#i just want to know the story behind those presentations and did anyone get a recording

[captainclickycat]

Whoops turns out I have Further Thoughts on this.

So, here's the thing. We could argue a lot about whether or not characters in horror films make stupid decisions and how it depends on the individual film and what have you all day long. And I'm sure we could come up with a few examples on either side of the argument.

But I think there's a broader point here which is that when people say "what if there was a horror movie that featured a convenient and straightforward way for the characters to get out of trouble without making any sacrifices along the way, so they did that and were fine, the end", and especially when they present this as some kind of refreshing new take on the genre...

Well, aside from the fact that this would make for a very boring and disappointing story for anyone who actually wanted to watch a horror film, it has the same energy as those people who are presented with moral dilemmas as a thought exercise and get fixated on "what if there was a way to stop the trolley and save all six people" "what if you could replace the Omelas kid with a robot" and so on. It's a copout, and it really does come off more like they're balking at the idea that suffering is sometimes unavoidable, that sometimes there are no easy answers and any decision you make comes at a cost.

It reminds me of this other post that was going round a decade or so ago, where the title was something like "horror movies for our generation" and the gist of the whole thing was essentially "if millennials were in a horror movie scenario we'd be able to fix everything and save ourselves straight away because we're so smart and progressive and have the best resources!" (Which to add a bit of extra context was clearly pushing back against a lot of the "millennials are stupid children who don't know how to do anything" think piece discourse that was floating around at the time) and a lot of people in the notes (possibly even including me, at the time) going "omg I need this!! I'd watch the shit out of this!!" which, when you think about it, is really weird when you acknowledge that the scenarios being described were essentially just "what if something that claimed to be a horror story actually just had no plot."

The idea of a horror story where the characters make sensible, realistic, understandable decisions is potentially a great premise (and again, there are plenty of existing horror stories that already meet that criteria.) Crucially, though, that can't be enough to get them out of trouble, at least not instantaneously.

If you could avoid getting lost in the scary woods just by using your trusty functioning gps tracker, there would be no story. So in an actual horror story, the gps wouldn't work, or it would be hijacked by some sinister entity and end up landing the characters right back where they started, or lead them further into danger. The characters happen to have the exact right combination of personalities and skillsets to instantly defeat the monster and go home? Well, first of all that's just dumb luck, and second of all that can't work right away either. There would be a different monster that they can't defeat so easily, or they simply don't have enough information or opportunity for most of the story to be able to actually use their collective skills against it. You managed to evade the killer and get out of the creepy log cabin unharmed? Congratulations. Your best friend is still in there, though, and they might be injured. Are you comfortable leaving them behind and hoping they can fend for themself while you get away? What if it's your child? Sometimes the "stupid" decision is the one you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you didn't make.

I'm going to give the "cozy romance" person props because at least they're honest about the fact that they don't actually want a horror story, and at least the story they're proposing would actually have a plot, just not a horror one. I can see where their thought process was going; there is something cool about the idea of a secret secondary plot going on in the background that the protagonist managed to narrowly avoid, that we can put the pieces together about if we pay close enough attention. (It's not the best example, there are undoubtedly better ones, but it reminds me a bit of Shaun of the Dead where we get these hints that there's a doppelgänger squad running around in the background, and it seems like just a one-off joke until one of them shows up at the end with the military in tow.)

But the thing about that example and a lot of the other ones is that there's eventually a payoff. Ultimately it does affect the protagonists in some way, even if it's sometimes a subtle way. And there's something sort of weird, and just a little jarring, about the idea of reading a story where you're sort of vaguely aware that horrible things are happening to some poor bastard in the background, and your only takeaway from that is supposed to be "oh well, sucks to be them. Let's continue to enjoy watching these Sensible people kiss! Yay!" Apart from maybe being a cool sort of easter egg, what exactly is the point of this subplot, besides imparting the profoundly unsatisfying message of "you can easily avoid danger and have a wonderful life if you're just smart and sensible enough!" when that's so often and so tragically untrue in real life.

And that's why I feel like this would be a much better premise if the horror eventually caught up with the protagonist. Because sorry folks, but escaping the genre unscathed is too easy and too unsatisfying. It has to at least be a challenge, or there's no story worth reading.

You can't just replace the Omelas kid with a robot.

people are so mean about horror movie victims like. sorry but if i had gone to a cabin in the woods with my friends as a teenager you couldn't have stopped us from reading aloud from the evil tome. how were they supposed to know the ancient curse was real they're like 17

[anakinstwinklebunny]

hii another bunnytine’s fic idea came to me today:

little vinnie makes a valentine’s day present for his dad :’) OR

maybe little vin has a valentine at daycare and Sam helps him make something for her!

- 🐮

SAM MONROE does not do Valentine's Day.

He’s spent years watching idiots in his school scramble to buy overpriced chocolates and those stupid heart-shaped balloons, only for most of them to end up freaking crying in the bathrooms by lunch. The whole thing was so pointless, and he’d rather spend the day chain-smoking outside the auto shop than give much of a damn about it.

But now, as the fate wanted, he’s sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a pile of red paper, glue sticks, pink glitter and heart-shaped stickers like they personally offended him.

Vinnie is sitting across from him, babbling to himself in that little toddler voice, chubby fingers smacking at a paper heart Sam had (painfully) cut out. The story standing behind all of it was the daycare. They sent a note home saying the kids had to bring a homemade Valentine’s card for their little party tomorrow. And somehow, somehow, Sam had ended up being the one stuck doing this damn project.

"Alright, lil man," Sam sighed "we gotta make this card, okay? So no eating the glue this time."

Vinnie, in his oversized sweater and socks that barely clung to his tiny feet, just giggled, eyes squinting as he clapped his hands. "Sammy!" he chirped, reaching for the glue stick.

Sam squinted. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m Sam. Now here—stick this heart down."

Vinnie took the glue stick and smeared it casually across the entire page like he’s trying to paint the damn thing. Sam groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Jesus, kid, not like that." He reached over, fixing the heart and trying not to rip it in half.

Vinnie just laughed again, face lighting up like Sam is the funniest thing in the world. And—damn, man. That face always got him.

So, grumbling under his breath, Sam moved closer to Vinnie and started actually helping. He held Vinnie’s tiny hand in his bigger one, guiding him to press the heart down properly. He even let the kid slap a few stickers on—most of which end up half off the page—but whatever. It’s his masterpiece, right?

Once the card is somewhat done (meaning Sam has fixed most of it while Vinnie kept giggling and smacking stickers onto the table), Sam grabbed a marker, biting his lip before speaking up. "Okay, we gotta write something." He glanced at Vinnie. "What do you wanna say?"

Vinnie, looking proud as hell, grinned. "Babi!"

Sam snorted. "Yeah, okay, don’t think the other kids will get that, bud." He sighed, shaking his head before scrawling, in his messy-ass handwriting:

«Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess. From Vinnie»

Good enough for a project for daycare.

"There. Done. You happy now? You like it?"

Vinnie, in all his tiny glory, gasped, hands covering his little mouth before his lips twisted into a smile. Then those pudgy hands excitedly, clumsily clapped and then—out of nowhere—leans forward, pressing a wet, sloppy toddler kiss to Sam’s cheek.

Sam froze.

His heart did this weird-ass thing in his chest, like it fucking melts, and he sweared if anyone ever saw him right now, he'd deny it to his death.

"...Yeah, okay," Sam mumbled, swallowing thickly before ruffling Vinnie’s soft curls. "Maybe Valentine’s Day isn’t that stupid."

Vinnie just giggled again, too happily, grabbing another sticker and slapping it on Sam’s arm.

Yeah. Maybe it’s not so bad after all.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17-deactivated2025 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @nikiloveshayden @cloverina

[angermango]

alternative title: Why Kratos never asked the dwarves to help teach Atreus how to... woo.

[mrsjellymunson]

The Biology Tutor

📕 Lesson 1: Female Anatomy

Series masterlist

Continue studying: Lesson 2: Male Anatomy | Extra Credits 01: Communication Skills | Extra Credits 02: French | Independent Study 01: Art | Independent Study 02: Creative Writing

Pairing: Virgin!Eddie Munson x fem!tutor!reader

Summary: Eddie’s failing class, so you decide to offer two different styles of biology tuition, textbook-based and *ahem* practical.

W/C: something around 4k (I didn’t do a word count after editing, sorry)

CW: 🔞 18+ MDNI!, NSFW, PWP, smut with a story. Exhibitionism (f), mutual masturbation (m+f), swearing, innuendo, pet names, slight sub/dom dynamic, subtle size kink? Both Reader & Eddie are overage. No y/n. Reader’s appearance is not described, it can be whatever you like.

A/N: A cute little bit of biology lesson-based smut. I’m a sucker for virgin!Eddie and wanted to see if I could write him. Let me know how I did! 😄

My masterlist

You’ve had a crush on the guy in your Biology class since the beginning of the year when you first saw him ranting on a table in the cafeteria. There’s something about him that’s so different from the guys you’d usually go for. You run in completely different social circles, you with the academically-gifted ‘Brainy Bunch’ (an eye-rollingly terrible moniker coined by the we-think-we’re-so-clever jocks), and him with his nerdy friends. Despite this you find him unusual and intriguing, not to mention hot as all hell. You guess the ‘freak metalhead’ look doesn’t work for everyone, but his long hair and rebellious dark ink are certainly doing it for you. You really want to discover what’s underneath those layers of denim, leather and torn shirts, your imagination only able to go so far as you ponder his form late at night in your bed.

However, girls talk, and you’ve never heard of him being with any of them, or even speaking to all that many. For all his bravado and apparent confidence, you’re reasonably certain that Eddie Munson is still a virgin.

And for some reason this draws you to him even more.

You’re pretty sure you’ve caught Eddie checking out your ass as it’s perched on a high stool while he sits behind you in the biology lab. On days when you’re in this class you’ve started to wear your tightest jeans, and your shortest skirts (though if anyone asked you’d insist it was a coincidence).

Somehow you’ve become inexplicably clumsy (but only in this class, how odd…), often dropping your pencil and having to bend over to pick it up, occasionally chewing on the end in contemplation when you know he’s watching, much to the chagrin of your teacher.

“Never put anything in your mouth in the lab, you should all know better by now.”

You smirk at the innuendo in Eddie’s direction and he quickly looks away, ears exposed by his lab-regulation tied-back hair a little pink at the tips.

You also often ‘forget’ or ‘lose’ equipment, asking him if he’s got a spare, or could he please get you a replacement from the cupboards, which he’s always more than willing to do (giving you ample opportunities to observe his denim-clad ass as he does so).

“Damn, I seem to be one test tube short. Eddie, would you be a doll and get me one from the cupboard?”, crossing your legs and subtly ensuring the hem of your skirt rides up just a little more.

Eddie looks you up and down (result!) and agrees.

“Thanks, you really are my knight in shiny, um, leather?” You wince slightly at your clumsy comment, but he takes it in his stride, continuing the bit by replying,

“Here you go, your majesty”, bowing theatrically and presenting the glassware to you atop his forearm, making you grin.

In another lesson: “Shit, I tore my filter. Eddie, do you have a spare?”

“Anything for the Princess of Biology.”

He gives you a little smirk, and you feel your cheeks heat slightly. You can’t help gazing at his strong, ring-clad hands as he hands you the little circle of absorbent paper.

It becomes somewhat of a game, you playing the Princess and he the rescuing knight.

But for all your teasing you genuinely do actually want to help him pass the class. You don’t want him to have to repeat the year - you’ve seen him play at The Hideout and you know he’s meant for greater things.

It’s just biology, it can’t be any harder than what little you’ve picked up about that complicated game he plays, which seems to be all numbers, convoluted plots and organising “campaigns”, whatever they are. You’re sure he could pass if he’d just apply himself.

Or, perhaps, he just needs the right tutor…?

You’d broached it with your science teacher, offering to help ‘any students who were behind’ for extra credits. After he’d agreed you’d approached Eddie that same day, offering to come to his home and help him with his overdue assignments.

He was confused and skeptical at first, thinking this could all be some elaborate prank, but you were gentle and persuasive, and he’d agreed to pick you up later that day.

You’re sitting on his worn-out sofa, draped with a well loved but soft blanket. You’ve spent the last hour trying to get Eddie to understand cellular respiration (“Isn’t it just, like, breathing in and out?” “No, Eddie, this is cell biochemistry, it’s a bit more complicated than that”), but nothing you attempt seems to be working.

He’s despondent, won’t look at you, and seems resigned to his fate of never passing this particular subject, interjecting with statements like,

“Look, it’s just not going in.”

“I don’t know how to make it stick.”

“I don’t think I’ll get it, Princess, even if you beat it into me.”

The innuendo (accidental or not) is driving you crazy. As is Eddie’s lack of self belief.

You’d even tried explaining it by using D&D analogies.

“Think of the chemical reactions like individual characters interacting in groups. Like, if this particular troupe disband and some make allegiances with another, the group has different skills and attributes now, right?” But after a promising start even that doesn’t seem to hold his attention.

In fact, the more animated you get and closer you sit, the more distracted and fidgety he becomes, unwilling to engage fully with you and shifting uncomfortably.

You move further towards him on the sofa, determined to give it one last shot, and force him to make eye contact with you.

Their colour and depth surprises you as you look into them properly for the first time, noticing their rich, swirling chocolate and whiskey hues.

Your eyes briefly drop to his lips, the soft pink, plump, velvety pillows looking mightily enticing. God, they’re perfect.

Goosebumps rise on your arm as you feel his surprisingly soft curls tickle your shoulder.

Okay, you knew he was cute, but up close? Fucking hell…

You lean across your notes and over to the text book that’s on his other side. Your thighs are touching, and as you twist the side of your breast makes contact with his arm. If he looked slightly down and towards you he’d be able to see right down the neck of your tank top. You kind of hope he does.

Huffing, you prod at the book with your hand, hoping that the diagram on the page might make everything clearer. The movement makes your boobs jiggle a little.

You hadn’t noticed he’d stopped breathing and he suddenly lets out a huff of breath, covering it with a badly faked cough. His cheeks have flushed a light shade of pink.

So, you definitely weren’t imagining all that stuff in class.

Fuck it. You consider this might be the only opportunity you might get to do this, so decide to grab it. After all, academic tutelage was only part of your motivation to get him alone, and something you’ve been thinking about for a long time, one of the fantasies that keeps you up at night, pops into your head. One that would definitely get his attention. And if you can’t help his confidence academically, perhaps you can help with it somewhere else. Call it interpersonal tutelage…?

With as much nonchalance as you can muster, you say, “Um, maybe we should take a break. Y’know, relax a little?”

You scootch away to the end of the sofa, putting your back against the armrest and bringing your feet up onto the cushion in front of you. You grab a couple of throw cushions and slot them behind you, getting comfortable.

Eddie seems to relax a little too once you’ve moved away, but still looks uneasy.

God, are you really going to do this? What if he screams and runs away, or worse, tells his friends, or your classmates..? No, you’ve been thinking about this for far too long. Oh, fuck it x 2…

Feigning a stretch, you arch your back and place your hands at the back of your waist, pushing your chest, and breasts, upwards. Then you move them to the sides of your ribs, glancing over the sides of your boobs, seemingly-innocently pushing them together. You move a hand underneath one of your breasts, cupping it gently in the crook of your thumb and forefinger.

Eddie is still sitting tensely on the front edge of the sofa cushions, stealing sideways glances at you through the curtain of his hair.

“C’mon, Eddie, get comfy with me. It’ll help, I promise.”

Self-consciously, Eddie shifts himself and sits facing you, cross-legged, at the other end of the sofa. You give him a soft smile, which he returns with a slightly bashful one of his own, afterwards rolling his lips inwards between his teeth.

Okay, it’s now or never. Are you gonna be able to concentrate on this, Eddie?

You hum quietly, and almost closing your eyes you run a palm down your chest and over your belly. You drop one knee slightly out to the side, and run your hand down the inside of your thigh and back up it, eventually pushing your fingers between your thighs and cupping your mound with your palm.

You see Eddie’s eyes widen and hear a stifled choke.

Your hand moves to fully cup your breast, and you lightly trace your thumb over your hardening nipple whilst the hand between your legs begins to apply gentle pressure, making you inhale deeply.

Eddie watches you, agape, bringing his hands together and clasping one hand over the other in front of him, you surmise to disguise his burgeoning bulge.

You open your eyes a little, keeping them soft and half lidded, and gently smile in Eddie’s direction, ensuring he’s still watching you.

Using both hands to pop the button and lower the zipper on your jeans, you tease yourself by running the pretty elastic trim of your your panties between your fingertips, pulling it slightly away from you and letting it snap back onto your abdomen.

“Uh…”, he swallows hard, and you internally groan at the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing in that delicious neck, “What’re you doing..?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Eddie? I’m… relaxing…”

Sighing out the last word, you choose this moment to slip your hand down the front of your underwear, sliding over your mound and dipping just the tip of one finger between your folds, feeling the wetness that’s already pooled there. Your forehead furrows a little and you let out a quiet, contented hum.

Eddie’s eyes widen further and his eyebrows disappear completely under his bangs, and he sounds a little like he’s suffocating.

He tries to move further away from you along the sofa, unsuccessfully however as he’s wedged against the other armrest.

“Uh, I can, y’know, leave, or you could use my room, or, I can take you home, or, or-”

He’s babbling, and looking everywhere but at you. That’s not what you want at all, and you’re also concerned that he looks so uncomfortable.

“I can stop, if you want…”

He rushes out a reply, almost shouting the first syllable.

“N-NO! Um, no, it’s okay, really.”

“Okay, Eddie, stay right there. Keep your eyes on me, I wanna give you a show.”

He looks even more shocked, jaw dropping open, and you think he might bolt. But after a moment it’s clear that despite being full of anxiety, fear and self-consciousness, his curiosity, hormones and horniness are winning out, and he fixes his gaze on you.

He manages to squeak out, “Ok-aay…”

You lift your hips, using both hands to push your jeans and underwear down your legs until they reach your ankles. You slowly splay your knees, finally exposing yourself fully to Eddie’s gaze. One hand comes back to your breast, and you pinch your fabric-covered nipple between your thumb and forefinger.

He takes in the sight before him, the soft fur around your core, your wet folds glistening in the dim light of his living room, your sultry gaze, the peaks of your hardened nipples now visible through the thin fabric of your top.

He lets out a stuttering breath as his hips involuntarily shift underneath him, trying to find some friction.

“Jeezus fuck, Princess, are you tryin’a kill me?”

You try to think of something that might help relax him.

“If it helps you can imagine that we’re still studying. How about a quick lesson in female anatomy..?”

You move your hand down and with featherlight touches trace your fingertips around your pussy.

“Now, this whole area is my vulva.”

Eddie gulps.

Making a vertical line you trace your fingers over your wet lips.

“These are my labia.”

Eddie’s lips press together and he lets out a stammering hum, closing his eyes momentarily before snapping them back open so he doesn’t miss a thing.

“Are you paying attention, Eddie? This part is really important. This-,” you inhale sharply as you trail your wet fingers upwards and make contact, “This is where you’ll find my clit- fuck-”

It feels so delicious you almost don’t manage to finish your sentence, and you let out a long, low hum. Part of you doesn’t want to stop, but you’ve got more planned. Moving your fingers down again, you say,

“And this, here? This is my vagina…”

With a smile, you watch him stare as you dip a fingertip into your sopping hole, letting out a low moan as you gradually slip it inside of you.

“You know what the g-spot is, Eddie? I can show you where to find it, if you want me to…?”

You slide your finger in further, curling it towards your front wall, almost managing to tickle that certain spot within and letting out a loud groan.

At the other end of the sofa Eddie gasps an inhale, whimpering slightly, and you see him press the heel of his hand into his crotch. The combination of his sounds and actions is making you impossibly wetter - the boys you’ve been with before didn’t do much of either, and you didn’t know how much it turned you on.

You watch his face as he stares intently at your weeping centre as you slowly, so slowly move your finger in and out a few times.

“D’you think you’ll remember that, Eddie?”

“I promise I’ll fuckin’ try, Jesus Christ…”

He swallows again, exhaling heavily.

Deciding it’s time for the main event, you bring the hand that was squeezing your breast down your body, moving your fingertips to your clit and applying gentle pressure.

“I want you to see how wet you make me, Eddie. I want you to know how much I enjoy you watching my ass in biology class, how often I’ve thought about it when I’m alone. How much I like checking yours out in those oh-so tight jean- oh!”

A particularly exquisite circle followed by a firm press on your clit makes you moan out loud. The combination of both your hands has you close, closer than you imagined you’d be at this stage. It takes much longer when you’re by yourself, and you’re surprised and excited by just how much you’re enjoying having Eddie watch you.

Eddie’s fully gripping himself through his jeans now and is breathing heavily through his nose. He looks big, and you salivate at the thought.

You really want to see what he’s been hiding inside that tight denim.

“Show me, Eddie, I wanna see you.”

Hesitantly, never having experienced anything even close to this before, Eddie mumbles,

“You, uh…?”

“I wanna see you. Take out your cock. Let me see all of you, please.”

He’s rubbing himself, and you can see how strained his jeans are, a wet stain now visible in the dark fabric.

Slowly, eyes never leaving your face and looking for any tiny indication that you’re uncomfortable or have changed your mind, he slowly undoes his button and pulls down his zipper.

His languid pace is killing you, but in a good way; you realise he most likely has no idea what this is doing to you.

He rearranges the front of his jeans, opening the fly wide and leaving nothing but a thin layer of checkered cotton covering his member. The tent it’s creating is impressive.

He watches you stare and run your wet tongue over your bottom lip.

Letting out a nervous breath between pursed lips, he pushes one hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, using his thumb and two fingers to hold his cock at the base. Using his other hand he slowly, agonisingly slowly, pulls the fabric out and downwards, gradually exposing his full member to the lights of the room and to you.

You pause your own movements and spend a moment taking it in. It’s long, with an impressive girth - you briefly wonder whether he knows what he’s packing - and it’s the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen. Lengthy, veined, slightly curved, and thick, so thick.

Eddie watches your expression for a moment. Satisfied that you’re not freaked or about to run away screaming, he brings the rest of his fingers to join the others, wrapping himself fully in his fist and squeezing gently, causing a little bead of precum to collect on the tip.

You take in the sight before you for a few moments, then utter, completely honestly, “Eddie, in case no one’s ever told you this, you have a really beautiful dick.”

His face and neck turn the second-prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen.

“No one’s ever told me that before, Princess.” Adding, almost in a whisper, “In fact, no one’s ever seen it.”

He chuckles lightly through that last sentence, embarrassed at what he’s just admitted. The ego boost of your comments has clearly given him some confidence though, as he adds with a slight smirk, a little breathy as he runs the pad of his thumb unhurriedly over his tip, “You, uh, really think so?”

Oh, so he likes me watching him too?

You can’t take your eyes off of it.

“I really do, Eddie. It’s so pretty.”

As if to confirm your statement you resume your hand movements, adding another finger and resuming circling your clit with the other. You notice that Eddie’s started moving too, his hand moving over himself in a deft gripping and twisting motion, his hips bucking up every now and again.

For a few moments neither of you say anything, the only sounds in the room your combined panting breaths and the lewd movements of wet skin.

Your clit is swollen and supremely sensitive, and, pushing in a little further, your fingers just tickle that exquisite spot within you.

You moan as you imagine it’s Eddie’s pretty cock inside you. That he’s leaning over you, thrusting into you, hitting that spot effortlessly. Maybe even talking to you, telling you how good your pussy feels, how well you’re taking him…

Suddenly your eyes roll back in your head and your mouth hangs open, a gutteral moan emerging from your chest as you get closer and closer.

Bringing your attention back to him you mumble, hurriedly,

“Jeezus Eddie, I’m gonna cum, you wanna see me cum?”

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire fucking life.”

Eddie’s words come out in a spluttering rush and on his last word your breathing halts, your muscles lock and you cum, hard, clenching around your fingers and letting out an involuntary strangled scream.

Somewhere in the back of your fuzzy mind you think you hear Eddie let out a loud, “Holy shhhiiiit!”

You come down a little, opening your eyes and locking them with Eddie’s. You ride out your aftershocks, humming as you feel your fingers inside of you and your juices running down them. You eventually remove your fingers from your cunt, leaving its puffy wetness fully on display, and trace them around your lips and clit.

“F-fuck, Princess, that’s the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen…”

Eddie’s red-faced and panting, his cock still very much standing to attention in his now vice-like grip, the tip an angry red and leaking copious amounts of precum. His eyes are blown dark, the chocolate rims almost completely obscured. His face and neck are flushed and he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, and he’s clenching his jaw, looking like he’s trying desperately not to bust.

“Are you ok over there, Eddie?”

“Shit, yeah, yes, I mean, fuck.”

Breathily, you ask him,

“Do you wanna cum?”

“Fuck yes, I just, I didn’t know whether you wanted me to.”

“Oh I do Eddie, I really do. It’s your turn now. You gonna cum for me? Please, let me see you lose it, show me everything you’ve got.”

He breathes out a loud sigh in what seems like relief. You like how good he’s being for you, learning yet more about yourself that you didn’t know before.

His fist speeds up as his other hand comes to hold his balls, deftly stroking and rolling the flesh. His brow furrows deeply and his lips clamp shut around a low moan. He’s staring intently at you, eyes flicking between your face and your still-dripping cunt.

Suddenly his expression turns to one resembling surprise, as his eyebrows lift and his mouth opens, a string of expletives leaving those perfect, plump lips,

“Fuck, fuck, Jeezus, motherf-, oh my-, fuckfuckfuuuck!”

His jaw drops as his abdomen contracts, and his eyes fix on your cunt as he jets hot ropes of white cum into the air and over his fist and t-shirt. There’s so much, and it seems never ending.

The sight is even better than you’d imagined it might be and your hips buck up into your hand, making you press your fingers into your clit again triggering another aftershock, and you find yourself moaning along with him.

For a few moments there’s more silence, aside from your panting and heavy breathing.

Eventually Eddie chuckles a little, and you huff a breath out through your nose with a smile on your face.

You’re both a sweaty, sticky mess, but neither of you care.

“Fuck, Eddie, that was…” You’re lost for words.

“Amazing? Incredible?” Seeing the grin plastered across Eddie’s face is easily as gratifying as all the other stuff you’ve done tonight.

You both giggle as Eddie says, “Fuck me, Princess, you’re definitely the best tutor I’ve ever had.”

Neither of you really want to move, but some cleanup is definitely necessary. Eddie takes the blanket from the sofa and throws it in the washer, cleaning up quickly in the bathroom, letting you know when it’s free and returning in a change of clothes, throwing the others in with the blanket.

As you both process what’s just transpired you share timid glances and half smiles.

You both sit on the sofa again as you start to pack up your notes and books. In another unforeseen realisation, you’re surprised at how much you’ve enjoyed Eddie’s company, and the warm feeling you get inside every time he looks at you is entirely unexpected.

You realise you’re gonna have to be the one to say something, and give Eddie a smirk.

“So, how about next time we do some practical revision on, maybe, male anatomy?”

He looks a little surprised, but certainly not unhappy at the suggestion that there might actually be a ‘next time’.

“You really wanna, uh, tutor me again?”

Nodding in the affirmative, you reply, “Oh yeah, I think we’ve both learned a lot this afternoon.”

Holding his gaze, you suggest,

“Same time next week..?”

Lesson 2: Male anatomy | Extra Credits 01: Communication Skills | Extra Credits 02: French | Independent Study 01: Art | Independent Study 02: Creative Writing

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[10byten]

Soft Spot for u

- When you started college, one of the student associations assigned you a senior mentor. Back then, you never thought you'd still be friends with him as you enter your final year, while he’s already long graduated. Even less that he’d be the guy of your dreams—the one who makes your heart race. -

Words : 2.6K

You’ve never been much of a party girl. Well, not in the “nightlife scene” kind of way. But a night owl ? That’s totally you. Staying up late doing all the things the daytime doesn’t allow ? That’s your jam. Especially when you’re spending those nights with him.

Since your freshman year, Yuta has been your go-to for late-night hangs: studying, laughing, bickering, drinking, and dancing. You quickly adapted to his vibe - even though, unlike you, he thrives in the nightlife. He loves hopping from on-campus parties to the city’s best clubs. For Yuta, you’d adjust to anything. Normally, you’re not big on people or physical contact, but with him, it’s different.

The first time he asked you to join him at a party, you tagged along, thinking, Why not? At least I’ll have a story to tell. You didn’t like dancing in public—the stares, the unwanted touches—but his touch? That was different. Before long, you were showing up to every party he invited you to, becoming a campus party regular.

Little did they know, you hated parties. You only went for him. For those moments on the dancefloor when his hands rested protectively on your hips, silently warning other guys to back off. It drove you crazy that it felt more big brotherly than anything else. But when you danced together, something shifted. He wasn’t being protective—just… present.

You’ve always wanted to make a move, but the fear of losing him held you back. If he hadn’t made the first move, it probably meant your feelings weren’t mutual. Right? But honestly, just being by his side was better than being with anyone else.

Yuta changed you—not just in how you see relationships, but in how you see life. He was more than a mentor for academics; he pulled you out of your comfort zone and into a brighter, more open world.

Waiting for him to pick you up tonight, you’re lost in thought, touching up your makeup as Keshi’s Soft Spot plays in the background. Your phone buzzes.

Yuta: Be there in 2 mins, love.

You grin, his name lighting up your screen. Gosh, this man owns my heart.

When you hop on his bike, he whistles, eyes raking over your silver sequin dress.

“You planning to set the campus on fire tonight? I don’t remember telling you to outshine me, little miss.”

“No one’s hotter than you, Yuta.” You flirt back, the way you always do when he compliments you. It gives you butterflies every time.

He smirks, giving you a playful smack on the thigh. “Flattery’ll get you far, baby. Keep it up.”

At the party, Yuta, as usual, commands attention. Walking in with him feels like entering as a rockstar’s date—his magnetic aura turning every head. You join his friends—Johnny, Taeyong, Doyoung—who’ve already lined up shots.

Johnny hands you a suspiciously colorful concoction. You sniff it. “Johnny, is this safe? Because I really don’t want to start the semester in the ER.”

Everyone laughs, and Taeyong teases, “Sometimes I forget you’re still in school. Those were the days…”

Shots clink, faces grimace, and the party kicks off. But soon, the buzz, the chaos, and the alcohol start working their magic on your senses. All you want is to dance—with him.

The noise, the games, the music, the chaos of people chatting and singing along, all the stuff happening around you, mixed with the alcohol buzzing in your veins, has your senses on high alert. And now, you only want one thing—to dance with him. You’ve shared him with the crowd long enough, and now it’s your turn. Just you and him, in your world, even if it’s just for a bit.

You leave Jungwoo and Kai behind, still going at that ridiculous card game where every rule somehow ends in "take a sip." It’s funny as hell, you can admit that, but nah—right now, you need him. It’s all you can think about.

You find him at the bar, mid-conversation. You head toward him, sitting by the counter, your mind racing with one single thought: you wanna throw your arms around his neck and kiss him like it’s the only thing keeping you alive. His legs are spread like he’s waiting just for you, a couple of messy strands of hair falling into his eyes, and his half-unbuttoned shirt teasing you with a glimpse of that stunning belly piercing and a peek at his tattoo.

You stop in front of him, hesitating for a second. He’s still chatting with Taeyong but doesn’t miss a beat, sliding an arm around your waist like, yeah, I know you’re here. That little gesture? making you go crazy, and without a second thought, grab his wrist and pull him to the dancefloor. Pressed against him, your bodies move in sync, his hands on your hips, his breath on your neck. Butterflies? More like fireworks. 

He’s totally getting with your vibe, moving with you like he’s reading your mind. When you turn around, you catch that huge smile lighting up his face—and wow, it’s the kind of smile that hits you right in the gut. He’s loving this moment, and it’s setting off a full-on butterfly storm in your stomach.

You kinda wish his smile wasn’t this attractive, this unfairly cute, this stupidly sexy. Because all you can think about is kissing him senseless. Like, right now.

You keep getting closer, grinding up against him more, and for some reason tonight, you’re feeling extra bold. You slide your fingers into his, guiding his hand to trace your curves in a way that’s definitely more suggestive than usual. Yuta doesn’t just go along with it—he’s into it. His response is all green lights, like his body is totally in tune with yours, wanting this as much as you do.

You feel his breath on your neck as you press your back against his chest, and yeah, it’s short. Is he... out of breath because of you? The thought sends a shiver down your spine, and without even thinking, you push your hips back against him, swaying like it’s second nature.

And then you feel it—him. Hard. For you.

That’s the last green light you need. You turn, locking eyes, fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him, pouring years of longing into it. He kisses back—hungry, desperate.

Next thing you know, you’re in a dimly lit laundry room, pinned against the door as his lips crash back onto yours. His hands are everywhere, his voice dripping with desire.

He kisses you again, and this time it’s pure, raw desire. Like, where the hell has he been hiding all this? Not that it matters—you’re practically melting in his hands. Your skin’s on fire, and it feels like your blood is boiling. He’s gonna make you explode, like you’re some freaking nuclear reactor on the verge of meltdown.

The only way you can even begin to handle this insane craving is by biting his bottom lip, cutting the kiss short. He pulls back just enough to look at you, and there’s this spark in his eyes that makes your breath hitch.

“I didn’t know you had this bad girl side,” he says, smirking. “You’ve always been my sweet, innocent Y/n.”

“Not that innocent I guess, if only you knew about my dirty secret.” 

“Hmm tell me more baby” you smile hearing the petname he gave you, you love it soo much. 

“I touch myself so many times, soaking my panties, just thinking ‘bout you” 

He groan “You didn’t.” 

“I can’t even count how many times since I know you, you’re my favorite fantasm.” You say a lil bit shyly. 

He looks into your eyes, a proud smile on his face. “Then allow me to make the fantasy come true.”  He takes hold of your dress, so small that it doesn't take much effort for him to expose your already soaked thong. He slides two fingers over your pussy to caress you through the fabric.

“You’ve been holding out on me, huh?” he growls, fingers brushing against the lace of your underwear.

“Only for you, daddy,” you whisper, testing the nickname that’s been on your mind for way too long.

He freezes, then smirks. “Gosh, you’re gonna drive me insane.”

You've never been so willing in your life. You only dream of one thing: his tongue on you and IN you. He lifts your leg and places it on his shoulder to get better access. You feel his breath on your inner thigh and you moan at the sensation alone. 

“Oh god.” He look at you, from the bottom and smirk “You can call me Yuta.” And with those words he wraps your whole soaking pussy in his mouth. First he eats you through the fabric of your thong. Then, using his fingers, he shifts it to the side. He flicks his tongue up and down your folds and then concentrates on your clitoris, sucking gently. The stimulation sends you into heaven, you feel as if you've left this earth. And then he starts playing at your entrance with one of his fingers, looking at you “Want me to get inside baby girl?”

“Yes, please, yes !”

 “Your wish is my command.”

He takes hold of your clit again, nibbling lightly, then gently and deliciously slides a finger into your pussy, soon adding a second, which you welcome as a blessing. You try to be as quiet as possible, but your little cries and sobs excite Yuta even more. He picks up the pace and eats you up like he's starving, tasting you like you’re his last meal, you’re trembling. Soon you feel your orgasm coming on and you press down on Yuta's shoulder as if to let him know you're about to burst. He smiles, "Let it go baby, I'm here for you.” You feel the most powerful orgasm you've ever had in your life rushing through you. And this time you can't help yourself, you moan his name out loud and pray that no one else walks by at the same time. He stands up and sucks on each of his two fingers in front of you. Then he slides his tongue back into your mouth. 

“I think you can still feel yourself on my tongue, so much that I've sucked you in.” You wrap your arms around his neck, wanting more, but Yuta slows the pace. “Maybe we should slip away before we're noticed.

You slip out quietly, not even bothering to say goodbye to anyone. On the way back, you’re still all sensitive from the way he completely wrecked you earlier. When Yuta pulls up in front of your dorm, he looks a little more hesitant than before. Still, you invite him to come up with you for a bit.

As you close the door to your apartment, you see him sitting on the couch, his hands covering his face like he’s deep in thought. But you don’t stop to overthink it—he’s already given you too much tonight for you to back down now. You climb onto his lap and kiss him, slow and intense. He kisses you back but suddenly pulls away.

“Wait,” he says, looking at you seriously. “I need to understand what’s happening here. Like, what are we doing right now?”

You stare at him, confused. “Do you want a diagram or something?”

“No, I mean, seriously. Isn’t this, like, a bad idea? I’m older than you, and you’re totally wasted. I am too, actually.”

“So what?”

“So yeah, I don’t think this is a good idea. You’ll probably regret it tomorrow. I don’t want to mess things up between us. You mean a lot to me and—”

You cut him off with a dramatic wave, making it clear he needs to stop talking immediately. “This is unreal. Stop seeing me as the clueless first-year kid who doesn’t know anything and needs a protector. Yuta, I don’t want a protector—I want you.”

He just stares at you, speechless.

“I got a soft spot for you, from the very beginning,” you continue, your voice shaking with the weight of the truth. “And honestly, I’ve been hoping every single day since we met that one day you’d wake up and feel the same. But you’ve always had this big brother vibe, and God, it’s been killing me, because I love your attention, I love how affectionate you are, and how you’re always there for me. But Yuta, I want so much more than that. I never said anything because I didn’t want to scare you off or ruin what we have. But seriously, I’ve been into you since day one. So please, stop being my bro—be my lover. Tonight, I felt like it was now or never. There was this moment, this chance, and hell, it’s my last year. I want to leave this university finally dating the guy I’ve been crushing on since freshman year. So if you’re not into it, just say it, but please stop looking at me like I’m some little kid and start seeing the woman I could be by your side.”

Yuta’s lips crash onto yours, giving you the single greatest kiss of your life.

“So you’ve been this into me for all this time, and you never said a word?” he teases, a grin spreading across his face.

“Yuta, please. I’m not exactly the most social person, but I’ve spent practically all my time with you. I hate parties, yet I’ve been at them every week since I met you. I HATE octopus, but I learned how to make Takoyaki like a pro. I think Naruto is the most boring anime ever, but I binged every damn season. Why do you think I did all that? For who?” you shoot back, exasperated.

“Uh… sorry?” he mutters sheepishly.

“Don’t apologize. Honestly, I love most of those things now because they remind me of you, or they’re just so you. I don’t force myself. If it means spending time with you, it’s always worth it in the end.”

He smiles at you, soft and affectionate.

“I’ll admit, I’ve thought about this a lot over the years too,” he says quietly. “But the age gap always felt like too much. And I had this mentor role, you know? I didn’t want to look like some creepy older guy. More than that, I didn’t want to lose you or ruin what we have.”

Your heart pounds at his words. So he doesn’t see you as some desperate little kid, and, more importantly, the guy of your dreams feels the same way about you.

“Can you say it out loud, though? Just once?” you tease him.

“I got a soft spot for you, Y/n.”

“No, no, no, you can do better than that.”

He chuckles, running his tongue along his cheek, clearly amused but knowing you’re not letting this go.

“I got a big crush on you.”

Your smile stretches ear to ear, and you crash your lips against his again. He responds instantly, sliding his tongue against yours, his hands moving to your hips as he pulls you closer. Then, without breaking the kiss, he lifts you effortlessly and carries you to your room, laying you gently on the bed.He trails kisses along your jawline, down to your neck, and a soft moan escapes your lips. He nibbles at your earlobe before whispering, “If you play your cards right tonight, sweetheart, you just might get me to admit I maybe am in love with you by the end of it.”

[euhla]

i said, “do u think u’ll kill for me one day?” (yes, of course i will, my darling)

dottore x gn!reader. lyric from national anthem (demo). mentions of killing or murder / possessiveness / mentions of dottore’s real name / pet names / cursing / slight ?? yandere / ooc ( kinda soft dottore ). english is not my first language !

You know that Dottore, or your boss is a mad man who does as he pleases—at least that's what people think. But he always acts a little differently to you, which clearly shows favoritism. An act of favoritism that is certainly not left to some other people.

Other people try to take advantage, by asking you to make dottore do something. The most common thing that happens is when they ask you to beg dottore to release their newest prisoner (?) that became the subject of Dottore's experiments who is either their family or friend or partner.

And of course, you’re not happy with it.

You are not a tool to fulfill their wishes. And they were merely just strangers who suddenly came to ask for help, without repaying.

You are pissed.

But also scared at the same time.

Just now you came out of the room called the ‘sacred’ dottore's office. But a stranger who you guess is a new worker just by looking at his impolite behavior, suddenly grabs your arm and takes you somewhere.

“What the heck?!” You yelp. Ignoring the fact that the stranger's hands were shaking violently.

The stranger is now facing you. While his hand was still gripping yours tightly, to the point where you were in pain. "P- please help me!"

You let out a harsh sigh. "No, i won't help you. Thanks to your very impolite behavior.”

“W- w- wait! What do you mean?! This is urgent, and you must help me!” The audacity, you curse him in your mind.

“I said no!” Those three words managed to make him angry instantly.

“You—you should know your place! Is it because you managed to tempt The Doctor with your body and face means you can do whatever you want?!” You winced at his words, it felt like you were being stabbed by a knife, even though you know that it's all not true.

“If you will not tell that crazy man to free my friend—I will cut off your head, and present it to him.” You just looked at him in disgust thinking that he was a strange man. A disgusting strange man.

“Fuck off!” You yell at him.

Long story short, you managed to release his grip. But you couldn't help but notice the bruise on your wrist. You are increasingly annoyed and decide to end all this in an ‘inelegant’ way; using your heels, you stomp on his feet full of revenge. It should hurt a lot, you think.

And when you saw his reaction of pain and screaming, you immediately ran as fast as you could. Your body feels like it's on autopilot when you subconsciously search for someone you know too well— A tall and pale skin man, with light blue and slightly wavy hair, which makes anyone know his identity. And makes anyone afraid and even begs for mercy.

And there he was, standing straight with his hands behind his back like always.

“—tore,” Your breath hitches but tries to reach for his name.

“Dottore!” The man— Dottore looked at you quickly, as if he had been looking for you all along. He opened his arms, making room for you to fall into his embrace again. And you (will) happily return to his arms.

“Zandik!” You call his name once again, as if it were a spell that could make you happy for eternity. “Yes, dear?”

He lifted your chin, making you look up at him. His hand moved to wipe away a few tears that had fallen. Ah, since when have i cried? Why did i cry?

“What happened?” His calm voice made you shudder. You tightened your grip on his white lab jacket. And you know it won't cause him any pain.

You shake your head. "Nothing happened."

“Something happened,” His other hand, covered in a glove made especially for him, is now cupping your cheek. And his other hand, stroking your hair. “Am i right?”

The words are reluctant to come out and get stuck in your throat. You were too afraid to answer, too afraid to imagine what would happen to that stranger.

Silence enveloped the room. You only feel warmth, whether because of the heater in the room or because of Dottore's touch.

Knowing there would be no answer from you, dottore sighed. He placed you to sit on his desk. The desk was a little messy because of the papers, but there was still a place for you to sit.

Dottore's head lifted so he could see your face and what expression you were wearing right now— scared, with traces of tears.

His hand again rose to cup your cheek, then traced every curve on your face that he thought was beautiful. The touch felt strangely soft. Knowing that it was a touch from The Doctor— someone who had killed many people in order to achieve perfect experimental results.

And when he was about to hold your hand, he noticed something. A bruise on your wrist, a fucking bruise. That somewhat pissed him off.

“Who did this to you?” You can easily tell that he is angry, by the way he talks and the questions he asks.

“It’s— it’s just a random bruise i got—” “Stop lying.”

You were silenced quickly.

“You’re always been patient when other people try to take advantage of you,” Dottore's calm voice was whispery. If he knew about it all along, why did he continue to comply with your request?

Dottore closed his eyes for a moment, trying to connect the dots. “Someone asked you for help again? And you refuse, then they gets angry?” You nod.

“Is it a new employee?” You nod again.

“Tell me about them.” You told him straight away.

Dottore nodded. He noted it in his mind.

Out of sudden, you cupped Dottore's face. Cold, is the first thing that comes to your mind. Everything about him was cold, and so was his skin. You saw his pale face, but you couldn't guess what expression he had behind his mask.

As if he could read your mind, he took off the mask that covered part of his face. He put the mask right next to you.

“You’re not angry?” You ask, breaking the silence.

“Why?”

“Because i touch you– i touch your face.”

“Foolish question. Absolutely no.”

Dottore's hand covered yours that was touching his face. Maybe dottore can see your cheeks are a little red right now. Maybe now that stranger is scared right now that you managed run away.

You kissed Dottore's forehead as a thank you.

“I'll take care of it quickly.” And you can't imagine what experiments Dottore would do to the stranger.

[letteredlettered]

In an answer to an ask, I was describing a WIP of mine that's about a friend of the protagonist who is completely in the dark about the protagonist's relationship with another friend of theirs. The fic is about the fact that though the friend is very close to the protagonist and thinks deeply about their feelings, they are still not able to see what is going on.

I think the reason I was interested in this fic was I really dislike the tropes like "A/B think they're being sneaky about dating but all their friends know," or "their friends knew A/B were meant for each other before they did" or "their friends try to get A/B together because they know A and B like each other." The fic I wanted to write was sort of the opposite of all of those, where the friend, despite being very close to the protagonist and deeply concerned about his welfare, is wrong about everything.

I think I have a lot of feelings about the tropes I listed, some of which are related to what I think friendship is and should be, others related to what friendship has been for me, all related to how I operate in this world, I think. First of all, most stories that employ those sort of tropes have friends going behind their friend's back and manipulating them. I would hate to find out that a friend manipulated me into some kind of meet-cute or confession instead of just having and open and honest conversation about it.

These stories often also have friends mistrusting their friends and not believing them; the protagonist will say, "I don't like him like that!" or "I don't see how we'd work as a couple!" and instead of taking the protagonist at their word, the friends decide they know the protagonist better than they know themself. And you know what, sometimes your friends do know you better than yourself; it can be very helpful that they do. It can be very helpful when they nudge you in a direction you thought you couldn't go, because you didn't know you could handle it or didn't know you needed it. But in the end, I find it offensive if someone doesn't believe with what I'm saying, if they're not engaging with what I'm thinking, if they're deciding they know better. Because even if they do know better, I still think and feel these things, and I want my feelings to be addressed, not ignored--even if they're wrong sometimes.

Which brings me to how I move through the world. I often feel I move in darkness. I don't know what other people think unless they tell me or make obvious demonstrations. And I feel that way partly because I so often feel misunderstood, because people read my expressions, or my tone, or don't listen carefully to the nuance of my words, and they assume things about me that I don't feel, that don't describe me, that have more to do with them than with me. And then there is so much of me going on under the surface that I don't know how to express in day to day life, things I feel and think about that other people don't guess. Lots of times, other people don't even seem interested.

I've never had people in my life speculate about whom I might be romantically interested in--at least, not to my face, unless they were my wife. I've never been asked if I like someone after middle school. I didn't date for 35 years, and was never asked to my face why, or whether I was interested, or why I wasn't with anyone, except a few times very gently by my mother. When I started dating a woman, no one said anything about me being gay. No one had questions. No one seemed interested in my sexuality or journey to get there.

Throughout my life, I never felt like I have been treated like a person who could have a romance, a person who could have sex, a person who could have a relationship. Was I too ugly? Was I too fat? Was it because I didn't present in a feminine way? Was I too loud? Was I too confident? Was I too intellectual? Was I too weird? Too awkward? Too unlike those around me? Was it because I'd never been with someone? Was it because I didn't talk about wanting it? Was it because I was too content, too happy? Was there something about me that screamed asexual, aromantic, this is someone who will never have a love story?

Around 10 years ago, I was talking to a friend with whom I'd never talked about any of this. We talked about work and our mutual acquaintances, her kids, my theater, and art. But one day she brought up a mutual friend of ours who was in her thirties, wanting to have babies and get married, but was having trouble finding a partner. My friend said something that gave me pause, something like, "Everyone wants to be with someone; no one wants to be alone. She just wants the life everyone has." And I said, "I don't have that life." And my friend instantly said, "Oh, but you're different."

I asked her why, and she couldn't say, only that I just didn't seem to want it. But what made her think that? What was it about me? I could understand if she was surrounded by people saying "I want this" over and over again, and she had never heard me saying that, maybe she drew some conclusions about me. But it felt strange. It felt hurtful--not because I need marriage and babies, but because I am automatically sorted in the category of "different" in this person's mind. They were just one person, but this seemed to also be the case with dozens of other people. Hundreds. Everyone wants this; it's normal--except for you, lettered. You're obviously different.

I know I'm actually very lucky. Many people would love to have my "problem." Many people who are asexual or aromantic, many people who haven't figured it out yet, many people who have been in a series of bad relationships and feel hopeless, many people who can't find someone to date at all, might love to have been in those shoes. They would love to not be asked "who are you dating, when will you marry, when can I expect grandkids?" they would love to escape "why don't you settle down? why don't you have a boyfriend? how can you still be single?" Maybe they would love to be told by my friend, "Oh, you're different, in the world of people we all expect to be paired up with other people, you just don't count."

But knowing that's what other people get asked, knowing that other people get constant questions about their love lives, so much so that it's annoying for them--and then knowing that no one ever asked me (except for my mother, gently and kindly, a few times, careful not to exert pressure) feels bad. Was I the sidekick in some story, the one no one expects to have a love story of their own? Could no one imagine me as a romantic interest? A sexual object? Am I the platonic ideal of a woman, untouchable and perfect in every way? Am I Mary Poppins?

Anyway, the simple answer is probably just that people are mainly self-centered, and if you don't bring it up, it doesn't occur to them. And to tell you the truth, I didn't often bring it up because while I would like to have been with someone, but I really don't need it; I just thought it would be nice. It wasn't a burning interest of mine, so maybe I shouldn't have even felt so bad that people seemed to make assumptions about me. (I'm just glad my wife didn't make assumptions like that; everything changed when my fire wife attacked.)

But since I am already a person who felt largely in the dark about how others feel, and feel that others are largely in the dark about me, this aspect of myself just felt like another facet of a blind operation. I often feel that I'm trapped in my own world, and you are trapped in yours, and we are all groping blindly for things we can never fully grasp, because you can never fully enter my world, and I can never enter yours.

And I recognize that the "friends know about their feelings" trope and the "friends get them together" trope is in some ways wish fulfillment--maybe everyone feels blind, feels unseen, and unknown, and they wish people would see them in this way, and know them. They wish people would step into their world and offer a hand, and lead them to another person's world, where they will never be alone.

But I, personally, find it very comforting to read about that blindness, to know that I'm not alone because we're all blind, and yet we still find ways to reach out to each other regardless.

[birthanon]

Executive Order

This story contains: mpreg, rapid pregnancy, detailed birth, extreme birth denial, clothing birth, torture, and public birth. It is a RPF, featuring Donald Trump and his supporters getting what they deserves. 18+, don't like don't read. You have been warned. Story behind cut.

The day after his inauguration, Trump woke up and knew he’d made a mistake. He lay in bed, his hand tracing the two lumps under his pajama shirt, and the missing lump in his pajama pants. He slipped his hand down the front of his silk pajamas just to check, and sure enough. His dick, never that big to begin with to be honest, was gone, replaced with a forest of hair and foreign folds of skin. “What?” he gasped, unable to summon more words.

“You wished this upon yourself,” a voice said. Donald jerked upwards, at the sound, withdrawing his fat hand from his pants. A diaphanous, woman-like creature floated at the foot of his bed, long black hair trailing into mist behind her, a purple and gold robe draped over her misty-figure, dissolving out of sight before it reached what would have been her legs, if she’d had any.

“I did not!” Donald protested. “Why would anyone, how could anyone wish for this?”

“In one of those executive orders you signed yesterday, you know, the menu-like things people gave you? You said you wanted there to only be two genders in America, and that those genders would be determined by the sex-cell they produce at conception. All babies are phenotypically female for the first six weeks, so I have made you and all those who support you, compliant to your will.” The genie smiled broadly. “I’ve left another present for you as well, so you can enjoy the complete experience.” Then, with a little wave, she began to fade.

“Nasty, nasty woman!” Trump exclaimed. “Come back, come back and fix this or else—!” but it was too late, she was already gone, and the deed was already done.

Intense nausea plagued Donald for the next several days. He woke up nauseous and threw up his coke and McDonalds every time he ate it. Rumors of an intense stomach bug going around the senators and congressmen floated up to his ears. Each one that reported sick, that didn’t come, Trump knew what had happened to them, a victim of his wish. Their anatomy, like his, had been changed. Then the nausea eased off, and the weight gain began, it was subtle from days four to six, but when they’d come back from break the next week, all the Republican representatives on Trump’s sides seemed to be splitting out of their suit coats. 

Ten days after his inauguration, Trump called all his followers together for a special meeting. The day of, he woke up with horrible stomach pains, horrible back pains. Probably the bloating, he figured. His stomach had shifted size overnight, whereas before it had been quite broad and sitting high up, enough that he could button his trousers awkwardly below the swell and keep them on, now, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t manage to button them. The silky material of his suit pants caught on his broadened hips, and the crotch of the seam dug into his extremely sensitive folds beneath. It was sort of like having a permanent wedgie, and even so, he could not manage to get his pants up over the shiny curve of his massive, firm stomach. 

His nicely starched shirt presented similar problems—the buttons straining around his chest where the binder he’d frantically bought last week attempted to wrangle his new, sensitive, leaking breasts. The binder couldn’t quite do the job, however, and breast tissue spilled out of the armpits of the binder. Lower down, the shirt couldn’t quite cover his stomach, and he couldn’t get the last few buttons, the ones centered over the main mass of his swell, together either. 

All just weight gain from the stress of being the best president ever, Trump figured. Sure it had been rapid, but that was likely an attempt at that nasty genie lady who was trying to embarrass him. 

Pondering his issue, Donald pulled off his clothes, and switched his binder for a full binder, which pressed uncomfortably down on his massive stomach. He groaned as the pressure triggered another cramp, whining at the intense pain. Once it eased, he wiped tears from his face, then glanced in the mirror. His silhouette was better, but he needed more. He pulled out another full-length binder and shimmied into that one too. 

The pressure was immense. His ribs ached. His stomach protested. Immense pressure built in his stomach and hips, but it served to slim his figure down enough to get his shirt and pants buttoned (barely). 

Thus attired, he pressed a button, and a slim young woman slipped in, his attendant. He’d picked her for her beauty, blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, a fresh college graduate. She helped him into his suit and tie, got his shoes on him (for it was far too hard to bend down and get those on himself), and helped him with his extensive make-up preparations. As she turned from him, he grabbed her nice butt appreciatively. She flinched back, but said nothing. What a charming girl. He’d get more out of her later.

For now, he had a meeting. He ate three McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches in the motorcade on his way to the meeting at the senate. Since the bouts of severe nausea several days ago, he’d felt constantly hungry. Still, there didn’t seem to be much room in his stomach, with it pressed so far down. Cramps consistently wracked his body, making him moan around the sandwiches in his mouth. But still, he ate.

When Donald got out of the motorcade, he waddled slowly up the steps to the senate. It was always a bit of a climb, but far harder this time for some reason. He had to stop several times to get his breath back, his security team shifting uncomfortably each time he did. Groaning, he pressed his hands into his back, trying to shuffle away the pain. He yearned to curl a hand around his aching stomach, to reach down to the crotch of his pants and pull them away from his sensitive lips, but such an action wouldn’t be presidential at all. Instead, he took a deep breath and continued to waddle up to the senate.

The seats there were filled with his followers, each of them similarly straining out of their finely tailored suits. They seemed unusually restless. The lights above gleamed on their strangely sweaty, pinched faces. 

“Several of them said they weren’t feeling well today sir,” his assistant noted at his side. “I told them to come anyway, if they still valued their career. They should all be here.”

Donald nodded, watching and waiting, breathing carefully through his continued cramps, until the last seat was full. 

Finally came Elon, waddling up the aisle. His face was oddly red and sweaty. He wore a gray Make America Great Again shirt, which strained over his torpedo-shaped belly, failing to fully cover it. A stripe of veiny, stretch mark-laced pale skin peaked out between the bottom of the shirt and Elon’s black pants. The t-shirt and suit coat did far less to hide Elon’s changed body than the full suit the politicians were wearing, and seeing such a rich, powerful man marked as Trump’s and so clearly pregnant sent Donald’s privates tingling.

The meeting began once Elon sat next to Trump shifting uncomfortably by him. Politician after politician stood up and talked about their plans for Project 2025, what was coming, how they could gain further power. Trump let the voices tune out as the pain and pressure in his stomach continued to mount. At his side, Elon was letting out little weak whines, and if Donald could have yanked his attention from his own pain, he would have noticed that Elon’s stomach visibly contracted each time Donald’s cramps hit.

The pain peaked to an agonizing amount. Trump moaned. Elon whimpered, curling around his stomach. So much pressure. Something inside him stung, stretching. Perhaps its the spell wearing off, Donald assumed, hoping that soon his anatomy would be returned to him. That would explain the leaking breasts, which had begun to show through his white shirt. The filling in them was simply leaving.

Then a senator in the back stood, screaming, “I can’t take this any more!” He stumbled a few steps awkwardly down his row, then stopped. Simultaneously, Donald’s own cramp increased in pain and pressure. He was going to die. That nasty woman had cursed him to die! And then, at the peak of the cramp, something snapped inside him. Water gushed out of him, staining his pants and running down his legs. An audible pop filled the room, followed by the dripping of water from the cunts and pants of nearly 300 congressmen.

There was a moment of terror as each man frantically tried to hide the fact that he’d practically just peed his pants, then a moment of relief as he realized the man next to him had as well. Then panic as each of them stood, looking around. 

Then came the next contraction. Without the cushioning of the waters, without the need to hide their pregnancy from their equally knocked-up colleagues, as one they screamed in pain. The urge to push came upon them, and they obeyed nature’s demands. 

On the podium, Trump watched in horror as each of his followers crouched as one and bore down. He felt the need himself, but refused it. They might give birth here in public, but he would not. He was the president. 

As soon as that first all consuming contraction died down, he got to his feet and began, bow-legged, to wobble away past Elon who had slipped from his chair, down to his knees, cradling his stomach and sobbing. Trump paused for a minute, torn between yearning to watch that man give birth and the dreaded knowledge of his own imminent birth. 

Trump reached toward him. “Come with me,” he said.

Elon looked up, then another contraction hit. He cried out and pushed with all his might. Trump, busy fighting against his own contraction, missed the distinct bulge in Elon’s pants which faded as soon as the thin, red faced nazi stopped pushing.

Elon, lost to the pain and panic of the moment, was clearly lost. Trump could not do the same. He staggered away, until he reached the stairs. He got down two stairs before the next contraction came. He could not press his legs together as he had in the past, and he felt the child move inside of him. The pressure from the double binder made the whole thing agonizing. He needed to take off his shirt, needed to take off everything. But he couldn’t in front of his followers.

The pain of the contraction decreased and Trump continued down the stairs, stance just a little wider than before. More pain, more pressure hit just as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He groaned, pressing his legs together, telling himself not to push, but even so the baby moved, stretching his insides. 

With shaking legs, Donald continued on, stumbling down the aisle, past his supporters, many of whom had stripped their jackets and pants. Trump passed one man, Mike Lee, who was laying in the aisle. He’d stripped his pants and boxers, and lay with his legs spread. His lips were reddened, bulging with a massive head of black hair as big as Trump’s fist. As Donald stopped to breathe through another contraction, he watched the head grow and grow as the red-faced man pushed, then recede as the contraction stopped.

Looking up at Trump, Mike Lee reached for him, whispered, “Help me.”

But there was no time for helping him, even if Donald was of the mind to. Seizing on the break between contractions, Donald tried to hurry down the aisle, but he couldn’t quite see where his feet were landing with his massive stomach in the way.

His foot hit Mike Lee’s outstretched leg, and Donald went tumbling. He struck the ground belly first, triggering a massive contraction. He screamed as the baby he’d been holding in so far shot through the rest of his canal and breached his lips.

Sweating and gasping, Donald reached for the nearest seat. He tried to pull himself up, but that involved engaging his core, which pushed the baby just a little further out. Fire lit around his privates, and he gasped, immediately disengaging his core and flopping back to the ground. The head receded back inside, just behind his swollen, sensitive lips. 

He tried several times to rise without engaging his core, but couldn’t quite manage. Another contraction hit, and Mike Lee screamed at his side, spreading his legs further, the baby’s head shooting out of his new vagina in a gush of fluid which spread across Donald’s already wet shoes. 

Desperate, Donald gave up on getting up and began to crawl on shaking arms and legs down the aisle, a slight bulge in his pants. From this angle, he got to see all his supporters in varying stages of undress and delivery.

Finally, several contractions later, back aching, Trump reached the doors. He reached up to the handle, and tried to twist it, but it didn’t move.

No.

Another contraction hit.

Despite trying not to push, Trump’s lips parted around the head. He gasping at the stinging. Using the handle, he pulled himself to his feet, engaging his core and pushing in the process. His baby moved, shooting out after all this time of denying it, into a near-full crown. He screamed, his legs wobbled. Only by holding onto the door did he manage to not collapse. 

As soon as the contraction ended, he wobbled to the next door, bow-legged. With each step his too-tight pants pushed the baby’s head just a little bit more inside, easing the sting, though the sensation of the baby going back felt exceedingly wrong.

He reached the next door just as the next contraction hit. The baby moved again, despite his best attempts, though his pants pushed the head back in as soon as the contraction ended. Then he tried that handle. It too was locked.

He looked up at the next door, and saw a senator, collapsed beside it, giving birth on his side, moaning as he tried to wiggle out his baby’s shoulders. 

They were locked in. There was no way out.

Desperate, Trump began pounding on the door, calling for his security team. He pounded and pounded, throat raw, through two more contractions. The pressure. The pain. He couldn’t take it anymore. 

Gasping, he slipped off his suit coat, then grabbed his collared shirt and began to tear it off. The shirt resisted at first, then the over-strained buttons popped and the shirt parted, revealing the double binders and his large stomach and chest. 

Another contraction hit, and Trump sank to his knees, giving up, and finally, blessedly pushing. The baby moved. His lips stung. Somewhere in the room, a chorus of baby’s first screams filled the musty, sex-scented air. 

Then the contraction ended. The pressure was terrible. And it was so, so hot. With trembling hands, Donald reached for the hem of his binders and pulled them both up in a desperate tug. The pressure on his chest increased, but his stomach, at last, was free. It practically doubled in size, popping out of the restrictive binder. The skin was slick, shiny with sweat, and red. Veins stretched across his stomach, his belly button protruding from its peak. It was round in shape, beach-ball like, huge. How had he not realized he was pregnant before? It seemed so obvious staring at the shape of it.

He pushed with the next contraction, hard as he could, groaning with the effort, but the head didn’t move. Sweat dripped down his face, washing the bronzer and other make-up he wore off. His shirt collar and the binders beneath them, doubled up around his chest, were stained orange.

Another contraction, still no more progress. His lips were straining around the massive head, spreading him at a full crown, but it wasn’t moving. Then he realized. His pants.

They were still on!

With shaking fingers, he tried to get at his belt, to get his pants off. But he couldn’t manage it. Another fruitless contraction, and Donald screamed with the pain and frustration. He looked around for help, and that’s when he saw the C-span camera, pointed straight at him, the light blinking. It was on, though it shouldn’t have been, and was broadcasting Trump’s pleas for help, his birth, to the entire world.

Then another contraction hit, and he found he didn’t care. He’d do anything to get his pants off, to give birth, to finally give birth. He screamed for help, but everyone was too busy with their own births.

Then finally, blessedly, his assistant appeared. She looked down at him, totally unaffected by the chaos around her. She stood a moment and took in President Donald Trump’s appearance: his suit coat lost, his tie loosened, but still looped around his neck, his collared shirt ripped apart, parted around his massive straining stomach, his binders stained orange from his bronzer and sweat, layered over his chest, his suit pants still on, the crotch bulging obscenely from his baby’s massive head.

Donald didn’t remember her name, but he begged her anyway, to help him. 

She smiled, and knelt beside him. She ran a hand through his hair, then rested the other oh so gently on his round stomach. “All those women you raped, all the woman who were forced to give birth because you took away abortion, this is on you. Why should I help you, felon?”

Then her grin turned feral and she pushed down on Donald’s stomach with both hands. 

The pressure was enormous. Donald screamed in agony, tried to wriggle away, but couldn’t. Tears of pain leaked down his eyes. He couldn’t continue any more. He felt as though he were going to burst. Something had to give—

And then it did. The overtaxed seam of his suit pants gave in. His baby shot out to its ears, and Donald’s vision flashed white.

But the baby had moved. Progress, at long last. His boxers, light blue with little American flags on, were still on, but they were loose enough, he figured he could push the baby out of them.

Gasping for breath, he seized upon the next contraction. Except—the baby didn’t move. His assistant was kneeling next to him, holding the baby’s head in place.

“Let me give birth!” Donald demanded.

“Beg me,” she said.

Another contraction passed. Then another. Without movement. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Please,” he whispered as the next pain came upon him.

Then, while the contraction was still going, despite Donald pushing against her, she shoved the baby back inside, all the way, until his lips closed on the head. The baby kicked within him. Donald screamed in agony. His vision blanked.

Still he could hear her. “We’ve got to get these pants off you, then.” When he came too, his pants and boxers were discarded, as were both his binders. She’d replaced his collared shirt though, hit hung open, revealing his large breasts and rotund stomach. His red tie was back around his neck, restricting his breathing, dangling between his bare breasts.

He pushed with the next contraction, and the head, slowly, began to emerge once more. But he was exhausted. His head fell back and he gave up before the contraction ended. The head slipped back in, leaving only a teardrop of hair visible. 

As he worked, the cries of babies increased, all the other congressmen having long since succeeded in giving birth. He reached a full crown once more, pushed and felt the baby’s nose stretch past his purpled, swollen lips. Then, with a gush of fluid, the baby’s head was finally out.

“Oh good,” his assistant crooned. “You are nearly there.”

The shoulders shifted inside him. One popped out, then the other. If he thought the head was big, this seemed twice as large. It felt as though he’d split at the seams. Just one more push. Except, he pushed twice and the baby stayed there, lodged his canal, spreading him apart.

The assistant was there, holding the baby in place once again.

“Let go!” Trump gasped, then weaker. “Please.”

“Oh, did you want to give birth?” she asked, innocently, her fingers trailing around Trump’s sensitive, over-stretched lips.

Another contraction hit Donald, and he tried fruitlessly to push the baby’s massive shoulders out. “Please,” he repeated. “Anything, I’ll do anything.”

“Repeal every one of your executive orders,” she said. “Go on national television and tell people that the bishop was right. Become the best advocate we’ve ever had for trans rights, queer rights, women's rights, immigrants rights.”

“Never!” Trump hissed.

The assistant grinned and began pushing the baby back inside Trump, the shoulders once again enveloped by his canal, then its neck, then its cheeks. Trump screamed and writhed, but he was helpless. Completely at the woman’s mercy.

She paused when the baby was back at a full crown. “I could do this all day,” she warned.

“All right,” Trump gasped, “All right. Anything, please.”

The assistant nodded, then stood up, stepping away. She began to fade, becoming for a split second, the genie that had started all this. “Good,” she said before she disappeared, “Now be a good girl and birth that baby for America.”

Exhausted, surrounded by his sweaty supporters, Donald Trump obeyed.

[brailsthesmolgurl]

LOSE YOU TO LOVE YOU

Preview: You had to lose your lover to protect them against harm but what happens when someday, fate connects the two of you again? Warnings: Angsty but yes to fluff too, slightly-slightly suggestive towards the end! this is gonna be a bit of a lengthy read as always

P.S: This is an extremely detailed request by one of you guys, its a bit challenging for me to write it hence I decided to take it upon my own twist for the story. Or else, I might actually get so demotivated to write this piece and I do not wish for that. Overall plot would still be half-preserved but I had decided not to use any names just for the overall inclusivity for other readers. Great ideas should be shared and I think my readers would like to be included too in this wonderful plot :)

"What...what have you put into this y/n?" Rafayel stumbled, the mug slipped out of his hand when his legs started buckling beneath him. He was in disbelief as he watched the mug broke upon impact against the hard tiled floor. It was like time had slowed down for him and he could only blame the orange juice he had drank. "Y/N!" He calls out to you again, hands now clasping onto his slender neck when he slowly crumpled to the ground. Yet, his calls for you fell upon deaf ears, four walls on each side of the room watched him suffer.

You peeked over the heavy door leading to his room and your eyes watered at the sight of your fiance lying motionless on the ground. Knocking him out is the only way you can think of the moment you were threatened by an elite group of assassins. They are the reason behind his bounty value--that had exceeded by two million-- and they presented the only option for you to 'save him' is by leaving him.

They cornered you on one of the days when you were out dealing with Wanderers. Although you are fairly combative, one woman against a dozen of elite assassins would not grant you a survival route. Hence, you were practically forced to listen to their proposal. Not much details were disclosed to you about why they were willing to retract the bounty for your fiance but you figured if he could live a better and safer life without a bounty hung on his head then why not? Even if you were to be at their disposal.

"Leave him and he shall walk like a free man he once was." You remembered the grim voice of a man as he relayed the terms and conditions to you. "We do not seek a confrontation here as you are with child."

Flashing back to the present, you lightly rubbed your belly, still wondering how they know of your pregnancy when it was not even announced to Rafayel. This further tells that those assassins are not to be messed with. "I am sorry." You knelt down beside your lover, studying his peaceful features as he was snoozing. "I am sorry I have to do this to you. I promise you that I will be back for you when the time is right." Pushing yourself off of the floor, you left without turning your head back. Each step taken ripped your heart out of your chest even more.

Years had gone by, with you disappearing off of the grid and went into hiding. During then, you had been living under a pseudonym, revamping your whole image and identity to go full on undercover. You did this because you did not want Rafayel, nor anyone from your past to track you down. However, peacefulness does not last long when news of Rafayel’s bounty is on the rise again and it got you wondered what he could have done to piss them off. You did some digging yourself. With the help of your new identity, you can slip in and out of the clubs without a worry. Eavesdropping just enough to get the information you need to propagate further in tracking down the same man who once threatened you to leave Rafayel.

The trail has led you back to Linkon City and you stood at the balcony of the unit you had rented, overlooking the scenic view of the concrete jungle below. The city has changed a lot since the last you had been here and that is probably years ago. “Mummy.” A child-like voice snapped you out of your reminisce and you looked down, watching the toddler walking up to you. A perfect photocopy of your ex-lover; with dark purple locks smooth to one’s touch and eyes the same as his hair. He is like a doughy-faced version of Rafayel. The child that you bear while you left Rafayel now stood in front of you, eyes full of hope before another similar face joins him. Yes, you gave birth to twins. The other is yet another photocopied version of Rafayel, but adorns the eyes as deep as the blue sea. That is how you manage to tell them apart from one another.

“Mummy you okay?” The blue-eyed toddler followed up with the question. Although only been in this world for three years, the both of them had grown so much, not only in terms of height but also knowledge and other aspects that would commonly be found within a toddler’s growing age. They inherited Rafayel’s artistic talent; always doting on painting to pass time whenever you are home with them. Whereas from you, they certainly are highly adaptable and smart. “We go for walk mummy?”

“Yes, let’s go for a walk.” You stood upon and went over to the front door to grab your coat, handing the twins their coats as well. “Put them on alright, the night is going to be chilly and I do not want you guys to be sick.” Out of habit, you slotted your baseball cap right over your head. It is a good strategy to not stand out from the crowd when you get to shield parts of your face at certain angles. You grabbed your wallet and phone and proceeded to walk out with the twins.

Nights in cities are never boring; with bustling traffic and chatters hailing from crowds. This was what you had missed out on for the past years. Staying by the countryside does have its perks but still, you missed the noises of a city that is alive. Dank pathways were sprawled out at the park as you walked with your toddlers by your side. The rain had just subsided and it smelled of dew and silt. But, something seemed off. There were hints of metallic smell in the air, a smell closely resembled to fresh blood. You stopped in your steps and started scanning the area, your ears perked up to maximise picking up even the slightest of gales. “I’m scared mummy.” Your toddler had seemed to pick up on the shift of aura as well.

A twig snapped and you too, snapped yourself towards the source of the sound, shielding your kids by pushing them behind you and hands dug deep into your coat, ready to draw out your weapon if danger ensues. Your eyes were narrowed into slits, relying on dimly lit street lamps to highlight the bushes in front of you. “You know what you should do right?” You looked down, watching your toddlers nod towards you. They were already trained from young to flee should there be any situation that requires them to. Both of them have a watch equipped with a navigation system that will lead them directly to the nearest police station or anywhere that is a confirmed safe house for them. With that, you ushered them and watched as your kids held hands with one another and started to tread lightly out of the park, the watch illuminating their way.

You pulled out your gun the moment an amorphous figure emerged from the bushes and before it could reach you, it burst into flames, screams of agony like a banshee on a killing spree tore through the empty park. Luckily, your children had already fled and a beep on your watch notified you that your kids are safe, and they are currently back to the unit that you had rented. You lowered your gun and stared at the tallowing figure in front of you, the blazoning red tinge of flames looked familiar, it was as if you had seen it—“Y/n?” You blinked, looking up to find another figure emerging from the same path taken by the man who had now disintegrated into ashes and blended into the night skies. “Is that you?”

“Rafayel?” Your jaw dropped, watching him emerged from the bushes. It must be because you missed him so dearly that your mind decided to deploy a mirage of him amidst danger right? It’s like those final wish scenes and you could not help but feel goosebumps slowly drawn to the surface of your arms. “You’re not real.”

The man in black clomped over and you stumbled backwards, gasps fleeting out of your lips as you thought you just saw a ghost. “Careful.” The grip on your arm gravitated you back to reality. You are now staring right into the eyes of your ex-lover, the same guy you thought was killed because there were no news of him anymore. The same man that you were forced to leave in order to protect his safety. The love of your life, the father to your twins. “You are back.” He enveloped you into his arms, his breath disheveled, his tone of voice ebullient. You were expecting a frustrated Rafayel, not forgiving you for leaving him, not acknowledging your existence because you had left him so suddenly without a reason.

Yet, you could not seem to fathom his current state as he held you tightly in his arms. Rafayel had been nothing but the bearer of a deft husk of a ‘widow’. Ever since he woke up to an empty home, he became relentless. Thomas too, was greatly affected by his melange of emotions. Everyone else who worked around him were forced to be more obsequious than ever, showcasing utmost sycophancy in fear of getting panned by the artist. For he had went through a change of heart, thirsting only for revenge upon the group of people that took away his lover. Succour was indeed offered by Thomas, to seek out information regarding your whereabouts. Rafayel agreed and thanked him, providing him all of the money needed to seek you out but deep inside, he knew that finding you would not be a simple matter and his worry haunted him further.

The walk back to your place was awkward, one-sidedly perhaps. Rafayel had not stopped talking, telling you about his journeys of tracking down every single one of the members of the elite group and threatening them to spill their guts about your whereabouts. Given that you left him on your own will, none of the men knew where you had migrated to and that literally got their guts spilled afterwards. He then went on, telling you about how he had handled the truth of you leaving him, that, when it came to a certain point in his life, he was the one that caused you the suffering instead. His words did travelled into your ears, but it was not being processed properly as you were too occupied on thinking about how does one tell their long time lover that they had became a father without their knowing?

The both of you stood at the front of your door now, you praying quietly to yourself, hoping Rafayel would not freak out if he were to meet both of your twins upon stepping into the entrance. You imprinted your thumbprint on the scanner and the door unlocked with a crisp click. Two sets of footsteps were heard clomping towards where you stood and you looked over to Rafayel immediately to analyse his reactions towards your twins. “Mummy— who’s this?” The both of your twins immediately froze, being only a couple of steps away and their eyebrows were strewn together in confusion. The father of the twins stood frozen too, eyes darting in between the two toddlers, noticing the familiar and yet uncanny features of theirs.

When Rafayel got to the leader of the elite group, he was foretold that you were pregnant when you left but he supposed that he was unable to take a grasp of time after you had left. Both of the boys are a bit taller than kids of their age, both rocking the same purple locks as his, pallid and flabby cheeks that Rafayel was certain to own when he was younger back in the days and not to mention, the both of them got your lips. Every lip motion is a total reflection of you. “You were pregnant with them when you left me right?” You took the note that Rafayel does probably know of the existence of you having a child but maybe, he is still in shock, not expecting twins at all. You nodded in response to his question.

Rafayel got onto his knees and smiled, tears started jerking around in his eye sockets, tainting his purplish-pink eyes a glassy tint. “I am your father.” He opened his arms to the twins but your kids cautiously looked over to you, awaiting for the confirmation as they had never seen their father before. Upon noticing your nod and smile, the twins squealed in surprise and hurtled themselves into his arms. Just like that, a family reunion happened.

“You already got them to bed?” Couple of hours later, Rafayel had placed the two reluctant twins of his to bed. Given both of the kids had been longing to have a father figure in their life, a few hours of interaction with Rafayel are definitely not enough for them. However, bed time at 9pm came to be an obstacle for the twins. Yawns started replacing laughs and Rafayel knew it was time to call off play time and switch to story time. You would usually read them to bed and Rafayel thought it is a great idea to put the kids at ease by telling his story, portraying himself to be the main protagonist set out on a journey to save a princess and to rescue her minions as well. The princess being you and yes the minions are the twins.

“Yeah, they could barely listen to my story for five minutes.” Rafayel plopped down next to you on the couch and extended his arm across your back, an invitation for you to lean against his shoulder and you did just that. “I might have went a little hard on them for the tag game.” That explains the heavy stomps and patters of footsteps coming from the room and hallways just now as you were taking a rest. You settled your longing gaze on your fiancé, realising that years had done no harm to him. The same hairstyle that he wears without much styling, the same siren like eyes that only holds you as the apple of his eyes, the same moles that were dotted across his face and the same warm smile he could ever emblazoned onto his features when it comes to being around you. He never changed.

As your insecurity started to settle upon you, particularly towards your own looks. Where time and stress has taken a toll on you, imprinting its effects with fine lines and wrinkles on your face, painting dark circles under your eyes and causing you to constantly wear a fatigued smile. “Do I look different to you even after all of those years Rafayel?” You peered up to him.

“My love.” Rafayel’s warm hand came up to caress your pinched cheeks, you had indeed became much more thinner than he last seen you, before you left him. He knew you must have not suffered any lesser when you had to constantly be on the run while having to bring up both of the kids by yourself as well. But, part of him was grateful that you no longer had to run, for he had eliminated every single member of the damned association. “You still look the same as how you always were.” His eyes wandered, down your cheeks and to your lips and back up again, lust wriggling its way through his gaze. “I missed you dearly my wife. I promise you that no matter what happens ever again, I will not let anyone convince you to leave me anymore. For I, will take full responsibility for the safety of our family.”

Your eyes reflected like glass under the dim lighting, words of affirmation coming from your lover after such a long time seized all of the rumination in your head. You did not notice the streaks of tears till you felt the pads of his thumbs swiped across both sides of your cheeks, his hand now fully cupping your small face. “Now, may I take the responsibility to care for my wife and to make love to you all night to prove my love to you?” The words he spoke were laced heavily with romance and lust that he had held back for years and little did you know, he is going to give you another child and make up for all of the lost times with you and his children.

A request from @cherriejoyponce, fulfilled with my own twist. Hope you like it!

[bucephaly]

Reconnecting Cherokee Masterpost

I’ve had a few Cherokee posts blow up on here and as a result I’ve gotten lots of ‘my grandma said she was cherokee’ ‘I’m supposed to have Cherokee roots I wish I knew anything about it’ ‘I was never taught anything about my Cherokee ancestry’ type sentiments in my activity. So! I wanna make a little masterpost with some resources on how to verify or disprove these types of family stories and how to get started for those interested in reconnecting!

A little about me and a disclaimer. I’ve not been reconnecting that long, about a year and a half, and before that I didn’t know I was Cherokee. I did not grow up Cherokee and I am white. What I’m going to be talking about is simply resources for genealogy, language, good places to connect online, etc. these are all things I’ve dealt with as I reconnect, but I am not any sort of authority on Cherokee issues or culture. The purpose of this post is to get people who know absolutely nothing about Cherokee identity and community started in learning more and seeing what needs to be done before reconnecting. And I acknowledge that the genealogical records and resources available for Freedmen descendants and Afro-indigenous people may not be as conclusive, and I simply urge Afro-indigenous people to do what research you can. I am also only Cherokee, I can’t speak for how any of this works for other tribes. Now, to get started

I’ll be talking about

Genealogy

Enrollment

Basic info about Reconnecting

and Language

Genealogy

Genealogy is the most important first step for anyone wanting to reconnect, or even just wanting to claim Cherokee ancestry at all. Unless you have done genealogy research that has shown ancestry connecting you to ancestors on the accepted Cherokee rolls or you are or have family who are citizens of one of the 3 federally recognized Cherokee tribes, please do not make claims of Cherokee identity or ancestry.

Fake ‘granny stories’ of Cherokee ancestry are very common, particularly in the South / Appalachia. These stories often go something like ‘my great-grandmother was fullblood Cherokee. She hid out from the soldiers rounding the Cherokee up for the Trail of Tears.’ There are many many variants, such as children being adopted by a white family, being traded away, or just otherwise being left behind or abandoned. I also frequently see ‘they escaped and hid in the mountains,’ ‘they pretended to be white / black,’ etc. Remember, the Trail of Tears happened in 1838, 185 years ago. My ggg grandfather was 2, so unless you are 60+ it would be unlikely that a great grandparent was alive during that period. This mythical great-grandmother is also occasionally an ‘Indian princess.’ There are many excuses for why ancestors might not show up on known Cherokee records, such as ‘the records were burned in a courthouse fire’ or ‘they were intentionally removed from the records,’ etc. Physical features are also claimed to prove stories, such as high cheekbones, dark hair, darker skin, etc. Old family photos showing grandparents with tan skin, etc, are also brought up pretty frequently. None of those prove anything, as many people of European or mixed ancestry can have these traits. Stories like this are also not exclusive to white families, they can definitely be present in Black families as well. These stories are most often entirely fabricated or resulting from a misunderstanding. It’s pretty common to have someone be familiar with the fake stories but convinced that their family story is the one exception and has to be real, which ends up being instantly caught as fake by anyone that knows the history, you’d be surprised haha. Here is a post I’ve made talking about fake stories in more depth.

DNA testing cannot prove descent from any specific Native tribe. An ‘indigenous American’ result on a DNA test does not prove native ancestry, as DNA tests are frequently wrong especially when it comes to ‘trace ancestry’. Nor does a DNA test showing 0 native DNA prove that one doesn’t have native ancestry. DNA tests are a novelty and irrelevant to native genealogy. The only time they are useful is in finding cousins through DNA matches, which can be especially useful for adoptees. Here is a post where I go more in depth on this

Now, getting into actual genealogy, the main process with Cherokee genealogy is fairly simple. I’m not going to go in depth on the process of genealogy in general, there are plenty of resources for that. Get what info you can from your family [names, birthdates, places people lived] of your recent ancestors, then find their census records [census records from 1950 and earlier are publicly available] or what records you can, and go back, finding their parents, etc. The goal is to get around to 1900. See where they were living at that point, as that will effect what rolls they might be on. There are three main Cherokee rolls that are looked at for determining ancestry [but there are other rolls as well]

The Dawes Rolls taken between 1898 - 1914 recorded the Cherokees living in the Western Cherokee Nation, Indian Territory before Oklahoma Statehood. This roll came with allotments, parcels of land given to the Cherokees. Cherokee Freedmen are also recorded on this roll, along with Intermarried and Adopted Whites. This is the roll that CNO and UKB uses for enrollment. Here is where it can be searched.

The Baker Rolls taken between 1924 - 1929 recorded the Cherokees living on the Qualla Boundary in western North Carolina. This is the roll that the EBCI uses for enrollment

The Guion Miller Roll taken between 1906 - 1911 recorded Cherokees living anywhere and was associated with a cash payout.

I can’t find free searchable databases of the Baker or Miller rolls, but you can find them on some ancestry sites like ancestry.com with a membership or free trial. Also, be aware that these rolls all have “Declined” sections of people who applied and were declined for having no proof of ancestry, mostly just applying to try to get money or land meant for Cherokees. This is especially true of the Miller roll, where 2/3rds of the applicants were declined.

If your ancestors aren’t on any of these rolls, can be found in US census records before 1900, or aren’t living in the Cherokee homelands in the early 1800s, they are almost surely not Cherokee. Also, be wary of results on ancestry sites that start cropping up in the 1700s where the only evidence is another person’s family trees. There are many people claiming descent from Dragging Canoe, Chief Moytoy, and others that put these things on their ancestry trees when none of these people have any descendants. And people will just make up entirely fictional people. Just be sure there are actual documents tying them to the Cherokee and to your ancestors [as people will make up fake children of real figures like Nancy Ward as well]

There is a fantastic resource for Cherokee genealogy in the Cherokee Research and Genealogy Facebook group. The researchers are experts on Cherokee genealogy and will run your lines for FREE and determine conclusively whether you have Cherokee ancestry or not. When they find someone with Cherokee ancestry, they will also find your ancestors’ enrollment applications, allotment locations, etc. they’re really fantastic and I highly recommend checking them out and saving yourself the trouble of doing the research yourself. Just read their rules thoroughly. Even if you did do some research, if you hit a wall or just want confirmation, check them out! Especially if you think you found legitimate ancestry, getting them to double check will remove any doubt.

Enrollment

There are three federally-recognized Cherokee tribes. Each has their own community, resources, and different requirements for enrollment. These are: the United Keetoowah Band [UKB] located in Tahlequah, OK, the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians [EBCI] in Cherokee, North Carolina, and the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma [CN or CNO] in Tahlequah, OK. Each of these have distinct histories. Cherokee Nation is the largest by far.

Be wary of fraudulent state-recognized Cherokee tribes. If a Cherokee tribe is not one of the three mentioned above, then it is not recognized by the others as legitimate. These state tribes often take resources that are supposed to be going to legitimate native communities [such as school funding], spread misinformation, etc. These communities often have obviously fake non-Cherokee traits such as ‘naming ceremonies’ and members with laughably stereotypical names like ‘spirit wolf’ and ‘white owl’ lol [also, this is specifically about state tribes claiming to be Cherokee, I can’t speak to the legitimacy of other groups.]

Two of the three Cherokee tribes have a blood quantum requirement. Blood quantum [BQ] is how much ‘native blood’ one has, depicted as a fraction. BQ is a very complex topic in native communities, which I won’t get into here. EBCI has a 1/16 BQ requirement, so to be a citizen you must has 1/16 Eastern Cherokee blood, as well as have an ancestor on the Baker Roll. UKB has a 1/4 BQ requirement, so citizens must have 1/4 Cherokee blood and an ancestor on the Dawes Rolls or the 1949 UKB roll. CNO has no BQ requirement, if an ancestor is listed as By Blood on the Cherokee Dawes Rolls, or listed as a Cherokee Freedman, then you are eligible for CNO citizenship.

Do not come into Cherokee spaces just asking what sort of benefits enrollment can get you. It’s pretty disrespectful and makes it seem like you only care about what you can take from us.

Reconnection

So you did your genealogy and found that you have documented Cherokee ancestry, what next? Reconnection is a long and difficult process and I’ve barely even started, but I’ll try to give what resources and info I can.

Who can reconnect? This can vary between people, but most often I see people [biased towards Cherokees who are active online] saying that anyone with legitimate documented Cherokee ancestry can reconnect. Some people prefer reconnectors are able to enroll in one of the 3 tribes, some prefer people have connected living family, it varies a lot. In my experience as someone who is white and not a citizen yet, if you are respectful and humble, people are pretty accepting. It’s also important to think about why you want to reconnect. You need to be prepared to give back to your people as much if not more than you get. That means learning the language, the history, learn about current issues, etc. Don’t go into it just wanting to be able to say you’re Cherokee as a fun fact or get some sort of monetary benefit. It’s also important to remember that you will get asked to prove yourself. Don’t be offended if you’re asked if you’re enrolled, who your family is, how you’re Cherokee, etc. This is part of our cultural protocols. Not only do we want to keep people with fake family stories from getting into our spaces, we also just like finding relatives! You need to remember your place as a reconnecting Cherokee. Don’t think having legitimate ancestry suddenly means you’re able to talk with authority on native issues or suddenly claim to be oppressed. If you’re white, don’t suddenly start claiming to be a POC or “white-passing,” you can be white and Cherokee. Cherokee is not a race.

Consider Why you want to reconnect. I see a lot of people that want to 'reconnect' seemingly just so they can put cherokee in their bio and feel like part of a special club that can do closed practices and say they're two spirit or whatever. When you reconnect, the most important people will be the rest of the cherokee community. If you're more worried about performing to nonnatives, think long and hard about your priorities.

Reconnecting is a difficult process, especially if you are far from any Cherokee communities. You cannot reconnect alone. You aren’t reconnecting to some distant past, or to stories in a book, you are reconnecting to a living community. This can be tough for people who are far from Oklahoma or North Carolina, and there are some things that are not really possible to learn except in person. But you can still learn, and there are some online spaces. I particularly find the ᎠᏂᏣᎳᎩ ᏍᎦᏚᎩ (Cherokee Community) Facebook Group valuable. It’s kinda small, but it’s one of the best ways to engage with Cherokee community online. Sorry if you’re a Facebook hater, Facebook is going to be your best bet for actually meeting people and engaging. The Cherokee Community group requires proof of ancestry before members can join. This usually just means sending your tribal ID or your thread in the Cherokee Research and Genealogy group to an admin and they’ll let you in.

The best lesson for reconnecting is learning how to shut up and listen. I see way too many people joining cherokee groups as brand new reconnectors and immediately starting to talk and add their input on everything. You need to be able to just watch and learn and take the learning opportunities as they come instead of insisting on having someone go out of their way to teach you. So many people make fools of themselves in this groups by being loud when they have no idea what they're talking about, and insisting they get an Indian name, or wanting tattoos, or wondering if they can say they're two spirit, etc etc all when they don't seem to know anything else about our culture. You need to put work in first. Learn to read syllabary and attend the language classes, look into learning to weave or bead or whatever, get a few books by legit Cherokee authors and read them, binge some osiyo TV, etc etc. Learn what you can give before trying to see what you can take.

Here are some good basic things to check out for reconnecting

OsiyoTV

Cherokee Nation YouTube

Museum of the Cherokee People YouTube

Cherokee Stories of the Turtle Island Liars Club by Chris B Teuton, Hastings Shade, Sequoyah Guess, Sammy Still, and Woody Hansen

Cherokee Earth Dwellers by Chris B Teuton and Hastings Shade

Mooney’s Myths of the Cherokee [note: this was written by a white man in 1900 after after spending some time with the Eastern Cherokee. The history is iffy, but the stories were recorded directly from Cherokee storytellers.]

Trail of Tears: The Rise and Fall of the Cherokee Nation by John Ehle

Do your own research, but be extremely wary of Anything posted publicly online. There is lots of misinformation about Cherokee culture. Personally, I mostly do my learning in the vetted Cherokee Facebook groups, in books written by actual citizens, and by talking with connected friends. Google is rarely your friend in this case.

Language

The language is the center of our culture, it is what makes us Cherokee. It is our duty as Cherokees and as reconnecting people to learn the language. I can’t stress enough how important it is. If you aren’t putting any effort to learn the language, it shows others that you aren’t committed and you will likely have trouble getting any help reconnecting from others, it just looks bad haha. Not saying you have to be fluent overnight, I’ve been reconnecting for a year and I still am very much a beginner, ‘it doesn’t matter how slow you go, as long as you don’t stop’ as CNO language teacher Ed Fields says. Luckily, there are plenty of resources for learning online!

It’s good to learn the syllabary or at least familiarize yourself with it early, as it’s a good introduction to the sounds present in the language. It’s an important part of our culture and the language too. There are also many learning resources that are only in syllabary, so you’re missing out on those if you don’t know it. Here are some good resources for learning:

Simply Cherokee Syllabary by Marc W Case [HIGHLY recommended. I got reasonably confident in syllabary in like a weekend thanks to this book. You can find fairly cheap ebooks versions. It has a story for each character that makes it so easy to remember and associate the characters with their sounds.]

Learn Cherokee Syllabary app [Apple] [Android]

Syllabary fonts and keyboard

There are lots of resources for learning the language. It’s really good to hear it as often as possible when learning vs just reading it, as I’ve messing up so much in my pronunciation from just reading it and now I’m having to break habits. You preferably want to hear first language speakers. There are two main dialects of Cherokee, usually roughly split between Eastern and Western. Dialects vary a lot within those communities as well. If you still have contact with any relatives that speak Cherokee, it’s always better to learn as much as you can from them.

Cherokee Nation language department [just explore this site, they have lots of resources!]

Cherokee Learner site [explore this site too, this is a great compilation of pretty much every Cherokee language resource, eastern and western]

Online Cherokee Class with first language speaker Ed Fields

RSU Cherokee Lessons [youtube]

Mango lessons

Other apps, including the Memrise course

Online Cherokee dictionary

That’s all I can think to say right now! I’ll probably add to this later as I learn more, find more resources, and get suggestions from others. But for now, good luck, ᏩᏙ, ᏙᏓᏓᎪᎲᎢ !

[floridaboiler]

Richard, (my husband), never really talked a lot about his time in Vietnam, other than he had been shot by a sniper. However, he had a rather grainy, 8 x 10 black and white photo he had taken at a USO show of Ann Margret with Bob Hope in the background that was one of his treasures.

A few years ago, Ann Margaret was doing a book signing at a local bookstore. Richard wanted to see if he could get her to Sign the treasured photo so he arrived at the bookstore at 12 o'clock for the 7:30 signing.

When I got there after work, the line went all the way around the bookstore, circled the parking lot, and disappeared behind a parking garage. Before her appearance, bookstore employees announced that she would sign only her book and no memorabilia would be permitted.

Richard was disappointed, but wanted to show her the photo and let her know how much those shows meant to lonely GI's so far from home. Ann Margaret came out looking as beautiful as ever and, as second in line, it was soon Richard's turn.

He presented the book for her signature and then took out the photo. When he did, there were many shouts from the employees that she would not sign it. Richard said,

“I understand. I just wanted her to see it."

She took one look at the photo, tears welled up in her eyes and she said,

"This is one of my gentlemen from Vietnam and I most certainly will sign his photo. I know what these men did for their country and I always have time for 'my gentlemen.''

With that, she pulled Richard across the table and planted a big kiss on him. She then made quite a to-do about the bravery of the young men she met over the years, how much she admired them, and how much she appreciated them. There weren't too many dry eyes among those close enough to hear. She then posed for pictures and acted as if he were the only one there.

That night was a turning point for him. He walked a little straighter and, for the first time in years, was proud to have been a Vet. I'll never forget Ann Margaret for her graciousness and how much that small act of kindness meant to my husband.

Later at dinner, Richard was very quiet. When I asked if he'd like to talk about it, my big, strong husband broke down in tears.

“That's the first time anyone ever thanked me for my time in the Army,'' he said.

I now make it a point to say 'Thank you' to every person I come across who served in our Armed Forces. Freedom does not come cheap and I am grateful for all those who have served their country.

If you'd like to pass on this story, feel free to do so. Perhaps it will help others to become aware of how important it is to acknowledge the contribution our service people make.

~ Original Author Unknown .

[witchthewriter]

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: I combined a few requests together for this post. Hope you don't mind that! I think it works though! Also, with the nsfw it's more geared to female presenting people.

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

・It was sunset and Jade had already led you to the bar.

・His hands were fidgety, and it gave you a bit of relief; since you thought you were going to have a panic attack every second of today.

・But the anxiety slowly seeped away when you were with Jade

・And when you entered the usually messy bar, you couldn't help but grin.

・Jade had gathered as many candles as he could and lit them throughout the bar, trying to create a certain atmosphere

・You two were in the throes of a new relationship; testing the waters, trying to keep something alive in this town was nearly impossible - since everyone wanted to leave

・One thing that you've found is that whenever you're in the room, Jade is usually staring at you

・You've noticed him do little things for you, that he would absolutely never do in a million years

・It's what made you like him more and more. Special treatment was nice.

・It was you who brought up the idea;

"I thought, maybe, since ya know ... I was just wondering if I could stay the night at the bar. The Matthews have kind of taken over the house..."

He gave a small smile, which turned into a smirk.

"I can't argue against that."

・You could tell he was flirting and a burst of butterflies erupted in your stomach. It always did around Jade. You wished you could control yourself better...

・So this would be your first time alone, at night, together.

・When the time came to close the curtains and lock the doors, you were already having a drink with Jade

・He had made certain that no creature could enter the bar; especially not when someone as precious as you was there

・Jade felt this overwhelming need to protect you. To take care of you, to be some sort of ... guardian.

・He's never felt that way before.

・Not until you had waltzed into town (okay not waltzed but you know what I mean) and threw yourself into theories, experiments; ways to get out of here

・Unlike some people who seemed happy to go along with their day to day duties

・Jade liked you because of your passion.

・And now, after two of those horrible homemade drinks, you were flushed, with a heavily beating heart.

・Jade still looked handsome, even though he looked a mess.

・He was in the middle of telling you a story, of telling you things that he would never say to anyone else.

・Both of you were on the bench, your hand barely brushing his very larger one.

"...and now I'm here! In some sort of hell...although it can't be hell. Because you're here." He mumbled on, his own cheek feeling flush.

・Your pinky wrapped around his and he squeezed.

"Thank you for telling me," you said quietly, and slowly turned to look Jade in the eyes, "-I want you to know I'm here for you."

・A shiver went up Jade's spine, his neck was giving away his feelings. You couldn't help but smile.

・But then a shiver went down your own spine, for an entirely different reason.

・Knock...knock...knock...

A high pitched, 'kind' voice sounded from behind the door.

"Hello? Is anybody in there? I need some help!"

・You and Jade looked at each other, his hand coming to clasp your own.

He moved closer to you, and whispered in your ear, "It's alright, everything is locked. We have the talisman. They'll leave."

・He nodded his head and motioned for you to take a few deep breaths. You did.

"I know you're in there! Jade, and his new love!" The woman taunted.

・Those words struck Jade to the core. If they knew that. Then the creatures would surely use it against him somehow.

・But he didn't want to worry you, so he just smiled, and thought of a way to release you both from the clutches of fear.

"Trust me?" Jade said, entwining your fingers.

"Yes," your response came out as a whisper.

・Standing up, he lent you against the bench and went about starting to blow out the majority of the candles.

・Then he brought the rest into his room and beckoned you to follow.

・Walking in after him, he placed the candles down and closed the door.

・It felt safer in here. It did. Because you couldn't hear the taunting.

"You can...sit down if you like."

"Thanks," you chuckled and sat on the bed. Taking off your shoes and socks.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

You Fall First (You) x They Fall Harder (Jade)

Overly Arrogant, Flirty (Jade) x Absolutely Unfazed (You)

Oblivious (You) x Constantly Admiring Them (Jade)

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Intertwined Destinies

Shared Vision and Purpose

Bickering and Banter

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Hold On by Tom Waits

R U Mine by the Arctic Monkeys

Back To Black by the Brian Ferry Orchestra

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, makes me feel weird if you read it.

・As a lover, Jade is all-consuming. He loves taking charge (when he knows you're completely onboard with it)

・However, he does love to make you squirm. To slowly place kisses here and there, his breath hot, tongue lightly licking as he goes along.

"You're not being fair," you whine, drowning out the fear that was once holding you back.

"je te savoure," is his reply. Low and gravelly.

・Jade's large hands gently remove your shirt, and then with a nod of your head, he unclasps your bra

・Laying you down gently onto the bed, he takes off his shirt and balances himself on the bed

・You can't help but giggle, it's such a small bed. It's better than nothing...

・Jade smiles back at you, but it turns into a smirk. His eyes darken, and your nipples harden.

"You're okay with this?" He near-growls.

"Yes, now come here-"

・You saw his length harden through his pants as you moved to touch your bare breasts. Massaging and pinching your nipples.

・Jade climbs ontop of you, hovering above you

・Your legs wrap around his waist, which forces Jade to lower himself to you.

"I want you," Jade said close to your ear, then he started nibbling on your earlobe.

・Reaching out, you started touching him. His shoulders, neck, arms. He was so warm. And had many freckles.

・Your mouth kissed his shoulder and you finally got to taste him. Salty, musky, you could slightly taste the soap he's been using.

・You gave his shoulder a small bite and he laughed, doing the same to you.

"You don't understand how much I've needed you. Not just like this; underneath me. But, close. To be able to call you mine."

・Goosebumps erupted all over your skin, you didn't realise how much he wanted you. Because fuck, you've wanted him for so long.

"I am yours."

[runnning-outof-time]

The Joys of Being a Girl Dad | Tommy Shelby & Alfie Solomons (set in Girl Dad series)

Request: no - written for @justrainandcoffee ‘s 2 year ‘Alfieversary’

Pairing: Tommy Shelby (x Reader mentioned) & Alfie Solomons (x fem!OC & child OC mentioned)

Summary: Tommy stops by Margate to congratulate an old associate…adversary…friend.

Warnings: language (it’s Tommy and Alfie we’re talking about here), a slight bit of Cyril slander

A/N: I’m sorry it took me soooo long to write something for your celebration, Flor!! I guess I could call this a present for Rose’s 1 year anniversary too now, even though she’s not really in it. Thank you for sharing this beautiful au with us!!

A/N 2: I should also say that this story was supposed to be shorter, but I just kinda became invested and ran away with it…I hope you don’t mind. Also it’s been a bit since I’ve written for Alfie, so I hope he’s not too ooc here. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! — YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged!

“Who let you in?” the man who was sitting facing the open balcony door asked.

“How’d you know it was me?” the other man, who was standing at the entrance of the room, responded with his own question.

“Smelt the smoke and horse shit the second you stepped through that archway,” the first man mused, earning a snort from the second. “So I’ll ask again: who let you in?”

“Your wife…”

“Figures she did,” the first man cut the second off, muttering the comment under his breath.

“Your wife’s assistant let me in after she told me to get lost and slammed the door in my face,” the rest of the statement was shared, which made the first man finally spin in his seat to look back towards the archway.

Silence hung in the air for a few moments, the two men staring at each other from several paces away…much like they had on that fated day all those months ago. “So why didn’t ya listen to her?” the first man finally broke the quiet, his quip conjoined with a look of query.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Alfie?” the second man asked, his eyebrows just slightly raised.

“It has,” the first man nodded, pursing his lips together for a moment before he continued, “yet it is still sooner than the day in which I thought I’d see Tommy Shelby again.”

Tommy Shelby just shook his head at the man’s remark, looking at the ground as he pursed his lips. It didn’t faze him in the slightest.

“Why’re you here then?” Alfie asked, still wanting to get to the bottom of the Birmingham man’s presence. However, he interjected again before said man even had the chance to speak: “you’ve come to finish me off, haven’t ya? Since ya couldn’t get it right the first time.”

“I’ve come with something,” Tommy answered, not even bothering to respond to Alfie’s second comment.

He then stepped towards the chair that the other man was sitting in, his hands still behind his back. Anyone else would have wondered if maybe they’d got it right…maybe he was actually there to finish his old adversary off. But Alfie wasn’t bothered in the slightest. No, he could tell from the manner in which Tommy approached him.

“I want to offer a congratulations…on your daughter,” Tommy finished his statement once he was standing in front of Alfie. Alfie looked him over with raised eyebrows, wondering just how a busy, business-minded man like him would have gotten such information. “(Y/N) told me the news. She got word of it from Rose,” Tommy gave the curious man some more information.

“That Rosie…” Alfie mused with a slight shake of his head, “I had a feelin’ that she hadn’t cut off all contact with you Shelbys.” He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of his wife still keeping up a regular correspondence with the wife of the man who’d shot him.

(Y/N) and Rose had hit it off practically from the moment they met each other. Their friendship went beyond their husbands’ business partnership, and so when one disgruntled husband aimed a gun at the other and pulled the trigger, the two women tried hard not to let it come completely between them. There some time where radio silence prevailed…actually most out the time over the course of the last year was filled with radio silence, but it didn’t seem like a beat was missed when Rose contacted (Y/N) to tell her of the newest addition to the Solomons family.

Although Tommy was more hesitant to make amends, he couldn’t deny his wife’s request to deliver something to the newest Solomons.

“She wanted me to give you this,” Tommy then said, finally revealing the tan, stuffed rabbit that he’d brought with him. “To give to her,” he included, making his intentions more clear.

“I knew you weren’t givin’ me a stuffed rabbit,” Alfie quipped, snorting to himself before continuing, “or at least I hope you were plannin’ to.”

“I wasn’t planning on doing that, Alfie, no,” Tommy shook his head, dismissing the comment before it gained any ground. “The rabbit’s for your girl.”

Alfie took a moment to look over the other man again. He was still holding the rabbit out in front of him, waiting for Alfie to take it. Tommy wondered how long Alfie was going to make him stand like this.

Finally he took it. “She’ll like it,” Alfie stated, eyeing over the animal from close up now. He couldn’t deny that it felt soft in his hands. Allie would surely love it. “Thanks, Tommy.”

“My three couldn’t go to bed without it,” Tommy commented, a small smile gracing his lips as he thought of his three daughters and the love they had for that very stuffed rabbit.

A look of realization flashed across Alfie’s face as he heard Tommy’s comment. He brought his hand up to his jaw and ran it down his cheek slowly, stroking his beard as if he was in thought. “Have a seat,” he then said, gesturing to the chair that was set directly across from the one he was sitting in. He waited until the other man was seated before continuing, “three girls, huh?” he mused, sounding like he was talking more so to himself than anything.

“Yeah,” Tommy nodded in response.

“A proper girl dad,” Alfie commented then.

“A what?” Tommy asked with furrowed eyebrows.

“You’re a dad that’s got all girls, hence the fucking term girl dad…stick with it, Tommy,” the response came laden with derision.

Tommy raised his eyebrows at the other man’s comments, looking to the ground as he let the air cool off before he cleared his throat and nodded his head. “Yeah, a girl dad then.” He ran a hand along the back of his head as he spoke, wondering if he was even using the term correctly. Alfie didn’t comment, so he guessed that he didn’t seem to care none.

Instead the newer father continued on with the conversation. “Does it ever get hard?”

“What? Being a girl dad?” Tommy looked over at him again.

“No, not being able to hit your fucking mark when you’re fifteen fucking paces away,” Alfie retorted, “yes, being a girl dad,” he then exaggerated his words.

Tommy bit his tongue yet again. He wasn’t here to get into a fight with Alfie Solomons. The rabbit currently sitting in the other man’s lap was supposed to serve as a sort of olive branch.

“It does,” he finally answered after a moment’s pause.

“Give me some fuckin’ detail, mate,” Alfie asked.

“Fuckin’ hell, Alfie,” Tommy sighed under his breath, pressing the pads of his thumbs against his eyelids. He cleared his throat again as he thought of how he’d answer the question. “It’s been hard from the moment we brought Thea home. A different sort of hard than the ‘hard’ I’ve experienced prior. But it’s also been rewarding...with Thea, then Evie and now Juniper. I’ve learned more from them than from anything else I’ve ever done.”

Alfie took a moment to digest what his confidant had just shared with him. He truly didn’t expect Tommy Shelby to come out with such meaningful statements. I guess even the worst of men can change their tones, he thought to himself. “I didn’t know ya had it in ya, Tommy,” he commented, exuding a breath of a laugh as he shook his head.

Tommy kept his eyes locked on Alfie unsure of how to respond to his comment. He wondered if this was all some sort of game…if Alfie now wanted to toy with him; getting him to open up just to use the information against him.

“Thanks for sharing it though. I, uh…” Alfie paused, the sound of his voice cutting through Tommy’s thoughts and making him focus in again. “I’ll take all of the help I can get with this one. They say that raising a child takes a fucking village, or however that fucking saying goes.”

“There’s a great deal of joy in it too,” Tommy made sure to add, hoping to convey that having daughters, or kids at all for that matter, wasn’t only stressful. “I just know that I wouldn’t be able to do it without (Y/N) though.”

“That’s the same with me and my Rosie. A fuckin’ trooper, that woman is,” Alfie agreed in regards to his wife. Truthfully, he wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for Rose Solomons. He genuinely owed his life to her…and he was going to spend the rest of it showing her.

Silence fell between the two men then, both sitting comfortably in their thoughts of the women they had in their lives, and of how much their respective wives meant to them. The silence hung until the sound of small feet came pattering off of the hardwood in the hallway.

“Daddy! Daddy!” a shrill voice of a small girl soon accompanied the hurried footsteps. Said girl quickly appeared in the archway of Alfie office. Along with her frantic demeanor, Alfie was also able to see streaks of tears on her chreks.

“What’s wrong, Allie?” he asked her, his brows furrowing together.

“Cyril chewed on my stuffie, daddy!” she exclaimed, hiccuping as she spoke through her tears. “It was my favorite stuffie!”

“Awe now love, I’m sorry about that,” Alfie began, opening his arms to the child as she came over to him. She quickly fell into them, and he wasted no time in hugging her tightly. “He’s just a brute that knows nothing of favorite stuffies,” he consoled her as she continued to sniffle her tears away.

Tommy watched on as the moment played out in front of him. He laughed to himself as hearing the reason behind the problem at hand took him back to the moments where Cyril had chewed his girls’ stuffies; there had to have been several instances during the dog’s stay at Arrow House.

“I don’t have a stuffie now, daddy,” Allie whimpered, finally lifting her head from her father’s chest. “Mum said it was too covered in slobber to be saved.”

“Well I’ve got just the fix for ya, Allie,” Alfie began, unwrapping one of his arms from her so that he could blindly search for the stuffed rabbit that Tommy had just handed him. He continued when he found the animal, “now I know it’s no bear, and I know that your favorite stuffies have all been bears, but this lovely little lass was just placed upon my lap moments before you came runnin’ in.”

Allie’s eyes immediately found the rabbit, and she had it in her tight embrace within an instant. “This stuffie is so soft! And she has a lovely bow!” she observed, now beaming with excitement. “Thank you so much, daddy!” she smiled at her father.

“Thanks have to go to that man,” Alfie told his daughter, nodding in Tommy’s direction. He bit his tounge and stopped the urge to add ‘the one who shot your father’ because even he knew this wasn’t the time for that. He didn’t want to bring that feud into Allie’s realm.

“What’s his name?” Allie asked in a loud whisper, her shy eyes finding Tommy’s.

“Tell ‘er your name, mate,” Alfie beckoned Tommy to share the information.

“It’s Tommy,” the other man followed suit, smiling as he spoke.

Allie observed him for a moment, surely trying to decide what she felt about him. A few beats of silence passed before a smile formed on her face. “Thank you, Mr. Tommy,” she said in a small voice.

“You’re welcome, Allie,” Tommy nodded, his smile widening.

“Dad you have to yell at Cyril now,” Allie turned back to her dad, a deep frown present on her face.

“I’ll make sure he knows what he’s done,” Alfie assured her, “go play, love.”

With one last smile, Allie hopped off of her father’s lap and exited the room almost as quick as she entered it.

“That fuckin’ dog…” Alfie trailed off, shaking his head, “why’d you give him back?”

“You wanted him back, Alfie,” Tommy answered in a monotone voice.

“You may be right,” Alfie conceded, cracking a smile as he thought about the dog.

“Your daughter’s lovely,” Tommy commented.

“She is, ain’t she?” Alfie answered, “light of my fuckin’ life, that girl…both her and her mum.”

Tommy nodded, his mind going to his wife and daughters. There was no doubt that he shared the same sentiment towards his girls.

Oh, the joys of being a girl dad…even if — or rather when, because it’ll surely happen again — Tommy and Alfie were at odds with each other, they’ll always have the shared title as something they can both relate to.

MASTERLIST

The Story of Rose and Alfie

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @notyour-valentine @theshelbyslimited

@peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss

@alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl

@emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife

@anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08

@insanitybyanothername @depxiety @justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @forgottenpeakywriter

@cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable

@thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife @jomarch-wannabe @ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo

[shapard]

Sweet Delusion🌙

Lucifer x fem!reader

Tw: Gore, Violence, self hatred, trauma, mother issues, burning

Y/n Can't catch a breath, poor thing only wanted to find out why Lu hate her so much.

Disease

Chapter 1 < Chapter 2 > Chapter 3

Story Begins under the cut

The ground was cold and hard. Your buzzing head was the only thing that kept you from screaming at the pain your body was in.

Plus, you couldn’t move. 

You were sure Valentino would've at least put you somewhere comfortable. But the other outcome wasn’t much of a surprise. 

You don’t trust anyone enough to ever do something to help you. 

No. 

Not even on living humans helped each other. So, who would even consider in hell?

Who’d help a pathetic thing like yourself. Drowning yourself in self pity, that’s how pathetic you were. A whine escaped your mouth and all you could feel was both the mental and physical pain.

The door creaked open, you only saw those leather heels and white fur legs that were similar to Angel. “Kitty!” 

Who was that again? Oh right, you. 

“What did Val do to you.” You winced as he picked you up from the ground, carrying you out of the club.

It was Indeed Angel.

Everything happened so quickly, in one moment you were walking beside Valentino and the next you were displayed on the cold ground.

Now you were carried by Angel who was running through the streets. What an outcome.

You tried to talk but just a groan came out, “Stay Awake! I’ll get you help!” Help? Why would he try to help you? You tried to stay awake, and it was getting harder every second. Soon even the voices muffled around you. 

No good sign. You were just so exhausted.

Angel was in full panic mode the moment he saw you laying motionless on the ground. What has Valentino done to you, that you blacked out that bad? Charlie and the others already left and he just wanted to see if you’re alright. 

He knows the best, that Valentino can be a lot. 

He burst into the hotel, screaming for help. Valentino could’ve poisoned you or worse, hurt you with angelic weapon. 

Angels scared shouting was alerting the whole hotel. Charlie found her way pretty fast to the spider. “What happened?!” Charlie crouched to get a better look at you. You were pale and your whole body was shaking. 

“She’ll be alright.” A Voice behind Charlie said, Lucifer. “You say that so easy, she’s shaking!” Angel scratched his scalp in stress. “She’s a Sinner, only Angelic power can really harm her.” He said calmly as he sipped from his tea. “What if she’s gotten hurt from angelic power?! What then?” Lucifer rolled his eyes, “She’s being dramatic. If it was angelic, I would’ve felt it. At least sensed it. But nope, nothing, nada.” 

Angel eyes twitched, “Dramatic?” Charlie was also looking in shock at her father. “Dad, she’s hurting. How could you say something like that?” This was very unusual for Lucifer. 

Normally he would’ve helped someone in need. Most especially when his daughter cared about the person. But every time your name fell or even you were near him or Charlie, he gets the ick. 

He couldn’t explain it himself. You were just so annoying. 

Just your present alone was already enough. He wanted to help his daughter, she was too nervous to ask you to stay in the hotel. 

So, he talked to you. 

The way you talked like your voice was silk was sickening. If you die right here right now, He wouldn’t care even one bit. 

Lucifer pointed towards your body, which was slowly going back into a normal state. “See, everything’s alright.” He spun around as he made his way towards his apartment. 

You really piss him off.

____

After that event, you stayed in the hotel for a while. 

Working wasn’t allowed so you chattered with the other’s, when they weren’t busy. Well, everyone except Lucifer. He’s been avoiding you much more lately. 

When you’d see him, he was glaring at you all the time. You don’t even understand why he was hating you now more than before. Did something happened? 

“I should talk to him, right?” You asked husk with your Mojito in your hand, “I don’t know, kid. He isn’t a fan of yours.” You chuckled, “Oh, really? I just want to live peaceful. If he doesn’t like me, I’d leave the hotel. Easy.” It could be so easy.

You sigh again, your glass clunked when you put it onto the wood. “I just want to know what I did wrong. I don’t like hurting others nor disturbing someone's peace.” Your hands moved up and down your arms, trying to comfort yourself. 

“And yet, you are still in Hell,” He sigh, “Do what you want kid, just be careful, kay.” You took a huge sip of the Alcohol, the burning sensation lets you forget the nervousness that raged in your stomach. When you finally had the courage, you started to make your way to Lucifer. 

The closer you get towards Lucifer's door, the slower your steps start to be. As the door was in sight, your heart started to pound louder and harder. “You can do this Y/n.”

Your fist raised on the red door, you were shivering in fear. The knock was hard and harsh, making you wince at the loudness. A few rattles were heard behind the door, in the next second the door opened revealing the small king. 

“Oh.” His attempt to close the door was stopped from your feet. “We have to talk.” You said serious and Lucifer looked again, annoyed. “Yeah, no.” He opened the door again and walked past you. 

“Your highness, please.” Lucifer ignored you, his finger graced onto the wall, “dusty.” He muttered. You ran towards him, “Your Highness!” Still nothing.

“Lucifer!” finally he halted. “Finally I-“ “What did you call me?” His voice was firm and stern. “I-“ Did you do something wrong?

His horns started to grow on his head and your surroundings started to fall into darkness. The lights started to flicker. His tail, you didn’t knew he had, started to flick dangerous behind him.

“It’s already enough that you little scum disturbed the little peace I just had.” The hallway started to get hotter every second. And not in a good way. Your skin felt like it was melting away, the pain was now still bearable. 

“I’m so-“ His growl interrupted you, “Stop talking! How can someone be so annoying! Just your presence is so disturbing. I hate it even when you speak!” Your breath hitched, your fear making your body halt in every movement.

His nails started to turn red and a flame started to rage between his horns. 

“You should’ve died yesterday!” Flames started to burn around you, burning a bit your skin. Your ears started to ring, Lucifer's words started to stab your heart. You should've listened to husk.

Lucifer didn't look humane anymore. Every soft feature of him disappeared. All you could see was the thirst of blood. The itching in his hand to just kill you limp by limp.

“How can anyone even like, even Love you?! Such a stupid little bitch who doesn’t even understand the concept of peace!” You took a step back, in a blink he was in front of you, holding you tight on your neck. 

'What's happening?'

The moment he pulled you up and closed his hand around your neck, tight, you wanted to scream. Your nails scratched onto his arms. His skin was hot and burning. His hand that strangles you was starting to break your skin, under the heat and force. 

You wanted to scream, shout but nothing came out. 

You opened your eyes and all you could see in those red raging eyes from Lucifer, was him. It was a deja vu.

An re-living of how you died all those years ago. This hatred in those eyes. Your eyes started to tear up. You wanted it to stop. 

This hate in their eyes. 

Your Mother,

Your Lover,

And now Lucifer. 

Your boiled blood started to pour onto Lucifers skin, your vocal-chords started to burn from the heat. A pain you've never experienced bloomed and your blood started to form around Lucifer. your body was acting on Autopilot. Trying to protect you.

With one forceful push, a cut formed onto Lucifers cheek, the golden blood dripped slowly onto his shirt. The sudden pain brought him back to reality. Like someone poured freezing water onto him.

He let you go and you fell full force onto the ground. 

You couldn’t breathe, your neck was burning hard and your face twisted in pain. The only thing was a bloody screech from you in pain. 

Your body was shaking uncontrollable. Your surrounding was black and no one but your mother was standing in front of you. Her nose pinched up. 

“You’re such a disgrace. Who would’ve ever liked you?” Your throat was burning, and every attempt to talk was like a hot iron in your throat. “I-I.. so-“ you coughed out blood, painting the black carped dark red. You scratched onto the wet carpet. 

“So-“ another bloody cough. “-rry!” Blood flooded out of your mouth and it was so painful. “You’re so beautiful Y/n, when you’re this broken you know.” Your eyes wandered up to those pretty eyes of him. You raised your arm up to meet his hands, but they glided through. “Who could ever love you.” 

You grabbed your head, you want it to stop. 

Stop!

Another screech left you but this time, your brain was hot, burning. And the other moment you just switched up. Your body slumped to the floor like a corpse. 

Lucifer looked in horror at you. 

“Kitty? Kitty!” He ran towards you holding your head in his hands. “What a Show. What a shame it ended now!” Alastor laughed heartily, his body morphed into the shadows. 

Lucifer was checking for any pulse, but no. Charlie stormed down the now burned hall, “Dad?” “Call Belphegor right now!” Charlie terrified grabbed her phone. The moment Belphegor was on the phone Lucifer snatched the phone out of charlies hands. 

“Bel, I need you. Fast!” He was in full panic. 

Why? 

He doesn’t have any clue. 

________

“That’s not good.” Bel muttered as she checked your Vitals. “Her heart is beating but very slow and she’s in a coma. Her Vocal-chords are damaged but she will be able to talk again.” 

She closed the curtain from the bed. She sighed deeply, her gaze shifting towards Lucifer. “Lucifer, Why?” Lucifer moved a bit but wasn’t looking at Belphegor. 

“Look at me Lucifer. Why would you do that, that’s not usual for you.” 

Oh God, is Y/n alright? And what is wrong with Lucifer?

💫

Taglist

@i-have-no-life-charlie @sirenetheblogger @concentratedconcrete @ylovei @cimadreamer @ayanazoldyck @froggybich @ravensdecent36 @fangthesandwing

[kleftiko]

i have a request! write a story about hawks and reader going on one of those undercover missions and they have to act like a couple for a while and at first hawks makes a joke about it being like “bet you always wanted to do this” or about how cliche this is but reader knows his flirty habits and brushes it off. when the time comes reader is able to act like they’re in love with him so properly and he’s taken a back not being able to focus and gets all flustered by how real this seems. like this dude be over here all red and imagining shit.

❦ UNDERCOVER

cw: none, this is fluff

i love this trope, i also made this friends to lovers :)

“a couple, huh?” keigo adjusted the cuff links on his wrist before wiggling his eyebrows at you. “bet you always wanted t’do this.”

you let out a genuine laugh, one that always came to keigo’s mind when he thought of happiness.

“how’d you know, you a mind reader?” you played along.

the both of you shared a familiar smile as you walked into the casino. going undercover as a couple was not something hawks had in mind—or was really comfortable with—but if it had to be with anyone, he’s just glad it was you by his side.

having a friend at times like this is always nice.

“two o’clock.” you drew his eyes to the bar, where he saw the first obstacle to getting where you need to.

he held out his arm like a gentleman. “care for a drink?”

you looped your arm with his.

and that was the last coherent thought he had.

after that, your hands trailed so softly and so naturally along his arm, as if you’d been doing it for years and it was a subconscious habit. yet you spoke to the people in front of you without even looking at him, it was as if your fingers memorized his skin. it was like an instinct for you, but it made his hairs and feathers stand on end. goosebumps littered his skin and he was pretty sure that he had turned to stone.

then you let out that laugh you always did. he’d heard it at least a thousand times, but it sounded hypnotic in the moment. his breath caught in his throat, and then you killed him.

your fingers pushed his hair behind his ear, and your soft lips placed a chaste kiss to his temple. “no matter how long we’ve been together, he still has the same reaction.”

you spoke to the people in font of you, but you smiled up at him with eyes full of such obvious love—even he could tell. and he thinks that one of the other people present waved you to continue to the vip lounge, but he was so out of it when you took his hand to guide him that he’s pretty sure there was steam coming off the top of his head from combusting.

in the hallway you turned to him, dropping all physical contact, save for the two knocks you harshly let out on the top of his head.

“keigo, you okay?” you asked.

and your eyes were no longer filled with that love he saw just a couple minutes ago, but rather with concern that was more appropriate for the situation.

the only noise he could muster was a bird-like squeak.

“your face is completely red.” your eyes trailed over him, worry not leaving your features. your hand came up to his forehead, patting around to feel the heat.

“marry me.” he said.

you froze.

you held eye contact.

then you let out that beautiful laugh of yours, and it seemed to bring him back to reality.

“i guess you’re feeling better.” you said and looped your arms again.

he let you lead him to the next stop.

he decided then that the words he spoke were true—he was going to marry you.

[captainlunaxmen]

Dragon's Healer

Chapter 2

Daemyra x Fem!reader

Dark!Aemond x fem!reader

Hello!!! Hope you're having a good day!

Here's the second chapter of my HOTD fic. I changed the age of a few characters, and I definitely took some liberty in some lore things😂 but not so much as to change the story itself. Don't worry. Once again let me know what you think, and if you want to be added to the tag list 😘

Chapter summary: Tensions are present at King's Landing like never before, even the small glimpse of hope might not be enough.

Chapter warnings: character's death (you know who),non consensual touching.

Tag list

@k1ttybean

@tojisrealwifey

@sinarainbows

Aemond smiles at me, and I take a moment to fully observe him. He's taller, that's for sure, his jaw is more defined than I remembered, hair longer too.

"Am I that unrecognisable?" He jests.

"No... well.. yes," I say, completely at loss for words, "I left you a boy and now look at you."

He shyly smiles as he nears, nearly towering over me.

"I heard about your arrival and wanted to say hi myself." He admits, he keeps hid hands behind his back, soldier stance.

"That's nice of you, Aemond." I smile at him and can't help but look at the scar on his face, "did you put those oils like I told you?"

"Of course." He nods.

"That's good to know." I raise a hand to gently touch the scar and check it, "you did good."

He briefly leans into my hand and I take it back immediately.

"Thank you." He says, "I always kept your advices at heart. Like not taking whatever people say about me as truth."

"What do you mean? Did anyone say anything?" I ask, incredulously, "about your scar? That's absurd."

"Called me a monster and all that." He explains, stepping a little closer.

"I do hope you didn't listen to any of it then." I tell him, putting the book I was reading away, to have an excuse to put some distance between us. There's something not right, but I can't quite place it.

"I tried my best," he simply replies, following me, "I kept repeating your words. The ones you used to comfort me after I lost my eye. Do you remember?" He asks, looking closely my reactions, he doesn't wait for an answer to continue, "you told me small people need to make others feel just as small, in order to feel big, because most of the time they're so ashamed they need to make someone else feel just as miserable."

"Glad you kept that in mind." I chuckle, a hint of nerves getting to me from the way he's looking at me.

"I found it." He tells me, out of nowhere, in fact, I can't help the confused look I give him.

"What?" I ask.

"The book you used to read to Haelena." He clarifies, "the one about the meaning of flowers."

"Oh really?" I excitedly smile, "that's amazing. Thank you so much."

"I have it in my chambers, I can give it to you tonight." He tells me, "after supper, father wants to dine as a family apparently."

"Uhm... of course." I say, with a little bit of uncertainty.

"I'm actually finishing an interesting chapter." He specifies.

"It's fine, Aemond." I say, trying to wave away my own worries. I think this whole tension is merely caused by being back here after so much time.

He smiles, I see him opening his mouth to say something, but the noise outside catches our attention.

"The council is starting." He states and hums, "let's hope justice stays strong today."

"Yes..." I mutter.

Something about what he said makes me stop, he's not the boy I once knew.

Without saying a word I walk out, him close behind.

"Do you promise?" I hear him ask.

"Promise?"

"To meet me here tonight..." he says, eyes hopeful.

"O-of course." I force a smile, and once he smiles too, satisfied, I head to the throne room with other nobles.

I'm quick to lose Aemond as I look for Rhaenyra and Daemon, and I find them upfront with their sons.

"Toon you long enough." Daemon whispers as I stand behind them, with Jace and Luke.

"I was in the library, have mercy." I tease him, after I see his smirk I turn to Rhaenyra, "are you okay?"

"I'll be." She shortly answers.

I deeply sigh, I catch with the corner of my eye the nervous stance of Luke beside his mother, so I give his arm a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't be nervous, Luke. Don't show them they have any power over you." I softly say, he doesn't answer, but I know he heard me and is trying. "And you," I turn to Jace, "keep the fury at bay, uh?"

He gives me an annoyed but understanding look, lets out a puff of breath and straightens his shoulder.

The chatter quickly dies down as Otto Hightower starts to speak.

"Though ot is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with withe succession od Driftmark. As Hand, I speak with the King's voice on this and all other matters." He sits on the throne, " the crown will now hear the petitions."

"Hope he's comfortable." I mutter, hearning a grin from Daemon.

"Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon." Otto announes and Vaemond immediately takes stand in the middle, after sending a glare in our direction.

"My Queen, "he greets Alicent, "my Lord Hand, the history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has tuled the seas. When the doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end of their bloodlines and their name." I see Daemon giving Rhaenyra a look and her nodding, "I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother's seat. I am Lord Corlys' closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins."

"As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon." Rhaenyra interferes, I mutter her name in warning, "if you cared so much about your house's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition."

"You will have chance to make your own petition, princess Rhaenyra." Alicent stops her, scolding her almost, "do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard."

That's when Vaemond turns around to smirk in Rhaenyra's direction.

"What do you know of Velaryon blood, princess?" He asks, "I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn't recognise it."

"Cut deep, please." I can't hold myself, it's a whisper and I don't think he heard me, if he did he didn't show.

"This is about the future and survival of my House, not yours." He finishes with a look at Luke that I didn't like one bit. If he needs any help in showing his blood I'd gladly help, " my Queen, my Lord Hand." he continues, "this is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor. The Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides."

"Thank you, Ser Vaemond." Otto says and Vaemond goes back to his place, "Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon."

Rhaenyra, with quite a defeated face, takes stand in the middle too.

"If I am to garce this farce with some answers, I will start by reminding the court that nearly 20 years ago, in this very..."

She can't continue due to the doors suddenly being opened. All eyes are on the sudden interruption.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the first of his name, king of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kindoms, and protector of the Realm." The guard announces.

Hope fills my heart as I watch the king walking to his throne, I quick take a look around seeing the surprise on Otto and Alicent's faces. Vaemond is almost scared to see him, he looks at Otto for answers, but he got nothing.

I share a look with Daemon, to reassure him.

"I will sit the throne today." Viserys breathes out to Otto who can't to anything but nod his head.

The King is visibly weak, but he send the guard away, not wanting their help. He makes his way to the throne, with difficulty, he's leaning on his cane for support. When the crown falls and clatters, I see Daemon walking to his brother, retrieving the gold on the ground.

"I said I'm fine." Viserys says before seeing it's Daemon helping him, so he allows it. Daemon after helping his brother to the throne, puts the crown on his head then walks back to us.

"I must... admit... my confusion." He starts, taking back his king stance, " I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present... who might offer keener insight into Corlys Velaryon's wishes is the Princesa Rhaenys."

All eyes set on her.

"Indeed, your grace." She confidently nods and takes place in the middle of the room like Vaemond and Rhaenyra did, "it was ever my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his true born son, Lucerys Velaryon, his mind never changed. Nor did my support of him." As Rhaenys speaks I feel relieved, almost tension melting away. "As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys' granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree."

I smile at Luke and Jace, finally seeing they're a little more relaxed, Luke for sure, I can see him breath again.

"Well..." the king starts, "the matter is settled. Again." He's almost bored, understandable, "I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides."

"You'd be wonderful, Luke." I assure him, as Rhaenya goes back next to Baela.

"Ypu break law..." apparently Vaemond still has something to say, "and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me... who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it."

"Allow it? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond." Viserys warns him.

There's a pause, Vaemond almost shaking with rage.

"That is no true Velaryon," he shouts pointing at Luke, "and certainly no nephew of mine."

"You had your turn, ser Vaemond." I say out loud this time, Vaemond glares at me.

"Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you.. are no more than a second son of Driftmark." The king reminds him for his place.

"You... may run your house as you see fit... but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned... "he turn to look straight at Luke, "I will not see it ended on the account of this..." he holds himself back.

"Say it." Daemon encourages him.

There's a long tense pause, Vaemond grins almost as he looks at Rhaenyra.

"Her children..." he starts," are bastards!" He shouts, "and she... is... a whore."

The nobles in the room gasps, I put a hand on Jace shoulder to keep him calm, and squeeze Luke's hand.

Viserys stands, weakly, but he stands up and draws out his dagger.

"I... will have your tongue for that." He threatens.

But Daemon is quicker and as soon as Viserys finishes his sentence, Daemon slices Vaemond's head, making everyone either scream or gasp.

Daemon casually leans on his sword looking down at the body.

"He can keep his tongue." He says.

"Disarm him!" Otto orders.

"No need." Daemon calmly says, cleaning his sword and walking back to Rhaenyra's side.

Viserys groans in pain probably.

"Call the maesters!" Alicent orders.

"Father?" Rhaenyra wants to walk to him,but stops before the stairs, she looks at me, silently telling me to check on him myself.

I make my way to Alicent holding the King with the guards help.

"Let me help, Alicent." I almost plead.

"The maesters help him just fine, we managed without you this whole time." She waves me off as she lets the guard take him to his chambers.

I helplessly look at them go, and send an apologetic look at Rhaenyra, she shakes her head to let me know it's not my fault, but her worried face remained.

--------------

"You asked for me, princess?" I ask as I join Princess Rhaenys at one of the balconies looking at the sea.

"Yes, my lady," she nods, "I wanted to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me."

"Me?"

"You're the only person who can clarify my doubts at the moment." She answers me.

"If I can be of help, princess, ask." I say, getting a little nervous.

"Did the princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon take any part in my son's death?" She looks straight into my eyes as she asks.

I take a moment, never braking eye contact, I can't decipher what she might think. I do know everyone thinks they killed Laenor, maybe she does too, but the question...

"I know Daemon might be reckless, and enjoys killing, you know him too. Yet, he's never been one to kill so lightly as everyone think, and Rhaenyra's wish for peace doesn't agree with such hypothesis. Don't you think?" I answer.

"You love them?" That question makes me lower my eyes, "I can see it. And I want to believe a soul like yours wouldn't fall for ill ones."

"I want to believe so too, princess." I look up at her again, seeing her soft and sad smile, "my best wishes to Lord Corlys' recovery. I do have a feeling he's too stubborn to leave us all like this."

That makes her smile a little more.

"Thank you, lady Y/n." She bows lightly and I do too, leaving her on the balcony.

--------------

I enter Rhaenyra and Daemon's chambers hoping they haven't left for supper yet.

"Where were you?" Daemon asks, fixing himself.

"Princess Rhaenys asked for me." I answer.

"Why?"

"She just wanted a clarification." I smile at him, "nothing to worry about."

"We thought you already headed for supper." Rhaenyra tells me.

"It's for the family why woul-"

"You're family too." She comes closer to hold my hands, "my father considers you like a daughter."

"After all this time.. I mean... I'm just your lady-" I try to say but her lips on mine stop me.

"You're more than that, and you know it. Stop your thoughts." She smiles.

"Are you sure he wants me there?" I ask, nervous.

"You're more than welcome at that table." She assures me.

"Besides... I'm not leaving you here on your own, I saw the guards sending you looks today." Daemon comes beside us, a possessive hand find its way to my waist.

"No guard was looking at me, Daemon." I roll my eyes.

"Oh yes, they were." He fully wraps his arms around me, "can't blame them, though."

I look at Rhaenyra for support, but she just smiles rolling her eyes and goes to the vanity to put her earrings on.

"Are you satisfied with the cutting?" I ask him, as he holds me to him.

"Very." He leans down to kiss my forehead, then before I could say anything more he kisses me deeply.

"Behave, we don't want to be late." Rhaenyra tells us, well, more to Daemon than me.

"I haven't kissed her in so long, let me enjoy her for a moment." He complains and leans down again to kiss me, but I turn my head, not that it prevents him to put his lips on me in any way.

"She's right." I say and he groans, complaining, "we don't want to be late."

"Don't we?" He asks against my skin.

"No." Rhaenyra smiles, but she's stern in her answer.

"Fine." He says, kissing my neck one last time, "but after supper," he takes my chin in his hand, "all mine." He winks.

"Let's go, my loves." Rhaenyra calls us, and takes my hand as we together head to the dining room.

--------------

There definitely tension in the room, despite the chatter. Chatter coming from the young ones, because at the table Rhaenyra and Alice don't say a word to each other, it's like they're keeping and eye on the other but without even looking.

I stand beside my seat, next to Luke by the head of the table, talking to the girls, when the doors open and the king enters and takes his place in the middle, between his daughter and his wife.

"How doo it is... to see you all tonight... together." He starts, I can see this really makes him happy.

"Pray before we begin?" Alicent asks and once Viserys agrees she starts, "may the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mwnd the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest."

At that Daemon rolls his eyes and I send him a look to tell him to behave.

"This is an occasion for celebration, it seems." Viserys declares, "my grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young princes... and their betrothed." He offers.

"Hear hear!"

And everyone raises their glasses, I smile at Luke and Rhaena, who are closer to me. I slightly see the glare Baela send to Aegon, but I can't tell why.

"Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys... the future Lord of the Tides."

"You'll be great." Rhaena tells him, after seeing the slightly flustered face of his betrothed, and I gently nudge him.

My eyes find their way on my left, Baela having the same glare as before, and this time I see clearly Aegon whispering something to Jace.

"He's not worth it, my dear." I whisper to her, and she lets out a big annoyed breath.

Thankfully, Viserys standing makes everyone silent, he looks at everyone at the table.

"It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world... yet grown so distant from each other... int he years past." He speaks, breathes with difficulty. He then removes the mask on his face revealing his almost rotten side, "my own face... is no longer a handsome one... if indeed it ever was. But tonight... I wish you to see me.. as I am. Not just a king, but your father. Your brother. Your husband... and your grand sire. Who may not, it seems...walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hols ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown... then for the sake on this old man who loves you all so dearly." His voice breaks and my heart follows, he does care about the house being one.

He weakly sits again with a groan and Rhaenyra stands up, golding her glass.

"I wish to raise my cup to her Grace, the Queen." She declares, Alicent looks up at her a mix of surprise and confusion on her face, "I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood... more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with... unfailing devotion, love and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude... and my apology." As she sits back down I genuinely smile at her.

I look at Alicent, who looks speechless, she definitely didn't expect Rhaenyra to say such things to her.

"Your graciousness moves me deeply, princess." She says, uncertain, but with honesty, "we're both mothers... and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow." She stands as well with her own glass, "I raise my cup to you... and to your house." She takes a breath, "you'll make a fine queen."

I can't hold the smile on my face, Rhaenyra softly smiles too. It might've never seemed like it, but hearing Alicent's support now means a lot to her. Everyone raises their cups and drinks.

I send Alicent a grateful look and she kindly smiles in return.

Aegon stands up, wanting to fill his glass again, but it's clear he looked for an excuse to get to Baela, so I keep my attention on him.

"I, um..." he starts whispering, filling his glass, "I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask." He 'offers', making Jace hit the table harshly and stand up.

"Jace." Baela calls softly.

Aemond too stands and they stare at each other, a hint of a challenge flashes in Aemond's eye.

Jace then grabs his glasses ans raises it.

"To Prince Aegon and... Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles."

"Well done, my boy" Viserys proudly smiles at him.

"I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena," Haelena stands too, which warms my heart, "they'll be married soon. It isn't so bad. Mostly, he just ignores you... except sometimes when he's drunk." She says, and that earns some laughs around the table, then she sits down.

I decide it's my turn to say something so I stand up with my own glass.

"I guess I'll say something too, if you let me." I say, and once Viserys nods his head, I continue, "I owe so much to this family, I probably wouldn't even be alive if it weren't for your kindness, my King. I want to raise my glass to you and all of your house, as thank you for letting me be a part of this family, may the gods protect you all." And I sit back down, Rhaenyra smiles at me fondly. Viserys nods, and a soft smile makes its way on his pained face.

"Let us have some music." Viserys says, and immediately a lively tune can be heard in the room.

Jace stands and goes to ask Haelena for a dance, and as they dance and maids bring more food and wine, the chatter at the table starts, laughter too. I chat with Rhaena, and Luke and Baela chimes in every now and then.

After a while, the guards are called to bring the king away. He's probably too weak to even stay up so much, I let out a shaky breath, feeling helpless.

"I'm afraid there's not much more to be done, don't trouble yourself." Baela soft says to me, noticing my powerless expression, I nod, understanding her words, but still feeling bad, I couldn't be of help.

Suddenly there a bang in the table and the music stops.

We all look up to Aemond standing and harshly grabing his glass.

"Final tribute." he declares, I don't know exactly why, but there's tension in the room again all of a sudden,"to the health of my nephews: Jace... Luke... and Jeoffrey. Each of them handsome, wise... hm... strong."

"Aemond." Alicent says his name as a warning, but he ignores her.

"Come... let us drain our cups to these three...strong boys."

"I dare you to say that again." Jace loudly challenges.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment." He walks towards him, Luke stands too, "do you not think yourself strong?"

Jace punches Aemond as Aegon grabs Luke, preventing him from getting near them.

We all stand up, Baela's temper can't take it anymore and needs to be held back by Rhaena. Aemond pushes Jace to the ground, and before Jace tries to attack him again, a guard seizes him and Luke too.

"It's okay, calm down." I stand close to Baela and Rhaena, helping her calming her sister.

"Why would you say such a thing before these people?" I hear Alicent ask her son.

"I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family mother. Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs."

I go stand with Rhaenyra, as Jace manages to wiggle free from the guard.

Fortunately, Daemon stops him.

"Wait, wait." He tells him, making him back away.

"Go to your quarters. All of you go, now." Rhaenyra tells them all.

I sigh, disappointed, I shake my head, looking at Aemond.

Daemon stands behind her, in front of Aemond, then when he leaves, too, Daemon walks the young ones out.

"Rhaenyra." Alicent calls, and the Princess hold my hand, to make me stay.

"It's beat, I think, if we go back to Dragonstone." She sighs.

"You've only just arrived." Alicent takes her hamd gently, "you both."

"Lete see the children home." She starts, "I'll, um... return on dragon back."

"The king and I would both like that." The queen nods, "You as well... I hope." She adds, looking at me.

"I... I could stay here and wait for her." I say to Alicent, nodding to Rhaenyra, who smiles at me.

"That would be nice, my lady." She smiles and bow my head slightly before walking put with Rhaenyra.

"Do you feel alright in riding Syrax in your condition?" I ask her as we walk.

"I'm more than fine, don't worry about me." She assures me, "Are you sure to stay here?"

"I am, princess." I assure her as well.

"Promise to tell me if anything happens." She says, squeezing my hand.

"Of course."

--------------

I'm helping Rhaenyra brush her hair, and Daemon is taking off his boots when we hear a knock on the doors.

The maid opens it and a guard makes his way inside.

"Apologies for the intrusion, princess. I was sent here to fetch lady Y/n." He explains.

"And why's that?" Daemon stands, ready to rush to his sword.

"Prince Aemond asked for her presence in the library." He replies, getting a little nervous after seeing Daemon's reaction.

"Oh, thanks, I almost forgot." I say.

"Forgot what?" Daemon immediately asks.

"I'll be there shortly." I nod to the guard, who nods and walks out of the room, after bowing to the couple.

"Forgot what?" Daemon repeats the question, more sternly.

"I promised him I would've met him in the library after supper. He found a book I was looking for for ages, and he wants to give it back to me." I explain, simply.

"Yes, I know what he wants to give to you." He mutters under his breath.

"Daemon." Rhaenyra scolds him.

"What? Haven't you seen how he looked at her at that table?" Daemon's shocked.

"Gods..." I sigh, "he wasn't looking at me in any way, Daemon."

"Yes, he was." He insists.

"Like what then?" I question.

He moves towards me until he's towering over me, taking my chin and making me look up at him.

"Like I look at you before I grab you and throw you on the bed, my love." He tells me, making my face heat up.

"Don't..." I warn him.

"I like seeing you flustered like this." He smirks, leaning closer.

"You enjoy torturing her. It's different." Rhaenyra's amusement is clear as she speaks.

"I do." He admits, proudly. "That's why I recognise when someone is looking at what's mine."

"He wasn't." I insist

"He was."

"He was not." I tell him, "really. Now let me go. The sooner I retrieve the book, the sooner I'll be back." I manage to put some space between us and grab my shoes.

"I'm not letting you go to him alone." He sternly tells me.

"It's just Aemond." I remind him, "I cared for him a lot when he was younger."

"Yes, but he's not a child anymore. He's twenty, isn't he?" He pretends to wonder, "he has one thing in mind."

"Don't be ridiculous." I sigh. "Listen, I'll be quick, alright? Stop worrying. Rhae, help."

"She's capable of defending herself, my love." She supports me, "and she's right. The sooner she goes, the sooner she's back into our arms."

Daemon sighs deeply, not agreeing one bit, but recognises he's being outnumbered.

"Fine. But be quick."

"Of course." I give him a kiss, "Do not worry." I go kiss Rhaenyra and walk out towards the library.

I follow the guard to the library, softly thanking him as he lets me in.

"Aemond?" I call, and once I hear his voice, I follow it until I find him, standing by a table casually reading the book, a hand behind his back."There you are."

He looks up to me and smiles.

"I know it's late, my apologies for that, my lady." He says.

"It's fine, Aemond, do not worry." I assure him, I look at the book, "was it interesting?"

"Very." He nods, "I particularly enjoyed the chapter about the secret messages."

I walk cautiously closer, more so I can grab the book rather than to him.

"Oh, yes, apparently in Old Valyria, they used flowers and plants to send messages instead of ravens." I say, looking at the page Aemond was reading a few moments ago, "ah, yes, they used them also so propose marriage, to express their deepest love to one another."

I can sense him moving around me, I try to ignore the creeps down my spine as I feel him closer.

"They used dahlias to propose, didn't they?" He asks. There's something in his voice that makes me tense.

"Yes... um... yes, they did." I nod, controlling my voice so he doesn't see my nerves.

"Like this one?" He asks, and a dahlia appears in front of me.

"Oh! Where did you find it? I thought they couldn't grow here." I wonder, still not taking the flower.

"I had the servants plant them," he starts as he gets even closer, almost against me, "once I read that chapter, I had them plant tons of these. It's for you... from me."

I immediately turn around, and take a few steps away from him.

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"Marry me." He tells me.

"Aemond... uh... why?" I ask again.

"The flower speaks for it, doesn't it?" He gets closer, not caring that I'm backing away.

"I'm too old for you." I make him reason.

"Not true, you're perfect." He shakes his head. He's quicker than me and stands in front of me again, forcing me to back up against the bookshelves.

"Aemond... listen..."

"Since I can remember," he interrupts me, putting his hands on my waist, "you've been the only one understanding me, the only one who truly saw me.

"No..." I carefully move his hands away, "Aemond this, whatever you think you're feeling it's-"

"I know what I feel." He snaps, but his features soften immediately, "I know what I feel. I want you, and I know you feel it too."

"No." I push him off, "no, Aemond, I don't. This is... very sweet, but I don't share these feelings. I'm sorry."

He looks at me, without saying a word, without a single expression on his face.

"There would be time, my love." He finally says, "You just need to get away from my dear sister in order to properly see."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, irritated.

He simply hums, retrieves the book, and hands it to me, and without any more words, he walks away.

I take a moment to catch my breath. What just happened? I can't believe Daemon was right, like this. When he put his hands on me, there was something in his eye that made me fear for myself.

I'm afraid he has changed a lot since I last saw him.