#anyway i tried to make it look like a dress kind of...so pretend that it is <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[scionshtola]

new casual glam (ft. tiny shtola)

[ickygojo]

jujutsu kaisen men as relatives.

wc: 520

( # ) SYNOPSIS: uncle!gojo, cousin!geto, stepdad!toji, uncle!sukuna, brother!yuuji & eighteen plus female reader.

( # ) CONTENT: dead dove / mdni. incest & stepcest, mentions of alcohol & marijüana use for gojo, geto & sukuna. somewhat drugging & dub con (i think) for geto. undērage drinking, still over eighteen. panty stealing and peeping toms. mentions of infidelity & daddy kink for toji.

( # ) GOJO SATORU ;

is the bubbly, rich uncle, always giving you what you want. daddy said you can’t have a vibrator? well guess what uncle gojo got you? always taking you out shopping and out to eat, buying you pretty clothes and dressing you up. sending you money to buy lingerie while telling you to “send photos” when you tried them on, only for him to shower you with compliments afterwards. spending the summer at his mansion is almost like a fever dream. there’s a lot of fucking and sleeping and drinking and god forbid if your mother knew what you were doing with her brother, she would end you both. you know it’s wrong, but you love the attention anyways.

( # ) GETO SUGURU ;

is the stoner cousin, always inviting you over to his basement to hang out, play pool and smoke you silly. he enjoys blowing smoke in your face and pressures you to get so high that you literally cannot stand on your own. he would have to help you sit down, only to place you on his lap, and grope you beneath your clothes; just to hear your pretty whimpers and begs for him to stop, telling him it’s wrong and he knows it. he breaks you down, kissing and licking at your neck; and afterwards he fucks you on the pool table, legs propped up on his shoulders with a blunt still hanging from his lips, while you’re babbling incoherent sentences.

( # ) TOJI FUSHIGURO ;

of course is the step father, married to your lovely mother, preying on you and your young body. he’s a little creepy, and vulgar but you’d be lying if you said your panties weren’t wet because of it. stealing looks at you while you’re changing, stealing your dirty panties for him to huff later with his hand wrapped around his cock. it even went as far as sneaking around while your mother was gone; or hell, even when she’s home, toji pulling a quickie, making you cum all over his fingers, mewling “daddy” like the good girl you are the whole time.

( # ) SUKUNA RYOMEN ;

is the weird and scary, criminal uncle that you’ve somehow always had the hots for, like that one villain in the movie. he’s hardly ever been around, making it easy for you to have a crush on, despite the fact that he’s you’re uncle. you swear to god he’s flirting with you at every single family gathering, offering you alcohol even though you’re still too young, saying he was “the cool uncle” only to get you drunk and find an empty bedroom to fuck your sweet drunk guts out in.

( # ) YUUJI ITADORI ;

is the older brother. sweet, kind and caring on the surface, but really a sick pervert on the inside; peeking through the cracks of your door while you’re changing or showering. sneaking into your room, watching you sleep, taking pictures of your pussy and even jerking off over your sleeping body.. at some point, you know he’s doing this but you like it so you pretend to be asleep until he busts all over your clothed pussy, confiscating your panties as his own trophy.

[mattyriddlesbitch]

It Should Be You

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader

Warnings: cussing, mentions of the battle of Hogwarts, mentions of death, pretty angsty

Another one way off schedule but I was inspired and wrote this in 1.5 hours. Enjoy.

4 years. It had been 4 years now since you last saw him. Your boyfriend, Mattheo who tragically passed away during the battle at Hogwarts. He tried protecting you as best as he could. He tried keeping you out of everything involving his father. He just disappeared a few days before the battle without a word and was never seen again. The word spread was that his father killed him and the ministry accepted that, marked him as legally dead and moved on.

Only you and a few of his friends held a funeral for him. It took several hours and his best friend Thedore physically pulling you away to get you back home from where you guys set up his headstone. With no body, you guys were able to set up a little headstone for him in an empty field near Hogwarts. That was his home. It felt like the most appropriate place.

Your relationship may have been difficult at times, especially with everything with his father. But he was the sweetest, funniest, and just overall best boyfriend-best partner-you ever had. No one before or after him made you feel the way you did with him. His death completely broke your heart into pieces, and never even fully recovered.

After a few years, your parents set you up with a man your age, Nathaniel. He was sweet and kind and you got along with him just fine, but he wasn't Mattheo. But you being with him made your parents happy and you didn't completely hate him. He was better than the other guys you dated, other than Mattheo, obviously. And he never saw your love for your late boyfriend as competition. He would support you and help you with your grief. Which made you feel a little worse about everything.

You liked the guy, but you didn't love him. That sounds so awful, but it was true. Your heart belonged to Mattheo. Even in his death.

Still, he was second best to Mattheo. And since his death, you felt so lonely. No one could really blame you for trying to move on.

So when Nathaniel asked you to marry him, you agreed. You went through the motions, pretending the wedding was with Mattheo instead. You picked out the colors you talked about previously, the flowers, the songs, everything was what Mattheo and you already decided. Your fiance didn't really care anyways about wedding planning. He just wanted you to be happy.

Your poor bridesmaids thought it was about you finding the perfect dress, and that was part of it, but it was mostly just knowing it was the most perfect dress for your and Mattheo's wedding. 

The only part that made you break down was wedding dress shopping. You could hear Mattheo giving his opinions about the dresses. “Too low cut, too lacy, too simple, not you, absolutely not.” But the one dress you put on where you could just hear him say ‘yes’ and admire you, it made you burst into tears.

The wedding that won't happen because he's dead and you're marrying Nathaniel.

Once the wedding was planned and set, the time felt like it flew by. Suddenly you were in the bride's room getting your hair and makeup done and getting into your wedding dress. You asked everyone to leave once you were ready and just sat down. The noise of the rain coming down hitting the window was the only sound you could hear.

Of course it had to rain on your wedding day. Though, it was fitting.

You looked at the pictures of you and Mattheo on your phone, trying not to cry and ruin your makeup.

“I'm sorry, Mattheo. It should be you. But you're not here. I…” You swallowed, turning your phone off and looking up. You had so much more to say. Like how you wanted to grow old with him and marry him and, and, and…

Merlin, you were still in love with your dead boyfriend, but marrying some poor guy just so you wouldn't be alone and make your parents happy. How shitty is that?

Maybe you could grow to love Nathaniel. He isn't bad.

If only you could shut off that annoying voice.

But he isn't Mattheo.

One of your bridesmaids knocked on the door to let you know it was about time to walk down the aisle.

You sighed before taking a deep breath and composing yourself. You left the room and got ready with your beautiful bouquet of flowers.

“Sunflowers, because they remind me of us since they face the sun to live, just like how I need you to live.” Mattheo's words echoed in your head as you looked at the flowers.

You looked up in time to hear the piano playing as the first couple walked down the aisle. You wanted to burst into tears again. This is not what you wanted. It should be Mattheo at the end of the aisle. Not Nathaniel.

The rest of the couples went, leaving you by yourself, about to turn the corner to take your first step when the main door behind you burst open. You turned to look at the cause of the noise and saw him.

Mattheo fucking Riddle.

He was standing there, still in the doorway, out of breath, drenched from the rain outside. He was exactly how you remembered him. Though his hair was longer, showing the curls better.

You couldn't even speak, you were so stunned.

“Don't marry him.” The words rushed out Mattheo's mouth as he was still catching his breath.

“What?” It was all you could manage.

“Don't fucking marry him.” He said, coming over to you now.

“I'm not hallucinating, am I?” You whispered to him when he was standing right in front of you.

“No, no. I'm sorry. It's a long story, but when I heard you were getting married, I couldn't…” He swallowed, looking down at the wedding dress. “Please tell me I'm not too late.”

“You're alive. What are you doing here? Where have you been?” You asked, all sorts of emotions running through you.

“Stopping your wedding. God, you're so beautiful.” He said, cupping your cheek with one of his hands. “Don't marry him. Run away with me. And I'll answer everything.”

“Mattheo, I…” You sighed in disbelief.

“Please. I'm here now. Please?” He moved his hand off of your cheek to grab one of your hands.

You looked behind you to where everyone was waiting for you just around the corner. 

“(Y/N), love, please? I'm giving you the rest of my life. Just walk out of here with me.”

You could hear the piano stalling the music as they waited for you and you saw your mom peek her head around the corner to see the delay, her jaw dropping at seeing Mattheo.

He smiled before turning back to the exit and pulling you with him in a run outside. You hair, makeup, and dress were all ruined within 10 seconds, but you couldn't care less when the man you loved for years was now running away with you.

“I'm sorry.” You told her before dropping the bouquet and turning back to Mattheo.

[allfearstofallto]

hello, could I pls have A C I U W for Lyney?

I am still not used to writing for Lyney, but I tried!!

TW: NSFW (MDNI), cum eating, finishing inside, teasing, exhibitionism, humiliation

A ftercare - What they're like after sex

With ecstatic Lyney and his abnormally high stamina, it takes a while for sex to even end. He goes for so long, hours and hours and you just have to take him, growing more and more exhausted after each position he puts you in.

Even after he's done, he's still excitable. As he towels you down, cleaning you off, he'll talk to you about whatever he's thinking about. New tricks he's been working on, places he wants to perform, people he wants to meet. You wonder how he's able to be so lively after what the two of you just did, but you yourself are too tired to think about it. Normally you find yourself falling asleep while his words become nothing but a garbled mess in your ears. You'll wake up cleaned and dressed, with water for you to drink later.

C um - Anything to do with cum, basically

Lyney consistently cums a lot. His first load is always his largest, but that doesn't mean the rest after that aren't big as well. To the point where you struggle to swallow it, let him finish in your mouth and cum will leak out of your stuffed cheeks as you try to gulp the rest down.

He'll sheepishly apologize for how much he's stuffing into you, pretending to make an effort to pull out, but keeping himself balls deep inside anyways. Soft moans will drop from his lips as his cum seeps from your cunt, running down your legs while more pumps into you.

I ntimacy - How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect

So sweet he is in moments that are tender, his lips only spewing mumbles of praise and encouragement. Holding your cheeks so you can look into his eyes, he'll start speaking of how beautiful he thinks you are, how perfect you are for him, how amazing the sex with you is. His honeyed words aren't ploys at all, he means every bit of them, and when you say something kind back, his eyes go wide with joy. The rest of the act is just spent with the two of you praising one another back and forth, cumming over and over until you both grow tired.

U nfair - How much they like to tease

Lyney is a shameless tease, a public one at that. Whether it's just out on the town, or even at one of his shows, he'll still find a way to tease you, having you wet and ready for him when it's time to go home.

Such things over the clothes groping are commonplace to him. As a magician, his touch can be easily hidden as he does these things. Reaching down to hand you something, can be quickly followed by the slight squeeze of your chest, a smack of your ass, even a hand between your thighs. All the while, everyone else is none the wiser. Eccentric Lyney makes it hard to tell.

W ild card - A random headcanon for the character

It's a tragic thing that something like humiliation turns Lyney on. Performing everyday means he's not as susceptible to things such as embarrassment. But he knows that when he feels it, his cock grows harder, begging for attention.

This leads to nights where Lyney will make you watch him. It's not the typical performance you'd get from someone like him, but it's something regardless. A small stage would be rented out late at night, doors locked so it was only you and he inside and just like usual, he would walk up on that platform and perform. Only, this time, in the dark of night, he'd be naked.

Lyney would try to get through his set, completely bare before you, your eyes seeming to take in every piece of his body. He knew he couldn't perform without his clothes, but the sight of you out in those seats, with the lights beating down on his nude body made him tremble. He'd cum long before his show was over, spilling his seed all over the floor in front of him, the shame he was feeling only making his dick harder.

[wolfiesmoon]

The TWST boys and their number 1 princess

reader is fem! and is a bit of a bratty princess typa girl😌

i already wrote this on my haikyuu blog a bit back but somehow the song world is mine fits with like every character ever (defo reccomend listening to the song while reading)

seriously it's so fun imagining the song with different characters

Characters featured: Silver, Leona, Riddle, Jack

₊˚⊹♡ Silver

"Siiilver!~ Where aaaare you?" you called out to him in the courtyard. Lilia told you he would be there so you're beginning your search, well, there.

Why you're looking for Silver in the first place? To hold his hand, of course. None of the subtler methods have worked so far, much to your chagrin.

Holding his hand is the first step to making him your prince, you see. You've spent countless nights fantasizing about him kneeling down and kissing your hand while singing praises about your endless beauty.

Oh, how exciting it is to see the future play out in front of your eyes! You even got endorsement from Lilia for the wedding!

You eventually found him laying in the green grass, peacefully asleep. He really does sleep a lot, huh? You just can't get enough of his face, especially when it's so relaxed and at peace.

Wait... now that you think about it, in a lot of fairytales where princesses are asleep, their problem is solved by true love's kiss. Maybe his issue can be solved by it too....

Forget holding hands, you have a curse to break (atleast you assume it's a curse, since Lilia has told you he can't control it at all)! And being the top princess, you can break it, of course!

You kneel down next to him, quickly checking your breath. Probably smells fine. It's now or never!

As you lean in, his eyes gently open and you immediately jump back, pretending you weren't just about to kiss him. Out of all the times he had to wake up, it was now... You were this close!

"Ugh... I fell asleep again...?" Silver seemed to be bothered, like he always is when he wakes up.

"You did! And I was kind enough to wake you up! You should be glad I happened to stumble upon you!" you tried your best to look unbothered and collected. Silver pouted slightly at your tone.

You got up, placing one hand on your knee and extending the other towards him to help him get up. He silently took it, getting up with your help. "Thank you." he said curtly, expression softening at your happy little grin.

Wait... He just held your hand for a moment there! He really did!!!

The wedding dress! You have to pick out a wedding dress, as soon as possible!

₊˚⊹♡ Leona Kingscholar

"Hmph! Won't you just say something already?!" For some reason, he looked nervous when he heard the anger in your voice. His eyebrows creased in worry for a moment before returning to their normal resting position. He's definitely not asleep then.

You finally got fed up with the lack of acknowledgement from Leona. Practically everyone but him complimented you on your outfit today.

You even dressed up all pretty just to impress him and get him to notice your outstanding appearance. Not that you need pretty clothes to impress. Any guy would be begging at your feet even when you're in your at-home shirt and your old worn out shorts.

Leona should consider himself lucky in that regard. You've fallen for him. He has to act fast or you'll be swept away by a much more noble prince before he can place a ring on your finger.

"Hmmm...? What are you yapping on about?" Leona opened one of his eyes, acting like he has no idea what you mean. He definitely noticed the outfit. He's just choosing not to mention it.

"The dress! You're supposed to mention it!" you stomped your foot on the ground, annoyed with him.

"Oh, I don't really care. It doesn't matter if you're wearin' the finest silk or a potato sack when you're a pain in the ass anyways." he closed his eyes again, sighing with annoyance.

"Ugh! You know what? I don't care about you anymore! I'll go find a guy who can appreciate me properly!"

You were totally bluffing, but you might actually start considering it soon if he keeps acting so annoyed around you.

A great princess knows when to give up, too. Unreciprocated love brings tears, and tears ruin cute makeup.

As you turned on your heels to stomp off to Vil for more makeup advice, you felt your wrist being grabbed roughly.

"Stay here. Just stay quiet and you can stay." He squeezed your wrist, his face looking like the very definition of annoyance and... jealousy?

This is certainly a turn of events. "Fine, I'll stay." You huff. "But ONLY if you say I'm pretty in my dress." You smile smugly, watching him sigh and furrow his brows.

"You look... beautiful." He said it as if he was forced to, but somehow you could sense some truth behind those words.

You never asked him to call you beautiful after all, he definitely could have gotten away with a three-quarter hearted 'you look pretty in that dress'.

₊˚⊹♡ Riddle Rosehearts

"Hiiiii, Riddle!~ Hi Silver, hi Sebek." You greeted Riddle cheerily, treating the other two Equestrian club members like an afterthought. Riddle is much cuter in comparison, after all.

You're here for a poetically romantic reason. You see, ever since you learned that Riddle knows how to ride a horse, a certain fantasy has been visiting you in your dreams every night. Ideally, you wish he had a princely white horse, but you suppose a brown one can fulfill its duty well enough. The fantasy of him taking you on a romantic horse ride is the same no matter what his horse looks like.

Which speaking of, you visit the Equestrian club every day so you can convince Riddle to let you ride his horse, to make your dream a reality. So far, no luck. Actually, you've been trying to get closer to Riddle in general recently.

He isn't the most receptive to your flirting attempts but he makes adorable faces of anger when Cater or Trey tease him about you. Truly, a prince deserving of your attention.

"Hello. Have you come to watch us again?" Riddle asked with no particular emotion behind his voice. Surely, he knew what was coming by now. No need to ask such foolish questions.

"No, I came to ride your horse with you. You should know that by now." You are equally calm and collected in your own request. You try to put on your most cute, charming smile to lure him in.

You have been getting close to Vorpal, since you knew some horses are untrusting of unfamiliar riders. You researched every known piece of horse-related literature you could get your hands on in the library just to impress Riddle with horse facts. You're very prepared.

"You..." Riddle sighed.

"Just let her." Silver placed a hand on Riddle's shoulder, probably getting a little sick of your nagging too.

"...Fine, if I must." Riddle said after a short pause and you damn near passed out from excitement right then and there.

"As you should. I cannot believe you made me wait this long." You kept it casual on the outside, not wanting to let your excitement show too much.

Once you were properly sat on the horse with Riddle behind you, you felt like you achieved something great. You still almost can't believe how many refusals it took for this to happen. But a princess always gets what she wants in the end.

"Just don't be tense. Horses can sense that and it puts them in distress." He instructed. When you turned back and smiled cheekily at him, you noticed his cheeks were pink.

"What is it, my prince?" you gave him puppy eyes.

"D-Do not call me that, or look at me like that. It's distracting." His face got even redder. Yikes, even Vorpal can sense that he's panicking right now.

₊˚⊹♡ Jack Howl

"Get me food. Something sweet." You crossed your arms, raising your chin smugly. This is a non-negotiable matter.

"I don't think I'm indebted to you right now." that was his gentler way of saying he's not doing it. Why he doesn't just straight up say "no" to you is a mystery. Perhaps he knows the proper way to respect a princess such as yourself.

You sighed in annoyance. Seems you have to pick up the charm.

"But Jaaaaack, I'm just so hungry!~ And I can't run around in my pretty heels..." you put on your best puppy dog eyes. Surely, you can convince your future prince to do a simple favour for you.

Future prince...

The fact that wolf beastmen have one partner for life has been keeping you up at night, in both a good way and bad way. That means once you get him hooked, he's there for life, BUT! He can easily get stolen away by another and then you lose all your chances.

Truly, a challenge befitting of someone like you. That's why you're hanging around him so much.

"You know, you make it really hard for me to say no sometimes." Jack scratches the back of his head. "Doesn't mean you succeeded this time, though." he smirks slightly at you.

You would squeal (internally) over his smirk if you didn't feel slightly dissapointed right now. Oh well, you suppose you can't demand everything from your future prince. He is your equal, after all.

Upon seeing your slightly sad face, something bubbled up within him. It doesn't look right.

"I'll go get it. Do you want anything in particular?" he got up suddenly.

"Huh? Jack, you don't have to. I changed my mind." He felt a strange sense of unease to see you acting so... gently. It wasn't a bad thing neccesarily, it just felt wrong. And besides, you'd never 'change your mind' about sweets. He knows you enough to know that.

"I'll still do it.... Not because I feel bad, though. Don't get the wrong idea." he huffed, turning away before you could notice the slight pink dusting his cheeks.

[xoxochb]

hello!! can I request percy x fem!reader with the song dress by Taylor? the Great War is also great if you’d prefer that!! Thanks, and congrats 💙💙 (daughter of hades reader)

— dress

warnings: heavy make out, pairing: percy jackson x daughter of hades a/n: yeah smutty fics are growing on me

there was one day at camp where campers were allowed to wear whatever they wanted. some campers chose to wear their usual camp attire, some chose pajamas, and some chose casual clothes. you however— chose a little black dress. stuffed away in the bottom of your dresser you pull it out. it had a low neckline and ruffles at the bottom. it went down to a little above your mid thighs so yes, it was a bit revealing but it was black and it was comfortable so you wore it anyways. you exited cabin thirteen after changing and made your way to the dining pavilion for breakfast. you pretend to miss the way you watch percy’s eyes scanning your frame from his lonely seat at the poseidon table. mostly because he was your best friend and nothing more. but seemingly his gaze wasn’t screaming ‘best friends’

you sit down at your table with nico who brought will to sit with him this morning. the boys exchange a look, your brows furrow in response

“what?” you ask, confused

“Is there something you’re not telling us?” asks nico

“I’m sorry?”

“did you see the way percy was eyeing you?” will adds

“I’m not a fucking mind reader. I want words”

“are you and him a thing?”

you groan. “me and percy are best friends. that’s it”

“then tell me why he’s eye-fucking you right now” nico points behind you to what you assume is the poseidon table

“he’s not. like I said— we’re only best friends”

the boys both return to their breakfast. “suit yourself”

you huff and leave the dining pavilion. you don’t know exactly where to but you just know you can’t sit at your table anymore. with your brother and his boyfriend accusing you of sleeping with percy and the son of poseidon himself allegedly ‘eye-fucking’ you there was no way you could sit there and eat regularly. at this point you regret choosing such an immodest dress

the rest of the day you avoided percy. It was better this way, he wouldn’t give you looks and you wouldn’t feel weird about your friendship. It’s a win-win. first you took a break by the lake and read your book for a bit, uninterrupted you were fine. then came lunch when you had to sit in the pavilion again. to your percy didn’t show. you tried not to let it get to you but you couldn’t help feeling like it was your fault. after lunch you went back to your cabin for a nap. when you woke the pit in your stomach hadn’t been closed yet. whatever was bothering you needed to leave, dinner was in minutes and if you didn’t show up this time, while percy isn’t there your brother— without a doubt would think something suspicious of it

you ignored your feelings and went anyways. again, percy wasn’t there

“nico do you know if percy ate lunch earlier?”

he shakes his head. “no. maybe you should bring him something to eat”

“I don’t know…”

“he likes you y’know? you might be in denial but I don’t miss the way he looks at you. especially this morning”

your cheeks flush red. “no. I’m just going to talk to him, sort things out. we’re only friends, I swear”

“(name), I love you, but you’re an idiot”

you roll your eyes. “thanks, neeks, you’re so kind”

“I try my best”

“I’m going to bring percy a plate. we’ll talk to tomorrow”

“don’t have too much fun over there”

“goodbye”

you hurriedly stand up and leave. firstly grabbing a plate from the kitchen, then heading to cabin three. your beating heart stops you from knocking, the gods only know what’s going to happen once you enter. your hand moves faster than your brain you suppose because by the time you know what’s happening the doors opening, revealing the son of poseidon on the opposite side

“percy, hey”

not awkward. you cannot make this awkward

“what’s up?”

“I- uhm, brought you a plate. you weren’t at dinner”

“oh!” he takes the plate from your grasp “thank you. do you want to come in?”

you try to ignore the way your cheeks heat up. nothing is going to happen

“yeah, sure”

you walk in after percy am close the door behind you. he sets the plate down on his bedside table and takes a seat, beckoning you to join him— and reluctantly you do just that. things got awkward. very awkward. especially with the intense eye contact you’re making. is this what all best friends do? sit in a dark cabin making the most sensual eye contact of their lives?

“percy” you whisper

“(name)”

“why do I have the feeling we’re not best friends anymore”

you hear his breath hitch and he inches closer to you. “because I don’t want you like a best friend”

“nico told me you were looking at me this morning. Is it true?”

“you’re wearing a little black dress. did you think I wasn’t?”

“we’re best friends, percy”

the tip of his fingers touch yours, which were settled on your lap. “we don’t have to be”

“we can’t” you shake your head and stand up “we can’t do this. we’re friends. I mean gods— I want you, I really do, but what if things don’t work out? our friendship is ruined?”

“you don’t think we’d work out? we’ve been friends for years, it’s surely worked this long”

you cross your arms over your chest with a sigh. percy stands up from his bed and takes one of your hands into his own, the other pushing a stray hair behind your head before resting on the side of your face

“percy” you whisper “are you sure about this?”

“yes, I am. like you wouldn’t believe”

fuck it. you throw your arms around his neck and crash your lips together. percy’s hands place on your hips and he pulls you closer into him in a needy manner. you pool out your emotions into every kiss. you’ve yearned for this, you really have. stupid percy and his stupid button up shirt— your fingers struggle to get any undone! but percy has it easy, he slides the straps of your dress down your shoulders and the rest lower. you pull back for a second but only so percy can lay back on the bed. you slide the rest of your dress off and then you join him on the bed, straddling his hips

thank the gods you decided to wear this dress today

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 6 - The Butterfly Effect

Read on AO3

<<First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N (2nd POV but Reader is an OC), Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized Reader/OC, female Reader/OC, Everyone learns new things about each other, Manipulation, PTSD, Doll has a tragic backstory, Poorly translated Spanish, Lots of introspection

~4.2k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above but honestly nothing particularly bad happens this chapter.

John gives you space for the next few days, letting you settle in around the edges of his own routine. You’ve always been an early riser, and so is he, but he starts every day with a run, and you prefer a slower pace. You’ve taken to coming downstairs after you hear the front door close, and stretch on the living room floor (you wouldn’t call it yoga, but you’ve spent the last few years keeping up with the Kinsey kids, and you know how important it is to maintain flexibility), and make coffee before you go back upstairs to get dressed and ready for the day. John always showers first thing after his run, but after the second day he starts taking off his shirt before he drinks a glass of water at the sink, watching you from the corner of his eye to see if you’re looking.

And maybe sometimes you are. It would be a useless endeavour, pretending that he’s not nice to look at. He’s big, barrel-chested, with thick, muscular arms, and he’s hairy in a way that’s unbelievably attractive, and he gleams with sweat after his runs. If he didn’t look so damn smug every time he catches you looking, you’d probably gladly spend a few long minutes studying him. Something about the man makes your fingers itch to pick up a pencil.

You just orbit around each other for those first few days. He’s working on some project outside, and you putter around the house a bit and look for new jobs online. You were surprised that he didn’t confiscate your laptop to keep you from calling for a rescue, but he made no effort to stop you from using your laptop or your phone. Perhaps he’d really listened when you’d tried to set boundaries. He’s certainly given you space to adjust.

On Wednesday, you video call your Lola— It’s been routine for ages, since you always had Sundays and Wednesdays off from work— and catch up. You start the call shortly after John leaves, to give yourself some time to talk privately. It’s nice to see her familiar, wrinkled brown face, even if she’s half the world away from you.

She clocks that you’re not at home right away, and gets that sly, knowing smile when you tell her you’re staying with a friend. “¿Estás viendo a alguien?” she asks. “¿Un joven tal vez?” Are you seeing someone? A young man perhaps?

“No nada de eso. Sólo quedarme con un amigo.” No, nothing like that. Just staying with a friend. Once again, lying to make it seem like you’re not in trouble. It’s not like your Lola would be able to do anything about your situation anyway. You would just worry her.

Of course, Lola is much too observant not to see that you're hiding something-- Even if all she sees of you is a video call once a week, you're her granddaughter and she knows you. "Dalisay," she says, her tone a mocking approximation of sternness. "Eres una mujer adulta. Me gustaría saber que eres feliz, que estás saliendo con alguien agradable. No tienes que mentirme. Mientele a tu otra abuela.” You are a grown woman. I would like to know you're happy, that you’re seeing someone kind. You don't have to lie to me. Lie to your other grandmother.

You laugh. "¡Es complicado Lola! Él es—" It's complicated Lola! He's—

The door opens, and John limps back in, early. "Rolled my ankle," he explains, taking your wide-eyed look as concern. "Just need some ice."

"Muéstramelo," Lola demands, laughing. "Tiene una voz hermosa.” Show him to me. He has a handsome voice.

John turns toward you, frowning. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"I always call Lola on Wednesdays-- John, sit down, you need to ice your ankle, what are you doing?"

He's standing on one leg, in the middle of the kitchen, fishing a mug out of the cupboard rather than getting something cold and sitting right down. "I--"

You're not sure what possesses you, but you get up, and you make him sit, and you go to make him his coffee and wrap a bag of frozen peas in a tea towel. When you turn around, he's reached across the table to pull your laptop closer, smiling at the camera when Lola claps he hands together, beaming.

"Es guapo, Dalisay. Pero no joven, ¿eh?" She says, laughing. He's handsome, Dalisay. But not young, huh?

"No," he agrees, "soy demasiado viejo para ella. Todavía soy lo suficientemente egoísta como para intentarlo de todos modos.” I'm too old for her. I'm still selfish enough to try anyway. Lola laughs at his honesty, pleased with John already.

You set down the coffee and glare at him. But you gently set the ice pack on his raised ankle. He pulls you into his lap, sitting you on his other thigh. "John!" You protest.

"Oh, relájate, apo,” Lola chides, unhelpfully reading the situation just the way John wants her to. She seems impressed by John's accented Spanish, happy to not need to translate her words to English to speak with him. She speaks English perfectly well, but she prefers Spanish, calls English clunky and ungraceful. "Yo también fui joven una vez. Me preocupaba que ella nunca encontrara a alguien.” Oh lighten up, apo. I was young once too. I was worried she would never find someone.

"No es que ella no pudiera,” John says. "Ella es tan hermosa, pero mantiene la distancia." It's not that she couldn't. She's so beautiful, but she keeps her distance.

“John, stop that,” you say, and you do mean the way he’s talking, but you also mean the hand that’s firmly gripping your hip, kneading your soft flesh. It’s not hard enough to bruise, not even enough to hurt, but it’s distracting, and makes your heart flutter. The movement is also hitching your skirt up a little higher on your thighs.

The innocent, laughing look he gives you is no help. “Sorry, love.” He kisses your shoulder, his hand sliding up to your waist instead.

You glance over at the screen, wincing when you see two of your cousins crowded into the screen with Lola, all of them stifling laughter and one of them holding a chubby baby.

“He needs to buy you a ring, cuz,” Ligaya says, waving her baby’s chubby hand at you. “Say hello Berting, that’s your auntie Dalisay and her boyfriend.” She and her sister, Ceci dissolve into giggles. The baby laughs too, although he doesn’t have any idea what’s going on around him.

“He’s too old to be anyone’s boyfriend,” you grouse.

“He looks more like husband material to me,” Ceci crows. She points a threatening finger at the webcam. “You’d better be good to her! She’s our favourite cousin.”

“Y mi nieta favorita,” Lola says, And my favourite granddaughter, cupping her hand around her mouth as if that would keep Ligaya and Ceci from hearing her. They both laugh, unoffended, Ceci batting Lola’s shoulder lightly.

“I will,” John promises. “She makes it easy. She’s much too good for the likes of me.”

“And don’t you forget it, English!” Ligaya agrees. “Are you coming to see us for Christmas this year, Lisay? There’s at least four babies you haven’t met yet.”

“I’m not sure I can afford to this year. We’ll see if I can find work—”

“¿Qué pasó? ¿Perdiste tu trabajo?” Lola asks. What happened? Did you lose your job?

“You practically raised those niños!” Ligaya protests, as if that would change the facts of the matter. “They love you!”

You grimace, and haltingly explain that Mr. Kinsey had made a pass at you, and you’d been fired so that he and his wife could work out their marital issues. Apparently you’d been just too tempting to have around, despite the fact that you had less than zero interest in your former employer. By the end of your explanation, Lola looks ready to fight, and Ligaya and Ceci both look furious too. “It’s alright,” you say, trying to convince yourself as much as you are them. “I wouldn’t have been able to leave if they didn’t fire me. And I didn’t want to be raising someone else's’ kids forever.”

Ceci wiggles her eyebrows at you. “Yeah, Lisay, you want your own babies, eh?”

“You should start painting again,” Ligaya suggested, flicking Ceci with the hand not currently supporting her son. “You could sell prints online, portrait commissions. You’re as good as your mother, and she made it into that London Gallery.”

Lola notices the way your smile strains and shoos your cousins away. “El consejo es bueno aunque graznan,” she says. “Eres demasiado buena para dejar de pintar.” The advice is good, even if they quack. You’re too good to stop painting.

You change the subject, and Lola talks some about the children, about neighbourhood gossip, catching you up on everything before you end the call. You sigh, sinking into John unconsciously. He’s so big, and so solid, you wish you could do away with that undercurrent of fear ruining the little comfort his arms would provide you otherwise.

“Why’d you stop painting?” he asks.

“It’s not the same anymore.”

“Is anything ever the same?”

You twist to look at him. His eyes are too blue, piercing though you like he’s able to read the thoughts in your head. You have to remind yourself that he can’t, that he doesn’t know you well enough even to guess. You’re getting to know him pretty well though, and you recognize this earnestness, this plea to let him in, to let him help. John is a man who needs to do something all the time, that needs to focus on a task. You wonder what it is that nips at his heels so sharply— Is is inherent, genetic, something unavoidable, written in the core of his very deepest, truest self? Or is it just that he’s running from something, and must stay in motion, driving himself ever forward to keep it from catching up?

“Have you ever lost anyone, John?”

Surprise widens his eyes for a flickering second, before he hides it behind a tight smile. “Think we’re talking about you, Doll.”

“You don’t have to answer. I think it’s just easier to understand, when you have. Painting just reminds me of my mam. It’s like trying to swim with lead shoes on. It’s so hard to keep my head above the water that it’s easier just not to swim.”

“Maybe you could try takin’ off the lead shoes,” he suggested, his arms tightening around you. Levity and reassurance, like he knows exactly what you need. “Or maybe you just shouldn’t go swimmin’ alone.”

“A lifeguard,” you say, rolling the thought around in your head. Maybe that was the problem, the empty space was too apparent when there was no one around to fill it. You’d painted the flowers on the credenza with Ripley there, and that had even been nice. You’d thought it was just a fluke, but you hadn’t really thought about why it had been different. “That’s an interesting thought.”

“Did you have everything you’d need? We can look through the boxes for your supplies.”

You shake your head. “No. Yes. I have watercolours somewhere. Just no acrylics. But I could start with watercolours.”

“Yeah? We can look now, if you like.”

“Maybe in a bit. I’ll make breakfast first.”

“I can do it,” he offers quickly. “I want to take care of you.”

As much as you aren’t quite ready to admit it, he already is. “No, I think it’s my turn. Just give me a minute. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but this is kind of nice.”

He hums his agreement, picking up his coffee. You think he’s doing it so he can’t kiss you, and you’re so pleased that he’s starting to get it that you almost consider kissing him instead.

But you don’t. You just let yourself enjoy the moment.

Maybe that’s enough, for now.

You decide that having him sit and watch you painting would be awkward, so once you hunt down your watercolours and a sketchbook with heavy paper, you set up outside while he works. He’s constructing some kind of frame over a concrete pad, a covered porch, you think. You sit out of the way, facing the copse of trees that surround the house, and the overgrown, weedy garden. It looks like it had been set up early in the season with the best of intentions, but you suspect that it was too hard on his knees and back. He’d made the mistake of planting everything straight in the ground— You probably would have suggested planter boxes, if you’d been here in the spring. Then he could have sat on a stool— It would have helped keep the bunnies out too. The few tomatoes left on an abandoned vine have little bites nibbled out of them— Almost everything has little bites taken out of it.

It makes you smother a laugh. It’s easy to imagine John railing against nature— He’s so stubborn, there’s no way he gave up for a good long time— Cursing the rabbits and deer, leaning over the once-neat rows until his back ached. There’s a pair of rusting garden shears stuck out of the ground, evidence that he quit in a fit of pique some months ago.

He’s looking at you— He has a sense for when you let happiness slip through, like a hound picking up a rabbit’s trail in the woods. You can feel the burn of those bright blue eyes on you, the heavy weight of his attention. Does he make note of everything you smile at? You wonder how long the list is now. Puppies, the Stuart kids, Lola and your cousins, and now his poor attempts at gardening. You haven’t really let much else get past your careful, polite mask, knowing full well that stone-walling him is your best defence. He’s searching for an opening, and once he finds it, he’ll pop you open like a clam.

It seems inevitable. Still, he’ll have to work for it, if he wants you to let him in. He’s already set himself the first of his Herculean tasks, to get you painting again. It would be easier to face the Nemean lion. Your grief has sharp teeth, unblunted even after a decade, still dug deep into your heart.

“You aren’t painting,” John says in your ear. His hands settle on your shoulders, holding you in your seat when surprise would launch you a few centimetres into the air.

You turn your head to look at him, and he’s far too close. “You aren’t working.”

“Takin’ a break. You look like you’re thinkin’ hard about something. What’s on your mind, Doll?”

“Your garden. Must have been a storm of misfortunes to make you give up.”

“Few things get the better of me, but this was one of ‘em. Have to settle for buyin’ produce at the shops like everyone else.”

“It’s not really so hard.”

“You the expert in gardening?”

“No, I just used to help my gran with her garden. Picked up a thing or two about keeping green things alive.” You take a dry paintbrush and dust it over his fingertips idly.

“That the one we talked to today?” he asks.

“No, that’s Lola. Gran is the Scottish one.”

He hums, smooths out tension in your shoulders with his thumbs, catching the slightest touch of your skin at the collar of your sweater. "Didn't think you had family in the UK."

You tip your head back, looking up at him. He shifts, leaning his forearms on the back of the chair, hanging over you. "Just my Gran, she got remarried a bit before we moved to Manchester. She thought her husbands-- Well, I'll say kids, but they were full adults, older than my mam already-- She thought they were more respectable than my parents. Wouldn't categorize her as a real warm and fuzzy lady."

"You don't talk then?"

"No. Not since my parents died. We had a proper row at the funeral and she's never apologized, and I'm certainly not going to."

"Learnin' a lot about you today, Doll."

“That I’m stubborn and that I distance myself from the people that love me?” you ask, flicking the paintbrush at the tip of his nose. His whole face scrunches, and it’s kind of endearing. You’re already feeling soft about him from this morning, because Lola liked him, and because he didn’t ask if she spoke English, just launched right into Spanish that was a maybe a little rough around the edges, but good enough.

“That,” he agrees. “But I think it’s good that you hold your ground. You’re not stubborn for the sake of it, you say what needs to be said. I’d bet good money that you were in the right.”

“It doesn’t always matter who’s right and who’s wrong, John. Sometimes you have to set aside ego to make things right.”

“Tryin’ to teach an old dog new tricks?” he asks.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll teach yourself. Now go on, get. You’re distracting me.” You wrap your hands around one of his, and press a fleeting kiss to a spot between his thumb and his wrist before releasing him. “And be careful of your ankle. If you need to carry something heavy, let me help you.”

He laughs and withdraws, his shadow sliding over your page as he moves away. “Yes ma’am. You’re pretty cute when you’re bossy.”

“I’m always cute,” you say blithely.

You don’t look at him, so you miss the way he glances back over his shoulder, blue eyes burning. “You’re damn right about that.”

Ducking your head down to hide your smile, you pick your pencil up and look back to the garden. Something about the red-handled shears stuck in the soil speaks to you, so you lightly sketch it out on the page, humming to yourself quietly. The next things you need to hunt down are your headphones and the old mp3 player so you can listen to music while you paint.

There’s something soothing about hearing John work anyway. The whirr of his drill as he screwed framing lumber into place, or the buzz of his saw when he cuts pieces to size. He’s methodical, exacting— What makes him so good at building probably made him a poor gardener too. He can cut and fit pieces of wood together to make any shape he pleases, he can make a plan and nothing will fight back against it, beyond a warped bit of lumber here and there, but a garden grows as it will, and there’s no controlling the wind or the sun or the rain, let alone the creatures that might come looking for something tender and green.

That same struggle plays out between the two of you. He sees a map and a destination where you see a landscape. The journey, the exploration, is what matters to you, the light and shadow, the soft growing things and the hungry teeth that nip at the roots. In his mind he’s already built a house at the top of the hill, and he wants to pull you inside, lay you down, plant his seeds in a different garden, watch something new grow. It’s not simply impatience, but a need for control, for surety.

He exerts that control outwards, bending the world to the shape he likes. You’ve always turned it inwards, pulling in on yourself, turning your life into a safe little cocoon, turning deprivation and isolation into an art. Constructing masks to get you through, reliable scripts, being whomever you need to be to make things easier.

And perhaps it was easy, but it was lonely too.

Maybe they really had done you a favour. By pulling you out of your comfortable routine, they’ve forced you to face yourself, for the first time in ages, to ask yourself what it is that you want, to see who you are.

You feel like a butterfly, wings still damp and unfurling, perched in John’s hand. He could risk letting you fly away, or he could force you to stay by destroying some integral part of you. There’s no telling which path he intends to take, not yet.

You can just hope.

It might be insane— It certainly feels insane— but you really want him to be a good man. Not just out of self-preservation, although it probably weighs something in the equation, but because you want him. He’s right when he says there’s something here, something that’s been rolling around in the back of your mind since Ghost dumped you in his lap. It hasn’t even been a week, but it feels longer.

You keep half an eye on him while you put the first pale washes of colour onto paper. A few small versions first, to get a handle on light and shadow, colour values, just to remember how to mix colours the way you want to, and then start on the larger version, feeling a little more confident.

You’ve just blocked in the base colours when you notice that John’s limping again, and showing no sign of stopping his work. Sighing, you set your paintbrush down and stand. “John,” you say gently, putting yourself in the path between the saw set up and his lumber pile. “It’s time to take a break.”

“No, I’m fine, Doll. Get back to your painting.” He tries to move around you, but you side-step and block his path again. “It’s just a sprain,” he says, exasperated. “I’ve worked through worse.”

As if that was a good reason to ignore pain. “And you never considered that maybe you shouldn’t have had to?”

He frowns down at you. The difference in your heights has to be at least a foot, but he has a funny way of tucking in his chin and hanging his head when you’re standing close like this, and looking at you straight on anyway. A soft little hand settles on his stomach, unbidden— You’re not sure that you’ve instigated contact with him before, it’s always been him reaching out for you, his big hands achingly gentle. Is anyone ever gentle with him? Is he ever gentle with himself?

“The work will still be here tomorrow,” you remind him. “You have time to rest.”

A raindrop splashes on your outstretching arm. The two of you look up in tandem, at a heavy grey cloud that’s rolled over head— It hasn’t blocked out the sun yet, and neither of you had noticed it creeping up— and then at each other. “Guess the weather agrees with you,” John says.

You both scramble apart and into action. John covers the pile of lumber and the saw with tarps, weighed down with a few odd bricks so they won’t blow away, and you quickly pack up the water colours and your paintings. You don’t get there in time to stop a few splashes of rain from hitting the page, but you get everything inside before it’s completely soaked and set it on the kitchen table for the moment.

While you’re filling the kettle and looking outside, watching the rain splash against the window, John comes in too, and looks at your work. “The rain ruined it,” he says. “I should have been paying more attention to the weather.” There’s guilt in his voice, as if it’s his fault that the rain chose to fall where and when it did.

You set the kettle to boil, and join him, studying the paintings. Each of them unrefined— The smaller ones are just work-ups anyway, but the raindrops have warped the colours, creating voids with saturated edges. You wouldn’t say they’re ruined. There’s an artistry to incident, story preserved on paper in a way that your art wouldn’t do alone.

“No, I like it better this way,” you say decisively. “It underlines the theme of futility, don’t you think? How we’re at the mercy of the weather, whether we like it or not.”

“S’pose so,” he admits grudgingly.

His mouth is set so it almost disappears under his moustache. He really does hate the reminder that he has no control over some things. You dash upstairs and grab a couple of towels and tuck them under your arm, and take John’s hand, leading him out onto the front porch.

He follows you without resistance, although there’s a funny, curious look on his face. “What’re you doing?”

You let go, and put the towels down on the bench. “What does it look like I’m doing?” The rain is coming steadily now, the sky turned darker, sun all but blotted out, and it’s cold on your skin when you step out from the shelter and into the downpour. You throw your arms out and spin, laughing.

There are many things in this life that you can’t control. Things that are fixed, unchanged and immovable, laws of nature, the whims of weather, and Captain John Price. But you have choices too. You can try to move a mountain, but you’d be better climbing over it. You can choose to struggle against the current, or let it sweep you along. You can dance in the rain rather than wish it were sunny.

And you can hold out your hand, and invite John to dance with you.

Image Credits: Banner Dividers

[redrose10]

This was a request for fake dating with Jungkook and prompt #40 I think I have always been in love with you for @yoongznme. I hope you like it!

< Lemonade >

Warnings: Hints of body insecurities

#40 “I think, I have always been in love with you.”

*******************************************************

“I’m sorry what?”, you asked them to repeat themselves for the third time still not believing what you were hearing. When your boss asked to have a word with you about a promotion you thought it would include a few extra responsibilities and hopefully a much needed raise because being a makeup artist for an award winning kpop group did not really pay as well as you’d think.

You never expected to be told that you would be pretending to be Jungkook’s girlfriend though. It was some crazy plan that the company’s PR team came up with after he had recently gotten some bad press over something dumb and out of his control but at the end of the day it was still bad press effecting numbers which effected profit.

They thought that it would be a good idea to make it look like he was a loving, sweet, devoted boyfriend who could do no wrong. Somehow or another your name got thrown in the mix because you yourself were nice, polite, and you had this kind of the good girl next door thing that they were looking for.

You were nervous to say the least. Jungkook was attractive, no one would deny that. He was also always very kind and thoughtful when you interacted and you definitely had a small crush on him but you were a professional and knew not to let your emotions get in the way of your work plus there’s no way a global superstar would ever actually want to date a struggling makeup artist.

However you agreed, though you had the suspicion you really didn’t have a choice anyways if you wanted to stay employed, and they told you to be back at the building tomorrow night at 8pm.

So you did just that. You were in the dress one of the stylist left for you and you’d done your makeup and hair. Jungkook was styled perfectly as usual and he smelled so warm and comforting as he gave you a hug, “You look really nice Y/N.”

“Thank you.”, you whispered hoping he couldn’t see you blush.

The plan was to drive over to a very well known hotspot for dinner. Idols frequented the place constantly so there was also a stream of paparazzi and fans trying to catch a glimpse.

When you arrived the amount of people shocked you. As soon as Jungkook appeared there were earth shattering screams and so many flashes of light you couldn’t see a foot in front of you.

“Y/N, just stay close behind me.”, he said taking your hand and helping you out of the car while making sure to block the view of the cameras so you could get out comfortably in your dress.

Once you were in view the screams got even louder although maybe angrier. The camera flashes definitely increased though giving you a headache. The bodyguards began to push through the crowd with Jungkook close behind, his hand tightly gripping yours as you tried to keep up.

Inside, the restaurant was significantly calmer which you appreciated. Jungkook sipped on his beer while you stuck to a lemonade.

“I’m sorry the company is making you go through this.”, he said finally after a bout of silence.

“It’s okay. They’re paying me quite a bit so it’s worth it.”, you chuckled not noticing the slight grimace on his face.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly. Jungkook was a great guest and you relaxed enjoyed hearing about his travels and all the funny stories he had, especially the one about Yoongi tripping and falling face first into a cake that Namjoon had decided to leave sitting on the living room floor for some strange reason. He showed you a picture of Yoongi’s face covered in frosting and you couldn’t wait to tease him about it when you saw him next.

After dinner the crowd outside had died down a little bit was still enough that you had to put on an act. Jungkook pulled you close against him as he took you outside and right into the waiting vehicle where he continued to hold you against him even as the car sped off. It sent a wave of emotions through you so you made sure to create a little bit of space between you both just to remind yourself that none of this was real.

It looked like the plan was working perfectly because the next morning there were several headlines questioning who was the cute woman Jungkook was photographed with last night. The fans were also loosing their minds over it, posting over and over about speculations and rumors. You did your best to try and avoid most of them because while a good chunk were generally in favor of the relationship there were still many, mostly fans, that were not happy about Jungkook possibly being in a relationship. This resulted in you seeing some hurtful words about yourself m before deciding to log out of all of your social medias.

The next several weeks were filled with much of the same. Various stages photo ops took place so that fans and photographers could catch moments between you both. When the rumors finally started to become out of hand the company released an official statement confirming the relationship between Jungkook and you, a sweet, down to earth makeup artist that he had fallen madly in love with. The media and fans lost their minds.

You went into this whole thing thinking it would be easy. You were getting a big payday to basically hangout with Jungkook and let your photo get taken. You didn’t expect for your crush to grow into being full on in love with him but it was hard not to fall. He was so incredibly thoughtful and sweet. He was always ordering you lunch or bringing you a coffee even when the cameras weren’t around. When your cat needed an unexpected emergency surgery he paid for it in full after overhearing you cry to one of your friends about how you couldn’t afford it. He was always telling you how pretty you looked or complimenting your clothes with a slight hint of a blush on his cheeks. When you were visiting a friend and missed the last bus and you called him as a last resort hoping he could ask the company to send a car he drove over an hour at 2am to personally pick you up himself while staying on the phone with you the whole time so that you wouldn’t be scared.

After a few months of this it was getting harder and harder to remind yourself this wasn’t real.

Up until this point things were going great. Your relationship was doing exactly what the PR team had hoped. People pretty much completely forgot about his previous scandal and were focused on how he was a sweet and generous boyfriend. His image had never been better.

Then there was an incident. Jungkook was very protective always keeping you close to him. Even when the bodyguards reminded him that they were there for your protection as well he still insisted on personally seeing to your safety.

So one morning you were set to board a flight to New York. Of course the entrance to the air port was packed full of paparazzi and fans all screaming and trying to get photos and videos of you two. The airport had put up barriers but with the amount of people all pushing and shoving some of the barriers got knocked down allowing the crowd to surge in.

Security did their best to surround you guys and get you through the crowd but they were greatly outnumbered.

Thanks to the loud noises and flashing lights and amount of people surrounding you it all became too much and you began to panic. You held onto Jungkook, squeezing his hand that was interlocked with yours to try and ground yourself and remind yourself that you were okay.

“It’s okay Y/N. I’ve got you. We’ll get through this.”, he said trying to comfort you.

The crowd surged forward again. Thanks to your blurry vision and panic you aren’t sure exactly what happened but somehow you tripped ending up on the floor. You were trying to get up fast before you got trampled on but you kept getting pushed and shoved down until you felt someone grab your waist and pull you up. Instantly you recognized the familiar cologne and tucked your face into Jungkook’s shoulder as he quickly pulled you through the rest of the airport.

On the plane where it was quiet and safe you started full on crying. You felt so silly but you couldn’t hold it in any more.The fear and anxiety became too much.

Jungkook came over handing you a bottle of water and some ice for your bruised knee. He rubbed soothing circles on your back as the plane took off, “It’s okay Y/N. It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you.”

“It’s not your fault. You did everything you could.”, you whispered starting to feel a little better.

After a while you managed to fall asleep and take a small nap. When you woke up Jungkook was still sitting next to you. He was staring intently at your face.

“Stop looking at me. I’m always so ugly when I wake up.”, you chuckled feeling much better than earlier.

“Impossible. You are never ugly Y/N.”, he whispered.

He was fidgeting with his shoe lace. Something you had picked up on being a nervous habit of his.

“Hey Kook, is there something on your mind?”, you asked.

He waited a moment before nodding, “When we get back from New York I’m going to tell the company that we need to end this fake dating thing. I can’t do it any more.”

You felt like you wanted to cry again but you swallowed it down because maybe he thought you were too weak or why would he want to be with the girl who tripped an embarrassed herself and himself, “O-Okay. It’s up to you.”

“I just…I’m so selfish”, he chuckled, “I’m not going to keep putting you in danger though. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you Y/N, especially if it was my fault. What happened back at the airport…that was a wake up call. I’m sorry I ever suggested this.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion., “What do you mean you suggested this?” You were under the impression this was all the companys PR team but now it seems like he had a part of it.

His cheeks turned a bright red before he ran a hand through his already messy hair, “Well I guess I might as well come clean now.”, he turned his body to look at you fully, “Y/N when the company suggested this fake dating thing I was against it at first. But then…then I thought maybe I could use it as an excuse to spend more time with you. I’ve always thought you were really cute and sweet and kind and I had a bit of a crush on you. So I convinced them to get you to be the woman I fake dated. I was too shy to ask you to hang out so I thought it was a way to spend time with you and get to know you better.”, he made eye contact with you for a brief moment and you could see the fear in them. He continued, “I think I have always been in love with you. I love you more and more every day.”, your heart was practically beating out of your chest at his confession. You tried to stop him but he continued, “And that’s why we have to end this. I don’t want you getting hurt because of me. You don’t deserve this.”

He looked as if he was about to cry and it made you want to just cuddle him and make everything go away. Instead you chose to grab his hand and hold it on your lap, “Jungkook I love you too. I have for quite a while. Honestly, I didn’t think you would ever see me like that so I thought this was all your company’s idea.”, his shoulders seemed to relax a little at your words so you went on, “I know that dating you comes with lots of hardships but I think the positives greatly outweigh those negatives and I don’t mind going through them. If…if you want to I would like to continue to date you, but maybe actually date and not fake date anymore.”, you chuckled.

That got a big smile out of him too which warmed your heart. “I would love to keep dating you Y/N.”, he nodded. You cuddled in closer to him spending the rest of the flight talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s presence.

When the plane landed he had already arranged for a car to pick you up straight from the tarmac so that you wouldn’t have to endure the stress of walking through the airport with him again.

When he finally made it out front and jumped into the car he smiled at seeing your face, “I missed you Y/N.”, he then leaned in and kissed you like it was nothing new. “You already got into the lemonade didn’t you.”, he chuckled after tasting it on your lips.

“Kook we were only separated for like ten minutes and of course I did. You know lemonade is my favorite.”, you giggled.

He leaned over and rested his head on your shoulder, “Doesn’t matter. It was ten minutes too long.”

You gave the top of his head a kiss as the car sped off to your new destination.

[cherievol6]

frown

word count: ~800 words

warnings: none, it's just harry being cute

harry's frowny and you're teasing him

“I thought you looked a bit mean when I met you.”

Harry stops playing with your hair and tears his gaze away from the boys kicking a football around. The tour bus is parked on the gravel beside you to shield the world from your small group, though the area you stopped to stretch your legs was fairly secluded anyway.

“You what?” The amber setting sun casts over just one of his eyes when you look up at him from leaning against his chest. It makes the one eye look like a polished green marble. He looks slightly confused, a frown dug between his eyebrows, but a slight smirk starting to grow on his lips.

You shrug. “Yeah. That night we met in London, you looked all scary and mean with your long hair and your signature frown.” You giggle quietly, mimicking his facial expression that he almost always had etched on his face.

Said frown deepens, and he pouts out his bottom lip for further effect. His voice is defensive when he replies, before giving your hair a slight tug. “Yeah, but- I bet when we spoke you thought I was nice as pie!”

“Well yeah. I wouldn’t be dating you now if you weren’t.” You laugh reaching a hand up to wrap a ringlet of his hair around your finger. He pout his lips before he grabs your hand and kisses your fingers.

“I don’t like the idea of not looking approachable. I don’t want people to think I’m rude.” He mumbles, letting out a breathy laugh.

“Oh, H. I’m only messing. Plus, for the record, you didn’t look so scary when I finally plucked up the courage to talk to you,” he smiles at this, and you can tell he’s fishing for a bit of validation, so you appease your boyfriend, “especially not when the first words that came out of your mouth were just word vomit. I knew you were a bit of a lover boy from then on.”

You recall it fondly, Harry looking like he owned the damn place when you walked past him with a crystalline glass filled with liquor and a face like thunder. You watched him for a few minutes that night and noticed he was surrounded by the boys, but didn’t really have anyone to talk to. At that point, you bit back your fear, because when would you ever get the chance to do it again? His frown had instantaneously wiped from his face when he got a glimpse of you stalking towards him with a mischievous look on his face.

“My god.” You mimick Harry’s throaty gruff he’d accidentally said aloud when he saw you approaching that night you met. His loss of composure had given you a massive confidence boost - an ordinary woman like you could make Harry Styles speechless.

“Alright, shut up. You looked really pretty in that black dress…I wasn’t thinking with my brain in that moment - if you know what I mean.” A small blush creeps up on to his cheeks and you grin from ear to ear.

"Oh yeah? Dirty bugger." You tease.

"I meant my heart, obviously..." He uses his sarcastic tone and you scoff.

"Yeah, I'm sure you did." You laugh, rolling your eyes and trying to push his arm away. He locks you in a vice grip and plants a loud smacking kiss on your cheek.

"If we're being honest right now, I was frowning like that because I wanted to come up to you earlier that night, but some random silver fox beat me to it."

"So you were sulking?" You cackle, sitting up and pinching his cheek, before dropping your voice, "you being a bit jealous is kind of sexy."

He scrunches his nose.

"I wasn't sulking." He says (in an ironically sulky way).

“Aw, H. You have me now, though. Unless that silver fox is hanging around here..." You playfully pretend to search the pitch for the man that tried to chat you up that night. Harry rolls his eyes and gently pinches your top and bottom lips together to close them. His playful frown is back and you try to reach up and rub the creases from his eyebrows.

"I wasn't even listening to what that sleaze was saying," Harry frees your lips and you hold his chin, "He actually caught me looking at you a few times when he was trying to tell me all about his boats in France." Harry laughs through his nose at this, a smile spreading across his face at that.

"Yeah?" He mumbles, brushing your hair behind your ear.

"Yeah," you hum, running your thumb on his bottom lip, "I told him I was only interested in new money. Boy-band money--"

"Right! That's it." Harry grasps your wrists in his hand and rises both of your bodies quickly, hoisting you over his shoulder in a fireman's lift.

"Harry!" You bark out a laugh as he starts to walk to a line of trees.

"Boys! I think we need to ditch her here, she's only in it for the money!"

.

hiiiiiiiiiii. this is short but sweet!!! not my best but i thought i'd feed you just for a little longer until i finish my last uni exam (ON FRIDAY YAYYYY). on the home stretch. kissy.

also i have some things in the works ;)

[lucimaaie]

honeymoon phase ✧.* spiderwoman au

pairings - ellie williams x fem!reader

summary - the honeymoon phase of you and ellie's relationship doesn't go exactly as planned.

warnings - fluff and angst, im so sorry in advance, srry if the pacing is bad, this is my first time writing a series this long, emotional whiplash

playlist | spidey masterlist

Months went by and things had been going good, Spider-woman related duties aside. Ellie had made things up to you and ironically put herself in many more situations to develop a habit of apologizing. But you were her girlfriend now and she didn’t plan on letting that go for anything.   

"Don't forget to smile. My mom says people like that, even if it's not real. More a formality thing." You folded the cuffs of Ellie's dress shirt. Not the thing she wanted to wear, but it was the only thing you could both agree on. "And make yourself sound good. None of those self-deprecating jokes-"

"Of course not." She tried not to cheese as she watched you fuss over her. You had a folder full of her resumes tucked under her other arm. All part of your self declared project of helping her get ready for an internship interview. Another one, minus the lizard-obsessed scientist and power-granting spiders. Things had been going well in her life for a while, so she decided it was time.

"And no sarcasm," You held out a finger. "I'm serious."

"So am I," Ellie pretended to bite your finger, smiling at your wounded pout. "I'll nail it, bug. Promise." She kissed your hand. Ugh, had she walked past you two on the street months ago, she'd be disgusted. She was always so hesitant to hang up or even walk away from you, like those couples in the honeymoon phase. Well, that was you now wasn't it?

"You better. Hey, wait." You tugged her hand, leading her to a corner of the fancy lobby. Your lips on hers were unexpected but not unwelcome. Ellie almost forget where she was until you pulled away. "That was too quick,"

"Oh, shush. It's just good luck," You fixed her collar. “I’m not gonna makeout with you right here.”

“Not that I’m opposed anyway—“

"Ellie Williams?" The receptionist called out. Ellie perked up, looking from you to her. "I- That's me."

"Go!" You whispered.

Ellie wiped her clammy hands on her pants as she walked into the office room, but not without sparing a sheepish glance at you. The whole interview was like that. She was being asked questions and the whole time she thought of you. She hoped it didn't make her seem absentminded but at the same time, she was just counting the minutes until she could hear you talking her ear off. Ugh, honeymoon phase.

The day she found out she got it, you were already ready with a cake that either gonna be to celebrate or to comfort her. She almost felt normal balancing school, an internship, and a relationship, minus crimefighting.

Maybe that's why she was so surprised now. “You want me to have dinner with your family?” Ellie’s fingers froze in drawing patterns on your arm. She sat up just enough to look down at your face. “That’s including your dad?”

“What kind of question is that? Yes!” You sat up along with her.

“And you wanna prep, weeks in advance?”

“That’s what I said.” Ellie could’ve laughed at the serious yet innocent expression on your face. As if you weren’t asking her to have dinner with your dad who despised her. Well, not her but her in the mask. Maybe she’d earned a sliver of respect after saving you from a lizard, but still. “Do you think it’s too fast? We can shelve it—“

“Baby..”

“Ellie..” You grabbed both her hands, begging with your eyes.

“Just a few flashcards and no-no topics.”

“Which is every topic.” Ellie flopped back on the bed dramatically. Her heart jumped as you curled up to her almost immediately. She’d never get used to the affection she shared with you. “He’s gonna hate me.”

“Well, I like you. So, it doesn’t matter.”

Damn you. She couldn’t argue with that. "I like you too," She said softly, intertwining your hands. She pressed her lips to the back of your hand.

“So..”

“Shit, fine. A few flashcards.” She was absolutely whipped, eyes loving as you ran off to get out the flashcards she knew you’d already made. She was cheesing as she watched you navigate her room like it was yours too. "Oh, color-coded too. How considerate." She said dryly, eyeing the colorful cards in your hands.

"I try my best,"

"Yeah, yeah. Quiz me, already.” She sat up against the headboard. Her arms automatically opened and closed around you as you sat almost on her lap. She let her head rest on your shoulder. She hadn't even noticed her leg moving until you reached out to stop its movement.

"Are you nervous?" You turned your head to look at her.

Ellie frowned, thinking you were asking her was she nervous around you. "No," She stared at you as long as you stared at her. Her face fell when she realized. "No," She said, scoffing. You said nothing, simply looking at her with a grin. "I'm not,”

"Aw," You pushed out your bottom lip. "You are, it's okay."

“I’m not scared of your dad.” She took the flashcards from your hands and shuffled them in her hands.

“I never said you were scared of my dad. Are you?”

"I'm gonna-"

"What? What? You're gonna what?" You moved from her lap to kneel on the bed in front of her.

Ellie tossed the flashcards onto the nightstand just to focus on you. "You're on extremely thin ice," Her hands reached out to grab your hips, scooting to be closer to you. She hadn't been aware of hiding her strength when she pulled you closer to her without a second thought.

"Oof," You said out of surprise. Now, Ellie was the one grinning watching you squirm to find the right position. When you were satisfied, she let her hand rest on your stomach and her head rest on yours. It was when she let out a content sigh that you spoke. "How thin?"

"You know what?" Her fingers moved to tickle you before the hairs of her neck stood up. The sirens that went by the window only proved her right. Her eyes shut in frustration. She had to go. It was her job. "I've gotta..take out the trash real quick," It almost hurt to move you off her. "I'll be right back."

"What- Ellie!" She was already out the door.

The reasonable time for taking out the trash had been passed two hours ago. That's how long it took for her to stop the robbery, wrap everything up, and realize she had been shot herself. And of course it was an alien gun, four bozos inexplicably got their hands on.

She fell onto the fire escape when she landed, holding her side. The pulsing in her side had made her dizzy. She wished she got back to when adrenaline masked the pain. She hadn't even thought to knock on the window that she was leaning on. It wasn't her window. It was yours. Even in her painful haze, she knew the way to you.

She ripped off her mask and tried to turn around to knock. It brought of gasp from her, making her stop for a moment. "Shit," She winced, leaning her head against the window as she tried to stop blood from seeping into her suit.

Ellie flinched as the window behind her opened. She turned around despite the pain. God, was she happy to see you. "Hi, bug." She said weakly.

You were frozen and overwhelmed with the situation in front of you. Ellie in a spider-woman suit and hurt and smiling—or trying to—up at you like it was no biggie. She was shot. Someone hurt her and she was here in front of you. Once you snapped out of it, you wasted no time in helping her in.

Ellie tried to be conscious of your numerous roommates but moving was a literal pain in her side. "Mm-mm, not on your bed. I don't wanna mess up your sheets," She mumbled.

"Ellie, I don't give a shit about my sheets right now." You blurted, voice shaky with fear. You laid her up against your pillows and assessed the damage. It hadn't even processed that she was Spider-woman. It made everything make sense. The leaving, her horrible excuses, the strength, all of it. But that didn't matter right now. You'd be damned if she died in this suit. "We have to..get this off, okay? Before I take you to the hospital."

"Mm-mm," She shook her head, hand tight on her side. Blood was still seeping out of from the edges of her fingertips, but her hand was slowing the flow at least.

"What do you mean no?" You asked, already roaming your room for a change of clothes for her. They'd be soiled, anyway.

"They'll ask who did it, how.." Tears pricked her eyes as she exhaustion and pain started to cloud her vision. Plus, her judgement. "Baby?" She was quiet.

You couldn't hear her, between your racing thoughts and heart. Everything was starting to become blurry as you thought about the fucked up situation you were in. You were just cuddling with her earlier today. How the hell-

She given all her energy to repeat your name louder. That was all she could get out before her view went dark and her consciousness with it. She couldn't feel your hands, holding her face up. "Ellie?" Your tears were warm down your face. "Come on, you have to stay awake. For..for me. Please?" Gentle slaps to her cheek did nothing.

You pulled back to look at her. Blood was smeared on her forehead from wiping the cold sweat off. Nausea set in as your attempts to wake her did nothing. "No, no." You leaned your head against her. "El, please." You swiped your thumb over her hand, just wanting to feel something. Anything.

"Ellie? Please, wake up so I can help you." You cried, clutching onto her hand for dear life. Your fingers were wrapped her whole hand as if that would bring her back to consciousness.

That when you felt it. A weak pulse that in that moment became your saving grace. You pulled back, hands tugging her suit down from her neck to feel the skin there. Two fingers right under chin told you she was still alive. Fighting, but still alive.

You had ran around like a madman searching for gauze, towels, anything google said was needed. You had no idea what you were doing and that feeling only made everything worse. Because what were you gonna do if your girlfriend died in front of you because you couldn't save her. She had saved who knows how many people in the city and you and you had no idea how to help her.

The bullet wasn't typical. It glowed an electric blue in a metal bowl you'd stolen from the kitchen. The constant pulsing of light in the corner of your eye didn't help your uncertainty. A long look at your bloodied hands and the subsequent wave of nausea made the decision for you.

By the time, the ambulance got there you had already dissociated. Your grip on Ellie's limp hand was just at tight as before. The faint beat of her pulse was all you could focus on.

You flinched when hands were placed on your shoulders. You looked up to see your dad's face etched with concern. You were limp in his embrace as you turned your head to look at her. You had somehow gotten her in an outfit they wouldn't arrest her for being in and wrapped her side tight enough to stop bleeding, but her eyes were still closed.

"Mm, no-" You pushed your dad away at the sight of her being strapped onto a stretcher. "I'm going with her."

"I think you should stay here." His hand was gentle, rubbing circles on your back. The purpose was nice but none of it matter if she was out of your sight, still hurting.

"She's my girlfriend and I'm going with her, okay?" You said, in an attempt to sound strong. "I love her, okay? I love her." You nearly choked on tears. Still, you refused the comfort of your dad and the worried looks of your roommates hanging outside the door. "You wanna keep her from me? Huh?" Everyone knew you were on the edge of breaking down. It only helped strengthen your case. The man finally relented, guiding you to the fast-working paramedics.

So much for the honeymoon phase.

thank you for reading!

[thepenguinmaker]

♡ (Platonic) South park x reader - Your best friends! ♡

Aka; what it feels like being best friends with the South Park gang (featuring; the main 4, Butters)

~ Stan

- You were in a similar situation to him: bit of a troubled home life

- You got along with him and his friends ever since preschool, but you were much closer to him than the others

- Maybe it was his (usually) calm attitude or his similarities to you, you don't know

- Even after he moved to a farm, you come over to him to play video games or board games almost every second day

- Whenever he's feeling depressed, you try to comfort him to your best efforts

- His mother is always very glad to see you and to be honest you and Sharon kinda became friends along the years

- Not so much Randy or Shelley, though

~ Kyle

- Same situation as Stan, you knew him since preschool and always liked him

- Being his best friend, you're prone to getting picked on by Cartman

- ^ Very toned down compared to Kyle though (except if you're Jewish too)

- He lets you babysit Ike sometimes when he has basketball practice or something

- You have some kind of matching keychain, either related to Terrance and Phillip or your interest

- You study or do group projects together a lot

- ^ You may or may not tease him and call him a nerd the whole time, but he still enjoys hanging with you

- You still get As on them anyway (mostly thanks to Kyle)

~ Cartman

- OH BOY

- Being Cartman's best friend is a wild ride

- You're not protected from his insults, don't you even dare think so

- You are obligated to agree with him always, and he will get upset if you don't

- Hanging out with Cartman mostly consists of playing the newest video games while he stuffs himself full of cheesy poofs

- His mom really likes you, she's glad her son hasn't had a bad influence on you

- Liane will often make you treats and sometimes even talk to you about your day, she kinda acts like you're her child too

- You need to share all your stuff with him. Would you be surprised if I told you he doesn't share any of his?

~ Kenny

- You're never hanging at his house, nuh-uh

- You don't bully or shame your best friend for being the poor kid in town, but you can't help but agree with Cartman that his house is a dump

- He doesn't mind though, he's really glad he can get away from his parents bickering

- He will sometimes bring over Karen with him too, and you get along great

- You get him gifts and share your stuff with him very often (you get some things for Karen too if you have the money)

- You both like dressing up or creating costumes and playing pretend

- You assist each other in creating your outfits, with Kenny giving you advice and you getting him tools, decorations, fabric, etc.

~ Butters

- You started hanging out with Butters because you took pity on him after all the other kids ripped on him

- Turns out he's actually very nice and you became quick best friends

- He doesn't really like playing video games (except for Hello Kitty Island Adventure), so when you're hanging out you're usually outside or playing with toys

- You have your own villain persona to match Professor Chaos

- You did, infact, go with him to Hawaii that one time

- He'd rather go to your house than his, due to his absurdly strict father

- You lowkey have a whole dance routine set to the Loo Loo Loo song he always sings (not tapdancing though, he still has a lot of trauma from that)

A/N: ok this time I TRIED to get it to look good.. and by that I mean I tried to get gradient text, couldn't figure out HTML then gave up. sorry folks.

[savannahsdeath]

"I'm supposed to protect you."

knight!ellie x princess!reader

warnings: angst, readers mom is reaallyyy annoying (my mommy issues speaking up), being forced to get married (typical for those times), hidden/not tolerated relationship kinda, execution and bad english cuz its my second language sorry bear w me😮‍💨😮‍💨

writers note: wait .. im actuslly surprisingly proud of this one ?? this was supposed to be a lil 1k special because its the first long one shot im posting i think ..anyways enjoy pookies<3<3

'understand that when you leave here

you'll be clear among the better man'

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

you looked at the prince from across the table. you tried to find something—anything that'd remind you of her, so your agony will stop, or at least decrease. but even his green eyes, the same color as hers, weren't looking at you with such admiration. his sword was just as shiny, sharp and impressive, but it wasn't made to protect you. and his words, oh his words... they were smart and stern, slightly softening when speaking to you - his soon to be wife - but they were meaningless compared to hers.

you knew that's what awaits you, you were preparing for this moment since the day you were born, but this fact didn't make it any better - any easier to accept.

you peeked a last glance at him - the prince, considered being the most handsome out of all principalities. but he was also the love of your life, against your own will, and that made your body fill with disgust. your face heated up and your hands started shaking, so you stared down, trying to pretend you're focused on eating. the view of your plate, the not finished meal, made the nausea only worse.

you stood up, making a loud scraping noise when your chair moved on the wooden floor. everyone's eyes were on you.

your stare was shifting across the known and unknown faces for a split second, your gaze lingering for a little longer on your mother's disappointed, scolding face.

"i'm sorry." you muttered and quickly left the dining room, leaving a chord of whispering, probably gossiping voices behind you.

you felt your eyes starting to water up, single tears slowly falling down. you just pushed forward, hoping to find an empty corner in the hallways full of busy maids and other services.

"your highness?" someone asked, but you felt too overwhelmed to think who it was. eventually, the person forcefully grabbed your arm. even though the touch was soft and somehow comforting, you stopped walking and aggressively broke your hand free.

"how dare you—!" you shouted, sounding more sad than mad. whoever it was, you had to admit that touching princess like that was brave. you turned around and through your blurry from tears vision saw your knight, number one protector, staring at you in deep disbelief and concern. "i'm sorry." you murmured and quickly began making your way to your dorm again. you wiped your cheeks with your palm, not bothering to find a tissue in the pockets of your uncomfortable but pretty dress.

the footsteps won't stop - in fact, they surpassed you and their source blocked your way.

"what happened?" ellie asked, raising her arms to caress your face, but not doing it yet - not without your permission.

you grabbed her wrists and brought her hands to your face, leaning into her touch and falling apart in this exact second. she spent a moment trying to calm you down, but even her proximity wasn't enough. she started dragging you outside, before anyone could find you both like that.

she stayed quiet until you found yourself in the castle's backyard, decorated with every kind of flowers possible. it was already dark, since you spent the whole day preparing for your wedding. without a word, she lay down on the grass and patted the space next to her, motioning for you to do the same, and so you did. for a second nothing but silence comforted both of you. you looked at the stars, trying to find any constellations your teacher told you about. the last wet tears on your cheeks started to flow down, leaving only barely visible drying stains.

you thought about how ellie treats you, and how you treat her. does every princess feels so warm whenever her knight is near?

you felt embarrased at the thought, and about the current situation. you were allowed to cry. your cherries were too sweet? too sour? cry about it, blame everyone and act all hysterical because it's, obviously, the end of the world! you have every right to do that - you're the princess and everyone should risk their life if it means you will be satisfied.

no. you weren't like that. you didn't cry when you cut your palm with a kitchen knife or when the wound won't heal properly. you accepted the doctor's help and, what's unbelievable, thanked him for it. how could you be grateful to someone who isn't royal in any way? you'll never forget how mad your mother was back then.

while your gaze was on the sky, ellie's was on you. you could feel it, so you turned your head to the side - and you were right, prince's eyes were really nothing compared to hers.

she spoke up as soon as she saw she has your attention; "is it because of the stress?"

"stress?" you repeated, biting your bottom lip, almost making it bleed.

"maybe you're sick?" she put her hand on your forehead, surely trying to find an excuse to be close to you. or maybe she was really concerned? your cheeks were probably really red due to her closeness, she could misinterpret it. "are you feeling unwell, your highness?"

you looked away, trying to brush your flushness away by getting lost in the moonlight. the full moon was approaching, and you tried to guess how many days are there left. maybe four?

ellie's hand slowly slid down your face, stopping on your chin, before slowly leaving your body. "you should be excited." she stated, but her tone made it sound like she was ranting about it. maybe you're not the only one who's not happy about the situation.

"well, i'm not." you shrugged, trying to sound as emotionless as possible, though it probably made your discomfort even clearer. your eyes wandered around the sky and you raised your hand, pointing at seven stars. "look, big dipper."

she took a moment to find the constellation, before slowly and firmly pushing your arm down. "i need to know what's wrong." she sighed, her worried eyes begging you for an answer.

an answer you couldn't give her, because what were you supposed to say?

"you don't." you denied in a quiet tone.

"please," she continued, stubbornly not giving up, "i'm supposed to protect you."

another sigh, this time yours. you stayed silent for a moment, before spotting different stars creating a familiar shape. before your hand could fully raise, ellie held it down. in any other circumstances, she would get roughly punished for treating you like that. she was lucky you wanted to be treated like that - like a normal human, and not a piece of delicate glass.

"i don't want him." you finally admitted, rolling onto your side to look at her. "he doesn't want me, either."

she scanned your expression, her own seeming deadly serious. you looked down and saw some smudges of dirt on your dress, hoping your mother won't notice them.

she frowned a little, knitting her eyebrows together. "i'm sure he does."

"then he's bad at showing it." you muttered and saw her confusion deepen. "why would you bring me here?" you looked around and took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of flowers. their colorfulness was visible even despite the late, dark time, standing out above the solid green grass.

she thought about your question for a quite long time, not sure is it tricky or rhetorical. "i like this place." she finally spoke up, her lips turning into a soft smile.

"no, i'm asking..." you shook your head, fixing your rolled down sleeves. "why would you bring me here?"

this wasn't a question she expected. even you weren't planning it and now you regretted pushing this subject. what answer did you expect? no matter what would it be, you still wouldn't be satisfied.

"it's important to me." she tugged a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, before caressing your cheek. "and so are you." you stared at her lips as she spoke, admiring how soft they look even though the words leaving them were serious and important. as soon as she finished, your gaze shifted back to her eyes.

"i think—" you gulped, feeling the meaning behind her phrase weigh on you. "i think this is something i need to hear from the prince. from my—" husband. say it. the voice in your head tried to convince you it's not a bad word, but it just felt so wrong. you felt like you're close to breaking down everytime you remembered you're his wife. well, you'll be tomorrow.

"i mean what i said, your highness." her thumb traced the outline of your lips, as her own uncontrollably parted. your body trembled and your eyes closed shut for a while. before you opened them, you heard her body shifting and soon, you felt her lips on yours.

the kiss confirmed your belief that she is soft, but she was even softer than you imagined. her fingers glided across your face, gently stroking it and moving your hair out of the way. her body fit so perfectly into yours, like she was made for you, and you were made for her. you felt something strange in your stomach, like you just got rid of a knot inside it, though you didn't even know it was there in the first place. the time was fleeting but you managed to remember every little detail, so when she pulled away you let out a satisfied sigh.

"i'll miss you, ellie." ugh, addressing to a knight by their name in such a soft voice- if only your mother was there. but it was only you two, surrounded by the beautiful scent of flowers and stars which seemed to be hanging right above your heads.

she smiled, though there was a hint of surprise, maybe confusion, in her expression. "i'm not going anywhere."

"but once i'm married, i'll leave with the prince." you stammered, your eyes suddenly glistening. her own became glossy, like they were covered in a thin mirror glass which perfectly reflected the moonlight. "i have to." you added after a moment, making sure she knows it wasn't your choice.

"i—" she started but didn't make a second attempt to speak after her voice drifted off once. she rolled onto her back and looked at the sky. "this is your home, your highness. you can't leave." she seemed to plead you to stay, and god, how much you wanted to...

"i'm scared." you admitted, your gaze desperately lingering on her, as if she'll disappear once you look away.

"of him?" she inquired as her hand found yours and gently rested on it.

your arm tensed at her sudden touch, but your whole body relaxed as soon as her thumb started stroking your palm. deep breath. "of living without you." you whispered, ashamedly looking to the other side to avoid her. you felt her squeezing your hand, and your grip on her also tightened. you started silently begging for the ability to stay like that forever, even if it meant you will spent the eternity in silence and with teary eyes. it would be the best reward you could ask for, a dream coming true.

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

the first thing you felt after finally coming to your senses was your mother fastening the corset, tightening it to the point your breath hitched. an hour of scolding for you leaving the dinner passed and now she went back to her stern, rough, but at least not mad facade. you weren't listening to whatever she was saying, thinking about how did you end up in your bed this morning. did you came here by yourself and you just don't remember? or maybe you fell asleep, ellie carried you here and tucked you in bed? at just this single idea of her, your mind wandered to the previous late evening. you felt overwhelmed by the memory of her words and, most importantly, her kiss. your breath got heavier, the corset not making it any easier to stay calm. your body started suddenly sweating, as if a wave of heat just washed over you.

"mother— i'm in love." you blurted out, before you could think of the consequences. you just had to get that off your chest.

"well, that's good." you saw a small smile creating on her lips. you finally received a human-like kindness from her, probably for the first time in years. "i hope you won't change your mind before the wedding."

your worry quickly turned into confusion and, eventually, the same disgust as yesterday. "i'm not talking about the prince!" you paused and looked down, not wanting to drag the topic but, at the same time, not able to stop it. "it's one of the knights." you really weren't controlling the words coming out of your mouth and that could only mean one thing - problems. "ellie."

your mother quickly spun you around and forcefully grabbed your chin. "i'm not even surprised." she hissed, making sure you know how disappointed in you she is. "but i won't tolerate that." the sharpness of her statement successfully shut you up, so you didn't argue nor pushed the topic when she went back to preparing you for the big, big day. she started acting like nothing happened and kept reminding you about how important it is. of course she only cared about her own good, or at least it felt like so, as she silenced you everytime you wanted to speak.

everyone was formally dressed, even the poorest maids found something noble. they all cutely smiled at your sight, probably impressed by your dress. the dominant color was clearly white, a sign of purity which you seemed to lack. that's what your mother made you believe, at least. but maybe she was a bit right after all? because your feelings towards ellie- oh, ellie.

you shook your head, forcing yourself to get her out of your mind. you looked at the service again, and they all immediately flashed you a smile as if on command. you reciprocated the gesture, though you could guess what was really on the women's mind. they hated you. they hated the ungrateful princess which would pick a knight over a prince. your obvious dissatisfaction, even without knowing the real reason behind it, seemed stupid. if only you could swap your places with one of them— not only you'd make her happy, but you and ellie could... oh, so you're thinking of ellie again.

you tried to move your veil so it'd cover the tears in your eyes, but there was always someone who'll fix it for you, not knowing you're doing it intentionally. you felt weak. physically and, mostly, mentally. because your knees, which barely held you up, which felt so light compared to the rest of your body as if they were made of cotton wool, everything above could be explained. by stress. but the intangible weakness was way worse. the prince seemed really nice and wasn't too old, you could get along well. but your heart was already taken by...

you turned around and your gaze wandered across the benches - you saw your family on the one side, his on the other, and a row of services against the wall. you could only think about one thing. where's ellie?

the question intrigued you to the point you started mouthing it to yourself, imagining 'if i were her, where would i go?'. but did it matter? she could be everywhere - in her room, in the garden - the point is, she wasn't there. your mother noticed your anxiety and walked over to you, hoping she'll be able to stop you from ruining the ceremony.

"where's ellie?" you immediately asked, frowning but calming down as there was someone able to answer your question.

"ellie?" she queried with a frown on her own, though hers quickly softened. "oh, the knight. look, there's other knights—"

"but ellie..." you cut her off with a sigh. "only she can protect me." you looked at the opened, massive doors, staring at the little stairs leading to the church you were in now, hoping to see her.

"there are dozens of more experienced knights." she rolled her eyes, discretely pointing at the row. "you and your stupid whims." with that, she left you and the prince alone at the altar. you awkwardly fidgeted with your fingers. you didn't need experienced knights, you didn't need knights at all - you needed ellie. she knew you have nightmares after arguing with your mom or during full moon, and she was there for you. she helped you take off your corset when you were alone, because she knew how much you hate it. she wasn't only your protector, she was someone way more important. not your friend. she was the love of your life. and you had to realise that right before the priest started the ceremony. great.

the whole time, you just watched the doorstep through the corner of your eye. there's no way she'd miss the wedding, so you couldn't help but wonder 'what did my mother do to her?'. you knew you're being naive, but you couldn't stop yourself from it.

you weren't listening at all, but one statement caught your attention, since priest's voice got louder and more stern.

"should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."

a wave of gasps filled the room and as you looked back at the doorstep, you saw that your prayers have been answered. her hand was covered in blood, probably her own since she had it pressed against her stomach as if to stop it from bleeding. you couldn't see how badly she was hurt, since her clothes were messy and torned. she was breathless and her knees seemed to be as weak as yours, but she still managed to shout a raspy; "i object."

it caused a bitter laugh from your mother, followed by shouting at the knights to get her. they hestitated, respecting ellie as one of the best equestrians, but they had no choice. they weren't acting quick or aggresive, and she'd easily get away if she wanted to. she knew her objection won't stop anything and it'll only get her in problems, as if she doesn't have enough yet. but she also knew this was her last chance to show that she'll always, at least try to, protect you. not only from dangerous rebels, but also a non-threatening man you're forced to be with.

you grabbed your dress, slightly rolling it up so you won't stumble as you run, but someone's hands held you in place. you turned around to see the prince and, i have to add, you never really blamed him for that. he had no idea who's ellie, maybe he thought she was a bad person, considering the queen's reaction. everything would be probably even worse if you'd have the chance to intervene. you understood that, though you couldn't calm down for long after ellie was taken out anyway.

the priest looked at your mother, asking the question to which the answer intrigued everyone. "continue." she commanded in her usual firm tone. you could see her mumbling a quiet "this stupid girl won't ruin the wedding" under her breath, but it went unnoticed by everyone except you.

and so the celebration continued as if nothing happened. you stood hand in hand with a man you'll spent the rest of your life with, believing he will never love, know or even see you in the way ellie does. you knew he won't stroke your wet from sweat hair after a tough night, he won't help you dress up and, what hurt the most, he won't take you to the castle's backyard just to rest and watch the sky.

you thought about running away, but the row of ready knights who only waited for the queen's orders made you lose your hope. of course they'd probably hesitate for a moment too, giving you some time, but you still didn't stand a chance. plus, you had different things going on your mind, keeping you busy and unfocused on the ceremony. namely - what will happen to ellie?

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

you saw an envelope laying on your desk, having only your name on it. you teared it apart, impatiently wanting to get the paper out. you knew who's it from right after reading the first two words - not only because of ellie's handwriting, but also the way she addressed to you; 'my princess.' my princess.

believe me, all too aware am i of what i did. a lot happened behind your back but it is not a topic we should discuss like that. my friend took care of me, and even with the cold taking my body over i am just proud i am still alive, with the chance to write to you. i did something reckless but i believe it was caused by love. luccy says the same, we both think the thought of you controlled me. i could never forgive myself if i didn't see you in that dress. i think this is how i will forever remember you - dressed in white, looking so pure and angelic. i won't waste the ink for trying to compare you to anything, because i will miserably fail. nothing can be compared to you.

how does being married feel? i think you were unnecessarily scared. besides my little antic, it went smoothly. that is what i am told, at least, by the people in town. the queen was wrong about them, they are much more than poor slums. well, maybe they are poor, but i am truly in love with their modest cottages. they do not need much, they are happy with what they are given, and there is something magical about it. i think i would want to live like that. with you warming the other side of our bed. we don't need anyone else, i am sure we would enjoy life on our own.

the wound on my stomach seems to heal correctly. luccy thinks it will leave a scar, but i have some already, so what is one more? our biggest problem is food, because my friend gets a portion which is only enough for her. your mother took my money and weapon, the injury makes me useless anyway. to make matters worse, i have to stay in hiding. i haven't seen the sky since your wedding. oh, the things i would do to see big dipper again. i am not sure how it looks anymore, i have to admit i wasn't paying much attention. i apologize, but in my defense, my focus was on you. you are more interesting than any constellations.

i hope your poesy ring is pretty, at least. i want you to rememeber that you will always be in my heart and a simple ring other man gave you won't change it. maybe he did claim you, but i see you as mine anyway. my princess.

the letter wasn't signed, maybe to avoid any problems if someone else found it, but you were sure who's job is it. you quickly took a piece of paper for yourself to write, but you remembered the envelope didn't contain her address. you were left alone, your only hope was praying you'll get more messages from her. you could try to find her, ask the town residents, but they'd quickly start gossiping.

you looked down - at your promise ring. you couldn't deny that it was perfect and most definitely woth a lot, an ordinary resident of your kingdom could probably afford a food supply for the rest of their life with it. it was way too loose, so you started rolling it around your finger, deep in thought.

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

your mother pushed you forward, motioning you towards the gate. you saw a young woman led by a pair of knights, just another prisoner. she intensively stared at you and you wanted to ran up to her, no matter how suspicious it'd be. she just seemed so... familiar.

you slowed down, much to your mother's displeasure. "where are we even going?" you inquired, glancing at the carriage. days passed and you should be in prince's castle by now. yet, his visit kept getting longer.

"surprise." she murmured, her tone sucking every remaining bit of happiness inside of you.

you looked back at the woman, getting further and further away from you with each step. you hestitated between obeying your mother or trusting your intuition. the second option prevailed as soon as you saw, or at least could swear that you saw her mouthing ellie's name. you ran up to her, ignoring the queen's shouting at you to go back. the knights ignored you, holding the prisoner's wrists behind her back. you had to walk backwards in order to be able to look at her face. your dress made it hard, but you had to find out what's going on.

"ellie." the woman spoke up, her voice was weak but not from sadness, it sounded more as if she lost it due to screaming for too long. "i'm sorry, your highness. i couldn't protect her—"

"you tried." you cut her off, trying to sound reassuring. "where is she?"

luccy bit her lip and looked down. you wanted to push the topic, but as you turned around to see if you have any obstacles on the way, you saw you're already near the basement - were prisoners were usually located. without thinking, you took your ring off and put it in her pocket. maybe she'll be able to bribe the knights, and even if not, she'll definitely need it more than you.

as you went back to your mother, her yelling wasn't getting to you. you didn't pay attention to anything she said and once she finished, you whispered a quiet; "where are we going?" again. she, obviously, got even more mad at you for ignoring her. the whole ride passed rather quickly, as you relaxed to the melody of your mother rambling about how much of a disappointment you are.

when you arrived to an open area, full of people of all social degree, you felt a knot in your stomach. your whole body was either hurting or weak. you didn't see what are the residents watching, but only big events get so much viewers. you left your mother behind, though this time she didn't try to stop you with her worthless shouting as you made your way through the crowd. you probably hurt a lot of people while doing so, but it was worth it, as you were now standing in the first row, right in front of the... oh. gallows.

a wave of nausea and tears washed over you and you had to hold yourself up by an unknown man's arm. he didn't complain - everyone here knew who are you and they didn't want to end up being the executed ones. as you calmed down, you looked up to see ellie, seeming fearless or even proud. her chin was bruised but raised, showing how unfazed she felt. maybe she was only pretending, who knows, at least she was a good actress.

you screamed out her name, your voice breaking and trembling, as you swallowed your own tears which flowed down your face. she was surprised to see you so close to the gallows without anyone protecting you. her unbothered facade drifted away, and she mouthed "go!" or "don't look!" towards you, wanting to spare you the view. but you couldn't look away, you had to enjoy her green eyes until they were opened, and freckled skin until the blood was flowing beneath it, honoring her with a slight blush. she bit her bottom lip, just like luccy did not long ago, and broke the eye contact. unlike you, she couldn't stand the view of her love. not in those circumstances.

you saw your mother standing outside of the crowd, closer to the gallows than anyone else. she scanned the faces of the already dead people, and you wondered what did they do to deserve this. then, she gestured for some formally dressed men to start. as the noose wrapped around ellie's neck, you screamed again, this time taking action. or, well, trying to, since the crowd held you back, forcing you to not leave them. queen's commands. you cussed them out, trying to break free with all the strength you had.

"any last words?" your mother tauntingly asked, pacing back and forth.

ellie cleared her throat, before looking at you, what only gave you energy and motivation in trying to pull away. "if that's the price of love, then so be it" she was speaking slowly and clearly, making sure these words will be remembered by the community. "i am supposed to protect our only princess, so i'm more than happy to die knowing i did everything i could to—"

"oh, enough!" the queen hissed. "how dare you talk about love!" the way she snapped felt personal, so you almost forgot hundreds of people watch it too. with that, you also failed to remember that they're holding you, so you stopped fighting back and just hopelessly watched the scene.

"what else do we have to talk about?" ellie bitterly laughed, her voice a mix of amusement and hatred. the noose around her neck didn't seem to bother her. she was just so strong and- god, how much you admired this woman.

your mother turned around, waving her hand at the men responsible for the whole ceremony. you screamed again, though this time it wasn't her name. it was a weak but loud scream of protest, the one that tired you to the point you fell down on your knees, violently sobbing as the trapdoor opened.

✧˖°

endings;

the witch hunt

the loop

the connection

[d0gbite]

how do you have the courage to be yourself? how do you not fear of their looks or their words? I just... I'm sorry if this is hard to answer.

don’t be sorry. honestly, it took me a long time to be able to not care about being judged. i used to be a super socially anxious and shy person. but recently within the last few years i’ve realized that it just… doesn’t matter what other people think of you. i know that’s so cliche. but honestly.

when i was in high school i started dressing uhhh.. let’s say a little weird. i wanted to test the waters, so to speak. i was experimenting with clothes and trying to teach myself to not be afraid of getting weird looks. because people WOULD give me weird looks, and comments, and even laugh at me. but i liked the way i looked, and my friends thought it was fun, so… what’s the big deal? how is it really affecting me, what they think about how i dress?

i got called a furry a lot in high school, and sometimes barked at. i didn’t know what a furry even was, so it didn’t bother me. i asked my friend one day, and she told me its people who dress like animals, and that i should look it up, because she thinks i’d really like it. and you know what? she was right. so i was a furry. i sometimes wore cat ears or a collar to school. and it still didn’t bother me when people tried to make fun of me for it. partially because i didn’t realize they were making fun of me (the tism) but partially because i didn’t care. *i* thought furries were cool, so i wasn’t embarrassed about them calling me one. they were right, after all 🤷‍♀️

i’m still openly a furry. i wore my fursuit to my college classes on halloween. i’m openly queer. i’m semi-openly a therian (close friends and family know, and ill tell anyone who asks). i don’t mind being weird or different, because i learned when i was a teenager to not be afraid of weird looks or being laughed at. they cant hurt you. it just doesn’t matter to me if other people think i’m cool or not, *i* think i’m cool. i made friends with other people who thought i was cool.

i was worried for a while that if i was too weird, nobody would like me and i wouldn’t have any friends. but the thing is, you won’t make friends by pretending to be someone you’re not. not real friends. i promise that *someone* will still like you. you’ll find someone like you. someone will still understand and think you’re cool no matter how weird you are. and if they don’t, i’m always here :)

LASTLY (sorry this has been so long) i’m good at being openly myself now because of how i worked on my self esteem. i used to have super low self esteem, i didn’t think highly of myself at all. but i read something online once, a few years ago, that said instead of making self-deprecating jokes/comments, to start making self-aggrandizing jokes. instead of saying “i can’t believe i got a good grade with how dumb and bad at math i am”, start saying “of course i got a good grade, im just that amazing and smart and incredible”. so i started doing that. personally, i think these kinds of jokes are WAY funnier, and also they help your self esteem. even if you don’t believe what you’re saying, it still subconsciously builds up an idea of yourself in your head. i will quite often make jokes like this, and i find this helps TREMENDOUSLY with not caring about how people think of me. who cares if they think i’m weird? i’m so pretty and smart and funny and talented 😌 i don’t need them to like me

anyway. that’s a lot of words to say sticks and stones can break your bones but words can never hurt you. but it’s true!

the fear of being judged is a (super valid to have, but) irrational fear, imo; judgement will not hurt you. so my big three tips, if you’re trying to start not caring about what people think: practice, find friends/a group who like you for who you are, and don’t think too poorly of yourself

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 5: Forgotten

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your family gains new additions.

Hello! My sincere apologies for how long this took. I got massively sidetracked by researching how to bind a book, the interest in which hit at a completely inappropriate time in the writing-editing-crafting cycle, lol. I should definitely be focusing on finishing this thing before I start fixating on binding books. Anyway; this chapter is a little time-jumpy, given that I have to speed through a bunch of time. Also, note that I've fudged with the ages of Alicent's kids, so in Episode 3, know that she is now pregnant with Aemond, not Helaena like in the show. It's the only way to make him of-age in the Episode 8 scenes. Happy (and well-deserved) holidays to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs, who I have graciously given a night off of slaving away for me, lol.

TRIGGERS: continued discussion of child grief, Viserys's shenanigans in impregnating an underaged Alicent (canon, this is NOT MY ADDITION).

When Alicent gets married to Papa, they have a big ceremony. So so many people come from all over the kingdom to see Papa take a new queen, and the days of the wedding—there are lots of days to them starting in marriage—are full of more noise and colour and movement than you could ever think was real.

Her dress is very pretty, and Papa looks very nice in his new coat, but neither of them look so happy as people who are going to be in marriage should be. Papa keeps playing with the ring on his finger that is from Mama, while Alicent just looks like she is afraid. You think it might be because of how loud everyone is being.

’Nyra isn’t happy, either. She keeps you on her lap the entire time with an angry look and doesn’t speak to Alicent very much at all, but at least she tries to be kind when she does. She ignores Papa, and because you are all sitting at the high table and everyone is watching you, he cannot tell her she is being rude and naughty.

Because you don’t want to look at Alicent’s unhappy face or ’Nyra’s angry one, you play with your sister’s necklace, letting the shiny metal take all your attention. It is Valyrian steel, which is what Papa’s and Uncle’s swords are made out of, so it is very special. Uncle gave it to her. When you let your fingers swirl over the ruby in the middle of the big pendant over and over, you pretend that it’s a part of him and that he’s here, after all.

After the big ceremony is done, life goes back to almost-normal. Now that Alicent is Papa’s queen, she is something called a stepmother, meaning that Brella and Septa and all the people who are made to look after you and ’Nyra have to talk to her about you both. She is like your mama. You wake up and break your fast with Alicent, and she cuts up your food instead of Mama, and she takes you outside to play and tells you about the names of the flowers. Then, when it is time to sleep again, she reads you a story. You think that she likes it very much because she always seems sad until she sees you, and then her face goes bright like the sun.

‘Nyra doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it at all. When she learns that Alicent is acting like your mama, she goes very red like she’s going to scream, but she just goes very quiet instead and storms out of your rooms. For that whole day, ’Nyra takes you to the gardens and to see Syrax and to the library to learn some more High Valyrian, her new sworn shield Ser Criston behind her all the time. She never once lets you go see Alicent to do the things you normally do. When you finally get to be in the room with her at suppertime with Papa and ’Nyra, which Papa has said you all must do now so that everyone can get along, all she does is give you a small smile that doesn’t make her eyes go bright like usual and ask about your big day with your sister.

That is how things are for a while. Either you will go through your days with Alicent or with ’Nyra, and never both in one day because ’Nyra is still so angry at Alicent for being in marriage with Papa. You keep asking why, but your sister doesn’t tell you anything. She just goes quiet and frowns and mutters things you cannot hear. Meanwhile, Alicent will always stop, take a big breath that sounds shaky when she lets it out, and say, “I have no quarrel with Rhaenyra. She is as welcome to my rooms and in my company as you are, princess.”

You think that might be a lie.

One day, though, everything changes.

’Nyra decides to take you to the library so that you can look at more books in High Valyrian. Even the books written in the Common Tongue make no sense to you yet, and Brella told you this is because you are not old enough to learn reading properly. Still, your sister says that it is still good to try when you’re young, so she sits beside you and points out all the funny-looking symbols and tells you what they mean all together. You fall asleep in there instead of having a nap in your bed, but ’Nyra just puts a blanket over you and keeps reading. When you wake, you listen to her voice as she speaks the words from the pages aloud. You don’t understand all of it, but you think you’ve learned more and more since Mama died and she stopped being friends with Alicent. It means she has lots of time for you. Maybe that shouldn’t make you happy, but you cannot help it.

At supper, you see Lord Hightower, Alicent’s papa, beside her. That means that you have to be next to ’Nyra tonight, so you follow her to her side of the table and sit in the chair that the maid pulls out for you. The chair is higher than the others, made special so that you can reach the food that is put before you. Looking around, it is easy to tell that something is different from how happy Lord Hightower looks and how smiling Papa’s face is.

“My two daughters,” he says a bit too loudly, cheeks bright red. His cup is in front of him, and the gold shines red from the drink inside. Wine, you think. It is for men and women, not little girls, and it makes the people who drink it act strange like Papa is now. He waves his hand in a ‘hello’ as he lifts his cup to his mouth and takes a sip. “Ah!”

’Nyra starts eating her food without a word. Everyone has plates with different foods on it, but you have a bowl in front of your seat. Because you are small, the cooks always give you pottage for your supper so that you can eat it with a spoon and no one has to cut things up for you. You don’t always like it—there are lots of lumps and you can never tell what taste is going to be in your mouth with each bite—but it is warm and makes your tummy nice and full.

The room is full of the sounds of chewing and clack-clacking when the knives and forks hit the plates. You pick up your spoon and scoop up some food. There are dark bits, which means the cooks have put meat in it. You scrunch your nose.

Papa coughs between bites. He is still smiling a lot. “It seems like an age since I saw you last!”

“We had supper with you yesterday evening,” ’Nyra says.

“Ah, yes!” He takes another drink of his wine. Maybe he shouldn’t, because he is blinking very much like you do when you’re trying to stay awake. “Perhaps the waiting has made it seem longer.”

“Waiting?”

“I am sure you have noticed Otto’s presence by now.”

’Nyra doesn’t even look at the man. “My lord.” Her voice seems cold.

“Princess.” Lord Hightower bends his head, but he doesn’t sound very happy either.

Alicent puts her hand on Papa’s arm. ’Nyra watches so closely that you wonder if her eyes can make holes in other people’s skin. “I—we—have some news, Rhaenyra.”

“Oh?” She sounds bored.

“Well…”

When Alicent doesn’t say anything, ’Nyra makes a huffing noise. It is very rude.

“Well?” she asks, looking between Alicent and Papa. “What is it, then? Everyone’s acting rather strange.”

“Alicent is with child,” Papa says.

‘With child’ is what people say when a baby is growing in a lady’s belly. It’s what Mama told you before Baelon grew very large inside her.

’Nyra freezes, almost like she has forgotten how to move. No one says anything. Papa’s smile—the one that his words made so much bigger when he said them out loud—begins to fall, more and more with each moment that ’Nyra does nothing at all. Then, it goes away completely, and he’s no longer happy like he was.

It’s quiet again. Not the nice kind—the kind that means that someone is about to yell or be naughty.

“A baby?” you ask. Maybe you can stop the bad from happening if you help everyone remember that you’re still here.

Alicent looks at you, the fear leaving her face a little. She nods. “Yes, princess. You’re to have a brother or sis—”

“Half-brother.” ’Nyra’s lips move, but the rest of her stays still. She cannot stop staring between Papa and Alicent. “Or half-sister. Either way, they will not be your full blood.”

“You are correct, princess.” From the way Lord Hightower speaks and how silent Alicent and Papa are at ’Nyra’s words, you think she must have said something quite mean. He gives her a little smile, one that makes her hands squeeze really tight on her knife and fork. “Even so, these are glad tidings, indeed. Let us all pray for the queen to be delivered of a son.”

“I’m sure that would be of great benefit to the Hightowers, my lord. A son… to solidify your claim to my father’s throne.”

Lord Hightower stops smiling. Alicent gasps.

Papa makes a small noise. “Rhaenyra—”

All at once, she stands, the plate in front of her clattering loudly with how quick she rises. “Congratulations, Your Grace.” She doesn’t sound very happy for Alicent, even if the words are nice. “Forgive me—I feel suddenly unwell.”

“Daughter—”

’Nyra ignores Papa and storms out of the room, leaving her food only half-eaten. The rest of supper is very quiet, the loudest noise of all being the sound of your own breathing.

Isn’t a baby meant to be happy news? you wonder. You look around, but no one here is very happy—except for Lord Hightower. Though he isn’t smiling, he has his head held high like he has had every one of his wishes granted all at once.

“What do you think, princess?” Brella asks.

You stare down into the cradle at the baby. Your brother. Aegon. He is squirming, face bright red, squished and crying. He hasn’t stopped even once since you came into the room. He might have been crying since before you did, even. Aside from the bright hair on top of his head, you don’t think he looks very much like you.

“He’s nice,” is what you say, but you don’t know if you really mean it. It’s more for Alicent, who is watching you from over on the bed. She looks very tired. If you said something less kind, she may cry.

Alicent smiles. “Thank you, princess. Nurse—bring him to me, please.”

She doesn’t mean Brella. There is another woman here, Gwenys, who Lord Hightower and Septa Marlow assigned to help give Aegon milk and take care of him when Alicent cannot. Gwenys comes and picks up the baby, walking over to give him to Alicent. She rocks him in her arms which doesn’t stop him from crying, but she still keeps on bouncing him softly. He is very unhappy.

Now that Alicent is holding Aegon, you know that she’ll forget you are there. Ever since Papa told you and ’Nyra that he was in Alicent’s belly, neither of them have had much time for you. It feels like all the people in the keep—from Papa and Alicent and Lord Hightower to the servants and maids and stableboys—have been more excited for the baby than they ever were for you. The only person who has remembered you is ’Nyra, and so you are with her on most days. It sometimes makes you sad, because it really was very fun to play pretend that Alicent was your mama for a while, but ’Nyra says that it wasn’t going to last, anyway.

“She is to have her own child to care for, now,” she told you in the days after learning about the new baby. “You were good practice—but you aren’t her blood, not really. Not like you and I. Her son will be born, and you’ll be given to a nurse or a septa to raise.” When you cried, she bent down and wiped away your tears. “It doesn’t make her a bad person,” she said quietly. “But this is the way of the world, sister. Men and women, kings and queens… they all want sons. Us daughters must stick together, yes?”

’Nyra was right. At first, Alicent tried to keep pretending to be like your mama. But then, the baby made her very ill, so she stopped asking you to come to break your fast so you wouldn’t have to see her being sick into the pail by her bed. Then, she spent so much time sleeping that she didn’t have the energy to come outside with you, or to dance with you, and soon, the only time you would see her was at suppertime. Even that wasn’t always. And now the baby is here, you don’t think she will be going back to the way it used to be.

Maybe that is why he feels like such a stranger to you. At least with baby Baelon, you got to feel him kicking in Mama’s tummy. Aegon wasn’t here for so long, and then all of a sudden, he was. He is. You don’t know him at all. He’s just a baby, come to take your papa and almost-mama away from you like all the rest.

Brella’s hand on your shoulder is what helps you walk towards the door, Alicent and Aegon staying in the room behind you. With your back turned, it’s easier to pretend that Alicent is very sad by you leaving.

The more moons pass, the more faded Mama’s face is in your memory. You try to hold onto the way her eyes would crinkle at the corners when she smiled, or how her hair would curl a bit like yours after her bath, or the way she’d smell like roses when she hugged you tight. It slips away, out of reach. Putting rose oil in your bath helps you, but only a little bit—and the longer that Mama is gone, the less you can remember of her.

Papa doesn’t like to talk about her. When you ask him, he just spins the ring on his finger around and says, “Another time, perhaps.” You know that ‘another time’ really means ‘never’.

There is no one else in the keep that really knew her like you and your family knew her, except ’Nyra. She tells you stories sometimes, but you don’t ask a lot because she usually likes to tell the ones that have you in them. When she finishes, she always smiles and asks, “Do you remember?” You never can, and it leaves you feeling like someone has scooped out all your insides.

So, Mama fades, and becomes part of that place in your mind where the things that are being forgotten go. Even though you try and try and try, there is nothing that can stop the forgetting. One day, you think she might be nothing more than a quiet sort of sadness, like looking out the window at the rain and wondering why it makes your chest hurt so much.

Seeing Alicent with Aegon is the only thing that reminds you of her. Even though Alicent’s hair is red where Mama’s was silver, and Aegon is loud and angry where you are quiet and shy, the way that she kisses his cheeks or hums little songs under her breath to him makes you think of how Mama would do the same for you. He doesn’t seem to be very happy when she does these things. If it were you in his place, you know you’d be better than him. You wish she’d realise that.

It seems like no time at all goes by when Alicent is with child again, meaning she’s going to have another baby. If it is anything like Aegon, you do not think you’ll like it very much. Sometimes, you feel very naughty for it, but you cannot help how he makes you feel. All he wants to do is make a fuss and take everyone’s attention, and he keeps crying and being naughty even as Alicent’s belly grows bigger and bigger with your new brother or sister.

When Helaena is born, Papa and Lord Hightower aren’t as pleased as they were with Aegon. You can tell because, while they are both in the room when you come to meet her, neither one is looking at her as she lays in the cradle. They had both been looking down at Aegon last time. You think it is because Helaena is a girl, like you and ’Nyra. You decide that you have to love her if they won’t.

She is a quiet baby, but so still that it makes Gwenys worry and worry, even though all she is doing is lying in her cradle and staring straight up. Maybe she knows how rude her big brother is, you think, and she wants to do and be all the things he isn’t.

You weren’t allowed to hold Aegon because he was so disagreeable, which means he would probably have screamed and cried if you did. He still screams and cries, which is why Alicent has to spend all her days with him even though she’s just had a second baby, so Helaena is by herself with Gwenys most hours.

Helaena isn’t like Aegon. This time, Gwenys has you sit in a chair with a pillow under your arm and brings the baby to you. “Mind her head,” she says, tugging your arm forward so that Helaena fits nicely in your arms. “There we go.”

She is a big baby, round and heavy and warm, but you don’t mind because she gazes up at you with large blue eyes that look like they might turn purple when she gets older. The hairs she has on her head—and there aren’t many, not like Aegon had—are silver, and you know that she will look very much like you when she has grown more. When you stroke a finger over the skin on her hand, her whole fist grabs onto it, strong even though she is so young. It’s like she knows who you are, even without any words being said.

You wonder if this is how ’Nyra felt when she met you—a burning that tingles all through your arms and legs, not in a way that hurts, no, but in a way that makes you want to squeeze tight and never let go.

Helaena doesn’t cry. She falls asleep while you’re holding her, her face turned into you so that you can feel her tiny breaths through your dress. It is special and warm and love-feeling like Alicent used to be, like Mama was when she was not-dead. The hurt goes far away, still there but not so much, not so heavy in your chest.

For a little while, the sadness—of forgetting Mama, of being forgotten by so many others—fades away, too.

When you are five summers old, you have to say goodbye to Brella.

All the while you are breaking your fast, she looks like she is about to start crying. Even though you wonder why, you don’t ask. When someone cries, it means that something bad has happened. So much bad has already happened, and you don’t know if you want to hear any more. You eat in quiet, scooping porridge into your mouth while the sound of sniffles fills the room. The taste of honey would make you feel happy, but not when Brella is so upset. Your food sinks to the bottom of your belly like one of the hot bricks you sometimes get under your blankets when it’s very cold at night, only there’s nothing nice about it. It’s hard and rough and makes you feel sick.

After you have finished every bite—you have to eat all of it, or you don’t get to play—Brella takes you by the hand and leads you to the chair. “There is… there is something I have to tell you,” she says, slow and shaky.

I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. You wish that you were like ’Nyra, that you could say the words out loud—but you cannot. You don’t want to know, but you say nothing, and you wait for whatever bad thing is coming to show itself.

“I…” Brella swallows and looks down at your hands, still holding onto each other even though you are sitting and there is no need. “Tell me again how old you are, princess.”

“Five.” It’s a very small number, but you are still proud because you’re almost a big girl now.

Brella laughs, nodding. “That’s right. Five. My goodness. How time flies!”

You find that silly. Time doesn’t fly. It isn’t a thing-you-can-touch, and only things-you-can-touch can fly, like dragons or birds or insects. Still, you try not to show your thinking on your face as Brella squeezes your hand tighter.

“Being five summers old is a very important milestone when you’re a prince or princess,” she says. “Do you know why?”

“No,” you say. “Why?”

Here, she stops. “It… It means—gods, I don’t know if I can say it.”

“Well, then. It appears that I must,” comes a voice from the door.

You turn. Septa Marlow stands with her hands joined in front of her, her mouth pinched into a line so small it is like it has disappeared from her face. Her grey wimple makes her skin look just as colourless. She steps forward, and the sound of her shoes touching the ground seems as loud as thunder.

“You are of an age to begin your lessons, princess. Thus, it is time for your nurse”—she looks at Brella and her lip curls, though you cannot tell if she’s happy or angry—“to depart, and for me to take over your care.”

The sick feeling gets worse, and you wonder if you might bring up all your food from how bad the pains are in your belly. “But—but Brella will still stay, though? For Aegon and Helaena?”

Septa Marlow huffs. “There is no need, silly child. Their nurse has already been appointed, and Gwenys will suffice for any future children borne by the queen. Brella is to collect her things and return to the Vale.”

Brella has taught you some of the places on the map that shows Papa’s kingdom. You live in King’s Landing, which is in the Crownlands, and it is at the bottom of the map. The Vale is where Mother—Mother, not Mama, Mama is for babies and I am not a baby anymore, you have to keep telling yourself—came from, that it is a bit up and to the side from the Crownlands. It isn’t that far in the drawings, but Brella says that maps show a smaller picture of what is really a very, very long distance.

If Brella has to return to the Vale, it means she will be very, very far away.

You think you might be frozen, like ice. You cannot say anything. All that you can think, over and over, is no, no, no, please, not Brella, no, no, no. The fire-burn of tears warms behind your eyes, but you know that you cannot let Septa see you cry. She’ll think you are weak.

Brella sniffles. “I can write to you,” she says, pulling you closer to her. “And, when you’re old enough, you can write to me. How about that?”

You nod, but her words don’t make you feel better. Paper isn’t the same as a person, not really. Even if she puts letters on paper and sends them to you, it won’t be like one of her hugs or the way she laughs when you miss a dance step or fall over in the grass. It won’t smell like her or look like her. It won’t make you feel safe like she does.

She will turn not-real like Mother. Only, maybe it is worse—because you’ll know that, somewhere a long way away from you, she will be real, but that you cannot have her anymore.

“I don’t want you to go,” is what you say, but it comes out like a whisper, not strong like you wanted it to.

“I know, my darling,” Brella says, hugging you tight so that you can feel her heart beating through her skin and yours. “I know, and I’m so sorry—”

“If you could unhand my charge, nurse.” Septa’s eyebrow is raised. “Although—now that it occurs to me—‘nurse’ is no longer the appropriate moniker, is it?”

Brella glares at her. “There’s no need to be so—”

“Your time here is at an end.” Even though she looks like she’s trying not to show her feelings, Septa lifts her chin in the air like ’Nyra used to when she would win at cyvasse against Alicent. “Say your goodbyes.”

“What—here? Now?” Brella’s mouth is open like she’s very surprised. “I’d thought the princess would be coming to see me off at the harb—”

“That is not a good idea. She is too… attached.” Septa says it like it is a curse. “A public display of histrionics does not a respectable princess make, no matter her juvenility.” You have no idea what most of these words mean, but the way they make Brella sink in her seat cannot be a good thing.

She tucks your hair behind your ears as she looks down at you, her eyes wet. “Be good,” she says, very soft so that Septa cannot hear them well. “Make sure you write to me, yes?”

She brushes her thumbs over your cheeks—out, in, out, in—the way she does when she really means ‘I love you’.

“Please stay,” you whisper, trying not to let your lower lip wobble like it wants to so badly. “Please don’t go.”

Brella hugs you again, her whole body shaking. Your face is smushed up against her shoulder, the smell of her herness filling your nose with so much warm. You wonder if, by clinging on tight, you can stop her from leaving. She cannot leave. She is what you have left now that Mam—Mother is gone, now that Papa has Alicent and ’Nyra has Papa and Uncle has his war somewhere away from you. She cannot leave. She cannot.

It feels like she has been holding on for forever and also for no time at all when she lets go, stands up, and walks away without a word. The door shuts.

She didn’t even say goodbye.

Is it worse or better, watching her go away? you wonder through the cold that settles in your body, in your arms and legs, the sharpness of it so much that you feel like shivering even though the sun is shining hot outside. You never saw Mother die. She was here, and then she wasn’t. But you have to watch Brella leave, knowing there is nothing you can do to stop it all the while.

“Dry your tears, girl. ‘Tis about time your coddling came to an end.” Septa pulls you by the shoulder off the chair. Her hand doesn’t feel warm like Brella’s does. Her stare—fixed on you—travels up and down, her mouth crinkling at the corner like she is thinking about something. “Why she was allowed to linger past your name day, I will never understand.”

You cannot think of anything to say, so you keep quiet. It doesn’t seem to make Septa like you any more than she did before, which you don’t think was very much. The tears keep falling, though you try and try to make them disappear.

“Now,” she says, clapping her hands sharply. The loudness of the noise makes you jump. Teardrops shake onto your dress. “We have a long day ahead of us. The queen has requested an update on your progress, so you will be learning no less than three hymns before the end of the sennight. I should like to provide her with”—she looks you up and down again, and this time it seems like she is thinking something unkind about you—“some indication that you will shape up to be a lady of high standing.”

‘I’m a princess, not a lady,’ you want to say. You don’t.

Septa begins striding away, then stops and turns around to face you. “I expect you to follow when I walk, and to acknowledge me when I speak by saying ‘Yes, Septa Marlow’.” She almost spits the words at you. “Understood?”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” It doesn’t sound as strong or as clear as when she said it. You wish you could sound less afraid. Still, she seems to find it good enough. She says nothing afterward, just waits for you to trail along after her.

“Hmph.” She clicks her tongue. Staring down at you again, she adds, “And stand up straight.”

You do as you’re told.

Septa Marlow is as frightfully mean as you always feared.

One thing you learn quickly is that everything you do and say is wrong. When you laugh, it is too unbecoming; when you smile, you show too much teeth; when you walk, you are too hunched over; when you eat, you are too gluttonous. You’re a simpleton when you ask to play with your dolls, so they sit at the foot of your bed slowly being covered by dust; you’re graceless when you try to dance, so you practice after you have been put to bed to try and get better before each morning; you’re impertinent when you say what you’re thinking instead of keeping it to yourself, so you learn to let your thoughts stay inside your head. There is little that she doesn’t pick on and tell you that you need to change.

“Use full words, please!” she says whenever you forget to speak in the proper way that she expects. She always raps her willow switch on the table in front of you after that. Lucky for you, she has not yet used it to hurt you. “It is ‘does not’, not ‘doesn’t’. There is no need to employ such low-class mannerisms as a lady of your standing!”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” There is no point trying to tell her that she’s wrong.

It isn’t all bad, though. Having Septa Marlow take over means that you are now expected to learn all sorts of things, and a lot of it is very interesting. New words, new houses, new hymns, new dances—you start to learn how to sew, how to put letters together to read them, how to count numbers and add and take them away to make different numbers. Septa says that there are so many things a noblewoman like you needs to be able to do by the time she is ready to be married, so that she can run her husband’s household and take care of him and her future children. That is a long time from now, but practice makes perfect.

The only time you are not with Septa is when you are with your family, like today.

Because Aegon has lived past being a baby—and Septa says that babies die a lot from the weather or from being sick or from being fed too much or too little or sometimes for no reason at all—Papa has announced that everyone must go on a hunt to celebrate his name day. You have to sit in the wheelhouse with he and Alicent and ’Nyra and Aegon and three other nurses, but not Helaena. She’s only a baby still, so she must stay in the keep with Gwenys.

It is not a very fun ride. Being in a wheelhouse with them all means putting ’Nyra very close to Alicent, whose belly has grown big with a baby again. Lots of people have lots to say about how many babies Alicent has had since she married Papa, and most of it is not very nice towards your mother. She could only have two girls, and it took her a long time to have you after ’Nyra.

Papa thinks there is another boy in Alicent’s belly. You hope not. Aegon is loud and rude. You think it might be worse if there were two of him instead of just one.

“… whole of our family off to celebration and adventure in the kingswood,” Papa is saying. You swing your legs back and forth, though you must stop each time you roll over a big bump in the road. You stay quiet, because Septa says a lady does not talk unless she is asked a question.

A very big bump in the road makes Alicent’s smile fall.

“Should you be travelling in such condition?” ’Nyra asks. She sounds worried, even though she is no longer friends with Alicent.

“The maester said that being out in nature would do me well,” is what Alicent says back.

Papa starts talking while he finishes giving Aegon a sip from his cup. You wonder if it’s wine. “Well, you will be with your own child sooner than late, and make me a proud grandsire.” He is smiling, perhaps at the thought of it.

‘No, I will not,’ the look on ’Nyra’s face seems to say. You cannot help but agree with her. Having babies seems like such a tiring thing to do.

“It’s not so bad.” Alicent has to speak louder to be heard over the rattling of the wheels and the hoofbeats of the horses. “The days are long, but Aegon came quickly and without fuss. Helaena, too.”

The nurse who is holding Aegon in her lap—Delia, you think her name is—waves a toy dragon in front of him. He smacks at it with his hands, frowning. You would never treat your toys like that.

“You should ride out with me today,” Papa says to ’Nyra. “Join in the chase, while you”—his eyes go to you—“sit about with your lady stepmother. Hm?”

“Okay, Papa,” you say quietly. Proper ladies do what their fathers tell them to.

’Nyra’s hand finds yours. “I’d rather not. The boars squeal like children when they’re being slaughtered.” From the way her fingers squeeze yours and her stare fixes on Aegon, you know she doesn’t mean you when she says that. “I find it discomfiting.”

“It’s a hunt, Rhaenyra.” Papa smiles. It is a careful sort of smile, not a happy one. Aegon’s yell distracts him for a moment, but he is quick to return to speaking to ’Nyra. “How would you like to participate?” he asks her.

“I’d be leaving my sister alone with the vultures of the realm,” ’Nyra says, “so I’m not sure why I must.”

Trying to understand what everyone means by what they say is very difficult—you aren’t sure if she’s saying that the ladies coming along are vultures, or if she’s trying to say Alicent is. You don’t even know what a vulture is, so you aren’t sure if it is a bad or good thing to be.

“Because you are my eldest daughter. The princess.” Papa looks like he is finding it harder and harder to stop himself from telling ’Nyra off. “And you have duties.”

“As I am ceaselessly reminded.” Your sister says it softly, but it is easy enough for you to hear from your place next to her.

Papa doesn’t, though. “I’m sorry?”

Instead of making up a lie or saying that she did not say anything at all, ’Nyra repeats herself louder. It is terribly rude, but you enjoy watching as you have always enjoyed watching her being brave against other people. “As I am ceaselessly reminded.”

“You wouldn’t need to be reminded if you ever attended to them.”

“No one’s here for me!”

Papa doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Neither does Alicent. They both just fall silent along with the nurses. Even Aegon stops making all his annoying noises, instead sitting so still that he could be sleeping if his eyes were not open.

You make sure to hold onto your sister’s hand even tighter. If there is anyone in the whole world who does know what to say, it is you. If only you were brave enough.

‘I understand, ’Nyra,’ you want to say. ‘No one’s here for me, either. No one’s ever here for me.’

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[pamwritessometimes]

British Invasion

Soldier Boy x (British)fem!reader

Summary: Soldier Boy is forced to attend a lavish gallery opening for an emerging artist, expecting nothing more than a typical evening of pretentious small talk and overpriced art. But when he gets to know the artist herself, he quickly realizes they might share more than one thing in common.

proofread & edited on 8/21/24

Warnings: unprotected SMUT (be smarter), pet names, some 60s slang, breeding kink if you squint, terrible writing, AmE and BritE use is varied based on the characters

Word Count: around 4.7 k

Author’s Note: This is my VERY first fic I have written since I was a teenager. English isn’t my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes. Please be kind. 🤍 All kinds of feedback are appreciated!

═════════ 𖤐🤍𖤐 ═════════

May, 1962.

He tried his best to understand what he was looking at. The colours danced in a confusing symphony - deep red lines flashing across the canvas, yellow streaks breaking through the tainted blue background. It was an odd mix of serenity and unease, a puzzle that felt both ambiguous and crystal-clear. Not that he had any expertise in art, he was a superhero, after all. Analyzing abstract paintings was hardly part of the job description. Thank God and Vought for that. He didn't even know why he was there in the first place, stripped of his imposing suit, which at least gave him the semblance of authority. “This will do wonders for your image. Supporting some up-and-coming artists is exactly what we need to repair that reputation you seem so determined to destroy.” 

“Yeah, fuck that.” he thought, scanning the room until his eyes landed on a tray of champagne glasses amidst the other hors d’oeuvres. At least there was free booze. He swiftly grabbed a glass, downed it in one go, and swapped it for another. He barely noticed the presence next to him when he stood back to pretend to interpret the same painting he had been looking at for the last fifteen minutes. 

"Do you like it?" a voice with a soft British lilt called out from his right. He turned to see the source—a striking beauty with (Y/H/C) hair styled in a classic beehive. Her makeup was flawless, with bold eyeliner and red lipstick that enhanced her gorgeous features. The elegant black dress she wore hugged her curves in all the right places, and for a moment, he felt his already tight pants grow even more uncomfortable. "You’ve been staring at it for quite a while."

He quickly gathered himself, a charming smile sliding into place as he responded with feigned confidence. 

"I do, yeah. I really like the... uh, colors and how... this line curves," he replied, trying his best to sound like he knew what he was talking about. “It… makes one feel uncertain and… and certain at the same time.”

“Does it?” she asks, her sceptical eyes glued to the canvas. "To me, it just brings back memories of a February night when I drowned my sorrows in a cheap bottle of rum after finding out I didn’t get into RCA."

His brows furrowed as he looked at the girl next to her taking a sip of her champagne. “You painted this?” he asked. She just nodded in response, her eyes still fixed on the framed painting. “Busted” she chuckled awkwardly. He looked back at the artwork once more and it suddenly all made sense. It was a testament of chaos, the rage and unsettle she must have felt when creating it. Plus, being drunk while creating something? That, he could understand. “I’m (Y/N)... (Y/L/N). But I believe you figured that out.” she said as she nodded to the signed painting.

He smiled and nodded. “Benjamin,” came the reply. “But please, just call me Ben.”

She nodded and smiled at him. “So, Ben… What brings you to London?”

“I'm here for work.” he replied casually. It wasn't a complete lie, per se. He could tell the truth, she will learn it soon anyway. But for now, he just wanted a normal conversation, free from the weight of being America’s Greatest Hero. Just for a couple of minutes.

“I see” she said as she eyed him with great attention to every detail of his appearance.  His dirty blonde hair was slicked back with a sophisticated touch, and his tailored suit and slacks fit him impeccably. "Are you some kind of actor?" she asked finally.

“Among other things.” his tone playful, reflecting on the fact that he enjoyed her not recognizing him. “Why?”

"I was just wondering," she shrugged, finishing the last sip of her drink. "When I first saw you, I thought, ‘He’s either a soldier, a businessman, or an actor.’ Your physique suggests military, but then I took a closer look at your suit, and– may I?" she asked, lifting her hand toward his jacket. With a nod, she touched the fabric. "As I suspected. Kid mohair. No soldier I know could afford that. So, that left businessman or actor. Now, here comes my first observation: your athletic build. If you were an accountant or something like that, you probably wouldn’t be this fit. So, my conclusion? You’re an actor." She smiled, clearly pleased with her deductive reasoning.

He chuckled, clearly amused by her careful observation. “You are quite the observer, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asked.

That she was. Her favourite hobby was studying people. Every little feature, every line and detail that made them unique. Later, she would capture those fascinating subjects in drawings from memory. Any details that became hazy would be filled in by her imagination. She did the same to him; just memorising his lines (though the nickname almost made the whole process cease).

“So this whole happening… is it all for you?”

She just scoffed. “They say it is” she started, though her face was soaked with clear annoyance. “But I believe it’s more for my agent. He said he found great patrons for this current collection. They want me to go overseas for a potential business proposition.”

At the mention of that, Ben's eyes gleamed with a mischievous spark. The Vought executives had briefed him on their plans to renovate the entire Tower. Stronger foundations, new levels, and, of course, fresh furnishings and decor. That was the real reason he was here in the first place. For whatever reason, Vought wanted (Y/N)'s artwork to grace the Tower's walls. He’d flown in with some executives to evaluate her latest collection, to decide whether it was worth the investment. It wasn’t his decision, of course; he had no real say in the final call. But to the public, he was the face of Vought, their most powerful representative, so his presence was required by his superiors.

“Miss (Y/L/N), it is time” the aforementioned agent’s voice cut through their conversation. She took a deep breath before turning to face the charming looking man in his early thirties.

“I’ll be there in a minute, Greg.”

Greg then nodded and smiled at the two. “I see you met one of your patrons already.” he said as he nodded towards Ben. “It’s an honour to have you here, Soldier Boy. I hope you enjoy your time in our country.”

Ben nodded, a smug grin spreading across his face as he kept his gaze locked on (Y/N), who now wore an expression of stunned realisation. She had only just realised who she had been casually conversing with. “I’m enjoying it so far, very much,” he replied, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

“Alright, Miss (Y/L/N), please say goodbye to the gentleman and follow me.” Greg interjected, his tone formal and clipped, as if he were conducting some high-stakes business transaction.

She swallowed the urge to roll her eyes at the mannerism of the whole conversation. That was one of the many things she hated about the art society she was part of. The pretentious idiosyncrasy and the sense of being loftier than the others. If she had the resources to fund her own artistry, she would leave it all behind. But unlike her peers, who all came from money, she wasn’t that fortunate. Her parents, God bless them, did everything they could to support her, but it was never enough for her to break free. Now, under the thumb of Greg—THE Gregory Alcons, the most influential artist agent in the region—she had little choice but to play along.

Still a bit flabbergasted by the previous revelations of Ben’s identity, she managed to compose herself and glanced at his green orbs. “It was nice meeting you, Soldier Boy. I hope to see you around,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

As she turned to follow Greg, Ben couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way her hips swayed in that sinfully tight black dress. If he didn’t know better, he might just think it was all for him. 

(Y/N)’s speech was a drag. Even she knew that. Every word was scripted, every pause rehearsed, her smile a mask. Like a goddamn politician–she often thought to herself. Nonetheless, her official duties of the gathering still didn’t end, but she could now move around more freely, trying to charm the people gathered in the museum, occasionally sipping on champagne to look for that blitzed state she was so eager to reach. She just wished she had something stronger. During her museum circles, she heard some speeches that she couldn't care less about. Mostly influential old hags talking nonsense about the importance of art patronage and trusting the vision of an artist... She also heard Soldier Boy's brief speech, but she was too occupied to talk to the other guests, she couldn't stop and listen to it.

The smooth jazz tunes created an atmospheric scene, adding to the illusion of sophistication. The guests seemed to be amazed by it all–the champagne, the music, the elegant attires, the modest speeches… yet, she couldn’t care less. This wasn’t her world. It was all a grand performance, and she felt like an imposter in the spotlight of her own art exhibition. She was chatting with a man in his early to mid-seventies about the long-term consequences of giving freedom riders a platform to talk when a familiar rumble cut though the conversation.

“Can I borrow Miss (Y/L/N) for a minute?” 

Relief washed over her as she turned to see Ben—no, Soldier Boy—in his full supe attire, helmet and all (he certainly just finished his speech duties, too). If she had to pretend to share one more of the old man’s bigoted views, she might have committed murder. Soldier Boy was by far her greatest conversation partner tonight, and probably the most tolerable person in the room, which speaks for how entertaining the gathering is. The elderly man tried to hide his disappointment, but reluctantly let her go. 

“Wow,” she muttered, taking in Soldier Boy’s imposing presence. “Now, this is the Soldier Boy I’ve seen in the telly.” Her voice dropped to a sheepish tone. “And… sorry for not recognising you earlier.”

“Can’t say it didn’t hurt,” he replied with a smirk “But it’s also nice knowing that it’s the suit that most people recognize, not my face.”

(Y/N) offered Soldier Boy another small, apologetic smile before letting her eyes drift across the room. The jazz band was playing a smooth set that impressed the crowd but grated on her nerves. The soft melodies and gentle horns just didn’t resonate with her. If she had her way, she’d have had her friends, Gerry & The Pacemakers, play instead—something with real energy, something raw. But, of course, that wouldn’t have flown with Greg or the rest of the stuffy art crowd. They were too wrapped up in their own pretentiousness to appreciate anything that didn’t fit their narrow idea of ‘classy’.

She took another sip of champagne, but it did little to ease her frustration. She felt trapped, stuck in a night that was supposed to be hers but felt like anything but. All she really wanted was to be with real people, having real conversations, and listening to music that made her feel alive. Instead, she was here, pretending to enjoy the company of people who saw her as nothing more than a name to drop at their next social event.

“You’re not exactly enjoying this, are you?” Soldier Boy’s voice cut through her thoughts, bringing her back to reality. His tone was amused, but there was a hint of genuine curiosity there too.

She looked up at him, surprised he noticed. “Is it that obvious?” she asked with a slight smile.

“To most people here? Probably not. But I can tell,” he said with a shrug. “You’re too real for this crowd.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “How about we get out of here?”

(Y/N) hesitated, glancing around the room filled with guests who were supposed to be admiring her work. “I wish I could go somewhere more fun. But this is my show. Not mine mine, obviously, but I can't just disappear,” she said, sighing. “Plus, Greg would kill me if I bailed.”

Soldier Boy smirked, undeterred. “I’m not saying ditch the whole thing, just take a break. Clear your head, get away from all this for a few minutes.” He paused, lowering his voice. “You deserve that much, don’t you?”

She bit her lip, tempted by the offer. The idea of stepping away, even just for a little while, was more appealing than she wanted to admit. Especially with such a handsome-looking bastard. “And where exactly would we go?” she asked, intrigued.

His smile widened, a mix of charm and mischief. “Trust me,” he said, offering his arm. “You’ll like it better than this place.”

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She would lie if she said she didn’t see this coming. She was more than a bit tipsy, but who is she to fool? She would’ve followed Ben to the staff restroom sober, without any question. She needed to release some tension, and he was more than happy to oblige. His calloused thumb was drawing invisible circles on her swollen clit as his cock pounded in and out of her juicy, tight hole. 

“Fuck, sweetheart–” he growled into her ears as his other hand was leaning on the counter, trapping her body between the cold surface and his heated body. It was all quick, filthy, but –oh so needed. Her watery eyes were locked on his reflection in the mirror as she observed both his ecstasy-filled pupils and her rather dishevelled appearance. Either of her boobs were bouncing with each harsh thrust of his hips, stark contrast to that tight black dress that still clung to the rest of her body.

How they ended up like this was both a blur and a logical consequence of their desire. One moment they were talking, and the next, they were stumbling into the restroom, hands all over each other. Soldier Boy’s strong body pressed her back against the door, his lips crashing against hers with a fierce hunger. She didn’t hold back, kissing him with just as much intensity. She melted into his lips and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him coser. She gasped softly as his tongue swiped against her lower lip, asking for entrance. She granted it, his tongue slipping past her plush lips and exploring her mouth while her hands were busy finding a way to rip off his tactical vest. Fuck, why does a supe suit has to be so complicated? 

He soon noticed her efforts to undress him, so he leaned back for a moment with that same smug grin he always seemed to wear, and began to take his suit off. She hurried to do the same when Ben’s voice commanded her to stay put. “That dress stays.” he said, his voice low and sultry. “Couldn’t tear my eyes off of you, you know that? Wearing a dress so fuckin’ tight… swaying your hips like you did… was it all just to drive me crazy, huh?” he asked as he got rid of her suit, now standing in front of her in his naked glory. 

She swallowed hard once his member sprang free–erected, the fat tip leaking with pre-cum. She obliged to his requests by rolling the skirt of the dress up to her perky butt. With delight, he discovered that she was wearing black panties with delicate lace trimming, which was overall already ruined by her soaked cunt. He growled at the sight, grabbing the base of his cock to pump himself a couple of times. She was about to pull her panties down, when he spoke up again. “Those also stay.”

“You are having many commands just for a little hookup” she remarked as she leaned her body closer to his, her palms replacing his on his shaft. Her hands were soft against his skin, his dick twitched by the touch. She pumped him a few times before stopping and releasing him completely. He let out an annoyed huff that quickly turned into a satisfied moan when he felt her hands once more around his cock, now coated with her saliva to add more to the pleasure and to prepare him to enter her already weeping pussy. 

Soldier Boy swiftly gripped her hips and spun her around to face the sink and the mirror above it, returning them to the position they’d just been in. “You’re a real tease, aren’t you?” he growled, his voice thick with desire. She could feel the need in his tone, matching the flame that burned inside her. He lifted one of her legs, giving himself better access, and she braced herself against the counter, anticipation running through her veins. “You're so beautiful. A beautiful tease.” he kissed a line along her spine.

“Yeah…you are just as much of a—” before she could finish the sentence, she felt the tip nudge at her entrance after pulling her panties to the side. It was that moment she finally came to terms with how huge he was. Seeing it, palming it wasn’t enough. Feeling the head of his cock spreading her folds was a whole other sensation. Before he would properly enter, he asked. “You sure you want this?” She couldn’t help but moan, her mind completely taken over by anticipation. Not trusting her voice, she just nodded fervently and pressed herself against him more. That was all Soldier Boy needed. He took a shaky breath and eased himself into her dripping cunt. The only sound in the room was their mingled, sinful noises that escaped both their mouths.

“Fuck….so tight…so fuckin’ wet…” Ben growled as quietly as he could. They were still in that museum, just a few rooms away from the exhibition. As much as he wanted people to hear them, he knew she would probably prefer their affair to stay hidden. 

He kept one hand on her hips, guiding her movements, while the other slid up her stomach, to her exposed breast, his fingers gently tracing over her sensitive nipple. The way it bounced at every thrust, every movement, and how the nipple hardened at his touch… Soldier Boy was known for his supe stamina, but he was already on the edge of coming undone. She was closely behind, her moans and gasps were music to his ears in a sinful symphony as she clenched her hands around the edge of the sink.

“Ben…please…”

“What? What do you need, honey?” he cooed.

“Please… h-harder.” it was more of an incoherent muffled cry than a plea. But he understood nonetheless. He ceased his speed, his hips clashing against hers in a relentless motion. He groaned, his body moving supernaturally fast, his grip on her hips almost bruising on her sensitive skin. 

His mouth attacked her neck, finding her sweet spot, the one that seemingly made her go feral. He sucked and bit that one spot like a madman, being on the mission to elicit as many sounds from her as he could.

“Fuck…baby, youre gonna kill me.” he mumbled into her neck. He felt he was nearing his climax and he needed to make sure she was there with him. He redoubled his efforts, his body moving against hers in a rhythm that was both brutal and beautiful. “You are squeezing me so fuckin’ tight. Shit, I can feel your pretty little cunt trying to push me out.” he said and delivered a brutal thrust to the hilt, burying himself inside for a moment. “Fuuuuck.”he said as he stopped to feel her convulsing pussy. He could feel she was close too. 

His voice, his words and the way his twitching cock was balls deep inside of her made her go feral. “Soldier Boy, I…please… I need to–” his fingers stopped their ministrations on her nipples and found their way to her sensitive bundle of nerves.

“What do you need, honey? Do you want to come? Do you want to soak this big, fat cock, huh?” he asked as he began to move again slowly, his gaze locked at hers in the mirror. Fuck, she looked even more phenomenal than at the grand hall. Her neatly made beehive now a bit more messy, her red lips were a bit smudged, her eyes hazy…Truly a sight to behold. When she didn't answer, he delivered a harsh slap onto her clit. “I asked you a question. Do you want to soak my dick, baby?” he asked and buried himself to the hilt once more, his own climax nearing the edge, too.

“Fu–Yes! Please, let me come on your cock, please, make me squirt all over you… please…” she urged, looking at his reflection.

Her words made her already aching shaft twitch deep inside of her, and with a throaty rumble he set a ruthless pace. His cock was laced with her wetness, the sight making Ben go ferocious. “I’m gonna come into this tight little pussy. I’m gonna pump my load into you. Fuck, come with me, baby, soak my dick.”

Their breath hitched almost at the same time. His fingers were still working their wonders around her clit. Her pussy almost pushed him out when she came, her cum gushing over his shaft. While he made sure to ride her orgasm out, she felt him spilling his seed deep into her hole, dribbling out from her down to his balls. His slowled his pace, but the strength didn’t cease, making sure he fucked his white hot cum back inside of her. 

Once they both came down their highs, they found their eyes going back at their reflection. His satisfied grin, her spent expression, their mingled, joint bodies… Besides being absolutely filthy, there was something more behind that scenery…

After catching their breaths, Ben slipped out of her, quickly pulling her panties back to their place to hold up his cum. He saw her panties being soaked with his climax, which elicited a moan from him. “Now that’s a sight, darling.”

She just laughed breathlessly and rolled her skirt back down, putting her tit back into the confinement of that dress. “That was… just what I needed. Thank you.”

(Y/N) glanced at her reflection in the mirror, cheeks flushed, her breath still unsteady from the intensity of what had just happened. She watched as Soldier Boy straightened up and casually began putting his suit back on. There was something about his calmness, his complete lack of urgency, that made her heart race all over again. He caught her eye in the mirror and flashed that mischievous smirk she was starting to find dangerously attractive.

“M’just happy to help the artist out,” Ben shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face. His voice was playful, but his gaze was laced with something deeper, something that made her pulse quicken. As he fastened the last strap of his vest, he turned to her, an eyebrow raised in challenge. “Don’t you… wanna get out of here? For real?”

(Y/N) bit her lip, torn between the temptation of escape and the nagging responsibility of the exhibition. The thought of ditching this pretentious gathering for something—anything, really—more genuine was almost irresistible. But despite her wild child tendencies, she was still aware of her responsibilities. “Ben, I still have this exhibition,” she said, her voice softening. “I can’t just leave. Greg would have a heart attack if I walked out right now.”

Ben chuckled, stepping closer until he was just inches away. “And you care about that?” he asked, his tone low and teasing, but with a seriousness beneath it. “You really wanna stick around, playing nice with assholes who wouldn’t know real art if it smacked them in the face?”

She hesitated, knowing he was right. Everything about this night felt wrong, but she still felt trapped by the expectations that came with it. “It’s not that simple,” she murmured, almost to herself. “This is my career.”

He reached out, gently tipping her chin up so she had to look at him. “You’re not one of them, you know that,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You don’t belong here, with these people who only care about what you can do for them. You deserve more than that. Plus, you’ve already got that deal with Vought. Why would you care about any other guests?”

His words hit her harder than she expected. He wasn’t just trying to lure her away for some fun; he was calling out what she had been trying to ignore all night. She sighed, feeling the weight of the evening press down on her again. “But where would we even go?” she asked, though the resistance in her voice was fading.

“Anywhere you want,” Ben replied, his eyes lighting up with the possibility. “Somewhere where you can breathe, where you don’t have to pretend.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You said you wanted fun tonight. Let’s go find it.”

She looked at him, really considering his offer this time. The idea of leaving it all behind, even just for a night, was more tempting than ever. She knew it was reckless, maybe even career suicide, but there was a part of her that didn’t care anymore. Not tonight. Tonight, she wanted to feel alive.

Slowly, she nodded. “Alright,” she said, her voice stronger now. “Let’s get out of here.”

Ben’s smirk widened, satisfied. “Atta girl,” he murmured, taking her hand in his. He pulled her toward the door, and as they slipped out of the restroom, a thrill shot through her. She was leaving behind everything that had been weighing her down all night, walking away from the people and the pretence, and into something unknown but undeniably exciting.

As they made their way through the back halls of the museum, she felt a strange sense of freedom. The further they got from the exhibition, the lighter she felt, like she was shedding a skin she’d outgrown long ago. She didn’t know where Ben was taking her, but for the first time in a long time, she didn’t care. She was done pretending.

And as for Soldier Boy... maybe coming to this exhibition wasn't such a bad idea after all.

═════════ 𖤐🤍𖤐 ═════════

Thanks for reading. <3

[terresdebrume]

"I won't let them touch you" for your dead boy detective agency boys

Thanks for the prompt friend! :D Sorry it took so long, I was at work and then I got plagued with The Insecurities

This fits the possessive side of things slightly better than the dramatic one? Idk. I feel like I've failed to comply with the rules, even though I like the snippet x)

Anyway, thanks again, and if anyone else wants to send a prompt the list is right there

The sun beats down on the town square, bright enough to hide the outside world behind a veil of golden light and turn cousin Katherine's dress into a blinding beacon of virginal purity. Whatever one thinks of the concept, Edwin admits to himself, there is no denying that summer weddings occasionally provide such vivid image as to at least explain how it may have come to be. Nevertheless, he stays away. Of his three cousins, Katherine is the one he always felt the most kinship for, and he would not have missed this ceremony for the world, and yet--Edwin's knuckles brush together, gloveless skin shot through with electricity at the realization, and Edwin jolts his hands apart again. He tries to shove them into his pockets, only to pull them out once more when he remembers not to break the lines of his navy suit. Trying to settle them at his side proves no more fruitfull: the pose feels unnatural and constrictive, as if his hands were pulling against some kind of invisible tie.

"Here," Charles says, stepping between Edwin and the aisle, the lean line of him neatly obscuring the sight of Edwin's hands. "Have at it for a minute, yeah?"

It takes a moment for Edwin to understand, and when he does hit throat immediately constricts with emotion. They have never truly talked about this quirk of Edwin's. Not in the way they perhaps should have, at any rate. It is largely Edwin's fault: for all that he has learned to pursue his interests more openly and unashamedly, there are some areas of his life he has yet to dare confront. Cut and dry is all well and good, but even he can be made to appreciate the value of ambiguity. And so: they haven't talked about it. The way Edwin's fists knead against one another without thought whenever he feels tense, the way he rarely wears less than three layers of clothing if he can help it. The way busy weeks at work make him come home impatient to shed them, the very contact of cloth against his skin so intense as to feel like pain. The way loud noises make him want to stick a pencil in his ears, sometimes.

They haven't talked about it, but Charles took note anyway, and never once expected Edwin to change. Edwin, almost overcome with gratitude, lets out a long, quiet sigh of relief, and leans forward until his forehead can rest against the back of Charles' neck.

"It's no use, you know," he sighs, murmuring to ensure his voice won't be carried out to where his paternal grandmother is slowly walking towards the door. "The minute they see--"

He does not stop himself from pressing his fists together this time. Doesn't try to ignore the tightness of his shoulder, or the beating of his heart--and because he doesn't try to pretend they aren't here, they grow smaller. More manageable, in a way, than they ever were when he was alone. Without quite meaning to, Edwin smiles down at the back of Charles' suit, red in a sea of greys and blues. Here, hidden behind Charles, Edwin knows no one will try to pull his hands apart.

"You don't worry about them," Charles says, quiet but firm. "I won't let them touch you."

Charles once slapped Edwin's father's hands in the middle of dinner at the Ritz, all for the crime of trying to stop Edwin from mashing his fists together. Edwin belives his latest proclamation immediately, and without reservation. Still:

"You cannot fight my entire family," he says, just for the pleasure of hearing Charles put on his cocky voice and retort:

"Just you watch. First one to look a little too close gets whooped on their bum."

Edwin, despite himself, finds himself chuckling, straightening up until he can look at Charles properly. The light from outside lines the edge of his cheek in golden light the hoop in his ear as bright as a halo. He is a flame in the darkness of the church, bright and warm as a fire in the hearth. Edwin, born and raised in the icy cold of a winter lake, can never get enough.

"Surely," he says, "you don't meant Granny Gladys."

"Especially Granny Gladys," Charles retorts. "I'm not gonna turn my back and let her get me with her rollator."

Edwin, with some difficulty, bites down on a burst of laughter. In front of him, Charles turns his head just far enough to flash a wicked grin, sharp and shameless in a way that makes Edwin's stomach expand into the warmest of feelings. Charles must see something in his face then, because he turns serious, hands coming up to frame Edwin's face as he looks into his eyes and says:

"I'm serious you know. If your father tries to slap your hands again, I really will send him down on his arse."

"I believe you", Edwin says, insides turning embarrassingly gooey at the fierceness of Charles' tone.

"Good," Charles says, still frowning in intensity. "There's nothing wrong with you. There's nothing wrong with your hands. I know I haven't been where I should have been--"

"Charles," Edwin interrupts, heart picking up speed with the alacrity of a racing car, "you don't--"

"No, listen to me," Charles insists, hands pulling gently at the sides of Edwin's face until their foreheads touch, "no more hand slaps. No more eye contact. I couldn't be with you these past seven years, and I'm sorry--but I'm here, now, and I don't care what anyone in your family says, as far as I'm concerned, unless you want to, you don't have to look anyone in the eye ever again."

Edwin stares, half feeling like he is about to liquefy. He feels so, so warm here in the coolness of that church, warm like the sun in spring after a long winter. Warm like a nice sweater on a winter evening. Warm like Charles' smile, like the way he only ever takes Edwin's hand in his with love, like the way the only thing he ever did with Edwin's fist was wrap his hands around them like a shield. Edwin stares, and swallows hard, and catches Charles into a crushing hug before he can do something absolutely daft like kiss him right here, where all his family could see.