#but he rarely if ever does the same for her

[iconicname]

Yeah

Always think about that scene where lucifers mother tells him that instead of being sent to hell, God wanted to kill him.

And while she clearly had her own motivations for telling him this (to get lucifer angry enough to get revenge)

So whether or not she was straight up lying for bending the truth, what gets me is how fast lucifer believes her. That belief doesn't come out of nowhere. Which never gets addressed ever again???

Though you could argue that that belief came from sending lucifer to hell indefinitely (which is just if not more cruel because c'mon) Netflix lucifer has a lot of canonical self hatred and implied suicidal ideation (plus his "devil form" which supposed to be a reflection of how he subconsciously see himself)

Coupled with the fact that we've never been given any indication whatsoever of the actual events that led to lucifer being sent to hell other than a vague "rebellion" and a something about Michael manipulating lucifer (which feels like a cop out but whatever)

uppermost with how in the show (bcs comic lucifer is a completely different dude) lucifer is extremely pacified, sure he makes scary faces and will get violent every now and then but nothing about him screams "diety who committed a sin so grave and horrific and showed no sign of stopping that the only option was to banish him to a place so dreadful that the goddess (a being who should effectively be God's equal) feared going back" painting a picture that lucifers punishment was not necessary or just.

And speaking of the goddess or Charlotte ig, she was also sent into hell. And I get the reasoning that it's because she kept causing mass death to humanity, which might seem justified from a human perspective, but to her, God, and her children this is the equivalent to sending her son to Diyarbakır Prison because he said "no" to you or challenged your authority some way. And then later, sending your wife to the same place because she knocked over your ant farm that you were investing more time than into your family.

Because both Lucifer and Charlotte have shown to be good people. Sure they're a little fucked up and have a tendency to use underhanded methods to get what they want but they're motivations while sometimes misguided are rarely malicious.

Charlotte was introduced a big scary figure (let's not forget how wary and downright scared of her he was initially) but she's really a hurt (rightfully so) ex spouse who wanted to get back at God for what he did to her (and lucifer bcs that scene in hell with dead uriel proves that she does love her kids she probably has trouble expressing affection in a straightforward way a trait that was either worsen or caused because of stay in hell) her method of revenge was likely the only thing that could save her herself too because lets be real, everytime both lucifer and her were on earth they both had angels coming down to bring them back to hell through extremely violent means. (I don't care if they were apparently "misguided" every angel that came after them wholeheartedly believed that what they were doing was justified and were pretty damn sadistic about it, too. that belief didn't come from nowhere)

From episode fucking one, it's unsaid, but we establish lucifer as a character who has already had his redemption (and this is through the assumption that he was more "evil" before the show starts) the whole plot with Delilah, someone who made a deal with lucifer to become a star but ended up a addict and involved with shady people. She was at her lowest when she asked she owed lucifer (I think about this a lot bcs I believed she assumed that whatever lucifer would ask of would either be something she couldn't give or something she wouldn't want to) lucifer said to "get her life together" as payment, thus giving Delilah a second chance at life.

Again this is episode fucking one, one of the things I hate about the show and fandom is it portrays Chloe and Lucifers relationship as "the awful misguided evil who is tamed, saved, guided by the second coming incarnate" everytime lucifer has growth as a person the credit is given to Chloe like she did something or just being around her gives you heaven points instead of the reality "lucifer holding Chloe in such high esteem because he's falling in love with her that he bends himself backwards to make himself into someone she would approve of"

because that would acknowledge that God was wrong, that lucifer didn't grow because of his interference, not in fact he did all the work himself (reconciling with a sibling who was hostile for a long time, forgiving his mother for being a bystander, even going to therapy like srsly bro is stronger than me).

And this is why they have God coming in acting like some goofy harmless guy because the narrative established that lucifer doing good thing = Chloe doing "miracles" and since Chloe was directly made by God thus put in lucifers path, it means Lucifer's "redemption" and happiness is on account of god.

That's why everyone is so easy with him. Lucifer is hurt and mad and God is like "but a gave you Chloe ☝️😊 aren't so much happier now?" And "lucifers like damn ur right, all is forgiven!" Chloe's the same way.

And since he's literally God the same goes for every other character for whatever reason or another he's essentially bribed every character to like him and has been playing a long term honeymoon phase (cycle of abuse) with lucifer. lucifer has essentially lost his support system which makes me grind my teeth.

OP you're especially right about Linda because Lucifer specifically made himself vulnerable to her about his traumas, self-esteem, self hatred and so much more to her and for her to say that to him must be gut punching, because she essentially invalidated everything he expressed to her 🫠

Honestly, to me, Lucifer Netflix as a whole has a lot of trouble validating lucifer as someone who was hurt. They love to hammer on his flaws (which makes sense since it started as a series about growth) but when it comes to his trauma, self-hatred and or when he's hurt by another character it gets brushed aside or mentioned once and never again.

Take for example the early seasons with Chloe and Lucifer first developing their partnership it it always delves into a series of misunderstandings, Chloe being a no-nonsense person and lucifer doing everything out of the box. What usually happens is that lucifer steps out of line Chloe will lash out (verbally) and lucifer goes "I don't understand your point I will go to Linda about it" wakiness ensues and by the end of the episode Lucifer has learned some kind of life lesson.

But the thing is that Lucifer is a character who's so genuine with his actions and is worldview is vastly different from hers in so many ways, he always means well so when Chloe says hurtful things (I'm not berating her for this it's completely understandable from her perspective) it's never acknowledged later, no "Hey I was wrong" or "sorry for calling you that" or maybe a "I should have taken you seriously"

It's such a miniscule aspect but it's brushed aside. Same thing with the whole poison situation there's little remorse and Chloe gets to handle the consequences on her terms.

Its like that with every situation really, any character (but mainly chloe) gets to stomp all over him and he's never allowed to fight back or they get "proven right" .

the most annoying part of lucifer on netflix is that he was literally right the whole time. i don't give a shit if the literal actual god was "just trying his best." lucifer was 100% right to be angry at god and in fact, i think everyone should've been downright pissed when they met him. ESPECIALLY linda. fuck her for real for telling him that his conflict with god was partially his fault. lucifer described an abusive father to her countless times and the second she met him she started fawning over him? fuck that. chloe should've punched god in the face

[pinkseas]

my dealer: got some straight gas, this strain is called "sovereign of elegance" you'll be zonked out of your gourd

me: yeah whatever. i dont feel shit.

15 minutes later

me: the previous sovereign of elegance, glorier, had fiery red hair and won her title while wearing a black gown. she vanished 15 years ago, her last known location in the missing woods. the same time frame that the other missing stylists were kidnapped by the paladins and locked up underground in the wishing woods. in the diary pages of an unknown stylist, the writer refers to the wish master as nothing more than a "puppet" of the dark, and remarks that they've been cruelly experimented on, their body tortured. "even bathing in this moonlight is a rare luxury." the banshee is only ever out at night, under the moonlight, but nobody save for you has actually encountered her clearly. those who might recognize her as glorier haven't ever seen the banshee themselves. the banshee refers to those she enthralls as her puppets, and there are multiple places where her body looks cracked and damaged, more like a porcelain doll than human skin. that same diary remarks that the writer has a daughter waiting at home, and that "even in this dire situation, i will never submit. the unyielding elegance within my resolute and noble soul is my last ace." a torn note found in the room where the humans were imprisoned states that the strongest were tortured and perished or disappeared, expressing a want to go home, written in a very similar manner to the way the banshee herself speaks at the end of your duel with her. if you fail, the banshee tells you to become her puppet and suffer alongside her. an imperfect victory mentions that memories are not enough. a brilliant stylist is rumored to have opened a realm that no one else has entered before, and some say that the most exceptional stylists might even create their own personal realms. cantore's poem states that should one be a fool, their soul will fall into "that bewildering realm" to become another puppet, ensnared for all eternity. "the bitter end awaits with no return, leading you into the heart of the night's abyss, where even the stars fade away." underground, those imprisoned stylists couldn't even see the stars. the reason they were locked up was to attempt to recreate the power of the aureum vase for chigda, who had made a deal with The Dark for eternal life. from him the power of the mutated vines returned, but he was not their original source, nor did they vanish when he was defeated without need for giroda's sacred power. those mutated vines bear great resemblance to the vines, thorns, and roses surrounding the banshee within the visuals of cantore's poem. the banshee wants her puppets to suffer with her, implying that she herself is already suffering. is she, too, a puppet of the dark? back then, could creating a realm have allowed her to escape? did something go wrong? did she, like giovanni, attempt to make a deal with the paladins or chigda, only for it to backfire? did she attempt to defeat chigda herself, only to become corrupt by the vines? if she was captured and held in the wishing woods and hails from florawish, why is it that the banshee now haunts the breezy meadow and shimmer pond specifically? igrainne forbade nonoy from investigating more about her past. the banshee chants a bewildering melody, not dissimilar to that melody of the wishing one from nonoy's music box, the one left with her by her birth mother. how much does igrainne know? was she worried for nonoy solely because of the nature of glorier's disappearance, or is there more to it? could the direct power of the wishful aurosa be enough to save the banshee? how much of her past life does the banshee remember? what am i missing?

my friend nikki pacing: how do i tell nonoy i need to fuck her mom

[dyingswanpavlova]

Shortcomings

Aemond Targaryen x Venice Targaryen (sisterwife!reader)

Despite her marriage with Aemond, Venice normally seeks comfort and love in her other brothers arms. Until Aemond suddenly comes up with a wicked idea...

warnings: incest, (oral) sex, cheating, swear words

author's note: hey, sweet people! i haven't actually finished the show yet, so I'm asking you (very hopefully) that you'll kindly ignore if storywise my oneshot doesn't make sense. another thing is that english isn't my first language, so I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes. aside from all that, I hope you enjoy reading it. Much love 🤍 Lana.

"Are you anywhere near close?"

Her brother pulled his head back with a frown and tilted it to the side. The expression in his eyes was nothing short of confused, but there was a hint of pain there, she could tell.

"I cannot remember a time before when you asked me something like that", he murmured and averted his gaze.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Venice quickly tipped up his chin, her touch gentle and affectionate.

"You know that is not how I meant it", she muttered. "But Aemond might come back any minute now."

It was no secret that Aemond spent most of his time in either the training yard or the library. But sometimes, on rare occasions like that day or well, in the evenings, he managed to make his way back to his sister-wife, obviously one thing in mind.

Conceive.

So far, it hadn't worked. It had been nearly two years of trying. She would have lied, had she claimed to be displeased about it. Having a child, an heir, with Aemond wasn't exactly her dream. But sometimes she asked herself if maybe there was something wrong with her...With her body. Or her soul. Did the Gods think she wouldn't make a good mother, so they kept her from becoming one? Venice wanted children. Desperately. Just not with Aemond. But that wasn't up for debate, since Alicent made it so abundantly clear that they were to wed. And that was the end of it. Which it was. Except, it didn't really end things between Venice and Aegon.

"Fucking hell", Aegon murmured and rolled off of her, his gaze directed at the ceiling. His chest rose and fell hard with each breath and his eyes were nearly unfocused as he kept his gaze averted.

"Please, I...That is truly not how I meant it", she said gently and attempted to touch his cheek. He caught her wrist in a firm grip before she could and he turned to face her.

"Is he still fucking you every night?"

She felt her face flush at the bluntness of his words and coming from him, they stung.

"That is not how this is and you know it", she murmured in a mixture of shame and embarassment. She tried to shrug his hand off, but he was stronger than her and she wasn't really trying all too hard. She sighed and averted her gaze.

"He is my husband after all."

Aegon let out a laugh. A cruel, mocking sound. It was her own fault, she thought. After all it was her who angered him in the first place.

"Yes. And Helaena is my wife. Do you see me up on her every night?"

The flush on her face deepened. "No."

"Maybe I should."

"Aegon!"

"What?" He snapped and shot her a deep glare. "Is it not true? I have not attempted to touch her in years. I thought we were on the same page, but maybe..."

"You have the twins", she interrupted him firmly. "Do you think I enjoy being with him, Aegon? I do not. But he wants an heir, of course he does. Every man does, do they not? And by law, I owe him one. Or at least, I have to try."

His frown deepened and he released his grip on her wrist.

"Yes, well, whatever", he said coolly and got up to get dressed. He slid his breeches back on and kept eyeing her with a hard look.

Venice stayed seated on the bed and met his angry look with a soft, guilty one of her own.

"Please", she said gently. "Do not leave like this. I could not bear it. I will not sleep a wink."

His own expression softened, albeit barely.

"I hate that he gets to touch you", he suddenly said. "That he gets to have you. Every night. While all I get are stolen encounters and Are you anywhere near close?" He mocked openly.

Venice could feel her cheeks burn in shame and she lowered her gaze down to her hands. She looked at the intricate bracelet Aegon had given her many years ago, as a name day gift. He followed her gaze and sighed.

"Do not make that face. You know I cannot stay angry when you make that face."

She looked up at him and it was as though only one thing had stuck with her from the conversation.

"Please, do not touch her", she said quietly.

Aegon's expression softened even more. He stopped fidgeting with his buttons and sat down beside her, gently placing his hand on top of her own. His fingertips ran over the cold metal of the bracelet, a subtle smile on his lips.

"Stupid girl."

That made her smile and he smiled in return. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and murmured: "I will not. I promised you."

Venice gently closed her fingers around his own and whispered: "And I promised you, the moment I am with child, he will not get to touch me ever again. And I meant it. I just...need to get pregnant. Maybe I will some day."

Her eldest brother regarded her with a long, thoughtful look, before he nodded and instead cupped her cheek in his hand. She leaned into the touch without thinking about it and her eyes fluttered shut.

"You will", he whispered gently. "Maybe it will be me who makes sure of it."

Venice felt her breath catch in her throat and her eyes widened almost comically. He had always pulled out so far. The thought of deceiving Aemond like that, of having him raise his brothers son as his own, it felt wrong. But then again...What if it wasn't Venice who was unable to procreate? If it was Aemond, what then? And would it truly be all that bad? He would have his heir and it wouldn't be any less of his child. Aegon wouldn't risk the entire legacy of his family by speaking the truth. And also, how would they even know who the father was? They both had silver hair and amethyst eyes.

"You left me highly unsatisfied", he finally purred and his breath tickled her ear. "I cannot tell if you are familiar with the male body enough to know, but that is rather unhealthy for me. You will have to make up for it by tomorrow."

She grinned and pinched his side.

"As you wish, my prince."

He gave her a warm smile, before he leaned in and captured her lips in a tender kiss.

"I love you", he breathed.

She smiled against his lips. However jealous she was of Helaena for being his wife, she knew she was special for him.

She knew he had never said those words to anyone else. And he wouldn't.

Two hours later, Aemond and Venice made their way back to their chambers from the dining hall. They had hardly spoken a word, as they rarely did as of late. A little bit of polite chatter about his training and her embroidery. Idiot. He didn't even know how she despised embroidery.

It hadn't always been as cold and calculated between them.

Back when he was her brother more than her husband, she had truly adored him. Aemond had been the one who had taught her how to read. She remembered vividly, the day he lost his eye. She had been young, yes, but mostly had she been furious. Like it was yesterday, she remembered the scene infront of the whole family. Rhaenyra had demanded for Aemond to be sharply questioned and before she even realized it, Venice called out the dreaded words.

He is your brother, you wretched whore.

For anyone to hear. Aegon had pulled her back and given her a rough shake. Of course she had expected to get her tongue cut out, insulting the rightful heir so openly. But no. All she got was a good scolding from her nursemaid and Ser Criston had escorted her back to their quarters, before anyone else had to leave.

But aside from that, she recognized the silent pride in her mothers eyes, Aemonds quiet gratitude.

Her engagement to Jacaerys had immediately been broken off and she got betrothed to Aemond instead. She never spoke to either of the bastards again. The bastards of Dragonstone and their miserable mother were all dead to her. Aemond respected her for that.

Things changed when they married though.

At first, Venice tried to be a good wife. She really did. She cut off the intimate encounters with Aegon, calling their relationship sinful. She was a married woman now. She wanted to be proper and good for her husband.

But it didn't work. The consummation had been odd enough. There simply was no...passion. It had felt as though they were trying to weave a shawl. Mechanical. Cold. Calculated. It felt awkward enough for them to kiss, but the moment he slid off his belt Venice had felt cold sweat on her forehead.

Aegon was as much her brother as Aemond was, but to her it felt different. With Aegon she could argue all day, they insulted each other and fought it off, but at the end of the day, they made up and things were good again. They got jealous over each other and they were fiercely protective. Sometimes, a little too much. It was pretty obvious to someone who paid close attention.

It had always been obvious how they had always been in love.

But Aemond...Aemond. Things simply got awkward between Aemond and Venice. She tried for a few months...but eventually, she ended up in Aegon's embrace and she found he was what she needed to be happy. To feel alive. To feel at all.

Venice blamed their mother. Of course she had begged and pleaded for her to let them wed. But no. Tradition.

Aegon The Conqueror had wed Visenya. It was tradition.

But what about the part, where he wed Rhaenys, too?

Venice was the youngest. And by far the greatest troublemaker. She just couldn't keep her mouth shut for her life. After all, she insulted Rhaenyra terribly when she was only seven.

Aemond was far more quiet. That didn't mean he was softer, no. He had this front, these mile high walls, he didn't break them down for anyone. Not even his wife.

There were some rare moments of tenderness. Sometimes when he took her to bed, he would look at her for a while and gently touch her cheek, kiss her forehead and then her lips. It was rare, but it happened. Or whenever he spoke of the eye incident or the things he considered weaknesses. These were the moments when Venice' guilt grew unbearably. She felt always guilty. Always. He was her husband and she was deceiving him, cheating on him with their own brother. And even worse, they were deceiving Helaena.

She didn't do it out of malice. She simply loved Aegon. He was her soul, her heart. She couldn't breathe whenever he was angry at her, truly angry. She feared for his life at all times. She adored everything about him. And she trusted only him in this crude, godforsaken castle. She loved him.

But Gods, she felt guilty about it.

Aemond suddenly spoke up and his voice made her jump. She had hardly noticed that they had finally reached their chambers.

"What?"

"I wanted to know how you feel." He raised brow. "You seem distracted. Are you well?"

"Forgive me", she murmured and rubbed her temples. "I was just lost in thought."

She went over to the dresser and began rummaging through it for a nightdress.

"Anything interesting?"

"No", she murmured absentmindedly. "I guess I simply am tired."

"Too tired?", he asked calmly as he began to fumble with the buttons of his shirt. His skilled hands, most skilled with a sword, trembled whenever he attempted to undress. He was sure it was because of the angle he had to take, looking down with the missing eye. He had to tilt his head in an unnatural manner. Before he could finish, gentle fingers took hold of his own and swiftly undid the rest of his buttons. He gave her a subtle nod.

"So?" He asked calmly. "We must not try tonight. Tomorrow will do fine."

She looked at him thoughtfully. She wasn't really in the mood, but she was never really in the mood with him. Still, the guilt weighed hard on her.

"No, darling. Let us try. I have a feeling it might work for us tonight."

Aemond raised a brow as he slid his breeches off, leaving him only in his smallclothes. He took the eyepatch off and set it aside on his bedside table.

"What makes you think that?"

She shrugged off her current dress and hummed softly.

"Just a feeling I have."

She was about to put on her nightdress, but eventually decided against it. He would slide it off of her anyway in a minute. She placed the dress on a nearby chair and grabbed the big candle in order to light the others.

He couldn't help but stare at her form while she did. She paraded around the room naked and lit the candles like she was some kind of wicked maid. The thought made him smirk to himself.

Aemond slid off his own smallclothes and went to lay on the bed while he waited for her to finish. He hummed softly.

"You look...pretty."

His voice was like silk, so gentle and sweet that it nearly made her cry. His words were what surprised her, he wasn't usually so open for compliments.

She stopped fidgeting with the candles for a moment and looked up at him. Her face flushed slightly as her gaze roamed his naked form. He was lean, but oh-so fit and he was already hard and waiting for her, simply by watching her light the candles that way. Two years later and she still blushed. The thought made his smirk widen.

"Thank you", she murmured.

"Are you trying to set us on fire?" He teased. "Come, get over here." He wasn't normally this impatient either. Sure, he was a man and he had needs obviously, but they were normally rather casual about it. Like it was something that needed to be done. It could be nice at times, but on most days it was simply duty. Or so she thought.

She set the candle aside and slowly approached the bed.

"How should I..."

He caught her wrist and pulled her down, causing her to let out a startled gasp as she stumbled forward and landed on top of him. He looked up at her with a smug expression. Calm as always, but she could see the hint of mischief in his eye.

"Like this", he purred.

Venice opened her mouth and closed it again. She normally wasn't on top. She didn't even know how.

"Are you...sure?"

Instead of answering, he gripped the back of her thighs and tugged her legs apart. She felt her face flush even more as she felt his hardness pressed up right against her.

"Not yet", he whispered. "I want to try something."

She frowned slightly in confusion. "And what?"

"Stay like that", he commanded lowly. "And let me know if you want me to stop."

Her frown deepened and she was about to ask further, when suddenly he disappeared underneath her and into the covers. She froze when she realized where he was headed and her heart skipped several beats. His grip on her thighs stayed firm, but before she knew what was going on, she felt his hot breath wash over her heat. That alone was enough to make her moan.

"Are you sure?", she gasped out breathlessly. "You have never before-"

He quickly closed his mouth around her, taking her in and began teasing her with his tongue. The sound she made was something between a moan and a shriek.

Her fingers clutched at the bedsheets tightly as she tried to keep her balance, all the while his tongue flicked over her wet folds like it was made for that.

Venice quickly forgot who and where she was and the only thing on her mind was Aemond.

Her eyes shot open in surprise.

Aemond. This was Aemond.

She felt herself grow closer and closer to the warm, blissful feeling that his tongue provided. Her moans grew louder and more breathless, while she tangled her free hand in his hair and her nails gently grazed his scalp.

She never ever came before, not with Aemond. But now it felt as though, even if she wanted to stop herself from going over the edge, it was impossible. He licked and lapped at her most sensitive skin, until she felt a white wave of bliss wash over her, so hot and good that she found herself mumbling out Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods- until she went completely still.

He was still underneath her, gently nipping and kissing at her skin, until he felt her shudder and nearly recoil in overstimulation. He slowly pushed himself back up and looked at her with a satisfied smirk.

"How was that?"

Venice couldn't help herself, she collapsed next to him like a puddle. She tried to speak, but all that came out were ragged breaths.

He was very perceptive and most likely knew that she had never reached the peak before, despite her relentless attempts to make it seem like she did. She had never enjoyed their mingling too much, but it would have killed her to purposely hurt him by letting him know the truth.

And still, that night was different. He had caused her to tug on his hair while her eyes rolled back and she nearly screamed out his name. Very uncharacteristic for them.

Eventually she found her voice back.

"That was...insane", she breathed out exhaustedly. "How did you..."

"Your taste is exquisite", he said bluntly and propped himself up on his elbow.

Venice felt herself blush furiously at his words. Just a minute ago, he had buried his tongue in her and now she blushed.

She was sweet, he suddenly realized. His sweet wife.

"I..."

"We can stop for tonight", he interrupted her gently. "I do not wish to overwhelm you."

She stared at him with a soft frown. "Where did you learn that?"

Aemond. Great, stern Aemond. And now it was him whose face was covered in the softest blush.

"I...", he cleared his throat. "I read it. In a book."

"In a book?", she asked incredulously. "What kind of book?"

"Well, none of those you will find in our library", he said matter-of-factly. Then he sighed and lay back down on his back.

"I wished to make you happy. That is all."

She suddenly felt like someone had punched her gut. Make you happy. No, she felt like the worst person alive. A terrible, terrible whore she was. Not Rhaenyra. No. She was the whore.

"But you always make me happy", she choked out barely audibly.

He cocked a brow and shook his head.

"You always compliment my intellect as well as my brains and yet you did not think I would figure out how you pretend to feel pleased for my sake?"

Her cheeks burned hot in embarassment and guilt.

"Aemond, I...I truly did not..."

He gently pressed his index finger against her lips.

"I am not angry. I promise."

When he pulled his finger back, she bit her lip and regarded him with a careful look.

"Please, forgive me. I simply thought, there must be something wrong with me and I did not wish to hurt you. I do enjoy our..."

He raised an expectant brow.

"Our encounters."

Aemond let out a sarcastic laugh and shook his head, his gaze glued to the ceiling.

"Yes. As do I", he murmured sarcastically.

She knew she had no right to feel hurt. But she did, oh Gods, how she did. Before she even realized it, she already wiped a tear off her cheek. He caught the movement and his eye widened in horror.

"No, no, no, I did not mean it like that!" He quickly sat up and took her hands in his. "Venice, that is not what I meant. You must believe me."

She stared down at their intertwined hands, the look in her eyes far away.

"Then how did you mean it?"

"Of course I enjoy being close to you", he murmured and gently wiped her face dry with his palm. "But I always thought something is missing."

Now it was her who raised a brow and he sighed.

"Passion, Venice. The fire. Your pleasure. I might have spilled my seed, yes, but I never felt truly satisfied", he explained quietly. "Because you did not."

Her expression immediately softened and she gently squeezed his hand. After a long moment, she whispered: "I think I know what the problem is."

He looked at her, obviously curious.

"All we ever did was try to conceive", she said quietly. "There is no romance in that."

He hummed softly. "What do you suggest?"

She regarded him with a thoughtful look, before an idea struck her. She bit her lip and gently pushed him back against the pillows.

"What are you doing?", he murmured.

"Shhh." She gently cupped his face in her palms. "Just...stay still and let me try something."

He wanted to question her further, but the second he felt her lips against his neck, he was done for. His good eye fluttered shut and a soft breath came over his lips.

"You do not have to do this", he whispered. "I did not mean it like that when I said I was not satisfied. I am now. I am because you are and-"

When she slowly sunk her teeth into the skin of his shoulder, he broke himself off with a soft groan.

"Oh Gods. Do that again."

She smiled against him and began to gently nibble on his skin like before. She took her time, exploring every inch of his bare chest. He brought up a hand to the back of her head, his fingers gently combing through her hair as his eye stayed shut.

By the time he felt her glide her tongue down his stomach, he shuddered and couldn't suppress the small sound of pleasure.

"Fuck, yes", he breathed out. And when she licked him again, he moaned even louder.

His hardness was so apparent now, she was sure she had never seen or felt him like that. It felt as though the softest touch might cause him to burst.

Venice hummed softly as her tongue rolled along his waistline and her hot breath caused him to inhale sharply.

"Tell me that you want it", she breathed out. "Please, I need to know."

"Want it? Fuck, yes, yes, darling, please."

It was enough to make her smile, but not enough to have mercy. She kissed her way down his thigh, which caused him to whimper.

"I did not tease you like this", he murmured.

"No, you did not." She breathed a puff of hot air against him, causing him to moan loudly. Gods, she had no idea how badly she had craved that sound. "But you caught me off-guard. And this is my way of retaliating."

"If you are trying to get me to beg, Venice-"

"No", she whispered instantly. "You are my leader."

Her words made him pause, then filled him with a sudden rush of power and dominance.

"Open your mouth."

That was more like it.

Slowly, and a little nervously, she parted her lips. Not much and she swallowed down a nervous lump.

He reached down his free hand and gently cupped her jaw.

"Look at me", he commanded softly. And of course she did. She stared up at him with wide, dark eyes as her heart pounded wildly in her chest.

He gently held her in place with one hand, while the other one slowly treaded through her locks. Before she realized it, she felt him press his hardness against her lips, silently begging for entrance. Her breath hitched and she slowly parted her trembling lips even wider, allowing him to inch forward into her mouth, very carefully. When he felt her soft lips and the warmth of her mouth envelop him slowly, he let out a low groan.

"Ah, fuck."

She kept staring up at him with wide eyes, while her body seemed to be on fire. She could feel the dampness between her legs grow into a pool of heat.

Aemond gently tightened the grip in her hair and carefully pulled her closer, which caused her to take him even deeper into her mouth. His eye fluttered shut and he didn't even try to suppress the sounds of pleasure he made, much to her pleasure.

"Let me feel your tongue, darling. Lick it for me."

The heat between her legs grew even hotter and she slowly pushed her tongue forward, carefully running it up and down his tip. She flicked it against him and involuntarily clenched her lips around him, sucking gently.

The sound he made was sinful. And she nearly came again, just listening to him.

"Yes", he breathed out. "Yes, my darling, my sweet. Just like that. Do not stop. Do not..."

He carefully bucked his hips up, causing her to take him in almost all the way. She let out a soft moan and ignored the tears that pricked her eyes. She couldn't focus on that. All she could think about was how she slowly slid her hand between her thighs.

"My good girl", he purred breathlessly. "My beautiful, good girl."

He bucked his hips up and pulled them back and then anew, causing her to whimper.

"Fuck-"

When he felt her gently sucking again, he nearly lost it.

"Harder, darling. Just a little harder."

She immediately obeyed and while her fingers worked on herself relentlessly, she moved her head and took him in as deep as it was possible without being forced to gag. She felt him twitch and throb between her lips and it made her melt.

"Oh darling, I am so close. So close", he gasped out. He moved his hips, gently and carefully, but the grip on her hair was tight, almost bruising. It nearly brought tears to her eyes. And at the same time she knew, she had never felt this aroused before.

He began moving his hips more and more urgently, until he was ready to burst.

"Pull your head back, sweetling. I do not wish to...ruin you."

She looked up at him with the utmost tender care and respect and whispered: "I am your wife, Aemond. Ruin me."

These words were enough to force him to move again. And then he did. He did ruin her. His entire body froze, except for his hardness. He let out a shuddery breath and he throbbed and throbbed until he was sure he had spilled himself in between her lips. He had half a mind to find a napkin for her, but-

Gods, the sound of her swallowing forced him to moan again.

"You did not have to do that", he breathed out and gently held her chin.

Venice could barely open her eyes. The second she felt him go over the edge, her fingers drove her past the point of no return again, causing her to writhe and moan beneath him.

Eventually she pulled her head back and whispered: "But I wanted to."

He gently cupped her cheek in his hand and guided her to come back up to him. When she lay on her side beside him, he kept staring into her eyes and gently caressing her cheek.

"That was...insane."

She smirked. "I thought you were more creative."

He laughed. A rich sound. A sound she hadn't heard in...ever.

Her eyes widened when she realized she wanted to hear it again. And again and again and again.

"Listen, Venice. I know we did not start on the best terms", he said quietly.

Her chest felt tight as she nodded.

"But that...tonight, it showed me that I feel more for you than I initially thought and..." he cleared his throat. He wasn't used to this. Feelings.

"Just...give me a chance." He murmured.

Her eyes widened even more and despite herself, she felt herself nod again.

Aemond pressed a long kiss to her forehead and sighed contentedly. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, closer, closer.

She felt like she was about to suffocate. But...what...Aegon...

And despite herself, she pushed the thought away.

She was in bed now, with her husband. And suddenly she realized she owed him far more than just an heir. She owed him loyalty and a lifelong marriage.

And that was exactly what she longed for.

[one-green-frog]

Hello I have seen your work and I'm quite intrigued with your work its wholesome

By any chance can I request a sano older brother reader that's act like a butler that's always come prepared with stuff that the siblings need like he just pulled out a dorayaki for mikey when he sees him being all gloomy in bonten meetings and just being a good brother he is and taking care of mikey after his other siblings die and also just constantly nag the other bonten members if they did something that's almost caught them

You can ignore this request hope you have a great day and good luck with your other stuff

Unyielding Duty

Platonic Mikey x brother!reader

The Sano household was chaos personified. Shinichiro sat hunched over the dining table, covered in motor grease, tinkering with an old engine part that probably wasn’t worth the effort. Across the room, Emma was locked in a heated argument with Mikey over which cartoon to watch, battling for the remote.

The moment (Y/N) walked in he froze for a moment, scanning the room. His sharp eyes caught the grease streaking the walls, the crumpled wrappers on the floor, and Mikey holding the remote like it was a weapon.

“Mikey,” (Y/N) said, tone sharp enough to slice through the noise. The boy immediately turned, startled by the interruption. Without a word, (Y/N) reached into his pocket and tossed him a wrapped dorayaki. “Eat that and stop arguing. You’ll break the remote, and we don’t have the money to replace it.”

Mikey blinked, then caught the snack midair, a grin spreading across his face. “Thanks, (Y/N)!” he said, his earlier scowl forgotten.

“Not fair!” Emma’s voice shot through the calm. She crossed her arms, glaring at (Y/N). “Why does he get a snack?!”

(Y/N) shifted, setting the tray down and placing a glass of juice in front of her. “Because you, Emma, need this more. Arguing over cartoons won’t get you anywhere.” His tone left no room for negotiation. “Drink up.”

Emma grabbed the glass, muttering under her breath but drinking all the same.

(Y/N) turned to the eldest, who was furiously twisting a bolt into place. “Shinichiro,” he called, the name laced with pointed disapproval. “You’re forcing it. Hand it over before you break something. God knows where you get the strength to destroy everything"

Shinichiro let out a defeated sigh but complied, handing the wrench over. “You’re too bossy, you know that?”

Ignoring him, (Y/N) crouched down, loosening and realigning the bolt in a few smooth movements. “Done. Now stop wrecking things just because you’re impatient. Use your brain.”

“You make it look so easy,” Shinichiro muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

“That’s because it is.” Standing up, (Y/N) scanned the room one more time. Mikey was on the couch now, munching on his dorayaki. Emma flipped through her book, and Shinichiro returned to tinkering—but with noticeably more care. The house was finally at peace, at least for the moment.

Shinichiro glanced at him with a crooked grin. “You’re really good at this, you know? You could probably run a company or something.”

(Y/N) snorted quietly. “Someone has to keep this house standing. Now, wash your hands before you spread grease all over the place, dinner is almost ready."

------------------------------

The low growl of engines echoed through the empty parking lot. Under the flickering streetlight stood (Y/N), his hands occupied with a thermos and a blanket, his posture as composed as ever. He’d been standing there for some time, but he didn’t so much as shuffle his feet. Waiting wasn’t a problem—it rarely was for him.

Mikey’s bike roared into view first, skidding to a halt just in front of him. The boy swung off with practiced ease, his normally impassive face betraying the faintest hint of exhaustion. Behind him, the rest of Toman parked their bikes haphazardly, their rowdy laughter dying down as they spotted (Y/N).

“Mikey,” (Y/N) greeted, stepping forward. He held the thermos out. “Drink.”

Mikey’s brow furrowed, but he took it anyway, unscrewing the lid. “Hot chocolate?”

“Yes,” (Y/N) said simply. “You’ll sleep better.”

Mikey took a long sip, his stiff shoulders easing slightly. “You didn’t have to come out here.”

(Y/N) ignored the comment, draping a blanket over his shoulders with practiced precision. “You’re running yourself ragged. Rest.”

Behind them, Draken nudged Mitsuya with a grin. “See? He’s not just Mikey’s brother; he’s his babysitter.”

(Y/N)’s eyes snapped to Draken, his sharp gaze cutting through the playful atmosphere. “Draken,” he said coolly. “you want to repeat that?”

Draken froze. “Uh, no.”

(Y/N) gave a curt nod before turning his attention back to Mikey, who was now nibbling on a leftover piece of dorayaki he’d apparently stashed in his pocket. “You’ve done enough for today,” (Y/N) said quietly. “Go home. Sleep.”

Mikey’s lips twitched upward, just slightly. “You’re bossier than Shinichiro ever was.”

“And you’re just as stubborn,” (Y/N) replied, his tone softer now. “Come on.”

As the night wound down, Mikey stayed close to (Y/N), his exhaustion finally catching up to him. “You’re always ready for anything,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

(Y/N) glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “Someone has to be.”

------------------------------

Here’s a more balanced rewrite of the Bonten section. It softens (Y/N)’s tone, adds interactions with the other Bonten members, and makes him less gloomy while still maintaining his sharp and composed nature.

------------------------------

The Bonten boardroom was unusually quiet for once, save for the faint rustle of papers and the soft hum of the air conditioning. Mikey sat at the head of the table, his usual calm exterior giving away little of what was on his mind. The other executives glanced at each other now and then, unsure if they should speak or wait.

The sound of the door opening snapped everyone’s attention toward (Y/N) as he stepped inside. His composed demeanor, immaculate suit, and steady presence commanded immediate respect. He carried a leather-bound folder tucked under one arm and a tray in his other hand.

“Good afternoon,” (Y/N) said smoothly, his voice cutting through the tension like a warm knife. He set the tray down at the center of the table, revealing a sleek silver teapot and several cups. “I thought the meeting might benefit from some refreshment. None of you seem to remember the value of staying hydrated. Or value anything that would benefit zour health"

The executives exchanged glances, unsure how to react, but Kakucho gave a small nod of thanks as (Y/N) poured the first cup and slid it toward him. “Much appreciated,” he said.

(Y/N) moved systematically around the table, pouring tea for each member. When he reached Ran, the man smirked. “Didn’t know you were our butler too, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, his tone light but firm. “If I were your butler, Ran, you’d have better manners by now.”

Rindou stifled a laugh, earning a glare from his brother, but (Y/N) moved on without missing a beat. Once everyone had a cup, he turned his attention to Mikey.

“Mikey,” (Y/N) addressed him directly, sliding the last cup across the table. “It’s been hours since you’ve said a word. I assume that means everything’s under control?”

Mikey’s eyes flicked up briefly, meeting (Y/N)’s. “It’s fine,” he said flatly.

“Good,” (Y/N) replied, straightening. “Then there’s no need to linger. This meeting is adjourned.”

The executives exchanged hesitant looks, unsure if they should move before Mikey gave the word. But when Mikey gave a small nod, they began gathering their things and filing out of the room.

As they passed by, (Y/N) paused Kakucho with a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been limping again,” he said quietly. “Let me look at it later. You’ve likely aggravated the injury from last month.”

Kakucho hesitated, then gave a sheepish nod. “I’ll stop by your office later.”

(Y/N)’s gaze shifted to Sanzu, who had been lingering by the door, his usual manic grin plastered across his face. “And you,” (Y/N) said, his tone sharper. “I saw the dent in your car this morning. You’re not getting away with reckless driving again.”

Sanzu chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Caught me. I’ll fix it.”

“You’d better,” (Y/N) replied, his tone softening slightly. “I’m not replacing your bumper again."

Once the others were gone, (Y/N) turned back to Mikey, who had yet to move from his seat. His expression remained impassive, but (Y/N) knew better than to be fooled by Mikey’s stoicism. He walked to the head of the table and stood across from him, hands clasped behind his back.

“Do you want to talk about it?” (Y/N) asked.

Mikey shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

(Y/N) nodded, not pushing further. “Very well. But you should at least take a break. Sitting here all day won’t accomplish anything.”

Mikey let out a sigh but didn’t argue. Instead, he stood and gestured for (Y/N) to follow him as they left the boardroom. The walk to Mikey’s office was quiet, but not uncomfortable.

When they arrived, (Y/N) pulled a chair up to Mikey’s desk and began organizing the scattered papers without being asked. “You should delegate more,” he said casually. “That’s what the others are here for. You don’t need to carry everything alone. I think they have proven themselves long ago.”

Mikey watched him for a moment before sitting down on the couch, resting his head against the frame. “They’re not as reliable as you.”

(Y/N) smirked faintly. “You’re too kind.” He leaned back, his tone lightening. “But if you keep letting me clean up after you, they’ll never get the chance to prove themselves.”

Mikey’s lips twitched upward ever so slightly, and for a brief moment, the weight in his gaze seemed to lift. “I guess you have a point.”

(Y/N) gave a small nod, satisfied. “Good. Now, let’s go through what’s left, and then you’re going home early. No arguments.”

Mikey rolled his eyes but didn’t protest, sitting up straighter.

Though the weight of Bonten’s world loomed large, (Y/N)’s steady presence made it bearable, even if just for a moment. And while he wasn’t one to express sentimentality, (Y/N) knew the truth deep down: keeping everyone in line, Mikey especially wasn’t just his duty. It was what made him feel like he still had a purpose in their chaotic, fractured world.

[basil-the-bulbasaur]

Ok so, I might have had plot injected directly into my brain and now I have about 1000 words of mostly unedited (grammar should be fine, but pacing? I do not know her) solidaritek

They're toys. Tango's arm breaks (this is a bit of an understatement) and I tried to make the workshop seem creepy. Body horror if you're a toy. I don't think it's very graphic, but this is your warning if you don't want to read that

The Cowboy and the Snowglobe [working title]

I first saw him from across the shop. The wintery toys had just been moved out: nutcrackers, trains, colourful baubles, dolls, stuffed toys, and–amidst all the other snowglobes–him. 

While most of the snowglobes had people in brighter colors, he wore dark reds and blacks, his yellow hair was as bright as a candle. Some might have said he looked out of place next to them, I just thought he looked beautiful.

As soon as the shop closed for the night I darted off my shelf to greet the newcomers. I wrapped my lasso around the string of banners connecting our shelves, got a running start, and jumped. I let go at the lowest point–muscle memory at this point, especially with the banners in my face–and stuck a perfect (as always) three point landing.

Alright Jimmy, just act cool. I thought to myself as I greeted everyone on my way over to the handsome stranger. And then I slipped on a marble. 

“AAAHHHH!” Gosh, I haven't even talked to this guy and I'm already making a fool out of myself. Great–

“Indiana Jones rope swinging skills and you can do the splits? Who knew a toy could be so multi-talented.” 

He was smirking when I looked up. One arm rested against the snowman standing next to him. His tail swayed behind him. If he could’ve moved his legs he probably would have crossed them.

“There uh, there aren't usually marbles there.” I stood up, trying to laugh off my literal slip up.

“What's your name, Indie?”

I forced myself to smile as I met his–brilliantly red–eyes, “Jimmy Solidarity, I’m the sheriff ‘round these parts,” I said, tilting my hat to show off the badge. Technically, I wasn't the only sheriff, but seeing as the others rarely left our shelf, I didn't think it worth mentioning, “And you? What's your name?”

He stared into the distance for a moment before answering, “Tango um, Tango of the Tek variety, and this is Freezy.”

“Right, nice meeting you, Tango. I guess I'll catch you later.”

“Wait!” I turned back around to face him, “Sorry, I just- you're probably busy sheriffing-”

“Not really, no.”

“It's just, you're the first person I've ever talked to. So-”

“Not gonna lie, I came down here to talk to you.”

“Really?”

Why did I say that out loud? “Yeah, yeah.”

“Well, snookums, you should have just said so.” 

I was incredibly glad my blush was painted. If I had blood I probably would have turned as red as Tango's eyes.

“Right then, what does snow feel like?”

—----------

I started visiting Tango every night after the shop closed. He had a much better view of the floor than I did, even if we both witnessed the same events I liked listening to him talk. 

He also had an amazing imagination. Tango told me all about the mazes and games he would make if he wasn't in a snowglobe. I would've loved to help, but I've never been very technically minded. 

Until one day–I was watching and I'm still not entirely sure what happened. One moment a child was inspecting the snowglobes, then there was a shattering of glass and Tango was lying on the ground in a puddle, his arm shattered.

The toymaker swept up the glass and took Tango into some room where I couldn't see him.

—----------

The moment the lock clicked shut I jumped to the floor and darted under the door into the room where Tango had been taken. 

This room was different. Instead of fully formed toys, the shelves were lined with blocks of wood and clay. Sharp knives, chisels, and files hung on the wall. Even a few saws loomed overhead. 

In the middle of the workshop stood a large desk and chair. Lights from outside illuminated its surface.

“Tango, are you in here?” My voice echoed in the quiet room.

“Jimmy?”

I used my lasso for extra grip as I scrambled up the desk, coming face-to-face with an image that will haunt me for the rest of my days.

Its surface was covered in half formed bodies. A lump of clay crudely mimicking the form of a giraffe; arms reaching out from blocks of wood, and, sitting in the middle of it all-

“Tango.”

I breathed out a sigh of relief as I ran to meet him, wooden and ceramic fingers sliding together like they were designed for each other.

“Are you alright? Does your arm hurt? Can you stand up?”

“Jim! Jimmy, I’m fine. I can’t feel much of anything with this,” He waved what remained of his left arm in front of me. The sharp edges had been filed down to a smooth stump. “It’s just numb. And I think I can stand. It’s weird being able to move my legs after so long standing in one spot.”

“Do you know what’s going to happen to you?”

Tango looked away. “It sounded like the toymaker was going to make me a new arm and put me in another snowglobe.”

“But, this is the first time I’ve gotten to hold you! I can’t–Tango. Tango, look at me.” I reached out to cradle his face in my other hand, watching for any discomfort, “I love you, and I don’t know what I would do if I never got to hold you again, if you got sold and I never got to hear your voice again. And I don’t know what to do or how to get out of here or what, but please, Tango, please don’t leave me.”

Tango unlaced his fingers from mine and pulled me into a hug, "Alright, we’ll find a way out of here, I promise, but,” he pulled back to look at me, “Sitting here crying isn’t going to get us any closer to freedom, c’mon!”

I gripped Tango’s arm as we stood up, his legs slightly unsteady.

“I love you too, by the way.” Tango murmured as he pulled me into a quick hug. “Come on, cowboy, I bet there’s something in here we could break a window with!”

-------------

I don't know why I wrote this in first person. It was not easy, but I do like to imagine Tango and Jimmy years later living in a tree hollow or something. Jimmy decides to write a memoir. Tango reads over the intro and calls Jimmy out because "You could not see me well enough from that far away to determine my beauty."

Day 266: very 🤏

[x3nafix]

RULER OF MY HEART INTRODUCTIONS….

Y/n:

The main character of the story. Shes a pharmaceutical major, along with kiana. Shes closed off to people she doesnt know that well/doesnt get along with. Contrary to popular belief, she DOES have a personality (sarcastic and a bit snarky), but you just have to pry it from her….

shes also been friends with tabito ever since he moved in next door to her when they were three. Theyve been by each other’s side for so long. But new feelings are emerging… has he always looked this good???

when racing, shes pretty similar to Tabito. Analyzing and taking shortcuts. But she can be aggressive at times- tailgating and pushing against her opponent.

Karasu tabito:

Karasu majors in finance at the same university as y/n. He thinks hes been in love with her since their first year of highschool, but it could have been earlier. He was y/n’s only friend until college, where she finally branched out. But at least he doesnt have to worry about her anymore. Constantly flirts with y/n, but she thinks hes being friendly (hes not) so he thinks she doesnt reciprocate (its complicated). He is one of the best racers in the area and is known for taking efficient shortcuts as well as analyzing opponents and faking them out. Despite how much he loves y/n, he’d never let her beat him.

KIANA:

pretty much the opposite of yn. She’s pretty extroverted and practically adopted y/n when she saw her sitting alone at the beginning of the lecture. Since then, theyre inseperable. (Not that y/n minds). She knows karasu likes y/n, and is trying to get them together. So far, nothing. Kiana doesnt race- and is extremely worried about y/n. Kiana knows she cant stop her though.

(if you couldnt tell she wants y/n to start branching out)

OTOYA EITA:

Majors in business (red flag one🚩/j) One of Karasu’s friends. Yn is somewhat comfortable around him (she likes making fun of otoya). Hes nice… except to his gfs… His racing style is sneaking up on people from behind and slowly overtaking them. He doesnt stand out in a race, except at the finish line.

Yukimiya Kenyu:

Yukimiya is also one of Karasu’s friends. Hes not familiar with y/n, but is trying (key word: trying) to get close to her. So far, shes scared him off despite him being nice. Hes also a part time model in addition to being an engineer major, so that helps pay for his tuition! He has a public account, which is closely monitored by his manager. However, he does have a secret private account where he follows his friends and occasionally posts. Due to his job, he doesnt want to risk getting injured in a race. After all, what will the management say? So at most, he watches. However, he would like to try one day.

Shidou Ryusei:

Shidou is a Biology major! definitely loud and chaotic. Also one of karasu’s friends (surprisingly). Y/n and him actually get along pretty well online, but irl is a different story. Y/n is completely different on text/twitter than irl… but its ok. Shidou can fill that void! Y/n makes fun of shidou liking sae and then shidou calls her homophobic🥰🥰 also races and is known for being extremely risky- taking shortcuts no one else would dare. He also has great reflexes, so thats why he isnt dead yet.

Chigiri Hyoma:

Chigiri is also a friend of karasu’s. Hes also witty, so y/n likes him. Which is pretty rare, but theyre chill w each other. In this AU, hes a history major. Hes also a racer, and is known for being extremely fast on his bike. At first, kiana thought he was a girl and started flirting w him😭 (lesbian kiana supremacy guys)

FUN FACTS:

•y/n did NOT want to touch twitter- even w a ten foot pole. Karasu being karasu, he successfully persuades y/n to get it. Now shes a twitter ADDICT and uses it everyday. She also loves being toxic on the app /nsrs /j

•Kiana is feeding y/n karasu propganda and trying to set them up, but no luck. Shes also trying to get y/n to realize her feelings for him. But also no luck. Kiana also helps karasu whenever y/n is mad at him.

•speaking of kiana, shes inspired by my irls. Was supposed to be named after her, but i decided against it. Her personality is a mix of my irls!

•y/n plays persona 5 royal and has finished it multiple times (projection) (i havent finished it but still)

•inspired by THIS c. Ai bot (i talk to this one everday)

•Sae doesn’t have twitter

A/N: TY ALL!!!! this was fun to make (except the profiles)! I made some interactions alr. I also made profiles of rin, bachira, and isagi, but didnt put them on here because theyll most likely be minor characters as i dont know how to incorporate them into the story

MASTERLIST || INTRODUCTIONS || CH. 1

TAGLIST: @mixolya @fishii28 @sky-casino

@narcjsistx @aztec-ahuizotil

[pirunika]

im thinking that So i saved your mail for you while you were away to be an ongoing thing for Blade's romance... its cute and innocent for a long time but later when they are secretly together it becomes a code like Hello welcome...I have your mails..in my quarters come with me I will..give it to you there :)

[235uranium]

"loki is akechi's hate" "loki is destroying akechi's psyche" you're all cowards. loki is akechi's anger and outrage at being trapped and abused. and that is NOT a bad thing

[moonsdancer]

#like do guys do know that ‘yay this character is perfect in every single way and the only ones with braincells<3’ is not#the progressive statement you think it is#a step up from the insane misogynoir during s1 era but still not great#it’s how nobody really focuses on mel or ekko’s characters on their own and water them down to being ‘perfect#never did anything wrong ever’. which they are but like… how to say this…#i feel arcane didn’t allow them to be fully fleshed characters#and gets some mvp scenes but that’s not a compensation for actually giving them proper attention and fully fleshing them out#i might be the minority but mel is a step up from ekko since she had more of an arc but again they barely fleshed it out before making her#op enough to defeat leblanc (was it leblanc?) in her own domain#like that is literally insulting to mel it’s a cop out and just reducing her to a cool moment#in compensation for not giving enough attention to her black rose arc#it wasn’t cathartic because there was no build up to those moments

I don’t know how to say this exactly but like… fandom and show are kinda weird about Mel and Ekko and it is very much rooted in racism

[parkerslatte]

Different

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none

Summary: Ever since Feyre arrived at Velaris, they have only ever known Azriel a stoic and mostly serious. But once his wife comes home, she sees a different side to him.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Feyre watched as Azriel stood by the window. His shadows moved over his shoulders and around his ear as if whispering something to him. The expression on Azriel’s face was his same neutral one that only ever seemed to change the smallest amount. And only ever in the presence of the Inner Circle and even then there would only be a small hint of a smile. 

It was late at night and everyone was enjoying a relaxing night with a few bottles of Rhys’s expensive alcohol. So far, Azriel hadn’t moved from his place at the window, his back was rigid as if he was expecting something, though that was the only indicator that he was. His face was his usual stoicism, giving nothing away. 

“Az, are you ever going to get away from that window anytime soon?” Cassian complained. 

Azriel turned his attention to Cassian and scowled. “I’m busy.”

“Not busy enough to spend time with the people you love,” Cassian teased. 

“Az, sit down, you won’t miss anything,” Rhys chimed in. 

With a final look through the window, Azriel walked over to the rest of the Inner Circle and sat in the armchair. His back was tense and he was not fully relaxed. Ever since Feyre had known him he had always been somewhat alert to everything. 

While everyone continues with the card game, Feyre couldn’t help but pay more attention to Azriel than to the game. Like Feyre, Azriel didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the game either. Instead he stared at the table in front of him completely lost in thought. 

Elain, who was sitting on the floor beside Mor, looked up to Azriel. “It’s your turn,” she said. 

“Oh,” Azriel said before picking a card out of his hand and placing it on top of the pile. 

“That isn’t a card you can even put on top,” Cassian complained. 

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Does it matter? You change the rules when you’re losing anyway.”

“I do not!” Cassian exclaimed. “I take this game seriously.”

“Until you are losing,” Nesta mumbled under her breath. 

Cassian began to argue back, clearly becoming outnumbered in his argument. Feyre only watched on with amusement. 

However everything was quickly interrupted by a new voice, one Feyre had never heated before, cut through the argument. 

“I leave you all alone for a few years and everything goes to shit?” 

Everything goes silent as everyone stares at the beautiful female who had just entered the room. Before Feyre could even process everything, Azriel threw his cards back down on the table and rushed up to the female.

The female giggled in delight as Azriel’s arms wrapped around her and swung her around. Feyre looked at her two sisters, each of them held the same expression she did. Confusion. 

What shocked Feyre the most about the situation was the bright and wide smile stretching across Azriel’s face. She had only noticed now that he had dimples. 

“I missed you so much,” Azriel mumbled. 

“It has only been a few months for you,” the female replied. 

“That is too long for me. I always wish for you to be next to me,” Azriel replied and pressed his lips against the females. His arms circled her waist, making sure there wasn’t a single gap between their bodies. The female threaded her fingers through his hair, causing Azriel to sigh in delight. Feyre couldn’t help but feel surprised by this display of affection from Azriel. 

Feyre leaned back against Rhys. “Who is that?”

“Azriel’s mate and wife,” Rhys answered.

“What?” Feyre exclaimed. “None of you have ever mentioned her before.”

“That was Azriel’s decision,” Rhys replied, filling up his glass. “You see, Y/N works as a researcher all over the continent for me so she is rarely ever here so none of us can protect her. Azriel has made a lot of enemies over the years and if he were tied to her, she could be put in even more danger.”

“When was the last time they saw each other?” Elain interjected. 

“For Azriel a few months ago,” Rhys answered. “Those two weeks just before Solstice when Azriel wasn’t here, he was on the continent with her.”

Feyre watched as Azriel buried his head into Y/N’s  neck, holding her against him tightly. Feyre smiled at the sight. 

“It has been at least two years since the rest of us have last seen Y/N,” Cassian chimed in. “It would be nice of her to greet the rest of us.”

Y/N pulled away from Azriel to smile at everyone else. “Give me a break, Cass. If you were to go without a hug from your mate in a few months, you wouldn't be jumping to greet everyone else first.”

“She knows about us?” Nesta asked. 

Cassian nodded. “Whenever Azriel meets up with her, she always asks about you all. Apparently she has been excited to meet you all.” 

Feyre watched as Azriel and Y/N walked over to join the group. Azriel’s gaze never left Y/N for a single second. Feyre’s gaze shifted down to their joined hands. She hid her smile behind her glass. 

Y/N quickly greeted Rhys, Cassian and Mor with a hug and she gave a small nod to Amren. 

Azriel sat down on the armchair first and as Y/N was about to sit in the arm of it, Azriel pulled her down so she sat in his lap instead. His arms locked around her waist as his chin rested on her shoulder. Feyre was sure she had never seen him look so happy before, so at ease. The smile on his face was one Feyre had never seen. 

“It is great to finally meet you three,” Y/N said, her gaze flicking between Feyre, Nesta and Elain. “This one here,” she said, reaching to cup Azriel’s cheek, “has told me a lot about you.”

“It is great to meet you,” Feyre said with a smile. 

“So now that introductions have finished,” Cassian begins, “can we get back to the game now? I was about to win.”

“Is that because you changed the rules halfway through the game?” Y/N teased. 

Cassian rolled his eyes. “You know what, Y/N. I don’t think I missed you at all.”

Y/N chuckled. “We both know that’s a lie.”

Azriel laughed along with Y/N and placed a soft kiss to her shoulder. He looked completely different to the stoic and serious shadowsinger Feyre was used to. With Y/N, Azriel seemed like a completely different person. The tension had vanished from his body and his shadows, which were once sliding over his shoulders, were now caressing Y/N legs and arms. One of his hands caressed her thigh while the other threaded with hers. Feyre could see the goosebumps appear on Y/N’s skin wherever he caressed. 

Azriel whispered something into Y/N’s ear which caused her to turn to him, smiling wide, her lips hovering just above his. The glimmer in Azriel’s eyes was prominent as he looked at her. It was as if she hung the stars. There was so much love and tenderness in his eyes that it could only be described as something out of a romance novel. She had never seen him look so at ease before. It was if everything else had melted away and the only thing left was Y/N.

Feyre couldn’t help but feel giddy at the sight. 

“How long have they been mates for?” Feyre asked Rhys. 

“Nearly three hundred years,” Rhys replied, wrapping an arm around Feyre. “They have been married for longer, the bond snapped nearly fifty years after they were married.”

“They seem happy,” Feyre said, her eyes not shifting from where Azriel and Y/N sat. 

Rhys smiled at his two friends, friends he considered family. “They are. Azriel is always his happiest when Y/N is around. He always has been ever since they met.”

“Why does she go away for long periods of time?” Feyre questioned. “It feels like torture when I’m away from you for too long. I cannot imagine being mates to someone for three hundred years and only being able to see them every few months.”

“That is the way it has been through their whole relationship,” Rhys explains. “They both knew what each other did for a job and neither of them wanted the other to give it up.” 

“How long is she back for this time?” Feyre asked. 

“I hadn’t asked,” Rhys said. “But I have a small feeling she will be here for a while this time.”

Feyre frowned. “How so?”

“Because if I know anything about Y/N, it is that she would never decline a glass of my finest wine and so far she has declined every glass Mor has offered her,” Rhys observed. 

Feyre looked at Rhys excitedly. “Does that mean—?”

Rhys smiled. “They haven’t said anything so I assume that they wish to keep the news between them for a little while longer.”

Feyre smiled over at Y/N and Azriel. She caught Y/N’s eye. The beautiful female only sent a wink Feyre’s way, a clear indication that she had overheard her and Rhys’s conversation. 

“Az, it’s your turn,” Nesta said. 

Azriel throws all of his cards onto the table. “I think I am done for the night.”

Cassian groaned . “Really?”

“Really,” Azriel said. “I want to spend time with my gorgeous mate and wife.”

Cassian chuckled. “That is only an excuse because you are losing,” the general teased. 

Azriel rolled his eyes and swooped Y/N up in his arms. Her arms locked around his neck. “If you need us— actually don’t even try to contact us at all.”

Y/N threw her head back and laughed as Azriel carried her out of the room. Feyre could hear them laughing loudly even when the door was firmly closed behind them. Feyre leaned into Rhys and linked her fingers with his.

“I am happy for them,” Feyre said, her eyes staring at the door where Azriel and Y/N had left. 

Rhys kissed the top of Feyre’s head. “Me too.”

[tender-rosiey]

What about sukuna with his shy babygirl when reader goes away for a week and hes left alone to take care of her?

I ABSOLUTELY ADORE YOUR SUKUNA WITH HIS SHY BABYY

silence speaks — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: my favorite duo ever and this is really centered around them cuz they so cute but you do make multiple appearances also BIGGGGGG thanks to @bluebell33 for beta-reading <33

sukuna rarely concerns himself with trifles. the great and feared king of curses has no patience for the mundane.

yet, when it comes to his daughter—his little, bashful shadow—he finds himself tackling challenges he never imagined, especially now that you’ve gone to visit your ill mother for the week.

and left him alone with her.

you had reassured him it would be fine, and he had sneered at the implication that he couldn’t manage a child for a mere seven days.

but now he finds himself cursing you as he stares down the wide-eyed girl standing in the middle of the courtyard.

she’s clutching her favorite stuffed fox, her tiny fingers squeezing the fabric tightly as if it’s her only anchor in the world.

her big eyes flit up to him and then dart away just as quickly, cheeks pinkening as she retreats into herself, the same way she always does when the world feels too big.

sukuna huffs, scratching the back of his head. “what?” he grumbles, his voice rough, but she doesn’t flinch.

not anymore. she’s long since grown used to his tone, his presence, his towering frame. still, she doesn’t answer, only fiddles with the hem of her little kimono.

he exhales sharply through his nose. “if you’ve got something to say, spit it out.”

her lips purse into a small pout, and her voice comes out barely above a whisper. “...hungry.”

of course.

sukuna crosses his arms, his four hands resting against his broad chest as he glances toward the kitchen.

he knows how to prepare a meal in theory—he’s watched you do it countless times—but actually doing it? for her?

“fine. sit,” he commands, gesturing toward the veranda.

she shuffles over without a word, sitting cross-legged with her fox in her lap, her gaze following his every movement like he’s some kind of unapproachable deity—which, to most, he is.

the kitchen is uncomfortably quiet without you bustling about in it.

sukuna’s hands work awkwardly, chopping vegetables with precision but lacking the rhythm you make it look so easy to achieve.

he scowls as he tastes the broth, finding it bland despite his efforts. still, he’s not about to admit defeat.

when he finally places the bowl in front of her, she looks up at him with wide, unsure eyes. “you made it?”

“who else, brat?” he snaps, though there’s no real bite to his words. he sits down beside her, his knee brushing against her tiny one as he watches her cautiously take a sip.

her lips curve into a small smile, and her voice is soft but earnest. “it’s good.”

he grunts, looking away to hide the faint twitch of his own mouth. “damn right it is.”

the next day, sukuna finds himself in the garden, sitting on the terrace with his arms crossed, watching his daughter as she toddles around, her fox clutched tightly to her chest.

she sticks close to him, circling the area but never straying far, her wariness of the world evident in her every hesitant step.

she pauses by the small patch of wildflowers, her tiny hand reaching out to pluck a bloom.

with the flower in her grasp, she shuffles over to him, her gaze flickering between the flower and her father’s intimidating figure.

“what’s that?” he asks flatly, raising a brow as she stops just short of his shadow.

“for...you,” she mumbles, her voice so soft he almost misses it.

sukuna narrows his eyes, leaning back against the wooden pillar as he watches her extend the flower toward him with trembling hands.

“what the hell am I supposed to do with that?” he scoffs, though his voice carries no malice.

her lips press into a nervous line, and she steps closer, holding it out insistently.

her little brow furrows in determination, and for a moment, she looks so much like you that it pulls a rare flicker of amusement from him.

he grunts, snatching the flower between two of his massive fingers as if it’s an inconvenience.

he twirls it once before tossing it onto the porch beside him, his crimson eyes meeting hers. “now what?”

she fidgets, her gaze darting to the ground. “it’s...pretty,” she whispers.

he leans back further, waving her off. “get out of here before you start thinking I’ll entertain you all day.”

she scurries off, her fox in one hand and her quiet laughter trailing behind her. sukuna glances at the discarded flower, its petals soft and vibrant against the wooden boards.

with a grunt, he flicks it off the edge with his finger, muttering under his breath. “ridiculous.”

the days that follow are...strange.

sukuna quickly realizes that his daughter is quiet by nature—content to play alone, to sit with her little fox and hum softly to herself.

she doesn’t demand his attention often, which leaves him both relieved and unsettled.

he’s used to people begging for his time, his favor, his mercy.

but she? she seems perfectly content with the simplest gestures—a pat on the head, a rare smile, his presence alone.

it’s on the third day, however, that she tests his patience.

the rain starts in the afternoon, a light drizzle that quickly turns into a downpour. sukuna is inside, reviewing a scroll, when he hears it—a soft, hiccuping sob from the other room.

he’s on his feet instantly, his massive frame filling the doorway as he finds her curled up in the corner, her fox clutched to her chest, her face buried in its fur.

“what the hell are you crying about?” he asks.

she sniffles, peeking up at him with tear-streaked cheeks. “it’s...loud,” she mumbles, her voice trembling.

it takes him a moment to realize she means the thunder.

he sighs, running a hand down his face before crouching down in front of her. “you’re afraid of a little noise?”

she nods hesitantly, her bottom lip quivering.

“pathetic.”

but instead of leaving her to deal with it alone, he picks her up, her tiny body fitting easily against his broad chest as he carries her to the main room.

he sits down on the tatami mat, cradling her against him as the storm rages outside.

she buries her face in his chest, her small hands clutching at his robes, and for once, he doesn’t push her away.

“you’re fine,” he mutters, his hand smoothing over her hair in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture. “it’s just noise. nothing can hurt you while I’m here.”

and somehow, she believes him.

by the time the week is up, sukuna is more than ready for you to return.

he won’t admit it, of course, but the sight of you walking through the gate fills him with an odd sense of relief.

your daughter, however, is the one who reacts most visibly.

“mama!” she cries, scrambling out of sukuna’s lap and running to you.

you scoop her up, laughing as she babbles about everything that’s happened in your absence, her words tumbling over each other in her excitement.

sukuna watches from the doorway, his arms crossed as he leans against the frame.

“well?” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “how’d it go?”

“she’s alive, isn’t she?”

you laugh, stepping closer as you shift your daughter in your arms. your free hand brushes against his arm, a small, fleeting gesture that he doesn’t pull away from.

“she is,” you reply softly, tilting your head as you study his expression.

he’s looking past you now, crimson eyes sharp but distant, his gaze lingering on the garden beyond the estate gates.

it’s quiet for a beat too long, the weight of something unsaid hanging between you.

“did you miss me?” you ask, your voice light and teasing, but there’s a genuine curiosity beneath it.

he scoffs, his lips curling into something that’s not quite a smirk.

“don’t flatter yourself,” he mutters, but he turns his back to you, and you can’t help but feel it’s to hide a specific thing.

you smile knowingly, shifting your daughter higher on your hip as she snuggles into you, her fox tucked safely in her arms. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

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do not copy or plagiarize or I will make you drink pure ginger

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[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

But what was most baffling to all that met the Pevensies after they came back was that they were kind.

Really. Not pretending, not because they were insecure. True, empathic. Far too understanding for children their age. They all have music in them.

Peter’s hands feel too small for him, but he shakes hands all the same. Gentle pressure. There is nobility behind those eyes. Eyes that always border on the supernatural sort of blue, especially in the dark.

He plays the guitar, gently coaxing otherworldly sounds out of an instrument that did not know it could be played like that. He helps his siblings with their homework, is taller much faster than his peers. Seems to take up more space, even though no one understands how a teenage boy manages that.

He doesn’t like doing nothing, ever. He instructs his classmates in grammar, gives away figures he cuts from wood with a knife that seems too sharp for a boy that small. He never hurts himself, though.

As the years pass, Peter grows strong. But he is gentle. He does not seem to be brash, even when many of his friends are. Peter keeps his emotions in check. Noble. Not undangerous, but not belligerent. Peter only ends fights, and only with people that deserve it.

He offers advice, a pat on the back. Teachers wanna dislike him, some do not like the look behind those eyes. Most find they cannot. Peter is popular with both adults and children, speaks sense and laughs often.

Peter is kind. Pious, devout. His faith is unmovable like rock. Did the kids meet God on the estate of their uncle?

Edmund plays the violin. A sad Edmund is a rare sight, but when he plays sad he can keep his whole floor awake. Somehow, Peter always finds h him quickly, effortlessly attuned to his brother’s moods. They play chess, then. Their chess master must have been a champion, Ed beats people with ease. He’s usually not smug about it.

Ed speaks politics and war in earnest, accepts critique graciously, is elegant in a way Peter never manages. Peter speaks frankly, but Edmund can wrap words up real nice. He doesn’t mince words, but his classmates grow into liking the sound of his voice. They appreciate that Edmund does not lie, even when speaking tactfully. Edmund can dial the temperature in a room, change it to suit himself.

He, too, laughs often, but Edmund is known to smirk. He likes being right and he often is. He’ll entertain anyone with a good story, always seems to have the right information to help you out. Remedies to illness, connections, job openings, how to sneak out of PE.

He’s a spider in a web. A bit reserved for a 11 year old, and oddly well-connected. A real ghost when he wants to be, but he never scares people with it.

Aslan would not approve of that. He believes in God as well, but much more intellectually. He’s got the intelligence to back it up and wit to match. A scholarly belief, but not lacking conviction.

Teachers like his enthousiasm, remember a moody nagging child when he left and see a secure young man come back.

Edmund will stand up for what is right. He gets into some trouble like that, but his verbal agility saves him always. Edmund has strong principles and will not bend them for anyone. No matter the trouble he gets in.

The bond with his brother is unbreakable. They even walk the same, chest out, left hand on their belt. They seem most at ease when fencing.

Susan was always warm and tenderhearted, but when she comes back there is a difference.

She seems to have gained authority. It’s real strange watching a 13-year old use her beauty like a grown woman, but Susan has learned to wield it, to stun people so she can creep under their skin. People LISTEN to her now.

Her wit is like a knife, but she avoids cutting deep. Susan is reasonable, and strong, and principled. The little drama others get involved in does not bother her, and she seems immune to petty insults. She has killed before, with her hands.

She will do it with kindness now. She is not very approachable ( that would be Lucy ), but she is kind. She used to mother over her brothers and sisters, but now that they have raised each other in a court full of magic she has gotten more relaxed. They listen to her on important issues, trust in her judgement. Her brothers does not deem himself more important, she is both well-spoken and well-respected by her siblings. Equal. It baffles the old men that teach her. Irritates them, too.

There is an air of mystery around her. Half a look is enough to get what she wants, Susan’s friends laud her security in herself, her Mona Lisa smile. She seems to temper moods easily, makes people feel at ease.

She most of everyone exudes royalty. It’s the grace. Susan plays the harp, her long fingers dancing across the strings like she’s had a lifetime of practice. She’s elegant, never caught off guard. Jamais faux pas.

She does not get angry. She knows who she will be. She is anxious to become an adult, yes, but she only wishes to look how she feels. Not to look differently. Yet the wish to be taken seriously, to have someone see you as an adult, it makes her surprisingly similar to her peers.

Her friends have not been old yet, is all. But Susan is calm and collected. People see her as someone you can tell a secret to. She never hurts someone, is usually a neutral party, speaks sense to adult and kids alike. She is not ignorant, however, will use every trick in the book to keep the peace. She knows when to go nuclear. Vis pacem para bellum.

Lucy is a sun in human form. She has a joie de vivre that is unmatched, is gay and golden-haired and never in a bad mood.

Lucy is kind by default, does not turn it off, does not turn it down. She’s witty and funny and quick on her feet. She has been grown before, yes, but enjoys being young for a few years more. She dances, sings old tunes. Her voice is her favorite instrument, you can usually hear Lucy coming.

Whistling a tune in the halls is known to improve the moods of everyone who hears it immensely. Young girls need to figure out who they are, but Lucy knows, knows what she’ll be and who she likes and what kind of people she wants to be around. She is not pretending, never moody. She can get sad, of course, but her older brothers and sisters are always nearby when that happens.

Lucy is genuine and fierce and convinced, immovable at times. Admired for her drive, but respected for her empathy. She speaks to everyone, often distributes flowers. There’s no naivite in her at all, she simply wishes to be like this so that the world may imitate her. She likes to see people prosper, is the first with praise.

She will go far, is the consensus. There’s steel beneath the soft exterior, Lucy has fire below the flowers. She’s well-liked and well-loved. She has love in spades, it seems, animals and stragglers and misfits and outcasts. She’s popular, her room is a good place to get a cup of tea and someone who will listen to you for some time. After a while she no longer bothers with the door.

That a heart that size fits in a girl that small is a mystery to many. Lucy does not think it is a mystery at all. It is the heart of a lion.

Her faith is as vocal as the rest of her, she sees it confirmed in all that is beautiful, all that is kind. She never tries to convert anyone but there are several people who have told her that version of God is someone they would like to know.

The Pevensies often see each other at parties, where they like to stand together. Edmund knows about everyone, everyone knows Peter, everyone likes Susan, but it is Lucy who knows everyone.

They are kind, but not weak. Peter gets his knuckles bloody sometimes, Edmund does not abide by the rules of unjust teachers. Susan and Lucy solve their problems differently but no less effective. Kindness is their usual way of operating, but they are still kings and queens. They will not allow cruelty, will not let bullies go unpunished.

They are sure of what they are and sure of what comes after death and this makes them kind. Kind , not harmless. Kind, not spineless. Kind, not ignorant. Kind, not naive.

Kind despite. Maybe kind because. The kings and queens of Narnia are proud of what they are, honour the teachings of their lion friend. Kind.

When the crash happens and three siblings die, everyone they know mourns deeply. Without them, the world is less kind.

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

I THINK HE KNOWS

drew starkey x fem!reader

(mood board does NOT depict reader’s appearance!)

SUMMARY: daniel craig introduces his daughter to his co-star drew starkey at the after party for the ‘golden globes,’ and they do more than just hit it off.🫣

based on this ask !! i got a little carried away with this one and i could genuinely write a WHOLE fic with drew x daniel craig’s daughter😫 i have so many ideas for this pairing, so lmk if you wanna see more !! i hope you enjoy this @drewstarrrkey <3

WARNINGS: fluff & smut (18+, MDNI!), cursing, alcohol consumption, flirty!reader, cursing, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before ya tap it😣), switch!drew (mostly dom), like one (?) use of ‘good girl,’ body worship, LOTS of foreplay😝. (lmk if i missed anything!!)

WORD COUNT: 5.2k (i got REALLY carried away😭)

THIRD PERSON +

The energy of the Golden Globes after-party was electric. The clinking of glasses, low hum of laughter, and faint music filled the space. Celebrities mingled under the soft glow of chandeliers, conversations buzzing with excitement about the evening's wins.

Drew Starkey sat at the bar nursing a glass of champagne, still slightly stunned from his earlier win. He'd barely had time to process the moment—his first major nomination and now his first big award.

The crowd was overwhelming, but his co-star, Daniel Craig, had insisted he celebrate properly. Drew watched as Daniel cut through the party with his unmistakable presence, shaking hands, embracing friends, and flashing that rare smile that could light up a room. Behind him, someone followed, and Drew's attention lingered just a little too long.

"Starkey!" Daniel's voice carried above the noise. Drew straightened instinctively, placing his glass back down as Daniel approached.

"Hey!" Drew smiled. "Congrats again. Well deserved, man."

"Thank you. Same to you." Daniel clapped him on the shoulder before stepping to the side. "I want you to meet someone."

Stepping forward with a confident stride was a young woman, poised but relaxed in a way that suggested she belonged in a room like this. Daniel turned to her with an almost affectionate roll of his eyes.

"This is my daughter, Y/N."

Y/N smiled and offered her hand to Drew. "Hi. I've heard so much about you."

Drew shook her hand, his mind scrambling for composure. "You too. I mean—I haven't heard about you in that sense, but your dad's mentioned you. Not in a bad way—uh, I mean—" He stopped, exhaling with a self-deprecating laugh. "Sorry, I'm a bit flustered. It's nice to meet you."

Y/N grinned. "Quite the introduction, Drew."

Daniel raised a brow at them both, clearly amused. "Well, I'll leave you two to it. I see a few friends I need to go bother." He glanced at Drew. "Behave yourself."

Drew let out an awkward laugh. "Of course. Always."

Daniel walked away, disappearing into the crowd. Y/N turned back to Drew, tilting her head slightly as she observed him. "He's very fond of you, you know."

"Is he?" Drew replied, trying to play it cool. "He's great. Working with him was... surreal, honestly."

"I'd imagine. I've seen the movie, of course. You were phenomenal." Her tone was warm, genuine, and Drew found himself smiling at her praise.

"Thank you. That means a lot."

She leaned against the bar, signaling to the bartender for a drink. "You look surprised."

"I guess I just... still don't know how to take compliments," Drew admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's all been a bit overwhelming."

"You shouldn't be so modest. Your performance was stunning. And you've got the trophy to prove it." She shot him a teasing smile. "Don't let it go to your head, though."

Drew laughed, finally feeling himself relax. "I'll try my best. And you—your dad said you're an actress as well? And a model?"

"Here and there. I've done some niche indie films—ones that play in small theatres no one ever goes to." Her voice was light, self-deprecating but playful.

"Niche or not, that's impressive." Drew met her gaze. "What kind of roles?"

Y/N paused as the bartender slid a glass of wine her way. "I guess you could say I play a lot of brooding, lost souls. The ones who always seem to sit by windows and stare out dramatically."

"Ah, very serious. Lots of silent contemplation?"

"Exactly." Y/N laughed softly. "But enough about me. Tell me about Queer. It must've been... intense to film."

"It was." Drew nodded, leaning his elbow on the bar as he turned toward her. "Luca Gaudagnino has this way of making you feel completely vulnerable. It was a challenge, but I trusted him. There's this scene—I'm sure you remember it—where my character completely unravels."

"How could I forget?" Y/N said softly, her eyes locked on his. "You were so raw in that moment. It was almost uncomfortable to watch because it felt so real."

Drew blinked, feeling his ears heat. "That's what Luca wanted. He kept pushing me to 'stop acting,' as he put it. He'd say, 'Feel it. Don't pretend to feel it.' I'd never worked like that before."

"Well, it paid off. Watching you was like watching someone break open right in front of me. Vulnerable, stripped back..." She paused, taking a sip of her wine. "And now here you are, Golden Globe in hand."

Drew looked away, smiling sheepishly. "I'm still processing it."

"You deserve it," Y/N replied firmly. "And no one here is going to let you forget it."

Drew looked at her again, unable to ignore the spark in her gaze. She was bold—not just in what she said, but how she carried herself. It was disarming. "You've got a way with words."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Y/N smiled mischievously. "So tell me, Drew Starkey... how's the fame treating you?"

He groaned playfully, shaking his head. "You're going to make me sound insufferable."

"On the contrary, I think you're handling yourself rather well."

"You say that now," Drew teased. "Talk to me in six months when I've gone completely Hollywood."

"Mm, I don't think that's in your nature." Y/N tilted her head thoughtfully. "You seem far too grounded for that."

"You don't know me yet," Drew countered.

"Well, I'm a very good judge of character. Comes with the territory of being Daniel Craig's daughter—lots of egos to sift through."

Drew raised his brows, amused. "Is that right?"

"Absolutely. I'm rarely wrong." She gave him a sly look. "And my read on you so far is: humble, charming, and maybe a little too hard on yourself."

Drew chuckled, caught off guard. "You're bold."

"Life's too short not to be."

Drew shook his head with a small smile. "And what's your read on yourself?"

Y/N leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to feel conspiratorial. "That would spoil the fun, wouldn't it?"

Drew swallowed, the teasing lilt in her voice setting him slightly off balance. There was a beat of silence between them, the kind that crackled with unspoken tension. He cleared his throat, reaching for his champagne. "You're a mystery, Y/N."

"And you're still a little flustered," she teased, her grin widening. "Do I make you nervous, Drew?"

"Maybe." Drew gave her a crooked smile, holding her gaze. "But I think you like that."

Y/N laughed, the sound light and rich. "I do. I'm not afraid to admit it."

Drew shook his head in disbelief. "You're something else."

"So I've been told." She took another sip of wine, her expression softening just a touch. "But really—what's next for you? After all this?"

Drew shrugged, glancing around the room as if the answer might be hidden somewhere among the guests. "I don't know. This feels like such a huge moment, you know? I almost don't want to think about what's next. I just want to enjoy this."

"As you should." Y/N nodded approvingly. "Don't let anyone rush you."

"I won't." Drew paused, meeting her eyes again. "But... I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little scared of what comes after. What if I can't live up to it?"

"You will," Y/N said softly, her tone sincere. "You've got the talent, Drew. The rest will follow."

Drew studied her for a moment, his chest feeling strangely warm. "You're very good at this."

"At what?"

"Making people feel seen."

Y/N smiled, her expression unreadable. "Maybe you just needed someone to see you tonight."

Drew felt his heart skip, the weight of her words settling between them. Before he could respond, Y/N placed her empty glass on the bar.

"Come on," she said, standing. "You're far too interesting to spend the whole night glued to this bar stool."

"Where are we going?" Drew asked, standing to follow her.

Y/N looked over her shoulder with a mischievous smile. "You'll just have to follow me."

And he did. Without hesitation. A “Yes, ma’am,” slipping from his lips.

Drew followed Y/N as she led him away from the bar, weaving effortlessly through the crowd. She moved with a sort of practiced ease, as if she'd spent her whole life in rooms like this—grand, glittering, and full of famous faces. Drew, still buzzing from the champagne and the residual adrenaline of the evening, was mesmerized.

"I'm dying of curiosity here, where exactly are we going?" Drew asked, his voice tinged with amusement as they turned down a quieter hallway leading away from the main party.

"Somewhere a little less chaotic," Y/N replied, glancing back at him. "Unless you'd rather keep bumping elbows with half of Hollywood."

"No complaints here," Drew said, matching her steps. "I think I've shaken enough hands tonight to last me the rest of the year."

Y/N pushed open a door at the end of the hall, revealing a small terrace overlooking the city. The night air was cool, crisp against their skin as they stepped outside. The noise of the party dulled behind them, replaced by the distant hum of Los Angeles and the quiet rustling of trees in the breeze.

"Better?" Y/N asked, turning to face him.

Drew exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as he looked out over the skyline. "Much better. Thanks."

Y/N leaned against the railing, watching him with an unreadable expression. "You looked like you needed an escape."

"I guess I did." Drew joined her, leaning beside her, their arms nearly brushing. "It's a lot, you know? I'm grateful—don't get me wrong—but... I don't think I'm cut out for the whole schmoozing thing."

"Most people aren't. They just pretend they are." Y/N's lips curled into a small smile. "Besides, you've already done the hard part tonight. The rest is noise."

Drew glanced at her, the city lights reflecting in her eyes. "You're good at this—reading people."

She shrugged lightly, her tone playful but laced with truth. "It's my party trick."

"Anything else I should know about you?" Drew teased. "Other hidden talents?"

"Plenty," she replied with a grin and a cheeky wink. "But I'm not about to give them all away at once. That would ruin the mystery."

Drew shook his head with a laugh, tucking his hands into his pockets. "You're impossible."

"I get that a lot," she said, unfazed. "But you haven't run off yet, have you?"

"No," Drew admitted, his smile softening. "I haven't."

Y/N's gaze lingered on him for a moment before she looked back out at the city. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Did you ever think you'd end up here?" She gestured vaguely to the world around them. "Holding a Golden Globe, being the name on everyone's lips?"

Drew was quiet for a beat, choosing his words carefully. "I don't think it ever felt real enough to imagine. I wanted it, of course—I worked for it—but this? This feels like someone else's life."

"And yet, here you are."

"Here I am," he echoed, looking at her. "What about you? You've grown up in all of this. Does it ever lose its shine?"

Y/N's expression faltered, just for a moment, as if the question touched on something deeper. "Sometimes," she admitted. "It's easy to feel like you're just a part of the machinery—another face in a sea of them. But then you meet someone who reminds you why you love it, why it's worth it."

Drew tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Is that why you act? Because you love it?"

"Because I can't not do it," Y/N said simply. "Even when it's thankless, even when no one's watching... I need it."

Drew understood that. It resonated deep within him—the need to create, to express, to push boundaries for reasons that weren't always tangible.

"I get that," he murmured. "The best moments are the ones no one else sees. The ones you do for yourself."

Y/N turned to face him fully, her eyes sharp and intent. "Exactly. And that's what makes what you did in Queer so powerful. It didn't feel performative. It felt real, like you gave a part of yourself away for it."

Drew swallowed, her words hitting him harder than he expected. "I'm honoured. That's... the best compliment I've ever gotten."

"It's true," she said softly. "And for what it's worth, I think you're just getting started."

Drew looked at her, something shifting between them in the quiet. He felt seen—more than that, he felt understood. Y/N Craig, with her razor-sharp wit and unwavering confidence, had peeled back his layers in a way no one else had managed all night.

"You really don't hold back, do you?" Drew said, his voice low.

Y/N smirked, stepping closer. "Why should I? Life's too short for subtlety."

Drew's breath hitched as the space between them narrowed. She was close enough now that he could catch the faintest trace of her perfume—something heady and elegant that suited her perfectly.

"You're dangerous," Drew said, his voice a little unsteady.

Y/N arched a brow, clearly amused. "Am I?"

"Yeah." Drew's lips curved into a small smile. "The kind of person who makes you forget to play it safe."

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes locking with his. "And do you always play it safe, Drew Starkey?"

Drew hesitated for just a second before answering. "Not tonight."

Y/N's smile widened, a knowing glint in her eyes. She reached up, her fingers brushing the lapel of his suit jacket. "Good."

The air crackled between them, thick with unspoken possibilities. Drew could feel his pulse quicken, every sense heightened as Y/N held his gaze. She was testing him, waiting to see what he'd do.

And for once, Drew didn't think—he just acted.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

Y/N's smile was slow and deliberate. "I thought you'd never ask."

Drew grinned, a mix of nerves and excitement flickering across his face as Y/N tugged him by the hand, leading him back through the terrace door. The pair slipped back into the hallway unnoticed, the music and chatter of the afterparty drowning out their hasty footsteps.

"Are we seriously sneaking our way out right now?" Drew whispered, though the grin he wore betrayed any hesitation.

"Unless you'd rather stay and talk to George Clooney about his favorite vineyards," Y/N teased, looking back at him with a mischievous smile. "Then we need to make haste!"

Drew huffed a quiet laugh. "Okay, fair point. Let's go."

They moved quickly, dodging small clusters of guests and waitstaff like a pair of teenagers sneaking out of school. Every time their eyes met, a fit of laughter threatened to spill out of them.

"Act natural," Y/N mock-coached as they passed one of the party coordinators.

"Yeah, because that's going well," Drew shot back, trying to suppress his smirk.

Finally, they pushed through a side exit and found themselves in the cool night air, away from the golden haze of the afterparty. The parking area was quiet, save for a valet who barely looked up as Y/N called for a car.

"God, I feel like we just got away with murder," Drew muttered, running a hand through his hair as he stood beside her.

Y/N grinned up at him, her cheeks flushed. "Feels kind of good, doesn't it?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah... yeah, it really does."

The car pulled up, and Y/N wasted no time climbing into the backseat. Drew followed, sliding in beside her and shutting the door. The silence in the car was loaded, broken only by the faint hum of the radio and the distant sounds of the city.

"Your hotel, I assume?" Y/N asked, glancing at him.

"Yeah." Drew cleared his throat, suddenly feeling the weight of what they were doing hit him. He glanced at her and added softly, "If that's okay."

Y/N gave him a teasing look. "Wouldn't be here if it wasn't, would I?"

Drew felt the heat rise to his cheeks, and he covered it with a laugh. "Right. Fair point."

The ride to the hotel felt like a blur, the two of them making light conversation as they both tried to ignore the electric undercurrent running between them. When the car finally pulled up to Drew's hotel, he shot Y/N a nervous glance.

"You sure about this?" he asked quietly.

Y/N's lips twitched into a smirk as she leaned closer, her voice low and teasing. "You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

"Definitely not," Drew said quickly, earning another quiet laugh from her.

They hurried through the lobby—heads down, hands brushing but never fully touching. Drew felt like his heart was pounding in his ears as they reached the elevator. The moment the doors slid shut, Y/N let out a giggle, biting her lower lip.

"We look so suspicious right now," she whispered.

"You look suspicious," Drew shot back with a grin. "I look like someone trying not to have a heart attack."

She rolled her eyes playfully, stepping closer to him. "Relax, Golden Globe winner. No one's paying attention to us."

"That's the problem," Drew muttered under his breath, earning another soft laugh from her.

The elevator dinged, and they stepped onto Drew's floor. He fumbled briefly with the keycard as Y/N watched, clearly entertained by how flustered he'd become.

"Need help?" she teased.

"I've got it," Drew replied quickly, finally getting the door open. He held it for her as she stepped inside, and he followed, shutting it behind them.

The hotel room was simple and sleek, the lights dim as Drew tossed his keycard onto the desk. He turned to find Y/N standing near the window, looking out at the glittering cityscape. She turned to face him, her expression softer now, though still full of that familiar mischief.

But it was like something had switched in the air. Drew leaning back against the door as he studied her.

"So," he began, his voice quiet but laced with an edge that made her stomach twist, "I bet you think you're calling the shots tonight?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. "I mean, I guess we'll see who's running this show, won't we?"

Drew pushed off the door, taking a slow step toward her. His movements were deliberate, almost predatory, and Y/N found herself instinctively taking a small step back. But she wasn't about to let him see her falter. She leaned forward slightly, her lips quirking into a smirk.

"You walk like you own the place," she said, her tone teasing. "But I bet you're all talk."

Drew stopped just inches away from her, his breath warm against her skin. He lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone who seemed so intent on dominating the situation.

"Careful, Y/N," he warned softly, his voice almost a whisper. "You might be surprised at what I'm capable of."

His fingers trailed down her neck, and she shivered despite herself. What is this? she wondered, her earlier confidence beginning to waver. There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled her in despite her best efforts to maintain control.

"Or maybe," she countered, tilting her chin up defiantly, "you're just trying to scare me."

Drew's lips twitched into a smile, but there was no warmth in it. "Maybe I am," he admitted, his voice dropping lower. "But why don't we find out?"

Before she could respond, his hands were on her hips, pulling her closer until their bodies pressed together. Y/N gasped softly, her pulse quickening as his proximity overwhelmed her senses. His lips were so close to hers, his breath mingling with hers, and she couldn't help but tilt her face upward, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he murmured, his voice rough and intimate. "And I'm not one for playing games."

Y/N swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of how much taller and stronger he was than her. But she wasn't about to back down. "Good," she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Because I like a challenge."

Drew's eyes darkened, and without warning, he dipped his head, capturing her lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was commanding, urgent, and left no room for doubt about who was in charge. Y/N's hands flew to his shoulders, gripping tightly as she tried to steady herself against the wave of desire that washed over her.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips, demanding entry, and she parted them instinctively, allowing him access. The kiss deepened, grew more intense, and Y/N felt her knees weaken. Drew held her firmly, his hands sliding up her sides to cup her face, angling her head to deepen the connection.

When he finally pulled away, Y/N was breathless, her cheeks flushed and her chest rising and falling rapidly. She blinked up at him, dazed and disoriented, and realized with a jolt that she'd completely underestimated him.

"As wonderful as that was," Drew said, his voice husky and raw. "I think I need to go slower. Test your limits."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she stared up at him, realisation dawning. He's not bluffing, she thought, her earlier confidence faltering. Drew was lethal, charming, and utterly in control, and she had walked right into his trap.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Drew's lips curved into a wicked smile as he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Everything."

His hand slid from her hip to the small of her back, pressing her closer against him. The heat between them was electric, a palpable tension that threatened to ignite at any moment.

Y/N's breath came in short bursts as she tilted her head up, her lips parted in anticipation. He's not going to kiss me, she thought, not yet. But the way his eyes darkened, the way his fingers flexed against her skin, told her she was wrong. He was going to do exactly what he wanted, and she was going to let him.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured, his lips hovering just inches from hers. "Tell me how much you like this."

She hesitated for a split second, but only a split second. Her boldness was ingrained, a survival mechanism honed by years of attention and expectation. "I like it," she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "I like that you're taking control."

Drew's smile was slow, predatory. "Good girl," he said, the words soft but laced with authority. He kissed her then, a deep, bruising kiss that left no room for doubt. His tongue swept into her mouth, demanding, exploring, claiming. Y/N melted into him, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance as the world around her dissolved into sensation.

When he finally pulled away, they were both breathless. Drew stared down at her, his blue eyes gleaming with something that made her stomach twist. "You're not in control here, sweetheart," he said, his tone conversational but firm. "Not anymore."

Y/N swallowed hard, her earlier confidence faltering. He's right, she realised. I walked into this thinking I could handle him, but he's handling me. And God, it was intoxicating.

Drew didn't wait for her response. Instead, he turned her gently, positioning her with her back to him. Her heart raced as she felt his body press against hers, his chest warm and solid against her spine. His hand cupped her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple through the fabric of her dress. She gasped, arching into his touch.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice rumbling against her ear.

She nodded quickly, too caught up in the sensations to form words.

"Good," he said, his grip tightening momentarily before he released her. Y/N blinked, confused, as Drew stepped back. He moved to the bed, sitting down and leaning back on his elbows, his legs stretched out in front of him. His gaze was intense, predatory, as he watched her.

"Take off your dress," he said simply.

The command hit her like a bolt of lightning. Y/N hesitated, her hands moving instinctively to the zipper at the back of her gown. She glanced at Drew, expecting... something. A smile, maybe, or a reassuring word. But his expression remained unchanged, a mask of calm dominance.

He's serious, she thought, her pulse quickening. He wants me to do this for him.

Slowly, deliberately, she began to unzip her dress. The fabric slid down her shoulders, pooling at her hips. She shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Beneath it, she wore only a lace bra and matching panties, the delicate garments doing little to conceal her arousal.

Drew's eyes roamed over her body, lingering on the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts, the slight tremble in her thighs. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with approval. "But not enough."

Y/N's brow furrowed. "What—"

"Shh," he interrupted, raising a hand to silence her. "Don't talk. Just listen."

Her breath caught in her throat as Drew leaned forward, his movements fluid and precise. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the strap of her bra. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it sliding down her arm. Her nipples tightened immediately, peaking under his scrutiny.

"Perfect," he said, his voice a low purr. He cupped her breast in his hand, squeezing gently. Y/N bit her lip to stifle a moan, her legs trembling beneath her.

Drew's free hand reached for the waistband of her panties, tugging them downward until they clung to her hips. He paused there, his fingers tracing the edge of the fabric before hooking his thumbs into the sides and pulling them down her legs.

Y/N stood before him completely exposed, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and arousal. Drew's gaze was relentless, unapologetic, as he took in every inch of her.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

She obeyed, her movements stiff with nervousness. When she faced away from him, Drew's hands returned to her body, one stroking down her spine while the other traced the curve of her ass.

"So beautiful," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck, his lips lingering as his hands explored her body with increasing boldness.

Y/N's knees nearly buckled beneath her. This is happening, she thought, her brain struggling to keep up with the intensity of the moment. He's really doing this.

Without warning, Drew spun her around and pushed her backward onto the bed. Y/N landed with a soft thud, her heart pounding as she looked up at him. Drew loomed over her, his expression dark and commanding.

"Spread your legs," he ordered, his voice sharp and clipped.

Y/N hesitated, her mind racing. Is this what I want? The question flashed through her mind, but the answer was already there, buried beneath the haze of desire clouding her judgment.

She spread her legs, her breathing shallow and uneven. Drew's eyes flicked down, noting her readiness with a smirk.

"Good girl," he said, the words dripping with approval. He knelt between her thighs, his fingers skimming the inside of her knee before moving upward. Y/N's breath hitched as his touch neared her core, her body tensing in anticipation.

And then, quite suddenly, he stopped.

"Wait," he said, his voice firm.

Y/N blinked up at him, confusion and frustration warring within her. "What?" she managed to whisper.

Drew's smile was wicked, almost cruel. "I need to hear you say it."

"Say what?"

His fingers pressed against her inner thigh, applying just enough pressure to make her squirm. "Tell me what you want," he demanded. "Tell me how much you need this."

Y/N's cheeks flushed crimson, her confidence faltering under his unrelenting gaze. "I... I don't know," she stammered, her voice barely audible.

Drew's expression hardened, his hand withdrawing from her thigh. "Then we're done here."

"No!" she cried, desperation clawing at her throat. "Please, Drew, I—"

"Say it," he interrupted, his voice a low growl.

She hesitated, her pride warring with her need. But she needed this, more than she cared to admit. "Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I... I need you to fuck me."

At her admission, Drew's control snapped. His hands and lips were everywhere, leaving no part of her untouched, no moment unexplored.

And within a split-second, he pushed into her, filling her completely. She gasped, her body adjusting to his size, her muscles tightening around him. Drew began to move, his rhythm slow and steady, building the tension once more. He watched her face intently, reading every twitch and moan, adjusting his movements to maximise her pleasure. It was as if he could feel every sensation she was experiencing, as if they were connected in a way that went beyond the physical.

He leaned down, capturing her mouth in another bruising kiss. His hand found her clit, his thumb circling it in time with his thrusts.

The cacophony of sounds filled the room: slick skin connecting, Y/N's breathless whimpers and cries of pure pleasure, Drew's soft moans. But to them it sounded like a symphony; a truly bewitching one.

"Y/N," Drew said her name like a prayer, his voice ragged with volatile emotions. "Look at me."

She obeyed, meeting his gaze as tears of ecstasy blurred her vision. This was it, she realised. This was what she'd been missing. The raw, unfiltered connection, the trust, the surrender.

"Don't look away," he commanded, his voice fierce but tender. "Stay with me."

She nodded, her breathing shallow as she clung to him, her body tense with anticipation. And then, as if on cue, her climax hit her like a tidal wave, her entire body convulsing with pleasure as she screamed his name.

Drew followed soon after, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he poured himself into her, his body shuddering with release. For a moment, they lay there in silence, their hearts pounding in sync.

"So," she said quietly, breaking the silence. "Not a bad way to celebrate your first Golden Globe win, is it?"

Drew let out a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Not bad at all."

Y/N grinned, lifting her head to look at him. "Good. Because I plan on reminding you about this night for years."

Drew rolled his eyes, though he was smiling. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Not a chance."

Drew shook his head, pulling her closer. "You're the worst."

"And yet, here we are," Y/N teased, settling back against him.

Drew couldn't argue with that. As he lay there, listening to her quiet breathing and staring up at the ceiling, he couldn't help but think that this was, without a doubt, the best night of his life.

(dividers by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

i had SO much fun writing this request and i REALLY got carried away XD i hope this wasn’t too long, and was exactly what you wanted my lovely :) request are going to be open for the next 24 hours so get some in if you have anymore everyone !! <3

thinking of starting a tag list if anybody’s interested? as always, hearts and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[personapeters]

✰ 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐭-𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

— frat boyfriend rafe if he turned to college instead of crime (lol)

rating: sfw — cw: a little suggestive, language

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… during the day wears his regular rich boy attire: a polo, fitted shorts, and sneakers worth more than a semesters tuition. after hours, you’ll find him casually dressed in a university branded tee that hugged his biceps oh-so perfectly, gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a backwards snapback that held his long hair out of his face — perfection.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… is supposed to wear glasses but rarely does, saying they make him look like ‘a fucking geek’. eventually, he became comfortable enough to wear them around you and only you in the privacy of your dorm, and you’d tease him about how he’s the hottest ‘geek’ you’ve ever seen.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… never lets you walk back to your dorm alone, no matter the time or circumstance. whether it be broad daylight or the middle of the night, he makes zero exceptions — he’s seen the way some of the guys interacted with the girls on campus and he’ll burn the place down before it happens to you.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… isn’t really fond of coffee unless its fully black, but occasionally brings you your favorite cream filled and sugar loaded latte when you have an early morning class, loving how much sweeter it makes your mouth taste.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… begrudgingly walks (practically drags) your drunk friends back to their dorms whenever you ask him to, though he couldn’t care less how they got home. as terrible as it sounds, he only does it for you.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… enjoys to show you off to his frat brothers but simultaneously hates when they look at you. it didn’t make sense, and he was well aware of that, but it’s true — in a ‘look how hot my girl is’ yet a ‘she’s mine, don’t look at her’ way.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… met you at the campus library, as cliche as it is. he was only there to make quick deal outside, but when he spotted you through a window as your fingers grazed the spines of the books on the shelf, he knew he had to go inside.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… loves when you wear his university branded t-shirts and hoodies, loving how they swallow you whole as your sleeping gowns or when you roll them up, paired with leggings: “fuck, keep that one — looks so fuckin’ good on you.”

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… insists on covering any and every cost that your scholarships don’t and more; books, supplies, dorm furniture, food, clothes, gas, fees, whatever. of course, you were bewildered as to how a college student had enough money to fund someone else’s life, let alone their own, but once you learned the entirety of his lengthy backstory, it all made plenty of sense.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… has gotten into his fair share of fights over you, feeling it’s mandatory that everyone on campus knows who’s girl you are and what happens when they challenge that. let it be a suggestive comment or a lingering touch, rafe’s always quick to set shit straight. typically, that type of behavior would result in expulsion, but with the cameron family’s high status and money, rafe was never actually punished for anything.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… only made it into the same university as you due to his wealth. sure, he was smart but wouldn’t have made it in without his monetary advantage. he’d often get angry and frustrated whenever doing work he simply couldn’t master, but you were like his personal tutor, reassuring him that he can, he just needs to take the time and study (with your help, of course).

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… has your schedule memorized, often casually leaning outside of your classroom with his arms crossed over his chest as he waits for you to emerge so he can shamelessly perform some p.d.a. before escorting you to your next location.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… once brought you to visit his home town on a break, the outer banks, taking you to all of his favorite spots and, hesitantly, introducing you to his close friends and family. he even explained the whole ‘pogues vs kooks’ thing, emphasizing his distaste for the latter — you honestly thought it was insane: “y’know… if i grew up here, i’d’ve been a ‘pogue’, too,” you reasoned. “yeah, well, you didn’t,” he stated stoically.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… only went to college with the plan to build his credentials, promising his father he’d soon join in on running the family business. his father was impressed to hear that, saying, “really? wow… m’proud of you, son,” hugging him firmly in a way he seldom did; all rafe’s ever wanted was to be loved and accepted by his dad, and this was his way to do it.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… is very aware of and annoyed by how other girls throw themselves at him during parties or in the halls — instead of it fueling his ego, it only angers him because he knows they can see you standing right next to him: “swear the bitch is fuckin’ stupid… like she doesn’t see my hand on your ass.”

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[luveline]

jade!! I come on hands and knees begging for more rockstar!remus with shy!reader. I LOVE THEM. how are they doing?!

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k

You fit the part, tonight. Marlene has dressed you in her clothes —you wear a dark jacket covered in gothic, skeletal linework, a skirt barely long enough to show beneath it, with black tights and tall shoes. 

Remus isn’t sure what it is about the slightly too big jacket that he likes so much. Maybe it’s your thighs on show, shadowed flanks of softness he knows too well. It could be your eyes, their ringing of dark kohl, your lengthened lashes. Perhaps it’s none of those things. After all, Remus has always loved to watch you laugh. 

James thrusts his pint against yours, a splash of his cherry cider lapping the end of the cup to seep into your lemonade. Remus is unsure if there’s anything in it of substance, but you sip it through a breathless laugh and confirm that it hasn’t changed. No harm, no foul. 

Remus taps his cigarette carton against the table out of habit. Sirius reaches for him before Remus has even split the seal, fingers pinching, pale hand expectant. Remus knocks into them with the carton and turns so Sirius can’t see him opening the box. “Thought you were off them?” Remus asks, quiet with the slower atmosphere at the table, so far from the bar. 

“Can anyone ever really be off them?” Sirius asks. 

He pressed himself into Remus’ arm, all the overfamiliarity of a best, best friend. Searching for comfort and selfish vices. 

Remus hugs him suddenly, a rough arm around the back of his head in a hold that tugs curls as he uses the other hand to slide a cigarette between his lips. “Here, you baby.”

“Fuck off,” Sirius says around it. 

Remus takes his own cigarette and shoves the box back in his pocket. Sirius lights his own, lights Remus’, and together they tip their heads back, getting a glance at the oranging ceiling and the upstairs drinking pit. 

“She’s sweet, letting Marl dress her up a bit.” 

“Makes Marlene feel better,” Remus says. 

“Yeah, it does. Reckon she and Mary will mend it?” 

Remus shrugs. The love triangle between Mary, Marlene and Dorcas is confusing. He loves them, though, so it’s a confusing he understands. “It won't be long before we find out.” 

You, James and Emmeline begin to make your way back to the table. You have two drinks each, too many for the amount of people, though none of you seem to have noticed. You’re just giggling and meandering around low chairs until you get there. 

James slams his drinks down and grabs you from the side. “My sweethearts, I return the sweethearts.” 

“Can I have one?” Emmeline asks. 

Remus passes her the cigarette carton dutifully. 

“Can I–”

“No,” Remus says. 

You squint at him. “Don’t be weird,” you say, embarrassed, taking the box when Emme passes it, sliding it between painted lips, “I’m not a baby.” 

You talk around the cigarette with the ease of practice. If there’s one thing life on the road gives, it’s addiction. Remus is thankful that you and all of your friends chose nicotine. 

“You’re trying to quit.” Remus feels the funny burn of smoke as he inhales again. “And I’m trying to help you.” 

“Same help you gave Sirius, clearly,” James says. 

“C’mere,” Remus says, opening his arm for you. “Come on.” 

You grin and weave around Emme to his side of the table, propping a drink in front of him. “For you.” 

“Thank you.” He blows smoke as far from your face as he can manage and tucks you under his arm. 

The makeup on your lips is rubbing off, a darker outlining with light insides, but it’s enough to express Marl’s taste. Remus will be happy to kiss the rest of it away later on, when James and Sirius are drunk enough to become openly obsessed with one another and leave him alone, carving out some rare alone time. 

You smoke as Remus taught you to. He remembers the day, your shaking, his chest pain, not wanting to corrupt you and yet enlivened by the way you looked trying to foster the flame at the end of it. Nicotine helps calm your nerves, which you’re often in need of, but Remus never meant for it to become a crux. He snuffs his cigarette in the ashtray and catches yours to do the same, barely two puffs in. 

“Wha–”

“Let me have a look at you,” he says. 

Your friends scoff and jeer but quickly move on. Remus catches your chin between his fingers. 

He’s not like Sirius. He couldn’t do this to any girl, can’t seduce like that, but it’s not any girl he touches. Your eyes go to swimming pleasure as he pulls you forward, edging downward to kiss you. You both taste of smoke, of drink, and it would put him off if there wasn’t something sweeter to be chased in your mouth. He kisses you like there’s no one at the table but you.

He’s had more to drink than he thinks. 

“You taste like jaeger,” you say, pulling away with cheeks he’d find hot if he were to cradle and a shy smile. 

“Do I?” 

“That’s a thousand times worse for you than those, you know.” You point at his quickly dwindling pack of cigarettes. 

Remus curls an arm behind your neck and kisses you again. James cheers, says, “Fuck, I wish Moony kissed me like that,” and Remus tries his best to ignore him, but you’re laughing. The kiss breaks.

“Just ask him nicely like I do,” you advise. 

“You know that doesn’t work!” James says, tipping his head back with a hand to the forehead. “I always ask him nicely, he just doesn’t want to kiss me. Must be something about you…” He gives a huge smile as he lifts his cider.  “Something I don’t have?” 

“Impossible,” Sirius says blithely, “you’ve everything, gorgeous boy.” 

“Something about you,” Remus echoes. 

You shake your head minutely, a silent warning. Don’t flirt with me, it says. Don’t torture me. 

“How do you want the answer?” Remus asks, sliding his arm back behind your shoulders, pulling your burning face against his neck. “I can give it to you in an essay or a list, but it’s an extensive explanation.” 

“Write it down for me.”

[crescenthistory]

Where Padfoot Lays His Head

Summary: Inspired by @thewriterghost's reblog of my last animagus!reader fic, this is just a sweet drabble of Whiskers comforting Padfoot:,)

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, your marauders/animagus name is whiskers, walburga black, black family dynamics and trauma, vaguely implied abuse, sirius spiraling into self-loathing, platonic physical affection, romantic!regulus x reader but platonic!sirius x reader is the main focus, background platonic!moonwater

Note: this is based on the same reader from Feline Touches, Sweet Like Honey and Padfoot vs. Whiskers, sirius' beloved almost-sister-in-law that he has frequent (loving) sibling squabbles with

Sirius pretended he didn’t feel the humiliation burning through his veins from his friends’ worrying looks.

Stop looking at me, stop caring so sodding much.

His internal begging was all for naught; this was apparently what he signed up for when he strolled into the train compartment that housed the largest smile Hogwarts had ever seen and his pack of make-shift slightly-fucked-up-but-lovable friends.

Most days, Sirius was grateful to the bone for the family he had been able to assemble at Hogwarts, stretching from his boyfriend to his boyfriend’s childhood best friend to his biological brother and the boys that became his brothers. However, on days that Walburga Black, the hag to end all hags, sends him a Howler berating him for leaving home over the summer, few sentiments besides anger, self-loathing and isolation remained in the young boy’s body.

When he eventually stops reeling and wallowing, all this attention would make him feel warm once more, especially when he sees they didn’t stop showering him in it even as he retreated perhaps a bit rudely from it. Right now, though, it just kept the wound open and Sirius was sure the infection would kill him this time around.

He was sure of that every time.

It became evident quickly that he would not be able to get away from his friends. James was practically glued to his side from the moment he left the Great Hall after Walburga ruined everyone’s lunch. His brown eyes were so wide beneath his glasses and Sirius was sure he could almost see tears in them as he swung his arm around Sirius’ shoulders and kept telling jokes like his life depended on it. Remus was not much better. He had learned by now not to soften his touches when Sirius was in these moods – on the contrary, harsh, direct touches helped ground him – but his hands rarely left his being, as if he would fall apart without him. Even Lily tuned down her playful banter with him, swapping it for concerned questions and checking in on him throughout the day. Sirius loved them all, but he hated it.

Even Regulus showed him more compassion than normal, though he didn’t say much. His entire being seemed to radiate I get you, I understand more than anyone, because frankly he did. Even as hearing Walburga’s voice must have rattled Regulus too, he didn’t show it, instead holding space for Sirius, carrying what was supposed to be his burden.

Humiliating. 

All of which to say, Sirius did what Sirius does best; he ran from them all, in the one form none of them would be able to hold a conversation with him in.

Padfoot had turned out to be a blessing that way. Sirius picked up on it from you, who only ever was in your animagus form when you felt particularly well or horrifically poorly. Difficult to ask how a dog is feeling, yeah? 

He laid in front of the common room fireplace, stretched out in a position that showed he was ready to pounce should anyone try to pet him. Around him, his friends were cuddled up on the sofas and armchairs, chattering lowly amongst themselves and playing the occasional game of wizarding chess. Padfoot had his head placed on his front paws as his gaze flickered all over the room, unable to settle. His nerves always seemed to transform with him, manifesting as the most anxious dog Gryffindor had seen.

Their stares were still on him, penetrating and with downturned frowns over their faces. Stop it, stop it, stop it. He couldn’t string too long sentences together in his dog brain – part of its fantastic appeal right now – but that sentiment remained steadfast.

You were sat in Regulus’ lap opposite the fireplace, murmuring something in his ear as you both intermittently looked at Padfoot. Your hands were playing with his hair, lips almost grazing his skin as you talked, even pressing the occasional kiss to his cheek, his jaw, his ear. Love. Padfoot loved love and he loved his little brother getting to experience it so wholly, even as he laid here, destroying the moment with the same misery that hunted any children raised by the Black family. He felt as if he was sucking the joy out of the room with his wallowing, yet he couldn’t stop himself.

Padfoot couldn’t help the low whine that escaped him at the darkness swirling around inside him. Upon fearing having to meet the gazes of anyone who caught the noise and see the goddamn sympathy and pity in them, he brought his paws up to cover his eyes, pathetically hiding within himself.

Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.

In his internal chanting, he didn’t notice when the chatter died down a bit, nor did he see the glances exchanged. He felt the footsteps reverberating through the floorboards, suggesting somebody was walking away, but he didn’t register its true implications. Leave, was all he could think. Good, leave. Go.

What he did notice to its fullest extent was when a few moments later, soft fur collided with his own as something was rubbing against him.

A bit too quickly, almost too violently, Padfoot’s head snapped up from beneath his paws to see what this intrusion was – only to come face to face with a white-and-grey cat, blinking slowly at him. His mouth fell slightly open, and he thought a complaining bark may be on its way out, but then you – Whiskers – butted your head against the side of his neck, caressing him with your feline body.

The adventures of Whiskers and Padfoot were a running joke, especially one Remus and Regulus loved to team up to tell. Whether it was chasing each other around, hunting rats – preferably Wormtail, but any would do – and mice or playing with the house elves, you two loved to conduct mischief together in the one form you could never be properly caught in. There had been the occasion where you cuddle or pet one another, but it was rare and usually unspoken, attachment growing deeper and softer without either properly addressing it. 

So, this was not necessarily out of left field, but it surprised him nonetheless. He couldn’t say it wasn’t quite welcome, though.

You had started purring as you walked up and down his body where he was laid in front of the fire, soaking up the warmth he was bathed in and oddly calming the vibrating nerves within his own body. Whenever you reached his head, you bumped your snout against his, rubbing the space between your ears all over his face.

Cats are weird, Padfoot thought. Like it.

Mere minutes ago Sirius had been surveying his friends and his effect on them intently, digging himself deeper into his self-inflicted hole. Now, his attention was captured by the much smaller animal beside him, and he didn’t see how most conversation had stopped to witness the interaction. Lily and James looked at them in almost shocked awe, both having been snapped at and ran away from when they attempted to pet Padfoot themselves. Regulus and Remus, however, sat there with soft, knowing smiles – seeing the girl they loved most go for it with no fear and comforting their favourite dog. Remus would deny it to anyone who asked, but there were tears in his eyes.

The next time Whiskers came up beside his face, you stayed there, leaning yours against his. You laid your body down over the paws Padfoot had previously rested his own head on and made yourself comfortable in a position no one but a cat could possibly conjure up. From there, you began cleaning his fur like you were his personally-assigned cat mother, licking the strands in their correct direction. When his face was too far away, you lightly brought your paw up to his snout to bring him further towards you.

Despite being placed in front of a fire, warmth didn’t truly spread through Sirius before now. When he brought his head down, he laid it on top of you and let it rest there across your midsection, careful not to hurt you, as your upper body curled around his head. You continued cleaning up his fur as you purred loudly, easing the tension from Padfoot’s poor body.

A cuddle only animals could come up with, an embrace Sirius would deny anyone today, yet like this, it just worked.

When his eyes became heavy, Sirius let them fall. You continued your ministrations without hesitation, carefully and slowly tending to Sirius face, only stopping occasionally to nuzzle your forehead further into his fur and purr even louder. 

He didn’t quite fall asleep, he rarely did as Padfoot, too alert and awake in this form, but he let himself fall into a place of tranquillity. Walburga’s harsh words seemed almost funny in their anger now, and Sirius’ own spiral was becoming a thing of the past. 

Would he still be red-cheeked tomorrow and avoid his friends’ eyes for the first half of the day? Perhaps, but they would reel him into their arms and hearts regardless. Would he sputter and fall back into his evil cycle of thoughts if anyone brought this specific moment up? Without a doubt, but that’s why they would not, at least not before he settled. 

Padfoot was suddenly safe in the Gryffindor common room. He was safe with this warm weight over his paws and beneath his head, he was safe with love being quite literally carded into every strand of fur on his body. He was safe with the hearth behind him and his pack in front of him, quiet voices further lolling him further into a state of peace.

Padfoot was safe – maybe even loved.

Across the room, Remus and Regulus had gravitated further towards one another, as theirs were the only eyes who never left the scene of cat-dog-solidarity displayed before them. 

Regulus bumped into Remus’ arm with his elbow and whispered, “He doesn’t like cats, he says?” with a knowing smirk.

The other boy huffed a laugh at that, lips remaining softly upturned. “I believe he has an exception or two to that rule.”