#and then I didn’t color it. WHO CARE!!!!

[bytemee]

SO ANXIOUS, CAN’T TAKE IT — YU JIMIN.

“how do i keep these on? how do i let you know? girl, you deserve a show.

synopsis. karina learns that good things come to those that wait. or she learns that she should make sure your friend mason never speaks to you again.

pairing. mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader

warning(s). 18+ smut, g!p reader, p in v (unprotected), one lil slap, pet names (puppy ofc), semi public sex (in a car in a secluded parking lot...whatttttt???), karina is really down bad for reader, they say i luv u so much *throws up*, yeah the smut at the end is so ugh! i cant even omg

words. 4.5k

authors note. i didnt wanna name this naked (bc the lyrics are from naked by doja cat)...prob the last of the series that'll be over 2k words and the last thing i have in the vault. everything else will be requests from u guys

this is the part where i actually make a masterlist!!! & start updating where do you sleep.. iguess

part one. part two. part three. part four. part five. headcannons. navigation. main masterlist.

the library was unusually quiet for a weekday evening, except for the steady murmur of conversation from a nearby study group and the occasional clatter of dice on a game board. karina sat next to you, one leg crossed over the other, staring down at a confusing mess of cards, pieces, and rules she didn’t understand.

it was one of your nerd friends who made the game—mason was his name. you explained how he’d spent months perfecting it and would proudly be the narrator for your group's first playthrough. karina didn’t care about the game. she barely knew what was going on. but you were there, and that made it okay.

she wasn’t even sure how to play or what she was supposed to do. you had tried your best to explain, but mason had been explaining the rules to the other players the entire time, and karina could barely focus. your friends were mostly the same as always. all a bunch of nerds that you were close to during high school and stayed in touch with through college.

and then you introduced her to your friends; they were a bit shocked when the president of the biggest sorority on campus said she wanted to hang out. but mason quickly welcomed her with open arms.

karina looked down at the game board, trying to understand the confusing mass of colors and shapes. a large blue square seemed to represent a lake, a path snaked through a forest of green, and there were lots of small tokens and miniatures scattered across the map. the rules were long and complicated. she hadn't understood a single one.

you took a deep breath and set down a card in front of karina.

"the evil king has captured the prince's lover!" mason announced. "it is now up to you, the player, to save her. but you have been locked in the king's dungeon. what do you do?"

"i…" karina hesitated, trying to remember the few things you had told her about the game. she could either go to the prince or to his lover. but she didn't know which one to pick. her eyes met yours.

"go to the prince," you said quietly.

"no, go to the lover," mason replied. "the prince is a jerk anyway."

karina sighed, feeling completely lost. she didn’t understand the dynamics of the game—why the prince was a jerk, why the lover needed rescuing, or what the king even wanted. she was just following your advice, since you were the one who had actually learned the rules.

“the prince,” karina decided reluctantly, even though mason rolled his eyes dramatically. she picked up a miniature knight figure and moved it in the general direction of the game board’s castle.

“bad move,” mason said with a grin. “you fell into a trap. you’re dead.”

karina glared at him so sharply he actually flinched. “seriously?”

“you suck at this game,” mason teased, but then quickly backed off when he caught her stare again.

the conversation around the table resumed, with mason narrating another turn, but karina had already tuned it out. she reached over and gently brushed her fingers along the nape of your neck. it was a small touch, but one that grounded her.

for the past three weeks, this had become her life. waiting outside your lectures just to see you. tagging along to the conventions she didn’t understand or care about. sitting through endless, painfully boring games and conversations, all just to be near you. she had hoped that by doing all this, things would go back to how they were before—when the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other, and all you wanted to do was stay in bed together.

but it hadn’t happened. you seemed content with how things were—maybe too content. you hadn’t even kissed her since your talk in her dorm three weeks ago. instead, it was karina who couldn’t stop herself from reaching for you. every time she did, she hoped you’d do the same. but you never did.

she was losing her mind.

“hey,” she leaned down to whisper in your ear, lips brushing the shell of it. “wanna leave? go do something else—just us?”

you didn’t pull away, but you didn’t look up either. “in a bit,” you murmured, eyes glued to the game. “i’m almost at the next level.”

karina clenched her jaw. mason smirked. she shot him another glare.

later that night, karina took you out—just the two of you. dinner at a small ramen place you both used to frequent, followed by a long walk along the river. it had been…nice. easy, even. but karina had hoped for more. every time your shoulder bumped hers, her heart jumped. every time your hand swung a little too close to hers, she wanted to reach out. but you didn’t.

when the night ended, she brought you back to her dorm. it was late, and when you set your bag down by her bed, her stomach fluttered. overnight bag, she thought. you’re staying the night.

her anticipation skyrocketed as you unzipped the bag—until you pulled out an old, beat-up console and started untangling the cords. karina blinked. you knelt by the tv, plugging the console in like it was the most normal thing in the world. then you paused, your expression nervous.

“am i allowed to do this?” you asked, hesitant.

karina quickly nodded, but she wanted to scream. allowed? was this a sleepover or something?

you started setting up the game, and karina flopped down on the bed, burying her face in the pillows. she didn't know how long you were going to keep this up. three weeks had felt like a lifetime. and she had thought…no, she was sure—she had made up for her mistakes. she was doing everything right now, and yet it still wasn't enough.

the game loaded, the familiar old-school theme music playing softly through the speakers. you adjusted the controller in your hands, fully immersed. karina slowly pulled herself up from the pillows, moving to the edge of the bed where you sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the tv.

what was she supposed to do? she had done it all—played the role of prince—princess— charming, and still you were slipping through her fingers like a story without a happy ending.

karina leaned forward, her fingers brushing against your hair before gently weaving through it. her touch was slow and careful, as if trying not to break whatever fragile peace had settled between you. she played with the strands absently, twirling them between her fingers, her mind half on you and half lost in thought.

your hair was soft. it smelled good. but you didn’t respond.

then, she tugged lightly, her fingertips massaging your scalp. this was a thing she did. something you loved.

but you didn’t lean back into her touch like usual. your shoulders were stiff. you didn't look at her. you didn't even seem to notice.

you kept playing.

karina felt a surge of frustration. she tugged harder, her movements no longer gentle. you grunted, your hands faltering on the controller.

"ouch, karina. what was that for?"

karina’s jaw clenched, her fingers freezing in your hair. “what was that for?” she repeated, her tone sharper than she intended. “i don’t know, maybe because i’ve been following you around like a lost puppy for weeks and you barely even notice me.”

you paused the game, setting the controller down on the floor. “i notice you,” you said quietly, not meeting her eyes.

karina moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her legs brushing against your back. “no, you don’t. not really. i show up to your lectures. i sit through hours of your nerd conventions. i come to these stupid board game nights and watch you get all excited. and yet…” she trailed off, pressing her hands to her thighs, digging her nails into the fabric. "nothing."

you sighed, running a hand through your hair where she had tugged too hard. “i'm just listening to what mason has been telling me. i don't want to overwhelm you."

her brows knitted together. mason…who was—oh. that fucking mason. karina blinked down at you, processing what you’d just said. “wait—what? what has mason been telling you?"

you sighed and shifted on the floor, still not looking at her. “mason’s been playing therapist through all of this. he told me that if we’re not a couple, we shouldn’t be doing… couple things.”

karina’s brow furrowed. “couple things?”

“yeah,” you said with a shrug. “like kissing…and you know…he says that we shouldn’t move too fast if we're not girlfriends."

"excuse me?"

mason had no business getting in the middle of her and you. and besides, what did he know about what she could handle?

her brain seemed to short-circuit. “but… you are my girlfriend.”

you finally looked at her, one brow raised. “you never asked me that.”

karina froze. her mouth opened, then shut, and for the first time all night, she was at a loss for words.

the silence stretched until karina blurted out, “do you want to be my girlfriend?”

you blinked at her. “no.”

“what?” karina’s voice pitched slightly higher. “what do you mean, no?”

“that’s not how you ask someone,” you said, shaking your head. “that sounded like you were asking me if i wanted to go run errands.”

karina stared at you, stunned. was that a joke? you had to be joking. but there was no hint of amusement in your expression.

"you want me to ask you out? okay." karina cleared her throat. she was not used to being put on the spot like this. especially not with you. this was usually the other way around.

"y/n," karina started again, her nerves bubbling under her usual confidence. "i’m serious about you. i want to be more than this… whatever this is. i want us to be together—officially. so, will you be my girlfriend?"

you leaned back slightly, arms crossed. “karina, you’re asking me in your room. that’s not how you ask someone.”

karina blinked, thrown. “what do you mean?”

“it has to be… something grand. special. not just sitting on the edge of a bed with a game paused in the background. otherwise, it won’t feel like it means much.”

karina’s shoulders slumped for a second before she straightened, her hands curling into fists. there was no way in hell she was going to let herself fail at this. if that's what you wanted, then fine. karina would make this the most special, romantic thing ever. “fine. you want grand? i’ll give you grand.”

the next weekend, karina didn’t just take you somewhere—she took you everywhere.

she planned an entire day out: a visit to a scenic lookout, a boat ride across the river, a stop at your favorite dessert café, and finally, she led you to a secluded spot on a hill overlooking the city. you walked beside her, hand in hand, admiring the view. the sun had started to set, casting the sky in shades of red and orange. it was beautiful. the kind of view you could only see if you were high above the city. you leaned against the railing, watching the sun dip lower behind the buildings below.

karina stood beside you, her gaze lingering on the side of your face. you didn’t notice. or, if you did, you didn't comment. she reached for your hand again, lacing her fingers with yours. when you didn’t react, her chest tightened. she had a plan. a script. everything she was going to say, and yet now, standing beside you, looking at the sunset, her tongue was tied.

"this is beautiful," you said, your eyes sparkling as the last rays of the sun lit up the horizon.

"it is," karina murmured. she could have said a lot of things. that's why i brought you here. this is what we could have. but she didn't. her heart was in her throat, her palms sweating.

karina turned toward you, the words on the tip of her tongue. "y/n…"

"yeah?"

"i…i need to tell you something."

you met her gaze, tilting your head. your expression softened. "what is it?"

"i want this to be perfect. i want you to remember this moment because i’m serious about us.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but she pressed on.

“i’m not just following you around because i have nothing better to do. i’m here because i care about you. and i want to be your girlfriend. officially. so… will you be mine?”

a smile spread across your lips, and her heart stopped. you nodded slowly, reaching up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. "of course i'll be yours, karina."

the words had barely left your mouth before karina practically pounced on you, pulling you into a kiss. her hands were in your hair again, her lips pressing against yours with an urgency that left you breathless. when she pulled away, her eyes were shining.

when she pulled back, her eyes sparkled. “so… you want to stay the night?”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “karina, it’s our first date as a couple.”

“okay? what does that have to do with anything?”

you gave her a teasing smile, leaning back slightly as you clarified, “it’s the first date as a couple, karina. you know the rules. third base only happens on the third date.”

karina blinked at you, her mouth slightly open as if to argue, but no words came out. instead, she let out a dramatic groan and fell back onto the grass, throwing her arm over her face. “seriously, y/n? third base rule? who even made that up?”

you smirked, stepping back to avoid her exaggerated flailing. “i don’t make the rules; i just follow them.”

she groaned again. "you're so annoying."

"says the girl who just asked me out with a video game paused in the background."

her groan turned into a whine.

by the time the third date rolled around, karina was determined to speed-run the process. she planned another full day of activities—brunch, a visit to an art exhibit, and a movie. afterward, she walked you back to your dorm. you felt lighter than you had in weeks, finally enjoying the ease of being with her.

as you both stood outside your dorm, karina hesitated, shifting on her feet. “so…” she started, hands fidgeting. “since this is technically the third date, maybe you could—”

you raised a brow, waiting.

“—you know, come back to my place?” she finished, giving you a hopeful smile.

you thought for a moment, lips pressed together. “mmm… i think i’m just going to sleep here tonight. my roommate’s gone for the first time in forever, and i kind of want to enjoy having the place to myself.”

karina groaned softly. “y/n… please? it feels like it's been forever since we've done anything together."

your cheeks flushed. "karina, i—"

"we don't have to do anything," she said quickly, cutting you off. "we can just watch a movie and cuddle. i won't even try to seduce you."

"karina," you warned.

"okay, okay. maybe a little. but only if you want me to!"

you laughed, shaking your head at her antics. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

karina gave you a playful pout, stepping closer. “come on, please? just a little more time together. i miss you.”

you sighed. how could you resist when she was being so sweet?

"alright, alright," you relented, giving her a smile. "i guess we could spend a little more time together."

karina let out a soft squeal, throwing her arms around you. "you're the best!"

that night, the two of you stayed up watching a movie, curled up on your small twin bed. karina's head rested on your chest, her hand stroking the skin just below the hem of your shirt. you were barely paying attention to the screen.

after a few minutes, karina lifted her head to look at you. "are you enjoying the movie?"

"not really," you admitted.

she shifted, propping herself up on her elbow. "do you want to do something else?"

you hummed, eyes meeting hers. "like what?"

karina's gaze dropped to your lips. "we could make out a little."

you rolled your eyes, smiling. "how subtle."

"is that a yes?"

"maybe," you replied, unable to keep the laughter out of your voice. "if you play your cards right."

"you're killing me here, puppy."

you shook your head. "come here."

she leaned forward, pressing her lips to yours. her kiss was gentle and warm, and her tongue flicked out to swipe against your bottom lip. you sighed, deepening the kiss. she tasted sweet, and the familiar scent of her perfume filled your senses. the rest of the movie was long forgotten as karina kissed you hungrily. her hands wandered under your shirt, tracing patterns on your skin. you pulled her closer, tangling your fingers in her hair.

when you finally broke apart, karina was flushed and breathing heavily.

"that was…"

"nice," she finished, her lips curving into a satisfied smile.

"yeah." you smiled back, resting your forehead against hers. "nice."

the next week, karina found herself in a similar position—only this time, the two of you were in your car, parked in a dark, quiet parking lot. the day had been perfect: a long walk through the park, endless conversation, and laughter that made your stomach hurt.

now, her lips were locked with yours as she leaned over the middle console, one hand cupping your face while the other gripped the back of your neck. your hands found her waist, pulling her in as much as the cramped space would allow. karina’s fingers skimmed along your jaw, her lips trailing down to your neck.

"y/n," she moaned, her lips trailing along your jaw.

"mmm," you hummed, arching into her touch.

"i love you," she murmured, her hands slipping under your shirt.

you froze. "w-what?"

"i love you."

you pulled back slightly, eyes wide as you processed her words. your heart thudded against your chest. “w-what?” you repeated, not quite sure if you’d heard her right. she leaned in closer, "i love you, y/n. i’ve loved you for a while now. i couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

she paused, studying your expression. "is that bad?"

you quickly shook your head, but the shock hadn't fully faded from your face. "no, it's just…i love you too, karina—"

"then it's settled," she interrupted, leaning forward to kiss you again. her touches were firm and confident, and you could feel yourself getting swept away by the intensity of her feelings. karina had always been one to go after what she wanted, and it seemed like now was no different. she wanted you, and she was determined to show you exactly how much.

karina let out a soft gasp as you pulled her into your lap, her thighs straddling your hips. she settled easily against you, the fabric of her shirt slipping up and baring a sliver of her hip. you traced your fingertips along the exposed skin, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

"y/n," karina breathed, her hands cupping your face as she leaned down to capture your lips once more. you sighed into the kiss, your hands gripping her hips as you pulled her closer. karina's body felt hot against yours, and the air in the car seemed to grow thicker as the moments passed.

your hands slipped under her shirt, and the bare skin of her back felt smooth beneath your touch. karina shuddered at the contact, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pressed closer.

"i want you," she whispered, her lips ghosting along the shell of your ear.

"karina," you murmured, your hands trailing along her back.

"i've missed you," she continued, her lips skimming along your neck. "i've missed this. i've missed us."

your hands tightened on her hips, pulling her flush against you. "me too," you murmured, nipping at her jaw.

she pulled back slightly, her gaze locking with yours. her eyes were dark, and her lips were swollen from your kisses. she looked breathtaking.

your hands slipped back under her shirt, your hands grazing every inch of her back, her sides, and her stomach. she shivered, her eyes closing. you couldn't help but smile. she was so responsive to your touch, and it made your heart swell with pride.

a part of you remembered you were in the middle of a parking lot where anyone could see you, but another part of you didn’t care. not when karina was looking at you like that. the car windows were tinted, and it was late enough that there were few people around anyway. and besides, you were beyond the point of rationality.

denying yourself of karina for the past three weeks had been torture. you had missed her more than you realized. and now, being with her again—feeling her warmth, her touch, her kisses—was overwhelming. you wanted more. she couldn't seem to get enough of you as well, her hands skimming across your skin, as if to commit the feel of it to memory. your bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, your curves molding to hers as she pressed closer.

karina's lips found your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin there. her teeth grazed your pulse point, and you swore you could feel your heartbeat everywhere, like it was thrumming through your entire body. she was driving you wild, and you could feel your control slowly slipping away.

you leaned in and captured her lips once more, kissing her with all the passion and desire that had been building up inside you over the past few weeks. karina moaned against your lips, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulled you closer. she tasted like the cherry lip balm she always used, and you couldn't get enough of it.

your hands slid up her back, pushing her shirt up until it bunched around her shoulders. you pulled away just long enough to tug it over her head, tossing it into the back seat. then, you were on her again, your lips finding hers in a heated kiss.

karina's skin felt hot against yours as your hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and dip. you trailed kisses along her collarbone, down her chest, and across her stomach. she arched into your touch, her head falling back as she let out a low groan. your hands skimmed along her thighs, the fabric of her pants suddenly feeling much too restrictive.

you tugged at the waistband, looking up at her for permission. karina's eyes met yours, pupils blown wide with desire. she nodded, her hands tangling in your hair. “just hurry up and take them off,” she groaned.

you slowly pulled her pants down, your fingers skimming along her skin as you went. she shivered under your touch, her eyes fluttering shut. you discarded her pants and took a moment to admire the view. she looked stunning, her chest heaving, her cheeks flushed, her hair mussed.

you could barely believe she was yours.

her hands fiddled with the string on your sweatpants before she finally slipped them off your hips. the feeling of her bare skin against yours made you both gasp. it felt like electricity was running through your veins, and every nerve ending seemed to be on fire. karina's fingers tugged at the waistband of your boxers, and you lifted your hips, allowing her to remove them.

karina couldn't even begin to explain how badly she needed you. every fiber of her being seemed to hum with desire, her body aching for your touch. she had been so patient, waiting for you to give her some kind of sign that you wanted this as badly as she did. but now, with your hands gripping her hips as if you were afraid she might disappear, she knew she didn't need to wait anymore.

then, slowly, gently, she lowered herself onto you. the two of you gasped in unison, the sensation sending sparks shooting through your bodies.

"fuck," she breathed, her voice shaky. "that's— fuck, you're— oh, my god."

you clutched at each other as if you were trying to meld into one being, your lips finding hers in a searing kiss. karina began to move against you, slowly at first, then picking up the pace.

karina's rhythm was tortuously slow, like she was trying to make this moment last as long as possible. but you were past the point of patience, and you found yourself bucking up against her, desperate for more friction.

"please," you whined, and she obliged, increasing the tempo.

karina let out a low moan, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly. "i love you," you whispered, throwing your head to the side, biting your lip to keep from screaming out as your pleasure intensified.

"y/n," karina breathed, her hand wrapping around your neck as she pressed messy kisses to your face. "i love you too."

a slap echoed through the car, followed by a small giggle that shortly turned into a moan. karina bit her lip, stifling another laugh as your head snapped over to her.

"did you just slap me?"

karina nodded, still smiling. "i want you to look at me, puppy. i've missed those pretty eyes."

you tried to say something, but the words were lodged in your throat; all you could manage was a strangled moan.

you tried to say something, but the words were lodged in your throat; all you could manage was a strangled moan. karina's fingers trailed along your neck, tracing the line of your collarbone.

"c’mon…look at me, puppy."

your eyes met hers. they were dark and hooded, the pupils dilated with desire. you couldn't look away, not even if you wanted to.

your name fell from her lips in a desperate plea, and you couldn't help but smile. you knew you wouldn't last long—not with the way karina was moving against you, her hips grinding down, her hands gripping the back of your neck. the sound of her voice, the sight of her body, and the feel of her skin against yours—it was all too much.

karina's movements became more erratic, her breaths coming in short gasps. she buried her face in your neck as she reached her peak, her whole body trembling with the force of her orgasm. "y/n," she cried out, her voice muffled by the crook of your neck.

your own climax followed soon after, the two of you clinging to each other as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. you held each other tightly, neither wanting to let go, the air in the car thick with the smell of sex. you didn't know how long the two of you sat there, basking in the afterglow, but eventually, karina's voice broke the silence.

"i love you," she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

you smiled, the words falling easily from your lips. "i love you too, karina."

taglist - @brocoliisscared @spidrgamer @kimminjiissosjdirbidnsjje @kyakpack @snsgf @sscieloz @fruityg0rl

[ipushhimback]

my world

pairing: lando norris x reader warnings: none word count: 1.2 k

summary: lando with a woman and 2 kids in the paddock?

Lando has always been a private person. Of course, he occasionally posted a vlog, showed clips of his golfing, streamed, or just showed some racing related stuff.

What no one of the fans knew was, that after every single race there is his family waiting for him. They nearly found out when Lando streamed and their daughter decided that it was the perfect moment to throw a tantrum because she didn’t want to eat her dinner as it was ‘the wrong shape’.

But now that Livy was three and understood what her dad does for a living she really wanted to watch a race so Y/N and Lando had agreed to take her to the Monaco Grand Prix. It was near their home so if anything became to much for the kids, Y/N could just take them home and they would watch the rest of the race from their balcony.

So today you were dressed in a simple baggy jeans, that weren’t so baggy anymore when you compare them to Charles’, and a papaya colored shirt, though no one could see the ‘LN4’ printed on it because of the wraparound baby carrier in which the one month old Aiden was sleeping peacefully.

Livy was wearing a cute white dress with tiny orange flowers printed on it. She was holding Lando’s hand and happily walking through the paddock as if she had done it a million times before.

“I’ll just introduce you to Oscar real quick. Lily isn’t here today so if you want to go to another garage to talk to someone other than the mechanics you can just do that, ok?”, Lando asked as he looked at you with a wide smile that let you know he was happy for you to be here today.

“I know, Lan. You’ve told me that ten times already”, you said leaving forward and pressing a kiss on his lips.

“I know, baby, Just making sure”, your husband said, still smiling.

“Daddy? Why are there no cars?”, Livy said as she looked up at Lando, looking completely confused. Her dad picked her up.

“They are in the garages, baby girl. You will see them later, ok?”

Livia scrunched her nose in disappointment.

“Hm. Wanna see cars now.”

“I know. Oh! There is Oscar! Hey, Osc. How’re you doing?”, Lando asked casually.

You couldn’t help but see how confused the Australian looked.

“Uhm… good? Who… is that?”, Oscar asked while he tried to be polite but he looked absolutely puzzled.

“That is my family. Surprise, I guess. Y/N, my wife. Livy, my daughter. And the little one is Aiden, our baby boy. Sorry I didn’t tell you about them but I really didn’t want the kids to be in the media so much already.”

What Lando didn’t know was that the whole internet was already going wild.

#####

f1gossip Lando Norris seen at the paddock with a woman and kids. Does he have a new girlfriend?

username1 omg. lando is dating a single mom??

username2 pretty sure she is a gold digger…

username3 did she baby trap lando…?

username4 please tell me lando isn’t going to retire now bc he feels like he has to take care of those kids…

username5 pretty sure she only wants his money…

username6 guys do your research. she is Y/N L/N… ceo of some company and literally richer than lando…

#####

Livy in the meanwhile was mesmerized.

“Oscy has pretty hair”, she whispered into her dad’s ear though it was so loud that Oscar heard it and started laughing which made Livia all shy.

“Thank you, little one”, he said while he was still laughing which made Liv hide her face in Lando’s neck who just bounced her a little and laughed.

“She is a little shy. Sorry, mate”, he said to his teammate.

“All good. And this is Aiden? He is super cute”, Oscar said while looking at Aiden who was peacefully sleeping.

“Yes. That’s our little one. He was super mad today when I woke him up to get him dressed though so he is mostly sleeping now”, you said smiling at your little baby boy who sighed in his sleep.

Oscar smiled while looking at the newborn and you started wondering if he will ever also have a kid with Lily.

“Daddy. Wanna see the cars now. Please?”, Livia asked though she was immediately distracted when she saw Charles with his girlfriend Alex walking by. But these two weren’t the ones who got Liv’s attention. It was Leo who was running after the couple on a leash.

“DADDY! THERE IS A DOGGY!”, she explained and squirmed in her dad’s arms to make him put her down.

The second her feet touched the ground she started running over to Leo and plopped down on the ground next to the dachshund who immediately started licking her face.

“Livia Norris! You can’t just run off, did you hear me?”, Lando scolded his daughter. “There are many people and cars which can be dangerous. Mommy and I told you to always stay close to us.”

„Sorry, daddy. I didn’t mean to but dog is cute, look!“, The toddler said while pointing at Leo. „What’s doggy‘s name?“, Liv asked Charles who was standing next to her.

„That’s Leo. He is cute, isn’t he?“, the Monegasque said to Liv while looking at his dog with a proud smile which made Livy nod enthusiastically.

Livia was now looking at Alex who was standing a bit behind Charles.

„You pretty“, she said looking at Alex‘ red dress and then looking back at Leo.

„Thank you sweetie! That’s very nice of you! But so do you. Such a pretty dress. Did you choose it yourself?“, Alex asked while crouching down to be on the same level as Liv.

„No. My mommy said I should wear it because it makes me look like a princess. But daddy said I wear it because the flowers are orange“, she answered shrugging nonchalantly.

Alex just nodded not knowing what to say now. But it didn’t really matter anyway as Liv already spotted Lewis and was immediately obsessed with his braids. She squealed and ran over to the ferrari driver.

„Your hair is so pretty! Did your mommy do that? My mommy always does my hair!“, the little girl said looking up at Lewis while Lando just groaned.

„She already loves half the grid more than me“, he said to you pretending to pout as he wraps an arm around your waist and walked over to Lewis and Livy while he pulled out his phone. „Oh wow the internet is calling you a gold digger now. Interesting“, he said rolling his eyes.

„Let them talk. They will find out who is paying for your golf trips soon enough“, you said chuckling.

But Lando really couldn’t just let them talk. You were his family and important to him.

lando My world (and just for the record she is not a gold digger)

username1 lando has been hiding a whole family for years???

username2 cant believe lando is dating her… he could do so much better

username3 the haters are always gonna hate…

username4 such a cute family they look so happy

username5 not liv loving half the grid more than lando…

a/n: y’all don’t know how long this took me even though it isn’t long or anything…

taglist: @strawberryy-kiwii / @a-distantdreamer / @requiemforthepoets / @martygraciesversion381 / @l-vroom4 / @comicalivy / @sid-is-gr8 / @picklesbuddy93 / @sadiemack9 / @f1fantasys / @cloud-55 / @sunny44 / @widow-cevans / @gigicisneros / @mbioooo0000 / @sinfully-yoursss / @bravo-delta-eccho / @rue-t / @mayax2o07 / @alexanderachillesisgay / @maviesamour / @suhchenjun / @pippyth3hippy / @sweate-r-weathe-r / @joannaln4 / @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy / @aleatorio1234 

[traveler-at-heart]

Average

Summary: Natasha and you make an unlikely pair.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

“Describe yourself in one word”

Boring.

No, not boring. You’ve traveled, even if it was to the places everyone goes to when they’re backpacking through Europe.

You have friends, go out to the movies, you love concerts.

Like everyone else. You are like everyobody else.

Average.

“Y/N?” Holly insists, making you snap out of your thoughts.

Right, this is about her dating profile, not an existencial crisis inducing question for you.

You can focus on that while you take your Thursday bath.

“Curious” you offer.

“Like the monkey”

“Adventurous”

“So a harlot?”

“Oh, my God! Difficult, the word you are looking for is difficult” you sigh, crashing against your desk. Your friend laughs, going back to her phone.

“I’m writing down sexy”

—

The question sticks with you as you go back home.

Average height, average hair color. Regular clothes. 9 to 5 job. You’re smart, but not particularly good at anything.

There’s nothing outstanding about your small, normal family life as well.

And honestly? You like it, but if you were to go out with someone tomorrow, would you even know what to talk about?

It’s one of those days, where you aren’t sure if you’re stuck in your comfort zone or happy and fulfilled with what you have.

While you prepare dinner for one and eat in front of the tv, you can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be out of the ordinary.

—

Careful what you wish for.

Flying aliens across New York are definitely out of the ordinary.

When you wished for an exciting day, you kinda hoped to spot a celebrity, or eat something nice out. Not be a first hand witness of the end of the world.

People are running in every direction, screaming terrified. You’re ready to join the mass hysteria, but something makes you look around the street.

There’s a woman trapped under some metal, struggling to free herself.

Aliens blast around you, and you’re torn.

Run.

And you do, except that against all logic, it’s towards the woman.

“You need to evacuate” she says, waving her hand. “Someone come in, damn it”

Judging by her outfit, and the way she places her fingers over her ear, she must be an agent in the field.

The woman probably knows how to protect herself. Maybe she could easily get out of it. Or it’s her job to die to protect others.

Either way, it’s unacceptable for you to leave her behind.

“Come on” you use a piece of a spaceship for leverage, lifting the heavy object that’s trapping her.

“Careful” when she looks up, she sees one of the aliens throwing something at you. Pushing you out of the way, you both stumble down the destroyed street until a tall man comes to the rescue.

“Took your sweet time” the woman complains.

“Sorry. Who are you?”

“A citizen. Take her to safety”

“Wait” you plead, but he’s already carrying you to the evacuation zone.

“I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Steve Rogers”

Oh, well, getting carried by Captain America definitely doesn’t happen to you every day.

Wish granted.

—

It’s been a week and the city is slowly getting rebuilt. It’s not like they have another choice. New York can’t stop, not even for an alien invasion.

So, life goes back to being the same.

9 to 5, cooking, old movies.

Meeting with friends, who were eager to hear your story about being rescued by Captain America. In a few days, they’d forget.

You seem to have a problem with that, because you can’t forget that beautiful woman and her red hair, striking green eyes looking at you while you helped her.

It’s stupid, really. You don’t even know her name.

But as days go by, you remember more things that seemed to be lost in the moment.

That cute little nose, her full lips.

She’s the most beautiful…

“Excuse me”

It takes you a moment to understand someone’s speaking to you. As you turn around, you find the woman, staring at you with a smile.

“Hi” you say, a little too loudly.

“Hello. Glad to see you made it out safely”

“Yes, well, Captain America made sure of that” you nod, fidgeting with your hands.

Now that there’s no aliens or an imminent threat, her attention is on you and nothing else, which makes you squirm a little.

“Can I… buy you a coffee? To thank you for saving my life”

“No need to thank me” you say, hoping she asks again because you’re eager to spend time with her.

“I insist” she says with a smile.

That’s all it takes for you to agree.

She let’s you choose the place, a small café close to where you live.

You finally learn her name when the barista takes her coffee order.

Natasha.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N” she says when you get your own drink, and she pays for the both of you. “Wanna sit down for a bit?”

Of course, you want to know everything you can about Natasha. So you nod, and let her pick a table for you to sit.

“I’m really grateful”

“It’s what anyone…”

“Most people were running away from danger, not towards it. Especially for a stranger” she says, smiling.

You decide that you really like her smile.

“Well, most of my friends wouldn’t believe me if I told them it happened. I’m a pretty average person”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah” you shrug your shoulders.

“Tell me your favorite song” she asks suddenly and you roll your eyes. “What?”

“That’s such a generic question! I have tons of them, it depends on my mood”

“Favorite song to dance to while cleaning” Natasha asks again and this time you nod, thinking about it.

“The Piña Colada song” you say, trying not to laugh. “You?”

“Uhm… Bad Reputation” she confesses.

“Yeah, you look like a Joan Jett kind of girl”

“Is that good or bad?” Natasha arches her eyebrows, intrigued.

“It means you’re a badass and cool. I think, don’t take my word for it”

“No; I think I will”

You sip your drink, feeling intimidated by her intense stare.

“How did you find me?” you ask, remembering she only knew what you look like.

“It’s kind of my job to find people. What’s yours?”

“Something far less interesting” you deflect the question, but Natasha keeps looking at you. “Data analysis”

“Sounds important”

“It isn’t” you say, smiling. “Not as much as saving the world, at least”

You keep talking for a bit, until Natasha gets a call. That’s fine, you know how to take a hint.

While she’s talking, you go up to the counter and ask for another coffee and a sandwich.

“Are you still hungry? We can get something to eat” Natasha says, concerned. You find it endearing.

“No, it’s fine. Thanks for the coffee”

“I don’t think it’s enough to thank you”

“You really don’t have to”

“Let’s go to the movies another time. Would you like that?” Natasha says, smiling as you bite your lip.

“Yeah, ok”

“I think I should get your number, just in case”

You agree with a smile.

And after the short walk home, you hear your phone ping.

Natasha: Wednesday at 7?

Y/N: See you then :)

—

It’s strange, to develop a friendship with someone whose life is the opposite of yours.

Natasha always asks you things about yourself, things that you think are irrelevant. But maybe she does it because her work is all about secrets, and there’s not much to share on anything else.

“Did you go to prom?” she asks one night as you’re walking back to your apartment.

“Yeah, with my gay best friend. We were each other’s beards”

That makes Natasha laugh, but for some reason she tenses a second later, standing in front of you.

“Hey, Y/N” a man says, and you recognise the voice instantly. Your hand goes around Natasha’s wrist, sliding all the way to hold her hand. You squeeze once to let her know it’s ok, and the man in front of you is not a threat.

“Homer, hi” you greet the man who is usually living in abandoned buildings. “Did you get the clothes I left for you?”

“I did and I shared them with Pop, we’re nice and warm now”

“Alright, I’ll stop by later in the week with some food, ok?”

“Much appreciated. Have a good one, ladies”

He’s pretty harmless, but you understand that Natasha has to be on guard all the time.

“I’m sorry” she says, still holding your hand. “I tend to think the worst of people”

“From everyone? Including me?”

“Never you” she shakes her head. “You’re too kind”

“I’m just an average person” you repeat, the same way you’ve done your whole life.

“You’re wrong” Natasha says.

She doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the walk.

—

It’s been a few months since you started hanging out with Natasha. There are times when she’s away for days, or weeks, and you just know she’ll show up after the mission.

You’re always home and you’re always there to welcome her back.

A part of you is still playing dumb, but you know those lingering stares and small touches are becoming a problem. Each time, your heart beats faster, and you find that you spend more and more time wondering what it would be like to kiss her.

There’s gotta be a way to stop these foolish dreams, because Natasha is an agent, a trained spy, and a hero. You are a girl from the midwest, who moved to a big city and still gets lost in the subway from time to time.

Maybe spending less time together could be the solution, but it’s impossible for you to say no to her.

Which is why you’re waiting outside of the theater. You don’t really like ballet, or rather, it’s a little too sophisticated for your simple mind, but Natasha insisted on taking you, and buying you some fancy clothes.

It all sounds very nice, except she’s not here and you’re freezing, refusing to head inside until you see her.

Natasha’s phone is dead too.

After an hour, you convince yourself to head home, and call a cab. It’s too far away to walk with these heels that were also not your idea.

You stop by the café that you and Natasha like, ordering a hot cocoa for you and coffee and a sandwich for another woman who is usually sleeping in the streets.

“Looking like a million dollars” she says, accepting the food with a smile. “Did you have a good time?”

“No, not really. My friend didn’t show” you sigh.

“Is it the girl that follows you around everywhere like a lost puppy?”

You laugh at that. There’s no way the Black Widow acts like a lost puppy around you.

“You mean my friend Natasha? Yeah, she was probably busy with work”

“Her loss” the woman tsks.

“Well, here” you notice the air is cold and the woman’s gloves are basically shreds of fabric. “These will help”

“You’re a doll”

Another hour goes by and just as you’re about to leave and look for Natasha, she rushes to your door, knocking frantically.

“I’m sorry, mission ran long”

Of course you step aside to let her in, because you can never be mad at her for being busy saving the world. But still, you stay silent as you walk to the kitchen, knowing she’ll be right behind you.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you? Of course, you have every right to be. I made you dress up and then stood you up…”

“Nat” you interrupt her, frowning. “I don’t care about that. I’m a big girl, I could have gone inside and enjoyed the show. I just…”

“What? What is it?”

“Well, I was really scared about you” you confess, turning your back to her. “I know enough about your job to understand it’s dangerous, and I just kept fearing the worst. Would it have been so difficult to text me to let me know you were ok?”

You finish your rant with a huff, crossing your arms and turning to look at her.

And Natasha is smiling.

“This isn’t funny”

“No, it’s not. You’re just cute even when you’re angry”

“Not the time to joke”

“Who said I’m joking?” she gets in your way when you try to leave the kitchen, thinking she’s being impossible.

“What are you doing?” you say when she leans forward, placing her hands on your arms.

“Just let me show you” she asks, and then you feel her lips on yours, kissing you slowly. Only when you place your hands on her neck, does she pull you by the waist and deepens the kiss.

“Why…”

“I don’t know if you know this, but I’m in love with you” she confesses when you break apart.

“But I’m just av…”

“Don’t say it” she pulls you against her, your noses inches apart. “The world can be a very bad place sometimes. And you have no idea how hard it is to find someone as kind as you”

“It’s nothing”

“It’s everything” she smiles, kissing you again. “Can I make it up to you for missing our date?”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach when she calls it a date. You nod, smiling.

“Same old dinner and movie plan?”

“Sounds perfect to me”

[invisible-airwaves]

thanks so much for the tag @picksey 💛☺️

Favorite color: Red ♥️

Currently reading: “Traveling Music” by Neil Peart. I read Ghost Rider last year and I really enjoyed Neil’s writing. He has a way of making things interesting that I didn’t even consider before. He writes about bird watching for people who don’t care about birds and he writes about motorcycles for people who don’t particularly give a damn about motorcycles. You learn a lot that you didn’t expect to learn in a book from a “rock n roll guy”.

Last song listened to: Rush - Countdown (I was listening to Signals to fall asleep 😅)

Last movie: My Blue Heaven (1990). Not particularly a cinematic masterpiece but I liked it and I just looove Rick Moranis so i’ll watch anything if he’s in it. I’m not really a big movie person. I’d rather put on an album.

Last Series: Not a big tv fan either but it was probably Frasier (the OG, not the reboot) or some old SCTV sketches.

Sweet, savory or spicy: Savory!!!

Craving: A big fat cappuccino or a raspberry Red Bull (I just woke up lol)

Tea or coffee: Coffee in the morning, tea in the evening 🔥🔥

currently working on: I’m crocheting a cardigan, learning how to do freehand crochet, learning a bunch of Paul Simon songs on the guitar because I’m obsessed, learning how to play Finding My Way by Rush. Just practicing guitar in general and working on new music with my band. We have a single and a music video in the works, but more on that later. I’m also working on getting out of this writers block i’ve been having ever since I graduated last year. it’s soo fun 😄😬

tagging: @flowersbyphone @theprestigegirly @collateral-joy @overturetotherestofyourlife @moraniac @astupidlittleguitar

rules: tag nine people you want to get to know better

Tagged by @indrid-hot - thanks a bunch!

Favorite Color: A nice, warm, sunny orange - but also honestly most other colors of the rainbow and then some.

Currently Reading: The Tevinter Nights Dragon Age short story collection.

Last Song: L'appuntamento - Ornella Vanoni

Last Movie: Ah, gosh. HM. I haven't watched anything that's not a TV show in a while. I semi-voluntarily caught the last fifteen minutes of Scrooged over the winter holidays I guess?

Last Series: Last series I watched any part of is, as always, "Emergency!" because I will never not be stuck in 70's paramedic hell. If we're talking new-to-me shows, a friend's making me watch Grey's Anatomy (early seasons) once a week, probably because observing my growing despair about the characters' poor life choices is fun. I don't even normally watch medical shows, and yet here we are lol

Sweet, Savoury, Spicy: Savory if I had to pick

Craving: Some good spaghetti with olive oil and obscene amounts of lightly toasted garlic.

Tea/Coffee: Yes please, lol

Currently working on: OH BOY WHAT A QUESTION.

Spinning: Gotland on my spindles (4-ply, one single per spindle, for funsies - except I accidentally mixed up which bits of fiber go with which single on which spindle, so that'll be fun to sort out...), 7oz/200g of red Merino on the wheel (for a crochet hat, followed by 9.5 oz of red and black Merino for a woven scarf). But also 24.5oz/700g of grey Merino. And cotton on the supported spindle. And I've got some laceweight viscose on the mini turkish spindle that I should really work on...

Crocheting: Half a dozen things, including a lacy collar that needs buttons and blocking, a gigantic star-shaped wrap-around shawl, an incredibly boring granny square top for my little sister, and too many others to count.

Art: The Emergency! tarot as the eternal never-ending WIP; I also have some Dragon Age Veilguard related plans revolving around the Grand Necropolis and irl Catacomb Saints and I'd love to get some DA-style tarot cards done for all my player characters.

Writing: I still have a couple unfinished fanfics that need another chapter, as well as two deeply self-indulgent OC/Emergency! crossovers that friends are making me write, and I also have some Dragon Age stuff in the works - though if anyone will ever see that is another question entirely.

Music: Practicing various stuff for LARP; also slowly chipping away at Hozier's Work Song because my partner asked nicely.

With no pressure, I will tag: @geminyde, @caseyscraftycorner, @swords-n-spindles, @alpacazappa, @rosesonneptune, @rose-of-pollux, @zooarchaeologyatdinner, @kalikatze aaaaand I can't decide on a 9th person to tag so whoever wants to do this: You're It!

[loveesiren]

ㄒ卂ㄥҜ ㄒㄖ 爪乇

Kwon Jiyong x deceased!reader

a/n: i found this in my drafts, I've been trying my hand at horror and fantasy because horror is what inspires me most. I'm also Pagan and big into witchcraft and magick. I also love the movie Talk To Me. Lol so all around, I'm just trying something new. Idk if I'll do part two or not. But let me know what you think? If it's not your cup of tea, just keep scrolling lol

warnings: angst, drinking, fatherhood, widowed partner, supernatural, rough draft, probably poorly edited because I'm drunk so excuse the mistakes

wc: 2.2k+

“Daddy?”

Jiyong’s head snapped up, his red-rimmed eyes meeting the small, fragile figure in the doorway. Parker stood there, clutching his worn blanket in one hand and a mess of printer paper and a framed photo in the other. The soft glow of the hallway light cast a halo around Parker’s messy hair, making him look even smaller, even more innocent in that moment.

“Hey, buddy,” Jiyong croaked, his voice hoarse from crying. He quickly wiped at his face with his sleeves, but the evidence was still there—the tear tracks glistening on his cheeks, his long hair disheveled and hanging in his face. “What’s up? Did you have a bad dream?”

But Parker didn’t move. He stayed planted in the doorway, thumb in his mouth, his big eyes studying his father’s broken expression. At just four years old, he was sharper than most gave him credit for. He saw the sadness that lingered like a heavy fog around his father, especially today.

“Do you miss Mommy?” Parker asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jiyong’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. His head dipped, but a small, bittersweet smile tugged at his lips at the sound of his son’s voice—so innocent, so full of love.

“Yeah, buddy,” he murmured. “I do. I miss her a lot.”

There was a brief pause before Parker shuffled forward, his little feet making soft sounds against the wooden floor. “Want me to tell you a story ‘bout her?”

Jiyong’s throat tightened. Normally, it was Parker who begged for stories about Mommy before bed, eager to hear his father’s colorful tales of her as a strong princess who could conquer any monster. But today was different. Today was their anniversary—the second one without her—and Jiyong felt like he was drowning in the weight of her absence.

But Parker, sweet Parker, had noticed. And he had taken it upon himself to try and mend his daddy’s heart, one story at a time.

“Yeah,” Jiyong whispered, his voice trembling. “I’d love that. Come here, buddy.”

Parker climbed onto the bed with his tiny legs, settling himself on the side where she used to sleep. He handed Jiyong the photo, his little hands careful with the frame. It was the picture Jiyong had taken when she was pregnant—her long hair cascading over her shoulders, that lavender dress flowing around her as she stood in a field of wildflowers, cradling her swollen belly with a radiant smile. She had looked like a dream.

A single tear slipped down Jiyong’s cheek as he stared at the photo, his thumb tracing the outline of her face.

“I wrote a story about Mommy,” Parker announced proudly, pulling out a handful of crumpled papers covered in colorful scribbles and stick figures.

Jiyong smiled through his tears, setting the photo gently on the nightstand. “Lay down, Daddy,” Parker instructed, patting his chest with tiny hands. “So I can read it to you.”

Obliging, Jiyong leaned back against the pillows, his heart swelling with a mixture of love and sorrow.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he whispered.

“First, this is us!” Parker exclaimed, holding up a drawing with three stick figures. One was tall with long hair labeled “Mommy,” another a bit shorter with bright orange scribbles for hair—“Daddy”—and in between them stood the smallest figure with “Parker” scrawled above it in shaky letters.

Jiyong chuckled softly. “Wow, Mommy’s so tall!”

“She has to be tall so she can fight all the monsters,” Parker explained matter-of-factly, already flipping to the next picture.

He nestled closer to Jiyong’s side, the warmth of his small body a comforting presence against the cold emptiness in Jiyong’s chest.

“This is Mommy saving us from a big, scary T-rex!” Parker declared, showing a picture of a giant, lopsided dinosaur towering over their stick figure family.

Jiyong widened his eyes in mock horror. “A T-rex?! How did she save us?!”

Parker jumped up, stretching his arms as wide as they could go. “She had a big sword! Like this big!”

Jiyong laughed, the sound raw but genuine. “Wow, that’s a huge sword!”

Parker nodded vigorously, plopping back down beside him. “And this one is Mommy fighting a hundred spiders!”

Jiyong shivered dramatically, clutching Parker close. “Oh no! That’s so scary! Did she win?”

“Yeah!” Parker grinned. “Mommy stomped on them all! She’s super brave!”

“She really is,” Jiyong whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Parker’s head.

Parker continued flipping through his drawings, each one more imaginative than the last—Mommy building the tallest tower, Mommy making the biggest sandwich in the world. Jiyong listened to every word, his heart both aching and swelling with pride.

Finally, Parker held up the last drawing. “And this one… this one’s special.”

Jiyong sat up slightly, peering at the paper. In the bottom corner were two stick figures—one with orange hair and one smaller, labeled “Daddy” and “Parker.” Beside them was a stick figure cat, “Princess Zoa,” lounging lazily. But in the top corner of the page, drawn on a fluffy cloud next to a bright yellow sun, was another figure—“Mommy,” looking down at them with a smile.

“That’s Mommy in Heaven,” Parker said quietly. “She watches over us from there.”

Jiyong couldn’t hold it back anymore. A sob escaped his lips, and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to muffle the sound.

Parker’s little hands tugged gently at his father’s wrists, his brow furrowed with concern. “What’s wrong, Daddy? Didn’t you like my story?”

Jiyong forced himself to breathe, lowering his hands to meet his son’s worried gaze. He cupped Parker’s face gently, his thumbs brushing away the little boy’s confused tears.

“I loved it,” Jiyong whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I loved it so much, buddy.”

Parker studied his father’s face for a moment longer before asking softly, “Do you still miss Mommy?”

Jiyong pulled Parker into his chest, holding him as tightly as he could without hurting him. His lips pressed against the crown of Parker’s head as he whispered, “I’ll always miss her, baby. But having you here makes it a little easier.”

Parker’s small arms wrapped around his father’s neck, and for a moment, the crushing weight of grief eased just enough for Jiyong to breathe again.

“I love you, Daddy,” Parker murmured into his chest.

“I love you too, buddy,” Jiyong whispered back, closing his eyes and holding onto his son like he was his lifeline—because, in so many ways, he was.

Jiyong gently tucked Parker into your side of the bed, pulling the covers up to his tiny shoulders with a tenderness that made his heart ache. He turned on Parker’s favorite cartoon—the one with the silly talking animals that always made him giggle. The soft glow of the screen bathed the room in a warm, flickering light, but Jiyong barely noticed. He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing Parker’s hair back from his forehead, feeling the weight of the world pressing against his chest.

It only took about twenty minutes before Parker’s breathing slowed, his small frame rising and falling in a steady rhythm as soft snores filled the room. Jiyong lingered for a moment longer, his eyes tracing the curve of his son’s cheek, the gentle pout of his lips. There was so much of you in him—your eyes, your smile, even the little wrinkle between his brows when he was deep in thought. It was beautiful and unbearable all at once. Parker was the last piece of you he had left, and he clung to that with everything he had.

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, his movements slow and deliberate to avoid waking Parker. The house felt too quiet as he descended the stairs, each creak of the wood beneath his feet echoing in the emptiness. He made his way to the kitchen, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the bottle of whiskey. The amber liquid sloshed into the glass, and he took a long, burning sip before setting it down on the table.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the glass, at the reflection of his hollow eyes in its surface. Then the weight of it all hit him like a freight train. His knees buckled, and he leaned over the table, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The grief was a living, breathing thing, wrapping around his chest, squeezing until he could hardly breathe.

With a trembling hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out your ring—the beautiful diamond he’d spent weeks perfecting with the jewelers, wanting it to be just right for you. He remembered the way it sparkled on your finger, how you’d admire it with that radiant smile of yours, teasing him for being such a perfectionist. Now, it was cold and lifeless in his palm, a cruel reminder of everything he’d lost.

“God, I miss you...” he whispered, his voice breaking as he twirled the ring between his fingers. The silence that followed felt deafening, a void he couldn’t escape.

He downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, the burn doing little to numb the pain. He poured himself another, and another, each glass blurring the edges of his sorrow but never quite dulling it. Six years ago today, he’d watched you walk down the aisle in that breathtaking dress, your eyes shining with love and promise. It had been the best day of his life. Now, it felt like a lifetime ago, a memory fading at the edges.

His sobs grew louder, echoing through the empty house as he buried his face in his hands. The realization that you were gone—truly gone—hit him over and over, a relentless tide of grief that never subsided. Two years. Two fucking years since he’d lost you, and the pain still felt as fresh as the day you left.

He was a man of science, grounded in logic and facts. But you? You had always believed in magic, in the unseen, in possibilities that defied explanation. He used to laugh at your silly spells, your whispered incantations in the attic. But now? Now he’d give anything to believe. To have even a sliver of hope that he could see you again.

The memory hit him like a ton of bricks—that one relic you’d been so protective of, the little black box you’d spent hours with in the attic, speaking softly to it as if it could hear you. He’d teased you about it back then, but now, desperation clawed at his heart. Maybe you weren’t talking to yourself after all.

With a newfound urgency, he finished his drink and stumbled up to the attic. The space was cluttered with boxes, dusty and forgotten, each one a time capsule of your life together. His heart pounded in his chest as he sifted through them, tossing aside old memories in his frantic search. Finally, he found it—the little black box, tucked away in a dark corner, hidden as if protecting its secrets.

His hands shook as he picked it up, the weight of it heavier than he remembered. He didn’t have the courage to open it yet. Instead, he clutched it to his chest and raced back downstairs, pausing briefly to check on Parker. His son was still sound asleep, blissfully unaware of his father’s unraveling.

Back in the kitchen, Jiyong poured himself another whiskey, trying to steady his nerves. He placed the box on the table, staring at it like it held the key to everything he’d lost.

“God, Y/N,” he whispered into the stillness. “You better not have been fucking with me.” His voice was hoarse, thick with desperation. He’d try anything at this point.

Taking a deep breath, he carefully removed the lid. Inside sat an intricate hand, carved with strange markings that seemed to pulse under the dim light. He’d never asked how you’d come by it—back then, it had just been another one of your oddities. But now, he prayed with everything in him that it was more than that.

With trembling fingers, he lifted the object out of the box, setting it on the table before him. He read over the simple rules you’d left behind, his heart pounding louder with each word. Pushing the box aside, he grabbed his lighter and lit the candle, the flame flickering like a heartbeat in the dark.

He downed his drink in one swift motion, the fear bubbling in his stomach almost unbearable. He’d never believed in this kind of thing, but grief had a way of making even the most rational man desperate.

With a shaking hand, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around the cold, carved hand. He closed his eyes, his voice barely a whisper. “Talk to me.”

When he opened his eyes, he saw it—a faint shadow sitting across from him. His heart lurched in his chest, fear and hope warring within him. But he couldn’t stop now.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he spoke the words you’d written in your neat, familiar handwriting. “Let me in.”

In an instant, the air shifted, the room growing colder. And then… you were there. Your body, your presence, materialized from the shadows, your soft hand slipping into his. His jaw dropped, his breath hitching in his throat as he took in your familiar features, your eyes shimmering with the same love he’d missed so desperately.

A tear slid down his cheek as he took in the sight of you.

And then, in that sweet honey soaked voice he loved so much, you spoke.

“Hi, Ji.”

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[b0kevi]

random word prompts :P

summary: random words + random twst characters from a wheel

trope: comfort, sick trope, friends to lovers, teasing, angst

info: little angst in azuls part, kissing, jade

characters: silver, vil, jade, azul

w/c: 206 silver, 263 vil, 394 jade, 315 azul

Silver - Stomach

“thank you silver you didn’t have to.” you said as you quietly ate the soup silver had made you.

“it’s no problem y/n. please take this once you finish eating, it should help with your stomach.”

silver was over at ramschakle taking care of you since you had a stomachache, you two were supposed to be studying but your stomach had been hurting all day. silver of course wanted to help you feel better so made you some food and brought medicine.

“this is delicious! thank you so much silver, really” you finished your food and took the medicine he gave you

you leaned back against the couch arm and sighed, silver was sitting next to you

“how are you feeling?”

“better than before.” smiling at him, he gave a gentle smile back, his gaze switches from you to your stomach

“could I… rest my head for a bit?” he asked sheepishly

“of course silver”

silver gently rested his head against your stomach, not wanting to add pressure to it. you smiled and planted your hand in his hair

“I’m feeling much better now.”

silver was already dozing off but he hummed in response and left a soft kiss on your stomach before nodding off.

Vil - Effective

“are you sure this is really effective…?”

“are you questioning my ways darling?”

you sighed. Vil invited you over to his room to do your makeup, you couldn’t really say no so here you are, in vil’s room with him inches away from your face.

the only thing that was left was your lip combo, vil pulled out two different colors of lipsticks, looking at the two very intensely before putting one shade on his lips.

you were confused since he already had lip stick on so why did he change it? maybe he just wanted that color all of a sudden…

once he finished he turned to you and leaned in very close

“vil… what are you doing?”

“putting on your lipstick. what else?”

his lips are centimeters away from yours while the lipstick is on his vanity.

“uhm the lipstick is over there though…” vil furrowed his eyebrows slightly

“who’s the one doing the makeup here?” sighing at his words you nodded, letting him have his way.

he gently kissed your lips, thoroughly getting the shade on your lips. vil pulled back slightly taking a look at his work, fixing it up a bit before putting another color on his own.

“this one is definitely more your color.” he said as he took off the shade he just put on you

“then why did you put this one on?”

“I thought it was this color”

“those are two very different shades vil.”

“are you questioning me sweetheart?” he said before kissing your lips with more passion than the previous one

“never.”

Jade - Decisive

“are you serious? him?”

“are you okay?”

“is he blackmailing you into saying that?”

this is why you don’t tell them anything. you’ve been crushing on a certain eel and finally told adeuce about it.

“no! he doesn’t know and what’s wrong with him?

…

don’t answer that. but yes him.”

“at least it’s not floyd”

“isn’t he worse than floyd?”

“they’re both bad!”

you sighed as the two bicker, why did you tell them…

you made your way to mostro lounge for your shift, you started to work there to make some extra money, no other reason, not to hang out and watch jade work… no just for the money.

“y/n. what a pleasure to see you.” jade said as soon as you walked through the doors like he was waiting for you.

“hi jade.”

throughout your whole shift you would spare glances at him, watching how swiftly he moves, doing the job of many but still managing. you tried to keep your glances minimal but knowing jade he could tell you were looking at him.

you two were closing together, you both were cleaning up in comfortable silent, you were wiping tables while he grabbed dirty dishes

“you seemed distracted today y/n.” you sighed, of course he knew. he knows everything.

“was I? Must have been the stress of today.”

he hummed, “really. work stress or…”

you could feel his breath near your ear, when did he get so close… “the stress of those two friends of yours?” you felt a shiver down your spine both from the proximity and his words.

was he there? did he hear what you said about him?

you turned your head, his face was so close to yours you’re sure he can hear how loud your heart is beating.

“you… you heard that…?” there’s no point in hiding it.

“perhaps.” he had his signature smile, he trapped you against the table

“I assure you I would never blackmail you my perl, but are you sure you want this? to be with me?” his heterochromia eyes were beautiful as they stared right through you, you know that first part was a lie but you’ve never seen him like this, you could tell he was being genuine behind that smirk

you grabbed ahold of his hands and smiled

“I’m positive, I want you jade, only you.”

Azul - Fight

you knew dating azul was going to be challenging with some ups and downs and you never mind it. Although sometimes his pride gets in the way of things

“you know jade and floyd are capable of taking care of things on their own sweetie.”

azul has been engrossed in his work and contracts for the past couple of weeks which you understood in the beginning but you were starting to miss him, you would be in the room with him but you wanted some attention from him every now and then.

“I’m well aware but this will only take a minute darling”

“you said that two hours ago.”

you’ve set up a little date between you two—wanting to get him out of the lounge— you were going to have a little picnic, you had everything in your basket but you were sure everything had gone to waste for how long you’ve been waiting for him to be done.

"you know, I'm just gonna go azul."

Azul finally looked up from his work, you never call him by his name.

"I'm sorry darling I promise this is the last one then we can go."

you had enough, "no azul. it won't be the last one. we both know it's not, everything is spoiled by now, your work is more important obviously, just forget it."

"y/n..." he finally got up and walked towards you but you stopped him, "I understand you got a lot going on but you have the twins to help you, can't you just take one day off for me? you've been like this for days and I miss being with you. its obvious i'm not that important to you azul. just leave me alone."

you left without giving him a chance to respond, leaving him alone in his office. He felt tears forming as he sighed, angry with himself.

"damn it."

── .✦

a/n: I should have made these longer, maybe next time, these random words were fun to do. if you have any prompts lmk ! have a good night/day ! <3

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

⋆ ˚ 🦋 ｡ ICHOR ────── Yandere! Prince ⋆˚

⊹ ٬  Headcanon. Yandere! Prince x Knight! Fem! Reader

In a world marked by betrayal and the struggle for power, two souls find themselves caught between loyalty and desire. As the shadows of tragedy loom, a shared destiny binds them, though the cost of that love may be higher than either is willing to pay.

⊹ ٬  Word Count. 6.5k

⊹ ٬  Content. MDNI. Dark themes, violence/death, age gap, blood, trauma, invasion of privacy, kidnapping, Angst, disturbing content, corruption, isolation, paranoia, manipulation, emotional abuse, emotional manipulation, stalking, cultural exchange, war, dehumanization, loss of loved ones, family conflict, moral dilemmas, betrayal, race conflicts, colonialism.

「 the fluid that flows like blood in the veins of the gods 」

You must be a lady.

That’s what your mother told you when, panting and with dusty knees, she found you wielding a wooden sword alongside your older brother. Her lips would tighten into a thin line, the same one she traced with the needle while embroidering war banners for men who would never return home.

Ladies don’t wear pants.

Your dress had to be long, puffy, of a red so deep it matched the blood that cemented the glory of Vexoria. It didn’t matter that the annals of the continent recorded the name of your nation with equal respect and fear, nor that its military exploits were narrated in the voice of victory and the echo of silenced laments. Women were not warriors but banners waving over the battlefields, prizes for those strong enough to claim them.

Having a daughter was securing alliances, perpetuating dynasties of tough men and well-tempered steel. Having a son was birthing war flesh, blood spilled too soon over distant lands.

Never fight.

Women do not throw the first punch, but they are the ones who end wars. A scratch on a man’s skin was a battle wound; on a woman’s body, it was a portent that war had found its way home.

If they tell you to kneel, you obey and remain silent.

That’s what they taught you from the cradle, whispered among the cold walls of the fortress and repeated by the wet nurses as they wove tales of submissive queens and devoted wives. But that morning, when your father found you among the sons of lords, your feet planted firmly in the training ground sand, you did not obey. You did not remain silent.

You screamed like the bronze of a trumpet in the cornucopia, your voice tearing through the heavy morning air.

—I want to be a knight!

Your trembling fingers gripped the fabric of your dress and tore it in one pull, shedding the cage they had sewn for you. Your father turned red, anger surging like a torrent up his neck. It was the color of shame, of humiliation, of the certainty that his daughter had been born with the tongue of a warrior and not with the smile of a wife.

It was not him who struck you. It was your mother.

Her delicate, cared-for hand cut through the air before crashing against your cheek. There was no fury in her eyes, but something worse: a resigned sadness, a frustration contained in years of drowned dreams. Her face, once smooth and hopeful, was now marked by the invisible scars of obedience.

—You will be a lady —she told you, her voice firm, though her tears betrayed her strength—. You will marry one of the sons of the great lords. You will have children. And that is final.

But you did not yield.

—I will follow my dreams —your voice replied, ignited with the conviction of an oath.

It was too much. Your father could not allow it. He could not bear the thought that his firstborn, his pride, had sown in you the seed of disobedience. So he sent your brother to war. Not because it was his duty, but because he could not conceive that his own son had contaminated his little daughter with ideas of freedom.

No one in Vexoria was free from their fate.

The word fate was spoken in whispers, like a distant echo resonating through the castle halls, but no one dared to defy it. It was not an ethereal concept but an unquestionable truth, an invisible rope binding each person to the role they were to play in the play that their nation was writing with fire and blood. You were eight springs old when the kingdom of Castamar, the ancestral enemy, revealed itself as a shadow that devoured the light.

That night, your skin still bore the softness of childhood, and your dreams were woven with the golden threads of a carefree world. You slept peacefully, under the silk and goose feather sheets that wrapped you in a false sense of security, when the sound of screams shattered the air, tearing it apart with an intensity so harrowing it seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth.

Fire consumed everything. Flames engulfed the city, wrapping buildings in a dance of destruction that lit the sky like a hellish signal. Blood flowed in torrents, red and hot, watering the streets that had once been the pride of your family, of your nation. Vexoria, the unstoppable, the invincible, had finally succumbed. For the first time, the kingdom that had always dictated war, that instilled fear and glory, was the one losing.

You were the daughter of a great lord, a noble born under the seal of strength and supremacy of your lineage. Your family had been named for the Golden Bull, that macabre prize awarded to those whose lineage was so prestigious that their fall would serve as a warning to others. It was the most feared death penalty in all of Vexoria, a brutal fate in which the nominees were placed in the golden belly of an iron bull, a searing cauldron, and roasted alive as sacrifices to an ancient power.

You knew what it meant to be part of that list. You knew that, sooner or later, the blade of the scythe would fall upon you, but at that moment, your entire being crumbled before the certainty of condemnation. You were going to die. And there was nothing you could do. It didn’t matter that your mother, with her trembling hands and face marked by years of dutiful submission, embraced you desperately, crying inconsolably as she prayed to your gods. There was no prayer that could save you from that fate.

But something changed in that moment. Something that, though fleeting, altered the course of your existence forever.

He appeared, a man in worn armor and a face aged by the years, but still with the steely gaze of those who have lived to witness death, like a shadow slipping through the flames. Sir Orion Casterly, an elderly knight from the enemy kingdom of Castamar, took pity on you. He did not think, he did not hesitate. He took you from your mother’s arms, who was already undone by helplessness, and pulled you away from her embrace, as if he knew there was no time for tears or empty promises.

She looked at you with the anguish of one who knows she is delivering you to hell. With eyes filled with despair, she told you not to part from him, that this man, this knight, would be your protector, the last vestige of hope in a crumbling world. The uncertainty of that farewell, the coldness of death lurking in every corner, made you feel as if everything you knew was fading into darkness. The weight of your mother’s sacrifice settled in your heart, a weight you would carry for the rest of your days.

You left with him, unable to understand the magnitude of what had just occurred, not realizing that the decision your mother was making would perhaps be the last thing she would give you in her life.

────── 🦋 ──────

Your face was that of millions of battles won, but none satisfying. A face forged in the iron of war, bearing the marks of victories that never filled the void within you. It wasn't trophies or crowns you sought; wars, in all their forms, were merely an endless succession of losses, even if hymns were sung in your honor. You left your horse in the stable, and as you stripped off the reins, a long, heavy sigh escaped your lips, as if it were the last vestige of the fatigue accumulated during the long journey.

It had been two months, two endless months of riding without rest, escorting the king to the kingdom of Valdracia, to negotiate a marriage alliance. You didn’t know if it would be the elder prince, the one with the cold gaze, or the second, whose warm smile did not hide the dark intentions visible in his eyes. Perhaps it was the third, the youngest and least experienced, still carrying his untainted hopes. Which of the three? You didn’t know, and you cared even less. At that moment, the political intrigues, the marriages, and the pacts between kingdoms were just distant echoes that failed to penetrate the wall of exhaustion that enveloped you.

All you desired, all your soul needed, was stillness, rest, even if only for a few minutes. A place where the noise of war, the demands of the kingdom, and despair could finally be silenced. You walked to the palace garden, where the fountain of the seven awaited. The water fell in a hypnotic dance, striking the stones and trickling between them with the serenity of something that needed nothing more than to exist. You sat on a marble bench, allowing the sound of the water to drown out the voices still resonating in your head. It allowed you the luxury of not thinking of anything, for once.

You looked at Vixen, grazing in the nearby grass. The horse had been your only faithful companion for so many years. It was a gift from your father on your ninth spring, twenty winters ago. Back then, Vixen was just an inexperienced colt, with spindly legs and tangled manes, but you loved him with the intensity of a young heart, eager to seal a pact that would never be broken. Now, Vixen was strong and old, with fur hardened by years of battles, yet he remained your refuge. As you stroked his mane, you remembered those moments of youth when the world seemed simpler, when your dreams were not stained by the sweat of war or the thirst for power.

You and that horse had lived through it all: the relentless cold of winters, the scorching sun of summers, the ground soaked with blood and sweat, and the contained rage of a life that, though lived in the shadows of war, never ceased to burn. Stroking his mane was like returning to a time when the purity of loyalty and friendship was not corrupted by politics or duty. The memories you shared with Vixen were, in their simplicity, the only truth that remained. The water continued to fall gently from the fountain, and for a moment, you forgot everything else.

It was just you, the horse, and the stillness of the world.

And then that disgusting laugh of the charming prince echoed like an unpleasant reminder in your eardrum, bouncing in every corner of your mind with the persistence of a plague.

—Lady Casterly! What a pleasant surprise to see you here. I was so worried when I saw you step away from the group as soon as the king arrived in Valdracia.

George of Castamar's voice was like a deafening whisper, smooth and exasperating, the kind of voice that seemed designed to enchant any foolish lady crossing his path, yet for you, it was a constant hammering. It was one of those voices that crawled on your skin, one that seemed to envelop everything, even though there was nothing in him that warranted such attention.

George, bearer of the unicorn shield, second in line to the throne of Castamar, with his prince charming attitude, as unreachable as the reflection of a vain dream, represented everything you disliked about the nobility. He was the headache that never went away, the fly buzzing around your face just when you thought you might finally find some peace. He, with his well-fed boyish face and eyes shining with such crude arrogance that left you speechless, seemed to not understand that not everyone fell at his charming façade.

You were twenty-one springs into the cavalry, but you had seen enough of that world not to be fooled by the facade of youth he so proudly displayed. You had served for years in the Royal Guard, fought and sweated under the blue insignia, in the trenches where loyalty was tested in blood and sweat, not in empty smiles. Yet this young man, who had barely seen twenty winters, followed you everywhere like an unruly dog, always surprised that a woman held a position of power, that a woman was the sub-captain of the blue division, the one tasked with protecting the king.

The same George who, despite having been in the royal cavalry for six months, barely knew how to wield a sword without someone having to put his hands on the hilt, the one who needed a squire to do what a true knight did by instinct. The irony of his existence bit you like a slow and constant poison. You didn’t know whether to be more exasperated by his lack of skill or his tireless insistence on proving to himself that nobility and lineage were all that mattered.

The sun reflected off his armor with the same brilliance as his ignorance, and there he was, in front of you, as if his title and position at court could erase his uselessness.

"Our captain, in his unusual gesture of generosity, granted me a few hours of solitary peace to compensate for the fatigue accumulated from my hard work protecting the king," you said firmly, not even looking at him, lost in the stillness of your own thoughts. Your cold hands, from the spring water, slowly dipped into the fountain, seeking a small comfort in its coolness. The sound of the water falling over the stones was a silent reminder of how fleeting tranquility is in this world that never ceases to revolve around war and politics.

The young man from Castamar approached, his presence as imposing as it was unnecessary. "Lady Casterly," he began with that tone you found so unbearable, filled with forced courtesy, "it is an honor for me to have the opportunity to speak with you at such solemn moments. Your devotion to the king is admirable, as always."

You sighed, looking up at the sky for a moment, seeking some peace in the vastness of blue. Then, without turning completely, you were direct in your response, your voice calm but laden with an authority that needed no backing from titles. "And as I have already mentioned before, young Castamar," you replied, your words sharp as a well-honed sword, "it is Sir Y/n Casterly for you. And if you must address me, I would appreciate it if you did so accordingly."

The young prince, seemingly taken aback by your frankness, hesitated for a moment. His eyes shone with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, as if he truly did not understand why someone of your standing would not be swept away by courtly conventions. "My apologies, Sir Casterly," he said finally, his tone lowering slightly, though still retaining the glow of his unmistakable arrogance. "It is not my intention to offend you."

"I know," you replied with a slight smile on your lips, though devoid of warmth. "It is not my intention to offend you either, but formality is reserved for those who truly deserve it, young Castamar. And at this moment, it seems there is no space for it between us."

A silent tension settled between the two of you. George of Castamar's eyes sparkled with the typical discomfort nobles felt when confronted with something they could not control. There was something in your demeanor he could not decipher, something that bewildered him, as if your position and rank did not hold the same importance as they did for others.

You focused again on the water, letting the gentle movements of the spring allow you a breath. You knew you would gain nothing by arguing with him, that his words would be empty, as they always were. The court's ego war, with its constant push and pull, was no longer something that interested you. Loyalty, true loyalty, did not come from titles or empty smiles; it came from sacrifice, from spilled blood, and from decisions made under the stars, not in palace halls.

Silence stretched between you, dense and palpable, as if words had gotten trapped in the air, fearful of being spoken. George's eyes watched you with that expression that, though masked in feigned curiosity, betrayed the palpable tension between you. He awaited a response, though he was merely a child playing at being an adult in a battlefield where he did not understand the rules.

"I heard about the altercation the king had when we passed through the kingdom of Eldorath," he said, finally breaking the silence, his voice somewhat lower, as if the weight of the question frightened him a bit. "Is it true what Sir Caspian said? That some assassins with a Valdraco accent tried to take the king's life?"

His words collided against your ears like a contained explosion, awakening dark and murky memories of that night, a night when danger lurked in the shadows of the Eldorian kingdom. You took a deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs, while your eyes fixed on the horizon, as if there you could find an answer you had yet to formulate.

You finally looked at him, and for an instant, your gazes met with the intensity of unspoken truth. This young prince, with his pristine face and arrogant smile, did not comprehend the magnitude of what had really happened. For him, it was merely court gossip, a story to tell at the next dinner. But you knew that the king's life had been in danger, and that danger did not retreat; it lurked, waiting for the curtain to fall.

"Yes..." you said, your voice calm, but with a coldness that cut like steel. "The king was very frightened throughout the night after that. His men were not enough to protect him at that moment, and despair was reflected on his face."

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, as if the mere act of recalling what had happened drained you of energy. That night, the king had been vulnerable, his body tired and frail, already too old to bear the blows of a fate that did not forgive the weak. You, however, stayed with him, while the other knights, including men like George, distanced themselves to seek solace in the brothels of Eldorath, forgetting their duty.

The contrast between duty and indulgence was more evident than ever. While they lost themselves in vice, you kept vigil over a man who could no longer hold himself up. But that was not a choice. Not when the king was under your protection, and even less when the echoes of betrayal whispered in every corner of the kingdom.

"But Queen Selenia..." you continued, your voice taking on a darker, more somber tone. "She explicitly asked me not to tell anyone else. To keep silent about what happened." A slight sigh escaped your lips, filled with resignation, as if the queen's decisions were just another burden on your shoulders. "Unfortunately for Queen Selenia, I only serve the king. My loyalty is not divided."

The young prince seemed momentarily disoriented, as if the words could not fit into his mind, but in the end, he nodded with a mix of discomfort and disdain. He knew that this was not a matter he could meddle in, but he also perceived the weight of the loyalty that bound you to the king, something he would never fully comprehend. Loyalty was not something that was negotiated, something that could be asked for in a whisper over cups of wine and empty laughter. Loyalty was proven, and you had proven more than enough during your years in service to the king.

"Really, the Valdracos disagree with my brother's betrothal to the princess, don’t they?" George's voice slid between the shadows of the hall, laden with a rather empty curiosity, as if the intrigues of the kingdom were just a pastime for him. His gaze fixed on you awaited a response, but you already knew he was not seeking understanding, but merely a small glimmer of confirmation for his own conjectures.

The question hung in the air for a moment as you carefully considered your words. "All the kingdoms and noble houses are opposed," you said with a tense calmness, your eyes reflecting a shadow of disdain. "After... the fall of Vexoria, no kingdom has felt comfortable with King Alistair's decisions. Distrust has sown deeply, and few dare to look forward without remembering what happened."

A slight sigh escaped your lips, as if the words themselves weighed down on you. The disaster of Vexoria had left scars, not just physical but deep in the souls of all who witnessed the fall of an empire that was once great. But the consequences of that fall did not limit themselves to a single kingdom. They had reached all, even Castamar, though many insisted on denying it.

George, however, seemed not to grasp the gravity of the matter. His arrogance still failed to see beyond the surface, as always. "That invasion was my grandfather's decision," he said with a shrug, as if the responsibility for what had happened held no more weight than a forgotten story. "I don’t understand why everything keeps coming back to this. What matters now is the future, right?"

"What does it matter what king it would have been?" you retorted, your voice lower, colder, but equally sharp. "Castamar will bear the cross on its back for its disloyalty to its family, for its betrayal of those who once trusted them." Your words cut through the air with the hardness of a well-honed sword, the truth striking with the force of a hammer on the anvil. "The weight of that betrayal cannot be erased with kind gestures or empty promises."

George fell silent, as if the weight of your words began to seep into his mind, if only a little. You knew comprehension would not come easily, not now, not ever. For him, the concept of loyalty was something that shifted with the wind, something that changed according to the convenience of his position. He did not understand the value of spilled blood nor the difficult decisions that marked the lives of those who truly served their kingdom.

"It’s easy to forget what is lost when everything surrounding you remains intact," you continued, looking to the horizon as if the future were there, waiting to be claimed. "But the damage is already done, and alliances, promises, are not easily forgotten."

The young prince, unable to comprehend the magnitude of what true loyalty entailed, remained silent. His face, still marked by youth and ignorance of political complexities, reflected the frustration of not finding the answers he sought. But you already knew there were no easy answers in this game. The fate of nations, the decisions of kings, the betrayals of houses, all that wove into a net so complex it was impossible to unravel with simple words.

You looked at Vixen for a few seconds, his dark coat and robust body, feeling how the stillness of the moment contrasted with the storm of thoughts crowding your mind. Then, your eyes returned to George, who seemed lost in his own thoughts, staring off into the distance without seeing anything in particular. You had no patience for his games, but he, it seemed, did not understand what it meant to be a knight in truth, what that life full of sacrifices represented. He did not understand that the price of loyalty was not always paid with pretty words, nor with comfortable alliances.

"Don’t you think about marrying, like your brother Rodrigo?" you asked, letting the question linger in the air, giving it an ironic and biting tone. "You know, to favor your shield, as many do to maintain power in the wrong hands."

George shook his head, as if the idea of marriage were an abomination in his eyes. "No, I swear loyalty to the royal guard," he said with a firmness that seemed no more than an attempt to evade what it truly meant to belong to that order.

"And what of it?" you replied without hesitation, your words falling like a dry blow. "Knight Banneret Orion Casterly is married to Lady Mikaela, and several knights have bastards out there. You wouldn’t be the first or the last knight in this world to fall in love and follow a path not filled solely with duty. Everyone, even those who swear devotion, have their lives, their desires... Why be different?"

The look George returned was one of discomfort, but the conversation was far from over. He seemed to think that with the simple oath of loyalty he had finished his responsibility, as if a mere vow could erase the desires and internal struggles that defined him as a man. But you knew better than that.

"And you, Sir Casterly, don’t you think about marrying?" he asked, attempting to steer the conversation toward your own commitment, or the lack thereof. His tone, a mix of curiosity and disdain, sent a pang of contempt through you. The young man did not know what it meant to be a true knight, what it meant to live a life of sacrifices. He did not understand that the price of loyalty was not always paid with pretty words, nor with comfortable alliances.

You looked at him with a hatred as cold as steel, a hatred that needed no words to express, but nonetheless, you decided to articulate it. "The only man I kneel to," you continued, letting your words land as a final blow, "is the king." The silence that followed your declaration was profound, like an abyss that separated you even further, though you needed nothing more than your own duty to feel complete in this world of false promises.

George smiled at that.

────── 🦋 ──────

"I swear by Cica and the king's hand that we did it behind the stable," shouted Sir Dorik, his voice resonating powerfully in the air. He slammed the table with such fury that the echo seemed to thrum against the walls, his frustration palpable. "She may be old, but by the gods, she has a technique that even the youngest courtesan cannot match. The damned woman knows what she's doing!"

The room fell silent for a moment before Sir Clemond, no stranger to fits of rage, let out a bitter laugh. "Don't lie, Doo! Queen Selenia is so arrogant and pretentious that she would never do something so... vulgar. Remember what that old witch told us all, huh? 'You are just worms looking for rain.' Well, if I'm a worm, she’s a cockroach, a damn cockroach who crawls to get what she wants."

Tension grew like a storm about to burst. Clemond, as impetuous as ever, threw his flowery beer to the ground with such anger that the liquid almost spilled across the table. The sound of shattering glass barely calmed the heat that erupted from his words. "How dare she treat us like this? I'm fed up with her poison!"

The annoyance was evident, but you remained seated, calm, your face impassive as you slowly drank from your own beer. Your gaze fixed on the foam in your cup, you took a moment before speaking. The resentment and fatigue of hearing the same old rant often reflected in your eyes, but the discipline and professionalism you had learned over the years kept you steady.

"Please," you finally said, your tone soft but laden with a latent tension. "Even if Sir Dorik speaks the truth, we cannot simply speak ill of Queen Selenia. It’s not our style, no matter how justified our anger may be." You set your cup on the table with a slow gesture, looking at the men present. "It’s not about what we believe or what that woman has done. Queen Selenia has her place, and although we all know what she thinks of us, we must maintain our composure. Loyalty to our king and the realm must be greater than our personal frustrations."

However, you couldn't help but let your words carry a slight bitterness. "And if we ever say what we really think, tremble, for the very Queen you despise is capable of swallowing whole those who dare to contradict her. Don’t forget what we are up against."

Sir Clemond, visibly irritated but still holding a hint of respect, clenched his teeth tightly, biting his lower lip as his eyes burned with contained anger. He knew you were right, though admitting it felt like swallowing ash. Castamar had never distinguished itself for its wisdom in dealing with its subjects, nor for its courtesy towards those who served it. No, the realm was ruled by the edge of swords and the weight of coins, and those who had neither were at the mercy of their lords' whims.

Around you, the tavern vibrated with coarse laughter and words slurred by wine. The knights of the Blue Division, battle-hardened yet fragile before the temptation of a well-served mug, drank with the carefree attitude of those who know war too well and understand that death can come at any corner. The sun had barely reached its zenith, and already the stench of liquor filled the air. They spoke unabashedly, ranting about the highborn nobility, the hypocrisy of great names, about Queen Selenia and her disdain for those who fought for the realm while she paraded in her silks and perfumes.

Such was your group. A handful of men with no loyalty but to their steel and to the king. Rugged men, loyal to each other, yet broken by the reality of serving a crown that rarely showed them gratitude.

It was then that George appeared.

You saw him enter with his carefree stride, that air of nobility contrasting with the roughness of the surroundings. It was not unusual for him to show up at knights' meetings, though he was never truly welcome. He invited himself, as if his lineage entitled him to share the table with soldiers who had spilled more blood than he would ever see. There was a brief silence upon noticing his presence, not of respect, but of resignation.

You, without averting your gaze from your cup, remembered the first time you met him. You recalled his impeccable manners, his easy smile, his exasperating naivety. And you remembered the words you told him then, with the edge of one who has no patience for princes playing soldier:

"This is no place for a prince."

George seemed unfazed by the hostility in the air. He walked between the tables with the same confidence with which a noble walks through his own hall, though everyone present knew this was not his territory. Here, in the dim light of a tavern filled with soldiers hardened by war, his lineage meant nothing. His name could not stop a thrust, nor did his royal blood grant him respect among men who had killed and bled for a king who barely spared them a glance.

And yet, he smiled.

"Sir Casterly," he greeted with that affected voice that so many ladies in Castamar found charming, but which only provoked annoyance in you. His tone, perfectly measured, his posture impeccable... As if he felt no tension in the air, as if he did not notice the wary glances fixed on his back.

"May I sit?"

You did not respond immediately. Instead, you took another sip of your beer, letting the silence weigh heavily. Sir Clemond snorted softly, and some of the knights exchanged mocking glances. They all knew George would stay regardless. He always did.

"Does it matter if I say no, Your Highness?" you finally replied, not bothering to conceal the fatigue in your tone.

George let out a brief laugh, as if he had expected exactly that response.

"It flatters me that you know me so well, Sir Casterly."

With an almost insulting nonchalance, he took a seat across from you, resting an elbow on the table as he scanned the room with his gaze. He examined the men around him, soldiers seasoned by a thousand battles, men who owed him neither loyalty nor sympathy. And yet, he looked at them with that arrogant curiosity that only someone like him could afford.

"Shouldn't you be training?" he asked with feigned innocence, his eyes dancing with barely contained mischief. "Don’t get me wrong, I know a good beer can warm the spirit, but I doubt it does the same for the sword."

Sir Dorik let out a hoarse laugh, slamming his mug against the table with a noise that made the furniture vibrate.

"Bah! We don’t need training to deal with brats like you, prince. Give us a sword and we’ll beat you blindfolded."

"I don’t doubt that," George admitted with an easy smile, as if the comment amused him rather than offended him. "But my duty is to learn from the best, right?"

The tavern erupted in rough laughter and sarcastic murmurs. Men who had known war since childhood mocked the idea that a spoiled prince could understand what duty truly meant.

You, however, did not laugh.

You looked at him intently, searching for the purpose behind his relaxed demeanor. George could be many things: a clumsy noble, an inexperienced soldier, a courtly brat. But he was not stupid. He knew perfectly well what he was doing by mingling with the guard, by sharing drinks with the men his own family considered expendable. He knew what his mere presence provoked, how his words ignited a fire that could be both entertainment and distraction.

"What do you want, George?" you asked, cutting into the conversation like a dagger to the neck.

The prince tilted his head slightly, his smile barely wavering.

"To converse," he replied at last, with a lightness that contrasted with the intensity of his gaze. "To enjoy good company. Yours, specifically."

You said nothing immediately. You let the weight of his words hang in the air, like the smoke from the candles around you. Because you knew, as well as he did, that George of Castamar never did anything without a motive.

The murmur of the tavern continued to resonate around you: the sound of mugs clinking, coarse laughter, and conversations peppered with curses. However, at the table where you sat, a bubble of barely concealed tension had formed.

George of Castamar tilted his head slightly, with that damned smile of his, the one he wore when he thought he had control of the situation.

"I didn't know I had the capacity to leave the legendary Sir Casterly speechless," he murmured with feigned surprise. "I feel honored."

You did not respond. You simply took another sip of your beer, as if his presence were nothing more than an annoying shadow in your peripheral vision. George, however, did not give up.

"I must say it's impressive. Not every knight can drink with such grace after weeks of hard work protecting my father. Although, of course, I imagine for someone with your temperament, that’s just another ordinary day."

You knew what he was trying to do. The flattery disguised as jest, the casual tone with which he wove each word. A clumsy attempt to stroke your pride to gain your attention.

He was failing miserably.

"The next time you flatter me, Your Highness, make sure it doesn’t sound like you’re speaking to a courtesan at a court party," you said without looking up from your mug.

Sir Clemond stifled a laugh in his drink. George, for his part, tilted his head with an even broader smile, as if he found every snub you dealt him amusing.

"Touché," he admitted. "But I'm afraid I don’t have the habit of flattering in vain. If I say it’s impressive, it’s because it is. There aren’t many knights who could do what you do. And certainly no lady in this realm who can match you."

"Because there is no lady in this realm foolish enough to waste her life in the royal guard," you replied indifferently, leaning slightly forward to place the empty mug on the table.

"I wouldn’t say that," he countered, with a look that grew sharper. "I would say there is no lady in this realm who has your courage."

This time you did look at him. Not because the words had caused the effect he expected, but because you wanted to ensure he understood something very clear.

"Courage is a luxury, prince. What I did wasn’t a choice."

The glint in George's eyes intensified, as if your response had intrigued him rather than repelled him.

"Everything in life is a choice, Sir Casterly," he murmured, and for the first time his voice sounded lower, more serious. "Including this conversation."

You stood up without answering, taking your mug and walking away from the table with the same indifference you had received his presence. You could feel his gaze following you, expectant, as if he were waiting for you to stop, to turn back to him.

You did not.

George of Castamar could be charming, persistent, and, deep down, more astute than people gave him credit for. But if he thought he could court you like a lady of nobility, he was wasting his time.

────── 🦋 ──────

The light of the lamp flickered faintly in the barrack, casting elongated shadows on the bare stone walls. The place was devoid of any luxury, as befit a knight of the royal guard, yet it was still your refuge. A place where you could exist without the burden of armor or inquisitive gazes.

And now, he was there.

George of Castamar stood at the entrance, wearing the same arrogant smile as always, but this time accompanied by an unexpectedly soft gesture: a bouquet of Razina flowers rested in his hands. Their fragrance filled the room as he raised them toward you, an intoxicating aroma, a blend of roses and something stronger, almost ethereal.

You recognized them instantly.

Your expression hardened.

“I don’t want them,” you said, your voice sharp as the edge of a well-tempered sword.

The prince tilted his head, unfazed by the disdain in your tone.

“Don’t you even want to know how I got them?” he asked, using that lazy tone he adopted when trying to draw you into a conversation.

Your eyes fell back to the flowers. Beautiful, delicate... and born from destruction. The Razinas only grew in lands that had known ash and blood, where death had fertilized the soil better than any peasant could. They were the flowers that the women of your nation wore in their hair as a symbol of resilience, of mourning, of belonging to a home that no longer existed.

That George would bring you those flowers, here, in the dimness of your barrack, dressed only in a nightgown, on a night he had no right to invade...

It was grotesque.

“Do you know what these flowers symbolize?” you asked, not bothering to hide the contempt in your voice.

“Of course,” he replied, with the confidence of someone who does not truly understand the weight of his words. “They are the flowers of Vexoria, right? A tribute. A gesture of goodwill.”

A tribute.

A humorless laugh escaped your lips as you crossed your arms over your chest, holding his gaze.

“A tribute?” you repeated, with a biting incredulity. “Is that how you see it? As an exotic gift to woo a knight?”

George let out a sigh, but his smile did not fade.

“Not everything I do has a hidden intention, Ser Casterly,” he said, stepping further into the room. “Maybe I just wanted to remind you that, despite everything, you are still more than just a sword in the service of Castamar.”

Silence stretched between you, laden with unspoken meanings.

The flames of the lamp danced in his eyes, reflecting a mix of stubbornness and something deeper, something you were not willing to unravel.

Slowly, you approached him, but not to take the flowers. Instead, you raised your hand and gently pushed them against his chest, forcing him to hold them more firmly.

“If you really want to prove something to me, George,” you said, your voice low, firm, unyielding, “stop treating me like a damned damsel.”

George’s smile faded for just a moment before reappearing on his face, yet it no longer held the same lightness as before. Something in his gaze had changed, as if the mask of the charming noble had cracked just enough to reveal another facet, one less naïve, more aware.

“I’m not trying to see you as a damsel, Casterly,” he said softly, but with a latent edge. “I just wanted to have a simple gesture with you.”

His fingers tightened around the bouquet of Razinas, as if the warmth of the flowers could soften the ice in your gaze.

“King Alistair advised me to give you this,” he continued, “and perhaps... to invite you for a walk.”

The air in the barrack seemed to grow denser, trapped between the stone walls and the flickering dimness of the lamp. You wondered if it was mere courtesy or if the old monarch had a more sinister purpose in mind.

“I don’t want to go with you.”

Your words fell like lead, with no intention of softening the rejection.

George sighed, as if he had expected that response, but that didn’t mean he would accept it.

“Well, then I order you, as the Second Prince of Castamar, to accompany me for a walk through the beautiful gardens of Valdracia Castle.”

His tone remained light, almost playful, but the command seeped into his words like poison in sweet wine.

Your lips curved into a bitter smile.

“Someone like me cannot walk in those places.”

“And who says that?”

“Society.”

George tilted his head slightly, studying you with renewed interest, as if he had just discovered a new piece on a board he thought he knew by heart.

“Maybe,” he murmured, “but the gardens of Valdracia are used to beautiful things born from tragedy. After all, Razinas grow there too.”

His gaze fell back to the bouquet in his hands, and for the first time in the entire conversation, you didn’t know what expression crossed his face.

You looked at him for a long moment, and although your body tensed, you didn’t say a word. Finally, with disdain and a barely audible sigh, you took the flowers and set them on the bed, in a gesture that made your disinterest clear. His presence was unwelcome, but what bothered you even more was that slight smile on his lips, as if he enjoyed your resistance.

“Shall we go, Sir Casterly?” he asked, his voice warm but with a palpable tension that he could barely hide.

His gaze continued to roam the room, though he knew he wasn’t looking for details on the walls. He was watching you, waiting for the silence to force you to respond.

“I’m still in my nightgown.”

George’s laugh was low, almost mocking, but there was something in his tone that threw you off.

“It doesn’t matter, much better,” he said with that unshakeable confidence that usually irritated you.

A slight flush crept up your neck, and you couldn’t help but look at him sternly, though George’s face remained impassive, clearly enjoying the discomfort he had caused.

“Much better?” you asked, with a tone that bordered on acidic, but you couldn’t deny that the idea of going out in your nightgown, under his gaze, made you feel a strange mix of anger and something harder to identify.

George didn’t seem bothered by your response. On the contrary, his smile grew a little wider, as if what he had said had achieved its goal.

He stepped closer to you, his eyes shining under the dim light of the hallway lamps. Without a word, he took your hands gently, as if they were glass, and that gesture was enough for a shiver to run down your spine. There was an obvious contrast between his hands and yours. Yours, hardened by years of combat and sacrifice, were calloused, marked by the scars of the battles you had fought. Each finger was adorned with bruises, each line of your skin told stories of struggle. His, on the other hand, were soft, fine, without marks of pain or effort. They had been shielded from the same fate as yours.

Yet George didn’t seem to notice the difference. He looked at your hands with a smile full of something you couldn’t identify, before gently leaning down to kiss them, with a softness that was almost inaudible, as if he didn’t want to break the magic of the moment. "They're perfect," he whispered, a statement that made you feel uncomfortable, yet something in your chest tightened at the same time.

He gently tugged you along, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And although your mind screamed that this was a mistake, that you shouldn't let yourself be swept away, your steps led you outside the barrack, right beside him. The warm darkness of the night enveloped the castle, and the echo of your boots resonated against the cobblestones.

The city of Valdracia seemed to be asleep, but the air in the garden brought with it a light breeze that rustled the leaves of the trees. As you walked together along the lantern-lit pathways, your eyes were drawn to the portraits of the Seven, the imposing statues that adorned the castle grounds. They were the figures of gods, but you saw something more in them. Those stone-carved figures, those faces you had once revered fervently, now appeared colder than ever. It was as if the promises of the gods could no longer save you from your fate.

The night breeze caressed the garden softly, wrapping both of you in its chilly embrace. You moved toward the center of the garden, where, on a stone pedestal, stood the imposing Statue of the Seven. The sculpture, carved with an inhuman perfection, depicted the monarchs of each of the Seven Kingdoms, their eternal forms and fixed gazes looking toward the horizon, as if they could foresee the fate of those who passed before them. The figures, despite their great beauty, showed the wear of time, with cracks beginning to mar the stone, as if the years had left their mark, yet their power remained unyielding.

George stopped in front of the statue, observing it with an expression that could not conceal his bewilderment. The figure of an elderly monarch, with a crown that seemed more a burden than a symbol of power, dominated the center. "I don’t understand," he began, his tone contemplative, almost mocking. "Why do so many people hold these kings in such devotion? They are just... very old people, some almost dead, others already buried in their graves, aren't they?"

The question escaped his lips with a lack of understanding that bordered on insensitivity, and the way he posed it, casual and devoid of any reverence, ignited a fire in your chest. The Statue of the Seven was more than just a monument to you; it was a symbol of rebirth, of unity, of what had been made possible after the wars, the struggles, and the losses that the Kingdoms had endured. What you saw in those figures was not merely the passage of time, but the hope that even in decay and death, the land could rise again, that the people could rebuild.

Your gaze hardened, and for a moment, your fingers clenched against the edges of your cloak as if trying to contain the anger that surged within you.

"What you don’t understand," you began, your voice low but firm, "is that those kings, those men and women you see here, represent something greater than just their years of life. They are symbols of what the Seven Kingdoms were able to build after devastation. Yes, some died in their old age, but their vision, their sacrifice, their struggle, has not vanished. They are the pillars upon which we stand now. Their devotion is not merely a matter of revering their bodies, but honoring the legacy they left behind."

George looked at the statue, puzzled by the intensity of your words, not fully grasping the fervor behind them. His face showed a mix of interest and a hint of amusement, as if he were trying to understand the blind loyalty people felt for those kings of bygone eras.

"So, you believe that devotion to the dead is... necessary?" he asked with a slight smile, as if testing your limits.

"Yes," you replied with a vehemence you hadn’t anticipated from yourself. "It is necessary. What you see as 'the dead' are the foundations of our destinies. They forged the unity of the kingdoms, created the peace that allows us to live in these castles, fight our battles, and sit in these gardens. Without them, there would be no rebirth. There would be no hope of moving forward."

Silence filled the space between you, but you did not step away from the statue. Its empty eyes seemed to look at you, not at George. It felt as if, in its silence, it understood you better than any spoken word ever could.

"Perhaps what you don’t understand," you continued, your eyes fixed on the stone, "is that not everything in this world can be measured by a person's age or their physical presence. People like the Seven Kingdoms... they are ideals, dreams of what we can become when we stop fighting among ourselves and unite our strengths. And although those kings are no longer alive, their influence does not die. It never does."

George watched you for a moment longer, and although his smile remained light, there seemed to be something in his gaze that, for the first time, was not mocking. Instead of responding immediately, he took a step closer, his eyes tracing the lines and details of the statue as if he were trying, in some way, to understand what you had just expressed.

With surprising delicacy, George guided you to a stone bench located right in front of the Statue of the Seven. The night air felt cool, and the crunch of leaves beneath your boots resonated softly in the stillness of the garden as you sat down. He followed suit, taking a seat beside you, and for a moment, the silence between you was only interrupted by the whisper of the wind.

Even with the gentleness with which he had touched your hands, there was something in the tension of his posture that made it clear he was not willing to remain silent for long. Finally, his voice, soft yet inquisitive, broke the calm.

"Why do you hate me so much, Ser Casterly?" he asked with a slight smile, but his eyes, fixed on you, reflected genuine curiosity.

You turned to him, your face still marked by the discomfort his words provoked. His questions always seemed to carry an irreverence that you couldn't overlook. However, you decided not to evade the answer this time. You were too tired of doing so.

"Why do I hate you?" you repeated, almost with a sigh, as if uttering it aloud gave the answer more weight. "It’s complicated, George. I have my reasons. But there are so many that it would be a waste of time to list them all."

George leaned back slightly, not breaking eye contact. His laughter, soft yet sincere, emerged with a teasing tone. "I suppose you have many reasons then," he said, with a spark of amusement in his eyes. "But I, for my part, do not hate you, Ser Casterly."

You turned slightly, surprised by the serenity of his declaration. "Really?" you asked, with a mix of skepticism and a hint of disdain. "Do you not hate the woman who has ignored and rejected you at every turn?"

George shrugged, his smile widening, almost a challenge. "No, in fact... I admire you." His tone was firm, as if he spoke with certainty. "There’s something about you that captivates me, Ser Casterly. That determination, that strength you always carry with you. You have impressed me since the moment we met."

For a brief instant, your lips parted as if you were about to say something, but the surprise held you back. "Admire me, huh?" you murmured with a tone of disbelief, but without irritation. "It’s curious... because that doesn’t change anything."

"What do you mean?" George leaned his head, observing you with attention. "Do you think that my admiration changes who I am or what I do? I wouldn’t, but the truth is, I see no reason why someone like me shouldn’t court someone like you."

You shook your head, your eyes fixed on the garden before you, but no longer looking at the statue. Your thoughts seemed darker, as if the shadows surrounding the Statue of the Seven reflected the reality you saw in the world.

"It doesn’t matter how much you admire me, George," you said with a coldness that left no room for doubt. "It’s not wise for a prince to court a mere knight, even if you don’t see it that way. You are a prince, of royal blood, the future of Castamar. And I... I am just a guardian, destined to protect the king until the day I become cannon fodder. The moment the king dies or Castamar is defeated, I will be nothing more than that, flesh for the sacrifice of some other kingdom, or of our own allies. The life of someone like me holds no value when war and death loom."

Your voice cracked only slightly at the end, but your gaze remained firm, as if resisting the idea that anyone could see you as vulnerable. The wind blew gently, rustling some branches around, as if nature itself were a witness to what you had just said.

George did not respond immediately. The silence between you extended, heavy, dense. He seemed to be processing what you had said, perhaps for the first time looking beyond the nobility that surrounded him, understanding, albeit belatedly, the lives of those who served, sacrificing themselves without receiving glory or recognition.

Finally, in a low, almost whispered voice, he said, "I don’t want you to become cannon fodder. I want you to know that, although I don’t share your view of life, I believe there is something you could achieve beyond this war. You are not just a knight... You are a woman with courage, and perhaps, just perhaps, you could see beyond what you are meant to be."

Your eyes met his for a long moment, and for the first time that night, perhaps for a fleeting second, you wondered if he, deep down, could understand something of what you had just told him. But reality returned swiftly, like a sharp blow. The difference between his world and yours could not vanish with a simple exchange of words.

"It doesn’t matter what you say, George," you replied, turning back to face forward, "you have no idea what that means."

The sky was clear, and the stars, like distant beacons, twinkled softly above them. The night air seemed suspended in time, while the garden of Valdracia, with its long, silent shadows, stretched around. The stillness of the night made even the whispers of the trees sound muted, as if the whole world were watching the two lonely figures beneath the starry mantle.

George remained by your side, and although at first he seemed uncomfortable with the silence, gradually, his presence became more reassuring, like a familiar shadow. Finally, without warning, his hand gently rested on yours. It was an unexpected gesture, yet at the same time, it felt like a natural extension of what had begun between you that night. Without saying a word, joining in that contact seemed the only possible path in that moment.

Your heart raced for a moment, and your mind wanted to rebel, but something in his touch made you pause. George, without taking his gaze off the sky, slowly leaned his head until it rested softly on your shoulder, as if he were seeking comfort or understanding from you in some way.

"For me," he said softly, filled with a sincerity that sought neither applause nor boastfulness, "you are not just a knight."

You tensed for a second, but he continued without withdrawing.

"You are not just the guardian of the king, nor the soldier who faces battles with a strong heart," he continued. "To me, Ser Casterly, you are the most beautiful and courageous knight I have ever known in my life. I truly believe that. My parents... your parents should feel incredibly proud to have you as their daughter."

His words were slow, yet laden with a warmth that you could not ignore. His closeness, his whisper made the air thick, almost suffocating, but not from discomfort, rather from something deeper that seemed to bloom between you, a feeling neither he nor you dared to name.

A tear, treacherous, slipped slowly down your cheek, barely perceptible but enough for him to notice. You did not wipe it away, as somehow you felt it deserved to fall. The weight of his words, so unexpected and so different from everything you had heard before, stirred something in you that you thought had long been buried.

"Thank you," you murmured, unable to help it, your voice trembling, almost choked. "I hope that is true."

The shadow of the Statue of the Seven watched over you in silence, as immutable as ever, while the stars continued their dance in the sky. George did not speak further. In that moment, all that remained in the air was the softness of his presence, the warmth of his words, and the gentle brush of his face against your shoulder.

And for an instant, the outside world faded away. There were no kingdoms, no struggles, no bloodshed. There were just the two of you, beneath the stars, sharing a silence that spoke more than any words could.

The prince, though so distant in his lineage, seemed suddenly so close, so real, so... human, in comparison to the coldness of his position. And you, despite the scars of war, despite your life marked by sword and duty, were not merely what the world thought you were. Not in that moment. In that instant, you were just two souls in the vastness of the night, searching for something that lay beyond everyone else's expectations.

────── 🦋 ──────

The sun, which had once seemed warm and promising, now fell upon the scene with an unrelenting harshness. The murmurs around you seemed to resonate like distant echoes, distorted by the fog of anguish that had taken hold of you. Silent tears fell, heavy but without sound, rolling down your cheeks as though the pain accompanying them was too deep to express aloud. You couldn’t stop staring at the bodies—those who had once been close friends, comrades in battle, and now were nothing but cold corpses, their humanity ripped away by the cruelty of fate.

George, seeing you there, unable to hold back, approached and enveloped you in his arms with a strength only someone who cares deeply can have. He held you with such intensity that, for a brief moment, it seemed like he could stop the pain that consumed you. His hands moved gently across your back, trying to offer comfort, but all he could do was hold you as he felt his heart break with every stifled sob you tried to suppress.

"You’re not alone, Casterly," he whispered in your ear, his voice deep and gentle at the same time. Then, with tenderness, he kissed your cheek, leaving a warm kiss on the skin that pulsed from the tension. A gesture of affection that didn’t ease the weight of the tragedy, but in that moment, it was all he could offer.

You trembled, not just from the morning cold, but from the emotional blow that had shaken you to your core. Your mind struggled to process what had happened. It was as if everything were happening in slow motion, like the pieces of the puzzle were crumbling before you and you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

With a broken voice, you murmured, almost without realizing it:

"I’ve never failed... I was always alert... how could this happen?"

The words hung in the air, empty of hope. You couldn’t understand how the tragedy had reached you. In all those years of struggle, sacrifice, and preparation, you had never imagined an end like this. You had always believed that constant vigilance, the strength of your spirit, and your loyalty to your kingdom would protect you from any misfortune. But in this moment, you were being shattered by the weight of the truth: none of that had saved you.

George held you tighter, as if his body could offer you some comfort in the midst of the storm. His face was close to yours, his warm breath against your neck. Despite the pain he felt, he knew his words had to be as firm as possible.

"What happened isn’t your fault," he said, with a deep sincerity. Though he couldn’t erase what had happened, he wanted you to know that you didn’t have to carry the blame. It wasn’t fair, nor realistic, to bear that weight.

You didn’t respond, but your body relaxed slightly, as if his words were a rope to hold onto, even if you couldn’t fully understand them.

In that moment, he gently pulled away from the embrace, guiding you through the garden. Every step you took felt heavier than the last, but George never let you go. He looked at you with an expression full of compassion, but also with a quiet determination.

"Come on, Casterly," he said, almost gently. "You can’t stay here. There’s a future we still have to face, and no matter how hard it is now, you’re still the knight you’ve always been. Don’t let this destroy you."

You didn’t say anything, but you kept walking, your mind still trapped in the horror of what you had seen, of the loss you felt deep within you. However, the fact that George was by your side, in some way, gave you a small breath of relief. At least, for a moment, you weren’t alone.

As you both walked through the garden, the first rays of sunlight illuminated the figures of the trees, making the shadows stretch toward you like spectral fingers. The air felt heavy, filled with palpable pain, as if nature itself mourned what had just occurred. But you didn’t want to look back. You couldn’t. The only option was to keep moving forward, even though you didn’t know where this uncertain future would take you.

"Will you stay with me?" you suddenly asked, your voice broken but determined, as you walked together, your steps resonating on the ground covered with dry leaves.

George looked at you and, with a faint smile that didn’t hide the pain in his eyes, replied:

"Always."

The embrace between you lasted longer than either of you had expected, a silent comfort that seemed to stop time for a moment. George held you with a soft but persistent strength, as if he wanted to protect you from everything that had happened, even though he knew he couldn’t. The air was thick with anguish, and the weight of the pain on your shoulders was palpable. You, with your head resting on his chest, could feel his heart beating fast and hard, as if, in that embrace, you could find some semblance of calm, even if it was momentary. Your breathing, initially erratic, slowly softened.

Yet, the sadness still weighed on you, a cruel reminder of the tragedy that had unfolded. It was he who broke the silence, his voice deep and firm, but also laced with a strange concern that you hadn’t expected to hear.

"There must be an assassin among us... or maybe someone from another kingdom is sending assassins to eliminate the royal family," he said, the tension clear in his words. His gaze was fixed on some distant point, as if he were searching for an answer in the air. Though he didn’t have any concrete suspicions about who might be responsible, the certainty that something was happening left no room for doubt in his mind.

"It’s likely we’re being attacked by other kingdoms... Maybe this isn’t an isolated incident."

You looked up at him, your face marked with concern, but also with a determination that hadn’t been there before. Your eyes, red from crying, still held that spark of fire that had always been yours. You weren’t going to give up, no matter what happened.

"I'll be more vigilant from now on," you reply, your voice firm, though still trembling. You've learned over time to be alert, to detect any sign of danger, but things are never that simple when the enemy hides in the shadows, within your own home. George looks at you with a mix of sadness and gratitude, but his expression is serious, as if he understands that the situation has changed irrevocably.

"It won't be enough, Casterly," he says in a soft, almost desolate tone. "You can't do it all alone. This is bigger than you think. We need to act, and not just you. The whole kingdom is in danger."

You watch him for a moment, feeling the weight of his words sink in. There’s something in his tone that leaves no room for doubt. It’s not just an assassin, nor even an isolated betrayal; it’s something much bigger, a conspiracy stretching across every corner of the kingdom and beyond. Enemy kingdoms could be conspiring together to bring down the royal family, and in the process, you would be the first to be dragged down. The thought chills you, but also makes you more resolute. No matter how many enemies are lurking in the shadows, you won’t let your people fall without a fight.

"So, what are we going to do?" you ask, your voice now harder, more determined.

George looks you directly in the eyes, not breaking his gaze for a second. His words are a promise, a plea, but also a warning.

"Whatever it takes. And we’ll do it together."

The silence that follows is heavy, as if the universe itself is waiting for the decision you just made. There’s no turning back. Both of you know that the path ahead will be long and dangerous, but you also know that the fight for the kingdom, for your family, and for your very life, is about to begin.

You nod slowly, your heart beating fast. Though the shadow of tragedy still follows you, you feel a spark of determination growing within you. The battle for your kingdom has just begun.

The silence that follows your words grows even heavier. George, as if aware of the tension that has grown between you, lets out an enigmatic smile, one that contrasts with the weight of what he just said. The smile is neither comforting nor sorrowful, but one that reflects deep, almost malicious interest.

"Now I’m the heir to the throne," he says with unsettling calm, as if the words are just a simple fact of life. His gaze rests on you, almost challenging you.

"And most likely, they’ll let me court you now, don’t you think?"

You stare at him, as if you've just woken up from a horrendous nightmare. His words make you feel a deep rage, a burn that spreads throughout your entire being. How can he be talking about courting you in the midst of such tragedy? Your brother has brutally died, and he, the man who just lost his greatest rival for the throne, seems to find comfort in the possibility of courting you. You can’t believe what you're hearing.

"Are you serious, George? Are you thinking about that now?" your voice breaks, but the fury you feel is evident. "Your brother just died. He was literally just murdered. And here you are, the only thing you can think about is what they’ve allowed you to do."

George watches you without losing his smile, as if your words are nothing more than a step in the inevitable power game he's trapped in.

"It’s true, his brother has died. But, who was dictating the law until now?" His tone softens, as if explaining a fundamental truth of life. "The king, and now, thanks to his departure, I’m the one in control. So, as the heir to the throne, I have the right to decide who can be by my side. And honestly, I’d like it to be you."

The blood in your veins boils at hearing those words, but you can’t help but feel a strange revulsion, a mixture of disgust and pity. It’s as if your brother’s death had been nothing more than just another piece in a game he has already won. A piece that opens the door to what he truly wants: to have you, as if you were a trophy, another step toward his ambition.

"Don’t forget that I’m still a knight, George. And you... you’re just a prince," you reply with a voice full of disdain, trying to regain control over your own emotions. But the truth is, you feel like you’re fighting against a tide that drags you along, a power play where it no longer matters who has died and who has survived.

George doesn’t respond immediately. He just moves closer to you, his face reflecting an unwavering satisfaction, as if nothing could change his fate. With one hand, he gently lifts your face, his fingers touching the soft curve of your cheek.

"Now, dear Casterly," he whispers, his warm breath brushing against your skin, "I’m the heir to the throne. And my word is law."

You fall silent, a mix of disbelief and fury building in your chest. There’s no doubt in George’s gaze, nor in his voice. He believes that, as the heir to the throne, everything he wants will be within his reach. And you... you can do nothing but listen as your fate, now in the hands of that man, turns into a nightmare.

He smiles again, this time with no trace of doubt.

"So, I ask that you consider what I’m offering you. Power is at my feet now. Don’t you think what binds us is greater than anything else?"

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to suppress the wave of emotions that overwhelm you. How did it all get this far? How could the death of one man have become another’s opportunity to take what he wanted? The reality was clear. Your brother’s death, and George’s rise to power, meant that you, as always, were nothing more than a pawn in the kings and princes' chess game. And worst of all, your life, your future, now also depended on the will of the man who looked at you with a smile on his lips, seeing you not as an honorable knight, but as just an opportunity to further solidify his power.

You take a step back, the sharp pain in your chest reflected in every movement you make.

"And if my loyalty isn’t in your hands, George... what will you do?" you ask, your voice dark, almost defiant.

George looks at you intently, the smile never leaving his face. He knows that everything now depends on him, that the final word is his. And he doesn’t plan to let you go so easily.

"You can ask those three"

Note ───── There was a moment when euphoria hit me so intensely that, in less than three hours, I had already created an entire universe. It was a burst of creativity that, while satisfying, I feel ended up being a bit shorter than what I usually do. As always, I tend to expand ideas much more, but this time I kept it more concise. However, even though the result was a bit brief, I sincerely hope you enjoyed this first original piece from me.

As for the character of George, I have to say that my friend was really fond of him. I'm glad to know he made a good impression, although personally, I feel like his interactions were too limited. Maybe I didn’t delve enough into his development or his dynamics with other characters. I’m not sure if you felt the same way, but it’s something I’d like to know. Despite my own doubts, I hope the overall idea was still enjoyable.

As always, any feedback or suggestions are more than welcome. Don’t hesitate to message me whenever you want to share your thoughts or discuss any aspect.

[channiesunshinx]

𝐵𝓁𝓊𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓈 & 𝐵𝓊𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒻𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓈

Pairing: Jeongin x F!reader Genre: Romance, fluff, slice of life Warning: None

Masterlist

Valentine's Day had arrived, and it wasn't just any day for Jeongin and Y/N. For Jeongin, it was a celebration of a love he never tired of expressing. He wasn't the kind of person to go all out on a whim; rather, he made sure his love for Y/N was felt through little acts of care and kindness every single day. But this Valentine's Day, he wanted to show her just how much he appreciated her, in a way that was nothing short of grand.

From the moment Y/N woke up, she was met with a sense of calm, a peaceful stillness that could only mean Jeongin had orchestrated something extraordinary. She groggily reached for her phone, her eyes adjusting to the soft morning light. There was a message from Jeongin, simply reading: “Good morning, my love. Can't wait to see you tonight.”

Her lips curved into a smile, feeling the warmth of his words. She got out of bed, moving toward the kitchen for her usual morning routine. As she entered, her gaze immediately caught sight of the vase of tulips on the counter—her favorite flower. A note rested beside them: “For the woman who brightens my world every day.” She couldn't help but feel a tug in her heart. He always paid attention to the little details, knew what she loved without needing to ask.

Though Jeongin spoiled her in small, thoughtful ways daily, she had a feeling that today would be different. She didn’t know the full extent of what he had planned, but she knew it would be something special, something that made her feel treasured.

As the day wore on, she couldn't focus on much other than the anticipation building in her chest. She knew Jeongin was busy with something behind the scenes. When she finished work and headed home, her heart raced, knowing it was time for whatever he had been preparing.

The moment she stepped through the door, her breath caught in her throat. The apartment was transformed. The lights were dimmed, casting a soft, romantic glow over the entire space. The scent of roses and vanilla mixed in the air, the same sweet fragrance she'd come to associate with him. Every corner was adorned with a bouquet of roses, peonies, and lilies. It was as if the whole room was alive with color, a reflection of their love.

And there he was, standing by the table in a perfectly tailored black suit. His dark hair was styled effortlessly, his gaze warm as it met hers. He was waiting for her, the smile on his lips something between mischief and tenderness. She couldn’t help but smile back, her pulse quickening.

"Jeongin..." Y/N whispered, her voice filled with wonder. He stepped forward, pulling her into his arms, his scent enveloping her in an intoxicating embrace.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Y/N," he murmured softly, his lips brushing her forehead in a gesture that spoke volumes. It wasn't just about today—it was about every day he made her feel cherished, every gesture that showed her just how important she was to him.

Y/N pulled back slightly to look at him. “You didn't have to do all of this… You spoil me every single day.”

He grinned, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “I know. But today... I want to show you just how much you mean to me.” His words, full of sincerity and affection, made her heart swell.

Jeongin took her hand gently, leading her to the table. There, laid out in front of her, was a collection of carefully chosen gifts. Designer bags, delicate jewelry, and wrapped boxes stacked high. But the one that caught her eye was a velvet box, nestled amongst the treasures. Her breath caught as he slid it toward her, his gaze never leaving hers.

Y/N hesitated for just a moment before she opened the box. Inside lay a stunning necklace, an intricate design with a pendant that sparkled like the stars in the night sky. The diamonds caught the light, reflecting a soft, ethereal glow. “Jeongin... this is...” Her voice faltered, the words escaping her in awe. “It's too much.”

Jeongin shook his head, his eyes soft and tender. “Nothing is too much for you.” His fingers, warm and gentle, reached for her neck, brushing her hair away as he carefully placed the necklace on her. His touch lingered, the simple act of adorning her with such a beautiful gift making her heart race. It wasn't just the necklace—it was the way he made her feel so deeply loved, like she was the most precious thing in his world.

As the evening went on, Jeongin made sure every moment felt unforgettable. Dinner was an elaborate spread—delicacies she never expected to have outside of a high-end restaurant, prepared with thoughtfulness that only he could provide. Yet, it wasn't the food that had her mesmerized. It was the way he looked at her, his eyes dark with affection, the playful smirk he would give her when they exchanged teasing remarks.

After dinner, as the plates were cleared away, Jeongin stood, taking her hand in his. The atmosphere shifted. It was no longer about the extravagant gifts or the candlelit ambiance; it was about the connection they shared, the way he always seemed to know exactly what she needed without her having to say a word.

He led her to the couch, his thumb gently tracing the back of her hand, his touch slow and deliberate. His voice, low and intimate, broke the silence. “I spoil you every day, Y/N... but tonight, I want to show you just how much I cherish you. Not just through gifts, but through everything.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, the weight of his words and the intensity of his gaze almost too much to bear. There was something in the way he spoke, in the way he held her, that left her breathless.

“You already do, Jeongin,” she murmured, her voice hushed. “Every day, you make me feel like I'm everything.”

He smiled, a deep, satisfied grin. But as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers, the world seemed to stop. 

The kiss was soft at first, but the moment it deepened, she felt the full intensity of his love for her. His touch, both gentle and passionate, made her feel seen in ways she never imagined.

The evening passed in a blur of affection—his attention on her, making her feel like she was the only person in the world. The gifts, while beautiful and extravagant, were nothing compared to the way Jeongin made her feel. He spoiled her not just with expensive presents but with his undivided attention, his thoughtfulness, his love.

For Jeongin, Valentine's Day wasn't about doing something special just for one day. It was about showing Y/N, in the most extravagant and meaningful ways possible, that she was his everything. And as he held her close, kissing her softly beneath the glow of the candlelight, she knew that, no matter what gifts came and went, his love would always be the greatest gift of all.

[scribbbbbles]

How Brooklyn Was Brought To Her Knees - Chapter Two: The Rescue

author's note: HIIIIIIIII this one picks up right where we left off. It's longer!! almost 1k longer!!! let's hope my professors keep being nice to me so we can stay consistent :)

word count: 2.7k

PLEASE CHECK THE MASTERLIST FOR ALL WARNINGS!!!

comments, reblogs, and likes are cherished!! thank you for reading ♥

I was never one to back down from a fight, but I took Steve Rogers hand. He was an enemy of my father, but he was Steve. Good, honorable, golden Steve. There’s no way he hated my family so much he’d leave me here to rot… right? I hesitated for a second before grasping his fingers, and his eyes softened. He gripped my bicep and yanked me to my feet, where I promptly stumbled. I missed how my assailant’s hand began to shake as he released me. 

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, steadying me with two hands. “She’s worse off than you were Buck.” 

Wait. 

No. 

I slowly turned as the gears whirred in my head, actually hearing the words that came out of Steve’s mouth this time. The blue eyed man behind me pulled his mask down and shook his head to clear his hair. When he looked back up at me he was James Barnes, heir to the Brooklyn Mob, who last I heard was still missing . 

He wouldn���t look into my eyes. He knew. 

My throat went dry as I put the pieces together in my head. HYDRA had kidnapped Barnes- definitely while he was stationed overseas, it was easier to do on their home turf. If they’d lost their leverage with Bucky, maybe they thought they could play with a different boss. He must’ve been out for months , HYDRA can’t possibly work that fast.

“You got out?” I whispered to him, my voice fleeting in the silent expanse of the room. His eyes remained sharp, though a flicker of guilt blew over them like a top layer of snow shifting. It was just as quickly gone again. He only nodded as he turned to leave the room. 

“You got out so they took me didn’t they? You’re why I’m here aren’t you?!”

“I’m why you’re alive!” He roared as he whipped back to face me, his finger up and pointed in my face. I felt Steve’s grip on me tighten, as if no longer to hold me up but to keep me in place. I planted my feet firmly in response, willing myself not to sway. I held my chin high. Steve’s foot stepped out in front of me, a silent threat to Bucky of stand down . Bucky exhaled sharply. 

“Though frankly I couldn’t care less,” he said, tossing his hand before turning back towards the door. “You’re simply too good of a bargaining chip to leave here. Maybe your father will let me get a night’s rest if I drop your ass back on his doorstep.” 

“Bucky.” Steve tone carried a warning, for what I had no clue. 

Bucky turned back and glared at me, the cold in my bones reaching for him like it longed to go home, and that home was the man in front of me. He was harder than I remember- colder, meaner. His eyes were sharper, along with his jaw, and his nose looked like it had been broken a few more times. His adam’s apple bobbed slightly up and down as his large chest heaved to draw in more air from the stuffy room. His longer hair dusted across the top of his shoulders, with strands of the brown hair falling messily around his face. Some pieces got caught in his unkempt stubble and stuck to his sweaty forehead. Shadows seemed to pool at his feet like he could command them with a flick of his wrist. The pulsing light from the alarms jumped mutely around the small concrete room, illuminating him in a red glow of death. It carved dangerously down his easily 6’ frame and drew harsh lines through his blacked out tactical gear. 

I saw it first in the flashes of  light. His left arm was gone – a robotic-looking silver prosthetic gleamed in its place. On his outer bicep a red star was colored into the mechanism. It whirred ever so slightly as he moved. I barely heard it over the frantic slamming of my heart in my ears and my ragged breathing in the dead silent room, and if I wasn’t so focused on him or so intune with tech, I bet I wouldn’t even notice. I’d bet you couldn’t notice it if he had on a sleeve. This was not the boy who made me beg to be homeschooled to avoid his ponytail pulling, this was someone so much worse. This was less than a man, this was a well manufactured killing machine. He was living death. 

He looked me up and down like I was his prey; and for the first time in my life, I felt like it. 

I’ve never gulped down air faster than when Steve had finally hauled me out of that wretched basement, Bucky refusing to lay a single finger on me. The sunlight was blinding but oh so warm on my face. A grin involuntarily broke out across my chapped lips. There were police everywhere, and yet somehow we walked straight through them to an armored, blacked out SUV. One of the police nodded quickly to Bucky as we passed. 

‘Right, Barnes owns the cops.’ In my defense, I didn’t expect his reach to come out to the Bronx, but everyone can be bought. It’s the only reason any of us have a job. 

Steve kept a firm hold on me, helping me into the back of the van and making sure I wasn’t going to fall over before getting in the driver’s seat. Rogers was always nice to me, and I was thankful for that now. I shuddered internally at the thought of being here alone with Barnes. Steve’s spent a large portion of his life cleaning up Bucky’s messes; and I guess I’m one of them now. We could probably be friends, if it weren’t for our … affiliations. 

The pair of men bickered in the front seat, Bucky opting to just dump me at Stark Tower in downtown; which was also my preferred option. Steve, who ended up making the choice for both of us, said 'there was no way in hell you could just dump her on the street and have it not look like you had kidnapped and held her hostage for five years.’ I also learned from Steve in their heated conversation that Bucky was still the heir, and thus had to answer to his father. I kept my mouth shut at that, though a laugh threatened to bubble past my lips. The prospect of having to see George Barnes in my current state or at all was not one I was a fan of, but the prospect of Bucky still being Daddy’s Little Servant? That cracked a smile. 

Bucky had apparently had someone else call his father for him, lazy asshole, because when we arrived at the Barnes’ Mansion in Brooklyn there were double the amount of usual men and vehicles lining the property. I crossed every finger and toe that they were Stark cars. All I wanted was my dad, no matter how childish of a want it was. I never voiced it, but everyone silently knew. Bucky’s cold eyes had a brief sheen to them as I scanned the cars looking for any identifiable markers, understanding. I was hidden between the two gigantic men as we exited the car and moved inside the house, the main doors heavily thudding behind us as we entered the foyer. 

I heard them before I saw them. I heard my father’s frantic yelling over everything, and I couldn’t stop myself from shoving through both men with whatever strength I possessed. Steve was the only one who tried to stop me, Bucky gladly let go of my arm like it was a cancer to him. Dick. 

“You have the nerve to call my personal cell number after all these years and fucking use my daughter as bait to get me inside your godforsaken shitstain of a house–” I heard a very familiar accented voice boom through the doors in front of me, Steve and Bucky’s steps a few paces behind. They were murmuring about something, but I no longer had it in me to care. A grin crept wide up my cheeks as I shoved open the two double doors into what I could assume was the back meeting hall. 

Every head in the room turned to me as the doors opened. You could hear my father out of breath from across the room. I barely had time to register who I was standing in front of or what I looked like - covered in blood, thin as a rail, paler than any human being should be, and grinning like I just escaped an asylum - before my father croaked out some kind of a pitiful sound and tears poured from my eyes. 

I’ve never seen Anthony Stark run that fast in my life. I let out an ‘oof’ when he collided into me and scooped me up into his arms like I was five years old and not twenty; like he wasn’t one of the most feared bosses on the east coast. Our bodies shook with the combined release of sobs, adrenaline, and five years of worry gone from our shoulders as we collapsed on the floor. He pressed my face so hard into his chest it kind of hurt, but I didn’t care. He smelled like that Gucci cologne he refuses to admit smells like shit and that way too expensive aftershave he’s been using all my life. He eventually pulled back to help me stand, and we both started cackling like witches at the ludicracy of it all, slowly and shakily standing as he held me at arm’s length. He wiped my eyes as I death-grip clung to his forearms. 

He was older, with grays streaking through his slicked back hairstyle and peppered in his overgrown goatee. The bags under his eyes felt more pressing and permanent, hollow dark semi-circles. He was thinner, not by much but still noticeable as I pressed my fingers hard into his suit jacket. It was one of his least favorites, a blue Armani one he always claimed to pull at his shoulders. His lips weren’t as chapped as they used to always be, they were smooth as they pressed several kisses to my hairline. His eyes flitted around my face, and a watery smile stretched across his face. 

“Hi sweet pea,” he said, so soft that no one else could hear, as he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes raked up and down my body and I saw the concern knot in his brow. I shook my head at him, looking pointedly before smiling. 

“Hi Dad.” He beamed, his face relaxing and he kissed my forehead before hugging me again. I looked over his shoulder and caught Pepper Potts, who had her face schooled into a neutral expression, holding a toddler about three or four years old in her arms pressing her face away from me and into her shoulder. Next to her stood a young, crying, sixteen year old boy. 

He was ganglier than I remembered, though I guess he had grown more than I thought. His sandy brown hair fell haphazardly across his forehead and his cheeks were flushed from crying. He stood taller, closer to my dad’s height judging by where he landed next to Pepper. He wore his school uniform, a collared button down under a navy sweater and some khakis, but I caught a dainty silver chain around his neck tucked under his shirt. He wore a silver ring on his pinkie finger, a plain band but no doubt engraved with our family insignia. A show of loyalty from an active member. My heart squeezed at that. 

“Hi Peter.” My dad stepped back with a chuckle as Peter Parker flung himself at me. I laughed again and held him close as he picked me up and spun me around in circles. He was taller than me now, and stronger, but he was still my little brother. I caught Steve smiling out of the corner of my eye next to Bucky’s mom and sister, while I heard Bucky and his father leave the room arguing. I didn’t really care, because Peter was suffocating me. I swatted him on the back before he loosened his grip with a rushed, ‘sorry.’ I smiled up at him and he returned the gesture. A silent communication of a thank you. Pepper walked over with the toddler as I stepped out of the hug brushed Peter’s hair off his forehead.

“I missed you,” he said with a watery laugh, his hands remaining on my shoulders. 

“Good because I missed you too.” I got the chance to finally turn to Pepper and see the small child in her arms who looked… just like my dad. I watched Pepper shoot him a glare, and cover the child’s face from seeing me again. I looked at him with an eyebrow obviously cocked and tilted my head. Pepper’s always been a great step-mom, this was not like her to do. He looked to the floor and sighed, stepping away from her and back to me, shooting her a look of ‘not now, not here. Know your place.’ 

“We need to get the med team to look you over sweet pea. I’m hoping not all of this is yours,” his mouth set in a firm grimace as he took in my frail form, brushing my matted hair off my forehead again. Suddenly embarrassed by my appearance, I held my chin higher. 

“Never is, Dad.” He nodded, his mouth pressed in a thin line. As he turned to one of his men, Bucky and his father returned. Bucky looked shell shocked in a way I’d never seen him before. His eyes wouldn’t meet anyones and his gaze remained firmly on the floor. He slowly stalked by his mother and sister before falling in line next to Steve, hands clasped in front of him and head bowed. Steve whispered over to him, covering his mouth so I couldn’t read what he was saying. Bucky muttered something in return. His father remained in the doorway of his study, looking like nothing had gone down in the past few minutes. 

 ‘ Damn, he really got his ass handed to him.’ 

Dad nodded at George Barnes, who nodded in return. A deal was made. I quickly flitted my eyes to everyone’s face in the room. Winifred and Rebecca were doing the same as me - it seems no one informed the women - Peter was blissfully unaware, Pepper was already leaving with my apparent infant half-sister, and Steve's expression matched Bucky’s but with a hint of amusement in it. Bucky smacked his arm and they quickly left the room. Rebecca turned her gaze back towards me, raising a brow. I raised both of mine in response. She smiled softly and shook her head, pointing towards her father with her eyes. She’d find out later. 

“Welcome home, Miss Stark.” George spoke across the room. “I wish you a speedy recovery.” His baritone voice carried across the room with an air of sincerity. It was a dismissal. A ‘kindly get fucked,’ dismissal. 

“Thank you sir. And thank your sons for me as well. I owe them a debt ,” I replied, very careful to highlight whom I owe my thanks. It wasn’t customary to owe someone a favor in the mob. To be owed is a life debt, and unfortunately I now inadvertently was trapped in one such predicament to the heir. George Barnes is the world’s best con-man next to my Dad, and he will twist whatever he can get his hands on to make it fit what he needs it to. He waved his hand, another dismissal, but nodded none the same. He dismissed the debt? My eyebrows flew quickly to my hairline before I schooled my expression. I shot another glare to Rebecca, who quickly nodded in response. 

“Safe travels.” 

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[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

(Titanic AU)

Everyone was clamoring to see the maiden journey of the Titanic. People watched in interest as a car drove up. Back in the year 1912 having a car meant you were rich. A brother and sister stepped out of the car, the tall handsome man wore a dark blue suit with a gold tie. His brown hair styled in the latest fashion and his eyes were honey brown. His younger sister Emily had his brown hair and freckles, but her eyes were a lovely pale blue color. Her hair was up and she wore a beautiful lavender dress. They were joined by Sera, a regal woman with silver hair and the same pale blue eyes as Emily she also silver dress. There was also Lilith, Adam’s fiancée, who had gold hair and violet eyes wearing a the same color as her eyes. Ever since Adam and Emily’s father died they fell on hard financial times and as the eldest child of the Kadmon family, Adam had to marry into the extremely wealthy Magne family. But Lilith Magne was extremely cruel, arrogant, and spoiled.

Emily: Isn’t the Titanic amazing? We will be the first on a maiden voyage.

Adam: It is a sight to behold.

Adam felt like the luxurious ship was more like a prison dragging him back to a life in America he didn’t want. They got onto the ship and made their way to the luxury suite that would comfortably house four people with room for more. Aside from his loving family, the only thing that offered Adam comfort was the beautiful paintings that Lilith bought for their engagement even if she thought no one would care about the likes of Picasso, Monet, or Van Gogh. To Adam they gave insight to how others viewed the world. Meanwhile at a pub another young man was celebrating his luck. He just one steerage tickets to the Titanic, after years of travel Lucifer Morgenstern was going home to America. The short blonde man with piercing blue eyes grabbed the ticket and the money he won and ran to get onto the ship before it left. He made it to his cabin which he would share with four other people. He didn’t care about the small cabin, all he cared about was the fact that he was on the greatest ship ever. That night Adam was getting ready for bed and Lilith arrived with her creepy bodyguard Alastor who was staying in second class.

Lilith: I have one more gift for you.

She stood behind Adam and put a necklace around his neck. It was beautiful, a string of smaller diamonds that held a large blue diamond with smaller diamonds surrounding it.

Adam: The Heart of the Ocean.

Lilith: Yes, it looks quite stunning on your neck. Give me what I want and I will give you the world.

But Adam felt as if this necklace was a collar showing the world that Lilith owned Adam and he never felt more embarrassed in his life. When Adam was alone he broke down crying wanting to die. He didn’t know that when he decided to try and throw himself off the back of the ship he would find his one true love.

He couldn't go through with marrying Lilith, it would only be a life of embarrassment, control, and her making sure he knew he saved him and his family from the poor house. Adam would leave everything he had to his mom and sister so that they could sell it to get by.

He just hoped that they would understand.

When night time fell, Adam snuck out of his room and to the deck of the boat, going to the back of it. The ocean air was salty and crisp, the wind licking his hair making it slightly messed up.

Adam gripped the railing looking out into the vast darkness that was the ocean, he couldn't see anything in front of his face. There was only a faint glow a couple lights behind him.

Lucifer had decided that he needed some air, even though he got on great with those he shared his room with he needed some fresh air. He took a deep breath and smiled, it was a beautiful night for a little stroll on the deck.

Deciding to go to the back, that's when he noticed the other man as well. Curious, Lucifer watched him for a moment only to realize that he was going to go overboard!

Lucifer: Woah! Hey!

Lucifer ran to him and pulled him back, they landed on the ground and he checked him over to make sure he was okay.

And he was the most beautiful man he's ever seen.

Adam: Wha-? Why would......

Lucifer: Are you okay? You could have really gotten hurt.

Adam: I'm okay...... Who are you?

Lucifer smiled and helped him up: The names Lucifer Morgenstern and who might you be?

Adam flushed: Adam, Adam Kadmon.

Luicfer kissed his hand: A beautiful name for a beautiful person. What are you doing out here?

Adam's eyes watered: I.... I'm supposed to marry this woman but I won't be happy. My family needs her money and I just...... I don't know what to do.

[chickenkurage]

DAY 5: MOTION SICKNESS

Duck Alan AU

Summary: Alan never really told everyone he is still experiencing motion sickness. And everyone is slightly–careless. Thank goodness he has Second to back him up.

Tag/s: Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting and Nausea, Comedy

As much as Alan loves his little goobers—AKA Second, The Gang, a bit of Dark, and of course Chosen—they aren’t exactly careful when he's around. It’s Alan’s fault, really, for not telling them that his VR is still a bit buggy after Dark’s initial tampering. A slight movement can send his vision spinning like he’s the goddamn sun orbiting the earth on a sugar high.

Now, it’s his fault for not mentioning it, but that doesn’t mean they should—

“Catch!” Red giggles, throwing Alan toward Blue, who jumps over a slime block and hugs Alan to his chest before tossing him to Yellow, who then passes him to Green. “Guys,” Alan protests, the AFK symbol above his head flickering away as his vision swirls, still getting thrown around.

“Green, catch this!” Blue laughs, slamming Alan into Green, who lets out a loud ‘oof’ as feathers scatter in the air while he falls on his back with Alan on his face. “Jesus Christ,” Alan moans, covering his eyes with a wing. His VR is still malfunctioning, even after he tried to fix it.

He hears Red and Blue giggling as a yellow blur helps a green blur up to his feet. “You alright, Alan?” Blue asks, crouching in front of the duck, who only lets out a small groan and waves a wing. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. What the hell are you four doing?” Alan asks calmly—he has to stay calm; he can’t just blow up at these kids.

“We were just playing around,” Red says, lifting Alan into his arms. Alan suppresses a groan as his vision spins again, feeling nauseous. “With my body?” he swallows hard, his stomach churning. For a moment, Red says something, and Blue laughs again as Alan squeezes his eyes shut, trying to push down the nausea. His skin feels clammy, and he rocks his legs to quell the urge to vomit. He manages to slip off the VR and stumbles to the bathroom, where—well, he vomits.

Red turns to Alan, the large AFK symbol still hovering above his head. “You think he’s annoyed at us?” Blue asks, just as Green leans on Blue’s shoulder. “No way, we were just having fun. He’s probably just upset we didn’t ask him for permission,” Green sighs, and Blue gasps.

“Damn it, you’re right!” Blue exclaims as Yellow approaches, spinning a purple feather between his fingers. “Alan?” He taps the duck’s head, but the AFK symbol remains.

“Maybe he’s angry,” Blue’s teeth chatter in fear as Yellow taps a fist on his head. “Don’t be stupid.” Finally, the AFK symbol above Alan disappears. “Guys, never do that again,” Alan says, his voice low as he trudges off.

“So he is angry,” Red whispers to Yellow, who just sighs.

. . . .

It’s safe to say it’s not easy to shake off the nausea from being tossed around. After walking away, Alan had to rush to the bathroom again and vomit his guts out.

“I thought I fixed that already,” Alan groans, tempted to lay his head on the rim of the toilet bowl, rolling his lips in disgust at the thought.

As he cleans the bathroom almost religiously, he can’t help but remember this is the same toilet he uses for… well, you know. Naturally, that makes him feel even more nauseous.

It’s time to tell them to be more careful, or he’ll never touch the VR again.

Of course, he wouldn’t do that—he can’t leave his kids—er, the teens—by themselves. With them switching between the Outernet and his PC, who knows what they’re up to?

It’s terrifying to think there’s a whole civilization in the internet—or outernet, whatever! Alan is still getting used to all that.

But he knows Second and the Color Gang are incredibly careless. While he trusts Chosen to look after them, he knows Chosen is busy with his own life.

And Dark, despite being newly fixed, doesn’t inspire confidence in watching over the kids. Alan doubts whether fixing Dark’s code even mattered since his personality hasn’t changed.

“Are you okay?” Second asks as Alan finally slips his VR on after taking an anti-nausea pill. He usually avoids medication, but this time, he’d swallow his pride to avoid feeling nauseous until he falls asleep.

“I’m fine, but they need to be careful,” Alan says, flailing his wings in frustration. Second chuckles nervously, wringing his hands. “Did they—play ball with you again?” he giggles.

Alan almost glares—if he weren’t a duck, he might look scary. Second giggles at that. “Worse, I AM the ball,” Alan clenches his wing into a fist as Second stifles laughter. “I can tell them off if you’d like,” Second offers, but Alan sighs.

“Who am I to make you do that? I’m an adult, a working adult. I can talk to them myself,” Alan grumbles, knowing he wouldn’t actually scold them, despite the discomfort they caused.

Second crosses his arms, worry etched on his face as he taps his chin. He knows about Alan’s issue with being picked up and moved around without warning.

There’s a bug in the VR system that makes Alan’s vision go haywire, leading to the worst nausea imaginable. He’s never had motion sickness before; it started after Dark tampered with the system and caused a seizure.

Suddenly, Second huffs, surprising Alan. If he had brows, they’d be raised in confusion. But alas, ducks lack eyebrows.

“Then I’m telling them myself! If you have another seizure, you can’t use the VR!” Second scolds, and Alan gasps in offense, wing over his chest, bill agape in shock.

“A teen talking back to an adult?!”

“Excuse me?!” Alan exclaims as Second stomps off, rolling up his sleeves as if ready to throw punches. “No! Wait!” Alan calls, chasing after the teen.

[darl-ingfics]

Feveruary Day 17: "I know you want to help but you’re only making things worse.” 

Fandom: ATEEZ, EXO

Sickie: Yunho (migraine), Hongjoong (stress)

Caregiver(s): Suho

Word Count: 1563

Notes: Anon who requested this said 'unexpected caretaker,' so... why don't we mix some fandoms?

Yunho was not Hongjoong’s problem child. The dancer was always so positive. Even when he was tired or in a bad mood, Yunho had an innate talent for swallowing his own problems and putting on a smile for those around him. He was ATEEZ’s mood maker, the one fueling their joy. 

Which made it all the harder when Yunho was the one causing problems backstage at a music show. 

Hongjoong had noticed that Yunho looked pale when they’d left the dorms. He’d noticed an unusual quietness about the dancer. But he hadn’t pursued it, assuming that Yunho had slept poorly, and would be fine once he fully woke up. Hongjoong himself had pressed an energy drink into Yunho’s hand, a new brand they’d had yet to try, and Yunho had accepted it was a half-second grateful smile. 

But the normally cheerful Yunho’s mood hadn’t changed post-caffeine. In fact, it seemed to grow worse. He stumbled three times during their dance practice, growing more frustrated each time. He also seemed more irritated by the members mistakes; usually, he corrected them kindly, but today, he snapped critiques. Something was off, but Hongjoong wasn’t able to address it given the tightness of their schedule. 

Things came to a head once ATEEZ were in their dressing room for the stage that night, post-hair and makeup. Music was blaring from all direction (the stage was relatively close, and other groups were hyping themselves up in dressing rooms on either side of them). The lights in the room were harsh and bright. The room itself was small, the members voices echoing shrilly. Yunho had been usually quiet, keeping to himself when he’d usually be causing mischief. 

That ended a minute after Yunho had shrugged on his stage outfit: tight blank pants and a fitted jacket. Not a minute after the heavy material was on his body, Hongjoong watched the dancer’s face drain of color, then turn a sickly green, all before Yunho lurched towards the trash can and unceremoniously threw up. 

The room went silent, only the sound of Yunho gagging echoing now. 

Seonghwa and Mingi were at his side instantaneously. 

“You’re okay,” Seonghwa soothed as Yunho’s retching turned to sobs. The eldest guided the dancer to the floor while Mingi pulled the trash can from his hands. “You’re okay, baby…” Seonghwa maneuvered them both so Yunho could lay against his shoulder.

“Nooooo,” the dancer whined, pulling back from Seonghwa, who looked up meaningfully at Hongjoong. 

“No what, love?” Mingi asked, carding a hand through Yunho’s hair. That action caused Yunho to cry out in distress, pulling back from both Mingi and Seonghwa, collapsing in on himself. 

“Don’t touch me!” he wailed, eyes squeezing tightly shut against his legs. “It hurts!”

“What hurts?!”

“EVERYTHING!” 

It was all too much. 

Hongjoong violently vaulted out of his chair and burst through the door into the hallway. He had no idea where he was going, who was watching him. He didn’t care. His legs carried him as far as they were able, and when he couldn’t move anymore, he sunk onto the floor, back against the wall, and sat with his knees pulled to his chest, face smushed against his knees. 

Today was the most fucked clusterfuck he’d encountered yet, and Hongjoong felt incredibly out of his depth. 

“Hey.” 

Hongjoong raised his head, slapping a hand over his mouth after squeaking in surprise. Kneeling in front of him were Suho and Chanyeol of EXO. “Oh my god!” He hid his face in his hands. 

“Hey, hey, none of that.” Suho shook his head as he reached for Hongjoong’s hands, gently pulling them away from his face. “Right now, we’re not EXO. You’re not Ateez. I am Junmyeon, and he is Chanyeol, and you are Hongjoong, and we are having a conversation as normal people, yeah?” Hongjoong swallowed, centering himself, before nodding. “Good. What’s wrong?”

Hongjoong took a deep breath. “One of my members is… I don’t know, something’s wrong.”

“Tell me about it.”

Hongjoong blew out another breath, puffing out his cheeks. “Yunho, my usually sunny, kind puppy member, is nauseous and dizzy and confused and in so much pain all of the sudden and… and I don’t know how to help him. And he refuses to sit out. But everything my members keep doing… it’s making it worse.” 

“That’s a lot to handle by yourself,” Chanyeol commented, reaching a hand forward to grasp Hongjoong’s knee affectionately. 

“And I can’t… I don’t know what to do about it. I…” His voice broke. “My member literally threw up and I ran out of the room. I abandoned him when I needed him most.”

“Hongjoong-ah…” Chanyeol’s voice was soft, softer than Hongjoong felt he deserved. 

“Hey.” Cool hands on his cheeks snapped Hongjoong’s attention to the dark eyes searching meaningfully for his own. Junmyeon’s lips were pressed into a tight line, but the look on his face was pure love. “Sometimes, there are situations you, as the leader, cannot control. If management says you have to perform, you have to. If management says, ‘do what you want,’ and your members say ‘I want to perform’ even when they’re sick as a dog, you can’t make them sit out. They’re adults. They get to make those calls, even if they make the choice that stresses you out, because you feel the pressure as leader to do right by them. But you’re just one person, and you aren’t responsible for them all the time. AND, it’s completely normal for situations to arise that you haven’t dealt with before, and it’s okay to say you don’t know what to do and ask for help, yeah?” 

Hongjoong paused, allowing the older man’s words to sink in, before he nodded.

“You’re doing an amazing job, you now.” Junmyeon’s gentle smile made Hongjoong feel proud of himself in a way he hadn’t felt in a while. “It’s not easy to lead a group. Especially when you’re all so close in age. If I could’t pull the age card on some of these dumbasses, I don’t know what I’d do…”

“Hey!” Chanyeol exclaimed, pouting excessively. Junmyeon placed a placating hand on his shoulder with a ‘you know it’s true’ look. Chanyeol shrugged, knowing the leader was right. 

“Point is, there’s nothing wrong with being out of your depth because you’re learning along with them,” Junmyeon finished, hands moving to tap Hongjoong’s knees lightly. “Now, if I had to guess from the few things you’ve said, it sounds like your member is suffering from a migraine. And I take it he hasn’t had one before, yeah?” Hongjoong shook his head. “Has anyone in your group had one before?”

“Not that I know of,” Hongjoong answered.

“Okay then.” Junmyeon sprung to his feet, holding out his hands for Hongjoong to take, leaving Chanyeol to scramble up on his own. “We’ll come give you some assistance, then. We’ve dealt with plenty a migraine in our time.”

Hongjoong silently led Junmyeon and Chanyeol to ATEEZ’s dressing room. He had little memory of it, unable to reconcile the fact that THE EXO had asked to help him. How was this real? 

The dressing room went silent on sight of Junmyeon and Chanyeol. That didn’t seem to phrase the EXO members at all.

“Who’s got the headache?” Junmyeon asked, scanning each member carefully. San and Wooyoung pointed at Yunho, who raised his hand very slightly. The greenish tint to his skin would have given him away as it was, but still, Hongjoong appreciated the self-awareness. “What’ve you tried to make him feel better?” The group began to list off their many attempts at healing their ailing dancer. The more they talked, the more Junmyeon shook his head. He took a deep breath, hands finding his hips. He paused their talking with a simple raise of his hand. “Listen. I know you want to help but you’re only making things worse. It’s not your fault. Your leader told me you haven’t dealt with a major migraine before, and honestly, good for you. But now you get to learn. Here’s what we need you all to do.”

Hongjoong took a step back, blending into the background as Junmyeon counseled his members on how best to care for Yunho in this moment. The captain himself was barely listening, rather marveling at the ease with which Junmyeon assumed control. His directives were gentle and kind, but firmly; he wasn’t condescending at all, simply advising his industry juniors how to better support one another. It was… inspiring. 

Hongjoong started when he felt a hand clap against his shoulder. He startled back into reality, meeting Chanyeol’s gaze. “It’s a sign of a great leader to ask for help, you know.” Hongjoong felt his face heat up. He fought the impulse to look away. “The amount of times Myeon-shi called Jinki-hyung or Leeteuk-hyung in the middle of the night… and the percentage of those calls where our hyungs couldn’t give a clear answer cause they didn’t know what to do either… It’s wild that these companies think any one of us could have the capacity to be in charge all the time is unrealistic.” Chanyeol smiled brightly, encouragingly. “You’re doing an amazing job, Joong-ah. This team’s so lucky to have you.”

Hongjoong couldn’t stop the tears flooding his eyes. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

[hearteyedbunny]

He Tastes Like You, Only Sweeter [18+]

Thatcher just wants to drink his sorrows at the bar in peace, but the reappearance of a familiar face forces him to grapple with some complicated feelings...

this is technically a part three to this post, but you can also read it as a standalone because I don't really see it as canon, just a fun little side project!

Noise. So much noise. Thatcher hated clubs. The flashing lights and crowded space and booming bass made his head pound. Yet, here he was again, alone at the bar, while the person who dragged him here was out on the dance floor laughing, dancing, and flirting with god knows who this time. He silently seethed with jealousy at the thought, throwing back another shot that burned all the way down his throat.

He didn’t want to care so much. He didn’t want to let it bother him, to make him angry. He shouldn’t. After all, he may rightly be Abaddon’s, but they were never his. They made that abundantly clear every time they dragged him out to one of these seedy places, leaving him behind the second they found a new target to play with for the night. 

He wasn’t a stupid man, perhaps hopelessly devoted, but never stupid, never oblivious. He knew he was being toyed with, month after month, but he was nothing if not loyal, always coming back to the angel like the obedient dog he was. He could get mad, enraged even, angrier than he’s ever been with anyone, until he felt like he would burst if he put up with it any longer, but he always came back, always sat at Abaddon’s heels, like he was expected to. Like he was supposed to.

Thatcher was a human, weak and fragile, full of emotion, but he was Abaddon’s favorite, that fact alone fueling his desire, keeping his anger at bay. At least that’s what they always told him, whispered against his ear, muttered into the sheets, sent in late night drunk messages that they rarely remembered in the morning. Degrading himself felt worth it if Abaddon kept fueling his laughable fantasy of being important to someone.

Another shot, and his head buzzed.

Someone took up in the seat next to him, but he paid no mind to it, continuing to stare into the woodgrain of the bar counter as he drank his sorrows. He finally perked up at the sound of a familiar voice, his blood running cold.

“Hi sweetie!”

Thatcher straightened up, afraid to glance over, but he did. Sitting in the seat next to him was a face he’d seen before, but not one he was eager to be reunited with. They sat there staring at him, their eyes too big, their smile too white, every tooth in their mouth perfectly aligned. Their canines weren’t even sharp. They flipped a strand of long, auburn hair across their shoulder as they sipped on a martini. It was pink in color, with two cherries floating within it. Somehow, it seemed fitting.

“L-Luvrina?” Thatcher swallowed, trying to stay calm, but dread clenched in his gut, “You…what are you doing here?”

“Just keeping an eye on things,” Luvrina laughed easily, but the sound set off alarm bells in Thatcher’s head, “Oh, don’t look so scared, silly! I’m only here for Abby, I would never hurt you, Thatcher! Unless you want me to.”

��Um…” he ignored the crude comment, tapping his nails nervously against the counter, “So...you’re still around? Watching us. Does Abaddon know?”

“Oh, goodness, I hope not! That wouldn’t be any fun at all,” they laughed again, taking another sip of their drink, “And it would especially ruin the fun if a certain someone were to tell them! Don’t you think so?”

Thatcher didn’t answer, only offering them a nervous laugh. The threat was heard loud and clear. 

“Good, good…but enough about me. Why are you over here all alone, baby?”

“I, uh…” his face grew red at the pet name, or maybe it was the alcohol, maybe both, “Abaddon, they wanted to come. I don’t like to dance, so I just…I’m here.”

“Fascinating,” Luvrina propped their elbow up on the counter, cheek pressed into their palm as they gave him all of their attention, their tone feigning interest, “You’re so sweet, and they just leave you all alone like that?”

“I…” Thatcher swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling tight. Glancing to the dance floor, he hoped to catch Abaddon’s eye, to warn them, but they were nowhere to be found. Jealousy coiled in his belly again, knowing they were probably off banging someone in a bathroom stall. “Yeah, but they always do this. It’s…I don’t care. Really! I, uh, I just drink a little. Until they want to leave.”

“Hmm,” Luvrina hummed quietly, their deep brown eyes flickering over his features as he spoke, their smile suddenly morphing into something almost sweet. They set their drink down, creeping their fingers along the counter to ghost over Thatcher’s own. He twitched, but didn’t pull away. “I know, sweetheart, Abby always throws away the people that love them the most. It’s such a burden, loving them, isn’t it?”

“N-No, I don’t love them– They’re not a–” he blinked several times, stumbling over his words before falling silent for a moment, mulling over his thoughts, “...What do you mean, they always throw people away?”

“Oh…” Luvrina sighed dramatically, placing a hand to their chest and looking sad for a moment. Their large eyes turned downcast, their long lashes brushing their cheeks. “They were willing to throw away everything, Thatcher, just to be here on Earth. Away from our god, away from me, away from all the other angels, just to play pretend with you humans. Isn’t that cruel? To throw away their family, just like that?”

Luvrina sniffled, hiccuping a soft cry, but no tears fell. Thatcher took their hand in his own, squeezing it with reassurance. They looked back up at him with their doe eyes, blinking once.

“I’m…so sorry, Luvrina. I had no idea they treated you that way,” his gaze softened as he looked at them, his thumb soothing over their knuckle, “They’ve never…said anything about that. About you.”

“Of course not,” they spoke sadly, pouting, but still no tears, “I suppose they hate me, for coming down here, for spoiling their fun, even after everything I’ve done for them...”

“I’m sorry, I can’t imagine how you’re feeling,” Thatcher repeated his apology, not knowing what to say. What could he say? These celestial feuds were far, far above his head. At least, that’s what Abaddon always told him. Their words echoed in his mind: You’re a human, you wouldn’t understand.

“But…if I can ask, why are you telling me all this?” he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, growing nervous, “They’re my guardian angel, I can trust them, can’t I?”

“I’d just hate for you to get hurt by Abby, sweetie!” they suddenly perked up, their expression staring again, the flashing, multicolored lights of the surrounding club reflecting in the whites of their eyes, “They’re horrible, aren’t they? Haven’t they already hurt you? Just like they hurt everyone else?”

“No, no, Abaddon’s never…” he trailed off, trying to defend them, trying to rack his brain for any excuse, any acknowledgment that they cared about him. He realized he couldn’t come up with anything. “They’re just…intense. It’s not their fault, it’s mine, I shouldn’t be so sensitive. It must be hard for them, not being from Earth. Well, you know that…”

Thatcher rambled on nervously, Luvrina holding a soft smile as they listened to him. His words suddenly came to a stop, though, when the angel cradled his jaw, their thumb soothing over his cheek as they gazed at him. They cooed their next words, their tone sickly sweet.

“You’re so special, Thatcher. It’s a shame that Abby is so awful to someone as special as you…”

Thatcher’s heart beat quicker at the praise, at the sudden touch, his throat tight, feeling at a loss for words. Special? Him? He was nothing, just dust in the wind, blown away without a second thought. Still, their words ignited something in him, something eager and pathetic, the part of him that grasped at straws for any attention, always insatiable, always yearning for more.

Luvrina sounded so genuine, as if they actually cared about him. Did they? Were they looking out for him in the presence of their sibling? Or were they exactly like Abaddon? Lying to him, manipulating him, wrapping him around their finger to get exactly what they wanted? What did they want? He didn’t know. Part of him didn’t even care, just grateful to be acknowledged at all.

“Huh? Me?” he chuckled nervously, an awkward smile plastered on his flushed face. Luvrina’s hand felt cold against his cheek. “No, no, I’m nothing special, just…another human, you know? Uh…Thank you, though. For saying that.”

“Oh, you’re such a pretty human, though. You’re so darling, Thatcher,” they giggled, taking back their hand and moving their attention to their neglected martini, “Such a waste that you were assigned Abby, and not someone else…”

Thatcher blinked, staring at them as they sipped their drink, the adamant flirting not completely lost on him. He’d never been called pretty before.

He remembered when he had met them only a few weeks ago, their beauty standing out to him even then, despite the fear their presence brought him. Even now, in the dim lighting, he could make out soft freckles that dusted along their skin, across the bridge of their nose, their cheeks, even sprinkled along their collar and their shoulders. Plump lips were painted red, the same red as the long nails that tapped against their martini glass. Their skin seemed impossibly soft, perfect, unblemished, as if they truly were something other than human. An ethereal, alluring being, untouchable by human hands.

Glancing at him from behind their pink beverage, their eyes squinted in a seemingly genuine, playful smile. Thatcher’s eyes wandered down lower, his head buzzing with alcohol, then arousal as he finally noticed the low cut of their dress. They were practically spilling out of it, the tight material squeezing the curves of their body in all the right ways. His eyes darted back up when Luvrina offered him a knowing, flirty laugh.

“I am so sorry, I– I’ve been drinking and–” Thatcher stuttered, averting his eyes from the other and squeezing them shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. His face heated up to a dangerous degree, sweat beading along his skin.

“I know, isn’t this human form just gorgeous?” Luvrina ignored his apology, suddenly leaning forward to balance their weight with both hands on his thighs. Thatcher gasped at the contact, opening his eyes to find Luvrina’s toothy grin much too close to him now. Their eyes would be pretty if they just blinked. “I know you think so, too, ever since we met… You’ve been eyeing me, haven’t you? Tell me you have, Thatcher.”

“I-I, uh…” he choked on his words, his heart beating too fast in his chest with the angel so close. Could they hear it, too? The sound of his heart pounding in his ears? Surely they could, with how easily it drowned out the heavy rhythm of the bass surrounding the both of them. He swallowed, trying to speak.

“You're…very beautiful,” he finally admitted, his palms starting to sweat. He felt suffocated by Luvrina’s proximity.

“You wanna kiss me, baby,” Luvrina’s voice spoke low, hazy with want, hypnotizing the man trapped under their gaze.

It was a statement, not a question, perhaps even a demand from them. Thatcher hesitated at the proposition, but his feeble mind felt powerless to push down his desires. Not when Luvrina was so close, close enough that their breath ghosted across his face, not when his head felt dizzy with their praise, not with their hands squeezing his thighs like that, not when he glanced down and their chest was right there–

“Yes.”

Eager hands cupped his jaw as Luvrina leaned in further, pressing their lips together in a hungry kiss. Thatcher didn’t pull away, didn’t fight it, only allowed it to happen, even pressing eagerly into it, taking the bait. His eyes slipped closed behind his glasses, a small, pathetic noise leaving his throat as the angel easily overtook him. 

They tasted exactly like Abaddon, sweet and addictive, devouring and greedy; Thatcher desired every second of it. The remnants of their sugary drink invaded his senses as they forced their tongue into his keening mouth.

It was too sloppy, too fast, but the adrenaline only made Thatcher crave more. He felt them smile against his mouth before sucking his bottom lip between their teeth, eeking out another quiet noise from him before their lips separated with a wet sound, unheard in the loud surroundings of the club. Luvrina’s hand slipped into the back of his thick hair, making him shudder, their lips moving to mouth along his jaw, then his neck, their tongue licking long stripes along Thatcher’s burning skin. Perfect teeth teased at a vein in his neck, a hand slipped too close up his thigh, causing Thatcher to gasp and twitch away from their overwhelming touch.

“We shouldn’t…What if Abaddon–”

“Don’t think about them, baby,” Luvrina ran their tongue along their top lip, gazing at him like a lion would its prey. Their lipstick was slightly smeared. “They abandoned you, didn’t they? Left you all alone for someone to snatch you up? I’ll take such good care of you, Thatcher…”

Their hand wandered even further up his thigh, groping at his groin, making him suck in a breath and squeeze his eyes shut.

He thought about Abaddon. He thought about their shared kisses, their intimate moments late at night, tangled in his sheets. He thought about the long drives, just the two of them, laughing and comfortable in each other’s presence. He thought about how they cuddled up to him when it was cold out, about the snacks they liked, their favorite blanket, how they laughed too loud at movies, how they got clingy when they were drunk, how they played their music too loud, but he let them anyway because it made them happy. He just wanted to make them happy.

What was he doing? He was cheating, betraying what he and the angel shared between them. Wasn’t he? But…they weren’t in a relationship, were they? How angry would Abaddon be if they found out? Would they direct their anger onto him, onto Luvrina? Would they even be angry at all? Would they be jealous? Would they even care?

He thought about Abaddon again. About the humiliation, the secrets, the willingness to string him along, then throw him away. Never a priority, never a first choice, never Abaddon’s, only ever a toy to push and poke and prod at until they were satisfied. Something to have fun with, never something to take seriously.

They were his guardian angel, but he was just a job to them. Why should he feel bad? Why should he care? For once, shouldn’t he make his own choice, prod at Abaddon for a change? Push their buttons, make them angry? Why did he always have to be the bigger person, for his entire life?

Jealousy, anger, and self hatred made a familiar home in his stomach again, bubbling in his veins and pushing away any regret he may have had.

“My car– It’s out in the parking lot.”

……….

Luvrina had practically dragged Thatcher the whole way to his car, barely giving him any time to throw money onto the counter for his drinks.

It was quieter out here in the parking lot, no loud music, no sounds of people laughing and cheering and screaming drunkenly along to songs. Only the sound of footsteps on pavement and the occasional thrum of cars going down the road. Thatcher struggled to wrangle his keys from his pocket, jangling them around a bit as Luvrina forcefully pressed him into the side of the car, capturing his lips again, a hand up his thigh again. His hands shook, but he finally managed to unlock the doors with a press of a button.

It was a tight squeeze, but the two of them managed to fit in his back seat. Part of him briefly wished he owned something bigger than a sedan, but his thoughts quickly dissipated as Luvrina pushed him onto his back and straddled him, grinding down against his quickly growing arousal. Thatcher couldn’t suppress a groan, his hands pawing at their hips.

“Oh my, you look so cute below me, even cuter than I imagined!” Luvrina purred, kissing gently at his neck before digging in their teeth. Thatcher yelped, grasping at their dress and jolting underneath them. They only laughed. “Hush now, I won’t hurt you too bad…”

Thatcher didn’t know what that entailed, but his thoughts were interrupted when two fingers suddenly hooked into his mouth, swiveling his head to the side. Thatcher took them in obediently, feeling Luvrina’s hot breath on his neck, then the slight sting as they sucked and bit several dark bruises into his skin. He whimpered at the roughness, the two of them working up a rhythm as they rutted against each other. Luvrina gasped soft murmurs of pleasure against his saliva soaked neck, making Thatcher feel as though he might go crazier than he already was.

Thatcher wanted to touch them, so he did, sliding a hand up their tan thigh, sneaking it under their short dress. He couldn’t help a quiet curse as he realized they weren’t wearing any underwear. Christ, had they planned this? 

His stray thumb quickly found their clit nestled in the soft curls of hair between their thighs, where he rubbed in gentle, unhurried circles. They were wet, they were enjoying this, only accentuated by the low noise pulled from their throat, purred and grateful as they leaned into his touch.

“Good boy, Thatcher,” Luvrina murmured, apparently satisfied with the marks they left, now pressing soft kisses to his jaw, right below his ear where they whispered their praises. Their fingers were still in his mouth. He ran his tongue along them greedily. “You’re such a good boy… Are you this good for Abby, too? Or am I special~?”

The question made Thatcher’s stomach turn. Why was Abaddon being brought up now? Here? He ignored it, not wanting to think about them, only working his fingers against the other’s heat in the hopes it would distract them. It worked for a moment, dragging a pleasured sigh from them as they fluttered their eyes shut, their hips rolling into his hand, but it didn’t last. The fingers in Thatcher’s mouth suddenly gripped his jaw instead, leaving his skin sticky as they forced him to look them directly in the eye.

“Tell me,” the command was a quiet threat, panted out through their perfect smile. They stared down at him, seeming to take pleasure in his fearful expression. “Say it, Thatcher.”

“I’m–” Thatcher’s face burned, forced to stare into their unblinking eyes. Their fingers dug into his jaw, almost painful as he tried to gather his courage. Fear and arousal curdled in his blood. “I’m g-good for them, too. I do whatever they want…”

“I bet you do…” Luvrina finally let go of his face, instead busying their hands with unbuckling his belt, pulling down both his jeans and briefs in a quick motion, making him gasp as his cock was revealed to the cool air. He felt vulnerable, exposed, ashamed. Still, he shivered, groaning quietly when they gazed down at him, a hungry look on their face.

“Being obedient suits you, love. You’re so cute, I could just eat you up.”

Thatcher wanted to say something, he didn’t know what, but something, until Luvrina’s surprisingly gentle hand had him losing any train of thought he may have had. They stroked him softly, making him whimper, pure want and pleasure overtaking him. Threading his dirtied fingers through their long hair, he pulled them down to capture their lips again.

He didn’t want their tongue in his mouth again, but he accepted it, anything to taste them again, anything to keep their sweet fingers wrapped around his cock, squeezing in just the right places as he sighed into their mouth, begging for more without words.

Wandering fingers hooked into the front of Luvrina’s dress, Thatcher not being able to resist pulling it down and being rewarded with their chest spilling out into his waiting hands. He squeezed gently, brushing his thumbs over sensitive nubs and making the angel moan into his mouth with a renewed heat.

Luvrina was soft, softer than what Thatcher was used to. With Abaddon, there was lean muscle and hard angles, soft in their own way but so very different from what he was experiencing now. Luvrina felt good, their smooth curves pressing against his body, into his hands, warm and supple, pliable under his fingers.

He squeezed their chest again, thumbs rougher this time, causing Luvrina to bite at his bottom lip with an uninhibited groan. Thatcher felt it through his entire body.

“Please…” Thatcher breathed against them, not resisting as his hips thrusted up into their loose grip. They giggled at that.

“Oh? What are you begging for, baby?” Luvrina teased, suddenly tightening their grip on his cock, making him whine. He chased their lips as they pulled away. “Beg more, you sound absolutely perfect…”

“Please–” humiliation washed over him as he obeyed, yet he chased it with vigor. It was a familiar feeling, after all. “Please, please fuck me, please fuck me.”

“My goodness, you really are so good! I should just keep you for myself, shouldn’t I?” they laughed meanly at his desperation, staring down at him and watching his reaction, “Would you like that, if I kept you? My little pet…”

Thatcher didn’t answer, but the idea wasn’t unpleasant to him. God, what was wrong with him? Luvrina squeezed his cock again when he didn’t respond, ripping him away from his thoughts as pain raced up his spine, making him twitch uncomfortably.

“You should answer when you’re spoken to, love,” they decided to cease their teasing, growing quite impatient themself, finally shifting their hips forward and covering Thatcher’s lap as they began to ease him inside. The motion made both of them gasp quietly. “It’s only– nng– polite, dear...”

Thatcher’s thoughts turned to static as soon as he felt their heat surround him. His hands grabbed desperately at their ass, attempting to pull them in closer, to feel them take him in. Burying his face into the crook of their neck, he whined, still muttering soft pleas into their perfect skin. They smelled so sweet, like citrus and florals; he couldn’t help a long, appreciative lick against their neck, wanting to taste them, feel their supple flesh under his needy mouth.

Luvrina slid all the way down him with a grunt, the motion making a vulgar, wet sound, causing Thatcher’s head to spin. He didn’t mean to, not wanting to hurt them, but his hips seemed to have a mind of their own as he jolted them upward. Once, twice, feeling Luvrina squeeze slick and hot around him as he groaned again, pathetic and unashamed in his need.

“Oh, sweetie, now I see why Abby plays with you. You’re so eager…” Luvrina squeaked out a few moans at the sudden motion, taking pleasure in being bounced around for a moment.

“But you need to keep being good…” they cooed, sitting their weight on him, stilling his hips as they started to roll their own against him at an even pace. They placed a hand on his neck, keeping him down, thumb stroking gently at his throat. Thatcher whined. “Be still. Be sweet, my love, and I’ll make you feel better than they ever could…”

They kissed him again, Thatcher barely able to reciprocate as they rocked into him perfectly. He felt suffocated, the space too tight, their bodies squeezed too close together, their thumb pressed into his throat, the air shared between them too hot, heavy and oppressive. His lips were sore, sweat prickled and dripped down his burning face, his hands dug into Luvrina’s hips, desperately trying to hold on as he accepted the pleasure they allowed him. A heat pooled deep within his belly and he thought ‘too soon, too soon, too soon’, but he was already shuddering within them, helpless to stop it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry–” his orgasm shook his body, his voice strangled in his throat as he writhed beneath the other, desperate hands clinging to them as he rode out his high. Luvrina breathed something against his ear, then laughed, but he didn’t catch it, his head filled with too much fog, too much pleasure, drowning out anything else around him.

He felt exhausted when he finally came down, his breathing feeling like an effort he didn’t have the energy for. He shifted uncomfortably as he felt Luvrina still moving slightly atop him.

Fingers grabbed roughly at his face again, shaking him slightly and causing him to wearily blink his eyes open. When had he closed them? Luvrina was still there, not a dream, staring at him too closely. At least their large eyes were half lidded now. 

“Don’t fall asleep, darling, I’m not done with you…” they were slightly out of breath as they spoke, their cheeks tinged with red, but they still smiled at him. Their words ghosted against his lips, Thatcher watching as a bead of sweat rolled down the side of their face. “Show me how sweet that mouth of yours is…”

“O-Okay, yeah…” he grimaced as he felt the other lift their hips slightly, freeing him from their embrace with a quiet, slick noise. He hurriedly stuffed himself back in his pants, trying to ignore the stickiness.

Switching positions wasn’t graceful, but they managed. Luvrina pressed their back up against the car door, their legs spread beneath their dress as Thatcher crawled between them. It wasn’t comfortable, having to contort himself in the confined space, and he dreaded the back pain that awaited him in the morning. Those thoughts were quickly pushed away though as fingers grabbed at his hair and pulled him close.

“Just be good a little longer, cutie…” Luvrina sighed, their head falling back against the glass of the window as Thatcher obediently buried his face between their thighs. The feeling of his lips made their eyes flutter shut, their mouth slightly open as their breath picked up. “I wish I could play with you all night, baby… I’d love to make a mess of you…”

Thatcher only whined in response, it’s all he could do with his mouth full. They tasted good, warm and salty, their fluids and his own mixing together with his saliva as he drooled. He tasted himself as he lapped at them, the realization making him moan, feeling dirty. Humiliation, shame, and pleasure washed over him all at once, the intoxicating concoction of emotions only driving his desperation, giving him the motivation to work his tongue quicker, pulling those sweet noises from Luvrina’s throat, over and over. 

He wished they’d say his name, breathless and praising, squeaked out in a cry for more. He was greedy, he knew this, but he was only a man.

He liked being a good boy. He liked being obedient, being told what to do, being used. He wanted Luvrina to use his mouth, use him until they were satisfied. He liked being put in his place, needed to be put in his place, whether it be under them or between their thighs. In this moment, he wanted this, he needed it. It’s all he was good for, anyway, bringing someone else pleasure, filling someone else’s needs, making someone else feel good.

For the first time that night, Luvrina couldn’t seem to form words, their degrading praise melting into little whines and moans and keens as Thatcher continued to mouth at them. Thighs trembled under his grasp as he moved his tongue in gentle, eager circles, slipping their clit into his yearning mouth and earning a choked gasp from them. Luvrina squirmed under his touch, breath hot, but Thatcher’s fingers dug into their hips, holding them in place even when they began to fight against him in their pleasure. He breathed out his own noises against their sticky, flushed skin, even when the heel from their stiletto nudged into his back, even when sharp nails dug painfully into his scalp, he kept his pace, the pain only spurring him on.

Luvrina came with a sharp cry, dirtying Thatcher’s face as they rode it out against his mouth. He let them, his jaw sore, but more than willing to please the other until they were thoroughly finished with him. They breathed hard through cherry-stained lips, their hips rolling against Thatcher’s tongue until they were satisfied, then slowly stilling as they let the warmth of their high wash over them. Thatcher gave them a few last, little licks before kissing gently in the same spot. Luvrina practically purred at that, stroking a hand through Thatcher’s hair lovingly, possessively.

There was silence between them for a few moments, the only sounds being their labored breathing as they both attempted to catch their breath. Thatcher laid his head against the other’s fuzzy thigh, looking up at them with a tired, starstruck expression, his mouth painted with their fluids, marking him as their own. They returned his gaze, their wide grin beginning to creep back onto their exhausted face, but it seemed less malicious this time.

God, they looked gorgeous, he thought. Their makeup was smeared, their long hair disheveled, their dress barely containing them, their cheeks tinted red as they breathed hard, sitting there still spread and slick and open for him. A small pang of renewed arousal traveled down his spine at the sight. He wanted to taste them more, feel them more, but he knew the two could be caught any second. Despite his growing desire, there was no time for him to indulge in seconds.

“Goodness,” Luvrina finally spoke, still stroking Thatcher’s hair, to which he made a small noise and nuzzled into their touch. “You’re so lovely, baby…Such a good little dog, aren’t you?”

He blinked up at them, not knowing what to say to the insult, shame twisting in his belly for another round that night. Luvrina only laughed. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, finally sitting himself up with some difficulty, his limbs feeling like jelly. Luvrina joined him, stuffing themself back into their dress and smoothing it out, then brushing their fingers through their messy, ruby locks in an attempt to comb the strands back into place.

“That was just wonderful, darling. You really are such a nice distraction. If you were mine, I would get absolutely no work done!” they laughed out a quiet, amused giggle.

“...A distraction?” Thatcher mused quietly, the realization dawning on him. He stared holes into the back of the seat in front of him, avoiding looking at the other.

“Of course,” Luvrina said cheerfully, but matter of factly, as if it was an obvious statement. Their nails ran along the back of Thatcher’s neck. It made his skin crawl. “What else would you be, sweetheart?”

Thatcher didn’t respond, still looking away from them. His stomach turned. Luvrina grabbed impatiently for his face when he didn’t answer, forcing him to look into their eyes again.

“Well, this was a lot of fun, but I have such a busy schedule, my love, I’ve got to get going,” they smiled at him for the last time that night, wearing that same sweet expression from earlier, when they told him he was special. They blinked once as they spoke. “Just remember who really loves you, Thatcher. Remember who’s really looking out for you, and remember who would never hurt you.”

Luvrina pressed a soft, lingering peck to his lips before opening the car door and taking off, leaving Thatcher alone in his car to ruminate on the events of that night.

The door slammed, then silence. With the angel gone, Thatcher finally let out a heavy sigh as he leaned back into the seat, running a hand along his face and brushing back a few strands of hair that had stuck to his sweaty forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut, realizing how uncomfortably sticky he felt, wishing he had something else to change into, knowing he probably looked like a hot mess.

“Shit…” he muttered into his palm, anxiety nestling in his chest as he realized he needed to clean himself up before Abaddon came looking for him. He wondered if they even noticed he left. He searched for anything in the floorboards: a towel, a blanket, anything to clean himself of the evidence of his sins.

He found an old towel that he didn’t remember owning. That happened a lot, he would find things strewn about in places he didn’t remember, but he always chalked it up to Abaddon. They never seemed to care if they made a mess, or left things behind for him to find. It was fine, he was fine with it, at least this time it came in handy.

Thatcher hurried himself with leaving the backseat, instead sitting himself in the driver’s seat, studying himself in the rearview mirror. He felt almost revolted at what looked back at him.

It was just him, of course, but red lipstick was smeared across his lips, down his neck, along his collar. Bite marks, bruises tinged dark and purple littered the side of his neck, evidence of what he had done. What he allowed himself to do. At least the makeup came off easily with the towel, but there was nothing he could do about the bruises. He combed his shaky fingers through his graying hair, buttoned up his shirt, straightened his glasses, all a futile attempt to make himself appear somewhat presentable. He thought that he’d never looked worse in his life.

Sighing out a shaky breath, he laid his head back against the seat, laying his hands atop the steering wheel in front of him, just to have something familiar to ground him, something to tether him to reality, to remind him where he was, to calm his racing mind.

He squeezed his eyes shut again, attempting to breathe, but he felt tears sting in the corners of his eyes, felt his throat clench as those same tears threatened to spill. He wanted to fight it, to hold it all in, to act like everything was normal and fine and just as it always was, like he hadn’t just made one huge, colossal mistake.

But…things were normal, weren’t they? Things were always like this. Thatcher always allowed himself to get used, over and over again, just to feel some semblance of love, of companionship. It was easy to keep the cycle going, no matter who’s hand held his leash, he’d still pretend that someone could actually care about him, that someone would actually want to call him their own. If he just kept trying, kept pushing all of himself down for the sake of others, then someone was bound to love him, right? Wasn’t he worth that? Why wasn’t he worth it? Why? Why?

“Fuck!” the shout ripped itself from Thatcher’s throat as tears finally spilled. Hot and thick and angry globs blurred his vision, staining his skin as they rolled down his cheeks. He clenched his teeth, his fists slamming against the steering wheel as pent up rage burned deep within his aching chest.

Why did he keep doing this to himself? Why did he keep allowing himself to get hurt, taken advantage of, over and over again? Why was he such a coward? Why was he so broken? So pathetic?

Did Luvrina really care about him? Was he just a toy to them, too? Something to toss back and forth between their teeth until they got bored and threw him aside? Did either of these angels give even half a damn about him at all? Were they even capable? Was all his effort for nothing, all his desperation, all his longing? Was he grasping at a rope that had already been cut, sending him to a painful death when he hit the ground?

Part of him didn’t want to fight it, and that sickened him, but why fight the inevitable? It was so much easier to allow someone else to guide him, someone else to take control of his life, someone else to show him what to do, how to behave. After all, that’s how he’d allowed himself to be treated for his entire life. It was comfortable and familiar, even despite the pain.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” his voice cracked on the last note, each exclamation accompanied by another slam of his fists on top of the steering wheel, every repetition coming out hoarser, more enraged than the last, until he was screaming into the still, darkness of the night.

He couldn’t stop crying, all the pain and anger and regret too much for him. Loud sobs racked his spent body, even after his outburst, after his throat grew raw, still the tears fell, rolling down the curve of his jaw until they spilled into his lap below him. His hands shook so terribly, his chest ached so deeply; he couldn’t remember ever feeling so disgusted with himself. 

Perhaps he should be angry with Luvrina, with Abaddon, with the universe itself, but all he could feel was anger turned inward, a self hatred so strong that he felt he might burst, the desire to crawl out of his own skin overwhelming him. After all, no one had forced him, no one held a gun to his head and made him do anything, his decisions were always his own, so why couldn’t he make the right one? Why did he make the same stupid decisions over and over and over again? Were a few sugary sweet words whispered in his ear enough to convince him? Enough to lure him into a false sense of security, enough to bend to another’s will, despite how wrong it might feel?

He hated that the answer was yes, and that it would always be yes.

Whimpers slipped from his throat, his forehead pressing into the steering wheel now as he leaned forward, the cool material feeling pleasant against his flushed skin. His sobs were quieter now, his body rising and falling with the hiccup of soft cries as he weeped openly into the night. He felt so tired, feeling as though he could sleep for days, but even then it wouldn’t be enough. No amount of rest ever felt enough.

Even in his despair, his rage, his regret, even through all of the self hatred boiling within him, his exhaustion took over and all he desired was for Abaddon to be by his side. They wouldn’t comfort him, he knew this, they were cold and haughty, but even being in their presence was enough for him. Just hearing their voice would bring him comfort, even if they insulted him, even if they hated him for what he’d done, at least it was them. At least they’d be near him, giving him any attention at all.

He hated himself the most for that.

……….

A rap against his car window startled him awake.

When had he dozed off? For how long? He blinked open his burning eyes with difficulty, glancing at the digital clock built into his dashboard, the neon lettering telling him it was two in the morning.

Another rap, and Thatcher finally looked over to his passenger side window, being greeted by a rather disheveled looking Abaddon. Their strappy heels dangled loosely from their hand as they mouthed something. The barrier of the glass window muffled their voice, but it was probably something along the lines of ‘let me in, you asshole’.

With hesitance, Thatcher unlocked the doors. He hurriedly wiped at his face, suddenly remembering he had been crying before he fell asleep. He didn’t look at Abaddon as they threw their weight into the passenger’s seat beside him. They practically melted into it, exhaling a sigh and throwing their shoes mindlessly into the backseat.

“Uuuuughh,” they stretched, yawning and sinking further into the seat before turning to look at Thatcher, “Fuuuuck, where’d you go? Couldn’t find you…”

They were drunk, he realized, their words slurring together as they wriggled around in their seat, trying to get comfortable. Good, maybe they’d be too inebriated to notice the marks on his neck. Somehow Thatcher didn’t think he’d get that lucky, though.

“Um, yeah. Sorry. Got too loud, so I came out here for a while,” he lied, sweat beginning to form at his temples as he continued to stare away from them. He laughed nervously, trying to act casual. “Guess I fell asleep…”

“Mhmmm,” Abaddon mumbled in half acknowledgement, reaching out to lazily grab Thatcher's arm. He stiffened at the touch, but it went unnoticed to Abaddon’s drunk mind. They leaned closer, attempting to kiss him. Thatcher flinched away, and they noticed that time. “Whaa~aat? Don’t like me tonight?”

“You smell like alcohol,” Thatcher said quickly. It wasn’t entirely a lie, they reeked of the stuff.

They didn’t answer him right away, so Thatcher finally glanced at them. They were staring intensely at him, their eyes squinted up, causing his heart to lodge in his throat. Fuck, did they know? How could they know? Had they seen him and Luvrina sneak off? Thatcher’s palms grew sweaty, his hands shaking.

“Hooooly shit,” Abaddon said slowly, smiling with their teeth, clasping a hand hard onto Thatcher’s bicep as they barked out a laugh, causing him to flinch again. “Thatcher!”

“What,” he managed through clenched teeth, his face burning. Abaddon grabbed for his face, attempting to swivel it so they could get a good look at him. He slapped their hand away, sick of his face being grabbed for the night. “Stop it. Please.”

“Damn, good for you,” they laughed again, drunkenly, meanly, as if it was out of the realm of possibility that anyone would find Thatcher desirable, “Who was it? I mighta seen them around tonight…”

“No one.”

“Better lay than me?”

Thatcher didn’t answer, staring straight ahead and feeling like his chest was going to burst. He wished it would.

“Come ooooon, tell me who,” Abaddon teased, their hand gripping his arm, all their attention on him as they invaded his personal space, “They must’ve loved you, I mean, shit, they marked you up good, baby.”

Silence still. Abaddon always found immense pleasure in his discomfort, so they continued to egg him on.

“I’m not gonna be jealous, Thatch. Just tell me–”

“Drop it!” Thatcher finally looked at them, anger bubbling in his chest, written all over his face as he raised his voice. He regretted it immediately, his eyes widening in fear at his outburst, his gaze returning to staring straight ahead, his hands grasping at the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, I’m just– I’m tired. Let’s just go home. Please.”

“Pff, asshole. Must've been a shit lay if you're that grumpy,” Abaddon scoffed at him, waving a dismissive hand before backing off and snuggling back into their own seat, “What, did they blueball you or somethin’?” 

Again, Thatcher didn’t answer. Abaddon sighed, annoyed.

“Whatever, let’s stop and get food on the way. I’m starving,” they curled up slightly, closing their eyes and mumbling, “You know what I like, just wake me up when we’re home…”

“Sure, Abaddon,” Thatcher said dully, just wanting to be home already. He needed to take a hot shower, down a sleeping pill, collapse into his bed, and pray that the night’s events didn’t haunt his dreams. “Whatever you want.” 

[some-sad-ass-divorced-shit-tai]

Ok, I am a comparatively illiterate engineer and this was so well put so I’m sorry for how simplistic everything will be now.

You are right. Taissa as a character works even more than they intended because the struggles they have assigned her play into this Olivia Pope-esque struggle to obtain a powerful position in the very system that seeks to grind a woman like her down to dust before she even has the cognition to recognize it’s happening. One could argue that from the very first episode they have been showing the proverbial “work twice as hard to get half of what they have” issue when coach puts Jackie in the captain position when it seems the clear choice is Tai but she is seen as “too much” and Jackie has “social capital” (arguably borne out of white privilege, and extended pretty privilege making her much more palatable etc.).

And my main grievance with season two was how much adult Tai (and even Van) are completely non players in the plot. As you said she won that seat and basically surrendered to the other her squandering it without putting up much of a fight (and in nonsensical scenarios too, I’ll repeat myself here. She went into a missing/dead woman’s apartment and stole files, left her assistant’s car unlocked by the highway, and probably wasn’t due to take office in the week or two that spanned season 2, especially with a wife in a coma, but the show cast her character aside last season and ignored all that, and now in s3 they just hit a reset button with that “impeached” line. Why did them impeach her for?)

Taissa’a break up with Van being also hand-waved (for now) in a line about how she ditched her for a veneer of respectability also minimizes so much something that probably can be dissected in so many identity issues in light of her being black. What was her family’s response to not only her lesbianism, but her dating a poor white woman? Could she have climbed the social liberal ranks of whatever HBCU they sent her to (or is that a fanon thing? Did she not go to Howard?) with Van? How much was that factored in in her decision? Is her marriage that of political appearance? It didn’t seem like it. Casting Simone and Sammy, their dark skin cast members, aside to crawl back to Van is one of those accidentally racist choices of the narrative when they don’t give us that context in the middle. They wanted adult Van and they just made Tai’s black disappear for it.

But all of this (black) reading of Taissa’s black experience to me does not negate the fact that I really think the writers think of themselves as guys who “do not see color”, they don’t care about Lottie’s background besides her being medicated, about Tai’s and Akilah’s blackness (Akilah’s hair stopped making sense this season and it’s been a real source of joy for me to see it make sense the past two seasons lol), they don’t gaf about Mari’s seemingly Latin American background… Shauna is Jewish? Or at least fanfic I’ve read seems to think she is? Nat’s catholic I presume… the show does not care. I love this show, but I’m pretty sure the writers just don’t care beyond The-CW levels of engagement with any of this. This is one of those shows where, as it’s written right now, anyone could’ve played anyone. One could argue it’s cool, that they did their little colorblind casting, but once the show tries to establish itself as anything more than fluff it quickly starts falling a bit apart. And the fandom wants to treat it as more than fluff, but we all have our blindspots as you say. I’m a Tai truther and a Shauna and jackieshauna baby scholar, but I know nothing of the Māori people and I would not know how to begin to project anything onto the blank slate they have made Lottie regarding to her heritage. It’s a brain-at-50% capacity kinda show for me. Love the theorizing and the turning them over in my mind like a rotisserie chicken etc., but yeah vibing with the fact that the writers just don’t care about these particularities and they don’t have a long term plan lol.

I haveeee so many Taissa Turner thoughts and the way that she is desperately trying not to be sucked into the teeth whirling maw of the US, how she desperately wants to assimilate, how she is gasping for power like air because she has none, how it has torn her apart many times over, how the show constantly reinforces her central fear; that she does lose power whenever she lets her perfect facade go, she lost her family from which she derives social acceptance as The Other One came out to look for Van, that she lost her seat - the power she struggled so hard to obtain - when she kissed Van again. And now S3E1 she lets loose to appease Van by Dine&Dash-ing, and surely the waiter chasing them is having a heart attack and will not survive which means she is going to be hit with felony level manslaughter charges. And you fucking know Perfectionist Taissa is going to come back with a vengeance, and that means The Other One will be back as well. The man with no eyes, the spectre that haunts her, can be read as a cypher for white supremacy. (Which is also the thing - he is passed down by her grandmother! It is intergenerational trauma!!)

Anyway all this rambling is to say I think Tawny Cypress has toppled Shohreh Aghdashloo from my list of celebrity actresses that I am most sexually attracted to.

[clems-grove]

cTommy roller skater REAL btw

>pls rb if u like that would be cool ^_^

[leverage-ot3]

silly episode idea but hear me out

okay well the first part isn’t silly! so the episode is based around a con they are doing where a polyam triad wants to get married and have been writing to senators and stuff for years but nothing has happened. maybe there is a time element that leeway has to happen soon (not sure what that would be yet, maybe someone is sick???)

(obviously polycules aren’t only and are often more than just a closed three-person system, but I’m saying triad right now bc I feel like that would be an easier and more ‘socially acceptable’ gateway into more accepting legislation for diverse relationship dynamics)

the leverage crew, of course, can’t outright change the public perception of poly marriage, but they can use the ‘enemy’s’ tactics against them and slip stuff into legislation without people noticing like they do. it’s slimy and it’s not a permanent fix, but it’s a start, and it gives people the opportunity to see poly marriage in action and that it isn’t as terrifying or pearl-clutching-inducing as they think it would be. there’s a long way to go, but the seeds of change have been sown and they will make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible

this is one of the cases that they will monitor on the back burner over time. some cons can finish within a few hours (the bottle job), and some things they will follow over time and make adjustments when needed- amplify voices and expose corrupt politicians etc

and then it’s just after 3/4 of the way through but the con has been finished? what is going on? this is where the silliness comes in

the camera turns to the ot3 and…

hardison, pulling out three individualized rings: I know it’s not legal yet, and we have the necklaces, but I think rings would be a nice touch

eliot, pulling out an intricately carved box that also has three self-handcrafted rings: dammit hardison (with feeling and tenderness, and damp eyes)

parker, pulling out three very stolen rings from her pocket: does this mean we’re getting triple married if we all have three rings???

harry pops into the conversation (practically vibrating) excitedly just casually mentioning that he’s a notary and would be honored to marry them to each other if they wanted to

(they do)

wait, did I say silly? I meant unwaveringly tender and heartwarming