor. You gradually shift farther away from him towards the other end of the couch… when did Sunday get this close to you, anyway? You look down at your drink. The contents of your glass slosh inside, and the stem of the glass you hold remains unsteady in your trembling grip. You set the glass down with a sigh— good thing you haven’t dropped it yet.

You’ve now been at Dewlight for far more than the half hour you’ve agreed to out of respect— more than a half hour too long. You’re pretty sure that you’re only on your second drink now, but the number of drinks you’ve had has slipped your mind. If you correctly recall what Sunday had said about ten minutes ago, you two are currently sharing a bottle of Amontillado, a decadent sherry from the vineyards of a lush, distant planet whose name you’ve forgotten. You don’t drink much— which you’re too nervous to admit, given that you’re a recent resident of the Planet of Festivities— but the taste of this particular wine feels quite suited to your taste buds. Sunday is being more than generous with the bottle as well, taking small, graceful sips from his own glass, which still remains half full.

On the other hand, you’ve had quite a few drinks, which have gotten you to talk much more than you would’ve liked. So far, Sunday now knows that you don’t have anywhere to be after this meeting, and that your earnings allow you a small apartment in Reality. Not wanting to say anything else that could compromise you, you eagerly gulp down the remainder of your drink, savoring the last few drops of goodness, and make your way towards the parlor’s exit.

“Where are you going now?” you hear a voice behind you, stopping you in your tracks just as you reach the doorway. You feel a weighty palm start to hold down your shoulder, making you cringe.

This time, though, you don’t turn around, even though you can feel Sunday again with his soft lips on you, pressing to your nape. He traps your body within his unexpectedly tight grasp, smugly laughing at the way you fail to shy away from his bruising grip. His other hand gives your inner thigh a pinch as you unsuccessfully thrash against him and try to free your helpless body.

“I don’t believe I feel very well, sir…” you groan weakly. Sunday’s grin suddenly becomes significantly less restricting, but the air that you breathe only serves to pull you into a soothing daze. “Mr. Sunday, apologies… but I don’t think I recall you making any comments about the potency of Amontillado…”

“Mind if I move in closer?” Sunday remarks, closing the distance that lies between his chest and your back. He grips your face, slowly turning you around so that you’re looking straight into his striking golden irises.

“Don't be sorry, my dear… you’ll be fine— as long as you realize that you need to be taken care of.”

The door in front of you starts to grow farther in distance, its edges also becoming more hazy. Your vision begins to blur no matter how much you try to stand up and blink, and you let your body succumb to Sunday’s now-gentle clutches, falling into them before as he slowly drags you back towards himself. Sunday leads you through the parlor door again, and your drowsy legs give up after only a few steps. Your body, which has become almost immovable, collapses onto the couch and meets the cushions with a muffled crash. Lying on your side with your eyes half-lidded, you hear the sound of the door softly shutting and a click locking you inside.

“I don’t think you’re well enough to get home,” Sunday chides. You open your eyes to see him again at your side, sitting upright above you with his typical stately, regal air. He runs his thumb across your cheek in a smooth, calculated sweep before leaning intently over you, which allows his halo to cast a shadow of thorns that covers your exhausted form. His other hand keeps your head still while he tries to rhythmically give you headpats, which you aren’t taking too well.

“Poor thing, you couldn’t handle the contents of your drink well enough,” he says, thinking more to himself than to you. “But now, it seems that you really do have a reason to stay here tonight…”

Half an hour earlier, you wondered if he had planned this in advance, but the answer now seems to be obvious. You clumsily attempt to sit up as you speak, grasping the armrests for support.

“Mr. Sunday, you’re being very pushy, you know…” you trail off, using the last of what remains of your little energy to make a truthful retort.

He only responds with a chuckle as genuine as your confession— what you can only assume is a rare show of honesty.

“That’s… quite a blunt thing to say—” Sunday’s expression looks more taken aback than he’d like it to, though he recollects himself in a matter of seconds. “—though I'd like to think of it as being opportunistic.”

Smugly smiling to himself, Sunday takes the opportunity to take off your hat, only slightly wrinkled. He plants his fingers within the strands of your hair, giving it a harsh pull that catches you off-guard. You clench your teeth and let out a minuscule whine in protest.

With that, he whispers something to himself, which you make the mistake of paying no mind to.

Sunday remains unspeaking for the next few moments, and your quivering lips unwillingly seal themselves shut for the time being. You let your many worries be lulled away by the following silence that is only interrupted by Sunday softly singing a lullaby, an unknown tune that seems to sedate you, quite inexplicably. The new baritone hum engulfs you and blissfully drowns out any concerns that you have. You don’t bother to question where this newfound state of bliss has come from— or why the warm rays of light emanating from Sunday’s halo are making you woozy.

“C-cold…” you cry out as Sunday pushes against your neck’s pulse point with his covered index finger. He makes routine shushing noises while moving his index finger towards your mouth once more, which he simply rests on top of your lips. You tremble against the frigid chill that seeps through the gentle hands that gingerly caress your chin, out of the glove’s intricate cross.

Reveling in your shaking nervousness, Sunday attentively studies every other part of you. He takes in all of it with unbridled excitement in his eager, starlit eyes. Fortunately, he lets you look away when he suddenly pulls your hand close to his cheek— instead of your face, all of Sunday’s focus is now on tenderly caring for your hand. With his own two hands, he moves the back of yours to touch his lips, planting kisses all the way up to your knuckles.

Sunday keeps at this for a while before moving you to be on top of his lap, which he does with ease. As you open your mouth to speak, however, you feel your whines being muffled by the very hands that have gotten too close to you.

“Not many have a level of skill that matches yours. I would be very disappointed in you if tonight were to be the end of our professional relationship.” Sunday states earnestly, pulling you closer to him so you can see his seemingly innocent smile.

You try to pull at the arm covering your nose and mouth, but before you can he has both your hands pinned behind your back. He sighs, disappointed at your attempts to fight him.

“However, I’m not willing to work with someone so uncooperative. I’d much rather have someone more amenable, more compliant. You can be both of those things, can’t you?”

You squirm from within Sunday’s tight hold on you, unable to get away from his whispers flowing directly into your ears and his warm breath on your skin. Soon, he finally removes his hand from your mouth, leaving a thin thread of drool that eventually breaks. Your sharp, erratic breaths turn into more consistent ones, and you begin to form hazy thoughts.

The terms of your contract for this current project weren’t set that long ago, and he had signed it. But what did a simple contract signify to a man who had already forgone professional protocol just hours ago? However, even though the contract was broken, you couldn’t just lose one of your most generous, eminent clients…

“Now, I’ll ask you once again: are you sure you don’t want to stay with me?” Sunday asks with noticeable reverence in his voice. He shifts his position to kneel next to your limp body, lethargically laying on the plush cushions of the couch once again.

"No- I’ll stay..." After a hesitant pause, you finally acquiesce with a stutter that makes the winged man looking down at you lovingly bring his forehead to touch yours. A few of his lustrous silver locks touch your clenched jaw.

Accepting Sunday’s request is all you can do in this situation— the choice was never yours to make.

"Very good, very good…” he says with another laugh. A satisfied grin continues to widen on Sunday’s face, looking perfectly in place. You flinch and back away when he brings a hand closer to you.

“You needn’t be so panicked, dear… after all, there won’t be anyone else here to hear you.” He stretches his wings to cover his victorious, anticipating smile, which only leaves his eyes for you to see. Sunday peels away the silk of his gloves from his untouched hands, leaving fingers that have yet to explore you. He doesn’t say anything as he comfortably lets himself rest on top of you, putting each of his thighs on either side of you. Sunday’s knees start to squeeze your hips, still clothed— but not for long given the desperate way his fists form balls from the fabric that will not cling to you for much longer. His lips plant another firm kiss against your neck once again— but this time, it is in victory.

“That took a lot of convincing.”

---

Thanks for reading! Reblogs > likes but both are much appreciated 💜

#-- the works of cora.#hsr sunday #sunday hsr #honkai star rail #Sunday Oak x reader #Sunday hsr x reader #hsr Sunday x reader #sunday honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail Sunday x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x gn reader #honkai star rail x reader

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alpydk · 8 months ago

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Curtain's Closed

So @auroraesmeraldarose has been leading me down a very dark path recently. One of folds and love muscles...

And then came Tim Downie's Cameo about Gale reading smut. Well, the concept just had to be written, didn't it? So here we have a little mini fanfic about Gale reading smutty fanfic. Quotes have been taken from her fic Professor Dekarios (ch14 for this / highly recommended) - And well, it's a nice evening ending in smut. Enjoy.

Word count - 2061 - M/E - CW - Self Pleasure

Springtime had settled over Waterdeep, the snow having now melted, the flowers in bloom outside the cafe window. He sat with the occult tome, flicking through the worn pages, not particularly interested in the contents. The cortado tasted smooth upon his tongue and the tiramisu he’d ordered had gone down a treat, but his mind, however, kept little to the pages in front of him, nor to the surroundings of the bustling streets that lay beyond the windowpane. Instead, they drifted to the small book buried deep under the stack of research papers, not lost, but selectively hidden out of sight of prying eyes.

It was during his morning at the academy that he’d overheard the conversation between two of his colleagues; the two women giggling and blushing over a recent book that had been going around the female staff. Smut they had described it as in a whisper of a word, afraid that someone might hear it. From what he could tell, it was not a mainstream book, no known author such as Cimber or Ruskettle, but the works of a hobbyist with a passion for those who’d been in the spotlight. He’d tried to hold little attention on the discussion, but the talk of a wizard in a compromising position stuck with him for the following hour as he taught his class. He’d read similar literature about desire in the past; what harm could one bit of curiosity do when it came to smut ?

Professor Karedios – Quite the title and very to the point, thought Gale to himself as he hid in the shadowed back corner of the small muggy bookstore. He felt as if he were a teenager looking for a scantily clad photo of an elf to gaze at in secret, only now he was in his late thirties, grey hairs highlighting his dark locks. Get a grip, Gale. He held the novel within the confines of his loose sleeve, a nervousness that someone might stop him and question him on the contents. Grabbing an occult tome with little regard for what it cost or the subject content, he, at least now, had an excuse to make a purchase of the sultry literature.

The shopkeeper took both the books, and Gale was thankful for the tired, darkened eyes of the vendor which met him. He could detect the faintest hint of red wine, hopefully a remnant of a previous lunch break and not a hidden stash beneath the counter. Either way, it mattered little, as the books and gold were quickly traded between them with little discussion. If he’d been asked, he would have simply claimed that it was for a friend as a humorous gift.

“You think I should wash my beard?” The voice of the assistant came through from a back room interrupting the purchase and Gale’s heart dropped as the books were pulled just a fraction too soon from his grasp.

From behind the desk came the slightly slurred retort, the accent unrecognisable to Gale’s ears. “Yes, I think you should wash it. Then you should shave it off, nail it to a steel plate, and fling it over a rainbow.”

Gale stood confused at the relationship between the two people, simply hoping to take what he’d bought and get out of there. The shopkeeper looked at him with disdain before handing over the books with a sigh, his job now done, the contract of pleasantries over. Gale took the books and crammed them in his bag with a quick nod of thanks before turning as quickly as he could to get away from the disgruntled trader. A note would be made to avoid the premises in the future, unless desperate. As he left the store, his heart pounding in his ears, his bag clutched to his chest tightly, he breathed a sigh of relief that at least the worst part was over.

Now Professor Karedios sat awaiting him, teasing him from his bag. He saw how the lilac cover stuck out from amongst the parchment of a study on Okoth, the outline of the protagonist’s robes calling to him. He’d read the blurb ever so quickly within the store. An alternate universe of a Faerûn Wizard. He was intrigued already, the character on the cover baring a self-indulgent resemblance to himself. He’d not been able to help himself, curiosity always getting the better of him, and he had to find out what lewd secrets were being kept from him. Finishing the coffee, he closed the heavy tome with a thud, no knowledge of what he had just been perusing for so long. All he knew was that he needed a certain mood before he could entertain such a topic as the one that truly held his focus. This would not be a quick night of loneliness within a tent, a potential death sentence hanging above his head; it would be one to enjoy, to savour.

The return to his tower was leisurely, the sun setting, casting long shadows down the narrowed streets, the scent of the sea washing in with the evening tides. He took in each sensation, the sounds of the taverns opening for their trade, the bard weaving sleazy tales from atop the shoulder of Ahghairon’s statue, the passing elf that smiled with a faint blush in his direction. The City of Splendours would forever live up to its name.

His home was empty, he discovered as he closed the oak door and called for Tara, a sly smile emerging upon his lips at the confirmation that he would have the tower all to himself for the night. He took off his cloak, thinking through the steps he would take tonight to squeeze each drop of pleasure from his time alone. He deliberated; was it worth bathing before or after? Though not nearly as tough a worker as his friend Halsin, who toiled through woodland day in/day out, Gale felt the effects of lecturing upon his body, his shoulders especially tensed, and forearms aching slightly from weaving spells consistently in the same manner in order to demonstrate to his pupils. He knew a similar ache would be felt later if he rushed through the planned activities.

He decided at least wine would be an excellent starting point. With a warm red poured, the alluring literature in his hand, the fire burning, and the curtains closed, he laid back in his comfortable armchair with a pleasant sigh.

““Good girl.” He tried to keep his voice calm and light even as her eyes widened, and she bit her lip again in response to his praise. “I’ll see you next time, Helene. Take care.””

Gale smirked at the intense flirting that had been going on between the characters, imagining himself as the professor on the cover. He mouthed the words silently to himself as if in the scene with the young lady, the submissive tone of her character already causing the heat to rise under his collar. The fire, the wine, the book? It mattered little to him, which was the culprit as he flipped ahead a few chapters; the story captivating, but his body growing a little too eager with the aid of the alcohol. He could certainly see the appeal of the type of fiction now, an improvement over the paintings and sketches he’d once glanced at. Now it was left to the unlimited reaches of his imagination, the story acting as a guide to entice his mind and, in turn, his body, hopefully leading him to a more satisfying precipice to tread upon.

“Rayne obliged, taking her face in his hands, leaning in and kissing her lips softly, tenderly.”

Now things were hotting up, he thought to himself, the feeling of his trousers growing a little snugger than comfortable. He didn’t want to rush this, but he was frightfully aware of how much time had passed since his last self-indulgent moment. He untied the drawstring above the leather, slipping the trousers and his underwear down enough to release his already semi hard erection. A sip of the red wine gave him a moment to compose himself before he continued.

“Helene hitched her dress up and, without breaking her mouth from his, threw one leg over both of Rayne’s, coming to rest on top of him, straddling his lap.”

The imagery held itself in his mind. He wanted to move to the next line, but the sight of the redhead straddling his lap in his vision caught him, a slight gasp being released as his hand moved around the base of his cock. He breathed deeply, letting his palm lie against his flesh, his self control remaining to savour the story further.

““Please, Rayne… I need you to touch me. Now.” Her voice was desperate and made Rayne’s already hard cock twitch in his jeans; the thought that she needed him like he needed her drove him wild.”

He felt his own cock twitch in eagerness, the dream of his kisses being laid on her body spurring him on. A massaging rub from base to tip caused his heart to beat that bit quicker, his desires trying to escape him with each word. How easy it would be to let himself go as he would have when he was younger. He closed his eyes and whispered through parted lips. Another slow rub before a few more lines could be read.

““Good girl,” he murmured in her ear as her body tensed, “now come for me, my love.””

Gale saw the teasing and the control before his very eyes. He would have conjured her in front of him if he knew his concentration would not have faltered so quickly, but it was too late to take that chance now. An involuntary moan escaped him, a second where his mind collected itself, returning him to reality, and he questioned if anyone would have heard him. He was no longer in the tents on the road, in the Elfsong Tavern, no Tara to be seen; he was alone and could embrace the sensation.

The build up with the fiction was becoming too much for him as he read on; Rayne’s need to give his partner such pleasure, similar to how he would devote himself to a lover. His hand moved quicker, his hips letting out a light thrust against his fingertips with each stroke. He lost track of the words on the page, his mind becoming clouded by his own arousal. He let out a shaky breath as Helene’s hungered pleas caused his cock to throb in his slowly tightening grip, the imagined form in front of him ready to be taken in full.

“Gently, slowly, he entered her....”

He caught little else of the sentence aside from these few words, knowing Rayne’s and his own motions would be similar in nature. Gale’s muscles tensed at the increasing speed of his hand, its movements now instinctive upon his shaft. He could almost hear Helene’s sounds in his head, her soft cries merging with the unrestrained groans of pleasure he was releasing into his empty study. The wine lay half drunk, the pages of the novel shaking gently in his trembling hand as his concentration faltered. He glanced over the paper in front of him, the words no longer existing to him as he pictured himself standing over her, her walls clenching around him. The book was let go from this trembling hand so he could grip the arm of the chair ready for his impending climax, his eyes closed to the dim light of the study, his cheeks flushed with stimulation.

Fantasy was lost to reality as his orgasm hit, a wave of intensity throughout his mind leaving him shuddering and panting for breath within the confines of his tower. The warmth of his seed flowed freely over his hand and he gave a short chuckle to himself; the evening having ended with the satisfying result he had longed for. Professor Karedios had been very thorough in his devotion to Helene, and Gale knew this would not be the last night that he too would be entertained by the pair’s escapades. Despite this knowledge, though, he still sat with the belief that this night had been one of the best he’d had all year: red wine, curtains closed, and a little smut for company.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #bg3 fanfiction #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale bg3 #galemance #shes created a monster

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v3nusxsky · 1 year ago

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Mommy knows

*Authors note~ long time no see people! This is definitely inspired by the last week of so of my life, and I thought this would be the perfect fic to get me back into posting for y’all again. Apologies to the anon for adding things they didn’t specifically mention. Come along for the tornado of emotions with me and enjoy the ride*

Trigger warnings~ mommy dom (LW) subby (L) pinning love sick Lesso, distance, phone sex? Sexting, slightly bratty Leo degrading praise slight angst? Hints of age regression easily skipped over

Prompt~see ask^^^^

The Dean of Evil could never have anticipated she’d be in this state right now, after all the clue was in her title. Evil. Yet right now she couldn’t look the furthest thing from evil even if she tried. In fact, one could say that the salty tear drops caressing her pale cheeks, the almost childish way she’d clutched on the blanket wrapped around herself as she tried to make herself look smaller and the intricate tangles of her fiery curls made her look quite pathetic actually. Weak she’d argue. But there’s nothing weak at falling to the curse of love sickness.

Larissa left for Nevermore 10 short hours ago, and Leonora was missing her lover terribly, so terribly that eating, sleeping, showering and drinking were all things that made her feel physically Ill. The pillows still smelt like her blonde lover, the blanket she was snuggled up in being a poor attempt to mimic the blondes arms, all meant leaving this bed was not happening. Perhaps if she stayed in bed Larissa would strut into the room like she had the previous weeks before. Droplets of water falling from her enchanting locks of hair, towel snuggly tied just above her milky white breasts that Leonora adored so much. The towel of course just kissed the tops of Larissa’s thighs due to her height, something Leo found herself missing. She was jealous of how the towel would be close to Larissa (instead of her) which of course would have had the blonde woman chuckling before joining Lesso on the bed.

Memories seemed to plague the red head, her phone holding photos and videos of their time together only seemed to make her crave her girlfriend more. If one thing Leonora was sure of, it was that distance from Larissa Weems was something she hated entirely. Watching the blonde leave as they both sobbed was now ingrained inside her mind, a constant reminder of much fun they’d had together, that had now ended. Of course both women knew it would end, school semesters were approaching and Nevermore wouldn’t run without it’s amazingly devoted principal weems, and of course it was Lesso’s job to help create a balance between good and evil this year. But now, three days before the semester is due to start, lesso can’t find it in her to care, so what do good wins again? If she has her Isa then that’s all that counts.

Arriving back at Nevermore was bittersweet for sure. On one hand the blonde was glad to be home but on the other she’d left her heart back at the school for evil. Now wandering the halls of Nevermore she felt numb. Alone. Numb. Lost. A shell of her former self before her holiday trip. Much like her lover, nothing felt right anymore, she found herself looking for Leo, to be waiting for the next bratty comment so she could swiftly put her sweet girl back in her place. But it never came, because she was alone.

Larissa had warned two close friends of hers she would be in need of assistance upon her arrival, Marilyn and Mortica Addams seemed to have forgotten that as they were no where to be seen. All staff had to be back at the grounds today to prep for the students arrival within the next 48 hours. So it hurt to feel so alone even though she knew people who were meant to care were around. What hurt Larissa most was to see both her friends happily chatting away in the halls while she could hardly keep herself upright due to the ache in her heart. If only Leonora was here, then she wouldn’t be alone at all. Perhaps that’s why Larissa made her way to her office and locked herself away from the world. Who wants to see love and joy when they’ve had there’s taken away by a long distance.

Texting and calling felt wrong now. How can something that had been a life line before, feel so empty and wrong now? It should’ve been like going back to normal but instead it felt new and well odd. Things didn’t change, Larissa still reminded her dove to eat, drink and to try not to kill anyone every day, just like she had every day since they took this step together. And sometimes Lesso would listen, but only sometimes. Yet both women could feel the ache the presence of their other half had left. This well and truly sucks.

Eventually, life got back into the swing of things, both women being overloaded with work meant there wasn’t much time to overthink the ache in their chests. But Larissa had noticed a few things, as busy as Wednesday Addams had her, she could never not notice her Doves needs. See Larissa often knew then before Leonora did. It had been weeks since the last bratty smart mouthed comment, weeks since she’d seen Leo let her guard down and slip out of the dean head space. So it would’ve been weeks of headaches and built up emotions that the red head was locking away from the world, herself, and her mommy. And that just wouldn’t do, so naturally the blonde found the needed solution.

Lesso could not sleep. She’d been trying for hours now. The problem? She wanted Larissa. Well mommy, but now wasn’t the time for those thoughts, no matter how much she craved her mommy’s touch or her ability to always know just what to do. Yet for hours all she could do is think and crave and battle this problem. A dull vibration caught her attention, immediately she knew just who caused it.

“Dove, why aren’t you sleeping? It’s much to late for my sweet girl to be up”

Damn it! How did she always know when lesso broke a rule. Immediately a quick smart response was sent on its way, and this continued back and forth.

“I don’t want to. And I’m not sweet”

“But you are my darling girl, and you need to sleep sweetheart, you promised to look after yourself until I can come home to do so”

“I don’t care anymore. You can’t make me”

“Oh but I can Dove, don’t be a brat and listen to mommy”

“Fuck you”

The bubbles popped up and disappeared a few times as the red head was sat worrying her bottom lip waiting for the response that never came, instead the shrill ringing sound filled the room instead. Fuck. Taking a quick breath she hit answer.

“Care to repeat that dove?” She growled out causing the red head ti shake her head negative before remembering that Larissa couldn’t see her. “Leonora, do not make me repeat myself” quickly followed her silence.

“No mommy, I- I didn’t” she stuttered now only realising her mistake of letting her temper flare.

“You didn’t what baby? You didn’t mean to be a brat? You didn’t mean to get my attention in the wrong way because you can’t use your big girl words? Or you didn’t mean to hurt mommy? Which one is it my darling?” By the tone she could tell her mommy wasn’t happy and that made the guilt start to bubble in the lower part of her stomach.

“Last one, I’m sorry” was whimpered into the phone as her eyes glassed over with a sheen of unshed tears. Truly, she didn’t want to hurt her lover’s feelings but the emotions had built insanely high and craved release in the way only she could provide.

“Oh so you aren’t sorry for being a bratty dove? Hmm? That just won’t do now will it?” The sentence itself looking like a question but deep down the redhead knew the implied meaning just by the sheer tone of voice.

“No mommy, I’m sorry I’ll try to be good! Just miss you really bad” Leonora whimpered into the phone, not sure what she wanted other than to go back and be Larissa’s good dove. The tell tell beeps of the phone hanging up was enough to shock Leonora back to reality. She’d really been hung up on…

But she wasn’t alone with her thoughts for long, pictures and messages filled her phone, her mommy show casing everything Leonora could have had. Every picture and every dirty text message detailed how Larissa wanted to play with her slutty toy but was a solid reminder of just what she’d lost.

“Mommy! Please I’m sorry I’ll be good I’m sorry mommy” the redhead begged after attempting to call her girlfriend back only to be ignored, she knew just what Larissa Weems would be doing, her own private quarters had mirrors everywhere, the angles were perfect and lesso knew how heavenly her whines and mewls of pure pleasure sounded like, this wasn’t fair at all.

An hour. 60 whole minutes. That’s how long the torture of begging and being ignored or denied went on. It was safe to say lesso was going insane until Larissa finally answered her call, out of breath with her signature teasing tone that was just for Leonora. “Poor baby, did you need mommy? Poor little whore of mine wanted mommy to let her see hmm?”

Tears started to fall as her need to be corrected, loved and comforted back to one piece again rose to the fore front of her mind. “I’m sorry mommy. Please help me I’m sorry I needed that, I’ll be good now I promise let me be good for you.” With a quick click of the button the phone call became a video call. Larissa being as naked as the day she was born, a beautiful flush covering her pale body due to her previous activity. “Be a doll for me then and get mommy’s favourite toys for you to use on yourself” she instructed as lesso scrambled off the bed to do so, “but crawl pup! Show me what a pretty bitch you can be for me.”

Stings of humiliation was soon covered by pride as Larissa groaned at the sight of the strong put together woman on her knees because Larissa demanded it, she’d made her lover feel good and that never failed to encourage the dean. Perhaps that’s how she ended up with the special dildo that Larissa had gifted her for Christmas magically thrusting in and out of her needy cunt. Her magical ability being used to mark up her pretty thighs at Larissa’s demand. All while Larissa murmured the most filthy words possible to her bratty girl.

“Mommy! Hurts! Please wanna cum” the poor woman squeezed while trying to squirm away from the magical toy. She knew the rules and would do near enough anything to follow them. Having her mommy’s attention now, she most definitely didn’t want to lose that. “Poor baby, is mommy hurting you?” The faux concern drew a whimper from Lesso, “no I can’t be, look at how you’re soaking my thick dick with your slutty juices sweet girl, look at your pretty cunt for me.” On instinct both pairs of eyes focused on Leonora’s sex soaked core.

“Good pup for me aren’t you dove? My good girl? Such a perfect slut for me. Mine. You’re mine Leonora, say it” Larissa almost growled causing the dean to fall into submission. “Yes mommy’s. I’m mommy’s please please please!” By now all she knew was Larissa. This sweet torture finally breaking down her walls, all the heartache, the fear, the sadness and the loneliness was gone and replaced with Larissa. This, them making each other feel good, would always be right. “That’s all my sweet baby needed hm? You needed mommy to break you down huh? My good little pup, let go darling, cum for me my love” was all the permission she needed as her inner walls milked the faux cock for all it was worth and Larissa’s praised flew around her brain, creating the beauty of sub space.

Sub space was one of Leonora’s favourite headspace’s for sure, she was safe,content, loved and well fucked. Normally Larissa would be met with a dopey smirk and soft lingering touches as her girlfriend cling to her body. Not having this safety blanket was what caused the red head to start sobbing as she came back to reality. “Oh my darling girl, what’s wrong Leo? What can I do sweet girl? What can mommy do?” Larissa coed down the phone hoping to somehow help. Truly seeing Leonora so upset was devastating. “Want you” was gasped out as the tears now consumed her body and breathing was a struggle, “please” she whimpered so quietly, sounding absolutely heartbroken. “I know sweet girl, I’ll be back soon my love, you must talk to me darling, don’t keep this all bottled up inside. I miss you terribly too Leo. Much more than I have missed anyone before. I love you my sweet little dove.”

They say time heals all wounds, but this time all time did was provide a simple bandaid, simply holding the hearts together until they could be back in one piece. A temporary solution to a temporary problem. Naturally this situation occurred more than a few times while both women had to be apart, and it soon became more normal but odd at the same time. But every day was that one day closer to being able to hold each other again. To be home.

Word count~ 2376

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romione-trope-fest · 11 months ago

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Whiskey on Rounds

Fic Title: Whiskey on Rounds

Author Name: Be11atrixthestrange

Selected Trope: OOTP Missing Moment

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione skive off prefect rounds.

Word Count: 1661

Rating: General

—

The sound of Hermione’s footsteps stumbling down the stairs functioned as an alarm for Ron, who was deep into his astronomy textbook. It was a relatively uneventful Wednesday night for the fifth years. Hermione had, of course, finished her schoolwork early, while Harry sat brooding on one of the armchairs pretending to study. As usual, Ron was on his own again, and burying himself into his homework was better than getting his head bitten off by their easily-angered best friend.

Without a second thought, Ron slammed his textbook closed when Hermione appeared at his table.

“Ready for rounds?”

“Yes,” he said, then added under his breath, “Thank Merlin.”

“I heard that,” grumbled Harry from his chair.

“Sorry mate,” said Ron apologetically. “I’ll see you later.”

As predicted, Harry didn’t answer. The pair had just gotten into an argument about nothing in particular, which was extra frustrating because it couldn’t be fixed. Ron was either not angry enough about something, or too optimistic about something else. Honestly, he didn’t actually know. He just needed a break. Ron turned toward Hermione who shrugged, and the pair turned and left through the portrait hole.

“He’s being such an arse right now,” said Ron, as soon as the portrait door closed behind them.

“Ron. Don’t swear.”

“You know I’m not wrong, though.”

Hermione didn’t protest, as Ron had expected. The pair had talked about this before. Ever since Voldemort had returned at the end of their fourth year, and Harry had that dreadful experience in the graveyard, things had just been off with him. They complained about it in private, but Ron knew they were both just worried for him. Honestly, this year it felt like they were his parents, constantly fretting about keeping him safe, happy, and out of trouble. Not that any of their efforts mattered.

The pair trotted through the corridors toward the east wing, where they usually began rounds, but before they reached their destination, Hermione darted down an unfamiliar corridor.

“Hermione, where are you going?”

“Follow me,” she said, reaching for his arm and tugging him alongside her.

“We usually start rounds in the—”

“Shhh.”

Hermione tugged a confused Ron down a winding corridor, past their classrooms and up a few staircases until they came into a more familiar hallway on the seventh floor, one that they had spent a significant amount of time in with Harry and company, but never alone.

“What are we doing with the Room of Requirement?” “Just wait,” said Hermione, her voice jittery with excitement.

She paced the blank wall across from the Barnabas the Barmy tapestry three times. “We need a place to skive off rounds.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. Skive off rounds? Hermione would never. “Hermione, are you serious?”

She didn’t answer his question, and instead, stared intently at the wall until the door to the Room of Requirement appeared. “Let’s go!”

Ron shook his head as if to wake himself up from a dream. When nothing changed, he grinned and followed after her through another corridor, this one just recently built by the Room of Requirement itself. After a short walk through the dark, candle lit hallway, the pair emerged into what looked like a miniature, dimly lit cocktail lounge. There was a fully stocked bar in the corner, a couple of chaise lounges, and what appeared to be a muggle jukebox, which Ron only knew because it was one of his dad’s favorite artifacts.

“This is not what I was expecting, but I’ll take it!” said Hermione.

Ron stared at the bar. Normally, they’d have to head into Hogsmeade to get a drink, and even then they were only allowed butterbeer at their age. Even if Hermione wasn’t expecting it, Ron knew the Room of Requirement always conjured up not what the seeker expected, but what they truly needed. Maybe what Ron and Hermione needed was a drink. “Are we really doing this?”

As if to answer his question indirectly, Hermione trotted over to the bar and began perusing the selection of drinks before reaching for a bottle of firewhiskey.

Firewhiskey, of all things.

“Want some?” she asked.

Ron stared at her, his mouth agape. “Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione?”

Hermione whisked around to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“Obviously it’s a yes.”

Ron watched as Hermione fiddled with the muggle jukebox with one hand, the other clutching a glass of firewhiskey and tonic water. “I don’t really know any of these songs, but that’s okay.”

Ron wouldn’t have been much help. He also didn’t know of any muggle songs, and the jukebox in his dad’s shed had been broken for as long as Ron could remember. He sat on one of the chaise lounges and sipped away at his own drink, some strange concoction thought up by Hermione. It was tasty, sure, and Ron could tell there was a fair bit of alcohol content. He could already feel his guard coming down with each sip. Some unfamiliar music filled the room as Hermione turned and approached him before plopping down onto the other lounge. At that moment, Ron found himself wishing the Room of Requirement provided what the seekers wanted, not needed, because then there’d be a single sofa instead of two separate chairs. Then Hermione would have to sit next to him. Maybe that was the room’s way of telling him something.

“If we get in trouble for this, I’ll take the blame, okay?” said Hermione.

Funnily enough, the thought of getting in trouble had hardly crossed Ron’s mind. Maybe he should have been more concerned about that. Would a professor even believe this was Hermione’s idea? Probably not, but it wasn’t worth arguing about.

“So really, what brought this on?”

Hermione shrugged. “Aren’t you stressed out?”

She didn’t have to clarify why. Ron knew she wasn’t referring to homework, classes, or prefect duties, but to their mutual best friend.

“Is this how you manage stress now?” asked Ron. “Because I could get used to this.”

Hermione laughed. “No, but I just wanted to have a good time with a friend.”

What a welcome distraction. “Been a bit hard lately.”

“Yeah,” said Hermione before taking another sip of her drink.

Ron swirled his drink around in his glass. “You don’t think McGonagall will notice?”

“Us missing one day of rounds? No.”

Ron raised an eyebrow at her. “You seem so sure. Since when are you a rule-breaker?”

“I’m not a rule-breaker, Ron. That’s how I get away with breaking the rules.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure it does. Think about it. If a tree falls in the Forbidden Forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

Ron couldn’t help but laugh at her ridiculous analogy. Was that another one of those dumb muggle sayings? “What the bloody hell does that mean?”

“It’s not that I don’t break rules. It’s that I don’t get caught.”

He stared back at her, his eyes wide. Everything he thought he knew about Hermione swirled in his head like a cloud of contradictions. Hermione, the girl who thought the worst thing one could be was expelled, not killed. The one who would pull all-nighters to finish an assignment, would always be back in the common room before curfew, and would deduct house points from Gryffindor for her very own uniform violations. That was the same girl skipping rounds and drinking firewhiskey in the Room of Requirement?

And yet, she was also the girl who illicitly brewed polyjuice potion in second year. She set Snape’s robes on fire, talked back to teachers, snuck into the forbidden forest, and blackmailed Rita Skeeter. Maybe he gave her too much credit. Or maybe not enough.

“Have you ever had firewhiskey before?” asked Ron. He couldn’t remember ever seeing it with his own eyes.

“Once.”

“And where did you get it?”

Hermione blushed. “I confiscated it from your brothers.”

“Fred and George?”

“Last month,” said Hermione with a nod and a giggle.

Ron burst out laughing. “Do they know you drank it?”

“No and don’t you dare tell them!”

Hermione’s bounding laugh was a welcome and contagious sound, and Ron couldn’t help but follow suit. It had been a while since they’d laughed like this without worrying about being too loud and disturbing their best friend from his homework. Or his recent brooding. In fact, Ron couldn’t remember the last time he and Hermione were alone together guilt-free. Besides prefect rounds, maybe it was this past summer?

There was a marked difference between the two ever since the Yule Ball incident, when Ron’s feelings about their friendship became all too clear. It wasn’t that he liked Hermione like that, but that it wasn’t off the table. And her going to the ball with Krum made it seem like certain things weren’t possible anymore. But, now Krum was no longer in the picture, and Ron was sitting in the Room of Requirement with Hermione, drinking firewhiskey instead of doing rounds. Maybe things weren’t quite as off the table as he thought.

“I like this side of you,” said Ron. A lot, he wanted to add, but he stopped himself before he could come on too strong.

“Well don’t get used to it,” said Hermione. “This is a one time thing.”

“Sure it is,” said Ron. “Wait until Harry hears about this.”

Hermione stifled a giggle with another sip of her firewhiskey. “He wouldn’t believe you, you know.”

Deep down, Ron knew that was true. No one would believe Hermione skived off rounds and whisked him into the Room of Requirement to drink instead. It was completely absurd. Little miss rule follower, or at least that’s what everyone else thought.

“That’s fine, I’ll keep this Hermione to myself.”

Maybe he really was the only one who got to see this side of her. Honestly, that wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

#submission #ootp missing moments #romione

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topwan-obikin · 1 year ago

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SECOND HALF OF REVEALS ARE UP!

Here it is the second half of reveals for the first deadline of our fest. and the official conclusion of our first deadline!

We are so happy about all the engagement and love you have showed us, and we can't wait to see even more submissions for our second deadline!!

From this moment on, the authors mentioned in this post will be able to promote their creations however they like! You are free to post your work on your own social media and we will promote it alongside the reveal of your fic. You can include moodboards or other creative images in your promotion! Just be sure to tag the fest in some way.

If instead you didn’t have the chance to look through the creations revealed, now it’s a great time to do it. Give them some love and share the ones you loved more!

From next week, the blog will restart our weekly recs friday and wips wednesday, plus our games. And look out for the 26th because we'll drop a Christmas present for our 300 followers milestone!!

For all who'd like participate in our second deadline, all infos are pinned on our blog!

Now let’s dive in!

☆ Show Their Truth by dragons_and_angels

[Explicit - 2,270 w]

With every action, Kenobi proved Vader's Master a liar.

☆ Tied Together With You by dragons_and_angels

[Explicit - 4,375 w]

Anakin Skywalker is bad at sex. He knows this, but that doesn't mean he wants his boyfriend to find out.

☆ Snake in the Grass by KnockKnockOut @knockknockoutblog

[Explicit - 6,718 w]

Anakin has been in love with Obi-Wan for as long as he can remember. And because Obi-Wan is a Jedi's Jedi, he knows Obi-Wan will never love him back. But that's okay. Anakin has enough love for the both of them. When Obi-Wan comes to Anakin asking for help with a mysterious problem right before they're deployed on their next mission, Anakin knows it's his only chance to show Obi-Wan just how much he loves him.

♥ Yours, Mine, and Ours by MutteringRetreats @mutteringretreats1

[Explicit - 6,169 w - chapters 2/?]

In a world in which unmated omegas are free for anyone to use—any time, any place—newly presented Anakin is ecstatic that he finally has his alpha master’s attention. The problem is, he wants Obi-Wan’s attention, not everybody else’s. Good thing his attentive master is there to help him perform his duties.

♥ there is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable by veloursdor @veloursdor

[Explicit - 1,610 w - chapters 1/?]

Anakin begins receiving dick pics and sexts from Obi-Wan, unsure of what to make of them. He has always felt something towards the older man, always wanting more and more from him, but the spicy text messages weren’t something he had ever thought he’d get from the man that married his mom.

☆ Unexpected Surprise! by StarryAri (damndameron) @starryariart

[Explicit - Fanart]

Obi-Wan Kenobi has had a long day doing various Jedi things. Anakin is waiting for him to get back with a special surprise!

☆ keep a stern hand by faultlessly

[Explicit - 5,662 w]

“Captain Kenobi,” Prince Anakin breathed, his eyes still wide and blown black in the candlelight. A memory came to him of the first time he’d caught the prince in the act. Anakin had only been sixteen years old at the time, but the stable boy whose hand was moving in the front of his trousers was equally as youthful, and it was that tiny detail that kept Obi-Wan from promptly putting his sword through his gut. He’d said the same thing back then, and his title upon the prince’s lips had sounded like an apology; as time passed, it morphed the syllables into an expression of insolence. Now, it sounded like a plea. * * * Or: Obi-Wan is a little too good at being the head of the crown prince’s guard.

☆ and the sun will shine upon us again by Viraha @virahaus

[Explicit - 2,363 w]

Anakin reveals to Obi-Wan that he's married. Obi-Wan doesn't take it well and decides to teach him a lesson. And if the lesson includes multiple orgasms, well, that's just to drive the point better into Anakin's brain.

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novantinuum · 10 months ago

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you can’t choose what stays and what fades away OR Reunited Alt POV fic? (I am eyeing doing that tag myself except. *glances at WIP folder*)

I am wiggling about my SU wips most of all, so I’mma selecting Reunited Alt POV fic (which LMAFO I need to come up with a banger of a title for so desperately, this one is like 2/3rds done so. Yeah.

This is a simple one to explain, it’s just the battle in Reunited but from Connie’s POV- thus, it covers everything that happens while Steven gets knocked into unconscious psychic ghost zone. Or, at least, my take on what happens. But uh… yeah. Watching your friend get absolutely trampled underfoot is inherently traumatizing, and I don’t think we as a fandom talk enough about this moment and how it might’ve impacted specifically Connie. Also I genuinely honest to god think Steven was seriously hurt from this- and that some of the fractures in his bones we see in SUF were from this strike- and that the reason he took so long to come to in “psychic ghost zone” even was that all his body’s energy was being routed towards Intense self healing. So keep that in mind re: snippit below:

Garnet keeps a watchful eye for any incoming projectiles as Connie skids to a screeching halt next to her friend’s comatose body lying limp in the sand. Okay. Okay. Here he is. Now all she’s gotta do is… carry him to a safe distance. Steeling her core in preparation, she squats down and tries to leverage herself to scoop him right up. Her legs, though… in the midst of her terror, her legs are simply too wobbly to bear his mass, and after one valiant but failed attempt she’s scared she’ll hurt herself (or him!) trying again. Which means… she’ll just have to drag him.

“Sorry—!” she says with a faint hiss of regret as she grasps both of his arms by the wrist and starts to pull him across the battle-swept sands. Sure enough to her suspicions, one of his shoulders definitely doesn’t feel like it’s aligned in its socket right, and she worries that yanking him along like this will only serve to further exacerbate it. Still, what other choice does she have?

What choices do any of them have, all tangled up within the fallout of this thousand year war?

Ever-diligent in her role as lookout, Garnet circles around a few more times as Connie drags Steven off the battlefield, towards what remains of his house. She’s grateful for her help. Truly so. It allows her to focus her energy on protecting her best friend instead of constantly having to keep an eye out for stray attacks from the Diamonds. And boy, oh boy— she digs her heels into the sand, spent muscles all but screaming for her to rest, to drop her load and continue on alone— will her body need every last drop of energy she’s got. That’s why relief surges through her heart with all the ferocity of a tidal wave when Mr. Universe’s frantic voice comes into range once again. Because it means she’s here. She’s succeeded. She’s pulled him all the way to the base of the stairs, out of the way.

The exhaustion hits immediately. Huffing for a lungful of air, she drops the half-Gem’s arms to the ground and collapses to her knees. For an extended moment, the unwanted melody of warfare rings through her ears like canon fire. She can’t move. She can barely even breathe. She swears her friend’s dad is trying to say something to her— can feel his hesitant touch brushing against her shoulder in what barely counts as a whisper— but she can’t even manage to distinguish a single word. Her eyes brim with fresh tears, every last sensory input overloaded. It’s all too loud. It’s all too damn heavy. It’s all too—

“Connie,” Garnet pushes through the static with astute authority.

She snaps her head up, her eyes flitting between the Crystal Gem leader (currently kneeling at her side) and a still panicking Mr. Universe (clutching his unconscious son’s hand). Her breath settles, slowly but surely. Her fingers twitch, tracing shallow patterns in the sand. The ringing lessens.

“Thank you,” she continues, pushing herself back to her full height. The long skirt of her wedding outfit flares behind her as she glances back towards the chaos of the battle. “For protecting him where I couldn’t. Now, keep watch. If they poof all of us, promise me you’ll evacuate the beach.”

“I-I… of course,” Connie says, her gaze still wet with terror and barely contained grief. “But y-you… you don’t really think you’ll—?”

Lose, is the word she can’t bring herself to say. Surely you don’t think you’ll lose?

#ft. Connie carrying Steven outright in her ARMS in CYM being her personal redemption moment from This ‘failure’#or what she Sees as a failure… a failure of her own strength :(#she felt horrible for having to drag him by his arms #jen rambles #wips

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idkaguyorsomething · 1 year ago

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Doctor Who Fic Recs

¡The specials are nigh upon us (or maybe the first one will already be out by the time I finish writing this, who knows)! Over the course of 60 years, there’s been quite a few absolute gems that some anonymous, talented souls have put out for our enjoyment. So here’s some of the highlights, scraped together from various corners of the internet:

This one is centered around Nine, after his regeneration. He has to confront his trauma as he goes on a journey through his past, traveling through his memories and meeting his past selves. It goes really deep into a lot of lore surrounding the daleks and Classic Who, so if you don’t know a lot about that this probably isn’t for you. It also came out before the 50th anniversary special, so there’s no War Doctor, and it has its own interpretation of the last moments of the Time War. But if that’s not a dealbreaker, definitely check this one out, because it’s got a fantastic story about regret and identity.

This story is a prequel to both series set on Gallifrey, with some rare Doctor/Master/Rani shipping, a very eldritch approach to Time Lord society, and a really interesting fusion of TARDISes with daemons. If you’re not familiar with the concept of daemons, this story really isn’t a good starting point, plus there are some references to the Big Finish audio stories that are rather important. It’s not exactly a story as much as it is a bunch of fragments set in the same universe exploring a lot of the ideas it introduces. A must-read if you enjoy Doctor Nyarlathotep.

A personal favorite of mine, centering around the unexpected pairing of Martha Jones and Lucy Saxon. It deals with the fallout of a certain couple of Time Lord’s actions during The Year That Never Was and is very short, but manages to squeeze in a lot of emotions. It will make you understand how this pairing could work while doing justice to Martha’s character.

Drop whatever it is you’re doing. Go read this. Now. It is one of the most well-written fics you will ever find, period, and probably the best Academy Era fanfic out there. The author has an excellent grasp on how an unlikely friendship would develop into something more and then break down, making it one of the most compelling and believable explorations of the Doctor and the Master’s relationship before they were the Doctor and the Master. It can get pretty dark (we’re talking self-inflicted regeneration) but if you can stomach those topics then you’ll find something amazingly well-written.

¿Do you wish that we could’ve seen tiny Amelia as a child companion on the TARDIS instead of her adult self? ¿Are you a fan of platonic fluff? ¿Are you in the mood to have your heart explode from a cuteness overload? ¡Then check this one out! The only possible complaint is that it’s too short.

Wherein Rose decides to haul around the dalek from Van Statten’s bunker instead of Adam. ¡Very funny and enjoyable and underrated! It has a dalek named Pedro and Nine being enjoyably grumpy until he decides he can make an exception against hating all daleks just this once. ¿What more could you possibly want?

This one is a short piece about Martha and Ten going to watch a supernova, but what makes it extra special is that it’s a real supernova and the fic was written by an irl astronomer. Their passion for their work really bleeds through into their writing, and it helps to emphasize the sense of wonder and exploration that Doctor Who at its best can bring.

¿Remember Jethro from Midnight? ¿The guy who looked like Merlin? ¿No? You will after reading this.

Mostly crack that doesn’t take itself too seriously and isn’t afraid to poke fun at some of the classic sci-fi setting fanfic cliches. ¡¡Number one shipper TARDIS, sex pollen, and Martha Jones having a good time abound (¿have you figured out which companion is my favorite yet?)!!

https://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=53318 Set during the Day of the Doctor, this little oneshot is just a slight au where we get to see every Doctor (up to that point) play their part in saving Gallifrey. Obviously they couldn’t have done anything like that in the show itself without resorting to dubious CGI necromancy bullshit, but man does it make you wish they could’ve had something similar.

And last but not least, ¡some classic Donna and the Doctor friendship! This is pretty much the distilled essence of everything everyone loved about their dynamic, being sweet, silly, and sad. It leans more on emotions than action or humor, but with the upcoming specials it is well worth a read just to remind yourself of everything they went through.

#phew finally done #waaaaay after the first special finally came out #this list easily could’ve been twice as long but it turns out there’s a limit to how many links you can add to a post #shout out to that one user that helped me find my drafts #you’re a lifesaver #lemme know if any of you want a part 2 #doctor who #doctor who fic #fic rec #my laptop broke so i can’t write a lot of shit #time to live up to the other half of my thing ig

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sylphidine · 1 year ago

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[Fic] Call Signs, Chapter 34

Fandom: Deltarune

‘Verse: Human AU

Pairing: Swatch/Spamton [Swatchton]

Characters: Spamton Addison, T.M. Tanner, Swatch Paletta, Fergus Ignatius Gonzalez [flashback], Catechu Dyer, Indigo Dyer

Rating: Mature

Chapter title: Right Through The Wall

Chapter summary: Shuffling the deck to entertain the elephant in the living room.

Author notes: No real content warnings this time around. While the characters veer into discussing some mature topics, this is very much Informed Consent Territory.

Enjoy the angsty fluph. And thanks, as always, for reading, commenting, and kudos-ing. I know that so many Deltarune fans have dropped off the fanfic map, both writers and readers, either because of other interests or because they're waiting for Deltarune Chapter 3 to recharge their brainrot. I am very, very grateful for the few diehards who continue to bear with me as one of the slowest writers in any fandom.

________________

Spamton had mere seconds to change gears, putting his brain in charge rather than letting his body react.

He hitched himself up from his own stool into a standing position and out of T.M.’s arms as gently as he could, hoping desperately that it didn’t seem like he was pushing her away. He pressed multiple kisses on the top of her head. He took a deep breath of the scent of her hair just below the ribbon of her pussycat bow and muttered, “I can’t, I j-just can’t. I want to, I really want t-to, I - I j-just c-c-c-can’t.”

Then he waited for the slap, or the scream, or the cold silence.

Instead, sitting back down on the stool she’d abandoned when they’d both practically pounced each other, T.M. looked up at him with big wet eyes and asked, “How the hell do you DO that?”

“Huh? D-do what?”

“Stop people from making complete idiots of themselves, not to mention looking so damn cute while you’re doing it.”

Spamton snapped back, more out of reflex than anything, “I’m not cute, I’m guh-gorgeous.” That got a little smile out of her, as he’d hoped, although said smile was still very much on the watery side. He decided to push the envelope a little further and added, “And y-yes, you’d be a c-complete idiot to want to kiss me.”

“Why?”

“Because - because I’ve g-g-g-got more issues than NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC…” “Like I don’t?”

“And I really like you, every b-bit of you, and that doesn’t happen to me all that often, and k-k-k-kissing is something that m-m-matters a lot to me, and I d-d-don’t want to stop being able to c-cuddle with you, and I’m still wrung out from this whole p-p-past week, and I can’t explain what I mean because I have to go to work in twenty minutes! ”

He realized he’d started yelling when he noticed T.M. give a little jump, and then seem to brush it off by raising her hand to smooth her hair. “S-sorry,” he trailed off.

“It’s okay,” she was quick to reassure him. She was visibly calming down, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head to put together the pieces of what he HADN’T said.

I can’t kiss you until I know whether Swatch would be okay with it.

Spamton watched T.M. take an audible breath before she asked, “Can I have a rain check?”

He nodded, and she kept going. “This isn’t a genie I can put back in a bottle, so to speak. I can’t keep doing the whole ‘kissing other people’s boyfriends whenever I’m sad’ thing. I promised Swatch I’d stop doing that after I broke up with Aster. This is different. I like you too. A lot. This isn’t my usual maneater schtick.”

Oh, trust me, honey, if we’re comparing notes, you being a “maneater” is nowhere near as bad as me being a “rent boy”.

He tried to keep his face impassive as that bitter thought crossed his mind. T.M. must have noticed him sneaking glances at the wall clock, because she stood up and said, “Let me go fix my face and I’ll walk you to the library before I stake out my own damn claim to my own living room to do my own damn homework. No telling when Her Majesty will be back.”

_______

It was good to keep his hands busy. Or so he kept telling himself, an hour into his shift.

It was the Sunday just before midterm week, after all. Of course students who hadn’t quite gotten the hang of the material during the first few weeks of the winter term would start flocking to the library, and specifically to the reference desk for the reserve copies needed in their courses.

But Spamton just couldn’t concentrate. His coworker Liz finally commented snippily, after the third time she saw him hand a student the wrong material, “What’s with you today? Too much partying last night?”

“N-no,” he replied absently, “kind of - kind of the opposite.” He tugged at the hem of his hoodie and came to a decision. “You’re right, Liz, I’m really out of it. C-can I tempt you into letting me go - go early if I c-c-cover the whole shift next Sunday?”

“The whole shift? 9 to 5?”

Spamton nodded and shot her a hangdog look.

“You’re on.” Liz gave him a tight and feral grin in return. “I’m not a completely heartless bitch, but if I’m going to be doing all your work today, I want some payback.”

“Th-thanks.”

“I’ll clear it with Barnaby. Go home.”

Home.

He had to talk to Swatch. No way was he going to violate his partner’s consent.

Never again.

In the men’s room, he texted Swatch before he lost his nerve.

FROM: SPAMTON

TO: SWATCH

Leaving work early

FROM: SWATCH

TO: SPAMTON

I won’t pry, after last night. I love you.

FROM: SPAMTON

TO: SWATCH

It’s worse than you think

FROM: SWATCH

TO: SPAMTON

Nothing can be that bad.

Spamton’s throat tightened as those words glared back at him from the screen. He thought to himself, God dammit, Swatch, stop being so naive .

A wave of panic and guilt washed over him. He had wanted to discuss this in person, but now he was dreading the discussion. He smashed out a sentence in all caps and hit “send” before he could think better of it.

FROM: SPAMTON

TO: SWATCH

I ALMOST LET TM KISS ME I’M SORRY SHOULD I NOT COME HOME

The reply was almost instantaneous, followed quickly by a second and then a third text.

The words blurred in Spamton’s vision as he blinked back tears.

FROM: SWATCH

TO: SPAMTON

You can always come home.

FROM: SWATCH

TO: SPAMTON

Always.

FROM: SWATCH

TO: SPAMTON

You don’t even have to ask. Come home.

The possibility crossed Spamton’s mind that Swatch was psychic.

More likely, T.M. had spilled the beans.

After staring at his phone for another ten minutes, Spamton finally dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, Swatch wasn’t naive after all.

Maybe Swatch knew exactly what they were saying. What they were offering.

He grabbed his bag, feeling like his feet had wings, making record time between campus and Tibbetts Avenue, practically running all the way.

_________

FROM: MOGGY

TO: BIRDMAN

i almost kissed your boyfriend im a rotten friend youre probably going to hate me for life

Swatch stared at the message, which had been sent more than an hour ago. It must have arrived between the time that they had been putting the laundry in the dryer and the time they'd gotten into the shower.

Rather than leaving their best friend in suspense, they opted to call her rather than texting. They weren’t terribly surprised when it went right to voicemail. Swatch left a short message, saying in as an affectionate voice as could be conveyed over a tinny speaker, "I love you, you ridiculous Moggy-of-mine. You’re making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be. I’ve grown up a lot and learned a lot since FIG. See you at 5?”

They had barely hit the “disconnect” button when their phone buzzed again.

Incoming text: Spamton

As they were messaging back and forth with Spamton, Swatch’s main reaction was a combination of relief and amusement.

Relief because finally… FINALLY! … someone who claimed to love Swatch romantically gave a damn about how Swatch would feel about being the injured party.

Amusement at the idea of their lover and their best friend both thinking that Swatch would be worried and be feeling injured.

As though it were yesterday, Swatch could hear the last exchange of words that they and FIG would ever have.

"You're the only one I care about."

"That's nice, but it doesn't really matter."

This situation with Spamton was soooo different. That situation with FIG was a lifetime ago. And T.M. would have remembered that, if she'd been thinking straight.

After the last few weeks of what seemed like constant HDR, Swatch felt they had the clearest idea, out of the three of them, how emotions running high could lead people to do things outside their comfort zone.

Swatch wandered into the kitchen to make tea ahead of their partner’s return, and to give the matter more serious thought.

Spamton must have been in turmoil before getting to the library for his shift. He was very strict about turning his phone off when working on Sunday afternoons and Monday nights. Swatch respected that, but didn’t envy their partner for undoubtedly having had an emotional hamster wheel in his mind while trying to appear professional. They wished he’d not gone to work at all, or had called them sooner.

No matter. At the end of the day they would be there to listen, to hold him, and to reassure him that they, Swatch, would not be going anywhere.

It was time to tell Spamton about FIG.

Swatch was more worried about T.M.; she was prone to going into self-blame spirals due to the ups and downs of her love life. When she had talked to Swatch about breaking up with Aster, she'd said her self-image had really been hurt after Aster had accused her of being a tease and incapable of deep feelings.

“Do I really lead men on, Birdman?” she’d asked them.

“I can’t answer that, Moggy," they'd replied. "Not being a man, for starters.”

“You know what I mean,” she’d shot back at them. "I spell it out in big neon letters after the first date that I'm not looking for anything more than a good time, that I don't WANT a relationship. Why don't they listen?"

"Society is to blame," Swatch had intoned in their best imitation of the lawyer shows Fairlight had liked to watch, back in the day.

They'd hoped to get a laugh out of T.M. with that quip, but she'd only smiled slightly and answered, "Yeah. It really is."

Now, though, Swatch tended to agree that society WAS a bitch.

Their mind was a lot more open these days than it had been when they and FIG had been doing the clumsy dance of sloppy makeouts and copping feels under the bleachers, which Swatch had mistakenly thought was all there was to being in love.

They knew better now.

Their phone buzzed one more time.

FROM: MOGGY

TO: BIRDMAN

youre taking this a lot better than i expected

FROM; BIRDMAN

TO: MOGGY

Of course I am. To quote Ray Davies, I’m not like everybody else.

FROM: MOGGY

TO: BIRDMAN

you can hear me sighing from here right

can we pass on food tonight i just want to sleep

i will come over later maybe after 8

FROM: BIRDMAN

TO: MOGGY

Of course. Love you.

FROM: MOGGY

TO: BIRDMAN

love you too

At that moment, Swatch heard the front door open and close, and heard shuffling steps in the hall.

“Tea’s ready,” they called out.

_________

Spamton had a sense of deja vu .

He and Swatch were sitting up side by side in bed, propped up against the headboard, cups of Earl Grey warm in each of their hands, a blanket draped over their legs.

Compared to Spamton’s first trauma-dump after the party all those months ago, Swatch had outlined their time with FIG in relatively few words. From the first time they’d found themself pressed up against the wall behind the gym by someone shorter than they were and enjoying letting someone touch them, to realizing that FIG didn’t feel the same way about Swatch and in fact FIG had at least five or six guys and girls that he touched in the same way that he touched Swatch, and had gone further with those other people than he’d ever gone with Swatch. FIG had tried to joke about it by saying, “Hey, sometimes sex is the only way I can get a hug”, which had set off Swatch’s declaring that it was different for them.

And then FIG had gotten himself killed in a knife fight with someone’s jealous boyfriend who wasn’t swayed by FIG’s charm or excuses.

Now Swatch concluded, “It took a few years after he died for me to realize that it might be okay for somebody to smooch more than one somebody at a time… if, and I mean IF everybody smooching everybody else KNOWS about everybody else smooching everybody else.”

“So that’s why you don’t have a problem with me, maybe, one of these d-days, k-kissing your best friend?”

“That’s right.”

“Huh.”

Spamton gave that a bit of thought before volunteering, “It didn’t - didn’t m-m-make sense not to - to talk to you first.”

“And that’s EXACTLY why I’m okay if you kiss Moggy, one of these days.”

“One of these days” turned out to be a few hours later.

_________

Following a tense few minutes after her arrival, T.M. had finally relaxed enough to join Spamton and Swatch on the long cushioned window seat, tucked in between the other two with piles of Mrs. Anselmo’s bright knitted afghans wrapped around all three of them. Spamton had made a fire in the little fireplace and the extra warmth was welcome.

She’d been afraid that last night’s cuddle puddle would be the LAST cuddle puddle she’d ever have.

It was almost twenty minutes of blissful silence before Swatch spoke up.

“Moggy?”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m going to kiss Spamton now. Is that okay?”

T.M. was startled, but tried to match Swatch’s casual tone. “Sure.”

Swatch proceeded to lean across her and do just that before sitting back and rewrapping themself in the blanket that had fallen off their shoulders.

Ooookay.

What was going on?

Her suspicions were confirmed when, a few minutes later, Spamton piped up, “Hey, Swatch, I’m - I’m g-going to kiss T.M. Is that - is that all right?”

“Fine with me,” she heard from her other side before Spamton’s small hand cradled her jaw and he kissed her softly on the lips. He then shifted so he could wrap both arms around her and she could rest her head atop his.

And suddenly the whole room was glowing.

When the world stopped spinning, she said the first thing that came into her mind.

“Thank you for not slobbering.”

“Hey!” Spamton squawked.

“Hey, yourself. Even Swatch slobbered that one time we tried making out in seventh grade.”

“Well, you ARE slobber-worthy, Moggy,” Swatch pointed out, much to her gratification. “You’re just not my type.”

“I don’t know whether or not to be flattered or insulted-”

Spamton broke in by saying in a dramatic tone, “You’ve had a ch-chance to kiss my beautiful, guh-gorgeous, generous partner, and you have the gall to com-complain that they SLOBBER?”

T.M. responded to that by taking a playful nip at the nearest of Spamton’s fingers currently stroking her hair. She then asked, “Is there any of that legendary soup of yours left?”

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Swatch’s serene smile. Spamton sighed fondly and got up to fetch her some.

___________

“I feel like I just walked into the Scooby-Doo ending in WAYNE’S WORLD,” complained Catechu a week later.

“Or showing up at a random screening of CLUE and not knowing which of the three endings I’m going to get,” Indigo pointed out.

T.M. cackled loudly at that, while Spamton looked confused and asked, “Huh? I thought they - they showed all three endings at once, like on the - the DVD.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” interjected Swatch as they took their usual seat in the kitchen at the Overlook.

It felt like old times; the twins had insisted everyone come to their place for Sunday dinner. Ryan and Watson, the two other roommates, were out at The Green Leaf, mourning their season-ending loss that meant the Inwood Emeralds would not be playing in the rest of the March Madness basketball rounds.

So the Dyer-Paletta-Tanner-Addison clan were gathered once again around the familiar Formica-topped table, splitting a Luigi’s special Sicilian pizza.

What especially felt like old times to Spamton was how easily the five had slipped back into openness about discussing anything under the sun. Back in September, he would have crawled under a rock in embarrassment at the topic being brought up at present. But now he was thoroughly comfortable with Indo and Catto knowing about and giving input on recent events.

Having had a heart-to-heart with both his beloved current partner and his possibly new partner at the same time had put his mind at ease a week ago. His soul, too, in a way. Having had the intervening week be peaceful and drama-free was an additional bonus.

Spamton stopped cutting his own pizza slice into tiny bits at Swatch’s comment and waved his fork at his partner in a mock-threatening manner. “H-hey! I’m older than you.” He looked around the room. “I’m older than - than all of you.”

Swatch snarked right back at him, “Yes, I admit you are older than me, you geezer. And no, I’m not old enough to remember the original theater run of WAYNE’S WORLD. Or of CLUE. Or of RASHOMON, for that matter.”.

“Don’t change the subject,” Catechu said exasperatedly. He leaned forward and tapped T.M’s shoulder with one of his massive hands. He did the same to Spamton with the other hand, while fixing Swatch with a gimlet stare. “Speak now or forever hold your peace… is this one of those ‘two forks, one bowl’ things?”

“EWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!” T.M. recoiled. “Ew. No, no, no. Just. No.”

Swatch also looked pained. “Trust me, my ‘fork’ is not coming anywhere near Moggy. Pass the brain bleach, please.”

Spamton bit back the urge to voice his mental comment about Swatch having a spork, anyway. That would be TOO much information, even among family.

“Then what is this, or what is it gonna be when you all have everything worked out?” Catto whined.

“Allow me to make it simple for you, bro,” answered Indigo from his side of the table. “It’s called polyamory, and it’s up to these three how they work it out. Eventually. But for now, let me introduce to you our cousin Swatch Paletta, and this is their boyfriend Spamton Addison, and this is their boyfriend Spamton’s girlfriend Tabitha Montgomery Tanner.” He turned to Swatch. “That about right?”

“Well put, although future tense, not present tense,” Swatch answered. “Of course it takes the aroace guy to explain the poly eye to the straight guy.”

“Thank you, Indo, I knew I could count on SOMEBODY to be orderly,” interjected T.M. “Only one thing missing, though. I’m thinking of changing my name.”

“Like the great philosopher David Bowie said, never gonna fall for modern love,” muttered Catechu in defeat.

#deltarune #deltarune fanfiction #sylph writes #fic: call signs #spamton addison #swatch paletta #tabitha montgomery tanner #swatchton #spamton x tasque manager #ot3 #international fanworks day

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