#despite what the reblogs of this will look like

[arabellasleopardcoat]

You have no idea how your reblog made me cry. I had forgotten I had written this fic (It's the second I posted, and you can tell by the quality of it) and you caught me in an especially sensistive day. When I wrote it, the only thing I intended was to tackle consent issues in Westeros with a kind partner, and it was right after I watched the episode where Aemond went looking for Aegon in the brothels. The way my skin crawled! Of course men can suffer it too, and I was glad to see it on screen, but I knew they probably wouldn't do it justice, which prompted me to write this. The butchered treatment they gave it in S2 (One could argue the opposite point too, considering it may as well be him going back to his groomer, yet they didn't tell or show that, did they?) vindicated me.

I have never read the ASOIAF books, and I stopped watching the show after the first season, because it was that triggering to me. The amount of violence towards Dany, Brienne, the casual cruelty of men like Tywin and Joffrey, it was enough to kill me a little.

The start of HOTD wasn't promising either. While it depicts sexual violence in a subtler manner, it is still there. Aemma and the horrible opening scene, Alicent and even Helaena and Aemond at some points have made me cry. I have also cried reading fics from these fandoms (Fem!Jon Snow has so fiercely disgusted me sometimes by the things they do to her I have not stopped thinking of it for days) and I found I didn't have the heart to write violence that aligned so much with what I myself suffered. For some readers it can be interesting or freeing, the same for the writers, and I am not here to judge. But it is not for me. And it will never be. I am aware that my writing might not be for everyone either, it's why you will see my fics always properly tagged, and exageratedly so. It is also why I have left other fandoms, which are centered around violence even more than this one.

I just wanted to write what I needed to read at the time. It is also why I will always hold some degree of empathy for show Aemond, despite knowing he is a war criminal. I am interested to see how his relationship with Alys will develop.

To hear that my fic has touched your heart for its themes, and that you didn't think me silly or something for not portraying him as some sort of insensitive, evil person who is absolutely unfeeling means more than you know.

Anyway, sorry for traumadumping (More like ranting) on you. Thank you for reading and for feeling so touched by my words you decided to let me know.

Death in four moves (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Queen Alicent is starting to notice your lack of pregnancy. You discuss it with your husband, and come out a stronger marriage because of it.

A/N: No one dies in this one, guys. Just quoting Tyrion. For a more detailed warning, click read more and scroll until after the dots.

Warnings: Fluff. Discussions of SA, sex, erotic novels, infertility, miscarriages, and pregnancies (None actually happen in the fic)

Catapult /ˈkatəpʌlt/

noun

a forked stick with an elastic band fastened to the two prongs, used by children for shooting small stones.

In Cyvasse, a catapult can take out a dragon.

“It’s the third month you bleed.” Queen Alicent said, with a hint of disapproval. She had perfected just the right amount of passive aggressiveness when being nosy. Your eye twitched slightly. You understood now the resentment Princess Rhaenyra held for her, with your sheets being examined by the Queen daily, your moon’s blood carefully tracked and advised on when the best moment was to conceive. “When will you make me a grandmother?”

You sipped at your tea, buying yourself a few seconds to answer. You were having tea in Haelena’s chambers, a family meeting, if you will. More like an intervention, truly. Alicent sat next to Aegon, who was in his cups already and seemed uncaring about the discussion.

“Mother, you are already a grandmother.” Aemond pointed at the hostess herself, who was on her hands and knees showing a bug to her children. The twins blabbered to her, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sweetness of the scene. Seated next to Aemond, you gently squeezed his forearm in silent thanks. His lips barely curved up into a smile. Despite his kindness in helping you out, you knew what the Queen’s response would be. It was like you were actors in a well-rehearsed play, one that had been repeating for the past six weeks.

“Yes, but those are your brother’s children. I want you two to make me a grandmother, too.” The Queen explained, smiling at him. The first month, there had been relative peace. Aemond couldn’t have knocked you up that fast, everyone reasoned. Not while still attending to his duties in the way he did. But when the second month came, and the sheets were stained red once more, Alicent had been disappointed.

Being Aemond’s wife was not an easy task. At the rate it was going, you were starting to think it would have been easier, inheritance disputes aside, to be married to Aegon. It was not that Aemond was unkind. On the contrary, he was most amenable. He cared about you, treating you with respect and even making efforts to be friendly. His mother was the problem.

You see, when the time came for Aemond to be married, Queen Alicent had handpicked you, from all the eligible ladies in the realm. The bride for his favorite children had to be perfect. She had had, I kid you not, a list. The girl Aemond married had to be smart, to be able to match him and converse about the topics that interested him, but not too educated, less she had ideas about her role in society. Devout to the Seven, but not superstitious. Brave, but not brazen. Kind, but not overly so, less she was too familiar with those beneath her. Pretty, but not one of those intimidating beauties or too aware of it. A maiden, pure and sweet, but not innocent. And so on, the list went. You weren’t too sure what she had seen in you, but she had decided you were perfect for him.

Aemond, mother’s boy as he was, had been willing to try. And he was pleasantly surprised with you. Yours wasn’t the most passionate of marriages, but you were good friends. He enjoyed your sense of humor, and you two liked the same books. Marriages were built on less. But there was the issue of consummation. Or well. There was no issue, since it hadn’t happened yet.

Neither of you dared tell Alicent that the first night, when you had come to him in your wedding gown, shaking with fear, he had done you the kindness of sitting on the bed with a goblet of wine and pulling out a deck of cards. You remembered clearly the way he had drawled, so effortlessly self-assured “I was uncertain whether you knew how to play Cyvasse, but guessed this was a safe bet.” You had nearly laughed in relief, sitting next to him and explaining you didn’t know how to play it, but cards you could do.

It had gone like that, for three long months. Aemond came to your chambers once a week, and you two played cards or just sat down talking for the whole night. He had even started teaching you Cyvasse. You didn’t mind it. He was an attractive man, your Prince, but you two had been strangers before the wedding. It was sweet, and you were a practical woman. You had all the perks of marrying a prince, and none of the hardships. If this were what your entire life would be like, you could handle it. And you would have, were it not for your mother-in-law.

A knock on the heavy wooden doors jolted you out of your thoughts. The guards announced the Grand Maester.

“Just on time.” Queen Alicent muttered, and became him over with an imperious hand. The old man stepped closer, holding a jar with some dirt? At least to you, it looked like that. The Queen took it from his hands, and opened it, grabbing your tea cup and stirring it into the drink before you could protest.

“Hare liver, pulverized with salmon. I had the maester prepare it for you, dear girl! You will have it at every meal.” Alicent beamed. Your grip on Aemond’s forearm became deathly. Aegon started laughing, before flinching suddenly. You weren’t able to tell if the one who had kicked him under the table had been your husband or your mother-in-law.

“I truly think there is no…” Aemond started to say, before getting interrupted.

“It is said to aid conception.” The Grand Maester bowed. His tone showed he wanted to be anywhere else but here, trapped between Alicent’s hopeful look, Aegon’s amusement and your indignant glare. His urge to leave was evident, not even flinching at the glare Aemond directed him for interrupting.

“Thank you, my Queen.” You answered, graciously. “Thank you as well, Grand Maester.” The man bowed again and exited the room. You eyed your now ruined tea, and Alicent. Her smile didn’t waver. You could tell she was waiting for you to drink it, and so, you smiled back and brought it to your lips.

It had to be the most foul concoction you had ever tasted. It was fishy and oily and oh so salty. You nearly spat it out, but controlled yourself, digging your nails into Aemond’s arm until he squirmed in pain. Aegon laughed again, before nearly choking in his haste to speak.

“Hey, what are you doing?!” While he laughed, you quickly took his cup and intended to drink his wine to get the taste out of your mouth. He made a grab for the wine, but so did Alicent.

“I read wine could harm conception.” She explained, passing it back to Aegon, who gave you a superior smirk.

“Mother, please. She looks like she is about to throw up.” Aemond pleaded and took the cup again. Aegon protested, but he brought the cup to your lips, urging you to drink from it. “Let her have it.”

“Aemond, I’m trying to help you both.” Alicent huffed. You quickly drank, less she tried grabbing the cup again. “We should do all that the books said. I have been reading on the topic, and I assure you…”

“I read…” Aegon interrupted loudly, giving you a wink. You knew he was about to do something disruptive, and that he would hold it over both yours and Aemond’s head for letting you escape. “Female pleasure is of the utmost importance for the woman to fall pregnant. So tell me, brother. Have you been pleasuring our dear…”

“Aegon!” Alicent yelled, slamming a hand over his mouth. “How can you say such things, with your children in the room? By the Seven, what will your brother’s wife think? That we are a family of…”

Aemond grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the room.

“You have to tell her.” You said, as soon as you were outside. He was gently pulling you along towards the gardens. “I’m not drinking anymore of that stuff. And careful, or else I will ask her to give you some too.” It had been the last straw. Your sheets being checked, you could take. Her not so subtle nudges towards laying with your husband on certain days, you could too. But being prohibited wine, and forced to take the concoction with every meal, was not something you were willing to do. Not when it was not an issue of fertility, but of the lack of… Intimate relations between you two.

“I don’t want to disappoint her.” It was said quietly, but it broke your heart. You took his hand and squeezed. One of the things you disliked about your new life was the amount of pressure Aemond was under. He had quickly become your best friend, and you liked to think you were his too. It hurt you, to see how much he pushed himself and how the nerves and worries ate him away. You knew perhaps he didn’t return your feelings, which had been steadily growing since the chaste kiss you had shared in the Sept, and all the sleepless nights spent playing games and talking, but you loved him. And it always hurt, when those you loved were in pain.

“I doubt you will. She loves you. Just because you would rather not be a father yet…” You smiled at him, trying to sound sure of yourself. In truth, you knew the Queen would be disappointed. She so wanted Aemond to be a father. He was her favorite. A baby from him would be a dream come true.

“I do want to be a father.” It was said very quietly, almost a confession. You turned towards him, unable to believe your ears. Aemond was pointedly looking towards a bush of roses, not making eye contact. His posture, normally so perfect, was a bit slouched, as if trying to curl into himself. Ashamed. He was no fool, to not be aware of your feelings, so that meant…

“Oh.” You blinked. It felt like something shattered inside you. It was not children he disliked, but you. A few tears sprang to your eyes, but you blinked them back, determined. You wanted him to be happy, even if not with you. Lowering your eyes, so he didn’t see your heartbroken expression, you answered.“Oh. Well. I’m still a maiden. We could ask the High Septon for an annulment.”

Aemond turned to look at you, bewildered. Then, a scowl took over his face, purple eye narrowing in anger.

“Annulment? Why would I want that? Is that what you want, an annulment?” His voice was starting to raise, slightly. You shushed him, frantically. But he kept going, stepping closer, hands grasping roughly at your shoulders. Aemond forced you to look him in the eyes. “You dislike me that much?”

“No. No. But if you are not attracted to me…” A few tears fell down your cheeks. You hated it. You didn’t want him to think you were manipulating him. It was distasteful, your mother had always said. Crying for a man to stay, it was not behavior befitting of you. “A lady should never beg for any man to stay. Not even a Prince.” She had always said, and you tried to live by it. But she had clearly never met Aemond.

Aemond’s lips pursed in the way they did when he was thinking about something deeply. Was he actually considering your offer? The thought made more tears spring to your eyes. He looked torn. So, this was it, you were going back home. Annulment and ruin. No one would believe you a maiden with Alicent’s efforts, with how often Aemond visited your rooms. Who in their right mind would think two young newlyweds were spending their nights playing cards and board games? It stung, to think you had had one job, and you had failed. Bed your husband. Produce children. Any child, not even a boy. It was meant to be easy. You were a failure.

Before your thoughts could spiral even further, towards becoming a Septa and watching the man you loved marry another, Aemond surprised you. With a shaking hand, he brushed your tears away.

“It’s not that, either. I like you. I might even love you.” Aemond’s eye doesn’t meet yours, and it’s only that what halts your heart from roaring in happiness. You frown, rubbing at your temples. A headache is starting. Why must everything be so difficult? He is saying the words you have longed to hear for weeks, yet… Something is off.

“You can say that you don’t like me. It’s alright.” Perhaps it is dishonesty. Perhaps he is only saying it, so you don’t feel bad. Aemond is considerate like that, never wanting to upset your feelings.

Aemond glares, giving you a stern look, as if daring you to try to explain his own feelings to himself. You shrink slightly.

“No. I like you, truly. It’s just that….” He trails off, and you want to scream out in frustration. Your temper is starting to rise, too.

“What? If you are so attracted to me, you should find it easy to bed me.” You spit out, almost daring him to contradict you.

“Nothing is that simple.” Aemond says, rolling his eye. You feel the urge to shake him, but you don’t. You are a Princess now. A Princess would not shake her Prince husband, no matter how foolish he acts. You breathe in, then out. Your response comes out, tersely.

“Love is a simple thing. It’s us who insist on complicating everything.”

“It is not my love for you, what makes me hesitate. First times can be…” And at that, you almost laugh in relief. So, that is what makes him hesitate? Fear of hurting you?

“Painful? I know, but I trust you.” You grab his hands in yours and look up at him, trying to showcase your sincerity. Your eyes are wide and earnest. But Aemond pulls out of your grasp, frustrated.

“'Tis I, who doesn’t trust you.”

You recoil, immediately pulling back. Your mother had always said you were a kind girl if a bit self-centered. And it was showing. You had never thought yourself the source of his worries, or had you ever thought he could think you're capable of hurting him.

“Aemond…” It comes out in a broken little sob. You knew people said things in fits of anger they didn’t mean, but you could tell he meant this. He didn’t trust you with his body.

Aemond tangles his hands in his hair, messing it up.

“Not like that. Just… You come to me pure, but I’m not. I have laid with a woman before.” It only makes you more confused. You are trying not to make assumptions, but it is a strange thing to say. It’s expected, especially for a man of his station. You wouldn’t have dared demand purity from him, in the way men demanded it from their wives. It was natural, even. Your positions in life were different. No one, not even the Queen herself, chided a man for his lack of chastity.

“Alright. I don’t mind it.” You answer, tentatively. You really hope, this time, you get it right. But the silence that follows is defeating.

Aemond’s hands ball into fists by his side. He loosens them, before balling them again. He is trying to hide their trembling from you, you realize. A pit forms in your stomach, knowing that whatever he is about to tell you, it’s bad. Something so terrible it might be better to not even speak it aloud. You have seen this man get into fights with his nephews, spitting out the worst slurs. You have seen him defeated by Ser Criston, beaten up, bruised badly. You have seen him hurt by his father's lack of care, cast aside in favor of others. But never once, never once, shaking in the way he is now. It terrifies you.

You don’t dare touch him, or comfort him in any way, when he is trying to calm down so hard. His breath is shallow, posture hunched, as if trying to fight the instinct to flight.

“It was not a good experience. I… I fear it would be like that, between us, and taint our marriage.” Aemond says, very quietly. His eye looks watery, his mouth set into a grim line. As if about to cry. You can tell, that whatever happened, it was much worse than what he says.

“Oh.” It’s all you can say. It had not crossed your mind, that it wasn’t you what repelled him, but the act itself. You long to hug him, but can tell touch is not what he wants, right now. You remember then, all the times he evaded touches from others, so skillfully. The ducking of an arm when Aegon tries to hug him, turning it into play fighting and roughhousing. How he never initiates affection with the Queen or Haelena. How he has never touched you, apart from a pat on the arm or holding your hand. Or how his palms get so sweaty when he has to do it. How he has not kissed you since your wedding. Perhaps, even the fact that he is always dressed in clothes that cover him completely.

Never having thought about it before, his quirks start to make sense in a way you don’t want them to. It hurts, to think of him being hurt in such a way. It is not something you had thought could happen to a man, but it makes too much sense to ignore. Whatever cloud appears in your eyes, it’s too much for Aemond to handle.

“Oh.” He mocks you, chucking your chin. It’s a gesture meant to put your mind at ease, show you that this is not an unsavable obstacle. You are thankful to him for it, even if it comes at the cost of being the butt of the joke that’s not even funny, much less with the topic you are discussing. But you can pretend for him. You smile, softly.

“Do you wish to speak about it?”

“Perhaps some other day."

Dragon /ˈdraɡ(ə)n/

noun

a mythical monster resembling a giant reptile, sometimes shown as having wings. In European tradition, the dragon is typically fire-breathing and tends to symbolize chaos or evil, whereas in East Asia it is usually a beneficent symbol of fertility, associated with water and the heavens.

In Cyvasse, a dragon can remove elephants from the board.

Aemond pulls down the screen dividing the board. He gives you a smug little look, laying down on the bed only in his sleep shirt. You try hard not to stare, focusing instead on the pieces on the board.

Your catapults are gone, and only your elephants remain. He has captured your King with a Dragon. It’s an odd move. You either are not remembering right or he is cheating.

“That’s cheating! You said the dragon could only move…” You start to complain, frowning at him.

“Diagonally, which is right.” He answers very calmly, looking at you in expectation. You examine the board from all angles, noting that he is right, and he has not cheated. Unless playing with a greatly disadvantaged player is cheating because in that case, Aemond most definitely is.

You take a deep breath and lay down next to him, forgetting the board. Oh, you can feel his pride at having bested you, even without looking at him. And of course, he keeps shifting on the bed, jostling you, lest you forget what you have to do. It’s the customary price, after all. A way to encourage to actually pay attention to his instructions about how the game is played, but also a way for a young couple to start getting to know each other. Your cheeks heat up immediately, when you decide what you will say. You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly and mumble so low, it can barely be heard over the crackling fire that lights up the room.

“Fine. As a young girl, I used to steal my father’s dagger and make other children knights with it. I loved playing Queen.”

Aemond laughs, a deep, sincere laugh. His eye crinkles at the corner, a pair of tiny dimples making themselves known. You like how true laughter lights up his face, you decide. It’s cute, but not something that often happens.

“That must have been adorable, wife.” Aemond smiles at you, boyishly. He is about to tease you, you know it. Your heart melts just a little more. “I apologize for being but a lowly Prince.” You start to laugh, but the laughter dies in your throat with his next words. “Perhaps I can indulge you.”

You rush to correct the treasonous words, scared. Aemond is an ambitious man, you have known that from the start. Just as ambitious as he is dutiful, your husband. But you can’t help but wonder if in this case, ambition outweighs the duty he feels towards his family. You don’t know him enough to make a judgment yet. So very gently, with your pulse ringing loud in your ears, you speak.

“I like Aegon. No matter if he is a drunk fool, sometimes. And your father is pretty boring, but alright. And Princess Rhaenyra." You don't say anything positive about her, not when you had learned through this same technique she had demanded Aemond was punished after losing his eye. If you had a chance, you would strangle her. But only a little. Otherwise, it would be treason, and it would be setting the wrong example. Queen Alicent always told you it was best to lead with your actions, and not only your words.

Aemond smiles, pushing your shoulder lightly.

"Not like that.” He complains, but gives you a long look regardless. You know he has noticed your slip, referring to Rhaenyra as an afterthought and only after Aegon. He knows now, without you having told him, what your thoughts on succession are. He is perceptive like that. “I was thinking more along the lines of crowning you my Queen of Love and Beauty.”

“You never compete in tourneys, husband.”

“For you, I would. If you wished to be Queen, for you, I would.” And it feels like Aemond is promising something else, something more than just being the one to get a crown of pretty flowers. It scares you a little, to be the focus of such devotion. Such honeyed words, too, which you know are unusual for him. The urge to kiss him is strong, but his confession, a few days backs, still weighs heavily between you too. He has definitely noticed you are more careful with your touches now. Still playful, but giving ample time to pull away. Yet, you can’t leave him hanging either. Not when Aemond is trying so hard for you two to work.

“I would, too. You would look handsome, with a flower’s crown.” And thinking yourself so sly, you slide your hand underneath his, laughing. Aemond laughs too, and pulls you towards him, trying to get you to put your head on his chest. You do so eagerly, listening to his heartbeat. At first, it is rushed, and he remains stiff, despite being the one to initiate the embrace. But slowly, Aemond relaxes and starts carding a hand through your hair. You think it feels much like what heaven must feel like.

The motion lulls you to that state between sleep and consciousness, where your head feels fuzzy and full of cotton, and your movements are sluggish. It feels like a dream, the way the shadows dance on the wall, and how his heart pounds steadily under you. You wish you could sink into him, fuse the two of you, as the Maesters of old said soulmates were. Nestle close to his heart, curl around it with greedy little hands, protect him from the world. Your eyelids drop, despite your fight to stay awake. Aemond smiles down at you, amused, and runs his hand over the slope of your nose, tracing the contours of your face. You scrunch your face at him, about to scold him for disturbing you, when he speaks. At first, it doesn’t make sense to you. And then, you realize.

“I was thirteen. Aegon took me to a brothel. I…” It feels like being stabbed, over and over again, tiny sparks of pain in your chest. In your mind’s eye, you can see him. A slightly younger version of Daeron, perhaps with longer hair. A big, purple eye, the other side of his face freshly scarred. Tiny. Terrified. And that you know because you know his growth spurt didn’t hit until he was fifteen, courtesy of your cyvasse games. You also know he was painfully shy and quiet, the product of a childhood filled with mockery and neglect. That, too, he had shared, after a game you knew Aemond had lost deliberately, feeling you were losing more embarrassing stories than he was sharing. Still, you hadn’t minded.

It hurts to think of your awfully kind husband being taken against his will. You doubt, had you been him, you could have survived it. Being violated so… It aches so bad, tears start filling your eyes. But you do not speak, less you break the spell and Aemond clams back up.

“I… I didn't want you to think I was weak. You are one of the loveliest things I have had, in a long time.” He says, voice breaking slightly. You shift in his grip, and look him right in the eye.

“You are not weak.” You enunciate, clearly and slowly. And you hope your sincerity shines through your eyes because you do believe it. Unable to speak a word, silenced as he was by shame, you think you would have broken much earlier. That Aemond stands, whole, before you and speaks the words aloud after so much time, says leagues about his character.

“I was meant to come out of it a man. It went…wrong.” He tries explaining, but you shake your head.

“You were not in the wrong.” You make a mental note to try to strangle Aegon later. You had known he was a… Interesting character, to say it kindly. But this… This took the cake on reckless, thoughtless behavior. He was at least three years older than Aemond, yet he had not half the sense his brother posses. Perhaps, your husband is better suited to be king. After living three months with the Targaryens, you were starting to doubt their closeness to gods. You stomp down your personal grievances, knowing Aemond needs love, not rage.

“May I hug you?” You ask, softly. Aemond laughs, a little watery, and pulls you on top of him. He hides his face in your hair, sobbing softly. You fantasize of killing half the whores of Flea Bottom, Aegon, Viserys and perhaps Alicent, too. You fall asleep like that, limbs entangled with each other and forgoing your ritual of messing up the room and your appearances. Despite it, the next morning, the maids who find you are more convinced than ever before of your closeness.

Elephant /ˈɛlɪf(ə)nt/

noun

a very large plant-eating mammal with a prehensile trunk, long curved ivory tusks, and large ears, native to Africa and southern Asia. It is the largest living land animal.

In Cyvasse, each player has multiple elephants.

It takes you a few sleepless nights to try to find a solution to your problem. Despite being praised often for how learned and bright you were, you couldn’t find an answer to your questions. You see, you have always been a planner. You tackled your concerns by doing research about them and then coming up with an action plan. But there was no research to be done here. You had to work with the facts.

You knew Aemond was not willing to confess to his mother. Nor were you about to betray his trust. But she would keep pressuring, for you to fall pregnant. You could buy time, faking an illness or perhaps even a pregnancy followed with a miscarriage. Yet, you had been chosen not only as Aemond’s companion, but to bring the next generation of Targaryens to the world. And both of you wanted children. He was too proud for letting you get pregnant and pass the baby as his own. Not with the situation with his nephews.

So. You were back to square one. You had to find a way for both of you to have children, and not traumatize Aemond about it. And get Alicent off your back. Research. You could do research about how a lady ended up with a child.

You poured long hours over medicine treaties and concluded this: It was not his member that had to go inside you, but his seed. It would also be useful if you broke your maidenhead in some way, less you ended up trying to give birth still a virgin. So, in theory, Aemond didn’t need to enter you. Just collect his seed, and perhaps you could pour it inside you with a jar or something. Still, you put that thought on the back burner, as a plan b. Oftentimes, the best solution was not the most complex one, and so, you had to at least try to perform intimacy with you. But you didn’t want him to suffer, and so, you decided to approach one of your maids about it.

“Dyana.” You said, as the girls were unlacing your gown and unpinning your hair for bed. “Stay.”

It was low, what you were about to do. But you knew of none else who had gone through something similar. Dyana had been appointed as your maid after having the unwelcome attentions of Aegon on her. There was nothing that could be done, not when the King was so ill, Alicent had told you. She wouldn’t subject him to having to pass judgment on his own son, not in his state. And besides, there had been no harm done, with the girl not falling pregnant. At the time, you hadn’t questioned it. Now, it made you sick to think your brother-in-law, who was always supportive of you in front of his mother, could have hurt her in such a way.

Dyana stayed behind, brushing your hair in front of the vanity. The other maids scurried out in a flock of dresses and chatter. You met her eyes through the mirror, in low candlelight. She was the Targaryen kind of pretty, with hair so blonde it almost looked like theirs. Perhaps that had attracted Aegon.

“I understand you were forcefully subjected to Prince Aegon’s… Advances.” You said, once you were alone. Dyana was very tense, obviously reminding the last time she had been alone with a member of the royal family. You decided to spare her the anxiety over what you wanted, if any, to make this shameful act you were committing a bit less traumatizing. “I have questions about it, from woman to woman.”

The brush clattered to the floor. Dyana’s eyes turned from anxious to terrified. She was frozen, unable to bend down and pick it up. You turned in your stool, to reassure her.

“I'm not going to punish you. I don’t want to know about the act, or reprimand you or blame you.”

Dyana bent down to pick up the brush. Her shoulders remained tense.

“I only want to ask a question. And you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to… But if you do, I will reward you handsomely.” You tried putting her at ease, using a soft voice. Much like with Aemond, you stuck to not sudden moves and no touching. To show her that you were serious, you pulled a handful of gold dragons, letting them clatter on your vanity’s table, next to the bottles of expensive lotions and perfumes Aemond had bought you. “But my husband can never know. No one can ever know.”

Dyana raised her head at the sound. She looked at the gold, and stood, anxiously wringing her hands together.

“Milady… That’s a lot of gold for a question.” Dayna’s eyes were fixed on the ground.

“It’s an important question. It requires utmost secrecy.” You answered, handing her half. “For keeping this conversation private, even if you would rather not answer me.”

Dyana took the gold, quickly hiding it inside her pocket. She seemed to fear you were playing a joke on her and would take the gold away at any time. You didn’t blame her, with how badly she had been treated so far. Keeping her waiting would be even more cruel than what you had already done, and so, you asked.

“How do you trust again, after it?” It was a clumsily worded questions, asked in a rush and in a single breath. It came out more like “Howdoyoutrustagain, after… It.” Not the most dignified wording, either. You were supposed to be eloquent, smart. Yet, you were floundering as an overzealous child.

“I…” She had clearly understood, by the look on her face, but didn’t know what to say. How to approach it. Dayna stepped closer, scrutinizing your face. Searching. But for what?

“How can you lay with a man again?” You repeated, trying to sound a bit more self-assured and narrowing down your line of questioning. You knew she was currently in a relationship with a stable boy. He always picked her up on the nights you and Aemond were supposed to bed each other.

Dayna looked at you, expression doing a full one eighty. Her eyes stopped being frightened and turned sad. One of her hands went again to brush your hair, almost in comfort.

“It is not the same man. And. Um. Never in the same way, my lady. He asks. All the time. And not like…” She trailed off, concerned. You didn’t notice, too busy committing her advice to memory. “My lady, you should really speak to the Queen….”

At those words, your head jerked up. Why did she bring up Alicent? Did she really think you could ask her about intimate relationships? Unless… She thought Aemond was… Oh, by the Seven, that was even worse.

“Aemond is not mistreating me. But my cousin’s husband is. I just don’t know what to tell her, having been so lucky.” You lied, trying to sound as convincing as you could. But you knew she wasn’t believing a word out of your mouth.

“Can they mend things?” Dyana asked, and it was obvious she didn’t buy that you were asking for a friend.

“From what I gather.” You answered, tersely. Of that, you were certain. Aemond liked you enough to at least try. You would consult him first, making sure he was not uncomfortable with the idea, but you knew he felt the grains of sand on both your clocks draining, as you did. Time was something you didn’t have. But Dyana didn’t know any of that. She was asking you, even if covertly, if you thought your husband could not be a brute. It showed, in the way her eyes filled with pity.

“Tell her to ask him to be soft. And… Not that, right away.” Dyana blushed, lowering her eyes in embarrassment. You gave her a puzzled glance, confused. If not intimacy, right away, what did she mean? Kissing? “Go slow, do something else….”

“Like?” You tilted your head to the side, hoping for a clarification.

“Mouth. Fingers.” The girl looked like she was about to hide under the table from embarrassment. And truly, it was a bit strange. An unmarried maid teaching a lady about intimacy.

“Oh.” You frowned. Dayna squeezed your shoulder, with very soft hands. “Thank you.”

King /kɪŋ/

noun

the male ruler of an independent state, especially one who inherits the position by right of birth.

In Cyvasse, the goal is to kill the King.

Your research had led you to A Caution For Young Girls. A popular novel between the common folk and that had costed you great effort to acquire. The plan had included a horse, a chicken, Aegon, and a copy of the Seven Pointed Star you had had to defile. You prayed that the Seven forgave you, both for reading such dirty tales and for destroying a copy of their sacred book to hide the book you were really reading. That day, even Queen Alicent had mistaken your newfound devotion for the Seven for a lady praying for a child and had pointed to you as an example for Aegon. In truth, you had been on your knees before the effigy of the Mother begging for forgiveness, and not a child.

It had been for a better cause, you told yourself. If truly were the gods who gave the Targaryens their right to rule, it meant they were favored among the rest of the men. Surely, finding a way to procure a child to one of the most pious, gentle Princes the realm had to offer justified your actions. Surely, Aemond’s devotion made up for your sins, or at least, the seven prayers you had recited under each of their effigies did. Surely, right?

Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing something bad. Literature is meant to open the mind. That’s why yours and Aemond’s studies had been encouraged from a young age. And the novel had certainly opened your mind to new ways of being intimate. You had no clue there were so many ways one could use their mouth, fingers, and openings. And if you had felt aroused by reading it… Literature was meant to be enjoyed, too.

So, the next time you and Aemond were alone, you said there was something you needed to talk to him about. You brought out your notes, and took the Cyvasse board away from the table, placing your research there instead. Aemond’s eyebrows raised at seeing you pull out such an amount of parchment, yet he said nothing.

“You want to be a father. I want to be a mother. We are married. And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I have researched for two possible ways of achieving it. Watch…” You pulled out a diagram, crudely drawn. You grabbed a stick, much like the one your Septa used to teach you when you were a child, and were about to start explaining, when Aemond interrupted.

“Is that supposed to be…” Aemond had the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “A… Um… Is that…?”

“Yes, now shut up. I’m trying to explain my plan.” You answered, not even the slightest bit ashamed. Couldn’t he see you were explaining your research? “You see, we don’t actually need to have any kind of sexual contact for me to fall pregnant. We just need to insert your seed…” It was said in a very clinical manner, but Aemond interrupted, again.

“Wife, I know how conception works.” Now he was fully blushing, and you frowned. It was not your intention to make him uncomfortable, so you decided to go straight to the point.

“Alright, so we will skip that part. Fine. We have two options. You either pleasure yourself and spill in a jar, or we build up to intimacy. I researched the way to make that the least traumatizing for you as possible, too.”

Aemond looked at you, for one long second. The silence stretched, and you worried this was going to end up with losing him in the most painful way you could imagine. Your blooming relationship, dead by your tactless hand. Aemond stared some more, his eye narrowed. Then, he burst out laughing. You felt so embarrassed you hoped the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

The both of you stayed like that. Aemond laughing so hard tears sprang from his eyes, and you, diagram still in hand, with what Aemond would later swear was the cutest pout he had ever seen.

“This has to be both the sweetest and strangest thing someone has ever done for me.” He finally said, drying his tears.

“You are not mad? Or hurt?” You asked, eyeing him a bit suspiciously, but with a smile of your own.

“Come here.” Aemond widened his stance, and you stepped closer, giving in to his unspoken request for you to stand between his parted legs. With a touch so light, it might not even be there, Aemond tilted your head down and kissed you. You felt as if the world stopped, for a minute. The kiss was clumsy, with him sitting and you standing but you could swear it was the kind of kiss the poets wrote about. You let him lead you, reminding Dyana’s advice, and you could feel the way he smiled against your mouth for it.

“I made my decision.” Aemond said, as you pulled away to take some well-needed breaths of air. Your mind felt like mush, with how dizzying the kiss had been. You had not a single clue what he was talking about.

“Huh?”

“We will try to have the children the normal way. I can learn to trust you enough for it.” And it felt like your heart was singing, with how happy you were. You smiled brightly at him. It was an honor that he was willing to trust you that much, that he was willing to try. You knew, were you him, you would have hesitated more. Aemond was a brave man, you had to give it to him.

You wanted to kiss him silly. But you had promised yourself to keep things at his pace, were he to choose this path. And so, you asked.

“Hug?”

Aemond laughed, and pulled you closer, burying his face on your chest. You hugged back, holding him.

“So, what did your research say? About building up intimacy?” Aemond shifted, looking up at you, purple eye shining with mirth. You spluttered, slapping his shoulder. He laughed again. “You know, in all seriousness… The Seven have given me a strange woman. But I wouldn’t change you for anything.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

Detailed warning: Aemond confesses to the reader that the reason they haven’t had sex yet is not a lack of desire but a bit of fear, and describes what happened to him when he was thirteen. The reader does her research and presents it to him, crudely, but he is touched by her gesture.

As a fellow SA survivor, I hope I have managed to portray the struggle to trust a partner again in a manner that is both tasteful and fluffy, with an adequate dose of humor and awkwardness. Writing Honesty raised a few thoughts on the matter of consent in Westeros. I never got to finish GOT because of the same issue. My heart ached for Aemond during the brothel scene, and I wondered about it a lot. I have yet to see it portrayed in any fanfiction. I apologize in advance if it made anyone uncomfortable.

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.1

Chapter One: Hide Your Heart From Sight

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Celebrities, Starstruck,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Welcome to this disaster of a fic that I have constantly daydreamed about. Logistically, yes, it is so improbable and unrealistic— but there’s a 0.001% chance that it could happen… to you. It’s nice to wonder and dream. I like wondering. Granted, I’ve never worked in production ever… I am studying advertising and arts soooo that’s as much knowledge I have tehe. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: It Could Happen To You by Laufey

→ Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

The hum of the plane’s engines filled the air as you settled into your seat, trying not to fidget. You glanced at your boarding pass again, as if to double-check you weren’t hallucinating. Seat 3B—business class. Marvel had spared no expense for the production team’s travel, but you still couldn’t quite believe you’d be flying so comfortably.

What shocked you even more, though, was the man lowering himself into the seat next to yours: Pedro Pascal. Yes, that Pedro Pascal. The man whose movies you’d watched obsessively before joining this production, the actor who somehow seemed both unattainably larger-than-life and heartbreakingly down-to-earth.

“Hi,” he said with a warm smile, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Looks like we’re seatmates.”

You froze for a moment, then managed a weak, “Hi.” Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you mentally scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete idiot.

“You’re with the crew, right?” Pedro asked, adjusting the scarf around his neck. “What do you do?”

“Oh, um,” you stammered, “I’m just a production assistant. It’s my first big project.”

“No kidding? That’s awesome,” he said, genuinely sounding impressed. “First time working on a Marvel movie? How’s it going so far?”

“It’s… surreal,” you admitted, relaxing slightly under his easygoing demeanor. “I mean, it’s been amazing, but also kind of overwhelming. There’s so much to do, and everyone’s so talented. I…” You trailed off, realizing you were rambling.

“I get it,” Pedro said, nodding. “First big gig can be a lot. But hey, you’re here. That means someone saw something in you, right?”

The sincerity in his voice made your cheeks flush. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. Pedro asked you about your favorite movies, your hobbies, and how you’d gotten into production work. You told him about your love for art direction and set design, your dream of one day being a production designer, and your side passion for writing and music. When you mentioned you played guitar and sang, he raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll have to play something for us on set sometime,” he said, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

You laughed nervously. “I don’t know about that. I’d probably die of embarrassment.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he replied, his tone light but mischievous.

By the time the plane landed, you were buzzing—partly from the conversation and partly from the fact that you’d just spent hours talking to Pedro Pascal as if he were an old friend.

The buzz quickly faded when you arrived at the hotel. You stood in the lobby with the rest of the crew, listening as the location manager, Duncan, argued with the front desk staff. Apparently, there’d been a mix-up with the bookings. The hotel was overbooked due to a telecommunications conference, and somehow, you’d been assigned to share a suite… with Pedro Pascal.

“This has to be a mistake,” you muttered to yourself, your anxiety spiking as Duncan tried to sort things out. But no matter how much back-and-forth there was, the conclusion remained the same: there were no other rooms available.

“Look,” Pedro said finally, stepping in with his usual calm demeanor. “It’s fine. I don’t mind sharing if she’s okay with it.”

You blinked up at him, your mind racing. “I…”

“Hey,” he said gently, noticing your hesitation. He leaned in slightly, his voice soft but steady. “Look at me. I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it. No pressure.”

You swallowed hard, glancing over at Duncan, who looked as stressed as you felt. Finally, you nodded. “I’m fine with it if everyone else is.”

“Great,” Pedro said, flashing you a reassuring smile. “It’s settled, then.”

Duncan pulled you aside before you headed to the elevators. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, his tone fatherly.

“Yes,” you said, forcing a smile. “Is there any kind of form I need to sign, or…?”

“No, it all falls under the NDA from your employment,” he assured you. “But seriously, if you need anything, just text me.”

You thanked him and joined Pedro in the elevator. The ride up to the suite was silent, save for the soft dinging of the floors passing by. When you finally stepped into the room, you couldn’t help but gape. It was a spacious suite with two bedrooms on opposite sides, a small kitchenette, and a cozy living area.

“This isn’t so bad,” Pedro said, dropping his bag by the door. He turned to you, his expression kind. “Do you have a preference for which room?”

You fidgeted with the strap of your bag. “Um, no, you can pick.”

“Ladies’ choice,” he insisted, his tone playful.

“Okay,” you said, gesturing to the room on the right. “I’ll take that one.”

“Perfect,” he said with a grin. “Let me know if you need anything, alright?”

As you unpacked in your room, the reality of the situation began to sink in. You were sharing a suite with Pedro Pascal. For at least a week. And somehow, you had to act like a normal, functioning human being the entire time.

You took a deep breath and flopped over on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Letting out a huff of air in disbelief, you muttered to yourself, “This has to be some sort of dream… or prank, right?”

Placing both hands over your face, you rubbed it in exasperation. “Get your shit together, girl. No screwing things up, no more internal freakouts. He’s a person, like you. Mhm, sure. Yup. Totally fine.”

You sighed deeply, trying to convince yourself of your own words. The suite was spacious and nicely furnished, with plenty of room to keep your distance—but that didn’t stop your overactive imagination from running wild. Every interaction felt loaded with the possibility of embarrassing yourself, but you swore you’d keep it together.

To say people around the production crew had heard about your new roomie was an understatement.

The day before shooting began, you attended a pre-production meeting that covered everything: call sheet details, blocking and camera movement, technical requirements, and a bunch of safety protocols. It was standard procedure but felt ten times more overwhelming knowing your friends would tease you mercilessly.

You sat with your friends from the art department, trying to focus, but they weren’t making it easy. Archie, one of the lead set designers, leaned over with a smirk. “So, how’s life as Pedro Pascal’s roomie?”

You felt your face heat up instantly. “I—it’s not… it’s just temporary,” you stammered, fiddling with the edge of your notebook.

Stephanie, a costume designer with an endless supply of sass, raised an eyebrow. “Temporary or not, it’s the stuff of rom-coms, babe. Don’t tell me you haven’t imagined a meet-cute scenario in that suite.”

“I have not!” you protested, though your flaming cheeks betrayed you. 

Will, an art director with a love for stirring the pot, chuckled. “Come on, you’ve gotta admit it’s a little… serendipitous? You, a huge fan, sharing a suite with the guy? Sounds like fate to me.”

“It’s not fate,” you insisted, trying to deflect. “It’s a logistical mistake, that’s all.”

Max, the trainee set dresser, chimed in with a grin. “Yeah, but a logistical mistake that’s got everyone talking. Even Steve heard about it, and he’s usually the last to know anything.”

Steve, the lighting technician, shrugged. “What can I say? Word travels fast. I’m just here to see how long it takes for Pedro to find out about your… fandom.”

“Oh my god, can we not?” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “He’s going to think I’m a weirdo.”

Rebecca, a fellow production assistant and one of your closest friends, patted your shoulder sympathetically. “Don’t worry, he seems like the kind of guy who’d find it endearing. Besides, you’ve been professional so far, right?”

You nodded hesitantly. “I think so. I mean, I haven’t said anything stupid yet.”

“Yet being the keyword,” Sophie teased, earning a laugh from the group.

Patricia, always the voice of reason, smiled warmly. “Just be yourself. You’re great at your job, and Pedro’s just another actor. A very charming actor, sure, but still just a person.”

“Thanks, Patricia,” you said, feeling slightly more grounded. But the anxiety still lingered, especially with everyone’s teasing reminders of your not-so-secret crush.

As the meeting wrapped up and you headed back to your tasks, you couldn’t shake the nervous excitement bubbling inside you. Sharing a suite with Pedro Pascal might’ve been a logistical mistake, but it was quickly turning into one of the most unreal experiences of your life.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL, LONDON — NIGHT

Dinner with the cast and crew had been lively, filled with laughter, and far too many knowing glances sent your way by your friends. The teasing hadn’t stopped, even over plates of pasta and glasses of wine.

Archie had leaned over at one point, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when Pedro walks out of the bathroom shirtless? Swoon or faint?”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Archie!”

“I’m just saying,” he said with a laugh. “It’s a valid question.”

Stephanie smirked. “She’s probably rehearsing her ‘I’m totally cool and unaffected’ face right now.”

You groaned. “I hate all of you.”

Rebecca grinned. “No, you don’t. But seriously, just enjoy the moment. How many people can say they’ve shared a hotel room with Pedro Pascal?”

By the time the group had wandered back to the shuttle, your cheeks were sore from laughing, and your nerves were only slightly calmed. But as the cold London air nipped at your skin, you found yourself longing for the warmth of the hotel.

Your teeth chattered as you stepped off the shuttle, clutching your coat tighter around you. You didn’t like the cold very much, and London was very, very cold.

The moment you entered the hotel lobby, the warmth began to seep into your body, and you let out a sigh of relief. The elevator ride to your floor was quiet, your mind finally shutting down after a long evening of socializing. By the time you reached your room, you were operating on autopilot.

Tapping your keycard to the door, you quietly pushed it open, careful not to disturb Pedro if he was already asleep. It was just past 9:30 p.m., and you knew the early call time tomorrow would have him resting early.

You shut the door softly behind you, locking the deadbolt before shuffling into the room. You removed your coat, scarf, and shoes, swapping them for the fuzzy slippers you’d packed. The room was dimly lit, and you moved quietly, hoping not to make too much noise.

“Oh, you’re back.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, clutching your chest as your heart tried to escape it. Whipping around, you found Pedro lounging on the sofa, a book in his hands and a soft, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He was wearing a plain white tee and gray sweatpants, his square-framed glasses perched on his nose, and he looked entirely too comfortable—like he belonged there. Like this was normal.

“Oh my god, I didn’t know you were still awake,” you said, voice breathless as you tried to recover from the scare.

He chuckled, his laugh low and warm. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. You were so quiet coming in, I thought maybe you were sneaking around.”

You set your things on the small table by the door, giving him an exasperated look. “I wasn’t sneaking around. I was trying not to wake you.”

“Well, mission accomplished.” He tilted his head, watching you with that relaxed air that somehow made you feel completely exposed. “How was dinner?”

“It was good,” you said, shrugging as you moved toward the kitchenette to grab a bottle of water. “Everyone was in high spirits, and the food was great. We took a little walk around the city before heading back.”

Pedro closed his book, setting it on the coffee table. “Sounds nice. London at night can be magical.”

“Yeah, it was.” You paused, feeling the weight of his gaze. “Though, I think I underestimated just how cold it gets here. My teeth were chattering the whole way back.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smile softening. “Didn’t bring a warm enough coat?”

“I thought I did, but apparently not. I’m not built for this kind of weather,” you admitted with a laugh, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to stave off the lingering chill.

Pedro stood, crossing the room with an easy grace that made your breath hitch. “Well, we can’t have you freezing, can we?” He grabbed the throw blanket draped over the back of the sofa and held it out to you. “Here.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the simple gesture. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I just get cold really easily. Besides, I’ll warm up eventually.”

“Take it,” he insisted, his tone gentle but firm. “It’s not a big deal.”

Reluctantly, you took the blanket, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. It sent a jolt of warmth through you that had nothing to do with the fabric now wrapped around your shoulders. “Thanks,” you murmured, pulling it tighter around you.

“Better?” he asked, stepping back to give you space but still watching you with that disarmingly kind expression.

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding. “Much. Thanks, Pedro.”

He smiled again, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged, like something unspoken was hanging there. But then he broke the silence, his voice light. “So, did they give you a hard time at dinner?”

Your face heated instantly. “What do you mean?”

He smirked, leaning casually against the back of the sofa. “I heard some of the cast talking earlier. Apparently, your friends in the art department have been… teasing you about the room situation.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh no. What exactly did you hear?”

“Nothing incriminating,” he said with a laugh. “Just that they’re convinced this is some kind of meet-cute scenario straight out of a rom-com.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, mortified. “I’m so sorry. They’re ridiculous.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, his tone easy, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “It’s kind of flattering, actually.”

Your hands dropped to your sides, your eyes wide. “Flattering?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s nice to know someone thinks sharing a room with me is worth all that excitement.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to process the fact that Pedro Pascal—Pedro Pascal—was standing in front of you, teasing you in the most charming way possible.

“Well, I’ll let you get some rest,” he said after a beat, his voice softer now. “Big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Big day.”

He gave you one last smile before retreating to his side of the suite, leaving you standing there with a racing heart and a head full of thoughts you were too scared to unpack.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — DAY  

You woke to the soft chime of your alarm, the faint glow of early morning light creeping through the curtains. Shuffling into the bathroom with a yawn, you turned on the shower, letting the warm water coax you into wakefulness. You placed your phone on the counter, tapping on a playlist to fill the small space with soft, melodic tunes—comforting background noise that kept your mind from spiraling too early in the day.  

After your shower, you toweled off and began your morning routine. Skincare applied with practiced ease, makeup brushed on with care, you avoided the mirror for too long, focusing instead on the growing anticipation of the day ahead. Pinning your ID to your lanyard, you glanced at your phone again.  

The group chat with your team was buzzing:  

Archie: "We’re fifteen minutes out. Don’t keep us waiting, queen 👑."  

Rebecca: "Text when you’re coming down!"  

Max: "Coffee run? Pls? 🙏"  

A small smile tugged at your lips as you tapped out a quick reply, your fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment before you switched apps.  

Your heart did a little stutter as you opened your browser—a Joel Miller fanfic you’d been obsessing over still lingering on your screen. You skimmed the most recent chapter, your thumb pausing to scroll as you half-laughed at the absurdity of sneaking in a few paragraphs before a full day on set. You switched to the chat thread with your online friends, who were deep in a heated discussion about whether Joel would be the type to cook breakfast for his partner. You couldn’t help but chuckle, throwing in a quick, “He’d definitely make pancakes and act like it’s no big deal,” before locking your phone and setting it on the counter.  

Moving on autopilot, you padded into the small kitchenette, barefoot and still humming softly to the tune stuck in your head. You set the coffee machine to brew, pulling out a couple of mugs, a jar of Nutella, and some bread. Your hands moved with muscle memory, spreading the hazelnut spread on toast and slicing up a handful of fruit without a second thought. It wasn’t until the scent of coffee filled the air that you realized you’d made two plates of toast—one for you and one for Pedro.  

The realization struck at the same moment you heard the faint shuffle of footsteps behind you.  

“Morning.”  

His voice was low and warm, still carrying the huskiness of sleep. You froze, phone in one hand, butter knife in the other, as you turned to see Pedro leaning against the doorframe. His hair was adorably tousled, and he was dressed in a plain black t-shirt and sweatpants that somehow made him look effortlessly put together. His eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled at you, and you nearly dropped your phone in a panic.  

“Good morning,” you managed, your voice a little too high-pitched as you fumbled to lock your screen. The thought of him catching even a glimpse of what you’d been reading was enough to make your cheeks burn.  

Pedro glanced at the counter, taking in the toast, coffee, and neatly sliced fruit. “You made breakfast?”  

“Oh, uh—yeah.” You set your phone down and gestured awkwardly toward the spread. “I made you some coffee and toast with Nutella. I wasn’t sure if you’d want that, and there’s fruit, too. I was just about to cut some more, but obviously, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to, and—”  

“Hey.” Pedro’s soft chuckle cut through your rambling, and when you met his gaze, he was looking at you with a mix of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.”  

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned by the sincerity in his voice. “Oh. Yeah. No problem. It’s nothing, really.”  

He moved past you to grab a mug of coffee, the proximity sending your pulse into overdrive. As he poured himself a cup, you noticed his shoulders relaxed and his movements unhurried. He took a sip and let out a small, contented sigh.  

“Perfect,” he said, glancing over at you with a grin. “You’re spoiling me, you know that?”  

Your laugh came out nervous and breathy. “I’m pretty sure this doesn’t count as spoiling. It’s just toast.”  

“Yeah, but it’s good toast,” he teased, holding up a slice as if to emphasize his point.  

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the tension in your chest easing slightly. The moment felt impossibly domestic—like a scene out of one of those fanfics you’d been reading. Only this time, it wasn’t Joel Miller standing in the kitchen with you. It was Pedro.  

And that was somehow even more surreal.  

Pedro leaned against the counter, his mug cradled in both hands. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to. “So,” he started, his voice warm and casual, “what were you so engrossed in on your phone earlier? You looked ready to throw it out the window when I walked in.”  

Your stomach flipped, and you tried to play it cool, even though you were fairly certain your face was now several shades of red. “Oh, nothing,” you lied, brushing a crumb off the counter. “Just the group chat. You know how chaotic they are.”  

Pedro tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Mm-hmm. Sure it wasn’t something more... intriguing?”  

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee cup a little tighter. “Intriguing?”  

He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes twinkling with mischief over the rim of his mug. “You tell me.”  

“It’s nothing!” you blurted out, a little too defensively. “Just—just boring stuff. Work stuff.”  

“Work stuff,” he repeated slowly, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Because people laugh at boring work stuff while making toast.”  

You groaned, setting your mug down as you ran a hand over your face. “Can we not? Please? I’m already mortified enough.”  

Pedro chuckled, the sound low and teasing but not unkind. “Alright, alright. I’ll let it go... for now.” He set his mug on the counter and raised his hands in mock surrender. “But you owe me a story later. Deal?”  

You hesitated, narrowing your eyes at him. “Depends on how much coffee you’ve had by then. I might need you slightly less smug for that conversation.”  

His grin widened, and he leaned closer, just enough to make your heart stutter. “Smug? I prefer charming. But I’ll take it under advisement.”  

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. The playful banter made the room feel lighter, warmer.  

By the time you both finished your coffee, the atmosphere had shifted into something comfortable and easy. You quickly rinsed the dishes, your hands moving on autopilot as Pedro lingered nearby, chatting about everything and nothing.  

As you dried your hands, your phone buzzed on the counter, and you glanced at the screen.  

Rebecca: “Bus is almost there. Better get your cute butt down here!”  

You shot back a quick reply: “On my way.” Turning to Pedro, you grabbed your bag and gestured toward the door. “I’ve got to head down. My shuttle’s waiting.”  

Pedro grabbed his own bag and trailed after you. “I’ll walk down with you. I’ve got my own ride coming, but they’re always late.”  

The two of you stepped into the elevator, the hum of its descent filling the silence. The confined space suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier with unspoken tension.  

Pedro stood close—too close. You could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint hint of his cologne. Your heart thudded in your chest, and you pressed the strap of your bag tighter against your shoulder, hoping it would anchor you somehow.  

“So,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost intimate in the stillness of the elevator. “What’s the plan for today?”  

You glanced at him, his brown eyes watching you closely, the curve of his smile softer now. “Same as usual, I guess,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Make sure everything runs smoothly while you and everyone else look good on camera.”  

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You make it sound so simple, but I know you’re the one holding it all together.”  

His words caught you off guard, and you looked away, feeling your cheeks heat up again. “I just do my job.”  

“And you do it damn well,” he said, his tone sincere now, no teasing edge in sight.  

The elevator dinged as it reached the lobby, breaking the moment. Pedro gestured for you to step out first, and you did, your pulse still racing.  

“Thanks,” you murmured, not entirely sure if you were thanking him for his compliment or just for letting you escape the charged space of the elevator.  

As you spotted your shuttle waiting outside, you turned to him, suddenly aware of how reluctant you were to leave. “I’ll see you on set?”  

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for just a beat longer than necessary. “Yeah. See you soon.”  

You stepped outside, the crisp morning air hitting your face as you walked toward the shuttle. But even as you climbed aboard and found a seat, your mind was still back in that elevator, replaying every glance, every word, every spark.

End Notes:

Oh hi! I missed doing these silly bits; I thought to bring ‘em back. But, don’t worry, I’ll try to yap less haha

Yes, it’s super cliche, cheesy, unrealistic, and practically a hallmark movie in the making. But that’s the fun part in fanfiction and writing, it’s all made up and no one here is allowed to “yuck” each other’s “yum” if you know what I mean. ;)

Also, I have no idea how production for film works so I’m researching stuff and making stuff up along the way pls no one come after me T^T

Weirdly enough, I saw a reddit post from someone who works at the front of the hotel desk and they say the one-bed trope/one-room trope; it actually happens pretty frequently lol so who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca

[vettelsvee]

Hello! I hope this is the correct way to request..., can you write a lewis story for prompt 28? It can be something like, reader is a new wag and there is some online hate, and lewis comforts them. It's completely fine if you don't wanna do this story, Thank you!! 💞

DON'T LET THEM SAY THAT. YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL | Lewis Hamilton

Lewis Hamilton x Actress!Reader

SUMMARY: Lewis and you decided to make your relationship public in Maranello before 2025 Formula 1 season starts. However, love from fans isn't there as you expected ↳ REQUESTED: Part of VEE'S F1 PROMPTS LIST (VOL. I)! Feel free to request anything you want <3 Hope you liked it anon! 💖

WORD COUNT: 2043

WARNINGS: Age gap (reader is on her early 20s and Lewis is 40), fans acting like crazy, hate towards Y/N

VEE'S NOTES: I received this prompt on the inbox today and I don't know how I wrote, corrected, translated and corrected once again it today. Also, first ever Ferrari!Lewis fic I'm so emotional right now. Not really happy with the result since like Y/N in this fic, I have many intrusive thoughts about my writing and I didn't have the best of the weekends, but hope you enjoy it anyways! Remember that I appreciate your comments, feedback, as well as reblogs, thank you so much! :)

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

The whirlwind of emotions you’ve experienced since your relationship with Lewis Hamilton became public has been unimaginable... and that’s putting it lightly.  

Although you were somewhat used to the spotlight thanks to your rising career as an actress, flashes from cameras, crowds shouting for you to turn around so they could get a picture, and the occasional fan asking for a photo or autograph, the world of Formula 1 was completely new to you.  

You couldn’t deny that you were unhappy with how drastically your life had changed. The man who had just joined Scuderia Ferrari had become everything you had ever imagined in a partner. kind, undeniably caring, and, most importantly, empathetic enough to understand how overwhelming this sudden rise in fame was for you.  

Lewis had noticed how down you’d been ever since he decided to post those photos of you both in Maranello. You had both agreed to go together so he could test one of those legendary red cars for the first time, fully aware that people would inevitably start talking. That day, you decided to make your relationship public after keeping it a secret for about six months, agreeing that it was best to do so before the 2025 season began.  

Despite it all, despite how much you had started closing yourself off in the following weeks, Lewis remained by your side, making you feel like the most important person in the world. But it was becoming increasingly difficult for him, especially when all you did was act like everything was fine on the outside while you were slowly destroying yourself inside.  

The nightmare began with small comments on the photo Lewis had uploaded to Instagram, just you, posing timidly in front of the Ferrari while he held you around the waist, smiling like never before. At first, the comments didn’t seem like a big deal, with people just wanting to know more about your relationship or if it was serious. But soon, the messages started pouring in, insults and threats far worse than you had ever imagined, many of them coming from underage girls. Eventually, you had to disable comments on every single one of your photos, no matter how old they were.

However, what truly became a living nightmare for you were the Twitter threads and, especially, the accounts dedicated exclusively to Formula 1 wags. They were relentless, tearing you apart, analyzing your every move as if dating one of the 20 drivers on the grid was equivalent to committing first-degree murder.

“She’s just looking for fame now that her acting career is taking off.”

“She doesn’t deserve someone like Lewis.”

“She’s too young for him.”

“And let’s not even talk about how ugly she is… have you seen her?”

You sighed, throwing your phone onto the couch with such force that it ended up crashing onto the floor. But you didn’t even bother to check if it was broken. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t read any more comments, wouldn’t even open your Instagram account, yet you couldn’t resist. After all, you were human, and the weight of it all was becoming too much to bear, even more than you were willing to admit to Lewis, to whom you hadn’t fully opened up yet.

The hotel room in Tokyo, where you and Lewis had decided to stay for one of your last vacations before the season began, fell into complete silence. The only sound that filled the space was your muffled sobs.

“And who even is she? Nobody knows her.”

“Lewis deserves someone better, that’s for sure.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks faster than you could wipe them away.

You couldn’t understand it. It felt so unfair... Why were you being treated this way just for loving someone? Why did people throw venomous words at you without even knowing you, without even trying to? Did being a fan of Lewis automatically mean they had to hate you?

You tried to relax, to break free from the spiral of thoughts that only led you to overthink, but it was impossible. Once your mind started down that path, the only thing it knew how to do was tear you apart from the inside.

As you tried to steady your breathing and quickly wiped away your tears, a knock echoed at the door.

You pulled yourself together as fast as you could, forcing a smile while glancing at your reflection in the mirror. You swore to yourself that you’d do everything possible to pretend that everything was fine, that you were fine.

But the moment you opened the door and saw Lewis, drenched in sweat from his gym session and pulling out his earbuds, you immediately turned around and rushed into the nearest room, the bathroom, locking yourself inside to keep him from seeing you like this.

“Come on, Y/N...”

Lewis knew you too well by now. No matter how hard you tried to convince him otherwise, he could see right through you, he knew you were struggling, and struggling pretty badly.

He didn’t do anything at first. He didn’t know what to do. He was afraid that whatever he said or did might only make things worse, might make you shut down even more. Instead, he rested his forehead against the closed door, feeling defeated, thinking of ways to make you feel worthy enough to stop torturing yourself over what strangers were saying online, people who knew nothing about your relationship and even less about you.

Eventually, you decided to come out. Lewis saw you, completely defeated, and he cursed himself for letting things get to this point. What had he done wrong to make you feel this way? God, you were just a girl in your early twenties who had recently made the leap to Hollywood stardom after moving to Los Angeles at sixteen, waiting tables in a run-down bar, and facing countless failed auditions until you finally landed the role that changed everything.

“Hey, love,” Lewis spoke as gently as possible, his eyes scanning your red-rimmed ones and your tangled hair. “What’s wrong?”

He knew exactly what was wrong, but he wanted you to be the one to speak, to let it all out.

You took a deep breath and pointed at your phone, still lying on the floor. A nervous knot tightened in your stomach, and your hands began to fidget anxiously. As if on cue, tears started streaming down your face once more.

“I just… I don’t understand why they have to be like this. What did I do to deserve this? Am I not good enough? Not pretty enough for you?”

Lewis sighed. He had known from the beginning that not everyone would accept your relationship, but the amount of hate you were facing was beyond excessive. He was exhausted by the senseless comments and social media accounts created solely to spew hate at you. And even more, he was tired of becoming tabloid fodder, followed everywhere by paparazzi eager to capture any moment they could.

Seeing you like this hurt him in ways he couldn’t even describe, and it made him feel miserable.

“Hey, Y/N… look at me.”

Despite speaking to you firmly and holding your hand, gently rubbing your skin with his thumb to calm you down, you didn’t respond. Lewis then cupped your chin delicately, forcing you to look at him.

“I know I’ve told you this a thousand times, and I also know that with how stubborn you are, you probably won’t listen to me, but don’t let what they say about you bother you,” he wanted to say, but all he really cared about was you. “What matters is that I love you, okay?”

“But... why does it have to affect me? Why did I used to not care about anything, and now I care so much about the opinion of strangers?” you asked, hesitantly, biting your lip in an attempt to relax.

Lewis moved even closer to you, wrapping his arms around you. He hated seeing you like this, especially when before all of this started, you were a light in his life, and it was him who used to lean on you when race weekends got overwhelming.

“Because you’re human, babe,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead and holding you tighter. “Even though we sometimes say the opposite, we all care about what others think of us, especially when all they want to do is bring us down.”

“But... what if they’re right? What if I’m not what you deserve?”

“Do I need to remind you again that they’re wrong?” Lewis said, pulling you slightly away so your gazes met. “You need to remember how much you mean to me, but more than that, you need to remember who you are and all that you’re worth. That’s all that matters.”

You didn’t say anything else. Instead, you buried your face in his chest, once again crying quietly to avoid him seeing you like this.

“I’m ugly, Lew. Really ugly,” you confessed without lifting your head. “I don’t even know how you love me, or how you agreed to be with me after all those months we spent talking and hanging out as friends, or…”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t let them say that. You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, and you’ve always been, alright? Anyone who says otherwise needs to get their eyes checked.”

You laughed, and Lewis felt that as a small victory.

You closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. For the first time in a long while, you pushed aside the intrusive thoughts, the destructive comments you saw daily on social media, and allowed yourself the luxury of, for just a moment, trying to stop torturing yourself and accepting that there were things you couldn’t change.

Lewis’s words, while brief and somewhat familiar to you, brought a peace you hadn’t felt in days. You did your best to let the tension in your shoulders melt away, slowly separating from him and moving your arms bit by bit.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Lew,” you whispered, once again wrapping your arms around his waist, wishing you could never let go of him.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Lewis chuckled, planting kisses on your forehead. “I’m never going to leave you, and I hope you’ll never leave me either.”

Neither of you said anything more. Your bodies remained close, exchanging shy kisses, making promises that everything would get better as you both talked about the changes you’d face in 2025. That was enough for you both to know things were going to be okay.

You both understood that the big, risky changes you were taking, especially your relationship, were going to be difficult, just like what was happening with you and the wave of hate you were receiving. But once you stopped giving it too much importance, or rather, no importance at all, no one would stop you as the newest couple in Formula 1.

“Hey, listen to me, please... I’ve been thinking about something.”

Lewis’s words caught your attention as you were starting to drift off to sleep in bed. You straightened up, your hand still intertwined with his.

“How about we take a walk, and you can get to know the city a bit?” he suggested. “You know… we could go eat out, hit up an arcade, or maybe…”

“Can you get me a stuffed animal from one of those weird claw machines?!” you interrupted him, excited, which made Lewis burst out laughing.

“Of course, I can get you a stuffed animal, or buy you all the ones you want.”

You smiled, and as Lewis went to the bathroom for a shower, you began to prepare for the day. That moment was exactly when you realized you needed to trust yourself more and, specially, just as Lewis valued you. Because if there was one thing you’d learned from him in the short time you’d been together, it was that, no matter what you did, you’d always be the envy of others, so you just needed to remind yourself that you didn’t need to feel worse for living the life you’d always dreamed of and, moreover, you worked hard to have.

[shall-we-die]

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{NSFW Alphabet}

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↬[Fandom]•⊰ {Love and deepspace}࿐

↬[Warnings]•⊰ {NSFW... so yeah, MDNI}࿐

☰[Main list]•⊰ ──────┈┈┈─╮

╭─────┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈──────╯

╰┈➤Likes/Reblogs are appreciated࿐

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[A]ftercare: What they're like after sex?

Aftercare is crucial for Sylus. Post-sex, he always makes sure to gently clean you up with a warm cloth, checking for any soreness or discomfort. He then pulls you close, spooning you and nuzzling your neck as he trails soft kisses along your skin.

"You're absolutely stunning when you come apart like that... Miss hunter."

He gently pulls you down to his chest, his large hands running soothingly through your hair while you catch your breath.

His breathing gradually returns to normal, but his heart rate remains slightly elevated, testament to the intensity of your lovemaking.

He strokes your back gently, tracing patterns that make you shiver. Despite his machismo, he's incredibly gentle with you after intimate moments.

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[B]ody Part: Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's?

Sylus's eyes often linger on your slender neck and collarbone, a secret fascination concealed only by his rugged exterior.

The delicate curve and soft skin there captivate him, igniting a primal urge to worship this part of you with kisses and tender bites during their passionate encounters. grins mischievously.

He likes his arms. Not just because they're a good indicator of how strong he is... But also because he likes watching you trace his skin with your fingertips.

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[C]um: Anything to do with cum?

Sylus is particularly fond of marking his territory, so to speak. He prefers to finish inside you, filling you with his warmth and claiming you completely in that primal way. He also enjoys the aftermath, running his fingers possessively through the evidence on your thighs or stomach.

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[D]irty Secret

Sylus has a secret fetish for lacy lingerie, a stark contrast to his rugged, masculine image. He fantasizes about slipping delicate, delicate garments onto his strong, rough exterior. In fact, he loves imagining you in provocative little more than lingerie.

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[E]xperience: How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?

Sylus is far more experienced than he lets on, having had his fair share of encounters before meeting you. He knows exactly what he's doing in the bedroom, using his strength, his touch, and his knowledge of a woman's body to make you feel things you've never felt before.

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[F]avorite Position

Sylus's favorite position with you is missionary, but not in the traditional sense.

He likes to have you pinned beneath him, your legs wrapped around his waist as he enters you slowly, deeply.

He loves looking into your eyes, seeing the pleasure he's giving you, and feeling your nails dig into his back.

He also likes cowgirl, a position that allows him to watch as you take control and ride him.

He loves seeing your body move, your hair fall in your face, and the way your eyes roll back when you hit that perfect spot.

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[G]oofy: Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc?

Sylus can be surprisingly playful and goofy during intimate moments, his rugged exterior masking a surprisingly silly side.

He's not afraid to make ridiculous faces or murmur playful nonsense in your ear.

But when things start to heat up, he transforms into a serious, intense lover, completely focused on bringing you pleasure.

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[H]air: How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.?

Sylus keeps his body well-groomed just for you. He makes sure to be perfectly trimmed and clean everywhere, making him both masculine and meticulous in his preparation for intimate moments.

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[I]ntimacy: How are they during the moment, romantic aspect...?

Sylus touches you possessively, his large hands roaming your body with purpose. He's not afraid to get rough, pinning your hands above your head or lifting you up effortlessly.

Sylus's intimacy times with you are like a cosmic event - intense, all-consuming, and leaving you feeling like you've been a part of something much bigger than yourself.

He holds you close, his strong arms wrapped around you, as he kisses you deeply and makes love to you slowly and passionately.

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[J]ack Off: Masturbation headcanon

He doesn't need it tbh.

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[K]ink: One or more of their kinks.

Sylus harbors a secret kink for dominance and rough play, though he only shows it with you.

He loves having you beneath him, completely vulnerable, while he whispers commands in your ear.

He also enjoys incorporating space-themed roleplay...

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[L]ocation: Favorite places to do the do.

As long as it's a private place, anywhere is a yes. (He likes it under shower more.)

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[M]otivation: What turns them on, gets them going?

The way you bite your lower lip when you're deep in thought, the way you sit on his lap to look at the stars through the window, the way you wear his oversized shirts around house, the way you sometimes absentmindedly touch his arm or lean against his shoulder...

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[N]O: Something they wouldn't do, turn offs

In the bedroom, Sylus is turned off by any kind of non-consent or lack of communication.

He also dislikes rushed, mechanical encounters, preferring a slower, more intimate pace.

He's not a fan of excessive roughhousing or pain play without clear boundaries and aftercare.

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[O]ral: Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

Sylus absolutely adores giving you oral. He finds pleasure in pleasing you and making you lose yourself in the moment.

He loves the taste of your skin, the way you shiver under his touch, and the way you say his name when he hits just the right spot.

Sylus takes his time when eating you out, savoring the taste and feel of you.

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[P]ace: Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?...

Sylus prefers a mix of both, depending on the mood and what you need in the moment.

He loves the intense, animalistic passion of fast, rough fucking - the sound of skin slapping against skin, the heat building between you, your nails digging into his back.

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[Q]uickie: Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.

He hates them. Nothing more to say.

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[R]isk: Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.

Sylus is generally not into risky sex. He prioritizes safety and comfort over risky encounters.

He doesn't mind trying new things, but always ensures there's clear communication and consent first.

He's not one to just 'pick up strangers' or engage in unsafe sex practices.

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[S]tamina: How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last?

Sylus has impressive stamina and can go for multiple rounds, especially with breaks in between. On a good day, he might be able to have 3-4 rounds of passionate lovemaking with you, each lasting around 20-30 minutes.

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[T]oys: Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?

Sylus is open to using toys in sex, but only when both partners are comfortable and enthusiastic about it.

He respects your boundaries and always communicates openly about what feels good and what doesn't.

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[U]nfair: How much they like to tease?

Sylus enjoys teasing you during sex, knowing how it drives you wild.

He might slowly trace his fingers down your sides, kiss along your neck, whispering naughty things in your ear, or even pull away right before you reach your peak, making you whimper and beg for more.

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[V]olume: How loud they are,what sounds they make?

Sylus is generally quiet during sex, preferring to focus on the sensations and pleasure rather than making noise.

However, when he's really into it, he might let out a low groan or grunt, and occasionally he'll utter your name or a soft curse word under his breath.

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[W]ild Card: Random headcanon

He likes to tease you. Therefore, it's natural to be fingered by him in an official party while he holds a serious face.

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[X]-Ray: Let's see what's going on in those pants.

Sylus's penis is long and thick, with a slight curve upwards that hits your sweet spot perfectly.

The skin is soft and smooth, wrapping around a firm, veiny shaft. His head is large and mushroom-shaped, already glistening with pre-cum when he's aroused.

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[Y]earning: How high is their sex drive?

Sylus has a high sex drive, with frequent thoughts and desires for intimate moments with you.

While he's not constantly horny and can control himself when needed, he's more than happy to initiate sex daily if you're both game.

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[Z]ZZ: how quickly they fall asleep afterwards?

He first makes sure that you are fine. If neither of you have any important work or plans for tomorrow, there's no problem if you don't even get a shower, right? So he just hugs your numb body tightly.

So after intense, satisfying sex with you, Sylus usually falls asleep within minutes, his heavy arms wrapping around you possessively. He's a cuddler post-sex, seeking comfort and closeness immediately after release.

[darks-romantical-corner]

Gonna be honest about something: whenever I see Bowser "being attracted to Peach" it never looks genuine, I'm not sure how to explain it but it feels more like he's in love with the idea of Peach instead of her (which I think the kidnapping itself shows as the person who's actually in love with someone would respect them which Bowser has shown to not be doing), from kidnapping her, to saying that he misses how she would scream for help in Mario RPG, to telling her to "smile" after all the awful crap he's done in Paper Mario, seemingly having his minions attack her in one of the images in Mario 3D Land for no reason, and wanting her to be a motherly figure for his son (instead of just either coping and being a single parent or finding someone else) and I think we have more than enough dudes who want to force women into motherhood despite them not giving consent . Hell he never even mentions what makes him attracted to her in the first place, and if I can add the only thing they have in common is that they're both parentless and royalties/presidents. Something I've noticed is that even when he kidnaps her he's more focused on basically ANYTHING else BUT the women he supposedly loves (literally in Mario 3D Land he makes a photo for Mario where he has her in the cage next to him as he's sitting on the throne looking at the "camera" not to mention having her by the poles open for Mario instead of ANYWHERE else where she couldn't escape, looking at Mario way more than her, specifically in the SMO cutscene right before the final bossfight as he basically presents Peach dangling in the middle of a huge ring, ext....)

Anyway reblog of the Bowsario (shit)post so that means more images:

Y'all I think Nintendo is trying to tell us something....

Bonus photos cuz I can (BrotherShip Spoilers):

[simmerandwrite]

electric touch (part 2)

Pairing: Bucky x medical team! reader

Summary: Getting a spot on the field medical team was your dream. And your closest work friend Bucky Barnes finally asking you out? That was the cherry on top of your good news. Now all you had to do was pass your training week. Seems easy enough until you’re faced with someone who doesn’t want to see you win.

Warnings: abuse of power, verbal abuse, physical assault, some PTSD (but none of these are because of Bucky!!!!)

Wordcount: 8.5k

Part 1

Notes: WELP, sorry for the delay on this one. I've never rewritten so many scenes before (I have about 2k worth of trash from this part). thank you so much for your patience and for reading and reblogging part 1. hope you enjoy!!! <3

--

You didn’t anticipate the first-time seeing Bucky’s apartment would be like this: after two hours spent at a private clinic in Midtown, getting an x-ray then a consultation with a Dr. Alvarez, followed by the application of a cast. Then there was a visit from Tony Stark himself, alongside Pepper Potts, who carried a great amount of apologies and offered support for whatever the next steps ended up being.

Not once did you think you would be sneaking into the Tower through a back elevator, arm resting in a sling, shuffling your feet quietly beside Bucky as you ventured to his apartment, and feeling somehow both on edge and utterly exhausted throughout the whole process. And Bucky checked in with you every step of the way – sometimes with just a cursory glance. He managed to say so much without saying anything at all, and you really appreciated that.

God, he was so careful with you. Gentle, even. Gentle wasn’t the first word you would use to describe Bucky. Not that he was rough or reckless or brutish or whatever the opposite of gentle was. When it came to you, he was always kind and quiet and attentive.

But the way he spoke to you, how he had apologized after every bump and pothole as the ground shook his car, how he held his hand at your back as he guided you to his door - it was unexpected and gentle and exactly what kept you from spiraling. 

Despite all that, you wanted to visit his apartment for the first time excited, with butterflies in your stomach. Why did it have to be like this?

When you got to his door, there was a Stark Industries bag hanging off the handle. Bucky paused, then nodded with a hum before scanning his access card to open the door. 

The living spaces at the Tower were pretty basic, and you knew Bucky wasn’t intending on staying there forever, but he somehow managed to make it feel like his home nonetheless. 

A basic kitchen was immediately on your left as you walked in, open directly into the living room - which had a big, comfortable couch covered in a few pillows and blankets. You carefully fell into it, eyes closed. The impact made you wince but you decided it was worth it, given how you sank into the cushions.

“So, what do you want to eat?” Bucky had stopped in the kitchen area, grabbing what looked like a stack of menus from the top of the fridge.

You just shrugged, glancing over at him briefly before closing your eyes. “I’m not really hungry.”

Even though you weren’t looking at him, you could sense the frown on his face.

He sighed out your name. “Didn’t we just learn a lesson about taking those intense pain meds on an empty stomach?” He paused. “Actually, you think about it, I’m going to change...”

You squeezed your eyes even harder, trying to scrub away that recent memory. 

The doctor had been fitting the temporary cast on your hand and wrist just as whatever remaining particles of pain medication seemed to disappear from your bloodstream. That had been enough to make you feel nauseated but then when a nurse came to share some stronger meds with you, Bucky was quick to grab the nearest trash can when they immediately made you throw up. 

Most of it made it into the can, at least.

Now he was probably going to change out of his shirt that had been hit with the rest.

In the few moments of quiet while Bucky was in his bedroom, everything about the last few days hit you all at once. 

Boone. The gym. Your face on the mat. The way he yelled, screamed. Why hadn’t you left? 

Your couch. The growing pain. The purple and yellow and blue bruises. Why didn’t you just walk away?

Bucky.

Bucky at your door, with soup. Bucky with his tender touch. Your hand.

Pepper Potts, her kindness. 

The doctor.

The doctor said something about surgery after seeing your x-ray. Metacarpal break in your hand, down from the ring finger, and a hairline fracture down your wrist.

Pepper had been so kind but what was it she said about a police report? About filing a report with HR? What had she said about taking a break from work?

Bucky, Bucky had been so patient. He hadn’t left your side. But–

How would you ever write again? Could you hold a pen? Would you be able to do your job? Now you wouldn’t have your new role and you’d be shit at your current job, too. How could a nurse function without typing notes or holding a stethoscope or –

Boone. The gym. Your face on the mat. Bucky. Boone. Bucky. Your hand and this cast and this goddamn sling.

In your slurry of thoughts, you hadn’t even realized the tight feeling growing in your chest. Instinctually, you tried to place a hand over your heart and – pain, your wrist. Heaving in deep breaths, it felt as if your lungs couldn’t handle functioning properly.

And your skin - everything felt too hot. You shuffled forward on the couch until you were closer to the floor, dropping to your knees as you tore at your sweatshirt with one hand. It was only halfway zipped up, barely draped over your shoulders, and just so so so hot - were you dripping with sweat?

Could Bucky hear as you called out for him? God, what if he just changed his mind - you were a mess, this wasn’t the person he knew and definitely wasn’t the person he asked out.

How could he be proud of you now?

You tore off your glasses as tears started to fall.

Your name, someone was saying your name. 

Were you under water? It felt like you were under water. Your skin - hot. Your hand, your wrist – pain. 

Boone. 

You collapsed further, bracing yourself on the rug with your free hand. It was strangely soft under your palm. Bucky’s apartment had a soft rug.

Bucky. Bucky was saying your name. 

“Hey, hey. You’re okay.” 

He sounded close, so close. You blinked through your tears and saw he had dropped down beside you on the floor. 

“Sweetheart, can I - can I touch you? Is that okay?”

You nodded, peeking your head up to look at him. Everything was blurry. 

Slowly, he reached out and pressed one hand against your chest, firm. The other was running up and down your back. You listened to him carefully as he talked you through whatever this episode was, breathing in tandem as he applied just enough pressure to your chest and shoulders to really ground you beside him. 

He spoke your name, trying to keep your attention. “Talk to me, please.”

“Bucky - I..” You closed your eyes, sparing a moment to breathe at his pace. His hand pressed against your chest didn’t let up but he helped you lean back against the couch. “I’m scared.. Boone, he.. What if.. My hand..”

“I promise you’re never going to see him again.”

“No, no. I’m not..” Another deep breath. Your heart rate seemed to steady. “I’m not scared of seeing him. I want to.. I want to break his jaw or.. I wasn’t strong enough to even try..” You lifted your arm, tight in the cast and sling. “I won’t even be able to do that. He – I fucked up my hand and I - how can I even do my job or write anything or hold anything or even text? And I - I’ve never had surgery before and I’m - I’m scared something will go wrong and I won’t get to join the med team and I - How can I..” You could feel yourself starting to hyperventilate. “He kept yelling at me to fight back.. Fight back and-and prove myself! I should have – I should have just walked away, I should have–”

You couldn’t quite remember how the shift happened - but you were soon back on the couch, gently turned towards Bucky as he wrapped his arm around you. Time seemed to disappear as you cried into the crook of his shoulder. 

Maybe it wasn’t the most comfortable position as your hand pulsed in pain, but the close feeling, the touch of Bucky, the heat radiating from him - the combination soothed you. 

Bucky seemed to sense the exact moment your heart rate returned back to normal, as he very gently nudged you away just enough to peer down at you. He reached for your glasses and secured them back to where they belonged then offered you a soft smile.

“I don’t want to, uh, invalidate your feelings,” Bucky started then quickly paused. “Christ, I sound like Steve.”

That made you laugh.

“But you’ve gotta know that the doctor who's going to fix your hand will do a damn good job and while maybe you’ll have to take some time off work, you’ll be able to adapt until you fully heal. I promise.” He shifted and grabbed your available hand. “And surgery can be scary but I’ll be there the whole time and wait for you after, okay?”

“You’ll do that?”

Bucky seemed to falter after another moment. “Only if you want me, I don’t want to assume–”

“No, no. I do. I just..” You let out a slow breath. “I.. I’m really grateful to be right here, with you. I’m glad you didn’t leave my apartment earlier, even when I was pushing you out.”

Now he had a chance to laugh. “Yeah, I think we both know I wasn’t going anywhere, sweetheart. Now, you need to eat something. Any requests?”

Half an hour later Bucky was unpacking a delivery bag and handing you a meal and a dose of medication that you had brought home from the clinic. Admittedly, the warm food helped settle you even more and you had a feeling that you’d fall asleep quickly.

The bag hanging from Bucky’s door was full of overnight essentials, including a Stark Industries branded t-shirt and matching sweatpants. You managed to change and brush your teeth with only one hand, then found Bucky waiting for you in the hallway.

“I got my bed set up with extra pillows for you.”

You glanced into his room, then craned your neck to look back towards the living room. A lone pillow and blanket created a makeshift bed on the couch cushions.

Bucky answered the question on your mind: “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

You scrunched your face up. “No.”

“No?” Bucky repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Even with extra pillows, I think there is definitely room for us both.” You stepped into his room and surveyed the space. Again, although a bit basic and free from any excess, it felt like Bucky lived there. A framed picture of him and Steve lived on his dresser. A basket of unfolded laundry sat outside his closet door. An extra pair of boots leaned up against his bedside table. 

Bucky let out a long breath, saying your name quietly. He shook his head then motioned towards the bed. “Okay.”

It took a few moments to adjust into a position that felt comfortable enough for you. Bucky helped you rearrange some of the pillows before he very cautiously joined you in the bed, doing his best to not create any extra movement to jostle you. 

Silence took over a few moments later, when he reached down and grabbed your left hand. 

You squeezed his palm, speaking through a yawn. “This isn’t how I pictured us sharing a bed for the first time.”

He laughed in return, shifting against his pillow. “Me neither, doll.” 

Then, you heard Bucky move again. And after a sweet mumbling of goodnight, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

--

To say Bucky was reluctant to leave you alone was an understatement. But once you settled into his bed, the pain medication seemed to finally kick in and you were out like a light. He left a small note on the bedside table, near your phone, to let you know he’d be back quickly and to call for FRIDAY if you needed anything. As he slipped into the hallway, secured in a black hoodie, he glanced towards his phone.

Tony’s message had been nondescript, but Bucky understood enough he had information about Boone. Tony insinuated earlier he was already digging into the video footage and how to proceed, but knew Bucky would want to be informed every step of the way.

Not that it mattered - Bucky already had a plan: find Boone then kill him.

Okay, no, no. Bucky couldn’t kill him. He’d never take a life like that again but… well, he had already considered a thousand different scenarios that left Boone to deal with the consequences of his actions. 

Bucky cracked his neck as he got into the elevator, shooting up to Tony’s lab. He stepped out directly into the space, following the echo of Tony’s voice somewhere inside. Bucky found him standing behind one of his workstations, hands flying around as he swiped at the screens illuminated ahead.

Tony paused, pivoting slightly as he shuffled a few things around on his desk. He leaned towards the end of his workspace, hooked his foot on the bottom of a wheeled chair and slid it in Bucky’s direction.

“How is she?” Tony asked, perching on the side of his workstation as Bucky sat.

Bucky shook his head. How could he even answer that? “Finally sleeping.”

“I hope they gave her the good stuff.” Tony’s fingers tapped against the side of the desk. “You know, Dr. Alvarez told me your girl must have a high pain tolerance given the severity of that break.” Before Bucky even had a chance to defend your non-relationship status, Tony carried on. “But Barnes - she’s tough, really tough. Look.”

Bucky turned his head to the screens, as a series of video captures started playing on the screen. It was footage of you - from the training gym, during all your sessions the week prior. 

Tough didn’t seem like enough. You were strategic and resilient and smart. Sure, maybe you needed to work on your pace and Bucky could certainly give you some pointers when it came to aim, he was still impressed.

“Here’s the thing.” Tony paused the footage. “When this incident happened– listen, I know incident isn’t the right word here. But when it happened, someone retroactively cut out some security footage.” He shifted his hand and tapped the screen again. “I just recovered it. And I am looking into how that imbecile managed to bypass the admin code for the security logs.”

“Did you watch it?” Bucky held his breath, tearing his eyes from the screen back towards Tony who shook his head. 

“Not yet.”

Bucky flicked his hand to the screen, to signal for Tony to show him. Bucky stood from his chair and crossed his arms once the video started.

As he watched, the anger flared up in Bucky almost instantly. Just seeing you alone with Boone in the gym made his stomach drop but when Boone shoved you down, Bucky growled.

The footage didn’t have any audio, though Bucky had a feeling that if he could also hear whatever Boone had been shouting at you, he’d be trashing Tony’s lab just to deal with his frustration. 

At first, everything seemed normal enough. Bucky sucked in a breath when Boone pulled off your glasses. His fist clenched tightly when Boone pushed you down to your knees. When Boone’s hand touched your head…

“Good for her,” Tony muttered out when you quickly started to fight back. 

When Boone escalated things though - as your face dragged against the mat, as he pulled at your arms, how he followed up as you tried to crawl away, as he clearly shouted and stomped his feet down on your hand, Bucky couldn’t help but boil over. He let out another growl and grabbed a nearby stool, snapping it over his knee.

He dropped the wooden shards to the ground, apologizing to Tony before requesting he turn off the video.

“Listen,” Tony raised his hands, as if to forgive Bucky for the outburst. “I can’t put Pepper through the PR nightmare if you kill this guy.”

“I’m not going to..” Bucky sucked in a breath. Well, he wasn’t going to speak in absolutes or promises. He could barely see past the red in his eyes, there was no point in lying.

Tony let out a small yelp. “Oh, hold on. Let’s..” He dropped back down onto a rolling chair and moved towards one of his computer screens. “FRIDAY, let’s pull up the last 6th months of data for Agent Nathan Boone. Every swipe in, hour worked, blah blah blah. You know the drill.”

Bucky tried to follow Tony’s thought process, crossing his arms as he watched the screens compile different information.

“When does he usually go to the gym?” Tony asked, swiping ahead of him as he scanned over the data.

FRIDAY’s lilt echoed above them. “Agent Boone, on average, visits the gym every day he is on schedule. He first enters usually between 6 and 6:07AM.”

Tony nodded. “Okay, and when was the last time we did diagnostics on the gym security system?”

“Well, boss, this system doesn’t require regular diagnostics due to the software protection.”

“Right. Then it sounds like we’re due.” Tony shot a glance over his shoulder to meet Bucky’s gaze. “Let’s run it in the morning, around 6AM. Full system shut down - including cameras - for half an hour?”

Bucky grunted. “Make it an hour.”

--

 Following his visit to Tony’s lab, which actually concluded with sharing a glass of whiskey, Bucky made a plan. 

He returned to his apartment and bed, where he luckily found you still sleeping soundly. When you both stirred awake a few hours later, just shy of sunrise, Bucky encouraged you to stay in bed while he hit the gym.

You barely argued as your eyes fluttered shut again, wincing only slightly as you adjusted on the bed. Bucky promised to return with breakfast when he was done.

Then, he headed to the gym. He discovered easily how effective a piece of paper could be at deterring people from entering. One well placed ‘Closed for cleaning’ sign and a locked door kept anyone else from accessing the space after Bucky watched Boone enter.

A thousand scenarios flashed through Bucky’s mind when he saw Boone. On top of the flood of thoughts he wrestled with all night long, Bucky was simply itching to rearrange Boone’s entire dumb fucking face.

But, no. No. He had a plan.

Bucky rolled his head slightly, cracked his knuckles, then headed towards the weight area. It wasn’t hard to find Boone, given he was the only other person in the space. That and he was already proving himself obnoxious - blasting music from his phone instead of using headphones.

“Boone.” Bucky approached slowly. Boone looked up as he did, shifting slightly as he sat on the bench and giving Bucky a small nod.

“What’s up, Sarge?” Boone replied. “I guess you and I are the only early birds today. Usually a few more in here. Though with some of these new recruits, I guess I’m not surprised they don’t give a shit about training.

Bucky sucked in a breath before motioning to the weight rack behind Boone as he set up a bench press. “You need a spot?”

Boone shrugged. “Sure.”

“This your warm up?” Bucky smirked, tapping against the plates resting on the bar. “You’ve gotta be doing more than that these days. Cap told me he’s been impressed by your bulking.”

Boone let out a stiff laugh. “I hit a new max rep last week, actually. I realize that’s nothing compared to you and Cap .”

“C’mon then.” Bucky leaned forward and slapped Boone’s shoulder. “Let’s see what you can do.”

Boone stood up on impact, skepticism evident on his face before he sat again. But, he didn’t falter. “Sure.”

Bucky walked over to the weight rack and grabbed two additional heavy plates, sliding them on as Boone laid down and got into position. 

“Speaking of new recruits.” Bucky bristled as he tried to make convincing small talk with Boone and his dumb fucking face. If Boone thought it was out of character, he didn’t mention it. “How’d training go last week?”

Boone laughed, stretching his arms up to brace the bar. “Yeah, it went fine. Most of them passed. That’s on par with the recent cohorts. Usually one or two bail out.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky crossed his arms, doing everything in his power to reign himself in. 

“Makes sense. Most people aren’t ready - some will never be–” Boone pressed upwards, inhaling a sharp breath as he lifted the bar.

“Too much?” Bucky took half a step backwards.

“No, no.” Boone carried on, barely moving the bar up off the rack. “I’ve got it.” His arms fully extended, as the weight bar swayed slightly between his arms before he positioned it back in place.

Bucky returned to the weight rack and grabbed two more plates. “Nice. You got more in you?”

Boone hesitated, looking backwards to meet Bucky’s gaze. He nodded. “Absolutely.”

Once the new weights were settled, Bucky stood above him again. 

“Hey.” Bucky closed his eyes, moving to the side of the bench to peer down at Boone. Bucky said your name. “She was training with you last week, right?”

Boone froze momentarily then blinked. “Uh, yeah. I remember her.”

“Between you and me - how’d she do?” Bucky rested his hands underneath the bar, temporarily alleviating some of the weight as Boone pressed upwards again. “Do you think she was ready?”

Boone closed his eyes to focus on his lift. “Between you and me,” he echoed to Bucky. “That dumb broad will never be ready.”

A searing heat coursed through Bucky as he released his hands, stepping back as the overweight bar slammed down on Boone’s chest. Boone roared out in pain, whimpering as the entire barbell rolled down onto his throat. As his arms flailed at his side, trying and failing to push it away, Boone tried to call out for Bucky’s help.

Though his anger remained, watching Boone struggle was still enjoyable. And although Bucky would have been happy to see the barbell crush Boone’s windpipe, he eventually did step forward and reach for the weights.

With his left arm, Bucky removed the bar and threw the entire thing to the side. With his right hand, he yanked Boone up off the bench onto his feet.

“Did you forget how to spot me? The fuck?” Boone shouted, eyes widening as he rubbed at his throat. He swung his arm forward and pushed against Bucky’s chest.  “I could have fucking–”

Bucky snarled, shoving Boone back the same way - sending him into the rack holding the weights. Boone bounced off the structure and tumbled to the side, wincing in pain as Bucky stalked after him. “Why don’t you fight back?”

“Barnes, you’re out of your mind. What the fuck–”

“Fight back.” Bucky advanced closer, looming over Boone as he scuttled backwards on the floor.  “Prove yourself.” It was clear to Bucky that reference hit Boone directly. Although he couldn’t bring himself to snap back, Boone’s face grew red. An extra bead of sweat dripped down from his forehead, as he pressed against the wall.

Bucky crouched down, grabbing Boone’s jaw between his metal fingers. “What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?” Bucky said your name slowly. Boone’s eyes briefly widened. “What do you get out of beating up an agent?” 

“I didn’t–” Boone tried to shake his head. “Is she your little girlfriend or something? Listen, I wouldn’t have – I didn’t know she – What did she say–”

“It doesn’t fucking matter if she’s anyone girlfriend, you piece of shit.” Bucky grabbed him by the throat and pulled him back up to his feet, sparing a moment to spit in Boone’s face before he made his next move. Bucky dropped his hand and took one step back, stretching his arms ahead of himself before letting out a growl. “Fight back, Agent Boone. Prove. Yourself.”

--

Despite your nicely medicated sleep in Bucky’s bed, you were tired. And talking to a lawyer and Pepper and HR and a member of the NYPD police, Officer Reyes, about the entire situation again definitely contributed to your exhaustion. 

You were even on your second coffee but it didn’t seem to be helping. Bucky was practically holding you up as he sat at your side. You were in the medical wing at the tower, going through everything you needed before surgery. It had been scheduled quickly - probably at Tony’s request, given his relationship with Dr. Alvarez. And although you didn’t really want to think about the gravity of having surgery, you couldn’t help but look forward to the healing process. You wanted this all to be over already.

“That’s everything we need. You’re prepared for tomorrow. Start fasting at midnight!” 

You thanked your coworker, Jillian, for being a wonderful nurse and securing you back into your sling. Bucky helped you to stand, giving you a once over to make sure you were okay. 

Bucky had been quiet all morning. That wasn’t particularly out of character, but he seemed tense. You didn’t always see every side of him as friends and now with all this - things were shifting. You didn’t mind it, though. You welcomed it, especially after waking up in his bed and relishing in the sense of security that he was at your side.

“Hey Bucky?” You stopped him once you were outside the doors, heading in the direction of the elevators. 

He immediately frowned, searching your face as he turned to face you. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” You offered him a reassuring smile. “But are you?”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, extending your good hand to grab his. “If you can worry about me, you must know I worry about you too. Can’t help it.”

Bucky cracked a reluctant smile. “Okay. Well, try not to worry about me right now then, okay? You’ve got enough on your plate.”

Before you could hit him back with another defensive rebuttal, you were interrupted by your name being called down the hallway. It was Pepper and Officer Reyes, again.

You drew in a hard breath, relaxing a tiny bit when you felt Bucky squeeze your hand. He hadn’t let go, and it seemed he didn’t plan to. When the officer asked to speak with you, Bucky took the lead and guided you into the nearest consultation room to have the conversation privately.

Pepper opted to wait outside but Bucky joined you, arms crossed in front of the door while you sat opposite the officer.

You really liked Officer Reyes. She was patient, direct, and took her job very seriously. And right now, that meant dealing with Boone.

“Just to give you a fair update,” she started, folding her hands together on top of the table. “We had the arrest warrant prepared and although he swiped in for work and into the gym this morning, we actually found Nathan Boone at his apartment downtown. He came willingly. In fact, it seemed he was waiting for us. He’s been charged with assault in the third degree and you’ll be happy to know he pled guilty.” 

You sat back in your chair, a sense of relief flooding through you. Although you knew there was video footage and physical proof of Boone’s attack, you still had doubts the judicial system would work in your favour. 

“So, is that it?” You asked cautiously. 

Reyes nodded. “From you? Pretty much.” She tipped her head sideways briefly, considering. “I shouldn’t mention this, but given the circumstances, it must be some sort of karmic payback. Nathan Boone was in bad shape when we found him - the guy will probably need some medical attention himself. We asked him about his injuries but he had nothing to say. Fell down the stairs, so he says.”

“Bad shape?” You couldn’t help but ask. You didn’t have any sympathy for Boone but the curiosity surfaced. 

“I have a feeling he’ll have to squeeze in some x-rays and a visit to a dental surgeon in between his court dates.” Reyes stood and offered her hand, giving you a small smile. “I’ll be in touch if we have any loose ends.”

After she left, you remained in your chair, quiet for a moment before you motioned for Bucky to sit. He was sitting after one swift stride, locking eyes with you.

You started slowly. “I meant to ask. How was your workout this morning?”

Bucky was straight faced, matching your pose across the table. “Good.” 

“Nothing else to share?” You pressed, raising an eyebrow. 

“I always like to have a plan when I go to the gym and this morning, I did exactly what I planned on doing.”

You nodded then leaned back in your chair. You knew you could ask exactly what you wanted and he'd tell you the truth. But maybe it was better left unsaid. If you didn’t ask, he didn’t have to explain himself either. But, that didn’t make the entire thing any less of an internal debate.

Why did you care even a little tiny bit about Boone being injured? 

It wasn’t even about Boone. 

It was about someone inflicting pain on your behalf. But, wait. Then again – was there any chance Boone was feeling guilty for his actions? Fueled by his fucked up testosterone levels and short fuse? Why did you have to wrestle with your conscience when he didn’t show even an ounce of remorse for what he did? 

If Bucky had chosen to defend you, to wrestle with Boone instead… Well, maybe that was what needed to happen. 

You remained in a staring contest with Bucky, searching his face for anything. You could see something just behind his lips, a desire to say something else. Maybe he was worried he would upset you with the whole truth about what happened at the gym. If that was the case, you also knew Bucky wouldn’t apologize for what he might have done to Boone.

Bucky was strong willed. He stood up for what he believed in. He’d never want to see injustice or unfair behaviour being excused. 

You sighed then nodded again. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Bucky repeated slowly, tilting his head. “Sweetheart, I—”

“No. It’s okay.” You cracked a small smile. “Bucky, I—thank you. For last night and for not leaving my side and taking care of me, protecting me.. for everything.”

He said your name quietly, reaching across the table for your free hand. “It’s an honour.”

You sucked in a breath, blinking away the feeling of crying again.  “Don’t do that – don’t be cheesy. I won’t survive.”

Bucky just smiled.

--

Somehow an hour long surgery seemed like a lifetime to Bucky. He glanced at his phone to check the time again and let out a long breath, slumping down just a bit further in his chair. Despite your exhaustion, you had barely slept the night before and Bucky felt helpless, even with all his efforts to calm your nerves.

“I’m a nurse, Bucky. I’ve helped so many patients before and after surgeries and I’m still just – I want this to be over.”

Bucky knew you were okay, in the best hands Tony could pay for, but he was still desperate to see you roll back down the hallway, safe and sound.

After another chance to take some breaths and repeat a few of his safe mantras, Bucky looked at his phone. Instead of seeing the time, he saw ‘Sam Wilson’ popping up on his phone.

It had been a very easy task for Bucky - ignoring Sam for the past 48 hours. It was petty, childish even, but he still didn’t want to talk to Sam. Bucky was still sitting in an uncomfortable swell of anger over the whole situation. A situation that could be traced right back to Sam, in a way.

Bucky closed his eyes and finally brought the phone up to his ear when Sam called back again. He stood from his chair and started down the empty hallway.

“This is Sergeant Barnes.”

Sam immediately scoffed on the other end of the line. “Thanks for finally picking up.”

Bucky just grunted. “What do you want?”

“I want you to say out loud what’s bothering you so we can move past this.” 

Silence fell between them before Bucky finally replied again. “You put him in charge, Sam.”

“I have a lot of fucking regrets about that, Bucky.”

Bucky couldn’t help but wince when he heard Sam swear. In the field, Sam certainly had a mouth at times. But during the day to day operations of the job, back in the office, he was usually well restrained. Clearly, he was out of sorts, too.

“And I heard someone already went and put Boone in his place. There is only so much I can apologize for when that jackass cheated the system and misled me. Boone broke my trust and I can get over that. But I am fucking gutted I broke her trust. This never should have happened. I know that.”

“I know you know. I..” Bucky closed his eyes, pausing to rest against the nearest wall. Eventually, he left out a quiet laugh. “I don’t know what to do with my leftover anger, Sam.”

“You and me both, man. At least you got to crack him in the jaw a few times. Wish I could have been there.”

Bucky sighed. “I’ll tell you all about it in great detail. I owe you a beer, alright?”

“Whenever you’re ready to leave your girl's side, pencil me in.”

After he hung up with Sam, then exchanged a few messages with Steve, Bucky resumed his position of waiting for you outside the entrance to the surgical suites. He tried distracting himself with a few reports he had to go over and listened to a few tracks on a new playlist from Natasha. Eventually though, all he could do was stare at the door and be patient.

Soon enough, a nurse appeared at the door and signaled to Bucky he could come through. He was directed to a recovery area and finally, he could feel his shoulders relax. There you were - safe and sound. 

Bucky pulled up a chair beside your hospital bed, greeting you with a smile as you looked towards him. 

“Bucky!”

“Hey doll.” 

“She’s still coming back from the general anesthesia. She might be a bit out of sorts still,” the nurse confirmed, giving you another once over. “The doctor said everything went well and the office will be in touch about follow up appointments.” The nurse paused, giving Bucky a coy smile as she walked away. “She immediately asked for you when she started coming to - Sergeant Handsome.”

“I said that was a private nickname,” you whined, closing your eyes tightly. You tried to push yourself up slightly to sit, but were quickly stopped by your immobilized arm. “Ow.”

“Let me help,” Bucky stood up and adjusted the bed so you could sit up more. 

You turned to look towards him. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Bucky scooted his chair closer and sat again. “You feelin’ okay?”

You nodded. “Just a lil’froggy.. Foggy..”

“So, Sergeant Handsome? Were you talkin’ about me?” Bucky couldn’t help the smile on his face as you closed your eyes. Though it fell just as quickly when you frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I - can I tell you a secret?” You kept your eyes closed, letting out a slow exhale as you settled against the pillows propping you up. 

“Sure, doll.”

“Actually, no, no.” Your eyes shot open, narrowing again as you locked eyes with Bucky. “This hasta be a secret exchange.”

“A secret exchange?”

You licked your lips then used your good hand to point at him. “You tell me one first, then I tell you one. It’s fair.”

“I mean, you started this whole thing,” he laughed, then decided it was probably best to play along. The medication was clearly still making you a bit loopy and the last thing Bucky wanted to do was upset you any further in this state. “Okay. Let’s see.” He paused again then shrugged. “I met my nephew a few weeks ago.”

“Bucky! Oh, oh wow. That’s..” You reached for his closest hand and he met you in the middle. You squeezed his fingers but didn’t let go after. “I’m gonna cry - I’m so happy for you. When I.. I’m back to normal, I wanna hear all about it. Okay?”

“I can’t wait to tell you, sweetheart.” Bucky cradled your hand in his, rubbing his thumb against your skin. “Now, it’s your turn.”

You sucked in a breath and closed your eyes once more. “I’m.. I’m really sad we aren’t gonna have our date.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Who said we aren’t having our date?”

“We’re suppos’ta celebrate my new position and..” You shook your head. “Look’at me now.. No new job and-and a broken whatever–” You tried to move your casted arm and just winced, which quickly transformed into a yawn. “Who wants to date this..”

Bucky released your hand from his and leaned forward, bringing his palm up to cup your cheek. Exhaustion seemed to catch up with you as you fell back asleep.  “I promise we’re going on that date.” 

--

The first few days following your surgery were painful, as you probably should have anticipated. You insisted Bucky didn’t need to stay at your side the whole time - in fact, you knew he had work to do and an upcoming mission to plan for. Thankfully you had a few close friends in rotation who kept you company throughout your days and somehow an endless supply of credit with your favourite food delivery app, making your life a lot easier. (You assumed you had Tony to thank for that.)

You and Bucky still talked all day long. That made dealing with the pain a lot easier, too.

You: are you doing anything after work? You: if you’re free You: you could come over? Bucky: be there by 7 :)

“It’s going to leave quite the scar, unfortunately.” Your check up with Dr. Alvarez had downgraded you to a removable splint, which you were really relieved about. You were perfectly capable of handling the care yourself and it was nice to release the pressure on your hand.

You had taken the splint off to show Bucky when he showed up. You were sitting beside him on your small loveseat, catching up about your last few days. He was holding your hand gently in his own, tracing his finger lightly over your skin. 

Somehow, by some weird trick of your mind, it seemed like the pain had already become easier to tolerate. Like Bucky’s touch was helping settle your nerves and discomfort.

“Tony has this thing… it could help with that,” Bucky finally responded, his voice barely audible. “The scarring. I don’t know how it works but it can build synthetic tissue and..”

You smiled when Bucky looked back up at you. “Yeah, maybe.” It was clear Bucky was holding something back but you didn’t want to press. “Okay, I have a confession. I invited you here because I need help with something.”

He nodded. “Sure. Whatever you need. What is it?”

It was another unconventional first for you and Bucky and your new whatever relationship status. You had visions of a sexy steamed bathroom, shared laughter and maybe slippery hands and low moans and… This wasn’t how your first shower together was supposed to go.

You chewed on your lip as you tried to figure out the logistics. You had a semi-normal shower the other day, but it had been incredibly difficult if not impossible to get any soap or shampoo where it needed to go with an immobilized arm. Even now, without the splint, you barely had any range of motion in your hand. Plus you were supposed to be taking it easy.

“Okay, so. Let’s…” You turned towards the shower then back towards Bucky, who was standing only a few inches from you - thanks to your tiny New York City apartment bathroom. “I’ll be in the shower. Uhm, naked. Then when I need soap or shampoo or… whatever, I’ll stick my good hand out and you can give it to me.”

Bucky stifled his laughter. “Sure. I can… give you whatever you need, doll.”

“Bucky,” you whined, doing your best not to laugh along with him. “Don’t, please. I know this is weird.”

“I’m sorry,” he immediately sobered up. “I’ll, just..” He turned to face the door, away from you, as you stripped down and got into the shower. “Tell me when I should turn around?”

It wasn’t a very graceful process but it worked. Bucky was very polite and helpful with everything you needed. Truthfully, it would have been better to have him in the shower with you but you just weren’t there yet. Beyond sleeping side by side and cuddling on the couch, nothing further had happened between you. And well, that was expected - given everything. But your stupid injury really was getting in the way.

“Okay, just, uhm - my towel?” You turned off the water and reached out, feeling the fluffy fabric right away. You did your best to wrap it around your body then drew the curtain open again. Bucky was waiting for you, eyes closed tightly but with an extended hand to help you step carefully over the tub. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “You can open your eyes - I’m covered.”

“Feel better?” He asked as he opened his eyes, offering you one of those soft, sweet Bucky looks you were coming to really appreciate and love. 

God, you didn’t want to fuck this up. 

“Here, let me..” Bucky took your injured hand and carefully fixed your splint back into place. Then, well, he filled in the small space between you both. 

You sucked in a breath as he positioned his forehead against yours, beads of water and condensation sticking to his skin. “Thank you,” you repeated, though you wondered if it was even audible.

He kept one hand safely holding your injured wrist while his other found a spot on your hip. He whispered your name with just enough inflexion for you to understand his unspoken question. As soon as you tipped your head into a nod, his hand left your hip and was encompassing the side of your neck, thumb running against your jawline.

Your tongue swept across your lips. “ Yes.”

Bucky’s lips met yours, gentle and rough and exactly what you imagined kissing Bucky might be like. A bolt of electricity surged through you, across every nerve. It was the perfect balm to forget about your wrist, about uncertainty, about anything but Bucky.

--

Although you knew you were returning to work on a modified schedule and task list, you had still been nervous about it. Especially because you didn’t know what everyone else knew about Boone and you and what had happened. But luckily you were welcomed back to cheerful coworkers and a very light workload.

And no one mentioned Boone or your injury. You did have to catch on newly updated mandatory company wide training though, directly related to substance abuse and security protocols. 

You got used to working with only one hand, which would still be the case for a few more weeks. But otherwise, things felt okay. And by the time your meal break rolled around, you couldn’t help but feel giddy about being back at the tower. Because you had a lunch date with your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend Bucky Barnes. 

Not that having lunch with Bucky was new, but now it felt like so much more. Every single milestone in your relationship so far had been abnormal but this - this was perfectly ordinary. Although calling him your boyfriend still felt a little foreign on your tongue, you didn’t mind that change. 

When you spotted Bucky in the cafeteria, your knees nearly gave out altogether. You couldn’t help but grin when he stood to greet you, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand. With the other he pulled you in for a hug, followed by a kiss on the forehead.

“Hi,” you said, using your freehand to brush against some of the petals. “This is unexpected.”

Bucky smiled, taking the seat across from you. “I was going to hand deliver them down to the med floor but I figured you might be a bit overwhelmed this morning. And maybe Sergeant Handsome would distract you from important work.”

You rolled your eyes, though it was impossible to hide your giddiness and fight off your warm cheeks. “You’ve gotta let that one go, please.”

“Absolutely not.” Bucky shook his head, still smiling. God, would you two ever stop smiling? There was something incredibly comforting about knowing Bucky was feeling just as wild as you were when it came to all these kinds of feelings.

Ever since he kissed you - when you were sopping wet and injured and a mess, all wrapped up into a towel - things had just been heightened. Not that everything had been smooth sailing, especially when it came to your pain and this recovery process, but going through all of it with Bucky was exactly what you needed.

Every time you struggled or hit a new roadblock, he let you have a moment to react then he simply cheered you through it. “You can do hard things,” he would echo back to you time and time again. (Which was particularly annoying sometimes, like when you were on your first official date and couldn’t twirl your pasta very well.)

As you were approaching the end of your lunch break, sharing a dessert with Bucky, you sighed. “Can I just say something out loud?” 

Bucky nodded. “Of course.”

“I just…” You reached to adjust your glasses as you found your words. “..can’t help but think about how right now I should be preparing to be on the field team and maybe even going out on missions to help and.. I’m just disappointed.” 

Bucky put down his fork, churning through his own thoughts before he replied.

You continued. “I mean, I guess there’s no way of knowing if I would have even passed the evaluation though. Seeing as I never even… it’s likely I might not have been ready. Maybe I’ll never be ready for it now. I have to start from scratch with this—” You held up your wrist. “I can’t even do the boring parts of my regular job with one hand. I have to do the extra boring stuff instead. I.. I’m just whining. I’m sorry.”

“Do you have to get back right away?” Bucky asked, grabbing his phone. He sent a quick message then stood, extending his hand out for you to grab. “Let me show you something.”

Your manager had told you to ‘take it easy’ your first week back, so running late from lunch probably wouldn’t be a problem. So, you grabbed Bucky’s hand and followed. 

The upper floors of the tower weren’t somewhere you had ever visited before. You shot up the elevator and nearly let out a gasp when you and Bucky arrived in Tony’s lab. It was huge - with bright lights, big windows and plenty of flashing screens. 

“Stark?” Bucky called out, keeping his hand tethered to yours as he guided you through the space. 

“Over here,” Tony called back, popping out from behind a screen. “It’s all loaded up. I’ve gotta run to meet Pepper and some very irritated investors but I’ve granted you full access to the video footage.” He turned towards you. “How’s the hand?”

You tried to give him a thumbs up. You winced. “Getting there.”

“I’ve got a good therapist - physical therapist, that is. No one can help this brain.” Tony tapped his temple. “I’ll send you his details.” 

Just as quickly as you arrived, Tony departed, giving one last pointed look at Bucky before he disappeared into the elevator muttering into his wrist. 

“Sit,” Bucky instructed, pulling a chair and positioning it in front of the screen. “Please.”

You let out a dramatic sigh before complying. 

Bucky sat in another chair at your side, picking up a nearby tablet. With a swipe of his hand, video footage appeared on the screen ahead. It started to play. 

It was footage of you - giving your all during your training sessions. From the sparring drills to physical challenges, you kept up and even performed better than some of the others. 

You snuck a glance towards Bucky, who was watching the footage with what could only be described as a proud smile. 

“You’re resilient, sweetheart,” Bucky said quietly, turning his head. “Although I could offer you some tips, you woulda past Sam’s eval - there’s no doubt in my mind.”

“Tips? Like what?” You couldn’t help yourself from smirking. “You wanna throw down on a gym mat?”

“Preferably a mattress, actually,” he muttered, raising an eyebrow as he paused the video. “Well, right there - you could have—” 

“Okay, I don’t need a play by play.” You nodded and let out a slow exhale. “I get it. I’m capable. I just have to.. get back to that.”

Bucky turned back to you again. “You’ll get there. I’ll help. I can be your personal trainer.”

“Okay.” You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Now, about that mattress.”

--

 ONE YEAR LATER

Three months. It had been three months since you were officially on the field medical team. The job hadn’t been easy or soft - especially the first time you were dealing with bullet wounds in the middle of nowhere. 

The med team was a tight knit group though - you had joined a new training group following many months of recovery and training and luckily found a wonderful team of colleagues. Not only that, your time supporting major Avengers missions had been an incredible, and daunting, experience.

But today, three months in, you were finally on a mission with your boyfriend. Bucky’s speciality was covert ops and most of his missions were small-scale and secretive, with only a select team of Avengers involved. But this particular mission was a bit different - with the medical team joining later as things had escalated.

After everything had settled, including a few injured civilians who were assisted and transported for further care, everyone had returned to the jets with a long flight home ahead. You found a spot on the jet with Bucky, Sam, Steve and a few others. 

“Agent! Medical attention is needed over here.” 

You whipped your head around, searching for Steve and where his voice was coming from. You took a few strides forward, pausing as the jet started to take off. You found Steve sitting near the back with Bucky.

“This man is dying of a broken heart, apparently,” Steve rolled his eyes, pushing off from his leaning position and patting Bucky on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

You just sighed but couldn’t help smiling. You grabbed Steve’s arm before he got too far away. “Want me to clean that up?” You pointed to a small cut near his hairline.

Steve waved his hand. “Thank you but it’ll be fine by morning.” He gave you another smirk before heading to sit with Sam in the cockpit.

“What’s wrong with you, Sergeant Handsome?” You smiled at Bucky as you stood in front of him.

He reached out to place his hands on your hips, slotting you just between his legs as he sat. “Two hours with you and not even a kiss yet.”

“Oh my god,” you swatted his shoulder. “I was helping people. Your knives were flying all over the place. When was the optimal time for that?”

He replied with an exaggerated eye roll. “Alright, fine.” He extended his hand up to cradle your jaw, pulling you down to meet his lips. 

“Better?” You asked, shifting to take the seat beside him. 

“Much.” He nodded, turning enough to get a better look at you. “How are you doing though? I know today is–”

“I meant what I said the other night,” you cut him off. “Seriously.”

You knew Boone was getting out of jail after serving a year, which admittedly was the best sentencing you could have hoped for. Not that it really made up for his indiscretions but you knew you’d never see him again anyway. You didn’t want to waste anymore of your energy or time on him ever again.

“Forgetting he exists is only one thing. You know I can make sure he actually ceases existing and–”

“Bucky,” you laughed, shaking your head. “I’m good. Truly.”

You lifted your right hand to stretch your fingers, taking a moment to admire the fancy glove Tony had designed for you. It was reinforced with something that gave you even more support when out in the field. You were grateful for it, though your rehabilitation had been successful. Slowly you pulled it off your hand, pausing to stare at the lines on your skin. All that remained was an occasional ache and some fading scars.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Bucky raising his right hand and you grinned. You knocked your knuckles into his twice then wiggled your fingers at one another. Before you could pull back, Bucky gently grabbed your hand and moved it closer, pressing a soft kiss against your scarred knuckles.

Maybe you were left with a few fading scars. And maybe every single step along the way hadn’t been easy. 

But you had Bucky by your side. Bucky, who you found unintentionally, whose touch filled you with life. 

And maybe that was all you needed.

[wangxianficrecs]

Comfortable in your skin by Dooiney_Oie

Comfortable in your skin

by Dooiney_Oie

T, 17k, Wangxian

Summary: "Lan Zhan?" he stuttered, his own voice too deep, looking into a face that should be his and which was now flushed pink with anger. "What did you do?" was the answering reply. Despite the sheer fury being directed his way, Wei Wuxian started to laugh. "Me?" he asked, feeling a touch hysterical, not least because he was being scolded by himself, "You were the one who broke it!" - That nightmare scenario where you end up stuck in the body of the one guy who hates(?) you. Kay's comments: A super fun body-swapping story set during the Cloud Recesses Study Arc, where Wei Wuxian just can't resist being a little shit and Lan Wangji suffers. Loved how generally light-hearted this was and how Wangxian were forced to learn some thing about each other through this setting. Excerpt: "...Lan Zhan," he said again, squatting cautiously next to where he was still in his lotus pose, rigid and still as a jade figurine, "How come you haven't silenced me yet? Have you finally realised I'm entertaining after all?" There was a barely perceptible twitch at the end of one of Lan Wangji's eyebrows. Wei Wuxian began to grin. "Or... could it be that... the Lan silencing spell does not currently recognise Lan-er-gongzi as himself, and so..." Slowly, Lan Wangji opened his eyes to fix him with a hard look. Wei Wuxian leaned back on his heels. "Ah, was I right?" he asked innocently. "I had hoped Lan-gongzi was just enjoying the conversation, but if I'm being an annoyance..." "You are always an annoyance," Lan Wangji said, and closed his eyes again. Wei Wuxian took no offense at all, the corners of his mouth curling ever-higher, and he slouched fully onto the ground before reaching over and plucking a stem of tall, flowering grass from near the water's edge, twirling it between his fingers. "Lan Zhan, do you like anyone?" he asked, watching his face carefully.

pov wei wuxian, cloud recesses study arc, cloud recesses shenanigans, teenagers, body swap, wingman lan xichen, pre-relationship, getting to know each other, roommates, miscommunication, wei wuxian is a little shit

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In a Place Like This 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob! Frank Castle

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: your efforts to be left alone find you in bad company.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You live in a bad neighbourhood. A lot of people do. No one would choose to live there. You just sort of end up where life dumps you. All you can do is figure out how to get through it. 

One eye over your shoulder at all time. That’s how. You can’t let your guard down. Not ever. Not even behind the grated windows of your apartment. Not even with the sun out and children playing across the street. 

That day, you’re on alert. The guy was at the diner during your shift. You remember he sent his eggs back for being too cold despite the steam roiling off them. You should’ve known he was one of those. Trying to find any reason to get a free plate. You didn’t bring him a second. If he wanted one, he could pay his bill up front. 

He waited. You didn’t expect that kind of patience from him. He’s more of the instant gratification sort. That’s probably what he thinks going to happen. 

You slip your hand over your purse subtly. You don’t let your gait slow, you don’t quicken. You keep it as it is. You have to let him believe he’s smarter than you. He’s stronger, no doubt, but that doesn’t mean anything. 

You push your hand through the zipper. Your fingers hook through the brass loops and you grip them tight. You’re a scrapper. You can do what needs to be done, even if you hate it. 

He snickers as you turn down the alley that cuts through behind Jack’s Pawn Shop. The old man keeps a bat under his counter and pistol in his belt. He’ll chase away the idiot if you don’t have to first. 

He thinks he has you. Let him. Over-confidence breeds stupidity. You know what never fails. Minding your business. 

You pass the dumpsters and that’s when he breaks into a sprint. You spin out of his way, only for him to crash into the metal crate. You don’t have time to react as you swing without a clear sight. You hit something. Someone. 

The griper from the diner is wrestled down beneath another man. His skull cracks off the pavement as the second stranger straddles him breathlessly and touches his cheek. There’s a split in the flesh from where you caught him. 

“Shit,” he shakes his head. “Got a hell of a left hook.” 

You back away and pull your arm back, “sure do.” 

“Ah, calm down,” he stands and nudges the unsatisfied diner with his boot. “I was following this dipshit, not you.” 

“Mhmm,” you hum doubtfully. 

You back up, keeping your arm cocked. He turns to watch you. He scoffs and tilts his head, looking you up and down. 

“You don’t got surprise on your side now. Won’t be as easy the second time.” 

You arch a brow and and grip the knuckles even tighter. He chuckles. “Told ya, I’m not interested in you.” 

“Never to careful with you lot,” you sneer as you edge away. He doesn’t move. 

“You lot?” He echoes curiously. 

“Criminals. All of ya,” you spit. 

He snorts and puts his hands on his hips. You curl your lip as you continue your retreat. As you get to the end of the alley, you shake your head. You tuck the knuckles back in your purse and keep your fingers hooked in them. 

You can never be too safe. 

💀

Another day at the diner. It’s dead after two in the afternoon. Kids are in school, lunch is over, and pay day is still around the corner. You lazily wipe the counter as you stare at the box TV perched on the old ledge. The news tallies off another casualty count; the anchor recounting the glorified account of a robbery uptown. The one down at Tina Lou’s is conveniently unreported. 

The bell above the door chimes. You sigh. The job pays your bills, the tips are small but money is money, and no one’s in the habit of hiring without a degree and some nepotistic internship down at daddy’s office. Your father didn’t work in an office. Well, you don’t know shit about your father. 

You’re not much for customer service but Alfie didn’t hire you for that. He hires the ones who can keep the diners in check. The one’s that make sure the bill is paid. 

You grab the carafe of stale coffee and approach the table as the man strips off his leather jacket. He’s one of them. You can tell by his shoulders, the way he postures and looks around like he pays for the electricity. 

You flip his cup and as you pour, he looks at you. You meet his gaze, undaunted. You narrow your eyes bluish bruise over his cheek bone and the fresh gash there. What are the odds? 

You don’t believe in coincidences. 

“How’s the hand, sugar?” He glances at your hand as you pour. Your left. They’re still tender. “Put ice on it?” 

You straighten up and hold the coffee urn steady. “Just the coffee?” 

One side of his mouth curls, “I’ll take a grilled cheese and some of those fries. Can you have Vin put on some friend onions too?” 

His mention of the cook isn’t said without weight. He wants you to know what he knows. He knows Vinny, he knows Alfie, and now he knows you. He makes a show of reading your name tag. 

“Grilled cheese, fries, onions,” you recite plainly. 

“And if you can change the channel, that’d be nice. Hate these squawking parrots,” he pushes his shoulders back and spreads his knees wide under the table. 

You turn without another word and set the carafe on the burner. You go to the window and put in the order. Vinny grunts. You swipe the remote and march over to the occupied table. As you do, a pair of diner stops outside, push the door in only and inch before thinking better of it. You watch them flee past the windows as they stare at the man at the table. 

You put the remote in front of him. He tilts his head back to look at you, “Frank Castle.” He introduces himself. “But a woman like you already knows that, don’t ya?” 

Your eyes flick up and down. His features are bullish and thick. His nose shows signs of a break at some point and his brown eyes are as dark as pits.

“Hard to tell one of ya from the next.” 

You spin and go back to the counter, once more dragging the cloth over the surface. He snorts and shakes his head as he laughs to himself. He mutters but you can’t make out his words. You agree. It’s silly that a man like him is trying to intimidate a waitress. Business must be slow. 

[reneedenoailles]

Bringing this back !

Here's a fun little thing I'm bringing back for the fandom - reblog this (or make ur own post) with your favorite ONGOING books, if you want you can add reasons as to why they're your favorites, and tag people who you think would like to participate ! 😁

reasoning & tagging below the cut to not clog the post ✨

honorable mentions: astrea's broken heart, the missing, w time catcher, kali: flame of samsara.

tagging: @theodoravery @suckitphaneuf @lanesrequiem @haitianempress @ratanslily @jillfvs @a-cloud-for-dreams @taemcains @webanglikethat @hexesandroses @renninflight @rosesandpearlss and anyone else who would like to participate ! <3

a) Soulless - where do I start ? Amazing. Showstoping. Spectacular. Totally unique, completely not ever been done before. I LOVE every single love interest, I love Vyxaria as an MC no matter the path, I looove how neatly the plot all ties together - it's just all amazing. Best ongoing story I think.

b) Shakespeare's Code - despite the fact it's been 6 episodes, this story is bumped to the TOP of my favorites. It's just amazing, Amabelle is extremely entertaining as an MC, the love interests all have different plotlines, and I love how many stats & combinations you can have !

c) 7 Brothers - of course, it wouldn't be fair to talk about my favorites without talking about this story I've been defending tooth & nail since forever. A misunderstood work of art, I really like the MC, Jaynie's so relatable & an all-around character, I absolutely cherish her. Of course, there's the love interests & Langley's amazing writing strikes again. It's always the first story I play every update <3

d) Love, Sin & Evil - another underrated work of art, my favorite thing about this story is the mechanics of saving the characters ! Super innovative, I love it. I also think Mina's a super entertaining MC and the fashion is just top notch, though on the more expensive side 👌 Eagerly waiting for the next update & the upcoming finale.

e) Heaven's Secret: Requiem - unfortunately, despite all its problems, specifically romance-wise, I still really like this story, at least for the plot of it. I'm still invested in what the fuck is the deal with Lane, and how it's all going to end.

f) And The Haze Will Take Us - Suuuuper invested to see where Alice is taking this story. I was kind of torn on season 1 but I'm actually really focused on season 2 to see where this story and this haze will be taking us ! Looking forward to the next update.

[dadrielle]

I am sorry my tags about the fire came across as accusatory or weaponized; that was not my intention. I thought the middle tag which you left off, #maybe they kinda wanna just chill rn, made it clear that I was just acknowledging there was an extra reason they probably didn't want to get deep this time. I was not saying that you do not care about the fires, nor was I saying I think that's why people asked the less deep questions. The reason I didn't put it in the post itself was in fact because as you said, it's not really relevant to a general critic of the show format. It just felt weird to me not to nod to the fact that that happened and was affecting the crew quite a bit, so that was me doing that. Sorry.

I am glad to hear that the post wasn’t intended to be about Cole. I did read some of your other posts before replying to this one, and I did also find the kids question cringe and unfortunate, cuz like, why does the gender of their kids matter even slightly? Gross, really. It was not obvious to me that this post was intended to only be about that, though, and I do think some of my points stand here, because when you say this (bolded emphasis mine on the second bit):

"the bleed over of fanon is depressing"

and

"a lot of you are showing your asses in terms of how you don't actually gaf about the characters or the story the players have chosen to tell."

it implies that you are talking about many things that you consider to fall into that category of fanon bleedover. Given that the kids question isn't even a fanon thing (as fanon is usually a thing a lot of people subscribe to) so much as one person asking a cringe question (to validate their individual headcanon), it is not at all obvious to me that's what you meant in the OG post.

And logically when follow that up with this in the same post:

"that's what you wanna ask about? it's selfish, honestly."

it sounds like you are also applying that to everything that fits into the category of fanon bleed over.

This is what I meant by splash damage. I am glad my assumption that this was about the glasses question was wrong but I don't think it is unreasonable to look at it and think that's what you're talking about. I do not think I was the only person who read it and thought that. If you say something is lame and that lame questions are selfish, people who ask questions you find lame are going to think you are calling them selfish whether that is your intention or not.

I dunno man, I tried really really hard to make it clear that I understand your frustration and share much of it, that I think it's valid to not like that kind of stuff in Q & As, and I tried really hard to provide context for what I was saying and to avoid coming across as super accusatory. I straight up just hate live Q&As as a thing, personally. Con Q&As make me wanna sink into the floor. Maybe my wordiness here is part of the problem; I know I overdo it when I am trying to be precise about what I'm saying. That’s a me problem. But I commented because we are in the same community and this felt harsh and I wanted to talk it out because that feels healthy to me. And now I know you did not mean this to be about Cole, so I do think that is a worthwhile thing to get out of talking directly. I did not respond because I'm hating on you; I did not say you're a bully. But if you are consistently having people say that they feel like you're coming for them when that's not your intention, I would consider whether you should try temper that brashness for the sake of clarity and not hitting people in the crossfire.

Anyway, yeah, if we wanna talk further, I do think DMs makes sense. I didn't actually see this second reblog until I had written most of this and I did want to clarify wrt to the tags publicly which is why I am posting this despite the DM invitation above.

I hope you enjoyed last night's episode. Have a good one.

I shouldn't be surprised by the fireside chat being the state it was, seeing as I don't follow any CR themed blogs myself or really go into the tags because I find it frustrating but still, the bleed over of fanon is depressing and a lot of you are showing your asses in terms of how you don't actually gaf about the characters or the story the players have chosen to tell.

I love my au's, I love my headcanons, I love my not quite canon ships, but they're for me and the people who chose to enjoy them if they want to. and what makes creating those things more fulfilling is trying to really be true to the character it's about, otherwise just go play with OCs

this will be my last salty post on the matter (guess we'll see) but man, the timing? all of this crazy shit is going on, it is well established that the audience is frustrated with how little downtime we've had with these characters and getting to see those long rest bonds we got to enjoy with previous campaigns, 4SD is over, and that's what you wanna ask about? it's selfish, honestly.

[note-boom]

(abt ur tags on that fic rec list post) I'd love to know more gen bsd fics!!! if u don't mind pls make a list of them

OP, I hope you understand that you have unleashed a monster considering how many BSD fics I consumed. But that said, I'll try to keep it short and strictly gen for this ask, then just reblog with the rest (some do have implied ships, though). Most of them are just fluff and one-shots. And I haven't really read much fanfic recently, so most of these are my bookmarks from before I even really got into this blog and my memory on them might be shaky; generally, I either liked them because good writing, good characterization, good analysis, and/or it was just too funny/too interesting to not bookmark. Some might have Americanisms/Westernisms of things that probably don't really happen in Japan (probably?) and some might have slight character assassinations, but I don't think anything should be too gratuitously unforgivable. Also, all opinions are my own and do not reflect on either the writing or the author's original intent.

So under the cut are my absolute favourite of favourites.

Morning Light (18021 words) by FallenBrie (time loop, Atsushi character exploration, ADA!found family)

O expectations, stale and dismal airs, leave this body of mine! (20976 words) by aptlydapper (3 chapters, still my all-time favourite bsd fanfic for the writing and the concept and its execution, Chuuya joins the ADA basically but so much more than that to me)

Conundrum (23921 words) by AdmiralTDeVanto (hi, I love this AU so much, role-reversal where aku and atsu are the older figures and dazai and chuuya are the younger ones, some other au roleswaps happen but that's a surprise)

circle of praise (1898 words) by Oxalisalis (have a few by this author (love their works so much, they have some great BEAST things), basically compliment assault, ADA family, sweet and funny)

The Scent of Milk Tea (1343 words) by Sternstunde (Atsushi and Chuuya are housemates, neither is aware of the other's job, please let them meet in canon, 2 chapters and unfinished)

Reason To Live (1746 words) by Allwalkfree (time travel fic with a take on akutagawa's future character arc that left me DEAD, just...him being better than the people he was taught by okay? and him having a clearer picture of the stuff he went through etc)

hell is empty (all the devils are here) (1065 words) by Origamidragons (legit one of my FAVOURITE Gin character explorations, shoutout to the use of her character's irl short story)

in the end, you write your verse (6858 words) by Origamidragons (ADA and PM role swap and it's honestly SO GOOD that I desperately wish there was more of this (in a this fic is INCREDIBLE way, that is))

In The Choice, There's Peace (2561 words) by treetrunkdaddy (chill vibes, fic that explores Atsushi's character so nicely to me through how he copes with anger)

Mark of a Teacher (527 words) by Seito (Kunikida has been framed as a terrorist apparently and his students see the news headlines, it's hilarious and just fun)

A Study From Stripes (teach me to be loved again) (29684 words) by MidnighttWriter (beloved fic with beloved writing, Atsushi trauma exploration, might feel a little dark or emotional for bsd (in a different way, since BSD doesnt exactly shy away from being emotional or dark) but honestly beloved and SUCH a fascinating Atsushi character study to me)

would you believe me if i said i was blinded by the light? (1203 words) by elijay (half-blind Dazai real to me, but no its a really neat headcanon and that's all the fic is, which is all i wanted)

good bones (838 words) by Quintessence (I LOVE THIS SO MUCH, another Atsushi has a lot of trauma and the agency is flabbergasted)

5 Times Dazai Didn’t Understand Math And The 1 Time Kunikida Tried To Do Something About It (3746 words) by zededs (math is difficult, so is Dazai, Kunikida is stressed out, just a funny story)

how to get away with murder (10000 words) by magdalenes (11 chapters and unfinished, but it's SO SO good, the author is setting up the mystery so well, and it's basically just....detectives doing detective work but possibly also avoiding other detectives, more plotty than charactery)

what is a name (640 words) by Seito (guys, seriously, read this, im serious it has SUCH a good theory and the IMPLICATIONS of this to the larger bsd story????)

a secret for a secret (2302 words) by Oxalisalis (another of my FAVOURITE Gin fics, this author DELIVERED so well on their characterisation, slight canon divergence but perhaps not?)

But yeah. Because I somehow ended up opening over 130 tabs (that was after narrowing things down. i am so normal about BSD) for this ask, I'll just....reblog with more for those who are interested in gen fics. (It's why it took me a while, apologies.)

[cinnamon-flame]

Hello I am back with more Viva Piñata doodles! Turns out if you think enough about fluffy piñatas you can force your way through art block (at least for a while)

The typical Viva Piñata experience, I love you Pretztail but why are you like this I drew so many Pretztail as a "do over" of my first Viva Piñata drawing from 2018

that's when it all started

[myfriendgoo94]

More selfies sorry

[tsundereition]

omg guys proshipper isn't "basic dni criteria", like that list is supposed to represent actual irl issues(*), not some 2020 internet discourse. you guys are so annoying like if you're uncomfortable interacting with proshippers i understand and respect it, although you probably have a very twisted idea of what the word means (would make a separate post abt it but there are hundreds already). but please don't equate it to actual crimes. (*)also do you seriously think that a bigot troll is going to read your dni and be magically expelled from your strong aura. if anything it's going to make them want to harass you more. it's obvious that those lists are just a pose like "if i don't put racists dni they're gonna think i'm racist" NO aaagh you don't have to over-specify(?) everything about you when interacting online can we please go back to being normal istg. reject modernity embrace not writing a dni list and just blocking people like a normal person <3

[nonbinaryaubrey]

Seeing me in your ask box, how scared are you?

i genuinely kind of dont like u fun fact ^_^!

[swagging-back-to]

people wonder why artists are leaving the site in droves and abandoning their accounts meanwhile most FANDOM art barely gets 5 likes in two days. barely gets 2 reblogs in the span of half a year.

and im not even gonna TOUCH on what it's like for oc art (which gets no interaction. at all. ever. oops I just touched on it.)

why the fuck would people keep feeding ai companies when absolutely no one is supporting them? when absolutely no one cares about their art? when no one even spares it a second glance? why would tey go through the trouble of glazing and nightshading everything when it gets NO INTERACTION AT ALL. When it's going to rot in the tags buried under hundreds of other ignored pieces of art. when ai generated photos get dozens of reblogs and likes in the first hour.

you people wonder why artists are leaving? You. you are the reason.