#blond ambition tag

[hvseoks]

blond ambition (2/??)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I want you whipped into shape!

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[finedinereception]

ive never watched a marvel movie but just based on what ive read hollyleaf warrior cats and loki mcu are the same character.

[septembersghost]

omg https://i5.walmartimages.com/asr/ec50c97c-c1e2-46e5-9f11-2850d50c57aa.4d5a507677f38294132fd8b194fcae25.jpeg?odnHeight=768&odnWidth=768&odnBg=FFFFFF

please this is too adorable

[textingaboutprometheus]

[rootedinrevisions]

Cop Car

SUMMARY: You and Jake enter a restricted area to watch the planes take off. It's all fun and games until the two of you end up cuffed in the backseat of a car. Things only get worse when your dad, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell arrives on the scene. Loosely based on/inspired by Cop Car by Keith Urban because apparently my thing lately has been making fics out of songs.

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 3.5K

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87

The faint roar of jet engines reverberated in the distance, a low hum that vibrated through the night air. You were wrapped up in Jake’s arms, your back pressed against his chest as you both lounged in the truck bed, staring at the vast sky above. There was a thrill, a kind of reckless energy, in sitting just beyond the "No Trespassing" signs, so close to the runways where the Navy's finest pilots took off.

Your heart raced, though it wasn’t from fear of getting caught. It was from being here, next to him. You felt the soft thud of his heartbeat as you lay back against his chest, your body cocooned in his warmth.

“You sure this was a good idea?” Jake’s voice was low, tinged with amusement as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

You grinned up at him, the glow of the airstrip lights casting soft shadows across his features. “Since when have you ever cared about breaking the rules?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. “Fair point. But if your old man catches us—”

You cut him off with a playful laugh, turning in his arms so you could look up into his eyes. “We’ll be fine. I’ve got a plan.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a plan?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded confidently, leaning in closer until your noses almost touched. “If we get caught, I’ll just tell them how much I love planes. They’ll understand.”

Jake shook his head, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll get us out of any trouble.”

You leaned back against him, your eyes flicking up to watch as another jet took off, its engines roaring to life and tearing down the runway before disappearing into the night sky. There was something magical about it, watching those planes cut through the darkness. You’d loved planes ever since you were a kid—since the first time your dad had taken you up for a ride.

Sighing contently, you snuggled deeper into Jake’s embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back. The moment was perfect, just the two of you, wrapped up in each other. All the worries of tomorrow didn’t matter. It was just you, Jake, and the thrill of being somewhere you weren’t supposed to be.

“Hey, look,” Jake said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Another one.”

You followed his gaze, watching as a fighter jet lifted off into the air, its sleek frame disappearing into the starry sky. For a second, you imagined what it must be like for Jake—to be up there, soaring through the clouds, with nothing but the horizon ahead of him. You admired his ambition, his drive.

“What’s it like up there…you know when you’re flying?” you asked, watching another jet take off, its lights blinking against the darkness.

Jake’s laugh was low, vibrating through your body as his arms tightened around you. “It’s the best feeling in the world…besides being here with you.”

You smiled, tilting your head back to catch a glimpse of his face, the shadows from the runway lights dancing across his jawline. There was something about being here, just the two of you, that felt untouchable—like nothing could ruin this moment. It felt like the world belonged to just you and him.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted it—the glow of headlights approaching from the other side of the fence. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Uh, Jake,” you murmured, sitting up a little. “We’ve got company.”

Jake followed your gaze, his jaw tightening as the headlights got closer. A black SUV with the words “Military Police” emblazoned on the side rolled to a stop just a few feet away from Jake’s truck.

“Shit,” he muttered, sliding out of the truck bed and extending a hand to help you down. His expression was still calm, but you could feel the tension rolling off him as the door to the SUV swung open.

Two officers stepped out, their faces stern and their postures rigid as they approached. The taller one, a gruff-looking man in his mid-40s with a salt-and-pepper beard, was the first to speak.

“You two realize this is a restricted area, right?” His voice was sharp, no-nonsense.

You exchanged a glance with Jake, your heart thudding in your chest. “Uh, yeah,” Jake said, holding up his hands in surrender. “We were just watching the planes. Didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

The officer’s eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted to you. “And you? You got identification on you?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You weren’t on base legally, and you knew it. While Jake was a Navy pilot with all the right credentials, you were just the daughter of one of the Navy’s most legendary pilots. That wasn’t going to help much right now.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… I don’t have any ID on me.”

The second officer, a younger man with a buzz cut, stepped forward. “Name?”

You hesitated, glancing at Jake before answering. His green eyes were serious, silently telling you to be honest. There was no talking your way out of this.

“Y/N Mitchell,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The officers exchanged a glance, clearly recognizing the name. “As in Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell?” the first officer asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

You nodded, your heart sinking. “Yeah… that’s my dad.”

The older officer exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple as if already anticipating the headache this was going to cause. “Well, Miss Mitchell, you’re not supposed to be here. You’re aware of that, right?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Jake cut in. “Look, this is on me. I brought her here. She just wanted to see the planes. I’ll take full responsibility.”

The officer gave Jake a once-over, clearly unimpressed. “And you are?”

“Lieutenant Jake Seresin,” Jake said, pulling his Military ID card out of his wallet and handing it over. The officer examined it under the flashlight before handing it back, his expression still stony.

“You know better, Lieutenant,” the officer said, his voice low and stern. “You’re military personnel. You should know what ‘No Trespassing’ means.”

Jake clenched his jaw but nodded. “Yes sir, I know. I screwed up.”

The officer gave a nod to his partner, who immediately stepped forward and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “I’m afraid you’re both coming with us,” the younger officer said, reaching for Jake’s wrists first.

“Wait, is that really necessary?” you asked, panic rising in your chest as you watched them cuff Jake.

“Afraid so,” the officer replied, his tone almost bored. “Regulations.”

Your breath quickened as the officer turned to you next, holding out the cuffs. “Turn around, ma’am.”

You swallowed hard and did as you were told, the cold metal of the cuffs clicking around your wrists. The reality of the situation began to set in, and for the first time, a sliver of fear crept in.

Jake met your eyes, and despite the cuffs, he managed to give you a reassuring smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady, “it’s gonna be fine.”

You nodded, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the weight of what could happen hung heavy in the air.

The officers escorted you and Jake to the back of their patrol car, opening the doors and motioning for you to get inside. You slid in first, Jake following closely behind, the door slamming shut behind him. The inside of the car smelled like leather and disinfectant, the overhead light casting a dim glow across your faces.

You slouched against the seat, biting your lip to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all. Jake caught your eye and raised an eyebrow.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft as the officers stood outside making phone calls.

You nodded, resting your head against the seat. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

Jake exhaled, his gaze drifting toward the flashing blue lights reflecting in the window. “Your dad’s gonna kill me.”

You let out a soft laugh, the tension easing slightly. “He might. But hey, at least we’ve got a good story now.”

Jake chuckled, leaning his head back against the seat, his eyes closing briefly. “Yeah, some story. 'Remember that time we got cuffed for watching jets take off?'”

You grinned, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You know, we could try to make a run for it.”

His eyes snapped open, and he turned to you, disbelief written all over his face. “You’re crazy.”

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Maybe. But you love it.”

He shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “I do.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of the situation fading as the minutes ticked by. Outside, the officers were still making calls, seemingly in no rush to let you go. But you didn’t care. In this moment, sitting in the back of a patrol car, cuffed and facing who knew what kind of trouble, all that mattered was being here with Jake.

He glanced over at you again, his expression softening as he took in the way the blue lights danced in your eyes. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked, even in a situation like this. And for a second, all his worries about tomorrow and whatever consequences awaited him melted away.

“Your dad’s never gonna let me see you again, is he?” Jake asked, half-joking, though there was a hint of concern in his voice.

You smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “We’ll figure it out.”

Just then, the familiar sound of car tires on the gravel made you both look up. The unmistakable silhouette of your father, Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, appeared in the distance, his boots crunching rhythmically against the gravel as he approached the patrol car. The blue and red lights cast long shadows over his form, and even from inside the car, you could see the tightness in his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. He was pissed, no doubt about it.

Jake shifted beside you, his relaxed demeanor faltering for the first time since the police had shown up. His face fell, the reality of the situation finally hitting him. “This is gonna be bad,” he muttered under his breath, glancing sideways at you.

You could only nod, your stomach twisting with a mix of dread and embarrassment. If there was one thing that had always been constant in your life, it was your dad’s protective nature. And now, seeing him storming toward the car—where you sat in the back, hands cuffed, with Jake beside you—it felt like you were about to face the full force of it.

Just as Maverick reached the car, the officer nearest the door gave you and Jake a nod, his face stern as he reached for the door handle. 

“Alright, out you two,” he said, his voice gruff but controlled. 

He opened the door, and the cool night air rushed in, cutting through the warmth of the enclosed space. Jake was the first to move. He slid out of the seat with a quiet grunt, his wrists still bound by the cuffs as he straightened to his full height. The officer standing nearby gave him a once-over, clearly unimpressed, before placing a hand on Jake’s arm to guide him to the side of the car.

Then it was your turn. You followed Jake’s lead, scooting across the seat and stepping out into the gravel. The moment your feet hit the ground, you felt the weight of everything hit you all at once—the flashing lights, the tension in the air, and your dad’s unwavering gaze locked on the two of you. The officers didn’t waste time; you were both led a few paces away from the car, standing side by side as Maverick looked between you and Jake with that intense, assessing stare.

Jake, to his credit, stood still and silent, his jaw clenched tightly. You could sense the regret rolling off him in waves. His shoulders were stiff, and for once, he seemed unsure of what to say. Not that there was much he could say to fix the situation.

Maverick’s eyes moved between the two of you, taking in the sight of his daughter cuffed and standing beside Lieutenant Jake "Hangman" Seresin. His frustration was palpable, but the way he lingered on you for a second longer made your stomach twist. This wasn’t just anger—this was disappointment.

The older officer cleared his throat, drawing Maverick’s attention for a moment. “Captain Mitchell, sir,” he said, more formally now, clearly aware of the gravity of the situation.

Maverick’s gaze didn’t leave you and Jake, his arms crossing over his chest. “What’s going on here?”

The officer quickly explained, outlining how they’d found you both in a restricted area and how neither of you had proper authorization. The moment he finished, there was a beat of silence. Maverick’s eyes narrowed as they settled on Jake.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” he said slowly, his voice deceptively calm, “care to explain why I’m getting a call in the middle of the night saying my daughter’s in the back of a patrol car with you?”

Jake straightened up, squaring his shoulders. “Sir, it’s on me. I brought her out here. I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t,” Maverick cut him off, his voice sharp. “You didn’t think at all, clearly.”

You winced at the harshness of his tone, knowing this wasn’t going to go over well. The officer standing beside Jake glanced between the two men, but remained silent. Maverick’s gaze shifted to you, and the weight of his stare made your heart sink.

“Y/N, you know better than this,” Maverick said, his voice firm but with an edge of concern. “You know what happens when you break the rules, especially on a military base. What were you thinking?”

You looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Maverick sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to the officers. “Can you take the cuffs off?”

The younger officer hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Sure, Captain.” He stepped forward and unlocked Jake’s cuffs first. Jake gave a slight nod of thanks but didn’t move otherwise, still standing rigid beside you.

Then it was your turn. The officer released the cuffs from your wrists, and you immediately rubbed at the sore spots where the metal had bitten into your skin. The weight of the cuffs was gone, but the tension hanging between the three of you was suffocating.

Maverick gave the officers a short nod, signaling for them to step back. Then he crossed his arms again, his eyes flickering between you and Jake. “You two are lucky it was just the military police who found you,” he said, his voice low but filled with authority. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if this got reported up the chain? You’re both smart enough to know better.”

Jake shifted beside you, finally finding his voice again. “Sir, I take full responsibility. Y/N shouldn’t get in trouble for this. She was just with me. If there’s any punishment, it should be mine.”

Maverick’s gaze hardened as he stared down Jake, a long silence stretching between them. Finally, Maverick spoke, his voice cold. “This isn’t about punishment, Seresin. This is about trust. You’ve got my daughter out here, breaking rules, putting herself in a dangerous position, and you didn’t think for one second about what that means?”

Jake flinched, guilt flashing across his face. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to put her in danger.”

Maverick exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he turned to you, his expression softening just slightly. “You okay?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the situation settle even heavier on your shoulders. “Yeah… I’m okay. I’m sorry, Dad.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Maverick said, his voice gentler now, though the tension still lingered. “But you’re coming home with me.”

He turned back to Jake, his face hardening again. “And you, Lieutenant… this doesn’t go on your record, but if you’re serious about my daughter, you’d better start using your head.”

The night air hung heavy as Maverick walked back toward his car, his command still lingering in the space between you and Jake. Though the cuffs were off and the immediate crisis seemed to be over, you couldn’t shake the knot tightening in your chest. Maverick wasn’t letting this slide easily, and both you and Jake knew it.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” Maverick called out, his voice stern and carrying authority, making it clear this wasn’t a request.

Jake, who had been silently rubbing his wrists, snapped to attention. He straightened up, his posture rigid, falling back into his role as a Navy officer. “Yes, sir.”

Maverick’s gaze hardened as he took a step closer, his voice unwavering. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to say goodnight to my daughter, and then you’re going straight back to your quarters. No stops, no detours. Understood?”

Jake nodded, his usual confidence visibly absent. “Yes, sir.”

Maverick’s eyes narrowed slightly, the warning in his expression unmistakable. “And Lieutenant… Don’t think this is over because you apologized. You put her in danger tonight, and that doesn’t sit well with me. I expect better from you.”

Jake flinched at the words, his jaw tightening as the guilt in his eyes deepened. “I understand, sir,” he said quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

Maverick held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded toward you. “Go on. Say goodnight.”

Jake exhaled and turned toward you, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of regret and something softer, more vulnerable. As he stepped closer, he hesitated for a second, glancing briefly toward Maverick, then back to you.

Without saying a word, he pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you with a tenderness that melted the tension in your body. You let out a shaky breath, resting your head against his chest as the warmth of the embrace momentarily blocked out everything else—your dad’s watchful eyes, the police cars, the chaos of the night.

Jake leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead instead of your lips, a gesture that felt protective, as if he were trying to shield you from the weight of everything that had happened. “I love you,” he whispered against your skin, his voice rough with emotion. “This won’t change anything. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You nodded against his chest, your throat tight with unspoken words. “I love you too,” you whispered back.

Jake squeezed you gently one last time before letting go. You could see the strain in his expression, the regret hanging heavy in his posture as he pulled away. He gave you a small, reassuring smile as if trying to make everything feel less complicated, even though you both knew it wasn’t.

You reached out, pulling him in for one final hug, a silent goodbye filled with the promise that things weren’t over between you. Jake closed his eyes briefly as he held you, then slowly stepped back, his hands lingering on your arms for a moment longer before he let you go completely.

Turning away from you, he walked toward Maverick, who stood by the car with his arms crossed, his expression still stern but no longer as harsh. Jake gave him a sharp nod, acknowledging the silent tension that still lingered between them.

“Get going, Lieutenant,” Maverick said, his voice firm. “And don’t let me hear about you being anywhere other than your quarters tonight.”

Jake nodded, his voice steady but low. “Yes, sir.”

Without another word, Jake turned and headed toward his truck. You watched as he got in, glancing in your direction once more before he started the engine. The sound of his truck pulling away filled the quiet night, and soon enough, the taillights disappeared into the darkness.

Maverick let out a slow breath once Jake was gone, his rigid stance loosening ever so slightly. He turned toward you, his expression softening as he stepped closer, his eyes searching your face. “You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, filled with the concern of a father who had been shaken but was trying to hide it.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Maverick sighed, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he pulled you into a hug. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he murmured, patting your back gently. “Let’s get you home now.”

You leaned into him, finding comfort in the familiar embrace, but even as you walked with him toward his car, your thoughts remained on Jake, his whispered promise still echoing in your mind.

[pinchofhoney]

broken promises, part one

part one | part two | part three »

coriolanus snow x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

warning: none

summary: In Snow's world, only one thing mattered more than his family's reputation—you. But that was before he met Lucy Gray.

a/n: coryo is the type of person i sincerely hate and i'm glad that there are no such arrogant people in my life, who think they are better than others and who in crisis situations only care about themselves and to save their own arse. but at the same time i'm aware that young snow could be someone i'd catch a crush on at school. so why shouldn't i hate him even more?

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: you told me to tag you everywhere, so i'm back to doing it again; @wolfmoonmusic

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

The problem with snow is its tendency to melt, mirroring the way we once thought our feelings would endure forever. Yet, shouldn't emotions, particularly those nestled in our hearts, last longer?

You had known Coriolanus since childhood, and your families had always been close. You had grown up together, surviving the hardships of the war-torn Capitol side by side, and now, in the post-war era, you were still inseparable. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you going above a simple friendship. Your connection ran deep, like the roots of the oldest trees in the Panem's forests.

Coriolanus was an intriguing character, a puzzle you had been solving together since you were children. He was the embodiment of Capitol charm, with his perfectly tailored suits, polished manners, and charismatic smile that could sway even the most skeptical of Capitol elites. But you knew that beneath that carefully constructed facade was a mind as sharp as a blade and a heart that carried the weight of his family's fallen reputation.

Yet, when he was with you, it was as if a different side of him emerged. The hard lines on his face softened, and his icy demeanor melted away. With you, he could be himself, unburdened by the expectations of Capitol society. It was a rare glimpse into the man behind the mask, and you cherished those moments even more than your favorite jasmine tea and the cat you found shortly after the war had ended.

You couldn't help but admire his intelligence, his quick wit, and his relentless determination to succeed in a world that often seemed stacked against him. His family's name might have been tarnished, but Coriolanus was determined to reclaim their lost glory. He was driven by a burning ambition that flickered like an eternal flame, and you were his unwavering support, the one who fanned that flame to keep it burning bright.

In your eyes, he was more than the sum of his flaws and ambitions. He was the boy you had shared secrets with under moonlit skies, the man who had held you when the world crumbled around you, and the person who knew you better than anyone else. With him, you felt safe, cherished, and loved in a way that no one else could replicate.

Your love for him was boundless, and you were content in the knowledge that you were his confidante, the one person he could be truly vulnerable with. Your relationship with Coriolanus was the envy of many in academy, a seemingly perfect match of two souls intertwined by fate and affection. You were the golden couple, a shining example of love and devotion in a world that often lacked both.

But you wished you had known sooner that it's often the things we love most that destroy us, as Coriolanus Snow's world was about to collide with that of a girl named Lucy Gray and you were not ready for it to happen.

As the day of the tribute's arrival approached, you had been by Coriolanus's side more than ever. The weeks leading up to this moment had been filled with your unwavering support. You had reassured him countless times, sitting together in your cozy bedroom, his head resting gently on your thighs while you combed your fingers through his soft blonde curls. It was a calming gesture, one that had become a comforting routine. You listened to his concerns, his fears, and his ambitions, and you were sure that everything would be fine, that he would be just perfect as a mentor, and that his scholarship and dreams of continuing his studies at the university were within reach.

Your words were like a soothing melody to him, a reminder that he wasn't alone in this daunting new role. He would look into your eyes with his cold ones, filled with gratitude, and you could see the weight lifting from his shoulders, if only temporarily. And in those moments, you felt like his anchor, the one who kept him grounded amid the chaos of his own thoughts.

Now, you both stood at the nearly deserted train station, the oppressive heat of the day hanging heavily in the air. The scorching sun beat down relentlessly, casting shimmering waves of heat across the empty platform. It seemed that most of the Capitol's citizens had chosen to stay indoors, seeking refuge from the sweltering weather.

The only other souls present were a handful of stoic peacekeepers, their pristine white uniforms stark against the dull backdrop of the station. The silence was broken only by the distant hum of the city beyond, a reminder of the bustling Capitol life that lay just outside the station's borders.

Coriolanus tightly held a single white rose plucked from his grandmother's garden, a symbol of his intent to make a lasting impression on his tribute. It was a stark contrast to the vibrant colors of your academy uniforms. The simplicity of the white rose spoke of his sincerity and dedication to this new role as mentor.

With no clear timetable for the tribute train's arrival, the two of you stood patiently, pretending that the day's weather didn't bother you, the weight of uncertainty hanging over you like a heavy cloud. Coriolanus shifted his gaze between the tracks and the single white bloom in his hand.

You observed him closely, and when his gaze finally met yours, you offered a reassuring smile. “Remember, Coryo,” you murmured, “no matter what, you'll be the mentor she needs; your sincerity and kindness will shine through.”

“I hope you're right, Y/N,” he replied softly, his voice filled with a hint of doubt. “I need her to survive on the arena as long as she can,” he added, as if the idea of a group of vulnerable youths engaging in brutal competition in just a few days were the most ordinary occurrence in the world.

But that was precisely what it represented for the Capitol residents – the Hunger Games, an annual spectacle of entertainment.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly under the unrelenting sun, and the station remained eerily devoid of any signs of life. It felt as though hours had passed, but in truth, you couldn't be sure. Beads of perspiration formed on your brows, and you could feel the heat radiating from the platform's surface.

You and Coriolanus were on the verge of giving up and returning to the cool embrace of your penthouses when, at long last, the distant rumble of an oncoming train reached your ears. The sound grew steadily louder, and you looked at each other, exchanging tired glances.

Coriolanus's grip on the white rose tightened as he turned his gaze towards the approaching train. As he rose from the bench where you had sat, his anticipation peaked. You stood beside him, wanting to be his support, but you had no idea that your role was about to change very soon.

The train pulled into the station with a hiss of steam and the screech of brakes, billowing clouds of moisture and smoke into the scorching air. The two of you watched the machine in silent, your heart pounding in your chest. This was the moment when you would come face to face with people from the Districts, individuals whose lives were so far removed from the opulence and extravagance of your own. It was a rare and humbling experience, one that left you with a slight quiver in your step as you clung to Coriolanus, seeking solace in his reassuring presence.

For what felt like an eternity, nothing happened. The train's doors remained sealed shut, as if holding its cargo of tributes in a reluctant embrace. The only thing that reached you was an unpleasant stench wafting from the carriages, a stark reminder of the grim reality that these young souls were about to face.

Finally the impatient peacekeepers took matters into their own hands. They descended upon the train, their authoritative presence enough to scare the tributes out of their temporary sanctuary. One by one, they were herded onto the platform, their expressions ranging from fear to defiance.

And then, your eyes locked onto a figure unlike the others. A girl stood there, her presence a stark contrast to the muted palettes of others tributes. She wore a rainbow-colored dress that shimmered with vibrancy, a flare of color and individuality amidst the sea of old attire. You recognized her immediately from the television screens, a girl whose name had already become a part of your daily life even before this encounter.

Lucy Gray Baird.

The very name whispered in the hushed tones of Capitol citizens as they watched her on the screens, intrigued and fascinated by her enigmatic presence from the Reaping. Her gaze swept across the platform, and for a brief moment, your eyes locked onto each other's.

You couldn't help but break into a warm, welcoming smile. With a cheerful wave of your hand, you signaled to her that both you and Coriolanus were eagerly awaiting her arrival, hoping to ease the initial tension of this life-altering moment.

Lucy Gray's response was a hesitant yet appreciative smile in return. Her steps were slow and cautious as she walked slowly toward you, a palpable sense of curiosity radiated from her, her eyes flitting between the unfamiliar faces that lined the platform.

Your gaze briefly shifted to Coriolanus, a subtle expectation in your heart that his eyes would mirror the warmth you felt. But when you looked at him, you noticed something different. It was as if his eyes were magnetically drawn to Lucy Gray, locked onto her with a nearly unwavering intensity that bordered on fixation. Those eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, now held an expression you had never quite seen before. It was as though he had stumbled upon a priceless museum exhibit, left captivated, awestruck, and undeniably intrigued.

A soft, knowing smile played at the corners of your lips, silently acknowledging his reaction to the girl before you. You gently squeezed his hand, a gesture of affection and solidarity. You understood that this moment bore immense significance for him, that he was on the corner of a journey filled with unforeseen challenges. Lucy Gray was the keynote of this new chapter in his life, and you couldn't help but admire her from a distance, captivated by her unique presence and the aura that surrounded her.

Before you could utter a word, Coriolanus took a determined step forward, his eyes still locked on the girl. He extended his hand, offering her the pristine white rose he had clutched throughout the wait and with a subtle nod, he greeted her in a tone that resonated with formality and welcome.

“Welcome to the Capitol.”

part two »

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 2: Hera, Goddess Of Childbirth]

A/N: Enjoy Chapter 2 a little early! See you on Sunday for Chapter 3 🥰

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.4k

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You are buzzed at a private party in the Rainbow Room of Rockefeller Center, Midtown, February 1966, chandeliers and candlelight, pink and red hearts made of paper hanging from shimmering strings and littering the floor. Your roommate Barbara Nassau Astor—yes those Astors, Astor Avenue in the Bronx, Astoria in Queens, “the landlords of New York”—brought you along tonight, and the chance to be swept up into her glittering existence is precisely why your father sent you to a school like Manhattanville College of the Sacred Heart. Barb knows people who know people who know other people and every single individual in that grand design is wealthy and worldly and could possibly lead you into the generous arms of your future husband. You are from Tarpon Springs, Florida, heiress to a sea sponge fortune, and your father nurses powerful ambitions of intermingling his blood with the Northeastern elite.

You scan the selection as you sip your Pink Squirrel. You could marry a doctor and sit in the living room waiting for him to come home at 9 or 10 or 11 p.m., fix him a Whiskey Sour or a Sazerac, listen to him bemoan the complexities of nerves and veins before accompanying him to bed and repeating the whole process the next day. You could marry a lawyer or an advertising executive, and your fate would be much the same. Your own parents are partners in life and business, but you have seen enough to know how rare this is. These men of the Rainbow Room, 65 floors above icy streets radiant with headlights, want a wife whose hands will stay manicured and idle: nannies will tend to the children, maids will clean the house, mistresses will massage the knots out of the muscles of his back. And you—a relative upstart, new money among ancient bloodlines—will have no right to demand otherwise.

A man interrupts your reverie. He wants to know about the pendant you wear around your neck. You sigh before you turn to him; you resist the instinct to roll your eyes. And then you see him. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed, with a curious intensity and a teasing little smirk, an Old Fashioned in his grasp like molten gold. You don’t know it yet, but he is a senator from New Jersey, very recently elected, victorious yet still hungry. He steals the oxygen out of your lungs. He drowns you in the amber-musk warmth of his cologne.

“It’s Athena,” you say, touching your fingertips to the silver medallion self-consciously; and you are rarely self-conscious. The black polish has been scrubbed from your nails and replaced with a soft, shimmering champagne. You spent two hours this afternoon having your hair painfully teased and arranged into a Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo.

“Goddess of wisdom.”

“And war and peace. And math.”

“Math?” He is intrigued.

“That’s what I’m studying at school. Math.”

“And yet you are not disinterested in the humanities. You know Greek mythology.”

“Well, Tarpon Springs has a lot of Greeks, and that’s where I’m from, so.”

“Studies math. From Tarpon Springs, Florida. I’m learning everything about you.” He smiles, this magnetic stranger who has captured you like a moon lured into a planet’s gravity. He swallows a mouthful of his Old Fashioned, moisture glistening on his lips. “Do you like Greek food?”

You can’t seem to follow his words. Blood is rushing into your face, hot and dizzying. “What?”

“Greek food. Have you tried it? Hummus, tzatziki, gyros, spanakopita, horiatiki, baklava.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve had it. It’s great.”

“My family owns a house on Long Beach Island,” he says casually. “We eat a lot of Greek food there. You should join us for dinner sometime soon.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Very soon. Maybe this weekend. Are you free?”

No, you’re not; but you’ll cancel plans until you are. “Um, okay. Sure. And who…sorry, I might have missed it, but…who are you…?”

“Aemond Targaryen.” And he shakes your hand like you’re someone who matters. “I’m a senator. I’m trying to end the war.”

With him, you could be a part of something magnificent. With him, you could help save the world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Asteria is the goddess of falling stars, but the home of rising ones. On the north end of Long Beach Island, New Jersey—only 100 miles south of the sleek bladelike skyscrapers of Manhattan—lies the sprawling Targaryen estate. The nine-acre property features one main house and another three for guests, a swimming pool, a tennis court, a ten-car garage, a boathouse, a pier, and an ample stretch of beach that abuts the Atlantic Ocean, open water with nothing interrupting the infinite, miles-deep blue from the East Coast to the Iberian Peninsula. It is the first week of July, 1968, and your 23rd birthday. You are lazing in a lounge chair on the emerald green lawn and eating your third slice of melopita, a cheesecake-like dessert made with honey and ricotta. It originates from the Greek island of Sifnos.

“You two can’t murder each other while I’m gone,” Aemond says. He’s sitting between you and Aegon. His stitches have healed, the worst of his pain has subsided, his poll numbers have only improved since the assassination attempt. He has a glass eye that he can insert for public appearances, but he dislikes it; at home he wears a leather eyepatch that still unnerves the children. Tomorrow, Aemond is flying to Tacoma to campaign ahead of the Washington State Convention on the 13th. Most of the family will be joining him, with only three Targaryens remaining at Asteria: ailing Viserys, useless Aegon, and you, officially too pregnant to travel by plane. You are wearing a floral, flowing, two-piece swimsuit. The sun is blazing in a clear sky. The record player is piping out Time Of The Season by the Zombies.

Aegon waves a hand flippantly, then adjusts his preposterously large blue-tinted plastic sunglasses; he is shirtless, flabby, very sunburned. “I’ll barely be here.”

Aemond looks over at him, amused. “Oh yeah? And what pressing engagements do you have to attend to? I’d love to know.”

You take a bite of your melopita and scatter crumbs across the swell of your belly: seven and a half months along. “I’m sure the prostitutes miss him.”

“They do,” Aegon snaps. “I’m their favorite customer.”

“Well you’re a reprieve for them. It’s always over so quickly.”

Aemond is snickering. Aegon says to him: “23, huh? A 13-year age difference. She could almost be your daughter.”

“And 17 years younger than you. She could definitely be yours.”

“That’s how Aegon likes his girls,” you say. “Too inexperienced to recognize end-stage degeneracy. Still stumbling their way through Shakespeare for English class.”

“Why can’t she stay at the brownstone?” Aegon asks irritably. Aemond owns a historic townhouse in Georgetown for when Congress is in session, though he’s rarely been there since he announced that he was running for president.

“Because Doxie is here to make sure she’s taken care of,” Aemond replies. Eudoxia has been the head housekeeper of Asteria for decades, a formidable battleaxe of a woman who speaks very little English and has a seemingly endless supply of patterned scarves to wrap around her ink black dyed hair. There currently aren’t any permanent staff stationed at the brownstone, and Aemond does not trust strangers. “And because my future first lady is hosting a tea party on the 10th.”

“A tea party!” Aegon gasps, mocking you. “Surely that will patch the wounds of our troubled nation. She’s an inspiration. She’s motherfucking Gloria Steinem.”

“She’s Aphrodite,” Aemond says, beaming with pride, his remaining eye fixed on your belly. He’s lost one piece of himself, but in a month and a half he’ll gain another. “Goddess of love.”

“There must be a more appropriate mythological character. Medusa, perhaps. Lyssa was the goddess of rabies, Epiales was the goddess of nightmares.”

“Aegon, I had no idea you were so…” You search for the right word. “Literate.”

“Io was turned into a cow.” He grins at you, toothy, malicious.

“She’s also one of Jupiter’s moons,” Aemond muses. He draws invisible orbits in the air with his long, graceful fingers. “Beautiful, celestial, pristine…”

“A satellite,” Aegon says. “Mindless. Aimless. Going wherever she’s told.”

Aemond insists as he twists the bracelet around your right wrist, a delicate gold chain he bought during your honeymoon in Hawaii: “Aphrodite.”

“Didn’t she fuck around with, like, everyone?”

“Maybe you should be Aphrodite,” you tell Aegon.

Mimi appears, tottering across the lawn with the straps of her sundress sliding off her shoulders and her Gimlet sloshing precariously in its glass. The children are playing in the surf with the nannies and Fosco, who is entertaining them by diving for seashells and delivering his treasures into their tiny, grasping palms. Criston is supervising from the sand, though he steals frequent glimpses of Alicent as she feeds a wheelchair-bound Viserys—much diminished after a number of strokes—his own slice of melopita, one careful, patient spoonful at a time. “Can we…” Mimi bursts out laughing and almost falls over. She claws her way upright again using the back of Aegon’s chair. “Um…I was thinking…”

“What?” Aegon asks, annoyed, avoidant. If they’ve ever been happy, it was a transient epoch that came and went long before you joined the family. It was before the asteroid killed the dinosaurs.

“We should go back to Mykonos. We had such a nice time in Mykonos. Didn’t we? Didn’t we just adore Mykonos?”

Aegon sighs, glowering out over the ocean. “Yeah, we sure did. Ten years ago.”

“Exactly!” Mimi gushes, oblivious. “When can we go? Next week? Let’s go next week.”

“Mimi, you and the kids will be in Washington, remember?” Aemond says. Alicent will have to be her handler; usually it’s your job to make sure Mimi is ready for photos, eats enough to stay conscious, doesn’t trip over her own feet, doesn’t talk too much to the press.

“Washington?” Like she’s never heard of it.

“The state. Not the city. For the convention.”

“Oh right. Right.” She gulps her Gimlet. You could set your watch by Mimi’s drinking. Tipsy by lunch, drunk at dinner, crawling on the floor chasing the dogs around by 8 p.m. The Targaryens keep a drove of Alopekis, small and white and foxlike. “Well…maybe some other time.”

“After the election,” Aemond says with an abiding, encouraging smile. He tolerates Mimi because he needs her: happy wholesome family, American Dream. Down at the water’s edge, the nannies are giving towels to Fosco and the children as they scamper out of the frothing waves, Mimi’s five and Helaena’s three: Daphne, Neaera—no one can ever seem to spell her name correctly, least of all the six-year-old girl herself—and Evangelos.

Mimi departs, on the hunt for a fresh Gimlet. Aegon reaches into the pocket of his swim trunks—Hawaiian print, royal blue—and pulls out a joint and a Zippo. He sticks the joint between his teeth and goes to light it.

“No,” Aemond says immediately, yanking the joint out of Aegon’s mouth and stomping it into the earth. Then he points down the beach towards the sand dunes. “You know journalists will sneak around trying to get photos. You know we’re never truly alone out here.”

“They can’t tell what I’m smoking!”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“You know there are teenagers getting their limbs blown off in Vietnam right now? I think society has bigger problems than me smoking grass.”

“And yet to solve those bigger problems, I have to win in November. And the suburban housewives will not vote for me if they think I support legalizing marijuana. Trust me, I know. I’ve met them.”

“I wouldn’t want those people’s votes,” Aegon says derisively.

“You’d rather Nixon get them?”

Aegon doesn’t have a speedy rebuttal this time. He contemplates the Atlantic Ocean, the wind tearing at his hair.

“It’s hot as hell,” Aemond says to you, gathering up the newspapers he’s been leafing through, never not thinking about the election, never not strategizing. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

As you accompany Aemond towards the main house—and of course you follow him, always, anywhere—Alicent waves you over to where she and Viserys are sitting to wish you a happy birthday again. From this vantage point, you can just barely spot Otto and Helaena strolling through her garden, a jungle of butterfly bushes and herbs. The stricken Targaryen patriarch beams at the swell of your belly. Viserys likes you, you are his favorite daughter-in-law, though perhaps this is not so lofty an achievement. Moreover, he likes that you are carrying the child of his decent son. Aemond has already decided on the baby’s name: Aristos Apollo. If it is in fact a boy, you suppose you’ll call him Ari, but he doesn’t feel real to you yet. He belongs to Aemond, to the Targaryens, to the nation, but not quite to you. He is more myth than flesh.

“Nothing is more precious than children,” Viserys tells Aemond, raspy and frail. “I would have had at least five more if I could.” Alicent bows her head, an acknowledgement of her failure in this regard. Viserys expects it. You and Aemond politely avert your gazes.

“Thank God for this baby,” Alicent says. “After the year we’ve had? That the whole world has had? We all need something to be grateful for.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees, smiling. It must be the promise of a son that has made his maiming go down smoother, and maybe it is his soaring poll numbers too, and maybe it is gratitude that he escaped with his life, and maybe it is even the fact that he has you.

But long after dusk when you’re getting ready for bed—slathering yourself in Jergens, stepping into your chiffon nightgown—as you pass through the sliver of light pouring out of the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of something that stops you. Aemond is standing in front of the mirror with his hands on the rim of the sink, his eyepatch slung over the towel rack, his voided eye socket exposed and gory and irreparably wounded. There’s something in his scarred face that you can’t recall ever seeing before. There is a seething, secret, animal rage. There is fury for everyone who has ever denied him anything.

You remember who you were before you met Aemond at the Rainbow Room in Manhattan at a party you were almost not illustrious enough to attend. You wore your hair long and loose, you downed shots, you smoked, you swore, you slept through class almost every Monday; and then you packed all of this away in your allegorical attic and became someone who could stand beside a senator, and then a candidate, and then a president, someone who could tip the scales of fate.

And you think as you lurk unnoticed in the doorway: Maybe he’s been hiding parts of himself too.

~~~~~~~~~~

July 10th, 10 a.m. He’s snoring on a couch in the living room, the one patterned with sailboats. He’s hugging his acoustic guitar like a child clinging to a teddy bear. Sometimes he plays it for the kids: Get Rhythm, Twist And Shout, Stand By Me, You Can’t Hurry Love. That’s about the extent of his involvement in their lives. He has a law degree from Columbia that his father bought for him. Aside from a brief and disastrous stint as the mayor of Trenton, he has never been gainfully employed. You pour the cupful of ice cubes you collected from the freezer all over his bare chest.

“What the fuck!” Aegon screams as he startles awake. “What is wrong with you?!”

“The guests are arriving in two hours. And you’re going to help me host.”

“I’m not slobbering at the feet of those manicured elitists.”

“It’s easy to say ‘vive la révolution’ from your family’s mansion that you reside in as a professional failure.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m so worthless. If only I spent more time hosting tea parties.”

“I can’t small talk with governors and congressmen, so I have to charm their wives instead. That’s how it works, you idiot.”

Aegon rolls off the couch and rubs his forehead, wincing, hungover. In the dining room, Eudoxia is readying cups and plates, polishing silverware, folding napkins. The caterers will be here soon, and there are also three dishes that you made yourself: stafidopsomo, a bread with raisins and cinnamon; rizogalo, Greek-style rice pudding; and baklava you spent hours chopping walnuts for. At least one show of domestic prowess is an expectation, two is impressive, three is above and beyond, something for the other political wives to chatter about. You know the importance of making a good impression on them. They are as much a part of their husbands’ careers as the speech writers, communication directors, fundraisers. “I need a Bloody Mary,” Aegon groans.

“You need to pull your goddamn weight. Everyone else is working to get Aemond elected. Your five-year-old kid is out on the campaign trail and you can’t walk around with a tray of hummus and mini spanakopitas? Are you serious?”

“I’m dead serious,” he says, standing with some difficulty and then shoving by you. “Fuck off, Miss America.”

“Aegon!”

But he’s padding off towards the kitchen with his bare feet, tiki print boxer shorts, bedraggled hair. You follow after him in your spotless white heels and sundress patterned with common blue violets. Your earrings are pearls. You’ve wrangled your hair into a tidy French twist. Aegon is getting a pitcher of tomato juice out of the refrigerator, a bottle of vodka from a cardboard Apple Jacks box. He keeps booze and pills hidden everywhere; you’re always stumbling across his caches.

You open your mouth to unleash something hurtful, something hateful, but then you feel the cold flare of liquid on your thighs as the ocean breeze gusts in through the windows. My dress, you think, alarmed. What did I spill on it? One of the ice cubes you threw at Aegon must have caught on the skirt somehow and melted. That’s your first guess, and it is welcome; water doesn’t stain, and you aren’t sure if you have another outfit that is both formal enough and will still fit you. But when you reach down to touch your leg—now the liquid reaches your knees—your hand comes away red.

You look up at Aegon. He’s staring back at you, thunderstruck, horrified. His Bloody Mary ingredients are now forgotten on the countertop. He shouts for the housekeeper: “Doxie?!”

There is indistinct, cantankerous Greek grumbling in return.

“Doxie! Call an ambulance!”

“I don’t understand,” you say to Aegon, bright clotless blood dyeing the whirls of your fingerprints. I ruined my dress, you think nonsensically. “It doesn’t hurt. Shouldn’t it hurt?”

“Don’t move, don’t do anything, just wait for the paramedics.”

But the edges of your vision are going dark and hazy, and the room spins like a flipped coin. Your knees and ankles fold, bones turned to paper. As you drop, Aegon dives for you. You clutch at him, but there’s nothing to grab onto, no suit jacket, no tie, only skin that glows with sunburn. “If I don’t wake up, tell Aemond—”

“You’re not dying, bitch. My luck’s not that good.”

But his eyes are panicked; and they are the last thing you see before you black out.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arteries of cement, bones like lead, heavy eyelids opening to reveal strange white walls.

Am I dead?

But no: you hurt all over. Heaven isn’t supposed to hurt. There are needles pierced through the backs of your hands, a splitting rawness in your throat.

Was I intubated? Did I have surgery…?

You try to sit up. The pain is blinding; the severed and sutured latticework of your abdominal muscles is a pit of glass. You gasp, moan plaintively, fumble for the nurse call button on the wooden nightstand.

“Will you stop moving?” Aegon says as he walks into the room. He’s slurping on a straw that pokes out from a Dairy Queen cup. The fluid inside is clumpy and red. Instantly, you think of blood, and a wave of nausea punches through the shredded gore that was once your belly. Aegon flops down into the salmon pink armchair beside the bed and props his combat boots up on the ottoman. “They sliced you up like the Black Dahlia. You’re gonna rip your stitches.”

“They did a c-section…?”

“Yeah, you had some kind of uterus…thing. I don’t remember.”

The baby?? Is the baby alright?? “An abruption?”

More slurping. “No…I think it started with a P.”

“Previa?”

“Yeah, that one.”

You remember waking up a few times: on the kitchen floor as men were lifting you, in an ambulance as the siren shrieked. Someone said you were being taken to Mount Sinai in Manhattan. And that makes sense, that would have been Criston’s plan. Mount Sinai is one of the best hospitals in the country. You look around the room for a bassinet or a crib. Instead you see a wheelchair and a myriad of flower bouquets; word has already gotten out, and so the customary well wishes are pouring in. Lady Bird Johnson sent bluebonnets, the state flower of Texas; Abigail McCarthy sent lilies of the valley; Muriel Humphrey sent roses, traditional, safe, uninspiring; Pat Nixon sent blood orange gladioli. Mrs. Wallace, newly deceased, neglected to call a florist. “Where’s the baby?”

“He’s fine. He’s downstairs in an incubator.”

Ari, you think, though he still doesn’t seem real yet. “What…?”

“His lungs are underdeveloped. But the doctors think he’ll be alright. You want a Mr. Misty? There’s a Dairy Queen like two blocks from here.”

“No, I don’t want a Mr. Misty,” you say, incredulous. “I want to see the baby.”

“Well they can’t move him and they can’t move you, so you’ll have to wait.”

“I’m going to see him—” You swing your feet off the bed and feel daggers, fire, a splintering like someone has taken a hammer to your bones. You almost scream; it takes everything in you to choke it down and only gasp as your flesh becomes an inferno. I want a joint, you think randomly, an urge you’d believed you had exorcised from yourself, an archaic relic of a past life.

“Told you,” Aegon says smugly.

You lie panting, helpless, glancing at the phone on the nightstand. “Aemond knows?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve called everyone. He knows.”

“Good. So he’ll be here soon.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, perhaps a tad noncommittally.

“Okay.” You’re still trying to catch your breath. Tacoma is a six hour flight away. Even if Aemond doesn’t leave until morning, he’ll be here by sundown tomorrow. “You can go now.”

“Go?!” Aegon exclaims, then laughs, one of his reckless, taunting cackles. “Oh no. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You definitely are.”

“No, I’m not,” he insists, grinning. “For once in my life, I’m the person who’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. I’m the honorable one. The sacred heir of the favorite son has just been born, and the blessed mother has been sawed in half like Saint Simon the Zealot, and where is Aemond? Where is literally everyone else? Across the continent shaking hands and forcing smiles to win him the great state of Washington. I’m not going home. I’m collecting every second I spend here like coins from a slot machine. I won the jackpot, babe. No one is ever going to be able to call me the family fuckup after this.”

The pain is horrible, insurmountable; you can’t think through it. You close your eyes and try not to sob, to wail, to split yourself open in body and soul. I can’t let him see me break down.

“What’s up?” Aegon asks. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I want a Mr. Misty. Go get me a Mr. Misty.”

“Okay,” Aegon says doubtfully. “What flavor?”

“I don’t care. Not red.”

“They have orange, lemon-lime, grape—”

“Just pick one!” you shout, tears brimming in your eyes. Get out, get out, get out.

“Calm down, psycho!” he yells back, heading for the door.

As soon as he crosses the threshold, you snatch the call button off the nightstand and press it frantically until a nurse arrives. You get more morphine and sink into a stillness like deep water, down, down, down.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s dark outside, stars and a crescent moon. On the television is grainy footage from the Battle of Khe Sanh. American soldiers younger than you are dragging their wounded brethren to a Chinook helicopter for evacuation: bandages, burns, missing limbs and faces. Aegon had dozed off in his chair—assisted by an ample amount of Vicodin, surely—but is stirring awake now. He blinks groggily at the screen.

“It’s so fucking awful,” you say, and Aegon’s eyebrows shoot up; it’s the first time you’ve ever sworn in front of him. You trained yourself to stop when you met Aemond. “30,000 Americans dead, God knows how many Vietnamese peasants, Buddhist monks setting themselves on fire, and for what? So we can say we did everything we could to stop communism? So we can humiliate the Russians? There is no liberation of Vietnam. All we’re doing is making those people hate us. And we’re destroying ourselves too.”

“I didn’t know you cared about the war.”

You look at him, mystified. “Everything I do is about the war.”

“But you never really talk about it.” Aegon yawns and stretches, reaching up towards the ceiling. “You talk about Chanel dresses and tea parties.”

“Well yeah, because it’s…it’s unseemly, I guess. For me to speak on the war. Me specifically.”

He snorts. “Because you’re a woman? Who told you that? Aemond?”

You hesitate, watching the television again. Now there are napalm bombs incinerating villages and rice paddies. “I had a boyfriend before Aemond, you know.”

“What, in kindergarten? Chasing each other around the playground? Illicit snuggles beneath the slide?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “A real boyfriend.”

“No way. You did not.”

“I did,” you insist, smiling a little. “We met at a party my freshman year of college. He was at NYU studying…oh, I always forgot, that was one of our jokes. It was either archaeology or anthropology. I actually thought I was going to marry him for a minute there.”

“Scandalous.” Aegon is gazing at you with his murky blue eyes, grinning, playful. “What happened?”

“He had a moral crisis about poor kids getting shipped off to Vietnam to be slaughtered while he was tucked safely away in his ivory tower. So he enlisted, and honestly it was shocking how quickly I started to forget about him. We exchanged a few letters, it didn’t last long, I think he was forgetting about me too. But he ended up getting killed in action in October, 1965. His old roommate told me.”

Now Aegon is thoughtful. His crooked grin dies. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s his parents I feel bad for. He was an only child. I heard his father drank himself to death.”

“You’ve been carrying a story like that around with you and you never used it? Not in an interview or an article, not at one of your asinine little tea parties?”

“I can’t,” you confess. “Aemond doesn’t want me to. He doesn’t like to be reminded about…you know. That there was someone else before.”

Aegon throws his head back and cackles, combing his fingers through his disheveled blonde hair. “As if Aemond was a virgin when you met him.”

But it’s not the same. It isn’t to Aemond, and it wouldn’t be to the rest of the world either. It is your eternal disgrace. It is something you will be expected to atone for until you’re in the grave. “Give me a joint.”

Aegon is amazed. “What?”

“I know you have some, you always do. I want one. Give it to me.”

“You smoke grass?”

“I used to. Then I gave it up. But I’m making an exception.”

He gawks at you for a while, then slips a joint out of one of the front pockets of his green army jacket. He places it between his lips, lights it with his little chrome Zippo, and inhales deep and slow. Then he offers it to you.

“I don’t want herpes.”

Aegon laughs. “I don’t have herpes. I swear.”

“Not yet, maybe. Give it time.”

“Are you gonna smoke or not?”

You take the joint and fill your lungs with earth, floral notes, a tinge of spice. It’s been years, but it comes rushing back in an instant as the high hits your bloodstream: calm quiet weightlessness, a sense of wellbeing that fills the honeycomb hollows of your bones. “I need to see the baby.”

Aegon stalls. “The doctors were really insistent that you stay here.”

“And all the sudden you care about rules.”

He considers this, drumming his palms on his thighs. His jeans are ripped; he’s biting his lower lip. Then abruptly, he stands. “Alright.” He grabs the wheelchair and pushes it up against the bed. “Let’s go.”

You take another drag and then discard the joint in your empty Dairy Queen cup. You throw off your blanket and try to touch your bare feet to the cool linoleum floor. It hurts, it feels like razor blades, but you keep going. Then you remember you still have one IV in the back of your left hand. “Wait, how am I going to…?”

“You’re in luck. I am well-versed in needles.” Aegon holds out a palm. Nervously, you give him your hand. He peels off the medical tape, takes a moment to examine the vein, then slides out the needle so smoothly you don’t feel it at all; it barely even bleeds. He balls up a Kleenex from the box on your nightstand and secures it to the wound with the same strip of tape. “You’re welcome.”

“Junkie.” You try to lower yourself into the wheelchair and a yelp rips from your throat.

“Oh, this is pathetic,” Aegon says, but not quite unkindly. “Here.” He leans down in front of you. Too desperate to be prideful, you link your arms around the back of his neck. Aegon’s shaggy blonde hair tickles your cheek; his hands skim gingerly to settle on your waist, steadying you without too much pressure. He helps you into the wheelchair, where you collapse gasping and sweating bullets.

“If you ever mention this again, I will guillotine you.”

He winks. “Relax, little Io. I never kiss and tell.”

“I’d assume you’re usually too plastered to remember the details.”

“Be nice. I could roll you down a staircase.” But he doesn’t; he rolls you into the hallway instead.

The lights in the corridor are dim for night, for dreams. You see a few nurses shuttling in and out of other rooms from a distance, but none seem to notice you and Aegon. He steers the wheelchair into the elevator and you ride it down two floors, then cross another hallway and pass through a set of doors. There must be a dozen incubators, half of them occupied. The nurse on duty—currently cradling a tiny infant in her arms, a girl judging by the pink hat, and feeding her from a bottle of formula—gapes at you.

“Ma’am? You aren’t supposed to be—”

“Shut up,” Aegon tells her, and the nurse doesn’t say another word.

Aegon pushes the wheelchair down the line of incubators until you reach the one with a name card labelled Targaryen, Aristos Apollo. And there he is: unmistakably fragile, impossibly small, blue veins like a roadmap beneath translucent skin, tangled in tubes and wires. In his sleeping face you don’t see Aemond or even yourself, but rather an inexplicable familiarity. You feel like you’ve met him before. You feel like you’ve known him all your life.

You press your hand to the clear, domed wall of the incubator; shadows in the shape of your outstretched fingers fall over Ari’s face. “He’s real.”

“Of course he is.” Aegon is watching you; you can see him on the periphery of your vision, a blur of blonde hair and high cheekbones. When you turn to him, he immediately looks away.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing.” But his voice is distracted, bewildered, like someone fumbling for a light switch in a dark room.

[joannasteez]

adore

pairing: cody rhodes x black reader warning: fluffy smut. something something love and devotion. anyways ya'll know the drill. minors please do not interact. I DON'T HAVE A DEDICATED CODY TAG LIST BUT IF YOU WANT A TAG FOR FUTURE CODY FICS JUST DROP A COMMENT! word count: 835

and what of adoration? of seamless devotion? what of its making? not so similar to the mindlessness of lust, where the flesh craves without forethought. cleaving against the make of our wills till its bursting and worn. undone and breathing wild. there is no lust in the air, in the sky, nor in the trees, where the essence of the creator lies. only devotion. and isn't that beautiful? the tenderness of flowers, unfurling under the light of the sun. and when that bright majesty dips to fall against the horizon, the moon is there, always waiting to follow. and do the trees not grow with great ambition? determined to one day kiss the sky, and feel its love breezing amongst gentle leaves. 

and it is only this sort of adoration that can last lifetimes. will its way to settle amongst a passion that breathes heavily. coaxing his skin to teem with a shiver and deep tremblings, as his tongue sweeps loosely against your lips. taut, persistent fingers gripping where they find themselves. in your thigh and in the soft make of a fur carpet. skin breaking with a sweat as he works the roll of his hips in front the swelling heat of a fire place. the winter air so cold, it'd left his skin aching. but your warmth, and the gentleness of your lips make the terrible cold worth it. and he'd carry you to this little cabin on the snowy hill top every time if it meant living in this moment. wrapped up in your legs and feeling the tight clutch of your heat. 

cody breathes into your mouth, licking against your tongue till his lips pull against yours. cock pulsing harshly as it steeps inside your warmth. a groan unearthing from him that spreads into your skin. his nose knocking softly against yours. 

"you're so warm".

you smile. voice breathy. "its just the fire". 

the air is made thick and comforting by the fire, but the hot throbbing that edges against his spine till its sloping to spread into his hips can only be wrought by the wet mess he's made of you. a meticulous build of pleasure formed by his hands and his mouth and his tongue, till he found himself buried deep. 

your fingers curl into his short blonde hair and his nape and into the sculpt of his back. thighs threatening to tremble again as your pussy flutters and works to open for him. with a spirit of devotion. a flower unfurling for the heat of the sun. and he leaves you near breathless. full but desperate still for more. feigned and ill-sated. perpetually needing his touch. you kiss his lips again. moaning sweetly as his hips grind against yours. the tuff of hair trailing up past his length, catching a pricking rhythm against your clit. and the touch there is raw and toe-curling. textured and vicious as it teases the sensitive nerves till they grow frenzied. 

"no angel". his cheek pressed into yours. lips whispering into your ear. "it's you. it's always been you".

tears prick your eyes to a glassiness. heat warming your throat as his words stick to your skin. 

the taut curl of your nipples run into him. causing your breath to hitch and your hips to cant up against him. your nails running amongst the roots of his hair again as you breathe along his lips. you kiss him sloppily, lapping your tongue till its playing messily at his. and his hips find a more eager rhythm. digging into the sticky mess of arousal till its singing along with the crackling rise of the fire. the work in of him deft as he curls in. 

his forehead rests a top yours. your fingers caressing as you cradle his head. 

a tear stains your cheek as it falls from his eye. 

you kiss the droplet. savoring the salty taste. thighs aching, but still they attempt to spread wider. anything if it means to feel more of him. all of him. 

and your lips are soft as they part to speak. tender against his.

"you love me?"

his mouth finds the corner of yours. lingering as it purses to kiss the skin there. "you know i do". 

"how much?"

desperate to hear his words of adoration, till their soaking into your skin. running in your veins as seamless as your blood. 

and the make of his love works tirelessly. drives the rhythm in his hips till the sensation of him is itched into where you throb for him. clenching hot and greedy. his fingers aching as they fist into the soft fur beneath your bodies, his other hand gripping at your thigh still. the flesh there supple and hot-blooded. 

cody's eyes are an angelic blue. his cheeks dusted red and his lips kiss swollen. beautified by passion. by the spirit of adoration. 

a tear stains you cheek as it falls from your eye. he kisses the droplet, savoring just the same as you did before.

"with everything. and it's still not enough". 

[thefallennightmare]

Fika-Joakim 'Jolly' Karlsson: 2/2

*made by @madomens. check her out!*

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Pairings: Joakim 'Jolly' Karlsson x OFC.

Warnings: some angst, swearing, lots of fluff, smut, mentions of death.

Summary: To appease her dying father’s wishes, Astrid takes over the family coffee shop: Fïka. Plans to restore it to its former glory: setting her dreams and ambitions aside- that is until she meets an unexpected stranger. This very stranger changes the trajectory of her life.

Authors Note: Here is part two my lovelies!

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @sammyjoeee @somewhere-diamond @concreteemo @ladispo0p @to-be-written @lilmonster218 @whenthesummerdies @lizzieseveride @blackveilomens @malice-ov-mercy @lma1986 @klutzy-kay24 @baddestomens @cncohshit @jilliemiw86 @cookiesupplier

ASTRID

Straightening out my black floral sundress, I knocked on the front door and waited patiently. Surprisingly it was a warm February evening in Los Angeles but I still wrapped my jacket tighter around me and then tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, opting to leave it down tonight. Exhaustion crept into my bones after a long day of running the cafe but at about seven, I left Jessica and Tori to close up so I could come here. 

All day, I could only think of mine and Jolly’s kiss and the way it made me feel so alive. Yes, it made it harder to work today but it was worth it when I remembered how his lips tasted or how he smelled. Every part of him had absorbed into me with our kiss and I craved more. 

Earlier today, Jolly texted me the address to his house and a time of when to show up. So here I was six p.m. on the dot shaking out the nerves just as the door opened, the music from the house spilling into the street.

“Hey, Astrid!” 

I smiled at Jesse. “Hi!” 

He waved me inside. “Come on in. Make yourself at home. 

Stepping over the threshold, I did my best to calm my nerves again when I noticed a lot of unfamiliar faces and I felt very out of place. I was two seconds away from turning on my heels and leaving until Y/N stepped into the living room from a hallway. 

“Astrid, hey!” Her cheery voice waved me over. “Jolly told me you were coming. I’m so glad because I’m so over being the only girl at these things.” 

“Yeah,” I chuckled, then held up a bag. “I-uh-brought some sweets from Fika. It was the batch that didn’t sell today and I figured you guys would enjoy them more than being tossed out.” 

Y/N’s eyes lit up as she took the bag. “Oh my gosh, you know the way to my heart. Let me introduce you to everyone.” 

She linked her arms with mine, and that simple action washed away every anxiety I had tonight. I couldn’t explain it but Y/N seemed to be the sunshine in a dark room, making everyone forget the bad in their life for a few moments. 

First, she pointed to a couple that was leaning against the kitchen island, hand in hand. 

“This is Malcolm,” Y/N motioned to a tall man with long auburn curls and hazel eyes that mirrored my own. 

“And his boyfriend, Chase,” then she pointed to a man next to Malcolm. 

His head was buzzed, only fuzz of his blonde hair, but his bright blue eyes were striking. 

“They’re also my best friends and roommates,” Y/N informed. 

“Nice to meet you, Astrid,” Malcolm smiled. 

Chase nodded. “Jolly hasn’t stopped talking about you all night.” 

I shuffled my feet, wondering what exactly Jolly had told them about me. “Oh?” 

“It seems as if someone is smitten,” he smirked behind the cup as he brought it to his lips, taking a sip. 

Y/N waved them off before leading me toward another group of guys that sat at the kitchen table. 

“Geez, you weren’t kidding about being the only girl here,” I joked with a smile. 

“Tell me about it so if I seem a bit clingy, I apologize. It’s just nice to have another female here.” 

I patted her arm reassuringly. “You’re fine, Y/N. I don’t mind at all.” 

As we stopped in front of the table, six sets of eyes stared at me. All of them had a wide variety of tattoos but warm smiles. 

“Okay so,” Y/N started rattling off names as she pointed to everyone. “That’s Nicholas, Nick but you can call him Folio, Matt, Davis, Michael, and Bryan.” 

“Sorry, it’s a lot of names thrown at you at once,” Folio apologized. 

“If I couldn’t remember names, I wouldn’t be good at my job,” I shrugged with a laugh. 

“Oh, that’s right! You own that cafe on W. 9th? Fika?” Matt asked. 

I wore a proud smile. “That’s the one.”

For the next few minutes, I chatted with all of them until movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. Peering up to the sliding glass door of the house, I noticed both Noah and Jolly standing outside on the back deck, grilling some sort of food. It seemed like they were having a deep conversation, Noah running his hand over his face a few times and Jolly listening intently. 

Almost as if he felt me staring, Jolly glanced away from the grill, his dark eyes immediately finding mine. I gave him a small wave, one he returned before going back to his conversation with Noah. 

“I hope you’re hungry,” Nicholas said, pulling my attention back inside. “Jolly insisted on cooking tonight for all of us.” 

I played with the straps of my purse. “He cooks?” 

“Out of all of us, he’s one of the best. Noah likes to cook but if it were up to either of them, it’s always Jolly,” Matt said. 

“The rest of us just eat,” Folio finished with a chuckle. 

As I continued to talk with all of Jolly’s friends, a genuine smile on my face, I felt someone's warm embrace encased around me as a gentle hand rested on my lower back. 

“Käraste,” Jolly’s deep voice breathed into my hairline.

Gazing up at him, my breath caught in my throat when I met his dark eyes. I’d seen them up close many times before but every single time, they took my breath away. The tan long sleeve he wore did wonders for his skin and half of his long hair was tied back into a bun so I was able to fully see him. 

“Hi,” I turned towards him. 

He motioned to everyone behind me. “Are they being nice?” 

I patted his chest, fingers messing with his necklace. “Yes, very welcoming.” 

“Good,” he hummed and laced our fingers together. “Are you hungry?” 

Suddenly the smell of fresh food filled my nostrils and my stomach growled, something Jolly picked up on because he chuckled. Pulling out the stool at the kitchen island for me, I sat with a smile of thanks and watched as he grabbed a plate. 

He motioned to the wide spread of chicken and steak shish kabobs with a variety of different veggies. “Anything a no on this list?” 

“Nope. I’ll have a little bit of everything please,” I said. 

While Jolly filled my plate with food, Noah motioned toward the open fridge. “Would you like something to drink?” 

“Water is fine, thank you.” 

After he set down a bottle of water in front of me, Y/N was trying to make herself a plate of food but Noah quickly smacked her hands away. 

“Noah, I can-,” she started. 

“Not a chance, angel. Sit down and I’ll bring it to you.” 

I watched the two of them interact with a faint smile, Noah brushing back Y/N’s hair after he brought her a plate and lay a soft kiss on her lips. 

Jolly set down my own plate and I thanked him with a wide smile. “Thank you, Jolly.” 

We sat in silence for a few moments as we ate while everyone else had their own conversations but when his rough fingers grazed over my knee, I turned my head to look at Jolly. 

“Did you ever figure out why the alarm went off last night?” 

I groaned while setting down my fork. “I’m not sure. When I checked it out, every door was locked shut so I’m unsure why the alarm went off.” 

“Maybe a glitch?” Jolly suggested while taking our plates to the sink. 

“Hm, maybe,” I tapped my fingers on the edge of the counter. 

He quickly returned to my side to grasp my hand and led me toward the evergreen sectional couch. He pulled down with him and I crossed one leg over the other and his hand immediately rested on my knee, tracing random shapes on the skin there. 

“You look beautiful,” Jolly mused. 

I tried to hide behind my hair so he couldn’t see the way I blushed at his comment. But he brushed it away, tucking it behind my neck to fully expose myself to him.

“Don’t hide, Astrid,” he said. 

I ran my hands over my thighs. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Because of me?” Jolly wondered, almost removing his hand from my knee but I placed mine over it. 

“Of dating in general, I suppose,” I admitted with a long breath. “This is the first time in a long while that anyone has shown any interest in me.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” he said while turning his body inward towards me. 

I shrugged, not wanting to meet his gaze. “I’ve been so busy with school before having to drop out to take over Fika that dating took a back seat.” 

Jolly’s fingers grazed over the back of my neck and I leaned into his touch. “So you never had time to focus on yourself?” 

“I guess, yes in a sense,” I agreed with a shrug. “I’ve never put my feelings first before anything so it’s a bit new.” 

“What are those feelings telling you right now?” He wondered, one hand on my knee and the other resting on the back of my neck. 

Swallowing thickly, I turned my face up towards him so our lips were meters apart. I watched as his gaze bounced from my eyes down to my lips to trace every movement of my tongue as it glided over them before resting on my eyes once again. 

“I would like to kiss you again,” I breathed while tracing a finger over the stubble on his chin. 

Something flashed in Jolly’s eyes before he peeked over my shoulder to see that everyone else had been preoccupied with other things then he linked our fingers together and gently but quickly pulled me up from the couch. 

“Would it be alright if we go up to my bedroom?” 

My heart skipped a beat at his question. While it was clear that Jolly was filled with anticipation for kissing me again, he still wanted to make sure I was alright with going up into his bedroom with him. 

A little too eagerly, I nodded which caused him to grasp my hips and lead me up the stairs, away from the small group of friends that pretended to ignore us slipping away. But quickly glancing back, I saw Y/n who was sitting on Noah’s lap on the couch, giving me a playful wink. 

In the seclusion of the upstairs hallway, Jolly stopped in front of a closed door but made no effort to open it. Instead, I felt his warm breath over my ear right before his lips pressed a tender kiss to my neck. 

“Are you sure?” He asked. 

With his hands still on my hips, I turned in his embrace to lock my arms around his neck. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day.” 

Not saying anything but keeping me in his embrace, Jolly opened the door and led me backward into his room. It was dark but my eyes quickly adjusted to his face as I heard him kick the door shut. There was an eerie silence in the confines around us but our heavy breathing seemed to break through it. My name was hushed on his lips as his hand grasped my cheek, the roughness of his fingers tracing over my bottom lip. I pressed a kiss to them causing him to suck in a breath. 

Jolly swallowed hard, his chest heaving with shaky whispers as he spoke again. 

“Nu när jag har dig vill jag inte släppa dig.”

Blinking up at him, I was rooted to the ground, spinning while standing straight. Dizzy in my blood and my soul. I was breathing like I was Icarus when he finally felt the air between his wax wings as he flew towards the sun like I’d been inhaling a special kind of oxygen you could only find in the clouds. I was trying to keep myself from breaking the spell between us to ask him what he said in Swedish. 

With his hand still caressing my cheek, Jolly leaned in so carefully all while breathing but yet not breathing. Our hearts beat between us and he was so close now, I could almost feel the softness of his lips. While our first kiss seemed to have a rushed start, it was as if Jolly wanted to enjoy the build-up; and take his time with me. 

I couldn’t feel my legs, my fingers, or the cold emptiness of this room because all I felt was Jolly everywhere, filling everything in and around me. Then all at once, Jolly’s lips were on mine, softer than anything I’d ever known. My hands found his chest, grasping his necklace between my fingers while one hand tangled in my hair and the other grazed up the bare skin of my thigh.

His lips were soft like the first snowfall of the season. They tasted like biting into cotton candy for the first time and the explosion of sweetness filling your mouth; so effortlessly sweet. I felt weightless while floating in the water when his tongue slipped between my lips and I moaned as our kiss deepened. Slowly, Jolly backed me up towards his bed and when I felt the edge of it smack against the back of my knees, the two of us fell into a heap of tangled limbs and tongues. 

I giggled into the kiss as he muttered a slew of curses. 

“I meant to be more suave with that,” Jolly admitted while marking my neck with tender teeth. 

I titled my head to the side, giving him more access. “I appreciate the effort.” 

Leaving the mark on my neck, he attacked my lips once again with such fever it made my head spin. Our teeth smacked against each other as our tongues devoured each other with such hunger. Jolly’s calloused hand grazed up my leg to my thigh before resting at the end of my dress. 

“Astrid,” he breathed when my hands slipped underneath his shirt. 

His skin was a blaze as my fingers danced across the waistband of his jeans which made him break away from our kiss, resting his forehead against mine. 

“Hang on,” Jolly muttered before untangling himself from me. 

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked, suddenly worried. 

Suddenly, a lamp clicked on, painting the room in a faint golden hue and it was then that I got a good look at Jolly. He was standing at the end of his bed now, while I lay on his bed on my elbows, and his dark eyes stalked me like a hunter with prey. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath and his lips were swollen from the force of our kiss. When I trailed my gaze down the long length of him, I nearly choked on a breath when I realized that I had done nothing wrong; his cock was prominent in his jeans, straining for release. 

Licking my lips, I locked eyes with Jolly again to see him take out the top half of his hair from its elastic, the strands falling to his shoulders in waves. 

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, käraste,” he ran a hand over his face. “I just want to slow things down in case this isn’t something you wanted.” 

I sat up now and shook my head. “Jolly, if I didn’t have the slight inclination something more than just making out might happen tonight, I wouldn’t have agreed to come up here with you.” 

He nodded but still made no move to come back to bed, instead stuffed his hands deep into the pocket of his jeans. So briefly, I faltered and pulled my knees closer to me. 

“Unless this isn’t something you want?” 

“Käraste, all I want is you. The thought of you has overtaken every one of my thoughts the last few days,” Jolly admitted while taking a tentative step towards me. 

My heart beat wildly in my chest with his admission so I extended my hand towards him, inviting him back to his bed. The familiarity of his hands grasped mine as he knelt on his bed, towering over me. The knuckles with tattoos grazed over my cheek just before his lips met mine again. I allowed him to slip his hands now underneath my dress to pull it up over my head then tossed it to the floor. 

Pulling away from our kiss, Jolly sat back on his knees to gaze down at me wearing nothing but a pair of black panties; me kicking off my shoes when she tumbled to the bed together. 

“Fuck,” he sighed, eyes going dark with lust as he continued to stare at me. “You’re beautiful.” 

I cast my eyes downward with a blush which made Jolly lift my chin with a knuckle so I could peer up at him. 

“Don’t hide, Astrid. I want to see all of you.” 

I wasn't sure why I was nervous in front of him. I’d never been shy when it came to sex, knowing what I liked and being vocal about it, but now sitting in front of Jolly like this, I couldn't stop myself from hiding. 

He was gentle as his lips found mine again, this kiss slower, more sensual, as I leaned up into him while rising to my knees. I made quick work of taking off his shirt, only breaking our kiss for a moment, and scratched my nails over his chest, up to his shoulder. Jolly hissed in pleasure and then began to lie me back on his bed, the warm comforter bringing a sense of comfort to my chilled skin. 

Jolly began kissing over the tattoos across my chest, his hums of approval etched into me, and I leaned farther back into the mattress, exposing all of him to me. My pussy ached with such force, I needed some sort of pressure to alleviate the pain, so I grabbed Jolly’s hips to bring him closer to me, the rough material of his jeans brushing over the thin material of my underwear. 

“Shit,” I groaned.

Breaking away from littering my chest with tiny marks, Jolly sat up to quickly remove his jeans, joining the growing pile of our clothes on the floor. As he stood at the end of the bed, I assessed his tattoos the same way he had done mine. His entire left arm was covered in a sleeve of various designs. His chest had a woman with a mask and winged helmet, roses, and directly in the middle of his chest was a shining diamond. Gazling lower, I noticed he had a tattoo on his right knee. 

I licked my lips when I took in the full sight of Jolly, standing in front of me in his gray briefs, hair a disheveled mess from my hands running through it, and lips bruised from the force of our kiss. 

“Astrid.” His deep voice made my eyes snap up to his. “Are you sure?” 

“Please,” I nodded once, my voice hushed due to being lost in lust. Weeks of flirting, stolen glances, and soft touches had led up to this moment and I was in dire need of release. “I need you, Joakim.”

Darkness shadowed his eyes and slowly began crawling up my body, leaving small kisses along each of the tattoos on my leg, the one on my thigh, and my ribs. He linked his hand with mine which had the Medusa tattoo and locked it above my head. 

“Say it again,” he groaned into the crook of my neck, his cock pressing to the inside of my thigh. 

My nails raked down his back. “Joakim.” 

His chest rumbled low with a noise I’d never heard before as he quickly slipped off my underwear so now I was completely bare for him. Jolly’s finger brushed between my folds, gathering up the wetness between my legs, and I shivered underneath him. 

“So wet.” 

He slipped one finger inside of me then began a languid pace of fucking me with his finger. My eyes fluttered shut only for the briefest of moments until Jolly’s deep voice rasped in my ear. 

“Look at me, Astrid.” 

Snapping my eyes open, I watched him through hazy vision as Jolly peered down to my pussy, watching his finger disappear inside of me. 

“Faster,” I breathed. “Please.” 

All at once, Jolly’s pace quickened and when his warm mouth covered my left nipple, tongue and teeth teasing, I bucked my hips into his hand. My knees buckled when he added a second finger, spearing me wide open. 

“Joakim,” I moaned while grasping at the back of his head, keeping him in place. 

His actions on my nipple halted briefly. “Fuck, say it again. I need to hear you say my name again.” 

I did, like a mantra when my orgasm began to crest then all at once washed through me in a tidal wave. Just before I could scream out my release, Jolly swallowed them with a kiss so spellbinding, I couldn’t feel the pad of his thumb on my clit to work me through the aftershocks. With the heat of a second orgasm building, I ran my hands down his stomach to pull on the waistband of his briefs. Jolly understood because, with my help, he shimmed out of them before kicking them off to the side. 

Breaking away from the kiss, I stared down between us and let out a groan. His cock was long but thick and I licked my lips, suddenly wanting a taste. Using my strength, I pushed Jolly on his chest so he was lying on the bed now. 

“Käraste,” he warned. “I’m not going to last-.” 

I hushed him by grabbing his cock with a tight grasp. “Just a little taste.” 

Jolly jerked when my hand started to move up and down, spreading the precum around the head with my thumb. Glancing up at him through the strands of hair that fell into my face, my breath stuttered at the sight. His head was buried in the pillow, long forearm covering his eyes, but his lips were parted. The muscles in his stomach contracted as he forced himself to not let out a breath, anticipating my mouth sinking around him. 

So that's exactly what I did. 

Wetting my lips, I hollow my cheeks before taking Jolly in my mouth all at once, never once gagging. His guttural groans broke through the otherwise silent bedroom when I held myself there for a few seconds, my tongue pressing on the underside of his cock. Then my lips parted around his thick, veiny cock, tasting the salt of his precum in my mouth. I hummed in sheer approval, loving how he tasted and needing more of him. I slid down his shaft until my nose was buried in his dark hairs and his crown struck the back of my throat. 

“Fuck. Shit,” Jolly choked out and held my face in place with his hands before he began fucking my throat. 

I moaned around him as the tears gathered at the corner of my eyes and drool dribbled down my chin. But I refused to let him know I couldn’t handle it because I knew I could. 

“Astrid,” my name was strangled on his lips. 

Suddenly, his hips writhed underneath my nails as I clawed at him before I was pulled off of him with a loud pop and I squealed when he shifted our positions so now he was kneeling between my legs. Jolly leaned over to his bedside table to rummage through the drawer, immediately pulling out a condom. I swallowed thickly when the realization of what was about to happen sunk in. 

We’d already come this far, there was no way I’d deny us this. I wanted it just as much as he did. 

I needed this. 

But the fear of how it would change things between us lingered in the back of my mind while I watched Jolly roll the condom on his cock, hands shaking slightly. I noted that he was also nervous but opted to not say anything. 

Spreading my legs wide for him, Jolly angled the head of his cock towards me, and with a fast gaze up at me, I nodded. My back arched off the bed as my hands grasped at anything I could to keep myself centered when he sank his entire length inside of me. 

“Oh,” I whined a moan when the thickness of his cock filled me. 

“So tight,” Jolly grunted as his hips stilled, nipping his teeth on my breasts. 

We stayed like this for a few steady beats, our breaths syncing as soon as our bodies did. He lifted my thigh to my chest so he could bury himself deeper and I squeezed around him. 

“Please,” I husked while moving my hips. “I need you to move.” 

His eyes were blown wide with lust as leaned down to crush his lips to mine, immediately forcing his tongue in my mouth. Jolly’s hips began to move with such fever that the mattress beneath us began to creak. 

“Fuck, I forgot how loud my bed is,” he chuckled into the crook in my neck as he sucked on the tender skin there. 

In turn, I giggled but then hissed in sheer ecstasy when the head of his cock hit that perfect spot. The fire spread from my gut through my veins and when I clenched around him again, Jolly’s teeth grazed my ear, hips still holding his sensual, steady pace. 

“Touch yourself,” he urged. 

My fingers quickly the swollen nub between my legs and worked in the pattern I knew all too well; the one that would grant me the release that was about to break free. But I sensed that Jolly was holding back so I brushed the sweat-matted hair away from his face with my free hand, his dark eyes gone from pure bliss. 

“I need you to go faster. Please,” I sighed. 

While my body reacted in the most euphoric way to him, I needed him to hurt me in a sense. The harder and faster his cock slammed into me, the better it felt. 

Jolly laid a kiss on the inside of my palm. “I might not last long, käraste.” 

I paused my fingers against my clit to press a tender kiss on his lips, one he returned without a missed beat. 

“Neither am I. I’m so close, Joakim.” 

His head fell to my shoulder and nuzzled the side of my neck with his facial hair for a brief moment before pulling himself completely out of me. Before I could whine in protest, he flipped me to my stomach and dug his nails into my skin to hoist my hips up in the air. One large hand pressed against my back to keep me against the mattress while his other lined up his cock again however this time when he slipped inside, he was anything but gentle. 

My screams were muffled into the pillow when Jolly slammed into me from behind, over and over again with such force the headboard banged against the wall. Neither of us cared if anyone heard downstairs; only we mattered at this moment. The sound of skin slapping on skin tangled with the sounds of our moans of ecstasy and I thrived in the way his cock seemed to perfectly fit inside of me. His thickness filled me up completely. 

Reaching around, Jolly’s fingers found my clit and matched the pace with his hips, drawing fast circles in both directions and when his cock twitched inside of me, I knew that this was it. 

“Du är underbar, Astrid. Jag kan inte få nog av dig,” Jolly spoke into the skin of my back as he left a variety of kisses along my spine. 

I was gone in a haze of ecstasy that I didn’t even pick up my name in between the Swedish words. My toes curled with a scream when my second orgasm slammed into me without warning; without care to who heard us. 

“Joakim,” I writhed underneath him, my arousal coating the condom. 

Wrapping an arm around me, he lifted me so now I kneeled on the bed so he could fuck up into me. His fingers pinched and pulled on my nipples and I rested my head against his shoulder. 

“So warm. So perfect. Mina,” he promised with a kiss to the side of my head before Jolly finally emptied himself inside the condom.

We fell into a heap of exhaustion onto his bed then slowly, he slipped away from me so he could dispose of the condom. I lay there, clutching the pillow close to my chest as the exhaustion weighed heavy on my eyes. With all of the Swedish words Jolly had spoken to me, the last one was one I recognized. 

Mina. 

Mine. 

The bed dipped behind me and strong arms pulled me into a warm chest and I sighed in content. 

“Are you alright?” Jolly asked, pressing a kiss to the back of my shoulder. 

“More than alright,” I hummed while shifting closer to him; his cock twitched against my bare ass. 

His fingers traced up and down the skin of my ribs while we lay there in complete but comfortable silence. I looked around his bedroom noticing for the first time how boxes were scattered about and it was vaguely decorated. 

“We just moved in a few weeks ago. Haven’t found the time to unpack everything,” Jolly answered my silent question. 

“Well, maybe if you weren’t coming to a certain cafe every day, maybe you would find the time,” I teased while linking our hands together and kissing the tattoos on his knuckles. 

“I can’t help it. She makes the best kanelbullars,” Jolly retorted. 

“You know,” I began. “Never mind, it’s silly.” 

He tilted my head back so I could look at him. “Nothing you say is silly, Astrid. Go on, tell me.” 

Biting my lip, I turned in his embrace so now I was laying my head on his chest and my left leg was thrown over his hips almost locking him in place. The touch of his fingers along my back brought chills to my skin so he covered us with a black throw blanket that honestly, only covered me but he never complained. 

“When I first took over Fika after my father passed away, I had every intention of selling it. It took a toll on my grandparents when they owned it and they nearly got a divorce. Thankfully they were able to make it through but my parents weren’t so lucky,” I admitted. 

Jolly remained quiet as I continued. “They divorced when I was young and my mom wanted nothing to do with me or Fika claiming it was cursed, so she left. I stayed with my dad and helped out there every day until I went away to college.” 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into my hairline. 

I shrugged. “College wasn't for me anyway so when-uh-when my dad got sick, I came back home to help him. His mind wasn’t right so he nearly went bankrupt.” 

“Sick?” 

Resting my chin on Jolly’s chest, I looked up at him. “Alzheimer’s. It took him pretty quickly so he didn’t suffer but as a result, he left me with Fika which was days away from closing. If it wasn't for my mormor investing more of her money into Fika, there’d be no way we’d be open right now.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a smile. “Mormor? So you do know Swedish.” 

I patted his chest with a snort. “Very little.” 

Jolly brushed a kiss along my forehead. “I’m sorry about your father.” 

With a tight-lined smile, I decided to continue with my original train of thought, not wanting to go into too much detail about my father and his death. 

Since you were the one who found him slumped over in his chair, pill bottles askew. 

“When my grandparents moved back to Sweden, all I had was my dad. It was the two of us for a long time so when he died a few months ago, I felt lost and alone. It made me realize how afraid I’d always been of being alone. I’ve trusted people too easily because of this fear and ended up getting my heart broken.” 

Jolly’s body tensed underneath me as I continued speaking, running my fingers over the tattoo on his chest. “With you, though. It’s been a nice breath of fresh air; something different. I haven’t had that fear since you walked into Fika that morning.” 

“You don’t have to be alone anymore. I’ll always be here for you.” 

I glanced up at Jolly. “But what I was getting at originally was that I had every intention to sell, ready to get rid of the place that held too many negative thoughts.” 

“But?” He caressed the side of my face. 

“But,” I smiled. “There have been far too many positive thoughts lately that outweigh the bad.” 

I kissed his chin, the stubble scratching my lips, and Jolly squeezed my hips. “I’m glad, Astrid.” 

Now I pressed a kiss to his lips, suddenly finished with talking, and straddled him. I pinned his hands above his head with one hand while I reached for his cock with the other. 

“Jolly!” 

Persistent knocking on his door made me hastily crawl off of him and reach for the first piece of clothing I could find; his tan long sleeve. Jolly sat up in bed to now cover both of our bottom halves with his large comforter. 

Giving me a quick glance, I nodded as he ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah?” 

Tentatively, the door opened and in walked Jesse, who had a container of blueberries in his hand, popping a few in his mouth as he stared at us with raised brows. 

“Oh, shit. Am I interrupting something?” 

Jolly ran a hand over his face with a groan. “Do you need something?” 

“Astrid left her phone in the kitchen and I think someone’s been calling her,” Jesse informed while tossing my phone on Jolly’s bed. 

Thanking him with a smile, I reached for it and sucked in a breath when I noticed all the notifications and missed calls; Jese and Jolly having a conversation amongst themselves. 

“Noah wants to know if you’re still up for working tonight.” 

Jolly nodded before looking at me, running a hand down my back. “Everything alright?” 

Ignoring him briefly, I looked towards Jesse. “How long has my phone been going off?” 

“Just a couple of minutes,” he said while popping a few more blueberries in his mouth. 

Glancing over at Jolly, I sighed. “It’s the cafe. The alarm has been going off the last few minutes. I disarmed it but should go over there to look to make sure everything is alright.” 

“I’ll come with you,” he said. 

I rested a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. It seems like you have work to do. Plus, Tori and Jessica are there with the police officers. I won't be alone.” 

Just then someone walked past Jolly’s room and scolded Jesse who was still leaning against the wall, stuffing handfuls of blueberries in his mouth. 

“Jesse Cash! What is your obsession with not only fruit but interrupting people?!” Y/N scolded while crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I was bringing Astrid her phone,” he defended. 

It didn’t matter to her because she waved him out of the room. “You’re unbelievable.” 

I did my best to giggle at the two of them but the worry about what could have tripped the alarm weighed heavy in my mind. Eventually, Jesse left the room but Y/N briefly peaked her head in. 

“Not trying to interrupt because I understand the feeling,” she chuckled before speaking to Jolly. “Um, Noah is ready to get to work whenever you are. Just because of the deadline-.” 

“I know,” he nodded. “Give me a couple of minutes. I’ll meet him there.” 

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t bother to ask Jolly what kind of work pulls him away this late. 

“Astrid?” 

Glancing away from the text I had been working out to Jessica, I smile at Y/N. “Yea?” 

“I’m leaving in a few minutes. I can walk with you to your car if you’d like,” she offered. 

“I’d like that, thanks Y/N,” I nodded with another smile. 

Closing the door behind her, both Jolly and I slipped out from underneath the blanket to get dressed back into our clothes. While I was stepping into my vans, I finished the text message I’d been trying to send Jessica for the last few minutes. 

Me: I’ll be there as soon as I can! I’m so sorry I wasn’t near my phone. Any idea what set off the alarm?

Jessica: No idea! We checked every single sensor and door, there should have been no reason for it to go off. Thankfully, Tori and I were still in the parking lot when it went off. We didn’t see anyone. 

“Käraste.” 

Glancing away from my phone, I hummed in response to Jolly who was handing me a sweater. “Take it, it’s cold outside.” 

When I reached for it, he pulled me into his embrace to lay a kiss on my lips. His tongue briefly brushed against my bottom lip before he pulled away. 

“Be careful,” he muttered to them. 

“I will,” with another peck, I stepped away from him to slip on his sweater. 

But before I could leave his bedroom, his fingers wrapped around my elbow to stop me. 

“The next few days I’ll be busy but maybe we can officially go on a date this weekend? Friday night?” 

“I’d like that,” I said with a wide smile but cursed under my breath. “I forgot Friday is my late night at the cafe. Saturday?” 

Jolly’s shoulders fell. “I have this thing for work. But I can bring you dinner Friday if you’d like. Keep you company.” 

My heart fluttered in my chest at the thought of that and I answered with a kiss to his cheek. 

“I’d love that. I’ll text you when I’m back home tonight.” 

With a small wave, I finally slipped through his bedroom door to make my way over to Fika. 

JOLLY

I lounged on my bed with my phone on my chest, aimlessly flipping through the channels, trying to find something to watch on the television. It'd been a long day of media press so I wanted to spend a little while decompressing before heading out to dinner tonight. 

For what seemed like the third time this last minute, I checked my phone to see if Astrid had texted me back. 

She didn’t. 

She hadn’t texted me back in four days. 

And it was all my fault. 

We texted earlier in the week almost non stop when we weren’t busy with work, talking more about our date for Friday. However by Wednesday afternoon, it ceased when I had to cancel because of last minute media press that showed up. With the recent debut of our third album, Bad Omens was one of the most sought after artists for podcasts and interviews. Hence what we’d been doing all weekend long. 

That wasn’t the reason why she stopped talking to you, though. 

Groaning at the thought, I looked back at the text thread between Astrid and I. 

Käraste: Oh, that’s okay. I understand that work comes first. I’m free most nights next week since Jessica is comfortable with closing up the cafe for me. 

Me: I’ll let you know what my schedule looks like. 

Käraste: Okay :)

Read at 3:32 pm on Wednesday. 

Käraste: I made a fresh batch of kanelbullars if you were planning on coming by tonight. 

Read at 5:03 pm on Wednesday. 

Käraste: I thought I’d let you know that I made it home safe and the alarm company fixed the glitch with my system. So finally, it’s all figured out. 

Read at 10:21 pm on Wednesday. 

Me: 👍

Käraste: Not sure if you’re planning on coming in today but I have a lot of office work to get through so if I don’t see you that's why. 

Read at 10:00 a.m. Thursday. 

Käraste: I could always work in your booth, if you don’t mind my company. 

Read at 10:03 a.m. Thursday. 

Then with a shaky breath, I read the last message Astrid sent. 

Käraste: Message loud and clear, Jolly. 

Read at 11:47 p.m. Thursday. 

It was Monday now and I had every intention of replying back to her with my schedule for next week. Y/N mentioned in passing that she and Astrid had been texting and while she was hurt about me canceling our date, she understood why I had too. 

Did she though? You still haven’t told her who you are or what you do. 

The guilt of lying to Astrid and having to cancel ate away at me that it hindered me unable to respond. I found myself deep within my own head on if I’d be enough for her. Especially after our night together, I knew she deserved someone that would be home all the time and not on the road most of the year. 

That night replayed in my mind all the fucking time. All I could think about was the way she felt underneath me, the way she smelled; her scent still lingering on my pillows days after. The way she looked coming apart on my cock was stuck on a loop, so much so that a little while ago I was in the shower with one hand leaning against the wall and the other wrapped around my cock. 

A stern knock echoed in my hotel room and with a sigh, I turned off the television and dragged my feet over to it; already expecting who it was on the other side. 

“You have some explaining to do, Jolly,” Y/N scolded as she pushed her way inside my room, Noah trailing behind with a sorrowful smile. 

“What did I do?” I asked, shutting the door behind them. 

“What did you do?” Her eyes widened before she ran a hand through her brown hair. “Astrid told me you’ve ghosted her?” 

I stuffed my hands in my sweater pocket before falling into my computer chair with a huff of breath. “It’s complicated.” 

“How?” Y/N demanded while tapping her foot on the ground. “Because from the outside looking in, I see someone that was hurt by the choices you made. You hurt her, Jolly. She thinks she did something wrong and pushed you away. ” 

“She didn’t,” I sat up, resting my elbows on my knees. 

Noah sat on the edge of my bed but Y/N instead let out a long sigh before sitting next to him. 

“We know that,” Y/N pointed between her and Noah. “But Astrid feels that since the two of you slept together, you got what you wanted and now you don’t want anything to do with her.” 

“That’s not-,” I began. 

“Hang on,” Noah spoke up for the first time, shaking his head. “You and Astrid slept together?” 

My cock twitched in my sweats when the memory of the two of us tangled in the sheets came to mind. 

“The night of the housewarming party,” I admitted. “How did you know?” 

Y/N shrugged. “Girl talk. She needed someone to confide in and with my own experience, I felt like I could give her the advice she needed.” 

“Your own experience?” Noah raised her brows at her. 

“Ok while I don’t have experience of being ghosted, per say. I do have experience on what happens when you don’t talk about the things bothering you,” she said while rolling her eyes

“I didn’t expect for it to end up like this. But with how busy we’re going to be the next few months, it won't work. This is a perfect example. We have been busy the last few days with media bullshit. Astrid doesn't even know who we are. I had you guys keep Bad Omens a secret from her the night of the party. What kind of relationship starts off with lies?” 

“So you think it’s better to ignore her after having sex with her?” Y/N’s voice was raised. 

I winced at her words. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Jolly, while you didn’t physically leave her to go somewhere, you left her emotionally. You ignored her and expected what? To have a positive outcome?” 

“No,” I shifted in my seat. “I just don’t want to disappoint her with always having to leave for a tour. She’s had a rough life from what she told me. She’s all alone.” 

“Exactly why what you did was a dick move,” Y/N said sternly but then apologized when Noah gave her a look. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, Jolly. But can you see it from where Astrid is coming from?” 

“I understand,” I nodded. “It was wrong of me to ignore her the last few days. But I was afraid of not being enough for her; being what she needs.” 

“You’re projecting a feeling that doesn’t even exist,” Noah said.

I snorted. “The two of you see a shrink once a week and all of a sudden you have PHD’s.” 

“We’re just-,” Y/N began while leaning forward. 

I waved her off. “No, I know, I’m sorry. You’re right. The irony of all this. Here I thought I had it all figured out, when I tried pushing the two of you together and now here I am doing the opposite of what I thought.” 

“You’re only human, you know. And that’s okay if you might have not learned from your mistakes.”

“I know. I’m not usually the one that wallows in my mind. I’m the one that helps people out of these situations. So, thank you guys for being here; pulling my head out of my ass.” 

Y/N smiled while resting her head against Noah’s shoulder. “It’s what we’re here for, Jolly. Think of it as returning the favor.” 

Noah left a gentle kiss on top of her head before looking at me. “You should at least call Astrid. Let her know that you’ll explain everything to her, but you just need time because this way of thinking or feeling is new for you.” 

To lighten up the mood a smidge of guilt in her chest. “Calling the kettle black here, it doesn’t have to be complicated. You deserve happiness too Jolly, don’t- don’t do that. Call her.”

I sighed while leaning back in the chair. “What you two did, whatever you went through to get where you are, it’s different. I’m not sure if this, whatever it is, will work. It’s easier for you both because you understand this life, Y/N. I can’t expect Astrid to drop everything like that to come with us, or be with me like that. Fika is her life, she cant leave that behind.” 

“You don’t know that,” Y/N reassured me with a warm smile. 

Noah rubbed her back. “We can’t sit here and say anything that hasn’t already been said. But, if we can say one thing; communicate. Talk with Astrid and tell her the truth. You’ll never know if you don’t. You deserve happiness, just as much as anyone else and I think she really adores you. So just at least if anything, talk to her.”

“Just don’t take 6 months to say something,” Y/N added in with a chuckle. 

I snorted while rising to my feet, going about my room to gather my phone and wallet since we were about to head out to dinner.  “Your telenovela was enough for me. I’ll use my words.” 

“I’m shocked you even pronounced that word so well,” Y/N mocked. 

“Kiss my ass Joakim, we use words,” Noah nudged my shoulder when he stood. 

“Yeah, most of them start with don’t and end with stop,” I shot back with a smirk.

Y/N gasped while smacking the back of my head. “Okay now you’re being an ass for real.” 

“Don’t pry in my love life,” I playfully pushed her. 

“Oh, I see how it is, ” Noah chuckled. 

For the first time in a few days, I felt lighter in my steps and felt as if things would be alright with Astrid and I. Just as soon as I talked to her. Making a mental note to swing by Fika after dinner, I retreated down stairs to the living room where Nicholas and Folio were waiting for us; the five of us meeting the others for dinner. 

“Jolly,” Y/N grasped my wrist to stop me from following everyone outside. “Don’t let your worries ruin this because you deserve happiness too. You do.” 

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders in a hug, pressing a peck to the top of her head. “Thank you, Y/N. But who’s to say she’ll even want to talk to me after how I ignored her.” 

“Don’t start that. I know that kind of thinking all too well. Just go with the flow. Let it happen naturally. You’d be surprised to find out how Astrid feels about you,” she patted my cheek before running to catch up to Noah, jumping onto his back. 

ASTRID

No. 

No. 

No. No. No. 

Glass crunched underneath my boots as I walked farther into Fika, everything in disarray at my feet. Plants overturned with dirt spilled everywhere, glass from the front door shattered into hundreds of little pieces, coffee machines and the turbo ovens were destroyed. The safe in my office was broken into with $5000 missing; I planned on going to the bank tomorrow morning to make the deposit; like I did every Tuesday. 

But through all the destruction, there was only one thing that I was the most upset about. 

My grandfather's guitar. It was stolen. 

I continued to stare up at the guitar wall, four out of the seven guitars missing, and I swallowed the burning tears, refusing not to cry. 

When I got the call at about eleven this evening from the alarm company that yet again it was tripped at Fika, I thought nothing of it so I disarmed it from my phone and took my time getting here. So when I walked into a scene of pure chaos and destruction, immediately my heart sank to my stomach. Someone had broken into Fika by breaked the glass of the door and stepping through it. They trashed the entire place; cups and plates thrown against one of the walls and couches ripped apart by what I assumed was a knife. 

I had been in such a state of shock that I had yet to call the police to report it because as soon as I saw the missing guitar, I became in a catatonic state. The last few days had been incredibly rough with Jolly ignoring me so when I walked into this scene, it was the very last thing I could handle. 

I’d been plagued with the worry that I’d done something wrong to push Jolly away, even saying my thoughts to Y/N. But she tried to reassure me that he didn’t mean to do what he did and I should talk to him about it. 

But the thing was, I did try to talk to him. I continued to text him for days after he canceled our date but even though he never sent a message back, I received it loud and clear; although it didn’t stop me from continuously checking my phone and almost sending a few texts to him. 

The noise of glass crunching caused me to swirl around in defense, holding my breath. However when I saw those dark eyes staring at me with shock, the tears I’d been holding finally broke free. 

“Käraste.” 

I shook my head widely. “N-no.” 

Jolly took a tentative step farther inside, doing his best to step over the destruction at his feet. “What happened?” 

I scoffed and outstretched my hands. “What the fuck does it look like, Jolly? Someone broke in and vandalized the place.” 

“Are you alright?” He asked while reaching for me. 

“Oh, now you give a shit about me? Where the hell have you been the last five fucking days?” I sneered, taking a step away from him. 

“Kär-.” 

“Stop!” I snapped, pointing a finger at him with tears falling. “Stop fucking calling me that. You don’t get that right anymore.”

He scratched at the facial hair on his chin, it was thicker than the last time I saw him, but I tried my best not to fall into his embrace again with one look into his striking eyes. 

“I know. I owe you an explanation,” Jolly ran a hand through his long hair.

I wrapped the sweater tighter around me; his sweater. The one he gave me that night. 

“You don’t owe me anything, Jolly. You made it clear how you felt about me after fucking me.” 

His jaw ticked. “Don’t say it like that, Astrid.” 

“It’s clear that’s the only thing you wanted,” I shrugged. “So now that you got it, you can leave.” 

Turning my back on him, I went to work cleaning up the mess, but when gentle fingers wrapped around my elbow, I ripped myself from his grasp. 

“Don’t touch me,” I seethed with a choked breath. 

The depths of Jolly’s eyes faltered as he gazed over my broken appearance. Hair thrown up into a very messy bun, his gray sweater, bright green sweats that were my pajamas, and my black rain boots; literally rolling out of bed to come here. My tears were red and cheeks blotchy from crying. But I didn’t care how I looked in front of him because my livelihood was destroyed. 

Fika was destroyed. 

Jolly’s eyes glanced away from me up to the guitar wall behind me and I could see the air leave his chest. 

“You’re grandfather’s guitar,” he noted. 

“Yep,” I popped the ‘P’ while kicking a knocked over plant. “Whoever did this also took the bell above the door; the one my grandparents brought over from Sweden.” 

He looked over to the front door, the glass from the panes shattered so the cold air seeped inside, and let out a sigh when he noticed the missing bell above the door. Then when Jolly turned back to me, I quickly averted my gaze to the mess around me. 

“Astrid, please,” Jolly begged. “Let me explain.” 

I narrowed my eyes. “There’s nothing to explain, Jolly. I bore myself to you physically and emotionally that night. I felt betrayed by you!” 

“I didn’t-.” 

“I told you how afraid I was of being alone. You told me that you’d be here for me but you fucking left. You lied,” I blew out a shaky breath while running a hand through my hair. 

“I trusted you and you still hurt me.” 

Jolly went to reach for me again but I smacked his hands away, the sound of skin on skin echoing around us. 

“You need to leave; now,” I motioned to the broken door yet again. “I want nothing to do with you anymore.”

“Astrid-.” 

“GO!” I pushed his chest, tears streaming down my face. “There’s nothing else between us. We fucked and that’s it. You can leave and forget all about me.” 

Jolly grasped my hands on his chest, keeping me close to him. “I don’t want to.” 

“I don’t care, Jolly. How can I trust that you won’t do that again?” I slipped my hands out from his hold and hastily wiped away the tears. 

Even though he looked so inviting dressed in his sweater and sweatpants, I kept myself from not stepping into him and running my hands through the waves of his hair. 

“Please leave,” I sobbed. 

Jolly didn’t move. 

Letting out a frustrated groan, I pushed him again towards the door. “Fuck you! I trusted you.” 

Another push. 

“That’s all you wanted, right? Just sex?” 

Another push. 

“Well congrats. You got it and now you have no other obligation from me, so you can leave!” I cried with the final push out the open door. 

Not once did Jolly fight me, simply letting me get my anger out with my force against his chest. When he was finally back on the sidewalk outside, I slammed the door in his face, which did absolutely nothing since he could walke through the part of the door where the glass had been broken. But it was the sentiment before the slamming of it in his face. 

With my back to him, I ignored him calling after me with my nickname and disappeared into the back area of the cafe to wallow in my miseries before figuring out what the fuck I was going to do now. 

ASTRID

Humming a tune to myself, I tapped the sign to the newly fixed front door and tapped it for good luck. 

Closed for a private party. Will resume normal hours tomorrow. 

I stepped back inside of Fika and gave a small smile to the blonde man as he paused setting up tables to meet me halfway. 

“I really do appreciate you letting us use your place for this, Astrid.” 

I waved Matt off before stuffing my hands in the back pockets of my jeans. “Oh, don’t even worry about it. I’m glad I’m able to help out for this pop up event. You said it’s for a band you manage?” 

“Yep,” Matt said while adjusting his hat. “They recently released their third album and we wanted to promote it so we invited fans to this event to meet the band, buy some merch, and get a signed poster.” 

“That’s pretty fucking sweet,” I smiled. “Which reminds me, I had my manager Jessica put together a playlist for today. You said the band's name is Bad Omens?” 

He shifted on his feet while clearing his throat. “Yeah.” 

“Perfect, just let us know when you want us to play it and I’ll have it come through the speakers.” 

With a small wave, I missed the look that Matt shared with Bryan, who was also here helping set up, as I met Jessica behind the counter while she adjusted her new nametag to make sure it was perfectly straight. 

Jessica. Manager. 

After the break in a few weeks ago and realizing how much work I’d been putting on my shoulders, I decided that I needed help for the back of house things. With Jessica’s prior experience at management, she was perfect for the job. 

Jessica, Tori, Sean, and I spent a few days putting things back together and replacing what we could in Fika. And once news hit the city that someone had broken in, people donated items or showed up to help fix things that I couldn’t. I remember trying my best not to cry at the sincerity of the people from this small community. Fika opened a week after the break in and business had been insane since.

But when I received an email from Matt last week wondering if he could rent out Fika for a private event, I immediately agreed even though he was friends with Jolly. The money Matt offered to book out the entire cafe was exactly what I needed to build up the savings that were stolen from the safe. 

Jolly. 

I hadn't heard from or seen him since he stopped by that night of the break in and I knew I should have been fine with it since I told him to leave; to never speak to me again. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hurting on the inside. 

Jessica, Sean, and Tori often wondered why he stopped showing up and not wanting to go into much detail about what happened between us, I kept my answer simple. 

“He’s busy with other things.”

Other guys tried to flirt when they came in, tried to get my number, but every time I declined and told them I wasn’t interested. Which was true. But another reason was because none of them were Jolly. He was all encompassing, always on my mind even when I forced myself to think of something else; anything else. 

My mind wandered to Jolly and the darkness of his eyes. The way his lips tasted or the way he sounded when I had my mouth wrapped around him. I found myself missing the way he smelled, the way he tasted, and the light that encompassed around him whenever he walked into Fika. My heart yearned to see his smile once more and my soul was desperate for the connection it missed. 

He fucked you then ignored you for five days. 

Yeah but-.

No buts. You told him how afraid you are of being alone and he did the exact same thing.

Deciding not to argue with my thoughts any longer, I forced a smile at Jessica. “How are things going?”

She nodded. “Good. Sean is in your office finishing up the playlist and Tori is helping Matt and Bryan set up.” 

“Perfect. The three of you can head out if you’d like. There’s no need for you guys to be here today.” 

Jessica’s eyes lit up and Tori popped up from the front of the counter. “Wait, really?” 

I chuckled at Tori. “Yeah. It’s a beautiful spring day outside. You guys should go enjoy the rest of your Saturday.” 

Tori and Jessica shared a look before they scurried to the back to gather their things, their giggles echoing far behind them. Shaking my head at them, I decided on running a fresh pot of coffee for Matt and everyone else who was here setting up for this event. Sean came bounding up to the front counter with a wild look in his eyes until they landed on me. 

“Jeez, where’s the fire?” I joked with a hand on my hip. 

“Astrid,” he took a few deep breaths. “I need to tell you something.” 

“Hey, Astrid?” 

Pointing a finger at Sean, I turned around and smiled at Bryan. “Do you guys need something?” 

He adjusted the camera that hung around his neck. “I was going to snap a few shots and wanted to make sure you were ok with it? Since it’s your place.” 

Immediately I nodded. “Definitely. You don’t even have to ask, Bryan. Although, any bad shots you get of me you delete right away.” 

“Deal,” he chuckled. “Is it alright if I get a shot of the guitar wall? The lighting from the sun casting over it looks sick.” 

I nodded again and watched as Bryan walked over to the wall, a stinging pain digging deep into my heart. Over the last few weeks I’d been able to replace all but one of the guitars that was stolen; my grandfathers. So there was still this empty spot still in the middle, like the empty spot in my heart that was left due to Jolly’s absence. 

“Astrid,” Sean urged. “I was looking into this band, Bad Omens. And you’re not going to believe what I found. They’re huge in the rock scene right now; super popular since they released their third album.” 

“Fuck, that reminds me. Can you go hit play on the music? I think they’re going to be here soon and want to make sure it’s perfect,” I said, turning my attention back to the coffee. 

“The members of the band, there’s four of them-,” Sean tried again. 

I tilted my head at him. “I didn’t realize there was going to be a pop quiz about them?” 

He ignored my sarcasm and ran a hand through his bright blonde hair. “The guitarist is-.” 

“Better late than never! Fuck, you do realize that this thing starts in like ten minutes? We have the fans lined up in the back parking lot,” Matt chastised the group of people that just walked through the door; I was still getting used to not hearing the bell go off every time the door opened.

“Look, Sean, you can tell me all about them later. But I have to get to work. Go enjoy the rest of your Saturday,” I tapped his shoulder, dismissing him. 

His eyes darted to the group gathering in the dining area and with a sigh, Sean nodded before retreating to the back. 

As the conversations were hushed over the music that began to play, I moved along to the lyrics, finding myself drowning under the hypnotizing spell of the voice from the vocalist of Bad Omens. I set up a row of paper cups and with the pot of fresh, hot coffee, I turned on my heels ready to offer everyone some but froze in place with what I saw. 

Noah. 

Nicholas. 

Folio. 

The three of them were gazing at how everything was set up, smiling with pride. But none of them had my attention, it was the man that stood directly on the other side of the counter in front of me. His long hair was pulled back in a tight bun, those dark eyes and sharp cheekbones on display. The faint nose ring caught the overhead light and I bit my lip at how gorgeous he looked. 

“Käraste.” 

I blinked, breaking free from Jolly’s spellbinding gaze and glanced over to where everyone else was watching us. Next to the table where Bad Omens would be sitting was a large banner behind them that had a picture of all four of them. My mouth ran dry as I continued to bounce my eyes back from Jolly to the large banner, my brain slow to catch up that he was part of this band, along with his friends. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I spat with furry. 

My grip around the pot of coffee slipped causing the burning liquid to spill on my hand before crashing to the ground. 

Glass shattered and I hissed out in plain while clutching my hand to my chest, quickly scurrying to the back in such a haste. Tears brimmed at my eyes for not only the pain but also seeing Jolly again, finding out that he was part of this band. A pretty popular one according to Sean yet I had never even heard of them. 

Had they all lied to me about who they were when I went to their party? 

Well, technically you never asked what any of them did.

Ripping open the freezer door with force it slammed against the wall, I rummaged around for an ice pack to apply to my hand.

“Astrid?” 

“No! No!” I spun on my heels to face Jolly and dropped the ice pack in the process. “I don’t want to see you.”

“You hurt yourself. Let me help you,” Jolly’s comforting voice carried in waves as he stepped farther into the back area of the cafe as I fell onto the stool that was in the break area. 

I wanted to cry so fucking bad because of the pain in my head, it red and angry because of the burn, but I refrained. I couldn’t.

“I don’t need your help, Jolly. Please. I’m still upset with everything and now finding out about-,” the words died on my tongue when my bottom lip trembled. 

“I know.” He bent down to pick up the ice back and a towel from the rack, wrapping it up. 

Slowly, almost afraid to push me farther off the edge, Jolly closed the distance between us. Then he reached for my hand, calloused fingers turning it over to inspect the burn. I was in too much pain to fight him and frankly, exhausted from arguing with him. 

I missed him. His presence. His aura. His smile. The way the room lit up when he stepped in it. The positive aspect he had on everything. 

But I was still upset with him. 

I hissed in agony when he gently pressed the ice pack to the burn but grumbled a thank you under my breath. Silence fell between us for a long moment and I kept my gaze straight past him at the door that blocked us from everyone up front. 

“I know you’re surprised, and unhappy to see me here today,” Jolly’s voice broke through the tension.

“Understatement of the fucking century,” I snorted while bouncing my knee up and down. 

He sighed while setting the ice pack down on the table next to me. When I realized he was looking around for something, I pointed to the rack of shelves behind him. “First aid kit is on the third shelf. Burn spray, ointment, and wrap should all be in there.” 

I was glued to his form as he closed the distance with two wide strides to do his long legs and I couldn’t stop the way my bottom lip caught between my teeth when I realized how perfect his shirt hugged the muscles in his back or the way his jeans fit the perfect curve of his ass. 

Focus, Astrid. You’re supposed to be pissed at him. 

Jolly set the first aid kit on the table and began rummaging through it to find what he needed to wrap up my burn. Once he applied the spay, his warm breath fanned over my skin and I shivered at the feeling. 

“Can I explain everything?” He asked as he began wrapping my hand, after applying the ointment.

I kept my gaze on my feet. “What’s there to say, Jolly? You were pretty clear when you ignored me.” 

“And that was a mistake.” 

I sniffled. “Ignoring me or having sex with me because it feels like the entire thing was a mistake.” 

Once my hand was wrapped, Jolly cupped my face so I had no choice but to look up at him. “No. Ignoring you was a mistake and I’m very sorry. When I had to cancel our date for work, I felt so guilty because I knew with my career that it won’t be the last time that happens.”

“Why did you?” I asked, meek and quiet. 

“Well as you see out there,” he threw his thumb in the direction back outfront. “I'm the guitarist in Bad Omens and with how often I’m gone on the road touring or doing media, I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” I held my injured hand closer to my chest in a way to protect myself from Jolly. 

I couldn’t allow myself to open up to him again if his intentions weren’t pure. 

He hesitated while holding his breath before letting it out and running a hand over the thick hair on his chin. “Well, these things-romance. They can be complicated for people like me. I didn’t want to start something and then have you find out I won’t always be around.”  

“Jolly, you could have just talked to me. I would have understood,” I said. 

The corner of his mouth lifted as he chuckled, his hands now grazing up and down my arms. “I know, you’re right. I should have. I’m sorry, I never meant to ignore you. It was wrong of me to do.” 

“If you talked to me about it, be honest with me, we could have figured out the logistics of us later on. You didn’t have to hide who you were from me. I would have still fallen for you just the same,” I admitted. 

It was true. 

Now knowing that he played guitar in one of Los Angeles’ most popular bands, I didn’t think differently about him. My heart still beat wideley in my chest as his dark ember eyes drank me in. 

Jolly brushed a few strands of hair away from my face, fingers lingering on the side of my neck. “I liked being Joakim for a little while, not Jolly from Bad Omens.” 

“You’re still Joakim to me.” 

He smiled then lifted my injured hand. “How does it feel?” 

“It’s better than what it was. Thank you,” I did my best to smile despite the pain. 

Moments before he dropped my hand back in my lap, he pressed featherlike kisses across the bandage and I sucked in a breath, his name falling from my lips.

“I hope you can forgive me, Astrid. That night was special, it was one of the best nights I’ve had in a very long time. Being with you has been a breath of fresh air that I didn’t know I was looking for.”  

“It was for me too,” I bit my lip. “ I-I forgive you.” 

“Really?” Jolly eyes snapped up from the ground, full of light and hope.

I wrapped my good arm around him while opening my legs so he could step between them as I was still sitting on the stool. Almost quickly, his hands clasped around the back of my neck. 

“I’m fine with figuring things out as we go, Jolly. But, please don’t hurt me like this again. Just talk to me,” I rested my chin on his chest to peer up at him through my lashes.

“I can do that. I swear I can,” he brushed his lips over my forehead in a kiss. “Thank you, käraste.” 

Stepping up to close the distance, I pressed my mouth to his and breathed in content as the feeling of finally being home crept deep into my blood. I missed him so much, more than I’d ever admit. Yes, he may have hurt me but he apologized and proved that he was willing to change. 

We’ve all made mistakes but our mistakes didn’t make us. 

Jolly’s tongue brushed along my bottom lip before meeting mine in a lazily fight for dominance, one I was quick to win; not that he was complaining. He hummed into the kiss and his large hands skidded underneath my shirt to set the skin of my back a blaze. 

“Astrid?” 

Swiftly pulling away from Jolly, I wiped my mouth before glancing over to Noah, who was resting against the wall next to the door with a smug smile. 

“I see the two of you made up.” 

Giggling, I buried my face into Jolly’s chest to breathe him in, his voice vibrating against my cheek. 

“Do you need something, Noah?” He asked. 

“I’m sorry to kill the mood but the police are here. They want to speak with Astrid.”

Jolly tilted his head down towards me. “The police?” 

I nodded with a sigh. “I filed a police report because of the break in. I wonder if they finally have some news for me.” 

With a kiss to my cheek, he let me jump off the stool and hooked his fingers with my good hand as we made our way back up front; not before Noah ruffled Jolly’s hair as we walked past. 

Two officers were excitedly chatting with Nicholas and Folio when I walked up but turned serious when they saw me. 

“Astrid Akerman?” The taller office asked. 

I nodded while still holding onto Jolly’s hand. “Yes?” 

The bald officer spoke next. “We just wanted to stop in to tell you we found the group of kids that broke in here a few weeks ago. Turns out they trashed a few other places around here the last couple of months. We were able to arrest them last night as they tried to break into the therapist office next door and we found the items you claimed were stolen.” 

My heart leaped into my throat. “Wait, does that mean you found my grandfather's guitar?” 

The taller office points to the table behind us where there lay my grandfather’s blue Teisco Del Rey ET-312. Choking on a sob, Jolly went about thanking the officers while I hastily reached for the guitar, afraid it would slip through my fingers. 

“Astrid,” Jolly’s fingers grazed over my lower back. “Do you want me to hang it back up?” 

With tears in my eyes, I nodded. “Please. It hasn’t felt like Fika without it.” 

Standing in between Noah and Nicholas, I grinned watching Jolly as he stood on a chair with Bryan’s help to hang the guitar back on the wall. Once he was back on his feet, he pulled me back into his arms and I swung on my feet with him. 

“Thank you,” I pressed a kiss to his chest. 

“Anything for you, käraste.” Jolly breathed me in. 

When I first took over Fika months ago, I had every intention of selling. That was until one of my regulars not only changed my mind but also changed the trajectory of my entire life. 

“Jeez, the crowd out there is insane!” 

Spinning in Jolly’s grasp, I beamed at Y/N as she stepped inside, the ends of her olive green sundress trailing at her feet. She took one look at Jolly and I before breaking out in a wide smile. 

“Well, this is a sight to see.” 

Rolling my eyes at her, I stepped up on the tips of my toes to leave a tender kiss on Jolly’s cheek. “I’ll give you guys a few minutes to get settled before opening the side door for your fans.” 

He gently patted my ass to dismiss me and I squealed before walking over to Y/N, hooking my arm through hers after she greeted Noah with a kiss. 

“Would you like some mochis?” I asked. 

Her eyes widened with a bright gleam. “Yes please.” 

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Haiiii can I req tywin lannister bottoming for the first time x soft top targaryen male reader? (Both are around 20) XXD thnks!

(Ps reader is the king and tywin is his hand)

My Dear Tywin

Pairing : Young Tywin Lannister x Male king Targaryen reader Tags : First time bottoming, smut, tenderness Word count : 2609 Authors note : Sorry for the wait love

In the heart of King’s Landing, the Red Keep stood watch over its subjects. Inside the keep’s ancient stone walls, a world of politics and schemes unfolded like a tapestry woven with silk and blood. Though the sun had dipped below the horizon, the king’s chambers remained alight with the flickering glow of candles, their flames licking at the shadows that seemed to dance along the walls.

Y/N Targaryen, the young king, sat at his intricately carved table, an array of maps and parchments sprawled before him. His silver-blonde hair caught the candlelight as he leaned forward, intense violet eyes scanning the sprawling territory of Westeros. He was a king burdened by the weight of his crown.

Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King, entered his chamber.the very embodiment of authority. His immense presence filled the room, and a sense of dread and respect followed him like a shadow. He was a man of great ambition, a tactician whose mind worked like clockwork, adjusting to the chaotic nature of the realm.

“Your Grace,” Tywin began, his voice low and gravelly. “We need to discuss some matters..”

Y/N looked up, and for a moment, their gazes locked. In the space between them, an unspoken tension crackled like static. Y/N was used to Tywin's forthrightness, his unyielding demeanour, but tonight, something felt different. The firelight cast shadows upon Tywin’s sharp features, revealing a vulnerability hidden beneath the layers of his stoicism.

“Of course,My dear Tywin,” Y/N replied, fighting the urge to smile. There was something about Tywin that captivated him—a mix of ferocity and a layered complexity that made him more than just a hand. “But before we delve into issues of the realm, I believe we should take a moment for ourselves.”

Tywin frowned slightly, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “ourselves, Your Grace?”

Y/N rose from his seat, a mischievous smile curving his lips. “Yes. A king must understand the needs of his hand, must he not? And I think… perhaps you could use a moment to step away from your troubles.”

Before Tywin could respond, Y/N moved closer, the space between them growing charged with a feeling neither could ignore. In a moment of boldness, Y/N reached out and placed a hand on Tywin's chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath the layers of fine fabric.

Tywin’s breath hitched, his stoic façade faltering. “What are you saying, Your Grace?”

“I’m saying you carry the weight of your duties,” Y/N replied, his voice softening. “Let me help you share that burden, even if just for tonight.”

Tywin’s throat constricted, and for the first time, he found himself at a loss for words. The young king's confidence was intoxicating, igniting something deep within him. “This is inappropriate,” he managed, though his voice lacked conviction.

Y/N took another step closer, their faces mere inches apart. “Is it? We are both men of age, Tywin.”

Tywin’s resolve began to waver, the walls he had built around himself crumbling under Y/N’s unwavering gaze. “And what do you propose, My King?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with daring.

Y/N let a smile bloom on his face, taking Tywin by the hand and leading him toward the large canopied bed draped in rich, deep crimson. “Let me show you,” he whispered.

As they reached the bed, Y/N turned to face Tywin, his heart racing. He studied the older man, whose face betrayed a bubbling mixture of apprehension and intrigue. “You’ve always been the one in control, Tywin. Would you let me guide you for once?”

For a long moment, Tywin said nothing, the tension thrumming between them. Slowly, he nodded, the admission a quiet surrender to desire. “Very well,” he finally conceded, his voice steady, though a hint of vulnerability crept into his eyes.

Y/N’s heart soared with triumph, yet he understood the weight of what he was about to do. He was about to take a step into uncharted territory, and with it, he would unravel the tightly wound threads of Tywin’s meticulous control.

With gentle hands, Y/N drew Tywin closer, their bodies pressing against each other, the heat rising between them. “Trust me,” Y/N murmured, brushing his lips against the corner of Tywin’s mouth. “I promise, you’ll find more than just release.”

Tywin’s breath hitched as Y/N closed the distance, capturing his lips in a slow, tentative kiss—soft, yet electrifying. Tywin, initially stiff with surprise, melted into the touch, the kiss igniting a fire he thought long buried. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Y/N, pulling him closer.

As the kiss deepened, Y/N guided Tywin backward until he fell onto the bed, the weight of his armour sinking into the plush mattress. Y/N hovered above him, his silver hair cascading like a waterfall around them, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability.

Tywin’s breath came in heavy, laboured gasps as he struggled to relinquish control to the man above him. Yet, as Y/N continued to kiss him, Tywin felt the barriers begin to crack.

With a gentle nudge, Y/N urged Tywin’s body to yield, positioning himself between the other man's thighs

Y/N’s soft lips trailed down Tywin’s neck, his tongue leaving a scorching path of wet kisses. Tywin trembled beneath him, his muscles taut with tension. As Y/N reached the base of his neck, he paused, his hot breath ghosting over Tywin’s skin. “Let go,” he whispered, his voice low and commanding. “I wish to see you truly let go.”

Tywin's hands fisted in the sheets, his knuckles turning white. He wanted to resist, to maintain his composure, but the heat building within him was becoming too intense to ignore. With a low groan, he arched his back, pushing his hips upward, seeking friction.

Y/N's hands roamed over Tywin's body, tracing the contours of his muscles under the fine fabric of his clothing. Tywin's breath hitched as Y/N's fingers found a particularly sensitive spot, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"Your Grace," Tywin gasped, the title slipping from his lips in a moment of weakness. "We mustn't…"

But his protest was cut short as Y/N captured his lips in another searing kiss, swallowing his objections. Tywin's hands moved of their own accord, gripping Y/N's shoulders, then tangling in his silver hair.

Y/N broke the kiss, his violet eyes boring into Tywin's with an intensity that stole his breath. "Don't fight it, Tywin," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

Tywin's mind was fogged with desire, his body aching for Y/N's touch. He knew this was wrong, that he should put a stop to this, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when Y/N was looking at him like that, like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"Please, your grace" Tywin heard himself say, the word escaping his lips before he could stop it.

Tywin blinked in surprise at his own plea, a mixture of shock and arousal coursing through him. His lips parted as if to retract the word, but no sound emerged. Instead, he found himself holding Y/N's gaze, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

The younger king's eyes softened, a tender smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "As you wish," he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

With deliberate slowness, Y/N began to unfasten the buttons of Tywin's tunic, his fingers brushing against the older man's chest with every movement. Tywin shivered at the contact, his skin tingling under Y/N's touch.

As the tunic fell open, Y/N leaned down, pressing a trail of kisses along Tywin's collarbone. Tywin's head fell back against the pillows, his eyes fluttering closed as pleasure washed over him.

Y/N's hands roamed lower, tracing the lines of Tywin's abdomen before hooking into the waistband of his breeches. Tywin instinctively lifted his hips, allowing Y/N to slide the garment down his legs.

Now clad only in his smallclothes, Tywin felt exposed, vulnerable.

When Y/N's mouth finally closed around him, Tywin cried out, his hips bucking involuntarily. The sensation was overwhelming, unlike anything he had ever experienced.

Tywin's breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding in his chest as he lay exposed before the younger king. Vulnerable was not a word he was accustomed to, but as Y/N's gaze raked over his nearly naked form, he felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine.

Y/N's hands caressed his thighs, his touch feather-light and teasing. Tywin bit back a moan, his body aching for more. But Y/N seemed content to take his time, exploring every inch of Tywin's skin with reverent hands and lips.

Tywin groaned in protest, but he knew better than to argue with Y/N when he wore that look. Instead, he watched through hooded eyes as Y/N stripped off his own clothes, The flickering candlelight danced across Y/N's skin, casting shadows that accentuated the planes of his chest and curves .

Y/N's skillful tongue worked him over, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

Just as Tywin thought he might lose himself completely, Y/N pulled away, leaving him panting and desperate. "Not yet," the younger king murmured, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I want to make this last."

Tywin marvelled at the situation, his mind reeling as he realised the depth of his actions. Here he was, the Hand of the King, the most powerful man in Westeros after the monarch himself, lost in a moment of unbridled passion with the young ruler he was sworn to serve and protect.

"This is wrong," Tywin breathed, even as his hands slid up Y/N's back, fingers splaying across the warm skin. "We shouldn't…"

"Shh," Y/N murmured, pressing a finger to Tywin's lips. "Just feel, Tywin."

“Calm yourself,” Y/N murmured, his voice low and soothing.

Tywin groaned, he watched through hooded eyes as Y/N retrieved a vial of oil from the bedside table. The younger king slicked his fingers

Y/N’s slick finger pressed inside him, stretching him open. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one that made him gasp and clench around the intrusion.

Tywin tried to do as Y/N said, focusing on the pleasure rather than the discomfort. Gradually, his body began to accept the invasion, and he found himself pushing back against Y/N’s finger, seeking more.

Y/N worked him slowly, carefully, his touch gentle yet firm. He added a second and then a third finger, stretching Tywin wide, preparing him for what was to come. Tywin’s head tossed on the pillow.

“Please,” he heard himself beg, the word falling from his lips unbidden. He was beyond caring how desperate he sounded, lost in a haze of lust and need.

Y/N smiled. “As you wish” He withdrew his fingers, leaving Tywin empty and aching. Tywin almost whimpered at the loss, his hips twitching with the need to be filled again. But Y/N merely chuckled, reaching for the vial of oil once more.

Tywin watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Y/N slicked himself up, his cock glistening in the candlelight. The sight made Tywin’s mouth water, his tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips.

“Do you wish for me?” Y/N asked, his voice a low purr.

Tywin nodded frantically, too far gone to speak.

Y/N positioned himself at Tywin’s entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging against his hole. Tywin tensed, bracing himself for the inevitable pain. Buthis king was gentle, pushing forward slowly, letting Tywin adjust to the intrusion.

When he was fully seated inside Tywin, Y/N paused, giving him a moment to acclimate. Tywin could feel every inch of him, stretching him wide, filling him completely. It was a strange sensation, one that bordered on too much.

But then Y/N began to move, and all thoughts of discomfort fled. He set a slow, steady rhythm, rocking into Tywin with deep, measured strokes. Each thrust sent sparks of pleasure shooting up Tywin’s spine, making him gasp and moan.

Tywin's body moved on its own, meeting Y/N's thrusts with a desperate hunger. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming him entirely. He could feel the coil of tension building in his lower belly, winding tighter and tighter with each stroke of Y/N's cock.

"My king," he gasped,"I… I can't…"

Y/N's pace increased, his hips snapping forward with a newfound urgency. He leaned down, capturing Tywin's lips in a searing kiss, swallowing his cries of ecstasy.

Tywin clung to him, his fingers digging into Y/N's back, leaving crescent-shaped indents in the younger king's skin. He was lost, drowning in a sea of sensation, unable to do anything but surrender to the overwhelming pleasure.

"Come for me," Y/N commanded, his voice rough with desire. "I wish to see you fall apart."

Y/N's hand wrapped around Tywin's cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. That was all it took to send Tywin hurtling over the edge. With a cry of ecstasy, he came undone, his release spilling over Y/N's hand and onto his own stomach.

Through the haze of his orgasm, Tywin felt Y/N stiffen above him, the younger king's own release pulsing deep inside him. The feeling of Y/N's warm seed filling him only prolonged his pleasure, drawing out the aftershocks until he was spent and boneless.

As the waves of ecstasy gradually subsided, Tywin slowly drifted back down to earth. He became aware of Y/N's weight on top of him, the younger king's sweat-slicked skin pressed against his own.

They lay there for a long moment, their bodies entwined, their ragged breathing slowly evening out. Tywin knew they would have to face the consequences of this later, to deal with the fallout of their forbidden tryst. But for now, he was content to bask in the afterglow, to revel in the warmth of Y/N's body against his own.

As Y/N pulled out of him, Tywin winced slightly at the sudden emptiness. He could feel Y/N's release trickling out of him, a shameful reminder of what they had done. But even so, he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Not when it had felt so good, so right.

Tywin lay there, his mind reeling as he tried to process what had just happened. The room was silent save for the sound of their laboured breathing, and the soft rustle of the sheets as Y/N shifted beside him.

A part of Tywin wanted to get up, to put some distance between them, to reassert the boundaries that had been so thoroughly breached. But another part, a deeper part, wanted nothing more than to pull Y/N back into his arms and lose himself in his embrace once more.

However Y/N left him no choice as the young king wrapped his arm around Tywin's waist holding close. He was the Hand of the King, the most powerful man in Westeros after Y/N himself. He had a reputation to uphold, a legacy to protect. How could he do that if he was the king's lover? But even as the doubts swirled in his mind, Tywin found himself leaning into Y/N's touch, his eyes fluttering closed. Perhaps, for once in his life, he could allow himself to be selfish. Perhaps he could take what he wanted, consequences be damned. With a sigh, Tywin settled back into Y/N.

[hvseoks]

blond ambition (1/??)

[hekateinhell]

Armand's descriptions of Lestat (well, everyone honestly) lay me out and I was trying to be sad while rereading TVA when I stumbled on this one again:

Created by a powerful and ancient renegade, a legendary vampire by the name of Magnus, this Lestat, aged twenty in mortal years, an errant and penniless country aristocrat from the wild lands of Auvergne, who had thrown over custom and respectability and any hope of court ambitions, of which he had none anyway since he couldn't even read or write, and was too insulting to wait on any King or Queen, who became a wild blond-haired celebrity of the boulevard gutter theatricals, a lover of men and women, a laughing happy-go-lucky blindly ambitious self-loving genius of sorts, this Lestat, this blue-eyed and infinitely confident Lestat, was orphaned on the very night of his creation by the ancient monster who made him, bequeathed to him a fortune in a secret room in a crumbling medieval tower, and then went into the eternal comfort of the ever devouring flames.

And then a few pages later:

Lestat, not a bad friend to have, and one for whom I would lay down my immortal life, one for whose love and companionship I have ofttimes begged, one whom I find maddening and fascinating and intolerably annoying, one without whom I cannot exist.

Literally Armand @ Lestat:

tag yourself I'm #too insulting to wait on any king or queen

[saturnville]

I. Inaugural Veil

→ pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Lyra Ravenshroud (blackfem oc)

→ summary: President Coriolanus Snow introduces himself to the Capitol Senate, where he meets newly elected Reform Advocate Senator Lyra Ravenshroud.

→ tags: @snowlandsontopp @babyzzlove @hlstead @rosewine-5 @unicornqueen05 @thegabbyh @neeville @fastlikealambo @urfavesim

→ an: depending on how y'all like this, I'll continue it. if not, it can stand as a standalone.

→ reminder: reblogs and comments are much appreiciated!

President Coriolanus Snow, a towering figure of authority, ascended the grand stage with an air of regal confidence. His platinum blond hair, meticulously styled in a sleek comeover, caught the glint of the spotlight, emphasizing the sharp angles of his aristocratic features. Dressed in a crimson red suit that spoke of power and ambition, a single white rose adorned his lapel—a symbol of both purity and calculated charm.

Icy blue eyes, cold as the very name he carried, scanned the crowd with an analytical precision. He caught the green eyes of a young woman as he spoke to the Capitol Senate. She was a cute woman, he noted. Her fair skin was beet-red as she attempted to maintain eye-contact wit the President. The corners of his mouth raised as he attempted to mask his smirk.

His smile, a masterpiece of beauty and charisma, played effortlessly upon his lips. It was a weapon, finely honed through years of navigating the intricate web of Capitol politics. The allure of his charm was unmatched, a force that had won over even the most skeptical hearts in the Capitol.

The Capitol Senate room was carefully crafted by the strong hands of Capitol engineers and architects. Similar to the Academy and the University, the ceilings were as high as skyscrapers with long windows that welcomed the fall sun. The room was held by large Grecian-like columns, sanded to perfection. On the marble floor, which lacked dust or grime, was the symbol of the Capitol in red. An addition made by President Snow.

He stood before them on the podium that was built just for him. At the front of the room, he was the center of attention. All 300 Senators, leaders, and other political figures gawking at him like he was a peacock who just showed his beautiful array of colorful feathers.

On the Senate floor, newly elected Senator Lyra Ravenshroud observed the spectacle with a discerning gaze. Standing at a mid-size stature, she emanated a quiet strength that belied the challenges she was prepared to face. Her dark skin exuded a richness that stood in stark contrast to the opulent surroundings. Sister locs, meticulously arranged, framed her face and cascaded just below her shoulder blades—a testament to both tradition and individuality.

Lyra's eyes were trained on the President as he shifted his footing. There was a seat behind him, white as snow, that he had not sat down in since it arrived. A million questions floated in her mind as she watched him interact with members of the Senate. He came from newfound wealth through his father's military strength, therefore, it was not easy to recover after the rebellions. But, for him to graduate from the Academy at 18 and become the president of the nation, from zero to hero in just five years, was something she struggled to wrap her mind around. It even kept her awake at night.

As the President spoke of unity and progress, his charismatic words weaving through the air, Lyra listened with a gaze that saw beyond the surface. The crimson-suited president and the reform advocate senator—their worlds collided on this stage, setting the tone for a new dawn in Panem's political landscape.

President Coriolanus Snow concluded his inaugural address with a flourish, the applause from the Capitol elite echoing through the hallowed room. As the crowd erupted in admiration, he stepped down from the podium, his crimson suit a beacon of authority amid the sea of admirers in neutral clothing. A stark contrast indeed.

Meanwhile, on the Senate floor, Lyra Ravenshroud rose from her seat, her dark eyes following the President's every move. The air seemed to hum with an unspoken tension as their eyes locked across the expanse of power.

The Presidednt, drawn by an invisible force, made his way through the crowd. His steps were deliberate, every move a calculated display of charisma. He apologized to those who tried o get his attention, promising to circle back shortly. As he approached Lyra, the air crackled with anticipation—a collision of two worlds on the precipice of collaboration.

"Senator Ravenshroud," he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of authority. His icy blue eyes met her warm brown ones, and he found himself captivated by the dance within her gaze. "A pleasure to finally meet the advocate who promises to reshape the Capitol's destiny."

Lyra's sensual smile played upon her lips as she extended her hand. "President Snow, the pleasure is mine." Her voice, a sultry melody, resonated in the air. Coriolanus found himself liking the sound of it, the way her words carried a depth that transcended the usual political pleasantries. "Your words inspire change, and I am eager to be part of that transformation."

Their handshake, a symbolic gesture of political unity, resonated through the crowd. Unbeknownst to them, this moment marked the inception of a collaboration that would shape the course of Panem's future. As the applause continued, a subtle undercurrent of uncertainty lingered—a foreshadowing of the shadows yet to unfold.

Coriolanus, ever the tactician, couldn't help but be intrigued by the woman before him. The way her eyes, brown like rich earth, danced with the gaze of his icy blue ones hinted at a complexity that both fascinated and unnerved him. Her physical presence, a mid-sized woman exuding a quiet strength, contrasted sharply with the opulence of the Capitol.

The title of President seemed to roll off her tongue effortlessly, a dance of words that added an unexpected elegance to the occasion.

"I'm glad to hear that," Coriolanus spoke softly. "I hope you're looking forward to the new Senator orientation tomorrow. I'll explain your new role better tomorrow during our one-on-one. My assistant will pass over those times to you."

Lyra gathered her purse over her shoulder and nodded. "Of course. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Mr. President." She smiled gently.

Coriolanus tilted his chin up and nodded once, slowly. "Likewise, Ms. Ravenshroud." Little did they know, as the stage was set, the delicate dance of power had truly begun.

[onyourhyuck]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐏 | L.JN | PART ONE

— Prologue: “Holy shit i have a MAN THING.”

— Summary: Kim Gauel is your typical smart girl who doesn’t mess about and Lee Jeno is your typical hot sports player on the hockey team. One night their bodies swap and are forced to be each other.

— Genre: SMUT SMUT DNI. SERIES. Crack comedy(?) with romance. Body Swap trope. Swapping identities trope. Bickering to lovers. Coming Of Age. Dirty jokes incoming. Jeno is a fucking horny ball of fire. Gauel is a good girl type meanwhile Jeno is your typical frat into sports with actual personality.

— Notes: I love identity swapping trope with comedy.

— Tag List: @baehaechannie @devinitysann @toroufriteh

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When Gauel thought about renting a house with a bunch of roommates she didn’t really think it would be a bunch of losers who are guys.

Every Wednesday night they open up the tv and have a whole gaming night until freaking midnight or sometimes past midnight until the sunlight comes up.

She is currently trying to study so it’s not very helping hearing screaming guys at each other.

Trotting out of the bedroom Gauel encounters a heinous sight of football obsessed boys with another gaming obsession to add on to their life bucket list. These types of people have the lowest ambitions and she hates to admit it, they don’t have anything going for them in her eyes they might be the low scum of the barrel but nonetheless the only sole reason as to why she is currently living under one roof with them is because they split the rent up.

It makes the situation easier and more adorable to split the high rent together into eight sections. Nonetheless Gauel not only feels like a freaking outcast now, she feels like she’s about to live through a nightmare now.

She steps in front of the tv causing the boys to combust loud groans complaining. “Come on move out my way my freaking Mario kart will become tenth place!” The blonde boy with a strong jawline and piercing black eyes, that would be Lee Jeno. The hockey star playing and an absolute menace on the high school team.

Jeno and Gauel never see eye to eye and whenever they talk it’s usually a bunch of misshaping insults thrown at one another.

They come from such different backgrounds it’s like comparing two different universes together. Gauel came from practically nothing with a single father who works hard labour fishing jobs and goes on sea explorations leaving his daughter to look after herself.

Meanwhile Jeno comes from a very rich part of Incheon where his father invests in truck companies and actually owns the most used truck company in Korea right now.

The young girl pushed her glasses on the bridge as she stands in front of the screen. “Can you guys keep your voices down? Seriously some of us are trying to pass our history test tomorrow.”

On the side a boy with black hair and a very noticeable accent. “Yeah — that someone being only you in this world.”

Gauel glares when the boys collectively laugh finding Mark’s side comment hilariously true. Which it is but that was no need to invalid her freaking complaint.

“Ha ha very funny.” She dryly replied and Jeno smirks widely checking her up and down. Now noticing the attire of what Gauel wore it was a simple pairs of shorts and a tank top which reveals enough cleavage and the sheer thin looking legs.

He whistles looking down. “You wouldn’t mind giving us a little twirl if you’re going to stand there looking pretty,” he soft leans adding. “Right?”

Gauel forms a display series of disgust and anger on her beautiful face as she wore the glasses reflecting the expression quite well. “You’re disgusting.” She spat turning around to leave going back inside the room.

The boys collect their laughter again together she can hear their voices finding this so amusing to see how reactive she became.

Donghyuck exclaims. “Good one Jen!” Renjun chuckles. “I’m still surprised she hasn’t kicked us out yet.” The Chinese boy with lavish split dye hair with the bottom being blonde spoke.

“Ehh. She was desperate and she knows we are loaded so who wouldn’t? On the plus side now we can party as much as we want without our parents being on our asses.”

Chenle whistles grabbing the remote controller of the Mario kart they were playing for hours now. “Just saying. If you’re not going to hit that soon, I might.” He retorts mentioning an emphasis on Gauel’s door as he widely smirks.

Donghyuck widens his eyes wowing again. “What no way?” He screams a little unable to contain the shocking truth from his friend. He leans whispering to Chenle. “You mean HER?”

He gave a strong nod smirking at the thought of actually hooking up with the smartest girl in their high school who’s known for a strict ‘no dating policy’ considering she puts on more focus on the studies than actual socialising or having fun per say. To have a popular boy want to actually do things with her was a surprise — but to have Zhong Chenle say that? Geez his friends were bewildering.

Jeno frowns. “I don’t know what you see exactly in her Zhong. I mean let me get this straight.” Turning around the blonde boy faces his friend with a serious expression unable to shake the idea even out. “You’re wanting to sleep with Kim Gauel the girl who’s never kissed a guy probably in her entire freaking life, only knows how to study and become a teacher’s pet — and has no friends. At all.”

“And she doesn’t even look that good!” Jeno shrugs not quite getting on the couch yet but still moving a lot.

Chenle cockily responds shaking his eyebrows in pleasure. “The innocent and smart ones are the way to go.”

“Trust me boys on this one.” Chenle said convincingly.

Donghyuck blurts out. “As long as it’s not Jaemin’s type in girls I think you’re good on my part.” The boy looks over to him with a side-glare enough to burn a hole into Donghyuck. “Elaborate on what my type exactly is?”

“Whores with chlamydia.” He says with a fake smile. Jaemin the one with a side part on the hair gets up rolling up the sleeve to the shirt as he darkly exhales. “Yah Lee Donghyuck.”

“Your type isn’t any better. You’re the one who slept with a woman over the age fifty.” Jaemin smartly puts out causing Donghyuck and him to play punch each other and near-strangle themselves on the floor.

Jeno laughs watching his friends fight knowing they will make up in a bit or two only you had to wait it out to see their stupid faces come together once more. Mark taps on Jeno’s shoulder as he would point the daggers to the door opening when looking over Jeno saw the young girl coming out going to the bathroom with a towel in arm and a bunch of products in the other.

Mark smirks. “You can’t deny she has a cute face.” He said trailing as Gauel was no longer in the frame.

“Cute face but nothing going underneath.” Jeno said in a matter of insulting her as he looks away. “And not my type at all. I prefer — sexy girls. You know like Kim Jennie in class A3.”

“There’s nothing in this world that would make me feel anything for that annoying nerd.”

‘And there’s nothing that will make me love you, Lee Jeno.’ Gauel thought with determination with an ear to the door eavesdropping on the conversation.

‘They’re just a bunch of womanisers.’

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A new arrives just like any other but leaves a straining taste on the tongue surfacing soon to reality when waking up from the deep slumber in depths that felt like a heavenly surge dream but now deforms to a long lasting images of hell.

Rolling off the bed Gauel walks out of her bedroom groaning with half asleep eyes barely opening, only seeing blurriness and using hands to move around to get inside the bathroom.

And when she did she sat on the toilet sliding off the pyjama shorts and rubs the eyes with the palm groaning once again. “God I hate mornings.” She said reaching the toilet paper but once she did.

The legs spreading a little open she soon realised who she was. Gauel looks around gasping letting the toilet paper drop rolling on the ground completely leaving a trail of white toilet paper in a circular motion. She shakily looks in between the legs to see well something that shouldn’t even be logical possible —

A man thing, was all that came into her head as she stood up going to the mirror to check who’s identity it was.

She stood being Lee Jeno.

“Holy shit i have a MAN THING!”

But the minute she yelled out having a voice deeper octaves than before it sounded exactly like Jeno — it’s like SHE WAS Lee Jeno and no longer the girl she was before.

The bathroom door re-opens and she saw her own body now standing that has left her own very room shockingly watching Gauel with widen eyes pointing at her own chest.

“Holy mother-of-God I have TITS WOWSA!”

She glares shouting in absolute disbelief and shock to see what was happening; they swapped bodies.

They swapped lives out of nowhere, out of any triggering factor that could be causing this to happen.

Jeno was in her body and Gauel was in his body.

However the boy now stuck in a girl body was fondling the breasts in amazement he had widen eyes of fascination as he exclaims trailing a bunch of ‘Whoas’ and ‘Wows’ enough to irritate Gauel and come forward pointing at him.

“Yah don’t touch my breasts like that!” Gauel yells out reaching over to smack his hands off her own precious body.

Jeno looks down at Gauel seeing the shorts she wore that belongs to his a very vibrant bump on the crotch and he croaks out teasingly adding seeing one eyebrow wiggle.

“Oh look at you,” the blonde boy starts. “Something for you excited this morning or what?”

Gauel was confused what he meant but when seeing the boy’s eyes go down to the crotch area she hesitantly looking down puts up her palms on the crotch in panic rushing to her face.

“I- w-what is happening why are you getting hard?” Gauel fumbles upon the sentences beginning to stutter out and Jeno begins to smirk forward. “Oh no not me. You are getting hard.” He’d correct matter of factly.

“Why… Why is this happening to us. Why are you in my body? What is happening this can’t be real.” Gauel grabs her own head as she looks in the mirror finding this to be quite figuratively fucking impossible.

Jeno on the other hand turns around whistling. “I have no idea but honestly i did always wonder how it feels to be a girl.”

She glares pointing out. “I bet it’s your fault we are like this now! What have you done to me.”

“I didn’t do anything! I wouldn’t even want to be you if I wanted to be a girl I would’ve picked someone with a bigger ass and tits just saying.”

Gauel never felt so traumatised but as well as embarrassed and insulted at once it felt like a complete game loss to her and now Lee freaking Jeno has to be and act like her until they can figure out how to solve this voodoo mystery problem that’s going to absolutely be the end of her.

Another door opens causing them both to turn around and look at a boy coming in to use the bathroom but stops when they saw them.

Jisung’s ruffled up hair sideways he looks at them sleepily like he suddenly just woke up from a dream.

“What are you two doing here? Get out if you’re not using it.” He said going in.

Gauel begins to push Jeno and Jisung out now saying a repeating ‘No, No, No, No not yet’ causing the boys to be left shocked and behind the door as Gauel grabs the doorknob.

“I haven’t done my skin care routine yet.” She says seriously. This was her routine she has to continue or else it will damage her sensitive skin.

Jisung furrows at her. “Hyung you don’t have a skin care routine. The only routine you have is take a shower and brush your teeth in the morning.” It was odd to see his friend suddenly fall into a random pool of moisture and cleansing.

Jeno couldn’t help but mentally slap himself because she totally forgot she wasn’t in her own body — she was in fact IN HIS body now.

His friend is confused when the door slaps and he rubs the back of his head letting the hair run through the fingertips as his gaze turns to Jeno.

He awkwardly didn’t say anything because he usually doesn’t speak to Gauel, and she doesn’t usually speak to him either he was one of the quiet ones who did his own thing.

“Yo bro mind giving me back the tee shirt you owe me?”

He spoke freely because he knew that Jisung has his own shirt but he totally slipped out disregarding the fact that he’s a woman now and not himself which leaves him staring at a confused and broken down Jisung watching in fear.

What shirt does he own a girl?

“Uh what?” Jisung said back.

“Uhm never mind don’t… don’t worry about it… bro.” Jeno slowly trails look away and then turns around suddenly. “Wait,”

Jisung stops going back to stare at the girl who was scaring the living heck out of him.

Jeno warily questions.

“Why are you speaking informally to me?”

The taller boy with a younger baby face bows his head apologetically unknowingly he never once asked about her age and now he was scared. He assumed she was younger or at least similar age but apparently not?

“Oh… sorry… Noona.” Jisung added awkwardly.

“Ahuh better freaking be.” Jeno arrogantly said crossing arms grumpily.

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating and copyrighting my work thank youu! Please reblog and follow me for more updates it helps a girl out .

[textingaboutprometheus]