#but Brooke is where i draw the fucking line

[therogueflame]

The Diplomat

Hi friends,

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

✨My Masterlist✨

WC: 9.4k

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

Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hall fell silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sarascamander]

I love John Cleaver as a character so much, but I will never forgive him for what he did to Brooke. She's my baby girl and deserves better 😭

[fookinavocadosman]

episode 7: missing piece {HS}

secrets are revealed, questions are asked and redemption is on the line

warnings: slight panic attack 

word count: 1.8k

The morning rolls around and I wake up with a smile on my face. I feel like Harry and I grew closer last night after he helped me fall asleep. I feel rested and content. We start our day like every other day hanging out and soaking up the sun. 

If I’m going to be honest, the routine is starting to get repetitive and I’m just dying to go to a real party where I can get hammered with my friends. Around noon we get summoned to the cabana where Lana greets us. 

“Hello. There have been some breaches of the rules.” She announces and we all sigh ready to hear the damage. I know Harry and I have been caught red-handed so I try to push down the anxiety radiating through my body. 

“Brooke and Luke.” Brooke sighs sitting up straighter as Lana continues. 

“As a result of your kiss $3000 has been deducted from the prize fund.” 

“Sorry guys.” Brooke says and we all mumble forgiving her. 

“Also, Michael and Kenzie. Last night’s breach of the rules has cost the prize fund $3000.” Lana doesn’t say anything else and I lean back into Harry. He places a kiss on my head as I wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“Riley. You were tested by being asked on a date with Luke, but you demonstrated growth and restraint but not accepting the invitation, congratulations.” We all clap for Riley as Niall hugs her closer and I smile at the two who worked through the slight rough patch. I start feeling more at ease thinking maybe Lana’s not going to say anything and we all start to celebrate about our growth until Lana interrupts us. 

“Finally, last night there was another breach of the rules.” Everyone voices their confusion and I know that we’re done. 

“$4000 has been deducted from the prize fund.” I bring my knees to my chest drawing Ava’s attention to me and she drops her jaw pointing her finger at me. 

“Y/N! What did you do?” She asks me and I drop my head knowing the other shoe has dropped. 

“I couldn’t sleep and one thing led to another and uh, Harry helped me sleep.” I mumble a very poor excuse and everyone sighs shaking their heads. 

“The prize fund now stands at $43,000.” Lana finishes and I just want the ground to swallow me whole. Ava pulls me away from the group to talk to me alone. 

“Y/N what's going on? You guys were doing so well and we only have a couple of days left here.” She asks me about it and I shrug my shoulders. 

“I don't know, I wasn't thinking. All that was on my mind was that I was horny and Harry just helped me. I know it sucks that we cost the group money but fuck, at this point I like him too much to not give in to him.” I rant to her and she sits down pulling me down next to her. 

“I need you to answer this honestly.” Ava begins and I look up, connecting our eyes. 

“Are you falling for him?” She asks me and I freeze. My mind runs rampant as I go through every interaction with him and realize I am. 

I’m falling for Harry. 

“No no, I can’t be. I barely know him.” I try to convince myself, shaking my head and Ava’s grip tightens on my hand as my breathing speeds up. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, this is a good thing. I know it’s terrifying, but this is good for you.” She tries to reassure me and I try to even out my breath when I hear the commotion of everyone moving around. 

“Fuck Ava. What should I do?” I ask her and she looks down solemnly. 

“That’s for you to decide. But if it’s worth anything I think you and Harry have something amazing so let the fall happen.” She comforts me and I nod calming down. 

Ava and I eventually leave, Harry catching up to me to make sure I’m okay. I nod telling him that we just had a heart-to-heart and Harry nods not pushing any further. The day continues and Harry steals me away from Riley and Sage taking me to the grass area by the beach. Harry and I lay down on the grass cuddling each other while soaking in the sunset. 

“It’s amazing how far we’ve come.” Harry mumbles after a while of silence and I hum in agreement. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something serious.” He says and I sit up to look at him. Worry washes over me as he sits up looking at me. His hands grab mine and I look down as his thumb runs over my knuckles. 

“The retreat is ending and we haven’t really talked about what we’re doing once we leave.” He starts and I let out a shaky breath nodding. 

“But I don’t want to lose you Y/N. I want to keep seeing you once this is done. I want to be with you.” He finishes and I look up at him, connecting with his eyes. He lets out a long breath before taking a sharp one in as he stares at me. 

“Will you be my girlfriend Y/N?” He asks and at this moment, I let myself fall completely. I smile at him nodding my head as I throw myself into his arms. 

“Yes! Of course.” I beam and he wraps his arms around me as I knock him over with the force from my body hitting his. He laughs, kissing my head and I soak in the moment. Everything has gone right. The mistakes and worries are gone and I feel happy. A flash of green along with a ding breaks us apart for a second and I rest my forehead on his as we soak in each other's smiles. 

“My beautiful girlfriend. May I kiss you?” Harry asks and I respond by tilting my head to the side and enveloping his lips in mine. His hand comes up to my face grasping it as he takes control of the kiss and I smile into the kiss breaking it. He lets out a soft laugh pressing one more kiss to my lips before pulling away tilting his head back. 

“I’m so happy I found you.” Harry whispers and I smile whispering back. 

“Ditto.”

Later that night we’re all told to dress in white and we head out to the cabana with drinks in our hands. We party together as one and I soak up the smiles and laughs ringing out from everyone. We all dance and sing until Lana dings interrupting us. Harry pulls me into his side rocking us back and forth as Lana speaks. 

“The process is almost over and tonight I would like to reward all of your hard work by giving you the chance to win back money.” We all cheer Louis starts jumping in the air and we are all absolutely shocked but smiles line our faces. 

“However,” Lana continues and we all groan knowing there had to be a catch. 

“The fate of the group lies in the hands of two people. Harry and Y/N. You two have broken the rules more than anybody else. Now you have the chance to make amends. Your challenge is to spend a night in the private suite with no physical contact at all.” Our jaws drop and everyone else shares the same reaction. 

“We’re fucked aren’t we?” Sage jokes and I let out a sigh. 

“If the test is passed all the money Harry and Y/N have lost will be returned to the prize fund.” Lana announces and I immediately feel all the pressure on my shoulders. Harry and I walk away to the private suite and I’m shaking with nerves. If we fuck up at all everyone will be pissed off. This is the ultimate test for us. I open the door and sit on the bed letting myself be consumed by my thoughts. 

“Baby, stop freaking out, we'll be fine.” Harry tries to reassure me sitting in a chair by the bed. 

“I know we can do it, I'm just scared. Like what if we accidentally touch or something and fuck everything up it’s just a lot of pressure.” I rant to Harry and he nods in agreement. 

“I understand, we will be fine. I’ll take the floor tonight so we don’t even risk touching when we go to sleep. I promise everything will be okay.” Harry finishes and I nod my head, taking in a breath. 

“We’re going to be fine. Everything is going to be okay.” I reassure myself and Harry smiles as I stand up. 

“Okay, we can do this, let's just pretend it’s a normal night just stay like 6 feet away from me.” I smile at him and he nods standing up. 

“Alright. So on this totally normal night, I’d be starting a bath for you so you can relax and release a bit of that anxiety.” Harry smiles at me heading into the bathroom and I follow him as he fills the tub. He puts bubbles in the bath and once it’s filled he moves away standing in the doorway. I begin to remove my dress and I’m left in just my bra and panties when I hear a groan come from Harry. 

“What?” I chuckle at him and he moves into the bedroom. 

“You’re just too beautiful that I will not be able to resist touching you if I keep watching you.” He yells out from the bedroom and I laugh taking off my bra and underwear. I walk to the doorway seeing him facedown on the bed and I smirk. 

“You mean like this?” I question him and he perks his head up seeing me before flopping back down. 

“Go away you minx.” He mumbles into the comforter and I laugh, turning away and getting into the bath. I let out a pleased sigh as the warm water engulfs my body and soon I hear the bed creak. 

Harry appears in the doorway before sitting down and leaning against the wall. We make small conversation and when the water gets cold he throws a towel to me with his shirt and I change into it before climbing into bed. 

“Are you sure you’re okay on the ground?” I ask him as I lean over the bed to see his face. 

“Of course, love, don’t want to risk anything.” He smiles adjusting the pillow under his head and pulling up the extra blanket we found. I lie down staring at Harry and we continue to talk until I can barely form responses from how tired I am. 

“Good night my love.” Harry whispers and that’s the last thing I hear before sleep takes over me.

tag list: @golden-hoax @nikkisimps @matildasatellite @tiaamberxx @behindmygreyeyes @panicattheuc @jessitpwk @my-munson-styles @hislcstyles @that-one-little-soybean @harringt8ns @rafaaoli @tenaciousperfectionunknown @v1rg1nvodkasprite

[the-kipsabian]

So. What I think about you. It’ll take some telling to get there. Might get a bit sappy but here goes nothing.

So I’m a pretty new fan of wrestling, less than a year of proper watching still. It was a bit of a spontaneous thing, a friend made watching another sport would post things, and eventually I decided to take a peek and see what all the fuss was about. And in the end, I really enjoyed what I saw. I could get into that, but it’s not exactly important to where I’m going with this.

I don’t remember exactly when I first saw Kip. It was after his feud with OC, but still close to new years. And I thought, geez this guy is neat. Had no idea what was going on with any of his past work, I just liked the way he moved, I guess. So I thought, let me dig a little deeper into this. Eventually I ended up at your blog, and let me tell you, you were a hell of a resource to this baby fan. I’ve always been a bit nervous about following new people (had some bad experiences in the past I’m not eager to repeat) so I think I sort of lurked a while before I actually hit that follow, probably by accident honestly.

So then was Kip and Penny’s trip to Japan, and this is where I got introduced to Chris Brookes, who I’m not sure I even have words for how fond I am of him now. So I very much attribute that to you, and I’m pretty thankful for the introduction to an absolute bastard giraffe man who I adore.

Eventually I got a bit more settled into my new interest, started posting a bit on tumblr, reblogging gifs and the like. And then, just like how I got into wrestling, another fairly distant mutual joked about being interested in what they were seeing. So we talked a bit, I recommended some of what got me interested, and I think in the end that got me a new friend. In a way, I can wrap that back around to you, too.

I see that you struggle a lot. Sometimes it’s with writing, or art. You still make cool things, and I’m pretty awed by that. I’m looking forward to what you’ll make next. I doodled a rabbit on the back of a shopping list today, for the first time in months. It felt like a little victory. I wonder sometimes if your writing, your art, feels like that too. I’ll still celebrate it as if it is.

I’m not really sure how to end this. I guess I just want to say, we aren’t exactly friends, or at least, I don’t feel I can claim that we are right now. But I do think about you, and root for you. And in myriad little ways, you’ve changed my life. That feels a little strange to write, but it’s not untrue. I suppose no one can really know what impact we have on anyone else. At any rate, I hope you’re doing well, I saw you were sick this week.

-🐓

first of all: CHICKEN ANON YOURE BACK HELLO!! its been a while i hope youre doing well! 💜

legit when i read this first thing in the morning, i fucking cried. just.. theres a lot to unpack here, i try not to ramble but this. something like this is literally why ive been keeping on posting everything i do despite occasionally feeling like theres no point to sharing anything. ive always been telling myself that i first do it for myself, and then share it in case theres someone somewhere down the line that might be looking for this content later

and to hear that there is even one (1) person literally like this out there, using my blog and the content i put out to familiarize themselves with my blorbo, im... like oh my god 💜💜

im really glad it has helped you make friends too 💜 and while i dont know who you are, i would consider us friends no matter what tho, especially after hearing this. so glad things like this have helped you to get more into the community, thats amazing! and to touch up on the art thing, yeah its hard at times to pick things up again after a long while of not doing anything - i literally wrote a drabble last night after not writing anything for a week and i havent even seen my drawing tablet in like two months now lmao - but im so happy to hear about your grocery list rabbit!! little doodles here and there are definitely better than nothing, especially if you enjoy doing them!

youre so precious anon, i hope youre having a good day. im still slightly sick, getting better now thankfully so i should be fully operational the next few days and oooooh when that happens its all over you fuckers when i get back to writing (this is affectionate i swear LMAO)

thank you, i love you 💜

[maeve-is-annoying-about-books]

House of Leaves, Chapter 13

Another rich chapter. This one was titled, too. Before Zampanò erased all reference to the labyrinth.

These poor kids, man... It's not enough they have to live in a rhetorical device for their parents' issues, but they have to go to school on top of it all. And now watch as dead and dying men they saw just a week-and-some-change ago get vaulted onto the living room floor.

It seems like I have an answer of a sort as to why the Spiral Staircase got so big. Karen's packing to leave coincides at about the same time as the stretch.¹ It's a total collapse of communication on all fronts. Y'know, in a way everyone is in their own bewildering little house at this moment. One that's twisting, unsure, and endlessly possible but infinitely obfuscating. Brookes, a teacher at the children's school, walks into the house looking for answers and is met with confusion. Like Holloway, when there are no answers, ends, or goals. Like Karen, who has infinite choice on where and how to go, but by that same token makes it impossible to plan. Like Tom, bereft of a brother. Like the police who walk into a mystery they simply cannot solve in a household they don't understand.

To me the house has a component of the terror of infinite possibility. If you're an artist of any sort, maybe you'll understand. Has anyone ever told you to just draw anything? Draw whatever you like. Because now, well, what's the right thing to draw? What is the best use of your time? What ages-old idea will you resurrect when you have time for one? In these situations I find having infinite choices is the same as having none, both beget a certain kind of paralysis.

Anyway. The uh, the book. Let's see what's next I'm sure it's answers about Hallway an-

Hi. Johnny. My man's so far gone he's nailing tape measures up in his room.² I didn't expect Lude to be the one to give him his figurative light, though. It's narrative as fuck. He's literally giving Johnny a guiding light, his way out, and Johnny just can't do it.

And then there's this bit here that I like.³ Johnny talking about how without the story, he would cease to exist. And it's completely true. He has interposed himself into it and he's now a part of it from my perspective. In the complete sense, he is a character in the story in my hands. Like some fly trapped in a piece of amber I'm holding.

In a way, I guess I'm also part of this story now. My musings are added to the book. Maeve's interludes where she talks about her feelings and gripes at Johnny. There's something about that that should frighten me, but I actually think it's really sweet. Even if my words are only seen by a handful of people, to them, to you I am every bit the same character as Will, Karen, or Johnny. I exist on paper, in relation to this story. At least until I move on to my next book. But these words, my bit part, will remain. As will everyone else's who writes about House of Leaves.

I got... very sidetracked. Pardon me.

Navidson's escape. The book seems a bit insistent on coding Holloway as the Minotaur. But what I find striking is that he's simply not. He's much more in line with Zampanò's small take on the man-bull.⁴ Someone dispossessed for inadequacy. The labyrinth is his home, it keeps him safe. It gives him the visage of a brave adventurer. I'm sure there are allusions and themes with Elizabeth and the doe but I'm not too picky about them. I more find it interesting that he took his own life in the house. Moon above that sounds horrific worded like that. I mean that there are two ways it could be read. Either as a definite end to the infinite using the only thing he had control over, or... Or the labyrinth took him as its Minotaur. Maybe both. The house vanished his body, turning even certainty into possibility. the suggestion he is the something in the dark, still. And that's maybe the most horrific thing of all. Not that Holloway's body lurks in the house, but its power to make the certain into a worrying "possibly".

Or my read on it is bad. This is a very packed chapter, I still have a segment to go, so please excuse me for capping my speculation here for now.

Speaking of the house and frightening possibilities the fucking thing is on the loose.⁴ In... a heel turn? The house is now warping its normal side, rapidly opening into yawning abyss. Actively trying to kill its occupants. Now in the moment this was fucking terrifying, brought out the little girl in me who was frightened of Monster House. But after the fact I wonder at... why. Why suddenly change like this? Why shift to the maximally predatory? Why the sudden visceral horror over the liminal cold? I've trusted the very deliberate nature of the book so far, so I'm willing to extend some grace and see if there's more context later. Perhaps the violence is caused simply by the group perceiving the house as a violent thing. Maybe it's a lingering echo of the violence it was taught. Maybe action scenes are just really cool.

There is this one moment I'd like to take note of before I end post. It's here⁵, where Navidson is rescuing Daisy. The scratches on her arms are still, of course, there. I found it interesting that Navy has to undergo a symbolic reciprocation of her pain in order to rescue her.

And he did rescue her.

At the cost of Tom. Oh Tom you deserved so much better than this.

[stillsmine]

to    say    maude    was    projecting    was    the    understatement    of    the    whole    year    .    a    relationship    ridden    with    confusion    ,    mixed    feelings    and    underlying    heartbreak    (    no    matter    how    much    she    spoke    otherwise    )    was    rising    to    the    surface    now    ;    a    conversation    started    rogue    now    somehow    blossomed    .    no    care    ,    let    alone    consideration    was    at    the    forefront    now    ,    guard    pushed    all    the    way    up    as    hopes    to    protect    herself    .   emotionally    driven    with    an    outer    layer    of    confidence    ,    she’s    a    facade    of    just    being    okay    ,    because    once    a    guard    had    been    rebuilt    .    .    there’s    no    way    it’s    being    knocked    down    .    even    if    it    was    him    .    “    ──    aren’t    you    the    one    who    asked    in    the    first    place    ?    ”    asks    ,    through    genuine    curiosity    ,    recalling    back    to    tipping    point    of    their    conversation    .    initial    point    that    came    from    homme    so    obtuse    ,    now    it’d    somehow    circled    round    towards    her    again    ──    just    enough    for    a    light    laugh    to    come    from    the    back    of    her    throat    ,    a    furrowed    brow    evident    .    doesn’t    dwell    too    much    though    ,    since    knowing    she’d    spent    time    feeding    into    such    activities    ,    without    much    consideration    at    all    .    but    blonde    knew    where    to    draw    an    invisible    line    ,    where    jaw    clenches    in    taking    a    second    to    actually    think    .    that    is    ,    until    he’s    asking    :    sure    that’s    what    you    want    ?    brooks’    question    spends    its    time    bouncing    around    her    cortex    ,    hung    silence    within    air    before    she’s    perhaps    rethinking    everything    .    “    you’re    so    fucking    confusing    ,    ”    says    with    slight    chirp    ,    a    settle    in    her    tone    that    radiates    something    not    entirely    harsh    ,    no    matter    the    depth    of    her    actual    expression    .    “    i’m    just    here    for    you    ,    not    trying    to    blur    any    more    lines    when    you’ve    specifically    said    we    could    easily    be    casual    without    feelings    involved    .    from    my    end    ,    they’re    off    .    i’m    used    to    it    .    ”    she    shrugs    ,    “    it’s    already    complicated    enough    ,    just    ──    make    up    your    mind    .    i    mean    ,    do    you    want    me    to    do    something    else    .    .    or    what    ,    exactly    ?    ”

𐔌 ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ˚ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ closed ͏ ͏ ͏͏ for ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ₊ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ @viruleants 𐔌 ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ˚ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ continued ͏ ͏ ͏͏ from ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ₊ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ linked ͏ ͏ ͏͏ here

❝    tonight    ,    i    got    you    .    ❞    suggestive    comment    flows    easily    off    his    lips    and    into    the    surrounding    atmosphere    while    mind    processes    ,    just    thankful    that    he    could    be    within    her    presence    until    then    .    seconds    spent    intertwined    were    moments    that    had    to    be    savored    if    this    was    the    alleged    last    time    to    share    such    close    quarters    ,    a    concept    that    brooks    still    hasn't    completely    wrapped    his    mind    around    just    yet    .    actually    pains    core    to    take    in    such    beauty    knowing    the    circumstances    that    were    around    their    last    intimate    moment    ,    nothing    brooks    could    say    or    do      to    undo    such    decision    ──    and    trust    him    ,    he's    thought    of    everything    .    ❝    i    mean    ,    completely    going    ghost    wasn't    the    vision    that    i    had    but    i    promised    you    that    ,    ❞    seeks    best    to    comply    with    the    terms    offered    by    femme    to    avoid    any    further    complication    ,    as    previously    experienced    ,    a    need    to    keep    connection    as    healthy    as    possible    before    eventual    demise    .    keeps    a    calm    attitude    despite    the    wave    of    momentarily    sadness    that    sweeps    over    him    ,    mirroring    sentiments    as    blonde's    mind    was    apparently    made    up . maybe    he    should    follow    suit    after    all    .    ❝    so    yeah    .    fucking    without    feelings    .    ❞    on    one    hand    ,    feels    foolish    to    continue    avoiding    lingering    emotions    though    knew    it    was    probably    for    the    best    .    with    femme    keeping    emotions    under    lock    and    key    ,    ultimately    best    for    male    to    match    actions    ,    sparing    any    further    complications    between    them    .    it    was    already    hard    enough    to    harp    on    one    more    classic    memory    ,    imagine    divulging    into    the    deepest    and    darkest    parts    of    his    heart    .    ❝    ──    sure    that's    what    you    want    though    ?    ❞

[zalrb]

OTH 3x01 Rewatch Review

1.  I did not expect a rush of nostalgia to hit me hearing “Feeling A Moment” play in the opening scene but I’m grinning.

2. “I’ve been here alone all night!” way to be obvious, Deb.

3. the inferior ‘hi’

4. “Let’s get you home.” “Uh uh, I can’t be there alone. Will you stay with me?” Why did I see Peyton’s terrible art when she said the last part? Hahaha, I hate them so much.

5. IIIIIIIIII DON’T WANNA BE ANYTHING OTHER THAN WHAT I’VE BEEN TRYNA BE LATELYYYYYYYYYYYY

6. Lucas didn’t meet Brooke at the airport with flowers, he met his mother instead, so obviously he never loved her.

7. Nothing screams 2000s like this fucking hair

8. “It didn’t matter without you, none of it mattered without you” then why didn’t you ask him to come with you, Haley, my god.

9. At least he put her stuff in storage and didn’t throw it out or give it away.

10. “There wasn’t a moment when I was away that my heart wasn’t with you in Tree Hill”, he got into a car crash and you didn’t visit him at the hospital, Haley.

11. omg look their chemistry disappeared

12. You match your wallpaper, Lucas

13.

14. “It’s always going to be there isn’t it? You and me.” This is what I’m talking about when I talk about how much I hate Peyton and Lucas, this is the STUPIDEST line, her and Nathan is always going to be there too, you and Nicki, that isn’t unique to you two. “They mean that their profound love is always going to be there” how profound could it be when this is the ridiculous dialogue they have.

15.

jfc i hate this show.

16. I like how all of OTH’s clothes look like they’re from Old Navy. NO BUDGET.

17. Peyton is so freaking exhausting.

18. Haley comes back to Tree Hill SO indignant and it’s laughable.

19. “There was never a day on that tour when I didn’t think you were the best part of my life”

.... are you sure? Because mans literally drove up to see you and you were like soooooooooo I think we made a mistake.

20.  LMAO YOU LEFT ONE MESSAGE, HALEY.

21. “There was never a night where I loved it more than I loved you” bro, you didn’t even call him regularly. I’m rewatching The Sopranos for the millionth time and Tony can call his mistress when he and his daughter make a pit stop at a gas station on her college tour but you can’t call your husband at least once a week? Girl.

22. Does Haley not know how rent works? Why would she think she could just have her apartment back when Nathan moved out?

23. I like how Brooke said she rented the apartment, YOU NEED A COSIGNER. Hell, even Nathan would’ve needed a cosigner emancipated or not, that boy has no credit, jesus christ.

24. OTH’s blatant Sunkist promotion makes me laugh every time. No one is going to drink it.

25. It is SO clear that there aren’t anything in these boxes.

26. “Hey, Mouth, nice work! Brooke gets a place of her own and you already got her in the bedroom.” Heehee slutshaming.

27. And, like, if it was one or two of these types of things then it would be like haha, in jest, but Peyton STAYS slutshaming Brooke.

28. “... a couple of those creepy ‘nobody understands me’ drawings that you do.” I love Brooke.

29.”My problem is with anybody who just vanishes and then waltzes back and expects to be instantly forgiven” and my problem is with people who say they’re someone’s best friend and then repeatedly breaks their heart by hooking up with their boyfriend.

30. Oh look, another shot of Peyton looking morose. Such a change of pace.

31. Haley begging Nathan while trying to physically connect with him and trying to get him to forgive her through sex

is actually pretty quality angst and high key cringe at the same time, like I’m secondhand embarrassed but it’s actually one of my favourite Naley scenes because it’s realistic

32. Lmao Dan and his lack of nuance is always funny. “What you call kindness, I call weakness” OK.

33. “Six billion people--” I’m done.

[angelasscribbles]

Savage Love Prologue

Series: Savage Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Characters: Agent Riley Brooks, Liam Rys, Drake Walker

Song Inspiration for series: Savage Love by Jawsh685 and Jason Derulo

Rating: NSFW 🍋🍋🍋🍋

Warnings: Very Lemony, so many lemons

My other stuff: Master List.

Finally, a fucking break. I cashed out my tips and waved to the manager as I got the hell out of there. I’d been deep undercover in New York City for just over a year, pretending to be a waitress in a sketchy bar on the lower east side. I had worked my way up from the public area to slinging drinks in the back room where the real shit went down.

Rico Mendez was the son of the leader of one of the biggest drug cartels on the east coast. He was my target, and I was his type. Yes, my physical attributes were the exact reason I drew this particular assignment.

Rico was young, cocky, good looking and brutal. If he hadn’t been a sociopath, we could have gotten along. His smoldering good looks and rippling abs put him firmly in the category of my physical type too. Listen, I like the bad boy vibe as much as the next girl, but I draw the line at murder and human trafficking. That’s ok, I wasn’t there to marry him, I was there to take him down. And take him down I would. Just not today.

Today was Thanksgiving and even the mob took the day off to spend with family. I had no family in the states and couldn’t blow my cover by contacting them even if I had. I wasn’t surprised that Rico hadn’t invited me home with him, he had a fiancé, and I wasn’t her. I was the side chick. It didn’t matter. She was a prop, the spoiled daughter of a wealthy business associate. He probably never talked about business around her. I got what I needed from dropping off drinks and hanging around to play a little slap and tickle. I dangled the goods in front of his face but played a damn good game of hard to get. The more his desire turned into the frustration, the sloppier he got. We were very close to a bust.

But tonight, I was free and alone in New York. It was a chance to let my hair down. I grabbed a quick shower then shimmied into an emerald green dress with a short hemline and a plunging neckline. That’ll get the boys attention, I thought with satisfaction. Yeah, it had been a while. The cat and mouse game I was playing with Rico left me a little on the frustrated side and I couldn’t risk fucking anyone else in his circle. It would blow up all my hard work and I was ready to wrap this case up. But tonight, tonight Rico was otherwise occupied, and I headed for Times Square.

I slipped into the upscale club with no issues. I knew the bouncer; I’d helped his brother out of a jam the last time I’d been in New York. The music was pounding, the dance floor crowded and the drinks flowing. You’d be surprised how many people are out on Thanksgiving. All the lonely people. I ordered a drink and was making my way back across the room when some oaf ran right into me. My drink crashed to the floor and his sloshed all over me.

“Excuse me miss, I am so sorry!”

I glanced up in annoyance then my breath caught in my chest. Holy mother of God this man was gorgeous! Hello, I think I just found my extracurricular activity for the night. Thank you sweet baby Jesus!

He started trying to dab the spot dry with his napkin but quickly realized he was touching my breasts. His hand dropped and he turned about three shades of scarlet. It was adorable. He was adorable. And hot, did I mention he was smoking hot?

I gave him a sultry smile, “Well hello tall, dark and handsome. If you wanted to touch me, you could have just come up and asked.”

I didn’t think it possible a moment before, but he turned a shade darker. “I….ah….”

“Cat got your tongue?”

He recovered, still blushing, and found his voice, “I’m sorry I was so careless, can I please buy you another drink to make up for it?”

“Oh, absolutely!” I gave him my most dazzling smile. The night just got interesting.

He glanced around, then slipped an arm around my waist and guided me to a table, he motioned a waitress over and we put in our drink order. He leaned across the table, raising his voice to be heard over the music, but I still couldn’t hear him, so I slid over in my booth and motioned for him to join me on my side of the table.

A smile lit up his face as he slid into the booth next me, dropping an arm across my shoulder as he leaned down and spoke directly into my ear, “I was saying that I’d be happy to pay for your dry cleaning as well. Again, I’m so sorry, I’m not used to such large crowds.”

Hmmm. Interesting. I raised an eyebrow, “You must not be from New York.”

He chuckled at that, “No…no, not at all.”

“Not from the states at all, are you?” I asked.

He seemed surprised, “What gave it away?”

“Your accent.” I said as I picked up the drink the server just deposited in front of me. “It’s very …. European.”

I couldn’t quite place it.

He looked away then back at me, “So how about you? Are you from New York?”

Trying to change the subject. He doesn’t want to tell me where he’s from. Even more interesting. I smiled coyly, “Oh, here and there.”

He laughed at that, and I decided that I liked his laugh. It was pure, like him. He gave me sweet and innocent vibes. But not naïve. I like a good puzzle. I like sweet and innocent. I find the act of corruption fun, fulfilling. It’s a hobby.

We flirted some more. He laughed a lot. I got the feeling he’s not use to anyone saying whatever the hell pops into their head. He seemed to find it charming. Lucky me. We still hadn’t exchanged names, which suited me fine, but it was odd. Most guys by this point want my name, phone number and a promise never to look at another man again.

We danced to Don’t Stop Believing by Journey, his arms wrapped around me, holding me close, our hips pressed together as we swayed back and forth. His eyes ran down to my lips and lower then he cleared his throat and pulled me closer. I laid my head on his shoulder and he rested his on the top of mine.

He was smart, funny and did I mention hot? So, when he mentioned wanting to see the statue of liberty, I was all over it.

“No, you can’t be serious, there’s no way! It’s 1 in the morning!” He was a little drunk, but so was I, as we stumbled along the docks.

When the ferry showed up, his mouth dropped open. Adorable, I told you. The expression on his face when he turned to me took my breath away. “How?”

“I have my ways.” I teased. I couldn’t tell him that I had connections with the Port Authority because of my ties to NYPD, homeland security and Interpol, now could I?

“No one has ever done anything like this for me before.” He looked at me like he was in love or something.

“Something told me you could use it.” I shrugged. No use getting sentimental, he’d already told me he had to fly home tomorrow (but he still hadn’t said where that was) and I was back on the clock at dawn anyway.

We saw the statue and on the way back, I decided to kiss him. On the ferry, under the moonlight, it was romantic as hell, not gonna lie. Not that I do romance. Hell no. But this wasn’t real anyway. Tomorrow I’d go back to real life. Tonight….., tonight, why the hell not? So I grabbed him by his dark, silky hair and I tugged those full, gorgeous lips down to mine and I kissed him like I meant it. I kissed him like he was everything. Because in that moment, he was.

He drew back, panting, his hands gripping my hips firmly, forehead pressed to mine as he stared into my eyes like the answers to the universe were in there or something. “I don’t even know your name.”

“I don’t know yours either.” I countered.

He looked sad when he said, “I- I can’t really tell you who I am-“

“That’s ok,” I assured him, “But I have to call you something.” I thought for a moment then said, “I know! You’re just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit. So I'll call you Detroit!”

That pulled a laugh from him and eased some of the sorrow that had fallen across his features.

“What should I call you?”

I considered that for a moment and settled on something nearby, “Brooklyn!”

He laughed, “Ok then, Brooklyn, what a lovely name.” He took my hand in his and rained kissed all over it. I mean, who does that? Again, adorable!

When the ferry docked, I grabbed his hand and said, “Come on Detroit.”

“Where are we going?” He laughed as he followed me.

“Oh, I’m not sure.” I stopped walking and he stumbled into me, “Where’s your hotel?”

“Oh, I- I wasn’t expecting- I mean, you don’t have to-“ I shut him up with a kiss.

“Oh, believe me, I want to! Now shut up and take me to your room!”

We made our way back to his hotel, stumbling, laughing and all over each other. We found ourselves alone in the elevator, so I shoved him back against the wall and pressed myself against him. He moaned in response, his arms going around me, hands digging into my ass. I ground myself into him, feeling his length hard against me. I threw my head back and guided his head down to bury in my cleavage. His hands slid back up my body to grasp my back as he pulled me in tighter, nuzzling between my breasts.

Ding! The elevator door slid open and we pulled apart, breathless, me adjusting my dress back into place. The hemline had ridden up and the neckline was askew. He reached his hand between his legs to adjust things then murmured a hurried “excuse us” as he slipped an arm around me and pulled me past a group of giggling college kids.

We were all over each other again before we made it to his room. He fumbled for the key card while trying to keep his lips on mine the entire time. Finally, the door opened and we tripped through it. He kicked it shut behind him as he struggled out of his shirt, lips still locked on mine.

I stifled a giggle at his desperation and pulled back a little to whisper, “Slow down Detroit, we have all night, I’m not going anywhere.”

He let go of me as he lifted one leg off the ground, barley maintaining his balance while pulling at his shoe, “How do I know this isn’t all a dream and if I blink, I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone?”

I giggled again. Oh, this one was fun. I swayed my hips and started doing a little strip tease. He froze, leg in the air, one shoe off, one shoe on, mouth hanging open as I peeled the dress off my body.

“Shit!” He lost his balance and hit the floor.

“Are you ok?” I asked in alarm.

“Fine! I’m fine!” He grumbled as he climbed back to his feet, “Nothing hurt but my pride.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.” I said, spinning to give him a full view of the lacy bra and panty set I was wearing.

“You should.” He said, eyes wide. “I think I’m going to sit down, just to be safe.”

He plunked himself into a chair and finished removing his shoes and socks then he stood and made his over to me.

When he made a move to embrace me, I danced out of his reach, just for fun. “If you want me, come and get me!”

“What?” He asked as laughter erupted out of him.

I gave him my most seductive smirk then took off across the room. He barely hesitated before he dashed after me. I ran toward the bed and leapt onto it, intending to shoot off the other side but he launched himself after me and tackled me to the mattress. I shrieked with laughter as he pulled my body toward him and flipped me over.

Staring up into his eyes I purred, “Well you caught me, what are you going to do about it, huh?”

He paused for a bare moment to stare down into my eyes then he lowered his head and his lips trailed everywhere. I was splayed out on the bed under him, arms stretched up by my head. He pinned my arms to the bed as his mouth made its way along my neck, across a shoulder and down to slide across my harden nipple through the lacy fabric of my bra. I arched up into him.

He had to let go of my arms to remove my bra. I used the opportunity to unbutton his pants. I sat up a little so the bra would slide off easier then I shoved at his pants and underwear. He released me to step off the bed and let them fall to the floor, then he kicked them casually aside and pushed his fingers under the waistband of my panties, now the only article of clothes left between us. I eased my hips up a little so he could rip them off me. His impatience was palpable. I liked it, I felt a warm gush of wetness at my center. I grabbed his hand and guided it between my legs, “See what you’ve done, you naughty boy?”

His head fell back and a guttural moan issued from the back of his throat, “Fuck me!” He hissed.

“Oh, I intend to.” I quipped as I wrapped both legs around his waist and used them to pull him back toward me.

He collapsed forward, catching himself with his arms so that his full weight didn’t fall on me at once. So thoughtful.

He stared down at me and I looked up at him, I ran my tongue across my lips invitingly. I felt him shudder under my touch as I ran my hands along the muscles of his back. I gave another tug with my legs and whispered in his ear, “Now fuck me like you mean it.”

“Oh my god!” He groaned. Maybe he wasn’t used to woman talking dirty to him, but he seemed to like it so I decided he needed a little more.

I ran my hand through his hair, then I tightened my grip around a good handful of it so I could pull his head down to mine. I brought my mouth to his ear and let out a trickle of breath, just to tease him a little. He shivered. Making sure my voice was breathy so he continued to get the full effect of my warm exhales tickling his ear, I whispered, “Come on baby, I want to feel you inside me right now. I want that hard cock of yours sliding in and out of me, I want to feel you cum inside of me. Fuck me, now!”

“Stop,” he whimpered, “or I’m going to cum before I even make it that far."

But I’m nothing if not relentless, “Then you better hurry.” I lifted my hips up and he slid inside of me.

His thrusts quickly became frantic, “Oh fuuuuuck, you feel so fucking good!”

“Mmmm.” It was the best response I could give in the moment. He smelled amazing and as he picked up speed, and began to perspire, his scent intensified, it was almost enough to send me over the edge all by itself. No one has the right to smell that good.

I thrust up into him, my fingers digging into his ass to propel him on. I could feel every nerve ending in my body at that moment. I rubbed myself against him as he buried himself in me over and over again until my vision blurred and the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had crashed over me causing me to cry out then I bit down on his shoulder, hard.

I felt him pulsing inside me as he collapsed on top of me. He rolled off of me but then pulled me back to him to shower kisses along my neck and across my shoulders.

“That was amazing, you’re amazing! Thank you for the most amazing night of my life!” He grinned at me like he had just won the lottery or something.

I giggled. That was just the post orgasmic bliss talking. “You’re pretty amazing yourself.” I told him.

His gaze grew serious, and he whispered, “I should tell you who I really am-“

“No.” I put my finger across his lips, “This is enough. We both have obligations to return to tomorrow, just let tonight be what it is, a perfect interlude.”

Several emotions slid through his eyes, but his only response was to whisper, “Spend the night? Sleep with me?”

I mean, why not? I was never going to see him again anyway.

[whatisthiswritingthing]

Top or Bottom -Emily Sonnett x Reader

Prompt: Can you do a jealous Emily Sonnett imagine? Like where Y/N ex came to a practice and try to get back with Y/N. But does not know that Y/N and Emily are together because it’s still new. And Emily kisses Y/N in front of everyone and shocks the team? All feels to!!!

“Y/N!”

Y/N paused mid step as the players all made their way to vans to go back to the hotel after practice. Emily walked into Y/N’s back at the unexpected stop. The rest of the players all chuckled at Sonnett while she tried to catch herself and avoid knocking Y/N over, Y/N still not looking away from the person who had called her name.

“Yo! Y/L/N, what’s the hold up?” Lavelle commented.

“Uh nothing,” Y/N replied vaguely, not paying attention, and beginning to walk toward the woman standing of to the side.

The rest of the group all stopped as well, watching the soccer play approach the other woman.

“What are you doing here Brooke?” Y/N pulled her arm away when Brooke tried to reach out.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Brooke awkwardly pulled her hands back at the rejection.

“I think we talked plenty last time,” Y/N crossed her arms, posture rigid.

“I know, probably more than we should have. But I think we both made a mistake; said things we shouldn’t have. I miss you Y/N,” she reached forward again, this time in succeeding in resting a hand on Y/N forearm. “I want us to try again, try to work things out.”

“Brooke, we didn’t work for a reason, there’s no point in hashing this all out again.”

“Y/L/N!”

Y/N turned her body to look back to the rest of the team, seeing several of them all waving her towards them, some looking confused.

“Look, I got to go. I hope you’re doing well, but things are better this way Brooke.”

“Y/N wait,” she reached out again, stopping Y/N from leaving. “Is your number the same? Can I call you?”

“Uh yea, it is, but…”

“I’ll call you!” Brooke cut off.

“Y/L/N! Let’s go! I’m hungry!”

Y/N glanced between Brooke and her team, she sighed and shook her head before jogging toward the team without saying anything.

“Who’s the blonde stud?” Pinoe teased, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Y/N blushed, “oh umm, my ex.”

“Got a piece of the Y/N/N and came back for more?” Ashlyn joined the ribbing, nudging her shoulder as they all got in the bus.

“Eww it was nothing like that,” Y/N crinkled her nose at the crass comment.

“Drop it guys,” Kelley cut off before the two eccentric soccer players when she could see then about to continue their teasing. Kelley was one of the few people aware of the fresh relationship between her best friend and Y/N.

The blonde defender had gone quiet when Y/N had gone over to speak to her ex, watching the interaction with rapt attention. Their relation was quite new, only established a month prior and that was after several months of both avoiding their feelings and Emily patiently waiting for Y/N to be ready for a new relationship.

There was an odd tension in the van, Kelley was normally one of the main instigators of teasing. So, everyone found it odd when the defender shut it down so quickly.

As everyone got out of the vans at the hotel, Alex hopped up behind the pair of defenders, looping her arms over both their shoulders.

“So, you and Y/N?” Alex smiled, squeezing Kelley’s shoulder.

Both the defenders rolled their eyes and shrugged Alex off themselves.

“Where the hell did you even get that from?”

“Ash said you shut down teasing her about Y/N’s ex pretty quick, that’s pretty girlfriendy wormy.”

“Really Janice? I have a girlfriend.”

Sonnett remained silent the whole time, slowly wandering away from everyone else.

“Hey you,” Y/N smiled when Sonnett opened her door, stepping into the room and placing a delicate kiss on her lips.

“Hey,” the defender whispered. Anxiously wringing her fingers, biting her bottom lip.

Y/N stayed close, stopping the nervous fidgeting by bringing them up to her lips to kiss her knuckles. Dropping one hand, she soothed a thumb over her over her crinkled eyebrow.

“You ok?”

Sonnett gave a small nod, refusing to meet Y/N’s eyes. Y/N didn’t say anything, just pulled her girlfriend into her arms, wrapping her in a tight hug. She knew whatever it was that was bothering the defender just needed to be processed. Sonnett sighed and nestled herself in closer. Y/N could feel some of the tension leave Emily’s body.

Y/N placed a kiss to her hairline, swaying them softly. She moved a hand to gently massage the remaining tension from her neck.

“The team thinks you’re dating Kelley,” Sonnett mumbled into Y/N’s chest.

Y/N froze, pulling away slightly to look Sonnett in the eye. Sonnett tugged herself back into Y/N’s chest, Y/N allowed it, running a hand up and down her back, waiting for her to explain more.

“Her telling them to stop in the van was girlfriendy Alex said.”

Y/N nodded along, resuming her swaying.

“Why was Brooke at practice?”

“She wanted to talk,” Y/N couldn’t hide the disgust in her voice.

That got Sonnett to pull away and make eye contact. Whether the reaction was from the reason Brooke was here or Y/N’s tone and significant disgust.

“I said no, but it sounds like she still has my number, I don’t have hers.”

Sonnett gave her a soft smile at the obvious distain at wanting to interact with her ex. She stretched up and kissed Y/N on the cheek. As Sonnett pulled away Y/N’s eyebrows creased in confusion, then loosened, a look of realization crossing her face.

“You have nothing to worry about Em,”

“I know, like realistically I know, and then Alex thought it was Kelley. I don’t know, I got jealous I guess.”

“Jealous?”

“Yea everyone gets to be in a relationship with you, but I’m actually in one with you.”

Y/N nodded again, “do you want to tell people?”

“No, I don’t know,” Sonnett now pulled away, running a frustrated hand through her hair.

Y/N waited patiently while Emily worked her thoughts out, “no, I don’t want to tell anyone yet. Look at how intrusive just Pinoe and Ash were from you talking to your ex for a minute? I’m not ready for that coming from the entire team.”

“Hey, I agree Em. What we have is good, Kelley is somehow behaving for once. That alone should be reason to keep it as it is,” Y/N grinned, it grew when she saw Emily giving her a large smile.

Kelley had been there for Sonnett while she worked her feelings for Y/N out, being her sounding board and encouraging her to act on the shared feelings. It had taken months of the two skirting the line of friendship for months, tentatively becoming more only a month ago. Both were very cautious, private people, so they both agreed taking it slow and keeping it to themselves for now.

“If us being together is what keeps Kel in line, then we should stay together,” Sonnett laughed out.

The next morning, Y/N was called off to the side by her ex as soon as they arrived at the field. This time it had gotten the attention of the entire team, all of them making kissy sounds as Y/N returned to the group.

“So, there’s the blonde, Kell is the brunette, what color is next? Red?” Pinoe teased her.

“Nah, been there done that,” Y/N tried to play along, hoping to keep it vague and not encourage more questions.

“Ahh staying with the brunettes then. Way to go Kelley!” Rose piped up.

“You have no idea, you should see my girlfriend,” Kelley winked, “way hotter than this schmuck.” She was hoping to draw some of the attention to herself and off Sonnett. Sonnett gave her a grateful smile when she realized what she was doing.

“You sure she’s an ex Y/N?” Mal motioned to Y/N’s ex who had remained the entire practice.

“Completely sure,” Y/N cocked her head to the side, looking over to Brooke again, who gave her a smile and wiggled her fingers to wave.

Y/N jogged over to the fence to once again speak to her ex.

Sonnett continued to watch her girlfriend, who was clearly frustrated as she ran over. But had to remain with the team, listening to them speculate about the relationship and who else Y/N might be seeing.

“There’s the heartbreaker!” Ash called as Y/N walked back, everyone having seen Brooke leave the fence clearly upset.

Fed up with hearing everyone’s comments on her girlfriends relationship status, Emily stood up abruptly, taking determined steps towards Y/N.

Y/N slowed her step, confusion evident on her face at the sudden approach of her girlfriend.

Emily reached up and grabbed both sides of Y/N’s face and pulled her in to a sound kiss. Every ones mouths fell open, some gasping softly.

“The fuck Disani? You and Y/N,” Lindsey was the first to speak up.

“I don’t really go around kissing random people, especially not teammates, so yea, me and Y/N,” Sonnett smiled, sliding a hand down to tangle her fingers together with Y/N’s. She nervously glanced to Y/N to make sure the action was alright, Y/N gave her a reassuring smile in return.

Several people all tried to speak at the same time, causing Sonnett to nervously lean further into Y/N’s side.

“You all have 30 seconds to react, after that you have five questions that we may or may not answer, then we will go back like nothing happened,” Y/N cut everyone off.

Everyone reacted loudly, speaking over each other.

“Alright, times up. Quick little Q & A, then we are done.”

“Is that five questions each or as a team?” Rose asked first.

“As a team; that’s one.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes; that’s two.”

“Rose! Stop asking questions!” Alex smacked her arm. Everyone else shooting her glares.

“You guys only have three questions left, better make them good.”

“How long have you been together?”

“A month; that’s three.”

“Who asked out who?”

“Lame, Sonnett asked me; that’s four, don’t fuck it up Rose.”

“Top or bottom?”

“Really Rose? You go from losing two questions, to that?” Lindsey rolled her eyes.

The couple both cringed at the unexpected personal question. “I’m not sure you are old enough for that info,” Y/N winked.

[firelord-frowny]

some thoughts about the uhhhh possibility of starting adhd meds.

im reading all these descriptions of positive experiences people have had with adhd meds and it's all this stuff about how, all of a sudden, they gained the ability to just DECIDE to do things. they could get up and make their bed and cook breakfast and do a lil workout before going to their job instead of waking up and then just, idk, picking at a fucking loose thread in their bed sheets for an hour and a half before rushing to throw on some clothes and then forget to pee before hurrying to work.

people talk about all the goals that had always been out of their reach that they're now accomplishing. they get their masters degree. they land their dream job. they eat better and exercise.

and like...

as much as i loathe ~altering my brain chemistry~ as a concept if only because i honestly do love myself the way i am and my only issue is that i can't seem to function in this particular culture/era/society,

the thought of finally being able to ACTUALLY FINISH my artistic goals THRILLS me. i have dozens of unfinished violin covers/arrangements sitting in my soundtrap account. dozens of unfinished transcriptions handwritten on staff paper that i can't even find anymore. i've been meaning to learn the entirety of vivaldi's four seasons for like 12 fucking years. been meaning to record versions of La Folia. Been meaning to finish like 5 screenplays. been meaning to put together some kind of ~chapbook~ featuring my creative nonfiction and my photography artsy lil iphone pics. the method book i've been writing is off to SUCH a fantastic start but i just CAN'T get myself to COMMIT to working on it on any kind of schedule. I've been meaning to audition for grad school. i KNOW now that i AM good enough to stand a chance at getting into Eastman or NEC or Stony Brook, and i know i could be all but GUARANTEED admission into Peabody... but I know I need some coaching before I'll truly be prepared for those auditions, but i just cannot seem to get myself MOVING in terms of searching for a teacher who's qualified and willing to help me. i wanna turn myself into the Number One Choice when anyone in the area is looking for a session violinist. I wanna develop art/music/etc projects that I could pitch for various ~artists in residence~ programs like the ones hosted by the national parks service. i KNOW i could create something worthy of Denali or Crater Lake or Kings Canyon.

BUT I CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN'T!!!! I can't think straight! I can't draw a straight line between any two points in time or space! even a fucking lightning bolt, with all its fractals and leaders and jagged little tendrils is more streamlined and less chaotic than I am. every idea i ever have scatters like oriental cockroaches in a damp basement the minute any light whatsoever shines on them. every intention i ever commit to sublimates into a broken promise before i ever have the chance to lift one finger in its honor.

my entire life is an attic full of failed inventions. a cemetery of stillborn brainchildren.

and yet somehow the idea of being able to actually accomplish all or even just some of these things kinda scares the shit out of me.

like, what am i gonna DO all day when i'm finally able to focus on a task?

i've spent so much of my life in a constant state of being stressed from feeling overworked and overwhelmed during a time where the decisions about how I spent my days weren't up to me. and i couldn't cope with even a quarter of the amount of Responsibilities that everyone else seemed to be able to cope with. and i was so fucking miserable, i honestly, truly, felt like i didn't even want to be alive.

and now i'm terrified of the prospect of being busy again, because business strangled the life out of me in high school and college.

i don't wanna Do Tasks because I don't wanna risk the possibility of going back to being that overwhelmed, miserable person. and i KNOW that one of the benefits of meds is - or at least is supposed to be - gaining the ability to focus in such a way that i'm not so easily overwhelmed anymore.

but i cannot imagine what that's like. i CANNOT IMAGINE what it's like to wake up every day - or at least most days - and decide to spend 6+ hours on any particular task at all, and then actually do it. and then, if i DO do it, to still feel content and at ease by the time I'm done.

what am i gonna do all day??? am i gonna still know how to enjoy having ~down time~? am i gonna wish that i had more downtime? am i gonna resent the fact that i can't dedicate as much time as i feel like to just doing things that make me happy???

wtf is gonna happen to me? what's that LIKE???

literally, what do people do all day at their jobs?? how does being, say, a department head in a youth music program, use up 6+ hours of your day? what do you DO after you get to work? how is there SO MUCH to do that you actually have to keep Doing Things until it's time to go home??

what does an architect do for 8 hours a day?? what does a sports utility store manager do for 8 hours a day? what does a dog trainer do for 8 hours a day??? are they actually, literally just training dogs nonstop?? or are there other responsibilities, too? how is there even enough time in the world to do anything for 8 hours a day?

and its STOOPID that i don't get it, bc like... i went to SCHOOL and did TASKS for more than eight hours a day! my day in high school was TWELVE HOURS. 10 if you don't count the commute back and forth. my longest days in college began at 10am-ish and went until 10pmish. so CLEARLY there are things that can occupy all that time, even if there are a couple hours worth of lulls dispersed throughout.

but like woooooooooooooooow.

im legit so afraid of being busy. :(

[darkisrising]

BobaDinLuke bdsm fic, by DarkIsRising

Can’t decide if this is something to continue or if this is as far as it goes. So, I’m just gonna dub it a Tumblr fic for now. If it picks up steam then I’ll add to it, edit it, and throw it onto ao3. CW: Very very spicy, bdsm, a host of other stuff probably but rest assured everything here is consensual.

They meet at a sex party, which in hindsight shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s just about the only time Luke can be talked out of leaving the house these days.

He shows up in a hood that hides his features save for somber brown eyes and the plush spread of his lips; the black latex so shiny that Luke can just about see his own reflection in it. He wears leather like a second skin and even without being able to make out a single feature on his face, save those eyes and lips, or a single detail of his body, save his exposed cock, he is the most beautiful man Luke’s ever seen.

Luke, of course, is naked. His knees are hitched up to his chest, held there by his own arms that he knows better than to lower, and the words Load Count are scrawled in extra wide Sharpie from one nipple to the other. He’s already gone two rounds and there’s two lines beneath the words to show for it. Boba’s turn came first, of course. It was his privilege as Luke’s dom and he'd taken it with one finger hooked around the collar that marked Luke as his. And then after Boba there had been a guy that Luke hadn’t recognized with a nice enough cock and a regrettable tribal tattoo across his shoulder.

There’s something about this third man that gives Luke pause. Something in the way he takes his place at Luke’s ass— something so hesitant and careful and precise and apologetic as he pulls himself hard enough to sink into Luke’s body— that is awfully endearing. Luke wishes he could tell him it’s okay. That he’s here because he likes doing this sort of thing. That his dom is somewhere nearby, watching from the shadowed corners of the room, to make sure that despite all the calls to wreck that twink’s ass and fuck him up! and do it so hard he won’t be able to walk no one actually does anything that Luke isn’t into.

He can’t, of course, because his mouth is where Boba’s left the Sharpie, a neat solution since the last time they’d played this game the Sharpie had been lost to the dungeon’s dark and sticky floor within the first five minutes. Instead he tries to show it with a widening of his eyes and an encouraging grunt for every tiny thrust he gives as he fucks inside of Luke, the wet from lube and release slicking his way. When he’s all the way in he rests for a moment and it feels like the kind of moment that Luke could live a lifetime in for the way he meets Luke’s eyes, the way his gloved thumb reaches down to rest against Luke’s chin, the way he stretches Luke’s ass with just the right amount of cock to set the base of his spine sparking, but not so much that Luke’s worried he’ll be split in two. 

“Ready?” he asks and his voice is so low it very nearly gets lost to all the moans and groans and demands for more that writhe like eels through the air. His eyes gleam dark in the dim dungeon and Luke can’t look away. He nods, entranced, and for the first time that night Luke’s not thinking about all the men that are going to follow, he’s only thinking about the one that’s inside of him. 

I want to kiss him. The thought hits him— blinding as a bolt of sunlight that’s been hidden behind a cloud— and it’s the most that Luke’s wanted something so chaste in so long he doesn’t know what to do with it. Not that he has many options in this position with a Sharpie clenched between his teeth. All he can do is stare at this man’s lips and yearn with an intensity that carves into his chest as this man’s cock carves into his ass and Luke can’t say of the two sensations which is more intimate. 

“You’re so tight,” the man rasps out and Luke can’t stop himself from clenching down, his hips jerking at the compliment. It’s something he’s heard a million times from countless, faceless other men, but oh the way this man says it makes him flush all over.

It’s over before Luke’s really ready, but one glance over the man’s shoulder and Luke can see a line is forming. Usually it would make him hard in anticipation, to see so many that want to use him and fill him until he’s leaking. This time he wishes he could have more time with just this one.

The man takes the marker out from between Luke’s teeth and Luke wishes he’d replace it with two of his leather-covered fingers. He doesn’t, though, only marks a line on Luke’s chest and then in the same soft, sincere way he’d told Luke he was tight says “Thank you,” and in that moment Luke is pretty sure he’d do just about anything for this man. 

Which is a terrifying, thrilling thought. And a dangerous one, seeing as his rash, unchecked impulsiveness is why he needs a guy like Boba to keep him in line to begin with. 

Before the man can cap the Sharpie again, Luke darts to snatch it out of his hand. The weighted shape of Boba coming out from the shadows, called forward by this change of script.

Luke ignores him. He ignores the line of waiting men stroking themselves hard as they watch Luke with interest as he grabs this man’s hand.

“May I?” Luke asks in as submissive a voice he can muster, and Boba would be so surprised to hear it come out so easily, but Luke can behave when he wants to. Most of the time. “Please, sir,” he adds when the man says nothing.

A slight incline of his head is all the answer he gives, and Luke wastes no time in peeling away his brown leather glove. He writes out his cell number as clearly as he can with a marker that’s a little too thick for it and then, when he’s done, he holds that brown gaze as he bends down to blow the ink dry. 

“Thank you, sir,” Luke husks, heart beating wildly. The man doesn’t say anything back, he only takes his glove and works it back down over his hand and then he’s gone, swallowed by the dark.

“Is there a problem?” a voice growls near Luke’s ear. Tugging on the collar around his neck brings Luke’s attention to Boba’s familiar, scarred frown.

“No, sir,” Luke says, turning his face into Boba’s neck, nuzzling in, but Boba steps away, keeping him at arm’s length.

“That’s only for good boys that finish what they start. Are you going to finish what you started, little one?” It’s a warning as clear as the shake of a rattlesnake’s tail: dangerous and low.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Two hands take Luke by the shoulders and lay him back down. The marker is plucked from his hands and recapped with a snap. “How many loads have you had tonight?”

“Three, sir.”

“And how many did we agree you’d take?” Boba asks, catching Luke beneath his knees, hoisting them back up against his chest and into position. 

Luke shivers, as the humid air meets the wet of his hole, breathing cold, while the hot, hungry gazes of the waiting men meet among the slick. “Eight, sir.”

“Then get to it.” The Sharpie is slid back between his teeth and then Boba’s hands are winding through his hair, pulling just enough to bring a jolt of pain. Luke’s breath catches in his throat. “No distractions this time.”

Soon enough another guy is penetrating Luke, brought forward by Boba’s commanding nod. He’s rocking into Luke, fucking him with an intensity that makes a dull thwack every time their bodies meet. The next guy is huge, so big that Luke has to bite down on the plastic hull of the marker in his mouth to keep from screaming. Tears squeeze from Luke’s eyes, wrested out with every incredible thrust in. Luke loses track after that. The pain becoming pleasure, the pleasure never quite becoming enough to spill over into satisfaction, only transforming into something else. Something intense and terrible and blessed and more. The men change, the girths and lengths that hold him open and fuck him apart change, and Luke takes them all.

Through it all Boba stays where he is, supervising with an unforgiving hand in Luke’s hair, the pain a constant that Luke can depend on, focus on, until it becomes awash with a dull, glowing haze. This is what he’s here for—  this feeling— this euphoria where he’s horribly small and he’s unfathomably large, together. He’s an object to be used and discarded. He’s more precious, more vital, more necessary than he can comprehend. 

A kiss on his forehead cuts through the fog, and Luke realizes he’s not being fucked anymore for all that he can still feel a phantom grinding between his cheeks. His fingers are made to unclench from where they’ve dug like claws onto his flesh and his legs are lowered. The wet mess that’s been left to leak out of him is a turn-on but even that is a distant thing. There’s no immediacy to it, no driving need to slack his lust, just a thrum of appreciation for this proof that every man that’s had him tonight has left behind.

Drawing him in, Boba cups the back of his head until Luke’s pressed into the cradle of Boba’s neck. He was denied this privilege earlier. Now it’s being freely given. The difference sets him shaking, or maybe that’s just the come-down.

“That was good.” Boba’s voice is a rumble that Luke can feel through the places they are pressed together. The steady jump of Boba’s pulse is calming against the bow of his lips and Luke closes his eyes to savor it.

Time gets away from him again, and somehow he’s been cleaned enough to stuff his legs into pants and a warm sweatshirt is pulled over his head. The black hood comes up, as good as blinders on a horse, and then he’s led out to where there are sofas and water and people speaking soft as a passing brook.

The lip of a water bottle is pressed to his mouth and Luke obediently drinks from it without thinking. Boba sits in a plush armchair and though he’s shorter than Luke, there’s so much of him that Luke can curl into his lap and disappear behind the safe, steel beams of his muscular arms. 

“Your boy did good out there,” Fennec says, dropping into a nearby seat and Boba’s agreement is another rumble for Luke to savor with his eyes closed. “I haven’t seen you two in months, I was surprised to see you came out for this.”

There’s a question in her words, a careful line to walk between curiosity and concern, that normally sends Luke into a tailspin in the outside world. Here, though, he isn’t Luke Skywalker: wounded veteran and broken hero. He’s a pet— Boba’s pet— and he lets his dom navigate the social interaction while he sinks deeper into his embrace.

To Boba’s credit, he makes no mention of the malaise that’s grabbed hold of Luke lately, pinning him to the bed and keeping him there for days. Instead he huffs a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well. Maybe if Fortuna hadn’t turned this place into such a shithole we’d be over more.”

“Can’t argue with that. Say what you like about Jabba, but at least things weren’t always breaking on his watch. Did you hear about the ceiling that collapsed a month ago? When someone was in the sling, too.”

“Oh, shit.” Boba says and then they are off, trading gossip and wry quips. Luke is content to close his eyes and listen, secure that the only thing he needs to do is exactly what he’s doing right now. Every now and then Boba strokes his back through the thick cotton of his hoodie or turns to nuzzle at Luke’s temple, and every time Luke’s contentment spreads thick like molasses.

He surfs this subspace all the way back home where he lets Boba get him clean and dressed in pajama pants and poured into bed. The last thing he does is release the buckle on Luke’s collar and then, with one final squeeze to the scruff of Luke’s neck, the scene is over.

“How are you doing? Want me to grab the ibuprofen?”

“Nah, it’s not that bad,” Luke answers, shifting so that the ache in his ass becomes a little more noticable. “Been awhile since I did anything like that.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Was proud of you, though.” There’s a chair by the bed and Boba sits there, staying close but careful to give Luke his space now that they’re done for the night. “That’s two more than the last time you took on a train.”

“Mmm,” Luke agrees lazily. The writing on his chest hadn’t totally come off in the bath, and he pushes his blanket down enough to trace the lines on his chest, lingering on the third one.

“Wanna tell me what that was all about with number three?”

Number three. He of the shiny latex mask and the deep brown eyes and the lips that Luke can almost feel against his own for how much he’d wanted them to be. It’s enough that he almost asks Boba to bring him his phone so that he can wait around like a lovelorn teen for a call or a text, but he’s still coasting enough on endorphins from earlier that he doesn’t want to completely tank his chance at sleep by keeping vigil over the glow of a phone screen all night.

“Not really,” Luke admits at last. “Wasn’t anything bad,” and Boba accepts that with a nod.

“Fine. Keep your secrets. Let me know if it becomes anything I need to worry about.”

“Always.”

Boba stands to leave, a lumbering swing to the motion that Luke knows means his prosthetic is giving him problems, but he knows better than to mention it. “Don’t worry about making breakfast tomorrow. Sleep in. I’m in meetings all morning, anyway.”

“Yeah, okay.”

When Luke closes his eyes, the ache from his over-used, well-fucked body is finally enough to quiet his demons. For once, sleep is swift as death, and just as inescapable.

[tuserfox]

starter for @wildcherie​

Tyler wasn’t a fan of nightclubs anymore; they weren’t a nostalgic part of his past. Those days were soaked with alcohol, numbed by drugs, and scarred with violence. He wasn’t afraid of relapsing, but he was protective of Brooke and this new lifestyle she was acquiring through social media. These people, these influencers, they were mindless drones, which was a point made when Rhys showed up outside of club Z. He was bleached in peroxide and tattooed from the neck down. “Yo, you made it, little star. Sick. And I see you brought your overwhelmingly handsome boyfriend. Nice.” Rhys thought he had a slim chance with her, but Tyler was a brooding tower of lean muscle and permanent sex hair; the epitome of the saying: tall, dark and handsome. As a bi-sexual himself, Rhys made a mental note of a potential threesome. His stomach had butterflies just thinking about it. “Don’t worry, both your name’s are on the list. Let’s party like it’s 19-fucking-9.” Leading the way inside, drugs and alcohol were being passed around while people dance for tik-tok views. “You guys wanna make a video? Hop in on the dance floor, 30 seconds, a million views. I’ll tag you, little star.” Rhys felt like he was Brooke’s mentor, but Tyler felt uncomfortable. This wasn’t his scene at all. “Usually I can blend in with any environment, but this is a circus.” Tyler complained, drinking a beer someone passed him on the way in. He didn’t stop to think it could be spiked. “I think dancing for tik tok is where I draw the line.” 

[monstersandmaw]

Male vampire x male character - Part Two (nsfw) (Halloween ‘surprise’ Patreon story).

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I'm really pleased that you and my Patrons enjoyed the first part, and that folks were keen for more. I’ve had more interaction with this post on Patreon than many of the others, which is surprising given how mlm stories are usually much less in demand than m/f ones. Thanks for that!

Anyway, here's more of our favourite oblivious dork Alec and his obviously-not-a-vampire crush... Part Three is on the way too (tomorrow), despite this having been planned as a quick porn-without-plot one-shot, as it were. Oh well?!

Hope you enjoy.

Part One

After his initial - admittedly strange - meetings with Sebastien, Alec didn’t see him on campus at all for the rest of the week, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. Yes, the guy had been a bit of a pompous arsehole in the library, but he’d made up for it by coming to the art room and apologising, engaging him in conversation — even if that conversation had been slightly… odd? — and being so god-damn-fucking beautiful too.  

He overheard his students gossiping about ‘Dr. Dulac’ earlier that afternoon while they all carved the pumpkins he’d bought for them at the local supermarket, and it seemed that the general consensus was that Sebastien was single, unfailingly polite (even in the face of Janette Hilton, the English Department’s longest-serving and least sympathetic lecturers), hotter than any celebrity you cared to name, and a specialist in the poets of the First World War like Sassoon and Brooke, among other more esoteric interests.  

After an hour of clock-watching in his tiny little office in the Art Department on Friday, he abandoned all hope of concentrating on his last few bits of admin, and shut down his laptop. After clearing up yet more pumpkin seeds that he’d somehow missed on the last two sweeps he’d done of the studio, he stepped outside, never wanting to see another bloody thing again. Too bad he had a whole bloody cardboard box of them waiting to go into the boot of Kay’s car for her party that night. Still, he was almost sinfully proud of the carvings he’d done on them. One was decorated the whole way around with the foliate style engravings usually reserved for the steel on antique guns, with different depths to create the highlights and shadows, and another particularly spherical one had been cut away in squares to resemble the Death Star.  

The October air outside bit into his lungs as he drew a deep breath - the spicy, fragrantly damp scents of autumn filling his nose - and his eye was drawn to the twinkling lights of the little coffee cart that still lingered in the park, selling tea, coffee, and hot chocolate to chilly students leaving the university campus for the night. With a black coffee for himself in one hand, he made his way to the Engineering Department, warily holding another frothy concoction in his other. It was apparently called a ‘London fog’ and it smelled of earl grey tea and lavender. He thought it sounded (and smelled) disgusting, but Kay perked right up when he deposited it on her desk five minutes later.  

“Bless you, Alec Twayblade,” she grinned, taking the plastic lid off and inhaling it like it was the best thing she’d ever smelled. “Oh my god. How can you not like this?” she said after taking a huge gulp and moaning obscenely.  

Alec didn’t bother to reply, his eye-roll speaking volumes anyway. They’d had this discussion so many times that they were both probably playing it out silently in their heads right that second. When Kay glanced up and saw that he certainly was, she snorted and grinned. “I love you, Alec,” she laughed. “You’re still coming tonight?”

“Against my better judgement,” he growled, leaning his weight on her desk and folding his arms across his battered, blue cable knit sweater. He had a huge daub of yellow paint on one elbow from that morning, and a small burn hole in the bottom from a failed attempt at pyrography a few years ago. It was the most comfortable jumper he owned, and he would probably wear it until it unravelled around him.  

“You’re still not going to wear a costume, are you?” she added as she stood, pouting.  

He shook his head. “I draw the line at that.”

“But you’d be so good making one!” she countered. “You helped me with that bat costume when we were at high school… Don’t you remember how fucking awesome it was?”

“I do,” he chuckled. “But I’m not going to wear one myself.”

She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Too much attention, huh?” she said softly. “Well, you know you’ll stand out more if you’re not wearing one tonight…?”

He shrugged. Honestly, he just couldn’t be bothered to dress up. Halloween had rather lost its shine for him anyway. “Not if I hide in the kitchen all night and make too-strong cocktails for everyone,” he said, flashing her his most roguish grin. “Plus, I spent much of today carving pumpkins with nattering eighteen year olds who are far too old to be carving pumpkins on academic time, but —”

“— you’re an awesome teacher who understands the need to let off some steam on the holidays,” she interjected. “Plus, it’s good practice anyway… working with a new medium…”

He allowed his lips to pinch upwards into a tiny smirk and let her have that one. “It’s nice to see them having fun,” was all he said.  

An hour or so later, just as he arranged the last of the pumpkins down the garden path of Kay's Victorian semi-detached house, a voice murmured from behind him, “I can see the hand of a master at work in these carvings.”

Not having heard anyone approaching, Alec jumped, cursed, and dropped the pumpkin - thankfully with the candle still unlit. It rolled in a semicircle until a black boot gently stopped it, and a familiar face dipped into view as the owner of the boot bent to pick it up. To his surprise, it was Sebastien, and he was in costume. Probably anyway. Hopefully? Fuck. Alec’s brain stalled at the sight of him.  

His eyes raked up Sebastien’s body and his jaw went quite literally slack.  

The slender man was wearing thigh-high boots and leather pants so tight they had to have been spray-painted on, into which was tucked a loose, old-fashioned, white shirt with a good bit of flounce at the collar. “Holy shit,” he whispered, and Sebastien chuckled softly, a low, amused sound in the back of his throat.  

“You recognise the costume?” he asked, seeming innocently amused. The long, dark coat, accented with gold brocade and bright gold buttons, opened briefly in a soft gust of wind that made the lit pumpkins flicker and lifted his loose, silver-white hair back for a breath as well.  

“I…” he swallowed. “Uh, you’re Alucard,” he croaked. “From the Castlevania games…” A wry incline of Sebastien’s head told him he was correct, and then Alec blurted stupidly, “Shouldn’t you be shirtless though?”

Sebastien’s smile grew from pleased to deeply amused, his eyes glittering, and it was only then that Alec noticed the contacts burning a bright gold in his eyes and, as his lips peeled back and Sebastien began to laugh, he saw long, tapering, white canines befitting a vampire costume. “It’s a little cold for that, don’t you think?” Sebastien asked, still laughing quietly as Alec flushed crimson.  

“Sorry,” he blurted. “I know. I just… forget it.”

“Where do you want it?” Sebastien asked, and Alec’s poor brain went blank.  

“What?”

“The pumpkin,” Sebastien deadpanned and Alec’s poor, blank brain melted out of his ears with embarrassment.  

“Uh… there’s fine,” he said, pointing at the little wrought-iron garden gate.  

Sebastien placed the pumpkin down on the flagstone path so that the carved graveyard scene glimmered and flickered with appropriate spookiness, visible to anyone approaching along the quiet, suburban street. Enormous London plane trees stood sentry every few paces, heaving up the tarmac pavement with their roots, like a sleeper shifting a blanket with a restless turn, and sheltering the cars snuggled and parked beneath them. A carpet of leaves clung to the gutter in a long, golden line, melting into nothing in places in the glittering puddles. It would have been beautiful, had Alec not been faced with quite literally the most beautiful thing in the entire universe.  

“Am I early then?” Sebastien asked, dusting off his palms and turning back to face Alec, who had barely managed to make his legs work long enough to stand up straight again.  

He shook his head. “No. Henry’s inside already,” he said, running his fingers through his scruffy black hair. “With Rachel and Alison. I just forgot to put the pumpkins out earlier.”

“No costume?”  

With a roll of his eyes, he shook his head. “Nope.”

“Too bad,” Sebastien said, eyeing the front door. The contacts were really creepy, shifting in the light that spilled down the stairs as the front door suddenly opened and Kay stepped out before he could worry that he’d been the only one to dress up. He could probably brush it off anyway, Alec supposed, and tried not to envy the man’s quiet confidence.

Silhouetted starkly against the hall light, with her high ‘Dracula’ collar on prominent display, Kay shrieked with glee and clapped her hands when she saw Sebastien. Apparently the two of them had been getting along rather well, while Alec had sequestered himself away in the Art Department like an ascetic.  

“Bastien! You look amazing oh my god!” she blurted, rushing forwards a step or two before halting abruptly. “Wait, does that make me your father for the evening?” she cackled. “Wow, your teeth are really good! Mine wouldn't stay in for more than a few minutes…”

Sebastien’s gold eyes flickered sideways to Alec but it happened so briefly that he almost missed it. “Custom made a long time ago,” was all he said. “Shall we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“Yes, of course, come on in,” she said, waving them all inside, Sebastien first. As Alec passed her last, she slapped him hard on the backside in rebuke and hissed, “Told you you should have worn a costume! You look like a big dumbo!”

“No different from any other night,” he quipped back, and she growled something indistinct at him. Perhaps a werewolf costume would have suited her better. “You could have told me you’d invited Dulac…”

“Why?” she retorted. “So you could suddenly decide that an evening moping alone with your PS4 playing Rocket League with strangers was more appealing? No fucking chance. Get inside. Sebastien’s right; I’m freezing my tits off.”

The distant murmur of voices in the living room made him veer off instinctively into the kitchen, and while they began to watch some old Hammer horror film, he made drinks. That, at least, he was good at.  

Entering a while later, he found that Sebastien was seated on the sofa beside Henry, who wore an enormously fluffy wolfman costume - mostly a repurposed Chewbacca onesie with a latex wolf mask. He’d pushed the mask up onto his head in order to eat the Halloween themed nibbles on the coffee table, and the effect rendered him entirely ridiculous. Another reason not to wear a costume: it’s impractical, and gets in the way, and washing ketchup out of matted fake fur is a nightmare. Alison and Rachel sat practically in each other’s laps, one a zombie and the other a ghost, both squeezed into one groaning old armchair.  

After half an hour of Christopher Lee’s admittedly creepy Dracula, Alec slid from his seat at the periphery, and ducked out again into the kitchen. Straightening from fishing a beer from the back of the fridge, he heard the soft click of the door and turned to find Sebastien standing there.  

“Get bored with late 1950’s horror too?” Alec asked. “Beer?”

Sebastien inclined his head in a way that said he wasn’t a beer drinker and held up his almost-empty wineglass as an excuse as he moved a little closer. “If you don’t like cheesy horror films, and you don’t seem to like Halloween either, I wonder why you came at all tonight?”

“For Kay,” he said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “She loves this shit.”

At that, Sebastien paused, a delicate smile on his face. In the soft glow of the under-cupboard lighting, his tanned skin seemed to shimmer, and Alec wondered fleetingly if he’d put some kind of glittery body powder on. Next, he wondered what on earth Sebastien was doing in here with him, looking at him like that.  

“You are a good friend,” Sebastien said quietly, seeming perhaps a little sad around the edges.  

“She’s done more than her fair share of looking after me,” Alec sighed knowingly. “Not that I’m doing it because I owe her,” he added, twisting the cap off the bottle and leaning back against the counter to drink deeply from it. As the malty froth washed over his tongue, he felt eyes on him and looked over at the other man.  

Sebastien tilted his head slightly to the side, the false golden light in his eyes making him look like a cat in the dark. “You said she was trying to set you up with someone…”

Alec snorted, nearly shooting beer out of his nose. “Yeah. Well, she seems to think a good fuck will sort my mood out.”

“But you think otherwise?”

“You offering?” he asked bitterly, taking another swig and feeling uncharacteristically bold, though absolutely not expecting the answer he got.  

“Perhaps.”

His eyebrows shot up and this time he did cough a little. “You can’t be serious.”

“You think someone who looks like me is entirely straight?” he asked with a wry smile, and Alec had to hand it to him. Not many men he knew could pull of long, luscious, white-blond hair like that, or would have the confidence to wear fucking thigh-high boots and whisper-tight leather pants…

“Still… you don’t really know me… That’s all I meant…”

“Doesn't mean one couldn’t engage in — how did you call it? — ‘a good fuck’. Not that I’m averse to getting to know you better, before or after.”

Alec swallowed another enormous gulp of frothing beer and blinked. “You’re serious?”

With a melodramatic smile that revealed his vampire teeth clearly, ‘Alucard’ purred, “Deadly.”

And Alec burst out laughing. The spell was shattered and the two men shared the remnants of their drinks and their laughter together before Alec sighed. “Your place or mine?”

At that, Sebastien seemed to falter, as if he hadn’t thought through to that point. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “I assume yours would be alright?”

Alec shrugged. “Sure, if you don’t mind smacking your head on the ceiling and being able to touch two opposite walls at the same time…”

Sebastien’s lips hitched into another wry smile. “I’ve fucked in tighter spaces, I’m sure.”

“You know what?” Alec said as he rinsed out the beer bottle at the sink and half-turned to look at the other man over his shoulder. “You’re absolutely not what I expected.”

“Nor were you,” he shot back, still smirking. “And it’s been a while since I was assaulted by someone in a library.”

“Bring back happy memories, did it?” he snorted.  

“Not exactly,” Sebastien murmured, and Alec realised he hadn’t actually been joking. “But I must confess that — despite my behaviour — I was pleasantly surprised by the sight of you when you rounded that bookshelf…”

Turning, Alec approached him cautiously. If he was genuinely serious about his proposal, Alec would find out now. “Pleased enough to seek me out afterwards…” he said, raising his eyebrows. He couldn’t do that ‘one brow at a time’ thing that Sebastien could, but it seemed to get his tone across all the same.

Unusually for Alec, Sebastien had an inch or two on him in height, and as Alec paused in front of him, close enough to catch the faintest hint of a woody cologne, the man angled his face just perfectly for the light to dance along his high cheekbones. Fuck, he was exquisite. The urge to kiss him rose in Alec; to feel his lips against his own, to have those elegant hands scrunch his hair…  

As if reading his mind, Sebastien slowly, carefully, raised his right hand and brought his index finger to Alec’s chin, tilting it upwards just a fraction with the lightest pressure. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much, and it left Alec breathless. Again. Panting slightly, he parted his lips and then swallowed thickly.  

Sebastien’s eyes darted instantly to the motion of his throat and for a second, Alec could have sworn he saw a vibrant red light reflected in his eyes. Sensing his moment of hesitation, of tension, Sebastian frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Alec breathed. “I thought your eyes went red but it must have been a car on the street outside or something.”  

“Indeed,” he murmured, but then blinked rapidly. “Do you still wish to continue this?”

“Yes,” he whispered. Don't stop now. His whole body was thrumming in a way it hadn’t ever before with casual encounters. He felt alive for the first time in months.  

Sebastien stepped back, turning his face away a little more. “Should we make our excuses…?”

Alec shook his head. “Nah, Kay will know what’s going on anyway, and I don’t want to face her smug looks until tomorrow at the least.”

With a softly amused chuckle, Sebastien stepped back and allowed Alec to leave the room first. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as the other man followed behind, but he didn't turn around or look at him until they were outside on the main street.  

“It’s a bit of a walk…” Alec said, only realising then how long the walk would be. “I’m way over on the other side of town by the station…”

The continuing intensity of Sebastien’s scrutiny was beginning to shift from a turn-on to just marginally unnerving, but he told himself that an esteemed professor at one of the country’s finest universities, with more letters after his name than anyone his age had a right to possess, was unlikely to be truly dangerous for a one-night stand… right? There was something about the way he stared at Alec — an unmistakable hunger in his eyes — that made his skin prickle and his heartbeat jump instinctively. Like a deer before the gaze of a tiger, he was entranced.  

Unexpectedly, Sebastien’s easy stride slowed at the brick gateway to a small, gravel park that sat between an old church and a chemist, the latter closed at this time of night. “May I kiss you?” he breathed, still gazing at him unblinkingly, as though Alec were the pretty one in this equation, not him.  

Alec couldn’t help grinning. The way Sebastien’s eyes bored into him then drove all thought of threat and fear from his mind, and he nodded.  

The man’s hands were chilly from the night air, but the moment they cupped his jaw and drew Alec toward him, he forgot about that. He forgot about everything at the meeting of their lips. Sebastien began tentatively, merely brushing their lips together, but when his golden eyes fluttered closed, he deepened the gesture, tongue just begging entrance, teasing him before withdrawing, retreating and returning.  

Searing want shot down Alec’s spine and he arched into Sebastien’s taller body, hips seeking contact through his jeans. He moaned, deep and guttural, and it seemed to awaken something in Sebastien, because the man grabbed hold of the back of Alec’s hair and pulled his head slightly to one side to begin to kiss along his jawline, down to wards his neck. For a heartbeat, Sebastien froze there, nose pressed to his rabbiting pulse point, his teeth just grazing skin, before he exhaled harshly and stepped back. “We shouldn’t get carried away,” was all he whispered, stepping slightly out of Alec’s dazed field of view. “My place is nearer though.”

“Ok,” Alec said, still reeling. “Sure.”

When they reached the apartment building, his steps faltered in amazement. “You live… here?”

A slight flush seemed to warm Sebastien’s cheeks as he stepped up to the main doorway, only to have it opened from the other side by a man in livery. “Good evening, Monsieur Dulac,” said the friendly doorman instantly.  

“Good evening,” he replied. “This is my friend, Alec Twayblade.”

It was impossible for the doorman not to realise that his ‘friend, Alec Twayblade’ was going to be a little more than that for the night, but he never let a flicker of judgement pass across his face. From the concierge desk - Sebastien’s building had a fucking concierge desk too - another man looked up and wished them both a good evening as they headed for the lifts.  

“Does the English department also sell diamonds or drugs or something? How the fuck can you afford a place like this on a lecturer’s salary?” but even as he said it and the doors closed with a soft chime, he realised the truth of it. Sebastien’s aristocratic features and bearing were not merely a persona. They were truth. He stared up at him while Sebastien turned a key in the lift panel.

“Are you secretly royalty or something?” he whispered, only half joking.  

The man shot him an amused look and shook his head, silk-white hair whispering against the rougher wool of his costume coat. “No, of course not, but I do have some inherited wealth.”

Some? “So you don’t actually have to work at the university at all then?”

He made a so-so motion of his head and said, “No, not really, but I genuinely enjoy teaching.”

“Your students certainly seem to enjoy you…”

“You don’t enjoy teaching?” he asked as the numbers on the dial climbed and climbed.  

Please don’t say you live in the fucking penthouse too, Alec thought, already suspecting it might be true from the whole ‘special access key’. He glanced at the number pad and saw that the button labelled ‘PH’ was illuminated. Fuck. “Most days I enjoy it,” he admitted. “But I kind of fell into it a while back and just sort of…” he shrugged, “Stuck with it.”

Sebastien asked no more, and the lift finally stopped on the top floor. The doors drew back to reveal an apartment beyond that Alec could only gawp at. It was like something from the set of an Architectural Digest photo shoot. Nothing was out of place in the hardwood floor paradise, with clean, crisp lines and white marble counter tops in the kitchen off to his left, while a comfortable, and yet still clinically modern, sitting area sat to their right. Deep, fluffy rugs dotted that part of the penthouse, and a wide balcony stretched out over the city beyond, complete with a little table and chairs for warmer evenings.  

“This place is incredible,” Alec breathed, the reason for his even being here completely forgotten.  

Clearly sensing that, Sebastien smiled bashfully and said, “Would you like something to drink?”

Alec cleared his throat and hoped he wasn’t going to be faced with a choice between very expensive wines that he’d never heard of. “Sure… thanks.”

“White, red, beer, or whisky?” he asked, walking towards the kitchen and dumping his ‘Alucard’ coat over the back of a white sofa as he went. Alec’s mouth went dry as he watched the point where his narrow hips met the flowing material of the white shirt. Dear god, an arse like that shouldn’t be… well, it just shouldn’t be. And yet there it was. Clad in leather and looking positively delectable. “Or a soft drink?” he added when Alec remained silent.  

Aware of where his gaze had landed, Sebastien halted and looked back over his shoulder, long, loose, naturally straight hair already losing the curls that had been worked into it for the Alucard costume. Definitely not straight, if he owned hair curlers.  

“Uh…” Alec said, unsure what the question had even been now.  

“I’m going to pour myself a whisky, if that helps…?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Sebastien smiled, looking almost endeared by Alec’s inept stuttering. Surely he couldn’t be unused to such a reaction? “Make yourself at home then.”

With a smoky, peat-tinged whisky in a wide, heavy-bottomed tumbler set on his glass coffee table, Alec watched Sebastien turn the gas fire on, and, to his surprise, he came to a halt directly in front of him. Setting his own whisky down on the table with a deliberate, and yet delicate, clunk, Sebastien turned back to him and raked his eyes down Alec’s body in a way that made him flush hot all over. His cock twitched with interest and he tried not to preen under that gaze.  

Sebastien’s eyes and teeth were back to normal now, with no hint of the golden contacts or the vampire fangs, and Alec fleetingly assumed that he must have removed them at some point between getting the whisky and appearing in front of him looking like he was about to ravish him. Oh dear god, please let him be about to ravish me, he thought with a big, dumb grin spreading across his face.  

Seeing his reaction, Sebastien reached down and knelt facing him on the sofa, running his palm over the already-growing bulge in Alec’s jeans. Alec let out a deep grunt and rocked his hips up into the contact, throwing his head back against the soft, open weave of the white fabric. “Oh fuck,” he hissed.  

Sebastien’s fingers found the button of his jeans and deftly undid it, but he paused. “May I?” he asked, and Alec found himself nodding before he’d even worked out what Sebastien wanted.  

He found out a moment later, when his jeans were around his ankles and Sebastien was kneeling on the floor between his knees and licking a long stripe up the length of his rapidly hardening cock.  

“Oh god,” he panted as the wet heat of Sebastien’s mouth engulfed half of his length and then drew back to leave his wet tip exposed to the slight chill of the apartment air. The contrast stole his breath for a heartbeat, but Sebastien returned his attentions to his cock, gently sucking and working him to full hardness in a matter of minutes.  

Pleasure sparked through Alec’s whole body and he strained not to thrust back into Sebastien’s mouth, even as Sebastien took him right to the back of his throat, the tip of Alec’s cock nudging against the silky resistance of his throat.  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he chanted as Sebastien’s fingertips just teased and caressed the underside of his balls too, and Sebastien hollowed his cheeks and sucked a little more insistently. “Oh fuck…” Really fucking eloquent here, Alec, he thought vaguely, but one look down at the vision kneeling between his legs and sucking him off drove even that thought from his brain.  

The suck and slide of Sebastien’s mouth was incredible, and while he had no idea quite how much time passed, it felt like mere seconds as the heat stoked in him until he could feel the orgasm threatening to crash through him. “I’m… I’m really close…” he gasped as Sebastien moaned against his cock, sending little vibrations thrumming through him and tipping him even closer. The sharp prick of his teeth every now and again was a perfect counterpoint to the slick heat of his mouth, and it was never enough to hurt. Normally Alec wasn’t one for including teeth in this, but with Sebastien, it felt perfect.  

Sebastien pulled back just as Alec felt himself beginning to coil up, his lips swollen and glistening from the exertion of bringing him that close, and he smiled. He looked radiant, and Alec’s cock twitched enthusiastically in his hands as he let out a soft whimper. The air was cold and his tip beaded pre-come freely, which Sebastien thumbed away with a surprisingly tender gesture, only to watch as more pearled immediately at his slit. Using just the tip of his tongue, Sebastien lapped at it delicately and Alec’s whole body shuddered.  

His thighs shook at the tiny, intense stimulation, with Sebastien's fingers gripping the base of his cock in a tight circle, and he gasped, chest heaving. It was too much and not enough, and as he found his perineum teased as well, he bellowed and trembled. He was half a heartbeat away from coming harder than he could ever remember coming in his life, and Sebastien wasn’t going to let him have it. He roared and ground his teeth, bucking his hips, which made Sebastien laugh softly.  

“Alright,” he heard him murmur, before he swallowed him down to the back of his throat again, and Alec shattered with a yell.

When he finally blinked his eyes open, he found that Sebastien had risen and was sitting on the small sofa beside him, whisky in hand, staring openly at him. He didn’t look smug exactly, but there was a quiet satisfaction to his brown eyes that made Alec flush, at which Sebastien’s beautiful lips drew back into a smile. He noted again those slightly larger canines, but they were nothing like the vampire teeth he had worn earlier.  

“What do you want?” Alec asked, voice hoarse. God, he sounded wrecked. Had he really shouted so hard he’d made his throat sore?

Sebastien’s dolorous, dark eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “What do you want?”

“To watch you come,” he said immediately.  

“And how would you like me to come?” Sebastien replied, sipping nonchalantly at the golden liquor as if the were discussing what Alec would like Sebastien to wear. As it was, his leather pants were constricting his obvious hard-on in a way that had to be painful for him, and his shirt was open at the neck to reveal delicate collarbones and a glimpse of his beautiful olive skinned chest.  

He was an absolute vision. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he blurted in a whisper before he could stop himself, and to his surprise, Sebastien laughed. The sound was bright, delighted, and oddly self-conscious, as if he hadn’t been expecting a compliment like that. “Sorry,” he added, looking away. “Look… if you’ve got condoms, I’m… I’m good to… you know…”

“You want me to fuck you?” Sebastien asked, his gaze sharpening again.  

“Yes?”  

“’Yes?’ Or ‘yes’…?” Sebastien asked, seeking clarification.  

“Yes. But I don't understand your question.”

“Look at me,” Sebastien said.  

“Hard not to…” Alec quipped back, still feeling utterly wrung out.  

“Most people assume I’m going to be the one taking it…”

Alec’s eyebrows rose as realisation settled. “Oh. And, what, I look like a top?”

Sebastien’s lips twitched. “Conventionally more so than I do, with your rugged looks and the rough shadow around your jaw…”

“So… do you want me to… you know…? Or…” Fuck, he felt like a teenager again, struggling to articulate himself and not get his sentences in a tangle while this breathtaking creature just sat there and watched him make an idiot out of himself.

“I very much want to fuck you,” Sebastien said at last. “If you’d like that as well.”

“Yes,” he said instantly.  

Sebastien set down his glass and rose in a single, elegant motion, and then held his hand out to Alec.

His skin was still cool, especially next to Alec’s searing body, and his hold was steady as Alec heaved himself to his feet and allowed himself to be alternately tugged and kissed into the bedroom. 

___

Part Three

Behold, plot has appeared to go with the Halloween porn I had planned. Alec’s family will come up in the next chapter.

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I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me  know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

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[angelasscribbles]

WIP Wednesday 12.1.21

Need opinions please.

I have an idea for a new series, kind of an AU. Would you read this? Would you want to be tagged in it?

Series premise: Agent Riley Brooks is undercover on assignment in New York when she has a one-night stand with a handsome, mysterious stranger. Both of them hiding their true identities, names are not exchanged. After one scorching night, they part ways, both returning to the duties they have pledged their lives to. Fast forward several months later and Agent Brooks is assigned a new case: investigate and infiltrate any via imperi influences in the small, Mediterranean country of Cordonia. Her cover? Posing as a suitor competing for the hand of the crown prince. Her way in? Civilian contractor and cyber security expert Maxwell Beaumont.

Snippet from Chapter 1:

Finally, a fucking break. I cashed out my tips and waved to the manager as I got the hell out of there. I’d been deep undercover in New York City for just over a year, pretending to be a waitress in a sketchy bar on the lower east side. I had worked my way up from the public area to slinging drinks in the back room where the real shit went down.

Rico Mendez was the son of the leader of one of the biggest drug cartels on the east coast. He was my target, and I was his type. Yes, my physical attributes were the exact reason I drew this particular assignment.

Rico was young, cocky, good looking and brutal. If he hadn’t been a sociopath, we could have gotten along. His smoldering good looks and rippling abs put him firmly in the category of my physical type too. Listen, I like the bad boy vibe as much as the next girl, but I draw the line at murder and human trafficking. That’s ok, I wasn’t there to marry him, I was there to take him down. And take him down I would. Just not today.

Today was Thanksgiving and even the mob took the day off to spend with family. I had no family in the states and couldn’t blow my cover by contacting them even if I had. I wasn’t surprised that Rico hadn’t invited me home with him, he had a fiancé, and I wasn’t her. I was the side chick. It didn’t matter. She was a prop, the spoiled daughter of a wealthy business associate. He probably never talked about business around her. I got what I needed from dropping off drinks and hanging around to play a little slap and tickle. I dangled the goods in front of his face but played a damn good game of hard to get. The more his desire turned into the frustration, the sloppier he got. We were very close to a bust.

But tonight, I was free and alone in New York. It was a chance to let my hair down. I grabbed a quick shower then shimmied into an emerald green dress with a short hemline and a plunging neckline. That’ll get the boys attention, I thought in satisfaction. Yeah, it had been a while. The cat and mouse game I was playing with Rico left me a little on the frustrated side and I couldn’t risk fucking anyone else in his circle. It would blow up all my hard work and I was ready to wrap this case up. But tonight, tonight Rico was otherwise occupied, and I was headed for Times Square.

I slipped into the upscale club with no issues. I knew the bouncer; I’d helped his brother out of a jam the last time I’d been in New York. The music was pounding, the dance floor crowed and the drinks flowing. You’d be surprised how many people are out on Thanksgiving. All the lonely people. I ordered a drink and was making my way back across the room when some oaf ran right into me. My drink crashed to the floor and his sloshed all over me.

“Excuse me miss, I am so sorry!”

I glanced up in annoyance then my breath caught in my chest. Holy mother of God this man was gorgeous! Hello, I think I just found my extracurricular activity for the night. Thank you sweet baby jesus!

He started trying to dab the spot dry with his napkin but quickly realized he was touching my breasts. His hand dropped and he turned about three shades of scarlet. It was adorable. He was adorable. And hot, did I mention he was smoking hot?

I gave him a sultry smile, “Well hello tall, dark and handsome. If you wanted to touch me, you could have just come up and asked.”

I didn’t think it possible a moment before, but he turned a shade darker. “I….ah….”

“Cat got your tongue?”

He recovered, still blushing, and found his voice, “I’m sorry I was so careless, can I please buy you another drink to make up for it?”

“Oh, absolutely!” I gave him my most dazzling smile. The night just got interesting.

[dreamylyfe-x]

you know i'm rewatching the gallavich wedding planning and i can't help but feel like i don't know who this is, but it ain't mickey! them writing him to be all specific about colors and sh*t, like where's the real mickey from s4 who was annoyed with that guy listing beer types? i get they wanted to do that dumb gag but they should've used someone else for it. i mean ian's the one who was always meticulous about details, they showed that from the beginning. i don't know i just found it so weird

Aw, yeah. I get that reaction -- I think it’s pretty widely shared. And I suspect that storyline did come from someone pitching “it’d be funny if Mickey was a groomzilla.” Which is an idea I find annoying. Because I find the whole bridezilla thing annoying. 

But... I kinda love it, to be honest. 

I really like the idea that Mickey has an aesthetic and some artistic tendencies. We know he draws. I think there’s some indication in canon that Mickey is creative -- both in problem solving and in, let’s say, his sartorial choices. Mickey seems to act on things a lot. He’s not buying those hoodies without sleeves. He is creating hoodies without sleeves.  

Ian IS meticulous... or at least, he’s organized. He’s also given to executing a plan that isn’t necessarily of his own devising. He is drawn to uniforms and he seeks out knowledge he can apply to systems and processes. He seems to have an appreciation for creativity and art, but he isn’t particularly creative himself. 

So of the two of them, I think Mickey is actually much more likely to observe the details and to have opinions about them. That’s still a long way away from having a meltdown about gold chiavari chairs with white cushions. I do realize this. And I remember how that scene came out as a sneak peek the week before and I was... concerned. But when I saw it in context, I honestly liked it. Not so much the scene itself, but the story of that episode. It’s pretty much the only ep that season where Mickey’s concerns are foregrounded over Ian’s and, though (as always) I would have liked MORE of it, I like that we got this one episode about what the wedding mean to Mickey. 

So here are the top reasons why I like and buy this story. 

1. Right off the top, I don’t think Mickey objecting to being given a list of beers indicates he’s not going to care about what chairs are at his wedding. Putting aside that he’s lived an additional five or so years since then, Mickey doesn’t get annoyed in that scene because he thinks it’s dumb to know a lot about beer -- He’s annoyed that Ryan has asked him a question he can’t answer. I’ve always thought of that as a class issue -- He has never been in much of a position to CARE about what he drinks, and he drinks mass-produced pilsners because that’s what everyone in Southside drinks, because it’s cheap. He might love a winter wheat. He has no goddamn idea, because he isn’t living a life where you get to concern yourself with whether or not you’re into IPAs or lagers. Mickey DOES like beer. I was surprised and delighted when he recently ordered a stout at The Alibi, because it does indicate that his life has changed enough that he gets to know a bit more about beer. That at some point, he had the time and inclination to alter his tastes. He might have a different answer for Ryan now.

2. That Mickey wants things. Just... I don’t know. Mickey wanting anything other than food, shelter and Ian gets me so much. Mickey attending to his hierarchy of needs legitimately makes me teary. For people who grow up like Mickey -- asking for things can be a very big deal. So the fact that he just decides he’s going to make a wedding happen -- and a wedding with nice flowers and chairs that will reflect the light (because, we find out, that’s why he wants the gold) and a singer who will perform Livin’ on a Prayer -- is a big deal. And as many have cited before me, it makes sense that Mickey wants a better wedding with Ian than the one he had with Svetlana. But what we also find out, when we get the moment with the vows, is that Mickey takes the whole thing very seriously. He delivers those vows with complete commitment and deep sincerity. So I understand why he wants that space to carry the weight of what is happening. 

3. Mickey doesn’t break the chair because it’s not gold. He breaks the chair because every single person he’s encountered that day is a fucking dick. And they’re being a dick about his wedding. Something he’s happy about, and something he wants to celebrate. And, honestly, he’s not asking for much. He’d be annoyed, but most likely not violent, if his father hadn’t aimed a gun his face and some random old lady hadn’t refused him as a client because he’s gay. Brooks -- who tries to gaslight and act like the chairs are the chairs that were asked for when he knows damn well they are not -- is taking the wrath for a number of other people. But to me, the most important line in that scene is “why does everything always have to suck?”

4. Another thing about this is... back when Mickey responds to Ryan’s multiple choice beer question with “how ‘bout beer?” Ryan covers the awkward moment by making a joke about his own sexuality. The implication being that relating to beer with the kind of detail traditionally reserved for wine, is not masculine. And the thing is, Ryan is making a joke at his own expense, but he’s also acknowledging something that has always been true for Mickey. That Mickey has to make sure he never, ever displays any of these qualities Ryan so casually exhibits. Whether it’s natural for him or not, Mickey has to avoid anything that can be read to be a stereotype. He has to be hyper masculine, both because he’s from House that Toxic Masculinity built, but also because HE knows, even when he won’t acknowledge it, that he’s gay. So when we see Mickey openly talking about what flowers and chairs he wants at the wedding, he’s letting out something that could very well have always been there, but that he never, ever would have expressed back in seasons 1 through 4. Mickey doesn’t kiss Ian for two whole seasons because he’s so messed up about his sexuality. I 100% buy that, at that same time, he isn’t acknowledging having opinions about home decor. 

5. I like it when Mickey defies our expectations. I’m find with him discovering or revealing new facets or abilities or interests -- what I don’t like is when they have him do something that seems more like a regression. The show lampshades that this is something of a surprise, for Mickey to want a wedding, by having Ian be absolutely baffled by it for most of the episode. But they also participate in the end. There’s an indication that Mickey and Ian plan the eventual wedding together, though I imagine Mickey’s stronger opinions took the day in most cases. And the gesture at the end of that episode -- a romantic gesture just as surprising from Ian as anything Mickey does in that episode, really -- validates Mickey in a way I think is pretty beautiful. Like... he gets to be a guy who wants someone to sing Livin’ on a Prayer to him while he holds his boyfriend’s fiancé’s hand. He wasn't allowed to be that guy for years. I like that he gets there. 

So. We might not agree on this, but I really like that you drew a parallel between that scene and the party scene at Ryan’s because I hadn’t though of that before and I think it’s a very interesting one. I also enjoyed thinking so much about this on the day that we mark their one year anniversary! Because holy fuck. Gallavich is married! 

[lonely-harts]

May 20th- “Don’t leave me here”

Prompts used: Dialogue, Camping

Content Warnings: Manipulative whumper, toxic friendship, controlling whumper, scalding, blood mentioned

Whumpee found a brook, a thin mossy stone-lined trickle of glittering coolness. Dipping the kettle in the water, Whumpee looked around, his eyes looking at the new green leaves on the beech trees and the buds on the oak. He breathed in the fresh air of spring, clean and without the taste of blood in the air. Birds called loud and passionately to one another, hopping about from branch to branch before flying off with a beak filled with moss or twigs. Whumpee sighed, wishing that camping would be a regular thing with Whumper. But he got bored of everything, well, everything but that taste of blood.

Whumpee walked back to the clearing where Whumper still sat, prodding at the fire with twigs.

“Didn’t find anything?” Whumpee asked, despite knowing Whumper hadn’t even attempted to look for supplies.

“No,” Whumper sneered. “It’s a shit forest.”

Whumpee shrugged and poured the water into an iron pot hanging over the fire. “I don’t know, I think I spotted some wild garlic near the brook.”

“Shoulda got some then,” said Whumper, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, probably should have,” Whumpee agreed. “Shall I go back?”

“Yeah.”

Whumpee sighed and trudged back to the brook and went up a little, nearer the crest of the hill where green leaves of wild garlic grew in abundance. He picked several leaves quickly, the strong smell making his tummy growl. It had been a day since he’d eaten and goodness knows how long it had been since Whumper had.

When Whumpee returned to camp and found Whumper sprawled out on the ground.

“Your water is boiling,” Whumper said, staring up into the sky.

“It's gonna be pretty plain, I’m afraid, but it will be filling.”

Whumper sat up and grinned through the steam.

Whumpee ripped open the packet of pasta and narrowed his eyes, trying to judge how much to pour into the pan.

“Oh, give it here,” groaned Whumper, leaning over the fire.

The water hissed and burned as it hit Whumpee's skin, soaking into his jeans. “Fuck!” yelled Whumpee, jumping back up and away from the campfire. “What the hell did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Whumper’s bottom lip wobbled. “I’m sorry, it was an accident.”

“Yeah right,” said Whumpee, hopping back to the tent and stripping off his jeans as he went.

“You aren’t going, are you?” whimpered Whumper, looking down at the floor.

Whumpee shot an angry glare back, but his face softened, tears actually seemed to be coming from Wumper’s eyes.

“I was thinking about-” Whumpee began.

“Please don’t leave me here!” Whumper blubbed, drawing his knees to his chest.

Whumpee shoved on a pair of shorts and walked back over to his crying friend, looking as he did back at school. Whumpee crouched beside Whumper and opened his arms, offering a hug.

Whumper flopped into Whumpee’s arms and nuzzled his head into Whumpee’s chest for a second. “We’re leaving together,” he muttered. “Camping is shit.”

@themerrywhumpofmay​ @painsandconfusion​

thought i might try i different dynamic where the whumper is a bit more sneaky about hurting his whumpee so he can keep him around without need for restraints

If anyone would like me to write more about any of the characters who are in any of the drabbles for this challenge, send me an ask and the day and I’ll be happy to!