#if they don’t agree or even voice hope for something to spin the other way?

[revolution-or-riot]

literally cannot stand when people act like disliking taylor swift is some misogynistic act

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 TELLING THEM THEY'RE PRETTY!

FEATURING: dazai osamu, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol

SUMMARY: telling the bsd boys that they're pretty! (wordcount: 3.5k; sfw; fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: i had cute dividers but this won't show up in the tags if use them D: ! i had sooo much fun with this! i hope you guys enjoy! :D

DAZAI OSAMU

You can’t seem to drag your gaze away from him. 

As a long day of work comes to an end, you rest your head on your arms and lean on your desk. Kunikida is still tapping furiously away at his computer, Tanizaki and Naomi are whispering about something together, Ranpo is sorting through his candy, and Atsushi and Kyouka are looking through files. But your eyes are tracing over Dazai Osamu as he leans back in his chair, lazily spinning and bobbing his head to the music he’s listening to. 

The setting sun casts an ethereal glow over him, his lips idly turned up and his lashes brushing his cheeks as rests his eyes waiting for the day to end. Dazai Osamu is pretty—you’ve always acknowledged that—but there’s something about the peace of this moment, the domesticity of the office and the ambience of the lighting that has you utterly enraptured.

He looks so at ease, and Dazai Osamu is never at ease. Even when he throws up that clownlike mask of his and spends his day entertaining under the guise of joy and humor, you can always see the strain in the corner of his eyes and lips. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible really—if you were anyone else, you’d miss it, but you’re not anyone else, much to his displeasure, because you know he hates how easily you can see right through him.

After a few minutes, Dazai peeks his eyes open—and you’re almost breathless, because his eyes are like melted honey beneath the sunset, warm and gentle, glittering with amusement. You think you can stare at him forever and never tire of it.

He rolls his chair closer to you, resting his forearms on your desk so that your arms are brushing and laying his head down on them so that his face is mere inches from yours, matching your position. There's a smile on his lips, soft and teasing as he whispers, "You've been staring at me for five minutes."

"Mhm," you agree, voice just as quiet as if to not disturb the tranquility of the office. You can feel his breath light against your face from the proximity he's laying at and you can smell peppermint on his breath from the candy you’d seen him swipe from Ranpo’s desk earlier when the other man had gone to speak to Fukuzawa.

“Is there something on my face?” he asks playfully, dark eyes glimmering as he waits for your response.

You can tease him back and say yes, as you usually do and is probably what he expects—and you fully intend to do just that but the words that leave your lips are not that. 

“You just look really pretty today,” you say softly, watching as his eyes widen just a bit at your words, pink dusting his cheeks. 

His lips part to say something but no words leave them. He opens and closes them a few times and you marvel because Dazai must know that he’s pretty from all of the attention he gets from women, so you don’t understand why he’s so thrown off hearing you voice it out loud. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him genuinely speechless before now.

“So you don’t think i’m pretty every other day?” Dazai pushes his bottom lip out into an over-exaggerated pout, recovering swiftly from your words, though you expected nothing less from him. But you can’t help but note that his cheeks are still a bit pink and there’s something indecipherable in his eyes.

“Prettier than usual,” you amend and watch as the flush on his cheeks darkens and he instead resorts to completely burying his face in his arms with a frustrated groan.

“I am supposed to be the flirt, bella,” he complains, voice muffled by his arms as he hides his face from your view. He cannot hide the way his ears have gone bright red, and you have half a mind to reach out and tug at them

You lift your hand to your lips to hide the giggle that rises to your lips, scooching your chair a bit closer so you can knock your shoulder against his. 

“I’m not flirting,” you say. “Just stating a fact.”

He turns his head to the side, just enough so that he can give you a heavy side eye—you can only barely see the red hue coating his cheekbone. 

“Not mutually exclusive,” he says grumpily, and you lean down to press your lips against his now exposed forehead, smiling softly as his eyes instinctively flutter shut and his body relaxes as the touch.

Then, you receive a pencil to the side of your head. You yelp as your hand flies to where it had made contact with you, scowling at your assailant who is none other than Ranpo, smiling widely as he waves at you and then motions to Kunikida, who is red faced and staring at the two of you. You can’t tell if it’s in embarrassment or anger.

“Not during work hours,” he snaps, and you realize that he’s definitely embarrassed, so you share a short look with Dazai, who has regained that mischievous look in his eyes as he glances over at Kunikida and back at you.

Without saying a word, or giving any other sort of warning, he leans in to press his lips against yours. It’s a short and chaste kiss, but his lips are soft and taste of candy, and you think you might be able to kiss them forever if you get the chance.

Now you’re the one flustered, you can feel heat rising to your cheeks as you stare at Dazai, who is evidently thoroughly pleased to not be the one uncomposed if the unscrupulous grin on his lips has anything to say about it.

He tosses you a wink before rolling his chair back over to his desk, animatedly complaining about Ranpo and Kunikida being lonely and bitter and getting in the way of Dazai’s chance at true love because of it—you only roll your eyes at his dramatics, as you usually do when Dazai goes off on tangents, but it’s with much more fondness this time. 

•••

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

You are not listening to a single word that he’s saying. 

It’s a dangerous situation to be in with Fyodor Dostoevsky, you’re sure he’s noticed by now and he will be petty enough to finish his brief about his plans and your involvement and then ask you to repeat what he said, but you just can’t focus. 

He tied his hair back, you note, still quite a bit awed by the sight. There are two locks framing his face and his bangs are falling between his eyes, but the rest of his hair, which has grown a bit long in the weeks that he’s been ardently preparing for the final stages of his plan, is pulled back into a lax bun. 

He looks so casual, and Fyodor Dostoevsky never looks casual. He’s dressed in a turtleneck and loose pants as he leans back in his chair. There’s a folder resting on his lap that he’s idly flipping through and he keeps glancing up at you occasionally, pale lips flat and violet eyes disapproving, but you just nod along to his words even though you know that he knows that you’re not paying attention. 

And you think, distantly, that you probably should be paying attention because he’s talking about your upcoming mission and what you should expect from it but you figure you’ll be fine—it’s a simple infiltration mission, nothing to worry about. And you’d much rather prefer to appreciate Fyodor’s rare repose than to listen him droll on about boring topics. 

Sometimes, you think if he just kept his mouth shut all the time, he’d be perfect. But you think you’d miss his sharp-witted comments and the lengthy debates the two of you have after a few glasses of wine.

He looks extra pretty tonight, even beyond the casual hairstyle and clothes and his uncharacteristically relaxed demeanor, and you think it’s because of the way the flames of the fireplace are casting an enchanting orange and red glow over his face. It makes the violets of his eyes burn alive in a way that they usually don’t, you’re far too used to the glacial visage they take whenever he puts his attention on someone. Every time he glances up at you, you swear that you can get lost in them.

“… And you are not listening to a word that I am saying, are you?” 

Fyodor is giving you the heaviest side eye as he finally calls you out, expression unamused. His brows are furrowed and his pale skin is taut with thinly veiled irritation.

“Of course, I am,” you dismiss, waving your hand. “Infiltration mission, detective agency, get close to the tiger boy.”

Fyodor looks distinctly unimpressed by your words, brows deepening—you figure you must have spoken wrongly, you probably shouldn’t have been so indifferent, and you bite back a sigh before reaching forward to press two fingers between Fyodor’s eyebrows, as if to forcibly smooth away his annoyance.

He blinks and draws back, out of reach of your arm, and then casts you an even more irritable look.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” he accuses. “This mission will be dangerous, you’ll be at risk of being exposed every moment you are in the agency and if you are exposed-“

“Your plans will be ruined,” you finish, forcing yourself not to roll your eyes. “I kno-“

“You could be killed,” Fyodor corrected, voice cold and sharp, and you look back over to him. He looks unusually intense, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the appearance that the flames of the fireplace are giving him as they flicker dangerously across his face or if it’s because he’s that displeased with you being distracted. Either way, you find your mind drifting again because wow. “Dazai Osamu is not a man to be taken lightly. When he manages to figure out who you are and what you’re doing, we will need an immediate extraction plan.”

“Careful, Fyodor,” you drawl, watching as his violet eyes narrow briefly, “almost sounds like you care.”

Fyodor’s lips twist but he doesn’t respond. You raise your eyebrows, he looks away. Your eyes shoot open.

“You have a bigger role to play,” Fyodor finally says, but he’s no longer looking at you. “You cannot be killed yet.”

“Yet,” you repeat, amused. Fyodor’s jaw tightens, he doesn’t look at you, his eyes are trained on the fireplace to the side of the two of you and you can vaguely see the flames reflecting in his eyes, burning ardently against the familiar violet.

You lean forward again, shifting off of the couch to sit on the coffee table between the two of you so you can reach him. You reach forward to brush your knuckles against his cheek—he doesn’t move away this time, but his eyes cut to the side to watch you carefully.

You don’t say anything for a moment, absently tucking one of the locks of hair framing his face behind his ear. His hair is soft, freshly washed—for once—it smells faintly of lavender and vanilla and you wonder if he stole your conditioner.

“You look very pretty tonight, Fyodor,” you say quietly, and then smile. “It’s hard to focus when you look like this.”

The expression Fyodor directs toward you is extraordinarily blank, except for the faintest specks of pink that glare compared to the pallor of his face. 

He shakes his head, looking away from you yet again. 

“… You cause me much suffering,” he murmurs, and somehow, you know that might be the closest you might get to an admission of love from Fyodor Dostoevsky.

You smile to yourself. “And you to I,” you say, voice a bit teasing, and then you add, “Now, can you tell me again what to look out for?”

The moment is ruined. Fyodor’s eye twitches and he’s giving you that unamused look again, and you think having him repeat himself might be a mistake because now you’re even more distracted, but Fyodor sighs and starts on his lecture again so you force yourself to listen.

It takes about three minutes for him to release a sigh of utter suffering when he realizes that your eyes have glazed over yet again. 

•••

NIKOLAI GOGOL

Nikolai has a wild sort of beauty about him. He’s unpredictable and dangerous, and it’s widely apparent in his frenzied laughter and chaotic behavior. His eye glitters and his teeth gleam sharply beneath the glow of the moonlight as he waves his hands around, animatedly describing to you all of the details of the things he’s been doing while you were away. 

Fyodor’s masterplan has involved Nikolai apparently taken upon an infiltration role at the ministry of defense—you think it’s a bold move for Fyodor to use Nikolai for such a tenuous mission, but he’s apparently been having the time of his life with it. Though he thinks his boss is deplorable and one of his coworkers has evidently pissed him off beyond repair, because now he’s telling you about how he’s been ‘pranking’ the man in righteous vengeance. 

You think Nikolai’s idea of pranking varies from yours, because you’re pretty sure him using his ability to break into the man’s house constitutes a crime not a prank. But you don’t have it in you to make that distinction when he’s so excitedly telling you about how every day he’s been going into his house to move around all of his stuff and hide some of his belongings to make the man squirm. He’s succeeding outstandingly in his ambition, if the videos he’s waving in front of you have anything to say about it. 

You watch as he frantically scrolls to the next video—“this one is the best,” he claims, as he has for every video thus far. You watch with an amused smile as his dark-haired coworker steps into his apartment and nearly starts crying when he realizes that all of his stuff has been moved again, scrambling for his phone to call the police, who have—according to Nikolai—apparently already told him multiple times that there’s nothing they can do about it. The video is shaking wildly, as if the person filming can barely hold the camera straight, and you’re convinced that’s exactly what it is because you can hear Nikolai’s muffled laughter coming from recording.

Nikolai naturally finds it much funnier than you do, half-way keeling over as he wheezes, his laughter shattering the peaceful night. The two of you are sitting at a park near the apartment that Fyodor had leased for you for the duration of the Yokohama operation. The moon is high in the sky, casting a bewitching glow over the lake in front of you and there’s a chill in the air—it’s a nice night all around, you think there will probably some frost dusting the grass in the morning but the cold hardly bothers you now with Nikolai pressed to your side as he laughs himself into a near-coughing fit over his harassment of his coworker. 

“Why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai suddenly complains loudly, scowling at you, but even then he keeps having to bite back residual laughter whenever he glances back down at his phone. “It’s funny.”

“It is funny,” you agree. Nikolai gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you. “It is.”

“Then why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai accuses doubtfully, and then adds, even more accusatory, “You hate me.”

You’re not sure why you aren’t laughing, honestly. Usually you’d be burying your face into his shoulder trying to smother your snickers, because even though you might not entirely agree with Nikolai’s idea of a prank, you can still find some humor in it. Because it is kind of funny. Kind of. 

But then you realize that you’re probably not laughing because you’ve been spending most of the night admiring Nikolai rather than listening to him prattle on about his escapades and watching his poorly recorded videos, so you can’t fully appreciate the humor in the videos. With his cheeks flushed from copious amounts of laughter and his eyes glowing with excitement, you think he’s very pretty tonight—Nikolai is always pretty, but the angle at which he’s sitting leaves the moon haloing behind his head, and maybe it’s just because you’ve missed him the past few weeks when you’ve been abroad dealing with a territory dispute with Tolstoy, but you think there’s something special about tonight. 

“I don’t hate you. I guess I’ve been too busy admiring you,” you finally say, a playful smile on your lips as you tilt your head to the side to look at him. “You look pretty tonight.”

Nikolai blinks, eyes wide and owlish as he processes your words. The longer he goes unresponsive, you acknowledge that a quiet Nikolai is far more unnerving than a loud and erratic Nikolai, you’d expected a more… theatrical response to your comment. A swish of his cape, him leaping to his feet with a twirl and an agreement, even just a wild laugh; instead, he looks away abruptly. He doesn’t even just look away, he physically turns his whole body away from you. 

You blink.

“Nikolai?” you ask, a bit astonished when he literally ignores you. You lean forward, trying to get a look at his face, but then he swivels around even more and your lips part in shock. “Nikolai.”

You’re only met with a face full of his soft white hair, impeccably braided, as per usual—you have half a mind to tug at it hard to try to get a response from him, but you aren’t in the mood for the lewd comment that would likely spill from his lips after. 

“Koly-“

“Poor me, poor me,” Nikolai suddenly cries loudly, “The little koshenya mocks me when all I do is try to make her laugh. Poor me, poor me.”

His hand flies to his face, melodramatic as he bemoans your alleged cruelty. You stare at him, mind trying to piece together what exactly is happening—Nikolai is always hard to predict, but you feel like this is a bit strange even for him, and that’s saying something. 

“… What?” you start to ask but Nikolai has thrown himself into a loud and theatrical tirade about how he doesn’t deserve such injustice and how he was only trying to make you laugh, and how it’s so, so cold-hearted of you to taunt him when this is the first time the two of you have seen each other in weeks. 

Nikolai is impossible to bargain with when he gets like this, so you only sigh and tilt your head up to the sky, his words flying in one ear and out the other as you wait for him to settle down on his own. 

Instead, you swear the world is against you because rather than settling down, he becomes increasingly more noisy and distressed, and his accusations become even more asinine. Now, he’s saying that you’ve always had it out for him and how you weren’t laughing at his jokes because you hate him and want to report him to the police and how he should tell Dostoy about your betrayal, or better yet, he should stuff you in his cloak and leave you there?

You side-eye Nikolai heavily as he continues on, slightly alarmed, but brush off the casual threat as just Nikolai being Nikolai. You don’t know how to shut him up, you think you might be out here all night listening to him, and now you’re the one bemoaning your fate because how did a simple compliment turn into this. 

Finally, an idea strikes. 

You brace yourself, questioning your sanity and your entire existence before you interrupt him with a loud, “Quiz time!”

Nikolai goes silent instantly, head snapping toward you, eye even wider than before. 

You think you’ve hit an all time low as you say, “Was I trying to mock you before?” Nikolai opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off before he can. “What’s that you say? I wasn’t? Ding ding! We’ve gotta winner!” 

You think Nikolai might be having an internal crisis. He’s staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time in his life—his lips are parted, his eye void of the usual mischief dancing in it. He looks as if he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what. 

You let out a long breath as you go to speak up again, but before you can, his eye is glittering again, sharp and dangerous, and his lips are curving up into a slow smile. 

Nikolai inhales and then he takes a complete one-eighty as he bursts into loud cackles and says, “Ahahaha! I knew you loved me!” as if he wasn’t just lamenting your irrational hatred for him moments before.

Your eye twitches. He begins a second tirade, this one far more embarrassing for you than the last. 

You regret everything.

[lightseoul]

So excited for this ask! #24 🥹💐💐

hello, lovely! thanks for playing <3 ik i said i'd write "short" drabbles, but this one kind of got away from me... nevertheless, i hope you enjoy it!

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

24. "THERE YOU ARE." (1.5k)

you feel his commanding, unmissable presence before you even catch a glimpse of him.

yet despite yourself, you still startle at the sound of his booming voice when it inevitably comes.

“there you are.”

almost instantly, you cringe at the sheer volume. no doubt he’s caught the attention of at least three people in this particular area of the bookstore.

tightening your grip on the book you just spent the last ten minutes admiring from where it stood on the ‘newly released’ table, you, however, don’t look back to the source.

you know it’s stupid. but maybe—just maybe—if you didn’t see him, you could just pretend he didn’t exist.

which is ludicrous, because he’s literally your boyfr—

“oi.”

before you even get the chance to react, a hand grabs you by your left shoulder and spins you around, leaving you face-to-face with #6 hero pro-hero dynamight, decked out in his hero gear.

and he’s looking mighty pissed.

“did you fucking lie to me?”

he spits the blatant question—no, the accusation—so harshly that you can’t help but shrink into yourself ever so slightly.

when you don’t say anything, he only shakes his head. “i thought you said you had to work overtime and stay in the office?”

he pauses, as if to hear you out, but he continues before you can get a word in. “so you can only imagine my fucking confusion when i got there and that dickhead of a supervisor of yours said you went home on the dot.”

“i thought you agreed to cover for kiri tonight…” you mumble, more to yourself.

but bakugou, sharp as ever, barely catches it. “what?”

you look up from where you were staring at your feet, finally meeting his gaze. you try not to let the pained expression on his face chip away at your resolve. “what were you doing at my office? i thought you were working a double shift today.”

at that, he sneers. “oh, so we’re answering questions with questions now, hah?”

“no, i just—”

“i told eijirou last minute that i couldn’t ‘cuz i was planning to surprise you and spend the night together. happy?”

a wave of guilt courses through you at his admission. you shift to look at the stack of novels behind him instead, effectively ending your staredown.

“so you did lie to me,” he declares definitively, voice clipped. “can’t even look me in the fucking eye.”

not knowing what to say, you resort to scanning the relatively big area around you, clocking the curious faces attached to which are most definitely eavesdropping ears.

“people are staring, kats…”

the pro-hero doesn’t miss a beat. “i don’t give a single fuck.”

you heave a sigh as you wrack your brain for a way out of this. adjusting your grip on the book you’ve been cradling, you settle with: “it must’ve been a long day for you, you should go home and—”

“why are you avoiding me?”

you barely stop yourself from choking. “what?”

“you are. shit’s been going on for a while now—can’t believe it took me this long to put two and two together. you’re always working overtime, you always have errands to run on your own, you’ve been turning down my offers to—”

“excuse me, mr. dynamight, sir?”

the both of you whip to look at the source of the timid voice, only to find what has to be a six or seven-year-old child quaking in his notably orange and black hi-top sneakers.

“what?” comes bakugou’s curt response, obviously annoyed at having been interrupted. you, on the other hand, bask in the momentary reprieve the kid has unknowingly granted you.

you instinctively take a step back from the two.

“can i p-please have a p-picture with you?”

bakugou purses his lips in a tight line, “look, kid, i’m actually in the middle of some—”

“just do it, kats,” you cut him off, feeling empathy for the boy. the child looks at you in surprise, as if he just remembered you were standing there, before tossing you a grateful look.

at that, the man sighs, before beckoning the kid to come close next to him. the younger male beams in joy, hurriedly handing you his smartphone. bakugou crouches down on his knees so he’s more or less at the same height as the kid, an arm looped around the latter.

and as you say ‘cheese’, the two grin, one genuine and excited while the other comes off as a bit strained.

the kid jumps in glee and rushes off to you right after catching the hero off guard with a tight hug to his muscled leg.

looking up at you, he smiles. “thank you, miss!”

you ruffle his hair, “no problem, …?”

“eiro!” the child offers enthusiastically. “and you are?”

you’re about to say your name before you catch yourself in the nick of time.

“no one, really,” you chuckle, although it comes out a bit stilted. through your periphery, you can sense bakugou’s stare boring holes into the side of your face.

a look of perplexion crosses eiro’s innocent features. “really? for a second there i thought you were dynamight’s girlfriend, or something. you can’t be just no one.”

“i’m just a random bookworm,” you raise the book you’ve been holding and wiggle it to prove your point. “see?”

the child merely gives you an unconvinced hum before deciding he doesn’t really care enough to keep pressing. with one last look at his favorite hero, he lets out a squeal of delight, exclaiming thanks and dashing off to who-knows-where.

you take that as your cue to turn your back and make a start for the exit.

you can always just order this book that you’ve been waiting months for, anyway.

but you barely get to take a step forward when bakugou reaches for your wrist and pulls you unceremoniously close toward him, the distance between the two of you around only a foot apart.

your heart starts hammering—whether at the proximity or in anticipation of what’s about to come, if the tight grip on your appendage was any indication—you don’t know.

“the fuck was that?” he hiss-whispers.

at least he’s minding other people now. “i just felt for the kid. he just wanted to take a picture with you.”

“quit playing dumb with me, princess,” he growls. “why the fuck didn’t you just say your name?”

you gulp before you get to talk yourself out of it. bakugou notices, his eyes darting down to your throat and back up to your eyes, his crimson ones wordlessly demanding an answer.

when you don’t utter a single word, bakugou pushes. “you don’t want to go public about us, is that it?”

you almost gawk unabashedly at the man. you sometimes forget how perceptive he can be.

before you can even attempt to deny it, you get stopped in your tracks as you witness first-hand the palpable hurt that flashes across the pro-hero’s features.

and nothing could’ve prepared you for what tumbles out of his mouth next.

“…are you ashamed of being with me?”

“what?” you blurt out, an amalgamation of emotions washing over you in an instant. “no! why the hell would you think that?”

at that, bakugou frowns, “what else am i supposed to think, dumbass?”

“a million other things! like how villains might kidnap me to get back at you, or that your popularity and general ranking will drop, or that i’m not fucking good enough for you!”

the second you say the last thing, bakugou’s gaze turns indescribably stony.

“take that the fuck back.”

“no,” you say, trying to sound firm. “i’m being serious, katsuki.”

“no, you're being fucking ridiculous,” he spits, and if you were judging him just by his tone you wouldn’t believe he’s the one defending you right now.

“is that why you’ve been avoiding me, hah? because you don’t think you’re good enough for me?”

“don’t say it like that,” you grumble, shame now churning in your gut. “you’re making it sound stupid.”

“because you are being stupid, dumbass.” the man huffs, evidently frustrated but you’ve known him long enough to recognize the traces of relief etched on his face.

bakugou reaches for your shoulders, his big, firm hands encasing them as he gently squeezes the flesh. you finally bring your gaze up to look him in the eyes, and the sincerity in them would’ve made you stumble if it weren’t for his hold that’s keeping you in place.

“you’re fucking good enough for me, you got that?”

he says it so certainly that you can’t help but nod, even though you know the insecurities won’t vanish overnight.

“and don’t worry about my ranking—i want to reach number one with you by my side. as for those shit-faced villains, they won’t lay a finger on you as long as i’m alive. okay?”

“okay.”

seemingly pleased enough, bakugou releases his grip on you, pulling a few inches away.

“good. now be a good fucking girl and come home with me, alright? we're gonna talk this shit out.”

[coryosbaby]

Content warning . Noncon, Tbosas spoilers!! Plinth! Reader, angst angst angst, nsfw

When you read Coriolanus Snow’s diary entry from the day of Sejanus Plinth’s death, you are betrayed exponentially.

One would think that a clever man like Coriolanus would be smart enough to not note his secrets and leave the journal unlocked. Especially since his best friend with a curious hand was left alone in his room. How dumb he was.

When he walks in, your heart breaks into a million jagged pieces. Your best friend, your coryo, is the reason why your brother is dead.

He notices the book in your hand the moment he enters the room. He moves towards you, you step back. You don’t even know who the blonde in front of you is.

“You’re a monster.”

It’s the first thing you say to him, and the faux sympathy on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Coriolanus can never hide his true emotions because of those familiar turquoise orbs.

“[y/n].”

His voice is a warning, you think. A warning that you have to keep this a secret. His voice is a threat.

But the betrayal and the loss deep in your heart cuts through and your face twists up with rage.

“You killed him. You, you—“ you can’t find the words to express your anger, so your fists come up to pummel Coriolanus’ chest as tears stream down your cheeks. Muffled cries soon give way to screaming sobs, and Coriolanus tries to calm you.

“Shhh, shhh,” he coos, his hands wrapping around your form, and you wonder how he has the audacity to try and comfort you after being the cause of your brother’s death.

“What is wrong with you?!” You scream at him. “Why would you— why would you do that? He was your friend! Do you realize what you’ve done ? H-He never did anything wrong. He was innocent— he— he—”

You can’t say anything else, exasperated and torn into pieces and Coriolanus just holds you, and as much as you fucking despise him, you let him commit this act. You can’t see any type of pain written on his face— remorse, guilt, melancholy. Nothing. Just a blatant, ashy emptiness. A hollow void of Coryo. Your Coryo.

There are no remnants left.

You try to pull away from him, but he places a grip on your wrist so tight that you fear it will break. His jaw clenches, breath uneven and his clothes haphazardly strewn.

“No.” He says, and that’s it. No.

Your brows furrow, your bottom lip wobbling.

“What?”

And then he’s kissing you, something he hasn’t done since a slightly non friendly game of spin the bottle in freshman year. He kisses you harsh and, like his heart and the expression on his face, stone cold. You try to push him away, but to no avail as his hands grab your hips in a deathly grip. You cry against his lips, saltwater tears mixing with breath mints and spit, and you wish that Sejanus was next door waiting on the two of you for morning classes and that this happened under different circumstances.

But it doesn’t, and you don’t want to think about it right now, not at all. So when your knees hit the back of Coriolanus’ bed, you let him push you down onto it. You let him trail kisses down your neck and bite you until you bleed. And when the time comes, and his cock is to full hardness and you’re overcome with more lust than grief, you hope that Sejanus can’t see you from above.

Coriolanus’ teeth scrape against your lips, and your blouse becomes ripped open by the sheer force of his hands. His mouth attaches to one nipple, then the other. He leaves love bites all over your chest and then he spits down on the valley in between them. He groans, heavy and deep, his clothed cock slipping between your thighs as he grips your tits in his hands.

“Mine.” He says possessively. Evilly. Like a monster. And you agree with him, a sob racking your throat, scared and helpless.

“Yours, Coryo.”

You are his, but he isn’t yours. He isn’t the one you’ve grown with. He isn’t the one you fell in love with.

You let him slide your panties down your legs anyways.

His fingers find your entrance, and they slide in easily. Your warm wet walls are tight, and he puts two fingers in as a way to make it hurt. He moves them in and out at a fast rough pace, the wet sounds of your pussy making you feel incredibly guilty and incredibly turned on. His mouth finds your neck again, burying his face into your collarbone. Your fingers find his buzzed hair— not your Coryo’s familiar golden curls — and you whimper. His fingers crook up, hitting the spots no man has ever been able to reach before. His thumb—oh god, his thumb— moves up to rub your aching clit in fast circles. How could he possibly know you like it that way?

Your thighs try to squeeze around the man’s large hand, but he slaps them, and he slaps them hard. You cry out, spewing apologies to him and you don’t even know why you’re saying sorry. You can feel yourself fast approaching your high, and you know Coriolanus can feel it too. He laughs, a dark and sinister sound, and you come undone. Your body spasms, your mouth falling open and a loud pleasured moan escaping you. Coryo’s fingers pull out of you, coated in your cum and slick, and he presses the pads of them onto your tongue.

“Good girl,” he mutters, as your doe eyes look up at him and suck. “There’s my good little girl.”

When he pulls the digits out he rubs the spit from them onto your chest. His cock rubs against your pussy again.

“You want it, don’t you?” He says darkly, watching the way your hips grind into him. “Don’t worry. You won’t be sad after I give you my kids, pretty baby. You’ll be so happy. You’ll forget about Sejanus, and you’ll love me.”

The mention of your brother’s name makes your stomach drop. But Coriolanus’ fingers grip your face harshly when he sees the tears welling in your eyes, his face twisted up into a look of anger.

“Stop it.”

You have to sniffle and obey. When Coriolanus’ hands go down to his belt, you feel pathetic for wanting it. When he takes off all of his clothes, naked and bare with his cock hanging thick and heavy between his legs, you feel ashamed. When he spreads your thighs and says he’s going to give you a baby, you feel true fear.

But when the tip of his cockhead brushes against your entrance, all of that is replaced with carnal pleasure.

Surprisingly, he pushes in slow at first. Your gummy walls squeeze him in an almost impossibly tight grip, and Coryo has to stop and keep himself from hurting you too soon. When his balls press firmly against your ass cheeks for the third time, all heavy and plump, he begins to pummel you.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does. He fucks you and he fucks you with an animalistic stare plastered across his angelic face. He grabs your thighs and pushes them over your head, and he claims you with your body bent in half. He gives all of himself to you, but he isn’t yours.

When you try to close your eyes and look away from him, he growls. His free hand moves up to take hold of your throat and for a moment you think you’re going to meet your brother’s fate. His fingers squeeze so tightly that your vision blurs at the edges, your breaths coming out in slow, weak intervals.

“Look at me.” Coriolanus demands. “Look at me!”

You let out a cry, your eyes flying open and looking back into insidious, icy blue ones. His bottom lip gets caught in between his teeth as he sees you, and his cock twitches inside your sticky cunt. You know he’s going to cum, and you feel pathetic. When he does cum, spilling thick white ropes into your womb, you feel ashamed. And afterwards, sleeping off your brutal and disgusting session with your best friend and brother’s killer, you feel true fear.

[wikiangela]

when I say I love your mind (I wanna steal your heart)

huge thank you to @evansboyfriend and @beefcakekinard for alllll the help, you're the best <3

prompt: Halloween - couples costumes rated: G tags: fluff, established relationship word count: 1.8k

[also on ao3]

“So maybe vampires? Classic.” Buck suggests, hoping they’ll finally settle on something. But one look at Tommy’s face tells him it’s another no. 

“I don’t know. It’s kinda basic.” His boyfriend says, and, okay, Buck can see that. 

“Yeah, okay.” Buck hums, taking a second to come up with something else, as he and Tommy walk through the park, taking the long way to Tommy’s car. It’s a late evening, the moon illuminating their path, Tommy’s hand warm in his. They’re just finishing up date night, and at the end of their dinner the subject of Halloween was brought up – which is what they’ve been on for the last fifteen minutes. “So I guess ghosts or zombies or, I don’t know, clowns or pirates are also a no?”

“Uh, they might be a maybe?” Tommy shrugs, but clearly he’s not very into it. 

“What about superheroes? Ooh, you could be Superman. You kinda look like him anyway.” He says, bringing their clasped hands to kiss Tommy’s knuckles. “My own personal hero.” He whispers, and Tommy laughs. Buck’s sure if it wasn’t dark, he’d see a faint blush in his cheeks.

“And what would that make you, Wonder Woman?” There’s a skeptical but amused tone in his voice. 

“Maybe.” He shrugs and Tommy doesn’t even need to say anything for Buck to know he’s not a fan. “Okay, so Batman and Robin.”

“Hm, that’s one to think about.” Tommy responds. Buck takes that as a win, but they could do something more fun.

“Luke and Leia.” He says just because maybe Star Wars will be something to agree on – though, on the other hand, that might just spiral into another disagreement they’ve had before about those movies in general, so maybe better to leave it alone. Buck loves Tommy so much, but his Star Wars opinions are… not good. He can look past that, though. No one can be perfect.

“They’re siblings. We’re not doing a sibling couples’ costume, Evan.” He says decisively, shaking his head. Bossy, for someone who can’t decide on a costume. Buck rolls his eyes, kinda fond but kinda annoyed.

“So Leia and Han Solo. Oh, or Han and Luke? To put a bit of a spin on it?”

“Uh-” Tommy makes a face – to his credit, he does try to hide it – and Buck sighs in frustration. He doesn’t even want to hear the reason for the no. He pauses, trying to think of something else, the silence always pleasant between them. Whether they talk for hours, or are silent together, in Tommy’s company every second is the most comfortable and enjoyable. Buck just feels like he can be fully himself, and lean into his silliest side. 

“We could be Venom and Eddie Brock.” He says, mostly joking, the image that popped into his head so ridiculous he laughs.

“Hm. And how would that work, exactly? One of us in regular clothes and the other in costume as Venom?”

“Yeah. You as Eddie, and I dressed in all black, on your back.” He gives Tommy a shit-eating grin when he glances at him disbelievingly. “You know, like when Venom pops out of Eddie’s back?”

“And, what, I’d carry you on my back the whole night?” He laughs, but Buck just nods. “Sweetheart, I’m strong, but I’m not that strong. Best I could do is a few minutes.” He sounds almost apologetic, and Buck needs to kiss him about it, so he presses a quick kiss to his lips, stopping them briefly.

“I know, I’m kidding.” He whispers, resuming walking. “Would be cool, though.”

“It would.” Tommy admits. Silence falls over them again, as the gears in Buck’s brain keep turning, going through every movie he can remember ever seeing, or any fun and cool couples they could realistically dress up as.

“Beauty and the Beast? I could do a yellow suit. And you can be my Beast.” Buck leans closer to Tommy, his chin brushing Tommy’s shoulder as they walk, almost at the car now. He whispers, “You already are.”

“That’s a leap from Venom.” A laugh escapes Tommy. “I don’t know. It’d be cute, but I thought you wanted scary.”

“True. We could make it scary.” He says, but then another idea pops into his head. “Oh, how about the Addams family? You know, to keep the spooky vibe.” Buck bumps his shoulder into Tommy’s.

“Well, I do love the Addams family.” Tommy nods. “Who exactly, though?”

“The best couple ever, of course. Morticia and Gomez.” He says, and watches Tommy’s face for his reaction. “And you hate it.” He sighs, and rolls his eyes, starting to get a tiny bit annoyed. It’s like the fiftieth costume he suggested, Tommy has to like something.

“No, I love it, really, but, you know, if we’re doing a couple, maybe it could be a gay couple instead?” Tommy suggests, pulling Buck a little closer to him. Well, that was the idea at first, before Buck spiraled where he is now, because someone kept shutting down his ideas. At least now he gets why some of those were a no from Tommy, because Buck thinks some were really fun.

“Yeah, sure. If we could agree on any.” He shoots Tommy a pointed look.

“Okay, any other ideas?” Tommy asks, a hint of fond amusement on his face. It’s not funny, though, they need to figure it out quickly, Halloween is right around the corner.

“Salt and pepper shakers.” He throws out. “Or ketchup and mustard.”

“Are you serious?” Tommy raises his eyebrow, giving him his signature ‘Evan’ look, version exasperated. Buck just shrugs, trying to hide a smile, the thought of his boyfriend having specific smiles and looks reserved for him making his heart swell.

“I’m running out of ideas, Tommy. Oh!” He exclaims, a new random idea popping into his head. “Tom and Jerry! Get it?” He grins, looks at his boyfriend expectantly, and sees a tired but very fond and amused smile. “Tom-my.” He drags out the first syllable, just to get his point across.

“Yeah, baby, I get it. You’re adorable, but no.” He says, and then chuckles when Buck pouts. 

“How about the emotions from Inside Out?” He grumbles, the movie popping into his head randomly – probably because he and Tommy watched it with Jee on their latest babysitting duty. They did a whole Pixar marathon. “You can be boredom.”

“Oh, really?” Tommy gives him one of his looks, and, damn, Buck almost melts under his gaze, even when he’s annoyed with him. He loves him so fucking much. “You calling me boring?” He tugs at Buck’s hand, stopping them and bringing him closer, so they’re face to face, his hands settling on Buck’s hips, Buck’s landing on his huge arms, now covered by a jacket. There’s an amused smirk on Tommy’s face. “I thought I was cool?”

“Nah, you’re not. You hide it well, but I know now that you’re just a huge dork. And very, very boring.” Buck teases, trying and failing to say it with a straight face, a smile breaking through. “And I love you anyway.”

“I love you, too, Evan.” Tommy says, his smile forming into that fond, loving ‘Evan’ smile that Buck can never resist kissing off. So he does. He kisses Tommy once, twice, the kisses soft and chaste, both smiling into each other’s lips. He’s about to go in for a third, intending on deepening it, but Tommy pulls away, face a bit more serious. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Buck frowns, not wanting or needing any apologies, genuinely wondering if he missed anything.

“For being such a pain about this whole costume thing.” Tommy explains, and Buck wants to laugh. Yeah, okay, he was a little annoyed, but it’s just a little teasing, bickering, about Halloween costumes of all things. He can take the most ridiculous things seriously, but this? Nothing to get overly upset about. He’s about to say all that, but then Tommy continues, “I don’t know, maybe Halloween is just not my thing. I’ve never really been too into it.” He shrugs, a flicker of something wistful crossing his face, but it’s gone too quickly to decipher. “But it matters to you, and I love you, and I want you to be happy. So, I’m done being a party pooper, let’s do a costume. Next idea, no complaints, I promise. Whatever you want.” He says so sincerely, but there’s a hint of a ‘I hope I’m not gonna regret this’ in his eyes. Buck grins, a random, brand new idea showing up.

“Woody and Buzz? From Toy Story.” he clarifies, as if that wasn’t obvious – and clearly it was, from the look he gets. “What? You said gay couple.”

“I don’t think they were. And I thought you wanted scary- but fine, okay.” Tommy sighs, that fond look back on his face. “I said whatever you want. You wanna be the cowboy or the astronaut?”

“Hm.” Buck takes a second to think – and realizes that, actually, there’s an even better, easier idea. “Or we could just be cowboys.” He shrugs, and then he can feel his eyes go wide as the full picture pops into place. 

“Zombie cowboys.” He says, at the same time as Tommy, though Tommy’s sounds more like a question.

“You know me so well.” Buck beams, leaning in for another kiss. “Let’s be scary cowboy zombies. See, was that so hard?”

“You’re the one with a thousand ideas for a second. I didn’t even say no to everything at first, you just went through so many it was hard to keep up. I’m pretty sure you said cowboy back at the restaurant, too, and I didn’t even get a chance to say anything.” Tommy points out, pulling away from Buck, grabbing his hand again and starting to walk, his truck already visible in the distance.

“Not my fault my brain works like that.” Buck says mock-defensively. 

“I know, honey, I love your wonderful brain.” Tommy smiles, lets go of Buck’s hand to wrap his arm around his waist, presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “And I love you, my silly zombie cowboy.”

“Halloween is gonna be so much fun.” Buck is smiling widely, excited like a kid for his first Christmas – or, his first Halloween, more like. It’s seemingly no big deal, but also it’s his first Halloween with Tommy, and he’s excited – he’s excited for all the firsts with Tommy. He can’t wait to do everything and anything with him. “Are you gonna come by the station?”

“Of course, if I can. Gotta see how scary you’re gonna make it.”

“Wanna bet I can scare you?” He asks, just as they near the car.

“In the haunted house for children?” Tommy raises his eyebrows. “Sure, you can try. What are we betting on?”

“I have a few ideas.” Buck grins wickedly, crowding Tommy against the car.

“Oh, really? Well, I’m all ears.” Tommy grins, his arms wrapping around Buck’s neck, pulling him closer. Buck smiles into Tommy’s lips, kissing him, quick but lingering.

“Well, why don’t we go home and I can show you what I have in mind?”

[read on ao3]

[damn-stark]

Chapter 24 Lambs to the slaughter

Chapter 24 of Moonlight

A/N- *TEHEHE*

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy and SA, angst, fluff!!!, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 465-469 & just a part of 480

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

Aemond. What of Aemond? Aemond this. Aemond that. Aemond, Aemond, Aemond is all you hear, it’s all anyone talks to you about like if you’re his keeper, like if…

They think it’s easy growing to hate him like they despise him, but have they really asked if it’s easy for you to view him with anything but with the eyes of love? Have they considered the fact that you grew up together, that even despite your feuding families, he and you never treated each other with anything but kindness? Don't they remember that you have a son together and have two more children on the way?

Did they forget that you married each other months before your supposed date?

Just because you left his side weeks prior doesn’t mean that you still don’t harbor the same feelings of deep love, because you do. You still hold hope and great love for Aemond—it’s a sickening fact for them to comprehend maybe; he did kill Lucerys and your grandmother. Your mother also has Daemon by her side so she doesn’t yearn, Baela is heartbroken but she loved Jacaerys, someone on the same side of the war so she could never understand, and Rhaena hasn’t found anyone to love so dearly and deeply so she doesn’t understand the ripping pain one feels when they mention killing him as easy it is to breathe; and you hope she never gets to feel such torment.

Maybe if Cregan was by your side, forgetting the love you hold for Aemond would be easier, but he’s leagues away and will remain leagues away. Thus you’re stuck being tortured with each word uttered in the Small Council hall, feeling like a blade is sinking deeper into your flesh.

“Would you have me pardon the Kinslayer, the False King, and Daeron as well?” Your mother presses your grandfather, making you suck in your cheek and gnaw on the inside as you let the winter sun bask your face as it casts through the glass doors—“Would you have me send them to the faith like Helaena and Alicent? They who stole my throne and slew my sons?”

You can hear the anger in her voice, the utter disbelief brought by such a daring suggestion.

“Spare them and send them to the wall,” your grandfather dares to continue sharing despite the visceral anger in your mother's tone. “Let them take the black and live out their lives as men of the Night’s Watch, bound by sacred vows.”

Daemon scoffs and Baela retorts against your grandfather. “What are sacred vows worth when you have dragons there to accompany you and give you an escape from such a fate?”

That’s true. There’s no use sparing them and sending them to the wall if their dragons still live, and you can’t imagine either of the three men letting their dragons go.

“And what are vows to oathbreakers?” Your mother echoes. “Their vows did not trouble them when they took my throne.”

“Giving pardons to rebels and traitors will only sow the seeds for fresh rebellions,” Daemon interjects to agree with your mother, making you dig your nails in your palms as more and more come to an agreement over something that you already knew was going to happen. Yet it never felt as real as it does now as they finally agree on the fate of your husband.

“The war will only end when the heads of the traitors are mounted on spikes above the King’s Gate, and not before,” Daemon adds. “Aegon will be found in time hiding under some rock, and I alone will finally depart to go after Aemond.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as his threatening words steal your breath and finally shove the rest of that sharp blade into your chest.

“Baela and I could go after Daeron,” you suggest and spin around to face the table of people, catching your mother snapping her head toward you and looking at you with horror she can barely hide—“Daeron’s dragon is small, Astraea and Moondancer can easily bring him down together. Or I could go with Addam and Seasmoke, Astraea and Seasmoke are well acquainted, they work well together.”

Both Baela and Addam don’t speak to argue, they look at you with determination, but your mother shakes her head right away without as much as thinking about it. “No…no. You are with child,” she finds the best and most effective excuse. “And you are my heir. I cannot put you at risk.”

You blink in disbelief and then slowly walk towards the table to argue. “It’s because I’m heir that I should be out fighting. When I was with the Green Army, men were more inspired when I spent my time with them. Now imagine when the army of men sees me fighting with them. The crown has to be seen fighting with the army, and if not you then I should do it.”

Your mother challenges your narrowed gaze but before she can counter, your grandfather does. “The Queen and you are both right,” he says but neither of you or your mother let go of each other's gazes—“You should be seen fighting along with our men, but you are with child, and already far out. It’s dangerous. Perhaps once the babes are born you can go out on dragonback again.”

“Then what am I supposed to do until them?” You ask with a scoff.

“Learn by my side,” your mother snaps back, making you hold her gaze for a tense second before you realize that you won’t win against her, so you roll your eyes away and return to your seat around the table, causing Ser Cane to push the chair in for you the moment you sit.

The truth is you knew the answer before your mother could say it but you were hoping that you were wrong. But nope.

“Ser Hugh and Ser Ulf can take the war to Daeron,” Daemon offers a solution. “They will fly to Tumbleton to help defend the town as it stands between the Hightower army and the city, and that’s where they will at last destroy the dragon and the boy.”

You glance at Ser Ulf, and right away as if he can sense your gaze, Ser Ulf spares you a glance and sits up rigidly before averting his gaze and agreeing to Daemon’s plan.

“It will be an easy feat for Silverwing and I sense you lot say the dragon is only a babe.” He still manages to be stupid, making you roll your eyes.

“My wife resides at Tumbleton with her brother,” Ser Hugh speaks with more grace. “Vermithor and I will fight with our lives.”

Your mother nods gently in appreciation and comprehension before her attention returns to her husband as he interjects. “The Lannister’s and the Baratheon’s should be destroyed as well, so their lands may be given to men who have proved to be more loyal, such as Ser Hugh and Ser Ulf,” he says ever so calmly as if he didn’t just utter the worst thing he could possibly ever suggest. And you don’t stand alone in your horror, your grandfather quickly shares his disagreement with the outlandish idea.

“Half the Lords of Westeros will turn against us if we are so cruel as to destroy two ancient and noble houses.”

Ser Ulf’s eyes that were quick to bulge out at the idea of being a Lord, then slowly droop back to normal as he hears the quick protest. And you don’t make him any happier since you too speak up against the terrible idea.

“My grandfather is right, we will lose this war if we just give the noble houses away to people who were nothing but strangers mere months ago,” you don’t shy away from being so bold even if the men share a look.

“We,” you pause and sigh, choosing to sit back with your back straight and your nose slowly rising in the air. “We can offer them pardons and fair terms. Nothing more and nothing less, they still rebelled against the crown. They should be grateful that we are not asking for their heads.”

Your grandfather looks at you and offers you an agreeing nod and a proud smile before he turns to your mother and Daemon. “The Princess is right. Her suggestion is wise.”

Your mother and Daemon share a speechless look before she focuses on her clasped hands and thinks for a moment, letting a silence blanket over the table in which you find Ser Ulf again and make him squirm once more.

Addam catches you torturing the man this time and finds your gaze to shake his head at you and share a twitching smile that he doesn’t let himself fully express. You albeit don’t feel shame, you beam at him in return before you look away and return your focus to your mother.

“Alright,” your mother breaks the silence and drags her eyes up. “I will follow the Princess’s suggestion, but only after we put an end to the usurper, the Kinslayer, and Daeron.”

Your amusement dies and you look at the table with conflict.

“Once they are dead, the rest will bend the knee,” your mother continues to spew. “Slay their dragons so I may mount their heads upon the walls of my throne room. Let the men look upon them in the years to come so they might know the cost of treason.”

You agree with her, you want to show your support, but Aemond comes to mind and you can't muster the will to want him dead. You only hurt at the thought.

“Very well, so we are agreed then,” Daemon interjects and nobody voices any protest, bringing a conclusion to the matter.

“Good, now we can go to our respective tasks,” your mother chimes in. “Daemon will go after Aemond. Ser Hugh and Ser Ulf will set off to Tumbleton. Rhaena will return to the Eyrie with Morning to at last go through our part of our pact so Lady Arryn may finally send her men. Baela will return to Dragonstone to defend it, and Addam will remain here to defend the city. Seasmoke, Astraea, and Syrax will suffice for the defense of the city.”

You nod lightly without looking back at her since your thoughts have all returned to Aemond, to the point you stay glued to your seat until it’s just Ser Cane, your mother, and you in that hall.

“What is it?” Your mother tries to probe, but when you meet her gaze you offer her a soft smile and a different response than the one she was looking for.

“May I go with the others to the Dragonpit so I may take Astraea out? I’d rather have her out so she’s able to just fly in and fight if the need arises.”

Your mother nods right away. “I don’t see why not. Ser Cane, why don’t you accompany her, the others will depart with their dragons, I don’t want the princess to return alone.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Ser Cane assures your mother of something he had already planned to do.

“Thank you, Mother,” you offer her before you finally rise from your chair and leave with Ser Cane, Rhaena, Baela, Daemon, and the other two Dragonriders toward the Dragonpit. Albeit the carriage is taking a longer way to avoid the smallfolk's wrath considering taxes were raised and they don’t like that they did.

“So Rhaena,” you interject in the silence and drift your gaze to her across from you. “Are you ready to shove it in the face of the old hag that you have a fierce dragon now?”

Rhaena scoffs and shares an amused smile with Baela before she responds. “She’s not old.”

You shrug and flick your wrist. “She was a bitch, so it’s the same thing. Shove it in her face.”

Rhaena smiles at her hands and you lean toward her. “Are there any cute knights or wards there?” You continue to pester her to make the ride more tolerable. “Someone who’s caught your eye?”

Rhaena’s eyes widen and she passes her father an awkward look before she looks back at you and whispers your name, making you scoff in amusement. “What? I can ask, I’m a married woman with a child, there’s nothing wrong with it. Ah! I can introduce you to some Northnermen if you want.”

Rhaena sinks further in her seat and Baela nudges your arm so you can keep teasing her sister, letting Daemon see the remnants of what you all used to be before this war tore your old selves to shreds.

“There’s Addam too,” you say and giggle. “Mayhaps you can stay here and…keep watch with the good knight.” You nod and Baela grins. “For I am too far along in this pregnancy to do a thing.”

“Stop,” she whispers and turns her head away to look out the window.

“I know! I’ll slip something in your late-night teas and toss you in a boat!” You exclaim. “Nothing screams romance like a good adventure!”

“Oh, a good adventure?” Baela whispers in your ear. “Is that what you and Lord Stark did?”

You snap your head to her and push her gently. “Baela,” you hiss between laughter.

“Oh and Addam is good with kids, Aerion adores him,” you keep trying to warm Rhaena to Addam. “And he’s funny and sweet.”

“Then you marry him,” she mutters, making you and Baela laugh.

“Oh well if Aemond dies, then Baela and I have decided to travel to Yi-Ti and there we will find our husbands bathed in gold,” you share lightheartedly as you and Baela hold each other's gaze and try not to burst out laughing. “If not well I hear Dorne has some very handsome bachelors. Or well…we’re up for anything really.”

Rhaena rolls her eyes and you and Baela just share a teasing smile before you pat her leg and let your face fall soft yet serious. “It’s not wrong to let yourself find some pleasures, Rhaena. It’s a war not the end of the world, so don’t forsake your heart's desires.”

Finally, Rhaena looks over at you and loses that annoyance she carried on her face and offers you a soft look before she nods in comprehension, making you smile at her before you drop your gaze and caress your belly as both Aemond and Cregan come to mind.

Will you curse your twins because you let your heart love too freely?

You didn’t mean to, but you couldn’t help what you felt either. He was oh so kind, his love just consumed you, and Aemond…you loved him since you were a little girl. Not because in the back of your head, you knew that you would be married off since you were Targaryen, no, your love for him was born from your own desires. Your love for him consumed you too. And now you’re paying the price.

What a travesty...

Not loving them, just the complication of it all.

Nevertheless, the rest of the ride to the Dragonpit is silent since everyone’s mind is on their tasks, on the war, and the worry over the Smallfolk possibly seeing the carriage.

They don’t but it's not like you would have worried either way because as messy as it would've been, Daemon and Ser Cane are with you. They would’ve handled things a lot better than Aegon’s Kingsguard did when it came to protecting Helaena and Alicent that one time.

Yet, since you weren't spotted in the carriage or walking in the Dragonpit, you all had an easy transition from the carriage to the pit where you go to unchain Astraea yourself.

“<Hello, my girl,” you greet your dragon who already has her eyes set on you. “I’m here to free you at long last.>”

Astraea groans and you chuckle as you pat her side.

“<I know you’re upset, but now you can be with Seasmoke, and hunt over the water with your heart's desire,>” you tell her which she huffs to in response.

Once you set her free she shakes her neck like a dog shakes their body and then turns her head to press her snout against your belly.

“<Ah,” you breathe out and caress her. “Yes, they’re getting bigger. Heavier too.>”

Astraea keeps her snout pressed against your belly, causing the babes inside you to start moving which in turn makes you start smiling in awe.

“Oh,” you coo before you lean down and press a kiss on the top of your dragon's snout, making her open her eyes and pull her head back to look at you with her pupils wide and focused on you. “<Are you still mad at me?>” You ask before you shoot her a grin and then turn around. “<Go out, I’m going to get Shyrkos out for Aerion.>”

Astraea does as you say and you do as said, taking Shyrkos out of her crate and letting her perch herself on your shoulder before she wraps her long tail around your neck. The moment you’re out of the caves you see that Rhaena and Baela had stayed behind to wait for you, albeit Astraea and Moondancer have both put a good distance between them and the wild dragon Morning, choosing to ignore her existence and sticking close together instead.

“Be careful, the both of you,” you direct at the twins. “And Rhaena, please no more running off.”

“The same goes for you,” she redirects, making you smile at the ground but say nothing in return.

“If you find yourselves in trouble send a raven,” you let them know. “I will try to be there. Or you know, I will let someone know.”

Baela scoffs and closes the gap between you to pat your belly before she grabs your hands and gives them a comforting squeeze.

“By the time I see you again you might have already birthed twins,” she says with a tiny smile. “I hope they're boys. Jace bet that you were going to have all boys. All seven of your children.”

Your breath hitches and your eyes soften at the sweet mention. “Did he now?” You ask softly. “Well, I hope he’s wrong. Aemond and I want girls.”

Baela grows physically disgusted at the mention of your husband's name so you leave it at that and just work towards ending the conversation. “Well, I hope Jace’s ghost knows he will be wrong.”

A sad smile appears on her lips and you mirror it before you stroke her knuckles with your fingers. “Until we see each other again, cousin. Take care.”

Baela meets your gaze and nods softly. “Until we see each other again.”

You offer each other one last smile before you meet up with Rhaena, and unlike Baela, you grab Rhaena’s cheeks, and she cups yours before you embrace each other.

“Don't strain yourself okay?” She tells you sweetly.

You nod but you can’t truly mean it, you just nod to assure her. “Don't get too wild now that you have a dragon, hm?”

She scoffs softly and nods too. Does she mean it or is she just assuring you like you did with her? Who knows, but you can’t pick at it so you let it be and trust that she’ll do the right thing.

“Take care,” she says as she pulls away.

“You too,” you return the comment before you step back and watch the twins go to their dragons. When Baela has mounted Moondancer, and Rhaena has mounted Morning and starts holding on for dear life since the dragon keepers say that the wild dragon is too old and wild now to be saddled, you walk them all the way to the exit, choosing to remain hidden under the shadows of the Dragonpit so you’re not seen by onlookers as you watch your cousins descend to the skies and get lost in the clouds.

After they're gone you stay where you are and Astraea walks to the exit to wait for your okay to leave since you haven’t mounted her to descend to the skies together.

“<Go,>” you let her go free from the confinements of the dragonpit which she probably thinks is a dungeon, and once she is also lost in the clouds you crave some freedom as well before you return to the Red Keep.

“Why don’t we walk back to the Red Keep,” you tell Ser Cane as he walks up to you.

“It wouldn’t be wise,” he says right away, making you turn to face him and throw a hood over your head that covers your hair and keeps Shrykos hidden.

“And if I close my cloak,” you trail on as you button your cloak and hide your elegant and expensive gown. “My gown is hidden. See. I am like them now.”

Ser Cane tilts his head up and looks at you with a quizzical brow. “I could overpower you and force you on the carriage,” he shares but not as a threat, more as a warning. “It would save my heart from strain.”

You flash him a smile. “Strain? Ser, it’s a simple walk. Besides I need it, the twins need it. The Maester says it’s healthy to walk. I must walk actually.”

Ser Cane draws in a deep breath as he narrows his gaze to a pointed look and weighs whether to disobey your desire or give in.

“It’s a long walk,” he says as he puts his hands on his hips. “We walk halfway. The carriage will be waiting for us at that halfway point so we can ride the rest of the way back home. It’s that or I sweep you off your feet here and now.”

You hold his gaze for a moment, feeling your smile turn to a grin before you beam at him and nod. “Okay,” you give in without a fight, making him sigh deeply in annoyance before he walks away to let the carriage driver know about the plan, leaving you waiting under the exit, wishing for the sun to return and once again bask you with its warmth.

Alas, the clouds are greedy and steal the sun’s spotlight, forcing you to bask in a winter chill instead, but you don’t curse it and wish to disappear, you welcome its cold embrace and you can only do that so easily because you’ve been surrounded by a colder climate. Otherwise, you too would cower inside your home to stay close to your fire, and not even dream about walking amongst the people who need to be out and about in the coldness, and those who don’t mind the winter's chill, like you do when you leave the Dragonpit.

“…barbarity! Demons!”

Shouts catch your attention, taking your gaze to a cobbler square down the street from the Dragonpit.

“They crawled out of the pits of the Seven Hells!” A skinny man proclaims to no one. No one is gathered around him, but he still carries this passion in his eyes and in his voice that doesn't let him care that he speaks to an empty square. “They are unnatural creatures made by sorceries of Valyria!”

You finally come to a complete stop and become the old man’s only listener.

“They are a curse upon our earth! Both Dragons and Targaryens alike!” He keeps proclaiming and shaking his fist and stump.

“Princess let’s keep moving,” Ser Cane presses as he grabs your arm, but you stay put, forcing him to stay behind like a tall lurking shadow.

“Risen from the vile cesspit where brother lay with sister and mother with son…”

You scoff at the lie and mutter. “Sheep.”

“…where men rode demons into battle whilst their women spread their legs for the dogs!” He continues and this time one single person takes their time to stop not so far from him and listen to the trash that comes out of his stinking mouth.

“Sheep,” Ser Cane echoes. “But in a time of fear the Shepherdless sheep gather around the bravest of them,” he speaks wisely, making you step back to fall by his side instead and continue to watch the old dirty man, but also steal glimpses at your sworn protector.

“The Targaryens escaped the doom, fleeing across the seas to Dragonstone, but the gods are not mocked!” The man follows up with more cruel words. “Now the second doom is at hand!”

“Yes,” the single person agrees, making the corner of your lips curl to a displeased frown.

“The False King and Whore Queen shall be cast down with all their works,” the old man continues to shout. “And their demon beasts shall perish from this earth!”

You fist your hands and start to narrow your gaze to a piercing glare.

“The Whore Queen birthed a demon who disguises itself as an alluring siren, but it walks amongst fire! It’s a Fire Demon!”

“Infected sheep should be taken out before it infects the rest of the flock,” you speak to your sworn protector as you keep your eyes trained on the old man spewing nothing but false claims.

“He’s an innocent and ill man, Princess,” Ser Cane responds without hesitation so his own advice doesn't go unheard. “Take him down now and the tension between the crown and smallfolk increases. They are looking for any wrong step to use as an excuse to revolt.”

You hum and study the scene while you listen carefully. “All those who stand with them will die as well! Only by cleansing King’s Landing of dragons and their masters can Westeros hope to avoid the fate of Valyria!”

“Fear clings to anger,” you speak up and slowly take your eyes off the dirty old man. “If we let him speak he can attract attention, but a shepherdless flock leads themselves to the slaughter.”

“Aye,” Ser Cane agrees. “So it’s said.”

“We either let him snuff himself out, or let the infection spread until that takes them all out.” You finish saying and then meet Ser Cane’s gaze to seek his thoughts.

“Yes, in matters like these, there’s no penetrating them. Not us…”

“They’ll see it as an attack. They’ll believe he’s right, turning them all against us,” you continue for your sworn protector. “If attention is what he manages to get, that is.”

Ser Cane hums. “Exactly. Best leave it be. Now come on.”

You hum and steal one last glimpse at the old man, but don’t let your gaze linger so he doesn’t catch you staring and manages to recognize you.

Yet even as you continue walking away you continue to probe on the matter. “If the infection doesn’t kill then, if they don’t lead themselves to slaughter…then what?” You ask. “If we kill them that would hurt us. His word and belief would be spread and kept alive.”

Ser Cane sighs and parts his lips to give you an answer. Yet before he can he points his chin at you. “What do you think we would do at that point?”

You blink and look around to find your thoughts, finding one in particular that you pick on. “If one person turns too many then…we infiltrate them, tear them down from the inside so they think they sabotaged themselves. That would turn his words and belief to nothing because the people want to be angry, but they won't want to suffer the same fate so their same fear will disillusion them.” You say and quickly return your gaze to Ser Cane, noticing his lips tug to a smile.

“Wise. Spoken like a true heir,” he praises you, making you smile proudly.

——

*NOT SO MUCH LATER*

“Just down there,” you let Addam know as he follows you downhill where you would sneak off to train, where ocean waves hit the stone platform, and you’re far from the busybodies that occupy the castle and have a chance at disbursing your peace.

“Are you sure?” Addam queries hesitantly from behind you before he jogs down to fall by your side. “I mean I don’t want someone to get the wrong idea.”

A smile flashes on your lips and you show your amusement to Addam before you tap your belly. “The wrong idea with these two? I’m sorry but given my current state I’m not considered desirable, so no one will think a bad thing at all.”

He huffs. “I think that carrying children doesn’t make you any less beautiful,” he tries to assure you.

“Thank you, Addam, but…it’s complicated, besides, Ser Cane is with us. He'll stop you before you can even form a mischievous plan, isn’t that right Ser?”

“I’ll push you in the water and no one will be the wiser,” he deadpans, making Addam confused on whether he’s joking or not since Addam can’t read Ser Cane like you can.

“He’s joking,” you soothe Addam’s worry before you nudge his arm. “Should I worry about you? You're quiet.”

Addam meets your gaze and parts his lips, but he lets a breath of air escape first before he forms his words. “Why do you trust me so wholeheartedly and not the other two? I haven’t given you a reason to deserve your devotion and yet you are devoted to me. I…” he trails off and drops his head, bringing you to a slow stop and forcing him to one too that has quite the distance in between.

“I am no one yet you treat me like you’ve known me our whole lives. In a way no one else has. No one here I mean,” he continues to say, making your lips form to a pitiful frown—“You have every reason to look at me the same way you did at the Gullet. The Velaryon name doesn’t change who I really am, so why?”

You swallow back a thick lump that forms in your throat and study his face twisted with insecurity and confusion.

“I…tend to trust too blindly,” you admit in a lighthearted tone. “It’s a problem that’s been brought to my attention before, so maybe you’re right, maybe I should doubt trusting you. I shouldn't rely on my beliefs, but,” you pause and take a couple of steps closer to him before you come to a stop and continue softer and with a hint of sorrow in your voice. “The truth is that you out of everyone here has made me feel less alone.”

You catch him by surprise, making him lift his eyes off the floor to look at you with disbelief—“That day at the Gullet I was a bitch, I was insecure about what I thought you were going to take away from Aerion and I had no right. I was wrong and I'm sorry. You are a very great guy from what I’ve witnessed so far, and ever since that night at the dinner, you’ve kept me from sinking into a pit of darkness.”

His breath catches and his lips twitch to a smile. “And you…have saved me from feeling alone without my brother while I stay in this strange place,” he shares, making you slowly grin. “So thank you for trusting me.”

You nod softly and blink repeatedly as tears sting your eyes. “Thank you…for reminding me how it feels like to laugh. It’s been only a couple weeks but having nowhere to go has made it feel like we’ve known each other for years.”

He laughs and nods in agreement. “It really does.”

You share a breathless laugh before you close the gap between you to pat his chest with your fist, making him look at the gesture before he lifts his fist and mirrors your actions, but in a much more gentle manner. It’s like a light feathered touch that you still feel and leaves you lingering in his presence for a moment longer before you finally continue down your path side by side.

“You know I always had these big dreams,” Addam shares. “And now that I’m out here doing something it's nothing like how I expected it to be.”

You sigh deeply. “Yes,” you talk softly. “I understand what you mean. Do you regret any of it though?”

Addam shakes his head. “Not yet.”

You pat his back and praise him. “Good for you.”

He meets your gaze and offers you a tiny smile. “Thank you.”

You chuckle before you skip forward to get a bit ahead of him. “Tell me, Addam. Now I'm being serious, how many sailor shanties do you know?” You probe and peer at him over your shoulder.

“Many but unfortunately I was not blessed with the right set of pipes to sing any,” he says before he shoots you a pointed look. “I hear you have a gifted voice. The Siren of Driftmark is your name, no?”

You flash him a smirk over your shoulder before you nod proudly. “Yes. I love singing, that's why I asked if you know sailor shanties. I want to learn more, and with my father gone, I have to rely on you. It’s too bad you can’t sing though, we could’ve formed a band.” You frown dramatically before you spin around and face your sworn protector.

“Can you play an instrument or sing, Ser?” You direct your question at Ser Cane, causing the man to lay his eyes on you and remain quiet for a long moment hoping you’d drop it, but you wait with your eyes on him the entire time.

“I can play the lute…quite well,” he reveals, making you beam at him.

“Great! Thank you for sharing, I shall keep it in mind for my own personal advantage,” you tease him before you turn back around and face the platform you’re approaching. “Thank you by the way Addam, for agreeing to come train with me.”

Said man scoffs. “You didn’t really give me an option. Using your power over me kind of forced me to train with you.”

“I had to,” you remark. “No one else will because I am with child. And a woman.” You complain with annoyance before your tone quickly flips to excitement. “But I do plan to keep my promise and teach you how to do archery from your dragon. I must teach you on the ground first though, I can’t just throw you in the water and tell you to swim.”

He hums and then giggles at your choice of words before he picks up his pace to walk at your side and reach the platform at the same time.

Yet, the moment you step foot on the stone ground a racing pair of footsteps echo, stealing your attention to the incomer who turns out to be Ser Jason.

“I’m sorry to disturb you Princess, but, the Queen Dowager has requested an audience in the throne room,” Ser Jason shares between heavy pants.

Yet as out of breath as he is you don’t take his news seriously. “The Queen can handle it by herself. I’ll stay here for this audience.”

Ser Jason shakes his head. “No,” he breathes out. “Alicent requested an audience with you alone in the Throne Room.”

You’re hit with overwhelming curiosity, slight surprise, and annoyance only because of course Alicent is requesting an audience with you without the presence of the Queen in her own throne room. It makes you wonder what she’s up to.

“All right.” You nod lightly before you draw in a small breath to give Ser Jason a command. “Let the Queen know of the audience. I want her to go.”

Without hesitation Ser Jason nods before he turns around and runs off again, letting you turn to Addam with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, perhaps we can come back later, or tomorrow. Is that fine?”

Addam nods, of course, and reassures you so you don’t feel guilty. “Of course it’s fine.”

You offer him a thankful smile before you retake the path you just walked and return to the Red Keep. Once you’re inside and approaching the Throne Room, you don’t linger back to wait for your mother. You know she’ll join you eventually, she’d be curious as to what Alicent could possibly want; that’s why you let the guards open the doors for you and let Alicent see you and believe that you're there to fulfill her request without an ulterior motive.

She must think you’re like her and her children, but you’re not and the moment you strut down the room with your nose in the air, bathing yourself in every beam of light that casts through the windows on the walls, she sees that. She didn’t want to see it before out of her own hate and pride, but as her eyes follow you down the great hall she sees just how much your presence alone steals the breath of the great hall.

She looks at you now and it’s like the sun came out of hiding to shine just for you. Viserys would tell you that all the time, “the sun shines just for you,” he would say from the moment you were born and he laid eyes on you for the first time. Alicent’s stomach always twisted with jealousy so she refused to acknowledge anything great about you, but here you are now, walking past her without sparing her a glance, as if you don’t exist in the same realm and she sees it. She sees you and you are what every heir should strive themselves to be.

You are everything her children could never be. She sees that and realizes how much Aegon would have benefited from marrying you instead, but then again you would have eaten him alive. Aemond and you could have been such a glorious example of what a ruling couple should be, but you are right, he is the way he is because of her, she wronged him. She wronged them all, she sees that and so much more, but doesn’t acknowledge it. She can’t, so she pushes it to the back of her head and instead notes that you don’t even climb the steps to the throne. You keep yourself at the foot of the stairs that lead to the throne and take command from there.

“Goodmother,” you greet her with surprise. “What a surprise.”

Alicent curtsies, causing her golden chains to rattle. When she’s up right again she meets your gaze and you continue to fill the silence. “To what do I owe this surprise? I mean an audience in the throne room without her grace is quite the scandal.” You chuckle dryly.

It’s almost like she herself had an ulterior motive. It’s like she wanted you to feel superior and steal control above your mother.

“I’ve come to plead for your help,” she reveals, piquing your interest. “I heard of your mother's plan to slaughter my sons and I must ask you to save them.”

Your lips slightly part in surprise but before you can think of uttering a word she continues.

“You love Aemond. You are married to him and share a beautiful child. Y-you were on our side once, so I must ask you to change again, to save Aemond, to help Daeron who is innocent in this war. And Aegon…”

You raise an eyebrow to await what comes out of her mouth for him.

“He’s an invalid now. He can’t father any more children. He’s a cripple. He will be no threat I swear, just please—You who has the power and the skill, please help me. Save them. Save Aemond and you can be the ones on the throne instead,” she pleads desperately with actual tears creeping out of her big brown eyes. “Please.”

You narrow your gaze to watch her closely and just as you gather a breath to respond, the doors open and your mother, the Queen walks in, pausing in her stride to look at Alicent who now looks baffled by your mother’s presence.

“Your Grace,” you greet her with a mischievous smirk as you curtsy. When she reaches you you move aside to let her walk past you before you swiftly turn around and follow after her. Albeit you stop by the Iron Throne to stand beside it and let her be at the center of attention to take command now.

“The Dowager Queen has sought my audience to beg the mercy of her children,” you tell your mother to catch her up. “She wants me to spare them from their fate, but Daeron is no innocent boy. He’s slaughtered men with the armies because of the war you helped start. And Aegon,” you pause to scoff finding it crazy that you have to tell her why he’s not worth saving.

“Did you know he barged in my quarters when Aemond left for Rook’s Rest,” you begin to share, feeling your mother's eyes on you, and seeing Alicent’s hurt at what you’re preparing to share—“It was no friendly visit. He didn’t come looking for his brother, he went in there drunk looking for me. Do you know why?”

Alicent averts her gaze and with that look alone you know she has an idea. Yet you still share it.

“It seems you have some idea, but I’ll share it anyway. He went there to grope me, to assault me while Aemond was gone because he knew I wouldn't fight back. He would’ve gone further if it wasn’t for my sworn protector barging in,” you sneer and glare at her for demanding the mercy of such a disgusting man—“I can’t imagine what he’s done to other poor girls who weren’t as lucky, but I’m sure you can and still you want me to save him? And all behind the Queen's back?” You scoff and look at her with disgust as you go quiet and let your mother interject now.

“Is this your plan Alicent? Scheme behind my back hoping my daughter will betray me? Then again why am I surprised? You promised to surrender Aegon and the Red Keep, and your son was gone proving you a liar. So I’m not surprised that you stoop so low,” your mother seethes, and Alicent shakes her head before she tilts it up to meet your mother's gaze and finally give a response.

“Is trying to save my children stooping low when it’s something you yourself would have done in my position? Can you blame me for trying to save them from such a fate?” She cries. “Is that a sin?”

Your mother shakes her head. “No,” she says back. “But going behind my back hoping to plot something with my heir is.”

“And she proved ever so loyal,” Alicent mutters. “I praise you for that, but please hear me,” she begs as she falls to her knees, making you and your mother share a look before you return your attention to Alicent.

“We can divide the realm. You could have the Vale of Arryn, the North, the Crownlands, all the lands watered by the Trident, and the Isles,” Alicent shares, making you smile at the floor—“Aegon could have the Stormlands, the Westerlands, and the Reach, to be ruled from Oldtown. Please,” she pleads with tears crawling down her cheeks and eyes, and that desperation breaking her voice.

Alas, your mother doesn’t even debate what she asks. She gives her a response immediately. “No.” She feigns a laugh and scorns her. “Your sons might have had places in my court if they had kept faith, but they sought to rob me of my birthright, and the blood of my sons is on their hands.”

Alicent drops to her hands and mutters something you and your mother manage to catch. “Bastard blood, shed at war.”

You quickly look to your mother and she rises from the throne right away but stays where she is to snap back.

Yet before she can Alicent continues to throw out her angry filled words. “How many more must die to slake your thirst for vengeance?”

“You tell me,” your mother spats. “If you hadn’t raised your son to take my throne their lives wouldn’t be put at risk, your lover and your brother wouldn’t be dead, and you would not be in chains, but alas these are the consequences of your actions.” She huffs and walks to where you are to continue. “Speak again of bastardy, and I will have your tongue out.”

Your mother turns swiftly and storms out. You linger behind and face Alicent to speak about her. “Have her locked in her chambers with no more visits from her daughter or grandchildren. If she wants to plot behind the Queen's back again, have her tongue cut out, and then we can decide where she goes.”

“Princess,” the guards say in comprehension and then bow their heads before they grab Alicent’s arms, whilst the Dowager Queen herself snaps her head up and looks at you with her eyes widened in horror.

“Your Grace?!” Alicent asks for your mother's support and your mother stops in her tracks but only supports you.

“Do as the Princess says. It will serve as punishment for what she tried to scheme today.”

You flash Alicent a sweet smile laced with malice before you give her your back and follow after your mother, finding yourself catching up to her right away and following at her side instead.

“Forgive me, Mother,” you interject once you put some distance between you and the throne room. “For giving Alicent that punishment just now and putting you in a difficult position where you had to choose my choice.”

“No,” your Mother doesn’t hesitate to answer. “You don’t have to apologize. It had to be done. She tried to scheme behind my back. She’s lucky that her punishment wasn’t more severe.”

Yet she’s unlucky that she got a punishment. Alicent almost returned to her quarters without consequence and all for what? Your mother's soft spot for her?

Then again can you blame her when you have your own soft spot for Aemond?

“You were quick and smart with the choice,” she praises you sweetly. “Good job.”

You can’t help yourself, you let a proud smile tug on your lips as those words have a way to make you feel flustered.

“I want you to accompany me to my chambers before we go visit the children,” your mother interjects with a colder shift in her voice, but when you face her you don’t see disappointment or something that tells you that she feels concerned and therefore you should too. You instead see her lips formed into a frown and her eyes slowly filling with conflict.

“Alright,” you give in and do as she says, proceeding to follow her to her quarters and see her walk to her bed to sit on the edge before patting the empty seat next to her.

You flash her a look of confusion but you also don’t sense that you should stay put or be hesitant, so you take her offer and lock eyes to speechlessly question why you’re in the position you’re in now.

“Why,” she begins quietly and drops her gaze. You follow her line of gaze, catching her fiddling with her rings—“Why didn’t you tell me about what Aegon did?” She finally asks what was troubling her mind and what made her bring you here. And you expect to feel tears, but your chest just tightens as you recall that memory.

“The truth is,” you pause and take a minute to collect your thoughts before you scale your eyes up and look at her averted gaze. “I’ve been trying to forget because maybe I was over dramatic. I…told Alicent now to make her feel bad and give her a reason why Aegon out of all her sons can’t be saved.”

Your mother slowly brings her eyes up and catches your gaze with her eyes brimming with tears and her eyebrows knitted together as anger, pity, and agony also fill her heart and become present in her features.

“But it’s not over dramatic. Aegon…he still took advantage of his power to take advantage of you,” she says as her voice breaks and trembles out of guilt. “It’s not over dramatic and I’m sorry you had to be in that position because of me. Because you wanted to fight for our cause.”

You lean forward and grab her hands to try and offer her consolation. “Don't blame yourself, okay? It was not because of you and it was not because of anyone else. The only one to blame is Aegon, okay? Just him.” You whisper and stroke her knuckles, causing your mother to look down at the way you’re softly caressing her before her eyes find yours again, and she then suddenly embraces you.

“I’m still sorry it happened,” she whispers and cups the back of your head to press you firmly against her.

Your smile trembles as the corner of your lips pull up to a wobbly smile. Yet as much as you feel the need to, you don’t cry, you hold your tears back and put all your emotions into clutching onto her as if fearing her comfort and her warmth will disappear if you don’t hold onto her. “Thank you,” you share your gratitude before burying your face in the crook of her neck.

After a while of being wrapped in each other's embrace you pull back but just enough to lay your head on her shoulder and have her lay her head on top of yours.

“Did you tell anyone at least? I would hate that you kept it in for so long,” she says softly in the silence, and you nod gently.

“I told Aemond, he comforted me about it and only spared Aegon because he was already half dead.” You scoff with amusement and find yourself smiling softly like some love-struck fool as you remember Aemond’s comfort.

“Hm,” your mother hums and you can sense her judgment, but she doesn’t say a thing about it, choosing silence over saying something offensive. She just can’t fathom Aemond, introverted, black sheep, and kinslayer Aemond being anything but angry.

“Are you…worried about Daemon?” You change the subject as you let yourself touch on a specific matter in hopes of relating to someone about this pit in your stomach that you feel every time you think about Aemond when you’re apart.

“When he’s away I mean,” you clarify. “When he’s in a dangerous situation like now. Do you ever feel a pit in your stomach?”

Your mother sighs deeply and takes a moment of silence before she gives you a response. “Yes. I never had a reason to feel it before,” she shares. “But I do now. Why do you ask, my Sweet?”

You shake your head gently. “I just wanted to know if it was normal. I wanted to know if anyone else felt it too for someone they loved.”

Silence follows once again. It lasts longer than before but once again she breaks it and this time she’s much quieter as if she’s being careful. Not because she’s afraid of hurting you, she’s afraid of hearing your response because she knows what you’ll say and she knows the pain that comes with it.

“Do you love him?” She asks.

You draw in a deep breath and after releasing a deep and shuddering breath you give her the response that makes her stiffen. “I do,” you speak softly with each word filled with sincerity and such an obvious affection. “I love him with all that I am. All that I’ll ever be. And all that I ever was. I try,” you breathe out shakily. “I try not to, trust me,” your voice quivers. “I try, but…I can’t let him go. My heart refuses to let him go. Even if I have love for another my heart still calls out his name. The very memory of him makes my heart sing and dance even though I know he’s done things to hurt me.”

“Why?” Your mother asks hesitantly even though she knows that question is stupid. She just has to ask because she can’t imagine how someone could love someone who's killed people they love, who’s pure evil and twisted with darkness.

“I,” you pause and take a small breath. “Love him,” you sigh. “Because he’s entangled in my soul. Because he loves me, every part of me, like the darkness that would scare many others away. Because he understands what it’s like to yearn for something that’s in our reach but couldn’t be ours. Because without saying a word he knows everything I feel and everything I want to say. Because I enjoy being the one to make him smile and laugh, and because he loves me in such a deep and selfish way that I have always wanted to be loved…and I could give you thousands of other reasons without growing tired, but I know you would so…that’s why.”

Your mother swallows thickly and understands why you stayed with Aemond as long as you did when you had every chance to leave him during the war. She understands the pain that shows on your face every time someone mentions having to kill him.

“But I know he can’t be mine forever,” you mutter and she hears it now, the pain that she can’t see because you’re not facing each other—“I know what has to happen. I…know,” you say something that you didn’t even have in mind, you just said it on the spot because if you said what you truly wanted to say, then it would be a lie. And even if you have lied, even if that’s not something you struggle with, saying that you made your peace with Aemond having to die can’t even form into words in your mouth.

“It will hurt,” your mother says softly as a way to warn you of the pain that you have yet to experience. “Every time you look at your children it will hurt because you will see him in them. But before you know it, your heart will sing and dance and swoon for someone else and all he’ll be is a memory of your long life.”

You nod and want to say those two words you uttered before, but you can’t even form them in your mouth, so you just nod so very lightly that it barely would count as a nod.

“Like Lord Stark,” your mother brings him up again. “You love him too, yes?” She asks.

“Yes,” your voice quivers.

Your mother wants to probe like she did with Aemond, but it wouldn't be appropriate so she’s just left wondering.

“He’s a good man from what I hear and he’s your friend, and I want you to know that you can choose who you want to be with. I won’t force you into a loveless relationship just for some political advantage, okay?” She asks for comprehension—“You have the freedom of choice.”

“Okay,” your whisper comes out shaky and you cling onto her more firmly than before as you seek her comfort for the ache that already torments you.

If only you could hold onto her forever. The world would feel safer that way and any pain would immediately be cured, but alas what you want can’t happen, so you let her go and try to fill the rest of your day with other things that won't make that torment hurt you any deeper.

And it works.

For a time.

“<Ready?>” You ask Aerion and his blue eyes turn to his dragon, letting you place another piece of meat in front of her. “<Dracarys Shrykos>,” you command, and the hatchling steps back before she blows out fire and burns the piece of meat, making Aerion laugh and then attempt to talk or give the same command, but he can’t form the words so he coos and Shrykos crawls to him and nuzzles her head against his chest.

You smile with awe and as you do an urgent knock raps on the doors, piquing your interest and turning your head to face them. “Come,” you welcome the visitor and watch the doors of your chambers open and reveal Helaena in her night attire and with her hair flowing down her back.

“Why can I not see my mother?” She gets right to the point as she averts her eyes. “I could not have dinner with her, and now I can not bid her goodnight, why?”

You share a speechless look with Vanessa and when you get off the floor she takes your spot to watch over Aerion, while you approach Helaena.

“Your mother has to be locked in her quarters because she wanted to scheme with me behind the Queen’s back,” you share even though you know that will offer her no comfort. “She’s already a prisoner so to spare her from death we took away her freedom. I’m sorry Helaena,” you speak confidently but yet in a comforting tone so she doesn’t stress out more than she already is.

Yet she can’t seem to accept her mother's fate. “But I always bid her goodnight, and who will I have dinner with now?”

You sigh and feel pity for her but you don’t take back your decision. “It had to be done. I’m sorry.”

Helaena shakes her head and begins to pace, making your ache for her even worse.

“Helaena,” you try to speak to assure her but she puts her hand up to motion you to be quiet.

“It’s all what must be done,” she mutters something you can barely catch. “Everything. Why?”

She stops so you make your way to her and try to cup her shoulder to have her give you her attention, but she then turns around by herself and looks at you with her eyes wide and glistening with tears, but also laced with distress.

“What will you do?” She directs her question at you now. “Aemond will die in fifteen days. What will you do about it?”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief as you feel that pit in your stomach again, followed with that deep heart aching agony.

“What?” You ask breathlessly and she clutches onto her hands and slightly narrows her eyes.

“It has to be done,” she remarks with a hint of frustration. “And you can’t do anything about it.”

You shake your head as you don’t accept what she just revealed even though everything inside you knows she’s not lying. Because why would she?

“No,” your voice cracks as you look at her with desperation.

“He was never going to live through this. Everyone knows that” she continues to say, bringing frustration out of you now—“It’s his fate. And nothing you do will ever change it.”

Tears break out of your eyes as you clench your jaw and look at her with frustration and anger before your emotions flicker to desperation. “Please,” you beg and grab her arms. “There…” you trail off as you think about her words, as you think about that son that you will have in a future that you accept and acknowledge that it’s how the story will unfold, but that part of you that loves Aemond blindly and with every part of you pretends to be clueless as to what you know to only focus on what you want.

“There must be a way,” you try to get an alternative out of Helaena since she knows so much, but her expression remains pointed and frustrated.

“There isn’t. What will you do about it?” Her voice slightly hisses, making you pull back and look at her with a slow-forming glare.

You don’t continue with an answer. The room is left deafening, and since you won’t give her what she wants she leaves and you’re left standing in your agony and desperation that is so blinding and demanding that it overwhelms you with the thought of one single solution. A daring thought.

You must go to him. Convince him to let this fight go. You have to find him.

Thus you march out of your quarters and take the path to Helaena’s quarters knowing that’s where she’ll be headed, and luckily she didn’t make it far at all so you catch up to her rather quickly. And when you’re face to face it’s that same desperation that demands her knowledge of Aemond’s whereabouts.

Helaena gives them to you so you march back into your chambers and right as the doors close, Vanessa presses you since she knows you all too well. “What are you doing? You cannot go after him. He can’t be saved. He won’t want to.”

You face her with agony clinging in your eyes that makes them glisten with unshed tears before you utter one single thing. “I have to try.”

It’s stupid. Foolish and thoughtless, but you leave the Red Keep through the tunnels, find Astraea resting in the cove she usually is to be close to you if a need arose, and at last fulfill that longing to get lost in the clouds.

Once again you’re leaving without saying a word, out of desperation and high emotions. Your stance is still with your mother, that hasn’t changed and won’t change anymore. You still have the need to fight in this war, that need hasn’t left either, but you have to try and save the man you love. You have to for the sake of your love, for the sake of simply trying to save him from his doom because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you love someone.

Leaving was selfish you understand, chasing after him was selfish but the disappointment your mother, your cousins, and even Cregan will feel when they hear you went after Aemond doesn’t cross your mind when you find him, and when your eyes meet in the middle of that lush and lively forest.

In a way, it feels like he knew you were coming, that you were going to be outside of the hut he’s staying in, but after he surpasses his own self-conflict between reality and an illusion, he’s completely overwhelmed with disbelief by your presence. The kind of disbelief that has his lips parting just slightly, and makes his blue eye wide and glimmery as the spots of moonlight that burst through the treetops enlighten his long and beautiful face.

“It’s you and me,” your voice travels through the quiet night, hitting his ears and only breaking it to him more that you’re not some illusion cast by his solitude and yearning to see you. You’re real, you’re there before him holding his eyes with a teary gaze that only makes your eyes that much more beautiful.

“You and me,” you whisper again and step forward, falling in the soft and bright white light that the moon casts down on the earth, making Aemond gasp softly as he sees how truly divine you look in your silk light sea-green gown that’s accompanied with a pearl and crystal chain over your torso.

Truly your beauty transcends that of the moons, the suns, and all and every goddess that ever existed. He’s always known it, but as you stand before him under the soft light of the moon that fact is much more true because you’re there for him.

How could he be so stupid as to make you leave him? And how could you be so stupid as to return to him?

“Now and forever,” you finish and make tears run down his face as he nods in agreement.

Your lips pull to a shaky smile as you see his reaction and before you know it a force that’s not your own pulls you to each other, causing you to meet in the middle and kiss as if you’ve been apart for decades and only had each other's imaginations to feel the taste of each other’s lips. Nothing of what happened only a couple weeks ago comes to mind, it’s like it never happened at this very moment. It's like he was never angry that you left. It’s you and him and your dragons in the middle of some forest in the Riverlands until it’s just you and him in that hut unable to even think of letting each other go.

You are one flesh, one heart, and one soul for who knows how long. All you know is the taste of each other's mouths, the feeling of each other's flesh on the tip of your fingers as you run them over the perimeters of each other's bodies, and the sound of every pant, gasp, and moan that leaves your lips.

It’s all bliss, every second that your bodies and hearts are intertwined. Nothing else matters, nothing continues to matter, and the definition of love, true love was, and is clear as you take in the sight of each other while you remain in bed ignorant to the outside world.

“You know,” he speaks in that soft and gentle voice that you love and makes you feel relaxed. “I saw Alys and she told me something,” he says and places his hand on your belly, piquing your interest.

“What?” You ask in a whisper against his lips as if it were a secret that the space around you can’t know.

A smug smile tugs on his lips and he glances down at your belly covered by furs and shares what he knows against your lips. “The twins are girls.”

You look at him with disbelief for a second before you begin to grin without even bothering to question him. “Really?!” You exclaim and throw your hand on the side of his face to cradle it and press your own face closer to him.

He hums in agreement and you pull back to turn and smile at the ceiling. “So it’s Daenys and Daenerys?” You muse as you caress your own belly. “Yay.”

“What about Daenys and Naerys?” He suggests but you don’t even consider it, you just turn him down right away.

“No, Daenys and Daenerys has a much better ring to it don’t you think? Considering they’re twins?” You quire as you turn back to your side to look at him.

“I suppose,” he mutters.

“You suppose right.” You nod, making him chuckle breathlessly.

“Aerion?” He asks when his laugh dies down.

“Big,” you share happily. “Scooting on his behind to get to places. And wanting to burn down the Red Keep with Shyrkos. He keeps wanting to say Dracarys but he can’t. Luckily.”

Aemond flashes you a grin and goes quiet. He then lets his eye wander down, and it’s at that moment that you bring your hand up to cup his face with the gentlest touch, and take your time to caress his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb while you just study his face slowly falling as he grows flustered by your softness, that he knows he doesn’t deserve you after what he did to hurt you.

“Forgive me,” he mutters and moves his hand up your belly to stroke a scar that is no longer marking your skin. “I hurt you that day and I’m sorry. I…” he trails off as his voice cracks and takes in a deep breath before he slowly finds your attentive gaze. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know what I was doing. Harrenhal…was driving me mad. Every night I closed my eyes, I saw you die or I saw Lucerys. My greatest fear haunted me every time. My past followed. And it all chipped away at my sanity a little bit at a time until I couldn’t know between what was real and what wasn’t. And it’s no excuse, nothing could excuse what I did, but I needed to tell you,” he says with a deep breath that lets you see that weight rising off his shoulders.

“You understand right?” He asks for reassurance, and you exchange a breath in and out without changing that softness in your eyes and give him the reassurance he seeks.

“I understand,” you say sincerely and lean in to press a gentle kiss on his lips. “I understand you,” you repeat yourself against his lips, making him bring his hand up to clutch onto your cheek before he presses his forehead against yours.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile and butterflies flutter in your stomach before you echo his sweet words. “I missed you too.”

He hums and you hum back to tease him, holding his love-stricken gaze and taking a small breath in, leaving the room in silence. However, it’s in that comforting silence that the memory of why you came to him in the first place finds you, creeping into your mind and making your lips slowly lose hold of that smile, and making your eyes slowly droop and lose that happy glimmer that was caught within them.

Aemond notices your shift in emotions and looks at you with concern, but you can’t utter why you’re in agony so quickly with that breath you just drew out. You don’t want to ruin the moment that just had him smiling and enamored.

You want to live in the bliss for at least a second longer, so you close your eyes and stroke his cheek with your hand to be a part of that moment for just a little longer.

Just a few seconds longer…

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Next chapter someone finally croaks…

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber

[slut4evanpeters]

Dancing!

cooper day x reader

song i recommend listening to: bullet with butterfly wings by the smashing pumpkins

warnings: none! fluff fluff fluff

word count: 714

notes: excuse the unoriginal title.... ya girl is feeling so uncreative 😞 anyway this is so cute! i hope you guys like this!! vv short tho not what i usually write 😞

The weather was soft with a hint of coolness that October evening, and you found yourself at Cooper’s place, his worn and warm room dimly lit by a lamp sitting in the corner of his room. Cooper sat on the old, creaky couch, fiddling with a CD player that looked like it had survived one too many garage sales. After a moment of static, the unmistakable opening riffs of Bullet with Butterfly Wings by The Smashing Pumpkins started pouring out, filling the room with that haunting energy.

Cooper’s eyes lit up as the music kicked in, and he gave you a mischievous grin. “Oh, come on, you know you love this one,” he said, the corners of his mouth quirking up in that half-smirk that was so…Cooper.

You couldn’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it!”

He jumped up from the spinning desk chair, his tousled hair falling messily over his eyes, and held his hand out to you. “Come on, dance with me, will ya?”

You hesitated, but his hand stayed outstretched. There was something about the way Cooper’s face softened when he looked at you, like he could care less about the rest of the world as long as you were right there with him.

You took his hand, feeling the callouses on his fingers, and he immediately pulled you close. Cooper wasn’t much for traditional dancing. No, he started with a sway and then, with the beat of the music, he pulled you into a bouncy, exaggerated headbang. You both laughed, bumping into each other clumsily, and he muttered something under his breath about needing a bigger place.

The music blared louder as the song’s chorus hit, and Cooper mouthed along to, “Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage,” his face scrunching up dramatically. He pointed to you with a teasing glint in his eye, pretending to sing to you like he was putting on a show. You both burst out laughing, your cheeks beginning to ache from smiling so much.

“Cooper, you’re ridiculous,” you teased, giving him a light shove as you spun away, only for him to immediately pull you back with a playful look in his eye.

“Me? You’re the one who’s totally into it!” he chuckled, looping his arm around your waist and spinning you dramatically. He was surprisingly good at it, even if he was hamming it up for laughs. “Admit it, this is fun!”

You laughed, trying to hide the grin on your face, but he saw it anyway. He pressed his forehead to yours, and you could feel his breath, warm and close, as he whispered, “You don’t get off the hook that easy.”

As the bridge of the song hit, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for a slower, swaying dance, resting his chin on top of your head. The mood shifted for a moment, and you let yourself relax into his embrace, the two of you gently rocking back and forth to the sound of Billy Corgans gritty vocals.

“Hey,” Cooper murmured, breaking the quiet. “I… I like this, you know?”

“Yeah?” you replied softly, looking up at him.

He nodded, his eyes gentle but intent. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t really do this kinda stuff usually, but with you, it just…it feels right.”

You felt a warm flush creep over you, and before you could say anything, he spun you out, making you stumble and laugh as he caught you again. Just like that, the moment was back to being light and playful, the air charged with the same electric energy as the song.

As the song came to an end, Cooper sighed and pulled you into a loose hug, resting his head on your shoulder. “This was fun,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” you agreed, your voice soft. “It really was.”

He looked down at you, his eyes twinkling. “We gotta do this again sometime. Maybe…same time next week?”

Your heart swelled a little, and you nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

With a final squeeze, he let go, and sat back on his chair. The sound of the next track beginning buzzing in your ears as you shared quiet smiles, feeling like you were exactly where you needed to be.

[bellewintersroe]

Daniel Ricciardo x HornerDaughter! Reader.

This is just a shameless smut series now! Part 5 and this is gonna be HEAVY with smut, porn without a plot (hope you guys don’t get bored of this) but yeah 18+ warning, sex, swearing, reader riding tf out of Daniel’s dick.

Going heavy on the consent in this chapter cos it’s sexy asf and you’re weird if you think otherwise, I just know Daniel is the most attentive lover ever. @benbarneslut @dinodumbass @ricci-ardo

The pair finally get some proper alone time, in a private environment. There’s so much pent up sexual tension between the pair that they can finally just go for it. Daniel does feel a little shy at first, he’s gonna get kinkier as this series goes on don’t you worry. The two begin to realise their feelings for one another may be returned and this situationship goes deeper than what both of them first intended.

The notification on her phone was just what she’d been waiting for all evening. She’d only been in his room, waiting for about an hour, but it felt like a lifetime. Daniel was back now and they could actually do exactly what they both needed. “Hi.” She smiled, opening the door to reveal the taller man. He was dressed in casual wear now, she was in a hotel towel, fresh from the shower. The scent of Daniel’s body wash on her hit his nose instantly, somehow, it turned him on. Water droplets fell from her shoulder, her hair was tied back into a ponytail, causing her face to be more visible than when it normally cascaded down over her shoulders.

“Hiya.” He gently responded, stepping in and closing the door behind him. The tension was obvious, but neither of them wanted to pounce.

“Sorry, I used your body wash… smells good you’ve got a good collection.” She giggled, spinning around and leading him towards the bed. “It’s okay, it… smells good.” Now he’d wanted to facepalm, it’s like he’d just complimented himself. “On you…” he visibly shook his head, “I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s okay, it does smell good, I agree.” She laughed, sensing the shyness he felt. She didn’t know why, it’s not like they hadn’t done this before. He too, smelt like a million dollars, it was something that she knew about him for a while and a big turn onto her. He must’ve showered back when he was at the track, because she almost fell to her knees at the manly scent of cologne and freshness that clung to him. “You want a drink?” He then wandered towards the small fridge in the room, pulling out a water bottle. “Yeah, please.” He tossed one over, hitting her square in the chest. “Oh my god! I am so sorry!” He panicked as she chuckled out a laughter. He hurried over, placing his larger hands on her bare skin.

“Are you okay?” He laughed as she nodded back up to him in amusement, “I’m all good.”

“I’m so sorry, I thought you caught it.” He rubbed his hand over the red mark on her chest. “I have no hand-eye-coordination!” She exclaimed as he smiled down to her in amusement. “I can tell.”

“Or maybe you’ve just got a really bad aim.” She cocked her head to the side, Daniel analysing over her features. “Maybe so.” He shrugged, “think it’s more you though.” He couldn’t help himself as he reached up, fingers running through the bouncy strands of her hair. “Your hair looks good up.” To this she raised a hand to her ponytail nervously.

“Do you think?” She shyly asked, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Yeah.” His voice was gentle as he played with the strands. “It’s just easier out of the way.” She shrugged, fingers toying with the top of her towel. Her breasts were perked and pushed together against the tight wrap of the white material, with one slight nudge it would fall free. She glanced down, wondering whether to just let it drop.

“Oh.” He gently spoke as she glanced back up, smiling before the two met halfway for a tender kiss. His hand was planted on the back of her head, keeping her in the kiss as she kept one hand over her towel, the other resting on his bicep.

“You okay? You need anything?” Daniel then whispered into the kiss as she shook her head, gazing back into his gentle eyes. “Okay.” He nodded, smoothing his hand down her arm before they joined in another kiss. She felt butterflies fill her stomach and her chest felt all heavy at how nice he was. She’d never been with somebody so nice before. Daniel began to embrace her as they kissed, her chest pressed flush against his, holding her towel in place so she could caress his skin.

The kiss deepened slightly, their lips beginning to move as he began to move them down onto the bed. She could feel herself growing wetter and wetter just at the idea of kissing him. He’d laid her down, crawling up between her legs as she let out the most innocent giggle when he made his way over.

“Hmm.” She sighed contently into the kiss as he mimicked her, a hand smoothing up her thigh to open her legs slightly. They were making out, in a much more gentle fashion than what either of them were used to, the longer it went on for the more desperate their desires grew.

Knowing she was strip naked under the towel turned Daniel on, spurring him to kiss down her neck and collar bone, he’d yet to see her completely naked, well in person anyway, it excited him. Her breathy moans mixed with a slight buck of the hips was enough to push Daniel into action. He began tugging on the towel, mentally pleading for it to come free, but he was met with her hands stopping him.

“Can we- can we like… close the curtains?” She shyly asked, feeling completely exposed from the sunlight from outside. Daniel looked over her breathlessly, he didn’t hesitate to meet her need. As he did, she took a couple swings from her drink, watching over him nervously. It felt like she was about to have sex for the first time.

When the curtains closed she knelt up on the bed, teasing the top of the towel open as his mouth opened to speak, but all he could do was swallow in anticipation. Reaching out, he helped slide the towel free, exposing her fully as he took in the sight. “Mh, Daniel I’m shy!” She was quick to giggle, falling down with her legs under her as she covered her breasts.

“It’s okay. You look gorgeous.” He shook his head, stunned by the beauty of her naked body. If he wasn’t hard before then he certainly was now. There came that funny feeling again, both of them felt it as she pulled him in for another kiss. Daniel knew she was showing a more vulnerable side, he didn’t want to push it, so he wanted her to make the first move.

What resulted was a long couple of minutes just making out, his clothing coming off one by one as she ran a hand over his abs. She was obviously checking him out, shooting him a smirk when he realised. “Can I touch you?” Daniel then muttered, finger tips dancing up her thigh. “You don’t need to ask.” She lightly responded as he ran them gently over her pussy.

”You’re already wet.” He quietly spoke, kissing her as he began touching her. God, his touch was good, borderline magical and that’s when she felt herself becoming more and more frantic.

“Daniel!” She’d cried out when his fingers were plunged deep in her again, she was riding his hand, the other pressed down on her hip, he watched intensely as her hips bucked and fell every time he’d curl them into her. “Fuck!” She cursed, back arching off the bed as he glanced back to her face, watching for any signs of discontent. None showed. Good, Daniel thought, she was enjoying it.

“I want you to fuck me.” She babbled. “I want you to fuck me, please.”

His movement slowed, “you want that?” She say up, kissing him harshly whilst reaching for his zipper. “I’ve wanted you all day.” Her movements were not sparing a single moment as she pulled down his trousers, freeing his erection. “So have I.” Daniel groaned, feeling the desperation more than ever.

“Fuck, so bad.” She whined, teeth sinking into her lips as her fingers wrapped around the swell of his cock. Daniel let out a jagged breath at her touch, light yet effective. “You can have me.” Daniel muttered as she kissed over his neck. His focus was becoming weaker and weaker as all he could think about was fucking himself so deep inside her.

“Fuck, you can have me.” He repeated when her mouth landed on his cock, not sparing a second to begin pleasuring him. He was so big she was worried to take him all the way back, knowing she’d choke and gag- but that thrilled her.

The bob of her head was unbearably good on Daniel’s leaking cock. He was in shock at how blissed out he was, holding the back of her head lightly. The soft of her lips and tongue against his throbbing member felt too good. Daniel threw his head back with a throaty sigh at the sensation. She was fucking unreal at sucking his cock, and she was enjoying it too, he could tell.

“Fuck.” He cursed, when her cheeks hollowed. His hips jumped forwards and causing her to gag slightly as he hit the back of her throat. “Sorry, sorry.” He whispered, gently stroking the back of her head. She wiped under her bottom lip slightly, cleaning up where a mixture of her spit and his pre-cum had leaked. Daniel swore it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“It’s okay.” She reassured, sensing he was holding back, so she moved up to kiss him. “Are you okay?” He double checked as she nodded. “Yeah. Are you?” “I’m good.”

“You want me to carry on?” She then whispered, fingers wrapping around his lubricated cock. Her hands slid easily over his tip, pleasuring him slowly. “Yeah, but fuck- I wanna fuck you.” He spoke against her lips as a smile perked, an excitement going straight to her pussy that just ached to feel him. “Can I fuck you?” He muttered as she moaned in response, hands moving back to rest against the bed so she could lay down. “Yeah.” She choked out when he was climbing on top of her. They met halfway in a dizzying kiss, his tongue rolling over his as she tugged him further on top of him. She spread her legs, watching him lick his fingers, just in case, but she was already wet enough. Normally, she’d be dirty talking the hell out of the situation, but all she could do was watch up to him, mouth slight agape and breathless. It was the first time she’d been this excited to sleep with somebody.

Daniel’s cock slid in, stretching her out as she winced slightly, sighing out when he’d pushed himself in. “You ok?” He panicked, head lifting. “Yeah, just…” she moaned out, unable to finish the rest of her sentence. He filled her up so well, they both could feel it. “I’ll go slow.” He hushed, soothing her by pressing a kiss to her cheek. His face nuzzled into her neck, taking a moment as they both let out a sigh when he was all the way inside of her.

She felt so warm and tight, fuck, Daniel had to take a moment to adjust to the feeling of how her pussy fit his cock so well. He was lost between hugging her close and leaning back to watch over her expression. She looked so beautiful taking him, and she thought he looked incredibly good on top of her. At first he was slow, so was their kiss, it felt more like love making than sex, it confused Daniel. Well, not really, he knew exactly why it felt so intimate, and those feelings he harboured. “Daniel.” She whined, back arching up making it easier for him to slip a hand up and squeeze the swell of her breasts. “Harder.” Daniel let out a breath, beginning to pump his hips a little faster into her. He was worried about hurting her, but she seemed to enjoy it, especially when he was on his knees, grinding into her, teeth buried into his bottom lip. His muscles were flexing with each movement and she could see the way his cheeks were growing flushed. He hit an angle deep inside her that felt so good, she pushed herself up onto her elbows, Daniel lifting his head to watch her watching herself being fucked. It spurred him on even more, fucking into her with hands tightening around her legs.

“Fuck! Like that, Daniel!” She vocalised, grabbing at the bedsheets as she fell back, lifting her hips allowing him to reach even deeper. Daniel’s breaths were growing louder, every now and then he’d let out a soft groan or grunt, spurring her on further. He watched in awe at the swell of her tits bouncing with each fast thrust he fucked into her, driving his hips harder with desperation. “Fuck!” He cursed, falling forwards so his body was on hers again. “Is it good?” He muttered as she moaned, searching for his lips. “So good, Daniel, so so good.”

After a few more minutes, she rolled the two over, giggling as she climbed on top of him, Daniel’s hands resting on her hips, stroking a hand soft the soft of her thigh as he took in the naked woman now easing down onto his cock. The new angle was overwhelming for both of them, she began bouncing, slowly at first, but soon the love making became frantic and she was riding him to holy hell.

Daniel wasn’t normally a vocal man, but there was something about the way she was grinding and fucking onto his cock, whining and moaning like a goddamn porn star. She couldn’t be real, Daniel thought, she looked too fucking sexy, borderline putting on a performance for him. “Fuck, you look too good like this.”

“Yeah? You like when I bounce on your cock?” She rested a hand on his stomach, Daniel let out a moan, head lolling back as she sunk back down onto his cock. “Keep riding me like that, n you’ll make me cum.” He groaned out, fingertips digging into her flesh. Y/n moaned and dropped her body onto his, exhausted from the movement as she panted into his ear. “I want you to cum, fuck, I want it Daniel, inside of me.”

Weeks of building up to this moment made Daniel’s head spin, the only response being a throaty moan that drove her crazy as he began bouncing his hips, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other on her ass. She grasped onto him desperately as he began fucking into her so fast she was seeing stars.

“Daniel! Daniel! Da-“ she couldn’t even get her words out from the moans and gasps that left her lips. The sound of their skin slapping together and the bed squeaking below them gave the sex and animalistic turn as Daniel fucked her like he’d been waiting his whole life for this. His cock repeatedly hit that sensitive spot inside her, fingers moving down to rub over her clit, aiding her approaching orgasm.

“Fuck, Daniel!” She whimpered out lowly, hearing him desperately gasp as he pushed into her three long, hard thrusts before continuing with his bruising pace. “Yeah? You gonna cum for me, baby?!” He breathlessly asked as she let out a high pitched cry, nails digging into his shoulder. He didn’t care about the pain, it felt good as he frantically chased their highs.

She could barely breathe as her eyes furrowed shut, Daniel loved the noises she was making in his ear, feeling like he’d lost all self control as he desperately pounded into her like he’d longed to do. “Fuck me!” She squeaked, the sound of her wetness against his cock making everything undeniably hotter. She was so wet and God, he made her feel so good, his lips sucking on her neck, his arms clutching her so close.

“Yeah, you close?” Daniel asked, tittering on the edge of his orgasm. “Fuck, yeah, I’m cumming!” She ground harder down, her stomach continuously tightening as her muscles tensed, before she let the wave overtake her and she came crashing down onto his chest as she muffled the sounds of her pleasure into his skin. Daniel’s hand stroked up her back, his hips moving gently, coercing her through her orgasm as she let out a gentle moan that sent butterflies through Daniel’s stomach.

“You good?” He smiled as she lifted her head with a shy smile. “Fuck… yeah.” They shared a lighthearted moment before he pulled her in for a kiss. She liked it, the way he wanted to kiss her so much, the affection that previous lovers had neglected as he moaned into her mouth as his hips jittered against hers. Sensing his exhaustion, she took over, humming back at how sensitive her pussy was as she began rolling her hips.

“Are you gonna cum?” She asked against his mouth. “Yeah.” Daniel groaned as she picked him one more time before sitting up straighter and using the last of her energy to start bouncing on his rock hard cock. She bet he ached for that orgasm, he’d needed to cum so bad, balls so full for her. Part of her wanted to go down on her knees for him, he’d love that, but she felt too shy.

“Oh… my god.” He strained, throwing an arm over his forehead as she smiled, rolling her hips a little faster now. “Cum inside me. Fuck- I need you to finish inside me.” She borderline pleaded with a whisper, mainly so she could hear the noises he was making. “Fuck, yeah, gonna cum.” Daniel nodded, jaw agape as he returned his hands to her hip bones. Head dropped back and eyes shut as he let out the hottest sounds she’d ever heard. “Gonna fill you up.” He grunted as she bounced on top of him, her own pleasure making him find the situation all too overwhelming as he felt the warmth of his orgasm begin.

“Give it to me, Daniel!” Her beg caused Daniel to knot all his muscles before he felt his orgasm wash over him, shuddering at the sensation of ropes of cum spilling inside of her. Daniel was cursing more so than he ever did, hands grasping at her tightly as his body convulsed slightly at the orgasm. She smiled, pleased by the result of her actions as he let out a satisfied groan, pulling her close as he hummed, nuzzling his head into the side of her face as they both enjoyed the moment of comfort they brought one another.

She sighed content with the position as Daniel’s hand ran up and down her back, still coming down from his high. It was far more intimate than any sex could ever bring, and she found herself frowning, ever so slightly. The feelings were growing more and more, she started to think the sexual attraction was down to an already existing crush for Daniel.

Once the pair had cleaned up, she’d pulled her dress back on and joined him on the balcony. Night had broken out and the lights across Monaco had twinkled into the nights sky. “I like it here.” She rested on the balcony, looking back to the man who was already watching her.

Her heart jumped as their eyes met. “Yeah. So do I.” Daniel looked back across to the sea not too far away. “Do you think you could live here?” He asked her as she smiled, nodding. “I like living here.” He responded as she rested her arm on the balcony, chin on top of her skin.

“Hmmm, better than LA?” She’d asked. “Yeah. Sometimes. LA is… loud.” “So is Monaco.” She’d giggled nudging her hip against his. “But in a different kinda way.” He spoke again as she smiled, letting silence take over them once more. Daniel could feel a pressure in his chest rising, the more he looked at her the harder it became to hold back his feelings. He was so used to wearing his heart on his sleeve, that not expressing the deeper feelings he had occurring for her. If this was any other scenario then he would’ve put them straight out there, but with her it was more difficult. He cursed himself for feeling so complicated about it all.

She’d looked back up to him, just stealing a glance before she pushed herself up straighter again. “I should go. I gotta eat.”

“Well, wait- why don’t we uh, order something? You can stay here?” His words caused a new feeling to wash over here, hope. Hope that this was going somewhere. Her desires had wound up to thinking more intensely about Daniel, not just about sexual desires- no matter how easy it was to hide her actual feelings for lust.

“Okay… but I need a toothbrush.” He felt relief at her agreeing. In his hotel room, it could just be them two, there was no need to worry about whatever anybody else would think. Nobody would know, Daniel begun to question how people would react if the two got more serious. Was that too soon? Yes- Daniel couldn’t let himself think like that. Christian was an amazing guy who was super close to Daniel, he just wondered if that would change if he’d discovered he’d been sleeping with his daughter who was 12 years his junior. Was it a mistake asking her to stay? Maybe, but only because each of them knew they’d become more attached, it was an unspoken understanding between the two of them. But fuck it, it was just one night… how much harm could it cause?

[chillinglyadventurous]

Mabel Art

Listen, I love this kid. She’s such a sweetheart. I don’t understand how so many people hate her.

(Platonic!Gravity Falls x Reader)

Just a cute little story about Mabel being bored because all of her friends and Dipper are busy. The reader does arts and crafts with her.

You were lounging at the kitchen table, flipping through a novel when you heard the soft shuffle of feet entering the room. “Hey, sweetie!” You greeted Mabel, expecting her usual burst of energy. When you didn’t get an immediate response, you looked up from your book to see her lingering in the doorway, looking down at the floor. Her usual spark seemed dimmer.

“You okay?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. Mabel wasn’t one to be quiet for long. This wasn’t like her.

She nodded, but looked a little glum. “Dipper went with Ford to explore some cave. I’m just bored.” Her shoulders slumped as she shuffled over to the counter, absentmindedly spinning a stray glitter pen she’d left behind earlier.

You set the book down and rested your head on your hand, studying her. “Where are Candy and Grenda? They’re usually up for some chaos.”

Mabel sighed dramatically, flopping into a chair across from you. “Candy’s at her cousin’s house and Grenda, well, I think she’s wrestling bears again.” Mabel frowned as if it was a personal betrayal that her friends had other plans. “Stan’s busy with the Mystery Shack stuff. He said I couldn’t prank tourists again until I clean up my last ‘masterpiece.’” She air-quoted that last part with a pout.

You chuckled softly, knowing exactly what kind of masterpiece Mabel had left behind. You’d heard Stan screaming about it yesterday. He was livid his good suit was covered in glitter. Mabel had thought it was festive and would help him make more money. Stan didn’t agree.

“Well,” you pondered, tapping your fingers on the tabletop, “if you’re bored, we could always do something.”

Mabel perked up at that, her eyes sparking with hope. “Really? You mean it?” Her voice picked up, excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

“Of course,” your voice was filled with enthusiasm , pushing back your chair. It wasn’t often you and Mabel got to do something on your own. “Question is, what should we do? I’m up for anything as long as it doesn’t involve wrestling wild animals or glue-“

Mabel’s face scrunched up in thought before she shot up. A bright grin spread across her sweet face. “I’ve got it!” She exclaimed, grabbing your hand. “We can have an epic arts-and-crafts marathon! I’ll grab the glitter, paint, and googly eyes, and we’ll make masterpieces worthy of the Louvre!”

Before you could even respond, Mabel was dashing around the living room collecting supplies. You had no idea she kept a stack of glitter under Stan’s chair. You smiled as her enthusiasm rubbed off on you. A quiet afternoon had suddenly turned into a chaotic explosion of creativity.

Soon, the kitchen and living room were filled with colorful paper, scissors, paint splotches, and, of course, an unhealthy amount of glitter. Mabel was in her element, showing you how to create abstract Mabel Art, a blend of pure imagination and no rules. You weren’t much of an artist, but Mabel kept hyping you up as if every random doodle or messy craft you made was a masterpiece. You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling carefree despite the glitter slowly taking over your hair. You knew it would never wash out. Not fully.

After a couple of hours, the kitchen looked like an art studio after a confetti bomb went off, but that was the Mabel Way. You two sat back to admire your work, a collection of lopsided sculptures and a life-sized cardboard cutout of Waddles covered in googly eyes.

She grinned, leaning back with satisfaction. “Thanks for doing this with me. You’re pretty cool, you know that?”

“Anytime, Mabel. I had fun too,” you ruffled he hair, feeling the warmth of her words settle in. “Now, what do you say we clean up before Stan finds out?” You suggested, though not really wanting to move from your spot on the glittery floor.

Mabel grinned mischievously, “Or we could add a few googly eyes to his chair and see how long it takes him to notice.” She snapped her fingers, “Ten bucks says he won’t find out until tomorrow night.”

“Oh no, you’re not pulling me into that one!” You laughed, shaking your head.

[seoulmatez]

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝒜 𝐹𝒪𝒪𝐿 𝐼𝒩 𝐿𝒪𝒱𝐸

info ⭑ geto suguru x reader ﾉ 2.4k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ ex-boyfriend geto ﾉ band au ﾉ hurt/comfort ﾉ a wee bit angsty ﾉ some suggestive bits ﾉ reader is tipsy ﾉ ambiguous ending

note ⭑ hi! after writing this, i really wanna continue something with this band au geto! not sure if that means i'll be making this into a series. . . perhaps an anthology? idk! lmk if you'd be interested :3 happy reading !

the streets of tokyo during the late hours of the day are restless—especially here in shibuya. you’d think the bustling crowds, fast pace, and your slightly tipsy state would make it difficult to recognize anyone but the universe seems keen to prove you wrong recently.

because standing at the corner of the street you’re supposed to be turning at is him—the man you haven’t seen in nearly five months and didn’t plan on seeing any time soon.

the sight of geto makes you stop–or more accurately, stumble–in your tracks. you can’t help the way your eyes widen and your mouth hangs open. it’s as if time slows for a couple of seconds in his distant presence. you can’t think straight and you aren’t sure if that’s because of him, too, or if you have the alcohol to blame for that.

regardless, when you finally regain cognitive function after what feels like an eternity, you’re able to tell yourself that you need to turn around and find another route home. unfortunately for you, the thought comes a second too late, geto spinning to face you just before you have the opportunity to turn on your heel. the brief moment of shared eye contact doesn’t stop you from trying to run for the hills, though you quietly curse yourself for getting caught in this predicament while you do so.

you hear the shout of your name from behind you, but you don’t dare come to a halt. your perseverance to escape is futile, made apparent by the newfound proximity of the familiar voice and the feel of fingers snaking around your wrist. you aren’t sure what possesses you to do so, but you quickly swing around to face the man hellbent on catching up to you. he seems just as surprised as you if the way his eyebrows shoot up is any evidence. 

“hey, wait—i come in peace.” geto raises his hands in mock surrender to show that he stands by his words.

you believe him. 

your fingers are cool as they brush against your forehead in an attempt to form a coherent sentence. there isn’t much you can think to say other than, “sorry, i just wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“i gathered as much.” geto nods, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. he knew this reunion–if it ever even happened–would be awkward, but the air between the two of you is so tense that he finds it a little hard to breathe. he clears his throat before continuing. “kind of looked like you were trying to avoid me though.”

“got me there,” you softly admit.

geto understands but he doesn’t relate. he’s been trying to get a hold of you since he landed back in japan last week and his efforts have been fruitless until now. running into you this way may have been a coincidence but geto doesn’t intend on squandering what just might be his one chance to tell you what has been nagging at his mind for the past few months. “look, i was hoping we could talk.”

the expression that paints your face upon hearing his request is apprehension. he can practically see the blinking red lights and hear the alarm bells going off in your head. and, as much as he hates to admit it, your worry makes sense. the last time he asked you to talk, he broke up with you.

“ten minutes—fifteen, max.” geto attempts to bargain. he hopes the limit on the time you have to spend with him will convince you to agree, to hear him out. it hurts, but after chewing on his cheek, he adds another condition that’ll work in your favor. “and after, if you don’t want to see me again, i’ll leave you alone for good.”

with as much effort as you’ve been putting into steering clear of geto since his return, you’d think his words would come as a comfort to you. they don’t, though. the feelings that surge within you at hearing them contradict your strict avoidance of geto up until this point. they make you confront the fact that you have wanted to see him and can’t stomach the thought of never seeing him again.

you’re taking a risk by doing so, but you nod.

“okay, let’s talk.”

the two of you end up at some park a little ways away from the city center—one where you can see the orangey-red leaves flutter through the air once they fall from the trees and watch the fountain in the pond shoot up water that rains back down. despite how pretty the scenery is, you can’t help but look at geto instead.

it’s been practically half a year since you last saw him. you’re sure he’s changed quite a bit since then but all you can focus on are the ways he’s stayed the same, the little parts of him that you missed while he was gone—like the dragon tattoo that snakes up his shoulder to his collarbone. seeing it floods your head with memories of when the two of you were together. mornings spent tracing the delicate lines with feathery touches, kissing up the ink and coloring the creature with love bites.

you almost flinch at the reminder. your plan wasn’t to revisit the past, at least, not those moments, but seeing the tattoo on display makes it almost impossible. it’s geto’s fault for wearing that stupid sleeveless hoodie. you drag your gaze up to meet the obsidian shards that are his eyes. “strange choice of attire for such a chilly night.”

he rubs his arm at your observation, a grin gracing his lips. “yeah, i didn’t plan on staying out for long.”

you know that you agreed to come with him, but even sitting on opposite sides of the same bench is proving to be overwhelming. so, instead of regarding his innocent statement as simply that, you view it as an out. “if you have somewhere you need to go or someone you’re supposed to meet, we can do this another time.”

“no way.” geto doesn’t let a beat of quiet pass before he speaks and shakes his head. “i finally caught you and i’m not letting you get away so easily.”

the confession stuns you to silence. there are a million thoughts bouncing off the walls of your skull right now–how this wasn’t a good idea, that you weren’t obligated to listen to what he wants to say–but the one that worms its way past the others and to the forefront is that his words are… romantic. it’s frustrating that you aren’t mad at him, especially when you’ve spent so long convincing yourself that you should be.

it seems as though the feelings you tried so hard to bury are beginning to resurface.

you clear your throat. “what was it that you wanted to talk about?”

“right,” geto starts, a hand coming up to scratch at his neck. his tongue pokes out from between his lips to poke at the metal hoops wrapped around them. they’re things he does when he’s nervous, like when he first asked you out on a date or when he’d tune his guitar while waiting to go on stage. you wonder what it is on his mind that has him so on edge. though, you aren’t sure if it’s your place to ask, to show concern like you used to, so you stay quiet.

“i guess i wanted to talk about how we left things,” he finally tells you.

you should have seen this coming, and maybe part of you–a part you were trying to ignore–did. there isn’t much more the two of you can discuss. there have been a lot of unspoken thoughts lingering on your mind since that night, ones that you never planned on letting see the light of day. you’ve gone so long sitting on your feelings; what’s the point in digging them up now?

“what more is there to talk about exactly?” you ask, crossing your arms—using them as a shield. “you broke up with me to go on tour and i told you that i understood—no hard feelings.”

geto is quiet across from you, but you can tell there’s something weighing on his mind, words on the tip of his tongue. a few moments of stillness pass before he spits it out. “i don’t think you mean that. not then and… not now.”

“what do you want me to say, suguru?” you toss your hands up in frustration. your voice has been low, controlled up until this point but rises with your question, with your growing irritation. does he want to humiliate you even more than he already has? your intention of continuing to sit on your feelings, to keep them hidden, is lost with the way words unknowingly spill past your lips. “that i was dumb for thinking that i was worth a little more effort to you? that i should have let go of you as easily as you did me?”

there’s a certain level of relief that comes with your words but they also open up a wound you’ve been trying your best to close. all the emotions you felt that night feel as raw as they did then, as though you’re reliving it all over again. 

the tears return, gathering at your lash line and threatening to fall but never rupturing the dam. the insecurity comes back, too. you can feel the ghost of a knife piercing your heart as you think about how it felt like he had chosen music over you. but who were you to ask him to reconsider—to think of you before his music, his dream?

tonight is turning out to be more than you can handle.

you’re about to stand, apologize for your outburst, and excuse yourself when geto speaks up.

“i didn’t let go of you—not really,” he quietly admits. his hand reaches up to his neck again, fingers twirling the loose hairs that happened to make it out of his bun. the action makes his words carry more truth and while you can’t bring yourself to believe him entirely, hearing them has an uncontrollable effect on you.

one of the tears you were adamant about not shedding until you were out of his sight rolls down your cheek. you quickly wipe it away with the sleeve of your shirt. “you don’t have to say that, it’s not going to make me feel any better.”

“i mean it, though, i do.” when you finally muster up the courage to meet his stare, his eyes tell you that what he said is the truth. his eyes have never lied. “i thought about you every day while i was on tour.”

the confession sends a pang to your heart. it clears up the fog of turmoil clouding your mind, although a haze of uncertainty lingers. does he mean that he missed you—the same way you’ve been hopelessly missing him?

you don’t have to aimlessly ponder, as geto continues.

“look, i asked you here because i wanted to tell you that i regret how i went about things. i thought about my choice–about you–a lot. and i realized a little too late that i owed us a chance. i was scared that we couldn’t handle long distance and that we’d both end up hurt but i never considered the possibility that it might have worked for us.”

geto unconsciously reaches for you, though when he realizes what he’s doing, he thinks better of it, letting his hand rest in his lap instead. just because he’s laying himself bare for you doesn’t mean the pain he’s caused has disappeared. besides, he still has one thing to say before you can even consider forgiving him.

his tongue glides across his lower lip, over the two silver hoops situated on either side. “i made a decision that both of us should have had a say in. i’m sorry.”

beyond the feelings of heartache and self-doubt, the thing you felt most that night was unheard—as if anything you could have thought to utter during that moment would have fallen on deaf ears. geto seems to have noticed that much, reflected on it and recognized his mistake. his apology, the acknowledgment of his fault, unchains the final weight that was tugging at your heart.  

you sniff and dab at the stray tears that have trickled down your face. “thanks for saying so. and… i forgive you.”

there’s a weight of his own that makes geto’s chest feel lighter upon hearing your words. from the minute he started rehearsing this conversation, he imagined that he’d damaged you to the point of being unworthy of your compassion, your forgiveness. this is more than he could have asked for, even if you still choose to take him up on his offer of leaving you alone for good.

“i’m glad,” geto nods, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips, though he doesn’t let the short moment of happiness overtake him. “i know that was probably a lot and if you need to take some time to decide how you want us to proceed, if at all, i understand.”

you shake your head and the corners of geto’s lips fall into a neutral line. he made a good point earlier, one that you can’t ignore if you want to prevent yourself from getting hurt the way you did before. and despite just learning about it, geto was hurting, too. if you can minimize the pain either of you have to experience, you will.

you clear your throat with hopes that your voice will come out steady. “i’d rather come to that conclusion together. since it has to do with both of us, y’know?”

geto’s shoulders slump as the tension seeps from them. “yeah. yeah, of course. whenever you’re ready.”

“we can start tonight if you have time,” you suggest, bashfully rubbing up and down your arms. it really feels like you’re starting over. before you knew his name, simply when you had a crush on the hot guy playing at the bar you were visiting for the night. “i want to hear about how your tour went.”

“okay,” geto easily agrees, the smile from earlier making its way back to his lips. it meets his eyes and the obsidian shards sparkle—with hope.

hi there, sua here! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

[luvnami]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - based on this tweet, set in a college!au 𝐜𝐰 - alcohol 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 1.1k+

Tomioka Giyuu has never quite been a senseless man. Most of the student body know him to be quiet and intelligent, but terrible at reading the room. He definitely was not the type to rock up to a club on a Friday night – Giyuu prefers heading to bed early, and it was many hours past his 10pm bedtime, thank you very much. Besides, there was club training tomorrow and-

“Giyuu!”

Your voice cuts through the club music that causes Giyuu’s eardrums to throb. He looks over to see you squeezing through a throng of sweaty club-goers, twisting your hips this way and that as you half-shout ‘sorry!’ and ‘excuse me!’. 

You had invited Giyuu as your plus one to Mitsuri’s birthday party. He normally would have refused, quoting some sort of fanatical reason that he couldn’t make it, but your argument caused Giyuu to shrivel up inside. 

“It’s not like you have anywhere else to be, do you?”

Giyuu stares off to the side as he remembers what you had said just a few days ago. Your gentle huff of laughter was the final nail in his coffin as he mumbled something along the lines of agreeing to go. You definitely were not wrong, as much as Giyuu hated to admit it. He had nowhere else to be on a Friday night. No one but you would invite him out, though you knew that he usually preferred to spend his nights alone thumbing through a paperback. 

But it was Mitsuri’s birthday! And it had been far too long since you had the opportunity to go out, so it was only natural of you to drag your best friend along. 

“What are you doing here?”

Giyuu shuffles his feet to make space for you as you finally reach him across the club floor. You squint your eyes at the toilet sign hanging above his head, directing drunk patrons to a safe haven for their throw-up. Giyuu has no answer for you. He shrugs weakly, eyes drifting over your frame briefly. 

Glitter on your eyelids catch the flashing lights of the club, turning into specks of a rainbow each time you blink. Giyuu stares at your lips. You had swiped on some gloss that night, and he wonders if your lips had ever looked so-

“Giyuu!”

He snaps out of it. You look crossly at him, eyebrows furrowed together. 

“Sorry,” Giyuu mumbles. 

He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to focus on a piece of trash on the club floor. It was more apparent than anything that the poor man wanted to go home. 

“Have you had a drink yet?” you ask.

You raise a plastic cup of swirling liquid, melting ice cubes bumping against each other. Giyuu shakes his head. The moment you entered the club, he had lost sight of you as a sweaty couple shoved themselves rudely into his side. He vaguely remembers them trying to eat each other’s face off. Giyuu had then consigned himself to blend in to the crowd the best he could – at least, his definition of that was sticking to the toilet entrance till you collected him to go home. 

“Come on, you can have a sip of mine.”

Giyuu eyes the cup. There’s a faint lip print on its cusp. He rarely drank, if at all, and Giyuu opens his mouth to protest. But someone must have pushed you from behind, given how your body collides into his with a noise of surprise. 

Giyuu’s brain short circuits. His hands hover above your shoulders. He tries to connect the words to ask if you’re alright. But the music is loud, and the scent of your sweat and perfume hits him, and you’re so warm and and and-

“Asshole!” you shout, sticking a middle finger up at a random person. 

You take a step back and steady yourself. Giyuu is glad that the club is dim, and the lights are dizzying. He hopes you can’t make out the red splotches on his cheeks. He hasn’t even had a sip of liquor yet, but his head spins. 

“C’mon Giyuu. You don’t mind vodka, do you?” 

His eyes dart back to your face as you shove your plastic cup towards him once more. Giyuu protests, but the words disappear in his throat as his head nods yes. You grin. You gently guide him to an empty sofa a few steps away, and Giyuu’s grateful as his weak knees buckle. He falls back onto the fake leather seat and gulps as your feet plant themselves next to his. 

“Tilt your head back for me.”

Giyuu doesn’t like taking orders. But he obeys so easily as your hand cups his chin, thumb digging slightly into the meat of his cheek. 

God. 

Giyuu’s heart pounds faster than the bass-heavy track booming in the background. You place the plastic cup against his lips and he tastes strawberry lip gloss first, before vodka and sprite. He doesn’t know where to look. His eyes want to flutter half-shut as you pour the drink into  his mouth, but your eyes are so focused on his face that Giyuu barely musters enough courage to meet your gaze. 

His Adam’s apple bobs with each gulp. The alcohol burns its way down his throat and into his stomach and Giyuu hopes you can’t feel how his cheeks are on fire. You’re standing so close to him that Giyuu knows he could easily pull you into his lap. He keeps his hands balled tightly into fists, knuckles turning white. 

It’s over as soon as it begins. Ice cubes press against his lips and you pull the cup away, drained of its drink. Giyuu gasps for a breath of air as you pat his cheek once, twice. 

“Good job,” you grin.

Giyuu thinks he’s about to pass out. This is exactly why he stays in his dorm alone on Friday nights – so that he’s safe from you. 

Tomioka Giyuu has never quite been a man of irrationality. But… Perhaps he can be persuaded. 

-

Giyuu clutches the nearby lamp post for stability, the other hand on his knee. He retches into the street as his stomach turns itself inside out.

“Aw, Giyuu! You only had one drink…” you soothe, rubbing circles into his back.

His head spins and Giyuu thinks his eyeballs must have gotten lost somewhere in the back of his brain. He looks up at you with a blank stare and vomit trickling down the side of his mouth. You have to suppress a laugh. 

“I’ll call us a cab back, alright?” 

Giyuu nods, but all he sees after that is black.

“Giyuu!”

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

Requested by: @romanoffsbish #6 “Are you really so oblivious?” ; WandaNat•Tony says it to R who’s currently “googly” eyeing the couple from across the room with a sad smile, and Tony’s had enough of the dancing around each other nonsense. 

Authors note: requests are still closed. I’m trying to clear my inbox before opening them again. Thank you for your patience 💖

Word count: 2898   WandaNat Masterlist   Marvel Masterlist

   Wanda giggles as Natasha playfully spins her around the kitchen, the ingredients for their pancakes quickly forgotten as the spy initiates an impromptu dance session to the music that plays from the Sokovians phone. 

   They don’t even notice the attention paid to them by the few of their teammates over at the table. Sam smiles at the scene before returning to his oatmeal and Tony pretends to gag at the display of affection before he sits down with his omelet. 

   “Let them be Stark” Thor chastises with a mouth full of poptart,  “Love is special, and it deserves to be celebrated”

  “I know that goldilocks” he retorts with an eyeroll, “Besides, I doubt they even heard my teasing."

   Clints brow quirks as he drops his banana peel on the table and his eyes meet yours as you glance up from your plate. You both share a knowing look before smirks spread on both your faces.

  “Oh yeah” the archer agrees, “No way the super spy with super senses heard you. Ridiculous notion”

   You chuckle at the nervous expression that crosses the billionaires face only to earn a glare from him in turn, “At least I let my feelings be known”

   Mistaking his jab at your not so hidden feelings for more teasing you simply toll your eyes and grumble, “Whatever Tony”

   “Is he bothering you malysh(baby)?” Wanda voice suddenly rings out through the dining room and Sam has to suppress his laughter at the way Tony's complexion pales slightly 

   “Oh. Uh, no. No, he's just being his normal, annoying self” you tell her, smiling over where she stands with her girlfriend at the kitchen island.

   “Good” Natasha says, her tone sending a chill through both you and Tony but for different reasons, “Otherwise I’d have to punch him”

   “I’m right here you know” the man says, waving his fork in the air

   “Oh I know. I just don’t care.” she replies, sending a wink your way 

   You try your best to ignore the warmth that spreads across your cheeks at the action, instead focusing back on the man next to you again. He purses his lips, letting out a small huff in annoyance and you laugh at the Russians ability to get under his skin so easily. You completely miss the way Natasha beams at Wanda for being able to make you produce the sound they both adore so much.

   “Y/n?” 

   You turn to look at the brunette again, “Yeah Wans?”

   “Tasha and I were going to go into the city today. Do some shopping, go to lunch, sit in the park for a little bit and maybe get some ice cream. Then we were gonna watch a movie when we got home. Would you like to join us?”

   “I’m sorry guys, I have a briefing to attend in like half an hour. I think I’m being sent on an impromptu mission.”  you tell them as you stand and walk back to the kitchen with your dirty plate to clean, “I hope the two of you guys have fun though”

   “Oh, ok” the witch responds, her shoulders deflating at both the missed opportunity and the distance you’ve created. Truthfully both she and Nat have noticed you being a bit more distant with them lately and it was worrying them, "Maybe next time then"

   Though you feel nervous about spending that much alone time with the women you nod, "Yeah next free day I have we can definitely do something" 

   Natasha doesn't like the knot of discomfort she feels in her gut. She doesn't know what other team members are going with you on this sudden mission but she desperately wishes that she or Wanda was on the chosen team. She feels better when one of them is there to watch over you. What if something happens to you today?

     The look her girlfriend gives her indicates she feels the same way about this situation and Nat wishes there was something she could do to change things, but there isn’t. So she settles for doing something that both shows she cares and helps slightly settle her nerves.

   “Just be careful out there, ok kotenok(kitten)?”

   You smile at her, “Always Nat. I’ll see you guys later.”

   The two continue to stand there a few minutes after you leave. The worry for your fate on this mission and the disappointment for your lack of presence in their lives of late might as well shine over their heads like neon signs in Vegas. So Tony decides to do his best to reassure them.

   “Try not to worry too much” he says, placing a hand on each woman's shoulder, “T’Challa and I are going with her. Hill will be there too so she's in good hands. I can’t promise no harm will come to her because you know how hectic these things can get, but I can promise that I’ll bring her back in one piece.”

   “Thanks Tony. I just wish we could go with her.” Wanda tells him, a sad smile on her face, “We like being able to see that she's safe”

  “I know. Which is why I will do my best to stick to her like glue, and have her home in time for your movie”

   Nat turns to him with a smirk, “You know, don’t you?”

   He chuckles, “You may be a spy, Romanoff but there's no hiding that look. Plus witchy here doesn’t know what it means to have a poker face”

   “Hey! I can keep a straight face” she huffs, crossing her arms. 

   Natasha quirks a brow at her girlfriend, earning a glare that makes her chuckle, “I didn’t even say anything”

   “You didn't have to, I heard your thoughts” she replies, making the redhead smirk

   “Good luck Romanoff” Tony cuts in, “I’m off to the briefing”

   Several hours later the quinjet lands back down at the compound and you and your team tiredly shuffle around, gathering your things as you prepare to disembark and head inside. 

   “It’s been a long day. Head inside and get some rest everyone. Turn your paperwork into me tomorrow morning and I’ll get it to Fury” Hill states before heading off

   T’Challa is the next to move, he has a jet to Wakanda to catch tomorrow afternoon and needs extra rest to get that paperwork done beforehand, “Goodnight Tony, Y/n. Good work today, and if I don’t see you before my flight, it was good to see you”  

   “Goodnight” you and Tony say in unison before heading inside yourselves.

   As the two of you walk through the hall you're stuck by the fact that the tv and light are still on in the living room, something which is unusual for this time of night. You both wordlessly decide to take a peek at what's going on and stop in the doorway.

    Over on the sofa, curled up with each other under a blanket sit Natasha and Wanda. A Bond movie plays on the tv and even at your distance you can tell by the way the Russians lips move that she's softly quoting every line. Wanda looks up at her with a fondness before linking one of her hands with Nats and her attention returns to the screen. You smile at their cute interaction, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

   A deep ache fills your chest as you watch them, and you sigh. You’d give anything to be able to join them, but you can’t. Not in the way you want to at least. And you’re tired of pretending that you don’t want more with them. You've had to withdraw because only being their friend while they held your heart, it hurt. You know it's nothing personal, nor is it their fault, but you couldn’t continue to do that to yourself. You hope one day, when your heart has righted itself, that they’ll understand. But until then, solitude is best.

   “Well” you whisper, “Glad to see Nat still likes Bond. Goodnight Tony”

   You go to turn away but his firm hand stops you, “Are you really so oblivious?”

   Your brows furrow, “What are you talking about?”

   “Kid, it's past midnight and they're in the living room. They have a tv in their room, and you and I both know that's where they always watch their movies.”

   You shrug, “Maybe they just wanted a change of scenery”

   He exasperatedly runs a hand through his hair, “Christ sake kid, they waited there for you.”

   “Huh? Why would they do that?”

   He sighs, “Because they miss you, and they didn’t get to spend the day with you, so they at least wanted to be here to greet you once you got home. They wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

   “Oh.” you pause, feeling guilty for hurting them with your absence while also feeling grateful for their care, “I better not keep them waiting then. Goodnight Tony”

   “Night Y/n” he says, with the hope that finally everyone's confessions would come to light tonight

   You slowly approach the couple, feeling guilty you were about to disrupt their movie despite knowing they waited up for you. In the end you don’t need to interrupt them as your movements end up catching the Sokovians attention and her eyes light up.

   “Malysh(baby), you're back!” 

��  Nats head quickly turns in your direction, but her smile fades slightly as she notices the dirt and small scrapes that adorn your forearms and face, “Are you hurt?”

   You shake your head, “No. Just some normal bumps and bruises is all.”

   They both frown at your statement and Wanda quickly untangles herself from her girlfriend in order to approach you. Her hand gently trails across a bruise on your cheek before grabbing onto your hand and she looks back to Nat to receive a nod.

   “Let's get you cleaned up, ok?” You're too tired to say no so you dumbly nod and follow her to the couples bedroom, with Natasha right behind you.

   “Sit down kotenok(kitten)” she instructs, her tone softer than what you're used to

   You do as you're told, relaxing into the small sofa in their room as Wanda heads into the bathroom and Natasha rifles through their closet. You unintentionally doze off as you wait and the two women briefly contemplate allowing you a small nap before they decide that you’d be better off and more comfortable once cleaned up and out of your uniform.

  “Y/n…Wake up sweet girl” Wanda coos, as she gently shakes you

   Your eyes strain to open, “Sorry guys”

   “It’s alright. You've had a long day.” Wanda says, sitting down beside you, “Let's get you clean.”

   She brings the washcloth up to your face first and Nat smiles as she watches you practically melt at the feeling. The brunette softly scrubs your face, careful to not agitate any of the small scrapes as she rubs the sweat and dirt from your face. 

   “There we go. I knew your beautiful face was under all that grime” 

   You blush slightly, and you know with as close as both women are that they've seen it, yet neither tease you for it, “Thanks Wans”

   She smiles and nods, “Give me your arm”

   You do so, watching with sleepy eyes as she cleans your left forearm before moving onto your right one. Youd been so focused on her movements that you hadn’t realized Nat had momentarily left in order to prepare the bed for them.

   “She all clean, detka(baby)?”

   Wanda nods, “Yup. Clean and ready for bed.”

   You assume that's your queue to leave and shuffle as you prepare to stand but the redhead is quick to stop you, “Woah, easy there. We haven't gotten our Y/n time for what feels like ages, so we’re claiming now while you're too tired to protest. Here, go change”

   You look down to see that she's handing you an extra pair of her pajamas and your stomach erupts with butterflies, “Thanks Nat.”

   The two share a smile as you head off to their bathroom to change and Nat helps the younger girl off the sofa, “Go ahead and get into bed detka(baby)”

   When you emerge from the bathroom you find Wanda suggled into her side of the bed while Nat sits on the edge of her side. The Russian can’t help the smile that spreads across her face, seeing you in her clothes has her heart speeding up in her chest. 

  “Well, goodnight guys” you tell them, taking a step forward only to be stopped by Nats hands grabbing yours

   “Where do you think you're going, pretty girl?”

   “I-  I uh, the couch?” you stutter out, mentally slapping yourself for becoming so flustered by her words

  Wandda frowns as she sits up, you never used to mind sleeping in their bed with them on movie nights, when had that changed? Why are you so distant now?

   “Y/n?” she hesitates, “Have Tasha and I upset you?”

   “What? No. No, of course not. Everything is fine” you stress, but Nat defeatedly drops your hands as her expression turns sad

   “Everythings not fine, Y/n. This is the first time we’ve been able to spend any time alone with you in nearly a month. You've been avoiding us, and it hurts”

   “Just please tell us what we did so we can fix it.” Wanda practically begs, “We miss having you around. We miss you.”

   “You guys haven’t done anything. I promise.”

   “It doesn’t feel that way” the Russian mumbles, and your guilt returns ten fold

   “Ok. I probably should have said something sooner, but i didn't know how” you sigh, “I still don’t, but you guys don’t deserve to be left wondering”

   You stand there for a moment, nervously picking at your fingers as you try to figure out what words are best to use to explain everything. But your anxiety is getting the better of you, and you can’t blame it. I mean how are you supposed to tell your two best friends, who are a couple, that you love them.

   Wandas eyes widened as unbeknownst to you, your thoughts had become incredibly loud. But she doesn’t want you to panic, and your anxiety is already quite high, so she decides to not let it be known that she’d heard you. Instead she gets out of bed and slowly approaches you, grasping your hands with hers once she's close enough.

   “Whatever it is Y/n, you can tell us. I promise it’ll be ok” she assures, squeezing your hands for added emphasis.

      Heat rushes to your cheeks as you think about the prospect of saying the words out loud, but the way Wanda reassures you gives you some courage, “I um, I-  I love you both. In a more than friends kind of way.”

   “Oh kotenok(kitten)” Natasha coos as you glue your eyes to the floor, and she quickly gets to her feet to join the two of you. She grabs your chin and tilts it up so you're looking at her, “That's something you never had to hide from us. Because we feel the same, don’t we detka(baby)?”

   Your eyes widen in disbelief and you look to the other woman for confirmation, “You guys love me?”

   “We do, we love you Y/n” Wanda admits, smiling wide

   “So very much” Natasha adds, wearing a matching smile of her own and she can wait no longer, “Can we kiss you?”

    You eagerly nod and she brings her lips to yours. It's everything you thought it would be, fierce and full of passion and it quickly takes your breath away. As soon as she pulls away from you Wanda replaces her on your lips. Her kiss too is just as you expected, tender and full of love. Once it ends the brunette pulls you into a hug, which Nat joins.

   You let out a happy relieved laugh as their arms wrap around your body and you easily sink into them. They can feel just how exhausted you are, so despite the wonderful discovery the three of you have made, they know that their first priority is letting you get your needed rest.

   “Come on malysh(baby)” Wanda says, breaking up the group hug, “It’s very late and you need sleep”

  “She's right. We can talk more about this tomorrow” Nat adds, ushering you over to the bed

  This time you don’t argue, you climb right in and get settled in your spot in the middle of the bed so you can be between the two of them. Wanda happily joins you, snuggling closely as she pulls you against her. Nat smiles as she joins you but instead of snuggling close she leans on her elbow, her other hand cupping your face.

   She gives you another kiss, “Love you”

   “Love you too Natty” you sleepily mumble, making her heart swell. You then turn to Wanda to let her have a kiss, “Love you Wans”

   “Love you too, sweetheart” she whispers, brushing a hand through your hair, “Sleep well”

   You end up falling asleep before they even finish pulling the covers up over you. They both scoot closer, each wrapping an arm across your midsection to ensure you remain close.

   “Our pretty girl” Nat mumbles as she nuzzles her face against your neck

   Wanda does the same on your other side, “All ours”

Taglist: @wandaromamoff69 @when-wolves-howl @danveration @sheneonromanoff @sayah13 @likefirenrain @nighttime-dreaming @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @chaoticevilbakugo @crystalstark02 @wackymcstupid @lovelyy-moonlight @blackwidow-3 @mistressofinsomnia @that-one-gay-mosquito @yomamagf @yourfavdummy @justarandomreaderxoxo @scoutlp23-blog @whoischanelle15 @lissaaaa145 @eline03 @wizardofstories@imthenatynat @marvelonmymind @fluffyblanketgecko @bitch-616 @dakotastormm @zoomdeathknight

[drivinmeinsane]

K + touching + 34

※ Prompt: Touches // 34. Washing the other's body // K x GN!Reader ※ Word count: 1168 ※ Author's Note: I threw my 400 word limit right out of the window with this one, but that's alright.

A knock on the front door rouses you from the couch. Leaving the television playing, you cross the small studio apartment and cautiously peer through the peephole. You can make out the blurred shape of your neighbor from down the hall through the aged glass.

Surprised, you immediately flip the lock and open the door. Whatever reasoning has led him to your doorstep must be important. He never makes social calls.

“Hey, wh—” the words die in your mouth once you catch proper sight of your unexpected visitor.

You’re no stranger to seeing K at his worst—filthy with gore and oil tainted, barren soil—but the state of him now gives you pause. He is hunched over, clearly favoring one side. The replicant has had a rough night. Most of them are.

They run him hard at the precinct, you know. The whole damn city is aware of what the LAPD gets up to with their skinners. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve accompanied him up the stairs after crossing paths with him on the streets when you both are off work, patiently taking the ascent step by step while he struggles to not let on how severely his job weighs both on his mind and his body. He pays the toll for his existence every moment he’s alive, but doesn’t everyone who has been left behind on this spinning rock?

K doesn’t make an attempt to smile. He merely stares at you with tired eyes.

“My shower is broken. I…” he pauses, rolls the words over his tongue like a broken marble, considers how much he can ask for, “was hoping I could use yours. Please.”

“Of course,” you agree immediately.

Stepping back to give him space, you gesture for him to come in. As he passes by, you realize that he is not wearing his jacket, only a grimy t-shirt and pants. His boots look hastily tied, sloppy. He must have redressed in his dirty clothes once he realized he wasn’t going to get clean at his place. His hands are empty. The replicant must have expected to be turned down.

You turn. K is clearly waiting for permission to move around the small unit. The overhead light catches an abrasion on the side of his cheek, gleaming off the fresh blood. It draws attention to the battered state of him.

It makes your heart ache.

“Won’t the water pressure hurt? It’ll take a few cycles to get all of that off.”

His response to your concern is to shrug. He is too used to the expectation of pain to give it more than a passing thought. A flash of discomfort tightens the corners of his eyes with the casual movement. Barely aware of your own actions, worry overtakes you and you move into his space. Your hand hovers over the slope of his shoulder, not quite resting on the dark mess soaked into the fabric of his shirt. It doesn’t all look to be industrial grime. K doesn’t sway away from your closeness, even as you hear his breath catch once before settling back in its steady pattern.

“I can do it,” you offer, unthinkingly.

“You can do what?” His voice is soft in that characteristic way of his, hard edges smoothed off into something helplessly vulnerable. It reminds you that he was created to be broken.

“Wash you.” At his non-response, you add, “It’ll hurt less.”

A sigh. The shift of his boots on the tile floor. He is careful to not step on your rug lest he mark it. You’re sure he can sense how badly you want to help him. K was made to pick up on human cues. Finally—

“Alright.”

As you lead the officer into the cramped space of the bathroom, you try to not feel like he’s the one doing you a favor. You drag a threadbare towel off the shelf and drape it in the bottom of the shower to pad the inhospitable plastic before gathering a battered bucket. The handle has long since been lost to time.

At your side, K strips with a resignedly methodical practice you don’t want to think about. He is not shy about exposing his body to you, giving the air of this being a familiar request. It makes something nameless and acidic coat your mouth. He is careful to fold his removed clothing and set it neatly aside.

Naked, the replicant lowers himself to his knees onto the thinly padded shower floor. Once seated, he interlaces his fingers and bows his head. He waits patiently for you to finish filling the bucket at the sink and gather a scrap of towel to use a rag. The ‘9 is the picture of practiced supplication. Someone really has trained him for more than just killing his own kind.

You find your own place on the floor outside of the shower. You wet the cloth and rub a bar of soap over it to form a lather. With nothing else left to do but swallow down your nervousness, you start the process of getting him clean.

He lets out a sharp exhale, as if punched, when the first contact between you is made. Steeling yourself, you pass the cloth over his uninjured shoulder. You’re careful to keep your touch gentle. Grime slicks down his arm in soap-swirled trails.

“You don’t have to do this,” K offers. His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s trembling. His knuckles are going white from how tightly he’s gripping onto his own fingers.

“I don’t,” you agree. “I’ll stop if you want me to.”

The replicant shakes his head. “I don’t.”

And so you continue, careful around his bruises and scrapes. You gently work the rag over his short hair, soaping it. Chasing the cloth with your hand, you work your fingers through the strands. Your fingertips brush over his scalp. Unconsciously, you’re sure, the replicant is pressing into your touch. It makes you wonder when he’s last been handled with kindness untainted by any other motive.

Has he ever? you think, disquieted.

Your chain of thought is interrupted by a sudden, heaving shudder. K attempts to smother a desperate noise behind his clenched jaw, curling in on himself even further. You realize then that he is crying. Tears are escaping from behind his closed eyelids and joining the water speckled across his upper thighs. This had been too much. At the realization, you drop the washcloth. It lands on the floor with a wet thud. It’s loud over the muffled sounds of the replicant in front of you.

Not caring about how wet your shirt gets, you lean forward and wrap your arms around him. He turns in towards you as if he were a plant in one of the Wallace greenhouses reaching towards the glow of the artificial light. K allows himself to accept the comfort.

Neither of you speak while he sobs himself ragged in the freely offered shelter of your body.

[babydollmarauders]

MINE — TREVOR ZEGRAS

request: “Hi! I love your work! <3 Can you make a little comfort fic with Trevor? Like someone said something nasty about the reader and Trevor's relationship like he's not good enough for her and that he couldn't please her like he could, so Trevor gets all protective and fights him and when he comes home, he's all cuddly and clingy because he's scared that the reader is gonna leave him?”

summary: in which y/n sees two new sides of Trevor: protectiveness and fear.

warnings: profanity, fighting

notes: i don’t really know how i feel about this one. i definitely don’t think angst is really my strong suit, but i tried! p.s. i drew a very minimal and light inspiration from Mine by Taylor Swift for this one.

at this point i feel like it’s a universal experience among girls to have a guy friend with an obvious crush on you but you don’t like them that way.

for me, that guy is my friend, Drew. he and i became friends in high school, and when we both enrolled in the same college, i was excited to have a close friend there with me. but in our freshman year things started standing out to me more, the looks that Drew sent me from across the room, the way that he would glare down any guy who so much as looked at me, the way he was quick to drop any other plans in order to hang out with me. and then in sophomore year, i noticed the continuous compliments, the increased touching, and the way that he would start commenting about how ‘special’ our friendship is.

suffice it to say that i was hoping he would get the hint and back off when i started dating my boyfriend Trevor. but now it’s been a year and he’s only gotten more obvious with his advances.

which brings us to tonight. my friend, Lila is hosting an early graduation party at her house and of course our entire friend group is here, including Drew, who’s already drunk, an hour into the party. i’m standing in the living room in a circle of my close friends, all talking about how glad they are to be free from college. we all worked hard to graduate a semester early, and we may have only gotten associate’s degrees but it doesn’t change how done we were with school by the time we got out of our last ever class yesterday. my gaze bounces between my friends and the front door, waiting for my boyfriend to arrive. he just got back from a week long roadie yesterday and i’ve yet to see him since arrived back in town, so he agreed to come and stay an hour before taking me back to his apartment.

“girl, you look like a crazy person with your eyes twitching back and forth like that!” Lila laughs, nudging into my shoulder with her own. “calm down, hun! i’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

“yeah, i know. i’m just excited. i haven’t seen him in eight days.” my smile is weak and it only dims when i catch sight of Drew rolling his eyes. he’s never been one to keep a filter when he drinks. but it’s forgotten when i glance back towards the door and my eyes lock with the subject of our discussion. i bounce on my feet a couple times, waiting for him to make his way over, but i eventually lose my patience when i see him get stopped by a guy. who, based on his passionate gestures, i’m assuming is a fan of the Anaheim Ducks. i watch as Trevor smiles and nods, exchanging words with the random who holds his attention, and i know if i don’t get over there soon it could potentially never end. Trevor could talk about hockey all night if someone would let him, which i have on numerous occasions. sending one more smile over to my friends, i step towards my boyfriend, but i’m rooted in place by a hand wrapping around my wrist, pulling me back.

“what are you even doing with him y/n/n?” i spin back around at Drew’s voice.

“what?” i pack a mighty bite into my one worded response, but Drew obviously doesn’t seem to catch it.

“he’s not good enough for you. you literally just said he left you alone for eight days.” he looks up and scowls over my shoulder, probably looking at Trevor. “i could treat you so much better than that pretty boy does.”

i’m stunned into silence at his outburst. my lips open and close, and i’m begging for something, anything, to come out. he’s never been this up front about his feelings for me, and i had naively hoped that he never would be. taking my silence as an invitation to keep going, Drew speaks once again.

“could definitely please you better than he could too.” my blood boils, and i swear i see red. but before i can jump to the defense of my boyfriend, i’m lightly pushed to the side and i look over in time to see Trevor barreling past me, straight to Drew. He shoves him but Drew’s hand is still gripped on my wrist, making him pull me forward when he stumbles.

“get your hand off my girlfriend before i remove it for you, asshole.” Trevor’s voice is low and he speaks between clenched teeth. “i’ve put up with your pining glances and your barely subtle remarks for this long, because she’s too nice to say it to your face, but i will. she’s not interested in you. she never will be. and the fact that she’s made that clear multiple times and you still won’t back off doesn’t make you ‘persistent’. it makes you a creep.”

Drew lets go of my arm but it only takes one look at him to guess his next move, and before i can warn Trevor or pull him out of the way, Drew’s fist connects with his face. i gasp, my hand flying up to cover my open mouth, and feel myself being pulled back from the brewing fight by dainty hands. Lila’s, i assume.

Trevor doesn’t go down, instead he just laughs, like Drew’s punch was nothing but a bee sting. Drew’s face pinches in confusion at Trevor’s reaction, but he doesn’t get much time to ponder it before Trevor throws his own punch directly at Drew’s nose. i hear the crunch before Drew’s body crumples to the floor in two seconds flat. my wide eyes scan the scene in front of me, my boyfriend shaking out his hand, no doubt bruises will line his knuckles in the morning, and blood dripping down Drew’s face.

“you can talk your shit about me, you can curse my name, hit me, i don’t care. but you keep your hands off my damn girlfriend.” Trevor spits out, looking down his nose at my now ex-friend, before he turns around. he takes ahold of my hand and marches out of the house with his head held high. i glance back at my other friends, my eyes still as wide as saucers and my lips mouthing silent apologies. Lila waves her hand in a dismissive motion, shrugging her shoulders, shaking her head, and mouthing her own words of ‘it’s okay’.

Trevor leads me to his car, opening the passenger door for me as if it’s just another date night, before jogging around and sliding into the drivers seat.

the drive back to his place is done in silence, and i make no attempts to break it. i can feel the energy radiating off of him. no longer hostile, but still tense. when we arrive, i trail behind him into his apartment. Trevor walks into his bedroom, mumbling something about getting changed and grabbing me a change of clothes, and i stand in the living room. his friend/teammate/roommate, Jamie, sits on the couch, locked into a video game but spares a quick glance at me.

“hey, you guys are back early.” his focus is immediately turned back to his game, and i’m not sure he expects a response but i reply anyways.

“yeah. it’s, uh, been a night.” Trevor is back quickly, handing me a pair of sweats that i left here and one of his t-shirts.

“you can go ahead and get changed and then we can watch a movie in my room.” he plants a kiss on my forehead, his lips lingering for a few seconds before he pulls back. i nod and walk down the hallway to his room, closing the door behind me. i take a couple minutes to change before opening the door and peeking my head out.

“you can come in, Trev.” i call down the hallway, and it’s not but a second before i see him jogging down the hall. he enters the room and jumps onto the middle of the bed, patting the space beside him.

“come cuddle with me. tell me everything i missed while i was gone.” i crawl up the bed, snuggling close into his arms and he tightens them around me, pressing my face to his chest.

“we talked every day.” i laugh. “i think you know more about what happened while you were gone than some of the people who were actually here.”

Trevor chuckles for a few moments before he speaks again, his voice somber.

“you know i hate having to leave you, right?” i look up at his face, about to make a joke but see the guilt-ridden expression on his face.

“yeah, no, i know that. it’s your job, Trev. does it suck being away from you? sure. but you’re good at what you do and the team needs you.” i raise my hand to his face, brushing my thumb against his cheek.

“are you upset? about what i did?” he looks so fragile, like my next words could make or break him.

“what? punching Drew? no. honestly, it brought me some relief.” i confess. “i’ve always been too afraid to outright reject him. i never gave any reason to think i liked him, so i thought maybe he would take the hint that i didn’t have those kinds of feelings for him. but obviously i was wrong. i feel way more guilty than i am upset. if i had just told him i didn’t like him, there wouldn’t’ve been a reason for you to have to fight him.”

“don’t.” the word comes out stern. his voice dropping into what almost seems like a growl. “don’t blame yourself. you may not have explicitly stated that you didn’t like him like that, but you showed it over and over again in your actions. i’ve seen the way you pull away from his touches, how you make up excuses to distance yourself when he says something too romantic, the faces you pull when he talks about how ‘special’ your friendship is. not to mention the fact that you have a boyfriend, and yet he still pulled that shit.”

i nod along to his words and press my head back onto his chest.

“so, you’re really not mad at me?” he asks.

“i’m really not mad at you. why would i be? you protected me. i’m grateful for you.” he gives me a brief squeeze, laying a kiss on the top of my head.

“i know how long you guys have been friends. i don’t know, i guess i thought maybe you would be mad that i may have ruined your friendship with him. i know you’ve chosen me before but-” his drops into a whisper before he speaks again. “i thought you might choose him over me this time.”

i pull back, shifting up in the bed more so that my face is directly in line with his. cradling his face with my hands and placing my forehead against his, i look into his eyes.

“i’ll never leave you alone.” i whisper. “Trev, you mean so much to me. is it gonna be different not having Drew as a friend anymore? yeah, i’ve known him since i was fourteen. but by now, with how he and i’s friendship was going, it never would’ve lasted. but you, you make me so happy. you make me feel seen, and heard, and loved. i love waking up next you, and going on coffee dates, and our movie nights. i love talking with you about stupid things, and staying up listening to you talk about your games. i love celebrating wins with you, and i love that you let me be there for you after a loss. i never loved him the way i love you. i would always choose you.”

[fieldofdaisiies]

Welcome to Burlesque

paring: Gwyn x Azriel | type: fluff | words: 6,8k | warnings: none; for @gwynrielweeksofficial day AU, thank you so much for organising this great event💛 read on ao3

Show a little more Show a little less Add a little smoke Welcome to Burlesque

Maybe this idea is stupid? Maybe it is incredibly stupid. 

“Och!” Gwyn thinks and wants to throw her head back and groan out loud, but she is in public, so she growls internally. She curls her fingers tighter around the pole she is holding onto in order to not tumble around in the bus. Her feets are planted wide on the ground, and for a moment she hopes to just grow roots so she never has to leave this bus.

Why did she even come up with such a stupid idea?

Well, Gwyn thinks and blows out a long breath, it technically wasn’t my idea.

No. It was Nesta and Emerie‘s idea. Nesta and Emerie’s brilliant idea. Gwyn loves her best friends, more than anything in this world, but this idea was stupid. Still is. And why she agreed…it will forever be a mystery to her. 

Doubts, doubts she hoped to shove away, start to bubble up inside her mind and make her stomach coil. Despite being determined and often rather confident, Gwyn worries she will not be good enough and make a fool out of herself. It is not easy to let go off such thoughts, even harder to fight against them—

So captured by her uncertainty and the whirlwind of thoughts within her mind, Gwyn nearly misses her stop. And honestly, the thought of missing it doesn’t sound too appalling. But something, almost like a little pull on her chest, makes her move, her steps treading carefully over the floor of the bus when she leaves and then over the in-ice-covered streets.

She could be at home now, wrapped up in thick blankets, a cup of hot chocolate in her hands, watching the Idol or The Voice, day-dreaming about a future where she finds herself standing on a stage.

Everything you dream ofBut never can possessNothing's what it seemsWelcome to Burlesque

Tendrils of breath curl in front of her face when she exhales a long breath — maybe the day-dreaming is soon over and her wishes actually become reality? Because what she is about to do…

Gwyn rubs her gloved hands against each other. Her heart is beating rapidly, her stomach coiling even more, as nervousness grows rapidly within her chest.

She stops in front of the large sign that one can see for miles - aglow and shining brightly, inviting. The door below is similarly lit, the lettering on top of bright.

If she left now, no one would know she was even here. She could just tell Emerie and Nesta that she got a headache and had to stay home. What a brilliant idea, Gwyn thinks, but—

“Hey, sweetie!” A lovely female voice sounds behind her and Gwyn spins around. The blond woman now moving past her, simultaneously uses her key to unlock the door and shrugs off her coat.

“I’m Morrigan, but everyone calls me Mor. I sit at the entrance. You must be Gwyn. Come in, don’t want you freezing to death out here.” Mor holds the door open for Gwyn, who can only follow her invitation, lips parted slightly. 

There is no way back now – and how the hell, does Mor know her name? 

For a split second entertains the thought of running, but then she realises how stupid that would look. She tries to summon every little ounce of confidence, letting it settle into her chest, inhaling one deep, long breath. 

“Hi, pleasure to meet you.” 

Tossing her coat onto the counter and smoothing out her hair, Morrigan turns to her again, “The pleasure is fully mine. Your coat.”

Gwyn places her bag down and hands her coat to the blond woman. 

“Emmy, already told me you’d come and about your incredible talent. I can’t wait to hear you sing.”

“She did?!” Gwyn asks, slightly overwhelmed.

“She did.” The blond woman flashes her a bright smile.

Morrigan is beautiful, Gwyn thinks, her smile radiant, her red dress stunning and she starts to question her own choice of clothing - leggings and a sweater.

“Are you ready?”

She has no time to answer— her expression must have given her away before Gwyn even had a chance to open her mouth. So Morrigan steps into her, her manicured hands landing atop Gwyn’s shoulders.

“I‘m sure you will do amazing. Emmy showed me a few of your videos, you are incredibly talented. You will set this place on fire.” Morrigan grins from one ear to the other, her smile so radiant it rivals spotlights.

But when her lips turn into a softer, more delicate smile, the blond female asks a question that sends a pang of hurt right into Gwyn’s heart.

“Do you have someone you want to make proud? Or someone you want to prove something to? It is always a nice motivation for auditions.” Mor drops her hands and turns toward the staircase. “Whenever I auditioned for modeling jobs, I always kept in mind that I wanted to prove to my father that this is my life and my decisions and studying at Harvard truly wasn’t for me.”

Gwyn only half listens, and offers the blond female a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She is a little unfocused, now that her thoughts start to wander after Mor mentioned “someone you want to make proud”.

Because in her life there is —was— someone she wants to make proud. Her twin sister. Her late twin sister. Catrin Berdara. She died in a car crash six years ago, a memory that still haunts Gwyn, a pain that will never fade and that has left a wound within her heart that can never be healed. She has learned to live with the loss of her sister, but that doesn’t mean it the day hasn’t left its scars.

Someone you want to make proud. A new sense of determination suddenly fills Gwyn when she replays the words in her mind. She wants to make her sister proud and this thought truly motivates her — Morrigan is right. She is doing this for herself, but also for her sister. Catrin loved to watch her sing, loved when she sang for them, and now Gwyn is going to make her the proudest sister ever. 

This thought also gives enough self-confidence to straighten her posture and follow Morrigan down the staircase with confident steps, her shoulders squared.

Within seconds, Gwyn is absolutely mesmerised by the place, all the flickering, glowing lights, the immaculate decor. It doesn’t look cheap or tacky - everything here looks luxurious, lush, formidable. Absolutely amazing.

Her lips part slightly when her gaze trails from the bar to the stage - the stage she would maybe soon perform on. The stage a few women are currently performing on. The one in the middle is the leader, Gwyn knows and then her eyes move to her best friend. There is Nesta! 

And she looks absolutely breathtaking and amazing. She hasn’t found Emerie yet, but she might be somewhere in the back, restocking things for the bar. 

Excitement slowly seeps into every fibre of her body, and she feels anticipation. Maybe it wasn’t such a stupid idea after all. And maybe working in the same place as her friends, doing the thing she loves most, is quite amazing. 

Something there in the darkIs playing with your mindIt's not the end of daysIt's just the bump and grindShow a little moreShow a little lessAdd a little smokeWelcome to Burlesque

Gwyn watches in astonishment, how coordinated everything is, how beautiful the woman in the middle sings, and how gracefully everyone dances. It is a stunning show and suddenly she can’t wait to be part of it. She wants to be part of this incredible group!

Okay, Gwyn thinks, maybe this was not a stupid idea at all. She wants to be part of it, within the seconds that follow small fractions of her nervousness start to fade, dissipating into thin air.

She knows the dresses they are wearing are very short and very revealing, and with some things that happened to her in the past, it scared her a little when Nesta told her about it. But her best friend took some part of the fear from her - they have a bodyguard here, and he is the best (according to Nesta also in other places aka the bedroom) and he always makes sure the girls are 100% safe. No one ever gets to touch them or only look at them the wrong way. The bodyguard will immediately kick them out.

And this comforts her. A lot. 

“There you go. I need to head back to work, checking guest lists and stuff.” Mor brushes her hand over Gwyn’s shoulder. “If you need me, I am up in the booth,” —Mor points upstairs again— “until then, chin up, shoulders squared, smile and sweep them off your feet with your talent Gwyn.”

Gwyn thanks her and watches her leave, drawing in some deep inhales, and closing her eyes — some mind-stilling techniques she has read about in a book that actually help her a lot.

After a moment, Gwyn places her bag on one of the barstools, eyes aglow as they dance over every single person on the stage, then once again lock onto Nesta. This is fully her thing, Gwyn knows this. Her best friend enjoys every little moment of this dance performance and she can’t wait to share this happiness with her. 

Most of the former doubts have all of a sudden vanished and it even leaves her surprised herself. But it is a good feeling, a wonderful and very welcome feeling.

A smile blooms on Gwyn‘s face, her mind immediately memorising the song, the performance, the–

“We are still closed,” a velvety and at the same time cold voice says behind her, startling Gwyn so much she nearly jumps a little.

Gwyn spins around, and her breath catches. 

A man, tall, strongly built, and with beauty that is beyond her emerges from the shadows of the room behind the bar. He holds a towel in his hands, drying himself off, his black shirt is slightly unbuttoned at the top showing some tendrils of ink on his tanned skin. 

Gwyn meets his eyes and in a voice that is much stronger than she has expected it to be, she says, “I am not here to watch.”

The handsome man casually tosses the towel over his shoulder, gaze slowly running over her. It is not in a sensual way, or in one that would make her uncomfortable. No, he is curious. He is assessing her. 

Casually, he leans his hip against the counter and crosses his arms over his broad chest and the corner of his louth kicks up.

“So you are here—”

“To perform. You are going to audition for the lead role, aren’t you?.”

A man, even taller than the other, appears next to his colleague and Gwyn immediately knows who he is. 

Mr Man-bun-devilish-smile-stunning-body-and-god-between-the-sheets, or simpler Cass. Or…Nesta‘s friend with benefits.

Gwyn has heard a lot about him. And has heard him a lot already as well – Cassian is not the calmest in the bedroom, that much she knows. Now at least she finally has a face to Nesta‘s secret lover who also slipped out of their flat before she got up. (The pictures of him on Nesta‘s phone don’t count.)

“That is right,” Gwyn beams, I‘m here to audition. Music has by then settled into every cell of her body, it nearly makes her sway her hips, and she knows it hasn’t been a bad decision. Her best friends just know her too well, even though she might not have thought so herself at first.

“I heard you have a lot of talent, Gwyn.”

She concludes, her friends definitely share too much about her…but she offers Cassian a polite smile and then thanks him. 

“Are you ready?”

Gwyn grins, and despite the kernel of nervousness still deeply-rooted within her chest, she says, “Born ready.”

It steals a small laugh from the male she still doesn’t know the name of. Cassian chortles loudly and says, “Good, because here comes Ri.” Cassian winks at her and turns toward the staircase. Gwyn has no time to ask “who?” because—

“You must be, Gwyn. I‘ve heard so much about you, and your talent. I can’t wait to hear you on the stage.” 

When she turns, Gwyn is met with a tall female in her early forties, her long black hair cascading down her front in loose waves, her make-up immaculate, just like the grace with which she walks, the long robe revealing hints of her long legs.

“I‘m Rita, the owner of this club.”

“Gwyn,” she reaches out her hand and Rita shakes it, the smile on her lips widening.

“You are ready for this, Gwyn, and everything that comes along with it.”

Gwyn holds her gaze, and inhales a deep breath. She is going to do this. For her best friends. For her sister. For herself. She can do this. She has talent, she knows this, and this might be a big step, but definitely one into the right direction.

In a voice that is confident, she says, “Yes, I am.”

“Then enough of the chit-chat. Get onto the stage, and show us what you got!”

Rita claps her hands twice and all girls stop dancing, and finally Nesta spots her, her eyes widening in delight and a joyful noise slips through her lips.

“You came,” she nearly shouts and beams at Gwyn.

I did, Gwyn thinks, and returns her best friend’s expression. 

⋆｡♪ ₊˚ ⋆｡♪ ₊˚

“Good luck. Show her what you got!” Azriel says and braces his hands on the cool countertop, watching how Gwyn turns back to him, a beautiful, barely-there smile on her in-freckles-covered cheeks.

“Thank you,” she answers politely and then follows after Rita. Azriel’s gaze stays on her, almost already a little enthralled by her, by her beauty—

“That looks like a severe crush to me, and that after, hmmm,” —Emerie, finally having emerged from the storage room, looks at her wrist, at her imaginary watch, and then back at Azriel— “after mere seconds. Congrats, Azzy.”

She flashes him a wicked grin, and Azriel tosses an ice cube at her. “I don’t have a crush,” he protests. 

“Of course, and you also definitely don’t look at my best friend like she is the most beautiful woman you have ever seen.” Emerie rolls her eyes in a dramatic manner.

Gwyn is most definitely the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, Azriel thinks, but in a voice, tinged with annoyance, he says, “I don’t have a crush, Em.”

“Whatever you say, lover boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps, but has to grin. When Emerie laughs loudly, he stretches out his arm and curls it around her shoulder, putting her in a playful headlock.

But his arms loosen just a moment later and drop to his side when—

Oh-oh, sometimes I get a good feeling, yeahI get a feeling that I never, never, never, never had before, no, no

He has expected her voice to be good, but that good? No way. Azriel’s mouth falls open, eyes widening, his lips feeling a little dry. 

“Fuck,” he breathes and hears Emerie giggle next to him. When he slowly turns to look at her, he sees the woman watch with nothing but pride and absolute amazement how her best friend performs.

“She is incredible,” Emerie whispers and folds her hand over her heart, tears glistening in her dark eyes. 

“She is,” Azriel agrees in the same breathy voice. “She really is.”

I just wanna tell you right now that II believeI really do believe thatSomething's got a hold on me, yeah

Azriel watches the rest of the performance in astonishment and can’t stop himself from grinning when Rita claps loudly and officially announces that Gwyn got the job, as they would never find a better option in the entire city.

He also watches how her friends rush to her, embracing her tightly, all three of them cheering, and jumping around like crazy hens. He finds it amusing, and aöthough he won’t approach her anymore today, he will try to catch her tomorrow, maybe talk a little with her.

⋆｡♪ ₊˚ ⋆｡♪ ₊˚

“Congrats, by the way,” Azriel leans against the door, holding it open for Gwyn. Gwyn raises a brow, a bright smile on her lips. 

“On what?” she asks, but actually knows the answer. 

“On landing the role,” Azriel chuckles and Gwyn walks past him, her scent immediately hitting him – of waterlilies and a lake after rain, fresh and wonderful. He loves it. 

“You are the barkeeper here right?”

“A barkeeper, but yes.” Azriel follows her down the staircase and Gwyn looks at him over her shoulder. “Em’s your boss, right?”

The man dips his chin, the smirk not fading. “She is and she really loves to emphasise this.”

Of course, Emerie does, Gwyn thinks and has to giggle to herself. They continue the rest down to the bar and stage sharing a bit of small talk, mostly very superficial things, but it is a nice start to get to know each other and for the little spark between the ignite and start to glow brightly within their hearts. 

Just like the previous day, Azriel once again watches Gwyn perform, his sole focus on her, and not on the other women around her. Of course, Nesta catches him staring and winks at him across the room and also Emerie pats his shoulder. 

“Not a crush,” she chuckles when she passes him with a tray full of freshly washed glasses. “Sort them in.”

“Pulling rank?” Azriel raises a brow.

Emerie smirks, and crosses her arms over her chest. “Always. I need to make sure my men really work and don’t just drool over beautifully red-haired singers.” She winks at him and turns away, leaving Azriel alone. Alone to stare and day-dream about Gwyn’s utterly beautiful voice. He is mesmerised by it, absolutely – she is a siren and he a sailor, fully enthralled by her angelic voice, following her out into the deep blue sea. The sea – her eyes somehow remind him of an ocean, wild and free, and–

Azriel shakes his head. Definitely not a crush…right. Who is he fooling? But falling so easily? After such a minimal amount of time?

“Good god!” Azriel expresses and picks up the first glass to dry it off. He hates to admit it, but he knows Emerie is right. He truly has a crush. 

And this crush doesn’t get better. No, it only gets worse. 

He can’t stop himself from marveling at her every day she returns for practice. She is gorgeous and he loves how her whole demeanor changes when she is up on the stage. It feels like a weight falls from her shoulders and on the stage she moves freely, wildly, joyfully. Like a bird in the wind. She is flying and nothing can stop her. 

And despite her nervousness before her first performance, and the snarky remark from her rival colleague Merrill, who says that Gwyn is not ready yet, she turns in a free spirit once she starts to perform. 

The seven sisters got nothing on himI'm talking about a lover who's fast as the windEveryone will talk about how he got me fixedIt ain't voodoo, it's just that twistHe will be the greatest lover that ever come to passDon Juan ain't got the half the chanceHe's a tough lover 

With each day, and every performance that follows, the weight seems to fully leave her shoulders until Gwyn is nothing more than a radiant soul, full of brightness and happiness whenever she steps foot into the building. 

Azriel finds himself drawn to her, and is truly thankful that Gwyn seems to feel the same. She often seeks him out after a performance, just for a short talk, or a short drink, before she heads home with Nesta, them giggling and whispering giddy while departing and Azriel wants nothing more than to know what they are talking about. If they are talking about him. 

⋆｡♪ ₊˚ ⋆｡♪ ₊˚

“You’re sure it is alright?”

“100%!” Azriel hears Gwyn assure Nesta. He places the last glass down and then takes off his apron, placing it neatly on the counter. 

“I hate letting you go home alone.” Nesta curls her around Gwyn’s shoulders.

“I will be safe.” Gwyn places her hand on Nesta’s forearm, then pats it. “It isn’t that far.”

With a sigh, Nesta steps away. “You call me when you arrive at home.”

“I don’t think you will be…available,” Gwyn snickers, and tilts her head into Cassian’s direction. He is already impatiently waiting at the staircase. 

“Then text me. I need to know you are home and safe.” Nesta kisses Gwyn’s cheek and finally fully steps away from her, heading towards Cassian. Gwyn shows her thumbs up and Nesta nods, letting Cassian wrap his arm around her and then they leave. 

Leave them alone. Just the two of them. Rita is still somewhere around, but probably in her office, so she doesn’t count at this moment. 

“I am also heading home now,” Gwyn tells Azriel and awkwardly slides off her stool. 

“I’m taking you.” Azriel bends down and then straightens up, holding a motorcycle helmet in his hand. “Allow me to give you a ride. I really don’t want you to go home alone. At night.”

As much as Gwyn wants to say yes, she can’t. Something restrains her from doing so. It might be the close proximity a motorcycle provides, and the thought of having to be so utterly close to Azriel, to a man, or her nervousness about her growing feelings for him, but she can’t say yes. At this moment, it is simply not possible. Being so close to a man, letting a man so close to her, is still not so easy. It has gotten better over time, much better. She doesn’t fear Azriel, or Cassian or the men who come to watch the show, but crossing a line of distance…this is something else. 

Something that still makes her feel uneasy. 

Azriel rounds the counter, giving her a look that seems a little impatient. “Yes?”

“Thank you very much, but you really don’t need to.”

“I know,” Azriel says, his voice soft, “but I want to.”

And then it happens. To quick. So quick that it startles her. She doesn’t want to flinch. Not because of him. Not because of his touch. But with the surprise and her already being tense due to the conversation before, she cringes the slightest bit and prays that Azriel hasn’t noticed. 

Her heart slams into her belly when she takes in the look in his eyes – he did notice. Gwyn can barely stand to face him a moment longer. She can’t bear to see the hurt within his hazel eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” Gwyn says quickly, her voice hushed. “I need to leave now.” She heads for the staircase. Before the first step, she turns back to Azriel and over her shoulder she says, “This has nothing to do with you. I want you to know this. This only has to do with myself.” 

Then she is gone, leaving Azriel alone in the dim room, in his heart a little crack and in his mind nothing but confusion. In the days that follow, things between them feel awkward. They both want to apologize, but they don't know how to start. They mostly avoid each other until Gwyn decides to take the first step and talk to Azriel…

⋆｡♪ ₊˚ ⋆｡♪ ₊˚

“You sing?!” Gwyn’s voice is joyful and surprised, eyes full of brightness. 

“No, I don’t.” Azriel furrows his brows. 

Gwyn puts her hands on her hips. “I‘m not dumb, Azriel, I heard you. You were totally singing in the storage room.”

His gaze meets hers. “I can‘t sing,” he says but Gwyn wants to hear none of it. She shakes her head and smiles.

“You can sing! You should perform with me.”

Azriel’s furrows his forehead, then turns away from her and starts to dry off a glass. Some of their former lightness has returned. He knows they have to talk about what has happened, but right now he is happy that they at least talk again. “I would never sing in public,” Azriel says and places the glass down and picks up a new one. “Sorry, but that will never happen.”

Gwyn sighs dramatically, and lifts her hands only so she can place them on the bar counter. “I guess I‘m going to call you shadowsinger then, only revealing your beautiful singing voice when hidden by darkness.”

She grins in triumph over her invention of the word shadowsinger (the perfect description for him) and it even elicits a small chuckle from Azriel.

He turns to her and an adorable blush blooms high on his cheeks. “You are impossible, Gwyn.” He tosses his damp towel at her, but Gwyn elegantly catches it and pokes her tongue out at her colleague, cheeks equally rosy.

But the playfulness fades from her face and a more sincere expression settles there. “I actually came here to apologsie to you, Azriel.”

“You don’t have to apologise.” Azriel straightens up and once again tosses the towel over his shoulder. “You did nothing wrong. I touched you without your consent.”

Her heart warms at his kindness, at the understanding and empathy within his hazel eyes. So, Gwyn takes a step forward and places her palms on the cool surface of the counter. She smiles at him, and closes her eyes. “I flinched, and I want you to know that this wasn’t because of you, Azriel.” Slowly, her lids open and she meets his gaze. Azriel is already looking at her, patiently waiting for her to continue. 

“It had nothing to do with you.”

“I startled you and–”

“Can we maybe sit down somewhere and talk?”

Gwyn has specifically chosen to get to work a little earlier this day so he can talk to him. She wanted to catch Azriel alone and she knew the best time for that would be before work. She wants to let him in, and offer him a proper explanation. She knows that there is something between them. The secret glances, the shy smiles, the spark between them, it is all there. The lightness when they talk, the playfulness, the little teasing every now and then. She most definitely has a crush on him and she can sense that it is vice versa. And she doesn’t want to let this wonderful thing that could be between them be destroyed by her past. 

Enough was taken from her back then. She can’t allow it to have control over her whole life. 

Accepting this job offer here, was one of the first steps into the right direction. This is now the next one. 

Once they are seated, a glass of water in front of both of them thanks to Azriel, Gwyn inhales deeply, closes her eyes and takes a moment to calm her breathing and her mind. And then she is ready to open up. She first tells Azriel about her sister, Catrin. How much she loved her, how they grew up together. And then, when her voice is already hoarse and tears roll down her cheeks, she allows him to learn a part of herself that hardly anyone knows. Apart from Nesta and Emerie, no one knows actually. So this is a major step, but one that feels good. She likes to let Azriel in, open up to him, offer him an explanation for why she flinched. But it is not because she feels the need to do so, she does it because it feels right. Being with him does. Opening up to him does. Letting him in does. 

Azriel stays calm the whole time, lets her talk and listens, his own eyes watering. 

“You are so strong, Gwyn,” he eventually says. Gwyn shakes her head and tears fly away. 

“You are,” Azriel protests. “And the fact that you now stand here, with a smile on your lips, performing every night with nothing but brightness in your soul…I am very proud of you.”

She doesn’t need him to say it, but it also feels damn good and she smiles through her tears and is now the one to reach out, placing her hand atop his. “Thank you for listening to me.”

“Thank you for sharing this part of your past with me.” He revels in the touch of her soft skin against his, and that she feels comfortable enough with him to hold his hand. “Thank you for letting me.”

“I know that I can trust you, and this part of myself is safe with you.” Gwyn holds his gaze, neither of them able to look away. Sparks ignite anew between them, their gazes locked, hands still in each other’s hold. 

“Always,” Azriel whispers, and flips over his hand, stroking the back of hers with his thumb. “And so are you. I will make sure nothing ever happens to you again, Gwyn. And so does Cass. You are safe here, you know this.”

“I do,” she hums and leans forward the slightest bit. “I know that I am safe here and that nothing can happen to me here.”

He returns her smile, and it is the most beautiful thing Gwyn has ever seens. Her heart is beating so fast, it is hammering against her rib cage and if they keep looking at each other for a moment longer, she knows it will burst right through her chest. 

“Sometimes…” Gwyn averts her gaze for a moment. “Sometimes the demons are still there. I feel like they linger somewhere in the back of my mind and I can’t always keep them locked away. But it is getting better.” 

When she turns back she finds nothing but understanding on Azriel’s face. “I know exactly what you are talking about,” he tells her, still gently caressing the back of her hand. “But I’ll promise you that together will make them leave forever.”

⋆｡♪ ₊˚ ⋆｡♪ ₊˚

“What are you doing?” Gwyn looks over his shoulder and Azriel snatches the notebook close.

“Nothing,” he grumbles, his shoulders tensing. He places his hand atop the little, black book almost like protecting it from her prying eyes.

“Oh, secrets?” Gwyn raises a teasing brow, surrounding him, hands braced on her hips. “Are you writing a song?”

Azriel frowns. “You have practice now.”

“In five minutes.” She grins, and it warms Azriel’s heart. He can't help it, it just makes the corner of his mouth tip up.

“You should warm up before practice,” he answers, voice still flat.

“I‘m already warm.” A hint of fire fills her eyes that would almost knock Azriel off his feet if he weren’t sitting down. 

“Now?” She raises her brows. “Is it a song? Or a poem? Tell me, Azriel, are you one to spout poetry?”

Gwyn places the back of her hand against her forehead, sighing dramatically. “Shall I call you Azriel Shakespeare from now on?”

Chuckling, he places his notebook down and rises to his feet. “You can soon call me yours, Berdara. Go on a date with me. Tomorrow.”

He is smirking, and Gwyn’s heart skips a beat. She feels her cheeks heat, filling with colour. His eyes alone make her knees feel weak, but she won’t give in so easily. 

Tapping her index finger against her chin, she tilts her head to the side. “I would never go out with a colleague and I‘m busy tomorrow.” 

“Come on, it‘s just a date.”

She leans against the dresser behind her, grins and then says, “Nope.” 

Azriel raises a brow. He is not hurt by her answer. It is playful teasing between them and he knows she likes him just as much as he likes her. 

He scoffs and then rolls his eyes. “Go to practice now. And then make the decision.” 

This is playful banter, Gwyn knows this. Azriel would never push her. Not after having learned about her past, and even before. He is a good man, with a good heart. He would never cross a line where she would no longer feel comfortable. 

“My answer is: nope. N.O.P.E.” She puts a stress on each letter, arms now folded over her chest. 

She can’t say yes. Not yet. She doesn’t want to rush things with him. She first wants to get him to know a bit better, and also she wants to make him fight a little. He shouldn’t have it that easy. But he’s persistent and won’t let her go so easily. “Think about it again, Berdara.”

Now Gwyn is the one to roll her eyes. “You are impossible, but okay, I will think about it.” She forces a grin onto her lips and grabs her bag before a moment later disappearing into the changing room.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Azriel calls after her, but has to wait for his answer until she appears again. And that in a very short, and white silken dress that makes Azriel gasp. 

“Bound to you, sweet love.” She smiles delicately at him and then heads for the door. 

“Come, or you’ll miss the whole performance.”

Of course, Azriel follows, but regrets it a moment later. Or actually when Gwyn starts to sing. The rug is pulled out from under his feet in this moment and he is a goner, lost and falling and hitting the ground hard. She is perfect, and amazing and hopefully soon his. 

I found a man I can trust And boy, I believe in us I am terrified to love for the first time Can't you see that I'm bound in chains? I've finally found my way I am bound to you

Whenever she is on the stage Gwyn becomes alive – her soul feels light, just like her feet. She sings with her whole heart, pouring every small ounce of emotion into every song. And it is perfect.

⋆｡♪ ₊˚ ⋆｡♪ ₊˚

“Allow me to drive you home today?”

“You are persistent.” Gwyn chuckles at Azriel. 

“Hey!” Azriel throws up his hands in despair. “I did not ask about a date again. Only about driving you home.” He leans his shoulder against the doorframe. “Nesta is sleeping at Cass’ place aka Cassian‘s and my place again, so…I don’t want you to go home alone and I really need an excuse to not go home immediately.”

“You don’t want to go home?” Gwyn raises a brow.

“I don’t what it is like when Cass is at your place, but when they are our place they are not quite calm in their…love making.”

Gwyn understands immediately, internally face-palming herself and then grimaces. “Fine,” she says, but then remembers something. 

She turns to him with a grin. “But only under one condition.” There is a mischievous glint in her eyes that nearly brings Azriel to his knees.

“Go on,” he drawls.

“You show me the song you wrote.”

Azriel’s eyes widen, but the surprise fades quickly and he laughs. “You really don’t forget anything, do you?”

Gwyn grins, and shakes her head. “Not the important things.”

“Impossible.” Azriel pushes off the doorframe, and reveals the motorcycle helmet he held behind his body, now holding it out into her direction. “Alright then. You allow me to give you a ride, I‘ll show you the song.”

She closes the distance between, her hand reaching for the helmet. “Alright then,” she says with a bright grin.

It is almost like a movie scene, Gwyn concludes, when moments later finds herself atop his incredible motorcycle, her legs on either side of it and Azriel’s hands…she allowed him to fix the strap of the spare helmet he somehow owned and…

God! Gwyn looses a breath she forgot she was holding in. He is so close, the scent of his colon everything she can smell and his smile — oh damn him and his stunning smile.

“That’s alright?” Azriel asks, trying to move the helmet around but it is perfectly in place. 

“Perfect,” Gwyn tells him and Azriel pats her helmet before mounting the bike himself, always careful. 

“Hands on my waist.” Gwyn follows his order, scooting a bit closer, her breath catching once again. 

“Will you go fast?”

“If that’s what you like?”

“Is it what you like?”

Azriel turns to look at her, and before he closes the lid of his helmet, he smirks. Then he starts the motorcycle. “Hold on tight, Gwyn.”

Her arms naturally curl around his waist and they take off. 

It is almost like flying, Gwyn thinks. No, this is what flying must feel like — being weightless and fast with the wind whipping against your body. She laughs from the bottom of her heart, the sound pure and full of joy.

As gently as he placed the helmet he also removed it again, his fingers tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. “I hope you enjoyed it so much that you now let me drive you home more often.”

She doesn’t answer him verbally, but she straightens up and kisses his cheek, “Thank you so much for the ride.”

Azriel thinks he is very lucky that it is dark, so Gwyn might hopefully not see the terrible blush on his cheeks. He brings up a hand and scratches the back of his neck. 

“And now the song?” She smiles at him expectantly. 

“Only under one condition.” Azriel smirks and Gwyn fights the urge to roll her eyes. 

“You perform the song at the next show.”

⋆｡♪ ₊˚ ⋆｡♪ ₊˚

She would have never said no. Not to such a wonderful offer. The song he wrote, it was perfect, his talent obvious. But the fact that he wrote this song for her. 

It had nearly knocked her off het feet. Even hours after had been gone, Gwyn sat in her bed, reading over the lyrics, memorising it.

And today is the day — she is performing his song. It feels like the greatest honour and she can’t believe her luck that he has actually written a song for her to perform. A song just for her. That he started to write because of her. 

The spotlights are warming her skin, Nesta dances close to her and she sings, from the bottom of her heart, enjoys every single note and relishes in the feel of it, happiness reaching the top, seeping into every fibre of her body.

Hit it up, get it up Won't let you rest Hit it up, get it up This is not a test Hit it up, get it up Gotta give me your best So get your ass up Show me how you burlesque.

The song ends and Gwyn is breathless. She throws her arms around Nesta and cuddles her tightly while cheers and applause rain down on them. Tendrils of damp hair curl around her face, and Gwyn knows she has never felt that alive and happy. This was amazing. The song was. Azriel’s song. 

She turns her head, and from across the room meets Azriel’s gaze, his eyes alight, and a beautiful, bright smile on his lips. 

Gwyn inhales deeply and then sets out for him. She quickly crosses the distance, running, practically flying over the ground and then throwing her arms around his neck. “The song was brilliant,” she cheers and Azriel lifts her off the ground. 

“You were brilliant,” he says and has no chance to continue. 

Gwyn’s soft lips meet his and fireworks explode within them, nothing but bliss and joy in the air around them. 

And when she pulls back and looks at the grin on his face, she knows she is falling massively for him. And fast. And head over heels. But it doesn’t scare her. It feels too good and too right to scare her. Now that she shared her past with him, no obstacle lies between them and she can’t wait for what the future has to offer for them. 

She won’t go fast with him. She will take her time, getting to know Azriel first and then they will see where it leads them. But she knows, whatever direction it will be, having Azriel in her life is one of the best things that could have happened to her.

(*this story is using original songs from the Burlesque movie)

[anna-via]

coming home after a long day and seeing mom is still out, but she left a note on my door. “Got you some gifts while i was out sweetheart, I hope you like them!” it reads, and i burst into my room excited, only to see…nothing? maybe she forgot to bring them upstairs before she left, whatever, i can just hold onto the excitement until she gets back and i see what mommy brought home for me. i start taking my work clothes off to slip into something more comfortable, and that’s when I realize what she did.

none of my clothes are here. instead, there’s all new socks, underwear, bras, panties, skirts, tops, dresses, everything. i’m confused, but i find a pair of PJ shorts and a cropped tank i can relax in, so it won’t be so bad to wait for mom to get here and i can figure this out. though, the clothes all do look a bit…risqué. daring. slutty, even. micro-mini skirts, lace half-cup bras, every shirt cropped, dresses with giant cutouts that show off my ass, my side boobs. All the underwear looks like the kind of thing a husband might get his wife for Valentine’s day, and when i think of that i turn around and see what i didn’t notice on my bed.

a second note, this one taped to a small flat box propped up on my pillows, says, “I haven’t seen you in your uniform for a few years. i hope it’s not too presumptuous to ask, for nostalgia’s sake, to please have this on when i come back in a bit. Love, Mom” and when i pull the top of the box off i realize it’s a red pleated plaid skirt that doesn’t even reach the bottom of my ass cheeks, a white cropped dress shirt with a plunging V-neck, and matching soft white frilly socks and panties. is this a prank? if it is, mom certainly got creative and elaborate. but it sounds funny to play along with, maybe freak mom out right back when she can see my entire ass if i bend forward just slightly.

so, i put it on and head downstairs, noting that i do look awfully cute, that the girls at the gay bar i go to in town would be falling over themselves to buy me a drink if i wore this. thinking about one of those girls, the middle age femme dyke that hit on me last week, i get hard under the skirt, staining the new panties with more pre-cum than i’ve leaked in a while.

needing a release, pulling my cock out and stroking myself, i wonder why she specifically has stuck in my head. she’s older than me, sure, but that’s just my type. i guess it must be her soft, chestnut brown hair, highlights placed precisely. she stood out from everyone there to me because of how unique her specific color and cut was. The only other person i know who has something similar is…well, mom. but i push that thought away, ignoring how my cock twitched when i thought about how similar mom and that girl i’ve been into really are. i can’t believe i didn’t notice that they look so similar they could be sisters.

i lose myself in edging to the thought of her for so long that i forget to keep track of time. i don’t snap back into reality until i hear a voice speak to me from the door way to the living room, confident and calm: “Now that’s my baby girl,” i hear mom say, and when i spin around and try to impotently hide my rock hard girl dick in the skimpy panties she bought me, i see she has her own cock, so much bigger than mine, out and wet with lube. she walks over and lightly strokes my leaking, sensitive tip, leaning into my ear.

“Mommy thought your wardrobe was a bit bland sweetie, so she wanted to help you fit in with the other girls your age i see on tiktok, instagram, onlyfans. Do you like what i bought you baby?”

“Yes mommy, thank you so much,” i stutter out, so overwhelmed.

“How about we head upstairs and you can model more of it for me?” she asks, a slight bit of devilish glee in her voice knowing what that fashion show will lead to. in a lust-fueled haze, i agree, and she leads me upstairs, holding my hand the whole time.