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hisfavegirl · 3 days ago

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Dangerous Heart - Mafia!Maegor Targaryen x Girlfriend!Reader

Chapter I.

Maegor Targaryen Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

The bed felt colder without him. You stretched beneath the silk sheets, blinking away the remnants of sleep, and reached for the other side of the bed—empty, as expected. You sighed. It was always like this.

Every morning, Maegor was gone before you woke. Whether he was in the basement dealing with those who had crossed him, or in his office drowning in paperwork, he was never here when the sun rose.

You weren’t surprised. But still, the emptiness he left behind was something you’d never quite gotten used to.

With a soft sigh, you rolled onto your side, your gaze landing on the nightstand. And that’s when you saw it—his black card, placed neatly atop a folded note.

Curious, you reached for the note first, recognizing his sharp, bold handwriting immediately.

Buy whatever the hell you want. —M.

A smirk tugged at your lips.

Of course.

Your fingers traced over the ink, imagining the way he must have written it—probably standing half-dressed, one hand fixing his cufflinks, the other scrawling out the note with that same impatient focus he always had.

Shaking your head, you picked up the card, turning it between your fingers. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this—left you his limitless credit card like it was nothing, an unspoken order for you to indulge yourself. And you would.

A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. If he thought he could keep you occupied with unlimited spending money while he was off handling his business… well, he wasn’t exactly wrong.

You stretched once more before finally pushing yourself up, letting the silk sheets slide off your body. The morning light cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the luxury that surrounded you—the dark marble floors, the expensive chandeliers, the view of the city skyline beyond the glass walls.

You reached for the phone on the nightstand and sent him a message.

I’m taking this as an apology for leaving me alone in bed.

A minute passed before your screen lit up with his response.

I don’t apologize.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could reply, another message appeared.

Spend wisely.

You smirked. Oh, I won’t.

For a moment, there was no response. Then, finally—

Brat.

You laughed to yourself, tossing the phone onto the bed before making your way to the bathroom. If Maegor wanted to play this game, you’d happily make him suffer for it.

After all, he was the one who had given you a blank check. And you were going to enjoy every second of spending his money.

The day had been indulgent, extravagant—just the way Maegor liked you to spend his money.

You had taken your time, strolling through the mall with an air of effortless confidence, slipping in and out of every high-end boutique that caught your eye. Silk dresses, designer shoes, limited-edition handbags—all of them now yours, their glossy shopping bags dangling from your arms like trophies of conquest.

Of course, with how much you had accumulated, it wasn’t long before you had to call in two of Maegor’s men to carry your bags. They followed obediently, silent shadows in black suits, their presence a constant reminder of whose woman you were. No one dared to look at you the wrong way. No one dared to approach.

And yet, despite the thrill of spending, despite the satisfaction of knowing Maegor would see the charges later and smirk at your defiance, your steps slowed when you passed by a jewelry store.

It was the diamonds that caught your eye.

Large, shimmering stones displayed in pristine glass cases, their brilliance reflecting the warm lighting. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings—each more breathtaking than the last. But it wasn’t those that made you stop.

It was the rings.

Your eyes locked onto one in particular—a solitaire diamond, elegant yet bold, set in platinum. A ring meant to symbolize forever.

A ring you would never wear.

Your fingers clenched slightly around the shopping bag handles, your once playful smirk fading into something softer, something almost wistful.

You knew what you were to Maegor. His lover. His obsession. The woman he spoiled, the woman he ruined in the best ways. You belonged to him in every way that mattered—except one.

No matter how much time passed, no matter how many nights he spent with you, no matter how fiercely he held onto you, Maegor Targaryen was not the kind of man who married.

You had accepted that a long time ago.

And yet, standing there, staring at something you would never have, you couldn’t help but feel the smallest twinge of sadness.

“Miss?” One of Maegor’s men stepped closer, his voice cautious.

You blinked, shaking yourself free of the moment.

With a sharp inhale, you pushed the thoughts aside, replacing them with your usual confidence. You turned away from the display and flipped your hair back, casting the bodyguard a cool, effortless smile.

“Nothing,” you murmured. “Just looking.”

And with that, you kept walking.

Because that’s all you could ever do—look, but never touch.

Not when it came to this.

The weight of luxury hung from your arms, glossy shopping bags filled with the finest silks, heels that would never touch anything less than marble floors, and jewelry that sparkled under the golden lights of the mall. It was enough. More than enough.

And yet, as you handed off the bags to Maegor’s men, instructing them to take everything back to the penthouse, you felt… unsatisfied.

“I’ll go to Maegor’s office later,” you murmured, adjusting the strap of your purse. “I have one more stop.”

The guards hesitated for only a second before nodding, knowing better than to question you. With that, you turned on your heels, heading towards the salon.

A change—something new. Maybe that would make you feel better.

The scent of expensive shampoos and scented oils filled the air as you stepped inside. The moment you were recognized, the staff rushed forward, their smiles wide, their voices eager. They knew who you were. Knew better than to make you wait.

As you were guided to a plush chair, fingers already working through your hair, offering you a glass of champagne, your mind wandered back to the jewelry store.

Back to that ring.

Back to thoughts you had no business entertaining.

You could almost picture it—Maegor standing behind you, his hands on your hips, pressing a velvet box into your palm. His voice, low and commanding, telling you he wasn’t asking, he was telling you—you were his, in every way possible.

Your lips curled slightly at the fantasy. It was almost laughable.

Maegor did not propose.

Maegor did not do tradition.

He claimed you the moment he decided you were his, and that had been the end of it. There had never been a need for rings, for ceremonies, for whispered vows of forever. He was not a man who needed the world to recognize what was already his.

And yet…

The thought refused to leave you.

What if, one day, he did?

What if, instead of slipping his gun into its holster every morning, he slipped a ring onto your finger? What if, instead of leaving you a black card, he left you his name?

What if, despite everything, he saw you as more than just his possession?

You exhaled slowly, shutting your eyes as gentle hands worked through your hair, combing through the strands with practiced ease.

It would never happen.

But the fact that you were thinking about it at all—that was dangerous.

Because wanting something Maegor wasn’t willing to give?

That was a weakness.

And weakness had no place in his world.

The champagne in your glass suddenly tasted bitter.

You had been sitting back, letting the salon staff pamper you, their hands working through your hair, their voices soft and professional as they suggested styles. It was supposed to be relaxing. It was supposed to be a distraction.

But then your phone lit up.

I have a meeting. Don’t wait up.

That was it.

No apology. No explanation. Just a simple statement, like you were a doll to be placed on a shelf until he decided to pick you up again.

You inhaled sharply, your fingers tightening around the stem of the glass.

Typical.

It was always like this. Maegor’s world revolved around power, control, and business—his empire came first. You knew this. You had accepted this.

But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

With a quiet scoff, you picked up your phone and turned it off without replying, dropping it into your bag with a little more force than necessary.

Fine. Let him have his meeting.

Let him come home to an empty bed.

Let him wonder where the hell you were.

You weren’t going home tonight.

A slow smirk curled your lips as you leaned back into the chair, tilting your head slightly as the stylist continued working on your hair.

If Maegor thought you would sit around and wait for him like an obedient little housewife, he was sorely mistaken.

Let him search for you. Let him lose his mind.

After all, you belonged to him, didn’t you?

Well, now he would have to prove just how much that meant.

The city lights flickered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the luxury hotel suite, casting long shadows across the pristine white sheets as you stretched out on the bed. The silence was almost deafening. No distant hum of Maegor’s voice, no sound of him pacing in the other room while on a call, no weight of his presence filling the space.

And that was exactly what you wanted.

You had taken every precaution to make sure he couldn’t find you tonight. A fake name at check-in. Payment in cash. Phone turned off and buried at the bottom of your purse.

He wouldn’t be able to track you, not through his usual means.

Good. Let him suffer.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling, the events of the day replaying in your mind. The shopping, the ring, the frustration that had simmered beneath your skin ever since you left the jewelry store.

It wasn’t just about tonight. It wasn’t just about the meeting. It was about everything.

About the way Maegor always expected you to be there, waiting. About the way he took and took but never gave the one thing you had realized you wanted.

Commitment. Permanence. A place beside him that wasn’t just defined by his possessiveness.

And yet, no matter how much time passed, no matter how fiercely he held onto you, there had never been a promise.

Just nights filled with passion, days filled with indulgence, and a bond that neither of you ever dared to put a name to.

Your chest tightened.

Damn him.

You turned onto your side, squeezing your eyes shut, willing yourself not to think about him.

Not to wonder what he was doing.

Not to imagine the moment he realized you were gone.

Would he be angry? Would he tear apart the city looking for you? Would he storm into the penthouse expecting to find you, only to be met with silence?

Or—

Would he not care at all?

You exhaled sharply, pushing that thought away before it could sink its claws into you.

It didn’t matter.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, Maegor would have to live without knowing where you were.

The moment Maegor saw that his message had been read but ignored, his patience snapped.

The conference room fell into tense silence as he abruptly stood, his chair scraping against the marble floor. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to him, wary of the storm brewing behind his expression.

“Continue without me,” he said coldly, already pulling out his phone as he strode toward the exit. His men didn’t question him. They knew better.

The moment he was out of the building, he called you.

Nothing.

Straight to voicemail.

His grip on the phone tightened.

Again.

Straight to voicemail.

His jaw clenched. The muscles in his neck strained as his heartbeat pounded against his ribs, an unfamiliar tension crawling up his spine.

He wasn’t just angry.

He was livid.

Maegor had given you everything. His name, his wealth, his loyalty. He had made it clear that you belonged to him, that no one else would ever have you. So where the fuck were you?

He got into his car, tires screeching against the pavement as he sped through the city, ignoring every red light, every blaring horn. He needed to see you. Now.

The moment he arrived at the penthouse, he knew something was wrong.

It was too quiet.

Too empty.

His footsteps echoed through the vast space as he moved from room to room. The closet was untouched—your clothes were still there, your perfumes still lined the dresser. But you weren’t here.

And that was unacceptable.

With a sharp breath, he pulled out his phone again, this time dialing one of his men.

“Find her,” he ordered, his voice dangerously calm. “Now.”

“Yes, sir.”

He ended the call and threw his phone onto the couch, his hands clenching into fists. His mind raced, replaying every interaction from the past few days.

Had he missed something? Had he done something?

And then, as the anger simmered beneath his skin, realization struck him like a blade to the gut.

You were punishing him.

For what? The meeting?

Had it been the final straw?

His eyes darkened as he exhaled sharply. Fine. If you wanted to play games, he would let you. But make no mistake—he would find you.

And when he did, you would learn that no matter how far you ran, no matter how well you thought you could hide... You were his.

The air in Maegor’s office was thick with tension. His men stood in a rigid line, their gazes lowered, their breathing careful, their bodies taut with the kind of fear only he could instill.

Another hour had passed.

Another hour where you remained unfound.

Another hour where Maegor’s patience—what little of it he had left—was crumbling into nothing.

"Useless," he spat, his voice dangerously low, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand. The expensive crystal cracked under the pressure, shards falling onto his desk as whiskey dripped between his fingers.

Not one of them dared to move.

Not one of them dared to speak.

His jaw clenched, fury pulsing through every muscle in his body. You had never done this before. Never disappeared without a word, never shut him out so completely. And the worst part? You planned this. You knew exactly what you were doing when you left.

Fake name. Cash payment. Phone off.

It wasn’t just defiance, it was a challenge. A test of his control and that? That was something he could not allow.

"You have ten minutes," he growled, voice filled with lethal intent. "Find her, or I start putting bullets in heads."

The men scattered.

The door slammed shut behind them. Maegor exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, his pulse hammering against his skull.

Where the fuck were you?

Meanwhile, across the city, you lounged in a grand marble bathtub, bubbles swirling around your skin, the scent of jasmine and vanilla filling the air.

A flute of champagne rested between your fingers, condensation dripping down the glass as you tilted your head back, letting the warmth of the water soothe you.

The city lights outside your hotel window flickered like distant stars, and for the first time in a long time—you felt free.

No expectations. No demands. Just silence. Just peace.

You took another sip of champagne, swirling the golden liquid in your mouth before swallowing, a slow smirk tugging at your lips. Maegor was probably losing his mind by now.

The thought sent a satisfied shiver down your spine. It wasn’t often that you got to win against him. It wasn’t often that you got to deny him anything.

And God, it felt good.

You giggled to yourself, setting the glass aside as you stretched your legs, enjoying the warmth, the luxury, the knowledge that somewhere—somewhere—Maegor was furious.

Let him be. Let him burn. After all, he always said you were his. Now it was time to see just how far he was willing to go to prove it.

The roar of the engine echoed through the empty streets as Maegor slammed his foot on the gas, his grip on the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. The city lights blurred past him, neon signs flashing like ghosts in the darkness, but his mind was focused on one thing and one thing only—

Finding you.

His jaw clenched, his breath heavy, his entire body pulsing with barely restrained rage.

Another call.

Straight to voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

“Fucking bitch!” he roared, slamming his fist against the dashboard, the leather creaking under the force of his anger.

This wasn’t a game.

This wasn’t funny.

You were his. His woman. His everything. And yet, here he was, driving through the city like a madman, calling you over and over again like some desperate fool, while you were nowhere to be found.

His men were fucking useless.

Hours had passed, and still, they had nothing.

Every hotel. Every penthouse. Every club. Every goddamn luxury boutique and spa in the city—nothing. How? How the fuck were you hiding from him? Maegor’s chest heaved, his mind clouded with fury.

And underneath it all? Something worse. Something he refused to name. Because what if? What if this wasn’t just a game? What if someone had taken you? What if someone had dared to touch what was his?

The thought sent ice through his veins, his breathing turning ragged. No. No one would be that stupid. No one would dare.

But if they had— If someone had dared to take you from him— He would burn this city to the ground to get you back.

His phone rang. One of his men.

“Tell me you have something,” Maegor growled, voice sharp as a blade.

“N—Not yet, sir, but we’re still checking—”

He ended the call without another word, his fury boiling over into something dangerous. Then, as he turned a sharp corner, his eyes flicked toward the towering hotels lining the boulevard.

Luxury.

Privacy.

Secrecy.

His hands tightened on the wheel.

A slow, menacing smirk curved his lips.

“Found you."

With one last press of the gas, he sped toward the nearest hotel, his pulse steady, his rage sharp.

Because you could run.

You could hide.

But there was one thing you had forgotten—

Maegor always, always got what was his.

Maegor’s steps were silent but heavy with purpose as he strode through the grand lobby of the hotel. The moment he entered, every employee froze.

They knew him.

They knew better than to waste his time.

One glance��one sharp, cutting look from his dark eyes—and the concierge was already typing frantically on the computer, hands trembling as they searched the registry.

"Room number," Maegor said, his voice calm. Deadly.

"Y-Yes, sir. The penthouse suite—"

That was all he needed to hear.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the private elevator, his presence so commanding that no one dared to stop him.

The moment the doors slid shut, his fingers twitched at his sides.

Finally.

After hours of chasing, of searching, of losing his goddamn mind—

He had you and you? You had no fucking idea.

You sighed in pure bliss, stretching your limbs across the vast bed, your skin bare except for the delicate lingerie that barely covered anything at all.

The city lights flickered outside, casting a soft glow across your body as you let yourself sink into the expensive silk sheets, a lazy smirk curving your lips.

Maegor still hadn’t found you.

Perfect.

You had won this round.

You knew he must be going insane right now—probably yelling at his men, punching walls, maybe even setting things on fire. And the thought of it made warm laughter bubble up from your chest.

Let him search.

Let him suffer.

Tonight, you belonged to no one but yourself. You reached for the glass of champagne on the bedside table, but before your fingers could touch it—

The lock clicked.

Your breath hitched.

Your body froze.

The air in the room shifted—the warmth of the suite now coated in ice as a familiar, commanding presence seeped into the space. You barely had a second to react before the door swung open, revealing the one man you both loved and feared in equal measure.

Maegor stood in the doorway.

Silent.

Still.

Deadly.

His suit jacket was gone, his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the coiled tension in his muscles.

His face was unreadable, but his eyes—

His eyes burned. Not just with rage. Not just with possession. But with something darker. Something merciless. Something unchained.

Your lips parted, your heart pounding as he slowly—slowly—closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing like a gunshot in the silence.

He took one step forward.

Then another.

Your body heated under his gaze, your breath shaky as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, the delicate lace of your lingerie doing nothing—absolutely nothing—to hide the way your chest rose and fell beneath his hungry stare.

Still, you tilted your chin up in defiance, a lazy smirk playing at your lips as you teased— "You found me, huh?" Maegor didn’t answer.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

Then—

He moved, faster than you could react.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat as he grabbed your ankle, yanking you down the bed until you were beneath him, his broad frame towering over you, his hands caging you in.

"You think this is a game?" he growled, his breath warm against your lips, his rage barely contained.

Your heart raced, your body thrumming with anticipation, but you still had the audacity to smirk.

"Wasn’t it?" you whispered.

A dangerous mistake.

Maegor’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured—

"You think running from me is fun, sweet girl?" A shiver ran down your spine. He chuckled—low, deep, predatory.

"Then let me show you just how much fun we’re about to have."

Your breath hitched as Maegor's strong hands tore at the delicate fabric of your lingerie, the lace giving way under his force with a sharp, ripping sound.

"Maegor!" you gasped, glaring up at him as you grabbed at his wrist. "That was new!"

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t care.

His chest rose and fell with controlled fury, his grip possessive, his entire body tense as he loomed over you, eyes dark and unreadable.

"You think this is funny?" he rasped, his voice low, dangerous.

Your lips parted, your heart pounding as he pinned you beneath him, his sheer strength caging you in.

"Maegor, I—"

"You laughed," he cut you off, his jaw clenching. "I was out there losing my goddamn mind, thinking someone had taken you, thinking—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "And you were fucking laughing?"

Your smirk faltered.

Because now, up close, you could see it.

The exhaustion. The restraint. The terrifying edge of a man who had been seconds away from burning this entire city to the ground for you and you knew. Knew that for all his cold brutality, for all his dominance and control— He had been afraid for you.

A pang of guilt settled in your chest.

"Maegor," you whispered, reaching up to touch his jaw, your fingertips brushing against the sharp lines of his face. "I didn’t mean to—"

His hand caught your wrist, tight. His lips parted—like he wanted to say something—

Then—

He kissed you. Fierce. Demanding. Almost punishing. A raw claim. He kissed you like he wanted to brand you. Like he needed to remind himself that you were real, that you were here, that you were still his.

And you let him.

Your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, your fingers threading through his thick hair, pulling him even closer.

His growl vibrated against your lips, a warning, a promise.

"You," he murmured between kisses, his hands trailing down your bare body, gripping, claiming, owning. "You drive me insane."

You gasped as his lips traveled down your throat, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

Your fingers clutched the sheets, your breath still uneven as you lay beneath Maegor, his warmth still lingering against your skin. The remnants of his anger had settled, replaced by something quieter, something heavier.

But his gaze never left you.

Those sharp, piercing eyes studied every inch of your face, the way your lips parted slightly, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. He was waiting.

And you knew exactly for what.

"Talk."

A simple command. Deep. Unyielding.

You exhaled slowly, turning your head to meet his stare.

"I…" You hesitated. How could you even begin to explain it?

His jaw ticked, his patience fraying. But before you could even find the words— he scoffed.

"I already know."

Your brows furrowed.

His expression remained unreadable, but his fingers trailed down your arm, a slow, measured touch that sent shivers down your spine.

"My men tell me" he murmured, his voice dangerously calm. "Standing outside that jewelry store."

Your breath caught.

His eyes never wavered, dark and unreadable.

"You were looking at the rings."

A single sentence.

A truth you hadn’t expected him to voice.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed in a way you hadn’t when he had stripped you bare just moments ago.

"I was just looking," you murmured, attempting to sound nonchalant.

But Maegor only tilted his head, unimpressed. "Liar."

Your chest tightened.

He shifted, his hand gripping your chin, tilting your face up so you had nowhere to look but at him.

"You think I don’t know you?" His voice was low, almost a whisper. Dangerous. "You think I don’t see the way your eyes lingered on those rings?"

Your silence was answer enough.

Maegor sighed, shaking his head before press his head over your shoukder ,"You can buy as many rings as you want," he muttered. "You know that."

You closed your eyes, frustration building in your chest. "It’s not about the rings, Maegor."

His jaw clenched, his entire body tensing.

"Then what?"

You hesitated.

"You know what," you whispered.

His silence was deafening and then— "You want a wedding."

Your throat tightened you didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

Because he already knew.

A slow, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. "You think I can give you that?"

Your fingers curled into the sheets, your heart pounding.

"You think a man like me can stand in front of a fucking priest and pretend to be normal?"

"Maegor—"

"I kill for a living," he cut you off, his voice sharp, laced with something raw. "I run an empire built on blood and power. I have enemies who would slit your throat just to see me suffer."

"I know that!" you snapped, sitting up fully now, your frustration boiling over.

"Then why the fuck do you want to tie yourself to me?" His voice rose slightly, his own anger bubbling beneath the surface.

"Because I already am, you idiot!" The words hung between you, raw and unfiltered.

Maegor stilled.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.

"I don’t need a priest, or a fucking paper to prove what we are," you whispered. "I just… I just wanted to pretend. Just for a second."

Something in his expression shifted. Something you couldn’t quite read. Maegor exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair before muttering,

"Fucking hell." You looked away, suddenly feeling exposed, but then— his hand gripped your chin.

Firm. Unwavering.

Your eyes snapped back to him. His expression was serious, but his grip tightened as he lifted your hand, pressing it flat against his chest.

"Listen to me," he murmured.

You did. The steady, unrelenting beat of his heart beneath your palm.

"You belong to me," he said, his voice low, his tone absolute. "With or without a fucking ring, you’re mine."

Your breath caught.

"And I don’t need a goddamn wedding to prove that." A lump formed in your throat. But then— his thumb brushed over your knuckles, his next words quieter, almost hesitant.

"But if it’s what you want…" Your lips parted slightly.

He exhaled, shaking his head. "I’ll think about it."

Your heart stopped. For a man like Maegor, those words weren’t just empty promises. They were everything.

And for now— That was enough.

The moment was quiet now, the earlier storm of emotions settling into something softer, something undeniably real. Maegor rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm and steady, his eyes shut as if savoring the feeling of you in his arms.

He said nothing.

But he didn’t have to.

You felt it in the way his fingers curled around your waist, in the way his body relaxed above yours, as if finally at ease after hours of restless, frantic searching.

Your chest tightened at the realization.

"You were really scared, weren’t you?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. Maegor inhaled deeply, his grip tightening slightly, but he still didn’t open his eyes.

"You have no fucking idea," he murmured.

Your heart clenched at the rawness in his tone. Slowly, gently, you lifted a hand, letting your fingertips trace along his jaw, feeling the tension that still lingered beneath his skin.

He melted into your touch.

The Maegor the world knew—the ruthless, unforgiving crime lord—was nowhere to be found in this moment.

Right now, he was just a man. A man who had been terrified to lose you. A small, fond smile ghosted your lips as you let your thumb graze his cheek.

"I’m sorry," you murmured.

His brows furrowed slightly, his forehead still pressed against yours.

"You should be," he muttered. "You almost fucking killed me tonight."

A chuckle escaped your lips.

"That’s dramatic."

Maegor finally opened his eyes, sharp and piercing, but there was something else there too—something vulnerable, something he never let anyone else see.

"I don’t give a shit," he muttered. "You scared me."

Your heart ached.

"I know," you admitted softly.

He sighed, shifting slightly before flipping you over, pulling you flush against him so that your head rested against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, strong, but still slightly erratic. You pressed your palm against it, feeling every beat, every silent emotion he refused to voice.

"You’re never doing that again," he said, his voice firm, allowing no room for argument. You exhaled, your fingers lightly tracing patterns against his skin.

"I won’t," you promised.

Maegor remained silent for a moment before bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your knuckles.

"Good." You smiled. The world outside could burn for all you cared. Right now, this was all that mattered.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

#hotd imagine #hotd #mafia maegor #maegor x reader #maegor smut #king maegor #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #hotd headcanon #hotd modern au #modern hotd #house of the dragon #house targaryen

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hotties4gojo · 2 days ago

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i’m now realizing that literally like. 3 of you know about The List of my upcoming fics that I plan on posting here so I thought I’d share some of my WIP list!! ofc this isn’t EVERYTHING on my WIP list (this is only 12 of them) but these are some of the fics I’m working on <3 oyabun gojo and the first tattoo artist geto will probably be the first two I post but welllll we’ll see

1. In which tattoo artist Suguru talks so sweet and showers you in praise while doing the nastiest, freakiest, non god honoring things to you. (fem!reader)

snippet: He pulls out, cockhead drooling like a dog pining after a bone, and you whine at the loss. You’re plenty wet enough from cumming twice already, but, well… without a word, he allows saliva to pool in his mouth and Suguru crooks his neck to properly angle himself over your back.

Beneath him, you bend like a cat in heat, muscles visibly quivering beneath your sweat-slicked skin that isn’t covered by your dress as you try to mindlessly push back against him, profanities absorbed by the pillow your mouth is pressed into. You’re petal-soft beneath his hands; you unfurl like one, too.

Suguru doesn’t spit— he parts his lips, letting a glob of saliva roll down his tongue slow and molasses-like until it snaps and splatters where your cunt draws him in, long sooty eyelashes fluttering in expected surprise at the cool temperature of it. You hiss, shuddering. That’s when he slowly feeds the rest of his inches back into you, stirring the frothy honey pot of saliva, cum, slick.

“Nasty fucking freak,” you manage to rasp around a moan that comes out quaky at the drag of Suguru’s cock piercings against your tender inner walls.

2. In which you and Satoru get drunk and nasty in the bathroom at a college party. (fem!reader)

snippet: It doesn’t seem to end. Satoru’s shoulders shake and he laughs himself fucking sick, to the point that it makes his vision swim and he teeters. Oh, he’s gone. The man is finished. He can barely stand without wobbling, let alone undress.

”Sweeee—“ A hiccup interrupts him, “eeets. Need y’r help with m’pants. ‘Slike— ‘slike made of butter or sumthin’, dunno. Pleaseee, need ‘em off,” Satoru whines pathetically between giggles as he tries to hump against you like a dog in heat. He’s beyond drunk on love and alcohol.

3. In which Satoru firmly denies that he’s in love with you, his childhood best friend— when he actually has been for his entire life. (gn!reader)

snippet: It bothers him more than he’d like to admit. Because fuck, Satoru wishes he could call you his. Each reminder that you’re not makes him feel weirdly sensitive, so he just smiles sharply and waves it off. It’s worse when you laugh whenever someone brings it up.

You’re the first person he’s ever taken along on an overseas trip with his family as a plus one. He’s the first person you’ve ever taught how to carve a pumpkin. They’re each other’s many firsts.

(He wishes you had been the first person he was ever intimate with.)

You’re his first crush, too. Of course you are. He’s been hopelessly, awfully in love with you since they built a sandcastle together that fateful first day on the beach and you announced that they’d ‘share’ the mini bedroom (which was impossible). Still, little Satoru had flushed a bright red and took great interest in the seagull stealing someone’s chips.

But Satoru can’t just upturn their friendship with his own selfishness. No way. He firmly buries all thoughts of that with the occasional hookups with randos or short-lived relationships.

It’s best this way.

4. In which Oyabun Satoru and his wife, one of his secretaries, get down and dirty in his office. (fem!reader)

snippet: Looking down at you through long white lashes that flutter like the first snowfall of winter, his gaze is a mix of playfulness and appreciation in its rawest form. Satoru has to admit, this view is far more pleasant than any spreadsheet that he was pretending to give his attention to before you strode in.

Your perch on his desk gives you an air of sophisticated dominance that makes his cock give a very interested twitch in his trousers that he can’t help. Sue him for being horrendously attracted to his wife. Though he towers over you by a mere head due to the slight height advantage that his desk gives you, there’s no doubt that he yields completely and utterly to you. His brain conjures up an image of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. Glorious and championing above the rest of them; victorious.

Woof, he thinks unintelligently.

5. In which tattoo artist Suguru’s roommate has been borrowing his clothes and he’s struggling with the feelings that come with it. (fem!reader)

snippet: You always look so cozy in his clothes that you look more natural wearing them than he does. His brain tends to bluescreen whenever he spies you in them, his thoughts unhelpfully providing frankly delusional and unrealistic scenarios where you’re wearing them because you’re dating him and take comfort in your ‘boyfriend’s’ clothes.

Those thoughts are dangerous enough on their own. But combined with the images that flash through his head of what you look like beneath his tops, which he remembers vividly from the day he pierced your nipples where you not only took your shirt off but he touched your bare skin with his gloved fingers, too… they’re lethal.

Personal boundaries are blurring more than usual. Though it’d be smart to draw a line in the sand and bar you from taking his stuff, Suguru can’t bring himself to do so. Not when seeing you in his clothes secretly flusters and warms him at the same time.

Letting you continue to borrow them is harmless. Surely.

6. In which you and Satoru become parents in their fourth and last year at Jujutsu High. (fem!reader)

snippet: One of his biggest solaces is that it won't always be like this— the constant exhaustion, the anxiety. Someday, they'll find their footing and learn how to balance it all. When you and Satoru graduate, they won’t have to stay in their cramped dorm with their bed in one corner, a crib in the other, and the tiny kitchenette full of baby bottles, sweets, and instant ramen. He’ll buy them all a nice big house with a backyard for Satoshi to play in.

(Being a father at eighteen years old, a partner, a student, and the strongest sorcerer all at once is an overwhelming balancing act. But he can't let it show. He has to be the unflappable Satoru Gojo, the man who can handle it all with a smile. He just hopes he can keep it together long enough to give his family the life they deserve.)

7. In which you, the CEO of your own company, get pregnant via artificial insemination— and your younger personal assistant, Satoru, fights for his life because he happens to love milfs. (fem!reader)

snippet: i have no presentable lines rn tewbehones

8. In which you put Satoru in his place as you shouldddd! (fem!reader)

snippet: "Ohhh fuck, your cunt is— it's s-so fucking good," Satoru slurs out, his words running together in a watery stream as he drowns in his girlfriend's perfect pussy. His fingers dig into the meat of your ass, spreading your cheeks wide and using his grip as leverage as he pumps up into you. "I need to cum so bad, sugar, please say I can. I'm your good boy, right? I've earned it, haven't I?"

9. In which Satoru realizes he’s about to lose his virginity and panics. (fem!reader)

snippet: Satoru almost responds with something like ‘if I do, I think I’ll prove the human combustion theory correct,’ or ‘are you actually about to take me to coochie-land?’ or, god forbid, ‘WOOF WOOF WOOF,’ but tries for something less brainlessly desperate.

Fuck, he needs one of those Life Alert clickers.

“This corner of your bed is the perfect spot to ponder so I’m just taking advantage of this golden opportunity, sweets. I’m thinking about the systematic oppression of women so hard right now,” Satoru tries as he nods sagely, as if to convince himself of his own bullshit. He stares at the wall while nervously bouncing his leg.

CEO sugar daddy Suguru and sugar baby reader mini series:

10. installment 1/4: In which CEO Suguru meets you in a bar, offers to be your sugar daddy, and eats you out in the bathroom while they discuss a contract— all in one night. (fem!reader)

snippet: Perhaps you notice the wedding bands on their fingers just as Suguru has, or maybe you value yourself too much to associate with, frankly, greasy and sleazy looking pursuers. Whatever the case, you have self respect and charm in heaps. That’s something he likes.

Suguru supposes it wouldn’t hurt to try his hand at wooing you. He has nothing to lose and everything to gain— that, and he’s most certainly not gonna let that sweetheart, all pretty face no waist, get snatched up by some loser.

11. In which you, the heir to the throne, and your first ever concubine Suguru teach your second and newest concubine, Satoru, the ropes. (fem!reader)

snippet: Suguru sits up, his kimono, embellished with silvery moons, sliding off of one of his elegant shoulders. “I am here to play witness to, and aid in, your introduction to the duties of a concubine. But I did not think it would be… you, of all people, to walk through those doors.”

Throwing a tantrum without actually throwing a tantrum, Satoru kicks off his sandals and marches towards the bed. He plants one knee on the cushy edge of it, ignoring Suguru’s soft hiss of “have you no respect for Your Highness’s space?” and points at the other concubine.

“Hah? What’s that supposed to mean, you stiff-necked prude?” Satoru jabs snidely.

12. In which you and Satoru babysit your niece for the day. (gn!reader)

snippet: Satoru squats as you lead Mei to him, folding himself into something smaller and kinder for her, legs bowing out like a frog’s and blue eyes level with her round ones. You release her hand and she fidgets as she takes him in, murmuring a shy, “hi.”

“Hey, Mei. Those are some nice shoes you’ve got there,” he tells the four-year-old, internally crying and punching the floor because ohmygod those tiny little booties are killing him. Mei breaks out into a toothy grin and Satoru really does nearly punch the floor, but restrains himself as to not spook her (and invite your ire).

“We’ll have lots of fun today while your mama Sagiri is busy, okay?” He sticks out his pinky, wiggling it a little when Mei blinks curiously at him until she interlaces their pinkies in a promise. Her finger is so tiny around his, all bite-sized bones and squishy chubby skin. He beams, then peeks up at you, jokingly mouthing ‘we soooo need to steal her from your sister.’

#mommm aisha’s yapping again #I made a New Year’s resolution to finish at least one fic per month even if they’re short so… sucks in a breath…#defo posting smth this month to make up for NOTHING in January 😭😭#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #geto x you #satosugu x reader

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lorbanery · 11 hours ago

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Oh! We were just catching up on "Um, Actually" last night on Dropout and they did a second episode of all kids media trivia, and one of the contestants reminded me of the episode that is one of the most obviously written For The Parents, "Baby Race".

The episode is Chilli telling the story of how Bluey learned to walk, so we flash back to baby Bluey rolling over earlier than the literature says to expect it (this is an actual milestone for babies, have the muscle strength, coordination, and spacial reasoning to be able to roll over onto their back or stomach on their own). Chilli gets very cocky about Bluey rolling over so early, especially with everyone around her being all "Oh my goodness I've NEVER heard of a baby rolling over THAT early!".

Cut to her mother's group and in the middle of getting more praise about Bluey rolling over really early, Judo's mother, Wendy, exclaims excitedly that baby Judo is sitting! Again, another real life milestone, being able to sit up on their own without falling over.

Chilli gets kinda jealous and spends some time trying to get Bluey to sit up too, and as soon as Bluey can, they get to the mothers group only discover that Judo is crawling.

Chilli gets kinda jealous and spends some time trying to get Bluey to crawl. It doesn't work, Bluey finds other ways to get around. Chilli worries that there might be something wrong with Bluey so takes her to the doctor, who reassures her that Bluey's fine.

But Chilli's gotten how quickly Bluey's hitting these milestones all tangled up in her head with how good of a parent she is. So every time Judo hits a new milestone and Bluey doesn't, or every time Bluey sort of hits a milestone sideways (she eventually crawls, but only crawls backwards, which is also real! Our kid pretty much only crawled backwards until they were able to walk), she gets worried she's doing something wrong and checks in with her doctor again.

Eventually Judo takes her first steps before Bluey has even started crawling forwards, and Chilli takes it so hard that she stops going to the mothers group. She started off thinking she was doing so well as a parent, only to see someone else she perceived as doing better than her, and every shred of confidence she had just crumbled. She must have been doing something wrong, because her kid seemingly stalled out on hitting those milestones, or at least slowed down, and of course development is perfectly linear and those age guidelines are set in stone and not a general rough guide about the oldest age to expect the milestone to happen, right?

So one of the other mothers, Bella, notices that Chilli isn't at the mothers group and, concerned, comes over to check in on Chilli. Chilli admits to her that it just feels like she's been doing everything wrong. Bella shows Chilli a photo of her family, which surprises Chilli. Most of the mothers in the group are new parents like Chilli, because of course those are the parents who are most likely to need the support of a group like that, and it's good for kids who don't have siblings at home to socialize with. It turns out, though, that Bella has nine kids, including Coco, the baby she brings to the group.

Bella sets a hand on Chilli's shoulder and tells her seriously, "I've got something to tell you." Chilli asks "What?" already feeling really self-loathing about her own parenting skills and wary about what this person who has so much more experience parenting is going to tell her. But Bella just smiles and tells her, "You're doing great." And Chilli breaks down in tears and they hug.

And if that wasn't enough to make you tear up as a parent, the episode actually ends with Bingo asking if Bluey ever learned how to walk (because she's four and it's hard at that age to connect A to C). And as Chilli answers, "Yes! In the kitchen, actually," we flash back one more time to the moment Bluey took her first steps, crawling backwards into the kitchen and seeing Chilli working at the counter. "The kitchen?! Why in the kitchen?!" Bluey exclaims as baby Bluey starts pulling herself up on a cabinet. "I don't know!" Chilli laughs. As baby Bluey starts taking her first shaky steps, the camera switches to Bluey's POV, looking up at her mom, and we hear Bingo suggest, "Maybe you saw something that you wanted." Then Chilli turns and we see her shocked smile as she sees Bluey walking towards her.

There is so much genuine sincerity packed into that show. And that is why parents love it so much.

In Australia we have this cartoon for toddlers called Bluey. It's very good, models positive family relationships well and teaches good practical and emotional lessons to very young kids. But what I have recently learned on youtube is that Americans are OBSESSED with it. Why. This might be the most interested the US has been in Aussie tv since Neighbours.

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demonixoverlord · 1 day ago

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dunno if im late or nuthin but this took me a couple weeks to do cough @quartztwst for the uhhh... *flips through papers* .. no yandere au yeaahhh (i might do myself / my yuusona as well, im debating it haha)

magic level ^^^ he's pretty good in general, with his strongest being more.. phenomenon ish? (ref: this post ig) he'd probably be a rival, only due to the fact that he tolerates Azul and doesn't condone murder lol (might change? idk)

Q/A questions under cut

Does your OC have parents or family in the AU? If not, what is their current living situation?

He lives with his parents in a pretty nice house near where his parents work (aka S.T.Y.X cough) and tends to walk with Idia to school (most likely forcibly lol)

What are their thoughts on Quartz? He finds her interesting, although a bit sceptical because he can tell somethings fishy with how she talks about Azul and acts around him. He does try to see if she's doing alright on occasion, worried if she's masking due to personal issues, issues at home, etc.

What is their thoughts and relationship with Azul? How did they meet Azul?

Macarius is positively neutral about Azul, admiring him for his status but also judgemental about his tactics. Since Macarius tends to help Idia a lot or just stay nearby for social support (we all need someone to speak for the introverts lol) he met Azul at the end of one of the council meetings, and again at clubs. Due to seeing Azul often at clubs, he's gotten to know him slightly better.

Your OC stumbles upon a dead body a few feet outside of the school. Do they report it? Immediately. He first of all wants justice for the victim, but he also doesn't want the enviroment nearby to smell of rot. (lol)

Why does your OC like their crush?

Growing up knowing Idia from their parents working together, he grew closer to Idia and admired him for his skill. Aside from that, Macarius slowly came to the realization that he likes boys as well, more specifically Idia. Of course he doesn't entirely know why or how, especially due to his ex-girlfriend pretty much ruining his expectations of relationships, but he's coping through it.

Since reputation and popularity are kind of different, is your OC popular in and outside of school?

He's pretty neutral standing outside of school, being known for his community garden attempts (he's probably still trying lol). In school however? He somehow became the person lots of first years come to, and has been told he's attractive (he, of course, doesn't believe these often haha)

How social is your OC? Do they stray away from crowds? Macarius doesn't exactly hate crowds, but he wouldn't choose to be in a large one (events being exceptions) since lots of people tend to overwhelm him (and Idia, who he's more worried about :P)

Which TWST character does your OC believe should have more admirers than Azul? He's actually surprised by the amount Azul has, considering Vil also has an admirer hoard, but he isn't complaining since he's happy for Azul in some way. However, Macarius is glad there isn't too many after Idia, considering it'd probably overwhelm him and he'd have to force him to leave his house haha

What are their relationships with other characters/OCs? Shin ( @liyuviq ): "Clever. I admire their persistence. Not everything is a case, however." Macarius likes to consider being their friend, however he doesn't exactly want to push anything, so he doesn't say much about it haha Shuu ( @oya-oya-okay) "Surprisngly sweet. Her hair reminds me of orange lillies." He finds her entertaining, and admires her kindness. He hasn't talked to her as much unless its in passing periods or in their shared class(es) so he makes the effort to try checking in on her from time to time just to be polite. To new / first years, some consider him to be a big brother to them, showing them their classes and helping them navigate the school until they have the hang of it. What grade/year is your OC? 3rd year (18), same as Idia. (he's only a few months older than Idia) Your OC notices Quartz carrying a weapon in her skirt pocket. That's strange since the female school uniforms don't have skirt pockets. Does your OC report this? He doesn't at first, thinking he was seeing things. After a few more times, he quietly told Riddle about it, unsure if he wanted to go as far as school officals yet. Your OC is being framed for murder of another student by Quartz, how does your OC react to that? Does your OC know it's Quartz? Macarius would be probably very surprised and hurt, but still respectful about telling others that it wasn't him. Unless he knew more, he wouldn't have much of a hunch on Quartz without infomation.

What is your OCs goal for the school year or in life? He wants to start a school community garden, using technology to help the advancement of plants and agriculture without harming them.

Where is your OC usually with or at during school? Classes? With Azul? Skipping class? Where do they eat lunch? Macarius is normally with Idia during passing periods or classes they share, as well as lunch. However, he occasionally tutors at lunch (which makes Idia nervous since he sits with him haha) or examines the school's yard(s) in an attempt to plan out a future garden somewhere.

How are your OC's grades? Almost always A's or B's, with the occasional C if he's confused on a subject. (such as English)

Which elimination tactic is preferred to use on them? *shrug* What are your OC's weaknesses? Are they easily manipulated? Easily overpowered by? He's only easily manipulated if he's close to them, especially relationship wise (i.e. his exgf) which is why he tries to keep some people at arms length. For weaknesses, he's pretty neutral on most unless its about Idia (cough very protective cough) or needles (he doesn't enjoy them haha)

Any drama, traumatic story for your OC in the AU? i mean, eh? you can check his lore page if you wanna take that and mush it with this I dunno

#skye rants #skyes art #twst #twst wonderland #twst oc #twisted wonderland #disney twst #no yandere sim au #twst au #twisted wonderland au #fan au #macarius grieves #ignihyde oc

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itsnesss · 1 day ago

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Anthony and Lawrence reader first time and getting caught by the dads

𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 | anthony larusso × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | lawrence!reader, intimacy (implicit/not overly graphic), first time, strong language, family tension and awkward situations

word count | 1.9 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You never imagined that your life would turn into a series of unfortunate events in a single night. What started as a special moment ended in the worst possible scenario: trapped, naked, and under the gaze of two of the most terrifying men in the Valley. But to understand how you got here, we have to go back a few hours.

Anthony Larusso had never been someone who caught your attention. To you, he had always been "Daniel Larusso's younger son," the kid who used to be a nuisance and who, years later, had changed. He was no longer the annoying child who got into trouble for fun; now, he was someone you shared jokes, movies, and, to your surprise, feelings with.

There was something about his awkwardness that you found charming. Even though you were the daughter of Johnny Lawrence, a man who preached "Strike first, strike hard, no mercy," you found something different in Anthony: sweetness, patience, and a contagious laugh that managed to disarm you.

It was an impulse. A moment when the two of you were alone in his room, the dim light casting soft shadows, and a movie playing in the background that neither of you was paying attention to. You didn't know who made the first move, but before you could stop to think, you were already kissing him. And then, the kiss turned into something more.

"Are you sure you want this?" Anthony asked, his voice a little shaky, his dark eyes filled with nerves.

You could have backed out. You could have thought about the consequences. But at that moment, there was only one possible answer.

"Yes."

The outside world disappeared in that instant. There were no pressures, no expectations, just two people learning together, discovering what it meant to give themselves to each other with clumsiness and care. Every touch was a reminder that this was new, but also that they were exactly where they wanted to be.

There were whispers filled with laughter, inevitable blushes, and mistakes that made both of you pause and try again with nervous smiles. But in the midst of it all, there was something undeniable: love in its purest, most innocent, and real form.

When it was over, Anthony was silent for a moment, his arm around your waist as you both caught your breath.

"That was…" he started to say, but then fell silent and let out a small laugh. "I have no idea what to say."

You turned to look at him, finding in his eyes the same gleam of disbelief that you felt in your chest.

"I think it was good," you whispered with a small smile.

"I think so too."

Your fingers were still intertwined with Anthony's as you both lay there, sharing a knowing look. His breathing was steady, but his heart was still pounding beneath your cheek. You couldn't help but smile.

You never imagined this would happen today. Not here, not now. And certainly not like this.

Anthony turned slightly, watching you with a mix of tenderness and wonder. His messy hair fell over his forehead, and you couldn't resist reaching up to push it back.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a whisper, his voice still trembling.

You nodded, feeling a pleasant warmth in your chest.

"Yeah… and you?"

"Yeah," he replied with a goofy smile. "I think so."

You both laughed quietly, unable to believe what had just happened. It had been clumsy, sweet, imperfect in so many ways, but absolutely special. Something that would belong only to the two of you.

Or so you thought.

Just as you were snuggled against Anthony, your heart still racing and a sense of tranquility settling in after the whirlwind of emotions, you heard the worst combination of sounds in human history.

First, the front door opening.

Second, the unmistakable voices of Daniel LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence.

"Thanks for driving me, Johnny," Daniel said. "Amanda and Carmen are out, and I didn’t want to leave Anthony alone for too long."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Johnny replied. "The kid’s probably watching his video games or whatever he does in his free time."

Silence.

Then, the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs.

And then, Anthony's bedroom door bursting open.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Johnny shouted so loudly you thought the windows might have vibrated.

You had never moved so fast in your life. In the blink of an eye, you were desperately searching for something to cover yourself with while Anthony panicked beside you.

"Dad! I… this isn’t…!"

"Anthony?!" Daniel’s eyes were so wide they looked like they might pop out of his face. "What are you doing with her?! Oh my God! Are you two…?!"

"Oh, for the love of—" Johnny grabbed his head with both hands, his face a mix of horror and fury. "Tell me this isn’t what I think it is!"

"Dad…" you started, hoping to calm him down, but the tone of his voice told you he was in no mood to be soothed.

"Are you telling me I trained you just so you could do THIS in Larusso’s house?!"

"Why is that your problem here?!" you shouted, feeling both offended and in a situation so ridiculous that you almost wanted to laugh.

"Because it’s Larusso’s kid!" Johnny pointed at Anthony, who was still trying to wrap himself better in the sheet, looking like he wanted to disappear. "Anyone else, but not one of them!"

"Hey!" Daniel protested, snapping out of his initial shock. "As if your daughter is some kind of saint!"

"That’s not the point, LaRusso!"

"Of course, it is!"

"No, it’s not!"

Anthony buried his face in his hands and muttered, "I’m going to jump out the window…"

You sighed.

"Dad, listen, this… this wasn’t a mistake. Anthony and I… we like each other."

Johnny looked at you, his face still red with anger.

"That doesn’t make it any better!"

"You can’t stop us from seeing each other," you said, crossing your arms.

"Oh, yes, I can!"

"No, you can’t," Daniel chimed in, looking just as disturbed as Johnny. "Because that would make this even more of a problem."

Johnny glared at him.

"Are you saying I should just accept this?!"

"No!" Daniel looked at Anthony with the same level of indignation. "I’m just as disturbed as you, trust me!"

"Can we talk about this with clothes on?" Anthony asked in a barely audible voice.

Johnny and Daniel shouted at the same time, "NO!"

After half an hour of yelling, threats, and painfully awkward speeches about "responsibility," "maturity," and "impulsive decisions," you finally managed to convince your dad that this wasn’t the end of the world. Daniel, on the other hand, was still in a state of denial, muttering things like, "Amanda’s going to kill me," and "This can’t be happening. My son… my baby."

Anthony, still red with embarrassment, glanced at you after the adults finally calmed down a little.

"Well… that was horrible."

You gave him a small nudge on the arm.

"It could have been worse."

"How?"

"It could have been at my dad’s house."

He was silent for a moment before murmuring, "Yeah, you’re right. Johnny Lawrence would have killed me on the spot."

You couldn’t help but laugh.

#cobra kai #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai series #cobra kai x you #anthony larusso cobra kai #anthony larusso #anthony larusso x reader

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scribbleseas · 3 days ago

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in love & in war, drabble 5: the one where he begins to understand you

Description: Join Ciel, the Earl of Phantomhive, as he embarks on one of the most difficult challenges of his professional life: getting you to fall in love with him in order to become the next chairman of TransAtlantica—your father’s vast shipping empire.

Warnings: none!

Author’s Note: hi! i have nothing to say for myself except, i'm trying my best lol. i'm so sorry for the delay, this ended up being so much longer than i expected. i hope you all like this one! i had a lot of fun writing it. next stop (hopefully): wanted dead or alive, chapter 1! assuming i don’t change my mind and premiere the other new fic i’m working on and surprise ya’ll. who knows, right?? suspense is fun lol. anyway, thank you for reading!!

Happy Reading!

Dan <3

⇐ PREVIOUS DRABBLE | NEXT DRABBLE ⇒

MASTERLIST

Regent’s Park, London, 1895

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

Ciel arrived at Regent’s Park far earlier than he should have, but he would have otherwise been a fool to risk arriving after Adam Kingston did.

He had to be in control. It was imperative to maintain Lady Y/n’s attention, and he was decently assured that they would both be in attendance today. No one with an exclusive invite would miss an Edward Sutton exhibition—the grossly affluent man picked a new engineering project to sponsor every year. He accepted applications from engineers and funded the fruits of their imagination and labor into reality, oftentimes developing these innovations into businesses. Each year, he’d host these outdoor exhibitions, turning them into social functions to make the most of his publicity.

This time, Ciel supposed Sutton chose some engineer who made an advancement with hot air balloons. Something about changing the burners that fueled them. Ciel didn’t particularly care for engineering—Sebastian suggested he allow Y/n explain it to him, anyway, it made her feel confident—but there was something to be said about annual sponsorship programs. TransAtlantica was nothing without its charitable pursuits, and Lord Richmond and Edward Sutton were old friends.

Nevertheless, it was another tiring, unfortunate outdoor social gathering that Ciel had to grit his way through. Even worse, this event came just on the heels of that cursed Grand National race a little less than a week ago. He hadn’t seen Lady Y/n since—he’d failed to secure another invitation from her at the end of the race because he’d been so livid. Her face had been overshadowed with something between pity and regret, smoothed over by a smile that would have fooled anyone unacquainted with her. Ciel had to make a quick escape to avoid making an ass of himself.

Kingston’s appearance wasn’t her doing, it seemed to have been at her mother’s hand, Ciel reminded himself. He took a long drink out of his sherry cobbler cocktail, the sour wine undercut by hints of orange. Ciel needed the beverage’s cold reprise before she showed. It was going to be soon, and he needed his mood to improve before that happened.

Ciel settled next to a high table, one of many near Sutton’s outside bar and banquet table crowded with hors d'oeuvres. It was an open cocktail bar; therefore, bound to get busier as more guests joined, so he thought to request one for Lady Y/n, too. She might appreciate the thought—Sebastian did say she liked fruity wine selections.

The sun was beating down on the Earl hard, and he was positive his dark hair absorbed the light and made him warmer. At least there was a notable breeze, a strong one that pushed through his heated hair and dried up the beginnings of perspiration on his face. Ciel’s nose wrinkled at the scent of freshly cut grass and the lingering scent of gasoline. Down the field, Sutton’s engineering team fussed with the giant hot air balloon. The massive balloon bobbed, but each person held a rope to tether it into the ground.

“Everyone is arrivin’ early! Hurry up and secure it already!” One of the workers snapped, hurriedly looking up as more guests entered the field. It was just about time for the prompt noble families to start showing up: in tandem with the exact time printed on their invitation.

Ciel could handle this. He’d planned and prepared for this event. Adam Kingston was no one but a husk of an entirely prosaic man. It didn’t matter that he was more acquainted with the Y/l/n family than Ciel was. Once Y/n spent longer than a moment or so with Kingston now, she would realize he was no conversationalist. She and Ciel were intellectuals. He was a soldier. A cocky, over confident son of a—

“Lord Phantomhive, good afternoon.” Lady Y/n sounded nervous behind him.

The moment he heard her voice, Ciel urged his scowl to fall from his face. Sebastian had condescendingly coached him about the abrasive expression he wore time and time again. Apparently, Ciel’s frustrated glare and impatient purse of his lips made him appear dour and sanctimonious. So he took a long drink out of his chilled cocktail before he turned around, urging the tension out of his shoulders.

A man Y/n would want to love was patient and understanding. Not dour and sanctimonious. The future chairman of the foremost shipping country in the United Kingdom, and perhaps most of Europe, thought before he acted.

Y/N Y/L/N

Lord Phantomhive was slow to face you, likely occupied with the sight of Edward Sutton’s group of sponsored engineers struggling to re-tether their giant gas balloon to the ground. It was quite a sight, though you hoped the engineers didn’t rush the important process of reliably securing it down.

“My Lady,” Lord Phantomhive answered easily, meeting your gaze confidently in spite of the discourteousness that perspired the week before. He was nursing a cocktail, just as most of the young men at the gathering were. It was hot enough outside to justify it, you supposed. An untouched cocktail stood on the high table next to the Earl. “How do you do?”

“Quite well, thank you,” your answer came out more hurried than you wished. Unladylike. You pursed and released your lips, they slid easily from the light lip rouge on them. Your gloved hand tucked a stray strand of hair back behind your ear, it fell free from the braided bun Daphne twisted your hair into. “I apologize for last week…I—” your breath stalled, unsure how to verbalize that your mother hijacked the outing without your consent. As a young girl, your etiquette master never covered a situation like this.

Speak with intent. “I was not as informed as I would have liked to have been. And I apologize because…” I should have been.

It was your fourth time meeting the Earl in any official capacity, and yet your mouth still felt dry with unspoken words, embarrassment. He drew such wariness and uncertainty from you—not at all like most eligible men your age. You’d never felt so unsure of yourself in front of someone, but you simply couldn’t know what to make of him.

“My Lady…” Lord Phantomhive acknowledged your apology, but he didn’t entertain it. He seemed to accept it with a diminutive shake of his head, dismissing your guilt. He offered you the untouched cocktail to his right, and you took it with thanks. Your fingers brushed against Lord Phantomhive’s bare hand in the exchange. The drink was a peace offering and an invitation to talk longer, you hoped, so you stepped forward to stand at his side and watch the engineers secure the balloon.

He must have thought to request a drink for you. And a tasteful sherry wine selection, at that. You could tell by the smell of its fruity fragrance—you adored sherry wine.

“Here to see Sutton’s new toy?” Lord Phantomhive asked, a ghost of a smile lifted the side of his mouth. “I certainly am.”

“Of course. My father reviews Mr. Sutton’s applicants with him every cycle,” you answered with a thankful smile, appreciating the way the cold glass felt through your lace gloves. You turned to gesture at your parents engaged in a vibrant conversation with Edward and his wife, Maria.

“Right,” Lord Phantomhive nodded. “This hot air balloon has an adapted burner or–” he stopped himself, immediately catching the way your eyebrows drew together. Your mouth opened and closed because you wanted to interject, but immediately thought better of it. “You may correct me, please,” he told you with false exhaustion. He took a purposeful drink out of his cocktail, gesturing at you to explain the project’s significance.

You laughed, ice in your drink clattering against your glass as your shoulders bounced. “Come. I can show you,” you guided Lord Phantomhive down the green field. As you walked together, you explained, “Mr. Sutton’s team devised a gas balloon filled with hydrogen. Hot air powered balloons are unreliable because there is no device that can efficiently regulate the heat, which controls the balloon’s altitude. Hydrogen gas, meanwhile, is easily adjustable and eliminates the need to maintain a steady fire.”

“How would they manage to get the hydrogen inside?” the Earl asked you, indicating that he was actively listening. So few truly listened to you…it was considered unladylike for you to jabber on, but he asked! He asked you. He could have asked one of the engineers—they were each answering questions and engaging with other guests—or even Sutton himself...but he waited. For you. With a drink—a selection you liked.

Most of the guests stood around the balloon, a few too many people close to its swaying tethers. You pointed to the balloon’s open bottom, “they fill it with pipes that funnel the hydrogen through—they make the hydrogen with sulphuric acid and iron filaments.”

“Fascinating. The gas inside is lighter than the material outside, so it rises…” Lord Phantomhive mumbled, looking intently at the craftsmanship. The balloon itself was red, blue, and white, the colors of the British flag.

“Did you know that they used hot air balloons in the Civil War? In the States?” you asked, taking a drink out of your cocktail. Your throat seized uncomfortably when a familiar blond inserted himself between the gas balloon and you and Lord Phantomhive.

“Indeed they did, Lady Y/n. Indeed they did,” Lord Kingston’s voice made you pause.

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

Ciel’s first mistake was allowing Lady Y/n to relocate them closer to the heart of the event. If Adam Kingston was going to be anywhere, it would be working the room. Or the lavishly decorated field, in this bloody case.

“Hello, Y/n. You look breathtaking on this fine and flawless day,” Kingston greeted disingenuously, pointedly ignoring Ciel. He seemed to have just stepped out of a conversation with Leonardo Sutton, Edward’s son, and a few other heirs Ciel didn’t care to identify. “I was hoping to see you here. We never got to speak the other day.”

Ciel had just opened his mouth to tell Y/n that no, he hadn’t known that, and the slimy bastard took the opportunity to insert himself in the middle of their conversation. Shameless. Shameless. Instead, Ciel merely watched Adam Kingston, his snake-like green eyes illuminated in the sunlight, the glare making them appear paler. He dressed plainly in a white shirt, brown trousers. A ruby family ring sparkled on his finger and another gold signet ring on his other hand with the number 32, his regiment number from South Africa, or something like that. Sebastian took Ciel through a decent two hours of reconnaissance about the guy.

A man like Kingston will aim to get a rise out of you my Lord. You must not allow him to make you a fool, Sebastian had reminded Ciel when he stepped out of the carriage that afternoon.

He will not make me into something I am not, Ciel had insisted.

“Thank you, Lord Kingston,” Y/n answered sheepishly, red blooming in her cheeks. Adam’s compliment seemed to land, and Ciel wasn’t blind to the way his gaze risked downwards, certainly not interested in her simple diamond necklace, but most definitely the way her light sage gown looked on her body. The subtle floral print on it was a delicate shade of baby pink. Her neckline dipped slightly down, leading to a small bow towards the bottom of her sternum. The shape of this particular gown hugged the curve of her waist and fell down her legs in ruffles. The wind made her skirts hike up slightly, exposing hints of her matching pink heels and pushing her hair about. She had it arranged in an elegant bun typical of her, but much like the beachy wind on the pier, the gusts on the field pushed strands out.

She did look good, objectively.

Y/N Y/L/N

Your etiquette master certainly never covered this type of social crisis—Lord Kingston watching you as if Lord Phantomhive wasn’t even there, and Lord Phantomhive examining you as if Lord Kingston’s comment suddenly gave him something to consider.

Facing each other, they were an artistic sight, too. Lord Phantomhive’s dark and intense look directly contrasted by Lord Kingston’s traditional princely charisma made for such a marvel. Particularly as their gazes met—stern and unforgiving blue against easygoing, mischievous chartreuse.

Kingston crossed his arms over his chest casually, lifting his chin and staring down his nose.

Each man was silent too, expecting the other to introduce himself first. They were unwilling to take the introductory step because it was a vulnerable position, and they were of the same peerage rank, Earls. Had one of them been lower, the burden of introduction would have been yours. But judging by the tense silence…it was yours regardless.

It would be worse to hold two separate conversations concurrently, you decided. You presumed your etiquette book would agree. So you would introduce them.

“Lord Phantomhive, this is Lord Adam Kingston,” you urged yourself to sound calm. Perfectly well—not as if you were wishing to escape. Not as if your throat was threatening to close. “Lord Kingston, this is Lord Ciel Phantomhive,” you said.

“Good to meet you,” Lord Phantomhive said first, extending his free hand to shake Adam’s. He took a slight step forward, but Lord Kingston did not step back as anyone else would have. “You’re the fellow who took the Grand National home, aren’t you? What impeccable luck for a soldier.”

Luck. From the way Lord Kingston’s seafoam eyes hardened, the word and its implications were far from lost on him. His fingers intertwined with Lord Phantomhive's in a single terse shake before releasing. A tad too hasty.

“Guilty,” Kingston said with a dry laugh, one you could tell he didn’t mean. “And you sell children’s toys and confectionery. How delightful,” Lord Kingston simpered. Your eyes immediately darted to Lord Phantomhive’s face. You held your breath, your grip on your glass tightening.

You were sweating. You wanted to use your panic signal with Daphne, but there was no good that would do. It wasn’t a dangerous situation. It was only…excruciating.

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

So Adam did his research about Ciel, too. Good to know.

“Quite. Funtom has been rather fortunate to have outperformed in every quarter this year,” he answered seamlessly. Adam Kingston was not going to attack his company and flirt with the woman Ciel was clearly courting right in front of him. For the second time. Over his mutilated, dismembered, corpse.

“God forbid the little boys and girls go without their stuffies, right?” Adam teased. It would have appeared good natured to anyone else, but Ciel knew better. Lord Kingston was the worst type of man—-too immature to obey proper courtship ordinances and wait his bloody turn.

He will try to make you look uncaring and aloof. That is his game, Sebastian had insisted. Make him look childish when his jabs fail to land. Remember who you are there for.

Ciel could handle a catty, flirtatious nobody. He was here for himself and his future prospects. TransAtlantica was not an option; it was an inevitability.

So Ciel, with his own dry laugh…that was also clearly, far from genuine, let Adam’s comment roll off his back. There was no use in another retort. It’d be too inflammatory and juvenile.

“My Lady, you were saying that the Americans used gas balloons in their Civil War? You were just about to tell me,” Ciel reminded her. He didn’t even cast a glance at Adam. Although he was truly there for himself, everyone else had to believe he was there for her. This was a clever display of partnership. He would help Y/n diffuse the situation and seemingly set his pride aside in doing so.

But, this decision would favor him in the end. She would appreciate it—he could see it in the way her shoulders dropped.

Y/N Y/L/N

Immediately, your shoulders relaxed. Your next smile was easier to construct because Lord Phantomhive had given you such a seamless transition. Your chest had felt tight from the moment Adam interrupted you. Lord Phantomhive had understood exactly what you needed—just by reading the situation.

“I was,” you confirmed, attempting to hide the full extent of your relief. You didn’t want your old friend to assume that you didn’t want to talk to him. And you did not have the luxury of speaking without consequence, Leonardo Sutton and that group was not shy about their presence. You could hear Leonardo making some crass joke to his circle somewhere behind your back. This affair, much like most of your outings, was populated with your peers. And those of your parents.

You couldn’t appear vapid and indecisive.

Your father dedicated too much time to cultivating your knowledge for polite society to believe you were catty. What would he say to you right now? You had to fight the urge to look back at the tables situated near the bar in search of him.

“…Shall we return to our table? I can bore you with facts about reconnaissance and artillery hot air balloons, if you wish, Lord Phantomhive,” you attempted to quip, turning to him.

The transition was far from subtle, but Adam hadn’t been either in his objectives. And he had stolen your attention at the last outing. You hadn’t been fair to Lord Phantomhive, and you had to repay that. Adam Kingston could not break the standard for proper courtship processes; if he wished to declare his interest in your hand, he needed to do so properly. If you continued like this, the three of you would make a scene.

“That would be delightful,” he answered, meeting your gaze. Understanding was clear in his face, amusement curving his mouth yet again. You took a step back, indicating that you were finished with the interaction. Adam’s face fell and he took another short step closer.

“Lord Kingston, it has been lovely speaking to you, but we should be going—”

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

“To your table? I would love to try one of—whatever it is you’ve got there, they look divine,” Adam interjected, gesturing to his and Y/n’s identical cocktails. “And of course, to hear about the hot air balloons, and all. I forgot how much you like to…read,” he said, the last word flat and disdainful to his ears, but Y/n didn’t seem to notice.

Kingston wasn’t going down without a fight, but it was only to his detriment. He was maddening, but the worse he acted, the more Lady Y/n would wish him away. The gentlemanly action would have been to let them leave; both she and TransAtlantica desired someone diplomatic and rational. Socially adept.

Ciel could see Lady Y/n’s dissent in the way her eyebrows furrowed together and her mouth pressed into a politely frustrated line for a moment. If Kingston noticed, he made a persuasive effort in acting as if he hadn’t.

“I always have,” she answered as pleasantly as she could manage, observant eyes swiftly gathering that the rest of the party was invested in this exchange. Ciel could feel eyes on them. Craning necks were ever-present in this life of gilded luxury, always. If he could feel the interest of interlopers, so could Lady Y/n.

“Though…” the noblewoman started to say. Her gaze met Ciel’s, somehow asking, fretting, and apologizing all at once. Her resolve crumbled under the scrutiny around them.

The rest of the aristocracy wanted to know if Lady Y/n would truly tell her old friend to leave her be after such a grand gesture last week. Fine. Let her see how he and Kingston compared intellectually, if she wished. Fine!

“They are sherry cobbler cocktails,” Ciel interrupted seamlessly, his voice polite, verging on unctuous. The same subtly impertinent tone Sebastian took with him. From experience, he knew it was enraging. “I chose them from today’s selection. You ought to join us back at our table, Kingston. You may just learn another thing or two,” Ciel challenged as politely as his select words could manage. He made eye contact with Adam, their sight lines meeting. Ciel refused to break eye contact—even if it was to risk a look at Y/n’s reaction. He and Adam were the same height, just about, but their physical similarities seemed to end there.

Unable to deny Ciel’s confrontation, Adam reflected his chilling smile. He laughed a little, broad shoulders jumping. “With Lady Y/n? I always expect to learn something new. Ever since we were small.”

Ciel fought his urge to roll his eyes. And his urge to bury his face—now beading with sweat from the infernal sun in the damn sky—in his hands.

Y/N Y/L/N

The exchange was painful, but a surprisingly genuine show of understanding on Lord Phantomhive’s part. The Earl had caught onto your fears and made conclusions based on your microexpressions, a silent language that you’d thought only Daphne would ever know. Was this what it was like to feel the beginnings of the connection you so craved?

There was something traitorous about the hope you felt. You’d never thought girlish giddiness would feel so scandalous.

The three of you stood at the same high table. A server brought Adam a drink and with the full utilization of your charisma and social awareness, you managed to hold one terse conversation between the three of you. Lord Phantomhive even helped you navigate it, somehow simultaneously fending off Lord Kingston’s disguised slights without making a scene.

He encouraged you to speak the most, to be the focus of the interaction because the animosity between them would never improve. Everyone knew why that was: they each wanted a chance at your hand. Two of your social class’ most eligible bachelors had their sights set on you.

Or your family name and business.

You managed to rebuild your confidence by talking through the intricacies of ballooning, their history, the science. After all, you’d only fostered that knowledge in light of Mr. Sutton’s project. Although you didn’t see every application your father looked at, he did show you some of the standout pitches. Lofty businessmen approached him and TransAtlantica with new ideas nearly every day—you had to know a good idea when you saw one.

Once you found your stride, you nodded at Daphne. The maid had been sending you increasingly worried faces, but as you settled into a new topic, you knew you had this under control. You would not flail, you would not retreat.

If you couldn’t do this much, how could you ever hope to have an executive spot in your family business?

Before you knew it, the sun started to set and dinner was served with a champagne toast led by Edward Sutton and your father.

You knocked your flute of champagne with both Lord Phantomhive and Lord Kingston individually, the three of you taking a drink in tandem. Each nobleman made a point of not knocking his glass with the other.

“Interesting selection,” Lord Phantomhive commented, taking another curious drink of the champagne. “Vintage?” He asked you, lifting an eyebrow. You couldn’t discern if he was truly curious or bidding to make conversation.

“It seems so,” you answered with uncertainty, unsure without seeing the specific bottle. The champagne was strong on your tongue. The taste was complex: somewhere between honey, spice, and brioche.

“It’s rich enough to be. Not very acidic and rich on the palette,” Adam said. “I know Mr. Sutton likes 1800 Grande Cognac. He would certainly break it out for a celebration like this. Oh, Leo! Perfect. What selection is this?” He gave a bright smile to Leonardo Sutton as he approached your table, flute of champagne in hand.

The event only had about an hour or two left before it reached its natural conclusion. In theory, there might have been a way for you to complete it without another major social upset.

But unfortunately, that estimation would have required you to overestimate Leonardo Sutton. At least, he had the good sense to leave the rest of his and Adam’s friends back at their table.

Most of them disliked you, and the feeling was mutual. They’d each struck out on courtship-intended outings with you—particularly Leonardo.

“1800 Grande Cognac, why? We’re liking this selection?” Leonardo grinned at the three of you bumping his flute with Adam and drinking, the latter laughing because his guess was correct. “How are you, Lady Y/n? Lord Phantomhive?” He extended his flute to you and Lord Phantomhive.

“Just lovely, Leonardo,” you replied dismissively.

“You know I prefer Leo,” the young man smarted, as if you weren’t a noblewoman who outranked him. The Sutton family was not ennobled; they were the start of an fabulously wealthy lineage. If you married a man like Leonardo, you’d never see TransAtlantica’s boardroom ever again, much less a contract or a revenue summary…or…the thought was too horrible to bear. But that was why you would find a suitable man who loved you enough to throw social norms to the wind and honor your and your father’s wishes. The ones he fought such a long, legal battle to secure as a potential reality for you. Most women were never to engage in business or bookkeeping, but if you married a man who was the Chairman in name, you were meticulously trained to handle any of the responsibilities associated with it.

All you had to do was find a man competent and modest enough to let you. If a man courted you for the business, he would surely ignore you.

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

The light in Y/n’s eyes died when Leonardo Sutton invited himself into the conversation. Ciel’s own mood dipped lower than he thought possible, too. Leonardo was not a malicious man, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t bothersome. Like a troublesome fly buzzing around his head. The man’s voice was irritating enough to equate to that frustrating noise.

Clearing his throat, Leonardo spoke again, disliking the silence that permeated when Lady Y/n refused to engage with his tired nickname quip. He primarily drank and rode comfortably on his father’s coattails; Ciel couldn’t help his amusement at Y/n’s (evident, to him) disdain.

“They’re letting people go in it, two at a time. Not to ride—it’s too windy today—just to take a closer look inside,” he said, well aware of the implications of his words. He was attempting to imply that Lady Y/n would have to choose between Ciel and Adam, and trying to make another scene.

Did Adam put his friend up to this stunt? Ciel wouldn’t put it past Adam—not after his cattiness thus far.

“That sounds fantastic,” Kingston replied, a terrible actor. His snake eyes cut to Y/n purposefully as she lifted her glass to her lips. “They do seem like they’re...learning quite a lot in there,” he suggested, referring to the guests climbing in and out of the balloon’s wicker basket. The balloon levitated a few feet up in the air, bobbing in its fixed position through its tethers and ballast weights keeping it from floating away.

Adam’s statement was a flailing attempt to appeal to Y/n, Ciel felt. The awkward smile Adam gave to Y/n was just charming enough to make the trying statement seem thoughtful.

When he shifted in his seat at the dinner table—Sutton’s staff converted some of the casual high tables for dining tables—Ciel recalled he had a knife tucked into his trousers. All he honestly needed was ten minutes alone with Kingston, a change of clothing, and a shovel to hide the evidence.

The Earl’s fingers pressed hard around the stem of his glass, instead, longing to wrap around something much larger, and warmer. Like Kingston’s neck, for instance.

“I’ve already studied the diagrams so much I’ve practically memorized them,” Y/n explained with a short laugh, one that was completely faux to Ciel, but he doubted Adam and Leonardo noticed.

Knowing her, she was burning to take a look at the real mechanism and compare it to the diagrams from the proposal, but there was no graceful way to choose between Ciel and Adam. “I would hate to take up the time in there when someone could truly learn something,” she explained smartly, reasoning her way out of the affront.

“I feel that studying the diagrams is entirely different than seeing them up close,” Kingston tried again.

Before Ciel could help himself, he chimed in. “Some can grasp a new concept faster than others, I reckon, Lady Y/n.”

Y/N Y/L/N

Not even you could conceal the laugh that Lord Phantomhive tore out of you.

You felt a guilty sense of relief when the conversation’s focus shifted from your bemusement to Leonardo’s startling exclamation of worry, the curses that followed it. His brown eyes widened in shock, “No! Secure it, secure it!” Leonardo yelled, causing your head to jerk, looking behind your seat as two attendants struggled to pull the floating gas balloon back towards the ground… with a young boy inside, screaming and crying as the balloon ascended in the orange sky. The attendants around scrambled frantically, crying out for help to pull the balloon down by the ropes.

“We must help!” Lord Kingston insisted. He, Lord Phantomhive, and Leonardo didn’t wait another moment before charging towards the balloon. Most of the men around you did, whereas you jumped to your feet, hands covering your mouth in worry.

“This is horrible!’ You exclaimed at Daphne, breath labored as you lifted your skirts to run closer, joining onlookers as young men helped the attendants wrestle with the balloon against the wind. In the front of the crowd, a woman—-presumably the boy’s mother—-sobbed in the arms of another woman you didn’t know.

“They’re going to get him back down, Elizabeth, they’ve got him. See? Look at all the strong young men,” the woman insisted, her voice thin with worry.

You wracked your mind for an explanation. The tethering certainly seemed more than stable…the gas balloon had a number of weights on it. The wind was stronger than usual, but certainly not enough to make the balloon break free of its restrictions, surely. None of the ropes seemed to have snapped, either….what happened?

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

There was a silent, stiff understanding between himself and Lord Kingston: neither one of them was interested in fumbling this accident and appearing like halfwits in front of polite society. And Y/n Y/l/n.

“Kingston, take this! Pull!” Ciel shouted over the overlapping yells around them. He took hold of the last rope without anyone to pull it down. He offered Adam the tail of the rope as he pulled from slightly further up the rope, the rough texture making his palms red and raw. The Earl dug the short heels of his boots into the grass, engaging every bit of his strength in urging the balloon down in one of the world’s most intensive games of tug of war.

“All right, all right,” Kingston said, gaze darting between the rope in Ciel’s hand and meeting his stare, as if he couldn’t believe Ciel would let him help. Not even the Earl of Phantomhive’s ego was large enough to refuse help in saving a child. The notion was nearly offensive.

Behind him, Adam started pulling as well, slightly lessening the resistance Ciel encountered.

“Heave, men, heave!” Edward Sutton grunted, pulling a rope with Leonardo and another engineer. There were six ropes with a few men to each one, gradually tugging the balloon back down to avoid tipping it or scaring the boy even more.

Ciel gritted his teeth, his arms and the rest of his body shaking with effort. Sweat ran down his neck and the side of his spine. Ridiculous, this was, and he had a decent idea as to why it was happening, too. There was no doubt a smug demon butler in the vicinity watching his master put all of his mental and physical capabilities into romancing a young woman, and using any excuse to challenge him further.

What is your point, Sebastian? Ciel wanted to yell out.

Y/N Y/L/N

As you watched the assortment between engineers, Sutton’s help, and noblemen work in tandem to re-tether the gas balloon’s restraints, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to watching Lord Phantomhive work. His royal blue eye and raven hair were even more striking against his light grey vest and white undershirt. When the Earl focused, he seemed unstoppable. You held your breath.

You’d never seen him move so dynamically, either, save from when he pulled you out of the way of a moving carriage.

“My Lady…” Daphne reminded you gently, placing a sisterly hand on your shoulder. “You are starting at the Earl Phantomhive,” she reminded you quietly, close to your ear. The blond gestured to your mother at the front of the crowd, carefully watching your father.

Flushing, you immediately stared at the blades of grass below you. You squeezed your eyes closed, releasing the breath you were holding. How shameful. There was a child in peril and you were….

Control yourself, Y/n. Mother and father are here.

“Thank you, Daphne,” you sighed. The young woman squeezed your shoulder affectionately and released you.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for the group to gain control of the balloon, the attendants successfully re-tying it down. Lord Kingston helped the young boy down the short ladder and into his mother’s waiting arms. She kneeled in the grass, sobbing with her child close to her chest. “My baby, my baby,” she mumbled into his hair, gentle fingers running through it. Her husband, one of those pulling the ropes, embraced his wife and child on his knees, a scene that made your throat feel tight. Your eyes stung, tears threatening to run down your face. You blinked rapidly to regain control.

Love. It was love.

“You should tell him he did a lovely job, my Lady,” Daphne suggested, a little more impishly than she’d typically risk. The blonde giggled at you.

You swallowed around your dry throat, nodding twice in agreement so hard that you could feel your teardrop earrings sway.

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

Ciel’s right arm crossed his chest in a deep stretch. He was sweating more than a pig, it was miserable. He was in pain, and he would be for the next couple of days to a week for this strenuous exercise in—

“Lord Phantomhive,” Lady Y/n approached him rather than Adam, who masked his mortification by turning to Leonardo. “That was incredible.”

“It was an effort that required all of our participation,” Ciel answered as diplomatically as he could manage. He immediately dropped his right arm, disinterested in appearing weak or in pain before the noblewoman. Instead, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, certain his hair was disheveled along with the rest of him. The new pair of boots he sported had to be caked in dirt, too.

“Of course, though it couldn’t have been easy,” Y/n insisted, likely taking in how disorderly and piggish Ciel looked. There was no way his appearance was appealing in any way, and yet, she’d never had such awe in her face when she regarded him before this. Save for perhaps the first few seconds after he pulled her out of the way of that carriage—before he misspoke.

It wasn’t easy. It’s a miracle I’m still in one piece, damn it.

“I’m simply relieved we managed to help the boy,” Ciel told her, motioning towards the embracing family with his chin. The mother had yet to let go of their child or even stop crying. “And that we were there in time—what a strange accident.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Y/n agreed ponderously. “I cannot understand why the tethers would just…fail so suddenly,” she said, frowning as she looked back at the balloon. Edward Sutton, Lord Y/l/n, and the engineering team asked for the guests to return to the tables to allow them to inspect it for technical faults.

They wouldn’t find any, Ciel presumed. His butler had to have taken some creative measures to…raise the stakes. Literally.

“I’m sure they will find the cause and correct the issue,” he lied seamlessly as they started back towards their table. For all intents and purposes, the event was over. Most of the guests were too unsettled and worried to sustain the atmosphere and company.

“Absolutely,” Lady Y/n agreed. “...Lord Phantomhive? Would you perhaps consider…tea? At my home? This week?”

TAGLIST: @theblueslytherin, @luckyladylottie, @yuzu-ku, @zyrixal, @mylostleftfootsock @nanaloverz

If you would like to join the taglist, feel free to drop a comment or an ask!

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kathlare · 3 days ago

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uninvited thoughts

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando finds himself blindsided when his brother, Oliver, informs him that Amelie is attending the wedding, an event that stirs up unresolved feelings.

Wordcount: 1.1 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

April 5th, 2022 - Melbourne, Australia

Lando leaned back in his chair, taking a slow bite of his sandwich as he glanced around the McLaren motorhome. The place felt like it always did—busy, yet strangely quiet, a subtle hum of activity that only someone who had been in the paddock long enough could truly appreciate. His brother, Oliver, was sitting across from him, scrolling through his phone, and the occasional chuckle or muttered comment was enough to keep the conversation light.

—Alright, listen to this,— Oliver said, holding up his iPad and showing Lando a map of the wedding venue. —I’ve been trying to sort out the seating plan, but this thing is a nightmare. Some people just won’t stop making demands.—

Lando leaned forward, curious. —What’s going on?—

Oliver zoomed in on a section of the map where the tables were laid out. —So, we’ve got the bridal party over here, the family section there… and then the rest of the guests. Here’s where it gets tricky, there are a lot of people who expect to be seated near either me or Sav, and I’m trying to figure out who really needs to be near us.—

Lando chuckled, knowing full well what his brother meant. —Sounds like a classic wedding drama. What, they’re gonna start fights over where they sit?—

Oliver looked at him with a smirk. —You’d be surprised. Some of these people think they’re royalty. Anyway, check this out. I’m trying to make sure everyone’s comfortable, but, well...— He tapped his screen. —I wasn’t sure where to put Amelie... oh shit, i guess i forgot to tell you...—

Lando’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name. The words seemed to echo in his head as if the universe was reminding him of the thing he tried not to think about. He blinked, hoping he had heard wrong.

—Amelie?— Lando’s voice came out sharper than he intended.

Oliver looked up, his face apologetic. —Oh sorry Lando, I forgot to tell you... Amelie confirmed she’ll be coming to the wedding. I was trying to sort the seating plan, and, well, I was wondering where to put her. I didn’t mean to drop it on you like this, but—

Lando’s stomach sank. —Wait, what? Amelie’s coming? You mean, she’s coming?— He didn’t even know what he was asking, the words stumbling out as his mind scrambled to make sense of this revelation.

Oliver’s face twisted with a small wince. —Yeah, I was supposed to tell you sooner, but with everything going on, I just… forgot. Sorry, mate, I didn’t think it would be a big deal.—

Lando stared at his brother, trying to make sense of what he just heard. His mind raced. She’s coming. She’s actually coming. He had heard about Oliver inviting Amelie, but he had assumed—and hoped—that she wouldn’t show. After the mess between them, the last thing he expected was for her to show up at a family event like this.

His thoughts were chaotic. He knew Oliver had asked him about inviting Amelie, and he’d said it was fine, even though deep down, he was skeptical. He never imagined she’d actually follow through. And now, with Luisinha coming with him too, what was he supposed to do?

—Shit,— Lando muttered, running a hand through his hair. —You’re kidding, right? She’s really coming? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?—

Oliver’s expression was a mix of guilt and awkwardness. He knew how complicated things were between them. Lando had never been one to hide his feelings, especially when it came to Amelie, but even Oliver knew how delicate the subject was.

—Look, I’m sorry. It’s not like I thought it’d be a big deal. I mean, I know things ended… weird between you two, but—

—Weird?— Lando repeated sharply, before he could stop himself. —That’s one way to put it. It wasn’t just weird, Oli. It was messy as hell. She’s the last person I expected to see at a wedding. Especially your wedding.—

Oliver leaned back in his chair, raising his hands in mock surrender. —Okay, okay, I get it. But she confirmed. And now, I have to figure out where to seat her. Should I put her next to me, or do I stick her somewhere else, like… near you? I thought I’d ask you first, but you’ve been busy with the race, so—

Lando felt a knot in his stomach tighten. —Oh, god. Don’t put her anywhere near me. Don’t even… fuck, just keep her away from me. I don’t know if I can handle that right now.—

Oliver winced, realizing how serious this was. He’d seen Lando struggle to let go of Amelie after everything went south, and he had always tried to be careful when it came to her. But now? This was a whole new level of awkward.

—Right, okay. I’ll move things around. I didn’t think it would matter, but...—

Lando’s mind was spinning, and he struggled to keep his calm. He hadn’t expected to hear her name today, not like this. Not at his brother’s wedding. Not when everything was still so raw, so unresolved. The way Amelie had disappeared after they’d parted ways... it felt like it had been a lifetime ago, but in some ways, it still hurt like it was yesterday.

The silence between them was thick. Oliver knew better than to push Lando further. He’d seen his brother in a million moods, but this? This was a familiar one. A mix of confusion, frustration, and a pinch of fear. Lando’s heart was racing, his mind flooding with thoughts of her — the way Amelie used to look at him, the way she laughed, the nights they spent talking about everything and nothing. The whole mess that had been their relationship.

Finally, Lando took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He had to act normal. He had to. He couldn’t let his brother see how much this was affecting him, even though his insides were screaming.

He pushed his sandwich aside, his appetite suddenly gone. —Okay. Fine. Just... keep her away from me. That’s all I’m asking.—

Oliver nodded quickly, his eyes darting down to the iPad as he started scrolling through the seating plan again. —Yeah, I’ll figure it out. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but I just... I thought it wouldn’t be an issue. I didn’t want to make things weird. But now, uh... yeah, I’ll make sure she’s not near you.—

Lando let out a long, slow exhale, trying to shake off the anxiety that had settled into his chest. —Look, it’s fine. It’s fine. I just... I didn’t expect it, you know? I thought she wouldn’t come. But... whatever. I’ll just... deal with it. It’s not a big deal, right? I mean, she’s just... she’s just there for you. It’s your wedding. Just...—

—Yeah, Lando, I get it. Don’t worry about it, man,— Oliver interrupted, his voice a little too casual for Lando’s liking. He was clearly trying to move past the awkwardness. —I’ll make sure everything’s fine. You won’t even have to talk to her if you don’t want to. But just... relax, alright? It’s gonna be okay.—

Lando forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. —Yeah. I’m sure. Just, uh... just make sure I’m not seated next to her, alright?—

Oliver nodded again, looking relieved that his brother wasn’t completely flipping out. But Lando couldn’t hide the tightness in his chest. This wasn’t going to be easy, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to handle it. He couldn’t exactly avoid Amelie. Not when they’d be at the same event. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to face her. To see her with other people. To think about all the things they never said, all the things they’d left hanging.

His mind kept spinning, but he did his best to pull himself together. —So, uh, what’s the plan after the wedding?—

Oliver glanced up from the iPad, clearly not expecting the question. —Plan? You mean for the party?—

—Yeah, whatever,— Lando muttered, trying to sound casual as he stared at his brother, even though his thoughts were still miles away. —After the wedding. Like, is there an after-party or something?—

Oliver grinned, clearly relieved that his brother wasn’t completely consumed by the seating arrangement drama. —Oh, we’ve got a party planned. You should stick around for it. I know you don’t like all the fuss, but it’ll be fun. Everyone’s gonna be there. You can relax, have a good time, and forget about the stress of the day. Besides, it’s family. It’s your family. No pressure. You know that, right?—

Lando nodded slowly, forcing his thoughts to refocus. The wedding. The guests. The awkwardness. He’d deal with it. He always did. But deep down, he knew this wouldn’t be easy. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to confront the ghosts of his past — ghosts with green eyes and a smile that still haunted him.

—Yeah,— Lando said, standing up and trying to force some normalcy into his tone. —I’ll be there. I’ll, uh... I’ll figure it out. We always do, right?—

Oliver stood up too, giving Lando a slap on the back. —That’s the spirit. Don’t stress about it, alright? You’ve got a race to focus on. We’ll handle the rest.—

Lando didn’t respond. Instead, he just grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and walked out of the motorhome, his mind still racing, his heart still tense. He didn’t know if he was ready to face her. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be.

But he was going to have to. For his brother. For the wedding. For whatever the hell was left of him.

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a-bottle-of-tyelenol · 2 days ago

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agere five hargreeves headcanons !!

— requested by @acpola01 —

— read part one here —

— cw: trauma and food issues

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

❤️ - five had a small collection of regression gear that he scavenged in the apocalypse and, much like he went back to find dolores, he spends a considerable amount of time trying to find the exact ones that he had originally. he’s very particular because he didn’t have a lot of stuff in the apocalypse and he isn’t used to being around people who can touch and take his things. his siblings try to get him more things and he always rejects it, though he does appreciate the thought.

❤️ - little five loves explaining things to other people. he’s a boy genius and does have a genuine interest in science and mathematics. his siblings don’t understand a single thing he’s saying half the time, but they think his excited baby babbles are really cute. luther is the only one that can follow him (in certain areas) and it surprises everyone else because no one expected him to be so knowledgeable about astrophysics. every so often, five does find an interest that the rest can properly engage with him in, but it’s usually super obscure things like his strangely specific love of transportation (it started with him liking race cars and building model planes with luther as a kid and turned into him studying the bodies of cars, boats, trains, and planes throughout the apocalypse. as someone who can teleport, he thinks regular forms of transportation are fascinating and he used to love traveling the world during the peak of his superhero career).

❤️ - he cries when something breaks or when he can’t use it anymore. like I said, he’s very attached to his things (there’s even a bowl of broken watches he collected canonically in his bedroom from his personal tests and training) and he hates having to replace anything. despite his irritation at having to redress in his old uniform, it’s so familiar and it’s his so he really struggles when he starts outgrowing them— to the point where he raids the academy storage rooms for any that might fit growth spurt and he ends up with ben’s old uniforms from before he died. five’s uniforms also make him feel younger so he has trouble throwing them out. he does enjoy sleeping in clothes taken from his siblings, though.

❤️ - he often has flashbacks to the apocalypse and, in the beginning, he’d force himself back into mindset of an assassin and refuse to let it shake him. after a while of being safe and at home, however, his body starts moving out of survival mode and it hits him all at once as his brain processes everything that’s happened to him. this means that there are a lot of times where he regresses during a flashback and cries until someone notices and comes to help him. more often than he’d like, that person was grace, leaving him to clutch onto her like he would when he was a baby while she coos and rocks him. grace doesn’t understand that he regresses, she merely does as her programming dictates and it dictates she takes care of her babies when they’re upset.

❤️ - he gets a service dog (mr. pennycrumb) who helps ground him during his moments of panic and is trained to help five with tasks, like reminding him that humans do, in fact, need to eat every so often (five is used to being hungry and he often forgets to handle his basic needs when he’s too invested in something else). little five loves playing with his dog and the two of them are inseparable. he likes having mr. pennycrumb sit beside dolores so he can play teacher. more than once, his siblings have walked in on him having a VERY serious lecture about the atomic structure of different elements while being no older than six years old.

#my post #my headcanons #agere #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #tua #tua agere #the umbrella academy agere #age regression #agere fandom #agere headcanons #agere community

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sir-fenris · 11 hours ago

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Took me a little while to get to this 'cause my head was elsewhere yesterday, but I'm always here for the commmentary :D

I'm in the middle of an allergy attack and running on 4 hours of sleep, I'm gonna do my best.

Vi had lied to him, essentially. Paris was a prisoner just as long as he was here. But, as she reminded him frequently, he could leave at any time. They’d give him his sword back at the door. They’d take it away at the next base they crashed into.

Lorelai was in her element, though. She was one of them now, clear as day. There was a little medallion around her neck, the gold markings which he recognized as distinctly imperial.

So funny to see Paris thinking about his kinda imprisonment, and then Lorelai is just having the time of her life.

He indulged her. He had to. And it was good for him too, to see the last stop before leaving Empire. Some kind of closure. One last goodbye.

I love Paris "having to" do stuff, it's delightful. Especially about Lorelai.

And love closure 👏👏 I know not always it's realistic to have one, but I really enjoy closure in whump.

It was a tundra. The frozen kind, though some stages were now in thaw. It was painfully beautiful.

Ohhhh you didn't............ 😵‍💫

Only in the middle of the night, when they were already tangled in between each other’s limbs, did he realize the fever was upon him.

Own, Paris has a fever? Fucking god, he can't have one chapter of peace 🤣

“It’s my ship,” she said, the same way she ended all her arguments. “I could leave anytime I wanted. Why are you always trying to get rid of me?”

He desperately did not want to be rid of her.

Then, as if reading his mind: “You give yourself way too much credit. I wanted this too.”

Well, Paris does actually give himself "too much credit" (I would say too much guilt). but that's to be expected after everything.

He wondered if he regretted it. Really, he regretted everything.

There we go. Love love love. Whumperflies.

If she was surprised by the change in topic, she didn’t show it. He suspected she wasn’t shocked at all. Delta was on the cusp of his thoughts, all the time. Everything lead back to him. Lorelai raised one eyebrow at the new proclamation.

I need to say it.

👏HAUNTING👏THE👏FUCKING👏NARRATIVE👏

🗣AAAAAAAAAA

He didn’t mean to say that last part. Because he had killed Delta — and it had not felt kind. The ice felt colder beneath him as he went on.

Oh my fucking god, I need him metting face to face alive Delta so much, please, please, please, please.

I LOVE THE GUILT <333333

She barely reacted. He thought she might argue. Maybe he wanted her to. Maybe she saw another way out, some path that he didn’t. If he could do it all over, what would he change? Or would he always end up here — and Delta, dead on the ocean floor?

I'm......... AAAAAAAAAAAAA-

“They told me I needed to. It’s his conditioning. He needed to feel powerless, all the time, or he would stop working. I was fucking terrified of what would happen if I lost control of him, if I lost the only edge I had. I was scared of him. And I needed him.”

“I hated needing. I hated feeling like I was losing control. And that’s all I was doing, the entire time. Just losing control, constantly. Over everything. Over myself.”

THIS IS FUCKING AMAZING AAAAAAAAAA-

I'M KICKING MY FLWOWOWIRJDIAOQOKW GIGGLING

No words, just feelings. Fucking christ.

“I’m sorry, Lorelai. For everything.

I wish I could take it back.”

this is effectively the final chapter of Crash Out

paris and lorelai will return in Destroyer

I'M DYING WITH THIS OMG YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME HANGING LIKE THIS-

Just a reblog and like isn't enough for the last chapter.

Here it is the super like, super kudos, super heart of "I really liked this"

Very very excited about what comes next (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

Crash Out - Love

(Content: fever, drug mention, bruises, discussions of past abuse, guilt)

He was in and out of sleep for a long time. He remained supervised. They didn’t trust him with as much rope as he could hang himself with.

Lorelai was in her element, though. She was one of them now, clear as day. There was a little medallion around her neck, the gold markings which he recognized as distinctly imperial.

“Did you scavenge that off a corpse?” he asked.

He had meant it as a joke.

He got the distinct sense that he had killed something beautiful. Like setting a butterfly on fire. Had she been changing all this time?

And yet she didn’t leave him. She changed all the time, but that didn’t. Over the border was still the goalpost. CTRL sheltered them at most stops. She’s their own now, of course she can stay. He offered what he could — intel when he had it, labor when he didn’t, when his body allowed him to. Sometimes he merely slept, looking sheepishly at the night guard for the time they were both wasting.

The border was a stone’s throw away and she wanted to make one last stop.

He indulged her. He had to. And it was good for him too, to see the last stop before leaving Empire. Some kind of closure. One last goodbye.

It was a tundra. The frozen kind, though some stages were now in thaw. It was painfully beautiful.

She had an eye for it more than he did. He’d have followed her up into the mountains and along the frozen stream, walked the whole length of tundra ten time over. Anything. Lorelai pulled winter weeds out from the ground to press into the journal she still carried. Small, living things dashed across the dead-land. Foxes and rabbits. Owls and swans. Living things, not so unlike them. Hot blood flowed through all of them, proof they still existed. Alive.

It was her idea to break into the cabin, which to him did not seem very altruistic, but he had no better ideas. Luckily enough, it was empty, seemingly abandoned for a time. They’d get better use of it.

Only in the middle of the night, when they were already tangled in between each other’s limbs, did he realize the fever was upon him.

A real one, this time. Not induced, not even dopesick. An honest to god fever.

Paris stood up blearily, feeling some of the heat recede when he’d detached from her body, but not much. It was still bright outside, something to do with the equinox. The sky was an odd, soft color. It was freezing out, which felt nice against his flushed skin. Lorelai groaned slightly from the bed. She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself before she shuffled over to the door. At that point, he’d already stepped out.

Paris was on his knees in the snow. He pressed some of it to his face, still appreciating the contrast between the cold and the burning. It felt nice. It was strange, the things that felt nice to him now. As the last dregs of the drugs cycled out from his body, he found pleasures unmuted in their absence.

“You okay?” she called from the doorway. She was barefoot by the entrance, where the carpet was still warm.

He nodded, though he probably wasn’t. The fever was cooking his brain.

The blanket hung off her bare shoulder. He hadn’t seen it as well in the dark, but the bruises marked her skin just as much as the love bites. She’d been busy. She’d been through a lot.

“I’m sorry for dragging you out here,” he blurted out. He’d been meaning to say it for a while.

“What?” She blinked. “I wanted to come. This was my idea.”

“But you didn’t know what you were getting into. I didn’t tell you anything. It was taking advantage.”

“Did you know?”

He shook his head

“I knew it would be bad. I didn’t know it would be like this.”

“It’s my ship,” she said, the same way she ended all her arguments. “I could leave anytime I wanted. Why are you always trying to get rid of me?”

He desperately did not want to be rid of her.

“I don’t understand you.” he said. He couldn’t fathom the thought of anyone staying with him by choice. If he could’ve left himself behind, he would’ve. He’d have done it in a heartbeat.

“What part don’t you get?” she asked. It tickled him how annoyed she sounded then. Like her clarity was being taken for granted.

Then, as if reading his mind: “You give yourself way too much credit. I wanted this too.”

“This?” he laughed.

“Not all of it. I never wanted you to get hurt, Paris. I just wanted us to get out. I didn’t know how hard it would fight to keep you.”

A pause. She said:

“I had fun, though. Is that horrible to say? I had fun. I don’t regret it.”

He wondered if he regretted it. Really, he regretted everything.

When he didn’t answer for a while, she sat down on the wooden steps. The blanket shielded her from the cold contact. She lit up a cigarette, holding it delicately between her lips.

Another pause. He said:

“…You know I couldn’t have let him go, right?”

“I couldn’t just let him go,” Paris said, because he had been thinking a lot about it. “He was too dangerous. Nobody would ever let that kind of power live in peace. He would have always be wanted, always somebody’s captive. He never could have had a happy life. It’s not his fault. He didn’t do anything to deserve it. But its true. There was never any hope for him. The kindest thing to do would have been to kill him.”

He didn’t mean to say that last part. Because he had killed Delta — and it had not felt kind. The ice felt colder beneath him as he went on.

“I know I didn’t have to treat him the way I did. I’m not saying anything about that. But yeah. I never could’ve let him go.”

Clearly.

“I don’t know. That’s beside the point, now.”

“Why did you treat him like that?” Lorelai asked, leaning forward slightly onto her knees. “…You didn’t have to.”

It felt like being stabbed. But it was a miracle he’d even avoided the question for this long. She’d been patient with him, endlessly. He could afford to be honest. The fever would make it so, regardless.

“I was so angry,” he admitted.

“All the time. At everything. I couldn’t stand it. I hated my life and I hated myself. I still hate myself. The only reason I had to live was to try to keep empire running — and I didn’t even want that. It felt like the whole place was fucking diseased. There was this rot at the center of the machine. He was just the worst of all of it, the worst thing it had ever created. It wasn’t his fault. I know that, it wasn’t his fault.”

“I hated needing. I hated feeling like I was losing control. And that’s all I was doing, the entire time. Just losing control, constantly. Over everything. Over myself.”

“It just became a habit, after a while. It started with just…punishment. Then it was just because he was there. Because I could.”

He was acutely aware of how cruel the word punishment sounded in his mouth. He was aware of how absurd it was, without any of the false authority he’d once put behind it. Who had he thought that he was? He’d never had the right.

He forced himself to look up at her, scared as he was of what he’d find. The scars of his body ached in the cold.

“I’m sorry, Lorelai. For everything.

I wish I could take it back.”

~~~~~~~

this is effectively the final chapter of Crash Out

paris and lorelai will return in Destroyer

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @whump-queen @sir-fenris

#Destroyer's universe #my eyes don't want to stay open but I can't sleep for another 10 hours or so AAAAAA #why must allergy also make me feel sick and sleepy ugh #bleh #but really really excited to what comes next #my mind is kinda misty now I'm gonna go take a water #thank you for writing to us <33 #Destroyer's universe: comments

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