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writingxfootballl · 1 day ago

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and after all this time (i’m still into you) (alexia putellas x reader)

when arsenal plays barcelona in the champions league final, you finally get to see the girl who broke your heart years ago.

word count: 3105 ish

rating: C cheesy ending but i ran out of ideas. A for kind of angsty but not really.

title- still into you by paramore

a/n: this is unedited. clearing out my computer. don’t come at me for spelling mistakes and plot holes >:(

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you don’t get nervous.

you’re always confident and composed before every game, and you knew that.

jonas knew that.

everyone knew that.

which is why you’ve been the captain at (almost) every team you’ve played for.

it only took half a season in london after your transfer from bayern for you to gain the title of vice captain.

now, two seasons after that, you’re sitting comfortably on your title as captain.

you’re confident and you knew it.

which is why you’re struggling to figure out why your heart is pounding as you put on your captain’s armband.

viv just blamed it on the nerves of the game.

after all, it is the champion’s league final.

who wouldn’t be nervous?

you that’s who.

you knew you wouldn’t be nervous.

you should be there to pep talk your team and get the kids like maanum excited for what was about to happen.

but you were a mess.

“snap out of it. people are beginning to notice.”

viv’s low hiss in dutch brought you out of it temporarily.

you felt a soft tap on the shoulder and turned to see malin’s nerve ridden face.

you briefly forget about your own troubles in place of comforting the younger players.

still, some people are beginning to notice.

lisa whispers to viv:

“is everything okay with y/n?”

viv just shrugs.

your hands don’t get clammy.

like being nervous, having clammy hands was out of the ordinary for you.

which is why you’re confused when you find yourself constantly having to wipe your hands on your shorts to keep them from persperating.

when the game is about to begin, you adjust your captains armband and make your way up front, making sure to wipe your hands again in order to save torrejón the misery of shaking hands with your hot and sweaty ones.

as you’re looking down and adjusting, you don’t notice barca’s new captain walking up towards you.

you don’t notice that it’s in fact not torrejón.

you don’t notice until she walks up right in front of you, and you’re hit with the smell of perfume, one that you were so enamored with many years ago.

and almost immediately, the memories you had suppressed come flooding back.

there’s a sharp intake of air.

and then you look up.

10 years ago

this was your last season with levante.

you knew that.

you had started talks with the staff at wolfsburg and barca, no longer wanting to stay in buñol anymore.

you had signed at the sweet age of 15, and two years later, you weren’t happy with where you were at.

now, 17, you’re more than happy to leave.

aside from being levante’s captain and star midfielder, the club didn’t offer you much.

regardless if you were leaving or not, you still were going to make sure you had one hell of a season.

making your way onto the pitch on the first day of training, you’re surprised to hear the swish of the ball hitting the back of the net.

you’re usually the first to arrive, so someone else being there was unusual to say the least.

you make your way behind the brunette girl, who doesn’t quite seem to register your presence.

you watch her take a few free kicks from behind.

the 11 on her jersey flows as the ball hits the back of the net each and every time.

putellas.

the name doesn’t ring a bell.

must be a new signing.

you clear your throat a little and the girl in front of you spins around so quickly she trips over the ball behind her.

her cheeks flush a little in embarrassment when her back hits the turf.

your cheeks flush too when you see her face.

she was… exactly your type.

high cheekbones… brown hair pulled up into a messy ponytail… arched eyebrows and-

you clear your throat quickly again to shake yourself out of your thoughts.

the girl is still looking up at you expectantly, and you blush before realizing she wanted you to help her up.

you stick an arm out and she grabs it without hesitation, smiling the whole time.

you smile back at her softly, desperately trying to ignore the sparks flying up your arm from the contact.

now infront of you, she was even more breathtaking up close.

“hola. soy alexia, mucho gusto.” (hi, i’m alexia, nice to meet you)

you grimaced slightly.

though you’ve played in spain for the past two years, your spanish was… subpar to say the least.

even then, you manage to get out a choppy, and heavily accented sentence.

“h-hola, uhh soy y/n?” (h-hi, uhh i’m y/n?)

alexia couldn’t hold in her chuckle.

you glare at her and mumble in dutch.

“hou je mond.” (shut up)

alexia laughs again and a quizzical look passes on her face before she tries again.

she sticks out her hand and this time what follows is spoken in heavily spanish accented english:

“i am alexia, nice to meet you.”

you smile and take her hand, replying with heavily dutch accented english in return:

“and i’m y/n. nice to meet you too.”

you were phasing in and out as your coach droned on and on about training rules and protocols.

“okay and now for the partners…”

your ears perked up.

“rodriguez and garcia, y/ln and putellas…”

you turned and your eyes met alexia’s, both of you grinning widely.

honestly, now in hindsight, putting the two of you together was probably a mistake.

in a good way.

separately, you were forces to be reckoned with.

you had an almost dance like way of getting around defenders, shifting your weight and moving your body in ways they just never quite expect.

you also had almost perfect crosses at this young age, leading to almost every one of your crosses becoming an assist.

alexia on the other hand, scored goals.

her free kicks were always shot with so much power that it’s a miracle the goalies don’t have broken wrists after their pitiful attempts to stop them.

so put the two of you together, and you were unstoppable.

there was no way for you to lose during training.

the two of you were unbeaten 2v2 champions.

some of your teammates even began to complain about it.

but it didn’t really matter.

the two of you worked together before training and after training, so much so that you knew her like the back of your hand.

you knew just by instinct what alexia wanted and alexia knew by instinct what you wanted.

it was for that reason that alexia, just after being with levante for a season, broke the club’s all time goal scoring record.

and in that season, you had the most assists out of any player in the primera division.

but your chemistry didn’t stop there.

the two of you were inseparable off the field too.

from sunrise to sunset, the two of you were together.

the weekdays were full of training, the weekends full of movies and late nights in, watching movies on your apartment couch.

it wasn’t long before you moved in together.

as friends of course.

you invited her one day after practice, since she spent so much time there you basically already lived together, and of course, she agreed.

now you were together literally 24/7, and you wouldn’t have changed it for anything.

present

when your eyes met alexia’s brown ones, you couldn’t think about the game anymore.

you think your brain has stopped working.

but luckily, alexia looks just as surprised as you.

you don’t mean for the breathy whisper that escapes to come out, but it does.

“ale…”

alexia’s breath hitches, and the two of you just stand there, dumbstruck, until the referee cuts in between the two of you.

“you’re supposed to shake hands now.”

alexia snaps out of it first.

“right.”

she sticks her hand out and smiles softly at you.

you try to compose yourself the best you can and take her hand.

you try not to make a fool of yourself on live television, but you think that’s impossible at this point.

you try to avoid it, but your heart is racing at the feeling of the girl’s hands in yours.

you both stand there a second longer than you probably should.

your hands linger just a bit too long, and even though you're trying to focus on anything but the electricity running between you, it’s hard not to notice how her touch still sends a jolt through you.

you can smell her perfume again, that same scent that used to be so familiar, and for a second, it feels like you’re back in another time, another life. everything around you fades out.

but then, the moment snaps back into place, and you pull your hand away, way too quickly, like it burned you.

you look down at your feet, just trying to hide the heat creeping up your neck.

“good luck,” you say, voice coming out a little quieter than you’d like.

“yeah,” alexia replies, her smile still there, soft but knowing.

there’s something in the way she says it, like it means more than just the words.

"you too."

she turns away then, and even though you should be focusing on the game, you’re just standing there, heart still racing in your chest.

your feet won’t move, not yet.

not until she’s far enough away.

you finally tear your eyes away, trying to focus on the pitch again, but it’s like the field’s become smaller, the sounds quieter.

all you can hear is your own heartbeat thudding in your ears.

you try to shake it off.

you try to forget about her, but every time you glance over, she’s there—her every movement pulling your eyes like magnets.

you catch a glimpse of her during a break in play.

she's laughing with her teammates, but when she catches your gaze again, her expression shifts, just for a moment.

like she’s still feeling the same thing you are.

you swallow thickly, trying to get back in the zone, but it’s like you're running in circles, chasing something you can’t quite catch.

the match drags on, the final minutes creeping by.

barcelona’s up 2-0.

the crowd’s starting to lose energy, but you can feel your team pushing, fighting. trying to claw back into this.

then, a miracle.

a ball comes across to you. you hear viv's voice in your head, urging you to take control, to make something happen.

but just as you’re about to move, you see her—alexia—closing in, just like you always used to.

old habits die hard.

you move without thinking, instincts kicking in.

fake one way, then cut left.

the other defender chasing you trips for half a second, and that’s all the space you need.

you're in the clear, for a moment, and everything feels like it’s falling into place.

but then—

the ball’s gone.

in a flash, alexia slides in, intercepting just before you can make your pass.

you barely see her coming, but you feel the hit when she clears the ball away from you.

for one breathless second, time feels like it freezes.

of course. she still knows you just as well.

her eyes lock with yours—those same brown eyes, sharp and unreadable—and all the noise in your head falls away.

there’s nothing left between you but that look, the history, everything unsaid.

you stand there, heart racing, just staring.

she’s still the same alexia—strong, sharp, intense—but there's something more now. something different.

for a second, you forget you’re playing against her.

you forget everything: the game, the score, the rivalry. all of it.

you forget it all.

but then, the whistle blows. the game is over.

barcelona wins.

the roar of the crowd brings you back, and you turn, pulling yourself back into the moment.

you make your way dejectedly off the pitch, but alexia’s face lingers in your thoughts, her every movement replaying in your head.

as you reach the tunnel, you glance over your shoulder.

she's standing there, her teammates around her, but her eyes are locked on you. softer now. almost like she’s waiting for something.

you don’t know how long you stand there, caught between the moment and reality.

the world seems to blur around you.

but then, the noise of the stadium fades, and you find yourself walking toward the locker room, thoughts racing faster than your feet.

10 years ago

you and alexia had always been in sync.

at levante, it felt like everything just clicked—on the pitch, off the pitch.

you could read each other’s movements without a second thought.

passes were seamless, runs were timed perfectly, and the moments you shared after training felt as natural as the game itself.

it was almost like you’d been playing together forever, the connection so strong it pulled you both closer in ways neither of you had expected.

in the beginning, it was easy to fall into each other.

there were quiet evenings spent talking about everything and nothing, laughing over ridiculous things, or just lying together, not needing words to say how much you meant to each other.

everything felt like it was falling into place. the world seemed right when you were with her, like it was always meant to be this way.

but then, the phone call came.

barcelona.

for alexia, it was the opportunity of a lifetime.

the chance to play for one of the biggest clubs in the world, to push herself to the highest level.

it was everything she’d ever worked for.

it was her dream, and she couldn't turn it down. you knew that.

you knew how much this meant to her, how hard she’d fought for it, but it didn't make it any easier.

you both knew this was coming. you had known for some time it was your last season together.

but the reality of her being in barcelona, and you… not with her, was a heavy weight.

“i have to do this,” alexia said one night, her eyes filled with determination but something else too, something harder.

“i can’t let anything distract me. not now. not when everything is finally falling into place.”

you tried to be understanding, but it was hard.

“i get it, i do. but… what about us?”

she paused, eyes softening for just a moment before she spoke again.

“this is bigger than us. i can't afford to divide my focus right now. it’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to me either.”

the words hit harder than you expected.

it’s not fair to you—it was as though she was saying that this relationship, the one you thought was everything, wasn't important enough to fight for.

the weight of her ambition, her desire to reach the pinnacle of her career, was more than you could ever be.

“so that’s it then?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, but she heard it.

you could see her struggling, torn between what she wanted and the love she had for you.

but there was no denying it—her focus was shifting, and it wasn’t on you anymore.

“i just… i need to focus on this. i need to focus on me.”

her words were gentle, but there was no mistaking the finality in them.

it stung, deeply.

you knew you had your own path, your own career to think about.

arsenal was calling too, and it felt like the universe was pushing both of you in different directions, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

she didn’t want to do long-distance.

she didn’t want to divide herself in a way that made her feel less than whole.

and, in the end, she wasn’t willing to make room for you in that vision. "

i can’t afford to keep looking back," she said. "i need to move forward."

you couldn’t hold onto something that wasn’t there anymore.

her decision was clear, even if you still didn’t understand it fully.

the love, the chemistry, everything you shared—it felt like it wasn’t enough to bridge the gap that had grown between you.

and so, just like that, you both moved on, but not together.

her future in barcelona, your future in arsenal—each heading toward something bigger, but no longer with each other.

the weight of it lingered.

you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you weren’t as important as you thought you were.

maybe the love you shared wasn’t enough to keep her tethered, to keep you in her world.

and you wondered, sometimes, if maybe you were just part of the past she was trying to leave behind.

present

later, after all the celebrations, the interviews, and the spotlight’s moved on to the next story, you find yourself standing outside the stadium. alone.

you need air. you need space to think.

and then, out of nowhere, you hear footsteps behind you.

you don’t turn around, but you don’t need to.

you already know who it is.

“y/n.”

it’s the same voice, and it feels like nothing’s changed.

"can we talk?"

you turn to face her.

for a moment, neither of you says anything.

it’s like the weight of years is pressing down on both of you, all the things unsaid hanging in the air.

and then the words you’ve been craving to hear.

“i’m sorry.”

it’s silent for a while. and finally, the question slips out before you can stop it.

“are you still the same person, ale?” once the words leave your lips, you wish you could take them back.

it sounds dumb. pointless, even.

alexia looks at you, a small, bittersweet smile playing on her lips.

“i think we both know the answer to that.”

she takes a step closer, but not too close. giving you space. giving you time.

you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything at all.

there’s tension in the air, so thick you can almost taste it.

everything you’ve both been holding back for so long hanging there.

and then, without a word, she pull you into a hug.

it’s not perfect, but it’s something. it's everything you both missed.

all the silence, the years, the distance—it falls away, like it never even mattered.

when you pull back, you finally manage a shaky smile.

“i guess some things don’t change after all.”

“no,” alexia replies, her eyes soft, “i guess not.”

and for the first time in years, everything feels calm again.

maybe the game wasn’t the only thing that needed to be won.

maybe it was you, too.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #barcelona femeni #barcelona women #woso imagine

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windixie · 18 hours ago

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⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ out of touch ♱ soccer player! gojo x alt! reader pt.1

summary : gojo is the university's most popular boy and soccer player. he can get any girl he wanted to warm up his bed, so why did he catch feelings for the girl who looks like she just woke up out of a coffin?

warnings ☠︎︎ this will contain smut throughout the story. reader is implied to have a smaller chest! gojo is an asshole :( so angst, profanity, insecurities, p in v, creampie, comfort, fluff, slight breeding kink, light choking, jealousy, ill prob add to the list as the story progresses!

word count : 1.03k

let me know if you want to be added to the tag list !!

you knew gojo. hell, everyone knew gojo. annoying, loud, obnoxious, ah should I go on? that's how you described the so called star player on the soccer team. his ego reached all the way towards the clouds by how much he was admired in the community. you on the other hand, not so much. sure you were known by many but not in such a positive way. you were intelligent sure, but the way you dressed wasn't entirely accepted. you were always getting bothered by other students, one of them being no other than satoru gojo. although, it seems that you two have grown into a friendship lately.

"hey pretty" you heard an awfully familiar voice come up behind you. the white haired boy was still in his blue and white soccer jersey covered in grass stains and some of his sweat from his practice that he just came from. you gave him one of your small sweet smiles."hi gojo" you mumbled back.

he looked down at your figure. the pretty black blouse fit you so perfect as well as those mini grey jean shorts that cupped your ass so deliciously. gojo took notice of you wearing your earbuds which he took one of them and placed it in his ear. "whatcha listening to?" you faced him slightly annoyed as you looked at how his face scrunched up in disgust.

"seriously? how can your ears support all that screaming?" he grimaced as he heard the loud singing.

he let out a chuckle at that before his eyes lit up as he realized something. reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a piece of paper handing it to you. you blamed the shot of arousal that traveled towards you as you took notice of how veiny his arms were. you glanced down to see it was a ticket. a ticket to his upcoming soccer game, to be exact.

your eyebrows picked up as you turned to him. "you want me to go to your game?" the question made the blue eyed boy nod. "want you there on the stands baby, if you can, then I promise to play even better than I usually do." you were shocked to say the least. the satoru gojo inviting you to his game personally even after countless months of relentless bullying was not something you could see coming.

but you couldn't help yourself from nodding. "yeah sure ill be there!" the feeling of your heart beating against your chest brought a scary but not unwelcome feeling. You stared at him for a moment, unsure if you were hearing things correctly. The blue-eyed boy, a walking angel blessed by God himself, smirked down at you with a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. It wasn't the usual cocky smirk. It was different—something warmer, maybe? Or maybe you were just imagining it.

"I'd like that."

"great, ill see you tomorrow after school then?" he asked in which you let out an mhm in return. "okay pretty, try and get some sleep. you need some just by judging off your eye bags" he teased. "shut up!"

you watched the taller boy walk off. his use of the sweet and loving names made you feel a little awkward, but you shoved it down. You had a feeling that this was just another one of his ways of throwing you off. It wasn’t like he was being sweet. Not Gojo. He never was.

As you walked off to the other side of where the dormitories where taking note on how the night was now awakening due to time change. as you reached for your AirPods case to put back your earbuds your fingers stopped on your left ear. your earbud was missing.

gojo didn't take notice of the music cutting off. he was in a completely different world thinking about none other than you. he didn't understand how he caught feelings. no matter how many times he reminded himself it was you and how he could do some much better that that. he only gave you to ticket to his game only to be nice, is what he told himself. a friendly gesture friends do all the time!

"yo Satoru!" one of his friends called out to him. gojo turned to look at the boy with long black hair and big ass gauges walking up to him along with some other boys from the team. a smile crept up on his face dabbing them all up. "hey you all did well at practice today"

"yeah man that's what we came to say as well but we saw you talking to that emo freak uh whats her name, y/n?" this made gojo slightly embarrassed on how they caught him. "don't tell me you hitting on that emo pussy, it can't be that good" one of the other teammates chuckled making the white haired boy slightly uncomfortable.

"nah man, too busy with uraume" Geto patted his back "good good, lets keep it that way. she's got a better body anyways. let me burrow her sometime yeah?" the blacked hair boy received a nudge at that making him chuckle.

you looked around you trying to find the taller boy to retrieve your airpod. sighing in relief as you saw him. "gojo!" you called out making the boys turn around.

"ah she came back for round two?"

you walked up to him. "hey uhm you still have my AirPods." you said pointing to his ear. "give back your friend her AirPods satoru" his friend teased.

"we're barely friends. acquaintance is a better term" he mumbled out. as you received back your airpod, you stopped. eyes widening as you heard what he said. "acquaintance? thought we were-"

"friends?" he cut you off. "cmon I pay attention to you two or three times and now suddenly we're friends?" he scoffed. why was he acting like this? that's right, because he's satoru gojo. you were nowhere as close as him. you never will be. your face turned serious before you reached into you pocket handing him the ticket he gave you. "here, you dropped this" you mumbled.

gojos eyes fell down to the ticket in his hands. his heart broke a bit. "wait.. y/n-"

"forget it" with that you retrieved back to the direction to your dorm fighting back tears as you left the boy stunned.

"looks like you hurt her feelings, gonna go apologize?"

"nah."

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divinedelusional · 2 days ago

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how rafe would treat his gf on her period

rafe cameron x fem reader

word count: 796

warnings: menstruation, mentions of toxic relationship and period sex

a/n: yeah this is how rafe treats his girl on her period but also how he would be like in a relationship throughout the seasons? i got carried away, sorry not sorry

s1 rafe: sooo i feel like fratboy!rafe genuinely doesn't give a fuck, i don't even know if he would be capable of being in a relationship. i see him being involved with a girl but only for sex and he would only know she's on her period bc she would just text him that they can't meet today bc of it and he'd be like "uh huh cool" and would go jerk off

s2 rafe: here i think situation would be slightly different. i think our psycho bby could acc develop feelings for a girl, it would mostly be just sex but he could start falling for someone. so i think he'd fight a battle in his mind if he should come over to the girl's house and be there for her on her period or to completely neglect her. it's just he doesn't have a clue what to do and tbh he's occupied with other shit, he uses sex with her to forget. i think it's very similar to s1 rafe but with guilt and feelings creeping in (and obvious denial for this emotions)

s3 rafe: so okay we all know the shift from curtain bangs psycho rafey to buzz cut man of the house rafe who looked like he's getting his shit together. of course that means he's different when it comes to relationships. he still deals with a lot, but he finds you. and he kinda sees you as this light. a small light who he has to be very careful with so it won't go out. he is attentive to you. treats you right, but with some sort of distance and you don't blame him. he doesn't spend every day with you, he didn't even ask you to be his girlfriend yet, didn't make it official but he will and somehow you know it. when you're on your period you become quiet. you don't text him, but he finds out as he had a feeling that he should drop by your house. he finds you on your couch with a heating bag and cookies. you told him you weren't feeling well and he ordered you hot soup and made a quick run to pharmacy for some medicine. he still was clueless and thought you caught a cold. "rafe im not sick im just on my period" "oh" it's not like he avoids you, no. he visits you everday for the next four days but doesn't stay for long, always excusing himself with some meeting or business. you know he means the best for you but wish that he's going to be able to let you in soon. you're really patient with him, but start having doubts.

s4 rafe: is now fully committed to you. you talked to him how you really felt about this relationship. that you really cared and wanted to give him as much time as he needed, but also you couldn't waste it anymore waiting for him. and rafe realized that nobody else would have such patience for him. he was thinking about you a lot and he admitted to himself that you were the one. he made your relationship official and two months later you were living together. he was spoiling you, really. taking you on dates, buying you gifts and most importantly giving you his time. getting to know you, observing your daily habits, remembering stuff you said. your likes and dislikes. no wonder he became pussy whipped. and started to feel like he knows you better than yourself.

that's why when it's that time of the month you don't have to say anything. rafe knows. just by the way you whine when you wake up, he knows if you'd be able to get out of bed and get on with your day or you'd want to stay in bed cuddling, because he's your personal heater, makes back pain go away. gives you massages. cuddles with you all morning untill your stomach start to signal that it's time for some food. oh and he doesn't care about his schedule. he could clear it off, cancel the meetings, but he doesn't bother. his girl is the most important, his business associates don't even deserve a phone call on a day his girl is in pain. also he's not opposed to period sex at. all. orgasm is a great way to reduce cramps, so if that works for you and you want him to help you, he is the happiest to do so. if you're not comfortable with having sex these days he totally understands. wouldn't even thought of forcing you to do something, on your period or not. when he discovered that he has so much love in him, his only interest is to give it to you♡

dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

tagging: @sugaraanddiesel @cherrylipglossss hope they'll enjoy it and @cameronsprincess bc maybe it will put a smile on her face♡

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe imagine #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe obx #obx fanfiction #rafe cameron fluff #rafe fluff #obx fluff

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viiennie · 3 days ago

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𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍

Gojo Satoru x f!reader

chapter one

Tags and warnings: Zombie Apocalypse, mentions of gore (including blood and death), slight angst (?), spoilers to ‘Happiness’, eventual smut, female reader, p in v sex, fingering, creampie, lovey dovey sex in the midst of a literal lock down, masturbation, slow burn kinda?, fluff, romance, drugs, manipulation, exhibition, gojo is a pervertttttt, mdni — 18+, enemies to lovers word count: 4093

You never thought that at the ripe age of 29, you’d be taking walks for the sole purpose of hoping to find dropped money on the road.

Hey, You can’t be blamed now, can you? Life is completely unpredictable, and you’re just glad you at least have an apartment to sleep in and a job that pays kinda enough. But what can you do when the bills are still high, and you still got a loan to settle? Your salary barely covers your living expenses, and you’ve got those damn loan sharks to be worrying about to add to the list.

You always thought life would go well after graduating Criminology and getting a job in the military. To top it all off, you climbed the ranks and secured a respectable position without getting your hands dirty. Back then, you lived on the tallest floor of your dream apartment and bought all your dream cars to drive and wake the neighbors with.

It was the sweetest life had gotten.

If only you didnt—

Riiiiiing!

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, the lights flashing as the name of your boss along with the picture of a very stern looking pig pops up on screen. You sigh, staring at it and pondering if you should answer the call. Your finger hovers over the green logo, a hesitation in the twitch of your digits as you debate missing the call and getting a handful of scolding when you go to work or answering and getting the same amount of scolding for something stupid you probably did while on the job.

Another sigh leaves your lips when you decide to answer.

“There’s a job for you. I emailed all the details to you.”

He hangs up, not even bothering to hear a response from you.

God, he’s always like that. Acting like some VIP, treating everyone else like they were below him. Countless times have you slapped the shit out of him in your dreams, and countless times have you hurled curses at him behind his back. Why’s there always a stick up his ass anyway?

You open the pdf file in your email, groaning at the 42 pages you have to read over.

You work as a bodyguard now, the only place that didn’t blacklist you being an executive protection services company. Your job was to make sure your clients stayed out of harm's way, and so far, it’s been an absolute piece of cake compared to your previous occupation. You just had to stand behind them, look intimidating, and keep that up for the rest of the day.

As you skim over the file, you realize that this was the typical case of a nepo baby being rebellious whilst getting neglected by their parents. It was always, ‘I just can’t seem to control my teenager’ ‘He gets out of hand and always ends up almost killing himself.’ but they have never considered the fact that they’ve barely present in their child’s life?

Your duties consisted of absurd things, like cooking and making meals for the client, ensuring he does not leave the house, and even doing the laundry. A rise of annoyance boils in you as you continue to read down your responsibilities—things that nannies would do. If they wanted to hire one then they should’ve contacted someone else, not a body guarding company. Besides, why was this task assigned to you and not someone more qualified? You don’t ever remember putting ‘experienced nanny’ in your resume.

No. You’re not doing this. You had your pride to—

Total Salary: 15,000,000 ₩ per day.

Well, it’s not like taking care of a child is that hard right? Besides, you do these so-called duties everyday for yourself! Not like adding an extra pair of clothes to the washing machine or cooking for two would be that hard. And! you get to sleep in a million dollar penthouse for three whole days, who wouldn’t miss that offer? And the living expenses are covered by your client too? Man, the pros are really outweighing the cons right now.

You carefully read through the pages, scanning over the personal details of your new beloved client.

Full Name: Gojo Satoru

Birthday: 1994 December 7

Age: 28

Gender: Male

You blink

Once, twice, and then thrice.

Are you seeing this right?

The person you’re going to be babysitting is in fact not a little boy, but a grown ass man at the ripe age of 28? The person you’re going to be cooking and cleaning for is a grown adult capable of doing these daily chores with all of his four limbs intact? This couldn’t possibly be right, could it? You shake your head, scrolling back to look at the delicious view of the 15 million displayed on your phone screen. So what if it was a grown man? That means you wouldn’t have to be too worried about buying toddler food and all that, right? And him being an adult means he’s perfectly capable of doing his own chores, meaning, less work for you!

Yeah, that’s right.

Things don’t have to be negative.

You inhale, gathering your thoughts and prayers, hoping this wasn’t about to be the worst decision of your life. No way it will be. It’s just for three short days anyway. And what if you actually end up getting along well with the guy?

Day One

Standing before these grand doors bring back memories you never liked. It reminded you of what you used to be—what kind of glory you used to hold. The keys in your palms feel cold, like ice that doesn’t melt despite the warmth your skin radiates. It feels illegal entering someone’s home without knocking— it's like you’re trespassing. But what can you do when those are your instructions?

The door to the penthouse swings open, the sound echoing through the spacious hall. The moment you step inside, the air feels different—cool, fresh, like everything in this space was designed with immaculate precision. You take a second to absorb the layout: sleek, minimalistic furniture, modern art pieces hanging from the walls, soft ambient lighting, and large glass windows that offer a wonderful view of the city. It’s everything you’d expect from a man who has money to burn but little else to do with it. It’s also everything you’ve ever wanted ever since falling into this pit of poverty.

You take another step in, and the door closes behind you with a soft click—a sound that tells you you’ve just sealed your fate. You take a deep breath in, to prepare your beating heart, and exhale, reminding yourself that you’re here now, and that this is really happening.

“Hello?” you call out, your voice carrying a bit farther than you intended in the vast silence. You wait for a response, but there’s nothing but an eerie stillness. You feel awkward in this large space, your senses used to the small cozy apartment you lived in. You feel like a misplaced object here, like a piece of banana peel in the middle of a diamond sea.

Then, suddenly, you hear a loud thud from what sounds like the far side of the apartment, followed by a burst of laughter. It’s carefree and youthful, almost too much so for someone who’s supposed to be the CEO’s son. Your eyes narrow as you start walking further into the apartment, your boots clicking sharply against the polished floor.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!" The voice calls out lazily, not even bothering to sound apologetic.

You stop in your tracks as a figure finally appears at the threshold of what you assume is the study. Satoru Gojo strides out, looking like he couldn’t care less about your presence. His white hair is slightly messy, falling carelessly over his forehead, and he’s dressed casually in a loose-fitting white shirt and black pants, the kind of outfit someone of his status might wear to keep things comfortable while still looking polished. You stare at him for a moment, noting how his playful, almost mischievous grin makes him seem like someone who hasn’t taken a single thing seriously in his life. Maybe this is why they told you to just walk in without warning. This guy didn’t even bother standing up the moment he heard someone entering his home.

“So, you’re the new babysitter?” His tone is light, amused, and you can already tell he’s not taking this job seriously at all. He doesn’t even bother to get off the couch, merely reclining with his legs sprawled out in front of him. “I thought they’d send someone with a little more... personality.”

Your lips press into a tight line, frustration rising in your chest. This was the guy you were supposed to be protecting? It was a far cry from what you had imagined. It’s okay! You expected this. I mean, the pay wouldn’t be 15 million for no reason right? All you had to do was endure this asshat for 3 days, and you’d be out, never having to do it again with the amount of money you’ll accumulate by then.

“I’m not your babysitter, Gojo,” you reply flatly, setting the file down on the coffee table between you. “I’m here to ensure you stay out of trouble for the next three days.”

He doesn’t seem fazed, however. He tilts his head back and stretches his arms over his head with a casual ease that only someone with his kind of wealth and status could pull off. “Oh, come on, you don’t have to be so serious all the time, miss. Relax a little. This doesn’t have to be a hard job, does it?”

You nod, a small, twitching smile on your lips. Yeah, this doesn’t have to be hard for the two of you, just don’t let yourself be absorbed into his insufferableness, and things will be all fine and dandy.

The smile on his face never fades, though there’s something in his eyes—something that makes you realize he’s enjoying the tension between you more than he should. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he regards you with a look that borders on teasing. “Don’t worry miss bodyguard, I’ll make sure to cooperate extra well for you,” he says, his voice oozing with mock sincerity.

Gojo’s eyes flicker with curiosity for a brief moment before his grin turns more knowing. You were far from what he expected. When his father told him he’d be hiring professionals to keep him in check, he was expecting a middle aged old grump with a tragic backstory, not an angry little kitten that was his age.

You take a deep breath, keeping your cool. You’re a professional. You endured 4 years of brutal training, and spent the next 5 years being an active soldier, one man child isn’t gonna break you. “Where do we start?”

“Start?” Gojo repeats, his eyes twinkling with a challenge. “I’ll give you a tour of the place. Get settled in, and we’ll figure things out from there.” All of a sudden, he’s all buddy-buddy and normal, standing from his seat with a groan that tells you it’s the first time in a few long hours he’s standing from that couch.

“Okay,” you mutter, though you know the last thing you need is to be stuck following him around all day. But you have no choice now—this is the job you so happily accepted. Perhaps you just had a bad first impression, right? Maybe this is just his personality and he’s actually a nice guy under all that ego!

Gojo leads you through the penthouse with a surprising amount of enthusiasm, his movements exaggerated for your benefit. The whole time, you feel his eyes on you, like he’s analyzing you as much as you’re analyzing him. He talks non-stop, making sarcastic comments here and there, each one more annoying than the last, and you keep your responses short but interactive. Last thing you wanna hear is him whining about you being a cold person.

When you finally arrive at the guest room, he gestures dramatically to the sleek, modern decor. “There you go. It’s not much, but it’ll do for the next ten days. I hope you like the view,” he adds, pulling back the heavy curtain to reveal a stunning view of the city skyline, one you’ve seen countless times in your dreams.

You take a step inside, but before you can say anything, Gojo’s already made his way back to the living room. “I’ll be in my office if you need me. Don’t break anything while I’m gone.”

As you stand there, staring at the sprawling apartment, you feel a strange tension in the air. You’ve dealt with dangerous situations, but this—this was something else. This penthouse may be the safest area in the entire apartment complex, but there’s something in here that greatly unsettles you, that what’s dangerous isn’t outside of this place, but inside. Your eyes linger on the door that your manchild is behind and you finally realize how hard your heart is thumping against your chest.

It’s Gojo.

Gojo’s the dangerous one here.

Shaking your head, you set down your bags, neatly placing them against the door before you pull out your phone to check if there were any updates from your boss—any additional information or duties perhaps, but your notification bar is empty. (thankfully)

Ding!

Omg, have you heard about the attack at the training center?

You raise an eyebrow at the text you received from a friend that was followed by a 10 second video she sends. The thumbnail sends chills down your spine, the image of an unsettling trainee with bloodshot eyes and protruding veins being the first thing you see. He has blood dripping down his chin, his teeth stained with a deep red. There's no possible way that was real. This is probably a prank, right?

As you play the video, you realize the unmoving body in the background with blood pooling around it isn't a prank. Neither is the way the zombie thing continues to bang its head against the glass part of the door where the cameraman stands behind. You can hear people screaming in the background and the labored breathes of the person holding the camera.

What the fuck?

For this type of thing to happen in a military training center is unheard of. With the amount of security and the amount of trained professionals around, they would shoot at the sight of suspicious movement. Perhaps that trainee was infected in the facility itself?

You sigh, shaking your head. That wasn't for you to worry about. You're sure they've already taken care of the situation, making sure no one else would be harmed after one casualty. Besides, you weren't even in the military anymore, so what business did you have with all this?

You lock your phone and toss it onto the counter with a bit more force than intended, the dull clatter echoing in your quiet apartment. For a moment, you stand there, staring at the blank wall in front of you, the disturbing video replaying itself in your mind despite your best efforts to shake it off. It was none of your business, you remind yourself. You weren't a part of that world anymore—no chain of command, no classified briefings, no need to carry the weight of threats on your shoulders.

Still, the unease lingers like an itch you can't quite scratch. The image of that bloodied trainee and the helpless body in the background refuses to leave your thoughts, clawing its way into the forefront no matter how hard you try to shove it back. The screams and the clattering of rushes footsteps ring in your ears like a broken radio.

“Snap out of it,” you mutter to yourself, dragging a hand through your hair. Standing still wasn’t helping. Maybe you just needed to clear your head, step outside for a bit and distract yourself with something mundane. Groceries. That was the perfect excuse to leave this place. And besides, it would help to restock in the case that a zombie apocalypse would really break out soon.

Opening the door, you’re surprised to see Gojo sitting in the living room, manspread as he switches through the channels with a bored look on his face. His eyes glaze over to you, a grin stretches through his lips. “Out so soon? I know my face is irresistible, but you barely spent 5 minutes in there, miss bodyguard.” As soon as he opens his mouth, it’s like flies are flocking over to him. You push aside the feeling of annoyance, not wanting to waste energy on him.

“I’m going out to buy groceries. Is there anything you want?” You sigh for the fifth time today, hand resting on the doorknob of the front door.

“Anything sweet pleaseee” He hums sending you a wink that has you cringing before focusing back on the TV.

Nodding, you make sure the credit card provided to you is safe in your pocket before heading out. You’re greeted by a kind cleaning lady who smiles at you with fondness, “My, I didn’t know such a pretty young lady lived here!” Her voice is soft, reminding you of your grandmother whom you dearly miss. You smile back at her, feeling yourself relax in her presence, “I’m not moving in, auntie. Just staying with a friend for a few days.”

“Oh my, that’s a shame. I would have loved to see you everyday!”

You chuckle at her response, politely saying goodbye before stepping into the empty elevator.

Whilst you were out on a grocery store run, Gojo shuts off the TV, a serious expression overturning his previously cheerful one. He was getting sick and tired of his father hiring these people to watch over him like he was a child. Being a detective was a step he took to free himself from the chains of being born into his family, a step he took to rebel against his unreasonable father, who was a businessman obsessed with continuing his legacy, he didn't expect the price he had to pay would be getting house arrested by his father in his own home with some stranger.

He hops off of the couch, walking over to your room and opening the door without a care in the world. He snoops through your things, looking through your identification cards, opening all the pockets in your bag. He’s surprised when he discovers an ID tucked away in the deepest depths of your bag, as if you didn't want to see it but kept it with you because you didn't want to let go.

Gojo's fingers brush against the smooth, metallic edge of the card as he pulls it out of the hidden pocket in your bag. The ID feels substantial in his hands, heavier than an ordinary card, exuding an air of authority and importance. He almost feels guilty snooping around like this.

The front of the card is dominated by a sleek, black matte finish that absorbs light, giving it a tactical, almost stealth-like appearance. At the top, bold silver letters gleam against the dark background:

“13th Special Mission Brigade”

Below that, a faint watermark of the Decapitation Unit’s insignia—a black panther—catches the light at certain angles, visible only upon close inspection.

Your photograph occupies the upper-left corner, a stern, no-nonsense expression on your face. You wear your ceremonial full dress uniform, badges of what you've done and where you've been displayed onto the clean cloth. Next to the photo, your name is printed in capital letters, the font crisp and official:

Y/N L/N

Lieutenant Colonel, Decapitation Unit

Beneath your name, your serial number and rank are listed in smaller, but equally precise text, alongside a QR code that has been scratched out, an occurrence that happens only if you've been discharged from duty.

The right side of the card displays the unit's motto in embossed silver script:

Silence in Action, Swift in Justice.

Just below the motto is a small holographic seal that shifts between the South Korean flag and the emblem of the Decapitation Unit, further verifying its authenticity that Gojo was most definitely not doubting at this point. Around the edges, faintly visible microtext runs continuously, forming a border of tiny but legible words repeating:

For honor, for country, for the safety of all.

On the back, the design is equally meticulous. The background is a faint camouflage pattern in shades of gray and black, with a magnetic stripe running across the top. Centered in bold red letters is a warning:

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY: This card must be presented upon request. Unauthorized use is punishable by law.

Beneath it, a small, clear rectangular panel reveals an embedded fingerprint that has also been scratched out by a blade. The rest of the back contains rows of text detailing clearance levels, blood type, and emergency contact information.

Gojo turns the card over in his hands, raising an eyebrow. "So, former Lieutenant Colonel, huh?" he murmurs to himself, a mix of admiration and suspicion flickering in his eyes. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he slipped the card back where he found it, making sure to tuck it away with the same care.

“Guess you’re not as simple as you seem, miss bodyguard,” he mutters, stepping out of your room. The gears in his mind are already turning, trying to piece together just how someone with your past ended up here, protecting him.

The buzzing of your phone on the bedside table catching his attention, the constant dings sending a mix of irritance and curiosity through him. Well, he’s already touched all your things, what more was a phone? He takes the phone in his hands, testing his luck by typing 12345 in. He face palms when your phone opens, wondering why a special forces agent would set a password like that on her phone. He opens the chat that’s been spamming you, skimming over the ‘y/n stop ignoring meee’ ‘i know you’re seeing this’ and the random emojis being sent.

A video with the thumbnail equivalent to a zombie horror movie garners his attention, his finger tapping the play button without much thought, thinking he’d be watching some kind of trailer to an upcoming film. But he’s met with a gruesome sight, the same thing you had watched before leaving. His eyebrows furrowed as he tries to comprehend the scene.

Then he’s reminded of a recent case he investigated before being locked in this penthouse by his father. It was manslaughter, with the victim being the front desk worker of a motel. The crime scene was gruesome—bite marks and ripped flesh along the neck of the man. They had originally thought the perpetrator fled from the scene, but as he scanned the room, he discovered the motherfucker hiding under the bed, his mouth still dripping with blood. “I don’t remember much of what happened.” He said as they interrogated him on the scene, “I just took this drug, and before I knew it, I kinda blacked out.”

He had originally thought it was a classic case of reckless manslaughter under the influence of illegal narcotics because the perpetrator seemed perfectly human. No bloodshot eyes and no visible veins like in the video he watched.

Perhaps they were completely unrelated.

He’s about to erase all evidence of him snooping around your phone until the last message your friend sends makes him pause.

‘They say he returned to normal when he was transported into the vehicle, that’s so freaky!’

Okay, they’re definitely related.

He puts your phone back on the table, rushing to his room where he opens his drawer and removes the hidden compartment that contained a capsule he found in the crime scene of the motel safely sealed in a tiny ziplock bag. It’s clear blue with a shine around the edges. He opens his laptop, entering the police force search engine and encoding his badge number before surfing the net for information about a blue capsule drug.

The most similar one in appearance is a treatment drug for pneumonia called, ‘Next’. It had failed due to the fact that it was mutagenic, meaning it had the chance of mutating human DNA.

It didn’t take a lot of brain cells to conclude that this drug was probably the cause for the odd series of events. Judging from the way an apocalypse hasn’t started and he doesn’t hear people screaming for their lives, then the military probably has this disease under control. Just when he’s about to sigh from relief, he hears a loud thud from the hallway of his apartment building, followed by three more before an eerie silence deafens him. He has half the mind to check outside, but he knows that’s probably the last thing he wants to do. The amount of horror movies he’s binge watched tells him that the first to die is always the one to check whatever’s going on.

Then his front door opens.

“(y/n)...?” He calls out, goosebumps rising on his skin.

“Gojo, stay in your room.”

He’s not sure why, but he’s relieved it’s you who walked through that door, and not some flesh eating monster.

a/n: first chapter outtt yaaayyyyy!!!! kinda scared for this series bc the premiere didnt get a lot of attention😞 anyway!! hope u guys enjoyed this chapter💖

taglist: @atomicweaselpaperapricot @boothillglazer

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sapphiresaphics · 2 days ago

Text

To the ppl to hated Arcane season 2, is the knee jerk denial over yet?

Can we agree that S1 and S2 are both part of an amazing show?

That the themes of the show carried over, you just don’t have the ability to process pattern recognition?

That Piltover asking for Zaun’s help is meant to be lopsided in its request?

That Viktor’s “cure all weakness” has been an issue with Viktor since season 1 and was the whole reason he attempted to use the hexcore on his body?

That Jayce’s actions make perfect sense because it’s not about the destination, it’s the journey to get there?

That Viktor saving baby Jayce isn’t ambiguous at all, and that you should look up what that word means because I don’t think you meant that word?

That VI’s internal struggle since season 1 was which of the two people she cared about would she choose?

That Vander’s will to live is one of the most important catalysts in the series?

That Isha’s purpose in the show is to be a character foil for Jinx and that despite being there for character development she still had her own personality and intentions and you’re just sad she died?

That Jinx was always a jokester, you just hate people recovering and healing mental health issues. You also probably don’t understand what a resolution of a conflict means?

That Caitlyn was never a dictator and you should blame Ambessa for that and that she was always a good person pushed down a dark path because of trauma just like every other character in this show? And that she also lost an eye?

That Viktor never told Ambessa what his plans were and that she doesn’t care because her goal is to take on the Red Rose and she’ll use whatever magical power she wants and that this is intentionally supposed to be hypocritical of her beliefs?

That Silco knowing Vi and Powder’s mom actually strengthens the reason for why he would take Powder in once he saw her have a falling out with Vi just like he had a falling out with Vander? Also that he always knew who the kids were from the start and if you re-watch season 1 you’ll notice this if you actually pay attention so this isn’t a retcon you’re just stupid?

That Mel’s arc is actually about how she was trying very hard to be of the Merdada bloodline to get the approval of her mother only to find out that her heritage has been that of a Mage this entire time so her ambitions and desire to fit in were misguided and that she should be focused on who she is and what she wants and not what other people want her to be?

That Ekko convincing Jinx offscreen to join the fight doesn’t need to be shown because we’ve already seen Ekko teaming up with and falling back in love with Powder for an entire episode and that it would be redundant? And that just because you really wanted to see something doesn’t make it “bad writing?”

Is your knee-jerk reactionary idiocy over yet? CAN YOU USE A SECOND BRAIN CELL YET???

For ppl who liked Arcane season 2, is the honeymoon over yet?

Can we agree that S1 and S2 are completely different shows?

That none of the themes carried over between them?

That Piltover did nothing to earn Zaun coming to their rescue in the final battle?

That Viktor's "cure all weakness" shit came out of nowhere?

That understanding any of Jayce's actions post-talking to mageViktor requires a PhD in eyebrow twitches and nonsense?

That Viktor saving baby Jayce was an unambiguous retcon?

That Vi was just a cardboard cutout that Jinx and Caitlyn wrestled over?

That Vander lived and died at least 2 times too many?

That Isha was just a cute pet for Jinx to monologue at?

That Jinx turned from unhinged terrorist to a defanged, quirky jokester?

That Caitlyn's blink and you'll miss it dictator arc changed nothing and there were zero repercussions for it?

That Ambessa became a hypocritical moron whose anti-mage sentiment ate shit and died when she teamed up with robot mage Viktor, who didn't even PRETEND he wasnt going to hivemind her along with everyone else?

That Silco being close to Powder and Vi's mom, knowing them since they were born, only serves to weaken his relationship with Jinx?

That Mel went from a morally complex, savvy politician into a heroic battle mage, (in like 5 mins of screentime) while all other kinds of magic + Hextech were evil and corrupting and had to be destroyed?

That Ekko convinces Jinx that he went to an alternate reality and fell in love with her and she shouldnt kill herself and to become a revolutionary hero(?) OFF SCREEN?

IS THE HONEYMOON OVER YET?

#arcane season 2 #arcane critical is a bad faith hashtag #bad arcane criticism #i’m so sick of these ridiculously bad takes #bad faith criticism #bad faith argument #arcane

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paddockletters · 2 hours ago

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redeemed | lando norris

summary: After a messy breakup, Lando’s fans blame his best friend for ruining his relationship. request: yes! sorry took me too long :(( tbh, this had been sitting in drafts for a while because i wasn’t entirely convinced about it (still not 100%, to be fair), but i thought, “Well, maybe they’ll like it,” so here it issss

landonorris

Liked by yourusername and 982,273 others

landonorris: Another race weekend!

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user1: I want to be Y/N so baaaad🤧 lando’sgf: love you so muchhhh!!!❤️ user2: Y/N made it again in Lando’s post, love them! user3: I’d love a friendship like Lando and Y/N’s 😭😭😭

yourusername: Great weekend, miss you alredy muppet 🤧❤️

landonorris: It was! When are you coming to visit again?

user4: Lando replied to Y/N but not his gf…💀💀 user5: THE fit, THE smile, THE overtakes 😭 user6: She really needs to back off from Lando and Alice user7: Photo 3 >>> everything else 🫠

lando’sgf posted a story.

yourusername

Liked by carlossainz55 and 76,261 others

yourusername: About last month 💗

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carlossainz55: Feeling special for being in your post 🤧

yourusername: You should, cos it won’t happen again 💀

user8: Lando’s smile in the 3rd photo? how do I sign up for your life? 😭 user9: She can’t post without Lando or some driver in it 🤮

user10: True that, she’s all about the fame

user11: living my dream life AND looking flawless while doing it?❤️😭 user12: always getting in the way of Lando and Alice, proper messing with them 🙄

user13: what are you on about? Lando and Y/N have been friends for yearsss 🤡

user14: well, why didn’t anyone know about her till now? she just wants Lando for the fame, no doubt

landonorris posted a story

lando’s gf posted a story.

lando’s gf

Liked by yourusername and 21,939 others

lando’s gf: ❤️❤️

landonorris

Liked by oscarpiastri and 1,283,934 others

landonorris: Free time when I’m not driving a F1 car around the world

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user15: Lando— HAHAHA

user16: where’s Alice???

user17: y'all are obsessed with his gf, mind your own business ffs

user18: Bet Y/N’s asking Lando not to take Alice 🙄

user19: giiiirl, touch some grass! Alice has been back in her country

user20: Y/N’s always with Lando, so he’s footing the bill for everything

user21: Everything, mate—GP trips, holidays, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got him paying her rent too 🤮

user22: I wouldn’t want to be Alice, seeing Y/N everywhere around Lando 💀

landonorris just posted a story.

yourusername posted a story

yourusername

Liked by max33verstappen and 39,983 others

yourusername: [No caption]

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user23: an unexpected crossover user24: Oh, so the gold-digger’s moved on to someone else now? user25: Hope you’re proud of yourself for ruining Lando and Alice’s relationship, biTCH user26: Hope you die

carlossainz55: should I feel proud because you went to a Real Madrid match or bad for "L" because you went out with someone from that team???

carlossainz55: nah, estoy orgulloso

user27: stay away from Lando, you slut

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lando’sex-girlfriend

liked by 172,982

lando’sex-girlfriend: A little miracle is on the way, and we couldn’t be more excited. 👼

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user28: Nearly had a heart attack, thought Lando was going to be a dad 😭😭😭 user29: No way, she was the one who cheated 💀 user30: 💀

landonorris

Liked by charles_leclerc and 1,928,388 others

landonorris: I lost the best thing in my life because of all of you.

Because of your words, your hate, your accusations. You turned her into the villain when all she ever was, was my best friend.

You all tore us apart, pushed me to let go of the one person who truly mattered, all because you couldn’t mind your own business.

And now, seven months later, I see the truth—she was never the problem. I was. I should’ve fought for her. But instead, I let you win.

I’ll never forgive myself for that. I lost her because of you.

—Lando

View all the commments

user31: lando, you did what you thought was best at the time. We’re all human, and nobody should have been attacking her like that

user32: we judged her without knowing the full story 🤧

user33: can’t believe we believed the lies

user 34: I feel so bad now

danielricciardo: Lando, I’ve got your back. It’s crazy how people act like they know your life when they don’t 🤛

user35: It’s hard to see things clearly when the pressure is on you. Glad you’re speaking out now, nobody deserves that kind of hate, especially someone as good

user36: It’s obvious she meant a lot to you but the media and fans never understood that

user37: We were too quick to judge her

maxverstappen1: People love to talk without knowing the full story. Stay strong, mate, always here if you need to talk 🤜🤜

time skip

landonorris

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landonorris: I don’t think there’s anyone who deserves this more than her. From being the absolute boss she is in everything she touches to owning this year’s CEO of the Year award (seriously, she’s amazing), I couldn’t be prouder I of course I’m the best wag

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user38: YOUR WIFE?!?!? 😱 i can’t even process it. Lando, what’s happening?!

user39: wait, I thought you were single?? How did we miss this??

user40: no… I THOUGHT THE WERE FRIENDSS????

user41: wait a damn minute—Lando’s married??!! And she’s holding CEO of the year??? I need answers 😭

user42: OH MY GODDD She’s literally living the dream!! And Lando, we all knew you were the best, but now you’ve just confirmed it

user43: HE’S MARRIED?!? And she’s CEO OF THE YEAR?!?! You guys are literally goals

user44: i’m happy for you but also I’m crying in my room so… mixed emotions 🫠🧡

user45: Y/N is literally TOO perfect and it’s offensive to the rest of us 😭😭😭

user46: No hate, but also… I’m fighting for my life over here while Y/N is living my dream 😭

user47: @/yourusername you wake up every day and think, ‘how can I flex on everyone today?’ Because wow 💀

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karinadele · 3 days ago

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Waiting for the Night

Idw Megatron x Reader

No warnings! Gen reader!

Follow up to my earlier megs post, i think i want to start a series/collection on the lost light crew pit stopping on earth.

We always have fics of liaisons onboard the ship, but never how they met/the crew interacting with earth. Gonna have to be multiverse cause otherwise it dont make sense!! I wanted to do holoforms to make things linear, but if i shove it into multiverse maybe they can just not?? lmao??

i think i'll do little drabbles of each bot and their adventures??

Megs is gonna be the one with the singer/songwriter

loosely stole reader converting meg's poems' idea from @infintyfandoms!!

Earth, Kilocycle 2025 (tentative lmaaoo)

Lost light lands on earth for a quick refuel and sightseeing, (and hope Rodimus doesn't get into shit)

Megatron is rather uncomfortable about this whole thing as he’s been on earth before… and the fact he caused many issues on it.

As they approach earth’s atmosphere, making contact with earth governments and space agencies.

The crew’s excited.

While the crew only carried Shanix, the governments of different countries are more than happy to start a bidding war over it. Creating a new form of a currency and by consequence, a new stock market over it.

Megatron's plan's are simple, do what they need to do, stay out of trouble.

Of course that never plays out, one thing after another, next thing you know, Rodimus is dragging them to a human concert.

You're a singer/songwriter, and here you are, on the latest tour. Last stop before the leg ends, tired but still very excited. How can you not! Seeing fans come out to support you -some of them even tagging along every city to view you perform.

What you didn't expect to have found at your concert were Cybertronians. It's been decades that Earth has accepted them as an intergalactic species. -The first ones to come in contact with your planet.

Regardless, performing for a different alien species was definitely not part of your bucket list. But! Definitely a welcomed one!

Rodimus only managed to score a few tickets, (he could have gotten more, but venue limits was not very happy about filling in the whole stadium with nothing but bots) (bring ur favorites ig)

(I'm slotting in rod/megs/drift/i want mags but i know he'll get a headache lMAAOO)

(wish i can bring blaster/soundwave/jazz/the ones still on cybertron -aka AU that shit where they are on lost light!!)

You and your band perform away. (I prefer band?? Could be solo artist too?? omg what if each band member gets their own little arc with a bot lmaaooo)

The bots spend their time sipping highgrade and enjoy the performance.

Megatron especially latched onto the lyrics.

Rodimus fucks with the drums and beat

Drift is vibing along, probably fucks with the lyrics as haikus and melody (can we get him a japan arc)

Ultra Magnus want's to die, but eventually warms up to it after a couple drinks and primus he is dancing away. (alternatively if its an outdoor venue and you want spicy, mf totally strips his armor lMAAOO)

Soundwave is 100% recording without consent

Blaster is actually enjoying and dancing away

While it's not like Cybertronians never had music or performances back on Cybertron, they were totally different from Earth's version. Top it off with millions of years of war, it basically was foreign. Besides, listening to songs for the first time live without prior knowledge is difficult. But not for Megatron. Something about the flow of the lyrics and melody drew him in.

It felt like a poem. A piece of writing animated into life, becoming an artform. One that's being presented in front of his very own optics.

Performance arts. As he was told. And now he understood why.

(insert his rambling and thoughts about xyz songs, i have not decided what songs/if i write my own shit lmaaoo someone analyze music with me from their perspective!!)

After the performance, you and your band are catching a break in the backrooms. (Can go several routes, either obsessive!megs rescans your tour bus and takes the form ((i seriously cant see it)) or through ~intergalactic~ powers with the governments or whoever, managed to secure vvip slots and manages to meet you)

You two hit it off. (Romantic or platonic i did not decide!!)

Spending the time Megatron has on earth discussing music, lyrics writing, songwriting, and poetry. You explain that Earth music is a very similar to poetry, Often starts off as that, incorporated into a melody. Or vice versa.

You also explain that Earth has several languages, and you often pull elements from them to combine them into a song.

Hearing this, Megatron was excited. Over the sort time, he's warmed up to you and wanted to share his writings with you, but being more on the reserved side, he didn't want to open himself up like that yet. (Yet you did lmao??) But hearing that you enjoy languages and analyzing works from all different places made him finally sheepishly share some of his writings. (Alternatively crack reader version, you scurry like a fucking raccoon and steal his works, i know i would)

You find his writing absolutely beautiful. Originally having him translate his works from Cybertronian into English, as time restrain never allowed you to learn the language.

You don't tell him, but you're already planning to convert his works into music. (Romantic divergence you write it just for him, platonic you perform it for everyone. Give him royalties!! Shanix is a proper currency now!! You start playing the Shanix market with profit from his share, saving it for next time he comes back.) (honestly even romantic route can be performed live, just when LL comes back again)

Ideally you keep in touch with him even when he's departed Earth and back on LL adventures. (If you want angst, we can make it not lmaoaoo)

You already spend plenty of time studying language and songs of the world, but paid extra attention to Cybertronian after this encounter. Wanting to understand the meeting behind his poems. As Cybertronian, is a complex language, a different system that's extremely versatile and open ended when it comes to context.

Spending time translating, and re-writing his thoughts into English, you eventually dedicate a song (or album if you won the right type of adhd ig)

Years later, the LL returns back (we ignore the fact LL timeline is a mess and has multiple alternate dimensions) and either from him keeping in touch with you, or because he hunted your band down with the ~world wide web~ you two reunite and you perform the song.

Album version would have the whole band performing, but special for this concert, you adjusted the set list to a ballad with only an either guitar/keyboard synth/piano version.

Megatron found the performance to be haunting. Even though he's in the farthest rows, vision isn't an issue for Cybertronians. A simple zoom and he can see everything up close. The way your lips tremble with each vibrato, the way you have your eyes closed as you keep on beat with your hands, even the way your voice nearly cracks and how you're choking back tears in the verses. Raw emotion. Emotion he never knew how to portray during his time as a Decepticon leader. Yet wanted to so badly since the days of a miner. He's finally found peace in his spark of what he meant.

Every verse and chorus was created with his writing. A powerful display of passion strung together from his words. One that his very spark flares to the beat of.

#my brother just started investing in stocks too like wtf?? why the fuck does an 18 year old have more money than me!!#this is nepo discriminations #i always felt like the word alien is derogatory ngl #i might just swap it to intergalactic or somthing #blame japan for that #everything i write is about songs isnt it... LMAAOO #hands in face crying #transformers #transformers x reader #transformers x human #megatron x reader #megatron x human #idw megatron #MTMTE #this isnt even a proper writing!! all these brackets of my thoughts oh my god!!!#WAIT IM TAKING LIBERTIES ON THE LANGUAGE!!#FROM WHAT I KNOW CYBERTRONIANS IN IDW IS ONE TO ONE ENGLISH SO IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE!! OOC!!#but mOVIES ITS ALL STATIC GARGLES SO LIKE!! GIVE ME A BRAEK!!#rambles #I HEAR WEIGHT OF THE WORLD!!! NIER!!#jp verison cause its so emotional!!#should title be weight of the world or waiting for the night...#no it should be a line from his poems..

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fixyourwritinghabits · 22 hours ago

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Editing Your Novel Part 2: The Plot Pass

Okay, it's finally time to edit. You've got all your materials sorted, it's time to dive right in. You want to start with the big edits first, aka the plot pass.

Now listen. You're going to want to linger and fix those little bits of grammar or dialogue, and I know it's so hard not to, but letting yourself get off-track might mean wasting hours on a scene you realize later you have to delete. Fix a few spelling errors, leave a note, and stay plot-focused.

Making Sense (Of the Plot)

In the plot pass, you're asking yourself some basic questions:

Do events follow a clear order? - When you're getting everything down on the page for the first time, scenes might get jumbled up or events might not have clear causes. Maybe you have a car crashing into the cafe pages before, but in a writing haze, you wrote your main characters having a casual conversation moments later. If the bad guy beats your heroes to treasure, is it clear how they got there? (Not everyone can be Yzma.)

Do circumstances feel contrived? If there are any problems that can be solved by your characters sitting down and talking to each other, it may be better to lean into their motivation for not speaking to each other, rather than coming up with bad romcom scenarios. If the plot can be resolved by the mcguffin the grandma had the whole time, it might be better to make finding that mcguffin part of the plot instead.

It doesn't have to be perfect, and you don't have to reinvent the wheel. If someone gets bitten by a werewolf, it's perfectly fine to have them turn into one at the worst possible moment. When it comes to contrived, you're looking for problems that seem easy to solve and look for more interesting ways to complicate them.

Are your character motivations consistent to the characters throughout the story? - They can change throughout the story, but character motivations do need to be linked to the actions they take. An out-of-nowhere betrayal is way more satisfying if you lay the groundwork for it ahead of time.

Take a moment to list out the motivations of the characters in a scene you're not quite sure of can help you figure how to fix it. Having an outline helps with this a lot!

Are you following an "if... then" format? - My brain doesn't work like this when I'm writing, because as a writer you know how A got to Z, and it seems (in your head) obvious how it happened. This is where my scene card outline come in handy, because I can look at my overview of what should happen and why, and then compare it to what actually happens in the scene. I've discovered so many threads I forgot to connect that way, like why a character had a certain device (I forgot to have him pick it up two scenes earlier), or adding a few simmering dialogue bits that make the big fight pay off much better.

Can you fix the "Because the Plot Demands It" scenes? - Look, sometimes your character needs to be in that haunted house to see that damn ghost, but your character isn't the type to set foot in such a place. It's really easy, especially in the first draft, to contrive a way in there (she took a wrong turn on her way to grandma's!), but retooling these scenes to connect them to the characters motivations and needs is the way to go. The main character doesn't want to go into that obviously cursed place, but her best friend hasn't shown up for school in three days and now she's crying for help from the second floor window. Your character's strong desire to be there for her friend is a much better way to get her into that house.

This is not always easy - it took me six fricken drafts to realize a critical part of a character's motivation was because his father blamed him for his mother's death - but it is going to be worth putting in the work to hammer down.

Do you have a solid timeline? - This might not seem as important, but it's super easy to accidentally fit two weeks worth of activities in three days. Make sure you have that on reference, even if you don't mention it in the book. Also make sure to gauge your distances if your characters are on a trip, because if you do accidentally say it takes two hours to drive from Seattle to Spokane instead of five, someone will dive down your throat for it. Not me. Just someone.

Okay, maybe me. Slow down, you maniacs.

Next post we'll dive into the structure pass. See you then!

#writblr #editing #editing tips #writing advice #there's no rick-rolls in those links I promise

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ihfmseatsoch · 17 hours ago

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I NEED DAD CURLY I KNOW U ALR DID THJS BUT FUCK. I’m a slut for curly🥹🩷 fem reader pls

haii sorry this took a hot minute.. im terribly sick -_- but i pushed through for dad curly #priorities. i should mention that the reader is OF LEGAL AGE ! even though they're still in school. they're supposed to be 18 or college age. Okay tyanks 👍🏻

genre: smut

word count: 3.3k

warnings/content: incest, age gap jealous curly, reader is daughterwife maxxing HARD, loss of virginity, inexperienced reader, rough sex, creampie, daddy kink? idk hes your literal daddy so. shrugs

–

Curly wasn't a jealous man.

He was always secure and confident in his relationships, never wanting to come off as an overbearing boyfriend who spit in the direction of any man that looked his partners way. He didn't see his past lovers male friends as competition, in fact, he was more than welcoming towards them.

Which is why he can't identify the feeling twisting in the pit of his gut, one that just felt plain unpleasant, when he saw you hug a boy from your class as you were leaving your schools parking lot. Curly had come to pick you up as he usually does, and he's commonly greeted with a kiss on his cheek or a warm embrace from you immediately.

Not this.

Curly has always been fine with his daughter being friends with boys. He trusted you enough not to do anything stupid, not to make the wrong decisions. You'd never even had a boyfriend before, so it wasn't like the men in your life were always in the back of his mind. So why? Why did he feel so shitty? Protective, even?

What on earth was different about this specific instance that made him feel like he wanted to pull you away and drag you straight to the car?

You finally make your way to the car, opening the passenger side door, plopping yourself in the seat beside him. You lean over to give him one of your usual kisses, right on his scruffy cheek. "Hi, daddy!" You beam, an ear to ear smile plastered on your sweet face.

Your affection does nothing to alleviate the ugly feeling of possessiveness inside of him. The fact that you look oddly chipper right now makes him suspicious. Was it the unnamed kid you were holding so close just moments ago that's making you so cheerful?

Still, he feigns casualness, giving your shoulder a light squeeze as a sign of his own love for you. Curly enjoys the way you still give him the title "daddy", even at your age. He's repressed his own realization that he likes it a little too much. "Hey, sweetheart." His mouth feels strangely dry as he forces a smile. With hesitance and an intense battle with his own common sense, in which his common sense lost, he continues, "So... was that a friend of yours?"

You blink in confusion briefly, before realizing who he's talking about. "Oh, yeah! For about a week, that is. He just moved to town, so I've been showing him around and stuff. He's super nice." Your giggle after you mention how "nice" he is makes him feel even more on edge. He recognizes a crush when he sees one. This isn't good. Not at all. His heart plummets into his stomach, sizzling in its acid.

"Ah. Right." He nods curtly, leaving the conversation at that, as he lost his previous strength to pretend he doesn't feel awful right now. His foot presses down in the gas pedal a little too hard. The car ride is unusually silent. Typically, he'd be asking all about your day right now, what tests you have coming up, how your friends are doing, and you'd talk his ear off about it in return. There's none of that today, besides the hum of the cars engine and the sound of him tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, feeling fidgety.

Curly feels terribly guilty, noticing your confusion at his behavior. He can't blame you, this is the most awkward you two have been with each other. He wants to say something, apologize for his attitude, but his throat swells up whenever he tries to speak. Is this jealousy? The soul crushing feeling he's heard so much about?

But why would he be jealous of his own daughter's relationships? He should be supportive. He should be a good father, push away these maddening negative feelings and talk to you. Physically, he can't find it in him to do that. Everything about this is irrational, he knows it.

You said you'd only known that boy for a week, so why does he feel... afraid? Scared that he'll take his precious girl away from him? Curly can't stomach the idea of you giving your love to some random kid instead of him. The thought that one day you'll give someone else a fraction of the adoration you give him is unbearable. His baby girl wouldn't need her daddy anymore.

Only when you're both halfway to your home is when you decide to speak up, "You okay, Dad? You're acting weird."

Your words ring in his ears deafeningly. How can he even begin to explain himself? He's a shameful excuse of a father. Clearing his dry throat, he utters, "I'm fine, hon. Guess I'm just tired. Pony Express has been kickin' me in the ass more than usual." Curly manages to come up with a lie on the spot. He feels even worse for lying to you.

The loving concern etched in your face at his fake excuse makes his heart hurt. Now he's made you feel bad for him. God, what is wrong with him today? He must really be losing it. This midlife crisis shit is no joke.

"You should take more breaks, daddy. I don't like you being a workaholic all the time." Your hand moves to tenderly rub his tense shoulder, his skin tingling with goosebumps from the contact.

Swallowing, he responds, "I know, I know," with a sigh, he runs a hand through his wavy blonde curls, some of the strands turning grey in his old age, which he tries to ignore when he looks in the mirror. "Overworking myself is just part of the job, babydoll." Curly holds back a frustrated eye roll at Pony Express's mistreatment. Maybe he was more stressed than he thought. Maybe that's why he's behaving like this today. Nothing more. Right?

"I still don't like it," You say with a shake of your head, aware of how corrupt the company your father works for really is. "I'll tie you to the couch if I have to, if it gets you to relax."

Curly knows you're joking, but for some reason, the faux threat sounds suggestive to him. His thoughts quickly become inappropriate. He can't help but think about how he would feel... completely at your mercy, restrained, utterly submissive. "Mm, that'll be the day." He replies, trying to inject his usual humor in his sentence, shooting you a soft smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, showing off his subtle tooth gap, one of his teeth a little crooked in a cute, boyish way.

After he pulls into your driveway and you two hop out, you walk as close as you can to him, holding onto his arm, holding back from feeling up his muscles. That'd just throw you into a whirlwind of inner conflict.

"I'm serious, though." You continue onto your previous conversation. "You'd better not do anything but relax tonight, or you're gonna hear it from me." It's amusing how much you sound like you're his wife, making demands like that. It feels... oddly nice to him, to imagine you playing that roll. You already do, in a way, with how you consistently fuss over and take care of him. "Yes ma'am," he lets out a short chuckle, his smile genuine this time, "I'll be good. Promise."

And he doesn't break his promise, mainly because you absolutely don't let him. He thought of sneaking off, making a few important phone calls, but you keep an intimidating eagles eye on him. It's endearing how much you care. Any lingering traces of his earlier jealousy are nearly gone, that stupid kid long forgotten. He knows that he's the most important man in your life. He always will be. It was silly to think you'd ever leave him. He's your daddy, you'd always be his.

You cook him dinner as he leans back in the couch, the stress melting from his weary bones, the weight of his responsibilities nonexistent tonight. This is bliss, Curly thinks. His sweet little girl doting on him, making his favorite meal while he doesn't have to lift a finger for once. Maybe this is what he truly wants out of life. Domesticity. Not having to worry about a thing except being pampered.

You make two plates of food, one for you, and one for your beloved father. You curl up on the couch beside him, resting your head on his broad shoulder as you eat dinner together. The atmosphere is more peaceful than Curly's felt in a long, long time. His heart swells with love and gratitude for you, for the lengths you go to just to make him happy.

What did he do to deserve a daughter so perfect? So beautiful, sweet, and kind? He could go on and on with endless praise for you. Curly wraps one arm around your shoulder, leaning down to give you a gentle kiss on the top of your head. "Thank you, sweetheart," he mumbles into your hair, "You're too good to me."

"Nothing's too good for you, daddy." You give him a kiss right below his ear in return. "I love you. Just wanna take care of you."

The simple act of endearment has his face heating up, the butterflies in his chest fluttering wildly. Pull yourself together, Grant, he tells himself firmly. He's just pent up. Hasn't been with a woman in... he doesn't know how long. And since he doesn't do hookups, preferring something more meaningful, he's been stuck with his own, lonely hand. Curly has to clear his throat to find his voice, "I– love you too, honey."

You two are still cuddled up on the couch, long after you finish eating. Curly's mindlessly watching a cooking show, in which a woman only seasons her chicken with salt and pepper. Thankfully, your body pressed to his is distracting him enough that he doesn't grimace imagining the plain flavor.

He knows he's disgusting, pathetic, in fact, for being so flustered right now. As he slowly rubs circles on your back, he can't help but think how good your form feels in his hands, soft and warm. It's like he's a hormone-ridden teenage boy, except in reality, he's your dad, and you're his own flesh and blood.

Against his better judgement, Curly's hand trails down to your hip, giving it a light squeeze, as if to test the waters on how far he could go. You don't react negatively, only cuddling closer to him. What the hell is he doing? He mentally screams at himself to stop. Stop thinking about how much smaller you look against his large frame, how easy it would be to pick you up, or push you down, your pretty eyes wide and staring up at him as he towers over you, hunched over your body–

He's hard. And, officially, a sick fuck.

Curly desperately hopes you don't notice the tent in his pants, he prays to whatever's out there that you don't look down, please, don't notice how perverted he is. You'd never forgive him, he's sure. You'd never look at him the same. He crosses his legs, a pathetic attempt to hide his rigid cock.

It comes to a point where the discomfort in his groin and the lust burning his insides becomes too much it bear. Taking in a shallow breath, he finally decides on doing the unthinkable. "Hey... Sweetheart?" Curly sounds uncertain in himself, his confidence teetering on a thin tightrope. You turn your head to him, ever so trusting.

"Yeah?" You say, wondering why his body is so taut all of a sudden, and why his index and thumb is fiddling with the hem of your shirt. He struggles to look you in the eye as he continues, "Can... Can I ask you for one more thing?" His heart thumps in his throat.

You nod, always willing to satisfy his every whim. He's given you the best life he possibly could, you owe him everything in return, don't you? "Of course," You smile, "Anything."

That innocent look in your eyes only makes him feel guiltier. Curly stays quiet for a few seconds, just contemplating if he's really about to do this, if he's really willing to possibly ruin your relationship forever. His hand moves up to cup your cheek. God, it's practically bigger than your face, he notices. Baby blue eyes get lost in the sight of your lips, making him swallow from sheer temptation as he inches closer to you.

It takes your brain a moment to process what's happening, and when it does, strangely enough, you don't pull away. If this is what he needs, why would you deny him? He's your dad, the person you trust the most in the world. He wouldn't do anything that could hurt you. He bites back whatever self-control he has left, pressing his lips to yours, soft and experimental. The biggest spark he's ever felt ignites in his chest, your lips feel unlike any other woman's he's ever kissed. You're perfect.

You can't say you haven't thought about this. You've always found your dad handsome, and charming; more than the average daughter would. You've never kissed a boy before, and you're more than ecstatic that Curly is your first. You link your arms around his neck to pull him in closer, deepening the kiss, desire building up in your abdomen embarrassingly quick.

His hand gravitate towards your waist on instinct, the kiss which was originally sweet and tender turning into a full-on make out session. You let out a quiet whimper at the intensity of it all, his cock twitching in his pants at the cute sound. Fuck, he's never wanted anyone like this before, so ravenously. Curly makes himself pull away for air, too far gone to feel any semblance of guilt anymore, especially when you're looking at him so eagerly. You want this too. There's nothing to feel bad about.

"Is this okay, honey?" He breathes, chest heaving as he pants. "You alright with this?"

You nod silently, unable to find any words to say in your aroused state, your body overwhelmingly hot all of a sudden. That's all the consent he needs from you in order to lay you on your back, peeling off every article of your clothing with delicate care, marvelling at your bare figure under him.

You feel incredibly shy having him see you like this, covering your breasts with your hands, pressing your thighs together. "No, no. Don't do that, baby." he cooes, gently coaxing you to reveal yourself to him again, much stronger hands spreading your legs apart so he can get a good look at your cunt, glistening with slick. Knowing that he was the one who made you this wet so easily elicits a low groan from him.

"Look at you," he murmurs, sighing shakily at the very sight of you, "Dripping wet, just for your daddy." You whine as he runs his thumb along your slit, stopping at your puffy clit so he can rub the sensitive nerve in slow circles, his experienced hands making you gasp in surprise. A rough palm reaches up to gingerly fondle one of your tits, your father peering intently down at you from above.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," he sighs, like he's in awe, "You know that? Such a pretty girl. Always have been." He pulls his sweats down just enough for his dick to spring free, and he hisses at the sudden rush of cool air against his tepid shaft, tip flushed red. Your eyes widen at its size. Massive, is once way to describe it. A thick vein runs down his length, pulsing with warm blood. Curly notices the intimidated expression on your face, and he presses a soothing kiss to your forehead. "I'll go slow. Don't wanna hurt you. S' gonna be okay, babygirl."

His tone is as consolatory as ever, and you can't help but believe him. Why shouldn't you?

It stings when he prods the head into your untouched, virgin hole, the ache worsening as he pushes in further. "D– Dad–" you whimper, eyes brimming with tears of pain, "It's not gonna fit, it hurts–" Curly shushes you, stroking your hair back to calm you down. "I know, I know, baby. It'll go away, I promise." His breathing stutters, a stifled moan erupting from his chest, your walls gripping him tighter than any pussy he's ever felt in his life.

When he's fully inside you, he tries his hardest to restrain himself and be gentle, lightly panting, his sweaty forehead pressed against yours as he thrusts cautiously, paying close attention to every nosie you make so he knows you're feeling good. "Takin' me so well, honey," he grunts, "Y' feel that? You're taking daddy so deep." He presses his hand to your stomach, where you can feel his cock prodding against your insides.

Your little whines and moans at every thrust inside you don't help his quickly diminishing willpower to keep your first time nice and gentle. He wants to be careful with his baby girl, he truly does, but you sound so fucking cute when he goes just a little harder, making you squeak in surprise.

You really can't blame him for ending up with your legs hanging limp on his shoulders, pushing them back so his cock can hit all the right angles, making your pussy clench and squeeze around him so tight, it only encourages him to fuck you as rough as you can take it. Your slick runs all the way down to your ass, his his balls making a wet slapping sound every time he rams into it.

"Dad– Daddy–" is all you can mewl, breathless, your brain short-circuiting from pleasure, practically going dumb from his cock. "Yeah?" Curly grins, relishing in the effect he has on you, "Daddy's making you feel so good, isn't he?" All you can do is nod stupidly at his question, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You abdomen pulsates with warmth, an unfamiliar tingling washing over your body.

"I f– feel weird." You tell him with a trembling whimper. "You're alright, just means you're close." Curly reassures you, simply. "Daddy wants to see you cum for him, honey. Don't hold back."

It doesn't take long for the build up tension inside of you to burst, your back arching as complete euphoria coarses through every inch of your body, a gutteral moan escaping your lips. "There we go, that's my girl," Curly croons, "Cum all over daddy's cock. You look so gorgeous right now, sweetheart."

Due to his age, he takes a little longer to get close to his own orgasm, continuing to fuck you through your overwhelming sensitivity. "M' almost there," he rasps, his head moving down to rest in the nape of your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your flushed skin, "Nngh– gonna fill you up, baby– you want that? Want dad's cum inside of you?"

Your hazy state of mind makes it difficult to consider the risks, so you nod, agreeing to whatever he says.

"God, fuck– I love you, I love you, I love you–" he babbles, and with a throaty groan through clenched teeth, he spills his release inside of you, the warm and gooey substance filling your hole to the brim. Curly's legs give out, causing him to collapse on top of you, his broad chest pressed to yours, his body hair tickling your skin lightly.

When he finally catches his breath, he pulls out, and grabs a warm cloth to wipe away the cum that seeps from your hole. "You alright? Didn't hurt you or anything, yeah?" He asks, genuinely concerned, and a little guilty for not being able to hold himself back. "I'm fine..." You mumble, exhausted, "Just a little sore."

"M' sorry, sweet pea." Curly gives you a kiss on the cheek, as if it'll make everything all better. To be honest, it does help a little. So does his meticulous aftercare, and his cuddles.

You don't really want to think about the future consequences of your father cumming inside of you right now.

–

#mouthwashing curly x reader #curly mouthwashing x reader #captain curly x reader #mouthwashing x reader #dead dove #dark fic #dead dove do not eat #dddne #incest tw #tw incest #cw incest #incest cw

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razorblade180 · 2 days ago

Text

Archon Ranking

Charlotte:Aether! As a famous traveler with deep connections to other nations and their Archons, I have to ask, *pulls out pen and paper* who do you think the best Archon is among the ones you met?

Aether:…*looks around* I don’t know how, but it feels like they’re listening. I just know it’s going to get back to them.

Venti:*behind a house* Shhh

Archons:*nod silently*

Aether:This question isn’t exactly easy, it’s not impossible. The Raiden Shogun and Rex Lapis are out of the running.

Ei:(That’s fair…)

Zhongli:*slouches*

Charlotte:Well one of them did kick off a civil war, but why think little of the deceased Lord of Geo? Is it because you didn’t get the chance to know him enough.

Aether:…Yes. While I commend his diligence, I fear having such a strict and uncompromising approach to the concept of contracts lead to a few… rather unnecessary predicaments that could’ve been avoided by forming more open and new contracts with his people.

Zhongli:An interesting perspective. One that may or may not hold some merit. I won’t outright dismiss it, but some things must be set in stone.

Furina:Now I don’t mean to criticize such an enlightened individual, but as someone who actually had a national incident set in stone, I don’t think your plan had to have one.

Zhongli:Hmmm

Aether:The others are sorta tricky. I can’t find fault in how Nahida chose to conduct herself. Centuries of isolation by her own people and yet she still helped throughout history. Perhaps it would’ve been simpler for her to take a hands on approach and speak out against the injustices she felt, but she’s still a young and gentle god. I can’t blame her for feeling small.

Charlotte:I’ve read dozens or articles after Sumeru’s liberation. I gotta say some brought me to tears! Though she’s far older than us, I must say I don’t think it’s inappropriate to say asking such a feat is no different than expecting a child to stand up to an adult without ever being taught to do so. If anything, it makes it more amazing that she eventually did!

Aether:I agree. I’m very proud of her.

Nahida:*sniffles* Aw, I see. Suddenly I’m all warm inside.

Charlotte:Am I correct to say you’ve met the god of Anemo?

Aether:….

Charlotte:Off the record.

Aether:Yes. I’ve met them several times. As for on the record, the Anemo Archon may not be present often, his presence is always felt down to the blades of grass. From the very start he made a place made for his people, and lead by his people. A hands off approach not only not only fits the god of freedom, but is beneficial for the common man. Plus, it’s not like anyone feels abandoned. There’s countless records of their god returning to aid in times of need.

Charlotte:Make you wonder if he had any hand in the Storm Terror crisis.

Aether:I wouldn’t put it past them. My glider never seemed to fail a rookie like me when I needed it most.

Venti:*smiles smugly*

Zhongli:You still drink too much.

Venti:Because I have the time. You do too. Some might say, Liyue is more like Mondstadt these days.

Ei:No one is saying that.

Venti:And yet I still find it comical how much a certain someone put into retiring, just to live among his people with a normal occupation.

Mavukia:He…makes a point. To a degree. You both ended in the same spot surprisingly.

Zhongli:Sigh….

Aether: As for Furina and Mavuika… it feels wrong to praise one without the other. The Pyro Archon is a strong capable leader who’s very personable. Her plan was a bit more than crazy, but it had to be to face the abyss. Most importantly, she suffered alongside her people and sacrificed a lot in order to see her plan through. Things nobody should ever have to give up; like being an older sibling. She has my respect. Truly, no one fights alone with her around.

Mavukia:*smiles* If you ask me, he should share some of that praise with himself.

Aether:As for Furina, well, do I really have to tell you about her. To this day, people see her as a the Hydro Archon.

Charlotte:How could Fontainian’s not? Even with the truth discovered, it doesn’t change she’s been prevalent in our history.

Aether:While I don’t think I can say her leadership skills are as astute as other Archons, I personally can’t bring myself to say she isn’t brilliant. Furina did her job to the letter and never compromised it once for the sake of her people despite every single day wearing down her soul until she was in literal tears. I honestly don’t know what’s more impressive. Mavukia has always moved forward without faltering. That takes immense strength. Furina though, she doesn’t have that kind of strength. In a lot of ways, she did break and hesitate, yet she walked forward all the same. It’s both amazing and terrifying. Human Archons sure are interesting.

Charlotte:Maybe it’s our shared humanity that made them so strong in your eyes.

Aether:Maybe, but I think even archons in the traditional sense are more human than some give them credit. For instance, they’re all nosy enough to eavesdrop behind a house.

Venti:Ha, busted…

Furina walks out with a red face and eyes that tried to act serious but failed to do so thanks to their glossy gaze that struggled to hold back tears. She didn’t even know what to say and feared her voice might shake. Before she could try, Aether hugs her. She can only hug him back in frustration. It didn’t take long for Nahida to join. Meanwhile Mavukia and Ei walked out into view simply because there was no need to hide.

Aether:You guys are ridiculous.

Ei:True feelings are typically expressed when the subject isn’t around. I must admit, I wish you had said at least one positive thing.

Aether:No one can ever doubt that you care. Maybe you didn’t express it correctly, and very few people know your grief, but you are a good person. I mean that.

Ei:I appreciate your understanding. Perhaps in the future, many more will share a similar idea.

Charlotte:…*squints* Are the Anemo and Geo archon behind the house too?

Aether:Off the record?

Charlotte:*tosses pen and paper* I can keep a secret! I’ll make a contact if I have to! I just gotta know~

Venti:..*peeks head out* Hello!

Charlotte:I’ve seen you!!! You’re the drunk bard everyone likes even though he doesn’t pay his tab!

Venti:I pay my tab! It just keeps coming back.

Charlotte:*bounces with anticipation* Is the Lord of Geo with you? Hehehe~

Zhongli:…*sticks arm out*

Charlotte:DIRECTOR HU TAO’S FUNERAL CONSULTANT!?

Zhongli:Wha- she knew by my sleeve!?

Aether:I am going to be honest, wearing all brown and having a job that uses your encyclopedic knowledge of history is not a conspicuous disguise.

Venti:I told ya, you might as well of chose to be a miner. There’s dozens of those; much like there’s countless bards! So what if I sing an old song!? Nobody would bat an eye if you were good at digging.

Zhongli:Sigh…

#genshin impact #gi charlotte #gi mavuika #gi ei #raiden shogun #gi venti #gi nahida #gi furina #gi aether #furina de fontaine #venti the bard

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rogueandflame · 14 hours ago

Text

The Diplomat

Hi friends,

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

✨My Masterlist✨

WC: 9.4k

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

Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hall fell silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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faejilly · 3 days ago

Text

regret

so. literally seven years ago, I started a 'series of firsts' style fluff-fic(let collection) for Malec/Shadowhunters... and I think part of why I got stuck on it in particular (even beyond the not writing much for the last couple years) is because it is in fact supposed to be in chronological order following the show and I had hit a point where I needed a... not!fluff chapter, and I kept trying to just... skip the sad and write more fluff for the fluff fic.

But I'm writing a vignette series for a melodrama. So. Melodrama has been written, of Alec Lightwood Overthinking Things but not being wrong, so how is he supposed to stop? (This takes place after s2e12, which is the disaster of a body swap episode, for anyone not so obsessed with the show as to know that off the top of their heads)

It is not the first time Alec has known that he’s not good enough for Magnus. He’s always known that, since the first time he laid eyes on him.

It is the first time that he thinks Magnus might agree with him.

Magnus said he wanted some space. Tonight (just tonight implied but not stated by the softness of his voice, the brush of his fingers against the seam of Alec’s sleeve) Magnus wanted some quiet.

So Alec left Magnus alone, and now he’s standing in his institute bathroom staring into the institute mirror gripping the white porcelain edges of an institute sink, trying to decide if that was right.

He doesn’t think it was, but he’s not sure if it’s the space that’s wrong, or the just for tonight.

He knows which he wants it to be, but that’s irrelevant.

Magnus likes to retreat when he’s hurt, but that doesn’t mean that’s good for him; Alec might not have known Magnus for long, but he recognizes a protective flinch when he sees it. And if that’s the case, then Alec should in fact head right back out and refuse to let Magnus hide and hold him tight until Magnus feels like he's himself again.

But Alec didn’t believe what Magnus said too many times already, he can’t…

He can’t go against Magnus’ request, not now that he finally made one. Always letting Alec set the pace, waiting for Alec to reach out, for Alec to act, to ask, and when he finally lets himself say what he wants?

It’s less of Alec, rather than more.

Smart of him, of course. Alec would never blame him for it, especially not after Azazel and Valentine and Alec failing him in every way it was possible to fail. There has always been a disparity between what Magnus deserves and what Alec is capable of offering; perhaps it is too large of one to ever be overcome.

Only he knows he wants to keep trying.

He also knows that staring at his mirror and overthinking things is his own protective flinch.

Magnus said he doesn’t know what he needs. Alec is mostly sure that’s true, that if Magnus knew that Alec caused more harm than could possibly be worth it he would say so — but only mostly. Magnus has been abandoned too many times to be the person leaving unless he’s sure.

Not even then, perhaps.

Alec has some idea of how many times Magnus forgave Camille, and she was cruel on purpose, unlike Alec who keeps twisting the knife entirely by accident.

If Magnus won’t do it, Alec will have to. He refuses to walk Magnus down a road to hell paved by his own so-called “good intentions”. He’ll stay away forever if that’s better for Magnus, regardless of how Alec feels about it, will feel about it, will always feel about Magnus. It’s only right, not letting Magnus suffer the consequences of trying to be involved with–

Alec stops himself there.

Anything he thinks to call himself, any self-assessment he can manage right now, will be more severe than anything Magnus would think, or say, or even accept if Alec tried to say it, so it won’t help him decide what to do.

He has to figure out how to help in a way that Magnus will accept, and if he leads with a list of all his failures, Magnus will be happy to try and make Alec feel better and aggressively avoid letting Alec try to help him.

Alec doesn’t need to feel better. Aldertree’s gone, Isabelle’s back, (Imogen’s difficult but familiar), and Jace is, while still fucked up, at least not trying to smother the parabatai bond so tightly that Alec feels like he’s being strangled in his sleep every night.

So.

Alec sighs, lets go of the sink, forces his shoulders to relax.

This is the first time that Magnus has said he needs space, but considering the politics of their lives, even now that Valentine’s in custody (especially now, considering everything Herondale did to Magnus in Valentine’s name), it probably won’t be the last.

Alec can’t override that, not just because he’s sad and guilty and young and stupid.

He just has to learn better.

He’s always had to be better than he is, he’s not sure why he thought things with Magnus might be different.

That’s not Magnus’ fault though, and he can’t let himself start to think about it in terms of hopes dashed or desires failed because then he will be upset at the only person who has never ever let him down, despite all Alec’s failures and stumbles.

He doesn’t deserve Magnus, of course he doesn’t, but that’s all right. It’s Magnus’ turn to make a choice, and he can have all the time and space he needs to do so.

Alec will wait.

He’ll wait forever, if he has to.

He’ll wait past forever, this life and the next; he’s already made his choice.

#jilly writes #shadowhunters #malec #alec lightwood #kisses are a better fate than wisdom #I feel like I used to tag things more but I'm not at all sure what else this needs?#lmk if you have any ideas y'all #I have apparently forgotten how to tumblr #as well as almost forgetting how to write

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cosmowgyral · 1 day ago

Text

Falling into Sin with the Black Tiger ~ Gilbert's 4th Birthday

▪︎ A Story from his POV

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

NSFW/MDNI

I thought the beast of destruction was a greedy creature.

Countries and people alike, can go to any lengths to get what they want.

Despite my self-confidence, I didn't realise it until I was asked, "What do you want?"

I hadn't really thought much about what lay ahead after obtaining everything.

Emma: Gil, aren’t you going to sleep?

After returning to my room from the ballroom, I was gazing aimlessly at the sky when Emma, who had been lying down, suddenly sat up.

Gilbert: I thought I’d bask in the afterglow of my birthday a little longer.

Emma: Then I’ll join you.

She embraced me from behind and the cold night air turned into warmth.

(I noticed that you weren’t sleeping and was waiting for you to join my company…..)

(If I say it out loud, I might get into trouble.)

Gilbert: You should go to sleep.

Emma: I can’t sleep.

Gilbert: Even though we did all sorts of things?

Emma: ……

Just by lightly tracing the hand that had been hugging me, Emma began to get flustered.

The corners of my mouth quirked as I felt the quick increase in heartbeat from my back.

(Maybe I went too far.)

--*flashback from the dining room*--

Emma: Mmm….aahh…your fingers…nghh

Gilbert: You want me to take them out? But I’m not moving them.

Emma: Nnn....you’re lying….

Gilbert: You know I hate lies.

Emma: Aaaahh

Gilbert: See, you’re acting on your own again.

Emma: No…Gil….you just bit my breasts.

Gilbert: It’s cruel to blame others.

Emma: A…ahhh...

--*flashback ends*--

(But it couldn’t be helped. She had a face that was saying “please eat me”.)

When we returned to my room from the dining room, or when we took a bath to wash our messy bodies….

I liked Emma’s reactions, how she tried her best to respond despite being embarrassed, and so I ended up being a little too mean.

Emma: Maybe because of all the things that happened to me…I can’t sleep at all.

Gilbert: You’re right. It’s no wonder you can’t sleep if you’re this anxious.

Emma: …So you can hear my heartbeat.

As Emma tried to move away feeling flustered, I grabbed her hand and pushed her down onto the bed.

Pressing my ear against her soft chest, I could hear her heartbeat more clearly.

Gilbert: It’s becoming faster again.

Emma: That’s how much I love you.

Gilbert: Hehe, thanks?

(The date has changed and so my birthday is over now.)

(You give me what I want every day.)

(I know you’re the only one who will never betray me, even without any threats or domination.)

As she caresses my hair in a pampering manner, the drowsiness is overshadowed by a sinful feeling.

When I poked the bulge visible through her negligee, a sweet sigh escaped from Emma’s mouth.

Emma: What are you doing?

Gilbert: It was right in front of me.

Emma: …Not now.

Gilbert: Because it will come back again?

Emma nodded without understanding a thing.

Gilbert: If you really don’t like it, I can stop….

I pulled up the hem of her nightgown and stroked my fingers between her legs.

It was so wet that it couldn’t have been caused by simple teasing, and it immediately swallowed my fingers.

Gilbert: Is this why you can’t sleep?

Emma: Ahh…again..

Gilbert: It’s a problem to be loved this much, isn’t it?

If I expose Emma’s weakness deep inside her belly, her poor, tormented lower abdomen will soon start dripping with her honey.

Gilbert: Does this mean ‘I love you’?

Emma: That’s….right…

Gilbert: Heehee, I see.

(No matter how many times I experience your ‘love’, it always feels good.)

I massaged her breasts over her negligee, also moving my fingers inside her to scoop out her arousal.

The love I sensed in her warm gaze was genuine.

Even though I’m such a terrible man, Emma always loves me.

(You asked me to be selfish on my birthday this year….)

(I thought my last selfish wish in life was to meet you.)

(I made up a reason to go to Rhodolite and get involved with Emma, even if it meant ruining her life.)

(I had never thought of anything more selfish than that, and I could never think of anything else.)

When I kissed a breathless Emma, she put her hands behind my head as if welcoming me.

I was moved by the way she kissed me, as if conveying that she wasn’t opposed to this at all.

(….Now that I think about it, it seemed obvious.)

(It’s only recently that I’ve started thinking about my future.)

When our lips part, a thread hangs in the dim light.

Emma: You too, Gil….

Gilbert: Hmm?

Emma’s hand rested on my cheek, and I was smiling kindly, too kind for a villain.

Emma: You act like you love me.

Gilbert: Hehe, isn’t that obvious?

Gilbert: I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t love you.

I pull out my fingers from inside her and help her sit up.

Emma seemed to understand my intentions immediately, and blushing bright red, she climbed on to my lap.

(I’m spending time now that shouldn’t have existed in the first place.)

(And if you plan on staying here from now on….)

(Maybe it is a good idea to take some time to think of my own future.)

(Most of my memories are already made up of blood and corpses, painted all black…)

(The memories we make give me hope for the future.)

Emma lowered herself on me, and hugged me tightly.

Emma: Haah…Gil…

Gilbert: You’re okay with moving on your own again?

Emma: That’s…not true…

Emma said “that’s not true”, but as she moved her hips she lets out a small shriek.

It seemed she had moved unconsciously, and again, I couldn’t help but laugh.

(When I’m with you, I feel so happy.)

(…I’m sure Emma knows very well what it means for me to be happy.)

I secretly watched Emma bustling about preparing for my birthday, but this year too, I couldn’t keep a smile on my face.

I imagine Emma had her own thoughts about giving her blessings to the great villain.

Even so, I didn’t sense any hesitation.

She had already made up her mind to celebrate this blood-soaked man.

Emma: I think…you’ll be asked…'what you want to do’ next year as well.

Emma: So please, give it…a lot of thought.

Emma: I’ll make all your wishes come true.

Gilbert: Does that mean you won't be listening to me until next year?

Emma: If you have one now…please…ah

I intentionally move my body and Emma’s expression changes again.

I never get tired of her expressions filled with ‘love’.

(For now, all I can say is….)

Gilbert: I’d love to go on a date with you again.

Emma: Like…the other day?

Gilbert: Yeah. I like spending casual times like that.

Emma: Me too.

Gilbert: After that….

Bodies intertwined, lips pressed together, heartbeats synchronized, and then our gazes meet and we smile together.

Gilbert: Will you celebrate my birthday next year too?

(And commit many more sins…)

(Will you fall with me?)

[Chapter 3] [Masterlist]

He loves her sooo much omg, I really LOVED this story. I'm so glad he's happy.

Also when he said he went to Rhodolite for her....god, I just hate to imagine him going there for her, only for her to end up with the other princes (in other routes). Even though Silvio's my favourite, I feel miserable.

#gilbert von obsidian #ikemen prince #ikemen prince gilbert #ikepri gilbert #cybird ikemen #ikemen series #cybird otome #ikepri jp #ikepri translations #ikemen prince translations #d: cafekitsune #d: enchanthings

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mikeellee · 2 days ago

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As much I detest Ochako (I detest bk more) I do wonder if her being a girl is a reason for why she lost. If the doylist reason here is "the showdown must be with boys as this is a Shonen" I mean, it's not impossible you make a championship arc where one girl is in the top 5 but the main important bits usually go to the guys.

We can analyse the fight as much we want, and we should always blame Aizawa for defending BK for the excess of violence he used on Ochako, not bc she is a girl, but bc it wasn't needed.

Also...UA doesn't teach you shit about your quirk. You figure it out or don't, they won't waste their time (yes we never saw the others teachers but I don't know, don't think the others teachers help either. He heroes are so... uninterested by their own quirks "oh I can do X and Y, ok no further questions" which makes me think if this is intentional or not, a paralel to Redestro making Geten train to the point he has no social life) so if Ochako has a quirk awakening...congrats on her and only her, no one helped her.

If BK had a quirk awakening, relax more is to come.

Imo the League of Villains should have never existed from the main story of MHA. They were utterly unbalanced and were so flawed that no attempt of fixing could fix them.

I get where your coming from. I

I honestly believe the LOV really needed was time to grow away from the spotlight.

Think of the LOV as leftover pizza (I know, just stick with me for a minute)

Too long in the microwave/oven/pan and it tastes like hardback, too little and it becomes soggy muddled. There's a very specific way you need to do things and that's by not overthinking it.

Hori kept the microwave on too long and the LOV's potential evaporated.

From what I can tell, MHA worked best when it had a 'Villain of the week's type of thing going on.

This was most prominent and best set up with Stain, Stain's character/arc not only expanded the world of MHA but also brought up deeper questions about Hero society

What's most important here is that Stain didn't overstay his welcome. He rolled in, made every panel count and then went out like a champ. Affecting the protagonist and those around him.

He had an impact that's felt throughout the rest of the series (There is no Internship Arc in Ba Sing Se) not inspite of his short lived presence but because of it.

At some point, Hori lost this concept and the plot went with it.

I think the main problem with the LOV started after Kamino. Before this, every member has solid, or at least tangible ideals.

The Vanguard Action Squad was the LOV at it's most raw, not perfect but functional. They felt like people, when Magne stops Spinner from pursuing Midoriya, it feels real for the world.

Simply put the LOV (much like 1A) worked best as individuals, differing worldviews and all.

So when Hori robbed the LOV of their autonomy by practically wrangling them to Shigaraki, it in turn killed the LOV, because now nothing was individual about them.

If you want an example, how about Magne's death. Her last words are the very last time anyone in the LOV asserts any belief besides Shigaraki's own.

After this the LOV barely give any resistance to Shigaraki's plans no matter how short sighted or convoluted.

Kurogiri is outright sacrificed by the narrative so that Shigaraki finally has to step up.

Shigaraki's reaction to Toga's rage and grief follwing Magne's death can be amounted to: "Trust me bro, we're doing this for us bro, please believe me bro."

It's absurd.

As for being flawed, I'll assume you mean their motives.

What needs to be understood is that the LOV (Pre Kamino) and the PLF (Post Kamino) are not the same characters

Flanderisation is the phenomenon of a characters worst traits being exacerbated over a period of time until said character is unrecognizable from their original self.

This is what Hori did the LOV and he did this intentionally.

At some point he realized that the Villains actually had more of a point than the heroes, this likely occured after the MVA arc when fans began rooting for the LOV.

To counter this Hori sabotaged multiple characters and plots in a desperate attempt to justify his woolies and unfortunately for everyone who's isn't an abuser-stan (Enji and Bakuo). The rest of the cast and world suffered greatly.

What you ended up with are characters so detached from their origins that they might as well not even be the same characters at all.

There's an image somewhere that encapsulates this perfectly, it's a 4 panel comic with two stick figures (one black and one blue). If I ever find it or someone links it I'll be sure to upload it here

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naughtyneganjdm · 2 days ago

Text

Love's Second Chance: A Holiday Reunion - Chapter 20

Summary: After denying Negan's proposal, Y/N is miserable alone. Negan shows up in attempts to fix things and later Joel shows up hoping to stop her from considering marrying Negan.

Characters: Joel Miller, the reader (OC), Negan Smith, etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60501985/chapters/158662978 Warnings: Swearing, Angst, etc.

Notes: I've had this story done, I just haven't taken the time to edit it. I'm sorry about that. I'll work to get it up as soon as I can edit the chapters.

Standing before her bathroom mirror, Y/N realized she looked terrible. Last night she couldn’t sleep after what she had done to Negan. Instead of talking to him, she took off on him and had someone else pick her up at the skating rink. Hell, she wouldn’t even answer any of his texts or his phone calls. At one point during the night, she was pretty sure that he showed up at her door knocking, but she didn’t answer. Honestly? She didn’t know why she was avoiding him. Maybe it was because she was embarrassed? Or she felt guilty. Regardless, she felt weird about the whole thing. She loved Negan and she knew that Negan loved her. Most people would have loved getting a proposal like she did with Negan. It was romantic, it was sweet and it was a story that people would have loved to tell their friends because they would have been jealous. Yet she denied him. It made her feel like a horrible person.

By now? She was sure that her daughter knew that she had turned Negan down. It seemed like her and Negan were closer than she expected them to be. Especially since Elizabeth was so willing to go and help Negan set up his proposal. Elizabeth loved her father and she knew deep down that Elizabeth had always expected her parents to get back together. So to accept Negan into her life? That was a pretty big deal.

All night she thought about the things that Negan offered her. A job, a life of travel. Something she always wanted. A source for her to get her word out there. A way to finally live after not being able to for years. Yet, she immediately told him no because of the other factors in her life. Her children and Joel. There was no way for her to do what Negan wanted because she had Elizabeth, Peter and Joel in her life.

Dragging her hand down over her face, she realized that she felt miserable about everything. All she could think about was Negan. About the face that he made when she turned him down and the way he just about begged her to get married to him. She wouldn’t blame him if he hated her now for that. After everything, she threw away their relationship like it was nothing.

Getting ready this morning was hard. Depression was eating away at her and she knew that. Everything hurt, especially her head and her chest. She regretted the way that she ran off on Negan last night. They should have at least talked about things, but she was emotional. Both about him and mad at herself for having the reaction that she did.

Tonight the children were supposed to be with Joel for something with Tommy so she would be left alone to herself. That meant she got up late, even though she didn’t sleep. It meant that she was walking around in comfortable clothes and she looked like shit. This was supposed to be the happiest time of the year. It was Christmas Eve after all. Yet, she wasn’t happy.

Today was just going to be spent watching Christmas movies on the television alone. Because that’s what she felt like she deserved today. To be left alone.

Not even thirty minutes into the watch, she noticed her phone starting to vibrate on the coffee table. Looking to it, she saw that it was Negan and exhaled loudly. Ignoring the call, she kept watching television, but she should have expected Negan to be more stubborn. There was no way that Negan would just give up. That wasn’t who Negan was. It never was.

After a few more calls, things went silent. That was until there were knocks at her door. No question that was Negan. And she was left to wonder how long she would let it keep going. This time he didn’t seem to be giving up.

Lazily getting up from the couch, she headed across the living room and opened the door. Standing before her with a bouquet of her favorite flowers was Negan. Hell, he looked as bad as she did. Sad with dark circles under his eyes. His hair was messy and it looked like he hadn’t slept either.

“I didn’t think you were going to answer,” Negan admitted, his voice raspier than normal. It had her looking down at the ground and he could tell that she wasn’t comfortable with him.

“Well, at least you’re better than Joel. When he wants to come in, he just grabs the spare key and comes in,” she informed Negan with an extended sigh, appreciating that he wasn’t like Joel in that aspect. “So I appreciate you waiting.”

Nodding, they both went quiet. Neither one of them was really looking at the other and it was awkward. Swallowing down hard, Negan shrugged his shoulders and held the flowers out to her, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” she blurt out, her heart hammering away in her chest with Negan apologizing to her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I just…” Negan stuttered, his hazel eyes incredibly confused with her response to his apology. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I thought you were upset with me so I came here with this big apology and you’re telling me that you aren’t mad at me?”

“It’s complicated,” she accepted the flowers from Negan, pushing the door open far enough for Negan to join her in the house. Going into the kitchen she added the flowers that Negan had given her to the previous ones that were already in a vase. By the time she came back in, Negan was sitting down on the couch. He was at the edge of it showing that he wasn’t exactly relaxed in the moment. “I’m the one that needs to apologize. What you did last night? It was beautiful and I made it seem like I hated it.”

His lips parted, his hands waving about, but he reconsidered talking and he simply just dropped his head down in a moment of defeat, “I should have talked things out with you instead of running off on you. That was wrong and I’m sorry.”

There was that muscle in Negan’s jaw that would flex every time that he was upset and it broke her heart, “I imagine you hate me now.”

“Come on,” Negan’s broken breath filled the air, his hazel eyes lifting to show they were burning over with tears. Shrugging his shoulders, Negan lifted his hand to swipe at his eyes with his thumbs to collect the dampness. “I could never hate you. I fucking love you. You mean everything to me.”

Hearing those words had an involuntary whimper falling from her throat. Moving in beside Negan, she sat down slowly having his breathing growing louder, “I just wish you would have talked to me. You running off made me think that you were angry with me and I didn’t know what to do with myself. And then you wouldn’t answer me.”

“I’m a terrible person,” she suggested eliciting an eye roll from Negan who scoffed. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Yeah, I’m hurt, but I would appreciate if you could stop attacking the woman that I love the most,” Negan snorted, still trying to avoid showing her that he was so upset with things because he didn’t want to guilt her into feeling a certain way. “Something just happened yesterday and you were very emotional about it. Which I understand. I just don’t know why.”

By now she should have been unloading to him all of her thoughts, but she hated seeing him so upset, “Please don’t do that to me again Y/N. I want the two of us to be close. If something is going on, please just talk to me. I want us to be close and open with one another.”

“Okay,” she outstretched her hand to place it in over Negan’s. Caressing her thumb over the back of Negan’s hand, she was thankful that his fingers hooked with hers.

“Can I take you somewhere to show you something?” Negan sniffled, his thick eyebrows bouncing up with him turning to her.

“I look like shit,” she pointed out with his nose wrinkling in disappointment since she was attacking herself again. “I haven’t taken care of myself yet.”

“You’re beautiful, always,” Negan corrected her, hooking his fingers tighter with hers. Bringing her hand up, he deposited a kiss over the back of her hand. “Where we’re going, I don’t think it matters how you are dressed. I’ve just been thinking about things all night and I did something this morning that I want you to see.”

“Alright. Let me get my shoes on,” she agreed to going with him. She at least owed him that. Gathering her things, she followed Negan out of her home. Like before, Negan still helped her into the car and was as sweet to her as he normally would be. Wherever Negan was driving her, she had no idea. What surprised her was how short the drive actually was. By the time that Negan pulled into the driveway of a massive home on the outskirts of town, she didn’t know what to say. Staring out at the home, it made her smirk when she realized what it was. “What are we doing here Negan?”

“Do you remember this place?” Negan leaned back in his seat after turning off the car. Rubbing his hands on his thighs, Negan waited for her answer.

“Of course I do,” she looked up at the home seeing that it was a little bit more worn down than from what she remembered. “We used to ride our bikes by here all the time when we were children. Talk about how one day when we were older and famous, we’d come back, buy this house and live here. So that way we could remember where we started, but still know that we succeeded. Make people jealous.”

“Right,” Negan winked, getting out of the car. Moving around the car, Negan opened the door and she gave him an odd expression. Helping her out, Negan led her up to the house. Looking around, Negan kicked aside the welcome mat where there was a key underneath it. Picking up the key, Negan opened the door and it had her panicked. “Come on.”

“What are you doing?” she was appalled with Negan just walking into the home, turning to face her. Waving his hands at her, Negan urged her to follow him, but she was still nervous. “Are you breaking into this home?”

“Follow me,” Negan outstretched his hand to curl his fingers around her wrist to pull her into the home. Once they were inside, she let out a surprised breath at how nice it actually was. When they were younger and they chose this house, they picked it based on how it looked on the outside. They never knew what the inside looked like. Yet it was just as nice, if not nicer. It surprised her that someone who could afford something like this actually lived in their town. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re insane for breaking into this home,” she noted following Negan throughout the place. It was like they were in a museum getting to look at everything. It looked like something out of a magazine, but one thing she noticed is that it didn’t look like someone was living there. “Your celebrity status won’t stop us from getting arrested, you know that right?”

“I’m not going to get arrested,” Negan stopped in front of a pair of large doors that led outside. It brought in a hefty amount of light that brought attention to how impressive the home actually was. “This house is mine now.”

“It’s yours?” she stammered, still not sure what was going on. “How?”

“When you didn’t answer the door last night or the phone I went for a drive. And I drove past this place,” Negan kept one of her hands in his, waving his free hand about in the air. “It brought back so many memories for me and I realized that you were right. Your home is here. You need a place where you belong. And we always wanted this home when we were kids. I got in contact with some people and all I have to do is sign some paperwork and this house is ours.”

“So you’re saying that you bought yourself another home?” she was shocked to hear that and Negan cleared his throat.

“I’m probably going to get rid of the farm or the beach house because I don’t need those. The farm brings back too many Lucille memories for me…” Negan explained, his thick brows full of emotion talking about how he wanted to give up some of the places he owned. “It doesn’t matter to me. I can get rid of both of them. Because at the end of the day? You’re my home. You are what is home for me. I want to be with you. And I remembered our dreams of having this home one day.”

Surprise flooded her veins with Negan shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t think you realize, I don’t care about money or jobs, I just care about you. I want to make your dreams come true and I realize that I made a mistake with what I did.”

“I just wish we would have talked about it,” she stressed to Negan, using her free hand to place it in over the center of her chest to defend herself. “It was a lot of things to put in front of me without thinking about it.”

“You could have said no about the contract. Work means nothing to me. I just want to marry you,” Negan declared, his big hazel eyes hooked on hers. “I thought you wanted that life still when I heard you talking to Joel in New York. When both of you were standing in front of that window. So I made this deal thinking that’s where you wanted to be. I should have talked to you about it first. I heard what you said and I misunderstood what it was you wanted. I just more than anything want you to be happy. I want to be with you.”

Should she have said something here? Yes. She should have, but she didn’t. Rather she just felt her eyes tearing over and her chest aching, “Here, you’ll never be too far away from the children or Joel. You can start your life here with me and still be with them. Instead of having you travel, maybe I can help you start a local newspaper or site to focus on this part of town. Whatever subject you want to focus on. I just want you to be so fucking happy.”

Lowering her head, she knew that this was the most that someone had ever worked to make her happy, “I still want to marry you. I want you to be my wife more than anything. I want to share the rest of my life with you. I’ll finish off my year with the team and then I will retire all together. I’ll turn the coaching job down so we can live here. Start our life together in this town.”

“You shouldn’t give up this job opportunity in order to make me content,” she stressed to Negan, her eyes tearing over when Negan started to get very emotional. “I don’t want you to give up this incredible opportunity so you can just be with me.”

“You don’t understand, I don’t want this job more than I want to be with you,” Negan claimed with a whimper, his Adam’s apple bouncing in this throat. “I would easily give up the opportunity of being the coach if it means that I get to be with you. Because you are more important than any money or baseball team for me. When I look at my future, the thing I want to see more than anything is you. Not this job. It’s just something fun to have on the side. It’s something I’m used to. But I don’t care about baseball, I care about you because I love you.”

“I don’t want you to give up your life for me,” she felt her tears burning at her cheeks when Negan expressively shook his head. “Please, Negan…I don’t want to be known as the woman that forced you to give up your life. A life that so many people love you for.”

“But I don’t care about those people, I care about you,” Negan interrupted her, his bottom lip quivering as he spoke. “I already bought this home. Regardless of things with us, I will make sure that I’m here so that way we’ll never be far apart. I love you Y/N. You’re all I think about. You’re all I see when I close my eyes. Every breath, every thought…my heart…” reaching for her hand, he placed it in over the center of his chest and tipped his head to the side. “It belongs to you. I love you so fucking much.”

A moment later, Negan was lowering down to capture her lips in a tender sweep that took her breath away. The one thing about Negan? Every word he said, she believed it. She didn’t have to question it because she saw it in the way he talked to her. He was willing to give up everything for her.

“I love you,” she breathed against his lips, stroking her fingers through Negan’s dark hair. Cuddling her face in next to his, she knew that when she was with Negan, she was joyful. After last night? She knew that she was a miserable mess. There was no doubting how she felt about Negan and what he meant to her, but it still confused her why Joel was one of the first things that came to her mind when Negan asked her to marry him.

She should have recognized that she could have told him yes about the marriage and no about the contract, but she didn’t. And that bothered her. It confused her. Negan made her happier than anything, so she didn’t understand why she was still having these feelings.

Tipping back, she swept her thumb in over Negan’s bottom lip and gave him a nod, “I just need some time to think over things. This is amazing and I know you so desperately want to do everything in your power to make my life better, but I can’t even understand the feelings I’m having right now. So I can’t give you an official answer. Not right now.”

“Okay,” Negan responded, disappointment flooding his features, but he didn’t fight her on it. That wasn’t the answer he wanted. She knew that, but this was the best thing she could give him right now. It was a lot to think about. There was a lot on the line for him and her. More so him and she had to make a choice that would affect them for many years to come.

Trying to ignore the uneasiness that lingered between them both, Negan continued to show her around the home. It was a short trip before they were both headed back to her home. They had something quick to eat together and some hot chocolate. They talked about random things, but it wasn’t like before. They both still had everything hovering in their minds, but they were trying to make the most out of the day.

By the end of the night, Negan was laying in her lap fast asleep. Since he hadn’t slept, he was exhausted. For a long time he tried to fight falling asleep while they watched Christmas movies together with the fire on in the background. But by the time she had him resting in her lap and she was stroking at his scalp, there was no way he couldn’t have fallen asleep. Heavy breaths were surrounding her and she looked down to watch Negan while he slept.

Love did flood her veins when she looked at him and there was an undeniable happiness too. This felt good and that should have been a good thing. Tracing over Negan’s features, she didn’t know how to respond to all of this. She should have eagerly accepted Negan’s proposal. She was an idiot in her mind that she didn’t. Negan was perfect. And even if he wasn’t perfect in general, he was perfect for her. No one had ever gone above and beyond for her like this. It was hard not to love him with how much he truly loved her.

So her doubts didn’t make sense to her. Not one bit.

A rustling filled the room and she lifted her head to see that the front door was pushing open. Once her eyes fell upon the familiar brown eyed expression, a sense of frustration overwhelmed her, “Joel, you’re supposed to call or knock.”

“You haven’t been answering to me or your daughter. She got scared,” Joel expressed his worry, carefully tip toeing into the house and closing the door behind him. That was his way of trying not to wake up Negan because he noticed that Negan was sleeping in her lap. “I was worried what I might find here since you never do that to us.”

“It’s been a hard day,” she whispered, looking down to see that Negan was still deep in sleep breathing heavily. Adjusting her position carefully, she managed to slide out from underneath Negan and helped him lower his head down onto the couch. Being quiet, she motioned Joel to follow her into the kitchen so Negan could continue to sleep.

“I guess this is where I should congratulate you,” Joel stammered and by the expression over his face she knew that he wasn’t happy. Pointing toward the living room, Joel had a hard time looking at her with his face scrunching up. “Your daughter told me what happened last night. I assume that you two were celebrating about being engaged.”

“Your daughter?” she repeated, her head tipping to the side. Curiosity flooded her veins with jealousy becoming fairly obvious in Joel’s dark eyes.

“Our daughter,” Joel fixed what he had said, dramatically shaking his head as if what he had said was no big deal.

“I told him no,” she alerted Joel with a loud swallow. Almost immediately his head bounced about and he was visibly shocked. Instead of saying anything, he just nodded, but his dramatic expression said everything. “Nice reaction.”

“I just can’t believe you said no,” Joel looked toward the living room knowing that Negan was sleeping on the couch still and he didn’t want to wake him. Even though it was wrong, Joel was excited to hear that. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she was quick to shut down his question. It wasn’t his business. Truth be told? She really didn’t know why either. She told herself it was because of the children, but she honestly just panicked.

“It kind of matters,” Joel retorted, snorting as she turned away from him. It looked like she was trying to distract herself which led to her getting a drink. “I’d like to know.”

“It’s none of your business,” she stressed feeling overwhelmed with him just asking her.

“Is it no forever or…?” Joel continued on still finding himself wanting to know more. It was involuntary and he knew that she didn’t want to talk about it, but he needed her to. His heart was racing when she downed her drink incredibly fast.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, stroking her thumb over the glass. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, you can talk to me,” Joel offered and she made an amused sound that almost offended him. Stepping in closer to her, Joel braced his hands on the counter and stared out at her. Lowering his head, he tried to get her to lock eyes with him, but she was definitely avoiding doing that.

“Negan is in there,” she reminded him looking beyond him toward the living room where they left Negan sleeping on the couch.

“So he’s okay with you saying no?” Joel’s eyebrow arched in curiosity, biting at his bottom lip.

“No,” she responded, guilt eating away at her with what Negan had done today alone. Offering to quit his job and buying their childhood dream home was his way of proving how much she meant to him. “He wants me to reconsider because of…things.”

“Why are you being stingy with the information?” Joel grumbled irritated with her lack of being open with him.

“You’ve been weird about this whole Negan thing,” she blurt out, finally looking at him after pouring herself another drink. “Half the time you like him and then the other half of the time it seems like you hate him. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Joel huffed, shrugging his shoulders at the thought of his feelings on Negan. “I like him, I just don’t know if I like the idea of him being married to you. If you were engaged to him, I was going to ask you to think about it first before you do it.”

“That’s a lot to ask,” she shot back, her eyes narrowing when she downed the second drink faster than the first. “You really have no right to ask me to do anything. Especially after the things I found the other day. You haven’t even bothered to show up and talk to me since. So…”

“You say that you know I’m a different man, yet you’re upset about it still,” Joel expressed that he was uneasy with what she was saying. “Plus, you did say you wanted some space from me. I just was trying to prove that I could give you that.”

“Yeah, and you went right to Negan and fucked him, so…” she pointed out what he had done and it made Joel tense up. “And you even told him about the thing I told you to keep your mouth shut about. You’re lucky he handled it so well.”

“He broke my nose,” Joel retorted, pointing toward his face to show that there was some bruising under his eyes.

“You deserved it,” she voiced her opinion on the matter, knowing that she desperately wanted to hit him herself that night. By Joel’s face she knew that what she said irritated him, but she didn’t care. “I wanted to kick you in the balls, so I’d say you got off easy.”

“You want to kick me in the balls for something I did over four years ago?” Joel sneered folding his arms in front of his chest. There was color pressing in over her face and he knew that she was trying to keep her temper from growing. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I never hit you our entire marriage. Or after. When you certainly deserved a few slaps,” she declared getting a scoff from Joel. “Let’s see…you kept sex videos without my consent. You trash talked me to Lucille and said horrible things. You cheated on me.”

“I didn’t cheat on you,” Joel interrupted her, his face scrunching up in anger. “Cheating on you means I stuck my dick into someone else and I never did. I was loyal our entire marriage. I never slept with another person until we were separated.”

“We were still married when we were separated,” she reminded him how he was incorrect with what he had said in defense of himself.

“You know what I mean,” Joel rolled his eyes and leaned back against the counter having a fire flood her veins at how stubborn he was being. “I never cheated on you when we were together.”

“You would have been furious if I was having an online relationship with another man where I was sharing nude photos with him and role playing sex scenarios with him” she claimed, her throat tensing up and her eyes narrowing showing just how pissed off she really was at him. Joel’s face softened and he dropped his head to stare down at the ground. “You were mine when you were doing that. I was yours. And you would have been so angry with me if you thought I was doing that. And the things you said about me…”

“Those were personal,” Joel cleared his throat, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. Really Joel was right. And the other night Negan proved to her that this was not something that she should have been holding against Joel. But she was emotional in the moment. “You went looking for trouble when you read my e-mails. What you did in reading them was wrong. They weren’t yours to go through. You hurt yourself doing that because those were just me venting my feelings. Which I’ve already told you a million times that I was wrong. As I’ve stressed many times, the man I was then, I’m not now.”

“So I’m just supposed to forgive you?” she wondered, her eyes burning over at the thought of what she saw. “Suddenly, I’m just supposed to say you’re right Joel? You are a different man and you’re the man I want to be with? You’re the man that I want to re-marry?”

Instead of answering, Joel swallowed down hard and his brown eyes lifted to meet her stare, “That’s what I thought. You don’t want me getting married to Negan because you think I still belong to you. Even after everything.”

Stroking at the side of his face, Joel didn’t know what to say when she laughed and shook her head, “Negan never talked about me the way that you did.”

“Yeah, I know Negan is fucking perfect,” Joel growled in frustration, rolling his eyes again that it was going to this. “Even if I wanted you to marry me again, you would always be comparing me to Negan. Then again, you always did.”

“In your head I did,” she whispered, looking down in disappointment. “You always forget how much you meant to me. Let’s see…I was so fucking annoying with how clingy I was. With how I constantly needed attention. It wasn’t enough that you were paying the bills or working hard, I needed you to bend over backwards to show you loved me. You didn’t want to show me the affection I wanted because it was overwhelming you that I wanted you to be someone that you weren’t.”

“How many times have you read those e-mails?” Joel questioned, his head tipping to the side and his eyes narrowing. These were things that he assumed that he told Lucille in the e-mails. Hell, he didn’t even know, but since she seemed to be quoting them off, he assumed she read them a lot. “You can quote them now?”

“Once,” she answered, reaching up to try to wipe at her eyes because the last thing she wanted was to cry in front of him again. Yet, she knew that she was failing. “All I needed was once.”

“You still had no right to read those,” Joel countered, his voice growing deeper with his southern drawl filling the air. “It was wrong.”

“You’re right. It was wrong,” she agreed with him, which surprised him that she gave in so easily. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. Watching your videos, reading your e-mails…it was wrong. I just got emotional and what I did was immoral.”

Nodding, Joel just lowered his head and sighed loudly, “At least I know what you think of me. It’s better to know than have some kind of twisted, warped thought of us in my head.”

“Jesus,” Joel growled, rolling his eyes even more dramatically this time. “I think you’re being mature and then you go and say something like that.”

“You’re going to judge me on maturity?” she snapped back at him with a frown.

“I don’t think those things about you,” Joel reasoned with her, throwing his hands about while he spoke trying to get her focused on him when a single tear slid down her face. “What are you doing to Negan, Y/N?”

“Excuse me?” she didn’t get what he was hinting.

“You are so visibly still in love with me,” Joel suggested with a firm shake of his head. It made her scoff and look down toward the ground. “You cry all the time when you think about the thought of me not loving you. If you didn’t love me, it wouldn’t hurt you so fucking much. So why are you dragging Negan along when it’s obvious that it should be the two of us together? Yeah, we have a fucked up history, but the two of us are meant to be together and you know it.”

“I love Negan,” she corrected Joel who snickered. “I do.”

“Of course you do, I didn’t say you didn’t,” Joel countered, stepping in closer to her to get her to tip her head back to look up at him. Even though she was crying, there was still anger that resigned behind her eyes. “We’re the soulmates. Not you and him. Yes, you love him. But you love me more.”

“Don’t…” she warned with him stepping forward, pressing her hand into the center of his broad chest. Right now there were tears sliding down her face with Joel staring down at her. “Don’t!”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Joel begged of her, nodding over toward the living room where Negan was. “Tell me that I’m not the one you long to be with. It’s the reason you told Negan no. There was no logical reason for you to tell him no.”

“It wasn’t about you,” she claimed, her eyes getting angrier with him going off about the two of them. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Bullshit,” Joel snarled, closing the distance between the two of them and it had her breathing loudly. “You’re enamored with Negan. He makes you feel good. He’s everything you wanted me to be. But he’s not what you want. It’s me that you want. You want me to be like him. That’s why you told him no. That’s why you gave me that chance in New York. That’s why you are open to me having a poly relationship with you two. You can’t let me go.”

“You’re very arrogant,” she huffed, her body visibly shaking with Joel so close to her. Hovering his lips in over hers had her sucking in a sharp breath of air. “Just because I still love you doesn’t mean that I love you more than Negan nor does it mean that I want to be married to you.”

“My arrogance was something you were originally very attracted to,” Joel reminded her of their youth, his eyelids heavy with want. The urge to kiss her was there, but he didn’t know how she would handle it with Negan in the other room. “Does Negan know that you gave me the opportunity to win you back in New York?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she responded with a long exhale dropping her head down to break the idea that they could kiss in that moment. “I knew that you wouldn’t say the right thing. That’s why I made the offer. And I was right. How you think you are better for me than Negan is mind blowing because all you do is hurt me.”

“You know,” Joel reached for her wrist to stop her from walking away from him. “You think that you want me to be a certain way, but the truth is that you don’t. You love me the way I am. I can try to be a little more like Negan. Be honest. Be more open and truthful. But you have always been wildly attracted to me. You like that I’m less affectionate because when I do give you affection, it makes you feel special. You like the rough sex because you’re a freak. And you like fighting because it proves that we’re passionate. That’s what this is right now. What you and Negan have? It’s nice, but it’s unrealistic. No one is perfect. And you don’t want perfect. You want me.”

Lowering down, Joel’s lips hovered in over hers just enough so that his bottom lip dragged across hers. Going to bring their lips together, Joel felt the pressure of her fingers pressing in over the center of his chest to stop him, “I deserve perfect.”

A sharp exhale fell from his throat, surprise flooding his handsome features that she turned him down, “Even talking to you, I realize just how much we don’t belong together. All we do is fight. And you just confirmed to me that you have no intentions of changing.”

There was a sense of disappointment in her eyes after he said what he did, “I don’t want to feel lonely again, hoping that tonight is the night that you think I’m deserving of you holding me in your arms. I deserve someone who tells me how much they love me all the time. I deserve to be made love to sometimes and feel like the center of someone’s universe. I shouldn’t be made to feel like I’m overwhelming just because I want to touch you, hold your hand or cuddle with you. You’re right Joel, I wish you were a little more like Negan, but most of all? I wish you were the Joel that I married at eighteen years old. I wish you were the man that made me fall in love with him every single day. The man that was so proud of his children and me. The man that made the rest of the town jealous because they knew that our relationship was perfect. The man that would sing to me all the time not because he was in trouble or trying to win my heart, but just because he wanted to. The man that told me every single day how lucky he was to have me. The man that wrapped me up in his arms at night and made me feel safer than I ever have in my life because I knew that no matter what, in his arms I would be taken care of and loved. We could have nothing and it would be okay because we loved each other and that’s all that mattered.”

By now she was sobbing and there was red flooding into Joel’s cheeks at her breaking down about the way things used to be, “I know that you thought you drove me crazy because you didn’t do the dishes or you left your dirty clothes all over the room instead of putting them in the hamper, but those were little things Joel. They were worth it because I never once questioned your love. That man was the love of my life. And that Joel? He’ll never exist again.”

“Why not?” Joel stammered, trying to reach for her again but she made it clear that she didn’t want him to touch her. “You won’t even give me a chance to try.”

“You just told me that you wouldn’t,” she recalled what he had said to her not long before. “And we may have passion Joel, but I can’t take this fighting all the time. And truth be told…”

There was a silence between them when she let out a whimper, “You ruined that Joel for me. Over and over again. You can only break a plate so many times before you can no longer glue the pieces back together.”

“Then let me be a different Joel,” he grabbed her hands to stop her from leaving because he wouldn’t take that answer. “Let me be a Joel that you learn to fall in love with again. I don’t care if we have Negan in our relationship. I like him, you like him, he makes us better. I want him around and I think you know that. I may have not told you how I feel about him, but you know how I feel. He knows how I feel. We can have Negan. But if you’re going to marry one of us while you’re with both of us, then marry me. Yes you deserve both me and him. He gives you what I can’t and I give you what he can’t. But marry me, not him.”

“Stop it,” she reached for his arms to pull him up when he went to lower down to his knee. Frustration flooded her body when Joel scoffed. “You don’t even have a ring.”

“We didn’t have a ring when I asked you to marry me the first time either. Well…it was my class ring, but…” Joel stuttered through, his eyebrows furrowing with her shaking her head. “Come on, Y/N. Anyone in their right mind would have told Negan yes, but you didn’t. Because you know you’re meant to be with me.”

“Knock it off,” she warned Joel who rolled his eyes, but wouldn’t let go of her wrists. “You don’t want to be married to me Joel. You divorced me.”

“I was wrong,” Joel repeated what he had so many times. “I wish I never did it. And I think it happened so we could bring Negan into our relationship. But you shouldn’t be married to him. You should be married to me.”

Capturing her lips in a forceful kiss had her hitting at the center of his chest at first, but the longer he kissed her, the softer the hits were until she finally started kissing him back. Cupping her face in his palms, Joel’s tongue brushed out against hers leading her to fall in against his chest. Their breathing grew louder until Joel picked her up and led her over toward the table. Dropping her carefully on top of it, he urged her back to lay down. Working open his belt, Joel’s fingers fumbled to get it open. Once he did, he was quick to get his pants apart. Pushing his pants down to the bottom of his hips, he reached for her and pulled her down to the edge of the table. Turning her over roughly had her gasping out. Firmly pushing at her pants, Joel got them down to her thighs before pulling her to him.

“Joel,” she stammered his name, her hand reaching out to press in over his naked hip. Stroking firmly at his body, Joel pushed her legs apart with one of his feet. Lining himself up, he went to press forward, but felt the firm shove of her hand with her pulling up and away from him. “Stop!”

“I just…” Joel was breathless with her sliding out from under him and working her pants back over her hips. Realizing that she was upset, Joel unhurriedly pulled his pants back up over his hips with a disappointed breath. “I’m sorry. I got caught up in the moment.”

“You make loving you hard,” she confessed to him with a broken sound, her eyes lifting to his in a moment of sadness. “The fact you think I want to be face down on the table with you fucking me after everything…”

“Then I will take you upstairs and we’ll do it the right way,” Joel offered pointing his hand toward the stair area. “We’ll be quiet, go to the attic. We can have sex under the stars on the nook area that I made. Turn the lights on…”

“I don’t want to have sex with you Joel,” she announced eliciting a frown from him. “All you’ve done is confused me more tonight. Please just go home.”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Joel reminded her and she gave him a shrug like she didn’t know what he was hinting. “We should be together.”

“Tomorrow I’m still having everyone over. So just bring the children, Tommy and Maria,” she responded, not even looking at him and he felt guilty. He hated it. “Negan and his mom will be here. Rosita and her family too. I’ll just pretend this never happened.”

Trying to strum up the strength to say something just to get her to see him in a positive light, Joel cleared his throat and she shook her head, “Just leave. Please.”

“Listen,” Joel tried to stammer, his eyelids growing heavy. “I got too heated at the idea of you telling Negan no. I thought that meant you still wanted to be with me and only me. You have to understand where I’m coming from here. I love you, very fucking much.”

“Joel,” she looked like she was going to yell at him, but then stopped and nodded her head about. “I love you too. And I know you love me. But I know that you care about him too. I don’t know why either one of you want to be married to me. Being married makes things complicated. Do you understand that?”

“Why wouldn’t we want to be married to you?” Joel reasoned with her, stepping forward trying to get her to focus on him and what he was saying. “You’re the thing that makes us the happiest in the world. Yeah, we don’t mind sharing, but having you? Being married to you? That means that you love that one more.”

“You were the one pushing for the poly relationship the hardest,” she reminded him, getting Joel’s Adam’s apple to bounce in this throat. “You know that, right?”

“Because I like Negan more than I should,” Joel explained, having a warmth flooding into his face. “I like being around Negan. He makes me feel good. I mean he makes me also feel like a piece of shit, but I reckon I understand how he can make someone feel like the most important person in the world. So I understand why you feel the way you do about him.”

“I feel like the two of you just want me to marry you over the other so you can have one up over the other one,” she thought aloud, the lump growing in her throat when she rest against the corner of the cabinets. “Can’t I just love you both equally? Why does one need to be better than the other?”

“It’s complicated,” Joel admitted, not sure if he understood it himself when he folded his arms out in front of his chest. “You’re everything right in the world Y/N. And being married to you? That proves that something is right in our lives.”

“But I’m not. I’m not everything right in the world. I’m not perfect and hearing you two say that all the time? I’ve never felt more imperfect in my life. I’m a fucking mess. I break your heart, I break his heart,” she threw her hand about in the air showing that she was getting emotional. “I love the both of you so fucking much, but I hate hurting you both. You both accept that I love both of you. But you both want me to marry you. And when I say no to both of you? I hurt you both. It’s destroying me because I love you both so fucking much. And for vastly different reasons. But I do. I can’t lie about it. Yes. I’m head over heels in love with you, but I am him too. And I feel fucking stupid for telling him no. But I also feel stupid for telling you no too. But being married to either one of you? It just makes things hard. You understand that, right?”

“I get that we’re both putting you in a hard spot,” Joel admitted, a frown tugging at his tired features. “But you have to realize it’s just because the two of us love you so much. We like each other and we’re getting more relaxed with one another. And I’ll admit the reason that we were ill at ease at first is because of me. It’s just I was going through some things. I was angry because the last time…”

Biting down on his cheek, Joel sighed loudly and moved over toward the table to sit down. Dropping down into the seat, he didn’t want to look at Y/N when he spoke, “I’m uneasy being attracted to Negan or doing things with Negan because my father…”

Joel lifted his hands hearing the sound of Y/N pulling the chair that was beside him out so she could sit near him and give him her attention, “Before you and I were together, before I realized how I felt about you…I liked Negan. A lot.”

“I assumed so originally,” she knew that she was upset, but she could tell that he was working himself up to something by talking to her. “And I don’t care that you liked him. I’m okay with it.”

“But I wasn’t okay with it because…Negan and I used to do things together before he started doing…sexual things with you. Just touching. Never anything really extensive. He’d come over and we’d watch some porn and jerk off together. Occasionally we’d start to jerk each other off. One day my dad came home early and he found us doing that. Kicked Negan out and then he beat the shit out of me for it. I’m sorry I’m not telling this story well, but I’ve had to think about it several times and talk about it a few which never gets easier,” Joel admitted to her, his dark eyes locking with hers when he opened up about his past long before she had ever gotten with him or Negan. “My dad was a lot of things that were positive, I guess, but he was homophobic. And he beat it into me that I couldn’t have those feelings.”

“When did he do that?” she seemed upset hearing Joel tell her that story and it had Joel shrugging his shoulders.

“When I lied and said the person from our rival team attacked me when I had my back turned,” Joel was honest with her causing her lips to part. A disappointed breath escaped her with learning about Joel’s father. It was a big deal to her back then so he knew that she would remember the time he was talking about. “He beat me so bad that I probably should have gone to the hospital, but he wouldn’t let me. My mom never knew. My mom died thinking my dad was a fucking saint, but he beat the hell out of me for being attracted to another guy. So anytime I felt something positive about Negan? Or something happened with Negan? I was hearing my dad. So you’ll have to excuse me when I get tense about things because twenty plus years of listening to that man’s voice inside my head is hard.”

Joel swallowed down hard with her dropping her hand to squeezed her fingers around his, “You were and remain to be the only person that I have more feelings for than I do Negan. No one else ever made me feel normal or so in love like I do when I’m with you.”

“Joel, I love you,” she grabbed his hands squeezing them firmly. “But you are normal. You were normal. Don’t say that. I wish you would have told me.”

“What would it have done?” Joel slurred, pain visible in his face. “You were just a kid. You were a hot head but you weren’t about to take down my father.”

“But I could have been telling you all along that you were, you are perfect just the way you are,” she muttered, lifting her hand up to press it in over the side of his face. Slowly his eyes fluttered to a close with him leaning into the warmth of her touch. “Both of us didn’t win the lottery with our parents. We’re both broken because of what they did to us. What they continue to do to us, even if they aren’t here anymore.”

Closing the distance between them she pressed a loving kiss against his cheek and brushed her fingers throughout his hair, “Regardless of what you think Joel, I wouldn’t have picked someone else to be the father of my children. I think because we both went through what we did, we knew what it took to be loving parents. I don’t regret one bit having the life that I did with you. You’re a good father and your children will always know what unconditional love is because you’re an amazing father. That’s what you have to think about. How what happened to you impacted you in a positive way. Stop beating yourself up over something that you can’t control.”

A broken breath fell from his throat and he turned toward her palm to place a loving kiss against the center of her hand, “Come with me.”

“Where?” Joel muttered with her standing up holding her hand out for him. Accepting it, she led him toward the living room causing him to panic when they stepped before Negan. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to include Negan in any of their discussions. Especially since he just tried to convince her to marry him and not Negan.

“Honey,” she lowered down, still holding onto Joel’s hand while the other caressed over the side of Negan’s face. Stirring on the couch, Negan’s long eyelashes fluttered to an open and it took a minute for him to realize where he was. Exhaustion had set in and when he pushed himself up into a seated position, he seemed confused to see Joel there. Holding her hand out for Negan, he tipped his head to the side and took her hand in his. “Follow me.”

Instead of questioning things, Negan got up from the couch with a wince. Neither of them said anything as she led them up the stairs stopping at the attic. Getting the ladder down, she pointed up getting confused expressions from both of them.

“Up,” she spoke with Negan licking his lips and giving her a nod. Moving up the ladder to the attic, she had followed him up with him helping her up. When Joel reached the top of the ladder, Negan helped him up into the attic as well. Moving over toward the nook area, she took a seat on the edge of it and motioned them to follow her. There was tension between both Negan and Joel as they did as she asked of them. “We need to talk or we’re never going to be okay.”

“What does that mean?” Joel stammered with Negan sitting at one side of her and him at the other. Reaching for both of their hands, she held onto them and she looked deep in contemplation. “Y/N?”

“Joel,” she looked to Joel, her throat tensing up when she gazed upon her first love. “I love you. I will always love you. And nothing will ever change that. But I need you to stop overthinking things. I need to forgive you for the things that happened, but most of all you need to forgive yourself. Because you’ve been hurting yourself for far too long. And that’s kept you from truly being happy.”

A tremoring breath escaped his lips, with his brown eyes locked on hers. Giving him a nod, she then turned her attention to Negan who looked upon her with his big hazel eyes, “Negan, I love you so fucking much. You’re fun, you make me smile and every moment I spend with you is special. But with you? You have to realize that you just being in my life is enough. You don’t have to give me the world because I have it. With you. With Joel. And with my children.”

“I’m confused,” Negan was the first to say something, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat. “What is this?”

“I need to hear this from both of you,” she began, looking between the both of them. “Do you or do you not want to have this poly relationship? Because if we are going to do this, I need to know that you both want it. If you do, we have to work together and include each other in things. Make sure that it’s something we really want because otherwise, it will never work.”

“Are you okay with it?” Joel was the first to speak up, his southern drawl raspy with his free hand reaching up to urge her to look at him. “I need to know that it’s something you want because sometimes I feel like you’re going above and beyond to make us happy. Because you don’t want to hurt either one of us.”

“I love the both of you,” she was honest, gazing back at Negan who was still seemingly confused with where this was going. “And that’s the thing. I love both of you so much that my heart can’t choose who it wants to be with. Which makes me greedy, but I know I love the both of you so much. But I can’t have you just accepting this because you want to be with me.”

“I love you so fucking much,” Negan finally spoke, palming in over the side of her face. Sliding in closer to her, he gave her a weak smile and nodded his head. “And you know I care very much about Joel.”

“I think I care about you more than you care about me,” Joel surprised both of them when they looked to him and he shrugged his shoulders. “I’m okay with the poly relationship because you were the first person I think I felt anything for and she’s the love of my life. She’s okay with the poly relationship because she loves the both of us and can’t decide. I think even though it feels like I’m the odd one out, it’s actually you.”

“That’s not true,” Negan tried to defend himself having her tip her head back to look him over. “I’ve always been very supportive of both of you. I want the both of you happy and more than anything I’ve been trying to make you both happy.”

“This is what I mean,” she pointed between the both of them, “We have to know that the feelings are real and this is something you both want.”

“I am okay with this poly relationship,” Negan insisted with a shake of his head, “but if you want me to be honest, no, I don’t love you Joel like I do her. And I know you don’t love me like you do her either. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not willing to learn to love you too. We obviously both like each other. We’re both attracted to each other and I know that maybe you do feel stronger feelings for me than I do you, but it doesn’t negate that I care about you. I’ve just been in love with her from the moment I laid eyes on her. It takes time to build that kind of fucking love. Y’know?”

Something in Joel’s face showed that he didn’t exactly believe that, but he just nodded because he didn’t want to be the one to push it any further, “We’re just going to have to tell Ellie and Peter in a way that makes sense because I don’t want to hide anything from them.”

“That’s something to worry about when we figure everything out here first,” she agreed with Joel, swallowing down hard. Dropping back dramatically on the oversized cushion that Joel put in the nook area of the attic had both men looking to her. “I could really just use a night of relaxing. Especially with it being Christmas tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am,” Negan slurred, leaning back to lay down onto the cushion with her. Sliding in beside her, his nose nuzzled in against the side of her neck and his hand pressed in over her abdomen. Realizing what she was asking for, Joel was careful in the way that he lowered down beside her as well. Mirroring what Negan had done, Joel pressed a kiss over her cheek. “You mean everything to me.”

Knowing that she wanted silence, Joel knew that it was going to take a whole lot more than just this simple talk, but he was going to give her what she asked for right now and hold her close. For him? Sharing her with Negan and getting to explore what he felt for Negan when he was younger was the best option. One he hoped that they could figure out altogether.

----

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