#if they ask - he answers. if they don't ask something - he remains quiet. doesn't speak up

[vesna-v-irkutske]

I LOVE YOUR BLOG SM! ^_^ the academy maniac fd was lowkey dying, at least on my feed 😵‍💫but anyways while im at it, every read about nikita breaks my heart </3. I wonder how different his life would have been if he had a father present throughout. Also on one of your hashtags you put something along the lines of Nikita defending Artyom while Artyom threw his ass under the bus/completely blamed everything on him— UGH IM CRYING!! Poor baby. The fact Nikita even wrote a letter stating his regrets, he just needed true love and affection from his childhood :(

Thank you, glad you all find it interesting and helpful, that's all I wanted! 💌 Everything about Nikita makes me:

Yes, I feel like if Nikita had had a good authority figure in his life, someone to teach him what's good and bad, someone to encourage him and develop his interests, to boost his confidence, make him see good in himself, things might have been different. Unfortunately, his father was hardly present, and only occasionally. His mother worked a lot because they were poor. He had a grandma and an uncle, but I'm not sure about them. His grandmother helped them (she didn't live with them, but I'm not sure if this has always been the case), but his uncle didn't participate much, he wasn't interested in being a father-like figure. Nikita was extremely fearful, anxious and awkward, didn't initiate contact* and talk to people, that's why he was always alone. He had a VERY low opinion of himself. But that was at first. Later, children and teenagers realized that it was very easy to pick on someone SO quiet. And he was trying to protect himself by telling them to "die". He wanted them to get scared and fuck off him, but it didn't help and only made things worse. A lose-lose situation.

*I once read an article from a speech therapist (quoted below). That there are children who don't want anything. Well, they certainly wanted something, they just didn't ASK for anything, they didn't INITIATE contact, they hardly talked. Why? Because they were always overprotected, everything was done for them. I'm not saying that this is EXACTLY what was happening, although Nikita's mother said that she was kinda sheltering him. And please, don't bash her, she tried (I'll talk about it one day) and she knows her faults.

"Having a certain disorder that interferes with interaction with other people (lack of understanding of speech, difficulties associated with speaking), children early got used to the fact that no one understands them, or they don't understand anyone, or all at once. Parents, and more often grandmothers (but not all, of course), took on the role of a telepath and began to give everything to the child. Well, what was considered necessary, of course. The child hasn't had time to think about the toy yet — they have already bought a hundred. The child was sitting on his couch, and they put a chocolate bar in their mouth. On the one hand, they can be understood — the child doesn't speak, it's necessary to do something for them. On the other hand, they won't talk like that. What for? There's no need to, they put chocolate in their mouth, gave them a toy in their hands, put them on a chair, and turned on the cartoons. And here's a guy like that sitting in my office full of toys. He can name objects, he has no difficulty speaking. But he doesn't speak. And he doesn't take anything. He doesn't reach for anything. He doesn't look at anything. He looks at me and expects me to interact with him in some way. Despite the fact that he's not autistic (according to psychiatrists). Once, on another resource, I was shamed by the fact that not all children can be the same: some are introverts, others are extroverts. This one is an introvert. But no, my dears, he's not an introvert. Introverts ask for a drink. They ask to eat. They can choose between an apple and a pear, which they like best. After that child, others came to me. There is no speech, there is no initiative. I taught him to want something. I used to take him jumping on a trampoline like a kid. Blowing bubbles. I showed him robots, cars, slimes, and fidget toys. I waited for his eye to light up and he would reach for the object. And at that moment, I'll be able to give him a "give me" hint. Then the following happened. While the toy was on the table, he didn't take it. He asked only when he saw it in my hands, taking it as a signal that he could ask. But how should it be? Normally, a child can ask for something spontaneously, without waiting for a signal from adults. It's clear that he won't interrupt an adult, but at the appropriate moment he will ask or ask permission to take it. And it's not that I'm a stranger. At some point they get used to me. But we can't teach speech to a person who doesn't need anything. Speech is not just a set of words, it's a way of communication. These are requests, these are refusals, these are questions and answers. These are comments and suggestions. Therefore, first it's necessary to shake up the motivational sphere of the child, and then teach them something. So. What is needed for this? Reinforce the child's reaction many, many times. So that they learn that if they ask, you will give them. And if they don't ask, you won't give them (we don't starve a child, this only applies to interesting things, actions and treats). Some pick up on it quickly. Some need a lot of time. But they also start wanting and talking about it. Give me some candy. Pour some water. Let's go to the swing. I want to jump. Give me a hug. Kiss me. This is how speech is born."

[dragonfly-wings1]

Senator Cory Booker (D-New Jersey) has been holding the floor in the Senate for 18 hours now, speaking about Trump, Musk, and DOGE and the negative impacts they have and will continue to have.

This is not technically a filibuster, as it's not in opposition to any specific legislation, but it follows basically the same rules: he is not allowed to sit, not allowed to leave the floor, and not allowed to stop talking unless someone asks him a question (he cannot sit even during questioning). (Side note, yes, filibuster rules are super ableist; no, I don't know what would happen on the sitting rule if the Senator was in a wheelchair.)

Many times when the filibuster (which I will call it for simplicity's sake) is used, the Senator will resort to reading from the phone book, or potentially some piece of literature - while 1984 might be appropriate, Senator Booker has remained on topic for almost the entire speech (a few light-hearted exchanges when asked questions as the only exceptions). He has read parts of letters from constituents, as well as elaborated on his own thoughts on several issues.

I know some people are probably reading this and asking in disgust why he doesn't *do something* instead of just talking. The answer is that this is one of the few things he, as a member of the minority party which has proven willing to roll over and pass Republican spending bills, this is one of the strongest things he can do in the Senate building.

He can't be removed from the floor as long as he doesn't sit (he had an aide remove his chair to remove temptation), stop talking (he is allowed to be quiet while questions are being asked), or yield the floor on his own. While he continues, no other business can come before the senate.

Obviously, he can't continue forever. The longest filibuster on record in the US is just over 24 hours (courtesy of noted racist Strom Thurmond, protesting the Civil Rights Act). Once he's done, business will continue. But it's the legislative equivalent of a lunch counter sit-in, and it's the most spine a Senator has shown this administration. (Most spine by a legislator in this administration is still held by Representative Al Green (D-Texas), who had to be removed during Trump's address to Congress a month ago.)

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Woke up from the sweetest dream of eating ice cream with Jason in the middle of the night, both in our jammies hunched over a pint in opposite sides of the kitchen island and its just so special to not be doing this exact thing alone.

"There's something so sweet about loving and being loved. Knowing and being known. Especially by a man who makes every past moment of suffering so worth it if it's lead us to this." 🥺🥺

Late Night Desserts 

Pure Fluff ~1k words

It's late, the kind of late that's so far into the night that you can start to call it early. Your kitchen is dark, lit only by the dim street lights and the occasional stray beams of moonlight that break the clouds hanging low over Gotham's sky. There's the sounds of cars driving by, the faint whirl of a helicopter flying overhead, but it's all drowned out by the quiet giggles bouncing off the walls of your apartment. 

"Why are you even whispering," you stumble out between hushed laughs, voice barely above a breath as you point your spoon at Jason, eyes narrowing in accusation.

He grins, mock offense dripping into his quiet tone, "I could ask you the same question, sweetheart." 

"I'm whispering because you're whispering," you bite back, gaze leaving him so you can dip your spoon into the pint of your favorite ice cream resting between you on the counter. 

Jason scoffs, all teasing and playing as he reaches over to knock his spoon against yours, digging into the frozen dessert for another taste, "I'm whispering because it's still dark outside, and the walls of your apartment are thinner than paper."

"That's not my fault," You pout, taking your own bite of the ice cream. Your eyes narrow, but there's no heat to the action, not when the moment feels as sweet as the dessert you're sharing.

"Didn't say it was, doll," he hums, catching you entirely off guard when he reaches over the kitchen island to swipe his thumb over the corner of your lip, collecting what remains of the ice cream on his finger. His gaze never leaves yours as he licks his thumb clean, smile never fading.

He seems intent on knocking your world off center for a second time, because he speaks again, an easy grin on his face, like his words have no consequence either way, "You could always move in with me. Then it wouldn't matter how loud we were at night. Opens all kinds of doors, ya know?"

You think you manage to keep the surprise off your face when you answer (you don't), "It would?"

"Sure," he hums, jabbing his spoon back into the cartoon, it's the only sign that he feels even slightly nervous over the question he poised, "We could cook after eight pm without your neighbors complaining, blast music in the morning, and, ya know, if we ever get the dog you've talked about, it would be nice to have thicker walls."

His words sweep you right off your feet, his easy answer, the slight tension in his shoulders, all point to one thing. He's thought about this. He's planned a future with you, even if it's just coming up with small, mundane reasons on why you should move to his apartment. 

The realization steals your breath away, and it's only when his face furrows and his eyes start to dart over your face, searching for any clues of how you feel, that you remember you have to respond. 

"That sounds nice. I'd like that, " You say, voice melting into a different kind of soft from your previous whispers. It's a soft that's fond, almost reverent in the face of his feelings for you, the cusp of something more you want to build with him. 

The tension drains from his body, and his smile returns to something bright, something real, "Good." Jason lifts his spoon back to his mouth, face thoughtful like he's mulling over his next words, "You could move in anytime, you know. If you wanted. Half your stuff is already there anyway."

The ice cream melting onto the counter doesn't matter anymore, and you drop your spoon, letting it clatter loudly to the granite surface. Jason only has enough time to look confused and vaguely alarmed by the noise before you round the island to get to his side.

He tries to play off his eagerness with a nonchalant shrug, but you see right through your boyfriend. And suddenly, the moment feels so big.

The feeling nearly bursts from your chest. The warm, fluttery love that's so pure and right in your soul that it's nearly overwhelming. The idea that every path you've ever walked has led you to him, and him to you. 

He opens his mouth to talk, and you steal whatever words he means to say with your tongue. The kiss is sweet, so, so sweet. Sweeter than the dessert you were sharing, sweeter than anything you could tell him, sweeter than all the emotions fluttering in your stomach over just how much he means to you. 

Jason kisses you back with a softness that speaks to all the adoration he feels for you, dropping his own spoon to cup your face, to wrap an arm around your waist to draw you closer.

You only pull away first so you can watch the way his eyes flutter open slowly, lingering in the ghost of your lips against his.

"What was that for," he asks, voice so breathless and dreamy it nearly brings you to your knees.

"Just wanted to," you hum out, pressing a kiss to his jaw, to his chin, to his cheek. It's not a lie, it just doesn't encompass all the warmth you feel in your heart, the goofy smile you can't wipe from your face.

His dumbstruck smile matches your own as he squeezes your waist, saying everything he needs to say back with a simple touch. You melt into arms, ice cream, and quiet whispers long forgotten.

But you don't need to explain, don't have to elaborate. Jason knows what you mean when you press another gentle kiss to his lips, he knows what you're trying to say when you tangle your finger in his hair and memorize the feel of his body pressing against yours.

He always seems to know what you can't find the words to say. 

It's just a moment, just a stolen minute of peace as dark creeps towards day, but it's yours. Yours and his. Another warm memory to write into your story, another step towards something that feels like forever. 

The moon lights up your kitchen as it breaks the clouds once again, and Jason chases your mouth for another head-spinning kiss, sealing the promise of words unsaid, emotions that are far bigger than can be spoken into the calm, quiet air of the night.

[entitled-fangirl]

I hate you.

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!reader

Summary: the reader and the prince hate each other so much, they might just love each other.

Warnings: makeout session, choking, talks of death, brief talk of sex, Aemond is his own warning

Masterlist

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When Rheanyra was still believed to be the heir to the throne, Cregan Stark sent his only sister to become the betrothed to Prince Aemond. 

But both the Prince and the Flower of the North were too headstrong for their own good. 

Like the North, she was gruff and determined. She held the characteristics of her brother in the way she carried herself. 

Now, Aemond was a cold man.

But luckily she was used to the cold. 

They made things work, as most unhappy couples do. Perform marital acts, be strong leaders for the nation. 

Until the day King Viserys died and Aegon took the throne. 

For the small crack that divided the two, it had quickly become a ravine. 

She stood for the North. The oath her father made to Rheanyra. Wherever her people went, so did she. 

And Aemond would not move from his brother's side. 

It made things difficult. 

But nothing had separated them more than this. 

…

"What have you done?" She asked, standing from the chair with her book long abandoned. 

Aemond stood in the doorway of their chambers. He cocked his head to the side with a furrowed brow and a calm voice, "Whatever do you mean?"

Her nostrils flared, "You left to speak to the Baratheons. You return. It is a long journey. Vhagar has not been fed in days." She took a step forward, "Why not?"

"I do not believe it is of your concern what my dragon does. Since when have you cared so deeply for her?" He calmly asked to change the subject.

She let out a breath, "You've done something."

"Do calm yourself, my lady."

"Do not tell me what I must do, my Prince." She muttered with a clenched jaw. 

He studied her and let out a soft hum, "Wolves don't hunt alone, and yet here you are."

Her brow furrowed, "Because you've kept me in the dark."

"You may be in this castle, but your loyalty is far from the greens."

"Your loyalty remains to your brother," she reminded him. "As does mine to my own."

His eyebrows raise and he lets out another hum, "I suppose you're not wrong."

"So, tell me what you did?"

He let out a sigh. His pushed his shoulders back and his stature become more like a soldier at the reminder of his actions. "Vhagar has been fed."

She felt her eyes water, "Who?"

His lips pulled into a smile, "It is no matter." His hands came up to his eyepatch, pulling it off and holding it in his hand, "The debt has been paid back in full."

She stared at the patch in his hand, but her mind was running with questions that she knew he would not answer. 

Finally, her voice was a quiet whisper, "You're a monster."

His head cocked at her and an amused grin pulled at his lips, "I am only a man."

"What. Have. You. Done?" She asked again. 

He doesn't respond verbally. His eye narrows on her with his grin.

She huffs and pushes past him to leave. 

He chuckles lowly, "Did I say we were done speaking?"

She pauses mid-step with her back to him, "I did not think you had to. You do not continue to talk when you're done speaking, do you?" She turned to look at him slowly, "By your lack of answers to my questions, I do believe you haven't truly even begun to speak to me. So, yes. I do believe we're done speaking, my prince."

"And where do you intent to flee to?" He asked amused. 

"Somewhere I may find the answers I am lacking."

He took slow steps to her, "What better place than at the source?" He gestured to himself.

She let out a soft chuckle, "I do believe that perhaps I was wrong earlier."

He began to near her, a mere foot distancing them. "How so?"

Her lips pulled into a smile, "You're not a monster, are you?" She closed the distance between them and her voice softened, "You're just a boy."

His eye flashed with anger and his hand grabbed her throat. He merely held her there, not squeezing but a reminder of the power he held over her. 

She let out an initial gasp, but her smile only grew, "Have I angered the dragon?"

"And here I thought the wolves of the north were cold. No," he mused, "You're quite full of fire."

She held her head higher in pride, giving him more access to her neck.

"And you will be full of fire when this dragon is done with you," He nearly growled. 

She huffed, "If you weren't my prince husband-"

"-Then what?" He asked amused. 

"I'd blacken your fucking eye." She threatened. 

Aemond's eye flickered from her eyes to her lips before crashing his lips onto hers. 

She grunted from surprise, but soon responded. One hand moved to the hand on her throat, the other to the back of Aemond's neck. 

He smirked in the kiss, and wrapped his free hand around her, pulling her flush against his chest. 

She pulled at the hair at the back of his neck, and he let out a groan. 

She barely pulled away with a whispered pant against his lips, "I hate you."

"I know you do, darling," he whispered back. 

His hands quickly began to tug at the laces of her dress. 

Her hands pulled at his tunic. 

And the two hated each other all night.

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[itwasntimethatdidit40]

A quiet neighborhood - Chapter 1

Pairing: Neighbor!Dave York x f!reader Words count: 5137 Rating: + 18, MDNI

Series Summary: In a quiet neighborhood where nothing exciting ever happens, your neighbor Dave is definitely a guy who catches your eye. What could he be hiding under his perfect exterior?

Chapter 1: We start to enter this neighborhood and the trouble begins 👀

Tags: POV second person, reader is female with female genitalia, wears dresses, has hair that can be tied up in a bun/ponytail, no other description is given, she doesn’t blush. smut, angst, kissing, dirty thoughts, infidelity, kinda Desperate Housewifes coded (uh, don’t judge, I love it), easter eggs in secondary character’s names (so you can have fun guessing which series/film they come from 👀), neighborhood dynamics, Carol, Molly and Alice are there. Mention of food, alcohol consumption, some reader's thoughts marked in italics and I think it's all for now. A/N: Here we are! I'm so nervous to post the first chapter of this story! I take it for granted now but: English is not my first language, I tried to proofread as best as I could so I hope there aren't too many mistakes. I don't have a beta, so it's all my fault, sorry. Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist, thanks to anyone who reads, I really hope you like it 🥹

And of course let me know what you think! Comments and reblogs are so much appreciated and they literally keep me going and try even harder! If you want to give me some advice, go ahead! ♥️

AQN - Masterlist

Your neighborhood is a quiet place. 

 White picket fences, well-kept gardens, plenty of block parties to attend, everyone knows each other and nothing ever happens. 

As a child, when you stayed at your grandmother's house who lived here, you didn't have the exact perception of how unusual and picturesque it was, like something out of a postcard.

It just made you feel safe and there were lots of kids to play with, so it was always that special place you hoped to live when you grew up. You lived a short distance away, with your parents, your grandmother would often pick you up after school and you would stay at her house until your parents got off work. You could say that you spent more time here than you did in your actual home. So when your grandmother died and left you this house, it was a natural choice for you to move here.

If you were asked who your most peculiar neighbor is, you would definitely answer Dave York. He is unlike any of the other men who live near you, messy, careless, jovial and chatty, peaceful men who are friendly with everyone. Dave is not like that, he is rather mysterious and reserved, to begin with. He is very affectionate and present with his daughters, of course, nice with his wife, but with strangers he limits himself to a politeness of circumstance, he speaks only as much as necessary, you have never understood whether it is due to shyness or a general aversion to people.

Dave is composed, precise, neat almost in a manic way in his appearance. 

He’s been living here for while, he moved here with his family a couple of years after you, and yet you've never figured out precisely what his job is, he told everyone he was a CEO for a company and no one felt compelled to investigate further, the neighborhood gossip preferred to focus on other, more juicy topics and so it remained a vague piece of information, which no one cares about. It certainly allows him to earn a lot of money considering the standard of living he leads.

It always takes you a while to wake up in the morning and you love to spend a few minutes on the porch sipping your coffee, you love that quiet moment before a hubbub of children being dropped off at school, cars pulling out of the driveway, the neighborhood waking up and getting back to life. Dave gets out particularly early so he ended up becoming part of your morning routine.

He doesn't even see you as he rushes out to go to work and you like it that way. 

He walks out of his perfect house, with a perfect garden, gets into his perfect car with his briefcase, perfectly shaved, combed, shirt and pants perfectly pressed, understated and elegant tie, shiny shoes on which not a speck of dust ever seems to have settled. You've always wondered what's underneath. 

He lives right across the street from you, so you can often see him from your window and you linger to look at him more than you'd like to admit.

You see him out early Sunday morning for a run, black sweatpants and white T-shirt, then mowing the lawn with his T-shirt slightly sweaty from running and his hair a little disheveled. 

At lunchtime you catch a glimpse of him sitting at the table in the living room, located in front of a large window with his family as Carol serves the Sunday meal. She, too, is similar in some ways. She is refined, never vulgar, has a lovely tone of voice, she’s kind and friendly to everyone, and bakes crazy desserts. She once brought you muffins to thank you for lending her a package of sugar she had forgotten to buy and they were the best you had ever tasted. And his daughters? Polite, respectful, always adorably dressed, little princesses of manners. But it is he, above all, who arouses your interest. He draws you inexplicably, for as long as you have lived here there has always been in you curiosity to find out if he has some flaw, if there is something that stirs him inside. 

And then, of course, he’s incredibly handsome, probably the most attractive man you’ve ever seen.

The first time you saw them at a block party you immediately noticed him, he stood out from all the others men. Black hair, aquiline nose, deep brown piercing eyes, plushy lips, broad shoulders, narrow waist, he wore a suit without looking either old-fashioned or snobbish, just gorgeous. You welcomed him, Carol and their kids to the neighborhood and then went back to your friends to sip margaritas and gossip. You couldn't take your eyes off him though; he was like a magnet that kept attracting your gaze.

There's nothing wrong with admiring someone from afar, is there? you tell yourself when you feel your cheeks warming up for him.

You always liked his confident but never cocky demeanor, his gestures are always measured and graceful, at parties when he talks to someone and is next to his wife he holds an arm around her waist never conveying a sense of possession but rather of protection and care. It bugs you to admit that this is exactly what you would like too.

_________________________

This morning you had to wake up earlier than usual, your boss called a meeting through an email you never wanted to receive, usually when he does it is to complain about something, which makes you want to stay in bed and call in sick. No time for Davewatching, you can't if you care about keeping your job and continuing to live in this nice neighborhood across the street from him.

You jumped into the shower grumbling, washing your hair in a hurry because you were obviously already late, and when you got out of the shower you discovered that your hair dryer was no longer working. Certainly not the best way to start the day. You cursed, fumbling in the bathroom cabinet drawer looking for a hair tie, tied your hair up in a high topknot, and sighed as you looked in the mirror to the image of a messed up you.

You couldn't do much about it, so you thought you'd put on your favorite office outfit to make yourself feel better, a dark gray skirt and jacket that you bought about a year ago. Money well spent, this suit hugs all the right spots on your body, making you feel elegant and professional, with a hint of sexiness. You feel confident. You pull it out of the closet and lay it on the bed, then look for a pair of tights to match. You rummage through your drawer and pull out at least five pairs, realizing they are all laddered. How on earth is that possible? Nothing is going right this morning. You huff, forcing yourself to wear hold-ups. Not your favorite thing to wear to work, they are certainly sexy but sitting 8 hours at your desk with silicone squeezing your thigh? No thanks. Yet this morning you have no choice.

You gather up your papers and stuff them into your bag, grab a cup of coffee adding a little milk foam that you quickly froth with a small electric milk frother, you drink it right away almost burning your tongue and then step out into your driveway heading for your car practically running, the heels you've been wearing clicking noisily on the pavement. 

You get into the car and start it, or at least try to, because it won't work. You bring a hand to your eyebrows, cursing again “Oh fuck! You gotta be kidding me!”. Your boss will have your head served on a silver platter this morning.

You get out and open the hood, to your lay eyes there seems to be nothing wrong, no smoke or other visible signs, so you think it's the battery.

You curse and get back in the car, searching your bag for your phone, your nerves are on edge when you hear light tapping on the window. You jump in your seat in fright, and when you turn around you see Dave on the other side. Great, you think. Just the situation I was hoping he'd see me in, stressed, messy, basically on the verge of tears.

You roll down the window and he asks: “You need help?” 

“Oh don't worry, I don't want to bother you, I can manage on my own,” you stammer, trying to pull yourself together. 

“The car won't start?” his voice is quite reassuring, aloof as it is.

“Yes but really, no problem, I'll call a uber.”

“Don’t be silly, let me give you a ride” you hear an amused undertone now, maybe because of your ridiculous face, you feel so inadequate and stupid in front of him, surely he thinks you're a train wreck and wants to do charity work by rescuing you as an abandoned kitten on the street corner.

You look down and see the lace of your stockings peeking out from the hem of your skirt that had ridden up too high when you sat in the car. You hastily pull down your skirt, wondering in a panic if he had noticed it too.

Your gaze reluctantly returns to him, feeling your cheeks heat up, and he seems unperturbed as he repeats, “Come on, if we don’t hurry we’ll both end up late.”

“Okay...” you whisper "well..thanks"

You get out of your car, finishing to adjust your skirt taking advantage of the fact that he has his back to you, as you awkwardly follow him across the street.

You get into his shiny expensive car almost in awe, smelling his car freshener, obviously something fancy because he’s too sophisticated to settle for something you can find at the drugstore for $2. 

It’s as clean as if it had never been used, the leather seat welcomes you, there is not a crumb or anything, this man has two little daughters and his car is immaculate.

You’ve never sat so stiff in your life, clutching your bag to your chest as if it would contaminate the car’s floor mat if you dared to put it down. 

He looks at you and urges “Seatbelt, please” and you hurry up to reply awkwardly “Oh. Yes. Of course.” and you see something shine in his eyes, a suppressed laugh, a tiny crack that disappears immediately.

You resign yourself to lay the bag at your feet and put the seat belt on, pulling it slowly, almost reverently, you feel his gaze on you and you are afraid of making another fool of yourself.

He starts the car and drives off, as you drive away from your neighborhood you try to calm down and regain control of yourself. He's just giving you a ride; there's no reason to be so jittery.

You give him directions to your office, trying to disguise your excitement as much as possible; usually you can get along just fine with anyone, but today you feel like a schoolgirl on her first experience.

You watch his profile surreptitiously as you tell him to turn right, and then left, lingering on his sculpted cheekbone, his long eyelashes, his perfectly drawn lips.

He’s so incredibly attractive your eyes almost can’t take it and so well dressed as usual, in a dark blue suit, light blue shirt and a burgundy tie with dark blue dots. 

You are almost there and a little bit sorry, you didn't feel like going to work already but now you want to sit in this car next to him until the end of the day.

When he asks you which building your office is, it takes you a few seconds too long to answer, “Oh, this one, on the right.” because you're so enthralled admiring his confidence behind the wheel.

Not only can he drive in gears, but his driving is safe, without wavering, and when he parks in front of your office you notice how he maneuvers with his open hand on the steering wheel. Sexy. You are impressed. You wonder if there is anything this man can't do.

You turn to him and whisper a thank you in a breathy voice. He looks at you and you feel his gorgeous brown eyes penetrate all the way into your soul as he replies, “Happy to help. Do you have someone who can drive you back?“

”Yes, thank you, I'll ask my coworker,” you lie, knowing that you will almost certainly have to take a bus or cab, but you don't want to give him any more trouble. 

“Okay, well, have a good day” 

“Thanks, you too”

Oh wait, there’s something…” he says, reaching your face with his hand and brushing dangerously close to your mouth with his thumb “here” He licks the tip of his finger and looks at you with his usual unflappable expression as you realize you have ridden in his car with milk foam at the corner of your mouth “you’re good now” he whispers and you would like to sink into the seat and disappear forever.

You get out of the car and walk toward the office entrance, feeling his eyes on your back, when you reach the door you turn and wave to him. He is still there, pulling up to the curb, and he gestures back to you. His car speeds away into city traffic a second later.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself before pushing open the door to your office and entering. 

_________________________

“Hey” you hear coming from above you as you are pulling with all your might at a plant that you don't even know where it came from and that is infesting your cyclamen flower bed. You look up and Dave is standing in front of you in your front garden, wearing the usual white T-shirt and black sweatpants he wears every Sunday for jogging. “Oh. Hi,” you say, passing the back of your hand over your forehead and then shielding your eyes from the sun to see him better. 

“So did you solve the car?” 

“Yes, thank you so much for your help” that feeling of being back in middle school when you had a crush on your classmate Josh comes alive again inside you. 

“Good. Was it the battery?” 

”That's right. I had to change it. 300 bucks! Fuck, I'll be damned.” You blather on without thinking that maybe you're not so close to each other to let yourself swear in front of him. 

Dave chuckles, even his laugh is polite and discreet but you can see a cheeky little light in his eyes along with a lovely dimple on his cheek that makes your face heated up.

"I know, they're expensive”

“Yeah, but what else could I do, I don't understand anything about cars, I’m better with plants” you chuckle trying to contain your nervousness.

“They are very beautiful,” he notes, moving his gaze from you to the cyclamens and then back to you, staring. He seems to want to say something more, his lips are half open out held, like everything about him.

“Thank you” There is a lull where you don't know what to say or what to do because he keeps looking at you with his big brown eyes that make you melt and then you ask the first thing that comes to mind "Um, are you and Carol coming to the Horowitz party next week?"

“I think so, she told me about it the other night. Will you be there?” you could almost tell you hear a hopeful tone in his voice, but you're brought back down to earth in an instant by your own inner voice. 

Stop doing this, he’s married you idiot. 

“Yes, of course.” you nod, smiling. 

He smiles back at you, “Well, I have to go now I'm glad you worked it out. If you need anything else however you can find me across the street.” 

You watch him walk away toward his home as you feel that something, at least in a very slight part, has changed between you. He is warmer, friendlier, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you enter the house to wash your hands. You feel like floating and when you look in the bathroom mirror you see it.

The most gigantic of smiles spread across your face, your eyes twinkling.

You are beyond redemption, a complete mess.

_________________________

“Carol loves that brand”

You are at the mall, standing in front of a storefront window that is too expensive for your pocket, gazing at a pair of black leather pumps.  You turn around and see him. Dazzling in a black turtleneck and gray pants, black belt and leather lace-ups, he looks like something out of a fashion magazine. You would almost find him irritating if it weren't for the fact that by now you have to admit to yourself, you have a terrible crush on him. 

Molly and Alice greet you with a smile echoing their father “yes, that's right, mommy loves them”

You smile at the girls “I can imagine. Your mom dresses so well, doesn't she?”  And they look at you proudly nodding “she does” 

“I want to be like her when I grow up” Alice adds in her little bird voice. 

“Oh that's so sweet, I'm sure your mom will be very proud, of both of you. ” you tell her gently. 

Dave is silent and smiles softly, watching his little princesses behave with you. “Well, we've gotta go, we're going to be late for the movie” he says right back, looking a little embarrassed but as usual you think your imagination is really flying awkwardly by now. 

“Oh, what are you going to see?” you ask, always looking at the girls to trick your mind. You don't have to think about him, he's a married man, what's wrong with you. 

“Daddy's taking us to see The Little Mermaid!” Molly announces to you with her eyes shining ‘that's my favorite!’ 

“The multiplex at this mall shows old animated movies in one of their theaters on Sunday afternoons,” Dave explains ”the girls love going there.”

"Oh wonderful!" you reply "well, have fun then"

They're about to leave when Dave turns around and tells you "you should buy them anyway" You stand for a moment interjected "the shoes, I mean. They would look good on you”.

You stand dumbfounded, feeling that tingle spread through your lower abdomen again. You don't reply, but you watch them walk off into the crowd, Molly and Alice each to one side of their dad shaking his hand, Dave in the center with his beautiful hair, his broad shoulders highlighted by his sweater, a delicious butt swaddled beautifully in his gray pants, as soon as they disappear around the corner you go into the store and buy shoes. Even if they are too expensive and if your credit card could talk it would ask you if you are completely crazy. This is the measure of how screwed you are. You can't wait to wear them to the Horowitz party. 

——————————

The Horowitz house is one of the most luxurious in the neighborhood; high ceilings, marble floors, expensive furniture all over the place, chandeliers and silverware, these people are filthy rich. You used to tutor their daughter, Gretchen, a snooty little princess who grew up in bamboozlement and thought she could boss you around. Somehow you managed to win her over eventually, and since you seemed to be the only one in the neighborhood who could tame her the right way, her parents paid you good money.

At the time you had just graduated and were trying to find a job so that money came in handy. 

You say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Horowitz and jump into the fray, it's packed everywhere, and your neighbors certainly aren't begging to take advantage of the lavish buffet served poolside.

You see Gretchen in the corner flirting with a waiter and smile, shaking your head, she’s only 18 and already so flirty and cheeky with boys, at her age you just felt like an awkward and inexperienced potato with no sense of fashion and no idea how to talk with boys, you're thankful that adolescence is long over for you. Two of your neighbors, Jane and Gabrielle, are gossiping about Edie's skimpy dress and the new boyfriend she brought to the party after divorcing her husband just two months ago. They wave at you and you sit with them on poolside loungers, they’re some of your dearest friends in the neighborhood. 

“Where are Rafael and Carlos?” you ask, looking for their husbands.

Gabrielle waves her hand and says, “over there talking football with Hank.”

You’re the only one of your friends left single, after breaking up with Jesse two years ago, you decided to focus on your career. You got a promotion last year, but still no husband in sight.

You suggest to go to the bar to have a drink and they both agree. 

There is soft music wafting around, classical, very elegant like the overall tone of the party. It looks more like a wedding reception than a block party, but you know that if the Horowitz don't make it big they're not happy. You approach the bar, a nice drink will solve your nervousness as you try not to stumble and end up in the pool because of your brand new high heels, clinging to Jane’s arm.

Of course she laughs at you “honey, those shoes are gorgeous but don’t you think they’re a bit impractical for a pool party?” 

“Hey! You were the one who told me I needed to freshen up my wardrobe and wear heels more often!” You reprimand as Jane and Gabi laugh.

You've been waiting to wear them at this party all week, even doing some tests at home to make sure they don't give you blisters. 

They're the highest heels you've ever owned and yes, they’re not comfortable, especially to walk on the grass and around a slippery surface like the poolside but tonight when you looked at yourself, swaddled in a little black dress and these shoes, you've never looked so pretty. Your bank account has been severely undermined but you think it was worth it. And even though it would be lo the last thing you should want, you can't wait for him to see you.

You put on your favorite underwear underneath,  just to have that extra boost of confidence. 

You feel good, just as good as you have felt in months, and all it took was for him to notice you. You should probably feel ridiculous, but because he took away the apathy you've been feeling lately, you decide you won't. Not this time. And when you see him walk into the garden, black slacks and white shirt, no tie, the last two buttons left open, he is breathtakingly handsome.

The only thing that matters is the instant when his eyes meet yours, and they are not cold and distant, but it is as if they are smiling, sparkling with a light you have never seen in them before. 

You've kept your wild fantasy at bay until now, but you're sure that in the midst of all these people he's been watching you. 

You feel proud and beautiful until you see her.

Of course Carol is by his side, holding his arm and smiling radiantly in her cream cocktail dress.

And suddenly it all comes crashing down on you, how could you not consider that she would be here, with him, his rightful wife. She wouldn't have been missed. Yet you were so busy trying to look the best you could that you buried her in the corner of your mind, just totally ignored her until this moment. You grab the martini you ordered and down it in one gulp. 

“Hey! Take it easy, honey!” Jane says to you, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you?” 

She’s never seen you drink like that, you’ve never actually drunk like that, maybe just after Jesse left you, but it didn’t last long anyway. You shrug and smile at her. “Oh come on, it’s a party! And I don’t have to drive.”

Rafael and Carlos come over to greet you and you're left alone for a moment while the four of them go to inspect the buffet.

You try to distract yourself engaging old Mrs Threadgoode in a conversation you don't care about about the hedge bordering your houses, but out of the corner of your eye you see them approaching, her always at his side, as they make the rounds of greetings. You even try to blend taking the old lady by the arm and continuing to babble as you move behind a huge vase next to the appetizer table, hoping they won't notice you until you hear Carol's pretty voice behind you. You turn around, thinking you are doomed, as if she can read your thoughts, but there is absolutely nothing in her gaze but courtesy and grace, as usual.

It makes you even more nervous that her husband has been your constant thought for two weeks and she does not suspect in the least. 

You greet her, trying to swallow your senseless resentment, but when you place your eyes on him you feel that tingle again, that warmth invading you from head to toe, while his gaze is as enveloping and sensual as it has ever been. “You look great,” he tells you, and Carol immediately echoes him, ”oh yes, you look so beautiful today!” You say thank you, chat for a couple more minutes, and then excuse yourself by saying you need to go to the restroom. The whole time you were standing in front of him he was just staring at you, his gaze went down to your ankles noticing your brand new shoes, and you can swear you saw his mouth bend into a smile, almost imperceptible.

You still feel stupid for wasting the whole afternoon dolling yourself up for a married man.

You cross the hallway to the bathroom and see Gretchen again, deep in conversation with the same waiter, she’s leaning against the wall, running a hand over his chest covered by a white shirt and giggling coquettishly. She looks up and sees you, “Hey there! How are you?”

“All good, hun, how are you?”you reply. 

“I’m great! We need to talk later!” she shrieks at your back as you hurry toward the restroom door. You lock yourself inside in an instant and lean your hands against the sink, sighing. What the hell had gotten into you, what did you think you were doing? 

You take a couple more deep breaths and try to downplay “okay, let's just calm down, there's nothing a couple more martinis can't fix” You look in the mirror and say to yourself “now you go out, enjoy the party with your friends, then you go home and forget about this whole thing. Enough of this crap” you whisper it in a low voice. You have just finished the sentence when you hear a knock at the door. “I'm done, just a second,” you say loudly.

You don't expect the voice you hear coming from the other side “It's Dave” 

You pull your ear to the door to make sure you get it right and ask “who?”

 “Dave. Open up” Your heart skips a beat and your hand trembles on the door knob as you are unsure what to do. “What do you want?“

”To talk. Come on, open up.” 

You don't understand what you should talk about, there is nothing to discuss, nothing happened “I'm going out now,” you mumble, check your makeup quickly and pull the handle determined to avoid  him and go back to the garden to find your friends.

You make to leave but Dave pushes you back inside the bathroom “Wait a minute” You are incredulous as you look at his enigmatic smile “What is it?” 

“You bought the shoes” You don't know what he is getting at “So what?” 

“I was right. They fit you well” He smiles at you and you feel a knot in your stomach 

‘Did you need to lock yourself in the bathroom to tell me that?’ you raise an eyebrow wryly. 

The situation is so absurd that you even pluck up the courage to answer him in kind. 

“Actually, no. But to do this...yes” He leans over you and encircles your face with one hand ‘You’re so damn perfect tonight’ he whispers, before placing his lips on yours. 

You open your eyes wide as if you've been hit by a gunshot, not expecting anything like this. 

His mouth is soft and inviting, his tongue moving lightly against your lips, and you let it in, savoring a warm and delicious whiff of whiskey, losing yourself in his flavor, feeling his hands tighten on your hips. Before you know it, he has pushed you against the marble walls, caging you into his body and continuing to lick into your mouth like a thirsty man in the middle of the desert, unleashing an unprecedented storm inside you. You moan into his mouth as your arms wrap around his back and your hips thrust against his in a silent but desperate plea for attention.

Your bodies blend perfectly, it feels like one of those wet dreams you keep having at night in the privacy of your room. Him naked on top of you covering your skin with kisses that descend over your breasts grazing your nipples and then over your belly to your pussy. Him pounding you senseless as you whine and scratch his back with your fingernails feeling so full of his cock. 

He suddenly pulls back and reality collapses on you again waking you up from the stupor you've fallen into. He smiles at you again “I just wanted to tell you this,” his hand caresses your neck, his eyes fix on your breasts accentuated by the cleavage of your dress just for a moment and as he arrived he disappears behind the door again going back to mingling among the people. 

He didn't even leave you time to talk, left you standing there like a fool, wondering what the hell it all means. What does he want from you? What is going to happen from now on? Your head is empty, you brush your lips still feeling his latent taste. If you were asked who is the most peculiar man in your neighborhood, you would surely say Dave York. You would also say that he is a total threat to your heart. 

Tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @thundermartini @harriedandharassed @syd-djarin @penascigarette @joelalorian @pedrostories @sunnytuliptime let me know if you want to be added or removed and I'll do it right away.

[sakuraspoke]

in nomine amori • copia & his sorella prediletta ✨️ 1.5k words in slightly disjointed excerpts. copia x (unnamed) f!oc. a little soft, a little silly, a little spicy. angst-adjacent at points? he just has a lot of feelings.

He's not accustomed to being touched. At least, not in any meaningful way. The weight of hands upon him has always meant something else: duty and demand. An endless expectation.

But then there is her.

He lets her touch his face when no one else can. Lets her cup his jaw, trace her thumbs over the faded remains of old wounds. The paints don't shield him from her; she sees through them, straight to the man beneath.

Sometimes, when he's tired, she cleans them from his face herself. When it's late and the world feels small and safe she takes a damp cloth against his skin, gentle and slow, and watches the shape of him softening. Turning from Papa in to just Copia. Her Copia, the man who looks at her like she holds his heart in her hand. It's a transformation she alone gets to witness.

Her hands move with a devotion that matches the expression in her eyes, and he catches her wrist to press his lips to her palm.

"You need not look at me like that, cara mia."

She tilts her head, still focused on the lines of his furrowed brow.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm something more than I am."

She takes a slow breath, brushing her knuckles along his jaw, and meets his timid gaze.

"I look at you as you are, my love – nothing more, nothing less."

⸸

When she kisses him, it isn't hurried or desperate. It's measured almost to the point of hesitance. She touches him as though he is something precious.

He has spent years feeling like an afterthought. But in her hands – in her quiet, steady love – he is known.

⸸

On the nights he sits alone in his office, drowning in doctrine and demands – she appears. Not always to speak, sometimes only to touch his shoulder in passing. A quiet reminder: I'm here with you. She'll straighten the papers strewn across his desk into neat stacks, knowing well he will ruin them again, and pour him a glass of wine.

"For the nerves," she says, and he exhales, exhausted and grateful.

"For my sanity, more like."

⸸

The clergy doesn't notice the way his eyes follow her as she moves through the halls, the softness in his voice when he speaks her name, or how he hesitates when she leaves the room, reluctant to be without her. But she sees. She knows.

⸸

The first time he undresses her is a moment of reverence. All careful hands and roaming eyes, gentle fingers tracing along her clavicle as the fabric of her robe pools at her feet.

"Quant’è bella," he whispers to himself, voice hushed and edged with awe. His hands tremble as they settle on her waist. "You are..." he shakes his head, words failing him.

"Tell me," she pleads, shivering beneath his touch. "Tell me what I am."

He looks her in the eyes and brings her hand to his chest, guiding her to feel the undeniable pounding of his heart.

"Mine."

⸸

She stands behind him as he readies himself in the mirror for mass, straightening his collar and dusting off his shoulders. Her fingers linger at the nape of his neck.

"You belong to them," she says, meeting his gaze in the reflection, "but you come home to me."

He turns with certainty and a pride that fills his chest, and presses his lips to her forehead.

"Always."

⸸

An involuntary, almost imperceptible whine escapes him as he envelopes her nipple with his lips, and her heart aches at the sound. She holds his head in her hands, fingers tangled in his hair as he sucks and kisses and inhales the sweet scent of her. Snaking his hands round her waist, he grips her tightly, fingers digging into her skin as though she'll disappear the moment he lets her go.

"You are my lifeblood, tesoro. You know that, sì?" he asks, voice shaking, and she looks at him with a softness that stops him in his tracks. The weight of the moment hits him and he closes his eyes, unable to look directly at her.

She knows the answer to the question, but she's not sure he knows that right now. In these moments of insecurity, he sometimes loses himself, loses grip ever so slightly of the certainty of her love for him. He needs her to ground him back into reality again, to speak her love into the air, into his ears, right back into his weary spirit.

"I know, my love," she sighs, gently cupping his fallen face in her hands, guiding him to look at her and gently rubbing her thumb across his quivering bottom lip. "And you mine."

⸸

He sighs dramatically as she plucks the pen from his fingers.

"Vita mia, amore mio, luce dei miei occhi," he says, punctuating every term with a gentle peck to a different part of her face — her temple, her cheek, the tip of her nose. "I am very busy."

"You’re very grumpy," she counters, tucking the pen behind her ear. "And in desperate need of a break."

Copia exhales sharply, "I do not need a break, amore... I need my pen."

"Your pen will survive five minutes without you."

He narrows his eyes but melts as she sinks into his lap and pulls him close, the scent of lavender that clings to her skin calming him with each breath. "Fine. Five minutes."

"Five," she agrees, and kisses him slow and deep. There is no rush, and no intention of keeping track of time. When they finally pull apart, breathless and dazed, she attempts to brush her now disheveled hair behind her ear.

The pen.

She laughs softly, mirroring his raised eyebrow with her own.

"Huh. I guess it did survive."

⸸

He tugs at his vestments, grumbling under his breath as she watches on in amusement, letting his torment linger for just a little longer.

"Cazzo," he huffs, struggling with the clasp at his collar. "This stupid button—"

She steps closer, batting his hands away, and he sighs, tilting his chin up as she works the fastening with ease. "I swear, these robes are trying to kill me."

She smirks. "Dramatic. Besides, I think you enjoy me taking them off you."

His lips curl into a grin.

"Perhaps."

⸸

He grips her hips as she settles over him, the firmness of his grasp betrayed only by the trembling of his breath. Candlelight flickers across his face, catching the faint sheen of sweat on his skin as his chest rises and falls in shallow waves beneath her fingertips.

"Amore…" he exhales, eyes fluttering shut as she drags her hands over his ribs, tracing her hunger into the soft flesh of his belly.

She leans in, presses her lips to the hollow of his throat, feeling the way he swallows hard beneath them. He always gives so freely, always wants to please, but tonight — tonight, she just wants him to feel.

"Let me," she whispers, mouth ghosting over his pulse, her hips rolling slow and deliberate.

His breath staggers as his fingers tighten against her skin. "Oh," he gasps, head tipping back. "Cara, please—"

"Please, what?" she murmurs, trailing her lips along the curve of his jaw.

His restless hands run up along her spine, his voice just a whisper as he pulls her against him.

"I don't know how to let you."

She stills, just for a moment, adjusting herself so that she's leaning over him, face to face. "You don't have to do anything," she says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Just be here with me."

He looks at her then, eyes dark and pupils blown wide.

"Only you," he breathes, voice shaking. "Sempre."

⸸

"Long day?"

Copia sits on the worn stone garden steps, head bowed and shoulders curved inward like a scolded child. He isn't startled when she steps closer, nor does he look up – only exhales in amusement as she sits down beside him. "Something like that."

She doesn’t ask for details, doesn't push for more, she just leans in slightly, pressing her shoulder against his. For a while they sit in silence, and she watches the way his hands rest in his lap, his right thumb absentmindedly scratching at the palm of his left hand.

"I had a feeling," she starts, slipping a hand through her habit into the pocket of her slip. "So I brought you these."

He turns to look at her, brows lifting in quiet surprise as she pulls out a selection of wonky, mismatched cookies wrapped in parchment. Some slightly burnt at the edges, the others perfectly golden.

"I think I overestimated my abilities."

"Tesoro," he says with an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as he takes them from her. "They're perfect!"

"Shut up!" she scoffs, playfully swatting his thigh with the back of her hand.

He grins as he takes a bite. "I'm serious," he says, a touch of gratitude hiding behind the teasing. "These are exactly what I needed."

He wasn't accustomed to being loved, not in a way that is patient. Purposeful. Enduring.

And then there was her.

[writingjourney]

espresso stains // secondo

1k words, non-descript f!oc/third person reader (you can read this as my oc manon or just insert yourself/whoever), some self-esteem issues, reassurances, established relationship, mildly suggestive, 18+ MDNI

─── ⛧ ✦ ⛧ ───

The espresso cup clinks gently as he sets it down on the matching saucer – ceramics irrevocably stained by years of use, adorned only by one clean brown line just below the rim, right where his mouth rested a moment ago. He sighs, weary after a full meal, licking the remains of coffee from his lips. An easy-going smile, a hand on her shoulder, kneading until the tension melts underneath his fingertips. Her own cup is empty, the tiny handle still trapped between two fingers, and he has to peel her hand away from it to fold it into his large palm.

"You know you don't always have to go out of your way to cook for me," she says.

"I am not going out of my way," he states.

Quiet, then, the rhythmic press of his thumb, gazes caught, that soft shimmer in his eyes when she relaxes under his touch.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" he asks.

"What?"

"To be taken care of."

His readings of her have become so precise that she thinks it must be written all over her face, how she doesn't feel like she deserves this level of attention, him standing in the kitchen for hours to feed her, running her baths, massaging her tense muscles, comforting her anxieties. It makes her want to cry, makes her feel like a child, that ever-present longing, a hunger for love that was never sated when she was small, and now that he offers her such care it is like she doesn't know how what to do with it.

"Not uncomfortable just–" She sits with the feeling, locates the core of it. "Unworthy."

He doesn't disagree but his brows pull together, the barest hint of tension giving him away. She chews on this reveal, though she has a suspicion that it is nothing new to him. It is hard to explain, how you can long for something so desperately and still find it impossible to accept.

"I find pleasure in it," he says after a while, still looking at her, still kneading. "Cooking for you, buying you things you would never buy for yourself, making sure you eat, rest, sleep."

He lifts her hand, pulling her towards him, and she follows willingly into his lap where he wanted her all along. His hands map out the shape of her, nose dragging up her shoulder, her neck, following the trail of her perfume with a soft hum.

"I find pleasure in taking care of you," he says, now so close, lips ghosting over her jaw.

"But– why?"

"Why?" he mirrors the questions. "Why does anyone? Because it is human, because we are made to care."

"Why me, then?"

Her hands find purchase on his shoulders just in time for him to lean back and away from her, searching her gaze. It displeases him, she knows this, when she speaks ill of herself, implicit– or explicitly.

"Because you are for me," he replies, as if that says it all. The long answer lies somewhere behind his eyes, the longing, that rare softness. For me, he says, meaning that she needs him, that for some reason he needs her too, that she has a deficiency and he has a surplus, that he too is lacking things only she can provide, that they are balancing the scales when they are together.

It scares her sometimes, to think that she is just a project to him, that one day the scales stop being even. The what ifs and what happens whens and the idea that he'll complete his mission and move on to someone who needs him more. He provides, it's what he does, he soothes and guides and teaches and brings relief to tensions that have been decades in the making. Would it be an illusion to think that he'll settle at last?

"No," he says, startling her awake just as her mind wraps around the question.

"No what?"

"You are in your head." His finger taps against her temple before his whole hand comes to splay out against the side of her head, a cocoon to trap her, so effective that the moment begins to feel real again. "I want you here with me, my dove."

"I suppose I am overthinking," she admits.

"As is your habit," he quips. "Always you slip somewhere else and I have to guess where it is, how to get you back."

She'd asked him once, after being intimate, after he'd admitted that he'd struggled to feel fulfilled in the past, who takes care of you, Secondo? And he'd been so sad at the question, but then he'd said, you do, perhaps you are the only one who does. It had been hard to imagine, then, that a man like him, so independant, so stoic and strong, could truly have need of her. But he had been genuine, perhaps the most genuine she'd ever seen him.

"I want to take care of you too," she states.

His lips curve. It's not much of a confession by any means, something she'd said in the past when he'd been so generous that she'd felt so very limited in her means to reciprocate. But somehow it weighs heavier tonight. He's a man so set in his ways, so used to being by himself in the moments when it matters, the stain of years of use, cracked ceramics glued together by spite, repressed pain of a lifetime yellowing the bottom of the cup like rings of old coffee. He doesn't have to pour it himself anymore, and perhaps it's enough that he knows.

"Will you accept me now?" he asks. "Let me take care of you in the way I've been wanting to all night?"

She nods, just so, and his hands dip low again, dragging her hips forward until they're pressed together. They share a sweet moan before their mouths come searching the other's taste, coffee and amarettini, the wine he picked for dinner. It's unhurried, slow and sensual, the type of kiss that doesn't immediately lead anywhere but bridges that gap between wanting and having, between need and relief.

Secondo's chair scrapes against hard wooden floor when he picks her up, carries her to the sofa where he'll have her for an hour or so, indulging in those very kisses, drawing them out before he thinks to take his time with her in bed throughout the night. Two empty cups on the table, a candle slowly burning out. He's not going out of his way, he said, and she knows he's right where he wants to be.

─── ⛧ ✦ ⛧ ───

this is another little ficlet that i took from what will hopefully be a full fic at some point but that i think works on its own as well. thank you for indulging me <3

[transchesters]

sam and castiel spend their evening talking, leading dean to discover sam can speak ennochain, and sam doesn’t know what love means. inspired by this post from @wendibird ! read it on ao3!!

"do you ever miss heaven? the way it used to be?" sam asks, lifting his eyes from the current men of letter's record that he is reading so he can meet castiel's eyes. the angel sits across the table from him sam and dean had just gotten back from a hunt, one that was pretty cut and dry, and now he and castiel are engaging in their own reading and research, enjoying the quiet company of one another while dean showers.

castiel glances up as well, setting down the leather-bound book he has been purusing. his brow furrows in the way it often does, the way that sam can't help but smild fondly at. "sometimes i do, yes," he answers after a moment of thought. "but then i recall that heaven was never..." he trails off, as if searching for the right words. "heaven was never as ideal and perfect as i had believed. i was ignorant and blinded by my devotion to my father, but with time and distance i have come to realize that heaven was not the home i thought it was."

sam nods silently, feeling a certain understanding for the slight grief he thinks he observes in castiel. "did you ever meet him? god, i mean?"

a fond, perhaps bittersweet smile pulls at castiel's lips as he nods. "yes. when i was created, he brought me down to earth and spoke to me about mankind. he entrusted me to care for his most beloved creations."

it's then that dean is steps into the doorway, pausing there at the domestic scene before him. he can’t help himself from eavesdropping, because what on earth could these two be talking about that has them looking all… lovey-dovey? as his brain processes the last things spoken, he realizes... he has no idea what the hell castiel had been saying. a confused expression pinches his face. had he been hearing things?

"how long ago was that?"

"you would not believe me if i told you."

"it used to be hard for me to comprehend just how old you are, or the earth and angels in general," sam starts, his own brow pinching a little, "back when we first met you. before... before the cage. but i think i understand better now." dean darts his eyes back and forth as the conversation continues, chills running down his back which cause goosebumps to erupt over his arms. as he watches, sam and castiel are switching from speaking english to... something else, and dean has no clue what.

actually, with a sudden realization, he does have a clue.

"your time there, it must have felt like... centuries. no wonder your ennochian is so good. does it bother you to speak it? i cannot imagine you have good memories of the language."

sam blinks, as if shocked by castiel’s compliment, which helps him ignore the memories that do in fact resurface. "really?" he asks, still oblivious to the minor panic attack he and castiel are subjecting dean to. "most of the time, i don't even realize i'm speaking ennochian. it just… happens, i guess. but i do like speaking it with you. i get to make new memories, with you." he doesn't try to hide the warmth behind the words as he usually does.

dean slams his book shut, suddenly unable to remain quiet. "you speak what? since when?!"

sam and castiel are both startled by the sudden exclamation, glancing over at the eldest winchester in sync, which makes dean wonder just how much he’s been missing.

"since the cage," sam answers after a moment, his brow furrowed. "i… guess i forgot to mention it."

dean scoffs, full of disbelief. "dude, what the hell? you can speak some weird, angelic language and forgot to mention it?"

"actually, the ennochian that sam speaks is even older than the tongue i am used to," castiel speaks up, as if that were a fact that would help diffuse the situation. now sam and dean both turn their confused glances at the angel, though dean is much more perturbed than sam.

"i didn’t know that," sam mumbles, sounding thoughtful at this new information. "i guess it makes sense, though. i learned from lucifer and michael, and they probably spoke a much older tongue than most angels." the names fall from his lips, coated in pain, but he ignores it.

castiel gets the sense that sam doesn't want to dwell on those names and that pain, so he just nods in agreement. "yes, i think that's the case."

"alright, y'know what, that's enough freakiness for me for the night. sam, we'll talk about this later." dean shakes his head as if disappointed, groaning as he turns on his heel and soon disappears down the hallway leading to his room. as usual, he doesn't notice the pinched and pained expression he's caused on sam's face.

sam heaves a sigh, folding his hands on the table in front of him and staring down at them as if they would provide some sort of answers. he flinches when, suddenly, castiel’s hand envelops his own.

"he speaks rashly, sam, and does not mean it maliciously," castiel says gently, meeting sam’s multicolored eyes with a smile. "he doesn’t understand."

sam tries to relax under castiel's touch and his gaze, his eyes so full of warmth and the understanding he doesn't get from his brother. but he doesn't want to think about dean right now; instead, he considers the fact that he and this wonderful angel have been dancing around whatever this was for quite some time now. but sam feels like they might be reaching a point they can't ignore any longer.

"cas…" sam trials off, because what is he supposed to say here? everything about this is wrong. castiel isn't supposed to think of him this way, isn't supposed to look at him with such fondness. "don't look at me like that. i'm just some human."

now it's castiel's turn to look pained, and he sits forward in his seat, leaning closer to the other. "sam, please, don't say such things about yourself. you are not filth."

sam's lips part in shock, but his clenching stomach stops him from speaking. "filth? i thought…" he swallows painfully and shakes his head. "lucifer called me that. i thought it meant human."

castiel lets out a sharp exhale, feeling a ball of rage grow in his stomach. "no. it doesn't." sam nods silently, leaning back in his seat which makes their hands pull apart. castiel can't help but chase the contact.

"don't we both deserve some comfort, after all of this? can't you see that i love you, very deeply, and i'm tired of hiding it?"

sam blinks, his brow furrowed as he tries to place some of the words he can't recognize. "love?" he repeats, the ennochian word foreign on his tongue. "what is that word? i don't think i've heard it." he grows even more confused when castiel gazes at him with a profound sadness. the angel squeezes his hand, almost tight enough to be painful, but sam doesn't complain.

"love. it means love, sam. i was saying that i love you."

[bambiisin]

BITTER SWEET.

frank castle x reader

warnings: toxic, mention of stalking, breakup, frank follows her home,kissing

frank is your toxic ex who won’t leave you alone

The rain hit the pavement in soft, rhythmic taps as you pulled your coat tighter around your body. Another night, another text from Frank. Where are you? Why aren’t you answering? You think you can ignore me?

Your fingers curled around your phone, the familiar weight of anxiety pressing against your ribs. It had been months since you left him, but Frank didn’t believe in endings. He lingered like a shadow, slipping into your life through unwanted messages, unexpected appearances, and the constant feeling that you were being watched.

Tonight was supposed to be different. You were meeting friends at a quiet little bar downtown, a place Frank didn’t know. A place where, for a few hours, you could breathe.Or so you thought.

You step into the bar, the warmth hitting you like a wall after the cold rain outside. The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills your ears, providing a semblance of comfort. You scan the room, spotting your friends in a corner booth. You smile walking over to them. When they spot you they all start greeting you. You slide into the booth starting to make a conversation with them.

Suddenly you feel an icy chill run down your spine. Something's off. Your eyes dart around nervously, the smile fading as a realization dawns - there's a pair of cold, unblinking eyes watching you from the shadows near the bar.Frank.

You didn’t say anything to your friends because you didn’t want the moment to escalate. He remains seated at the bar, his silhouette blending with the darkness. He doesn't approach or speak. He simply... watches. His presence is felt like a ghost in the room, causing your friends to laugh and joke unaware of the intense stare he's giving you. You try to ignore it, laughing with your friends, having a drink but suddenly your phone buzzed.

„You look beautiful tonight." The message reads, making you jump slightly. You glance at the bar, finding Frank staring intently, his glass half-empty. Your friends notice your reaction. "Who is it?" Your best friend asks curiously. "No one," you lie.

You gave him a look thats said „don’t do this“ and look away. Frank takes a slow sip of his drink, never looking away. He sets the glass down gently, his expression unreadable. Your friends start to chat amongst themselves again, oblivious to the silent battle unfolding across the room.

„Can you get the next round?“ Stella kindly asks. And you wanted to say no, because Frank was sitting right at that bar. But you couldn’t ,when she was giving you the sweetest puppy eyes you ever saw. „of course love“ You say as you make your way to the bar.

As you approach the bar, Frank leans back casually, making no move to speak or reach out to you physically. Yet his eyes follow your every step, intense and piercing even in the dim lighting. He watches intently as you wait for the bartender, noting how you intentionally keep your distance. „6 tequila shots please.“ you say as you look anywhere but in franks direction.

The bartender slides the shots across the bar, his eyes flicking between you and Frank with a curious expression. As you reach for the tray, Frank suddenly stands up, moving with slowness. He places his hand over yours on the bar, stopping you. "Let me,"

„i can handle it“ you say. His hand remains firm on yours,not gripping tightly but enough to keep you from moving. His voice drops lower, meant only for your ears. "Are these shots really necessary? Or are you trying to show me you don't give a shit?" „well noticed frank, i don’t“ you say as you walk away with the shots, your friends cheering when they finally see you.

He watches you walk away, his jaw clenched. He downs his own drink in one swift motion before turning back to the bar, ordering another whiskey. As your friends start taking shots and laughing loudly, Frank's gaze remains fixed on you, his expression a mix of frustration and something deeper.

You feelt him staring but didn’t give him any attention. Until your phone vibrated again. You're a terrible liar." The message reads. Your friends are too drunk to notice your phone lighting up again. "Those shots aren't making you forget about me, are they?" Another message comes through as you take another shot, your vision already blurry. you sigh giving him a death stare across the bar. „don’t text me“ you send.

He reads your message, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He types a response, his eyes never leaving yours. "Or what? You'll stop looking at me?" He hits send and takes another sip of his whiskey, leaning back in his chair with a nonchalant attitude. „you‘ll die without my attention castle.“ you send the message locking your phone and putting it down.

He chuckles to himself, finding amusement in your tough exterior. He replies, "Challenge accepted." He sets his phone down, his eyes glinting with a competitive glint as he watches you ignore him, pretending he doesn't exist across the bar. After several minutes, you notice him stand up suddenly, leaving cash on the bar before walking towards the restrooms near your table. He deliberately passes close enough for you to feel his presence, but not close enough to actually touch. His dark eyes lock with yours momentarily before he disappears into the men's room.

You look away not caring. Ping. You don’t look at it. ping. You ignore it again taking a sip of your drink. ping ping. You curs under your breath picking up your phone. „Three ignores in a row? I think that's a new record." The messages read, teasingly. As you glance up from your phone, you catch Frank leaning casually against the wall by the restrooms, arms crossed, eyebrow raised in challenge. He mouths a silent "Still ignoring?" You roll your eyes „fuck you“ you mauth back smiling.

He laughs silently, his mouth twitching into a smirk. He pulls out his phone and sends another message before you can put yours down. You see the notification light up again. He watches you expectantly, daring you to ignore this one too. "come here" the message reads.You gave him an „are you crazy“ look shaking your head no.

His smirk widens mischievously. He sends another message, his eyes locked with yours across the room, daring you to defy him again. "Last chance to come over here before I make a scene," the message reads. You thought about it. Looking at your friends knowing if he came now this wouldn’t end well at ALL. You stand up slightly „i’ll be right back guys“

He watches you stand up and start walking towards him, his smirk never leaving his face. As you approach, he pushes off from the wall and steps closer to you, his voice low and challenging. "Took you long enough." „what about leave.me.alone. didn’t you get frank?“ you hiss. He leans in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. "I got it loud and clear. But here's the thing," He glances over at your friends laughing loudly. "You're not really convincing anyone you want to be left alone, are you?"

„we broke up. remember?“ you say now irritated. His expression darkens slightly, a flicker of something pained in his eyes before it's quickly replaced with his usual intensity. "How could I forget?" He murmurs, his gaze flicking down to your lips briefly before snapping back up to meet your eyes. „so how about you start acting like it and stop texting me and following me around“ you spat out. His jaw tightens, his eyes hardening. „you know i can‘t do that“

you sighs „i‘m gonna go back now“He reaches out, his hand wrapping around your wrist gently but firmly, stopping you from leaving. His thumb brushes over your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine. "Not yet." You pull back your hand „just leave“ you say as you walk back to your friends. Your friends cheer again as you sit down, pushing another shot towards you. They're too drunk to notice your stiff shoulders and tight expression.

He's still standing where you left him, arms crossed, watching through the crowd. The way the light hits his face makes his jawline look sharper. . You laugh along your friend ,taking another shot, trying to ignore the way your phone keeps buzzing in your pocket.

After some time the buzzing gets on your last nerve and you look at it. As soon as you look at your phone, a ton of messages and missed calls from Frank flood your screen. You hesitate for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest before you finally open the messaging app. "Come outside." The message reads. „no!“ you send back.

A moment passes before another message comes through. "Don't make me come in there and get you." The tone is clear, he's not messing around. You can feel your friends eyes on you, but they're too drunk to notice the tension radiating from your phone. „Guys its getting late, i have to go“ you say as you put on your coat your friends try to make you stay but at the end you say your good nights and you walk out of the bar. You step outside, the cold air hitting your cheeks. You wrap your coat tighter around yourself, shivering.

„Nice coat," he says, his voice low and measured, standing close enough for you to feel his warmth in the cold night air. , making your breath catch. "You walked out pretty quick." „well you threatened me frank“ you hiss. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips, his eyes glinting in the dim streetlight. "And you listened. Smart." He steps closer, invading your personal space. „Look frank“ you start turning to him. He leans in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his breath mingling with the cold night air. "Save your breath. I know what you're going to say." His voice is soft but intense, filled with a frustration he can barely conceal. "We broke up."

„so why do you keep doing this!“ you say confused and angry. His eyes flash with an unreadable emotion, his jaw clenching. "Because you leaving doesn't change the fact that I'm still here, does it?" He gestures around them, indicating the empty street, the cold, his presence. "You think I can just forget?" he sighs „well maybe you shouldn’t have done the things you did and it wouldn’t came to an break up“ you spit back.

His face darkens, his expression pained. "You think I don't know that?" He pauses, his breathing heavy. "I messed up, okay? I messed up so fucking badly." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. You look away „and now you‘re stalking me and sending me thousands of messages“ she says. He lets out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Stalking is a strong word. I prefer 'desperately trying to talk to the woman I can't get over.'" His voice drips with sarcasm, but there's a genuine hurt underneath.

you shake your head. „i‘m going home“ you say now starting to walk away. In the blink of an eye, he's in front of you, blocking your path. "For fuck's sake," His voice drops to almost a whisper, but the intensity behind it makes it seem louder. "Don't you get it?" He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. „what?!“ you say a little louder

His eyes snap to yours, dark and dangerous. He lowers his voice again."You know what? Forget it." He mutters, his shoulders stiffening. "Go home." He steps away, giving you space to leave. you look at him for a second. and then decides to start walking again. „fuck you“ you mutter under her breath.

You think you've finally shaken him off. You're about a block away, the cold wind nipping at your heels, when you hear the sound of footsteps behind you. You ignore it, thinking it's just a late-night passerby.Then you hear the footsteps get closer. They echo loudly in the silent street. You tell yourself it's nothing, but you can't shake off the feeling that they're getting closer. Your heels click on the pavement, the sound mixed with the echoing footsteps behind you. You hug your coat tighter around yourself, shivering again. You want to turn around and look, but you were also to scared.

As soon as you insert your key into the lock, you feel a presence behind you. You turn the key, pushing the door open, but before you can step inside, a strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against a hard chest. You almost let out a scream but he clamps a hand over your mouth to muffle any noise, pulling you back into his arms. He kicks the door shut behind him, enveloping you both in the darkness of your apartment.

You panic trying to get the person off you.But then he switches the lights on. Frank. The sudden light blinds you momentarily. You blink rapidly, trying to focus as Frank releases his hand from your mouth and spins you around to face him. He's standing there, breathing heavily, his eyes wild and intense.

You push him away. „Are you fucking insane“ You almost scream. He staggers back from your push, but his smirk doesn't falter. "Maybe," he admits, shrugging casually. "But I've never claimed to be sane." He leans against the wall, crossing his arms. "Especially when it comes to you."You try to make your heart pump at an normal rate again „leave.“

He chuckles lowly, pushing off the wall and taking a step closer to you. "And go where?" He tilts his head, his eyes roaming over your face hungrily. "Back to my empty apartment? Back to my lonely life without you?" He shakes his head. You take a step back. „frank.“ You warn. He follows your step, closing the distance between you again. "No, no," he mutters, his eyes flicking between yours. "You don't get to warn me off after what we just had outside." He reaches out, grabbing your wrist before you can back up any further.

You collide with his chest. Almost immediately you try to pull away from him. He tightens his grip on your wrist, watching as you struggle. "Damn it," He mutters softly, his expression unreadable. "You're like a cat. Always trying to escape." His jaw clenches as you push against his chest again. "Stop fighting." „Leave frank. you had your chance we’re not together anymore“ You say angry. His expression darkens, and he lets out a harsh breath. "You think I don't know that?" He growls, his grip on your wrist loosening slightly but not releasing you entirely. "But seeing you out there, acting like nothing happened—it fucking kills me."

His gaze locks with yours, raw pain and frustration etched into every line of his face. The silence stretches between you, charged with the weight of what was and what could have been. "You moved on so fast," he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion.You didn’t. You were acting like it sure. But deep inside you knew you still loved him no mather what. His eyes search yours, as if looking for any hint that you're still holding onto him. He swallows hard, his thumb unconsciously stroking your wrist. "You act like you don't miss me," he accuses, his voice barely controlled. "Like I never meant anything to you." He was trying to make her feel bad now like he always did. „Don’t do this“you say slightly.

His face twists, a mix of anger and hurt flashing across his features. "Don't do what?" He demands, his voice rising. "Don't try to get back the girl I fucking love?" „you love me? then why would you do things like that“ you spit out. "Because I'm a fucked up soldier with anger management issues," He snaps back, frustration apparent in his voice. "And because I pushed you away when everything in me was screaming to hold on tighter." His voice breaks slightly. "Because I'm an idiot."

He watches you look away, his heart heavy with regret. He knows he fucked up, royally. But seeing you now, after so long, he can't bring himself to just walk away. "Say something," He prompts gently, his thumb still absently caressing your wrist. „I don’t know what to say anymore.“ you say quietly Frank is silent for a long moment, absorbing her quiet words. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes never leaving her face. "Say you hate me then," he murmurs, his voice low and strained. "Tell me to go to hell. Anything but that silence."

„no“ you say shaking your head. Something inside him breaks at your soft "no". He steps closer, his forehead nearly touching hers, voice barely a whisper. "Then say you miss me, just once. Tell me I'm not the only one fighting this fucking battle alone." His free hand comes up to cup your cheek. „fank…“ you say. His thumb brushes over your lips, silencing you. His eyes search yours intensely. "Don't say my name like that," he warns, his voice hoarse. "Don't look at me like that“ „like what?“ you almost whisper but he shill heard you.

His breath catches as he stares into your eyes, seeing the same love and longing he feels reflected back at him. "Like you still fucking love me," he growls, his hand sliding from your cheek to tangle in your hair. "Like you want me to kiss you."You sigh looking at him through hooded eyes. Frank's heart pounds in his chest as he watches your reaction. He can see the war raging inside you, the push and pull between what you want and what you think you should feel. "Don't do that," he says, his voice ragged.

„i can‘t- we can‘t“ you says trying to convince yourself. His grip on you tightens slightly, not out of anger, but out of desperation. He leans in closer, his lips almost brushing yours as he speaks. "Why the fuck not?" He challenges, his voice low and intense. "Give me one good reason why we can't do this." „we‘re not together“ you say ,again. "Fuck being 'not together'," he says roughly, his face inches from yours. "I'm tired of doing the right thing where you're concerned. I'm tired of pretending I don't want to kiss you right fucking now." His grip tightens more, pressing you against his chest.

His eyes drop to your mouth, watching as you unconsciously lick your lips. He growls softly, his body tensing. "One good reason," He murmurs, his lips nearly touching yours. "Just one why I shouldn't pull you closer and kiss you."You open your mouth to say something but nothing leaves your lips. He takes advantage of your open mouth, not giving you a chance to speak. He closes the distance, his lips crashing against yours in a brutal, angry kiss. He kisses you like he hates you, like he loves you, like he can't get enough. He breaks away briefly.

He's breathing heavily, his eyes blazing with intensity as he looks at you. "One reason," he repeats, his voice strained. "One fucking reason why I shouldn't keep doing this." His lips are back on yours before you can respond, this time softer, deeper. He smiles against your lips, a rare, genuine smile. "That's the problem, isn't it?" he says, his voice low and satisfied. "You can't give me a reason because there isn't one." He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring the feeling.

[paulyenvol6]

Byka Atroksia (Chapter 24)

Contains: No trigger warnings really

Wordcount: ~3.38k

Masterlist of this story

When the hour grew late the door opened once again.

Daemon heard someone approach and had expected his brother or Rhaenyra again, but it was Laena, the Queen consort. She smiled gently and sat on a chair next to Daemon.

"Brother.", she said and he bowed his head.

"Your Grace."

She sank back in her chair and exhaled. "This pregnancy turns out to be an exhausting one.", she spoke with raised eyebrows and her brother by law softly smirked. He had always gotten along with Laena and she was one of the few people whose company he didn't really mind.

"How many moons left?", he asked. "Oh too many." His smirk intensed but his eyes remained on you.

Laena's gaze now also laid on your pale face. "She will be fine."

Daemon nodded. "Yes. She will. She is a fighter."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest until the Queen looked at his profile.

"I remember how scared I was when I met your brother. Not of him, but of doing something wrong. And I knew that it had only been a few moons since the late Queen had passed and of course I knew that she had left two daughters, who I didn't want to enrage with my presence. But Vhaela… I saw her and she gave me comfort. Just seeing her. She has a kind heart."

Daemon didn't answer her but Laena also hadn't had expected an answer. But after a short pause she started to speak again.

"Do you love her?"

If the Queen's question had moved something inside of him he didn't show it. He looked as though he hadn't even heard her but he had. With his gaze still on you he started speaking.

"Yes. I do."

Now it was Laena who didn't show any reaction but after a few moments she cleared her throat.

"You truthfully do?"

Daemon lowered his head and sounded almost annoyed when he said his next word. "Yes."

Laena then reached out to take his hand, just for a second. Daemon felt odd because he wasn't the kind of person to share physical contact with a lot of people but Laena's hand felt quite comforting around his' so he let her squeeze it for a second and then she pulled away again.

"Is it your wish to wed her?", the Queen wanted to know then and her brother by law shrugged.

"My brother will not allow it."

"But would it be your wish, if you could?"

Daemon sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Yes, I guess. I just want her to be safe. And happy."

His words were so quiet as if he was scared someone else could hear them. You were fast asleep and no one else was in the room but Daemon felt more comfortable talking quietly.

"And do you think she would be both things with you?", Laena asked. She didn't sound accusing but like she genuinly wanted to know.

"She would be safe with me. I'd protect her with my life." He paused for a second.

"And I do think she'd be happy."

Laena looked at his side for a while. "Does she love you?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps. Yes."

Laena smiled softly but then exhaled. "You do know why your brother doesn't like this union, don't you?"

Daemon pressed his lips together and tensed. "Because he rather wants to see me on the other end of the world. Far away from his family."

Laena shook her head. "No, Daemon. Viserys loves you and he wants you to be by his side. But he can't trust you."

He scoffed, but Laena was persistent.

"And he loves his daughter. If you ever have a daughter you'll know why he acts the way he does. My child is not even born yet, but… seeing him or her being wed to someone I can't trust?" She lifted her eyebrows and caressed her belly. But Daemon remained stubborn and shook his head.

"I wouldn't harm or hurt her. I would protect her with everything I have. My brother should know that."

"But he doesn't. Because he doesn't trust you. Show him that he can trust you and mayhaps he'll see what you want him to see. That Vhaela is not just a toy for you to satisfy your lust and desires with and your tool to hurt him but that you care about her."

Daemon didn't answer her which signaled Laena to keep talking.

"Since when?"

"Since when what?", he scoffed.

"Since when has this been going on?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Since when we've been coupling? Since when I've been loving her? What do you mean?"

Laena smiled softly. "Since when have you been loving her?"

Yes, that was a good question Daemon couldn't even answer to himself. As an uncle, he had always loved you and had always felt the need to protect you. Then he had felt the need to claim you as you were becoming a woman and he felt the desire to lay with you. And then… he had started to truthfully love you like a man loves his wife. But when? Daemon couldn't point out to the moment but he just knew that it was true. It was love after all. It wasn't about his brother at this point, not about provoking him and stealing something from him, it was about you. You were precious to him, not only as someone to warm his bed but to love and spend his time with.

"I don't know.", he eventually answered Laena but she didn't seem unsatisfied with his words.

"I think she loves you too.", she spoke and sighed. "As much as the King would rage if he heard me saying these words, I believe them to be true. She has been yearning for you all her life, yes, perhaps you saw that too, but now… She may love you after all."

Daemon wrinkled his nose and his gaze was on your sleeping figure again. There wasn't another exchange of words between Daemon and his sister by law. They sat in silence, each drifting in their own thoughts until Laena stood up.

"I'll go now. She'll be safe like this."

Daemon nodded and remained at your side.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was only the next morning when Daemon finally met with his brother, the King. Viserys decided to visit you before breakfast so he stood in the door when he saw his brother sitting on a chair beside your bed. He had slept on the chair this night and though he had woken up several times due to the uncomfortable position he hadn't left your side.

Daemon, who had heard a sound, turned around. Viserys' eyes were flashing but he didn't say anything. He just slowly walked to your bed and sat down on another chair.

"Brother.", Daemon spoke and the King exhaled loudly.

"So you found your way back once again… How did you know? That she was sick."

Daemon scoffed and crossed his legs. "You may not believe it but I still have friends at court."

Both brothers watched your pale face until Viserys turned to glare at Daemon's profile.

"What is your plan now, brother? Do you wish to destroy her and her reputation until she has no future at all."

Daemon rolled his eyes. "I did not poison her and I also didn't harm her in any other way."

"What is it you want, Daemon? I would simply like to understand."

Now his brother crossed his arms but still wouldn't look at Viserys. "I want her."

"Do you want her so you can mock me?", his brother scoffed. "Do you want her so you can satisfy your… profane desires? Or do you want her so you can get back at me for some differences between us that happened a lifetime ago?"

Daemon didn't answer. He had been about to, everything in him had screamed to do it but he didn't. So Viserys sank back in his chair and sighed.

"She will be fine.", Daemon then quietly spoke after a pause and his brother nodded slowly.

"Yes. I know."

Daemon finally looked at his brother from the side who slowly grew angry again and couldn't hide it on his face.

"You hurt me, brother. If that's what you wanted you achieved your goal. Congratulations." Once again he didn't get an answer.

"You sullied our name. And her honor. You kidnapped her and kept her on Dragonstone while I feared for her life – " "I did not kidnap her. She chose to come with me.", Daemon interrupted his brother and his voice had gotten louder as well.

"And at no point did I forbid her to go anywhere. She was always free to go and so did she six days ago."

Viserys shook his head, his hands gripping the edge of his chair.

"You don't get it, brother. Do you even know the consequences of your actions? Her maidenhead belongs to her husband. You took it from her, now she has nothing to offer in marriage."

Daemon threw his head back. "Oh for the gods' sake, as if she was the first girl to lose her virtue before marriage."

"This doesn't change anything. You seduced her knowing what would happen. I can't forgive you this."

Viserys truly was angry and hurt and his brother, who usually was quite an unsensitive person sensed it. So he didn't answer at first and his gaze was on you again. It was then that Daemon decided to speak truthfully with his older brother. Mayhaps it had been his conversation with Laena and the fact that he had told her about his feelings that moved him to choose his next words.

"I want her as my wife.", he spoke.

Viserys laughed in disbelief and then got serious. "No. We've talked about this already."

"Do you want me to beg for her hand?", his brother said and looked at him. "I didn't harm her and I'd never do. I want her for who she is."

But the King shook his head. "No Daemon. I won't give her to you."

"Why?", Daemon scoffed.

"Because I can not trust you. And I want a kind and gentle husband for her."

His brother rolled his eyes. "I'll treat her with respect. I'll be kind to her and I won't bed her if that's what you want. If you don't want her to carry my children so be it."

But the King was persistent. "Don't you understand it? I can not trust your words, brother. After everything that happened between us, for every time you betrayed me and went behind my back, now I am to trust you when you tell me that you'll respect my daughter in marriage?"

"Then tell me what to do to earn your trust."

Viserys leaned back. "Daemon."

"I won't be your burden anymore.", the King's brother spoke. "I won't cause any troubles at court or taunt you. Give me Vhaela and I'll be content with her."

Viserys exhaled loudly and rested his forehead on his hands. Daemon observed him from the side.

"I love her."

Then he remained silent until his brother lifted his head again. Daemon couldn't exactly read his expression, it was somewhere between sad and determined. Viserys didn't say anything. He just got up not without breaking the eye contact and walked out of the room.

It was only few minutes later that you finally woke up from your sleep. You had been far away in your dreams for more than 24 hours and now blinked a few times. Daemon who saw it immediately rushed to the side of your bed and towered over you. You blinked a few times and still felt tired but when you recognized your uncle's face you widened your eyes.

"Daemon?", you asked with your weak voice and he smiled softly.

"Yes. I'm right here. How are you feeling?"

"Mhmm.", you made and he caressed your cheek.

"It's alright. You can go back to sleep if you want to."

Your eyes threatened to close again but before your mind went blank you blindly reached out to grab Daemon's hand who enclosed his' around yours.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was late in the afternoon when you woke up again and this time you sat up on your bed. Daemon was still at your side and smiled at you when he saw that you had opened your eyes.

"How are you, little owl?", he gently asked and caressed the back of your hand.

"I think I'm good.", you said still a little exhausted but you felt much better. Your head was aching and you were dizzy but it was nothing compared to the way you had suffered the day before. Slowly everything started to come back to you and you frowned.

"Why are you here, uncle?"

"I heard about what happened and so I came back."

You gulped. "And what about… Wasn't he angry with you?"

Your uncle nodded. "Yes. Of course. But I'm neither exiled nor disinherited yet, so…"

You smiled and Daemon pressed a kiss on your hair.

"What happened to me?", you then asked and Daemon sighed.

"You were poisoned."

Your eyes widened in shock. "What!? By whom?"

He soothingly caressed your hand. "Probably by your servant girl. But I'll get behind it. I think some of the servants were not so delighted by our visit. They didn't trust me and weren't eager to follow my commands."

You nodded with sad eyes and dropped your gaze. You had liked the northern girl Anicia and her betrayal hurt you. But Daemon lifted his eyebrows and lowered his head so he could look at you.

"It's fine, Vhaela. Everything will be fine."

But you couldn't believe him. You were alive, yes, and that was a gift but your sister was still furious with you, your father disappointed and you were probably being shipped off with any high born lord now just so you were finally being wed. But Daemon didn't like to see you like that so he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you to hold you against his strong chest.

"Don't be frightened. I'll take care of you. No matter what happens, I'll be with you. I swear it to you."

His words made your eyes teary and you felt like you wanted to be held by Daemon for the rest of your life. His voice and his words were so soft and they made your heart beat faster. You wanted him and you would give everything so you were not separated from him ever again.

"I love you.", you mumbled against his chest. You didn't know why, perhaps because at this point you just didn't care about anything anymore. If he would tell you he did not love you back or if he would laugh at you, so be it. It wouldn't change anything so you thought you better were truthful at last. The worst thing that could happen was that he would push you away from him and if that was the case it wouldn't even be a problem because soon you would probably have to say goodbye to him anyway.

"I love you too, little owl.", he spoke and you widened your eyes. This was the last thing you had expected. More tears welled up in your eyes and you turned your head so you could look up to him.

"Really?", you whispered and your uncle smirked and toyed with some strands of hair falling into your face.

"Yes, little one. I do."

"B-But why did you want to send me away to Essos then?", you asked feeling overwhelmed with emotions.

"I told you. I was worried that someone could harm you. I wouldn't have left you there obviously. I would've come and get you soon."

You pressed yourself closer to him and he stroke your head caringly.

"I'm sorry, Vhaela.", he said after a while.

"Why?", you asked feeling so peaceful and happy that you believed that everything would be fine.

"For everything. Gods be good, I shouldn't have treated you the way I did. I shouldn't have toyed with you back when I returned from the Stepstones. I shouldn't have used you to hurt my brother. I should've been truthful with you. And I should've be more clear with your sister."

You frowned and lifted your head from his chest. "What do you mean?"

His face tensed. "She wasn't very kind to you, Vhaela. The way she has abondened you while you were grieving for your dragon… That's only one of many cruel things she has done. I should've seen it earlier."

It hurt Daemon to see how oblivious you had been to Rhaenyra's games and power plays. He partly blamed himself as well because he was aware of the way Rhaenyra and you had battled for his attention when the two of you were younger and he hadn't done anything to prevent it, furthermore he had fueled it. And he obviously also knew that he had used you as a tool to get back at his brother and that he had simply enjoyed bedding you whilst he knew that you had admired and idolized him.

But it had shifted. Daemon had started to love you and his affection for you had nothing to do with his brother anymore. He didn't toy with you anymore for his own satisfaction and seeing his brother's daughters competing for his gaze which once had brought him great pleasure considering the lack of attention he had gotten from his brother. He truly was sorry.

But right now you didn't care, you were not angry with him or even with your sister. You were just beyond happy about Daemon's confession. You laid in his arms once again while he kissed your head and drew patterns over your back. That was when the door opened and Viserys entered the room. His gaze fell on your body so close to Daemon's but he didn't comment it. He just stood in front of your bed as you pulled away from Daemon and Viserys exhaled.

"Daughter. I see that you're better."

You nodded and smiled. "Yes. I am."

"Good.", he made. "Daemon, please leave us."

You looked at your uncle but he nodded reassuringly and got up to leave the room. Once he was outside your eyes rested on your father and he now sat on the chair that Daemon had occupied only few seconds earlier.

"Vhaela. I'm beyond relieved that you're fine, I-I feared for your life. And it made me think."

He paused and took your hand. "You and Rhaenyra are my daughters. And I want you to be happy. That's the most important thing for me and stands over political arrangements and duties and anything else. What is it that would make you happy?"

You froze and frowned at the King. "W-What do you mean?"

"Do you want to marry Jorlan Stark? Because I don't believe you do. Do you want to wed Daemon? Because I believe Daemon wants that."

Your heart beat fast and you chewed on your lower lip. You wanted to answer him but he started speaking again before you had the chance to.

"While you were gone Ellion and I discussed possible solutions for this… problem. He suggested to wed the two of you. I was furious and told him no but he was reasonable and in the end I considered it. I didn't make my choice because then you came back and now the circumstances most definitely changed but I have to know what you want. You have to marry, daughter but is it Daemon you want?"

You smiled softly. "Yes. I want him."

Viserys sighed and his eyes looked sad. "I feared that you would say this."

"But it's what I want, father. It is what makes me happy."

Viserys crossed his legs and scratched his head. "I don't know what I should make of this.", he truthfully spoke and you sat up on your bed.

"I would be happy with him. Happier than with any other high born lord. He is good to me, father."

Viserys sighed. "You really do know what you want, don't you?" You answered with a soft smile.

"He is what I want."

[sleepymarimo]

𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕟!

summary: you try to practice the infamous three sword style in secret and end up embarrassing yourself... pairing: zoro x gn!reader cw: none! something funny and fluffy wc: 2.6k

He should've known that you were up to no good when you had talked to him earlier.

Zoro had been napping on the deck of the Sunny, on a nicely shaded patch of grass. It was a very nice day at sea- the waves were calm and the atmosphere was light. The ship was expected to dock at an island by tomorrow, and from what Robin had said, it was a place known for its boisterous shops and unique goods.

You were peeking around a corner, trying to think of the right way to approach the swordsman. Even though the crew was practically family, waking a napping Zoro was still a pretty intimidating task, not for the faint of heart. After a deep breath and a lot of mental preparation, you made your move.

Your feet treaded lightly on the grass, almost as if a single misstep would sell you out. You can feel your heartbeat pick up as you get closer, his eyes remaining shut as he sleeps. When you're finally before him, you open and close your mouth in hesitation as you try to find something to say at the last minute.

Luckily, he beats you to it. "What do you want?"

A sort of embarrassed, choked noise leaves you. The swordsman simply opens an eye and raises an annoyed brow. "Well?"

"I just, uh, wanted to ask you something." You trail off, doubting that he'd even indulge you. He still seems a tad irritated, but he doesn't shoo you away, which gives you some hope that he maybe isn't all that disturbed by your presence.

His brows furrow a bit. "What is it? I want to nap before we get to the island."

You swallow a lump of anxiety that is forming in your throat. "Well I was just wondering..." A hand comes up to scratch the back of your head as you look away, finding the vast ocean easier to gaze upon. "Is it comfortable to hold a sword in your mouth?"

...

...

It's quiet for a bit. You would have thought time stopped altogether if it weren't for some seagulls flying above the ship.

"Haaaaaaah? What kind of a question is that?" He all but barks, not expecting something so outlandish. He sits up from his comfortable napping position, a light red hue tinging his cheeks.

His reaction was not what you expected, his response making your confidence crumble. You put your hands up in a sort of defensive position, a small yelp of surprise leaving your mouth as you take a few steps back. "Wait, you don't have to answer!"

He turns his gaze to the side and clicks his tongue. "It's fine. It's... comfortable, natural to me now." His attention turns back to you, albeit a little suspiciously. "Why're ya askin'?"

It was your turn to look away, a warm sensation creeping up your neck to the tips of your ears. "I was just curious..."

The way his eyes narrow further doesn't do anything to quell your nerves. He can tell at the very least that you're not giving him the full story, but he isn't sure how hard to push. "That's all?"

You don't really trust yourself to speak, so you just nod and hope it's enough to get your vice captain off of your back. He huffs and lays back down, resting his arms up and over his head as he prepares to get back to his nap. A part of him knows you're hiding something, but he decides not to pursue it further for the sake of indulging in some shut eye.

"Good." He yawns, closing his eyes and getting back into a napping position. "Then let me sleep."

Your feet carry you away and back to the safety of your room. You don't have to be told twice...

The island is even more beautiful than you thought it was going to be. As a summer island, the weather was warm and inviting. It was vibrant and lively- even from the dock you could see an array of shops that seemed to never end. Nami calls for the crew to gather on the deck, holding Luffy by the collar so he didn't run off.

"Okay, here's the plan!" She commands, a hand on her hip while the other tightens on Luffy's shirt. "We're going to town, but one of us is going to have to stay behind to watch the ship." She eyes everyone, that intimidating gaze of hers scanning over the crew. "Any volunteers?"

As expected, no one volunteers. This island seems like a gold mine of fun, so you don't blame them. Though, this was the moment you were waiting for: to be alone on the ship.

Your hand sheepishly comes up, her eyes lighting up when she sees a volunteer.

Some of the other crew members look back at you with gratitude, thanking you for saving them from Nami's forecasted wrath. This kind of island seemed right up your alley, so for you volunteer to stay behind was a little odd.

The swordsman gives you a pointed look, but says nothing.

With everyone walking off into the distance, you breathe a sigh of relief and scramble up into the observation room. Equipment is scattered all around and your eyes light up when you see some wooden training swords propped up in the corner.

With a skip in your step, you grab one of the wooden swords and sit on the ground while examining it.

"It can't be that hard, right?" You murmured to yourself, examining the hilt. "I hope I don't get any splinters on my tongue..."

It's been a little over an hour now, your jaw only slightly sore from your attempts at wielding the wooden sword between your teeth.

You're so utterly engrossed in mastering the strange technique, that you fail to pick up on a presence approaching the observation room. When the hatch swings open and a mess of green hair pops out from underneath, you don't have time to process the situation you're in.

Your eyes widen, almost the size of saucers. The wooden hilt of the sword is still in your mouth, the weight of it making your head tilt slightly to the side. You're like a deer in headlights under a familiar, steely gaze and find yourself unable to move, briefly wondering if this was actually happening. 

"The hell are you doing?" He snaps, standing before you with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

His words pull you out of your daze and your teeth inadvertently clench on the hilt of the sword, causing your jaw to cramp. The sharp, throbbing sensation makes you let out a muffled cry of pain, the embarrassment of the situation seemingly forgotten.

Zoro's protective instincts take hold the moment he registers your discomfort. He kneels before you, his hands quickly coming up to either side of your jaw where he applies a nice pressure at the joint, just below your ear. He's all too familiar with the ache you're currently experiencing, though he hasn't felt it in quite a while.

His fingers continue to alleviate the pain, tracing small circles, and he scoffs. "This is why you don't just go and do random shit like this." He scolds, though his tone lacks its usual bite.

After your muscles finally ease, you remove the sword from your mouth and let out a sigh. Your cheeks are warm- you're sure he can feel the heat radiating from them as he lets his hands linger on the soft flesh. With a sigh, he finally pulls away and shifts from his kneeling position, sitting cross-legged in front of you.

He gives you an accusatory look, expecting you to start explaining just what in the hell you were doing. Its obvious, but he wants to hear it from you, and you know he won't drop it.

"I just wanted to try it." You murmur, stubbornly looking away from his piercing gaze.

"Try what?" He huffs, his fingers lightly tapping on the hilt of one of his swords. His tone contains a mixture of both smugness and annoyance. "Speak up."

A series of embarrassed grumbles spill past your lips, your voice more clear and firm. "I wanted to try the Three Sword Style."

You focus your attention on the floor. The silence would be deafening if it weren't for the soft crashes of waves and the buzz of the town off in the distance.

A sigh of resignation from Zoro's mouth cuts through all of that, his words making you look up at him in surprise.

"One lesson." He says, crossing his arms. If he's at all flustered by the situation, he does a good job of hiding it behind a stern expression. "Only so you don't break your jaw next time you decide to sneak off and play with wooden swords."

The two of you have been at it for a solid thirty minutes. Even though he hasn't gone over an insane amount of material, he makes you repeat each motion until he's deemed it adequate. For better or for worse, he trains you as he trains himself.

"You're biting too close to the hand guard." He notes, his eyes narrowing as he observes your form. "It'll make it harder to balance, even if it seems like it's more stable."

Your 'okay' is muffled, murmured through the wooden hilt in your mouth. Taking the sword out from between your teeth, you take a moment to swallow before placing it back in your mouth and correcting yourself. You hadn't realized how exhausting this style was...

You'd lost count of how many times your tongue swiped past your dry lips, how many times you'd swallow the saliva that had pooled in your mouth after holding the blade for too long... But, you wanted to learn and there was no backing out now.

His gaze, though initially intense, is something you'd grown accustomed to.

A thoughtful hum, low and rumbling, is heard from him as he observes you once more. Leaning forward from his seated position, he makes sure to get a view of all angles, the slight creasing of his forehead letting you know that there was something he wasn't liking.

"You're not applying the right pressure." He determines, leaning back and crossing his arms.

The look you give him is equal parts apologetic and exasperated. When you speak, it's a jumbled mess that he can't quite comprehend.

A vein ticks on his forehead in mild irritation, though he is partially amused. "Take it out of your mouth, stupid."

Your grumbled response is just as muffled and you use all of your willpower to not huff at him. As soon as the hilt is out of your mouth, you get in a nice breath of air before addressing his comment. "What's wrong with my pressure?"

He uncrosses his arms, one hand falling to his lap while the other absentmindedly runs over his chin. "Well when you're actually attacking, you wanna have as much pressure applied as you can. Right now, if you're just holding it, you don't need all...that."

When he nods his head towards your wooden training sword, you're almost mortified to see the extent of the bite marks left on the hilt. Your face is hot as you bring it closer and examine it, seeing his point.

"Okay, okay, I guess I'm going too hard." You admit, glancing at the hilt before meeting his gaze once more. "How do I know what the right pressure is?"

He takes a moment to ponder your question, his usual gruff demeanor fading as he recalls how he dealt with that same issue all those years ago. It was mostly trial and error, since the style was one of his own design, but he didn't want you to go through all of that. However, he couldn't exactly show you either, since you wouldn't be able to discern the amount of pressure he was using just from a glance.

An idea pops into his head. It's simple and straightforward enough, he thinks. Practical.

He extends his right hand towards you, almost like he's going to give you a handshake, until he lifts it so that it settles right in front of your face.

"Here." His expression and tone are much too nonchalant. "Bite. I can tell what pressure is good."

You want to laugh at first, tell him that he's a jokester under all that seriousness, but the way he's looking at you, the way he genuinely wants to help you master the technique, leaves you momentarily stunned.

It's clear that he means business, his brows furrowing slightly when you stare at him with dumbfounded eyes. "Well?" He huffs, slightly impatient.

"I- okay." You relent, a whirlwind of thoughts in your head as you lean forward and comply with his instructions.

Your teeth bite gently on the flesh of his thumb and he adjusts his hand to grant you easier access, the rest of his fingers curling just under your chin to help hold your head upright. Swallowing, you increase the pressure and, though you're fairly positive that it feels like nothing to him, you're hesitant to bite down with more force.

He seems to sense your reluctance and lets out a small growl, before instructing you again. "Harder."

It's all a bit too much for you, but you comply, unable to tear your gaze from his as your teeth bite into his skin. You wonder if he can feel the warmth radiating from you, growing in intensity with every increase in force you apply.

His eyes hold a mixture of emotions and its only due the mere fact that you're so close to him that you can discern them. There's an immense focus, an unrelenting determination and something ever so soft that you've never seen before. You only catch a brief glimpse of it before it disappears, replaced by a glint of approval and a hint of pride.

"There." He nods his head. "That's the pressure I want."

When you open your mouth and release his appendage from between your teeth, he takes a moment to glance over the bite marks you left behind. He grunts in satisfaction, turning his attention to you once more and handing you another wooden training sword for you to practice with.

Its almost half an hour later when you finally call it quits, the muscles in your jaw unable to keep up.

His hands are on you again, rubbing those same small circles into your flesh in a bid to sooth the aches that came with such training. A part of him is impressed that you held out for so long, though he knew you were stubborn like him, unwilling to back down even though your soul just about left your body when he caught you.

He's... flattered that you admire him enough to want to practice his style, though he wouldn't openly say so.

You look up at him, reveling in the warmth of his hands and the healing that they bring to your sore jaw. "Thank you." You murmur, your tone soft and sincere.

He can't bear to look you in the eyes, instead diverting his attention to a corner of the room. A warmth blooms in his chest and he sighs at the unfamiliar sensation, brows furrowing as his own bullheadedness makes him refuse to acknowledge it's implications.

His eyes manage to find their way back to yours, reflecting both wariness and an undeniable curiosity. He did say only one lesson, but...

"We can practice some more tomorrow."

[kinascum]

ZIP-TIEDᯓ★

Hank Thompson x PoliceOfficer!Reader (sorry)

wc: 3.1k | summary: oh you won't confess? alight ill make you talk, pretty boy. | nav ♡ taglist

18+ MDNI. DUBCON. interrogation. coercion. sexual content. explicit language. power dynamics. authority abuse. dark themes. talk of crime, stealing. talk of sickness. violence. restraints while engaging in sexual activities.

A/N: thanks m girl @aust-een for fueling this idea lmao

You stand outside the interrogation room, watching through the one-way mirror as Hank Thompson slumps in the chair, his eyes hollow, his jaw tight. The room is stark, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead casting an unflinching glow on the cold metal table and the two chairs. The air is thick with tension, a palpable silence that seems to hum with anticipation. You know he's the one—the infamous thief that's been taunting the city for months. The bookstore heist was just the latest in a string of burglaries, each more brazen than the last. But here he is, caught red-handed.

As you enter the room, the door swings shut with a heavy thud that echoes off the concrete walls. You don't bother with pleasantries or the reading of rights. He knows why he's here. You've studied his file, watched the security footage—his graceful moves and calculated precision. His reputation precedes him, and so does your resolve to get answers.

"No cameras," you say firmly, looking him in the eye. "No microphones. Just you and me."

He smirks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for a brief second before dropping back to the floor. "What makes you think I'll talk?"

You lean against the wall, crossing your arms. "You will. One way or another."

He chuckles darkly, the sound barely audible in the stark room. "Is that a promise or a threat?"

You don't answer, instead you start pacing the floor, the soles of your shoes squeaking on the clean tiles. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. You can almost feel the tension coiling around him, tightening with every step you take.

After a moment, you stop, your eyes locking onto his. "Look, Hank. We can do this the easy way or the hard way." You let the words hang in the air, a silent ultimatum.

He remains unmoved, his gaze unwavering. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

You take a deep breath, then cross the room to stand directly in front of him. You lean in close, your voice low and measured. "It means I'll get the answers I need, whether you give them to me now, or I have to... coax them out of you."

You can see the doubt flicker in his eyes, the beginnings of fear. Good. It's time to turn the heat up.

You start with simple questions, a dance of words meant to unravel his defenses. His replies are monosyllabic, gruff, but they come. You press on, your tone even, your gaze never leaving his. The room feels smaller with each question you ask, the air thickening like the plot of a noir thriller. The silence stretches taut between you, a tightrope of anticipation.

You decide to change tactics. You pull out a chair and sit down across from him, your eyes never leaving his. The chair scrapes against the floor, a jarring sound in the quiet room. You lean forward, your elbows resting on the table, your fingers steepled. "Hank," you say, your voice softer now, "why don't you tell me about the bookstore?"

He snorts, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "What's there to say?"

You lean back, your chair creaking under the weight of your frustration. You've seen his type before—slick, smug, thinking he's smarter than everyone else. But you're smarter. You've read his file, studied his patterns. You know he's hiding something. So you wait, watching the play of emotions across his face. And when he doesn't speak, you stand up, your movements deliberate, and pull the zip tie from your pocket.

You circle the chair, his eyes following you as you do. His breath hitches as you pull his arms behind his back, the plastic biting into his wrists as you secure them to the chair. He tries to jerk away, but you're stronger, more determined. "What the hell are you doing?" he snarls.

"Just making sure you don't go anywhere," you reply, your voice calm, almost casual. "You see, Hank, I've got all night."

He struggles against the restraints, his face reddening with rage. "You can't do this!" he spits.

You lean down so your face is inches from his. "Oh, but I can," you murmur. "And I will."

You start with the basics again, asking about the bookstore. His responses are still defiant, but the edge of fear is there now, sharper than before. You can see it in the way his eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape. But there isn't one. You're in control here.

You lean back in your chair, watching him squirm under the plastic. His breathing has become shallower, faster. The tension is palpable, a living thing in the room with you. "Let's try this again, Hank. What can you tell me about the bookstore?"

He clenches his jaw, his eyes narrowing. "Nothing."

With a sigh, you stand up and walk around the table. He tries to lean away from you, but the chair is bolted to the floor. "You know, Hank," you murmur, your voice low and seductive, "I'm not a big fan of playing games."

You place your hand on his thigh, feeling the muscles tense beneath the fabric of his pants. He jerks at the sudden contact, his eyes snapping up to yours. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Your smile is cold, calculated. "I'm making sure you understand the gravity of the situation." You slide your hand up, your fingers brushing against the growing bulge in his crotch. His body responds despite his protests, his cock stiffening under your touch.

He bucks against the chair, trying to break free, but the zip ties hold firm. "You can't do this!"

You lean in close, your breath warm against his ear. "And what are you gonna do?"

Your hand starts to move in slow, torturous circles, your grip tightening just enough to keep him on the edge. His eyes roll back in his head, his teeth gritted as he fights the pleasure you're giving him. But you're in no rush. You've got all night.

You whisper in his ear, your voice a silky promise. "Every time you lie to me, I'll make it harder for you. But every time you tell the truth, I'll make it feel so good."

He grunts, his body straining against the restraints. "What do you want to know?"

You lean back, your hand still wrapped around his cock, stroking him with a maddening gentleness. "The truth, Hank. That's all I want."

He grits his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck you."

You increase the pressure slightly, watching as his body tenses. "The more you resist, the more you'll regret it."

You can feel him fighting it, his hips pushing against your hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His voice is strained, desperate. "What...what do you want to know?"

You lean in closer, your breath hot on his neck. "Everything."

You start with the night of the bookstore heist. Your hand moves in a steady rhythm, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge. He clenches his fists, his knuckles white. "What happened that night?"

He groans, his body betraying his resolve. "I...I went in...for the books."

You tighten your grip, slowing down. "And?"

He swallows hard, his voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to...to take the money."

You feel his cock pulse in your hand, but you don't let him finish. "Why did you do it, Hank?"

He pants, his eyes wild with need. "I needed it...for...for my sister's medication."

You ease up, his erection subsiding slightly. "Go on."

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I...I had no choice. She's sick."

You nod, your grip loosening slightly. "What did you do with the money?"

"I...I gave it to her," he gasps out, his voice strained. "I didn't keep a dime."

You resume the slow, torturous strokes, feeling him harden again. "What about the other jobs? The jewelry, the art?"

He shakes his head, his eyes pleading. "I don't know what you're talking about."

You squeeze harder, his hips bucking. "Don't lie to me, Hank."

He lets out a strangled cry. "Okay, okay! I did them. But...but it was always for a good cause. I never kept anything for myself."

You lean back, studying his face. The lies are coming easier now, his need for release overwhelming his pride. "Who did you sell the items to?"

His breath catches, his body trembling. "A...a fence. I don't know his name."

You don't buy it. You know he's holding out on you. You lean in, your voice a whisper. "Hank, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me everything."

He growls, his eyes flashing with anger and desperation, his release inching closer. "I don't know! I swear!"

You lean back, your hand leaving his crotch. He gasps, his eyes snapping open, his body rigid with unfulfilled need. "What?" he pants, the question a mix of disbelief and frustration.

You lean back in your chair, folding your arms. "I said I want the truth, Hank. No more games."

The room is silent for a long moment, the only sounds his ragged breaths and the distant murmur of the precinct. His eyes dart around the room, searching for something—anything—that might give him a way out of this. But there's nothing. Just the two of you and the truth that hangs heavy in the air.

"Please," he whispers, his voice cracking. "Please don't do this."

You stand, walking around the table to stand in front of him again. You lean down, your hand resting on the zip tie, ready to tighten it. "The fence's name, Hank."

He closes his eyes, his jaw clenched. "Vic," he says through gritted teeth. "Vic Castellanos."

You straighten, a flicker of satisfaction crossing your face. That's a name you recognize. A big fish in the city's criminal underbelly. But you don't let him see it. Instead, you lean down, your voice a seductive purr. "Good boy."

You run your hand along his thigh, your fingertips dancing up to his crotch again. He jerks, his body begging for release. But you stop just short, your hand hovering over him. "But that's not all I need to know."

He groans, his eyes pleading. "What...what else?"

You smile, a wicked glint in your eye. "Everything, Hank. Every detail."

With a flick of your wrist, you unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. His cock springs free, hard and desperate. He tries to struggle again, but the chair holds him firmly in place. You take a moment to appreciate the view, the way his erection juts out, pulsing with the rhythm of his racing heart. Then, you wrap your hand around him, your grip firm but gentle.

You start to stroke, slow and deliberate. His eyes roll back in his head, a strangled sound escaping his throat. "The...the...other jobs," he gasps. "They were...for charity. For kids, for the homeless."

You keep your rhythm steady, your eyes never leaving his face. "Go on."

His breath comes in ragged pants now, his hips moving with your hand. "The...the diamonds," he whispers. "They...they were for a children's hospital."

You nod, your hand moving a little faster. "And the art?"

"A...a museum," he chokes out. "They needed...needed funding."

You lean in, your breath hot against his ear. "Why steal for them?"

He swallows hard, his body tight with need. "Because...because no one else would help."

Your hand speeds up, your grip tightening. "What about the people you hurt, Hank?"

He opens his eyes, the reality of his actions crashing over him. "They...they didn't matter."

You stop, your hand hovering just above his cock. "What makes you think they didn't matter?"

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with pain and desperation. "Because...because the ones I was helping mattered more."

You resume stroking, your touch a little softer now. "But they were just pawns in your game, weren't they?"

He nods, his eyes squeezed shut. "Yes," he whispers.

You lean back, watching him. His body is taut with tension, his breathing erratic. You know he's close, so close to the edge. But not yet. "Tell me about the last job, Hank. The one that went wrong."

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "It...it was a mistake. I didn't mean to get caught."

You cock your head, your eyes gleaming. "And what did you take?"

He grits his teeth, the struggle clear on his face. "A...a necklace. For...for my sister."

You nod, your hand moving faster now. "And why did you choose that necklace?"

"It...it was her birthday," he gasps, his eyes filling with tears. "I wanted to make her happy."

You lean in, your voice a gentle caress. "What was so special about that necklace?"

Hank's body jerks as he fights back the sob that threatens to escape. "It...it was one like our mother's. She...she never got to wear it. I wanted her to have something of hers."

The room feels heavier with the weight of his confession, the air thick with unshed tears. But you don't let up. You need all the information he has. "Where is it now, Hank?"

He shakes his head, his eyes squeezed shut. "I...I don't know. I had to ditch it when you...you caught me."

You stroke him a little faster, his cock hardening in your grip. "Where did you hide it?"

He moans, his hips bucking involuntarily, a tear slipping from his eye. "In...in a locker at the bus station. Number 43."

You nod, your hand moving faster, your strokes now a blur. He's close, so close. You can see the sweat beading on his forehead, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. And then, with a strangled cry, he finally breaks, his body convulsing as he climaxes, hot cum spurting into the space between his stomach and the chair. You watch with a detached fascination, your hand still moving until the last tremor passes through him.

As he pants for breath, his body limp with exhaustion, you lean down and whisper in his ear, "Good boy." You give his cock one final squeeze before releasing it, watching as it goes soft again. You step back, your heart pounding in your chest. You've got what you wanted—his confession, the fence's name, the location of the necklace. But the game isn't over yet.

You pull a handkerchief from your pocket and offer it to him. He looks at it with a mix of disgust and gratitude, using it to clean himself up. You watch, your expression unreadable. "You know, Hank," you say, your voice low and calm, "you're not such a bad guy. Just...misplaced."

He glares up at you, his wrists still bound by the zip tie. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You shrug, tucking the handkerchief back in your pocket. "You had a reason. A good one, even." You lean back against the wall, crossing your arms again. "But you're still a thief."

The anger in his eyes fades to something else—despair, maybe. "What are you going to do to me?"

You smile, a cold, hard smile that sends a shiver down his spine. "Oh, Hank. That's not for me to decide."

You leave him there, the room echoing with the sound of his labored breathing. You've got your answers, but the night is still young. And there's so much more to uncover about Hank, the man behind the mask. As you walk back to your office, you can't help but wonder what other secrets he's hiding. And how much more of himself he'll be willing to give up before the dawn breaks.

taglist! @baileysturns @joyouswonders @eternal-love

[fuckedupfate]

﹔ ✧ BUSY WOMAN ˚ ༘

〉MDNI ! 18+ ONLY ! SENSITIVE CONTENT AHEAD ! MDNI ! 18 + !

! WARNINGS : smut . pet names (baby girl, sweetheart, baby, etc.) . sexual language . teasing . oral sex . PROTECTED soft p in v (always wrap it up!!) . ALL IS CONSENSUAL ! (please let me know if i missed any!)

❛ busy woman, unless you call tonight. ❜

boring.

that's what tonight was. so utterly boring. having to sit around, watching whatever movies that come on the tv. you were supposed to be a busy woman, no? one that had a multitude of things to do, play hard to get, lead men on. but now, you're sat on your lounge, legs propped up on the arm rest, hanging over the edge. and what in the flying fuck is this movie? you have absolutely no idea, and you haven't really been bothered to even check.

ugh. you really do wish you had something to do, or better yet, someone, to do. someone to touch you. feel you. praise you—but no. you're here, all alone, bored, needy, and running out of patience at time itself.

though, it feels like a miracle had been made, or your inappropriate prayers had been answered, when your phone began to ring. hoping that it's one of the many men you have attained a number from with the promise of seeing them again, and not just a spam caller asking if you needed some internet. seriously, who is falling for those?

anyway. to your delight it is in fact one of the men who you got a number from, and to your further delight, it happens to be one which you actually decided to put in a contact name for. give yourself a pat on the back for that one—it saves you the guessing game, and the disappointment when you realise it isn't a man who did you good.

dean.

dean, dean, dean.... dean....

ohhhh, dean.

you remember him. how could you have possibly forgot? he was damn good. so, so good. fucked you good, to say it blunt and short. his touch, incredible. his lips, incredible. his body, incredible. his dick, even more incredible.

you answer the phone bringing it to your ear as you're already beginning to make yourself ready to get your ass over to wherever he is currently staying. if you remember last time, he was staying at a motel... oh fuck. a motel? the bed? fucks sake.

"dean." you greet shortly, getting yourself ready.

"hey, sweetheart. you remember me?" he asks, that signature cockiness and sarcasm dripping through his tone—yes, you remember that, too.

"i might've had to jog my memory for a few moments. but ultimately, yes. i do in fact remember you." you respond, reciprocating the sarcasm and playfulness he has in his tone.

"i'm so honoured." he states, and you can basically hear the smirk on his lips as he speaks. it isn't hard to tell. "well, baby girl, are you able to fit me into your calendar tonight?"

"well... my openings are a little tight.. but i'm sure i can fit you in, i suppose." you say, feigning busyness—the busyness which you, unfortunately, did not have for this night, but... he doesn't need to know that you're not busy. that's all apart of the act. don't ever tell men what you're truly doing, lead them on. that's the fun part.

"oh yeah? well, get your pretty ass over here." he's quick to say, the smugness still remaining in his voice.

"and where would 'here' be?" you ask in response, raising a brow despite him not being able to see it.

"the red bar inn, room 11. and how long do you think it'll take you to get here?" is what he asks, and you let out a quiet hum—acting as though you're thinking.

"...forty-five minutes?" you say, and it isn't a debatable time, it's a 'that's how long it'll be, don't ask for anything different' sort of time. he knows that, and he doesn't push it.

"i'll see you then, sweetheart. look pretty."

the phone call ends. leaving you to get ready to leave. to get ready for him.

god, there is so much you need to do. so much to shave. lipstick to reapply. but.. you suppose for him, you can accommodate.

once you arrive at the motel, glancing around while you sit inside your car before getting out and making your way to room 11. where dean had said he was. god, why are some motels so sketch looking?

you knock on the door gently before letting your hand come to rest by your side, awaiting for the door to open and for the sight of dean to be visible. it isn't long until that indeed is happening—the door opening, and dean stands there for a moment. but it escalates quickly.

before you know it, you're pulled into the room, the sound of the door shutting and clicking locked behind you, all while your lips are met by his. you gently drop your handbag, letting it meet the floor, before your arms are looping around dean's neck and his hands are holding your waist. he brings you over to the bed, which must be acclaimed his, him sitting down on the edge before bringing you into his lap, straddling him. holding you there while his hands explore your body, feeling the skin of your torso, stomach, and chest beneath his fingers.

now that is a way to touch a woman.

you hum softly against his mouth, unable to keep that from happening when you find yourself enjoying the touch. he then is proceeding to take your shirt off, pulling back from the kiss to do so, and to also admire you—both with his hands and eyes. and then with his lips and tongue.

your hand instinctively drifts to the back of his head while his lips and tongue, practically worship, whatever inch of skin they can. your neck. collarbone. chest. breasts—which he then creates more access to by unhooking your bra and letting it join your shirt on the floor. taking advantage of the current situation, your hands move down to find the hem of his shirt, beginning to slide it up once he's moved in a way to allow it to be fully taken off. and that too joins your shirt and bra on the carpeted floor.

it doesn't take long until his lips are back onto yours. tongue sliding into your mouth, intertwining it with your own. his hands explore your body, feeling the soft skin underneath his palms and fingertips.

he most certainly missed the way you felt.

he then coaxes you to lift yourself up onto your knees so he is able to slide down the waistband of your pants, before he then moves you, making you lie on your back on the bed while he sits beside you, allowing himself to be able to fully take of your pants now, letting them join the rest of the clothes now on the floor.

it isn't long until you're now both naked, his hands exploring your body, just completely losing himself in the way you feel beneath his fingertips. your body beneath his, lips on his before they're not. before you're feeling them trail down your body, going between your breasts, down your stomach, down to your hip, and finally, to your thighs.

oh, wow.

you let out a soft gasp, one hand coming to rest in his hair, fingertips entangling with the short strands. as soon as he heard that soft gasp, the soft noise falling from your lips, he's quick to continue kissing up your inner thigh, his lips touching the skin so gently, as if you're a sacred thing to touch. as if you'll break beneath his touch if he isn't careful enough. as he becomes closer, getting a few centimeters away from your core, his breath brushing against it causing a wave of heat to rush up your spine, your hand gently gripping at his hair.

he's quick to respond, pressing a kiss against your clit before pressing his tongue against it, which then follows by his lips wrapping around it, sucking it. when he hears you whine, feels your hand tightening in his hair, and the involuntary jerk of your hips, he knows to keep going—if the fact you were soaking wasn't enough already.

one of his hands comes to rest on your hip while the other holds your thigh, keeping you in place, and keeping up his ability to please you in the way he knows you like.

he's sucking at your clit before he lets go of it, which earns him a whine in protest from you, but it's quickly taken aback with a soft gasp when his tongue slides through your folds, and he lets out a soft groan at how you taste upon his tongue.

his ministrations continue, tongue working it's magic against your soaking pussy, earning moans and gasps in response—which he fucking loves, along with the taste of you—and it also earns him hair tugs. that simple movement telling him to keep going, even if you do voice that through your shaky and broken voice, he takes into account the hair tugs as well. don't worry.

"dean—" you moan out, hand tugging at his hair. "please—please don't stop—"

he almost lets out a scoff in response. stop? god, he'd be a fucking idiot to stop. at least to stop right now, when he has you right where he wanted, and how he tastes you on his tongue. not to mention the sounds you're making for him. he swears the sounds you make are just as beautiful as you are—like, seriously. he loves them, if you couldn't tell already.

he can feel the way you're beginning to squirm beneath his hold, and thankfully he is holding you, or else you wouldn't be staying still enough and he wouldn't be able to do his job the way he wants to. but, he knows what it means when you're beginning to squirm, and how your moans are becoming breathy, and how your hand is holding his hair tightly. he knows what that means, and he's quick to quicken the pace of his tongue, eating you out like he's a man starved.

"oh my g—dean—" your moan is louder this time, a loud cry out of his name falling from your lips as you fall apart. cumming right into his mouth, painting his tongue, chin, and the tip of his nose, with your release. which is also mixed with your arousal which was already painting his face.

and, just like any man should, he is licking up every bit of it. cleaning it up with his tongue, just relishing in the way you taste, as per usual.

he then slowly moves up, kissing up your stomach and chest, allowing you a few moments to collect your breath, before his lips meet yours once again, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. on his lips.

dean kisses and sucks at your neck as his hand reaches over, opening the drawer of the nightstand to grab out a condom. he moves his head away from your neck for a few moments to unwrap the condom, tearing the wrapper with his teeth before rolling the condom on.

dean's eyes lift up to yours, watching as you bite your lip and nod. "use your words, baby." he coaxes gently, wanting to hear your approval. your consent.

"yes." you whisper in response, giving him the consent he is wanting.

he doesn't know why, but your words send a spur of arousal through him, a soft groan falling past his lips before he's adjusting himself, and you, for him to be able to align the tip of his dick to your vagina. his eyes meet yours as his dick is now sliding into you, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head slightly, lips falling open as a soft moan falls from them.

he's taking it slow. fucking you gently, just loving the way you feel around him. how your hands are gripping onto him, how your legs are wrapped around his hips. and, of course, how you sound.

those sweet, soft moans. the ones falling from your lips. the ones which mingle with his groans. your breath mixing with his, each inhale slow and mixed with a moan each time he's filling you up.

his head finds your shoulder, resting against it as he feels your nails digging into the skin of his back, creating crescent shaped marks. your moans fill his mind, he just listens to them. listening to the way his name falls from your lips, the way you stumble and stutter over your words, but he knows what you're saying.

"oh my—pl—dean—please don't stop—" you practically beg him through your broken and shaky voice.

he kisses at your shoulder, all while continuing to pump in and out of you. "i'm not going to, sweet girl." he reassures, his voice breathy but his tone just adds the extra mile you needed. you didn't know that a tone could make you feel so much more pleasure, but it does. because, well, mixed with how he's fucking you so gently, the tone does a lot more than it probably does in a regular situation.

broken words, unfinished sentences, praises, moans, whines, groans, and laboured and heavy breaths all fill the room.

the sound of your sweet sounds filling dean's ears and mind, unable to focus on anything other than the way you sound and feel. he's undeniably obsessed, truly. hooked.

"god.. baby, you feel so good. sound so sweet.. all for me, huh?" dean says into your shoulder, pressing kisses against the bare skin between every few words.

you're unable to do anything than nod, and moan—of course—unable to keep your mind off of the way he fills you up. the way he speaks. the way he kisses you. the way he makes you feel. goddamn. his hands, which explore different parts of your body, then find their specific spots. one of them holding your hip while the other is on the mattress beside your waist, holding himself up. his lips now find yours, the kiss sloppy and unsynchronised, moans muffled by his mouth, but god, he cannot complain about that.

dean then feels your pussy clench around him, which makes him let out a groan, and it happens a few times, all while your nails claw at his back, creating scratch marks and crescent shapes.

"dean—" you cry out, having came again. coating his condom wrapped dick. and just as you cum, he does too. a groan of your name falling from his lips as the tight knot which had formed snapping, filling up the condom in his sperm.

you're laying on the bed, dean rested beside you. well, okay, to your very surprise, he did in fact clean up. and you showered. and now, now, you're in bed. lying there, one of his arms around you.

this isn't ever how your hook-ups ended. well.. usually you don't want to stay around for that long, because, well... some of them aren't worth it. but dean? okay, okay. he may—may—be your favourite.

....maybe.

01 . JADE YAPS: i did in fact write this while listening to busy woman on repeat, so... authenticity, right?

02 . TAGLIST: @littlesoulshine, @multiversefanfics

03 . JOIN THE TAGLIST!

04 . SEND IN REQUESTS!

05 . DIVIDER BY: @anitalenia

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires - Part 33

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Masterlist

Warning: suicide attempt

Your mother's service is not at a church, but at a funeral parlor.

I'm not religious, (Y/n). I understand why a church might not be the norm, here. You can have your funeral at a parlor in the states, too! But wow, a Dutch funeral parlor is a very impersonal building. And ugly.

If I was your mom, I would be pretty pissed.

If I was your mother, I would be angry at the turnout, too. There are a lot of people, don't get me wrong, but there is your family squarely on one side and her friends squarely on the other. They do not intermingle and the hostility is palpable.

I'd ask you to explain why that is, but you are not speaking to me. At all. You woke up and ignored me. You haven't said a word of English all day. I am lost in a sea of people, all speaking a language I do not understand.

So much for you loving me. Today, I am the man who killed your mother. The look in your eyes when you happen to glance at me says it all.

You hate that I'm here. Even your family is beginning to give me strange looks because I am so clearly unwanted by you.

Everyone sits in uncomfortable folding chairs. The casket is and remains closed. The director speaks a few words, then several people speak. Your grandma carefully unfolds a note, reads only two words and then bursts into tears, so that your grandfather has to come and take her away.

You go last, and you are not like your grandmother. Your eyes are bone dry, and you do not have a note.

You're in a black dress - I've never seen you in a dress, but despite the circumstances, you look beautiful in one - with your hair up in a ponytail. You are wearing a lot of makeup for once. Which is understandable because when you woke up this morning, you were so pale, it was like we were going to your funeral.

The makeup looks like a mask. On your expressionless face, it may as well be armor.

“When they ask me what my mom was like during my childhood,” you begin.

“I close my eyes and try to imagine something normal to respond.

“But all I can see

“Is a very small version of me.

“Reading books to myself

“And putting myself to sleep.”

There is some murmuring. This is not the kind of poetry you are supposed to recite at someone's burial.

You don't care. You continue to speak, in Dutch now, and slowly the regular sadness returns. At one point, something you say makes everyone laugh, and I chuckle along though I don't know what's funny.

When you are done, you sit down next to me and you don't look at me and I should take your hand, I should support you, but you don't want me to.

The director says some more words, and then the procession outside starts. Your mother is lowered into the ground gently. Your grandmother cries too much to be able to throw some dirt, so you do it twice. Once for her, and once for yourself.

You hold your grandmother's hand, not mine.

After it's over, we get in the car with your uncle, and he drives us back to the AirBnB.

You don't shed a tear until we're inside.

But once the door closes behind us, you crumple.

You go into the bedroom and you close the door behind you - Keep out, Joe - and I can hear you crying, sobbing, and I don't know what to do.

I did this to you. I gave you this pain. I truly believe that once the grief dulls, you will be better off, but that doesn't help you now.

If I had not been so obvious and if you had not known I was the one who took your mother from you, I could have hugged you and made things better.

As things are, I am helpless.

Things go quiet after a while. I let them be quiet for about an hour before I go knocking at the door.

“(Y/n)?”

No answer.

“Do you want some food, or something? I could heat you up some soup.” You haven't eaten all day, after all.

No answer, still.

The door is not locked. I open it slowly, softly, and peek in.

You are on the bed. Your back is to me but I think you are asleep. You are on top of the blankets and you're still wearing your black dress and your shoes, I should take them off and tuck you in.

Then, my eye falls onto something. I don't know why. It's been there for three days.

It's a bottle of pills Nadia gave you on New Year's. She said they would help you sleep, and you told her, firmly, that you weren't planning on taking her medication. That you knew what road that led down.

I barely paid attention to the exchange at the time. You are not a drug addict and I did not think anything of it.

But I have the worst feeling.

I walk over slowly, uncertainly. Your nightstand feels lightyears away but then I'm reaching out, picking up the bottle.

It's empty.

Everything goes out of focus.

I am feeling your neck for a pulse, listening for your breathing. I am carrying you. I am in the shower with you, sitting on the floor underneath the cold spray with you in my lap.

“Don't do this to me,” I hear myself say. “Don't you do this to me.”

My fingers should not be going down your throat and you should not be puking out all that is inside you, which is water and bile and pills. I pull you to my chest and I rock us and I think I have saved your life but you need a doctor, a hospital, and I don't know what number to call.

The first thing I'm aware of that doesn't happen in flashes, is being in the living room, dripping wet, and calling Nadia. I use your phone and Nadia answers with something in Dutch.

I don't know where you are. I don't know where I left you.

“Nadia? It's Joe,” I say. “How do I call nine one one? (Y/n) just tried to kill herself.”

[adoriels-tears-if]

GRAAAAAHHH my love and hunger to comfort and love Corden is so huge 😭 I love when games allow you to befriend and romance orcs <333 orcs deserve all the love in the world, I'm unapologetic orc enjoyer <333 Corden will not escape from smooches and cuddles

Can we have something with him? Anything? Maybe a reaction to MC crowning him with a flower crown and kissing his forehead? 😭 Beautiful king deserves enchanting crown!!!

I got you Anon !

Corden sits opposite you, arms folded, pretending not to notice what you've been doing with it for a few hours now. the flower ornament takes you a while, but you know it's worth it. His sharp tongue has fallen silent for now, but you can tell his curiosity by the way his eyes rest on your hands, and you can't contain a smile.

Finally, he asks, “What's it for?” His tone is gruff, but his interest is betrayed by the hint of curiosity that raises his voice a slight octave.

You don't answer immediately, concentrating on putting the last flowers in place. When she's ready, you lean forward and, before he can protest further, place the delicate wreath of flowers on his head. His eyes widen in surprise, and his mouth parts, but the usual remark you'd expect doesn't come.

Instead, he remains silent, staring at you in disbelief.

“What…are you doing?”

“I'm crowning you.”

You stroke his cheek, and place a soft kiss on his forehead, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of his skin. When you pull away, his face is flushed, a rare vulnerability visible in his expression.

“It's a human custom,” he retorts, gently brushing the petals of a snow rose.

“So?” you retort, staring at him.

He swallows. “Don't look at me like that,” he murmurs, obviously troubled, but his voice cracks just enough for you to know how much this means to him. His fingers brush over one of the flowers, awkwardly avoiding your gaze. “I'm not a king…”

“You're right, you're not.” You nod emphatically. “You're much more than that. You're Corden, my friend, my confidant, the one...” You trail off, afraid of seeing his walls go up again if the words escape you. You gently slip your hand into his and he flinches. “You may not rule a kingdom, may not lead your people, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve a crown.”

For a long moment, the silence stretches between you, heavy with all the things unsaid. He wants to reject this, the vulnerability you're offering him, but he can't because deep down, he craves it more than anything. And you both know it.

“You…” His voice is rough, low, as he struggles to find the words. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You think I deserve this?” He gestures vaguely to the crown on his head, but you know he’s talking about more than just that. He’s talking about everything—the affection, the care, the love you're offering him.

"I know exactly what I'm saying." Your grip on his hand tightens slightly, as if to reassure him. "I see you, Corden. I see every part of you, and that’s exactly why you deserve it."

He swallows hard, his gaze falling to the ground, pressing his lips together. You can see the conflict in him—the desire to believe you, battling against the years of pain and self-doubt that have shaped him. His voice, when he finally speaks again, is quiet, barely more than a whisper.

"I'm not good enough for that."

"You are," you insist, your voice steady and filled with certainty. "You've always been."

If only he could see himself through your eyes, then maybe he could see it. King that he is, always has been. The one who refuses to see it, but has long reigned over your heart. Marked, strong, and deserving of all the love you're willing to give him.

[grandlinedreams]

Hii! I love your writing! Can you do a Law x shy yn please?

Hiya!! Thank-you so much, that really does mean a lot to me to have people enjoy my writing! Absolutely, I hope this is to your liking!! setting context: uh....just after Wano/defeating Kaido

He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves meㅡ

"There you are." You look up from your idle task as Law approaches. "What are you doing all the way over here?"

"Nothing," you answer, hoping he doesn't notice the half-plucked flower in your hand and the discarded petals by your feet.

"Not in the mood to celebrate?" he asks, moving to settle himself beside you, Kikoku set aside carefully. He's been cleaned up and bandaged well, most of it hidden under clean, untorn clothing.

"Something like that," you answer. You hadn't meant to worry anyone with your disappearance, only that the loud, boisterous energy that the Strawhats seem to radiate is usually too much to handle when you see them. They have reason to celebrate, and you don't want to ruin the mood with your less enthusiastic presence. "What about you?"

"There's only so much of them that I can take," Law remarks dryly, though there's a hint of a smirk when you stifle a giggle. Despite his frustration and outwardly begrudging tolerance for them, you know Law has a growing soft spot for the other pirate crew. (Luffy has that kind of effect, you've noticed. Eternal canon blast cheer and a tenacity for friendship that strangely seems to always work in his favor.)

There's a lapse into comfortable silence, the sound of some distant nighttime animal echoing as you twirl the flower stem between your fingers. It feels foolish to put any kind of merit into the sway of a childhood game ㅡ you're smarter than that, you know better than that. (Curse those romantic notions you've read so often in books loaned to you on occasion by Ikkaku.)

"Something on your mind?" Law's question makes you look up and over, finding him watching you with soft amusement. "You were sighing pretty heavily. What's going on in that head of yours?"

Your cheeks warm, the half-limp flower spinning faster now between your fingers, an outlet for nervous energy. "Do you think..." You trail off, fighting for the right words. "Do you think we deserve a happy ending?"

It sounds dumber now that you've said it out loud, giving a voice to those idyllic fantasies you've so often found yourself mentally entertaining as of late. Especially so in voicing it to Law, when you know he's a man of science and logic.

"I think so." Law's quiet answer makes you jolt, watching him in surprise. He isn't looking at you, gaze focused somewhere off in the distance as he speaks. "I didn't used to, not when I was so sure that I'd die trying to bring down Doflamingo. And I made my peace with that, so long as I got revenge for Corazon."

Carefully, tentatively, you scoot closer. "And now?"

"Now..." He trails off as he lifts his arm, wraps it around your shoulders to press you closer to him. "I want that. It's what Corazon would want, too." He turns towards you, raising an eyebrow in question. "What about you?"

You spin the flower stem, watch the whirl of the remaining petals before letting it slip from your fingers. You don't need that, not with the weight of Law's arm around you, the quiet, tentative requital of your own feelings. "Yes," you answer at last, "I think we do."