#just now realizing that i only ever draw him happy or covered in blood

[skeletalfreak]

Alright, this is the best Icespirit master post I could make. @smallartistocbracket

Here is the boy

[valkyriexo]

Hey there!

I loved Jinnie's you get your period story 🥹it was so heartwarming and made me feel really loved and happy!😊 I was thinking, could you maybe do a version for Chan?

Thank you so much!

You get your period | Bang Chan Vers.

ᑉ³pairing; Bang Chan x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff,

ᑉ³warnings; Reader has their period, Mentions of blood, mentions of staining, embarrasment

ᑉ³Authors Note; A little different than the other one. thank you for your request :)

As you lie entwined with Chan on the bed, the soft glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the room, you feel utterly content. His arms envelop you, offering a sense of security and warmth that you find nowhere else. The movie plays on, but your attention is solely on the man beside you, his presence more captivating than any screen could ever be.

The movie, a classic romance, fills the room with the sound of sweet dialogue and sweeping orchestral scores. As the plot thickens, drawing you deeper into its embrace, you find yourselves caught up in the drama unfolding on screen. 

You're wearing his clothes, the scent of him enveloping you like a familiar embrace. It's one of those rare moments where the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you in your own little world.

"Excuse me Y/N, but I do believe this popcorn was meant to be shared," he jokes, his voice carrying a hint of feign hurt as he reaches into the nearly empty bowl.

"Yeah? If only you hadn't eaten all of it, we'd still have some," you reply with a playful eye-roll.

Chan chuckles, the sound rich and infectious, his eyes twinkling. "Hey, I was just testing its quality control! Can't let any bad popcorn ruin our movie night," he retorts, his grin widening as he leans back against the headboard.

You can't help but smile in return. "Well, next time, try not to be so thorough with your testing. I might actually get to enjoy some," you tease.

Chan's grin softens into a warm smile. "Alright, alright, fair point. How about this? I'll go get us some more popcorn and maybe a couple of drinks. What do you say?" He said as he rises from the bed and presses a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. 

"Thank you," you murmur softly, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you watch him gather the empty bowl and head towards the kitchen.

Chan's smile lingers, a warmth in his eyes that speaks volumes. "Anytime," he replies softly before disappearing from view.

Left alone, you take a moment to bask in the quiet comfort of the room, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. But as you shift, a sudden realization hits you. Beneath you, the sheets feel damp. Your heart skips a beat as you pull back the covers, dread creeping in as you confirm your fear.

You've stained the bed.

Panic sets in as you frantically inspect the damage, hoping against hope that it's not as bad as it seems. You can't let Chan see this. Not now. Not when everything feels so perfect. With trembling hands, you begin to rip the sheets off the bed.

Your mind races, a million thoughts swirling as you struggle to comprehend what has happened. The embarrassment is suffocating, your cheeks burning with shame 

As you hastily toss the stained sheets into a corner of the room, trying to hide the evidence of your mishap, you hear Chan's voice from the kitchen. "Did you want candy too? I have some sour gummies here."

His footsteps draw closer, and panic surges through you as you realize that if you stained the bed, you've obviously stained your clothes as well. And worse-

They're Chan's Clothes

Tears well up in your eyes as you run into the bathroom, desperately searching for a way to clean yourself up. Your hands shake as you scrub at the stains on your clothes, the water mixing with your tears as you try to salvage the situation.

But no matter how hard you try, the stains remain stubbornly in place.

You lock the bathroom door, the sound of Chan's footsteps drawing closer with each passing second. Your mind races, searching desperately for a way to fix the situation before he discovers the truth.

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaks open, and Chan steps inside, his brows furrowing as he takes in the sight before him. His eyes widen in surprise and concern as he sees the disheveled bed and the discarded sheets in the corner.

"Y/N? Baby?" He says hesitantly. You hear his footsteps move further into the room.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice laced with worry. "Y/N? Where are you?"

His footsteps draw closer, each one echoing in the silence of the room. You can feel the weight of his concern hanging in the air as he knocks lightly on the door. "Y/N, are you in there?" he asks again, his voice soft yet filled with worry.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggle to find the words to explain. "No, Chan, don't come in!" you call out, your voice trembling with embarrassment. "I-I'm fine, just give me a moment."

But Chan's concern only intensifies. "Y/N, what's going on? Are you hurt?"

The panic surges through you, the weight of your embarrassment nearly suffocating. "Please, Chan, just... just wait outside," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be out in a minute."

But Chan refuses to leave, his concern for you outweighing any discomfort he may feel. "Y/N, talk to me," he urges gently, his voice soft yet persistent

"No, it's embarrassing," you had murmured, your voice choked with tears.

"Y/N, please let me in," he implores, his tone filled with genuine concern. "I hate to see you like this.

"I'm gonna go home," you declare suddenly, your voice shaky with emotion. "Don't worry, just leave me alone, and I'll fix everything."

Chan's brow furrows in confusion. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks, concern evident in his voice. "Did I make you uncomfortable? I'm so sorry if I did."

You shake your head quickly, your voice soft but firm. "No, Chan, it's not anything you did," you reassure him, your heart aching at the thought of him blaming himself for your distress.

"Then what is it?" he asks softly, his voice almost pleading.

"Just go, please," you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur, laced with embarrassment and desperation.

Chan stands there for a moment, his heart aching with concern and confusion. "Y/N, I don't want to leave you like this," he says, his voice breaking slightly. "Please, just let me help."

There's a heavy silence, the weight of your distress palpable in the air. A few minutes pass, the silence stretching between you like an invisible barrier.

He hesitates, the pain of hearing you so distressed evident on his face. "Okay," he says softly, his voice filled with reluctance. "But I'll be right outside if you need me. I'm not going anywhere."

You can hear his footsteps as he moves away, giving you the space you asked for. Your sobs echoing softly in the silence of the room. Tears stream down your cheeks unchecked, the embarrassment and shame weighing heavily on your shoulders.

And then, without a word, Chan approaches the bathroom door once more, his footsteps tentative as he knocks softly once again.

"I left... some clothes by the table.. near the door if you need them," he says gently, his voice filled with a quiet understanding.

You hear him take a deep breath before continuing, his voice soft but steady. "Y/N, I just want you to know that I love you. Nothing could ever change that. You're not alone, okay? I'm right here for you."

"You don't have to come out until you're ready," he continues, his tone gentle and patient. "Take all the time you need. I'll be here when you're ready to talk or if you need anything else."

As Chan's footsteps fade away, leaving you alone with your thoughts, you feel a wave of emotions wash over you. With trembling hands, you reach for the door and unlock it, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

Slowly, you step out into the room, your eyes falling on the clothes Chan left for you by the table near the door. You clutch the clothes to your chest, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of facing Chan after what happened.

With a deep breath, you gather your resolve and quickly change into the clothes Chan left for you. But as the reality of the situation sinks in, the floodgates of your emotions open, and you begin to cry harder than before.

You know you have to face Chan eventually; you can't hide in the bathroom forever. So, you unlock the bathroom door and step back out into the bedroom.

Chan is seated on the edge of the bed, his gaze soft yet concerned as he looks up at you. There is a fresh set of sheets on the bed.

The tension in the air is palpable, the weight of the unspoken conversation hanging between you.

In an instant, he's by your side, pulling you into his arms with a tenderness that brings a fresh wave of tears. But instead of finding solace in his embrace, you feel a surge of embarrassment so intense it's almost suffocating. Mortification courses through you, rendering you stiff and unresponsive in his arms.

You can't bear to face Chan, to let him see you in such a vulnerable state. The shame of what happened weighs heavily on you, and the thought of him witnessing your distress only adds to your humiliation.

"Y/N," Chan murmurs softly, concern etched in his voice. "Hey... its okay." His voice is a gentle caress against your frayed nerves, but you can't bring yourself to look at him.

"Chan," you whisper, your voice trembling with embarrassment, "I-I can't... I can't face you right now." Your words come out in a choked whisper, barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. Every fiber of your being aches with humiliation.

"Y/N," Chan says softly, his voice filled with understanding, "it's okay."

You shake your head, unable to meet his gaze. "No, Chan, it's not okay," you whisper, your voice choked with tears.

Chan's arms tighten around you, his grip firm yet gentle. "It's not the end of the world, baby."

"It is to me. This is so embarrassing." The words spill out of you, raw and vulnerable.

In a desperate attempt to escape the suffocating embarrassment, you try to break free from Chan's embrace, your heart pounding with the overwhelming need to erase the evidence of your humiliation.

Your movements are frantic, fueled by the desperate urge to hide, to fix things, to make it all go away.

With tears still streaming down your cheeks, you push against his arms, your mind consumed by the urgency to flee.

Your hands press against his chest, your breaths coming in short, panicked gasps.

But Chan holds you firmly, refusing to let you go. "Y/N, please," he pleads softly, his voice filled with concern. "Don't run away. Let me help you."

All you wanted was to break free. To grab the stained sheets and make a beeline for the laundry room.

"Y/N, look at me," he commands softly, his tone soothing yet authoritative.

Reluctantly, you open your eyes, your vision blurred by tears. Chan's face is inches from yours, his expression one of love and concern. His eyes, filled with empathy and understanding, lock onto yours.

"It's okay," he repeats softly, his thumbs continuing to brush away your tears. "You're okay. We're okay."

You begin to calm, your breathing slowing as his words and touch soothe your frayed nerves. Your hands, which had been pushing against his chest, slowly relax, resting against him instead. The urgency to flee starts to ebb, replaced by the comfort of his presence.

"I'm sorry," you manage to choke out, your voice trembling with embarrassment. "I just feel so.. gross right now."

Chan's expression softens, his eyes reflecting understanding and empathy. "Y/N," he begins, his voice gentle yet resolute, "nothing about you could ever gross me out. Accidents happen, but they don't change how I feel about you."

"I love you," he continues, his voice a soft declaration of devotion. "Every part of you, even the parts you consider imperfect. Especially those parts."

He pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with warmth. "I already threw the sheets in the wash," he says gently, "and I'd like to take care of the clothes, too. Just let me help you, okay?"

Chan leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if imprinting his love onto your very soul.

Your heart swells with gratitude, and you nod slowly. "Okay," you whisper, feeling a bit more at ease.

"Now, let me take care of those clothes and let's get you settled back in bed, okay?"

He helps you lie back down, tucking the clean sheets around you with gentle hands. Chan gathers the stained clothes and heads out of the room. You hear the washing machine start up, and after a few moments, he returns. Once you're comfortable, he climbs in beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. "I've got everything taken care of," he murmurs soothingly. "You just relax and rest."

You snuggle into his embrace, feeling safe and cherished.

With the clean sheets enveloping you and Chan's comforting presence beside you, the tension of the earlier mishap begins to fade away.

Chan reaches for the remote and starts the movie again, the soft glow of the screen casting a warm ambiance in the room.

"Open your nightstand door," Chan says suddenly, his voice a mixture of excitement and care.

You look at him, puzzled and startled. "Why?" you ask.

"Open it," he replies with a gentle smile.

Curious, you reach over and open the nightstand cabinet door. Your eyes widen in surprise as you take in the contents. Inside, neatly organized, are all the things you use and love: your preferred pads, medications, a heating pad, wipes, and even your favorite snacks. You can't help but feel overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of it all.

You stare at the items, not believing your eyes. "Chan... what is all this?" you ask, your voice trembling with emotion.

He smiles tenderly, his eyes sparkling with affection. "I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed, especially during times like this," he explains softly. "I care about you deeply, and I want to make things as easy and comfortable for you as possible."

Your heart swells with gratitude, touched by his thoughtfulness. You can't help but marvel at how he always seems to know exactly what you need, even before you do.

But what catches your attention most are the unopened letters and notes, each one bearing Chan's familiar handwriting, neatly stacked and waiting to be discovered. You reach for them, fingers trembling with anticipation.

"What are these?" you inquire, a curious smile playing on your lips.

Chan's smile widens as he watches you tentatively. "Those are for you," he replies softly. "Letters and notes filled with my thoughts, feelings, and all the reasons why I love you."

You look at him in disbelief before you slowly pick up one of the letters, fingers trembling as you hold it delicately in your hands.

"I wrote them for you to read whenever I'm away.... I know i tend to be busy but... I want you to know that even when I'm not physically here, you're always on my mind, and my love for you never changes."

You look up at Chan, your vision blurred by tears once again but your heart overflowing with love. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. His arms envelop you in return, holding you close as you bask in the comfort of his love.

You take a deep breath, feeling the overwhelming sense of love and support from him. "I don't know what I'd do without you," you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity.

"You'll never have to find out," he replies softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Chan holds you close, his own voice filled with emotion. "I love you so much," he murmurs softly.

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[aviawrites]

a winter’s dragon: flying

!s: aemond targ x reader, northern!reader

summary: Princess Auriela hasn’t known a day of happiness since she was arranged to marry Aemond Targaryen. In her pursuits to take control of her life so far from her home in the North, Auriela only stirs the pot of the already war stricken kingdom, pointing knives in her direction. Accompanied by her common folk, Auriela intends to dig herself out of her green hole. [9.9k]

a/n: i’ve been writing a game of thrones fic for a year and a half now (i can’t seem to finish). in the meantime, my most recent hyper fix has been aemond so i hope this story does him justice. part two may come in three days or three years depending on my mood. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, allusions to sex/almost a smut scene, death, violence, nothing you haven’t watched in the show

in this story, yn is: auriela dustin

hey! read part 2! -> a winter’s dragon: burning

The Red Keep has been a cold place, the walls going bare and air flowing frigid since the departure of Rhaenyra. In the two short years since the Grand Maester wed you to the queen’s second born son, you’ve quickly come to realize why your neighboring Northern house, Stark, happily bent the knee to Rhaenyra when she was named. 

Much has changed since then, your already feeble relationship with your husband has grown ever weaker. You’ve become a solemn woman since your last days in your home of the North, your only friends in the Keep being your handmaiden, Vialy, and your goodsister, Helaena. Sinless, virtuous women in the crossfire of the vicious infighting that has fallen upon the kingdom as of late. You spend your days with them, caring for Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, and strolling with Vialy as the royal family immerses themselves in their own politicking. 

Your husband, Aemond, seems just as apathetic to you as you are him. The only conversations you have consist of him relaying cold messages from his mother, the majority urging you to produce her son heirs in order to strengthen their line. Save those, you and your husband have virtually no interaction at all. Even the consummation of your marriage has been put off, neither of you wanting to face the reality of your relationship.

Now, in your bedchambers, you wince, blood drawing from where you’ve pricked your finger with the embroidery needle. Just as you go to soothe it with your mouth, a knock comes through the door.

“Come.” You call, sucking your thumb.

“Lord Larys Strong, my Lady.” Vialy’s voice softly whispers as she opens the door, the clubfoot coming into view. She closes it behind him.

You set aside your hoop and fabric, smoothing your robe as you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

“Please, Princess,” he holds a hand up. “No need.”

You nod, putting your legs back under the covers. “What is it, Lord Strong?”

He stalks closer, his eyes switching from the silhouette of your legs and back to you.

“Women,” he begins, “are the most overlooked assets in the kingdom, my Lady. Good queen Alysanne’s Women’s Courts brought to light many of the injustices our mothers, sisters, and wives stumble upon in their ranks.”

“I know my histories well, my Lord,” you assure him. “Is that of relevance?” 

He glares at you, that sorrowful look forver behind his eyes.

“May I speak plainly?”

“Please.”

“…I understand that you’ve taken notice of your Lord husband’s absences at night. One seldom may find him abed, where he’s expected, in the hour of the wolf.”

Your brows thread together as the Lord teeters on overstepping. Though you’ve wisened to the fact that the clubfoot has a gift for speaking ugly truths with no consequence falling upon him.

He continues. “I can’t help but wonder if the Princess ever longs to know where he spends his nights.”

You sigh. “I have no doubt that you possess such knowledge.”

“I do…but I shall hold my tongue, should it displease you to know,” he remarks, cornering you into the allusion of choice, wanting you to beg at his feet for the miraculous information that he seems to have an endless supply of.

“No, pray tell me where Aemond goes in the dead of night,” you relent.

Lord Larys goes on to tell you nothing short of a tale. He speaks of a pleasure house that your husband frequents, along with a madam. Thrice his age she’s said to be, the first and only woman he’s laid with. That is where he chooses to spend his time, throwing dirt on the name of his wife in exchange for a whore in a pleasure house.

You dismiss the Lord, but can’t help the spark of fury rising in your stomach. Aemond is the son of the Dowager, he’s brother of the King, he’s a Targaryen, and he chooses to fill his time shaming his name and house in such a place. The issue hardly lies with his choice of establishment and more with his status. He’s promised to you, wed to you. Even if the two of you have no love for the arrangement, at least you honor it. But because he is a man he can conduct himself as he pleases?

You quickly change out of your robes and into a plain featured gown, making sure that a hood is on the collar. Swinging your door open, you grab Vialy’s hand and pull her down the corridor.

“Where are we headed?” she asks, struggling to keep up with your pace.

“We’re going out,” you whisper.

“What for?”

“If my husband can spend his nights on the Street of Silk, so can I.”

“The Street of Silk?” she raises her voice as the two of you rush down the stairs. “What business could you possible have there?”

“Shh-“

“Auriela.” you hear a familiar voice at the top of the stairs.

The two of you freeze, slowly turning to face your goodbrother, dimly lit by the moonlight.

“Aegon.”

“Where are you off to?” he asks, a cup of wine in his hand and a tipsy droop to his eyelids.

“To the city, my King,” you say truthfully, assuming he won’t remember the conversation come dusk. “We won’t be long.”

“Well…Wait there, I’ll get someone to escort you.”

“Oh, there’s no need for hassle, brother. I’ve got Vialy-“

“Your handmaiden is not a knight,” he rolls his eyes, ever vigilant of how attached at the hip the two of you are. “You need a swordsman, stay there.”

Aegon stumbles as he walks toward his chambers in search of a guard. You look at a wide eyed and terrified Vialy. You briefly ponder on your next actions, though not long enough before you pull your friend with you, sprinting down the stairs and toward the side doors. 

“Ella!” she whisper shouts as you run away from the castle.

“I’m not being chaperoned on a visit to my own city. Especially not by some stuck up white cloak.”

“The King commanded you, I- We’ll get in trouble!”

“The King’s drunk, he probably never made it ten steps before collapsing.”

…

You finally slow down, looking in upon the vibrant Street of Silk, colorful creatives and laborers alike lining the street with their gifts. A great smile grows on your face, never having seen such savage freedom in your life. Nothing of the sort could possibly take place in the snowy streets of Barrowtown, nor the guarded streets of the Keep. But the smallfolk, the lucky majority, see such liberty all their lives.

You and Vialy stop at the tallest and most decorated brothel on the street, men and women pouring in and out.

“Are you sure about this, Princess?”

“No more of that, Via,” you tuck your hair before pulling your hood up. “We no longer have status. Not here,” you grin before pulling her in.

What you can only imagine is the smell of ravaging sex fills the air, the temperature rising as the two of you cowardly enter the pillow house. 

“This is not a place becoming of a royal, Auriela,” Vialy whispers.

“The King and his brother attend such places all the time,” you mindlessly remark, looking around at all of the frivolous and free fucking in every direction.

It’s only when your eyes scan a private room at the back of the house when you see a sight you don’t expect. 

Green eyed, olive, and tall, a roughly dressed boy sits alone on a floor mattress, looking out at the pursuits around him.

“Via…” you keep your eyes on him.

“If any of them were at the wedding they’ll know who you-“

“Vialy, look.” you point.

The two of you stare on as he obliviously looks past you, his carefully molded face glistening with a sheet of sweat in the humid atmosphere. 

“I’ll see you…” you walk toward the boy.

“What- Don’t leave me, Ella!”

“He isn’t your taste anyhow, find a maiden to entertain.”

Vialy turns red at your observations, never secure in who the gods made her attracted to. You never minded though, the realm knows the same of Rhaenyra’s late husband, Laenor. It never cast as dark of shadow on house Velaryon as Vialy believes it shall cast on her.

“Princess.” she nods, leaving you to it as you approach the boy. 

You draw closer. His emerald eyes look up at you as you close the curtain behind you, sitting criss cross in front of him.

“How much for your favors?” 

He remains relaxed, slyly leaning back on his hands. “How much do you have?”

You smile. “I just want your time.”

“I have little and less of it as of late, Princess.”

You catch a frog in your throat as your smile drops, sitting up straight. 

“…You know me?”

He leans forward, stroking the arm of your gown. “Nobles frequent here…No common woman has frocks of such tulle.”

Your face goes a little hot as you examine his…examining yours. The man is young enough, though older than Aemond, only by a few years. His loose blouse nearly slips off of his thin frame as a mischievous smirk grows on his lips.

“I’ve never served a highborn woman before,” he mimics your position, his hands in his lap.

“And that way you shall remain,” you assure him. “Who have you served?”

“Many out of the Red Keep. Beneath their cloaks of righteousness all men wish for the same thing.”

“Is it only highborn men that you’ve served?”

“Highborn…lowborn…any willing to pay their dues.”

“Hm,” you hum, wondering if he knows how much you envy his autonomy of his own endeavors.

“And what of you? What business does a Princess have in a place like this?”

“I heard I’m free to be who I wish as long as I’m here,” you say truthfully. “Free to do as I wish.”

“That is true…Though I’d imagine you’d much better enjoy the freedoms of the safe castle.”

You scoff. “I know none of the freedoms you speak of. I’m just as chained as the prisoners I walk above every day.” 

“You resent what most girls would kill for.”

“Let them,” you shrug. “I’d give my station to the lowest of women if it meant I could go back home.”

“And where is that?”

You pause, wondering if such information can be trusted with this man. But as he so prettily awaits an answer, you can only think of the web of truths your husband has likely spun to his paramour.

“Barrowtown.”

“A Northerner,” he smiles, “I should’ve known.”

“And where is your home?”

“Is it not clear?”

You furrow your brows.

“Gods, the sun really has been seized from my skin,” he chuckles. “Dorne, Princess. Starfall.”

“Starfall…” you recall your lessons with the Septa. “Are you a Dayne?”

He hums. “You know your histories, Princess.”

“Call me Auriela, Lord Dayne.”

“Lord,” his body shakes with an erupting laugh, his smile brightening your mood even more. “I’m no Lord, Princess Auriela. I’m called Lucan, or Deephide.”

“Deephide?”

“They say I’m too dark to be a hart but too light to be a crow. The company I keep isn’t too creative when it comes to names.”

You laugh. “I think Lucan is a fine name alone.”

You and the boy talk well into the night, your sitting positions morphing into lying side by side on the mattress. Groups of buyers trot in and out of the pleasure house, though all of Lucan’s are rejected in your presence. 

In one of the long hours of the night, or perhaps an early hour of the morning, Vialy emerged from behind the curtain. A girl was treading on her heels, her hair darker than yours and skin paler than salt. Your heart warms as Vialy’s rare smile grows upon her face, locking hands with the girl. Alice, she’s called. “I never want to leave, Ella.” she remarks before giddily running back off with her doxy.

It’s only hours later, when the patrons thin and the sounds of pleasure cease, that you and Lucan finally egress from the small back room. There, you see slithers of sunlight peeking through the cracks in the door. 

Vialy rushes up to you, her eyes wide.

“Princess,” she urges. “Princess, we must go.”

On the other side of the door, you hear an array of hoof beats against the cobblestone street.

“They’re looking for you, Princess,” she frantically pulls you toward the door.

“Wh- Who?”

“The City Watch.” vialy heaves, her panic only growing. “We’ve overstayed, it’s well past the hour of the Nightingale. We must return.”

“Wait, wait,” you pull your arm from her. “Why must we go? Aemond doesn’t return for days at a time.”

Vialy stares at you. “We are not men, Princess.”

“Why rush?” you giggle, Lucan joining your side. “You were just having so much fun.”

“That was before I knew that Gold Cloaks were searching for a Princess that I’m meant to tend to. Please,” she pulls you once again, “please, let’s return to the Keep.”

“No,” you turn her to you. “The Gold Cloaks will cast around for a while before they return to the Keep empty handed, as they do with my husband.”

She frowns. “Ella…”

“We will return,” you assure her. “Only a little longer, okay? We as women don’t experience this freedom often in our lives, allow me this one day.”

Vialy’s expression says all you need to know. Nevertheless, she bows her head as she does in the Red Keep.

“Princess,” she mumbles before weakly returning to the dark haired girl.

Lucan turns to you. “Do you often evade the law enforcement of your castle?”

“Not nearly as much as I wish to,” you smile.

“I have yet to meet a noble woman who’d rather spend her days in a pillow house than in her palace.”

“Spend your time locked in the Keep and see how long before you run back to freedom.”

He examines the near empty premises before pulling you toward the door.

“Once the Watch leaves our street I’ll be happy to show you the finer things in your city,” he suggests. “Much prettier than here…”

…

Your hood stays up as Lucan pulls you by the hand, holding tight so as not to lose you in the sea of smallfolk at the Blackwater docs. Your mouth hangs agape as ships sit idle in the port, hundreds of men laboring on and around them. Grand green and gold flags hang from many of them as cargo is loaded.

“Are these all from Essos?” you ask Lucan.

“I thought you knew your histories.”

“Lands and lords, I know well. Maritime traffic was never a subject my septas lingered on.”

“Hm,” Lucan nods, watching as you admire the great ships. “Well that one there is from Braavos. The plum tint of their sails is from the old practice of dying their stolen ships.”

“And those?” you point to the green bannered vessels. “Are they our royal fleet?”

“Some are,” he shrugs. “Others come from lands across the Narrow Sea or the Sea of Dorne.”

The two of you finally depart the docs in pursuit of your next expedition. Lucan plays the jester, forcing so many laughs from you that your stomach burns as the two of you explore your sacred town for hours. Plays in Flea Bottom amuse you more than any fool in the Keep has, beautiful musicians bring you to tears, and incredible tailor-ship lines the streets as the sun begins to fall. The two of you see flashes of gold throughout the city, signaling the second round of searches. Lucan leads you back to the whore house that is once again bursting at the seams. You head to the familiar and quiet room, though you pause when you see Alice, alone.

“Where’s Via gone?” you ask, Lucan’s hand still in yours.

“Forgive me, she’s left.”

A small beat skips in your heart as you examine the room.

“Has she?”

“Early this evening, says she was too afraid of the Gold Cloaks to deliberately elude their efforts.”

“Hm,” you nervously bite your lip. “Well I shall await her return, even if she may bear the company of those I avoid. When they come, I shall be ready.” 

Alice stops you when you attempt to pass her, holding something out.

“For when you see her next,” she places a fine necklet in your hand, a handmade red pendant in the center.

You nod, noticing the matching one she wears around her neck. With that, you and Lucan leave Alice and enter your room.

“Do you imagine your husband worries for you?” Lucan asks as you both sit.

“He’s never done so before, it’d be a shock if he began now.”

“He surely has some love for you, Princess. It must not be that he’s a cold as you say.”

“Colder,” you assure him, your knees touching his as you lean toward him. “We hold the titles man and wife but we couldn’t be further from it.”

“…Does he please you?” 

You scoff. “Not in the way you’re asking.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I like how you speak plainly,” you smile. “Aemond seems to prefer a more…seasoned woman.”

Lucan laughs. “Really?”

“Thrice his age his lover is said to be,” you reveal before you can stop yourself.

“May I say it as I see it, Princess?”

You nod, paying more attention to his lips than you are his words.

“I think the Prince knows not of what he fails to seek out. I have no doubt that he’d find satisfaction in pleasuring you. His wife is a maiden yet he fucks a crone…a fools choice he makes.”

“Precisely, Lucan,” you argue. “It matters not whether I’m a maiden if at the time of the deed, I have no knowledge of what I’m to do. By all accounts I’m meant to lay there as he impales me until I bear his plain featured sons, I want no part in it.”

“I can show you, Princess. When done the way whores are taught, coupling isn’t an act of duty but a mutual act of pleasure. For both lady and lord.”

You think on his words, your attention now on those rather than his mouth. You ultimately agree, some hidden and repulsive side deep in you wanting to be desired. Wanting to be able to please Aemond.

Lucan smiles, lying on the mattress. He pulls you onto him, a flash of hot warming your face.

“He’ll never allow me atop him like this.”

“Perhaps no. But minds will change once he feels what happens when you are.”

He places his hands on your hips, rocking them back and forth as he instructs you as to where to put your hands. His chest, his neck, your hair, your palms roam every inch of your bodies as he instructs you further. Even when he flips the two of you, hovering above, he tells you how to stay in control. His bottoms stroke against your dress as your hands travel once more to Lucan’s orders. 

The two of you continue until you’re sweaty and worn out, falling asleep with many and more ideas on how to touch your husband, should the time when you wish to ever come.

✺ ✺ ✺

“Are you sure about this, Princess?” Lucan looks around the crowded fighting pits. “He’s not ours to take.”

“Would you rather him in there?” you ask as you pick up the tiny, hooded, silver haired boy, looking down at the feral children.

Lucan stays quiet, following after you as the boy keeps a hold around your neck. You make it all the way back to your room in the whore house before being stopped.

“You can’t bring a child in. Leave him outside,” a brothel madam commands at the door.

“They’re with me,” Lucan insists. 

“Outside,” she commands.

You sigh heavy, reluctantly lowering the boy’s hood to reveal his indisputable Targaryen hair. The madam’s eyes widen as she more likely than not imagines how much a Targaryen would sell for, even if he’s only young. She lets you in, smirking at Lucan as if he’s brought her a gift. 

You arrive back to the room. “He’s not Aemond’s,” you tell Lucan. “My husband’s a fool but he’d never do this.”

“Aegon’s then,” he watches as you sit the child in front of you two.

“One of many I’d think.”

The boy is slow to speak, making you wonder if he knows how. You can make out that he’s about Jaehaerys’ age, no older than seven. 

It’s only after much unanswered questions and empty silence that the boy finally speaks. Maeserys, he’s called.

“Whoever his mother is,” you whisper to Lucan, “she knew what he was.” 

A name fit for a decendant of Old Valyria. He uncovers the little of his past that he remembers. No brothers, no mother, only fighting pits and scavenging. He speaks with a lisp and knows few words, only enough to keep him alive in a city such as this one. You can’t help but feel sad for Maeserys, he’s your kin by law yet has been living as a commoner since he can remember. 

Lucan relieves the boy of the heavy interrogation, delivering him to his close friend working a nearby tavern, Pate. As difficult as it is to separate from the neglected boy, a tavern is a much more fitting environment for someone like him.

Alone again, you and Lucan sit knee to knee, your hand in his. He traces the lines of your palm, a trick he says he learned in Dorne. “Each trunk is how many sons you’ll have, each branch is how many daughters.” According to this, you’re meant to have three of each. 

Simultaneously, you trace his palms back. You sit in silence, the ambience of constant foot traffic outside humming lowly. Lucan lifts your hand, pressing a kiss into it. You’re entranced, sensuality sparking through you as you look over to him.

“Every woman is an image of the mother,” his face nears yours, “to be treated with reverence.”

It’s not a thought out action when your lips meet. It’s slow, it’s passion filled. A small smile grows on your lips as you truly taste your newfound freedom, finally being liberated of the dread that comes with your husband in the Red Keep. Lucan’s lips travel downward to your jaw, then to your neck. You stroke hair, small breaths escaping you. His hand is making its way up your thighs and to your waist when the curtain cover of the room is ripped open.

There, standing taller than you remember him, your husband stares down at you. His old ladylove of which you’ve heard so much about stands behind him, both of them stripped and bare. Aemond’s face twists in a mix of anger and humiliation, staring at both you and Lucan before rushing away. 

You’re left frozen, silent as Lucan stumbles over his words.

“I-“ he stammers, “I’m sorry, Princess. I knew not that he’d be-“

Your eyes stay wide, tears beginning to line them as you think of all of the grave consequences that you’ve invited upon yourself. You never had a plan, at least not one that you’ve thought through. Sure, you were awaiting the Gold Cloaks. But the idea of your own husband catching you in such a compromised state sends shivers down your spine.

Though, there was no time for shock. Aemond comes barreling back in, now fully clothed and alone. He says nothing, only tightly grabs your arm and drags you to your feet, away from Lucan.

✺ ✺ ✺

Water fills your eyes as they stay glued to the floor. You stand in the center of a secluded room, the furnace behind you heating up your body. In front of you, a council of those you wished to never lay eyes on again stare at you. The Dowager Queen, the Hand, the Maester, your husband, and the King all sit behind a long table, interrogating.

“What for?” the Queen Mother asks, stern and angry.

“I- I don’t know, Your Grace,” you mumble, hiccuping between your tears. “I wanted to see beyond the walls of the keep.”

“Three days, Auriela,” she reminds you. “You ‘saw the city’ for three days whilst the Watch was searching endlessly?”

You’ve concluded that she’s the most fearsome woman the Gods have yet to make as you fiddle with the hem of your sleeve, barely able to croak out words.

“…I was exploring.”

“Exploring, you say,” she nods. “In a brothel?”

You shake your head, assembling a feeble lie in the seconds you have. “I was only chasing hound, my Queen.”

“And the boy?”

Suddenly, the air escapes your body as you look up for the first time, your eyes shooting to Aemond. He was angry with you, rightfully so. But you hadn’t expected him to tell his mother the true details of how he found you. For some foolish reason you thought the two of you had that understanding.

“I- He means nothing we…we did nothing. I swear it.”

Your husband for some odd reason feels the need to speak up.

“That’s not what the madam told me.”

An anger rises in you that you weren’t sure was accessible to you at such a time as this. Only in the face of directly speaking to Aemond did all of your fear cease. 

“And what were you yourself doing in a brothel, Lord husband?”

He smirks, recognizing this side of you. “Searching for my Lady wife, of course.”

“Searching,” you scoff. “Is that why every whore on the Street of Silk knows you by name and face? Because you go searching so often?”

“Hm, watch your words, wife,” he bickers back, his smirk turning into more of a sneer.

"Your words are wind, for I am innocent of any crimes,” you speak up, face hot with fury. “Why am I standing trial when the Prince runs to the same place every night? Fucking old rotting whores instead of tending to his wife-“

“That is enough, Auriela!” Alicent demands, pounding her hands on the table.

Aegon finally acts, placing a hand on Alicent’s. “Mother…”

Remembering he is here, you bow your head. “My apologies, my King. That was beneath me.”

Otto Hightower sighs, breaking the silence as the table ogles his daughter. "It brings shame to your house, Princess; to your family, when a Lady such as yourself is seen in such an...implicative position. We only ask that you not be seen conducting yourself in such a manner again.”

You nod at the Hands request, slight shame warming your face.

“Command, he means to say,” Aegon corrects. "It is a command by word of your King that you never leave this keep again if not attended."

"I was attended-"

"By a member of my Kingsguard." 

Once again, you nod, though you’d much rather roll your eyes in the face of this shameless usurper.

"A clement constraint, wife,” Aemond adds. “It wouldn't be so were I King."

If only you were King.

✺ ✺ ✺

“One day I’d like to see the city,” Helaena remarks as you sit beside her, playing dolls with little Jaehaera.

“One day you shall, my Queen,” you assure her.

Behind you, the door opens. Vialy enters, her presence suddenly reminding you of the new life that you lived for a short three days. 

Only, Vialy looks grievous. A black and purple ring forms around her eye, bruises and scars littering her neck and chest. You drop the dolls, running up to her. You frantically turn her jaw, examining. 

“What’s happened!?” 

“I’m alright, Princess-“

“That’s not what I’ve asked you.”

She sighs, knowing well that you won’t let this go. “The King’s Justice didn’t like my arrival unaccompanied by my Lady.”

Your lips part, regret washing over you. “Wh-“ you stare at her. “Did he take you to the dungeons?”

“Only a few short hours,” she shrugs, “and a few short beatings.” 

“Vialy,” you shake your head. “Why would he torture you after you’ve said all you know? It’s not sensible…”

She chuckles. “My Princess, I said nothing.”

Your face drops, staring at hers. A small and proud smirk rests on her lips as a frown forms on yours.

“You fool!” you reprimand. “You should’ve told him all you knew of me, down to the room I resided in!”

“I am loyal to you-“

“I would never ask this of you, Via!” you stress. Her beaten down, yet gratified expression evokes a crossness in you…along with a hint of reassurance. Nevertheless, you sigh. “I’ll take it up with Aemond. The king as well.”

“It’s truly not needed. For my devotion to the Princess shan’t be swayed by a few hits.”

You sheepishly smile, giving her this small victory. Though, you have no intent of letting this happening go unspoken of. But as of now, you drop it, bringing Vialy to where you and Helaena sat with the children. There, you hand her the wooden spun necklace that Alice gave you, a warm smile growing on her lips as she thanks you.

…

“Clement,” you burst into your husband’s bed chambers, slamming the heavy door behind you. “A clement King you called him.”

Aemond can barely turn around before you shove him, forcing him to catch himself on his table.

“I know not what you speak of,” he looks at you wildly before regaining his composure, “but I suggest you keep your head about you.”

“Did you see what they had done to my Handmaiden? A woman, an innocent!”

He scoffs. “She was the last to see the missing Princess, it is the Justice’s work to see to any leads.”

"To what end, Aemond? The girl said she didn't know, what more must she say?"

"And that was a lie,” he corrects you. “Lying to an extension of the crown is treasonous, Auriela. Punishable by death."

"Death…” you stare, eyes burning with fury, “all for not revealing my whereabouts?"

"If only you had come home."

You roll your eyes, sighing as you debate saying what the both of you already know. The image of a weakened Vialy smiling through her pain encourages you to express on the whole of you and your husband. 

"...Why this farce, Aemond? Why must we continue this? We fail at up-keeping the appearances of our marriage…why not just end it?"

"End it...” he furrows his brow, “you have yet to mention this before."

You do the same, silently begging for him to just admit it. "Need I? You know as well as I that we shall never learn to work as one."

"Actually I ever learn that I know little and less about my Lady wife."

You shrug, knowing he’ll never cease to dance around the cold truth of what the two of you have been and will always remain…strangers. You accept defeat and land on compromise. 

"Just have Aegon allow me leave. I will arrive back as needed,” you truly ask. He looks at you so intently, the last time he’s done so being on your wedding day. “I will do my duty and produce you heirs, and we shall live our separate days."

“Hm,” he thinks, scanning you up and down in that cold stare before nodding. "And would you be asking leave if I were that brothel boy?"

You scrunch your face, the conversation seemingly taking a turn in a different direction. 

"What?"

"The boy, Deephide."

Regrettably, you almost scowl, feeling strange toward your husband’s mention of Lucan. Your days on the Street of Silk seemed like a separate reality completely, one that Aemond has no knowledge of. Now, you feel a small sense of territoriality of those few days, and all personnel that they entail.

"Aemond I'm married to you, what-  How can that not be enough?"

"But you chose him,” he continues. “Is it because he's older? Or lowborn?"

"Husband, leave this.”

“Do you like Dornish men?”

Perhaps I do, you think. 

"You've always seemed most uninterested in what l like.”

He continues to pry. "Why do you want him?"

"Why do you want women older than your mother?” you snap, his perseverance on the matter seeming all too personal. "We all want things in our lives, Aemond. There's no reason, we just do."

“Those are wise words,” he remarks, still staring as if he wants to see through you. "…Did you bed him?"

“What do you take me for?” you deride. “I am wed, that may mean little to you but it's an ever growing shadow upon my name. I am not like you, I am not a man, I cannot give my maidenhead away freely as you can."

A small grin sneaks on his lips. "I am glad."

"Excuse me?"

"That you've remained a maiden,” he departs from leaning on the table and pursues you, his tall frame towering over yours. “Despite your...excursions.”

The closer he gets the smaller you feel, his eye still treading on yours.

His voice lowers. “Our marriage must be consummated one day, Auriela. Some don’t consider us legitimate at all so long as you remain unsullied.”

Aemond’s breath heats your skin, the two of you closer than you’ve been in years. Your eyes flicker from his own to his lips, refusing to believe what he’s asking of you. 

Your breath shakes slightly. “That I know…”

He bites the bullet, moving before he can think. His hand rests between your collar and jaw, keeping a firm grip on you. You shudder as he pulls your mouth to his, a hunger in his kisses. The rough and sudden clash has your mind racing a million leagues a minute. The two of you have had your fair share of kisses, all of which being to please the eyes of his mother and council. Aemond has never desired you, never looked in your direction, never spoke of or to you unless forced to. Where this abrupt change in passion comes from, no man can say.

You don’t realize the way your hands seem to pull him closer until you’re interrupted, a knock at his door. Aemond pays it no mind, continuing to overwhelm you until three knocks ring out again. 

He lets out a frustrated growl, keeping you in his hands as he looks over your head. He gives you one more glance before releasing, walking over and opening the door.

“The King requires an audience, my Prince,” the unmistakable voice of Criston Cole says.

“Tell my brother I’m occupied, Ser Criston,” Aemond brushes him off, shutting the door.

Cole holds it open. “Forgive me but it’s a command. He asks for your wife.”

Your husband grunts, slamming the door and turning back to you.

“He truly always finds a way to steal my joy.”

Standing opposite a mirror, you smooth your dress down. “Ser Criston?”

“Aegon.”

“Hm,” you hum. Aemond stands behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you ready yourself for the King you so despise. 

Neither of you dare speak a word of what may have happened had Ser Criston not intervened. You just stare into the mirror, a rare sight, the two of you looking like a proper pair.

You snap out of it, heading toward the door as Aemond holds onto your waist for as long as he can. When he finally lets go, you scurry out of his chambers, a breath finally escaping that you were unaware you were holding. Ser Criston leads you to the chamber of the Small Council.

…

“No, my King,” you plainly state, wanting nothing more than to leave his presence, “I have yet to bear a Princeling.”

Aegon sits at the head of the empty table, sitting you at the corner as he asks perpetual and aimless questions.

“My brother is a cunt but I always thought he’d know his way around one,” he smirks, staring at you with an all too fake quizzical look. “May that be yours or an old hags.”

You stay silent, imagining you were anywhere but in this chamber with this boy.

“Have you at the least lost your maidenhead? I’ve heard whispers of you and the Dornish boy-“

"Is the King this engrossed with his own wife's affairs? He seems to be most interested in my fucking and fooling."

“Ha,” Aegon tsks, "you may soon find that Northern mouth getting you into trouble, goodsister.”

You eye him impassively with a demeaning tilt of your head before making the mature decision to back down.

 "Right, Your Grace,” you adjust. “I forget myself, I shall hold my tongue before my King. I only wish to ask what this meeting may be about."

“Much better,” he smiles before standing up, heading toward the board marked with houses, pins, and landmarks. “You know as well as anyone that the North is a hard cart to heave. They swore fealty to the pretendor of Dragonstone years ago, I need you to ensure that they now know who their trueborn King is.”

You stifle a laugh, the sight of Aegon trying to rule being nothing short of a jest. In this prospect especially, where he’s sure to fail before he’s even begun. 

“And how would you have me do that, Your Grace?”

“By traveling to Winterfell and promising your firstborn daughter to second of Cregan Stark’s sons,” he blurts out, a proud smile on his face telling you that he’s come up with this plan all on his own…evidently.

“My King,” you begin, not sure which of the hundreds of flaws you should bring attention to first, “I suggest we send a raven to scope how far Winterfell is willing to stray from their oaths foremost. As you said, we aren’t easy to sway, the North does remember, Your Grace.”

“They may not be easy to sway,” he emphasizes the detachment of the North and yourself, “but I send you because you know the North. It was your home, you’re more familiar than any of us.”

“Yes, and because of that I know that Cregan is slow to waiver and quick to call his banners.”

“Shall he support the cunt of Dragonstone, let them come.”

You scoff. “You don’t want war with the North, Your Grace. Cregan will never bend even with Sunfyre himself at his gates. Lucerys wasn’t far from Lord Stark’s own dead brother’s age, all the more reason to sympathize with the Velaryons. And who’s to say he hasn’t already been preyed upon by the blacks?”

“The North is closer to us than to Dragonstone.”

“They’re ahead of us in that sense,” you remind him. “While our King thrust us into war and bloodshed, Rhaenyra took a steady route; collecting her allies and seeking her foes.”

Aegon wears a frustrated scowl at your reprimands, coming back to the table and standing over you, his hands resting just in front of yours. 

“Do you mean to doubt the King’s ways?” he asks, his voice low and warning.

“I mean to do no such thing,” you assure him. You look toward to door. “May I ask why my husband isn’t privy to this discussion?”

He looks you up and down, minorly offended before he retakes his seat. “I heard that you disagree with some of my methods of questioning.”

Vialy. Your heart skips a beat, knowing that the only people who knew about your feelings on the matter were Helaena, Vialy, and Aemond; all of which were consulted within the hour. Was he eavesdropping on your conversations?

You stay fairly quiet on the matter. “I just wanted my handmaiden to feel safe and at home in the Keep.”

“Mm,” he nods, placing his chin on his fist, “and do you feel safe and at home, sister?”

A small wrinkle forms above your brow as you fail to decipher what he could possibly be getting at. You smooth it out, knowing better than to hurt a powerful man’s confidence beyond the grounds of small jabs.

“…Am I free to go, Your Grace?” 

He lingers on you, close to how his brother does, before waving his hand. You stand, walking toward the door not knowing whether you’re still expected to go North. If the King says it, so it shall be. Though, you’re not sure how welcome you’d be back home after your time here. As you exit the room, a pit forms in your stomach at the thought of it…

✺ ✺ ✺

Later

The night replays itself in your head relentlessly. Aemond seemed like a new man. He was careful, gentle even as he undressed you, cradling your head as he laid you upon the bed. The consummation wasn’t witnessed, though you’re sure Ser Criston could assume the activities at hand from what he heard at the door. Many of the things Lucan taught you worked ably, one of them sending your husband over the edge. 

You shan’t complain about the experience, for you expected much worse and are painfully aware of how much worse women before you have had it. However, as you laid in Aemond’s bed, his arms wrapped around you as he softly snored, you couldn’t find sleep. You contrite the thoughts that kept creeping into your head. Alice, Maeserys…Lucan. Your mind refused to rest even as the night grew late. 

You cannot deny that Aemond was good to you tonight…which makes the fact that you’re presently lying naked next to Lucan even more regrettable. You didn’t mean it to happen, but as your feet continued tip toeing away from the Keep and toward the whore house, you found yourself justifying what you intended to do. My maidenhead is gone you thought, bedding two men within the hour only counts as one. 

“I have to return…” you sit up, Lucan’s fingertips tracing your spine.

“Must you?” 

“Mhm,” you nod, standing and stepping into your dress. “I was only meant to visit you.”

He grins. “It gladdens me that you did, Princess.”

You say your goodbyes, deciding to leave the act as it lay and not speak of it again. Lucan seems to understand the arrangement you’ve made, just for the night. 

The cool of the night stings your eyes as you exit the buzzing pleasure house. You nearly trip when your foot is caught at the door. Snapping your head down, your gaze quickly softens as you see what’s grabbed you. Maeserys’ sad violet eyes stare up at you, his hood draping over his brows as his tiny fingers hold onto your dress. You contemplate rushing back inside and cursing whoever left him out here in the cold, then you contemplate doing the same to Pate for not keeping an eye on him. Ultimately, after a brief brainstorm and scan for witnesses, you pick him up and whisk him away. 

You don’t consider what you’ll do with him until you’ve snuck back into the Keep, his arms latched around your neck. Small pattering footsteps ring out as you hurry to your chambers. Though, you find you’re not quick enough as a you hear a familiar clanking round the corner…A knight. You freeze in your spot as Ser Criston Cole nearly walks into you. 

…

“You’re exactly what I thought you to be,” Aemond stands across the room, his volume rising, “heinous…whorish,” he shakes his head.

Your eyes turn a watery red as you silently hex the Lord Commander for delivering you to your downfall.

“Aemond I…” you shake your head, “it was below me, I admit. I-“

“You shall address me as your Lord,” he points a finger in your face. “After all we built, Auriela…Just to throw it away on the morrow, I-“ he scoffs, pacing the room.

“I was thinking of the boy…” you admit truthfully. Of the few victories you’ve won, sneaking Maeserys out of Ser Criston’s sight before he could be he seized was certainly one of them.  

“Who is none of our fucking concern!” Aemond hurls a goblet at you, it clattering onto the floor. “I put my trust in you…I put my my cock in you. Just for you to…” he struggles to normalize his breathing, “just to dispose of me as if it meant nothing.”

Sorrow fills your heart as you see water lining his eye as well, suddenly regretting ever leaving the Keep.

“Husband…” a tear falls down your cheek as you walk toward him. 

You reach for his face, he hesitates before dropping to his knees. His arms wrap around your waist, burying his head as small sobs escape him. It breaks you, feeling only remorse and shame as you cradle his head, softly weeping with him. 

You and your husband stay this way until you have no more tears to cry. No words are spoken as you leave his bed chambers, retrieving little Mase and returning to your own.

✺ ✺ ✺

2 moons later

The unfamiliar smell of dragon breath seeps into the cool air of the North as you stand atop the wall, Cregan looking over the snowy forests with you. 

“If you’ve only come to make me bend the knee to the Usurper then you’ve wasted your travels, cousin.”

“I figured as much,” you admit, “I only ask that you consider it before you open yourself to a war that the North can avoid.”  

“You may be committed to the tyrants by oath and for that I don’t fault you, but the North still remembers their own oaths. If that sends us to war then we welcome it.” Cregan shrugs, his thick accent feeling like home. 

“I’ve heard that,” Aemond’s voice emerges from behind you. The two of your turn. “That the North remembers.”

He steps out of the lift, animal skin draped over his frame. “It’s funny though, as no Northerner seems to remember that your ancestor, Torrhen Stark, bent the knee to mine own, Aegon the Conquerer.”

Cregan glances over to you, then back to Aemond before letting out a laugh. The Prince uncomfortably shifts his position.

“That’s right,” he nods, challengingly getting closer to Aemond. “But you’re no conquerer…you’re just a boy. A craven kinslayer at that.” 

“Hm,” Aemond looks down at him, “watch your tongue, Northman.”

“I suggest you do the same…your royal status doesn’t protect you this close to death,” he gestures beyond the wall.

“My position may be weak here, but my dragon is not.”

“When that fat old lizard is brazen enough to fly over this wall maybe she’ll finally instill some fear in my heart.”

The boys face off, both of their hands resting on their daggers. You step in, placing a hand on Cregan’s chest.

“I’ve got something to show you.”

Aemond returns to his place beside Vhagar and his knights, staying there as you return to Cregan, Mase in your arms.

“…And you’re sure he’s Aegon’s?” Cregan examines the boy, stroking his hair.

“Can’t you tell? I only ask you watch over him until the war subsides, cousin. He’s an innocent.”

He nods, the memory of his small brother pushing his yes.

“I shall protect him like he were my own,” he agrees.

You thank him. “Next time I see you I hope it to be on kinder business.” 

“As do I.”

…

Your husband, at the cost of your dignity and stiff lip, allowed the Starks a time free of war and calls of banners for now, even if they didn’t particularly bend the knee. You and Aemond are leagues ahead of his royal host as you fly on Vhagar. Reluctantly, you make a stop to your home of Barrowtown, seeing your father and sisters for the first time since your father promised you to Aemond. That, you haven’t yet put past him. But the Seven ask you to be forgiving, so forgiveness you shall seek.

✺ ✺ ✺

1 moon later

You feel like a rat beneath the feet of the royals as you peek into the Small Council chamber, silently watching. A hand hovers over your belly as a table full of men discuss the matter.

“I am confident that the child is mine.”

“How can you be so sure, Aemond?” Alicent ridicules him. “The girl has no respect for you or our house, who’s to say she hasn’t fallen pregnant at the hands of a whore in the city?”

“She spends more nights with me than she does in the city, mother. Certainly after Aegon tried shipping her North in the dead of Winter, she wouldn’t be so reckless.”

“But she is reckless,” Aegon speaks up. “I commanded her to stay in the castle, she leaves again that same night. I command her to get Lord Stark to bend the knee, she convinces you to join her on some holiday to the North, accomplishing nothing. Your wife is disobedient, she recognizes no authority.”

“And if the child is not mine?” your husband asks. “If he comes out with dark hair and olive skin, what then? Will you have my child murdered for her crimes.”

You furrow your brows, never considering Aemond to be one of your allies in the castle. After the insults you’ve heard him hurl toward Rhaenyra’s children, you were certain that any child that was not true born was, in his eyes, undeserving.

Lord Wylde eyes him. “You certainly aren’t suggesting we house a bastard in the Keep, my Prince.”

Aemond shrugs. “I only mean to raise the question.”

“There should be no question,” Alicent rubs her temples. “Your shameless wife parades around the castle, bowing to none and seeing no consequence.”

“If she is to be executed for the crime of not living in fear then let you pike my head beside hers-“

“The history of questioned legitimacies is a long and bloody one, my Lords,” Otto breaks the bicker. “Let us not plan for such wickedness and instead bend our knees and bow our heads to the Seven and pray that the Princess bears a true born son of her husband.”

With that, the council moves on to other matters. Though, the sneers on Alicent and her oldest son’s faces don’t cease so quickly, their abhor for you only growing stronger.

…

“Watchers always find a way to seek each other out,” Lord Larys creeps on you from the corner of your bedchamber. “I saw you watching, Princess.”

You sigh, shrugging. “Is it wrong to wish to know the rulings of my own family?”

“Oh, far from it,” he assures you. “But when the queen speaks the bees listen…They question your morale.”

“They question my very being, Lord Larys,” you admit, not in the mood for his riddles. “Speak what you mean.”  

“…I fear that the water is rising, my Lady. Tensions run high and blood runs deep in the Red Keep, I can see as well as any that your welcome here is nearing an end. What they plan to do with you when the grim day comes, I cannot say I know. Though, I do not wish to see you perish, Princess.”

You tilt your head. Larys has a way of rising perspectives that you otherwise would’ve never imagined. He means to say you’re in trouble, you’re in danger in the Keep. The harder you stare the more it all falls into place. They forbid your leaving, they torture your handmaiden, they question your spirits…You begin to feel their ropes of fire tightening around your cold and snowy neck.

“…What do you suggest I do?” you ask, doubtless that he’s thought of an array of plans.

“If all were to come to turmoil here,” he begins, “the Princess is not without a place to turn.”

You shake your head. “My father wouldn’t take me back, he only wishes to keep his ties to the Targaryens.” 

“Not the North…I propose you look across the bay.”

“…Dragonstone?” you ask. 

Larys nods. “The black Princess has no reason to turn you away.”

“None save the fact that I’ve sworn myself to her enemies and sleep in her stolen castle.”

“A commitment not made by your hand,” he argues. 

You think back to the few interactions that you have had with Rhaenyra, all of which taking place when she returned for the brief period following your wedding. You recall her and her children showing you nothing but kindness, a warm feeling in contrast to the everlasting silence you experience here. Rhaenyra spoke to you as if you were a person, an equal; she talked about histories, asked about your life in the North, introduced you to Jace and Luke.

“So I flee my husband and my duties?” you query, contemplating both sides of the coin. “Leave the land I’ve always known to seek refuge with Rhaenyra?”  

“A cautious, yet judicious arrangement,” Larys remarks. “If my Princess wishes…it shall be done.”

Rhaenyra’s an acquaintance, a relative at the greatest; but as you weigh the odds, warily looking at your lawful family, the ancestral seat of the Targaryens begins to look like the more favorable position.

A knock rings at your door. Both you and the Clubfoot look at each other, then toward the knocks.

You clear your throat. “Come.”

Vialy opens the door, behind her, a serpent.

“The Dowager Queen, Princess.” your handmaiden announces, giving you a worrisome look before shutting the door behind Alicent.

“Queen mother,” both you and Larys bow as Alicent eyes you. 

“I wish to speak to the Princess alone, Lord Larys.”

He nods before tottering his way out. 

“How can I serve you?” you ask.

Alicent huffs, sitting at your study and looking out of the window.

“You’re with child,” she states.

“Yes, my queen,” you smile. “I ask the Seven for a healthy boy.”

“As do I,” she looks back at you. “Did you want for children before this, in the North?”

“Um,” you stammer, “I want whatever makes you and your- or- my house happy.”

“We’re alone here, you may speak truly.”

The Dowager’s words slide off your back, knowing better than to ever speak plainly to her.

“I was never good with children. I had only my sisters at home whom were one and two years my junior,” you shrug. “But the time I spend with the Queen’s children gives me hope that I may be a sufficient mother.” 

“Mm, and do you fear for your child? For what people will think of them?”

A frown forms on your lips. “I do not,” you lie. “Have I reason to?”

She scoffs, standing. “You have all the reason to, Auriela.” 

Alicent nears you, inspecting your face. Her breath tickles your skin as she strokes your braid.

“We birth children knowing the horrors they’ll face and the suffering they’ll endure,” she says. “I only hope that a mother’s shameful acts don’t add to the weight upon their tiny shoulders…”

She looks you up and down, your mouth slightly agape. No more words are spoken as she releases your hair and heads to the door, leaving you dangling.

You cannot say if she meant to scare you or threaten you, perhaps both. But the overpowering spark in your stomach is what you can only recognize anger. Angry that she feels she can scare you in a castle that she ordered you to, that she could frighten you when she arranged your marriage…Alicent is the shameless one, stalking and harassing you as she soils the Lord Commander’s white cloak nightly. 

You sit in the chair that she did moments ago. You retrieve a quill, ink, and scroll, addressing your letter:

‘Dear sister…’

✺ ✺ ✺

1 Moon Later

“It was the Strong,” Lucan says, tears streaming down his cheeks, “I know it.”

You hold Vialy tight in your arms as she weeps, Alice’s cold slain body lying in the middle of you, a sheet draped over her. Lucan’s words are senseless, blaming Lord Larys, one of the few you consider your ally, of ordering their deaths.

“Not Larys,” you shake your head, “he’s a friend.”

“He’s a snake who weasels his way into all things,” Lucan grits his teeth, staring at Alice. “The people talk, Auriela...His servants say he did it for you.”

Your head snaps to him. “What?”

Lucan stares back, his eyes numb and voice low. “You think he’s a friend but so does the Queen, and the King, and your husband, and the Dowager. He cannot be trusted, he ordered me dead, Princess.”

“Why would he do such a thing, Lucan?”

He sighs. “I adore you, Princess, I do…But you’ve been blinded. The Lord speaks with two tongues. He tells you to estrange yourself from the crown, on the morrow he tells the crown that you’ve become reckless…treasonous.”

Vialy buries her head in your dress, still sobbing. 

“…Have I no one in the whole of King’s Landing on my side?”

Lucan grabs your hand. “The smallfolk are a greater force than you take us for. Your handmaiden is loyal to you, you say your husband is loyal to you, even the Queen across the bay.”

You groan, tears collecting between the four of you as your escort, a Knight, stands over you out of earshot. Suddenly, it becomes very clear what you must do. Though, you no longer intend to take up the mission with Lord Larys.

✺ ✺ ✺

2 Weeks Later

You seize the first opportunity get. After a week of pent up emotions and grim planning, you and your allies in the City are prepared to make the escape that Lord Larys spoke of. 

The Dowager and guards believe you’re meeting with the King tonight, the King believes you’re with Aemond, Aemond believes you’re with Helaena, and Helaena cares not. When you begged her to stay tight lipped as you escape the castle for a brief night of living before your return, she gave you no more of a sweet nod before returning to her twins. 

Now, in the hour of the wolf, the blackest hour of the night, you board a ship; one that is said to fly a false green banner, as the crew are all holding steadfastly to their true Queen. It’s meant to be bound for Dragonstone if the whisperers of the city speak true..and there’s a spot waiting for you. 

“Ticket,” the inspector stops you. 

You look at him through your lashes, retrieving seven coins from your bag. Holding his hand in yours, you set all seven golden dragons in his palm, closing his fingers around them. 

“Seven blessings,” you nod. 

He looks at the money and then to you, realization hitting him. He nods as well, almost a bow, as he registers who you are. The doors are opened and you enter the boat, followed by two of your favorites.

“Honor means little to him,” Lucan says, “obviously.”

Vialy clings to your arm as the three of you thread through the crowds, searching for a compartment to sleep you on the journey to Dragonstone.

You correct him, your brows low and head lower as the cogs turn in your mind. “These men have got more honor in their cock alone than any in the Red Keep.”

You wonder how the Queen will accept you after your history, if she’ll see that you’re just as spiteful of the greens as she is. Though it matters not, for as the ship departs, the three of you are seated, prepared to do what it takes to never return to King’s Landing so long as a green sits on the throne.

[eldritch-nightmare]

howdy!! hope you're having a lovely day! may i request ticci toby and any other creeps of your choosing reacting to someone harming their s/o? thank you in advance!

a/n: hi!! thanks for sending the request!! hope you enjoy <3

reacting to someone hurting their gn!s/o.

includes: toby, nurse ann, homicidal liu + sully [separate], the bloody painter, and laughing jill.

warnings: reader gets injured, murder, blood, the murder isn't detailed but some of them may be a little graphic maybe, near-death experiences, it's implied that the reader doesn't know helen kills people.

TICCI TOBY.

He would not be a happy camper, that's for sure.

Toby has already had so much taken away from him, so if someone were to try and take away the one person he allowed himself to love? Yeah, no, not happening.

Toby has taken so many lives he doesn't even know the exact number, and he doesn't normally draw out their death unless it's something Slender wants him to do.

But seeing you passed out on the ground because some sick fuck decided to take their anger out on you... it brought Toby back to darker days, and all he could think about was eliminating the danger to keep you safe.

And let me tell you, Toby draws out your attacker's death. They hurt you, so therefore they deserve every ounce of pain he gives them.

Honestly, if he could, he'd probably keep the person alive over the course of weeks just to get it through their head just how badly they fucked up deciding to hurt you, but he needed to get you help as soon as possible so he leaves your attacker to bleed out.

Once the anger he feels subsides, it'll be replaced by panic and guilt as he rushes you to the nearest place you can receive medical attention, be it the mansion or the hospital.

He won't feel better until you wake up, and even after, this situation will definitely cause him to become a bit paranoid over your safety. He really can't lose you. That's not a pain he can go through again.

It'll probably take you weeks, maybe even months, to reassure Toby that you were okay.

This situation will definitely make him more aware of your safety. If he's not off completing tasks for Slender, he's keeping an eye on you. He's not trying to be clingy or overbearing, he just doesn't want to see you covered in your own blood ever again.

NURSE ANN.

Ann can't remember anything that happened before her death and... proxification, but she does know that you've been by her side through the entire process. You're one of the very small handful of people she trusts and likes, so there was no way she'd let anyone take you away from her.

So when she sees you on the ground, bloodied and bruised because some dumb group of wanna-be urban explorers she was hunting down freaked out thinking you were her? Well, let's just say there's nothing that can calm Ann's burning rage at that moment.

Not only have these people trespassed into her hospital, but they also dare to hurt the love of her life as well? There's no fucking way she'll show them mercy now.

You're barely clinging onto consciousness as you watch your girlfriend mercilessly slaughter the people who dared to even put you in such a state. It's not because you wanted to watch, you were just too exhausted and in far too much pain to look away.

The amount of blood alone was nauseating, and at some point, you couldn't even tell what color the floor was anymore.

But once Ann has dealt with the intruders, she'll oh so gently pick you up from the ground and carry you to the nearest (and cleanest) hospital room so she can treat your wounds.

Ann doesn't speak much, but you can hear her softly apologizing to you as she takes care of you. She tries her best to be careful, not wanting to make the pain worse than it already is. She doesn't feel as if this is her fault, she knows it isn't, but she still can't help but feel bad.

This experience will definitely make her realize just how much she cares for you. It's a little scary, to be quite honest with you. It's weird being attached to someone.

She isn't going to become overbearing when it comes to your safety, but she'll definitely be more careful about hunting down trespassers if she knows you're in the area.

Don't worry, a situation like this will never happen again.

HOMICIDAL LIU.

Oh. Oh boy, what have you done?

Liu is, as we all know, not the type of person to take another's life in cold blood. He only hurts others when it is self-defense because he doesn't want to be anything like his brother.

But keep in mind that Liu is also very protective and he has a lot of pent-up anger (among a variety of other emotions) that he keeps under tight wraps. So, believe me when I tell you that you really do not want to be on the receiving end of that anger.

Unfortunately, some sad soul was completely unaware of this and decided to hurt you.

Now, for Liu, he honestly blacked out the moment he saw you bleeding out on the ground. You, however, witnessed the carnage that was about to take place. Honestly, for a moment, you thought that Sully had taken over because of how violent it got. But no, it was all Liu.

Liu doesn't make quick work of this. No, by the time he came out of whatever stupor of anger he got put in, he was drenched in blood, and the person he killed didn't even look like a person anymore.

He didn't use his gun. He used Sully's knife. You've never seen him use a knife before. He always avoided them, he only ever used guns. But he used a knife. He broke the fucking knife.

Right. Well. You'll just have to sit him down and discuss what transpired later. Preferably when you aren't bleeding out. Luckily for you, Liu has taught himself medical care. He's pretty damn good at treating wounds like this as well, so you're in really good hands.

Just... keep pressure on the wound for a moment while he quickly washes off all the blood on his hands.

You'll be okay. He'll make sure of it. He won't lose you.

SULLY.

Now, I bet you're expecting me to tell you that Sully would also go absolutely ham on the person who hurts you. No. He doesn't. Unlike Liu, he doesn't become overcome with pent-up rage.

He does get angry, don't get me wrong, but that anger isn't important. You're hurt, and you need immediate assistance, so Sully doesn't even spare the person a glance as he pulls out Liu's gun and shoots them in the head.

Sully is... less good at treating wounds. He tries his best whenever he sustains an injury, but Liu is always the one who has to take care of it.

But he does know where a certain eyeless man tends to lurk around, so he won't waste any time taking you to get treatment from him.

He'll keep the conversation topic light as you get treated, joking around with you and talking about anything and nothing at the same time. It keeps a smile on your face, and it keeps you distracted from the pain you're in.

It also keeps Sully distracted from the fact that his hands are shaking.

For a moment, he's not really sure why he's shaking so much. You're safe, and you're getting treated. It's only when you knock out after taking some pain meds that Sully finally realizes that he was scared.

You could've died, realistically. You probably would've if he hadn't been there.

He's never been so close to losing someone before. The thought alone was making his stomach churn. He's... he's never felt scared like this before.

This is probably when he realizes that he loves you.

THE BLOODY PAINTER.

Now, Helen isn't the most emotionally expressive person out there. Just one quick glance at his default expression and you'll come to the conclusion that he's a pretty apathetic person.

But you know him. You've learned how to identify his microexpressions. He had dropped by your place and walked in to see you treating a pretty bad cut on your arm. It was just a very slight shift in his expression, one that only lasted for a fraction of a second, but you could see the worry and the underlying anger.

It's actually pretty awkward as you explain to him what happened, going into detail about how some guy had just randomly decided to attack you when you were in town today.

Helen seemed to be taking in every detail you provided, and when he finally spoke up, it was to ask if you could describe the guy for him.

You had just assumed he was going to sketch the guy's face to give it to the police or something, so you didn't see any real issue with telling Helen, doing your best to describe what the guy looked like. You were honestly over the entire situation. The cut on your arm was bandaged and it didn't hurt much anymore.

The situation ended there for you. It was never brought up again, and Helen stayed the night to help you with anything that may be an inconvenience to do with an injured arm. It was sweet seeing him worried for you, if you're being honest.

It may take a few days, but Helen eventually did track down the person who had hurt you.

He treats them like any other victim, though it's obvious to authorities that this person had a particularly cruel death.

There is nothing tragically beautiful about this person's death. It is not a piece of art like all the other deaths were made out to be. This one still had their blood.

Honestly, their death feels so out of place for the case of the Bloody Painter that authorities are hesitant to consider this another one of his victims. It could be a dispute that led to murder, and in a panic was staged to make it look like a serial killer did it.

And you stay oblivious to this, none the wiser.

LAUGHING JILL.

Look, Jill truly felt as if she would never experience happiness ever again until you came into her life and made her realize that she can still feel such a thing.

You've basically become a source of joy for her, so there was no way in hell she'd ever let that go.

And when someone hurts you? When someone makes your face screw up in pain? It's an image that Jill never wanted to see. She's already lost someone close to her, stolen away from her by a monster. She can't lose you too. She just can't.

She also makes quick work of whoever hurt you, slicing them with her chainsaw once or twice before tossing it to the side and hurrying over to you.

You'll have to reassure her that you're okay as she lets you use her as a pillar of support. Even if you aren't okay, you need to reassure her that you are.

Jill doesn't know how to treat your wounds, something that will definitely change in the future once you're able to get actual treatment.

Honestly, she'll probably burst into tears and apologize profusely even though you getting hurt wasn't her fault. She still should've been there by your side. If she had been, you wouldn't have gotten hurt in the first place.

She'll definitely be hyperaware of anyone who comes near you now. It doesn't matter if it's someone you're close to or if it's a complete and total stranger.

She'll immediately tense up and view them as a threat, sticking close to you just in case something happens.

It'll take months, maybe even years for her to move past this.

[geneseedraws]

ALL TOMORROW'S PHOTOS - COVER REVEAL!!

✨RELEASE DATE✨

February 23, 2023

✨ EBOOK PRE-ORDER LINK!!✨

I'm so excited to finally share with you my book cover!! I drew and designed it, and it features the one and only main character of my heart, Maurice Rogers 🥰💕 AND now pre-orders are finally open! Just for ebooks only, paperbacks will be coming at a later date if you would rather wait for that! I'm so happy I can finally start sharing this with the world 😭💕

There are two books to this story! All Tomorrow's Photos is only Book One, just as a reminder 🥰 Book Two will be available later!

✨BOOK BLURB✨

Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1974

Maurice is an art student majoring in photography, and has become so invested in his craft he built his own darkroom inside his house. He sees an artistic view in everything, even things the average person sees as disgusting or macabre. So much so, that he’s become a serial killer in order to fulfill his disturbing artistic projects.

But his murderous lifestyle gets flipped upside-down when he encounters a photo of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

Kenneth is a registered nurse living day by day a dreary, monotonous life. When his sister tells him someone from her class wants him to be their model for the next school project, Kenneth takes a chance by trying something new.

Little do the two men realize that meeting each other will set their hearts on fire, falling madly in love, changing their lives forever.

[All Tomorrow’s Photos is Book One of a duology. It is a dark MM romance story not intended for a young audience.]

⚠️Content Warnings: Explicit Language, Graphic depictions of violence and death, Consensual explicit sexual content, Mentions of parental child abuse, Period-typical homophobia, Alcohol and marijuana use, Needles (blood drawing)

[branch-wdk53]

Pre-L Corp: Mahason

Most of his memories begin during the Smoke War.

I mean… he does recall that beforehand, he was attending school. Even during that seemingly peaceful time, he was told about the ongoing war. It’s not often Wings fight each other. And given that the school was directly in K Corp, it’s natural that news is constantly circulating.

He knew that many of his classmates were volunteering. They didn’t seem to be happy about it, he observed. Mahason, too, was drafted. Mostly because of his family’s persistence to be honest, and so he didn’t have much of a choice. Something about moving to the Nest.

The boy didn’t know what to think. Was this the best he could do with his life…? Perhaps so, as a Backstreets kid doesn't have much going for him.

There’s an unsettling feeling there, the thoughts about the outcome- if he manages to survive, he did good, right? If not, then he’ll just die, and that’s that. Frankly, at this point, it may seem best to use his life in this way.

He doesn’t see any other option, given the limitations at this age. It was more ideal to think of it as more of a sacrifice than something less. Just as he was told and taught.

“I will do my best in order to die as soon as possible, like falling cherry petals.”

The boy doesn’t remember much after that. Training here. Lessons there. What he remembers more was when he was helping with the daily affairs, such as the barracks and dining halls for the young soldiers. He watched as other groups dranked, yelled, sang, wrote wills… Even though these “volunteers'' were said to be ready to sacrifice themselves… I suppose this is what they really felt in their final nights before death.

Deep down, Mahason already knew that. The painful, unresolved ambiguities of their tragically brief lives.

The rubbery flesh of the pink and white petals really does look and feel like human skin. And like snow, they rapidly cover the ground in a layer of red.

He looked up at the sky. Like many others, the only things he saw were the high rise buildings and smoke.

Unlike his expectations, he survived for a few days. Granted, he didn’t see much troops from his , so it’s most likely that they assumed he died in some horrific fashion.

During that blur of blood and bodies, Mahason went to the edge of conflict to catch his breath. He hears quick footsteps, heading out of the District. Realizing the oddity, he turns a corner and sees someone with a rifle exiting from the battle. Their hand only loosely holds the firearm, which may mean they're out of ammunition.

Stepping out and approaching them, they must’ve heard him, in which even though their pace threatened to quicken, they suddenly paused and swerved around to face Mahason, rifle drawn. The boy paused upon seeing the rifle now being pointed at him. Though, he makes no effort to draw his sword in front of him, leaving it at his side.

There was a moment of standstill, neither side breathing or moving. Watching what the other may do. Mahason examined them closely, recognizing that the clothes they were wearing was that of an opposing force fighting in the war. Though, no one else with that uniform was around this area. They also had a full-face gas mask, so he couldn’t tell their expression.

But if he looked closed enough, he could see the rifle shaking ever so slightly.

“…Are you… deserting?” The boy muttered.

He sees the slightest of movement.

“What of it?” They quietly said.

Mahason’s hold on his sword somewhat loosened. ‘If this is how I die… then I have no regrets.’ The boy looked off to the side, seeing the person harden their grip on their rifle from his peripheral vision. After a moment, he fully turns around.

“There might be others nearby.” He simply said.

He starts walking back towards the action, watching the smoke billowing from the distance. He hears a footstep, then another. Those footsteps quickening in pace, fading away.

When Mahason looked back, no one was there.

It was not long after that he thought, "I shall plunge into the enemy and fall like petals.”

There was a particularly troublesome outpost. A captain was in it, and would be helpful if it was destroyed. The memories of what exactly happened here are blurry. What he does remember was when his sword was knocked away, with a soldier in a headlock, he pulled out a grenade and pulled the pin.

Suddenly, his vision swayed, a high-pitch ringing filling his ears. Immense pain flooded his head- no, his entire body. But in another instance, he finds himself in an inner world filled with airplanes, flowers, friends, and dreams.

In another moment, Mahason finds himself on a hospital bed. Sitting up was slightly painful, but he was able to see that he’s in some room. Not long after, a doctor comes in, shocked to see him.

When Mahason tried to speak, he felt his throat strained, having difficulty in finding his voice. Coughing a bit, when his voice does come to him, it’s low and hoarse. Quietly asking what happened, the doctor said someone dropped him off, even paying for everything. Mahason found it strange, even though he had never heard of their name, and had expected to die.

The main after effect was scars and his damaged vocal cords. Once he no longer feels pain from moving, he’s free to leave. Despite the strange situation he has found himself in, he accepted it, since he literally can’t do anything else. And thus, much time passes. After sufficiently recovering, the staff returned his gear, as apparently the person had also managed to restore what he thought was definitely destroyed.

Leaving the building, Mahason wasn’t really sure if he should even return back to District 11. Considering it’s most likely that his family thinks he’s dead. Mulling over what to do, that’s when I decided to make myself known at last.

[yeasty-boy]

I posted 248 times in 2022

That's 212 more posts than 2021!

19 posts created (8%)

229 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@gay-panic-in-a-bottle

@dingdongyouarewrong

@nandodelacruz

@bestmannequin2018

@starfleetrambo

I tagged 84 of my posts in 2022

#pathologic - 18 posts

#unreality - 7 posts

#artemy burakh - 6 posts

#goncharov - 5 posts

#daniil dankovsky - 5 posts

#i would die for each of these doggos - 2 posts

#artemy my beloved - 2 posts

#clara the changeling - 2 posts

#someone please knock me out - 2 posts

#been using it to make my insomniac episode more bearable - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 112 characters

#like the game is one bog performance so having the characters being literal actors is just ✨ muah ✨ chiefs kiss

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

....

Why is this trending

2 notes - Posted December 7, 2022

#4

I just rewatched the goncharov and holy shit I have so much to talk about

First of all I absolutely love the way that color is used in these movies. It reminds me of some of the earlier films to use it, in that it was used sparingly. Everything is bland and bleak save for a singular accent color. It naturally draws the eye to the focus and makes everything else fade into the background and also taking away general noise

The color red is given a specific connotation in conjugation with the apple motif, symbolizing a loss of innocence through ones one choices, specifically the sort brought about through betrayal. When Katya kills her husband she is covered in blood, specifically staining her white coat, which has been used to present shelteredness and safety (though can also be interpreted as being trapped, which ever resonates more with you). Until this point she has never directly killed anyone and here she is, look how far she has fallen, covered in her own betrayal. She has destroyed the thing which protected her, melted her wax wings, but her fall is the most free she has ever been

Not only that but the use of green being interpreted as freedom (or alternatively wishes and desires). In Katya's final moments, she pictures Sofia, surrounded by lush green fields, forest, and freedom. Sofia up until this point has been wearing blue (which I can go into it's symbolism later) but in this moment she is wearing stark green, making nature itself look dull by comparison. She is the true freedom and only in death does Katya realize the gravity of that

(also I just love these two so much, like yes they are terribly people who cannot communicate basic emotions and if they just talked then at least two people could have had a happy ended but at the same time that's their tragedy because there was never a world where they could have ran away because katya would always be katya and sofia would always be sofia)

3 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

#3

One thing I wanted to talk about was how fucking hard it is to find this movie. Like I heard about it through a friend of a friend who went on and on about how great this thing was so I decided to pirate it but it was impossible. Like every single one was either filmed on someones wet pasta noodle and then deep fried, or just covered in ads making it impossible to watch

After that I decided to look through my dad's massive movie collection (the man has well over 2000 movies saved to discs so if anyone had this film it would be him)

At this point I didn't even care about the movie, it was now a matter of pride. This movie existed and was thwarting my attempts to find it for well over a week now and I would be damned if it won

I sifted through boxes of movies, covered in dust, looking for the picture which was now burned into my brain. On the 3 box I found it, innocuous and real. The disc case was still intact, though the paper picture inside was warped from water damage. At this point I was fully expecting the movie not to exist and here it was, in my grubby little hands. I practically sprinted to my computer and started to play the movie. I was shaking from the discovery, after days of searching I found it, all on my dad's Blu-ray dvd

I'm sure now it has become much easier to pirate it (with growing awareness and such) but I'm almost glad that I had to work so hard to find it. That somewhere in my house it had been waiting for someone to open it up again and take a look

3 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

#2

One of the reasons I love the barter system in pathologic is because it makes me feel like the middling part of a failed pyramid scheme. I run around, the vast majority of my inventory taken up by objects that are useless to me, in hopes of finding someone who will be willing to exchange it for something less useless. On the third day I distinctly remember running around with 10 various nuts, looking for the exact bullets I needed. Because of the various things you can trade, I end up hoarding complete trash and I love it

20 notes - Posted August 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I don't know why but I absolutely adore the idea of pathologic time loop au. Like the character go through their twelve days and then BAM "IM BACK IN THE FUCKING BUILDING????"

They all navigate the second run in complete terror and confusion, jumping around through what little they remember of their quests and kinda doing better? But it mainly being hindered by their own existential dread, confusion, and general trying to figure what the fuck is going on.

Then it just repeats on infantum until (I'm choosing Clara for this since she's the resident strange girl) figures out a solution and everyone gets a semi happy ending or they have to make big sacrifice, what ever floats your boat

21 notes - Posted July 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[panandinpain0]

Hi could you do a fluff/Angst headcanon of dating Will x Male reader???

Home

Of course! I love Will so much.

Requested by: Anon

Will Byers x Male!Reader (Hopper is the father figure to Reader, but not like Eleven- he's just the only parental role you have in your life)

Something to know about me- I hate being sad so I avoid angst if I can. Which is one of the reasons why I am terrified for tonight when vol. 2 comes out...

For that reason- this oneshot is set in season 3, I need some nostalgia before I get hit with this

Enjoy while we still can 🥲

--

You and Will had been going out for a couple of months now and you were both incredibly happy

Your loved ones supported you

Strangers didn't, but why did they matter?

Honestly everyone just wanted the two of you safe and happy.

That's why when you go on dates Hopper trails along.

He thinks you don't notice, but you do

Ever since you had gotten together Joyce had voiced her concern for you two to Hopper

So he decided to keep an eye on you

(Let's be honest, he was going to do it whether Joyce said something or not)

You were basically his son- and even if you weren't, he still felt responsible for you

And if anyone laid a hand on you, man, watch out

So when you came to visit the Byers' house after school to meet with Will while Hopper was over

And you were covered with bruises and cuts

Blood, sweat, and tears caused by something other than "hard work"

You should have seen Hopper's face.

It was redder than when he yelled at Eleven to keep the door 3 inches open when Mike was over

You had knocked, even though you didn't need to.

You had a key, Joyce had given one to you years ago

Walking into the kitchen you could see Hopper, Joyce, Jonathan, and Will sitting at the table

Joyce and Will had jumped up when they saw you

And offered you a seat at the table

Which you took

They all shouted questions at you while Joyce patched you up

"It was nothing," you say

"Just some kid."

"'Just some kid?'" Hopper would shout back.

He and Jonathan would threaten to find the kid and beat him to a pulp

But the three of you would convince them not too

"I'm fine, really."

And you were

Fine- that is

You would take anything as long as it meant being with Will

Other than those parts of your relationship everything else would be bliss

Watching movies (Jonathan joining sometime, man that guy seems a little lonely)

Drawing together

Trying to draw each other and then laughing at the drawings

Joyce teaching you how to cook

Hanging out as a couple with him and his group of friends

You'd team up and convince them all to play DnD just like you used to

They would have your back.

If anything happened, you knew you wouldn't be alone

Because they were your family

Your favorite moments were the quiet ones, alone with Will

Holding his hand as you laid on his bed in the afternoon, cuddling

The window open and the hot air and sun filtering in

You would look into his eyes for hours

Running your fingers through his hair

Or watching him draw

Or listening to music together

Then everything happened.

The Mall fiasco

...The Mind Flayer

Billy.

Hopper.

...

Joyce thought it was best for them to move.

You were torn in part, both you and Will

It wasn't like Joyce liked seeing it, but she needed to leave

To get away

So as you joined lips with Will for what seemed to be the last time you realized something

You would rather be with Will, than anywhere else.

Yes, Hawkins was your home physically

But your real home?

Will Byers.

--

You move to Cali with the Byers + Eleven! Yayyyyy!

I was really debating on whether to make you and Eleven siblings but I ship Jopper and it'd be weird if Joyce and Hopper were a thing while you and Will were a thing- you get it.

Who else is petrified for tonight?

Heh... yayyyy

-Author Max <3

[undead-merman]

Heyo! I loved your headcanons for the brothers and Simeon as sirens, they were a truly *chef kiss*. Can we also have siren Barbatos and Diavolo? Yandere too and sfw, please!

Thanks in advance!

I'm always down to write Aquatic monsters.

🧜‍♂️Siren Diavolo and Barbatos🧜‍♂️ as a yanderes GN- reader SFW

Diavolo

Appearance

Diavolo is much, much larger than other sirens. While sirens grow to be about a foot or two bigger than humans, Diavolo is massive, fifteen feet long and with tons of bulk and muscle to match his massive size. He looks more similar in size to a giant than a siren.

Despite his size he is dazzling in the sun. When his crimson hair catches beams of light he looks divine, almost like a holy glow surrounds him as he rests on the rocks. His tail is the same stunning red as the blood red sunset and has a bright pearlescent. His scales are just as reflective and polished as a bright red sports car. His skin is deeply kissed by the sun, making his skin look smooth and shiny. His nightshade red fins are long and butterfly shaped; they trail slightly behind him like silk.

He wears all kinds of jewels and golds, all of them perfectly fit around his skull and fins. They drift perfectly around his large frame and glimmer even in the smallest amount of light.

Diavolo is the only siren able to keep his glamor up even if he’s excited, in the water, or even angry. He has full control over it and only shifts to it when he’s actively trying to strike fear into something or someone. His true form is like that of sea monsters in folktales, monstrous in size and able to take a ship down into the dark depths of the open ocean, to swallow whole crews, and create winds and storms as he lets out a devilish scream which can be heard for hundreds of miles around.

Royalty amongst Loners and Sunken Hideaway

Despite their lone lifestyles, only really enjoying the company of their mates, most Sirens look to Diavolo as more of a god than any type of king or prince despite having the title of prince. They worship his power and bow down to his whims and needs. They bring him tributes in the form of small treasures and Diavolo returns these gifts with blessings of more intoxicating songs, stronger wills, his watchful eye and protection, or just overall greater strength. Diavolo seems to freely give these boons no matter how small the gift.

Since he’s a well known and well visited siren, he’s built his home in the sunken ruins of a castle in a city whose culture and history has died long ago. It’s well taken care of by servants who have pledged their lives to Prince Diavolo and are surprisingly pleasant and tolerable with one another. They equate this to Diavolo’s power and grace but only those who are truly loyal to Diavolo stay here.

His voice can bring either madness or blessings and can be the most beautiful thing your ears could ever hope to hear or one so evil, devious, and grotesque you’re driven into a hypnotic bloodlust to those with even the strongest wills. His lullabies sound so melancholic.

He hides away in a large garden which has its own open air biosphere bathed in light by a glass ceiling which has yet to crack yet bathes the whole garden in a beautiful light. A single golden curly willow grows in the center with dozens of flowers growing around it. Here the air is surprisingly fresh and floats on the surface never touching the water around it like it’s a time capsule. He’ll lounge here to clear his head watching the butterflies that have grown here, alone and have never seen the outside.

Spending time with you

You and only you heard his song and wept. The feelings of his loneliness tugged at your heart instead of your head being filled with euphoric thoughts of power and blessings or instantly pounding through your skull until you screamed. You truly heard his song, understood the lyrics behind them and felt the way he did when he sang them. When he saw your face littered with tears and face hot with sympathy for him he felt his whole body go numb. You were something special, someone truly remarkable. He needed to know more about you.

And so started a passion in his heart to learn everything about you, your traditions, your light quirks, your hobbies and everything he could possibly learn. It sent him down a rabbit hole of studying humans that he refused to climb out of and gladly let swallow him if it just allowed him to get closer to you and understand you better.

He doesn’t mind what form you see him in, as long as he can see you he’s thrilled and happy. He’ll approach you like a dog, his tail swishing excitedly as he asks you questions he formed in his head from the day. He has to be careful in his true form otherwise he can cause a lot of damage to the nearby area and draw too much attention to you two.

He loves to pick you up and hold you, be in his true form or not and travel with you on his back, or when his true form shows in his hands or on his head as he intentionally kicks up some water to playfully mist you. Moments like these make him forget he was ever even alone to begin with.

If you ever wanted to see some kind of sea creature or visit some island he’s happy to oblige bringing the creature over with his divine rule over the ocean or happily just takes you there one day while making you cover your eyes to surprise you. The look on your face makes his heart swell so much he almost feels like it will jump out of his mouth if he’s not careful.

Dark Tendencies

Diavolo isn’t against using others to get what he wants, he'll ruin everything for anyone or anything to get what he wants. He’ll destroy small islands and wipe out ports so nothing can distract you from dates he takes you on.

If he feels like you aren’t close enough to him or are drifting away from him, for some reason or another, he’s simply going to just pluck you away from your old life so you don’t have any excuse to be away from him anymore. You're his now, you don’t have to worry about that silly stuff anymore, both of you can be together now. Why not just get married now? It would be much easier. Siren’s don’t marry, they just pick a mate but he’s willing to put the frills on it for you and your human ways. He finds it cute!

He doesn’t ever connect the dots if you struggle against him or plead for him to let you go, he’s wrapped up in his own delusions of you being a happy little couple that he’ll blame some outside force. If you go along with him he’ll remain peaceful and sweet.

He absolutely hates it when other sirens see you and while he’s not outwardly violent to them he is quite hostile. Grinding his teeth and asking them to look away from you while his tail twitches with the intent to lash out.

He gave you your own little haven to decorate, he gave you the garden all for your own. He even made sure to promise to give you your own space and privacy here, just as long as you come to his call. Don’t worry though, only you, him, and Barbatos know of this place, and you can’t run from him here!

Misc stuff

His scales shed infrequently since he doesn’t get into fights with other sirens since all of them know better. His scales are radiating with his power and are well known to bring massive good luck to all those Diavolo gives them to. He’s always giving you things made from his scales and he’s so thrilled to see you in them. He likes adding them to a circlet crown he had made custom just for you so you can match him. He plans on matching you to him with every little piece of jewelry, even down to matching rings.

He requires you to sleep with him. He can sleep out of the water perfectly fine and just pulls you into a lavish den he made for the two of you. It’s somehow unbelievably cozy sleeping with him. His body is warm and everything he set up is the best out there. He just holds you in his warm arms and nods off with you.

He’s quite a picky eater. He refuses to eat anything he doesn’t like and will only eat it if you so happen to beg him to, but only if you're insistent, otherwise he’s already slowly drifting away from it.

Barbatos

Appearance

For a siren he’s smaller than most. He’s quite slender and not much muscle to him, but despite his size, his appearance is perfect in every way, not a hair out of position, not a scale that isn’t out of polished or asymmetric, and his skin without a blemish or scar to be found. He takes a huge amount of time to groom himself perfectly.

His scales more resemble sea snakes, even having black stripes like them, though his tail is a solid dark seafoam green. He’s not especially radiant compared to others, but he doesn’t mind at all, he prefers to melt into the background more.

His tailfin is wide though, having a lyretail shape with black stripes going across it. It’s the same dark color as his scales and he has only two side fins but they look like long ribbons stretching from his hips to about halfway down his tail.

His glamor when melted away leaves behind an even darker looking creature. He looks like a stormy sea and is covered in nasty sharp thorns that don’t just stop at his elbows but lead down to his hips and thin yet long and sharp claws and stark black webbing in between without a tear or hole.

Serving Another

Serving the Royal Family was an honor his family was born with for generations and one he realizes the importance to. Diavolo is powerful enough to sink ships and cities and he provided some of that power and grace onto him rewarding him and his ancestors before him for loyalty, slowly turning Barbatos’s family into nearly just as powerful creatures as him.

He enjoys watching the whims of a child like god try to make sense of a kingdom, it's good fun to see him enjoying his life he is able to live vicariously through his high energy.

He puts his all into everything he does, he hates wasted efforts so he does everything he can into what he does but it gets tiring. Sometimes when trying to sleep, he finds himself unable. He’s always had poor sleep but he’s dealt with it for so long now that it's normal for him now. He starts his morning eating a small slice of kelp known for reducing head pain, all while preparing for the morning.

Spending time with you

If Diavolo took an interest in a human then you certainly had to be interesting. Well when he met you and saw you drinking tea with a huge Diavolo stretched around the floating garden. He just knew you were a human with a soul like no other.

He often brings you your favorite beverages and chats with you, simply at first to get to know you but he found you captivating, each word you spoke he held onto like it was the last he would ever hear and it was gospel. He smiles as you recall old memories, describing how you ended up here. The way you phrased things was unlike anything he had ever heard.

He’s taken the time to find old waterlogged books that were left abandoned in the old library and help restore them for you to read. Inside you find wondrous and fantastical stories of this old kingdom all of them enthralling, and as you read he’s happy to bring you a beverage once more and enjoy your company even if it’s in silence.

Once he’s grown closer with you he often finds himself giving you lingering touches as he pats your shoulder for your attention or grazes his hand on yours when delivering food to you. He even says the most romantic and poetic things to you without even noticing. He falls in love slowly but deeply and almost innocently. He just treasures your time and you as a person, never judging or doubting you.

There was a day when he had pulled you into a parting hug, wishing you a goodnight as Diavolo would return you to the surface but he had simply fallen asleep in your arms. Even Diavolo was shocked as he had never done anything close to something like this. It turns out Barbatos is at the most ease when he’s with you. All of his sleepless nights had just suddenly caught up with him.

Dark Tendencies

His love quickly shifts one day when he see your finger pricked by a stray thorn from a wild flower and as he wiped up the blood with a handkerchief and sees those butterflies fluttering around the wound to drink the blood he realised just how fragile you really were and how nature and life take advantage of that as soon as it could. He couldn’t take losing you. So one day he calls you and just takes you. You think it's just another visit with Baratos fetching you but he takes you to a deep and dark underground cave. Soft phosphorus moss grows all over in cushioned patches and with every step it glows brighter under your feet.

He explains it all to you, openly and honestly but no matter how you plead or try to reason with you, he believes you need to be down here forever. Away from the outside world that would care so little for the death of you and move on like nothing were to happen. He wanted you safe, around and immortalized; he'll never forget you.

He provides you with an array of pleasantries that would have no chance of harming you. He’s damn near baby proofed the small cave but he ensures it's as comfortable as it can be, bringing you three meals a day, all of your favorite drinks and snacks even if you fight him or give him the silent treatment he’s never neglectful of your needs. He believes one day you’ll come to see how much he did for you and understand he just wants you safe.

Misc stuff

He’s a clean freak and refuses to let you sleep on dirt or muck, he’ll thoroughly wash the moss through and treat it so it feels like you're walking on clouds without feeling any slime, having bugs, or being dirty. It's so well taken care of that they look fake.

He hates crabs. He hates those distasteful bottom feeders, their disgusting pinchers and empty eyes. He’s sure to keep them as far away as he can, if startled by one he slams it with his tail with enough force to turn it into little pieces and he’s still frightened by them despite the power difference.

[ddarker-dreams]

Debt Collection. Yan Childe x Reader [SMUT]

Tags: Mild dubcon ?, hate fucking, power bottoming, creampie, dirty talk, AFAB reader and degradation.  Word count: 1.6k. Note: this could be considered apart of contractual obligations universe or something on the side. i’m not sure where it’d officially line up in the stories tl, i just wanted to write some sin .

This is the only plausible option left.

That’s what you told yourself when you walked into his office, what you told you told yourself when removing your clothes and when you climbed into his lap. He called it special treatment. Whispering huskily into your ear that you should be grateful he likes you so much, that anyone else would be dead in your position. The Fatui are not known for their leniency with debts. People go missing, their neighbors too frightened to question what might’ve happened to them.

Childe seems happy enough to remind you of this like it might make you feel better somehow. It doesn’t. All you want is for the stress on your business to be alleviated, for things to go back to how they used to be before him, even if it is wishful thinking.

Whatever his feelings are for you, you don’t care in the slightest. You’re doing this to get it over with.

“Mm, just like that,” Childe hisses out through clenched teeth, fingernails digging harshly into either side of your waist. “Take all of me in.”

Everything is so warm. His fevered touches, your face, every inch of your bare body. You do as he tells you, biting your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Sinking down onto his dick, you despise the lascivious noises it makes from how terribly wet he’s made you. Childe’s gaze never falters from your own, watching unblinkingly as you take in every inch of his throbbing length. His grip on you tightens, steadying your trembling body, harsh pants leaving both of you.

You’re grateful for his lack of comments, already humiliated enough as is. The silence doesn’t last when he fills you completely, your walls slowly adjusting to his length. Even with the proper preparation, his considerable size causes mild pain. Each deep breath you take does little to steady your nerves. The weight of Childe’s stare is impossible to ignore.

Why is he looking at you like this? Why can’t he just silently get off and let it be over with? The passion burning in his ocean blue eyes is unmistakable, the waves of it threatening to drown you.

“Good girl,” he exhales, affectionately running a hand through your tousled hair. You let him do as he pleases. The odd intimacy behind what’s meant to be a tumble in the dark isn’t lost on you. “Now, you remember what I wanted, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, I do.” You confirm breathlessly, more blood rushing to your face upon remembering his vulgar instructions. Childe cups your face in his hands and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, pulling on your bottom lip with his teeth when he moves away. This is the first time he’s kissed you, you realize, lips tingling. He does it with such ease, as if the two of you were lovers. The thought alone is enough to make bile rise in your throat.

“I’m afraid my memory is failing me. Be a dear and remind me of what you’re going to do.”

Of course, he’d make this as difficult as he can for you, you shouldn’t have expected anything different. The lascivious words discussed during your agreement reverberate in your head, and you push past your hesitations to repeat them. “I’m going… going to fuck myself on you.”

You feel his cock twitch excitedly inside you and shiver. He urges you on, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And?”

“And… I’ll make you cum inside of me.”

“Get to it then.” Childe leans back into his chair, pleased so far with your submission. You take a deep breath, raising your hips up, wincing at how he stretches out your walls. When nothing but the tip of his dick remains inside you, you slowly sink onto him again, earning a low noise of approval. He really isn’t going to help you, is he? While full of him, you gyrate your hips, getting yourself more accustomed to his size. Childe’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, looking down at you through thick eyelashes.

“I didn’t expect for you to take your time like this,” he chuckles breathlessly, voice guttural and husky. “Not that I’m, ngh, complaining, I could watch this all day.”

You furrow your eyebrows, indignant at his comments. That’s the last thing you wanted...! You wanted to get this over with, to push past the embarrassment he’s inflicted on you. Spurred on by his comments, you raise and lower your hips onto his cock faster, the sensation of being stretched less painful than before. Childe lets out a breathy moan at your increased pace. No longer willing to hold himself back, he thrusts his hips up, throwing his head back at how good you feel around him. You can already tell the area he’s gripping will leave bruises. Hopefully, they can be covered up so questions don’t arise.

“Do you… do you know how much I think about you?” Childe breathes out, each word more strained than the last. The sound of skin on skin fills his office, a far cry from the normal business that goes on in here. Not that he cares in the slightest. You don’t want to know the answer, honestly, but he gives it to you regardless.

“Mm, I’ve thought about it even when we talk,” Childe confesses, head throwing back as he bucks himself up to meet your hips. “What you’d feel like… all the cute little noises you’d make when I made you pleasure yourself on my dick.”

Childe’s words strike a chord deep within you, your face getting even redder than before. You feel yourself getting closer to a release and feel frustrated by your lack of self-restraint. Childe’s chest rumbles with a low moan at how your walls tighten around him. He’s half wanting to fuck you against his desk, losing any shreds of patience that he’s somehow managed to hold on to. But knowing that you’re working oh so hard to make him cum is too tantalizing to pass up. He sees your reluctance fade into desire, no longer able to deny carnal pleasure. You’re enjoying this as much as he is but just don’t want to admit it.

He leans forward, wrapping his soft lips around your nipple and biting it gently, laughing breathlessly at the noise you let out. Childe’s hand that was on your hip goes to your chest, greedily playing with the soft mounds of flesh. He adores how you taste, how lovely and exposed you are before him now. All of the efforts that went into procuring you earned him such a ravishing sight.

Spurred on by his touches, you can no longer hold yourself back. Your movements get sloppier as you chase your own release, chest bouncing as you hold onto him for balance. Childe lets out a content noise at this. His strength is commendable, your hazy mind notices, as now he’s the one lifting you up and bringing you back down onto his cock. Strength all but gone, you lean forward, hoping to muffle your moans against his glistening neck. Your walls clench around him, a high pitch noise leaving your lips when you cum.

Childe wants nothing more than for you to remember this. For you to remember him. “That’s... right, [First]. Don’t ever forget that I’m the one who made you feel this good.”

You can barely register his words, mind far too foggy to think of anything. Curses start to leave his lips, from a foreign tongue which you assume to be his native language. His cock thrusts upwards inside you as Childe desperately seeks out his own release. Your energy is all but gone, leading you to feel silently grateful that he’s capable of getting himself off inside you without much help. A surprised yelp leaves your lips as he tugs your hair back, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“I want you to see this,” Childe manages to get out through gritted teeth. A throaty groan leaves him, hips stuttering. “Watch me as I cum inside you.” 

Childe releases himself inside you, thrusting up as far as he can before stilling himself. You feel his hot seed fill you up, Childe intent on dumping all of himself as far inside you as he can. He pulls you further down onto him, head thrown back and panting as your walls milk his throbbing cock. You wince at the foreign feeling, the implications of him cumming inside you nerve-wracking. Finally, he lifts his head, a slight flush on his own face. 

The room is silent, save for your panting. He keeps one hand on your already bruised hip and moves the other to cup your face. Childe’s eyes soften as you try your best to regain yourself. 

It feels hot, sticky, and humiliating. You look around, looking anywhere that isn’t at Childe. He lets out an airy laugh at your obvious embarrassment, much to your displeasure, and you shoot him a hopefully threatening look. It has the opposite effect as intended. Childe coos at the endearing sight, tracing his fingers over your body.

“That’s... all you wanted, right? Can I go now?” 

Childe shakes his head and you frown. “Mm... not yet, no. I’d say this only covers a portion of the debt, sweetheart.” 

You knit your eyebrows together, indignation flaring, and go to slap him against your better judgment. Childe snickers, catching your wrist with ease and places unexpectedly soft kisses against your knuckles.

“Relax, relax, I was kidding,” Childe winks and you roll your eyes. “Just know this won’t be the last time I fuck you.” 

“You’re... utterly shameless.” 

“Maybe I am, but what can I say? Now that I’ve gotten a taste of you, I might just be addicted.” 

[watchmegetobsessed]

ALL IS FAIR

a/n: woohoo!! finally a harry fic! lol sorry i got very into marvel these past weeks but im finally bringing you some harry content! this one was originally requested by an anon sometime and then we kept talking about it until i actually got around to write it! hopefully you’ll like it and if you do, please like and reblog!

pairing: ceo!Harry x ceo!plussize!reader

warning: sexual content

word count: 16.7k

masterlist

“Stop being such a stuck up dick, it’s your birthday, bro!”

Harry rolls his eyes at his friend who walks into his penthouse as if he owned. Niall Horan was so well-known in Harry’s building that he could have easily walked into any homes in the tower and people would still welcome him warmly. It might have a few things to do with the fact that half of the residents in the Compass Tower are women who are hopelessly in love with either Niall or Harry, hoping for a chance to drag either of them into their bed one day. They have a lot more chance to do that with the Irish bloke than with Mr. Styles. Not that Harry doesn’t find them attractive, but he is not the type to have one night stands, something his friend gives him quite a lot of shit for.

“Would you fuck off for twenty more minutes?” Harry sighs, shooting him a look as he covers the speaker of his phone, in the middle of a call.

“You have ten minutes and we are leaving. I’m not letting you work on the night of your thirtieth birthday!” Niall warns him before walking into the kitchen to roam the always full, neatly stocked fridge.

As much as Niall Horan comes off as an irresponsible cocky child, he is quite the businessman himself as well. As the Lawyer of one third of New York’s most influential people, he surely doesn’t have to worry about making a living, enjoying his luxurious apartment a few streets away from Harry’s place on the Upper East Side. It’s not as expensive and impressive as Harry’s penthouse on the top of the tower his father built in the heart of the posh neighborhood most people only know from TV shows, but he couldn’t complain.

“Another designer refused to sign with us, H. We are running out of options,” Lambert’s voice rings through the phone as Harry turns to the floor to ceiling window, staring out to the city skyline in front of him.

“We have quite a few left, right?” Harry asks clenching his jaw.

“Yeah, but I heard that Cometa is planning on announcing something big next week so I think a lot of them are waiting for that to happen.”

“Do you think it’s another collab? But they just had fucking Chanel have a line sold through them!” Harry growls, his blood boiling at even just the thought.

When it comes to fashion in the virtual world, there are two businesses that totally dominate the industry. In the men’s wear, Twisted is definitely the number one selling place. The idea started off as just a freshman school project that originally wanted to sell tech stuff, but a few years into the project Harry met Lambert who was already a rising star in the fashion industry and they joined forces, creating the most classic yet affordable and user friendly online empire: Twisted. Though Twisted mostly features men’s clothing, they’ve been trying to venture to the field of women’s fashion, but it hasn’t been as easy as they thought it to be. And the reason for that is Cometa.

Cometa was originally a website where anyone could sell their own clothes, make their online wardrobe sale. But eventually the business grew itself out and stepped up a few levels, collaborating with various designers and brands, selling exclusive lines and a highly praised seasonal variety four times a year, earning a well-deserved top spot in the online fashion industry. It’s hard to compete with what Julia Bianchi built up through sweat and blood and Harry Styles has been working on stepping up to be a major competition for Cometa in women’s fashion, with not much luck so far.

To top the cake with a delicious looking cherry, Cometa has been trying to set feet into men’s fashion as well in the recent years, bringing out several lines with some mentionable designers, but they never made it be as big as Twisted. The two businesses have been trying to outdo each other for about a decade now, with not much luck so far and Harry’s patience is running low by now.

“I don’t know what it is, but keep an eye out. I’ll call you on Monday, alright?” Lambert sighs through the line.

“Okay, thank you,” Harry nods, feeling a little defeated.

“And happy birthday, man. Go and celebrate!” he chuckles, making Harry’s lips curl up as well.

“Thanks, have a good weekend,” Harry bids his goodbye before the call ends.

Wandering into the kitchen Harry finds Niall with the thickest ham and cheese sandwich between his hands, sitting at the kitchen island.

“So where exactly are we going tonight?” he asks, grabbing himself a granola bar as he joins the Irish lad on the stool next to him.

“Oh, that’s a surprise,” he grins, mouth full as he chews mercilessly. Harry grimaces, not sure how this is the same man who can convince a judge about basically anything, wearing his designer suits, putting on an intimidating and serious act for his cases.

“I have a switch,” Niall once told him when he asked how he does it. “I just turn it off when I’m off the clock.”

“You know I hate surprises,” Harry informs him matter-of-factly, but Niall doesn’t seem to be bothered by his comment.

“You’re thirty now, no one cares what you hate.”

“Says who?” Harry huffs.

“Me,” he grins, making Harry roll his eyes.

The bass is throbbing, red tinted lights illuminating the exclusive bar in the heart of Manhattan where Niall chose to gather some of Harry’s close friends to celebrate his thirtieth birthday. Sitting in the leather couches at a restricted area at the back of the place, they are hidden enough not to draw too much attention to themselves but still feel like they are part of the party.

“Cheers to three decades of this cocky motherfucker!” Niall beams as their glasses meet in the middle, everyone laughing and wishing Harry a happy birthday before they all chug their drinks.

Harry is not necessarily the type of person to enjoy going out too often, but he admits it’s been a while since the last time he let loose. It feels nice to have the evening to himself, leaving the business behind for just a couple of hours before he returns to his busy everydays.

Though the occasion is Harry’s birthday, Niall is surely enjoying the evening a tad bit more than his friend. After Harry sees him send down three tequilas in a row he realizes it’s not gonna end well if he doesn’t get some water into his system as well. Excusing himself from the group he heads to the bar, pushing his way through the dancing bodies until he finally reaches his destination.

Given how it’s a Friday evening, the place is packed and he waits in the line patiently while the bartender is fixing up the order of a group of girls a few stools down from Harry. Leaning onto the counter Harry runs his gaze over the dancing crowd, tapping his fingers against the surface to the beat, even bopping his head a little when he feels a push from behind him.

“Oh, sorry!” A female voice calls out and as he turns around he spots the owner of it, a young woman, her curvy body wrapped in a tight mini dress that leaves very little to Harry’s imagination as his eyes run up and down her figure. He has never seen a curvy girl as confident as her, she is radiating, drawing every male’s attention to herself like she is feeding off the hungry stares and dirty thoughts birthed by her.

Her eyes meet Harry’s gaze and the sly smirk that tugs on her perfectly shaped lips gives it away that she is not that sorry to be bumping into him.

“No worries,” is all he manages to say, the urge to drop to his knees right then and there stronger than anything he has ever had to fight.

“He won’t notice you,” she tells him and his eyebrows knit together in confusion. “The bartender. If you just stand there like that… he will never come here,” she explains.

“I’m not sure I have what catches his eyes,” he jokes, making her laugh and he swears his stomach drops at the heavenly sound.

“May I?” she arches an eyebrow and Harry nods, letting her step in front of him. He stands tall above her, eyes fixed on her figure as she leans onto the counter, the marble pushing her breasts up just enough to spark the bartender’s fantasies when he glances in her way. She waves at him with a charming smile and a moment later the guy is standing in front of her, ready to please her in any way she desires.

“Three vodka sodas and…” she turns in Harry’s way, her lips slightly parted and his breath hitches in his throat. “What did you want, handsome?”

“Just, uhh—Just two water, please.”

Her eyebrows rise, but she doesn’t comment on it, just adds the two water to her order. The bartender nods and disappears to fix up her drinks. Harry takes a deep breath and sticking his hand out to her he introduces himself.

“I’m Harry, by the way.” She takes his hand, shaking it firmly.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you, Harry. Are you here alone?”

“Um, no. I’m here with a few friends,” he replies nodding towards the back of the place. “Are you here with someone?”

Please don’t say your boyfriend, please!

“A few of my girlfriends,” she smiles, brushing her hair over her shoulder, flaunting a better look at her naked neck and just one glimpse is sending a whirl of dirty thoughts into Harry’s mind. He wonders how soft her skin would feel under his lips, what her moans would sound as he sucks on it, leaving a mark on her, letting every man in the house know that he made her feel good.

“Are you guys celebrating something?” Y/N asks, a knowing smile on her lips as she most definitely saw Harry staring at her.

“Actually, yeah,” he chuckles a little nervously. “It’s my birthday.” Y/N’s eyes brighten up as she beams at him.

“Really? Happy birthday then!”

“Thank you,” he smiles shyly. “Are you guys celebrating something too?”

“Well, I…” she starts, her thoughts wandering off for a second before she continues. “I kind of got promoted,” she explains and Harry smiles down at her warmly.

“Congrats then!”

The bartender returns with the drinks and she is already about to get her card from her little clutch when Harry pulls his card out, handing it over to the guy behind the bar.

“Birthday boys shouldn’t pay for others,” she smirks, but doesn’t try to fight him that hard.

“You can pay me back later,” Harry shrugs with a suggestive smirk on his lips. He doesn’t want to part ways with her, but she is obviously expected to be back with her friends and he needs to get back to Niall as well before he absolutely loses control. Stepping closer to him, Y/N slides a hand up his chest, her palm resting at the base of his neck as she leans to his ear.

“Save me a dance, birthday boy?” she murmurs into his ear, her lips brushing against him for a split second before she steps back, grabs her drinks and winking at him one last time she disappears from the bar. Harry stands there for a few more seconds before the bartender hands him back his card and snatching the waters from the bar he heads back to his friends.

 Luckily, Niall is slowing down a little, The water does him well and Harry finally doesn’t feel like he’ll have to take care of him, dragging him home once the night is over. Sitting by the table Harry is trying to focus on the conversation, but his gaze keeps wandering over to the dance floor, looking for one particular curvy figure in the sea of dancing bodies.

It takes him some time to spot her, but when he does, he is not able to tear his eyes away from her.

She is almost perfectly in the middle with her friends surrounding her, lips and shoulders swaying to the rhythm perfectly. He catches her chug down the last sips of her drink before she disregards the glass and gets back to dancing. Watching her every move intently, Harry feels his lips slightly part at the sight of this angel who is for sure a devil in the sheets. He can’t stop himself fantasizing about what it would feel like to dig his fingers into her thighs, kiss her neck, her cleavage that’s on show now, how her curves would fit into his hands perfectly. He wants to praise this woman, make her feel good and not just because he wants to be selfless and please her, but also because seeing this woman reach her high because of him would be the biggest ego boost for him and he just needs that.

“Go dance with her!” Niall wiggles his eyebrows at him when he catches Harry staring at her.

“What? No, I’m not a dancer,” he shakes his head, shifting his eyes away from the dancing goddess on the dance floor.

“Oh come on, don’t be a pussy!”

“I’m not a pussy, I just—“

“You’re a pussy. I saw her looking in your way as well, she wants your dick!”

“Jesus, Niall!” Harry whines rolling his eyes. He doesn’t like it when he gets so vulgar, but luckily no one heard their conversation. Glancing back in Y/N’s way Harry sees how men are eyeing him, probably building up the courage to go up to her and that has his blood boiling. He needs to be the one to touch her.

Chugging down the rest of his drink he snaps the glass on the table before standing from his seat, ignoring Niall’s cheering as he makes his way into the crowd.

Harry didn’t lie when he said he is not a dancer, he feels uncomfortable, awkward and uncoordinated most of the times he tries to dance, but he is pushing all of those to the back of his mind for now as his eyes are set on one person in the crowd.

When Y/N spots the man approaching her, she can’t push a pleased smile off her lips, slowing her movements down as Harry finally reaches her, leaning closer to her ear so she can hear his voice over the music.

“Here to collect that dance,” he smugly tells her, making her laugh, though the music is too loud to let him hear her. She just nods and turning around she presses herself up against him, her backside fitting his front perfectly. Harry’s hand snake around her waist, his large palm smoothly moving through the silky fabric of her dress as they start moving together.

She is intoxicating, makes Harry feel like he is some kind of horny teenager, like he hasn’t dealt with women before, but in a way, she makes all of his past flings appear to be only girls. Her confidence in her own body is easily one of her best traits, the way she handles herself, moves her body, the look in her eyes, Harry is getting drunk on just watching her and now he is able to touch her as well.

When he feels himself getting hard in his pants, he knows he should be at least a slightly bit embarrassed by himself, but as Y/N turns around in his arms and he sees the pleased smirk on her lips, the feeling vanishes in a heartbeat. She wraps her arms around his neck as she pulls him close, her lips brushing against his lips.

“Enjoying yourself, birthday boy?” she prompts before pressing a kiss to the soft skin under his ear and he can’t hold a growl back. The friction is almost unbearable, as his hands slide lower on her back, stopping on her ass, he knows he won’t be able to control himself any longer. Luckily, he is not the only one having this inner fight.

Snapping around Y/N grabs his hand and starts pulling him through the crowd towards the hallway of the bathrooms. He follows her eagerly, lucky for them, the club doesn’t have restrooms with several stalls, but single bathrooms with a lot more comfort and privacy. Just what they need right now.

They find the third bathroom empty, pushing their way inside and locking the door before Harry pushes her up against it the moment it’s just the two of them, their mouths hungrily meeting in the middle. He almost grunts against her lips, she tastes even better than he imagined and the way her tongue is the first one to come into action has got his mind blown. His hands roam up her body, running up all her curves until they reach her face and he cups it in his palms, pressing his hips against her. She moans against his mouth when his hard cock pokes against her, both of them desperate to take it further.

Tumbling further into the small bathroom, he helps her up to the counter next to the sing, her legs instantly opening for him, her tiny dress rolling up her thighs, revealing her clothed sex. Harry eagerly kisses his way down her neck and chest, her skin feeling so smooth under his lips. His fingers hook under the thin straps of her dress, tugging them down so he can push the dress past her full breasts and thank God she is not wearing a bra underneath!

“Fuck me, you are so hot!” he breathes out, making her chuckle at his reaction.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” she cockily answers before Harry’s mouth attaches to her nipple, his hand working on her other breasts before he switches.

He quickly gets down on his knees, pushing her underwear to the side before his lips and tongue meet her sensitive clit.

“Oh shit!” she moans, a hand coming to tangle in his hair while she tries to hold herself steady with leaning on the other one behind her. There’s no time for teasing now and they both know that.

She is so lost in the experience, Harry is licking and sucking just the right spots and she tries to close her legs, locking his head between her thighs. His arms come to curl around them, ring clad fingers digging into her flesh and the situation might be a little suffocating for him, but he doesn’t mind it a bit. In fact, if he died this way, he would die a happy man.

She doesn’t let him finish what he started, pulling him up, his lips still glistening from her own juices as she kisses him messily, wiggling herself out of her underwear while he undoes his pants as well.

“Shit, do you have a condom?” he breathes out when his palm wraps around his throbbing cock. She nods, reaching for her clutch she dropped to the counter and digging into it she grabs the package, smacking it against his chest playfully. “Were you planning to do this tonight?” he grins cockily as he rips the package open and starts rolling it down his hard length.

“No, I’m just smart, unlike you,” she retorts, her sass dripping from her tone and it just riles him up even more.

Grabbing her thighs he yanks her to the edge of the counter, a gasp leaving her plump lips as she tries to find her balance quickly.

“Don’t be a brat,” he growl against her lips before kissing her, while he lines himself up with her, the head already pushing in.

“Then fuck me, birthday boy,” she challenges him again and it’s the last straw.

Harry slams into her, both of them moaning at the sensation before he starts thrusting in a fast pace, needing all the friction he can make to get them to finish as soon as possible. Y/N’s head falls back as she holds onto the back of his neck, her other hand on the counter behind her again and Harry glances down, watching her breasts bounce every time he rails into her, slamming his whole length into her every time their hips meet.

She reaches for one of his hands that’s holding her thigh and she boldly brings it to her core, tapping his fingers to her clit, letting him know that she wants some extra effort. Harry doesn’t say it, but he is blown how she didn’t just do it herself, she made him do it. It’s got to be one of the hottest things he has ever seen.

“Fuck, go harder!” she gasps, wrapping her legs around his waist as he picks the pace up, feeling his orgasm building rapidly with each thrust.

They both are a whimpering, moaning mess, the bass of the music is thumping outside and for a moment, Harry feels like he is finally living his life to the fullest.

“I’m gonna cum!” she breathes out, his name falling from her lips moaning after that and when she pulls him down to kiss him, biting into his bottom lip and tugging it, he loses himself.

He feels himself jerking inside her, still sliding in and out of her as he grunts, releasing himself into the condom. He flicks his fingers on her clit at the same time, creating just enough friction to push her over the edge as well. He is coming off his own high when her walls tighten around his cock, dragging his orgasm out even longer as she basically screams, gasping for air, riding her orgasm out to the last bit.

Leaning down he kisses her again though they are still panting, this time making it a lot less rushed than the time their lips met for the first time. Her legs fall from around his waist and he pulls out, both of them cleaning themselves up in the aftermath of their little session.

“I know this was quite rushed and all that, but can I have your number?” he asks, even feeling a little nervous. She puts her underwear back on, smoothing her dress down as she smiles up at him, cupping his face in her palm.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to skip on that,” she tells him simply, shocking him for sure.

“D-Do you have a boyfriend or something?”

“No,” she shakes her head and now Harry is confused.

“You didn’t enjoy it?” he then asks, trying his best to figure out the reason behind the rejection.

“I did. But it was a one time thing. If it’s supposed to turn into more…” she sighs, grabbing her clutch from the counter. “Then I’ll leave it to fate if we ever meet again,” she shrugs before turning around she just unlocks the door and walks out, leaving Harry stand there in complete and utter shock.

This is definitely a first for him, a woman who doesn’t want to see him again. He is not that egoistic to think that everyone is in love with him, but he never had an encounter similar to this. Not after the most amazing sex ever.

Harry fixes himself up, still not believing she walked out that easily, but there’s not much he can do now. Walking back to his table, he acts like nothing happened and when his eyes scan over the crowd again, he can’t see her anymore.

Harry lets out a tired sigh when Zayn, head of the graphic design department walks into his office with a familiar brown paper bag with the logo of Harry’s favorite Chinese restaurant.

“Has it started already?” Zayn asks, though glancing at the big screen on the wall he can see the stream is still waiting to be started.

“No, I’ve been staring at it for like twenty minutes,” Harry grumbles, pushing himself away from his desk to join Zayn on the couch in front of the screen as he unpacks the food. “What do you think it’s going to be?”

Today is the day of Cometa’s big press conference and no one knows what they are about to announce. It’s been keeping Harry on the edge for the past few days, because whatever it is, it has got to be major. Julia Bianchi is not the type of person to hold press conferences, she is a private person who has managed to keep most of her life behind closed doors. That’s something Harry admires in the woman even though they are competitors in the business. He can relate to wanting to keep her life just for herself, he has been doing the same thing. No public appearances, no lengthy interviews, no photoshoots. He likes to let his work talk for himself and it’s proved to be a successful move so far.

“I don’t know, but I hope they don’t suddenly announce a full graphic makeover right before our update,” Zayn chuckles. He has been working on an entirely new appearance for the website these past weeks and it’s supposed to go live sometime later in the month. A change for Cometa would totally throw their attempt off, making them look like they are just copying Julia’s move.

They eat and wait for the stream to start when the screen finally comes alive. There’s an empty stage shown with just two mic stands in the middle and nothing really happens for a few minutes before clapping is heard from behind the camera and Julia finally walks on the stage.

The woman is a real diva. Wearing a matching pant suit with bold floral print all over it, her short hair is neatly straightened into a bob cut, her red lips smiling lightly as she waves around in the room. Julia has been in the fashion industry for almost three decades now and she surely made a name for herself, sitting front row in every fashion show she attends, her words on any new trend being basically the standard.

Stepping to one of the mics, she clears her throat as the clapping dies down and her calm, gentle voice rings through the speakers.

“Welcome, everyone, thank you for coming, as you might already know I’m Julia Bianchi, head of Cometa, the world’s best online women’s fashion house.”

Harry leans back in his seat, eyes fixed on the woman on the screen as he is patiently waiting to hear what she’s got for the people this time.

“I’ve spent twenty-seven wonderful years in the business, building my own one for the past two decades. I fell in love with fashion as a child and moved to Milan to study designing from the bests. Though designing has always and will always hold a special place in my heart, I saw an opportunity in the early years for a brand that would hold together every other brand in the industry, bringing it to everyone’s home thanks to the rapidly developing technology. Cometa has always been my little baby and I’m proud of everything I achieved as head of such a great company.”

Harry realizes what it’s about before Julia could even say the words herself. The phrasing, the nostalgic tone, it’s all adding up to the obvious: Julia is about to announce her retirement.

“I gave the best years of my life for this company and I regret nothing, but recently I’ve realized that it is time for me to slow down for a little bit and enjoy a life that’s not filled with work anymore, and spend more time with my beloved husband, Fabio and my family who supported me on my long way here. Therefore, I am now announcing it with an aching heart and a lot of excitement as well that I am stepping down from my role as CEO of Cometa. I might be leaving now, but my business will not. So it is a pleasure to introduce you the person who will carry my legacy on, my amazing niece, the absolutely most perfect woman to carry on the work I started, Y/N Y/L/N.”

The moment another woman comes into the picture Harry almost chokes on his own saliva, seeing the same curves he had his fingers dug into last Friday. Y/N smiles and waves around as she steps to the other mic next to her aunt, exchanging a short look with her before turning towards the people in the room and the camera that’s streaming the event.

“Dude, you alright?” Zayn asks, patting Harry’s back a few times as he is still struggling to breathe normally.

He refuses to accept that the woman he fucked in a bathroom on his birthday, the one that made him moan like never before, is the same woman who is going to take over his biggest competitor.

“This has got to be a joke,” he breathes out with teary eyes from all the coughing.

“It is an honor to be here,” Y/N starts speaking as the clapping dies down once again and the two men are staring at the screen. “Just like to be the one to step into the perfectly stylish shoes of my aunt. I hope to live up to not just her and everyone else’s expectations, but also to mine as well. I grew up watching my aunt build up this empire with basically dust so to be the person to take her place is a dream come true. I promise to keep the quality the same and work on improving Cometa to its possible best while being in charge.”

As she finishes talking, questions are thrown in her way, but Harry doesn’t pay attention any longer. Standing up he walks to the window, staring out to the city as he chews on his bottom lip anxiously.

“What the fuck is your problem, H? It wasn’t as bad as we expected, right?” Zayn questions.

“It’s fucking worse!” he snaps turning around. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“Would you just tell me what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that… I told you about what… happened on my birthday.”

“The bathroom fuck, oh yeah,” Zayn chuckles with a playful shine in his eyes.

“Well, that woman… the woman I fucked was her.” Zayn stays silent for a moment before he turns towards the screen, eyeing the woman on the stage as she is still answering questions, standing confidently in her tight, black dress and red heels.

“You fucked Julia Bianchi’s niece? And she is now taking over Cometa?” he raises his eyebrows at Harry who just nods, pressing his lips together into a thin line. “And she is also the one who didn’t give you her number?”

“Don’t… bring that up. But yes, it’s her.”

Zayn starts laughing, clearly finding Harry’s misery entertaining, but Harry doesn’t feel like taking it that easy. He wonders if she knew who he was, if she did it on purpose or it was fate’s horrible joke on both of them.

“Ah man, that charity event on Saturday will be one hell of a show then!” Zayn points it out and Harry’s face falls. He totally forgot about the charity event he was invited to, one that would have the biggest names in the fashion industry together in a ball room to raise money for a chosen good cause. It happens every year and it’s a major event, the perfect place to network and also to see your biggest enemies. That means that Harry will see Y/N again in a few short days and if he is being honest… he is not ready to face her, not after the information he learned today. Sighing he steps to the minibar he insisted on having in his office and though he never drinks during the day, he now thinks that now might be an exception. He pours himself some whiskey and before he chugs it down at one go, he lets out a long, tired sigh.

“That’s just my luck…”

Leslie helps you with the zipper of your dress, the silky, red fabric hugging your body like a second skin. She smoothes the wrinkles out while you fix the straps, staring back at yourself in the mirror with judgment. You need to look perfect, this is going to be your first time appearing at an event as CEO of Cometa, your big entrance into the industry, you can’t let anything go wrong.

“You look gorgeous, babe,” Leslie smiles at you, bringing your hair behind your shoulders as her eyes meet yours in the mirror. Leslie might be your assistant, but she is a lot more than that. You’ve been friends for almost a decade and when she lost her job a few years ago you didn’t hesitate to offer her a spot next to you. You wouldn’t be here without her, she doesn’t try to use her privilege of being your friend to not do the work, she is always on top of her game and you’ll always be grateful for her to not make it awkward at all.

“I think you need some diamonds though,” she winks at you, stepping to the table where all kinds of jewelry is sprawled out. She reaches for a simple one, not too much, quite elegant and you nod as she holds it up for you. Walking behind you she brings it around your neck, the diamond brilliantly sitting on your chest now, giving that little extra shine to your outfit.

“You’ll make every man fall in love with you,” she smiles at you and breathing out you nod, hoping to believe that everything will go perfectly.

While you make a few last minute calls she gets dressed as well before the car arrives for the two of you. She is wearing a less daring but still beautiful black dress, her curly hair pinned up into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, her heavily freckled face bright from her happy smile as the two of you make your way to the event.

“I know it’s ridiculous, but I tried to memorize the faces and names from the guest list,” she grins at you, earning an eyeroll.

“Les, I told you, this is not The Devil Wears Prada,” you chuckle softly. She is obsessed with that movie and hasn’t shut up about feeling like she is literally living in it since your aunt has shared her plans with you about your future position last year.

“I know, but it might be impressive if you already knew everyone!”

You have to give that to her, it would earn you a few good points if you knew the names already, you’re just still nervous about the whole thing. So many things could go wrong and you want it to be perfect.

 At first you feel intimidated by all the influential people around you. Everyone here is one of the bests in their own field and you feel like an impostor, but then you remind yourself that you earned your spot. Your aunt wouldn’t have given you the company if she didn’t trust you entirely with it. You worth no less than anyone else in this ball room and that reminds you that… you’re that bitch.

Leslie’s knowledge of names actually comes handy. You love seeing people get shocked when they try to introduce themselves to you, but you already greet them saying their names. It earns you some appreciative looks as you make your way around the room. Everything is going smooth, right until you spot one particular man in the crowd.

You’re in a little circle with a few designers when your gaze falls on Harry who is standing across the room, talking to two men. The champagne almost slips from your hand when you realize it’s him.

“Leslie,” you grab her wrist catching her attention. “Les, who’s the man in the blue Gucci suit?” you ask in a whisper and she follows your gaze, finding the man in talk.

“Oh, that’s Harry Styles, head of Twisted.”

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath as you quickly excuse yourself from the conversation and head out to the balcony to get some fresh air before you faint right on the spot.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Leslie follows you.

“I messed up,” you squeak as you step outside, the chilly evening air hitting your uncovered skin immediately. “I messed up big time!”

“What? Why? What happened?”

Stepping to the edge, you wrap your hands around the railing, staring out into the void for a moment. Leslie Stands beside you, quite puzzled about your sudden panic.

“Remember the guy I told you about from Friday night?” you ask, keeping your voice down even though there’s no one really around. Leslie nods. “Well… he was the guy.”

Leslie glances back inside and then at you before her eyes widen and lips part in shock.

“You fucked Harry Styles at a club’s bathroom?!” she whisper-yells at you and you feel like a teenager who is getting scolded.

“I didn’t know who he was! And I genuinely think he didn’t know me either, how could he?! But now he is here and… Oh God, this is so bad,” you whine, your head dropping backwards as you let out a frustrated growl.

“Okay, don’t panic. Maybe… maybe he doesn’t remember you.”

“You can’t make me believe he doesn’t remember me after fucking me on a counter,” you tell her giving her a look.

“Alright, alright. Then… you just have to suck it up. It’s not like you can unfuck him,” she shrugs and though you know she is right, you just wish you could leave right now.

You never planned on seeing him again. Your bullshit speech about letting fate decide it was just an excuse to not give him your number. You didn’t want to because you thought he is not the kind of man that would be good for you. From his look you thought that he was either a fuckboy, not willing to commit to anything serious, or the kind of man that seems all nice and respectful at first but then turns out to be a total asshole and you’ve had enough of those in your twenty-eight years.

Soon enough you head back as the auction is about to start. Luckily, your seat is far away from Harry and it seems like he hasn’t noticed you yet. Though you wish to keep it that way, you can feel it coming already.

The auction goes by fast, you buy a new painting that will look amazing in your living room and almost twice as much money is raised through the evening that was the goal. You leave Leslie behind at the table as you go to the bar to get yourself another drink, probably your last one of the evening if you don’t want to end up making a fool out of yourself.

Patiently waiting at the bar you’re already thinking about watching Grey’s Anatomy when you get back and out of this tight dress. You look hot, but it’s not the comfiest look, if you’re being honest. There’s only one more person in front of you when you feel a little tap on your shoulder and turning around your stomach drops when you see the man you’ve been trying to avoid all evening.

“Fancy seeing you here, Y/N,” he nods shortly, his expression is quite blank, but he is definitely not shocked to see you. You tighten your jaw before looking away from him, squinting your eyes a bit.

“You don’t seem surprised,” you point out.

“I was kind of expecting to see you here tonight.”

“So you knew who I was all along?” you snap at him, but he shakes his head.

“Not until the stream this week. I was pretty shocked when you walked on stage.”

Nodding shortly you brush your hair over your shoulder and you catch Harry glimpsing down your body, but decide not to comment on it.

“Did you know who I was?” he then asks, digging his hands into his pockets.

“No, I wouldn’t sleep with my biggest competitor willingly.”

“Just from the abrupt ending I had a feeling that you might have known me.”

“Just because a woman doesn’t throws herself into your arms after a fuck, doesn’t mean she had ulterior motives,” you scoff. “Get off your high horse,” you add before turning back towards the bar so you can order your drink. Unfortunately, Harry doesn’t want the conversation to end just yet. His hand is laid flat on the counter in front of you as he stands on your right, a little too close to your liking. You can smell the expensive cologne on him, the same that hit your nose on Friday as well and suddenly your body is betraying you.

However crazy the situation is, you can’t deny that he gave you one of the best times last Friday. Men you dealt with were more concerned about their own pleasure and most of them didn’t even get you to finish. But Harry made it happen so fast and didn’t even bitch about it when you made him rub your clit. He just obeyed like a grownup man who is willingly take care of his partner. That almost made you change your mind about leaving, but once you came down from cloud nine, you returned to your original plan.

But not as he is standing in front of you and you can smell him, your senses trick you into thinking that you’re in that bathroom again, almost aching for him to touch you the way he did then. He leans closer to your ear as he speaks up again.

“Leave the drink, dance with me,” he tells you as the bartender places your drink in front of you. You debate what to do before grabbing the drink and chugging it down in one go. You’ll need the alcohol if you are about to dance with your enemy.

Harry takes you to the dance floor in the middle of the ball room, one of his hands finds the small of your back while the other takes your hand as the two of you start swaying to the gentle music played by the band.

“Your aunt set my company back in women’s fashion every time I tried to take a step forward. Are you going to do the same?”

“She didn’t do anything to set you back but to build her own company. Not everything is about you.”

“You sound a little naïve, Love. It’s pretty clear you are new in the business.” This statement riles you up big time. How dare he degrade you like that? He knows nothing about you, yet he assumes things that are not at all real.

Smirking to yourself you lean back enough so your gazes can meet. Your hand slides up from his shoulders to the base of his neck so your fingers can gently brush against his skin and you notice the shudder than runs down his spine. He is not the only one having flashbacks from your last encounter.

“Wanna know what I know about business?” you purr, his eyes glued to your red lips as you speak. “I know that… Twisted was one of the last sites to participate in personalized ads on online platforms, failing to reach it’s targeted audience as fast as literally everyone else. I know that your company and my company use the same security system in our server rooms yet I can assure you that it cost me twenty percent less because we waited a month before installing it and got a huge last minute discount because the security company was trying to boost their numbers for their end of year closing. And I also happen to know that you are working on a new design for your website that could easily be outshone if I just did the same before you could do it.”

Harry’s lips part, probably mostly at the last information. He has no idea how you know these stuff, but you have a wide circle of connections in the city, you have an insider at every big companies in the industry without them even knowing. You’ve given countless tips to your aunt through the years, that’s how she managed to stay on top of her games.

Leaning closer your lips almost brush against him and you see how he weakens, he is expecting you to kiss him and he wants it. But you just smile at him, your eyes snapping down to his lips before up to his eyes.

“I will not do the same as my aunt, Harry,” you softly speak, your fingers grazing the back of his neck. “I will do way worse things.”

And with that, you slip out of his arms and walk back to your table, leaving him standing there alone at a complete loss of words.

“What the fuck had gotten into you?” Niall grimaces upon hearing everything he told you on the evening of the charity event. And quite frankly, Harry has no answer to that. He has absolutely no idea what had gotten into him to act like such a dick when you didn’t do anything against him.

The situation just messed with his head, seeing you in that breathtaking dress, mingling with everyone, smiling and laughing, oh how he wished you were laughing on his jokes! But then you seemed so tensed when he came up to you and something just switched in him. He wanted to take dominance, to somehow get out of it on top, but he miserably failed. When you brought up their plans to change the design he completely froze.

“No idea, okay? I just…lost it,” he growls, sinking into the couch. When Niall found out that Harry met the woman from the club again he insisted on coming over with some wine to talk it out, but he was not expecting this kind of story at all.

“Dude, you just put yourself on her radar big time, maybe she wouldn’t have even bothered to compete with you like her aunt did, but you surely changed her mind now.”

“I know, Niall!” Harry growls, not in the mood to be scolded like a little child. “Do you think she’ll change their design before we do?” he peeks at his friend, but Niall just shrugs.

“No idea, but I would try to speed it up before she actually does it.”

 Harry made you into a ticking bomb and you successfully got under his skin about the whole design project so first thing the next morning he went to Zayn to discuss a possible earlier debut for the new designs. Though it would be a close stretch, they agreed that it would go live by the end of the week and that got Harry somehow a little relieved, but in the middle of that he failed to put the right amount of effort into finding designers for their female lines.

When he meets up with Lambert a few days later he is not there to deliver great news. Apparently, three out of the four designers they were negotiating with recently pulled out of their deal and signed a contract with Cometa.

“We have one last designer on the list, but then… we are out of the bigger names,” Lambert sighs as Harry chews on his bottom lip anxiously. He feels like he has fallen into a hole a while ago and instead of climbing out he is just digging it deeper underneath him.

“Okay, do we have an appointment with them?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, I’m meeting her this afternoon.”

“I’m going with you,” he nods before standing from his chair and opening the door he calls out for his assistant. “Rebecca, please clear my schedule for this afternoon, I’ll be out of the office.”

Rebecca nods behind her desk, already starting to make calls about Harry’s meetings and appointments.

It’s obvious he is anxious about the meeting, because if it falls through they are forced to look for less known designers and that won’t bring the change for the company they’ve been seeking for a long time. Arriving to the showroom where the designer is working, Harry is setting his thoughts straight, determined to convince her to sign a contract with them. The two men are let into the building by the nice assistant working at the front desk and she shows the way to the showroom where Kennedy, the designer is waiting for them.

Harry is confident, he trusts his skills to make this happen, but when they walk inside he instantly freezes upon seeing an all too familiar figure standing with Kennedy

A maroon colored pantsuit is hugging your curves, a Hermés handbag hanging from your arm, your hair falling in loose curls. As if you could sense his presence, you peek over your shoulder, a devilish smirk on your lips when you see the shocked expression on Harry’s face.

“What a great surprise!” you beam, selling how happy you are to see him and in a way, you are. You wanted to see his face drop when he realizes you snatched yet another designer from him.

“Oh, Mr. Styles!” Kennedy smiles nicely at him and he finally snaps out of his trance, shaking hands with her and then turning to you, doing the same but in a lot colder manner.

“Y/N, nice to see you again,” he fakes a smile as your hand falls from his palm.

“I could say the same. But I’m heading out now. Great talk, Kennedy. I’ll be waiting for your call,” you wink at the young designer who seems to be thrilled by your words as she walks you to the exit.

“Fucking hell,” Harry mumbles under his breath and Lambert shoots him a look before Kennedy returns.

The three of them take a seat on the couches in the corner of the room and Harry is quick to get down to business, trying his best to make his offer appear more appealing than anything you told her right before their arrival. Kennedy listens intently, even takes notes and then she shows him some examples of what she was thinking about for her next line and Harry is beyond thrilled.

Unfortunately, soon comes the painful part.

“Harry, I’m gonna be honest with you,” Kennedy starts and Harry already knows what she is about to say. “Your offer is very tempting and it would be an honor to design a line for Twisted, but in my situation it would be more beneficial if I collaborated with Cometa. It is nothing against your company, it’s more about my personal path and growth.”

Harry can feel his stomach dropping and he clenches his jaw as he listens to Kennedy’s worth. He understands, of course he understands, she has the right to selfishly look at her own benefits upon signing with a new company, but he wished she would take the risk and chose his company instead of yours.

“I’m keeping the offer open for you still,” he forces a smile on his face. “If you change your mind, Twisted would be more than happy to work with you.”

Kennedy walks the two men out and the fake smile quickly vanishes from Harry’s face upon stepping out of the building.

“What are we going to do now?” Lambert asks, clearly worried about how they’re gonna move forward with their last chance falling.

“If Y/N wants a war, that’s what she’ll get,” Harry growls, revenge burning in the greens of his eyes.

It’s a quiet Friday afternoon, only hours left from the day before you are headed home finally. You’re sitting in your office with Leslie, going over next week’s schedule to make sure everything is set and clear.

It’s been almost an entire month since you stepped into your aunt’s shoes as head of the company and though the start was a little rough, especially with finding out who Harry was, but you feel like you have everything under your control by now. After all, you didn’t learn business for years from the bests for nothing, right?

Harry’s comment on you knowing nothing about the industry made you bitter, because he knows nothing about you and the struggle you went through your life to get to this point. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbow, being Julia’s niece might have been a hugely influencing aspect of you taking over, but you worked your ass off to be the best leader you can and not just ruin everything she built up through her whole life.

Though you didn’t always want to be the one following her, but you like to think that things worked out to your favor and you are where you should be.

“Alright, everything is looking fine,” Leslie smiles at you over her laptop. “I’ll send you the notes from today’s meeting.”

“Thank you. Can you call in with the delivery company about next month’s transactions?” you ask her and she nods, already adding it to her list of tasks for the rest of the day. “Alright. I’ll do the rest of the signings and then we can head out,” you smile at her.

Leslie is grabbing her things from the table when there’s a soft knock on the door. You give your permission and one of the tech support guys walk in with a worried look on his face.

“Miss Y/L/N? I’m afraid we have a problem,” he clears his throat and you can already feel your anxiety crawl up on your spine.

“What is it?” you ask firmly. The guy steps farther inside, fumbling with his fingers as he presents the issue.

“There’s been an attempt to break our software’s security system where we keep our data about the sellings. A-And I’m afraid it wasn’t just an attempt, they succeeded.”

You take a deep breath, glancing over at Leslie for a moment before you follow the man to the tech department to investigate the issue further. You don’t know shit about these stuff, but from what he said you know the trouble is huge and if you don’t solve it as soon as possible, valuable data could leak out to the public. They try to explain you what they are working on as of right now and that there’s not much you can actually help with.

“Make sure to put your extra hours on your attendance sheets and let me know when you are able to restore the system,” you tell them and you earn quite a few thank yous on your way out for actually paying the overtime. Then you turn to the guy that first came to your office. “Do you have any information about who it could have been?”

“We weren’t able to track them back, but whoever it was, they’re surely professionals and they might know the system from the inside.”

“What do you mean from the inside? Someone did it from the company?” you ask, eyebrows knitting together as you fold your arms on your chest.

“No,” he shakes his head. “We would have been able to track that back. I mean that they know the system, maybe they worked somewhere where the same one was used and they could see into it.”

It takes you a few moments before you realize what this really is and it has your blood boiling right away. Nodding shortly you exhale sharply through your nose.

“Thank you, please call me when it’s up and running again, I’ll take care of the rest,” you tell him before turning around you walk away.

When Leslie sees you approaching your office with a head practically turning red she is quick to jump to her feet, following you into the office.

“What’s happening?”

“Harry Styles, that’s what happening,” you snap as you grab your phone, purse and coat before heading out, not wasting another minute.

“What? Where are you going now?”

“To the devil himself,” you growl back and enter the elevator, leaving her alone with her questions.

Sitting in your car on your way to the headquarters of Twisted, you imagine every scenario you want to make happen when you arrive, most of them including hitting the man across his ridiculously handsome yet annoying face. He crossed a line with breaking into your system and stealing valuable data. Though you’re sure he wouldn’t dare to sell or publish it, because he would be in a big legal trouble if he did, he still had a glimpse into your numbers and that’s already an advantage. He is playing dirty and you’re not having any of it.

Arriving you burst through the doors and demand to see him. Though the woman behind the front desk tells you that you can’t see him without an appointment, you still get her to make a call up and naturally, Harry allows you to see him. The fucker might already have been waiting for you to show up. As you stand in the all glass elevator, on your way up to meet him you take a few deep breaths to keep your cool and not snap like a maniac, however it all vanishes when you see him waiting for you with that shit-eating grin on his face when you step out of the elevator.

“You’re lucky I didn’t go straight to the police with your little stunt, you fucker!” you snap, not able to hold back your swearing any longer.

“Do you have any evidence?” he tilts his head to the side and you don’t miss how his gaze runs down your body as you march towards him. You’d find it flattering in another situation, but right now you just want to punch him in the face.

“I’ll show some evidence down your throat, Styles, if you don’t stop messing with my security system,” you growl back, standing so close to him now that you see every tiny freckle and blemish on his face and the way how he clenches his jaw, holding his gaze on yours.

Without a word or invitation, you walk into the room that you suppose is his office and he follows with a soft chuckle.

“Did you hire a hacker just to mess with me?” you throw the question at him as he closes the door so his employees don’t hear everything.

“What if I did?” he shrugs, stepping to the tray on his desk that already has a glass of whiskey on it. He grabs the glass and simply lifts it to his lips, taking a tiny sip from it. “Oh, excuse my manners. Would you like a drink?”

“I’m driving,” you answer shortly. “You crossed a line, Harry,” you warn him.

“What line?” he chuckles, rather entertained by your rage. “After what you pulled with Kennedy, I think I went easy on you.”

“I didn’t pull anything, I just gave her a better offer! It’s not my fault she has better chances with my company!” you snap back, feeling your heartbeat fastening from the anger that’s boiling in your veins.

“You knew I wanted her to design for me, why couldn’t you just let one person out of your endless list? You already have everyone else, she was my last fucking chance!” Harry barks back, clearly having some built up tension in him as well.

“If you didn’t act like an arrogant asshole at the charity gala, I would have happily let you work with her, but then you felt the need to fucking degrade me! That’s why I didn’t let you get away with it!”

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but he quickly closes his mouth, probably knowing well you’re right. He did act shitty towards you that evening and he has no excuse for his behavior. You walk closer until there are just a few feet between the two of you, your eyes glued to his burning green gaze that’s staring back at you, but before you could speak up, he cuts you off.

“Well, you know. All is fair in… war and business,” he shrugs and you honestly barely can stop yourself from laughing at how stupid that just sounded. You can’t miss the twitch in the corner of his mouth as well and you can’t believe how easily he made you break out of your rage.

“Don’t try to make money out of writing slogans,” you huff shaking your head and now he is grinning widely. “Do you have the data?”

“I don’t,” he answers and you narrow your eyes at him.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he chuckles. “I had it, but I already deleted it. I know it wasn’t ethical so as soon as it was handed to me I deleted it. I didn’t even look into it. I just wanted to scare you.”

“And how do I know your hacker doesn’t have it either?”

“Because he signed a contract that would cost him millions to break and I don’t think a junior in college who is still living in a dorm can afford that,” he points out and now you are somewhat convinced. You stare back at him for a few more seconds before nodding.

“Stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours, how does that sound?” you offer generously.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he questions with a smug smirk that makes your arch an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing tomorrow evening?” he then asks and you can’t mask your surprise in front of him.

“That does not concern you, Styles,” you scoff, though it boosts your ego that even through all the hate you’ve been targeting at each other, he still wants you the same way he did at the club that evening. You can’t deny, this rivalry has sparked a few thoughts in you as well, but you are not going to fall into the same mistake you made that evening. You pay him another smirk before turning around and heading towards the door. “Stay out of my way, Styles!” you call back without looking at him, but you just know he is grinning at you, a growing sexual tension thickening the atmosphere in the room.

“Or what?” he smugly questions and you stop at the door, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

“Or… You said it yourself. All is fair in war and business,” you smirk before walking out of the office.

Following your visit to Harry’s office things take a… playful turn in your rivalry. The attempts and competing don’t stop, both of you are on each other’s radar, ruining and messing with each other’s projects and works whenever and wherever it’s possible, but it’s not as hateful as it was at the beginning. If something, it even helps you to always be on your toes and watch out for possible threats, not just from Harry but from everyone else.

Neither of you succeeds in evolving in each other’s field, Cometa keeps thriving in women’s fashion with a quite small variety offered for the gentlemen while Twisted fails to grow out of men’s fashion and venture to the ladies, but somehow it’s not as frustrating as it used to be before.

Harry keeps up his flirty acts and tries to ask you out every time your paths cross each other, but you relentlessly turn him down every time, only fueling him to keep chasing after you more the next time. It’s a thrilling and flattering little game, knowing that even with all the rivalry between the two of you, being the biggest competitors in the business… he still wants you.

New York fashion week rolls around and it’s by far one of your favorite times in the year. You managed to snatch an exclusive deal with YSL to release a special line just for the fashion week and it sold out in the first two hours, now waiting to be restocked in a few days. Cometa is thriving and your aunt has expressed her pride towards the work you’ve been doing at the company, so things are heading the right direction.

You knew Harry would be attending the same shows as you, but it’s fate or just luck that you are seated next to each other at one of the shows, giving you the chance to talk without any of you attempting to corrupt the other this time.

Harry is already sitting in his seat when you arrive wearing a custom made Gucci dress, something that immediately catches his eyes since he is a huge fan of the brand himself.

“Your fashion sense never disappoints, Y/N,” he beams up at you as you take the seat next to him.

“Hope that’s not surprising, Styles,” You smirk at him, taking a glance at his own Gucci outfit, the checkered pants fitting him perfectly while the pussy bow adds some spice to the whole outfit, you have to admit. He looks good, he always does.

“Any plans after the show?” he asks right before the lights go out and the show starts. You leave him without an answer, just let out a soft chuckle as you glue your eyes to the first model who walks the runway.

Once the show is over you head out with Harry by your side, having an actually entertaining discussion about the designs you just saw. He might not be an expert in fashion, but he has developed a good sense through his years.

As you make your way out of the venue you are stopped by an interviewer and Harry remains on your side as the woman asks you a few questions about the show.

“I’ve always wondered, does it bother you that you couldn’t be on the runway yourself? You’ve been sitting front row the past years, but you once had aspirations of being a model yourself, is that right?”

The question makes you tense up and you can feel Harry’s puzzled look on you from the side.

“It’s not like it was my fault for not making it up there,” you sass back, forcing a smile to your face.

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” the woman chuckles and it has your blood boiling, because you know the real meaning behind her words.

It’s your fault you didn’t become a model because you were never thin enough to be one. It was your fault and not the industry’s to hold impossible standards to women who wanted to succeed as a model.

The smile falters from your face and you take a long, judgmental look at the woman in front of you. Because if she is brave enough to talk like that to you, you’re not gonna shy away from bringing her spirits down either.

“Judging from your appearance and attitude you wouldn’t make it either,” you spitefully reply and her smile quickly fades, clearly shocked at your answer. You open your mouth again, ready to continue, but then you feel a hand on the small of your back and you realize Harry is still standing next to you.

“Come on, we have somewhere to be, right?” he smiles kindly as you just simply nod and walk away from the woman before she could offend you again.

Harry senses your tension as the two of you leave the venue but doesn’t try to talk to you and that’s a wise choice from him. As you step out of the building you realize that if you went home now you’d probably get drunk on your own and let that comment get to you more than you should. So instead of doing that you turn to Harry.

“So, what are our plans?” you ask and you don’t miss the small smile on his lips as he stares back at you.

Not in the mood to stay around people at a bar you accept Harry’s invitation to his place, since it’s also close. The contrast between his extravagant penthouse and your cozy but still quite modern townhouse in Park Slope is major, but you didn’t expect anything less from the man.

You’ve managed to calm down since you left the venue, but you’re still quite bitter about the comment the woman made. Harry hasn’t tried to ask you about it, but you can tell he is dying to know more about the situation that’s behind the madness.

He fixes you a drink and you find yourself sinking into his comfortable and probably ridiculously expensive couch in his living room area.

“I used to want to be a model,” you start, breaking the silence that settled between the two of you. “When I was a teen. I was a lot thinner, I was a competitive dancer until I was seventeen, but I had a knee injury, so I had to quit.”

Harry sits on the other end of the couch, listening to you with patience as he sips on his own drink.

“I was never as thin as the other models at the agency I was trying to get into, but I definitely wasn’t overweight. Yet, they labelled me as a plus size model. I was a healthy, strong young girl with a perfectly good body, yet they told me that I was too fat to be a model.”

Glancing at Harry, you can tell that he is surprised at the information he just learned. He is probably picturing you thinner now, going to model castings and if you’re being honest you enjoyed that part. The trouble came when you got rejection after rejection, telling you to lose weight and come back after that.

“I quit my whole plan to be a model and studied fashion and business instead, consciously working my way towards this point. But I never got over how the industry made me feel less of a person because I wasn’t a size zero.”

For a few long moments Harry just stares at you and it’s actually nice that he doesn’t try to make you feel better right away, praising you how you are perfect just the way you are. Because you’re not, but that’s fine because no one is.

“I’ve honestly never seen a more cruel industry than fashion before,” he then speaks up. “I didn’t grow up in it and still don’t really have that much and deep connection with it, but I know how fucked up it is. And it’s nice to see that you know your worth even after everything that happened.”

Your gaze meets his and you’re looking for any sign that gives away that he is just messing with you, but it’s all genuine. You just shoot him a small smile before lifting your drink to your lips. It’s the most intimate moment you’ve shared with him, including the ones you had in that bathroom.

“Okay, now you tell me something about your life,” you prompt, wanting to divert the conversation on him a little bit.

“What do you want to know?” he asks with a soft chuckle.

“Why did you name your brand Twisted?” you ask. The question has been on your mind for a while.

“It’s coming from my mum’s name. Anne Twist.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, you weren’t expecting such a deep and personal reason behind the name, connected to a family member.

“Why her?”

“Why not?” he smirks shrugging his shoulders. “She raised me and my sister up, I wouldn’t be here without her. It was obvious I would make her be part of it in some kind of way.”

“That’s actually very nice. Who knew that you could be something other than an egoistic asshole!” you joke, making him laugh as well.

“Okay, what’s the meaning behind your brand?” he then turns it back around.

“Well, my aunt met her husband when they were very young, maybe eighteen. She fell in love with Fabio on her trip to Italy and being the impulsive and adventurous woman that she is, she stayed for a month there just because of Fabio. He is a very passionate man and he was always ready to bring the stars down for Julia. He always used to tell her that he would even catch a comet for her, if that’s what she wanted. And that was my aunt’s favorite saying from him. Cometa is comet in Italian. It’s her tribute to the love of her life.”

“That’s easily the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Harry hums and you just smile nodding at him. It really is like a fairytale and it’s also one of the reasons why you were so happy to take her place at Cometa. Julia is still just as in love with Fabio as she was at eighteen and she deserves to spend more time with her beloved husband. She earned the time off after all the sacrifices she made for the company and all through them Fabio stayed by her side. It’s their well-earned happy ending now.

“You know a lot about romantic things?” you cock an eyebrow at him, finishing up your drink.

“Actually, I’m a quite romantic guy.”

“Are you now?”

“Yeah, you just never gave me the chance to show it to you.”

“Oh, so now I’m the bad guy?” you chuckle, handing him your glass when he stands from the couch to get you a refill.

“Exactly!” he chuckles holding up your empty glass on his way. “I hope you know you absolutely broke my heart when you didn’t give me your number that night.”

“Oh, you poor little thing,” you chuckle, resting your head in your palm, your elbow on the back of the couch. “I’m not sorry though. You didn’t give out the right vibes.”

“The right vibes?” he huffs as he returns with your drink and now sits a little closer to you. “What vibe did I give you?” “The vibe that told me I shouldn’t mess with you,” you simply answer as you take a sip from your refilled drink.

“You were so keen on hating me even before you knew who I was, I can’t believe you,” he chuckles shaking his head.

“I’m just cautious!” you protest. “I’ve dealt with some problematic men in the past, I can’t let myself walk right into another one that easily.”

“What did they do?”

“Some men just can’t treat women right. Especially confident ones with a body like mine,” you simply shrug.

Men like to think that bigger girls are so terribly insecure about their body that they need the validation of a male to feel good about themselves. But when you’re confident and feel good in your own skin without needing them to praise you, they think that you’re egoistic, so full of yourself and they are quick to try to drag you down. That’s something you can’t tolerate. You don’t need a man to feel good about yourself, you don’t need anyone for that. You know your worth and that’s all that matters.

Harry’s eyes travel down your body, taking his time on your curves and you smile shaking your head as you reach out and cupping his chin you pull his head up so he is looking into your eyes.

“I honestly can’t see what problem anyone could have with your body. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since our bathroom fiasco,” he bluntly comments making you chuckle, even flattered by his words.

“You are such a flirt,” you grin at him and he doesn’t try to protest.

You stay for a couple more drinks and you drop the heavier topics, venturing over to music, fashion and any funny stories that come to your mind. Harry is actually amazing company when you’re not trying to jump at each other’s throat and for a few short hours you forget that he is supposed to be your competitor.

You’re a little tipsy, but you are definitely not drunk, so when Harry offers you to stay the night you turn it down, calling yourself a car since you are not in the right state to drive.

“I’ll come and pick my car up in the morning,” you breathe out as you put your heels back on that came off your feet sometime during the evening, making yourself home in his place.

“I’ll text you the security number to the garage,” he nods, walking you to the elevator.

“Thank you. And… I guess thank you for the evening,” you smile at him, turning to face him. He is standing close, but still takes a step closer, one of his hands finding your waist as he pulls you against his chest. Your palms lie flat on his chest as you try to get yourself to the right mindset to leave now before you regret doing something. Leaning down his nose nudges against your cheek, before he presses a soft kiss under below your ear, a sigh escaping your lips.

“I should go, the car is here,” you breathe out, but don’t move.

“Mm, okay,” he hums, his lips peppering kisses on your jaw and your cheek, as if you didn’t say a word. You want to continue it, not just because of the alcohol but because the sexual tension between the two of you has been growing since that charity gala, but the remainder of your rationality stops you before your lips could meet.

“Bye Harry,” you smile at him softly as you push him away and you walk into the elevator, leaving him hanging. Again.

“Bye Y/N. I’m still going to try to ruin your company!” he calls after you as you turn around to face him, the sliding doors slowly closing between the two of you.

“Same back at you, Styles,” you smirk before the door closes and you are taken down.

Well, that was a lie. Following your evening at his place neither of you really tries to work against the other, leaving each other be without any fuss. It might also have something to do with how you kept in touch after that day. You’ve been texting occasionally, attending some events together, even had a business dinner together with a few other peers from the industry. Things have been quiet and you’ve been feeling content with the current state you’ve managed to reach. Or so you thought.

It was a silent agreement between the two of you. You both put your projects aside that targeted the other’s profile. Harry stopped looking for designers for his women lines and you put your men department to the side as well. There were a lot to work on beside these fields so you felt like you were in peace. Right until Leslie bursts into your office on a casual Tuesday.

“Have you seen this?” she asks, placing a tablet in front of you with an Instagram account open on it.

You want to ask what you’re supposed to look at, but then you realize what it really is. A shiny new account for a new brand that promises to take online shopping to the next level; female and male as well.

“You think it could be…?” you ask, not quite convinced that Harry is behind this.

“Well, the wording is similar to theirs and creating a new brand might be a solution to their gap in women’s fashion,” she points it out, though you don’t want to believe he could have been working on this all along, basically in front of your face.

But it’s a possibility and you have to consider this option before jumping into defending him without any proof.

“Men can’t be trusted,” you grumble under your breath before jumping into work.

What you didn’t know is that an eerily similar situation goes down in Harry’s office as well when Zayn bursts in, showing him the ad he found for the new brand called Farfalla.

Harry immediately digs up everything about the company, though there’s not much other than their new Instagram account and heavy marketing that started just yesterday.

“What is Farfalla even?” he grimaces leaning back in his chair.

“It means butterfly in Italian,” Zayn explains and Harry’s eyes flicker up to him.

“Italian? You think it’s her?”

“It’s possible,” Zayn nods. “Starting a new brand to finally reach men’s fashion is a good idea.”

“She wouldn’t have done this,” Harry shakes his head in disbelief. Could you be working on this all along? Was this your plan from the start? To make him fall for you and forget about business while you built up your new empire to ruin him?

“What if she did?” Zayn prompts and in a way his suspicion is valid, but Harry is having a hard time believing it. You would never play him this dirty, not after how the two of you have grown closer in the past weeks, almost became friends.

“What are you going to do?” Zayn asks him as he pushes himself away from the desk and quite obviously starts getting ready to leave.

“She is not getting away from this,” Harry mumbles under his breath as he grabs his coat and phone before storming out of the office.

It’s past six when Harry gets to Cometa’s building and he is informed that you’ve already went home. He could have just come back in the morning, but he knew he would just stew in his own anger if he didn’t talk to you as soon as possible. So using his charm he gets the woman sitting behind the front desk to share your address with him, saying that he needs to talk to you urgently. That’s how he finds himself heading to Park Slope, slightly surprised you are not living somewhere in the heart of Manhattan.

As the scenery around his changes, skyscrapers turning into brick buildings and townhouses, Harry tries to figure out what he even wants to say to you. Should he just get straight down to business and accuse you? Snap at you? Or should he give you the chance to explain yourself? He can’t really make up his mind, mostly because he still feels like you betrayed him even though he can’t be sure Farfalla is yours.

Parking down at the address he got from the woman, he stares up at the deep red brick townhouse, a simple, black door at the top of the stairs that’s lined with a few potted plants and flowers. This is not what he would have imagined your home like, but now that he is standing on your doormat, he realizes it kind of suits you.

Ringing the bell he hopes that you’re home and not out and about somewhere in the city, but when he hears the familiar sound of heels clicking on the floor he knows you are on the other side. When the front door flings open and you come into his sight, for a split second he forgets why he is here and his anger vanishes. As always, you look amazing, a tight, black dress hugging your curves, the middle part appearing like it’s a corset, emphasizing the dip of your waist. Your hair is let down in loose curls and your feet are bare, but he knows you probably wore heels all day. You must have gotten home not long ago and as your eyes fall on the man at the door, your expression hardens on him.

“You really had the balls to come her, huh?” you cock your head to the side, keeping your eyes on his green ones for a moment before you let him inside.

“Did you think you could get away with it?” he huffs walking into the hallway and stopping as you close the door and turn to him.

“Me? I could say the same! You thought I would just ignore it or what? I proved you a few times that I’m not stupid, Harry,” you retort, folding your arms on your chest as you walk past him, into the kitchen and he follows.

“You surely are not stupid, playing me so dirty behind my back!” Harry spats standing his ground. “Playing all friendly and nice and then make a fool out of me!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you question narrowing your eyes at him as you lean against the kitchen island’s counter. “If anyone played dirty it’s you! And you have the balls to come here and talk like this to me in my own fucking home?!” you snap, walking closer to him, keeping your deathly glare on him.

“What the fuck did I do?!” he scoffs throwing his hands into the air.

“You created a whole new brand just to fuck with me! Or did you think I wouldn’t find out about it?!”

“Me? You made a new brand! And you didn’t do a great job hiding the fact that it was your work, even the name is Italian, like your current one!”

You stare back at him, tilting your head to the side as you process what he is talking about. All along, the two of you were accusing each other of something neither of you did.

“Harry,” you breathe out, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Farfalla is not my brand.”

“And I’m supposed to believe it?!”

“Well you better be because it’s the fucking truth!”

“Prove it!” he hisses at you, taking a step closer, his face only inches away from yours now.

“Until about twenty seconds ago I thought that it was your new brand, Harry. I thought that you were the one who backstabbed me!” you snap back, standing up for yourself in this giant misunderstanding you fell into, accusing each other without any proof.

Harry stares back at you, his gaze burning into yours as he stands his ground and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he processes your words.

“So… it’s not yours? You didn’t do it to fuck me up?”

“Of course not!” you breathe out, suddenly quite tired of all the anger that’s been eating you away through the afternoon. “I thought that we had a kind of silent agreement not to mess with each other so I wasn’t planning anything anytime soon. That’s why I got so mad when I thought you did it!”

“I thought the same!” he growls shaking his head. “I thought you did it all to just make me look stupid, that the friendly act was just so I wouldn’t notice a thing and I fell right into your trap.”

“There was no trap,” you simply tell him and you hope he senses the hidden meaning behind your words.

Luckily he does. But for your biggest surprise there’s no snarky comment or smug smirking, he just steps closer and before you could even protest, his hands find your waist and he pulls you against his hard chest, lips hungry attacking yours. He makes you back until you bump against the kitchen island, his hips pressing against yours as he pushes you against the hard surface, his hands wandering on your sides and back, up and down, exploring every curve of your body while his kisses never slow down, your tongues meeting in the middle.

Bringing up a leg you curl it around his hips, your heel digging into his round ass as he leans forward, making you arch your back, leaning onto the counter as his lips move from your lips to your jawline and neck, his fingers digging into your waist and the thigh that’s lifted by his side. He nibbles on the soft skin of your neck, definitely leaving a mark, but you just comb your fingers through his hair, letting yourself get lost in the sensation.

“As much as I would love to fuck you on a counter again, can we take this to a bedroom?” he mumbles as he kisses his way back up to your lips, smirking against them as he captures them again.

You don’t answer, just grab his hand and pull him upstairs with you, right into your bedroom. He is all over you, lips, hands, tongue, pressed up against you as the two of you stumble your way to your king sized bed. Harry’s fingers fidget with the corset on your dress, but he soon realizes it’s a little trickier than he expected, so leaning back he furrows his eyebrows as he glances down at the dress, still trying to figure out how to get you out of it.

“Harry,” you smile at him softly. “It’s faux. There’s a zipper at the back,” you inform him and he sighs in defeat as he kisses you again, his fingers quickly finding the zipper. The dress pools at your feet and you rid him from his jacket and shirt, revealing his inked chest, a sight you’ve been thinking about way too much lately.

By the time the two of you fall to your bed, neither of you are dressed in more than just your underwear. Because both of you like to be in charge, you roll around for a while, trying to get on top of each other but eventually Harry stays up when he starts going down on you, kissing his way through your heated skin. You don’t shy away when his hands snake under your back and easily unclasps your bra, being bare in front of him is not something that makes you feel uncomfortable or insecure. The way he looks at you, the way he makes you feel brings you so much confidence, you have absolutely no problem being nude.

When your bra flies to the floor, Harry leans back a little to admire you lying there, before his lips find their way over the curve of your breasts, down your stomach. Hooking his fingers into the elastic of your panties he tugs them down easily as you lift your hips, your thighs parting as you bare yourself in front of him.

“Don’t be shy about screaming my name,” he smugly tells you before his lips and tongue meet your clit. Your fingers lace through his hair immediately as you gasp out at the sensation, his tongue drawing the whole fucking alphabet to your bundle of nerves. His arms curl around your thighs, ring clad fingers digging into your flesh as he sucks on the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, Harry! Yes!” you moan out, tugging on his locks when he teases his tongue around your hole, your walls tightening around nothing as you are growing desperate to feel something inside of you.

You pull on his hair, signaling him that you want to get it on with, Hands reaching down to get rid of his boxer briefs before you blindly pull out the drawer of your nightstand, grabbing a condom. His lips eagerly meet yours as he wraps his erected cock and though you would love to have a taste of him like he did with you, you just want to feel him inside you.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he growls against your lips, teasing you with running just the head up and down your slit.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I’m gonna rip your guts out,” you warn him, earning a soft chuckle as he kisses you again, tongue pushing into your mouth as he finally pushes inside you, his long, thick cock filling you up perfectly and it somehow feels even better than the first time.

“Go hard,” you gasp, a hand coming to grab his ass as you push him even further into you. He doesn’t need more, he starts slamming into you, his hips meeting yours roughly with each thrust, his whole length disappearing inside you every time.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, licking and sucking on the soft skin. You almost think about telling him not to mark you, but it just turns you on even more so you let him do whatever he wants.

“I want to see you on top,” he pants, lifting his head so his gaze could meet yours. You nod, before the two of you turn around and you straddle his hips, guiding him back inside you as you sink down his length. Your hands are sprawled out on his hard chest as you find your balance in the position, Harry’s eyes roaming your body up and down, not able to get enough of how blissful you look, sitting with his cock buried inside of you, enjoying yourself to the fullest. His hands run up your thighs and upper body until they find your breasts, kneading them as you start moving your hips up and down, back and forth. When you moan his name or gasp because his cock reaches that one particular spot inside you, those are the moments he wishes he could capture on camera and watch whenever he wants.

“I want it from back,” you pant as you lean down and kiss him roughly. That’s all he needs, he helps you get off of him before you get on all four, pushing your butt up in the air while Harry kneels behind you, the sight in front of him hardening his cock even more, if that’s possible. His hands grab onto your waist as he pushes inside you, making you both let out a satisfied moan before he starts moving again.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, Y/N. I love your ass,” he growls, giving it a smack that surprises you, but you absolutely love it.

“Harry, go faster!” you whimper, feeling your orgasm nearing as you grip the comforter on the bed, desperate to reach your climax. You’re just about to reach down between your legs to play with your clit when Harry not only picks his pace up but also reaches around you, two of his fingers starting the circling motions on the bundle of nerves, making your legs shake from the pleasure.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me, cum all over my cock,” he growls, railing you from behind without missing a beat.

“Harry!” you scream when he thrusts into you so harshly, your whole body rocking in the motion.

“Come on, angel. Cum for me,” he murmurs and leaning down he wraps his arms around you, bringing you up straight, your back pressing against his sweaty chest, his hands coming to cup your breasts as he keeps thrusting up into you, pushing you over the edge.

You moan and gasp and scream his name as your walls tighten around his length, riding out your bliss and it helps him reach his own high, his hot breath hitting the back of your neck and shoulder, grunting and cursing under his breath as he fills the condom.

As his thrusts come to a halt, he sinks into a sitting position, bringing you with him, you lean against him feeling like jelly as you’re still just trying to catch your breath. Harry peppers your shoulder with small kisses before you muster the energy to break the position and lie down on the bed.

“Towel is in the bathroom,” you tell him knowing that’s what he’ll look for as he stands from the bed and you point at the door that leads to the joined bathroom. Harry nods and pads his way in there, cleaning himself up before he returns with a small damp towel, doing the same for you. He drops it to the floor next to the bed before joining you, cradling you into his arms as you take a breather together.

One hand is on your shoulder, fingers dancing on the naked skin, the other one is holding your thigh that’s across his lap while your head is resting on his chest.

“You really thought I would backstab you like that?” he hums after a while, breaking the comfortable silence.

“You did the same,” you answer, lifting your head, resting your chin on his chest.

“Touché,” he chuckles, before leaning down he kisses you shortly. “So, if neither of us did it, then we have a quite major problem on our hands.”

“I know,” you hum. “That shit looks promising and they can easily ruin both of us.”

Harry stays silent for a little, but you can see the gears turning in his head. When his gaze snaps back at you, you know he has an idea.

“Unless… we join forces.” Your eyebrows arch as you stare back at him. “I know it’s a risky move, but this is the only way to stay on the top.”

“How much you want to be joined?”

“We could start with just one line, the men part designed by someone from me and the women by someone from you. And if it presents well we can just figure out where to go from there. Obviously, the men part would be sold by us and the women by you, but we could join the pages and direct users to each other’s sites in connection with the lines.”

“That could… actually work,” you nod shortly, thinking about the idea. It needs a lot of planning, but it could actually be a big hit if you do it right. “And you’re willing to partner with me?” you ask cheekily as you push yourself up into a sitting position, Harry doing the same.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m willing to do about anything with you,” he chuckles, making you smile at his playful answer. “I hope you know I’m not talking about just business,” he then adds with a meaningful look.

“You are still so keen on this?” you sigh, tugging your hair behind your ear.

“Do you not like being with me?”

“I do, surprisingly,” you roll your eyes, making him laugh.

“Do you not like having sex with me?”

“I think the answer is pretty obvious to that,” you give him a look as he smirks back at you.

“Yeah, but I want to hear it.”

“I enjoy having sex with you, Harry,” you roll your eyes again, but he just kisses you short but hard before leaning back.

“So then why shouldn’t we date?”

“Because we are competitors?”

“We just agreed that we should join forces. We are partners now.”

“You are running a little ahead, Harry,” you cock an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know, I haven’t been in a relationship in ages. I probably suck at it at this point,” you shrug, but it’s just a lame excuse and you both know that. Leaning closer Harry smirks at you smugly.

“I have something else you can suck.” You smack his chest at his nasty remark, but can’t push a smile back. His hand finds the back of your head as he pulls you in for another kiss. “I want you, Y/N. I really do. You are all I think about even when you are an annoying piece of shit, getting under my skin. I still want you.”

“Wow, so romantic,” you chuckle shaking your head. “What if we can’t get over our differences in the business? That can easily poison any relationship.”

“Then we’ll have a lot of mind-blowing angry and makeup sex. Those are the best. We can put all our frustration into sex, I think that’s just perfect.”

“What are you, a horny teenager? Sex is all you can think about?” you chuckle.

“It is when I’m lying in a bed with you naked. You can’t blame me,” he grins smugly and you want to hate him, you want to hate him so badly, but you can’t. You want him just as much as he wants you.

“So… partners?” he prompts, tilting his head to the side with a sweet smile as he waits for your answer.

“Partners in business and life?”

“Mhm, that’s the plan,” he nods, his smile growing wider with each passing second.

“Alright,” you breathe out. “So… it’s not—All is fair in war and business?” you ask teasingly, using his own words from earlier.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” he laughs, pulling you in for another kiss.

Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

[after-witch]

Title: A Gift [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

Title: A Gift [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

Synopsis: Your demon lord captor presents you with an unusual and unexpected gift.

Word Count: 2200ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped,  blood/violence

Your captor seems unusually on edge--he has been since this morning, when he soundlessly bid the group to pack up camp and began trekking further into the forest much swifter than usual. You don't know why. He wouldn't tell you, even if you dared to ask. So you didn't ask, and merely helped Rin roll up your supplies in a pack, ignoring the way the growing tension in the air made your skin prickle.

You don't know much of anything lately, except the feeling of the ground under your feet as you relentlessly walk from place to place, bound to go where he goes. Being carried on the strange demon beast is no longer a terrifying prospect but a welcome reprieve from the endless marching. You’d walked more in the past months than you ever had in your entire life; you’d lived in a small village, never roaming very far out of fear of animals and bandits and other unknown dangers. 

One of those dangers, as it turned out, had been the demon lord Sesshoumaru.

You don't know why you were taken. You don't know why he refuses to let you leave, why he demanded that you join his group, his company, whatever it can be called.  

You do know that you fight in what little ways that you can. Which, you admit, aren't many. You pack up deliberately slow, hoping to earn the rare annoyed look that breaks his normally impassive visage. You used to deliberately slow down when you knew he was in a hurry, dragging your legs or feigning a limp. Though once he caught on to your trick, he'd quietly suggested that he simply carry you from then on, and you'd dropped the act.

There is one concession you will never make, no matter what he says. Your biggest weapon against him. You refuse to call him my lord, as he commanded. As Jaken routinely harps on about. As even Rin, in a light, easy way, wonders why you won't. (But there is so much the child doesn't know, and doesn't understand, about your situation.)

Today, you are almost tempted to address him--no lord, of course--to ask if something is wrong. The tension is eating at you, and if the nervous glances of Jaken are anything to go by, you're not the only one who notices it. Perhaps there's something or someone that you can't see, another demon, detectable only by scent. Perhaps he's thinking about his brother, a subject you've only learned about in snatches of conversation, though you learned enough to know that you should never bring him up.

You're tempted to ask, but you don't. Instead you try to take in the scenery around you, walking quietly and pretending for a moment that you're alone. You're walking in the middle of the group, as you usually do; Sesshoumaru ahead of you, Jaken, Rin and the beast behind. This is probably to discourage you from running--not that you've tried to run in a long time. Getting recaptured, losing the thrill of hope in your heart when you think you just might make it this time, is incredibly tiring.

Your feet are often tired, too, but you truthfully you have enjoyed seeing more of the world, more than you would have ever seen near your village. If only it was under different circumstances. You've learned over the months that happiness needs to be taken wherever it can, or else you would simply give in to despair. 

A flower species you've never seen, a stunning ray of sunshine through the leaves of the trees, a glimpse of an animal not native to your village. You catalog these things in your mind and think about them at night, counting off the times your heart has been made lighter by them.

So you look around in the hopes of adding new memories to your catalog. Only there isn't much new to add. If anything, you've seen all of these things before. But maybe that's not such a bad thing. Your gaze lingers on a particular bush dotted with bright pink flowers, just like the ones you used to pick, and you half-close your eyes, pretending that you're taking a break from former daily errands; your mother often scolded you when you returned home with a basket full of flowers, but she never hesitated to tie them into your hair or lay them on her  table as delicately as a treasure.

The daydream is made easier by the fact that these space is full of old things, old things you once knew. Even that patch of trees is remarkably similar to the ones you knew all your life, trees where you would sometimes be sent to collect bark; and that large rock, it even has the same markings, the same drawings carved in by children in some older generation. A small pond up ahead has the same pebble path, painstakingly laid by the elders for easy fishing grounds.

Oh.

Your legs feel heavy as lead and you stop, suddenly. Jaken yells something behind you about your sudden halt, but you can't make out the exact words. They don't matter, anyway.

That's why he's so on edge. That's why you've been so on edge.

The old things are not just familiar: they're exact. You're near your old village. You know these plants, these trees, the grass beneath your feet. No wonder he's tense, no wonder he's been keeping a breakneck pace since the morning. He wants to get away from this place--does he think you'll try to run back? You're not that stupid, he could kill your entire village in moments if he wanted to. And he might, if you tried to seek shelter there.

The realization weighs you down, even as Rin runs up to you and lightly takes your hand. She tugs you along, and you're gently jerked from your heavy realization until your legs continue to move, barely from their own free will. You glance forward and see that Sesshoumaru is watching, his head tilted back--to see what you would do, you think.

Rin lets go of your hand and runs on ahead, practically skipping past Sesshoumaru in a sudden sprint of childish speed, gaily ignoring Jaken's squawk of protest. Jaken knows better than to break the implied status quo--keep you in the middle--so he grumbles and maintains his slower pace.

But Rin doesn't get all that far ahead of Sesshoumaru before she, too, stops in her tracks.

"Look," she says, lifting her arm and pointing down past the trees, towards what you know will be a view of your village.

You resist the urge to sprint after her, to bridge the gap between you and catch a hill's-eye view of your village that you used to take in almost daily during your errands. You force your feet to remain steady, one-two, one-two--when Sesshoumaru suddenly pivots, and turns towards an opposite path, away from the village and away from the view.

"This way," he says.

"But. Lord Sesshoumaru--" Rin doesn't get a chance to finish when Sesshoumaru begins walking. She merely looks back towards the village with an odd expression, before running to catch up with him.

But you weren't going to be turned away so easily. You deserved a look at your village, didn't you? Just a glance at your former home? He stole your freedom, your life, he couldn't possibly begrudge you a look. 

So you keep your feet walking, quiet and nonchalant, intent on getting as far as the clearing where you know you'll be able to see the familiar buildings, the public square where festivals were held,  your own home, small and unassuming as it is. Glancing at them again might give you an image to hold onto, something you can think about before bed.

"Come on!" Jaken has pressed on ahead of you, and he's waving at you with the horrid staff he always carries. "Don't be so slow!" He swoops his staff towards Rin and Sesshoumaru, who is now standing still, staring at you. It's unusual. The entire day has been unusual. He doesn't normally bother with something as mundane as waiting--it's up to you, to Rin, to Jaken, to follow and catch up if need be. But he's waiting for you. As if he does begrudge you so much as a look.

"I just--" you start to say, inhaling a deep breath to gather your nerves.

It's then, with this deep breath, that you smell the smoke. It's then that you look up and see it, grey and thick, wafting above the trees, a detail you'd missed in your anxious haste to catch a even glimpse of your former home.

It's then that you push past Jaken, ignoring his protest, and reach the spot where Rin had stopped in her tracks.

Your village--what is left of it--is on fire. Hot, smoking buildings, crumbling and destroyed. You can see dark, red pools of blood--bodies. It was a fresh attack.

In an instant, you take off, barreling down familiar paths that you still know like the back of your hand. You hear your captor say your name, you hear the sound of twigs breaking as he moves to follow you, but you can think of nothing but your home, your family, and what might be left of them. 

You reach the village in precious little time, and it feels like walking into a nightmare. Hot air seems to simmer around you from the flames lingering inside buildings, the granary, even the market. The stench of death--blood and fire--makes you gag, and you cover your mouth with your hands. An unidentifiable body, burnt beyond humanity, is curled up against what used to be a home.

The sight propels you through the ruined streets, stepping over blood and remnants of belongings and bodies, until you reach your family’s home. Or what remains. The doorway is open, missing its door, and you cautiously peer inside the humble home that used to be all you knew.

You drop to your knees at the sight of your parents and your little brother, dead on the ground. You crawl towards them and your knees become wet with their blood. You reach out and feel the soft cheek of your mother, a cheek you'd kissed so many times as a child. It's still warm. 

You feel the weighty presence of Sesshoumaru behind you and turn around, getting shakily off your knees. He’s standing in the doorway, watching you.

You feel dizzy. You feel sick. From the smoke, from the sights, from the realization that your entire family--your entire world--has been lost.

It's then that you remember his sword. That you remember the story Rin gleefully told you around the fire, about how he'd saved her from death with it. About what it could do, if it was wielded.

You hesitantly step towards him, mind reeling. "They're dead,” you say, as if he can't tell from their lifeless, bloody bodies. "Can you... are they still..." Your voice is hoarse and hurting.

His face is impassive, but he doesn't tell you to leave. He continues to stand in the doorway, staring. You look at him, and then at his sword.

Without hesitation, you get back down on your knees and bow low, ignoring the smell of blood beneath you.

"Please," you say. "Please, my lord Sesshoumaru. Can you save them?"

You don't look up--you can't, out of fear that he'll reject you, your former pride no longer a concern with your families lifeless bodies within arm's reach--but you hear a short, quiet intake of breath in response. You keep yourself still, thoughts racing with memories and empty, fervent prayers without words.

"Go." His voice is low and commanding. "Jaken and Rin are waiting in the clearing."

Your legs seem to obey his command without question, pushing you off the floor and out of your ruined home as you make your way back through the village. You pick up your pace, wanting to wipe away the memory of seeing villagers you knew--villagers who carried you on their backs when you were a child, children you played with, the market women who gave you extra treats--dead on the ground. You don't stop running until you see Rin and Jaken up ahead, Rin looking at you with concern and Jaken--well, you already know you'll hear about your transgression for miles and miles.

When you reach the top of the hill, you spin around and stare at the far-away, ruined building that was your home.

Ages seem to pass before you suddenly see Sesshoumaru emerge from the opened doorway. He walks with no hesitation away from the village, not even glancing at the bodies or ruined buildings around him. He'll be here soon enough. But... was it too late? Did he save them? Did he leave them where they lay? You can feel your family's blood drying on your clothes.

And then, in the ruined doorway--your mother, your father, and your brother peering out cautiously after the demon who'd just saved them. You clap your hand over your mouth to avoid crying out, to avoid calling out. Mercy, mercy, mercy. It's a mercy that you know could never be given twice. They're alive.  They'll start over somewhere else and make a new life, somewhere safe, no doubt. Tears flow freely and for the first time in ages, they are not bitter, painful tears, but tears of relief. 

You stare at the small figures of your family, watch them disappear back into your home and emerge with cloth sacks strapped to their backs, until they walk down the ruined streets and are blocked from your view. As if on cue, Sesshoumaru walks into view of the clearing. Rin waves, cheerfully; Jaken splutters out ignored questions about what he was doing down there, anyway. 

You watch him with tear-filled eyes, eyes that for once are not glaring or hate-filled. He gives you half a glance--did he nod at you? or did you imagine it?--and then looks away, continuing wordlessly down the path he'd taken before you saw your village.

"We're leaving," he says. And you follow.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Deep End  -  Five

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: He’s back. After all your best efforts at getting away, he’s found you again. And this time, he’s not letting you go so easily. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to get you to be his. Forever.

Warnings: Dark Themes, Language, Angst, Manipulation, Injuries, 

Word Count: 3.2K

A/n: here we are, folks. What if I ended it like this lol that would be kinda gangsta of me LMAO

Deep End Masterlist

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

~*~

You push open the front door with a heavy sigh, setting the paper grocery bags down on the counter then resting a hand on your growing belly.

There’s a tiny flutter under your hand and you can’t help yourself from smiling.

The smile vanishes, however, when a hand grabs at your shoulder and forces you to turn around.

“Where the Hell were you?” Steve’s angry voice demands.

You look up at him in shock and confusion, looking over at the groceries.

“I-I just went to the store.”

He shakes his head, grabbing your face with one hand and stepping closer. You take a step back with each one he takes towards you, and soon enough he’s got you pinned against the wall.

His grip on your face tightens and you wince, fear overwhelming your body, making your heart race.

“Bucky said he saw you talking to someone. A man. Who was he?”

You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes.

“H-He was just asking me about my pregnancy. When I'm due, if I know what I’m having.”

It’s nothing but the truth.

“I give you freedom and this is what you do? You go and flirt with other guys? You’re my property. Don’t forget that.”

Your tears fall down your cheeks and into his hand, but he doesn't let go. Even as your chest heaves and sobs bubble out of you, he stays glaring at you.

“Please, Steve, stop. Y-You’re hurting me!”

His jaw flexes and he slowly lets go, only to cage you against the wall, slamming his fist against it in the process.  

Your heart hammers in your chest, terror gripping you and freezing you in place as you remember what he did to Nat and her baby.

“I-I came home, didn’t I? I could’ve asked for help! Could’ve said something, but I didn’t. I’m here, again, even though I could’ve run away. I’m here. You have me! You have me.”

You slide down the wall, knees drawn up to your chest as you sob, the reality of your words and the fear doing a number on your emotions.

Steve’s anger slowly melts away, replaced with concern as he sees nothing but terror on your face.

“I-I didn’t mean to yell, honey. It’s okay, shh, come here.”

You don’t fight him as he pulls you into his arms and brings you upstairs into your bedroom, sitting you gently on the bed and pushing your hair away from your face.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, sweetheart I just... You gotta understand how nervous it makes me when you leave the house like that.”

You sniffle then slowly look up at him, your eyes bloodshot and tear-filled.

“Then why give me the freedom to leave?”

Your voice cracks and it makes his heart hurt.

“I... I want to trust you. That’s why.”

You take a few deep breaths, your eyes focused on your trembling hands as your heart starts to slow back to its normal rhythm.

“Ever since that night when Nat and Buck came over you’ve... you’ve been off. I’m worried about you, honey. I just wanna make sure that everything’s okay.”

He wants to know what Nat told you. What she said to have you acting like this.

Your eyes meet his, wet and full of fear as you whisper three words.

“Is it true?”

He has an idea what you’re referring to, and his heart picks up speed.

“Did...did you do it?”

He swallows hard and avoids your eyes, but that’s answer enough.

Some strange mixture of a gasp and a sob bubbles out of you, and you bring your hands up to cover your face as your shoulders start shaking again.

“I didn’t... I guess I did.” You sniffle and look up at him through your tears.

“If you want me to trust you... if you ever want any hope at having some semblance of normalcy, you’re gonna need to elaborate. I’m trying to play your little game but I just... I’m scared you’re gonna kill my baby too. That you’re gonna hurt Sarah.”

He shakes his head immediately, grabbing your hands and holding them softly in his.

“I would never hurt Sarah, or our new baby, okay? Natasha... she was becoming a liability. That being said, I didn’t go into it with the intention of hurting her baby but... I knew it could be a consequence.”

You wait for him to continue, your heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“When you burned the book... that wasn’t the only copy. Fury made sure there was at least one more, in case we ever needed it. Had his own group working on it, creating a new version of it. Natasha became a test subject long before I met you. Before I... took you.”

He drops his eyes and huffs out a sigh.

“We didn’t need to wipe her memory, we just... needed a way to make her more complacent. To make her realize that she can’t go off on her own and keep secrets like that. Especially when they involve you.”

Your chest heaves as you glare at him, your anger growing by the second.

“Did you kill her baby?”

The words are harsh like the crack of a whip, and he has to stop himself from flinching.

“It wasn’t my intention... but it was worth it.”

You choke on another sob, yanking your hands out of his grip.

“I didn’t know what the tea would do to her baby. It was just a mild sedative so we could get her to the facility and do the procedure. Get her to tell us where you were, where Sarah was. But then she... she started bleeding. I didn’t... I thought maybe it was just a side effect but then the doctors told us... (Y/n), you’ve gotta believe me. You need to know that I didn’t mean to...” he trails off and shakes his head, thinking about the niece or nephew that he could’ve had.

The son or daughter that he stripped Bucky of. The pain he inflicted upon Natasha. But he has you, so in the end, it was worth it.

You slowly look up at him, shaking your head.

“Why? You’ve done nothing but lie to me and hurt me. Why should I believe a word you’re saying?”

He swallows hard, reaching for your hand again only for you to yank it away once more.

“You want the truth? Fine. You’re not the first person that we’ve... taken. And I doubt you’ll be the last. Bucky... he had someone. Someone to help him control the soldier. But she turned out to be worse than him. We had to terminate her because she became a liability.”

He looks down at his hands, remembering how innocent she seemed. And then she snapped. Tried killing Nat and Bucky. Turned the redhead against them until Fury stepped in.

“Nat didn’t... agree with what we did. So we changed her mind.”

Your brows draw together in confusion.

He can’t mean... can he?

As if sensing your confusion, he elaborates.

“We didn’t do exactly the same procedure. But it... its function was the same. We needed her to forget certain things. To be our friend again while still remembering other things about the situation. And it worked. All I wanted to do this time was open her up to us again. Tell me where you and Sarah were. I never meant to hurt her baby.”

You shake your head furiously, tears dripping down your cheeks. “You’re a murderer. A disgusting monster. I hate you.” Your words are venomous and acidic, and Steve almost flinches at them, shaking his head.

“That’s not true, (Y/n). I love you.”

You laugh, the sound manic and for a moment Steve’s concerned.

“This isn’t love, Steve, this is obsession! It’s unhealthy! You’ve got me trapped here against my will! Y-You’ve hurt me and raped me and now I’m supposed to pretend everything’s okay? I’m supposed to play the good little housewife while you go around kidnapping and killing women? Killing other people’s children?! No!”

You stand up and try to move past him but he grabs hold of your forearm, rising to his feet with you.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His eyes are fiery as he glares at you, but you’re not nearly as afraid as you once were. No. You’re just angry.

You glare at him, rage burning through your body as you yank free from his grip and walk out of the room.

“You leave this house and I won’t hesitate to drag your ass right back!” He shouts.

But you don’t plan on leaving.

Oh no.

Why does he deserve his happy ending so much more than everyone else?

You turn to face him once you reach the top of the stairs, your heart in your throat at what you’re about to do. The damage it could cause.

At least it’ll get your point across.

“Why do you deserve a baby so much more than Natasha?” He furrows his brows, trying to figure out what your next move is going to be.

“I’ve given my life over and over for this stupid pathetic world. I’ve sacrificed my happiness time and time again. Do I not deserve something good?”

You take a deep breath and shrug.

“Maybe you do. But not like this.”

With that, you turn around and let yourself fall down the stairs.

Steve tries to grab you, he really does, but he’s just not fast enough.

He watches you fall, tumble down the stairs then lay still at the bottom, and for a moment all he can do is stare.

Memories fill his mind. Of you falling down the stairs. Then bleeding. So much blood. And your baby... gone.

He nearly falls down the stairs himself in his haste to get to you, two fingers pressing first to your pulse, then his hand is pressed against your belly, trying desperately to feel for the fluttering kicks you told him about.

It takes a minute, maybe two, and then he feels a small press against his hand.

He lets out a breath of relief then grabs his phone, calling the doctor.

~*~

When the doctor assures him that both you and the baby are okay, he’s relieved. But that only lasts for a moment before anger takes hold, powerful and persistent.

You can feel the anger rolling off of him when you wake up, and for a moment you’re afraid.

But hopefully, you got your point across.

He doesn’t deserve another baby. Not if that’s what he wants. He’s a terrible human being. And bringing a baby into the world with him as the father should be a crime.

“Where’s Sarah?” You ask, hoping to keep him as calm as possible.

“She’s having a sleepover with Morgan over at Tony and Pepper’s.”

You nod, your stomach dropping as you realize you’re alone in the house with him and he’s beyond pissed off.

Your mind races back to all the times he’s punished you in the past, and you almost throw up with the anxiety coursing through your veins.

“You ever do anything like that again and I swear I’ll make you regret it. I won’t kill you, no. My baby needs his mommy, but I’ll make you hurt. You’re lucky I’m not doing anything to you now.”

You swallow hard and look away from him in disgust, only for him to grab your jaw and force you to look at him.

“You need to stop acting out like this. I told you what happened to the last asset who became a liability. Fury shot her point-blank. A clean shot between her pretty eyes. Then he left her to bleed out on the bedroom floor while he fixed Nat’s memory. S’why she’s even still here and with Bucky. If she remembered what he did to that poor girl... she’d have killed him herself by now. But he needs to outlet to keep the soldier at bay. And he deserves her. Deserves some happiness in his fucked up life.”

You shake your head, disagreeing strongly with every word he’s spoken.

They're monsters. Natasha less so. A victim, like you, maybe. But the two soldiers? Monsters. Monsters who don’t deserve any happiness. They deserve nothing but a slow painful death and an eternity in the fiery pits of Hell.

“I told you, (Y/n), I didn’t mean to hurt her baby. If I’d wanted to, I’d be rubbing it in her face more. Showing off your pregnancy more. And if you think I’m gonna hurt our baby, you’re wrong. I would never hurt my babies. It kills me that you think I’d ever do something like that.”

“Can you blame me? You’ve already killed at least one baby.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks and you regret your words.

“You know what? I think you really need a reminder of your place, sweetheart. You’re mine. Maybe not my wife, yet, but soon enough. Until then, you need to know that you belong to me.”

His grip on your face is painful, but you don’t make a single sound.

No, he’s not going to win.

He doesn’t want to hurt the baby or cause unnecessary strain, so he can’t have you on your stomach like he usually would.

So he makes the most of you lying on your back.

He grabs your wrists and binds them above your head, hooking them to the ring on the headboard despite your struggles.

“Steve, no! Please! I-I... Don’t hurt me, please!”

He cocks his head to the side, watching you wriggle and strain.

“You’re mine, (Y/n). You belong to me. There’s no one in this entire world who’ll help you. You’re my property. It’s time you realized that.”

A sick smile spreads across his face as he remembers what made you obedient last time.

“You know, I think I know exactly what you need.”

He climbs off the bed and drops to his knees, rooting under it until he finds his special black box.

You wriggle away furiously, trying to break free before he can hurt you, but deep down you know it’s all for not.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he sits back down on the bed, worming his way between your thighs and flipping your dress up over your extended stomach.

“Please don't,” you whimper uselessly.

He strokes your inner thighs gently, then leans down to spit on your centre.

You flinch away, tears leaking from your eyes as you realize what he’s going to do.

“Please don’t,” you repeat, only to be silenced by him pushing something far too big inside of you.

You cry out, your back arching and sending shoots of pain up to your scalp. The added weight of your baby makes everything ten times more painful, and you can't stop yourself from sobbing as he forces every last inch of the thick dildo into your unprepared cunt.

It burns. Fire spreads from between your legs up your spine and the tears don’t stop.

“Stop! Please! I’ll be good!” He knows you won’t. Or, he just doesn't believe you. You want the pain to stop but you’re not actually willing to change your behaviour for it. Not yet. But you will.

When the dildo is finally fully inside you, he climbs off the bed and shoves the box back underneath it. He adjusts his pants then walks to the door, pausing to look at your trembling figure on the bed.

Your shoulders shake with sobs, and he feels pride swell inside of him.

Good. Now you’ll finally learn.

“You’re gonna stay here until you learn your place. I don’t care how long it takes. When you’re ready to apologize and be a good girl, then we’ll talk. But until then...” He shuts off the light and pulls the door closed behind him, leaving you alone, in pain, and in the dark.

Memories of the last time this happened stab at your brain, and you quickly start hyperventilating.

What’s worse than that, though, is the tiny voice in your head telling you to get off your back. That it’s not good for the baby if you stay like this.

But no matter how much you scream or cry for him, Steve doesn’t come to the door once.

~*~

He leaves you there for hours, or maybe days. It’s so hard to tell.

The room is soundproof, so no one can hear your cries and you can’t hear anything outside.

Even if people could hear you, it doesn’t really matter now.

You’ve been on your back for so long that you’re starting to get dizzy.

During your first pregnancy, you learned only that it’s bad for the baby to sleep on your back. You didn’t think you’d be feeling the effects of it, too.

But here you are, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, mind spinning and lungs struggling to pull in enough air to satisfy you.

It must’ve been several hours ago that Steve left if you’re feeling such strong effects of it. You’re not sure what the technical term is, but you know that you probably don’t have much time left. Your baby has even less.

Your heart aches. Each beat makes sadness bloom in your soul and you can’t stop it.

New tears fall down your cheeks, and all you want is to reach down and caress your belly, apologize to the life growing inside of you.

Apologize for hurting them, for who their father is. For the life you’re bringing them into.

Nobody deserves that.

But now... now you might not have to worry.

Every passing second sends the walls around you spinning faster and faster and faster until all you can do is let your eyes fall closed.

Sleeping will probably make it better anyway, right?

As the darkness creeps up, seeps into your limbs and chases the pain away, you pray.

You’ve never really prayed much before, but you do today.

You send a prayer to any and all Gods, the old ones and the new, and you ask for forgiveness.

You pray for the safety of your unborn child, and for that of Sarah.

A deep part of your brain knows that you may never open your eyes, and you want your daughter to know that you love her. That she means the world to you and you’ll do all that you can to protect her.

Thinking about Sarah brings a wave of strength seemingly out of nowhere, and for a moment you wonder if the Gods heard you. If this is them sending their aid.

You take a few deep breaths, building up as much strength as you can, and try your luck one last time.

“I’m sorry.”

Your voice isn’t nearly as loud as it should be, and the room is so thickly padded that there’s no way he can hear you.

Hopelessness floods your body and you fall into it.

Your sorrow distracts you from the darkness until it takes hold of you and pulls you down, away from the world of pain that you’ve been trapped in.

And you feel peace.

[bottoms-movie]

SAMBUCKY FIC RECS PT. 2

The first part did really really so I decided to make a second part of sambucky fic recs. Just as the last one: the fics are split into three categories: based on tfatws, canon divergence, and au. CHECK OUT PART ONE HERE All fics are completed and all are on AO3. 

BASED ON TFATWS

The Truths Beneath Our Ribs | Mature | 6,742 words

5 times Bucky wears Sam's things +1 time Sam wears something of Bucky's

anything you can do, i’ll do you better | Explicit | 5,526 words

Steve is going to kill them if they don't learn to get along, but did they have to take it so far?

making amends | Explicit | 8,645 words

“Not Cap yet,” Sam said. He looked a little ruefully at his hands, which were covered in nicks and cuts. He could already feel his palms bruising from that last shield catch, but at least nothing was broken this time.

“I respect that,” Bucky said slowly. Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. Bucky flexed and unflexed the vibranium fingers of his left hand, a nervous habit that Sam had clocked ages ago. “And you’re right.”

“Thanks, I know.” Sam waited a beat. “About what?”

Muscle Memory | 3 parts | Explicit | 13,156 words part 1: Muscle Memory | Teen | 1,766 words

Barnes sighs, and it’s a deep, soul-weary thing. “Maybe no one ever told you this, but I’m telling you right now. You don’t have any obligation to care about me because Steve did. You don’t have to pretend.”

Sam blinks, taken aback. He has to think, really think, about what he says next, because it’s - it’s either going to build or break something.

You’re My World | Explicit | 6,585 words

“I… oh, I get it now.” Sam tilted his head, perceptive as ever, goddammit. “All this flirting with my sister, that was just to get my attention, wasn’t it? I know it was. Say it.”

“That wasn’t—” Bucky croaked, but Sam wasn’t having it.

He huffed a low laugh, and bulldozed right through Bucky’s feeble pretense. “You like it when I pin you against the wall? Take away all that power you have, that strength that your arm gives you? Make you feel small, maybe?”

Call Me By Your (Pet) Name | Teen | 6,928 words

“You got a list of the nicknames available to us lesser mortals?” Sam continued, staring straight ahead at the seat in front of him. “The ‘you’re not Steve Rogers, so don’t even think about it’ collection?”

“Yeah, sure, there’s a list,” Bucky replied, pausing long enough to draw a pointed look from Sam. “Bucky,” he finished, gesturing broadly with his arm to convey the obviousness of the answer.

5 times Sam and Bucky used pet names as a joke + 1 time they used them in earnest

That’s not very gunkle of you | 2 parts | 4,325 words part 1: Bestie Vibes Only | Teen | 1,822 words

“What’s buzzin’ cousin?” Says Bucky, sitting down next to Sam on the docks.

That’s the moment that Sam realizes he needs to change tactics, no more subtly looking up definitions for his weird old person slang, it’s time to fight fire with fire.

“Not much bro, this view is highkey just hitting different TBH” he says, casually looking out at the water.

There’s a beat of silence and then,

“That’s swell doll, I just ate some four-o cackle jelly with side arms, and I’m looking for some kicks, you dig?

Oh, this means war.

misunderstandings | Not Rated | 3,167 words

Sam thinks Sarah and Bucky had a date, and he's Not Okay

you walked into my life to offer me a better view | Teen | 2,534 words

He was standing twenty feet away at the edge of the docks, chatting with Sarah, and Sam couldn't take his eyes away. Bucky's smile was warm, wide, and when he tipped his head back and laughed, his nose scrunching up and eyes crinkling at the corners, Sam could feel it vibrate straight to his heart.

falling, falling, flying | Teen | 2,778 words

Bucky had kissed him.

And Sam had pulled away, because that beautiful golden sunset made Bucky’s hair gleam with the faintest touch of blond, that rare summer breeze hissed like a dying missile past Sam’s ears, the kiss was so familiar, too familiar, and Sam was falling, falling—

(“Let yourself be happy, Sam. Please.”)

lonely boy, you are my world (and i could be anything you need) | Teen | 5,747 words

It all starts with Sam, a shelter, and this sweet kitten that reminded him far too much of a certain century-old, grouchy super soldier.

too dangerous to fall | Explicit | 3,466 words

Bucky Barnes is a one-armed menace. He has murder eyes and no care for basic safety protocols. His jokes are terrible and his bad moods are worse. He’s a godawful roommate who leaves his wet towels on the floor and his combat knives in the linen cabinet. Sam can’t stand the sight of him.

What happens in Louisiana | General | 3,478 words

But just then, in the engine room of the Wilson family boat, away from prying eyes, it felt like something they both needed. The closeness. The warmth.

Steve would laugh at them. Two grown men not being able to get it together. He would roll his eyes at Buck, nudge him with his elbow and tell him “you’re sweet on Sam Wilson so make a move already, punk.”

keep the ashes from my heart (and walk away) | Explicit | 4,412 words

“Jamie asked me out on a date,” Sam says. Bucky swallows. “Took him long enough,” he says, keeping his tone light. He bumps their shoulders together for good measure. “You should go for it.” “You really think so?” Sam asks, looking at him. “Yeah, man,” Bucky says. He fixes his gaze on Torres, high up in the sky, sunlight glinting off his wings. It hurts Bucky’s eyes. He blinks, rapidly. “You should be with somebody who can make you happy.”

(In which Sam starts dating someone who is not Bucky, and Bucky pines, gets seriously injured, and proves himself wrong.)

Hey Samuel | Teen | 3,223 words

"Bucky."

"Yeah?" He looked up eyes wide. Did he say something out loud?

"We're walking the wrong way."

"Oh." Right. Um. "Let's get ice cream."

"I don't know about you, man, but if I eat ice cream in this weather I will get sick."

Bucky was at a loss for words. What now?

OR Ride along Bucky's journey of figuring out when exactly did he fall for Sam Wilson.

Anyday, everyday | General | 6,735 words

He moved his head and locked eyes with Sam. "D'you- can you.. help me cut my hair?" He asked. He forced himself to look away, feeling embarrassed for asking him to come all this way just to give him a haircut.

His stomach dropped when he felt Sam let go of his hand to stand up. Of course he was about to leave. Who wouldn't want to leave Bucky?

"C'mon, Buck. Let me cut your hair." Bucky's eyes snapped up to Sam's. He had a small smile on his face and his hand was reaching out, waiting for Bucky to take it.

Or; the five times Bucky fell more and more in love with Sam, and the one time he finally got the guts to tell him.

If You’ll Have Me | Teen | 4,779 words

Sam casually shrugged, although there was an intent look in his eyes, "Yeah, well it's getting late and I didn't feel like flying anymore so I was wondering if your old man self is okay with-"

"You can stay here." Bucky quickly finished for him.

I like Bucky, Sam I am | Not Rated | 2,653 words

"I would kiss you on the boat. Or in Wakanda by your goats."

Static in the Dark | Teen | 4,989 words

So prompt idea, some bad guy follows Bucky to the docks for revenge (over whatever you can decide) and Sarah gets to see how protective Bucky really is over Sam when he gets in the line of fire

CANON DIVERGENCE

A Different Kind of Problem | Explicit | 7,616 words

“Do you know what it feels like to be insatiable?”

Two months ago, an interrogation gone wrong left Sam with Bucky’s explicit words seared into his brain and body.

Now, Bucky is living in the Avengers Compound, making pancakes and wearing Steve’s huge sweatshirts, fluffy haired and a little shy, seemingly completely content to be on house arrest — and Sam has never been more confused. Whatever Steve thinks, Sam doesn’t have a problem with Bucky. This domesticity is just so at odds with the feral sexuality Bucky had used to rattle Sam during his interrogation. Where did that side of Bucky go? And why can’t Sam stop thinking about finding it? Maybe Sam does have a problem with Bucky… it’s just not the problem Steve thinks it is.

Bucky’s Choice | Not Rated | 4,753 words

When Bucky enters Westview to try to help Wanda Maximoff, he is confronted with something he never expected- Steve Rogers, back from the dead and ready to start a life with Bucky in Westview. It's everything that Bucky ever wanted, everything that Steve abandoned when he went back in time to live his life with Peggy Carter. But Bucky and Sam have been involved for months, and Sam is waiting for Bucky outside of the Hex. Bucky has to make a choice- the life he always wanted with Steve, or a new start with Sam?

tonight i’ll need you to stay | General | 2,227 words

For once, Bucky wants to stop leaving when things are finally looking up. And he wants people to stay with him, too.

(or, 3 times bucky needed an excuse to stay with sam, and the one time he didn't)

How to Win a Supersoldier in Ten Days | Explicit | 14,901 words

When they realize that all the Winter Soldier's interactions with Sam are just him trying to Awkward MurderBot Flirt (TM) with the sexy man, Steve, Tony, and Nat convince Sam to play the honeypot and bring Bucky in.

Sam's pretty sure the honeypot isn't supposed to fall in love with the target, but what can you do?

at the end of the war (what’s mine is yours) | Mature | 4,290 words

They don't talk about it: that's how it works.

warm blood (feels good, i can’t control it anymore) | Explicit | 4,492 words

Sam's just chilling watching TV one evening when Bucky comes in and stares at him silently for a minute or two before sitting down on the couch. He's pretty close to Sam.

Okay, he's really close to Sam. Like, Sam would be using the word 'cuddling' if it wasn't so bizarre.

"What," he says, carefully not looking at Bucky, and Bucky huffs a sigh.

"Steve's not here," he says as if it's obvious. "Don't make it weird. Just- shut up."

Caught With Their Pants Down | Explicit | 3,539 words

“Sam, this guy is not coming, the intel was false,” Bucky replied. “I get this whole ticking boxes and what not, but Rogers got it wrong, and for the love of God I need a fucking toilet.”

“You need to learn to plan your water intake better, is what you need. You’re a damn fool and I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because you love me,” Bucky replied, and Sam could hear the smile in his voice.

“In your damn dreams, Barnes.”

They’d been fucking for about six months, but Sam didn’t want Bucky to go getting a big head about it.

AU

sharp teeth, soft heart | 3 parts | 17,866 words part 1: you touch me within and so i (know i could be human once again) | Explicit | 12,444 words 

It’s inevitable, the way it goes. He’s my friend, Steve says, and he is, he is, he must be. Sam’s best friend is Steve, and Steve’s best friend is a werewolf, that’s just how Sam’s life works now.

But once he realizes he’s attracted to Bucky and Bucky can tell, everything becomes, like, a thousand percent more difficult to negotiate. Sam’s just trying to live his life, that’s all, and he keeps getting confronted by Bucky Barnes in a soft flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair all soft and shiny. Bucky glances over at him and smirks, and this is really very embarrassing, how Sam can’t hide his attraction even if he keeps a totally straight face.

I’m so into you I can barely breathe | Explicit | 6,515 words

Sam Wilson had a long day dealing with morons, so he decided to finally go to the famous club in town. There he meets someone who just might get him back in a good mood. And then some.

twelve ounce steak (boxers in briefs) | Explicit | 3,753 words

Sam has pretty lips. Bucky seems to think so, too.

caught it bad (i’ll be on the way) | Mature | 4,830 words

Sam constantly gets roped into doing dumb things with Steve, but this time, it works out perfectly for him.

meet me in the a.m. | Teen | 3,147 words

Steve accidently starts a fire and Bucky's tired. When unbelievably hot firefighter Sam saves the day, though, he can't really be that mad.

i wanna savour, save it for later | Not Rated | 6,419 words

"It's his damn ratings, man," Sam says. "It's weird 'cause when you read the reviews, he seems to like our food and all. Nothing but praise for days. And then you get to the rating, and it's always the same. Three goddamn stars."

Bucky tips his beer bottle from side to side, lips pursing slightly. "I see. And that's… a bad thing?"

"We are not a three-star joint," Sam says flatly.

Or, the one where food truck owner Sam gets caught up in his quest to unmask an anonymous food blogger. Falling for one of his regulars was never on the menu.

we were a fire with no smoke | Explicit | 15,295 words

Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. Take the boys out of New York but they’re still Brooklyn Catholics, that’s clear enough. Bucky catches the gesture, smirks hard enough Sam can see his eye teeth. It should be dangerous but he’s beautiful, pale and charming and recklessly easy.

“You wanna come in?” Sam asks, ignoring the noise Steve makes, and Bucky’s smile gets wider.

“Yeah,” he says. Steps up close to Sam. “I do.”

my house of stone, your ivy grows | Teen | 9,042 words

When Sam Wilson inherits the manor of the old man he once took care of, it feels like his luck is finally looking up. It's an opportunity for a fresh start, something he's in desperate need of. When he arrives, however, it becomes clear that an easy transition into estate living is not exactly a possibility. The house is run-down, nothing like Sam remembers it, and the groundskeeper — who Sam apparently has to share the house with, wants nothing to do with him.

You Smiled Because You Knew | Teen | 3,754 words

"You've got the wrong address," the man who'd answered growled. He had long, scraggly hair that had mostly escaped his attempts to pull it away from his face. He had nice eyes, and wouldn't have been unattractive, especially with a shave, except for the scowl. "Nobody here wants or needs your . . . services."

It was apparent by the tone the man did not appreciate Sam's hard work.

Well, that was tough shit.

[slasherscream]

Hi I don’t know if you write for Thomas Hewitt or Vincent Sinclair but if you do you could you please make some headcanons about them and the other slashers like if they got into a fight with their s/o and how it would go, what it would be about, and how they would make up with their s/o please? It’s totally fine if you don’t want to. But if you do then thank you so much!

fighting with the slashers 

A/N: i do write for vincent (on a related note i also write for bo and maybe lester i haven’t tried him out yet)!

vincent sinclair 

You didn’t stay put when Vincent told you to and you got hurt. 

You hadn’t planned to leave. Until the sun started to go down and no one came back to the house to check up on you the way they so often do when there are visitors in town.

You are Ambrose’s second best kept secret. Alive because Vincent took one look at you and couldn’t bare to hurt you. And though Bo gripes about you he couldn’t tell Vincent no. Not when Bo saw the way Vincent held you behind him, head lowered but shoulders set, ready to actually fight him on something for once in their lives. 

So you’re kept in the house when there are people around. Other than not being able to leave it’s your only real rule. Vincent wants you to have no part in the more grisly aspects of the town and Bo and Lester honor his wish.

But the town is dead silent and no one has come to check on you. Most times Lester even comes to stay with you like some sort of babysitter. It used to irritate you, despite your fondness for the youngest brother. Now without him there your hands shake, and your eyes wander, and your ears burn as if pumping extra blood there will make you hear better. But there’s nothing to be heard. No screams. No cries. No Bo shouting. No guns going off. 

So you leave the house, searching for one of them. Instead you’re found by a survivor and held hostage in front of the twins. 

You all stand still for a long while, the victim not knowing what to do and the boys unable to move due to the knife digging into your neck, already drawing blood. 

Lester had been the one to save you, sneaking up behind your captor and stabbing them. You ran to Vincent on shaking legs and he gathered you into his arms, moving to take you back home. You could hear the screams of the man who’d almost killed you ringing through the streets behind you and shivered.

Vincent had cleaned your cut in silence and somehow had managed to barely touch you. Before you could blink he’d shut himself into his workshop and you were left alone until Bo came home and chewed you out.

You kept yourself busy cleaning and then prepared for bed, knowing it would be awhile before Vincent would come and join you. The sleep didn’t come easy as you were still shaken up, but eventually it came. 

You woke in the middle of the night to an empty bed and realized that if you didn’t go to get him Vincent wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. 

You walk drowsily through Ambrose’s underbelly, the smoldering heat not doing you any favors, until you arrive at Vincent’s workshop where he’s hunched over his desk, unmoving. 

Not wanting to startle him you call his name quietly and you see his head tilt in acknowledgement but he doesn’t turn to look at you. 

Slowly you move until your front is resting against his back, even slower your arms encircle him and you kiss his shoulder, feeling guilty at the tension laying dormant in them. “I’m sorry, Vince. I was just worried about you so... so I left the house. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I won’t do it again.”

He turns and there’s a pause, and then he moves his hands, fluid but slow. They’re shaking despite how strong you know they are. He tells you how he can’t lose you. How he loves you. He asks you to promise him that next time you’ll listen and you do, and you mean it. 

It’s only then that he pulls you into his lap and holds you tightly. You think he’s crying behind his mask but you just hold him back equally as tight and whisper I’m sorry against his steady pulse. 

pelle

He doesn’t like the company you keep. 

He has a plan. He has a plan to take you away from this strange, uncaring world that doesn’t deserve you. That doesn’t love you or care about you. If he sticks to the plan everything will be so easy. 

But sometimes Pelle loves you too much to bite his tongue. 

He can see it clearly, your perfect future where he takes care of you, and his family takes care of you, and you let them do it, and you’re happier for it; but you don’t live in that perfect future, you live in the frigid, imperfect present.

Here you stay up late in the night to help a friend finish a term paper when last week they didn’t even call when you were sick. You gave a classmate your umbrella to borrow a month ago, and today you come back shaking from the rain because they never bothered to return it.

A thousand little kindnesses that the world outside the Hårga spit on. 

He knows that all these moments of careless apathy towards you will only strengthen the draw you’ll feel when you finally meet his family.

You have the heart of a Hårga and he knows that you’ll feel that connection.

Still, the way the outside world, the way your friends and family slight you at every turn, makes his blood run hot. He’s never felt anger like this before. It is all consuming and yet he must stomach it alone.

And so his tongue is careless sometimes. He asks in tones that he shouldn’t use with you “you’re going out with them again?” and “but didn’t they-?” and still he is angry. The words do not ease the feelings because they do not fix the problem. 

Pelle must lead you into the arms of his family and their way of life. He cannot push you. But he doesn’t know how not to take care of you. 

He wants to beat away the leeches and moths that cling to your light and whisk you away to home where the sun will warm you with its love.

Your fights are gentle, and so you might never refer to them as fights when people ask you if you ever argue with Pelle. 

There is no yelling, or balled fists, or the animal sensation of fight or flight. He leads you to sit down with him and holds your face in his hands. Unthinkingly you mimic the gesture and he smiles at you lovingly. One kiss and he tells you that he doesn’t like your friends. Another and he says that you deserve better, deserve the world. 

You try to get a word in edgewise, to deny the claims he makes, to tell him that they really do care about you, but the words are smothered by his soft lips. He kisses you until your brain goes somewhere loved and numb. He slips your coat off of your shoulders and pulls you close. He keeps you there until you forget that you had anywhere to be besides his arms. 

You and Pelle don’t fight. 

chucky and tiffany 

Tiffany is used to Chucky being a piece of shit. You are not.

Upside to fighting with Chucky is that Tiffany is immediately on your side, even if you’re in the wrong (I’m joking it’s always Chucky’s fault.)

Downside is that the whole house is now up in fucking chaos. 

chucky: tiff where are my fucking keys?

tiffany: in hell! why don’t you go and grab them?

You appreciate her fighting spirit but she’s really going in on y’all’s man. 

Which is not to say that Chucky doesn’t deserve it. Because he does deserve it, but you know from personal experience that being on Tiffany’s bad side is scary.

Why are you and Chucky fighting? Chucky is an insensitive asshole, and even the toughest skin isn’t bullet proof. 

The aftermath of whatever Chucky did is a lot of sullen silence from you; the sounds of a knife chopping a little too loudly in the kitchen from Tiff; and loud bits of huffing and puffing from Chucky as he stomps around the house. 

At first he thinks he can just wait out your anger until you start missing him. It used to work with Tiffany all the time!

But this relationship involves three people. You’re not so quick to get desperately lonely, especially if Tiffany isn’t the partner you’re fighting with. Do you miss Chucky? Sure. Do you miss him enough to let him be an asshole just to get some cuddle time in on the couch? As if! Tiffany is the better cuddler anyway. 

The man child is going to have to say sorry and mean it. 

Of course this means that your relationship is going be sans-Chucky for at least a week.

Tiffany reaches the breaking point before Chucky does. Obviously more in-tune with your feelings she can tell how much the fight is getting to you and no one messes with her sweetheart! Not even Chucky.

You’re going to hear her delicately clearing her throat, look up from your phone, and find Tiffany holding Chucky at fucking knife point. 

tiffany: do you have anything to say, chucky?

chucky, trying to decide if he’ll let tiffany kill him just to prove a point: ....

tiffany: i’ll start with your dick-

chucky: i’m sorry! are you fucking hAPPY?!

You’re gonna be like no!!! I do not accept the apology you gave me under extreme duress! At which point you turn over in bed and pull the covers over your head.

You’ll hear rapid-fire whispering and then the bed dips behind you. A knee presses into your back, and kisses are pressed carelessly to where your head should be beneath the covers. Then, finally, the quietest “I didn’t mean it, doll.” as he pulls the blanket back in order to look at your face. 

You’re stopped dead by the softness on his face. By the softness he let’s you see, even if it’s only for a moment. It might not be the words I’m sorry but it sounds like them. It sounds like an I miss you, as well.

When you drop your phone and throw your arms around his neck, touching him for the first time in a week, Chucky sighs in relief. 

Not ten seconds passes before Tiffany has thrown herself over the both of you, suffocating you in her loving embrace. Just like that, balance is restored in the Lee Ray-Valentine household. For now. 

[writeroutoftime]

baby makes three

(gif created by me)

pairing: colin bridgerton x fem!reader (this is for the 3 anons who wanted to see a similar situation with colin being a father!)

summary: snapshots of colin throughout your pregnancy with your first child 

warnings: pregnancy 

words: 1.7k 

a/n: this is the story that kept disappearing in my drafts, but it has reappeared, which is why I’m posting 2 stories back to back! 😂anyway, this is such a sweet thought, and I adored writing it! hopefully it doesn’t seem too choppy, I just thought it would be interesting to write little snippets of colin and yourself preparing to be parents! (as well as some fluff once the baby is born!) anyway, please let me know what you think, and have a lovely day! 

oOoOo

the announcement 

“You’re what?” 

“Pregnant, Colin.” you repeated, unable to keep the smile off your face. “And you’re going to be the most wonderful father!” 

Immediately, Colin’s face morphed from one of disbelief to pure joy in a matter of seconds before he shot forward and wrapped you up in his arms. His laughter and lightheartedness was infectious, and your heart swelled at his reactions. A gasp of surprise left your lips as he spun your around before setting you back down and placing a chaste kiss against your lips. 

Growing up in the Bridgerton family, Colin always knew that he wanted a large family of his own one day. The day he had met you, he knew you were the one for him, and from that day he had imagined starting a family with you. Now, those dreams were coming to fruition, and neither of you could be happier. 

Once recovered, Colin quickly got down on his knees and lovingly placed a kiss to your covered stomach, staring up at you with intense love and devotion in his eyes. You reached down and carded your hand through his thick, chestnut locks, thinking how lucky you were to have someone like Colin in your life. 

“Hello, little bean.” he whispered sweetly. “I cannot wait to meet you, so you just stay safe and keep growing in there until it’s time.” Colin instructed, pulling a laugh from your lips. 

“Little bean?” you questioned the nickname for your unborn child. 

Colin shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Well, we don’t know if we are to have a son or a daughter, so I shall call our precious gift ‘little bean’ for the time being.” he explained as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.  

“Well this little bean and myself love you dearly, Colin.” you praised, smiling down at your husband. 

“And I, the both of you.” he vowed, offering your stomach one more kiss before standing up, unable to keep his lips away from yours. 

5 months 

Colin beamed as he watched you walk into the drawing room and sat down, admiring the glow that you seemed to radiate. The months were passing quickly, and now that there was a visible bump it made your situation feel all the more real. Of course, you had received so much love and support from not only Colin, but the rest of his family, especially the women who had already experienced a pregnancy of their own. It warmed your heart to know you were not alone in this endeavor. 

“Oh!” you suddenly gasped, quickly setting your teacup down and rubbing your stomach where you felt a slight discomfort. 

“Is everything alright, love?” Colin asked as he rushed to your side. “Do we need to call for the doctor? My mother?” he listed, worry glazing over his eyes as he hovered, waiting for your instruction. 

The movement repeated and with your hand rested over your bump, you smiled, realizing what had just happened. “No, no, everything is perfect.” you whispered, lost in wonder and awe. 

“Then what is it?” Colin inquired, still concerned and needing answers. 

Wordlessly, you grabbed his hand and rested it on your stomach, moving it around for a few seconds before pressing down. Colin was about to protest further until he felt the same sensation you did just moments before and his eyes widened at the spot his hand rested on. His eyes then flicked up to meet yours, and neither of you could contain the joy you felt. 

“That’s our little bean in there.” he whispered, voice shaky and eyes misty. 

“That it is.” you whispered, not wanting to disrupt the moment, though you let out a small giggle when you felt the baby kick again. 

“She’s going to be just as beautiful as her mother.” he said. 

“She?” you questioned. “What happened to little bean?” 

“Oh, she’s still our little bean, but I just have a hunch that we’re going to have a daughter to love and spoil.” Colin said, pulling you into your side and soothingly rubbing his hand up and down your bump, and that is where the two of you stayed for the rest of the afternoon. 

8 months 

The further along in your pregnancy you were, the more you found it difficult to sleep, tossing and turning as your child constantly kicked against your stomach. Luckily, Colin was always there to help you and even stayed awake with you on those restless nights. However, one night when sleep was achieved quite easily, you found yourself awakening to Colin’s soft voice. It only took a moment to realize he was talking to your baby, so you kept your eyes closed and your breath even, not wanting to interrupt the moment. 

“I can’t wait until I can hold you in my arms, little bean.” he whispered to your belly, hand supporting his one hand while the other ever so gently rested on your stomach. “You’re mother and I cannot wait for you to be in our lives, and you’re going to be so spoiled between your mother and I and all your aunts and uncles.” 

It was difficult to hold in a laugh as you imagined Colin’s words to be true. The two of you were eager to start your family, and the rest of the Bridgerton clan always enthusiastically welcomed another niece or nephew to dote upon. 

“Speaking of your mother,” Colin continued. “we are so lucky that she is in our lives. I know that this has been difficult for her, but you have been blessed with the best mother. We’ll both have to love and appreciate her as much as possible.” 

By that point, it was exceedingly difficult to keep your act up as you felt tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. How were you so lucky to have such a caring and attentive man like Colin in your life? It seemed as though your baby had been listening and agreed with Colin because right after he spoke, another sharp kick could be felt. 

“Are you giving your mother trouble, little bean?” he asked, brows furrowed as he awaited another kick. “What did I just say about being kind to your mother? It is not nice to kick her that hard, especially at night.” he reprimanded in the gentlest voice. “Even if she is pretending to be asleep.” he added with a smug grin, looking up to meet your eyes. 

Sheepishly, you looked down at your husband. “How did you know I was awake?” you asked, curious as to what it was that gave you away. 

“I could feel your small laugh earlier on.” he admitted, and shifted his body so that he was face to face with you instead of your stomach. “But I truly meant every word I spoke.” he whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips. 

When you pulled away, you couldn’t stop the tears that ran down your cheeks, moved by the love Colin always gave you. “I’m so lucky to be doing this with you by my side. You are going to be the best father, Colin.” you told him, your voice watery but sincere. 

Colin gently brushed away your tears and kissed the spots where tear tracks had been left behind as he entwined your hand with his. “I think I am the lucky one, love.” he countered, and curled into your side for the rest of the night. 

birth 

The moment you went into labor, Colin was there to hold your hand while sending out for the midwife and doctor as well as his mother. When the doctor tried to shove him out of the room, Colin held his ground and demanded that he be allowed to stay by his wife’s side; he was not about to leave you to fend for yourself at this hour. Hesitantly, the doctor granted his request, and you sighed a breath of relief, as Violet smiled to herself at the sight, her heart warmed at how dedicated the two of you were to each other. 

Hours later, filled with blood, sweat, and tears, you were propped up in your bed, gently holding your daughter in your arms. It was a tender scene between yourself, Colin, and y/d/n. Colin held you in arms and kissed the top of your head while gently stroking his daughter’s cheek with his thumb. It felt surreal that you child was now here and that your family had grown to three. 

“She’s beautiful.” you said, voice barely above a whisper, unable to tear your eyes from your daughter. 

“Just like her mother.” Colin responded, squeezing you a bit tighter. “Thank you, y/n.” he suddenly said, causing you to look up at him. 

“Whatever for?” you asked. 

Colin took a moment to collect his thoughts before he spoke. “For starting our family, for being so strong to support our daughter until she was ready to meet us, for making me so incredibly happy every single day.” he listed over, each one more passionate than the last. 

It was already an emotional day, and you didn’t think your heart could feel any more full, but as usual, Colin found a way to prove you wrong. “I love you so much.” you told him, and he leant his head down to rest against yours as the two of you spent the next couple hours admiring the newest addition to your family. 

Later that night, Colin found that he could not sleep, the excitement and adrenaline of the previous day’s events still coursing through his veins. Carefully, he untangled himself from your embrace and padded over to the bassinet in the corner of your room where your daughter slept. He knelt down next to her and simply watched as she slept her first night. A few minutes later, your daughter opened her eyes and met Colin’s gaze. 

“Hello there, little bean.” he whispered, not wanting to frighten her or wake you up. “I just want to let you know that I love you so, so much, and I’m always going to be here to protect you.” Colin promised as he offered a finger for your daughter to grab a hold of with her tiny hand, ready for everything the future would bring. 

oOoOo

tagging: @dreaming-about-fanfictions​, @elennox03