#i think its the other way around clara -

[quietwingsinthesky]

people are saying he « led her on » because he did. the fact that he kissed her in the first episode set the tone for the rest of the season and if you can’t perceive the flirting I’m sorry but how?? he didn’t make anything clear he sent the craziest mixed signals in the world. there’s nothing revolutionary about claiming that Martha was being pushy toward someone who was clearly not interested it’s 1) weird to claim in what it suggests about her 2) factually not true.

I wasn’t gonna respond to this at first because the top half of this ask is pretty much just individual interpretation and I don’t really care about it. Like, no, to me, the Doctor doesn’t seem especially flirty towards Martha. He’s just sort of Like That. That’s his damage, you know, Mr. I need to traumadump on anyone who tolerates being around me for more than five minutes. Mr. If I don’t develop an intensely codependent emotional bond with the companion I have currently I’ll die. It doesn’t read to me as him trying to lead her on because that bit’s honest, and he does it with damn near every companion he’s ever had.

And if nothing else, because we do see Ten when he tries to flirt intentionally and he’s a fuckin dork about it. Kind of guy who looked up romance in the dictionary and took notes. Kinda guy who draws diagrams to maximize kissing potential. It would have been obvious even to me (<- romance-blind as all fuck) if he was flirting with Martha on purpose because he’s not smooth at all; he flirts like he’s gotten lines in a play and he’s super excited to be the main star.

But anyway, as I was saying, that’s just how I see it. And if you see it different, no skin off my back, I just disagree.

But I take umbrage with you putting words in my mouth. I never said Martha was pushy towards him. Because yeah, she’s not. If I implied that she was, then it was a result of poor phrasing on my part. Martha’s not at fault for what she feels, for wanting there to come something of it. No more at fault than the Doctor is for not returning those feelings. It’s a bit weird that you’re assuming that I think one of them has to be the bad guy here when that was the opposite of what I was saying. My point was: When it comes to their romantic subtext of their relationship, it’s weird to pretend like either of them are to blame for them not being in a relationship at the end of s3, and even weirder to assert that as part of why Martha supposedly wouldn’t like the Doctor afterwards when they’re. friends. they continue to be friends into s4.

Martha’s not pushy. She has a crush on her friend. It happens. He doesn’t return it. This also happens. Both of these facts are pushed to the extreme because he’s a time-traveling alien with poor emotional skills and she’s put herself in the position of needing to help him from minute one of meeting each other. That’s why it’s fun to watch, because the Doctor is both so open and so unavailable in turns, because Martha’s feelings for him grow and change as she knows more about her Doctor until she decides to step back.

I don’t know, man. You seem to be coming at this as if one of them has to be The Problem™️. I don’t think either of them is, not so definitively. I think boiling their relationship down to that is reductive and an insult to the way they both grow over s3, to Martha’s choice to continue to be his friend while also establishing her own boundaries, to the fact that the Doctor is able to let her go without immediately trying to kill himself afterwards when she’s not there to catch him.

[seaweedstarshine]

I love Amy's Choice and I love The Day of the Doctor Novelization, but something that only clicked for me recently — is that the reason the Eleventh Doctor is able to instantly recognize and brush past the Dream Lord when he appears — is because for as long as he's had this body, he's been hallucinating the War Doctor’s voice taunting him in a very similar way (minus all the jokes).

Similar like this:

Of course at the end of Amy's Choice, the Doctor sees the Dream Lord reflected in the console, looks distressed, and says nothing, and I just. I love how Moffat used that novelization to flesh out so many different elements he included in his run.

[yes7erdays-a1]

❛⠀⠀just so you know,⠀ ❜⠀ there is a certain sauciness to her tone. a playful dancing quality to it as she blinks up at chloe, the threat so perfectly infused with humor, that clara somehow masks the honesty of her words. there will come a day when she won't be so affected. when the sight of chloe will be more manageable, and she'll finally be able to put together the discordant pieces she's been able to collect so far. not tonight, though. the fall night is too pretty to waste on silly things like the truth.

⠀ ❛⠀⠀i'm finally going to grow some immunity to that charm of yours, and i'll get a straight answer out of you. i'm not going to keep letting you escape so easily, miss smith.⠀ ❜

@chloevlinder ( starter call. )

[the-eb]

new "things I noticed in the Walpurgisnacht Rising trailer" post: coherent edition

I'm going with the theory (laid out very well here) that the extra Homuras we keep seeing around are the Clara Dolls, either presenting in a different way or having matured into witches themselves. With that in mind:

These two shots show the same doll, Nekura, judging by both the headband and the wavy tips of the hair that homura doesn't normally have. Her eyes are also red, and she's wearing the black collar with white outlines reminiscent of her Doll form.

This looks to be Ibari, though I'm not 100% sure on that, given the colour of the hair. Probably just the lighting. Her role as Pride also fits with the imagery of her scrutinising the audience here, likely Homura in context.

Could also potentially be Noroma (Blockhead), though I don't think the visual fits quite as well. She is said to "laugh at the witch with her eyes," though, which would match with what she's doing here.

Though this Homura has her original purple eyes and white collar, the unusual headband and especially the engraving on the mirror ("Stupid Venus") make me quite confident that this is Manuke (Stupid-Looking). The band isn't a 100% match, but this also makes sense given that Manuke is representative of Homura during the time between the main series and Rebellion, matching with what's shown in the mirror. The headband is also tied in the same way as Madoka's ribbon was in her hair, which might explain the lack of resemblance to Manuke's headwear.

Not much to say about this shot, other than that the style and colours of those stairs combined with the familiar pattern around them resembling Oktavia's tail make me think this is a shot from within her labyrinth.

Other than the clear Icarus symbolism, the main thing worth noting about this shot is the streak of red in Homura's hair, extending out from underneath Madoka's ribbon (or its replacement). Probably an extension of the ribbon symbolically too, showing how bound she is to Madoka.

Unless these are Magia Record characters I'm unaware of, I think that the unadorned ring and black fingernail marking lend credence to the idea that these are the magical girls who once became witches in the original series. The only one I really have a guess on is this girl, where the fact that she's watching over a kintsugi glass holding the garden where Homura and Kyoko met in rebellion, the roses on her purse, and the glasses lead me to believe that this is Gertrud, the Rose Garden Witch. Her Adelbert familiars are said to have 2.5 vision.

This book appears to contain images of witches and their familiars. I managed to spot familiars belonging to Charlotte, Elly, possibly Patricia, Gertrud, and Oktavia, as well as Izabel and Elsa Maria themselves, though I'm sure there are more.

There's a single frame flash of Oktavia here!

The symbolism of the teacup next to the pool of blood makes me assume that this is Mami (or Candeloro!), though maybe I'm flanderising her. The rim of the cup and saucer do have a pattern faintly reminiscent of a flower, which reinforces this a little.

Please feel free to respond with alternate readings/other things you've spotted in the trailer! I crave knowledge

[m1sa-w1sa]

hay so I was just wondering if you would do a sahsrau where all the PC's (playable characters) are obsessed with reader but when reader gets inside of hsr they are Immediately captured and sold as a slave and the PC's (maybe topaz or himko) fine the reader recognize the reader and all hell breaks lose for who idk

Also if I can can I be a emoji anon (if yes then I'll be 👹 anon)

Forgive us!

Sahsrau x Reader

Tw: Yandere themes, Mentioning ofAbuse ( not going in depth ), NOT PROOFREAD Death/Lil Describing of gore, I am aware that there might be two more mew characters, but they won’t be included becuase I don’t know them all to well at the moment!

I do not support people that think they are ‘ real yanderes ‘ or act on any of the things mentioned, if you do or think about these things please get professional help

A/N: Ty for requesting! I have a lot so they are a little slow but they are still all going to get to! And I’m happy to call you👹 Annon!

•You started playing Hsr when it first came out, you loved the designs and a characters! •But they certainly loved you back! I mean why wouldn’t they? Your just a sweetheart to them! •Kafka and Silver wolf the first ones knowing feeling your presence, hearing your soft voice complimenting them •Next, The Trailblazer, March 17, and Dan Heng knew next then Hiyoko and welt then so and so on •The characters you gotten is when they knew you were there, they KNEW you were with them •They heard your worried voice when one of them is low on health, apologizing over and over •Gepard and March 17 always try to make their shields better, Bailu and Natasha try’s to heal as much as they could, Hiyoko and welt trying to make you proud •Huohuo try’s to be more brave for you, Dr. Ratio always does harder in his studies •Serval playing her best at concerts in your honor, Clara makes sure she prays to you every day •They worshiped you like no other, every place had this one single law ‘ Don’t hurt the divine one.. ‘ •Simple, right? Wrong. When you got transferred to the game you were about to walk around, until a cloth was over your mouth •You woke up in a cage, weak, scrunched up like a dog curled in its own bed as you groaned ‘ She will make us a whole lot of money… ‘ We just can’t get caught.. ‘ ‘ You worry to much… ‘ •2 Women and one Man you heard, one of them pulling you out, throwing you at the wall as you fall down with a loud ‘THUMP!’ •They burned you, cut you, broke bones hardly fed you, blood all over your body •You were hosted at one of the prizes at a auction, Himiko and Welt was there as she looked around, her eyes spotted you, weak, legs shaking (Not what YOU think…) your body bruised, burned, painted with cuts and scratches •Welt quickly saw aswell, his eyes widened, Their grace… Abused like an object..? Slowly golden blood leaked from your forehead, you gotten more dizzy last thing you heard was a stern voice

‘ 1 Million Credits! ‘ •They took you back, not even paying the fee, but, your their god, their CREATOR, your more than just some stupid credits.. •March 17 stayed at the astral express with you, word got out about what happened… everyone was FURIOUS •Bailu, Loucha, and Natasha going to the express to try to help heal your wounds and to keep watch •Clara and Savorog keeping watch outside the room, Argenti, Archeon, Blade, Dr. Raito going to hunt the people down •Jing Yuan and Imbibitor Lunae, Figuring out the gruesomeness ways to make the people suffer •Kafka and Jingilu doing most of the dirty work, blood splattered everywhere •You woke up at so many people by your side it was overwhelming, Being able to talk to your characters made you smile, something you didn’t do in a long while •They are so sorry for not being there for your proper descent, they will do any for your forgiveness your grace

[chevyslate158]

Pleasantries of 'Love' 18+ (Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader) Chapter 1 - Gilded Beginnings

A/n: Hey everyone! First off, I want to apologise for taking so long to upload this chapter. I’ve been working on a bunch of drafts, so you’ll have plenty of content to enjoy over the holidays! 🎄✨ I promise I’ll be uploading them very soon, so stay tuned!

I hope you enjoy this chapter of Pleasantries of 'Love' and I’m looking forward to sharing the next one with you all. 😌💖 Also, I’ll be uploading a finished draft of a short story featuring Coriolanus either tonight or tomorrow (you’re not gonna want to miss it!). 📖✨ As for Threads of Freedom, the next chapter will be up later this week, along with many more updates! 😍

Thanks for your patience, and I can’t wait to hear what you think! 💕

Word Count: 6.7k words Warnings: Power Imbalance, fixation, manipulation, obsession themes, social pressure, unrequited affection, control, age gap, gendered expectation, objectification, traditional expectations, coercion, underlying threat, unhealthy relationship dynamics (Coriolanus and Reader), eventual smut and eventual arranged marriage

The gilded ballroom brimmed with grandeur, its opulence almost overwhelming. Y/n stood near the edge of the crowd, marvelling at the way the crystal chandeliers sparkled like stars. Her breath hitched slightly, her nerves fluttering as the hum of conversation rose and fell around her. The string quartet’s melody soothed her, and she clasped her hands tightly to steady herself, her soft blush gown swaying gently with her every movement. She adored how the dress reminded her of spring blossoms, modest yet quietly radiant, like the life she lived.

Her eyes scanned the room, widening slightly at the decadent displays of wealth: trays of delicacies she had never seen before, diamonds glittering on throats, wrists and ears. A warm smile touched her lips when someone greeted her, and though their words often carried subtle barbs, she responded with kindness nonetheless. Politics and power games weren’t her nature; instead, she revelled in small, sincere exchanges. That is why she had such a small group of friends. Her upbringing had taught her the strength of humility and the beauty of honesty, even in a room filled with the opposite.

Y/n’s family lingered nearby, her father standing protectively at her side while her mother and young sister basked in the excitement of the evening. Her two closest friends, Clara and Rose, whispered animatedly about the attendees, their eyes sparkling as they tried to guess who wore which designer dress or who was the cutest couple at the event. Y/n giggled softly at their speculations, feeling a surge of gratitude for their company.

Rose twirled a lock of her auburn hair around her finger, her lips curving into a mischievous grin. “Clara and I have decided we’re going to rank the best-dressed couples here tonight. Starting with them.” She tilted her head toward a striking pair near the centre of the room, their coordinated gold and ivory ensembles gleaming under the chandelier light.

Clara scoffed playfully. “Oh, please. They’re trying too hard. Look at her necklace—three layers of diamonds? Overkill!” She pointed subtly with her glass of sparkling cider. “Now, they,” she gestured to another couple near the banquet table, “look perfect. That midnight blue suit with her silver gown? Subtle and classy. No one’s outshining the other.”

Y/n chuckled softly at their analysis, letting their animated chatter ease her nerves. “I’m impressed you two know so much about Capitol fashion. I wouldn’t have the faintest idea who designed what.”

“That’s why you’ve got us,” Rose quipped, nudging Y/n again. “We’ll make sure you’re the best-dressed at every event from now on.” She paused, glancing toward a group of sharply dressed young men by the bar. “Speaking of, is it just me, or are we getting a lot of looks tonight?”

Clara smirked, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder. “You’re not imagining it. I caught at least two of them glancing our way just now. Maybe they’ve never seen real beauty before.”

Y/n rolled her eyes with a laugh. “You two are ridiculous. They’re probably just wondering why we’re hovering by the wall like shy schoolgirls.”

Rose gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I’m surveying the room. It’s called being strategic.” She turned toward Y/N with a sly grin. “And besides, you should be flattered. Half the men in here can’t take their eyes off you. Including, might I add, a certain very important man.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed immediately. “Stop it,” she protested, shaking her head. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Rose teased, her voice sing-song. “He’s looking again. Right now.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered as Clara leaned in conspiratorially. “You should practice your curtsy. Who knows, you might end the night with a dance from President Snow himself.”

“I’ll do no such thing!” Y/n whispered back, mortified, though her friends’ laughter made it impossible to stay annoyed. They teased her mercilessly, but the warmth of their camaraderie eased the tension in her chest. For a moment, she allowed herself to giggle along with them, the weight of the evening forgotten—until the thought of his piercing blue eyes lingered just a little too long in her mind.

Y/n’s laughter faded as curiosity tugged at her brows furrowing ever so slightly. Was he truly looking at me? Gathering what little courage she could muster, she dared to glance in his apparent direction. Her breath caught in her throat the moment her eyes found him. President Snow stood near a marble column, a glass of deep red wine cradled effortlessly in one hand. The tailored crimson suit he wore seemed to command the attention of the room, the deep hue a stark contrast to his fair complexion and icy blue eyes. The jacket’s sharp lapels framed his broad shoulders, his polished appearance exuding an air of quiet authority that made her stomach flutter.

His features were a study in precision—strong, angular, and utterly unreadable. The slightest tilt of his head and the glint in his eye gave him an edge of mystery, as though he were privy to secrets the rest of the world would never uncover. He sipped his wine slowly, his gaze steady, and Y/N’s cheeks burned when she realised those piercing blue eyes were locked on hers once again.

For a moment, time seemed to slow. The noise of the ballroom faded into a distant hum, and all she could feel was the erratic rhythm of her heart as it skipped a beat, then another. His stare was unrelenting, both chilling and thrilling in its intensity. It was as though he could see straight through her, past her composed exterior, to the nervous energy buzzing beneath her skin.

She quickly looked away, her fingers tightening their grip on the folds of her dress. Butterflies fluttered wildly in her stomach, and her thoughts became a tangle of confusion and exhilaration. What was it about his gaze that made her feel both exposed and significant all at once? She hadn’t even spoken a word to him, yet somehow, she felt as though he had marked her as someone worth noticing.

Clara’s voice pulled Y/N from her daze, the teasing lilt unmistakable. “You’ve gone quiet. Let me guess—you’ve been captivated by someone across the room?”

Y/n blinked, trying to compose herself, but her thoughts were still tangled with the image of him—the sharp angles of his face, the commanding presence he exuded, and the way his icy blue eyes had held hers with such certainty. Her heart fluttered wildly, betraying her previously composed exterior. “I’m just… lost in thought,” she murmured, her voice softer than usual.

Rose, ever perceptive, wasn’t convinced. “Lost in thought? Or lost in someone?” she teased, her grin widening as she glanced knowingly in the direction Y/n had dared to look. “Don’t deny it—you’ve been sneaking glances at him.”

Y/n’s cheeks burned, and she clutched the fabric of her gown tightly to steady and ground herself. 

“That’s not true,” she whispered, though the heat rising to her face and the erratic rhythm of her heart told a different story. She couldn’t admit it—not to herself, not to anyone—but the way his eyes had lingered on her made her feel seen in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

Despite her original protest, curiosity got the better of her once more, and she found herself stealing another glance. Her heart nearly stopped when she caught him watching her again, his gaze steady and unrelenting. He raised his glass ever so slightly, the faintest smirk curling at the corner of his lips, as though he knew the effect he had on her.

The room felt suddenly smaller, the air heavier as though the wind was knocked out of her. Oh, dear God. Y/n’s thoughts spiralled as she quickly averted her gaze, her heart leaping to her throat. A rush of warmth spread across her cheeks, and her pulse thundered in her ears, betraying the composure she struggled to maintain.

Why does he keep looking at me? She wondered, her mind a whirlwind of nerves and wonder. She barely registered her friends’ continued chatter as her thoughts spiralled. Had she imagined the subtle acknowledgement? Or was it real?

Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped them together one over the other, her friends’ laughter blending into the background. She tried to calm the butterflies fluttering wildly in her chest, but her gaze kept drifting back to him, as though pulled by some invisible force.

The night passed in a whirlwind of introductions and pleasantries, her family eager to acquaint her with men her age. Her father, ever watchful, took it upon himself to steer her toward eligible bachelors, each introduction feeling more forced than the last. One was the son of a wealthy politician, another the heir to an influential Capitol family. Y/N smiled politely, exchanged the expected small talk, and nodded at all the right moments, but her heart wasn’t in it. The son of the wealthy politician was tall but slender, with soft brown hair that fell just above his ears, and wide, nervous emerald green eyes that never quite met hers. His clothes were well-tailored, though his fidgeting hands betrayed his shyness shifting from foot to foot, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment clearly aware that his father was trying to attempt to set him up.

“Y/n,” the young man began hesitantly, his voice soft and uneven as though it might crack at any moment. “It’s… it’s been a long time since we’ve talked. You look—uh—nice tonight.” His emerald eyes darted to hers briefly before dropping back to the floor.

“Thank you, Theodore,” Y/n replied with a kind smile, her tone gentle. She remembered him well enough—Theodore Alden, the quiet boy from her school years, always sitting at the back of the classroom with his head buried in books. “It’s good to see you again. You’ve done well for yourself, I hear.”

He flushed deeper, tugging nervously at his cuffs. “Oh, I… I don’t know about that. My father likes to, um, exaggerate.” He glanced toward where his father stood a few feet away, watching them with an encouraging but overbearing smile. “I just… I wanted to say, I always admired you. You were always so kind… and graceful.”

Y/n blinked in surprise at his honesty, a warmth rising in her chest at his sincerity. “That’s very sweet of you to say, Theodore. I’ve always thought highly of you as well.”

His gaze lifted for a moment, meeting hers fully for the first time, and a tentative smile formed on his lips revealing small dimples. “You have?”

“Of course,” she said with a small laugh, trying to put him at ease. “You’ve always been intelligent and thoughtful. That’s something to be proud of.”

Before he could respond, her friends’ laughter rang out behind her, drawing her attention. She turned back to Theodore with an apologetic smile. “I should rejoin my friends. But it was lovely to speak with you again.”

“Y-yes, of course,” Theodore stammered, stepping back awkwardly accidentally bumping into a waiter in the process causing him to hastily apologise to the waiter before turning back to face you with an awkward smile on his face with his cheeks flushed. “Thank you for… for talking with me.”

As Y/n walked away, she felt a pang of guilt for leaving so quickly, but she felt as though the conversation had run its course. Glancing back once, she saw him watching her retreat with a wistful expression, his shoulders slumped slightly as though regretting he hadn’t said more.

As Y/n approached her friends, Rose and Clara exchanged knowing looks, their smiles already brimming with mischief. The moment she rejoined them, they pounced.

“Well, well,” Rose said with an exaggerated smirk, crossing her arms. “What was that all about? You and Theodore looked pretty cozy over there.”

Clara gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “Don’t tell me the shy boy finally worked up the nerve to talk to you! Did he confess his undying love? Write a sonnet on the spot?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous. We were just catching up. It’s been years since I’ve spoken to him.”

“‘Just catching up,’” Rose echoed, mimicking Y/n’s soft tone. “Is that what you call it when a man can barely breathe around you? He looked like he was about to faint, Y/n.”

Clara giggled, leaning closer. “He’s had a thing for you since, what, first year of high school? Honestly, I think it’s adorable. The way he couldn’t stop fidgeting—poor thing was terrified of saying the wrong thing.”

“Terrified because Rose wouldn’t stop glaring at him from across the room,” Y/n shot back, giving her friend a playful nudge.

Rose held up her hands in mock innocence. “Hey, I was just trying to make sure he knew he had to impress you. Besides, he’s not really your type, is he?”

“And what exactly is my type?” Y/n asked, arching an eyebrow.

Rose and Clara exchanged another look before bursting into laughter. “Well definitely not shy, blushing bookworms,” Clara teased.

Y/n shook her head, laughing despite herself.

“Oh, come on,” Rose said, looping her arm through Y/n’s as they walked further into the ballroom. “Admit it, it was sweet. He couldn’t stop looking at you, and you can’t tell me you didn’t feel even a little flattered.”

Y/n sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. “Maybe a little. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

Clara grinned, nudging her gently. “Whatever you say, Y/n. Just remember, if you ever do need a shy, adorable politician’s son in your life, you’ve already got one wrapped around your finger.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, the faint blush on her cheeks betraying her exasperation. “You two are impossible,” she muttered bashfully under her breath, though their teasing drew a small, reluctant smile.

Rose suddenly gasped, her eyes lighting up with mock realization. “Oh, right! How could I forget? You weren’t exactly paying attention to poor Theodore, were you? Not when you were giving heart eyes to the president earlier.”

Clara burst into laughter, clutching her side. “She’s right! Y/n, you practically melted on the spot. I’ve never seen you blush that much in my life. Should we curtsy every time we walk by you now? Future First Lady and all?”

Y/n’s eyes widened, her face flushing as she waved them off. “I was not giving him heart eyes! Stop it, people will hear you!”

Rose smirked, tapping her chin dramatically. “Oh, you weren’t? Because I’m pretty sure he was looking at you, too.”

Clara nudged Y/n with her elbow. “Come on, admit it. Just for us. You felt something, didn’t you?”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands as her friends giggled uncontrollably. 

Yet even as she humoured with her friends on her family’s previous attempts to match her with Capitol’s finest, her gaze kept drifting across the room. No matter where she was or whom she spoke to, her eyes sought him out, as if drawn by some invisible force. Each time she looked, he was closer than the last time.

Coriolanus Snow moved with calculated ease, weaving through clusters of politicians and dignitaries with his effortless charm. His crimson suit was impossible to miss, and neither was the way he glanced in her direction, his gaze lingering just long enough to send her heart into overdrive. His every move seemed casual, but Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that he was purposefully closing the distance between them.

Her pulse quickened as she realised he was nearing her side of the room, his slow but deliberate path bringing him closer with each passing moment. He stopped to exchange a few words with a senator, then moved on to greet a wealthy benefactor, all while subtly inching toward her. Each glance, each small shift, made her chest tighten with a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Y/n, are you even listening?” her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts gently tugging her away from her friends and close to her side so she could join in on the conversation. “Lord Albright was just telling us about his family’s estate outside the Capitol.”

“Oh,” she said quickly, forcing her attention back to the conversation. “That sounds lovely.”

But her distraction didn’t go unnoticed. Rose stifled a laugh, her eyes flicking knowingly toward where the young president stood. “You’ve been staring all night stop being so obvious,” she teased in a low voice. “He’s going to think you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not—” Y/n began, but her words caught in her throat as her gaze unintentionally flicked back toward him. This time, their eyes met again, and her breath hitched. He was only a few paces away now, his sharp features illuminated under the golden light of the chandeliers. His expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking the deliberate way he was closing the gap.

Just as the moment felt unbearably intense, her father spoke up. “It’s getting late. We should head home before the streets grow too busy.”

Y/n’s stomach dropped. “Already?” she asked, a hint of reluctance slipping into her tone.

Her mother gave her a gentle smile, guiding her toward the exit. “It’s been a long evening, dear. You’ll have other chances to socialise.”

As they made their way toward the grand doors, Y/n couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder one last time. Snow was standing where she’d last seen him, his piercing gaze following her departure. There was something in his expression—calculated, almost possessive—that sent a shiver down her spine.

She tore her eyes away, her heart pounding as she stepped out into the cool night air. Even as the carriage pulled away, the image of him lingered, etched into her mind like an indelible mark she couldn’t shake. Deep down she had a gut feeling this wouldn't be the last time she saw President Snow.

-Two days after the grand event- Y/n found herself seated at the dining table with her family. The cozy glow of the chandelier illuminated the room, filling it with warmth as the evening meal unfolded. Plates clinked softly, and light chatter wove through the air, her parents and siblings discussing the usual topics of the day.

It was then the soft knock came at the door. A courier, dressed sharply in Capitol livery, handed a small, elegant envelope to their housekeeper. The sealed parchment bore the unmistakable crest of the President. Y/n's heart fluttered at the sight of it as it was carefully placed in her hands.

“Who could that be from?” her mother asked, her curiosity barely contained.

“I have no idea,” Y/n murmured, her fingers trembling as she broke the seal. Her family’s conversation fell into a hushed silence, all eyes now on her as she carefully unfolded the letter.

As her gaze swept across the elegant script, her breath hitched. She could barely process the words, the formal tone, or the undeniable authority that each sentence carried. When she reached the end of the letter, her cheeks were flushed, her mind whirling with the weight of the invitation. -Start Of Letter-

The Capitol, Office of the President, Panem,

Dearest Y/n Y/l/n

I hope this letter finds you well. Allow me to formally introduce myself: I am Coriolanus Snow, President of Panem, though I suspect you may already know of me. Yet, in turn, I must admit I knew little of you until recently when fate allowed our paths to cross. At my recent formal event, amidst a sea of notable guests, it was you who caught my eye. There was a quiet grace in your demeanour, an elegance that demanded notice yet sought none. Intrigued, I found myself wanting to learn more about the person who carried such an air of distinction.

As a man who values intelligence, poise, and refinement, I feel compelled to extend an invitation for us to become better acquainted. It is rare for someone to leave such an impression, and rarer still for me to act upon it. However, I find myself intrigued by the possibilities that may arise from our acquaintance. To that end, I would be honoured if you would join me for an intimate dinner at Le Marbre Étoilé this Friday evening at 8 o’clock for I have already taken the liberty of reserving a table. The setting is one of the finest in the Capitol, offering an atmosphere befitting such an esteemed guest as yourself. 

While I understand the obligations of daily life can sometimes interfere with such invitations, I must stress the significance of this occasion. My schedule, as I am sure you can appreciate, is relentlessly occupied, leaving little room for rescheduling. I trust you will recognise the importance of seizing this opportunity and make the necessary adjustments to your own commitments. You are, of course, free to decline. However, I would hope such a decision is carefully considered, for an audience with the President is a privilege not lightly afforded.

I eagerly await your company and trust you will honour my invitation with your presence.

Until we meet, I remain yours with the utmost anticipation.

Warm regards, Coriolanus Snow President of Panem

-End of letter-

“What does it say?” her father pressed, leaning forward with a look of concern.

“It’s…” Y/n hesitated, still struggling to believe it herself. “It’s from President Snow.” Her voice was quiet, yet it seemed to echo in the stillness of the room. “He… He’s invited me to dinner. This Friday.”

A moment of stunned silence followed before her mother clasped her hands together. “President Snow? Invited you personally? How extraordinary!”

Her father frowned slightly, his protective nature stirring. “Why would the President take such an interest in you, Y/n?”

“I don’t know,” Y/n admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “He said he noticed me at the event and wanted to become better acquainted. He’s already made arrangements for dinner at Le Marbre Étoilé.”

Her mother’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Le Marbre Étoilé! It’s the finest establishment in the Capitol. What an incredible honour!”

Her father rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is unusual, but… he is the President. It wouldn’t be wise to decline.”

Her younger sister giggled, teasing. “Looks like someone caught the eye of Panem’s most powerful man.”

“Enough,” her father said firmly, though a trace of pride crept into his tone. “Y/n, you’ll go. You’ll represent our family with dignity and respect.”

“But…” Y/n faltered. “What if I embarrass myself? What if I’m not what he expects?”

Her mother placed a gentle hand on hers. “You’re everything he could expect and more, darling. Be yourself—your grace and poise will do the rest.”

Y/n looked at each of her family members in turn, feeling a mix of trepidation and resolve. The weight of the invitation was heavy, but their encouragement wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.

Finally, she nodded, a small but determined smile breaking through her nerves. “I’ll go,” she said softly. “I’ll make sure I don’t let any of you down.”

Her family’s approval bolstered her spirits, but as she folded the letter and set it beside her plate, her thoughts drifted back to the man who had written it. President Snow—a name so synonymous with power and control. She wondered, for the briefest moment, what kind of man she would truly meet that Friday night. -Friday-

Friday evening arrived faster than Y/n anticipated, bringing with it a flurry of nerves and excitement. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange, while the glow of Capitol lights began to twinkle in the distance.

Her bedroom was a whirlwind of fabrics and accessories as her mother and younger sister fussed over her, each determined to ensure she looked perfect for the evening ahead. A soft gown of midnight blue had been chosen—a colour that complimented her complexion and highlighted the delicate curves and frame of her body. The fabric shimmered faintly under the light, subtle yet captivating, with a neckline that was modest but elegant it dipped just low enough to catch the eye but not enough to be deemed scandalous, with the dress flowing gracefully to the floor.

“Hold still, darling,” her mother instructed, carefully fastening the clasp of an understated pearl necklace around Y/n’s neck. “You look exquisite. Truly, like a vision.”

Her younger sister grinned, hands busy smoothing the delicate folds of the gown making sure there was not a single crease. “You’re going to leave everyone speechless, especially the president.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed at the mention of President Snow, her stomach twisting with nerves. “Do you think this is too much?” she asked, glancing at her reflection in the mirror.

“Not at all,” her mother reassured her, brushing a few stray hairs back into the intricate updo they had styled. “It’s elegant. Sophisticated. Exactly the impression you want to leave.”

Her sister couldn’t resist teasing. “You’re going to make every woman in that restaurant jealous, Y/n. But don’t forget—he’s the one who invited you. That says everything.”

Y/n managed a small smile, though her heart still raced. The weight of the invitation and the significance of the evening felt almost overwhelming. Yet, beneath the nerves was a flicker of curiosity, a quiet wonder at what awaited her.

Once her hair was set, her makeup applied with a light and delicate touch, and the finishing details of her ensemble in place, her mother stepped back to admire her work. “Perfect,” she declared with a smile of pride. “Absolutely perfect.”

Y/n turned to the mirror, studying her reflection. For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to feel a sliver of confidence. She had to admit, she did look elegant, the kind of elegance she imagined would be expected of someone dining with the President.

Her father appeared in the doorway, his expression a mix of protectiveness and awe. “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, his voice soft. “Are you ready?”

Y/n took a deep breath, smoothing the fabric of her gown with trembling hands. “I think so,” she said quietly.

Her mother gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulders. “You’ll do wonderfully, darling. Remember, just be yourself.”

As she descended the staircase to the waiting car, her family’s encouraging smiles lingered in her mind. Though the thought of meeting President Snow still made her heart race, Y/n was determined to carry herself with grace and dignity, no matter what the evening held.

The soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the manor living room marked each passing moment as Y/n sat with her family, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her midnight blue gown cascading elegantly to the floor. Her father paced near the window peeking out discreetly every so often, his stern expression masking the nervous energy he exuded. Her mother, ever composed, sat gracefully beside Y/n, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in her dress. Beside her, Y/n’s younger sister fidgeted, her excitement barely contained as she sat perched on the arm of the couch. “I’m sure he’ll be here any moment,” her mother said, glancing at the ornate clock above the mantle. Her tone was calm, but the glimmer of pride in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Do you think he’ll actually come to the door?” her sister asked, her wide eyes alight with curiosity. “Or will the driver just honk and wait outside?”

Her father shot her a look. “A man in his position would do well to show proper respect.” Her father stood near the window, peeking out and looking to see if the president had arrived yet. He turned to Y/n, his gaze softening. “Remember, this is just a dinner, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a mix of encouragement and caution. “Be polite, but don’t let anyone make you feel uncomfortable.” Y/n nodded, her heart pounding against her ribs. The weight of the evening ahead pressed down on her, but she met her father’s gaze with quiet determination.

The sound of an approaching vehicle, smooth and unmistakable, silenced the room. Y/N’s heart skipped as the sleek black Capitol limo came into view, its polished surface gleaming under the glow of the estate’s exterior lights. The car rolled to a stop in front of the manor, and after a moment, the door opened.

Coriolanus Snow emerged with the kind of poise that commanded attention. Dressed in a tailored black suit with crimson accents—a subtle yet striking statement of power—he exuded confidence. In his hand, he carried a single white rose. He paused briefly, adjusting his coat, before making his way up the stone steps to the front door.

The knock that followed echoed through the room, sharp and deliberate. Y/n’s father straightened, crossing the room to answer. When he opened the door, Coriolanus greeted him with a polite, disarming smile, his icy blue eyes betraying nothing of his true intentions.

“Good evening, Mr. Y/l/n,” he said smoothly, his voice like silk. “I am Coriolanus Snow, President of Panem. Thank you for allowing me the honour of escorting your daughter this evening.”

Y/n’s father hesitated, sizing him up for a moment before stepping aside. “President Snow,” he said, his tone cautious yet respectful. “Welcome to our home. Please, come in.”

Coriolanus stepped inside, his sharp features framed by the soft glow of the chandelier overhead. His gaze swept the room briefly before settling on Y/N, who had risen from her seat, her composure steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

“Miss Y/l/n,” he greeted, inclining his head with a practised air of courtesy. “You look radiant this evening.”

“Thank you, President Snow,” Y/n replied softly, curtsying slightly, her voice steady even as her heart raced.

With a small, calculated smile, he extended the white rose to her. “A token for a memorable evening,” he said, his tone gentle, though his eyes gleamed with something more inscrutable.

Y/n accepted the rose with both hands, her fingers brushing the delicate petals. Before she could respond, he snapped the stem cleanly, leaving the flower intact. Leaning forward, he gently tucked it behind her ear, his touch light but deliberate.

“There,” he said, his voice low, almost intimate. “Perfect.”

Her family watched the exchange in silence, yet her mother beamed at the exchange while her sister barely stifled an excited squeal. The weight of the moment was heavy in the room. With an air of finality, Coriolanus stepped back, offering his arm to Y/n. “Shall we?”

Y/n glanced at her parents, who both gave small, reassuring nods. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand lightly on his arm. 

Just as he guided her toward the door Snow turned back to her father, his tone unwavering as they were about to exit the front door of their manor. “I assure you, Mr. Y/l/n, your daughter will be in the utmost care this evening. I deeply value the trust you’ve extended to me.”

Though Y/n’s father maintained his reserved composure, he gave a measured nod. “See that you do.”

The sleek black limousine gleamed under the streetlights as Coriolanus Snow held the door open for Y/n. His movements were precise, every action exuding an air of control and authority. Y/n hesitated for the briefest moment, casting a glance back at her family standing in the doorway of the manor before stepping inside the luxurious vehicle.

The interior of the limo was nothing short of breathtaking, a haven of understated opulence. The soft leather seats were impeccably stitched, their deep, rich hue complementing the gleaming mahogany panelling that lined the walls. The subtle glow of warm, recessed lighting cast a golden hue over the space, illuminating the fine crystal decanters that held Capitol's most exclusive vintages in a small, built-in bar.

The faint aroma of expensive cologne mingled with the delicate scent of fresh roses arranged in an understated vase near the side panel. Every detail spoke of wealth and precision, from the velvet-lined armrests to the silent hum of the temperature-controlled environment.

Snow followed closely, settling into the seat beside her with a measured grace. His movements were deliberate, exuding an air of calm control as he adjusted his position. His tailored suit caught the light subtly, the fabric hinting at its impeccable craftsmanship, while his piercing gaze swept the cabin briefly before returning to her, his presence filling the intimate space effortlessly.

As the car began to move, the city lights of the Capitol streamed past the tinted windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colours that danced across the sleek interior. The glow of neon signs illuminated towering buildings, their facades adorned with holographic advertisements that shimmered like liquid gold. Streets were alive with motion, a symphony of luxury vehicles gliding past pedestrians dressed in extravagant finery.

Capitol elites wandered the bustling avenues, their laughter and animated conversations spilling into the night air. Women adorned in opulent gowns, encrusted with gemstones that caught the light, strolled arm-in-arm with men in tailored suits boasting rich, exotic fabrics. Groups lingered near gilded restaurant entrances, their expressions a mix of idle amusement and carefully practised airs of superiority, waiting to enter establishments where chandeliers glittered like starlight through tall windows.

The gentle hum of the engine was the only sound for a moment before Snow broke the silence.

“I trust your family approves of our outing this evening,” he said, his tone conversational but with an undertone of authority.

“They were… a bit surprised by your invitation, Mr. President,” Y/n replied, her voice soft and almost hesitant, her gaze flickering to meet his before dropping again.

“Coriolanus,” he corrected smoothly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “There’s no need for formality between us tonight.”

Y/n nodded, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The grandeur of the Capitol outside the window was both mesmerising and intimidating, but she focused on maintaining her composure.

After a short ride, the limousine pulled up in front of Le Marbre Étoilé, the Capitol's most exclusive dining establishment. The grand facade of the restaurant was illuminated with golden lights, its towering columns and intricate marble carvings radiating opulence. A valet immediately stepped forward to open the door, bowing slightly as Coriolanus exited the vehicle.

He turned to offer Y/n his hand, his gaze unwavering as she placed her fingers lightly in his. His palm was cool but firm, his grip tightening around hers with a subtle yet possessive strength. “Welcome to Le Marbre Étoilé,” he said, his voice carrying a note of pride, each word measured and deliberate. His touch lingered as if to ground her amidst the overwhelming grandeur surrounding them, his icy blue eyes locking onto hers, commanding her full attention.

The restaurant’s entrance opened to reveal a grand lobby adorned with crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, and towering arrangements of fresh roses. The murmured conversations of the Capitol elite filled the air, mingling with the soft strains of a string quartet playing in the corner.

Snow placed a hand lightly on the small of Y/n’s back, guiding her through the crowd. Heads turned subtly as they passed, whispers rippling in their wake. Y/n couldn’t help but feel the weight of every gaze, but Snow walked with an unbothered confidence, as though the entire evening had been orchestrated solely for them.

A maître d’ appeared, bowing deeply. “Mr. President, your table is ready,” he announced, gesturing toward a private section of the restaurant.

“Excellent,” Snow replied, his tone clipped but polite. He glanced at Y/n, his icy blue eyes momentarily softening. “Shall we?”

Y/n nodded, allowing herself to be led further into the gilded halls of Le Marbre Étoilé, the quiet elegance of the setting only heightening her sense of anticipation.

The dinner began with a glass of sparkling Capitol wine, its bubbles shimmering like liquid gold in the crystal flutes. Y/n’s fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the glass, stealing a glance at Snow from beneath her lashes. His every movement was deliberate, and precise, from the way he swirled the wine in his glass to the subtle tilt of his head as he observed her.

“You’re quiet,” he remarked, breaking the silence that had settled over their secluded corner of the grand restaurant.

Y/n’s cheeks warmed, and she placed the glass back onto the table with care. “I suppose I’m not used to being in places like this,” she admitted, her voice soft.

Snow leaned forward slightly, the flickering candlelight casting sharp shadows over his features. “And yet, you carry yourself as though you belong here,” he said, his tone almost disarming. “Your poise betrays any claim of unfamiliarity.”

Y/n glanced down at her plate, feeling the weight of his words. “That’s kind of you to say, Mr. President.”

“Coriolanus,” he corrected smoothly once again. “You’ll find I prefer a more personal approach during private engagements.”

She nodded, her lips curving into a faint, polite smile, though she didn’t trust herself to speak again just yet. Her shyness was a strange comfort in this setting; it shielded her from the vulnerability of meeting his gaze too often.

The meal was a parade of Capitol extravagant appetisers of delicately arranged seafood, main courses of tender meat paired with rare vegetables, and desserts that looked more like works of art than food. Each dish was introduced with an air of reverence by the maître d’, and while Y/n appreciated the effort, she found herself more focused on the man seated across from her.

“Do you often dine with guests in such an... exclusive setting?” she asked cautiously, breaking the silence as she carefully cut into her entrée.

Snow’s lips twitched into what could only be described as a shadow of a smile. “Rarely,” he admitted, his icy blue eyes locking onto hers. “I value my time too greatly to squander it on idle company. This, however...” He paused, lifting his glass in a subtle gesture toward her. “This is a notable exception.”

Her heart fluttered, and she quickly dropped her gaze, feeling the heat creep into her cheeks. “That’s... flattering,” she murmured, fumbling for the right words.

“You’re being modest again,” he replied, his tone gentler than she expected. “I find it refreshing, truthfully. The Capitol is so often a place of excess, of posturing. It’s rare to find someone who doesn’t demand to be noticed but commands attention nonetheless.”

The compliment left her breathless, and she focused on her plate, her appetite fading as nervous energy took its place. “I’m not sure I deserve such praise,” she said finally, daring a glance at him.

Snow set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, studying her with a piercing intensity. “That humility is precisely what makes you deserving,” he said quietly, as though it were an irrefutable fact.

For a moment, the room seemed smaller, the grand space folding in on itself until it was just the two of them. The orchestra’s music faded into the background and the clink of glasses and murmured conversation from the other diners echoed a distant hum.

Y/n took a small sip of her wine, her fingers gripping the glass tightly as she tried to steady her nerves. There was something unnerving about the way he looked at her—not unkind, but calculated, as though he were peeling back her layers and uncovering secrets even she didn’t know she had.

“You’re quiet again,” he observed, his voice breaking through her thoughts.

She managed a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I suppose I’m still not used to this.”

“Then allow me to make you more comfortable,” he said smoothly, raising his glass. “To new beginnings, Y/n.”

She hesitated before lifting her glass to meet his, her smile tentative. “To new beginnings.”

As their glasses clinked softly, Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that this dinner was more than just a meal. It felt like the start of something she couldn’t quite name—something thrilling, terrifying, and inescapable.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Merry Christmas, Darlin' - Bob Floyd x Reader

A/N: A little Christmas morning fluff for our favourite WSO 🎄 This is my first of three entries for @sailor-aviator's Christmas Writing Challenge to celebrate the holidays with our favourite aviators.

pairing:  Bob Floyd x reader

warnings/content: sickeningly sweet Bob fluff. pregnancy. Bob as a dad.

word count: 1.5k

“Mommy! Daddy!” 

The sound of little voices filled the bedroom as your twin daughters, Lucy and Clara jumped onto the bed. You grumbled as your eyelashes fluttered open, a loud grunt coming from your husband as one of the girls inevitably dive bombed on top of his body.  You rolled over in bed, turning to face your husband, who was lifting up Clara and pulling her into bed with you, him and Lucy. Bob blindly stuck his arm out to the right, feeling around on the nightstand for his glasses. He put them on and blinked a couple of times to allow his eyes to adjust before laughing softly and kissing both Lucy and Clara on the forehead, playing softly with their hair as he held his girls close.

“Daddy, guess what!” The girls voices rang out in unison as they spoke excitedly. Lucy’s blonde curls bounced around her little face as she jumped up and down on the bed between you and Bob, her cherubic cheeks rosy and pink as she beamed at him.

“What is it, my little sweet peas?” Bob chuckled as he smiled at them both, leaning in to listen intently to what they had to say.

“Santa came to visit!” Clara exclaimed as Lucy squealed in delight.

Both girls nodded their heads quickly, giggling in perfect harmony with each other as they bounced on the bed, trying to wake you and Bob from your half-asleep states, enticing you to come downstairs and see what Santa had brought for them. Bob shook his head as he feigned surprise for the girls, his mouth agape in mock disbelief.

“No way, Santa came here?! You mean, the cookies we baked are all gone?”

The girls nodded and giggled again, before Lucy piped up and pointed towards the hallway.

“He left presents too! Our stockings are full. He left stuff for me and Clara and Mommy and you too, Daddy!”

“Mommy and me too?” Bob shook his head as he beamed at the girls, “Tell you two what, if you guys go head downstairs and give Mommy and I five minutes to get up and brush our teeth, we’ll come right downstairs and open those presents, sound good?”

The twins nodded in unison before scrambling off the bed. They hurried out of the room, the sound of little feet hammering down the wooden flooring in the hallway before padding down the carpeted stairs to the living room. Bob shook his head, laughing before turning to you and smiling, his deep blue eyes meeting yours as he placed his hand lovingly on your cheek. 

“Well, I bought us five minutes. Give or take, neither of the girls can tell time yet, thankfully.”

“What exactly are you planning on doing in those five minutes, Lieutenant Floyd?” You smirked as you turned on your side, leaning your head into your palm as you looked at him, his hand stroking your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well…” Bob playfully taps his chin as he thinks and laughs softly, “I’m sure I could give you an early Christmas gift in five minutes, but I’m not sure how enjoyable it’d be for you. I’d certainly enjoy it though, m’am” 

A wide smirk forms on Bob’s lips, grinning at you as he leaned in, pressing his soft lips against yours. His nose brushed against yours as your tongues tangled together. A low grunt escaped from Bob’s mouth, falling against your lips with a vibration, his hand dragging down your side, snaking its way up the side of your pajama shirt, stroking your soft skin. He placed his hand on your back, pulling your body in as close to his as possible, his lips trailing slowly from your mouth to your jaw, before making their way down your neck. You drew in a sharp breath as his lips found your exposed collarbone. Your eyes darted over to the alarm clock on the nightstand before landing back on Bob, whose lips were now sucking and nibbling at your skin.

“Bobby, you have two minutes left, and we still have to actually leave the bed,” you laughed and shook your head slightly, almost regretting that Bob didn’t tell the kids to go back to sleep for another hour.

“Mhmm, I can’t help it, you’re irresistible, darlin’,” He smirked as he ran his finger along your jawline, tilting your head up before pressing his lips to yours again. 

“Robert Floyd, you promised two four year old girls that we’d be downstairs in five minutes and all we were doing was getting up and brushing our teeth. We’ve done neither of those things in the last,” you frowned as you looked at the alarm clock again, “six minutes. You’re now late.”

“Alright, alright, I’m getting up,” He laughed softly, shaking his head as he threw the covers off of his long, lean body before swinging his legs off the bed and standing up. He looked to you and watched as you got yourself up, his lips curling up into another cheeky smirk as he took in your figure. 

“God, you’re incredible. I hope my Christmas present is you later tonight,” He grinned before strolling towards the ensuite bathroom. You chucked a pillow his way as you rolled your eyes at him.

“Behave yourself, Lieutenant. We have all of Christmas Day to get through first.” 

Bob shrugged his shoulders as he stood in the doorway to face you, brushing his teeth. He leaned over to spit in the sink before rinsing it down and wiping his mouth with his facecloth from the side of the sink. 

“Well, guess I better get downstairs and tame those two before they start unwrapping their presents without us,”

Bob’s hand found its way to your behind as you switched places with him in the bathroom, his deep blue eyes flashing a mischievous grin to you as he whispered in your ear. 

“You know, darlin’, I wouldn’t mind if we had another one. I mean, I love our girls, but think of how cute they’d be with a little brother or sister.”

You rolled your eyes as you put the toothpaste on your toothbrush before turning towards your husband with a grin. 

“You know, it’s funny you say that,” You began, before being interrupted by the sound of two little voices ringing out from the bottom of the stairs.

“Mommy, Daddy, hurry up!” The girls whined, their voices growing impatient as they waited for you and Bob to get moving.

Bob sighed and shook his head before kissing your cheek gently, He headed off downstairs while you finished brushing your teeth. You stepped into your slippers and pulled on one of Bob’s old sweatshirts before heading downstairs to join your family, where Bob was waiting with a cup of coffee for you, your daughters happily eating some cereal at the table, their blue eyes gazing longingly at the presents under the tree. You took the mug from your husband, a smile on your lips as you sipped the warm liquid carefully. As the girls finished eating, Bob cleared their dishes away before returning to his spot in the comfortable lazy boy chair in the living room. He watched as the girls began tearing open their stockings, shaking his head as he smiled to himself.

“Hey, don’t forget Santa left you a stocking too, Bobby,” you nodded, passing him the fabric stocking. You watched as Bob started opening it, the usual gifts you’d get for his stocking every year being stacked neatly on the table as he went through everything you’d gotten him. He stopped as he pulled out the last item, his blonde eyebrows arching slightly as he looked at it, turning it over in his hands. His eyes looked at you curiously, and his voice was reduced to a soft whisper as his cheeks flushed a soft pink hue.

“Darlin’...are you?” His sapphire blue eyes were full of hope and excitement as he looked at you, as if he was praying his guess about the little plastic stick in his stocking was right.

“I am,” you nod your head in confirmation as Bob gets up and wraps his arms around you tightly, his lips pressing to your forehead gently. 

“You’re serious? We’re having another baby?” he whispered, unsure if he should say it too loudly, in case the twins got their hopes up about a new sibling.

“We sure are, darlin’”, you smirked, imitating Bob’s signature pet name for you. 

Bob pulled you in tightly for a hug, his lips pressed to your cheek in a gentle, loving kiss. He whispered softly into your ear, his breath making the hairs on your neck stand on end as he spoke. 

"Honey, you've made this the best Christmas morning I could have ever dreamed of."

[qrrieterisunnq]

I would never do that to you; and her - Dawson Mercer

dawson!mercer x fem!reader Summary: You are pregnant with Dawson's baby, but you're afraid to tell him. When you do his reaction catches you off guard, in a great way as you two end up in bed. request: yes/no A/N: Hello! My first time writing smut, so I hope it isn’t as terrible as I think. Also English isn’t my first language, so be patient with me and if you find some error, don’t hesitate to correct me. I hope you will like it. Everything I write is a figment of my imagination! ikes are good, reblogs are better <3 gif not mine word count: 3,2K warning(s): fluff, pregnancy, oral (fem receiving), fingering, dirty talk, unedited, MINORS DNI - 18+ content below the cut

masterlist | wip's

After the announcement of the stars of the match, I slowly walked to the family waiting room to tell Dawson the news. I’m scared to tell him. I know he would be thrilled, but that feeling of uncertainty still resides in the pit of my stomach, along with our miracle.

I walk down the hall with other wives and girlfriends, with my hand before my stomach. Besides me and Clara, John Marino’s girlfriend, no one knows it. They are like family to us, and I’m so grateful for them.

“Breathe, babes, everything is gonna be fine,” she assured me while stroking my back.

“Yeah, I hope,” I let out a nervous sigh, fiddling with my fingers.

“Hey look at me! Dawson is a great man, he would never do anything stupid about the baby, okay? And if you have me and John we will always have your back, just like all boys from the team,” she smiles at me, giving my shoulders a little squeeze.

“Thank you!” I smile at her before we continue on our way to the family room.

When we walked in, Clara immediately pulled me to the couch and pushed me so we could sit down instead of staying the whole time while waiting on our boys.

I pull my phone, open it, and click on an Instagram icon to find out what’s new in the world of celebrities and my friends.

“Oh, y/n how are you?” Ellen asks you with a big smile on her lips as she makes her way toward you. Ellen is the mom of the Hughes brothers. She’s the sweetest woman you have met. She’s like mom to all the boys I dare to say.

“Ellen! Hi! I’m fine, how are ya?” I ask her with a smile as she pulls me in her embrace, hugging me tightly.

“Oh, you know, as a mom of three sons can be!” she laughs pulling from our hug. “I’m fine. Jim is being a pain in my ass as always but otherwise, I’m fine,” she tells me with a smile which makes me and Clara laugh. “Oh, hello dear!” she exclaims pulling Clara in a hug.

Sitting back down on the couch, I rest my head on the headrest closing my eyes. I blow out a deep breath thinking about our baby and what would be Dawson’s reaction.

I know I don’t have to be scared about his reaction because we both want kids, but I’m not sure if it’s too soon for us. Yes, we’ve been married for two years now but you both are just twenty-two and he is enjoying his NHL years.

As I sat here preoccupied with my thoughts I didn’t notice that the guys were already walking into the room. I stand up when I see my man walk into the room.

His eyes traveled around the room to find me. As soon as his eyes land on me a smile grows on his face and he immediately makes his way towards me.

Putting his back down beside me, he pulls me in a tight hug, kissing my forehead. “Hi, beautiful.”

“Hi, handsome. You played amazing today. I’m proud of you.” I whisper in his chest with a smile on my lips.

He slightly pulls away looking you in the eyes before he leans down and presses his lips against mine in a delicious kiss. His right hand takes its place on my cheek deepening the kiss as his tongue makes its way to meet mine.

A slight moan leaves my lips when his tongue starts exploring your mouth. With a grin, Dawson pulls away chuckling at your whine.

“Needy girl,” he smirks resting his hands on my ass, pulling me more into him. My cheeks turn red at his statement burying my head into his chest.

Your moment is interrupted by Jack and Luke, who pull Dawson away from you so they can hug you too, and have you for a minute.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Luke is the first to pull me in a hug kissing the side of my head. I and Luke have known each other since uni. We met because of my mistake when I accidentally poured my drink all over him. But I’m glad that I was so clumsy, because thanks to that I lately met my amazing hot ass husband.

“Yeah me too,” I whisper as I pull away from him only to be pulled in another bear hug, only this time from the middle Hughes brother.

“Hey, I’m glad you made it, Bubba!” he whispered in my ear, his stubble tickling my neck which made me squirm in his hug with a laugh.

“Yeah me too! You played amazing guys!” I laughed pulling away from his tight embrace.

“Sure and that’s why we lost,” Dawson says, the sarcasm clear in his voice as much as in his face.

“Hey, I mean it, okay! It doesn’t mean that you played terribly when you lost. You played amazing, it just wasn’t meant to be.” you shrug your shoulders smiling at them.

“God, if we weren’t already married I would marry right now.” John’s voice comes from behind me as he and Clara stop by us.

I let out a laugh, shaking my head at his statement. “In that case, you wouldn’t have your amazing wife! What would you do without her.”

“That’s true!” he smiles kissing Clara’s cheek.

“Ey, back off man, this is my woman,” Dawson growled playfully, hugging me from behind and resting his hands on my belly.

Clara’s eyes land on his hands, and then she quickly looks into my eyes tilting her head to the side. I just shake my head. I want to tell him when we’re alone.

I let out a deep breath and leaned onto Dawson. “Tired?” he whispered in my ear earning a chuckle from me.

“Shouldn’t I be the one to ask this question?” I ask him tilting my head to the side to see his smile.

“Probably.” he grins leaning into the kiss I happily give him.

“Okay, guys I think we saw enough! Especially Moosey here, he’s too young to see this.” Jack groans playfully.

“I’m not a kid, Jack!” Luke defends himself shoving Jack in the shoulder.

“Yeah leave my baby alone!” I say with a laugh, earning a mean gesture from Luke.

“Okay, Okay, we should get going. I think we all are tired and the only thing we want is a hot shower and bed.” Dawson tightens his hug around me, pulling me closer to him, which is in our situation impossible.

“Yeah, Merc is right!” John nods picking his bag from the ground. “Let’s go home!”

— — — — — — —

“Oh, finally home!” Dawson groans as soon as I unlock the doors and step inside our apartment.

“Yeah,” I nod slipping out of my coat.

“I’m gonna hit a shower and then we can have dinner, huh?” he states resting his hands on my hips as I grab his forearms.

“Sounds good.” I hummed in response. Dawson smiles kissing the tip of my nose before he pulls away, and makes his way to our bathroom.

I make my way into the kitchen and open the fridge to find something that I can do for our dinner, while is Dawson in the shower.

I found some chicken breasts, so maybe I can make them in a pan with some vegetables and quinoa.

I start with dicing the chicken, so I can marinate them in my honey marinade. When I'm done I put the pan on the stove, pour on it some oil, and let it heat up.

Meanwhile, I cut the vegetables I will put in the pan with the meat, which is broccoli, carrot, and zucchini.

When I'm done I put the meat on the heated pan letting it fry.

I take the quinoa out of the cabinet and rinse it twice so we don't eat any dirt. I put it in the pot with two mugs of water and let it boil.

I stir the meat lightly so it doesn't stick to the pan. I pour myself a glass of water leaning my back on the counter and thinking about the way how I tell Dawson about our baby. I'm scared he will leave me. I mean, we're both so young for a baby, even for our marriage, but I'm just scared he doesn't want the baby right now.

He has his best hockey years ahead of him, and I'm just scared he'll blame me, that I ruin them.

"Oh, this smells delicious," Dawson's voice surprised me just like his hand around my waist. "What is it?" he rests his chin on the crock of my neck.

“Chicken with quinoa and vegetables. I know you probably don’t have the mood for my healthy recipes, but…” I trail off, tilting my head to the side to look him in the eyes.

“No, no, I love your meals, love,” he assured me kissing the tip of my nose and placing his hands on my belly.

“Okay,” I smile. “Can you serve the table, please?” nervousness starts to take over my calm voice.

“Sure love.” Dawson pulls away from me, getting two plates for us and the table ready.

When the food is ready I take the pan to the table as Dawson takes the pot and places it next to the pan.

“You can eat now, I'll just cut the vegetables.” I smile at him when I notice him leaning against the table.

“That’s okay, I wait for you,” he mumbled as he mixed the meat and vegetables.

With the vegetables on the plate, I sit down on a chair opposite Dawson, waiting for him to serve himself the food. He reached his hand out, signaling me to hand him my plate.

“Babe, you’re quiet today, is everything okay?” Dawson asks with a full mouth of food, a concern in his eyes.

I slowly pull the meat off the fork, which I slowly chew and swallow. I put the cutlery on the plate and fold my hands in my lap.

“I…uhm…I have something to tell you. I will understand if you want to end it or something…” I trail off.

“Hey, I will never leave you, okay!” Dawson states firmly, grabbing my hand in his.

“I…ugh…I am pregnant,” I mumble out. “I-I know we’re young and even the marriage was so soon, so I will understand if you won’t have something to do with us.” I ramble out nervously.

“You. Are. What?” he shouts out, dropping his cutlery on the table.

“I’m pregnant,” I whisper and I feel how my eyes start to tear. I set my eyes down on my hands in my lap, tears streaming down my cheeks as Dawson doesn’t say anything.

As I hear the sound of the chair being pushed back, a sob escapes my mouth and I look up at him. He’s standing here, one hand over his mouth, the other on his hip, tears glistening in his eyes as he looks behind me. As soon as his eyes find mine, he walks to me and squats in front of me.

“We are going to have a baby, y/n,” he whispers with a smile on his face. “You and me, baby. Oh god, I fucking love you.” he laughs pulling me down into a deep passionate kiss.

Our lips moved in sync. His tongue runs above my lower lip, making its way into my mouth, lightly caressing mine.

The tears make our kiss salty, but breathtaking as it always is.

“You’re not mad?” I whisper in his lips, our foreheads leaning against each other.

“Why would I be mad?” he furrows his brows in confusion.

“I…we never…ugh…we never talk about kids and, and were only twenty. Your hockey career is at the beginning so I thought you, don’t want kids, so you don’t want u-” Dawson stops me, shaking his head.

“Don’t even finish it,” he swallows shaking his head. “I would never leave you. I would never do that to you, or her. I want a family with you, either way, I would never marry you.” he places his hand on my belly, caressing it.

“Her?” I chuckle at him.

“Yeah, my princess.” he nods, nudging his nose to mine. His hands slowly make his way to my waist, pulling me towards him. His semi-hard cock pressed against my hip.

“What if it’s boy?” I grin at him, swinging my hands around his neck, bringing him closer if it’s even possible.

“Then he’ll be our second nhl star in the family.” grinning, his lips graze mine as his hands make their way to my ass. His hand taps on my tight signaling me to jump up.

I wrap my legs around his waist, and he places his on my tights. His lips captured mine in a heated kiss. I return his kisses as passionately as he does.

I have no idea where it comes from. Not even two minutes ago I was sitting on the chair crying and now I’m in his arms, while he walks into our bedroom with a semi-hard cock.

He places me gently on our bed, still kissing me. His, now hard cock is pressing against my cunt, which makes me let our moan of pleasure

Dawson takes that as his chance to escape my lips and attack my neck with kisses and soft nibbling.

His hand slips under my shirt and slowly makes its way to my breast. He massages my breast, and his lips slowly move to the hem of my t-shirt.

“Dawson,” I moan when his thumb runs over my hard nipple, my pussy throbbing.

“This needs to be off.” he tugged at the shirt, signaling me to get up. As soon as he pull off my shirt, his mouth attacked my nipple, sucking on it, his fingers taking care of the other one.

“Daws,” I winced. “Don’t tease.” I jerk my his up only to meet with his hard cock which makes me wetter even more.

“Not teasing, I just can’t get enough of you,” he mumbled, letting go of my nipple and his lips collapsed with mine in a delicate kiss.

I let out a whimper when his finger slid in between my folds. I didn’t even notice when he slipped his hand in here. “Fuck!” he cursed. “You’re so wet,” he hums. “And this all only for me, right?” he nudges his nose in mine earning a nod from me as his finger starts circling on my clit. “Words baby.”

“Yeah, only for you, Mr. Mercer,” I whine jerking my hips to make him quicken his moves.

“Say it again,” he growls in my ear, his fingers quickening their pace on my clit, the well-known pleasure forming in my lower belly.

“Mr. Mercer.” a cry of pleasure leaves my lips, she he pushes one of his fingers inside me, moving slowly with him as his thumb still circling on my clit.

“Fuck,” he growls in my neck, slipping his hand out of my panties he brings it to his mouth sucking on them, before he puts them on my parted lips. I take them in my mouth sucking hard on them, my tongue licking them. “Oh, baby,” he pulls his fingers out, getting off of me. With a slight smirk on his lips, he slowly pulls off his shirt, revealing his toned chest and abs which makes me clench my tights together.

“Take them off.” Dawson points towards the shorts I have still on me.

As soon as he says it my shorts are flying somewhere just like my panties. I lay down, my legs bend in my knees, so my pussy is on display for him.

“Oh god, baby. So gorgeous. Naked only for me, your wet cunt glistening.” he hums, slowly crawling towards me, his legs between mine, hands on the sides of my head and his cock laying on my stomach. He presses his lips to mine, sucking harshly, causing me to moan his name.

“Daws, please.” I moan, my legs clenching around his body.

“Daws please, what?” he mocks me, pressing his body more into me, his chest pressed to my chest.

“Fuck me with your tongue.” I breathe out, avoiding his eyes.

“As you wish, ma’am,” he smirks. He presses his lips to my jaw trailing kisses down my neck. He sucks on my spot on my neck, causing me to squirm underneath him.

“Daws, please.” I tug on his hair as I push his head down towards my throbbing pussy.

He smirks and in a moment his lips are clasped around my clit. I let out a cry of pleasure as I tugged on his hair. His tongue swipes around my clit, sucking on it harshly.

His tongue leaves my clit, his hands grab my thighs above my ass, he swings them over his shoulders and his thumbs hold my folds open. His tongue lick his way up from my entrance to clit.

Moaning I tug at his hair making him groan. The vibrations of his voice on my clit makes me clench my tights around his head.

“Taste so good, baby,” he whispers in my tight, placing soft kisses here. “So sweet. So mine.” and with that he dips his head in my pussy, making me come.

He drives me through my orgasm, licking all of my juice. He let go of me, stripping from his pants and briefs, his hard cock slapping over his lower belly. I clench my tights at the sight of his cock. The tip is red glistening from the precum. I swallow hardly looking into his eyes, smirk lays on his lips as his hand grabs his cock tugging at it in slow strikes.

He places himself between my legs, I wrap my legs around his waist smirking up at him. He smirks, sliding his tip between my folds making me shiver from the pleasure.

He pushes his tip slowly inside me, waiting for me to get used to it. Even after these years we're together it's impossible to get used to his size, he's really big and thick. I nod, and he takes the signal, slowly sinking all his length inside me.

Moans leave our mouths at the feeling of pleasure. He bends down, pressing his lips on mine, his hands on the sides of my head, as he slowly jerks his hips, to meet mine. His thrusts are slow and deep, just how he loves it. 

His lips now kissing my neck, which makes me moan all I please.

"I love you," he groans, his thrusts faster and deeper, making me clench around him. "Both of you."

"I love you too!" I cry out loud, clenching around him as he perfectly hits my g-spot, my legs shaking around his waist.

His hands sneak under my head bringing me closer to him, our orgasms hitting us at the same time.

He collapsed on top of me, our breaths were heavy. The air around us smells like sex, sweat, and love.

He turns us around, me laying on top of him, his hand resting on my ass and the other on my belly, caressing it slightly. 

"My family." he kisses my forehead, inhaling my scent.

"Our family." I kiss his chest smiling up at him.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Shadowhunters

Enthrallment by smilebackwards

It does look a little bad, Parmela thinks, looking at it from outside. As more specialists had been called in for consultation, they’d decamped to one of the larger conference rooms—eschewing attendance at A, B, AB, & O: The Impact of Blood Type on Non Subject Specific Blood Magic, because this was vastly more interesting and potentially important—and there are a round dozen high-level warlocks clustered around Alec, poking at him with magic.

Or: Alec attends the Magical Inventions and Advances convention in hopes of recruiting warlocks for another Downworld Cabinet. The warlocks, however, are more interested—and concerned—by the blue magical aura following Alec around.

DC

temporal fraternity by envysparkler

Damian clears his throat. “I require your assistance.”

The words come out easier with the benefit of practice and the knowledge that no one will remember them tomorrow. Today. Tomorrow-today.

The Umbrella Academy

cut me open and i still bleed red by aletterinthenameofsanity

Part 1 of the odds were never in our favor

Ben knows his fellow mentors pretty well, for how long he's spent here, behind the screens of the Games, watching as his tributes die.

Allison, from District One, has a way with the sponsors. Just a word placed here or there, stealthily dropped into conversation, and she can get her tributes the shit they need.

In his time as a Mentor, Klaus has developed a habit of drinking to get through the Games, and through the rest of his life, really- anything to avoid the truth of what's happening, the ghosts of the children he and Ben have sent to their deaths.

Very few people remember what Five’s name was before the Games. Caesar Flickerman and the Gamemakers nicknamed him that when he took out the entire Career Pack on his second day in the Arena.

Vanya’s the newest Mentor, the victor of the Seventy-Third Hunger Games.

Diego’s one of Ben’s oldest not-quite friends. A Victor from District Ten, he’d gone into the Games knowing how to kill an animal.

All the other Mentors Ben knows try never to get attached. Luther, on the other hand, doesn't forget a single name.

(A story of seven victors of the Hunger Games and the lives they live as Mentors.)

Danny Phantom

The Promised Land by redrobin1989

Danny Fenton has been running for years, from his abusive parents, from Vlad's experiments, from his freakish powers. He expected to be running his whole life until he found his way to a small town that felt like the home he'd never had.

M!ik

Study Dates Are Not Real Dates by StormySteady

A very important exam is coming up, and Asmodeus is trying his hardest to get Iruma and Clara to study for it. But his soulmates have other ideas.

Star Wars

Starlight, In All Its Forms by Soap_And_Lye

When Luke was eight, he was taken from his home on Tatooine and delivered into the hands of the emperor and his right hand.

When Luke was sixteen, he overheard the emperor's plans to steal a tiny Force sensitive child and saves him first, before being caught and dragged back to his masters' keeping.

When Luke was eighteen, he finds that same child on Gideon's cruiser, and spares both him and his family, including a silver clad Mandalorian.

And when Luke was twenty-four, he is captured by the Rebellion (captured or did he just let it happen? Really up for debate) and secretly sent as a prisoner to Mandalore, where Mand'alor Din Djarin rebuilds his planet and raises his son.

And the rest was history. Or the beginning.

Clone Wars

will you be an anarchist with me? by a_alene

Once the Kenobi floodgates are opened, they cannot be closed. Cody has apparently been keeping an itemized list of disagreements, and he is determined to tell Rex each and every one of them.

Kenobi refuses to listen to Cody’s input. Kenobi throws himself into battle with no regard for previously established battle plans. Kenobi uses the Force so recklessly and obviously that every undercover assignment is blown within the first few minutes. Kenobi is a hypocrite who berates Cody for sidestepping protocol, but flouts it himself at every opportunity.

CT-7567: bet you wish you had skywalker now

CC-2224: I wish for nothing but the cold embrace of space

Right. And he says Kenobi’s dramatic.

(Marshal Commander Cody and High General Obi-Wan Kenobi of the 212th cannot stand each other. Rex doesn't know why this is his problem.)

poetry is what you find (in the dirt in the corner) by fivecenturiesverse

(In which Cody becomes an anonymous poet after the war and his brothers find out.)

Rex launches forwards immediately and so does Bly, because he can admit to himself that he likes gifts. He likes gifts a whole lot more than Cody and Wolffe, anyway, who both act like martyrs who don’t need any material love. “Poetry, vod?” Bly asks, incredulous. “Cody’s right, you are going soft.”

“It’s by a clone,” Fox says, defensively, “it’s quite good, actually. For poetry. It made Sergeant Hound cry at the service.

[luminecent-sky]

Ooo i just got called out by that (hook still at Lv.1 at e3)

Well, in the case of Hook, she thinks (and this is reinforced by all the adults) that the Aeon of Fate wants to keep her safe! Because the Aeon knows best, and obviously, this is one of those moments.

While some of the older followers are more saddened by this, Asta and other followers that have responsibilities are thankful that they were given the strength and use it to do their duties more easily.

Teens like Clara, Yanqing, and HuoHuo, however....

Silence falls upon the teens as they take a break from training on the Astral express, seeing the adults come back from another successful adventure with their grace, the faint feeling of divinity that enveloped the train leaving it soon after they settled in. 

Yanqing looks over at the other teens in envy as they talk about the small adventures they sometimes joined their Aeon on.... Lynx looked particularly pleased as she recounted a valiant fight against a silvermane commander that she participated in.

It had only been a few hours since she became a vessel of Fate, quickly gaining power, and only a few of them could imagine of, unless you were Qingque or Pela, though the latter had confessed that her growth had been stopped as soon as a certain member of the Nameless reawakened his Vidyadhara powers.

Still, surrounded by other vessels that were younger than him, though being a teenager himself by the Xianzhou standards still stung. Was he not strong enough? Not capable enough? He knew that Sushang felt the same, but she still had something that he envied, she was at least a vessel with multiple glowing eidolons. He wasn't even chosen. 

.

.

.

 The Aeon was there when he fought the Stellaron hunters, when he fought Jingliu and he still lost, despite how their grace had done their damndest to help him triumph, guiding Pollux as she fought him under the control of that wicked woman, Kafka... were those battles, tests? 

Did the others have to face such things before they became vessels? Has he failed in the eyes of Fate? Was it the will of Fate that he could never be chosen? He sat there polishing his swords as doubt continued to swirl in his mind, he has to get better, for himself, and to prove that he was worthy enough for the Aeon to look upon him as a vessel worth relying on. The deep-seeded fear of abandonment rearing its ugly head the longer he dwelled on it. 

He needed to train, get his mind off of it.

—

Silver Wolf was getting bored, her games had gotten boring, and having no part in Elio's current script aside, she had to start from scratch, thanks to Herta and Screwllum* removing her accounts... along with the fact that she wasn't chosen as a vessel, 

It shouldn't bother her. This was fine, even Kafka wasn't chosen, the gacha didn't roll in her favour and all that. But it did sting, especially when Blade became a vessel, one of the main vessels, always returning back to base healed and with an expression of peace, unnerving to those who hadn't spent any length of time around him. 

Sending a hologram to the Astral express, she had the chance to talk to Pollux, to connect to their Aeon before the faint divinity she could feel faded away. 

She could never get used to it, the feeling of something watching you from every angle, seeing you, and through you. As the 'hacker', being unable to hide behind a screen, a hologram never sat right with her... she would only show herself when she wanted to cause chaos, or something really peaked her interest.

But lately, it seemed like the world was shifting again. The way that the other vessels moved seemed to be more.... lethargic, like their god had gotten tired and bored of them, it was unnerving to see the usually chipper and smiling members of the Astral express like this.

Until she found out the reason for this development, their god had encountered a lull in interest, much of the content had become tedious, boring, and much like a chore. But it would be alright, surely this game world would expand and bring their gaze back to her.

Just need to wait for the next update.

-

Clara always strived to be a good kid, caring for everyone in the vagrants' camp, making sure all the machines were in working condition and such.

It was always her dream to have everyone get along, no fighting or resentment, so she was overjoyed when the Aeon set their sights on her home, maybe they could really help unite everyone, sure they fought with Mr. Svarog, but it was a misunderstanding!

And after they came to help life had been slowly improving for everyone in Belebog.

They no longer had to fight with the other miners, and they could finally see the sunlight, feeling the breeze from the overworld. As a whole new world of opportunities opened up for her and the people of the Underworld.

But as she saw the others become blessed, blessed to help, blessed to make a difference in their slowly recovering planet, she felt empty.

Why was she not allowed the same? Was she not good enough? Had her efforts to help those she cared about lacking in the eyes of their Aeon?

Even if the other vagrants and robots assured her of the contrary, that seed of doubt would stay in her heart, taking root and slowly growing.

Nourished by the passing of time, as their Aeon moved to help other worlds, akin to a wound left to fester.

She hoped that one day she would be good enough to be seen by their god.

All she could do was wait.

A/n: no u didn't see this posted last year, tnx

lmaoo it rotted for so long, i will make a part 2 to this i think

[d0llcuries]

Hey beautiful! What do you think it would be like to have a childhood love with Neteyam? I would love to see this written by you, your writing is impeccable❤️

TWO FLYING FAN LIZARDS

pairing(s): neteyam x fem!na'vi reader

summary: alongside a boy destined for greatness only, you suffer

author's note: my first ever request i am geeking out rn!!! ◝(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) ◜♡ this was such a delight to write and i truly hope it lives up to ur expectations :3 also pls send more requests i begggggggg. second also,, to gain the most out of your reading experience i recommend listening to “let you go” by clara la san

(i would link it but it doesn't work for sum reason ( ˶•ᴖ•) !!)

edit: oh wait nvm i figured it out :p

your earliest memories of neteyam are filled with the fond experiences of your shared childhood. you remember the days when your mothers would gather under the open sky, their laughter ringing out like music while you sat beside neteyam. he was the boy with golden eyes, always grinning, always curious, and with him, even the quietest moments seemed to hold something special.

you were shy, clinging to your mother’s side, too nervous to speak or even meet the gaze of others. but neteyam, with his patient nature, never made you feel awkward or rushed. his presence had a quiet sort of assurance, like he knew you'd come out of your shell when you were ready. all he had to do was wait. he was oh so patient and gentle with you in fear that by even speaking too loud he might scare you away from him. you didn’t have to say much, anyway; he’d simply be there, drawing you into his world without a single word.

one day, when you were no older than six, the two of you sat by a small stream, its crystal-clear waters bubbling softly as they wound their way through the lush, bioluminescent foliage. nearby, a pair of glowing fan lizards darted between the trees, their wings shimmering as they moved through the thick, humid air. neteyam pointed them out to you, comparing them to your friendship with him. “that would be us if we were kenten.” you laughed softly at his silliness. he always tried to make you laugh, being the one to make you smile brought him immense pleasure, even then.

“come on, let's go fishing.” he said, turning to look at you with that smile of his, the one that made your stomach feel fluttery and warm. you had only blinked at him, unsure of how to answer, you didn't know how to fish. but that didn’t stop him. he stood up, pulling you gently by the hand. “come on, i will show you how.”

and that’s how it was with him. he didn’t push you to speak when you didn’t want to. instead, he’d offer you his hand, his patience, and his unspoken promise that whatever he was leading you toward would always be safe.

you and neteyam shared countless quiet moments like that. together, you wove crowns from soft vines, his strong hands clumsy at first while your nimble ones worked with natural ease. when his attempts would unravel, he’d laugh, his cheeks flushing the faintest shade of blue, but you’d always fix it with a smile and a flower tucked behind his ear, then everything would be okay again.

as you grew older, you noticed that things began to change. not so much between you and neteyam—no, he was always the same, always there—but the world around you shifted. neteyam was growing into his role, becoming more of a warrior, more of a leader. he spent less time with you, not because he wanted to, but because he had to. training demanded long hours, and when he wasn’t training, he was surrounded by other boys—future warriors, like himself. there were fewer afternoons by the stream and more days where you’d find yourself watching him, your heart oddly heavy with despaira sickening feeling that made your nose burn. they laughed loudly, joked around in ways you couldn’t quite relate to. eywa.. the way your heart would twist when one of the girls would playfully shove him, her eyes bright with something you didn’t want to name. you didn’t like feeling jealous. it wasn’t something you were used to, and it made you uncomfortable. but there it was, that little knot of jealousy, always sitting heavy in your stomach whenever you saw him with someone else. maybe there was something wrong with you. while neteyam was the easygoing, confident and popular warrior, you were still the quiet one. the shy one. the one who couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being on the outside looking in.

you told yourself it didn’t matter, that this was just the way things were supposed to be, but it hurt. a lot more than you were willing to admit. you’d tell yourself it didn’t matter, you had your place in his life, but the ache in your chest told you otherwise. you couldn’t help but feel out of place, as if you were being left behind, still sitting on the sidelines while everyone else moved forward without you.

you missed him. you missed the quiet connection you shared, the way he’d look at you like you were the only person in the world. you missed having him all to yourself.

you wondered if he missed that too.

you couldn't even wallow in good conscience, either. he wasn't doing anything wrong, he hadn't hurt you intentionally. and it wasn’t that neteyam ignored you. he never did. whenever he saw you, his face would light up in that way that made your heart skip, and he’d always make time for you, even if it was just a brief moment between his training sessions. but it wasn’t the same. you weren’t the same.

you weren’t blind to the fact that some of the other boys teased him for it—hanging out with a girl, the way he always seemed to make sure you were okay, even when you were off to the side. they’d throw comments his way, playful jabs meant to make him feel embarrassed, but neteyam never let it bother him. he’d shrug it off, flash them that confident smile, and maybe toss back a joke of his own. but he never let their teasing get in the way of the way he treated you. you were his friend, his closest friend, and nothing anyone said would change that.

what you didn’t know was that neteyam never let their words change the way he saw you. no matter how much they teased or questioned why hung around you, he would always defend you, though he never told you as much. to him, you were more than just a childhood companion. you were the one who knew him in ways no one else did, the one he could always count on, even if the two of you had drifted a little. you were his person. the one he could be quiet with. the one he could just be neteyam with, not the future olo’eyktan, not the skilled hunter. just him. he’d speak of you in ways that made their words fall flat. he’d tell them about how skilled you were with weaving, how you had a way with animals that no one else did, how your quiet nature wasn’t a weakness but a strength. he’d say all these things with such conviction that eventually, the teasing would stop, and some of his friends even began to speak to you with a newfound respect. not that you ever knew why. no, neteyam never told you how he stood up for you, how he made sure everyone knew just how important you were to him.

he thought about you more than he should, really. even when he was training, his mind would wander, wondering what you were doing, if you were sitting by the stream like you used to, if you missed him the way he missed you. he never said anything, though. not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know how. neteyam was a leader, a warrior—he wasn’t supposed to get caught up in feelings like this. but when it came to you, he couldn’t help it.

sometimes, he’d catch you watching him, your eyes soft and sad in a way that made his chest ache. and on those days, he’d find a way to slip away from the others, to find you and remind you that you still mattered to him. he’d sit with you in the quiet places, just like you used to, and you’d talk about everything and nothing all at once. or sometimes, you wouldn’t talk at all, and that was okay too. because being with you, even in silence, was always better than being anywhere else.

the years went on like that, this quiet dance between you. a push and pull that neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt. neteyam would go off and train, surround himself with the others, and you’d watch from a distance, feeling that familiar sting of jealousy. but then he’d come back to you, in those small stolen moments, and everything would feel right again.

in the stillness of the night, when the village had quieted and the stars blinked softly above, you would often find yourself beneath the great tree, kneeling before its glowing roots. with trembling hands, you’d reach out to the sacred tendrils, allowing them to intertwine with your queue, the warmth of tsaheylu forming a direct connection to eywa herself. as soon as the bond was made, a soft hum filled the air, a rhythm of life, and the world seemed to fade away. you would close your eyes, letting the sensation of eywa’s presence wrap around you, offering comfort to the ache deep within. through the bond, you would silently pour out your heart, sharing the loneliness that had taken root, the hurt of watching neteyam slip further into the world of others while you were left behind. you missed the days when he was yours—if only in the quiet ways no one else saw—and the memories of those moments felt like threads slowly unraveling in your hands.

as you made tsaheylu, eywa would listen, her presence gentle yet unwavering, and you could feel her understanding pulse through you, as if she too mourned the shifting tides of your life. you sought her wisdom, asking why it was that neteyam’s laughter with others felt like a knife to your chest, and why you no longer felt enough in his eyes. in that sacred connection, though, eywa offered something more than answers—she gave you peace, a quiet reminder that your worth was not tied to neteyam’s presence or absence. though your heart still ached, there was a growing strength within you, a stirring realization that you, too, were part of the balance of this world, and it was time to let yourself grow. the bond with eywa whispered gently, nudging you forward, reminding you that while you could not control neteyam’s path, you could choose your own, and in that, there was a power you had long forgotten.

it was clear that the great mother had heard you.

as time went on, you changed too. slowly but surely, your once-soft voice became stronger, more assured. you spoke up during gatherings, your words thoughtful and careful, earning the respect of those around you. your smile seemed a little brighter, your laugh rang out a little louder. even the other girls began to take notice, welcoming you into their circles in ways they hadn’t before. the quiet, shy girl he’d known since childhood was beginning to take up more space, stepping into her own.

the older women would often call on you, noticing the quiet grace with which you handled tasks. your hands had become deft at weaving intricate patterns into cloth, your fingers swift and sure, and soon enough, your skill was sought after for more than just small adornments. you became a familiar presence in the community, helping gather herbs for healers or assisting with the intricate beadwork on ceremonial attire. the elders would smile as you passed, offering words of praise, their eyes warm with approval as they watched you grow into yourself. in their gaze, you no longer felt like the shy girl trailing behind—there was a new respect, one you had earned for all by yourself.

neteyam was so proud of you. maybe now that you weren't so painfully uncomfortable in public settings, he could spend more time with you! you were more vibrant now, more seen. it was like the world was finally catching up to what neteyam had always known—that you were special. some of his friends, the very ones who used to tease him for spending so much time with you, began to gravitate toward you. they were curious, drawn in by the way you carried yourself now, with a grace and confidence that was undeniable. he’d catch glimpses of them laughing with you, their eyes lingering a little too long, and it stirred something in him that he didn’t quite understand at first. it was a strange, uncomfortable feeling—one that settled deep in his chest, coiling tight and hot.

his now, increasingly annoying, friends admired you, spoke of you in ways that made him violet with discomfort. neteyam didn’t like it. he didn’t like the way they looked at you, as if they were seeing something new in you, something that had always been his to see. he wasn’t used to sharing you like this, wasn’t used to watching other people discover the parts of you that he had cherished in private. it didn’t sit well with him, though he told himself it was just because things were changing, and change was always hard.

the realization hit him one afternoon, as he watched one of his friends catch your attention, making you laugh in that bright, easy way of yours. neteyam felt a pang of something sharp and uncomfortable, something that burned hot in his chest. jealousy. it was jealousy. and with it came the sudden, undeniable truth that he’d been avoiding for far too long.

you weren’t just his childhood friend anymore. you weren’t just the girl he’d spent years playing with, weaving crowns by the stream and catching the light in the water. you were more than that. you were special in a way he hadn’t fully understood until now, and the thought of someone else seeing you like that—of someone else making you smile the way he always had—made him feel like he was losing something important.

in that moment, as he watched you laugh, so vibrant and full of life, neteyam realized what he had been denying for far too long. maybe you weren’t just his closest friend. maybe you were more than just the girl who had always been by his side. maybe, just maybe, he liked you in a way that made his heart race and his thoughts stumble. it was a slow realization, creeping up on him like the setting sun, and by the time it fully settled in his chest, he knew. this wasn’t just friendship anymore.

lmk if this whole “shy yn” bit is annoying or uncomfortable, it feels like the most comfortable thing to write for me but i can swing in any direction u guys preferrrr

[quietwingsinthesky]

I think the nature of Clara haterism on Tumblr can’t be fully understood without the historical context of 2013. Namely that by the time of DW season 7b Moffat was widely hailed as The Bogeyman Of All Misogyny Ever. Clara was considered THE prototypical Shallow Moffat Girl, and she became a sort of figurehead for everything wrong with the show. (Bc everyone was maybe 14 and Smith was too beloved to insult.) Consequently, she evokes a kneejerk bad faith reading response in many users even today.

yeah, alright, i can see that. i am surprised that, at least as far as i’ve seen, amy & river don’t get the same treatment? or if they did, it hasn’t persisted half as long as opinions on clara have. Because having now seen how all three of them were written, amy got treated. so much worse with The Misogyny™️, and River bounces between ‘actually a fascinating character’ and ‘moffat wrote a sexy girlboss who wants to fuck the doctor’ so hard it gives me whiplash. (and i say this as a River enjoyer, I love her and she deserves so much better lmao.)

Of the three of them, I think Clara actually comes out a lot better written overall? She’s allowed more space to be a character rather than be a woman, if that makes sense. Sure, bit of a rocky start in s7, and I can certainly see why the Impossible Girl thing could be aggravating to some people. (I think it was. Fine. fantastic episode conceptually that sort of fell apart when it came to actually doing anything.) but Clara in s8 (and the start of s9) is fantastic. Her relationship with Danny and the Doctor is messy and deceptive and so understandable. “Listen” as an episode almost felt like ‘hey what if the clara putting herself in the doctor’s past was actually interesting and impacted him’. Her becoming more like the Doctor, especially after losing Danny, both as an effort to hold on tight to the only person she perceives as keeping her moving forward and giving her a purpose AND because to her, the Doctor is able to lose so much and not be destroyed by it and she wants that (without really understanding just how much this life is fucking him up, too.), is just. fantastic.

where was i going with this. i have no idea. my point, i think, is: i guess i can see how initial reactions to clara might color a less than flattering picture of the rest of her, but :( consider: i love her so so much and everyone should be niceys to her.

[aerithisms]

i think my problem with this dw season arc accusing the audience of fanbrain for theorising about ruby is that it both feels deceitful and isn't actually that compelling from a character perspective. the season goes out of its way to build up supernatural mystery around ruby and even invokes susan more heavily than ever before in a way that is deliberately trying to get the audience to make those connections. and then it turns around and says you stupid idiot why would you ever try to connect these dots i have deliberately tried to get you to connect.

building up a mystery only for the character to be ordinary is an impossible girl arc redux only this time accusing the viewer of failing to see the humanity of the companion, whereas the impossible girl arc was turning that accusation on the doctor. 7b didn't really blame the audience for viewing clara as a puzzle and in fact several times spells out the fact that clara is perfectly ordinary before the big reveal to give the audience a chance to catch on. as 7b goes on, instead of laying the mystery on thicker, the audience just gets more and more affirmations that clara is a normal human being (rings of akhaten, journey to the centre of the tardis, hide). i found this approach compelling because it was rooted in character, focusing on the doctor's disconnection from humanity/the gendered dynamic of a man treating a woman as his manic pixie mystery to pull him out of grief. s14's meta approach of accusing the viewer feels both unfair, given it has deliberately led the viewer towards theorising, and personally less compelling to me because it wasn't tied into character in any way.

the thing about rey's parentage in tlj is that the reason rian johnson chose to go for that reveal was that it was the only answer that was interesting. none of the theories - rey is a skywalker, rey is a kenobi, and even the eventually canonical rey is a palpatine - were interesting or satisfying because they brought nothing compelling to the table for the story being told. the only satisfaction to be gained from those answers was a fanbrained "omg rey is important because she's related to that guy from the other movie." on top of that, rey desperately wants her parents to have been important, to give her life and her abandonment some kind of significance. so them being ordinary provided the most compelling trajectory for her character because it was the thing she least wanted to hear. it forced her to do the most introspection and growth, as well as tying into the film's themes about the capacity of ordinary people to be special. it wasn't just a choice made to "gotcha" the viewer, it was rooted in character.

i don't think ruby's mother being ordinary accomplishes the same thing. by invoking susan, s14 is engaging with the most egregious example of the doctor's streak of abandonment, which has potential to be very compelling in relation to ruby (and now also the doctor's) own abandonment issues. theories that ruby might be susan, or be somehow related to susan, or somehow related to the doctor, weren't just fanbrained "omg she's related to that guy i know from the classic series." they were theories genuinely rooted in character and the potential to explore both the doctor and ruby's issues with abandonment. and this is something the show willingly led fans towards by invoking susan so much in the first place. so for the show to turn around and act like they were shallow out of nowhere ideas when they were not shallow and were based on potential character conflicts the show itself deliberately invoked, feels misguided.

as well as that, ruby's mother being ordinary does not require that same growth from ruby as it did for rey because it is exactly what ruby wanted to hear. she never wanted her mother to be important, she just wanted to know who her mother was and have a connection with her. so finding out she was a normal woman who still loves her and wants to be a part of her life is everything she's ever wanted. it doesn't introduce interesting conflict for her the way rey's parents being ordinary did for her, because they were written as different characters with different hangups over their abandonment.

tl;dr i don't necessarily dislike ruby's mother being ordinary as an idea but compared to the things it was inspired by - 7b and star wars - it is not nearly as compelling in terms of how it relates to the characters or themes. and the meta angle, while conceptually interesting, doesn't quite work for me because it feels a little manipulative of the audience.

[termitnik]

what are some common misconceptions about pathologic characters that ur sick of seeing in fandom spaces

anon thank you for blessing me with this wonderful ask this fine day

i'm gonna keep it pretty short for daniil because i don't want this to become a defense post about him and i think i've already said all there is to say but literally can we stop mischaracterizing him to this degree? it's very obvious that daniil does care about the town and the people around him given that he keeps trying to help in any way he can even when he has nothing to personally gain by doing so. and unless you're going for all the 'i'm an asshole' options in his dialogue he's actually polite and even endearing at certain points? especially that considering that during his own route he's pretty much thugging it out on his own, if anything helping the other two playable characters instead of the other way round, but in the haruspex and chageling route he's the one you turn to for help when stuff gets tough. here's a post that includes some of his lines that illustrate this point. also the implication that he's some clueless asshole that doesn't know what he's doing while artemy is The Good Doctor That Saves Everyone TM is a horrible misreading of the story and the framing of the plot. the bachelor's route is specifically a story about a person who finds themselves in such a hostile setting that, despite their best efforts, is unable to find their footing and ultimately fails at everything they try to accomplish. by interpreting this aspect of the game as daniil himself being incompetent you have missed out one of the most major points this game is trying to make.

as for artemy, i partly blame this on the developers themselves and how they handled his p2 characterisation but i dont like how the grittier aspects of his character are ignored in favor of a loving father persona. artemy can be a huge dick in classic, as can all three playable characters and a big part of why i like his and daniils relationship so much is because they're both these cold, reserved, introverted guys but allow themselves to enjoy an easier dynamic between them. i think that aspect of their relationship doesn't really work if you hc artemy as someone who is kind and cheerful from the get go.

in a similar vein i also don't like how perceptions of clara often boil down to silly teenage girl who makes meta jokes when her character is so much more than that. people completely ignore the unflattering aspects of her character, like how self-righteous she really is. i mean she's literally making it up as she goes and yet she feels so confident in herself and her methods that she finds it acceptable to trick the only two doctors into a rivalry (and then sell them out to each other for supplies despite fully believing that they intend to kill each other). also, most of the time she is not as silly and impish as people make her out to be- that's mostly the changeling. in the moments when she is herself, clara is pretty depressed.

i also dont like anna angel slander because, is she a child murderer? yeah. was she also abducted as a child herself and found herself in an extremely difficult position at a very early age? also yeah. iirc correctly shes 18 in the game and the ace of diamonds events happened years prior so basically she was a child herself. not that its wrong to criticize child murder because obviously but the way some people speak about her is insane.

also this is completely hc based and of lesser importance than everything else but i have difficulty getting behind anything remotely kinky when it comes to burakhosky because to me they will always be the kind of couple that read in silence next to each other before falling asleep at the late hour of 10:30 pm.

[seramilla]

May I propose that for a fun twist, that when Vaggie goes dress shopping with her mamá and hermanas she tries every single thing but the white just gives her the ick reminding her of Heaven a bit too much. So Carmilla picks out something unconventional for her. A red and black wedding dress…one that has a slit going up to her thigh that shows off the black lacey wedding garter.

Before meeting Charlie, the thought of "marriage" and "Vaggie" in the same sentence had never computed in Vaggie's mind. Even when she and Charlie had started dating, she hadn't been sure marriage was in the stars for her. It seemed like something other people did, but not her. But then Charlie had proposed to her, and Vaggie's entire outlook had been turned on its head. Vaggie had of course said yes, and now it's up to her to figure out what that means for herself.

The only problem is, Vaggie has no idea how to plan for a wedding, or what to even wear, for that matter. She's never been to one, and has no idea what the ceremony even entails. Thankfully, she now has a mother who had been married at one point when she was alive, and two older sisters more than willing to provide an...age-appropriate opinion, so that Carmilla doesn't get carried away, as mothers are often wont to do.

Don't get her wrong, Vaggie values Carmilla's opinion...she just thinks Odette and Clara might provide some much-needed...perspective. Carmilla was married a long time ago...and times have changed since then.

Case in point: Carmilla is old-school, and drags Vaggie, who is very nearly on the verge of puking, through a boutique stacked floor to ceiling with the most gaudy white and white-adjacent wedding gowns Vaggie thinks she's ever seen. Carmilla says it's tradition, and just the way things are usually done. White has been the color of choice for brides for generations of women -- mostly for reasons like tradition, symbolism, personal preference, and just carrying down the same outfits from generation to generation.

The only problem is, Vaggie hates white. Hates it. It reminds her of Heaven and empty platitudes and purity culture and asshole nobles who had called her and the other Exorcists "ruffians" for not embracing the typical snow-white and pastel attire adorned by almost everyone else up there.

Vaggie tries on a few white and lighter-colored dresses, because she loves Carmilla, and a part of her really wants Carmilla's approval in this. But after about the fourth or fifth one, she can feel the bile creeping up the back of her throat at the thought of trying on another. When Carmilla tries to shove the next dress into her arms, Vaggie puts her foot down.

"Mama!" Vaggie huffs, pushing the next dress away. "Look...I really appreciate you wanting to help me, but I just don't like any of this stuff. Isn't there something that doesn't make me look so...angelic?"

"Give it up, Mama," Clara says, doing her best not to laugh at Carmilla's "How-Dare-You!" expression. Odette covers her mouth in amusement, also trying not to laugh. The overlord is simply doing her best...but Carmilla can be a little overbearing when it comes to shopping with her daughters. She has very strong opinions. Odette and Clara had tried to warn Vaggie beforehand, but the fallen angel is clearly discovering it now.

Carmilla sighs heavily. "All right. What colors do you want?"

Vaggie twiddles her fingers. It's a little embarrassing...but ever since meeting Charlie, the red aesthetic just does it for her. They both wear it so often at the hotel, that it's just become a part of her outfit rotation. She mentions to Carmilla, "Something red?"

Carmilla, "Hmmms" under her breath, looking around the store until something catches her eye. She then drags Clara and Odette along with her, as if to gauge their opinion on whatever she's found. A few minutes later, her mother and sisters return with a few different pieces. Carmilla likes one in particular more than the others...but again, Odette and Clara override her, saying there's way too many sequins and lace, and it's not flattering on Vaggie at all. They make their own suggestions, taking Vaggie's preferences into consideration.

Ultimately, Vaggie settles on a gorgeous red wedding dress, with black around the bust and inner lining, and a slit going up the side to expose a black lace garter underneath. Vaggie blushes to herself, just knowing instinctively Charlie will love it. Charlie loves red on her. She makes a mental note to help Charlie find a sexy red suit to match.

Odette and Clara go on the hunt for some matching accessories, and Vaggie honestly just wants to hug the two of them. Carmilla means well...and she did manage to find a pair of banger shoes to go along with the dress...but her sisters had really stepped up for her, in more ways than one. All in all, the family works together to make this process as enjoyable as possible, and come away with something that Vaggie, and Charlie, will appreciate for the rest of their lives.

Vaggie decides that even though she isn't much of a shopper, it's nice to be able to spend time together as a family like this. Even with all the little quirks and annoyances that go along with it. She will take the good and the bad. Because it's all part and parcel of finally having what she's always wanted most -- people who love her.

[chrissturniolosbitch]

Dark Confessions

warnings- SMUTTY SMUT!!!, jerking off, sexual thoughts, swearing. idk what else.

summary- chris and y/n both have feeling for each other, but wont confess, untill y/n catches chris touching himself to the thought of her.

a/n- i wish this was real, i actually think my obsession is getting out of hand...

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Chris and i have always been close. As much as i loved the other two there was something about chris that just gravitated me twards him.

The only bad thing is that i started having feelings for chris the past summer.

His eyes, his hair, the way he sqeezes his eyes shut when he laugh, his lips, his teeth, his hands, and how slender his fingers were.

The way his body looked, and how perfect his smile was. The way he would tease me, but always knew how to comfort me.

I always wonder the things he would do to me if he knew how much i truly loved him.

How his fingers would feel on me, or the way his body would feel touching me skin to skin.

Or how his dick would feel twitching inside of me.

what if he doesnt feel the same?

what if he thinks im weird?

what if he stops being my friend?

fuck it.

I got up from the couch, and started walking downstairs too chris' room, turing the lights, and TV off on my way.

I stopped infront of his door before knocking, "hey chris can i come in?" I wisper, yelled.

no response?

i was about to knock again when suddenly i heard soft wimpers coming from his room.

Is he okay?

Is he hurt, should i help him?

I cracked open the door to see what was wrong when suddenly my body froze in place.

Christopher Sturniolo.

His hand squeezed beautifully over his dick, and his damp hair stuck perfectly on his forehead.

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

(Chris' POV)

y/n my bestfriend for God knows how long, the most beautiful girl ive ever layed eyes on.

The way her hips swayed when she danced, the way he lipgloss stuck perfectly to her lips, and how plump her butt looked in my favorite shorts of hers.

The thought of her made me hard.

should i think this way of my bestfriend?

is this wrong?

but oh how beautiful she was...

I felt my hands favoring over the waistband of my sweats. I lowered them to my ankles, my boxers following.

I squeezed the head of my dick, pumping my palm up and down.

The thought of y/n roaming my mind. The thought of how good she would feel clenching around me, and how bad i needed her.

The thought of her touching me had me whimpering her name.

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(Y/n's POV)

abruptly chris cocked his head twards my direction, looking me dead in my eyes when he threw the covers over his body, "what the fuck are you doing in here? please leave oh my fucking gosh." He said practically yelling at me.

"its okay chris..." i said unaware of my sudden confidence boost, "w-what do you m-mean y/n.. im s-so fucking sorry. I shouldnt have been doing t-that with y-" he was about to finish his sentence when i placed a kiss on his lips.

His eyes went wide as i sat kn the edge of the bed, "Do you think of me everytime you touch yourself?" I said abruptly, "I- y/n please.." Chris said giving me puppy eyes.

"Please what christopher?" i said knowing exactly what he wanted, "please touch me ma"

With a tic of approval i grabbed the covers, and threw them off the bed, looking at chris' throbbing dick that was already leaking loads of precum

I put his tip in my mouth, and immediately started deepthroating him.

He got a fist of my hair, and started moaning my name, "fuck y/n please dont stop" i looked up at chris, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his mouth slightly agape.

I hummed over his dick in response which must have set him off because within a instant chris jolted his hips up, twitching in my mouth letting ropes off his cum stream down my throat.

He let go of my hair, and i got up starting to strip naked. Chris groaned at the sight of my body.

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(Chris' POV)

The thoughts of y/n, and all my dreams were coming true.

i watched as she stripped naked infront of my face.

The way her boobs sat perfectly on her chest, and he hips.

her. mother. fucking. hips.

She walked over to me, and kissed me, i immediately kissed her back.

She straddled me while we were still kissing. God i never wanted this to end.

I grabbed her hips a lifted them, pulling my lips away from hers, "i need you y/n please" all she did was nod, "use your words baby."

"fuck yes chris, please fuck me."

thats all i needed to hear before i dropped her hips the whole way down, bottoming out.

I started thrusting up into her, as she held my biceps trying to match my pace.

I grabbed her waist, and started helping her bounce up, and down on my dick, "fuck im gonna cu-" i started when i suddenly felt myself twitching inside of her.

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(Y/n's POV)

I was determined on finishing, no matter how overwhelming, or overstimulated chris got.

I arched back, and grabbed chris' hand placing it over my clit, motioning him to help me cum.

He started rubbing fast circles over my clit, as i moaned.

I felt a familiar knot form in my stomach, when suddenly it snapped. I came.

Chris looked up at me grinning, i could tell he was overstimulated, but loved it.

I slowly pulled off of chris, and fell beside him, "was that okay? did i do good for you?" i said wanting to know if i made him feel good.

"thats the best sex ive ever had y/n" Chris said giggling, "Good me too" i said leaning in for another kiss.

"You know... well.. ive liked you for a while now y/n/n." chris siad starting to get shy, "me too chrissy, and im sorry i didnt tell you sooner." i looked over at chris face, the way the moonlight shines down his naked body perfectly.

"Well, what does this mean now?" chris said waiting for my response, "I dont know chris you tell me." i said tilting my head at him, starting to smile, "i want you to be mine. I need you y/n" He said sighing.

"I want you to chris, i am yours." I stated placing one last kiss to his nose, then lips before we drifted off to sleep.

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THAT SHOULD BE ME💔

anyways, i need chris in me, on me, and with me... like now.