#fizz' ask fics

[fizzseed]

hey fizz !!! for the ficlet prompts : do i wanna know and byler (literally Look At My Blog Title lmfao did u expect anything less?)

have you ever thought of callin’, darlin’? / the nights were mainly made for sayin’ things that you can’t say tomorrow day.

do i wanna know? — arctic monkeys for @willelfanpage

Mike still keeps his walkie on his side table. He didn’t take it with him to California, but it was right there when he returned, even though his mom went through his room to clean it up, even though the earth cracked open under everyone’s feet. 

He keeps the antenna extended permanently these days, just in case of a code red. There’s a pack of batteries in his bedside drawer, too, ever since Dustin gave them to him after the whole Starcourt fiasco. 

Never again, Dustin had said solemnly.

Mike wishes they’d had the same foresight about tapes and Walkmans during their Upside Down mission. 

Since the disaster, things have settled into an odd kind of normalcy. He and El broke up, Max is still in the Hospital, Lucas still sits by her side most of the time, Dustin spends his days in Hawkins High’s gymnasium trying to distract himself from Eddie’s death. 

Mike tries very hard not to think about any of it. 

It doesn’t really work.

He picks up the Walkie, dials in the frequency out of sheer habit, away from the Party’s decided wavelength for some privacy. 

“Hey, Will,” he sighs into the static of the receiver. “I know you’re out of range, so, whatever, but…”

He scoffs at himself. This habit he’s formed, of talking to Will without actually talking to him, probably isn’t healthy. But he never went to see Ms. Kelley, so— jury’s still out.

“There’s so much going on. And I feel like,” Mike hesitates. “Whatever, it doesn’t really matter what I feel, but— I can’t keep up. It’s like… for the first time in my life I don’t have a plan. I don’t know how to fix this. Max is… not waking up, and El thinks it’s her fault and I was fucking lying to her, but she knows. She knows. She’s known for longer than I have.”

He laughs, the sound absent of the joy it should contain.

“Whatever. She’s a better person than I’ll ever be, so she let me off the hook.”

He pauses, stares down at his wrinkled bedsheets, notices a stain on his tank top that he picks at. The white noise of the walkie is comforting, a reminder of simpler times even as red clouds glow in the distance of the 2AM sky. 

“And… I miss you,” he confesses quietly. “I know I messed up last summer. I promise I didn’t mean to, I was just… messing around, I guess. And I know it was a dick move, now. And I never apologized, not to your face. Because by the time we found you, the Mind Flayer was active again, and then shit went down and then…”

Mike sighs.

“Then I was too much of a coward to say anything. For three months. And then… then you fucking moved to California and shit got even weirder. And now— now it’s the fucking apocalypse. And I miss you. I kinda wish you never moved.”

Mike drags his thumb over the stain. It won’t come out. Now, he’s just pressing old chocolate syrup or ketchup or whatever it is into the fabric. 

“You know, the week before I walked around hoping that Lenora would, like, explode or something.” He laughs again. “Just so you’d have to stay. And I know that’s selfish, because Lenora was good for you guys, what without all the Upside Down shit.

“But Hawkins isn’t the same without you. I’m not the same without you. You’re— you’re still the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

“Do you remember that? When we were trying to get the Mind Flayer — Vecna now, I guess — out of you? When you tapped the morse code into the chair?”

Mike smiles at the memory. “I told you asking you to be my friend was the best thing I’ve ever done. And you broke out of his hold, and I was so proud of you.”

He drops the walkie into his lap, letting go of the button. 

“Over and out,” he mumbles to himself. 

Back when he could still do something. Other than be a shitty boyfriend and a bad friend, that is. 

The walkie crackles to life in his lap, and he startles wildly, dislodging it enough to send it clattering to the floor. For a while, there’s just silence on the line, and Mike picks it up warily, halfway through a million disaster plans of what to do if he’s getting a call from the Upside Down. 

The line crackles again, and then:

“I remember.”

Mike chokes on his own spit, trying desperately to keep his coughs quiet enough that he can still hear what Will is saying. 

“Everything else is kinda blurry,” Will says, “but you, talking about the swingset? I remember all of it. Saying ‘yes’ was the best thing I ever did.”

Mike presses on the talk-button. “Will?”

“Yeah, Mike?”

He doesn’t need to ask if he’s real. Mike knows. “Why… why were you tuned to this frequency?”

A beat of silence. “I guess it was the last one I was on.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Mike feels the blood rushing in his veins. So Will heard everything he said. He tries to figure out a way to recover from this embarrassment, to make Will forget he ever said anything. He could just ask. Hey, Will, can you forget that I was spilling my absolute guts on our separate frequency and talking to you even though I thought you couldn’t hear me? 

“You played Should I Stay or Should I Go, right?” Will asks suddenly. 

Mike laughs to himself, presses to talk. “Yeah, yeah we did. It was Jonathan’s idea.”

He catches the tail end of Will’s laugh over the line. “Of course it was.”

Mike smiles. They sit quietly for a bit, long enough that Mike thinks Will has gone to sleep. It’s the reasonable thing to do in the middle of the night, way more sane than dumping your emotions into a walkie-talkie. 

“Mike, are you still there? Over.”

“M’still here,” Mike says quietly.

“You don’t have to fix this alone, you know?” Mike frowns. “It’s— it’s like you said. We’re better as a team. We can fix it together.”

Mike doesn’t really know what to say to that, but he promised Will that they’d do just that, that they’d be best friends again. He wants it so bad. More than he’s wanted anything ever, probably. To go back to normalcy, with Will at his side. So he says:

“Yeah, okay.” He lets himself fall back onto the bed and a shiver runs down his spine as his cold mattress makes contact with his spine. “I’m— gonna go to bed, now.”

“Okay,” Will says, voice small. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Mike answers. “Over and out.”

He lets the antenna stay extended as he places the walkie back on his side table and wraps himself in his comforter.

“Over and out,” Will’s voice washes over him, and then the static over the line breaks. 

[fisheito]

Probably what will happen if u put me in a room with another yakumo fan

[jack-kellys]

Please tell me about Santa Clarita?

ohhhhh jesus

fuck it we ball- ask me abt current wips/ideas in process

so i haven't written crackfic since.. 2018, right. and i like the idea of this ridiculous concept just continually spiraling out of control until it has to hit the audience that like oh, yes, there are stakes to this.

it opening as a sitcom slice-of-life fic, scraping by in nyc, super close friends charlie and jack with a small ensemble of other friends to make appearances, having to pull off this fucking charade. like.

It’s Davey.  He’s standing outside their door with a more put-together outfit on, dark jeans and a button-down top under a black sweater vest and a chain necklace.  Charlie deadpans.  “Jack!” he calls behind him, backing away from the door as his mind starts to race. “Do you- do you have a fucking date with Dave right now?” There’s a pause, before a whined out “I don’t like canceling on him, okay? I’d miss him too much!” is said in response from the bathroom, Jack’s voice echoed and tight. “And I look like shit right now, so keep stalling.” “Jack, what am I gonna say to him?” Charlie hisses, stepping back from the door and glancing down the hall to the bathroom Jack’s currently hiding in.  “Nothing!” Jack tries. “No one knows something’s wrong with me except you.” “Have you considered what, specifically, is wrong with you?” Charlie retorts. His eyebrows raise. “You’re telling me you want to explain why you aren’t going to kiss him? You gotta cancel.” Long pause from the bathroom.  “Oh, fuck,” Jack mumbles. Finally he steps out of the bathroom. “I didn’t think about that.” Charlie’s eyes widen, mouth nearly falling open.  Jack’s warm brown skin has completely lost its rosy undertone, instead appearing like leftover ash after a fire has died out. His eyes are dull no matter his expression, pupils wide and blank and irises no longer their starry, inky black. The eyes roll, and Jack smiles.  “I can’t look that bad, asshole,” he scoffs.  “There are.. a few things you didn’t think about,” Charlie manages after a moment. “I think Davey’s gonna notice your melanin’s gone, bro.” 

like jack is dying via zombification but also like. bro ur melanin!! this is pressing asf!!

as for plot. idk. im thinking that it's a controlled virus, like a genetically engineered rodent that dies after biting one person, so like the government is trying to find jack while charlie is trying to hide his "secret" as if it isn't his zombie bff. what the fuck yk

[llitchilitchi]

Do you have any prison arc fic recs?

can't remember anything exact off the top of my head, but nuc‘s whumptober collection has some, including a 3 chapter collab that takes place during the prison arc. would recommend checking out Echo and Aeri's stuff as well, aka the works of the co-authors of said fic. I've not been reading much of prison arc as much, as of late

[zarnzarn]

i see all these comments talking about this after the new episode, but. i would like to state for the record that stolitz isn't. toxic.

first off, the concept of a toxic and a healthy relationship are such... vague terms. when you're online, drenched in language and tight moral boundaries, trying to put a nuanced story like helluva boss's into boxes is easy to attempt and impossible to do.

a toxic relationship is one where one or both parties is maliciously affecting the other. I'm talking fetid, nasty, rude interactions where there is more hurt than love. they're unhappy more often than not when they're with their partner, there's no respect or give from the other side.

stolitz is nothing like that.

Stolas actively cares about Blitz and actually has no fear or hesitation in ADMITTING IT OUT LOUD TO OZZIE. he has been calling, texting, commenting, laughing and finding ways to spend time with Blitz. he's throwing everything he has to the wind, finding the courage to move forward with the divorce, putting everything he has into trying to keep him. he's been alone in a palace since he was born, on medication, with such less people dear to him that he remembered the circus boy who spent a day with him DECADES ago- so when blitz comes into his life and brings back in laughter and color and sex, he's holding on with everything he's got.

and blitz does care!!! he cares a LOT, the whole series we see him falling in love with stolas through SHOW NOT TELL (his expressions, his choices, his fear, his lashing out) and utterly unable to process that stolas cares about him too when talking to fizz; almost a desperate kind of denial-

cause yknow. the first time he tried to confess something to someone he really liked, he accidentally killed half the people he knew and ruined the lives of the rest?

thats gonna leave just a teensy impact on the will to express your emotions in the future, methinks.

even before that, he clearly felt like on some level that he was unworthy and he's said twice that he despises himself for the accident even though it wasn't actually his fault. being self aware doesn't stop the emotions from emotioning.

he keeps insisting its only sex so urgently to anyone who doesn't ask because he can't even imagine it being anything else. he's both disappointed and relieved when he repeats that stolas sees him as a novelty, because what else can it be?

(there's a whole other spiel of how brave both Stolas and Blitz have to be to say it out loud even when asmodeus can't afford to, considering how publically and completely beaten down both were at the club.)

(there's also another whole spiel about how frustrating it has been for ME to see all these comments over time with such bad takes based on like,, 20 min worth of info of a show that takes months to release an ep. like godDAMN have some patience?? let the story UNFOLD MAYBE? IT WAS ALWAYS GOING TO HAVE AN EXPLANATION WHY WOULD YOU CRITICIZE THINGS THAT ARENT EVEN FINISHED ESPECIALLY AN INDIE ANIMATION- i digress)

mind you, this has NOTHING to do with abuse. an abusive relationship is one where one is actively harming the other with full awareness. Stella is an abuser and their marriage is abusive.

and stolitz isn't that; it isn't even unhealthy or toxic. it's a consensual, transactional fuckbuddy relationship that slid into something more for both of them.

but!!!!! one of the main reasons for the problems that everyone looks over is-

they're in a BDSM relationship.

I can't possibly delve into dynamics without making this a 10k research paper BUT even though we've gotten only hints and costumes and dialogue- they're very clearly and undeniably in a BDSM contract. Behind the scenes of this crazy show is a whole different story, of these two delving into the most hardcore kinks out there- knifeplay, painplay, bondage.

if you've gotten into the community, if you've read a couple dozen particularly good fics by authors who know what they're talking about, hell; even if your only experience is fifty shades or 365 or whatever- you gotta know that BDSM scenes are crazy fucking emotionally heavy. there's so much that has gone down between them during their full moons that helluva can't get into!!

but you know how in so many of these popular medias and fics, the dom in the relationship is also like,, the billionaire/mafia heir/prince, etc, the one with financial and physical power? this isnt that. it has been very clearly stated that stolas is subbing, blitz is domming.

now take a moment and think about how much that fucks up the dynamics.

in stolas' eyes, blitz is a confident, dangerous individual who's an old friend and cherished memory of his, who he's trusted wholly with his safety during sex and he's lucky to have; and he has been in an abusive arranged marriage for the past eighteen Years, he's probably not going to be pushing his luck with his dom that much in the first place. plus, blitz is never cowed by him during their conversations- think back to the first phone call right after he stole the book, completely unafraid.

and for blitz, it's someone trusting him again- but it's also a royal- a blue blood who's nearly untouchable and so much more powerful- who couldn't possibly like a piece of shit like him, apart from the sex he gets out of it. he only flirts once he gets some sort of cue from Stolas; he's desperately trying to view this as only a Goetia trying to get his rocks off, despite all the evidence to the contrary, because anything else is unfathomable to him, no matter how clearly Stolas shows it, because of the ptsd.

both of them thinks the other has the power. both of them aren't expecting the other to keep shut if something's bothering them.

and there's so much conflicting messages from the other too!

stolas calls him a plaything when trying to intimidate the humans; stolas cups his face gently and asks if he's alright

blitz asks him on a date and tells him to get better soon; blitz yells that it's only sex and doesn't reply to his messages

ya see?

bring it to fizzozzie for a second now; even though they do look all good on surface, you can still see fizz's trauma and doubt in all their interactions, they're still forced to keep the relationship secret. do you see his face when Ozzie says in hyperbole that he's never leaving the house again, or when someone accuses him of being a pampered house pet or when he got sexualized in the 7th ep? whatever happened in the interim between the accident with mammon, it fucked him UP. even though oz seems to be well aware of this when he tells him not to apologise and in their general interactions, fizz still visibly has trouble separating plaything/commodity from healthy relationship.

shout the fuck out to Ozzie btw, man knows whats UP. rooting for these two so much omg.

i forgot where I was going with this point, I'll edit it when i remember. but yeah! lovely fucking relationship, but damn what angst filled issues.

anyway, to sum up- stolitz is not a toxic relationship. the relationship is stuck sludging through misunderstandings and careless microaggressions and trauma responses, but it's not unhealthy or toxic because of the simple reason that most of the current hurt comes from... a misunderstanding. stolas didn't realise blitz would need reassurance about what they were and blitz didn't see stolas as someone who could get hurt.

unecessarily calling it toxic, even online, is more impactful than people think too. almost all spindlehorse ARE on all social medias; so MANY YouTube animators i know have found jobs there; they see your words, especially since a lot don't tag posts with "anti hb" correctly to keep them out of the main tag. there are Very few queer medias made BY queer people that haven't gone through heavy corporate revisions- helluva boss is practically a historical landmark in its success. it's very very very fucking easy to forget that not ten years ago some of the only queer videos on YouTube were butter lover (one kiss at the end post credits), dirty paws and welcome to hell (subtext).

the amount of "critical talk" helluva boss gets for what it is is very unprecedented. it's a beautiful show. can't wait for the next episode.

[after-witch]

Eight Deadly Mistakes [Yandere Alastor x Reader]

Title: Eight Deadly Mistakes [Yandere Alastor x Reader]

Synopsis: You've made a lot of mistakes in Hell, but this one has to be the worst.

Birthday fic for @absolute-flaming-trash who is absolutely awesome!

word count: 1899ish

notes: yandere, abuse, obsessive behavior, humiliation, I'm joining the 'alastor yanks reader by a chain' club

Hell was full of mistakes, and you figured that yours amounted to a sizable chunk--particularly since meeting Alastor. Of the countless mistakes within that particular bucket, there were at least seven distinct mistakes that led you to this very moment. 

One. It was a mistake to thank Alastor for holding the door open for you, the day you entered some run-down market in search of a book. Your voice had been surprised and sweet and ever-so-thankful.

Two. It was a mistake to let him strike up a conversation with you a few minutes later, and not pay attention to the horrified looks that even the most hardened patrons in the shop gave you.

Three. It was a mistake, later on, to think he was your friend; to believe that the shared meals, the late night discussions about music and books and little topics you’d forgotten you enjoyed, were a sign of pleasant companionship. 

Four. It was a mistake to sell your soul to Alastor, after his honeyed offers of protection from the seedier elements of Hell, his casual assurance that your friendship would go unaltered. 

Five. It was a mistake to move into the Hotel when Alastor asked, and not think there was some ulterior motive behind it all. 

Six. It was a mistake to think Alastor was actually kind, just because he was helping Charlie with her hotel, and seemingly protected those within it. 

Seven. It was a mistake to, on this day, ask Alastor if he would give your soul back, now that you’d decided to aim for heaven. Because you were friends, and he cared about you, and therefore, he should want what’s best for you--which is to get (you pardon yourself the phrase) the hell out of Hell. 

Every one of these seven mistakes--the last, you must admit, being the most significant--led you to here. 

To you, trembling on the floor, the tangy copper of blood in your mouth from where your teeth rattled against the end of your tongue when Alastor’s palpable anger made your knees literally buckle. 

“I… I don’t understand,” you spit out, voice trembling as much as your body. “I thought--I thought you…” The words don’t need to be spoken for Alastor to know them.

I thought you liked me, I thought you were my friend, I thought you would be happy to do it.

“You thought what, exactly, my dear?” 

A low electric current buzzed in the air, making the lights flicker once, twice, and again before he continued.

“That I would simply let you go?” He laughed, but there was nothing pleasant about the sound. It was full of mockery and something else, something metal and cold. 

Your stomach squirmed awfully. It was not a feeling you’d ever experienced around Alastor, despite some other’s trepidation around him. He’d never given you a reason to feel that way.

Until today.

Until you asked Alastor to let your soul go, and the room seemed to fizz with electrical interference that left the lights sparking and 

Your eyes went wide. And your brain, stupid thing that it was, pieced things together that you had been all too naively eager to ignore until now. 

The stories of Alastor’s past that you’d heard in snatches and dismissed as jealous fantasy, probably all deriving from Vox and his ilk. The way people who knew Alastor from before his sabbatical tended to steer as clear of him as possible. 

Or how Alastor always insisted you try the things he liked--clothes he left in your room (even before you told him where you lived, before the Hotel); music he insisted you’d admire more than your current collection of alt-rock CDs; foods that were tastier, he said, than your favorites. 

“I didn’t think--” The words stuck to your mouth until you forced them out. “I didn’t think you’d be mad that I wanted to get better, repent and--and get out of here.”

Alastor, despite his smile, did not look impressed.

You didn’t have time to flinch as he swung his microphone down and out, pressing it against your throat.

“Don’t act surprised now. After all,” The microphone dug into the flesh of your neck, lifting your chin until you were looking at him through blurs of oncoming tears. He continued, voice softer, missing most of its usual radio sound. “You made me like this.” 

You wanted to shake your head, but the microphone kept you only capable of looking up and straight at him. His smile made you sick. 

“I didn’t do anything,” you said, voice light, but not quite naive anymore; you didn’t fully believe the words now, and your voice wavered. 

Even if you didn’t mean to do anything to draw the attention of the radio demon, that didn’t mean Alastor wasn’t clearly--wasn’t clearly… affected by you. In some way that you didn’t understand; moreover, you didn’t want to understand it. 

What you thought had been a surprising friendship made in the bowels of hell was something else entirely, and you hated the newfound knowledge. 

Whatever it was that Alastor actually felt for you, it was dark and awful, like sprinkles of mold you find underneath the bathroom sink. Damp and rotting and unwanted. 

“You,” he said, pressing the microphone harder into your throat for emphasis, “have been quite the busy bee when it comes to me, my dear.” He sighed in a way you’d heard him do a hundred times before. But now it feels wrong; sticky, oozing. “I’d never given much thought to… certain endeavors before you. And now I find myself distracted.”

His neck turned again, cracking, and a song began to play from somewhere. 

“Distracted?” You asked, feeling sicker and sicker. 

“Oh, yes,” he answered, dragging out the word. “Quite unlike me, if I must admit it. And yet there’s something about you that’s been making me…”

He didn’t finish. The song got louder, mingling in with the ambience of the room. It was almost soft and wistful, except for the lyrics that made your skin feel cold, repeating on a loop.

And you’re mine… mine… mine…

“And you thought…” His voice continued, each word punctuated by an awful radio crackle that made goosebumps blossom up your arms. “That you would get to simply leave me after all I’ve put into you?”

All he’s put into you.

The dresses, the food, the guidance on what to listen to and how to dance; who to talk to and who to avoid. Advice from a friend, you thought. Advice from someone stronger and maybe smarter.

“Well,” he said, almost cheery now, pulling the microphone away from your sore and probably bruising throat. “I trust you’ve learned your lesson and we can avoid this…” A crackle, short and low. “Unpleasantness in the future.”

You should have said that yes, you learned your lesson; yes, you won’t ask again. But you didn’t. Instead you swallowed hard, feeling the ache from where his microphone pressed in, and added an eighth mistake to your list.

“We can avoid it if you release me from my contract--if you give me back my soul.” 

“Well,” he repeated. And this time, his voice was muffled by a brief, shrieking radio frequency. “Perhaps a reminder is in order.”

The reminder came with cold metal choking your throat; a vivid green chain led straight from your imprisoned neck to Alastor’s hand. 

One trembling hand came up to feel the collar. It was real. It was there. And the chain, too, was solid and unbreakable. 

It was a shocking sight. 

You’d seen the chains of other owned souls before. Angel’s, in particular, when you’d accidentally witnessed an argument between him and Valentino. But there had never been a singular thought given to the fact that you, too, must have had chains. Alastor never showed them to you and until now, had never seen fit to remind you about your lack of freedom.

Until today.

Your surprise and fear made you stupid, and you tried to yank yourself away from him; he held fast to the chain and began to wind it around his hand, forcing you to look upwards, speaking all the while.

“You are never to ask me to release your contract again. And you are certainly never to even entertain the silly notion of leaving me, now or in the future. Do you understand?”

An awful, slimy feeling overtook your gut. He owned you, and he had owned you for some time. You just had been closing your eyes to that reality.

A reality that was now choking you.

“Well?”

You nodded. You didn’t think you could speak, not now. Not to him. 

But it wasn’t good enough. He yanked on the chain, choking you. 

“I don’t believe I heard you, dear.”

“Yes.” The word was spoken through gritted teeth. It tasted like tears. 

“Yes what?”  The grin on his smile widened deceptively as he yanked against the chain, jerking your head upward. It hurt inside and out. 

It was so unfair, that your heart could hurt like this, even after you were dead. 

“Yes, sir.”

That should have been the end of it. He should have let go of the chain and let you slink off in fear and shame, off to sob in your bedroom over the sudden turn of events. 

Instead, he leaned down, and for a moment, his eyes glowed in a painful flash. 

“You can do better than that, my dear, can’t you, to the person that owns your very soul?” 

His hand wrapped around the chain, shortening it even further as he leaned in so close you could smell the rot around him. But it didn’t matter that you wanted to pull away from it, because he held you--literally, held the chains that kept you bound to him. Forever. 

Yes, he owned your soul. He owned you.

“Yes, boss?” you murmured, copying what Husker sometimes said; you were unable to look at him anymore as humiliated, hot tears spilled down your cheeks. 

In an instant, the chain was gone, and you fell to the ground with a clumsy thud. Your chin hit the hard floor before you could brace yourself with your hands. 

“Wonderful,” he said, praising, almost cooing. His neck cracked to the side and you imagined his bones shifting in impossible ways to achieve it. “I suppose I should remind you who you belong to when you get out of sorts like this, my dear.” His smile widened. “A healthy reminder now and then is good for the soul!” 

He laughed. Whether he thought it was a joke or not was unclear. 

“Although, I hope I won’t have to remind you too soon. I do so enjoy your company more when you’re not being…” He waved his hand in the air, glancing up at the ceiling for effect. “Stubborn.” His eyes darted to you, accompanied by the faint sound of a radio hum. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” you breathed out without hesitation, unable to stop shaking from your position on the floor.

“Good girl,” he said, patting the air above your head. You watched his footsteps until he paused at the threshold of the door. You heard his neck snap as he turned it back around--you didn’t dare look up to see. 

“Don’t forget to tidy up before dinner.  I’ve left a dress in your bedroom that I’m sure will look lovely on you.”

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Go in Shadows

Pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Alcohol use, drunken behaviour, referenced drug use, angst, eventual smut. Word count: ~8.5k

Summary: Summers spent with her best friend, Helaena, are the highlight of her year. However, a week-long stay at her place does not go as she expects it to when surrounded by one Targaryen brother that she pines for unrequitedly, and another that can't seem to stand her.

Author's note: For @lauraneedstochill. Thank you to @aegonx for giving this a once over for me before I kicked it out of the door. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

The grass tickles delicately at the backs of her bare thighs, causing her to squirm and change position, pulling the hem of her floral summer dress lower as she crosses her legs. It’s a hot and sunny Friday afternoon in July, and she’s making the most of her four day working week by spending her day off in the park with her best friend, Helaena.

Summer has always been her favourite time of year, from the six week long holidays of secondary school to the three month university breaks, and now the stolen afternoons and all too brief weekends of the working week. Helaena has been at her side for all of them. Summer is their time, a season in which their friendship has always thrived, fortified beneath a sun that never sets.

Helaena pauses, keeping the daisy chain she’s making in her hands still as she leans forward ever so slightly, watching intently at the wasp that buzzes around the open bottle neck of Koppaberg Cider that rests beside her, the heat of the day causing droplets of moisture to sweat from the glass.

“That’s going to drown in your cider, if you aren’t careful,” she warns her.

“Mmm,” Helaena muses dreamily, her eyes never leaving the wasp. “It wants the sugar.”

She watches for a few more moments, before it flies away, and then her attention turns back to her daisy chain, her numb nail piercing through the stem of the flower, before threading another through.

“Did your annual leave get approved for next week?” Helaena asks, blue eyes lifting from the floral chain in her hands to look at her hopefully.

“Yeah, I’m all set,” she says excitedly, before taking a swig of her own cider, relishing the way the sweet, berry flavour fizzes against her tongue. “So, what’s the plan?”

It’s not a question she really even needs to ask. It’s the same every year; Alicent takes a week-long trip to Oldtown to visit her father, Otto, and ever since Helaena was considered old enough to no longer accompany her, she stays behind, and the kids are left with a free house. She stays for the entire week, the house large enough that it feels like a holiday without needing to leave King’s Landing. They enjoy seven unsupervised days of swimming in the pool, raiding the fridge, and the inevitable rowdy and out of control parties that Helaena’s older brother, Aegon, insists upon throwing.

And therein lies the real reason she’s asking; to check which of the brothers will be in attendance. She has fancied Aegon for as long as she can remember, though he has never given her a second look beyond viewing her as his younger sister’s best friend. She exists in his shadow, laughing at all of his jokes, living for every thousand watt smile he casts her way, overlooking his often drunken, reckless behaviour, and pretending she doesn’t feel a burning sense of envy at the seemingly never ending rotation of girls he goes out with. His shadow seems to be where she is destined to remain forever, desperate to experience the warmth of his attention turned to her even once. The unrequited feelings weigh heavy upon her heart, tormenting her with soaring hope and devastating reality in equal measure.

As if able to read her mind, Helaena sighs. “Aegon’s going to be there…and Aemond too.”

She groans at this. Helaena’s younger brother, another bane of her existence, though for a completely different reason to Aegon. Aemond genuinely seems to loathe her, actively going out of his way to avoid her, refusing to even look at her if they’re in the same room. His responses are curt, bordering upon rudeness when she has tried previously to engage him in conversation, and so she has given up, taking to ignoring him just as he does to her, though it does not come as naturally to her as it does him. She feels her skin prickle in his presence, fidgeting uncomfortably at the shift in energy in the room whenever he enters. Back in secondary school, she had made an attempt to forge a bond with him, by approaching him with the history essay she was due to hand in, and asking for him to take a look at it in case there were any improvements he thought she could make.

Aemond had scoffed as he’d looked it over, sliding the papers back across the table towards her with a harsh flick of his wrist. “Derivative,” he’d commented dismissively. “The point you’re trying to make is too diffuse for you to adequately summarise it. If you were to improve it, you’d simply have to rewrite it.”

She had walked away holding back tears, bitterly regretting her decision to attempt to extend an olive branch. When the essay had been given back to her she had been awarded an A grade, which made Aemond’s comments even more baffling to her.

“Great,” she says with a roll of her eyes, “assuming he’ll have Alys to keep him busy?”

Helaena gives a solemn shake of her head. “They aren’t together anymore, so please try to be nice to him.”

She looks at Helaena incredulously. “Be nice to him?! Hel, Aemond hates me!”

“He doesn’t,” she replies with a gentle certainty.

“You don’t know that,” she huffs, swigging from her cider bottle once more.

“I do, actually,” Helaena utters, before turning her attention back to her daisy chain.

She feels that Helaena infuriates her almost as much as her brothers do sometimes. Bloody Targaryens.

A week later, her out of office is on and her bags are packed.

Helaena takes her bags, depositing them into an entryway closet to deal with later, the moment she steps through the door of the house, ushering her into the kitchen.

“Want to chop some stuff for me?” She asks. “I’m going to make a jug of Pimm’s for us all to drink by the pool.”

“Us all?” She asks, moving towards the chopping board on the kitchen side, where an assortment of strawberries, mint and cucumber has been set out, ready to be cut up.

“Yeah,” Helaena says, opening a cupboard and rummaging inside of it. “Me, you…Aemond, and Aegon…Aegon’s friend…”

Helaena’s voice tapers off as she pulls a glass jug from a shelf, her gaze turning towards the kitchen doorway.

She looks up from where she has been quartering a strawberry, her grip around the knife handle tightening subconsciously as she takes in the sight of Aegon standing there. But it’s not Aegon that is the issue, it’s the pretty brunette that’s standing next to him.

“Just wondering what’s taking so bloody long with the Pimm’s?” He asks, glancing between her and Helaena. “Are you fermenting the gin from scratch?”

“Hel was waiting for me to arrive,” she offers as a meek explanation, feeling her skin grow warm as he looks at her. “Hi, by the way.”

He fires off a mock salute at her, the casual gesture making her insides wither with disappointment. She was a fool to have expected anything more.

“I’m Cassandra,” the girl standing next to him pipes up with a cheerful smile, “nice to meet you.”

Aegon startles, as if suddenly realising she’s there, turning to look at Cassandra quickly before facing back towards her and Helaena.

“Oh yeah, Cass is gonna be staying for the week. Her brother’s brewery is supplying us with the kegs for Saturday.”

Cassandra nods enthusiastically, her eyes bright. “Royce owns Storm’s End brewery, he’s gonna sort us out with the beer for the party.”

“Lovely,” she says with a tight smile, lowering her eyes back to the chopping board and slicing into a cucumber with more aggression than is necessary. 

“Why don’t you go and get comfy by the pool, Cass,” Aegon says, ushering her away with a smack on the bottom. “I’ll make sure these two hurry the fuck up with the drinks.”

Helaena’s eyes narrow once Cassandra is out of earshot, looking at Aegon as she empties a full bottle of Pimm’s into the glass jug. “You’re sleeping with one of the Baratheon sisters to get free beer? That’s low even for you.”

Aegon shrugs with a smirk. “I’m not above schmoozing for booze, Hel.”

“You’re a pig,” she retorts softly, moving to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of lemonade. “What about what happened with Floris and Aemond?”

Aegon snorts derisively, leaning against the doorframe. “They only kissed.”

“And then she stalked him afterwards…”

“The week of a thousand texts!”

“Fifty seven to be precise. You remember, right?” She asks, turning to her friend for back up.

“Yeah, didn’t Aemond ghost her because she used the incorrect version of ‘your’ in a message?”

Helaena nods. “Yes, that was mean, and she didn’t deserve that. But sending someone so many texts when they clearly aren’t going to reply is a bit…” She wrinkles her nose. “...overbearing.”

“And she left him a five minute long voicemail,” Aegon titters.

“Yeah, you’re a pig,” Helaena insists, sloshing lemonade into the Pimm’s.

“Oh well. Hurry up!” Aegon demands with a clap of his hands, before walking away.

She hands Helaena the chopping board, now laden with chopped up garnishes and watches as she scrapes it into the jug, before stirring it.

Looking up, Helaena takes in the pained expression of her friend, her face softening. “Trust me, as Aegon’s sister, he’s not worth it.”

“I’m fine,” she quips unconvincingly, moving away to fetch glasses from another cupboard. “He’s just messing around.”

“I just think if you’re looking for someone who genuinely cares about you, then you’re looking in the wrong place.”

“What does that mean?” She asks, taking down five glass tumblers from the shelf.

“Just…don’t close yourself off to other possibilities.”

Helaena takes the jug and heads outside to the pool, before she has a chance to respond.

Always so cryptic. It’s infuriating.

To her horror, as she heads out into the garden, glasses gripped between her fingers, Helaena has set herself up on the sun lounger on the furthest end, leaving the only one free between her and Aemond.

She sets the glasses down on the patio table, next to the Pimm’s jug and takes a moment to steel herself, before heading over. Wordlessly, she lays down on the sun lounger, trying to suppress the unease that ripples beneath her skin at the imposing figure of Aemond next to her. His sun lounger has its back propped up, and he sits bolt upright, long silver hair pulled up into a bun and a pair of black Ray Bans perched upon the bridge of his aquiline nose as he reads a philosophy book.

Pretentious twat.

“Aemond, pour us all some Pimm’s,” Helaena says lazily, leaning back on her lounger and propping an arm above her head.

His brow furrows momentarily before he responds. “Why do I have to do it?”

“Because you haven’t done anything to help out with our gathering yet.”

“It’s your gathering,” he retorts, “I just happen to live here. I’m not an active participant.”

She sighs, not wanting to listen to any more of their bickering. “It’s fine, I’ll do it.”

“No, I will,” Aemond snaps, standing abruptly and setting his book down, before storming over to the table.

“Christ, what a prick,” she mutters to herself as she watches him go.

An hour later, she has changed into her bikini, and is laying on her front on her sun lounger, the remnants of her glass of Pimm’s turning warm in the sunshine beside it, as she loses herself in a historical fiction novel.

She can feel the heat prickling at her skin, and knows she ought to have put suncream on before coming back outside, she’ll burn if she continues to lay there. Sighing, she places her book on the patio next to her glass and sits up, reaching for the bottle which lays discarded beneath where Helaena is currently laying, dozing beneath her makeshift blanket of a beach towel.

She applies the lotion generously to her face, arms, legs and the exposed parts of her torso, stopping when she realises she is unable to reach her back. Looking over at Helaena, she can see she is still fast asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by warmth and alcohol.

Aegon and Cassandra sit by the edge of the pool with their feet submerged, talking and laughing as they drink what’s left of the Pimm’s directly from the jug, passing it back and forth. She would honestly rather die than go over there and risk the embarrassment of asking either one of them to help her.

Grunting with the strain of stretching her arms as far behind her as they’ll go, she attempts to spread sun cream on the rapidly reddening flesh of her shoulder blades.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Aemond sighs exasperatedly, slamming his book closed. “Give it here!”

“What?” She freezes, embarrassment enveloping her like a shroud.

“Insulting as it is that you would rather attempt to wrench your arms free of their sockets than ask me for help, I can’t help but find your pathetic little display highly distracting. Give me the sun scream, I’ll do it for you.”

She is stunned into silence by the offer, her stomach erupting into nervous flutters at the idea of someone who hates her so much actually offering to help her, and with something so intimate too. She passes him the bottle, praying he doesn’t notice the way her hand trembles, doing her best to avoid the piercing gaze of his singular seeing eye.

“Turn around then,” he commands, after a few moments of silence.

“Oh…right, of course….yeah!” 

A fresh wave of humiliation washes over her, and she finds herself grateful for the opportunity to face away from him as she repositions, glad that she doesn’t have to see the hands of her best friend’s petulant younger brother moving over her body.

Her breath hitches when his fingers make first contact with her skin, though she does her best to suppress the accompanying squeak of surprise that had wanted to accompany it. His touch is gentler than she had anticipated, soft and careful as he works to spread the cream evenly across her back and shoulders. She feels herself relax, nervous tension evaporating as she focuses on the press of his fingertips against her flesh.

“How is life at the library treating you?” He asks casually, as he applies more cream to his fingers, spreading it across the lower part of her back.

“How do you know I work at the library?” She asks, surprised by his knowledge of her job.

“Your best friend is my older sister,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, though what he says next is expressed with hesitant shyness. “...and I walk past it sometimes…see you in there…”

“Ah,” is all she’s able to reply, shocked but also annoyed with herself. This is the most Aemond has ever spoken to her, and she’s so rattled by it she can’t reciprocate the effort within the conversation he’s trying to strike up.

When she hears the cap on the sun cream bottle click closed, she finally seizes the opportunity to speak. “I was sorry to hear about you and Alys,” she says softly, “you guys were cute together.”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” he tells her cooly, tossing the bottle onto the towel next to her before standing up and walking back inside.

She watches him go over her shoulder, silently cursing herself for her thoughtlessness in bringing up such a sensitive topic.

Aemond avoids her for the rest of the day, and much of the next, until the following evening when Aegon and Helaena decide that a barbecue is a good idea.

The sky is a muted blue, the final vestige of daytime clinging to it, delaying the inevitable setting of the sun, as the air hangs thick with humidity, exacerbated from the smoke that billows upwards from the barbecue.

“Is there room for my veggie sausages?” Helaena asks, peering over Aegon’s shoulder as he stands at the sizzling grill, a bottle of beer in one hand and tongs in the other, turning pieces of chicken.

“Yeah, in the bin,” he replies smugly, before swigging from his beer bottle.

She can’t help but giggle quietly at the remark as she stirs dressing into the bowl of salad that rests upon the patio table.

Helaena tuts, holding out the packet towards her older brother. “Don’t be selfish!”

“Ugh, fine,” Aegon scoffs with a roll of his eyes, setting his bottle down and snatching the packet from her.

She watches as he moves the meat on the grill to one side, before unceremoniously dumping out the sausages into the empty space. She huffs a laugh, shaking her head at his immaturity. 

Placing the salad bowl in the centre of the table, she’s about to reach for a packet of bread rolls to open, when Cassandra breezes out into the garden, laden with plates and cutlery.

“Why do you have six of everything?” Helaena asks suspiciously, fiddling with the corkscrew in the top of a bottle of wine. “There are only five of us.”

Cassandra gives a dismissive shrug. “Must have been miscounted,” she says, before joining Aegon at the barbecue, fussing at him for overcooking everything.

By the time they all sit around the table, a stony faced Aemond now having joined them, she is impressed by the spread that they have managed to pull together. Chicken, burgers and kebabs sit piled on a platter, though slightly burned. Salad, cold pasta, bread and dips accompany it all, and Helaena has ensured everyone has a glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc.

The sky has begun to darken, a purple aura surrounding the burned orange glow that hangs low on the horizon, a pretty contrast to the fairy lights that are strung along the fence and overhead of where they sit.

She is trading the salad bowl for the plate of rolls with Helaena when Cassandra glances at her phone, so she barely notices when she excuses herself from the table with a flippant “be right back!”

A few moments later, she almost chokes on her wine, setting her glass down heavily upon the table and pressing her palm to her chest as she swallows forcefully. 

Cassandra has reappeared in the garden, this time with her sister, Floris, at her side.

“Oh god,” Helaena mutters under her breath, setting down her knife and fork.

Considering the way Aegon’s eyes visibly widen, it’s clear he doesn’t know that Cassandra had planned this.

Aemond sits with his back facing the patio door, so is the last to turn to look.

“Room for one more?” Floris asks with a bright smile.

Aemond whips back around in his seat, fury reflected in his right eye as he glares at Aegon, his voice dripping with venom. “Absolutely not.”

Aegon holds up his hands defensively, shoulders pulling up towards his ears. “I didn’t know!”

Ignoring the obvious tension in the air, Cassandra returns to her place next to Aegon, while Floris plops down into the empty seat between her and Aemond. She is sure she sees him physically recoil from her.

“Cassandra told me all about you and Alys,” Floris coos softly, placing her hand over the top of Aemond’s, “I thought perhaps you’d need a friend.”

“You’re not my friend,” Aemond glowers, snatching his hand back.

“Yeah, he doesn’t have any,” Aegon laughs, draping his arm around the back of Cassandra’s chair.

“Stop it,” Helaena hisses at him.

“You know, I think you’re being kind of rude,” Floris says to Aemond, “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“You know what I think is rude?” He spits back. “Not being able to take a fucking hint, turning up to someone’s house uninvited. That is rude.”

“I invited her,” Cassandra cuts in, though she shrinks back the moment that Aemond directs his angry gaze towards her.

“And who the fuck are you?! A vapid little nobody that my brother has decided is his flavour of the week.”

“Are you going to let him speak to me like that?!” Cassandra demands, looking expectantly at Aegon.

Aegon cringes outwardly, pulling his arm back from Cassandra’s chair. “This doesn’t really involve me, to be honest,” he tells her awkwardly.

“God, you’re pathetic!” She seethes, standing abruptly, causing the legs of her chair to scrape loudly against the patio. “Come on, Floris, we’re leaving.”

Floris stands, scowling down at Aemond as she does so. “You know, for someone who has—” she gestures towards his face, pointing specifically at his prosthetic eye, “you’d think you’d be more grateful for the attention.”

She flounces off alongside her sister, leaving the four of them in stunned silence. Helaena looks as though she wants to burst into tears, Aegon stares blankly across the table, fingers spinning his wine glass around by its stem, while Aemond quietly seethes with rage.

“Well, that was awkward,” Aegon finally says, reaching for more chicken.

The slamming of Aemond’s fist upon the table causes them all to startle, the force of it rattling the plates and glasses. They all look at him, wide eyed, as he stands up silently and walks back into the house.

She feels awful for the way Floris had spoken to him, and is desperate to make up for her earlier blunder, after fumbling their conversation so horribly. She can’t stand the thought of him being alone and upset, when both of his siblings are clearly in no position to offer comfort.

“I’ll go after him,” she says softly, rising from her seat and walking back into the house.

She finds Aemond in the foyer, about to head upstairs. 

“Wait,” she calls out, “I just wanted to see if you’re okay?”

“Never better,” he says sullenly, though he pauses and turns to face her.

“What Floris said was really uncalled for. Please don’t listen to her,” she tells him sympathetically, her eyes pleading as she looks up at him.

“I said I’m fine,” he insists, refusing to look her in the eye.

“You don’t have to pretend, it’s okay not to–”

“What are you, a fucking therapist?!” He rages, causing her to shrink back.

“No, I was just trying to make you feel better,” she whispers meekly.

“Well, don’t,” he snaps back, “I don’t need your faux sympathy or your positivity buzzword bullshit.”

Her brow furrows as she feels annoyance prickle at her. None of this is her fault, she’s just trying to offer support, yet despite that he is lashing out at her anyway. Her mouth opens, the words leaving it before she has the chance to consider them. “You are such a miserable fucking twat, no wonder Alys finished with you!”

She regrets what she said the moment she sees the fury blaze within his right eye. Instinctively, she steps away, her back hitting the wall as he advances towards her. And then his lips are crushing against hers, causing her to squeak in surprise as he kisses her hungrily, his large hand cupping her jaw. She grips the front of his shirt, his fists balling into the material, unsure of if she wants to pull him closer or push him away. But she finds herself responding, her mouth moving against his, lips parting to allow his tongue entrance, letting it lick against hers.

Nervousness and excitement swirl like a maelstrom in her belly. She could never have anticipated this. What the hell are they doing? Aemond hates her, doesn’t he?

When they finally part for air, their breathing is ragged. Aemond stares down at her, lips parted and pupil dilated. “Do you want to come upstairs?” He asks lowly.

The question makes her heart feel as though it has stopped beating. It’s one thing to kiss Helaena’s younger brother, but another entirely to entertain the idea of sleeping with him.

She falters, trying her best to speak coherently. “I…um…I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

Aemond pulls back, his face hardening back to blank stoicism in an instant. She immediately feels the loss of him, the space that his warmth had previously occupied suddenly feeling chilly.

“Of course,” he mutters darkly, “I would hate to cut into the time you spend following my brother around like a pathetic dog.”

The statement makes her feel as though she has had a bucket of ice water thrown over her, hurt and humiliation spreading hotly throughout her body, as tears sting at the rims of her eyes. He disappears up the stairs before she can say anything in response, leaving her alone in the foyer to compose herself, wondering what on earth just happened.

She scrubs her hands over her face, drawing in a few steadying breaths, before turning to head back outside. Helaena is already in the kitchen, wrapping plates of food in cling film. She looks up when she sees her, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Need any help?” She asks.

“No, I’m all good. There’ll be leftovers in the fridge, if you want any.”

She utters a quiet thanks, before stepping outside, her eyes immediately drawn to Aegon who sits at the edge of the pool, paddling his feet, illuminated by only the pool lamps and soft fairy lights that are strung up around the garden. The sky hangs velvety black above them, stars twinkling in the distance.

Kicking off her flip flops, she sits beside him, dunking her own feet into the coolness of the water.

“Cassandra seemed pretty angry with you,” she says gently.

“Yeah,” Aegon replies, keeping his eyes fixed on the beer bottle he has clasped in both hands. “She’ll be back though.”

“You seem certain of that.”

“Well, I am irresistible,” he says, looking up at her with a grin. “And she’s left all her stuff here…”

She chuckles softly, facing forward again, a thousand things rushing through her mind that she wants to say to Aegon. Tonight couldn’t possibly get any messier, so why not speak her mind?

“Aegon…” she begins, unable to look at him, knowing the moment she does, all of her thoughts will unravel. “I think you know how I feel about you, why have we never…why won’t you…”

She sighs in frustration, unable to finish her train of thought, unsure of what it is she even wants to say. She dares to cast him a sideways glance and sees him anxiously chewing his lip, his thumbs picking at the label on the neck of the bottle.

“It’s not like I haven’t thought about it,” he finally admits, “you’re gorgeous. But you and I are never going to happen.”

She braces herself for the impact of the inevitable pain in her chest, but it never comes. Instead, she feels lighter. The final piece of closure she needs, permission to move on from the “what if” that has haunted her teenage years and entire adult life so far. Yet she cannot help her curiosity at his response.

“Why not?” She asks, turning to look at him.

He lifts his head, meeting her eye. “I said I wouldn’t, I made a promise.”

“To who?” She asks, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Aegon! You need to help me load the dishwasher,” Helaena calls out from behind them.

Aegon sighs, moving to stand, muttering “Christ, her last slave must have died of exhaustion” to himself as he walks away, leaving wet footprints on the patio behind him.

She is frustrated that Helaena interrupted them before Aegon could answer her, her curiosity piqued almost unbearably. As Aegon approaches Helaena, she hears her chastising him in a hushed tone, Aegon’s own defensive retort is also much quieter than his usual manner of speaking. She wonders what they’re arguing about, but quickly dismisses it. There has been enough conflict for one day.

Her thoughts drift back to Aemond and the kiss they had shared. She can still feel his lips lingering against hers if she focuses hard enough upon it. It had felt nice, she had kissed the man who hated her and actually enjoyed it. Then straight afterwards he had reminded her why she usually works so hard to avoid him. It was a fluke, not worth making a big deal of. She certainly wouldn’t be telling Helaena about it.

The following afternoon, her and Helaena laze around on beach towels that are laid upon the perfectly manicured lawn of the back garden, enjoying the warmth of the midday sun upon their skin.

As Aegon had predicted, Cassandra had shown back up at the house that morning, and their enthusiastic reconciliation had been what had prompted her and Helaena’s decision to relocate to the garden. Aemond hasn’t bothered to come back downstairs since insulting her the previous evening.

Helaena lays on her front, legs bent at the knee and ankles crossed. She plucks a foil packet from beneath her towel and tears it open, pulling out a blue and green gummy worm. She dangles it towards her, the hint of a smile upon her lips.

“Want to go halves?” She asks.

“On a sweet?!”

“An edible!”

“Oh Christ…no!”

“Suit yourself,” Helaena says with an easy shrug, stretching the worm between her teeth as she bites off the end.

“Think I need to keep a clear head, especially after last night.”

“Mmm,” Helaena concurs, chewing and swallowing her mouthful of gummy. “I saw you talking to Aegon. Please tell me you aren’t still pining after him?”

“No, actually,” she says honestly, “I think last night was the closure I finally needed.”

“Good,” Helaena says, eyeing her carefully. “So what’s really bothering you?”

She sighs, knowing there’s no point denying it. Helaena is too intuitive for that.

“I…um…Aemond and I…we kissed…”

Nervously, she looks over at her friend, awaiting her angry reaction. However, instead of the scowl she’d expected, Helaena is smiling.

“And…?” She asks excitedly.

Why is she not more surprised by this? Shouldn’t she be annoyed?

“And nothing. I insulted him, he kissed me out of anger, then he insulted me when I wouldn’t sleep with him. He’s been sulking in his room ever since.”

“Go and make him apologise,” Helaena urges her.

“Why should I? He owes me an apology, he should come to me.”

“That’s not Aemond’s style. You’re both as stubborn as each other. Just go up to his room!”

“Why are you so eager for me to make up with him?”

“Because…” Helaena trails off, and for a moment she thinks she’s lost her train of thought, until she holds up the rest of the gummy worm with a smile. “Because I want to finish this and you’re harshing my buzz!”

Charming.

She has a point though, she supposes. She has made amends with one brother this week, it wouldn’t hurt to repair things with the other too.

“Fine, fine, I’m going,” she says with a sigh, standing up and brushing herself off.

As she ascends the stairs towards the upper level of the house, it’s quiet, save for the soft sounds of music and Cassandra’s giggles coming through Aegon’s closed bedroom door. She pauses as she reaches Aemond’s room, her heart hammering in her chest, and nausea swirling in her gut as she stands outside, desperately trying to steel herself to knock.

What would she say? Would he even want to speak to her?

She takes a deep breath, attempting to push through the anxiety and knocks softly. She hears shuffling from the other side, before the door pulls slowly open. Aemond’s long silver hair is loose, and he’s dressed in a plain black t-shirt and black jogging bottoms. He looks effortlessly flawless, despite how casually he’s dressed.

Has he always looked this good? How had she never noticed before?

He bows his head slightly when he sees it’s her, a flicker of sadness briefly visible in his eye before he casts his gaze downward.

“Can I come in?” She asks softly.

He nods, stepping back to allow her in, closing the door behind her.

She’s never been in Aemond’s room before. It’s flooded by natural light from the large bay windows, and everything is immaculately neat and tidy, from the orderly shelves of books, to how taut his bedsheets are pulled against the mattress. Everything has its place.

“I owe you an apology,” she begins, turning to face him.

His eyebrows raise, eye widening in surprise. “Me?”

She nods. “I should never have pried into your personal life, what happened between you and Alys is your business and I had no right to ask about it or pass comment on it. I’d really like it if we could just forget what happened yesterday and start again.”

“What if I don’t want to forget about it?” He asks, stepping closer.

Her heart sinks, disappointment making her shoulders sag. “You don’t?”

He shakes his head, looming over her, his breath ghosting against her skin as he speaks. “There’s a particular moment that I’m very keen to remember.”

Her skin grows warm, her breath hitching as he reaches up, his fingertips ghosting against the side of her neck. “Or are you still chasing after my brother like a pathetic little bitch?”

This time his words don’t offend, instead they send a shiver up her spine, her mouth going dry as his eye bores into hers.

“N–no,” she stammers, her pulse racing as his hand rests against her neck, his stare dark and intense. “I don’t like him like that anymore. I think I’d known that for a while, but him telling me it was never going to happen helped me to realise that.”

“Mmmm,” Aemond hums softly, leaning in, “I’m glad that Aegon is a man of his word.”

His lips ghost against hers, but she freezes as his words echo in her mind alongside his brother’s.

I’m glad that Aegon is a man of his word.

I said I wouldn’t, I made a promise.

She pulls back sharply, brow furrowed as she stares at Aemond suspiciously. “Was it you that Aegon made a promise to, to never try anything with me?”

Aemond nods, reaching for her again, sighing as she steps away. “It was years ago. I made him promise me he’d leave you alone, because well…I like you, and he’s not good enough for you.”

Her mouth falls open in disbelief, her voice a tight sounding whisper as she struggles to keep her emotions in check. “You had no right to do that…”

“I was protecting you,” he says softly, “he wouldn’t have been good to you.”

“And you would have?!” She responds, voice wavering around the rapidly forming lump in her throat. “You’ve spent years ignoring me, only interacting to be hateful. How the fuck is that protecting me?!”

“You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand!” She cries, her chest tightening as hot tears roll down her cheeks. “If you liked me you should’ve said something, what you’ve done instead is manipulative and cruel.”

She pushes past Aemond, slamming his bedroom door behind him, before heading to Helaena’s room where she’s been staying since she arrived. Curling up on her side of the bed, her shoulders shake as she sobs quietly into the pillow, a hot swirl of anger, sadness and betrayal coursing through her body.

How dare he? How fucking dare he? What might’ve been if she’d just been given a chance with Aegon? What might’ve been if Aemond had voiced his feelings for her sooner? He had robbed her of the opportunity to find out any of it.

When the door eventually creaks open, she is unsure of how many hours she has been laying there. She has cried herself out, a hollow feeling having settled in her chest, numbness replacing the hurt and anger she’d felt previously.

“Hey,” Helaena says softly, the mattress dipping slightly as she sits upon the edge of it. “Brought you a sandwich, cheese and Marmite.”

“What time is it?” She asks groggily, pulling herself into a sitting position, as she gratefully accepts the plate from her.

“Just gone six. Figured there’s no point in us all doing dinner together tonight…”

“Sorry,” she whispers sadly, “I’ve fucked this whole week up.”

“You haven’t,” Helaena says earnestly, “none of this is your fault. Aemond has just chosen the worst possible way to tell you he has feelings for you.”

“You know?!” She asks, the warmth of embarrassment heating the apples of her cheeks.

“Please don’t be upset. Aemond’s always had a thing for you, I’ve always known. For what it’s worth, I think you guys would be great together.”

“Great together?! No offense, Hel, but your brother’s a tool.”

“He can be, yeah. But you’re more alike than you think. You just need to see beneath the tough guy exterior.”

She shakes her head. “Until this week he’s either ignored me or been awful to me.”

“Aemond isn’t the best at expressing how he feels, but he’s trying. I’ve gotten tired of watching him pine for you for so long, and make himself miserable never doing anything about it. I told him that if he didn’t say anything this week then I’d tell you myself.”

Her eyes widen, the confession taking her breath away. “Hel…”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be meddling, and I know Aemond shouldn’t have interfered with Aegon. But honestly, you can do so much better.”

“And you think Aemond is better?”

“He could be, if you gave him the chance.”

“All we do is argue.”

“Because you’re so alike! You just need to listen to each other.”

She chews her lip, mulling over Helaena’s words. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out. But not tonight. Tonight my only interests are this sandwich and whatever crap we can find on Netflix.”

“Sounds good to me,” Helaena replies happily.

They spend the rest of the evening curled up in Helaena’s bed, watching a nature documentary that they eventually fall asleep in front of.

It’s early when she awakens. She can’t see the time, but can tell from the pastel hue of the lightened sky visible through the window, where she and Helaena had fallen asleep without closing the curtains, that sunrise wasn’t long ago.

Eager to stretch her limbs, having been cooped up in the same room for more than twelve hours, she disentangles herself from her still sleeping friend, and pads downstairs. 

The aroma of brewing coffee lures her towards the kitchen, but she stops in her tracks when she spots Aemond, his back to her as he stands in front of the coffee maker. For a moment she considers just going back upstairs, until he turns and sees her.

Wordlessly, they stare at each other, time feeling as though it stretches on for an eternity, before finally he speaks.

“Coffee?”

“Um…sure.”

He nods, turning to grab the espresso cup from the drip tray before sliding it across the kitchen island to her. “Take this one.”

She utters a quiet thanks, perching on a bar stool as she wraps her hands around the warmth of the small ceramic vessel. The only sounds in the kitchen are that of Aemond preparing another coffee for himself. She’s grateful they both have something other than each other to focus on, as truthfully she doesn’t know what to say.

“Valar morghulis was how they said it in Valyria of old. All men must die. And the Doom came and proved it true,” he recites as he turns back to her, placing his own coffee upon the counter.

“What?” Her brows pull together in confusion as she looks up at him from her cup.

“You wrote that in the history essay that you shared with me back when we were at school. That particular line has always stuck with me. I thought it was inspired.”

Her heart feels as though it skips a beat, realising he has remembered such a small detail, but it is contradictory to the reality of his reaction to it. “You said it was derivative.”

“That was unkind. I regret it,” he tells her sincerely. “Truthfully, it was brilliant. I’ve never read anything like it.”

“Why were you so rude about it then?”

“An attempt to push you away, I suppose.”

“Why?”

He sighs, taking a long sip of his coffee, looking pensive as he casts his eye away from her, choosing his words carefully. “You’re too good for Aegon, he has spent his entire life failing upwards, being given things he hasn’t earned, taking what I work hard for. I couldn’t let him take you too. But you’re also too good for me. I already thought you were perfect, and was trying so hard to keep you at arm’s length. I think I fell harder for you after reading your essay, and that scared me. You deserve better than me, but I can’t seem to let you go. I lost interest in Floris because she wasn’t as intelligent as you are, and Alys ended things with me because she could tell how hung up on you I am.”

She groans exasperatedly. “Am I seriously the last person to know that you have feelings for me?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve spent a long time hiding it, but now my cards are fully on the table. I’m being as honest as I can be. I didn’t intend for you to ever find out. I wanted to get over you. I didn’t think that you’d be interested.”

“Did it never occur to you to ask?”

“I’m asking now.”

“I…I’ve never thought about you that way, to be honest, not until you kissed me…”

“...and then?”

“I think I could…”

“So is that a yes?”

“You’ve not actually asked me anything…”

He rolls his eye. “I’m pouring my heart out here. Meet me halfway.”

She huffs a soft laugh. “I think we should take things slowly. Let me get to know the Aemond that’s not a massive arsehole. Can you handle that?”

“I can handle that.”

The air feels lighter somehow as they both sip their coffee, a peacefulness having settled over the two of them, rooted in mutual hope and excitement.

Over the next couple of days, her and Aemond spend more time together. He makes more of a conscious effort to include himself when she and Helaena hang out in communal spaces. They stay up all night talking, and when they’re alone together he intertwines his fingers with hers, asking her to read to him as he rests his head in her lap. They never go further than a few soft kisses, but she finds herself falling asleep cuddled up to him each night, instead of in Helaena’s bed.

It’s disconcerting to peer behind the iron facade of Aemond Targaryen, this softer, kinder, gentle hearted side is one she’s never seen before. Yet the more she gets to know it, the more she grows to like it. It’s something deeper, more intimate than anything she had ever felt for Aegon, and she realises this is because it surpasses mere infatuation, and her feelings are reciprocated.

It’s Saturday evening, and Aegon’s party is close to becoming out of control. The heavy bass of the music reverberates throughout the house, and Royce has provided more kegs than everyone in attendance combined could ever be able to drink in a single night. Every downstairs room, as well as the garden, bustles with people – most of whom she doesn’t know.

Despite this, she is having fun. Her, Helaena and Aemond have kept within their own little bubble, talking and laughing as they pass wine between them, slugging it directly from the bottle. The more she and Aemond drink, the closer they shift towards one another on the sofa, until eventually one of her legs ends up slung over the top of his.

Her mind feels fuzzy from the effects of the alcohol, spreading a warmth throughout her body. She feels happy, she can’t remember the last time she felt this content.

As the evening presses on, Aegon stumbles over to them, a few of his friends trailing after him. She can tell from his glassy eyed expression that he’s drunk. He sways slightly on his feet as he stands in front of them all, taking in the sight of her and Aemond sitting close together.

“There they are!” He slurs. “The happy couple!”

“Has your little brother got himself a girlfriend, Aegon?” His friend pipes up from behind him.

“My cast off, actually,” he says, gesturing towards her with his glass, slopping beer onto the living room floor as he does so.

“Watch yourself,” Aemond says darkly. She feels him tense beneath her, rapidly growing angry.

“Shouldn’t you be thanking me, Aemond?” He asks, cocking his head. “I let you have her! So, come on, the least you can do is let us know what she’s like in the sack!”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Aemond hisses through gritted teeth.

“Stop it, both of you,” Helaena says pleadingly.

She grasps Aemond’s hand, a vain attempt to calm him, as Aegon laughs hysterically with his friends.

“You’ve not fucked her yet, have you?! Will she not put out? Still holding out hope for me?!”

She squeaks in surprise as Aemond stands abruptly, towering over Aegon as he squares up to him. “I said, shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth.”

“Why?” Aegon asks with a careless shrug. “Truth hurt, does it? Because let’s face it, she couldn’t be with me, so she settled for you. Second best.”

With an angry snarl, Aemond shoves Aegon, sending him toppling backwards into his friends, stunning the room into silence as he storms from it.

Her blood runs cold, her heart drumming wildly against her ribcage as she exchanges a horrified glance with Helaena, before hurrying after Aemond, who is already retreating up the stairs two at a time.

He is pacing his room, his breathing ragged as she follows him in, shutting the door and muffling the sound of the party below them.

“Ignore your twat of a brother,” she says soothingly, “he’s drunk, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

Aemond shakes his head, and the look of hurt she sees reflected in his eye as he looks at her makes her heart squeeze painfully. “He’s right. You’re only with me because you couldn’t have Aegon.”

“He’s wrong.” She steps towards him, taking his hands in hers, “I couldn’t be happier with the way things have turned out. What I feel for you…it’s real. You’ve made me happier in two days than Aegon ever has in ten years.”

“Do you really mean that?” He whispers.

He looks so vulnerable, so sad as he looks down at her that it makes her want to cry.

“Every word,” she utters, leaning up on tiptoes to kiss him softly, her fingers caressing his cheek. “You’re so good, Aemond, so good to me.”

He rests his forehead against hers, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pulls her close, his eye fluttering closed. “I want to believe that.”

“I’ll make you,” she whispers, tugging him by the front of his shirt as she steps back towards the bed.

They topple onto the bedspread, laying on their sides, facing each other. Her grip on his shirt tightens as she kisses him again, deeper this time, her tongue lapping delicately against his, taking her time with it, allowing him to feel every movement of her lips against his.

When she pulls away, she trails her lips over the sharpness of his jaw and down the column of his throat, her fingers working deftly to open his buttons as she does so, caressing every inch of his bare torso as it’s revealed to her.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers against his neck, feeling him shiver against her, his rapidly growing hardness pressing against her thigh through his jeans.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, as her hands move to his belt buckle, pulling it open.

“I want you,” she whispers, “more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.”

He groans, fingers digging into the flesh of her hip, screwing his eye shut as she moves her hand beneath the waistband of his underwear.

Her core throbs with arousal as she strokes the velvety soft flesh of his hardened cock, eagerly wrapping her fingers around it, pumping softly, earning a sharp hiss of pleasure from him.

She pushes his underwear down far enough to free his erection, before hooking a leg over his hip and tugging the thong beneath her dress to one side.

“Feel what you do to me,” she says huskily, dragging the head of him through the stickiness that has gathered between her thighs.

Aemond inhales sharply, hips jerking at the sensation, and she smiles at the effect she’s having on him, his breaths coming fast and shallow.

“I want you inside me,” she coos, “will you let me?”

He swallows thickly, pupil dilated with desire as he nods enthusiastically. “Fuck…yes…”

She positions him at her entrance, angling her hips to encourage him to press forward. All of the air feels as though it is forced from her lungs as he pushes into her, the stretch of her body around him is exquisite torture.

“Mmmm…so big,” she murmurs, stroking his hair, feeling him smile in response against the skin of her shoulder. She can tell from the way he’s tensing that he’s holding his breath, every part of him sinking inside of her as intense for him as it is for her.

Once he is fully sheathed inside, she winds her arms around his neck. His grip on her hip is iron clad as he uses his other hand to pull down the straps of her dress and her bra, pressing his face into her breasts as they slowly begin to rock their hips together.

Their pace is unhurried, less about the act itself and more about providing closeness and comfort to each other, and she knows that Aemond is in desperate need of both right now.

His thrusts are shallow as she rolls her hips in time with his, her fingers stroking softly through the silken strands of his hair as he nuzzles into her chest, sighing softly against her flesh with every praise and word of affirmation that she utters softly to him.

She doesn’t care if he brings her to release, she wants tonight to be about Aemond, to make him feel special. When he eventually comes undone, spilling himself inside of her as he pulsates and trembles, her heart flutters as he stares at her, eye filled with nothing but adoration.

Summer has always been her favourite time of year, and thanks to Aemond she’s certain it always will be.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

PLEASEEE CAN YOU DO A TOM BLYTH X ACTRESS ASMR FIC. IDK IF YOUVE EVER SEEN THE W MAGAZINE INTERVIEWS WITH CELEBRITIES DOING ASMR BUT ID LOVE TO READ ONE OF TOM AND THE READER BEING ALL CUTE AND WHOLESOME WHILE DOING ASMR AND TRYING NOT TO LAUGH

ASMR chaos || Tom Blyth x actress!reader

A/n: you guys continue to blow my mind with the scenarios and prompts you give me 😃 keep em coming!

Warnings: pure fluff!

Wc: 1,010

Divider by @pommecita

Walking into the room, you throw Tom an interested look as the two of you look at the microphones on the the table. As we settled into our seats, the interviewer, a vibrant woman named Lisa, welcomed us with a warm smile. “Today, we’re going to do something a bit different, something fun. Have either of you tried ASMR?” she asked.

“No, we haven’t,” You and Tom exchanged playful glances, both secretly wondering what you had gotten yourselves into. “Well, this will be a first for the both of you then!” Lisa exclaimed. “Absolutely, let’s do it,” Tom replied with a grin.

“I don’t think we’re gonna do that well babe, we’re both loud people,” You squeeze Tom’s arm as he laughs, putting on his headsets as you follow suit.

“Hey guys,” you gently murmur into the microphone, a playful glint in your eyes. “I’m Y/n Y/l/n” Tom shoots you a sidelong glance, a charming smile gracing his lips. "And I'm Tom Blyth," he adds with a hushed tone, his voice carrying a hint of mischief.

“And today-“ You move to the next microphone but end up bumping into it creating a loud noise. You cringe at the sharp noise, while Tom, caught off guard, tries to stifle a laugh, his eyes dancing with amusement.

“Sorry,” You sheepishly smile, dimples forming on your cheeks, “Today we’ll be doing A-” Tom smoothly moved towards the microphone, his voice flowing seamlessly, "S-" you gracefully took your place at the other mic, "M-" a shared moment of anticipation, "R," Tom concluded, and with satisfied glances, you both silently exchanged a high-five.

Your first challenge was the classic apple crunch. Tom took the lead, picking up a shiny red apple. He leaned into the microphone, giving it a thoughtful look before taking a bite. The crisp sound echoed in the studio, and a spontaneous giggle escaped you at the absurdity of the situation.

"Now, your turn," Tom said, handing you the apple with a mischievous glint in his eyes. You took a deep breath, trying to maintain composure. As your teeth sunk into the apple, the studio filled with a satisfying series of crunches.

Biggest mistake you made was looking at Tom, mid bite. You automatically screw your eyes shut as you and Tom lose it, having to turn away from the mics as you let out hearty chuckles.

"Don't look at me!" You whisper yell at Tom in a joking matter as he wipes the tears from his eyes, "Sorry, sorry, I couldn't help myself," he quietly apologies as you smack his arm gently. The studio was filled not only with the sound of apple crunches but also the infectious sound of both your laughs.

You were then passed a can of coke. Tapping on it with you manicured nails, you move it from microphone to microphone as Tom watches amused. "I'm so bad at opening cans with nails on-" You start but Tom has already taken it, opening it with a satisfying pop near the microphone.

The sound of it fizzing reached you ears as you purse your lips at the sound of it. You take the can back and lean towards your microphone, Tom's hands moving to tuck the stray pieces of hair that had fallen.

You try to contain your laughter as you bring the can up to your lips, sipping it. The noise was surprisingly loud in your earphones as you start quietly laughing. You took another sip, deliberately prolonging the sound for comedic effect, the noise was a combination of tiny slurps and the distinctive hiss of carbonation.

"Here, you try," you pass the can to Tom who takes it with a playful grin. He takes measured sips of it as you slightly squirm in your seat at the loud sound of it in your earphones. You watch as he takes large sips of it.

"I shouldn't have taken too many sips," he groans, setting the can down as a mischievous grin lights up your face as he adds, "I feel like burping now" he places a hand on his stomach.

"is burping considered satisfying in asmr though?" you quip, glancing at the camera crew who try to conceal their amusement. Your eyes return to Tom. "I don't know, I guess we'll find out won't we?" He chuckles, moving to the microphone.

You absolutely lost it as the sound of Tom's burp reaches your ear causing you to rip out your earphones, leaning over in your seat as you laugh out loud. Tom couldn't help but laugh at your reaction as he smacks his knee, creating an even louder sound that fueled both of your laughter.

"I think we've reached peak asmr chaos," Tom manages to say as you compose yourself, sitting up in your seat, "I'd like to formally apologise to everyone watching this-" you say in between your laugh as Tom nudges you playfully.

Your laughter became a recurring theme throughout the interview, making it clear that the genuine camaraderie between Tom and you extended beyond the screen.

A plate of watermelon was then passed to the both of you. Tom, ever the showman, took a big, theatrical bite, causing droplets of juice to splatter across the table causing your eyes to widen as you were mid-bite.

You silently laugh, throwing your head back, "We're so bad at this," Tom shakes his head with a light laugh, wiping a dribble of watermelon juice from his chin.

The next thing the two of you were handed was a bowl of noodles. "Oh no," You whisper, biting your thumb as you eye the crew member placing it in front of the two of you, including two forks.

"I just know this isn't going to end very well," you predicted, taking a fork and loading up a substantial bite of noodles. Tom grinned as he did the same.

Brushing your hair back, you leaned toward the microphone. As the fork approached your mouth, you felt Tom's intense gaze on you. "Don't even look at me," you playfully warned him, your eyes fixed ahead. Tom chuckled, fully aware that locking eyes would trigger another laughing fit.

Chewing on the noodles, you couldn't help but let out a satisfied moan at the flavor. Glancing at Tom, you saw him slurping a noodle, prompting you to cover your mouth to stifle laughter.

Tom slowly opens the packet of chips, the sound filling your ears. He passes you a chip as you both place it in your mouth, the crunch satisfying the both of you.

Your chewing comes to a stop as your eyes slightly widen at the familiar tingling sensation in the back of your throat. You squeeze Tom's arm as he gives you a puzzled look.

You then look at the chip packet, it was chili flavoured. "Oh," Tom whispers, knowing your spice tolerance was incredibly low. "Can I have water please," you start fanning yourself as Tom lets out a chuckle, quickly offering you his bottle of water as you gratefully take it.

You let out a satisfied sigh, your head leaned on Tom's shoulder. "I'm so bad with spice," you reveal, letting out a small giggle as the interview came to an end.

"Well that's it from us," Tom whispers in the microphone, "I hope you guys enjoyed this chaotic interview, I hope it was somewhat satisfying?" You sheepishly grin at the camera as Tom chuckles.

[nrvcntr]

My Lover is Like

hey remember how i said i'd write that fic about tav coming from a noble background and having a riddle that someone has to answer to date her and no one ever gets it right and then years later she tells gale and he knows immediately? anyway here it is

There are certain scents that bring back memories - warm grass on a summer’s day, fresh linens placed on a bed, and of course, the sickly sticky burn of a bottle of plum fizz, shared among friends. Astarion recoiled after he sniffed the open bottle, his nose scrunched in horror.

“You can’t be serious,” He said.

“You’re being dramatic. It isn’t that bad,” You replied.

You had found a crate full of bottles on your last trek and dragged it back to the campsite, anticipating a heroic welcome at your generous haul. It was nearing sunset and it seemed as good of a time as any to see what the contents of the crate were. Upon cracking the crate open, your eyes lit up at the sight of bottles on bottles of plum fizz. This had been the drink that defined your adolescence as a noble in Baldur’s Gate. It immediately brought back memories of revelry, singing songs next to bonfires, and a young Wyll Ravengard throwing up in the street. You pulled out a bottle and handed it to Astarion, who had reacted like a man who never knew the joys of noble debauchery.

“It smells like it could raise something from the dead and then kill it again,” He said, handing the bottle back to you.

“Look, we used to drink this all the time when we were kids. It’s like a rite of passage among children of nobility in Baldur’s Gate.”

Wyll, overhearing the conversation, came over to see what you were so impassioned about. At the sight of the bottle in your hand, he recoiled like someone had just smacked him upside the head.

“No. Get that thing away!” He shouted, shaking his hands.

“Oh, stop it. I remember you used to beg to play fizzy hands when we were younger,” You said.

“Fizzy hands.” Astarion said flatly, “What sort of braindead activity is fizzy hands?”

You raised your brow to Wyll, who explained that “fizzy hands” was the beloved drinking game of your youth, where a small magical seal was applied to two bottles of plum fizz, which an individual would hold. The seal wouldn’t break until both bottles were consumed.

“Fizzy hands leads to fizzy guts, which leads to…a fizzy mess, in the street. You couldn’t pay me to take a sip of that now.” Wyll said.

You looked around the campsite and gestured to Gale, who had been beginning the preparations for dinner so intently that he hadn’t noticed the failing case you were trying to make in favor of plum fizz.

“It’s nice to know that your taste in wine is nearly as bad as your taste in men,” Astarion mused, causing you to shoot him a farcefully menacing look. Your affections for Gale were no secret, and the two of you had shared an intimate moment in the Weave, but you were unsure of your current status, or even whether he really returned your feelings. You had begun to write it off as a passing fancy, something to daydream about during long days of traveling. Though, there was no hiding how much you enjoyed being around the man, your conversations often dragging well into the night after everyone else had fallen asleep. You had never met anyone else who seemed to understand you the way that Gale did, or whose company you enjoyed nearly half as much.

“You’re a man of taste, and you’re knowledgeable about wine. Can you settle a debate for us?” You asked Gale when he walked over.

“A glass of wine sounds delightful this evening. What’s the topic of debate?” He asked.

“Astarion and Wyll may not be as cultured as you and I. Just tell them about the fine properties of this blend,” You said, trying to communicate ‘please, say this tastes good’ in your expression as you poured a glass and handed it over.

Gale swirled the glass and his eyes widened at the scent. To his credit, he took an honest sip and racked his brain for something kind to say about it. “It has notes of…berry. And cinnamon. And…” He couldn’t do it. “Acid. It tastes like it would eat a hole through a table if you spilled some on it. Do the youth of Baldur’s Gate really ingest this willingly?” He asked.

You threw your hands up.

“Poor taste, the lot of you. It cannot be helped.”

After dinner, Astarion sauntered over to you, two glasses of plum fizz in hand.

“A drink together. Sort of a truce,” He said.

You were suspicious, but took the glass in hand. The spicy, bitter, sweet, and confusing concoction ran down your throat and made your stomach feel hot. Astarion’s glass was already empty, and he poured you both another. By the time you realized that Astarion had been pouring his drinks out to get you to continue drinking, you were drunk enough to begin telling stories of your youth in Baldur’s Gate.

“So, after Wyll threw up in the street -”

“Can you please stop talking about that. I have plenty of embarrassing stories I could tell at your expense, you know. Lock.” Wyll said pointedly.

“Lock?” Shadowheart asked.

You covered your face, feeling a burning sensation creep up your cheeks.

“What none of you realize is that our beloved companion here was once the most eligible bachelorette in Baldur’s Gate nobility. Her family was wealthy and she was beautiful, intelligent, and charming…”

“Whatever happened?” You asked, making yourself laugh.

“However, she never took a partner. Singles of all creeds, genders, and races tried, but no one could get through to her. So, she began to be known as ‘the lock of Baldur’s Gate’. And, what opens a lock but a key? And the key to her heart was to answer a riddle,” Wyll explained with a dramatic flourish.

“A riddle? How droll. That’s a little…presumptuous, don’t you think?” Astarion asked. You shrugged.

“Why a riddle?” Karlach asked.

“I didn’t want to end up with someone who was a complete dunce,” You joked. It was a half-truth, since the whole truth would have disrupted the mood of revelry among your companions.

“Well, do we get to hear it?” Shadowheart asked.

You leaned back and looked at the faces of your companions. Wyll shook his head, having heard this question lamented among the singles of Baldur’s Gate throughout his youth.

“What is loving Taglath like?” You asked, the question rolling off of your tongue like a well-rehearsed line.

“What a stupid question!” Astarion huffed, rolling his eyes. He had no idea what the answer could be.

“Oh, do you know the answer, then? Since it’s so stupid,” You said, unable to wipe the smirk off of your face. It always delighted you to stump someone with the riddle, and it delighted you even more to watch them struggle with it.

“What is loving like?” You repeated, prodding Astarion for the answer.

“Darling, loving you is like poison seeping through my veins,” Astarion said, pretending to be a romantic poet, his hand gripping his chest, “- and it kills me to be parted from you,” He added, taking your hand in his icy cold grasp.

“Very sweet, but no,” You responded.

Everyone laughed, getting a little chuckle out of Astarion’s foolishness.

“Oh come on, it’s not like any of you geniuses know the answer,” Astarion said, raising a brow to the group. He looked around at their curious faces and wonders aloud, “Do you?”

“Uh, I don’t remember my childhood. Much less silly poems,” Shadowheart said, but thought about it for a moment. “Is it like a rose? Something beautiful out of the dirt?”

You shook your head.

“Chk. This is a waste of time,” Lae’zel said..

“C’mon, Lae’zel, what do you think loving is like?” Wyll probed, the githyanki rolling her eyes at him.

Lae’zel replied, “Like a well-won battle, your enemies dead at your feet.” There is a pause before she asked, “Did I answer correctly?”

“No,” You replied.

Karlach wiped her hands on her pants, not waiting to be asked. “You’re barking up the wrong tree if you ask me, solider,” She said, “But I’ll give it a try. Is it like a cool drink of water on a hot night?”

“That’s sweet, Karlach. It’s own little poem, even. But no,” You said.

“Well what’s the answer?” Astarion huffed, getting frustrated at this little display of ignorance.

“Salamander!” Wyll interjected, snapping his fingers like he cracked the code. This made everyone crack up, to his dismay. “No, because - I mean, uh - well, it’s better than corpses!” He insisted. This only made everyone laugh more.

In this revelry, no one even thought to glance at Gale, who had been watching the scene with a bemused little smile on his face.

There was a lull when the laughter died down, the silence of everyone taking a breath after a hearty laugh.

Through the silence, two words cut through the air like a knife directly to your heart.

“The Sun.”

You gasped (a reaction that, in retrospect, embarrassed you with how dramatic it was). You stared at the speaker, Gale’s dark eyes glinting in the firelight. You felt you must have looked ridiculous, your jaw agape.

In all of the years of telling the riddle, no one had ever known the answer. The key to your heart, you joked. But it had been more serious than you ever let on. As each suitor fumbled through wrong answers, it had only solidified your belief that true love would never be yours. That you would eventually have to settle for someone who couldn’t really understand you.

It was like time stopped, the visions of your companions becoming a blur as Gale came into focus.

Gale, meanwhile, appeared to be blissfully unaware that he had just broken your brain (what was left of it, at least).

“That’s…right. How did you know?” You choked out, hardly above a whisper.

“It’s a very clever riddle. See, most would probably assume that the riddle is about the works of Taglath, whom is renowned as an iconic romantic poet. His works adorn his lover with brilliant metaphors that have captured readers since their inception,” Gale explained to the group, lecturing his never-be students.

“That’s probably why Gef Deldus spent one summer immersed in Taglath’s works,” Wyll recalled, chuckling, “He told everyone that he had solved the riddle. He was convinced you would be his bride by the end of the season. What was his answer?” He asked.

“Love is like a poem,” You replied, still dumbfounded by Gale’s answer.

“The education in Baldur’s Gate leaves much to be desired,” Gale snarked, then continued, “What most people don’t know is that Taglath’s most prominent muse was another poet named Alanis. Unfortunately, most of her work has been lost to history. Almost no complete works remain, and only fragments have been collected for publication. But in her most complete work, she compares her lover to the Sun. It’s a gorgeous poem about loving someone who burns brightly and the fears associated with taking a lover of prominence. Loving despite fear,” He said.

You wondered how it was possible that your body felt like it was on fire but also like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on you. Did none of your companions notice that you were going insane? The realization rocked you like an earthquake.

Gale Dekarios was not a passing fancy, someone to think about kissing when the option presented itself. He was neither a daydream nor a wet dream to pass the time at different hours. He was not the greatest friend you had ever had, the person who you most looked forward to speaking to each morning after you woke and each night before you went to bed. The person who you spoke about nothing and everything with, played games with, or just enjoyed a comfortable silence with. He was not your traveling companion, nor even an ally who had risked his life for you as you had done for him. It was impossible for Gale to be any one of those things because he was all of them all at once and so much more.

Oh, fuck, you realized, your knees ready to give way.

You were in love with him.

The sound of your companions laughing and chattering together mixed together and sounded like ocean waves. If anyone turned to ask you anything you probably would have just stared at them blankly. You attempted to take a step toward Gale and the drinks you had earlier in the night went to your head, sending you tumbling forward and onto the ground.

“Looks like the plum fizz kicked in. ‘Key’, maybe you should take the ‘lock’ to bed,” Shadowheart said to Gale.

You thought that if you closed your eyes, maybe the ground would swallow you up and you would never have to look at Gale again. Instead, you felt him help you to your feet, allowing you to lean against him as he walked you to your tent. You were desperate to know what was going through his mind - did he realize the gravity that he answer had?

“Easy now,” Gale said, helping you down onto your bedroll. He treated you gently, helping you to unlace your boots and get settled in under the blanket. You were sick to your stomach at being doted on by him and kept quiet, trying to focus on anything but the way he looked at you. He left for a moment and came back to bring you some water.

“Is there anything you need?” He asked.

You were quiet for a moment, then spoke.

“Gale?”

“Yes?”

“After we had that moment in the Weave…you mentioned that we shouldn’t talk about it then, with the orb being unstable and everything going on,” You said, then allowed yourself to lean into your own intoxication, asking what was truly on your mind. “Was that really the reason? Because if you don’t see me that way, you can tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings.” The words poured out of you too quickly for you to worry about sounding insecure. It was a lie, of course, that it wouldn’t hurt your feelings. Being rejected by Gale would be devastating.

Gale looked thoughtful, then recited the end of Alanis’s fragments of her poem about her lover.

“My lover is like the Sun, Brilliant and bright He eclipses me And yet I yearn

My lover is like the Sun Blinding and unyielding When he touches me I burn”

He placed his hand on your cheek, his gaze looking through you and into your soul. The two of you could say so much without a single word.

“Am I the Sun, or are you?” You asked.

Gale had loved the poem when he read it as a boy, and later thought of it often when he was with Mystra, trying to make sense of the reality of having a goddess for a lover. He had often wondered if he would ever have an identity outside of being Mystra’s chosen, or whether he would forever be tied to the Goddess. And if that was the case, why did the idea of it make him burn with jealousy?

However, the poem had taken on new meaning since he met you. He felt like the Sun, a ball of fire ready to explode in his chest at any moment. As badly as he wanted to hold you close, he knew that doing so would destroy you. Still, he wondered, might it be worth it to burn if he could have one moment of knowing what it was like to be yours entirely?

Or rather, were you the Sun? He was certainly transfixed by you, drawn to your brilliance. You, a mortal who dared to be more brilliant and enticing than his Goddess. Would following you lead him down the path to certain doom - or worse, would getting close to you lead you to your own demise? It was that thought that kept him up at night, wondering if he should escape in the night. To save you from himself, or at least get you as far away from the danger as possible.

Gale contemplated your question.

“I’m not sure,” He finally replied.

“I don’t know, either.”

You placed your hand on Gale’s, your gaze fixed on each other, searching for an answer in each other’s eyes. Neither of you could find it.

However, there was one thing that was clear to both of you: whether through flames of salvation or damnation, you would burn for each other.

[we-out-here-simping]

You, Me, Lonely.

(s.h. x reader)

from the river to the sea (educate yourself and help however you can)

Summary: you love Steve, Steve loves you. But maybe you both want different things from life.

Warnings/tags: reader menstruates (reader has uterus), abandonment issues, the ‘six nuggets’ talk, suggestive

Word count: 3.4k

masterlist

a/n: huge huge huge thanks to @procrastinationprincesses for helping me out with this fic and giving it an ending (ur amazing sanjana <3)

writing and posting something because i might have to go MIA for a lil bit (miss me while I'm gone will ya?)

fic is inspired by ‘You, Me, Lonely’ by FIZZ i absolutely love this song like its so close to my heart ughh what can i say I'm a little bitter about the six nuggets scene 

also if you couldn't tell already I have major abandonment issues and an anxious avoidant attachment style. It will reflect in what i write soz :(

In the quiet of the night, you wish for this to last forever. That you'll have him forever.

When you came out of the shower you found him asleep on his side of the bed. His side– the one closer to the door. ‘so I can protect you from anyone who'll try to steal you from me’, he had justified it when you asked him why he was adamant on that side.

you had turned off the bedside lamp ten minutes ago, slipped under the duvet, as quietly as possible so as to not wake him up. on your side of his bed. your bed.

He always sleeps on his stomach, one hand under his pillow and the other extended a little towards yours. His body moves with steady and slow breaths, back rising and falling under the covers, head peeking out from under the rumpled up duvet. his cheeks are squished against the pillow cover. His hair is a mess from the lack of hair product, and still damp from the shower he took before you. There's a few strands of his brown hair sprawled across his forehead too. With your softest touch you brush them away from his eyes.

You wonder what he was dreaming. you hope it was something nice. He looks calm, at peace, and very, very pretty.

You look at him and you know you love him. You want to love him forever.

Love had never seemed like the type of thing you’ll get– like it wasn't meant for you. But then you met him. This boy. This boy who you never thought to be your type. You never thought you even had a type. But his boyish charm and stupid grin won you over.

Your heart doesn't skip beats around him anymore, and you’d think that that means he doesn’t have that same effect on you anymore but that would be wrong. You don’t think you’ve ever loved anyone as much as you do to him. You don’t look at him and get butterflies in your stomach, you look at him and… you’re sure. your heart is quiet and sure. You don't think you’ve ever been sure before.

You want to be sure forever.

He feels like the comfortable still of rain after a scorching hot summer, like the calm and cold breeze that cools you down. Like standing at the top of the mountain, looking at the clouds and valleys below, he feels like the crisp air that fills your lungs. Like the comfort meal your mom makes– the one you can never really recreate, the one that tastes the best when it comes from her. 

You love him and you know. You know. You know he likes you, loves you even. 

Steve Harrington loves you like a dream, and you're worried that one day he’ll wake up, look at you and realise that he deserves so much better. He’ll wake up and he’ll leave for work and he’ll bump into a pretty angel of a girl with a disposition as bright as his. And he’ll never return. people fall out of love. People fall out of love all the time.

You wish for him to love you forever.

How long is a forever anyway?

You wonder what it'll be like. When you're older, with wrinkles, white hair and weaker limbs. 

It's like you see it.

You and him in a bed– just like now but older, wiser, more tired. His back turned to you. There'd be distance between you two, you’d want to move closer and hold him– but you wouldn't. You’d just stare at the back of his head, counting all the grey hairs you’d memorised like all the moles and wrinkles on his skin.

You’d notice his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest and you would have known him so long and so well that you'd just know that he wasn't actually asleep. you'd know why he wasn't asleep.

there'd be a pain in your chest. You would know what it is, why its there. You would gulp and try not to think about it.

“Do you always stare at me in my sleep?” his groggy voice pulls you out of your own head.

You blink, multiple times. Forever, right.

He softly smiles up at you. You blink away before moving to lay on your back, the sheets rustling with your movement. “sorry I woke you up”, you mumble an apology, staring at the ceiling, you fail to hide the shake in your voice.

“Y’kay?” 

“Yeah.” the sheets beside you ruffle but you keep your eyes trained on the ceiling. it seems inevitable. You know, one day it'll happen and despite having expected it, it’ll be the greatest heartbreak of them all. 

“Thinking ‘bout somethin’?” he sounds a bit more awake.

“When am I not?” you shake your head and laugh hoping he doesn't notice that it isn't real, thankful that the curtains didn't let in any moonlight and that you had turned off the lights.

“What is it?” but this is Steve, he doesn’t need to see you to know how you’re feeling.

“Nothing.”

“Were you lying about liking the pasta I made?”

“No, Steve it was good”, a real laugh slips out of you, and you finally look at him. He’s leaning on his elbow, the messy head of hair in his hand, looking down at you. You suddenly wish it wasn’t so dark so you could see the colour of his eyes, the moles and freckles on his skin.

“Then what?”

“Nothing.” your gaze moves back to the ceiling.

“Must be something if it's keeping you up”, you feel him shift closer to you. He smells of fresh shower, mint, shaving cream and washed laundry. 

“No, I'm just….  not sleepy.”

“Yeah?”, he raises his eyebrows with a sly smirk, “Well, I know a way to make you sleepy”, he leans down– both arms caging you in, landing a kiss on your neck before trailing further up to your lips. and its lovely, so god damn lovely, you don't want it to stop but this hurts.

“Ste– mmph– Steve stop”, you turn your face away, because if he keeps going, you think you'll cry, palm pushing flat against his bare chest, “I’m– I'm not in the mood.”

“Okay, I'm sorry”, he moves back onto his one elbow. The silence gestates for a while, you can feel his eyes on you. The ticking of the clock is the only thing heard through the room before he softly says, “Hey, please tell me what's happening?”

“Nothing”, you shook your head, “I’m just tired.”

“You just said you're not sleepy.”

“J– just go back to sleep okay? sorry for waking you up”, you turn onto your side, face away from him. 

He sidles up behind you after a second or two, warm breath across the back of your neck, you squeeze your eyes shut. “yeah, like that's gonna put me to sleep", he mutters behind you.

His arms snake around your waist, pulling you in closer, “C'mon, you know I wont be able to sleep after fighting”, burying his nose in your hair– he sighed.

“Did you just sniff my hair?”

“Yeah, I do all the time. smells s’good."

"You pervert", you both laugh lightly at that, your hand going for his around your waist, before your smiles fall and silence takes over once again. 

You lick your drying lips, you forgot to put on lip balm again, “We’re not fighting, Steve.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You take in a deep breath in, fingers drawing patterns on the back of his hand, you breath out, “m’sorry.”

His arms squeeze tighter around you, he lets out a quick sigh before placing a kiss on your shoulder, “I’ll forgive you if you tell me what’s going on with you.”

“Steve…”, your voice trails off, you're not even sure what you were going to say.

“Is it— Is it your…. Uh, that time of the month?”

That makes you want to roll your eyes at him and smack his chest but you restrain yourself, you’re not sure if you want him to see your eyes right now anyway. Instead, you sigh,  “I had it last week, Steve.”

You got it in this very same bed. Awoken by cramps in the middle of the night. and Steve, your lovely Steve had given you a hot water bag while he took off the sheets and put on fresh new ones and then gave you a soft massage that put you to sleep.

“right... yeah, sorry," he says all sheepish, “So what is it then? Did someone say somethin’ at work?”

“No.”

“Did I.. " he hesitated a little, "did I say something?”

“...no”, you curse yourself for pausing before saying it.

“I did, didn't I?”

“No, no. you–”

“honey, you should tell me if I ever say stupid shit– you should call me out immediately–”

“You didn't say anything stupid or whatever. I'm the one who's being stupid.”

his hold on you loosened, he shifted back to give you space to turn around, “What did I say? Hey, look at me,” you finally turn in his hold, facing him “what did I say?”

“We’d have the cutest little kids, won't we?”

“..what?” You stood infront of the kitchen sink. your hands stopped their scrubbing at the pot you were washing. You tilted your head towards him who had his head rested on your shoulder, his arms around your waist.

“Little Harringtons”, you could hear the smile on his lips.

“Harringtons?”

“Or maybe we get our names hyphenated. That works too, it’d be cute”, his hands hold your waist, his duty of drying the plates abandoned. “They’d have my fabulous hair, and your pretty, pretty eyes– cutest kids around the block”

“Our kids?” you repeated dumbly.

“Yeah, and six of ‘em. six little nuggets. They’ll make up half of a football team”, he giggled, warm air hitting the side of your face, “Doesn’t that sound lovely?” he smiled at you.

“...yeah. Yeah, it does.” you smiled back at him which only made him grin wider. His arms tighten around you again, and lips start a trail from behind your ears to down your neck.

You scoffed softly "You’re supposed to help me wash dishes you filthy animal." 

“Oh, fine,” he gave you an over dramatic sigh, before his hands left your sides, skin feeling lonely as ever.

“No, it's fine. I’m almost done anyway", you went back to scrubbing at the bottom of the pot, "Just go and take a shower, you reek.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll go!” he groaned, playfully as a kid, before he leaned against the counter, looking at you with his ‘Harrington charm’. His voice is silky when he asks, “Will you join me?”

“Steve." you said it almost as a warning.

“I don’t hear a no.”

“Okay then, no.”

“Tomorrow morning…?”

“I have an early shift tomorrow, you horndog.”

“We'll make it work.”

“No.”

“Okay", he sighs, “come up quickly though, I wanna be the big spoon today”, pecking your cheek before leaving for the shower upstairs.

Looking at him, you brush the now mostly dry hair falling on his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. Your fingers lingered there, you smile, “nothing, Steve.”  your thumb rubs back and forth on the apple of his cheeks. “You didn’t say anything. it's stupid.”

His hand reaches up to hold your fingers in place, he turns his head a little to kiss your knuckles, “okay, I didn't say anything” he kisses your knuckles again, gaze stuck to your face, “but could you tell me what it is you think you’re being stupid about?”

God, I love him, you think. “Don't worry about it”, your voice barely a whisper as you attempt to give him a smile. You move closer, planting a slow kiss on his lips which are so much softer than yours– he never forgets his chapstick.

And god, you needed this, your brain stops when you kiss him. thoughts quelled and its quiet again. After some time though, your throat starts to burn and your chest is on the verge of a sob. So, when you pull away, you fail to hide the stuttered breath that you take in.

Steve knew there was something to worry about, but when he hears your breath that almost sounds like a sob, he’s immediately on high alert. Before he can brush your hair out of your face to look at you, really look at you, you bury your face in his chest.

It takes him a second to realize that you’re crying and it breaks his heart because you’re trying to hide it.

“Baby..” he feels you curl in further, your face warm against his skin. He moves to pull you in closer, palm holding the back of your head. He just wanted to take away whatever it was that was bothering you. He tried to pull away to get a look at your face to help you calm down but you wouldn't let him. He settles on carding his fingers through your hair, rubbing circles on the little sliver of exposed skin between your t-shirt and shorts, hoping it gives you some sort of comfort.

"Honey", it is then that you finally let in a shaky breath. he feels the skin where you hid your face get wet maybe with tears, sweat, snot, he didn't care-- he just wanted to take all your pain away.

You both stay that way, and you're suprised by how much you sob, how hard you heave. You weren't sure how long you stayed that way, maybe minutes, maybe hours, however long. It feels like forever.

At this moment, encased in Steve's arms, breath hot against his skin, despite the nose plugged with snot, lashes clumped with tears, eyes squinted shut, you think this is comfortable. Yet it hurts. Because you'll have to pull away. It hurts so damn much because you know how this can go, you know it can hurt so, so much more. You know it will hurt.

You want this to last forever, however fucking long one of those is.

So, you hold on longer because, you’re selfish with your love for Steve. You're selfish because despite the heartache, you’ll have him, for as long as you can.

His hold on you gentle yet firm, as if afraid he'd break you. In your head, he already had. He tries to pull away again, to look at you but you can't. Your eyes still squinted close, willing it all to be a stupid dream. “Honey, I promise you whatever it is, you can tell me”, he says, voice soft as feather. Of course it's not a dream.

Your tongue betrays you, “Its…s–” stupid. Silly. It really doesn't feel stupid or silly, but god, you're so scared that you can't say it, you didn't want to say it because if you do it’ll come true, wont it?

“Whatever it is that you think is stupid," he assured you as if he could read your mind, "I still want to hear it because I know I won't think it's stupid."

suddenly it burns, and you need air. you sit up and try not to think about how ridiculously not pretty you probably look with snot running down your face, “What if- what if we- we end up hating each other?” you manage to say through hiccups.

“What?” he sits up as well, he says as if you had said the most ridiculous thing, “I'll never hate you, honey.”

For some reason, tears fill your eyes again at that, “Steve, you don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“No. Ste– people fall out of love, Steve- all the- all the time.” It terrifies him how convinced you sound of it.

“Do..... do you think you’ll fall out of love with me?”

The question startles you, its evident in your wide eyes, “Wha– what?”

“Do you think… you’ll fall out of love with me?" he repeats, "You think you’ll hate me?”

You shake your head, the tear that had been sitting on your lower lash finally slides down your already tear-stained cheek.

“Good." he wipes the wet trails left behind with his thumb, "then, why would I hate you?”

Your face twists into an expression that Steve wasn't sure what to describe it as. a deep frown on your lips, chin wobbly, brows scrunched up together, eyes red and tired yet nostrils flared. “‘Cause", you start but before you could continue another sob leaves you. you look down at your lap, trying to catch your breath. it takes you a minute before you begin again, "do you remember.... what you said about our kids?”

He nods, heart clenching at the way your voice breaks, “I don't think I can… do that”, he doesn't think he's ever heard you sound so broken. “I– I don't think if I– if I want that.”

He sits silent and you think this is it. maybe forevers aren't that long after all.

More tears fall, more sobs leave you, you don't bother to wipe them. What's it matter anyway? He hates you already. He's probably thinking of a way to let you down easily because he is kind like that “Honey.. I want a family..” you feel your heart ripping in two and you just can't look at him.

“And I want you to be a part of that family. I– I want you to be the person I built a family with, no matter the size." He wipes at both your cheeks again, making you look at him, "even if its just us.”

The relieved smile he expected from you isn't there, instead, you frown, the crease between your brows deepens. the part that hurt the most was that you push his hands away, “you’re saying that now, but what happens when years down the line, when we’re old, you– you end up resenting me. Y- you love me right now, I know. But how do you know you wont end up hating me like, ten years later?”

“I dont want to watch you grow old and hate me and then leave me, Steve. I’d rather end this now if we’re destined to just end up unhappy together.”

“We’re not. Okay? We’re not. I know I wont hate you, ever.” He reaches for your hands again. He kisses your fingers before continuing, “And I know that I want you, just you and whatever that– that that comes with. We could never have kids and I would never hate you for it.”

“You won't be happy", you say meekly, like he'd be mad at you for speaking what was on your mind to him, “You wont hate me but you wont be happy either”, you muttered, chin ducked into your chest.

“Honey”, he hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your head to make you look at him, to make you understand. “you’re what I need to be happy. You make me happy. And.. I’d hope you need me to be happy too”, a wet chuckle escapes you at that. A hint of a smile on your face despite the tears.

“You do, don’t you?” he clarified with a soft smile of himself.

You nod, "yeah", letting out a loud sniffle.

“Good. I know its scary but you’ve gotta put your trust in me. Trust me enough to believe in me when I say that you are what makes me happy. and I am happy."

He wipes away gently at your face, ridding it of the tear stains, “Sometimes, you’ve just gotta trust. I promise I’ll never break it.” 

You sob again but it's lighter than before, you wrap your arms around his neck and feel the weight you felt get lifted, you sniffle into the crook of his neck, "thank you."

You feel his lips on your hairline, "Let's go back to sleep, yeah?"

"Yeah. You still wanna be the big spoon?"

"yeah, I think you need to be the little spoon today." he pulls you down with him, your back to his chest, kissing the skin behind your ear he finally settles in beside you.

You call out his name, he hums in response. "how long do you think a forever is?"

"I don't know, honey."

"Can we stay like this forever?"

"Um.. if you mean us staying forever then yes, definitely forever. But, if you meant me being the big spoon forever, baby, I'm not sure if I'll be able to commit to that."

You laugh, "I love you." you confess.

"I love you too."

[theostrophywife]

CHAPTER THREE

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🤍 pairing: theodore nott x reader.

🤍 song inspiration: so hot you're hurting my feelings by caroline polachek.

🤍 author’s note: just like the temperature, things are heating up in this fic.

Step 3 of Pansy Parkinson’s Perfect Plan of Plotting

Jealousy — : The feeling of resentment, bitterness, or hostility toward someone because they have something that you don’t.

You would think that putting my two idiot friends together in the honeymoon suite and then sending them off to the literal temple of love would force them to face their feelings, but Theo and Y/N are proving to be more stubborn than I gave them credit for. Fear not, though. Through the scheming and plotting, I found an unlikely ally. Imagine my surprise when Mattheo Riddle helped concoct my most devious plan of all. Throw in a romantic vineyard, an abundance of wine, and a few lingering gazes from a hot tour guide and what do you get? A very jealous Theodore Nott. 

Third Year, Hogsmeade Village

The snow fell softly over Hogsmeade Village, covering the streets and storefronts in glittering white. Amidst the bustling crowds, you chattered excitedly as you tugged Theo along the cobblestone square. There was so much to see during your first visit to Hogsmeade and you didn’t want to waste a single second. 

“Slow down, bella.” Theo said as he tucked you to his side. “We have all afternoon to explore.” 

“Sorry, Teddy,” you said shyly. “I’m just so excited.” 

With a smile, Theo tugged the ends of your green and silver scarf and bound it tightly to keep you warm. “How about we make a loop around High Street and finish off with a warm mug of butterbeeer?” 

You beamed. “That’s perfect.” 

The first stop in the long line of shops was Honeydukes. Inside, you marveled at the colorful candies and browsed through the aisles stocked with Peppermint Toads, Fudge Flies, and Jelly Slugs. Beside you, Theo happily snatched up any free samples offered. The two of you toasted your Fizzing Whizbees before biting into the fruity chocolate. 

You giggled as strawberry syrup dribbled down Theo’s chin. He flushed and attempted to brush off the mess with the back of his hand. 

“A little more to the right,” you instructed. Theo swiped at his left. “No, my right.” He cocked his head, clearly confused. “Here, let me.”  

You waved his hand off before licking your thumb and swiping the strawberry sauce off his face. The tips of Theo’s ears turned bright red as he smiled shyly. “Thanks, fragolina.”

After purchasing a mountain of sweets, the two of you made your way down the next few storefronts. Theo insisted on popping into Spintwitches to purchase new quidditch gloves. 

“Are you excited for your first game?” you asked as he slipped on a pair of dragonhide gloves. 

“You could say that,” your best friend answered rather aloofly. He fidgeted with the straps of the gloves, impatiently tapping his fingers against the scales. 

You placed your hand above Theo’s, soothing his nervous movements. “You should be excited, Teddy. You’re going to kick Hufflepuff arse.” 

Theo snorted. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say arse.” 

“It’s the company I keep,” you teased. “I’m afraid my best friend has a mouth that would make a sailor blush. He’s a terrible influence, really. But a bloody good quidditch player.” 

“Two in a row?” Theo taunted. “You’re on a roll, Y/N. I appreciate your faith in me, though. I suppose I have to win now, huh? Wouldn’t want to embarrass myself in front of the entire school.” 

“You’re gonna do great, Theo.” 

“Only if I have my lucky charm there,” he said with a wink. “You’ll be in the stands cheering me on, right?” 

You squeezed his hand. “Of course I will.” 

Theo grinned and squeezed back. “A word of advice, though? Don’t get the gloves. They look like dried dragon bollocks.” 

At that, Theo tipped his head back and laughed. You burst into a fit of giggles as he chased you through the aisles, swatting at you with the gloves. Alerted by the commotion, the shopkeeper rounded the corner and bellowed at you to stop. Throwing caution to the wind, Theo dropped the gloves and tugged you through the door, his cheeks red and flushed as the two of you spilled out into the snowy street. 

“Where to next, bella? Before that old geezer clubs us over the head with his mop.” 

“This way,” you said confidently, dodging through the crowd. A few people muttered their discontent, but you were too busy laughing and ducking into your safe haven to take notice. 

The fragrant aroma of freshly brewed tea greeted you as soon as you walked through the door. Theo followed close behind, grimacing at the pastel pink walls and frilly lace that covered every table. While you were aware that Madam Puddifoot’s was an establishment frequented by couples, you weren’t quite prepared for the overwhelmingly romantic undertone of the entire place. Each table seated couples of all kinds, some talking, some sipping their tea, while the bolder ones simply kissed like they were the only people in the room. 

“It’s a bit stuffy in here, isn’t it?” you mumbled as you loosened the scarf around your neck. 

Theo cleared his throat, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. “Hm, yeah. Just a bit.” He averted his gaze from the couple, his cheeks just as flushed as yours felt. “Did you want to…I mean…we could…” 

“Yeah, we should. Look around. Browse.” 

“Right.” 

Clearly, the two of you were unprepared for this sort of situation. You knew that your fellow classmates were beginning to explore dating. Hell, you and Pansy even helped Blaise pick out an outfit for his date with Astoria last week, but that had all been hypothetical. This was the real thing. 

In all honesty, you hadn’t given dating much thought. You liked things the way they were. If you were to get yourself a boyfriend, it would mean less time for your friends. Less time with Theo. The thought alone deterred you from even trying. 

As you pretended to browse the tea section, you stole glances at your best friend. You wondered if Theo fancied anyone. If he did, he never said, despite the fact that Mattheo and Enzo managed to have a new crush each week. Perhaps Theo was just more private when it came to matters of the heart. Although, you were sure that he would’ve at least told you. There were no secrets between the two of you. Right?

“Bella?” Theo asked as he waved his hand in front of you. “Are you alright?” 

You nodded, bobbing your head so fast that the motion nearly took your beanie clean off. “Sorry. What were you saying?” 

“I’m going to pop into the loo for a second. Wait for me here, okay?” 

“Sure, Theo.” 

You watched as Theo weaved through the aisles, smiling softly as he looked back at you. A group of girls giggled as he passed by, whispering amongst themselves. Objectively, you knew that your best friend was attractive. Even as a third year, Theo towered over your peers. Combine that with his perpetually messy waves and piercing eyes, it wasn’t hard to see why your classmates swooned over him. 

Surely, Theo was aware of the effect he had on people. It was impossible to ignore all the sighs and glances the girls shot his way, but he seemed immune to the attention. Instead, he glanced back and flashed you a lopsided grin. The gesture was so boyish and earnest, a signature Theo smile that few were privy to. Suddenly, the thought of him keeping anything from you seemed so silly. 

Flustered, you turned away and pretended to browse through the shelves. The tea labels all blurred together as you made your way down the aisle. You were more of a coffee person anyways. 

“That’s a great choice.” You startled to find an older boy speaking to you, pointing at the tea packets you were absentmindedly parsing through. “Chamomile always helps me feel calm.” 

Diggory, you thought. You remembered seeing his jersey flash by in a blur during one of the quidditch games you attended. Cedric was a few years older than you, but it didn’t stop the girls from your grade from having a crush on him. 

“Y/N, isn’t it? You’re in Slytherin.”

“How do you know that?” 

Cedric flashed you a charming smile. “The scarf was a good hint, but I’ve seen you around. You were at the last quidditch game.” 

You nodded in confirmation. “Your team played well against the Ravenclaws.” 

“Are you a big fan of the game?” 

“Not intentionally,” you replied. “My best friend is a diehard Roman Redcaps fan, so I’ve been to a handful of games. I’m mostly there for the cotton candy, though.” 

Cedric chuckled. “We have that in common. Unfortunately, there won’t be any cotton candy at next week’s game, but perhaps your presence will be sweet enough.” 

You bristled, taken aback by his boldness. Was he flirting with you? Surely not. “I’ll be there, but I’m afraid we’ll be enemies out on that field.” 

“Hopefully not off the field, though.” 

So he was flirting. You stared at the older boy, trying to see him from your fellow peer’s perspective. Cedric was classically handsome, no one could deny that. He certainly knew how to wield that charming smile, but it had absolutely no effect on you. 

“Diggory,” said a stern voice.

Theo returned to your side, looking a bit put off. He angled himself in front of you, putting space between you and Cedric. 

“Oh, hey, Teddy. Cedric and I were just having a little chat about the upcoming game.” 

Cedric nodded. “I assume you’re the Roman Redcaps friend that Y/N was talking about.” 

“Best friend,” Theo corrected. You shot him a confused look as he glared at Cedric.

The older boy raised an amused brow. “You just made chaser, right? Looks like congratulations are in order, mate.” 

“Thanks, mate,” Theo replied in a mocking tone. He turned to you, impatience written all over his face. “Are you ready for that butterbeer, bella?” 

You nodded slowly, baffled by your best friend’s behavior. Perhaps it was just some strange sports rivalry peacocking that you didn’t quite understand. 

“Sure, Teddy.” 

You said goodbye to Cedric, much to Theo’s annoyance. He had no parting words for the Hufflepuff, choosing instead to be a menacing presence at your side. For Salazar’s sake, he was taking house rivalry way too seriously. 

“I’ll see you at the game, Y/N.” 

Before you could answer, Theo grabbed your hand and stared Cedric down. “You will. She’ll be sitting in the Slytherin stands wearing my jersey. Hard to miss with my last name on her back. Later, Diggory.”

Day Three, The Sunflower Vineyard

The Sunflower Vineyard was a wonder to behold. Located at the edge of town, the charming estate stretched out for miles and miles in the Italian countryside, comprising a sprawling three story villa, fertile farmland that housed rows and rows of grape vines, and a magical greenhouse that boasted rare and unusual plants. 

Usually closed to the public, the matriarch of the Martino family welcomed you within the gates of her vineyard as a gesture of goodwill to one of her oldest and dearest friends. Needless to say, Nonna was adamant that none of you were to embarrass her under any circumstances. While she spoke to the entire group, everyone knew that the message was targeted towards Mattheo who nodded absentmindedly at the warning. 

The car arrived at the villa right after lunch and brought you to the vineyard. Theo grumbled about wanting to drive, but you reminded him that there wouldn’t have been room for everyone in the baby blue convertible. When you finally pulled up to the vineyard, his annoyance was all but forgotten. 

The gilded gates parted open as you peered at the rolling hills that extended far beyond your sight. True to its namesake, sunflowers dotted the vineyard and painted the landscape with bright shades of yellow. You gaped at the stalks, some of them taller than you. 

As you slowed to a stop, the villa loomed overhead. The property was massive, its huge windows overlooking the front lawn. The neatly trimmed hedges curved in the shape of the driveway and framed the marble fountain, which faced the massive wooden doors of the villa. When the driver escorted you out of the car, a tall and tan brunette with bright hazel eyes greeted your group at the steps. 

“Welcome to the Sunflower Vineyard,” the man greeted. “My name is Dante. My grandmother and I are pleased to have you as our guest. Since it is a rare occasion for the vineyard to have visitors, she entrusted me to give you the grand tour.” 

As the self-appointed leader of the group, Pansy took on the task of introducing everyone. “Lovely to meet you, Dante. My name is Pansy. This is Enzo, Draco, Blaise, and Mattheo.” 

The boys politely shook Dante’s hand. Pansy moved on to introduce you and Theo, but Dante stopped short at the sight of you. 

“And who might you be?” 

“Y/N,” you supplied, shaking his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

Dante smiled, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he lifted your hand and pressed a kiss on your knuckles. “The pleasure is mine, bella.” 

“Now that we’re all acquainted,” Theo interrupted, staring down at Dante. He seemed rather unimpressed by your appointed tour guide. “Shall we start?” 

“You must be Theodore.” 

“I prefer Mr. Nott,” your best friend replied with an edge to his voice. Pansy elbowed him, which caused Theo to roll his eyes. “But I suppose you can call me Theo.” 

Dante laughed. “Grandmother said you were quite the joker.” 

“That’s me. A certified clown.” Theo wedged himself between you and Dante, positioning you beside him instead. With an arm around your waist, he nodded towards the wooden doors. “Lead the way, Dante.” 

Unperturbed, Dante began the tour with a walk through the villa. The inside was bright and spacious, filled with expensive paintings and artifacts that were older than you. Rich tapestries and ornate furniture decorated the house, but each room you peered into seemed pristine and untouched, so unlike Theo’s ancestral home, which you adored for its coziness and charm. Still, the place held much history. 

The Martinos were an influential family. Their empire dated centuries back, supplying wine to dynasties and diplomats. A fact that Dante was proud to declare. 

“We even served Vicência Santos while she was still Minister of Magic.” 

You perked up at that. Vicência had led the Brazilian Ministry for nearly two decades before becoming the first witch to be appointed as Supreme Mugwump. From the moment you learned about her in History of Magic in fourth year, you idolized Vicência and hoped to follow her career path leading the International Confederation of Wizards.

“What was she like?” 

“Brilliant, courageous, and a little bit scary as well. I remember hiding behind my grandmother’s skirts every time she visited the vineyard.” 

“Did she ever speak of the walk with the Qilin? Or her time as headmistress of Castelobruxo? Or how she dealt with the Bulgarian conflict during her first year as minister?”

Dante smiled. “We’ve got a fan, I see.” 

“Y/N is studying International Law at Oxford in the fall,” Theo said haughtily. “Of course she’s well-versed when it comes to Vicência’s accomplishments. She’s going to be an even better Supreme Mugwump when the time comes.”

You flushed at the proclamation. “If the time comes. I’ll have to do well in my studies first.” 

“I don’t doubt that you will,” Dante said with a smile. “In any case, I’ll be sure to cast my vote when your name is on the ballot.” 

Theo rolled his eyes. “Supreme Mugwumps are elected by the Confederation, not civilians.” 

“Still,” you hedged, shooting Theo a bewildered glance. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

Despite the obvious tension, no one else seemed to pay the conversation any mind. The other boys were politely nodding, but you could tell by the way that their eyes glazed over that you had about ten minutes at best before they started growing restless. 

“Would you mind showing us the greenhouse?” You interjected, eyeing Pansy who was one eye twitch away from smacking Enzo all the way back to London for touching the fragile art. 

Luckily, your tour guide was more than eager to lead you to the sprawling gardens located at the back of the villa. The fresh air and sunshine seemed to calm the boys as they happily strolled through the path that snaked around the edge of the massive swimming pool. Tucked at the corner of the property, the greenhouse glinted in the sunlight. It reminded you of the one at Hogwarts where your Herbology class was usually held. 

Dante showed you the assortment of plants they were growing, the variety of which would’ve inspired Longbottom’s envy. Among them were Devil’s Snare, Venomous Tentacula, and Aconite, which you knew for a fact sold for a pretty galleon in the black market. Pansy warned Mattheo not to touch any of them and the curly headed boy pouted in response, sticking his tongue out when her back was turned. 

You turned to catch Theo’s attention, but he was too busy glaring at your tour guide who seemed none the wiser to the animosity. After a brief tour, Dante gave you free leave of the greenhouse and excused himself to check on things inside the villa. As soon as he was out of earshot, Pansy released a sigh. 

“For fuck’s sake, Draco.” The witch scolded as she tugged the blonde down from a wooden cart. “Get off the damn cart and put away that bloody electronic square.” 

Draco frowned as he repeatedly tapped at the mobile in his hands. Hermione had given it to him before the trip, after much despairing on Draco’s part that he wouldn’t be able to speak to his girlfriend for an entire week. Never mind that they would be spending the next four years at Cambridge together. 

You decided to take a softer approach and patted Draco on the back. “I don’t think there’s service out here, Dray.” 

Your friend sighed exasperatedly. “I told Hermione I’d check in every day. We haven’t texted since last night. She’s been so busy with her internship.” 

“Aw, is our little loverboy feeling lonely?” mocked Mattheo. 

Just as you glared at the brunette, Theo smacked Mattheo over the head. You gave him a grateful smile before consoling Draco. “Ignore him. Dante said that we were more than welcome to the flowers in bloom, so why don’t you pick some out for Mione? When we get back to the villa, I’ll teach you how to press them and you can make the dried flowers into a present for her.” 

At that, Draco brightened. “That’s a great idea, Y/N. Will you show me how to make a bookmark out of the flowers?” 

You smiled, touched by your friend’s thoughtfulness. “Even better! Hermione will love it.” 

“Thanks for being helpful,” Draco said, leveling an accusatory glance at Pansy that she wholeheartedly ignored. He kissed your cheek and beamed. “I’d better get started then.” 

As Draco thoroughly examined the flowers in the greenhouse, Theo chuckled. “I never thought I’d bear witness to a Malfoy performing manual labor.” 

You cocked your head at Draco, who leaned down to pluck a daisy. “I think it’s sweet.”

“You do?” 

“Of course,” you replied. “What girl doesn’t love receiving flowers?” 

While Theo absorbed that information, Dante returned to escort you to where the wine tasting would be held. The boys eagerly followed, seduced by the mere mention of alcohol. As Dante led the group to the second floor of the villa, Theo kept a hand on the small of your back. 

“These stairs are slippery,” he explained, leaning in to support you. “Wouldn’t want you to slip, bella.” 

You murmured your thanks, swallowing thickly as Theo moved his hand to rest on your hip. The heat radiating off of him seared your skin more than the summer sunshine. At the head of the staircase, Dante offered you his arm. 

“The last step is a little tricky,” he said after he assisted Pansy across the rickety step. 

Theo tightened his grip on your hip, holding you in place. “It’s alright, I’ve got her.” 

Dante cleared the last step just as Theo swept you off your feet, picking you up bridal style. You yelped in surprise, encircling your arms around your best friend’s neck as he carried you to the balcony like you weighed nothing. Behind Dante, Pansy raised an inquisitive brow. She was definitely going to bring this up later. 

You glanced up at Theo, cleaning your throat. “You can put me down now, Teddy.” 

“You sure, Y/N? I’d be more than happy to carry you to your seat.” 

“There’s no need for that,” you interjected, stumbling over your words as your cheeks heated. Everyone else was waiting on the two of you, watching the scene unravel with varying degrees of amusement. “I’m perfectly capable of walking.” 

Theo smirked before gently setting you down. “Suit yourself.” 

Ignoring your friend’s curious glances, you stepped out onto the spacious balcony and marveled at the spread that had been laid out for you. The mahogany table resembled an overgrown charcuterie board, filled with expensive cheese, fresh slices of meat, and ripe fruit. Each of your names were written on place cards, the cursive handwriting just as luxurious and elegant as the bottles of wine sitting on the center of the table. 

The boys spread out amongst themselves as Dante explained the different vintages that would be presented to you today. Beside you, Theo took a handful of crackers and spread brie and fig jam on them. He lifted one towards you, drizzling it with a bit of honey. 

“Want a bite?” he asked cheekily. You nodded and reached out for the cracker. Theo shook his head and pulled it out of your reach. “Open up, bella.” 

“What?” 

“I’ll feed it to you so you don’t get your fingers all sticky. I know you hate the feeling.” 

“Um — sure — yeah. I guess that makes sense.” 

Theo smiled in satisfaction as he brought the cracker to your mouth. His fingers brushed your lips as you took a generous bite. The honey dripped down your chin, but Theo wiped it before it could stain your dress. You were about to thank him for the save, but then he licked the honey off of his thumb and suddenly the words escaped you. 

Flustered, you murmured something unintelligible before turning your attention back to Dante’s presentation. He was in the midst of explaining the importance of the fermentation process, but none of it truly registered if you were being honest. When he finally directed you to taste the first sample, you nearly drained the entire thing in one gulp. 

Beside you, Theo took a much more dignified approach. He always joked that cooking and drinking were the two things that he was better at than you were. You were inclined to agree. Nonna trained him to have an impeccable taste for wine. Theo swirled his wine glass, examining the color and clarity of the liquid. He inhaled its sweet fragrance, describing the different notes to you in hushed tones, like it was a secret between the two of you. 

“Primitivo,” Theo murmured, his lips stained with crimson. “This wine is from Puglia. A 1945 preserve. Because of the type of grape it comes from, the flavor is deep and rich. Back in the day, they used to believe that red wine was an aphrodisiac.” His eyes shimmered with mischief as he spoke. “Tasting it now, it certainly has a certain seduction.” 

You blinked, twisting your emerald ring as Theo stared at you intently. It seemed impossible to be drunk off of one glass, but you couldn’t deny that his gaze made you feel intoxicated. Seeing your best friend in his element was definitely doing strange things to your mind. 

From the head of the table, Dante smiled. “That’s correct. This bottle is from one of our sister vineyards in Puglia. You’ve got quite the taste for wine, Theo.” 

“I’d expect nothing more from Serafina’s grandson.” 

The matriarch of the Martino family floated through the balcony, the hem of her elegant burgundy dress brushing the marble floor. Her white hair and dark eyes were a stark contrast, but her smile was warm and welcoming. Theo greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks. 

“Ciao, Rafaela,” Theo drawled as he flashed her a charming smile. “Grazie per averci.” 

“The pleasure is mine, Theodore.” Rafaela surveyed the group, leveling your friends with scrutiny. Fortunately, you had plenty of experience winning over tough, Italian grandmothers. “These must be your friends.” 

The boys introduced themselves, giving Rafaela the customary cheek kisses. She pinched Enzo’s cheek, which made Mattheo snort beside him. Pansy cut the curly headed boy a glare, but the old matron seemed pleased by their mischievous display. Rafaela assessed the proud tilt of Pansy’s chin, smiling as if in approval of your friend’s steel. Last, but not least, Rafaela turned her attention to you. 

“You must be Theodore’s girlfriend.” 

Before you could correct her, Theo interrupted. “Rafaela, meet Y/N. I’m sure Nonna’s told you all about her.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Martino,” you said shyly. “Thank you for welcoming us into your lovely home.” 

“Beautiful and well-spoken,” Rafaela observed. “No wonder Serafina is eager to add you into the family. The two of you make a beautiful couple.” 

“Theo and I aren’t actually —”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Theo interjected as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “We are quite good together, aren’t we, bella?” 

All around you, your friends barely managed to keep their composure. Pansy smirked while Mattheo wiggled his eyebrows. Blaise and Draco exchanged a look, leaving Enzo to stare in confusion. You managed a nod as Theo smiled smugly at Dante. 

“I will leave you to it,” Rafeala said after a moment. “Be sure to visit the sunflower field, it’s quite romantic while the flowers are in bloom.” She smiled slyly at you and Theo. “Give Serafina my regards.” 

After the strange encounter, you kept sneaking glances at Theo. He was definitely acting weird today. You just couldn’t figure out why. 

Still, you tried not to ponder it too long, choosing instead to focus on the rest of the wine tasting. As the drinks flowed, the afternoon passed by in a blur. While you thought you knew what to expect from the strong wines, you quickly realized that you were ill-prepared. The alcohol quickly crept up on you. The sweetness of the wine masked its strength, putting you under the false guise of sobriety. By the time the last bottle was served, you were well and truly sloshed. 

“Are you alright, fragolina?” Theo asked. “Or am I going to have to carry you again?”

You shook your head, determined to hold your own. “I’m prine.” 

“Prine?” 

“Perfectly fine.” 

Theo bit back a smirk. You rolled your eyes before wobbling out of your seat. “Now let’s go see some bloody sunflowers.”

How you managed to make your way downstairs without toppling over, you had no idea. The only thing that brought you comfort was that you were hardly the most drunk out of the group. The rest of your friends weren’t faring any better, except Theo. An Italian knew how to handle their wine. It was in his blood, or so he said.

Ahead of you, the boys giggled and stumbled over their own feet like teenagers who had snuck a bottle out of their parent’s liquor cabinet. Pansy behaved with a little more decorum, but judging from her glassy gaze and flushed cheeks, she felt the effects of the wine more than she let on. 

As Dante led your group toward the sunflower fields, your friends were barely holding it together. Enzo blinked sleepily, rubbing his eyes while he swayed on his feet. Mattheo kept bumping into the tall stalks. Draco and Blaise had long given up, choosing instead to wait in the car. 

“These sunflowers were planted here over a century ago by my great-grandfather, Stefano. Before he built his fortune, he worked this very same field as a farm hand where he met my great-grandmother. Valentina was a merchant’s daughter and way above Stefano's station, but that didn’t stop them from falling in love. When her father discovered their relationship, he disowned her. It was hard for Valentina, but Stefano promised her that he would restore all that she had lost. My great-grandfather worked hard to fulfill that promise. After their second child, he surprised Valentina with the sunflower field, where he would go on to build a beautiful home for her.” 

“How romantic,” you breathed. 

“Indeed, it is something out of a story book,” Dante said with a smile. His gaze flickered to yours as he spoke. “One day, I hope to find a love like Stefano’s and Valentina’s.” 

“Keep hoping,” Theo muttered under his breath. You elbowed him for the sarcastic remark. “What? It’s good to be optimistic. I’m sure you’ll find a nice girl to settle down with. Preferably one from town and not anywhere else.” 

Luckily, Dante took no offense. Without missing a beat, he kept regaling the group with tales of Stefano and Valentina. While your friends were distracted, you tugged Theo towards the back of the greenhouse. 

“What are you doing?” Theo asked. “We’re going to miss out on Stefano and Valentina’s great love story. Our tour guide would loathe not being the center of your attention.” 

You didn’t miss the sarcastic tone that dripped from his words. “Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” 

“You know what.” 

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, bella.” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you scolded. “What’s with all the hostility? Dante’s been nothing but gracious to us.” 

“Gracious,” he repeated, dragging out the word. “Yes, I suppose flirting with a taken woman is a very gracious thing to do.” 

“But I’m not taken.” 

“Dante doesn’t know that! Nonna told him we were dating, so hypothetically, he has no business flirting with you. It’s way out of line.” 

“And you being outright rude to him isn’t?” 

Theo crossed his arms. “Why do you care if I’m rude to him?”

“Because, dumbass, snubbing the grandson of one of your grandmother’s most loyal friends, not to mention business partner, is entirely idiotic. Especially when you’re both likely to inherit the family business, which means you’ll have to eventually work together.” 

“Oh,” Theo said, blinking in surprise. “So you were being nice to him because I might have to conduct business with him in the future? Not because you like him, but because it’ll be good for me in the long run?” 

“Obviously, but you seem hell bent on making an enemy out of him.”

“Only because I thought he was hitting on you!” 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. You should’ve known that Dante’s compliments would trigger this whole overprotective best friend nonsense. For years, Theo had held the opinion that no member of the opposite sex would ever be good enough for you. He was convinced that every guy had ill intentions towards you, but he’d never been quite this far off the mark. 

“I highly doubt it, given the fact that I’m not Dante’s type.” 

“How do you know that?”

“He’s checked out Enzo’s arse at least three times in the past hour.” You nodded towards the group, catching Dante in the midst of flashing a flirtatious smile at a completely oblivious Lorenzo. “Trust me when I say that Berkshire stands a better chance of catching our host’s interest than I do.” 

Theo’s eyes widened. With a sheepish smile, he rocked back on his feet and scratched the back of his neck. “I’m an idiot.” 

“A little,” you respond with a sigh. “But unfortunately, you’re also my best friend, which means I have a responsibility to save you from making a fool out of yourself.”

“This is why you’re the genius in this friendship, not me.” 

You scoffed. “You weren’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box today.” 

“Hey!” Your best friend protested. “That’s mean!” 

“The truth hurts, Theodore.” 

“Now you’re full naming me?” 

Emboldened by the wine, you held your chin high as though you weren’t craning your neck to the point of pain just to look up at him. With a smirk, you delivered the final blow. “What are you going to do about it, Theodore?” 

You emphasized each syllable of his name with a poke, prodding at his chest as he frowned. The challenge hung between you, charging the air with tension. Theo was quick to react, flipping you over until your back hit the wall of the greenhouse. With a smug smirk, Theo pinned your wrists on either side of your head. 

The sudden switch knocked the breath out of your lung, making you feel dizzy and lightheaded. Theo was so close that you could smell the wine on his breath. As you looked up, the sunshine crowned him in gold, highlighting his freckles and flushed cheeks. The baby blue color of his linen shirt matched his eyes, bright and alluring while he stared down at you. You held your breath as his gaze dipped down to your mouth, licking his lips instinctively. 

“Bella,” Theo murmured, his voice deep and rich like the wine swimming in your veins. 

A rustling sound snapped you out of your reverie. Dante appeared before you, pausing when he caught sight of your compromising position. 

“Am I interrupting something?” 

You scrambled backwards, flushing deeply. “No, we were — we were just heading back.” 

Your tour guide muttered a quick apology before he scampered off. Theo barely spared Dante a glance, his focus fixed solely on you. His gaze flickered to your lips once more before he slowly released your wrists. As Dante ran off, you groaned. 

“Now look at what you’ve done,” you said, pressing the back of your hand up to your forehead. Was it just you or was it hot all of a sudden? “Dante’s going to think we were up to no good.” 

“We’re always up to no good.” 

“Not helping!” 

“I’m sorry, bella,” Theo said in a soft, sincere tone. “For being rude to Dante. For acting like an absolute idiot all day. I promise I’ll apologize to our host for my behavior, but I need my best girl to forgive me first.” 

Your best friend stepped closer and summoned a bouquet of sunflowers. He plucked a bloom before tucking it into your hair and smiling. “They say that sunflowers face wherever the sunshine is. I suppose that’s why I’m always looking at you.” 

Flushed, you shyly accepted the bright yellow flowers. “How could I possibly stay mad after that?” 

“You can’t,” Theo said with a wink. “It’s part of my poetic charm.” 

“Twat,” you replied with a scoff. “But really, these are lovely. Thank you, Teddy. Consider yourself forgiven.” 

He beamed and linked your fingers together, twisting your emerald ring out of habit. “I’m glad. Now I’m off to right my wrongs with Dante. Though now that I think about it, I’m a little offended that he’d choose to objectify Enzo over me.” 

“Your ego really knows no bounds, does it?” 

“Of course not,” Theo drawled as he flashed you a cheeky smile. “That’s why you’re here to keep me in check.” 

“Then if you really must know, Berkshire totally has a cuter butt than you.” 

“You take that back, Y/N!”

[sanguineterrain]

i'm sure you have plenty of requests, but do you write part 2's/continuations of blurbs?? bc i'm FULLY invested in the bodyguard!jason au and i need to know what else transpires in their time together. does he read to the reader?? does reader take him clubbing with him subsequently losing them in the crowd?? is he their unofficial date to the countless galas and social gatherings they're invited to?? what is their sleeping arrangement? the people demand politely request answers!

the people shall get their answers!

bodyguard!jason todd x gn!reader. pt 2 to this. tw reader punches a rich asshole, pining, tension, etc. jason is a sweetheart as always! all fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

Galas suck.

You swish champagne in your glass and watch it fizz. Then you do it again. And again.

A man's loud laughter carries over the delicate string quartet. You glower in his direction for a second. Then you rest your head on the wall behind you.

"I'm bored to tears, Red," you say.

Hood is playing wallflower with you, except he actually has an excuse.

"To tears, huh?" he says. "Maybe you should try being social. I believe that's what these shindigs are for."

Your head lolls in his direction, brows rising. "That's pretty rich coming from you. You're the least social person I know."

"Well, I do shoot people for a living. Tends to put others off. Go figure."

You stop a passing waiter and pluck a vegetable croquette from tray, then pop it into your mouth. "You haven't shot anybody in months."

Hood sighs. "Yeah. Sad stuff."

"You could shoot somebody here."

"Not without good reason," he says.

"How 'bout for being an entitled, elitist prick?"

"I'm afraid I need a little more reason than that. For legal purposes. But I do love shooting entitled, elitist pricks."

"Fine. Give me the gun."

Hood hums. "I think I'm a bad influence on you, trouble."

"You're the best influence on me," you say. "Give me your gun. I can be trusted."

"That's a negative."

You finish the croquette and edge closer to him, your shoulders touching. You tap him on the shoulder. He leans in, ear near your mouth.

"Ye-es?" he asks, eyes flicking to you. Wow. You've never gotten used to Hood's laser focus on you.

"What if I said you're the wind in the trees and the music of the birds and all of my dreams come to life?" you ask, only exaggerating a little.

"I'd probably check for a concussion," says Hood. You can tell he's smiling behind his mask.

"What if I said you're too sexy for your shirt?"

"Hm. Can't disagree there. Still no gun, though."

"Bastard."

Hood bumps your shoulder and straightens. "Sorry, trouble. Looks like we'll have to soldier through without sending anyone to Emergency."

You suck your teeth. "Man. Will you dance with me, at least?"

Hood snorts.

"I'm not joking," you say. "I headcanon you to have secret waltz and tango skills."

"You headcanon me?"

"Yes. I write headcanons about you on my blog." You gulp down the rest of your champagne. "So, what do you say?"

"Dancing isn't in my job description, trouble. 'Sides, there's plenty virile, eligible bachelors here for you to rumba the night away with."

You wrinkle your nose. "Who describes people as virile? They're not lab mice."

"Sorry." Hood clears his throat, then cocks his hip. "They're hot and totally into you!" he says in a peppy voice. "Better?"

You shiver. "Don't do that again. Gave me the heebie jeebies."

"'Gives the heebie jeebies' is actually on my resume," Hood says. "Right after 'scares the shit out of people.'"

The music slows to a finish. The dancers clap. You groan, leaning against the wall.

"Maybe I can pull the fire alarm," you say.

"Excuse me!"

An old, small man in an expensive suit with white, thin hair struts over. You squint at him as he comes to a stop in front of you.

"Isn't your father that ambassador?" he asks, eyes roving over you. You know that gaze. It's the gaze that's deciding whether or not you're worth speaking to.

"Yes, he is," you say. "May I help you?"

He sniffs. "Terrible business, that. He very nearly cost that young woman her life at that banquet."

Hood brushes past you, stepping forward. "Sir, I need you to back up. Safety measures and all that."

Your jaw tightens. This is literally the last conversation you want to have, talking about your tightass, selfish father. You've done enough of that in therapy.

You hide a smile behind his back.

The man peers at Hood, mouth curling. "What business have you, bringing threatening men like him in here? This is a private event."

You step around Hood. "He's my bodyguard. He's not a threat."

"He certainly looks like one. He's dressed like a hoodlum."

"Hence the name," Hood says cheerfully.

The man sneers. "Those scars of yours are hideous, young man. I can't believe you accompany your charge in public looking like you do."

"What the hell did you say?" you ask, stepping to him. "Huh?"

"Trouble," Hood says quietly, touching your shoulder. "It's fine—"

"No, because what the fuck? Where the fuck do you get off?" you say, invading his personal space. How fucking dare he?

The asshole's bulldog eyebrows rise. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. Red's being perfectly professional. Won't even eat the hors d'oeuvres. And you're commenting on his body? Are you insane? Did all that corruption eat your brain?"

His face is now a nice shade of beetroot. Hood clears his throat behind you.

"C'mon, ease up," Hood says. "Don't do this f'me."

"Yes, listen to your mutt," the man says, sneering. "Seems he's got a modicum of sense, unlike you. It looks like all of his house training has a promising future."

Your fist connects with cartilage.

It's a blur after that. Someone pulls you away—Hood—and your now-sworn enemy screams bloody murder, red dripping down his suit. Your hand kind of hurts, and your head really hurts.

Hood herds you through a set of French doors, into a garden. Cool, night air fans your face.

"Well, 'm glad I didn't give you a gun," Hood says, walking you to a bench by the fountain in the center of the garden.

Sweet scents of lilac and rose waft through the air. You look away as Hood carefully inspects your hand.

"Hm. Just a little bruised. No injury."

"I tucked my thumb like you taught me," you say.

"I see. Think you broke his nose."

Is that pride you hear in his voice?

Hood sighs, releasing your hand. "But you shouldn't have done that."

You start to shake, anger shooting through you all over. You curl into yourself.

"I'm not apologizing to that shithead. He's a gutless, no-good, gutter snipe. Nothing under that hideous toupee but air."

Hood laughs. "Easy, Sundance. Y'know guys like him are full of hot air. Surprised you let him get to you. You don't care what those rich assholes say."

You turn around to look at Hood. "Someone had to take him down a peg. What he said was horrible."

"You've heard so much worse, trouble. You take it all with a grin and then get back at 'em later. 'S how you always do it."

"Yeah, well... well, I was sick of what he was saying. He can say all he wants about me, I don't give a shit. But when I'm in the room, no one talks about my bodyguard."

Hood is quiet for a long moment. There's only the sound of the babbling fountain and crickets. You rub your sore hand and stare at a rose bush.

"Y'don't need t'defend me," he says. "People have said far worse, and I definitely don't want you puttin' your reputation on the line for me, trouble."

"Fuck my reputation!" you say, scooting closer to him. "You're important to me, Red. Everyone should know not to say a damn thing about you when I'm around."

He shakes his head. "I'm just your bodyguard."

"No, you're my friend. Right?"

Hood looks up at you. "I—yeah, of course, but—"

"Well, friends defend each other."

"So some rich guy doesn't wanna look at my ugly mug," Hood says. "Big deal."

"You aren't ugly," you say, brow furrowing. "Don't say that."

"Trouble. Sweetness. Look at me. Tyra Banks would call me a lost cause."

"Don't be a dummy, Red. You're hot and mysterious, and you have pretty eyes. You're a fantasy protagonist's wet dream."

Hood leans in. Your heart picks up. Oh, you're nervous. You're getting nervous again. A tornado siren wails in your head. Danger! Danger!

"So you're sayin' I'm too sexy for my shirt?" he asks.

"So sexy it hurts," you say, voice slightly uneven.

"Mm." He looks you over. His lashes are so long. Damn. "Y'haven't even seen my whole face."

"I don't need to," you say instantly. "I'm an excellent judge of good looks."

He laughs. You smile.

"Think you can sneak us out?" you ask. "For my safety, of course."

"Mm, of course." Hood looks over the garden. "Yeah, I think I can manage that."

"I'll get us burgers," you say. "I'm starved."

"Taking me out, huh?"

It's a joke, but God, what if? What if you could go on a date with Hood, without masks or politics? What if you could see his smile? Feel his smile?

"If I did, I'd take you someplace nice," you say. "Not just a burger joint."

Hood is quiet as you go to the edge of the garden and he prepares to get you both over the balcony. He holds out a hand and puts his other on your waist so you can climb. Your faces are close. You smile, a little nervous.

"For the record," he says, not letting go until you're safely on the grass below. "I'd be content eating anywhere with you, trouble."

Hood easily vaults over the balcony, landing on his feet. He gestures with his arm.

"You lead," he says, eyes dancing.

God, you're in so much trouble.

[spiderlilyserendipity]

Responsibility 🔞🖤

**Minors DNI! This is content for adults only! To read my SFW works, please see my masterlist.**

Summary: You’ve always had a hard time asking for help when you need it, and it doesn’t seem to get better as time goes by. Luckily for you, Hoseok knows you well enough to know when you need pampering.

Tags: Dom!Hoseok, Sub!Y/N, minimal plot, established relationship, dollification, safe words established, she calls him owner, PRAISE!!!!!, nonverbal sub space, oral (m. recieving), multiple orgasms (f. recieving), breeding kink (I didn't even mean to put it in this fic I swear but I can't fucking stop myself anymore send help), aftercare!!!, light angst (oopsie ✨), fluff at the end.

Warnings: Unprotected sex (don’t do that obviously lol)

W/C: 3970 (3.9K)

A/N: Hello everyone!! Sorry I disappeared once again, I just realized the last time I posted here was in NOVEMBER???? For the amount of BTS x Y/N writing I do it doesn't add up... I have been in a veryyyy big writer’s slump ALTHOUGH I have made some really good progress with a bigger series I hope to get out to you guys soon! These last few weeks have been a bit rough for me, so here is something a bit chiller with my beloved Dom!Hoseok x Y/N.

You’re in one of those moods again where everything feels too much.

It’s not necessarily your fault, but you’ve always had a hard time asking for help when you need it, and it doesn’t seem to get better as time goes by. You’ve known this about yourself for a long time, but you can’t help but get trapped in it. 

It starts for you with a big project at work. You only volunteered to help out because no one else did, and it led to you being given more responsibility than your payroll even calls for. Initially, you tried to back out of it and make excuses, but your boss pushed forward with his own agenda and you never could. Now, you’re stuck doing work that isn’t really even yours without extra pay and with significantly more stress.

You’ve regretted it since the start, but you thought you’d be fine until today. 

Today, you made a small mistake and your boss chewed you out for it in front of everyone. It wasn’t even a big deal, but your boss was in a bad mood to begin with and you just happened to be the person in the line of fire. But that small incident flared up something inside you—a deeply rooted fear of not being good enough.

And now, you find yourself plummeting down a rabbit hole of negative self-talk that really has nothing to do with work or anyone else. It has to do with you. 

“What are you doing spacing out?” Hoseok’s laugh jolts you out of your thoughts. You look away from the TV, where your boyfriend is smiling warmly down at you. “Had a long day at work?”

You purse your lips. You don’t really want to get into it. It’s a bad habit, but you don’t like to drag Hoseok into your negativity. He has enough stress at his own job. “No, just tired.” You lie, getting off the couch.

“Y/N.” Hoseok says your name, wrapping a hand around your wrist. His voice is low, worried. You avoid his eyes. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“Nothing, I’m just tired.” You lie again, but you know Hoseok can see right through you. Of course he can, after all these years together.

You take a quick shower in the ensuite bathroom of your shared bedroom, then step out and run yourself a bath as a treat after a long day. You smile to yourself at the array of different bath bombs Hoseok keeps stocked for you, picking out one with a candy-like scent for tonight. 

You drop the bath bomb in the water, watching it fizz and turn the water a shimmery baby pink. You step back in, sinking down into the hot water with a sigh. It’s not enough to take away the negative thoughts in your head, but it does take the edge off. 

You’re almost dozing off in the bath when the bathroom door opens. Hoseok steps inside, then closes the door behind him. “That smells so good.” He comments, taking a seat on the closed toilet lid beside you. 

You smile. “Yeah.”

The air is still slightly tense between you. Hoseok watches your face for a moment, then smiles. “This scent is nice, isn’t it? I’m glad I listened to the salesperson.” He asks, rolling up his sleeves. You wonder what he’s doing when he leans in and begins to massage your shoulders. “You’re too tense, though.” He comments under his breath.

You look away. With one small touch, Hoseok breaks down your walls. “Don’t deserve it.” You mumble. 

“Don’t deserve what, sweetheart?” Hoseok asks gently, his thumbs now working into the dips of your collarbone.

You shake your head, feeling overwhelmed. “Everything. Don’t deserve your touch.”

“Is that so?” Hoseok asks in a low, patient voice that sends heat to your core. You know exactly what he’s doing, and although you want it, you can’t let yourself have it. You try to push away, to reach for the tub’s stopper and drain the bath away. But Hoseok stops you with a firm hand over your wrist. “I’m not done yet, sweetheart.” He warns you gently, pushing you back against the tub.

Hoseok’s eyes flicker down to your cleavage, but he doesn’t touch you there yet. He can still see the hesitance in your eyes, the self-doubt that makes you fear submission to him. “It seems like you have a lot of thoughts in your head right now. Would you like me to give you a break, to let me do all the thinking? And you get to relax, just like a pretty little doll?” He purrs, causing you to rub your thighs together. 

In the low light, Hoseok’s eyes glint with satisfaction at the effect his words have on you. “Oh, you would like that. Unfortunately I need to hear a special word before I can do that. Does my pretty girl remember what that word is?”

“Candy.” You murmur. 

Hoseok beams, running a hand through your hair. “Good girl.” He emphasizes, making the fire in your belly burn brighter. “What a gorgeous doll I own.”

You gasp softly as Hoseok’s hands move down to cup your breasts, toying with your nipples. “Owner.” You whisper.

“Yes, doll?” Hoseok replies easily, continuing to rub the now-hard nubs. 

“It’s cold.” You whisper. By now, the hot water has become lukewarm and you’re starting to get chilly. Hoseok hums, leaning in to kiss your breasts. 

“Is that right?” He coos at you. His hands move down your torso, then part your thighs. You whimper as Hoseok plays with your clit, then drags a finger along your entrance. “Hmm…Feels nice and warm here though.” Hoseok makes an expression of fake-confusion, then slides a finger inside. You whine, gripping his forearm with both of your hands. 

Hoseok chuckles, then kisses your forehead. He cups your mound, looking directly at you as he does it. “I don’t think I want to get my clothes wet. Let’s get you up and dressed.”

With that, Hoseok pulls the stopper. You watch the water drain down, until you’re left sitting in the empty tub. Hoseok stands, then puts a hand under your chin, guiding you to stand. His eyes move down your naked body, full of controlled lust. He has you step out of the tub, then picks a towel off the shelf. “So wet.” He chides, taking your hand in his and drying each finger diligently. You watch him as he carefully works his way up your arm, then dries your armpit for you. He repeats the motion on the other side. 

Then, Hoseok pushes your chin up, expecting you to look up. You obey. He dries off your neck, then your collarbones. You whine as he takes his time with your breasts, thumbing at them through the towel. “So, so wet.” Hoseok chides, then pinches one nipple. “This is why pretty things like you are hard work. If owner forgets to take good care of you, you become so messy. Isn’t that right, doll?”

“Yes, owner.” You murmur.

Hoseok lightly guides your chin down, allowing you to look at him again. “But messy girls are fun, too, because then owner has fun cleaning you and setting you straight.” He says, forcing your thighs apart to dry off your inner thighs. You purse your lips as he takes his sweet time drying your thighs and calves. Hoseok smiles up at you as he wipes off your feet. “It’s been so long since I got you a mani-pedi. I should do that, then take you out and get you some outfits. We can stop by a jewellery store, too. TIffany’s? No, maybe Cartier would be better.”

You listen quietly as Hoseok talks to himself, appraising your body as he does. You’re not meant to voice your opinion for things like this—you’re meant to take what he gives you. You let Hoseok turn you around, then begin wiping down your back. It’s mindless, but that’s the point. To submit, to gratefully take what you’re given. But you can’t help the nagging voice in your mind. “Don’t deserve it.” You mumble. Hoseok’s hands pause.

Hoseok scoffs. “How can a doll know what their worth is? What, are you some kind of AI?” He comments, continuing to work at you. 

“Deserve punishment.” You mumble. “I’m bad.”

Hoseok hums as if he agrees, then puts a hand on your ass. You flinch and he notices. “Do you think I’d play with a bad doll?” Hoseok whispers, his voice dangerous in your ear. 

You answer immediately. “No, owner.”

“That’s right!” He says cheerfully, turning you back around. Taking your face in one hand, Hoseok grins at you, but warning flashes in his eyes. “My doll doesn’t get punished. My doll is a good girl who listens and takes what I give her. Has owner been slacking in pampering his doll that she’s forgotten who she belongs to?”

“No, owner.” You repeat. 

Hoseok looks displeased. You feel the urge to cry, hating his displeasure. You want to be good, but you don’t feel good enough!

Hoseok takes your hand and guides you into the ensuite closet. Still naked, you stand with your hands clasped as Hoseok (still fully dressed) opens a bag at the back of the closet, one you’ve never seen before. He pulls out two pieces of lingerie—one is a simple pair of white silk panties, and the other is a white, translucent babydoll with a small white bow in the middle. Without asking if you like it, Hoseok comes over to you and lifts you up onto the island in the closet. He puts the panties on you first, then the top. “So pretty.” He says, then rubs your cheek proudly. You preen at his touch.

Hoseok brings you to the bedroom next, sitting you down in front of your vanity. He hums to himself as he picks up your comb and brushes your hair. He decides to do a French braid tonight, then ties it in place with a little bow hair tie at the bottom. You both know it won’t look like that soon. “Such a pretty thing.” He praises you, eyes boring on you in the mirror. He taps your lips once, and you open your mouth. Hoseok spits in your mouth, then settles a hand on your throat. “Swallow.” He orders, then beams as he feels your throat bob from swallowing.

The dom reaches between your legs again, moving aside your underwear as he slips a finger into you again. By now, you’re much wetter. Hoseok laughs, then holds your face in one hand, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. You watch your own helpless face as your dom fingers you with amusement on his face. “So weak. Is this all you can take?”

“Owner, owner—” You whimper, putting a hand on Hoseok’s arm as he slips another finger inside. 

“What, now you remember who owns you?” Hoseok asks, reaching down with his free hand to rub at your clit. He laughs at your fucked out face. “Dolls can’t come without permission. You should know that by now, sweetheart.”

“Owner, please, please let me come, please—” You plead.

“Five. Four.” Hoseok counts you down. You bite your lip, trying to hold back. “Three, two, one, now.” 

Your whole body shakes as Hoseok works you through your orgasm. You feel come drip out of you, wetting your panties and the chair underneath you. But you don’t care at all, not with Hoseok murmuring praises in your ear. “What an obedient little cunt, just like I trained you. It’s like you were made to belong to me.”

You whine. Hoseok has you stand up, turning you half-sideways. You look in the mirror as the dom runs his clean hand down your hair gently, then rubs both hands over your hips. You breathe in sharply as you meet Hoseok’s eyes. He smirks, then digs his hands into your asscheeks, slightly spreading you. “What a messy girl. Only took two fingers and you’re all shiny down here.” He laughs, running a finger over your inner thigh, where your pre-come coats the skin. 

“Owner.” You mumble against Hoseok’s collarbone. 

He beams. “Yes, my doll?”

You both know what you want, but you can’t bring yourself to ask for it. It’s not your place to ask him to fuck you, since you’re meant to let him do as he pleases. So instead, you just press yourself in against him, placing your cheek against his collarbone. Hoseok knows what you mean without saying it. He presses a kiss to your hair, then presents his left hand—still covered by your juices—to your mouth and sticks his thumb in. You suck obediently, looking directly at your dom. “Such a useful mouth.” He purrs. You let out a small sound at his praise. Hoseok withdraws his thumb, then switches to give you his index and middle fingers. As you do that, the dom meticulously straightens your hair, ensuring not a hair is out of place. Finally, he gives you his ring and pinky finger to lick. You don’t miss the emerald and diamond ring on his ring finger—ensuring to get your juices out of every crevice around the ring. Hoseok’s jaw tightens at the sight. 

The dom intertwines your hands, then brings you over to the bed. Using his free hand, he pulls back the covers, then guides you under. You watch Hoseok grab the TV remotes and return. You glance at the hard member in Hoseok’s pants as he sits in bed next to you. Knowing what you’re thinking, Hoseok pulls his pants and underwear down in one go—revealing the hard, leaking member. “I wonder if that movie is out yet…” Hoseok says to no one in particular, pretending to be interested in finding some movie. Without saying a word, Hoseok entangles a hand in your hair, guiding you down toward his member under the covers. Your breath sharpens at the feeling of being used to pleasure him as he watches a movie, just a little thing for him to control.

You start to lick from your position at his side, but Hoseok frowns at you. Your eyes widen. Have you done something wrong? “Hmm…” He says, then reaches down and hooks a finger into the hip part of your panties. Using them, he pulls you down so you’re sitting on his calves. He lets go, then returns the hand to your hair. For added effect, he tucks the covers in around you, leaving just your head up for you to suck him off. You whimper, loving the feeling. You’re his toy, his doll. 

You begin sucking Hoseok off, doing your absolute best to please him as you work at him with your mouth and cup his balls with your hands. Hoseok runs a hand through your hair gently, idly, like he’s barely paying attention when you know he couldn’t care less about what’s on screen. Even like this, you know you’re his priority. 

You lick the slit of his member and Hoseok hisses. “Oh, that’s it.” He praises you, tightening the hand in your hair slightly. “What a good girl. So useful.”

You moan, accidentally pressing yourself down against his calf. Hoseok notices immediately. “Is my doll getting restless? Is me playing with your mouth not enough?”

“No, owner. I-I’m grateful.” You protest weakly. 

Hoseok’s eyes glint dangerously. “Yeah? Then why are you rubbing yourself against my leg like a puppy in heat?” He sits you up, bringing you onto his lap. You purse your lips as Hoseok feels how wet you are again with his hand. “Good girls don’t hide their feelings, sweetheart. You know that.”

“Yes, owner.” You say, looking at him through your lashes. 

Hoseok tsks. He slots his thigh between your legs. You sigh as he pushes up against you, loving the feeling of his hot skin against your aching clit. “If it feels good, you need to show me, sweetheart. Now, look at me and show me how good it feels. And don’t look away.” He orders. You swallow. Hoseok settles a hand to the back of your neck, holding you firmly. You slowly begin rubbing yourself against his thigh, looking directly at your dom. Hoseok watches you intently, ignoring the movie playing in the background. The lust in his eyes is illuminated by the changing colours from the screen. 

Your desperation mounts embarrassingly fast with Hoseok watching you rub yourself against him. Knowing that, Hoseok taps your chin, indicating for you to open your mouth. You take his thumb in your mouth, sucking as best as you can but you’re not consistent—the seal you form around his thumb is broken all too often by the moans and sighs you let out. Hoseok smirks at that, knowing you can’t handle it. “Suck properly.” He orders. You swallow, then wrap your lips properly around his thumb. “That’s it. Who’s my good little slut?” Hoseok asks.

You whine, grinding faster. “Is it you?” He teases. “Hmm…I thought my doll knew how to come when I told her though. Let’s see. Come now.”

With a single order, you get your release. Your whole body shakes, and Hoseok pulls you in close. He wraps his arms around you, using one hand to cup the back of your head as you shake from your orgasm. “So obedient. Just like I trained you. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, thank you.” You chant, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You’re almost crying at this point, feeling so taken care of and loved. “So grateful. Thank you, owner.”

Hoseok pulls back slightly, cupping your face in both of his hands. He kisses you, slow and passionate. “Can you handle more, baby?”

“Yes, owner.” You answer, feeling soft. Hoseok’s eyes sparkle. He knows that tone of your voice. You’re slipping further and further into your sub space, and it won’t be long until it’s hard for words to come out altogether. But Hoseok knows your body and your limits. He’ll give you exactly what he knows you can take.

“Go get your plug.” He orders. You crawl to the other side of the bed, reaching into the nightstand. Although the two of you have various toys, you know he means the small toy shaped like a teardrop with a little gem at the flared end. You bring it to him, presenting it with both hands. Hoseok takes it, then guides you to lay down. You lay back, feeling loved and safe. Hoseok will take care of you. He always does. Hoseok leans over you. “Show me your colours.” He says, knowing words are starting to slip away from you already. You squeeze Hoseok’s shoulder once to indicate green, twice for yellow, and three times for red. Hoseok kisses your forehead in praise. “What’s your colour right now?”

You squeeze once. “Such a good listener.” He praises you. He checks you’re ready, then slowly slides into you. You pant as he bottoms out, feeling full. 

“O-Owner.” Your voice comes out weak. “P-Please.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Hoseok reassures you. He allows you to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I’ll take good care of you. Fill your womb with my seed.”

You clench around him. “P-Please.” Then, you whine into his ear. “B-Breed me, owner.”

Hoseok growls, planting his hands on either side of your waist. He begins to move slowly, but you know he’s holding himself back for you. “Yeah?” He asks. “Want me to get you pregnant, sweetheart? Take care of you, take responsibility?”

You moan at the idea of being safe and taken care of. For someone who always pushes herself too far, you know deep down you’d love that. And Hoseok knows it, too, even if you don’t know how to ask for it. He knows you. Soon, Hoseok’s thrusts become faster and faster, knowing you’ve adjusted enough for him. Your moans become louder, and the nails you dig into Hoseok’s skin start to leave deeper indents. Soon, you’re arching your back. Hoseok’s own hips start to stutter. He reaches for your hair, tangling a firm hand in it. You sigh happily at his firmness. “Almost there, sweetheart.” Hoseok promises, reaching down to rub your clit. “You can do it, baby. Ready? 3…2…1…Now.”

Your orgasm wracks through you again, making you shake a third time tonight. At the same time, hot seed fills you, making you feel insane with pleasure. Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes, landing on the pillow. Hoseok wipes your cheeks immediately, then pulls you in as he lays on top of you. You feel so safe with him both inside you and on top of you, sandwiched between him and the sheets.

“T-Thank you, thank you.” You repeat, digging your nails into Hoseok’s shoulders. “Thank you, owner. So grateful.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” Hoseok says, smiling at you. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back. Even though he doesn’t say it, you see the relief in Hoseok’s eyes as you finally smile sincerely tonight. You lay there for some time and catch your breath. You kiss and hold one another, feeling comfortable. Then, Hoseok slowly slides out of you. You shiver as the seed begins to slip out of you, but Hoseok guides it back in with the plug. You clench around it, feeling pleased. “That’s my girl. So proud of you, sweetheart.”

You lay peacefully as Hoseok gets up, leaving the room momentarily. He returns with a glass of water and two granola bars for you. You’re still quite far into your sub space, so words are a bit difficult for you right now. Knowing that, Hoseok just quietly helps you sit up and feeds you your snack. Once you’re done, he carefully helps you drink the water.

“Should we shower now?” Hoseok asks. You purse your lips, looking down at your intertwined hands. He laughs. “Okay. In twenty minutes then.”

You smile, letting Hoseok pull you back under the covers for some cuddles before shower time. “Sweetheart.” Hoseok says, hooking his chin over your shoulder as he spoons you. You hum. “Remember you don’t need to hide from me, okay? If anything is bothering you, you tell me. I won’t think you’re any less good at your job if you talk to me about it, I promise. And although I know you would never give up your passion, I want you to know you don’t have to work if you don’t want to.”

You blink, craning your head to look at your boyfriend. Hoseok (despite the blush on his face) looks resolute. “I’m not kidding when I say I’ll take responsibility for you. I really can take good care of you.”

You giggle. It feels like a proposal. “I know, Hoseokie.” You mumble, cuddling back against him. You sigh, closing your eyes against the pillow as Hoseok gently rubs a hand over your belly. “I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you too.” Hoseok presses another kiss in your hair. Just then, he glances at the clock. “Okay, twenty minutes over. Let’s go.” He says. You pout, but he just grins at you. “A deal’s a deal, baby. Come on, let me get you cleaned up so I can change the sheets.”

You pout, holding your arms up. Hoseok laughs, tipping his head back. “Actually, I change my mind. I don’t want such a spoiled wife.”

“Too bad.” You mumble with a smile as he scoops you up into his arms like a bride. By now, your headspace has worn off but you feel so soft and content. “You have to take responsibility for me.”

You and Hoseok laugh together as he carries you to the bathroom.

🖤🖤🖤

A/N: Thank you for reading! I'd like to thank the Academy and fucking 2022 Mama red carpet Hoseok for inspiring me to stay up and write this fic when I have work at 8 am (but just look at him AGHHHHHHHHH). Also, requests are open <333

[jack-kellys]

hi!! for the fic title ask game how about "don't take much to be a dreamer (all you do is close your eyes)" ??

(yes this is just a newsies lyric but i also think its a pretty title😭)

hello there >:) i am very self aware i still have some of these in my inbox!! thank you for asking.

while i’m not taking these anymore you can ask me about a fandom/ship/character or my aus!

sorry in advance for being an insane person but this would be a very fun lyric to totally modernize/throw into a future context. as in like. an alternate reality au. a little bit matrix and a little bit like…. ooh peter pan but not

further in the future when the world is doing worse than it already is, AR has become rly huge for escapism and getting to “pursue” what a lot of ppl will never get the chance to in reality. the AR is this island of adventure basically, right, very fantastical and customizable. it was made by pulitzer’s company though sooo it may or may not be stealing users’ information and brain patterns!!!!!!

basically the newsies have been online friends for years and they all got their little personas on the island- i think the only IRLs are jack and crutchie. they all have their own reasons for why they're online etc, backstories...yeah. but then weird shit starts appearing in the game, sort of like glitches- strange staticky shapes like rips are forming online.

jokingly, albert steps into one, and his character disappears. and then he isn't online for a few days, which becomes two weeks, and he isn't answering when his friends call. and then the game glitches become much, much more dangerous as they start to ask questions.

but like yeah for pulitzer to fully understand, trick, and control the brain, he's gonna need test subjects guys. like c'mon how else do you take over what remains of the world. jeez

so basically! there is both in-"game" and out of game investigation of what the actual fuck is going on, so there's lots of IRL first time meetings, ppl don't always look like what they do in AR, it's fun. and they get to expose all this wild shit pulitzer is doing, and it turns out they've been hanging out w pulitzer's fucking daughter in AR this whole time bc very avatar is obv.. doesnt look like her (theyd know what she looks like pultizers are like famous), different name, etc. also i love me an exposure of corruption au with newsies bc like. its still the same concept while being absolutely batshit insane!!!

sorry this took me ages to answer- i wanted to give the canon lyric title something very out of the box, so i hope this concept is interesting to you!!

[lucifersgirl]

Business

Hey, y’all! Hope you’re doing well this hellish week. Just another short fic about our special little guy :) Enjoy, loves!

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ - THIS WRITING CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT. SMUT BELOW. MDNI.

Lucifer was away on business in the Lust Ring. You, on the other hand, were staying at the hotel, as you weren’t allowed to go on trips to other Rings. You were in your room reading when you heard your phone ring.

It was Lucifer.

“Hello, darling!” He cheerfully greeted you when you picked up. “How’s it going at the hotel?”

“Fine,” you answered. “I miss you, though.”

“I miss you, too,” Lucifer responded.

“How are your meetings going?” You inquired.

Lucifer sighed. “Boring. It’s all about shit that I’ve already taken care of. And then Asmodeus will ask me out to lunch or something and we just talk about Fizz the entire time. It’s so annoying. I’m in between meetings right now, though.”

You can practically hear Lucifer shaking his head and rubbing his temple. Suddenly, you get an idea. “I know something that could help,” you said in a sultry voice.

“Mmm? And what might that be?” Lucifer asked.

You threw your pants into a corner of your room and removed your underwear as well. Then, you grabbed your phone and snapped a picture of your unclothed sex. You then went to your texts and sent the picture to Lucifer. “This,” you said to him over the phone.

You heard Lucifer gasp and fail to hold back a groan. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered.

You giggled. “Like what ya see, Luci?”

Lucifer audibly gulped. He felt a familiar pain between his legs. He looked around for a nearby bathroom. Luckily, there was one just a few yards away. He tried to appear calm and collected as he nearly sprinted to the bathroom. When he got there, he shut and locked the door. He propped his phone up on the nearest sink and opened his messages again. When he opened the app, there were two more pictures of your glistening cunt waiting for him. Lucifer’s eyes grew wide as he studied the photos. “Holy shit,” he moaned softly, palming his erection through his pants.

You smiled at Lucifer’s words. You clicked on the ‘request face-time’ button and positioned yourself so that Lucifer could see your entire body.

As soon as the request came up on his phone, Lucifer hit ‘accept’. When he saw your half-naked body laying down on the bed, he groaned. “You-hah-you don’t know what you’re doing to me, l-love,” he stuttered.

You propped one of your legs up on the bed frame, giving Lucifer a very clear view of your sex. You heard a whine over the speaker as you slowly sunk a finger into your waiting hole. A sigh escaped your lips as another finger dove into you.

Lucifer whimpered as you pleasured yourself. He practically ripped his pants off and his hand dove into his underwear. “G-god…” he breathed as he stroked his dick at the pace of your fingers thrusting into you.

You laughed. “Jealous?”

Lucifer nodded. “Extremely,” he replied. He looked at the phone desperately, tears starting to flow down his face. His horns, wings and tail appeared. He was a disaster.

You giggled as you tilted your head back and your eyes rolled back in your head as the coil in your stomach began to grow. You slipped a third finger into your cunt, tipping you over the edge. You moaned loudly, which was music to Lucifer’s ears.

Lucifer clung to the sink’s edge as his own orgasm grew closer. “Fuckfuckfuckffffuuuuck!” He cried out as white ropes of cum squirted from his cock. After he had calmed down a bit, Lucifer looked in the mirror. His hair (which had been neat and tidy before) was sticking out at all angles, his face was flushed a deep shade of red, sweat and tears poured down his face and his eyes were puffy from crying. He truly looked a mess.

“So,” you propped your phone up on the bed frame and laid on your stomach, “when are you coming home?”

“After this next meeting,” Lucifer told you. “Immediately.”

“I’m gonna let you get back to work now,” you said. “See you soon.”

“Goodbye, sweetheart,” Lucifer mustered enough strength to smile before you hung up. He fixed his hair and calmed down a bit more before leaving the bathroom and heading towards the meeting room.

Oh, he was gonna have fun with you later.

————————

[sweetadonisbutbetter]

Could you maybe do a child reader x Ozzie and fizzy? The details are up to you, I just want them to be my dads! Thanks❤️

AWE OMG ☹️☹️☹️☹️ MY FIRST OZZIE AND FIZZ ASK BLOWS UP (i love them a normal amount) YES!!! This will be more in a headcanon bc I have so many thoughts and if this was a fic i think i would spend a year on it LMFAOO- Reader will be around 11-13! Slightly older kid but still a kid at the end of the day!! Also because my tiktok feed is filled with lamb girl reader will also be a lambkin!! A good portion of the beginning is me explaining the lamb demon premise lol

To be love is to be changed | Fizzmodeus x Child! GN! Reader

Relationship: Familial Warnings: None!! Pretty fluffy!!

You weren’t the typical demon, looking more like the sheep in the overworld than any demon in hell. 

Soft fluffy wool covered your body, save for your face. Your rounded snout and big eyes with semi-long lashes differed from the other hellborn children. Black hooved for feet and hands, making it slightly inconvenient to do day-to-day tasks, however, your kin adapted. Visibly the image or purity in a place of debauchery. Seemingly the only speck of light in a place that was consumed with darkness.

Fizz was the one who found you in the greed ring, taking you in after seeing you steal from a Shark Demon. He liked the balls you had to do that (and was insanely worried that something would happen to you if you got caught.)

Since Fizz welcomed you with open arms, and you weren’t that much of a threat (you are literally a child lol), Asmodeus opened you with even wider arms.

Ozze is the mom while Fizz is the dad. Nothing you can say will change my mind on that.

While Fizz does fret over you, it is nothing compared to Ozzie. If Ozzie is at work and gets pulled aside to be told that you hurt yourself or are sick, he will cancel his show and head home immediately.

While Ozzie is a worryrat, he isn’t a helicopter parent. He actually believes that you need your independence, especially since you aren’t that young. However, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the hell version of Life 360. He tracks your ass so much that if he gets the low battery notif, he is calling you to tell you to charge your phone. 

Fizz on the other hand is more of the chaotic parent. As in you both are banned from the kitchen, both separately and alone. To make a long story short, it started with the fork on fire and escalated to the hallway mat being singed. If you look under the replacement mat, you can still see the scorched marks of soot that were just too hard to get out. But that doesn’t mean Fizz can’t be stern with you. If anything, you prefer it when Ozzie is stern, since it is a little eerie to you when his smile isn’t there. 

Do not be fooled, while they will give you some of the things you want. you will not be spoiled insanely. You still have to pick up around your room (they told the staff not to clean your room), and in turn, you get an allowance so you can buy the things you want. 

If you try to hustle them and tell them that the other hasn’t paid you to get double the amount, literally do not get caught. They won’t pay you for your next allowance LMFAO.

In the beginning, you only called them Fizz and Ozzie, which they respected. It made sense in their heads since they weren’t really your dads, and they kinda just picked you off the streets. However when you got comfortable enough to refer to them as your dads? They were over the moon and cried to each other. 

How you approached the topic with them was by having them sit down in the living room with you.

Ozzie and Fizz were sitting down on the couch as you paced the floor. You had invited them to the living room stating that you needed to talk and asked them to sit. Albeit they were very confused as to what you needed to talk about, and seeing the worry on your face, didn’t really help with the nerves. They were holding one another’s hand as a comfort. There was a brief moment where you stopped and looked at them, before turning and beginning to pace again. Fizz and Ozzie looked at one another, asking if the other knew what was going on and denying it.

“Uhh…Kid?” Fizz starts after a bit, looking back at Ozzie for a moment before he looks back at your pacing figure. “Is everything alright?”

Instead of answering, you stopped and looked at the two of them. You left the room, furthering their confusion. It didn’t take long for you to come back with a laptop, the same one they had gifted you after a month of your stay. You connected it to the TV and put on display a PowerPoint.

“REASONS AS TO WHY YOU SHOULD ADOPT ME AND LET ME CALL YOU MY DADS.”

You had made a PowerPoint to talk to them and ask them if it was okay if you could call them dad

In said PowerPoint, you gave all the reasons (most of which said that you were awesome) and benefits of adopting you (benefits were that they get a cool kid in turn). You also went over the possible dad name variations for them and the reasons behind them. You even gave the origins of the names which amused Fizz to no end.

To make a long teary heartfelt story short, they adopted you. 

However, they had to do so in a way that didn’t get the media’s attention. Just because they were celebrities and figureheads, doesn’t mean they want you in the spotlight. Rather they agreed to wait until you were either close to being or were an adult to even announce that you were their kid (if you wanted to).

This also means that if you wanted to go out, you couldn’t go out with either of them, since the media knows that they were together, it wasn’t too far out of the picture for them to have a kid. This also extends to you not going to hospitals, rather they get a physician to come to their place and check on your health. It is this whole thing where they have a security check the doctor for any decisions or any stuff that could record your existence. (Said physician is threatened that if anything about you was leaked, they would hunt him down personally.) So sadly not a lot of days out together, however, they make up for it with at-home movie nights, game nights, and even sleepovers.

Very keen on your privacy, both in the public and at home. They always knock and make sure to not do anything to cross any of your boundaries. 

Ozzie has to be careful not to talk about too much of his work around you. You may not be a little kid, but you are still a kid and he believes that no kid should be exposed to his field so early in their life. Fizz is also careful not to talk about Ozzie’s work and doesn’t go too in-depth about Mammon’s treatment around you. 

If you are prone to nightmares, they will both personally comfort you. Even if you feel silly about it, since in your tween mind, you are too old to have your dads wait for you to fall asleep because you were too scared, they don’t mind. They will drop whatever they are holding if it means making you comfortable. 

Overall very lovely parents, and they love you dearly. With you in their lives, they feel that they have changed for the better and they cannot imagine their lives without you. Seeing you as their shining light, as they continue to raise you, they hope that your bright light never diminishes.

omg dude i rewrote this so mant times because the first attempts were kinda depressing bawling NAYWAYS IM SO HAPPY WITH HOW THIS CAME OUT AND HOPE U GUYS ENJOYED HEHE