#last week i was so completely immersed in the fic i was writing that i even had the thought 'oh i'm probably going to burn myself out soon'

[spiderscribe]

writer's block has been kicking my brain like a soccer ball for the past few days, so i'm taking a short break from fic writing. in the meantime i caved to tumblr peer pressure and started watching arcane

[mariasont]

Okay , so a smutty Spencer x reader fic where is very alternative with tattoos and piercings. Maybe she works with the team as an entomologist or something idk BUT she always wears her contacts and one day she comes in thick black frame glasses. Spencer goes feral, he's never seen her in glasses before and he just kinda drags her into a hall closet and just "keep the glasses on" there's a lot of fanfics about the reader going feral seeing Spencer in glasses for the first time but what if it was reversed.

Framed Fascination

A/N: omggggg i loved writing this, you just know spencer would sooo be a sucker for a woman with tats and piercings, so canon

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING xoxo

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x alt!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, glasses kink, praise, p in v, dirty talk, degrading sort of, office sex

wc: 2k

When you began dating Spencer, it raised a few eyebrows. Spencer Reid--reserved, a bit awkward, and endlessly knowledgeable--had ended up with someone who they thought was his complete opposite. And to that he would always say, "while the prevailing research suggests similarity is more common in relationships, there's an interesting phenomenon where sometimes, the very things that differ between two people can create a complementary dynamic, much like how two puzzle pieces with different notches fit."

At times, you would point out your differences solely to prompt this response. But, in truth, aside from your outward styles, you shared more similarities than not. Your tattoos and piercings were the first details Spencer noticed and quickly became his favorite as you strode into the morgue on a particularly demanding case. You were immersed in explaining how arsenic disrupted the body's functions, but Spencer was lost in the visual narrative of your ink, his gaze lingering on every etched symbol and shaded figure. From that moment, he was wholly engrossed, and vowed to eventually explore all the unseen tattoos that your clothes kept from view.

Spencer may have had the whole 'nerdy boy-next-door' aesthetic down to a science, but you? You took pride in being called 'intimidating', knowing it was just a first impression. You knew that beneath that surface lay as Spencer would say, 'a cinnamon roll'. Spencer seemed to see through it from the beginning, which is why he didn't hesitate to ask you out as soon as the case closed.

In the span of eight months, your life had been transformed into its healthiest chapter with Spencer as the culprit. He filled every day with thoughtful gesture--surprise art museum dates, breakfast in bed, flowers that would mysteriously find their way to your desk, notes you'd find tucked inside your coat pockets. In fact, if you had seen it in a cheesy rom-com, he probably had done it. You had been tackling each day with a little spring in your step.

Just like today--you bounded into your office humming—you were humming as you went over paperwork. Tasked with consulting for the consumer safety department, your focus was zeroed in on the pervasive issue of phthalates creeping into beauty products. You adjusted the unfamiliar weight of the thick black frames perched on your nose--an odd sensation since you habitually opted for contacts--as your eyes dragged over the papers.

The hum of the fax machine broke the silence, and you swiveled in your chair, a smile dawning as you recognized the documents from last week's BAU case--giving you a chance to steal a moment with your boyfriend.

Paperwork in hand, you made your way to the BAU office, the click of your heels on marble floors keeping time with your quickening pulse. The bullpen was a whirlwind of activity as you greeted Morgan and Prentiss with a nod and smile, your gaze sweeping through the room until it landed on him. 

"Hi there, handsome," you greeted with a playful lilt in your voice, your fingers rapping gently against the wood of his desk.

"Hi, sweetheart--," he began, but his words trailed off as his eyes met yours. There was a pause, a momentary lapse in his ever-flowing stream of thoughts, as he took in the sight of you.

Glasses? He couldn't recall you ever wearing glasses, yet there they were, and the effect was undeniable. The sight sent a wave of unexpected thrill through him--a visceral reaction that left him speechless, his lips parting in awe. 

Spencer's throat cleared, a subtle sound amid the bullpen's activity. His gaze flickered around the room, a silent plea that his colleagues were too engrossed in their work to notice the way he practically undressed you with his eyes. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

"Since I nearly scratched my eye out trying to get my contacts in this morning," you said with a laugh, though the action of straightening your glasses was more of a nervous tic.

His stare was unyielding--intense and almost piercing. It unsettled you slightly as you studied his expression, your head tilting inquisitively as he said nothing else. 

"Well, uh, anyway I have to drop this off to Hotch," you murmured, your voice trailing off as you felt the weight of Spencer's penetrating gaze. 

You lingered for a heartbeat too long, hoping for a word, a smile--anything. But nothing came. With a shaky breath, you turned away, hands trembling ever so slightly as you handed the paperwork to Hotch. You whisked yourself back to the comfort of your office. The was weird, right? I mean, sure, Spencer had never been one for being overly affectionate in public, but he at least had more to say than that.

You pushed the nagging doubts to the back of your mind, focusing on the monotony data and figures that sprawled across your reports. He was probably just having a bad day, too maybe theoretical thoughts brewing in the beautiful mind of his.

The hours crawled by, each minute punctuated by the drone of the office--uninteresting reports, pesky coworkers, and the persistent buzz of thoughts circling back to Spencer. When it was an appropriate time to take your lunch, you pushed your laptop aside with a little too much eagerness, hands diving into your bag for your food. 

But before you could do that, a soft interruption at the door caught your attention. Your head snapped up, meeting Spencer's gaze as he leaned causally against the frame of the door.

He stood there, watching as you glanced up at him, the rims of your glasses framing your eyes in a way that made an involuntary shiver down his spine, his gaze lingering on your face. You appeared tired, yes, but the image of you like this had been imprinted on his mind all day, rendering his work secondary to the thought of seeing you again. 

"Spence, hi," you greeted, a sweet smile blooming on your lips as you peered up at him. Your brows knit together slightly; his visits were rare unless case-related. "I was just about to take my lunch, wanna join?"

"No," he replied with a swift shake of his head, the corners of his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. "Could I borrow you for a second?"

Your gaze returned to the lunch that lay before you, untouched and suddenly unappealing. Letting out a small sigh, you nodded. "Sure," you replied, still trying to piece together Spencer's odd behavior today.

He tilted his head back subtly, a silent cue for you to follow him. You obliged without hesitation, following after him, your steps echoing his through the hallway. Your confusion mounted, etched into the deepening furrow of your brows with each corner turned. 

"Spencer," you said, a giggle escaping your lips. "I trust you're not taking me down some ominous hallway to meet my untimely end?"

"Actually, it is an interesting fact that the majority people meet their 'untimely end' at the hands of someone they love." 

"Great, thank you for that, I think that's my cue," you joked, pivoting away in an attempt to make a dramatic exit. But Spencer's reflexes were quick, his grasp secure on your wrist as he steered you into the nearest supply closet. The small space muffled your surprised oomph as you nearly collided with a stack of supplies.

You stumbled into the warmth of his chest, your glasses skewing comically as you steadied them with a fingertip. "Spencer! What has gotten into you?"

"You," came his growl, rough and urgent, while his hands frantically sought your legs, pinning you against the wall.

A soft moan slipped through the surprise of parted lips as his lips found yours. Your fingers tangled in the soft locks of his hair, pulling him closer, your mouth meeting his with the same intensity. 

Your laughter mingles with the kiss as you pull back, lips brushing. "Not that I'm complaining, Agent Reid, but someone is definitely going to catch us."

His eyes meet yours, equally amused as he pins your hands over your head. He makes quick work of open-mouthed kisses on your neck, your body instantly melting into his as his teeth scrape along your sweet spot. "Don't care."

His lips trailed back to yours, his fingers fumbling to push your skirt up to your stomach. You let out a surprised gasp into his mouth, finding the sudden intensity of him incredibly hot. He pressed his thumb into your clit as you dug your fingers into the nape of his neck, your head lolling back as you all but thrusted into his hand. The room swirled with heat, your glasses misting up. You reached for the pesky frames, but his fingers intercepted, pining them against your chest.

"Those stay on, sweetheart." The words tickled your ear, intimate and close, as his fingers traced through your slick folds, coaxing a contented pant from you.

"That's what's got you all worked up, Spence?" You moaned out as his fingers glided over your skin, now slick, drawing a line of warmth up your body. 

He settled his thumb on your tongue, shutting you up as he grabbed a handful of your ass. You wrapped your lips around it, savoring the taste as your eyes locked with his over the foggy veil of your glasses. His gaze held a quiet pride as he smirked. 

"Drove me crazy seeing you like that this morning." He said as he ground his body into yours, his erection settling on your stomach. "Makes you look so fuckable. Couldn't focus on anything else."

Your mouth vibrated softly around his thumb, muffled as he drew it away with pop. He makes quick work of undoing his belt, shoving down his pants and boxers just enough to release his length.

Your mouth watered at the sight, your body instinctively lowering to your knees, but his hand was there stopping you with a firm, "No time."

He pinned your shoulders to the wall with his body, his mouth crashing with yours with desperate need. Your mouth fell open into his as you felt his length press into your opening, his fingers holding your panties aside.

"You feel so good, sweetheart."

You don't think you would ever get over the feeling of him inside you, the way he stretched you out just right. You let out an unrestrained moan as he proceeded to pump inside you, his movements ruthless.

His palm sealed over your lips, a sudden barrier that sent warmth spreading across your face, glasses clouding rapidly, obscuring your view. "Quiet, baby. You want everyone to know how much of a slut you are for me? Letting me fuck you in the office?"

You all but sobbed against his palm, your hands fisting the material of his sweater as he continued to abuse your pussy with deep strokes.

"Sp-Spence, please baby," you managed to breathe out as he released his hold on your mouth, grinding against him in an attempt at friction with your sensitive clit.

"What do you need, sweetheart?" He questioned, almost condescendingly as his fingers traced your cheek gently, a stark contrast to the way he pounded into you. "Need me to take care of you?"

"Please," you choked out.

"You're so good for me, baby." He said, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as he pressed his thumb to the part of you that ached most. You let out a sob of relief as you ground against his movements, the familiar coil in your stomach beginning to wind up as you clutched at Spencer's face.

"Spencer, shit, 'm so close," you babbled, tears welling in your eyes as each of his thrusts seemed to urge the ache.

"Go ahead, baby." He moaned as his you felt his thighs twitch against you. "Come on my cock, sweet girl."

His words were all you needed to push you off the edge, your back arching against the wall as your legs shook, threatening to collapse as a wave of pleasure washed over you. He came shortly after you, his form yielding to gravity as his head nestled into the crook of your shoulder, both of you panting softly as you tried to catch your breath.

After savoring a few heartbeats of content, he gently disentangled himself from you. His fingers deftly rearranging your skirt, with a touch so soft, so different from his demeanor two minutes ago. 

"Guess I need to wear the glasses more often, huh?"

A soft laughter bubbled up from him, his fingers lightly grazing under your eyes, brushing away the stray smudges of makeup. "Please do."

[yaniluvs]

nerd. -l.mh ✿ !

pairing : lee minho x fem!reader

info : short fic , oneshot , adult au , humor , fluff , slightly rushed , drabble ?

persona : minho as his usual self ; play-mean , teasing , sassy , flirty , sarcastic , playful , cat daddy, simp , member of skz x fem!reader as a nerdy , sassy , sarcastic , has bangs and glasses , girlie who loves producing + writing + reading, being his best friend since childhood.

word count : 1310

warnings : none but minho is so omg im giggling

notes at the end ! ♡︎

Minho leaned back on the couch in the dimly lit recording studio, his eyes half lidded with a mix of exhaustion and contentment. It was— well, past midnight. But the studio was still buzzing with eternal life, the faint sound of taps and muted rustle of paper filling the air.

And on the chair, writing in front of him, sat her, her fingers deftly gliding over her laptop keyboard as she worked on arranging of a track they’d been working on all day. She was— oh so, in her element, completely soaked in her work; her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, bangs slightly disheveled from hours of concentration. But Minho? That man could not help but smile at the sight.

She had always been like this, ever since they were as young as elementary kids. While the other students in middle school were busy gaming and gossiping about who-knows-what, she was rather lost in her own little world of melodies and papers. Always been the academic weapon, she devoured literature as if they were going out of style. It was, so, endearing, the way she immersed herself in music, spending countless hours reading and writing, producing and perfecting. 

Nerd, you say?

Then you’re so correct. Minho was constantly teasing her about it back in middle school, calling her a "nerd" whenever she carried a stack of music theory books that was nearly half her height. But there definitely was something about the way she looked with those oversized glasses, her bangs framing her face, her intense focus on whatever she was working on—it was impossibly adorable, and it made his heart flutter more than he cared to admit. 

The way his eyes twinkled whenever she spoke. The way he caught himself staring at her lips a tiny bit longer than ever. Boy, was he down bad.

“Still tweaking that bridge?” Minho’s voice broke the silence. “If you keep obsessing over it, you’re going to burn a literal hole through your screen.”

She glanced up, rolling her eyes but failing to suppress a tiny smile. 

“I’m not obsessing. I’m refining. There’s a difference.”

“Uh-huh. Refining.” Minho drawled, leaning on the armrest of the couch, resting his head on his hands from the side, as he watched her. “You’re still the same nerd from middle school— you know? If not, prettier.”

“Better a ‘pretty’ nerd than a slacker,” She shot back, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a finger, a simple action that made his chest tighten with internal giggles. “At least I’m not the one who had to ask for help with his choreography last week.”

Minho winced at the reminder. “Please, I was just... creatively blocked.”

“Right.” A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, her left dimple in clear view. “And who helped you out of that ‘creative block’? Oh, that’s right— me!”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, you’re the genius here. Happy?”

Minho watched her for a moment longer, his heart pounding a little harder than usual. 

The pair had grown up together, shared countless memories, and been there for each other through every awkward, confusing stage of life. But somewhere along the line, his feelings for her had deepened, evolved into something more than just friendship. And the fact that the other members knew about it, in such a short span of time—and teased him relentlessly for it—didn’t help that at all.

“You know,” He began, trying to sound casual, “the guys think I’m head over heels for you.”

She snorted, her gaze still fixed at her prized MacBook. “Delusional enough? Bet they’re just sulky over all the rumours, honestly.” She teased, chuckling softly. “They’ve also probably been teasing you endlessly, haven’t they?”

He groaned. “You have no idea. They won’t let me live it down. They say I get all starry-eyed whenever you’re around.”

“Do you?” She finally looked up, a glint in her eyes. “Get all starry-eyed, I mean?”

His grin faltered, and he felt a slight panic rising in his chest. This was dangerous territory, the kind where a careless word or a slip of the tongue could reveal far more than he was ready to admit. 

He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his usual cool demeanour. “Maybe I do..?” He immediately shook it off. “Nah, I don’t. Like you said— they’re just delusional. But.. you are kinda mesmerising when you’re in your zone, actually.”

She laughed, a light, melodic sound that sent warmth spreading through his chest. “Well, if that’s the case, then I’m flattered, Lee Know.”

He rolled his eyes in utmost sass, at the use of his stage name but didn’t protest. He was about to retort with something equally teasing when the door to the studio burst open, revealing the infamous insomniacs; Chan, Felix, and Jisung stumbling in, their grins wide and eyes twinkling with nothing but teasing.

“Minho hyung!” Jisung sing-songed, dragging out the last syllable as he waltzed over to the couch, plopping down beside him. “What’s this we hear about you being all googly-eyed over her again?”

Minho groaned, slumping back in his seat. “Eavesdropping now, are we?”

“Only when it’s entertaining,” Felix chimed in, leaning against the wall with a grin that screamed trouble. “And watching you get all flustered around her is very top-tier entertainment— almost like a drama—  no, better!”

“Lix,” She sighed, her tone exasperated but affectionate. “Do you guys have nothing better to do?”

Chan, always the voice of reason, held up his hands in mock surrender. “We were just passing by and couldn’t resist. Besides, we have to make sure Minho doesn’t mess things up with his childhood sweetheart, y’know?”

Minho shot him a withering glare. “I hate you all.”

“Mmm, liar, you love us,” Jisung quipped, nudging Minho with his elbow. “Almost as much as you love her.”

Minho’s face burned at that, and he tried to stammer out a response, but she beat him to it, her voice laced with amusement. 

“Alright, alright, that’s enough. Let the poor guy breathe.”

Chan, Felix, and Han exchanged glances before erupting into laughter, clearly enjoying his cute discomfort. But they took pity on Minho, retreating with exaggerated bows and blown kisses before filing out of the room, leaving him alone with her once more.

There was a brief silence after they left, and Minho could feel the weight of her gaze on him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, knowing he’d never hear the end of this from the guys later.

She chuckled lightly, making literal pigs run around his unbearable heart. That— oh fuck, that little laugh. It made him go just a little too— nuts?

“Classic skz,” She said, a smile escaping her pretty lips.

“Don’t worry— if it’s like— uncomfortable, i’ll just go and let them know. You know it’s all fun—“

She smiled, a small, genuine smile that sent his heart soaring. “Min, it’s fine, really.” 

“But are they wrong though?”

He raised an eyebrow, his heart slightly racing quicker. “W-wrong?” That head-over-heels motherfucker just stuttered. How did it even escape his lips? 

He composed his posture, clearing his throat, “I mean— about— what?”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the realization hanging in the air between them like a fragile thread. Then, slowly, Minho reached out, his hand hovering over hers before gently taking it.

And they made eye contact. Her eyes searching his brown ones; while that man’s gaze turned all heart-eyed. Get a grip, Minho, will you?

But his heart was not stopping, nope.

“What would you say if—” He began,

Only to be interrupted.

By her.

By her— soft lips embracing his in a gentle yet deep, kiss.

After a long minute— they pull away; breaths heavy and skin crimson.

“Holy fuck those pretty lips taste sweeter than I expected.”

｡ . ☁︎ ⊹ .

｡ﾟ✿ author's note !

IM BACK UEDJWNFBKWQKEWEWKEDWKWNEKN plz i love minho sm its concerning + NERDS.

plz lmk if yall liked it - im very open to feedback <3

i also have a looot of other drafts which ill post soon.. theyre all skz ㅠㅠ

WELL then thank you for reading, i appreciate it ! ✮

[tkaulitzlvr]

Hii! Could you please maybe do one of where the reader and Tom are like on a break from each other, and the reader and him end up being at the same party and he gets all touchy with this girl and the reader gets jealous and she ends up making out with this guy out in the crowd and Tom sees and gets jealous and ends up beating the guy up and the reader and him get into a heated argument in the car on the way to his place and he ends up doing yk as soon as they get there but in a angry way 👀

(sry Im really bad at explaining. And if you cant do it I totally understand, plus your writing is AMAZING, like seriously I appreciate all the time and effort you put into your writing I could never 😭)

BELONG TO YOU - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: you and tom had decided to take a break from your relationship a few weeks back, and you hadn’t seen him until now, at some random party, flirting with another girl. you want payback, but tom notices straight away, acting on his jealousy.

content: angst & smut

a/n: this is such a good idea omgg these types of fics are my fav to read and write. this took me three days omg i made this like unnecessarily long & detailed sorry about that.😭 thank you so much for the request and ur kind words anon!! 💞 also this clip is so hot like hello rail me pls.

my eyes burn into his figure from across the room, fingers clutching the plastic cup in my hand so hard that the material begins to crumple, though i don’t care. i am far too immersed in the interaction taking place in front of my eyes, watching the way he places a hand on her thigh, whispering things into her ear with that same playful smirk i had seen too many times, completely oblivious to the fact that i am here, seething with rage at the sight. god knows how long i had been watching the pair for, time had seemed to stop altogether the second my eyes landed on him, all i know is that i am getting closer and closer to losing my sanity.

it didn’t matter that i was a considerable distance away. i noticed everything - the way his tongue poked out of his mouth and repeatedly brushed against his lip piercing, the lingering touches which, though failing to reach the cleavage spilling out of her tight dress, were pretty close to getting there - too close. not that it matters too much that his hands hadn’t reached the most intimate parts yet: his eyes were already doing the work for him, staring so intently at her overtly prominent chest that he should’ve made physical contact with them and put me out of my misery, tearing away the only remnant of hope i had left - hope that he wouldn’t stoop so low and give himself to the first girl that he saw.

though i know that my expectations are way too high for someone like tom. he hadn’t cheated whilst we were in the relationship, but outside of it, he couldn’t help himself. and, even though we hadn’t actually broken up, ‘giving each other some space’ as he called it, it seems that his morals haven’t at all changed, and i am the last thing on his mind - my chest heaving up and down in utter rage as his hand travels suggestively further and further upwards, fingers dipping underneath her dress slightly. that was it. admittedly tipsy, i strut toward him, stopping just a few feet away from him, now in front of a semi-attractive guy who seems to avert his gaze to me almost instantly. i don’t even have to look in tom’s direction to know that he has spotted me, i can feel his eyes on me, burning intently into my figure.

indirectly aiming to maintain tom’s attention as i soak it all in, i go that extra step further, whispering a small ‘hi’ in the boy’s ear, making sure to flutter my eyelashes, noticing the way a subtle smirk etches upon his soft lips. my hands trail aimlessly up and down his chest, his own slipping to rest comfortably against my lower back, the words ‘you’re cute’ falling from my lips, smooth as silk. it didn’t matter if i meant them or not, i am not looking for a conversation, and i think he knows that too, our intentions pretty much mutual. tom doesn’t have to know that though.

all he has to know is that two can play at whatever game he thinks he has started. though the second he spotted me with whoever had his hands roaming my body, he had stopped playing, no longer finding the small blonde beside him as interesting as he did five minutes ago. i am more than willing to carry it on, messily colliding my lips with the stranger’s, the kiss sloppy and heated - everything that i want it to be. my tongue finds its way inside his mouth, deepening the kiss even more, my hand moving to the back of his neck, fingers raking through his soft brunette curls. his own hands travel further downwards, cupping my ass and using it to bring our bodies closer together, the kiss soon becoming more heated than it was before, fuelled by the alcohol in my system and the jealousy i felt, somehow trading it all in for intense anger, eager for tom to feel the way i had just a few moments ago.

‘you wanna get out of here gorgeous?’

his voice is low as it vibrates through my lips, his words slightly muffled, thanks to both the almost deafening music reverberating through my ears, and the close proximity between us. knowing that i wouldn’t think of doing anything more with this guy, i still nod my head slowly, purely to intensify tom’s jealousy, sensing his presence slightly closer than it was before, somehow easily identifiable through the crowd.

the guy smiles against my lips, kissing me roughly once again, though this one is much shorter than the last - not because either of us want it to be. he is harshly pushed away from me, my eyes opening in a mix of confusion and shock, frantically scanning the room for any clue on what had just happened, the answer becoming crystal clear as i spot tom inches away from him, hands balled into fists against the stranger’s chest.

a small crowd begins to accumulate, my hands pushing through desperately, scrambling my way to the front, the entire thing escalating impossibly fast, tom’s fist colliding with the boy’s cheek with such force he stumbles backward, body slamming against the wall harshly. but that isn’t enough for tom. he continues to land strong punches to his face, the guy finding some strength to fight back, though they are completely pointless, having little effect on tom. after a few harsh blows, the boy is defenceless, lip swollen with blood trickling just below it, a large red mark printed across his cheek.

my fast steps make their way over to tom, who is clearly just as angry as he was before he had beat the shit out of that poor guy, his cold expression failing to waver even when i grab his shoulder, turning him to face me in one swift motion.

“what the fuck? have you lost your fucking mind?” i shout over the loud music, noticing that the people seeking entertainment from the ordeal had returned back to their own company, all immersed in random conversations, or making out with someone they had never met before - not that i was in any position to judge, i had done the exact same thing moments ago.

“have you?” he shoots back, voice a level louder than mine, oozing with rage, carrying thousands of harsh words yet to be spoken.

“take a look at the guy with the fucked up face thanks to you, then think about asking me that question again! what the fuck is wrong with you?” i question, eyebrows knitting together, wondering how he can dare to turn this on me, ignoring the fact that he has just left someone with a bloody nose, seemingly unfazed by it. his eyes scan mine, narrowed slightly, a few wrinkles lining along his forehead as he does so. i hadn’t seen those eyes in so long and, despite the indisputable fury within them, it is impossible to deny how much i had missed them, regardless of the circumstances.

“we aren’t doing this here, not in front of this crowd.” he shakes his head forcefully, grabbing my hand and attempting to lead me away from it all, my body hesitant to do so.

“why? i’m not leaving.” i state confidently. he tilts his head to the side, mouth falling open slightly, his eyes squeezing shut as he appears to be in a fight with his own mind, clearly contemplating something, the decision seemingly difficult to make.

“well i am.” he replies, shaking his head slowly, turning around to walk away.

“what the fuck? are you serious?” i ramble, chasing after him shamelessly, not yet aware of how humiliating it is that he has me wrapped around his finger. my hands clutch at his jacket, wrapping firmly around the material as i pull him backwards, just before his hand reaches to clasp the door handle.

“you don’t seem to care about us anymore.” he shrugs, expression fixed, though despite the hostility it shows upfront, i can sense the sadness behind it. “so why the fuck should i?”

he shakes his head at my silence, looking for something, anything, that hints to a response, no matter how small and totally ridiculous. i stay quiet, in total disbelief of his ability to manipulate this whole situation, somehow attempting to put me at fault, as if he hadn’t had his hands all over that girl. he doesn’t seem to care about his own mistakes, focusing purely on my actions, choosing to act as a saint despite knowing deep down he is far from being one. it is this realisation that prompts him to turn around once again, his back to me as he tugs the door open, walking through it without looking back. yet i refuse to let it end like that, hurriedly following him, not considering the consequences.

“what are you talking about? seriously, instead of being such a pussy and walking away, fucking talk to me!” i demand as he momentarily stops in his tracks, eyes glued on my own, his jaw clenched. i no longer need to raise my voice, the music drowning itself out, but that doesn’t stop me, the volume of my words far louder than they need to be.

he reaches his car, hands moving into the pocket of his baggy jeans as they scramble for his keys, pulling them out without a word, though i still have plenty to say. “i’m talking to you!”

finally, he turns to face me, expression still harsh; not giving away anything that he truly wants to say. for some strange reason, he seems to hold back, restraining his mouth from acting out ahead of his mind, this unexpected, especially considering just minutes ago he hadn’t restricted himself from making particularly rash decisions, the smear of blood on his knuckle concrete proof of this.

“what, are you deaf, hm? my words not registering up there? i’m speaking to you, answer me!” i know exactly what buttons to press, exactly how to make him crack, and, once again, i do so with some success. he briefly hesitates, letting out a heavy sigh, seemingly reaching his breaking point as his mouth opens, ready to pour out the thousands of emotions he has kept in thus far.

“some fucking break this is.” he mutters, shaking his head slowly, his hand clutching the car keys with such strength his knuckles begin to turn white. “i say that we need some space and then catch you with some random guy’s tongue down your fucking throat. really seems like you missed me.”

not waiting for me to respond, he opens the car door, climbing into the driver’s seat hurriedly. i don’t know what compels me to follow him, perhaps it is my desire to find answers, possibly i am eager to continue this argument, or maybe i just missed him: his voice, his presence, everything about him somehow being exactly what i need. whatever it is, i am far too lost within him to care, my body acting ahead of my mind as i enter the passenger side, tom’s eyebrows furrowing in confusion. he doesn’t object though, clearly needing me as much as i do him, a brief look of relief taking over his expression, silently wishing that i would give in since the argument began despite his initial standoffish-ness, thankful that i have.

“don’t act like you’re all fucking innocent! the only reason i did all that was because i saw you with that slut! you clearly don’t love me anymore, not with the way you looked at her!” each word pierces him right in the chest, the daunting realisation of what he has done hitting him faster than ever. but it is the confession that i think his love for me has diminished that strikes him the most, his face softening when i utter those words. despite this, his voice is still harsh, volume meeting my own.

“don’t be ridiculous. you know she meant nothing.” he states, this apparently sufficient reassurance for his actions, the car silent for a moment as he starts it, hands on the steering wheel. i don’t know where he is going, far too frustrated to even care, wanting nothing more than to carry on this argument, in no position to let him off the hook.

“do i?” i scoff, face harshly turning to him. “i don’t see you for two weeks, and when i do, your hands are all up on some girl. the fuck am i supposed to do with that?”

his hands forcefully clutching the wheel, jaw clenched as he looks ahead, i know that he hears every word i say, processing them with ease, yet he stays quiet for a second, an uncomfortable silence in place of the harshness of my utterance, making the words ten times harder to digest. he knows that i am right, that it would be hypocritical for him to be mad at me right now, but that doesn’t stop him from being angry. in fact, his stubbornness only increases despite the realisation that he is just as guilty as i am, if not more.

“what was i supposed to do, hm? i didn’t have you, i just-” he trails off, a heavy sigh leaving his parted lips, head moving backwards to rest against the back of the seat, one hand coming upward to rest on the bridge of his nose. though the hesitation suggests otherwise, he knows exactly what he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to utter the phrase, perhaps out of shame, or reluctance to admit how he truly feels. whatever it is that holds him back, i am no longer interested in his skepticism, wanting clear answers, not the mixed signals that i am receiving.

“what? you just what? stop being so fucking weird and just talk.” i order, turning in his direction, eyes burning into his features regardless of his hesitance to do so, strangely scared to look in my eyes.

“fuck…” he begins, exhaling shakily, almost preparing himself for the effect that his words are bound to have. “i missed you, okay? i missed you, and i didn’t know what else to fucking do.”

“don’t be stupid. i know that’s bullshit, and so do you. be honest with me, have you fucked someone else? since we went on whatever you want to call this weird distance between us.” i know that i shouldn’t have asked such a stupid question, the answer bound to disappoint me. for some strange reason, i want to hear him say the words, to make me realise that i’m not as important to him as i thought, that in reality, he can find someone prettier within a heartbeat. because the false hope that i continue to hold onto doesn’t seem to fade, even after watching him with his hands all over another girl.

“of course i fucking haven’t.” he scoffs, shaking his head as his face twists in anger, shocked that i would even ask such a question, the thought completely unheard of, apparently. “what, you really think i care that little? your expectations of me really that low?”

“you expect them to be high after i see you acting like that with her? you’re unbelievable.” i state, briefly looking over at him, his eyes fixated on the road, though i notice the quick glances he throws my way, assessing my expression, not giving the impression that he is going to apologise anytime soon.

“you know what? pull over, this was a mistake. we should’ve just stayed away from each other.” i say, turning to look at him, my hand moving to the door handle, desperate to get out of the situation, soon realising that we are never going to come to a solution, instead the back and fourth of our arguing will only continue until it becomes out of hand, unless i put a stop to it now.

he refuses to stop, the pressure his foot applies to the gas only seeming to increase, the speed of the car getting faster, making it pretty clear that he doesn’t plan on letting me leave.

“i’m not letting you go, not when it’s this dark out. you should know that i care about you too much to do that. i want to talk about this.” he replies, his voice assertive yet calm, the desperation behind it more evident than ever. the surroundings soon become familiar, having travelled along this road thousands of times, it would be impossible to not recognise it. countless times i had seen the same houses, same trees, same buildings either side of the road, each small detail reminding me of how much i had become used to this area, able to distinguish it much easier than i realise. the familiar house comes into view, it’s four walls holding more memories than any place i had ever been. thousands of nights of passion, mornings of lazy affection, afternoons spent simply enjoying each other’s company spent here, each one unforgettable - to me, at least.

but the comfort it brings me isn’t enough to make me forget about the situation, instead it makes me resent it even more. “why am i here? you want to ridicule me even more, yell at me for kissing that guy some more, rub it in my face that you had your hands on her-”

“you’re here because i want to you be. please can we talk about this? instead of being so fucking stubborn, just let me talk, for once.” he interrupts, confessing his feelings as they spill freely from his lips, eyes finally brave enough to look into my own.

“why should i?” i scoff, stepping out of the car as he does the same, hurriedly catching up to me, my steps towards the front door heavy and fast. his hands fumble with the keys, swiftly unlocking the door and opening it for me to step inside, all whilst i continue to ramble on, a mix of upset and anger sounding from my lips. “you have your hands all over her, and when i do the same thing, you don’t like it? and then you say you did it because you miss me? you’re the most frustrating person i’ve ever met, you know that? nothing is ever simple with you. you mess with my fucking head, and you don’t even care! why? why do you have to make me so-”

as much as i want to continue the sudden burst of rage, eager to show tom the frustration i feel right now, my words are abruptly cut off by a soft pair of lips, the harshness of them mirroring the venom within my tone, silencing my rushed speech in a way too tempting for me to dream of refusing. without thinking, i quickly kiss back, soon reflecting the hunger that tom displays as his lips move against mine, hands moving to my waist to pull me closer, my own behind his neck, his black braids tangled between my fingers.

“you drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” he breathes out between kisses, my mind too lost within the moment to even respond, his words barely registering. “so stubborn, but fuck, i need you, can’t live without you...”

i moan against his lips in response, deciding that actions speak far louder than words, channeling all the built up frustration into the kiss, parting my lips to allow his tongue to slip inside my mouth, my own entering his. the process of his arms hoisting me upwards, legs wrapping around his torso roughly and walking sloppily into the living room, our lips never parting is all a blur, my back ending up flat against the couch, tom’s body situated in between my legs, hovering over me. it didn’t matter that five minutes ago i could’ve punched his face. truthfully, i could do the same right now. however i decide to exercise my anger in the most pleasurable way possible, figuring that if he is trying to apologise, this is a pretty damn good way of earning my forgiveness - the silent promise of feeling him inside me meaning i’d probably accept whatever half-hearted attempt he put together to make amends, if it meant that we could get to the point faster.

my hair is disheveled, lipstick smudged, traces of the deep red now present on tom’s lips, proving just how desperate the both of us are - whether i am willing to admit it or not. his hand travels upwards, fingers grazing the soft skin covered by my hair, eventually making contact with the zipper of my dress and carefully tugging it downwards, despite his kisses being anything but. it is so wrong, knowing that he has entertained someone else not even an hour ago and he is touching me now, but it feels so right, against all of my morals, every part of me willing to make my body his and his only. my mind silently thanks whatever higher presence up there for gracing me with tom, though the things that we are doing forbid us from ever reaching heaven, not that it matters, because the feeling of his lips against mine is pretty damn close to it.

“fuck- i love you so much baby, so much…” he trails off, pulling away momentarily to allow his hands to take my dress, sliding the material down my body, exposing it all inch by inch until the soft cotton is bunched at my knees. his lips are curved into a small smirk, so subtle it is almost unnoticeable, though once his eyes flick between my face and now bare figure, i know that it is real - his being in some sort of trance as it rests above me, giving away his silent admiration. eyes twinkling as they take in my curves, perfectly defined, adorned with smooth skin, begging to be touched by his calloused hands which now reach outwards from his sides, giving into the temptation.

he is careful, despite the look on his face suggesting that he wants to be everything but. he desperately tries to hold on to the gentleness, hesitant to spoil moment of passionate bliss that resumes as his hands continue to run along my stomach, moving further and further upward. but deep down, he wants to ruin me, to give up the sweet act that he is putting on, and i want it just as bad - each second that he continues to be tender, his actions restricted and mild, slowly tortures me.

“why are you holding back?” i breathe out, eyes locked on his hands as they finally make contact with my breasts, moulding the flesh into his palms. i can sense the way he pauses slightly, refraining from applying any pressure, instead maintaining his steady movements, gaze locked on my breasts as he drinks in the view, mesmerised by the sight as if he hadn’t seen it a hundred times over.

“we don’t have to rush, i want to be gentle-” he speaks, voice slow and soft, though i have passed the point of caring about taking our time, the concept of it long gone. because i could spend an eternity like this, completely connected with him, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“be gentle tomorrow.” i interrupt him, eyes flickering to his lips, wanting nothing more than to feel them against my own once again, tired of his accidental teasing.

his eyes meet my own, the lust within them taking over, my words barely considered as he acknowledges them immediately, capturing my lips in a kiss. it is rough, lacking that hesitance he showed moments ago, because now he has my permission, he no longer cares about being gentle, able to act out on his desires the way he needs to.

with a simple tug, he takes down his jeans, discarding the denim somewhere on the floor, far too focused on my exposed body in front of him to care where. if his demeanour didn’t give away his desperation, the bulge in his boxers said enough, his length brushing against my leg through the material as his head dips downward once again, reconnecting our lips in another heated kiss. i shift my hips slightly, mouth falling open once his dick brushes against my clit through my panties, the sensation, though only slight, enough to restrain my ability to kiss back.

he quickly senses this, hands moving to my panties, fingers hooking under the material, slowly raking them downwards, letting the lace pool at my feet. his arms lift upwards once my fingers make contact with the hem of his t-shirt, making it easier for me to remove the heavy fabric. i sit upwards, face inches away from his own, lips ghosting over each other’s whilst i pull the t-shirt upwards and over his head, releasing it onto the floor.

within seconds, his boxers are lost somewhere on the floor, joining the piles of clothes scattered around the room. his dick presses against his lower abdomen, the sight only making the aching between my thighs intensify, just about ready to get on my knees and beg, if he doesn’t put me out of my misery in the next few seconds.

and he does - just not in the way that i want him to. instead, his lips move downward at an agonisingly slow pace, eyes never leaving my own, even when he begins to place open-mouthed kisses along my stomach, his teeth grazing over the skin ever so slightly, though the sensation is enough for small whines to leave my lips, hands reaching for his head, fingers running over the rough bumps of his braids.

“shit- you’re so beautiful, so pretty schatz…” he praises between kisses, hands coming upward to pry my legs apart as they instinctively clench together at the pleasure. if it weren’t for his body in between them, they probably would’ve closed completely, not that tom would ever complain about being in such a position - especially not now when he had been without it for so long.

“please…” i whine, back arching slightly off of the couch, his teasing movements no longer enough. i need one thing, and he knows exactly what that is, his desires mirroring my own.

“shhhh. i know baby, i know.” he coos, head finally moving from my stomach as his whole body shifts upward, his forehead now resting against my own, lips placing small kisses all over my face, attempting to distract me from the feeling of his tip aligning with my entrance. he is foolish to think that anything could divert my attention from this sensation - i have been waiting for it for so long that it is the only thing on my mind, mouth falling open once it finally becomes a reality.

his lips curve into a smug smile at my reaction, watching the way my face contorts when he pushes inside of me, his length stretching out my walls as they clench around him. my mind is hazy, tuning out everything else around me, nothing else seeming to matter once i have gotten what i want. sure, thirty minutes ago i resented him, wanting nothing more than to hurl words of irritation at him until my throat turned hoarse, but it seems that i’ll be reaching the same conclusion anyways - the way his cock slowly thrusts in and out of me eliciting moans from me that are bound to leave my vocal chords sore. this doesn’t stop me from vocalising my pleasure though, inaudible whines not far from screams leaving my parted lips once he speeds up his pace a little.

“that’s it baby, let me hear those pretty sounds. show me how much you missed me, mhm?” he grunts, his own mouth hanging open a little as his hips continue to grind against my own, knowing exactly how to move, paying close attention to when my noises would become particularly loud, angling himself to elicit those same sounds from my lips, eyes squeezing shut whenever i do so.

somehow he hadn’t reprimanded me for when i would squirm a little, back arching ever so slightly, legs closing tighter and tighter around him. instead, his eyebrows would furrow when i do so, my movements drawing him deeper inside of me, so deep that i swear i can feel him in my stomach. even if he had scolded me, reminding me to be good, to behave myself as this is what i wanted, he knows that his words won’t stop me from acting out, especially when i know he is too lost in his own pleasure to even consider halting his movements - my climax guaranteed regardless of how much i irritate him so, why not misbehave a little?

“fuck- stay still.” he finally orders once i squeeze my legs around his waist one too many times, my hips lifting instinctively from the couch. his hands firmly place them downwards, fingers digging into the skin ever so slightly, providing just the right amount of pain to make me go close to insane, a moaning mess beneath him. he starts to circle his hips swiftly, his dick moving in and out of me at a different angle, and god, that’s all it takes. that is all i need for my mouth to fall open in a silent scream, quickly acknowledging that his tip no longer brushes weakly against that sensitive spot inside me, it hits the flesh directly.

if i had the ability to speak, i would be encouraging, no, begging him to carry on, to keep his movements going, his cock hitting every spot inside of me that causes me to moan that little bit louder, legs to squeeze around him just a little tighter. but he is perfectly aware of the effect he has on me, knowing the reaction that he elicits out of me is one of unmatched bliss, so he keeps going, much to my relief. through the small part of my vision that isn’t overtaken by the tears that soon begin to cover my eyes, i study tom’s face, his expression causing the already prominent knot in my stomach to tighten even further.

if the pleasure he brings me isn’t enough, the evidence of his own tips me over the edge - his eyebrows knitted together, sweat lining his forehead as he moves in and out of me, mouth open with his tongue occasionally swiping across his bottom lip. he stays relatively quiet, though i know exactly how to elicit small sounds out of him, noticing the way deep groans sound from the back of his throat when i clench around him, almost inaudible words of encouragement that follow his moans prompting me to repeat my actions, noticing the way he twitches inside me as i do so.

“gonna cum, c’mon baby, cum with me.” he prompts, bending downwards to plant quick kisses onto my lips, his thrusts now slow and deep, pushing me over the edge as i manage to nod my head, hands reaching to clutch his biceps. my nails dig into the skin once i feel his hot cum shoot inside of me, an elongated ‘ohhhh’ leaving his lips as he throws his head backward, hips lazily rocking back and forth at an irregular pace, one final thrust being all it takes for the knot in my stomach to quickly unravel.

my eyes squeeze shut, mouth falling open as a high-pitched moan escapes it, back lifting upward off of the couch once his pointer finger reaches to make contact with my clit, rubbing slow circles over it as my release washes over me. he continues to move in and out of me, fucking his seed further into me, his heavy breathing sounding through the silent room. he collapses on top of me, not bothering to pull out just yet, instead using the little energy he has left to softly run his fingers up and down my arm in an attempt to slow my rapid breathing, taking notice of the way my entire body trembles slightly.

“you okay schatz?” he mutters, his low voice vibrating against my bare skin, lips inches away from my breasts as his head rests in between them, placing a lazy kiss there. i mutter a small ‘mhm’, noticing the strain that the small utterance places on my throat, silently cursing myself for being so vocal, though deep down i know that i don’t really regret it, the sex warranting every sound i let spill from my lips.

“you still angry?” he asks, the soft smile that graces upon his lips telling me that he knows the answer to his question before i even open my mouth. he chuckles lowly, squeezing my waist and moving closer, intertwining our legs together, our bodies tangled as we lay on the couch.

“depends if you plan on touching someone like you did that girl again.” i shrug, honestly still a little frustrated at what i had witnessed, the thought making me seethe with jealousy. even after i had tom inside of me just moments ago, the small amount of satisfaction it brings me isn’t enough, wishing that i could somehow go back in time and stop the entire thing from ever happening, realising that my life would be better without knowing he had entertained someone else, even for a few minutes.

“what girl?” he grins, beginning to place sloppy kisses on my neck, hands running up and down my waist. he knows exactly what i am talking about, continuing to sweet talk me, all whilst his lips continue to work against my neck, tongue running soothingly over the skin after his teeth nip against it. “the only girl i want to touch is you, baby.”

“you know what girl.” i breathe out, trying to continue the conversation, my head tilting backwards to give him more access, failing miserably to maintain my composure as his kisses hold me under his trance, getting me just as worked up as i had been ten minutes ago, before he had pleasured me.

“hmm, i don’t care about her.” he mutters against me, his voice vibrating above my chest, sending chills through my body, the feeling soon soothed when he moves on top of me once again, trailing the suggestive kisses lower and lower, hovering just above my breasts. his eyes are half-lidded, filled with tired lust as they peer innocently at me, the intent behind them crystal clear as they darken just before his mouth opens, his voice low. “why would i? just want you beautiful. need you all to myself…”

tired moans leave his lips as they continue to work against me, leaving no part untouched, his kisses becoming slow and sloppy. though he doesn’t show any intention of stopping, muttering small compliments in between kisses. ‘so beautiful.’ he mumbles, taking the skin between my breasts and slowly sucking on it, teeth digging in momentarily, soon pulling away once he is satisfied with the small bruise left in place of his soft lips. ‘love you so much.’ he whispers just before his tongue swipes over an existing mark, head tilting to the side to press open-mouthed kisses just below it. “shit- so fucking perfect.’ he mutters, lips hovering above my breast for a few seconds, breath fanning over it, watching the way my chest falls up and down, anticipating his touch. ‘meine schatz, all yours.’ he murmurs, taking my nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, his free hand kneading the flesh of my thigh, slowly continuing to work against me, noticing the way my whines become lazy and restricted.

he looks upward briefly, my own eyes on the verge of closing, completely exhausted, entire body aching as it manages to calm down, no longer trembling the way it was moments ago. his hands reach upwards, fingers threading through my hair, removing any knots within it. his own eyes struggle to stay open, yet he forces them to, holding back on falling asleep until he knows that i have, instead resuming his fingers’ slow movements through my hair, paying close attention to my breathing pattern, humming in satisfaction once it becomes slow and shallow, signalling that i have finally let exhaustion take over. even when he falls asleep, he refuses to reduce his hold on me, bodies tangled together as we are finally at peace, belonging to each other once again.

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[papiliotao]

MOVIE NIGHT

♡ — Reader: GN

♡ — Characters: Heizou, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao, Venti

♡ — Synopsis: immersing yourselves in the wonderful world of films.

♡ — Content: modern!au, fluff, crack, established relationship in Venti’s, mutual pining in Kazuha’s, friends to lovers in Kazuha's and Heizou’s, Scara being a little mean and grumpy, reader is roommates with Scaramouche, Xiao is oblivious, but he's got the spirit

♡ — A/N: welcome to another episode of Rei can’t write the same amount for each character. No, I’m definitely not biased lmao I’m so sorry, Venti enjoyers </3 I hope you enjoy the fic though! Likes and reblogs are appreciated 💕

Heizou

Shikanoin Heizou is a splendid friend, but he’s also the last person anyone wants to watch movies with. For one, he always chooses films of the same genre: mystery, and in addition to this, he’s too smart for his own good. You’re certain your friend must possess some sort of sixth sense because he never fails to predict the most ludicrous of twists. On one hand, you’re impressed by his superhuman abilities, but on the other hand, you can’t get through a single film without Heizou spoiling the ending for you.

This leads to you making a bet with Heizou. If he can watch one movie with you without giving away anything about the critical plot points, you will do one favour for him — anything he wants (within reason, of course). When you propose the idea, you’re surprised by how quickly Heizou agrees. It seems that he’s confident in his ability to keep his mouth shut.

The two of you choose to watch a detective movie. For the first half of the film, he’s able to hold himself together impressively well. He simply sits still and stares at the screen with interest lacing his gaze. Heizou doesn’t speak, doesn’t express surprise or grief when the first victim of the fictional murderer is found dead, and doesn’t chime in when the detective is investigating leads. However, one particular scene shatters his resolve.

The detective has caught the killer in the act, but their figure is hidden beneath a thick cloak. Their identity is obscured, and they do not speak a word. As the detective starts ranting about how they have connected the dots and figured out the identity of the murderer, Heizou starts shifting uncomfortably next to you. You look over to him and see that he is struggling to stay quiet. Finally, he gives in to temptation.

"What kind of detective are you? That’s — " before Heizou can speak another word, the figure pulls down their hood to reveal that the detective's conclusions are completely off the mark. Your jaw drops. Heizou regains his composure and breathes out a sigh of relief. Thanks to the film’s impeccable timing, he hasn’t lost yet. He manages to make it through the rest of the runtime without spoiling anything — not that there’s much left to spoil. Once the credits roll, Heizou brings up the favour you promised him.

"What do you want?" you ask, breathing out a sigh of defeat.

"A kiss," your mischievous friend smirks at you. His eyes glitter as he speaks. You stare at him, absolutely flabbergasted.

"Where is this coming from?" you inquire, narrowing your eyes at Heizou.

"For someone who’s been forced to watch so many detective movies, you sure are bad at deciphering clues. I love you — as more than a friend. I thought I was making it fairly obvious, but it seems you’re just as clueless as the characters that were onscreen mere minutes ago."

Kazuha

As your childhood friend, Kazuha has spent countless nights sleeping over at your house and watching cheesy films with you — emphasis on cheesy. Even though the two of you are now in college, your tradition of having movie nights every week has never ceased. However, your feelings toward the boy have changed dramatically.

There was a time back when you were in elementary school where Kazuha was nothing more than your best friend. The two of you would cuddle on his couch while viewing Disney movies. At the time, you thought nothing of the close proximity, too focused on the film to read too much into Kazuha’s actions. You didn’t notice the way he would stare at you instead of the screen. You didn’t notice the way he would gently pull you closer whenever you seemed scared. And you didn’t notice the way he would sigh wistfully whenever you watched romance movies that you found abhorrently cringey.

However, now that you’re an adult, you are able to catch on to Kazuha’s subtle affections, prompting you to consider the prospect of the boy having a crush on you. Your theory causes you to come to the startling conclusion that you reciprocate his sentiments. In an official capacity, you’re still best friends, but deep down, you know that there’s more to it. He likes you, but you’re too scared to confront him about his feelings, too afraid of taking one wrong step and decimating your precious friendship.

It doesn't help that Kazuha is only becoming more and more bold with his advances. Case in point: today’s weekly film viewing. As always, Kazuha has his arm wrapped around you, cuddling with you for comfort. He’s so close that you can feel his breath tickling the side of your face, so you try your best to direct all your attention toward the movie to prevent your visage from turning a vibrant cherry red.

Kazuha has chosen to watch something romantic this week. In hindsight, letting him pick the film was a mistake. As a result of your poor decisions, you are now seated on a couch in a television-lit room beside your best friend-turned-crush. Sappy dialogue plays in the background as Kazuha gently plays with your hair. You risk a glance at the boy, and you are rendered breathless.

His white hair catches the weak light of the screen in a way that makes it seem as though it is made from strands of moonlight. The gentle smile on his face makes your heart flutter. Most beautiful of all, however, are his vibrant red eyes. Piercing crimson meets your gaze as Kazuha notices you staring at him.

"The pickup lines in this movie are a little generic, don’t you think?" Kazuha asks you. You breathe out a sigh of relief when he doesn’t bring up the fact that you were very obviously admiring his appearance just a few seconds ago.

"I guess you’re right," you reply. "Does my favourite poetry nerd think he can do better?" you tease your friend.

Kazuha seems lost in thought for a second before responding. "I like to think that I would be more genuine with the one I love. Instead of repeating the words of lovers before me, I would like to offer the person dearest to my heart words of affirmations specific to them." His answer makes you melt on the spot. Kazuha is such a sweet and thoughtful person.

"Is there anyone you’re thinking about in particular?" you innocently inquire.

Kazuha chuckles lightly. The sound of his laughter is swoon-worthy. "There is. I could write pages upon pages of poetry about them — in fact, I already have. Perhaps we’ll be able to read them together someday."

"And who is the lucky person you’re crushing on?" you ask Kazuha. You try to make your tone light so that your question don’t make him feel as though you’re interrogating him. However, you’re almost certain that desperation oozes from the subtle cracks in your soft voice. An awkward silence hangs in the stagnant air.

"It’s you," Kazuha whispers. "It’s always been you." You feel your heart soaring out of your chest. Despite the fact that you have been somewhat aware of Kazuha’s affections for an eternity, hearing him confess his feelings still causes the blood to rush to your face. Your lips can’t help but curve into a tender smile.

Kazuha makes eye contact with you, desperately searching your gaze for any semblance of reciprocation. He seems to find what he’s looking for because a split second later, the boy relaxes completely.

As the film in the background ends, you and Kazuha come to a mutual understanding. His heart belongs to you and yours to him. The first act of your love story with Kazuha has concluded, but you are sure there is still much more to come.

Scaramouche

Scaramouche is nothing short of an interesting roommate. You’re not quite sure why, but he often goes out of his way to avoid you. To your dismay, it almost feels as though you are living alone. You’ve always wanted to get closer to the boy, but he refuses to speak to you unless necessary, and he hardly ever leaves his room. When he does decide to talk to you, his responses are either blunt or straight up snarky. He pokes fun at you in attempts to provoke you. Although you find his attitude infuriating, you also long to understand him. Scaramouche has piqued your curiosity in every way possible.

It just so happens that you find the perfect opportunity to spend time with him on a rainy summer day. Initially, you are intent on heading to the local park to meet your friend for a picnic dinner. However, after taking only a few steps outside your apartment complex, a few light drops of rain hit your head. Despite this, you continue forward, hoping that Mother Nature will take pity on you and calm the cries of the storms at hand. Your wishes are not fulfilled, as after only a few minutes, you are forced to head back as gentle rain becomes a raging thunderstorm.

When you re-enter your apartment, you notice that the place is almost completely dark. The only light inside the small space is a faint glow being emitted from the living room. Cautiously, you walk into the room. As you approach, you notice the faint sound of people conversing coming from the room. Strange. Does Scaramouche have guests over?

Your questions are answered when you step into the living room. Hushed whispers ring out over menacing music, evoking an ominous feeling within the depths of your soul. However, as you look over at the couch, you feel all the tension in your body dissipate into nothingness. Scaramouche is sitting down on the black cushions, remote in hand, and he appears to be watching something on the TV.

As you make your way toward your roommate, the floorboards creak and groan, causing him to whip his head around. His eyes widen as they land on you.

"What are you doing here?" Scaramouche asks you, furrowing his brows as he speaks. He regards you with an unreadable expression.

"I live here," you tell him. You know that he didn’t mean the question in that way, but you want to get a reaction out of him.

Scaramouche heaves out a heavy sigh. "Whatever," he mutters dismissively. He turns back to the screen.

"What are you doing?" you question Scaramouche, slowly walking over to the couch. You stand beside the piece of furniture, hesitant to sit down. Scaramouche doesn’t respond for a while. Perhaps he is hoping for you to leave. However, you continue to stay by his side, so he finally gives in and speaks.

"I’m watching a horror movie," he informs you in a dry tone. "Why? Do you want to watch with me? Somehow I doubt you would be able to handle it." Even in the dimly-lit room, you can see the wide cheshire-esque smirk spreading across Scaramouche’s face.

You roll your eyes. "I’ll be fine!" you insist, sinking down into the couch. The cautious thoughts that had been plaguing your mind just moments prior have now vanished. All that remains is a burning desire to prove Scaramouche wrong.

Despite your determination, you have to admit that your roommate is right. The film is frightening. However, as you look over at Scaramouche, you notice that he appears rather indifferent. It seems that he really isn’t scared. On the other hand, you feel yourself getting somewhat jumpy. The movie keeps catching you off-guard.

Chills run down your spine as ghosts emerge to confront the protagonist at every twist and turn they take. The backstories, motifs, and physical appearances of the entities cause you to shiver, and the gruesome nature of the characters’ demises has you shaking.

Subconsciously, you edge closer and closer to Scaramouche throughout the runtime of the movie. Around three fourths of the way through, you’re shoulder-to-shoulder. You don’t notice anything, but Scaramouche does. He doesn’t comment on it.

"How are you feeling?" Scaramouche suddenly asks out of nowhere, causing you to jump. He hits the pause button on the remote he’s clutching and waits to hear your response. The room is now completely silent. Scaramouche’s gentle breathing is audible in the stillness, and a sense of calm washes over you as you listen. You gradually regain your composure.

"I’m fine," you say. Although you try to make your voice seem confident, it comes out shaky. By the light of the television screen, you can see Scaramouche’s brows raise in a skeptical manner, and he turns off the TV.

"I don’t believe you." Scaramouche declares, his voice steady in stark contrast to yours. You pout, but you don’t try to argue with him. He’s right. The film has scared the wits out of you. "Listen, it’s obvious that you don’t want to watch more. Why don’t you just go to sleep or something?" he waves his hand dismissively.

You yawn upon hearing his words. Although it is still early, something about freaking out over a movie for a solid hour is immensely tiring. Perhaps sleeping is a good idea, but you are also afraid that the images of the ghastly figures within the film will follow you and materialize within the realm of nightmares. The mere thought makes you tremble. Gathering up all your courage, you ask Scaramouche a nearly outlandish question.

"Stay with me?" you stutter, shyly looking into his eyes. In a normal instance, you would not even consider requesting such a thing, but desperation often drives people to do crazy things.

Initially, the only response to your plea is an empty silence. You look down, wishing you could take back your words. If Scaramouche rejects you now, you will never be able to look him in the eyes again, but to your surprise, your roommate sighs and nods his head when you finally find the strength to meet his gaze.

Instead of leading Scaramouche to your room, you simply adjust your position on the couch and lay your head down on his lap. Your roommate opens his mouth to protest, but he sees the relaxed expression on your face and relents. Finally content knowing that you’re with someone who will protect you, you close your eyes and drift off into a peaceful slumber. Instead of nightmares, your dreams are filled with sweet rose-tinted skies, shimmering beaches of bejeweled sands, and oceans of the deepest azure.

As you are sleeping, half-coherent thoughts form in your unconscious mind. You begin to realize that perhaps Scaramouche isn’t as bad as he appears on the outside. With him, you feel a sense of serenity like no other, despite the fact that you are not all that familiar with each other. For now, you are content with the fact that you and your roommate have taken the first step in a long process of opening up to each other.

Xiao

Xiao doesn’t watch movies often. He doesn’t have a preferred genre, doesn’t have a favourite actor, and hasn’t watched more than five classics. In other words, the man lives under a rock.

When you learn of this, you immediately take it upon yourself to introduce Xiao to a wide array of cinematic masterpieces — and some laughably terrible movies just for the fun of it. Even though the two of you only know each other through mutual friends, you feel too much pity for Xiao to not help him explore the world of films. He's been missing out on absolute gems for years.

Besides, Xiao's reactions are always priceless — his reactions and, well, his lack of reactions. As an example, whenever the two of you watch horror movies together, Xiao stares at the screen with a straight face. He even goes so far as to criticize the logic of certain scenes.

"This doesn't make any sense. How did the protagonist trip over nothing?"

The absurdity of cinema logic never fails to puzzle Xiao. His comments, although slightly too serious at times, are always amusing, and they never fail to elicit a light chuckle from you. Unbeknownst to you, Xiao’s heart feels as though it’s about to leap out of his chest whenever he hears your laughter. He doesn’t quite know when or how his feelings toward you began to fester like a storm within his feeble heart.

In any case, Xiao is undeniably starting to fall in love with you, but he never says anything because he fears rejection. His crush on you is why he never says no to your invitations to enjoy films together. Over time, your monthly movie nights turn into weekly hangouts — rather uncharacteristic for the typically anti-social Xiao, leaving you wondering why he treats you differently.

This leads into your current situation. The two of you are sitting down in your living room, watching a teen romance movie. Subtle uncertainty lingers within the air, but you don’t really feel uncomfortable. You never feel uncomfortable with Xiao. Despite his cold exterior, he’s actually an absolute sweetheart, and it shows in the way he’s reluctantly cuddling you to keep you warm right now — albeit a little shyly.

The movie the two of you are watching is rather cringey and overly dramatic. It’s almost painful to watch the protagonist pine over their love interest, refusing to confess because they’re afraid of being turned down. They talk about how incredible their crush is, the comfort that they bring, and how they would love to have them by their side forever. Despite all this, the protagonist is still afraid to declare their affections, retaining a mindset plagued by the woes of doubt and insecurity.

You begin to realize that the main character is rather relatable, but you can’t quite put your finger on why — until you glance over at the amber-eyed boy sitting next to you. The realization that the film just perfectly described your feelings toward Xiao hits you like a truck.

You love Xiao.

You’ve loved him for a very long time.

But you were just too oblivious to tell.

You are so tangled up in a web of your own emotions that you don’t notice the way Xiao stares at you. He longs for you just as much as you long for him, but the two of you are both far to oblivious and fearful to confess your feelings right now. So for the time being, all you can do is steal quick glances at each other and shyly link your pinkies together, hoping that the seeds of affection within your hearts will give you the courage to turn your friendship into a blossoming romance.

Venti

Whenever it’s Venti’s turn to pick the film you’ll be watching for movie night, you just know that he’ll choose one of two things: a Disney movie or a musical. It’s no secret that Venti loves music, so he sings his heart out to all the musical numbers. He has memorized every lyric to every song flawlessly. The duality of your boyfriend’s voice makes you think that he himself could be a movie star. Sometimes it is light and airy to portray the carefree and joyful atmosphere of a scene, reminiscent of a light breeze on a sweltering summer day. However, Venti is also able to make his tone dark and wild — like the unpredictable gale of a fearsome storm.

Despite the fact that the beguiling melodies that leave Venti’s lips are no less impressive than the songs of sirens, sometimes he becomes a little too obnoxious for your liking. There are times where he can’t stop singing, even after the characters have stopped. Although his voice is delightful, it gets irritating because you can’t hear what’s going on in the film. In these instances, the best course of action is to take matters into your own hands.

You can usually get him to shut up by playfully nudging him with your elbow. Squishing his cheeks so that he can’t sing properly also works, and as a bonus, he looks adorable. However, this time, you decide to try something new.

You turn to your boyfriend and stare at him until you catch his attention. Once he is looking back into your eyes, you lean closer to him and wait until he gives you a sign that he’s alright with what you’re about to do. Venti seems to understand and nods, lips parting slightly. He never rejects your advances. Then, you close the distance between the two of you at an excruciating pace, savoring the frustrated expression on your boyfriend’s face. By this time, he has forgotten all about the movie. He is focused on you and you alone.

At long last, you plant a passionate kiss on his lips, fulfilling all his desires. Something about the way he tastes reminds you of freshly-baked apple pie — warm and sweet. You kiss him until he is breathless and red in the face, and when the two of you finally pull apart, your boyfriend is at a loss for words.

He stays silent for the rest of the film.

[unicorncornflakes]

Dark Desire - Modern AU! | Chapter 13

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Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary: Aemond doesn't know how he feels every time he sees you. Neither do you when you look at him. Your father Aegon has always been absent from your upbringing ever since he divorced your mother. That role has been filled by Aemond until last summer, when everything changed.

Tags:  Alternate Universe – Modern/ Setting Emotional Hurt/ Comfort/ Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: This fic includes  manipulation, violence, death, and inc3st, at some points. Reader has purple eyes and her mother is from Dayne House, the rest is complete free :D

Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know):  @thedamewithabook @afro-hispwriter @chainsawsangel @thetrueblackheart @atherverybest @itsabby15 @boundlessfantasyjournal @partypoison00 @glame @tempo-rary-fix @tssf-imagines @aaaaaamond @imaloserbby @youngcomputerpuppy @aemondsfavouritebastard @cloudroomblog @queenofshinigamis @bluevxnus @wooya1224 @serving-targaryen-realness @darkenchantress @padfooteyes @mariannnavao @moonlightfoxx @jennifer0305 @ammo23 @iloveallmyboys @tempt-ress @bellameshipper @okfashionista @shelbyteller @dahlias-and-marigolds @the-knights-of-ne @bellaisasleep

Author´s note:  Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome! And sorry for the delay theses weeks, I will try to be faster in next chapters.

Acknowledgment: To @ammo23 for the brilliant corrections and the wonderull work as beta reader, for all the patience and the love that always shows for my writing. Thank you so much for all the time that you spend with this. Thank you so much. i really aprreciate it :D

Word Count: 7.4K

“I know you don't want to see me, but could you at least take my call? We need to talk about what happened.' You deleted the message again almost automatically. Cregan had texted you almost every day that week and had called you at least five times. It wasn't like the harassment of a jealous or insistent boyfriend but more like the calls for attention from a man worried about you. You turned off the phone screen while having breakfast with your grandmother and Aemond on that Saturday morning.

You sighed in defeat, and Aemond looked over the top of the newspaper, wanting to know what was wrong with you. Alicent went on to talk about the benefit gala she did every year to raise money for the Faith of the Seven. It would be that night, and it would also coincide with being the first year that you would attend.

It was a gala dinner where the most influential personalities from all over Westeros gathered because Aemond brought them there simply to make his mother happy once a year. It would be your first time attending because you were already of legal age. Before, the agreement your parents had signed prevented any public exposure you might have. They both wanted to protect you from belonging to two of the most influential families in the seven kingdoms, but now it was different.

Aemond insisted that you would have to start participating in the few public events in which he also participated. While your father was making a weekly cover of the gossip magazines, the rest of the Targaryen brothers kept a discreet distance in the background. Understated, but not non-existent, and that was Aemond's idea for you; let the world know that you were a dragon, with the importance and responsibility that it entailed, but that you would not lose yourself in the world of luxury and pleasures in which Aegon seemed to be immersed.

The phone rang one last time, and you picked it up, annoyed. You ran your finger across the screen, ignoring the last notification of what you knew would be the only call Cregan would attempt that day, or so you thought and took a small sip of your coffee. Aemond raised an eyebrow. He knew you were hiding something from him, but making a scene in front of his mother wouldn't help you hide something you thought was too obvious, but no one seemed to notice.

"This year, I have put more desserts on the menu", your grandmother smiled at you, bringing you back to reality. "A very good selection. I know how much you like desserts," she explained sweetly and sympathetically. Your grandmother had always been quite lax with you, removing the prefects of faith, but after your birthday and what had happened, she seemed even sweeter, as if she didn't want to offend you in anything and to please you in everything. From what Aemond had told you, it was quite similar to the attitude she had taken towards him when he lost his eye.

"Thank you, Grandma." You smiled shyly at her, and Aemond smirked. The truth was that you had become even more aware of the strong bond that united Alicent and Aemond, and it seemed that the new status of your nameless relationship with him made things change between you and your grandmother. She wasn't just your grandmother anymore, at least from Aemond's perspective. On the other hand, her gesture touched you, but desserts had ceased to fascinate you since you had turned seven years old. "Who's going to the gala?" you asked curiously, not wanting to show your concern about meeting Cregan there. You couldn't face it, at least not at the time. It wasn't a question of love but because Cregan had been good to you and that, in the end, you had disappeared from his life without a trace. You were ashamed of your behaviour, but you were even more ashamed of the fact that you had changed him so quickly for the one you truly loved.

"Anyone who can afford it," Aemond replied, closing the newspaper. "The 300 kindest people in all of Westeros, but this is according to your grandmother," he chuckled, playing a joke on his mother that she reluctantly scolded, slapping her son on the arm. Alicent didn't know what was wrong with her son, but lately, he seemed happier, more cheerful, more human. Aemond had always been rigid in his convictions and behaviour. However, in recent weeks he had a behaviour similar to being in love. Your grandmother had no idea what this meant, but she was just happy for her son. She believed that he was seeing someone and that sooner or later one of her children, whom she thought would always remain sad, would give her grandchildren. Alicent had no idea how little of this happiness was left for her son, but at that breakfast, she thought that everything would be fine in the life of the most battered of her children.

"They are very important people, of that we can be sure," your grandmother smiled radiantly. She was about to start talking about her project again when your phone vibrated on the table again. Cregan was being really insistent that morning, perhaps because you suspected that he would also be attending this famous event, and he wanted to spare you the embarrassment and discomfort of meeting each other after you had ignored him, if only for your sake and Aemond's. You were beginning to see how jealous he could get over almost anything. He thought he hid it well under hisserious facade, but you were beginning to know the way he clenched his jaw, which seemed to break the teeth and bones that made it up.

"Why don't you take it?" Aemond tried to sound casual but failed in his attempt. You knew that he only demanded to know who it was, who called you so urgently on a Saturday morning. You saw him take a cigarette out of a fresh pack that he just opened at that moment. He brought it to his lips without losing sight of you, but you didn't look at him. You didn't want to talk to him about how Cregan was calling you to fix things. The old wolf was simply saying that he needed to talk to you. You heard the Zippo click and how he took a puff and then quickly blew smoke out of his nose.

"It's nothing important," you told him as you tried to continue eating breakfast. You picked up a piece of fruit and began to peel it in silence under the watchful eye of Aemond, who knew you were lying. However, this time it was not jealousy. It was just a worry that had been on his mind lately more than he wanted to admit: You didn't trust him. Or at least not to tell him everything that happened to you. It seemed as if there was some kind of barrier between you that you had built up in a way of protecting you both. For Aemond, it was beginning to be a concern. Where was all this leading you if you couldn't trust him?

"Good morning", your father appeared just then, stretching and with a tired face as he took his seat next to you at that garden table. At least he had managed to break the tension that had existed up to that moment and of which, as always, your grandmother seemed unaware. Your father ruffled your hair again, and you smiled at him. It was one of those things he should have done when you were little, but at least tried now. That was the only consolation you found. "Don't eat fruit for breakfast. That is only done if you are sick," he joked as he took a Croissant, and you laughed. Aemond looked at the two of you disapprovingly.

"Are you going to go to the gala with that face?" Aemond spoke unlovingly to his older brother, taking another drag, nearly draining the cigarette to the end. Aegon always managed to get under his skin. However, it was his brother. He had to protect him. He should always protect his family.

"It's my usual face," your father replied as he poured himself coffee under Aemond's watchful eye. That one-eyed look that always disapproved of him. His younger brother looked at him disapprovingly, having almost forgotten you at once.

"It's your face from having been partying days in a row", Aemond said as he stubbed out his cigarette, ready to scold Aegon, as always. You had rarely seen it because the three of you had met a few times in time and space together, but you were beginning to realize that it was a bit of a regular occurrence. 

"Well, that's the same thing. My usual face." Your father shrugged and dunked the croissant into his coffee, ready to ignore his brother. He winked at you, and at that moment, your phone rang again. Aegon cheekily stared at your phone screen. What neither your grandmother nor Aemond dared to do, your father did shamelessly and was simply angry. "What is Cregan doing calling you?" he asked you, visibly angry. You did not answer, knowing that not telling him would anger Aemond.

"That man doesn't seem to understand endings", your grandmother spoke, worried about you. Everyone fell silent afterwards as the phone rang. Aemond's jaw clenched as if he was going to break it, and your grandmother gave you a worried look. However, it was Aegon who crossed all the lines of your privacy. After all, your father thought that Cregan was ultimately responsible for that anxiety attack that had landed you in the hospital.

"Fuck", your father picked up the phone. You tried to stop him almost desperately, but he simply took the cell phone and picked it up in an aggressive way, grinding his teeth and losing his mind for the simple fact that his puppy was suffering. Aegon was not violent. That attitude involved too much work, and he was not used to work. But, he was just starting to freak out lately under a desire to keep you safe and happy. That was all that mattered to him. He brought the phone to his ear, under the watchful eye of Aemond, who leaned back in his chair to watch the spectacle. “Listen to me well, old wolf. I want you to leave her alone,” you heard Cregan yell on the other end of the line.

"Dad, give me back the phone", you yelled at him as you followed him around the garden after he got up. You didn't want to put on any show. It wasn't your style or your ways, but it was partly your father's. Aegon, at that moment, only cared about you.

"If you don't stop calling her, believe me, there will be consequences, and I think you know very well what kind of consequences there are when you mess with dragons." You saw him sigh heavily as you tried to take his mobile while you chased him through the garden, where he was pacing nervously, trying to avoid you. Hewas going to protect you. He would do it like he hadn't in 17 years.

"Dad, please", you yelled at him again, but then you felt a hand grab you and pull you away from your father. You saw Aemond walk up to his older brother and take the phone away from him while yelling a thousand expletives at Cregan. After all, Aemond was stronger and taller than your father.

"You're an asshole.” your uncle spat on your father. At first, it had been fun to watch. "What the hell are you threatening him for? We can send whoever you want, but don't threaten him, okay? Don't even think of doing it again," he told him as he handed back your mobile. Now he was worried about what could happen. He could send a thousand guys to beat up Cregan, but he couldn't do what your father had done: yell it out in front of everyone through a phone that might be recording. He couldn't afford to be associated with acts of violence like that. Not him, not his family, or they would have problems.

“He said he had to talk to her. I won't have it after what happened,” your father yelled, now turning his anger on Aemond.

"Alright. I don't want him to talk to her either, but let me handle it." Aemond took your father by the arm and whispered in his ear. Aegon just nodded his head, and your uncle's face grew grim. You ran to talk to Aemond. You didn't want anything to happen to Cregan because you knew that nothing that happened to you was his fault. It had only been a determinant, not a cause. However, your grandmother arrived first.

"Don't even think about doing anything. I know you too well. Both of you.” Aegon ran a hand over his face in despair, but Aemond ignored her.

"Hmmm", was all he sighed as he sauntered past you. You had never seen that side of your family, but it was something that scared you. You didn't feel comfortable, and you really began to fear what might happen to Cregan, just as you saw Aemond walk away to make a call that you never knew the content of. Alicent looked worriedly at her son. He had always been protective of you, and that was already too much.

Lya had always liked flashes, cameras and glamour. Those three elements had undoubtedly been determining factors in opting for that stable relationship with your uncle Daeron. The lawyer had remained for a couple of photos with his girlfriend at the entrance to the Hightower Hotel where the gala that took so much effort and time for your grandmother was held, but finally, he had let her enjoy having a little fame for herself.

Since Lya was only known for being the 'girlfriend of…' However, she didn't care. She enjoyed it equally and would enjoy it even more after Daeron proposed to her. It shouldn't have been that long. She had endured the unspeakable among the Targaryens, and at the very least, her reward had to be a proper marriage. Something that would give her a status similar to Alicent's in that family. But, Lya was not Alicent and never would be. Daeron Targaryen's young girlfriend enjoyed the last moment in which the photographers claimed her attention. At that precise moment, Aemond Targaryen and his brother made an appearance, getting out of the main family car. Alicent got out of the car with difficulty, helped by the eldest of her children, and behind her, you appeared.

A red and black velvet gown had been your choice for that night, or rather Aemond's. He held you by the waist as you got out of the car, and in a protective gesture, he took you inside the building, holding you tight, while the attention of the photographers was torn between taking a picture of your figure that your uncle would not let go of or your father with your grandmother, who did stay at the doors of the building to the delight of many photographers.

Aemond wanted you to participate in public life, not expose yourself, and you wouldn't have been comfortable with it either, but that paternal gesture from the man who was now your lover left you cold. What would anyone think of the way he had grabbed you? Well-dressed and in keeping with the moment, he ignored you as he entered the building. Now was the time to save face, though the long, silent look he gave you as you walked away from him said it all. It was the look of a man in love, and Lya could only narrow her eyes at that spectacle. What was between you and Aemond was not normal, and Lya, she could only suspect. Daeron gently took her hand as she entered the building, but the young Stark couldn't get the thought out of her head. She had seen how Aemond held you and looked at you. She did remember what had happened between Daemon and Rhaenyra, and she couldn't ignore that you two seemed too similar. Was the rest of the Targaryens blind?

After all day alone in the family home, you found yourself even more alone at that party. You saw your Aunt Helaena and her husband, Jace, dance together in the crowd. Your father was already missing, and your grandmother was chatting with one of her pious friends. You saw Lya and Daeron equally dance together after dinner, which had been tedious and almost unbearable. To be fair, you hadn't seen Lya since that night at the smallest of the Velaryon's clubs on your father's express orders. But, at that party and after such a long time, her presence continued to bother you. You would never feel comfortable with her again. Not after her friends had aired how she saw you.

You sighed, bored, and Aemond looked at you sideways, sitting next to you at the same table where you had eaten. He smiled when he saw you slip into your seat with your arms crossed. So pretty and, at the same time, so careless. He would have loved to have ushered you into one of the upstairs rooms right then, but he was content to see you like this while one of the main investors continued to discuss numbers and figures with Aemond. Without a doubt, this was a party for everyone. Except for you.

"I'll tell Alys to send you the closing of the quarterly", Aemond commented while that man continued chattering while the face of his wife, also sitting next to him, was quite similar to yours. However, it seemed to activate the moment your uncle spoke the name of his secretary.

"Oh, speaking of Alys, I miss her at this gala", the man's wife commented with a sarcastic giggle as she scanned you up and down. You tensed. You never expected that no one would give you such an accusing and cheeky look like that in that place "... but I see that you have changed it for a younger model, right?" That woman with the pearl necklace and ancient hairstyle lashed out again, and her husband told her reprimanded her while she looked away, embarrassed. Aemond didn't even look at you, now concentrating on glaring at that woman with his one eye, but the damage was already done. A younger model? Is that how they saw you at that party? That was a hard blow to reality. Perhaps you weren't being as discreet as Aemond expected, and you saw Lya look at you and smile as she was now whispering to one of her friends. And you started to feel bad. The world was spinning.

"I have to go to the bathroom," was all you said. You needed to cool off. You needed to get out of there while you felt in an almost paranoid way how everyone was looking at you at that party. What was happening to the world?

"She is my niece. Not a fucking prostitute." Aemond spoke just as you left, and that woman paled while her husband could barely swallow. Now they were in your uncle's crosshairs, and the man knew that he would not deal with dragons again. Much to his regret. All because of his wife's big mouth and her way of pointing out subtleties that weren't as subtle as the great Aemond Targaryen believed and his family of dragons refused to see.

You got your neck and chest slightly wet. Not the face. That would be spoiling the makeup that they had put on you in that very expensive beauty salon that your uncle had paid for. The red lips in the tone that he himself had chosen, you looked overwhelmed. You needed to get out of there. You began to believe in the words that your mother had always said and in her refusal to attend that party.

Also, you were beginning to believe that everyone was looking at you as if everyone suspected what was happening between you and Aemond, but you were discreet, right? Definitely yes. Never a major gesture in public. Never. So much sacrifice. Only, he had taken you by the waist in a protective gesture, and the way he looked at you said much more than any of his gestures.

You sighed slowly as if you were trying to regulate your agitated breathing, your anxiety. You saw yourself in front of that mirror in that lonely bathroom. The focus of attention was on you. You needed to get back to Aemond's side, not worry him and tell him that you wanted to go home. Make love in your room. Normalize what you felt for each other. No more secrets. Shout it out if necessary. But you knew you couldn't. So you were content with wanting to return only to his side. You left the bathroom for it after taking a deep breath and steeling yourself to face that crowded room.

"You look spectacular", you heard a familiar voice just behind you. You turned, and there he was, the man you'd been trying to ignore all week. Cregan has his hands in his pants pockets, dressed in a suit befitting the occasion like everyone else. He smiled sadly at you, and you almost blanched. He was well groomed, yet his eyes showed a lack of sleep. Two large dark circles under his eye sockets were proof that Cregan Stark, the old wolf of Winterfell, had been almost without sleep since he had returned to the capital.

"Thank you," was all you answered, looking away from him but unable to move from the spot. A small part of you told you that you should have taken some of his calls, answered some text, stood there and let him put his arms around you, but you were in love with Aemond.

Cregan was nothing to you anymore if he ever was. Cregan was the right choice. It always would be, but not always, the right choices are the ones we want to make. "I have to go," was all you could think of to say, almost scared to have found him. That simple exchange of words would make Aemond jealous, and this was something you did not want to experience again. Besides, you were also dreading the prospect of talking to Cregan. It scared you in a way you couldn't explain. You'd ignored him, and you'd ignored him because the girl from just a month ago would have seen herself capable of taking on anything, but you weren't that girl anymore. You had lost strength as if you were starting to let Aemond take care of everything. You weren't you anymore, were you? In the end, it all came down to the fact that you had developed an irrational fear of betraying, harming or offending Aemond.

"Wait", Cregan grabbed your bare arm, and that only caused you anxiety. What would Aemond think if he saw you like this, with his body so close to yours? With the northerner claiming you so fiercely? "Please, (Y/N), wait", he whispered to you, looking into your eyes with the sincerity that characterized him. I understand that you don't want to see me. I heard what happened after I left, but we need to talk." His hand loosened its grip on your arm.

"I don't want to talk, Cregan," you told him without taking your eyes off the ground. You were taking too long. You had only told Aemond that you would go to the bathroom and come back. He must have been worried about you, and you were just being hindered by Cregan. "I don't need to talk."

“Everyone needs to talk about what's wrong with them, (Y/N)", he whispered to you and at that moment, his eyes met yours. You wish Aemond was like this. You wish, sometimeAemond would open up so much to you that you could understand what was going on inside his head. You let your guard down, and Cregan smiled. A sincere and sad smile. "What happened… what happened to you and you going to the hospital was terrible."

"It had nothing to do with you", you replied, looking away from him. Cregan cradled your face in his hands, caressing your chin and lips. This was another kind of love, very different from Aemond's, completely different.

"Even if it had nothing to do with me, I feel just as guilty", he whispered, trying to calm you down, trying to protect you. "I know that something has changed, and you don't want to see me again, but... I still like you, and I'm still in love with you, with your smile, with that beautiful way you had to bite your lip when we made love..." he moaned almost desperately for one more minute by your side. Cregan had always been a lovesick man. Yet you had managed to drive him crazy in ways he couldn't understand. The time he had spent in Winterfell without you had been eternal and painful, even more, hurtful when what had happened to you after his departure reached his ears. The old wolf always fixed things and wanted to be there to fix you. "Please, I only ask you for a coffee. You and I. Alone and calm. Without your family, Just you and me. Fix what we can fix…"

"I-I can't", you sighed, defeated because in front of you was a man even more defeated than you. You did not want to be alone with Cregan because you knew that in your heart, it was this affection that you had always needed and would always need. You would have killed for Aemond to have shown half the devotion Cregan had for you, but you knew your uncle was too arrogant for it. You looked Cregan in the eye to say goodbye and to close that chapter once and for all when you heard your father's voice right behind you.

"I told you to leave her alone!" he roared as he grabbed your arm to pull you away from Cregan. You had never seen your father violent, but he scared you at the time, just as his fist met Cregan's jaw and Cregan made a sound of pain. The girl who was with your father and whose presence you only became aware of then shrieked. And then there was only scandal, screams and people. A security guard grabbed your father, who was almost determined to kill Cregan, and Aemond hugged you as he found you in the crowd. That night two rumours began to resonate even louder throughout the King's Landing: Cregan had been to blame for what had happened to you, and your relationship with Aemond was too close.

Daeron sat wearily on the bed. He sighed and looked at the ceiling. At least he had managed to get Cregan not to press charges after a punch from Aegon. That was progress. The old wolf of Winterfell said he understood your father. After all, Cregan Stark was also the father of several girls. Daeron couldn't remember how many, but he was a father after all. Aegon would never know how to handle his emotions when it had to do with you. At least from the perspective of the smallest of dragons.

The youngest of your uncles fell on the bed after loosening his tie and would have let himself sleep there if it weren't for the fact that he had visitors that night. Lya came out of the bedroom bathroom wrapped in the bathrobe that a few months ago she had insisted on leaving at her boyfriend's house. Daeron hated that young Stark left her things at his house. It was almost a way to increase their commitment. A commitment Daeron was less and less sure of. Lya was capricious and spoiled at times as if being his longest-lasting girlfriend gave her permission to always have her own way.

Daeron leaned back on the bed to watch her as she sat at the dresser she'd asked for a few months ago. He had ended up buying it so he wouldn't have to listen to her. Those were the relationships that stuck, right? Give in to not listen to your loved one. Although, he doubted that he was in love with her. What was love? Has he ever felt it? He watched her remove her makeup in silence while she looked at him in the reflection of that mirror. He remembered that vacation in Pentos with the girl he really liked in college. The one whose parents, true descendants of Old Valyria, had rejected Daeron for his 'tainted' blood. After all, Alicent was the only one who didn't come from a place like this. This vague and imprecise concept that made Aemond proud was just a hoax. They were nothing similar. They never would be, and perhaps with that idea, Daeron had started dating Lya. He would never live up to what their last names were supposed to carry.

"You're very quiet." Lya woke him from his musings, and Daeron stared at the ceiling, weary. He needed a vacation away from his family.

"I was thinking that I'm glad your cousin didn't file a complaint with my brother," he lied because he didn't want to tell Lya what was going through his head because he didn't want to talk to her about how he felt that the relationship was going nowhere. Lya laughed cheekily, and Daeron looked at her again, confused. "What are you laughing at?"

"That my cousin would never press charges against Aegon. He still hopes to end up between (Y/N) 's legs." She smiled again in an unpleasant way as she turned around. Her brown eyes locked with Daeron's. "Poor fool. That place is already taken and awarded to another man. Only a fool or those who refuse to see reality would not see it." She shrugged and continued combing her hair.

"Pardon…?" Daeron started to speak, but Lya cut him off with a cocky smile and a know-it-all look.

"Aemond is fucking your niece. Are you going to tell me it's not true?" She challenged him. She challenged him because Daeron had never dared to raise a word higher than another against his girlfriend, because they had never argued, because he had always given in until Aegon made it clear that he did not want to see Lya again for a long time. She had hurt (Y/N) with her words, and it was clear that she was only with him for his money. She challenged him because he had removed her from his life with a few simple words from his older brother. She challenged him because she was hurt by the way he had pushed her away in an affront against you.

"They have always been very close," was all he could think of to say in answer to your farce. He also had the same suspicions, but he would never dare say them out loud. His conversations with Helaena had advised him to do so.

"Like Daemon and Rhaenyra", she sneered again, and Daeron couldn't take it anymore. He got up and did the unthinkable. Lya kept giggling silently, and her boyfriend grabbed her by the neck, pushing her against the wall. She went cold and saw a more dragon-like fury in Daeron's eyes. Daeron was never going to suffer the same embarrassment that happened to his older sister. The thing that had traumatized him to the point of saying enough, that had embarrassed him. It could be happening. He wasn't the one to reveal it, much less Lya.He would never again live with the shame of such a scandal. Because if Daeron had lived in fear of anything in his life, it was the shame he had felt for all those years until people forgot what had happened between his uncle and Rhaenyra. He squeezed Lya's neck again. That gallant knight, the meekest of dragons, was willing to take out his claws so as not to be embarrassed again.

"Don't you dare suggest something like that again," he whispered between his teeth. "Have you understood me?" He shook her again, and Lya just nodded in frightened silence.

For the first time, Daeron had brought out the angry, fucked-up dragon in him, and Lya knew that the one she had taken for a panoli with money would never ask her to marry him again.

He had offered him a cigarette, and Cregan had refused. He had given up smoking when his second wife insisted on it, for his health and for the curtains not to smell of smoke. The northerner had given in. He always gave in when it came to women. A true gentleman. Every woman's dream until they got bored of it. Cregan had never left a single one of his relationships. It had always been the other party who had insisted on leaving him. He believed that things could have been fixed by talking. He was old school. And with you, he thought exactly the same, but it was clear that your paternal family would never let him get close to you again.

"Just give me a number, and I'll pay you." Aemond Targaryen, CEO of Targaryen Industries, was in front of him. The dragon was indeed smoking. Leaning back in his large leather chair, as he stared at Cregan Stark with his one eye. He had invited him into her office that morning, just after Aegon had given him a black eye, to 'talk business'. Cregan had come with the hope that these businesses would address your situation, but he found that Aemond simply wanted to buy him the project that a month ago had seemed ridiculous to him.

Cregan wasn't stupid. He knew that this was a subtle and veiled form of blackmail. If he sold his project for an exorbitant amount of money, he was selling his silence at the same time. A nice and elegant way to mask everything that had happened at the gala the night before. It was a clear subtext that Aemond Targaryen wanted to offer him: 'I bought your project in exchange for not denouncing my brother and, in exchange for your silence for any statement you could make'. That was what dragons always tried to do. To master absolutely everything. The northerner scribbled an absurdly high figure on a piece of paper and offered it to Aemond silently. He didn't want to be there. Your uncle accepted that. Aemond just looked at the paper without showing a single reaction and picked up the phone in his office. Cregan watched in disbelief as he asked Alys to set up a transfer for the amount the old wolf had put on that piece of paper.

"If that was all." Cregan started to rise from his seat when Aemond waved him back to sit down. The northerner obeyed in silence but only lifted his chin in a haughty gesture. He knew that now the topic of conversation was going to be you. Your uncle thought that he had bought Cregan with such a sum of money, perhaps he had, but he wanted to make sure that everything would return to normal after such a monetary exchange.

Aemond fell silent, a warning. "I don't want you to see her again" he was direct in his request, much less violent than his older brother, but just as threatening and possessive of you. "Don't even try to talk to her. I want you to disappear from her life."

"I suppose that this request is included in such an amount of money", Cregan replied in a bad manner. The northern challenged him. Anyone else would have nodded and gone bowing to the King of King's Landing. But Cregan Stark didn't care. Never again would dragons intimidate him.

"All men have a price, and you have written it on a piece of paper," Aemond replied. He leaned back on his desk and offered Cregan up again. "I'm going to be magnanimous, I can offer you twice as much, but it's best that you never go near her again. I'm not going to be so nice if you do it again," he smiled. One of the corners of his lips turned up. A sneer and menace crossed Aemond's face.

"You don't scare me." Cregan would never understand what was going through Aemond's head with you. He didn't think it was a healthy relationship or even logical, and yet your uncle didn't seem to want you to be happy in the eyes of others. Aemond was used to doing and undoing everything. You were not an exception.

"I know, but I think you should think about those around you" Aemond smiled again, almost laughing at Cregan. “Your eldest son Rickon is starting college at Dreadfort College this year. The streets there are dangerous, but I think that's something you already know about.” Aemond began speaking in a confident tone.

"Look…" Cregan was also planning to counterattack, but surely your uncle was much more versed in threatening than Cregan. Aemond had always grown to own everything, and he was going to prove it to the northerner.

"And I know that the kindergarten where you take the smallest of your offspring is extremely elitist, but it is not free of dangers, Cregan." He smiled again. "By the way, you should keep a closer eye on your twin daughters' nights out. It would be a shame if something happened to them in one of the clubs they frequent. You have ten children, I can go on, but I think you are already catching on to how all this is going."

Of course, he was getting it. For Cregan, the main thing was his children. Aemond Targaryen reminded him right in that conversation that Cregan might not be scared of what happened to him, but he was scared of what could happen to his children. Cregan just got up. Willing to go, he wouldn't bother you again because he knew Aemond was capable of anything. He was a dangerous man and always would be, but he turned away. Ready to challenge him one last time, trying to appeal to his conscience. "You're never going to make her happy..."

"She is happy; with me, she is happy. And always will be," your uncle spoke for the last time to the northerner without looking at him. His gloomy face against the light of the enormous window of his office. And at that precise moment, Cregan understood what was wrong with you. He would never say anything. It was just another form of dominance, but he was repulsed at imagining the very thing your uncle had confessed was going on between you. Those who do not remember their history are doomed to repeat it, and it seemed that Aemond Targaryen did not remember the same thing that had happened to his uncle.

"It is quite expensive, but it is a good project", Alys woke Aemond from his thoughts. He was looking out the window of his office. It was almost dark. However, he did not want to go home. He didn't want to look you in the eye right now and think about how he had threatened Cregan so he wouldn't see you again. It wasn't something he was proud of. He wasn't proud of any of the actions he'd taken to keep you by his side. He would never be. But he needed to be with you. That was all he needed. He knew it. He needed you by his side. His. Even if you were to go to Sunspear, you would still be his. He would take care of it. “It will triumph in the congress next week. I've already booked our rooms and…” Alys started blathering on about dates and meetings. She pretended that everything was fine between them for the good of the company, for her benefits within it, but Aemond was about to blow up that feigned peace for your good, for your uncle's idea of ​​what was your good.

“(Y/N) and I are going to the congress. Us two alone. Nobody else. You will stay here and run my schedule. I know you know how to do it. You don't need to come.” Aemond gave a firm order, and Alys's world came crashing down.

No one had the right to remove her from her post, not after working so long at that company. She was almost as important a figure as Aemond. She…she had always given her all for Targaryen Industries. She had betrayed Daemon for the good of the company, for his command to pass into the hands of someone more just but, Aemond was becoming his own uncle by leaps and bounds, and Alys was going to suffer the consequences of it.

"You are kidding, right?" It was all she answered as she felt her legs give way. No. This couldn't be happening. Alys could be many things, but she was a hard worker. The Sunspear Conference was her favourite time of the year. The time to shine, the time to be more than just a secretary. Everyone was talking about her effectiveness at that congress. She hadn't missed it once in the last 30 years. She had even attended more than Aemond had. She was the visible face of Targaryen Industries at that congress, and everything was going to change because of you. It was inadmissible.

“I want you to book the suite in any of the luxury hotels. I don't care where it is. Another smaller room next door. We can't raise suspicions.” Aemond followed his idea, ignoring each and every one of the astonished grimaces that were drawn on Alys' face.

"Aemond, I have to go," she yelled at him, almost desperate. She couldn't let anyone put out her light. She had given everything for the company. She was the one who had placed Aemond in his position. Her mind, her intelligence could not give any more. Her life was that company and nothing more. She hadn't sacrificed so much to be now placed in her simple secretary position. She didn't care that Aemond hadn't taken her to the charity dinner. She didn't care, but not when this was so extremely important.

"Alys, I think you are forgetting your place in this company. Am I going to have to remind you?" Aemond's jaw set, and Alys turned, determined to leave. Aemond Targaryen was ungrateful and didn't know who he was messing with. No doubt he was biting off more than he could chew.

An old but elegant clock marked midnight in that house in the Summer Islands. Subtle, muted cream curtains swayed in the breeze, and light from a pool in the garden shed some light on the quiet room. Old volumes of the history of Ancient Valyria between modern detective novels and political books. Daemon Targaryen had always been a man of eclectic tastes, but what he enjoyed most was a glass of whiskey and a good book.

That rather comfortable and elegant house seemed to sleep. An old photo of Daemon and Rhaenyra sat on a high teakwood mantel on which Dark Sister also rested, an old family heirloom. Proof that the Targaryens had always been into weaponry. When Daemon left his beloved company, that sword and that photo were the only things that had accompanied him to his sad exile from the rest of the mortals. His had almost seemed the most unforgivable of sins. Sitting in the darkness of his living room, an ageing Daemon thought about everything that had destroyed him and led to this situation. Aemond had never deprived him of any luxury. That was true. He had assigned him a lifetime salary, which Daemon enjoyed and squandered in his elegant home on the Summer Isles. He was still drinking a bottle of whiskey a week and fucking a different woman almost every night, but he was missing something. He was missing his beloved Rhaenyra.

Although his nephew thought himself very cunning, Daemon knew who had leaked the information. The only problem was that it seemed impossible to hit back at a man who had shielded his private life almost masterfully. Daemon wondered if his one-eyed nephew ever enjoyed life. But, that night, while reflecting on it as, almost every night, the phone rang, and Daemon Targaryen received the most important call of his life. Someone had betrayed Aemond Targaryen, and you were going to be one of the collateral victims of the revenge that Daemon was certain to execute on Aemond.

[viridian-house]

Do you have any favorite naruto fics you’d recommend? Any pairing, complete or not, on-hiatus, gen, oneshots, anything is fine lol

I was legitimately just pruning my bookmarks the other day!! thank you so much for asking.

I don't read too much fanfic these days, and I'm picky when I do--only about grammar/punctuation and immersion though. I ship a LOT of stuff (I guess The Youth would call me a proshipper) and although I never read darkfic, I don't shy away from weirder kinks and unhealthy relationship stuff.

categorizing by pairing, if applicable. some of them are smutty, and please note that the first 3 come from FFN which doesn't have a tagging system, but there is some SA CW I'll give in advance.

KAKASAKU | my first OTP! formative fics that totally reshaped my understanding of what fanfiction could be, and how well-written chemistry can make it or break it

HOUSE OF CROWS is the quintessential kakasaku fanfic. it was written during shippuden and so is canon divergent because of that, but also tells a comprehensive story of its own right that is intriguing and well planned. excellent characterization and world building. leaves me gutted in the best way on my yearly reread.

DUTY BEFORE HONOR is another silvershine classic. I don't reread is as often as House of Crows but they are just about equal in quality. again, the chemistry between them is off the charts, and the world feels so alive.

WILL OF FIRE for me is up there with House of Crows in being essential kakasaku reading. cynchick is a multisaku champion and a wonderful storyteller. the stakes in this one are stressful, the romance tense and believable, and we once again get lovely world building and great chemistry.

ITAKISA | a pairing near and dear to me, because men who do everything wrong are so deeply relatable. they both know they don't deserve anything good ever again but they found each other!!!! ARE YOU GUYS SEEING THIS--

A SHARK HIDDEN INN THE LEAVES doesn't have my favorite version of Kisame, but he's plenty close enough. it's a lengthy oneshot that got me into certain *ahem* kinks. it is a very fun and wild fic that is entirely self-aware of how absurd it's being, and manages to have nothing but sincerity at the same time (and I highly recommend the author's other stories as well)

AN ORCHESTRA PLAYING ON, INSANE is a modern AU (extremely rare in my bookmarks) that absolutely tore my heart out. god is it SO much to ask for these losers to be happy?! yes, it is, and I love every moment of it

MADAMITO | a rarepair I am SUCH a sucker for that has some of the most talented authors writing for it. lots of them have ot3 elements between them and hashirama, often angsty, but stuff like that is part of the appeal for me, lol

A HANDFUL OF SKY is an unfinished fic that I genuinely think about like once a week. if it ever updates then I will be over the moon. technically hashimadamito but it hadn't quite gotten there yet

LIKE ALTARS is just such a beautiful piece of writing, mostly on madara. it is everything, that is all

BLOOD AND RIVER WATER is more mito-centric but has one of my favorite madaras of all time

YOURS ARE RATTLED BONES is another short, mito-centric but gut-wrenching piece featuring the opposite type of madara from the last one

OTHER | character-centric stuff that isn't necessarily shippy but also doesn't have a very "gen" vibe either?

A SERPENT IN THE RICE is a little series about orochimaru that makes me feel so so so many things. highly recommended

HERETIC is such a love letter to kushina, and kurama too. cannot stress enough how much I adore this one

there's a few others that I probably won't link on tumblr, mostly unhealthy and/or "problematic" smut hhfhdj but maybe I'll make a public rec list on ao3 for these different categories and stuff like that.

but yeah that's pretty much it!!! I know it's not a huge list with a lot of variety but it's what I've enjoyed over the last 15+ years in the naruto fandom.

[avelera]

So I’ve gone back and I’ve been reading some Old Guard fic (as I try to get motivated to write the last damn chapter of my one damn TOG WIP finished so I can finally moved on), and I must admit, one silly and very minor pet peeve I have in some Nicky/Joe fics for the Old Guard that explore their Crusader days is the trope of having them go a really long time without being able to understand each other. Because based on Nicky’s path as a Crusader even getting to the Holy Land, and the various hints we have that Joe has a pretty worldly background, I would suggest they should have had a baseline to communicate already when they met and that bridging the gap would have gone very quickly for one or both of them once they committed to learning.

There’s a few reasons I find them going a really long time without speaking each other’s language (most likely Nicky picking up Arabic) somewhat implausible:

- First, just based on my own personal experience: I went through a full language immersion experience myself and yes it was painful and yes, having textbooks and classes certainly helped, but all told it was 3-4 months from almost zero before I could start doing normal things for my age group like read simple books and do homework. However, the most effective language learning program in the country, Middlebury, does a full immersion program that gets people to baseline functionality in 6 weeks. Yes, learning a language is hard and I will be the first to say that mastery takes years and mastery without immersion is nearly impossible, but if you’re completely immersed there, without options, it goes much faster. You won’t be fluent of course but you will be conversational. Also, by all accounts, being illiterate or otherwise not bothering to learn how to read and write at the same time and ONLY going for verbal communication actually makes things go even faster.

- People who pick up by speaking (rather than reading and writing) and people who speak multiple languages already tend to pick up other languages even more quickly. Once you learn one or two, a lot of polyglots don’t stop there. There is that old joke: the word for speaking three languages is trilingual, two languages is bilingual, and speaking only one language is American. Which is to say I think native English speaking writers might be the ones underestimating how quickly a language can be learned (at least to a conversational level).

- Now throw in the fact that both Nicky and Joe have been recently in multilingual societies or organizations as a requirement of their meeting during the First Crusade, no matter how you slice it. Either as both coming from a merchant trading backgrounds traveling across international (so to speak) lands, or Nicky being part of the pan-European Christian army where multiple languages would be spoken across the camp, to him possibly having a priest background which would mean Latin as well. Not to mention Greek if Nicky picked up anything while in Constantinople (if he came over land). Nicky also would have been on the road to the Holy Land, if he went overland, for as long as 3 years and in Antioch before Jerusalem.

- Now, as an admitted caveat to all of this, I’ve lived overseas and it is absolutely common for expats to live in a country for years without bothering to pick up the local language at all. There were cultural and societal reasons that European Crusaders and the Egyptian Fatimids who lost Jerusalem wouldn’t bother to learn each other’s languages or any of the common merchants tongue or other common languages like Greek to bother to talk to each other. That’s absolutely fair to invoke for why they wouldn’t have a single word of any language in common.

- However, I will say, once both or either of them decided to try, I think some writers don’t give enough credit for how quickly one or the other would pick a language up, especially if it’s the language of the country they’re in (basically, I think once he tried, Nicky would pick up Arabic very quickly if he’s still in the Holy Land by the time he and Joe start trying to communicate). Effort plus full immersion is probably the single fastest way to learn a language, you’d be able to have rudimentary conversations within a few months at most. Really from there it’s just a question of whose country are they in once they start talking and stop trying to kill each other.

TL;DR I will be the first to say an author should go with what makes their story work best BUT there’s plenty of historically backed reasons why Nicky and Joe should have been able to carry on a basic conversation with each other from when they first met, and not be completely stymied in communicating with each other because of a language barrier.

[the-sun-and-the-sea]

Odesta Fic Rec List

For @doesntmatterlizzy

mortal fate is hard (you'd best get used to it) by mrworldwidestan - This is one that I actually just started reading (and is recent + currently updating) but so far, I really appreciate the world building. It’s from Finnick’s point of view during his Games and goes into detail about his family life and the district outside of his household, which I find really immersive. 

I Know The End by kenniiohontesha - Someone actually recommended this one to me a few weeks ago and since it never officially made it onto a list, I decided to put it on here now. I can’t say much about it because I haven’t given it a very close read, but from what I can tell, the world building is rich here also. It takes place during Annie’s Games, and alternates between Finnick and Annie’s POV. 

Landlocked by throttlegainwell - This is a series that focuses on Finnick’s life in the Capitol and his relationships. It’s not specifically Odesta, but there is Odesta in it, along with Finnick and Mags. I like this one because it offers some insight into how Finnick would think and act when he’s not at home, and it’s cool to see different relationships represented. 

we're hollow like the bottles that we drain by thrashunreal - This is a great Finnick and Johanna one-shot, and this author also has a lot of great Finnick fics, as well as fic for other characters that you might like. I really like this story’s use of second person POV because it creates such a closeness with the characters. 

What The Water Gave Me by Zartbitterpoetin - This is a really cool AU series that I read a while ago but I don’t think I’ve mentioned it yet. This could be a good read if you’re in the mood for some canon divergence or just something different. My favorite is the last installment of the series, which is also in second person POV. 

Weather With You by TheWuzzy - I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned this one yet (or at least I don’t think I have) because it’s so good! This takes place during Annie’s Games and the characterization is wonderful. The dynamic between Finnick and Annie feels so organic and compelling. I really like this one. 

Rip Current - This work has been orphaned, which is why I didn’t include an author name, but it is complete. What I like about this one is that Annie’s voice and perception of the world is so unique. She’s very analytical here, which is not a trait usually attributed to her, so her character feels very fresh. This also takes place during Annie’s Games. 

Some self-promo here, but I figured I’d take advantage of the THG renaissance and mention that I’m mdr_24601 on ao3 and I write a ton of Odesta as well, so maybe there’s something on there you might like. 

I hope you all can find something good to read, and feel free to reblog with other recommendations or self promotion of your own! 

[anakinskywalkerog]

I am utterly enamored by your “my very soul” fic (came from ao3)!! I have been reading it for the last few weeks—I would’ve totally consume it completely but I am deathly afraid of catching up and having nothing to look forward to, so I’m really pacing myself to slow down T_T I ADORE your characterization of everyone—they all feel so real and fleshed out, it has me kicking my feet and giggling. I love how you give spotlights to different characters and not just MC and Anakin; it really does feel so immersive (I just saw the casting, and I TOTALLY agree, it’s insane, I imagine them almost all in a similar vein).

My favorite chapter is when MC and Anakin are staring at the night sky after sneaking out of the temple, and how you describe the swirling of both emotions and stars, AAHEHSHEHJRJAKRNFUFJFH (I’m chewing on the dry walls with how much excitement your writing ideas and executions has me, got me on a force death grip); I reread that chapter every now and then.

I share your fic to my friends who aren’t even into SW, but can appreciate amazing writing when they see it!!! Genuinely, one of the best fics I’ve read that’s altering the synapses in my brain

this is so sweet 🥹 thank you for your message ❤️ and for reading!! also after my own heart I also loved writing that chapter haha

also I’m honored you’re sharing my fic with your friends but I also can’t imagine an anakin fic being someone’s first introduction to star wars! 😅 like oh no besties I have some bad news about our “hero”

I hope to write more of it and actually finish it at some point ❤️ getting messages like this definitely makes me want to continue!! thank you ❤️❤️❤️

[choccy-zefirka]

Six of Swords

Hello, I was possessed to write some V/Takemura this afternoon! Note that I am playing the game for the first time, mostly blind, so the fic is based on the events that have happened to my V so far (she just met Panam and is in the middle of investigating Evelyn's employers), and was an outpouring of my love for the ship that I had to get out of my system before I properly finished the game. Hence, it may not be quite accurate/in-character!

I also planned to continue the story further, to the point where V and Takemura have their adult choom-choom time, and then their pillow talk involves 1. The talents they would have pursued in another, more peaceful life (cooking for Takemura and art for V); and 2. What Anders Hellman revealed to V regarding her condition. However, given that I have immersed myself in pretty harrowing irl news tonight, that extinguished my inspiration spark for the time being, so I kindly ask you to enjoy the story for what it is!

As usual, my writing contains certain undesirable traits (repetitions, tangents, purple prose etc.) but I had fun with it, and so might you!

Also, this is the V in this story! Idc what CD Projekt says, her full name is Vita XD She belongs to the same character archetype as Una Cadash, Naali Adaar and Cinder the Tav.

"Greetings, V. I do not intend to offend, but it appears that you are forming a behavioral pattern."

The dulcet robotic voice — so familiar — sends ripples across the sea of hissing, crackling, acidic turquoise stripes and squares that have been biting at V's eyes, until she felt like her burning, veins eyeballs were dripping blood.

She blinks, once, twice. The blood turns out to have been tears. Just tears. Once a beast she thought she'd conquered triumphantly at the age of twelve; and now, a more annoying recurring guest than a celebrity on Stan's show.

She wipes them off, in a swift, almost violent motion. Gotta destroy those fuckers.

The ringing in her ears subsides, and the floating turquoise shapes shift and condense into a face. A very distinct, plasticky white face, speaking to her from an overhanging monitor. Her tear-damp fingers twitch, and she spreads them out, still half-blind, feeling the creaky leather. She is on the back seat of a taxi. The taxi, she should say.

"Hey, Del..." she croaks weakly. "How... How did you get here?"

Seriously, though. How?

Her thoughts and memories set in like a broken nose. The last thing she can recollect is the muted orange blur of the desert highway, beyond the Sunset Motel, and a biting-sharp stench as she slumped over the upper-floor railing, heaving her guts out.

"Mr. Takemura hailed me with instructions to take you home," Delamain explains, courteous as ever. "I made certain to send out a reliable cab, whose AI is completely in line with the Delamain Corporation standards."

Through the last dregs of her wooziness, V cannot help but snort (a mistake, as it makes her inhale the lingering aftertaste of her own vomit). Yeah, reliable cab. Unlike those rogue ones. Ugh, she still has to finish chasing them down.

"You were in poor condition — though thankfully, not as poor as when I previously did this for you. Still, this was already happened twice. Hence my remark about the pattern."

"Mhm. If you had an eddie for each time, you'd have two eddies, which is not much, yada yada..."

V sighs.

"Man. Sorry, Del, I... I had a shitty couple of days."

The words scarcely leave her flaky, terribly dry lips — which she just barely saved from splitting into bloody cracks by taking a huge swig from a branded water bottle, graciously provided in the cup holder by her seat — when all of these days' shittiness hits her. At once. Hard, fast. Like crashing your motorbike into a septic tank.

She's seen so much. Way too much for one lifetime,even if hers is supposed to be jam packed into a few weeks.

The dark green mire of the snuff film brain dances, contrasted against the explosion of the searing thermal orange — that fucking ripperdoc chair where some unlucky gonk was melted into a sticky, none-beef-all-soot carcass, for sickos to get off to his final agony.

Evelyn's limp body against her chest, so small, so bare, all that glitz and sass and mystique gone, like she was a little girl V was tucking lovingly into bed. And dark, dark smears everywhere: blood in the bath, smudged makeup on Judy's ashen, hardened face.

Then, the desert, just today. Blood-red through the lens of a drone, no signs of life among the dust and brittle grass. Just the scattered bodies of the nomads — Panam's people, good people, who had nothing to do with this mess, who only wanted to help, to rescue survivors from a downed AMV. The AMV *she* was hunting; the AMV *she* roped Panam into helping her with.

V presses her hand against her eyes. Johnny is quiet for now; she must have taken the Omega blockers back there, at the motel, without knowing. One small blessing, at least. His voice chiming in with her own is the last thing she needs right now.

Shit, shit, shit! She's supposed to be better than this. She was always the tough, competent one. The one to pull her chooms back from the brink, whether it's a younger street kid, years ago, wanting to swim in a canal supposedly infested with brain-eating amoeba (so this is what it feels like), or Judy staring into nothing, with a cigarette weeping ash in her shaking hand, or Panam clutching her wound, screaming the name of the man who offered her to run away together. She — V — was supposed to hold them, to tell them it's gonna be okay. We did preem, fellas, we lived to see another sunrise. Look sharp, look ahead, look at V.

...Who would look at her now and be inspired to push on?

When she lifts her hand again, her face is wet. A-fucking-gain.

And deep inside her — a quivering cable line pulled taut from her gut to the back of her throat — there is a strong, overpowering longing for... For something terribly stupid. And right now, with her legs still numb and sick still drying up on the front of her shirt, she is too weak to stop and make sense of it, much less resist. So she just goes with it, and says what it wants her to say.

"Del... Can you call Takemura for me?"

Delamain obliges,  blue lips sculpted into an impeccably professional smile. The glowing white monitor turns bright orange, and another face emerges from the static. Making the sensation within V cut into her insides even deeper.

"V! I was just finished with Hellman."

V exhales a short laugh. She is still drenched in all that metaphorical shit, but there is no better distraction from it than her favorite pastime. Testing the limits of this old man's stoicism.

"Did not kill him, did you? Or is he still walking around like in those ancient samurai movies — you know, where a guy slices another guy up and he feels just fine, and then suddenly falls apart into neat chunks of meat?"

Takemura holds her gaze, very unimpressed. But she has come to recognize that little tug at the corners of his mouth. She won't go as far as to say that this is also his favorite pastime... But he is not *not* enjoying this.

"You certainly flatter my technique, but... No. Hellman is still alive. I simply obtained all the information I needed from him."

He pauses, and suddenly, his face softens even further. By about 0.01℅, but still.

"I am glad you are awake, V. I heard you screaming in pain on the balcony of that so-called... motel," his lips curl, and he spits the word out like moldy food. "But I could not attend to you for long. You understand."

"The interrogation, yeah."

The conversation lulls, and in the silence, the longing takes over once more.

"Listen, Goro..."

She catches a moment to savor the feel of his first name in her mouth. Since she's started doing stupid things, might as well go all in.

"Can we meet? I'll ask Del here to redirect the car to the marina. It should be deserted at this time of night; I wanna talk in person."

Takemura nods. Somehow, his lack of hesitation sends heat rushing up her windpipe.

"Once, I would have wondered if you were going to waste my time, but now I know better. No meeting with you is ever a waste of time, V."

"Even if we are just eating horrible street food?"

She can swear she's never seen the corners of his lips tilt up this much.

"Even then. Is that why you wish to seek me out on the marina?"

"No, not exactly..." for a fraction of a second, V feels rather sheepish, sobering up from the longing. But Takemura himself does not allow her to backpedal.

"Very well. I will see you there," he says — and disconnects.

By the time Delamain glides onto the marina — smooth as a drifting cloud compared to the mad race across unpaved rocky hillocks and through dingy Raffer tunnels with Panam — it starts to rain. Or, well, drizzle. The wet mist hangs in the air, scented with something fresh for once, and the city lights color it with a peculiar mix of emerald and purple. The palm trees sway quietly, slender silhouettes against the almost trippy watercolor swirls. Deep down, at the same hidden core of her heart that's being pierced by her stupid longing, V wishes she had her drawing tablet with her.

Useless gonk, that. Such a pointless thing to have bought with the eddies from one of her very first gigs. Only really good for designing bike decals for your chooms, and even those would probably have come off just fine if you'd asked one of Del's artist cousins to generate them for you. But sometimes, V cannot help but notice how blue the sky looks when the smog clears, or how vivid orange the rocks by the dam are when the sun hits them, or right now, how those palms look.

And hey, some drawing tutorials on the net are free, and you can't spend every single evening between heists knocking down shots or diddling joy toys. Sometimes you just wanna... meditate.

Jackie had his dumbbells, Misty has her crystals and shit, and V has her silly little tablet. Not enough to turn her into anything more than a Heywood thug, not enough to make her stand out here or in Atlanta... But just right to capture the little splashes of color she spots here and there, so that they leave her head and stop fucking bothering her.

"V. You have no umbrella."

She's been so lost in thought, staring up at the dancing palms, that Takemura's voice makes her jump. Yeah, she has no umbrella — she has no shirt underneath her trusty leather jacket either. Left it crumpled up in the back seat of the taxi, next to the empty bottle she'd gargled to clean her mouth. Kind of felt awkward wearing that vomit-soiled mess to meet Takemura. Especially with what she's about to do.

She freezes in front of him, filling her lungs with the damp seaside air, and filling her mind with the sight of him — a solid, dignified figure amid the rainy blur, worthy of an artwork of its very own... And next, without warning, she takes off: dashes forward and wraps herself around him in the tightest embrace she can muster.

This is the closest she's been to him since he hauled her unconscious mess of limbs to Vik's... Aside from a few brushes of her hand against his: over the condiment bottles on a stained diner table, arranged to represent whatever shit they were making plans about; over shared binoculars at a stakeout; or over a slice of quickly cooling pizza that she playfully shoved at him and he rejected, in utter disdain. All brief, all fleeting, all signifying nothing — as each of them insisted inside their own mind, even as she slanted her eyes covertly to watch him watching her, when they both were supposed to get the lay of the land.

Fuck, he smells so good. He has no right to smell so good for a man on the run, slumming it among cockroaches in some hidden basement. She thinks she can hear a crisp, starchy crunch when she presses against his shirt. Last time she felt something like this was when she and Jackie got dressed up in corpo fits for that fucking mess of a heist.

That reminder adds another droplet to the overpouring tank of shit, and she instinctively clings to Takemura even tighter, a noiseless sob, her third in what, an hour, racking through her.

Of course, it is at this moment that Johnny decides to blink into existence again.

"The fuck?!" he calls out, parting the streams of rain like a bead curtain as he struts up to her. "Did you shut me up so you could get high without me?"

Takemura, ironically, echoes the sentiment.

"V? What is this? Are you still delirious... or perhaps intoxicated? Once more?"

He is not aggressive when he pries her away from him; but still firm. V staggers back, wincing at this painful reminder of their very first rendezvous. She stumbled off to meet Takemura straight from Jackie's ofrenda, who knows how many shots in, head swimming with far too many feelings all at once, and straight up called him "heeey gorgeous". Which he was. Which he *is*. But like... Time and place.

"I am sorry," she blurts out. "I should have asked if you were okay with me getting into your space like that. No, I am sober, it's just... Goro. Listen."

She clenches her fists, chipped-up nails cutting deep into her callused palms. Here it comes. The talk she wanted to have with him.

"I'm no stranger to losing people. Comes with the territory. But ever since that chip mess, it's been happening at a breakneck speed. I meet someone, we choom up, I get them to see that I'm someone they can trust, depend on — that's my whole thing, always has been — and the next time they call me, someone has died. Brutally. Even by Night City standards. It just keeps piling up and up, till I can barely take it... But the one constant in all of this, has been you."

"No fucking way you are saying this to a Saka goon!" Johnny throws his arms up in anguish. "What did I tell you: he's not your friend! He can't be your friend! I don't think the word is in his fucking vocabulary!"

V knits her eyebrows as tightly as she can, as if that will keep him under lock and key, and forces her focus back onto Takemura. He, too, is frowning... But not in anger, she doesn't think. He is giving her his full attention.

"Whenever I call you, I trust that you will answer. Alive. Annoyed with me, but alive. Your texts, your weird parables, even that one time you like... confused the messenger with the search bar and sent me all that WHERE TO FIND GOOD RAMEN stuff in all caps... It's a wonderful pick-me-up when I'm wading through... whatever sludge the city dumps of me. I just wanted to.. I guess... Thank you for that. And to let you know that I'm... I'm still thinking about everything we said to each other on that roof. It meant a lot. You were right; we may butt heads, and argue our different philosophies, but... It makes each of us a bit less lonely."

"It does," Takemura says softly. His voice has dropped a few octaves, and flows more... freely, in a way? As he goes on speaking, the sentences sound less measured, less pre-calculated... It takes a couple of confused blinks for V to realize that what she still perceiving in her head as English is actually Japanese. He has switched to his native language, and her translator implant has kicked into gear.

She mentioned having that implant to him once, even back before Judy had updated it with the Haitian Creole language pack.

"You can speak to me in Japanese if you'd like," she said.

That offended him, as he assumed his English was not good enough for the ignorant American merc. And to be fair, compared to his near-fluency in a second language, and how knows, maybe a third and fourth, all she can boast parroting without a translator are a few curses in Spanish.

But what she meant — and what she hurried to explain to him — was, "You say sometimes that you are homesick. I figured... Using Japanese might ease that feeling."

At the time, he acknowledged her intentions with a polite nod, but insisted on English — perhaps as a sign of respect. And now, here he is. Stepping forward to close the gap that had formed between them. And also, stepping over the language barrier.

"At first, you were an asset to me. A thief that could be of use in avenging Arasaka-sama merely because she was at the right place and at the right time. But then you asked me, again and again, how I felt. Whether I was well. I told you before it was a question I am not accustomed to in my line of work; but it was far from unwelcome. This city is like a stone box filled from within with heavy black smoke, yet with your simple, genuine question, you gave me a lamp. And it lit up brighter and brighter with every new text message, every new call, even with every outrageous joke. You actually coaxed confessions about my childhood, my foolish visions of another life, out of me. These are secrets I grant to very few people. No-one in the past decade. Yet you..."

Slowly, rather clumsily, as if he were replicating the motion after observing other people do it — a silent guardian, a soldier of steel, not allowed such expressions of tenderness himself — he reaches forward and cups the side of V's face with his hand.

"You gave me an all new reason to be grateful that you did not die."

"Oh shit, are you gonna — " Johnny chokes somewhere out there, in the damp haze.

V is not sure if she intended to; she's been too lost in taking in Takemura's quietly sincere expression... But now, of course, she has to.

She tugs at the front of that pristine shirt to make him bend down slightly. She is pretty confident that this low cut collar is precisely where the cybernetics end and the soft, warm, human skin begins. His lips, too, are soft and warm when she meets them with her own. It almost feels too much, too far, tasting him like this — Arasaka's most fearsome enforcer, who is *supposed* to work with her on a very professional, very dangerous mission... But he is the first to slip in his tongue, and the moan that he makes sounds like a sigh of relief.

Now he is the one pulling her in, merging their personal spaces into a single whole. The hand that was resting on her cheek drops to her waist to keep her close. His fingers — a delicate masterwork, whether implants or not, so mesmerizingly beautiful compared to her clumsy, always bloody-knuckled mitts — travel over her jacket... and then pause, when he realizes that this is her only outer wear.

She breaks the kiss and opens her eyes just in time to spot the exact moment when his astonishment gives way to a wicked smirk. Much like the face of the fox from all his parables. He peels the jacket back a little, revealing the muscles and the scars on her abdomen...

"Oh, this corpo fucker thinks he can treat my host — my host! — like a fucking Jig Jig doll!"

If Johnny were corporeal, V would surely have felt angry spittle flying into her face.

"Stop it!" she hisses... Out loud.

Takemura's features instantly set into the mask he wore so beautifully when he was trying to detect the intruders inside his master's walls.

"Of course," he says, returning to English. "We should know our limits. Our partnership has already become all that more complicated."

"No!" V gasps, desperate to outrace the broken-elevator plummet of her own heart. "It's the engram acting up again! I... I can handle this kind of complicated. I *want* this kind of complicated."

The mask begins to crack.

"You are very open about what you want," Takemura muses, eyebrows half-raised. "I am not certain if I can... relate to that, as my wants are the wants of the Arasaka lineage, but it is oddly admirable. Still — "

His hand is on her waist again, but this time it's to steer her to the taxi.

"If you are unwell, it is best that you return home. I will remember this, V. Most warmly."

"Wait!"

She weaves their fingers together, the refined elegance of Tokyo and the rough edges of Heywood becoming one.

"Come with me. We still have so much time to while away before the parade. I have to meet this guy for deets on the Voodoo Boys, but that's not until the day after tomorrow. And at least I have running water at my place. And no cockroaches. That I know of."

He shakes his head, but does not let go of her hand.

"You know I am a marked man, V. Losing ourselves in crowds together is one thing, but..."

"Come on!"

She beams at him, and the wider the grin, the clearer the realization: her pain and guilt have subsided. For the time being.

"This is a Delamain cab. And I have, well, inherited the Excelsior package from Dex. Top notch security, isn't that right, Del?"

She pokes her head through the car door to ask the question, and the AI responds affirmatively.

"Indeed. Delamain guests are guaranteed full privacy aboard this premium vehicle. No security specialists, even those as formidable as the employees of Arasaka Corporation, will be able to breach inside throughout the entire route from here to your garage."

"And the building itself?" Takemura persists — even as the tip of his thumb begins to unconsciously run over V's cracked knuckles. She thinks he finds the motion soothing.

"The elevator cameras?"

She beams again.

"I have these neat little optics that turn my face into a blur in any security footage. I believe..."

She plants another kiss at the corner of his mouth, inciting a blissful little sigh.

"If our faces are pressed close enough, the effect might extend to you."

With that, she yanks at his arm, ever so slightly, teasing as always.

He follows readily, finally convinced.

They unlock their hands and duck through their respective passenger doors. V finds the back seat thoroughly cleaned of the dirty shirt and the water bottle. She would not be surprised if Delamain had a whole recycling station somewhere underneath. Great for corpse disposal too — no, better not think of it now.

Takemura leans back, rolling his tired shoulders.

"This thing is quite nice to ride in when you are not bleeding to death, isn't it?" V chuckles, and Takemura hums contentedly in agreement.

"Thank you for the feedback," says Delamain. "I shall now turn my attention strictly to traffic, to allow my guests the promised privacy."

"Much appreciated, choom."

The upholstered back of the front car seat carves itself into luridly textured blocks before V's eyes. Next thing she knows, Johnny is lounging next the non-existent driver — not buckled in, obviously.

"Don't do this," he warns her through his teeth. "You are getting your perspective skewed. And turning yourself into a loose end that this fucker and his big mommy Hanako will cut just like that..." He is crammed between seats now, right in front of her, snapping his fingers. "The moment you are no longer useful."

V remembers to keep her voice inside her skull, this time around.

"I am not taking relationship advice from a dead guy who keeps calling one of his closest associates a cold bitch every five seconds."

"You don't know fuck about my relationships!" Johnny seethes, but V is no longer humoring him. Takemura has pulled her into his lap and is kissing her again. And again. And again. On her lips, her jaw, along the side of her neck.

Now, there is a deep, ravenous force brewing behind every stroke of his tongue, every half-bite of his teeth. He locked eyes with her briefly when she straddled his leg, asking for permission ("Like the loyal dog that he is," Johnny would have sneered, but honestly, fuck Johnny). And when she granted that permission with a gleeful nod, the force was fully unleashed. How long has this been building up? How long ago did he let himself go last, if ever?

He answers at least one of her unsaid questions the next time he surfaces for air.

"I have a confession," he murmurs in Japanese, gazing at her half-lidded through a silky veil of salt and pepper.

V has, once or twice, seen his hair in a "shamefully disheveled" state (which is Takemura-speak for one strand being slightly loose because he had no time for a full morning routine in his hideout). Now, though, it is almost completely undone, a messy dark frame for his fine-cut face. V laces her fingers through it, nigh reverently, and it is with the same reverence that he kisses the inside of her wrist, before continuing.

"Do you remember how I asked you to hack a camera for me, and as you sneaked towards it, you forced a back door open with your bare hands?"

Just as it mysteriously vanished, V's shirt has been mysteriously returned by Delamain. It lies neatly folded next to her on the back seat, but she couldn't be further from trying to put it on. On the contrary, her leather jacket has now slid down her shoulders, and her torso is on full display, every marking, every groove of embedded cybernetics, every bump and curve of her musculature.

She is no Jackie, of course. She will never be Jackie, for all her attempts to clumsily rest her hand on top of Mama Welles' and do her duty of comfort and protection... No, not now, please not now!

She is no Jackie — but she could easily do pull-ups hanging off a metal beam at an abandoned construction site, twenty feet off the ground and with badges swarming underneath, sirens blaring. In fact, she just might. Especially if Takemura were watching.

"Suppose I do."

"You were in a short tank top; I could see your back move, your arms strain. Your strength was brute and raw, untrained... But so beautiful. At that moment, I wanted you so much that I almost forgot myself. A..."

His chest heaves. Through the loosened hair cascade, V watches the glaze of desire clear from his eyes. If it were not for the state of his hair, the flush on his face, the nanometers separating him from her, and the fact that she could slide her hand down his pants at any moment to check if he had an extra gun or... If it were not for all of that, he could almost have been the ruthless, efficient, unshakable Goro Takemura she first started working for.

"A lapse in sanity that I am repeating now."

Fuck. Forget the extra gun then.

She has not realized, until now, how cold it is without her jacket, despite Delamain best attempt at the most agreeable climate control. How the air prickles at her exposed skin.

"When you thought I was telling you to stop, it really was just the engram..." she says, her voice deliberately, carefully slow. "But if you are done now, then no problem."

"Thank fuck!" Johnny cheers, his voice muffled but full of what V believes is called schadenfreude.

"It would have been a good decision, but..." Takemura shakes his head. "But I still want you. I never stopped wanting you, from that moment since. Despite my obligations, despite the burdens we both carry. I just..."

"You are not used to having wants of your own. Outside of Arasaka."

V whispers her guess with a gentleness that almost makes her shudder — to herself, she sounds too much, *way* too much like that fucking doll in the Clouds.

"It's all right. I won't tell anyone. Honor among thieves, remember?"

She rests her forehead against his and smiles to mirror his own smile — which is quivering and uncertain; but still there. Still back on his lips.

"I am sure Hanako-sama will be too busy thanking you for bringing her brother's crimes to light, to notice that you've been going around getting horny for random mercs. Now come here. We're almost at my place."

Her next kiss is more of a breath, a fleeting promise than an actual touching of the lips. But Takemura's eyes darken again. Heavy. Ravenous.

She feels a bump against her thigh that is certainly not acting the way extra guns do.

"Anything for you, V."

[madarasgirl]

Today's episode was incredibly good! To be honest, fanfics with more than 3 chapters always made me boring so I only read oneshots or headcanons of my favorite characters.... until months ago I found your serie on AO3, I had never read such a good fanfic, from the first chapter of your series completely hooked me, I always wait for it to be updated and every time you upload a chapter I am going to read it quickly, your work is incredible!

hellsing ultimate is my favorite anime it just has everything I'm obsessed with, Sexy fucking vampires? of course, issues of religion and specifically Catholicism? That's right, some completely deranged Nazis? fuck yeah, I love that your fanfic does not soften all those interesting themes that the anime itself has, I hope I can reach the end of this incredible series, by the way you said that you studied the themes of the Second World War for almost an hour, what do you think about it? So do you find it interesting or are you just studying it for the series? Sorry for sending this question with so much text, I got too excited!

Omg omg! Sorry for the late reply. I had to sit on this ask for a few days to figure out how to respond to such a heartfelt love letter 💖. Thank you for these kind words. You would never know how much the encouragement helps 🥰. You might have made my entire week! I umm...love being asked about my writing. It's kind of an embarrassing confession. *virtual hugs and kisses*

I am so glad you're enjoying this story! Nothing makes me happier than to know that I was partially responsible for changing someone's mind on something! As much as I enjoy headcanons and shorts too, imo nothing is quite as satisfying as sticking with a character through their trials and tribulations in a long fic and getting immersed in their journey ^^

Yes Hellsing Ultimate has many of the things I enjoy in a show too! I love when shows don't shirk from the darker aspects of the world and now that Alucard and his Reader have a good foundational relationship, I think it's time to remind the audience of what Hellsing is about. Didn't want to sugarcoat how messed up the world and its characters really are. I am glad you don't think I botched the delivery.

The last time I actually studied WWII was in high school, so well over a decade ago. That was through the lens of the Allied victors and I only remember so much of the details. I think many things about that period, but the strongest feeling is how utterly dismal war is, how much needless suffering it causes.

For the latest chapter (Ch. 20), the vast majority of time researching was spent on finding certain details on Nazi units and which ones were responsible for certain actions as I was trying to decide on the next setting for this arc, the location of one of Millennium's bases. This one isn't in Brazil. This story is only canon-related, not canon-compliant. Here was some stuff going on in my head in the background for this fic. It was probably excessive, but I wanted a place that is: - postcard beautiful - isolated, but not too much so (or the logistics of resupplying themselves would be difficult) - an island (easier for the local authorities to pass strange phenomena off as freak incidences when pressured by Millennium) -lots of wilderness, for the isolation, but also training purposes - lots of caves/hidden ways for escape -the site of a Nazi massacre, so relevance to Nazis -sort of on the way in Dracula's historic seafaring route through the Mediterranean to England

Then I spent some time trying to figure out the logistics of zeppelin and ship travel from this place to others, whether this place has any other features, mythological history and/or appearances in popular culture that are interesting. I spent time reading about the local population and regional politics of that time for my interest.

In the end, there were a few islands I was trying to choose between, none of them were perfect. The biggest issue was that it was the Wehrmacht branch of the Nazis that were responsible for the atrocities and not the Waffen SS, but I was already at my wits' end trying to spin the story in a way that'll work and would rather start writing. I think it should work out though.

I'm no expert on anything historical. I hope I don't disappoint! It's nerve-wracking now that we're onto canon events! 😱 Don't apologize, I love your excitement and interest in this fic!!!! 🤩🤩🤩😘

[greenhousethree]

Apologies for gushing but your last fic twenty-two was just so beautiful! I'm wondering how you come up with so many good details in all your fics? I'm working on getting better at imagery and would love hearing more about your process, you just have such way with descriptions!

first off, thank you so so much anon! this made my whole week!

but oof, this one is tough since i'm definitely not an authority on descriptive writing (or any sort of writing, really), and i'm not particularly introspective about the process. and twenty-two more or less fell out of my head in one piece, which doesn't happen very often for me, so i'm working a little backwards here.

so at the risk of sounding incredibly preachy, i've taken a stab at articulating how i tend to think when creating scenes. maybe some of this will be helpful?

for me as a reader, details that tend to stick out are both extremely specific and concise. the specific part comes a little easier for me when writing - picking out little actions and details from everyday life that i don't tend to read about very often - but the language precision takes more work. if a detail requires too many descriptors to convey the full picture, i'll usually revisit and search for more specific words or axe it completely.

i think it's really important to trust our abilities to describe things uniquely! which sometimes means swinging for the fences and missing entirely with an analogy that doesn't work, but i find that so much more interesting than relying on clichés.

i'll add to the choir of advocates for killing your darlings. deep down, you know if something doesn't fit. i keep a "dump now use later" doc as a personal pacifier, because it feels easier to delete an *incredibly clever* bit of wording if i think i can recycle it someday (spoiler: i won't).

i try not to think about this too hard, but syntax is a really helpful tool for flow and for characterizing a narrative voice (she says in full awareness that hermione's inner monologue in her fics sounds a lot like ginny's which sounds a lot like harry's... 😬).

i like to let descriptive verbs do the talking over adverbs an adjectives. again this is based on my preferences as a reader; i find actions to be much more immersive when they can stand alone without modifiers.

a wonderful beta changed my life by ruthlessly trimming the fat from one of my works. this is a little different than cutting out entire ideas that don't fit, more like removing filler from your sentences that dilute the point. i'm not necessarily advocating for a minimalist tone (lord knows we're far from that), but this kind of editing really helps the details pop.

a n y w a y , all of that feels very boiled down to a science, which might go against the point? i think it can be good to consider these things while editing, but i guess the biggest piece of 'advice' i would offer is to try and let your voice and your plot/ideas speak before any of the language mechanics. i usually feel most stuck when i'm too focused on phrasing something that doesn't serve the bigger picture, and zooming out to "what is this scene even doing here" often helps me realize that (ahoy, we've circled back to killing our darlings).

maybe some of that made sense, and if not i apologize, but thank you so much again anon for this humongous bit of flattery and for letting me ramble!

🌱

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 18 – CREATURE FIC

Breaker of Horses by Sineala

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 47,943 Tags: Ancient Rome, Gladiators, Centaur Steve

Summary: What do you do when the Roman Empire you were raised to love consigns you to the sands of the arena? Antonius is a prince of the Dacians, captured in war and sold as a gladiator. He yearns for his freedom. Stephanos -- the last living centaur -- is his fellow slave and trainer. Centuries old, disillusioned by a Rome that has become a shadow of itself, Stephanos has all but given up on life... until he meets Antonius, and both of their lives are forever changed.

Reasons why I love it: God, this fic is everything I want to read, always and forever. Tony and Steve have such rich backstories in this, and the world feels completely fleshed out in a way that makes me want to read a billion more words to explore every part of it. The conflict is amazing, all the other Avenger cameos are wonderful, and I absolutely adore the ending. And the companion smut fic is so fucking good that it makes me want to cry. This one is a must-read, so if you haven't yet, go and check it out!

You Know Where To Find Me by a_sparrows_fall

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 31,307 Tags: Fake Character Death, Capwolf, Identity Porn

Summary: After an Avengers mission goes awry, Steve takes a leave of absence from the team, and he and Tony part on bad terms. But then Steve gets turned into a werewolf, and he finds his shapeshifting linked to his feelings about Tony, who’s had a terrible accident. If Steve never sees Tony again, will he be stuck in wolf form forever? A closely-canon compliant 616 Capwolf story.

Reasons why I love it: Aaaah, the Capwolf snuggles! I really love the whole set-up of this fic. First it tears at your heartstrings, then it hits you with the fluff, and then it pivots into fantastic action. Also, Sersi is my favorite in this, she's so goddamn funny. Go and check this one out, it's amazing!

Bleat and Conquer by BladeoftheNebula

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 20,534 Tags: Ancient Rome, Fauns & Satyrs, Gladiators

Summary: Stíofán has thought of nothing but freedom since he was taken and forced to fight as a gladiator in Rome's colosseum. But that all changes when he's offered a bride as a prize in the games.

Reasons why I love it: Was I on a bit of a gladiator trip when I found these fics? Perhaps. This fic is a true bodice-ripper, and I love every word of it. Neb always writes incredible historical AUs, and this one is no exception. Also, I love how the language is so fine-tuned to convey satyr culture, what with the does, bucks, bleating, etc. It makes the fic that much more immersive. I love this one, so I highly encourage you to read it for yourself!

[nervousladytraveler]

2023 AO3 Fic Review/Wrap-Up

Thank you to the lovely @dreamstone28737 for the tag! 😘 I took a long time to respond--sorry!

I didn't really write too many different works this year so I refer to the same titles a few times in my responses below. That said, I did write (or at least post) 307,626 words–not too shabby!

List of Fics Completed This Year

One-Shots: I don’t tend to write too many little fics. But this year I did “The Shift” and “A Brilliant Choice”. Most of my one shots tend to come from prompts (and @veryflowerobservation always sends me good ones). I have another wee fic (“A Question of Trust”) that is a Grace Poldark/Tom Jones crossover story that is completed, but not yet posted. I need to finish reading the novel Tom Jones before I do just to make sure I got it right.

Multi-Chap: Like Someone Who Would Know Her Own Mind and A Rose in December

Series: A Rose in December is now part of a Like Someone Sequels series?

Your Personal Fave

A Rose in December because it just was so enjoyable to write.

Your Fave Scene

My favorite scene ? Hard to choose but maybe a few from A Rose in December. I really enjoyed writing the conversation between Ross and Demelza when they first meet over coffee (Ch 4 “Tiramisu” and Ch 6 “Two of Cups”). My second favorite is the end when they are on the phone with Prudie (especially the bawdy jokes she and her cousin make) in Ch 32 “Candle Dance.” But in truth, I only finished/edited/posted those scenes this year--and really first wrote them a while ago. Does that still count?

A Fic or Scene that Challenged You

Any scene that has characters under emotional duress is always hard for me. I really internalize their feelings and have a hard time shaking them off. There are a few chapters in A Rose in December that show a relationship unravelling. Those were tough and tricky to get right. But also scenes where a lot of plot is covered–those are difficult too! There are a few chapters in Duty that are like that.

A Line of Writing You’re Proud Of

I try not to get too attached to any one line of writing. I am partial to dialogue–the back and forth is fun–but don't have any particular favorite.

A Comment That Touched You

Whenever a reader tells me that something I wrote gave them comfort during a rough spell or that they reread for the same reason, those comments always really move me. Of course I wish no one ever had the need for it, but I'm glad I could somehow help.

Something That Inspired Your Writing

One afternoon last spring while travelling, I slipped into a church in Germany. It was just me and the organist and it was so lovely. That inspired a scene in Ch 41 (“For the Sake of My Tears”) of Duty when Demelza hears the organist practicing in the Truro Cathedral.

Your proudest accomplishment (that one scene; finally finishing that one fic; posting your first fic; etc)

I think the fact that I finished Like Someone (in January of 2023) after so many years of working on it was a massive accomplishment. I do recall feeling a sense of satisfaction that buoyed me for weeks. But then finally finishing A Rose in December (in December 2023) was also profoundly gratifying, so they make nice bookends to the year!

Do You Have Any Writing Goals for Next Year?

I want to try to recreate the joy I found when I stopped working on anything else and immersed myself in finishing A Rose in December. I allowed myself to only focus on that story and was able to design an intentional structure for it--and not get distracted by posting along the way. 

Tagging any and all of my writing my pals — but no pressure! ❤️

P. S. This also came with a stats sheet.  I chose not to do one because it seemed like it would take me further from my goal to focus and enjoy the process of writing more but feel free to make it part of the challenge or not! The template is from dreputationera!

[rebelrebelwrites]

Fic Friday! ❤️ Rebel’s Weekly Fic Recs

This week’s recs are…

As always, please mind the tags on any recommended story for your own personal preferences.

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The Classic You’ve Heard Of But Somehow Haven’t Read Yet: Perilous Wanderings by Wolftales

What you need to know going in:

The OG Sauron impersonates Celeborn in Gal’s dream fic! Or, at least for me—fairly certain I came across this one first, so forgive me if I’m mistaken, this may have just been my experience. Regardless, SUCH a great, dark entry into the Sauron impersonates Celeborn camp. A quick, 2-chapter read that will stir your emotions and is definitely steamy, to say the least. 🔥 I love how much Galadriel won’t give into Sauron in this, as well as how much she knows how to push his buttons… he’s delightfully greedy and definitely a little unhinged in trying to get her to submit to him. Sidenote: there are so many great one-shots and short fics I’ve read or bookmarked that I almost think I need to do a special short fic edition of this series… thoughts? 👀

Complete, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on AO3.

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The AU You Need to Immerse Yourself In Because, Well, Wow: Rainbow of Chaos by @yletylyf

What you need to know going in:

Another AU from the amazing @yletylyf! Two weeks in a row, I know, but this AU is so unique and their writing is so great I feel justified. The premise alone had me clicking immediately: a LOTR-era AU in which Sauron still has access to a fair form, and sets out to retake the One Ring himself. Spoiler alert: he succeeds, and the story truly kicks off from there with a repentant (maybe) Sauron and a Galadriel who’s tempted to believe him. Featuring a smattering of favorite LOTR characters so far, including Gollum, Gandalf, Aragorn, Frodo and more, it feels like early stages for this fic, but I’m so intrigued to see where it goes. One thing I love about @yletylyf’s work is their characterization—like Through Peril and Fire, there’s this unique frankness to every interaction; every piece of dialogue, but each one is so potent. It creates this really rare effect and cadence that resonates.

WIP, Teen

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and AO3.

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The Complete But Never Forgotten Masterpiece: On the Twelfth Night, or, Epiphany: How Galadriel Seduced a Priest and Discovered the True Meaning of Christmas by @thrillofhope

What you need to know going in:

Okay, I know I’ve now put two authors from last week again this week and I promise I’m not TRYING to do that, my faves are just my faves, and this fic stole my whole goddamn soul this past weekend so I HAD to. I HAD to. (Promise, I will spread more of the love next week. I have all the plans. I have LISTS. Promise.) But seriously, I had this fic open in my tabs for weeks and held off starting it because I somehow knew it was going to crawl into my brain and blow me away and when I finally gave in and started reading it last weekend, I could. Not. Stop. In other words, I wasn’t disappointed. One of my first few modern AUs, this story sees Galadriel attempting to seduce Halbrand, a priest, after a bet with one of her brothers. It’s very Fleabag-inspired in plot and tone and @thrillofhope NAILS it. Hilarious, gut-wrenchingly romantic, and so goddamn sexy it kills, I’m genuinely not convinced the author isn’t Phoebe Waller-Bridge. Like my watch of Fleabag, I'm so glad I got to binge it because waiting for each chapter would’ve been torture.

Complete, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and AO3.

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The WIP That Will Wreck You (In the Best Way): The Chain {Series} by @hazelmaines

What you need to know going in:

-insert me groaning- This fic, the ANGST. The sublime tenderness. It’s so damn good, guys, so damn good. Originally a collection of one-shots, @hazelmaines recently consolidated into a multi-chapter fic plus a bonus alternate ending story in the series called Negotiation. I recommend gobbling ALL of it up and subscribing. Onto the premise: The Chain starts during RoP and diverges from canon somewhere around episode 5, and sees our lovebirds forming a bond in the Unseen world… and they’re not the only ones paying attention. Without revealing too much, some highlights include everything we missed on the ride to Eregion (👀👀👀) and a ton of lovely backstory from Valinor threaded throughout. The additional context, the missing histories, and the dreamlike quality to all of it paints an incredibly rich history for both Sauron and Galadriel and really contextualizes their building bond. Again, don’t want to reveal too much… but I’m super excited to see where this goes and how it grows. Definitely get caught up if you’re not already reading!

WIP, Mature

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and AO3.

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The Can’t Stop Consuming No Matter What Time It Is Fic: Shadow-Bride by eye_of_a_cat

What you need to know going in:

Another favorite from eye_of_a_cat and for great reason—as always, every word shines. A post-S1 epic with a distinct fairytale vibe, as it’s framed as a story told by Sauron and Galadriel to each other many, many years later. The story starts in earnest after Galadriel discovers the truth about Sauron, and then proceeds with Sauron negotiating saving the elves from fading in exchange for Galadriel as his bride. You can guess how she might feel about that… 🤣 From there, they journey to Pelargir, and much ensues—animosity, simmering tension, exchanges of power, and so much more, including a well-rounded cast of characters. Without spoiling anything, I’ll say that this fic constantly has me on the edge of my seat, and the last few chapters had me spinning out a little bit from the surprises. It’s a delicious, tantalizing slow burner and every second is 🙌.

WIP, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Twitter and AO3.

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🤩🤩🤩

Me at all these fics:

Don’t see your story on this list yet? Keyword: yet. Please don’t fret! I can only recommend so many each week, but I am always looking for more stuff to read, share, and generally shower with love, so please feel free to reply with your own fics or your personal faves. I have plenty more to recommend… ❤️

Until next week!