#are you forcing them to have conversations they would otherwise be unable to have

[grandline-fics]

Single Red Rose with Shanks please~ 🌹

DESCRIPTION: Single Red Rose- When your date goes wrong, they come to your rescue

WARNINGS: none come to mind

CHARACTERS: Shanks

WORDS: 1,434

A/N: Thank you @littlemissmav for this valentines request. I had a lot of fun with this one and I hope it's to your liking! 🌹

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

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The bar was as uncharacteristically lively for it still being relatively early in the afternoon but this is what happened when the Red Haired Pirates came back for their visits. Their presence never failed to bring a fresh surge of life to the otherwise calm and peaceful island. The best food and drink were always brought out the second their ship appeared on the horizon in swift preparation for when Shanks and the crew disembarked from the Red Force and began their usual route through the city, gathering their loyal fanbase of civilians eager to hear the newest stories of the crews’ exploits and adventures and those begging to go with them when they’d eventually leave again. As always regardless of what the flurry of questions thrown his way was, Shanks merely laughed and told them. “Have a little patience. We’ll eat and drink first and then we’ll talk.”

“What? Please tell me you’re joking!” Your voice cut through Shanks’ attention on the group he was sitting with in the tavern. Mostly because even though you hadn’t yelled your tone was a definite shift from the air of festivity. His attention was also caught because he had noticed you from time to time when he stopped by the island. With his tankard of ale poised at his mouth, Shanks glanced over his shoulder to see you stood in the corner of the room staring at your friend with wide eyes. “You set me up with someone I don’t even know? Are you crazy?!”

“What?” You friend asked with a small shrug, unbothered. “He’s cute in a certain kind of way.”

“So you go out with him then!” You hissed and Shanks held back a chuckle. 

“It wasn’t me he wanted to ask out, not that it matters. It’s a double date, so I’ll be there too if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Th-that doesn’t matter. What possessed you say yes on my behalf and without even talking to me about it first?” You asked, unable to wrap your head around what was thrown at you. You thought you were having a night out with your friend, now you were facing the reality that a date you hadn’t agreed to was on their way. 

“There wasn’t much time. Besides every time I try to set you up with someone you back out. I think this’ll be fun, you need to put yourself out there again.” Your friend assured you with a smile. “Come on, it’s almost time to meet them. You’ll be thanking me tomorrow for this, I just know it.”

“I highly doubt that.” You grumbled, being pulled from the tavern to the meeting spot. You were still not happy that your friend had yet to apologise for all but forcing you into this with no warning. You were so wrapped up your forced date that you failed to notice you’d gotten Shanks’ attention the whole time, his keen gaze following you as you left the tavern against your will. With you gone, Shanks effortless reentered the conversation currently happening at the table like nothing had happened but his curiosity was definitely piqued.

For the next hour he remained at the bar, enjoying the awed stares as the stories were shared and drinks continued to flow. Still though Shanks couldn’t stop thinking about your unhappy expression as you were dragged from the bar. It was so unlike you because anytime he did spot you in his visits here you were always smiling so sweetly. It didn’t sit right with him that you were clearly uncomfortable but who knew? Perhaps the date was actually working out well as your friend had predicted it would. Knowing he couldn’t properly enjoy himself until he had his answer, Shanks got to his feet and lightly clapped Benn on the shoulder. “Going for a change of scenery. Might be back in a bit.”

Used to his Captain’s random whims, Benn merely nodded and waved him off. He’d either see Shanks back here, back on the ship or randomly the next day at some stage depending on what kind of mischief he managed to come across on his solo wandering. Shanks didn’t know exactly where you’d gone for your date but he'd been to the island enough times to know the key spots couples tended to go to-especially for first dates- and headed for those first. The first couple places got him nowhere but the third place he spotted you immediately. Your friend and her date were all but draped over each other while you were the complete opposite to your date. You sat angled in your seat, trying to create space between you and him while he was oblivious and attempting to convince you to come closer.

“Promise I won’t bite, don’t be shy and come closer.”

“I’m happy where I am thanks.” Oh this was painful to watch and Shanks’ eyes narrowed slightly when he saw your date gearing up to press again for you to move closer to him. Immediately he approached, throwing his arm out wide and calling out to you. “Baby, there you are!” You and the others in the building looked his way and when you saw the Emperor’s stare on you, you choked on your drink. No. There was no way he was talking to you and yet here he was, not looking anywhere else but your face. “I was looking everywhere for you. I know I was a little late but that’s no reason to go out with someone else to make me jealous.”

You could only part your lips and try to remember how to speak but nothing coherent was coming to you. All you could really register firmly in your mind was Shanks was in front of you. Your shock only grew when he fell to his knees in front of your seat and took your hand into his. “Please give me another chance. Just say the word and I’ll sweep you off your feet all over again.”  

Shanks gave you a wink that your date couldn’t see, wordlessly telling you to play along. At the prospect of cutting the date short your brain began to function again and you let out a small laugh. “Sweep me off my feet, huh?” You repeated, feeling your nerves settle when Shanks’ strong fingers lightly squeezed yours in reassurance. Feeling stronger you cleared your throat and tried to look convincing enough that the others wouldn’t see through the lie. “I suppose giving you a second chance is the least I could do seeing as you tracked me down.”

Grinning Shanks was on his feet in seconds and in a swift but smooth motion had you lifted onto your feet and effortlessly guiding you outside. “Seriously thank you for that, you’re a life saver.”

“Life saver?” Shanks grinned as you let out a calming breath, leaning against a random building he’d stopped beside. “He that bad?”

“Apart from the backhanded compliments, blatantly eyeing up others, and ordering more drinks before I was finished my first one yeah he was swell.” You sighed. You had a feeling your friend only dragged you along on the date because hers asked if she knew anyone for his friend and it had nothing to do with getting you to ‘put yourself out there.’ Still Shanks didn't need to hear any of that, he’d done his part so you smiled at him once more and moved to walk again. “Thanks again.”

“Woah, where do you think you’re going?” Shanks asked, falling into step beside you but remaining a gentleman by not touching you. Last thing he wanted was to take you from one uncomfortable situation and put you in another. “I promised to sweep you off your feet, remember. That's if you want to?”

“You were serious?” You asked in surprised, looking to see he his expression showed no deception. There was no denying he was a very handsome man and it wasn’t everyday you got an offer of a date with someone like him. “Okay, I did promise you a second chance after all. Sweep away.” Grinning Shanks stepped a little closer and took your hand to lead you somewhere different, glancing at you when you laughed softly. “When you got on your knees back there and pretended to beg for me to take you back I thought you were going to propose.”

“I guess it did look like that.” Shanks agreed with a laugh before offering you a playful smile. “But before we move on to marriage we’ll eat and drink first…then we’ll talk.” 

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TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya , @48daisies , @rosemary-lungs , @sagyunaro , @artemis162534 , @thecraftywriter

[antirepurp]

the unfortunate state of sonic cartoons where everything from the 90s looks Like That and even if one of them has a supposedly interesting premise the aesthetic repels me, sonic x has chris and a pacing that iirc was the main reason i ended up dropping it, boom exists to be funny and while it accomplishes that goal and is an enjoyable watch it isn't terribly compelling beyond that and fun aesthetics, and prime is multiverse slop that i would not be able to digest even if i tried to. like you'd think they could do more with a furry guy who oozes the dictionary definition of cool and yet

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Touch-Starved (canon)

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otherwise known as; the part where The Puppetmaster finds out he has THE FEELINGS(™, patent pending) for the Combat Harlequin. lmfao

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"Almost..." His hand trembled at the last piece required. He carefully slotted the optics in place, and twisted the eye multiple times to stick it in place. Within moments, he steps back, and Bubble flared up alive again, checking out his new, updated vision. “Wow! I can see more colors now!” The Blimp spun in place.

“Those new eyes should allow you to broadcast anything you see to me, if I so wished.” He explains, pulling out a small, thin black screen from one of the the desk’s many compartment. He switches it on, and Bubble’s eyes suddenly have a tiny red dot blinking in the middle of it.

So far, so good. The device was working as intended and he could see the top of his dentures from Bubble’s perspective, making Caine grin proudly.

“You may proceed to do your chores once more, the upgrades are done.” He sends the blimp to his merry way, and Bubble only nods before turning away to make his way out of the office. He leans back with a content sigh and closed eyes, satisfied with the work done for the day.

At that very moment, Pomni also opens the door.

She looked… disheveled, to say the least.

“Oh hey Pomni!” The butler blimp greeted with his usual reply. The Harlequin only sent him a look of acknowledgement, knowing that it’s useless to try to spark up a conversation, as Bubble was already making his way out.

Caine blinked once, and then he blinked twice just to make sure he’s seeing things right.

Was she always this… dazzling? Literally? He could see sparkles forming everywhere.

She flipped her hair in a messy attempt to get rid of the strands currently stuck to the skin of her nape. Her trademark golden ponytail missing, most likely a B.O.S.S.’s doing. She made her way to Caine’s desk and he swears he could feel his heart beat faster and faster with each step she took. The Harlequin’s trademark squinted brows with half-lidded eyes meeting his own wide stare, a gaze that would typically make any person with a still-functioning sanity cower in fear.

She took a seat on his desk with her legs crossed and her back turned against him and leaning on her right arm, as she usually did.

“Here’s the die you asked for. Took me a bit, but still got the job done.” She checked her left arm for damages after she placed the multi-colored puppet heart in front of him, while she flashed her teeth with a victorious, smug smile. His words are caught in his throat and her entirety shines too brightly for him. He couldn’t understand it.

Why… did she seem like a flame, and he felt like an unsuspecting moth, drawn to her light?

He shook his head clear and forced his stare away from her direction, clearing his throat while clutching the die. “I-I see, thank you, Pomni. You-you’ve done… a… wonderful…” Her hand grasped his own and his heart leapt at his own throat. Her synthetic, calloused fingers felt so rough, yet so gentle against his own gloved ones that he considered taking them off.

“...j-job.” His breath hitched as he struggled to finish the end of his sentence, unable to tear his attention away from her eyes. He found himself gawking at her intense, golden eye matched with blue and red pinwheel ones.

“Aren't you forgetting something, Puppetmaster?” Her expression questioning, yet with a slight and subtle undertone of mischief glinted at her optics. 

He couldn’t speak. He struggled to form coherent words. It felt like he was being strangled by an unknown force clutching at his neck, yet there was clearly no malice behind it. 

“Wh… What am I forgetting…?” He asked in such a feeble tone that made her chuckle in such a low rumbling tone, snaring his full attention.

“Well, I think that I deserve a reward for my services. Don’t you think?” She stands up. Warm hands suddenly felt so cold and empty, and already he missed the warmth present just about a second ago. The Harlequin made her way towards him as he spun his chair to meet her halfway. Hand at her hips as she towered over his sitting form. He’s all of a sudden clutching at the armrest so intensely.

“Y-yes, of course! H-how could I forget!” He nervously chuckles, he would pull on his collar right about now. “What is it you wish to be rewarded with?”

He offers her his best smile, and she giggles as she shakes her head. Without any warning, she took a seat on his lap, and he went frozen. As if making one single move would shatter the very fabric of the universe. She leaned her head to his shoulder, fiddling with the collar of his shirt then her fingers trailed onto the underside of his chin to make him look at her. He shivered from the contact.

“You.”

He trembled as his face warmed up to uncontrollable degrees, and produced visible heat waves. Not even his self-installed coolants were helping him tone down the sudden rise in his body temperature in the slightest. He couldn’t control his shakes, making the Harlequin smirk, knowing that she had the Puppetmaster all wrapped around her finger.

He didn’t know what came over him, because now his own hands were making their way onto her thighs to pull her closer to him entirely, the other shakingly placing itself onto her shoulders and he could feel the way she sighs contentedly against his touch. He exhales a shaky breath himself, attempting to steel himself.

“M-my dear, a-are you positive that… that is what you’d like?”

It was better to be safe than sorry. She sits up straight, and for the first time, he regrets ever asking that question in the first place.

“Actually…” Her voice trails off playfully, while she stands up. “... Maybe I’d like something more.”

It only took her a finger underneath his chin to pull him as she leads him to a nearby wall. As if his own body had a mind of it’s own, he pins her in place with both arms adjacent to her head. His face leans in closer and closer to her with eyes closed, and she’s leaning up close to him, fully ready to accept his advances.

Pomni’s soft lips met his teeth, and Caine could smell the faint traces of grass and sweat rolling down from her synthetic skin, evident of her hardships from the recent battle. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his loops around her waist to pull her closer, while the other cups at her face intensely. He savored her mouth as their breathing became heavy and fast-paced, only breaking apart for a mere second, gasping for air before delving back in to their desires.

Desire…

Quite the accurate depiction of how Caine truly felt for the Harlequin at this moment. He couldn’t quite decipher when this had started, though.

As if her intentions were to pry him away from his overbearing and unnecessary thoughts, Pomni pushed him away to pin him to the wall this time, continuing the liplock. He grunts from the impact, but gladly returns her enthusiasm with fervor as he loops his arm around her back, pulling her flush to him once more. Her hands made their way to the lower sides of his jaw to caress so gently, and he finds himself melting at every contact their touches made.

Without breaking the teeth-on-lip-lock, he steered their bodies onto the direction of his desk, leaving the Harlequin laying on it as he loomed over her, ravaging her mouth once more like the touch-starved man he was. He adjusted her thighs just enough to make room for him without making the position uncomfortable for the both of them, their heated make out session felt like it could go on forever as he gripped her waist tightly.

It felt like if he let her go, she would disappear all of a sudden. And he didn’t want that.

He made sure to not lean too much of his body weight onto her by propping himself up with his elbows, both hands find themselves cupping her face to keep her in place as her hands trailed all the way up from the lower arms to his shoulders to do the same to him. He broke the kiss to gasp for air, a string of saliva being the clear proof of their heated action, but quickly delved back into the riveting sensations of their activity. 

Her touch against him were like magic; every contact sent shivers and jolts down his spine as she switched from holding his shoulders to holding his chest just above where a collarbone would traditionally be, pushing him away to let herself up. For a nanosecond he thought that maybe he went a little too far with his advances, until she disproved his theory by shoving him to one of the nearby long couches, only a pillow to cushion and soften his landing onto the furniture.

Quickly making up for lost time and contact, she quickly crawls to straddle his waist, clutching the back of his head to make him look at her, and her only. His hand found itself gripping at the back of her waist tightly once more, the other clutching her own head just to make sure she’s still there with him. Both were panting heavily, the room temperature very much heated as a result of their affairs.

His eyes looked at her longingly as he breathed heavily. “Pomni… I… I don’t think I want this to end.”

She flashed him a consoling smile.

The alarm rings, deafening the surroundings as he jolts awake, falling from his chair comically with a loud, slightly high-pitched scream emitting from his throat. He groans from the headache he had received from the impact to the ground, clutching at the top sides of his jaw, as he leans his head onto the desk for support.

His false heart was beating faster than when one would run; His face was flushed and he frustratingly ignores the heat from the rest of his body with a grumble.

He shifts his eyes to look around. Nothing’s changed. Everything was the same since Bubble left to do his daily chores.

He shakes his head and slams his face down onto the elegant desk, groaning depressingly and half-sobbing.

What the fuck? Was… WAS IT ALL JUST A DAMN DREAM!?

Oh, he could scream and cry into a pillow right about now. But the panicked angry screaming of a certain someone being bothered by the recent addition; the Ragdoll Mannequin that was “Ragatha”, suddenly grabs his attention. Now, he’s looking outside into the manor grounds from his office’s windows with a tired and questioning gaze.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

“But Mistress! You still haven’t tried out my trademark cookie recipe!! It’s GUARANTEED to be your instant favorite!”

“STOP CALLING ME MISTRESS! FOR THE LAST TIME, I DON’T CARE, GET THE FUCK AWAY-”

Caine sighed disappointingly to himself, dragging his hand across his eyes.

God fucking dammit. He actually feels something for her.

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I would say I'm sorry, but we all know I'm not. :)

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You know, all I want is to spend some time with Nikto on his off-days and have him read Dostoyevski to me, if you don't want to make this like a single fic you can maybe incorporate it into "ravishing allure" some time later 🥹

"…and there can be no love otherwise."

PAIRINGS: Nikto x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: If anyone could make the bad days better, it was Nikto.

WORDCOUNT: 2.3k

WARNINGS: Stress from work/life, lack of sleep, mostly fluff, comfort, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There were times you wondered if putting up with your job was really worth it. Sure, you needed the money to pay rent, food, and bills, among a laundry list of others that just seemed to never end, but was the cost of your sleep the metaphorical soul you had to hand over? 

Every day you came home tired to your little apartment—neighbors loud and the light in the bathroom flickering because the electrician had never shown up to fix it. Tired, but unable to fall asleep until everything else was done. So, you’d make dinner, clean, shower, sit down to mindlessly watch a show on TV for half an hour, and then stumble into bed. 

Only to stay awake and stare at the ceiling. 

You can’t say why you do it, thinking over the things you did wrong and the awkward conversations you have with coworkers; you shouldn’t care about it—really, you shouldn't. Yet you can’t stop your brain from slipping like a slide to every instance, every millisecond where you felt the air of the interaction change. Side-eyes and confused looks. 

And then at six o’clock, you’d drag yourself out of bed with bags on your face and a drained expression to do it all over again. 

“Hi, how can I help you today?” 

“Oh, of course, we have some in the back—I’ll go grab it for you.”

“Thank you! You have a good day now, Sir. Come back soon.”

It just felt fake. Greet, help, take money, wave and smile, repeat, repeat, repeat. But maybe today would be slightly different, by the second pair of shoes that were placed in your apartment entry as you slowly opened the front door. 

Boots—black and set an equal distance apart with a cleaned surface despite the places they’d been and what they’d probably stepped through. They were neatly situated under the small bench you had for convenience, and you blink at them as you softly shut the door and lock it. A large, and matching in color, jacket was folded and placed atop the flat surface—keys sitting in an indent. 

Nikto, ever the neat and tidy one. He must be back then. 

While the two of you didn’t live together, the bear of a man had made a habit of coming over when he returned from deployments with KorTac—you’d given him a key the second year you’d been together. 

Your ears faintly twitch to the sound of cooking, nose moving just a second later to the scent of something on the stove. Clinking pans and silent footsteps. He knew you were here, sure as anything. Weakly sighing, you shift out of your jacket and shoes; tossing them in the general direction of the bench as you rub at your eyes and drop your purse to the floor with a slap of canvas. 

How do you explain looking like shit? 

Shuffling into the kitchen, you undo some of the buttons on your blouse to let yourself breathe, dress pants running along the carpet as your feet pad like a hound’s slapping paws. Vision blurry and eyelids threatening to close on you, you find the tall man in front of the stove, moving something in a pan with sizzling oils with the wide flex of his shoulders.

On another burner, there’s a large pot of simmering water—the counter has already been cleaned up of flour and mess, a tidy pile of dirty items sitting in the sink to be washed. You stare for a second before you grumble a hello, forcing your body to sag into his back as you walk over and slap your forehead into his spine. 

Nikto grunts lowly in response and continues what he’s doing. 

While it wasn’t rare to find him in the kitchen—in fact, you prefer it when he cooks—but usually when he got back you opted to order supper. He always insisted, gruffly, that he wasn’t tired, but you just wanted him to relax.

It was fun to baby him. 

“Didn’t know you were going to be back today,” you whisper into him, arms hanging by your sides. 

“We were released early,” his voice is deep and harsh—a bark of his Russian accent and rasp. Every word is thought out and said with purpose. “Conflict in schedule.”

You hum lowly, and it’s immediately after that Nikto stiffens, back going straighter. It’s the fact that you don’t even notice that you’ve completely screwed up your own routine that tips him off; how your change in pace had made him initially suspicious as he’d heard you enter the apartment. 

You hadn't commented on his eyes. Hadn’t tried to get him to turn around to see them. 

There was a running gag that Nikto tolerated—you’d grab him carefully by the chin and tilt his blank eyes to you in all of their icy glory. Sparks of glass and chilled storms inlay near the pupils. You’d stare, smile, and then say, “Yup, he’s still in there.” 

Even if you couldn’t see it under his balaclava, Nikto’s lips would part and he’d study your face for a minute in silence, before lightly bonking his forehead to yours. A strange and unique kiss that only he could perfect in his intimidating way. 

You hadn’t even attempted that. 

Nikto puts down the fork he was using to push around the fried potatoes and mushrooms; Pelmeni still simmering in the pot for another five minutes. The cut-up dill and melted butter on the counter are pushed from his mind with a purpose in his veins.

“What is wrong with you?” Nikto turns and you stifle a fatigued snort as you look up at him. It wasn’t his fault, of course. English isn’t his first language, and you found his broken, or sometimes bare-bones blunt, sentences to be endearing.

“Such a way with words, hm?” You can’t help but tease, and you can see the annoyed furrow of his brown brows, nose huffing a breath. “Just tired, Nikto.” Your words make his gaze slide along the very visible bags and the red veins of your eyes. 

He mutters something in Russian under his breath, lids narrowing on you as he grasps your shoulders and moves you back so he can look you up and down slowly in a near clinical breakdown of atoms. As if he can peel back clothes and splay nerves to light. 

“You look horrible…Sickly.” You can see the brain working as your lips go into a line to stay off your loud laugh. “Like dead woman walking.”

He was so much better with actions than words, this beast of wide shoulders and shifting thighs that could crush your bones to dust in an instant. You liked that about him—you never had to guess when he was being genuine or not.

“Work’s been rough,” you chuckle lowly, sliding on a fake smile that doesn’t fool him for a second. “Nothing I can’t…figure out, okay? Thanks for making supper, I love when you cook.”

Nikto’s eyes soften just a smidge, his hands holding your flesh just the littlest bit tighter. His expansive chest rises and falls in a heavy sigh, the bulk of his stomach and pecs visible under the tucked black t-shirt and his spare cargo pants.

Without a word, you’re being lifted with little more than a huff of, “моя нежная девочка… keep awake.”

You squeak as you’re settled onto his shoulder, hanging off like a sack of grain as his arm wraps over the top of your tailbone—large other hand on your thigh and fingers firmly grasping your skin. 

“Nikto—!”

“Hush,” he grunts, a bark of a chuckle wafting out as your hand playfully hits his back with a pathetic slap. The man raises a brow, smirking under his face covering. “What do you expect to do with that, girl?” 

“To let you know,” you poke at his spine and he shifts your farther down his shoulder in retaliation as you scramble and grasp at his shirt; giggling as your head sways to his steps. “That I won't go quietly!” 

“Good to know,” he grumbles. “I would want nothing less, eh?” 

His hands make sure that you don’t fall, even if you were to start wiggling or slipping.

You go limp and let him carry you into the living room, face burning with appreciation as your limbs let themselves rest. Nikto slings you back over his shoulder and drops you to the couch as you laugh, head purposely hitting the pillow as your chest rises and falls with breaths. 

The man stares down at you as you chuckle in gasps, always one to stare at any chance he gets. His arms crossed at his chest, feet apart, and shadow slipping over you from the overhead light. You gaze up silently, a smile on your lips, and quizzically raise to your brow.

“Stay,” is what he says to you, icy vision sliding down your body with a hum of approval. He sends a teasing slap to your thigh before striding back into the kitchen, narrowly missing your leg kicking out at his arse. 

Nikto scoffs at your attempt and disappears.

Normally you’d run at him and jump on his back, hanging off like an animal, but being as fatigued as you are, you call a mumbled curse at his name and curl sideways. Your face nuzzles into the pillow, smiling lightly before you let your eyes momentarily close.

You must have taken a quick nap because it seemed not even a second later that you were being shaken awake by a hand on your arm; spreading up to run over your cheek as your lashes flutter. “Милая.” You sigh, vision blurry and your head pounding. A strong scent hits your nose and you perk—rubbing at your eyes and face. “Eat.”

A plate of fried potatoes with mushrooms and another bowl of Pelmeni are on the coffee table, and the former is shoved into your face by a strong hand, the small dumplings topped with melted butter and dill. 

“Pelmeni,” Nikto states in a monotone, blinking at you as if you don’t know his own culture’s food by now. He made them often enough, which was why you liked him so much—food was truly the way to your love.

You’d taken up baking some of Nikto’s favorite desserts once, had failed horribly, and left most of the kitchen work to him—but the funny thing was that whenever you did bake, the man still always cleaned his plate. You’d never seen him turn down your food, even when you could see his eyes scrunch with restrained aversion.

“Да,” he would grunt out, “good.” It was so strained you always laughed so hard your lungs hurt after. On the off-hand, Nikto’s skills in the kitchen were enough to get you to sell your car for just another bite. 

Sitting up, you carefully take the bowl and look up at him, smiling deeply. 

“Thank you, Nik.” The man hums and turns his head away, still unused to outright affection even two years in. “Nikto~” you draw out his name, tilting your head to the side and trying to catch his gaze again. 

“Silence, woman,” he growls with no real heat, huffing before carefully placing his forehead to yours again as you expected him to. You giggle and stare into his eyes smugly. 

You knew what he was waiting for. Your blood runs hot, face going into a picture of care. His blues blink at you as snowflakes mingle with mist; a mix of cold and desolate landscapes that offer no reprieve from harm besides the small glint of fire they gain when they lock with yours. 

“Yup,” you whisper, and Nikto’s shoulders loosen as he presses more deeply into your skin. “He’s still in there.” 

He stares intensely, and the faintest of twitches under his balaclava tell you all you need to know. 

Nikto makes sure you eat your fill and when you’re done he takes the dishes and washes them while you shower and get into pajamas. Sluggish, but warmed by a full stomach and your boyfriend’s care. You come out to find he’s already reclining on the couch, book in hand as the other bends behind his neck. Lights were low and the heat turned up. Nikto opens his side to you and your body snuggles next to him—it had taken a long time to earn his trust like this; to be near him and to freely give affection.

It would be longer still until you saw his face, but you can live with that. There was no rush, and you knew it was a large soft spot even if he’d never shared the details as to why.

You sigh deeply and Nikto grunts, moving his arm behind your back and keeping you to his chest as he reads. 

This is a common sight from him, and he begins reading to you in his mother tongue from the works of Fyodor Dostoevsky, the grit and gravel of his voice sliding into words and sensations as you practically feel it coming from his chest and throat. Your head situates itself under his chin, feeling his free hand playing with your hair until you go brain-dead except to the way he feels and sounds. Harsh words had never been more gentle.

Halfway through he switches to English, his sentences now more slow and thought out and your lashes flutter; breath soft as you take in his scent of oakmoss and amber. His heart beats steady and true. 

“‘To love is to suffer,’” he reads, fingers rubbing circles into your clothes and letting you sleep as the day grows faster into a cold night. He glances down with easy eyes, gripping you just a bit closer as your body entirely goes limp in his embrace. “‘...And there can be no love otherwise.’” 

He silences himself and watches for a moment before he closes the book, dropping it silently to the coffee table and staring past you at the ceiling. The man feels your warmth bleed into his scarred and damaged skin and whispers something akin to vindication.

Nikto listens to your steady breathing and holds you. Steady. Noiseless. 

He grunts to himself and only presses you closer.

TAGS:

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[animeyanderelover]

I'm almost through with the second season of Vampire Diaries and whilst I would love to write something for Klaus already, I still know too little about him. Since I love rocky poly!relationships I decided to instead dip my toes into a little image with the Salvatore brothers when they find out that they both love the same darling.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, threats, g/n reader

Imagine this...

The rustling of paper cut through the thick silence hanging in the room, the unspoken tension crackling like fireworks about to go off. Blue eyes flew over the pages filled with elegantly written words, narrowing when he stumbled over a line or nickname so romantic that Damon felt the need heave. His hands tightened around the elegantly bound book, his jaw clenching as he felt a familiar feeling bubbling up within his chest. His gaze slowly darted over to the other pile of books placed right next to him, all filled with the same content that he knew would have him ripping apart everything within a frenzied rage if he were to continue reading.

Unable to read on and feed that growing burn within his dead heart, Damon slammed the book shut with more force than needed. Putting it away, his body leaned back against the couch. His eyes closed for a few seconds as he tried to stuff the uneasy feelings within his chest away. He could not do this otherwise. Footsteps circled around the couch he was sitting on, slow and apprehensive, before they paused right in front of him.

"Damon."

As soon as the older brother opened his eyes, he was met with the guarded expression of Stefan. Arms crossed over his chest, the younger brother observed him with a gleam of caution. That in itself was nothing new, Stefan had rarely welcomed him exactly with open arms since both of them had been turned into vampires. Still, perhaps Damon would have liked a more warm-hearted greeting. Especially since both brothers apparently had a new... should he call it passion, to bond over.

"Brother!" Damon exclaimed, his tone worringly enthusiastic as he stood up from the couch, a smirk on his face as he walked closer to his younger brother.

"Perfect timing! I was waiting for you. There is something that I really, really wanted to talk with you about."

Green eyes pointed a fleeting look at all the notebooks scattered across the couch before they met the blue eyes of Damon. Already Stefan could tell that this wouldn'e be an easy conversation. Not with someone like Damon.

"You know, whilst I was waiting for you, I found this," one of his hands grasped one of the notebooks laying around on the couch, “And I just couldn’t help myself but take a look inside. To see what could possibly be on my dear brother’s mind.”

His fingers flew across the pages in a quick tempo, his blue eyes still able to take in words and sentences. Stefan took one step closer to him, worried that any second now Damon would rip it apart. He knew his older brother after all. That chipper tone he used coupled with that foreboding gleam within his eyes never meant something good.

“Why you never tried your luck in poetry is above me, you know? I mean, the stuff that you have written down here is enough to make any poet envious. Joseph von Eichendorff and Friedrich Schiller would have been green with jealousy if they would have read this.”

Abruptly the notebook was taken out of his hand, Stefan’s fingers smoothing over the crinkled paper that had just been about to be ripped by Damon. He didn’t think it was a conscious decision, more a slip of strength from his brother’s side but it was that unpredictable impulsiveness that made him so wary of Damon.

“They’re not the ones green with jealousy right now,” Stefan replied after a few seconds, more bite to his voice than he had intended. The notebook was clutched protectively to his chest yet he stood straight, his gaze cautious yet firm as both brothers glared at the other. Damon tilted his head slightly as he inspected Stefan, his blue eyes revealing condescending surprise as he took in his younger brother’s words.

“Come on. Loosen up, Stefan,” Now it was Damon who started circling around Stefan with long and slow strides, his blue eyes ablaze with unspoken feelings, “You don’t have to be so uptight. I’m your brother after all.”

Stefan followed every movement of his brother sharply, the tendons in his muscles taut with tension as if he was expecting a sudden assault at any moment. At the mocking words of Damon he could only release a deep breath through his nostrils.

“I know that you’re my brother. That’s exactly why I’m worried.”

A wry smirk crossed Damon’s face as he was confronted with Stefan’s serious expression. “Now you’re just breaking your older brother’s heart.”

“Damon…” Stefan began, his voice hesitant as he searched his brain for the right words, “Please don’t turn this into your personal vendetta against me by dragging (y/n) into this.”

Within less than the blink of an eye Damon stood right in front of him, intense blue eyes clashing with Stefan’s green orbs. For one short second Stefan could see the way Damon clenched his jaw, the emotions of betrayal and hurt flaring up. Within the next moment his older brother hid it all behind that mocking smirk though, shaky as it was.

“And why would I do that, Stefan? Go on, enlighten me.”

There was a hiss to that tone, the bitterness seeping through no matter how hard Damon was trying not to show it. This situation was too much of a Déjà-vu for him to remain nonchalant and Stefan knew this. He searched for something within Damon’s eyes, anything to stop this conflict from escalating.

“I don’t want us to be like this,” he confessed, refusing to weaken his tone so that it would sound like he was begging. Damon would only sink his fangs into his words if he were to plea after all.

“Really?” Damon taunted, his eyebrows arching up in false shock, “I don’t believe that.”

His index finger started jamming forcefully against Stefan’s notebook, the pressure strong enough so that the younger brother could feel it.

“Because based on what you wrote in here I’m pretty sure that this,” his other finger pointed back and forth between him and Stefan, “is exactly what you want us to be like.”

The shadow hovering over Stefan’s face disappeared as Damon pulled away, stepping away without removing his piercing gaze from his younger brother.

“And if that is how you want it to be, then I am more than prepared to play this game. Little warning for you though, I don’t plan on playing nice.”

Two pairs of hands yanked him forward, fingers curling into fists and gripping his jacket in a tight grip.

“If you want to be angry, be angry with me! But don’t drag them into this only to mess with me!”

The growling warning of his brother elicited a scoff of disbelief out of Damon, one corner of his mouth lifting up as he leaned his face closer to that of his younger brother.

“Being angry doesn’t suit you, Stefan. Did you forget? You’re supposed to be the good brother between the two of us.”

“Knock! It! Off!” Stefan hissed, each single word punctured by the way he shook Damon. Part of him knew that he shouldn’t get so worked up because this was exactly what Damon wanted. However, he couldn’t help it. Not when it involved you.

“Or what?” Damon growled challengingly, his own hands grasping the collar of Stefan’s shirt, “What is Prince Charming going to do if I act like I always have been?”

A brief flicker of something. Perhaps it was desperation. Perhaps it was regret. Perhaps it was something entirely else. Whatever it was, it was gone too quickly for Damon to decipher it. Instead he watched as Stefan’s expression hardened, dark veins appearing beneath his eyes as the next snarl of his lips revealed sharp fangs.

“Then I’ll make sure that you won’t get to even touch them! I won’t let you have your way with them, Damon!”

The same dark veins that had already appeared on Stefan’s face now blossomed on Damon’s, a snarl of his own tearing through his throat.

“Oh, I’d like to see you try that, little brother.”

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror...........Part I

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length in a later part)

Summary: Macrinus has plans, layers of plans on plans on plans. He brings Letha out of her cage and shows her what Rome truly is, hopeful she can help him topple an empire. What he can't plan for is the way her resolve buckles at the sight of a certain Emperor.

Warnings: None for this one.

Word Count: 2.4k

Part 1 of 15

Series Masterlist

A/N: Hi, hello, Geta had me in a chokehold as soon as he uttered "Persia" with so much sass. This diverges from the movie quite a bit, I just wanted things to turn out differently, I'm sure you can relate if you're here reading this... well. I may mention other GII characters, but most of this revolves around Geta, Caracalla, Macrinus, and our Letha. I'm hopeful that someone else can enjoy this self-indulgent and horribly historically inaccurate mess.

The din of the party echoed to a degree that was overwhelming. Ever since Letha was stolen away from her home she had never known peace and quiet. There was always something. Even when in her cell late at night, there was the squeaking of rats, hushed conversation from a few cages over, the antsy pacing and panting of hunting dogs. But that was nothing compared to the revelry unfolding before her eyes. Debauchery that would make Bacchus weep a tear of pride. 

A lavish spread of delicacies from all over was laid out across long tables, the smell causing her stomach to growl uncomfortably. Wine was being poured anywhere she looked. Her throat felt dry. Men and women walked confidently through the partygoers, barely dressed, painted up, beautiful. They knew who to approach. Who to talk to. This party was like a well-oiled machine, though it’s purpose was unknown to her. Perhaps just because they could.

Letha moved her wrists, grimacing. The chained cuffs clasped around them were much too tight. It was a punishment, one Viggo saw to after she got one of her arms free the night before. She had to be pulled off by Viggo and two others after reaching out and slamming a man against the bars of her cage for commenting crudely on her possible usefulness to him.

“Behave,” Viggo frowned. He unlocked the cuffs and gathered the chains up, as if to get rid of the evidence that she was little more than a prisoner. Before she could consider taking an overindulgent senator as hostage, Macrinus strode into the foyer. He was constantly adjusting and fiddling with his bountiful robes, unwilling to let them drag on the ground as if they were precious to him. They were. He kept a watchful eye on everyone and everything. 

He played at a man out of his depth, certainly with no aspirations of his own. But really, he was the most cunning man she’d ever encountered, his sights set on a far larger prize than wealth or status. But not in public. Today, Macrinus was a humble citizen of Rome who knew his place and enjoyed the games enough to make a living out of them.

Viggo departed as Macrinus approached. The elaborate necklaces and other jewelry Macrinus wore clinked together as he reached up to her shoulders, wordlessly righting the maroon dress she’d been forced to wear. She felt like she was in costume, much like him, though he was much more at home in the gilded luxury than he let on. 

“Remember, nothing happens today,” he instructed, reminding her of his plans. 

“I remember,” she spoke, unable to mask the disdain in her voice. 

He allowed himself a small grin at her obstinate nature as he watched her carefully. “Forget being my bodyguard,” he winked, “Today, you are my consort. Play at being Hyacinthia for an evening. Wait on me. Observe.”

“Oh, I have been,” she muttered, looking around at the smiling, relaxed faces. These people were indulgent to excess. They had never experienced the horrors of their conquering horde beyond these walls. They cheered for blood but wouldn’t draw it themselves unless it was for their own political advancement. Even then, it was usually done from the shadows or by another’s hand, their only involvement being the exchange of gold. They bathed in the violence, the games they held serving as some religious rite. Imagine thinking the gods truly cared about the result of their fixed matches. 

Cowards, she thought.

I don’t want you to think, Macrinus would say, a conspiratorial smile on his face.

He had moved on from her, currently chatting up the hosting senator, Thraex. She dutifully followed after him, lingering behind, waiting to be called upon, observing. There was always a plan, even when it didn’t seem like it. Some hidden motive to advance Macrinus closer to the ear of the Emperor. Well, Emperors. 

Letha had seen the smaller of the two twins pass by earlier, a whole group of waiting concubines following after him, hopeful to be allowed to sit at his side, gilded in gold and little else. It was easy to see who wielded any amount of influence. Follow the flitting of pretty women and even prettier men, see whose arms they clung to, who they laughed with. She didn’t think she could do the tough job of flattering these despicable people. How they did it, motives misguided or not, she had no clue. 

“Ah, she is new, Macrinus,” Thraex greeted, not addressing Letha directly. He wasn’t particularly lecherous, but he was very clearly hinting at the very thing she was just ruminating over. It filled her with revulsion. She suddenly felt for Hyacinthia if this is what she was subjected to regularly.

“Oh, yes, this is Letha,” Macrinus explained, his hand pressing into the small of her back, drawing her in closer to his side. Keeping up appearances. “This is her first party,” he grinned. She only barely resisted the urge to shudder at the implication, though she knew Macrinus’s suggestion was hollow. They had already discussed her participation. A staunch no. She was relieved when he accepted it.

“Oh, well, surely we will find time later to… connect?” Thraex spoke, his words falling out as both a question and a request, his eyes flitting over to her before focusing back on Macrinus. The very idea of it made her want to retch, to embarrass herself in front of him so he would leave her alone.

A sharp pinch at her side made her jump and she quickly coached her expression. 

“She’s still so new, Thraex, I’m not sure she would be up for it, but believe me, I will find you if she still has life left in her,” Macrinus winked, earning a loud chuckle and clasping of shoulders from the pasty senator. Even though Macrinus was lying, it still left her feeling ill.

“You fit right in here, Macrinus,” Thraex praised. “I heard you were perhaps…” he shot a glance at Letha, as if maybe she shouldn’t be present for the conversation, but Macrinus readjusted his grip on her side, sending the message that she would be staying. “Well, there’s talk that you are interested in standing for election to the senate?”

Macrinus laughed, swatting at Thraex’s arm. “I barely understand an abacus, I have no aspirations of the senate.” Thraex doesn’t seem totally convinced, but before he can dig up any other pointed questions disguised as friendly banter, Macrinus initiates a pivotal part of his plan. The real reason for his being here today. “I’ve heard it’s custom for your guests to make wagers at these affairs… might we…?”

Thraex seems reluctant, but forges ahead anyway. “How large a sum did you have in mind?”

“Oh, perhaps… a thousand gold denarii?” Macrinus played at being unskilled far too well.

“Two,” Thraex interjected, hooked immediately.

“Is it truly so simple?” Macrinus smiles, releasing Letha to shake Thraex’s hand. 

Letha saw the wheels turning. This man was a gambler, unable to turn down a bet. Unable to resist escalating it, thinking the windfall was just around the corner. What Macrinus would do with this senator’s money, she didn’t know yet. 

“Come, let me introduce you,” Thraex insisted, leading Macrinus further into the manse, the nonexistent gold already buoying his spirits. Letha followed behind, doing her best not to get lost in the dense crowd.

There was an open area in the middle of the largest room they’d passed through yet, a gulf between the Emperors and anyone else. Thraex and Macrinus stepped into that gulf, bowing and greeting the two twin Emperors of Rome. She stayed just far back enough to not be noticed, blending in with the gathered throng. She finally set her eyes on them. The men ultimately responsible for the misery brought on her family. The real reason she had been brought to Rome in the first place. She felt the burning of Mars himself in her muscles as she fought to remain still, to resist charging over and throttling the two men. Her swift death would surely follow but it felt almost worth it.

The raised dais along the back wall contained a long plush couch. The copper-haired man she’d seen in passing earlier lounged comfortably on the right half of it, his thick red and gold robes burying his slight form. The lion’s share of the senator’s concubines laid out around him, some on the floor in front, others kneeling behind, all awaiting an opportunity to be called upon, perhaps wishing they could be whisked away from here and taken to the palace. A small monkey sat on the shoulder of a boy, its chirps echoing off the vaulted ceiling. From what Macrinus had told her, she assumed this was Caracalla. Smaller, almost child-like in comparison, he had a youthful, soft face with piercing blue eyes that seemed a bit troubled. 

Letha had a hard time rationalizing his appearance with the harrowing violence unleashed at his order. Macrinus called him bloodthirsty. His attention seemed scattered, bright eyes moving over the room, chasing the loudest of the sounds and conversation. He didn’t speak much to Macrinus and Thraex, leaving formality to his brother. He might’ve been too impaired to reliably converse. Occasionally his flighty glances slid into an almost blissful smile as something amused him. His entirely-too-comfortable position didn’t seem to bother his brother in the slightest, though they couldn’t have appeared more different from each other.

His brother. Geta. The more dangerous of the twins. Less prone to deadly outbursts, more reasonable, collected. His wavy hair was more maintained than his brother’s. Though identical in color, that seemed to be the only feature they shared. The way he was dressed contrasted with his brother, the gilded laurel crown he wore made of silver as opposed to gold. It brought out his pale skin and made his eyes seem darker, almost black. He wore dark reddish paint in a fine line around his large, inquisitive eyes. There were many rings on his fingers, deep earthen toned stones embedded in each one. He wore silver and black robes in opposition to his brother’s warmer tones. 

Letha was left with one uncomfortable thought as her eyes rose from the elaborate robes covering his shoulders, travelling up the expanse of his neck to pause on his jaw. He was beautiful. The reality of it settled like a stone in her gut.

As she continued her appraisal, noting the shape of his soft, pink lips as he offered the two men before him a warm smile, she wondered if she was making a grave mistake. She couldn’t do this. To have confessed her desire to strike the Emperors from history to Macrinus was the worst thing she’d done up to now. The weight of Macrinus’s hopes and dreams for himself was almost heavier than her own personal loss. The idea of that hurt too. Surely she would fail at this, just like she’d failed at protecting her family.

No. This is your purpose. What other reason is there to keep living?

As if he heard her thinking about him too loudly, his eyes darted over to her, sending her reeling. His gaze could cut through marble all on its own. She very nearly fell back into those standing behind her. It took her far longer than she would’ve liked to recover, finally averting her eyes from Emperor Geta. Macrinus had instructed her to observe, but she was confident this wasn’t what he had in mind. Thankfully, if her staring had irked the Emperor, he did not mention it.

“Yes, thank you, your majesties,” Macrinus smiled, bowing low again. He moved to take his place beside Geta and Letha followed, offering up a miniscule bow in her haste to move back out of sight.

From behind Macrinus she watched the woman perched on the arm of the couch beside Geta. Her smile was radiant as Geta’s ringed fingers gripped her hand, keeping her touch close. Her clothing was more of a suggestion than anything substantial, and Letha couldn’t blame the emperor for picking her out specifically. She was lovely.

“Do not lose control of your fury now, Letha,” Macrinus warned quietly, mistaking her affected state for an itch to spill their blood. She felt like her own thoughts had turned traitorous. “We are just getting started.” 

If he knew what dark secrets she was burying down deep, she was sure he would’ve handed her back to Viggo to be locked up indefinitely, never to be thought of again. She felt pathetic, weak-willed. The purpose guiding her through the worst period of her life, her revenge, the tether of it was just beginning to fray now that she was confronted with her quarry. For all Geta’s beauty, he was still a monster. They both were. She held firm to that, repeating it in her head like a mantra. She willed it to ring true. She would repeat it until it did.

Viggo walked into the room, leading one of Macrinus’s gladiators into the open space before the emperors. Another larger man was led in bearing chains as well, probably Thraex’s competitor. 

Letha could detect a heightened sense of anticipation spread out into the room as the two men were unchained, much like she had been earlier. She could feel the itch at her wrists and resisted touching the tender skin so as to not draw attention to it.

“This is your gladiator, Macrinus?” Geta questioned softly, leaning over the lap of the woman at his side to look up at Macrinus.

“Yes, your majesty,” Macrinus answered, focused on another of his many plots and plans. So focused, that he didn’t see Geta’s eyes flit over to Letha. She felt a jolt, a bolt of lightning travelling down her spine, struck down from Jupiter himself. Geta’s lips parted as if to speak, but the shout of his brother made him turn back around. Letha let out a breath and a revelation came with it. 

The difficulty of her task no longer lied in overpowering either of the two emperors, or slipping past guards. It lay in the heat slowly churning within her at the sight of Geta. A weakness, one she didn’t know she had until he was in front of her, looking at her like that. 

[ Part II ]

[longhardtransitionreturns]

Author's note: This is a fictional story about a graphic medical birth in which the pregnant woman is presumed to be in a vegetative state but feels every moment of her agonizing birth.

Tara Strahan, then 22, was seven months pregnant with her first child when she and her husband, Brian, were involved in a horrific car crash during a winter storm. Brian died at the scene; Tara was rushed to the hospital where doctors eventually declared her to be in a ‘vegetative state’ as a result of massive head injuries.

Two days later, Tara regained consciousness but quickly realized she couldn’t move or speak. 

“When I woke up, I immediately wanted to know if the baby and my husband were ok. Then I realized I had a tube down my throat, and I couldn’t move at all, even a finger.” 

Tara had become the victim of a rare condition called ‘locked-in syndrome,’ meaning she had full cognitive and physical awareness, but complete paralysis off all voluntary muscles. She was able to feel pain and understand conversations, but unable to let anyone know of her plight. 

“I realized pretty quickly something horrible had happened to Brian. Otherwise, he would have been there. Instead, it was just an endless parade of doctors, and all of them had already given up on me. All the conversations were about how long they needed to keep the baby inside me, and how they would get it out.” 

Tara’s doctors eventually concluded that the risks of anesthesia were too high to perform a c-section. Instead, they decided to induce her labor, and allow her to deliver the baby naturally. 

Tara, who’d told friends that her greatest fear about giving birth was the pain she’d feel before the epidural took effect, had almost two months with nothing to do but think about labor and delivery with no drugs, unable to move or scream or even regulate her own breathing.

“I was scared to death. It was pretty much all I could think about, and hearing people talking about it all the time made it even worse. There were a group of interns, every day during rounds, who’d joke about whether the labor pains would bring me out of my coma. But the worst was when one asked the head obstetrician if I’d be able to push. He said no, not in the usual way, but the force of the contractions would expel the baby from my body. I kept replaying that sentence in my head, wondering how long it would take.”

Because she was unable to tell doctors if she was having contractions, she was monitored closely throughout the rest of her pregnancy. She knew there wasn’t a set date for her to be induced; instead, the procedure would be performed when she started showing effacement or dilation. 

“There was this one nurse who’d talk to me while she cleaned me. She said, ‘today we’re going to induce your labor and you’re going to have your baby, but you’re so lucky, you won’t feel a thing.’ I wanted to scream so bad, let her know that, no, I was going to feel everything.” 

Three years later, Tara still has panic attacks when she remembers what happened that day. (Editor’s note: what follows is a graphic description of traumatic natural birth, and graphic medical procedures. Reader discretion is advised.) 

“There was an air of excitement, and there were about 15 obstetricians from around the country who’d come to watch. They’d given me muscle relaxants so they could spread my legs, because my muscles had started to atrophy. They strapped me into the stirrups right at the start, and my gown was pulled up to just under my boobs. I felt so exposed, but the crowd of people didn’t even shut up when my doctor reached up inside me and stripped my membranes. I remember thinking how humiliating this was gonna be, which I don’t think I’d considered before.” 

Doctors used pitocin to induce Tara’s labor. Unlike the slow build of natural labor, pitocin often induces strong contractions right away. 

“I could see the clock on the wall. About thirty minutes had passed between the shot of Pitocin and when I had the first contraction. It felt like a vice had been wrapped around my uterus. Had I been able to speak, I’d have been yelling from that very first one.” 

Tara endured ten hours of hard labor, with the contractions getting increasingly stronger. While she suffered, doctors and nurses made small talk about their weekend plans. As the labor went on, some started to complain about how long it was taking. 

“I was in agony. I’d never imagined anything could hurt that bad. I wanted to pant, like I’d seen in Lamaze videos, but the ventilator was controlling my breathing. I couldn’t move at all, and being strapped into the stirrups for my entire labor was torture. My hips hurt so bad, especially as the baby moved down farther and the pressure increased.

There was one doctor who kept talking about his dinner reservations. On and on about wishing I’d hurry up and pop it out. He actually walked over and tweaked my nipple, and made a joke about that speeding up labor. Not only did I feel violated, it set off a horrible contraction, like the worst one yet. I got no comfort, no words of support. I was going through the worst thing I’d ever experienced, and it was like no one even considered I could be suffering.”

As Tara went into transition -- the most difficult, painful part of labor -- she says she heard some of the female medical professionals in the room joking about how much pain she’d be in, if she weren’t in a coma.

“There was this machine, they could tell when I was having contractions. They’d started coming one right after another, lasting almost a minute. It felt like I was being stepped on by an elephant. My back hurt, my cunny and arse were starting to feel like they’d explode. One of the women in the room said, “Whew, we know she’s really in a coma, she’d be screaming her head off if she could feel this.” 

Tara was in transition for over an hour before she finally felt the overwhelming urge to push.

“It was the strangest sensation, I’m not ever sure I can describe it. I needed to push so bad, it physically hurt not to push. But I couldn’t. None of those muscles would obey my commands. And then it was like the doctor said, the contractions got even stronger to push the baby out. I could feel him moving down but it was so, so slow.”

Tara watched the clock on the wall for five hours as she endured the excruciating pain of her baby making its way down into her birth canal.

“I wanted to die. I thought it was never going to end. I was praying for a c-section. I knew they probably wouldn’t give me anything for the pain, but I figured I’d have a heart attack when they sliced into me and that would be better than the agony I was feeling.” 

Tara eventually started having chest pains, and the monitors on her and the baby started to alarm. 

“I remember my chest started hurting after the baby had been stuck just behind my entrance for about two hours. I was so hopeful that they’d finally noticed something was wrong with me, that I was dying in pain.”

In fact, the doctors still didn’t know Tara was in distress, but her baby’s vital signs indicated he was. 

“The air changed in the room. All the laughing and joking stopped. One guy started pressing his whole body weight down on my uterus while I was in the middle of a really bad contraction. It hurt so bad, I actually thought it ripped.

He did that for a while, and then I heard them call for the forceps. I was so afraid, my chest was aching, and my cunny was on fire. I just wanted it to be over. I couldn’t see anything over my big belly, so it was a complete surprise when they jammed the first one up there. It felt like the metal was cutting into my pelvic walls. By the time they got the second one in, I was having a horrible contraction, and it felt like my entire stomach had ruptured.

One of the things I remember so clearly was that they cut the episiotomies, on the top and near the bottom, while I was at the peak of a contraction. I was suffering so much, I don’t know why that stuck out to me, but I remember thinking, ‘those bastards just cut me during a contraction.’

Citing pending legal action, Tara’s doctors won’t confirm how long it took to pull the baby out. Tara says it was at least fifteen minutes.

“They kept tugging and tugging and it really felt like my insides were breaking. My cunny was a mess, and they were pulling so hard I kept getting slammed back down on the metal table.”

Tara suffered a separated pelvis in the attempt to get the head out; it’s the moment she calls the “worst pain anyone could ever suffer.” 

“I couldn’t really even think after my pelvis separated. It was all pain, and I didn’t think it would ever end. I know it took a while to get the shoulders out, because the doctor kept putting his hand inside me, trying to dislodge them.” 

Tara says she lay there, splayed and bleeding from her ravaged genitals, for forty minutes while they worked on the baby. She says she was worried for her child in an abstract way, but was hurting so bad she couldn’t focus on anything other than her gaping sex. 

Tara says she passed out when a doctor pulled her leg back to stick his hand inside her, jarring her broken pelvis in the process. She woke with a pelvic fixator, 40 stitches in her genitals, and absolutely no pain medication.

[vnti-vnxiety-recs]

Oo how about a yeosang x reader smut? He's an idol she's a fan but she has never met an idol before. So she gets nervous etc. And she's a hybrid so since she's nervous she goes into heat and he quickly takes her away from the crowd sensing her distress. After speaking with management takes her back to the hotel and asks Seonghwa what to do. So he tells him how to help her and get back to clear (creampie her) and so he does but he makes her squirt for the first time and he ends up asking to go again etc? Please

These asks were similar enough i combined them. This was my first crack at writing hybrid so hope its on brand.

Unprotected sex, creampie, mature, MDNI (lowkey I forgot what I wrote and I don't feel like proofreading sooooo WARNING WARNING)

Hybrid! Reader's first heat with Yeosang (M) ₊˚౨ৎ˚₊

Today was lively, filled with people bustling in and out of the shopping district. You had planned to run a few errands and pick up some clothes, especially since you had recently been paid—and shopping was your guilty pleasure. As you were window shopping, you caught a glimpse of him through the shop's glass pane: Yeosang from ATEEZ. You were so taken aback that you could hardly move. You had known they were on tour in your city, but the tickets had been out of your budget at the time, so you hadn’t been able to attend. It was shocking to unexpectedly encounter a member in such a casual setting; you would have thought they would be on the road by now.

You felt a wave of nervousness wash over you; you had never seen an idol in real life before. Yeosang was accompanied by what appeared to be his manager. As a huge ATEEZ fan and Yeosang bias, this was an incredible, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to speak with him. You knew you had to seize the moment.

The store was bustling with holiday shoppers, making it challenging to navigate through the crowded aisles. You carefully maneuvered your way in and out of people, your heart racing with every step. The closer you got to him, the more intense the feeling became. It wasn’t just nerves; something deeper stirred within you, but you pushed forward nonetheless.

“Excuse me,” you manage to say, your voice weak and shaky.

Yeosang, who was engrossed in a rack of clothes when you approached, turned to look at you. A small smile spread across his face. “Yes?” he replied.

“Are you Yeosang from ATEEZ?” you asked, wincing at your own question. Of course, he was; you wouldn’t have approached him otherwise.

He chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling, and nodded in confirmation. “Yes.”

“I’m a really big fan, and I just wanted to say hi and tell you how much I love your mus—” You suddenly feel lightheaded and clear your throat, forcing yourself to finish. “Music,” you manage to add weakly.

“Are you okay?” Yeosang asks, concern etching his features. His hands reach out to steady you, and it dawns on you that you’ve been swaying.

When he touches you, it's as if your skin ignites. A wave of tingling warmth rushes through you, leaving you unable to concentrate. The noise of the crowd swells around you, becoming almost deafening, and it feels like your ears are ringing. Your vision starts to blur, and suddenly there are two or three fuzzy images of Yeosang before you.

Then everything goes dark.

When you wake up, it feels like your body is ablaze. You writhe in discomfort, the heat radiating off you so intensely that you throw off the covers you hadn’t even noticed before. As you sit up with some difficulty, it dawns on you that you’re no longer in the bustling mall. The room around you resembles a hotel suite—tastefully decorated yet overwhelmingly unfamiliar.

You strain to hear, catching the faint sounds of muffled conversation coming from the bathroom.

“I couldn’t just leave her there!” Yeosang’s voice carries through the door, laced with urgency. After a brief moment of silence, he continues, “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. Seonghwa came and said she was a hybrid… He thinks she’s in heat.”

A heavy silence follows his words, and confusion swirls in your mind like a thick fog. You’ve heard whispers of hybrids before—beings that blend human and animal traits—but what could it mean for you? You’d always believed your parents were entirely human; could they have concealed something so significant from you?

An unsettling realization washes over you. What kind of hybrid could you possibly be? You think back to the odd things about yourself—things you’d always brushed off. Unusually keen senses, a strange affinity for certain animals, but nothing overtly visible. Usually, hybrids had telltale signs like tails, pointed ears, or even sharper teeth, all characteristics that would have required concealment.

But you don’t recall anything like that in your life. What was happening to you? As your mind races, you find yourself grappling with questions that feel far beyond your understanding. You try to calm your racing heart, focusing on the warmth you still feel radiating from your skin and the lingering memory of Yeosang’s touch. Would he have really brought you here? And why would he think you were in heat?

Just then, the bathroom door creaks open, and Yeosang steps out, his expression quickly shifting from concern to relief when he sees you awake. “You’re okay,” he says softly, as if trying to soothe both you and himself

Your eyes land on him, and it’s as if all your senses have been cranked up to a hundred. Every nuance, every detail about Yeosang is amplified, and your body feels strangely magnetized to him, an overwhelming urge to pounce surging through you.

“Ughhh,” you groan, curling in on yourself. You’re not writhing in pain anymore, but rather it feels like an instinctual restlessness coursing through your veins, one that’s unfamiliar yet potent.

His scent wafts toward you, a heady mix that sends your senses into overdrive. You find yourself clawing at the covers, desperately trying to keep yourself grounded. “What’s happening to me?” you ask through clenched teeth, the words escaping in a breathless whisper.

“I think you’re in heat,” he replies cautiously, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “I can help you, but you have to let me.”

His voice sends a shiver down your spine. “I don’t care,” you insist, your voice forceful despite the chaos inside you. “Do whatever you have to—just make this go away.”

He nods, but there’s a noticeable hesitation in his demeanor. “Okay, um… You’ll have to get undressed,” he says, his voice quiet and uncertain. “I can help relieve you, but… only if you’re okay with that.”

He glances away as he fidgets with his hands. “I don’t want to pressure you, but I really think it would help ease your discomfort.” There's an almost palpable tension in the room as he waits for your response, hoping you’ll trust him amidst the chaos swirling inside you.

You quickly shed your clothes, desperation driving your movements. Crawling to the edge of the bed on your knees, you looked up at him, your breath quickening. “Please… help me,” you panted, the weight of your need pressing heavily upon you. You were gradually losing your mind—literally. Every ounce of your being was screaming at you to devour him. You needed him to do something fast.

You see him take a deep breath before he sheds his own clothes. His touch is light as he guides you to lay on your back but the moment his hands touched your skin, you lost it. Your body reacts like a spring-loaded trap and your limbs cage him in. Your legs wrap around him and you pull him flush to your body. He lets out a groan, his already hard cock slipping through your impossibly wet folds. You were soaking.

“Fuck, should we go slow?” he asks with a shuddered breath.

“I can’t wait. I feel like I'm dying every second your not in me” You growl primal instincts screaming at you to let him breed you.

He leans back as far as you let him and slips a hand between your bodies to line himself up at your entrance. When he pushes into you, it's like nothing you've ever felt before. Yeosang must have felt like that too because his grip tightens and he's driving into you at a bruising pace and you're grateful because if he gave you anything less, you would have cried.

You still do cry, but these are tears of pure, unfiltered pleasure. It was like he was made for you, made to fill you up and fuck you over and over. He pulls away and your hands reach out to grab him but he's quicker than you; he presses you back down into the mattress with your legs pressed up against your chest before he's thrusting back into you. The room was filled with lewd noises, his throaty groans, your unabashed moans and the slick sounds of your core slapping against his balls.

“Im close” You whine.

“Me too,” Yeosang moans, not letting up for a second.

Soon he's spilling deep into you. The feeling of his warm seed filling you up pushes you over the edge and you're riding that wave with him.

He doesn't pull out right away, and you savor the feel of the way your bodies entertwine. Hes pulling out and you think hes about to get off of you but hes thrusting back into you with a new hunger.

“Ah! Yeosang,” you moan. You felt a lot better now but you weren't complaining as he continued to please you. You felt that familiar tug in your gut and you knew you were close again but this time felt different. You can feel your legs start to quake and then you were making a mess.

Yeosang tried to fuck you through it but the pressure of your release pushed him out. You squirt all over his thighs, surely ruining his sheets.

Your embarrassed but when you look up at him, he doesn't seem phased.

“Can we go again?”

[lonewolfwriting89]

GAMES WE PLAY

Vincent De Gramont “Marquis” x Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Smut.

A/N: Just a short little smutty drabble, saw John Wick 4 not long ago and yeah, I was suitably distracted. Anyways, another venture into another fandom! I hope you enjoy 😘 xoxo

————

Rejoining the conversation you stayed close to him, his arm around you as though you’d been that way all your lives. You waited until he was engrossed in conversation with a member of the High Table and then caught his eyes. Running your tongue over your lips, you smiled and his words faltered ever so slightly. Knowing you were having the effect you wanted you purposely ate slowly, eyes locked to Vincent’s. Soon his face was slightly flushed and he was clearing his throat. When you were sure you had his attention you drew the edge of your champagne glass down your throat letting it trail over your cleavage lightly before setting it down. His eyes followed the path of the glass with a predatory gaze and you excused yourself to the others.

Turning to whisper to him softly before standing you said huskily against his ear, “I want you inside me..now”.

Vincent sat upright in his chair and you laid a hand on his suit covered shoulder smiling softly as you stood and moved toward the corridor. You thought he would wait, give it a moment so it was less conspicuous and perhaps meet you there but before you could get through the door you felt his hand on the small of your back guiding you from the dining room firmly. No sooner had the door closed he turned, his body pinning you against them.

You smiled slowly in triumph and he arched a perfectly shaped brow. Gripping your wrist he turned and looked around almost desperately. You tried to suppress the laugh but it escaped and he growled tugging you down the hallway toward the first door he saw. You found yourself in a large butlers pantry, forced against the cool wall. His thigh pressed between yours lifted you onto your toes as his hands gripped your wrists pinning them to the wall. You could barely breath and the uncontrolled lust in his eyes was reflected in yours.

“You know I don’t like your little games chéri”.

You smirked, “Your actions say otherwise”.

Vincent took your mouth roughly. Desire like a demand as his tongue parted your lips fiercely. You met his need with your own, heated and urgent as your tongues explored and coaxed the flames higher between you both. Your hands went to his hair, curling into the blonde silken strands. Fingers gripping lightly as you felt him lift you off the floor swiftly. His hands moved up over your ass, drawing your skirt up around your waist to free your legs. He didn't take the time to remove the lacy thong, forcing it aside as you felt his long fingers bury themselves deep inside you for the second time that night.

Gasping you moaned, head falling back as his mouth moved lower over your throat, biting as he went, seizing your nipple through the silk. One arm wrapped around the small of your back like steel, the other hand working between your legs till yoi felt him shudder and moan unable to wait any longer. You reached down between you both, loosening his pants, drawing him free of them, your fingers encircling his thick shaft as you brought his other hand up to your mouth, sucking your taste from his fingers.

His eyes met yours and for a moment you heard his breath catch in his throat. Then he was inside you, no teasing no coaxing, one thrust buried to the hilt. You cried out in pleasure and wrapped your legs around his hips, arching your back to force him deeper. He laid his head in the crook of your neck and drove into you relentlessly, groaning as you tightened around him in response.

Your hips bucked wildly to meet his thrusts, hands moving down to his neck, aching to touch his skin but you were both too far gone. Lost in the sea of euphoric pleasure. Like a raging fire it consumed you both and you felt him surge inside you. He cupped your face bringing your eyes level with his and whispered gruffly, "Regarde moi".

Doing as Vincent commanded, you opened your eyes, trying to focus, your whole being alight and ready to flame. He met your eyes, holding your gaze and you saw his smile broaden as he watched you orgasm. You shuddered, tensing with a soft cry and felt him flood into you with a force that took your breath. Clinging and shuddering he held you so tightly you couldn't breathe properly. The room spiralled as you gave him your weight, still spasming around his cock tightly.

He set you on the floor supporting you with his body till your legs would hold you upright again. Leaning down he kissed you slowly, lingering as his hands smoothed your skirt back into place. Whispering against your temple his words brought you back from the warm tingly place you were dwelling.

“Don’t think that’s the end of it chéri”.

————

[farity]

Enemies

Pairing:  Aemond Targaryen x you

Summary:  Reader is Rhaenyra’s second child and her father is Laenor Velaryon (the only child they had together, the boys are still Harwin Strong’s)

Warning:  Future smut

“Final tribute,” Aemond said, striking his fist on the table.

You glanced at your mother, who seemed surprised, and at queen Alicent, who seemed worried.

“I would like to raise my glass to my niece,” he said, looking at you, and you nearly scowled at him.  Whatever he was playing at, you wanted to part of it.  Your mother motioned for you to smile, and you pretended to not have seen her.

“Her pureness of blood is a welcome highlight,” Aemond continued, and with all eyes on you, you raised your glass in front of your face, trying to cover the fact that you weren’t smiling at him.

“My nephews,” he added, “Jace, Luke, Joffrey, all of them wise, handsome,” you looked at the queen, who seemed to be terrified, and you realized what was about to happen, “strong.”

“Let’s raise our glasses to these three strong boys.”

What happened next was a blur, fists flying, bodies being pushed and shoved, but it was when he smiled that you finally snapped.  Grabbing your cup of wine, you walked through the chaos and threw the liquid at Aemond’s head as you headed to your chambers.

You felt a hand on your arm and turned to see your mother’s husband, Daemon, looking at you angrily.  “The last thing we need is you making things worse.”

“Because it’s going to well otherwise?” you snapped back, and saw the way his free hand twitched.  “Do it,” you said, “hit me, and I will murder you in your sleep.”

He let go of you and you went to the rooms you’d been given, empty cup still in your hand.  

You’d known, sooner or later, something like this would happen.  The rotting old king was far more gone in his head than the maesters thought if he, for one moment, imagined the families would all get along. Through the forced laughter and even more forced conversations of the evening there had been a simmering rage that sooner or later, had to boil over.  And Aemond Targaryen had been unable to resist the urge to burn it all down.  

You put your feet up by the hearth, scooted your butt to the edge of the chair, and closed your eyes, breathing slowly to put the evening behind you, and you had nearly dozed off when the door opened.

“Princess,” the maid said, “your mother wishes to see you.”

You sat up, and realized from how numb your ass was that a long time had passed.  An hour, two?  

You rubbed your eyes but followed the maid until you were led into a large room where your mother and queen Alicent stood on one side of a desk.  Daemon was walking out as you went in and as he passed you, he stopped to whisper in your ear.  “You won’t be around to murder me in my sleep.”

Ignoring him, you curtsied before the queen.  “Lady mother, I was told you wanted to see me.”

“Sit down child, we have much to discuss.”

“Where are my brothers?” you asked, realizing that you had passed by their rooms and had heard nothing, which was unusual for them.

“Jace is headed back to Dragonstone.  Luke is going to Driftmark, and Joffrey is sleeping.  He will go home with me tomorrow.”

You sat down, wondering why she hadn’t mentioned you going back to Dragonstone either with Jace or her and Joffrey.  

“Clearly something must be done, we have left this go for too long,” the queen said, “I have spoken to your mother and we have come to an agreement.”

“That involves me,” you said, starting to dread what was coming.  Why would you not be going back to Dragonstone?  Why would Daemon have said what he said?

The door opened behind you and you heard steps.

“Aemond,” the queen said, and your stomach dropped.

You looked at your mother, caught the regret in her eyes.  “No.”

“Child.”

“I refuse.”

Rhaenyra closed her eyes for a moment and you nearly felt badly for her.  But not quite.  “We all make sacrifices for the good of the realm.”

“Sacrifices?” you stood.  “What sacrifices have you made?”

“It is not a sacrifice to be wed to a prince of the realm,” the queen said, and you turned to her.

“Really, Your Grace?  Did you like being wed to someone you didn’t love and having child after child, knowing your entire worth was what you carried in your belly?”

Aemond stepped around to grab your arm.  “You will not speak to the queen in such a manner.”

You looked at him, at the pink stains in his hair and covered your mouth when a bark of laughter escaped you.  Aemond was furious. If looks could kill, you would be ashes by now.

You weren’t done, however, and turned back to your mother, “you know he admires Daemon, do you not?” you said, indicating Aemond.  “will you weep, mother, when you receive news of me being found dead with my head bashed in?  Was that Lady Rhea’s sacrifice for the good of the realm?”

Rhaenyra froze.  “You will be quiet,” she spat out.

“I will not be quiet,” you said, taking a step toward her.  “I have many things to say and I will say them.  Why does Ser Criston Cole hate you so?”

The room was deathly still, but you continued.

“Why did my father have to die?”  You felt tears begin to gather in your eyes, but you wouldn’t be stopped.  “Why am I paying for your father’s weakness and your own wantonness?”

Rhaenyra walked around the desk and slapped you.  It hurt your heart far more than your cheek, but you smiled bitterly.  “I will add the name of Lady Rhea Royce to my prayers, and take another off the list.”

There was no doubt in anyone’s mind whose name you meant.

* * * * * 

Aemond knew well what incandescent anger was, but had never seen it in another.  The rage, the bitterness, the knowledge that it was all unfair and yet no one would do anything to change things.  He saw it all in her.  And he knew she, too, could burn down the world with her anger.

He had heard about Daemon’s first wife, of course, but he had always thought that Ser Criston’s devotion to his mother was because she pardoned him after some melee at a wedding.  It turned out there was more.

He had enjoyed the bit where she nearly called her own mother a whore.  Everyone knew that.  But to see Rhaenyra confronted so openly by her own daughter had been a treat.  

So he stood facing his red-eyed bride, who stared at his boots the whole time and mumbled the words.  He didn’t even try to kiss her at the end, and when he started to walk down the steps, she stayed up there, still staring at the floor.  When Rhaenyra tried to grab her arm to guide her down, she pulled away, and never looked at her mother.

“She will come around, you know that.”  He heard Daemon whisper to Rhaenyra.

“I am not so sure,” she’d replied, watching her daughter walk away.  

Queen Alicent grabbed Rhaenyra’s hands.  “We will take good care of her,” she said, and his half-sister immediately looked at him.  He stared back, saying nothing.  “Maybe in a few weeks you can visit,” his mother was saying.

“Maybe my wife will have learned some manners by then,” he spat at Rhaenyra, wanting her to hurt.  He turned before she could say anything and headed to his chambers.

He saw two maids leaving hurriedly, eyes wide, and went in to find his new wife ripping off her dress, quite literally.  She’d torn off one sleeve, sending tiny beads flying everywhere, and now stood in her shift, bundling up her dress.  When she saw him, she narrowed her eyes at him but then continued.

“This behavior will end.”

She pulled off the jeweled circlet she had worn to the hasty wedding and threw it, along with the dress, into the fire.  Her feet were small and bare as she stood watching the whole thing burn.

“You are being ridiculous.”

Ignoring him, she walked back to where the beads were scattered and began picking them up.  Aemond didn’t mean to look, but kneeling as she was, he could clearly see her breasts against the thin fabric of the shift.  

He reached down and pulled her up.  “We have servants for that.”

She tried to pull away and when he didn’t let go, closed her hands into fists.

“You’re going to hit me with those little things?” he smirked at her.

“Let me go, this is not your business.”

“I am your husband, everything about you is my business.”

She looked at him, her face a mixture of anger and confusion.  “You don’t want this any more than I do, why did you not protest?”

Aemond, still holding on to her, tilted his head as if she was an idiot.  “Because, you stupid girl, one wife is the same as any other.”

“Your father would beg to differ.  If he could, I mean,” she said defiantly, and he knew, he knew very well she was trying to goad him into being angry.  But all his anger was gone after the evening’s little entertainment, and she could goad all she wanted and he would not take the bait.  “Is it true he calls your mother by his first wife’s name?”

Maybe he was wrong, Aemond thought, maybe she could enrage him after all.

“You will stop your talking.”

“If my mother didn’t stop my talking even though I have respect for her, do you really think you can?”

He had been wrong.  She could definitely enrage him.

But he had no real anger and on impulse, he pressed his mouth to hers.  For a few seconds, Aemond felt her go still, and then she began kissing him back.  When he let go of her arms she wrapped one hand around his hair and the other began pulling up his tunic, freeing it from the breeches he wore.

He pulled back and she yanked on his hair to bring his mouth back to hers, then wrapped her arms around him when he lifted her off the ground.  Placing her on the edge of the bed, he frantically began undoing the laces on his breeches while she pulled her shift up to her waist.

“No,” he said, “take it off.”

“You, too,” she said, pointedly looking at his eyepatch.

He pulled it off, throwing it on the bed, while she removed her shift and then began lifting the tunic he wore.  

Aemond shoved his breeches down and off his feet, then spread her knees apart.  He wanted to ask her, wanted to make sure, even though she was a vile girl who hated him and everyone and everything, but she was running her hands up his chest, her small fingers tracing every muscle and scar, and he couldn’t wait any longer.  He began pushing into her, felt her thighs tighten around his hips. 

“More, more,” she demanded, and he thrust, hard.  She gasped and her nails sank into his shoulders.  

She’d been pure and innocent, he thought over and over as he filled her, as he felt the beginnings of  release.  He wrapped his arms around her, felt her breasts bouncing with every thrust, and he groaned, unable to stop the orgasm from tearing through him.  

Long moments later he realized her face was buried against his chest and she was saying something, so he pulled back.

“I couldn’t breathe,” she said, her face flushed, her eyes watery.  “I hope you don’t mean to murder me by smothering me.”

Aemond pulled out of her, gathered his clothes.  “I’m considering it,” he said as he went to the bathing chamber.

“There is still pink in your hair,” he heard her say as he slammed the door shut.

* * * * * 

@arryn-nyx​   @  girlwith-thepearlearring    @greenowlfactif  @hydrationqueensworld    @megzdoodle   @melsunshine  @queenofshinigamis     @throughgoeshamilton   @travelingmypassion    @watercolorskyy

Aemond fics only

@hb8301   @kaemond-zafiro    @arcielee

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟖 (𝟐/𝟑)   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   EARLY OCTOBER 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

→ 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍 The performance lineup was long, mixing dilettante regulars with real, true artists. Renzo hadn’t told her in advance what he planned to do; she knew he would be accompanying Fluke at some point, but his turns at the front were rare and unpredictable. Tonight, he used his voice, one that Leonor found impressive if not astonishing, to serenade the room. That was the illusion, anyway. He held her gaze the entire time, which was enough to convey intent. The songs announced were all covers—music from her aunt’s milieu, or quite possibly her discography. While Leonor didn’t recognize the song and rapidly became unable to hear the lyrics as words with a meaning, the unmistakable mood gripped her. It wasn’t a caress so much as a stroke, a fondle, a pinch. It made her skin crawl in the best way.

❧ "venus in furs" won the poll but "time of the season" ended up fitting better (and also the clapping in this performance was compelling dsfsjg) ... anyway, i am SO pleased with this post specifically

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

The performance lineup was long, mixing dilettante regulars with real, true artists. Renzo hadn’t told her in advance what he planned to do; she knew he would be accompanying Fluke at some point, but his turns at the front were rare and unpredictable. Tonight, he used his voice, one that Leonor found impressive if not astonishing, to serenade the room. That was the illusion, anyway. He held her gaze the entire time, which was enough to convey intent. The songs announced were all covers—music from her aunt’s milieu, or quite possibly her discography. While Leonor didn’t recognize the song and rapidly became unable to hear the lyrics as words with a meaning, the unmistakable mood gripped her. It wasn’t a caress so much as a stroke, a fondle, a pinch. It made her skin crawl in the best way.

The Den possessed an unexpected number of quiet backrooms beyond the bustle of its main space. People who were just passing through experienced the stage, the bar, the shadowy corners that ringed them both. Friends got to see the enviable wine cellar and the room where the gambling happened; although less exciting, they might also see the liquor storage or the disorganized mess that barely warranted the title of “office.” Leonor had probably jiggled most of the doorknobs before she went onto the roof. Of course, Renzo’s favorite backroom wasn’t in the basement with the others. It was the small section cordoned off from the main space, drenched in red lighting, with a sectional on which he could sprawl. It was where Leonor had first met him, and it was where they tended to retreat as any given night progressed. Tonight had been no exception. It was a place to fully crawl out of her skin, and the knotted satin of her costume, and the nervous confines of her mind. 

With delusional buoyancy setting it, an urgent question had bubbled up unbidden. It force itself out like a hiccup. Renzo caught it, if with surprise, rolling along with her as she wondered aloud. ‘Do you love me?’ A terrible question, this one. Had she not already felt so much, had she not been overflowing with shapeless and blooming euphoria, she would have felt ashamed. He didn’t recoil. Against her fingers, he answered, ‘I love ... the idea of you.’ She didn’t recoil from the honesty either. It wasn’t a wave; it was a rainfall that soaked, heavy, gentle, to the bone. She followed up with the same earnestness, ‘Do I love you?’ He swirled his tongue around her thumb as he considered it. Then, ‘You love who you think I am.’ Did she? ‘Really?’ ‘Really.’ It was settled. She did. Otherwise, it had to be a fleeting concern, one sinking beneath the surface again, that couldn’t really matter.

TRANSCRIPT:

[Music, overlapping conversation, laughter]

RENZO | Come on, don’t be shy. Look, all of this—live plants, the murals, fucking real rabbits to play with—all courtesy of Nora. She’s been busy employing artisans and patronizing florists and shit. Did you know she came up with the theme, too? Can’t forget that. Because she loves this place. She loves all of us. My moon goddess.

[Music, conversation, laughter continues]

[Crowd cheering]

[Music, crowd singing along]

[Discordant, playful strumming]

[Music begins, Renzo singing]

[Rhythmic clapping]

No, no, too much! No? Yes! Fuck. It’s fine. Yeah? Too late now. Oh, baby—

[Laughter, echoing]

[Muffled music, Leonor sighs]

Do you love me? I love ... the idea of you. Do I love you? You love who you think I am. Really? Really.

Is that real? The rabbit? The fur? It’s so ... That’s a lot. Poor rabbits, huh? Yes, but ... It’s soft! Oh, it’s soft. You have to leave the, um, the—[laughs] The chaps? Yes! It’s so important. I love them. If you want. Please! I do.

[Urinating, sink running, door opening and closing]

?1 | —such a cute theme, though. Little bunnies? I look so good. ?2 | Yeah, but can you believe what she did? No one else is yellow. ?1 | Not surprised. Princess has to be the center of attention, duh.

?2 | It’s so weird. Because … why? ?1 | Why? What do you mean, why? ?2 | Why does he let her do that. It’s kind of unfair. ?1 | [Laughs] Jealous? ?2 | No. She has nothing to contribute! Money? Or, you know—

?2 | But, I would be so fucking bored if I were him. ?1 | I only talked to her once, and I’m still bored. [Snickers] ?2 | Blah, blah, my mom is dead, blah, blah, blah, I do government stuff. Where’s the camera, look at me, I’m a Reyes, blah, blah, blah. ?1 | [Laughs] So dumb! That’s it, though.

?1 | Maybe she’s just hot, in a cute way? She’s new. Doesn’t know how to do anything fun. A "yes" girl. Ooh. We’ve been there. ?2 | Yeah, I don’t get it, but, oh, well—Okay! [Smacks lips] Let’s go! [Footsteps, door opens and closes]

[Door closes]

[frotees-corner]

Blighted Treviso romance AU

Soooo I may have started a thing.

Because I told @nonrebloggingviewerswillbeshot that I would try to write this down. (Haven’t tried my hand at fanfic since I was 14, so be gentle with me 😅)

On how a Blighted Treviso romance could go down, if you changed some things.

First draft, highly unfinished, will put it up on AO3 when I’m done.

—-

Chapter 1 (Setting the scene)

Lucanis had spent four weeks helping Treviso recover from the dragon attack. Rook had missed him, but understood that he needed to help his people, his city, in the aftermath of that calamity more than he needed to help her fight the gods, wherever they might be hiding.

That he needed to do what he could there, now, when he hadn’t been able to prevent the dragon from raining ice from the sky and spreading blight through the canals of his home.

When she hadn’t been there to help.

And truth be told, she was busy enough that she barely had time to dwell on his absence.

Between adding new members to their illustrious group to make sure they were never caught off guard like that again, burning away blight boils in Treviso, and checking in on their other allies, she hardly allowed herself a moment’s rest.

It was the quiet moments in between, at breakfast or dinner, or when her responsibilities kept her awake at night, that really pressed home his absence.

Now he was back, and had been for two weeks, but somehow … this was worse.

Before the dragon attack, there had been this ease between them.

Pleasant conversations and comfortable silences before the fireplace, when Rook couldn’t sleep (and Lucanis just plain refused to).

Shared stories and observations when they ventured forth together, effortlessly finding a common rhythm when fighting Venatori or Antaam or whatever else crossed their path.

Amiable quips when Lucanis was preparing dinner and Rook kept him company, reading a book or going over her correspondence.

A gentle smile and a hot coffee (doctored to her preferences) when she dragged herself into the dining hall in the morning.

Now, there was only sullen silence.

Lucanis had been radiating a quiet anger ever since he returned, at least where Rook was concerned.

He didn’t initiate conversations with her, and his answers remained short and terse. He would barely look at her when they shared a room, and while he still had her back in a fight, he otherwise kept to himself or their companions in their travels.

There was no more coffee waiting for her when she entered the dining hall in the morning, and no company when she wandered over looking for tea at night.

Her terrible jokes, which had always made him chuckle, no longer elicited so much as a smile.

And Rook understood. His home, his people, had suffered while he had been unable to stop it, forced to watch that blighted dragon reign over the skies while raining death to the ground. Because she had been in Minrathous, saving her own home while she left his to drown. Sure, she had offered help, sent Davrin and Bellara in her stead, but they hadn’t managed to make a difference.

And she didn’t even regret her choice. She felt utterly miserable at being unable to save Treviso, but saving Minrathous and keeping the Venatori from executing their coup and taking over? She couldn’t regret that.

Lucanis had every right to be angry and disappointed in her and keep his distance. Her feelings on the matter were her own problem, not his.

And yet … he was completely fine with Neve. Neve, who was a Minrathous native and a Shadow Dragon like Rook, and who ran off to save her home without even waiting for the dice to fall, when Rook had at least made sure that Treviso would have just as many people to help as Minrathous did.

But for some reason, Neve’s need to keep her home safe carried a different weight than Rook‘s, and she couldn’t figure out why.

(Tbc)

[trans-pickles]

idea that i've been brewing but probs won't have time to write but based off my terrible kieran was part of the gang/it was the o'driscolls that killed eliza and isaac - isaac lives but is raised as an o'driscoll with a sort of paternal relationship with kieran and tries to rescue him from the vdls - which is when arthur finds out he's alive. kieran and arthur awkwardly forced into co-parenting situation and fall in love along the way

tbh it makes sense to me, from what kieran says in game colm is no stranger to pressing prisoners into service. love the idea that it's almost this dark mirror of arthur's situation with dutch, where colm would act like isaac is a son to him but only when he really needs something from him which is actually almost exactly like dutch oops but it's this sort of implicit threat that with the o'driscolls, you pull your weight and make yourself useful, otherwise, you know...

isaac doesn't exactly have anywhere to go so when kieran "joins" he immediately finds a kindred spirit. maybe colm has taught him to shoot and fight and kill, but kieran teaches him about horses and fishing and bird calls. at this point isaac doesn't remember much about arthur. maybe he resents him for leaving him and his mother to die. maybe he kind of holds him on a pedestal and keeps this childish idea that someday his dad is gonna save him but he's starting to get a little too old to believe it as much as he did. maybe it's all just foggy in his mind. either way, after kieran is captured isaac is furious. colm shows no intention of going to save him and isaac is STEAMING when colm has the audacity to say that kieran better not talk.

if colm isn't gonna do something then isaac sure is, so he susses out where the gang is holed up and does his very best to free kieran. but obviously he can't get far with a malnourished and somewhat delirious straggler and he refuses to leave him behind. he's caught obviously, and in the scuffle kieran calls his name, and of course when something goes wrong arthur needs to be called over, and through a whole bunch of shouting (and afterwards, some awkward conversation) everything is pieced together.

isaac being an o'driscoll is kind of what clues them in to the fact that kieran wasn't really lying about not being a huge fan of colm himself. i mean, if they would kill eliza and keep her young son prisoner then they'd certainly keep kieran on after killing his old gang. he gets cut loose without even being threatened with gelding! and by now he's more willing to talk anyway - isaac being under the vdl's protection and thus unable to be caught in the crossfire makes him more willing to sic them on the o'driscolls. he barely even processes the REASON they've suddenly started trusting him until he actually listens to some of the breathless questions arthur is asking as he practically shakes isaac.

as soon as he hears isaac's name arthur is struck with a pang of sadness. but then he sees the kid, does some quick math in his head, remembers how there was only the one grave... it's seeing isaac's face that clinches it for him. dark grey eyes like his mother's, a scowling mouth that must look just like arthur's as he shouts at bill to let him go. arthur realizes just in time that oh yeah, this guy is invading their camp and he's dangerously close to losing his son again so he screams at everyone to put their goddamn guns away and immediately just assaults isaac with a barrage of questions.

it's a very long night for everyone. when everything is cleared up and after arthur has finished crushing isaac in his giant hug he has to accept the fact that someone else raised his kid. he doesn't know whether to resent kieran for having isaac's affection or just be happy that at least in these past few years he's had a better role model than colm (depending how long kieran has been with the o'driscolls... idk what's better, him joining up when isaac is already a teen or him being colm's whipping boy when isaac is first encountered). but arthur of course has to play nice with kieran but he slowly grows to appreciate the calming influence he has on isaac.

kieran for his part is having mixed feelings on actually meeting arthur for the first time. whatever feelings isaac had about arthur, kieran DEFINITELY was told about them. it's odd to finally meet the man in the flesh, especially since he's the one who KIDNAPPED him and threatened to kill him!!! but he kind of starts seeing how hard it is for arthur to accept the whole situation and starts tentatively trying to get closer to him. he doesn't want to... give him pointers, exactly, for fear that arthur will think he's being patronizing, but he'll sort of gently mention things isaac likes, and in turn arthur starts to swallow his pride and seek kieran out for these things.

the funniest thing is isaac seeing the two of them slowly start to get along and realizing exactly what's happening. i imagine he'd get into some kind of parent-trap shenanigans to try to speed things up and they somehow work despite them being horrendously planned.

[evilasiangenius]

A starling flew down, and once more landed on Crowley’s hand.

“I thought you told me to fuck off,” Crowley said to the bird. But then the white-speckled starling began to sing.

The bird had no words for this song, just a melody, but it was one that Crowley had not heard in a long time. The last time he had heard this song of Euripides, Aziraphale had played him a snippet as a quote at supper but then stopped because he said it was too sad and didn’t want to continue. They had ended the evening together as they usually did, talking until past dawn or maybe that was a different night or a different one and did it matter which night it was, when it was with Aziraphale?

Ten years behind, ten years athwart his way Waiting and home, lost and unfriended…

The two angels, fallen and otherwise, gave each other startled looks as the bird sang. It was joined by other birds, slowly, until a great murmuration descended down upon them from the skies, huddled under the protective cover of the courtyard corridor, warbling snippets and pieces of the song from garbled memory. Lost notes, added beats. The trill of a robin, the tap of the chisel upon wood, the rasp of a saw, the liquid burble of water. The chatter of a squirrel. A note, two notes, all a semitone off, the tuning of the scale that the song would have originally been in set adrift upon a heaving sea of sound, sliding on and off its tonal base as if the foundation was cracked and crumbling but the heart of the song remained recognizable.

As the starlings continued to sing it was as if he could feel at once all the words upon his lips.

A rift of the hills, raging with winter rain, Dead and outcast and naked. It is I beside my bridegroom And the wild beasts cry…

Crowley flinched; he had not heard this song in centuries and never this much of it, not since he first saw the play in Athens in the year of the Herm-breaking (which by the way was not his doing, not in the slightest, though he had received commendations for it later). Aziraphale had been there too, they had watched it together in the great theatre in Athens and they had long conversations about this particular play, until Crowley had not wanted to talk about it anymore.

“I think…” Aziraphale began.

“No, it’s fine. I should leave. I’m going to leave.” Crowley moved to duck out from under the corridor, but the starlings did not scatter. They stayed stubborn, blocking his path. The demon snarled in annoyance and threw up his hands, unwilling to exert his infernal will upon the birds to force them to leave.

“It’s still raining,” Aziraphale ventured, though he did not move from where he was standing, white speckled starlings perched all about him, some upon his shoulders, some fluttering in his curling hair as if nesting, another perched on his outstretched hand.

“So? Why is that a problem?”

“Because…because you should stay until the rain stops and things dry out a little. I know you don’t like being cold and wet.”

“Does it matter? Why would it matter?”

“It matters to m–” Aziraphale said, but then paused to think. “It should matter to you. You…should take better care of yourself.”

“Why?”

“B-because it’s virtuous!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “It’s virtuous to take care of oneself!”

“I don’t care about being manly or good or ethical or whatever that word means now.”

“Then…then because otherwise you scare cats. And people,” Aziraphale said.

“Why should I care if I scare cats or people?”

“You scare me too!”

The silence between them was not even broken by the birds who watched them with curious eyes, but slowly, as the two angels fallen and otherwise stood there, unable to find the words with which to address each other, the birds began to leave, one by one, fluttering off in a great white-speckled cloud.

more

[eunseoksimp]

Hi! Can you write jealous reader x Sungchan (could be same y/n from poison)

You writing is so good !!x

hey anon, thank you so much for your kind words. i wrote a completely different reader because all my poison creative juices have been exhausted, i hope you don’t mind.

i also low-key got carried away with the insanity, this might be a step further than simple jealousy whoops.

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

it wasn’t a hidden fact that the bounds of your jealousy did not mirror those of a normal person.

you found that you tended to like people a lot more passionately than others, but you assumed it was overall a healthy amount of course, the type that any person might feel when they liked someone.

that was until you met jung sungchan.

you weren’t sure what it was about him that induced a scary amount of rage every time you saw him draw near to another girl.

you had no right to dictate who he could and couldn’t speak to, because the truth was that the relationship between you and sungchan was complicated.

you couldn’t exactly call each other lovers, but the things that you both did was nothing becoming of friends. so you were stuck in a weird sort of limbo, forced to ramble to your best friends and hope it would alleviate the burning flame that resided in your chest.

‘i don’t get it. it’s not like the both of you are dating, so why do you care that he’s around other girls?’ wonbin spoke up, tossing another skittle into his mouth successfully.

‘she likes him stupid, why else would she feel this way?’ chaewon, who was resting her head on her shoulder had her eyes closed, almost as if she was sleeping, but you knew she was listening.

‘my point is, if you like him why don’t you tell him that?’

you loved wonbin, you really did, but sometimes you wondered how someone so pretty could be so empty headed. he often was unable to pick up on context clues and you thanked god that chaewon was always with you, otherwise you might go crazy.

‘i don’t want to ruin our friendship. what if i lose him forever.’

‘i’m pretty sure your so called friendship was ruined the moment you both decided to fuck like rabbits,’ you lifted your head to give wonbin the middle finger, but quickly dropped it as you sighed.

a drunken night at a party is what led to the situation you were in. at the time you were sure that it was nothing more than sex, and given that the both of you were best friends and trusted each other more than anything, you decided on keeping a friends with benefits dynamic.

it was great at first, being able to sleep with someone without having to worry about feelings, or inviting strangers into your home and your body. sungchan was such a gentleman, looking after you in and out of the bedroom.

when you fucked, it was magical. he was always more concerned with your pleasure than he was his, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of your first before he would finally retire for the night, satisfied that you enjoyed yourself.

eventually, you found yourself craving intimacy outside of the bedroom, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to stay over after to cuddle, or to make the both of you a quick meal.

before you knew it, you started to become dependent on sungchan, needing him nearby at all times, wanting to be the only one he touched, or the only one he looked at. there was a desperate desire for him to be with you forever, and you thrived off of the feelings you got whenever he touched you.

‘i hate that he talks to other girls. it makes me want to hurt them,’ you confessed, truthfully, because you felt like you could trust your friends.

for the first time since you had started your conversation, chaewon’s eyes opened, scrambling to hold your head in her hands as she stared directly at yours.

‘you’re joking. right?’ a part of him knew the answer to that question, chuckling nervously as he observed you.

‘she’s not. that’s the scary part.’

lately it felt like your feelings for sungchan were bordering on obsession. you relied on him heavily for emotional support, seeking attention and validation from him in everything you did.

he had the ability to make or break your day, and you realised that as dangerous as it was, you placed the responsibility of your happiness onto him. depending on when he paid attention to you he could make you feel like you were on top of the world, or in the deepest pits of hell.

‘why is it so serious in here,’ sungchan walked into a tension-filled room, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, hood covering his messy hair.

chaewon moved away to make room for him and wonbin cleared his throat, but you paid no attention to them both, a wide smile forming on your face as you looked at the man you were in love with, even without trying he was beautiful, the ability to take your breath away something that came so easy to him.

‘hey,’ he was standing in front of you, crouching down till you were eye level, his smile mirroring yours as he messed with your hair. there was no way he couldn’t feel the intense connection between the both of you, how perfect you both were for each other.

‘where were you?’

‘karina needed some help so i stayed behind. she got me some coffee to thank me,’ he was nonchalant in what he was saying, but you furrowed your eyebrows at the pink that faintly painted his cheeks.

‘you’ve been spending a lot of time with karina lately,’ you dug your fingernails into your palm, hating the mention of her name.

karina, or yu jimin as written on her birth certificate, was the evil bitch trying to keep you away from sungchan. ever since they started sharing some classes together she had been hanging around him more and more, like a fly hovering over him so persistently.

you recall moments where sungchan would cancel your movie nights, or invite her out when your group would go to the cinema together, or even eat. it drove you mad, watching her flip her hair over her shoulder, flashing him a smile as she playfully pushed his shoulder.

each time your stomach would turn and it would make you want to throw up on the spot. why was she trying to steal your favourite person?

‘i actually wanted to tell you guys something. i-um, we’re going on a date this saturday,’ his eyes darted towards yours and you chew on your bottom lip, afraid to allow your thoughts to spill out.

you were sure he felt the same way you did. he had to with the way he looked at you. he wouldn’t be able to fuck you so good if he didn’t.

so why did he need another girl? what did karina have that you didn’t? how desperately did she push up on sungchan to get him to fall for her.

‘i have to go,’ you stood up abruptly, grabbing your things from beside you and making a beeline for the door, suddenly feeling the room close in on you. you could hear sungchan’s hurried footsteps coming after you, but it only made you want to go faster.

‘please slow down, i need to know if you’re okay,’ he finally succeeded in grabbing a hold of you, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath for a couple of seconds.

‘do you love her,’ your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper as you looked at him expectantly, awaiting his answer.

‘love? what no, i barely know her.’

‘then why are you taking her out?’ a tear spilled down your cheek, but you refused to make an attempt to wipe it.

‘i just- i like her i think,’ you could tell he was trying his hardest not to hurt your feelings, but it only made your heart ache more. how could someone so sweet, someone so caring, want to be with karina and not with you?

how could you carry on knowing the one you love unconditionally, the one that you go to for everything, the one who helped you breathe, was thinking about another girl.

it was hard to hear, to see that his whole world did not revolve around you, like yours did around his. that not hearing from him made you anxious and paranoid that he would one day abandon you.

‘i still want us to be friends, you mean so much to me,’ he was sincere in his words, but your ears were ringing as you thought about the date he would be on with that girl tomorrow.

it left a bitter taste in your mouth, and the rational part of your mind would tell you to see this as a sign to move on, to look for someone else who would love you the way you wanted.

but the loss of sungchan was just too much to bear, so much so that you would do anything to keep him.

this was why you spent the rest of your night stalking through her instagram pages, seeing her likes and dislikes, her personal style.

it was why you were haphazardly dying your hair blonde, having only the tiny mirror in your bathroom to guide you.

it was also why you desperately searched in your cupboard for clothes with the same cuts, or prints as her.

you were changing your self-identity slowly, lost in the hope that this would make sungchan return back to you.

maybe then he would like you.

and when you showed up to sungchan’s house, merely a few hours before he was meant to go on his date, you took the shock on his face to mean a good thing.

‘you look… different,’ his voice trailed off, carefully studying your features.

he was always so perceptive, you were sure he had figured things out by now. but that didn’t matter, as long as you could keep his attention on you for a little while longer.

a faint line between faith and blindly waiting.

[hockeyshmockey]

FEA- Daniel Ricciardo

summary: in which daniel's return to the redbull family brings her back into his life too

warnings: none other than some cursing

“Did you hear?” Max asked her casually in between interviews, the Dutchman trying to be nonchalant but failing epically.

“Hear what?” Shay asked the driver as she looked up from her phone with squinted eyes.

“Mclaren dropped Daniel,” Max revealed with a frown, making Shay's jaw drop.

Rewind to 2016.

Shay, a young assistant media manager had been called by a frantic Stella, who was the head of Red Bull F1 PR at the time. One of the two media managers had come down with pneumonia and been unable to travel to Melbourne for the first race of the season.

It was that moment that Shay had been thrown head first into her role she held now. Stella had told her that Shay was now the Media Manager for hot shot Daniel Ricciardo until told otherwise. The moment the Aussie and the girl from Cambridge started working together began what many called two years of pain.

Professionally, Shay and Daniel were a dream pairing. The two had a rapport many other drivers tried to have with their media managers. There had to be a delicate balance of friendship and work, which Shay was able to achieve with the never ending enigma that was Daniel. She never hesitated to joke around with him, but was also able to bring him back to earth and out of the slumps that became more common further on in their partnership.

Personally, Shay and Daniel were the biggest “will they won’t they” the paddock may have ever seen. Shay had blushed around Daniel their first few weeks working together non stop. Daniel would never hesitate to flirt with Shay, smirking when eventually the girl learned to give it back just as good as she got.

On celebration nights, Daniel and Shay were almost always found together in a dark corner leaning in close and sipping their drinks. The two spent time together away from the track, Shay meeting his family and Daniel going on vacation with Shay and her brothers one summer break. When Daniel was on the podium, Shay was on the barrier waiting with a hug.

When Max joined Red Bull, even as tensions within the team rose, the Dutchman never failed to tease Daniel about Shay. When the time came for Daniel to announce his move to Renault, most of the Red Bull staff expected him to announce at the same time he and Shay were in love and she was heading across the paddock with him.

Little did they know, Shay heard about Daniels departure at the group meeting with everyone else.

Things after that were tense. Daniel spent the rest of the season soaking up his last moments with the team, but things with Shay were off. He understood he had hurt her, but her never realized how badly until she iced him out. The last five races of the season, there was none of the banter that their relationship thrived on. Shay was all work while Daniel tried to revert back to their normal.

The last race of the season ended with a party in a club. And instead of hanging out in a corner, Shay and Daniel were in a screaming match that ended with Shay in tears and leaving and Daniel pounding beers till he couldn't see straight.

The next four years, Shay and Daniel kept their distance. They nodded to each other across the paddock, but there was no chats. They usually ended up having polite conversation when Max would force them together. But overall, Daniel's handling of his departure from Red Bull had clearly damaged their relationship.

"God, what is he going to do?" Shay was unable to keep the concern out of her voice as she looked at Max.

"I don't know yet," Max shrugged. "Theres some options, but I'm sure they aren't ideal for him. I'm sure Blake is working in overtime."

"God," Shay shook her head. "I really thought after all the comments made about his contract, Mclaren would've been smarter than this. Dan better get his money out of that one."

"Maybe you should reach out," Max said lightly, throwing his hands up in surrender when Shay whipped around to glare at him.

unknown

fuck em all. show them what they've lost

daniel

did you literally change your number to ignore me?

shay

and now im going to do it again

shay

I was trying to be nice but nvm

daniel

no no. I appreciate it

daniel

FEA

"Hello?" Shay asked with stuttered breath as she answered her phone. Her chest had gotten tight as soon as she saw the caller ID.

"Hi Shay," Daniel sighed into the receiver. "I'm sorry to call out of the blue. Do you have a sec?"

"Yeah Dan," she smiled slightly as she leaned on her desk in the Red Bull F1 office. "What's going on?"

"I just," he sighed. "I want you to know I understand that the blame of how things went down between us is on me. I should've-."

"No Dan," she cut him off. "It's not all on you. I reacted poorly. I knew you were struggling and I could've cut you some slack, but I let my hurt cloud everything. I could've been a bit more forgiving."

"Well, thank you for saying that," he smiled to himself. "I do regret things. And thats why I wanted to be the one to tell you this. Christian wants me to come on as the third driver. And as long as you and I are good, I want to say yes."

"Oh Dan," Shay beamed. "You are so fucking back baby."

And so the game began again. Daniel was back with Red Bull and in the garage, and though Shay was Max's Media Manager this time around, it just meant the three of them were attached at the hip. But the Daniel and Shay betting pool had absolutely been restarted.

The energy in Red Bull was at an all time high. The team doing so well, and having Daniel back was like a double boost in morale. Daniel's reputation within Red Bull was excellent, clearly so since Christian had jumped at the chance to bring the Aussie back.

The team though had a lot of new faces since Daniel had left. And so he was learning a lot of new names and team members. And he already had a few to keep his eye on based on the way they acted with Shay.

"Have you not shut that down?" Daniel asked Max quietly as the two stood in the garage and watched as one of the newer mechanics put his hand on Shay's shoulder as the two spoke.

"Mate," Max laughed. "No. She's my friend, I don't care if she dates a mechanic."

"She's too good for them," Daniel frowned. "I always gave my boys the shovel talk back then."

"Dan, you did that because you wanted to be the one dating her," Max said dead pan. "You gave me the shovel talk too. Everyone knows why you're doing it."

"Do you think she knows?" Daniel asked with a panic, running after Max's retreating form

*

"You okay?" Shay asked as she peaked into the drivers room in Alpha Tauri where a down trodden honey badger resided.

"Think it's broken," Daniel said with a sad smile. He had been racing for three weekends before it was ripped away again.

"Okay, we can work with that!" Shay tried to encourage as she went as sat next to him, resting her hand on his thigh. "You'll see a doctor, and then we can get a treatment plan in place and-"

"You know I'm in love with you right?" Daniel interrupted, watching Shay's face as his comment sunk in.

"I mean I love you too bud," she laughed nervously.

"No, like, I'm in love with you," Daniel said assuredly. "I think we're meant to be together. And today, flying toward that barrier, I couldn't help but think that I didn't want to go another day without saying it."

"Daniel," Shay murmured as she looked into his brown eyes for a moment before smirking. "Come here you idiot," she grabbed a hold of his collar and yanked him in for their first kiss of many.

*

Christian and Gerri split the multi thousand dollar pot, compiled over years of betting with attendees across the paddock. A phone tree had to be used to inform everyone that the bet terms had been met. Retired drivers, old team principals, and even ex partners had to be called to let everyone know that Daniel and Shay were finally, Daniel and Shay.