#but I'd like to know more about her than Just that...

[n0vazsq]

Sweetest Pie | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x singer!reader

summary . . . Mclaren invites you to come watch the Miami Grand Prix with them after the release of your song. However, some fans notice you being there is more than just a guest appearance

request . . . no!!

word count . . . N/A

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . dua lipa my beloved

alexavia yaps . . . on the smau grind gng woohoo!! did you spot the refrences i made?? i love love love love dua so ofc i had to do a smau with her!!! its kinda shitty and rushed but i wont be uploading ANYTHING until wed so thats why i kinda rushed it

yourusername

liked by theestallion, madisonbeer, lando and 3.6M others

yourusername i'll drive and you just lay back - sweetest pie out in all music streaming apps right now! Tagged: theestallion

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username1 IM SO HYPEDDDDDDDDD

username2 i just know this is going to HIT

username3 from the teaser it sounds good

username4 IM SO GLAD I GOT THE DELUXE VER

username5 gorgeous

username6 mothered so hard a f1 driver appeared in her likes

username7 my GOD shes stunning

username8 LANDO???

username9 i cant wait to listen to this 24/7 holy shit

theestallion loved working with you so much!

yourusername thank you!! i loved working with you too!

username10 how does it feel to be a goddess y/n

username11 the music video.

username12 had me on my KNEES

username13 screaming crying throwing up

username14 im giggling at the lyrics

username15 i need more ASAP

username16 this song live will hit so hard

username17 I KNOWWWWW

username18 man im itching to get this on

username19 im never shutting about this for like another 6 weeks

username20 watch her disappear for like 2 more years just to drop another banger

username21 stop why is lando in the likes

username22 he has a crushhhh

username23 MEOW

username24 y/n im single btw hmu

username25 as if

username26 she doesnt interact with us commoners

username27 i need to know who shes singing about

username28 oh to be in a relationship with her

madisonbeer already have this playing on repeat

yourusername i love you

madisonbeer love you more

username29 WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF

username30 DIED. DECEASED. GONE. ROTTING.

mclaren

liked by yourusername, lando, oscar_piastri and 6.8M others

mclaren surprise guest for the miami gp! welcome the famous singer y/n! Tagged: yourusername

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yourusername would've loved to be in orange but it isn't my colour </3

lando don't worry you look beautiful in everything

This reply has been deleted

mclaren don't worry y/n! you still looked beautiful!

username31 LANDO!?!??!?!

username32 SIR.

username33 okay so im not schizo and lando did comment hitting on y/n

username34 living the dream

username35 they better blast her song or im suing

username36 sigh i wish i was her

username37 another celebrity who doesn't know anything about f1

username38 they should just give these tickets to people who actually want them

username39 wasnt y/n a f1 fan since she was a kid???

username40 she was idk what these idiots are yapping about

username41 MOTHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

username42 woah

username43 can she like marry me idk

username44 can't wait for the race tomorrow ahhhhhhhh

username45 imagine if lando wins

username46 she's his good luck charm then

username47 sigh i want to be as pretty as her

username48 STUNNING.

username49 ate up everyone frrrr

username50 LANDO BAG HER UPPPP

username51 he better before we do

username52 frr omg

username53 the next it wag

username54 when i sleep i see her in my dreams

username55 y/n has 4 albums and 4 singles, lando's number is 4. hes winning the miami gp

username56 y/n dont forget us when you become the no.1 artist

username57 shes my kind of woman

username58 id let her hit me with lando's car

username59 i'd let lando hit me with y/n's car

username60 queen

(click on pics to view the full tweet !)

lando

liked by oscar_piastri, yourusername, mclaren and 8.2M others

lando my good luck charm

comments on this post have been closed

yourusername has posted two stories !

caption 1: HE DID IT!!!!! // caption 2: celebrating the golden boy

yourusername

liked by lando, oscar_piastri, lilyzneimer and 5.4M others

yourusername he called me his good luck charm and i wrote a song about him Tagged: lando

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username71 WHAT?!?!??!?!?!

username72 IT COUPLE

username73 ew

username74 like why him???

username75 ATEEEEE

username76 WTF IM IN LOVEEEE

username77 PARACOSICL REKARIJSHP

username78 MOMMY AND DADDY

username79 wtf

username80 i-

username81 MY SHAYLA

username82 my jaw dropped to the floor

username83 the twitter detectives KNEW

username84 frrrrrr

username85 if they ever decide to buy a pet im like right here

madisonbeer congrats to you two!

yourusername thank you!!

username86 who tf is this i came from landos insta

username87 idk but shes ugly

username88 i dont like her

username89 i dont know if i want y/n or lando to be with me

username90 screaming crying throwing up

username91 giggling blushing and kicking my feet

username92 i need a fanfic on this ASAP

username93 sTOP THEYRE SO CUTEEe

username94 y/n holding his trophy im on the FLOOR

username95 my parents

username96 no bc i feel like im intruding

username97 SHES GORGEOUS

username98 shes everything and hes just ken

username99 this fits PERFECTLY bc she acted in the barbie movie

username100 lando could do so much better ew

username101 my QUEEN

username102 ok so like when is the wedding

username103 i just know that carlos is squealing and giggling bc hes y/ns biggest fan fr

username104 madre e padre

username105 PRETTYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

username106 so like wheres lando's comment???

username107 hes saving a finale grand stopping act

username108 ROMEO AND JULIET

username109 i would be sobbing in TEARS if i heard y/n's voice in the radio

username110 NOW I NEED THAT TO HAPPEN STFU

lando i love you so much my beautiful girl

yourusername i love you more my stunning boy

lando thats impossible because i love you more than life

carlossainz55 he nearly cried when he saw you enter the mclaren hospitality

lando SHUT UP YOU MUPPET

yourusername you did??

lando you looked so gorgeous i couldn't help it

lando fuck you carlos

yourusername LANDO STOP ILYSMMM

lando I LOVE YOU MORE MY BELOVED GORGEOUS QUEEN

rebeccad_ why cant carlos be like this?

carlossainz55 ??

yourusername dont worry rebecca, ill save you

rebeccad_ my princess in shining armour

lando shes MY princess

yourusername love you lan

lando love you more

username111 straight out of a fucking romance novel

username112 if my bf isnt like him i do NOT want his ass

username113 if i was y/n you'd need an army to get me off lando

username114 if i was lando you'd need an army to get me off Y/N

username115 legit the most gorgeous couple

username116 BEST WAGGGGG

username117 oh i am itching for y/n grand prix apperances

username118 im calling it everytime she attens lando wins

username119 LANDO ONEWIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

username120 the queen and her knight

lando

liked by oscar_piastri, yourusername, mclaren and 9M others

lando i might take you home with this, i might give you all of it, come get your dose of the sweetest pie. oh, this the ride of your life, hold on 'cause, baby, i might, i might just give you a bite of the sweetest pie Tagged: yourusername

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username130 sTOP

username131 im deceased

username132 HE USED HER LYRICS ABOUT HIM TO TALK ABoUT heR oH LANDO NORRIS THE MAN YOU ARE!??!??!?!!?

username133 how did he bag her wtf

username134 Y/N MY QUEEN

username135 the most gorgeous gyal

username136 if i was lando id die idk how id handle being blinded by her beauty everyday

username137 PLSSSS he really said 'fuck you' to the haters and posted them making out

username138 like did i get a subscription or....?

username139 ICONIC.

username140 its been 7 weeks & 3 days since i manifested them getting together

username141 if they break up i dont believe in love

username142 FACE CARD IS LETHAL

username143 ik their kids' genetics will be INSANE

username144 SOBBING i love them sm

username145 if glazing them every single second was a crime id be 89 feet under

username146 GOD HAS FAVOURITES !!!

username147 if she doesnt make a grand prix apperance im throwing hands

username148 counting down the days tilll we get them together in the paddock

username149 MY PRINCESS

username150 if i had to be an f1 driver to get with y/n i would started karting when i was 2

username151 the aura from them is insane

username152 welcome to my world

username153 get you a man who deletes hate comments for you

username154 where can i buy a lando

username155 or a y/n

username156 MODERN. DAY. ROMEO. AND. JULIET.

username157 they need to get married ASAP

yourusername i love you so so so so much

lando forever and always

yourusername until the end

lando my favourite singer

yourusername my favourite driver

lando who wrote my favourite ever song

yourusername who won my favourite ever race

lando who wrote it for me

yourusername who dedicated it to me

lando i love you more than anything in this entire universe my princess

yourusername i love you more than you'd ever know, pretty boy

lando forever

yourusername and always

username158 FUCKING FUCK OFF

username159 ok thats it im jumpiing off a cliff

username160 ive never seen something more romantic and its in a fucking instagram comment section

username161 im actually crying

username162 i love them so much i hope nothing ever happens to them

username163 my heart is paining i cant take this anymore

username164 you know the love is real when you dedicate your biggest achievements to each other

yourusername do you love sweetest pie?

lando i think i love it more than my win

yourusername maybe thats a bit excessive?

lando nothing is ever excessive with you

yourusername i love you

lando i love you too

username165 no i refuse bye i cant

username166 HES A SIMP BUT I FUCKING LOVE IT

username167 the a in lando starts for a lovesick fool for y/n

username168 THE WAY HE STARES AT HER>>>>>

username169 get you a man like lando

username170 hes setting the bar so high its on another altitude

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree ,, @freyathehuntress ,, @chilling-seavey (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[melsidlehands]

She sat among the dry ashes with her knees against her chest, crying deep, heaving sobs of anguish. Her tears sparkled as they left the tip of her chin and glowed briefly before the dry earth extinguished them. She finally heaved a deep breath. "Why?" she asked.

I studied the child. It wasn't so long ago I'd been a human, myself, and asked the same questions, fraught with frustration at the destruction I created. "Many reasons," I said.

"But we hurt people!"

I nodded. "Yes. That is unavoidable."

"It's completely avoidable!"

I rolled my eyes and shrugged. "Okay, sure, if you want to stop existing."

She raised her tear-streaked face and looked at me. "What... what does that mean?"

"You can't live your entire existence without hurting someone. It can't be done. To try would mean reducing your imprint until you are unnoticeable, which is tantamount to death. And you are a goddess of destruction."

She drew in a deep breath, and let out a scream. "I don't want to be!"

I looked around at the charred remains of the forest. "I understand."

This seemed to surprise her. "You do?" she asked hesitantly.

"Of course." I glanced back at her. "Did you think I was not young once, and preferred being docile and 'kept' over this?" I gestured to the ashes.

"You can do that?"

I nodded. "Yes. You can be small, serve the humans in your way; be the spark in an engine, the crack of a firework." I sat down with her against the charred skeleton of an ancient tree. "But kept things have no power. And if they have no power, they cannot be respected. If they are kept long enough, they die, like a candle under glass. And then the universe folds in on itself without someone to govern those things you neglect; the gas explosions, the nuclear plants, the repeated tattoo of their guns."

She looked at her knees again, and her voice seemed to crumble. "I wish I could die."

"No, you feel guilty for existing because you do not comprehend your existence. You feel like your power is a thing you must tightly rein in, instead of rejoicing in it."

She sprang to her feet. "What is there to rejoice in? Look around you! I did this! I killed people, torched their homes, burned their memories!"

"You did not."

"I... what?"

I looked up at her, my own knees against my chest now. "What you have done is to push stagnant people to evolve. We are the forces that cause metamorphoses; adapt or die. We do not kill or destroy because we enjoy it, but because it serves something greater even than us."

She looked at her hands and thought carefully about that. "So... do we just not care?"

"Of course we do. We love fiercely, and our grief and anger are dangerous things, even to ourselves. This is why we have Hope."

"Hope? What does that do?"

"She," I corrected. "She is the bravest thing in the universe; the force that moves the infinite forward. She is not delusion or reckless abandon; she on her own inspires more fear than any of us." I nodded at the young goddess. "She knows where the souls go. They do not disappear, but continue moving forward. Maybe one day they too will be brave. Houses will be rebuilt. Grief will be assuaged. And memories fade. Only the lessons remain." I finally stood up again. "We are old. We last. After awhile, our first tragedies seem small and fragile. If you hold onto them too tightly, you won't grow."

"I don't know if I want to," she said softly.

"I know. And nobody is saying it has to be now." I put my hand on her shoulder. "But stars only shine because they burn, child. They are dangerous, and so must we be." I started making my way back toward the obliterated city of Hiroshima.

"And... what about the people?"

I turned and looked at her. "Watch them for a hundred years or so. They all burn fast, but the most interesting ones burn bright with a fire even we envy."

"What kind of fire?" she asked, following at last in my footsteps.

"Love."

As the God of Fire, the Supreme God has tasked you to supervise and educate a newly manifested Goddess. You find a sad, terrified, and confused child, fearful of her powers and the destruction it caused the mortal realm. You are to guide a being born from Man's work, The Goddess of Explosions.

[blueheron15]

TOO SOON TO TELL YOU I LOVE YOU

pairing: jj x fem!routledge!reader

summary: jj navigating his childhood and adolescence while seeing john b as a brother, but y/n as something… more.

warnings: flangst, suggested smut

a/n: wow this was longer than i thought it was gonna be and thats why i am edging yall with the ending... THERE WILL BE A PART TWO

jj and john b had been brothers since third grade. it was common knowledge for everyone on the island. don't cross john b unless you wanted to deal with jj, too, or vice versa. it was a well-known fact.

they began playing together at recess, and soon, john b came back home talking about his new friend. he would eventually begin bringing two lunches to school with him so jj could actually eat.

the first time they hung out outside of school, they went fishing off of the ocean at the chateau. they were called inside for lunch by the ringing of a bell.

"wut was that?" jj asked in his southern drawl, toothless mouth quirking in confusion as he dropped a minnow back into the water.

"my daddy's callin' us back for lunch." john b explained, beginning to pull up the anchor of the johnboat.

"is your daddy nice?" jj asked, helping his friend gather the ropes.

"he's just a normal dad." john b shrugged, adjusting his hat before starting the motor.

"my dad hates me." jj explained, as if it were a simple fact of life. he sat down.

"well, i think mine'll like you."

from that day on, jj had practically been adopted into the routledge family. the littlest sibling, y/n routledge, was only five when they met, and was relatively closed off at first. while the four of them ate at the table that day, big john had shown an affection towards his son and jj, but made no effort to include his daughter in the conversation.

the age gap, which seemed significant at first, slowly dwindled away as john b's friend group expanded to the rest of the pogues. y/n hung out with them sometimes, too.

jj had always thought she was nice, and he enjoyed getting a rise out of her, but his best friend for life was her brother. that's who he was looking for on the night he happened to fall in love with her.

y/n was 12, and jj was 14. he knew john b was at a small party kiara was throwing (a farewell party to kildare high school, if you will), but he was hoping he would be back by one am. jj stumbled into the chateau, tripping over the step into the house.

"shit!" he cursed, his already bruised cheek making contact with the dusty hardwood floor. "ugghhhh" he groaned, slowly hoisting himself up.

"jj?" he heard a voice mumble.

his head snapped up, finding y/n standing in the kitchen. suddenly, his cheeks flushed as he looked at his star wars pajama pants, embarrassed that she was seeing him like this. "uh, yeah." he cleared his throat, taking a step further into the dimly lit house. "hey, y/n."

he could have sworn he heard her sniffle, but she too took a step forward, flicking on the living room light.

"isn't it passed your bedtime?" jj asked, at the same time y/n said "what happened to you?"

his hand made it's way to the back of his neck, scratching. "nuthing." he said dismissively. "just got inta an argument with my old man."

her face contorted into a frown, walking up to him and grabbing his arm. as she lead him into the bathroom, he had a strange thought that she looked adorable in her polka dot pajama pants and one of pope's old t shirts.

"why'd he do this to you?" she asked softly, grabbing disinfecting ointment from the cabinet. "sit on the toilet so i can clean you up."

jj rolled his eyes, deflecting. "i dont need you to clean me up. was lookin' for your brother anyway."

"well," she started, confirming his previous thought. "john b's not here, and neither is my dad cuz he never is, and in case you didn't know, it's been 10 years since my mama left, and i'm all alone, and i'd really not like to be alone right now so could you please just sit?"

she finished her rant with a stray tear leaking down her cheek, a red face, and a huff of air. jj tried not to let his grin show. they way she got so flustered, the way she annunciated each word, made his heart flutter despite the heaviness of the situation. "hold your horses, i'll stay." he said, raising his hands up in surrender.

he sat down on the toilet lid as she tended to his busted lip, cut under eye, and bruised cheek. she worked in silence for a little while.

"he did this to me cuz im a piece of shit." he eventually muttered.

"you're not." she insisted, shaking her head.

"you only think that because i'm john b's friend." he scoffed. "maybe he's right, anyway. he caught me stealin from the gas station. maybe i deserved this."

she looked at him. jesus, jj thought, when did her eyes become so... pretty? "you didn't think we're friends?"

jj looked down at the floor, before bashfully meeting her gaze. "guess we are now."

jj slept over, obviously, and they sat together on the couch as she showed him the only existing photo of her and her mother.

"i wonder if she would like me if she knew me now." y/n thought out loud.

jj took it upon himself to use humor to make her feel better. "pretend im your mom." he shrugged.

"what?" she squeaked, looking at him like he was crazy.

he cleared his throat before raising it an octave to make him sound like a woman. "oh, y/n!" he exclaimed, grabbing the ends of her hair. "my daughter, you're sooo beautiful!"

"ew!" she she giggled as jj got closer and closer to her. "get off me jj!" she laughed, playfully shoving him away.

"you don't want some lovin' from your mama?" he teased, still in a girly voice.

she kicked him gently, squealing in delight at his antics. "you're not my mama!" she insisted.

they began wrestling playfully, jj pushing her so she was laying on the couch, pinning her down. and, when john b walked in, he thought it was nothing more than some classic routledge and maybank sibling bonding.

-`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´-

from that moment on, there was an undeniable shift between the two of them. somehow, y/n had gone from nice, to adorable, to pretty at her thirteenth birthday party. the pogues and some of her girlfriends from school had been invited to the chill hang out at the chateau.

she was talking to some of her other friends, in a lovely white sundress and brown cow boy boots, when jj nearly choked on the vodka he had added into his lemonade.

"i never realized how pretty y/n was." pope commented, swinging on the hammock.

"what?!" jj shrieked, spitting out his drink.

"ew, dude." kiara said, rolling her eyes.

"don't you think she looks nice?" pope inquired.

"uh, well, i mean, um" jj stuttered. "what?"

"that's all i'm sayin, dude. y/n is-"

"y/n is what?" john b asked, joining them.

"pope's got a lil crush." kie said, smirking.

"t-this is outrageous!" jj exclaimed.

"why do you even care?" asked kie.

"b-because-"

"obviously because she's like a sister to him and it's gross." john b explained, rolling his eyes. "new rule. no macking on my sister."

"you got that pope?" jj asked seriously, pointing an accusatory finger.

"i wasn't planning on macking on her!" pope cried, defending himself.

jj huffed. "good." he muttered under his breath. he definitely did think pope macking on y/n would be gross. but not for the reason john b had said. something stirred within his chest. it was a gross, green feeling.

...was he jealous?

-`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´-

when jj was sixteen and when y/n was fourteen, the "no macking on y/n" rule had been transformed into the "no pogue on pogue macking" rule. this was due to both y/n and kiara being mature enough to wear bikinis. like, proper bikinis.

it was the first day of summer break. kiara was back from the kook academy, jj didn't have to deal with fucking geometry anymore, he snuck off the previous night with some touron older girl and had his first time behind a tree, and holy hell life was good. the pogues joined some other students at the beach for surfing and a bonfire.

but his eyes were on y/n.

shit, was he a pervert? after all, she was only 14, and one of his best friends. she came fishing with him and john b even though she didn’t particularly enjoy the activity. they were constantly play wrestling, or giving each other sea shells as little gifts. and, jj constantly called her mama, much to john b’s demise. it was one of their inside jokes.

she had just looked so good in her blue bikini and she was actually growing boobs. as jj sat on the sand, watching her surf, he barely noticed kiara and another girl approach him.

“hey, j!” kie called.

“‘sup?” he asked, not taking his eyes off of y/n. she was an amazing surfer, but he was ready to jump into action if she happened to wipe out.

“this is lacy.” kiara said, motioning to the girl next to him. she had a nice rack and a sexy body, with beautiful blonde hair. “i went to the look academy with her.”

“oh?” jj said, raising a brow. “a kook, huh? watchu doin’ on this side of the island, princess?” he shamelessly flirted. kie rolled her eyes in disgust, but lacy placed her palm against a tree, leaning in seductively.

“everyone on figure eight thinks they’re too proper to have fun for a night.” she shrugged.

jj grinned. he was catching her drift, alright.

he brought her back to chateau and fucked her good. well, at least he tried to. but with the image of y/n in his mind, he came in like 15 seconds. he made it up to her by eating her out, which was divine, pleasing her in the way he believed every woman should be.

lacy left, and after jj cleaned himself up and put on a fresh pair of boxers and gray sweatpants, he exited big john’s room, which was now practically his after the man’s disappearance, to get a drink.

he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw y/n sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter. she gave him a knowing look, rolling her eyes as the tears fell.

“shit.” he cursed, walking up to her. “uh. you heard that?”

she scoffed. “everyone heard it. i don’t care about that, though. it’s just… i… do you think i’m pretty, jj?”

“what’re you talkin about?”

she hiccuped. “am i pretty?” she repeated. he let out a breath. shit, how was he supposed to answer that? hell yeah, she was pretty. but she took his silence as a no. “i know i’m not. but it’s not fair that everyone sees me as just some little kid.” she explained. “none of the guys in my grade want to date me. i h-haven’t even kissed anybody yet, and you guys are all having sex, and it’s not fair!”

he tentatively sat down on a stool next to her. “you’re still young.”

“so that means i’m ugly?” she retorted.

“i think yer the prettiest girl on this whole damn island.” jj explained. he was so vulnerable, wide blue eyes staring into hers.

“… you do?”

“i do.” he said softly, nodding. he extended a hand, tucking a stray frizzy and sun dried lock of hair behind her hair. “i really do, mama.” he wondered out loud.

“well…” her heart was beating out of her chest as she took in a shaky breath. “thank you.” she grinned cheekily, cheeks beat red.

“you’re welcome.” he said, tailing a finger down her cheek before going to get up.

“wait” she said in a distressed tone. she grabbed his arm, stood up, and quickly pulled him foreword, pressing her lips to his.

it barely lasted two seconds, and jj didn’t even have time to close his eyes before y/n was pulling away.

she stepped back, staring at him. he brought a hand up to ghost over his lips. he had never felt so much electricity. his lips were literally buzzing.

“kie told me her first kiss made her want to puke.” y/n stated. “um. are all first kisses supposed to be that good?” she asked, clearing her throat.

“uh.” he said, voice hoarse. “mine sure as hell wasn’t.”

“oh.”

“yeah… oh.”

“okay. um, g’night jay!” she squeaked, retreating into her room.

jj was doomed.

-`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´-

y/n routledge had ruined every other girl for jj. he was absolutely besotted with her.

but, the problem was, he couldn't have her. john b would forbid it.

"it's just like, fuckin gross, man!" john b complained, laying on the hammock as he mindlessly threw a hackey sack in the air, catching it. "like, i don't wanna see you macking on my little sister, sorry."

"she's her own person, man." jj said, waxing his board. "just let her be."

"he's a douche." john b insisted. he wasn't very fond of y/n's first ever boyfriend. "she's only 15, why does she even need a boyfriend?"

"i got a feelin' you'll hate anyone she dates." jj replied with an eye roll.

"probably." john b cringed.

jj fought back a shudder. would he hate me if i dated her?

suddenly, y/n came speeding around the corner on her bike, pushing it to the ground and ditching it, sprinting into the house.

"what the hell?" jj asked. him and john b were immediately following her inside.

"y/n?" john b asked, swiftly approaching her. "what's wrong?"

she stood in the middle of the living room, her body wracking with sobs. "h-he... he..." she couldn't even get the words out as she covered her hand with her mouth.

"did he hurt you? what's happenin?" jj asked, concerned. he placed a hand on each of her shoulders, craning his neck down so they were at eye level with each other.

her lips quivered as she sighed, and jj's heart broke.

"he broke up w-with me." she finally managed to get out.

jj recoiled, and him and john b shared a look.

"he's dead."

that night, after the three of them laid together in bed (a y/n sandwich, with her in the middle of the two boys) and did all the girly post break up shit u see in movies together, it was nearing two am when they decided to call it a night.

jj sat on the edge of her bed for a little while, watching her tuck herself in tight underneath the covers.

"you gonna be okay?" he asked.

she hiked up a shoulder. "i'm gonna have to be."

a beat of silence passed. "he's a fuckin idiot for fumbling you." she snorted. "it's true!" jj insisted, his voice growing higher in insistence.

y/n smiled sadly. "thanks, jay."

he gave her a solute. "well, goodnight, mama." he went to get up, but she reached out.

"wait. um. i don't really wanna be alone tonight."

"oh. you want me to get jb, or...?"

in a small and vulnerable voice, she asked. "can you stay?"

"uh, y/n, im not sure how good of an-" he protested, running a hand through his messy blonde locks.

"please, jj." she begged, her voice cracking.

jj didn't stand a chance. "you know i can't say no to you." he whispered, a soft smile on his face.

y/n reached behind her, grabbing an extra pillow and handing it to him. he grabbed the extra blanket on the edge of her bed, getting comfortable on the floor.

they laid in silence for a few moments, just listening to the hum of the crickets and the crashing of the waves in the distance. jj was 99% sure she was asleep, and moved to get up, when she finally spoke.

"he broke up with me because he kept trying to force me to have sex but i didn't want to." she confessed, her words awkwardly cutting through the silence.

"are you fucking kidding me?" jj asked, disgusted.

"please don't kill him." she sighed.

"please don't kill him," jj repeated, mocking her tone. "nah, fuck that. what's this guys address? i swear, i'm gonna-"

"you're gonna do what, jj?" she retorted.

"egg his house, slash his tires, beat him up, i don't know! the point is, that was a dick move. and that's not okay to do. especially to you. cuz your-"

he stopped himself. in the midst of their heated conversation, they had both propped themselves up on their elbows, y/n looking down at jj and him looking up at her. they lowered themselves back down in to a recumbent position.

"i'm what?" y/n whispered.

jj thought for a moment. you’re my girl. you’re so incredibly special. that’s what his mind was thinking. but he couldn’t say that. could he?

“because you’re like a sister to me.” he choked out. he didn’t sound believable at all.

“am i really though?” she pressed.

jj wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all. “we can’t, y/n.” he forced himself to say.

“…i know.” she conceded. “but maybe…” she thought out loud. she let a hand dangle down, off the edge of the bed. “friends can hold hands, right?”

he intertwined their fingers together, holding his arm up for her. “yeah. they can.”

-`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´-

jj and y/n continued to find loopholes in order to be able to act on some of their feelings while not making it obvious for john b.

friends kissed each others cheeks. friends took naps together, bodies intertwined in the hammocks. friends got jealous of flirting. friends called each other nick names like “mama” or “baby” or “bub.”

right?

y/n was providing light in jj’s fucked up life, which become increasingly worse with this search for gold.

jj knew that y/n was having a hard time with her brother following in her fathers footsteps. this made them grow closer, as the barrier that was john b was less and less present, constantly on the go or with sarah cameron.

for fucks sake, they were held at gun point today by barry, who jj knew bc he used to sell coke to his dad.

who, speaking of which, beat him to shit. jj didn’t know how to deal with everything and so he bought a hot tub.

he couldn’t be bothered at pope and kie lecturing him. he couldn’t be bothered that he blew the money. but when y/n stepped inside the hot tub upon seeing the bruises on his abdomen, holding him tight against her chest and stroking his hair, he finally broke down.

he allowed her to dry him off and get him into some clothes. they lay together in her room, this time, both together on her bed as jj needed the physical affection.

he was practically on top of her, his face nuzzled into her neck, but she didn’t mind. she ran her fingers through his hair and up and down his back, to the point where he was practically purring and melting completely into her, mending their bodies together as one.

he was never so vulnerable, not with anyone else.

“thank you,” he croaked out. “for dealing with me.”

“hey.” she gently reprimanded. “don’t say it like it’s some kind of chore. i want to be able to help you, bub. we all do.”

he nodded, to tired to put up a fight. “only want your help tho.”

she smiled into his temple. “i feel like you’re the only person who actually gets me.“ she admitted.

“me too.”

that morning, upon waking up, the two of them had shifted to jj spooning her from behind, holding on tightly. and y/n didn’t mind one bit.

“morning,” she whispered sleepily, intertwining their legs together.

he groaned, stretching his legs out, but not separating them from hers. “mornin’”

“i gotta show ya somethin” he said after a few minutes of laying there admiring y/n. she looked so serene and peaceful in his arms, the sunlight streaming in from the windows and making her look like an angel.

“uh oh what did you steal?” she joked.

“i didn’t steal anything.” he said with an eye roll, sitting up and walking out of the room momentarily. he returned with something shiny in his hands. “i got u somethin when i splurged on the hot tub.”

“jj” she gently chided, propping herself up on her elbows.

“it’s fine.” he protested. “everyone knows the cats ass is dope as fuck. here.”

he held out a gold chain with a small j on it.

y/n held it in her hands, smiling down at it, then looking up at him.

“j as in…” she trailed off, smirking. “jj?”

he nodded and unspoken words passed between them. he put in on her neck, and she thought to herself that she would never take it off.

-`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´-

the night of john b and sarah’s “death” was the best and worst night of y/n and jj’s lives.

“we… we lost em.” shoupe said, his words echoed by the booming thunder. “i’m sorry.”

“you lost them? what do you mean you lost them? like they’re gone? what are you talking about?” pope tried to frantically clarify.

jj’s jaw clenched. kiara’s face dropped. and y/n just stood there, numb as her heart plummeted into a deep abyss.

“they took an open boat into a tropical depression, pope.” the officer explained.

“so they’re dead?” kie asked.

“we don’t know.” said shoupe.

jj’s anger took over. “you drove em straight into the storm, man! are you kidding me?! come here!” he growled, pummeling shoupe.

“jj, stop!” kiara cried.

“get over here! i’m gonna kill you you bastard! you killed them!” he said, trying to fight off the other cops who were restraining him.

pope tried to reason with shoupe, and kiara was begging for it all to stop.

everything was going in slow motion for y/n. her brother… her brother was dead. there was no way he and sarah could have made it through that storm.

as kiara’s parents enveloped her into a hug, and as pope’s parents came in, extremely worried for their son and his friends, jj and y/n made eye contact.

all they had left was each other.

jj calmed down, and when he ripped himself out of the police’s grip, he walked toward y/n who ran and jumped up into his arms. he held her tight, silent tears running down his cheeks as she wailed.

“no, no!” she whimpered, clinging to jj as if they were the last two people on earth.

“i know baby.” he tried to comfort. “i know.”

they found themselves in the porch the chateau, each sitting on an opposite end of the couch, staring outside. jj was smoking his weed and y/n took the occasion puff.

both of their voices were hoarse and eyes were puffy from crying.

“what am i gonna do?” she wondered, voice cracking. “you can’t let them take me away, jj. y-you can’t.”

“and i won’t.” he promised. “i swear. no one is gonna take you, or hurt you. ever. okay? if they do it’s gonna be over my dead body.”

he scooted closer towards her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into him.

“my brother.” jj said solemnly, shaking his head and exhaling a puff of weed. “john b was, is, my brother. i don’t know, man… do you think he’s really dead?”

“i don’t know. i don’t know anything anymore.” she whispered.

“well, there’s one thing i do know.” he said. “with everything happening… shit, who knows? who knows what’ll happen to us? i just… i-i gotta tell ya… john b may be like a brother to me, but you were never like a sister to me.”

with wide eyes, she turned her head towards him. “jj… what are you saying?”

“i’m sayin that… y/n i’ve never seen you as just jb’s lil sister. i’ve always seen you as- as you. you know i’m not good at expressing my feelings.” he took a deep breath, nervous. but he looked into her eyes. “but i want to try.”

she smiled, for the first time all night.

“you’re cute, but somehow sexy at the same time. you make me wanna actually open up to you, and be vulnerable, and be better. a-and, you’re so fucking funny too, dude. i know you’ve always struggled with separating yourself from your dad and john b. and maybe sometimes you think that nobody notices you. but y/n, you’re all i notice. you’re everywhere, all the time, and it’s so scary. but… what’s scarier is the fact that i could lose you like john b and you would always think i saw you as a little sister.”

she snorted at that through the tears. she was rendered speechless.

jj let out a shaky breath. she closed the small distance between the two of them, straddling his hips as they kissed with the taste of weed, perfume, and salty tears invading their senses.

they kept crying hard, but kept kissing harder.

“i love you.” jj said. and once it left his lips, it’s like the damn burst. “fuck i love you so much y/n. i love you so much. we’re gonna be okay. i got you. i got you, mama.”

“i love you” she said, nodding her head. “i love you too, jj.”

so it was safe to say that jj loved each of the routledge siblings.

but y/n?

that was his girl. his person.

(and, when john b came back from the dead, he’d be grossed out to see jj and his little sister macking. but he knew jj would do anything for her.

so, when y/n routledge became y/n maybank a few years later, john b and jj would actually be brothers.)

it was always gonna be P4L, but it was routledge and maybank first.

he used a hand to hold her back, gently flipping them over so that he was hovering on top of her, his beautiful biceps caging her in.

he slid his tongue over her bottom lip and she granted him entrance as they made out. wanting, needing to be closer, she hooked her ankles around his lower back, arching into him and feeling his erection.

"fuck" he panted. he trailed his kisses lower, nipping her ear lobe, sucking on her neck.

"mm r-remember when my first boyfriend broke up with me?" she said through whimpers. "i didn't wanna have sex with him. n-not because i wasn't ready, but because... i always wanted it to be you."

he let out a groan. "jesus, y/n..." he detached his lips from her neck, loving the hickey that had formed there.

"jj... please. i need you." she said, tears staining her cheeks.

he kissed them away. "i need you too, mama." he breathed. they looked into each other's eyes. "ive never needed anyone so bad. all those other girls... they were to distract me from you because i never thought this would happen."

"john b made it a rule to not mack on you." he continued.

she smiled, but it was quickly replaced by a sob at the mention of her brother.

"let me take care of you.. i can't stand to see you hurtin like this."

"please" she whimpered.

and so, she let her legs fall to each side of jj's torso, and he began shimmying down her shorts...

taglist:

@4jjsbank @mkcolon1 @agnxstic @groovypeanutoperatorzonk @starsval @sollamimi @obxcc @onelonelybitch @tv-girllover07

[stxrsniolo]

︶︶﹒anytime ⠀ 𓇼

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 warning : smut, blurb one-shot, fingering, dirty talk, blah blah blah. now lemme hold your tit while i tell you: let's get freakyness started.

i was in my room, editing some footage when i heard y/n come in, her steps heavier than usual. she was trying to act normal, but i could tell something was off. her eyes were a bit red, like she'd been crying, and her smile didn't reach her eyes when she greeted me.

"hey, you okay?" i asked, my boston accent thick, making me sound like some kinda cowboy. she just nodded, too quick, too forced, and moved to the kitchen. i followed her, leaning against the doorway as she grabbed a soda from the fridge.

"y/n, what's up? ya can't fool me, ya know," i pressed, my tone light but insistent. she just shrugged, avoiding my gaze, sipping her drink as if it could wash away whatever was bothering her.

i gave her space, let her sulk for a bit, but watching her like this, with that sad puppy look, was killing me. i couldn't stand it anymore. i walked over to her, my movements deliberate, and took the soda from her hand, placing it on the counter.

"this ain't gonna cut it, babe," i said, my voice low, "let's get to the bottom of this."

before she could protest, i was on her, my lips crashing against hers, tasting the salt from her tears mixed with the sweetness of the soda. i kissed her like i was trying to pull the sadness out of her, my hands roaming, finding the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head.

"matt, what are you..." she started, but i cut her off with another kiss, deeper, more demanding.

"shh," i whispered, "i'm gonna make ya feel better, whether ya wanna say whateva's bothering ya it or not."

i spun her around, her back against my front, my hands already working on the button of her jeans. i slid them down, along with her panties, leaving her exposed in the kitchen, her breath hitching as my fingers found her.

"you're gonna tell me what's wrong, or i'll just keep going," i threatened playfully, my fingers teasing her entrance, feeling how wet she was despite her mood.

"matt, please..." she moaned, her voice breaking, but whether from her earlier sadness or the pleasure now, i couldn't tell.

"please what?" i asked, my fingers dipping into her, curling just right, making her gasp. "please make ya come? or please stop?"

"don't stop," she whispered, her resolve crumbling under my touch.

"then talk to me, babe," i coaxed, my fingers moving rhythmically, my other hand reaching around to play with her clit. "what's got ya so upset?"

her words came out in broken sentences between moans, about some drama with her friends, how she felt left out, betrayed. each revelation was punctuated by a thrust of my fingers, a stroke, a tease.

"there ya go, let it out," i murmured, my voice a mix of comfort and desire, "and let me take care of ya."

i could feel her getting closer, her body tensing, her moans getting louder. "you're close, aren't ya? feel how ya grip around my fingers," i said, my accent thick, the 'r's rolling off my tongue, my movements becoming more urgent.

she came with a cry, her body shuddering against mine, her release a mixture of relief from her emotional turmoil and the physical pleasure i'd forced upon her. as she came down, panting, i turned her to face me, my fingers still inside her, keeping her connected to this moment, to me.

"feel better?" i asked, my voice soft now, the boston in my words a comforting sound in her ear.

she nodded, a real smile breaking through, her eyes no longer holding that sad look. "yeah, thanks, matt," she whispered, leaning into me for a hug.

"anytime, babe, anytime."

©𝗦𝗧𝗫𝗥𝗦𝗡𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗢 | my little starfish: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns

[rosaeh]

boyfriend!jason todd & work song by hozier

Boys workin' on empty Is that the kinda way to face the burnin' heat? I just think about my baby I'm so full of love, I could barely eat There's nothin' sweeter than my baby I'd never want once from the cherry tree 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be She'd give me toothaches just from kissin' me

late night patrol during the summer, and jason finds himself starving. but all he can think about is you. not about the food that's waiting for him in the fridge, but you. you, who -he hopes- is sleeping in bed and not waiting for him on the couch. not that he minds much. when you do wait for him -no matter how much he asked you not to- he would find you asleep on the couch, then would pick you up, and lay you down on the bed.

jason doesn't mind. he likes that you actually care enough to wait for him. likes that it gives him an excuse to hold you close.

but he doesn't actually like that you're depriving yourself of your sleep over him -you'll tell him it's really no big deal, but he wouldn't hear any of it. doesn't like that you end up sleeping on the couch, when the bed is much more comfortable, and won't cause you any pain.

anyway, he knows the minute he will be back to your shared apartment, the first thing he will do won't be eating, but crawling into bed with you. holding you close enough to fulfil his starvation.

and there is no other places he would rather be than in your arms.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

and he knows that, if something bad were ever to happen to him, while away from you, he would crawl his way to you too. no matter what it takes him, he would come to you. even in death. because you are home to him.

after all, he already crawled his way out of a grave once, and he'll be willing to do it again for you. with you in mind ? jason knows he would do anything in his will power to come back to you. the mere thought of you is enough to motivate him to do everything. anything.

Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin I woke with her walls around me Nothin' in her room but an empty crib And I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived But I swear, I thought I dreamed her She never asked me once about the wrong I did

[...]

My babe would never fret none About what my hands and my body done If the Lord don't forgive me I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me When I was kissin' on my baby And she put her love down, soft and sweet In the low lamplight, I was free Heaven and hell were words to me

because jason does come home to you. every night. whatever happens, no matter the state he is in.

and he is much more careful about that too, now. about the state he ends up in after going out as red hood.

but he also knows that no matter the state you do found him in, you'll welcome him with open arms. willing to take care of him. keen, even, to make him feel at peace, at home. no matter how much blood tainted his hands, you would wipe it off every time.

you would calmly sit him down in the bathroom, and start tending to his wounds. standing between his legs, you would found yourself -more often than not- leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead, your hands pushing his hair back gently, your fingers tangling in his white strand.

and under your soft hands, your gentle touches, jason would feel like heaven was in your arms, because it is.

and it doesn't matter what everyone else thinks of him, as long as he has you. this heaven. his heaven. and in counterpart, for this peace you're providing him of, this love he feels radiating from you, he will always come home to you, and do anything for you to not regret it. to not regret betting on him, placing your trust into him like that.

jason is willing to defy death in your name.

[cyclesofsaturn]

When I first started doing cross stitch, and people figured out I wanted to do more than a single kid's-first-starter (that I'd put in time out for 20 years, after bby!Titan stitching a full row to my shorts), my grandma gave me ALL her supplies and patterns - MINUS the birthday flowers pattern. That one she held onto, because all grandkids had their own birthday flower on her kitchen wall, and she was continuing this with the hoped-for great-grandbabies (there was one at the time).

Some of her pattern stash isn't to my taste, some I've had a friend ask for copies, some I've got on a list of future projects. Some just feel like home.

When she passed last year, two of my cousins were freshly expecting, and were worrying about how they could continue the tradition. Their mothers didn't cross-stitch anymore and they didn't know what had happened to Grandma's patterns.

Well, after great-grand #4's flower was done, Grandma had told me to go grab the pattern book out of her sewing box, because in her mid-90s she said it was too hard now, between her arthritis and her eyes (she'd been cross-stitching for ~80yrs at this point). GG#4's not being finished until the little one was a toddler, instead of done and framed before baby could sit up on their own, annoyed her. Also her hands and the eye strain.

At the reception after the funeral, I went around to all the cousins and told them I had Grandma's flower pattern book, that if they were interested I'd be happy to make flowers for the next generation, or give the patterns to their moms so it could continue as a "Grandma" tradition, or give everyone copies to make themselves. Everyone immediately nominated me to make the birthday flowers for the family as it grows. They were grateful and relieved, and one cousin confided she just found out she'll be having twins this spring.

Now, I can't actually start the patterns until the niblings are born, but I'm expected to make 4+ this year. These are my grandma's patterns and my cousins were devastated to think they were lost.

"Not Your Grandma's," my foot.

This all day long … Elena Kanagy-Loux's article is right-on. I myself have made it a point in recent years not to share any content that glibly uses the phrase, "not your grandma's " because it's a) lazy and b) dismisses the real fact that grandmothers and older textile artists have worked hard to keep craft traditions alive and evolving, not to mention their immense skills. We should be thanking them and looking to them for inspiration, not mocking them. via @hyperallergic ❤️

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 7 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.3k (jesus. this is the longest one yet)

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, some minor timeskip manga spoilers, slightly nsfw themes, mentions of food, bakugou katsuki is bad at feelings, feelings—lots of 'em, the true calm before the storm, shit's about to go down!!!

a/n. we're so back, y'all!!! this one took me a while, i have to admit. it even got to a point where i thought i'd just leave this series unfinished for a plethora of reasons. but after clawing through a few sessions of barely being able to write anything, i was struck with the vision of how to get the chapter going in the middle of a massage lol. the rest was history. that said, i'd love to know your thoughts so far, so please don't be a stranger <3 (comments keep me going. btw. not to sound like a slut)

links. masterlist, ao3

You ended up not getting home until past 8 PM that Monday.

After you successfully used your quirk on Kirishima and Hiroto, resulting in the transfer of that fated scrap of paper containing the attack’s details, Kaminari insisted that you hang out after lunch and make the most of your day off until everybody relented. Bakugou was uncharacteristically quiet—you noted—even as the electric hero whisked the six of you away to the nearest mall where you shopped and visited a KTV spot afterward.

You didn’t expect to spend hours watching the four goof off and sing their hearts out while Bakugou sat silently to the side, although time passed by faster than you thought it would anyway. The group eventually parted ways at around 6 PM, after which you and Bakugou decided to eat at a ramen restaurant where you sat yourselves by the counter so you wouldn’t have to force conversation.

Hiroto shadowed the two of you the entire time, up to the instant when you and Bakugou entered a darkened spot in the outdoor parking lot to wait for the twin to message Kouki and have the old man teleport you back to headquarters. You didn’t have to wait for too long—you were gone and right back at the front of your bedroom in a matter of minutes, bug-less and cameras covered another minute after.

And only as you stripped off your going-out clothes for the day in the privacy of the bathroom did it sink in—how you actually did it.

You actually transmitted the message.

And as much as it fucking sucks, the most you can do now—at least until D-Day—is to put your faith in Kirishima and the rest of the pro-heroes who will be tasked with stopping this act of genocide altogether.

Easy enough…

Right.

The next day—Tuesday—starts typically as the others have transpired in the last two weeks-ish of living in the headquarters: violently woken by a twin’s knocking, then scrambling to seem like you were sharing the bed, to promptly getting ready for and having breakfast at the mess hall.

Just like how every day’s been in this supremacist hellhole, everything goes by like clockwork.

That is, up until Omiru walks up to your usual table just as you are about to take your last chug of water after downing your substantial plate of pancakes.

You peer at her from over the rim of your glass, cautious—and rightfully so. Beside you, Bakugou puts down his utensils and straightens up in his seat. Neither of you says anything, opting to let her speak first instead.

And when she finally does, she’s looking straight at no one but Bakugou.

“Follow me.”

At that, you glance at the pro-hero in question, who only shoots the twin a stern look before nodding curtly. You watch him as he gathers his tray and stands up, and you’re about to move and follow suit when Omiru’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“Not you,” she spews pointedly. “Just him.”

From where you are half-sitting with your ass frozen mid-air, you blink at the woman. “What?”

“Masaki-san needs him at the private training facility, pronto,” comes her terse reply, sounding more impatient by the minute. “He’s not to be disturbed.”

Your face contorts in displeasure before you can think better against it. Then, schooling it into a more neutral expression, you shake your head as you finally straighten up, willing your voice to stay firm. “Whatever you have to say to him you can say to me, too.”

Omiru opens her mouth to most likely snap at you for wasting more and more of her time, but she doesn’t get to do that because you’re both silenced by a sudden hand on your forearm. You whip to look at Bakugou, and his lips are pressed into a thin line as he nods again—only this time, at you—as if that was all the explanation you needed.

“It’s okay,” he offers, his voice low. “I’ll come and look for you by the time we’re done.”

You can only stare at him, tamping down the incredulity that’s creeping up your throat.

Since when did he decide to be Mr. Calm and Collected?

As much as you want to, you don’t question him, though, knowing it will cause more harm than good. You’re so close to the day of the operation, and the last thing you need is to blow your cover.

So instead, and with a wary heart, you nod back at him, before leaning in and pressing a quick peck on his cheek.

“Take care, babe,” you say timidly, grateful he took the kiss just now like a champ—with little to no faltering.

“I will,” comes his weirdly soft response, before he steps out of his seat and trails behind Omiru, leaving you and your tray of empty plates.

You move to tuck the stretchy fabric into the rest of the contorted arrangement you’ve got going on—folding your panties was the most you could think of doing to keep your mind off the anxiety that’s been gnawing at you the entire day, after all—and plop it on your pile of fresh undergarments.

Or at least, you were going to do that, when the door to your bedroom suddenly bursts open, and you startle so badly, that the neat stack of underwear crumbles like a poorly built Jenga tower on top of the bed.

You scramble to hide them behind you just as Bakugou emerges from the hallway, and the very first thing that registers when your eyes land on him is that he’s fucking drenched.

In sweat. Drenched in sweat.

And, to your chagrin, he must’ve noticed you gaping at him because his gaze drifts over to meet yours after he closes the door behind him. “What?”

You blink at him, suddenly yanked out of your dumb stupor. “Nothing—it’s just…” you trail off, now trying to ignore the weirdly scandalous way his wet shirt is clinging to his muscled torso. You knew his hero costume accentuated and therefore showcased a built body from the chance encounters about him in the news, but seeing it through an almost translucent cover-up…

“Just what?”

You gulp, bringing your eyes back up to meet his unnervingly scrutinizing ones.

…Why is he looking at you like that?

Instead of dwelling on the thought, though, you manage to voice out the question you and the imaginary mouse in your pocket are wondering. “W-why are you so… sweaty?”

Now, if he’s offended by how that came out just a breadth’s hair away from sounding disgusted, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he crosses the short distance between him and your small wardrobe and flings it open.

“I thought you were smarter than that, princess,” comes his casual reply, and you find yourself stiffening—not just at the nickname, but at what came before that.

You frown, although he doesn’t see it with his back turned against you. “I don’t get how you’re being so nonchalant today,” you say so honestly you shock yourself, voice lowered out of instinct despite having made sure that there are no extra bugs in the room.

Whatever Bakugou expected for a response—it must’ve been anything but that—because he stops rifling through his clothes and whips to look at you, a mild expression of surprise written across his features.

But before he can say anything to that, you beat him to it. “What did they make you do, Bakugou?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but pauses before he can get a word out. You watch the man as he stands there for a second, the metaphorical gears in his head spinning loud enough that you can practically hear them. You can tell they’re still turning a beat later, even as he closes the wardrobe behind him and turns to fully face you.

“I—” he starts, hesitant, “I thought you would’ve figured.”

“Figured what?” You’re getting impatient now.

“That I was called on to start making the bombs.”

Oh.

The realization dawning on you must be evident in your profile because Bakugou nods as if in confirmation. “I was anticipating they’d call me in sooner or later, so I wasn’t surprised when that twin approached us during breakfast.”

Fuck, you feel stupid.

How you’re feeling is none of Bakugou’s business, though, so you will yourself to dip your head to show you understand. “I totally forgot about the bombs,” you admit.

“Yeah, well, I don’t blame you,” he turns again and resumes busying himself with the cabinets. “They did their research and found out my bombs are more explosive the fresher they are. Explains why they waited ‘til the last minute.”

Huh.

“I guess that also explains why you look like an over-glazed doughnut.”

That makes him bark out a laugh. “More like a wet dog, but I’ll take that.”

You’re about to say that no, he definitely looks more like an over-glazed doughnut, but then you remember you’d rather fail this mission and cause massive destruction before you go off admitting he looks…maybe just a tiny bit delectable in this state.

You’re back to avoiding the sight of…him—altogether—in silence, when Bakugou glances at you over his shoulder. “Can you pass me my towel?”

“Sure,” you say as you fetch it from where it’s hung across the couch’s backrest before padding back toward him.

You hand it over. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

Now it’s your turn to stand somewhat awkwardly behind him as he finishes up gathering his change of clothes for the night. There’s one more thing you need to ask him.

Anytime now.

You take a sharp inhale just as he whirls to face you, expectant. You muster a small smile, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I was just gonna ask—they didn’t hurt you, did they? You were treated okay?”

Your stomach instantly drops when the expectant look just now morphs into a smirk. “I think you underestimate my ability to protect myself, princess.”

You feel yourself flame. “I—” you stammer, wildly caught off guard, and his grin widens. You then frown, resigned. “Come on, man, not cool.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, sounding far from apologetic, “‘m sorry. Though, you should’ve seen the look on your face.”

“That’s it,” you raise your hands in mock surrender, spinning to gather your folded underwear that are still scattered on the bed. “They can go ahead and snip off your balls, for all I care.”

“Damn, that escalated quickly.”

You only toss him a sarcastic smile as you take up the spot beside him, opening your tiny drawer and dumping the articles into them before he can get a closer glimpse. The last thing you need is for him to see your threadbare, granny panties.

Bakugou chuckles again, the indication of his mirth the last sound that echoes in the room before a quiet envelops the two of you, the atmosphere taking a sudden shift.

“How about you, huh?” he suddenly asks, almost making you jump. You raise an eyebrow at him, still not quite past his earlier teasing.

He doesn’t react with hostility, though, only shrugging in response. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” you parrot lamely, shocked at his query.

To your disbelief, he doesn’t roll his eyes or shoot you a derisive quip, only nodding—an unmistakable, serious glint in his crimson gaze. You gulp despite yourself.

“It was pretty much the same for me, I guess. Except there weren’t as many people around…”

You falter, debating whether or not you should tell him the more incriminating truth. But then you make the mistake of meeting his penetrating stare and then suddenly, it all comes tumbling out.

“I—I was worried about you.”

That takes Bakugou by surprise, his brows shooting up in a profound display of bewilderment. An abrupt pang of embarrassment shoots through you at the sight, and you scurry to save face.

“Looks like there was no need, though, considering how you’re joking around and being an ass and all,” you jest, taking the hoodie you were meaning to get from the rack and closing your side of the wardrobe.

“I—”

“Good night, Bakugou,” you cut him off, plopping yourself on the couch with your back turned against him, effectively shooting the conversation down.

Needless to say, you struggle to sleep that night.

As if she knew you fell into a fitted slumber and needed more goddamn sleep, Omiru was already up and banging at your door five minutes earlier than usual the morning after, ripping you out of your sluggish haze. It didn’t help that it was your turn on the couch that night—which, even after all this time of dozing there, still proved to be quite unforgiving to your neck and lower back, especially. Once you were all ready and had opened the door, though, your usual routine was done but not before a rundown on what was to happen that day. You were to pack your things and prepare to leave the headquarters by the time Bakugou was done producing the last batch of bombs.

She conveniently didn’t say when that was, opting to whisk Bakugou away instead.

So without any idea as to when you were making the move, you tried your best to keep busy—a task that proved to be herculean, seeing as how the number of people present had dwindled significantly, you could count them with just your fingers and toes.

It didn’t take you long to figure out why that was. The people who’ve gone—they were all teleported to their posts to prepare for tomorrow’s attack.

By batches.

Because, as it turns out, you were right. Kouki’s quirk does have a limitation.

He can only muster enough power to teleport a certain number of people—across a certain distance—a handful of times a day. It all depends on three factors: number, distance, and frequency.

And because Bakugou’s got important business as the organization’s very own human-bomb factory, you two will be transported later in the day as part of the last batch.

You mull over this newfound information—again and again, mainly because there really isn’t much else to do other than pack—until, unbeknownst to you, the clock on the wall strikes five. You jump from where you are seated on the sofa when, as if on cue, the door bursts open, revealing a yet again sweaty Bakugou, with Kouki and the twins tailing closely behind him.

“Just let me take a quick shower and finalize my stuff,” Bakugou offhandedly says, eyeing you as he picks up his towel, not wasting even a modicum of a second. “Then we’ll get going to my place.”

His what?

“Sorry?” you manage to ask, acutely aware of the panic that’s rising in your throat—fast.

Bakugou peers at you for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. But then he’s chuckling—oh so naturally, like your reaction was adorable to him rather than potentially detrimental to your covers—as he walks toward you.

And then he’s leaning down and into your space, a warning look in his eyes. You barely catch a glimpse of it before he leans even further and kisses your cheek, smiling as he pulls away.

“My place, baby,” he coos, “Where we’ll stay the night.”

“Here we are,” Kouki announces just as the floor beneath you rematerializes, light and markedly spotless as compared to the nicked, hardwood floors you’ve grown to be familiar with over the past weeks. You look up, a faint trace of dizziness clouding your mind still, although it’s quickly replaced by awe as you take in the rest of the room.

Dropping your luggage to the side, you make quick work of what can only be Bakugou Katsuki’s living space.

Well, it’s just what you’d expect from the guy. Purposively designed, no-nonsense, and exceptionally pristine.

And closer to the Prime Minister’s Office. At least, as compared to your more modest home, which is why you’re even here in the first place.

Regardless, you were about to compliment the man for being an outlier of the male population when you suddenly remember that you’re supposed to be well-acquainted with his high-rise apartment unit. You know, as his girlfriend?

You slam your mouth shut, just as Kouki steps forward and turns to face the rest of you like a commander in the military. You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“Big day tomorrow,” he declares, his trademark haughtiness heavy in his tone. “The four of you, review your assignments and be ready by 6 AM sharp. I’ll pick you up here.”

Then, a pointed look toward you and Bakugou. “Don’t be late.”

And just as quickly as you teleported into the pro-hero’s unit, Kouki vanishes, leaving the two of you with the twins.

Silence.

“That man’s got a bug up his old ass, that’s for sure.”

You whip to face Bakugou, surprised and equal parts amused. He only tosses you a smug look, as if daring you to question him.

You don’t, similar to how you don’t dare spare either of the twins a worried glance.

“We should order,” Bakugou says not a minute later, effortlessly picking up your belongings and transferring them to an empty spot beside a door. “I cleared out the ref two weeks ago. ‘m out of groceries.”

“Sure,” you reply, seating yourself comfortably on his sofa like you’ve been here countless times. You sense all three pairs of eyes studying you as you burrow into the plush cushion, willing every neuron in your system to relax. “How ‘bout from that restaurant we went to with the squad? I’m craving some curry.”

“Aha,” Bakugou smirks as he walks over and throws his butt down way too close beside you. “So you did want to switch.”

You bristle, if not at being unceremoniously caught then at how he just slung an arm over the backrest behind you. “T–That’s beside the point,” you argue, before swiftly turning to Hiroto. “Can we have our phones for just a sec, please? We need to order.”

If Bakugou noticed your smooth segue slash redirection just now, he doesn’t point it out, instead letting you take your smartphones from the absurdly tall man without much of a hassle. You quickly place your orders—even asking the twins what they want despite how badly they’ve treated you since your first meeting at that dingy club.

You’re not a monster, after all.

They seem to think you are, though, because they blatantly ignore your kind offer.

Well, then. If they have a hard time falling asleep because of hunger later then that’s not your problem anymore.

Not even thirty minutes after ordering, your food arrives, and the twins end up allowing Bakugou to go down the lobby by himself to fetch the delivery. You almost groan when he walks through the door with the goods in tow, the strong waft of curry sauce filling the air and making your stomach churn in budding anticipation.

“You’re not helping your case, babe,” Bakugou teases as you excitedly pore over the takeout bag, reaching into it to grab your share and then his.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over this glorious smell,” you quip, which grants you a chuckle.

No more words are exchanged as you get started on your feast, too wiped out from today’s activities—Bakugou and his bomb production and your…well, trying not to go crazy—to even start, let alone maintain, a steady conversation. The room is silent aside from some slurping and quiet chewing here and there, with neither Omiru nor Hiroto saying anything to break the monotony.

And you think it must be that—the quiet—that spurs the abrupt observation mid-spoonfeed of how domestic everything is. You wouldn’t have ever thought you’d be eating a meal with Bakugou in his dining room—high schooler you definitely wouldn’t have—but as it turns out life’s got a funny way of pulling the rug from underneath you and messing with your head.

Just like these muddy ass feelings.

No, you think to yourself. Now’s not the time.

Not when you’re barely able to stomach your food, anyway. You were—are hungry—if the incessant rumbling of your abdomen since late afternoon was any indication—but you forgot you’ve been sickeningly nervous the entire day. Still, you force each bite down. The last thing you need is to be frail tomorrow.

“Here,” Bakugou reaches out from across the table a few moments later, “Give me your plate.”

“No,” you say as you lift the empty ceramic further from him, “Let me help.”

Your plea falls on deaf ears, however, because Bakugou leans closer and snatches the dish from your hands before you can even scream a strangled wait! You must be looking stupefied, because Bakugou only smirks at you as he quickly gathers the dishes, beaming with pride as if having a ridiculously wide wing span is something he earned rather than was unjustly given.

“Unfair…” you mumble as you resort to gathering the trash instead, collecting it in the bag that the delivery came in.

“Just leave it there,” he calls out from the kitchen a few feet away, scraping the scraps off the platters. And when he’s realized you’re not listening: “Babe.”

You lift your hands like you’re a contestant in Master Chef and Gordon Ramsey just called time’s up, a petulant frown on your face. “Jeez, I’m just trying to help.”

“And I’m trying to be a gentleman,” comes his snarky retort. You bite back the urge to snort. “Go unpack in the bedroom while I finish up here,” he orders, “I’ll be quick.”

Please don’t be is your visceral reaction, although you manage not to say it out loud. You need at least ten minutes—give or take—of being alone in his bedroom to come to terms with this precarious situation you’ve been dealt with. You manage to reply with a small ‘okay’ before heading over to grab your things, very much cognizant of the ticking clock.

But then it dawns on you that you don’t have any idea where his fucking bedroom is.

You pause mid-bend, pretending you’re studying the hard case of your luggage for non-existent scratches. You know that there are three doors, not counting the one Bakugou went in and out from to get your food. One has to lead to the common restroom, another to his home office slash gym that you’ve heard him talk about once during your lunches at the headquarters, which leaves the last one as his bedroom’s entryway.

Hurry up, your brain tells you. You’re getting suspicious.

Wait.

You let your mind flash back to a while ago, a few moments after you arrived here. ‘We should order,’ was what Bakugou said, as he conveniently hefted your bags to this spot here, which must be right beside…

The bedroom door.

Bingo.

You repress a sigh of relief when you’re greeted with the sight of a massive mattress upon turning the knob, wasting no time as you squeeze into the threshold with your belongings. You were about to shut the door behind you when a female voice calls out your name out of nowhere, and you startle. Turning to face who must’ve been Omiru, you’re quick to put on a nonchalant facade, as if she didn’t just scare you in your metaphorical boots.

“Your tracker,” she says flatly when you don’t move an inch.

“O–oh. Right.”

You stand in place as she goes over the motions while Hiroto does the same with Bakugou. You’ve gone through this so many times that you don’t even wince when she rips out the device, instead only giving her a quick thanks and a rare good night when she steps away.

She doesn’t say it back.

You take that as your cue to go back into Bakugou’s sleeping quarters, and only when the weighty slab of wood is closed behind you do you let out a heavy exhale, suddenly feeling the fatigue that’s been looming over you since last night in its entirety.

But then that’s immediately booted out with a shot of adrenaline when you see it.

The couch.

Or the lack thereof.

You're still standing there—mortified—by the time Bakugou enters the room with his stuff, shutting the door and consequently granting you your first semblance of privacy for the day.

“What,” he says more than asks a minute later, when you still haven’t said anything.

“There’s no couch,” you croak-whisper.

You were not about to sleep on the floor.

You were not about to share a bed with Bakugou, either.

Not after you’ve spent the last two weeks slaving over your high-maintenance sleeping arrangement.

“Relax, dumbass,” comes his fluid retort. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the man is finding this shit funny. “I have a futon.”

Turns out, he wasn’t lying—what feels like a huge burden lifted off your shoulders when he opens a cabinet to his right and pulls out a moderately thick cushion. You waste no time in assisting him, taking two corners while the pro-hero handles the other two, coordinating as you place the futon perpendicularly, right at the foot of the bed.

“Thanks,” you tell him when you’re done, dusting off your hands. “Do you have a blanket I can—”

“Too late,” he cuts you off, lightly diving into the mattress.

You gawk at the man. “Wha—”

“It’s your turn on the bed tonight,” he says as a matter of factly, not even bothering to look you in the eye. You splutter, but ultimately relent. As much as you want to argue, you do need some proper rest, especially after last night’s sorry attempt at recharging.

Thankfully, though, Bakugou doesn’t rile you up any further as you each go through your nightly routines and take turns in the built-in bathroom, careful not to invade each other’s spaces. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes and you’re already both plastered and tucked in your respective beds, the occasional noises from the traffic tens of floors below you the only thing filling the otherwise empty air.

But as it turns out, the getting ready for bed part isn’t the problem.

By the time it’s 10 PM, you’ve already tossed and turned roughly twenty times, agonizingly nowhere near asleep despite the luxurious bedding beneath your limbs. It’s after the 21st time, though, that you finally let your mind wander to the man on the floor and whether or not he’s asleep. He must be—having been tuckered out from producing explosives for two days straight. Still, your mind refuses to let go of the thought—brimming with boredom-fueled curiosity that’s begging for visual confirmation.

Sitting up carefully, you strain to peek at Bakugou. He’s been awfully quiet, you think to yourself.

Just a little bit more—

“Can’t sleep?”

You freeze. Shit.

“Uh, no,” you reply, aborting mission and lying back down as silently as possible. “Not really.”

“No shit. I heard you, the last twenty times.”

“Twenty-one,” you correct him. “But who’s counting?”

That earns you a laugh. “What, you scared?”

Your face reflexively contorts in offense, although it’s quick to fall when you realize you’ve actually no right to be offended. “If I told you I was, would that make me a loser?”

To your surprise, his answer is instant. “Nah.”

At that, your brows furrow. “That’s it? Just nah? No what do you think, princess, or some other equally lame taunt?”

“Oooh.” Jesus, you can practically hear him smirking. “You want me to call you princess?”

“There it is. Welcome back, Bakugou.”

A chuckle. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

You snort. “So I’ve been told.”

Then, a pause.

“Hey,” you start again a few beats later, gaze fixed—unwavering—on the gray ceiling, “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

You gulp. “Are you scared?”

This time, the answer is not as instant, but it appears to remain the same. “…No.”

“Really?” you ask, voice inadvertently teeming with incredulity.

You hear some rustling, like he’s shrugging against the bedsheets. “I’ve gone through much worse.”

Oh…

Right.

He did die and came out as one of the most important heroes of the major war, alongside formidable people—the very people you tapped to help you just a few days ago. Maybe he’s right not to be scared.

“Is it my turn now?” he pipes up suddenly.

Huh? “Your what?”

“My turn to ask a question.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize we were taking turns.”

“Well, we are now.”

You roll your eyes, comfortable in the knowledge that he can’t see you. “Okay, then. Go ahead.”

Now—don’t go ahead, is what you would have said, had you fucking known what he was going to say next.

“That day before winter break—” he begins, and you find yourself instantly tensing.

Fuck, no.

He huffs. “—You were gonna confess to me, weren’t ya?”

Fuck.

A deafening silence falls upon the room.

A silence that goes on for what must be a decade.

Then—

“…Is this some hidden camera prank or something?” you laugh dryly.

“No,” he says so seriously your eyes widen. “I was just…thinking about it.”

Well, fuck. Now he’s done it.

What are you supposed to do? Or say to that? Deny it and say, dude, no, you’re delusional? Or ask him where he got the motherfucking audacity and call it a day?

But then the strangest thing happens and an inexplicable feeling washes over you, one that is too nostalgic it’s almost painful.

Ah, yes.

You remember this one.

It wasn’t the first one to show up in the scene, but it was quick to envelop every other emotion afterward, lingering with you until the soothing balm that is time did its magical work and helped you forget.

The regret of not being able to admit your feelings.

And now, a full ten years later, you’re suddenly thrust with the opportunity to finally do what you failed to do then.

You don’t even have to think about it.

“Yes,” you rasp out, heart thrumming frantically against your chest. “I mean, the answer is yes, I was going to. Luckily you didn’t let me get to the embarrassing part, though, huh?”

“Look, I—”

“If you’re gonna apologize,” you cut him off, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Bakugou. That thing’s in the past now. I’ve moved on, as fucking cheesy as it sounds.”

You then chuckle, ignoring the way your hands are stubbornly shaking. “That was just a silly high school crush, anyway.”

“Yeah, well—” he clears his throat, “I get it if you don’t want to talk about it. But…I do still want to apologize, though. For that first day, around two weeks ago.”

“What about it?”

“You don’t remember? I was an ass to you.”

First day? You don’t—

But then it all comes rushing to you—the intimidating looks, the backhanded remarks, the outright insulting comments.

He sniggers. “You just remembered now, didn’t you?”

You blanch. “I—”

“Don’t try to be nice,” he preempts. “I know I fucked up. It’s just—it was a lot to take in, and I took it out on you.”

He heaves a heavy sigh. “First it was having my past rehashed, and then when I met you I got reminded of how arrogant I was as a kid and it just felt like—”

“A slap to the face?”

Another huff. “Exactly.”

You smile—genuinely—this time wishing you were face to face so he could get a good view of it. You try to let it show in your voice instead.

“Thank you for telling me, Bakugou. Apology accepted.”

A sigh of relief. You feel your smile grow bigger.

“Now go to sleep, dumbass,” he spits, the vulnerability from just a second ago long gone, now replaced by his signature snark. “You heard the old geezer. Big day tomorrow.”

You can’t help it—you laugh.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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[f1-stuff]

hello mal. would you share your favourite charlos moments as teammates? i would love to know what you really think is the best

Hello! I was putting this off bc it was causing me much distress just thinking about which moments I would choose, but here we are! You didn't specify how many so I narrowed it down to my all-time top 10, with a few honorable mentions.

You did specify 'as teammates', so I'm gonna leave out the infamous singapore 2018 pool, tho it is an all-time charlos moment to be sure... The order is honestly kind of random because I found it really hard to rank them (don't ask a mother to choose her favorite child!)

10. Cookie decorating!! (2022) - I love this video so much (which is why I made a whole charlos flirting video essay about it). It's just chock-full of classic ways the two of them interact and joke around (Charles trying to blindfold Carlos for him, constantly trying to steal things out of his hands, both whistling/humming the same song at different points, touching constantly...). And why were they sitting like this?? (we know why) Anyway, I don't think we talk about it enough.

9. Monza Ferrari battle (2023) - I simultaneously love and hate this moment asfghdka which is maybe why it's down so low on the list. It's the most adrenaline and anxiety I've ever had watching F1 (I was literally running circles around my living room, yelling at the TV). But I think it also just exemplifies how competitive the two of them are, how hard they race each other without crashing. Like, their rivalry is core characterization for them, therefore it had to be on the list!!

(their tyres are literally kissing) ((this was foreplay for them))

8. Bahrain 1-2 (2022) - A classic!! Their first double podium and 1-2 as teammates! Their hug in parc ferme!! Carlos trying to pour wine into Charles' mouth on the podium!!! They were so giddy and happy, and it felt like the start of an incredible year...(we all know how it really turned out 🥴) This could maybe be higher on the list, but it feels so long ago now that I think I'd need to rewatch the race to draw back up those emotions again.

7. 'Lord Perceval' is coined (2021) - This whole moment is so cute, and it became pretty iconic since the team would go on to use the nickname a lot, and it spread throughout the fandom. It's sort of funny bc they were clearly joking around, but it caught on. They became the Smooth Operator and Lord Perceval, and I think that's beautiful.

6. Monaco hug (2024) - It was actually harder than I thought to choose between this one and the Monza '24 one. They both feature Carlos being super happy for a Charles win, his patented charles hair grab, as well as charlos cradling each other heart-to-heart, cheek-to-cheek. ❤️ I went with Monaco bc it came first in the year so had a greater impact on me, and bc Charles finally broke the Monaco curse.

5. Carlos' birthday surprise (2022) - Set the standard for Charlos birthday shenanigans. Charles complaining about his legs cramping in the cupboard LOL. I just love how happy Carlos looked in all those clips... Also, they were on their honeymoon that weekend or something, because there was also the 'I know you very well' hilarious lissie mackintosh vid and the 'you're doing great love'.

4. The bracelet video (2023) - Just...iconic. Charles asking Carlos for help with his bracelet and Carlos calling him 'darling,' asking for a kiss afterward. They've never been more married.

3. THE tiktok (2022) - This might be too high on the list tbh, but for the sheer shock value of waking up to it that day and the mania it caused in the charlos community, it's a hard one to beat. 😂

2. C² song challenge in Fiorano (2021) - this one gets the place of honor as #2 bc it's charlos' favorite moment together (along with Bahrain '22). They've both mentioned a few times that they fondly remember that day, and how much they laughed. It's also at the very beginning of their partnership, and it shows how immediately they acted like giddy besties.

1. Chili plushie (2024) - Okay. I guess?? This is my all-time favorite charlos moment??? 🥺 It was my favorite of 2024, so it could be recency bias. But something about it being the start of their bittersweet end...Carlos gifting him the chili...'so you remember me for the rest of your life'...Charles in his denial era...oof. I just really love these two, and this moment made me emotional about their years of friendship, rivalry, and shenanigans soon coming to an end.

This was so hard!!! But alas, I forced myself to narrow it down, and also to try and represent all of the years of their partnership, in different scenarios (racing/non-racing). Obviously, there are so many other amazing moments, so I'll consider it a blessing that we are so spoiled for choice as charlos fans ❤️

Honorable mentions (that I struggled not to include):

Drivers' parade car with swapped names

'Jazz'

Mexico balls grab

Blindfolded sim racing bdsm hair-pulling !!

Train sandwich share

Miami start-stop challenge

'jamon iconico'

Jenga challenge (my first ever f1 gifset!!)

Charles snoozing next to Carlos during football

Goggle games

'Take off your clothes, Carlos'...

There's just so many 😌

[alexdswfan]

Hange and Levi's first meeting in No Regrets and what it means to Levi

I'd like to talk about a scene in No Regrets that gets brought up sometimes by certain people in the fandom, which is Levi and Hange's first meeting, but I don't think fandom talks enough about the emotional impact this scene must've had on Levi, or why that first meeting is so important to him. This scene always manages to make me feel emotional no matter how many times I think about it, hence why it's my favourite part of the manga, because for the first time since Levi, Furlan and Isabel got in the Survey Corps, someone treated them with kindness and didn't look down on them.

The first thing we can notice from the way Hange approached them is how genuine and excited Hange is with what they achieved with the Titan, making sure to include them all in the achievement and not only Levi as seen here by how Isabel tells Hange that their group is amazing and Hange agreeing with her.

Hange is interested in getting to know more about Levi's strength, but it's in a way where they want to learn from him and get taught by him rather than in an idea of using his strength as a tool. By bringing the other Scouts in the conversation as seen below, Hange encourages Levi to teach them his tricks so they can all have better chances of survival and also kill Titans more efficiently from now on.

Hange wants to get to know Levi as a person first and foremost, which does impact Levi who hasn't really met anyone in the Survey Corps until that point to be interested in himself as a person and not just as a tool, and in his friends too as he's inseparable from them. Hange doesn't forget about them and even includes them in the conversation in their own easygoing way as seen in this panel.

Continuing on this idea, one of the most important parts of this scene is how Hange isn't only friendly with Levi, but they're friendly with Isabel and Furlan too, going so far as to give Isabel a treat for the start of their new friendship. It might not mean much, but for people who recently left the Underground where getting treats was probably a luxury or at best hard to come by, Hange's action will impact them far more than some people might realize. These three have constantly been called thugs or have been disrespected until they showed their technical prowess with Titans during their first expedition, so to see Hange push past that barrier by wanting a genuine friendship with them is such a contrast to the way they have been treated by the others all this time. And even when Levi is curt with Hange, they don't give up, inviting them all to a meal after the expedition is over, which shows how much Hange wants to get to know them better as people, and not only as soldiers skilled with ODM gear.

I think what impacted Levi the most out of that exchange wasn't necessarily that Hange was kind with him. It's definitely important, but when we know how much Levi cares about the ones he loves, how he values their lives much more than his own, it's that Hange was so kind with his friends that really impacted him the most, and I don't think fandom talks enough about it. How affected Levi must've been by Hange's sheer kindness without expecting anything in return from him in a world where that concept simply didn't exist. Levi was being kind with others, but this is the first time we see someone else that isn't part of his group be kind to him in return. I think what Hange did that day for him and his friends meant a lot more to Levi than we realize. Someone in the Survey Corps finally treated them as they should've always been treated, with respect and kindness and not with disdain or even coercion. And Hange isn't bothered by his refusal to communicate with them as seen by Furlan's reply here: "Anyway, Hange doesn't seem particularly bothered."

They respect his boundaries when Levi doesn't feel like answering since he doesn't want to get attached to new people (we know how that plan failed in retrospect, but he still tried), and that's because Hange doesn't try to force anything out of him. They tried and he didn't want to engage, that was fine with them, they'll still want to be his friend in the future regardless of Levi's answer. And I don't think fandom gives enough credit to Hange in this scene.

This scene will forever remain my favourite in No Regrets because it shows just how incredibly kind and friendly Hange was with Levi since the very beginning. Yes, this has to do with Hange's personality, that it's just like them to be attracted by the new outsiders or misfits and try to befriend them, but the important part is that someone at least tried. And it makes total sense how out of everyone we know, it had to be Hange to carry out that role. Someone caring as much about his friends as Levi simply cannot be hated by him. This scene actually destroys that claim even more, because by this definition, Levi would have to hate the first person in the Survey Corps to actually be friendly with his friends, the most important people in his life at that moment in time. It's again completely nonsensical to say that, and I do think the people who keep saying it either have forgotten this scene exists or they'd rather ignore it because it wasn't included in the OVA. But regardless of the reason, the fact remains this scene is part of the No Regrets manga and is important to delve even further into the relationship of Levi and Hange as it presents the blueprint of their relationship. Supportive and caring for each other until the very end.

Edit: I want to add that Levi definitely felt suspicious towards Hange's kindness at first since genuine kindness doesn't exist in his world. Coming from the Underground, he has all the reasons to be suspicious of Hange (as people have pointed it out in the reblogs). That being said, Hange's intention was to be friendly with him without wanting anything in return from that friendship, and I do think Levi was more appreciative of the whole exchange later in time when he got to learn Hange better. I struggle to say that someone who later in the story becomes one of his closest friends tried to be manipulative with him at the beginning of their relationship like the man with glasses from Bad Boy. Levi would never try to befriend such a person in my opinion. But we all know how their relationship grew instead, where their communication skills are beyond anything we've seen in the manga, so in the end, Hange's intention of becoming his friend proved to be genuine despite Levi's first suspicions. Therefore, I respectfully disagree with the interpretation brought forward in the comments that Hange might've been manipulative with Levi and his friends. Hange has no reason to manipulate them. Let's all remember Hange has no clue whatsoever about the subject Levi, Furlan and Isabel discuss beforehand. They're only interested in the group's prowess and efficiency at fighting Titans, and then later in them as people since they're open to a more meaningful friendship with them three. Someone manipulative wouldn't have cared about being friends with them afterwards.

[the-sweet-hibiscus]

Prequel thought of this bc I need more complex Gaz in my life. Because he was always taught that sharing the pieces of himself was bad. Not in an overt way – he will be the first to tell you that his childhood was fine, thank you very much – but in subtle ways that left him convinced the only way to keep people interested was to take the best traits of those around him and make them his. He was the best of everyone around him, and he always would be.

It starts when he's a child, despite what he says. The first time a teacher tells him that he's asking too many questions about the Roman Empire, and the girl behind him snickered at the admonishment. If you'd asked him at the time he'd say he'd felt hot, molten in his chest like he'd swallowed a spoiled reheated meal. And he learned to take his questions home with him to look up another day.

The first time he says he likes Manchester, while watching the telly with his father, he learns that "in Liverpool, we cheer for Liverpool" and it was not up for debate. So now he owned a hoodie and jogger set that he only wore when he returned to his father's house, and a Manchester hoodie he could wear with his team. (Because Ghost liked Manchester, and if Ghost likes it then Soap will fall in line. And if Ghost and Soap are in line, Captain will give a nod of approval, and no one will know what he's against and what he's for.)

The first time he asks a girl on a date, he awkwardly shuffles toward her, cologne too strong and his stutter stronger – and she laughs at him. He spends the entire year observing, almost falling for tragic advice of negging and peacocking, just to realize what he needed was charm. What he needed was smooth confidence. And he could fake that. He could fake anything. And with enough practice, it wasn't faking, it was real. Confidence was his weapon, and he had enough of it in spades.

He's an adult before he learns to change his approach to each woman he meets, however. Until one night he gets rejected - the hot flame of shame beginning to settle in his chest - before Soap claps him on the shoulder, a tad too jolly, joking about how "a lass like that needs more than you're pretty smile".

That's when he realizes the team has more to them than he realized.

He'd watch as Price clocks girls who prefer a quiet night in to whatever bar they happen to be at. How he'll go outside for a few minutes to let the cigar smoke mute itself on his clothes before coming inside to "happen" to need a drink from the bar at the same time as the girl. Instead of flashing a smile he makes conversation about wishing he was home with the book he's reading - it was always the same book - but it was enough to get the girl to smile at him.

And Gaz would take note. Shift just enough in his routine to draw an eye. A cigarette instead of a cigar. A subtle cologne that gave him an outdoorsy vibe. A dog instead of a book, perfect for pictures and a way to get her phone out.

He'd watch Soap, as brash as the bloak was, he'd often go after girls who seemed like they radiated "do not fuck with me vibes". But he'd find a way to break the ice. First he'd try a compliment. If that didn't work, he'd be honest. "I just wanted you to know I thought you were gorgeous, and if you tell me to fuck off i'll fuck off. But i'd just like to chat." And he'd be in.

Gaz only tried this a few times. Less interested in the work of trying to be interesting and more interested in the conquest. The fuck off girls, rightfully, seemed to only want a real connection - and that was something he could only fake for so long.

Simon was the hardest to pin down. He rarely actively went after a bird, as he called them. They normally came to him. In fact, it took several months of Gaz eyeing the man to realize what was up. Something, or someone, would catch his eye, and he'd sit up a little straighter. Suddenly he was the biggest thing in the room, eyes only occassionally meeting his target as he seemingly scanned around looking for something to interest him.

It was a form of negging, Gaz would realize. Simon would make it seem like their appearance hadn't interested him, and they'd be drawn to it like moths to flame. They'd want to know what could make him interested.

This was the hardest to replicate. The nonchalance, the appearing to not want the chase. There was a certain balancing act to adapting it to his playbook. Only acknowledge once, a curt nod or a raised drink would suffice, pretend to only glance their way when they're glancing at you. But when he got it? He was able to swoop in on every target, until they started partnering off.

First it was John. It only took one canceled outing to know that the Captain would be missing in action for the foreseeable future. And he was. It took five months for the Captain to invite them 'round for a drink at home, a pretty little thing sat on his lap.

Ghost was shockingly next, despite Gaz' assumptions that it'd be Soap. It was on a rare leave, John and Johnny both gone to their respective homes. Gaz's one thought to cure the boredom was his Leftenant. Only to be shocked by a bird, thick as cream and sweet as pie, opening Simon's door in one of the man's training t-shirts. Something the man never acknowledged while they watched the Manchester match.

Soap was leashed by the time that leave was up. Claimed he'd found a "right bonny lass" at a neighborhood potluck. (And seemingly never left her side until it was time to come back to base.) He was almost eager to show a polaroid photo ("she's into photography, that one. But some of these are private, ya know), both smiling ear to ear with matching scarfs. Johnny claiming he'd have her fully moved in at the end of his next leave.

So, in all honesty, Gaz should've seen you coming.

He planned for it, initially. Supposed if the rest of his team was paired off, he needed to be too.

He should've seen the writing on the wall when he was on a rare night out with other soldiers. A popular military bar next to base, crowded and full of people he typically found not worth in imitating. But it was a night to celebrate a successful mission to capture a terrorist in the North Sea. A man who's name he didn't remember, but he'd kiss on the mouth if it meant he'd meet you again.

You were a bartender. Clearly in your element as the room ebbed and flowed in crowd size. Still, he waited til the bar started to get sparce to try anything. First, he attempted Ghost's method. A raised glass as you're scanning the room for anything. You send a waitress over, and it dashes that plan.

He finishes his (new) drink, tossing more than he needed to on the table for the waitress, before relocating to the bar.

It's Johnny's tactic next. A flash smile and a nod to your skills, the compliment rolls off his tongue like honey. You're not impressed. A leveled glare and a shrug as you mosey about cleaning the barback. That's when he decides to remix. A mixture of Soap and Bravado.

"Listen," he says, "I know you're probably tired of all of us soldiers hitting on you – I can't say I blame them. But I'm genuinely impressed. And I just think you deserve to be pampered, is all." It wasn't his smoothest delivery - the drinks and late hour clearly wearing on his charm - but it still was enough for you to pause. Enough that he has you home that night. And he thinks he'll have you every night, if you'd let him.

[sterifels-blog]

Last night I had a thought about Simon but I'm not creative enough to come up with a good scenario, so I'll just skip ahead.

Imagine that Simon and Reader had a thing for 1 or 2 months but they never ended up dating, and then Simon disappears and doesn't respond to Reader's messages. A while later Johnny takes Simon and Kylie to spend the week at his house after a mission and there Simon discovers that Reader is Johnny's younger sister, and that the 1 year and 7 month old boy who is very attached to her is actually his son. As if Reader looks a lot like Johnny but her son is identical to Simon.

Feel free to ignore this 👀 Any language errors are Google Translate's fault. Either way I'll spend days thinking about this 🤸‍♀️

this is definitely not a prompt i'd usually cover, but i'll attempt it nonetheless. i had such a hard time trying to conceptualize what an appropriate reaction to this sort of situation would be, but there are so many different ways to validate a reaction. this is the best take i can offer you! ⤵️

A mess of things to fix.

Simon had never imagined that he would be standing in Johnny’s kitchen, staring at a child. A child that he couldn’t fathom, whose heartbeat was unmistakably his own, though he'd never had the chance to know him. The sticky summer heat of a mission’s aftermath still clung to him, sticking to his body in cloying sheets of sweat and travel-worn leather. Simon was a contradiction in flesh: battle-hardened, skin soaked in salt and iron, and yet standing awkwardly in the glow of the kitchen’s overhead light, as if someone had poured an entire century's worth of regret down his throat.

And there you were— you— who had once been just the woman who had made his bones hum beneath the skin. A weekend, a couple of months… something like that. Something forgotten by time, but carved into the ether between you both like graffiti in an alley only the broken remembered.

You were Johnny's younger sister. Johnny, the one who'd so effortlessly pulled him into this twisted little family. But now? Now everything was mangled and unspooled.

His son.

He tried not to blink too hard when he first saw the boy. You were holding him, cradling him in your arms. The little thing was bundled in too many blankets, chubby cheeks peeking from under his small beanie, his large eyes a mirror of someone Simon had never really been sure he wanted to meet. But there they were, those eyes—those identical, goddamn eyes.

Simon didn't remember this. He didn’t even remember the night. But here, in Johnny’s kitchen, surrounded by mugs and heavy laughter that seemed too far off to touch, everything started to settle in his chest like lead.

You didn’t know how to look at him either. There was the hesitation—splayed, unsaid—heavy between you both. The moment when his presence meant more than just the passing shadow of the past. The truth had settled and clung to your face like old makeup. You didn’t want him to see, but you knew. He knew. He knew because his blood had turned to ice, and in his veins, a cold panic spread.

You had a child. His child.

Johnny, ever the oblivious one, smiled as if he didn’t see the earthquake unfolding. “She looks just like me, right? Gave her my best traits. Don’t let her tell you otherwise.”

But it was clear, wasn’t it? Your son. He looked like him, even if the years had stolen what could have been.

“What’s his name?” Simon’s voice was gravel, rough with an unfamiliar edge. He felt nauseous with the knowledge. He couldn’t escape it. The knowledge of a past he’d left behind, unspoken, unresolved, and now here it was—too real to ignore. His son.

You swallowed thickly, keeping the boy close to your side. You told him the name, and Simon didn’t even register the syllables. The truth was louder than any name could be.

"Charlie."

Johnny clapped Simon on the back, misinterpreting the silence. “Oi, mate, just don’t look too long at her kid. He’s already on a first-name basis with trouble, trust me. I’ve seen the future, and it’s got a lot of broken windows in it.”

Simon forced a smile. A bitter curve of his lips. “..Right.” The awkwardness slithered around the table like some beast with too many eyes. Conversation flitted, fragile and half-formed, until dinner had ended and the quiet remained, stretching longer than it should have. The little boy yawned, and it was cemented in the moment it was time for bed. Simon barely heard the clinking of silverware, until Johnny was cooing a cheeky goodnight to his nephew- re-stating that his "favorite uncle" would be there to see him in the morning.

You stood, giving him no choice but to follow. The weight of the moment anchored his feet to the floor like gravity had decided it needed a joke at his expense. As you ascended the staircase with the boy in your arms, Simon’s boots followed behind in a trance. There was something haunting in the way you moved, like a shadow threading through space, one that should’ve been broken long before this— one that felt like a single thread was holding it together.

He hovered by the doorframe of the child’s room as you placed him gently into the crib. The boy squirmed for a moment, settling into the warmth of his sheets, but his little fingers gripped at your sleeve, unwilling to release. Simon watched, his throat tightening like an iron clasp.

You turned to look- and for the first time that night, you made eye contact. You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. The weight of the silence between you both felt like it had grown too heavy, and there, in the doorway, he lingered, as if you had just invited the storm into the room.

You couldn’t escape it any longer— the elephant sitting in the room had too many sharp edges. The question hovered between you, thick and suffocating. He was trying to push it back, but it was there, in his eyes, tangled with guilt and regret. Until, finally, he broke the silence.

"..Love. Can I… can I see him?" Simon’s voice cracked the air, raw and desperate, as if he had the right to ask something like that after all this time.

The words felt like they had shattered the air between you. There was an edge to them—like a plea wrapped in anger. He was furious, but at what? Himself? You? The situation? The fact that he was asking this, now—it made everything too complicated, too impossible.

It made your blood boil. Made your chest tight with a heat you couldn't contain. How dare he? How could he stand there and ask, knowing nothing? Knowing how many nights you’d spent alone, how many times you had to bite back tears, pretending you weren’t breaking under the weight of it all? You didn’t even tell him. You couldn’t. You hadn’t. And now, after all this time, after all the silence, he had the gall to ask for what was his—when he hadn’t been there to help raise him.

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms, but you didn’t snap at him. You couldn’t. You didn’t know how to explain it— the hurt, the fury, the helplessness. He didn’t know. And you hadn’t given him the chance to.

You swallowed hard, biting your lip to keep your voice from shaking. "Yeah," you muttered, cold as ice, before stepping aside. The words stung like salt on an open wound, but they slipped from you, like a wave crashing over the rocks. You didn’t know if you could even trust yourself to speak. "Yeah.. Just— don't hurt him.."

Simon’s eyes softened— too late— and he stepped toward the crib slowly, uncertain, like the boy wasn’t his own flesh and blood. Like he had no right. But he was there. He was looking, and you couldn’t stop it.

You stood by the door, back against the frame, arms crossed, watching as he hesitated, before reaching down to lift Charlie, awkwardly at first, as if he were holding something breakable. It was almost a joke— the way Simon held him like he was a piece of glass, fragile and unworthy of the comfort the child had never known he needed from his father.

And then, like a dam breaking, Simon’s face crumpled, his shoulders shaking, and you saw it. The first tremor of realization, of loss, of guilt— flooding over him in waves too powerful to stop. His hands shook, the child still clutched tightly in his arms, and he cried. A tear slipped down his cheek, followed by another, each one a crack in the wall he’d built around himself, and your heart twisted.

The bitter taste of resentment clawed at your throat, but it was drowned out by the ache you’d been carrying for so long. For so, so long. Watching him finally hold Charlie— the son he’d never known— made something snap inside you, something raw and real. And though you were furious— though a part of you wanted to hate him, to blame him for everything that had been missing, you couldn’t. Not entirely.

The tears fell freely now, down his stubbled chin, mixing with the slow, shuddering breath that escaped his lips. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t even apologize in the right way, but you saw the regret in his eyes, and it twisted the knife a little deeper. He was sorry— more than he could ever express— but it was too late.

"You should’ve been here," you whispered, but Simon couldn’t hear you. He was lost in the weight of it all, too consumed by the moment, holding onto your son like he was the only thing left to hold onto in this shattered mess. He didn’t know how to fix it. Neither did you.

But you couldn’t take him back. Not like this. Not now.

And so, you let him hold him. And Simon wept.

[imsofreakingtired]

i need more sevika and masc reader now🙏 you got me giggling like a school girl

ur so real i need more too jdhdhshs

Sevika x masc!reader pt. 2

pt. 1 is here !

her big mama muscles and your baby muscles. she trains you in calisthenics: "one more baby you can do it." "you're doing so well, up up!"

she shadowboxes in the living room at six in the morning and you hear her panting and whispering "one, two" while you brush your teeth

you decide to get a midriff tattoo and she worships it i tell you "if it weren't winter i'd ask you to wear crop tops every day."

she's never more in love with you than when you're wandering around sleepily in boy shorts and a tank top early in the morning, half asleep and ready to swing at anyone who talks to you before you had your caffeine (except sevi ofc)

cursing out all the heteronormative propaganda in old movies (but still watching them because they make nice background noise while you have sex)

smoking weed together on the fire escape of your apartment and stoned sevika ends up emotionally telling you she wishes she were yours but she thinks she's not your type because she's a butch and she thinks you like femmes and she also thinks you're really handsome and if you just gave her one chance,,, ...and you're just staring at her in disbelief thinking "yes...this is the idiot i am in love with,,,this is the beautiful idiot i chose"

sevika comforting you on days when you're just fucked over by gender dysphoria and body image - but the way she does it is so silly you forget to even be sad - words of affirmation are not her strong suit so she just puts on your funky tinted sunglasses and says "look...these glasses make everyone look like the most perfect version of themselves...and you haven't changed one bit"

sevika asking you to cut her hair and you panic and watch like 5 hours of yt tutorials only for her to be like "babe. i just wanted a trim"

you're obsessed with her neck. like the back of it, the buzzcut hair, the muscles, my god you could just write pages of poetry about the way she looks when she chugs a protein smoothie after a workout

(you did write the poems, she found and read them, and teased you for days after) "how does my NECK look from this angle babe :)" "sevika i will murder you in cold blood"

the two of you aren't big on pet names. she calls you "babe" or "baby" if she's feeling soft. you call her "sevi" or just her name but then one day she's spooning you in bed and you just say "you are my mitten." "what" "because you always keep me warm <3" "stop."

but she's now "mitten" to you. to counter, she calls you Thing. and refuses to elaborate.

you're both touch starved but you're also both too embarrassed to admit it so when one of you DOES initiate a cuddle session neither heaven nor hell could break you apart - um but maybe getting hungry can

speaking of, once a month you can never agree on what to eat for dinner because you both sync up periods and also always crave exactly the opposite things "why. why pad thai of all things right now." "i need NOODLES IN MY MOUTH SEVIKA" "you wanna know what I need in my mouth?"

"sevika" "mm" "gender is a bitch :(" "put that bitch on its ass"

a conservative relative at the family reunion said they couldn't tell if you were a girl or a boy. you tell sevika this later on and she high fives you

fighting over who carries the heaviest bag on vacations "let me carry it for you sevi, you might strain your back 🤪" "i KNOW you did NOT just call me old."

she plays jazz in the mornings while brewing coffee for the both of you, you blast alt rock in the shower

you being ready to fight a bitch in the bar when she tries to flirt with sevika and sevika having to hold you back

...she turns around and sucker punches a man that same night because he catcalled you

it's all fun and games fearless butch x fearless masc enby until you find an enormous roach in the kitchen and it takes the two of you to fight it

one time you had to go on a trip for work and she wore the hoodie you left behind all week because it smelled like you and she missed you

"is that another iced americano???" "sevika you know me. you know i can't live without three iced coffees a day" "but it's 16 degrees." note: this possessed me oh my god. the brainrot is brainrotting a bit too hard rn @mascdom thanks for feeding my obsession 😭

[lefemmerougewriter]

On this note, I am reminded of when I wrote about them in a fic a few years ago... which definitely fits this wonderful fanart... In that fic, I wrote in part...

... Just as soon as Casta wanted to begin talking about something, she looked up and everyone had left, going their separate ways. Juliet sighed and moved closer to Casta, as magic assistants took away the dishes so they could be cleaned using various spells. She tried to be as frank as she could.

...

Juliet's caramel tan cheeks turned a lighter brown. She jested Casta, shouting, as she tickled her, "Oh, stop that, you!" Giggling a little, she leaned in closer, and told Casta in a soft voice, "I'm glad we are both here, together…we can enjoy our lives now that the war has ended."

...

The faces of Juliet and Casta came closer together and their lips met. Glimmer's face went from its usual tan appearance to a darker skin tone. The doors flew open...Both came over to Glimmer, who stared into space and mortified that her aunt would be kissing someone in front of her friends. Casta spoke first.

"Oh, so you were watching us through that doorway, were you now? You could have just asked if we were together…instead of hiding...Glimmer."

Stuttering a little, Glimmer inched forward while the rest of her compatriots remained on the ground. "I-I-I just didn’t think you…were…like that, Aunt Casta."

She let out a hearty chuckle. "Oh, Glimmer, I'm so much more than you could ever imagine…I can love people too, you know…"

Glimmer’s face flushed with blood and warmer than usual. She continued to attempt a cogent argument but stumbled over her own words repeatedly, even stuttering a little. "I-it-s just embarrassing with all these guests here…"

...

Glimmer [was] relieved. Soon thereafter, her mind became filled with images of Juliet and Casta smooching each other over and over in the most sexual way possible, while wearing skimpy outfits. She began yelling, running away the fastest speed she could muster.

And it goes on from there... There's a lot of Castaliet moments in that fic... and I'd love to write more of them in the future.

I forgot to post here

[kyouka-supremacy]

Re-elaborating the tags I was meant to leave under a post but that probably strayed too far from the post subject to be put there

Someone commented that Atsushi follows an utilitarian worldview, and I really couldn't agree more, that's close to everything you need to know to really get the character.

He's a little selfish. It's fine. it makes his character interesting. But literally, everything he does is aimed to his own survival. In a way, I'd dare say: I don't think Atsushi is any kinder than Akutagawa is? Not as a natural inclination, that is. Even when he saved Kyouka‚ which is his most selfless act– in the end it was all to validate his own right to live. One way I like to frame it is that Atsushi is polite, rather than kind: for sure, he's well-mannered. But he's not as instinctively kind as Akutagawa is. And of course, far from saying that Akutagawa is the kindest person in the world, or a generally kind person at all... But he is, at least to some extent, more selfless than Atsushi is. It's particularly evident in Beast‚ where he's repeatedly shown caring for other people with no second end when he looked after his family in the slums, people he genuinely cared about. It showed when he gently held the body of one of his siblings that had frozen to death. Sometimes his kindness is even directed to strangers, when he immediately aided the waitress who was about to fall‚ or when he helped Sakura overcome her fear and raise her hand in class. And I believe much of this extends to his canon self too. I mean‚ he died for Atsushi, he was glad for Kyouka, he apologized to Higuchi; all of that must amount to something. Akutagawa always had kindness within him; he was just put in a world that didn't give him the chance to be kind.

I feel like Atsushi not being a naturally inclined kind person is particularly evident by looking at how he treats Akutagawa. As soon as he lets the polite mask slip, there's really no much space for mercy left. The fact that he stops being kind as soon as he's allowed to is really telling of how constructed and artificial that same kindness is. I do truly believe the most true and authentic Atsushi is the one that emerges when he interacts with Akutagawa, because he doesn't feel like he has to act with him.

To conclude, please don't get me wrong: I'm not saying Atsushi is the devil incarnate either. I'm sure he takes Kyouka out for crepes in the weekends without an ounce of selfishness to it. It's just, in comparison with Akutagawa, I think Atsushi is less naturally inclined to selflessness than Akutagawa is. Which now that I think about it......... When you take into account how he was raised, and the fact that he spent much of his childhood in complete isolation, isn't even that surprising? For compassion towards other people to not be spontaneous for him. Not when he was never spared some, not when he was raised only knowing cruelty.

[blushingbubbles]

guide to becoming a good girl part 5: what i love about it 

(exempt from the forbidden word rules)

each morning now, i wake up with one of my three holes stuffed. 

last night a vibrator was wedged in my pussy -- a vibrator that’d been on for most of sleeping time. to make sure i didn’t accidentally pull it out or turn it off, i'd wrapped myself like a burrito in so many blankets, and i ended up sleeping like a baby. 

this morning, it was instinct rather than forethought that had me filming my pussy. on camera, i pulled the toy out, and was shocked when a puddle of wetness spilled out too. i was soooo messy. i turned the video into a gif and watched it over and over again on a loop. i imagined that, instead of it being my own wetness, that someone had pumped me full of their cum. i imagined they’d bred me and filmed it trickling out. 

that thought triggered my first edge of the day. after, i checked tumblr notifs, and a hazy conditioning memory floated back from the night before.

my holes don't belong to me anymore.

a small voice says it. almost like an afterthought...or maybe an instinct. but someone had said it to me hours prior...

had they been conditioning me that my holes don't belong to me anymore? or had they been explaining a fact? 

no.. yeah..that's right. they hadn’t conditioned my lack of autonomy. they’d only explained that i’ve never actually had any. and they're absolutely right. everything i've ever done was to make other people happy.

i've subconsciously acted on others wishes for like my entire life, and i like doing it. i am happier when im making other people happy! i like putting a smile on other people's faces!! there's nothing wrong with that, and i dont want to pretend like there is!!

i got up to make the bed, and the voice my holes don't belong to me anymore continued kinda floating around me. i spent a few minutes brushing my hair and tidying my bedroom. i checked my roommate's location. i love her (let's call her A), but i was sooooo relieved when i saw she wasn't home. i went to the kitchen, naked and dripping. the dishes in the sink belonged to A, and i washed them anyway. 

i wouldn't have done it two months ago. two months ago, i would've left her mess for her and gone about the day. but now i know when A comes home she’ll be relieved that i took care of it!!! and i love being the one to provide that relief!!

after the kitchen was clean i put a little cardigan on to take some pictures of my tits. an anon asked for the holes report, and i like 2 accompany that with a tit picture so everyone knows the most important assets made it through the night (haha)

i lovvvveee taking tit pictures. i love that they make people happy, and knowing they make people happy makes me more confident!! 

over the day i drink enough water, i take meds, i keep the house clean. a Superior suggests i put ben wa balls in my pussy -- they'll make my wet hole even tighter!!

im quickly reminded that if im tightening my pussy at someone's request… it doesn't really belong to me anymore, does it? i like.. have the hole... but it's not mine to use. it's just mine to take care of so others can use it.

tonight ill sleep cockwarming another toy at another Superior's request, and the process will start over (and over) again, and it's so so good for me. i'm so happy like this, and i wouldn't change a thing <3

[just-some-random-blogger]

CRISTIIIIIII YOUR GIF IS SENDING HAHAHA HOW DO YOU FIND THOSE???? btw I get most of my meme reactions on Pinterest and I do indeed keep a folder 🤭😋🤣 I'd be more than willing to share them with you. Expect a spam of them on your inbox soon 😁

TO BE HONEST, daemons reaction wasnt really freaky, it was more like hey I like your touch I don't mind if you hurt me I miss you I'd rather you touch me and it hurt than not be on the receiving end of your hand you know. But absolutely he's a freak too HAHAHAH

I don't need you to forgive me btw 😋😋😋 stay mad and suffering HAHAHAHAH

My poor poor baby, I feel so bad for her. I am glad that Daemon is getting his due, obviously, but not at the cost of her health! I want her to live so badly, you scare me so much every time she gets sick.

😁😁😁 I can't help that I'm iconic

The kiss of life is in fact a cpr thing... At least I think. I really nearly killed her cos I did research on medieval cpr and found nothing and I did a whole poll on it and I had many readers come and help me figure it out!!! I love my readers 🫶🫶🫶 the kiss of life is apparently canon and from the iron borns and I think I diluted it a bit to be fr fr cpr cos it's just mouth to mouth without chest compressions. I also 100% imagine Daemon desperately atop her, trying to keep her alive. Also I'm not gonna lie to you, I've forgotten I was 🤏 this close to killing her HAHAHHAH

I love you so much I'm so happy you think write angst well. It's all I ever want 🥺🥺 suffer hihi 🥰🥰🥰

I loved Aegon again. My absolute precious faves of this fic are Aegon and the Twins, they can do no wrong because they are perfect and precious.

100% agree no notes

Btw don't you ever apologize for reading late ): I love you so much Im merely honored you've stuck around my love. Kissing you so much ao sweety so dearly. AND FUCK I WAS GONNA MESSAGE YOU ABOUT YOUR FOOD POISONING BUT I'M PRETTY SURE I DIDNT. I HOPE YOUVE COME TO A HEALTHY WEIGHT MY LOVE. COME BACK TIDDIES COME BACK

Tormented Spirit | 14

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 3k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: as always please consider leaving me a comment/reblog ok | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones @ashton-trashton

You clutch you chest as you walk into your bedroom. You lean back onto the wooden door after closing it and slowly sink to the ground. You gasp for air as a myriad of emotions cut through you.

You stare off into space, reeling from the entire interaction. You start when you hear a knock on the door. You hear the voices of your servants. You turn to the knob, reach up for it, and slowly open it from where you sat.

"Princess?" worried voices call.

Your voice is small, "I'm here."

A servant peeps her head through the small opening and gasps when she sees you. She slinks her way in, and soon does the other one. They both help you up and fuss over you. You tell them you only need help getting dressed, nothing more.

Your servants manage to make you look like a princess after dressing you and fixing your hair. They even paint your lips and cheeks with rouge, making it as though you weren't look so ghastly.

You feel ghastly as you make your way to the maester's ward though. Dread grows with each step you take, thus why you move so sluggish. You only snap out of it when you hear someone call for you.

"AUNT!"

You come alive at the sight of Aegon running over. You find his mother smiling behind him, clutching her belly as she followed after the boy. You crouch down and reach for him.

Aegon giggles as he jumps into your arms, "AUNT!"

You kiss his temple and embrace him fondly, "sȳz ñāqes, ñuha valītsos." Good morning, my boy.

You grunt as you stand with the young prince in your arms. Alicent is soon before you, "good morn," she smiles, though it flattens when she sees your eyes, "sister..."

You shake your head, "it's Daemon."

The queen clenches her jaw.

Aegon finds interest in the jewel on your neck. He takes it in his hand and tries to eat it. You turn to him and shush him, moving his hand away.

"What did he do to you?" your sister asks.

"Not to me," you turn to her, "to my wards."

Alicent knits her brows.

"They..." you sigh. The image of Daemon's bloody face haunts you, "they brawled outside my bedroom."

"What?" she pulls her head back.

"His face was bloody..." your voice shakes, "and... he said things to me-"

"Aunt, cake!" Aegon announces, grabbing your cheeks.

Alicent turns to her son, pushing his hands off you, "darling, mummy said you'll get cake later."

Aegon whines, "cake!"

You turn to Aegon, shushing him momentarily before turning back to Alicent, "I slapped him."

Your sister freezes, a line forming between her brows. She takes a moment before replying, "you slapped Daemon?"

You simply stare at her as Aegon throws his head back and whines, "CAKEEEEE!"

You watch as the boy begins to squirm whilst crying out for cake. You try to calm him, but eventually, Alicent takes him from you. She manages to calm the boy by offering to play with him instead. Aegon scratches his teary eyes, turning to you. He points.

You stroke his head, "I'll play with you later."

He whines, "NOOOOO!"

"My love," Alicent whispers against his cheek, "aunt has to go-"

"NOOO!"

"I just have to go get cake for you, Aegon," you shush him, "you want cake, right?"

Aegon pouts as tears stream down his face.

"Why don't you go play with mummy and aunt will get cake for us?"

Alicent kisses Aegon's tears away and he nods. The boy sighs, "no long."

You nod in understanding, "no, sweetheart. I will not take long."

With that, you leave your nephew and sister, continuing your walk to the maester's ward. When you arrive, your stomach drops as the arguing you hear coming from inside.

When you open the door, the room goes silent. You immediately lock eyes with Daemon who was standing next to your maester.

"Oh, thank the gods," the old man says.

You walk in with knit brows, "what is happening?"

"The prince refuses that I tend to his wounds," the maester says, handing you an iron tray that had both a damp and dry cloth, "he insists only on receiving care for you, my princess."

Of course. You stare at the tray, recalling years ago when he did the same after his tourney, the wordlessly take it. You examine the room, quickly finding your wards sitting on cots.

They stand to attention when you turn to them and nod, "princess."

Daemon feels his hand tremble as you walk towards them.

"Are you two well?"

The twins examine your demeanor before nodding slowly, "yes."

"Have you any injuries?"

"No."

"Good," you nod, "you may leave."

Their eyes widen.

You walk towards Daemon grabbing his arm, "sit."

"Princess?" Erryk asks, "do you mean-"

"Both," you spare them a glance, "both of you may retire."

Daemon turns to them, slowly sitting on the cot.

You turn, "I beg your pardon, maester, but would you do me a favor?"

Erryk is silenced. Arryk feels dread in his stomach as he nods, "we shall away then, my princess."

"How might I serve, princess?" the maester asks.

Daemon watches the twins walk out, awfully pleased with himself, until he feels his head begin to throb.

"Would you please go to the kitchen and request cake be delivered to Aegon?"

The maester is taken aback by the request but otherwise nods, "of course."

"Thank you," you nod, watching him leave.

Daemon does the same.

The moment it's just you and him, he turns to you, finding your eyes are already on him. He clenches his jaw, regretting it when it makes the pain in his nose flare.

Your sigh, walking towards him. You start when he touches your hip.

His lips part as consequences, "I-"

"Don't speak," you take the damp towel and hand him the tray, "I do not wish to speak to you as I tend to your wounds."

Daemon withdraws the hand he had on your hip in lieu of taking the tray. The metal thing felt blistering and heavy. He lowers his head.

"Don't move," you snap, grabbing his chin. When he lifts his head, you quickly retreat your hand, realizing you were about to force his gaze up which would have hurt him. You didn't want to hurt him, regardless of how he made you feel.

Daemon does not think this is why you pull away; he thinks the look of him disgusted you, especially in this state. His grip on the tray tightens.

You could tell his nose was broken from how his eyes were swollen. Many an occasion has this happened to Gwayne. You sigh and shake your head, "you should have let the maester see to your nose at least."

It was strange that now that you were before him, he could barely feel the pain on his face, not because it was gone but because felt it every where, most especially in his chest.

"It's broken," you mutter, placing a hand on his cheek.

Daemon leans back to allow you more access to his face. He so badly wanted to lean into your touch, but he was afraid you'd pull away again. Instead, he closes his eyes, "is it crooked?"

You examine his nose, "no," you trace his bridge with your thumb.

His breath hitches and his skin pricks with goosebumps.

"But a vein must have ruptured from the hit," you say as you wipe the blood off him.

Daemon involuntarily winces.

You immediately pull back, "I-"

He opens his eyes and snatches your hand.

You stare at each other for a long moment.

He brings your hand to his cheek, "think nothing of it," his eyes are watery. His thumb rubs your skin, "do not pull away."

When he releases you, you finish off wiping the red off his skin until all that was left on his face were purple bruises and split skin. You comb his hair back with your fingers and it makes his brows furrow. You sigh, take the tray from him, and set it aside, "I did not mean for that to hurt."

"It didn't," he mutters, watching you go through the objects on the maester's table. You take the ointment and turn back to him. He adds, "I liked it."

You grit your teeth and swipe a dollop of salve on your finger.

Daemon notices your reaction, "are you angry with m-"

"I told you not to speak," you snap for the second time.

His lips part, but only a sigh comes out.

You inhale sharply.

He can feel your hand tremble as you rub the ointment on his wounds. It hurts, not because of the pressure you apply on his skin, but because he knows your anger is the cause of your tremors.

You look him once over after tending to his cuts then examine his body, "anywhere else you're injured, prince?"

"Daor," he mutters, shaking his head, "sepār ñuha prūmia." No, just my heart.

You chuckle dryly at his words, quickly turning away from him to shake your head in disbelief.

Daemon swallows a lump that forms in his throat, "kostilus." Please.

You turn to him, scratching your eyes. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of him. "Skoros yno?" What of mine?

His eyes follow you as you sit down next to him. He shifts in his spot to face you.

You grip the cot, "gaomagon ao pendagon ñuha prūmia ēza daor ōdrio." You take a deep breath before turning to him. Do you think my heart has no wound?

He sees the tears build in your eyes. He reaches out to wipe it, but you recoil and do it off yourself. He curls his hand into a fist and rests it on his lap. He whispers your name and licks his lips, "it was not my intention."

"Then what was your intention then?" you quip, eyes refusing to leave his though it blurred with tears, "if not to sear holes into my heart?"

What was his intention? What was his intention? Why was it that he found your letters so gut-curling and unseemly? Why was the thought of reading your words while he was seas apart so sickening? He opens his mouth, "I do not know."

You are stunned by his response. It makes you stiffen in your spot. Your stomach sours and your breath hitches, "... you do not even know why you resent me so?"

"I do not resent you," he raises his voice slightly, "but I did bare resentment." He shakes his head, "perhaps for my brother, for your brother, for your father."

You scratch your eyes again. You sigh and nod, "I see."

Daemon's hands flinch.

"So," you knit your brows, "you cast your resentment onto me because..."

His throat tightens though his jaw slacks, "why do you insist upon this?"

"What do you mean?!" you raise.

"You insist to misunderstand me."

"I insist the opposite, you fool!" you snap, coming to a stand, "every day I wrote to you, even after I knew for certain you would not!"

The balm on Daemon's face is washed with the salt from his eyes, "I've read them."

You tense but then you shake your head, "liar."

The word makes him whimper, "last night. I read them all. I read about how you ate cake, and went to the sea, and wrote to Laenor, and-"

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" you blurt, feeling your breath grow short, "those letters were not meant to be read that way."

"But, I know your heart now," he slowly stands.

You laugh, "know my heart!"

"Or the parts you opened up to me," he reaches a hand. He sniffles; it feels like a blade up the nostrils. "If it pleases you, I would write a thousand letters in return."

You scoff, taking a step back, "you would survive three years of silence from me?"

The thought shatters him.

You watch as red drips from his nose to his lips. You do nothing but wait for his response.

He shakes his head, "I would not."

You shake your head and grab the dry towel for him. He takes it and feels his stomach drop when you begin to pace around. The closer you get to the door, the more uneasy he feels. He cannot help himself, "kostilus gaomagon daor henujagon nyke." Please do not leave me.

The thought makes you laugh, so you do. You turn to him, nearly moved to spit at his face. He so brazenly requests such a thing from you when he paid you no heed when you requested the same from him. You do not act beneath yourself though, "iksan daor tetan lēda ao." I am not finished with you.

He does not like the tone with which you speak this, and yet he says, "iksan biare." I am glad.

"Why did you ambush my wards?"

Daemon tenses.

"How did you come into my chambers if they were keeping watch outside?"

He wipes the blood off his lips, "there are secret passages to nearly every room in the castle."

You shrug and cross your arms, "did you attack them because it would be too easy to attack me?"

He pulls his head back, "do not vilify me," he shake his head, "do not presume I would ever atta-"

"YOU ARE MY VILLAIN!" your splintered resolve finally breaks. You unleash your rage by the hurtling your heel at him. Your right shoe misses Daemon by a hair, but your left shoe hits him in the shoulder when he turns to dodge your assault.

You charge at him with a guttural screech, fully intent on battering his body, but he does not let you. He grabs your wrists and easily overpowers you, calling your name out.

Daemon traps you in his arms and in return, you begin kicking him. He yelps when you kick his shin, but does not release you. He shudders as he tightens his arms around you, "kostilus, kostilus keligon. Gīda ilagon, ik—" please, please stop. Calm down, I—

"LET ME GO!" you shriek, exerting all of your strength into elbowing him.

You can't though, his hold on you was too strong. And though he hated that this was how he got to hold you, he could not help the way his face leaned into your nape to breathe in your scent. He weeps against you, begging you to calm down.

And you do, not because you want to, but because you could no longer breathe.

Daemon feels it, the exact moment you tense just to go limp. His hold on you loosens in an instant. It was a mistake because of how you flop forward. His heart leaps into his mouth as he feels your body spasm and gasp for air.

He lays you down on the cot and his eyes go wide at the sight of the veins popping out of your neck. He immediately rubs your chest and frantically calls out your name.

You looked like you were choking. A drowned man in the Stepstones immediately comes to mind.

He takes your jaw and breathes air into your mouth. A string of snot mixed with blood is drawn out between you as he pulls away to examine your face.

He had only seen it once. One of the men from the fleet was found washed up shore. When he was dragged out, they fully intended to bury him, until an Iron Born came forward.

Daemon presses his hands atop your ribs and begins to pump your chest. He does this a few times before pinching your nostrils and breathing into your mouth again. He remembered what the Iron Born called it: the kiss of life. He brings to mind the explanation the Iron Born gave when he had asked how he did it.

And as he did it on you, he could only pray that he remembered it right.

The prince could barely see from how his tears blurred his vision. It looked like you were going grey and whatever he was doing wasn't working. His voice shakes as he blurts, "kostilus, gaomagon daor henujagon nyke!" please, do not leave me.

You eyelids begin to close.

"KOSTILUS," he pumps your chest again, "vestā īlē daor tetan lēda nyke!" He shudders as he wills you to come back to consciousness. PLEASE, you said you were not finished with me!

You feel your lungs deflate. You can't seem to feel anything else.

Daemon grabs your cheeks and breathes into your mouth again, and again, and again. He presses his head to your chest and listens closely to your heart beat. Tears rush down to your skin as he screws his eyes shut. He can't hear anything. He can't hear anything.

He scoops you into you his chest and sobs into you. He mutters your name repeatedly. He cannot seem to do anything else but weep.

He takes your hand, cold and clammy, and squeezes it as he brings it to his mouth to kiss it, "please, please, please, don't leave me."

He sniffles and straightens up. Help. He should call for help. "MAESTER! MAESTER!" He comes to a stand, but his knees are weak and he crumples down to the floor.

A few moments later, a maester from one of the inner offices emerges. Seeing the distraught prince with a bloody nose, he is taken aback, "my prince-"

"HELP HER!" he howls from the floor. He tries to come to a stand, but even his arm gives in and he slips down to the floor. He resigns to his misery and lays on his back, "HELP MY WIFE!"

The maester runs to you, nearly tripping on the legs of the prince.

As Daemon groans helplessly, the maester that had gone to have cake delivered to young prince Aegon arrives. He runs up to the prince, "my prince, what has-"

"My wife is dead, isn't she?" Daemon mumbles through a sob.

The maester stiffens and turns to the other maester with wide eyes, "what has-"

"Her heartbeat is weak," the other maester blurts, "she succumbed to her affliction, no doubt."

The old man walks over Daemon and comes to your side. The one who had inspected you turns to the prince, "rise, your grace. She is not overcome. Her heart persists even in weakness."

Daemon lifts his head and scrambles to his knees. He calls your name, lips wobbling, cheeks wet with sorrow, a red streak trickled down from his nose.

"However," the same maester says as he gives way to Daemon, "I fear there is nothing else we can do but pray her heart keeps persisting." He offers the prince a towel.

He sniffles, opting to wipe his face on his sleeve. He shakes his head, "she will persist. She is not finished with me."

The maesters look at each other. One says, "we shall give you your privacy, Prince Daemon. I shall have the sept pray for her health and strength."

Daemon kneels beside your cot, squeezing one of your hands, "a blanket, maester. She is cold."

"Of course," he offers him the blanket neatly folded on the other cot.

The two maesters leave after Daemon cloaks you with a blanket. He tucks you in and brushes your brown hair away from your face. He sniffles as he looks upon you. Another bout of sobs arrest him.

He rests his head upon your lap, unwanting to put pressure upon your chest or belly. He embraces you as he despairs. His voice his broken as he says your name. He dries his tears on the blanket before coming to a stand.

He finds the maesters, all huddled up and muttering to each other in the office room.

"My prince," one says, walking over, "what is—"

"Is th-ere truly nothing to be done?" his voice cracks, low and pained.

They look at each other for a moment. One replies, "forgive us, your grace, but no."

Daemon makes a pained noise as he sniffles.

The maesters all look upon the troubled prince with pity.

"Right," he wipes his face on his sleeve, "I will bring her to our chambers then, that I may share in her embrace. Perhaps my heat and desperation with strengthen her body."

They nod as Daemon walks off.

The prince gathers you in his arms. You feel lighter than he remembers. He gazes upon your face, thinking of the day he had carried you home from the temple. He remembers your terrible prayer and gulps, "the gods do not grant such cruel things."

He walks down the halls that presently felt haunted. He can barely feel your breathing on his neck. He prays it is because has been thickened from the burns he suffered in the Stepstones.

He stops in his tracks when he sees Alicent with her son lingering in one of the halls. He and her stare at each other heatedly for a good moment. He continues walking.

Alicent turns to Aegon, "my darling, we should go inside."

"No!" Aegon whines, "AUNT!"

Daemon's chest tightens.

Alicent distracts him as Daemon comes closer, "later, my love we will-"

The distraction does not work. Aegon spots you and recognizes you too easily, "AUNT!"

Alicent tries to hold him back, but she can only do so much in her pregnant state.

Daemon stops in his tracks once more as the young boy runs up to him. Aegon, with his tiny hands and big violet eyes, reaches out for you.

Alicent runs over, "Aegon, no!" She pulls him away.

Aegon whines but stops when Daemon says, "issa ēdrure, valītsos." She is sleeping, boy.

Alicent clenches her teeth. Aegon furrows his brows, "ēdrure?" Sleep?

"Kessa," Daemon mutters, "issa olvie ēdrugī." Yes. She is very tired.

Aegon pouts, "cake!"

"Tolī. Ziry teptan ao iā kivio, gōntan ziry daor?" Later. She gave you a promise, did she not?

Aegon blinks at him and points, "sad."

Daemon tenses.

"Mundagon sodjisto ēdrugon." Sad aunt sleeps.

Daemon adjusts you in his arms as he looks off. He hastens in his way back to your shared chambers.

Alicent watches the man walk away with her sister in his arms. A shiver runs down her spine as she begins to think the worst.

Daemon changes you out of your dress and undoes your hair. He tucks you in bed before changing himself. He lights a single candle by the bedside table before lying beside you.

He nuzzles into your neck and throws his leg over yours. He rubs your bare sternum, glad to be able to feel the thumping of your heart.

His stream of tears do not seem to cease. He can now feel every fibre of pain on his face and body. He aches and aches; He aches mostly for you.

He thinks back to your last conversation. He recalls the explanation he owes you, "I did it because you spoke their names in your sleep."

You sigh heavily.

Daemon lifts his head up, hoping you would wake. You do not.

He sighs, wiping his face on his dress shirt and clarifies, "Arryk and Erryk."

He looks upon your form. Your face shines under candlelight. He longs to see it under the light of the sun and moon.

"I cannot bare to know you dream of them," he mutters, propping himself up on one arm, "you moaned their name."

Your arms are already warm but Daemon rubs them still.

"Gods know how I surely moaned your name in my sleep," he sighs, "... as I fucked other women."

You remain unmoving.

"Did they sate you, I wonder?" his throat tightens. He feels a hot tear run down his nose, "... did you moan my name when they fucked you?"

Jealously, anger, and hurt force more tears out of him. He rests his head on your chest, awfully defeated. He clutches the fabric of your nightgown as he laments with his eyes screwed shut.

"Do you dream of me?"

Warmth spreads across his cheek. He feels his snot begin to drip. He moves to wipe his nose, but feels something in the way.

You fool.

His eyes open. His lips part when he realizes your hand is on his cheek. He lifts his head, placing his hand atop yours.

"D—mon."

His breath trembles. He squeezes your hand, "I'm here." He kisses your palm.

Your eyes slowly open.

Daemon's heart skips. He laughs but quickly breaks into a sob.

You can barely see his face in the darkness, but you can feel the way his head shook as he wept. You brush your tears with your thumb and repeat the words Daemon thought he imagined you say, "you fool."

He shudders as he watches you knit your brows.

"I dream only one dream," you whisper. You grunt as you feel your head pound, "and it is neither of my wards or you."

He shifts slightly to better see you, careful to keep your hand on his face. He asks, soft and careful, "what do you dream of?"

He tenses when you pull away. He is about to beg for forgiveness for even asking, but then he realizes you merely wished to sit up. He helps you lean back on the headboard and sits beside you, hands fidgeting with the blanket, for he did not know if you wanted to hold his hand.

You don't. Your hands go to his beaten face. You sigh, "our children."

Daemon's expression slips.

"Alaeric and Alyrie," you add, gently rubbing his cheeks, "it was not Arryk nor Erryk's name I muttered, but theirs."

His hands come atop yours again. His eyes are red with tears.

"They-" your lips tremble, "-they were a moon too early."

The sound of your name spilling from his lips is horrible.

You lower your gaze and slowly pull away from him. You clutch your chest when you feel it begin to tighten. You take your time to draw in deep breaths to calm yourself.

Daemon brushes your hair back and rubs your arms.

You whine when he touches you. You pull away, "please, don't."

It is worse than a kick to the teeth how you move back. He is frantic when you look as though you wanted to leave bed. He calls out your name and immediately begins to apologize, "please. Forgive me. I will not tou-"

"I need to go for a walk," you mutter as you come to a stand.

Daemon immediately springs into action, taking your arm, helping you keep yourself upright. You grip his bicep and point to the chair, "my robe."

He immediately takes your robe and helps you put it on. He proceeds to help you slip your shoes on and you whine at the tightening of your chest. Daemon is frantic, "what is it? What is happening? What do you need?"

You shake your head and sigh, "a walk... just a walk."

Neither of you speak as you walk outside of your room. You saunter down the now dark halls holding Daemon's bicep. His gaze barely leaves you. He is focused only on your conditions.

You feel exhausted, and you turn to the prince, figuring he probably felt the same way, "it's not much farther."

He shakes his head, "where you go, I will follow."

You see the worry on his face. You do not have it in you to try and comfort him. You turn away and rub your chest.

Soon, you arrive to your destination. The gardens are lit up by the light of the stars and the moon. You move past the thick rose bushes and find the fountain that rest behind them.

Daemon is surprised by its existence.

You take notice, "my father had it commissioned for me."

He gasps when you release him and chases after your hand.

You watch as he squeezes you and shake your head, "I will just walk around the fountain, Daemon."

He turns to the said fountain, watching leaves and blossoms flow with the trickling water. He nods, "then so shall I."

Daemon secures your hand on his bicep. You do not argue, "very well."

The two of you walk around the large, rounded stone. Daemon is one again focused only on you. On the other hand, you are solely focused on loosening the tightness in your lungs.

"Will you tell me more about them?"

Them? You didn't not want to talk about them, lest you faint. You reach for a rose bud that fell into the water and fish it out. You take a moment to decide on your answer and end up shaking your head, "another time."

Daemon is disheartened by your response for he did not know if you did not want to speak of your children because of how greatly it hurt or because you simply did not want to speak to him. Still, he nods, "of course."

It does not take long for you to completely circle around the fountain. You look at the flower in your hand, "you do not have to trace all my steps."

"I do."

You turn to him.

His breath hitches.

"Why?"

He momentarily looks at the flower in your hand, "I do not want you to go where I cannot follow."

You stop in your tracks; so does he.

He stares at you, hoping you had something to say.

You don't. You continue walking.