#i hate lucy stone

[urfavspacenerd]

I HATE LUCY STONE SHE IS A FAT CUNT WHO DESERVES TO BE SHAMED KUCY STANS DONT DESERVE LOVE JENDALL FOREVER KUCY NEVER LUCY STONE FANS DNI I HOPE YOUR PILLOWS ARE WARM AND YOU NEVER FIND HAPPINESS!!!

[atrwriting]

future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

this man is so fine i couldn’t help myself. i hope everyone had an amazing holiday if they celebrate — i celebrate christmas, so here is my almost 10k word christmas gift to all of you xoxo love u all v much thank you for reading !!

as always, warnings: corio-lame-o is a fucking warning holy fuck, smuuuuut, arranged marriage (i think this counts?), coriolanus is a distrustful evil fuck (but he’s super hot), fem!reader, reader is married to this dickhead (i say as if i wouldn’t want to be lmao), angst, sexism and misogyny is def in here, p in v penetration, m receiving oral, choking, dom!corio, asshole!corio, sub!reader, subspace kinda

informal warnings: bro what the fuck was i on this is literally 10.2k words and i refuse to edit because im super lazy anyway we die like men you've been warned

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

he saw it as a potential problem, one that would most definitely lead to loose ends — and he hated loose ends.

despised them.

however, his innate need to maintain an image was far more important to him. he weighed the costs and benefits in his head like an algorithm — check, check, check. coriolanus’ mind left no stone unturned, especially when future problems were to be squashed before they could ever be wiped from memory. in the end… he decided he would marry.

and it would be you.

he never allowed himself to be naive — so he would never allow himself to marry someone he already loved. lucy gray? a child’s want for something they can’t have, and something they wouldn’t realize until later that it was a walking regret. no — he could never marry someone that would harm him. absolutely not. out of the question. therefore, it had to be you.

it had to be you because what harm would you cause him? you were shy, quiet, of satisfactory social standing, and uncontroversial. everything a patriarch of the snow family would want. deserved. be entitled to.

he needed someone that wouldn’t be a problem — a loose end in the future. he had conquered so much — he refused to let anything else, especially as irrelevant as a significant other, stand in his way.

however… it did not aid him in his stone-cold lack of a love affair conquest that you were absolutely breathtaking.

at first, it was just an ego boost. he simply couldn’t stop his thoughts from voicing, of course she’s perfect. the snow legacy can only have perfect.

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

the first time he caught himself enjoying it — he scolded himself. he refused to see you for a week. a punishment of sorts. more so for him than for you. after, he refused to let his eyes wander on the pretty features of your face for him to witness a reaction to something someone had said or done. he didn’t want to be reminded of what it was like to experience joy or peace because someone else was experiencing it — that was what almost costed him everything he had built.

no one would ever tear that down. not again, not ever.

no one.

when the day of your marriage came, it was business as usual. he refused to meet eye contact, and did not partake in more conversations with you than he had to. he could tell you felt uncomfortable — but he forced himself not to care. he drove it down, down, down like a miner drilling for more coal — hoping, one day, it would be worth it.

and it was… until he was sick.

it was a minor ailment — nothing major, but he was on bedrest for about a week or two. he had employed enough adequate members to his staff to feel that things would at least be taken care of until then. he also found comfort in the fact that two weeks was not long enough for something irreversible to occur. if a problem had taken placed, he would be able to rectify it once he was well and able and… set aside the responsible party.

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

he knew you were asking to see him. he knew, he knew, he knew, but he refused to let you in. you were not disrespectful — you had only asked once a day, which happened to be every day in the afternoon. he had picked you specifically because you were too quiet to be annoying. however, his own perfect, pristine, and proper plan had stabbed him in the back. he had never considered that the perfect, pristine, and proper wife would be this dutiful to him, checking in once a day on his condition and to speak with him. despite his illness, he laughed at himself — leave it to him to not expect the expected: the hand-selected dutiful wife would, in fact, be dutiful.

he had to put an end to it. he couldn’t keep saying no for another week. how was he expected to get better if you kept bothering him?

so he let you in. this once. just this once. he reasoned that if he let you in this once, you would be less persistent. just this once — and another problem would cease to plague his mind.

just this once, he chanted in his head. just this once.

he sat up straighter, and attempted to shape his hair so it wasn’t terribly unkept. he reasoned that if you saw him appearing to be healthy, you wouldn’t feel the need to come back. he thought —

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

lilacs, of all things. lilacs! not roses, not anything else — lilacs. he did not hate lilacs, but he despised the actual flower. only beautiful for so long before it died and the stench was intolerable. an inconvenience. a nuisance. a guaranteed future problem.

however, when you gifted him with a small smile — you realized why small shows of beauty were so valuable in this world. no one else saw your smile — except for those closest to you. people he hand selected to be around you to prevent future problems. he realized then — he had more control and ownership over your smile than either of you thought.

he was so stunned by your smile he didn’t even notice the tray of tea and cakes in your hand. you took a few steps towards him and he shifted in place.

“i brought your favorites,” you spoke softly. “i know you should rest — i just wanted to ask if there was anything i could do to make your recovery easier.”

“no, thank you,” he replied, voice raspy. “i should be well in a few days.”

you nodded and offered an uneasy smile. his eyes flickered over to how once you had set down the tray on his beside, you slowly wiped the palm of your hands down the front of your dress. your eyes were cast absentmindedly in front of you, on the wall — and he could tell something was plaguing your thoughts.

he then also realized there was a book on the tray, much to his dismay.

“someone had mentioned that this was your favorite author. this was published a few days ago,” you began. “i understand that you have been experiencing headaches, and may find it difficult to read… so i wanted to offer to read aloud for you, in case you found these walls dull.”

you smiled — it was an attempt at a joke. he smiled back, but only to be polite. “today i find myself wanting to sleep. i appreciate your offer.”

you smoothed your hands over your dress once more before nodding and forcing a smile. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

you did not bid him farewell — and he found himself wondering if he was annoyed or grateful. you simply exited the room, and let the door shut softly behind you.

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

he had wanted this. the perfect wife — knowing when to take a hint and frankly, fuck off. you had done that, perfectly well — so why was he pissed?

he then found himself glaring angrily at his favorite tea cakes. the swap of sugar for honey, another one of his favorites. his favorite author, a book he was excited to read when he was better. he knew that you hadn’t asked about him — he employed people with the requirement to let him know when you were asking questions. he knew your every outward thought and concern, and sometimes even the ones that weren’t shared aloud because they were so evident on your face.

and then he realized: you noticed things like he noticed things.

however, he knew why he went out of his way to notice things, but why did you?

his jaw clenched as he glared angrily at the wall in front of him. he picked up a tea cake and chewed it aggressively, swallowing it half-intact. he coughed at the barely there food, anger rising further to his flushed cheeks.

he needed to understand how, and he most certainly needed to understand why.

he never went out of his way to get to know you, because he thought he already did. he thought he had you boiled down to one thing, and one thing only: passive. incapable of proving to be any sort of roadblock that was capable of getting in his way. now that he knew you shared something with him, what else was shared? was there something he had to look out for? was there something he missed? was he wrong about you?!

he had to know. he had to.

to do that… he called you back that evening. it was two hours before midnight, and he knew you were awake. despite having separate chambers, he knew your daily schedule. you would be reading at this moment, and he would ask you to read for him.

as if on cue, he heard a soft rapping on the wood of the door. he beckoned you in, and you entered the room. you were clad in a night dress with a matching robe over it, all pink silk. this time, he returned your smile.

"i apologize for the late hour," he spoke. "i hope you had not retired for the night."

you shook your head, your tendrils of perfect hair shaking slightly. "i was reading. i am glad you sent for me — can i get you anything?"

"i was hoping the offer to read for me was still on the table," he rasped. "i find myself unable to sleep."

you blinked once, staring at him. in an instant, a small smile was threatening to overtake your face into a large one. you cast your eyes down to a blushing manner, but his eyes narrowed slightly on your face. what would you get out of reading for him? what we he not seeing? what did he miss?

"of course," you responded. "i have not had a chance to read anything by this author. i am glad i have the chance now."

why. why. why.

he did not show his discontent. he simply rested back against the pillows as you reached for the book on his bedside table. you sat down on a chair on his side, and you crossed your legs. he eyed the small portion of the exposed, soft skin of your legs and wondered if your new ploy would be to try and seduce him. however, you quickly covered your skin with the extra material over your robe and placed the book in your lap. once opened, you read for him.

he was not listening to what you were saying, but he was listening to how you said it. the tone, the enunciation, the pauses, and the speed. he wanted to find some clue as to why you had made it a point to be at his beck and call, and he wanted to see how long the act would last until it dropped.

the act would drop. it always did.

the hour would approach midnight before he found that he could not discern anything from how you were reading aloud. his plan did not yield the results intended, as you had not broken from fulfilling his task for two hours. two hours. you had not stopped out of boredom or exhaustion, nor to talk to him. you were poised, soft, and he hated to admit it... but sweet. he found your voice sweet, and he hated it.

and he fucking hated himself for it.

he needed this to end so he could plan further. out of necessity, he yawned. if you were to apt at picking up clues, then hopefully you would believe that he was finally tired. you had succeeded in his given task, and you were free to go.

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

when you had paused to breathe, he spoke up. "I think i am able to sleep now. thank you, sweetheart, for indulging me."

your eyeline raised with your eyebrows, almost out of surprise. you either were not expecting him to ask you to stop, or you did not want to stop. he wondered which, and if that would answer his ultimate question.

"my apologies, i should've inquired sooner," you replied. "he is a very talented writer... i found myself enjoying his perspective."

you grabbed a piece or scrap paper from his bedside table, and tucked it in between the pages where you left off.

"most people would fold the corner," he remarked, eyes drifting closed — a show.

you smiled. "i didn't want to ruin the integrity of your book. goodnight, coriolanus."

she left with another smile — and all he was left with was confusion, and rage.

the next morning, he found himself wanting to call you back in for a further rouse interview. he would have if he had a plan in place.

that was the second thing about you that annoyed him: you annoyed him to the point where he wanted to act without a plan in place. a loss of control —which he was highly against.

that would have to be righted immediately.

he spent the morning reading the pages that you had already read to brief himself as if he was listening last night. he reasoned with himself that the best course of action would be to ask you to read to him again to see if you had grown comfortable enough to let a few of your true colors slip.

they always slip.

the sudden task that was presented to him gave him a new bout of energy that he needed to inch closer to recovery. it gave him the push he needed to be closer to walking out of this room and continue to run panem, and he was lost grateful to you for giving it to him — almost. at the moment, you were a problem — and that needed to be corrected. immediately.

he found comfort in control, so he was very content with routines. he had grown accustomed to bracing himself for your check-in in the afternoon. however, it did not come until the approaching hours of the evening had almost descended upon the capitol. he waited, and waited, and waited — so long that he considered asking you to come for himself. the hour would approach dinnertime when you had finally asked about his well-being, and he sent for you.

how dare you ask so late in the day, as if you didn't care? he allowed you access to his life that he had denied you for so long, and you return his kindness with carelessness? this would not do. this most certainly would not do.

you had knocked on his door, and he had to stop himself from sounding to eager. he permitted you entry, and you entered with the same soft smile.

"good evening," you greeted.

"hello," he replied, voice still raspy from his sickness.

"I wanted to ask if you need anything," you announced.

he offered a small smile. "i enjoyed our time last night. perhaps you would read for me, again?"

your eyes fell to the floor in a blush. "of course. I was hoping to read more of the book eventually. i found it intriguing."

you sat down in the chair and pulled the book in your lap. as you were opening it, he spoke, "i thought when you had not checked-in in the early afternoon you found the book dull — afraid i would ask for you to read it for me again."

you shook your head as you smiled. "i like his writing very much — i was concerned as to whether i had prevented you from sleeping the night prior, and didn't want to disturb you further."

he swallowed. "why would you have disturbed me?"

your eyes glanced upwards from the pages to rest on his face. coriolanus stared back as slight concern washed over your features, making your lips part and your eyes widen. your tongue darted out from between your lips, and smoothed over the skin of your bottom lip. you responded, "before you fell ill, we hadn't spent much time together and i understand that is because of your position — but, to be frank, i wanted to respect your space.”

your answer perplexed coriolanus. he wanted to find out what type of person you were — and your answers were not yielding the expected results. there was no obvious form of manipulation in your words, which then worried him. were you smarter than he believed you to be? were you as cunning as him? more so?

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

“i apologize my station has not granted us the freedom to get to know each other further,” he replied, holding your gaze. “it is a regret of mine.”

you smiled in an affirmative manner, like you didn’t believe him but accepted his answer anyway. this expression arose the same feelings he now detested your presence for: he acted without calculating his actions and the outcome they would produce.

“what troubles you?” he asked.

your lips parted and slightly quivered. you were not expecting him to ask.

“i-i was worried that i may not… please you,” you admitted. “that… you may regret our union.”

“you have been a kind and dutiful wife,” coriolanus spoke, eyes holding yours. “there is no regret.”

there was that affirmative smile again. he found himself hating it — wishing it would be replaced by the warm, soft one.

“i guess i was hoping that, when i was married, the marriage would be more than… a union.”

your candor shocked coriolanus. he would never have expected you to say something… so out of turn.

“please, forgive me,” you spoke, slightly laughing and waving your hand in the air. “the hour is almost late and i was hoping to read more. do you still wish me to?”

“please,” he answered and nodded.

you gave him a quick, thankful smile, and began reading.

this would be the second night coriolanus had not listened to a word you had said.

he had gotten his answer, and it was possibly as bad as the one he was actually afraid for.

you were good. pure, innocent, and your outlook on the world untainted. you were not striving to find a loose screw and let the empire fall. you wanted… to support the man who built and kept the empire together. it was worse than anything he could’ve ever imagined — you actually cared for him.

you cared for him, and now coriolanus snow was fucking terrified.

and yet... he had asked you to return to his chambers every night after that.

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

to read to him, but his goal was to learn more about you rather than the text.

you would sit there and read until he asked you to stop. when he did, you would close the book, smile at him, place it back on his nightstand, and bid him goodnight.

after, he would wrestle with the blankets and pillows in order to find out how to deal with this.

how had he not expected this?

his only fault was that he neglected to realize how far your shyness would go. you had grown comfortable with him — and you admitted that you wanted something more, something he always felt he could not give. you weren’t shy — you just weren’t open with people you weren’t comfortable with.

he should’ve known. he should’ve. fucking. known.

he didn’t know how to deal with this, if he was being honest with himself.

he told himself that he asked for you every evening to get to know you better, for his own sanity and safety; but then he began to realize he had found out everything he needed to know.

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

he saw a part of you, but now he needed to know more.

so what did he do? he sent you flowers. flowers. an arrangement of red roses and lilacs.

he hated himself for the lilacs.

he got somewhere with you when he had made the first move before — maybe this would yield more promising results.

however, it didn’t.

all he received in return was an extra tray of food that had arrived in the afternoon. his favorite tea cakes, and a handwritten thank-you note detailed in your appreciation for the beautiful flowers. you signed your name, and that was it.

she doesn’t make first moves, he thought. she responds to them.

he knew what he had to do.

he found himself feeling better that day — well enough to end his sick leave and return to his matters. dinner was approaching, and he sent for you to join him for a private dinner this evening.

he was washed, dressed, and coiffed within the hour.

he found you in the dining parlor waiting for him, inspecting his large bookcase. you were trying to reach a book a bit above where your height would allow, extending yourself onto your toes. coriolanus walked up behind you, towering over you, and retrieved the book for you.

you glanced up at him with wide eyes. “thank you, coriolanus.”

“what intrigued you?” he asked, grinning softly.

“first one i couldn’t reach. i was working my way up.” you smiled at him, and then the book. “please — you must be hungry. let us eat.”

you sat down at the table across from him. dinner manners were rather stiff and uncomfortable, but your upbringing that was similar to coriolanus’ prevented you from straying from them. you ate in silence for a few moments before you spoke.

“how do you like his new book?” you asked.

coriolanus cleared his throat. “i find it riveting. i wouldn’t have been able to read it for some time if it hadn’t been for you.”

you smiled at your plate, blushing. “his points are very interesting. i was never very interested in politics — so the insight of someone so heavily involved with them is very informative. do you find that your opinions align with his? or does he not share your perspective?”

he appreciated your willingness to engage with him about topics you weren’t very fond of. an underrated trait, not found very often — he had to admit.

“a bit of both,” he responded. “the one thing he does not discuss is how important it is to have a certain type of person or persons in your regime that allows the flow of success to continue.”

you nodded. “you have built a strong administration — i’m sure he would admire what you have to say.”

“what do you believe?” he asked. “about partnerships?”

you swallowed, contemplating your answer. “i think… a successful partnership is where everyone is complimented by another. for instance, someone is better at briefing documents rather than the presentation of them, and another is the opposite.”

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

you paused once more, folding your lip under. he realized that was a sign you were uncomfortable — unaware of how to proceed. after a moment, you answered, “i feel the most confident under a strong leader. i prefer to be behind the scenes. minute details are easier to be taken care of that way. while you and i are different, i respect you for being the strong leader panem needed. i am sure the majority would agree with me.”

now was the time.

“it is easy to be strong when one’s wife makes sure they are well,” he replied, eyes resting on your face. “i hope you know i appreciate your willingness to accept change and make sure needs are met.”

you smiled at him once more, then turned back to your food.

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

“and for being the companion i… didn’t think i would come to enjoy the company of,” he added.

you glanced up at him then, astonishment written in your eyes as plain as the words on the paper you read for him every night. “may i ask you… a question?”

he nodded.

“did you believe you wouldn’t enjoy my company before, or after you had first met me?”

“i don’t understand.”

you swallowed, clearing your throat. “were you… wary of the idea of marriage, or wary of me?”

your gaze did not break from his. you were braver than he thought.

“marriage,” he answered honestly, hoping to witness your reaction.

there was the affirmative smile — the one he hated. “thank you for — for being honest.”

your eyes didn’t wait for a response. you turned back to your food, and left him dumbstruck.

“i hope i have not displeased you,” he stated.

“no, coriolanus,” you spoke. “if i am being honest… i was wary i would not be suitable for you. if i have not displeased you, then i am well.”

“but you stated you wanted more,” he countered, tone even.

“i hoped we would… spend time together,” you answered. “and we have.”

it was coriolanus’ turn to be at a loss for words. what would this admission relay? it only solidified what he was afraid of — you wanted a marriage filled of love, and he was not prepared for that. ever.

“the flowers were beautiful,” you spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “thank you for sending them.”

“your lilac perfume is a wonderful addition to the capitol,” he spoke, unsure where this had come from. “i wanted you to know that.”

you weren't supposed to say that you weren't supposed to tell the truth you weren't supposed

you smiled at him appreciatively, that accompanied a slight twinkle in your eye. you were quick to return to eating, but coriolanus couldn’t stop staring at your face. he realized then that was his new favorite smile.

there was a moment, a small moment, where he wondered whether it would be such a crime if he did allow himself to enjoy your company more than he had. in that moment, he couldn’t think of how it would go wrong. for that moment, you were a simple, low-maintenance, beautiful woman on the other side of the table with him that just liked spending time with him — and he enjoyed that you weren’t a problem. would it so bad if he entertained the idea?

he immediately cut himself off. of course it was a bad idea.

once dinner has finished, he had requested to walk you back your chambers. if time spent together was what kept you at bay, he could manage that. he most certainly could.

when the pair of you had approached the door, you stopped for a moment and paused reaching for the handle. you spoke, “would you… like to come in?”

“not tonight,” he rasped. he gave you a polite smile. “another time.”

he watched as you blinked your eyes a few times and your lips quivered. you didn’t meet his gaze, for it fell — in what appeared to be embarrassment.

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

before you had the chance to leave, he swooped down and grabbed your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he pressed his lips to yours ever so softly, holding it there. the moment your breath caught in your throat, there was a strange feeling inside his chest that made him feel like he’d like to quell your worries by catching you off guard another time. and another. and another. and another. he couldn’t have you feeling rejected, no — not when he didn’t want to reject you. he needed heirs, sure — but they could wait. he would contemplate how long later.

once he pulled back, you smiled. inside you were bursting, and you wanted to hurry behind a closed door so he could not see your reaction. he continued to hold your chin and gaze at your face. feeling brave, you looked him in the eye as you bid him goodnight and went into your room.

you left him standing outside your door, facing its wood paneling.

what was he to do?

he wanted to keep you as emotionally far away as possible to avoid anything like this occurring. he was prepared for people who had an ulterior motive… not a young woman who only wanted to be good to her husband.

the worst part was… not every part of him wanted him to keep you away.

would it be so bad, if he had actually courted you?

you were not anyone from his past, no. you were not irresponsible and impulsive, and you could be trusted to remain within a designated role and space. you were rarely outspoken — you never strayed from your cue cards, nor did you get smart in private. you never spoke out of turn, which coriolanus always knew — this was just the first time he was more turned on than he was just grateful.

he reasoned a reward was in order.

he found his knuckles wrapping on the door before he could stop himself.

the small movements inside your apartments stalled for a moment, pulled taut like a string in an instrument. he could picture you — standing still and silent, waiting for an explanation.

then he heard footsteps approaching the door before the door handle turned. when you opened the door, the first thing he saw was your eyes.

those big, beautiful eyes that looked at him with surprise — and the slightest bit of hope. coriolanus would most likely try to convince himself that he stayed completely still to exercise a form of control over you — but deep down, he would never be able to believe that completely.

however… when you reached out with your soft, delicate hand, and pulled at his own — it didn’t matter why he did it, because he won.

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

“i would be coy and ask if we could spend time together in a... different way than usual…” you began, sighing. “but up until this moment i was convinced we would never…”

coriolanus was in no mood to quell insecurities and anxieties. he understood that words could not compare to actions, and so he would do just that.

coriolanus stepped forward, and pressed his large hands against the sides of your face. for a split moment — you almost looked terrified. he usually relished in that look from others, but with you it only made him concerned — angry, even.

“i don’t know what it is about you.” his voice was shaky. it was the first moment in your entire marriage that coriolanus had shown even a shred of weakness. “you smile, you obey, you take my transgressions like they’re fucking sweets. why?! tell me!”

your big, round eyes were blown wide as your brow was knitted together. your lips were parted in an innocent manner, and it only fueled his anger. one of your hands came up to gently lay across the back of his. “coriolanus — have you ever considered that i just wanted to get to know you?”

his eyes searched yours like they were an important document and he couldn’t believe what bullshit he was reading. his lips pursed in a manner that suggested a sour taste, and you felt your joy slipping, slipping, and slipping.

“coriolanus — if you want to go, then go.” your voice was breaking. you knew he was a cool, hard man — but this? this? it was almost too much. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t —“

he couldn’t take your nonsense anymore. he shut you up with a kiss.

he smashed your lips together like it was the first thing he should’ve done when he walked back into the room. a squeal died in your throat at the contact, but coriolanus held you there and upright. both of your hands found the firmness of his chest for balance. when he pulled away — he barely did. he kept his lips an inch away from yours as little tuffs of air pushed past. he leaned his forehead against yours, almost bonding the two of you.

“my greatest displeasure will be making you regret this,” he rasped, eyes screwed shut.

your breathing began to hasten as you contemplated your next words. you began to stroke coriolanus’ hands with your thumbs, hoping to coax him. “you say that like it’s inevitable.”

“it is not far from,” he choked through anger and sadness.

you couldn’t help but stare back at him as he almost glared at you — but then you realized that wasn’t the case. he wasn’t glaring at you — he was glaring through you. whatever traumatized him, whatever made him so distrustful of the world around him and the people in it… you realized then that you represented all of that to him. you had to be different. you had to show him that you were different than all of that.

“i’ve trusted you,” you whispered, almost pleading. “i would like for you to try and trust me. please, coriolanus… i’ve never asked you for anything — just this once —“

coriolanus shook his head, dismissing you. “it’s corio.”

he slammed his lips to yours. his kiss was that of a fight; burning with every cut of anger, frustration, desperation, and sadness in his soul. you weren’t sure if he accounted for your inexperience, but you let him lead as you swallowed all of his suffering. you knew you may never be everything you wanted to be for him — but for this moment, or for whatever he would allow — you could be his escape, and he could be yours.

just this once, you both thought. just this once.

his hands were on both sides of your face, caging you in as you were at the mercy of his bittersweet affection. you tried to keep up with him, almost afraid that you wouldn’t be enough for him — but corio didn’t care. he couldn’t have cared less as he backed you into the foot of the bed. he didn’t stop kissing you as the back of your legs hit your soft mattress, and you were forced to sit down.

with his tongue tangling with yours, you managed to lift your hands to the top buttons of his shirt. he batted your hands away and went to work on his own buttons. you reached behind for your zipper to your dress and attempted to undue it.

corio then pushed your hands away with that too — ripping the zipper down its track and pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“corio —“ you gasped through the kiss, struggling to keep up with him.

he pulled away for a short moment, staring into your eyes. “i have denied myself being with you for so long — nothing is stopping me now.”

he held the glare, and you could only stare back at him in fright. however, that was when you realized that he had felt the same way, or at least similar — you both wanted each other, and had been scared to approach the other. your heart filled with warmth, threatening to explode, but all you could do was nod.

he seemed to calm down then, glancing down towards your lips where he prodded your bottom lip with the tip of his numb. “i have wondered for so long what it would be like to kiss my perfect wife — and now that i know, i don’t think i’ll ever give it up.”

you smiled at that. “can i tell you what i have been wondering?”

his eyes met yours once more, almost a warning. you didn’t falter, though. he replied, “yes?”

“i’ve wondered what it would be like to please you,” you spoke softly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks.

his flat look broke then, softening. a smirk greeted his features and you could see his confidence in himself rise. “my lovely wife wants to please me?”

“yes,” you spoke, holding your breath. “if you’ll let me.”

bright and striking, flames of mischief came to light in his irises. emotions of excitement and fear rose within you, and you weren’t sure which was stronger. all you could do was watch as your strong, powerful, larger than life husband stood over you, chin raised, looking down his nose at you, as he unbuckled his belt. his pants and briefs, once around his ankles, were discarded — but you didn’t see that. you couldn’t look away from his eyes — holding you, and your gaze, in place.

it was like you were an enemy he was testing. you didn’t know what he expected, let alone what would make him happy — but you hoped his expectations were slightly lower in light of your inexperience. you swallowed the hard rock of nervousness in your throat, stood up, and gestured for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. he raised an eyebrow at you, but complied. you sat down on your knees in between his, and waited patiently for direction.

“can you…” you began. “can you teach me?”

he smirked once more. “take me in your hand.”

you bent your head lower, and grabbed him by the base. he was hard and warm in your hand as you saw him trying to fight the twitching feeling in his limbs. his muscles were tight, afraid to show weakness. you grew uncomfortable — you didn’t want him weak, but you did want him to feel comfortable enough with you to enjoy a fucking blowjob.

holding his muscle upright, you stuck your tongue out and licked around the tip of his cock. he was salty, but smelled so masculine after a long day. his scent infiltrated all of your senses and had captured your attention. it made you hungry, greedy — so much so that you closed your lips around his cock and began to suck.

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

you paled in embarrassment and fright — but didn’t allow your fear to show for long. you adjusted your tongue and lips — so that your top lip was folded under your top set, and your outstretched tongue covered your bottom set. hollowing out your cheeks, you took him into your mouth once more.

a low hum filled his chest.

you couldn’t see him, and could barely hear him — corio was being a selfish lover and not letting you know whether or not he was enjoying himself. he told you once before you were doing something wrong, so you tried to trust that he would tell you.

that was easier said than done, frankly. with your free hand, you reached up and began to massage his sack in the soft skin of your palm. the hum in his chest turned deeper and louder, and you felt his hips twitch once.

maybe it shouldn't have mattered that he wasn't vocal — but it wasn't like he was shy. you would not fault him for not doing something he didn't want to do, but it was like he was denying you that. if you were making him feel good, and he was fighting the volume of his moans — how fucking dare he deny you of that! there you were, constantly at his beck and call, and he couldn't even freely moan with you? you were obedient, quiet, grateful, everything he wanted — but this? this? too much. absolutely too much of an ask.

you had to do something.

"mr. president," you cooed, twisting your soft tongue around the tip of his cock. "you're awfully quiet above me."

he let out a laugh as he struggled to keep his composure. one of hands found the back of your head as his fingers struggled to tangle themselves in between your strands. they were tugging and pulling, but there was no strength in his grip. his grip — wouldn't catch. couldn't catch. corio, you husband — struggled day in and day out to keep the control in the capital and inside his castle. there was a part of you that believed he just needed to let go, let someone else be in control — but you were his pretty little wife after all. you had until death to try everything. losing control could wait, because tonight... tonight was about making corio the grateful one for once.

you let your loose grip run circles up and down the length of his cock. his shaft was wet and thick, begging the attention of the light from above so the skin was able to glisten. the tip of his cock, red and angry, almost neglected — never had you seen something so delicious, nor deserving of affection. your lips, swollen, wrapped themselves around the tip of his cock as you sucked. notes of salt and sweat mixed together on your tongue, and you hummed at the taste.

"taste sweet, mrs. snow?" you heard from above you. your eyes glanced up to find corio's eyes glazed over with pleasure. his eyelids were drooping over, and all you could think about how badly you wanted to make him close his eyes in bliss. your eyes watched his eyes, but his eyes watched the way your mouth sucked him in. "being so good for me. let your husband see what else you can do."

your ears perked in interest. you didn't know what he meant, but you were intrigued to see if he would teach you.

"please... show me what you like," you spoke, extending your neck as he lowered his face to yours.

"so eager to please..." he spoke, staring down at you in awe. his hand slid down for your scalp to cup your cheek. he looked into your eyes like he was studying you — searching for something surface level. a flaw, or something good... you weren't sure. "i suppose some would say i'm lucky."

you didn't like the sound of that... but you didn't let it show. you gave him a hint of a smile. "i don't think it matters what anyone else thinks. i think what matters is you telling me what you like... so you can decide if you're lucky or not."

he chuckled at that, but his laugh was reserved. always holding back, your husband. "you really want to be a good little wife for me... don't you?"

you fell into the strength behind the hand on your face and keened into his touch. his hand was warm against your skin. "please, corio... please let me."

he stood then, and your gaze raised with his body. you gazed up at him as he stared down at you. there his eyes went again — searching yours. he stood closer to you then, bending down slightly. "it would please me if, at any point, you told me to stop because of the pain. i don't want to hurt you." his voice was low and soft then, immediately striking you. "can i trust you to do that? hmm?"

"i'll tell you," you replied, nodding your head. "i promise."

"never break a promise you make to me," he warned.

you nodded your head once more, unsure how to proceed. he led you over to the side of the bed where he gestured for your to lie down. with the passing of time, you became more and more aware of how bare you both were in front of each other. you were ready to let down every fence of insecurity for the man before you... but there were still walls of his that threatened to come down. he was hot and cold every other moment, it seemed... and you weren’t even sure where to begin.

“husband,” you spoke, unsteadily, as he found his place between his legs. “you seem so… distrustful of me. what can i do? please, corio, i just want this moment to be special for us — for you.”

there his eyes went — searching yours again. it was like he was rereading a page in a book over and over, hoping to find the hidden message in the black and white scripture. his eyes, going back and forth, appeared to be looking over unclear smudges and scribbles as his lips began to purse. you almost said something — stopped him from withdrawing into himself, but he moved before you could.

he sat back against the pillows, which faced a mirror across your bed. you rose curiously, hoping that he would finally give you some direction. he simply took your hand in his, and gestured for you to come closer. “come,” he spoke.

in his lap, maybe? you thought curiously. you went to throw your leg over his, before he stopped you. with a furrowed brow, you watched as he adjusted you so your back laid against his chest.

“do as i say,” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers up and down your spine.

your eyes were cast to the side, his outline in your peripheral vision. you nodded, letting your lips fall apart. you felt one of his hands on the soft skin of your thigh, grazing upwards towards your hips. you almost let your eyes fall closed, hoping to lose yourself in the sensations, before corio stopped you.

with that same hand, he reached upwards and grasped your chin between his fingers. your eyes shot open as he moved your head to now face the mirror, and the pair of you in it.

shallow breaths were pushing past your lips as you stared into the mirror. your cheeks were flushed, your hair in a slight disarray, and your lips were swollen. with a flutter of your eyelashes, your gaze flickered towards corio’s reflection. your husband was always perfect — so even the slight persuasion from tidiness was a remarkable sight to you. his eyes were focused — unable to remain cool, calm, and collected as usual.

his eyes, you thought. his eyes will always tell me.

“you will watch,” corio spoke suddenly, voice hard. “you will keep your eyes on my hands. you stray, and i leave. understand?”

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

“yes,” you spoke, almost breathless. “i understand.”

corio’s hand then found its way to your center. the tips of his finger tips, soft and hot, lightly drew a line up and down your slit. your eyes wouldn’t leave the mirror — focused on his fingertips. it was like your skin knew every correct button to tap, tap, tap. every part of you was so sensitive, so keen to his touch that you were embarrassed. you felt so pathetic against his chest, bent to his will — but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. the voice in your head was whining and hoping you would give in, just give in, let down your guard, give in, forget manners. you wanted to keep your composure as long as possible, but when corio’s middle finger found your clit…

oh… you were done for.

one of your hands immediately snapped up to find corio’s bicep and clutch onto whatever foundation he could give. you didn’t dare let your eyes meet his, even in the mirror — what if he stopped? what, huh? what then? when you were the closest you had been ever? you couldn’t allow yourself to be greedy, not when he was being oh, so selfless.

the circles he was drawing taunted your ability remain calm. he rolled your tiny clit underneath the weight of the tip of his finger and pressed down with every circle. it pushed, and pulled, and fucking pried at every fiber of your being. you could only force yourself up and back against corio, whining like a pathetic mess.

“running away from me, my sweet?” he whispered in your ear. “when i’m being so kind?”

his words bit at your ear, reminding you of your position in his world. your eyes were threatening to drift closed, hoping, praying, that corio would let you slip this once from your responsibilities. naive, you were, to believe that.

“remember our deal, wife,” he darkly cooed in your ear. “one request was all i had. i refuse to be denied it.”

“i know, i know…” you whined, rolling your hips with his hand. “it just feels so good, corio… i’ve never… no one’s ever…”

“i can tell you never knew how bad your body would crave it,” he spoke, nipping at your earlobe. “even your pussy obeys me, drenching my fingers. too sweet for this world, aren’t you?”

“just wanna be sweet for you, corio,” you whined as your vision began to blur.

the approaching orgasm was anything but a warm and fuzzy feeling around you. it was hot and jagged — making your muscles jerk, yet force your hips to roll into every movement of corio’s. the cloud over your brain felt like a warm haze of the finest whisky or tobacco the capital could offer. you were numb, drunk, and unable to process the world around you unless it was corio. his touch, his taste, his scent, his look, his orders… everything was setting you off and keeping you in place all at once. your body was hot to the touch, feverish as it tried to fight your sophistication and just fucking —

“that’s it, sweetheart. so focused on the mirror you can’t even find the strength to let go for me,” he spat, pressing a kiss to your cheek and breathing in your scent. “ride my hand like the good girl you are. you wanted to show me, remember?”

tears were brimming your eyes and blurring your vision. your teeth were gritted and bared for him. one of his hands came up to loosely grasp your throat as your hips began to spasm. it was so much, too much, so much —

“corio, please —“ you cried. “please let me look away. i can’t — i have to cry, i can’t —“

there was no softness in his movements against your aching clit. corio had now employed two fingers to dip into your core, collect your slick, and rub it along your sensitive bud in harsh circles. it sent your mind through a suffocating tube and gasping for air. you were begging, pleading — unsure what would happen if you were denied the ability to finish in peace. you began to cry in frustration and fear, so sensitive to the touch and his approval.

“corio…” you whimpered. “please, please let me…”

“do it,” he spat, holding your throat and kissing your face. “show your husband how fucking messy you can be for him.”

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

it was like a rollercoaster. twists and turns, yanking your body every which way. corio’s body rocked with yours as the sensations climbed and fit into every single one of your limbs. your lungs, burning, were screaming for air as you tried to fight for consciousness. the world was white, milky, foggy — unable to navigate, let alone exist in. all you could feel was corio’s body moving with yours and coaxing you through the most insane moment of your entire life.

tears fell down your face, and you struggled to conceal it. corio refused to let you hide from him. he bent his face low to yours and pressed the side of his face against the side of yours.

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

“i know, sweetheart,” he cooed. “so good for me, weren’t you? asking so obediently and politely.”

you nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “i’m sorry that i was —“

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

you clenched your jaw. “i was — i am — i’m worried i was too much — i was so — out of control —“

he shut you up with a kiss. coriolanus snow refused to allow you to continue, or else he knew he would be offended if he had let you finished.

“i wanted that,” he stated. “every bit of that. what, you don’t find it agonizing to be prim and fucking proper every day?”

you laughed uneasily, a bit spooked by his outburst of aggression. “i thought you — i thought that was what you wanted from me.”

he shook his head. “out there — it’s necessary. in here, when it’s only the two of us? don’t ever hide yourself from me. you must promise.”

you swallowed as your haze began to disappear. “only if you promise the same."

you saw his jaw pulse from the corner of your eye. “i promise.”

“i promise,” you returned.

you quickly reconnected your lips. you couldn't let the moment slip away. you needed to seize him while he was there — trusting you for the first time in your entire relationship. you found both of your hands on the side of his face and held him to you. corio fought for control, but you gave in immediately. the need for him to need you was stronger and more satisfying that anything else you could've experienced in that moment. you turned around, straddling his lap and pushing him down to the bed.

everything you were doing was improper: grabbing your husband, forcibly kissing him, sitting in his lap, pushing him down... you almost stopped. you almost gave into the insecurity and made friends with with meekness and shyness once more. however, you made a promise — and you intended to keep it.

"i want you inside me, corio," you whispered against his lips. "please, i want to feel you —"

"again, sweetheart?" he ripped himself from your lips to grunt out his teasing. "one taste, and you're addicted?"

you hummed approval against his lips, tangling your tongue with his. with one hand on the back of your head, holding your face to his, corio's other hand fished between the pair of you and grasped his leaking cock in his hand. the tip was red and swollen, aching for some stimulation or attention. he spread his precum over his tip and with a firm hand, corio slid his cock inside of you.

you arched your back away from corio. the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside of you bent your attention in every which was. both of your hands cradled the back of his head into your chest, where he found himself nestled between your breasts. his breaths were hot and heavy, moist against your skin. his swollen lips found one of your perky nipples and sucked it into his mouth, caving to his primal urges. coriolanus snow wanted every part of you for himself, and needed to place that claim on every part of your body. he wanted your thighs to shake and ache from being locked around him, your fingers to tremble from your hard grip, and he wanted your lips to be bruised from how hard he made you bite them. and, most of all, he wanted every loud moan to rip itself from your aching throat and fill the perfectly painted walls of this damned room.

he cursed you when you threw a hand over your mouth, and he immediately ripped it away. "don't you fucking dare," he spat.

you ignored him. he was your husband, and he was the scariest man you would ever meet, and yet you ignored him. most of all, your hips ignored him. they began to roll against his own the best they could for their inexperience. up, down, and grinding down was the best they could manage before corio grabbed you by the flesh of your hips and moved you to his liking. and when your mouth parted and a loud cry made your throat shake when he twisted your hips forward, he knew he found the spot.

"do not ever deny me what i am owed," he spat, fucking into that spot that wrapped a tight band around your abdomen. "i want to hear how good i am making you feel, and i will. i get to hear. those are mine. i am owed those."

again, you ignored him. what did he expect when your eyes began to roll back into your head and you began to match his pace? you were close, you were so, so close...

that was when corio grabbed you by the chin, refusing to let up his pace. his eyes were full of darkness, yet focus. like he had found his prey. you tried to focus, tried to give him the respect the deserved... but you couldn't. your mind was swimming, and your arching cunt was dripping down his length and onto the skin of his pelvis. you were lost. so fucking lost.

"yours, corio!" you whined. "all yours. only yours."

his voice was gruff against your lips as his thrust became rougher. "say it again."

your eyes began to drift closed as you leaned your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips against his. his cock had found its way to the most sensitive and purest part of you and ripped down every wall you had. you sobbed, "yours, corio. only yours."

corio threw you off of him and your back hit the bed. he was on top of you in an instant. he threw your legs up and pressed them against your chest. with your ankles on his shoulders, he pushed himself inside of you and began to relentlessly punish your perfect fucking pussy.

"mine, you got that?" he spat against your ear. "i have watched you, day after day, put on this fucking act! perfect and proper — but i made a proper whore out of the most desirable woman in the capital, didn't i? and now she's mine — forever warming my bed."

"forever, corio," you whined. your sobs were music to his ears, going straight to his cock. your cunt was raw from the friction and slick, unsure if corio should stop or keep going — but you didn't let him guess. "inside me, corio, please... want it to bad. been so good for you..."

his hand was around your throat and demanding your attention. "as if i'd waste a drop when every man in the capital would be able to see you round with my child. you want that wife? my seed, my child? you want to be fully claimed by me?"

"yes," you cried, tears falling down your cheeks. "give it to me, husband, please —"

corio reached down in between your hips and rubbed your clit with whatever energy he had left. his thrust were growing sloppy, but his movements against your swollen bud were worse. he was hissing in your ear as he continued the assault against you. your moans were loud as they escaped your lips and filled the room, setting corio's skin on fire. sweat dripped down from his brow and down his neck to mingle with yours as your second orgasm of the evening began to approach. it snapped the rubber band in your lower belly and you immediately sobbed into corio's neck. his hips continued to rut in you, forcing you down onto the bed as he swallowed all of your sobs for himself. your nails dug into his back and down his spine, hoping to rip parts from him that he had taken from you.

when corio came, you were in a stupor. cock drunk with your mouth hanging open, dazed. when corio came, one of his hands grabbed your messy pile of hair, wrenching at the roots. he pulled you to the side to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as he pumped your cunt full of his cum. your walls were hot and sticky, full of him, but it only caused the most sickeningly warm feeling to spread throughout you. every primal need of yours was satisfied, and corio could see every bit of it on your face. the pride that welled within your husband... shameful. no man should be in possession of such an ego boost like making the prettiest, more desired woman in all of panem break from all bounds of social etiquette. you were warm, and wet, and craving every bit of his touch, so he couldn't deny you... not anymore. not when he felt the same. with each sob that left your mouth, he felt a kick in the pit of his stomach as his balls throbbed. never in his life had a woman ripped from him what he had taken from her, cheeks hot and muscles worn out.

he would regret it in the morning, maybe, but not now. no — not now.

"husband, forgive me, but..." you spoke. "my mind is a mess. i don't think i can read to you this evening."

corio rolled his eyes and laughed. "that good?"

you pressed a kiss to his lips as you hummed in approval. "never wait that long to bed your wife again."

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

love u guys sm sorry it was so long ty for reading love u love u love u

-L xooxoxooxox

[reminiscingtonight]

Betrayal Of The Worst Kind

Leah Williamson x Bronze!Reader

Word Count: 560

[Setbacks Masterlist] // [WOSO Masterlist]

Leah’s not really sure what to do. 

You’re mad. 

Like steam coming out of your ears mad. 

Like stone faced, clenched jaw, pacing so much the carpet’s going to wear down mad.

The only upside to all of this is that you’re not mad at her. 

“I cannot believe this! How could you do this to me?”

Despite being older and bigger and so much more intimidating, Lucy’s hunched over, the amused look on her face long gone and replaced with a mix of guilt and exasperation. 

“Look, I’d get it if you stayed away and never came back home to play. But coming back to England to play for Chelsea?! You’re so lucky mum’s not here in Ibiza with us or she’d disown you herself!”

You were surprised when you heard that Lucy was departing Barcelona. She told you only a couple days before the news broke, when all negotiations finally broke down with the club. You knew how hard it was for her to leave, your sister having had her mind set on retiring somewhere in the Spanish sun after her days of playing football were long done. 

But Lucy’s nothing if not ambitious, so it made sense that she’d be shopping around at other teams while she still could. What didn’t make sense is why your sister hated you enough to go play for a direct rival. 

“If you hated me that much you should’ve done a better job dissuading me from playing football when I was growing up.”

“I don’t hate you,” Lucy sighs, rolling her eyes when you glare at her.

“Did I say you could speak?” Leah has to muffle her snort when you spin on your heels again. “What did Ona say about this? Surely your girlfriend has thoughts about you joining the dark side.”

It’s a valid question. Not only are Chelsea a rival with Arsenal, they’re technically rivals in the Champions League with Barcelona too. Hitting two birds with one stone your sister.

When Lucy doesn’t respond, you snag a pillow off the bed, cocking your arm back as a threat.

“Well?”

“Oh, now I can talk?”

The cushion smacks her right in the face. 

“Okay. You’re asking for it.”

Leah’s left to gape as Lucy lunges forward and throws you over her shoulder in one swoop. The defender simply holds you hostage in the air, not letting you down even as you kick and hit at her. 

“Let me down you giant oaf!”

“Not until you say you’re sorry.”

“Leah! Do something!”

Lucy turns around, making direct eye contact with your girlfriend. 

Leah gulps. Not only could the older woman very easily take her out, Lucy also has the opportunity to ruin the plans they’ve been making for over a year now. More explicitly, a very expensive, ring involved, secret plan.

Lucy had her in her pocket and they both knew it.

“I-- er-- put my girlfriend down… Please?” 

Lucy smirks just as you let out a loud gasp of outrage. “Williamson I swear to god! What kind of defense is that?”

When the group of footballers get together for dinner later, they’re met with the sight of a very amused Lucy and Leah trying her hardest to grovel for your forgiveness.

Safe to say, by the end of the night, Lucy’s betrayal is the last thing on your mind.

[xoxo-surfergirl]

dawn of winter

aemond targaryen x fem!stark!reader

abstract: just moons ago, the realm was at peace and you were stealing kisses with aemond in the red keep. now, the dance of the dragons has begun, aemond has arrived at winterfell knowing your brother would bend to rhaenyra, and nothing feels certain. themes: winter vibes, lovers to enemies to lovers, light smut, romance, angst (because they enemies!), forbidden romance if you squint, hand stuff, you are lady stark, aemond goes for what he wants, the northman not being happy abt it

lucy's notes: ao3 link. just a little something for the new year :) the north is cold and that is my holiday connection 😤 (that's what i'm telling myself because I really wanted to write SOMETHING for this time of year but didn't fully know what). jacaerys did not leave for his mission quick enough and aemond beat him to winterfell 🫢 cregan still hates him tho. and since aemond didn't go to the stormlands lucerys lives too. this will probably be a one shot, though I started a short epilogue which might be posted. it's just an excuse for romance and vibes. i hope you enjoy this story! any interaction is deeply appreciated <3

word count: 7.2k

What little sun there was fettered a white glow in the ever-churning snowfall. The winds of winter had begun their journey south from beyond the wall just a few moons ago, but their strength had built furiously since then. The treetops hadn’t seen a pale morning’s dawn in over three moons, and the wolf’s choir had grown in numbers near Moat Cailin. The elders of Wintertown had spoken of a harsh winter then, noting the heavy fog in late summer, thicker tails on the burrow rats, and tougher skins on the onions. 

It had certainly come. The storm that had hung low over Winterfell, carrying all the way from Castle Cerwyn to Deepwood Motte, had settled thick winds and heavy snows on every stone, tree, and fort. And to mark the special occasion, the Great Hall of the castle would be set alight for winterfest. 

All families of bannermen were being called to share in the centuries honored tradition of hosting a great feast and celebration in honor of the coming snows. And, as happenstance may have it, there was urgency to discuss the matter of succession in the south. 

As if the usurpation of your Queen wasn’t enough, unexpected guests had descended upon Winterfell. One of which had bronze wings as wide as a small keep, and another bearing a halo of Targaryen silver hair. 

Upon your return home, you had dreamed of a moment like this: Vhagar bared in the snow, each frozen flake blistering against her scaled skin. A mountain of her own, even the closest ground to her steaming from her eternal heat. 

But things were not as they were those moons ago, hands and touch lingering under the beat of the southern sun. The water there had been warm enough to swim in, ankles brushing against the lapping tongues of the break and toes worming through the sand. There was no snow, and the realm was united. 

The men had armed themselves at the sight of her shadow, hands gripping their weapons tight. Movement in the castle was always a flurry of feet, but now all were either frozen or frenzied at the arrival. All the feelings of summer pooled in your belly, the taint of winter now upon them. Shouts of men filled the battlements, calling for the warden of the north to meet the crown prince of the realm, the unspoken part following in silence: brother to the usurper. Your belly sank, dragging your heart with it. 

Any pleasant thoughts of Aemond’s arrival had long faded the moment a raven had arrived from White Harbor. Things were different now. Vhagar’s proximity to the gates of the castle had to be an intentional act of dominance, her wings spread to their fullest length in a show of size and prowess. The thought certainly soured things more than they already were. 

Men in heavy blue wools and leathers ran past you, gathering at all posts. Servants gathered the young children and corralled them inside. Your feet caught on the ground, unsure whether you should run or join the entourage gathering to meet him. Watching from above, you could see the doormen heeding orders to open the gates to the castle, hesitation in their every crank of the pulley for what awaited them on the other side. As the gate lifted, so did what felt like your last defenses, no matter how meager they felt against a dragon. 

The Umbers and Flints flanked your brother on their exit from the Great Keep, and you knew you must act now. It calmed you to watch them: each northman walked with pride, furs sitting as a second skin against their long dark hair. It was a show of strength you needed, though you were sure you were not alone. 

Your boots clicked in a scurry down the steps of the battlements, pushing hurriedly past any servant or workman that stood in your way. Ultimately, you decided that if Aemond did have any care left for you, your presence might de-escalate any arising tension. By the time you had entered the courtyard, the east gate had opened and Aemond stood as one against many in greeting. 

A black fur sat wide on his shoulders, but the large cloak that fell beneath it hardly concealed the hilt of the swords he carried at each hip. He looked every bit as lethal as his dragon’s head rearing over the gates. Your heart ached against your rational judgement at the sight of him, and you slowed your movements. 

A figure made in the image of Gods, you were sure of it. Imagining his silver hair and sharpness in your mind’s eye did no service to the beacon of beauty he was in the flesh. For a moment, it was summer again, and your stomach bubbled in cheerful anticipation and not caution. 

Tentatively, you emerged from behind your brother’s side, snow crunching lightly beneath your boots. The moment he noticed you, the air turned warmer. 

“My Lady Stark,” he bowed to you, his eye fixed loyally to yours. 

It was beneath him to honor you with a bow. Your belly twinged at the thought of him being so brazen, and the eyes that gazed upon you with a new peculiar interest. 

The formalities felt foreign and out of place, but arising more suspicion with familiarities felt worse. “Prince Aemond, I welcome you to my home.” 

Before another word could be spoken, Cregan placed a firm hand on the back of your shoulder. “The prince is here to talk over some official matters. Come, let us get warm inside.” 

Introductions were passed away from you, Cregan continuing his tight lead on your shoulder. 

Northern furs suit him quite well, you thought.

—

The sun had long descended over the hills, the icy night’s breath beyond the wall welcoming anyone who stepped outside. The Great Hall was adorned in pine wreaths and winter berries, and cedar cones and noble fir dressing for the festivities. Candle holders layered upon another to flay light across the walls, the wax of days upon moons dripping down the sides of the holders like heavy icing on cakes. 

It felt like ages since all of the Stark bannermen had been together, and old friends across families traded stories and card games over spiced ale and honey mead. The raucous had already begun, the succession crisis and Aemond’s presence be damned. 

But you were less immune than the others to southron matters. If it was any other night, you would have abandoned your seat to join the Mormonts the moment dessert had been served. You had hardly flinched from your seat, Aemond sitting on the other side of Cregan. 

It wasn’t just you that struggled to enjoy the festivities. Rickon sat solemnly, and though you couldn’t see her, you could feel Alysanne’s itch from across the table. In your memory, there had not been a sup as tense as the one before you now. Not even during the most raucous moments of Bennard’s regency. 

From what you could see, Aemond sat chin up at your brother’s right hand in the Great Hall, daring to meet the eye of anyone who looked directly at him for too long. 

Did he remember? Joining in the merriment felt far as Aemond’s closeness held your mind and heart in the great bind that you had all fallen into at the defiance of Aegon’s coronation. Between the warmth of your southron days in a peaceful realm and the uncertain tidings of the inevitability of your families splitting across enemy lines, your stomach turned at the matters in Aemond’s head. 

Cregan stood, the jolly room following the attention of their liege loyally. “Prince Aemond Targaryen has graced us with his presence for our winter festivities.” 

“The honor is mine to be in the north at such an important time.” At his own recognition he stood, raising his cup. 

“Hear, hear!” Cregan cheered, the tension in his jaw visible to no one but you. Cups flew in celebration, horns clattering and ale spilling. With a signalling of his hand, the bards began fiddling with strings and bells. 

Dismissing himself from the table in what you knew was an act meant to soothe himself before he swung Ice at the nearest unlucky post, your brother stepped down to greet the Reeds. Mulled wine danced in your cup, the dark purple echoing cinnamon and anise. There was now nothing between you and Aemond besides the empty chair of the head of house Stark. The hearths were lit—the giant towering stone was hardly cold—but there was no stopping the twinge of a shiver. 

So many words had been shared before Aegon had stolen the crown, and you wondered if he remembered all of them. It had been moons since you had seen each other last, and there was no promise of what played in his intentions anymore. 

Your mouth was in front of your head. “These are curious times, but winter comes anyway. The one force we must all bow to.” 

“And you celebrate instead of damning it?” 

You had imagined begging the gods to bring you two together again. But winds can switch within weeks, days even. It was a child’s folly, or a wish upon a monkey’s paw—you couldn’t decide which. 

“Aye, we do. The longer nights, nature calls us to rest and gain our strength,” you paused.  “We could stare at it for the death it brings, but it’s more than that.”  

“Hmm,” his eye washed over the scene below: jubilant dancers shedding their furs, others shoving their faces with cranberry roast goose while the songs bounced in the high halls of the winter kings. There was a carefree nature of your fellow northmen that you had never seen in the south, and you wondered if the warmth built up more layers than it shed. 

“I know you southerners don’t understand our ways. I’m sure this is very new to you.” 

He turned, eye dancing over your face. “I find it interesting.” 

Dragons rarely came north. Aemond stood lone. 

Perhaps it was the merry presence of all those you loved dearly, or the choke of death you could sense from miles away, but the distance between you and Aemond felt treacherous. Or worse, traitorous. 

You met Aemond’s eye. For so long, he had been a figure in your mind, his presence almost a hypothetical. He existed in a warmer land, one where the sun and sea sparkled off of one another and the dirt sprouted grass and red brick rose the heights of the cliffs to the heavens. Crisis in the south were always so far away, great rivers and mountain passes requiring over a moon’s journey lying between. But he was here now: skin flickering in the flames burning not for light but for warmth as well, Targaryen silver hair feathered down his back like the hands of a ghost, scar dividing his face, as beautiful as the day you had first seen him. 

He studied you just the same. Between you, wintry tunes twiddled by the practiced fingers of the musicians sung of the kings of winter, slayers of skinchangers and defenders of what lies beyond the wall, the keepers of knowledge that southerners can not begin to grasp find their home here carried through your blood. 

This was your time to share those stories, celebrate the old kings and the promise of winter’s darkness with the singers and all of those that had gathered here for what is thoroughly a northerner’s celebration. Yet here you were at an invisible crossroads with the prince of the realm who would not stand to be denied in mind or matter. His royal blood continuously pulled at you to attend as if you were still in the Red Keep and not in your very own halls. 

A Targaryen or two had visited Winterfell once, though the last was under much less grievous circumstances. Alysanne’s was the last dragon to brave the frozen lands, her and Jaehaerys on a true diplomatic mission with no threat of doom hanging over their heads. 

You lot were wolves, fur thick and jaws tight, sturdy and hard enough to endure the ice—and yet dragons cowed the winter kings. Aemond’s presence was a cold reminder of that. Dragonfire had never teased Winterfell with ash, but the threat of it lingered now like a stubborn ember in the hearth ready to erupt if a nasty draught came through. 

Cregan settled back to the table, his face stern and carrying judgement. He took his seat between you once more, dissolving your attentions.

“My father swore an oath to Rhaenyra,” he began, unbreaking of his eye contact and at a level only detectable by those sitting closest to him. “A Stark never forgets an oath. I would have assumed our reputation would be well met.” 

“I understand this, Lord Stark.” Aemond began. There was no hesitation spared from the proud dragon prince. “I simply wanted to make our stances official in the name of the crown.” 

Apprehension and distrust hung in the low firelight. The bells beat on behind the attention of the table, singers caroling the haunt of winter between the silence of the prince and the lord. 

“Your dragon may be fierce, my prince, but we will not be intimidated.” At Cregan’s declaration, you could feel the ears of the northmen sitting the closest to your table perk up, straightening their backs and harden their own faces—an assertion of pride and a foregoing of the fear that painstakingly had etched itself in their movements at Vhagar’s every grumble. 

“I do not seek to intimidate you. Only to draw our lines.” Aemond sat back in his chair, eyeing you. 

“Very well then. Our lines are drawn.” Cregan’s brow tensed, and you knew he was biting down hard in restraint. 

The singers sang their songs of winter’s past, and the promise of an eventual spring. 

—

“He wants us to see that fire breathing monster—

“He’s come to sabotage our army, or count our numbers, or—” 

“Aye, I don’t trust him. There’s something not quite right, the Targaryen madness—” 

The hour was late. Spittle had spattered across the table, fists flying, heads nodding, voices climbing higher and higher to be heard. The bards had returned to Wintertown, and all the celebration left with them. The northmen were restless, and understandably so with bellies full of too much ale and a dubious dragon prince lurking in the halls.  All you lot had prayed the days of clandestine meetings were over once Cregan took the seat of Winterfell, but it had been too soon to hope. 

Volleys of theories here or there made their rounds back and forth from all ends of the table. A pack of barking dogs was no better than the fur cloaked rowdy men who were in the heat of spitting at each other now. Cregan’s fist slamming on the wood was enough to draw quiet. “Enough. I demand order to this conversation.” 

The hounds had been admonished, tails sinking between their legs at the scolding of their master. There was a moment of reprieve, where sensibility was able to override unordered chatter. 

Satisfied with the settlement, Cregan nodded. “Aye, let us speak about this reasonably.” 

It was most prudent to speak quietly anyways, considering the halls reeked of dragon. The candle marks were ever shrinking and your energy with it into what had to be the longest night you’d endured in ages. No amount of shouting could awaken you, though you prayed a reigned conversation would allow you to slip into your chambers faster. 

Until the words spilled from Wylis Manderly’s mouth and promptly stole not only any draft of sleep in your body, but the breath in your chest as well. 

“I know why he’s here,” Manderly started. “Her.” 

It wasn’t supposed to be an accusation, but it sure did feel like one, the way it made your chest nearly cave and your defenses rise. The finger he pointed at your forehead felt like an arrow finding its target: lethal and sure of itself. The rest of the eyes at the table followed suit, curious. 

“He’s here for her.” Manderly repeated, as if his pointing wasn’t enough. 

There were very few times that you had been the subject of a council meeting, and you preferred it that way. It was no fun to have yourself torn apart and examined, no matter the purpose. Your eyes found those of your brother’s reflexively, breath catching in your throat in disbelief. 

He returned it carefully. “Explain, Wylis.” 

“His eye finds ‘ers. I know the look. He fancies her.” Manderly cocked his head. “She spent more than a few sun’s turns in the South. ‘Twas not more than about seven moons do I remember you comin’ home. Enough time to court our fine lady of the north, don’t ya think?” 

The Lord of White Harbor might as well have stripped you bare, prying each layer of your dress with his claw-like hands to leave you exposed in view of the table. It wouldn’t feel any different.

“Is it true, sister?” 

Fingers danced across your flesh, platinum hair sliding through your fingers. His thick, masculine moan vibrated on your tongue as his hands tested the weight of the flesh of your hips through squeezes and shakes. It wasn’t a sennight before that when your own fingers twirled your bud and you discreetly thought of him, despite everything. 

“Prince Aemond and I were acquainted as friends. Nothing more.” 

There was hesitancy in the way the men looked at you now, men of your own blood and land. A separation only possible between those with a cock and those without: the innate distrust that comes with the potential of reaching across enemy lines for the sake of living in a singer's tale.  If you could sink down between the floorboards, you would have. 

Cregan furrowed his brows, eyes never leaving you. “To you, maybe. The prince may feel differently.” 

A bow of your head was all you knew to do. There was no need to deny anything further and spin a mummer’s tale. Lies never sat well in your stomach, to your brother no less. 

The lords were dismissed per the late hour and the dreadful sense that Manderly was right. The back of your chair scraped along with the others, but your leave was halted. 

“Not you, sister.” 

It felt like being a little girl again, and your shoulders tensed to be scolded. 

Voice small, you obliged. “Yes, brother.”

He walked towards you, placing his hands on your shoulders. Cregan’s grey stormed eyes passed through yours in a knowing, but you dared not say a word. Once the door had shut behind the very last man, he exhaled. 

“He’s a dangerous man.” You could see the other words on his tongue, but you never heard them.

“I know.”

He held you there for a moment, and you wondered if he would tell you what was on his mind, what exactly he believed, and you wondered how you would react if he did. All you needed to spill yourself was one more weak push. One more word and he would know how you knew Aemond cared for you, he had promised several moons ago that he would come see you. 

But he never asked, and the truth stayed buried in your throat. 

—

In the darkest cave of the night, silence was unyielding. Every wolf’s howl was clamped over the mouth by  snow, each sound buried alive in the cold white. It made each scurry of a mouse or crackle of a hearth in the castle stiffeningly louder. 

Including your footsteps, which you were carefully navigating for discretion all the way to Aemond’s chambers. There would be no sleeping without putting your own matters to rest.

Unthinking, you reached for the door handle and rattled against the lock that held it tight. Your urgency felt out of place in the quiet tranquility of the night. His footsteps within were hesitant and slow. When the door opened, Aemond stood dagger pointed. For a moment, you felt what it was like to be on the other end of his blade, neck laid for the slaughter and his own eye hardened at the intruder who dared seek him at this hour. 

At your wide eyes, he softened. 

“Lady Stark.”

You didn’t want to waste any time. “Why are you here?” 

“Hmm. I think you know why I’m here.” Aemond stalked closer. “I told you I’d come, little wolf.” 

“They know.” 

“Do they now?” a faint smirk played on his lips now. He stepped aside to welcome you in. “And what did they say about their fairest maiden and their newfound enemy?” 

You stepped inside, unable to meet him. “I did not tell them.” 

Aemond’s movements stopped. “Why not?” 

For all the time you knew him, Aemond was supposed to be smart. A learned man who you could count on not just for knowledge but strategy and cleverness. His stubbornness to see your reasoning surprised you.

“It’s too dangerous. We’re entering war times.” 

He scoffed. “If Winterfell wasn’t the safest place for you to be, I’d drag you on dragonback to King’s Landing. The second most safe place to be is by my side.” 

“My father swore an oath to Rhaenyra.”

Aemond hardened then, cocking his head. His silhouette reflected that of his warrior nature. 

“Are you sure you Starks are strong in your word?” His glare tore through you and you knew the memory he had held on so tightly to come all this way. So he did remember everything. 

“I never promised my hand.” The moment the words left your lips, you felt their harshness. Guilt crept in, sinking in your heart. 

Aemond exhaled sharply. “Did you have to? Was a pledge of your feelings not enough?” 

“Aemond,” you warned, a careful hush of urgency in your voice, “I can’t.” 

He burned. You could see it plain. “War is coming. You will stay here in Winterfell.” 

It wasn’t as if you wouldn’t—he had told you nothing you were not already beholden to. But you saw Cregan and the others, thick in furs and heavy swords strapped to their backs marching south. Every further thought sickened you: dragons overhead, iron-melting flames casting over them. 

There was a promise in his words, unspoken but just as present in the implication of safety. I will not bring war to Winterfell. 

“I don’t want this.” The words slipped mindlessly. It was helpless to speak aloud. Aemond knew it, as did you. 

He stalked towards you, face solemn yet set in the firmness of him. Gently, he took your hand in his, raising it to his lips. “I will come for you when the war is done.” 

“But my brothers—” 

“I don’t give a shit about your brothers.” 

“Aemond,” you scolded. 

“Do you not want this?” Aemond said in both query and anger, as if he could not fathom the idea of not being with him.

In truth, you couldn’t either. Memory melted in the sun, the cold that knocked on the gates of the castle chased away by the bright burn of a summer’s passion. Days watching the sweat on his brow as he swung his sword at Ser Cole, using the trivial training yard victories as reason to celebrate with your hands on his chest and his on your waist. Feasts spent sending cheeky looks to each other in a tease as he sat on the high table with the royal family, until he could come down and join the likes of you.

There was something precious between you, far beyond drunk desire in flesh. It made each kiss you shared all the sweeter. 

You enjoyed it, the way that at first, he pretended like he wasn’t desperate for your affections. It made things fun, because the truth rested in his eye the moment of your first meeting. Over time, the mask melted and the truth was in his words, actions—and nothing he felt for you wasn’t returned. 

At the time, your secret tongues and lips found themselves in the only shadow that you knew existed. but there were many more beyond your knowledge, whispering about what you had believed to be a decided matter of succession. 

Winter had come and things were so, painfully different now. 

“I want this, but I can’t.” Every bit of what you felt was evident in your voice. “How can you not see that?”

“You’re being ridiculous.” 

“We are on opposite sides, Aemond.”  

He shrugged. “You’re a lady. It’s not like you’re going to fight.” 

“My brothers are. My men are. They will be on the battlefield, as will you.” 

He pursed his lips, looking away from you in resignation of the truth. “Let us hope that our paths do not cross.” 

The sink of your stomach was heavy enough that you took small steps backing away. The depths of the winter night whipped at your window. The wind sang a deathly tale, a warning to any who may try to brave it. Or maybe it was for you, the old gods finding a way to tell you that you were damned, as was he, as was whatever it was that lay between you both. Aemond stood, all of the fire in the hearth catching in his long starlight hair, the determination of the warrior he was—and would soon become—deep in his being. 

“Don’t look so afraid of me.” 

“Why shouldn’t I be? You’ll be commanding armies against mine. And you have a dragon.” 

He took careful steps towards you, reaching a tender hand towards your face. “I would never hurt you.” 

Words came to your tongue, but the feeling of his skin on your cheek dissolved any refute. He was even nearer now, the bend in your neck needed to find his eye. Aemond’s other hand found your bare cheek, and you stopped yourself from melting in the comfort of his gentle hold. 

“Let me just be Aemond, not a prince,” his thumb caressed the pillow of your cheek lightly. “Let yourself just be you, not Lady Stark. Just this once.” 

It was a nice thought: an escape from the lurking turmoil of metal on metal, metal on skin. The sword at his hip pressed into the side of your belly, the very thing that by winter’s end will have the blood of hundreds soaked through. Prince Aemond Targaryen, the deliverer of souls to their eternal sleep, whether it be damning them for choosing black or for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dragonflame was like that, wild and uncontrolled.

And you, Lady Stark, sister to the keeper of the north who had chosen black, who must follow in the steps of your kin for the sake of upholding honor. Who will sit in the dead of the north by the weirwood each day and pray to the gods that her brother will return, that her burly friends will join her by the fire once more to shoot the shit, that no one will be so unlucky to be caught beneath the wings of the beast that lay outside the castle walls or under the blade of the man in front of her. 

No, you couldn’t be her. Not right now. Your lips parted in a pitiful protest—the very last you had in you, you knew—but his desperation silenced you. 

“Please,” he nearly panted. His lips came closer, breath hot on your lips. 

Was it honorable to feel the tongue of someone your family had sworn against? No, perhaps not. But—you reminded yourself, in a sorry attempt to make excuses—for now he was just Aemond. 

And ‘just’ Aemond had delightfully silky locks to lightly twist your fingers in as your kiss deepended. 

His doublet was thick and you wondered if he had it made for his visit. His visit to you. Running your hands along the sides of him, you felt the daggers at his hip, subtle but ready. Aemond was already feeling through your own dress, sifting through the layers to get to your skin. Each of you searching for one another’s flesh. 

The heel of your foot lifted out of your slipper with the help of your other toes. Aemond was reaching to unclasp the buckles of his doublet, the both of you doing your own part while keeping your mouths on each other in your climb to get close. 

Of all your frolicking, you had yet to see each other so bare. Your time in the Red Keep hadn’t allowed for many private moments. Kisses were frequently stolen between training sessions and feasts, but the risk of being found in Aemond’s chambers—or him in yours—could be far too incriminating for your reputation. The one or two moments where you did find yourself alone in his chambers solely to see a book or another in his favor, and you were never there over a candle mark. 

Winterfell was different from the Red Keep. There were far fewer vipers and spiders on the hunt. The hour was late, even later than any potential vipers may burden themselves to stay awake for.  If one happened to see you, they served wolves and not dragons anyway. It was freeing to have him like this, a moment you had been long waiting for. 

Aemond’s kiss was a seal of your condemnation, for from the first touch of your tongues those moons ago, you knew that at no point after tasting such a sweet nectar would you not seek it out over and over again. It was just as mind bending as it had been every other time: soft at first and leading into fullness. You had dreamed of his tongue on yours again, down your throat and lips on yours to consume you. He was hungry and you gladly fed the beast within him. The blood beneath his flesh burned hot, and the buds on your chest hardened at the feel of your bareness against his. 

Long platinum locks lightly brushed over your shoulders in a sensual dance. Your hands roamed his body in curiosity and a thirst for closeness. It was hardened and soft all at once, the shape of him only feeding the burn of your desire. 

It was difficult to admit to yourself how much you had needed this, having pushed it down when the sun set day after day and you struggled to remind yourself that Aemond was now a traitor to your queen and therefore your honor. His hands in your hair, feeling the dips and curves of your own body. Now, such things dissolved in the spit that passed from your lips to his, the animal of desire breaking through any code you clung to. 

Holding you by your hips, Aemond backed you against his bed. His hands urged your thighs upward so your back may rest on the bed, as if he was preparing you for himself. You followed his lead dutifully, each graze of his fingers along your bare legs sending your belly alight. 

Aemond leaned above you now, having joined you on the bed. “You’re all mine.” 

“Yours,” you replied, rejoining your fingers to lace in his locks, holding his face as if it were a holy grail.

His fingers trailed lower across your stomach, past the heat between your legs and the dip where your leg met your hip. At their slight movement, you could feel more wetness begin to drip out of you, the teasing motion of his hands feeling so close…yet so far. Wide palms and lithe fingers moved to caress the skin just deeper than the inside of your knee. Featherlight touches on your skin reached outward towards your 

Aemond moved patiently over your wetness with time to spare, despite your squirms and soft moans telling him that you were more than ready to feel the pads of his fingers. Soft kisses lined your cheek before dipping his lips and tongue into your mouth in deep union. His cock, covered by the cotton of his small clothes, sat heated and heavy on your leg. Every feel of him made you want him more. 

Breaking you free from your prison of desire, his fingers finally brushed over your center. They most delicately gathered the nectar at your lips, playing with it against the flower of your entrance. The simple movement, yet another tease of his touch, weakened you into a puddle beneath his hand. His thumb found your clit, beginning slow circles there. 

He was winding you up like a toy, playing you on his hand to make pretty noises. If he had asked you to do anything at that moment, you would have said yes. 

Aemond’s other had reached up to meet your bottom lip, letting the pad of his thumb rest there. With wide eyes you accepted it to sit on your tongue, drawing it softly into your mouth before pulling back once more. 

“That’s it, my little wolf” he said, releasing your lips their fixation.

There was little else you cared for, sitting on your bed in the humble guest chambers, hearth warmed and Aemond’s fingers sinking deep into your core and curling deliciously. 

“Shh. You don’t want your northmen to hear, do you?” He said it, punching his words with another tight movement at the perfect place deep within you in a smug maneuver that he knew would have a moan choking from your throat despite the deep silence that surrounded you. 

He was right, you didn’t, but you hardly cared if it meant his hands continued their sync. Every drop of hesitation and secrecy you had so desired earlier had been drowned out by the tight wanting of your core, wetness slipping down his fingers and coating the very inside of your thighs. 

When your pleasure peaked into ecstasy, your honey soaked walls squeezed and fluttered around him, arms looped and holding him tight to you in breathy moans that were meant for him only. There were truly no boundaries wrapped between you now, even if just for a moment, the long absence of his touch and feel sinking deep into your essence. 

Humming in satisfaction, Aemond slid his forefingers coated in your syrupy sex into his mouth. “I didn’t know the honor of a Stark tasted so delicious”

All the furs that had once sat heavily on the bed had slid off. Flesh against flesh, you were content in your afterglow, pushing away thoughts of tomorrow or the day after. Aemond’s hands were hungry more, his own desire hardly satiated. His cock weighed on your stomach, hips needily pressing into yours. 

“Baby, you’re so soaked. Your body needs me inside you,” Aemond brushed his nose with yours, cock sliding over your pillowy lips. 

He must have been a devil of some kind, the enemy, for trying to convince you that your maidenhead could be sacrificed while he was on a diplomatic mission. 

Sensing your hesitation, he hummed into your mouth, drawing you into another kiss. 

“Who would I be to leave you like this? You need to be fucked.” he purred into your ear, and your own hips flexed in release. 

It was tempting. It was. But your virtue remained imperatively prudent, and no amount of Aemond’s want would change it. “I’m a maiden. You know this.” 

“Does it matter if I want to marry you anyway?” His voice was lust-drunk, buried in your neck and leaving traces of kisses there. 

You giggled, shifting under him. “Yes, Aemond.” 

“Hmm.” He grumbled, lifting himself onto his elbows to look you in the face. “Guess I’ll just have to do it now then.” 

It passed between you then, a faint look of heartbreak at the reality of what such things would mean, or what they would take. The betrayal of your brother, of your fellow bannermen—the question of Aemond’s truest allegiances, marriage or not, always sitting in the back of your mind. Roiling dragonfire and singing blades sliding against another in strain. 

“I don’t care where we stand. You’re mine, Lady Stark. Nothing will ever change that.”  

A kiss was your only reply, caught in the trouble and pleasure of his words, a sentence that fulfilled everything and nothing that you wanted to hear. Desperate and searching it was, searching for an end to the madness you were both inevitably walking towards and away from your unity. 

With your limbs intertwined, heart to heart, each of you felt all of the possible flesh you could. You let yourself close your eyes in his embrace, candles dying in the latest hours of the night. Maybe, you thought, this moment could be eternal if you let it: if you were truly present in his warmth and flesh, it could anchor you both in time, allowing you both to feel and hold each other for centuries. No blood would soak into the dirt nor stain your hands. Never had you clung to an idea of peace so hard. 

In another world, Rhaenyra ascended the throne just as the realm had thought. Your journey south would have been fulfilled just the same. Someone of importance would take note of your affinity for each other, and given that you were not being clearly stowed away for one dragon versus another, a marriage proposal would be signed and sent to your brother north. He would read it and scowl at the thought of his sister being tied to the Targaryen blood almost all Starks were partial to hating, but at the sight of your ease, he would relent. A wedding would be hosted in the Great Sept to please your prince and southron overlords, and another at the heart tree of Winterfell’s godswood. 

You clung to your fantasy in the low hours until your knuckles turned white, Aemond’s soft breathing warming your cheek. But clinging to anything fleeting often meant bloodying your hands or being dragged until you let go. 

Those in the south lived in an endless summer, whether they realized it or not. Many would claim a chill or swear they felt the winds change. Perhaps snow even fell occasionally—but such a faint dusting would cower in the face of the fronts from beyond the wall. Such a front scratched at the window of Aemond’s chamber now. It was a most cruel master to any bare skin unlucky enough to bear it, beating it raw until cracks formed and blood spurred. A similar iciness was threatening to drown you from the inside, only made stronger by the beat of Aemond’s blood in your ears. 

No matter how much you wished it not be true, your honor could not allow you to stay in his arms for another moment. Especially not after you had indulged yourself on his fingers and lips. 

Sloughing off the furs, you crept carefully to the mess of layers of your dress on the floor. It was late—or early, put differently—enough that you could do your best to get away with not wearing your full dress back to your room. As long as your previous state of savagery wasn’t obvious, the essentials would do. 

When your eyes awoke once more in your own bed, it was to the ancient cry of a dragon. Your heavy legs and eyes ran to catch up with what you knew was happening, what you must confirm quickly in a hazy winter’s light. From the window, you could see Vhagar lifted her bronze head into the sky, fire threatening to leave the cavern of her throat. Her solemn grumbling echoed through the valley, swirling with the wind singing through the trees. 

Cradles of snowflakes fell as falling stars, silver embers burning in the early light. It was still night—constellations just barely beginning to fade. Grabbing your furs to quickly wrap around your shoulders, you rushed out of your chambers. The torches in the hallway burned low. It was the last hour before they would be re-lit for another day’s warmth. Flames flickered past you in your hasty steps to the outermost walls of the castle. 

You caught sight of Aemond, stalking into the arms of the frosted northern wild, a sickened determination—or resignation, you didn’t know which—in his steps.  The black of his furs cradled his silver hair, a delicate, feathery mix of dark and light. 

A goodbye wouldn’t have been wise, for you knew if you hadn’t left his chambers you would both wake up and refuse to leave each other’s side—or rather, he’d refuse you to leave his. If he was in front of you, he knew he could convince you of anything. There was too deep of suspicion for the prince to arouse the maiden Lady Stark, and Aemond was a smart man.

Or at least you told yourself so, hoping that he wasn’t bitter like he was in your fears, and that he understood. 

The battlements on which you stood were tall enough to rise over any enemy that Winterfell might face. Thousands of years had seen enemies fall in front of the stone giants that guarded the innermost castle. Enemies of centuries past faltered against all kings of winter, sound in their defenses and strong in their charge. Any enemy but Aemond. 

Heavy wings wafted through the north wind, the shadow of Vhagar draining the moon and snowlight from the sky in the shape of war-torn wings. With a large curl of her body, she turned to the walls on which you stood. Muscled and bronzed, Aemond and his beast came closer. You had never seen a dragon in flight so near to you. Her heavy legs hung in the air, the claws themselves thicker than your largest studs. 

A few men below began howling in fear, but you knew something they did not. Even as she drew nearer and her wings covered Winterfell in shadow and her maw roared close enough you could see her blood soaked teeth and feel her boiling breath in the chapped air. It was warm against your cheek, a balm against the pale morning’s frost, comfort blooming where it touched. Near everything but the foundation of the castle itself shook against the dragon’s cry, mountainous wings curling wind through your hair. 

There was a time when Harren the Black had seen a similar sight: the interchange between day and night, a beast larger than a small keep looming over his home, an impenetrable castle. Fire had burned deep in Balerion’s chest, and his black teeth were the gates of hellfire to all those who rested in Harrenhal. Aemond and Vhagar loomed above Winterfell now in a fierce stand, leaving you and all of your men as nothing but ash in the wind if he so desired. 

You knew he didn’t. 

Vhagar roared again, something painful desperately clawing from her chest, and you could feel the solemn echo of Aemond’s own turmoil. Her wings lifted higher through her cry, large body clawing through the sky until the darkness of her ascended into the heavy snow clouds. 

The next time you saw the prince, the crown of the conqueror sat on his head as if it was made for him, and winter had licked your skin raw. 

[13uswntimagines]

Spiral (Alessia Russo X MMA!R)

Request: Could you maybe do something where less isn’t around to help r through something and r is spiraling more and more while needing someone to bring her back. One of Alessia's teammates has to kind of shout at r and tell her to kneel or something for her to be grounded featuring Mary (and Lucy slightly)

Part of The come Down universe

Warming: D/s elements. Blood and violence (mentioned but nothing graphic- R punches a wall several times).

It was easy for people to believe that you had an easy life, filled with nothing more than champagne problems and affluenza. 

All they saw were the press conferences and interviews after fights where you were riding high on your success. They didn’t see the weeks where you trained upwards of 18 hours a day and ate so strictly that even your water content was measured. 

They didn’t see how difficult it was to balance your career and Alessia’s, and the weeks you sometimes went apart. 

They didn’t see the nagging injuries that followed you like old ghosts. 

And they thought the 1% of your life they saw was enough context for them to make assumptions about the rest of your life, including your relationship with your girlfriend. 

You had never been big on social media, but that didn’t mean you were entirely shielded from it. 

Especially not when the date for your title fight against Justin Gathje was announced. 

Dana wanted you to hype the fight, to make a comment about how wild Justin was in the cage, and how your far more technical style would be a good match. 

And you thought the spare moments you had sitting in Alessia’s national team cubby while she did her final lap around Wembley for the fans was the perfect moment. 

But as you flicked through your Twitter app, you, realized very quickly that it was a terrible idea. 

Justin had already commented on the fight and accompanied his post with pictures of you in the stands a Wembley dressed in your girlfriend's jersey and one of him sweating in the gym. 

I think a championship contender should at least be putting in the work instead of fucking off with a bitch who deserves better. #gonnasilencethegolddigger

You knew that it was a stupid post. It made no sense because the fight was 20 weeks away, and starting training camp now, three days post-fight, would only lead to burnout and injuries. 

You knew that it was completely untrue considering you had met Alessia at UNC where you had a nice wrestling scholarship and she had a soccer one. There had been no gold to dig. 

But that didn’t stop the general public from hopping on the hate train. 

There were thousands of replies, and mentions and posts clogging your feed about how undeserving you were. 

About how awful of a fighter you were. 

About how Alessia deserved someone who could support her. 

But it wasn’t the comments from the general public that bothered you. 

It was the ones from her former teammates that dug into your brain and stuck. 

Her own family didn’t want her so much they shipped her off to America, so it’s sad she’s dragged a stand-up baller like Lessie into her mess. She didn’t deserve her state championship either. #alwaysridingcoattails.

Her own family didn’t want her

Dragged Lessie into her mess

The words burned into your mind, so you saw them every time you closed your eyes, getting more and more bold each time the number of interactions went up. 

1000

15,000

300,000

2,000,000

You launched your phone across the room, uncaring how it smashed into a million pieces on the stone like it would smash the image on the screen. 

Like it would shatter the tweet and the shots coming from people who had never met you. 

Like it would change how right they were. 

You breathed in deeply, trying to quell the growing ache in your chest and soothe the feelings bubbling in your stomach. 

Alessia’s scent surrounded you, filling your lungs and coating all of your senses. It was normally like a balm on an open wound or ice for a burn, the remedy to your anxiety and a promise that she was there for you. 

That she would always be there. 

That promise was part of the reason your relationship took the dynamic it did. 

Except this time, her scent didn’t loosen the knot in your chest. 

It just reminded you how much you took from her. How much better off she would have been if you had never run into her at UNC. 

You shoved yourself out of Alessia’s locker, you didn’t deserve to sit in it and paced the small room. 

The walls felt like they were getting closer together, and the air felt too heavy. 

You couldn’t breathe.

You needed release. 

You paused at the far end of the room, staring at the white concrete. 

Your fist hit the cold concrete before you even thought about it, and you relished in the pressure of the hard surface on your exposed knuckles. It was more than when you hit pads, more than when you hit someone else. 

It was perfect. 

You did it again. 

You weren’t enough. You hadn’t been for your parents. You wouldn’t be enough for Alessia either. 

Your fist hit the wall again. 

That’s what everyone had been saying for months. That’s what your father told you when you tried to make amends. 

You could see how right they were. 

Stupid worthless 

You hit the wall again. 

How much better off they would be without you. 

“Y/n?”

You didn’t even blink at Ella’s voice. 

You weren’t good enough. How could you ever be?

You had been birthed by two drug addicts more interested in their own highs than in raising a child. Your neighborhood MMA gym was the only place you had ever found food and safety. How could you ever be enough for Alessia who had been raised by loving parents? Who didn’t have to scrape and claw for food scraps? 

Who didn’t crave the freedom you found in total violence. In the destruction of a human. 

In the destruction of herself. 

“Y/n stop,” 

Hands gripped your shoulder, trying to prevent your arm from moving as you launched it again at the slightly pink wall. 

It didn’t work. 

Your hand slammed into the wall again. 

It wasn’t enough. It didn’t hurt enough to ease the volcano in your chest. 

You needed more. 

“Y/n please,” 

Ella’s voice sounded very close to your ear and stinger arms wrapped around your stomach, trying to force you away.

A guttural sound left your lips as the arms were finally able to pull you away, and Lucy stepped between you and your only solace. 

You needed it. 

“Calm down,” Mary hissed, her arms tugging you again. 

You were too out of it to wonder when she had gotten there. 

“Go get Alessia,” Lucy said, looking over your shoulder towards who you assumed was Ella. “Now,” 

You fought against the arms restraining you. 

Keeping you from the only thing that would make the ripping feeling in your brain go quiet. 

The door slammed shut and you were forced back another step by strong arms. 

“Y/n you need to relax, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Lucy held her hands up as she took a step towards you like you were a wild animal. 

And you supposed you were. 

Wild and out of control. Spiraling into oblivion. 

Lucy Met Mary’s eyes when you fought harder in the keeper's hold, your eyes wildly flickering as your limbs flailed. 

This was well out of their ability to fix. 

“We have to do it,” Lucy said, and Mary instantly knew what she meant. 

Mary nodded once. 

She knew you better than Lucy did, so she knew it had to be her if they wanted it to work. 

It was the only thing she could think of to help you. 

The thing that Alessia would do for you 

They had only seen it happen once. 

It was the only time the keeper had seen your dynamic's heavier side. The only time Alessia looked truly dominant, and you looked submissive. 

Mary squared her shoulders, drawing up to her full height, picturing in her mind the way Alessia had touched you and the tone that she had used. Soft, but dripping in authority that had shocked Mary. 

She tried to remember the words your girlfriend had used, the way her fingers pressed perfectly into your skin to make you melt. 

She pulled away from you slightly, drawing her hand from your stomach to land heavily on the space where your shoulder met your neck. 

“Y/n,” She said mimicking the sheer dominance that Alessia’s voice held that night. “I think that’s enough darling. Kneel for me,” 

You froze. 

A shiver ran the full length of your spine at the familiar words, and your shoulders rolled like a physical weight had been added to them. 

You blinked as the order filtered through the fog in your brain, registering that though it was familiar, the voice that had given it was not. 

Her arm loosened around your middle as all of the fight left you, but she kept the grounding hand on your neck. 

You leaned into it, breathing in through your nose and very slowly releasing it through your clenched teeth. 

You sagged with each exhale, sinking very slowly until you were kneeling at Mary’s feet. 

Your head bowed, and you rested your hands palm up on your knees as another rattling breath left you, pressing back into the hand still on your neck like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away into oblivion.

Mary stood frozen, staring at you as you fixed your posture (Alessia hated it when you slouched) and all of the tension, her eyes darting up to meet Lucy’s. 

She hadn’t been sure that it would work. That you would listen to it because she wasn’t Alessia. But now that it had, she wasn’t sure what to do. 

She didn’t know what came next, or how to navigate it without crossing your boundaries. 

“Good job Y/n,” Lucy said, keeping her voice as soft as Mary’s. “We’re just going to stay here and calm down, alright?”

You let out another shuddering breath, more ripples quaking down your spine, and Mary very gently ran her thumb in circles at the back of your neck, hoping it would help to keep you settled. 

She knew it was the touch Alessia always took when you were anxious or nervous, but she was also very much aware that she was not Alessia. 

“And then we’ll get one of the trainers to look at your hand after Lessie gets here,” The defender continued, her eyes trained on where your jeans were slowly turning red with the blood from your hand. 

“But for now, we’re going to just stay right here,” Mary repeated, letting her thumb graze the nape of your neck. 

*******

“Less,” Ella’s voice cut through the sounds of the fans calling for Alessia’s attention, the panic in it drawing the strikers eyes before the midfielder skidded to a stop beside her. 

“What’s happened?” Alessia asked, passing the shirt she was signing back to the young girl who had handed it to her. 

“Y/n,” Ella panted, her eyes wide, afraid despite the cameras pointed their way. “I’ve never seen her like that,” 

Alessia frowned, turning away from the fans and wrapping an arm around Ella’s shoulder to give them some semblance of privacy. 

“Seen her like what?” She asked, her tone low with something… darker lingering under the surface. 

Ella shook her head, unable to describe it with words. “I need you to come, quickly,” 

“Ok,” Alessia agreed, following after the midfielder with little question. 

She knew that whatever had happened had to be bad to cause that look. To have Ella say it in front of the fans. 

Ella sprinted back towards the tunnel with Alessia on her heels, weaving between equipment people, and players until they reached the locker room. 

Leah stood outside the door, directing players to the other showers. 

Alessia’s frown deepened. “What’s going on?”

“We thought a smaller audience would be better,” Leah murmured, stepping aside for them. “Looks pretty brutal mate,” 

Ella patted her back and she stepped towards the door, steeling herself for whatever was inside as she pressed it open. 

Her breath caught in her chest as she took in the scene in front of her. 

It looked like something out of a slasher film. 

Red covered one of the white stone walls, dripping onto the gray floor in dime-sized circles to where you were sitting. No kneeling between Mary and Lucy, a dark patch forming from where it had soaked into your jeans. 

Her jaw clenched at your position. 

It was hard for people to understand but kneeling was something… intimate between the two of you. It was a show of the trust that you had for her to take care of you. A way to reinforce the power dynamic in your relationship. 

It had taken you a long time to feel comfortable enough to let yourself be vulnerable enough to kneel for her, and she treasured how willing you were now. How you seemed to… crave the position. 

For someone else to put you there didn’t sit well with her. 

Neither did the way Mary’s hand was holding the back of your neck. 

“What happened?” She grit out, her eyes flitting between your form and the two women on your either side. 

“we’re not entirely sure. We just caught the tail end,” Mary murmured, her thumb rubbing soothing circles onto your skin. 

Your eyes were closed, but Alessia could see the tension in your posture. She could see how on edge you were. 

How close you were to subspace. 

She snooker her head. “And you thought that this was the solution?”

She wanted to scream at her friends. To give them a lecture about consent and safety and trust (even though you wouldn’t be kneeling for them if you didn’t trust them). 

They didn’t know your boundaries. This hadn’t been discussed. What if it went wrong and they didn’t recognize the signs of you passing the point of consent? 

She knew you often leaned into the dynamic you shared to calm down. To let go, but she knew your limits. She knew your safe word. 

She knew all of the signs to look for, because you craved pain when you felt unstable (a habit that had lingered from your childhood), and you wouldn’t always vocalize your limits. 

She worried how far backward you would slip after this. 

“It was the only way I could think of to get her to calm down. She wasn’t responding to anything else Less,” Mary explained, her voice very soft and gentle. “I tried to do exactly what you do,” 

“We also stayed away from honorifics,” Lucy added. “We knew we were overstepping a bit as it was and didn’t want to push further than we had to,” 

Alessia wanted to snort that overstepping was an understatement, but she didn’t. 

That wouldn’t help you. 

Avoiding honorifics had been a very thoughtful touch. 

That would have sent you careening into sub-space, and she doubted either of them could have handled that. 

“Alright,” She said, taking a deep breath. 

She would need to talk to them later, but right now, her priority was you. 

And getting to the bottom of what happened. 

Of what changed in the 10 minutes you had been left alone. 

She settled herself on the bench, placing her sweatshirt on the ground near her feet to act as a cushion for you, and taking a deep calming breath before she let her eyes fall on you. 

“Babygirl,” Her voice came out stern, but not angry, and for the first time, you raised your gaze from the floor to meet hers. “Come here,” 

She gestured towards the spot at her feet, and without hesitating, you carefully pulled out of Mary’s grasp and crawled to her. 

Her fingers weaved through your hair, and she guided you to rest your cheek on her thigh once you settled on the sweatshirt. “What’s going on sweet one? Talk to me,”

You nuzzled into the soft skin of her leg as her nails dragged against your scalp, trying to remember how to speak. 

How to form words that would accurately describe the tearing feeling in your chest. 

“Not enough,”

The words were horse as they left your lips, heavy and wet like they had been pulled from the depths of your soul. 

Alessia hummed, her nails digging more deeply into your hair. “What’s not enough?”

Your breath rattled in your chest, shaking through you to your core. 

At the depths of it, you were not enough. 

You would never be enough. 

“I’ll go get a doc,” Lucy murmured before you heard the sound of the door. 

“What is not enough,” Alessia asked again, more insistent. 

“I’m not enough, Miss,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Alessia tutted. “We both know that’s not true,” 

You groaned. 

It was true. The whole internet believed it. 

“It is,” You insisted, pulling away from her warm hold to meet her eyes. “Everyone believes it,” 

“Who is everyone?” Alessia pressed, staying calm and even. Being your stability. 

“I think this has something to do with it,” Mary said, and your eyes snapped to her, where she was holding your demolished phone, the tweets still lighting up the screen. 

You had forgotten she was still here. 

“What is it?” 

Alessia held her free hand out for it, using the other to settle you back against her thigh. 

“Bullshit,” Mary answered, passing the phone to your dominant, moving slowly around you, like she was afraid to spook you. 

Alessia hummed, flicking through the images on your cracked screen. 

The room was silent as she read the words that had set you off, and you let your eyes slide closed, enjoying her closeness. 

Enjoying the ability to let go, and trust that she would take care of it. 

You ignored the sound of the door opening again, and feet approaching you and Alessia. You didn’t care if people saw you. You knew that she would defend you if you needed it. 

“Sweet girl,” Alessia said, fingers tightening in your hair, and you opened your eyes to meet hers over the phone. “Let them look at your hands,” 

Your eyes flickered towards the medics, kneeling in front of you, Lucy standing protectively behind them with Mary. 

You hummed, slowly lifting your dominant hand and holding it out towards the medic. 

He took it gently between his own and began to examine it with a frown. 

“I think she needs x-rays,” He said, looking over you towards Alessia who was still scrolling through your feed. “And I can wrap it after that,” 

“Alright,” She said, putting your phone down. “We’ll meet you in the training room in just a moment. Can you three give us a second?”

The medic nodded, retreating with Mary and Lucy.

“Take your time,” Mary paused in the doorway. “Me and Luce will get cleaned up and meet you,” 

Alessia let out a sound of agreement. 

She waited for the door to close before she very gently pulled you up from your knees and into her lap. 

You rested your cheek on her chest, tucking your nose into her still-sweaty jersey. 

This time her scent didn’t set you on edge. It joined the feeling of her warm arms wrapped around you and her chin on your head, making you feel safe and warm and cared for, even when you didn’t think you deserved it. 

“You know all of those tweets are bullshit right?” She asked after your breathing had evened out. “They’re just trying to get under your skin,”

You made a low noise, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. 

“You are deserving because you are amazing. You are an incredible fighter, and a good human despite the shit hand you were dealt,” She continued. “I love you, and I will always be here for you. Whether you are the world champion, or we’re eating spam and crackers on my bedroom floor,” 

Your eyes slid closed and you buried your face in her chest, your lips lifting just a bit at the mention of your favorite snack from college. 

From when you were too broke to afford dinner on the weekends. 

It didn’t entirely fix the crumbling feeling that accompanied each beat of your heart, but her words were like a tether holding you to reality. 

She had loved you before you were a UFC star and she was England's Star Girl, and she would love you after. 

That was all that mattered. 

She squeezed you tightly and kissed your head. “Let’s go get your hands fixed and then we can go back to the hotel and watch Love Island before bed, alright?”

You hummed again. 

You knew a talk about your coping mechanism, about the wall you had destroyed, would also be included after you had come down. 

But you didn’t mind. 

You and Alessia would get through it. Together. 

[lou-struck]

Cancellation Comfort Part 1

Featuring: Lucifer, Mammon, and Leviathan

Part 2

Part 3 to Come

~ One of the things I hate the most in this world is when the same person repeatedly makes plans with me and then flakes on me the day of. One of my primary Love Languages is Quality time, so it really stings to get all ready and excited to go somewhere only to get a call an hour later than they said they were gonna pick me up to bail on the plans. 

~ This is how the Obey Me Boys would treat you after you were flaked on. 

Lucifer ~

It's another busy day for the avatar of pride as he hurriedly leaves the House of Lamination. Just as he steps out the front door, he sees you sitting on one of the stone benches on the front porch; he remembers you telling him that you are going to lunch with a new friend of yours and are super excited.

Seeing you look so excited to be picked up by your friend Makes his heart skip a beat. After all this time, he's happy to see that you are still adjusting well to the Devildom.

He smiles to himself as he walks past you, making a mental note to tell Diavolo about your outing during their meeting later today.

But he can't shake the other feeling that lingers in his heart. Is it that he is jealous to see that soon, someone else will be the recipient of that beautiful smile of yours?

-

A few hours later, he has returned. And much to his surprise, you are still sitting in the same spot where he last saw you.

The only difference is that the Sweet look on your face has been replaced with one filled with heartbreaking disappointment.

"I thought you were going out," he says, settling down into the seat next to you. 

"Me too," you frown, resting your head against his caped shoulder. Seeing you look so unhappy fills him with quiet rage. It only intensifies when he catches a glimpse of the screen of your DDD and sees the barrage of messages your flaky friend has left for you. Dozens of excuses as to why they are running late and promises that they will be there soon. 

Your responses were chipper and supportive at first, but he noticed that by the time your friend finally had the decency to just cancel on you and no longer string you along, you couldn't bring yourself to answer them. 

He feels his brow furrow as he wonders why anyone would purposefully miss out on spending one-on-one time with you, especially since it is so hard to come by for even the most elite of the Denizens.

Unable to stand this mistreatment of you any longer, he clenches his fit and stands abruptly. Your face goes from dejected to confused until he extends a hand out to you temptingly. 

"Come with me, Mc," he says warmly; it pleases him how you immediately take his hand without question. "It seems I need to remind you just how special you are tonight, so I will be taking you out."

"Luci, thank you, but I don't need a pity date." you frown, starting to retract your hand, but the demon only tightens his grip. 

He scoffs and lets his inner pride take control as he stares into your eyes. "Do you think I am the type to hand out these so-called "pity dates'?" He asks, narrowing his crimson gaze. "I will be taking you out because I care about you deeply and want to take advantage of the opportunity in front of me."

His words bring a smile to your face as you remove yourself from your seat and allow him to take you on an adventure.

Mammon~

It's not that he is creeping on you or anything…

The Great Mammon just wanted to make sure that your new 'friend' is treating you right. Especially since you were so excited to get lunch with them.

But now he is sitting at a table on the other side of a restaurant, watching you just sit there.

You keep checking your DDD with a furrowed brow. He can tell just how worried you are; after all, he's your first and knows that his human always seems to care more about others than themselves. 

You've been sitting at your little table for 40 minutes already, and clearly, you haven't gotten any responses from your friend.

It breaks his heart to see that the servers aren't even coming around to you anymore. Why would they?

You seem to shrink into yourself so as to not attract any attention. You aren't even touching your water glass or the basket of free bread in front of you.

Suddenly, Mammon watches as your screen lights up, and you snatch it up instantly. Whatever look of hope that was on your sweet face fell when you read the message.

How could they cancel on you?

The avatar of greed watches as you shove your device into your bag and stand quickly. Embarrassment is hot on your face as you start to weave your way through the tables to the exit.

He has to comfort you, this feeling of protection has such a grip on his heart he can't think straight.

As sneakily as he can, he slips out the side entrance to the restaurant so you don't notice that he has been watching you. You would feel humiliated, and he would want to die of embarrassment if you found out what a softy he is for you. Something you already know, of course.

Although you're quick, he's way faster, and he hits the sidewalk before your head even pokes out the massive doors.

He backs up a bit, drawing a few stares from passersby. But he doesn't care. He shoves his hands into his pockets and tries to walk down the street as naturally as he can. If he wasn't so bad at it he would try to whistle to appear nonchalant as he tries to 'accidentally' run into you.

"Oh, hey there, Mc. What a coincidence meeting you here." he lies, a sweet and convincing smile on his face. "What are ya doing all by yourself?

You frown, and Mama immediately regrets saying that; you cast your eyes to the ground. "I was supposed to meet a demon from class here to talk about a project, but I guess they had other plans and forgot to tell me about them. "

Mammon's blood boils; this is you. Who in the right mind would pass up time with you. It's more valuable than the credit card in his pocket.

"That's not right. Do ya want The Great Mammon to teach me a lesson?" he jokes, punching the air. He knows he looks like a fool, but he finds himself acting like a fool in front of you most of the time.

Suddenly, you smile, and his heart stops. "not at all," you giggle. "They're not even worth it." 

"Damn right they're not." he beams, feeling proud of himself. "How about you and I go and get some ice cream? I have Lucifer's credit card, so you can get whatever ya want."

You nod thankfully, and the demon is trying to figure out more greedy ways to keep you all to himself this afternoon. Slinging an arm around your shoulders, he starts walking down the street, feeling like there is no other place in the world he would rather be right now.

Leviathan ~

At long last, Levi is finally home alone…

Although the jealous shut-in loves his fortress of solitude (his bedroom), sometimes watching with favorite animes on the big TV in the living room is the vibe. With those comfy couches and surround sound, he feels like he is in his own personal movie theater. 

Although he does wish that you were here with him, not to have a date night or anything like those normies do, it would be nice to spend a bit more time with you. But unfortunately for him you are busy tonight. He recalled Asmo saying something about how you were invited to go to a Fangol game with some of your classmates and would be home late tonight.

With an armload of movies and snacks, he emerges from his den and down the stairs to enjoy his alone time. His first stop is the kitchen, so he can make himself a big bowl of popcorn and not have to share it with Beel or anyone else who likes to take what is rightfully his. 

The little kernels have just begun to pop when he notices that your bedroom door is ajar and your light is on.

Now, he doesn't want to be weird and just go into your space when you are not home, but he should turn off your lamp so your light bulb doesn't burn out. 

After ten very long seconds of debating, he finally decides that he is just gonna run in real quick, shut off your light, and leave, but the moment he steps into your room, he notices he is not alone. 

You are sprawled out on your bed, clad in a trendy Fangol jersey, and staring down at your brand-new hat with a saddened expression. When he realizes that he is not alone, the Otaku lets out a scream. His crazed screaming startles you into screaming as well.

"What are you doing here?" he screams, pointing at you as if you were a spider. 

"What am I doing here?" you scream back exasperatedly. "This is my room. What are you doing in here?"

"I-I thought you were at the game and left your light on by mistake." he stammers. But at the mention of the game, your shoulders tense up, and you rub the back of your neck embarrassedly. 

"Oh, that didn't exactly work out," you admit, sadness taking hold of your features and tugging at Levi's fragile heartstrings. "Apparently, my friends forgot to buy my ticket for the game, and the stadium sold out, so I couldn't buy my own." 

"Ouch, and that's why I don't bother making friends with Normies in the first place," he huffs, sitting down next to you; the mattress dips, and there is no space between the two of you when he takes your hand. Normally, he wouldn't be so bold, but the need to comfort his human emboldens him. "How are you feeling?"

"Not great," you sigh, your eyes looking glassy in the lamplight. "If they didn't want me to come, they could've just said so. But they insisted that they bought all the tickets weeks ago, so It sucked getting all excited over nothing."

Levi feels as if his heart is breaking; he never really understood the appeal of many of the demons at RAD, and now he definitely won't be going out of his way to talk to them. How could they do this to Henry? His Hero? His Mc

They had the pleasure of spending time with Mc when they were dressed up so cutely, and they threw it away?

He is envious of their privilege. 

He is envious that even after all of this you still will probably forgive them come morning. 

He feels his horns growing from his head as his sin starts to take hold of him, but then he looks at you, and it's as if time itself freezes. 

You are sad, you are hurting, and he is thinking about himself…

He needs to cheer you up. If he were in a slice-of-life anime, what would the main character do to make his love interest feel better? He thinks for a moment until it hits him like the smell of fresh movie theater popcorn. 

"Wanna have a movie night with me?"

The way you brighten up makes him feel as if he had just maxed out his level cap in his favorite RPG, "I would love to."

Tagging: @sleepyyshroom, @i-need-to-go-like-mangogo, @starbby, @sarah22447, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf ,  @ourfinalisation, @anjodedesgostoeerros, @isaacdaknight @qardasngan

[lisannastraussisanangel]

Do you have any darker/sadder fairy tail headcanons?

(Trigger Warnings for Homophobia and Suicide)

Some of mine include:

The Strauss’s parents are still alive, but they were part of the crowd that turned on Mira. Elfman and Lisanna ran away to stay with her.

Fried was raised in a high society family, but was disowned after coming out to them.

Gray did attempt suicide once when he was a teenager. A few months later when Lisanna “died”, he saw what that did to everyone else in the guild and swore to never try it again. It took something as extreme as what happened on Galuna to push him past that edge again.

Like Medusa, Evergreen’s stone eyes were actually a curse. She hated herself for them until she met Fried and Bickslow and saw what they could do with their eye magic.

I'm a big fan of sad/dark headcanons. I really like those! Especially the Strauss one. Imagine the parents being the first to turn on them and the heartbreak they went through

Let's see what I can come up with...

Dark themes below

As much as Erza tries, she hasn't fully forgiven Jellal. Sometimes she'll have flashbacks to what he did while their alone and has to fight it down. She loves him and trusts him, but part of her will always fear him (he's noticed these random moments and it kills him)

Similarly, Lisanna flinches when Elfman lifts his hands. Everytime she thinks he's going to hit her like he did all those years ago. At first it was just when he was using his takeover but now it's all the time. She doesn't know why it's getting worse

Juvia was sexually abused when she first joined Phantom Lord. She trained hard to protect herself and that's how she became S-Class. It was all about survival

Natsu self harms. He doesn't realize he's doing it because it's not the 'usual' methods. One of the main things he does is shred his skin with his nails/claws. He plays it off as training injuries

A lot of the women cannot have children or have really hard pregnancies because of all the injuries they've sustained. Specifically Juvia, Erza, Kagura, and Ultear cannot have kids. Levy, Lucy, Minerva, and Kinana would have very complicated pregnancies

All of the children of the tower of heaven have a hard time taking jobs that require construction. The PTSD of being slaves will never leave them. A lot of them actually can't do any building at all without having breakdowns. (This is why Erza takes on a leader role when rebuilding the guild. She wants it done as fast as possible to minimize the chance of having an episode)

Wendy's fear of abandonment is way worse than she lets on. She has nightmares constantly about the entire guild disappearing again, her friends dying, or worse. When people go on long jobs, she often gets antsy and needs to be reminded that they will return and are safe. Carla can barely leave her side most days

[obsessioncollector]

Hi friends! Inspired by @librarycards I wanted to make a post celebrating Women in Translation Month! Anglophone readers generally pay embarrassingly little attention to works in other languages, and that's even more true when it comes to literature by women, so I will jump at any chance to promote my faves 🥰 Here are some recs from 9 different languages! Also, I wrote this on my phone, so apologies for any typos or errors!

1. Trieste by Daša Drndić, trans. Ellen Elias-Bursać (Croatian): An all-time favorite. Much of Drndić's work interrogates the legacy of atrocities in Europe, particularly eastern Europe. Trieste is a haunting contemplative novel centered on an elderly Italian Jewish woman whose family converted to Catholicism during the Mussolini era and were complicit in the fascist violence surrounding them in order to protect themselves.

2. Cursed Bunny by Bora Chung, trans. Anton Hur (Korean): A collection of short stories that are difficult to classify by genre–speculative fiction in the broadest sense. The first story is about a monster in a woman's toilet, which sounds impossible to pull off in a serious, thought-provoking manner, but Chung does so easily—these are the kind of stories that are hard to explain the brilliance of secondhand.

3. Sweet Days of Discipline by Fleur Jaeggy, trans. Tim Parks (Italian; Jaeggy is Swiss): Another all time favorite! The cold, sterile homoerotic girls' boarding school novella of your dreams.

4. Toddler-Hunting and Other Stories by Taeko Kono, trans. Lucy North (Japanese): I think I read this in one sitting. Incredibly unsettling—these stories will stay with you. They often focus on the unspoken psychosexual fantasies underscoring mundane daily life.

5. The Complete Stories by Clarice Lispector, trans. Katrina Dodson (Brazilian Portuguese): I think Lispector is the best known writer here, so she might not need much of an introduction. But what a legend! And this collection is so diverse—it's fascinating to see the evolution of Lispector's work.

6. Our Lady of the Nile by Scholastique Mukasonga, trans. Melanie L. Mauthner (French; Mukasonga is Rwandan): Give her the Nobel! Mukasonga's books, at least the ones available in English, are generally quite short but so impactful. Our Lady of the Nile is a collection of interrelated short stories set at a Catholic girls' boarding school in Rwanda in the years before the Rwandan genocide. These stories are fascinating on many levels, but perhaps the most haunting element is seeing how ethnic hatred intensifies over time—none of these girls would consider themselves particularly hateful or prejudiced, but they easily justify atrocities in the end.

7. Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972 by Alejandra Pizarnik, trans. Yvette Siegert (Spanish; Pizarnik was Argentinian): Does anyone remember when my url was @/pizarnikpdf... probably not but worth mentioning to emphasize how much I love her <3 Reading Pizarnik is so revelatory for me; she articulates things I didn't even realize I felt until I read her words.

8. Flight and Metamorphosis: Poems by Nelly Sachs, trans. Joshua Weiner (German): Sachs actually won the Nobel in the 1960s, so it's surprising that she's not better known in the Anglosphere. Her poems are cryptic and surreal, yet deeply evocative. Worth mentioning that this volume is bilingual, so you can read the original German too if you're interested.

9. Frontier by Can Xue, trans. Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping (Chinese): Can Xue is another difficult-to-classify writer in terms of genre. Her short stories are often very abstract and can be puzzling at first. I think Frontier is a great place to start with her because these stories are interconnected, which makes them a bit more accessible.

[zaimta]

彡A VS. B

paring: laxus dreyar x reader

zai says: the ova was so funny but the fan service was certainly something, anyways laxus fic bc it's all i can write for the 10 other fairy tail stans on here this is for you

suggestive!! i’m pushing 18 let me live

it was the aftermath of the grand magic games, fairy tail won like they said they would but the little wager they made didn’t get forgotten. since the two split teams were forced to join as one, neither team could uphold the agreement. so as a tiebreaker makarov decided on an old-fashioned rock-paper-scissors to determine the victor.

erza stepped up to face laxus in the match “you got this erza! wipe the floor with em!” you cheered on your friend along with the rest of team ‘a’. erza nodded and raised her hand, laxus took up the same motion, when erza dropped her hand she had scissors while laxus had rock.

your jaw dropped and you felt your eye twitch “you got to be kidding me.” a chorus of groans and complaints came from the ‘a’ team, it was going to be a long day for all of you.

the ‘b’ team wasted no time, as soon as they won they got straight to business. laxus pulled out a map and presented it to the ‘a’ team “go to this forest to get a magic stone.”

“magic stone?” wendy asked curiously

“the forest is called ‘las puertas del infierno’.”

you blinked at him “let me get this straight you want us to go to some forest that is literally called the doors of hell, for a rock…yeah i’m not going.”

he laughed and smirked at you “that’s cute but you don’t have a choice here babe, you have till noon.”

“please i barely wanna look for some stupid rock so why would i-” mid-sentence you let yourself think, you caught the smirk he sent your way so he was sending you along with the exploration team on purpose. he knew you, and searching through a swamp for a rock was the last thing you wanted to do.

“you sick son of a bitch you are good.” you glared at him, he knew you well and you hated it, he had just what he needed to get the upper hand in the punishment game.

you slowly trudged through the swamp, disgusted by all its inhabitants and the murky water you were walking in “guys i wanna go home.”

gray looked at you from the corners of his eyes with a sigh “you’ve been saying that for the past ten minutes y/n.”

you sucked your teeth at him and rolled your eyes “that doesn’t make it any less true. let’s just find that stupid rock go we could get out of here, i mean lucy over here covered head to toe in leeches.”

“what?!” she shrieked while running around in circles “get them off me! get them off!”

“i would put im not touching those” you pointed to the leeches on her thighs “besides i just got my nails done these weren’t cheap you know.”

nastu fired a flame attack to help lucy with the leeches, while peeling off the remaining creatures he spoke to you over his shoulder “when did you find time to get those we just, got back from the grand magic games, and how did you pay for them last time i checked you’re dirt broke like the rest of us.”

lucy slapped his head “speak for yourself!” lucy had rent to pay so she could be anything she wanted but dirt broke, she's been taking jobs back to back just to pay her rent.

you shrugged "you have your strengths and i have mine, and i happen to have a bottomless wallet on my side."

happy snickered behind his paws “yeah a bottomless wallet who’s in loveee”

you whipped your neck around and yelled at happy “can it cat!” unfortunately for you he continued giggling floating off to be by natsu.

after walking through the swamp for what felt like hours, when it reality it was a long hour and thirty minutes you finally found the stone. thanks to gray and his unfortunate set of circumstances.

when you finally returned to the guild and returned the stone just for it to be used for a makeshift jacuzzi, you and lucy shared a single glance that spoke volumes.

your eyes took in laxus' chiseled body going lower and lower until your eyes rested on his happy trail, you were no stranger to this sight but it still did the job for you every time, too busy admiring his body you didn’t notice him looking at you with a lazy grin on his face “my eyes are up here y/n.”

his voice snapped you out of your daze “hm? oh yeah sure whatever.” you looked away from him ignoring the snickers coming from the remainder of the b team.

it came time for the b team to pick members from the a team. cana took wendy, mira took erza, gajeel took lucy, and unsurprisingly juvia took gray. you, elfman and natsu unfortunately got stuck with laxus.

you were stuck tending to laxus and the thunder legion by the jacuzzi while he sent natsu and elfman on a while goose chase for milk and bread, you rose a brow as they ran out of the guild for the items.

“y/n.” he smirked at you as he spoke, he pointed to his shoulder with his thumb “i want you to give me a massage if you don’t mind.”

you resisted the urge to roll your eyes ‘if you don’t mind’ he says, like you had a choice in the first place.

you flashed him a fake smile “gee i would have too but i don’t have a swimsuit! what if i fell in? we wouldn’t want that now would we?” you knew there was no proper way to get out of this, but even if you could stall a little you would be fine.

“i could get you a swimsuit y/n.” evergreen chipped in with a smile

you immediately turned around to face her “say what now?”

laxus smirked at you and nodded towards the guild doors "evergreen go take y/n to get a swimsuit." you couldn't protest even if you wanted to, and you were a little irritated that you didn't think your plan through. after picking swimsuits with evergreen, which you think she enjoyed more than you did, you walked back to the jacuzzi where they were all waiting for you.

laxus gave a low whistle shamelessly letting his eyes hungrily roam over your body and then pointed to his shoulders "where were we?" sometimes you couldn't deny how much you hated him.

bickslow smiled and pointed to his own shoulders “i’d like a massage too.”

you scowled at him which only caused his grin to become wider “freed is literally sitting right there make him do it. you’re all dead once this day ends.”

as you massaged his bare shoulders, you noticed the marks on his back that you left from your last night together, rolled your eyes at how he showed them off and traced a finger on the red scratches letting your nail gently glide across his back.

he pointed to his shoulder with a smirk on his face “my shoulders are up here y/n. are you feeling okay you’re out of it today?” he chuckled as he felt you glaring him down, as you massaged his shoulders you occasionally moved your hands to the base of his neck, longing to put your hands around his neck and clutch.

evergreen nudged the boys knowing it was their cue to leave, evergreen sent you a wink over her shoulder as she left with bickslow and freed "try to act civil you two we're in the guild after all."

within seconds laxus pulled you onto his lap clearly ignoring evergreen's words of wisdom. he rested his hands on your waist to support you, and he smiled up at you with a gleam in his eyes. his hands roamed your body as they moved down to your hips, he pulled you closer to him your body was flush against his and he whispered in your ear “that was a dirty move you pulled using your nails like that.” his voice sent shivers down your spine, the way he whispered those words just for you to hear despite the empty room, if there was one thing he knew how to do it was how to leave an effect on you.

you fiddled with the hair on the nape of his neck knowing how it affects him “it was just a harmless massage, you were the one who told me to give you one after all.” you gently dragged your nails from his neck into his hair, grazing your nails into his scalp, grinning when he hummed at your touch.

“you play a dangerous game y/n. we’ve got a couple more hours till the day ends let’s make it count.”

[tomblythismyhusband]

haunted [ coriolanus snow x fem!reader ]

[summary]: coriolanus snow x fem!reader | You comfort Coriolanus after he wakes up distressed. There’s something he’s not telling you, it pains you, but you still try to show your love. Coriolanus reluctantly accepts your comfort despite his thoughts being on Lucy Gray.

[warnings]: mentions of killing sejanus and mayfair

[wc]: 1.5k

[note]: story takes place two months after coriolanus comes back from district 12. [might do a part 2 still debating… posting this at 2am btw <33]

**part two**

Coriolanus’ eyes shot open, his body sticky with a cold sweat.

Her voice. It echoed in his mind. Lucy Gray was still with him even in his own bed. Her siren songs swirling around his head making him sick to his stomach. Coriolanus let out a puff of air.

It had been two months since he’d gotten back from District 12.

Two months.

He hated himself for giving in to the thought of her. He was supposed to be stronger than that.

Lucy Gray had poisoned his mind.

The familiar scent of her still lingering as a constant reminder of her cruelness. This was her fault. She did this to him. She’s the evil one.

He comforted himself at the thought that she might’ve bled out to death in the woods after he shot at what he thought to be her.

She was a silly girl. A silly girl that didn’t understand the way the world worked. He could even argue that she was delusional. Living her days singing pointless songs and lazily wandering through the forest was not a way to live.

His heart pounded its he thought of the possibility that she might still be alive. Waiting. Watching. Taking her time to pick out the perfect moment to tell the world about how he killed Mayfair and was the cause for Sejanus’ death.

“She’s dead. She’s dead to me.” He repeated in his head trying to relax himself.

He hadn’t realized that he was panting till he felt you stir next to him.

You blinked awake, at the faint sound. Your boyfriend, Coriolanus Snow, laid next to you. He was.. trembling?

Your attention was caught. You shifted your body a bit to wake yourself up.

“Corio…?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes.

He didn’t respond. You slowly propped yourself up on your elbows, still blinking the sleep from your eyes.

“What’s wrong, are you ok?” You whispered into the darkness.

You reached out your arm to place it gently on his chest as you laid on your stomach. The moonlight slightly illuminated his stone faced expression. You could feel his heart beating rapidly.

“Coriolanus.” You said again, a little louder. Something was obviously bothering him.

“Just a nightmare.” He said lowly. You couldn’t help but notice the shakiness of his voice, the tenseness of his body.

You scooted closer to him, he flinched as you did this. “Darling, talk to me.” You said softly, looking into his eyes. They were shiner than normal, he looked ready to break down at any moment.

What was going on?

He seemed hesitant. You could see a tinge of anger in his expression.

He finally spoke, words that hurt you. Hurt you more then they should’ve.

“I can’t talk to you about this.” He whispered.

You always knew Coriolanus tended to be distant but it still hurt. Every time.

“Corio, you can always talk to me.” You said quietly.

You sat up now, concern plagued your body. You looked down at him as he stared straight ahead.

He shook his head, sitting up as well. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair. He tugged at the locks as he let out a shaky breath.

“I- I don’t-“ He choked out before biting back a sob.

This was new. Never had you even seen Coriolanus cry. Never. Not even at his former classmate Sejanus’ funeral did you see him shed a tear. While everyone sobbed he had stayed completely stone faced. Something must really be hurting him.

“Shhh… Hey.. hey…” You said softly, reaching your hands up to his face, placing them on either side. His eyes glistened with tears. You looked into them, your eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m here. Talk to me Corio.” You urged quietly, caressing his now tear stained cheeks.

He sucked in a shaky breath.

“Have you ever… had something happen to you that just inhabits your mind… haunting you?”

You tilted your head slightly. His words seemed vague. Was he thinking of his childhood? Sejanus? His time as a peacekeeper?

“Coriolanus what are you-“ Yous started to ask before you were sharply cut off.

“Just answer the question.”

His tone was cold.

You thought for a moment. You couldn’t really think of anything besides silly highschool moments like cheating on a test, or rejecting a nice boy’s date proposal. You decided to shake your head. You had a feeling Coriolanus was thinking about something a lot more meaningful than your futile experiences.

“No.. I haven’t.” You said quietly. You hoped your answer wouldn’t upset him further.

He let out a sharp sigh. “Then you wouldn’t understand.”

You frowned at his statement, pulling his head closer to you.

“Hey… just because I don’t entirely relate doesn’t mean I can’t help. I love you Coriolanus.”

His breath hitched as you said the word “love”. Oh how he hated that word.

A word that encased only lies.

Lucy Gray said she loved him, and what did she do?

She betrayed him.

The thought of you loving him made him shake with frustration. You didn’t mean it. He knew you didn’t. No one ever means “I love you.”

“I’m done talking about this.” He said passively. He tried to pull himself away from you but you didn’t budge.

“Why are you so scared to open up to me Coriolanus?” You asked in a slightly alarmed tone. “I don’t want us to just have a surface level relationship... I want all of you.” Your fingers gently stroked his face.

He fell silent for a moment.

“I just- have so much on my mind.” He choked out, fresh tears welling in his blue eyes.

You nodded, never losing his gaze. You wanted to make sure he knew you cared.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but just know I’m here.”

He stifled a cry as his head slumped against your shoulder. You gently ran your hands through his hair. He was broken and you so desperately wanted to fix him. He cried against you, his body shaking slightly.

You continued to stay calm, quietly kissing the top of his head. You traced calming circles on his bare back. You felt his tears dripping onto your shoulder.

“It’s healthy to let out your emotions Corio.” You mumbled against his head. You loved him so much. It hurt you to see him like this.

After a while he lifted his head, meeting your eyes. His face was flushed. You leaned in and kissed his salty cheek. He let out a breath as you pulled back staring at you.

Coriolanus shook his head slightly. “I don’t deserve you y/n.”

He meant every word of that sentence. He didn’t deserve your love that he didn’t know how to return.

He felt pathetic at this moment. He hated how vulnerable he was being, it was revolting. He didn’t understand how he could let his guard down like this. Coriolanus swore that after Lucy Gray he would never subject himself to love again.

But here you were.

Did you really care? Were you trying to use him? What were your intentions? These questions pounded in his brain, causing a headache.

You gave him a soft smile as his words filled your senses. I don’t deserve you. He had never said anything like that to you before.

“You mean a lot to me. You always have.” You whispered.

He leaned in to kiss you softly. “Thank you.” He mumbled against your lips. You could still the salt of his tears as you kissed.

You felt him lean back, to lie down again. You kept your lips pressed to kiss as you laid down as well.

Once you pulled apart you gave him a soft smile. “I love you Coriolanus.”

He studied you for a moment, then nodded. “Goodnight y/n.” Coriolanus then turned over, almost like he was blocking you out. You laid there, the familiar feeling of hurt twisting in your body at his usual coldness.

He had never told you he loved you. Not once. It was a word he constantly avoided. You silently turned over as well, waiting for sleep to numb the pain you felt.

Coriolanus knew that he’d probably hurt you by not returning your words, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t say I love you knowing full well that Lucy Gray’s lullabies soothed him into sleep. The captivating lyrics twisting his mind.

Damn Lucy Gray. Your ruining my life. Your ruining my relationship with the one girl who says she loves me.

Why do you haunt me like this? Why do you continue to stab me in the back?

Why do you choose to kill me slowly with your memory?

[plush-rabbit]

part two to the unnamed chapter from like a few days ago!! honestly, im suprised people liked it. like i didnt think it would get good stuff. like i dindt think it was bad, but im like the hype has died down anyways!! we meet the man, the myth, the devil himself!!

Word Count: 4.8K

You can hardly keep your eyes open. Even with the soft yellow glow of the light, it's far too bright for you. Shutting your eyes only brings you a bit of solace. You're somewhere soft, something light and feathery pulled over you, and you shift your shoulder blades to pull your wings closer to your body, and instead you sob, the pain sharp and unforgiving to your frail body.

Did you fall? No, maybe you slept on them wrong. You don’t have to think about stretching your wings, it was always second nature, as easy as blinking and as easy as moving your arm. You’d stretch your wings, and you’d ask Adam to help you preen your wings. You shift, and something feels empty, it feels light, lighter than air. You can’t remember your wings feeling so light, not unless you were flying. You’d hate to have messed up your wings over something as frivolous as falling.

Memories rush in, fragmented, only the beginning pieces clear enough for you to remember. Your eyes snap, and you’re met with harsh lighting. You see nothing but wood and stone, and a home that is not yours, and you groan into something soft under you. Moving your arm is painful, it feels bent and sore, and you reach for feathers, and find nothing. Your cries bury themselves into something plush, something that soaks your tears and drool and leaves only a patch behind. A hand pats softly against your arm, and you flinch. 

A voice shushes out to calm you. “It's okay. You're safe. I'm not here to hurt you,” they whisper. “Just relax, and try not to move. You still haven't recovered.”

Even if they speak softly to you, it's far too loud. The words echo in your head, and attempting to think about where you are and who you're with is making you nauseous. Or perhaps it's the sickly honeyed scent that is thick in the air. 

“‘S too sweet,” you slur, clawing at fabric beneath you. You regret speaking, the movement making your already sore jaw ache further, the joints pushing into your splitting skull. Your head pulses and your mouth is cotton filled, thick and impossible to speak. “Where?” You hope that someone will give you an answer to where you are. Or at least what you're on.

“Oh, thank you,” a voice chirps. 

“Don't think it was a compliment Bee,” a thick accent says in a hushed voice.

“Well I'm taking it as one,” the voice huffs.

“You're at my home,” the gentle voice is back. “You're in a spare bed. Just try to relax.” You can’t relax with all the sound, and when you try to tell him that, you only murmur, slurring letters together. “I know, I know.” He doesn’t, but you can’t correct him. “Just try not to move so much.” It's quiet again, a silence that stretches and fills the void with nothingness. The smell and the shuffling of bodies is the only indication that you aren’t alone, that you haven’t been left yet. 

“Luci, mate, you sure it's a good idea to have an angel laying around?” You hear the chime of bells, and you want everything to stop. 

“They aren't an angel,” a voice retorts. A hand places itself over your bicep, and squeezes you softly.

“Yeah, but like, it’s still a bit dangerous, isn’t it?” The voice is much more feminine, and you can hear a buzz when they speak, a low hum that doesn’t stop. “Having one of them just on your bed.”

“A spare bed,” the voice corrects. The bed dips beside you, your fingers tap against the mattress. “It was dangerous when we were first here,” snapping at the other, before sighing. “It’s been a long time since another angel has fallen.” 

“Lucifer, honey,” this voice is smoother than the others, and you wish they would all stop talking. “What’s the plan here?” Someone makes a noise of confusion. “They aren’t an angel anymore, if anything, they’re a walking target. We don’t even know if they’re an Exorcist.”

“Heaven hasn’t cast out an Angel in so long,” the voice says softly, a finger tracing shapes onto your arm. “And I highly doubt they’re an Exorcist. I can almost- I’m positive that they aren’t.”

An Exorcist. That’s what they think. Lute flashes in your mind, and Adam follows, weapons ready, and thinking hurts far too much. You groan, nuzzling into the pillow, trying to tune out the sounds. You need them to stop talking.

A hand pats at your arm, and soon you feel fingers tangle themselves into your hair. Fingertips ghost alongside the tender part of your scalp. The voice hushes you, lulling you back into a state of unconsciousness. “I’m sorry,” they whisper, “we must be too loud for you.”

“Lucifer, I know you’re still-” the person pauses- “upset-” they sound unsure of the word they’re using- “about the last few years, but you can’t take on a pity project.”

Lucifer. They keep saying- oh shit. You let out a whimper. You don’t know if you’re thankful for being found by him, or if it’s a curse to be found by him. He shushes you once more, massaging gently at your scalp. 

“Yeah-” the buzzing is louder this time- “you know, if you were lonely, you could have just said something. I got some cute little hounds that need loving homes, ya know? And uh, they’re cute-” they hiss that word and you furrow your brows- “and practically housebroken.”

“Luci, it’s not like they’re worth much. I mean look at ‘em. I don’t even think I remember seein’ them back up when we were there, so they gotta be new or somethin’.”

The hands still, fingertips pressing into the tenderness of your head. You let out a low sound, and give a soft nudge of your head for the person- Lucifer you presume, to let go. He apologizes, soothing over the spot where he’s touched. “It’s not- They aren’t a pity project. This isn’t that. Don’t you remember how bad it was. How painful it was to fall. At least we had each other. We were stronger than most angels.” You wish they would all stop talking. Especially when they refer to falling, you can't stand to hear it. “They have no one. This is- I just want them to feel safe.” His words come to a slow stand, and if it didn’t hurt to cry, you’d sob at the reminder of your punishment. “Their wings were ripped from them, they weren’t even allowed to heal.”

“Well it ain’t like Heaven is known for their leniency.”

“Listen, Lucifer, we’re just saying that you’ve been having a lot of big emotions recently, and maybe nursing someone back to health isn’t what you need right now.” Lucifer- at least you’re assuming- makes a noise in protest at what the other voice is stating. “What’s the long-term plan, hm? You fix them and then what? Do they live here? Do you kick them out? Take them over to Charlie?”

The room is still, the buzzing has quieted down to a hum, and you feel sleep grasp onto you once more. “You should all go.” The group protests immediately, voices overlapping one another, the buzzing higher, and scent of sweets and leather grows and irritates you further. Your head pounds, banging against your skull. You shift, pulling at the wounds, and a cry muffles itself into your pillow. “It’s okay, you’re okay” the voice says in a hushed voice, palms pressed flat against you, cooling your feverish body. “I’ll give you something right now to help the pain.” He clears his throat away from you. “I have to think about things. I’ll make sure to give you updates as they come along, but for now, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” He pauses. “You should return back to your rings.”

The buzzing quiets down, and footsteps shuffle out. It's a mess of steps, puttering and pattering along the floor, and the sound is [welcomed] by silence. A door clicks shut, and you hear no lock. 

Thinking if you're a prisoner or not is too much of a task right now. The strength of the saccharine scent has left with its owner, and instead now gently wafts in the air. Somewhere on the other side of the room, you hear a sigh.

“I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have been having that conversation with you in the room.” You let out a short huff in response. “It won’t happen again, okay? We must have been loud for you, huh?” With all the strength that you can muster, you give a short nod. “Let me go get you something for the pain, okay?” You feel a soft hand over your bicep, giving you a soft squeeze. The hand lingers with fingertips that kiss over your skin in feather light touches as they pull away. 

You drift between consciousness and unconsciousness, unable to fully sleep, but you don’t register anything that happens. All that you’re aware of is that someone is back in the room with you. He’s beside you, something plastic touching against your lips and the thick taste of medicine is bitter on your tongue. 

“I’m going to light some incense, okay?” You’d rather he give you water or anything else to wash the taste off. “You just let me know if it’s too much.” The scent is much calmer compared to the sickly sweet one from earlier. “I had Belphegor send me some sleeping aids. I believe it’s the only reason you’re able to get some actual rest.” Your lips mouth the words “thank you”. Something soft and warm covers you, and you feel yourself sink further into the mattress. “I don’t know how much of your power was stripped, or how much you even had to begin with. Mammon was right about that, you are a newer angel, you might not even be able to do much other than heal.” His voice is growing harder to understand, it’s fading into the back, and sleep pulls you further in. “However, I wouldn’t ask you to even attempt to heal yourself- not in this state,” he whispers.

“Taste bad,” is all that you can mutter. Your head pounds, and it feels like it’s swelling. Each word that you speak is laid thick and slurred together. Every syllable only brings you sickness and an ache in your skull.

“I know,” he sighs. “The medicine here doesn’t taste good, but there’s not much that I can do about it.” A cloth dabs at your mouth. “Hell is supposed to be a punishment after all,” he says with a humorless laugh. “I’m- I’m sure that Heaven’s medicine is still divine as ever,” they mumble with a heavy weight on the words. 

“Like nectar,” you speak softly, the memory of it faint on your tongue. 

Something brushes along your face, and you feel the pull of sleep. “Yeah,” he breathes out, “like nectar.”

-

Knocking on the door disrupts your sleep. Something gargles sounds on the other side of the door. In your mind, it’s too faint to make anything out. You hear the squeak of the door open, and through bleary eyes, you make out two tall figures. Again, they speak to you, and you nod back to sleep.

You feel the latex of gloves touch your body, knuckles the brush against the nape of your neck and hands that grab your arms, ready to still you as you tense. “We’re just changing your bandages.” You shake your head. “It’ll be quick, just stay still.” You’d rather deal with an infection than with how the doctors treat you. You recall a voice making an argument that you’re not welcomed here, that you're an angel in a land of sin. 

“No, no,” you mutter, tears staining your face and wetting the pillow. You feel the cold breeze on your back, whispering over your wounds. The stickiness of the gauze peels away from you, and you can smell the stench of it- metallic, rich and earthy. Something so sweet, and it disgusts you and the doctors. 

Their hands grip tighter onto you, holding you down and you yelp. “Stay still.” You recall many moons ago how Lute told you something similar. How her words were laced with sorrow and false bravado. These doctors, these demons, spit the words at you, and hold you down. 

Your hands claw at the mattress, your screams echoing against the wall, bouncing and ringing in your ears. Light blinds you immediately as your eyes flash open, and your head is head, pushed down onto the mattress, as curses are spit onto you. You’re in Hell. Your teeth find themselves tearing into the pillow, drool pooling into a puddle and tears slipping down.

“Just,” they grunt, and press firmly down on your back, “stay still.” You gasp for breath, kicking and digging your knees into the bed. “Please,” they beg, and you fall, your body limp and heavy on the bed. 

As quick as it started, it ends just as quick. You’re left sobbing, gasping for breath, and despite the pain, and tearing open the wound, you hug yourself, your nails scratching against the cloth. They’ve placed it far too tight for you. 

-

Only a few weeks pass when you’re finally cognitive. When your head isn’t splitting at every noise, and you can move somewhat without risking any pain or even your fear of opening the wounds back open. You stay as still as possible, and try not to do any sudden movement that would stretch your back. Lucifer has attempted to reassure you that you’re fine now, that combined with Hell’s magic and his own blessing, you should be fit to move around. Of course, you will be sore, that can only go away with time. 

“You’ll be left with scars. That can’t be helped,” he told you, his eyes focused on how your hands fist the blanket, “but you’ll be okay.” He gives you a tender smile, and you cling to it in the night.

Once you were in a proper headspace, you knew you shouldn’t have been surprised to know that it was him taking care of you. From what you can faintly recall in one of the many conversations that he’s had in the room as you recovered, he knows what it’s like to be cast out. 

However, you are surprised at how caring and patient he is. That despite you being able to do most things on your own without stumbling, he is still beside you, keeping you company and comforting you when he has to change the bandages. He hardly lets anyone else do it after you complained about doctors accidentally wrapping the bandages too tight. His gentleness is a mask for his pity, and he can never meet your eyes without looking away. 

-

You’re laid on your stomach, and your only entertainment is wondering what could be inside the bedside drawers. While moving does not cause as much discomfort as it once did, you don’t risk stretching. You sit straight, and you look at the wall, and dare not to stretch your arms. Pillows have been fluffed and placed to create a soft barrier between you and the headboard of the bed. Knuckles rap against the door in a rhythm, and you stare at the wall in front of you. You wait for a second, and with a breath, you allow for the person to enter. 

“Hello,” Lucifer calls. “I’ve brought you some fruit. I’m sure that you must have been feeling peckish.” You give no reply. “I uh- I also brought some books.” The bowl of fruit is balanced above the small stack of books. “I was thinking that I’ll get you a television or something soon. But maybe some literature would be good for you.” He rests the tower on the dresser, and grabs the bowl between his hands. 

You should reply to him. You should tell him thank you- not just for the books and the bowl of fruit, but for housing you, for caring for you. But you cannot. Not when he’s a constant reminder of where you are. 

“I was wondering if there was any type of genre that you might like.” He sounds hopeful, wanting to continue a conversation with the husk in front of him. “It would be no trouble to get them to you.” 

His smile is stretched thin, and it looks painful. All of this is painful. Your eyes flitter over to the fruit bowl, and you wonder how you’d feed yourself when stretching your arms still pulls at the scars. 

“Would you like some?” He leans towards you, and you have the mental image of being some hurt bird being nursed back to health. “I had some demons go over to Earth and get some for you. I thought you’d prefer this over the food that we have here. Since you aren’t accustomed to Hell’s food, yet.” You stay silent, and after a moment he sighs. His heels click against the floor, and the bowl is placed on your lap. “You know,” he starts, “it would help if you talked. I know what you’re going through, and you can’t- you shouldn’t isolate yourself.” When you refuse to answer, he sighs. “Well, if you need something, just let me know.”

Despite not wanting to be here, of not having any need to want to continue your existence, you have grown a strong dislike of being alone in this room. You have no idea if he’s isolating for your own safety, or for some other nefarious reason. He clasps the door knob around his hand, and twists it. You wet your lips, and you need someone to talk to. 

“Lucifer?” You croak out, and you surprise yourself with your voice. You hadn’t heard it in so long, past the screaming and the tears. He turns to you, taking a step closer, and his hand returns the door knob to its closed position. “Can you stay?” You feel sick looking at the fruit. “Please?”

With a gentle smile, he nods his head. “Of course.” He grabs a chain from the corner of the room and carries it to sit beside you. It’s a deep wooden color, intricate designs carved into the legs of the chair, and a deep red cushion that is stitched into the seat and the back. 

The silence between the two of you is broken by the crunch of the fruit. You pierce a grape with the silver tines of the fork, and your body aches with the movement to bring it up to your mouth. The sweet juice does nothing to aide in your brooding and the awkward silence. 

He’s right, and you know that. You have to try. He’s the only contact that you have. Adam always hated how you’d hide your emotions, how you rather shut the world off, and at least that hasn’t changed since your falling. You need to talk to him. You can see the attempt that Lucifer has been making in order to keep you happy, to make your time here just a bit more bearable. You suck in your lower lip, and let your tongue brush over where your teeth have grazed.

“I was promised a trial,” you start. His eyes are on you, and you see him fiddle with his tie. “They promised it would have been fair.” You frown, and shake your head, an ache heavy in your chest. “I was so hopeful that it would have been.” The fruit is bitter on your tongue and you force yourself to swallow it.

After a moment’s silence, he speaks. “Who would have been the judge?”

The apple is pierced between your teeth, the skin ripping from the flesh of the apple. It was cute with care, no hint of the core tarnishing the fruit, ripe and perfect, only to be mauled by your teeth. “Father.” You swallow the fruit. “Or perhaps one of the Virtues.” Oranges are peeled, torn apart from the other slices, the piths of white removed. “I was worried that I would have fallen, even before I was given my verdict. My-” you look at Lucifer, and you remember who he has stolen- “I feared that I would have fallen, because I didn't matter. No one questions Heaven’s beliefs, not since-” you glance at him, and he turns his head- “I was sure I would have met the same fate.” The sweetness of the strawberries make your jaw tingle and ache. “And I did.”

“I’m sorry.” You hold the fork tightly, the silver pressing into the flesh of your palms. “The fear you had must have been,” he pauses, “intense.”

There is no one better who understands, other than Lucifer himself. You nod, and let the fork ding against the glass of the bowl. “I was good. I did what was needed of me, I didn’t dare speak out of turn.” You think of how Adam would run his mouth, how every other word would be a curse, would be of anything lewd. “Perhaps I wasn’t as good as I thought I was. Not if a question were enough to have me expelled from Heaven.” 

A gloved hand reaches, and falls just before your thigh. A gold band hugs at his finger, and you’re surprised to have yet seen his wife. Feeling your stare, he turns his hand, and lets the other fingers hide the symbol of matrimony. 

“Sometimes, that’s all it takes,” he says quietly, his tone soft, and wistful. “But, if it makes you feel any better, Hell has some redeeming qualities. It’s not all pain and suffering.” You look at him, and he gives you a smile. “We have an amusement park. There’s a uh-” he scratches the back of his neck, his gaze pointed elsewhere and checks flushing- “ride modeled after me.”

The corners of your lips turn, and you narrow your eyes at him. “After you?” You ask, an elfish tinge laced into your words.

“Shaped like my head.” A finger makes a circle in front of his face.

You scoff out a laugh, and the sound surprises you. You attempt to hide the smile, but when the corners still turn upwards, you look at your lap. “You are the Avatar of Pride after all,” you tell him, the lilt faint on your words.

“It’s actually very impressive,” he points out. “A whole ride dedicated to my likeness.”

“The line for it must be awful.” The juice of the fruit is thin on your tongue. “Heaven has zoos. There’s an area where you get to feed the birds out of the palm of your hand.” You push the fork upwards with the knuckle of your index. “They hardly ever peck your palm, but when they do, we call them kisses from one of Father’s creations.”

He snorts, and shakes his head. His smile is soft, and there's a lingering sadness to it before it falls. “Down in the Wrath ring, there are livestock shows where you’ll find horse bucking and catching the flamed greased pig.” You give him a look, and he smiles. “It’s not as nice as the zoo, I’m sure, but it’s just as entertaining.” He leans back on his chair. “Sometimes I would take my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” You knew of his wife, but you hadn’t realized that they had a child. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

He winces, and nods sheepishly. “Charlie,” he tells you her name. “I think you’d like her- she’s peppy.” He gives you a tense smile, and looks away. “We don’t talk as much as we used to.”

You frown. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shakes his head, and lets out a sigh. He sits straighter, and pulls his shoulders back. “How are the bandages?” You roll your ankles, unsure what to make of the sudden shift in conversation. “They’re not too tight are they?” It’s not your place to pry, and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable when he’s the one caring for you.

“No, Lucifer,” you answer. “They’re fine. Thank you.”

He nods, and you can tell he’s grown uncomfortable now. You don’t blame him. “Of course. I wanted to make sure that you were comfortable. As much as possible.” 

A silence befalls between the two of you. You bite into the fruit, and force yourself to swallow it. The nectar is sweet and makes your jaw ache. Beside you, Lucifer clears his throat, and you turn to him.He looks away, his eyes trained on the walls.

“If I may ask, I- Well you see, you know my name-” he looks at you again, and you tap your nails against the glass- “and I don’t know yours.” Your eyes widen, and you try to think back on when you might have whispered your name to him, but you can’t recall it. “I just- I was thinking since you’re here, and I’ve changed your bandages, I thought, that I should be calling you by your name.”

“My name?” You whisper, and you feel silly for keeping it close to you. For just a fraction of a second, for some far away thought to be held, that you didn’t want to share the last thing that ties you to Heaven.

“If only that’s okay. If not, we can come up with a nickname or something.”

You shake your head. You’ve kept your name to yourself, and you wonder if your pain-induced haze, if he’s ever asked you for it. You stretch your lips, and wet your tongue. “Did you ever ask for it,” you hold the words on your tongue, and they are heavy like wine, “when I was in and out?”

“Yes,” he confesses. “You wouldn’t answer.”

A name given by Heaven; whispered to you gently in the arms of Father, as sunlight shined down upon you and warmth surrounded you in your creation. It’s silly, and childish to cling to it, to hold onto it like a child holds onto their blanket, but it’s all that you have left. Everything else was stripped from you, taken and tossed aside, and you wonder if your name even holds any significance back home. 

You turn to Lucifer, and your name is heavy on your tongue, bitter like wine, and it’s your name, fitting you like a glove that will fit no other. 

Lucifer repeats your name, whispering it under his breath, tasting it between his canines and tongue, and you watch him. Chills run down your spine, and the feeling is not unpleasant. He catches your eyes, and his cheeks flush, the red spots darkening, under your gaze. He calls your name once more, louder and clearer, want held between the vowels, as if to savor your name, to savor what you’ve given to him. 

You nod, your chest aflame, as if you’ve done something scandalous. You can’t trust your voice, not when he's looking at you. Your knuckles feel as if it’s on pins, tingling and having you scratch against the bowl. 

He glances at your lap. “Are you done?” 

“Yes,” you breathe out rather quickly. 

He reaches for the bowl, grabbing it by the rim and stands from his chair. You watch in silence as he pushes the chair back, letting it block one of the drawers from the nightstand. The bowl clinks against the mahogany of the dresser, and he grabs the books, flush against his chest. 

“I hadn’t meant to leave the books so far from you,” he says, placing them on the nightstand. “They’ll be closer within your reach.” You nod, and peek over, reading the title of the first book. “I’ll be back in a few hours, if you need anything, feel free to call out. I’ll make sure to hear it.”

He walks away, his heels clicking against the floor, and you don’t want to be alone anymore. “Lucifer,” you call out, fisting the blankets in your hand. He turns around, pressing the bowl against his body, his hand wrapped tight around the doorknob, already opening it and stepping into the rest of his domain. You swallow nothing, and try not to think of anything other than gratitude.  “Thank you for everything,” you tell him, sending him a thinned smile. 

“Of course,” he calls your name in a sweet tone. “Whatever you need, just let me know.”

The door closes shut, and you let out a breath. Your hands fist at your shirt, grasping and you bite the inner corners of your lips, feeling the soft flesh of it be pierced by your teeth. It’s been far too long since you’ve had a gentle hand, since you’ve had someone be gentle with you. A hand reaches out and scratches along your bicep, pulling the skin and leaving soft arches across. 

You hadn’t realized how much you would miss Adam.

[thekatebridgerton]

Also here's another story I wish someone would write inspired in my current late night sleep deprived scrolling and too much Rock of Ages clips:

Colin Bridgerton Rock Star who has lost himself in sex drugs and alcohol to cope with the decline of his song writing inspiration. Enter Penelope Featherington, former childhood friend turned, rolling stone journalist who interviewed Colin for the magazine and wrote a terribly unflattering article (so what if she chewed him up and told him he was an irresponsible child who needed to man up, so what if he accused her of literally running away from their friendship when he got famous and forgetting he existed until this dang interview, so what if they had hate sex! So what if she ruined him for all other women) What Colin cares about is that he needs to find her again and make her retract what she wrote about him in Rolling Stone!!

Side plots Featuring Anthony, Benedict and Gregory, band mates who are sick of him and coping with Colin's trainwreck lifestyle by equally trainwrecking their own lives.

Anthony is a recovering sex addict with a bunch of groupie girlfriends that always follow him around who has fallen head over heels for his ball busting bodyguard Kate. Yes he's fallen for Kate! Who would rather meet his crazy fans with a glock at dawn than let him buy her a drink, Kate with walls a mile high who roundhouse kicked him the last time he told her she looked hot. Kate who smiles at him when she thinks he's not looking and thinks he's going to propose to her sister. Why did he fall inlove with Kate? He likes her! Why can't she like him back? Kate is willing to take a bullet for him but she won't let him anywhere near her heart. So sex drugs and alcohol it is, maybe if Kate sees how much of a trainwreck he can be, she will quit and cease tormenting him. If Anthony can't have Kate then nothing matters anymore

Benedict resident polyamory Rock Star fresh out of a breakup with his other two equally famous significant others, trying to ' create art' and cover Colin and Anthony's messes only to find his muse in a one night stand he had when he was super wasted. Granted the new housekeeper his mom hired for the band seems awfully familiar, but this Sophie girl is just too cute to be his sexy goddess of silver. Doesn't mean he hasn't tried to bang Sophie, but she said she's not into meaningless flings with washed up bass players, so fine no sleeping with her, he will treat her like an employee too, but as an employer he needs her to remain around him all the time, when Sophie smiles she helps him get back his inspiration, he can paint again when she's around, that's all that's keeping his attention, of course he wants Sophie to see him as a man, but its okay if she doesn't... Right? Right??

Then there's Gregory, the drummer, trying to make it in the Rock Star scene, and keep his older brothers from doing a full kamikaze on their relationships and their band. He's so lucky he's got his best friend Lucy supporting him trough this, dang it would suck if Lucy didn't come to his concerts or gave him a listening ear. She's trying to make it in Hollywood as a Disney actress and she's been Gregorys rock, her agent is a bit of a diva but if Lucy gets a shot at stardom Greg encourages her to go for it. That's until news of Lucy's relationship with pop idol Haselbaby reaches Gregory. What do you mean his Lucy is dating some pop idiot who can't even sing? Why would she? She's his best...his best... oh forget it Lucy is HIS, and no Disney romance publicity stunt is going to stop him from taking her back and making her his girlfriend. And with brothers too dumb to tell him not to be stupid, he's about to destroy Lucy's entire Disney career by kidnapping her and bringing her on tour with him. If the media won't give his Lucy attention unless she gives them drama, his stunt will make her name flash in headlines for years to come!.

Violet please come get your Rock Band, the boys are mucking things up again!!

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 34

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words: 5k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Saturday, January 9th, 8:35 PM - Bar

- Move it! We’re late! We said 8:30, for crying out loud!

- Oh, come on, it’s only 8:35.

- Five minutes too late, she grumbles. I’m not someone who’s late.

I smile at her reaction. Today has been very enlightening. I’m slowly starting to get to know the real  Lucy, and I realize she’s not so different from the commander at the camp. So, I’m not surprised that she hates being late, both at school and elsewhere. I have to admit, though, I provoked her a bit. I took longer in the bathroom than necessary. It’s nerve-wracking, knowing I’m about to meet my supervisor’s friends. She tried to reassure me, but it was a lost cause. We just arrived in front of a bar with the sign *TheUnited* glowing in the dark. I hide my trembling hands in my jacket pockets. I distract myself by thinking about the end of our day. I loved spending time with her at the park, where she introduced me to the best smoothie of my life. Let’s not even talk about the exhibit. I still can’t believe she found that for me. I loved being able to chat with some of the artists, who were just a bit older than me. It was enriching to listen to their experiences, and it makes me more and more eager to pursue this path. Meeting people like that makes you realize that nothing is impossible. Given my situation, I should know that by now.

- Come on, Ona, are you going in or what? We’re already late, she says, annoyed.

- Sorry, I say, blushing.

- You know, they’re not going to eat you, she finally smiles. And it’s not like I’m going to leave you alone with them.

- Don’t say that. When Mapi tells me that, I always end up alone by the end of the evening.

- I’m not Mapi, as far as I know. I’ll stay with you, I promise. Now, are you going in, or do I have to hold your hand again? she teases.

I give her a stern look before walking into the unfamiliar establishment. The atmosphere of the bar relaxes my muscles. I wasn’t expecting something like this. The decor reminds me of Lucy’s living room, with a stone wall behind the bar. Plus, the ambient lighting adds a certain charm to the place.

- Come on, they’re over there.

I nod, still looking around. Lucy has to guide me forward with her hand on my back. Thinking about it, this is exactly the kind of bar I would like. Lucy and her friends have good taste. The anxiety I had begins to creep back as we approach a crowded table where I only recognize Jenni and Ingrid. At least Lucy wasn’t lying when she said I’d know some people.

- Here come the two latecomers, Jenni comments.

- Hey guys. Sorry, Miss here had a shower issue.

I blush as all eyes turn to me. It’s even more embarrassing since Lƒucy put me front and center by standing behind me. If she hadn’t done that, I would’ve definitely hidden behind her. We go around the table to greet everyone, and she takes the opportunity to introduce me to those I don’t know. I smile shyly as I reach one of her friends, who I recognize as the owner of the paintball place where Lucy took me. Beth, if I remember correctly. She seems to remember me, as do the rest of her friends, who don’t seem to consider me a stranger.

- I didn’t think you were so shy, Ingrid teases when I reach her. Come on, sit next to me.

She pats the empty seat next to her on the bench. I slide in, followed by Lucy. It’s strange to start a night sitting between my two instructors from school. I look at the new faces, trying to remember their names. Jenni, who’s sitting across from me, smiles. I smile back timidly. She’s sitting between Beth and someone I think is named Caroline. The ones at the end of the table are Aitana, who’s next to Lucy, and Mary, who’s across from her. They’re all pretty intimidating. If you ask me, these are the kind of people you avoid picking a fight with.

- So, you’re the famous protégé of Lucy? Aitana asks me.

- Don’t start, Lucy interjects.

- Bringing out the claws? Mary laughs.

- Want to see them? she challenges with her usual coldness, which no longer surprises me.

Her friend surrenders, raising her hands in a gesture of peace. I’m amazed at how much respect she commands here, just as she does with the students. It’s a good example that it’s not just about physical presence to be intimidating. I sink into the leather bench, trying to make myself as small as possible. Fortunately, Jenni changes the subject to ease the tension.

- How’s Alexia? she asks, making me smile softly.

- I don’t have a phone anymore, so I can’t text her, but she was doing great when I left her on Friday afternoon.

- You know her girlfriend? Aitana questions me.

- Uh, yeah... She’s my roommate at the camp.

- Small world, she chuckles. Who would’ve thought.

Her comment seems aimed at my supervisor, as if trying to rile her up. It seems to be working, judging by the way she looks at her. The waitress interrupts us, clearing her throat to get our attention. She was about to speak, but her gaze stops on Lucy, looking surprised to see her.

- Hey, Lucy! Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight. It’s been a while, huh?

- Hi Callie. Yeah, it’s true, it’s been a while since I could go out.

- Glad to see you back. What can I get for you and your girlfriend?

I quickly realize I’m the supposed “girlfriend” when I notice that we’re the only ones without drinks. All her friends have beers.

- She’s not my girlfriend, Lucy corrects. A beer for me. And you, Ona? she asks, turning to me.

- Same for me, I try.

- She’s only twenty. Get her a Coke, please.

- You’re no fun, I grumble.

- I’m responsible for you, she responds with a wink.

- Tsss... I’d prefer an iced tea instead of Coke, though.

- Got it, the waitress laughs. One beer and one iced tea, coming right up.

I pretend to pout, crossing my arms and puffing out my cheeks.

- Not cool, Lucy, one of her friends says in my defense. You’re not her supervisor outside of school.

- I have no mercy for her.

Of course, Lucy doesn’t buy my act and pinches my cheek to make me crack. I giggle and swat at her fingers to get her to stop.

- Did you just hit me? she asks, feigning outrage.

- You were hurting me! I retort.

I jump with a little yelp when she pokes my side. She raises an eyebrow, realizing what just happened before a certain gleam crosses her eyes.

- Hmm... So, you’re ticklish?

- Oh no, no... I see where this is going... I say, scooting closer to Ingrid. Don’t you dare!

I don’t have time to escape or block her hands before she attacks me with tickles. I squeal, writhing in all directions to escape her fingers, but it’s no use.

- St-stop! Please, please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!

She laughs and finally stops under my pleas. I struggle to catch my breath. The waitress returns at that moment with our drinks. Before I can react,  Lucy pays for them without asking my opinion. I bite my lip to avoid saying something in front of her friends, but I plan to make up for it with the next round.

- Do you know how to play pool, Ona? Mary asks me.

- No, I’ve never played, I admit.

- What a shame! Caroline responds. We’ll fix that. I’ll go get the gear. Everyone up for it?

This activity seems to be a regular thing for them, as the group responds positively. I would have preferred it if they weren’t. I slightly lied when I said I’ve never played. I’ve had the misfortune of trying before, and it was a complete disaster. The balls flew everywhere but the table. All her friends head to the pool table closest to ours while Lucy’s friend goes to get the equipment. But I haven’t found the courage to stand up.

- You coming? Lucy asks, having stood up herself.

- I-I think I’ll just stay here. But go ahead. Someone has to watch our stuff.

- What’s wrong? she smiles softly.

I shrug. I don’t dare admit that I’m terrible at pool for fear of embarrassing myself. I sigh when she sits back down next to me. My intention isn’t to ruin her evening.

- I don’t want to make a fool of myself. I’m a walking disaster when it comes to pool.

- Oh... That’s all? she chuckles.

- It’s not funny...

- I was going to teach you, you know. I’m not leaving your side, remember?

I nod, but I’m still not ready to change my mind. Lucy seems to notice, given the small smile she gives me.

- Is there anything else I should know?

- Your friends are impressive.

- I won’t disagree with you, she laughs. Don’t worry, it’s just an appearance. They’re very nice.

- I didn’t say otherwise! They’re nice... But they’re still very impressive.

- Do you want to go home? I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.

- No! I’m happy to be here.

She looks at me skeptically, but I reassure her with a smile. We watch her friends, who have started a game. I urge her to join them, but she refuses to leave me alone. So, we sit and sip our drinks side by side.

- Want a drink? she offers me her beer.

- No, thank you. I’m not really into beer, I admit. I just wanted to tease you and see your reaction when I said I wanted one, I add, yawning widely.

- Very charming, she smiles foolishly. Are you feeling tired?

- No, not really. By the way, um... can I wake you up tonight if I can’t sleep?

- Of course. That’s exactly what I want you to do. Why didn’t you want to talk to me about it anyway? There are some things about you that I’ll never understand.

- I... I don’t know, I shrug. I don’t like to spread my problems around. I tend to want to solve them on my own... But having you there when I woke up yesterday reassured me, I finally admit.

- I’m glad you’re admitting it, she replies with a little smirk. We’ll have to find a solution at school.

- Alexia will be there.

- Are you going to sleep with her? she laughs. I should warn Jenni.

- No! I giggle. I didn’t mean that, but I know she’ll be there if something goes wrong... Until now, I made sure she didn’t hear me when I was awake... But, well, you know me... I have two left feet.

- Two left feet? she laughs. What did you do this time?

- Let’s just say a bedpost hurts a lot when you bump into it, I say, making her laugh even more. It’s not funny, stop it, I giggle, hitting her arm.

- You’re really not skilled.

- I can’t help it if I can’t turn on the light because of the instructor in the hallway! I’d like to see you do better! By the way, do you know who’s on duty on my floor?

- Should I get you a flashlight? she jokes. And no, I don’t know since we’re never in contact with them, but I’ll find out, it seems.

- You’re going to talk to them, aren’t you?

- You know I have to. If they catch you wandering at night, you’ll get in trouble for nothing.

- Fine... I suppose you’re right... Well, should we join your friends now? I feel ready.

- Coward, she smiles. You always run away when things get complicated, she says, making me blush. But if you insist, I’ll teach you how to play pool.

Oh, the sly one. I had forgotten how good she is at making me regret running away. With no way to back out, I stand up to accompany her to the pool table. Jenni and Aitan a were about to start a new game when they saw us coming. Her other friends are chatting and laughing with a beer in hand.

- You playing with us? Jenni offers.

- Of course, Lucy agrees. How about a two-on-two?

- Yep.

- Are you sure about this? I whisper to her. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m really bad, you know!

- Relax, she laughs. I’ll teach you.

I shrink as Lucy explains my problem to her friends. They tease me a bit but quickly reassure me by saying there’s a first time for everything. The atmosphere is quite pleasant, after all. The background music is just loud enough to be heard but not too loud to disrupt our conversations. Now that I pay attention, there are a lot of young people around. Yet, I remain one of the youngest.

- Here, she says, handing me the pool cue. Show me what you can do.

I grimace as I take it. I move towards the game, which has already started. I lean against the table and strike the cue ball with the pool cue. There are giggles behind me when I miss. They don’t last long, and I understand why when I see Lucy’s stern eyes on our opponents.

- Get back in position, I’ll help you.

- I told you I’m a real disaster.

- It’s okay, she smiles. Come on, lean in, I’ll explain.

I get back in position without much confidence and listen as she shows me how to better place my hands on the cue. She leans in to help position my fingers at the end of the cue, so they serve as an aiming guide. Once I’m in place according to her, she shows the mobility of this new position by moving the cue back and forth.

- Good, now you just have to gauge your shot, she says, looking at me.

- Should we do it together? I propose hesitantly.

- If you want.

She focuses on the game again. I try to do the same, but it’s very difficult given our position. Her body is completely pressed against mine, and her hands cover mine.

- At least you have the best teacher, she whispers, making me laugh nervously.

Unexpectedly, she strikes the cue ball. We stand up to watch it hit a colored ball, slowly driving it into the pocket at the other end of the table. I can’t contain my joy and jump into Lucy’s arms. She has no choice but to catch me. I quickly come to my senses and pull away, but she doesn’t seem to mind, given the smile she gives me. She hands me the pool cue.

- Try it on your own now. Ours are the solid colors, so avoid sinking the stripes. Look, try this one.

She pulls on my sweater sleeve to make me follow her. Technically, it’s hers since I put on her sweater after my shower. I lean in, waiting for her to adjust my position before striking the ball. I hold back a cheer when it sinks into a pocket again. I leave my place to Lucy, not wanting to play the whole game myself. She plays without hesitation. I’m amazed when she manages to hit a ball I would never have been able to touch. I chuckle at the disappointed looks on her friends’ faces.

- Damn, you haven’t lost your touch, Jenni says.

- It’s something you don’t lose, Jenni, she teases. Ona, come here.

I join her without thinking. I’m actually enjoying playing for once. When I reach her side, I listen attentively to her instructions for our next shot. She takes the opportunity to teach me some new tricks. I’m starting to enjoy pool. It’s so simple with her. We continue until I make a mistake, giving the turn to the girls. We’ve nearly pocketed all our balls in one go, so it’s not a big deal. The girls take over. They tell me that Lucy is an expert at this game. I didn’t need their comment to notice. We easily win the game. To think it started with them teasing me. I mentally note to always team up with Lucy. Even with a beginner like me, she managed to lead us to a decisive victory. My eyes land on a small blue chalk piece at the edge of the pool table.

- What’s that? I ask Lucy.

- Oh, that. You put it on the cue tip. It allows you to add spin and be more precise.

I smile mischievously as I pick it up and draw a line on her cheek to get back at her for tickling me earlier. I take advantage of her surprise to draw a second line.

- Hey! Stop that! she protests.

- Or what? I taunt her.

- Or you’ll regret it, she challenges me.

No one can resist such a challenge. At least, not me. I try to draw a third line, but this time she’s ready and grabs my wrists. She turns me so that my back is pressed against her chest, reducing my movements by holding my arms. This position leaves me defenseless. She takes the opportunity to grab the blue chalk and attack me in turn. I laugh, squirming as best as I can.

- Okay, okay! I surrender!

- That’s too easy, she laughs. This will teach you not to mess with someone stronger than you.

She continues until our heads collide violently due to my squirming. A loud thud is followed by groans. Her grip on my wrists disappears, allowing me to rub the sore spot. We burst out laughing when I face Lucy, who is in the same posture as me.

- All this because of your antics! You’ll see if I have a bump! I joke.

- Poor thing, I giggle.

- You should worry if you both have one on Monday, Ingrid intervenes.

I calm down, not having thought of that. I remove my hands from my head at Ingrid’s request to check for damage. Lucy also comes closer. I grimace when she presses on it. Ingrid slaps her hand away before I can.

- Stop that! Show me your forehead too.

- I’m fine, don’t worry, she chuckles. But she needs ice, she points to me.

- You too, given how red you are, Ingrid retorts. You’re both lost causes! she mocks. I’ll get some ice. Go sit down.

I chuckle as I see her forehead indeed turning red. A few minutes later, we’re sitting side by side, each holding an ice pack on our bumps. The situation is rather funny.

- "This is your fault!" she retorts.

- "You didn’t have to hold me."

- "You’re the one who started with the chalk! I had to defend myself."

- "Maybe, but you kept it going!"

- "Hey, enough, you two," Ingrid grumbles as she arrives and sets down new drinks in front of us. "You two are like kids together, honestly!"

- "Grumpy."

I snicker at Lucy’s comment. Ingrid rolls her eyes in exasperation as my supervisor laughs along. It’s the first time Ingrid’s the one complaining while Lucy’s laughing. She calls us hopeless cases before turning on her heel to join the others.

- "I take back what I said... You’re not as uptight as I thought."

- "Well, I should hope not!"

- "I thought you were too old to let loose..."

- "I’m not old!" she exclaims, offended.

- "I’d love to say otherwise, but I still don’t know your age."

- "You’re not going to find out," she laughs.

- "Oh, come on! I know everything else now! Your first name, last name, where you live, your friends..." I listed.

- "Not everything, since you’re missing my age."

I sigh, leaning back against the bench. She smiles before taking a sip of her beer. I guess I can keep dreaming about finding out her age. At least, that’s what I thought.

- "Twenty-five."

- "Twenty-five?" I repeated. "That’s it?"

- "That’s it?" she chuckles. "That’s more than enough!"

- "No, but... Seriously? You told me you started working at Camp Wiegman four our years ago! You couldn’t have started at my age... right? And what about your studies?"

- "I was doing an apprenticeship part-time the first year. I was in my last year of school and would come after classes. Ingrid was the one who trained me."

- "Wow... You were young. What about the others then?"

- "Who?"

- "Ingrid and Jenni."

- "Well, Jenni did the same thing and was trained by White. But Ingrid is a year older than us, so she had just started her first year full-time."

- "Oh, I see."

- "Anyway, let me see your head, please."

I take off my ice pack and take the opportunity to apologize. It’s my fault we’re in this situation, though we did have a good laugh. The bump gave me a headache. I hope it’ll be gone by Monday. We continue chatting. She changes the subject by asking me what kind of parties I attend in Barcelona. Since I can’t lie, especially to her, I share some high school party memories since she already knows everything about my recent outings. They’re nothing like this one, and that’s a shame. Seeing that I was uncomfortable talking about it, Lucy decides it’s time to return to her friends.

- "Here," she says, handing me a twenty-dollar bill. "Can you order another round from Callie and return the ice packs, please?"

- "Yep, I’m on it."

- "Don’t hesitate to get something for yourself, too."

I head to the bar to order this round. It’ll be the third since we arrived. Jenni paid for the first one and Caroline the second. It’s a weird process. Where I’m from, everyone pays for their own drinks. I lean against the bar between two high stools, waiting for the waitress. I turn my head towards the group when I recognize my supervisor’s laughter. A smile spreads across my lips. I have no regrets about being here tonight.

- "Another round?"

- "Yes, please," I replied to Callie, handing her Lucy’s bill.

- "And what can I get for you? Lucy said it’s okay if you want a beer."

- "No, thanks. I’ll stick with iced tea."

She nods with a smile before heading off to prepare our drinks. I notice she’s already picked up the ice packs I had placed on the counter. I turn again to look at Lucy. She’s full of surprises, it seems. I wasn’t expecting her to let me have alcohol. She seems so at home here. I bite my lip as I turn back towards the bar. I need to stop staring at her more than I should. I’ve been feeling unsettled around her for the past few days.

- "I didn’t know you were so calm."

I furrow my brow at the familiar voice. I look to my right and am surprised to find Alex, the guy I met during my afternoon at the ice rink with Joan.

- "Alex? What are you doing here?"

- "Hi to you too," he smiles. "Glad you remember me."

- "And here’s the change," Callie interrupts us. "Should I take the drinks over?"

- "Yes, please."

She sets my iced tea on the counter with a wink before taking the tray filled with beers. I thank her before she heads off with the tray.

- "So? What are you doing here?" I pressed Alex.

- "I told you last time we hung out that I also have classes in Manchester. Don’t you remember?"

- "No..." I replied, feeling embarrassed. "Sorry, I don’t remember much from the night we spent together."

- "I’m not surprised," he chuckles. "Did you come with friends tonight?"

- "You could say that, yes."

I follow Alex’s gaze over my shoulder to the people I came with. I’m surprised to meet Lucy’s green eyes. Ingrid is talking to her, but that doesn’t stop her from keeping her eyes fixed on me. She only breaks our eye contact when her friend taps her arm to get her attention. I turn back as well.

- "I sent you some messages not long ago. Didn’t you get them?"

- "Oh, um... Actually, I don’t have a phone anymore. I broke it a week ago."

- "That explains why I didn’t get a response to my offer."

- "What offer?" I asked with a small, friendly smile.

- "I wanted to see you again. I guess now you have no choice but to accept if you want me to forgive you."

- "Who said I want to be forgiven?"

- "You’re hurting me," he says, clasping his hands over his heart, making me laugh.

- "Poor thing," I mocked.

- "Honestly, I’d really appreciate seeing you again, if you’re up for it."

- "I’d like to say yes, but it’s going to be tough. I’m at a strict school that only lets me out on weekends if I’m granted permission."

- "Oh yeah, your famous military school that you wouldn’t stop talking about all night."

- "Really? I couldn’t have mentioned it that much. You must be exaggerating."

- "No, I swear," he laughs.

- "Is there anything else I should know about that night?"

- "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that you kissed me?"

- "How about the truth instead?" I replied, making him laugh.

- "Am I that repulsive?"

- "I didn’t say that."

- "Still, what you just said is kind of hurtful."

I bite my lip, hoping he’s not offended. He must have been happy I was talking to him, given the circumstances. I say nothing and prefer to come up with another excuse, something a bit funnier than the real reason.

- "Let’s just say your flirting style is outdated."

- "At least it’s straightforward..."

I give him a playful tap on the shoulder at his dejected look. I hope I didn’t give him false hopes during that night. I really do like him, but he’s on the wrong track if he thinks he has a chance with me. I tense up when I feel an arm wrap around my waist and a head rest on my shoulder. I relax when I recognize the dark hair cascading over my shoulder. This sudden closeness surprises me, but I say nothing.

- "Is everything okay?"

- "Yes, yes. Sorry for taking so long. This is Alex, someone I met in Barcelona. I must have mentioned him to you."

- "Hmm, probably. Hi."

She lifts her head to look at him. Alex returns the greeting, his expression somewhat puzzled. A palpable tension has formed out of nowhere. Everything had been going smoothly until now. A certain glint flashes in Alex's eyes, as if he's trying to prove something.

"It's funny though," he jokes, "you say my flirting is outdated, but you still talk about me."

"That doesn't mean anything," I reply with a smile. "Sorry, but I’m going to have to decline your offer. Like I said, I don’t have control over my outings with school, and I don't have a phone anymore."

"At least let me give you my number again, so you can text me when you get a new one, Miss Unreachable?"

"I guess I can do that, if you enjoy torturing yourself."

He laughs and grabs a napkin from the bar, scribbling his number on it before handing it to me.

"I was warned you were a lesbian, but... Well, you know where to find me if you ever want to hang out."

"Who told you that?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Your best friend. Mapi, I think?"

"Oh, I see," I roll my eyes. 

"She told me I was wasting my time with you. Apparently, you’re already into someone."

He glances over at Lucy as he says this, making me grit my teeth and silently curse Mapi for this awkward moment. I don’t need her to scare off my would-be suitors. She really goes overboard when she wants to.

"Can we get back to my friends?" Lucy interjects.

"Yeah... we'll leave you to it."

"Just tell me if she was right," Alex persists.

"Alex, drop it," I reply, exasperated. "If Mapi was right about one thing, it’s that I’m not interested. Have a good night."

He wishes me the same. Lucy guides me with a hand on the small of my back. I don’t really understand why, since it’s not hard to spot her friends.

"Where’d you meet that guy?" she asks.

"I don't think it's worth mentioning."

"Hmm, that's what I figured. He seems pretty pushy."

"Totally," I chuckle.

"You two seemed to get along well, though."

"He's just a nice acquaintance. We’ve only hung out twice at parties, that’s all."

"Alright..."

I can tell she wants to know more, but neither of us says anything further.

"Let’s not stay too late, though, okay?" she says, surprising me.

"Can’t we stay a bit longer? I’m just starting to feel comfortable," I admit.

"No. It's getting late, and besides, I'm the one driving anyway."

"I should be the one driving after the drinks you’ve had."

"I only had three. I’m perfectly capable of driving, but thanks for the concern," she giggles.

"Well, I tried..."

"True," she smiles. "But the answer is still no. You’re not driving my car tonight."

I’m sipping my drink when we rejoin her friends. The night continues as usual. Another round of pool starts as we arrive. Lucy agrees that we can wrap up the night with this game. We split into two teams of four since there are eight of us. Naturally, I stay by the expert’s side to increase our chances of winning. It's also a chance to improve my skills. The game is accompanied by conversation, where they share memories of times they’ve spent together. I call Lucy a bad girl after learning all I did about her tonight. She’s got more spunk than I expected. She scolds me for drinking at parties, but it seems like she’s no better, even if she defends herself by saying it only happened once. And likely the last time, from what I understand. It’s a shame because I’d love to see her tipsy just once, just so I could give her a lecture in return. Eventually, we stay much longer than just one game. Each time she wanted to leave, her friends kept us around. She caved every time, agreeing to stay a bit longer. We ended up staying until the bar closed around one o'clock, when the waitress finally asked us to leave. Aitana suggested continuing the night at her place, but Lucy firmly refused on behalf of the both of us. So it’s late into the night when we finally get back to Lucy's place to crash.

Sunday, January 10th, 4:35 AM - Lucy's Place

It’s another night where I wake up in a cold sweat. I’ve been tossing and turning in bed for a good fifteen minutes. Lucy hasn’t barged into my room, which means I didn’t scream this time. That’s a good sign. Maybe my episodes are becoming occasional. Still, I can’t fall back asleep. I hesitate to go to her room. She encouraged me to wake her if needed, but I don’t want to disturb her again. I’m forced to do it anyway when I run out of options. I sigh, pushing the covers aside. I head to the living room first to grab a glass of water. The one she gave me yesterday helped calm me down. I lean against the counter, trying to clear the images from my head. It’s difficult, and they keep me fully awake. I finish my glass slowly before putting it in the dishwasher to erase any trace of my presence. As I walk back down the hallway, I’m faced with two options. The door on the right, or the door on the left. I curse myself as I push open the door on the left. The room is dark, with only the sound of soft, steady breathing. I close my eyes before moving forward in the darkness. I stop when I hear her shifting in bed. I let out a sigh of relief when I realize she just turned over.

“Lucy...?” I call out softly.

No answer. I gather all my courage to move closer to the bed. I call her name again. This time, she responds with a groan.

“I can’t sleep,” I murmur, hoping she hears me.

"Ona?" I hear her groggy voice.

I feel guilty for waking her. I bite my lip as she turns on her bedside lamp, blinding us both. She rubs her eyes, then checks her clock before looking at me again. It’s nearly five in the morning with all my nonsense.

"Again?"

"I-I'm sorry. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have woken you," I stammer.

I try to leave, but she stops me before I can get too far. I freeze, too embarrassed to move. She sighs and sits up. Even in the middle of the night, she’s stunning, and that thought is starting to worry me.

"Don’t be silly. Close the door and get in bed," she grumbles. "And don't even think about arguing with me. I can get very grumpy when I'm woken up."

I smile shyly at her anticipation. She lets go of my wrist when I timidly nod. I close the door as she asked, then return to her bed, slipping in on the far side. She pulls the covers over me and turns off the light. Before I can do anything, she pulls me into the same position as last night. My back fits against her body as she rests her head near my neck. I pull the blanket up tighter, holding her closer. She must have noticed because she snuggles up to me a bit more. She wishes me goodnight, and with the same gentle strokes as last night, I finally drift off to sleep.

[neewtmas]

What's Mine is Yours

A/N: This was so fun to write! It's a little bit on the shorter side, but I hope you all enjoy :) @hufflepuff1619 thank you so much for your request! I hope you like it &lt;3

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem!reader

wordcount: 1.4k

request: Hello! I was wondering if I could request a one shot please for Lockwood. The reader works for Lockwood and Co and because of their job, she gets nightmares a lot and that usually ends up with her sleeping in Lockwoods bed and it basically become her bedroom too. Thank you. - by @hufflepuff1619

taglist: @maraschinomerry @marinalor @oblivious-idiot @lockwood-lover @givemea-dam-break (if you wanna be added/removed, just send me an ask/message :))

masterlist

The only sound in the cold night air was the cab driving down the street, lights quickly disappearing in the thick fog drifting over the pavement. Lockwood, George, Lucy and Y/N stood in front of 35 Portland Row, duffle bags on the ground next to them.

"Well, let's get inside and get some sleep", Lockwood's voice cut through the silence just as the ghost lamp at the corner switched off. The gate creaked as he pushed it open, and the small light next to the door switched on, illuminating the uneven stones that paved the way to the steps. He carried his bag up to the door and set it down, reaching for the keys in his pockets. He fumbled with them, almost dropping them before he found the right one and unlocked the door. It swung open and he let the other three trudge past him before he entered and closed the door again, leaving the darkness of the night outside.

The light in the hallway, though homely and warm, showed just how exhausted everyone was. No words were exchanged as they all left their bags by the door, the clean-up a concern for the next morning, and went into the kitchen. George immediately set a kettle on the stove, and Y/N sat down on one of the chairs while Lockwood rummaged in one of the cabinets for some biscuits.

Lucy grabbed one from the plate he set down on the table and excused herself to bed with a 'good night' mumbled out between bites of biscuit.

Y/N took the cup George gave her and gave him a thankful smile. She poured a bit of sugar in and stirred a few times, watching the liquid swirl around her spoon. She was tired, eyes threatening to fall close every few minutes. She had already dozed off on the cab ride home. But as much as she wanted nothing more than to curl up under her blanket and fall into a deep sleep, she also knew that it probably wouldn't be that easy.

"That ghost was something, huh?" Lockwood said to no one in particular. George snapped out of staring at the wall and nodded slowly. "At least this time, we weren't wholly unprepared."

He was right. From that perspective, tonight's case had gone great - no ugly surprises, and everything had been just the way George had predicted it with the material he had researched. They had worked together fabulously, and for once, no one was subjected to a near-death experience. Unfortunately, that was unusual.

"Raw-Bones are truly the worst", Lockwood said contemplatively, examining the biscuit he was holding closely before taking a bite. "Haven't seen a visitor this nasty and revolting in a long time."

Y/N squeezed her eyes closed, trying hard to stop her brain from conjuring up the memory of the ghost they had encountered just a few hours ago. "I think I'll go to bed as well", she said quietly and got up. She could feel Lockwood's eyes follow her as she walked over to the sink and emptied her cup into it. She hated wasting perfectly good tea, but right now she didn't feel she could stomach even one more sip.

She slowly made her way upstairs, feeling heavy and tired. A dull ache had started to form behind her forehead and after she exchanged her ectoplasm-stained clothes for soft pyjamas, she finally climbed into her bed and sighed a breath of relief. She pulled the blanket up under her chin and curled her knees to her chest, head comfortably buried in her fluffy pillow. She reached out from under her blanket to switch off the small nightlamp on her bedside table, and then her room was pitch black.

She did not yet close her eyes, but instead just stared into the dark, trying to calm her breathing. She listened to the quiet creaking of the floorboards as either George or Lockwood moved around one floor below her room. After a while, doors closed and the only thing that was left to hear was her own breaths. She pulled her blanket tighter around herself and tried to close her eyes, hoping to fall asleep quickly.

But the moment she did, her mind was flooded with the gruesome pictures of the Raw-Bones she had fought off hours earlier. One would think being an agent and fighting off ghosts for a living would get easier with time, and in some ways, it did - where she started as a talented but terrified ten year old she was now a capable agent. But no matter how well she did in the field, her sleep suffered after especially horrific cases, just like the one tonight.

George had prepared them - they knew what was coming. But seeing the skinless corpse, bloody all over with ribs sticking out, eyes bulging out as it robbed over the floor, leaving a trail of blood that was of course just ectoplasm but sure as hell didn't look like it - it was enough for her to know that the nightmares would come.

She opened her eyes again, quickly switching on her night lamp. The warm light was comforting. She knew that sleep was impossible tonight. Should she go down to Lockwood's room? He had been kind and understanding from the moment she first knocked at his door after a nightmare that had left her shaking a few weeks after she had started working here. After that, it had happened a few other times - and even though he never gave her the feeling that she was too much, maybe he just wanted to be nice.

A few minutes later she was tip-toeing down the stairs. Maybe he was just being nice, and maybe it meant nothing at all, but she desperately needed sleep and knew it wasn't going to happen if she stayed in her bed by herself.

In front of his bedroom door, she hesitated for a moment, not quite sure of herself. But then she took a deep breath and knocked three times, just like every time before. It was silent in his room, and for a moment she thought he was already asleep and was ready to turn around, but then she heard rustling and footsteps behind the door.

The door swung open and revealed Lockwood in his pyjamas, hair already messy. "Y/N. Are you okay? Another nightmare?" The way he said it made it clear that he was concerned, and not at all annoyed like she had feared. Her shoulders slumped down. "Not yet", she whispered. "But I can't sleep."

He extended his hand to her and she hesitantly took it, allowing him to pull her into the room and closer to him. He closed the door behind her, and now they stood in darkness. He squeezed her hand and led her to his bed where he switched on the night light.

"Do you wanna sleep here tonight?" She nodded and he climbed into bed, scooting over so that she had enough space to lay down next to him and lifted the blanket. The spot was still warm from him laying the moments earlier. He reached over her to switch off the light, and she could feel his breath at the back of her head and his warm body pressed up to hers. He didn't pull his arm back, instead wrapped it around her and pulled her closer to his chest.

She suddenly felt very hot and was glad that the room was dark, otherwise, he would have seen the intense blush that coloured her cheeks crimson. It wasn't the first time this had happened, but she was flustered just the same, every single time.

"Sorry that I'm bothering you again", she said quietly, cringing at how loud it still sounded. He was silent for a moment. "You're not bothering me, Y/N. You could never bother me." He paused and leaned closer, his breath tickling her ear. "Do you wanna know a secret? Every time a case is especially scary, I lie here and wait and hope for you to show up at my door."

She swallowed hard. This was new. His thumb was tracing patterns over her stomach where he was holding her. "Really?", she asked, breathless. "You don't mind sharing your bed?"

"Not if it's with you." He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. "What's mine is yours, as long as you want it."

thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated :)

[rainintheevening]

Thing is... Peter knows the price of Edmund's life.

Lucy tells him one night, when she comes padding into his room, and curls up in the bed with him, because she can't sleep, and needs cuddles. It's only a month or two into their reign, but for whatever reason, she tells Peter the whole story of what happened that night at the Stone Table, and in the morning, and 'why'.

Peter stares into the flickering candle flame beside the bed.

"It should have been me," he says. "He's my brother, I should have thought of that, why did I not think of that? I should have told her to take me instead."

Lucy doesn't know what to say. Finally she says simply, "I'm glad it was Aslan."

It nags at Peter, until at last he confesses to Edmund how he feels he failed his brother then.

"I would have, if I'd thought of it, I swear. I would die for you. You know that right?"

And Edmund goes quite pale, and grips Peter's arms very hard, struggles for words.

"It had to be Aslan, I do believe," he says at last. "And I think... I would have hated myself for the rest of my life if you had done it. I couldn't have borne that."

And Peter's sense of guilt fades, but still he has to make sure. "But you know I would, I will if it's needed. You know I'd die for you, because I love you, you know that, right?"

It's one of those rare times when Edmund hugs Peter first, because he does know.

They don't really speak about it again.

But Peter never forgets. His brother's life was paid for by Aslan’s death. The One who sang Narnia into existence considered Edmund worth His own blood.

And it was Aslan’s gift ordained for Lucy that restored Edmund to Peter's arms on the battlefield.

Edmund is a blood-bought gift from Aslan, worth more than any sword or shield, and Peter swears he will never take that for granted again.

By and large, he succeeds.

[genderlessdude92]

. . .

⋆⁺₊❅.⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⁺₊❅. •̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ⁺₊❅.⋆꙳

⭑ ๋ ⊹ ࣭ Lynn’s/Genderlessdude92's masterlist !! ⊹ ๋࣭ ⭑

⋆⁺₊❅.⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⁺₊❅. •̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ⁺₊❅.⋆꙳

. . .

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⚬•・✦⋆°☽

☆♪..°.CALL OF DUTY.°..♪☆

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⚬•・✦⋆°☽

┃𖦹 I’M OKAY

SUMMARY: Ghost has came back from a harsh mission, most likely beaten to the core, and his S/o arrives worried sick. But, Simon can reassure her that everything will be alright.

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･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⚬•・✦⋆°☽

☆♪..°.HAZBIN.°..♪☆

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⚬•・✦⋆°☽

┃𖦹 THE BREAKING POINT

♪ SUMMARY: Y/N is a diligent worker, much to the chagrin of her partner, Alastor. Despite his efforts to get her to stop for both their sakes, Y/N remains steadfast in her duties. However, Alastor finds a loophole to this situation.

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┃𖦹 HOLD ME AGAIN

♪ SUMMARY: Alastor has been neglecting you ever since you guys had a fight. It gets to you. (MAJOR ANGST/MAJOR FLUFF)

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┃𖦹 Alastor x Reader who hates men

♪ANON ASK: “hai :3 can you do alastor with a s/o who is annoyed by men but she sees him and is like "but you're okay" because he's not a brute. it's like wow they're both mean to everyone except each other <3”

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┃𖦹 GENTLE, PLEASE!

♪SUMMARY: Y/N, like the nervous wreck she is, can’t stop spending her free time worrying over something that’s not even a big deal. Of course, one thing lead to another. (Thank you, Charlie, for letting them have the day off).

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┃𖦹 FORGIVENESS

♪SUMMARY: Alastor's work at the Hazbin Hotel keeps him preoccupied, leading to neglect in his relationship with Y/N. An argument later on arises, causing both to confront their feelings. Ultimately, they reconcile, promising to communicate better in the future. The story emphasizes the importance of understanding and communication in relationships.

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┃𖦹 A CLEAN MIND (First Part)

♪SUMMARY: After a long night of doing Lucifer’s Tango with the infamous Radio Demon, limbs sore to the brim, Alastor decides that it’s best to give his darling some proper aftercare. Of course one thing had led to another, but what would they do once they were caught in the net with a knock on the door?

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┃𖦹 AL, VOX, VAL, & LUCI WITH THEIR BIOLOGICAL CHILD

♪ANON ASK: “Hi, I really love your work! If your requests are open and if it's allowed, can I request for headcanons of Vox/Val/Alastor/Lucifer with their biological baby w reader?? I'm sorry if this is weird I just die for family dynamics😭😭 like, how would they act, would they be present or neglectful, and that stuff!! Ik it's impossible to have a child in hell but HEY. ITS FICTIONAL. It's really your decision if this is super fluff or super angst, but personally I believe it would be angst because it's hell and they are really famous 😭 THANKU”

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┃𖦹 PRECIOUS

♪SUMMARY: You and Alastor get into a fight because you’re just worried he got hurt after a fight with Vox. He snaps at you and…well, you isolate yourself. whoopsies!

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┃𖦹 STICKS AND STONES

SUMMARY: Y/N is shaken when Vox mocks her on live television with rude comments and even exposing her secret relationship with Alastor, too. Struggling with self-doubt, she feels inadequate in Hell's power-driven society. Alastor comforts her, emphasizing her unique qualities and their deep connection, helping her find solace despite the lingering hurt from Vox's comments.

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┃𖦹 IT’S OKAY TO NOT BE OKAY

SUMMARY: In a tranquil meadow near Cannibal Town, Alastor, the Radio Demon, returns to the sanctuary he shares with his beloved y/n, seeking solace from his chaotic life. Upon finding y/n in a state of distress and in the middle of harming herself, he realizes the depth of her pain and the hidden struggles she's been enduring. Through gentle support and heartfelt conversations, Alastor reassures y/n of his unwavering love and commitment, promising to face their challenges together.

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┃𖦹 I’M ALL YOURS

SUMMARY: Alastor and his S/O face the intensity of rut season together, with y/n offering her support and revealing her innocence. (Yup, you’re a virgin in this). Despite initial apprehensions, their passion culminates in a deeply intimate experiemce, as well as a night to remember.

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┃𖦹 THE STATIC SHE LOVES

SUMMARY: Y/N and Alastor navigate a tumultuous relationship marked by Alastor’s inner demons and his fear of vulnerability. After an intense argument and a moment of emotional and physical connection, Y/N’s unwavering love forces Alastor to confront his self-loathing and open up to her support. Despite the chaos surrounding them, their bond grows stronger as they choose to face their fears and flaws together.

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Requests are always open! Notes, Comments, and are reblogs are appreciated! All writings belong to @l4zyb0n35 and @genderlessdude92