#girl. the call is coming from inside the house.

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you've always hated her. you live your life free from her and caleb. a stranger helps save you from a date gone wrong.

word count: 5.1k words

warnings: extreme loathing, kinda funny, kinda sad, a good mix of everything! mentions of death. not proofread!

author's note: hi! this is my first lads fic! it's lowkey a mess and is all over the place, but that's okay! i hope you all enjoy! <33 please feel free to comment! i love any & all feedback! <33

edit: part 2 will be coming soon! thank you for all the love on this! i love & appreciate every single one of you!

You never thought yourself to be a hateful person, but whenever you saw Caleb with her, your heart boiled. His smile was always the brightest with her. He always handed her the first water bottle after a run around the neighborhood. His eyes were always on her and not you during study hall. They shared giggles with one another and you were the last to know the joke as you filled out blank homework pages. Whenever she walked into a room, he jumped to her side and aided her with whatever it is she needed.

And she always needed something.

Your friendship with Caleb and the girl you deemed a she-devil blossomed from a young age, having been next-door neighbors with Josephine. You are older than her yet still a few months younger than Caleb, which meant that the two of you had to look out for her.

She was naive in many ways. She always trusts people too easily and is quick to help, not knowing that the world is cruel and is out to hurt her. It’s something you and Caleb bonded over; taking care of her was something you had in common with him alongside planes, absolutely loving apple pie, and always wanting to be the last one tagged during recess.

However, those childhood days have long passed and you’ve settled into a draining routine where you played a background character in someone else’s life.

When you and Caleb reached freshman year of high school, you were sure that he was going to ask you to be his date to the homecoming dance. Instead, you were surprised with the revelation that he was going to stay home and have a movie night with her since she wasn’t in high school yet.

Despite his compliments about your dress, he snuck back inside his house when you asked him if he needed a ride to the dance. She was waving him back inside in the background and he couldn’t have been happier to watch My Little Pony or whatever bullshit she had lined up.

You basked in his frequent compliments when he met you outside your home, when she wasn’t around. Caleb always knew what to say when you had a saddened frown on your face.

“Did James turn you down? I thought he liked you! You’re a catch!” Caleb’s warm words reached your ears and made the butterflies in your stomach flutter. At least he knew then that you were worthwhile. If only he wasn’t so blind to what you had to offer to him.

At least you had a year of high school alone with him. You two even shared a few classes together and had planned study nights to prepare for final exams! Huddled at the desk in his room, you could smell the sweet apple scent of his shampoo and were able to hear through raspiness of his chuckle right next to your ear.

It was fun until she came inside his room, claiming that she wanted to help you two study. That plan lasted for about ten minutes before she whined and complained that she wanted to watch her and Caleb’s favorite show. That night ended up with her snuggled into his side while he stroked her hair. You held the chip bowl, not by choice, and watched as your crush on the boy next door began to deteriorate.

When she finally joined your and Caleb’s high school, you bit your tongue and held back the deplorable comments that shuffled through your mind about his so called beloved. You even held back comments to your new friends about his relationship with her. You knew that if you ever said anything bad about her, he’d come to her defense and shun you for what you’ve said.

It never mattered how you felt. It didn’t matter if you were having a bad day or had just embarrassed yourself in front of your entire gym class when Becky threw a ball right at your face. His attention will forever be owned by her. You’ll never get to know how it feels to always be under his cautious gaze nor will you ever be a recipient of his charming smile.

Truth is, you used to be friends with them. The perpetual third wheel to all of their escapades and adventures. You used to be close to them but as time moved on, they grew closer together and you, well, just didn’t fit into their equation anymore. The funny thing is that they have no clue of their wrongdoing towards you nor did they realize that you had left their group entirely after months of sitting in your room, filled with nothing but discontent as you scrolled through their posted selfies together.

You thought you set yourself free from them. It’s better to watch from afar instead of up close, no? It spares you more heartbreak and it, very selfishly, keeps you away from her.

You can stay away from her smiles. Her laughter. The way her dark hair falls into the perfect messy bun while yours just looks plain erratic. Not to mention the way her hands always lingered on him while you watched, helpless from the other side of the lunch table.

And you can finally break free from that stupid nickname he has for her.

“Hey!” You hear a friend’s voice from over your shoulder. You turn and smile at them, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Are you ready for the game against the Rams tonight? I heard you’re starting!”

Before you can reply, you hear a thud behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you notice that Caleb leans against the metal lockers. His arms are crossed over his chest and he wears that stupidly charming  grin on his face.

“You have a game tonight? Why didn’t you tell us?” He asks. Her smile falters.

Us. That damned word.

“It’s not a big deal,” you shrug, placing your leftover books inside the locker. “You two are usually busy anyways doing…whatever…so it wouldn’t have mattered if you knew or not.”

Okay, maybe there is some venom in your tone and malice in the way you throw your books into your locker. To be fair, you’re so fed up with them ghosting you and never showing up to your games that you can’t help but let some of your anger out.

“Woah!” Caleb pushes off the locker and holds his hands in the air. You roll your eyes and slam the locker shut, walking away. He quickly follows and matches your hellish pace. “What’s wrong? You’ve been so distant lately. Me and—”

“Don’t,” you bark. The two of you pause in the middle of the hallway, your eyes locked on his in a heated glare. “How long do you think it’s been since I’ve hung out with you two?”

A look of confusion flashes across his face. You have to stop yourself from looking at the way his face scrunches up, the way his tongue pokes about between his lips while he thinks.

“Hm…like a month?” Caleb’s words are genuine, you know that, but it shatters your heart to know that he doesn’t even realize it’s almost been a year since you two hung out, let alone were in a room together.

“A month?!” You scoff and look away. A laugh filled with disdain and shock escapes your lips. Your hands drop to your side, tightly balled into fists, as anger washes throughout your body. “Caleb, be real with me right now. Do you truly think it’s been a month?”

You want to give him a chance to redeem himself, for him to own up to the mistake he’s made. Everyone deserves a second chance, right?

“I do, yes…” he wearily says. Your nostrils flare, cheeks heating with irritation.

“Hey guys!” Her cheerful tone scratches the inside of your brain. You sharply inhale and close your eyes just to open them to the side of her attaching herself to his side. “Are you okay? You look angry,” she remarks and gently places her hand on your shoulder. You immediately slap it away. The tips of your fingers tingle from the smack.

“Hey! What was that for?” Caleb steps in front of her, pushing the teen girl behind him.

You cross your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing up at Caleb, who guards her from you.

“Just fuck off and leave me alone!” You snap, pushing past them, your shoulder bumping into Caleb’s bicep. 

“Wait!” Caleb’s voice rings in your ears. A flash of hope makes your heart flutter.

Is he going to chase after you? Will he finally ditch her and see how you’re feeling for a change? Will the old Caleb come back, the one that actually cared about you and your feelings?

Your feet hesitate, pace drastically slowly, still in earshot of the other two’s conversation. You can hear his footsteps coming after you, going from slow to quick, but they suddenly stop.

“She isn’t worth it, Caleb,” her voice shoots any semblance of hope you felt, ripping your heart into shreds. “She’s so mean…she doesn’t deserve your care.”

The hallway in front of you turns glossy. You use the back of your hand to wipe away the tears that brew in your eyes. Your once reluctant pace hastens and you disappear down the hallway, becoming just another face in the crowd.

The year passed and you graduated with a new group of friends; friends that welcomed and invited you with open arms. Your camera roll was no longer sad, filled with empty selfies with her and Caleb not paying attention in the background, shifting to group photos and friends completing the other side of your hand heart. It filled your heart with the joy and happiness that your previous friendships lacked.

And most importantly of all: you were completely over Caleb and didn’t have to spend any more time around her. It’s a relief for you, really, and you’re able to go to the college of your dreams and pursue the career you wanted. 

The saddened memories no longer pained you. They no longer dug into your skin. Instead, you planted them into the soil of your mind, using the special fertilizer (the special ingredient being resent), and grew from them.

So what if they wronged you? You were now free and didn’t owe either of them a damn thing! That is, until Caleb died.

The news nearly broke you. Your mother informed you of the news when you came home for a visit. You were on a much needed break from work and were looking for a chance to relax. Your time of relaxation was quickly turned inside out.

You became a shell of yourself, the last memory of Caleb haunting your mind as you holed up in bed, covers covering the entirety of your body with a small hole for clean and cool breathing air. Your cheeks became perpetually stained with tears, becoming sticky in your sleep before the cycle started all over again.

The day of his funeral was unnecessarily rough. Your mother had to drag you out of bed and help you into the shower, the hot water turning cold from the amount of time you stood there. Once you stepped out, body trembling from the cold air, you stared at the black dress that was laid out across your bed.

It was simple. It stopped mid-thigh and the sleeves ran long down your arms. You paired it nicely with tights from high school, a pair that Caleb complimented you on, and a pair of simple booties.

She was the center of attention, of course, there was no doubt about that. The ache in your chest left you feeling conflicted. She sat alone, head hung low, as people walked by, chuckling as if they weren’t at a funeral reception.

You almost felt bad for her and the way her mascara streaked down her cheeks. She clung to a piece of metal in her hand, occasionally bringing it up to her lips to kiss it.

The distance between the two of you felt like a game of cat and mouse. She took one step forward, you took one back. She entered the hallway you found recluse in, you made sure that there was room in the closet for you to hide in.

You thought that you were able to slip out unnoticed until she called out your name.

“Hi…” your voice falls off. Her fists are balled at her sides, knuckles white.

“What are you doing here?” Her words are sharp, effortlessly slicing into you. “I thought you hated him.”

“I could never hate him…” the words barely come out, just above a meek whisper. She doesn’t say anything else. All she does is stare at you with her heartbroken expression, eyes strained and red from the sobs she let out earlier.

A part of your heart broke for her. The other part remained emotionless, knowing how she tormented you in your younger years by dangling Caleb in front of your face. It tormented you to know that you could still hold a sliver of resentment in your heart for something that happened so long ago. You quietly left, leaving her alone in the hallway, disappearing behind a familiar turn.

A year passes. The hatred you held in your heart has dissipated. You’ve watered the flowers you planted in your mind and the petals read off messages of forgiveness and second chances, even though you made sure to never run into her ever again.

Some people can forgive and forget, but you’ll be sure to forgive and keep a distance.

Skyhaven isn’t too bad of a home. Sure, there’s barely any trace of organic life throughout the city, except for the token tree the mayor decided to add about two months ago, but it’s a nice place to live. You’ve made yourself comfortable. The nightlife is great and the rain is even better. You even made some friends at your job and have gone out on a date or two with a guy who is very attentive.

But none of them are Caleb.

You stare at yourself in the cafe mirror, shaking your head. You fix your disheveled hair, wondering how you managed to spend the last ten minutes digging up the past when you’re on a date with a very cute guy. You bite your lip and tweak the last details of your outfit, flattening out a wrinkle in your skirt.

Pushing the bathroom door open, you glide down the hallway, smiling at the other customers who pass by. You can finally go back to…what’s his name again?

Jared? Clyde? Marc, who always emphasizes that there’s a ‘C’ at the end of his name instead of a ‘K’?

You clap your hands together when the name comes back to you. He jumps in his seat, his eyes closing in on you when you sit down. His smile is a little too goofy, missing out on any kind of charm that he can capitalize on, and you can’t help but watch out of the lower half of your vision as he itches his crotch.

“Thanks for waiting for me, George,” a warm smile spreads across your lips. He matches it and leans forward, pushing a colorful mug in your direction. You watch it closely before drawing it closer to you. You don’t take a sip, though, instead letting the whipped cream on top of the coffee melt. You sigh.

You don’t even liked whipped cream on your coffee. You know who would have remembered that?

“It was no problem at all!” George proudly proclaims. His chair scraps across the wooden floor. He inches closer and closer towards you in an attempt to close the distance but you scoot away from him, keeping a pleased smile on your face.

“So, what were you saying you do for a job?” Your question goes straight to his head. Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you refrain from interrupting him about his long ramble about how he works as a “video game consultant” at a local game store.

The conversation is so painful to sit through. You glance between his beady gaze and the clock on the wall behind him. The ticking hands somehow move slower when he dives into his day to day routine. Maybe the whipped cream isn’t as bad as you previously thought.

An hour goes by and you have barely been able to get a word in. Mugs form into a half-circle in front of you. Your leg bounces up and down, hands jittery. Even your blinking is rapid as you solely stare at the clock.

“That’s enough about me. Tell me about yourself,” George grabs his glass. He ordered a cream soda at the beginning of the date but the cream separated from the colorful soda water, forming into chunky clouds.

“You know what,” you breathe out in a laugh, signaling over your shoulder to the door, “it’s getting late. I have an early start tomorrow so I should get going.” You stand from the chair and snatch your tiny purse from the seat beside you.

The cafe is practically empty now and the sun has set hours ago. You rush towards the exit, the route to the door feeling like it never ends as Greg — oh shit, George! — chases after you. 

The Skyhaven night is nice and crisp. The rain isn’t as hard tonight, just a mere sprinkle, and you rush out into the open, taking a deep breath. The chilled air fills your burning lungs and you’re able to breathe again, that is, until George grabs your hand. You gasp and snatch it back from him.

The raindrops lightly kiss your face but George’s sickening smile makes you want to hurl. He creeps towards you, the moon shining just bright enough for you to see the darkness form in his eyes.

“I have to get home, George!” You nervously chuckle, turning away. You rush towards the nearest bus stop, knowing that there will be other people there to take refuge with. George doesn’t let up though and his movements become more primal and animalistic as the seconds tick by.

“Come on, sweetheart,” George beckons from behind. You can hear his ragged breath from behind you grow close. You brace your body for impact…but nothing comes. Instead, you hear a struggle from behind. You swirl on your heels and stare at the scene behind you.

A tall man pushes George away from you. The moonlight reflects off of the shine of his coat, the top of his hat deflecting the light raindrops. You stagger backward, heart racing inside your chest, as George crumbles to the ground, a blur of red, grey, and blue pushing down on the man.

“She said she’s going home,” the voice growls. It itches the back of your mind, calling to you like a faint memory. “Leave. Or I’ll crush you right here and now.”

The voice beckons to you from the back of your mind, putting it at ease. The voice calls out your name followed by a throaty chuckle. It asks you how you’re doing, if you need help with that week’s math homework. You can also hear his voice apologize to you for forgetting about your plans to go to the movies with your group of friends, making some excuse that she got locked in the attic and needed rescuing.

The moonlight turns dark, the floating rock covered by a cloud, as the figure slowly approaches you. The once soft droplets of rain evolve into hardened projectiles, the wind picking up from all around you. With the weather matching your quickly escalating mood, you march through the rain, the phantom chasing after you.

“Hey! You’re getting soaked!” His voice calls from behind. You pay no attention to it.

The voice sounds exactly like a dead man! A person who is resting in peace six feet under and couldn’t possibly be here in Skyhaven.

You reach the bus stop and hide under the small covering, the rain pounding against the top, rolling off the sides. You hold your arms to yourself and your teeth clatter on the inside of your mouth. You have to tell yourself to not look at the man beside you.

Stranger danger, after all.

“Why are you ignoring me?” The man asks. It’s just the two of you at the bus stop. The stop’s light flickers, adding to the already ominous feeling that forms deep inside your chest. You hug your arms to your body, providing the only warmth in this cold night. “Oh, I get it. You’re mad at me.”

“I don’t even know who you are!” You retort rather quickly, finally looking up at the man.

You gasp and stumble backward. He quickly reaches for you, his large, warm hands gripping your waist, stabilizing you.

He looks down at you with an irresistible and charming smile. His purple eyes seem to glow under the dim lighting. He wears a black and orange rain jacket, black baseball cap sitting on his head. He cocks his head to the side, gaze drifting to memorize your face.

Nausea sweeps over your body. You tear your gaze off of the phantom before you. The cold air pricks the inside of your lungs, rapidly moving in and out of your system.

This can’t be real, right? He cannot possibly be standing in front of you, alive and well, with that damn smile on his face. A single tear rolls down your cheek, your lips parted. Your breath flows out of your mouth in gentle plumes of steam.

“Caleb?” Your voice falters. He chuckles, smoothing down your frizzy hair.

“The one and only! C’mon, you can say it: you missed me!”

You reach out, grabbing his arms, squeezing him. His brows furrow, eyes training themselves on your hands as you poke and prod various parts of his body. You grab his cheeks, pulling on them before squishing his face. He gently takes your hands into his, moving your hands away from his face.

“You done yet?”

“You’re alive!”

“I am well aware of that, yes.” His laugh fills your ears and your heart swells.

Even after all these years of forgetting Caleb, you still end up swooning for him the moment he saves you from Landon.

Or was it David? Eh. It doesn’t really matter.

“How…what…” you stammer, unable to form a cohesive and coherent sentence. Caleb sighs and takes your hand. He flattens your palm against his chest.

How heartbeat is slow and steady…it’s there. You gasp, bottom lip trembling, legs slowly becoming jelly.

Tears freely flow down your face as the realization of his existence sets in.

He’s alive.

He’s here.

He’s breathing.

His last memory of you isn’t you ending your friendship and avoiding him for the rest of your senior year of high school.

You collapse to your knees, hand digging into your chest. A sharp pain slices into your chest as your fingernails dig into your skin in an attempt to grab your heart and to scream at it to calm down. The pounds from your heart makes your ears ring, drowning out the endless pitter patter of rain. Even your lungs feel as if they are on fire, unable to suck in and inhale the oxygen that you need to survive.

Your eyes open and Caleb’s face is right in front of yours. You can hear him speak but cannot make out a single word that he says. He gently helps you back to your feet.

“Take it easy,” his words seep through the sound of your heartbeat, “breathe.”

His hand slides to the back of your neck, warming your body, and his thumb gently grazes the side of your neck. You inhale through your nose, holding it for a few seconds before slowly exhaling until all of the air is out of your lungs.

“Does she know?” the question pops out of your mouth before you can stop it.

How could you even ask that at a time like this? You should be seeing if he’s okay! If he’s in any sort of trouble that you can help get him out of.

Did he fake his death? Has he been alive this whole time? When was he going to come see you?

Caleb sharply inhales through gritted teeth, pulling away from your face. You watch him closely, bottom lip trembling.

You know. You know the answer.

Of course she knew before you! She is his beloved, the one person he will spend the rest of his life with. It’s laughable to even think that you stood a chance against her.

“Actually,” you interrupt him, covering his mouth, “don’t answer that. I really don’t want to know.” Even though every fiber of your being screamed blood murder at you to figure it out.

Is he dating her? Has he ditched her for good? HAs Caleb finally come to the realization that she isn’t some angel that came down from the heavens.

His purple eyes blink at you, perplexed by your actions. Caleb speaks into your hand but his voice is a mere muffle. You sigh and look out at the pouring rain.

You need to get home.

You need to get home and get away from him.

You need to relieve yourself of any memory, item, or scent that can remind you of him because, well, he clearly isn’t yours to have.

If you stay any longer, you’re going to end up crying in the rain, unloading all of your emotions onto him. And Caleb, who has risen from dead, doesn’t deserve to hear any of it. He’s innocent in all of this and no matter how angry and resentful you can feel towards him, you’ll never be able to hold it against him.

“Get home safe, Caleb,” you breathe the words out, slowly releasing your hand from his mouth.

You push away from him and bare the thundering rain on your own, hugging your jacket to your body. You sprint across the street, desperately needing to get away from him.

Caleb watches you with wide eyes, captivated by the woman you’ve become.

You’ve lost all the baby fat in your cheeks. Your hair is longer and is styled to perfection.

You’re bolder. Funnier, even, whether it’s intentional or not. Caleb laughed at your jokes in the cafe, particularly the ones that George didn’t find funny.

Whatever. He’s an idiot.

He heard your laugh from inside the cafe and got drunk off of it. He found himself smiling wider than he has before in the past year.

You took his mind off of his stressful job, which he just came back from, and relaxed his body. He didn’t think about how ling he stayed in that damned tunnel nor did he think about his connections with Ever.

Your laugh turned off the fight or flight switch that perpetually stayed on inside his head. It did pain him, though, to know that you were out with other guys. This George fellow is not your match. He’s a Sul-indulgent prick who only talks about himself.

And what the fuck is a video game consultant anyways?

His job is nothing compared to being a Colonel in the Farspace Fleet. You’ll surely be impressed with that.

You did always say you loved a man in a uniform.

His purple eyes flicker with excitement. He steps out into the rain and follows in your exact footsteps. Once he’s across the street, he turns around and stares at the cafe you two once sat in.

She walks out with her friends, umbrellas covering their heads. They smile and laugh with one another, teasing as thunder booms in the background. He chuckles at their umbrellas but his smile quickly fades when he realizes that you didn’t have one.

Silly girl. Now he has to check in on you and make for sure that you don’t catch a cold.

His gaze drifts to her but the spark he once felt isn’t there anymore. She’s…boring now. Caleb tilts his head back and laughs.

How could he have been so blind?

His focus has been on her all along but you…you are something else.

Captivating. Intoxicating. Enchanting. Hilarious. Fascinating.

Your fruity perfume formed a tent in his pants. Have you always smelled like apples and cinnamon? You encapsulate an autumn evening. Suddenly, he loves it when the leaves change colors and fall from the trees. He’ll never let you fall ever again.

Caleb doesn’t know how he let you slip through his fingers so many times. You live in Skyhaven, too, right under his nose. He should have found you sooner.

He should have gone with you to the homecoming dance. He regrets not watching you during the countless games you’ve invited him to. He should have closed the door in her face when she petered you two when you needed to study for the math exam. It was never your best subject. Lucky, he excelled in it.

And he should have fucking gone after you when you told him to fuck off all those years ago.

But now?

Now Caleb’s going to take back the time he missed out on. Surely, you’d feel the same way when he comes back? After all, he does know where you live now.

Six floors up. The fourth room from the left. You have a stained glass butterfly hanging in your window. He’ll see it up close soon enough.

He stands outside your apartment building with a bright smile on his face, staring up at your bedroom. He can see you move throughout the living room, your shadow painted against the far wall. His eyes follow as you slip into your bedroom. You look out the window.

What are you looking at? I’m here. Show me anything. Give me the signal I need to come and save you.

You turn on a lamp. The light points up to the butterfly, illuminating the blue and orange colors from the glass.

You’re so thoughtful.

How did you know those are his favorite colors?

Caleb chuckles to himself, shaking his head. His feet carry him to the entrance of your apartment building, just barely sneaking in as a couple leaves. He thanks them and sneaks to an elevator, stepping inside as he presses the button to your floor.

Thank you for the signal, he thinks to himself, I’ll be there soon.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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[mintwithchoco]

Coming Down

tripleS Jiyeon x Male Reader

Word Count: 5142 words

Categories: smut. fluff-ish, tsundere!jiyeon aka way too many pabos

Inspired from:

“You’re pathetic, you know that?”

Her first few words take you by surprise, but you're unfazed. She's not wrong, you are pathetic. 

You chuckle slightly. “Wow, straight to the point, huh.”

“Shut up. It's that time again, isn't it?”

“What time?”

You heard her loud sigh. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?” 

“I…” You stop for a while, reorganizing your words. “I just need to hear your voice.”

“Get to the point. What do you want?”

You can hear the faint music playing in the background. She could’ve ignored your call, and yet she still picks up. Maybe amidst her cold words, there’s still some space left inside of her heart for you.

“Can I come over?”

A few seconds of silence, but it’s deafening to your ears. Regret slowly creeps into your soul, before the voice comes back, softer this time.

“Door’s unlocked. You got five minutes.”

Though as pathetic as you may seem—drunkenly stumbling to get inside of Jiyeon's apartment—a sense of relief washes over you in an instant, and you ask for nothing more.

Decision-making is not your strongest ability. Numerous times you have found yourself not being able to grasp the concept of reality in your actions, and you yourself don't know the exact cause. It's been this way since you first deluged yourself in that devilish liquid, tantalizing at best for its flavor, yet drives you to your worst, with each experience making you fall deeper and deeper into madness.

Luckily, unlike others, you have a lifeline. 

Jiyeon sighs as she looks at your lifeless movements in the doorway, trying your best to enter the living room. “You look like shit.”

“I know,” you simply reply before crashing into the couch. “My head fucking hurts.”

 Jiyeon throws you a shade before leaving to the kitchen, “Isn’t that a normal thing for you?” 

Silence filled the air as the last few words left from Jiyeon’s mouth. You’re dumbfounded, though you couldn't agree more with the points she made. It's not like it’s the first time she has flamed you like this—it’s the opposite actually. Somehow this time, it finally breaks through your intoxicated self, instead of you just brushing it off as an oopsie.

“Yeah, you’re right. Can’t even get my own shit together.”

She lets out a soft laugh. “Your eyes are finally open now?” 

“It’s been open for a while. It’s just—fuuuuck.” That sharp stinging pain in your head strikes again. “Ugh. I tried Jiyeon, I really tried.”

She comes back to you with a glass of water in her hand. “You’re not trying hard enough. Whatever you’re doing, it’s not working. Drink.”

You witness her going back to the kitchen after placing the glass in front of you. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna quit.”

Your nonchalant remark earns a faint blush on the girl’s cheeks, but she immediately throws it away. “Pabo! It's not like I’m your mom or anything.” She's lucky you didn't notice it. Not that you can anyway. 

As you lay your head on one of the pillows on the sofa, Jiyeon begins to prepare the soup to cure your hangover. She’s not the best cook, but she knows that you’ll eat anything in this state, as long as it's warm. It didn’t take very long for the house to smell heavenly all around, even though she’s just throwing anything in the pot that will fill you up. 

“You really don’t have to,” you say as you realize what she’s doing.

“I know,” she simply answers. “I just wanna get this shit done with.”

You softly smile. “Thanks.”

She continues on with her cooking, tasting and adjusting the broth multiple times so it’s suited to your taste. You eye her every action from time to time, and it hints at her willingness to treat you, even if the words that left her lips say the opposite. That's how your relationship has been with Ji Suhyeon over the past few years. She's one hell of a character to bear with, but she's always there for you whenever you're at your lowest.

Vice versa? Nope, it's always her that takes care of you.

After a few more minutes of tinkering, Jiyeon brings the finished dish—an aromatic soup filled with leftover meat and veggies—over to the living room’s table. “Hey, get up. Your food’s ready.” No response—your head’s still a big mess. She then proceeds to shake you by the arm. “Yah! Wake up!”

You got up almost immediately. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Damn, what got you so fucked up?” Jiyeon asks as she settles herself to the couch beside you.

You pick up the spoon and start eating. “Like usual.” 

“Oh, really? Then why’d you show up? If it’s just another one of your normal nights, you can just sleep outside.” Jiyeon scoffs.

“Fuck, this is so good.” You take a spoonful of the soup and point it to her. “Here.” 

Slightly taken aback, she snaps. “It’s your food, just eat it.” 

“But I insist.”

“And I don’t wanna.”

“Oh, come on. Just one bite.”

She clicks her tongue, feeling rather annoyed at this side of you. “Fucking—” At this point, she’s pretty much done with your bullshit. “You better tell me what happened.”

As soon as you nod your head, she leans forward and takes the food into her mouth. “I thought you would just grab the spoon off my hands.”

It’s a second hit on what’s inside her heart—her ears are now red from the embarrassment. By remembering that this is not the real you, she’s still able to keep her true feelings under control, kicking your feet as a way to let it go. “Pabo! Hurry up and tell me what happened!”

“Ugh, fine.” You rub your temple, trying your best to remember the events that happened beforehand. “I was stressed out. Felt like shit. Then my workmates just brought me to the club again.”

“Ironically, you still feel like shit,” she chuckles.

“That’s what I said to them before.” You continue, “But they were my seniors, so I can’t really dip out. Can’t even remember some of their names. But then suddenly, everything felt like a doozy. Like—someone just injected me with dopamine. I-” You pause for a while, hesitant to say the next few lines. “I got high. So high, until I can’t feel myself anymore.”

Jiyeon immediately connects the lines. “So once it wears off, you can't control yourself, feel lonely, and you proceed to disturb me in the middle of the night.”

“You could just not pick up the call,” you point out. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, and expect you to be just fine? No thanks.” Jiyeon shakes her head, and inhales a sharp breath. “Aren’t you sick of this already?”

“Of what? Your cooking? Hell no, this is delicious!”

She slaps you on the shoulder. “Pabo-ya! I’m serious! You always do this, pushing yourself to the edge for your own pleasure. And then when it gets too dark, you find me, like I’m some sort of angel that heals you.”

She’s not wrong. You always want her when you’re coming down.

You look down upon the bowl, half of its content has already been consumed. “I just… I don't know what else to do. You’re the only one that’s on my mind.”

“You—” Strike three. This is not good for Jiyeon’s heart. It’s racing so much, her body is heating up amidst the slight cold air of the room. In a pinch, she brushes her hair back, acting nonchalant while you continue to eat. “O-Of course, I’m your only true friend after all.”

“A true friend who’s so good at cooking. Have I ever told you that?” Another slap on your arm, and you hiss in pain. “Jeez, chill out.”

Jiyeon rolls her eyes in annoyance. “Alright then, what if I don't pick up? What are you going to do?” 

“I’ll probably just… die in a ditch somewhere, I don’t know,” you shrug. “Or probably get robbed by some gang.”

Jiyeon looks at you sternly. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“I do.” You gulp nervously. “I really don’t know how to stop.”

Her heart rate finally calms down, but now she’s frustrated. It’s been swelling up inside her, ever since you came through that front door. She cannot stand to be stuck in this loop anymore. To see how much of a mess you are, suffering in your unwanted addiction, every month, every week, every day. It's getting out of hand at this point, so Jiyeon knows that she needs to do more than this.

The only thing that's getting in her way is her true feelings.

For the longest time, she hated that she still had feelings for you genuinely, despite your reckless behaviors. You were once her favorite comfort zone—every time you both hung out, there’s not a single second where the air around you is awkward. There will always be a topic of interest or an activity that the both of you enjoy doing. Overtime, her heart bloomed, but she kept it to herself—it wasn’t the right time yet.

Everything changed however once you got a new job, a company with a totally different vibe as you’re used to. Meanwhile, Jiyeon continued on with her life, studying in college while keeping up with her ballet routines. You both eventually grew apart, with you unbeknowingly falling into insanity, while she’s keeping the flame of passion alive. The lack of free time is also to be blamed after all, and she does hold some regret for it. 

Before her facade begins to fade away, she gets up from her seat. Sighing to herself, she says, “Just put the bowl in the sink once you’re done. You can sleep here, but when morning comes, you leave.” Just before she leaves for her room, she looks back at you with a soft yet saddened gaze. “Figure this shit out on your own. I can’t always be there for you.”

“Wait, Jiyeon—” The door then slams itself shut, leaving you in the living room all alone. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

With the ambient silence being your partner of the night, you quickly finish the meal and place everything she brought into the sink. The drowsiness now takes its place as soon as you’re back on the couch—it suddenly feels way more comfier and warmer than before. You stare blankly at the ceiling, thoughts running in your head as much as before. But one thing’s for certain—she still cares for you, and that’s enough for you to feel alive.

“Thank you, Jiyeon.”

— 

Jiyeon presses her back against the door, with her hand close to her chest. She hears the faint words that he uttered a few seconds ago, and that is what breaks her apart. Her knees are the first to give out, forcing her to sit down abruptly. Her heart is still pounding fast, and her breathing is growing rapidly.

God, she hates him so much for this.

She had promised herself not to care about him anymore.

Promised herself not to let him back into her life.

Promised herself to forget about him.

And yet, she’s breaking into tears for him again. It’s a mix of emotions for her, and honestly, it’s getting exhausting. Just because she wants to act all tough around him, she hurts her true feelings at the same time, shoving it so far down so that he’ll never see that side of her.

That side of her that truly loves him, and still has a hope for him to change.

— 

Around an hour later, Jiyeon enters the living room once again. Her mind was too loud to be ignored, until she couldn't fall asleep. As expected, you’re sound asleep due to the hearty meal from earlier. Her footsteps gradually become softer the closer she gets to inspect you snoring away while hugging one of her prized possessions in the house—a body-sized swan pillow. 

If you were awake, she’d definitely be smacking your head multiple times while complaining about how it’ll get all dirty with your drool.

Instead, it’s a gentle smile on her lips.

Seeing you in a much calmer state brings comfort to her eyes. She suddenly recalls a time where you accidentally slept in the car while waiting for her to get ready late at night. It's a sweet memory for her—you going out of your way just to spend some time with her, no matter how exhausted you were.

But those were all memories from the past. There's close to no chance that it would ever happen again, given your current state.

She comes by the kitchen and checks the sink. Oh, he actually listened. Thought he would wash them himself, she thought in her mind. 

Soon after, Jiyeon decides to just wash the dishes right away. Maybe it can help her to feel a little tired, distract her from overthinking about you, and hopefully fall asleep. She starts off by cleaning some utensils and small items first, before moving on to the bigger ones such as the bowls and pots she used.

Unaware to her however, is that you’re already awake.

Even when she’s not making any noise, the sounds of the tap water splashing against the sink and the bowls that clang whenever it’s placed anywhere is enough to disturb your slumber. With heavy eyes, you look behind towards the kitchen, and her figure is seen by the counter. Instinctively, you get up and walk over to her, who still wasn’t aware of your presence as she continues her chore, humming away a song of her favorite.

Another thought suddenly crosses her mind. 

Would it be funny if he actually wakes up and hugs me from behind?

“Jiyeon-ah.”

Jiyeon jumps in surprise. “Wha—” Before she realized it, you wrap your arms around her from behind, and press your head against her back. “H-Hey, what the fuck are you d-doing?!”

“Thank you for being here with me.”

Your words resonate in her ear. Her spine tingles in response. She starts to resist your embrace by moving her body violently. “Aish, stop it!”

“Why? Do you hate me?”

Fuckfuckfuckfuck! “No! Y-You’re just drunk, go back—” 

You hug her tighter, and she reacts with a gasp. The warmth of her body is so soothing. “I just wanna say my thanks.”

Her legs begin to tremble out of nervousness. Her heart goes into overdrive. Her jaw clenches. “T-There's no need to, just get off—”

All of the sudden, you turn her around by the waist and close the distance in between the both of you. Your lips then finally touch one another, and it sends Jiyeon’s mind into a blank. Her body tenses up under you, while you enjoy the softness of her lips, and the enticing smell of her fragrance even at the latest of night. Eventually, you snap back into reality.

You quickly move away, your cheeks blushing madly. “Fuck,” Your hands then left her waist. Your eyes blink multiple times, trying to make up words in your head. “I’m sorry. I... I should just leave—”

Jiyeon stops you by holding your arm before you step away. “Don’t,” Her eyes are now filled with fervor, staring at you intensely. “Stay here with me.”

There’s no turning back now. She’s letting it all out.

She takes the first step, reaching out to your neck and pulling you closer to initiate another kiss. You obviously ease into it—half of your consciousness is a blurry mess, so your body just follows along with whatever she wants. You can’t deny it either when Jiyeon deepens the kiss, fading away all of your resistance and exciting you inside.

Her body grows warmer with each small peck given, and thankfully, she’s near the counter whilst all of this is happening, so it’s easy for her to keep standing. Luckily, you notice a better solution, by lifting her up to sit on the counter. 

She yelps in surprise for a second, before getting back into another makeout session, this time with your tongue dancing together in each other’s mouth. It’s a weird addiction, even though she hated the remnants of whatever you drank hours before in your mouth. She can’t keep her hands to herself as well, as it roams around your back and your arms, feeling each muscle that you’ve worked hard to maintain.

There are no words exchanged over the couple of minutes you both make out, only breathless moans and clothes rustling are the sounds that fills the small space. But then, you escalate the intensity by trailing your kisses down her neck and collarbones. Jiyeon throws her head back as you start to suck on the smooth skin, leaving gentle hickeys that hopefully no one can notice.

“Fuck, please.” Jiyeon moans.

You stop for a while to catch some breath and look upon the view right in front of you. Even through your intoxicated vision and your impulsive behaviors, you’re still falling in love with her, and it has always been this way. Especially when she’s in this red sundress that highlights some of her best features, most notably her slim figure that she got from her ballet career. Your eyes are having a feast, full of wonder and appreciation for how gorgeous Jiyeon is. 

“You’re so pretty, Jiyeon.” 

“T-Thanks.” She blushes and looks down, failing to keep an eye contact on you. It makes you swoon for her even more, as this side of her has never been revealed to you before. Suddenly, she whines, “Hurry up, before I go back to my room!”

“Right, s-sorry.”

You decided to start with the closest part that you can reach, which is her ample breasts that conforms too well with the outfit she’s in. You're hesitant at first, but when you meet with her begging eyes once again, it shows that she wants this just as much as you do, maybe even more. 

“Mmmh, fuck,” she moans as your hands cups the irresistible pair, kneading them gently while teasing the hard nipples, visibly poking through the fabric.

Jiyeon has sought for a better ending every night that you came over. Maybe a promise to make up for everything you've done, or a sudden confession, crying out for her help. She never expected that this would be it—being in heat under him as he treats her body like an art piece, worshipping every single part of it. The heat between her thighs is unbearable, and it elevates when you pull down on the top of her dress and wrap your lips around her right nipple, licking and sucking it subtly.

“O-Oh my god, yes.” Her eyelids flutter as the massive amount of dopamine goes through her brain.

After spending a few minutes on her tits, you move down to her lower half, and her thighs rub themselves together in response to your proximity. She bites her lower lip when you begin to spread her legs and lift up her dress, uncovering her pink panties with a wet spot right in the middle of it.

You can only utter praises at how pretty and cute Jiyeon is, especially now with her whole figure being laid out for you to see. The closer you get in between her legs, the more you feel breathless. Your hot breath grazes over her thighs and her clothed heat, sending shivers down her spine. 

“Jiyeon-ah, I’m gonna take it off, okay?”

Even a simple nod of consent from her is so fucking adorable at this point. You waste no time pulling down the thin panties and throwing it away somewhere, finally revealing her pussy to your eyes, glistening with slickness. Your mouth waters once it’s in your sight, prompting you to gulp down some saliva and lick your lips, the thought of taking Jiyeon’s body for the night is making you grow hard down below. But for now, you have to finish what you have started.

“T-Touch me more, please.” she pleads.

Jiyeon twitches as soon as your fingers trails over the wet slit, drawing circles to let her leak more. You bring the finger that is stained with her nectar into your mouth, tasting the sweetest part of her. Eventually, your thirst overpowers your patience, and your lips latch upon her pussy right before you can tease her any further. 

“Oh, fuck—” She frantically looks for something to hold, and her hands grip upon your hair in an instant. “Keep going!”

Your tongue comes into the play next, lapping up all of her juices, its pace being motivated by her lustful moans. Even with a steady grip on her thighs, Jiyeon’s legs still uncontrollably shake around you, yet it didn’t stop you from stimulating her further. You kept a constant rhythm of both sucking and flicking at her sensitive spots, before finally adding your fingers to the work. 

Amidst the difficulties you’re facing—your knees pressing against the cold hard floor, trying to be on the same level as her, her strong pull on your scalp that pains you so much, especially with your headache, and the slight tightness inside your pants that is caused by your prominent erection—you’re still able to persevere through, now thrusting two digits inside of Jiyeon’s cunt. She closes her eyes, her head falls back and her moaning gets louder and clearer, the pleasure slowly but surely is going to reach its limit. You can feel how her walls convulse each time your fingers go in deep, until at one point, it grazes against her g-spot. At the same time, your thumb is able to tease her clit by pressing and circling around it, resulting in an eventual climax. 

Jiyeon cries out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m cumming!”

She cums hard. Her body shivers violently as it happens, holding your head to make you drink up everything that she’s letting out. You try your best to take it all in, but you lose some breath and choke as you’re swallowing her juices. Her grasp on you finally weakens overtime, letting you stand back up and witness her look post-orgasm. Safe to say that you’re not disappointed at all, the way her chest heaves desperately for air and her hair that is now in a much messier state is hypnotizing at best.

You plant both of your hands beside her on the table. “You okay, Jiyeon?” 

“Y-Yeah,” Her arms are around your neck once again. “I-I want more.” She then hugs you, her eye contact filled with desperation. “I want you.”

A fire burns up inside you. You immediately carry her into your arms and bring her over to the couch, your bed just a few minutes ago. She spontaneously straddles your lap, and dives into your lips for another kiss, while her hips start to grind on your bulge. 

“Fuck, Jiyeon-ah…” you moan.

“You—mmmh, feel so big,” Jiyeon gets closer to your ear, and with a breathy voice, she asks, “Can you show it to me, please?”

There’s no need for you to nod or say yes. She moves away from you, and you swiftly take off both of your pants and underwear. Your erection stands tall at last, released from its confines. Jiyeon blushes upon seeing it for the very first time, even more so when she’s back on your lap, with it being so close to her pussy. 

“Wow, you’re—” She giggles cutely as she strokes it gently, “You’re big.”

“And you’re so fucking gorgeous.”

“Fuck, I can’t wait anymore. I need it.” Jiyeon lifts herself and lines up her folds with your shaft, its tip leaking out with precum. You tease her slit with your tip by grabbing the base of your cock, rubbing it in circles to make her yelp.

“You’re so wet, Jiyeon-ah.”

“Shut up—ahh! Now, just lay there, and le—mmh—let me fuck you.” 

Now, it’s her turn. Thanks to her wetness, she descends easily on your shaft, the tip being the first part to enter her insides. Her mouth gapes wider the lower she gets, until she stops in her tracks halfway through. This feeling of being so full is obviously her first, so it's fair that she's overwhelmed. 

“Holy shit,” you groan when she sinks fully on your cock, forcing your head to snap back. Meanwhile, Jiyeon’s body tenses up once again, screaming silently as she cums for the second time, drenching your cock with slickness. “Did you just—”

She collapses onto you, “S-Sorry… I came again.”

You calm her down by stroking her back and planting a kiss on her lips. “It’s okay. Slowly, baby.”

With her hands on your chest to stabilize herself, she begins to move her hips, her face contorting with each inch of you exploring her insides. You grit your teeth over the mix of pain and pleasure from the tightness of her walls around you, and her nails digging into your skin, desperately holding on for the ride of her life. Visible sweat is plastered on your forehead, as it becomes a challenge for you to not reach your peak this early.

Eventually, her thrusts pick up in speed, right when her moans start to increase in volume. Jiyeon has truly lost control over her body, but it is what she craves for, and she doesn’t intend to stop. If this is what will spark that change inside of you, then it was worth breaking her tough persona for. But truth be told, she doesn’t need to worry, because the feeling is mutual.

“It feels so good Jiyeon-ah, keep going…” 

Your hands snake towards her waist, guiding her into you while constantly giving her praises. You know that it’s working by how drenched your crotch feels from her juices, so you carry on while peppering kisses over the parts that you can reach. You can also imagine how good the view would look from the front, how hypnotizing her ass looks bouncing up and down your cock, rippling with each of her thrusts. 

“Almost there,” you warn Jiyeon. “Where—”

Jiyeon suddenly lunges forward and rests her head on your shoulder. “Inside, please, I need it.”

You wish that you could stop time at this point, because you expect that you can never get this feeling again. Nevertheless, the pressure inside you needs to be released soon, so you began fucking up into her as well, playing off of her fast rhythm. Her body quakes through your powerful thrusts, crying out incoherent words that describe her frantic euphoria. You suddenly feel a rough spot grazing over your shaft constantly, and it drives you even closer to your climax.

“Jiyeon-ah!”

A loud guttural groan left your throat. Your hips stop in its tracks, and you force the same onto Jiyeon by a strong grip on her ass, filling her up to the brim with ropes of your semen, deep inside her womb. As Jiyeon whines away in pleasure, falls onto your torso and hugs you tightly, the orgasm continues for a few more seconds, before it ends with the last spurt, adding to the extreme amount inside of her. All of your muscles relax as you lean back on the couch, sweaty and panting heavily.

“Thank you, Jiyeon, thank you for taking care of me...” you uttered weakly. In between breaths, your melting brain implies you to say, “I promise, I’ll change, for you.” 

Jiyeon comes alive upon hearing your words. “R-Really?”

You nod, but your eyelids start to feel heavy. Without pulling out of her or moving to a better position, you immediately black out, the exhaustion from everything finally comes to an effect. Jiyeon realizes that you’ve fallen asleep, though she doesn't proceed to pull herself away as expected, and instead snuggles along into the crook of your neck.

“Good night, honey.”

— 

It's a new day.

The bright sunlight beaming at your face wakes you up from the deep slumber. Your eyes still feel heavy, and your head is still a huge mess. As you get up slowly and scan your surroundings, you realize that something is off.

You’re not in your house.

The gravity of the situation finally fills your mind. You look around the familiar living room and notice that the balcony is open.

She’s there.

Regret fills your heart instantly. But you’re ready to take the responsibility. It’s your fault after all.

With a heavy sigh, you walk over to the balcony. 

Jiyeon is enjoying the scenery with a cup of coffee in her hand. You can't really tell what she's thinking from afar, but she seems calm and rather happy. Like nothing ever happened last night.

Before you can enter the balcony, she notices you first, “Good morning.”

“M-Morning, Jiyeon.”

Still looking out to the view, she says, “There's some coffee in the kitchen. Treat yourself.”

You scratch your nape, feeling a little awkward and confused at her behavior. This wasn't the Jiyeon that you know. “You're not gonna lash out on me or anything?”

“I’ve done enough.”

“What?”

Her face expresses disappointment, as she sighs and finally looks at you. “Pabo-ya, don't you remember what happened last night?”

“Uhh,” you hesitate. “We fucked.”

Her cheeks flushed red in an instant. “That’s not what I was pointing to! Pabo.”

“S-Sorry, I can't remember much details. My head is still in a blur.”

“Goddamnit.”

After placing her cup on the table, she gets closer to you and leans her head on your chest. Your eyes widen in shock as she buries her face into you more. “J-Jiyeon?”

“You promised me that you’ll stop hurting yourself, to change.” she says as she looks up to you. 

The view of Jiyeon in your embrace sends butterflies in your stomach. Her visuals have always been a heart stealer for anyone. Not to mention, you feel a sense of warmth when looking upon her eyes. It floods you with even more regret, realizing how much she has done for you, just to keep your heart afloat. 

“Sorry. I’ll try my best. As long as—” 

Jiyeon smiles, “I’ll always be there for you.”

Your arms instinctively wraps itself around her figure, and she melts into you, hugging you back tighter. In that moment, you place a hope inside your heart, tying the promise that you swear in front of Jiyeon. That is, to throw away your bad behaviors and strive to become a better person for yourself, and for her.

“By the way, do you know what day it is?” 

You check your watch, and your heart sinks. “13 February…”

Jiyeon pouts her lips. “Mhm.”

“Shit, I didn't get you anything for your birthday.”

“It's alright,” She kisses you on the lips. “I’ll take last night as my gift.” 

“Well, we ca=n do it again if you want,” you whisper in her ear.

“S-Stop that!” You giggle away at her flustered reaction.

“Happy birthday, Jiyeon.”

===========================================

note; shut up, i know i'm a little late to the party, but happy birthday to our swan princess jiyeon! i had this draft sitting in the basement for a while, and figured now is the perfect time to kind of kill force myself to write it out. didn't think that i could cram over 5k, but it is completely unedited because i wanted to finish it quick lmao

btw there will be another story coming out pretty soon, which is the one that i have been working on for a fuckton of time. it's my longest one yet, so i hope you guys will look forward to it!

as always, thanks for reading, and hope yall have a beautiful day! <3 i'm gonna go to sleep now it's 2 am help-

[mrspiastri]

10. “You do realize you’re completely stealing my heart right now, don’t you?” with Lando Norris and maybe sibling's best friend? Thank you 😊

lando norris x reader

prompt 10. “You do realize you’re completely stealing my heart right now, don’t you?”

💌💌💌

Lando had always known Y/N was off-limits.

She was his sister’s best friend—the girl who had spent more time in their house than some of their actual family members, the one who had been there for every birthday, every stupid family trip, every late-night conversation when his sister needed her most.

She was supposed to be untouchable.

But somewhere between childhood and now, Lando had stopped seeing her as just his “sister’s best friend”.

He wasn’t sure when it had started. Maybe it was the summer she had come back from university, all sun-kissed skin and easy smiles, sliding back into their lives like she had never left. Or maybe it was when she started calling him late at night just to talk, her voice soft with exhaustion but filled with things she could only tell him.

Or maybe—just maybe—it had been forever, and he had only just started to realize it.

The weight of it all had been pressing down on him for weeks.

It was in the way his heart raced whenever she laughed at one of his stupid jokes, the way his hands burned whenever they accidentally brushed against hers, the way she looked at him sometimes—like maybe she was thinking the same thing but didn’t know if she was allowed to.

And then there were the times when she wasn’t looking at him, and he found himself staring at her anyway.

Like tonight.

She was curled up in a chair on the patio of the Norris house, the soft glow of the string lights casting a golden hue over her skin. The party inside had mostly died down, leaving only a few lingering voices and the distant hum of music. His sister had gone to bed hours ago, assuming Y/N would do what she always did—crash in the guest room like she had a hundred times before.

But this time, she hadn’t.

Instead, she had stayed out here. With him.

And Lando? Lando was losing his mind over it.

He sat beside her, stretching his legs out, watching as she played absentmindedly with the rings on her fingers. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy —charged with something unsaid, something inevitable.

Finally, she broke it.

“Lando,” she murmured, not looking at him.

His heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?”

She hesitated, fingers tightening around one of her rings. “Do you ever feel like… things have changed between us?”

Lando inhaled sharply. He had not been prepared for that.

He turned to face her fully, studying the way her brows furrowed, the way her bottom lip was caught between her teeth like she was trying to stop herself from saying too much.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I do.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a second, neither of them spoke.

It would be so easy to brush it off. To make a joke, to change the subject, to go back to pretending that they weren’t slowly unraveling every time they were near each other.

But Lando was tired of pretending.

He let out a breath, dragging a hand through his curls. “We can’t keep doing this.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “I know.”

“But I want to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She exhaled shakily, shaking her head. “God, Lando. You have no idea how much I want to.”

His chest tightened. “Then why don’t we?”

She looked at him then, something raw flickering in her eyes. “Because your sister would hate me.”

And yeah. That was the problem.

Lando’s sister loved Y/N like she was family. Their friendship was everything to her. If this went wrong, if it ended badly, Y/N wouldn’t just lose him. She’d lose her best friend too.

Lando should care about that more.

He did care.

But not enough to let her go.

Not when she was sitting there, so close, looking at him like she was trying to convince herself that walking away was the right thing to do.

“Y/N,” he murmured, leaning in just slightly. “You do realize you’re completely stealing my heart right now, don’t you?”

Her breath hitched.

And for a second, he thought she might push him away. That she might laugh and shake her head and pretend like none of this was happening.

But then— finally —she whispered, “You stole mine first.”

Lando’s heart slammed against his ribs.

“Then let’s stop pretending,” he said, voice rough with something between desperation and relief.

She hesitated, and for a terrifying moment, he thought she was going to say no.

But then, ever so slowly, she reached for his hand, fingers threading through his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Fuck it,” she breathed.

And that was all the permission he needed.

Lando surged forward, capturing her lips in a kiss that felt like every stolen glance, every unspoken word, every suppressed feeling finally being set free.

She melted into him instantly, her hands fisting in his hoodie as if she had been waiting for this just as long as he had.

When they finally broke apart, willing their hearts to stop beating so fast, Lando let out a breathless laugh. “That was a terrible idea.”

Y/N smiled, her fingers tracing absent patterns against his chest. “Yeah.”

“You still wanna do this?” he asked, searching her face for any sign of doubt.

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I do.”

And just like that, they crossed the line they had been dancing around for far too long.

Whatever happened next—whatever fallout came from this—they would figure it out.

Together.

[dare-writes]

But God Works Too.

After asking Dave for a break, Kick-Ass comes to your window after a week?

dave lizewski x female reader

genre: slight hurt/more comfort, smut; 18+ MINORS DNI

wc: 3.5k

sexual content warnings: making out, biting kink, breast play (it’s dave.), slight blood kink, marking kink, hint of jealousy, lying down 69, oral (m&f receiving), he calls reader Ma’am and God, Dave doesn’t wear boxers with the Kick-Ass suit, cumplay, cum swallowing (both parties!), implied p in v

warnings: f!reader, college!reader, college!dave, implied cheating, reader asks for a break, dave cries and asks for forgiveness, he didn’t cheat, hit-girl mentioned, hurt/comfort, dave loves you

i am such a self indulgent writer! 😓

__

It had been a week since you asked for a break. It tore you apart to even ask such a thing, and it wasn’t great that you weren’t being honest with how you felt. You were emotionally overwhelmed, Dave was late to get another date, and you just wanted Dave to ask why you were upset. When you said it, you regretted it immediately but the damage was done. Dave sighed and left with one last kiss to your forehead and said to come to him when you were ready.

You were exhausted from Dave being late to everything. Every date, study session, every single thing you wanted him to be there for, he was late with a terrible excuse like the traffic. He rode a bike, for Christ's sake. You didn’t want a break, you wanted Dave to be honest and find a way to be honest with him back.

You knew this wasn’t a healthy way to start this conversation, but fuck were you an emotional wreck after being hung out to dry for the 5th time this month. Your days blended together, honestly it hasn’t even felt like a full week. It feels more like you have been droning on like a lifeless office woman.

Now, it was 7 p.m., and you had your taser in your right pocket as you walked through the streets of New York to return to your shoddy apartment with three roommates. It was past sunset, and your boots were thudding against asphalt and concrete as you crossed the streets to Broome Res Hall. You shrugged everything off immediately, got inside, and trudged to your room, your house slippers scrolling on the floors.

After hanging everything up or tossing it into the hamper, you quickly showered and were out in minutes. Damp hair trickled water against your skin, and you tugged a smaller towel around your neck to take the damp instead of your sleep shirt. Your laptop and various worksheets lie across your desk, filing through them at insane speeds so you can go to bed. Your playlist of any alt-rock band played off your laptop at a loud enough volume to not hear the jiggling of your window.

A loud knock came, and you screamed at the sight of a masked individual at your window. He yanked off the mask to reveal Dave Lizewsk. Instinctively.c you ran towards the window at the sight of his beat up face. It almost distracted you from the bright green suit with yellow accenting lines. Your eyes jumped around, his bloody face, green and yellow suit, the mask in his hand, and back to his face.

“Dave- what the shit!” You shouted as you opened the window latch and yanked him inside from the fire escape. He ducked in, banging his head on the window, but ducked in nonetheless.

You purposely distanced yourself from him. You wanted to grab him and inspect his entire body for wounds, but fuck you needed space that’s what you said. A gray zip-up fell off one shoulder as you crossed your arms protectively over your chest. Your heart was manically pumping as you calmed down.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Dave whined with a crack in his voice. Finally, in the light of your room and a real chance to look at him and his attire, it clicked, You recognized the suit; I mean, every person did. Everyone knew who Kick-Ass was. Only there was blood everywhere.

“Dave… why are you in Kick-Ass’s suit?”

“Baby, please let me explain,” he begged as he walked closer. Dave was never aggressive; his doe-eyes brimmed with water, and his hands were open gently as he tried to beg for acceptance. Regardless, you took another step back. It felt like a stab to both of your hearts, and Dave knew you didn’t. The way your eyes watched him with remorse, watching blood drip from his forehead down to his cheek.

“You… your drawer still has a shirt and sweats, I’m sure. I’ll go get a first aid kit,” you said, creating the distance again.

The distance wasn’t for Dave to remember their break; it was to stop you from running into his arms and holding him, asking who kicked the shit out of him. The way you saw this, it was going two ways.

A) Dave was going to say he was Kick-Ass.

B) Dave was going to say he went to some convention and got his shit rocked.

You couldn’t decide which made more sense, but the inexplicable amount of times he’s had random bruises or even scarring from “old dumb things” he did as a kid made a lot more sense.

You needed this distance to pretend you didn’t want to crawl into his arms and kiss him like mad. He looked so pretty, even with his face bloodied; you couldn’t help but want to kiss him stupidly.

Returning to your room quietly with a glass of water and a warmed-up hot pocket, Dave sat at your desk, reviewing some of your math assignments. He was writing on the sides with a pencil.

“Dave?”

“Oh, sorry… I was… helping you with some of the stuff here. I know you aren’t a fan of math,” Dave said awkwardly. He set the pencil down and spun the chair to face you. It felt so typical having him back here. A swell of warmth flushed your body as you watched his bruised and bloodied face face you. You cleared your mind with a quick blink.

“Come sit on the bed. I’ll fix you up there,” you said quietly, handing him the hot pocket on a paper plate and a glass of water. Dave wore an old, shoddy navy blue T-shirt, the arm hem cutting nicely around his biceps and gray sweats. He devoured the hot pocket–a typical college kid.

He had to know those were your favorite sweats on him. There’s no way he didn’t. You tore your eyes away, took a small stool from your makeup desk, and cleaned off his wounds.

“Can I explain… please,” Dave asked quietly as you stood above him. Your hands carefully worked around his face and forehead, and the blood was still sticky as you took small alcohol wipes to his skin. Orangey-red blood smears dragged across his forehead and temple.

“Dave,” You started slowly.

“Please, I’ll explain everything. I know you wanted space, but— god, space from you felt like my world was ending,” Dave said with a slight whine. He was killing you, and he was still so undeniably cute.

“You’re Kick-Ass,” you asked quietly. He met your eyes and nodded slightly.

“Kick-Ass came out four years ago, Dave. You’re telling me you’ve been Kick-Ass since you were in high school?”

“It was dumb, and it wasn’t a lot. I took a lot of breaks because… I mean, why wouldn’t I? But you know Hit-Girl?”

“I heard about her.”

“She’s like my sister… I got her dad killed when she was like 13, so I try to be there for her,” Dave began quietly. “She came back into town and needed Kick-Ass.”

You glanced down at his eyes before tearing them away to grab out bandaids. A hum left your lips. The tone and inflection of the hum was neither impressed nor dissatisfied. You refused to be jealous of some kid, but if she was taking more of his time and priority, what? Dave could tell it was off. He was always good at that.

“It started before we started… dating-dating. Before we made it official, like the day before.”

“And you’ve been helping her this entire time but put me on the back burner?” You bit. Admittedly, your tone was a lot meaner than you intended it to be. Your eyes shot down to Dave with regret. “I’m sorry— I didn’t mean it to sound so mean. You have to understand why I asked for the break, though.”

Dave, whose eyes were watery from the proximity of alcohol to his wound and likely your comment, just nodded.

“I should have been honest from the start,” he added. “I’m sorry, I just want you back already… I was hoping a week was enough, but if it’s not—”

“Dave, I just needed time to breathe.”

“No, you didn’t. I get it. I was being a bad boyfriend,” Dave shook his head. He wasn’t a bad boyfriend, but you didn’t appreciate being left behind. It was always like that, with Marty or Todd covering or giving each other a look at each other as if asking What excuse this time?

You knew you would not get anywhere if you didn’t admit your feelings. You dragged the desk chair over and sat before Dave while you put away the first aid kit objects. Your tone was quiet and meek. “I asked for a break because I thought you were cheating. I hoped you’d just rip off the bandage and call it quits.”

His silence horrified you, and you couldn’t look away from the small white plastic box. The latch wouldn't press into the receiving end to keep it closed. The plastic rattled until Dave took it from your hands, and your face met his abdomen. He smelled like sweat. Even with his suit sweat, you smiled softly into the hug. Dave took your hands while he slid down, kneeling in front of you with damp cheeks.

“I never wanted you to feel like that–baby, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest earlier,” he whispered. His lips kissed your knuckles, putting his freshly bandaged forehead into your thighs with a despondent sigh. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was Kick-Ass. I want to be more honest with you.”

Before you could even get to it, Dave looked up at you. His cheek pressed against your thigh with tear streaks, “I want you back.”

“Dave–”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–” Before Dave could try to stand and pull away, you took your hands from his and grabbed his face to kiss him. You pulled off and ducked your head beside his face, unwilling to meet his eyes. “Dave. I– I needed answers… I was scared.”

“Do you still want answers?”

You took your face away from him, and looked back perplexed. “You… already explained it?”

“I’m sorry I was so out of touch with you, I never want you to feel that way again. Hit-Girl has always just been my little sister, I swear,” Dave whispered.

“I—“

“I’ll do anything,” he added lastly. You smiled down at him, and pulled him to sit back on your bed. You sat beside him and pulled your arm around his shoulder to lean his head into your neck.

“Dave, you’ve explained enough. It’s okay.”

“Promise?” He hummed into your neck. He honestly fought the urge to pull you into bed and cuddle you into oblivion.

“Promise.” Dave threw himself into you more if it was possible. His arms wrapped tightly around your torso as his lips kissed up your neck to your face.

Between kisses, he input each word. “I missed you so much…” He kissed your lips, without giving you a chance to return it, he was pulling away and mumbling into your neck again. “Missed holding you and kissing you.”

“Then can we keep kissing?” You asked teasingly. You hooked your finger beneath his chin to look up at you. A small giggle left your lips as you met his eyes, he was lacking his silver wire glasses. “Can you even see when you’re in that suit? You don’t wear your glasses when you’re Kick-Ass.”

“I squint really hard all the time,” he answered with a whine.

“We should get you some contacts then, love. Or lasik,” you teased. Your fingers held his chin tightly before pulling his chin to yours to kiss him softly. Dave whined at your teasing before kissing you back.

Dave would never admit to any of his friends, or anyone else in the world that he liked sitting on your lap. It wasn’t a surprise when he kneeled over your thighs and pushed you into the bed with him on top of you. His hands felt up the edge of the gray sweater and grazed around your tummy. His lips fell from yours, instead focusing on your neck now. His hand hooked onto the zipper’s tag to reveal your chest more.

“Missed the way you smell,” he whispered before biting down into your collarbone. A loud moan of shock left your lips and your hands moved to grasp his hair.

“I heard some guys asked for your number…” Dave mumbled with his teeth in your collarbones. His teeth grazed away, nipping up your neck. His next target was biting in the soft pulse point next. When you mumbled his name out, Dave couldn’t help but bite harder. “Todd told me… it happened in your guys literature class. I almost found him myself and…”

He laughed before pulling away, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Well, I almost kicked his ass, as yours truly.”

He leaned back down, his hands tugged down the loose fabric of your zip-up to reveal your breasts. “But I didn’t, cause I’m good,” Dave added before he returned licking and kissing down your chest. “Dave…” drool leaked from his mouth slightly as he sucked around your chest mindlessly.

“Mhm..?” His hum vibrated you, your hips ground up into his sweats. He laughed again before taking one breast into his hand and jiggling it. Dave wrapped his lips around the hardened nipple and groaned around it. Your thighs squeezed together as you felt a pulse of dampness between your panties and your pussy lips.

“You're a tease.”

He took his lips off, keeping his teeth wrapped around the nipple, “I learned from you.”

He did. You taught him all of this when you sucked his cock the first few times. Weirdly enough, Dave was overly attentive to the way you sucked his cock. He loved it, watched like you were a magician. Your hands lifted his face off your breast and reached to take his t-shirt off. “Lie down,” you commanded as you sat up on your right elbow.

Dave has no issue following your command. He slinked off your waist and sat in the middle of your bed. You kneeled up and shed your sleep shirt off, lifting one knee, you trapped Dave’s thighs between yours.

You dipped down, kissing his face and doing the same pattern with him. Your teeth sank into his pulse point as he whined out, his heart rate raced beneath your tongue. A metallic taste entered your lips and you pulled away.

“Fuck… Dave, I’m sorry,” you whispered. You got ready to stand up and grab your small medical kit you left by the foot of the bed. Before you could even leave his thighs, his hands clamped down on your waist and kept you there.

A bulge made eye contact with you before Dave did. “Leave it,” he whispered.

Your lips gaped at the sight of Dave’s neck, a small bead of red trickled down. There wasn’t anything more, but his flush red face and boner told you enough. Your hands touched down his abs to the tip of his hard on, a small whimper released from your renewed boyfriend.

Leaning down beside his left ear, you taunted as you play with his cockhead through the gray sweats. “You like when I bite you Davey? When I make you bleed?”

“Yes… ma’am,” he whispered with a nod. You left his ear, hovering your head above him to give him a gentle kiss. “Mhm… my good boy aren’t you? Always so obedient, so good for me hm?”

Dave limply nodded, his hips grinding into your hand. You gave him some leeway. Taking his elastic band with you as you slid down his legs.

There were no boxers below the gray sweats. Your eyes shot up, his eyes watching you with either horror or pure lust. “Did I speak too soon, have you been bad? Where are your boxers?”

“Don’t… I don’t wear them with the suit on sometimes… It’s uncomfortable,” Dave answered shakily. You tutted, before pulling back his foreskin and licking up from his balls to his tip. You spat on his tip and sighed.

“Perhaps I should get a treat too, considering my goodboy isn’t all that good apparently,” You wondered out loud. Dave had no idea but just nodded. “Whatever you want.”

Your eyes squinted. “Ma’am.”

You smiled before getting off the bed and rolled down your shorts and lace white panties. “Those are my favorite,” Dave whispered quietly as he watched you intensely.

“Glad I wore them?”

“God I missed you,” he added with a puppy dog gaze and nod. You smiled, joining him back in bed. “God yes, please,” he whispered as your pelvis and pussy neared his face.

“Normally I prefer ma’am,” you said. Your face was towards his cock, your hand took it, letting hot spit dribble out your mouth and fall onto his tip. You finally took your seat before Dave could respond or cry. “But God works too.”

Dave hummed, his lips mumbling out. “Hold… thighs,” he said between sucking your cunt, trying to drink you dry.

“Mhm, go ahead,” you answered before lowering your lips onto his cock. He moaned as he hooked his arms around your thighs to smother him further. You groaned on his cockhead as you did your best to deepthroat him, never an easy task with him. His cock was damn near the size of your face while hard. He wasn’t thicker than normal, but his length took you out enough.

The room was full of crude slurping and sucking sounds from the two of you, thank god your roommates were out partying instead of staying in for the night. Not more than a few moments later, Dave was crying between your thighs.

“Maam I wanna cum, please please,” he cried against your clit. You waited, you entirely stopped, his cock lodged near your tonsils. Testing him to see if he remembered what you said earlier. His mind spun, feeling you gagging slightly around his tip. “Please God, please make me cum. You’re the only one who can make me cum God.”

You hummed around his cock, resuming your sucking and licking. Your hand jerked off the rest of his cock you couldn’t reach. “God, yes I love you,” Dave whimpered as his thumb made contact with your clit. His tongue ravished your hole, it felt constant but so fast that time was blurring together. Your hips ground into his face slightly with moans around his cock as you neared completion.

“Mhm.. Dabbve,” you hummed around his cock.

“Can I cum, god please?” his voice asked small as he fingered your clit with his thumb. “Please God, I know you’re close I can feel it.”

“Come on, Dabbve, come for me,” you responded with his tip in your mouth. You sucked down again, lodging him in your mouth near your throat as you squeezed around his tongue one last time. Cum spilled down your throat, you did your best to make sure it wasn’t at an awkward angle that would make you choke. Your mouth was full of cum, and couldn’t keep taking it all. You pulled off and sat beside Dave, your thighs shaking from spending so much time bent over his face.

“Fuck…” Dave whispered, cum still trickling down his softened cock. You sigh heavily, cum was also down the side of your lips. You leaned over, kissing his lips softly, exchanging some of his cum with him.

“Babe,” he groaned as he took some down his throat.

“You deserve it,” you said with a wink. You took the rest from your lips and dragged it across his nipples. “I just came like a water fountain, and you’re trying to fuck me again?”

“What— did you not jerk off this entire week?” You asked as you laid beside him. He sat up and shook his head no with an embarrassed smile. “Why do you think I came in like 3 minutes?”

“Cause my head game is wonderful?” Dave giggled and leaned down to kiss you softly.

“It is,” he replied. The taste of each other on your lips as you swapped spit. It was slower now, softer, but still messy with all the liquids on their faces. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you two kissed, happy flits of moans left you both.

“I love you,” he said into the kiss. You responded the same, with a large smile before giving one last big smooch to his lips. He pulled you by the waist to lie in front of him. “Please… God, can I have more of you?” Dave begged as he leaned to close the space between you. His needy eyes made you warm, and your pussy swell with warmth.

His cock was hard against your lower tummy. You couldn’t believe him, it’s like he was still a high school freak who jerked off three times daily.

“Fine.”

Dave didn’t waste any time with you, he had a whole week to make up for.

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (winds from the west)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: seeds of contempt

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @alkadri-layal @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

The halls of the Red Keep were quieter at this hour, the usual bustle of courtiers and servants fading into a distant murmur. The soft padding of your footsteps, guided gently by Ser Lorent, echoed in the corridors as you approached the King’s chambers. You had requested to see your father alone, without the presence of the Queen or her father, without the weight of the court’s expectations pressing upon your shoulders.

Ser Lorent halted just outside the doors, his presence a quiet comfort. Even now, years later, he insisted on still walking by your side when you visited the Red Keep, as though your absence from court had changed nothing between you.

"You’ll be all right, princess?" he murmured, his voice tinged with quiet concern.

You smiled faintly, tilting your head toward him. "Yes, Ser Lorent. You have always been a faithful guard, but you need not worry over."

The knight exhaled softly before giving a small nod. He knocked twice, and from inside, a hoarse but familiar voice called out.

"Come in."

The doors creaked as they opened, and you stepped inside, the warmth of the chamber enveloping you. The air smelled of burning incense, parchment, and aged wine, mingled with the faint scent of the oils used to soothe aching bones.

Your father sat near the fire, his once-great frame thinner now, though he still wore the richly embroidered robes of a king, the golden crown of House Targaryen resting atop his silvered hair. The firelight cast deep shadows along his aged face, accentuating the lines of time, the weight of years of rule and sorrow pressing down upon his shoulders.

"Come closer," Viserys murmured, and you obeyed, moving carefully toward him, your fingers grazing the back of an upholstered chair before reaching for his outstretched hand.

His palm was rougher than you remembered, the skin calloused from years of grasping the hilt of Blackfyre, from ruling a realm that had never been easy to rule. Yet when he curled his fingers around yours, his grip was still firm, still warm, the same as when you were a child, when he would hold your small hands in his after you stumbled in the gardens, whispering words of comfort and love.

"I missed you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I missed your voice."

Viserys exhaled heavily, his grip tightening just slightly, as though anchoring himself to you. "And I missed yours, my sweet girl," he rasped. "Every day since you left these halls… I have longed to hear it again."

You reached for his other hand, bringing it to your cheek, your fingers trailing over the ridges of his knuckles, the familiar touch grounding you. "I am here now."

He let out a shuddering breath, and it was only then that you noticed the slight tremor in his hands, the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of emotions he had held back for too long.

Then, a soft sound reached your ears—not the clearing of his throat, nor the weary sigh of a man who had seen too much, but a quiet, broken sob.

You stiffened slightly. "Father?"

He did not answer at first, only shaking his head as his grip on you tightened, as though afraid you might vanish if he let go.

You did not need your sight to feel the tears trailing down his face, nor to understand why they fell.

Viserys Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms, was weeping.

Not as a king burdened by the weight of rule, nor as a man struggling against the frailty of age—but as a father who had been separated from his child, a father who had missed the sound of her laughter, the warmth of her presence, the gentle way she would once sit at his feet and listen to his stories of Old Valyria, of kings and queens who had shaped the world before them.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his, your fingers brushing against his cheeks, wiping away the tears that would never be spoken of beyond these walls.

"I never wanted you to leave," Viserys whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with grief, with years of regret.

You inhaled, your heart clenching. "I know."

"I should have—" He broke off, shaking his head. "I should have fought harder to keep you here."

Your lips trembled, but you forced a small smile. "You let me go because you knew I would be loved," you murmured. "Because you knew I would be happy, you said so."

Viserys shook his head again, his tears falling freely now. "I let you go because I was weak."

"Father—"

"Because I feared war," he continued, his voice cracking, his eyes burning with pain. "Because I feared what it would mean to deny the West a marriage they sought. And in my weakness, I let my precious girl—one of the last pieces of your mother—be taken from me."

Tears welled in your own sightless eyes, but you did not let them fall. Instead, you tightened your grip on his hands, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, the way he had once done when you were a child, when he had comforted you after your first fall from your black mare.

"You did not lose me," you whispered. "I am still yours, Father. Always."

Viserys let out a heavy sob, his body shaking beneath the weight of his sorrow.

And for a time, there was no king and no princess, no politics and no war, no concerns for the realm or the throne.

There was only a father and his daughter, reunited in the fragile space of a fleeting moment, where love transcended time, distance, and regret.

The small council chamber was quieter than usual, the absence of the other lords making the space feel more intimate, yet all the more tense. The thick, carved doors had been shut, the only ones present being Lord Jason Lannister, his twin brother Tyland, and Otto Hightower. The usual din of court politics was missing, replaced instead by the scratch of quills and the soft rustle of parchment as Jason leafed through the stack of documents that had been placed before him.

Otto sat across the table, his eyes unwavering, his posture pristine, controlled, even as the weight of Jason’s scrutiny bore down upon him. The Hand of the King was no fool—he knew why they were here, and he had come prepared to counter any challenge.

Tyland, seated beside Jason, drummed his fingers lazily against the armrest of his chair, his gaze flickering between the papers in Jason’s hands and Otto’s carefully neutral expression. There was an edge of amusement in his eyes, as if he were simply enjoying the spectacle, but Jason knew better—his twin was always calculating, always watching for weakness.

Jason exhaled slowly, setting the papers down before him. His golden lion’s ring tapped against the oak surface as he leaned back, his gaze focused, assessing.

"This," he began, his voice even, though laced with a hint of amusement, "is not justifiable spending, Lord Hightower."

Otto folded his hands neatly before him. "Her Grace is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," he said smoothly, with a tone of calculated patience. "Her station demands—"

Jason cut him off with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Her station demands governance, Lord Otto. Not vanities." He gestured toward the stack of papers. "Do explain to me why the Crown is spending thousands of dragons on exquisite gemstones, Myrish lace, embroidered silks, golden-threaded tapestries, and, of course, the famed emerald harp."

Tyland coughed lightly into his fist, though Jason knew it was only to hide his laughter.

Otto’s expression remained impassive, though Jason did not miss the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. "The Queen must maintain the dignity of her role," he said. "To be seen as a symbol of strength and prosperity."

Jason scoffed. "Prosperity?" He leaned forward, his gaze dark with amusement. "Tell me, Lord Otto—does the Crown know the meaning of that word? Because if prosperity means indebting the realm to Lannisport's coin, then I fear we have wildly different interpretations."

Otto's lips pressed into a thin line, but he did not yet speak.

Jason allowed himself a brief pause, savoring the moment before he leaned back again, stretching lazily. "Perhaps," he mused, "there should be a pause on shipments from Lannisport. Let us see how the Crown fares without Lannister coin filling its coffers."

Tyland's smirk widened. He had been waiting for Jason to say it outright.

Otto, however, did not react immediately. He remained motionless, though Jason could see the tension forming along his shoulders, the way his fingers tightened subtly against the table’s edge.

"That would be… unwise," Otto said at last, choosing his words carefully.

Jason tilted his head. "Would it?"

Otto exhaled slowly, clasping his hands before him. "It would send a poor message to the lords of the realm. To deny the Queen her station—"

Jason let out a low, dark chuckle, the kind that sent ripples of discomfort through those who did not know him well enough. "A poor message, you say?" He spread his hands. "Tell me, Lord Otto, does my wife not deserve the same extravagance?"

Tyland ceased his lazy drumming, his amusement shifting to keen interest as Jason pressed further.

"The Queen is granted every luxury, every gem, every silk of the finest weave," Jason continued, his voice measured, deliberate. "And yet, my wife, a princess of the realm, is expected to live with far less?"

Otto did not answer immediately.

Jason smiled coldly. "Why is it, Lord Otto, that my wife—a Targaryen princess, daughter of the King himself—is not lavished in the same manner?" His voice dipped into mock curiosity, his fingers tapping against the parchment before him. "Does she not deserve rubies fit for a dragon’s daughter? Pearls from the Summer Isles? A crown of her own to match the Queen’s?"

Otto's silence stretched for a moment longer than it should have.

"You do not wish to answer," Jason mused, "so allow me to do it for you." He leaned forward once more, his tone dark and edged with steel. "Because you do not see her as worthy of it."

Otto stiffened, his calm veneer finally cracking ever so slightly.

Jason continued, his voice like a blade slowly pressing against exposed flesh. "You seek to elevate your daughter, to drown her in riches so that the world sees her as untouchable, undeniable—but my wife?" His green eyes burned. "My wife, the daughter of the King, you would see diminished."

Otto exhaled through his nose, gathering himself. "That is not—"

"It is," Jason interrupted, his voice cutting and sure. "And you will not succeed in it, Lord Hightower." He lifted the parchment once more, running his fingers over the excessive expenses listed before him. "The West does not exist to prop up the Queen’s vanities while the King’s own blood is expected to live in lesser means."

Otto’s jaw tightened, but Jason was not finished.

"So," he said, reclining once more, voice lighter, but no less dangerous, "perhaps I should send word to Lannisport, have them divert shipments elsewhere, just to see how well the Crown can manage without Lannister trade for a time."

Tyland let out a low whistle, amused. "Now that would be something to see."

Otto’s gaze flickered between them, his mind working rapidly, calculating how much of Jason’s threat was genuine and how much was posturing.

Jason merely waited, the silence stretching thick between them.

And then, finally, Otto Hightower let out a slow breath, his voice even, but reluctant.

"There will be… adjustments made," he said carefully. "A review of expenditures, to better balance the Crown’s needs."

Jason’s smile widened slightly, victorious.

"Good," he said simply, rolling the parchment up and setting it aside. "Now that we understand each other, let us see that these adjustments are made quickly. I should hate to think the Crown would dare disappoint its greatest benefactor."

Otto said nothing, but Jason saw the irritation in his eyes.

Tyland smirked, pushing back in his chair with a languid stretch. "A most productive meeting," he mused.

Jason merely chuckled. "Indeed."

The Red Keep’s gardens were a sanctuary of twisting vines and flowering terraces, a place where the stone walls of the castle seemed softer, where the scent of roses, daisies, and myrtle filled the air. The laughter of children rang through the open space, mingling with the rustling of leaves as the afternoon breeze swept through.

Jason Lannister strode through the courtyard with the confidence of a man who knew he belonged, his cloak shifting with his steps, his green eyes scanning the familiar pathways. He had been told his wife was here, and if there was one thing in this wretched capital that could soothe his mood after a grating conversation with Otto Hightower, it was her.

And, of course, his children.

He found you seated on a stone bench beneath the shade of an arbor, your delicate fingers brushing over the petals of a white rose, the embroidery in your lap momentarily forgotten. Beside you, Rhaenyra sat with all the poise of a woman who was born to command a throne, though her expression darkened ever so slightly when she spotted him approaching.

Jason smirked. So predictable.

A few feet away, Aemerys and Jacaerys tumbled through the grass, their laughter wild and untamed as they wrestled like two dragon hatchlings testing their strength. Nearby, Luke and the twin girls, Rhaelya and Alysera, were being fussed over by their nursemaids, the infants’ golden curls catching the sunlight as they cooed and stretched in their swaddled blankets.

Jason did not hesitate as he reached you, pressing a kiss to your temple, his hands resting on your shoulders before sliding down to cup yours gently.

"You always seem to find the most peaceful corners," he murmured, his lips lingering near your ear, his deep voice edged with warmth.

You smiled, tilting your face toward him slightly. "Perhaps because I enjoy the peace," you teased.

Jason chuckled, then turned his attention toward Rhaenyra, whose expression was tightly controlled.

"Princess," he greeted smoothly, flashing his most charming smile. "Have you seen Laenor? I have been searching for him, yet it seems he has vanished."

Rhaenyra made a grimace, exhaling through her nose. "He is most likely at the stables," she said dryly. "Or anywhere else that allows him to avoid responsibilities."

Jason laughed. "Can’t fault a man for that."

"You would say that," Rhaenyra muttered, rolling her eyes.

Jason grinned, letting the moment pass before turning his attention back to the children.

He watched as Aemerys managed to pin Jace down, laughing triumphantly before Jacaerys rolled them both over, sending them tumbling into the grass once more.

"My son is a natural," Jason mused, crossing his arms, a prideful gleam in his eyes.

Rhaenyra huffed. "Jace is just letting him win."

Jason smirked. "That’s a lie, and you know it." He gestured toward his twin daughters, who were nestled against their nursemaids, their tiny fingers curling and uncurling as they stared at the world with wide, lilac eyes. "And my girls—fierce little lions already. No doubt they’ll grow to be even sharper than their mother."

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "You act as though they are ready to march into battle."

Jason turned to you with a wolfish grin, crouching slightly as he brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Not quite yet," he murmured, "but soon enough, I will have to keep the suitors at bay."

Rhaenyra scoffed, arching a brow. "Are you planning to collect children like a dragon hoards gold, Lannister?"

Jason smirked. "Perhaps," he mused, shifting so he could rest an arm along the back of the stone bench, fingers tracing slow circles against your shoulder. "In fact, I have been considering restructuring a wing of Casterly Rock entirely for them. A hall just for our children—large, open, filled with books, sparring grounds, a place where they will be raised as both lions and dragons."

You tilted your head slightly, a small smile playing on your lips. "You’ve thought about this."

Jason exhaled, his green eyes softening as he glanced toward you. "Of course, I have," he murmured. "They deserve a space to grow—one that is theirs, where they are not simply heirs and daughters of lords, but free to be more."

Rhaenyra studied him carefully before raising a brow. "And how many children, exactly, do you plan on having, Lord Lannister?"

Jason grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "As many as she gives me," he said simply, nodding toward you.

Rhaenyra sighed heavily, rubbing her temples. "Gods spare me."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You say that now, sister," you teased, reaching for Rhaenyra’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, "but I suspect one day, you’ll find that having a home full of children is not so terrible."

Jason smirked, leaning in closer. "That, and you’ll be jealous when Aemerys’ sons best Jace’s in the tourney lists."

Rhaenyra shot him a glare, but you could hear the faint amusement hidden beneath it.

Jason settled beside you, satisfied, the weight of the day's politics fading into nothing as he sat amongst his family, his legacy, and the future he was building with you.

The balcony overlooking the royal gardens was shrouded in the fading light of the evening sun. Aegon leaned against the intricately carved railing, his fingers curling tightly around the edge, his knuckles pale from the pressure. His violet eyes, so often glazed with drunken mirth or boredom, were now sharp, fixated on the scene below.

His favorite sister, the one who had always cared for him, always seen him—she was laughing, her delicate features softened in contentment, her hand resting upon Jason Lannister’s arm as he whispered something only for her ears.

Aegon felt his jaw clench, his breath coming in short, shallow exhales as he watched Jason’s smug golden head dip close, his expression one of undisguised possession.

The bastard owned her.

His sister, the one who should have never left the Red Keep, the one who should have never been sent away—she was his, not by law, not by betrothal, but by the simple fact that she was his sister.

She should have stayed.

She should have never left him behind.

His fingers twitched as Jason pulled her close, brushing a stray curl from her face, his other hand gesturing toward their son, who was now wrestling with Jace in the grass like two lion cubs play-fighting for dominance.

Aegon could barely stomach it.

The sight of his nephew, the Lannister brat with Targaryen silver in his hair and the cursed pride of the West, made his stomach twist in ways he did not wish to analyze.

Aemerys should have been born in the Red Keep. He should have been raised in their halls, not under the watchful eyes of golden lions who thought themselves equals to dragons.

A quiet chuckle broke through his storming thoughts, and Aegon stiffened, tearing his gaze away from the garden below.

"Losing yourself in thought, prince?"

Aegon turned his head slowly, his violet eyes narrowing as Larys Strong stepped forward from the shadows of the balcony archway. The club-footed man moved with his usual unnerving grace, his twisted foot barely hindering his steps as he approached, hands clasped neatly before him.

"What do you want, Strong?" Aegon muttered, shifting slightly, his fingers relaxing against the railing.

Larys tilted his head, his expression one of feigned curiosity, though his eyes gleamed with something far more dangerous. "Merely to admire the view," he said, his gaze sweeping over the gardens below, his lips curling in mild amusement. "It is quite a sight, is it not?"

Aegon scowled. "It is a disgrace."

Larys hummed, leaning slightly against the railing, his hands folded against the polished stone, eyes never leaving the garden scene below. "Some might see it as a triumph," he mused. "A union that has fortified the bonds between two powerful houses."

Aegon’s grip tightened once more. "A Lannister should not have been given her."

Larys exhaled in a way that was neither agreement nor dismissal, merely a breath meant to allow the words to hang between them, to give Aegon space to fill the silence himself.

And he did.

"He has taken her away from me," Aegon muttered, his voice low, his expression dark. "And now he parades her before us, showing off his children, his claim, as though he has every right."

Larys finally turned his head, his eyes half-lidded, unreadable. "And do you believe he does not?"

Aegon scoffed, pushing off the railing. "I know he does not." His lips curled in distaste. "He was always a braggart, a fool with more arrogance than sense."

"And yet," Larys mused, "he holds her heart, does he not?"

Aegon went rigid, his expression flickering into something dangerously close to hurt, before he masked it with another scoff. "She is his wife, nothing more."

Larys tilted his head. "And yet she smiles for him." His fingers drummed lightly against the railing. "She bears his children."

Aegon’s teeth clenched, his nails biting into his palms.

Larys continued, his voice low and knowing, like a whisperer in the dark. "Tell me, my prince… why does that bother you so?"

Aegon glared, turning his full attention on the man beside him. "You already know."

Larys did not deny it. Instead, he merely let out a soft, almost mocking sigh. "Aegon," he murmured, "you are a prince. You are your father's firstborn son. And yet, it seems to me… that you resent her departure more than you resent being denied the throne."

Aegon flinched, and that was all the answer Larys needed.

A slow smile curled at the corner of the Lord Confessor’s lips, his mind already weaving the possibilities.

"It is a tragic thing," he continued, voice like silk against a blade, "to feel abandoned. To be left behind as another builds a new life without you."

Aegon turned back to the garden, his jaw set, his chest tight with emotion he did not want to name.

Larys followed his gaze, watching as Jason tucked a pale strand of hair behind his wife’s ear, as he leaned in to murmur something that made her smile, as their children laughed and played in the garden of their ancestors.

"You were once her favorite, were you not?" Larys murmured, almost lazily.

Aegon’s hands curled into fists.

Larys let the silence stretch again, then exhaled.

"Perhaps," he mused, lightly stepping away from the railing, "not all is lost."

Aegon turned toward him. "What do you mean?"

Larys only smiled.

"Enjoy your evening, my prince," he murmured, offering a small, knowing bow, before stepping back into the shadows, leaving Aegon alone with his anger.

And the quiet whisper of possibilities.

The Tower of the Hand was silent, its thick stone walls shielding its inhabitants from the bustling corridors of the Red Keep. A heavy scent of parchment, ink, and wax filled the air, mingling with the faint smoke of a dying candle on the Hand’s writing desk. The chamber was sparsely decorated—practical, cold, a reflection of the man who occupied it.

Alicent Hightower sat in a high-backed chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression carefully composed despite the tension in her shoulders. Across from her, Otto Hightower, her father, stood beside a tall window, his gaze fixed on the view beyond—the Red Keep’s walls stretching into the horizon, the distant Blackwater reflecting the fading light of the setting sun.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

The air between them was weighted with unspoken thoughts, the kind that neither dared voice until they were sure they were alone.

At last, Otto sighed, his hands clasping behind his back as he turned toward his daughter.

"We must speak of Lord Lannister."

Alicent inhaled slowly, her expression barely shifting. "He has done nothing but what was expected," she said evenly. "He has come with his family, paid his respects, attended council as was his right."

Otto’s gaze sharpened. "He has done more than that, daughter," he corrected, his voice laced with the weight of calculation. "Jason Lannister is not a mere lord visiting court. He is measuring it."

Alicent remained silent, but Otto saw the flicker of understanding in her eyes.

"You saw what he did in the council," Otto continued, stepping toward the desk. "He questioned the Crown’s spending—openly, in front of Tyland, in front of me. He has halted shipments from Lannisport, Alicent." He let the words settle like a blade pressed against the skin, waiting to see how deep they would cut.

Alicent’s lips thinned. "You did not tell me that."

Otto exhaled sharply, his fingers brushing against the edge of the desk. "It was not the sort of thing I wished to discuss before the Queen’s feast."

Alicent’s hands clenched slightly in her lap. "And what did Viserys say to this?"

Otto scoffed. "Viserys was too distracted with his joy over his grandchildren to notice the implications of Jason’s move. But it is not Viserys that Jason means to challenge."

Alicent understood then, truly.

Jason had not simply halted shipments from Lannisport to inconvenience the Crown.

He had done so to test them.

To see what would happen when the flow of Lannister gold slowed, when the Crown was forced to reconsider its dependencies.

To see if House Hightower would bend first.

Alicent exhaled through her nose, standing from her chair. She paced toward the fireplace, staring into the low embers glowing against the stone hearth.

"He is too bold," she murmured, though there was no surprise in her voice.

Otto studied her carefully. "And yet, he has gained everything he wanted from this match." He leaned forward slightly. "Do you not see, daughter? We thought the West was contained—that his marriage to your husband’s daughter would bind his loyalties to the Crown. But in truth, it has only made him stronger."

Alicent’s jaw tightened, her hands folding beneath the loose sleeves of her gown. "Because of her."

"Yes," Otto confirmed. "Because through her, he is tied to Viserys, to Rhaenyra, to the future of this dynasty. And he is no fool—he knows it."

Alicent turned sharply to face him. "What would you have me do, Father?"

Otto tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Jason Lannister is not our enemy," he admitted, "but he is also not our ally. He is a man who sees opportunity where others see duty. And now, he holds the largest fleet in the realm, the richest mines in Westeros, and a Targaryen princess in his bed." Otto let the weight of his words settle before continuing. "That makes him dangerous."

Alicent studied him, her mind working through the implications. "You believe he means to rival us."

Otto nodded. "If not now, then soon. He has built a legacy upon a foundation of gold, dragons, and blood. And unlike your husband, unlike even Rhaenyra, he is not burdened by the weight of the Iron Throne. He is free to wield his influence as he pleases."

Alicent inhaled deeply, turning back toward the fire, her thoughts racing.

Jason Lannister was a lord, not a king—but power did not always rest upon the Iron Throne.

Sometimes, it was held in the vaults of the Rock. In the loyalty of soldiers, in the strength of a marriage, in the hearts of those who knew how to shape the world to their will.

She had dismissed Jason once. Underestimated him.

That had been a mistake.

Otto watched his daughter carefully. "We must be prepared, Alicent," he said finally, his voice low, edged with meaning. "For the day when Jason Lannister no longer plays at being simply a loyal vassal."

Alicent said nothing at first, her eyes fixed on the fire, the glow casting shadows along her face.

And then, finally, she spoke.

"Then let us hope," she murmured, "that his ambition does not outgrow his patience."

Otto exhaled, his fingers curling lightly over the desk.

"A lion’s patience," he said, "is often just another form of hunger."

[boyneptunee]

4k, tomarry, time travel with a dash of fluff

(or) Harry follows Sirius through the Veil and somehow ends up in the past. Tom just wants the pretty songbird to land on his hand and sing.

Sirius Black fell through the veil.

There was a defeating silence, a calm, then: a raw scream tore through the air of the Department of Mysteries.

Sirius Black was gone.

Sirius Black was dead.

And so Harry Potter had lost the only family he had left, the only hope for love, for a better life and new beginnings and sweet Merlin, he wanted to be dead too.

Harry fought to get out of the arms holding him back, barely noticing who it was in the struggle to get himself moving, to not be stagnant in this too. He brought his elbow back to strike a face and suddenly he was free again.

And he ran.

There was anger and there was sorrow and pain and so many, so many mixed feelings tearing through his head a mile a minute, spreading it's spiderlike fingers and clinging to the cracks of his very being. He felt like he was being consumed from the inside out and the only thing he could do was put one foot in front of the other.

And so he ran.

He ran through the polished black marble floor, past people fighting left and right, dodging spells as he went, then up the couple of steps that separated the Archway from the rest of the World.

He barely heard his name being called, a desperate plea to wait, to come back. People were running desperatly after him, lights of different colours coming from multiple directions, trying to bring him back to safe ground.

But it was too late.

Harry Potter slipped through the Veils of the Archway of Death without making a single sound and disappeared into it's depths.

Tom Marvolo Riddle liked to collect things. Hoard knowledge. Discover new realms and hidden places. Branches of magic long forgotten. Dark tomes and jewelry, magical stones and trinkets from all over. He liked to learn all he could, keep all that he desired, like a hungry dragon protecting its precious treasure.

So it came to no surprise that he liked to collect people too.

The songbird was not the first, of course. that would have been Abraxas Malfoy. If venous snakes didn't count as people, anyway. The boy had been excited when they first crossed paths on the train compartment, both acting too grand but too unsure of how to talk to other boys his age. He had been interesting, with his pale hair and clear eyes, and new, and above all: he thought Tom was interesting too.

So, Abraxas had been the first.

It didn't stop there, clearly.

Naturally, with a curiosity to rival a wampus cat and the means to get whatever he wanted no matter the cost, Tom liked to travel.

After applying for the Defense post at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry fresh out of school and getting shot down faster than he could blink; he had considered his options.

Then, without thinking too much of it in a rare display of reckless fueled by rage, he had marched through Gringotts Bank in his best robes, eyes blazing and had claimed the Slytherin Lordship right then and there.

He had been the first in a century to do so, and it had caused a right stir within the British Magical Community.

Many argued it had to be a farse; after all, if such a Lordship existed why hadn't someone else claimed it before? Many turned their noses at the mention of the Gaunts, the inbreed House that lived in poverty, with fates worse than a squibs and no recorded student in a magical school in at least three generations. Surely if the Lordship was available to them they could have claimed it and saved their family from all the misfortunes.

No one outside the Family knew, of course, that the Slytherin Lordship came with clauses. Each and every one had to be met to even be considered for the Heirship, much less the tittle of Lord of the House.

And Tom, in all his rightful fury at being turned down in the only place he had considered a home for seven years, met each and every last one of them.

Tom had killed the girl on accident.

He knew this. The basilisk knew this. But the girl, and the rest of the school didn't.

And he would keep it that way, least they frame him for murder and strap chains around his neck and snap his wand. He would not be caged again, like he had been when he was but a boy.

At the threat of the school closing down, he had directed the magestic serpent back to Salazar's Chamber. He refused to go back to London, to the Orphanage. Back to war.

He promised to come back for her, once he had a place big enough to hold her body and mask her magic.

And he did, years and years later, when he had the Slytherin Lordship at his fingertips and the old Manor at his call.

He set her loose on the forest around the property, big enough and warded enough for her to live a comfortable life. The old serpent couldn't remember ever feeling the sun on her scales, the warmth on her soul. It was the happiest she'd been on centuries.

She passed on, not a year after being set free, of old age. It seemed to Tom she was waiting for this.

He had traveled here and there, with no destination in mind for a couple of months after claiming his Lordship.

He had seen creatures he had only read about in books. He learned that some cultures had proper and complete languages for spell casting. Found out some didn't use wands at all.

He visited some parts of Asia, of course. Curious about the rumors of the serpent tongue having originated from there. It was not entirely true, after all. There were other ways to communicate with snakes, different but entirely as efficient as parseltongue.

He learned from musicians on the streets of magical alleys, tucked between merchants, who hypnotized snakes to their will at the hand of an instrument. He asked after venoms and cures and uses for potion ingredients only found in snakes. Found enchantresses and dancers who manipulated magic in ways he had never thought possible.

And when he bored of wandering and felt his curiosity sated for the moment, he went home to put it all away in his hoard.

 

A couple months later, Lord Malfoy set Abraxas on a trip, with strict orders to get new silk traders or not come back at all.

House Malfoy had always been cloth merchants, since an age as far back as before the Round Table. They had grown and changed as times came past, moved with the magical world to more densely populated areas, where Magic was more dense and not as easily dispersed by nature, and even if many of its children persued more political roles in their communities, their base business always stayed the same, as a nod to their ancestors.

Tom, curious about countries not yet visited and Orion Black, sent by his father and Lord in the hopes that his son and Heir could learn a thing or two about adulting from his friends, came with.

It started, as things are wont to do, with a letter.

A letter that stated that the merchant who Abraxas was supposed to meet the day after they arrived, at first light of Dawn before the markets opened, was off to India, trying to sabotage his biggest competitor to date.

The letter, of course, didn't state things in quite as many words, but Abraxas would renounce his name before being unable to read between lines.

And so, they were stranded in Romania until their wayward seller decided to come back. That, or risk Lord Malfoy feeding Abraxas to the winged horses of the Manor. Or worse yet, betroth him to House Lestrange, like he'd been threatening to do for a while yet, regardless of all the happenings within the House, with murders and back stabbings and the Head of House changing at a drop of a hat without a clear view of who would come out on top in the end.

Neadless to say, Heir Malfoy was stranded, his feet rooted to the city without a way out.

Tom didn't think of it that way, anyway. His sights were set on the older parts of the magical side of the city, with it's rich history and full markets and grand castles nestled between bast forests. Yes, Tom didn't think of the merchant and his friend's predicament at all.

"Well." Orion said, cautiously looking from one friend to another, the three of them standing outside a quaint old house, where the merchant's husband had handed them the letter and closed the door in their faces without as much as a greeting. "Have you arranged for a place to stay?"

No answer from any of them, Abraxas too busy glaring at the letter and Tom too lost in the sights of the street around them, full of people and little shops and alleys and adventures to be had.

"Abraxas?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Have you made arrangements." This time Orions voice was flat, his grey eyes steel as he glared at his friend, somehow he thought he knew the answer to that.

"...for what?"

"Oh for fucks sake, where are we to stay, you dumbwit! Don't tell me you received orders to come cross continent without as much as your fathers say so and didn't prepare for the time we would be here!"

"..."

"Did you think it would only take a day? Are you half mad? Abraxas—"

"That's enough." Tom's voice cut through Orions like a knife. He looked annoyed too, but his head was already turning with possibilities. "Standing around will solve nothing. Come, let us go through the magical side and see if we can find something there."

"You just want to put your paws into new obscure tomes, Tom, don't even try." Abraxas said with a laugh, putting the letter away before looking to Orion. "I didn't think this would take a day, just so you know. I just thought the merchant would be kind enough to point us to somewhere nice enough for us to stay."

 

It wasn't, as Tom foolishly thought at first, easy to find lodging.

They went through a big archway, carved into white stone and hidden away in an alley full of muggle-repelling charms with only a sign half washed away by the fierce sun above their heads that read Calea Vrăjitorului.

The streets beyond the alley didn't change much, unlike Diagon Alley wrapped between London's heart, surrounded by newer looking buildings; the city of Sighișoara was nestled with old buildings, winding passageways and cobblestone roads. The Magical side of the alley was bursting with people coming to and fro, a big market greeted them in the distance, little tents set up on long rows on one side and the other, older shops standing tall behind them. It was much like a controlled chaos.

A large man standing off to the side leaning on a wall, dressed in browns and reds and holding the day's paper in his big hands took one look at their faces and gave a hearty laugh, beard moving with beads of gold intertwined glinting in the sun. He asked them a question in romanian, the language thick and melodic on his tongue; and at the look of confusion on their young faces laughed again before saying in heavily accentuated english:

"Not expecting the crowd, ye'?"

"The muggle side was much quieter." Tom said, eyes going over the crowd with apprehension.

"They usually too get like this, if not worse. You're just too early."

"We were looking for accomodations, actually. Would you be so kind as to point us?" The man looked at Tom like he had grown two heads and laughed fiercely again.

"Oh, by the love of— Ignore him, he's not had his morning coffee yet." A voice called behind them. His accent was not as thick, and was almost British in nature, if not for the vowels jumping now and then. He was young, possibly their age and his curly hair was braided in gold, much like the mans beard. "You've come at possiblity the worst time of the year to look for a room, just so you know. It's the festival, this weekend." As he walked closer all Tom could smell was chamomile and Magic.

"How do you know we are not here for the festivities?" Was Orion's knee jerk reaction to ask.

"I can just tell by the look on your faces." The stranger said, rolling his eyes. He had not taken his eyes off Tom. "Come, we'll have to ask The Kindly One if he has any rooms left."

 

He did not, in fact, have any rooms left, but was kind enough to point in a map of the Alley possible places where they may find accomodations good enough to suit their tastes.

"Well, good luck with that." The boy that had accompanied them said with finality, turning on his heel and disappearing on the crowd outside.

"Much help he was." Muttered Orion, glaring at the map on his hand and cursing himself for wearing the new leader shoes his mother had gifted him. They were already killing his feet.

"Well, he got us a starting point. And a map. And now Tom can fuck off wherever he wants to go and let us find somewhere to sleep." Tom whipped his head around from where he was watching the shops with greedy eyes.

"I was not about to leave you."

"You totally were." Said Abraxas.

"Definitely." Responded Orion, just to be contrary.

They did end up finding a place with three rooms available. Definitely overpriced and old and nestled in a side alley, but after walking and asking all day it was the best they could find.

The bar keep, a tall woman with greying hair and kind blue eyes had taken one look at their tired faces and told them the best place in the alley to eat was just around the corner, away from the bursting main street and sort of a hole-in-the-wall type of gig. They offered entertainment too.

"Tell the man manning the door that Old Oma sent you, he'll let you right through without paying a single coin." Her speach, much like every person's they had come across was accentuated. But her's where a different kind of accent, words more brusque and chipped, but kind none the less.

"Is it a private thing?" Abraxas couldn't help but ask.

"It is sort of a word of mouth kind of thing, yes. If you didn't know about it, you wouldn't even be able to see the bar. The man at the door is just assurance, they would let anyone who knows in, at the right price of course."

"Is it a Fidelious, then?"

"Nothing of the sort, boy. Much simpler magic. Now, off you go."

Orion looked at his feet and let out a groan.

"I think I'll just head in, my feet are killing me."

"Actually, I'm heading in too. I feel like I'm going to pass out standing up and that won't be fun for anyone." Abraxas took his key from the counter and pocketed it. He took one look at Toms face and knew it was a lost cause. "Come, Orion. Let's let wander boy fly away." They both snickered as they ascended the wooden stairs.

"Fine companions, those too" said Oma, a big grin on her wrinkled face.

"Don't you tell me." Tom sighed, resigned to exploring the alley alone but not discouraged. It wouldn't be his first time alone in a magical city, much less one where he couldn't tell left from right and up from down, even with a map in hand.

The little hole in the wall bar, was not, in fact, just around the corner. It was more like this: two lefts and one right, up a flight of stairs that led to another side alley and at the crusp of two streets. He had to ask directions thrice, the first two times the locals had looked at his like he had grown a second head, and the third a man had taken pity and took him aside from the stern looking woman he had been trying to get directions from.

"It's just off the corner, you can't miss it" he had said.

You can't miss it muttered Tom under his breath, cursing both the old woman at the small inn and the man on the street.

But, just as he was about to give up he had quite literally stumbled across the building. It was surrounded by fairy lights, vines creeping up the walls and moving in the night breeze. A string instrument could be heard from the outside, the big windows were open wide even if the stained blue glass couldn't let Tom discern how many people where inside.

A big sign stood proud above the door, The Hallow it read, in big bold golden letters half dwarfed by the leaves of a crawling ivy.

A man stood by the entrance, bored look on his face and his hands moving over what looked like a muggle puzzle made out of wood. He looked up, however, when Tom approached.

"It'll be two galleons and nine sickles." He downed, hands still on his puzzle.

"Old Oma told me it wouldn't be worth more than a penny."

He looked up and into Tom's eyes, before he shrugged as he stood aside to let him through.

Inside, much like the outside, was scarcely illuminated by floating fairy lights. Much of the wooden tables were occupied, but it didn't feel overly crowded. The ceilings of the building were tall, the multiple windows open, and the very center of the bar was barred of tables and people, a space clearly meant for performances to be had. A sole musician was sat on a low stool, strumming his guitar gently and filling the space with background music. The bar stood off to one side, imposing and big, with the same vines that hugged the walls outside intertwined with the wooden beams that supported a hanging piece where cups and glasses where held. In the back wall, an impressive amount of bottles stood stark against the dark brown woods and Tom could even discern some he had seen on his travels abroad.

He looked back to the floor plan, and decided on sitting against a window on one of the few open tables, clearly meant to house five or more people. The wooden surface of the table was rough and made to imitate natural bark, but polished and shiny non the less. Rustic, in a way. The chairs, by contrast, where upholstered, none two chairs matched another, with different cloths and textures and shapes, like they'd somehow found their home inside the little bar from different families and different countries.

The lull of conversation and the soft strumming of the guitar gave a sense of warmth unlike anything else. Tom relaxed back on his chair and was about to get one of his newer books out of his expanded coat pocket, when someone sat directly across from him. The comforting smell of chamomile hit him before he could think to look up.

It was the same boy from this morning, cheeky grin and golden beads braided in his hair. A pair of golden wire glasses sat askew on his face.

"Found the bar, did you?" Tom didn't answer and deliberately took his book out. "Oh, don't be like that" he continued with a snicker, "you won't be able to read anyways, the lights will go out in a few minutes." Up close, he noticed, his eyes were very big and very green.

"Oh?" Tom raised his eyebrows, eyes looking the boy up and down. He wore a long blue flowy coat, flowers and stags delicately embroidered in bold colours, a forest in itself, glinting even in the low light. "You work here?"

"Mhm, in a way." He answered, distracted. He looked at Tom with inquisitive eyes. He could very well be staring at his soul, from how intense his gaze was. "Your friends ditched?"

"They did, yes."

"You found accomodations, then?"

"We did. No thanks to you, by the way" The smile Tom offered was sharp and mean, about to make a pointed comment about the boy—.

"I'll order you an special. On the house, for being without company on this fine night" without waiting for an answer, the boy stood, taking the scent with him and making his way between tables with practiced ease. A waiter, perheaps? A barman? Maybe he greeted people upon entering?

He couldn't even get a page of his book open before a man dressed in black came rushing to his table, food and drink with him.

The lights did go off a couple minutes later, just like the boy had said they would. There was a shush in the crowd, and they all looked towards the center of the establishment.

The guitar was strung again, this time louder, with purpose.

A voice, off to the side begun to sing.

And then, the most spectacular thing happened: lights appeared, smaller than the fairy lights that had illuminated the room not a moment ago and began to dance. First, flat against the floor, but as the song gained speed so did the lights gain height. They swayed this way and that, before moving and condensing in one place. It took a moment for Tom to realize they were making shapes. In magic. In magic and light.

First, a knight. His sword raised in victory of a battle won; then another: dressed in long robes, young face glinting and bright, and eyes molten gold. It was a retelling of a story, sung in rhymes and shown through lights.

It was the most singular and beautiful show of magic Tom had ever seen. A testament to the whilders experience and fine control of their magic, to be able to get the smallest of details in the dance. From the knights armour, his brilliant sword breathed in dragon fire to the mages staff with a single precious stone embedded in the wood.

Then the images changed again, this time young faces greeted the crowd. A proud prince, an insolent witch. A mad king and a kind man. A lonely witch, followed by warm hands.

The song went on, a tale of two young lovers that could never be. Pride and secrets and duty to the crown. Fear and death and disloyalty followed them everywhere they went, every corner they turned. Every nook and cranny and speck of dust against them.

But, a light at the end. A dragon, a boy and a sword. A long awaited death at the hands of another; fights, and wars and magic.

Magic and love.

In the end, it was a tragic tale of two lovers.

One destined to live on, and the other destined to die.

Tom had almost forgotten someone was singing in the background, so caugh up in the tale he almost jerked when the light show came to and end.

Some witches in the crowd were crying, dabbing their faces with handkerchiefs, others were staring transfixed where the lights had disappeared. Others, like Tom, were looking beyond: for the one who had created such a show.

It was, perhaps then, not a surprise to see a familiar face sitting behind the musician. He was holding his wand in one hand, a small book in the other. He was smiling, even if his face looked sad.

"We beging strongly today, sorry folks" his voice was as melodic as it was but a moment ago: a fact that had flown over Tom's head. "There was a request from an espectator who goes back to her home country today, to start with the Tales of Merlin. However, onto happier songs!" He stood and twirled in place, before bowing to the crowd "I'm Procyon and this fiend here behind the guitar is Mirz. We'll be yours tonight!" His smile was full of teeth and full of mischief and Tom was entranced.

He never wanted the night to end, if it meant he could watch this pretty songbird create stories out of magic and song.

 

The songs that followed were not as sad, not as profound as the first one. They were however, as one, an espectacle to witness.

In the end, when most of the patreons had already left and Tom had mostly finished his food, Procyon approached his table again.

"Liked it?" he said, wolfish grin not leaving his face. He tilted his head in an infurating way that made his curls bounce and the golden beads in his hair shine.

"I suppose it was adequate" Tom returned, smirk firmly in place.

"Ade— what!?" He almost screached, voice still rough from singing late into the night.

"Satisfactory, competent, decent—"

"I know what it means!" he whisper-shouted, trying and failing not to attract the attention of the people remaining. Laughable, considering their eyes followed him from the very moment the lights came back on. He turned, and without looking back at Tom walked right back to the bar, muttering to himself as he went "I'll fucking show you, 'adequate', the fuck does he mean adequate."

He supposed he would have to come back, after all, if this was the reaction he got out of the singer with a single comment.

He had, perhaps, enjoyed himself too much. Drunk on magic and wine and song and the pretty eyes of a man possessed.

Of course, his night didn't end there.

He lost himself on the way back, map firmly in the back of his mind as he tried to make sense of the winding little streets and side alleys in the dim light of the moon. There were much fewer people now, and Tom was feeling too full of magic and satisfaction and full of himself to ask for help.

In the end, it took nearly half an hour to realize he was walking himself in circles in the darkness, and another to find the little stairs he had taken up the side street.

By the time he made it safely to his bed, he was dead on his feet both from the portkey they had taken to Romania and the long day of walking up and down small hills. However, no matter how much he twisted and turned on the dark sheets his mind wouldn't shut off, and kept going back to sights of green and gold.

Sleep was a long time coming.

After an unproductive day following Abraxas around, looking at silks and cloths and embroidered tapestries Tom went back to the bar. It was easier to find this time, even in the moonless night.

He went back the next night.

And the next.

He kept dreaming of songbirds and tanned hands and green forests.

(OR, because yes, there is indeed more) run to show that love is worth running to on AO3, 27k, completed, so much fluff, magic in an ancient city, festivals and murder

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Keepsafes

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: AU where Martha and Thomas survive, and they adopt the batkids.

Chapters: 39/?

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Harvey Dent, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Relationships: Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne/Alfred Pennyworth, BruHarvey, BruTalia

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Angst, Alfred Pennyworth Knows All, Bruce Wayne Only Has One Child, Bruce Wayne is Not An Only Child, Bi Bruce Wayne

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Cassandra

Bruce sat on the phone, letting it ring until a woman answered. “How did you get this number?” the woman asked. 

“Sandra?” Bruce questioned in reply. “It’s Bruce.” 

“Sandra died with Carolyn. I’m Shiva now,” she answered. 

“Carolyn’s dead? I—. I think we have her daughter,” Bruce replied. Silence followed. “Not her daughter?” 

“I gave birth to her. Why would you think she belonged to one of us?” Shiva questioned. 

Bruce sighed. “Because of how she fights… And she smiles like Carolyn. You don’t want to see her?” Bruce asked.

“No. Where is her father?” Shiva questioned. 

Bruce lay back on his bed. “I don’t know. My mother found her by herself in Dakota City… What’s her name?” Bruce asked.

“If David Cain didn’t name her, she has no name. I haven’t seen her since she was born nine years ago, but if you have her, you should know he’ll come for her,” Shiva warned him. 

Bruce opened his mouth, but his breath caught as he looked up and saw the nameless girl playing with one of his anatomy models by pulling out the organs. “David? When did—? David Cain?” Bruce stammered. Bruce knew him well. He spent a summer training under David, but he was told not to return because he lacked the spark David was searching for. No killer instinct . “Are you sure?” 

“Yes. I’m sure,” Shiva answered sharply. “I hope you’re ready for the trouble that comes with her. If you choose to keep his weapon, know that he’ll be coming for her.”

“Is my family in danger?” Bruce asked. 

“It depends on how badly he wants his daughter back. Goodbye, Bruce… And do not ask me about her again,” Shiva replied before hanging up. 

Martha knocked and stood in the doorway. “Were you right?” Martha asked.

“It’s complicated. For now, keep her inside, and we’ll call her Cassandra,” Bruce replied.

“Her mother—?”

“No. She never had a name. Now she does,” Bruce interrupted. 

Martha softened. “How’d you come up with that?” Martha questioned.

“Her aunt Carolyn passed and Sandra used to be her mother,” Bruce explained. Cassandra ran up to Martha and took her hand. 

“That’s such a thoughtful name,” Martha whispered. 

** 

Thomas sat at his desk around two in the morning when he looked up and noticed Cassandra staring at him from the corner of the room. He took off his glasses and picked her up. “Why aren’t you in bed, sweetpea?” Thomas asked. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s strange sleeping in a new place, but I promise you that everything will be alright.” 

He carried her upstairs to the first bedroom on his right, and he pulled the blankets back. Cassandra pressed her cheek to his. “Okay, time to go—. Right. Language.” Thomas bent forward to put her down, and she wouldn’t let go. Thomas surrendered and sat on the bed, reclining. He kicked off his slippers and got comfortable. He grabbed a book from the nightstand, patted her back to get her attention, and she lay beside him, looking at the pictures. “No harm in a bedtime story.” 

Thomas moved her hair out of her face and took her hand, tracking the words with her finger. “ Goodnight Moon , by Margaret Wise Brown. Pictures by Clement Hurd,” Thomas read aloud before turning the page. “In the great green room…” He stopped for a moment and looked at Cassandra, and she was staring up at him. She pointed to the book, and he nodded. “There was a telephone…” Thomas made a ringing noise like a house phone, and he held his fingers up to his ear like a phone. “Hm… It’s for you.” Thomas held the pretend phone up to her ear, and she took his hand and put it back on the book. Thomas chuckled as he continued to read. 

When he read the last line, he closed the book and looked at her. She furrowed her brows and put his finger back on the book. “It’s over, Cassandra. All done,” Thomas replied as he yawned. “You have—.” She opened the book and pointed to the words. “One more time, and you have to go to sleep.” Thomas pantomimed sleep before starting to read all over again. By the middle of his fourth read, he looked down, and she lay with her eyes closed and her fist tightly shut around Thomas’ shirt. 

**

Dick sat at the foot of Bruce’s bed while doing his homework. “Bruce? Did I spell this right?” Dick questioned. Bruce looked up and reached for Dick’s notebook. 

“Did you pick French because Dad and I are fluent?” Bruce questioned. 

“I thought it’d be fun… Lied to myself, though,” Dick replied, “What’s up with the new girl and Dad? She’s been following him around ever since she got here.”

Bruce pulled a photo album out of his bedside drawer. “This is a photo album from my time traveling.” Bruce flipped the pages as Dick crawled to the head of the bed to sit beside him. Bruce pointed to a picture of himself with Carolyn at a little table, and they were laughing. 

“Is she your—?” 

“No. I was fifteen when this picture was taken. I don’t know how old Carolyn and Sandra were, but they weren’t kids. Carolyn is the one who died. She wasn’t as good a fighter as Sandra, but she was still leagues ahead of most people. Her twin is Cassandra’s mom,” Bruce explained. 

“And you know that, how?” Dick questioned. 

“I talked to her. And depending on how badly her father wants her back—. I’ll just say keeping her won’t come without its problems,” Bruce confessed. 

Dick hugged himself. “Her dad wants her? What’s the problem there?” Dick questioned.

“He might favor Dad in a few ways, but he lacks all the paternal instinct and tenderness that Dad has. She can’t return to him. It’s not fair—.”

“Who’s to say she isn’t dangerous?” Dick asked. 

“I say she isn’t,” Bruce replied. 

“Why are you protecting her?” Dick questioned, sparking a bit of rage in Bruce. 

“Why aren't you? She’s a child in a dangerous situation just like you were,” Bruce sharply answered, “I don’t regret being your older brother for a minute. Now it’s time for you to be an older brother because you don’t have a choice.” 

Alfred walked past their open door. “Alfred? What are you doing up?” Bruce asked. 

“Looking for Thomas,” Alfred replied.

“I think he’s in his office,” Dick suggested.

“I checked his office,” Alfred answered, “I think I know where he might be. Goodnight, Master Bruce. Goodnight, Master Dick.”

“Goodnight, Alfred,” Dick and Bruce answered at the same time. 

**

After a month passed, Bruce stopped by Harvey’s apartment and greeted Gilda. “Hi, Bruce. Are you staying for lunch?” Gilda asked. 

“I’d like to stay all day if that’s alright,” Bruce answered. They kissed each other’s cheeks as a greeting. 

“Music or TV?” Gilda asked. 

“Movie please,” Bruce replied as he wrapped his arms around Harvey’s waist. 

Lips brushed softly against Harvey’s neck as he squirmed and giggled. “Gilda, do you have everything you need?” Harvey questioned. Bruce let go and watched as Harvey ran the back of his hand against her cheek. “Still warm?” 

“I’m fine. I’ve got my pistachio ice cream, and my little strawberry syrup, and I’m gonna paint my toes while I watch my little science fiction movies. I’m set… Go. Go have fun before Bruce explodes,” Gilda replied. Harvey kissed her cheek. 

“You are the most beautiful woman alive. Love you so much,” Harvey smiled as Bruce picked him up and carried him to the room.

[a-good-bookgirl]

I've been waiting for him. I left my door open because I knew he was coming, and my body was aching from the anticipation of being his once again. Some people might think I'm crazy, letting this stranger sneak into my house and taking advantage of my body when I'm most vulnerable, naked, half asleep. They don't know that in those moments, when I'm under his control, I feel complete the most, when I feel seen, valued. He left a little pill on my night table, with a note saying I should be a good girl and drink it. I feel my body weak, my eyes slowly closing, I noticed he entered my room some minutes ago, his face covered, all I could see was his blue eyes, he touched my face calling me a good girl before he started tying up my body, sliding his fingers between my legs noticing how ready I am for him, how wet is my center craving for his cock, for feel his lips and hands around my body, owning me. I wake up once again feeling him cum inside me, he looks at me and draw a line on my body, I know this is just the beginning of a very long night.

[novelconcepts]

for the ship ask: lotta/shauna? also, love your breakdowns of all these relationship dynamics!!

Anon, I will tell you a secret: Lottie and Shauna are my second favorite ship in the entire show. I love the LottieShauna dynamic down to my bones. It's so antagonistic, but only from Shauna's perspective; Lottie has, like, no idea about this, she's just out here trying to hand Shauna knives and throw her baby showers. When I think about how Shauna views Lottie, this figure through which she's channeling so much of her anxiety about the pregnancy--and then, after, her grief about losing the baby--vs how Lottie is just genuinely trying so hard to help, it cuts open something in me. The scene where Lottie presents herself as a physical target for Shauna to let out all her feelings on, come what may? The martyrdom of it all? WHEW. Unparalleled.

And then to look at them as adults, where Shauna is still not trusting Lottie to have good intentions--"you're gonna make me love this goat, and then you're gonna make me KILL this goat"--while Lottie's just like "I dunno, dude, I feel like it'd be good for you to care for something?" Except now Lottie's looking at her with the eyes of a woman who knows this person almost beat her to death with her bare hands once. Have they talked about that? Doubt it! Has she been sitting on that pain for 25 years? Almost certainly! They have this insane not-quite rivalry that I'm obsessed with. They're on the same page from the jump when Taissa's making her plan, and they're not on the same page at all, and Lottie can never replace Jackie like Shauna can never replicate what Laura Lee offered, but they're always finding themselves staring each other down anyway. It's so much.

[theindefinitearticle]

what you have to understand is every character in riverdale represents a genre and a class dynamic do you understand no wait come back

[that-satireguy]

radfems constantly do this condescending thing to trans men and afab nonbinary people which is like

'all women feel like that, its a side effect of the patriarchy you just have to live with it. All women want to take testosteron and pass as guys and live the life of a guy and have a male name or not be considered a girl and want to be completely seperate from the concept of gender and want to id as non-binary and...'

And then I show it to my cis girl friends and they're like

'...no?'

[raayllum]

Rayla really told Callum to choose not to save her life after he just told her that he saved her because he "didn't have a choice" and expected her request to work huh

[cryptcoop]

people on twitter will tell me that moiraweaver is OOC but ship moicy as a happy couple

[imab4dbitchucantkillme]

Fucking insane statement to make.

Maybe u should read this again and thn take ur own advice u utter muppet.

Btw if anyone wrote this about her u best believe she’d throw a piss bby tantrum and remind u she was an autistic minor once.

[menderash]

"why won't anyone in the far right conservative white supremacy and cultural obliteration fandom reblog my posts about racism and ethnic cleansing 😥"

[syrusinthedust]

Chat my current hyperfixations are meshing hear me out:

Danganronpa Despair Time Cast as Precures.