#it is so easy to feel like nobody will care though. is the problem

[iamnotlookingidonotseeit]

i keep reducing myself down to solely a functional object without thoughts or opinions n i think it might be bc i'm terrified of the prospect of having to defend my self rather than the facts

things to unpack in therapy one day: the way i've started to shy away from certain books and intellectual challenges because they're "too good" for me even though I spent literally my entire life up through college intellectually ravenous

[ennuidays]

think im back in my Everyone is stupid era bcuz im mad at people for literally no reason

[rose24207]

My dad is a dumbass

Summary: Lucas is sent back in time to ensure his teenage father falls for his outcast mother instead of the wrong girl.

Genre: fluff, popular!Lando x bullied!reader, time travel

TW: bullying

A/N: I watched twinkling watermelon. SOMEONE SEDATE ME- anyways… *cough cough* English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist pt. 2

The moment Lucas felt the world spin beneath his feet, he knew something was very wrong. One second, he had been in his dad’s garage, tinkering with some old F1 tech Lando had insisted was too dangerous to touch, and the next?

He was here—standing in the middle of a high school hallway that smelled like sweat, cheap cologne, and regret.

Lucas stumbled, heart racing. The world had shifted—subtly, but undeniably. Everything around him was different. The posters on the walls advertised school dances from years ago. The fashion was outdated. The phones in students' hands were clunky.

His breath hitched.

This wasn’t just any high school.

This was your high school.

His parents had met here.

And from the way the students around him carried on, oblivious to the fact that a future-born kid had just dropped into their reality, it hit him.

He had traveled back in time.

And then he heard it.

A voice so familiar it made his stomach twist.

���Oi, Carlos, did you see that goal? Absolute beauty, mate!”

Lucas turned his head so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

There, leaning against the lockers, laughing with a group of friends, was Lando Norris.

Not Dad, the grown-up who nagged him about cleaning his room and told embarrassing stories to his friends. No, this was seventeen-year-old Lando—loud, confident, grinning like he owned the world.

Lucas nearly choked.

Holy shit. My dad is a dumbass teenager.

You always knew how to make yourself invisible. It was a skill you had mastered long ago—sitting in the farthest corner of the library, keeping your head down, never speaking unless necessary. It was safer that way.

High school had been unkind to you. The whispers, the taunts, the stolen lunch money—they had worn you down over time, molding you into someone small and quiet.

You thought you were alone.

Until a chair scraped across from you, and a boy you didn’t recognize sat down.

You stiffened, gripping your book tighter.

“Uh… do I know you?” you asked hesitantly.

The boy—Lucas, as he introduced himself—smiled, easy and relaxed. “Not yet.”

There was something strange about him. He didn’t feel like a normal teenager. His gaze was too sharp, too knowing. And yet… when he glanced at your book and casually remarked, “Pride and Prejudice? Classic,” you felt your heart stutter.

Nobody had ever paid attention to what you read.

“You’ve read it?” you asked, voice skeptical.

Lucas smirked. “More times than I can count.”

A flicker of warmth spread through your chest.

You hadn’t had a real conversation with someone in months.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel so alone.

Lucas had a problem.

His dad was an idiot.

A lovesick idiot.

And not for the right girl.

Her name was Jessica. And she was, in Lucas’ professional opinion, the worst person on the planet.

She was the kind of girl who faked sweetness when people were watching but turned venomous the second they weren’t.

And seventeen-year-old Lando was eating right out of her perfectly manicured hand.

Lucas watched in horror as his father practically tripped over himself trying to impress her.

“She’s so obviously playing you,” Lucas muttered under his breath.

Carlos, standing nearby, gave him a weird look. “Do you know Lando?”

Lucas coughed. “Uh, no.”

Carlos shrugged. ���Then why do you care?”

Lucas clenched his jaw. Because if my dad doesn’t stop being a dumbass, I might never be born.

He had to fix this.

The first time Lucas tried to break them up, it was simple.

He “accidentally” spilled his entire drink on Jessica’s very expensive designer bag.

“Oh my God!” she screeched, jumping back like she had been set on fire.

Lucas put on his best innocent face. “Oh no. I’m so sorry.”

Lando, ever the gentleman, immediately started panicking. “Jess, I’ll fix it, I swear—”

But Jessica was too busy throwing a tantrum about her ruined bag.

She stormed off.

Lucas grinned, satisfied. Problem solved.

Until the next day, when Lando was still mooning over her.

Lucas groaned. This is going to be harder than I thought.

Lucas wasn’t just here to make sure his parents fell in love.

He was here to protect you.

And it didn’t take long for him to see how much you needed it.

You never told him what was happening, but he saw it.

The girls whispering behind your back. The stolen lunch. The tripping in the hallways.

Lucas’ hands clenched into fists.

One day, he caught a group of girls sneering as you walked past.

“She’s so weird.”

“I heard she eats lunch alone every day.”

Lucas saw red.

“Funny,” he said loudly, making them freeze. “I was just thinking how weird you guys are.”

The leader, a blonde girl with too much makeup, scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“You spend all your time talking about someone who doesn’t even know you exist,” Lucas said, crossing his arms. “Kinda pathetic, don’t you think?”

Their faces burned red before they stormed off.

Lucas smirked. That’s what I thought.

Later that day, you hesitated before looking at him. “Why did you do that?”

Lucas shrugged. “Because you don’t deserve it.”

You swallowed, blinking rapidly. “…Thank you.”

Lucas softened. “Anytime, Mum.”

You didn’t hear that last part.

Lucas had to be tactical.

He orchestrated run-ins between you and Lando.

He got you both paired as lab partners.

He even tripped Lando once just so he’d fall into your arms (which earned him a very suspicious glare from his dad).

And finally, finally, Lando started to notice you.

Lucas saw it—the way his dad’s eyes lingered too long, how he smiled softer around you.

It was working.

Until Jessica struck again.

She cornered Lando after school, batting her lashes. “Landooo, come to the party with me?”

Lucas froze.

If Lando went, he’d fall right back into her clutches.

Thinking fast, he jumped in. “Oh, he can’t.”

Lando blinked. “I can’t?”

Lucas clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Nope! He already has plans. With her.”

He pointed to you.

You turned scarlet. “W-what?”

Jessica scoffed. “Since when?”

Lucas grinned. “Since now.”

Lando looked at you, hesitant but intrigued.

“…I guess we have plans?”

You bit your lip. Then—shyly, hesitantly—you nodded.

“I guess we do.”

Jessica huffed and stormed off.

Lucas smirked. Checkmate bitch.

Days later, Lucas watched as Lando walked you home, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Lucas grinned.

His work here was done.

Now…

He just had to figure out how to get back home.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris

[sonolynn]

What the Fates Allow-P

summary | Sixteen years ago, Rhaenyra gave birth to a bastard, a girl in which she sent away. Sixteen years later, that bastard would fall into the hands of none other than Prince Aegon himself.

pairing | Aegon Targaryen x Bastard!Reader

tags | talks of birth, bastards, some sexual content mentioned, drunkenness, blood, mentions of drunkenness and ale, ooc!aegon because...he's complex. not proof read

w.c | 1.5k

note(s) | ITS HEREEEEE!!! This is set around the time of drift mark, so Aegon would be around like sixteen.

___________________________________________

Nine moons ago, Rhaenyra had gotten a speech from her dear uncle Daemon about how the “Dragon” could take what and whomever they wished. And in this case, Rhaenyra chose her uncle Daemon Targaryen. Outraged by the news that Rhaenyra could have possibly slept with someone outside of marriage, Queen Alicent Hightower gave Rhaenyra moon tea; A tea only made by the most skilled Maesters to therefore prevent or abort pregnancies. If brewed correctly, the tea could “take care of the problem”, which is what queen Alicent intended it to do. 

Being complacent, Rhaenyra took the tea and drank it. But, what no one told her about moon tea, was that if brewed incorrectly, it would cause great, severe pains in the stomach and could lead to death-or worse, being pregnant. 

And, Rhaenyra found out three moons later that the tea did in fact, not work. So, for the next seven months, Rhaenyra hid her pregnancy under the guise that “she was gaining weight”. She wore ill fitting clothes to hide her bump, and, as the time came closer for her to deliver, Rhaenyra was sent away under the pretext that she was visiting her uncle, Daemon Targaryen in Dragonstone. 

And now, Rhaenyra sat in the bed, the pain between her legs only growing as she pushed. The servants comforted her from behind her as she labored. If she was to be fully honest the small comforts brought her only more anxiety. The stress from having to keep this a secret, to having to travel to a different town under the guise that she was “visiting” a family member, made this situation so much more consequential. 

The birth was not easy. Rhaenyra felt like the world was shifting underneath her multiple times, and the pains that traveled through her back and towards her hips definitely did not help. She swore to herself multiple times that, feeling as though she would pass out at any moment. But then, the pain stopped, and so did the world as she heard the small cries of her infant.

“A girl, princess.” The servant smiled softly, handing the wrapped bundle to Rhaenyra. 

As Rhaenyra held her babe, she felt an overwhelming sense of joy, fear, and protectiveness wash over her. This tiny, innocent creature came from her, her. The small girl nuzzled close to Rhaenyra, still whimpering. Rhaenyra smiled, holding her babe close whilst staring into her eyes. As she studied her new daughter, Rhaenyra noticed the small mark on the girl's chin. Rhaenyra reached up, and she ran a finger over the mark, her eyes studying it carefully. 

For the next month, Rhaenyra stayed in Dragonstone, taking care of this babe and growing more and more fond of her. As she recovered, however, the time neared in which she would have to give her daughter up. Rhaenyra didn’t know why, but the pain in her chest tightened daily as the day neared. She thought that it would be easier-to give away this babe-but, as she walked through Flea Bottom, dressed as an peasants costume, the realization dawned on her that she truly loved this babe; That parting with her firstborn daughter-even if she was sired by Daemon Targaryen-would be something she would regret for the rest of her life. 

Rhaenyra walked up to the door of the brothel, her heart twisting around itself as she stared blankly at the door. Was this truly the fate she wished upon her daughter? To be forced into a shame filled life, a life in which she grew thinking that nobody would want her? No…No she couldn’t possibly- 

But then the door to the brothel opened, and there stood Madam Sylvie. Rhaenyra knew that there would be no going back now, that she had dug her own daughter's grave and now she must lie down in it. 

“Take care of her. Gentle.” Rhaenyra spoke softly, handing her daughter, her precious girl, to the Madam. The Madam nodded gently, holding the girl close to her. The girl started to cry softly, missing the warmth of her mothers embrace. The madam looked up at Rhaenyra, but Rhaenyra stood strong; As strong as she could. 

“She is precious, do not let men use and hurt her…She doesn't deserve such a fate.” The madam nodded gently at Rhaenyra’s words, listening intently over the infant's cries. 

“Of course, Princess.” Rhaenyra watched her daughter squirm in the strangers arms, and she let out a breathy sigh. 

“Her name is Y/n.” And with that, Rhaenyra turned and she left. At the sound of her mothers retreating steps, the babe started to cry louder. Rhaenyra had the urge to turn back, say forget it and deal with the shame of living at court with a bastard. But her pride got in the way, and while listening to the symphony of her daughter's cries, Rhaenyra left. 

___________________________________________

Sixteen years later. 

“Y/N!” Madame Sylvie yelled out. She looked up from the cup that she was cleaning, searching for Sylvie. Her eyes softened slightly as she found Madam Slyvie approaching her. 

“Yes, Madame?” She spoke softly, gently placing the cup back down. The madam sighed softly as she placed a hand on her head. 

“The prince is over there, drunk of course. Could you bring him a pint, dear?” 

“Of course, Madame.” She was confused for a moment. The prince? Well, which one? It could be Daemon Targaryen, or Aemond, or Aegon, the girl did not know. But, nonetheless she smiled, quickly filling up a pint and quickly walking in the direction of the boy. She leans down, holding out the pint to him. The boy seemed dazed, his shoulder length hair greasy and messy, his cheeks rosy and his eyes elsewhere.  

He turned, staring at her curiously as he gently took the pint. He seemed interested in her, the way her eyes held a certain gleam to them that he did not see in others. 

“...You look..familiar.” The boy says. The phrase makes her pause, her hands gently brushing against his as she slides the pint into his hand. She didn’t recognize the boy, barely ever having seen him amongst the hundreds of men's faces that she saw daily. 

“I do not recall us meeting.” She spoke gently, so as to not accidentally offend the young man. When she went to stand, the boy grabbed her wrist, a drunken smirk caressing his juvenile features. He stared at her with a hunger that she had seen many times before in men; The hunger that the madam never let her satisfy. 

“How much do you charge, girl?” He asked slowly. She stared at him, confused for a moment. She withdrew her hand, much to the boy's dismay. 

“I am not…I do not offer services, my lord.” She speaks softly, as to try and keep his inevitable anger at bay. But, much to her surprise, the boy didn’t seem angered, only more determined.

“A moment of your time then?” Asked the boy, his smirk still evident on his face. She seemed scared, for a moment thinking that he would take advantage of her, but the boy sighed heavily in his drunken state and he sat up a little. “I mean you no harm. I just wish for company.” He spoke softly. There was something almost comforting at his tone of voice, something juvenile and hurt lying beneath. 

“Alright then. Company you shall have.” 

The two sat and talked for genuine hours. Madame Sylivie paid them no mind, happy to have someone distract the drunken prince from her girls. The prince confided int the girl, and the girl in him, and at the end of their talk, he handed her a bag of coins. 

“For your time.” He spoke. When placed in the girls hand she gasped, feeling its weight. She immediately went to hand it back to him. 

“My prince I could never take such a sum-” But the prince refused to hear it. He gently closed her hand over the bag of coins and smiled at her. Albeit a drunken one, she could not say that it was not a charming one.

“You should be paid for your services, girl. They were most enjoyable.” And with that, he left her, flustered and confused. Until the next time he visited. 

For the next few years Y/N sat with this Prince-who she learned was Aegon-in the same corner, at the same time, at the same place. He would not bed her, nor would he force her to do anything she didn’t wish to. He found himself staring at her when she would not be looking, sneaking small touches, and so forth, but he refused to believe that he may like her, romantically. He could not have a lowly barmaid as his wife, even if he wished to (which he swore he didn’t). So, the drunken prince found a friend in this barmaid. And, although he would not say it,  perhaps something a little more than a friend.

___________________________________________

TAGLIST:

@povofjustme @targaryenswhxre @starzzgirl @void21 @rosalietyrell @abecerra611 @hangmanscoming @cherriescream @thelastemzy @ccallistata @boypls @visenyareads @helo1281917 @darceshoney

[holdmytesseract]

One Night or Forever?

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: When one thing leads to another, you and Daryl spend a passionate night together at the CDC. Unfortunately, neither of you is interpreting the signals right afterwards...

Warnings: 18+! MDNI! smut (not entirely graphic, but it's definitely there - like, you know exactly what's going on), uhhh sub and dom Daryl? unprotected rough-ish sex? Daryl gets a bj (yes, you read that right), he's a bit mean, too - but also a cutie patootie, uhh slight angst? bit of drama, alcohol - drunk-ish Daryl and tipsy reader, fluff, swear words, bickering

Set in Season 1!

Word Count: 4,5k

a/n: You want it, you got it, friends. I don't know what this is, though - or which demons possessed me as I wrote it. I really don't. I also don't know how I should feel about it. Embarrassed? Proud? Send help, lol.

Anyways, I hope you like this! Please go easy on me. Smut isn't really my forte...

EoH Masterlist °☆• LITRM Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Booyah!"

Daryl's toast had been the starting shot for an evening full of conversation, fun, laughter - and alcohol. Some would say reams of alcohol. Wine, booze, beer - you and the group stopped at nothing. That was probably the reason why everyone staggered somewhere on a scale between tipsy and shit faced drunk at the end of the evening.

You were currently on your way to your personal room - something you'd describe as a luxury. Sure, back at the quarry you had your own tent, but there was a huge difference between that and a whole goddamn room. With a own freaking shower! It was crazy. Who would've thought that something so plain and simple would become such a valued, precious thing? Most likely nobody, because it was something taken for granted.

Well... Not anymore. Not since the world went to shit.

After passing a very drunk Glenn on the way, you more or less stumbled into your room. Tipsy... You were definitely tipsy. Without a single care in the world, you started to shed your clothes the moment the door shut close behind you. All you wanted to do was sleep. You had too much alcohol coursing through your veins to search for something you could use as a pyjama. You hadn't a problem with sleeping naked. Not tonight.

Unfortunately had your plan a catch... One that you weren't aware of yet.

This wasn't your room.

You were just about to free your body of the last piece of fabric you were wearing - a pair of admittedly beautiful dark blue lace panties, when a sudden voice managed to almost send you into cardiac arrest.

"Wha' the fuck 'r ya doin' in my room?!"

You startled so bad, that you almost lost balance and fell flat on your ass. Your balance was a bit off-track anyways, due to the wine...

With wide eyes you turned around to face the intruder.

"Daryl?"

You blinked. "What are you doing here?" He scoffed; his cheeks puffed out and reddened. He had been drinking way more than you did, and it showed. The archer's hands were fumbling clumsily with the fly of his jeans. "Jus' been taken a damn piss, 'n 'm comin' back to find ya standin' in my room." You crossed your arms over your bare - an information which hadn't reached Daryl's brain yet - chest. "This is clearly my room, Dixon." He scoffed again. "'S not!" "Yes, it is!" "'S not!" The man took a few wobbly steps closer. "Go bullshit someone else, I-" He stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence; eyes widening to the size of plates. Now the information had been received and processed.

"Yer almost naked," he stated; bluntly staring.

Oh, you suddenly realised and remembered as well. He was right.

In any other situation, you'd have frantically tried to cover yourself up and perhaps even threw an insult at the man standing across from you, but the alcohol lowered your boundary of shame and loosened you up; making you see things more relaxed.

You huffed out a breath. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Daryl still blinked and tried very hard to not let his eyes drop, but that was an almost impossible task for the alcoholized man. "Why?" You shrugged your shoulders. "'Cause I wanted to go to sleep." The archer swallowed hard. "In my room? Naked? Ya lost yer damn mind, woman?" "It's my room," your tipsy self was still profoundly convinced, while you made your way over to the bed on slightly wobbly legs. Daryl just watched you; flabbergasted, speechless, shocked - and incredibly turned on. After all, he had a damn pretty woman in his room - no, bed. Half naked!

"You could join me, Dixon." He scoffed again and tried to walk in a straight line over to the armchair; accepting his fate. "In yer damn dreams. 'S ain't gonna help me - or my hard-on." You giggled at his words like a schoolgirl and rolled around in the sheets. "That the reason why you can't get that zipper up? You like me, Daryl? Like what you see?" You pestered him with questions; smirking, and watched his cheeks redden even more - if that was physically possible and your eyes didn't betray you. "Shuddup," Daryl just growled in response. You giggled again, before a long beat of silence passed between the both of you.

The alcohol didn't just lower your boundary of shame... It also caused you to become bolder. "I could help you with that, you know..." You tried to sound as flirty and seductive as possible and turned in the sheets once more, but now to face the man sitting across from the bed. You perched yourself onto your stomach and crossed your ankles in the air; swaying your legs.

Gods, you felt like a teenager again. Damn the alcohol and your crush on the archer. It was a dangerous combination, since you hadn't planned to actually act on said crush. Well, and here you were now in his - nu.uh, your - bed, almost naked and trying to seduce him.

Some might say this escalated quickly...

"Help me with wha'?" The archer finally responded after a long moment; dumbfounded. His usually very smart and witty brain slowed down by the alcohol. You thought for a hot minute that he had already fallen asleep on you. You rolled your eyes and groaned - acting like Daryl just said the stupidest thing in the world. "Your boner," you deadpanned - as if it was the most normal thing to say.

The archer swallowed hard; feeling his chest (and pants) tightening.

"Wha'?" He crooked out. The normally so talkative, glibly redneck seemingly rendered speechless by your boldness.

Once again, you rolled your eyes. "Do you reaaaaally want me to spell it out for you, D?" Daryl clearly needed a moment to recover, but once he did, he scoffed.

"Pf, yer bluffin'."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, ya 'r."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, ya 'r. Can tell. Yer way to innocent fer shit like tha', sunshine."

"Are you challenging me, Dixon?"

"Nah, jus' statin' facts."

Now you were the one who scoffed. He really asked for it, didn't he? You smirked and hid your face in the blanket beneath you. Oh, you were so going to prove him wrong.

You rolled your barely covered body around a third time, but this time to get up from the bed - which was a much more difficult task than expected, but you made it in the end - even though not gracefully and certainly not seductively. "Facts, huh?" You asked the crossbow-wielding archer then with a raised eyebrow and your hands on your hips. He crossed his arms over his plaid beige-brown shirt clad chest; bare forearms and biceps bulging with the movement. "Yes, facts." Although he stared into your eyes with his blue coloured irises, he still had a hard time for them to actually stay on your face.

"Well, you can go screw your opinions - or me. Your choice, pretty boy," you stated and shrugged your shoulders as you bridged the short distance between the bed and the armchair. Before the younger Dixon could even do as much as open his mouth for a snarky respond, you had dropped to your knees in front of him - between his manspread legs.

Daryl's eyes widened and his jaw slacked. "Wha' 'r ya doin'?!" He literally screeched and gripped the armrests of the armchair. "Proofing you wrong, pretty boy." You smiled up at him like a Cheshire cat; hands and fingers clumsily trying to open his jeans. "F-Fuckin' hell, wha'?! Yer insane, woman!" The archer cursed above you, but also didn't make any moves to stop you. So, you took that as a sign to continue. And continuing you did...

It took you a hot minute to get your eye-hand coordination straight and overcome the obstacles which were his jeans and boxers, but once you did, there was no holding back. "Ya really gonna do th- F-Fuck..."

You did.

"Told you, Dixon," you stated with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes; hands firmly cupping him. Daryl answered nothing. The archer had a hard time to control his breathing and rapidly beating heart. He was still gripping the armrests like a vice - his knuckles already turning white. He really couldn't believe this was happening right now. Was he asleep and dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Did the wine manage to fog up his brain so much that his eyes were deceiving him? But when he felt your lips wrap around him, he instantly threw all those thoughts overboard again. This was real. It had to be real. After all, he was feeling it, right?

"F-Fuckin' hell," he cursed again; feeling waves of pleasure crash over him. One of his hands loosened its grip on the armrest and went in your hair instead - tying your loose hair into a makeshift ponytail. You were already too far gone to care; the taste of him addictive.

Working your magic, you tried to grant the man above you as much pleasure as possible - and it seemed to work. Within a few minutes, Daryl was a whimpering mess - a side you'd never thought you were ever going to see of him. Not in your wildest dreams.

"Ain't... Ain't g-gonna last," the archer panted breathlessly; the hand in your hair twitching. You didn't want him to. You wanted him to fall apart. A gentle squeeze of your hand was all it took. "Y-Y/N, damnit, 'm gon'- Gonna cu-" His sentence got interrupted by a low moan that paved its way to the forefront of his lips. The hand in your hair twitched again as he attempted to pull you off him. You didn't let him, though, and easily dodged his lousy attempt. Instead, you helped him ride the wave. His thighs twitched; muscles tensing as his high crashed into him. Daryl felt like he had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler - but in the best way possible. It had been so long...

The gentle grip he had of your hair slackened; hand falling limply to his side. You lifted your head to look at him to witness his blissed-out state. Daryl's eyes were closed, and his breathing laboured. You smiled; hands gently caressing his clothed thighs. "You believe me now, D?" He gave you a mere nod. Clearly he needed another few moments to get his head straight again. Your smile never ceased as you kept up your fingers movements. Your knees protested by now, but you didn't care.

Another few moments passed, before the archer peeled his eyes open again. Seeing you still on your knees for him managed to send another shockwave of arousal throughout his entire body.

Wide-blown eyes stared at you intensely; the gears turning in his fogged up head.

"T-Thanks, I guess," he whispered then. His voice was still hoarse. You smiled up at him. "You're welcome, pretty boy. Said I'm gonna help you." Daryl nodded almost shyly and clumsily stuffed himself back inside his boxers. You eyed him thoroughly and started to giggle. "Didn't think you'd loose it so fast. Wouldn't have pecked you to be a... premature guy." Not that it mattered to you, but you couldn't help yourself but to tease him a bit. It was meant to be a playful comment, but you seemed to hit a sore spot...

You could practically see how his eyes darkened, before he narrowed them. "Whatcha say, huh?" He asked in a gruff voice and stood up; towering over you. You blinked - were a bit taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanour. "I-I, uh... Said I didn't think you'd be one t-to, uh, come too early..." The archer growled under his breath. "Ya better watch yer mouth, sunshine," he said in a threatening tone and grabbed your arms to pull you up on your feet. Daryl quickly noticed, though, that his legs were even more wobbly now that they've already been before; forcing him to take cautious steps. "What are we doing, pretty boy? You gonna make me pay for saying that?" You gave another sassy remark; provoking him and tickling his nerve ends even further. A grunt passed his chapped lips as he dragged you with him. Once close to the bed, he wrapped his arms firmly around your bare midsection and literally threw you onto the bed - wobbly legs be damned. You giggled at his eagerness and slid upwards to rest your head on one of the pillows; giving the man a confident look. "C'mon then, pretty boy, show me what you got. I know you want to." He scoffed and crawled on the bed. "Pretty boy my ass." You just giggled again. You felt intoxicated by the wine you had consumed and definitely aroused - which got only worse when you felt calloused, deft hands gripping your delicate skin. Daryl parted your legs and settled on his knees between them. His eyes were directed on your face. He looked like a predator - ready to attack his prey. It was incredibly hot.

"'M gonna shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers, just ya wait," he growled in a deep voice, and wrapped his arms and hands around your thighs like a snake - holding them firmly and simultaneously keeping you splayed open for him, before he literally yanked you down; bringing your hips closer to his.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his sudden movement and the upcoming anticipation.

His fingertips danced over the skin on your hips then - and suddenly got your dark blue lace panties ripped into shreds.

"Daryl!" You shrieked, then gasped. "Those were my favourites, I-" "'S jus' a damn piece 'a fabric. Dun be such a crybaby," he interrupted you; instantly putting you in your place. Your mouth clapped shut. This was yet another new side of him. Sure, you knew he was hotheaded, but he literally just went from kinda submissive to dominant within the blink of an eye. Was it the alcohol? Or truly his temper?

The clinking of his belt ripped you out of your thoughts. Some shuffling and the rustling of fabric was the only premonition you got, before you felt him against your hot and pulsating center. Your hips instantly bucked; trying to get closer.

More friction.

More pleasure.

More of Daryl.

The archer hovering above you scoffed. "Look how needy ya are. Dun even hafta prepare ya." You could see the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smirk. "Tis all jus' from gettin' me off, huh?" You nodded and bit your lip. Daryl on the contrary shook his head, "Yer tha' desperate? Pf... Pathetic." and lined himself up, before hitting home.

Stars exploded in front of your eyes as his hips met yours. The most sinful moan the archer had ever heard in his life slipped past your lips; only spurring him on more. He picked up a firm, steady pace - leaving you a mess beneath him barely within a few minutes. Just what you did to him.

Revenge was sweet, wasn't it?

His precise, powerful thrusts carried you from one high to the next - and Daryl enjoyed it. He loved to see you fall apart beneath him. And this time, he was the one lasting longer. "Who's commin' too soon now, huh? 'S not me, sunshine. Told ya I'd shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers," he growled lowly; slowing his pace to just give you a few moments of recovery. You moaned at the sheer endless pleasure he granted you. Your hands gripped his thick arms like a vice after he had planted both palms firmly in the mattress beside your head to gain more leverage. "F-Fuck, Daryl," you whimpered; fingernails digging into his sweaty biceps. "I know. Jus' one more, 'kay? Can ya give me one more?" You nodded wordlessly. "Good girl," the archer praised and picked up his speed once again; pulling another sweet moan alongside some incoherent noises from you.

Your hands travelled. They left his arms to rest on his chest, where they fisted the fabric of his plaid shirt with the ripped off sleeves. The fabric held a darkened stain - a puddle of sweat formed on his chest.

Your hands continued to fist his shirt, as you pulled - an attempt to undo a few buttons. But once the archer noticed what your mission was, he stopped dead in his movements. "Nah, dun do tha'," he scolded you instantly and peeled your hands away from the fabric covering his upper body. "W-Why?" You asked breathlessly; not understanding his sudden mood shift. "'"Cause I told ya to!" He snapped.

Just in that moment, you realised that you must've hit another sore spot... But this time one that actually seemed to get to him. Not one that managed to turn him on.

"S-Sorry, D-Daryl, I-" You immediately apologised, but got interrupted once more. "Keep holdin' on ta my arms, if yer need sum'thin' to hold on to." His voice was gruff, but way more soft than a few moments ago. The archer redirected your hands and placed them once more around his sweaty biceps. Without another word, he continued where he left off, causing your grip to instantly tighten. "There ya go," he praised you again and readjusted your legs with his thighs. Just the slight change of angle was enough to send you a third time over the edge. This time, though, you dragged him right with you.

A broken sound - close to a cry, left the man's lips as he pulled out and coated the supple skin of your stomach with his release. A single droplet of sweat rolled down his neck as he threw his head back in ecstasy. It was a sight to behold. A sight you might never forget for the rest of your life - no matter how long your life was going to be.

A few moments later collapsed Daryl on the mattress beside you. He was clearly spent. Perhaps this had been something you both needed. Who knew?

"Imma take a shower," the archer announced after a while and left the bed - but not before gentleman-like wiping the mess he made on your stomach away with his hand. Without another word, he left, while you just laid there - still naked and staring at the ceiling; recalling in your mind what just happened. The sex managed to sober you up a bit. Did that really just happen? Had you been dreaming this?

You heard the water run, but not how Daryl returned to the room and settled down for the night in the armchair. You had ventured off to dreamland at some point.

To say the next morning was awkward was an absolute understatement. Awkward was not even remotely enough to describe the vibe between the both of you.

When you woke up again, the archer was nowhere to be seen. Now sober, you left the bed, picked up your clothes, noticed that you truly were - in fact in his room, and tiptoed butt naked down the hallway into your room. Luckily nobody had seen you. That would've been scandalous, right?

Your luck was also that everybody was quite hungover from last night. Some more, some less. Therefore noticed nobody the way you and Daryl acted around each other.

You could barely manage to look into his eyes.

You felt ashamed; thinking that you pushed him too far yesterday night. Thinking, that you were too bold and unable to control your damn feelings. Thinking that you pushed him away, instead of drawing him in. You anticipated that the archer must hate you now - and you couldn't even blame him...

Nevertheless seemed a conversation inevitable. You didn't want to destroy the friendship - if you could even call it that - the both of you had before last night.

It took you days to bite the bullet and ask him to talk, though. Sure, you had been on the road again since the CDC was a dead end, but that wasn't an excuse in your eyes.

"D-Daryl?" You approached him cautiously as you found him alone in the stables of the Greene farm; saddling a horse to go looking for Sophia. "Whatcha want?" He asked you and gave you a short look. You swallowed nervously. "Can we, uh, can we talk?" "'Bout wha'?" You watched him work for a moment, while your fingers fumbled with the hem of your t-shirt; trying to gather all the courage you could find. "That, uh, night at the CDC..." Your words came out as a whisper, but Daryl heard them nonetheless - and froze in all his tracks.

"Why'd ya wanna talk 'bout tha'?" He asked nonchalantly after a beat of silence and continued his work; had seemingly shaken off the small 'shock' quite quick. "I-I..." You started and sighed. "Things f-feel so weird between us since that n-night, and... I don't want that. I-I'm sorry for what I did. I'm s-sorry for making you sleep with me." Your eyes were stuck on him. You watched him and tried to gauge his reaction - afraid of what was going to happen.

"Yer sorry 'bout it?" Daryl asked then - almost in disbelief. Then he scoffed. "Do ya regret it?"

That was a question you didn't see coming. A question you haven't thought about yet. Did you regret it? Your memories took you back in time; letting you relive that night you shared with him. The answer was clear - as you quickly discovered.

"No, I don't, but... It was wrong. I shouldn't have-" "Wrong?" He interrupted you. His voice appalled. "Tha's what ya think 'bout this? 'Bout... us?" Daryl accused you with a grimace on his face. Was that... sadness you could detect in his blue orbs? Hurt?

You blinked; "U-Us?" were definitely confused by his words. "W-What do you mean 'us'?" "Ya know wha' I mean, Y/N." You shook your head. "No, Daryl. No, I don't. We've been practically ignoring each other since the CDC. We can't even talk properly! Neither of us can look into the other's eyes! Everything is just... weird, and you talk about an 'us'? No, I don't get it. Tell me. Explain it."

A frustrated huff left the archer's lips, before he started to gnaw at the pad of his thumb; averting your eyes. All of a sudden, the usually so confident redneck became all shy and insecure. "Dunno how," he started; merely shrugging his shoulders. "'S difficult, 'n I ain't good with words." "Try it, D," you encouraged him and gave him a soft smile. "Please. I want to make things right between us again." The archer nodded and took another moment - most likely to gather his thoughts. "'S tha' feeling, ya know? Can't pin it down. Always feelin' so strange whenever yer close to me."

Your heart skipped more than just one beat as his words urged to your ears. Could it be...? No...

"W-What do you feel? Can you... describe it?" Daryl lowered his gaze to the ground. The little stone laying beside his left foot suddenly became really interesting. "Jus' strange. Gets harder to breathe, 'n... My stomach's all messed up. Feels like an itch I can't scratch." You couldn't believe this was happening. Did that night cause Daryl to fall in love with you? "You're doing good, D. Keep going. What else?" You had to know.

He grunted; his foot playing with that little stone, before kicking it aimlessly over the concrete ground. "I... always go back to tha' night in my head. Can't forget it. Yer look. Yer touch. The way ya felt, I-" He stopped himself to take a deep breath. And you smiled. Perhaps having slept with him hadn't been a mistake. Perhaps you interpreted his behaviour wrong. Perhaps you just misread the signs...

"I jus' dunno how to act 'round ya. I dunno wha's happening to me. Tha's why I ain't talkin' to ya. Didn't mean to ignore ya..." Daryl apologised with his head still lowered.

You stepped closer to him and cautiously reached for his hand. He flinched, but didn't pull away. "Daryl, I... I think I know what happened to you," you whispered. "'N wha's tha'?" He asked; finally brave enough to lift his head to look into your eyes. You smiled and squeezed his hand. "I think you... are in love."

As quick as the man had lowered his guard, as quick was it up again.

He pulled his hand out of your grasp and scoffed, before he took a few steps back. "Pf. Love? Me? Tha's ridiculous, woman - 'n we both know it!" "Is it, yeah? You really think so?" "Yes!" He yelled, and wanted to rush past you - but you stopped him with your palm splayed on his chest. You didn't know if what your heart made you do was a wise decision, but it acted on its own will. Your head was powerless anyway.

Daryl's eyes travelled from yours to the hand on his chest and back. "Whatcha doin', woman?! Leave me the hell alo-" You had heard enough. You had held yourself back long enough. This was the only option you had left. It was do or die.

You cut the man off with standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips to his. It was a chaste, gentle kiss - but nonetheless meaningful. It felt so right. So good. His lips so soft and warm - compared to his seemingly rough exterior. His blond-brown goatee tickled your skin in the best way possible.

Once more, Daryl froze to the ground; not moving a muscle.

When your lips left his again with a soft pop and you reopened your eyes, you could see how his eyelids fluttered slowly open as well. You could feel his heart galloping underneath your palm. "What do you feel now, Daryl?" You asked in a hushed tone. Your eyes never left his. The archer swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "I-I-I..." He stammered out; his cheeks heating up. "G-Good," he croaked out. "R-Real good." You smiled - happy that your heart had made the right decision. "Wanna do it again?" He blinked. The tips of his ears got red as well. "I-If yer willin' t-to k-kiss me again?" Your smile even widened, before you reached up to cup his beardy, red cheeks in your palms to pull him into another kiss. Daryl gasped against your lips; eyes falling shut and lips following your lead. It caused the kiss to get more intimate. More demanding. More passionate.

His hands acted on their own will, as they settled on your waist and pulled you closer. Your body crashed against his. You could tell that he hadn't kissed a lot in his life; his movements clumsy and messy - but perfectly Daryl. And you loved it. You didn't care how experienced or skilled he was. All you cared about was him - and all the love he deserved you wanted to give him.

He was far from perfect; had his flaws - but so were you.

"What do you say now about love, pretty boy?" You asked in a playful, yet loving manner; your hands crossed behind his neck. Daryl's hands gently squeezed your sides, "Shuddup." before he dipped his head to indulge you into yet another kiss.

Yeah... He was definitely whipped.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @cakesandtom @mayday2007 @dixonsdarkelf @huntedmusicgardenn @ffsjustletmesleep

[emptyjunior]

Can I say how much I love how Ouran High School handles the rich boy/poor girl in love trope. 

Like I absolutely believe it’s discussions about classism and elitism to this Day still hold up! 

I will admit there is so much weird stuff in ouran😭, but we see the Handsome ‘Unlimited Money’ Male Lead a LOT in anime and I feel ouran gets a lot of points of the characterisation SO right, that a lot of other shows just don’t! 

Ouran does the whole love story/harem/all the boys want brown hair girl that we project on, trope. Like they do that, but they show that at the foundation, the root of all of it, those rich boys are JEALOUS. They aren’t approaching Haruhi with the need to protect and own her, at their core the rich are envious of her! Even though they have everything, they want what she has! 

Like we see in the real world with how the rich cosplay as poor! And say "ohhhh I'm so broke please venmo me for lunch" and wear their ripped jeans and strained sweaters and take pictures at the met gala with a box of McDonalds fries in their hand. 

The classist comments made towards Haruhi ARE comedic relief, but the joke isn’t on characters like Haruhi, the joke is on THEM. 

They are the ones who can’t do anything! They are the ones who are stilted and emotionally closed off! They are the ones who can’t make an instant coffee or go to a mall without help! 

THAT is why Haruhi is the center of this harem, why she is the one they’re chasing. They are jealous of her insight and world experience from living independently, from living a REAL life. That is her enviable trait. Haruhi GETS people! And they don’t. Their wealth has isolated them and now there is a barrier between these characters and the rest of the world and they have no idea how to navigate it. 

And this is the foundation of 90% of the problems/conflict in the show! 

The holiday ep when Hikaru has feelings because Haruhi reconnects with Nice Guy Arai? Hikaru says he doesn’t like this guy for all these reasons and most of them are like ‘he’s just some nobody from nothing who only knows Haruhi cause they went to some stupid public school together’. Like okay? Haruhi has all of those ‘bad traits’ as well but you still seem to like her?  

Because it’s not about that, it’s never about that, it’s not even about the love rival/romance angle (at least not completely).  

Hikaru is scared and embarrassed! He already was when they got there, when these rich boys crashed Haruhi’s summer to find out she is an employee here and she is working with her own two hands. This is not a break for her! And then he’s so worried when Haruhi and Arai find each other because what they have is so untouchable to him. Same background, same class, they can meet each other’s needs! And know the other's needs! And this is a chasm that Hikaru has no idea how to cross so he starts lashing out. 

And that episode concludes with Hikaru being told about Haruhi’s fear of thunderstorms, finally actually listening and empathizing with what that means, and then going to her and giving her the stuff she needs to deal with that problem (blanket, headphones, support, protection etc.). 

He has to LEARN that none of those poor people inherently know all this secret knowledge! They just care and ask each other stuff! You can ask Haruhi what she's afraid of and then help her with that! It was always this simple! Just because you’re not the same class as her and knowing her isn’t as easy as it is with people the same as you, doesn’t mean you’ll never know! Learn! Listen! Keep trying! 

Ouran shows their rich characters being hurt by their wealth. Their elitists mindset does NOT benefit them and they’re only narratively rewarded when they break out of it, THAT’S why the arcs are so good. 

(And also while we’re here, I LOVE when they do eps that show Tamaki’s character is actually a parallel of Haruhi’s. Tamaki grew up as an illegitimate child, hidden away in France with his mother. He knows what it is to not be at the top of the food chain, and he learns the skills to keep living! Tamaki is a survivor in a world run by a man who was ashamed of him and did not want him. That can destroy a child, but Tamaki doesn’t let it. He learns how to work people and he learns that belief in yourself is the most powerful asset someone can have. And this is the life experience he imparts onto Kyoya and this SAVES Kyoya, who was barreling towards a black pit of despair and chasing his father’s shadow. The ‘poor’ characters of this show have power that the rich people desperately desire, and in the end they learn that it’s not something you take it’s something you build for yourself.) 

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 3

Masterpost

Content warning: This chapter involves depiction of a train derailment and subsequent fire throughout. There is also brief mention of death. I will be putting a brief summary in the description if you prefer not to read this part.

Danny jolts up from his fitful sleep. He’s intangible and invisible before he’s even fully sitting up and he’s in the air before he registers the loud boom that woke him. Any concerns about his bright transformation are made totally irrelevant by the warning sirens blaring in his head.

Wait, no. Those are real sirens.

In the distance, lights are now accompanying the sirens; flashing as they speed down what looks like main street. It’s pretty clear where they’re going too, from the violent orange glow cascading over the tops of the nearby buildings.

I knew it, Danny thinks, flying towards whatever disaster is unfolding. probably it’s stupid to get involved, when he still knows so little about this place, but- well, old habits die hard. It doesn’t take long for the problem to become obvious, and Danny freezes as he struggles to process the scene before him.

The metal carnage is nothing like Danny’s ever seen before; what looks to be a freight train has derailed at the worst possible location, sending its cars careening into the various apartment buildings and stores on the east side of town, and to make matters worse, one of them has clearly crashed straight into the gas station by the freeway, and fire is spreading faster than Danny could have imagined.

Danny can already see two buildings blazing, but he quickly focuses his attention towards the carnage of the train itself. Luckily it’s fairly obvious what direction it was headed, and Danny moves fast, looking for the engine. In ghost form, physical sensations always feel a little more distant but even through that, Danny can feel his heart rabbiting in his chest. Luckily it takes less than a minute to find the engine, but as he approaches it, the presence of death catches in his throat, and he immediately knows it’s a lost cause.

He can’t sense any actual ghosts, though, so instead Danny whips around to stare at the derailed cars. He’s far more used to fighting than he is rescues, but he can hardly just ignore the possibility of people trapped, so he carefully begins phasing through the wreckage, searching and listening for signs of anyone. Already, people are starting to gather outside; both those who were nearby and those who have managed to escape on their own, and Danny is careful to maintain his invisibility as he works. 

Danny’s made it through about half the wreck by the time he spots the firetrucks arriving, he’s pretty certain that nobody’s trapped under any of the cars, and he’s also thinking more clearly. The fire has also gotten worse now, and Danny watches as fully equipped firefighters spill out onto the street, already jumping to work as the fire chief shouts out orders. Some rush to start battling the flames, but others head towards the crowd.

They’re getting headcounts, Danny realizes. It seems so obvious in retrospect, but of course, Danny would have to be visible to check with anyone. And now that they’re here, anything he tries to do in secret would probably just make things harder. There is, of course, an easy solution to that, but- Danny has yet to find any evidence that all the meta stuff is anything but propaganda.

Even as Danny considers the dilemma, he knows what he’s going to do. He’s survived danger before, after all, and if he can keep people from assuming ghost, then he’ll have an advantage on them even if it comes to the worst. Besides, there’s that whole great powers-great responsibility thing, so in a way, it’s kind of his responsibility...

Danny floats out of the wreckage before shifting into visibility, figuring it’s probably polite to approach in their field of sight.

“What can I do to help?” Danny asks, causing most of the crowd to stare in shock. Belatedly he realizes he’s still floating, but actually that’s probably a good thing. Makes it clear he’s a meta right off the bat, at least

“New hero, huh? Powerset?” The man responds promptly, leveling Danny with an even gaze. Probably the lack of shock is a good thing. Probably.

“Uh, flight obviously, enhanced strength as well, and um... The ability to turn people and things intangible?” Danny responds promptly. It’s far from his full set, but he figures those are the most relevant, and keeping most of his tricks under his sleeve makes him feel better about what he’s doing.

“Is the fire gonna hurt you? I’m not sending some kid in there to die of third degree burns or smoke inhalation.” The man frowns, giving Danny the distinct feeling he’s not particularly impressed with Danny’s answer.

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’ll be fine! I like, don’t exactly need to breathe? And I’m fine in extreme heat too, so it shouldn’t be a problem...” Danny trails off and the head firefighter narrows his eyes as he tries not to flinch at the assessing look. To Danny’s right, someone shouts and when he turns to look, he sees a firefighter wave their arm and plant some kind of flag before moving on. No longer paying attention to Danny, the chief walks over and speaks to another firefighter. Danny wonders if he’s been dismissed, but before he can do anything, the chief calls out to him.

“Alright kid, you’re up, I guess,” he says, when Danny walks over. “We don’t know how injured he is, so do not move him, but if you’re strong enough to move this stuff fast and safe, that’ll be a damn good help.” He gestures to the twisted mess that Danny’s pretty sure was the edge of a building. 

Danny nods, stepping forward to examine the rubble. The firefighter that spotted the man points to a couple beams.

“Those beams are protecting him from the worst of it right now, but we’ll need to move them in order to get him out, so you gotta make sure that there’s nothing that’ll fall on him him when you move them.” 

“Righty-o,” Danny says, stepping forward to grab the two support beams he’d pointed too. He carefully examines the rubble collapsed around and over it. It’s sort of like a puzzle, he realizes - not quite the same as fixing his parents tech; certainly nothing here is supposed to be smashed together like that, but-

Danny blinks and refocuses. If he  just moves a few things first, he thinks he can get enough cleared away and just intange the beams. He tries to be fast as he does, without forgetting the emphasis the chief had put on safety, and after a few moments, he’s ready to move the beams. He gets into a good position, and then carefully makes them intangible, ready to react if anything bad happens. When nothing does, he carefully pulls them up and away, watching as the waiting firefighters rush in and start to work on actually extracting the guy.

He watches for a bit as a backboard appears and they begin a very slow and careful process of getting the guy onto it.

“Kid,” the chief calls, pulling Danny’s attention away.The chief guides him towards one of the buildings that’s on fire. “Got two people trapped on the third floor here. The stairs are unsafe, so if you can, get yourself up there, locate them, and get them out.”

Danny nods, not waiting for further instruction. He flies up two floors, and goes straight through the wall with his intangibility. The majority of this building isn’t terribly damaged, but one side has collapsed in on itself so if that’s where the stairs were, he can understand the difficulty. The air inside is already thick with smoke, and he quickly stops breathing, belatedly remembering that he’s supposed to not get smoke inhalation. Luckily, it doesn’t take long to catch the sound of voices, and Danny follows it to a room where two people are huddled next to an open window. Right, that’s a smart way to limit the danger of the smoke.

“Rides here!” Danny announces cheerfully, dropping his intangibility. Both people startle as they spot him, but one recovers relatively quickly.

“Him first,” they say, nodding towards their companion, who definitely looks more dazed.

“Right, here we go!” Danny says, stepping forward, and scooping the person up, and wasting no time flying directly through the building, and down to the waiting paramedics. There’s no stretcher currently available, so Danny gently sets them on the ground away from the worst of the smoke, before flying back to get the other person. They’re already standing up, and waste no time in wrapping their arms around his neck as he picks them up and flies them out to the medics as well.

Danny hardly has time to set the person down, before the chief is pulling him away again. They send him in to save a couple other trapped people, but after that, it sounds like everybody is accounted for, because the chief starts focusing all their energy on putting out the fire, rather than just containing it.

Danny is surprised to find himself pulled into helping with this part too. He gets assigned to a fire attack team, and Danny trails along after the two firefighters as the enter the building and begin to fight the fire from the inside.Occasionally, one of them will point at some piece of wall or ceiling and ask him to check what’s on the other side. He goes where they say, looking for signs of the fire, and when he does spot flames, occasionally tearing stuff down so they can get to it with their fire hose. It’s honestly a fascinating process. Danny’s never been anywhere near a major fire and the fact that the firefighters actually do more damage to the building as they work echoes in Danny’s brain as a morbid refrain.

What they’re doing is clearly working though, because he can actually feel the ambient temperature going down as time goes on. He briefly wonders if he should be trying to use his ice powers when one of his teammates complains about how hot it is, but they have protection, and he doesn’t want to risk any more info on him getting out. And anyways, he’s busy enough just doing his job. By the time they leave the building, Danny is exhausted. The interrupted night’s sleep is making itself known, alongside the surprising realization that Danny has actually worked harder tonight than he ever has before.

He lets himself half-collapse against a wall beside one of the fire trucks, once they finish their work putting out the fire. Beside him, his teammates are divesting themselves of their gear. it’s funny, Danny was anxious about revealing himself at first, but this whole night - and Danny belatedly realizes the sun is beginning to drift above the horizon now - he’s not been scared at all. Sure he’s been worried; with people in danger he’s hardly going to feel good, but in the last few hours he’s both worked harder than he has in any of his fights, and he’s done it without feeling terrible. Now, with just everyone accounted for and just about all of them either fine or in the hands of doctors, he feels odd.

It’s not a bad feeling or anything, kind of like when he successfully beats a hard level in a video game, or how he used to feel when he finished science projects in middle school.

Satisfaction, he realizes. And that’s what it is, though it’s far stronger than any version of it that he’s ever felt before. He does have a lot to feel proud of too. He  helped, even though he wasn’t sure it was safe to, and he might’ve actually saved somebody’s life tonight.

“You did good, kid.” One of his teammates says, echoing Danny’s thoughts. He startles a bit, feels himself flushing, and then in his embarrassment, he feels himself tumble over into a full blush. It’s always felt more embarrassing blushing in his ghost form. The way his skin actually glows with the green tinge is just so obviously inhuman, and he tries to avoid, tries his best to seem normal and alive, even when he’s a ghost.

Of course, these people don’t know he’s a ghost, but from what he’s seen, most of the heroes out there at least look functionally human, and he waits for the firefighters around him to freak out at the reminder that he isn’t even remotely one of them.

“Damn,” one whistles. Green glow is a new one. Makes your freckles real cute though.” The others laugh, and the other of his teammates steps forward to pat him gently on the back.

“Stop embarrassing my new favorite hero,” the chief says, walking up to join them. “You gotta name?” 

“Oh, yeah!” Danny answers, desperate for a distraction from this line of conversation. “I’m Danny!”

“Danny,” the chief responds flatly. he almost sounds exasperated, though Danny can’t imagine why, unless...

Unless that absolutely sounds like he just introduced himself normal and they think he’s a hero and he sounds like a dumbass without a secret identity, which- technically isn’t exactly wrong. 

“Yup!” Danny says, trying to make it sound intentional. “Danny Phantom at your service! Y’know cause of the intangibility and like. It just sounded good?” There. That sounds plausible. If he actually does end up having to be a hero, though, he’ll probably need a different first name. If he gets a civilian identity, that is.

“Well, Phantom,” the chief grins, that same assessing look from before back, but noticeably more relaxed now that there’s no immediate danger. “We’re damn grateful for all your help, and if you need anything you come let us know, alright?”

“Yeah, one of his teammates echoes. “You’re an honorary firefighter now, you should come hang out at the station sometime!” A couple of the others echo the sentiment. It’s surprisingly kind, and Danny smiles at the unrelenting wave of welcome.

“I’ll think about it,” he offers uncertainly. “For now, I think I ought to go back to sleep for a few more hours.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Danny,” the chief says. “Just make sure to get something to eat first. You’ve burned a lot of calories today.”

“Yeah, will do,” Danny offers an awkward salute to the man, and then, before he can actually fall asleep standing up, he takes off to hunt down a good spot for a nap.

[daistea]

Hi Daistea! You are absolutly THE Mithrun writer! You catch his essence so well

I was wondering if you could write a prequel to "first burn"? I would love to hear more of his thoughts about cultivating his desire for intimacy and affection with reader

Thank you so much for doing such good for the fandom!

Thank you friend! Here you go, though I kinda just.. rambled with this one. I was just having fun, I hope you like it.

Mithrun x gn Reader

Post-Canon / spoilers maybe

word count: 2,200

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It wasn’t as if there was a handbook on how to cultivate desires. It wasn’t as if ‘normal’ people understood and recognized the process of desire. It wasn’t as if Mithrun had any clue what he was doing. 

 That, in and of itself, felt like a swaying tightrope he was only barely balancing on. Atop that, discomfort was a new concept. The end result was only more stark, suffocating discomfort. Mithrun usually knew what to do; if he ever had to figure something out, the solution came quickly, effortlessly. He was beginning to think he’d been spoiled in that area. Having such unfettered focus lended itself to problem solving. 

 Mithrun watched you. Perhaps he could be the one to write the handbook on desire. And there’d be an entire chapter dedicated to you. Was it possible to have a desire for desire? He supposed as much. He was stuck on the outer rims of the feeling, staring through a dusty window at what could be if only he could be. He was a planet stuck in the farthest orbit from the sun, and it was cold, and nobody really saw him there in the sky because he was so damn far away. 

 You ran your fingers through your hair. His attention snapped back to you like a taut rubber band. There must be a footnote in the handbook on cultivating desires about your small habits. You fidgeted, you shifted, your smile twisted into different shapes depending on your mood and every one of these habits must be footnoted. 

 Mithrun couldn’t help but make a grimace. He rested his chin in his palm and tore his gaze away, instead following the lines of the wooden panels in the wall of the restaurant. The handbook was going to be long— Gods, he wasn’t going to write it, he didn’t care enough to put in the effort. Nevertheless, one of the jagged lines in the wood paneling unlocked something within his brain. The very fact that he relentlessly took note of your every minute detail said something. 

 What did it say? Mithrun moved onto the next line in the wood. It gave him nothing. What did it say, Mithrun? What was the implication? It isn’t a hard question, Mithrun. Just answer. Just say it. Just—

 He clenched his fist. He clenched so hard that his knuckles turned white. You were still chatting away with the restaurant owner and he had half a mind to grab you by the waist and teleport you elsewhere, a place where you’d only pay attention to him. Only him. Perhaps that would answer the devastatingly easy implications that confounded him. 

 A wandering part of his mind, a traveler— which was a new feature: wandering— brought forth a query. What would you say about his inner turmoil? Most likely something along the lines of ‘I’m proud of you for trying, don’t pressure yourself so much.’ And he would ignore your words entirely because Mithrun wanted to want. 

 He must do something. There was that objective knowledge of what the situation required, it wasn’t exactly desire, but it was motivating. You deserved more. You deserved to have your hand held. You deserved kisses on your neck. You deserved gasps and moans and weak knees. He imagined the scene; you, beneath him, or in his lap, perhaps. You, closing your eyes, brows furrowed, whimpering as you sunk down and…

 Nothing. Mithrun knew he was making some sort of face, because a half-foot scurried past his table with wide eyes. Whatever. 

 Enough, he decided. It had been forty years since he had experienced any form of physical intimacy. While some feelings were more difficult to connect with, frustration was one of the easiest to identify. He’d had enough.

 Without a word to you— he probably should’ve given you a word, but he was in a hurry— Mithrun called upon his mana, the lingering spirits, and clenched his fist. A fourth of a second passed, a blink of an eye. He didn’t mean to end up on the kitchen floor of his apartment, but fine. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but you.

 Mithrun sighed and laid back. The tile was cool on the exposed skin of his hands as he stretched out his limbs. There were cobwebs in the corners of the ceilings. He could already feel a dull headache coming on from the hardness of the floor. Okay. 

 Routine: eyes closed, deep breaths, sinking into the floor and smelling the air and hearing the sounds. His kitchen smelled like soap. The sounds were absent. Images of you flickered through his mind, a rope gently tied around his body, pulling him deeper into the warm flood-waters. He imagined your arms, your waist, your thighs, your lips, your eyes, your laugh, your gasps, your stare, your hair, your hands, your knees, your chest, your stomach. Then, running his hands up your waist. Holding you. How would you feel with your body against his? How would your hand fit with his? 

 For a moment, Mithrun felt his heart pull and twist. Objectively, that was the physical reaction to adrenaline hormones in one’s body; anxiety. Yet, he didn’t believe he was anxious. He took a moment to wrack his brain, and the process of doing so always reminded him of the file room in the old Canaries headquarters. Papers would flip across his thumb as he searched for the right information. All he needed was a glimpse of the right set of letters, the right combination of words, until he found what he needed. 

 For an elf, forty-ish years wasn’t too long. Mithrun had spent the majority of his life as an entirely different person— may he rest in agony. He sometimes looked back on memories in order to identify a feeling. Past Mithrun would feel that pull and twist when Lord Kerensil made those snide comments about Mithrun’s biological father. That twist and pull was always present when Obrin idly, innocently, mentioned an investment deal he’d been allowed to participate in, as the heir to the House of Kerensil. That twist and pull was present when he saw Sultha send Obrin those wry smiles, how her lips twisted in a way that made Mithrun sick to his stomach. 

 To even dare associate that feeling with you brought the same nausea. 

 Yet, perhaps it wasn’t about you. 

 Perhaps it was him. Perhaps it was the self-loathing. He’d always carried it like a disease, though the symptoms only appeared in certain moments. Lately, though, he’d been sick with it more often than not. The happiness of a new purpose was parallel to the newfound connection with his more negative emotions. Mithrun supposed that it was person-hood; anger, sadness, joy, attraction, deep and intense adoration that made him physically ill when he meditated for too long about how he couldn’t quite feel the allure of a kiss. 

 That was his person-hood. Mithrun’s life was a constant struggle, and the kitchen floor felt abnormally cold that evening. 

 Kabru suggested that Mithrun keep track of new developments. It would help him, Kabru said. Mithrun had no protests nor interest in the theory, but nothing better to do, so he had a journal. Thus far, only one page in the journal had been filled. It said: 

1. Cheese is alright, preferably on bread

 Very exciting, at least for some— you and Kabru, particularly. Mithrun had a preference! Despite your excitement, you still put up your hands and waved them as if to ward off the positivity, “You’ve always had preferences, you know. It was just easy to overlook them.”

 Mithrun supposed you were right. He had plenty to complain about. That was preference-based, in a way. Obsession over the demon was such a large issue, though, that it left no room for anything else. It was like a flood, seeping into every corner, taking every inch, leaving nothing untouched and dry. 

 The second item in the journal was:

2. Black coffee, two sugars

 That was how he used to drink it. Some things never changed. Even if the timing was different throughout the year, the sun would always rise and set.

3. Desiring some sort of physical contact involving hands (with [name] specifically)

 And when Mithrun desired something, he would have it. Inevitable. He knew from an objective standpoint that carrying on with that view would only lead to disappointment, but the desire to change did not arise.

 Mithrun began taking your hand whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

 The first time, you glanced at him. Your lips were parted and your eyes the slightest bit wider. You looked down at your intertwined fingers. Mithrun did not dare look away from your face as you studied how each finger fit together like pieces of a puzzle— designed specifically for each other. 

 When you turned your head back to the person you were originally speaking to and resumed your conversation, satisfaction like a warm blanket settled over Mithrun’s shoulders and chest. He may have looked a bit smug without realizing it, for your conversation partner sent him a look. 

Next:

4. The palm is more sensitive than I remember. I think it would be okay to use it. 

 Mithrun pressed the palm of his hand against the small of your back. You had no reaction. He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that you accepted his touch so readily, or displeased that he saw no acknowledgement. He settled for some in-between feeling that even Past Mithrun could not identify. 

 Without putting it into certain words, Mithrun had an idea of why his skin felt so sensitive to your touch. For one, he’d gone so long without physical touch that his nerves were desert dwellers encountering an oasis for the first time. Secondly, it was the broadest part of the hand. The fingers were important, of course, they wrapped and they clutched and they stroked. Yet, the palm was deeper. It was taken for granted. Everybody in possession of fingers used them every day of their life. They were mundane, almost. The palm, though, was for cradling. The palm was for tracing. The palm was—

 Mithrun lifted your hand without a second thought. He’d nearly forgotten what shame felt like, it was another one of those objective feelings that he could identify in others but not quite connect with. Shame was not present at that moment, and he was pleased for that fact. If he had shame, then he would not experience the feeling of your palm against his lips. 

 He held your wrist with both hands. Your skin smelled like soap, and it was not exactly soft. There were lines and ridges on the palm, but he took a moment to memorize the shape of each one against his lips as he pressed a kiss to the spot between your thumb and index finger. 

 Your conversation partner looked away. You looked at Mithrun. He looked at you, his good eye fluttering open and taking in the sight of your expectancy and surprise and fondness and embarrassment. 

 Three seconds passed. Mithrun knew it was three seconds that passed because he counted. One, pause. Two, pause. Three, pause. 

 You swallowed and looked back at the person you’d been speaking to. Mithrun knew them, but didn’t care enough to allow his brain to make that connection between their face and his memories. His gaze was solely on you. Your profile was silhouetted against the orange sunset of Melini. 

 “Anyway, what were you saying?” You asked the person Mithrun didn’t care to identify— because you were the newest flood. You spread in a similar manner, filling up every inch and leaving nothing dry. Something in the back of his mind told him that that wasn’t healthy. Where there was a flood, there was mold and rot and destruction. 

 Whatever. 

 “The state of Melini,” your conversation partner said, “it’s really becoming a nation now.”

 You nodded, “It’ll take time, but we’ll get there.”

 That was such a generic statement, but you believed it. Perhaps the commonplace quality of the statement was what made it less feasible. Yet, when coming from your lips, Mithrun could almost imagine it. 

 Your lips. You said the most wonderful things, even when they were totally common and quotidian. You could tell Mithrun that the sun had exploded, and despite the clear existence of the sun in the sky at that very moment, he’d agree with you simply to see you satisfied.

 The desire to kiss you hit Mithrun like a slap to the face— no, actually, Past Mithrun had been slapped several times before, and he always knew it was coming. The desire to kiss you hit him like the taste of cheese on toasted bread, like the pleasure of a black coffee with two sugars, like the shiver down his spine when your palm pressed against his. 

 And finally, the handbook of desire was written. There were no words. It didn’t need words. 

 He desired you. 

 What even was attraction? What even was happiness and anger and desire? It was so subjective that the answer would never satisfy the inquirer. And Mithrun was tired of dissatisfaction.

 And it was time to act. 

 And it was time to open the gates. 

 And it was time to drown in desires he’d never let himself acknowledge. 

5. Start slowly. Whatever happens, happens. You can want now. 

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

[lazycats-stuff]

I'd like to request batfam x male reader, who crotchets a lot. He has some medical issues, so he doesn't go on patrol, he helps out with information gathering though.

When Damian got added to the strays, the reader tried being a good older brother, and he crochets him a little stuffed animal for him as a welcome gift. Everyone in the family has one, even Alfred. Let's say, Damian had a bad day, and coincidentally the reader just finished the crochet animal and goes to his room to give it to Damian. Damian snaps and destroys the stuffed animal in front of the reader, also saying some pretty hurtful stuff. The reader cries because it took a lot of time to male it. You can end it however you want

Take your time <3

Sure. Oh Damian is so dead. Nobody messes with (Y/N).

Summary: Damian messes with the wrong brother.

Warnings: angst, fluff, reader is a sweetheart, everyone loves the reader, unspecified medical problems...

(Y/N) sometimes envied his brothers. If it weren't for his medical problems, he would have been out and running, fighting crimes. But he was still happy with his position as Oracle number two, helping Alfred out when it came to patrol and information gathering.

" Can I get you some more tea, master (Y/N)? " Alfred asked him, standing up.

" Please do. " (Y/N) said, giving Alfred his favorite mug.

(Y/N) turned his head back to the computer, rubbing his eyes. He yawned, putting his hand over his mouth.

" Tired? " Alfred asked as he poured some tea.

" A little bit. " (Y/N) answered.

" Guys, we need access to GCPD data base. " Bruce said through the comms.

" You have an access to it, why do we have to? " (Y/N) asked, confused. Alfred came back with tea, also confused.

" Something is jamming the access. " Bruce explained further. (Y/N) put the tea aside, trying to get into the said database.

" Hmm. Something is happening with the network. It's down... " (Y/N) said, confused.

" I would go to GCPD and check it out. " (Y/N) said, taking his tea.

" Alright, will do. "

With that, it was quiet and they knew that this was in one way or another it for the night. (Y/N) glanced at the crocheted bat he made for Bruce.

(Y/N) had a little bit of tradition for everybody. He makes little stuffed animals. Every single member has one, even Alfred. He would make it for everyone who would come into the family, just to feel welcome.

And it did work. It made all of them feel nice and welcoming. And it made them like (Y/N) and it made everyone more protective of (Y/N). Jason took the number one spot at the amount of protectiveness he had for (Y/N).

Everything changed when Bruce announced he had a biological son. With Talia al Ghul. (Y/N) didn't know what to think about it. Bruce was always saying to use protection, so how did it happen? As a playboy, you are supposed to be a careful person when it comes to sex.

" I'm sorry, how did Damian happen? You are usually the one telling us to watch ourselves, you know, use protection amongst other things. " (Y/N) asked, taking a sip of his tea.

" Talia spiked my drink. " Bruce said, making Jason snort. (Y/N) smacked him on the arm.

" I'm sorry, but how didn't you notice it? " Jason questioned, trying not to lose control again.

" Jason not now. Damian is in the cave, Alfred is going to bring him up. Please be nice. " Bruce said, sighing as he heard Alfred coming.

Everyone turned their heads to see Alfred walking in with a small boy with green eyes and who eerily looked like Bruce at that age. (Y/N) knew because he saw the pictures once. Alfred showed him the photos.

" Everyone, this is master Damian. Master Damian these are master Jason, master (Y/N), master Tim and master Dick. " Alfred introduced Damian to everyone.

Damian didn't say anything, instead he turned back to Alfred to ask him to show him his room.

" I don't know about you, but this is going to be interesting. " Jason said to (Y/N).

" I think he just needs to adjust. It's never easy to come somewhere new. " (Y/N) replied, taking another sip of his tea.

" Will he get a stuffed animal too? " Jason asked, standing up.

" Yup. It's a tradition here so... " (Y/N) said, trailing off.

" If you say so. " Jason said, watching as (Y/N) took last sips of his tea before putting the mug into the sink.

" Any chance I can ask you to help me with a case? " Jason tried as they were going to their rooms.

" Nope. I need my sleep. " (Y/N) said, opening his bedroom door.

" You are mean. " Jason said, chuckling. " Good night. "

" Good night Jay. "

It has been a couple of weeks and (Y/N) finally finished up his stuffed animal for Damian. He made a Robin stuffed animal in his colors. Well, the suits color. Green and red with a R to symbolize the Robin. He was happy with his creation and was now actively looking for Damian.

What (Y/N) didn't know however, was the fact that Damian had a very bad day. To put it bluntly, everything went to shit. Absolutely everything that Damian had planned went to shit. Absolutely everything and there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.

Coincidently, (Y/N) decided to gift the stuffed animal to Damian. He knocked on Damian's door, entering after hearing a harsh what. (Y/N) entered the room, holding his bird in his hands.

" So, we have a tradition here where I make newcomers stuffed animals. So here is yours. "

" I don't need that right now! And I don't need something from someone so worthless to the family! " He yelled grabbing the stuffed bird, ripping it apart.

(Y/N) was heartbroken. He slowly stepped out, closing the door before he started crying in the hall.

" (Y/N), what's wrong?! " Jason asked, confused. He just came from the dining room and seeing his favorite brother sad was something that should be illegal. (Y/N) shook his head, running to his room and slamming the door shut.

Jason scowled, wondering what made (Y/N) upset. Well, who made him upset... He looked at Damian's door and went there. He opened the door and his eyes feel down onto the remains of (Y/N)'s stuffed animal. He looked up at Damian before he jumped at him.

The two started fighting. Jason was blinded with anger and rage, punching wherever he could. Bruce heard the commotion and when he saw what was happening, he had to tear Jason off of Damian.

It was difficult to separate them, but once he did, he was pissed. Beyond angry.

" WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?! " Bruce yelled, mad now.

" He took (Y/N)'s animal and tore it apart! He is heartbroken! You didn't saw him when he started crying! " Jason yelled back, face bloody. The kid can definitely punch.

" Out. I will talk to Damian. " Bruce said calmly. Jason wiped his nose, going straight to the bathroom in his room to clean it up.

He can't allow his brother to see him bloody. He really can't. He washed his face and once he made sure that he has stopped the bleeding, he went to (Y/N)'s room. He opened the door and his heart broke.

(Y/N) was still crying on the bed, curled into a fetal position.

" Oh (Y/N)... Come here. " Jason said softly. (Y/N) sniffed and turned to face Jason. Jason sat down on the edge. (Y/N) moved closer and put his head in Jason's lap.

" Why did he do that? I just tried to be nice... " (Y/N) asked and Jason gently scratched (Y/N)'s scalp.

" I know that. Damian is just Damian... " Jason said, knowing that (Y/N) doesn't like when they are talking negatively about Damian. Or any of them.

Jason stayed like that for a couple of hours and (Y/N) fell asleep during that. Jason didn't mind, but he had to move. He gently put (Y/N)'s head on a pillow. He covered him and left the room.

He didn't expect to see Damian in the hall.

" What do you want? " Jason asked quietly, not to disturb (Y/N).

" I wanted to... Apologize. "

" Did Bruce make you do that? " Jason said, not believing a single word that came out of Damian's mouth.

" No. I just had a bad day and I let it out on the wrong person. " Damian said, meaning every word of it.

" Well, don't wake him up now. You know, everyone has a stuffed animal made by (Y/N). Even Alfred. " Jason said. " Bruce has one near the Batcomputer and sometimes takes it with him somewhere important. He took it to outer space once. " Jason wasn't sure why he was telling that to Damian, but it felt important that he knows. " Again, don't wake him up. " Jason said, leaving Damian.

Damian had no plans on doing it.

[shivunin]

Honey and Lavender

In which Lucanis grapples with his feelings for Rook after their near-kiss in his bedroom (AO3 Link)

(Rook Ingellvar/Lucanis | 3,586 Words | No CW, romance progression spoilers)

“Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you: But when the leaves hang trembling, The wind is passing through.” —Christina Rossetti, “Who Has Seen the Wind?”

No matter what he’d told Rook, stepping out of the dining room did not help Lucanis clear his head. No matter where he stood, it would always be too loud, too cramped. 

“Go back,” Spite snapped. 

Lucanis wrapped his hands around the wood railing and squeezed, trying to shake the sensation of Rook’s breath on his cheek. She had been so very close—close enough to breathe her in, to feel the brush of her clothing against his. Close enough to touch, though he had not done so.

“No,” he said. 

Spite loomed in his peripheral vision, his face pinched. 

“No,” Lucanis repeated, his grip tightening until the uneven wood pressed hard into his palms. “We have to stay focused. Getting attached without—no. No, it is a poor idea.”

“Liar,” Spite spat. “Make up your own reasons later. I want to touch her. Go inside.”

The demon’s grip tightened, like a fist around the base of his neck. Lucanis gritted his teeth and pushed back. Waking from sleep to find himself already standing, the taste of strange words on his tongue, had become all too familiar. 

Rook’s presence when he woke was also not unfamiliar. He wished he knew how to feel about that. 

That was, in the end, the problem: he didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t know which of them wanted Rook, or for what. When he thought of setting his hand on her shoulder, was that his or Spite’s? When he imagined how her bare hands would feel on his face, was that something Spite wanted, for reasons beyond Lucanis’s understanding? Or worse, was it the remnants of infiltration training he’d rarely cared to use?

How could he hope to understand when Spite would not stop saying that?

“I said no,” Lucanis told him. “She isn’t for touching. She is—”

A what? A client? A friend? An associate, he had called her when Teia had flirted with her, and realized too late that she’d only done it to prod him. Rook was none of those things; she defied easy categorization. Rook was a threat when threatened, a friend when friendship was offered, a leader when leadership was called for, his voice of reason when it seemed easiest to believe the worst of himself…

Rook was important. He would never pretend otherwise. It didn’t make any of this less of a distraction. 

“She wanted to touch. You wanted to. I felt it,” Spite said, and Lucanis felt the demon’s grip tighten at the base of his neck. He gritted his teeth against the pressure and tightened his grip on the railing. 

“It does not matter what I want,” he said, and with some force pushed the demon further away from his mind again. 

Alone for a moment, Lucanis pressed his knuckles to the trickle of blood that already dripped from his nose. 

She is not for touching, he’d told Spite. 

He wished he knew if he believed it. 

|

Lucanis would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t watching Rook more closely in the aftermath of the near-kiss, but such a lie would have been pointless. Spite saw everything he did and nobody else seemed willing to ask about it. Who would he have lied to? 

At first, he might have thought there was no change in her behavior. She still followed her general routine, sparring and cooking and seeking ways to fight the gods. She still took him with her when she and Neve hunted Venatori in Minrathous and still joked with him when they were around the others. When he walked unsleeping in the rotunda, he could still hear the haunting strains of her violin from the meditation room. 

There should not be any difference, yet he would have sworn that something was amiss. Rook was more prone than usual to drifting silence, gaze fastened somewhere in the distance, a frown furrowing her brow. It wasn’t until several days later that he overheard her speaking to Neve and put the pieces together. 

“Hey, there. Something bothering you?” Neve asked. The door to the dining room creaked shut. “You haven’t seemed like yourself these past few days.”

There was a long silence, which Lucanis disregarded. Whoever she spoke to, it was not his current concern. He needed to prepare for—

“Do you think people are capable of changing?” Rook asked.

Lucanis, who’d been in the middle of a long series of stretches, paused and listened. 

“Rook!” Spite said. 

Lucanis resisted the urge to tell him to be quieter; nobody would hear the demon but him. 

“What sort of change do you mean?” 

Soft sounds, liquid pouring (“Eugh—smells like burned coffee,” Spite muttered, and Lucanis could not blame him), and a quiet sigh. Lucanis slipped silently to the door and stood very still just before the threshold.

“Because,” Neve went on, “I have a hard time believing some people can change. You know, lifetime of power and murder makes it a little hard to start thinking that other people matter, for example. But if you’re talking about, say, learning to like a new food? I’d say yes.”

Rook laughed slightly. Something scraped—a chair pulling away from the table. When she spoke again, her voice was much quieter. Lucanis had to strain to hear her. 

“I mean—do you think we’re doomed to make the same mistakes over and over again forever?” 

A pause. Footsteps—Neve’s. 

“I’ve got a lot of experience in being where I’m not wanted,” Rook went on. “I mean, it’s sort of what has to be done when it comes to our current situation. But even before that, I was used to people—I mean people I cared about—I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m asking, I suppose.”

“No, go on,” Neve said, and a second chair scraped over stone. 

“You’re a detective,” Rook began, and paused. 

“I am, yes.”

“How do you know when you’re putting clues together and when you’re reading into something that isn’t there.” 

Spite hissed.

“Ah,” the syllable carried a heavy weight. 

Lucanis braced his hand against the wall and bent forward, anchoring himself to the sensation of solid stone against his fingertips. Something that isn’t there. She could mean anything. He wasn’t willing to try to fool himself into thinking she meant anything other than whatever was happening between the two of them. 

“I lay out the facts,” Neve said at last. “Clear as I can. What was actually done, what was actually said, what I know about the situation as a whole. I write it all down together, get everything I know in one place.”

Someone sipped from their cup. The hearth on the other side of his wall crackled faintly—almost time to add a log. He did not think he would do so while they were still talking. 

“Right,” Rook said at last. “Right. That makes sense.”

“I try to stay out of my head about it,” Neve went on, voice lowered. “Easy way to get distracted from the facts. That’s when you get into trouble.”

“Out of my head,” Rook repeated. “It sounds good in theory, but I’m not sure how I would achieve something like that.”

Neve laughed. 

“Sounds about right,” she said. A chair scraped across the floor again. “But if you want my opinion? Just between the two of us?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not imagining it.” 

Soft footsteps—Neve’s—and the creak of the door. Slowly, it creaked closed again. In the other room, Rook sighed and pushed her chair away from the table. Her footsteps were quiet—barefoot again, even after she’d scraped her foot on the wooden steps to Davrin’s room last week. They hardly grew louder when she approached his room. 

Lucanis, still leaning against the wall, curled his hand into a loose fist and tried to decide if it was worth pretending he’d been doing something else. Maybe he would resolve this instead, make it clear he’d heard her. That he thought…

What did he think? 

That he’d only really slept once since they’d almost kissed and he’d dreamt of pressing her back against this wall and tasting her? That he had been wondering what her hair might feel like caught between his fingers? That Spite talked over everyone but her, that his fascination with her had probably been sparked by Lucanis’s? That he was no longer entirely convinced that he felt like this only because of Spite?

That it had only occurred to him to want to do this once before and it had been a disaster?

His door creaked slightly, as if Rook’s hand rested upon it. This close, he could hear the soft intake of her breath. She was only a few inches away—less than a foot. He could open the door himself. He could tell her…

The door rattled slightly as the pressure on it released, followed by a soft sigh and footsteps moving away. 

“She’s walking away,” Spite snapped, surging for the door. 

Lucanis reached for the handle before he caught himself, violet sparks burning in the corners of his eyes. He shook his head and stepped back slowly, deliberately. His hand stretched forward against his will, grasping for something it could not reach.

“Let me talk to Rook,” Spite went on, as he so often did. “Open the door.”

Rigidly, Lucanis walked back to his cot and sat, wrapping one hand tightly around the other. In the next room, the door swung open and closed again. 

“She’s leaving. Now!” Spite said, seizing his hands. 

The demon warred with him for control. Lucanis pushed him away, but the effort took several minutes and left him exhausted. Temporarily alone, he pressed a hand to his face and took several long, slow breaths. 

If he could touch her without touching her—if there were some way to make his feelings clear while holding her at a safe distance…

Unbidden, he remembered the way she’d smiled at him that first time in the cafe. Surprised, cheeks slightly flushed; he had not had her measure then. He was not entirely sure he had it now, for she spoke so little about herself. But she had smiled at him and said—

That was it. 

Lucanis stood, remembering precisely which set of stretches he’d left off on before the conversation in the other room. He had a plan now. Now, he had only to wait for the right time to set it in motion. 

|

“Do you think Harding believed you?” Lucanis asked from the other side of the fireplace. 

Rook, midway through dumping her pile of vegetables into the stewpot, glanced at him. 

“About the letter from her mum? ‘Course she did. There was an actual letter.”

“Oh?” he lifted a brow and angled his head to the side. The firelight traced the lines of his face the way she would’ve liked to, painting dark hollows under his eyes and limning the angle of his nose and cheekbones with gold. He was just so—

Shouldn’t be watching him like this. It’d been days since they’d almost kissed. She’d been strong. Focused. Had kept things aboveboard and friendly, no matter how much she wanted to ask him…

What? What could she say, really? How’s your head feeling these days? Pretty clear? No, that was silly. There was too much else to be worrying about to worry about whatever was between—whatever she’d imagined was between them. 

“You’re not imagining it,” Neve had told her, but it felt awfully dangerous to believe her. The consequences for believing her and being wrong would be far worse than she could handle right now. Worse than all of them could handle, if she was being honest. More than anything, it was her responsibility to make sure that they all held together. There was no room for her to make a mistake that big over her own feelings. 

“Well, I remembered it was Lace’s turn to cook,” she told him, focusing on the cutting board with far more attention than was warranted, “and Davrin may have mentioned something about an alarming amount of cheese earlier…”

“It was for a cheese soup, I believe,” Lucanis agreed, and his hands moved in her periphery. Taking another sip of coffee, presumably. She suspected it was a proportionately significant component of his blood content at this point. She wasn’t going to watch the way his lips moved when he pressed them to the rim of the cup. 

“You can’t be serious,” she said, though she knew he was. Lace had been most of the way through grating a block of cheese when Rook had walked in. 

“You don’t think her capable of it?” 

Rook laughed at that, settled the lid on the pot, and turned away again. There was half a block of grated cheese to do something with now—a troubling thought, since none of the rest of them were Fereldan and thus did not share the scout’s love of cheese. Maybe she’d just set it aside and Bellara would make khachapuri again. 

“Well, in any case,” she went on. “The letter came in a little earlier. I may have waited until she’d started cooking to let her know.”

“Devious.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to say so.”

She tapped her hips, surveying the available ingredients before selecting a likely-looking loaf of bread. Lucanis shifted in her periphery. Despite herself, she looked at him. He’d pressed a hand to his face, forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Spite?” she asked, and he nodded. “He want to say anything in particular or is he just hungry, too?” 

The muscle in his jaw twitched. Slowly, deliberately, he set his mug on the table beside him. 

“It is nothing worth sharing. I will brew more coffee. Would you like some?” 

What could she say? Pity would shame him and sympathy was hardly better. She sometimes wished she had Emmrich’s talent for hearing spirits. Perhaps if she could address both of them at once…but no. Maybe letting him do something for her would help. He seemed comforted by taking care of the people around him in that way.

“If you’re making it.”

“Sweet with cream, yes?” he said. 

The soft sounds of metal and glass to her left told her he’d already begun. Could he see her smiling? Surely not. She’d turned her head enough that she wouldn’t be caught. 

“You remembered.”

“How could I forget?” he said. 

She laughed. He didn’t, but Rook was distracted enough in retrieving the bread knife that she hardly noticed. Water bubbled in the kettle and was poured into Lucanis’s coffeemaker. The fire crackled between them, its sound like a warm blanket over her shoulders. All at once, for no apparent reason, she felt—well, it was strange, but she could almost say she felt a sense of belonging, of rightness, like she was meant to be here at this moment with him. Her hand stilled on the knife, as if moving too much would dispel the sensation.

Had she ever felt like this before? Like she belonged anywhere that wasn’t the Necropolis? Maybe it didn’t matter if he wanted her or not. Maybe it was enough just to be near him, to know that he cared. Maybe it was enough to be in a place where people cared about her and told her so, where she cared enough to cook for them and worry about who would eat what. 

A place where somebody remembered how she liked her coffee. 

“Rook?” Lucanis asked, abruptly beside her. 

“Sorry,” she said, straightening. “Did you say something? I was…lost in thought.”

Whenever he looked at her, she had the odd feeling that he was reading something far deeper than her skin. She often wondered how much he saw, how much he understood without ever asking. 

“Your coffee,” he said at last, and held out one of the delicate coffee cups that’d appeared in the kitchen shortly after his arrival. 

Rook took it, still trying to cling to that feeling of comfort. His hand lingered on the mug, brushing against hers. His skin was warm, unexpectedly so. She wished that she could linger in the heat of it, but perhaps the warmth of the mug could satisfy that want instead. 

“Thank you. You make the best coffee—but I’m sure you know that.” 

“Nobody else here has the experience,” he agreed, and drank from his own cup. 

Lenore blew across the surface of hers and took a sip, wary of the heat. Lucanis seemed less sensitive to it than she was and she’d burned her tongue on his coffee more than once. Caution had made her careful. 

There had been no reason for her caution; this was the perfect cup of coffee. It was slightly cooler than boiling, perfectly sweet (though it was a warm sweetness that could not have come from sugar), and tasted faintly of…what was that? She closed her eyes and drank more deeply, trying to name the flavor. 

Coffee, honey, cream, and…something floral. 

Lavender! That was lavender. Oh. 

Honey and lavender cream, sweet and intriguing, he’d said at Cafe Pietra. Like a first kiss. 

When she opened her eyes again, Lucanis was still watching her, index finger tracing the whorl in the ceramic cup he still held. Two steps away—that was all. Such a small distance. She could have closed it so very easily.

“Honey and lavender cream,” she said. Her breath seemed to have deserted her; the words came out in a whisper, so quiet that someone standing on the other side of the hearth would not have heard them. 

His eyes were—she never stopped thinking about them, but they seemed especially deep, especially fathomless in that moment. She wanted to touch his face, to trace the dark lines of his beard, to cup the angle of his cheekbone. She wanted to watch his eyes change when she kissed him, wanted to know if that self-contained focus of his would dissolve or sharpen in response. 

“I can make you something else if you would prefer,” he said. His voice was as quiet as hers had been, but so gentle it hurt her heart to hear. 

“This is perfect,” she said. She drank again while he watched. The coffee was just as sweet and luscious and strange the second time. She’d never tasted anything like it. 

“Perfect,” she repeated. “The best I’ve ever had, I think. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said. 

She wondered if Lucanis would turn away and break the moment, but he did not. He stood very still and watched her instead, his own mug cupped in his hands. 

I lay out the facts, Neve had told her. Get everything I know in one place. 

Maybe they were both working on too little information. Maybe the only way to fix that was to put all the facts in one place. 

“What are you thinking?” she asked impulsively, clutching her own mug in mirror to him. Lucanis angled his head, longer strands of hair slowly drifting over his shoulder. 

“I am thinking,” he said at last, “that it may be a poor substitute for the alternative.”

A slow breath. Her heart raced on anyway, refusing to be calmed. The coffee warmed her cool hands and the taste of lavender and honey still lingered on her tongue. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Lenore told him. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I told you it’s been a very long time, and even then I wasn’t any good at it. If this is something you—something you want…I’m not in any rush.”

A ridiculous thing to say, considering the forces arrayed against them and the tight timeline they were always working under. It didn’t feel ridiculous, though. It felt right, in the way that cooking in the same room as him had felt right. Facing the idea of some sort of romance head-on made her feel faintly ill, as if looking down on the world from some great height. But this? It might be roundabout and oblique, but it felt good anyway. 

Lucanis opened his mouth to answer, but the door to the dining room opened and Bellara rushed in. 

“Is it my turn to make dinner? I can’t remember where my copy of the list went. I think it might have gotten stuck under something again. Hi, Rook!” 

“Bellara,” Rook said. “No, you’re fine. It was Harding’s turn, but I took over for her. If you don’t mind, I’m running a little behind. Could you slice the bread while I finish with these?”

“Sure!” Bellara said, slipping between Rook and Lucanis. The latter set his cup on the table and returned to the hearth. 

“I will keep this from burning,” Lucanis said, lifting the pot lid and looking inside.

It already is, Rook thought, for there was heat from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She said nothing aloud, but took one more sip from her mug before setting it aside. 

As first kisses went, it was certainly better than her last one, and given with a great deal more care and attention. I don’t think you’re imagining it, Neve had told her. Lenore had to agree. This—whatever it was, whatever it would become—was entirely real. 

“What are you humming, Rook?” Bellara asked a moment later. 

Rook, who hadn’t realized she was humming at all, smiled. 

“I don’t think it has a name yet,” she said, “but I’m working on it.”

[princeoftheeternalbog]

THE KING HAS RETURNED

guys im so sorry I can't believe i havent posted in so long its very unsexy of me so this is sweet comfort fluff about embarrassment as i am very embarrassed right now of my own actions (taking over two months to post again)

i was considering posting this without the old men and then decided that if im doing the strawhats im doing everyone ESPECIALLY sans and moby dick

Luffy

Laughs. But if you look sad he starts feeling bad and tries to make you laugh instead. But also he'll forget that it made you sad and bring it up again later. He tries his best to accommodate for your feelings but he's a naturally casual guy so he doesn't see what's embarrassing. There's a few miscommunications about this at the start of your relationship until he explains that no matter what you do he adores you🥲

Zoro

He didn't even notice it to be honest, or he thinks it's really cute. And if you bring it up to ask him about it he's just like what are you talking about, nobody was even looking. That's a lie, he was looking because he he's lowkey obsessed with you, but he doesn't want to make you feel worse so he just lies. He even pretends that him always saving you from falling is coincidental, you at least know that ones a lie but sweet nonetheless.

Sanji

Tries to reassure you but draws attention to it by accident, and then he does something more embarrassing to cover it up. To be honest though it really works, people just talk about him instead. But he also makes you feel less embarrassed just by how much he dotes on you, if you fall then he's swooping you up bridal style to go to chopper, if you spill something on your dress he'll cover you up with his jacket, he'll clean anything you break with not a single complaint, he just adores every fibre of your being, even the wayward clumsy ones.

Usopp

Always thinks it's cute. And he really relates to the anxious feelings so he's just treats it like a normal situation, if anyone else saw it then he makes sure to tell them to not speak of it. He will also replace your clothes if you accidentally damage them :) like you wake up and your favourite skirt that you accidentally spilled ink all over and had to bin is now on your bed, brand new and sparkling. He also makes little inventions to help you out, both silly and serious, like a portable air bag that inflates with a button, a little robot that is essentially a roomba, little things like that.

Nami

Threatens everyone who saw it to never speak of it and then distracts you as much as possible until you stop thinking about it. Will cuddle you if you get really upset about it but she doesn't really understand why you would be embarrassed because she thinks everything you do is perfect. She does eventually learn when there's going to be a possible chance for an accident, she's predicting your clumsiness like the weather🫡 she stops what she can and tries to teach you how to avoid these situations :)

Prevents said embarrassing moment. Listen she's just so efficient and she spots problems before they happen so she's just secretly fixing stuff because she never wants you to feel bad. It's not until like months into your relationship and you're apart for some reason that theres like a series of unfortunate events that reminds you how clumsy you can be and realise what she's been doing. Lots of appreciation kisses after that for sure.

Robin

Franky

Honestly you never really feel embarrassed around him, he's just so easy going and he manages to make everything seem normal. If you trip or walk into something he just checks to see if you're okay, if you spill something on yourself or rip something he uses his shirt to cover you while you go and get changed. He really could not gaf as long as you still fancy him tbh. But if someone makes you feel bad then it's like that scene from the cat in the hat(he will make it look like an accident) :

Brook

Concerned if you're hurt or if you get upset, but otherwise completely doesn't care. He just nonchalantly fixes the vase you broke, or helps you up from the floor and just pretends that he didn't watch you accidentally eat a fly. He really is just so in love with you and he still carries the manners of his youth so he refuses to contribute to your embarrassment in any way. But he loves an excuse to keep his hands on you, guiding you by the shoulders, holding your arm, carrying you around, he can't get enough of it.

Jinbei

Lovely beautiful man, he is always embarrassing himself but he's old enough to not care anymore and neither should you, if you fall over guaranteed it's because you're laughing at him just having slipped on deck. With Jinbei you become the type of couple where you bring each other down literally and up metaphorically, there can hardly be any embarrassment to you're sharing happiness all the time.

[altxrrmelancholy]

Tags: fwb!Yunho, smut, problems that come with having a fwb, exhibitionism, public sex(at a party), Yunho is sweet and attentive.

Listening to: Party Monster - The Weekend.

•••

The living room was really dark, save for the occasional flashing lights coming from the machine on the table pushed to the corner. The people who threw the party wanted to give the house the illusion of a club, so that the party goers can let go and have as much fun as they would in a club. The music was therefore consuming, matching the vibe that they wanted to give out. At this time, nobody knew where anybody was. People were scattered around the house doing anything. There was a distinct smell of weed in the air, almost like whoever was/were doing it didn't want to be found out.

It's not like it bothered you or anything. The only scent around you was Yunho's. It overtook you, mind, body and soul. After fingering you near the kitchen counter for almost half an hour, he dragged you to the living room couch, manhandling you to lay down. You looked up to him with half closed eyes. Though you could barely see him in the dark, he was all you smelled, heard and felt. He caressed your naked thighs and dragged them up to your underwear slowly. You pushed your skirt up to give him easy access. His thumb began rubbing your clothed clit, eliciting a soft moan for him. You wanted to reach up to him and unbutton his black button-up shirt but remembered that you were in public.

With that knowledge, you tried to push his hands away and tell him that you could go to any of the rooms in the house if he was in a rush. He however firmly held both your hands in one hand and continued his ministrations.

"Mmmh Yunho. Can we do this somewhere else..." You drawled breathily, feeling yourself getting wetter from his touches. He turned his head towards you from his hand on your lower half. He struggled little to look below at you in the darkness, as most of your antics were done in the dark. He could see your eyes piercing up at him softly. He liked to pretend in these moments that you were looking up at him with love. That this was not pretend.

Before his thoughts clouded his intentions, he hurriedly pulled down your panties, which startled you a bit. You watch him pocket your panties before leaning down to your level and pressing his lips to yours. You moved yours immediately, pushing back the worries that someone might have seen him. He deeply kissed you, making you get lost in him almost completely.

"Yunho..." His lips moved to your neck. You could feel his bulge against your hip as he started to roll his hips. He let out a small moan as he proceeded to mark your neck. "Hey, let's do this- ah! Somewhere else please, please..." You didn't even know why you were begging, for him to stop or continue. The reason wasn't being processed in your brain.

"Let me take you here, y/n. Please, I won't be able to wait. I need you right now, y/n please..."

You felt good as he was caressing your naked waist. Pleasure clouded your senses, but you could still think about how Yunho really liked your private moments. Why he suddenly didn't want you two to run off in private so you can enjoy each other without anyone worrying about anybody watching you. Was he starting to catch on your feelings? Did he not want to be alone with you anymore? You knew your relationship was unconventional, so you couldn't blame him if he didn't want to meet you in private anymore. A sudden sharp pain sored through your lower half as he pinched your clit. You yelped and opened your eyes to look over to Yunho.

"Baby... You're overthinking again." He smiled as he kissed your forehead. He then reached behind him and took the thin blanket covering the couch and covered the both of you. Your lips parted as he massaged your mound. "Did I hurt you?" He whispered. "You're gonna feel good soon, okay? Nobody cares what we're doing. Don't focus on them."

You let out a quiet moan. Although the music was shielding your sounds, you still couldn't be sure who was close listening to you.

Yunho sat up and unbuttoned his pants. He pulled himself out, stroking himself a little bit while keeping his eyes steadily on you. Everything seemed to go in slow motion as he leaned back down on you completely, both his hand wrapping around your waist completely as you felt him enter you, your legs spread for him. Your eyes widened and then closed right after, a relaxed sigh leaving your lips. You wrapped your hands around his shoulders and hugged him to your chest, feeling slowly grind in you. His face appeared relaxed too, small sighs leaving his slightly parted mouth, his face buried in your neck.

With your face exposed to your surroundings, you looked around to see what was going on through your half-opened eyes. You were not that badly off as you could distinctly see a girl on her knees for some guy at the corner. You continued uttering small moans as Yunho's thrusts quickened a bit. You however almost alerted Yunho of the presence of a figure looking at you in the corner, hands folded, his eyes focused on your face. He noticed your eyes on him and smirked, turned, and headed towards the kitchen. You clearly saw the back of his head as he retreated.

Mingi?

A grunt from Yunho brought you back to the moment. He leaned up and kissed you, tongue and all. He felt your distraction and started thrusting more. You swallowed up each other's moans as you started getting louder.

"I'm yours, y/n. P-lease say your mine, please y/n. Please... Ah..."

His voice was rilling you up. "You're mine Yu. And I'm yours- fuck!"

And both of you wanted to believe that so badly.

There was so much to your lives: work, school, your social life, your friends... But both of you were each other's constants. Though you were not in a relationship, you always fell back on each other.

Your orgasm crept up without warning and you came, your walls repeatedly hugging Yunho's length. Your moans prompted him to come in seconds, twitching inside of you.

He rode both your highs for a while and settled completely inside of you. Reality took a while to crash down on you and make you realize that you just had sex in public, and Mingi saw.

Your breaths came down and you looked down at Yunho, thinking that you had to tell him. But the sight made you falter, the sight of Yunho lying peacefully on your chest.

You would talk to him about both of you too later, you thought.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Broken Betrothals

aemond x reader

A/N: made for a request for dark aemond!

WARNINGS: allusions to threats of murder (he’s just protective that’s all😁)

WORD COUNT: 651 words

You and Aemond had been close all your lives. Officially, you were Helaena’s companion, but everyone knew you were much closer to her brother. That’s why it’s his chambers you venture to when you get the letter from your betrothed, calling off your engagement. Nobody could possibly help you through it like he could. Nobody could make your problems disappear like he could.

“(Y/N)?” He looks confused when you arrive at his door, cheeks tearstained from sobbing. “What has happened?”

“H-He’s called it off…” You breathe out. “Lord Blackwood has rescinded his offer of marriage.”

“Oh, gevie.” (beautiful) “What an awful, cowardly excuse for a man.” He brings you into his arms, stroking his fingers through your hair gently. “Did he tell you why?” Aemond asks, but he knows the answer. Lord Blackwood has broken your engagement because Aemond told him to. Consequences of disobeying his prince were… easy to assume.

“He just said things had changed and that he was no longer in a position to take me as his wife. I just don’t understand what possibly could have happened.”

“Men like that can be incomprehensible. He’s a fool to give up a girl like you.” He says gently. Aemond always knows just what to say to make you feel better.

“I feel like a fool for trusting him and I worry that other suitors will think something is wrong with me. Breaking off an engagement is such an undutiful thing to do. They’ll think he found something out about me… a-and i’ll never find a husband.”

“It’s clear the problem lies with him. I will make sure it’s known.” He holds your face in his hands, wiping away the few tears. “Trust me.”

“There’s nothing truthful to be said that would make people side with me.” You say gently, always the kindhearted girl.

“Then I will fabricate a new truth.” Aemond says with all sincerity. If it pleased you, he would do much more to that man then tell a few white lies.

“That would be unjust.” Your moral compass is a bit of a hindrance to that though.

“What he did to you is unjust. He knows he could have ruined your prospects. He deserves it.” The darkness in your friend's eyes worries you but you know it’s just because he truly cares about you. He only wants to see no wrong done to you.

You settle to please him. “If he starts spewing untruths about me, then I believe it would be fair to say something back. Only as a defence of course.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I will likely struggle to find a husband anyhow.” You say solemnly.

“I don’t believe there is a man alive who wouldn’t want to marry a sweet flower like you.” Aemond says in a sickeningly saccharine tone. The heat rises to your cheeks at his flirtatious words.

“It hardly matters how sweet I am if they believe me to be a loose woman or some other horrid thing.” You reply.

“Then i’ll marry you.”

“P-Pardon?” You stutter out, hardly believing he just suggested such a thing.

“I’ll make you my bride.” Aemond says with such finality that you can barely do more than gape at him. “I’ll take care of you. If you’d have me.”

“I would of course accept your offer if the need arises but I would never wish to push you into such a thing.”

“I would never feel pressured by such a prospect but if it makes you feel better, then we can agree to only do so if it becomes necessary.” He presents a deal that you can hardly refuse. “Do you accept?”

You think for a few moments. There could be much worse things in life than marrying your best friend.

“I accept.”

A smile comes across the prince’s face. Now, all he has to do is kill… deter all other suitors.

Comment to be added to taglist

[thelonelyshore-if]

Ravi Drabble

Or, Ravi wakes up next to MC for the first time.

Ravi’s life is a tightrope act.

Every minute–every second–he stands balanced on the edge of a knife. His feet carefully placed on the wire, doing everything in his power to keep his balance. One misstep, one tiny mistake, could bring everything crashing down around him.

He doesn’t make mistakes.

Or at least, he didn’t. He’s careful. Precise. He’s memorized his script and performs it well. He knows his limits. Knows the rules. He bends them, sometimes, but never far enough to break. Why would he? Risking life and limb for such miniscule payoff would be unthinkable–would be pointless. Better to stay in the lines.

But it isn’t as easy anymore. Not now that he has something to lose. Now that he’s met you.

He supposes the first cracks began to show when he befriended Jay. That was mistake number one. He knows better than letting himself get close to people. And yet, when Jay showed up on his doorstep with a friendly smile and a host of questions about the recently deceased, Ravi couldn’t make himself turn them away. 

Befriending Jay led to befriending their family. Their mother, previously something like a colleague and held as far out as his hands could reach. Their sister, just a child, but so fearless and endearing that it was impossible to dislike her. And then, all of a sudden he’s socializing, interacting with the town in ways he hadn’t since…

And then you.

He still would have searched for you without Jay. He couldn’t avoid the feeling tugging at his wrists and ankles, the pulsating need behind his ribs. There was something it needed him to see. He had a feeling. But would he have been able to rush into the water and pull you to safety? Pump at your heart until it sprung back to life?

Ravi is a purveyor of death. The closest thing to the grim reaper made flesh that Easthaven has. He’s the undertaker, the shadow in the corner of your daughter’s funeral, the one who puts your father in the ground. 

What does he know about life?

Nothing, he thinks as he watches you.

He sits at the foot of his bed, his legs crossed neatly in front of him. You lay curled on your side, eyes fluttering and breath even. Moonlight halos you in a soft white haze. You look angelic–or perhaps magical. A being of pure light given form, sent to destroy him.

He sits in his tattered old EHS sweatshirt, one of the surviving relics of his time in school. Last night, when he asked you to stay, he knew he wasn’t ready to take it off. No matter what happened. He likes you–too much–but he can’t. Nobody has ever seen him laid bare, not since…

Not since he was hurt, since he lost–

Fuck.

He can’t think about it. Not with you here, blissful and unaware. It feels like a betrayal, though he isn’t sure who he’s betraying. You? Him? He’s gone, and you’re here, and it’s been so long anyway that he should be past it. Maybe he’s betraying you both.

Ravi knows he’ll have to tell you eventually. That’s what people in love do, isn’t it? Talk to each other? He isn’t sure he knows how. Honesty has never been his strong suit.

If befriending Jay was the first crack in his carefully crafted life, then meeting you was like taking a sledgehammer to it. He doesn’t understand what it is about you that drives him insane. You get under his skin without even meaning to. He wants to get under yours, in every possible way, and it’s making him crazy.

Before he met you he was frozen. Frozen in grief, frozen in ice. You lit a fire directly at his core, melting him until he’s nothing but a puddle on the floor. No–more than that. Steam in the air. You set him alight, make him burn.

Ravi sighs. He’s being melodramatic.

The problem is, he doesn’t know how to be reckless anymore. It’s a language half-forgotten, like his mother tongue. When you don’t have anyone who shares the language, it can be hard to remember. How do you practice? The loss is incredible.

You make him want to be reckless. So why not start now?

He moves quickly, half-crawling up the bed until he’s at your side. He slept here, arms around you, drinking in your warmth. He only pulled away when he woke up and realized he needed to think about this. To consider his actions going forward.

He’s sick of thinking. Instead he wraps his fingers around your hand, pulls it upwards. Kisses the flat of your palm. You’re so warm. So alive. You stir and he shifts downward until he’s pressing his lips to your wrist. He feels your pulse jump there and smiles.

“What’re you doing?” you murmur, staring at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Tasting you,” he teases, his tongue darting out to flick against the skin of your wrist.

You shiver, and his smile grows. He keeps kissing his way up your arm. Despite his teasing he doesn’t taste you again–instead he focuses on memorizing every part of you. You shift beneath him until you’re on your back. Perfect–he adjusts until he’s straddling you. 

Ravi kisses the curve of your elbow, the edge of your shoulder. Finds the place where your neck connects and buries his face inside. He could live here, he thinks. You’re warm and solid and alive. The most alive anyone has ever been.

He kisses your neck and your breath catches. 

He pulls back until he’s nearly sitting upright, his weight on his knees to either side of you. Your hands find his thighs and fuck it feels good. He isn’t used to being touched and the feeling of it might drive him mad. 

Maybe you were sent to destroy him. He isn’t sure he cares.

“You look beautiful,” Ravi whispers, before swooping down again to press his lips against yours.

The kiss starts gentle. Almost chaste. He just wants to feel you, nothing more, but then your arms are around his neck. You pull closer, press harder against him, and he can’t resist kissing you deeper. It goes until you break away gasping.

Ravi lets himself fall to the side until he’s lying on his back beside you. He needs to catch his breath. He needs a cigarette. His hands shake as he stares up at the ceiling, in wonder of you at his side. 

You nestle in close and he wraps an arm around you. His eyes flutter shut when you lean up and press a kiss against his neck. Emotion coils up in his chest, so intense he can hardly take it. There’s so much feeling that it hurts. He isn’t used to feeling things. Not like this. 

This might be a mistake. Getting close to people always is. But…

He thinks you might be worth it.

[pinkmoonastro]

Moon through the zodiac

Aries: Your blunt and it often comes across as insensitive. Yet at the same time people may think your too sensitive. Growing up your household was very busy and or very gossipy. People may question your intentions alot with this placement even if your not doing anything some may still assume your up to no good. Its almost like damn all that assuming you might as well actually do something. The way you express yourself is always being judged and people are always trying to ''correct'' it. Causing you to be anti social, very particular on who you share your personality with or a bully. The way you express yourself is very unique just like your sense of humor you be accidentally funny as hell and thats needed in this world dont give away your power to people and allow them to change you into a dolice version of yourself. Light fire under they ass the way you how to. Anyways I wouldnt be surprised if you daydream about your ideal life alot, careful not to be in your head too much and create unrealistic expectations for yourself or others to uphold. I want yall to stop being so hard on yourself. If nobody else tell yall ima tell you i love how passionately you express yourself. The purpose of your moon being here is for you to learn more about yourself and who you are and how your actions/reactions affect others. Step away from whats familiar and comfortable and dig deep. Listen to your intuition. Have some fucking fun.

Taurus: Its your way or the highway HUH? Your moon chose to be here becasue you are the defender. There will be times were you feel your back is against the wall and you face alot of scrutiny from the world. They may come down on you hard but if you can withstand the pressure you will be rewarded. Willpower and self discipline comes easier for you. You have the tendency to be arrogant, domineering and passive aggressive. A good leader keeps those emotions in check. Yall get stuck in yall ways fr i want yall to put more energy into leaving your comfort zone and taking risk. Slow down smell the roses and enjoy where you are. Dont be all work and no play.

Gemini: Yall love some drama. Somehow always ending up in the middle of some shit. Seeing others as competition even when them ppl not worried about you. You like being the center of attention and dont care if its in a postive or negative light. It works for yall though because popularity comes easy for you. This is one of the most social placements for the moon to be. Your reputation means alot to you and networking is high on your priority list. Its common for yall to feel like you always have to choose between something. It may be hard for you to balance your work life and home life. In friendships and relationships you choose to keep the blindfold on ignoring whats really in front of you, procrastinating to handle your problems just hoping theyll go away on there on. You end up in situations where people are betraying you. With the two sides to gemini its like a secret element to your life. Your no stranger to scandal. I feel for you, this isnt a easy place to have the moon be. You care so much about your relationships with people but yet often have issues with ppl. This couldve stemmed from feeling like you were a target growing up that people always chose to pick with you. Or that you were punished more extremely than others. With this placement you've probably seen or experienced things that really made you question humanity. Dont let those experiences shape the type of person you'll be. You gotta learn to let shit go and not be bitter or have a victim mentality. Be careful not to burn yourself out. Drowning yourself in work to ignore your feelings. You dont always have to do everything on your own... collaborating is just as rewarding i promise. It would be beneficial to learn how to except help, knowing when to back down and not being so critical of yourself.

Cancer: If they dont appreciate everything you do FCK EM. No but fr with moon here you may feel like people overlook the things you do for them. Cancer moons can be way to stubborn and stand in there on way because of the fear of change. Repeating the same lessons way more than they should have to. When your redirect your energy to new experiences and growth your determination and passion unmatched. This is type of person you want to have on your team they bring so much positive energy and comfort.

Leo: Main character syndrome AF lol Unnecessarily rebellious at times growing up you may have felt your parents were controlling on how you expressed your creativity or because of the way you grew up you express your creativity in a rebellious way in relation to your family. Your career could be taboo. I could see a lot of onlyfans stars having moon in leo. Success in career comes more natural for you because of your consistency and ambitious nature. Yall really find pleasure in chasing money. Dont get so carried away with fulfilling your material desires that you dont leave time for introspection and searching for who you really are away from the titles.

Virgo: How does it feel to be kids favorite? A happy home life is important for this placement. Theres an innate need to belong. You love parties, holidays and kids ofc. Hosting parties and having a full house will give you happiness. Where this placement gets stuck is not being able to let go of the past. Getting sucked into the loophole of self pity and regret. Focus your attention on what you can do and what you can change. You work better with other ppl there to bounce ideas off of. Let your gaurd down, Succuss is reached quicker for you when you collaborate. Having this placement is testing your ability to strengthen your willpower and resourcefulness. Once you can do that you'll manifest way easier. Careful not to live beyond your means. Dont let desires put you in debt. Trust your intution, take the first step and take the risk. You go be perfectly fine.

Libra: Your love language is def quality time and acts of service this is very important for this placement to feel loved. Yall thrive in group settings and really value friendships. Even if you dont talk that much it makes you feel better to be around others. If you want to get with a Libra moon the best way is to become their friend first. You may have a tendency to put yourself in drama and create chaos among your inner circle though lil messy ass. Always wanting to be right, when this placement is in its lower natures is a good example of the native american folklore of the hunter that stuck a blood coated blade in ice knowing the wolf couldnt resist. It licked the blade continuously not realizing it was slowing bleeding out. The only way for the wolf to survive is to acknowledge its self destructive behavior. Bottom line just because you can ignore something doesnt mean others are going to do the same. Just becasue it didnt effect you doesnt mean it didnt effect them. Make the effort to listen to understand not listen to respond. Your words matter use them responsibly and take breaks from people or things when you feel you need to, your mental health will thank you.

Scorpio: Transformation happens with this placement alot. Moments of feeling isolated or depressed may be brought on by extreme emotional shifts. Anxiety and fear is no stranger to the scorpio moon. It can be to the point of really debilitating you. You've experienced things you've kept to yourself or have repressed but the issue continues to reappear time after time like a broken record. If it hasnt been dealt with it way on you really heavy and appear in your dreams often. You've felt shame, not understanding how you couldve allowed yourself to be in that predicament in the first place but seriously bro shit happens. It can be hard to maintain emotional balance with moon in scorpio, so its essential to have methods to release your emotions in healthy ways. Careful not to become bitter or victimizing with things dont go the way your controlling ass intends. Vengeance doesnt work well for you it often backfires, you'll try to set somebody house on fire and you burn yourself in the process. You may feel that people often oppose for no reason that you have to go through power struggles to be heard or to get the things you want. You may second guess opening up and are critical of yourself and others but opening yourself up to the world will be one of the best things you can do for your relationships and career. Your maturity and originality is threatening. Express yourself in your full nature and make people adapt to you not the other way around. You have authoritarian energy and if your putting yourself out there which ik you are, yr often mistaken for the boss. That is if your not already the boss. Im sure your that your the boss. Mwahahaha. Your demeanor comes across as serious and strict. Ppl naturally think let me not play with them. Your standards are high for yourself and your partner. You wouldnt be with somebody who doesnt match up to your standard. You need to feel like the person you’re with is equally as respected as you in any room you walk in.

Sagittarius: Im sure you believe you were meant to be famous. Sagittarius moons are very charismatic and great negotiators with a very convincing personality they are great at creating solutions quickly. So ofc that makes its very easy for them to make friends. In relationships they attract and are attracted to more dominate personalities. Loving the idea of love but really being in denial about that. Def gives player vibes they have flirtatious ass whore ways lmao. If you cheating ik you not even finna try hard to hide it. Easily bored they will chase thrills lowkey in a running from your problems type of way. Where sag moons can grow is appreciating the value they bring and not feeling the need to always compare themselves to others. Don't attach your self worth to financial security. Be more secure in what you believe and don't back down so easily when others challenge your ideas.

Capricorn: The moon doesn't like being here. Its emotionally depressing actually lol. I'm sure you've already read enough depressing interpretations on cap moons tho so this one is not going to be that. This one is meant to empower you. Youve experienced alot of chaos anger and pain. You've experienced very intense situations that have completely emotional up rooted you. But the smoke always clears and its important for to spend time away from the people and places that have caused this. Take the steps needed to regroup to be by yourself to develop better understanding of your emotions and learn what it is that truly want from your life. If you are not following your intuition it is easy for you to end up in friendships and relationships that do not mean you well. Your not the type of person who can just hang with anyone you need to very intentional about who you allow into your life. Communicate your feelings stop keeping everything bottled in. That shit will drive yo ass crazy. You dont have to be the strong friend all the time your emotions are valid, open up to ppl and share that shit because you dont share often you open up and talk people listen. Use that power to help others that have been through similar experiences to you. When you succeed in whatever obstacles you overcome ppl cant do anything but respect it bc your road was slow and steady but you stayed with it. When it comes to relationships you are very black and white you'll commit yourself fast but if you feel you cant trust the person you may still deal with them but emotional you shut them out. You like being partnered up rather its a relationship or situtationship you deal with the person for a long time.

Aquarius: I want to give you a hug, you are too analytical for your own good. Baby you need to stop thinking so much and you need to feel, you need to experience, act on impulse, dont give yourself time to think about everything that could go wrong. You sabotage so much of your own happiness that way. But i understand people have disappointed you so many times you feel you must do everything on your own. Its like nobody understands you or that people are committed to misunderstanding you. But news flash your not that expressive with your feelings how is anybody going to know if you dont tell them. Yall are cute though with yall dry ass humor. Listen stop being such a fly on the wall you hold as much value as anyone else stop acting like your presence is a fuckn burden. You dont have be agreeable all the the time they will be O FUCKN K. You are very intelligent and more people need to know that. Believing in yourself and communicating is your lesson. Shine your light and stop playing like fr...

Pisces: Ok we’re gonna get the sad shit out the way first. Just how yall like. I really feel like yr parents just let yall cry it out as a baby and you took that personal lmao. No but fr i feel like you always came across like you can handle things so you weren’t really checked on everyone just assumes you'll be ok. You come across as very strong and resilient which is beautiful but everybody needs a shoulder to lean on. Okay now remember how i said yall took that personally ummhm you can be very vengeful never forgetting he littlest slight somebody done towards you. Yall resort to committing crimes rather easily if you need some money lmao im not mad at it though. Literally rationalizing damn near anything if that means youll get what you want. And another thing yall be lying fr. lol sometimes it really do be on accident though you just forgot what really happened and your imagination is very vivid you thought that was the truth. You can be too hard on yourself sometimes you see very clearly the person you want to be so you put so many time limits and expectations on yourself. Chill out enjoy the journey and flow through life the way you know how to. You have very high standards so anything you invest your energy too is executed properly. I honestly cant even imagine a Pisces moon not running their own business. Im sure you cant either. You naturally have very authoritarian energy. Theres not much push and pull when it comes to you getting your way people go with your flow pretty easily. Naturally you wouldnt assume a pisces to be practical but they actually are. Sure they dream big but if they didnt know how to practically implement that into this realm that would just be depressing as hell. When yall find something that works for you, you are very disciplined at seeing it through. Very protective over those you love yall def give stand up when i walk in the room vibes lol

[geeks-universe]

The Fallen pt. 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Cooper Howard x F!Angel!Reader

A/N: This contains smut.

Cooper was angry.

No, he’d been angry when the shit-for-brains had the audacity to look at you like he was stripping your body bare with his eyes.

Now, he was furious.

Rage was an easy emotion, a comfortable one. For years it’d been his only companion, and slipping back into its familiar embrace felt almost natural to him.

Lucy had been too preoccupied with saying goodbye to her lover boy to see the carefully lidded fury, a snake in the grass ready to strike.

You’d noticed though.

Of course you noticed, just like you did every other damn thought that crossed his mind. Maybe you’d noticed the hundred different ways he’d imagined popping that weasel’s head off, of making you pay for the tiniest bit of himself he couldn’t let die.

When you’d proclaimed a shelter for the night- a sad little shack with three walls- Lucy had wandered off with some lame excuse of looking for supplies, the dog trotting happily along with her. Or maybe it was checking the perimeter. He didn’t care, hoped she died, really.

You set a lantern on the ground between the two of you, laying out your pack to get comfortable on the floor. Cooper didn’t bother, couldn’t sit down while the fire burned through his veins. It roared through every inch of his body, consuming him with a vexation he hadn’t felt in a long time.

That fucking roach should’ve lost his hands for touching you, for thinking himself deserving of your silky skin.

“You should rest.”

He barked a laugh- a harsh, aggravated noise wrangled from his chest.

“Ain’t as delicate as you.”

It was meant to be an insult, and fuck didn’t that just piss him off that you let it slide right off you. Unbothered, the same way you’d been the day he first met you.

The same way you’d been when that rat had scurried to you, vying for your attention.

“Coop-“

“So now you want to speak to me?” He straightened his back, standing to his full height as he glared down at your sitting figure.

It was an intimidation tactic, and he knew you well enough to know that it wouldn’t have the effect he was hoping, but it would make you privy to his frustrations.

“Seems like I’m a great choice when I’m the only one.”

Confusion furrowed your brows, quickly replaced by understanding. You let out a low sigh, eyes tracing Cooper’s figure in the dim light.

He didn’t like that you could be so calm, that you didn’t feel his wrath.

“You’re jealous.”

He snarled, angry at the insinuation- even more so that it was correct. It wasn’t just jealousy though.

You were his.

He hadn’t had something worth holding onto in a long damn time, and nobody would take what was his.

“If I was jealous everytime you opened those pretty legs for someone else, I’d never get any rest.”

Your eyes flashed- hurt, followed quickly by anger.

Good.

He wanted you angry.

Wanted you to feel the inferno in your chest, the way he did- to let it consume you in a blaze of abandon, come undone at the seams and show the person beneath.

“We’re not doing this,” you stated bluntly, still holding onto the last bit of restraint.

That wouldn’t do.

He wanted you unraveled, raw.

“Runnin’ won’t change a damn thing.”

Your hands pressed into your knees, a quick outlet of irritation before you stood up. Your eyes were still burning, but it wasn’t enough. You still had too much control.

“You’re such an ass.”

The smirk he flashed was cruel.

“‘M honest,” he argued, “and doesn’t that just piss you off?”

Your chest expanded with a deep breath, eyes unfocused as you talked yourself down. He was so close, you just needed a little push.

“Poor little dove, just wants to run away from her problems like she did her family.”

Bingo.

Faster than a blink, you were in his face, your teeth bared as you raised a fist. He took the opportunity, watching your rage swelter as he grabbed hold of your wrist and twisted it behind you.

Fuck if your rage wasn’t the most intoxicating thing- the rise and fall of your chest hypnotic, the bare of your teeth captivating. You growled, an angry, ominous noise that went straight to his cock.

Your back was pressed against his front, moving with the rhythm of your erratic breathing, teasing friction exactly where he wanted you. His fingers pressed into your wrist harder, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. You weren’t fighting his hold- waiting, listening.

“Maybe that’s why your daddy left you too.”

Your eyes seemed to glow with an inner fire as you tried to pull your hand from him. He held fast though, put every ounce of his strength into restraining you. You lashed out like a wild animal, movements irrational and erratic. Finally, when it was clear you wouldn’t get free, you spit at him.

“Fuck you.”

It was the most vulgar he’d ever heard you, his wrath mixing with desire. Warmth seeped into his cheek where your spit had landed, and in a quick kick of his legs, he dropped you to your knees hard.

And wasn’t that a damn sight.

“If that sweet mouth wants to be filthy so bad, why don’t we put it to good use.”

He talked slow, controlled, as he grabbed your hair, pulling your head back. Wild eyes traced the arch of your back, the smooth column of your exposed neck.

He wanted to take a bite.

Your eyes were burning into his, an anger he’d never seen before from you shining through. You looked like you hated him, like you’d burn him on the spot.

“Now, sweetheart, try not to use your teeth.”

He clicked open his belt buckle, positioning himself just enough to free his hardened length. He’d dreamt of this moment, had pleasured himself to the thought of you more than he could count. The realization that it was coming to fruition had him so hard it fucking hurt. He took pride at the hunger in your gaze, your mouth still twisted in a scowl.

“Don’t act all innocent now.”

Almost as if it were a challenge, spurred on by your temper, your hot mouth took his entire length in one quick movement and-

Holy fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You were impossibly warm, your tongue sliding the length of his cock while your eyes, the ones he’d spent so long admiring, stared into his own. You held his gaze, refused to look away as you hollowed your cheeks, daring him to keep going.

He didn’t disappoint, wrapping his hand around your hair just like he’d done with his lasso. Sturdy hands forced you to take him to the base of his cock, before pulling back out. He thrusted back in hard, unconcerned with the tears that gathered in your eyes as he slammed into your throat.

You were defiant in the way you took him, forcing a harsher pace than the one he’d set.

This had to have been heaven. Nothing on Earth could possibly feel this fucking good. His thrusts were feral, unrelenting, and you were meeting them with ferocity, your pretty lips wrapped so perfectly around his cock.

“Takin’ me so good,” he groaned, his abdomen spasming. The sound of your gags filled the air, tearing through any restraint he might’ve had.

It’d been a while since he’d felt any sort of pleasure, even longer since it’d been anything more than a quick fuck.

This, though…

This was a whole different beast.

Fuck.

He wiped at the saliva coating his cheek, staring into your eyes as he slid his fingers into his mouth, tasting your sweetness.

You moaned, and he was sure this had to be a dream.

Reality had never been this nice.

“My filthy girl.”

Another moan, and this one almost dropped him to his knees. Pleasure tingled up his spine, down to the tips of his fingers and the bottom of his toes. His body was practically vibrating, begging him for release.

He didn’t want it yet, wanted this moment to last an eternity. His cock was pounding into your mouth, your fingernails digging into his thighs- sweet pain mixed with hot pleasure.

Please, his body sung, begging for a release he desperately fought against.

His pace was brutal, chasing the high he both wanted more than anything, and wished would never come.

It wasn’t enough.

This wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

Needed all of you.

“You are mine.”

He emphasized on a growl, savoring the taste of you that still lingered on his tongue.

He was desperate for more, for every damn piece of yourself you’d give him. It’d never be enough, not enough time in the universe to get the fill of you he wanted- needed.

He was close now, only holding on by sheer will, and all it took was a tilt of your head and a long, low moan of what he only prayed was his name around his length.

Like a band, his restraint snapped, his hips surging forward as he grunted your name.

Fuck.

Fuck, his body was singing.

Fuck. Curses, unbidden, were falling from his lips. Pleas, praises, worships- fuck it all he couldn’t even tell anymore, blinded by the feel of your mouth.

It was hot, so hot, and you swallowed every drop he gave you, his sensitive cock was twitching, his knees trembling with the effort to stay on his feet.

You kept going though, pulling your lips back just far enough to lick his length clean, your eyes still so full of fire, the same fire racing through his body.

It was so much, too much almost, and yet he gave into the torturous pleasure, desperate for you, for whatever you’d give him.

His hat had fallen off his head when he threw it back, his legs shaking as you finally pulled away- and despite the overstimulation, his body still chased your mouth, not ready to feel the empty, consuming void left in your wake.

A breath.

A moment to consider what he’d done, what he’d said to you. It wasn’t anger in your eyes- not regret, either. He couldn't read it, couldn't grasp what you were feeling.

His heart pounded against his chest, exhausted arms releasing your hair as he slowly, cautiously, raised his fingers to your cheeks. Tears had fallen from how far he’d thrust himself into you. He wiped them away, let them press into the fabric of his gloves, as the air grew thick.

It was a soft moment, a gentle one, and he didn’t want to be the first to pull away.

So you did.

You got your feet and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, your jaw flexing as you looked like you hadn’t just sucked him fucking dry.

He tucked himself back in his pants and secured his belt, waiting for you to speak. It was a tense moment, drawn longer by the way you wet your lips, like you wanted to talk but couldn’t quite form the words.

“Oh, fudge, are you two okay?”

His finger itched with the desire to end the vaultie for interrupting this, for causing you to cast a worried glance in her direction before your damn walls were thrown back up. Whatever you’d been about to say, you definitely wouldn’t now.

“Just peachy,” you smiled, one that screamed inauthenticity as you took a step to face away from Lucy.

“Think I need some air though, I’ll be back in a bit.”

It was a dismissal if he ever heard one, and the vault dweller had the good sense not to try and follow.

“Your hat’s on the ground, there.”

She went to pick it up for him, but he swooped down before she had the chance and deposited it on his head. On a good day he didn’t have the patience for her, but right now he was feeling downright venomous.

“So-“

“Leave it.”

His words were final, tone brokering no argument. That was the only bit of grace he’d give her- one more word and his reply would be a bullet. She understood, could see the tension in his stance and gave him the space he desired.

But it wasn’t space he wanted.

It was you.

It was your voice, so gentle and melodic.

It was your touch, sweet and resolute- full of heat, of passion, of something that resembled life.

Instead, he got the cold, hard ground and a head full of vicious thoughts. Why did you plague his thoughts the way you did? Why did you make him feel so fucking human?

He didn’t want to.

Didn’t want that, any of it.

Not the fucking feelings, not the guilt, not the stupid fucking spark of hope in his cold, dead heart.

Let Cooper Howard die.

But it wasn’t that simple.

All of the anger in the world couldn’t turn his affection for you to hatred. It was a stubborn thing, and a solid one. No amount of pressure could bend it. He’d just learned to live with it- a deficiency he’d carry for the rest of his miserable time on Earth.

He fell to the ground there, not bothering with getting comfortable, almost like it was a punishment. Truth be told, he didn’t have the fight in his veins anymore, didn’t wish to have to struggle to get comfortable.

He was ready to lie down and accept what he earned.

His eyes slipped shut, and though the vault dweller fell into a light sleep easily, he could not. His mind simply wouldn’t stop, kept replaying that look in your eyes.

What did it mean?

Did you hate him?

He wouldn’t blame you, could never fault you for hating the monstrous thing he’d become. He’d bet you’d have fallen in love with him before- Cooper Howard, the gentleman.

That was the kind of thing you deserved, the kind of life he’d dreamt about with you.

He’d love you in those dreams, so unconditionally and flawlessly, with no restraint or regret. He’d praised the ground you walked on, and would cherish every moment he had with you.

Not now.

He couldn’t love that way, not anymore- didn’t want to, didn’t remember how, if he were honest.

There was a quiet, tempered crunch of sand, a boot moving slowly towards him.

He knew those steps though, knew that it was you who approached him. He kept his eyes shut, curious as to what your intent was.

If you killed him, so be it.

“Cooper,” you breathed.

It was a prayer, an admission, and a promise. He didn’t reply, didn’t even crack open an eye, just listened with all the ravenous hunger of a starving man, hoping you would say more.

You didn’t.

A shadow casted from behind his lids as you knelt down, reminiscent of earlier, but of your own volition. This wasn’t with rage, with an animalistic hunger.

This was with compassion, with something that resembled fondness.

A soft exhale left your parted lips, and if he imagined hard enough, he could see the expression you wore. It was kind, open- something he rarely saw anymore.

A weight settled on his chest then, your head pressed snug against the tattered shirt he wore. An arm wrapped around his middle, holding him close to your warmth. The words you spoke in then sounded lyrical, more natural than anything you’d ever said before.

He didn’t know the meaning, wasn’t even sure what language it was- but a heat emanated from the feather he’d tucked into his chest pocket, and he understood that it was you sharing a piece of yourself.

He listened to the beating of his own heart, the slowing of your breaths, as he felt a peace wash over himself that he thought was long gone.

There, in the dim glow of a worn lantern, with the most beautiful soul he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting tucked into his side, Cooper Howard emerged- the man he was- if only for a moment.

Tags: @lacontroller1991 @giggle-shade