#it’s not a reminder of her mother it’s a reminder that she even had one.

[undoing-daughters-blog]

I'm going to explain the theory that Jinx is not actually dead

(I know this is long, I promise it's worth it)

This starts in chapter 8 of season two.

We see Jinx in the prision, she's devastated, lost, defeated, and wants things to end. And we see the first interaction she has with the voice of Silco. In this interaction Silco tells Jinx that "killing is a cycle" and that it would continue. But Jinx says she's "done running in circles", meaning: she wants to stop this cycle. To which Silco says:

And later, when Vi goes to visit Jinx, and Jinx tricks Vi and escapes the prison. Vi then asks her what she will do, Jinx answers:

And now Jinx knows the way to break the cycle, is by leaving.

Next time we see Jinx is in episode 9. She is still in the same mood as before, and now she cuts most of her hair off and burns The Last Drop

Burning down The Last Drop and letting go of her hair shows this closure. Later, she tries to kill herself, which is her way of "walking away" to "break the cycle".

But then Ekko shows up, saves her, and they go to save Vi and the others together.

At this point, Jinx wants to stop the killing and wants to leave, but she will always want to save Vi ("I'm always with you. Even when we are worlds apart").

But she still wants to break the cycle. She still needs to let go.

So, as she saves Vi from Warwick with the monkey bomb explosion, she escapes and leaves Piltover.

And we get a hint of that in the final scenes of the show when Caitlyn is going through her mother's database. She finds a blueprint of the hexgate tower and finds secret air ducts in the place where the explosion happened.

We also see her holding a part of Jinx's bomb.

And after seeing the blueprint she has this look. Like she's thinking "is it possible she survived?"

And in the very last scene we see one of these things that is flying away from Piltover.

Which reminds me of Season 1 Episode 1:

She has always wanted to ride one of them.

Maybe, this is her new way of walking away, instead of dying.

And the two frames are almost exactly the same, it couldn't not be a reference to that s1 moment.

And I know this theory may sound dumb but, why would they show us Caitlyn looking at those blueprints then? Every scene, every frame in Arcane is carefully designed. The team is very good, they wouldn't just show it for no reason. It wouldn't make sense. Especially because they have only 9 episodes of 40 minutes each (except 9 which has 50) to develop everything that happens in season two. And there are A LOT of things going on, they don't have time to spare. If they chose to show us that, it had a very important meaning.

Also I think it's kinda bad If Jinx just dies, I wouldn't like that ending, at least not like this.

[eviesaurusrex]

Escaping | Azriel x High Fae

summary: Azriel carries his mate off to a much-needed picnic, away from her duties at the Court of Dreams.

word counter: 3.2k

warnings: none, pure fluff, Az being a simp for his woman, mentions of reader being an empath/reader having empathic abilities, Az’s pet names being always accompanied by “my” (bc he needs to remind himself constantly that she’s indeed his), reader is part of the Night Court ever since

author’s note: This is also my first time writing anything for ACOTAR, so please be gentle with me, but I just had to, okay? Az deserves every ounce of happiness I can offer him. Also: This is my first time writing and uploding anything in a minute, so this is definitely not perfect

Dividers are made by @enchanthings and @sweetmelodygraphics <3

He had planned this little escape for weeks now, always trying to find the perfect moment to whisk his mate away between duties and obligations, only to grant her and himself a much-needed break from quite literally everything. His shadows had been restless ever since, just as their wielder, the growing stress and frustration traveling along their strong mating bond only a figment of an indication of how she grew to feel every morning she awoke to tend to the court and their cause to protect and free Prythian in the War looming on the horizon.

And today had been finally the perfect day—due to Rhys’ helping hand after he had seen the growing and building anxiety of his brother.

“Is it not strange how adamant Rhys has acted earlier? I think it’s weird. Do you think I should go and check up on him later? Maybe trying to ease his mind? I think I should.” Her sweet, melodic voice filled the warm air, and a rare chuckle escaped the spymaster at her fast-working mind. Gently, he took the blanket out of her arms, placing it over the arm that already carried the basket filled with all her favorites, and tenderly, his free arm found its home around her waist, pulling her closer to his side.

A perfect fit. It was as if the Mother and the Cauldron had molded them to fit just as perfectly as two puzzle pieces. Made for one another… He still couldn’t grasp how his lifelong wish had been answered and granted after so many centuries.

Azriel’s head dipped to press a lingering kiss to her temple, his nose slightly buried in her soft strands, the soothing scent overpowering the scents wafting around them. “Will you scold me if I tell you how I asked him to give us at least today to ourselves?” His voice was soft, tender, a loving and humored edge to it. Hazel eyes began to twinkle as she looked up at him, meeting his gaze, not surprised in the slightest at his revelation, and the teasing twinkle in her eyes in return made his lips twitch into a smile. “Did you now?” She teased and nudged his side, tickling Az because she knew of every existing weak spot—the only person aside from Cassian and Rhys. Her growing smile made him feel light, free, and still, it was the most exhilarating thing he had ever achieved in his long life; felt as if his heart might explode any second when she turned and stretched slightly to press a kiss to his jawline. Reaching further wasn’t possible with the towering male walking beside her. “Thank you, my love.” Only a whisper, but loud enough to travel to his ears, accompanied by the warm and fuzzy feeling sent down the bond by her.

Another pull with the arm around her waist put her even closer—if that was even possible—and Azriel couldn’t hold back the urge within him to kiss her soft lips he had already kissed so often ever since they had accepted their mating bond. Still, it wasn’t often enough, in his opinion. Giving in, the shadowsinger stopped their path in the hidden passageway towards the lush green rolling hills along the coast of Velaris and slowly bent his body, letting their noses run alongside one another. “Nothing to thank me for, my darling,” he hummed, lips almost already touching in the softest of kisses, and he felt her fingers run through the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to her and letting their lips melt into one. Neither he nor she could tell where the kiss started and where it ended, where his lips began and hers ended.

The low rumble of her stomach put a pause to their antics, and Az hummed once again before entwining their fingers and continued on their path. “Let’s find a place where we can ease that growl, my darling.”

Wildflowers of all kinds surrounded the place they had finally settled on—the glittering ocean right next to them, the rolling green hills as far as sight could reach, and Velaris in the close distance, beautiful as it had always been. Az had made himself comfortable on the blanket, the picnic basket opened right next to him, his body propped up on his forearms, and his eyes followed his mate as she strolled through the flowers. He could see her fingertips gracing the soft petals that stretched their colorful heads towards the sun, his shadows slowly, almost lazily winding around her wrist and fingers, always keeping her company, making sure she was alright. Not that Azriel minded their own ways, but sometimes he suspected they might abandon him entirely for her if they had the chance—and the shadowsinger couldn’t blame them either. He would do the same if it meant being at her side at all times.

“Eat at least a bite,” he now called over to her as she picked the first flower. She only spared a quick glance at him, but her radiant smile couldn’t fool him, nor could it hide the roll of her eyes. “Yes, yes. Only a minute, love.” Azriel himself rolled his eyes now, but the tuck at his lips was too strong to withstand it. Not when they were alone, not when she was the cause of that rare smile sneaking its way onto his face.

So, he watched her while already eating some of the fresh berries, patiently waiting, eyes moving when she moved toward the next flower in full bloom, bending down to pick her, placing the delicate thing in the soft embrace of her arm he knew wouldn’t dare crush her new possession. She wasn’t violent or cruel to beings who couldn’t defend themselves, who didn’t possess a single malicious thought in their entire body. And even for those who might commit evil deeds, she still held compassion if necessary. By the Cauldron, she even had accepted him from the very beginning of their friendship all those centuries ago when Rhys had brought her into the Court of Dreams, right after the War had been won.

A sigh left him when she finally strolled toward him in her pretty flowy dress, hair flowing in the warm breeze, her smile growing the closer she got to him. “What am I supposed to do with you, hm?” Az had pushed himself from his arms into a sitting position, legs slightly crossed, an arm resting on his muscular thigh, while the other reached for her, enveloping her fingers as she sank onto the blanket and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. The sound of his wings stretching and rustling behind him accompanied her adorable chuckle, and he almost melted at the sight of her shining eyes when she pressed his scarred palm against her cheek, her lips leaving a warm mark on it, letting him forget about the pain of the past in an instant.

She had that power over him.

“Az, you had more than four centuries to get used to my antics.” Grinning, her lips pressed another set of kisses to his palm before letting his hand sink onto her knee, where it immediately started to wander and found its place on her thigh, squeezing it tenderly. “I should know by now, you mean?” A nod followed his question, grin still prominent on her lips, but he felt her concentration slip toward the many flowers she had sprayed over the blanket in front of her, and her soft and delicate fingers had already started to weave some of them together. “Perhaps even a lifetime isn’t long enough,” he dared to hum and tease, moving closer toward her side and holding a strawberry in front of her lips. The tip of Azriel’s nose nudged her temple, and she took a bite, sighing in satisfaction. “Perhaps.” The sweet berry muffled her words, and without thinking or even considering he was prepared for it, the woman scooted closer and leaned backward, pressing her back against her mate’s strong chest—because he had been ready. He was always ready and always there if she needed or craved anything.

Even though the bond had taken its sweet time before it had finally snapped into place, they had been close from the beginning, a mutual feeling of closeness and understanding the root and foundation of their slowly blooming friendship. And over the decades and centuries, they had started to learn to know one another. Now, with the bond in its rightful place, it all was merely heightened; no longer a want to fulfill anything they wished for, but an urging need. So Az just knew without thinking when she needed his arms wrapped tightly around her body, his chest pressing against her back like a steadfast wall in a sea of uncertainty and fear.

His chin rested on her right shoulder, the strong and powerful wings softly tucked behind his back, granting the sunlight to kiss and warm her skin while she weaved flower after flower in a steadily growing circle.

“When all of this is over…” The soft voice of his mate traveled alongside the warm breeze. “When all is over, I’d like to leave for a while. Just… the two of us. Somewhere enjoying life itself, forgetting about War, bloodshed, and intrigues. Healing and growing,” she continued even softer, reminding him once again of her calm and peaceful nature, and Azriel felt how she longed for all those things after everything that had happened in the past fifty years. He didn’t dare to think about all that had happened Under the Mountain when she had been forced to live there, didn’t try to recollect everything she had shared with him in those days after Rhys and she had finally returned to Velaris.

All that was important was the exploding sensation of relief since she had followed Rhys over the threshold in the House of Wind, stepping out of the shadow of his broad back and came running right to him. That immaculate sensation had been his companion since that day.

Burrowing his face into the warm crook of her neck, the spymaster released a deep breath. “Whatever you wish, my darling,” he whispered against her skin, making her giggle and squirm in his grasp. “Az! Stop it, or my flower crown will be ruined!” He hid the growing smirk against her skin and nipped at one of her weak spots, making it tickle once more. “They always turn out beautiful.” Azriel could practically feel the playful roll of her eyes at his words, and dutifully, he picked the next flower for her to weave into the growing circle before a small lemon tart found its way to her lips, reminding his mate that they indeed had something else in mind when they had left the House of Wind earlier.

The deep, soft sighing after the first bite of the masterfully baked tart warmed his heart, and Azriel didn’t object in the slightest when the small cake was eaten within a heartbeat, her sweet tooth demanding even more after weeks of relinquishment because they had all been so busy with the preparations for the meeting with Prythian’s High Lords.

“Another one?” He whispered quietly as the shadows now surrounded their legs, resting like they did. “Do we have one of these tiny strawberry cakes we had for Starfall?” Immediately, the memory of the last festivities occupied his mind as he looked for the mentioned dessert and presented it to her like an offering to the gods in his open, scarred palm. “My Lady.” She chuckled at that and abandoned the almost finished flower crown with a gentle “Thank you, my Lord,” only to take the delicate cake and took a savoring bite out of it.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you looked at Starfall? More radiant as the stars…” Az’s voice trailed off into the distance, pictures of that night clouding his mind once again. As she turned her head to look at him with that one smile entirely reserved for his eyes, he pulled back and let her kiss his lips in a heart-wrenchingly soft kiss. “You told me that countless times, my love. Especially when you see the dress hanging in the armoire.” She grinned at that, making him almost blush. “But do I need to remind you how handsome and dashing you looked that night? All those ladies turning and twisting their heads as soon as you walked through the room…” Even though she knew that no one could take her mate, the bitter feeling of jealousy boiled in her blood for just a second before it vanished at the glowing and warm, but also shadowy feeling of their bond, reminding her once again that they were bound for the rest of their existence.

“No need to be jealous, my darling. There was never anyone but you, and there will never be anyone but you.”

His index finger under her chin moved her face upward to face him, skin touching skin and lips brushing over even softer lips. “I know,” she whispered against Azriel, and for a moment, she leaned her forehead against the strong line of his jaw, feeling him pressing a tender kiss on her hairline.

A rumble in the far-off distance let them look up at last, and both watched the building and rolling clouds over the sea, knowing that rain was a mere thought away. But still, they took their time.

Az continued to feed them both, watching her tirelessly weaving flower after flower into the crown, humming a tune they had danced to countless times by now and savoring the warmth radiating off his body. “Another one for Elain?” Azriel dared to ask as she seemed to be done. All the flowers she had gathered were woven into a beautiful, intricate pattern, and none were wasted. His mate had started to bring Elain flowers and plants in all their forms, especially ones only growing in their lands and not behind the wall, explaining their nature, natural habitats, uses, and sometimes hidden beauty. She was so soft and gentle with the young female that Azriel had to ask himself—more often than not, if he was honest—if she would be like this to their children if they ever were allowed that sort of happiness.

He let her sit up and turn onto her knees, holding the crown in her delicate fingers. She shook her head, an unsure smile now surfacing on her lips, as she softly placed it on top of his dark hair. “I never made one for you, my love.” He was stunned, not daring to move nor touch the petals now resting on his head. “You don’t have to keep it, of course. If you don’t like it, I can just bring it to Elain, and we’ll forget about it. It’s silly anywa-” He stopped her right then and there by pulling her close and kissing her fiercely, only holding himself back from roaring down their bond and scaring the living daylights out of her. He took great pride in the fact how breathless his mate was when Az finally ended the kiss, how gleaming her eyes were when she looked at him, how the blush that had crept to her cheeks made them glow, how her fingers gripped the fabric over his chest to steady herself. “Don’t you dare take it,” he growled and kissed her once more, shorter this time, less desperate, and still tickled those delicious sounds out of her body he still kept reveling in, even after all this time.

The first drop falling from the heavens made them part, and while she started to collect their things to pack them safely into the basket and fold the picnic blanket, Azriel spread his wings to protect his mate from the mighty raindrops. When they were ready to winnow to the barriers of the House of Wind, the summer downpour had already picked up its intensity and soaked the two from head to toe. However, their laughter still lingered over their sacred space of Velaris even after they winnowed away.

Feyre’s brows creased in worry as she looked out the many windows in the palace atop the mountain, overlooking Velaris during the downpour that had been foreseen. The heavy drops splattered against the glass, making it difficult to discern any shape moving in the distance. She knew the rain wouldn’t harm them, but the thunderstorm rolling over the hills induced an anxiety within her that she could barely contain.

“Feyre, darling?”

Rhys’ voice let her spin away from the windows, facing her mate who had stood from his desk he had worked on for the past couple of hours, and walked closer toward her, worry furrowing his forehead. “What is wrong?” He wrapped his strong arms around her body, and the High Lady sighed deeply as she sank into the embrace. “Nothing, I…” The first roaring thunder let her pause for a moment. “Az and YN haven’t returned yet.” Violet eyes gazed out of the window, brows slightly furrowed in concentration as he tried to make out the shapes in the gloomy light of the early evening.

Then, a smile spread across his handsome face, and Feyre turned to see what had happened. “They are now. Come, my love,” the High Lord coaxed his mate toward the door to meet the pair down the hall to greet them. She followed him without hesitation, needing to see for herself that both her friends returned without harm, and had to know if they enjoyed their afternoon, needing all the raunchy details YN would spill over a glass of faery wine and a warm fire.

They only made it atop the stairwell leading down into the hall that housed the balcony primarily used to enter the House of Wind, and the pair watched a dripping YN pulling a not-less-dripping Azriel inside, a laugh dancing on her lips.

The Illyrian shook the rain off his shoulders and wings, eyes entirely focused on the brightly smiling High Fae before him. Without a thought, he let the basket drop to the floor, not sparing a single second for its whereabouts after because his entire being narrowed down to the bond beating in his chest, demanding intimacy, closeness, with the female he desired and loved more than life itself. A shriek escaped YN between laughter as Az playfully pounced on her, wrapping her in his strong arms and lifting her off the ground in one smooth motion, moaning deep in his throat at the first taste of her lips drenched in rain droplets.

As he carried her down the hall toward their shared bedchambers in long, purposeful strides, flower crown still proudly atop his head, YN laughed: “Az, the basket!” The pair above the stairs could only hear him say, “It can wait until I’m drunk and delirious on you,” before a door closed, and Feyre finally allowed the giggle to escape her she had held onto for so long.

Rhys shook his head with a humored grin, pulling the female next to him closer to his chest. “My spymaster wearing a flower crown? I won’t ever let him forget it,” he chuckled deeply, amusement and happiness dancing across his face, especially as Feyre hit his chest in warning. “Don’t you dare tease him about it!” The male grinned at that, pulling her face toward him, and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. “I can’t make such promises, Feyre darling unless you are interested in a little deal with your beloved mate.”

Now, it was her turn to let a laugh freely echo through the halls.

Thank you everyone for reading! As usual: I'd love to read your thoughts and comments, perhaps you have an idea for a future Azriel - or any ACOTAR character - fanfiction you'd want me to write. Also, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated! <3

[crookedteethed]

18+ - mdni

ᥫ᭡. kook! jj, who can't keep his dick to himself.

warning: toxic!jj, cheating, public sex (fingering), language

You sighed, watching JJ flirt shamelessly with yet another woman at the Country Club bar. His pearly whites flashed as he leaned in close, whispering something that made her giggle. You rolled your eyes, sipping your martini.

A familiar pang of jealousy twisted in your gut, but you pushed it aside. This was nothing new. JJ had always been a player, even back when you first met him. You'd known exactly what you were getting into.

Still, you couldn't help but wonder why you stayed.

Maybe it was the way his khakis and Polo hugged his athletic frame, or how his cologne lingered tantalizingly whenever he brushed past. Or perhaps it was the thrill of being with someone so desired, knowing you were the one he came home to at the end of the night.

As if sensing your gaze, JJ glanced over and winked. Damn him and that roguish grin. Your anger melted away as he excused himself and sauntered back, sliding onto the barstool beside you.

With a sinister smirk, he leaned in close and whispered, "Did you miss me, gorgeous?" His hand slid up your thigh with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Despite your anger, JJ's touch ignited a fire within you that you couldn't resist.

Your mind raced as he brushed the hem of your skirt, reminding you of all the times he had bought you gifts to win you over. But this time, his touch felt like a threat, like a possessive mark left on your body.

"This a cute piece," he taunted, pulling at the fabric possessively,

"Did I buy you this cute little number?"You could feel yourself weakening under his manipulative hold and hated yourself for still wanting him despite everything he had done.

You tried to push away the memories, but they flooded back as his fingers traced patterns on your skin.

"I can tell your side piece over there can't get enough of you," you growled, nodding towards the girl JJ had been cozying up to, who was now frantically scanning the room for him.

"She ain't missing me, she's just craving my dick. I've already had her once--" he says casually, as if it means nothing.

"When?" you interrupt, your jealousy fueling your words. But deep down, you already know the answer and it makes your stomach churn with disgust.

"I don't know." Jay shrugs. " A week or so ago? Two weeks ago, maybe." He casually said, as if it means nothing.

Your blood boils and you feel sick to your stomach.

"You're such a pig," you spit out, unable to contain your disgust any longer. With a heavy heart, you stand up and walk away, unable to bear being near JJ any longer. But of course, he follows behind you, trying to make excuses or apologies that fall on deaf ears.

"Hey, come on, don't be like that," Jay's voice echoes after you, his footsteps pounding against the linoleum floors as he rushes to catch up. "I was just being honest."

You spin around, seething with rage as you lock eyes with him. "Honest? You're supposed to be loyal to me, Jackson, but instead you're out here screwing other women behind my back?" Every word drips with venom as you advance towards him, ready to unleash your pent-up fury.

"Sweetheart, come on." JJ tries to smooth things over in his suave manner, glancing around the deserted hallway before pulling you closer by your hips. "You know I love you, right? You're my everything."

JJ's face may have been a replica of his mother's flawless beauty, but his father's manipulative nature runs through his veins like a toxic poison.

The mere thought of Groff's influence on him ignites a fierce rage within you, intensifying as you feel JJ's hand creeping up your skirt once again--this time his fingers exploring the delicate lace of your panties. You can sense his intent, and it sends shivers down your spine as you struggle to contain the boiling fury inside you.

"You know I wouldn't intentionally hurt you, baby." His words do little to calm the storm brewing inside you as he looks at you with those soft, doe-like eyes--damn him--just as his palm cups your throbbing sex.

A moan escapes your lips as his cool Signant Ring presses against your engorged clit.

"Jay, we can't do this here," you hiss, turning your head to scan for any onlookers.

"Who says we can't?" He counters, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

Your senses are heightened as your eyes dart around, searching for prying eyes or gossiping villagers. The thought of being caught only intensifies the thrill coursing through your veins.

"Jay, please," you mewl, feigning resistance, though your hips betray you by arching closer to his touch. His lips curve into a smirk, knowing how deeply his ministrations affect you. He uses this knowledge ruthlessly as he presses down on your sweet spot with just enough pressure to have your toes curling in your heels.

"No one's looking," he whispers in your ear, his voice low and velvety, just as his fingers slipped beneath the silk of your panties. A shiver ran down your spine at the feeling of his fingertips brushing against your bare skin.

As JayJay's skilled fingers continued their exploration, your mind clouded over with desire. The combination the warmth of the room, and the knowledge that you could be discovered at any moment only served to heighten your arousal. You gripped the wall, desperate for support as sensation after sensation washed over you.

Suddenly, he slipped a single finger inside of you, and you couldn't help but moan louder this time, Smitten by lust, you didn't care. All that mattered was the delicious friction between your legs, the expert way his fingers moved in and out of you, plundering your depths with practiced ease.

As JayJay added a second finger, stretching you open even further, every ounce of resentment and jealousy you harbored vanished into thin air.

The smooth, probing digits hitting all the right spots within you, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your entire body. All that mattered in that moment was the exquisite sensations building up inside of you, demanding release.

That bitch at the bar, JJ's insufferable bragging about their sexual conquests—none of it mattered anymore. The only thing that mattered was the overwhelming need to come on JayJay's fingers, right there in the dimly lit corridors, far away from prying eyes but close enough to tease with the risk of getting caught.

The silence around you was deafening, broken only by the wet sounds of arousal escaping as Jay fingers pumped faster into your cunt, his blue eyes never leaving your face.

JJ could feel the tight grip of your pulsing pussy around his fingers, a clear indication that you were on the brink of ecstasy. He knows that if he can make you gush and lose control, you will forget about everything else - him, the girl at the bar, and any other thoughts that may have been occupying your mind.

JayJay added a third finger, stretching you deliciously, his thumb circling your clit as he began a relentless assault on your most sensitive spots. The wall behind you felt like the only thing keeping you grounded as your senses swam with lust and need. His gaze bored into yours, his smirk widening as he witnessed the effect he had on you. You were open and vulnerable in more ways than one.

The corridor spun dizzyingly around you, but all you could focus on was the pleasure building up inside you, coiled tighter and tighter as JayJay continued his expert ministrations. Your moans became louder, more desperate, and you didn't care who heard or saw anymore. All that mattered was reaching the peak that was so close yet so far away.

"That's it, baby," he cooed. "Let it all out f'me."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge. JayJay's fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out as the pressure built to an almost unbearable level.

"J-JayJay," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so close…"

He leaned in, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispered, "Then come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart."

That was all it took. With a cry that echoed through the corridor, you came undone around his fingers. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body shaking as JayJay worked you through your orgasm. He held you steady, his free arm wrapping around your waist to keep you upright as you rode out the high.

Jay’s lips curled into that devilish smirk—a signature of his, one that both thrilled and infuriated you. His fingers, slick with evidence of your surrender, brushed against your thigh as he slowly retreated, deliberately leaving a trail of heat in their absence. His blue eyes bored into yours, darkened with triumph and something more primal, something that left your knees trembling.

And just like that, JJ had you again in his magnet tar pit trap.

As JJ removed his fingers from your panties and brought them to your lips, coating your mouth in your own juices, savoring the sweet, musky taste of arousal. His eyes locked with yours, a challenge dancing in their depths.

"Taste yourself," he said, his voice low and commanding. Your cheeks flushed red, but the arousal coursing through your veins overpowered any last shreds of modesty.

Slowly, you parted your lips and closed them around his fingers, lapping up every drop of your essence. Your heart pounded in your chest as your tongue swirled around his digits, a sultry dance of your submission and desire.

JJ had treated you like shit, you knew, your friends knew, even JJ himself knew, yet you couldn't help the craving that swelled within you for him—a craving to be claimed, to be marked, to be his in every way that mattered.

as always, reblogs and comments keeps me motivated. 🫶🏾

[fancyfeathers]

Another prompt/ask for Fancy! Scenario where Daughter!Darling gets into a courtyard fight with somebody from her school?

Like I’m talking fists flying, scratching, maybe even hair pulling!

Like, who in the Batfam would be horrified to see her come home bruised and who would be immensely proud to see that she beat the other kid to a bloody pulp?

From 🪼

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

The question is who would be the least horrified/concerned

Bruce gets the call from the principal right around lunch time, he is supposed to be in a meeting but then he gets told his daughter was in a fight and he immediately goes to the school only to find his daughter sitting outside the principal’s office with Damian next to her because the principal left him to watch her. Bruce honestly expected a trip to the hospital to check for concussions, but his daughter looked fine besides a few bruises, and then the other kid and his parents come out of the office, the parents look pissed and the kid looked terrified and was the one who probably needed stitches.

Bruce definitely looked like he got a few grays sitting in the principal’s office with Damian and his daughter. She had gotten in a fight at lunch, apparently the other kid said something to her that pissed her off and it ended up in that kid getting beat up, really beat up. Then when she was being brought to the office Damian spotted her and tagged along, demanding an explanation for her, and Damian was pissed because no she is not supposed to get in fights, he was supposed to protect her, she is supposed to be helpless.

Bruce pays for the other kid’s medical bills and takes her home after she was suspended and oh my she is very much in trouble. It is that type of scene where he scolds her in the car, she is a member of their family now, she has to behave. Damian does not pick fights at school, and he was raised by assassins, so there is no justification that she should either. She is sent to her room and needless to say she is grounded for a very long time.

Seeing as she already spends most of her time in her room in the manor and her mother does not side with Bruce on her actions, it really won’t get the point across. So after some mulling it over, Bruce talks to Dick and she is told that she is going to be staying with Dick in Blüdhaven during the rest of her suspension and probably then some, doing online classes.

The punishment isn’t the fact that she has to stay with Dick but the fact that she won’t have her mom with her. Dick is not as harsh on his little sister, actually getting her to let her guard down and have fun, especially with a little help from Haley. Honestly he understands, her whole life had changed because of them in the blink of an eye, she is not a vigilante in a family full of them, she just is a child and she deserves to be a child instead of just having a bunch of pent of rage and that kid was just the one who popped the lid on the enviable. Honestly for awhile she forgets about a lot her problems with Dick taking her out to see the city during the day and bond with her and tucking her into bed with Haley before he going off on patrols during the night, he doesn’t really need to worry about her running away, he lives in the middle of the city of Blüdhaven, the crime is bad enough that she won’t go running off.

Tim will probably stop by to watch their little sister during the day when Dick has to go into his day job and he is definitely a bit torn up. He certainly is not happy about the fact that do to her actions she is out of the manor until she learns her lesson (not like she wants to be there anyway), but he understands she needs to learn to let her guard down around them so she does not keep her emotions so pent up so this does not happen again. When she starts school work online again, Tim is the one making sure she does it, sending reminders to Dick to check up on her work (he would text her but her phone was taken after she got suspended), or sitting by her when Dick is busy and he is watching her and making sure she is working and helping her out. He is the one who is trying her to break down her walls the most so this can all be over with and she can come back home and…

It doesn’t work that easily.

When she is out at the park with Dick and Tim, taking Haley on a walk after Dick got back from work and before they went on patrol, Dick brought up the idea of family traditions since she must have had some with her mother and since they all are a family now…

“No, we’re not a… you’re not my family.”

Just when they thought they have made so much progress, her hand threatens to slip away from Dick’s grasp, but he squeezes her hand tight and he drags her back to his apartment, Tim trailing closely behind.

Jason is the last to have to deal with this situation after this last incident. He comes to see her while everyone is out on patrol, climbing through the window of Dick’s apartment, taking off his helmet, and sitting down next to her and breaking down for her as much as he can. He knows she does not want to be here and there is no changing the fact that she is not going to be leaving them, if she just pretends to be happy and get along with people things will actually be happier for her, they will never be totally ideal, but they could be flexible if she follows the rules like no fighting at school, let them be older brothers and a father to her, just behave, act her age, and be a part of the family. Just work with them and they will work with her.

She agrees, Jason isn’t one to keep up the delusion, he just does not want to see her hurt anymore, he is a protective yandere by the very definition. Because she agrees he may or may not teach her some self defense moves that Bruce didn’t want her knowing, just to be able to hold her own when need be and not give a kid a bloody nose, if he really deserves that her brothers will take care of it.

(I am also imagining the aftermath of the meeting with the principal, Bruce stressed out and Mother!Darling being like, “hm, maybe she would be a better Robin than your boys-“ “no.”)

[brattyfics]

Not So Secret Santa

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Summary: Eve Dillard’s favorite holiday has lost its sparkle since a painful breakup, leaving her to navigate another lonely Christmas. But when a familiar snow globe from a secret admirer resurfaces, she’s drawn back into the past. The gift leads her to reconnect with Terry Richmond, a high school friend and long-lost crush who’s returned from military service. As their reunion stirs up old feelings, Eve is reminded of the magic of the season and the possibility of rediscovered love.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Holiday Rom-Com Coded

Word Count: 11K+

2024

Christmas had always been Eve Dillard’s favorite time of year.

The cold winter nights were perfect for curling up with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, the scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and fresh pine wrapping around Eve like a warm hug. Dressed in her favorite cozy pajamas, she'd let the crackling gas fireplace set the mood while losing herself in the comfort of holiday classics. Christmas wasn’t just a season for Eve—it was part of her identity. Her parents had named her after the holiday, and her siblings carried that same festive spirit in their names: Joy, Noelle, and their baby brother, Emmanuelle.

In the Dillard house, Christmas was magic.

Her mother, Diane Dillard, always turned every room into a wonderland, filling it with sparkling ornaments and twinkling lights. The family hosted a Christmas Eve party that felt like a reunion, with friends and family gathered around a table full of treats: rich red velvet cake, fudgy brownies, and the smoothest frosted pound cake you could imagine. Eve and her siblings would stay up late decorating gingerbread houses, listening to the grown folks talk. Those late nights became a tradition that grounded her in the best kind of holiday joy.

But after Eve turned twenty-five, things started to shift.

Five Christmases ago, her on-again, off-again high school sweetheart, Keith, had shattered her heart. She’d tried to move on, ventured back into the dating scene, but each attempt ended in disappointment. With each passing holiday season, dating felt like an even more hopeless endeavor. The men in her age range were either already in relationships or still out here playing games with women’s hearts. Unfortunately, Christmas had become a cold reminder of what she didn’t have. 

Her siblings were all paired off—her two sisters had married solid, loving men and were chasing toddlers around the house. Even her baby brother had popped the question and was planning his wedding. And her parents? Their love was still as strong as ever, evident in the flirtatious teasing and laughter that echoed through the house whenever they bickered. There she was, the odd one out, especially during the holidays, when it seemed like everyone else was wrapped up in their own love stories.

Now, Christmas felt like a series of awkward work parties and forced smiles, nothing like the fun she remembered. If it wasn’t her aunties grilling her about meeting someone new, it was her cousins teasing her about her “bad luck” with men. The office celebrations, planned weeks ahead so coworkers could celebrate before their holiday leave, left the season feeling drawn out and exhausting. By the time Christmas Day arrived, the festivities felt stale, and Eve found herself just going through the motions, making polite conversation while secretly wishing she could fast-forward to January.

This year, things had gotten even more vexing—Eve had drawn Malik from IT for Secret Santa. Malik wasn’t bad to look at, but he spent more time flirting with every woman in the office than actually doing his job. His antics were enough to make Eve roll her eyes, turning the already-dreaded gift exchange into yet another holiday hurdle. Eventually, she settled on a simple set of pens and a plain notebook—safe, practical, and totally forgettable.

Even as she wrapped the gift, Eve felt the weight of monotony. With no new work crushes or dating prospects to look forward to, Eve’s workdays blurred together—endless paperwork, the same beige-gray office walls, and another holiday season passing in a haze of office chatter. It was easy to tune it all out, to just go through the motions. But then the day came—the day for the office gift exchange

“This one’s for Eve!” Ms. Ruby, the vibrant office manager, called out with her signature enthusiasm. At a proud seventy years young, Ms. Ruby was a force of nature, always stepping into the office with bold, jazzy outfits that matched her lively personality. “A gift from my husband, going on forty-something years strong!” she’d say with a wink whenever someone admired her latest accessory. Mr. Charles was forever splurging on a new costume jewelry set or a fresh pair of colorful shoes, each piece a reflection of his love for her style.

Eve rose from her seat, accepting the green gift bag with a polite smile. Maybe she’d never have a husband of forty-something years who appreciated her inside and out, but at least someone had remembered her favorite color. As she pulled back the tissue paper, her fingers brushed against something smooth and solid nestled inside.

When she lifted the delicate snow globe, Eve’s breath caught in her throat. Inside was a Black princess, a tiny crown perched on her head, surrounded by glittering snowflakes—just like the one she’d had as a child but lost during her senior year of high school.

"Oh my god!" Eve exclaimed, her voice filled with surprise and joy. She looked around the room, eyes sparkling. "Who got me this? I love it!" Her gaze swept across her coworkers, but everyone just shrugged, their smiles barely containing their amusement. Eve's eyes locked with Ms. Ruby’s, who wore a knowing smirk, as if she were in on some secret.

Whoever had chosen this gift had clearly gone to great lengths—it hadn’t been made in nearly twenty years. Who knew her well enough to find something so perfect? Who cared enough to hunt down something so meaningful? She dug through the bag for a card, hoping to find a name, but there was only a blank tag.

She shook the globe, and her eyes lit up as the snowflakes swirled around the princess. But then, tucked underneath it, a flash of highlighter pink caught her eye. She picked up the sticky note, the handwriting oddly familiar, but she couldn’t place it right away: 

I hope you like this gift. It was difficult to find, but seeing you smile will be worth it. From your secret admirer.

Eve scanned the room again, but no one said a word—not even Malik, who was wearing that same smug grin of his. Have I ever seen his handwriting? she wondered, cringing at the thought of him being her secret Santa. Still, the gift was too thoughtful to dismiss, and she couldn't help but feel touched. “Whoever did this, thank you so much,” she said, her voice sincere. “This is honestly the best gift I could’ve gotten.”

The mystery lingered with Eve throughout the rest of the day. She couldn’t help but keep glancing around, half-expecting someone to fess up about being her Secret Santa, but no one did. Eventually, she wandered over to Ruby’s desk, hoping for a clue.

“That defeats the whole point of Secret Santa, baby,” Ms. Ruby said with a laugh, shaking her head as she shuffled through some papers.

Eve leaned casually against the back of Ruby's ergonomic chair. "It's only a secret 'til the gift’s out the bag, Ms. Ruby," she teased. “You already went and told everybody else’s Secret Santa. What’s so special about mine?”

Ms. Ruby glanced up from her stack of paperwork, her eyes twinkling with mischief before she moved quicker than Eve could have expected, swatting her lightly on the behind with the pile of papers.

“Ms. Ruby!” Eve yelped, jumping to the side, a surprised laugh escaping her lips.

“I told you to leave me be so I can get some work done!” Ms. Ruby shooed her away, her lips curling into a mock-serious frown. Eve didn’t have to look twice to know the older woman was more about looking busy than actually doing any paperwork. Working was just her way of staying active—keeping her mind sharp, like the rest of her.

As Eve turned to walk away, she grinned, rolling her eyes. “That woman’s a whole mess,” she murmured under her breath, her lips curling in affection despite herself.

Thoughts of her mysterious Secret Santa stayed with Eve the whole way home, nagging at her while she threw together a quick dinner and cleaned the kitchen. She couldn’t help but replay the moment she’d opened the snow globe, trying to figure out who had picked it out for her. But by the time she’d showered and got comfortable for the evening, her mind had wandered to other things—like what outfit she was going to rock on Christmas Day. She was ready to stunt a little, show her cousins what being childless did for her pockets and her closet.

By the time Eve got to work the next morning, she’d managed to push the mystery to the back of her mind. That is, until she sat down at her desk and spotted another sticky note with that same, familiar handwriting:

I’m glad you liked the gift. I knew it’d bring that beautiful smile of yours to life. If you're wondering who's behind it, I’d love to show you. Meet me for lunch at 1:00 PM—there’s a new spot two blocks down, and I’ve got us a table. Hope you can make it, Eve.

Eve bit her bottom lip, torn between caution and curiosity. Meeting someone like this, all wrapped in mystery, didn’t exactly feel safe or smart. Why all the secrecy? Why leave notes instead of just saying it out loud? How did they know about her smile without even being there? Could her Secret Santa have been watching from the shadows all along, without ever revealing themselves? The thought sent a chill down her spine. But in the end, curiosity won out.

Eve made sure to let Ms. Ruby know where she’d be and when to expect her back. Ms. Ruby’s knowing smile eased her nerves just enough as she stepped out into the brisk winter air, the chill nipping at her cheeks. 

As she walked to the restaurant, Eve quickly texted her siblings the details—just to be safe. She wasn’t taking any chances, especially with the mystery hanging over her head.

When she stepped inside the restaurant, her gloved hands folded nervously in front of her, she took in the cozy ambiance. Soft R&B holiday classics played in the background, and the space glowed with candlelight and pine-scented garlands. Couples leaned in close, lost in their own world. Eve hesitated, feeling self-conscious standing alone at the entrance, until a young waitress approached her with a warm, welcoming smile.

"Are you Eve?"

Eve blinked, startled for a moment. "Yeah, that's me."

"Come on, I’ll show you to your table."

With a mix of curiosity and just a touch of apprehension, Eve followed the waitress further into the restaurant. “Where are we headed?” she asked, doing her best to keep her nerves in check.

“There’s a private area in the back,” the waitress replied with a friendly smile, leading her behind a velvet curtain. Despite the uneasy flutter in her chest, Eve pushed her doubts aside. She wasn’t about to turn back now after coming this far.

On the other side of the curtain, a single table was set up in the center of a cozy, golden-lit room. Sitting there, dressed in a crisp button-down shirt and slacks, was a man she hadn’t seen in what felt like ages. His rich honey-brown skin practically glowed in the soft light, and those blue-green eyes of his, sparkling with that same familiar warmth, made her heart skip a beat.

“Terry?” she whispered, the disbelief clear in her voice.

He stood, tall as she remembered, and before she knew it, she was in his arms. She jumped up, and he caught her easily, holding her close as she clung tightly to his neck

“It’s been way too long!” Eve exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over as Terry lifted her off her feet, giving her a playful shake before setting her back down. The little girl inside her couldn’t help but squeal.

"Far too long," Terry agreed, his eyes softening as he met her gaze, holding her just a moment longer than necessary before gently lowering her back to the ground.

Eve slapped his arm, still grinning. "What are you doing here? When did you get back?"

“You haven’t changed a bit, Eve—still running that mouth a mile a minute,” Terry teased, his grin wide as he motioned for her to take a seat. Eve sank into the chair, but her gaze stayed locked on him, still struggling to believe he was really here.

They’d been close since childhood, but after graduation, Terry had enlisted in the Marines, and keeping in touch had been impossible. First, it was radio silence during boot camp, then sporadic updates as he climbed the ranks. Meanwhile, she’d dived into her studies, focused on finishing college and earning her degree, though thoughts of him had never been far from her mind. Every time she tried to reach out, something always got in the way.

Eve found herself momentarily frozen, taking in the scent of his cologne and the sharp look of his neatly styled short Afro. "You look good, Terry," she said, though the word "good" didn’t even come close to doing him justice. He’d filled out in all the right places, his frame broader than she remembered. It was clear the Marines had only made him more disciplined, more focused. The tall, lean teenager she remembered had transformed into a man who was clearly all grown up, his muscular build a testament to the years he'd spent shaping himself.

"You look even better." His gaze swept over her, making her pulse race. Eve couldn’t help the flutter in her chest, but she quickly shook it off. She’d grown into her own as well—filled out, gotten more comfortable in her skin, and her acne-prone days were long behind her. But this was Terry. He didn’t see her that way, and she was far too grown to be stuck on an old crush.

"So, for real, what brings you back home?" she asked, forcing herself to focus on the present.

"I'm done with the service now. Retired," Terry said with a shrug. "Figured it was time to come back home, settle down, and start a new chapter. Everyone I care about is here, so it felt like the right place to make it happen."

"Your mama must be over the moon!"

“Over the moon is an understatement,” he chuckled, the edges of his voice softening. “She wanted to throw me a big welcome-back party, but I told her I’d rather reconnect with folks one-on-one.”

"Well, I’m glad I made the list," Eve grinned. "I ran into your mom a few weeks ago, and she didn’t say anything about you coming back!"

Terry smirked. "She didn’t know yet. Can’t give her too much notice, or she’ll have the whole block—and probably folks from here to California—waiting to meet me at the airport." He chuckled, the sound rich and familiar, making Eve feel that comforting pull of home she didn’t even realize she’d been missing.

Eve burst out laughing. "My mama’s the same way! I hear her on the phone all the time, talking about me like, ‘Evie’s still single, y’all; I guess she’s waiting on Jesus.’" She mimicked her mother’s voice so spot-on it had Terry cracking up.

“What happened with ol’ boy—what was his name again?” Terry teased, pretending to forget. Eve shook her head, rolling her eyes.

“You mean Keith? We called it quits a while ago.”

“What happened? I thought y’all were gonna be the next Barack and Michelle?”

Eve laughed, the humor hitting her differently now. “Life happened. It just wasn’t meant to be, and I’m good with that.” She wasn’t about to dive into the gory details. She’d healed and moved on. Keith was a chapter she’d closed long ago.

“You were way too good for him, anyway.” Eve’s heart skipped a beat, and she wasn’t prepared for the warmth that spread through her at his words.

She raised an eyebrow, suddenly piecing everything together. “Wait a minute—don’t tell me you were the one behind those secret admirer notes?”

“Guilty as charged,” Terry said with a grin. “Figured I owed you a snow globe after all these years.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You took my snow globe? I looked everywhere for that thing!”

“I didn’t take it,” Terry admitted, a guilty grin tugging at his lips. “But I did break it.”

Eve gasped, her hand flying to her chest as though he’d confessed to a grand crime. “You broke it?”

“It was an accident!” Terry quickly added, his chuckles softening the blow. “Your dad called you downstairs, and I got a little too close to the shelf. Next thing I know—glass shattering, glitter flying—everything was on the floor.”

Eve laughed, shaking her head, already picturing her younger self stomping around in frustration. But now, the whole situation seemed almost too ridiculous not to laugh about. “How’d you manage to hide it from me?”

“I cleaned it up quick and grabbed a towel from your bathroom. It was fine—except for the glitter. That stuff was everywhere—on the floor, on my hands. But since you never said anything, I figured I got away with it.”

“Terry Richmond,” Eve said with a playful squint, “You’re a whole mess!”

“But I made it right, didn’t I?” His smile was a slow, satisfied curve, his blue-green eyes sparkling with the joy of being so close to her again. “And when I saw that look on your face—”

“Wait, hold up,” Eve interrupted, her eyes narrowing playfully, “You were there yesterday?”

"Guess I forgot to mention it. We're coworkers now. I’m the head of security," He leaned back, his eyes locking with hers. "Been around, making sure everything’s tight," he added with a half-smile. He didn’t mention how he'd been keeping an eye on her from the cameras, just to make sure she was safe from all those corporate threats: staples, paper cuts, and heavy boxes…you know, the dangerous stuff. "It might sound crazy, but I couldn’t come at you until I knew I had made things right between us."

“That damn snow globe,” she mused, a smile tugging at her lips. Who would’ve thought her favorite childhood trinket would be the thing that brought her favorite person back? She reached out, taking his hands across the table. “I would’ve been glad to see you, no matter what.” He squeezed her hands, remembering the nervous flutter in his chest when he’d placed his bid on that snow globe. He wanted her to have it, and he didn’t hold back. “I know. But you deserve that—and so much more.”

Eve rolled her eyes playfully, though there was a flicker of something else in her gaze. “Cut it out with the compliments,” she teased, leaning back in her seat. “I’m gonna be walking around with a big head at this rate.”

“You already got a big—”

“—Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Terrence.”

They slipped into a comfortable rhythm, their banter flowing like it had never skipped a beat. It felt like no time had passed at all, like he’d never left and she’d never hidden the soft spot she’d always had for him. It was clear he still didn’t realize how deep her feelings for him ran. Still, something told her this Christmas was going to be one she’d never forget.

“We should do this again sometime,” Terry suggested as they walked back to the office, his tone casual but the hint of something more lingering in the air.

“Definitely,” Eve replied, but her thoughts drifted back to the past, to all the things she’d buried. The what-ifs. The could-have-beens. For now, though, she was content. Whatever this was, it was enough—for now.

“How about tonight?” Terry surprised her, his voice bringing her back to the moment. “We could grab some dinner, or I can bring something over. You still love that fried rice from Gogi Grill, right?” He grinned, already knowing the answer. Eve had always been a creature of habit when it came to good food. She stopped in her tracks, a smile spreading across her face. “I can’t believe you remember! Of course I still love their fried rice.” She stressed the word love, making sure he heard it loud and clear. “And the—”

“—vegetable spring rolls. Yeah, I know.”

“That sounds so good.” she grinned, feeling a spark of excitement.

“What time works for you?” he asked, already getting his phone out. “I’ll bring it all.”

“Eight?” she replied, figuring that gave her just enough time to get home, unwind, and freshen up.

“I’ll be there at eight. Let me get your phone so I can save my number, and you can text me your new address.”

They walked back toward her desk, and Terry promised to see her later. The rest of the afternoon dragged, Eve barely getting any work done as her mind wandered, fixated on what was coming next. The second five o'clock hit, she nearly bolted out of the office. At home, she was a whirlwind—tidying, organizing, putting everything in order. By the time the doorbell rang, she had just slipped into a comfy graphic tee and yoga pants. No need to impress him—this was Terry.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” she greeted with a grin, stretching her arms wide as Terry’s gaze swept over her. She almost convinced herself she was imagining it.

“Feel free to bring the food to the living room. I’ve got plates and bean bags set up if that’s cool with you.”

“Works for me,” Terry replied, setting down the bags of food. As he dished out their plates, she grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge, uncorking it and pouring them each a glass.

“You still watch those cheesy romance flicks?” Terry teased, flipping through the channels with a smirk.

“No,” she replied a little too quickly, though, she definitely did.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You don’t have to front for me. I know you too well.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re right. Can’t hide anything from you.” They eventually landed on a BET romance about a doctor secretly in love with his best friend, and Eve couldn’t help but notice the irony of it all. She thought about asking him to change the channel but decided against it, instead letting out a long sigh, a wave of longing she couldn’t quite explain washing over her.

“What’s wrong?” Terry’s voice softened with concern.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, trying to brush it off, but his eyes told her he wasn’t buying it.

“Something’s on your mind,” he pressed gently. “Is it the food? Or something else?”

“Definitely not the food,” Eve answered, “I guess I’m just not feelin’ the movie. It’s... a little too cheesy, even for me.” Normally, these kinds of stories made her feel all warm and fuzzy, but tonight, it just hit differently—like a reminder of the things she might never have, especially with the man she’d always wanted sitting right next to her, still oblivious to her feelings.

“Really? I think it’s kind of sweet,” he said, and Eve froze mid-bite.

“Sweet? What’s gotten into you?” she teased, her eyebrows arched.

He shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “When you like it, it’s romantic. But when I do, something’s gotta be wrong?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Man, every time I made you watch one of these back in the day, you complained the whole time,” she teased, her smirk growing.

“That was a long time ago. I was just a kid then. I’m a grown man now,” he shot back, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief.

She looked him over, feeling the weight of his words in a way she hadn’t expected. “Alright, grown man,” she teased, trying to mask the sudden shift in her chest. “Guess it just threw me off, that’s all.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, his tone a little more challenging now.

“Because you were never the romantic type,” she said, but even as the words left her mouth, her heart couldn’t help but wonder if that had changed.

“How do you know that?” he shot back, his question hanging in the air like it meant something more. Eve felt a small pang in her chest. Maybe it was silly, but Terry always had a way of getting under her skin.

“I guess I don’t know, Terry,” she admitted quietly. “You’re right. I wouldn’t know what kind of romantic you are. You’ve always treated me like family.” The last words came out with a little more weight than she intended, a quiet bitterness lingering at the edges of her voice. She didn’t want to admit it, but it still stung.

Terry leaned in a little closer, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity she wasn’t used to. “Only because I didn’t know how to be romantic back then,” he said, his voice dropping to something more vulnerable. “Didn’t know how to flirt, didn’t know how to say what I felt.”

Her breath caught, a sudden heat creeping up her neck as he continued, his voice lower now, more serious. “I treated you the only way I knew how. Walked you home every day, carried your bag, made sure to save some of my mama’s fried dumplings for you. It might not have been flowers or poems, but I thought I was making it clear.”

Eve blinked, feeling the floor beneath her shift. “Terry, what are you saying?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, but her mind was already racing—was he really saying what she thought he was?

“I always liked you, Evie. Always,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But I thought... I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

Her cheeks flushed deep, a rush of heat flooding her face at his words. The weight of the confession hit her in waves, stirring up feelings she'd buried for so long. "That’s not true. I was into you, too—really into you."

Terry’s eyes widened with surprise, a small smile breaking through as he processed her words. “But you were with Keith. You got engaged.” He’d seen the engagement photos on social media, and it had torn him up inside. Took everything not to call her phone and tell her she was making a mistake. But he’d convinced himself that the right thing to do would be to step back and let her find happiness without him.

She exhaled slowly, her throat tight with emotion. "He asked me to be his girlfriend... and later, to marry him. At the time, I thought it was what I was supposed to do. You were gone, and I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance to tell you how I really felt," she said, her voice quieter now, as if the words were heavy. "I convinced myself that if I just moved on, I could forget you."

“Are you telling me,” Terry’s laugh was low, almost incredulous, but there was a warmth behind it—like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “that we both felt this way all along, and I just didn’t see it?”

Eve let out a breath, trying to steady herself. “Yeah, Terry. I think we both did.”

“Evie,” he began, his voice soft, almost reverent. His hand reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers—a touch so light it made her heart stutter. “All these years…” Her breath hitched. She didn’t pull back, but she wasn’t sure how to step forward either. 

Memories flooded her mind, sharp and vivid as if they’d happened yesterday—walking home together in the rain, Terry draping his jacket over her head to protect her crown. Splitting a basket of wings at the local chicken spot after school, making do with whatever change they could scrape together. His loud, carefree laugh always chasing away her bad days, like he could make the world feel right again without even trying. Those moments weren’t just the past, they were the foundation of everything they’d ever been. Terry had always been there, steady as sunrise, holding it down in ways she didn’t know how to name back then. 

His thumb brushed the back of her hand, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the feel of her skin. He leaned in just a little, his gaze searching hers, the air between them thick with longing. “Evie,” he whispered, his voice gentle but heavy with desire. “Can I kiss you?”

Her eyes flickered down to his lips before she gave a subtle nod. 

With a tenderness that made her heart race, Terry cupped her face in his hands and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. They were softer than he’d imagined, and she let out a breathy sigh that sent a wave of warmth through him. His hands slid down her sides, settling on her hips with a gentle squeeze as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She tasted sweet, like dark chocolate and candy canes—the kind of holiday goodies she loved, and now he couldn’t help but love them, too. Pulling away slowly, his gaze softened, serious now. “Evie, I’m not looking for something temporary. I want something real. Something lasting. Not just for the holidays or a good time.”He let the words hang in the air, searching her face for any sign of hesitation. “This—us—I don't want it to be just another chapter in my life.”

"Terry," Eve whispered, her hand resting gently on his chest before sliding up to cup his face. "This is a lot… all at once. Before we go any further, I need to know we’re really on the same page." Her voice trembled slightly, her guard creeping back up. It wasn’t easy learning to trust again, to let her heart stay open after everything she’d been through. And with Terry... there was no way her heart wouldn’t get tangled up in this. As much as he hated the idea of stepping back, Terry understood where she was coming from. She wasn’t wrong—they had too much history to rush into something without thinking it through. Their lives were intertwined in so many ways: mutual friends, their parents practically family. He nodded, his voice steady and sincere. “I hear you, Evie. I got you. We’ll take this slow—whatever feels right for you.”

In the days that followed, Terry found any excuse to be around Eve. He’d joke about “checking the perimeter” at work, but really, he just wanted to be near her—catching glimpses of her at her desk, looking effortlessly stunning in those blue-light blocking glasses and preppy business casual outfits. He’d leave her little treats—those chocolate “kisses” she couldn’t resist—and sticky notes filled with jokes or random facts to make her smile. And sometimes, he'd offer to grab office supplies for her, like highlighters or paper clips, even though she could easily pick them up herself. It was his way of staying close, of showing her that he was there.

His presence didn’t go unnoticed. The women in the office—Ms. Ruby especially—seemed to flock to Eve’s desk, trying to catch a glimpse of Terry, pretending they needed something just for the chance to see him up close.

“I’m gonna tell Mr. Charles on you,” Eve teased Ms. Ruby one morning, grinning.

“What he don’t know won’t hurt him, baby,” Ms. Ruby shot back with a wink, fanning herself as she smirked. “I’m just lookin’. Ain’t no harm in that.”

Eve and Terry started syncing their lunches, making sure to carve out time outside of the office to be together. Eve introduced him to her favorite local deli, where he quickly became hooked on the sandwiches and pasta salad. One afternoon, they shared a plate of injera at an Ethiopian restaurant while Terry told stories about an Ethiopian guy he’d served with, their laughter filling the space between them as they reconnected and deepened their bond. Throughout it all, Terry was the perfect gentleman—opening doors, pulling out her chair, and offering her bites of whatever he was eating, especially when they ordered different dishes. It was those little moments, the simple kindness in his gestures, that made her heart swell and open to the possibility of a real future with him.

Even though Terry was crashing at his mom’s place until he found his own, most evenings, he was at hers. They’d curl up on her couch, the TV left forgotten as they lost themselves in each other—kissing, cuddling, fingers tracing over bare skin. No distractions, no rush—just being together. On those nights, Terry shared more stories from his time in the service, each one peeling back another layer of the man she was just beginning to rediscover. In return, she recounted the ups and downs of her college years—laughing over the good times and the challenges. She filled him in on her sisters, Joy and Noelle, and how they had both started families of their own. They laughed about how her brother, Emmanuelle, still couldn’t resist sticking his nose into everyone’s business, despite being engaged to the woman of his dreams.

Terry told her about his mom—how much she’d been enjoying having him back at home. She’d been lonely since his dad passed, and had tried to fill that void with "friends" who never quite measured up to Terry Sr. Eve could hear the love and concern in his voice, the way he cared for his mom’s well-being, even as he juggled his own life. Life hadn’t slowed down while they’d been apart, but now, with Terry back in her life, everything felt like it was falling into place.

Moving forward together felt just right, so Eve invited Terry and his mom, Gloria, to join her family for Christmas. It had been three whirlwind weeks since the Secret Santa exchange, but she couldn’t imagine celebrating her favorite holiday without him. Her mom was overjoyed to hear that Terry was back in town, and her dad—true to his warm, welcoming nature—was all for it, always saying, the more, the merrier. Gloria didn’t hesitate to accept, admitting it had been far too long since she’d seen the Dillards and even longer since she’d enjoyed a big family Christmas.

When Christmas Eve finally arrived, the doorbell rang, and Eve opened it to find Terry standing on the porch, holding a foil-covered pan in one hand and shrink-wrapped sweet potato pies in the other. He looked as handsome as ever, dressed in a cream-colored cashmere sweater and navy blue slacks. Beside him, his mother, Gloria, was glowing—decked out in a vibrant red outfit with jingle bell earrings that softly jingled as she smiled warmly.

The sight of them, so full of the holiday spirit, made Eve’s heart swell with warmth.

“You didn’t have to bring anything, Ms. Gloria!” Eve said, smiling brightly.

“I always bake too many pies, baby, you know that,” Gloria replied with a wink. “At least they won’t go to waste this year.”

Eve chuckled, stepping aside to let them in. The moment the door swung closed, a mouthwatering scent filled the air, rich with the familiar, savory spices that brought her back to her childhood. Her eyes landed on the pan in Terry’s hands. “And what’s that?” she asked, voice filled with eager curiosity.

“What you think?” Terry grinned.

“Fried dumplings?”

“Fried up just the way you like them—crispy and golden,” he confirmed.

Eve couldn’t help herself—she did a little happy dance right there in the doorway, which sent Gloria into a fit of laughter.

“I made them just for you, sweet girl,” Gloria said, grinning. “I remember how much you loved these back in the day.”

“You’re the best, Ms. Gloria,” Eve said, pulling her into a tight hug. “Not a crumb of this is going to waste, I swear.”

Before Gloria could respond, a loud, familiar voice rang out from deeper inside the house. “Richmond!” Eve’s brother, Emmanuelle, appeared in the hallway, grinning wide. He made his way over to Terry, pulling him into a big, tight hug and giving him a friendly slap on the back. Terry adjusted the pan in his hand, leaning into the embrace. “Man, where you been at?”

Terry smirked, taking in the scene. “Right where I’m supposed to be, I guess.”

“Well, good to see you back, bro. Ain’t nobody here that can keep up with me on Uno except you.”

Emmanuelle’s loud greeting drew the rest of the family in like a magnet. Within moments, the entire Dillard crew had swarmed around Terry, wrapping him in hugs, back slaps, and warm greetings from every direction. Eve’s dad pulled him into a big rocking hug, her mom gave his shoulders a quick, affectionate pat, and her sisters squeezed him between chasing their toddlers, who zipped around the living room like little caffeinated elves, clearly hyped up on holiday treats. Terry soaked it all in. The Dillard house had always been full of life, and it was a relief to see that hadn’t changed. Some things were different, sure, but the love and warmth that mattered most were just the same.

“Let me take that off your hands, bruh,” Emmanuelle said, reaching for the pan. “I’ll put it with the rest of the food.”

“Uh-uh!” Eve cut in, snatching the pan before he could touch it. “You’re not slick.”

“Slick?” Emmanuelle raised a brow. “Girl, you that greedy? You can’t even trust me to take a pan to the kitchen?”

“I can’t trust you, period,” Eve shot back. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she leaned in close. “Especially when I know you helped break my snow globe.”

Emmanuelle’s face twisted as he tried to recall what she was talking about.

“I know it was you,” she added, her eyes narrowing.

He smirked and turned to Terry. “You told her, man?”

Terry chuckled, shaking his head. “I didn’t say a word. You just outed yourself.” He hadn’t revealed that he was shoved into the shelf, choosing to shield the younger man from being implicated in the "crime."

Emmanuelle shook his head, laughing. “That’s foul, sis. You really out here holding on to something from a over decade ago just to call me out? You oughta be ashamed. All this over some food? You that greedy?”

“I have to be!” Eve shot back. “I’ve been dealing with you my whole life. Ashley, I don’t know how you handle this man. He’s been eating entire meals by himself since he was ten.”

Ashley, Emmanuelle’s fiancé, strolled by, tossing her husband a look. “Girl, I just cook double and call it a day.” The room erupted into laughter as the family buzzed around them, settling into the lively chaos that made Christmas at the Dillard house unforgettable.

An hour later, everyone gathered around the table, plates piled high with Christmas Eve dishes: smothered chicken over rice, cabbage cooked with bacon, buttery rolls, and generous helpings of Ms. Gloria’s Carribbean spiced dumplings. The real feast—the honey-glazed ham, collard greens, mac and cheese, cornbread, smoked turkey, and sautéed okra—was waiting for Christmas Day. But tonight, this was more than enough. They joined hands and bowed their heads as the family prayed, offering blessings for their health, happiness, and the year to come.

“So, Terry, when’d you get back, bruh?” Emmanuelle asked, already halfway through a second helping of chicken and rice.

“Been about seven weeks. Almost two months now,” Terry replied, taking a sip of sweet tea.

“What?” Emmanuelle looked up, fork in midair. “Why ain’t I seen you yet?”

“I’ve been laying low,” Terry said. “Getting used to civilian life again.”

Emmanuelle turned to Eve with a mock-serious expression. “Evie, why didn’t you tell me my boy was back?”

She shrugged, trying to sound casual. "I didn’t even know he was back until a couple of weeks ago."

From the corner of her eye, Eve noticed her sisters straightening up, ears clearly tuned in. She knew that look—they smelled tea brewing. When she didn’t respond right away, Emmanuelle leaned in, fanning the flames.

“How’d y’all reconnect anyway?” he asked, eyes narrowed playfully.

Eve cleared her throat, keeping her tone light but firm. “We work together now.”

That should’ve been the end of it, but she could see her brother’s curiosity growing. The last thing she needed was for her family to get too nosy about her and Terry. It wasn’t that she was hiding anything, but it was still too early for outside opinions to complicate things.

“Oh, okay, so you saw him at the office,” Emmanuelle said, smirking. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why are you grilling me, E-Man?” Eve shot back, raising a brow.

“Grilling? I’m just asking questions!”

“Terry, what are you doing at the company?” her mom, Diane, chimed in, cutting through the sibling banter.

“Security,” Terry replied, pausing to wipe his mouth. “Keeping the building safe and making sure everything runs smooth.”

Joy, one of Eve’s sisters, leaned back with a sly smile. “Didn’t know the corporate world was so dangerous,” she teased, sipping her spiked sweet tea. “Bet all the ladies in the office are feeling extra secure with you around."

Eve shot her a warning look, but Terry didn’t flinch.

“It’s not really about danger,” he explained. “It’s more about protecting sensitive info. Everything’s a target these days.” He paused, letting his words settle as he caught the curious looks around the table. “But it’s a good change of pace from the military. I like it. Plus, I’m saving up to start my own private security firm someday. I want to give other brothers coming out of the service a chance to transition into something solid. Help them find their footing again.”

The table went quiet for a moment, the weight of his words settling over them.

“That’s solid, bro,” Emmanuelle said, giving a nod of approval. “We need more folks doing that. Respect, man.”

Eve caught herself smiling at him, a quiet pride swelling inside her as she watched how effortlessly he commanded respect from everyone at the table. She’d seen it in the weeks since they’d reconnected—the way his presence shifted the energy in any room. People either stepped aside or flocked to him, drawn to his quiet confidence. He set the tone, and it was so damn attractive. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice how the affection lighting up her face hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the room.

“Well, are you single, Terry?” her father, Ed, asked without missing a beat. He’d always had a feeling there was something between his little Eve and the Richmond boy. He’d sensed it even back when Terry was still too young and unsure to act on it. But the man sitting in front of him now was someone he could respect—someone he could trust with his baby girl.

“Dad!” Eve protested, her face flushing. But before she could say another word, Gloria, Terry’s mom, jumped in with a playful grin.

“He sure is!” Gloria chimed in, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Terry shot his mom a look of surprise.

“Really?” Diane, Eve’s mom, asked, raising an eyebrow. Meanwhile, Eve’s siblings were doing their best to hide their snickering. Eve’s little niece sat on Noelle’s lap, eyes wide, watching the exchange with interest.

“You know, Evie’s single too,” Diane added with a knowing smile, leaning back in her chair, clearly enjoying herself.

“Mommy—”

“I’m just saying, baby,” Diane said, holding her hands up in mock innocence. The room fell into an expectant silence, all eyes locked on them.

Eve shot Terry a look, shaking her head. Their families just couldn’t resist stirring the pot. She thought, Black folks and their matchmaking. Terry grinned and casually draped an arm over the back of her chair, giving her a look that said, Forget it. Might as well lean into it now. Several sets of eyes snapped in their direction, keen to catch every little moment.

Eve and Terry exchanged a quiet glance, a wordless conversation passing between them before she finally decided to rip the Band-Aid off. “Well, since you’re all in my business,” Eve said with a sigh, “Terry and I have been seeing each other. Just a little while, though. We’re taking it slow.”

It was like a buzzer went off at a championship basketball game—everyone erupted with hoots, hollers, and excited chatter.

“I knew it!”

“Talking ‘bout I’m not slick– girl, you not slick!”

“That’s why she been dodging my calls!”

Terry’s mom elbowed him playfully, her face lighting up with a grin. “Why you didn’t tell me, baby?” She’d suspected something was up with all the late hours he had been keeping, but she’d kept quiet, not wanting to push him too fast. Now, though, seeing the joy on his face, she couldn’t help but be happy for them. 

Terry looked at his mom, his expression softening as he took in her beaming face. It had been too long since he’d seen her this genuinely happy. He gently covered her hand with his own. “We’re still getting to know each other again, Mama. Taking it slow, ‘cause we want to do it right. Didn’t want to tell anyone too soon, or get your hopes up, just in case.”

“It’ll work out,” Gloria said with a smile that was both warm and knowing. “You’re just like your daddy—considerate, kind, protective, dependable. You’re a good man. Anybody would be lucky to have you in their life. And Eve, she’s a great girl. The best, if you ask me. She knows you for who you are, flaws and all. She’s solid, knows herself, and she’s the kind of woman you want by your side. Y’all can make it work, if you both want to…”

Terry’s gaze drifted to the back of Eve’s head as she laughed and talked with her family, fully in her element. It was magnetic. He couldn’t help but think, She’s the one.

“…and I suspect you do.”

Eve caught snippets of the conversation between Terry and her mom, her own voice blending with the chatter around her. “Yeah, mama, we’ll make it,” she heard Terry say, his voice steady, confident.

“You calling it a night after this? Heading home?” Eve asked when her family finally gave her a break from answering questions.

“That wasn’t really the plan.” Terry smirked, his gaze steady on hers. 

Bet, she thought, fighting the urge to grab his hand and tell everyone they were out.

After dinner, they exchanged Christmas Eve gifts with the family. Eve had gotten Terry a new tactical backpack for his camping trips. He’d mentioned before how much he loved getting away to the woods, disconnecting from the world, and reconnecting with nature. She also picked out a cute elephant trinket for his mom, a nod to Ms. Gloria’s sorority, representing strength and resilience. In return, Terry had gifted her parents a beautifully wood-burned sign that read Dillard Family Home. Her parents adored it, and her dad wasted no time putting Terry to work, hanging it up above the door.

Her nieces and nephews tore through their gifts from Uncle Emmanuelle, too big for them to manage on their own, immediately enlisting the adults to help set up toys, insert batteries, and get the noise blasting from their new gadgets. Eve played the dutiful auntie, pitching in to help get the kids settled before she attempted to make a quiet exit, a little earlier than usual.

Her sisters weren’t letting her off that easy, though. They cornered her near the foyer while Terry helped his mom put on her shoes. “No you don’t, girl,” Noelle whispered, with a mischievous grin, while she and Joy surrounded Eve like two sharks on the hunt.

Eve tried to play it cool. “We need to get Ms. Gloria home before it gets too late.”

Joy leaned in close, her voice dripping with teasing. “Girl, please. We already know what’s up. After you drop Ms. Gloria off, you’re gonna be right back with Terry. I been sneaking around long before you even started.”

Eve rolled her eyes, trying to keep it moving while they giggled behind her.

Terry quickly helped his mom settle into her house while Eve sat in the car, fidgeting in the seat, trying to calm the flutter in her chest. When he stepped back outside into the crisp evening air, she reminded herself to get it together. It’s just Terry. 

The whole ride felt charged, the air between them thick with unspoken words, teetering on the edge of something both of them were ready to step into. Eve caught herself stealing glances at Terry, her stomach flipping each time his fingers drummed on the steering wheel or his lips twitched into a half-smile. By the time they reached the family home and she slid into her car, she could barely keep her composure. The drive back to her place was a blur of thoughts, her heartbeat drowning out the soft hum of Christmas music on the radio. Enough. Enough holding back.

When Terry knocked on her door a little while later, she didn’t hesitate. She opened it, grabbed his hand, and pulled him inside. Without a word, she led him to her room. The space was warm and inviting–signature seasonal scents wafted through the air, and a small four-foot tree twinkled in the corner. Low, sultry R&B Christmas classics filled the room, the perfect soundtrack for everything she wasn’t saying.

“Sit,” she murmured, her voice soft but sure, gesturing to the bed. She opened her bedside drawer, pulled out a small gold-foiled packet, and placed it on the comforter beside him. “I know what I want. I want you. I want us.”

She stepped between his legs, loving the way his strong hands explored the curve of her back and sides as their lips met.  She’d had a quick sip of wine while waiting for him, just enough to quiet her nerves. The lingering warmth of it heightened every sensation, making her feel energized and bold. She gently cradled Terry’s head against her chest, her breaths coming soft and uneven as she tried to steady herself.

“I’ve been all in, Eve,” he said, his voice low and unshakable. “Always.”

She let her fingers trail along his warm skin, grounding herself in the reality of him—not just the fantasy she’d kept alive in her mind. Terry was the dangerous kind of handsome, the kind that should come with a warning label. He kissed her softly at first, but his touch grew more demanding and insistent as she shed her clothes. Eve straddled his lap, moving closer, spurred on by the way he held her—like she was precious, worth cherishing, and meant to be kept all to himself.

“You’re safe with me,” Terry promised, his lips brushing her ear. “Always.”

And she believed him. She melted into his touch, surrendering to the intoxicating thrill—and the quiet fear—of letting herself fall. Of trusting. Of daring to believe this could be the start of something real, as he effortlessly flipped them so that he was on top. "Thought about you like this," she admitted softly, helping him lift his shirt over his head to reveal the firm contours of his abdomen. "On top of me, just like this."

Terry's gaze locked on hers, dark and intense. 

“Tell me what else you thought about,” he said, his voice low and coaxing. He wanted her to let whatever she was feeling spill out. Eve was usually guarded, always careful with how much she gave, but now, with him, she didn’t hold back.

She reached down, her fingers curling around his dick through his boxers. "I’ve been thinking about this," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. "What you’d feel like... what it would be like to have you inside me. I’ve waited so long... I almost don’t want to ruin the fantasy." She teased, biting her bottom lip, a playful spark in her eyes. She could feel it—the way that set him on fire. Terry felt his control slipping. Every part of him was primed, ready to unleash it all on her. "Pull it out and see for yourself." 

Eve wrapped both hands around him, her touch slow and deliberate, as her fingers explored every inch. She gasped softly at how hot and heavy he felt, even thicker she had realized. "God," she whispered, feeling her body respond to the sensation of him in her hand. Her mind raced with thoughts of him slapping that fat tip against her clit. She imagined how he’d feel inside her—wondering if he’d be slow and methodical, or more rushed and rough. Either way, she knew she wouldn’t mind.

Above her, Terry’s breath caught as he tugged his boxers down, guiding her hand to him more firmly. His chest rose and fell as his mind tried to stay clear. She glanced up at him with a wicked glint in her eyes. Spitting a thick glob into her hand, she spread it over him with slow, deliberate strokes. Her eyes never left his, watching him unravel under her touch. His face was tight, eyes flickering between her movements and the ceiling as he groaned softly. The sound stirred something deep inside her.

"You want me to take you in my mouth?" she whispered, her voice soft and sweet, as if she were asking the simplest question in the world.

Terry couldn’t respond immediately. His mind was lost in the heat of the moment, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to hold on. But when her fingers traced over his balls, kneading them with a slow, firm touch, he couldn’t stop the groan that slipped from his lips. She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the head of his dick, her puckered lips gliding sensually over the slick skin. “It’s so beautiful, baby. Thick, too.” She giggled, enjoying the way his hips stuttered when she tongued the leaky tip.

“You’re actin’ up,” Terry groaned, his breath shaky. With one swift movement, he shifted onto his knees, lining himself up with her mouth. “Open up,” he urged, his voice low with desire. He couldn’t wait any longer. Terry fed her his length, hissing loudly when her mouth closed around him, hot and wet. “Mmm... That’s exactly what I want.” 

Eve surprised him by staring into his eyes as she worked her mouth around his length, brown eyes captivating him like a spell. Her hands moved over him, soft yet taunting until he was powerless under touch. 

"You’re gorgeous, you know that?"

"Yes, baby, keep working those hands—just like that."

“You’re perfect, Evie.” 

Terry groaned, his blue-green eyes locked on her. He could hardly believe he had the girl of his dreams under him, ready and willing to please him. "Nobody’s perfect, but I’ll take the compliment." Eve paused, her hands gently running over him as she caught her breath, wetness gathering around the corners of her mouth.

Terry tugged at her bra strap, his voice low with need. “Take this off.” She shifted, unhooking it, and letting it fall to her lap. He stroked himself, remembering the night she let him play with her titties on her couch. He was worked up from all the kissing with no follow through, and she offered to help him release some of that tension. He kissed her breasts while she sighed and worked her hips against him. He tasted her nipples and she arched her back for more. He teased them with his fingers and his mouth, pinching and tugging until she was rocking back and forth in his lap. She panted while he held her in place, thrusting his dick up into her clothed core until they were both coming in their clothes. He almost stayed that night. She clung to him afterward, silently pleading for him to end their self-imposed misery. It took every ounce of restraint for him to leave, but he couldn’t let her body make a choice her mind wasn’t ready to make. Now, he had no more reasons to resist.

“Lay back,” He ordered, shifting to straddle her waist. The new angle had him right where he wanted to be. Close enough to stroke himself against her soft skin and watch the way she responded to him.

"You want to let it all out, don’t you?" She licked her lips, watching his dick twitch in his hand. "I can see it in your eyes. Looks like it's killing you." The tip was an angry red shade. His balls were drawn tight. Her clit pulsed with desire. “You ain’t gotta hold back with me. I want everything.” She promised, her voice soft and alluring, as if she could sense his every need. Terry’s breath hitched, his control slipping. Every part of him was drawn to her. 

“You’re gonna make me lose it, baby.” Terry’s voice was low, a growl in the back of his throat. He couldn’t think straight, especially when she took him into her mouth again, the heat sending him into a frenzy. Her hands slid over her own body, teasing her breasts the way he liked as she felt the fire building in her. The way he reacted, panting and whimpering pushed her even closer to the edge. “Hold up–” He started, but she was insistent, forcing her throat down his length until she was gagging. Terry’s body jerked above her, and he spilled warm cum into her mouth and then onto her plump breasts without warning. “Fuck, Evie,” He groaned as she chased him with her mouth. He’d meant to warn her, but that greedy little mouth of hers was too tempting. He fell into place next to her, catching his breath. She didn’t seem to care about the mess. In fact, she looked pleased with herself, giggling as he apologized lowly. She told him there was no need. 

"You know we don’t have to pretend with each other, right?" She asked, sensually rubbing his seed into her skin. He watched her slow, seductive movements, wondering how he got so lucky. 

“You’re wild.” He felt his dick stirring to life again. “Sit on my face,” he ordered, guiding her to squat above his head. 

"This position is new for me," she confessed, feeling a flutter of excitement in her belly. “You don’t have to do anything but relax,” Terry hooked his arms under her leg and held her in place. “Leave the work to me,” Terry pulled her down, keeping a firm grip on her legs as he licked between them. At first, it was tentative, a slow exploration as he took his time learning her body, what made her sigh and moan. But soon, desire took over, and he became more urgent, more greedy. She ran her hand over his head, experimenting with the sensation of moving her hips. 

“That feels so good,” She whimpered, loving the leverage the position gave her. Terry seemed perfectly attuned to her every reaction, adjusting his moves based on what made her shiver or sigh. She shut her eyes and quickened her rhythm, breathing heavily with pleasure. With a smirk, Terry took a moment to tease her. “You like when I lick your pussy like this?”

“Yes!”

“Keep grindin’ this wet pussy on my face.”

Eve whimpered.

He encouraged her to move her hips faster with soft taps to her ass. She trembled, unable to focus on anything other than the way his tongue felt. Her eyes drifted down to the sight of him between her legs. “Don’t stop–please don’t stop,” She mewled, no longer in control of her own body. It felt like watching a train wreck, knowing something earth-shattering was coming, but being powerless to stop it. “Terry, please!” She gripped the sheets as hard as her fists would allow, crying out as she reached her peak. 

Terry spoke, his voice a low hum as he repositioned her, but she was too dazed to make sense of anything, still floating back down to Earth.

“You good, Princess?”

She blinked, trying to focus as his face came back into view. "Huh?"

Terry chuckled softly, and she buried her face in his neck, letting her body relax against him.

"Evie?"

She felt his hands slide over her back.

"Hmm?"

"You ain’t about to pass out on me, are you?"

"I’m trying not to..." But he kept gently coaxing her, luring her toward sleep with tender kisses and soft whispers. “But you’re tempting me.” She warned, feeling his dick harden against her stomach all over again. 

She sat up on her knees, rubbing her eyes as she looked at him. "How do you want me?" 

"You’re too cute." He said, patting her bottom softly. “Come get in my lap.”

Terry kissed her sweetly, his dick hardening and prodding at her backside. She reached back to touch it, feeling that it was hard as steel and slick, all over again. “Wow,” She laughed softly between their kisses, feeling the intensity of his desire. “You can't get enough of me, huh?”

“You have no idea.” He looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read, the playful tension turning into something more serious. “I want you to know I thought about you every day I was gone. Couldn’t get you out of my head. Imagining you like this... all mine.” He gently smoothed his hands along the sides of her hair, trying to tame the wild curls that had grown bigger with all the sweating and rolling around. “I’d lie on my cot, seeing your face in my mind. Every night.”

"Terry… you really shouldn’t say things like that," she said, her voice soft with sudden shyness.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He challenged. Eve swallowed, feeling the weight of his gaze. Terry had a way of making her feel seen, like all her walls had been torn down, yet she was safe. She took a breath, reminding herself that she could let her heart lead with him. 

"Because I'm falling for you and when you say things like that, it makes it so much harder for me to keep it together."

“Why are you acting like you gotta fight this, Eve?” He tilted his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “It’s us.” He took her hands in his, stilling them. 

“What if I told you I feel the same way?” She could hardly believe he was saying the words she had wanted to hear over a decade ago. Even if this was some strangely vivid dream she’d drummed up as a result of her Christmas Blues, she wanted to soak in every word, every moment. “I love you, Eve Dillard. I’ve loved you for a long time. I’m sure of it. More than anything else in this world.”

“Terry Richmond...” She started, almost at a loss for words. Hearing him declare it so openly made her feel like she was floating in the clouds. “I love you too.”

“Yeah? You sure?” He teased. 

“Uh huh,” She hummed, feeling his fingers splay across her thighs.

“I wanna show you how much. Can I?"

She nodded.

“You want me, Evie?” 

She nodded her head. 

His hand landed firmly on her ass, and she let out a startled whimper as she lurched forward in his arms. The sound shot straight to his dick. "You gotta let me know, sweetheart." 

“Yes, I want you, Terry. All of you.” 

Eve didn’t know what was possessing her, making her so open and submissive. She told Terry he was everything she’d ever dreamed of and that she couldn’t imagine a future without him. He told her she didn’t have to. She kissed him deeply, tasting herself as he alternated smacks on both sides of her ass until he was satisfied and lining himself up at her entrance. Her mouth fell open as he pushed his way inside. “Fuck,” Terry cursed as she clutched his arms with that shocked look on her face. He kissed her lips and then her jaw, all tender and sweet. “You’re okay. I got you,” He promised, groaning when she began to open up for him. His large hands slid down her body, settling over her hips as he began lifting her up and down on his dick. Eve buried her face in his neck, biting her lip as Terry slammed into her. He grunted his satisfaction as she dripped down his length and made a mess.

“You feel so good, Evie.”

“Squeezing me so tight.”

“All mine.”

“Give it to me, Princess.”

His words pushed her closer to the edge until she could hardly breathe, gripping his neck and shoulders like he was her lifeline. “You’re drivin’ me crazy!” She moaned into his ear, her walls squeezing around his dick. “Good,” Terry grunted, “That's how I want you. Crazy about me and this dick.” Her eyes rolled back as he pumped his hips harder, the strain in his voice evident. “You were made for this dick, just like I was made for this perfect little pussy.” He poked something inside of her that made her holler. But Terry was shushing her, holding her tight to his chest and cooing in her ear. "Let it happen, baby. I got you. I know what you need. You can take it."

She placed her hands flat against his chest. His grip on her hips were still iron tight. "C’mon now, Evie. Be good to me. You wanna make me feel good, don’t you?" His words worked the way he intended. She surrendered, laying her head across his shoulders and holding on for dear life as he worked her over. "That’s it, baby. I told you you were perfect. How you feel now?"

She dug her nails into his skin and concentrated on keeping her eyes from crossing. You know how it feels, you bastard! She thought, but the only words spilling out of her mouth were sweet and agreeable. She told him how good he felt, how no one else had ever made her feel that way, and that she wanted him to make her feel that way for the rest of their lives. He told her that he loved her and she was the only one for him. She cried, warm teardrops spilling over his skin as she came, yelling his name. Terry held her in place, capturing her lips in another long kiss as he finished, wishing there was nothing in between them.

Eve’s head rested against Terry’s chest, her body limp from exhaustion. Breathless and completely satisfied, they stayed close for several minutes, catching their breath. Slowly, Terry began to stir, pressing a soft kiss to her damp forehead.

"You good, mama?"

“Mhm,” She mumbled, nuzzling into his neck. “I'm just...worn out." She said, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Me too,” Terry admitted, his hand caressing her back softly. He never wanted this moment to end. When she opened her eyes again, his gaze was on her, focused and intense. It took her breath away.

“Why you looking at me like that?” 

“Take a guess,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

She didn’t need to guess. Everything between them—every unspoken desire—was no longer hanging in the balance. It had all become real. Her thoughts wandered to the future—wedding rings, little feet running around. “You want to marry me and have five babies?” she teased, the words slipping out before she could stop herself.

Terry raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “You think that’s funny, huh?” She shrugged, her fingers gently tracing his jawline, “Guess I’m funny and fine.” His smile widened, his gaze filled with something unreadable. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Her fingers gently caressed his mustache, her voice a soft whisper as she murmured, "I love you, Terry. I really do."

"I love you too, Evie.”

2025

Christmas Eve had always been special, but this year, Terry was determined to make it unforgettable.

Eve turned away from the window where she’d been watching the snow fall gently outside. It was a rare sight in the South, a phenomenon that only happened once or twice a decade, and she cherished every second of it. Terry had left her by the window, disappearing into the bedroom, only to return a few moments later, standing by the gas fireplace with a small, neatly wrapped box in his hands.

“What you over there scheming?” she teased with a curious smile.

Terry looked over at her, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed the nerves he was trying to hide. “Come here, babe.”

Eve took a step closer, her curiosity piqued. “What’s this? You acting all secretive now?”

Terry extended the box to her, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Just open it and see.”

Eve carefully untied the ribbon, peeling back the wrapping paper to reveal a delicate snow globe. She lifted it, tilting it slightly to watch the glittery snow swirl around the two tiny figures inside. At first, she thought it was just a beautiful decoration, but as she took a closer look, the details caught her eye: the woman inside wore a dress that looked remarkably like the one she had worn the year before on Christmas Eve, and the man was down on one knee.

“Hold up... is this us?” Eve gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. She looked up at Terry, her heart pounding. “Terry! Where did you even find something like this?” She knew it wasn’t something you could just pick up at a store. It was clearly custom-made.

Terry stepped closer, his deep brown eyes searching hers with a quiet intensity. “I wanted you to have something special, something that showed you just how much you mean to me. Every detail, every piece of it... is us.”

Eve’s tears spilled over as she held the snow globe close to her chest. “Terry…” 

He gently took her free hand, sinking down on one knee in front of her, mimicking the figurine in the globe. She stared at him, her breath catching, as he pulled a small black velvet box from his pocket.

“Eve, you’ve been my everything from the moment I met you. It took too long for me to face that, but now, I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Will you marry me?”

She nodded, tears spilling over before she could even speak. Her voice was thick with emotion as she whispered, "Yes, baby, yes."

Terry stood, pulling her into his arms as she laughed and cried at the same time. The snow globe rested safely in her hand, the tiny figures inside capturing the essence of their love—timeless, unwavering, and entirely their own.

A/N: Happy Holidays! Divider by firefly-graphics. The themes included were for storytelling purposes only. The holidays can be enjoyed with family, friends, or even on your own.

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[lexirosewrites]

I might b getting a cold tht is making me tired but I have a single idea I wanted to send in before I succumb

O!Steve is the God of Children & Protection, his temples r often safe havens for orphans or run aways, first time mothers pray both to O!Joyce the Goddess of Parenthood & War AND Steve the God of Children & Protection for an easy delivery & a healthy child

Steve loves walking hidden behind a glamor among mortals, especially on his festival days, he takes many forms but enjoys running with other young children as if he is one of them, his statues & mosaics & paintings depict him most often as a youthful omega with broad shoulders & eyes like stars wearing a type of clothing tht is worn by children till they come of age

It is on one of his festival days tht he meanders into the city of Hawkins from the woods as if he is a traveler come to give offerings to his own temple, he walks the streets enjoying the sounds of children laughing as they receive free treats & new toys from the priests & priestesses of every temple but especially his, one child runs into him & he stops them from apologizing by pulling out from seemingly thin air something the child had wanted but wasn't being offered among the toys, a book of mathematics. The child is gleeful & when he looks up from the book to thank the stranger (Steve) he is gone. Several more children end up getting gifts directly from Steve throughout the day, an older brother gets a slingshot while his little sister gets a sweet treat not offered at any of the stalls, a red headed girl is given a board of wood crafted w 4 wheels to replace the one she'd broken by accident (she never told this traveler abt her broken board) & her friend who's a resident of Steve's temple is gifted a necklace of finest carved wooden beads after Steve winks at her when she almost blows his cover after immediately seeing beyond his glamor. A timid boy w an unfortunate haircut is given drawing tools & materials. A snarky boy who reminds Steve of a huntress he once loved is gifted a book of various stories from around the land while his much younger sister clutches the cat doll Steve gives her tht she promptly names Cheese.

There's great fanfare as the festival reaches its main event, Steve is curious since every village/town/city does something different for this event. The city of Hawkins puts on a story contest each year tht is judged by the children's response. This year someone steps up last to tell their tale who Steve instantly recognizes as not mortal. This person's tale is decidedly dark & scary & it details some sort of future wherein the God of Children & Protection is to submit to the God of Darkness & Monsters who oversees the world of the monsters & shadows & forced to become his wife. The temple objects loudly to this tale, shouting tht Steve is a virgin God who swore off marriage & courtship & mating when a foolish mortal huntress played w his heart hundreds of years ago, to which the stranger responds he is merely telling the tale of what he wanted, a tale he will make true no matter what it'll take & when the ppl try to get the stranger to leave the stage the stranger suddenly begins to morph & change shape till he towers above the crowd with horns like a crown, claws instead of fingers & alpha fangs larger than is possible.

This is Vecna the God of Darkness & Monsters who is said to never leave his domain of shadows. He proclaims he will lay low the temple tht houses the orphans & run aways of the city & nearby villages tht he will even slaughter the children if he must till Steve appears to him & comes w him as his bride

Steve is abt to reveal himself & jump to protect the children the God is aiming to swipe his claws at when a man runs forward from the crowd brandishing a string instrument tht he uses to knock away the attempted attack, this man then also morphs & changes. The man is now crowned w a wreath upon his head tht reveals him to b a God tht had newly arrived to their land whose cult was still growing without any temples or altars, he has no name tht the humans or others in the Pantheon know, simply taking up the epitaph of the God of Indulgence & Storytelling. This new God bares his own Alpha fangs & declares he would not sit idly by while such a God of Monsters told a tale only meant to scare another into submission.

Then it is pandemonium as a clash btwn Deities begins. The ppl r evacuating the area, many adults prioritizing the children while Steve's temple is also cleared of ppl & Steve feels an anger simmering in his stomach tht boils over when he sees the boy tht he'd given the mathematics book to trip over a rock & begin calling desperately for his mother as she's swept away by the tide of panicking bodies. It explodes when he sees the boy with the slingshot carrying his sister on his back trying to help the mathematics boy up & away. Then Steve cannot contain himself as the little girl who he gave a doll is clutching it & crying as she has also clearly lost her family in the chaos & is does not know where to go.

Steve is charging forward shedding his glamor & pulling from within his clothes a long metal weapon w sharp spikes at the tip. He cuts short an attempted swipe from Vecna aimed at the stomach of the other Deity tht jumped to the children's defense. The alpha God snarls & finds himself out numbered. He continues to fight on two fronts for four days & four nights till Steve calls upon the leader of the Pantheon to intervene in Vecnas disregard for his banishment. Vecna tries to grab Steve around the wrist as he begins to retreat to his world of shadows & monsters but the new God intervenes again as the sky rumbles w the approach of Hopper the God of Justice & Storms, essentially breaking Vecnas own wrist. Then Vecna has retreated & Steve's ire is cooling as he turns to see the destruction wrought by a clash of Deities.

The mortals seem to all b safe, especially the children. The temples r untouched but other buildings have been felled. Steve turns to thank the other God for interfering when he did, but he finds this new God sunk to the ground clutching at a wound on his stomach. Steve is at his side as a grim faced Hopper descends with a furious Joyce at his side, Steve is afraid to touch in case the wound is made worse. This new God's condition begins to worsen till Murray the God of Politics & Love appears with little fanfare telling Steve to simply hold him & let this alpha God scent him.

Steve feels a deep pull within him at Murray's words & as he gathers this new God within his arms he feels a warm light blooming wherever they touch. As Steve cradles his head near his neck the scent he exudes causes a response from the other & when they pull apart to look at eachother without the threat of battle all wounds r healed. Without thought the God of Indulgence & Storytelling then tells Steve his name, Eddie.

Eddie asks to court Steve without a thought to the Deities & gathering mortals around them. Steve heartily agrees.

Hundreds of years from tht battle art depicts Steve the God of Children & Protection embracing his husband & consort Eddie the God of Indulgence & Storytelling

OH YES DELIGHTFUL🥰🥰🥰

[lostintransist]

Seamstress | Part 7

Check out part 1 here.

CW: Momma drama. If you have a bad mom relationship like I do please read with caution. Also John comes home a bit broken. He gets better but not in this part.

John appears behind you as you are stepping into your shop. When his hand pushes the door open wider from behind you startle.

“Jesus fuck me!” You jump and spin, eyes wide and chest heaving as you confirm who stood behind you.

The slightly worried look on John’s face tells you he didn’t mean to startle you.

“Sorry dove thought you heard me.”

“Apparently my thoughts were too loud,” sheepishly you push the door shut behind him and begin to flick on lights.

Waiting for you at the counter with John is your jewelry box. It looks better than before if that is possible.

“I didn’t stain it,” John runs a finger down the side and you wish that digit dragged down your side instead.

Fuck, bitch you can’t be this horny yet, he just arrived. Apparently, the earth-shattering orgasm from your vibrator last night with the taste of him on your lips wasn’t enough. When did you get so greedy?

“Why not?” You ask as you fold your arms, not one hundred percent sure your bra would be able to trap your steel-tipped nipples.

Glancing from the box to John you see a soft smile. When he looks up at you it grows.

“I noticed how much you seemed to like the grain of the wood and seemed sad at the idea of it being covered up. A few coats of clear lacquer to protect it and it was done.”

“I love it. I’m so glad you chose lacquer. I would have been happy with any choice you made but this? It’s wonderful.” Leaving the box at the counter you waved John to follow you.

“I made you something as well.” Putting a hand on the nob of the door to the back room you spun. “I know it’s not really a problem, but you have complained about going into what you call “power meetings” with only your slacks or your fancy uniforms so I made you something that should hold up against scrutiny.”

John’s arms are folded, head tilted ever so slightly to watch you with the smile tucked under his mustache.

Taking a deep breath you twist the handle and step back into the room. You hung the suit on the wall directly in front of the door so you could watch his face as he saw it. You had paid a pretty penny for the fabric, thread, and buttons. They all came together so seamlessly that even your friend who was a tailor wouldn’t have been able to know a suitmaker hadn’t put it together unless he started to pull it apart at the seams. You had also purchased the silk for his shirt and made that by hand as well.

The smile falls from his face as he steps up to the suit and runs a hand lightly over it.

“Holy fuck.”

Glancing from side to side you bite your lip.

“So what do you think?”

When he turns you know why people like blue eyes so much. John’s blue eyes are enchanting with the tears rimming his lashes. They remind you of the ocean in the photos you’ve seen of tropical places.

“I can’t think of a gift that has ever meant more to me,” he chokes out around the tears in his throat.

“Do you want to try it on?” You suggest, heart fluttering in your chest.

“I want-”

His desires were cut off by the sound of the bell.

Turning you call out.

“Sorry, we are closed today,” when you catch sight of your mom.

The warmth that had settled over you like sunlight as spring breaks chilled to the harshest of winter breezes. Shutting the door to the back room, and your joy from your sorrow you face your mother.

“You didn’t come to Christmas,” she starts.

“I told Pop I would be going to Nana’s this year.”

“You’re still mad at me,” she pouts with her eyebrows.

Your mother had skills in expressing herself without making a scene about it.

“I am not mad, I’m done.”

Your mother stepped up to the counter, slowly opening each drawer of your gift. Snatching it off the counter you placed it on your working desk next to your sewing machine.

“What does being done have to do with not coming to Christmas?”

She’s pulling that mom tone again, trying to force you into a child role whether she knows it or not.

“I do not enjoy the way I feel while spending time with you. I do not like the comments you make or the fact that even when my brother is being rude I am still in the wrong. And I am done putting myself in situations to be hurt because you happened to get knocked up and produce me.”

She had told you once that you were a birth control failure baby. She had been drinking, you had been ten.

“I did not happen to get knocked up,” she sputtered.

Taking a deep breath you point your eyes at the ceiling and pray for patience.

“That is not the point of this conversation and I apologize for bringing it up. What I am saying is that I won’t be spending more time with you until we can go to family therapy. I’ve told this to Pop several times. I will send you a few options between us and will set up the appointment as well.”

“But I am your mother!” She is getting shrill, a sure sign she is losing control of the conversation in her mind.

“And I am grown. Now I have a private appointment I need to get back to.”

“Is this because of the comment about no one paying to see you naked? I’m sorry that you were offended by what I said.”

Your jaw works as your fingers curl into talons and your shoulders stiffen.

“I am not having that discussion here and now. Pick a therapist from the list I send you or leave me alone.”

Mom looks shocked, scared even, at the tone you use. She turns leaving in a huff and you open the door to the back to see John, shirt unbuttoned and eyes blown wide as if someone dosed him with drugs.

“That’s an option? I can pay to see you naked? Is a hundred enough?”

“A hundred?” You ask, confused but slightly hurt that he thought you were so cheap.

“No? Okay, a hundred and fifty thousand?” He looks desperate and hopeful and lost and like he might combust all at once.

You choke on your spit. Did that man just offer a hundred and fifty thousand dollar bucks to see you naked!?

All it would have taken is a glass of wine, a smokey look, and an invitation to bed and your clothes would have disappeared from your body like they never existed. Like damn you had high self-confidence, forged out of hate comments online and in real life, but you weren’t worth that much. Maybe John did like you like you liked him?

He stepped forward, mouth opening to form words when his phone went off. The instant change told you it was work.

“Dammit all to hell and may it never return,” he snatched up his pants from the cot and answered the phone as he moved it to his ear, snarling. “What?”

You watched as the soldier overtook the man. His back straightened as he tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear beginning to work at the buttons at his wrists. Stepping into his space you took over the task freeing him faster than he would have managed. Helping him out of the shirt you fold it over one arm, watching as he disappears below his shirt to reappear through the head hole. You don’t offer to help him remove the pants but take them when offered without comment.

John doesn’t spare you a glance as he pulls his cargo pants up, sheathing the deliciously thick thighs he hides. When he sits to tie his boots you toss the clothes from your arms to the cot and kneel to take over that task for him. Tying them tight you stand and offer him a hand. He takes it, holding on as he stands.

Still on the phone he pulls your knuckles to his lips and turns the phone away from his mouth.

“When I get back, we are talking about this.”

It’s all you can do to nod before he dons his coat and slips into the precipitation of January.

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

The last of the snowdrops are blooming when John makes it back home. Between the knocks at the front door and the vibrating of your phone from under your pillow, you wake enough to stumble to the front door. The door opens fully before your eyes do.

John looks haggard, as if he aged ten years in the three months he was gone. A full beard had grown in, the ends ragged and uneven. His eyes flick over you. No expression crosses his face.

“John? You’re home,” the sigh in your last word pulls him through the door and into your arms.

It’s too late for your mind to come up with reasons why dragging him into your room after locking the front door would be a bad idea. Stripping him of his boots and his pants you invite him to lay under the blankets with you by laying them atop him and letting him settle into the mattress. Crossing around the bed you join him between the sheets. Laying on your side you stare at him.

Something about him felt broken and you didn’t dare hold him and make it worse.

“What can I do John?” You ask the darkness between you.

The words settle on him like the ice blown around in the wind of the gulag.

“Tell me what happened while I was gone. I don’t feel real.”

You scoot closer to him in the bed, less than a handswidth between you.

“I brought your suit home. I missed you a few weeks after you left and had nothing but the photo from the party and your gift. My mom started going to individual therapy. We tried a couple of family sessions but the therapist recommended that she do some personal work before we attempt to do much more work on fixing our relationship. My brother called me on my birthday, which was unexpected. I bet my po-”

“I missed your birthday?” John’s broken whisper cut you off.

“Yeah,” you reach out and touch his pinky. He flinches so you shift your hand back, but before it can go too far his hand chases you locking your fingers together.

“When is your birthday?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

“You must hate that.”

The accurate observation surprises you. You’ve talked with other people who have birthdays on holidays, most Christmas and New Year’s babies hate it, birthdays on big celebration days that aren’t the big big ones tend to go either way but for you, it always felt required to have a date on your birthday. Were you out because your date wanted to celebrate you or show off for the table around you?

“I do,” you let out a small chuckle. “My brother was born on May Day, he doesn’t seem to mind it. When is your birthday John?”

“July second.” He pulls in a deep breath, “Will you hold me?”

Small and scared his voice pierces into your chest.

“However you want to be held,” you answer in earnest.

“Lay back?”

You adjust to settle on your back, fixing the pillow below your head. John follows you, as cautious as an alley cat. Once his head is resting against your chest, chin tipped between your breasts you curl your arm around his shoulder next to your ribs and rest your hand on his back. The shuddering breaths that start from him prompt you to keep telling him about what happened while he was away.

“Did you know your muppets came to visit me? They all brought in their own fixes and asked to use your cot. Every one of them woke looking like they had no clue where they were and agreed that they understood why you kept coming back for naps.”

You talk until you drift into sleep, but your dreams are full of stories so maybe you talk to John until you wake.

Seamstress Masterlist | Masterlist

[syndrossi]

Regnal AU, Chapter 2 (Pt 1)

I wouldn't call 2.8K a full chapter, but it's the first two scenes of chapter two anyway! For those who need a refresher, Regnal AU is where Daemon and Rhea conceive the twins on their consummation night, aka teen-dad!Daemon + overly-involved!Baelon + dealing-with-it!Rhea. The first chapter can be found in Resonant Side Stories and Ficlets.

x~x~x

The three days of travel to and then back from King’s Landing were a singular torment. Ordinarily, riding Vhagar was one of the few pleasures Baelon still found in the world, everything else mired in grey and duty. But this flight had been fraught with nerves, the first mission he had undertaken in a long time that had kept his heart racing throughout: fetching dragon eggs for the twins’ cradle.

He had barely greeted his father and mother, pausing on his return from the Dragonpit only to accept the blanket that Gael had shyly offered, one she had embroidered herself for the new babe. He made his apologies to Viserys, who had wandered over to the yard to bid him welcome and ask after Daemon’s twins, hastening to secure the dragon egg cradles he had brought from the Pit in Vhagar’s saddlebags.

A servant ran to him, braving his dragon’s half-lidded gaze, to deliver a basket of bread and cured meats for his return journey, and then Baelon was off, not one hour after arriving.

They were healthy enough when I left, he reminded himself for perhaps the hundredth time. Aemon’s wails were powerful enough to wake the castle, and Jon—it felt too strange to call his grandson by his own name—was constantly wriggling, trying to take in the world around him. But they were yet so fragile. For all his assurances to Daemon, he knew that babes born small and early faced far crueller odds than those born closer to their time.

A pair of dragon eggs will protect them. It was no mere superstition. Accounts as far back as Aenar himself detailed the benefits of an early bond with a dragon, or even just proximity to a dragon egg. For both hatchling and infant, in fact. It had not saved little Aegon, but he had been sicklier after the difficult birth.

Alyssa, my love. Baelon gripped his saddle, steadying himself against the lurch of his heart that could still upend him when he thought of her. In his dreams, she held Jon in her arms, laughing with abandon at his surly expression and comparing it to Daemon’s as a babe. And Aemon was beside her, conversing quietly with his namesake, the intensity of his focus undiminished, even when turned upon an infant.

Baelon’s grip tightened, and he was grateful for the unrelenting roar of wind in his face that carried off tears as fast as they could fall. Such dreams were hard to wake from. And when he did, it was even harder to rise to greet another day without them.

The farms and orchards of the Crownlands beneath them gave way to the mist-shrouded hills that formed Crackclaw Point. He had pushed Vhagar to exhaustion over the past two days, covering ground that ordinarily would have been done in three, so he set her down as they approached Rook’s Rest, where Lord Staunton readily gathered the plumpest sheep from his farmers to sate Vhagar’s hunger.

Baelon kept the rest short, allowing them both six hours of sleep before setting out before dawn. They had another twelve hard hours ahead of them—or so he thought. Vhagar, aware of his urgency, shaved several hours from that. It was just nearing noon when Runestone came into view at the edge of the horizon, and when they had landed at last, he laid both hands on Vhagar’s snout, her heavy breaths stirring his hair.

“Thank you,” he said, staring into her bright green eyes. “I do not yet have enough hatchlings born of my hatchlings to spare.”

The enclosure that had been built for Caraxes was too small for Vhagar, but its keeper assured him that a hearty meal of sheep would be secured for his dragon. That was enough reassurance for him to grab the dragon egg cradle from her saddlebags and take off up the hill toward the castle. The fear he had barely held at bay for the ride wormed its way into his heart at last.

What if the babes had sickened since he had gone? Little Jon—or Baelon, as his father had negotiated in exchange for the dragon eggs—was the larger of the twins, his lungs hale. Aemon was smaller and quieter, save for the occasional wail in Daemon’s arms.

The gods cannot be so cruel to take him from me twice. But he had thought the same after losing Alyssa and their babe, that the gods would not visit such sorrow on him again.

Daemon came to greet him in the yard, and Baelon’s tension eased at his untroubled expression. “I did not think Vhagar had such speed in her,” his son said, sounding impressed. He shook his head then. “Did you not sleep at all?”

“I can sleep easily once the eggs are in their cradle,” Baelon said, surrendering the heavy chest to him with relief. It was difficult to say which had borne the greater strain throughout the three days’ ride: his thighs or his arms. “Where are they?”

“They are in the nursery now. Come.”

x~x~x

Baelon all but collapsed into the chair that Daemon had dragged beside the twins’ cradle, feet giving out midway through seating himself. Lady Rhea had joined the small convoy to the nursery, and promptly ordered a meal be brought for him from the kitchens, but his dizziness steadied as he gazed upon his sleeping grandsons. Jon’s hand was curled around the cloth of his brother’s sleeve, his frown intense even in sleep, while Aemon was the very image of serenity.

In his relief, everything else that he had battled back surged to the surface, and he found himself doubled over in his chair, a half choked sob giving way to a trembling laugh while Daemon looked on with widened eyes.

“I am fine,” he said after a moment, once he had ridden out the wave of emotion. He brushed at his cheeks, then held his hands out. “The eggs.”

Daemon undid the latches on the dragon cradle, flipping the lid open to reveal the two eggs nestled within its cushioned interior. One was a deep burgundy with bands of black and gold streaking across it, and the other was charcoal black with large swathes of smoky grey and silver. Baleon had chosen them himself: one from an old clutch of Vhagar’s, and one from Silverwing’s.

“They are beautiful,” Daemon said, holding each up in the light in wonder.

His good-daughter, ordinarily stoic and composed, looked no less awed, and Baelon beckoned her closer. She reached out hesitantly, feeling the surface of each egg. “Whose is whose?”

“That is for the hatchlings to decide,” Baelon said.

Daemon handed him the burgundy first, and then Baelon was faced with the dilemma of finding space in a cradle built for a single babe but tasked with holding two. He ended up gently shifting the infants higher up so that the eggs could be placed at their feet, and both woke at his touch, foreheads furrowing as they squinted at him.

He gave their faces a stroke, one and then the other. They were so small that even the knuckle of his forefinger seemed to dwarf their soft cheeks. “I have brought a gift for you from your great-grandsire.” Alertness seemed to enter their eyes after a few blinks, and he smiled. “Dragon eggs, to keep you safe.”

Baelon took the second egg from Daemon and parted the twins enough so that it could be placed between them. Their pudgy hands patted at its scaled surface, with happy little grunts emerging from Aemon’s side of the dragon egg. Jon’s flailing study was quieter, his intense brow furrow back as his lilac-grey eyes stared at the egg, before his head turned back toward Baelon, almost in question.

Baelon leaned in close, kissing his forehead and cheeks, and resigning himself to a single cheek kiss for Aemon, who was still entranced by the egg.

“How are they?” he asked.

There was good color in their cheeks. Jon’s breathing sounded slightly congested, but that was not entirely unusual for newborn babes. Daemon’s nostrils had whistled fiercely for a period of four weeks, which Alyssa had found hilarious, calling him her little tea kettle.

“They remain healthy,” Rhea said. “Maester Therbold examined them just this morning. They have gained nearly half a pound over the week.”

They looked just as tiny to Baelon as when he had first held them, fresh from the womb, weighing barely five pounds each. He picked Jon up, cradling him in his arms as he tried to gauge whether he was truly larger. Once they have reached ten pounds, Baelon decided, then the worst of the threat is past.

Weight gain was far more important than weight itself, he knew. He had seen his little brothers succumb within their first year, as had his Aegon. Healthy lungs and healthy suckling were the mark of a babe who would live to see his first name day.

“You must drink heartily of your nurse’s breast,” he murmured to Jon, whose gaze turned cross-eyed as it tried to focus on the finger Baelon brought to trace the line of his tiny nose. “And see that your brother does the same.”

Aemon was more reluctant to be parted from the dragon eggs, expressing his affront with wailing that he usually reserved for Daemon first thing in the morning, but Baelon rocked him until it subsided, promising he would not be parted from their eggs for long.

“It is my father’s command that the eggs be under guard at all hours,” he said, glancing up at Rhea. “He requested that only your most trusted knights be tasked with the duty.”

She frowned. “There are none more honorable than knights of the Vale, my lord.”

“It is not their honor that the king would question,” Baelon said, well-accustomed to creatively interpreting his father’s sentiments. “Only their seasoning. Some will be more experienced than others, and those are who he seeks.”

“Very well,” Rhea said, her ruffled feathers soothed, “I know who I would appoint to the task.”

They are both of them so prideful, Baelon thought, not for the first time. It was partly why they had clashed early on, he suspected, though Daemon’s simmering resentment of the match had not helped matters. He glanced at his son, who still looked a bit lost on how to occupy himself in the nursery.

Daemon’s youth did not help matters either. He had grown up on tales of Aegon’s Conquest, of his grandfather’s heroic struggles against Maegor, of their family’s bloody quarrels with the Faith. He saw Baelon as a hero, as he had Aemon, and longed for the glory they had achieved on dragonback against the foes of the Crown. As proud as he was, he desired more to be worthy of such pride.

He is too young to understand that often such opportunities arise all on their own, and can bring sorrow as easily as accolades.

Baelon focused his gaze back on the twins, until the clench in his jaw had relaxed. They were watching him intently, Aemon with that concern so like his brother’s. He had always known when Baelon was upset, often before he did. They are such bright little flames, my son’s babes.

He let himself sink deeper into his chair, lulled by its comfort and their warmth, fatigue settling in until the door opened, at which point he straightened to alertness, but it was merely a servant bearing hot bread and cold cuts of meat, alongside a vegetable-laden soup. Baelon reluctantly surrendered the twins to their parents, one apiece, and took his meal.

“They are sweet babes,” Rhea said, smiling down at Aemon who smiled back at her.

“That must be your doing,” Baelon said, casting an amused look at his son. “Daemon was the loudest babe the Red Keep has heard. ‘Riotously upset with the world,’ is how my father described him.”

“I cannot imagine,” Rhea murmured, with a sly glance of her own toward Daemon.

Rather than bristle at the slight, Daemon merely shook his head at Jon. “Rest assured, I shall never tell such unkind tales of your infancy.”

Such was a great relief to Jon, judging by the smell that rose afterward, and Daemon quickly raised him up out of his lap, holding him up by the armpits to stern admonitions from both Baelon and Rhea until he adjusted his grip to support his head.

The nurse was summoned to change his linens, and then Aemon’s shortly after, and Baelon shared what little conversation he had managed in his short time at the Red Keep. Rhea seemed less than pleased at the king’s interference with Jon’s name, mollified only slightly by Baelon’s suggestion that they call him by “Jon” to reduce confusion, whatever his recorded name might be.

“I shall call him both,” Daemon said stubbornly. “Baelon is his name.”

Rhea’s expression turned to alarm upon learning that he had invited his mother and sister to visit as they liked, since the babes were too young themselves to travel. “I shall need notice of their arrival,” she insisted. “So that Runestone may extend a proper welcome to our queen.”

Her feelings on the king considering a tourney for their first name day, should their health continue to prove hearty, seemed mixed. Baelon did not blame her. He doubted she had realized how extensive the Crown’s interference would be once she bore sons. After Aemon’s death without a male heir, their father was eager to demonstrate the stability of Baelon’s succession to the realm: two sons, and two grandsons.

His father would be content to let the twins spend their first year in Runestone. But as for the second—he doubtless would insist that they be brought to King’s Landing along with the dragon eggs, if they had not yet hatched. For a proud lady of a proud house, to have control wrested away of her own heirs would likely rankle.

That is a matter for my mother to address, as this match was her own doing. Even the outcome was the intended one: a scion of House Targaryen eventually in control of a powerful holding in the Vale.

But that was a trouble for another day, and far less of an issue if Viserys and Aemma had a son of their own. Baelon rubbed at his heavy eyes. If that is even possible. His father’s pressure for more heirs had meant that Aemma had been made a mother too young. The Grand Maester himself had admitted that such could complicate future births, even setting aside the miscarriages since.

Childbirth has not been kind to our house.

“You look awful,” Daemon informed him, ever the diplomat. “You should take some rest.”

Baelon nodded, too tired to argue. “I shall sleep here, in the nursery.”

His son and good-daughter exchanged a look, but did not protest. Rhea merely sent for the blankets to be replaced, and his pillow brought from his guest chamber. By then, his grandsons had been cleaned and changed and given yet another meal that had left them just as sleepy.

“They were as hungry as ever, my prince,” the wetnurse assured him when he asked about the feeding.

A troubling thought occurred to him. “Is there enough milk for two? Is another nurse needed?”

“There is plenty of milk to nurse them until full, my prince.”

The twins seemed content enough, Jon letting out a soft burp before being transferred back to his cradle. The egg between them was moved to the bottom of the cradle, beside the other, and the babes nestled against one another as their faces went soft with sleep.

The dragon eggs will protect them. Baelon gave them each another kiss, then grabbed his grown son to kiss his own cheek. “Go, take a ride on Caraxes.”

His son’s expression turned furtive. “I did not—”

“I know you have not ridden him since my departure.” His son’s dragon had fixed him with the baleful look he had worn whenever Aemon had neglected him for a few days. “Go. Vhagar and I are here to protect them in your absence.” He nodded toward Rhea. “As are your wife and her knights.”

Daemon brightened, the serious expression he had worn too often since the twins’ birth lifting. “I shall see you after your nap with the babes, then.” It was Baelon’s turn for a kiss to the cheek, and then, after a moment of hesitation, Rhea’s.

Baelon settled gratefully into the softness of the bed, satisfied with the quality of the feather mattress. Their nurse should be in comfort, after all, to provide them the best care. Hopefully she did not begrudge him a few hours’ use of her bed.

He closed his eyes, and let Jon’s snuffling snores carry him away to oblivion.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 4 part 6

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7])

(I can't believe I squeezed six entries out of this dang episode!!!)

agatha sees billy waking up and takes her usual moment to wipe all genuine emotion from her face and put on her mask. it's getting increasingly clear that this wretch of a woman is always wearing a mask and playing the larger-than-life uncaring witch she wishes she could be

not that she cares about you or anything.

billy does that thing children do. he doesn't say thank you or ask why she's crying, he asks about himself, his current troubles and fears, looking for guidance. that's the wonderful thing about a parent, they give a child a safe environment to grow and make mistakes and explore. A parent is, or should be, selfless. That billy feels safe doing this with agatha tells you he instinctively trusts her much more than he realizes.

agatha never lies to billy

and the way she's always drawn to teaching and explaining and guiding despite herself. deep, deep down agatha is a nurturing person who only ever got to nurture for a short time

I just realize agatha cannot actually say the name billy, can she? because of the sigil. so this is her going, I know it's still you kiddo, behind all that. I see some people arguing that agatha might actually think he's Nicky at first and personally I don't believe that's the case, the dialogue is muddy only to mislead the viewers before the big Wiccan reveal.

Two reasons agatha knew this was billy all along: she's had three centuries to sit with nicky's loss now. nicky is gone for good, no matter all her tricks and her pleading and her endless pit of sorrow, that is the one irrevocable fact that she will never be able to change. that is the cornerstone, the whole core of who agatha is today. she has lost nicky, she has committed unspeakable horrors to cope with that loss. she is afraid to die because nicky is on the other side and she cannot face him.

The second reason is that agatha loves billy for being billy, not just as a nicky stand-in. she was uniquely equipped to understand and empathize with wanda, and that's even truer for billy because he's a little boy and agatha's whole heart is wired and predisposed to reach out to him. she saw the miracle that was his birth, she saw first hand what chaos magic can do. this is a child flung out in the world carrying an immense power and no instructions on how to use it. he's capable of terrible things that could easily turn him into a monster and a pariah, and agatha is, besides wanda, the only person in the world who truly understands what that means. do you remember what happened to agatha at around the age billy is now? everything in her is demanding to guide and help. selfishly, because all that power would be hers to control. selfishly because he reminds her of herself and she wants to undo what her mother did to her. and selfishly because helping billy would in a way redeem what she did to nicky.

and also, selflessly. because she wants to help him grow and be successful and be happy.

billy created the Road to find tommy, sure. but what he's been doing on the Road is finding community. or rather, getting close to witchfolk to find out who he is in relationship to them, exploring the identity he was born with that he cannot express with his adoptive parents. he started with a lot of silly ideas on what witches should and shouldn't be and created trials that are, let's face it, rather stereotyped and demeaning. next trial is agatha and he is puzzling her out now, willing her to become the ideal witch and mentor he's looking for. he's doing it with the grace of an elephant in a china store, but that's just what being a kid is.

aaand the wall is all the way up and she runs away. but we made some progress there, didn't we?

oh to be a vampire and getting to bite patti lupone's neck

rio looks so engrossed and fascinated listening to lilia! rio just loves people, you know? she loves life in all its multifaceted forms, and that's not at odds with her job description at all. she is The Green Witch, she has embraced nature, which is to say life, so completely that all of it is important and precious to her. my headcanon is that as the original green witch she started ferrying souls because she deeply understood and accepted death as natural and organic and sought to help it along. it's funny, lilia is terrified of her but if asked, rio would have such a long list of things that make lilia special.

and that such a being would fell in love with agatha of all people?? god that is amazing. that is how you write a beautifully doomed epic love story. billions and billions of humans throughout history, and agatha is who caught her eye. and not because agatha is a serial killer mind you, that's just foreplay. it's because she is the most intense, the most interesting human Death ever came across. while others saw a damaged girl, rio saw poetry in her extraordinary complexity

and then, through agatha and nicky, rio experienced grief from a new point of view. Death, no longer impartial.

a wiser future Lilia pays another brief visit

and she's gone. her puzzled little face!

from being awkward and fearing her oddities to laughing with her about it. another step toward a deeper understanding, and acceptance, and love.

look at agatha's body language when she approaches. uncertain, arms crossed. these people have seen her without her mask now, openly weeping about billy

and then she puts her hands in her pockets and postures, ready to underplay things. pppft, crying? moi? you guys must have dreamed it.

alice with her big compassionate heart will never be able to think of agatha as cruel and distant again

agatha picks up rio's flower

rio looks at her

pretends she wasn't looking when agatha looks back

you could cut the damn tension with a knife

jen trying to include agatha??? man they did really see her cying fr

look how interested lilia is! I wish shows could just be 15 hours of women hanging out and chatting, no plot, just vibes

agatha glances at rio as if saying, you know exactly which scar this is. and rio chuckles because she remembers the story. THE INTIMACY BETWEEN THESE TWO. I'm going feral again.

what is this, camaraderie? community? perhaps even, dare I say it, friendship???

agatha doesn't know what to do with herself!

behold the textbook definition of 'awkward turtle'

oh rio's DETERMINED

'no you don't' 'yes I do' STOP IT YOU STUPID GAYS

agatha all casual like honey I've seen every inch of that body

just... the way they fell into a rhythm. the doMESTICITY.

lol jen's and alice's gaydars pinging at the same time. like somETHING FRUITY IS AFOOT. AND WE WOULD KNOW.

and fuck fuck fuck fuck I cannot believe I've run out of space again and I need to do a part 7

LOOK WHAT THESE LESBIANS ARE DOING TO ME (it'll be up in like an hour guys don't worry)

go to episode 4 part 7

[419jhat]

Russian Steve AU

Another plot bunny I've been unable to get out of my head...

What if Steve's parents were Russian spies and connected to the mall? What if Steve had powers? What if these were combined into two and turned into a Steddie thing?

I love the idea of Steve being like El but the Russian version, where his parents are spies and he's an experiment they willingly handed over to the government but still got to raise. They all go to the US to build the mall and Steve's trying desperately to be a normal American boy but Eddie Munson, King of Abnormality (which drives Steve absolutely crazy because who would want to stand out??) gets in the way and completely wrecks his whole situation.

TW: Dead Bodies

Steven Anthony Harrington died in 1979, sometime around midnight on the third of January. He had two parents, also lying dead in the master bedroom, a dog collapsed on the kitchen floor, and that was it. They were a reclusive bunch with an unlucky family tree filled with people that tended to die early anyway. So maybe it was fate. As the New Steve looked down at the still face of the boy he was going to replace, he thought that it's probably just the circle of life. People die, people live, and the world keeps spinning. It doesn’t have to mean much beyond that.

Old Steve felt cold. It wasn't the first time New Steve had touched or felt a dead person, but for some reason this one is different. This time, it’s his fault. He felt the body go cold and numb as it happened. He watched the emotions seep out of the body as the boy's dream ended without him waking up. His father made him watch, so he understood the sacrifice taken so he could do his job.

The weight of it makes it hard to breathe.

It was a bloodless death, caused by carbon monoxide poisoning. Painless and simple. While the house airs out, Old Steve, his dog, and his parents are quickly disposed of. There is no evidence left behind. On January fourth, sometime in the evening, the new Harrington family sat on a couch they didn’t buy, in a living room they didn’t choose, and drank a cup of hot tea, considering the moment of peace before the start of their journey.

They move without a word to the neighbors, who the Old Harringtons were never friends with anyway. Nobody knows, or cares where they are. There’s a money trail if someone bothers to look, but it doesn’t expose anything more than a house hunting vacation. Then, just before the start of the school year, they use Richard’s savings to buy a home in a sleepy little town called Hawkins, Indiana. And their new lives begin.

New Steve thought that the new home was too big. Every little noise echoed and bounced across the walls, making him jump and look around as if he’d find people hiding in them, watching their every move. When they’d arrived, he and his parents laid down on the soft, carpeted floor and stared at the pure white ceiling in silence, taking in the new world around them. They hadn’t said anything, but they didn’t need to. He knew things would be different from then on.

He spent that first week with his parents. Every morning like clockwork, they sat before the TV and repeated everything said out loud, practicing their accents and furthering their understanding of the strange phrases Americans liked to use, like, “take a rain check,” and “lipstick on a pig.” New Steve found he hated movies, where he couldn’t see people’s feelings like he could in person. They reminded him of Old Steve’s frozen body, huddled up in blankets as if he was just sleeping. Like soulless meat puppets waiting to be buried and never found again.

In the evenings, he and his mother worked through a cookbook she’d been gifted, perfecting American dishes like casseroles and meatloaf. On the second day, he helped her deliver a pie to their neighbor, and she introduced him as her shy little boy who never had much to say. It wasn’t true. He still had a hard time with the ‘th’ sound that so many English words used, so they’d decided that until he got it right, that’s who he’d be.

With his dad, during the day when nobody would question it, they cut open the wall in his office and installed a gun safe. Apparently, it was legal for normal people in America to own guns. Steve was too young to have an opinion on that, but his dad muttered in English about how it was the kind of irresponsible nonsense that made his job easier. So, maybe it was a good thing. Either way, they covered the safe with a wall once again, so they were truly out of sight.

When his parents weren’t home, New Steve quietly snuck out to dip his toes in the pool. He’d never seen a pool before. He didn’t even know how to swim. In the spot close to the deep end, where neighbors wouldn’t see him unless they stuck their heads over the fence to pry, New Steve would find the perfect stick- thin and light with no leaves, and drag it across the surface of the water, watching the ripples as they rolled across the heated surface. And that was how he found peace with his new house.

It took him a while to settle into the role of Steve, and even longer for him to climb the mantle of King Steve. But that was his job, so it’s what he did. King Steve was good at sports. Captain of the swim team, co-captain of the basketball team. Handsome, fond of parties, rich with mysterious parents who traveled often. Charming, just enough for people to wonder how he stayed out of trouble despite everything he got up to.

But secretly, Steve, just Steve, also known in his heart as Stepan, was terrified. He never let it show on his face, even more terrified that his parents would lose faith in his skills and dump him somewhere while they returned to Russia as heroes without him. He spent most of his time fueled with fear, balancing the careful images he’d built for himself as the perfect All-American Boy that his parents were relying on. Unfortunately for Steve, he hadn’t anticipated what would happen to his precious double image when he fell in love.

[demonkinguwu]

The Three Subcon Bosses [My fanon version lol]

The trickster shadow, the wrathful queen, and the disappearing moon

Lore Below <3

Snatcher: Once was a kind lonely prince whose only talent was painting, often overlooked and ignored due to this. He fell in love with Vanessa quickly as she was the only one who understood the loneliness of his paintings. The two married after a year of courtship, but the prince worked hard to learn to rule by her side, even going to law school. Unfortunately, he ignored the terrible treatment by his frantic wife for fear of true loneliness until it was too late...

Now the kind prince turned into a terrible and manipulative shadow, using robbed souls and his smarts to grow as powerful as he is, growing to be the sole ruler of the Subcon Forest. He prefers to be in control and over-possessive of everything he deems 'his', including the terrible wife who killed him painfully. He despises her but deep down knows she's the only person who will ever truly care for him even as a monster so she gets to stay as his pathetic little toy <3

However, he can't help but enjoy the very small snippets of moments between them that remind him of a better time when they were young and naive. He can't help but smile as the princess Vanessa was once shines through that red mass of anger, oh how he wishes to rip open the beast and find his princess within it, safe and innocent as she used to be

Vanessa: She was once a kind and sweet princess filled with so much loneliness especially since her father ran away. On a visit to a foreign kingdom, she was immersed in the large gallery of paintings depicting how she felt perfectly, lonely. She soon fell for the painter, a kind but mischievous prince who was just as lonely as she was. But her horrible mother was jealous of her daughter's happiness and poisoned her heart and mind with her evil words, reminding the princess of her father who ran away. The princess' desperate thoughts turned dark and possessive, wanting the prince all to herself, even getting rid of her mother who she thought wanted her prince. The now Queen was more desperate, her heart and mind growing darker and bitter with each day that passed without her beloved... Soon it would all explode, taking every soul within Subcon with her.

After a few years of mindless wrath and pain, she 'cooled down'. Finally gaining sense and guilt, but since no one wished to accept her apologies, she learned not to care over such matters anymore. Her heart grew bitter, cold, and uncaring of much but the evil monster her beloved became. His very existence enrages her, reminding her that her kind sweet prince is gone and all she has is this thing, this terrible and evil shadow who took everything from her. But even so, she can never get rid of him, for he is the only one who will 'care' for her, who could relieve her of her loneliness even if his actions are cruel and taunting. She doesn't want to be truly alone, but he is the only one she can truly trust, so he is the only intruder who will remain safe from her terrible wrath even if she hates him so. Though she knows her prince is gone, she relishes the small brief moments she could see a flicker of him through the monster's wicked being. Oh, how she wishes she could grab her prince in that brief second and never let him go.

Moonjumper: He was once a naive but adventurous lad, a time traveler who shone bright with the moon. Crashing into the strange planet, he met a cold princess whose heart was as cold as ice. He felt understood as he didn't understand what love was either, so he decided to stay with the princess and become her king to find out what love was. They soon had a princess who they named Vanessa. The king loved his daughter very much but didn't love his title or his wife, for he was a being of freedom. Without confronting his wife, he planned to take Vanessa and escape, but he left her behind once his wife figured out his plot. His wife, who grew to love him, was heartbroken and distraught over his betrayal, and so she cursed him with her magic to death, over and over again.

The man became a distorted time rift, cold and alone, wanting nothing more than to find someone to stay with him in his lonely horizon, especially his little princess.

Hundreds of years have passed, and he watches on with great pain as the sweet girl his daughter was once turned into a monster. All thanks to the monster who took over Subcon with that disgusting smirk, he made his daughter the monster she is! And she was no better! Being easily influenced by that monster and turning into a monster herself, they were both horrible beasts! Both were responsible for taking away his little princess! Once he has the chance, he'll get rid of them both! But since he is much weaker and scared of them, he'll abide his time until he can finally avenge his sweet daughter. For now, he searches for someone he could keep in his lonely prison, someone who he can raise to be just as perfect as his little princess...

[theoldsports]

| Irish Coffee |

summary: twenty four was the wrong age for everything, except maybe picking up girls in bars at the holidays. Rafe Cameron x Reader

word count: 3.8k

warnings: bars, alcohol, passing mention of sexual assault, death of a parent mention.

Rafe Cameron hated karaoke. It was shitty ego-stroking from typically the very intoxicated or the very tone deaf. He didn’t think anyone ever felt good about their performances on that rinkydink stage anyway. It was unpleasant for everyone involved. Truth be told, Rafe thought karaoke was pointless entirely. If he wanted to hear a good version of a song, he would go on Spotify and find one. He thought karaoke was a selfish sport made fun only for the singer, and never for the listener.

In summation, it was fucking stupid.

When he got in Topper’s Jeep, Rafe had been too tipsy to fully comprehend that it was karaoke night at the Swordfish. Now, with another tumbler of b-list bourbon between Rafe’s knuckles, he moped on a stool at the bar.

He felt old when he went out with Kelce, Topper and their other friends. He had started college while some of the other boys he’d grown up with were in their junior year of high school. Rafe didn’t have friends. He wasn’t good at keeping them and didn’t like it when they complained about their problems that weren’t even really problems. The persona he had crafted for dealing with friends, though, had gotten elaborate enough to where Rafe thought they didn’t notice that his heart wasn’t in it.

He didn’t have friends, he had the people he drank with. That was better than drinking alone.

Being twenty-four sucked. Too old for ragers, too young for drinks at the country club. Too many big problems to solve, but everyone thinking he was too young to solve him. Rafe wondered, if he drank enough, could he blackout the whole of his twenties and then he wake up in his thirties locked and loaded?

Some drunk whore was finishing up a song Rafe had only heard in Sofia’s car. She’d played it often. He didn’t know what it was called. It was by one of those superstar white girls with the zillion dollar concert tickets. Rafe didn’t like it. He didn’t like Sofia either anymore. He didn’t like to think about her anymore.

His heartbeat raced. His could feel it beat in his neck when he drank too much. It didn’t used to be that way. The human body couldn’t fail from misuse before thirty, could it? Rafe took a sharp inhale through his nose to push the frantic thoughts away. Everyone leaves eventually, he reminded himself; a mantra. Fuck, he wanted a cigarette.

Topper was on Ruthie leaning up on the wall near a booth. They were out of commission til she got pissy at him for breathing wrong, or something, and they all had to make excuses to leave. Normal Friday night.

Rafe wished he’d stayed home.

A DJ mumbled that the next person was taking the stage, singing Hard Candy Christmas by Dolly Parton. Arguably, this was Rafe’s favorite Christmas song because it had been his mother’s favorite Christmas song.

It was also the week before Thanksgiving and Rafe didn’t think he could stomach Christmas yet.

“Shit…” Rafe muttered into his glass of bourbon.

The girl supposed to sing was being pushed up into the tiny stage by a group of drunk girls. Presumably a bachelorette party by the looks of it. The girl onstage had a frown of surprise on her lips. It was clear to Rafe that she didn’t know this was going to happen. A girl in her party, wearing a veil headband, called out: “Please! This is our song. Please do it for me? You sound so pretty, [Y/N].”

All of her friends were calling and chanting for her to sing. The girl, [Y/N], looked embarrassed. She was very put on the spot.

Eventually, with all the cheering, pleading and encouragement, [Y/N] walked to the center of the stage where the microphone stood.

“Forgive me if this is dogshit, my friends signed me up,” The girl said over the karaoke track’s intro. A few of the girls she was with cheered. “I didn’t come to butcher Dolly in front of y’all.”

This yielded a chuckle from her audience. Rafe rolled his eyes. He was less interested in her humble act, and more interested in where he knew from. Rafe knew a lot of people, and he was starting to cling to the barstool to do what his legs were struggling to do. [Y/N] was a common enough name, but this girl looked so fucking familiar to him. His drunk mind leafed through the catalog of women in his brain. [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], where did he know her from?

Her clothes weren’t anything special. Standard bachelorette party fare. A little too short, but not quite slutty. She was a bridesmaid, maybe the maid of honor. Rafe wrinkled his nose in thought. His contacts stung dry against his eyes. He had stared at a screen too long in the office and now he was sitting under a vent in November. Who the hell left the A/C on in November?

[Y/N]. Rafe hadn’t hooked up with her before. He didn’t think he had, anyway. She didn’t appear to have botox in her face or filler in her top lip with the way she expressed so freely. That meant she couldn’t have been the kid of one of his dad’s business contacts.

He looked at her friends for clues. Immediately, Rafe recognized the bride. Wendy. Rafe had hooked up with Wendy a few times in high school. He was surprised to see she was still on the island; Wendy had been smarter than that. So Rafe probably knew [Y/N] from school, then. What classes had they shared? He tried to place her.

[Y/N] was working through the slow first verse. She didn’t have a perfect, trained voice. Her voice was the kind of voice that sang in the kitchen on Saturday mornings to the radio. A smirk pulled at Rafe’s lip. She wasn’t forcing it, and she wasn’t so drunk that it was pathetic to listen to. “I hate singing in front of people…” she said.

[Y/N] knelt and set down what appeared to be an Irish coffee, and put her left hand over eyes. No ring, Rafe thought. He almost puked at the thought that looking at babes in bars now came with seeing if they were married or engaged, before giving them the once over. Being twenty-four sucked. The girl swayed from side to side on her feet as she moved from the second half of the first verse to the chorus.

…Maybe I'll just get drunk on apple wine.

Me, I'll be just fine and dandy.

Lord, it's like a hard candy Christmas.

I'm barely getting through tomorrow,

But still I won't let sorrow bring me way down…

The girl took some liberties with how she improvised the line endings or creating a harmony line instead of the melody during the way too repetitive chorus. It wasn’t like she was doing something revolutionary, but she also wasn’t just up there doing a cheesy impression of Dolly.

It was a welcome change of pace from the guy’s attempt at some Jimmy Buffet number a few songs ago. Rafe loved music. He loved it. That’s part of why karaoke was such an affront. Rafe played the piano; he was okay. His mom had put him in lessons right after kindergarten and it was the only thing he had stuck with until the end of high school. That was how he honored her memory.

Wait, kindergarten.

[Y/N] sat next to Rafe in kindergarten and early elementary. Holy fucking shit.

Rafe was a walking ad for Ritalin until he was about ten. Arguably, after that too. No one ever helped him out. He was also spoiled, he knew that. The kid talked out of turn, couldn’t follow the classroom expectations, never sat still, and ended up with his green light getting downgraded to a yellow light by the end of everyday. The tantrums he would throw over it where earthshaking. It was exhausting. [Y/N] sat next to him because she was not disruptive. Miss Lisa, their kindergarten teacher had loved [Y/N]. She loved her not only because she was good kid, but because she talked back to Rafe. [Y/N] used her position as calm-girl-forced-to-sit-next-to-shitty-boy to her advantage. She tattled on him daily. Debatably, that made his behavior worse, but the pair had fun sometimes. Rafe hadn’t thought about her in years.

[Y/N] wrapped up the song, trilling fine and dandy… I’ll be fine… over and over with the tinny backing track. He wished she could sing this song along with a guitar the way she deserved. Unexpectedly, Rafe found his hands applauding and his glass on the counter.

Quick as a flash, Rafe stood on unsteady feet and rushed towards the stage. [Y/N] rounded up her Irish coffee and pivoted towards her friends that clapped delightedly at her. Her hands were peeled away from her face now. Rafe almost smiled. Almost.

“Hey ladies, can I steal [Y/N] here for a second?” Rafe hollered over the music as he slumped towards their party.

Wendy’s eyes lit up in immediate recognition. “Rafe Cameron…”

“Hi Wendy,” Rafe said effortlessly. “Congratulations, by the way. You look great.” Rafe’s hookups were getting married now, and he was going to wake up tomorrow single and hungover.

“Thank you, hon. You look pretty good yourself… Please take her. Buy her another drink before we go. We need her loosened up a little.” Wendy giggled.

“Hey!” [Y/N] protested. She was eying Rafe uncertainly. She was trying to place him the same way that he had her.

“Please, ladies, next round on my tab. Congrats, seriously, Wendy,” Rafe said with a sleazy, false grin as a few of the women cheered. “I’ll bring [Y/N] back in one piece.” Gently, Rafe placed a hand on her elbow and angled her away towards the bar. The two walked in relative quiet.

All [Y/N]’s friends giggled. Rafe’s force dimples dropped when they were out of the ladies’ eyeline.

“Excuse me,” [Y/N] started. “Not tryin’ to be rude. Have we… Do I know you? I didn’t catch your name and…” She asked, staring intensely at Rafe. “Is this a setup, because Wendy’s always trying to—“

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Rafe cut in, stopping. He was drunk and forgot his manners. Great impression. Rafe cleared his throat and tried not to slur. “Rafe Cameron. You probably don’t remember me… I… You’re [Y/N] [L/N], yeah? You sat beside me in, like, fucking kindergarten and stuff.”

[Y/N] eyes widened in recognition. “Oh my god!” She gasped. “Rafe! How are you? Oh my god, you’re so tall!” [Y/N] laughed happily. Her faced buzzed warmly from the alcohol.

Rafe nodded at her amused comment. “Yeah, I’ve been busy since I was, y’know, nine.” He snorted.

“You transferred, right?”

“Yeah, Saint Mary’s.” Rafe replied. His mother’s trust had paid for catholic school after she died. He transferred out around the time he was ten.

“I can’t believe we never crossed paths again. You know Wendy from Saint Mary’s then?”

“Yep, that’s right,” Rafe paused. “Come on, lemme get you another drink. You’re the reason I didn’t fail first grade.”

[Y/N] smirked. “That’s probably true. You were an awful student.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe smirked. “Way to treat a guy buying you a drink,” he started his walk towards the bar, prompting [Y/N] to follow him. “You got Bailey’s or Jameson in that thing?”

The girl looked down into her nearly empty mug. “Jameson.”

“Smart girl.“ Rafe said easily. [Y/N] blushed. Even drunk, Rafe didn’t miss that expression on her face at those words. Almost too easy.

“Well, if you’re paying then tell the man to make it a double Irish too.”

“Very smart girl. I like the way you think.”

[Y/N] easily followed Rafe to the bar. The man’s broad shoulders slumped drunkenly as he cut through the crowd. When one was as large, imposing and beautiful as Rafe Cameron, crowds parted like the Red Sea. “So, uh, how are you? Did you do the whole college thing, or…?” [Y/N] asked broadly. She next to nothing about him. He wasn’t even the kind of childhood friend to get added on Instagram.

College. That was the default question at their age. Rafe hated this question, but he couldn’t let [Y/N] feel rejected for that question. “I mean, yeah. For a while. I was at Wofford for a year, but I never finished. I like what I do now, though.”

[Y/N] nodded. “And what exactly do you do?”

“Real estate development. I took over for my dad l when he passed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, we get by,” Rafe turned to the bartender, waving a hand for his attention. “Another Maker’s Mark, neat, and a coffee with double Jameson. Put the anything else the bachelorette party orders on my tab.” Rafe said. He certainly didn’t need another drink, but he really liked having something to do with his hands. Rafe would probably have less substance abuse-related issues if he knew how to conduct his body in public in some way that wasn’t a poor impression of his father.

“Very good, Mr. Cameron.”

[Y/N] narrowed her eyes at Rafe. “Big spender… You that much of a regular that they know your name at the bar?” In her world, guys [Y/N]’s age didn’t get called ‘Mr.’ anything anywhere by anyone. The guys she knew still drank shitty PBRs in punk clubs and had girlfriends they had nothing in common with. Rafe’s polish and pedigree didn’t rub off even in such a state of intoxication.

Rafe didn’t have a good excuse. The implication of [Y/N]’s statement was accurate. “Sure,” he replied. He moved through the rest of his sentence like a gunshot to prevent an awkward conversation. “Hey, why’d you pick Hard Candy Christmas?”

“I didn’t pick it. Wendy did.”

Rafe nodded slowly. “Right. Why did she pick it for you, then?”

“Because it’s my favorite Christmas song.”

“It’s my favorite. It’s probably half of the Smoky Mountains’ favorite too. But why?”

“I didn’t realize this was hardball—“

“Please... I asked you a question about Dolly Parton. You sounded good.” Rafe responded. His drink was passed over the counter. He held it close to his chest and leaned his right elbow down to press it into the bar.

“Um, thanks. It’s… I had shitty couple years. I sang that song everyday for months at a time, I think. Wendy and I would go for these drives with the top down and just… Belt that shit out. Makes the bad days better.”

Rafe half-smiled. “So, year-round?” He said accusingly.

“The song? Like, not at Christmas?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, yeah. She says it’s like a Hard Candy Christmas, not that it is one. That’s grounds for year-round. It’s so much more than a Christmas song.” [Y/N] bit back with a smirk. The bartender returned and placed another white coffee cup and saucer in front of [Y/N] with a nod. The girl slurped a sip down without cream or sugar. She barely made a pinched expression at what was obviously a strong drink. Rafe was moderately impressed. He liked that [Y/N] was drinking brown liquor in black coffee this late on a Friday while all of her friends held White Claws and Daiquiris,

“My head hurts. This is the opposite of the Die Hard’s a Christmas movie thing.” Rafe jabbed.

“Anything can be a Christmas movie.”

“Then, so can a song.”

[Y/N] paused. “Damn.” she sighed. She wasn’t sober enough to get her arguments straight.

Rafe didn’t want to conversation to end. [Y/N] was the most intelligent person he’d spoken to all day. It wasn’t saying much, but was noticeable. He asked another question. “What’s your favorite Christmas movie, if you think that’s true?”

“American Psycho.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s not a—“

“Rewatch it. Not having this argument,” [Y/N] chided. The girl glanced over her shoulder at her friends. They were all staring at her and pretending they weren’t. “Listen Rafe, I appreciate the drink. It was really great to see you tonight. I gotta head back to Wendy now. Bachelorette party only happens once. If you’re lucky… But, hey, thank you again—“

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” [Y/N] asked. She had no idea where Rafe was taking this. Rafe pushed up the left sleeve of his brown sweater.

“What my favorite Christmas movie is.”

[Y/N] looked at him funny. “What’s your favorite Christmas movie?”

“Eyes Wide Shut.” Rafe replied coyly.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” [Y/N] smiled fully, finally. Rafe damn near smiled back. She took a small step away, gesturing to where her friends stood.

“Can I give you my card? Maybe we catch up sometime.” Rafe asked plainly.

“Yeah, maybe!”

Rafe pulled his business card out of his wallet and extended it to [Y/N]. She looked down at it, cheekily saying: “Let’s see Paul Allen’s business card…” her eyes widened at the writing on the card. “CEO? Of a development company? THE development company on the island.”

“I told you I took over my dad’s business.”

“Rafe, I… I’m barely a grant writer at a 501-c3. How are you a CEO… You’re… twenty-three?”

“Twenty-four two weeks ago.”

“Happy birthday,” [Y/N] said flatly. “What’s happening? Why are you talking to me?”

“Because you helped me pass first grade. I thought I already said that.” Rafe’s eyes never left hers. They were so blue. Too blue. Too blue to be real. Rich people were too pretty.

[Y/N] took a very long sip of her coffee. “That’s wild. I’m sorry, but that’s wild. You made me feel vastly inferior and I’m the friend with my shit the most together.” [Y/N] told Rafe, with a smile on her face.

“I know you gotta get back. I’m not gonna the asshole that kept the girls waiting, but call me. Listen, you’re pretty, so is your voice. We should catch up.” Rafe said. Was he asking her out? That was weird. That was weird, right?

Hesitantly, [Y/N] looked back at her friends again. They were too invested in her conversation with Rafe. Hopefully, they would all drink so much that they forgot it happened.

“Do you like karaoke, Rafe?” [Y/N] changed the subject.

“I hate it.” He replied instantly.

“Why are you here?”

Rafe gestured with his glass to where Topper and Ruthie were making out. “They gave me a ride. And you don’t seem too keen about it either.” He said with a shrug.

[Y/N] couldn’t figure out what Rafe’s game was. He had turned from an unsettling child to a freakish adult. He was blunt and brisk, and either frustratingly honest or an alarmingly good liar. Maybe both. She stared up at him.

“What?”

“What?” Rafe raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m gonna go. It was good to see you. Thanks for the drinks,” [Y/N] took a step back. She started to walk away slightly, still facing Rafe. A looked of what could be interrupted as self-loathing crossed Rafe’s face. He didn’t bullshit enough with her during the conversation to be perceived as likable, and she was leaving. Of course. Nobody liked Rafe when they actually knew Rafe. [Y/N] stopped, thinking. “Rafe?”

“Yeah?” His eyes slid back to her.

“Can you do something for me?”

“Maybe?”

He was going to say no, but it would serve as a litmus test for what kind of man Rafe was. It would help [Y/N] sleep easier to know what kind of bullet she dodged by losing Rafe’s business card after tonight. “Okay, we have a scavenger hunt thing for the party. It’s stupid. One of those… Do X number of shots, get someone to give you a BLANK, take a picture of three of you doing… whatever. Y’know?”

“Sure, yeah. What are you asking?”

“One of the items on the list is Maid of Honor and a stranger accomplish a task she’ll regret tomorrow. Like I said, it’s a trashy fuckin’ list.”

“Are you asking me to hookup with you, or…”

“Worse. Do you know the song Don’t Go Breaking My Heart by—“

“Absolutely not—“

“Let me finish. I said do you know the song Don’t Go—“

“I don’t do karaoke.” Rafe said forcefully.

“Do you want to go out on a date with me, or not?”

Rafe was stunned silent. His mind worked overtime. He suddenly felt extremely sober, in spite of his drunkenness. He sucked his teeth.

“I don’t do Elton John. Sorry.” He muttered finally.

[Y/N] nodded, knowingly. It was a setup anyway. She couldn’t be disappointed. She knew he’d refuse and she could leave knowing she had made the right choice ditching him. “That’s a’right. Maybe some other—“

“But, if you really want me to do this, let’s at least stick to the Christmas thing you’ve got going here.”

“You don’t look very… holly jolly.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” he deadpanned. Rafe was the strangest combination. “Stop givin’ me grief here. Your favorite Christmas movie is American Psycho. Let’s do Baby, It’s Cold Outside—“

“Whoa, waaaay too rapey.” [Y/N] protested.

“American. Psycho. How is that song—“

“Wait, do you know Fa—“

“Fairytale of New York?” Rafe finished.

“You know it?”

“My family’s Irish Catholic.”

They both stood still and looked at each other. Well, Rafe stood as still as he could, but swayed a little on his feet. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Why was he agreeing to this?

For as manipulative as Rafe Cameron could be, he was effortless to play for validation and a pretty pair of eyes looking back at him.

Everyone leaves eventually, Rafe reminded himself. His mouth and his brain were not in agreement. Rafe had lost control of his body as he blindly followed [Y/N] to sign up for the next karaoke slot.

They passed Topper and Rafe held onto his glass like an anchor. He should have switched to beer. Why did he have another bourbon? Topper pulled his face away from Ruthie long enough to look at Rafe as if to say what the fuck are you doing? without any words. Rafe grimaced at Topper, barring his teeth slightly in response.

Rafe leaned in to [Y/N]’s ear and clumsily pushed her hair back. “I’m not a singer… This isn’t gonna be good.” He whispered. Chills crept up [Y/N]’s spine at the sensation of his breath. He knew his way around rhythm and music theory. Rafe was an asshole about music, actually. Jazz, classical, whatever. It was his secret no one else got to have. It’s not his fault that most of the motherfuckers he hung out with only listened to guys with the word ‘yung’ in front of their names. Still, all of that musicality couldn’t make him a singer.

“It’s karaoke.” [Y/N] said like it was obvious. She dragged Rafe towards the stage. “You’re so serious… Stop frowning; you’re gonna get lines on your face. We’re both gonna suck. I wouldn’t make you do this if it wasn’t for Wendy anyway. Promise.”

“This is so dumb; this better be some fucking date…”

[Y/N] pried, with difficulty, the rocks glass out of Rafe’s fingers and set it with her mug on a tabletop by the stage. As she pulled him up to a microphone, she said: “You know the words. Sing the damn song.”

And as the track started to play, and [Y/N] stupid friends all cheered, Rafe slurred the words he knew from every drunken family Christmas party he’d ever had. And he smiled. Just a little.

[rorylovesangst]

A Burning Hill

Construction worker/underground fighter simon riley x waitress

mood board

tws: death of a parent, suicidal ideation, abuse/harassment, self inflicted burn (sh), trauma

chapter 1

word count: 1.2k

Even when you were nestled in your mother's warm belly, coddled by her own blood and flesh, you could tell you were a burden. A miracle, the doctors said when you were born. Your mother's heart stopped beating for 4 minutes while in labor—vital to a fetus and its host. The miracle was the baby bathed in blood and mucus, not the lifeless mother, puckered and pearl.

You didn’t cry when you were born, too occupied trying to get your walnut-sized heart to betray you, set you free of the hell you’d just begun.

You were never a child who cried for attention. Instead, you swallowed your sounds, held your breath, and watched the world through the lens of someone who wasn’t meant to stay. The hole in the shape of a woman you never met was always there, a mark left in the silence—a picture on the wood-paneled wall. Belly swollen, smile wide. No stories to tell, no lullabies, no warmth from the one person who was supposed to make you feel like you belonged.

Instead, it was just the quiet hum of a broken home, where nothing was ever whole enough to be considered sound.

The nurses said you were a fighter, wrapped in white cotton and a pink cap. You survived the nightmare. You were strong.

But strength doesn’t mean survival, does it? It just means you keep waking up. And waking up—day after day—feels more like a punishment.

You spilled coffee down your shirt today. It seared into your skin and left it hot and freckled. Ronny coughed a whiskey-smelling bark into your face when you stammered into the kitchen with water in your eyes and a half-empty coffee pot trembling in your hand. You felt the pull, the familiar flicker in your neck—small but sharp, like a wire snapping in your spine. It tugged your head to the side before you could stop it. Ronny’s face twisted, his lip curling around the cigarette as though your body’s rebellion were some kind of offense. You watched through blurred vision as he slapped a damp rag against your chest and snarled Clean yourself up, bitch through his cigarette before brushing past you, too close to be accidental. You keep your eyes on the streaked linoleum and mutter an apology.

“Blue, honey,” Olive gasped through the doorway, rushing in and plucking the pot from your shaking hand as though it might shatter, “Are you alright?”

You nodded, shallowing back shards of glass. If you tried to speak, you knew it would come out warbly and wet. The buzz radiated under the damp rag like it wanted to remind you it was there, that you were here. Alive, maybe. Existing, at least.

She steered you into the employee bathroom, the fluorescent light hissing overhead like an unwelcome witness. Perched on the cold, cracked toilet seat, you felt her fingers hastily unbuttoning the top four pins of your blouse. When she saw the angry red blooming across your collarbone and down to your breasts, she winced as if the burn had somehow reached out and burned her too.

Twenty-five minutes and half a roll of gauze later, you were back on your heels, tray in hand, weaving through the diner like a ghost. Grease clung in the air, mixing with the sting of antiseptic rising from your skin. You didn’t glance at Ronny as you passed, but the weight of his eyes was enough of a reminder that he was there.

By 11, the diner was mostly empty, its silence broken only by the occasional clatter of a spoon against porcelain. Three regulars slouched over the bar like wilted plants, nursing their coffees and bacon, while two new faces lingered in the shadows of the back corner.

Olive had locked out at 8, leaving the newcomers to your care. Their eyes snapped to the bandages the moment you approached, their stares like tiny spotlights burning through your sticky skin.

You tugged at the puppet strings of your face, drawing your lips into a smile that felt brittle enough to crack. “Hi. What can I get for you guys?”

Their dirtied hands moved in unison, flipping through the laminated menus with a sound like shuffling paper. Both men hummed, low and indecisive, until the one with the prickly, dark mohawk spoke first.

“I’ll tek ah ham n’ cheese toastie, and some orange juice, bonnie,” he chirped, his voice thick with a Scottish accent, coarse as gravel. His crooked smile curled like a frayed ribbon across his chapped lips, his eyes lingering on your bandages for a beat too long before snapping back to the menu.

“And I’ll jus’ ‘ave a cuppa, light an’ sweet,” the blond huffed in a British accent, his dirt-covered palms sliding the menus across the counter.

“Those will be right out for you,” you say with a small smile before retreating to the back to put in their orders.

Rain taps a steady rhythm on the metal roof as you wait for Tony, the cook, to finish. Glancing out the window, you watch the downpour drench the empty lot. The walk home is going to suck. Of course, you don’t even have an umbrella.

The food bell rings and you're quickly balancing a plate in one hand and their drinks in another. The toastie sizzled on the plate as you slid it in front of the mohawk man—Johnny, you decided, based on the stitched patch on his jacket. The mug landed gently in front of the blond, whose tag says Riley. His eyes flickered up at you as if weighing something, but he said nothing. Johnny didn’t bother hiding his stare.

“Yer chest,” he started, jerking his chin toward the gauze peeking from your blouse. “Looks nasty. Burn?”

Your hand hovered on the edge of the table, fingers tightening around the curve like it might anchor you. For a moment, the words sat heavily on your tongue, like pills you were too afraid to swallow.

“Just an accident,” you muttered, the smile on your lips wilting at the edges.

“That so?” Johnny leaned back, his yellow construction jacket creaking as he shifted. His accent softened, as though he was testing the weight of your lie. “Guess this place gets rougher than it looks, eh?”

You huff out a laugh that makes your sternum stutter like a kindergartner on the first day of school.

Riley—the blond—stirred sugar into his coffee with slow, deliberate motions. His gaze is like a dagger, the blade barely nicking your skin. Johnny’s stare doesn't let go either. He’s waiting for more, expecting more—like it’s not enough. You can feel the tick of the words in your neck, the way they press against your skin like a bruise.

Before you can stop it, you feel the familiar flicker—a twitch, a sharp pull that catches your breath. Your head jerks sideways, and you hear the strange, strangled sound of a laugh—an involuntary, sharp noise escaping you, even though it isn’t funny. You want to shove it back down and swallow it back inside you, but it’s out there, splintered in the air between you.

Riley doesn’t seem surprised. His eyes flicker between you and Johnny, an unreadable expression passing over his face. You know he’s noticed. They both have.

But then the tension, thick and bruising, is broken by the shuffle of feet behind you as another customer slides into a booth. You feel the burn of their stares fade just as quickly as it came, but the heat in your cheeks doesn’t fade. Still, your hands shake as you back away, your smile a brittle thing you have to patch together before you disappear back into the shadows of the diner, pleading for Tony to hand them the check

[miwiromantics]

Let’s talk about this.

Why both will and el are so connected is because they both have the same storyline. They both have the same end purpose: acceptance.

!!warning: long post ahead!!

Will’s storyline: acceptance of love.

Unlike what most milevens believe, the duffers aren’t planning to end Will’s story with him accepting that he is gay because he HAS already accepted it. He accepted the fact that he was gay and in love with Mike, hence, the painting.

The painting, from the start, was a way of Will confessing his feelings (etc. you’re the heart) but it was never going to be said out loud. He had just planned to give it to Mike during the airport scene and it was supposed to be over.

But instead, he used it as a way to build up Mike’s confidence in himself and also lead up to say ‘I love you’ to El. He used El as a shadow over his own feelings to help Mike.

Will accepts that he likes men and is attracted to Mike. What he doesn’t accept is that he is going to fall in love. We see this in season 3 when he’s talking with Joyce.

This was a scene directly after a canon couple’s scene. Both Jonathan and Nancy are in fact in love with each other and when Joyce says the words ‘you won’t think it’s gross when you fall in love’ it indicates she meant when Will is in a relationship, not when Will is some one-sided love triangle.

So when Will says he isn’t going to fall in love, he is saying this because he knows he’s feelings in a relationship are not going to be reciprocated. He isn’t saying it because he hasn’t fallen in love with someone, he’s saying that it’s impossible for those feelings to be mutual.

Also to remind you, there was no need to put this scene in the first place if it was not hinting at something. It could’ve just been Jonathan and Nancy getting away and Joyce wiping lipstick off his face, indicating that she knew Nance was there anyway.

Throughout season 3, we can clearly notice that Will is struggling with something not related to the mind flayer. He’s struggling with his childhood, his friends and change. And the most important change is his feelings towards a certain friend.

Because of these feelings we get the rain scene. This was Will struggling to accept that he was different (gay) and in love with Mike. This was season 3’s struggle. But in season 4, through the painting, we see it’s been resolved.

He has accepted this but knows he isn’t going to be in love. He knows he’s feelings aren’t going to be reciprocated. So he does the next best thing other than confessing, and help mileven build up their already broken relationship.

Even more so, the scene with Jonathan and Will in the pizza place was acceptance enough for Will to come out. Both Will and Jonathan knew what they were talking about, the subtexts were very obvious. This was the acceptance of Will being gay and in love with Mike.

Now anybody with a right mind would see that this is clearly building up to something more important. A gay boy who thinks he’s feelings are not going to be accepted using he’s only way of confessing as a tool for a problematic ‘straight’ couple.

We must give the duffers credit as we know they aren’t just going to ignore Will’s feelings next season or slap him with some background character as a way of resolving this. There has to be more.

El's storyline: acceptance of independence.

Throughout her whole life, El has always been told what to do. Whether it has been for positive or negative means, she's never made a decision in her entire life leading up to season 2.

Let's be clear that before this girl knew the word 'friend', 'family' and 'love' meant, she had already gotten into a relationship. That before she ever knew what she liked and disliked, she was already in a relationship with the supposed boy of her dreams.

Anyways, independence is something so rooted in El’s storyline. It’s something repeated throughout the seasons. We see it in season 2 when she goes out on her own to find her mother and sister. It is important to note that Mike was not a part of this journey. Mike was not the sole focus or someone El thought she needed at that time.

Even in season 3, we are given the fact that El has never made a decision for herself. The strongest decision we ever see that season was her breaking up with Mike and even that has been disregarded by milevens, saying that Max influenced her or that she ‘didn’t know what she was doing’ or that ‘she’s just a teenager’.

Let’s be clear that anybody in a relationship is given the option to break up and leave the relationship if they want to. Max did not ‘influence’ her, she merely gave her the option. The option that is rightfully hers. By saying that it wasn’t really her decision or that she didn’t know what she was thinking, it’s like saying she doesn’t have an option.

She has the right to leave a relationship if she wants to.

The words ‘not hopper, not mike, you’ is so important to a character like El. A character that has been locked up and dependent throughout her life, finally given a choice to decide for herself is powerful.

Season 3 is important in El’s arc to independence because unlike what Milevens say, she doesn’t require Mike to be there for her to feel complete. The reason that El went to find Mike in season 2 was because they need each other is debunked in season 3. It shows that even when Mike is within her reach, she doesn’t go find him.

Now in season 4, we see a very big shift in her attitude from the previous seasons. She’s pretending to have a normal life when she clearly isn’t. She’s lying and hiding behind a fake persona to make her seem happy. She is still grieving from hopper while trying to put everything behind her and live a ‘normal’ life.

She, like many milevens, is building a reality where her and Mike are the supposed perfect couple. A reality where they are truly in love. She lies to Mike and herself throughout the rink-o-mania scene. And this all unfortunately breaks when Angela (that bitch) comes into the picture.

She throws El’s persona into the fire and absolutely humiliates her in front of the one person she didn’t want to be humiliated in front of. And this is where we see their relationship break (even more).

We see the first crack when El says that Mike doesn’t understand how she feels. To be honest, she’s right. Mike didn’t know how it felt to move to a whole new side of the country without her father and to be subjected to brutal bullying. But disregarding his feelings towards bullying is also something she does.

Now the curtains are open and everything is shown. We then get a scene of El basically pleading Mike to tell her he loves her. But instead of admitting it, Mike gaslights her and tells her their problems are caused by other people.

Mike says he says he loves her but if this was really the most important couple in the show I’m sure the duffers would’ve included the supposed scenes where Mike and El say they love each other TO EACH OTHER. And when she brings out proof, he calls her ridiculous.

Even in the van scene, he says that he’s scared that El won’t need him anymore. He wants to feel like a hero to her, someone that can protect her when in reality, she is way past it. She wants him to love her but he wants her to need him. He wants her to be dependent on him.

Through the beginning of season 4, we see her define herself in the way Mike sees her. While giving him a false narrative of her life, she pretends she lives in them. Plastering a fake smile just so that Mike would think she’s enjoying herself in Lenora and lying about parties to make herself seem cool.

You can see how defeated she looks when she realises that Mike might not love her at all.

She, like so many more milevens, want Mike to be the perfect lover, the person who is with her through all her problems and a shoulder to cry on. But he isn’t that person and she knows it.

But after she leaves Mike, we can truly see what her goals are. There isn’t a scene throughout her journey where she thinks of Mike and you can see her gain more confidence in herself, once again proving that she doesn’t need him to feel complete.

She does better without him.

Her arc was never about romance. Her arc was about finding who she truly is. It was about her finding a place in this world where she doesn’t have to be the hero or villain in the story. It was about her growing alongside the people she loves and the family she built.

We see that she realises that she is her own superhero, that she can solve her own problems and that she doesn’t need a shoulder to cry on. She can take on a challenge headfirst without letting anyone define who she is.

She doesn’t need Mike telling her that he loves her to realise that she is loved or that she can live a normal and happy life just like how she doesn’t need to forgive brenner to know that she is a good person. She is her own person.

And before anybody comes at me, yes. A woman can be in a relationship and still be independent. But once it come to a point of lying about and to yourself and defining who you are through another person’s feelings, it is not healthy.

She has taken on challenges before Mike, during Mike and will continue to do so after Mike (and all this happened without Mike). She doesn’t need him.

Both Will and El need support and love through their journey. It only comes down to what type of love they need that’s important. El does not need romantic love to thrive while that’s the only love Will is lacking.

Anyways we also clearly see that in the end El is on her own journey and that Mike and Will are a team alongside all the other endgame couples.

So byler endgame and El independent arc era.

(My writing is a bit sloppy here and there so if there are any questions regarding it pls ask. Also again, sorry for long post)

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 26 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: Aegon attempts to court Valeana properly this time. In his own, Aegon-y way. Word Count: 6018 CHAPTER WARNINGS: 18+ , MDNI. Horny!Aegon, Brief discussion of non-con things. Alcohol.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: ya welcome👋

When Aegon awoke that morning, his mind was just as muddled and fuzzy as everyone else’s in the Keep, though his was much louder with chatter from last night. His voice, his mother’s, Valeana’s, and Catelyn Redwyne’s.

During their dance, he had an interesting conversation with her; she was young, four years his junior, and yet wiser. Cat read him like a book in the time it took them to do the ceremonial dance at the beginning of the ball, but instead of chastising him (which his mother did later that eve, and again that morning), she instead gifted him some of her feminine insight. 

“Is this faux courtship a ploy to help her win back Aemond, or help you win her?” She had said with eyebrow raised and mouth pulled in a knowing smirk. 

Aegon stared at her, completely stunned at how easily she pulled out her conclusion. He stuttered, trying to say otherwise, but then Cat begged him to stop with a cute little laugh before continuing. 

“It’s just like the book, The Knight and I. Lady Deana Bettley and Ser Tymond Hawthorne get into a fake relationship to help each other. Deana had been scandalized, and no suitor wanted her, but with Tymond courting her, suitors started to desire her out of jealousy. And Ser Tymond does not wish to marry, wanting to live the life of a rake for the end of his days, so he uses Deana –a maid from a higher house– to cease his father’s badgering. But! They eventually fall in love with each other, because of all the time they spent together in order to keep up with their charade. Unfortunately, by the time Tymond even realized he loved her, she had gained the attention of the Lord of the Vale, and was set to be betrothed. It was all very romantic.”

After she had just gushed about the plot of her book – which to Aegon sounded like a right bore – he just blinked at her. Catelyn blushed heavily, and looked down embarrassed. 

“I really like reading,” she said in a small voice, her eyes flickering around the ballroom coyly. 

“I can see that,” Aegon offered her a small laugh to ease her shyness. He wet his lips, eyes glancing over at Valeana and Jacaerys, who appeared to be having a discussion of their own. With a swallow, he asked, “What…What did Lord Tymond do… to win her back?”

Cat looked back up at him through her lashes and a small smile crept on her plush pink lips.

Emboldened by Catelyn Redwyne’s advice, Aegon ignored his mother’s lecture about conduct, her plea for him to stop pursuing Valeana, and her warning if he failed to do so. There was nothing she could do to him that she hadn’t done already; slapped him, insulted him, rolled her eyes in his direction, reminding him at every turn that he was a disappointment. What was she going to do now? Tell him that he isn’t fit to be king, and find a worthy one in Aemond instead? That would be doing him a grand favour indeed. At least then she could pawn Helaena off to him, and Aegon would be free to take Valeana as his bride. 

What a double-edged sword that would be for Aemond. Getting half of his desires, while Aegon frolicked with everything he desired: freedom and Valeana, heavy with his child. 

His cock swelled at the mere thought of it. Tits large and weeping with milk, stomach rounded with evidence of his claim to her body, cunt tightly wrapped around his cock as she bounced on his hips. Aegon had to call in Hildy to aid his intense desires last night after the ball, leaving the pale-haired maid in a sweaty mess on his bed, her three holes thoroughly wet and spent. 

Aegon never lusted for a single woman so intensely, it almost frightened him. Though what was more frightening was the prospect of her not being his, which is what drove him to orchestrate his first, official move to woo her. 

“Aegon, how the hell did you get in here? Hardy at the front,” Valeana whispered harshly to him, arms tightly wrapped around her chest, that maroon robe snuggly wrapped around her. 

They carefully walked out of her shared bedroom with Shyla, closing the door silently, leaving them alone in the girls’ solar. 

“The secret passage of course,” he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. At her look of confusion, he elaborated, “There’s one in Floris’ room.” 

“How do you even know–” She cut herself as her memory caught up with her. “That is how you put those toads in her bed without being caught.”

Aegon giggled softly, “That’s what she gets for tattling. C’mon, let’s get out of here.” 

They moved quietly into Floris’ room as if they were approaching a den of lions. The Grafton girl was sprawled out like a starfish in her bed, occupying as much space as possible in her large mattress– twice as large as Valeana and Shyla’s. It seemed like a waste, in Aegon’s opinion. He and Val could have occupied that bed until the sun rose, and her family would be none the wiser for it. 

The gateway to the secret entrance was behind a squat bookshelf that housed more baubles and shoes than actual books. It was already ajar, Aegon didn’t want to waste time trying to find the latch to re-open it. There was a low dim of light from the torch that he left inside, a little down the way so the light wouldn’t wake up the beast in the bed. Motioning her to follow, they crawled into the portal, and with a gentle tug of the latch, the inconspicuous shelf-door closed behind them. 

Taking her hand, he guided her through the twisting passageway, ensuring that she didn’t trip over the narrow stairways that spiraled down. They then entered a cavernous corridor with arched ceilings that looked like a never ending tunnel to nowhere. With her hand still in his, and the torch in his other, Aegon led her not far from that point, until he got to another inconspicuous secret passage in the form of a slab of stone. 

“Hold this,” he handed the torch to her, and went over to put his entire weight into rolling the stone away. A gust of tepid summer night air wafted into the musky passageway, blowing at Valeana’s silvery strands that framed her face. The rest of her hair was in a very long loose braid, laying upon her shoulder before ending in a knot at her waist. The idea of wrapping it around his wrist and yanking her head back as he took her from behind was not lost on him. 

Beyond the stone slab was a balcony carved from the cliffside itself. It was large, overlooking the crags and the crash of waves of the Blackwater Bay below. There were some statues in the four corners, broken, littered with moss and barnacles. The balcony, if Valeana would call it that, was particularly low along the side of Aegon’s Hill, so it was safe to assume that during winter and autumn, and during the storms throughout spring, the waves of the sea would become so high it would fold over the stone fence that framed the terrace, soaking the area in ocean debris. That night was not one of those nights. The water was calm, though still dangerous as it pushed against the side of the mountain, foam splashing here and there as it attempted to reach the ledge. 

“Aegon…” Valeana stepped out in the open, head pivoting in every which way, seeing nothing but a moonless blanket of black and navy, dotted by stars and creased by waves. No city lamplights, no life, beyond the two of them. There were two braziers that were already lit; the light it offered at such a grand space was dim but enough to see without strain. When she turned around to face the cliffside, she saw what Aegon had left for her. A plush duvet, anchored by a dozen fat, plush pillows. There was a silver cloche sitting in the middle, flanked by amber goblets and two filled carafes of what was likely wine. There were candles there too, some still lit while others had been blown away by the ocean breeze.  

When she turned to him, eyes looking like two emerald stars, Aegon suddenly felt like a child wrecked with nerves. “... What is this?” 

The possibility of rejection lingered in the recesses of his mind, a foreign concept to him since Aegon wasn’t used to rejection. He would simply ask for a girl and she would be granted to him without complaint. A privilege of the title ‘prince’ that he had come to take for granted. Valeana could reject him, and be within her right, and he could ignore it and force himself upon her, and it would be within his right as prince of the realm, as he was entitled to everything and everyone he desired. 

But then she would hate him for an eternity, and curse his bloodline and soul, and Aegon would be left a shell of a man, with nothing but his regrets, all for one night of carnal release. No, forcing himself on her was never an option. He also wasn’t the type of man who wished to see a woman in pain beneath him. Nothing was more of a turn on than enticing world-shattering pleasures on a body with his own hands, mouth, and cock. It was the closest thing to power he had, and he wanted nothing more than to show that to her, if she’d have him. 

He didn’t answer her question, just simply smiled and gestured towards the little nest he had made for them, “Sit. I have cheese, bread, grapes, and salted meats.” 

She eyed him curiously, a tad suspiciously, but still trusted him nonetheless. Aegon watched her descend into the blanket and pillows with gleeful satisfaction. He quickly deposited the torch into the nearest brazier, then practically skipped over to join her. 

Valeana watched him for a beat as he gingerly lighted the doused candles using one that was still lit. “Are you going to tell me what all of this is?” 

“Well,” he began, lighting the last candle. “This platform was where the Old King and his Queen would land their dragons after taking them to flight around the Crownlands. It was a quicker and more surreptitious way for them to get into the Keep without stopping at the Pit and taking a horse or carriage back.” 

Aegon took the domed lid off of their late night meal and smiled up at her, “It’s said that Jaehaerys and Alysanne conceived Saera Targaryen on this very terrace.”

Valeana tilted her head at him, her suspicious gaze turned more like curiosity, “And why is it that you brought me here in the dead of night, Aegon?”

He was pouring the goblets now, “Well, I am… trying to court you.” 

Her mouth popped open, but words escaped her. When Aegon handed her the first goblet, she tentatively took it. 

“I know, I know…” He trails off, already reading her thoughts. Aegon stared into his goblet as he swirls around the red liquid, mixing the tannins around until they dissipated. “We have an arrangement. This was supposed to be a ruse, but… but, hells, this is difficult to say.”

“Aegon,” Val inhaled deeply, her shoulders sagged a bit, the load of an unsaid burden weighing her visibly. “I must speak to you abou–”

“Valeana,” he interrupted her, his smile pained, almost quivering as he tried to bite back his nerves. “Please. I wish to speak this before the words are lost on me.” 

She folded her lips under her teeth and nodded. 

Aegon took a generous sip from his goblet before putting it back down, “I remember what I said to you at the Ball last night. At least, most of it. I wish I had said it a little more… gently and less crass, but I do not regret it. It was the truth… and, hells, Valeana, what I’m trying to say is that I’ve grown fond of you. Quite fond. And I do not wish for us to be a charade anymore.”

His words tumbled through his wine stained lips, eyes looking everywhere other than hers own; her hands, the folds of her robes, the peak of her prosthetic that could be seen through the thin muslin material of her chemise. But his purple eyes found her green ones in the end, and the fear of rejection spiked. Aegon could read her hesitancy as plainly as the stars in the sky. Her eyes danced between his, searching for something in them. Glancing down, the prince took her free hand in his and ran his thumb over her knuckles. 

“If you do not want me, I will leave you alone–”

“Aegon,” her lids shut before the sting of her eyes became too much. “I would be lying if I said I haven’t grown fond of you either.”

Like the waves of the ocean, relief washed over him, but like the crags and spires of stone that protruded around Aegon’s Hill like a natural jagged crown, it crashed with more worry. There was a ‘but’ coming, the way her words hung there, at the edge of a cliff. 

“Aemond and I reconciled that same night. He–” she shook her head and cleared her throat. “I will spare you the details, but it was enough for me to let him back into my life. Not entirely, but… I am giving him a chance to redeem himself.”

His heart was beating frantically in his ribcage, telling him “you lost” over and over again. 

She squeezed his hand then, but the gesture felt condescending, and he considered ripping it away from her. But then Valeana pulled it to her lips and kissed his fingers tenderly, and he was back to putty in her hands. 

“I have not made a decision… My heart is hopelessly torn.”

Aegon felt that awash of relief again, this time the tides brought hope that filled his lungs, making it easier for him to breathe. “Don’t make a decision yet,” he watched her mouth as he moved his fingers so he was now holding onto her chin, thumb framing the lines of her lips. “I want my own chance, a fair shot. Please, Valeana, you said you would make it up to me all those days ago…This is all I want from you. A chance to win your hand.” 

He knew the answer before she said it, by the way she tilted her chin into the palm of his hand. There was still a sorrowful look in her eyes, and perhaps he didn’t entirely understand it, but he sympathized that she was truly of two different minds, trapped between an old love and the possibility of a new one. And… whatever the hells was going on with Jace. 

“Alright, Egg… Don’t let me regret it.”

Aegon grinned, “I’ll try not to, Crab Cake.”

Goblets clinked together and they were drained along with bits of bread, cheese, and meat. With the tense introduction of his motives gone, the evening was eased into a comfortable conversation about funny moments of their shared childhood, to more recent moments they shared together. The first carafe of wine was drained; a Reach vintage, provided by his co-conspirator and his sole supporter, Catelyn Redwyne. 

They now laid on their backs, faces flushed and minds a bit light and heavy at the same time. Valeana was popping grapes in her mouth, and Aegon was trying to make out constellations, but his vision couldn’t quite focus on them. 

“I wish I was a fly on that wall,” Aegon chuckled, the creases of his grin reaching his eyes.

“No, you were a wasp in my skirt that was causing me an immense amount of stress,” The humour in her tone told him that there were no hard feelings over the whole closet fiasco. Which felt like it happened ages ago; it was a bizarre feeling realizing that it led them to where they are now. “Why did you have to bite me?”

Aegon laughed loudly, his eyes trained to the sky, not at all aware that she had rolled her head to look at him. 

“I could not help myself, you looked delicious under there. I was a famished orphan, presented with a slice of warm cherry pie. I needed a nibble,” he shook his head, and then turned it just when she turned away from him, hands over her face. 

“Oh gods,” she laughed despite herself. 

From this angle, he had the perfect view of her chest. Her robes had loosened, creatina a wide V gap at her bosom, exposing her chemise underneath. In the firelight, he could make out the shape of her mounds through the light white fabric, including the small shadow of a beaded nipple underneath. The weight of her breasts sagged against her ribcage, falling just a bit to the side that when her arms folded, they pressed together, and he could see the depth of her cleavage. 

He bit his bottom lip, starting to feel the stir in his loins. His hand twitched and flexed, desperately trying to withhold back its nature to drive into his breeches. Seven Hells, why does she make him so hard? It isn’t the first time he’s seen breasts; he’s seen all sizes, shapes, some aged, some lopsided, some he nursed on like a newborn babe. Aegon was a young man who lived three lifetimes of depravity, and yet he is now reduced to a simpering boy on the cusp of manhood, desperate to see a tit. 

Then Valeana had to open her mouth and ask a question that did not help his present situation. 

“Do… Do you really have to… pleasure yourself after every interaction you have with me?”

His mind went blank, “What?”

“At the ball… you told me while we were dancing,” she cleared her throat as her voice lowered, as if quoting him verbatim would summon the ghost of Septa Jeyne. “That after every interaction we share, you have to find a corner to… fuck your hand.” 

“Ah,” Whipping his head back to the sky, he adjusted his legs by bending and crossing them in an attempt to shield his problem. Clearing his throat, Aegon nods his head, whether she sees him or not. She did, now that her head was rolled back to the side, looking at him, looking at the peaked fabric he was failing to conceal. “Yes, as embarrassing as it is to admit it. Even talking with you gets him all needy, and wanting for attention.”

If he were looking at her, he would’ve seen how her chest swelled and lowered with the laboured breathing of a woman overpowered by her wanton curiosity. A virgin who’s desire was like a new, unused candle, and she was willing to let him strike the flint to light it. 

“Like right now?” 

Her question took him off guard in more ways than one. Her tentative boldness that likely was spurred by the help of Catelyn’s strong wine (gods bless her), and Aegon’s shock of embarrassment from being caught. It was quite uncharacteristic of him; the flirt that he was, would have immediately taken the bait. Instead, the fool sat up and pulled a pillow over his crotch in shame. 

“You noticed, have you?” He gave a nervous laugh. There was a beat of silence where his mind yelled and berated him for allowing his prick to ruin the moment. This would surely not go well in his favour. Now Valeana would think him simply as a dog, with nothing on his mind other than to get his dick wet–

“Can…Can I help?” 

Aegon could have cummed right then and there. 

His head whipped in her direction; she was sitting up as well, her left leg bent up, enough for him to see the prosthetic, enough for him to see the outline of her thigh through her shift and the dark harnesses around it. Valeana’s gaze had a misty look about them, and Aegon realized it was because her pupils were dilated as they flickered from his face and down to his growing need for her. 

He decided to chuckle nervously again, wondering if she was joking, almost praying that she was. “Mayhaps we should call it a night. You are forgetting yourself, Crab Cake.”

“I’m not,” was her immediate reply. “I’m… I’m curious. And I want to see… I want to try.”

“Are you serious with me?” His eyes searched hers, trying to find any indication of a prank, one that he likely deserved after all those years of torment he bestowed upon her. But there wasn’t any. He saw curiosity, as she said, and he saw something else entirely. 

Hunger. She had hungry eyes. 

“If you do not need my help, Aegon, I can leave for five minutes–” she made a move to leave, but he caught her sleeve. 

“Oh, I need your help,” he allowed himself to grin, his tongue running over his bottom lip like a salivating dog. “Desperately.” 

Even in the night, dim with the orange glow of the braziers and contrasted by a deep blue hue of the ocean, Aegon could make out the pink blooms staining her cheeks. Like a shy little doe, he coaxed her with his hand to come closer, and she crawled to his side. 

Aegon laid against the stone wall behind them, a cushion at the small of his back and his goblet long forgotten. Valeana sat on her knees, her hands balancing her sides as she eyed his clothed erection, and he watched her closely, waiting for any indication of doubt. 

“You can back out anytime you want to, darling,” he whispered, his fingers moving down to the laces of his breeches, his legs spreading a bit out of instinct. “It will be painful for me, but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” 

Val looked up at him with a curious expression, “Painful?”

He smiled and hummed, “It can be when I do not get release, but… You needn’t worry about that.” His eyes dipped down to his crotch, where the laces had come loose. Aegon gave a soft groan when he was finally freed, heavy in his hand and already weeping. 

Valeana’s mouth popped open and her breathing had laboured. He kept his eyes on her intently, waiting for her to change her mind, but all she did was stare and adjust herself next to him. Her thighs pressed together, and her hands balled into fists atop them. 

Aegon gave himself three strokes with his left hand before gently grasping her wrist with his right, “Here let me help you.” 

She let him take her hand, but instead of bringing it straight to his middle, he brought it up to his lips and kissed her palm reassuringly. Val blinked at him shyly, her teeth kneading the flesh of her bottom lip, the same lip that curled at the ends in a sheepish smile. With her hand in his, Aegon brought it down to his throbbing cock and wrapped her fingers around its girth. They both gasped at the contact. 

He could feel the trembling of her hand beneath his, “Do you want to stop?”

Valeana shook her head immediately, “No, no, I just– I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

Aegon ran his tongue over his bottom lip and nodded, “It’s alright. I’ll help you, my darling. Here, start by stroking up and down– Ugh, that’s it… Not too tightly. Mmm, yes, yes…”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, keeping his palm on hers to guide the slow, languid strokes. Aegon could start to feel her confidence after a minute, he was barely moving his wrist with her. Valeana found her rhythm, but that wasn’t enough for Aegon. 

“Spit on it,” he ordered with a rumble of his chest. Val’s response was a hum of confusion, her strokes halting for a moment. “Spit on it, Val. On the tip, it will help.” 

Valeana did not question it despite her tentativeness and coyness. She leaned over him, her nose less than a foot away from the reddened helmet of his cock. He could so easily just take his hand and push her head down, and her lips would be upon it. It took every muscle in his body to prevent him from doing so, especially when her lips pouted and a large droplet of saliva dropped down onto him. His dick twitched, and he groaned. 

He no longer needed to guide her hand. With him being decently lubricated, her strokes became faster, more confident. Aegon’s back arched when he gave a soft whimper, “Not so fast.” 

“Am I hurting you?” Her question was so soft and sweet. 

“No, no, I just– I don’t want to cum just yet,” he opened his eyes and looked at her through a hooded gaze. “Slower… Use your thumb on the tip– fuck, yes, like that. Fuuucking hells, Valeana, you’re a natural.” 

His praise emboldened her, excited her, enticed a rumbly moan from her chest that immediately caught his attention. Aegon has been around enough aroused women in his days to recognize one in physical need. He reached out and placed a hand on her thigh, his fingers curled around the fabric of her chemise, which was now fully exposed. At some point the belt of her robe had loosened, and it pooled behind her like a cape. 

Valeana startled under his touch, her strokes stopping when she looked at him, “Aegon…”

“Let me return the favour,” his plea was soft, his fingers were not when they started to tug at the fabric that shielded her vanity from him. “I’ll make you feel so good, I swear…” 

Aegon must have made a mistake, because she retracted from him, hands hugging her stomach, hiding herself from him. In his panic, his body went stiff as he sat up to immediately apologize. For what, he wasn’t sure, but now she looked incredibly insecure. Perhaps he tried to breach a boundary. 

“I’m sorry, Crab Cake, I didn’t mean– Please don’t stop, you felt so good…”

She nodded, giving him a faint smile, “I’m just not ready…for that, right now. But I don’t want to stop.” 

His smile was grateful, it was full of relief. Aegon planted a kiss on her shoulder, “I understand, darling. Hm…” he trailed off as he got an idea, birthed from the need to feel her as much as possible, in ways she would allow him. “Sit on my leg.”

Her brow furrowed, “Why?”

“Trust me,” impatiently he took her by the waist and pulled her onto him, prying her legs apart when her body moved over his. Now Valeana sat upon his thigh, the skirt of her chemise pooling around her legs as her bare cunt was on him. Well, almost bare. With his hands still on her hips, he could feel the outline of cotton shorts underneath. 

Valeana looked down at him, all wide eyed and innocent. He smiled at her like a fox to a rabbit, his fingers kneaded the supple flesh of her hips through the muslin. Then, Aegon took her hand and brought it to her own mouth. 

“Spit again,” his words were gentle, his eyes were dark. Valeana obeyed; her cheeks twitched as she gathered the saliva onto her pallet and deposited it into her palm. Aegon guided it back to his cock, which twitched in anticipation when her warm velvety touch enveloped it again. “Good girl,” he moaned through pouty lips. 

Val’s breath hitched in her throat at the praise. Her eagerness to please him was evident at her enthusiastic strokes, now pulling on his muscle from base to tip, using beads of his pre-ejaculate as more lubricant. Her thumb painted the head with it, moving along the crease, feeling every ridge and vein, drinking up every moan and groan that came from him. 

She hadn’t realized it, not until Aegon’s fingers dug into her hip, but she was grinding on his thigh. The thin seam of her cotton shorts was too loose to keep in place, and with every movement of her hips, the more it migrated off to the side. Her pearl was now flushed against the rough fabric of his breeches, making her core stir with heat, like a volcano about to erupt. 

“Mmm, does that feel good, my darling?” His nose hovered over her neck before he planted kisses. Her response was a meek “mhm” with her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “Good. Your hand feels fantastic, I can only imagine other parts of you…” 

After he said this, his hands pawed up her sides until they reached her shoulders. Aegon’s lips had never left her neck and sternum, peppering them with open mouthed kisses and licking her skin to savour every salty taste of her. His fingers curled around the neckline of her robe and chemise, yanking it down over her shoulders. 

“A-Aegon,” her plea might have been an attempt to stop him, but it was poorly communicated through a pleasured whine. Her hips did not stop, her hand did not cease, but her free one went to grab his elbow. 

“Please,” he whined into her clavicle. “Please. I am so close… I want to cum with your tits in my face.” Aegon’s hands pawed and gripped at her body in heady need. He was so desperate to strip her down naked, but he would settle for just her breasts. Always there on display, so close yet out of reach. Even pressed up against his clavicle, they were soft and inviting, he could see himself suffocating between them. A perfect way to die, next to having his nose buried in her cunt with her thighs crushing his skull. 

Aegon whimpered when she unlatched her grip on his cock, but her movements spoke to her motivations. He pulled away from her neck and watched her with baited breath and famished eyes as she snaked her arms out of the red robe, and then started to unlace the front of her gown. With slow, methodical movements, Valeana tucked her arms through her sleeves and pulled them out through the neck of the chemise, effectively pulling it over her ample chest and bunching it around her waist. 

“Maiden, Mother, and Crone,” Aegon groaned at the sight. Soft and pale, like white silk, her mounds glowed under the firelight. Her areolas were wide, light pink in colour, and her nipples were small pebbles nesting in the middle. There were splotches of yellow here and there, on her right areola, on her left breast, all evidence of his brother’s earlier expedition. The sight of it caused a rush of possessiveness in him, his lust for Valeana mixing with his desire to beat his brother. His lips and hands were upon her in an instant, desperate to erase traces of Aemond from her skin. 

“Ae-gon!” She gasped his name, and he moaned in return. 

Aegon gripped her hand and brought it back to his cock, wrapping her fingers around his girth and helped her resume her strokes, harder, and faster than before. His lips were bruising as he found one of her nipples and latched onto him. Taking both of his hands, he kneaded her breasts, pushing them together as Aegon’s tongue lapped up the plush flesh. 

His ministrations were not gentle, but not unwelcome, as evidenced from Valeana’s series of licentious whines and the vigor of her hips as they bucked against his thigh. Her hand worked him desperately, her fingers moving along the rim of his helmet, collecting pearls of seed to coat the sensitive flesh underneath. Her curious hand moved southward, finding the soft pouch of his stones, and testing the feel of it between her little fingers. 

“Ah-uh!” Aegon’s hipped buck forward, then he gave a soft laugh, “Oh, Valeana, you vivacious little creature.” He buried his nose in the valley of her breasts and gave a soft moan as she massaged his family jewels, which were tight and sensitive underneath the soft skin. 

He felt her cheek upon the top of his head. Her voice came to him, soft and coy, a sweet mask to hide her newly debauched mind, “Does that feel good?”

“Ohh, you have no fucking idea,” his chuckle came out like a growl. With a moan he captured a nipple in his mouth, biting it softly between his front teeth, and making her squeal. “Stroke me, love. I’m almost there…” 

Her hand found his cock again, the muscle flexing in her grip as she moved it from tip to base, collecting as many pearly tears as she could to make her strokes wet and seamless. Aegon began rutting into her hand, increasing the pace, which spurreed her to do the same with her hips. 

“Fffuck,” He growled into her chest. His hands roamed all over her body, gripping and pinching at every curve and roll he could find. His mouth found another nipple, sucking onto it with a long groan. Aegon’s arms pulled her snugly to his body, one splayed against her back, and the other one roaming over the curve of her arse, and gripping a cheek possessively. His fingers dug through the fat of her rear, grazing the puckered hole hidden beneath the prison of her clothes. 

“Y’so bloody gorgeous, Valeana. I wanna fuck you so fucking bad,” Aegon groaned into the meat of her breast. “‘M gonna… Fuck, I’m almost– Ahh!”

The built up was immense. His stones tightened and the base of his cock tingled at the sensation of his seed. Her fingers coiled tightly under the helmet, sending him over the ledge. A rush of pleasured release overtook him, shuddering his body as ropes of his spend shot out and coated her hand and leg. Valeana still stroked him through it, the good little girl that she was, but he was getting sensitive, and it became borderline torturous. 

Aegon’s hand shot out to grip her wrist to stop her, “Ooh, love…Y’can’t empty me any further.” His mind was blank with ecstasy and exhaustion, not being able to do anything other than lay his face between her breasts and try to breathe. 

When he at last lifted his heavy head, she was looking at the pearlescent seed all over fingers. Aegon wondered if this was the first time she has ever seen a man ejaculate – or a man, in general. The thought bolstered his ego, of course. Now he truly had something Aemond did not have. 

Not being able to contain his grin of victory, he nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck, and planted gratified kisses along the junction next to her shoulder. But she was quiet, a little too quiet for his liking, and the seeds of doubt started to take root.

Aegon lifted his head to look at her, his brow slightly knitted, “Do you regret it?”

Valeana turned to him, a small sheepish smile on her swollen lips. She’d likely been kneading them with her teeth the entire time, trying to stifle her moans as if anyone were able to hear them out there. 

“No,” she shook her head. “I actually… Liked it a lot.” 

A slow grin split his face. Her confession was enough to get him hard again, “Well, we can do it as many times as you like, Crab Cake. I’ll just have to let poor Hildy know that she can retire from my services.”

Valeana snorted adorably, then quickly covered her mouth, “Oh, gods, Aegon, my fingers will go nowhere near your bum.”

He mock pouted, “A pity. I have a nice bum, and you have such soft fingers.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN SNEAK PEAK Heat bloomed at her cheeks, “He was trying to flee my sister, and pulled me into a closet as his captive. He was a nuisance, that is all. And because I know this will fill you with joy, I beat him with a broomstick afterwards.”  Jace grins broadly, “You are right, that does fill me with joy.” He then clears his throat, “And your courtship with him… is that conjecture too, or…? Images of Aegon’s cock in her palm flashed in her mind.  “No,” she forced herself to say. “That… is true.”  He stared at her, face full of incredulity, “I was hoping that to be untrue. Valeana, why on earth would you be courting Aegon, of all people? He has not changed, at all.” “It is a long and complicated story,” she sighed, “One I am tired of explaining.”  Jace was unconvinced, though. No matter the reasons, whether they were rational or not, he was determined to convince her otherwise.  “You remember how Aemond was the only one amongst us that did not have a dragon?” Valeana stared at him for a beat, “...yes. And you lot teased him relentlessly for it.” “Aegon the most, if you recall,” Jace briefly glanced at her before returning his eyes to the path.

Notes: 6000 words dedicated to a hand job. That has to be the first, right? Don't worry, Aemond's gets his whole chapter too, and it's a chonky girl. Also shout out Bridgerton, XD The Knight and I was obvie supposed to be The Duke and I if y'all didn't catch that. Right, anyway, so my struggle is still going on, but I'm trying. Not liking how close the updates are getting to my current writing spot. But I'm hoping I can catch up soon. I'm trucking on, though, and I'm hoping I can get a chapter done before the end of this week. And if anyone missed it, if you're interested, check out my Fem!Aegon x Aemond one shot: Love Is With Your Brother.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

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[homestuckreplay]

psychoanalyzing rose’s mother (because rose won’t do it)

(page 903-910)

The Skaianet Laboratory Unestablishment countdown ticks from 1:43 down to 1:34. I see those 413s being snuck in. I am genuinely at a point where if I see a number that isn’t 413 I get suspicious.

I love Rose so so much. And I love that she’s into psychoanalysis (kind of). But her saying ‘this incongruous thing? I pretend I do not see it’ is just like her saying there is ‘nothing to psychoanalyze’ about her mother’s love of wizards (p.360). She’s going in with preconceived expectations and not willing to interrogate the unexpected.

Like. Let’s look at the facts. In this massive, empty lab with thousands of twinkling boxes and no people, somebody has left a pink plastic table and chairs, a tea set, a scarf, a pink and white bed with cat, flower, heart and paw print designs, a princess themed dresser, cat stuffed toys, and WIZARD DOLLS. Pretty pink masters of the arcane with their long beards and pointy hats. Kind of a giveaway as to which local wizard-loving woman might own all this.

Rose’s mom has brought all this down to the lab, where she either works or just spends time. And she’s probably lonely down here and trying to recapture a childhood, whether that’s her own or Rose’s. We know from the pretty princess doll (p.363) that Mom likes to buy traditionally girly gifts for Rose, so this could even be old toys of Rose’s that she doesn’t even remember, her mom still playing with them to remind her of when she used to play with Rose. If Mom works here, then she’s up at this meteor terminal thinking about how one day, her daughter and anyone else they both care about are both going to be in danger from this upcoming apocalypse. And maybe she wants to hold on to the time she’s had with Rose before everything changes, or maybe she wishes she could be the one being taken care of, miles from the nearest town and with no partner or other family at home. She’s looking for comfort, she may well want to escape her own daughter’s judgment, and ultimately she has to parent herself as much as Rose does.

All this very important content is immediately overshadowed by the tiny kitten. There is a kitten hiding in the teapot. A TEAPOT SIZED KITTEN. I thought I was over this but I am not. A SMALL KITTEN!

Page 909 is composed similarly to Jade’s furry thoughts on page 797, but with the opposite emotion behind it. But clowns is clowns, and I don’t think John is scared of finding a bunch of regular ass harlequins like Dad might keep downstairs. That also wouldn’t explain why John’s always been kept from going in Dad’s room (and I could be wrong but it seems uncommon to not even know what’s inside a parent’s room). I think John is scared that his dad has a different secret. Based on the contents of Dad’s safe (p.544) I wonder if Dad is an amateur investigator who’s been looking into some of the strange phenomena associated with Skaia. Maybe John is about to encounter red-string cork boards and more tidbits about meteors, and find out that his dad is way more involved in current events than previously thought.

In page titles, ‘ascend’ first appears on page 660 and ‘descend’ not until page 840 (though the word is used in passing on both page 358 and 361). ‘Ascend’ also appears on page 759 in Nanna’s prophecy, where she states that ‘together [the Heir, Seer, Knight and Witch] will Ascend’. On page 909 the narrator treats ‘descend’ as an expectation, but it’s a fairly recent one. It’s one of my favorite things about serial fiction to see these tidbits of patterns and lore be dropped in and then woven through the narrative as if they’ve always been crucial, until it’s impossible to divorce the two. But it’s still possible to see that Homestuck characters weren’t ascending on day one.

> John: Examine room.