#and not my confidence have really taken a toll

[tangylemonade]

My face has been breaking out/ being all red and irritated and it’s driving me crazy. 😫

Does anyone have any skin care tips that have worked for them?

I just want it to stop 😆 . It makes me feel uncomfortable in public when people are looking at my face and it’s made me feel slightly self conscious while I haven’t been before 🙃

[prettyboykatsuki]

— ❈ YOU'RE SO PRETTY, BABY.

▸ prompt ; companions and their responses to being called pretty boy / pretty girl.

▸ a/n ; bit of a generic post im sorry forreal. while i was originally just going to write this for astarion i had ideas for. all the other companions.

most of the characters have a reader w a specific class or background, all varied! also spoilers for gale, shadowheart, karlach, and lae'zel.

reader / tav is always gender neutral!

▸ wc ; about 4.5k, about 700+ words per companion.

ft. astarion, wyll, gale, shadowheart, karlach, lae'zel

no minthara or halsin bc i could not bring myself to write it. but maybe later if enough people ask lol.

❈ ASTARION ;

Astarion tries his very best to find your affection for him trite, even when he knows it doesn't feel that way. It's an instinct for him, one you'll simply have to make peace with you if you're really planning on tailing him to the end of the world.

Truth be told though, he likes your generally affectionate nature. He hasn't reached a point he can admit this so openly, but the comfortable and easy way you reach for him is nice. He likes how your hands seem to stretch for him, the way you cling to his spine when you sleep in his tent and the likes.

And while he is not stranger to hypocrisy, he thinks it'd be amiss to try and bar you from calling him any pet names when he calls you so many. He's got quite a few handy. Darling is a favorite, followed by dear, and sometimes my love when he can muster up the courage to mean it instead of saying it like he's trying to perform.

You like to call Astarion by his name though, most often. He isn't exactly sure why you're so fond of it, and truthfully he's done little to consider his own name. You say it wonderfully though, tasteful and loving and soft.

Sometimes you gasp it in offense or horror or shock, other times in pleasure. Sometimes you whimper it in your sleep, groping around until your hands fist in the material of his shirt and you drag him back to you.

In any case, he's used to hearing his name. So hearing you utter the words pretty boy to him, he can't help but be a little shocked.

You're a little tipsy. A hard, arduous journey of fighting githyanki soldiers has taken a terrible toll on your normal inhibitions. You're quite flushed while you're drunk, and all the same sitting in his lap like you've not a care in the world.

Astarion doesn't mind holding you. In fact, he's thinking of all the terribly teasing things he can say to you come morning. So far, you've done nothing but mumble. It's a sudden movement, your hands clasped around his face.

"Feeling forward are we darling?" He says, like second nature. It's so reactionary it's banal, though he does have some enthusiasm since the flirtation is directed at you. Instead of your usual giggling, you stare at him with your lips parted.

"I suppose I am pretty boy," You reply, a completely foreign confidence in your voice that stops him dead in his tracks. Underneath the thick layer of flirtation is sincerity so unmistakable it almost proves to be too much "Could I ask you to keep me company?"

Astarion is, eternally grateful about the fact you don't get much more than that out of you. He spends the entire night thinking about it. You're certainly not the first to call him pretty, and that particular phrasing has been thrown to him more than once.

Yet it rings a little differently. The way you said it so tenderly, your hands stroking the nape of his neck and cupping his face. Well, it's not nothing. He can't decide if he hates it or not until the next morning comes.

Your eyes flutter open as light pours through the open part of his tent. You reach over to him with a deep sigh, engaging in some quiet morning affection when you repeat yesterdays sentiment.

"Good morning, my very pretty boy," You say - and this time Astarion is sure whatever he is feeling he has not ever felt previously "Sorry for the antics last night."

"So your memory hasn't failed you. Good to know." Astarion says back. You laugh lightly. "Your charming little pet name worried me quite a bit."

"Nothing to worry about my love." You say, warm and nuzzling into his neck likely to cool yourself from over-heating "I really do find you very pretty."

He can't help the feeling that floods his sense. He likes it even though he feels a little clingy, but perhaps there's no need to admit that.

"Oh, really, darling? How sweet you are. Tell me again, then. Just for kicks this time."

❈ WYLL ;

it's a matter of getting used to it for Wyll.

For the first month of your adventuring together, pretty boy, had been a somewhat condescending substitute for his name. Among other ones, like daddy's boy and prince. None of the pet names held any real affection.

You liked getting under his skin, after all.

You didn't get on at first, not for a long while. You're a rogue, a ratty street urchin turned mercenary who'd spent your youth climbing through the soil and mud of the Lower City's underbelly. Your words verbatim, not his. At first, your resentment for him caught him off guard, especially because Wyll prefers to keep the peace and get along with everyone. But, he had a difficult time understanding you, even with his people skills

Eventually it clicked that your resentment was less towards him, and more towards what he represents. You're a Baldurian, but one abandoned by the city and it's people. What else could the Ravengards represent if not the future you never had a chance to look towards.

It was easier after that. And Wyll had promised to himself to observe you closer. In that, he found to like you a great deal.

He's fond of pet names in general, but more fond of you lately. At the beginning of your adventure, it was a little difficult to get accustomed to your... roughness. You lack delicacy, but you're not exactly silver tongued.

Yet, you're not as cruel as you make yourself out to be. Contrarily, while you've traveled together, Wyll bore witness to only gentleness. Nothing more. The words you spoke about only doing things for coin had been clearly disproved by your countless acts of charity. Especially gentle and kind to children, and especially unforgiving to the rich and unhelpful.

Once he got used to it, there was something kind of...sweet about it. To see you say one thing and do another had it's own novelty that Wyll grew fond of you.

It was the night of tiefling party that roused his feelings. That night, he'd watched you play with the tiefling children all night, teaching them tricks of the trade.

And you'd started falling for him, too, judging by the way your usual snark was nowhere to be found.

Especially vivid is the change in your tone when you call him the same way you did before.

"We'll take a short rest for you, pretty boy." Your voice murmurs, looking carefully over his wounds while place down your own weapons "Get your spells back. Organize our things in the mean time."

He gives you look, examining your own worry before his smile stretches into one of fondness. It doesn't bother him at all, not anymore. No, lately - it sounds rather fond, and each time Wyll hears it, it does something for ego.

"No need for the concern, though I am appreciative," He says, not bothering to mask the smug quality in his voice at your change. He delights in it a little, admittedly . "I'll be alright soon enough."

You don't seem to notice, too busy wiping your blade of fresh blood, metal shiny as moonlight. "And there's no need for your heroism, Blade of Frontiers. Have some discernment about time and place."

You look up at him with your brows furrowed, and Wyll can barely help himself. "Are you worried I'll lose what's left in my appearances? I'm just telling you there's no need to trouble yourself over it."

It takes you a while to register to his words, but when it finally does - your eyes blow wide. The look of embarrassment on your face is well worth it.

"I thought you hated when I called you that." You say coolly.

"It's not so bad," He says back tenderly, staring at you "At least not anymore."

You pout a little. Wyll fights some unspoken urge to kiss you. A little longer.

"I prefer when you're acting oblivious,"

"Sorry to disappoint."

He lets his head lay on the wall behind him - reaching a hand for yours instead, trying to rest up as promised. He sees you smiling from the corner of his eye and affirms it to himself. You squeeze, soft, but otherwise say nothing about it.

Yes, lately, nothing you say could get under his skin. Even when you so obviously try.

❈ GALE ;

Gale is always the poet, never the muse.

He thought highly of his relationship with Mystra, and in many ways still does. He loved her. This much is true. He can't say for any certainty if she had loved him just as much, or at all. He wasn't the first mortal, and would hardly be the last.

But he loved her, enough to write about her and wax poetic about all that he'd lost.

When Gale examines any of his past relationship, he realizes this is some kind of pattern. Gale is good at being loving, but he does not know for certain if any of them loved him back. Or if he was loved in the way he loves - if it was anything near close. Gale had thought, at one point, it was just matter of destiny. Gale is after all, a man who bleeds with all he has.

He can't blame anyone for loving him less than when he is categorically too much. He thought that way for a long time, destined himself to never find love again or beg for Mystra's forgiveness for some new found purpose.

When you came into his life, he hadn't been sure what would come of your relationship. Certainly a brain parasite would make camp a difficult place for romance, but the two of you managed against all odds. Among all the things that Gale finds astonishing about your relationship - it's your affection for him that catches him the most off-guard.

It's a little sad, he can admit. But it's true. When you speak to Gale, your voice is always soft. It's never demanding. Before, always, there had been some kind of expectation. Gale had to be a certain way, to pour himself into someone else for the sake of it being returned.He loved. Surely he loved.

But now, lately, you love him back. Overwhelmingly. The easiness of your love makes him feel a little... spoiled. Which is embarrassing, at the stage of life he's in. He finds the whole thing tips him over the edge. The heat creeping up his neck every time he remembers. Your hand brushing against the back of his neck, cupping his face so gently.

Gale, perhaps unsurprisingly, is fond of your various pet names. All of them sound good. Make him feel important and desired. You like to call him a bookworm, sometimes you call him baby (which he really likes much more than he is ever willing to admit), and other times you settle on saying my love.

Pretty boy is new. Pretty boy is different, and makes heat crawl up the back of Gale's neck like a smitten school boy.

It has a special effect on Gale.

In between classes, spoken with your hands cupping his face as he leans on his desk. The sunlight is pouring through the large paneled windows, casting a warmth on your expression. Gale is sat on his desk, making you eye-level.

"I'm glad you've come to see me," Gale says to you first, breaking a period of comfortable silence. You're a busy person, given all the heroics. Gale finds it troublesome, despite the fact you've moved with him to Waterdeep. Your reputation precedes you "It's been ages,"

"Of course I'd come to see you, pretty boy," You hum, thumb brushing under his cheek - carefully drawing a line "You're very healing to look at."

The effect is rather immediate. As soon as the words leave your lips, spoken to him so lovingly - he unlocks a part of himself he always seems to forget about. Forgets himself in a fundamental way, the flurry of heat and euphoric sensation of adoration washing over him like water.

He gives you a look, and you laugh - pressing your thumb to his lower lip as you lean in for a kiss. "Stop pouting, will you?"

"I'm doing nothing of the sort," He insists, kissing you despite him. You laugh into, warm and bubbly. For a minute, he remembers all he might've lost had he done what Mystra told him.

He's glad he's alive. To feel you.

"You very much are," You reply back, once you've managed to pull away from each other "Don't be so surprised. You've always been very pretty to me."

He blushes again, deeper, and closes his eyes.

❈ SHADOWHEART ;

You don't often communicate your feelings to Shadowheart through words.

You're something of a stoic. Of the few people in Shadowheart's past who remain by her side, many of them communicate about how surprised they are about your partnership. Shadowheart is known to be a little snarky, witty. She used to be very prickly, at the start of your adventure together - so everyone questions how you were able to win her heart.

Truthfully, Shadowheart didn't know what to make of your personality at first. There's a silence to you. Maybe she should expect this of paladin so loyal. A Paladin of Torm, the unswerving enemy of injustice and corruption. You've always been a devout person, putting action and justice over everything. She hated it at first, a natural response for a Sharran, she figures.

Once she'd left it all behind, she could no longer use it as an excuse.

Truth be told, Shadowheart had always liked that aspect of you. Your devotion spoke to something greater than your oath or even your god. You had simply believed in the world, and inadvertently in her. You saved her from herself, her parents from her fate, and then some.

Your devotion to her as a lover isn't something so different. She often thinks you would swear yourself to her if you could. For Shadowheart, your affection is akin to worship. Every morning, the animals are tended and the flower bed is damp. You wake her mother up without a start, remind her of where she is without making her feel ashamed. You're good to her father, talk to him of worldly politics at the dinner table.

She has no complaints to make about you. Your love for her is tangible, something she can reach out and touch with her fingers.

She's unused to hearing your affections, though. Unused to hearing the words.

You lay together in the darkness. You're alone tonight, the entire cabin empty. Her mother and father have gone together on an outing together, after you accompanied them into the city. You've finally returned, put the horses up in the stable, and have to come to her side.

Shadowheart likes to lay in your arms. She lets herself curl into your weight, inhales the scent of your skin - earthy and rich as you let your arm fold around her waist. She lays ontop of you today, her whole body on yours like a blanket.

She looks up at you, her her tied loosely. She can practically feel how glowy her own expression is as she examines you - sees her reflection in your irises.

You let your hand lay over her back, reaching up underneath her nightwear to lay touch her skin. She gives you a look - her smile small, sincere. Your own expression is tired from travel, but fond. You insisted on taking her parents instead of letting them go alone.

She loves you more than she cares to admit.

"You're staring." She comments blithely "See something you like?"

Normally you'd flush a little at this, silent as you kiss her forehead or cheek. This time though, you use your fingers to brush the stray hairs from her face and nod.

"Yes, pretty girl," You hum, nonchalantly. Sagely. "I really do,"

She's so caught off guard, she can't help but gape. She lifts herself slightly to stare at you in shock.

"I've never heard you talk like that. Not once while we've been together. I mean.. you've called me beautiful but," Shadowheart stumbles, a fluttery feeling in her stomach she'd rather ignore "But it's never like that,"

"I think it more often that I say it,"

"And you always think to call me that?"

"Like I said, often," You look over he carefully, before your lips pull into an easy smile "You're pretty to the point I want to tell you all the time,"

Shadowheart is scarcely embarrassed by anything. She's a practiced woman at this point in her life. It's almost juvenile the way the words effect her. It's you saying it that makes all the difference. The way you've said it that makes her squirm. She lets out a little puff of air, silent as you laugh.

"Pretty girl," You repeat, warm and gentle and laced with exhaustion "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met."

Shadowheart tucks her face into your neck, voice as soft a murmur as the sound of her own heart rings in her ears.

"Don't make a habit of talking like that," She huffs "I already know, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to hear."

You smile brightly. "I'm glad,"

❈ KARLACH ;

Karlach adores you, utterly and completely.

She's a little caught off-guard by it. Just when she'd convinced herself she couldn't love you more, you surprise her all over again. She'd probably harbored some sort of affection for you from the start of your adventure together, when you'd gone to bat for her and make sure Wyll didn't take her head as a trophy.

Since then, though - on your journey together, she'd taken careful notice of you. And gods, she likes you. You're very different she must admit. Where Karlach is strong and fiery, you're cool and calculated. She figured that's just what magic users are like, but Gale is pretty keen on correcting this assumption. You're a sorcerer, specifically, means the whole magic thing is in your composition and not your study.

Which explained why your head isn't the books like their local wizard. She does find you to be rather charming. You're good at talking your way in and out of almost everything, and you can outwit even the cleverest people on camp. You'd think it'd make you... annoying. Or cruel. And sure, you're a little calculating - but mostly, you're sweet.

Karlach's really never met anyone like you before. Her companionship is a little limited because before the Blood Wars, she was a rag-tag kid in the street of the city. But you grew up in a noble house, learned to charm and finesse your way through everything. You know how to read situations before they've even happened.

And you always explain them to her afterwards.

You make Karlach nervous, strangely. Which is wild! When it comes to socializing, she can get along with almost anyone. You though, you always see right through her. You know when she's using her own personality as a shield, and you always know just when to intervene. Or when to say nothing, and just let her sit with you.

The day she blew up at you, after defeating Gortash - you'd handled it better than she could've hoped. You were comforting, and kind, and let her feel it out without making her feel bad. With you, she felt hopeful despite knowing that the end was probably going to come for her eventually.

With you, she thinks she could endure even the end of the world.

You're in the city now, no longer sleeping in the woods. When everyone else has gone to bed, Karlach finds you in the study, a room attached to the main living quarters.

She knocks before entering. Your voice is soft as you tell her to come in. Dressed in your comfy night clothes, your hair damp from washing up. You're bent over the desk with a furrow in your brow that Karlach finds sweet.

"Hey, baby," She asks, her heart thumping soft "Hope I'm not disturbin' your research."

"Of course not," You reply back, encouraging her towards you "I'm actually due a break."

Wordlessly, you sit up from your chair, pointing for Karlach to sit. She follows through, a little confused as to what you're doing before you plop yourself back into her lap. She throws her head back in laughter.

"Don't know what I was expecting there," She giggles, arm curling around your waist "All cozy?"

"Mm," You melt yourself into her embrace, turning to look at her. Your eyes are soft, free hand cupping her face "I'm cozy. What's keeping you up, pretty girl?"

The words catch her off guard completely, her engine flaring from the heat.

"Shit, what's with that?" She glances down at you, smiling like the cheeky fucker you are "I can't get any redder, you know? It's making my engine burn."

"You like it, no?" Your voice is smooth, smug in a way that gets her hot "My pretty girl,"

Karlach stares at you as you say it. Traces the curve of your lips, the slight arch of your brow. Asses the weight and warmth of you as you lay your legs over her lap and feels her body start to react. She didn't think it was possible to feel so complete by someone, even among the impending doom at the end of the world.

With you it fades away to nothing. Permission to want freely, she had no idea she had wanted that so bad. She had no idea she could want more when you'd already given her so much.

It's nice to be greedy. A little greed is fine, after everything.

"If you keep talking to me like that, we're going to do a lot more than just sitting, you know?" She tells you seriously.

You smile and laugh but don't deny her "Only if you say please,"

❈ LAE'ZEL ;

The Githyanki do not fall in love.

It's a fact of the culture, a mark of their honor. Love is for the soft, tender fleshed species of the material planes. It does not suit warriors, not the ruthless githyanki who spend their entire lives training the sword and learning magic. Love had always been a flimsy concept to Lae'zel. To the point she'd never thought about it or cared too. For the gith, there is only pleasure and carnal desire. The foolishness of longing can only be harbored in the lesser existence of the outer-world. The world outside of her creche.

For a long time, this was true for Lae'zel. She had never intended her time in the material plane to weaken her in the ways in which it did. Or that the experience of a ghaik parasite trapped behind her eyes would will her into cooperation with lesser beings. In many ways egregious, unfathomable. In trying to rid herself of one parasite, she'd found herself another one - more intolerable and more consuming than the first.

You. What a foreign and remarkable bond. From the beginning she had told you the truth, that the gith do not love and she would not be able to love you. Though she could admit passion, admit admiration for your courage, admit possession - she could not admit love. She knew nothing of it.

Over the course of your journey, you'd managed to prove her wrong. Slowly stripped bare of the identity she'd made her life around, you stripped Lae'zel down to her soul. Her most honored solider, and most formidable ally. When the time came, you'd told her to do what she must, to liberate her people. That you'd be there when she returned.

That you'd wait for her.

Months apart with few visits in between meant that each time Lae'zel sees you must make every minute count. Enjoying your body and indulging in carnal pleasures is only so much of that. What Lae'zel looks forward too most, she must admit, is the gentleness of your touch whenever she comes back to Fae'run.

Soft warm whispers among the indulgent plush of bed sheets and candles. A room that smells like lavender and oak, prayer books and scripture littered on the desk. A cleric of Bahamut, and a soul strong as steel.

But this, her head resting in your lap as you stroke her hair so carefully, is what she's missed most of all. No doubt she's going soft.

"Chk. You are smitten by the text in front of you as if you have forgotten of my return,"

You look down at Lae-zel with a laugh, carefully placing said book down on the bedside table. The voice you speak with her is different from her own. Tender fleshed even in your speech, you let her curl herself into you.

A vulnerable position, open to whatever may come.

"I'm sorry, pretty girl," You hum. The words practically startle her "I don't mean to neglect you. It was an interesting passage."

"Pretty...It is true among the githyanki, I am among the finest of their ranks," She replies, turning herself towards you - getting comfortable "Yet still, something stirs."

"Are you embarrassed?" You reply, delighted as her frown deepens. Before she has a chance to argue with you, you lean down to press your lips against hers briefly "How sweet of you."

"I do not get embarrassed," She insists, scowling as you begin to giggle at her "It was merely unexpected."

"You're beautiful to me, Lae'zel." You hum, stroking her cheek gently as she continues to lay herself across. Your eyes are tender and lidded. That look of obsession she recalled from the months prior returned in full, and no longer hidden. Unlike your other mortal companions, or the pale elf - there is nothing hidden in your words. No agenda "More beautiful than anyone else. At least to me. Getting to look at you so closely is a gift."

She softens, her hand gripping yours resting on her chest

"When it is over," She says seriously, a solemness to her voice "I will return to you. This I swear. Without you, the liberation of my people would be no less then a dream,"

You return her smile in kind.

"My pretty, wonderful girl," You hum. She loves you. She thinks she understands it now "I know you'll return to me, nailo. You always keep your promises."

"Yes," She says, an unfamiliar emotion overwhelming her "I will not forsake all we have promised."

The affection in your voice shakes Lae'zel to her core. Initial abrasion fades only into warmth. It's not so bad to hear, even if it is tender fleshed.

▸ a/n ; the word reader uses for lae'zel is elvish for swift winds!! reader is meant to be sort of a book worm so you do not need to picture them as a elf and more of a linguist.

this is the most substantial thing i've written in the last few weeks so commentary is very appreciated. i'd be willing to do a minthara and halsin addition to this eventually if anyone is interested!!

anyways, baldurs gate companions i love u. reblogs so appreciated !

[ladyoftheblades]

comfort

aegontargaryen x aemondswife!reader

synopsis: the war had caused a shift in aemond, brothel visits, questionable behaviour toward his family most of all his brother, and now news of his lover. his wife had had enough, turning her attention to a lover of her own,none other than the king

a/n: i really hate this but wanted to get it out of the way to focus on new things 😙i finished this drunk off of cosmopolitans and crying my eyes out about my fate, so maybe aegons breakdown is a little ooc.hope you enjoy anyway. ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE and im dyslexic.

warnings: smut, p in v, dacryphilia, mutual cheating, descriptions of wounds and scars(not too much tho)

it was a young and uneasy night, sunrays still gracing the sky, dousing kings landing in twilight. the princess sat at the library, the book in her hands long cast aside in favour of staring out of the window. it was a useless thing anyhow, having done little to ease her worries. today was the day she was excpecting news of her husband, aemond targaryen, to arrive from harrenhall.

she knew the rumors surrounding the castle, it was a cursed place, full of mysteries and withcraft. it was especially dangerous for targaryens, since the time of the conquest when aegon burned it down.

aemond had gone to claim it in his brothers name. but the hour ran late yet the messenger had not come. she sat and stared, all of the worst scenarios playing in her head, turning and swirling her thoughts, sending waves of nausea to her stomach.

truth be told, her husband had displayed some very unusual behaviour of late. since the murder of luke by aemonds own hand, he had taken to visiting a brothel in the city. her immediate reaction was one of anger but once her confidants informed her he was visiting the same madam, a woman named silvy, the one who lay with him for the fist time when he was but a child of three and ten, she understood. his actions were not born of lust but of trauma. he had always treated her with respect and love, so in spite of her initial anger she found it in her heart to forgive him, to overlook his slight.

but his strange behaviour had not ended there. the war was taking a toll on him, she could tell. he always had a violent streak, yet he held great mastery over it, always calm and collected, only rarely losing control. the war brought out those tendansies, warping him into a beast of unquenched anger. after the battle of rooks rest, due to his brothers injuries he had been named prince regent which only expedited the change in him.

the battle of rooks rest was the oddest of the ocuurances. princess rhaenys had passed, killed by the joined efforts of aemond and aegon, the king and his dragon sustained grave injuries, incapacitating them fully, yet aemond and vaghar came out of it almost completely unscathed. the lady attempted to coax her husband into talking about the battle, yet every mention of it caused him to break out in a fit of anger or storm out of the room immedietly.

not one soul but aemond could give a complete account of the events, for the king refused to speak with anyone, stating he needed rest. but the account aemond gave was....lackluster. something was off, piesces loose on the tapestry he had paited of the events. if one could poke at it it was sure to come undone, yet the regent allowed none of it. the small council could raise little question, he was -for all intents and purposes- their soveirgn after all.

time went on, the sun hiding behind the western sea, taking all semblances of light with it, the sky now completely black. quite an unpleasant sight. a knock sounded at the door, the princesses heart began to race with unparalleled anxiety "enter, please" she shouted.

she had excpected an envoy from harenhall, one appointed by her, yet none came, in stepped the master of whisperers, lord larys strong. "my lady" he greeted, giving his best bow. "lord larys. i excpected an envoy from harenhall, have you come in his stead ?"

"yes, my lady" he walked further into the room, slowly reaching her spot by the window, taking a seat with great effort. "i must inform you, the nature of the information...is quite sensitive" her anxiety shot through the roof, chest thumping at a hundred kilometers an hour.

"has something happened to my husband ?" she said urgently. "do not fret my lady, the regent is in good health" the air shifted, her anxiety had calmed but something else, something more unsettling took over. what could possibly be of such sensitive nature ?

"go on" she said. "my informats have made me aware of the princes recent behaviours, since taking control of the caste, maybe even pre-"

"oh quit your theatrics and spit it out" her tone was now damn near yelling. the man infrotny of her was stalling, but games of court had no place in the concerns of a wife at alarm. larys took a deap breath "your husband has taken a lover, her name is alys rivers. i am told she works as a milkmaid in the castle, though rumors have it she is a witch"

her heart almost stopped. a lover ? she could excuse silvy, they shared a certain history. a lover ? a paramour ? one that was unpaid, and there to whisper in his ears the gods only know what ? too far. she stood up suddently and began to pace back and forth infron of the window. she continued that way quite a while, not uttering a single word, only flailing her hands in erratic movements, trying to wrap her head around the information, attempting to make sense of the storm of information now revealed to her. larys remained calm. his composure was almost...unnerving.

eventually he attempted to pull her out of her trance "i understand this must come as quite a shock, shall i call for a maester my lady ?" she halted her movements immedietly, regaining contact with reality, yet ever in internal disarray. "no, that is quite alright my lord. who else knows of this ?"

"no one, of yet. i came to inform you first, though i doubt it will remain private for much longer" she looked to larys, a knowing look in his mischievous eyes. information was his trade, and he had provided elite services, a reward was in order. "i thank you for your service lord larys, you may take your leave, your loyalty will not be forgotten, i assure you" with that he was satisfied, giving a final bow, he exited.

with the bang of the door agains its frame announcing larys exit, the emotions hit her all the same. what was she to do ? this was not her husband. war changed the souls of men, bringing forth the worst of their humanity. the brothels she could forgive, the anger excuse, hells she could even overlook the lover, but all three combined ? an insult. a hurtfull, heartbreaking insult, one that could not go unaccouted for.

she had yet to bear aemond any children, if this whore were to come with child, if she was to have a son, it would put her position in danger. semblances of solutions to mend the problem, to find her an explaination at the lest, flew around in her mind, yet she was far too disturbed to give any of them proper consideration. still in that strange trance of betrayal, she began to walk.

her feet acted on their own, unattatche dand seemingly unaffected by the storm that was her mind. they took her out of the library, tracing a path around the red keep. she walked and walked and the more she walked the more she thought and the more she thought the clearer her head became.

power was getting to aemonds head but he was not the ultimate authority, the king was. the root of her husbands behaviour was the death, or rather the murder, of lucerys but rooks rest was the turning point. if he would not provide an explaination, his brother would.

she had shared few words with her brother in law, far and inbetween, aemond always coming inbetween them to root out whatever semblance of a relationship they began to create before it could sprout. but he was pleasant, a little inappropriate in his jests and brash to a fault. he spoke his mind, did as he pleased, with no mind for consequences. the only thing that kept him alive quite frankly, was his position as the fist son, now king. all those qualities, once considered faults, now sounded refreshing. a stark contrast to the lies and masked intentions of others.

the king had locked himself away from the world following the battle of rooks rest. she had heard the whispers of his state, his appearance made up to be groutesque and unnerving. "unlike anything come of our realm" she had overheard one maidservant say.

she traced a path to the kings chambers. security was never strong in the keep anyway and she had memorised the schedule of the changing guard. she reached the hallway of his chambers just as the guards were tuning the other end.

she hadnt much time, begining to advance when suddently three maids exited the chambers in coplete dissaray, clothes soaked and the king audibly yelling from inside the rooms. they began to run in the opposite direction, their voices somewhere between whispers and shrieks, full of terror. something was amiss with the king, even mose so than usual. no matter, she could use the opportunity.

slowly she walked to the rooms, quietly slipping through the door.

"I SAID LEAVE" shouted aegon imedietly upon sensing her presance. the sight infront of her was truly something... the king lay in his tub, his back to her, watter spilled all around, no doubt by whatever had transipired beforehand. his body had been badly burned, maelys managed to damage his body so much, armour melted into his skin. even with his back to her, tub obscuring his visage, the damage to his shoulder and neck was visible.

she took a step forth "im sorry to disturb your grace though i believe you never asked me to exit". upon hearing her voice aegon made an attempt to crane his neck and look at her, the tension to his burns making him wince in pain, immedietly turning back around.

"please, your grace, do not exert yourself" she said, tentatively approaching. she soon reached him, finally able to look at him whole. the water obscured his visage from the waist down but the sight of his face and chest made her heart swell with hurt. the burns consumed the entire left side of his chest, expanding to his neck, fully engulfing the side of his face, even parts of his nose.

thought what struck her most was not his gruesome burns, he was far from such. in spite of the burns his face held a certain beauty, even on the scarred side.

he moved, ignoring the pain, turning away from her quizical gaze. "please, leave, just leave..." none of the previous anger was present, voice laced with only sadness and embarassment. he was voulnerable, oh so voulnerable, exposed, completely at the mercy of the world and his surroundings. she took the kings aversion as a challenge. "oh your grace, please, allow me"

she fell to her knees, the fabric of her dress becoming wet at contact with the floor. "i have no need of your pity" he muttered, face still turned. "i do not pity you, your grace, the scars of war are to be worn as a badge of honor, as proof of your bravery"

she could not see his face still but something told her he did not share that same oppinion. his burns had healed in their majority, forming an angry red scar. some areas remained sensitive, mostly underneath his arm, must be the parts where metal melted into him, she thought. she looked to the desk behind her, an assortment of ointments placed atop.

she looked to the labels on them, spotting one which wrote "after bath". she took it and oppened the top, the smell surprisingly pleasant. "did the maesters instruct a certain ammount be used ?" aegon shook his head no. he was still somewhat uneasy, yet did not deny the assistance.

she put some on her hands and began to apply it to his torso. it must have worked instantaniously for the king eased, becoming accostumed to her presance, and moved his head to finally look at her. she did not return his gaze however, only continuing her movements.

he studied her hands with searing intensity, periodicaly giving satisfied hums. they kept like that a while, the king growing more and more comfortable as time went on. untill she reached his face.

by now it was near impossible not to look at him, yet she resisted. she completed his cheek, and moved to the area around his eye. before she could contunue though, he raised his good hand from the water and grabed hers. his fingers wrapped around her wrist threatening to leave a bruise. she paused, ever so cautious. "y-your grace, i cannot continue if-"

"Look at me." he comanded. she complied, finally looking in his eyes. they were absolutely beautifull, grayish blue hues morroring those of the sea on a moody day, color only accentuated by the candelight. they hid something, something intense yet he dared not reveal it to her, as if her learning of it would embarass him.

"what do you see when you look at me ?" he asked. she was somewhat taken aback by such a question, still she made no attempt to back away, in too deep already. whatever the king wanted she had to comply with. she took a moment to think, knowing the wrong answer might cost her her life. " a boy"

"is that how you see your king truly ? as a boy ?"

"my king is a fierce and brave warrior forged by fire and blood, the one infront of me named aegon targaryen is a boy"

his face began to change, the walls built around his soul slowly coming down, eyes verging on betraying their secret. he removed his hand from her wrist, allowing her to contunie apllying the ointment. she brought her hand forth to his eye, the king leaving a sigh of relief, tilting his head back. she turned around to place the jar to its place, by the time she turned to aegon once again he was looking right at her, head tilted back, eyes dark and playfull. if she looked closely she could even see a smile playing at his lips.

"comfortable, your grace ?" she said, attempting to match his playfulness. he gave a chuckle "very. you my lady ?"

"very" she mirrored his reply. she closed the distance between them, now putting her hand on the good side of his chest, begining to rub soothing circles on his alabaster skin. he enjoyed the contact, she could tell, the smile on his lips turning from one of mischief to one of satisfaction. she knew she could not keep it up for long, her visit was now devoid of purpose, she would have to come up with soemthing quick-

"i never did ask, why are you here ?" he broke her train of thought. she stopped the movement of her hand, moving it instead to play with his hair.

"i have been discarded by my husband im afraid and ... i understood you to be in a similar position. i thought... i thought maybe we could be alone together" she looked straight to his eyes as she uttered that, finalising her last word with an afectionate tuck of his hair beneath his ear. she waited, frozen, afraid of having said the wrong thing, the one that would set him off. yet as time passed, tortourously, kicking her gut harder and harder as it went on, his demeanor went unchanged.

"at first you think me a boy, and now discarded. i ought to have your tongue for that" he moved his hand, the scarred one, to cradle her chin as he delivered his words. yet his toutch was neither threatening, nor malicious. no, he was playing, he wanted a game but more than that.... he was looking for something in her. comfort she had provided already, trust, perhaps ?

she made no attempt to remove her face from his hand, the contact sending shocks through her body... it had been a while since her and her husband had been intimate... the sole attention of the king was something else entirely. "are you not, then ? discarded ? are you not lonely ?"

the game was on. he seized her up, looking to find what he wanted, she spoke again "if you have no need of company, should i take my leave ?" immedietly his fingers dug into her skin "i said no such thing" she gave a smile of satisfaction.

"you admit it then, you are lonely, just as i" her voice was laced with nothing but warmth, coaxing out of aegon his true nature, breaking down any remainants of walls around his heart. "just as you" he spoke, voice but a whisper, a glint of recognition in his eyes.

"we are one in the same. i see you as you are" her words rang true, they were one in the same, cast aside, stripped of their agency, starved of affection, all due to aemond. a wave of boldness washed over her. she moved closer to aegon, head resting on his shoulder, cautious not to disturb any parts not yet healed.

"why did you so rudely dismiss your maids ?" he took in a sharp breath "they thought of me as a beast. i saw it in their eyes, the disgust. besides, they knew not what they were doing, before they even began i could smell the incompetence. i could not allow they stay"

"then why allow me ?" she said, craning her head, looking now to his eyes. "i can trust you. as you said... you see me." she gave a small smile. he drank up the encouragement like a man starved.

"we may help eachother then. i see something troubles you, tell me my king, how may i be of assistance ?"

"my troubles are no secret, these scars trouble me, my face, my... my incapacitation." "oh aegon" she uttered quickly, moving from her spot on the floor, still on her knees, standing behind her king now, hands snaking around his shoulders unashamedly. her head went to his good side, chin toutching shoulder. "aemond may be regent but you... you remain king. ofcourse you are capable, you may rule from your own bed if you wish, council be damned."

a sob rattled his body. she pressed her arms further into him, attempting to stiffle his sadness for every tear of his shook her to her core. something about this man, with all the power of the realm at his fingertips being so voulnerable, putting his heart in her hands and trusting her to protect it, something aemond had not once done, it made her wish to hold onto him and never let go.

he began to weep openly, hiding his face in the crook of her arms. everyone looked at him and saw only what they wanted, be it a king, a rake, an incompetent fool... no one saw him for him, not even his own mother could recognise the pain festering in his body, the unfairness of the situation she put him in. he was given all the power in the realm with no say of his own fate. destined to live a life soely for the sake of others, faithfully serving the realm, his family, his mother, his counsil, never making a choice for his own. and then he was punished for it, punished for all he had no input in, by none other than his own brother, his own blood. ofcourse she knew naught of it, but the way she held him, so tight, so firm, as if she would take away all his pain and pour the love of the world on his skin the same way she had done that ointment, it only made him want to cry more, overwhelmed by the emotion.

she held him close and did not let go, not when the tears ran a salty stream on his face, not when the snot began to fill his nose,making his sobs sound all the more pathetic, not when his hands left bruising marks on her arms, possesively keeping them close, afraid they would be taken from him. she only endured, giving small tuts and shushes as well as little praises here and there.

eventually his sobs ceased, leving him sensitive, puffy faced and shuddering. she tennatively pulled her arms away, much to aegons disapointment, moving to the table once again,bringing a clean piece of cloth to his face. he took it greatfully and began to clean it somewhat.

"your grace ?"

"i just try so hard, all i do i do to please but-" tears threatened once again to spill from his pretty eyes, the princess would do anything to prevent such a thing.

"your grace, aegon, you neednt please anyone, you are far from perfect but you deserve to be treated well, to have your sacrifices recognised"

"they do not respect me"

"fuck them then. you are king, you may impose your authority over the council, you have a mind and a heart, and you can make as strategic a descision as any of them. i will be the fist to support you" his gaze fell to hers, blue eyes further acentuated by the redness brought about by his tears, mouth slightly open, heavy breaths escaping with great difficulty, his eyes from hers to her lips, to her eyes again. she moved her face forward, minimising the distance between them.

she thought of the correct words to say to comfort him, any plan of coaxing truth out of him long forgotten. she had come in with a plan, but his behaviour, his trust in her washed all of that away. she thought yet no words came to he

"aemond is a fool to hurt you"

"aemond is a fool to undermine you" his body reacted on its own, as if possesed by the emotions rooted in his chest so deep and so intense no logic could reach them, and so he kissed her.

his lips were so soft, having been spared, they moved on hers, full of raw intensity. practice attempted to prevail, aegons many conquests having taught him all he needed, yet could not, overrun by emotion. he had no control of his movements, kissing her now like a knight sworn to celibacy, unacustomed to the woea of women, wishing only to express his courtly love.

she pressed onto him harder, taking control of the kiss, hands falling to his face, one on his good side immedietly gripping his jaw, giving back the same desperation he had shown. immedietly upon the contact he oppened his mouth, leaving a whine and allowing her tongue acess. her other hand, ever so carefull not to hurt him, gently rested on his jaw, affraid of horting him.

he broke the kiss, speaking in between pants " my face is-is healed, do not hesitate just toutch me-" and so she did, ever so eager to please her king. the kiss deepened, all the sloppier, all the more desperate, all the more emotional, untill it was not enough to express their devotion.

"are-uh- are other... areas..healed, of yet ?" his face franticaly moving up and down, "yes, all the areas-" he chuckled, a hearty chuckle, such a lovely sound "all the areas of interest are healed, please "

she understood. she rose to her feet and began undoing her gown. aegon watched from his seat, staring patiently, adoration filling his beautifull ocean eyes. it took her a bit to undo the back laces of the dress, she hastily tore it from her body, heavy fabric immedietly falling to the floor, leaving her in only her small clothes, a sheer gown, off white in color, devoid of embelishments, but softly draping over her form.

her body was a painting, brought before aegon to feast his eyes upon. his patience was wearing thin. he moved his hand to toutch her, blocked by her stepping back "please, my king, allow me" he gave a small pout, obeying none the less.

she spared no time in giving him what he wanted, fulfilling finally their shared wish. one leg at a time, she entered the still-somehwat-warm water but faltered, hesitating to put her weight on him,ever so afraid of causing aegon pain.

he sensed her hesitation "its ok, just toutch me, please" desperation filled his body, threatening to chocke him, laced in every word from his lips.

she brought their faces together again, his mouth spilling desperation into hers with every kiss. her hands became unafraid, egged on by aegons words, resting on his chest, one of them reaching further and further down, tracing featherlike lines with her fingers, untill they reached where she wanted. she took aegons cock in one hand, halfhard already, leading him to release a pleading whimper. "good boy" she uttered.

caution thrown to the wind, the praise getting to his head, aegon moaned oppenly. as she began to stroke him, his moans got more and more desperate, each movement of her wrist sending waves of pleasure to his body. much like her he had been starved of affection, all sort of affection, he was desperate to take whatever she was willing to give. "oh gods-"

she shushed him by graciously placing her lips on his, resuming their previous kisses. but it was nowhere near enough for aegon. his hands found purchase on her gown, bunching up the fabric, tugging desperatly. he wanted, nay needed more. he began to tug the gown upwards, a pleading movement, asking of her to be as voulnerable as himself. she was oh so ready to provide.

she took his hands into hers, guiding them to take the gown off, finally it went up, revealng her stomach and breasts to him. immedietly he moved, taking her form into his arms, placing kisses on her colarbone, wasting no time to go lower and lower, reaching her breasts. he took a nipple in his mouth suching in tandem with her thrusts. the princess threw her head back, moaning with her full chest, uncaring of the world around them.

her hand never faltered, his cock began to twitch with his impending release. he detatched from her body, panting like a dog on a dry day, each inhale sending waves of equal parts oxygen and lust in his brain, making his vision hazy. he was not ready to give her up yet.

"p-please, please, im close"

she halted her movements. aegons disapointment traced a path from his abdomen all the way to his throat, releasing a pained whine. his hands moved on her back, clutching her sides for support, the pleasure so rudely torn from him and the previous exhaustion, leaving him stranded in the storm that is the haze in his mind.

"why my darling ? did, did i do something ?" it came out almost more as a cry than a question. "no, aegon, ofcourse not, youre perfect"

his chest fell in relief, lips immedietly finding hers, a kiss of graditude. a kiss of praise. "but im not done with you quite yet. i only wish to please my king after all"

her hand moved to his cock again, she pulled her hips down simultaniously, guiding it to her entrance. his tip barely teased her entrance and he was already a goner. he thrust his hips upwards, chasing the contact he craved so much. "patience, your grace"

she moved his tip forth, coming into contact with her pearl, sending jolts of pleasure to both of them. aegon was on the verge of becoming undone, barely clinging onto his sanity. she gave him a tutt, looking down onto her voulnerable king, his eyes already on hers, looking through his lashes, void of inhibitions and filled with unimaginable lust.

"please" he whispered, begging, such a man brought down by one woman, broken down onto the barest pesces of his soul by the world, pu to gether again by her toutch. "yes, your grace"

finally, finally, she brought her hips down. his cock entered inch by excruciating inch, untill finally she settled, having taken him whole. she resisted moving though, taking strands of silver hair on the nape of his neck, tugging his head to her chest, burrying it between her breasts. his desperatuon had reached a tipping point, this simple act sending him over the edge, sobs wreacking his body once again.

"ooh, my boy, did i pain you ?"

"it just, it feels good. youre so good to me" he muttered, head still buried in her chest and burrowing further, leaving sloppy kisses on her flesh and sucking marks surely with the intent to leave a reminder of him. "aww my darling, do not fret, i will take care of you, just you wait"

she gave his head little reassuring scratches, attempting to ground him somewhat, preparing the boy under her for what was to come. cautiously she began to move her hips. the sobs wrecking her own body just as much as his, only giving her more courage.

the water of the tub began to sway, more and more and more, she picked up her pace, moving her hands through his back, tracing the rough parts of his scars, the sensitivity of those areas adding to his pleasure. her pace picked up further, frantic hip movements rocking the entirety of the tub, the furniture begining to scratch against the floor.

aegon could take it no longer, amidst sobs and moans he began to move is own hips, matching the pace of the princess. his movements executed with no semblance of grace nor purpose, only focused on his own pleasure, seeking retribution for his lost orgasm.

the tub rocked, water splashing all around, aegons sobs turned to little whimpers, salty tears mixing with his spit on his ongoing assault to her chest. her movements began to falter, close to finishing, the white-hot pleasure in her abdomen threatening to burst. her body began to tremble lightly, yet she kept her composure, still in servitude of her king. he was in no better state, cock begining to twitch once again.

he was so so close, and not about to stand for this one to be taken away from him aswell. she took notice of the familiar signs he displayed "im close, aegon, so close"

he took this as a sign to let go, holding her body down with all the strength he could muster, forcefully, halting her movements, selfish for once, taking what he wanted. her orgasm hit her with that final forcefull push on his cock, pleasure exploding from her abdomen, rocking her body while from toes to fingers, face twisting in an expression of absolute extasy, brows knitted together and mouth slightly agape. aegon peeked from her chest, looking up to her face, illuminated by the candles, light softly cradling her features, exposing to his hungry eyes her beautifull expression, the mutters from his mouth a prayer to her beauty.

his own orgasm took over his body, sending a final sob through his mouth, a final wave of tears to his eyes, hot seed spilling inside of her.

they stayed that way a while, her hands cradling his head, his own softening on her hips, softly massaging them, attoning for the shelfish way he had taken his pleasure.

she craned her head down, giving a final kiss to his lips, soft and innocent, unlike any previously shared. he looked so utterly mesmerised by her, though he would not say it, she knew, the same as he did, she kew this meant so much to him. they remained that way, sitting in their understanding, she would do anything for her king and he anything for his lover.

she had come in search of answers to her husbands behaviour yet was left with something different, better. she had gained an ally, more than, she had gained her first genuine friend, her very own lover.

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟑]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.6k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, cursing, mentions of abuse/alcoholism, character death and graphic descriptions of death, mentions of vomit

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. this one is... a lot. take heed of the warnings/let me know if there's something i forgot to tag! i might've missed some errors because it's late so i will fix in the morning, otherwise please enjoy! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗡 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗢

When the meadows grow full and lush, Kinich awaits your reappearance.

The winter had been long—with his crops iced over, he’d had to rely on hunting to survive. His mother’s absence had taken a heavy toll on his family (though he uses the word loosely), and his father somehow finds more time to drink his life away. Now the sole homemaker, Kinich finds himself as his father’s newfound punching bag as well.

He discovers that he has a talent for patching wounds and bruises.

Some days, the man awakens in the dead of night, freshly sober—Kinich can hear him crying his mother’s name in the dark. He doesn’t know whether to take that as regret, or simply loneliness.

They don’t talk. They never really did, but the silence grows quickly, curling and weaving and winding like vines through the house, until Kinich can feel it wrapping his throat shut. Days and weeks go by without him talking to anyone at all.

Still, he moves on.

The ice finally melts, and he welcomes the sight of animals returning from hibernation, despite how they nip at his garden. New life sprouts from the ground, and it’s only a matter of time before you appear in the forest again as well.

This time, you’re touting a burlap bag of Quenepa Berries, and you offer him one as he approaches.

“They’re sweeter at this time of year,” you comment, before popping one of the fruits into your mouth. He accepts and does the same—this batch is fattened and sweet, he thinks as the juice dribbles down his chin. You must have an eye for a good harvest.

“You came back,” is all he replies, as a greeting.

An incredulous expression crosses your face, almost judgmental—you hold the bag of berries away from him as teasing punishment. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

He reaches over you, quick as a fox, catching one of the fruits in his fingers. 

“Don’t know.”

There’s no way to tell you about his mother’s disappearance, at least not one that he’s confident about. After all, he feels there’s no logic in informing you anyway—there’s no solution that you could potentially offer, and it’s not as though it affects you. But it’s the thought of that, and the lasting image of her footsteps, that had instilled this fear within him.

The fear that you would never return.

But you’re here, he soothes himself, another berry in your outstretched palm. He takes it, just as your voice rings out again.

“So, do your parents not like girls?”

The skin of the fruit catches in his throat at your question, and he lets out a series of wet coughs—you pat his back, eyes wide with concern. It takes a few moments for him to return to his senses.

“What are you talking about?” he splutters, uncharacteristically flustered.

You don’t seem to notice, too absorbed in picking through your bag—you prefer the lightest blue berries, the ones that are still slightly unripe. Perhaps you enjoy the tartness they offer.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “It just seems like you don’t want your parents to see me.”

And there’s no easy way to explain his situation, so he doesn’t. Instead, he hums, watching the birds soar by overhead. His heart vaguely tugs with jealousy at the sight of them.

“It’s not that. My parents just…don’t like people hanging around our house. That’s why we moved out of the village.”

Not a total lie, he reasons—the financial issues were the root cause, but his father had also grown tired of neighbors attempting to intervene in his parents’ endless disputes. It had given him hope, for a time, that someone might be able to remedy the situation. 

But that hope was quickly snuffed out.

“Makes sense,” you say, tracing shapes in the dirt with your foot. You draw a heart, a smiley face, and then something that looks like a defective Yumkasaurus. “Your dad is the mean one, right?”

You’re still not quite educated on social faux-pas at your age, and Kinich almost chokes again.

“What?”

Something rustles in the bushes nearby—an animal scared away by the sudden loudness of his voice.

“He always used to yell at me when I’d come around to leave you things,” you explain, overwhelmingly casual. “Smelled like that stuff that us kids aren’t allowed to go near in the market.”

Kinich vaguely remembers hearing his parents argue about something like that, but all the fighting tends to blur together after a time. He’s not sure how to reply to that, or what you might think if he did.

So he doesn’t.

He asks you about your winter instead, a topic change that you welcome eagerly. You tell him about the village, the white-topped roofs and the way the Yumkasauri would redden and sneeze, whelps hiding in their mother’s wings. You tell him about how you tried ice skating on the frozen river, recounting how many times you fell flat on your face. The thought makes him smile faintly.

He’s almost surprised by how enthusiastic you are about it—you’d told him before about your parents’ death in the cold season. He wonders how you seem to move past it all.

You turn your attention back to him, curious. “What about you? What happened during your winter?”

There’s a lot he could say, but none of it feels right, every word sticking to his tongue, stubborn. 

“The winter felt really long,” he finally says, mostly to himself, chewing thoughtfully.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “It did. But it’s not so bad, I think.”

He hums. “Really?”

You shrug. “Spring always comes again anyway.”

/

On Kinich’s seventh birthday, you knock at his door in the evening.

The November air is crisp, but not yet chilling. After all, the nation of Pyro tends to run warm until the very depths of winter. It’s for that reason that the fireplace still lies darkened and empty, and that the kitchen window is still open a crack.

The sound shocks him at first—it’s been a long time since anyone has visited at all, so much so that the dull thump is unfamiliar. Wilder animals tend to come out when the sun sets, so he tries to finish up his farming and hunting beforehand—at this time, he’s usually preparing some sort of meal for the next day.

He glances at the source of the noise, then at his father, slumped over the kitchen table, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. The man will likely be asleep until the early morning anyway.

So Kinich pads to the door, pulling it open just a crack, and it’s your eye that peers back at him, curious.

Another inch, and then the rest of you is revealed to him—you’re holding a neatly wrapped box in your hands, an innocent smile spread across your lips.

His first words come out in a hiss.

“What are you doing here?”

He thinks he’s been quite clear about your need to return to the village by this time, for many reasons. It’s growing dark, a time where animals and humans alike grow more dangerous, and his father tends to be home. The man has a talent of putting Kinich in the worst moods, and he’d rather not spread that to you.

“It’s your birthday,” you greet, as an explanation, shrugging like it’s all so obvious. Kinich tilts his head.

“So?”

“So, we’re celebrating! I spent the whole day baking this cake with Chief Wayna’s help.”

Kinich steps outside, quietly letting the door shut behind him. The sunset sky is burning away at this time, pinks and reds fading into black and blue. The stars will be out soon. 

“It’s nighttime,” he says, crossing his arms.

You nod vigorously, undeterred. “Yup! All so you can see the candles better. It looks so much cooler when it’s dark.”

It’s a ridiculous statement to someone like him, and Kinich is once again reminded how different the two of you are. His sense of logic doesn’t seem to align with your enduring enthusiasm. Still, he likes the fire that you have about you, and has no interest in snuffing it out, so he merely sighs and leads you away from the front door.

Once you’re a bit away, the house still in view, he looks to you again.

“So, what is it about candles?”

Without a reply, you turn away from him, fiddling with various things—he hears a match being lit, sees the faint light reflect from behind you—and then you’re facing him again, proudly holding out the cake.

There’s seven brightly colored candles sticking out from the top. The candlelight illuminates your face with a soft glow, a cheeky smile spreading across your lips.

“It looks good, right?”

Kinich peers down at the treat—it does look good, with the expensive kind of frosting that he used to look at longingly in the market. He hasn’t had something this sweet, this luxurious, in a long time, or maybe ever. When he glances back up, you’re staring up at him expectantly—he shrinks back from the pressure.

“What is it?” he asks, feeling self-conscious. You point to the candles.

“You have to blow it out.”

Vaguely, he thinks back on when he used to live in the village. He’s seen people hold birthday parties before (though he can’t say he’d ever been invited), but he’s not sure he’s heard of this tradition. Birthday celebrations weren’t something his family could ever afford anyway, or maybe they just didn’t care to.

Kinich realizes he doesn’t even know when his parents’ birthdays are.

But you’re still watching him, so he pushes that thought aside. Instead, he leans over and gently blows out the candles in three small puffs of breath.

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” You cheer, tilting the cake toward him. “I hope you made a wish!”

You’d forgotten to mention that before he blew out the candles, he thinks to himself, but he’s in no position to argue with your good will anyway. So he nods, silently making a wish after the fact.

“Alright, the best part is eating it,” you whisper conspiratorially, like you’re sharing a life-shattering secret. “And Elder Leik says it’s bad to have sugar before bed, but I think it’s okay just this once—”

“Kinich!”

That voice—

His heart freezes in his chest. Your face morphs in confusion, and then he’s grasping at your arm and yanking, hiding you behind him—you’re not much smaller than him, though, so it’s a futile effort. At the force, the cake slips out of your grip, smashing uselessly into the grass.

Kinich has half a mind to apologize, but he can’t—instead, he holds you tighter.

“Kinich?” A hoarse voice echoes in the dark. “Where the hell are you?” 

“I’m here. I was just taking a walk,” he replies. His voice shakes at the edges of each syllable—he hopes his father doesn’t notice. 

Something crunches in the distance; it’s the sound of grass underfoot. His father is coming this way, Kinich realizes in a panic. He glances back to your fearful eyes, clutching at the back of his thin t-shirt, and his chest burns with the desire to protect.

It’s too dim to see the man until he’s a few feet in front of you—he’s dressed in a tattered shirt and loose pants, feet dragging through the grass. His eyes narrow when he gets close enough, brows knitting together.

His gaze zeroes in on you, venomous. “It’s you again.”

The collar of Kinich’s shirt grows taut against his throat as you pull against him, afraid. He squeezes at your arm once, a comfort.

“You damn orphans, got nothing better to do? Just fucking around on my property, I should throw you off this goddamn cliff! Not like you got anyone to miss you.”

Kinich grits his teeth. “Leave her alone.”

His father laughs, a grating sound like nails on a chalkboard, then belches. The smell of cheap alcohol filters through the air, even from a distance.

“Go do something useful then. Too many useless people in this world, ha! Just like your damn mother.”

The mention makes the blood ice over in Kinich’s veins, a sharp frost crawling up his spine. Your grip loosens just a hair, likely in confusion, but the detail barely reaches his mind.

“You know where she is?”

The image of his mother’s footsteps in the newly fallen snow had never left his mind—he sees it in his nightmares, trapped and crawling in an endless frozen landscape, alone. He thinks of her when he farms, when he weaves, when he’s forced to eat another Grainfruit.

He thinks of her always, maybe, in the back of his mind.

And his father does too, maybe, based on the way his whole body seems to tighten with anger at the question. He doesn’t reply, at least not verbally.

You watch, horrified. Even as his father’s eyes glow with rage, even as he drunkenly hobbles toward you both, hands outstretched.

(Kinich blankly notes that they form the shape of his own neck.)

The man isn’t too coordinated, especially with the alcohol coursing through his veins—he stumbles a few times on the way, the grass seeming to curl around his ankles, slowing him down. Perhaps it’s the land’s way of protecting him, Kinich thinks. 

He grabs your hand, pulling you behind him. “Come on!”

Kinich runs, wind whipping at his face, the way he always does when his father gets this way. He takes you through the backyard, toward the forest, where his father might lose sight of you both and give up the chase. He knows the paths there and knows them well—the shadows of the trees will protect you both.

But the man is picking up speed behind you, roaring about what he’ll do once he catches you.

“Kinich,” you wheeze. You’d already been semi-exhausted by your trek here, and certainly not expecting a sprint like this.

“I know,” he pants back. “Just a little more.”

You’re trying your hardest, he knows.

But he’s faster than you, and you stumble, lagging behind.

“Kinich!”

His father lunges, fingers barely grasping at the leg of your pants. A shriek erupts from your throat as you tumble to the ground in a twisted pile, and Kinich cries out with you, just as the cliff seems to rumble beneath his feet. 

It happens in slow motion. 

Kinich’s father meets his son’s gaze, enraged, then afraid. Terrified, just as he feels his legs dangle over the edge of the cliff, just as the weight of your smaller body pushes his torso over. Shocked, just as the rest of you starts to come down with him. 

Your screams echo off the darkened mountain. 

Kinich weighs his options—it doesn’t take long—and then leaps forward. His chest smacks painfully into the dirt, but he manages to grab your wrist just as you slip down the cliff.

“Kinich!” 

His father is screaming his name, and so are you, pleading, begging for his help. And you’re still in his grasp, but you’re slipping, and his father is reaching for him, and if he could just grab him with his other hand, he could maybe pull you both up, but—

Kinich’s gaze meets your tear-filled eyes.

So he grits his teeth, clawing at the dirt, and with his other hand, he grabs—

You.

He doesn’t have time to catch his father’s expression—he doesn’t think he’d want to see it anyway—before he’s hauling you up, yanking you into his arms until you’re both collapsing into the grass. The crown of your skull clashes with his chin harshly.

His father is still bellowing curses, not that you seem to hear it over the sound of your screams and cries. But Kinich hears it, somehow, floating above the chaos and agony in your voice.

“It’s your fucking fault! This is all your fault!”

His eyes flutter shut as the voice fades away, and then grows silent.

It’s too quiet.

Even the crickets seem to censor themselves, hiding from the entire ordeal. Kinich releases his hold on you, rolling onto his stomach, then onto his knees. The grass seems to waver under his stare, rippling and oscillating until it feels like the entire world is quivering beneath him.

He barely registers that you’re struggling to pull yourself upright behind him.

You turn away from Kinich’s hunched form to vomit in the grass, overwhelmed by it all. A corpse lies at the foot of the cliff now, one that could’ve just as easily been you. One that might have actually been your fault. The thought makes you vomit again. 

After a few more dry heaves, Kinich’s hand rubs at your back, the other gently easing your hair away from your mouth. You look over your shoulder at him, eyes filled with tears and nose dripping with snot. 

“Kinich,” you sob, trying to catch your breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was too slow, and he—he fell. I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry. I know he wasn’t—I don’t—but that was your—your father—”

He takes you by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him—really look at him. His expression seems the same as always, but you know the difference. You note the quivering at the edge of his lips, the light sheen at the corners of his eyes. It disappears as quickly as you notice it, flattening under a disposition of stone.

“I weighed the value between you,” he says, gaze meeting your glassy stare. Your heart flutters. “And I chose you.”

And for a bit, you pretend that you can’t hear the thick lump in his throat, or the way his nose scrunches to keep the tears from slipping. Instead, you take his hand, struggling to your feet.

Kinich gives you a once-over—your pant leg is tattered now, a long strip of fabric ripped from the bottom. A flash of crimson peeks from under the remaining cloth.

Thin lines of blood bloom over the joint there, slowly running down the length of your leg.

“You’re bleeding,” he rasps, assessing the extent of your wound. It’s not deep—a skinned knee at most, which he’s grateful for. He’s treated much worse on his own body.

There’s so much to do, he thinks, pushing through the foggy haze permeating his mind. He has to retrieve his father’s body. He has to treat your wound. With his father gone, he needs to make a plan for his own survival.

It’s not as if his father ever really helped out anyway, but the thought of being truly, totally alone is harrowing. It takes another minute for him to remember that you’re still standing at his side.

“Go back to the house,” he mumbles, almost to himself. “Wait for me in the kitchen—”

“No!” You blurt, looking surprised despite yourself. Kinich jolts, meeting your eyes. “You’re going to get his body, right?”

After a moment of hesitation, he nods solemnly.

Kinich has looked down these cliffs many times; he knows the sheer height of them. There’s absolutely no chance that his father’s body is in any sort of good shape at the bottom. The thought makes bile rise in his throat.

You swallow. “So let’s go.”

The fear is reflected in the way your hands shake, but your shoulders straighten and you reach for him, slotting your fingers together. It’s the most bravery that you can manage, at least right now. Kinich accepts it gratefully.

Making your way down the cliff is treacherous with the little light you have. You don’t speak, barely even breathe. The stars lay watchful above, winking and illuminating your way. 

Even with your hand in his, Kinich glances back occasionally, ensuring you’re still with him—you always are, still sniffling and scrubbing at your eyes. 

It’s hard for you, and it’s obvious; he has to catch you several times when your foot slips off the stone, but you’re still with him. You’re still with him, he thinks. Kinich repeats it to himself a few times, letting it anchor him as he struggles down the rocks.

His father’s body is stiff by the time you reach it.

You’re too afraid to look at first, meekly standing behind him. It takes a few minutes before you work up the courage to peek over his shoulder, one hand over your mouth. Kinich isn’t sure whether to pray, or cry, or leave it all behind—for a few minutes, he doesn’t do anything at all.

The body is mangled, as he’d expected. You don’t dare to look at it again; you pace about the area, trying to keep your wits about you. 

Everything about it is too familiar. He sees himself in the corpse, the blond hair fanned around the head like a halo, the golden eyes forever stuck in a faraway stare. The grappling hook that he always kept on his person.

His father. A half of him. His flesh and blood.

And he’d let him go.

Kinich feels for his own heartbeat over his shirt, fisting at the cloth there.

You are still alive, it whispers.

So he calls your name, soft. You peek at him through the darkness.

“We have to bring it back,” he murmurs.

And you, despite it all, despite the terror that licks hot up your neck, simply nod.

“Okay.”

As the two of you drag the corpse back toward the house, fingertips sticky with blood that freezes in the passing wind, Kinich realizes it—

This is the coldest November he’s ever experienced.

[onelittlespiral]

FML: Confidence

I had decided it was finally time for a change. A few years after college and sitting all day at the office had taken its toll. Twink death was here, but I wanted to have a chance at a few more wild nights before I hit my thirties. So, on a buddy’s recommendation I called up Dr. Webb. He had been touted to me as one of the best in his industry, able to help with all kinds of health and wellness. In my consultation, we discussed my goals. I talked about my concerns around aging and some of the weight I had put on. He probed a bit about my health and family medical history. He was so calm and gentle. It was so easy to talk with him I may have even disclosed more than I wanted to about my college days and conquests. At the end, he leaned back and read over his notes:

“If I am being honest, I am not sure what you are too concerned with. You may not be your youngest, but I wouldn’t say you are deviating too much from a health body at your age.”

“But Doc, I don’t want to just slide into my thirties. I want to get out there like I did just a few years ago.”

“There is nothing wrong with aging my boy. It’s scary for us all but we aren’t stopping the clock any time soon.”

“I don’t want to stop the clock. I just want to feel confident in my body again.”

He stroked his beard and thought for a moment, “Now that is maybe something I can work with.” The rest of the visit was boring. But by the time I left his office, I had a pack vitamin supplements, a list of recommended exercises, and a follow up appointment in a few weeks.

Over the next couple days or so, I diligently took the supplements, followed the exercise routine, and logged my daily progress. It was strange, I didn’t really see a difference, but did start to feel a bit better. The biggest change I think I felt though was a kind of hormonal rebalance. I think doc mentioned it. My sleep was slowly becoming more regular, mood swings improved, and my flexibility was improving as I followed my exercise routine. However, I think it was also starting to create a fixation. I would just need to see my progress, check if I was improving. Whenever I got a small chance I would just stare at myself and focus on my curves. Were they any smaller?

I mentioned it to Dr. Webb at our next meeting. He laughed it off, said it was nothing unusual. But he did send me home with some meditation files to help me relax and center my mind. Help me let go of my worries and all that. And I will confirm they were effective. I popped on the first tape that night, listening to breathing exercises and ambient white noise. Woke up an hour later feeling refreshed. I don’t think I thought about my body much that night. In fact, I hardly thought about anything. My mind felt so clear.

It continued like that for a week I think. To be honest, the days started blurring together a bit. The routine was really sinking in, abs became an almost unconscious part of my day. At some point though, I don’t know when, I did start to notice a change as I would finish the tapes. I would always come to hard as wood. My appetite for sex was off the charts, quickly becoming a nuisance to take care of myself, several times a day. I even had to take a break at work one day. That is, until one day I saw myself in the mirror.

I was getting ready for the day, and suddenly something in me shifted. I stopped pulling down my tee and stared at myself in the mirror.

Damn, had I always been this hot?

Something about the way my jeans hugged into my sides and the thick matted carpet stretching across my stomach felt new and exciting. My mind said it should have felt off, but staring at my gut and feeling its weight ripple as I rubbed it up and down, I was entranced.

‘I felt big, strong, and masculine’, a voice echoed in mind, and I couldn’t agree more. Instantly my plans for the day were shot. I needed to get out there and find someone to share this body with. I couldn’t keep it all to myself. I popped my top off and went on the prowl for a piece of ass to demolish. A few quick photos and I had some nameless twink on his way over for an afternoon delight. Within moments of his arrival, I felt a shift in energy between us. I was used to a kind of back and forth, pull and push as people met and flirted. This was all pull. It started slowly, as he sat next to me on the couch. Then, he placed his hand on my thigh and gently rubbed. I was soon no longer talking to him, I was giving him commands:

“Scoot closer to me.” He scooted.

“Rub my belly a bit, don’t be shy.” He hesitated for just a moment before gliding his hand over my furry belly.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He nodded limply. He was fixated on other things

‘A man gets what he wants,’ rang the voice in my head. And my patience was running thin.

The commands flowed from my mouth quickly:

“Take off my shirt”

“Take off your shirt”

“Lay on me a bit”

“Don’t mind the smell, I’m wrapping my arm around you.”

He quickly followed commands, even started taking huffs of my musky pits as he curled into my arms. I didn’t tell him to do that yet, but I felt so in control as this man was getting hard practically in my lap. It was time.

“Pull out my cock.”

“Put your head right there.”

“Open wide.”

“Suck, boy.”

It was just so easy to get him to comply. He was like putty in my hands. He just bent to my authority as I guided his willing throat, mouth, and tongue through the best blow job of my life. By the time I was ready to move on, a damp spot had formed through his shorts at the tip of his throbbing cock. It bobbed in the air a bit as I turned him around and pulled down his shorts. I took a moment to press myself against him, let him feel the power of my body.

“Bend over.” And he went down on all fours.

By the time my next appointment came up, I already had a small selection of boys willing to come over when I needed them. They were so small, I was almost worried I would break them in half. But it felt so freeing to discover this side of myself. Nothing could beat a twink sitting on my dick, begging for me to cum in him. I reported back to the Doc that I didn’t think I needed his services anymore. He said that he couldn’t agree more, and that even he was shocked at how much progress I made in such a short period of time.

“Now would you kindly put your shorts back on? They did not need to come off for this examination.”

“No,” I replied, “gotta take care of some business first. You want to show me that cute ass of yours.”

“I don’t think so, I…”

“Please doctor, with a body like this? I’m confident you’ll find your work satisfying.”

[transformers-spike]

Human SO giving TFP Ratchet a well-deserved break. Doctor gotta update his knowledge on anatomy, right?

Get his ass

Hours of watching Ratchet slave away at his workstation have taken their toll. You walk up behind him, confident enough he won’t accidentally crush you after dealing with the hyperactive-likes of Miko. “Hey docbot!” you cry out waving an arm at him. He turns around just enough to acknowledge your presence, massive brow plates furrowed into a wide V. “You should really consider taking a break now, it’s been at least…” you tap your chin thoughtfully – “20 cycles since you started your uh…” you gesture at the massive mechanical mass on his desk, “the thing.” To his credit, despite being clearly exhausted, he tones down the annoyance in his voice when he tells you he’s fine. Right, fine and dandy, you think. You’re half considering shimmying up his leg to get to his massive workstation, look him in the eye and tell him to clock in for the night. But before you can so much as touch his leg, he moves away from you, kneeling down to save your sorry ass neck from developing early onset scoliosis. “I appreciate your concern,” he says matter-of-factly, “but our kind can operate without rest for a considerable amount of time.” You almost wait for him to add something about humans being unable to withstand the same sort of stuff after the two-days-and-a-half all-nighter he watched you pull fuelled up on nothing but coffee and spite. Still, you are a shameless being, and so you overlook the judgment of his optics and reel him back in.

“Nope,” you shake your head. “Not when everyone else takes time to recharge, and especially not when you’ve been neglecting your energon intake.” You’re unsure if he seems more proud than frustrated when you give him his usual “get some rest” speech. You offer his pede a “that’s final” pat as he takes the time to contemplate his next course of action. While staring right at the thingamajig on his desk… “Alright,” you say with your hands on your hips, “well if you don’t want to stop working, guess little old me’s going to keep all their human anatomy for themselves.” You hide the evident smugness in your voice with whininess. Said whininess rings out just loud enough in the (thankfully) empty bridge room for you to cringe inside. Cybertronians have thinner face plating compared to the rest of their frames, which gives the energon underneath just enough transparency to come to the surface in what you’ve come to describe as a blueberry blue blush. Holy shit, you think. Did my lack of game actually work? “I won’t let you impale yourself on my spike,” he states with the finality of a death throw executioner. “I know I know,” you mumble sheepishly, “but what do you say?” You flash him a smile promising mischief. He gives you a final once over, ex-vents loud enough to have the noise reverberate in your ears, and gently offers you a hand to climb on.

Back in his berthroom, you grind against his interface panel with enough force to fuck up your zipper. Another pair of jeans ruined in this economy to Ratchet’s bemusement, even if he hides it under a good-natured scowl. “Well shit,” you say, proceeding to remove your pants and everything else on your person in the sexiest manner you can strip, which probably looks more like a headless chicken wrestling with the clothes it evidently shouldn’t be wearing. Not that Ratchet minds. His optics trail from the curvature of your neck to the moles and odd freckles bespeckling your chest before receding down to the stretch marks across your stomach and hips. As odd as it feels having someone – an alien lifeform no less – taking in the many flaws of your body, you feel no judgment emanating from him. You would assume the interest he has in your shape is aesthetic in a scientific manner, like a botanist observing the upturned petals of a newly discovered species – but the softness of his gaze indicates much more than that.

You don’t flinch when he reaches out an exploratory digit to stroke your skin – heck, you turn around and give him 360 access to everything he wants, completely unabashed by your own nakedness. Glancing over your shoulder, you can almost hear the anatomical jargon in his head as he traces a finger over your trapezius.

“Please don’t tell me you’re taking mental notes again.”

“My processor is resting just fine,” he responds. You’re halfway through calling him a liar when he scoops you up with ease and brings you to his lips. The kiss is featherlight, tickling the nerves between your trapezius and latissimus dorsi. You let out a short sigh of content and crane your neck just enough to kiss him right on his nose-ish area. It feels much harder than the rest of his face, probably because it’s part of his helm. Eh, you’ll ask later, you’re already far enough with your one way ticket to fingertown. Right on cue, his eyelids flutter open, blue optics draping warm light over your naked and suddenly too cold body.

You hear the familiar whirring of his interface panel and you send him a look of incomparable excitement as you glance from his rapidly pressurizing spike to his flushed face.

“Can I?” you ask like a child at an ax throwing competition. His vents flip to their third setting, but he nods cautiously.

Mass displacement, for all the three hour and a half explanation he gave you, may be completely off the table with team Prime’s worrying level of energon, but at this point you’re too excited to care.

He sets you down in his lap, close enough for you to finally get a good up close and personal look at his spike. Fuck human flashing, this thing literally glows with blue biolights, grey and metallic with the same orange accents of his frame. If you had any brain cells left, you’d be tempted to ask him if Cybertronians can cosmetically change the paint of their spikes. Sadly, you’re too busy ogling at his valve to care.

You crawl over to it and lean down to look into its upside down vastness like a cave explorer. Not a second later, your 300 IQ brain considers shoving your entire arm up his valve, if only to prove you can be just as good if not better than a Cybertronian in the berthroom (human ego and all). Just as fast as the thought appears, you’re now batting it away reminding yourself it’s too risky considering its piston mechanism. If it can take a 7 foot tall metal dick, you don’t want to find out how easily those walls can close around you and shatter your radius, ulna and humerus, and possibly turn your muscles into organic mush.

Oh shit. Naked and bent over like this he’s definitely gotten a good look at the entirety of your wiggling genitals while you were exploring his open interface panels. Quite the gentleman (and pervert you assume), he hasn’t mentioned your – ahem, situation until now.

Taking it in stride with overinflated confidence, you send a wink his way and immediately shove the tip of his spike into your mouth. If your jaw’s aching is anything to go by, going deep is most unwise – but Ratchet’s startled moan is all you need to go down another inch.

Whatever meager trust you’ve instilled in him is your one way to make your giant robot boyfriend overload so hard it cures his resting bitch face. You throw yourself into your work, mandibles threatening to give out as you bob your head up and down not even half of his spike tip.

“That’s enough,” he calls out, struggling to regain cognizance from the sound of his strained vocalizer.

His warning means well, but at this point you’ve sacrificed too much of your jaw to give up. You take your courage by the dick and go as far as you can without dislocating it, breath cut short by his sheer girth.

This, for all its meager worth, is just what he needs. Your remaining brain cell has enough foresight to constrict your larynx when his transfluid shoots down your throat.

“Spit it out!” he cries out like an underpaid teacher watching a student shove the class pet into their mouth. “You don’t know what it could do to your biology!”

You cough and sputter, but it’s too late, you’ve swallowed it whole. You turn to meet Ratchet who’s looking at you like he’s about to turn into an ambulance and cart you off to the hospital with June on speed dial.

“Hopefully get me pregnant,” you say with a wink, batting your eyelashes at the docbot.

[astrxbtchs]

What does the person you can’t get off your mind want to tell you? 𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

PIle 1 ᶠᶸᶜᵏᵧₒᵤ! PIle 2 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 Pile 3☆𓆏𓍊𓋼𓍊

Choose the pile that resonates with you the most in whatever way you see fit. I ask my spirit guides to place this upon the collective of people that need to see it, and those only. I ask that you are truthful with yourself. So if you are seeing this is a pick-a-pile reading it is for a reason, pls don't take it for granted. Whatever pile you choose and most guided to you is exactly what you need to hear. Always remember roles can be reversed.

** ⚠️TRIGGER WARNING IF YOU DONT WANT TO HEAR THE TRUTH THESE READINGS ARE NOT FOR YOU!!!⚠️

Pile 1

This pile is VERY VERY harsh

The Chariot reversed, Death, The Devil reverse, Judgement reverse, 10 of swords

Pile one this person wants to tell you its over. I don’t know what happened between you guys for the energy to be so harsh, but they are done and they aren’t looking back. Point blank period. You may have been over giving to this situation where a person was keeping secrets from you. It seems this connection was very in and out. They are exhausted from the constant back and forth and power struggles here. They felt like no matter where they turned with you, the connection just would not go right. It was constant pattern of toxicity here that they want to be released from. This connection has really hurt them bad and taken toll on them, they feel that its finally time to take their energy back and heal parts of themselves you might have had a part in breaking. This is a very painful ending for the both of you, but its no turning back. Whatever happened here changed everything. They are in immense pain, I see a lot of tears and releasing. They feel you guys weren’t right for each other but the toxicity was very addicting. This may have gone on for a long time, maybe even years and its finally on its wits end. This person really felt like you did them wrong. You may have cheated on them or they cheated on you. It feels very karmic. Release

1010 | 111 | 11 | 1011 | XX | XV | 3 years 

“love aint got to shit to do with me and you“

“Don’t take nothing for you to love me babe”

“All these b*tches don’t wanna be cheated on, but all these b*tches want to cheat”

**alot of little Kim songs were channels this may be a femme fatale, lilith energy.

Pile 2.

3 of swords, 6 of wands reversed, hanged man, the star, emperor in the reverse

This maybe someone from the past that you disconnected from because they didnt take any action towards you. They are still trying to figure out where their emotions lie with you but there is a feeling of despair. I feel like this pile feels like you left them hanging when they really wanted you, and this cause their confidence and self esteem to plummet. You may have ghosted this person or they ghosted you because they didnt have the courage to come forward. You make them feel small and powerless and they constantly overthink how the this connection ended and what they could have done to change the outcome to something better. They really saw a future with you in the past but lack of confidence is what held this back on either party. They wish they could show the depth of their emotions but I don’t see them coming forward with this information and just keeping it within their head. They are working on healing their own confidence at this point. You both may have been waiting for each other to make the first move but nobody ever did. They seem to have a low self-confidence in general or aren’t as mature. They might have trust issues as well and its hard for them to even trust in the first place. You might have declined their calls or didn’t respond to their message, they might have thought that there was someone else. 

 Pisces Aquarius Aries 

“Dont you be holding back your love, don’t you be holding back

Pile 3.

3 of swords, Hanged man reverse, 7 of wands reverse, 3 of wands, ace of swords, 9 of wands

Pile 2 and Pile 3 are very similar. I HIGHLY advice that if you chose this pile to read pile 2 as well. I feel this person is very afraid to tell you some sort of truth. There is a lot of pain being experienced here form this person and I feel it is because they are afraid to take action towards something they really have to say to you. This connection seems to be divinely guided by your spirit guides and whatever happened here was supposed to happen in both of you guys’ life to teach you a valuable lesson, no matter how painful it was. Although this person is very afraid, they are gaining confidence to come in and tell you some truth. They are standing up to their fears and freeing themselves from shame. They are feeling very empowered in the moment. This person felt like they got a false start with you and they now want to reintroduce themselves, for what they really are and be truthful about their true character. They may have came off as a player. They are taking huge strides within themselves to come correct. They seem to still be stuck on hurt and regrets of the past. They are completely re-inventing themselves as of right now and working on how they can be as brave as possible. I see them wanting to come in very bold and direct, they are just looking for the right time. They would like to tell you that whether it works out with you or not they are in a place where they are happy just being the best version of themselves. 

“I work to please me cause I can’t please you, that’s why I do what I do” 

Fire sign energy heavy

141 | 144 | 414 | 114

Dallas 

“Blocked me from your phone, im still loving you"

[doumadono]

Synopsis: in a quiet, unexpected moment of vulnerability, Dabi finds himself torn between his mission and an unbidden compassion as he watches over an ailing heroine, grappling with the remnants of his humanity amidst the shadows of the night

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

Dabi scoffed, rolling his eyes in exaggerated frustration. 

Of course Shigaraki had sent him to retrieve some useless files from you - a hero, and his father’s most loyal sidekick. The irony wasn’t lost on him, and he couldn't help but feel that this mission was a personal slight, a punishment wrapped in a task. 

It was supposed to be a simple break-in - get the files and leave unnoticed. Unfortunately for him, your apartment was surprisingly spacious, and navigating it at one in the morning was proving more challenging than expected. 

Touya cursed under his breath as he knocked over yet another piece of furniture. He gritted his teeth, hoping you weren't already alerted to his presence.

The repeated thuds and crashes seemed almost too loud in the stillness of the night. With the noise he had made, Touya braced himself for a confrontation, expecting you to come rushing in. After all, you had always been relentless, especially after the Paranormal Liberation War.

But instead, soon Dabi found himself standing in the one room of the apartment that seemed to have some sort of light. The living room was dimly illuminated by the flickering screen of a television, still on, the volume up. Dabi stood behind the couch, puzzled as to why you hadn’t gotten up to investigate if you were indeed awake and watching a movie.

His curiosity piqued, and the white-haired man moved around the sofa, and there you lay, sprawled out in a deep sleep, one arm hanging limply over the edge. Dabi’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene: your normally vibrant face was pale, beads of sweat dotted your forehead, dark circles ringed your eyes, and crumpled tissues were scattered on the floor. The usually confident and formidable hero looked surprisingly pitiful. 

"Oh."

Dabi’s mind flashed back to a few days before when he attacked some heroes. Of course, he expected his old man or his sidekicks, especially you, to show up. And they came, but you were not among them that time. This explained it. Whatever illness had gripped you had clearly taken its toll, leaving you incapacitated on your own couch.

Dabi glanced at the files in his hand, the mission objective that had brought him here. He could leave now, mission accomplished, and even possibly take advantage of your weakened state to further his own plans. He could hurt you really, really bad. He could make his father lose yet another person he considered useful. Yet, as he looked back at your shivering figure on the couch, he felt an unfamiliar tug in his chest. 

Maybe getting you a blanket before he left wouldn’t hurt, right?

He made his way upstairs, back to your bedroom, found a blanket, and after getting downstairs, he draped it gently over your shoulders. Despite himself, Dabi couldn’t shake the unease in his stomach at the thought of leaving you alone like this.

Without thinking, his hand moved to your cheek, wincing at the feverish warmth. You clearly had no one looking after you. Your condition could worsen without proper care. Dabi told himself he didn’t care, but that didn’t stop him from clearing up the tissues or placing a cup of water on the table next to the couch.

Settling into the loveseat across the room, Dabi rationalized his actions. As he sat there, the files forgotten on the coffee table where he put them, Dabi's gaze remained fixed on the vulnerable figure of the hero he was supposed to hate. He couldn't explain the growing unease in his gut or the softening in his hardened heart. All he knew was that, for now, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Minutes passed. Touya found himself dozing off, his head nodding forward every so often before he forced himself awake. 

Your soft whimpers of discomfort pulled him from his light sleep, each sound like a knife to his chest. He had been through enough pain to recognize suffering when he saw it, and it stirred something in him he wasn’t prepared to face.

In a moment of rare vulnerability, Dabi got up, walked to the couch and crouched next to it. He leaned forward, his rough hand reaching out to smooth back the damp hair from your forehead. "Damn it," he muttered, his voice low and gruff. "You always have to be so difficult, don’t you, little sidekick?"

You stirred slightly, mumbling incoherently as a solitary tear traced a path down your cheek,  gleaming faintly in the dim light.

Dabi watched, his heart tightening in his chest. Compelled by a tenderness he seldom allowed himself to feel, he hesitated only a moment before reaching out. His thumb, rough and marred by scars, brushed against the delicate softness of your skin. 

The tear, glistening in the dim light, seemed to capture all the sorrow of the world as it rested momentarily against his thumb before being wiped away. His finger lingered a fraction longer than necessary, tracing the path of the tear, smoothing over the damp trail it left behind. There was a tender hesitancy in his touch. The warmth of your tear quickly soaked into his calloused fingertip. 

The sharp contrast between his damaged flesh and your soft skin made him draw in a sharp breath. It was a reminder of everything he had lost and everything he could never have.

Your whimpers subsided for a moment, and Dabi found himself staring at you, his hand still lingering on your cheek. You were so vulnerable, so fragile in this state. He couldn't understand why he felt this urge to protect you, to make sure you were safe. It was madness.

A soft, pained whimper escaped your lips, jarring the heavy silence around you. 

Instantly, he retracted his hand as if burned by the mere proximity to your anguish. He stepped back, a frown creasing his already scarred features, and a curse slipped quietly from between his lips, a harsh whisper lost in the expanse of the room, “Fuck.” He was angry - not at you, but at himself for allowing a momentary lapse, for letting his guard down and touching a tenderness he had no right to disturb. 

The first light of dawn began to seep through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the room. Dabi knew he should leave, knew he had stayed far longer than was safe. But as he looked at your exhausted, fevered form, he couldn’t bring himself to move. With a resigned sigh, he adjusted the blanket around you for the last time. "Just get better," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "So I can kick your ass properly soon, Y/N."

Dabi knew that staying here, actually caring for you, was nothing but a mistake. But it was a mistake he found himself willing to make, just this once.

He reached for the files, reluctantly grasping them as he cast one last look at your sleeping form. Then, with the stealth he had honed over years, he slipped out of your apartment the same way he had entered - through the window in your bedroom. It was good that he had spied on you for months already - he knew all of the weak points of the places you regularly occupied. Sliding through the window, he navigated the fire escape with ease. Landing softly on the ground, he glanced up at the window one last time before melting into the slowly vanishing shadows of the early morning. 

As he walked away, a small part of him hoped that you would be alright, that you would recover soon. Maybe he would check on you again? But then, he reminded himself that he was going to use all of the rage and anger he had gathered through the years, just to face his father once again. He knew he was never going to come back from this final encounter with his old man, yet he was okay with that. After all, it was his goal, his mission, and he had paid too much to let himself lose.

But as he made his way to the hideout where AFO and the others were remaining hidden, preparing themselves for what was about to come, the corners of his mouth curled upwards in a slight grin. 

Should his final moments arrive, his thoughts would inevitably wander back to you. With each last, faltering breath, amidst the encroaching stillness, you would become the solitary echo in the chambers of his fading consciousness. The final, poignant image of his favorite heroine would linger in his mind, a tender remembrance as he surrendered to the inevitable embrace of death.

[nadvs]

Started rewatching oth because of basketball rafe 😊 do you think they would ever have a Naley moment where their future together is uncertain and they’re both terrified and sad without one another but have no idea how to make it better or fix it?

aw omg i have been craving an oth rewatch!! naley are one of my fav tv couples ever 🥺

based on this fic

they have times of uncertainty. the roughest patch of their relationship is when he gets an nba contract. they’ve only been official for about five months on the night of the draft, haven’t even said their first i love you’s (the commitment-phobia sticks around for both of them for a while), but they don’t want to throw away what they have so they’re determined to stay together.

she still has a year left of college, so she stays put while he moves to a city that’s a three-hour flight away. he’s nervous about if they’ll make it long distance because he’s afraid of losing her, but she sees his nerves as him not having confidence in them. because they’re both so on edge, it turns into a nasty fight. they carry that fight for a while because at one point, she said if breaking up is inevitable, might as well do it now because she’s so pessimistic about relationships actually working out for her and he was crushed that she even brought the option up because he has rly bad abandonment issues so he said you were never really in this in the first place.

at one point, both of them think they’re just too alike to make it work because they both have short tempers and fight dirty.

when he leaves, they’re still dating but on really shaky ground, and because his schedule gets so full, he hardly has time for calls. she eventually starts to worry about him being unfaithful because he has all this fame now and that drives them apart even more.

it’s rough. he can’t afford to lose focus so he distances himself. she refuses to be clingy so she distances herself, too. they don’t talk for days and he’s so stressed out that they’re broken up but haven’t said the words to make it official. they take a break without even really deciding to.

and when they start talking again, because he calls her one night after a day off where he finally feels like himself, they’re both angry at each other for being able to go so long without talking. she asks why he didn’t invite her to visit, he says he wouldn’t even have time for her. another long, painful fight.

but like naley, they grow as individuals and as a couple. it’s a lengthy, tearful phone call and she eventually says “can we not jump to blame and to say things just to hurt each other? i think we needed that break.” and he’s hurt that they’d need time apart, but he agrees.

while they’re on the phone, he looks for flights. he can’t leave the city with his training schedule, but he tells her “even if it’s for five minutes, i need to see you. can you come?” and he books the flight for her that weekend. when he sees her at the airport, he actually starts to cry because of the pressure and the loneliness and missing her. it’s taken a toll on him.

he gets recognized by a fan at the airport and it shows her just how much his life has changed and it makes her nervous all over again. she knows it’s best to be direct about it because that’s how they always did things, so she tells him in the car that she knows she’s part of his old life but she hopes she can be in his new life too and it actually breaks his heart hearing her have any worries about that. he knows he fucked up by allowing her to feel that way, but still has issues with his pride because how could she doubt they’d make it work?

they get to his penthouse. he shows her his view and it’s even nicer than when she saw it on on their facetime call. and because it’s been so long, and even though they have so much to talk about, they rush into sleeping together and it’s clear how much they’ve missed each other from the way they kiss and hold each other.

after, they fall asleep. and over food, they have a difficult conversation. they discuss how they should have set expectations for calls or visits. how different their lives are now but it doesn’t mean it just won’t work. how this is just a tough time but they’ll make it.

“so that wasn’t goodbye sex?” he says in a moment of vulnerability. he hasn’t expressed fear of her leaving him in ages. she’s touched that he actually seems hurt by the prospect of a break-up. and she reassures him over and over until he believes her. they fall into an argument again. that’s when they share their first i love you’s. and then, finally, they’re good.

when she leaves, they’re at peace. they’re best friends again. the communication over long distance never gets perfect, but it gets better. every so often, they just have to remember that nine times out of ten, if they’re being grumpy with each other, it’s because they miss each other.

it’s a long, painful talk about if she should move in with him once she graduates, because she gets offered a great internship in her field at home. she still has lingering fears of commitment and she knows how hypocritical that is, considering how many times she’s gotten upset with him for acting like he’s not confident in their relationship.

he’s the one who tells her to just take the internship because he knows she’ll regret if she doesn’t. so, she completes a six month contract. it’s so much harder for her to visit with her new 9 to 5. they argue. they go through silent spells.

soon after, he has a horrible week and admits to her that he’s been off his game, playing like shit because he’s just so tired. she makes something up to tell her boss that she needs a week off for and surprises him and flies to him on her own dime.

he’s so relieved to see her that it’s like he’s breathing for the first time in months.

and they make it work. because they can’t imagine a world where they don’t. she moves in with him after her internship is up. she spends time looking for a job, being a ‘stay at home girlfriend’, and he keeps telling her he makes more than enough for the two of them, but she’s determined to still be independent in some way.

and they have some rough nights. some almost break-ups. but it never actually happens, because they love each other too much. eventually, they don’t have explosive fights anymore. they bicker, but it never gets as bad as it was, because they’re so sure of their relationship and because they grow to become healthier, better people for each other.

[sfehvn]

intruder

Part 2 | Part 3

Description: A year has since came and went following Astarion's ascension ritual. He is no longer himself, but then... Where is he? Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 1,717 Characters: ascended!Astarion x Tav

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Tears threatened to spill as you gazed upon the man before you. One that you so loved, so craved; one that you have proven loyalty to time and again. Nervous fingers fiddled with the luxurious silk that adorned your body. The material was something you had always eluded before. When your heart was still pumping and breathing was a necessity. You didn’t have much use for those actions anymore, yet you still felt the deep red gown to be constricting.

“My, red really is your color, isn’t it darling?” Astarion’s words encouraged your eyes to wilt towards the floor in submission.

“Yes, love.” They didn’t sound like your own anymore, regardless you still spoke. A gnawing ache permanently etched into your chest as you had come to realize. How long have you been doing this dance with him now? Time was simply a construct of another time for you. One reserved for your long-gone, rosy-cheeked self. Your heart weighed heavier than you could comprehend these days.

Your master’s pale fingers effortlessly land under your chin leading your eyes to his own. His brow furrowed with indignation, you assume at least. “What’s got you down?” He questions, eyes never faltering. You wanted to laugh, though you didn’t; of course. What a ridiculous question it was. You could have prepared a book on the things that are wrong.

The ridiculously lavish gowns you are confined to, for starters. So different from the armor that had once adorned your body when you had first met the fearful spawn. The complete lack of your feelings. The fact that you weren’t allowed to freely-think any longer. Astarion would argue that letting you pick the color of the sheets in the bed-chamber was sufficient enough. You missed the daylight. When light flooded from the doors of the manor, you fantasized of running out. Of making a bed out of the fresh flowers blooming in Baldur’s Gate and basking in the warmth of the rays above. Parts of you longed for it no matter the banishment those same rays would cast on you.

“I’m fine.” You utter instead, a weak smile splaying saddeningly across your face. The lack of attention from Astarion in the past months had taken its toll. Mind convinced he no longer wanted you for love as you had desired. The reason you had given your life to remain in the shadows for its eternity.

“Do not lie to me, darling.” He spoke firmly, a gentle thumb brushing your surely paled cheek. Instinctively your eyes shut and you lean into the touch yearningly. “What is wrong?” It came more as a demand but you were too distracted to comprehend his words. It had been so long since he had shown you the attention he showers you with now. Too long. A soft sigh escapes your lips as his free hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, cold fingertips caressing your cold neck, lingering over the raised flesh of scar tissue.

“I miss the sun.” You spoke hesitantly, your eyes fluttering to meet him once more. He nodded in encouragement, a silent word spoken for you to continue. “I miss being able to come and go as I please.” Your words became more confident. “And I hate this dress.” This elicited an amused chuckle from Astarion.

“What else, pet?” 

“I miss you Astarion. Most days I can’t tell if you’re bored with me or not. I am reduced to shadows while you galavant over Baldur’s Gate. I-”

His eyes hardened, an indication to you that you had spoken too freely. “Galavant.” He sneered in distaste, releasing his hold on your chin and dropping his hand from your shoulder. “You think what I’ve been doing is galavanting? I work, without thanks, might I add. I did this for you. To ensure you can have a comfortable existence. To ensure you would never have to put yourself in harm's way again. So that we could spend eternity together. As we are fated.” The distaste in his words seared you.

This was a mistake you had decided. “Right, I’m sorry.” Quiet and meek, you pondered if he knew exactly how frightened you had become of his ruling hand. He had never hit you, no. He did not need to. You felt like another pawn in his game, and here you had let your guard falter just for him to bare his teeth again. Sleep, eat, fuck. That was the comfortable existence you were to live. If this was fate, she had a cruel and unkind hand played to you.

“The dress is nice on you.” Astarion added flatly. “The least you could do is be grateful and wear it without complaint. That is your duty. You look the part, you act the part. That includes not sulking around the manor and ruining my good day.” He sneered, his previously sweet demeanor gone. “I expect you to help me greet our guests. They will be here soon. You will not embarrass me with your sour mood and you will be a dutiful hostess tonight.” Without another word he leaves the bed chamber.

Stinging tears pooled in your eyes. You often wondered if your Astarion was still in there. The one who speaks charmingly to you when he does, the one who touches you sweetly to allow you the briefest moment of comfort and relief in his presence. Or has he just become an expert at fiddling with your strings, at manipulating you to get exactly what you’re thinking out of you. You suppose that is more likely. Astarion had often said the old him died the day of the ritual, something you had chalked up to a figure of speech until recently. 

The old Astarion really did die that day, and you were stuck with a monster who moved about in his beautiful skin. You know that now.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“You were a good girl tonight.” Astarion delights as the two of you prepare to rest. His body bare, while yours is adorned in the finest nightgown the gold in his pockets can buy. You say nothing as you blindly pull each pin out of your hair. Running your fingers through the strands you discover another pin. Your maid had done an intricate updo in preparation for her master’s guests earlier in the evening, and you had only wished there was a way for you to admire her handiwork. Suddenly a pair of strong hands are on your shoulders. “I believe a reward is in order.”

You stiffened. “Something I receive every night can hardly be viewed as a reward.” You mull as you begin brushing through your hair. The grip on your shoulders tighten in contempt and just as quickly, they loosen.

“Tav?” Fear stricken words grace your ears, and you can’t help but turn quickly, his hands dropping to his sides. Astarion was never fearful. Not anymore. Your eyes are wide with confusion, desperation as your eyes shift over Astarion’s face. “Gods, what has he done to you?” Your stomach sinks. For a split second, you think of just how sickly you may look.

“A-Astarion?” You sputter, wide eyed. His eyes held an admiration you hadn’t seen since the ritual had taken place, since the Astarion you loved dearly had fallen prey to his own quest for power.

His knees buckled beneath his weight, head bowing into your lap. “What have I done?” His body shakes as sobs erupt from him, back rising and falling with each heartbreaking sound emanating. Naturally your hands reach for him, hands splayed over the deep scars on his back. Your own tears stream silently down your cheeks, unable to comprehend whatever is going on.

“Astarion… Is it you?” Carefully spoken, afraid of being deceived once more. What if this was some sort of sick test? What if you're banished to your bed chamber for two months again? You can’t do that again… You won't.

His head lifts slowly, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “It’s me, my darling. It’s me.” It is spoken brokenly, voice cracking in defeat. “I’m not sure how long I have. I, gods, I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Please don’t leave me again Astarion.” The thought of being punished pushed to the back of your mind. This is him. You both grabbed at each other with sorrowful hands. “What do you mean you don’t know how long you have?” Louder than you expected, desperation oozing from every word. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I’ve no choice.” Astarion’s voice is weak. “I’ve been trying to break through since the ritual, love. He…” He trails for a moment, “He’s too strong.” He shakes his head, disgust evident on his tongue. “I’m so sorry, my love.” He begins, stating his apologies over and over again, as if he was stuck in a melancholic daze.

  “Where will you go- where are you?” The tears sting at your eyes again, moving down your face and you don’t bother brushing them away, feverishly lavishing in every second you have left with him. “Are you in pain?” You ask shakily.

“I’m here. I’m not in control.” He shakes his head, eyes distant. “It’s dark. The only pain I feel is being away from you.” Infinitely succumbing to darkness, the very thing Astarion had wanted to avoid. His body has become a vessel for something evil. “I can’t-” The words were painful as he seemed to struggle internally.

There is a brief flash of pain upon his face before that same face of contempt reappears. His eyes are dark and he swiftly stands to his feet. He would not kneel to you. Perhaps it was because he had been bested by the soul that lurks deep in his depths, the embarrassment too great, he simply leaves the bed chamber.

You’re left disoriented. You were momentarily glad that the other Astarion wouldn’t punish you for the indiscretion of indulging the spawn that had fought his way out of the darkness for a juncture, perhaps it would come at a later time.

Your mind was plagued, but at the forefront was your love. Suspended in time, in darkness, alone.

[blindmagdalena]

HI AMY! I discovered your blog after my friend turned me on to The Boys and soon my doomed love for Homelander began the moment he popped his fine ass on my screen! So on the question how do you think Homelander would react to a Y/N who is almost as clingy as him and also super affectionate! They would just be super embarrassed and shy about it like it would start out as soft touches. I was thinking they would shy touch his hand then gently play with his hair. As soon as they got comfortable they would practically want him to carry them bridal style. I would love to hear your spin on this and sorry if it’s such an odd request…😅💕

hello darling!! welcome to the fandom! 🖤

oh this isn't strange at all! listen... Homelander is not going to object to a clingy s/o. not in the least. he's so used to being the one pursuing intimacy—ever the greyhound chasing the mechanical rabbit on the track, the illusionary promise of a prize he can never really sink his teeth into—he wouldn't know what to do with someone who reciprocated his intensity. his hunger. his depth of need.

that said, for as much as he craves it, it wouldn't be an easy transition from him to go from zero to one hundred. there would be times he'd get overwhelmed, where it would all feel like too much, but i don't think he'd be able to recognize it. i can so easily picture him wanting to be loved but sometimes hating the feeling of being touched, how it makes his skin prickle and itch. so the way you describe it as being a slow ramp up sounds perfect!

it would take him time to learn how to be casually affectionate. like, he’s got the basic mechanics of it in mind from observing others, but in practice he’s clumsy. stiff. awkward.

imagine all the little moments. like taking his hand and feeling him fumble with where to interlace his fingers with yours. or maybe he doesn’t know what to do with his arm when you cuddle; should he put it under you, or under his pillow? it always takes him a bit longer to adjust, to get comfortable. he misreads physical cues and will accidentally kiss your eye when you were going in for a hug.

you'd have to learn to lead him, and that’s where he would flourish. he takes direction so well, craves it. he would absolutely carry you around whenever you wanted. he'd love it if you'd take his hands and place them where you want them. he’d be wracked with a swell of emotions when you lay him down and arrange him just so, snuggling into his waiting arms. it'd help heal something broken in him if you stroked his hair while his shoulders shook, if you'd soothe him through a surge of repressed pain all flooding to the surface. years and years and years of affection deprivation have taken a serious toll that must be paid.

when you show or tell him how you want to be touched, it takes out the guess work and it gives him the confidence to tell you what he wants in turn. he’s a diligent learner. he’d become a pro cuddler in no time at all.

[sluttyenthusiast]

Taking What You Can Get

Patrick Zweig x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of affairs and having children + sad ☹️

(This is absolutely based off of my relationship from real life 🥲)

You loved Patrick, you really did, you had given him the past 8 years of you life, dropping everything to support him in his Tennis career. You had been his perfect housewife without being his wife. Everyone around you start to felt bad for you, your relationship was going nowhere, you told them it was fine but they complained that 8 years of dating was too much for a man who couldn't commit.

You remember the words that came from your closet friends, your friends since college, that you're doing too much of a wife without being treated as such. They knew Patrick, and deep down, you knew it wasn't right. He had been your first, and only boyfriend, and every part of him consumed you, there was no part in your life that he hadn't taken over.

He moved in with you, where you paid the bills and bought the groceries, where he essentially lounged around rent free and occasionally won a tennis match, but you were okay with it, you loved him, you really did.

You loved him so much that you couldn't find it in yourself to be mad at him when he cheated for the first time. If anything, you were angrier at yourself, not understanding why you couldn't be good enough for him.

It was simple in the terms that because of your lack of effort (or so you thought) in your relationship that made it turn to another woman.

Really though, could you blame him? He was probably getting bored, and you'd rather him be satisfied than unhappy with you, so you turned your head and let him continue on.

It continued for months, and it began to take a toll on you. At some point you found yourself confiding to your friends from college, about how you felt and wondered why he was with you for so long if you weren't good enough.

Art and Tashi assured you that you weren't the problem, it had everything to do with the grown man who hadn't matured past 19. Their words comforted you for a bit, and they couldn't help to feel bad, or at least Art.

Over the years you and Patrick had grown close with the married couple, often inviting them over to yours for dinner.

You had all been friends during college but had drifted apart, you were unknowingly the glue that held them together.

They were grateful for you, you always invited them over for home cooked meals and offered to watch their daughter. You just loved playing house for a little bit with Patrick, imagining a life with a child of your own.

You often found yourself in tears while laying in bed after Art and Tashi picked their daughter up, wishing for a life in which you were married with your own baby girl, maybe even a boy. Tears would flow down your cheeks as you watched Patrick's sleeping figure, listening to his breathing as you thought of the life you'll never have. You weren't getting any younger, and somehow, you held out hope, but you knew that Patrick didn't want children, so you didn't bother him with it, he also didn't want marriage, so you pushed everything you wanted aside and settled for what you could have, scared to lose the one good thing you had in your life.

Now you find yourself coming home, speaking out to Patrick about how you had gotten the groceries and planned to make the dinner he had requested. Your voice fell on deaf ears as the grunts and moans from the bedroom filled the house. You knew better than to intervene, so you sluggishly put groceries away, keeping your head down as you refused to cry.

Minutes had passed before you heard soft footsteps, not bothering to look up before you spoke.

"Hey Tashi,"

[scuderiasundays]

eight or higher

summary: the pressure is on at carlos' home race and he takes it out on the one he loves most (inspired by lily and marshall's eight or higher rule from "how i met your mother")

words: 467

a/n: all the content i'm getting from the spanish gp (shoutout to the birthday + race day queen @vamossainz55) resulted in this very short drabble. bon appetit 👩🏻‍🍳

"Is this an eight or higher?" Carlos answered after just three rings, his annoyance palpable even through the phone. The Spanish Grand Prix loomed over the week, intensifying the already strained atmosphere within the Ferrari motorhome. Prior to the race, your boyfriend had made you promise not to contact him during the day unless it was an emergency rated at least an eight on a scale of one to ten. Overwhelmed with panic, you hastily ended the call.

Dating a Formula 1 driver proved to be a balancing act, as you soon discovered the distinct personas of Carlos the F1 Driver and Carlos the Boyfriend. It became evident that the recent string of races had taken a toll on Carlos' confidence, and you wished for nothing more than to be the support system he needed. You made the call because you were tired of returning to an empty apartment day after day. You dialed his number craving the sound of his voice, seeking solace in his familiar words. Your motivation was simple yet profound - you called because you missed him deeply.

As you gently set down the phone, your hands trembled with a mixture of emotions. It was Carlos the F1 driver, who had just spoken, expressing his need for space. You realized that you too needed time and distance to navigate your own feelings. Determined to respect his wishes, you vowed to carry on with your day, focusing on your own well-being.

By evening, Carlos was calling non-stop, and you mustered the courage to answer, apprehensive about how this conservation would go following the tense morning call. "Hello?" you uttered, your voice betraying a hint of unease. 

"I'm really sorry for lashing out at you like that. Your problems are my problems, and you, mi amor, will always be my top priority. I can't believe I came up with that silly eight or higher rule in the first place,” he confessed, his emotions causing all the words to come out in a jumble. This was one of the reasons why you loved Carlos. His incredible ability to own up to his mistakes, coupled with the unwavering commitment you both shared to have each other’s backs through thick and thin. 

"This briefing should be wrapping up in about an hour or so. How about you meet me at the hotel, and we can order some room service? I could really use your company." And so it went. As thousands of fans chanted "Smooth Operator" outside, you and Carlos spent the night secluded in his hotel room. It was his home race, and the outpouring of support seemed to ignite a certain glow within him. Tonight, time froze and the outside world faded away, leaving just the two of you in a blissful bubble of uninterrupted togetherness.

[hexofvex]

Jealousy headcanons with my Anemo favs ft. Gender Neutral!Reader

Characters: Wanderer, Xiao and Kazuha

CW: jealous behaviour (especially worse in Scara's), a bit of swearing

Total WC: 1348 words

A/N: Switching it up a bit until I get a good one-shot idea. I'm kind of using the idea of the nations having their own languages plus a common language in Kazuha's. Also I'm sorry Kazuha's is shorter I hope you enjoy it tho <3 and as always feedback is appreaciated!

Kazuha

Kazuha is the least jealous out of these three

He's rarely ever jealous if anything

He's very confident in the stability of your relationship

However, when he gets jealous, it's directed at the outsider, he's more annoyed than anything

Would probably just intrerrupt the conversation to place a kiss on your cheek (yk to show the person in question that they don't have a chance)

You'd obviously notice his that his atitude is a bit more cheeky than usual tho

And you'd be a tad bit surprised, because you didn't really expect something like this out of him

Kazuha was not the type to get irritated easily.

But as he watches the owner of dango stall flirt with you (shamelessly, I might add), he feels his jaw tensing up. Honestly, why were they dragging this out so much? He'd been so excited to show you around Inazuma City, and for the last fifteen minutes you were stuck at the dango stall.

Of course, you had no way of knowing what the seller was saying because of the specific expressions they were using, but he understood all too well. You were nodding your head politely, with a smile that looked more pained by each minute that passed.

When he's had enough, he walks over to the stall. "My love?"

You turn to face him, and he leans over to place a soft kiss on your cheek. "We need to leave."

You try to hide the wave of relief that washes over your face, as Kazuha explains something to the vendor. When they realise the context of your relationship, their attitude changes as embarrassment blooms in their expression, and Kazuha can't deny the exquisite satisfaction he feels at the sight.

"What did you tell them?" you ask, as the two of you continue your walk through the city.

"That we are two travelers that need to get back to Ritou, to catch our ship."

Not exactly a lie. Maybe except for the fact that the Alcor leaves in three days.

"Thanks for the save." Your lips curl up into a smirk. "Was kissing me a core part of the plan?"

Kazuha smiles, the kind of radiant smile that is more than enough to give you butterflies.

"Sorry, my dear. But if you knew the things they said to you...I just couldn't help myself."

Xiao

Very jealous, but tries his best to hide it

He thinks it's embaressing, how can an adeptus feel things such as jealousy

He also feels guilty and criticizes himself for not trusting you through and through

He knows, at a rational level, that you love him, so why is it that he feels like this?

(Un)fortunately for him, he can't hide shit from you emotion wise

Xiao felt like his head was underwater, barely registering what you were saying.

You had just returned from a comission which you had taken together with another adventurer. You were just telling him how glad you were that you ended up with a partner that could carry their own.

Someone that feels like an actual partner.

That's what you said, and although he knew it wasn't that kind of partner, he couldn't stop the thoughts from flooding into his brain. Would you need him anymore? He was so complicated and hard to handle, especially when karmic debt was taking a toll on him, it wouldn't be hard for you to find someone less exhausting-

"Xiao?"

The adeptus returns to the present, broken out by your voice. You're standing in front of him, puzzled look on your face.

"Did you zone out?"

Xiao swallows. "No. I was listening."

You frown. "What was I saying?"

"You were talking about the stone slates."

"I was, five minutes ago." You face softens as you take a few steps closer to him. "Xiao? Love, are you sure you're alright? Did something happen while I was gone? Is it the karmic debt? I'll go to the harbour right away to bring more medicine if you need it-"

"No. You don't need to worry, this is no matter. Continue your story...about...your friend." He curses himself for the way his voice cracks on the word friend. And of course, you notice, and your expression shifts to a lesser degree of worry.

"Are you jealous?"

"That is beaneath adepti-"

"It's fine if you are, you know. I mean, not fine for you, but, you don't need to feel embaressed about it. It's just how feelings are sometimes. You know I'd never actually...you know..."

His eyes widen. "No, of course not! I- Forgive me." He takes a deep breath. "I do not know what to do about it, you know this is all very new to me."

"Well,I guess I just have to show you until we crush every shadow of doubt." You cup his face and slowly press your lips to his. It's a simple kiss, but you make sure it communicates your feelings.

"A little better?" You ask after you pull away.

"Yes," he replies and pulls you in again.

Wanderer

Literally unbearable

Y'all know that meme that goes "You're the most jealous man I've ever known." "You know other men?"

Yeah that's him, but he does that with everyone

His abandonment issues are big as hell, it was kind of to be expected.

Unlike Xiao, he doesn't even try to hide his jealousy

The type of person to wake you up in the middle of the night to ask if you really love him

The fact that you're with his insufferable ass should be proof enough

You're sitting in your room, enjoying a book, drinking your tea, until you feel a disturbance in the force, when you hear the door to your house getting slammed.

And before you even get to process what's going on, said disturbance walks in your room.

"Who was that turnip head that was flirting with you earlier today?"

You close your book, put down your cup and lean back in your chair, crossing your hands.

"What?"

"About 10 A.M., in front of the Akademiya."

"Ah. That was a colleague. And they're taken, in case that helps ease your mind."

"Good."

"You know, have you ever considered that perhaps I'm not looking to cheat on you at every corner?"

Noticing the hurt tone of your voice, he backs off and the anger fades from his face.

"I might have acted too brashly."

"You think?" You leave your book and cup of tea abandoned on the table as you head towards the door. You stop and turn your head to face him. "I won't betray you, Kunikuzushi. You should know I wouldn't do that."

"I know that."

"Then what's the problem!?"

He sighs and avoids your gaze.

"I am. The more time I spend in your presence the deeper I fall. It is only natural that I wish to preserve this partnership of ours. Does that make sense to you, [Name]?"

Although you're familiar with his straightforwardness, such an admission still delivers a bit of shock.

"It does. Because I want the same thing."

You step closer to him and turn his head so he's facing you.

"You don't need to do all this. I love you, that's the whole reason why I'm with you. If you'd see things from my perspective, you'd never have these thoughts again."

He's silent for a moment, until he grabs your hand and squeezes it.

"I will make attempts to get rid of this. Because I want to believe in your love. Are you willing to believe in mine?"

You laugh. "What kind of question is that? Of course I am. Why do you think I'm still here?"

"It might not go perfectly on the first try, you know."

"I'm alright with that. Just try. You can do that for me."

He lets go of your hand and goes to cup your face, bringing it so close to his that your noses are touching, and you can see the swirls of fiery determination in his eyes.

"I cannot know the results, but I could attempt anything for you."

[nhlclover]

goodnight n go | quinn hughes

summary: when your best friend begins to act distant you wonder if your harboured feelings have become exposed.

request: yes / no

warnings: angst, cursing

a/n: somewhat based on ‘goodnight n go’ by ariana grande. quinn looks so boyfriend in this gif

word count: 1.7k

It’s been 5 years since you watched your best friend get drafted by Vancouver. It was a dream come true for everyone. You watched from the sidelines as he played at Michigan, setting records for defensemen there, then as he started his professional career.

You’d accepted that you wouldn’t see him during the winter months, and you were okay with it. With you being from out of state, you only really saw Quinn during the summers at the lake house in Michigan.

Over time and the more you and Quinn got older, the more you realized what you once thought was just a schoolyard crush became something more intense.

You decided before the season finished that you were going to finally tell Quinn how you felt. You confided in Jack about your feelings, with the middle Hughes encouraging you to tell his brother how you felt.

However, from the moment he arrived at the lake house, you could tell something was off.

Quinn was quieter than normal. You’d wondered if it was because of the less-than-desirable season the Canucks had. They just barely escaped the bottom ten in the league and had traded away one of their best players. The season had taken a toll on Quinn and you could tell. But you were unsure if that was the whole reason.

Normally he would find solace in you, but you’d barely been able to hold a conversation with Quinn for more than a minute. Nothing seemed to get him to talk to you and you couldn’t figure out why. Part of you wondered if you’d somehow let on about your feelings towards him.

What if Quinn knew you liked him and he didn’t reciprocate the feelings, so he was distancing himself on purpose?

It was driving you nuts not knowing why your best friend wasn’t talking to you. You could barely hold him in a conversation for more than a minute before he would excuse himself, and he would barely acknowledge you in group conversations.

When you tried to ask Quinn if he still wanted to do your annual sunrise swim, something you’d done every year since you were twelve, he told you that he wasn’t really feeling up to it and then locked himself in his room for the next hour.

The entire week was like that. An attempt at conversation on your part was consistently met with a one-word answer and Quinn walking away.

Now you were watching Quinn say goodbye as he was going back to Vancouver early for pre-season.

Quinn hugged his mom and dad, then Jack before turning to you and your family. You watch him shake your father's hand before hugging your mother. He turns to you, seemingly holding his breath.

“I’ll uh… see you around.” He says.

You freeze, caught up in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, anger, and a little bit of embarrassment at the goodbye your best friend gave you.

Quinn picks up his bag, heading out the front door to where Luke is waiting in the car. The eyes of your family and the Hughes were on you. You could only bear to look at Jack, who raised his eyebrows, hinting at you to go after him.

You walk out behind Quinn, watching him walk to Luke’s car waiting in the driveway. “What the fuck?” You scream.

Quinn turns to you, a pained expression on his face. He doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you.

“You come home, it’s my first time seeing you in almost a year after you ghost me for half of it, and then you don’t fucking speak to me the entire time.” You yell. You don’t care if the rest can hear you from inside or if Luke can hear what you’re saying. Every sentiment from the past week is bubbling up inside you now spilling out. “And now you don’t even hug me goodbye? 16 years of friendship and all I get is ‘see you around’?”

Quinn doesn’t offer an immediate reply, instead looking down at his shoes. You storm over, shoving the tall brunette boy by his shoulders. He stumbles backwards, dropping his duffle to the ground. “Y/n.” He says. His tone isn’t angry. It’s soft and almost remorseful.

“Don’t ‘y/n’ me.” You sneer, tears balancing on your bottom lashes. “Talk to me! Say something!”

“I don’t want to do this.” He says, grabbing the bag from the ground. He walks to the car, throwing the bag into the backseat.

“Fine.” You say, defeated. “Walk away. You’re a coward.”

He sighs, looking up at the sky. “Y/n.”

“No fucking go. You clearly don’t want to be friends or whatever the fuck we were so go.” You say, wiping away the tears streaming down your face.

Quinn’s expression changes, his eyebrows furrowing. He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. “No! Just…” Your voice falters. “Go, Quinn. Please.”

He huffs, getting in the passenger seat. You watch Quinn and Luke discuss something quickly before the engine turns on and the car backs out of the driveway.

Your chest heaves with sobs as you run back into the house, past yours and Quinn’s families and up to your childhood bedroom. Walls lined with photos of Quinn and you from when you were in diapers to just last year, sitting by the campfire drinking beers. You let sobs rack your body as memories of your friendship from over the years flood your mind.

A soft knock on the door pauses your cries. The door clicks open and Jack's head pokes in. “Y/n?” He says softly.

You stick your head out from under your comforter, giving Jack a view of your red and puffy eyes, with tear-stained cheeks. He slipped in and shut the door behind him, lying down next to you.

“I’m sorry.” He says. You roll over, curling into his side.

“I just don’t understand.” You say.

“I don’t either, honestly,” Jack says.

“Does he not talk to you?” You asked.

Jack sighs. “It’s Quinn, remember? He doesn’t tell us much.”

Jack looks over at your face before laughing lightly. He grabs a tissue from the box on your side table, handing it to you. “You’ve got mascara and snot all over your face.” He says.

You give his shoulder a light shove, taking the tissue and wiping it around your eyes. Jack gets up from beside you, looking out the window that overlooks the front yard. You toss the tissue in the wastebasket, looking at Jack, who’s got a grin on his face.

“What are you looking at?” You ask him.

“Go downstairs.” He says, closing your curtains.

“What?”

“Go downstairs! Quickly!”

Jack yanks the blankets off you, pulling you up. You look back at Jack as you hear the sound of the front door opening and then clicking shut. He simply grins, shoving you towards the staircase. You walk down the stairs and to the front entrance, where you see Luke taking off his shoes.

“Luke?” You ask. It hasn’t been more than 15 minutes since he and Quinn had gone to the airport, even though the airport’s almost half an hour away.

“He’s outside, please don’t put me in this again.” He says, walking to the living room.

You walk outside seeing Quinn, standing on the walkway. His bag is by his feet, a nervous air surrounding him. “Why are you here?” You ask.

“I couldn’t go.” He says. His eyes are pained but there’s a small smile on his face.

“What?” You asked.

Quinn steps forward, his wide stride stopping him right before you. “I fucked up. Big time, believe me, I know.” He says. “I was so scared to tell you how I felt in fear of ruining this…us. I mean we’re Quinn and y/n. We’re supposed to be best friends till the end, right?”

Quinn’s words confuse you, not understanding where his sudden change of attitude came from or what point he was trying to make.

“What are you saying, Quinn?” You ask.

“I think I’m in love with you.” He says.

Your heart pounds against your rib cage, heat rising to your cheeks. The words you’ve been wanting to hear from your best friend's mouth for years.

“And I don’t even know if you feel the same, but I can’t leave knowing you didn’t know,” Quinn says. “I love you, y/n, and I have for years.”

Your instincts drive you and suddenly your hands are on his face, your lips pressed together. It takes a second for Quinn to recognize what is happening but when he does, his hands are on your sides. His stubble scratches your chin slightly, but you don’t mind. He pulls you into him, deepening the kiss.

You pull back suddenly, stepping out of Quinn’s grasp. “Wait.” You say. “I don’t understand, you have been a dick to me this entire week. Why?”

“I was scared, y/n.” He says. “I’ve had a crush on you since we were sixteen. I thought I was over you, finally, but when I saw you last summer, I realized I was more in love with you than I’d ever been. I didn’t think you felt the same and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I was so scared of losing you if you didn’t feel the same, that I just assumed cutting you out of my life was easier.”

“Why would you ever think that was the easiest option?” You ask, throwing your hands up.

“I don’t know! I… I don’t know.” He says, defeated. He hangs his head, looking down at his shoes.

You sigh at Quinn’s mild stupidity. You place a hand under his chin, forcing him to look up at you. His soft eyes are the same as when you were 9 and you had dared Quinn to kiss you, only to run when he tried.

“Not having you in my life is the last thing I ever want to happen. I don’t care if we hate each other's guts. All I need is to have your eyes in my life.” You say.

Quinn scoops you up, holding your body against his. His lips crash into yours, desperate to share your air. Your arms wrap around his neck, your toes just barely touching the ground. You’re tentative and careful, just lightly brushing your lips against his. Quinn leans in further, needing your lips on his.

The living room window being cracked open releases the squeals of your mothers, happy to see the two of you finally realizing what the rest of them realized when you were just kids.

[kmartinswife]

kate martin x reader

heyy!

this is my first ever post on tumblr after being on here for 2 years... this is also my first attempt at a one shot/fic so please give me any pointers or critiques!!

———

words - 1050

a bit angstyyy but not really

warnings? just maybe alcohol and kissing.

Two weeks had passed since the end of your undefined relationship with Kate, and it had taken a toll on you. While spending countless hours together, flirting and being more than friends, it suddenly came to an end over some miscommunication. You didn't understand why she flipped out over nothing, and the pure dramatics she showed scared you from trying to reconcile. Both of you decided whatever you had was done and assumed it was over. 

Since both of you play for the Iowa Hawkeyes, you see her every single day. To the best of your knowledge, the rest of the team never caught on to the shared laughs, sneaking around, and secret glances. Your eyes still linger on Kate longer than anyone else, especially when she's laughing it up with Caitlin and Gabbie for what feels like hours. You wished it was you that was making her eyes light up and her smile wide, not Caitlin. 

You had tried to stay upbeat and confident, but it was hard when Kate paid no more than necessary attention to you. All you wanted was to reverse back 14 days and fix your fight. Apologize. Make her listen. Anything to get her back laughing with you and hanging out whenever you didn't have classes or basketball. 

At the 20 day mark, Iowa had come back winners from a home game, and the team decided a karaoke bar was the best idea for celebrating. You had played an amazing game, putting up your best numbers of the season. Kate hadn't even batted an eye. The press conference was a joke to you, reporters congratulating you and asking you how good it felt, but in all honesty you felt like shit over an ex-situationship. 

Hannah had to practically force you into coming to the bar after telling the team you had too much homework to party. This is how you ended up in your tiniest top and best-fitting jeans slouched on the bar alone, watching Kate flirt with a random girl. Jealousy filled you. Could she not do this another time? Why did it have to be when you were watching? 

"You played pretty amazing out there tonight," Gabbie approached you and took a seat, "and it's clear you dressed up a bit more than usual, but you're still sulking in a corner. Tell me what's up. Please?" 

You sighed and turned to look her in the eyes. Her eyes looked soft back at you as you stayed silent. You slowly gazed away and back toward Kate and her new girl. Gabby must've caught on. 

"Caitlin and I know about you two. She wants you back, if you can't tell," Gabby told you, "she was a mess before the game tonight. She's been a mess."

You guys discussed it, and you both were going to keep it a secret, you don't understand why she told multiple people. You finally found your voice, "It doesn't seem like she gives a fuck about me anymore. Look at her. I don't know if I ever made her as happy as that random drunk girl is," you stated.

"Come on, you know she missed you. She regrets walking away like that. Just talk to her, please?" Gabbie pleaded. 

Kate had left the girl and was now standing alone at the bar. She was leaned up against it, staring at Gabbie and you, displaying an unreadable expression. She was wearing dark black jeans, and a tight halter tank. Kate's hair was in a low bun, with chunks pulled out to frame her face. She looked hot. No wonder that girl flirted with her, Kate was astonishing tonight. 

"Gabbie, she's ignored me for the past few weeks. What do I even say to her?" You asked, nervous because of Gabbie's pressure. 

"Tell her how you feel. I am one hundred percent sure she will open up to you. I hate seeing you both like this," Gabbie replied. 

"Okay," you replied, and Gabbie gave your back a quick tap before turning away to play a drinking game with most of your teammates. 

You sat with your thoughts for a moment. Of course you forgave her, she was Kate after all, and it was really just a heated moment. Neither of you made a move to sit beside the other. There was a good chunk of room separating the pair of you, far enough you could hardly see her in your peripheral vision. You didn't believe you had the confidence to face her right now. 

Busy in your thoughts, you didn't realize Kate had plunked herself down right beside you. Neither of you looked at each other, rather choosing to remain cold and stare directly forward. She nested a rum and coke in her left hand, slowly pushing it around, revealing her rings decorating her fingers. The rings you used to love so dearly. 

“I should have stayed,” she started, “I’m sorry.”

You sat with it for a moment. Not daring to look at her. You knew you forgave her, so why was it so hard to get the words out?

“I really disliked not being listened to, Kate. It really hurt,” you said. You felt mature, putting your feelings out for show, “I want to understand you, that's all I ever wanted. But I cannot understand why you stormed out.” 

She turned to you, “In the moment, I was upset. I've run it through my head hundreds of times. I was unsure of what to do, so I left. I don't think I was ready to have a relationship-level fight with you. I just didn't want to hurt us. I want us back to normal — actually, I want more than normal with you, I don't want us to be a secret.”

You huffed and took a sip of your drink, “I understand. Thank you for apologizing,” you replied and turned toward her, looking into her caring blue eyes, “oh my goodness, I have missed you.” 

You leaned in for a hug and Kate accepted gratefully. You both missed each other so much. The embrace lasted as you were reminded of her simple, yet perfect, perfume, and the warmth of her skin. God did you miss her.

“You played so well tonight, it was amazing. You're amazing,” she told you as you leaned out of her embrace. 

A wide smile grew onto your features and you knew you were back on track, “Want to get out of here?”