#let me tell you the iron thing is correct

[marinaraimpasta]

taking an iron supplement might be the answer yall because extreme depression and fatigue can be wildly washed aside by iron

[r-is-typing]

changes | s.r

summary: in which spencer gets overwhelmed, taking it out on reader

requested?: yes! requested by @adrienneleclerc

pairing: post-prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

category: angst with a fluff ending

content warnings: spencer being mean, talks of reid in prison

Three months. Three months had gone by since Spencer Reid was released from Millburn Correctional Facility due to Cat Adams and Lindsey Vaughn framing him for the murder of Nadie Ramos.

Since his release, Spencer had went through a very obvious change. He wasn't as talkative to his teammates except for discussing work, he was more agressive and harsh compared to his normal softness and gentle nature. What had changed the most was his relationship with her. Since his release, Y/N had tried to be there as much as she could.

She would make his coffee every morning, placing it on the counter in a travel mug she had given him as a Christmas gift a few years prior. She would iron his button-ups and work pants, she would make him breakfast on the days where he didn't leave in the middle of the night.

Despite Y/N's efforts in making Spencer feel somewhat normal considering what the man had gone through, it wasn't enough. She could tell, but what she didn't know was how to fix it.

The build up was slow. It started with conveniently forgetting the travel mug on their kitchen counter to spending hours ‘working’ in his office, even though she knew he wasn’t. Then, spending the night elsewhere despite knowing, thanks to one Penelope Garcia, that they had been home from a case for who knows how long, to today.

She didn’t know how she didn’t see it coming. Spencer’s team had just gotten back from a case, where they had been in Georgia for a week. Penelope had sent her a message, telling the woman that the jet had landed and that Spencer would most likely be home soon, but that the case was rough.

Y/N decided in that moment to make him his favorite meal, coffee just the way he liked, and putting on one of the Stark Trek’s for them to watch.

She sat on their couch folding the warm laundry that she had just pulled out of the dryer when she heard the sound of keys jingling and the doorknob twisting.

Her eyes looked up to meet Spencer and she stood to her feet. “Hi, handsome.” She spoke lovingly but softly. She takes note of how his eyes don’t meet her, only a simple nod greets her as he enters the dimly light apartment.

“I put some clean pajamas and your towel on the bathroom counter in case you wanted to shower. I tidied up your office a bit, I made the bed, and I’m just folding laundry. I have dinner ready whenever you’re hun-���

Spencer let out a groan, interrupting her. “Can you just stop?” Y/N froze, her hands holding onto his gray Comme des Garçons sweater that had a red heart on the left side.

“Wha-“ “Just shut up for one second!”

She barely had time to breathe before Spencer started shouting again. “I mean, seriously. I just got back from work and you’re down my throat about- about nothing!” He throws his arms up in the air for effect.

“I-I don’t need this, you, smothering me all the time. I get home, I want to relax and read or maybe lie down, but no. You’re jumping down my throat, wanting attention, or, or whatever you’re wanting.”

Spencer’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. One of his hands went up, aggressively ripping his tie open and throwing it down on-top of the coffee table in the living room.

Y/N felt a burning sensation in her eyes. Tears, she thought. She sighs, wiping her tears, awaiting the next thing Spencer is going to say. What other harsh things are going to come her way.

“Do you realize that since I’ve been released from a place I shouldn’t have even been in, I haven’t had a moment of silence?”

Spencer stares down at her in a way he’s never looked at her before. Y/N could only assume, thanks to the tears clouding her eyes, that he hated her.

“I come back from literal prison and you haven’t given me a moment to just breathe!” He angrily runs his hands through his hair. “For once, I’m just asking you to be silent.”

“No, no. Actually, I’m telling you. Be quiet and leave me alone.” The words Y/N never thought she would hear slipped from his mouth.

Y/N stood to her feet, shuffling quickly to their shared bedroom. Spencer heard the slam of the door and the click of the lock, and he just sighed.

Hours went by and Y/N was in their bed, face buried in the comforter. Her tears had soaked everything from the pillowcase to her cheeks, and even through her shirt. Y/N eyed the bedside table.

2:05am

Y/N sighed, rolling over and staring at the wall, even though she couldn’t see a thing. She heard light shuffling which she could only assume was Spencer.

Down the hall, he stood from the couch, glancing into the kitchen and at the microwave to determine the time. Spencer rubbed the sleep from his eyes, even though he had probably slept give or take about fourty-five minutes.

Spencer cursed to himself, remembering why he was on the couch in the first place.

Remembering what he had said to her. His eidetic memory being a blessing and a curse in the moment because he remembered the look on her face when he yelled. He remembered how she cowered. The eyes that would crease with happiness because of her love for him staring at him in a mix of fear and sadness burned in his memory.

Spencer stood to his feet, shuffling quickly but quietly to the shut bedroom door. He reached up and grabbed the universal key for all the locks in the apartment from the door frame.

Twisting the key, he unlocked the door, opening it to a dark room. The only light was from the alarm clock in the bedside table. Spencer could see Y/N's silhouette laying in the dark under their comforter.

"Sweetheart?" He called out, no response.

He walked through the door, closing it quietly behind him. Spencer navigated to the bed in the dark, pulling down his side of the blanket and sliding in to bed.

"I know you're awake." He says, she hums sleepily.

Spencer sighs, looking to the side where she was, his eyes practically staring holes into her back. "I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have said those things." Y/N hums in a sleepy agreement.

"Everything has changed since I came back," he started. "but that's not on you. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. You were being perfect and trying to help me adjust to life back home, and I took you for granted."

Y/N rolls over, facing him with half-lidded eyes. "You really hurt my feelings, Spencer." She spoke softly, afraid that if she was any louder, they'd both be scared. Spencer goes to cradle her head, but waits until she signals an 'okay'. With his large hands on either side of her face, he looks at her.

"I know, baby, and I'm so so sorry." Spencer kisses the crown of her head. "I'll spend a lifetime making it up to you." Y/N hums, curling into his side. She opens her eyes barely to look at him.

"You shouldn't have to go through this alone, okay? You're right, things have changed, but that doesn't mean you have to be alone, Spence. You're not alone anymore. I'm your family and I'm always going to be here for you."

Spencer stares at her with a lovesick smile. "I'm so lucky." He mumbled, kissing her head again. The two get into their normal positions in bed before falling asleep. Spencer was lucky to have her, as she was lucky to have Spencer.

He knew that with her, things would be okay.

r is typing...

thank you so much for the request, and i hope it's what you wanted! i'm working on other requests as well, but feel free to send in more as my requests are open!

i'm also trying new formatting for my posts (new dividers, text coloring, etc) so let me know your thoughts!

as usual, here are the important links!

masterlist & prompt list

request & guidelines

r is signing off...

[saphronethaleph]

Comparative Healing 202

“...he had such a knowledge of the Dark Side that he could even keep the ones he cared about from dying,” Palpatine explained.

“Really?” Anakin asked. “That’s strange… I wonder how that works.”

“It’s a power that you can’t learn from a Jedi,” Palpatine said, delicately. “The Dark Side is a path to many abilities that some consider… unnatural.”

Anakin frowned. “I guess,” he said. “But what I mean is, how it’s different from the Light Side way of doing it.”

Palpatine looked at Anakin.

“What do you mean?” he asked, a little puzzled.

“I asked Master Kcaj, I think he’s attending the performance actually,” Anakin explained, with a little shrug. “He took me through Light Side Force Healing 201, he said it was good that I was learning to solve problems in ways that didn’t involve a lightsaber.”

The Knight frowned. “Well, he just called it Force Healing 201, because I don’t think he knew there was a Dark Side version, but I guess that makes sense, because that kind of thing would have to be really, really old by now. Was Darth Plagueis killed by one of the Jedi during the Jedi-Sith Wars or was he a victim of infighting?”

“He wasn’t-” Palpatine began, but Anakin was shaking his head.

“Actually, now I come to think about it, the way the Light Side version of Force Healing works, the way it’s Light Side is that you have to personally pay for the cost,” he said. “I guess it’s kind of ironic, really, because it means that Jedi can keep other people from dying, but we can’t keep ourselves from dying… we’d have to take on our own wounds and we’d be back where they started. There’s other things we can do to make it so that injuries aren’t as serious, but those only work for ourselves, so it’s… actually a way that you can combine two techniques to get a net benefit.”

Palpatine blinked, still about one and a half sentences behind and trying to catch up. “I… suppose it is ironic, yes,” he said. “Darth Plagueis the Wise had the same problem.”

Anakin frowned. “Chancellor, how do you know about this? Are you sure that it was a Sith? Because the Force Healing technique you’ve mentioned sounds a lot like it has the same limitations as the Jedi one, so maybe it’s actually been distorted and corrupted over more than a thousand years. It could even be that he wasn’t called Darth Plagueis but was called something that sounded that way and the story’s been corrupted over the centuries. You know, like Sifo-Dyas and Sidious, that only took a few years.”

“I’m sorry, Anakin?” Palpatine said, after a pause to try and avoid panicking when Anakin linked the two names. “What do you mean? This isn’t… it’s the story of a Sith.”

“Sure, that’s what you’re aware of,” Anakin replied. “And maybe it’s correct, but there’s lots of possibilities even then, right? It could be that he discovered the Jedi healing technique independently, or it could be that he stole it from the Jedi. Maybe the Jedi stole it from him and they don’t tell the story because it’s embarrassing to admit that the most highly restricted healing techniques are something originally invented by the Sith. Or maybe they let this Darth Plagueis guy borrow some holobooks from the Jedi library and he stole them, and they’re embarrassed now.”

Anakin ticked off points on his fingers. “Oh, and there’s also the possibility that if a Sith stole holobooks on Force Healing he’d have done it in a way that couldn’t be traced back to him, so the Jedi wouldn’t tell the story because they just flat-out didn’t know.”

“This is not a story from a thousand years ago,” Palpatine said. “It’s a story from only a few decades ago, as it happens, so it is definitely not warped by time!”

“Not more than the Sifo-Dyas thing,” Anakin pointed out, helpfully. “But yeah, it’s now really obvious why the Jedi don’t tell me about it, because it’s either really catastrophically embarrassing because it would mean that the Jedi literally didn’t realize the Sith were back despite a Sith stealing some library books, or they just have no way of knowing in the first place. I guess I’m more interested in the second one, though… does this story go into any more detail about how Plagueis did the Force Healing? If they genuinely are Light Side and Dark Side and that’s different, then it’s interesting.”

“I… didn’t take you as someone to be interested in healing,” Palpatine admitted, since it was about the only response he could think of at that point.

“I didn’t think I’d be interested either,” Anakin said, readily. “But Master Kcaj had this great analogy, he said that it was like being a mechanic of the body. Isn’t that such a cool concept? The heart’s the motivator, that kind of thing… and the better I understand that the more I can work on not needing to use the Force to heal people, except in a real emergency anyway. All I need is to use it to stabilize someone, and then I can get them the rest of the way to safety.”

Palpatine nodded.

“A… useful endeavour,” he said, in as fatherly a tone as he could manage, and tried to get back on script. “As I said, Plagueis could use the Force to influence the midi-chlorians to create life. He taught his apprentice everything he knew, and then his apprentice killed him in his sleep. He never saw it coming.”

“Oh, right,” Anakin replied, nodding. “Yeah, I think this sounds like a badly garbled origin story for the Sith.”

“Excuse me?” Palpatine asked.

“If Darth Plagueis was a Sith who’d taught his apprentice everything, then how would he not expect to be betrayed?” Anakin asked. “It makes much more sense if this apprentice was actually the first Sith and Plagueis being a Sith got read back into the story at a later date… but I’m still not sure how to get the midi-chlorians to create life. They’re our connection to the Force, it’s not about a connection to the Dark Side specifically. Unless what he’s doing is forcing the midi-chlorians to create life when it shouldn’t be, that would be a Dark Side thing that violates the balance in the universe while Light Side techniques are about balance – that’s why Light Side healing involves paying for taking away a wound by taking on a wound. Balance.”

Anakin glanced at his chrono. “Huh, I should probably get going… I need to tell the Council that thing you mentioned about Grievous hiding in the Utapau System.”

“Come, now, Anakin,” Palpatine said. “You can’t find yourself running around doing the bidding of the Jedi Council all the time. We were talking about this. They don’t necessarily have your best interests at heart.”

“I know, Chancellor,” Anakin replied, nodding. “But I don’t speak Quarren and I think if I need to watch five more minutes of this ballet I’m going to pass out from boredom.”

“This ballet is in Mon Cal,” Palpatine said.

“Yeah, I don’t speak that either,” Anakin shrugged.

“Did you know the Chancellor’s really interested in old stories about the Sith?” Anakin asked Obi-Wan, back in the Temple. “Fascinated by them.”

“He is?” Obi-Wan replied. “I’ve never got that sense.”

“No, it was a surprise to me, too,” Anakin agreed, shrugging. “But he was telling me this story about a Darth Plagueis who could heal people. It’s a weird kind of healing, though, using midi-chlorians to create life? At least that’s what the Chancellor said… he said the Jedi didn’t know about it, so I guess it must be an old story, even though he said it was recent. I wondered if maybe it was twenty generations ago instead of twenty years, or something like that.”

“I won’t lie, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “I don’t know what I expected your assignment to result in, but this isn’t it.”

Anakin sighed. “Master… I can’t do it, okay? I can’t spy on someone who’s been such a friend to me. Sithspit, all I’m really doing is sharing gossip he brought upand that still makes me feel dirty.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I understand, Anakin,” he said. “The problem is really that there’s… a question about how independent the Jedi Temple is.”

He indicated the nearest landing pad, which had a trio of gunships waiting there. “We’ve been acting as generals for the last two years at least… the Chancellor feels that he can make decisions about who becomes a member of the Council… regardless of your abilities and suitability for the role, Anakin, after he suggested you it was impossible for us to put you on the Council with the rank of Master. It would set a precedent that the Jedi are simply another department of the government for the Chancellor to control.”

Anakin looked thoughtful.

“I hadn’t realized that,” he admitted. “I don’t think the Chancellor would do that, though.”

“The problem isn’t with this Chancellor,” Obi-Wan replied. “It’s with the next Chancellor. Or the one after that.”

He spread his hands. “Really, I think part of this is my fault. I didn’t try hard enough to make sure you learned the political skill a Jedi needs.”

“Master, you’re really good at that kind of thing,” Anakin protested. “I’m more into… aggressive negotiations.”

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin waited.

“...you’re supposed to tell me I’m not that bad,” he said, eventually.

“I know I’m supposed to,” Obi-Wan said, virtuously.

Anakin rolled his eyes.

“Oh, before I forget,” he went on. “The Chancellor did say General Grievous is on Utapau.”

“Noted,” Obi-Wan said. “Now, what’s this story about Sith healing that the Chancellor told you? I’ve never heard of Darth Plagueis before.”

When Anakin had finished recounting the conversation, they were most of the way to the Council chamber, and he shrugged.

“You get what I mean… right?” he said, then took note of Obi-Wan’s disturbed expression. “Is something wrong, Master?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, firmly. “Anakin, what you’ve just described is exactly how it would look if Palpatine was trying to hint that he could teach you a Sith technique.”

“Really?” Anakin asked. “The Chancellor be able to use Sith techniques? There’s no way that is possible…”

He got out his datapad, and began flicking through records. “He’d have to be able to use the Force, and his midi-chlorian count is… is… not here?”

Anakin looked up. “Didn’t the whole Senate get tested to see if any of them was Darth Sidious?”

“Now I’m very worried,” Obi-Wan declared. “I know he’s your friend, Anakin, but how possible is it that Palpatine is Sidious?”

Anakin considered that.

“Do you think that explains why he ordered me to cut Dooku’s head off and leave you on a starship that was about to explode?” he asked.

“Definitely need to teach you politics,” Obi-Wan muttered.

[luxaofhesperides]

Accidental Bride Sacrifice ; requested by @starlightcat04!

Danny has long since gotten used to the feel of summonings. They don’t happen often, but sometimes the right components are put together to force him into answering, and he’d have to go as the new Ghost King.

Which no one told him was a thing! He hadn’t protested too much about the whole Ghost King deal when they finally told him about it after he graduated high school. It gave him a good excuse to ditch life in the living realm and not worry about college or a career, and let him really embrace his ghost side. 

The summonings are a problem, though. They always feel staticky and bad, like a dumpster that just got struck by lightning. The taste of iron on his tongue, a clear sign of blood being spilled, lets him know that it would be one of end the world for us summonings, because some people can’t put in the effort to do it themselves, apparently. 

But this time, the summoning feels different.

Danny pauses, eyes going unfocused in the middle of his conversation with Jazz. He had been looking forward to spending the week with her, now that she’s on winter break, but his luck is as bad as always.

“I’m being summoned,” he tells her, cutting off her rant about a transphobic professor she had. 

“Oh, no. Do you need me to do anything? Should I go with you to beat up whoever it is that’s summoning you?”

Danny tilts his head to the side, considering. The taste of blood is noticeably absent. In fact, this summoning pull doesn’t make him feel sick at all. It makes him feel warm, as if he’s just been wrapped in a hug.

“No,” he says. “I think I’m good. This one feels different.”

“A good different?” Jazz asks, worry clear in her voice.

“Yeah. A good different. I’ll come back soon, okay?”

“Alright. Be careful, Danny.” Jazz pulls him into a quick hug, then steps back to watch as Danny stops fighting the pull of the summoning and disappears into a swirling white rings that flashes into existence behind him, blinding her for a moment, and is gone when she manages to blink the spots out of her vision. 

For a minute, Danny drifts in a void of stillness, traveling through the realms as the summoning draws him closer to the correct realm. And then he’s rising out of the ground in a dark building made of concrete, candles of green flame scattered all over the place.

“Great One!” someone in a hooded cloak cries, raising his arms in jubilation. “Our calls have been answered!”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” a mechanical voice yells from farther back. When Danny looks past the cultists’ heads, he spots a man in a red hood and leather jacket chained to a pole, along with a bunch of other people in strange costumes tied up, desperately trying to free themselves. 

“Silence!” The leader of the cult, or who Danny assumes is the leader, snaps at the hooded man and gestures to the people off to his left. They force another costumed person forward, this one in yellow armor. He can see the blood running down their face from beneath their helmet and from their nose, dark lines of blood cutting through their brown skin. 

The cultists throw the armored person forward, forcing them to kneel. Then they bow to Danny and step back.

“Great One,” the leader says, voice unpleasantly reverent and grating, “Welcome to the mortal realms. We offer you this sacrifice to feed your strength. He will make a fine general for your undead army in your crusade to rid this world of its filth.”

The people in the back begin shouting all together, panicked voices overlapping, and Danny is left staring down at the cultists in shock.

The summoning had felt so nice. What the hell was this? He did not sign up for another ‘end of days’ insane cult. He just wanted to be hugged. 

His silence makes the cultists nervous. They begin to shift uneasily, whispering to each other, and the leader clears his throat, then pulls a large crystal dagger out of his cloak. “We shall prove our devotion to you through an offering of a hero’s blood!”

And then he moves towards the sacrifice and Danny snaps out of his shock to yell, “Wait!”

The entire room freezes. Even the costumed people in the back go still. 

Danny winces, then tries to smother his power, make himself more palatable to the humans of this dimension. “Wait,” he says again, and he sounds closer to human now. If he could, he would drop his ghost form entirely, but he knows better than to endanger himself like that. “What, exactly, did you summon me here for?”

The cult leader stares at him for a moment. “To… To rid the world of filth and allow your loyal followers to spread word of your power. You will be worshiped again, Great One, and serve as a reminder to man that Death shall always prevail.”

“Okay, I get that, but I was talking more along the lines of the summoning. What ritual did you use? What specifically were the summoning requirements?”

Normally, he’d be able to figure it out himself, but these cultists didn’t use a summoning circle. So they did something else, something less visible and therefore harder to figure out, in order to bring him here.

A woman standing off to the side speaks up, stepping forward hesitantly. “I had pieced together a few summoning spells from this book to bring you here. You had to accept our chosen sacrifice to your side in order for the summoning to work.”

“Hold up that book for me, please?”

She does, and Danny flies down to grab it from her hands. “Point out which lines you used,” he says, already reading a few of the words written down. It’s definitely ghostspeak written down, which should be near impossible for living humans to translate without being skilled in magic.

“Ah, these ones.” She points to each line, reading them out for him, and Danny starts understand what, exactly, went wrong.

“Is there a problem, Great One?”

Danny returns the book then floats over to the sacrifice and picks him up. The costumed people make alarmed noises, but quietly quiet down again when all Danny does is move him away from the cultists.

“Okay,” he says, “So. The lines you used to summon me were not translated properly. What you interpreted as ‘accepted to stay by the king’s side in loyalty and strength’ is not meant to be, like, him being part of my undead army or whatever. It’s a royal marriage vow.”

“They married us?” the sacrifice shouts, disbelieving. The cult leader buries his face in his hands and sighs.

“My deepest apologies, Great One. We meant no offense. We simply wanted to aid in your destruction of this depraved world.”

Danny scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s not gonna fly with me. I do not do the biding of random people, especially those who are ready to murder innocent people for no reason. Frighty, if you would.” He snaps his fingers, calling up Fright Knight who always enjoys getting to torment the people who summon Danny for murderous reasons.

Fright Knight appears in a swirl of darkness and screams. Shadows swallow the room, and when they recede, no cultists remain.

“Thanks, Frighty. Have fun with them. I need to figure out all… this.”

Fright Knight bows to him, then disappears. Danny lets out a breath, then floats down lower to be eye level with the sacrifice. “Hey,” he says gently, with a smile, “I’m so sorry they did this to you. I’m Danny. What’s your name?”

“Du— Uh, Signal,” the sacrifice says, sounding rather dazed. 

“Signal,” Danny repeats. “Like… a traffic signal?”

“No. I mean, maybe? But it is Signal. That’s my hero name, not my real name.”

“Oh, you’re a hero!” His getup makes more sense now. Danny checks him over for any signs of injuries. So far, only his head and nose seem to be injured, but his wrists are tightly bound behind his back. Carefully, Danny calls upon his ice and shapes it into a sharp knife, then cuts through the zipties.

He helps Signal up to his feet, floating by his shoulder. “All good?”

“Yeah, man, all good. Let me just get the others free.”

“Oh, I can do it!” Danny flies over to the other costumed people, who must also be heroes. All it takes is one link in the chain being frozen and broken for the entire thing to go lax, allowing them to free themselves. Hooded guy spares Danny a single glance, then hurries over to Signal to check on him. The other three, a man with a blue bird across his chest, a blond girl with a yellow bat outline on her chest, and a guy with bandoliers and a golden bird emblem, all watch him warily as he floats back towards the center of the room.

“So,” the blue bird man says, “If they summoned you with a marriage vow, and you accepted, does that mean you’re planning to steal Signal away from us?” He’s smiling, but it’s not a nice smile.

“No! I had no idea they did this! I am so sorry you all got caught up in this. You most of all, Signal.”

Signal shrugs, nudging hood guy away from him. “Nah, man, it’s all good. This is definitely the better outcome.”

“I don’t know, being married off isn’t really a good thing.”

“Hey, at least they married me off to a decent guy.”

“You don’t know that,” Danny says, “What if I’m secretly evil?”

“If you were secretly evil, you’d be destroying the world right now. I think you’re fine.”

The blond girl waves at him, demanding his attention. “Quick question! They were calling you ‘Great One’. Are you a god or something?”

“Not really? I’m the Ghost King. So I’m a ghost who rules over other ghosts and also a majority of the Infinite Realms.”

She nods as if this is all totally normal for her, then shoots Signal a grin. “Congrats on bagging a king! Not the worst way to spend a night, right?”

“Can you break the marriage?” blue bird man asks, the lines of his shoulders tense.

Danny awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, not looking any of them in the eye. “I honestly don’t know. I can look for a way! But I genuinely have no clue. This was unexpected.”

“But you accepted.”

“I didn’t know what I expected! It just felt like a hug, and I wanted a hug! I thought I was being summoned for something nice for once!” Danny curls up, bringing his knees up to his chest, and hides his pout behind his hands. He knows he’s being childish, but he can’t help but be upset that he couldn’t have this one good experience from being Ghost King. 

It’s always responsibilities and death cult summonings and fighting ghosts who don’t think he should be king. Sure there have been some good things, but they’re comparatively few when looking at all the other stress and pain that comes with the crown. Sue him for wanting to have a nice night for once. Hell, at this point, he’d take being summoned to help with some kid’s homework, because at least then he could have a quiet night helping someone.

“Hey, man, can you come down here?” Signal asks. 

He wants to stay out of reach, hiding himself away for a bit longer, but Signal is his new, surprise, accidental husband, so Danny lowers himself to the ground and peeks through his fingers to look at him.

He tenses when Signal hugs him, soft and warm and comforting. It takes a moment for him to realize what’s going on, and then he’s melting into Signal’s embrace, dropping his hands to wrap them around Signal’s back.

Distantly, he can hear the other heroes talking quietly amongst themselves. He blocks out the sound as much as he can, determined to enjoy this hug while it lasts.

Which is… fairly long. Signal makes no moves to end the hug, so Danny closes his eyes to really savor the moment. 

“So,” Signal murmurs into his ear, “As newlyweds, how about we get to know each other a bit better before we start working on fixing all this?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Let’s ditch these guys and take some time to ourselves.”

“I promise I’ll get this fixed,” he says, just to make sure Signal knows. “Genuinely, I am so sorry to have married you through an old Realms vow when you had no say in it.”

“Hey, if it lands me a very nice, very attractive king, then I don’t mind at all. I could have done without the murderous cultists, though.”

Danny huffs out a small laugh. “Oh, for sure. Thanks for being so cool about this. Want me to fly us out of here?”

“Yes please,” Signal says. Danny smiles and tightens his grip on Signal, then lifts them both up. “I’ll see y’all later! Have fun with the rest of your patrols!” he calls out to the other heroes, who start shouting at him.

Danny flies them right out the roof before the other heroes figure out a way to kick his ass. The city they’re in is smoggy and dark, tall buildings rising up into the cloudy sky, and police sirens ring through the air. There’s no where that looks like a particularly nice spot to land for a conversation, so he asks Signal where he’d like to go and follows his directions from there.

They end up phasing through a building, then into the floor, which leaves them in what Signal calls The Hatch. 

Danny takes a quick moment to freak out over being in a hero’s secret hide out, the composes himself and finally pulls away from Signal.

“So,” he starts, looking around The Hatch and taking in the giant computer, the workstation, the motorcycle farther down the way, “What did you—Woah!” Danny spins around, slamming a hand over his eyes the instant he realizes that Signal is taking off his helmet, leaving his face bare.

It’s not like he’d know who Signal is anyways, being from a different dimension, but it’s the principle of the matter.

Signal laughs when he sees Danny’s attempt to keep from looking at him. A warm hand wraps around his wrist and gently pulls it away. “It’s okay, Danny, you can look,” he says. “It would be pretty weird if my own husband didn’t know my face.”

Slowly, giving Signal to change his mind, Danny opens his eyes. He moves his gaze up, going from Signal’s armor to his face, his very cute face and his warm brown eyes, and Danny stares for a moment. 

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Signal says, fondness coloring his voice. “My name’s Duke. Are all Ghost Kings as cute as you?”

“Duke,” Danny repeats. “Hi. Um, no. The last one really sucked, actually, which is why I fought him. He was so bad the Infinite Realms didn’t want him anymore, so though I technically didn’t beat him in single combat, it was enough for the Infinite Realms to kick him out and get me on the throne.”

“Man, I can not wait to hear more of your stories. Think we got time for that while we search for a way to undo that marriage vow?”

Taking his chance, Danny says, “Sure! It’s a date.”

He’s awarded by Duke’s bright smile and idly wonders how long he can keep them married. Hopefully long enough for them to get into a real relationship where he can propose properly. And then he can get Jazz’s blessing too—

“Oh shit,” Danny realizes. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell my sister or she’s going to actually kill me.”

Duke winces. “And I should probably tell the others before Spoiler makes a mess of things… B is not going to be happy with me.”

They share a despairing look, already dreading the amount of scoldings they’re both going to get. He’s not looking forward to it.

“...Put it off until tomorrow?”

Duke nods. “Yeah. That’s a tomorrow problem. For now, how about a late dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.”

. . .

[send me a ghostlights prompt!]

[merakiui]

the birds and the bees.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, slight dub-con, implied stalking, age gap (riddle is 19 and reader is 29) note - you're hired to teach riddle about the birds and the bees. you need the money. he needs to get laid.

The Rosehearts’s Residence looks about how you expected it to after driving past houses of similar size and grandeur. Unlike you, they’re definitely not strapped for cash. It’s an impressive structure with its elegant wrought iron gates and expertly trimmed hedges. You’re immediately overcome with bitter jealousy when you step through the entrance, passing rose bushes in full bloom. If only your apartment could look and feel as nice as this place. You almost wonder if you should keep Mrs. Rosehearts’s contact in case she ever needs a gardener or a window washer…

But then that risks your cover, and the last thing you want is to get tangled up in trouble with the upper middle class.

Gathering your courage, you smooth invisible wrinkles in your pencil skirt, steady your balance in your Mary Janes—both at socially acceptable lengths and heights—and bring your fist down against the door. Seconds after the third knock, it opens to reveal a woman who looks as prim and proper as the landscape of her home. She takes a long moment, drinking in your formal features, and then smiles approvingly.

“Ah, (Name), you’re early.”

You soften your face into something polite and demure. “Better early than late.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

She steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. You meander into the foyer and are instantly reminded of those exquisite house tours on MagiTube. There’s a fine layer of modest Victorian wealth to the decor. Flowery wallpaper, a lofty ceiling, an aureate chandelier, a vase filled with fresh tulips of all colors… Oh, how you wish you could live here!

“Your home is beautiful,” you comment as you straighten your bow headband.

“Why, thank you.” Her eyes light up once more. “I’ve always admired this neighborhood. Everything is so well-kept. Speaking of which, where did you say you’re from?”

“Oh, I’m actually getting ready to move back to school at the end of the summer,” you explain, narrowly dodging her question. No way I’m telling her I live in a not-so-affluent neighborhood… She’ll totally kick me out. “I’m staying with my parents in the meantime and working a few jobs to support myself.”

“And what was it you’re studying again?”

You paste a hollow smile on, sensing her distrust. I already told you this when we met at the clinic. Do I really seem so suspicious?

“I’m studying to be an ob-gyn.”

“A wonderful profession,” she praises, nodding to herself. “Very wonderful indeed. And how old are you? I merely ask to confirm. There are so many miscreants nowadays. You can never be too sure.”

“I understand completely, Mrs. Rosehearts. I’m—” you almost falter, your real age on the tip of your tongue— “twenty-two. What about your son? You told me he’s also looking to get into the medical field?”

“Not looking. He will pursue medicine,” she corrects sternly. “Just like his mother.”

You swallow your disgust and try not to let it show so openly. Yikes… Talk about controlling.

Mrs. Rosehearts waves you onwards down the hall. “My Riddle will be leaving for his first year of college at the end of August. Though I’m certain he’s more than prepared, it never hurts to review.”

“Absolutely. So you’d like me to give him the talk?”

“Not just that. I’d like you to teach him well enough so that copulation and any other libidinous ideas are the last things on his mind. Stamp them out if you must. He’s to focus on his studies and make good decisions just as I raised him.”

Shouldn’t he already be familiar with this? Besides, he’s not a kid. Of course he’s going to think about sex. Most of us do when we’re horny.

But you can’t say that outright, so you settle for something vastly different.

“It’s important to stay on the right path and be responsible.”

Mrs. Rosehearts nods her agreement. Your stomach twists in discomfort.

On second thought, I don’t want to be upper middle class if these are the people I have to deal with. Is this guy going to have any chance to be social? To live his life? To make and learn from stupid mistakes? I bet he can’t wait to get out of here and go off to school.

“I apologize if this is rude in any way, but I just want to ensure I’ll be paid accordingly.”

“Of course. Good work must always be recognized and rewarded.” She stops at a door. “I cannot thank you enough for lending my Riddle your time. Teach him well.”

“I’ll do just that. You can count on it.”

Pleased with the level of maturity you’ve displayed, she raps her knuckles against the door and calls out, “Riddle, the tutor’s here.”

“Very well, Mother. I’ve just finished today’s readings, so you can send them in,” comes a muffled reply.

Today’s readings? you think, perplexed. Your gaze slides from the door to Mrs. Rosehearts. Does she have this guy doing summer school? That must suck! What a shitty way to spend your summer, cooped up inside filling out workbooks and stuff.

“I’ll be out running errands in the meantime. I trust you’ll be all right by yourself?”

“Perfectly all right,” you assure her, to which she hums and strides past you. You catch her perfume as she departs, and it reminds you of the types of scents worn by saggy, old ladies who have nothing better to do than sit around and complain about the state of the world and the way their children turned out.

In other words, a scent you associate with misery.

You wait until she’s out of sight before opening the door and stepping inside the study. There’s a mahogany desk in the center, and thick textbooks are piled high on either side. Beyond that, beside a big bay window with cream-colored curtains drawn to let in the sun, two large bookcases are packed with an array of tomes. At the front of the room, a blackboard has been built into a wooden frame. Chalk lines the ledge, situated within reach of an eraser. And sitting at the desk, his eyes glued to an open book, is a young man. A pair of round frames sit on the bridge of his nose, slipping ever so slightly down the slope of it when he peers at the page. He pushes them up when he finally lifts his head to greet you.

“Hey.” You wave awkwardly, easing the door shut.

He seems taken aback by your appearance. “Oh, yes. Right. Hello…”

Silence soon fills the space. You wonder if you should just save yourself this nonsensical waste of time and retreat.

“Sooo.” You fold your arms behind your back, rocking on your heels. “Your mother’s probably told you why I’m here.”

“I’m aware.” He shuts his book and stands from his seat. “My name is Riddle Rosehearts. A pleasure to meet you.”

You blink at his outstretched arm. “(Name). Likewise.” You grab his hand and shake firmly. 

So stiff…

“So where’re we starting? The basics? You want the whole ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ version or—”

Riddle scoffs and yanks his arm back. “I’m not a fool. I’ll have you know I’m well aware of sexual reproduction and what it entails.”

“You can call it sex. No one’s forcing you to be all biological,” you tease. His body goes rigid, and his face reddens in what you assume is flustered annoyance. “Anyways, since you’re not as brainless as Mother Dearest wants me to assume, I’ll just get into it.”

Riddle stares at you, his arms folding over his chest. He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he huffs and lowers into his chair.

Wordlessly, you undo the buttons on your blazer and shrug out of it. Your blouse goes next, untucked from your skirt and shucked. Riddle’s eyes are so wide they nearly pop out of his skull when he spies the white, lacy false collar that just barely covers your breasts. You’re about to step out of your pencil skirt next when Riddle clears his throat.

“W-What’re you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No?”

“I’m teaching you the birds and the bees.”

“N-Not in that outfit! S-Surely not…” He averts his eyes, crimson crawling up to his ears. “You’re practically nude!”

“That’s the point of lingerie, silly.” Your skirt pools around your ankles to reveal the rest of your frilly ensemble. A black-and-white cupless bra and crotchless panties set, both with plenty of ruffles, held together with a pair of garters. Still wearing matching stockings and your precious Mary Janes, you bend down to gather your discarded clothes. They’re set aside on a nearby chair. “You can look.”

“A-Absolutely not!” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. “Y-You… You’re not decent. It’s rude to stare.”

“Come on. You got past anatomy diagrams just fine.”

Riddle opens and closes his mouth, speechless like a beached fish. Eventually, he manages to gather his coherency. “You’re a tutor, aren’t you? Where’s your dignity?”

“Nonexistent. I lied.” His head snaps over to view you, and he seems so scandalized by your admission that it’s almost comedic. “No way I’m studying to be an ob-gyn. I’m not even in school.”

“What?! But you—”

“It’s fine. I looked the part, didn’t I?” you joke, waving your hand about dismissively. “C’mon, mama’s boy. You’re going off to college. It’s nothing like those stuffy anatomy courses.”

Riddle tries and fails to look at anywhere that isn’t you, his eyes lingering on your chest to the space between your legs to the thigh garter and then to the ceiling. He’s so red you think he might explode.

“You’ve been with a girl before, yeah?”

With lips pursed in a tight line, he shakes his head.

“Sounds about right.”

“And you’re so experienced?”

You flash him a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, mama’s boy.”

“I’m not a mama’s boy!”

“No? So you just let your mother treat you like a little baby at your grown age? You let her pick out sex tutors for you?”

“I—” He stops himself from speaking to mull over your questions. “If it’s what she deems necessary…”

“Because our biggest fear is sexually awkward you knocking up some girl at school, right?”

“I… I would never! Safe sex is—”

“Very important when you’re not trying to conceive. Good boy. See? You know your stuff.”

Riddle’s eyes narrow into vicious slits. You brush his scorching vitriol off and turn towards the board. Procuring a piece of chalk, you scrawl words on it: Birds and Bees 101. Wholly unamused, Riddle folds his arms across his chest.

“Your mother told me you’re gonna study medicine, so you’re probably familiar with everything already. And I’m sure you know all about the baby-making process on a biological level.” You whirl to face him, your tits bouncing with the peppy motion. Riddle swallows thickly. “But just to make sure… Let’s review.”

“R-Review? You don’t mean—”

“What’s this?” Your hands close around your tits. Riddle’s enchanted with the way you squeeze them—the way they depress under your fingers.

“Um… Ahem. Well… T-The breasts. They’re a type of glandular organ located on a woman’s chest, and they’re made up of lots of tissue and fat. There’s the mammary gland—that’s what produces milk. Oh, and then there are the areolas right around the nipples. Those are—”

“You can call them what they are.”

Riddle blinks, shaken from his studious spiel. “W-What?”

“You know the word, mama’s boy.”

He flusters. “Yes, I’m aware. But…”

“No harm in saying it.” You run your fingers over your nipples and giggle sweetly like a schoolgirl. “Go on…”

He inhales a deep breath. “They’re tits,” he mumbles, desultory. “Y-Your tits.”

You clap, beaming brightly. “Well done! Moving swiftly on…” You run your hands down the expanse of your stomach, stopping just beneath your navel. “What’s here?”

“Your womb. O-Otherwise known as the uterus. It’s where a baby grows over the course of nine months.”

“Mhm. Good job.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat. “There’s more to your reproductive system than the uterus. Lots of parts. Important parts.”

“Right. But I don’t need to quiz you on it. You obviously know your stuff.”

Again, your fingers inch lower until they’re prodding at your folds. Riddle’s breath audibly hitches.

“And this?”

“Your vagina. It’s where—”

“What’s the other word?”

Riddle avoids your stare. “It sounds so vulgar…”

“So what?”

“S-So there ought to be a term that’s more…flattering.”

“Like what?” You approach him and, with the grace of a swan, lift your leg onto the desk to give him a better view of yourself. Shamelessly, you dip your fingers inside to spread yourself. “A guy called it the honeypot once. That pretty enough for you?”

Riddle squeaks and flinches back in his chair, his face now even redder than it was before. “T-That’s fine…”

“Really? I’d have thought the implication in that one is much dirtier than calling it a pussy.”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots, but once he does he gasps. “Ah. Then…”

You press inwards with your fingers, exaggerating a pornographic sigh. “Yeah?”

“Can I… M-May I call it your flower?”

“Sure.” His shoulders slacken with a flicker of relief. Your next words shatter that and his pride in one fell swoop. “That one’s not as special as you think, mama’s boy. I’ve heard it all—every type of flower you can think of.”

“Even a rose?”

“Especially a rose.” His lips twist into a disappointed moue. You chuckle and add, “You can call it a rose if you want. I don’t mind.”

Riddle meets your eyes then, searching them for the joke. When one doesn’t present itself, he relaxes. “All right. It’s a very pretty rose. Soft…”

“Aww. Thanks for saying so. It’s softer inside, y’know. See?” Spreading yourself wider, you angle your hips to bless him with the full view. “My fingers slide right in. Wanna guess why?”

“B-Because the vagina naturally—” He stops himself, his brows knitting together in contemplation. When he speaks next, it’s with a determined sort of conviction. “When you’re aroused, your rose produces a natural lubricant during sexual excitement.”

“Mhm. We call that ‘feeling good and getting wet,’ Dr. Rosehearts.”

“Yes. Y-Yes, I know that.” He eyes your pussy, a ravenous glimmer in his intelligent blue-greys. “And the wetness—it’s supposed to make it feel better. To make insertion easier, I mean.”

“Right again.” You ease your fingers out but not before thrusting them deeper just so he can hear the sinful sounds. They shimmer with your essence, enticing in a forbidden way. “What about the other parts? How about this spot here?” You brush against the hood of your clit, circling it slowly.

Riddle watches, hopelessly spellbound. “The clitoris.”

“I’m impressed. Most guys don’t know about it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But it’s your most sensitive erogenous zone! Just how uninformed does one have to be to neglect such a crucial part to your sexual anatomy?”

“Woefully uninformed, I’m afraid,” you mutter with a pout. Your fingertips drag your hood up to reveal that pretty, perky nub. “I think it’s dumb your mother wants me to talk you out of sex. You’re going to college. You’re an adult. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“I…” Riddle frowns at that last line. “I have no interest in it. Besides, it’ll only hinder my studies. If I really need it, I’ll just masturbate. That’s healthy every now and then, and it doesn’t break any rules.”

“Really? No interest at all?” You shoot him a knowing look and run your tongue along your bottom lip. “Because your dick’s telling a different story.”

Riddle sputters, embarrassed, and squeezes his thighs together. His hands fly to cover his lap. “That’s because you’re—” He gazes at the floor. “Because you’re so pretty…”

Temporarily thrown off course, you gape at him. “What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Gathering the remnants of your mask, you piece it together and laugh. “Not the first time I’ve heard someone describe it like that.”

“Not just your pussy.” Your gaze snaps to his. He smiles, impish. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Teacher.”

You exhale a short laugh. “Someone’s suddenly confident.”

Riddle rises from his seat. His fingers close around your wrist, gently pulling it away from your clit. He moves around the desk to stand in front of you and then, before you can comprehend his intentions, he’s pushing you down onto the desk. You yelp at the sudden change in position, your eyes blown wide when he presses his clothed hard-on against your bare pussy.

“You’re doing a poor job at dissuading me from wanting sex.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Not in that outfit.” He grabs at the meat of your thighs and parts them. “If Mother knew you lied to her…”

You shake your head at him. “Please don’t tell her. I… I’m being serious. I need this money.”

“Desperately?”

Your lip curls into the beginning of a sneer. You hate feeling powerless more than anything, but the fiery glaze in his eyes is just as troubling. “I’m not going to beg.”

“I haven’t asked for that yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Not funny. I agreed to teach you about sex. We’re not actually doing it.”

“A shame.”

“You’ll find a nice girl at school. Don’t lose hope, mama’s boy. Lots of girls like the smart types who’ll give ’em a lecture on biology and stuff.”

“I think you misunderstand. I don’t want other girls.”

“Okay?”

“My mother’s paying for a tutor and I desire you, so unless you want to leave here as a lying cheat…” He hums, seeming awfully haughty to hold the only thing that tethers you to him above your head. “You need the money, right?”

“Yes. Sure, of course I do. But—” You shift on the desk, silently horrified when he rocks against you. “We can’t. Your mother—”

“Weren’t you the one saying I should live my life? That I have the freedom to do as I please?”

“That doesn’t mean—come on; listen to yourself. You can’t honestly think I’d fuck you.”

“No? And yet you came wearing this outfit, parading around the study with your pussy and tits out.” He glances past you at the window. “And you didn’t even bother to close the curtains… How brazen.”

Your attempt to jerk away from him is made in vain. He pins you down onto the desk, one hand squeezing your breast, while the other works to fish himself from his trousers. Now hard and leaking, his cock rests against your stomach. It’s not a terrible size. If anything, it’s perfect. Just right for your tastes.

“W-Wait! It’s not safe. You can’t—” You inhale sharply, bucking up towards his hand when he presses his thumb against your clit. Biting your lip, you fix him with a glower. “If you pay me… If you promise not to tell your mother—”

Riddle leans in close. “No one needs to know. No one but us.”

Your eyes flit about the room. With a withering sigh, you submit to his touch. “You’d better pull out in time.”

Riddle rolls his hips once and his cock drags along your folds. You hiss through your teeth at this new friction, a sinful delight more dizzying than any type of alcohol consumed in excess. “Do you want to be a mother?”

“What I want has nothing to do with you. I’m just—ooh—t-trying to survive. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, so don’t poke fun.”

Riddle hums, kneading your breast and rubbing you to the edge all at once. It’s so very obviously his first time, his zealous nature trumping any sort of experienced technique. It still does the trick, though, sending little bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“My mother wouldn’t just choose anyone. Her standards are very high.” His eyes flick to your face, drinking in your expression as it shifts with restrained bliss. “Somehow you’ve earned her approval.”

“Lying’ll do that.”

“Maybe.” His fingers replicate the motions you did earlier, though with a singular objective in mind. He’s so focused on succeeding in this endeavor that it makes him look so stiff. Under any other circumstances, you’d find it cute. “Mother always knows what’s best for me. Obviously you’ve met her criteria if she’s hired you.”

“Spoken like a true mama’s boy.” Seeing as this is now your unavoidable fate, you reach up to touch his shoulders. He jolts, his initial glare softening. You tamp down another giggle and massage up and along his arms. “Relax a little. Don’t rush so much.”

Or do. Let’s get this over with before your mother catches us.

Riddle traces two fingers along your labia. He’s quiet as he takes all of you in, and when he sinks three fingers into your gooey heat his breath catches in his throat. “Are you… D-Do you feel good?”

You reach for his unoccupied hand and guide it to your clit. Riddle understands the suggestion well enough, for he massages you slowly. Sucking in another breath, you nod at him.

“Not bad. You’re getting there.”

His neglected cock throbs at the praise, and so you wrap your fingers around it to give it the same amount of attention he’s currently giving you. Riddle grits his teeth at the contact.

“You can move your fingers. Don’t just focus on my clit.”

“Ah. Right. Of course,” he babbles dumbly, so swept up in everything that you are, so very eager to please.

You’re like a work of art pinned to his desk, a delicacy more forbidden than anything from the bakery. Sugary-sweet, adorned in skimpy ruche, you’re a temptation laid bare. Delicately, as if you might shatter, he curls his fingers to press up against your insides. Riddle watches you arch up towards him, your hand working his cock maddeningly slow and steady. It feels good—better than anything he could have ever imagined.

His eyes trail from your lips to your tits to your pussy stretched around his fingers. “Do you have any plans for this summer?”

The sudden question catches you off guard. You were expecting something related to sex, not whatever this new shred of curiosity is. Still, that doesn’t stop you from dragging him closer to the edge of ecstasy with every tug of your fist.

“Why?”

“I… I’d like to get to know you.”

“Me?”

“Of course. You’re more than a body to me.”

“How charming. I just—” You frown, unable to follow where he’s going with this. “Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Even though he says it like it’s a fact, he looks shy. “I want to know you.”

“Uh… Yeah… Okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not that… It’s just hard to imagine you having any girl friends.”

Riddle rolls his eyes and grinds his thumb into your clit. You bite back a whine as his fingers pump in and out of you. “Is that space open or closed?”

“You know which one.”

“You could be the one to close it.”

You meet his eyes then. For a short minute, the two of you hold each other’s stare. And then, breaking free from his hypnotic hold, you squeeze his length gently. He shudders, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“And what about you? You excited for your first year?”

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, rutting into your hand. His fingers spread you open, scissoring gently.

“Just make sure to take time for yourself. Have fun. Live.”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were at school—how’d you manage?”

“I never went.” He opens his mouth to interject, but you beat him to it. “Couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh…”

“It’s fine! I’ve got plenty of experience in other things. I don’t need school for that.”

Riddle doesn’t believe your feigned optimism for a second. “If you could’ve gone, what would you have studied?”

You release his cock from your hold and reach up to pull his glasses from his face. Gingerly, minding the fragile frames, you set them aside. You lift your index to your lips, effortlessly coy. “It’s a secret.”

Before he can protest, you tap the hand at your cunt next. Riddle’s fingers, wet and shiny, slide out with a slick squelch. “I think you can do it.”

“What?”

“Go to school and study what you want. I believe in you.”

A wooden laugh tumbles from your lips. “Thanks for the encouragement, mama’s boy.”

“I have a name, you know.”

You smile easily. “You want me to call you something else? How does ‘good boy’ sound?”

Even though he tries not to let it show, his cock betrays his reticence with a small twitch. He’s an open book. Not wanting to give you the satisfaction, he lines himself up instead. Your fingers slip down to spread yourself for him.

“S-Slowly…” you whisper, stumbling over your breath as the head of his cock presses inside. Shallow at first before more inches fill you.

Riddle heaves a shaky gasp, his eyes wide with amazement. “I… I’m inside you…”

“How’s it feel?” “Warm. Soft. Snug. R-Really good.” He bows his head and digs his fingers into your hips. You think he has a dozen more adjectives on the tip of his tongue, each one just as fluffy as the last. “D-Do you feel good? It doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You wind your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your hands come to rest upon his shoulders once more. “Move your hips.”

Riddle does just that. His pace is awkward and inexperienced, every motion unsteady and jerky, as he searches for the right rhythm. He falls into it surprisingly fast, and it isn’t long until he’s smoothly rutting into you. You grab at his shirt, your breath coming in reedy huffs.

“Good. You—haa—good. You’re doing good.” Praise pours from your lips like a waterfall, plentiful and refreshing. It invigorates him, fills him with a confidence that wasn’t there before.

The soft slap of skin on skin fills the room. You keep your voice in check, lest you lose yourself and alert Mrs. Rosehearts. Riddle seems to be doing the same, even though it’s obvious he’s struggling much more than you are. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress his groans.

“You can touch me,” you whisper, petting his cheek. He blinks at you, his face aflame with a bright blush.

Nervously, he reaches for you and then pauses. Contemplation passes over his features. “What feels better? I want you to—no. I will make sure you cum. I’ve studied it, actually. I know how long it takes.”

“Look at you, doing your research like a diligent student. You want extra credit?”

Riddle chuckles and pinches your clit between two fingers. The rest of your teasing tapers off into a lewd squeal. “What was that about extra credit?”

“You’re awfully bold for your first time.”

“I’m not clueless.” His hips press inwards, plastering you to the desk, and his cock brushes that special spot within—the spot that has you seeing stars, your every nerve tingling with pleasure. You choke around a delighted gasp. Riddle, feeling victorious,  places his hand against your stomach, as if searching to feel his cock thrust up inside you. “Will I see you again after this?”

“If your mother wants me to come back and give you another pointless lecture on celibacy and safe sex, sure.”

“No, not that. Outside of this.”

“Don’t you have friends you’d rather hang out with?”

“I…do.”

“So spend time with them.”

Riddle doesn’t dignify that with a retort. With the way his eyes gloss over, you wonder just how many of these friends are within physical distance. The conversation stalls out into silence.

“You’ll make lots of friends at school. So many you’ll probably forget all about me.”

Riddle yanks your hips to meet his, driving himself deeper into your pussy.

“A-And you’ll find a nice girl to love if you’re looking for that kinda thing.”

“I am,” he confesses, breathless. “I want to get married and—mmh—start a family one day… I want to study law—become a lawyer… Mother thinks medicine suits me, but I can’t agree. Law is fascinating. It’s a perfect fit for me. Far better than medicine.”

You drag your thumb over your mouth, wetting it with your lipgloss, and then press it to his lips. The indirect kiss sends a tidal wave of arousal over him, darkening the tips of his ears in striking vermillion. You offer him a gentle smile while he recovers from that devastating flirt.

“I’ll make sure to hire you as my lawyer if I ever get into legal trouble.”

“You’d better not!” He laughs and shakes his head in amused disbelief. “But if you do, I’ll be there for you. Always.”

“Thanks, Riddle.”

Maybe I judged him too harshly. He’s not so bad.

In that stuffy study, just as the late afternoon gives way to red-orange streaked across a purple-pink sky, Riddle fucks you against that desk in all manner of rhythms. It’s when he finally picks up speed that you realize he’s nearing his end. You mirror his enjoyment, strung along by titillating touches and whispered words drenched in sweetness. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve reached rapture alongside him, your pussy now brimming with cum. There’s so much it leaks out of your slick hole when he draws away, only to burrow his cock deeper to stuff it back inside.

The room reeks of sweat and sex. You think, if not your disheveled appearance, the smell will definitely tell Mrs. Rosehearts all she needs to know.

“I love you,” Riddle murmurs, and you’re about to ask him what he means—maybe he’s caught up in the moment and doesn’t realize what he’s saying—but then he lifts your legs up to fold you into a mating press. Coherent thoughts are knocked out of your head when he spills over, filling you up for the nth time that day. You shiver beneath him, eyes rolled back into your skull and tongue lolling out. You feel so stupid, fucked submissive by some inexperienced, upper middle class mama’s boy. Which isn’t even an insult with real heat to it, but in your hazy mind it’s all you can think of to describe him.

He grinds against you in the aftermath, panting from the exhilaration and adrenaline. 

“We need to…open the window,” you mutter, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

Riddle admires your fucked-out expression in his sex-drunk daze. He slides out just as he feels himself going flaccid. Cum drips onto the desk below. Briefly, you struggle to recall whether or not you took your birth control today.

Something to consider later. Definitely not right now when you’re still clinging to the vestiges of your orgasm.

— — —

Mrs. Rosehearts knocks on the door, opening it to find Riddle sitting at his desk, jotting notes and occasionally pushing his glasses up. You’re standing at the blackboard, writing a list of the consequences of unplanned pregnancies. The room smells pleasantly of roses.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

You gaze at her and smile, wearing the clothes you arrived in. Nothing’s amiss. It’s perfect—thankfully. “Welcome back, Mrs. Rosehearts. We’re just about finished here.”

“Is that right? I assume all went well?”

“Very well. Your son’s a fast learner. Extremely talented.”

“I would expect nothing less.” She withdraws an envelope and hands it to you. “Thank you again for explaining it in realistic terms. Of course I doubt that my Riddle will act senselessly while he’s away, but as his mother I’m prone to worrying. Boys his age are so easily influenced.”

“O-Of course! That’s a very valid concern.” You force a chuckle.

If only she knew.

“Your pay is in that envelope. Should I ever require your assistance again, I’ll be sure to call.”

“Right… Thank you.” You hold it close to your chest. “I’m happy to help.”

You follow her out the door. She pauses to address Riddle. “Do continue reviewing your notes. We’ll convene for dinner in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mrs. Rosehearts walks you to the gate. “I wish you luck in your studies. If I don’t see you again at the clinic, have a pleasant summer.”

“Thank you. You as well.” You smile, fidgeting slightly. A bead of sweat tracks a path down your leg from between cum-spattered thighs.

Finally! With this I can pay my rent and still have enough for a treat from the bakery.

It’s worth it, or so you continue to tell yourself.

— — —

From the window, Riddle watches you make the walk to your car. He lifts his phone to fit you in the camera and snaps a secret photo. He continues to watch you until you’ve driven off and turned the corner, disappearing from his sight.

A tiny smile tugs at his lips.

Within his phone, put under a password lock, a special photo album exists. It’s filled with pictures taken from your social media—all of them. Every. Single. One. He’s resourceful when he wants to be. He can play the parody of a tech genius when he sets his sights on something.

And you’re just perfect.

[sluttywonwoo]

collision || h.js

pairing: virgin!fratboy!han jisung x best friend!reader

summary: jisung's fraternity brothers decide to pool their money and surprise him with a stripper for his birthday! nice gesture and all, but that stripper just so happens to be his best friend...

warnings: swearing, a little bit of mention of stigma towards sex workers at the end, smut (18+ ; minors dni)

additional warnings: lap dancing, dry humping

word count: 3k

Jisung’s blood ran cold as he stared at you from the opposite side of the room. A similar look of shock graced your features for a moment but it was quickly replaced by a smile, a fake one if Jisung had ever seen one. 

To be fair he had imagined this exact scenario- you in lingerie, standing in the middle of his living room- hundreds of times. But in those fantasies, the room wasn’t also full of a dozen or so of his friends.

When Jisung’s fraternity brothers told him they had a “surprise” for his birthday he knew it couldn’t be anything good but he certainly hadn’t been expecting his best friend to be the hired... entertainment for the party he hadn’t even wanted. 

“Should we leave them alone?” Minho, one of the older boys, teases. 

“We don’t get to watch?” Jeongin whines. 

“Nah, Hannie’s too shy for that.”

“That, and we only bought a private dance because it was the cheapest option,” Chris mutters under his breath, hopefully not loud enough for you to hear. 

“Let’s go into the other room, then,” Hyunjin says, finally drawing all of the attention away from you. “The others are waiting for us and we haven’t finished mixing all the drinks yet. The birthday boy can join us later.”

There’s some grumbling as the boys shuffle out of the room but they do make their exit, leaving you alone with Jisung. 

You’re the first to break the silence. “Happy birthday?” you offer with an awkward chuckle. 

“This is why you couldn’t come tonight?” 

“I was going to join later!” you correct him. “But yes, this is why I was going to be late.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you I had to work! I didn’t know it was you!”

“They didn’t... give you my name or anything?” Jisung realizes as he’s speaking that he doesn’t really know how your client intake works. Is there a form they fill out? Or do they just Venmo you and give you an address? Surely not, right? That would be dangerous. There had to be more to it than that. 

“They called you ‘Late Bloomer’,” you mutter, staring at the floor. “Said I’d know you when I saw you.”

Jisung’s cheeks burned and he scoffs. “Ironic. Yeah, that’s what the guys call me because they know, um, about...”

“You don’t have to say it!” you blurt. “I already know. That’s a really mean nickname.”

“All the pledges get nicknames like that,” he sighs. “Sometimes they don’t wear off after initiation.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You had taken a couple of steps closer to where he was sitting while you talked but you were still several feet apart. 

“Uh, well did you still want me to-”

“No!” Jisung shouts, cringing when he hears himself. “No, oh my god. You don’t have to do that.”

“I mean, it’s what I’m getting paid to do,” you point out. “Do you want your brothers’ money to go to waste?”

“I don’t give a fuck about their money.”

“So you don’t want me to?”

He’s sweating now. He feels it on his brow. “No, no. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

And I don’t want to cum my pants the minute you sit on my lap. 

You laugh. “Nothing can be more uncomfortable than what just happened in front of your, uh, friends.”

You had a point. “You don’t think it’ll make things... weird?” Jisung asks. 

You shrug. “Things are already weird, aren’t they? But if you don’t want me to, I'll go get dressed and we can join the rest of them at the party.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to!” Jisung clarifies. “I mean, I’ve always been curious about... how your sessions go, like what happens and stuff, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to or that I want you to if that makes sense. Like I don’t want you to think I’m a creep-”

“Jisung.”

“Huh?”

“Instead of a real dance, why don’t I just demonstrate for you? Show you what I do, like you said?”

That didn’t sound too dangerous. 

“O-ok. You don’t have to do it on me, though. You can just, like, use a chair?”

You give him a small smile and nod. “Sure.”

There are lots of chairs to choose from but you pick the closest and drag it in front of where Jisung is sitting. You spin it so that the back is facing him and then run to get something from the bag that you’d dropped by the door when you came in. 

Jisung tries not to look at your ass as you bend down and rifle through the tote, training his eyes on the ceiling instead. He’d already been struggling not to get hard this whole time and it was about to get a whole lot harder, metaphorically and literally. 

You come back with a speaker and set it up on the floor under the chair. 

“Usually I put on some music,” you explain. “I’ll sit on the guy’s lap and ask him what he likes to listen to.” You sit sideways on the chair and cross your legs, pretending like there’s a man underneath you. “Whatever he says doesn’t matter to me, though. I just pick whatever I want to dance to and pretend his answer influenced my decision so he feels like he gets to have a say in the matter. Men like to feel special like that.”

Jisung nods along. You look up to check that he’s following before moving on. 

“Then I’ll stand back up, like this, and start dancing. Most girls dance in front of them first, to make them want it more. I used to get really self-conscious about that part because it feels silly to me but it really pays off in the end.”

Jisung gulps and nods again. He watches you sink to your knees and arch backward, spreading your thighs wider as your back touches the floor. He had no idea you were so flexible, no idea you could move like that, though he supposes he should have assumed considering you literally do this for a living. 

“And then right before I get back on his lap I’ll take off my top. Usually, it’s like a bra or something but sometimes I’m wearing a bodysuit and I’ll just pull it down.”

He doesn’t expect you to actually do it but you do. You reach behind yourself and pull on the ribbon holding the corset you were wearing together until it unravels and you can take it off. 

Jisung immediately averts his eyes, going as far as shielding his vision with a hand.

“Oh my god!” 

He hears you laughing. “They’re just boobs.”

Yeah, your boobs. 

“I thought you wanted me to show you how I usually do it,” you chide. 

Jisung hesitantly turns his head to face you again. He stares you right in the eyes, pointedly ignoring everything below your neck. “I didn’t think you would actually, um, strip.”

Your teasing smile falters. “Do you want me to put it back on? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No! You don’t have to. I’m not uncomfortable.” You look like you don’t believe him so he adds, “I just wanted to be respectful and stuff, you know?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re sweet. I’m honestly surprised you haven’t seen me topless before. We’ve known each other for so long.”

Jisung is in so much pain. “Haha, yeah me too.”

You approach the chair and straddle it like you would if someone was actually sitting there. Since there isn’t, you fold your arms on the back of it and rest your chin on your wrists. 

“I always lay some ground rules before I start, even if they’re a regular.”

“Ground rules?” Jisung asks. 

You nod. “They’re not allowed to touch me whatsoever. I’ll touch them unless they request otherwise, but only on the face and the shoulders, sometimes the chest. I’m not going to grope them or anything like that, even though I am grinding on them.” You demonstrate with the air, pretending to cup someone’s face and bring it closer to yours before pushing them away. “The whole thing is essentially just teasing someone for however long they booked me for.”

“Are there any other rules?” Jisung asks, trying to seem engaged and eager to learn more about your profession instead of focusing on how you’re riding that chair. 

“Yeah, one of my biggest rules is that the client has to stay fully clothed the whole time. There are exceptions like if they’re wearing a tie, I might loosen it or undo it. I’ve worn their ties myself once or twice.”

“Has anyone ever, um,” he pauses. 

You cock your head to the side in intrigue. “Has anyone ever what?”

“Has anyone ever like, cum? While you’re doing that?”

“It’s happened before. But they usually try not to because they’d have to pay me more. It’s in my contract. It’s also really embarrassing for them and it’s unsanitary- I won’t get into the details but it’s not very common.”

It definitely would have happened to Jisung if he had gone through with it. Honestly, it would probably happen if anyone were to give him a lap dance, but if it was you? He wouldn’t stand a chance. 

“But it’s normal for guys to get, like, hard, right?”

“Oh yeah, that’s pretty much guaranteed. Anyone would get turned on if someone was grinding on them. Sometimes it happens before I’m even on their lap, like you’re hard right now and I haven’t even touched you.”

“Wha-” Jisung’s neck snaps as he looks to confirm what he already knows to be true. He rushes to cover the bulge in his pants with his hands even though it’s way too late for that. “Fuck, I didn’t- it doesn’t-”

You brush it off. “Don’t worry, Ji. It’s a perfectly normal reaction to seeing something arousing. It means I’m good at my job.”

“No, but I’m your best friend! God, you must feel so objectified and weird...”

“Jisung, I promise I don’t feel weird or objectified. Is this too weird for you? Do you want to stop?”

“I- uh, I don’t know,” he admits. Obviously he likes what he sees, his hard dick pressing against the zipper of his jeans is proof enough of that. But he’s also never felt so embarrassed in his life. It feels so... wrong of him to be taking advantage of the situation like this. He should have taken up your offer to go join the rest of his brothers at the party because now he’s fucked. He’s a weak, weak man.  “Are you sure you’re okay with... it?” 

“Of course,” you assure him. “That’s the point of this birthday present anyway.”

Maybe, but it wasn’t supposed to be a present from you. Jisung is so overwhelmed by thoughts and emotions that he can’t even focus on what you’re doing anymore. He zones out, willing his erection to go down until he remembers that he’s supposed to be paying attention. He’s supposed to be learning. 

“So I go back and forth between grinding on the guy and dancing in front of him so it doesn’t get too intimate, and then towards the end I usually- fuck, it’s kind of hard to do when there isn’t someone actually here.” He watches you stand up and approach him. “Do you mind if I just....” you trail off expectantly. 

Are you asking what Jisung thinks you’re asking? Is whatever it is you’re trying to show him so important that you need to torture him further?

“If you just what?” 

“If I sit on your lap for this part? It’ll be quick, I swear.”

“Go ahead,” Jisung says before he can argue with himself. 

He had already dug his grave, he might as well bury himself too. 

You take a deep breath before placing a hand on each of his shoulders for balance and lowering yourself onto his lap. His legs are spread a bit so they’re kind of awkward to straddle but you’re used to it so it’s easy to adjust. 

“Wow, you are hard,” you breathe out, laughing a little. 

Jisung wants to die. He takes a deep breath of his own and steels himself before asking, “what was it that you wanted to show me?”

Your eyes light up like you had forgotten why you were sitting on him in the first place. “Oh, right. I put the music on a timer to fade out at the end of the session so when that happens I’ll grab the guy’s face like this,” you take Jisung by the cheeks and squeeze so that he’s forced to open his mouth. 

He wonders briefly if you’re about to spit in his mouth but to his disappointment you make him bite down on a piece of paper instead. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion and reaches up to pluck whatever it is from between his lips.

“What is this?”

“My business card!” you exclaim. “Smart right? I wanted to do something memorable and so far it’s gotten over fifty percent of my clients to become repeat customers.”

Jisung snorts. “Yeah, it’s definitely that and not the fact that you’re hot and have your tits out.”

“It’s all part of the sell,” you joke.

“Well, I can see why you’re working all the time,” Jisung quips. “You’re very good at what you do.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Of course I do.”

“I’m just sorry I ruined your birthday present,” you sigh. 

Jisung frowns. “What do you mean? You didn’t ruin it.”

“Yeah, I did! If your friends had hired someone else you would have gotten a real lap dance, not... an instructional.”

“I didn’t even know that’s what I was supposed to be getting! I didn’t know they had hired anyone!”

“Still, it could have been fun.”

“No, this was fun. I’m glad it was you.”

The worry line between your eyebrows softens and you smile fondly at him, making Jisung’s stomach do a somersault. Out of everything that had happened tonight, that was what affected him the most. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes but suddenly your expression changes. Your gaze shifts from relaxed to focused as you sit up and lean in, closer and closer until your nose is pressed to his. Jisung doesn’t want to speak. He doesn’t want to break the spell. His fists clench and unclench repeatedly at his sides. He’s desperate to touch you, to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you to him, but he won’t break your rule unless you give him permission. 

You break it for him, grabbing his hands and placing them on your hips.

“Is this okay?” you whisper. 

He nods, his forehead knocking against yours. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive.”

You swallow hard, eyes searching his for something he isn’t sure he has. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

Jisung has fantasized about this moment countless times and not a single one compares to it. Your lips are soft and warm and you taste like that chapstick you always keep in your pocket. Jisung recognizes it immediately because he’s borrowed it more than a few times. 

You moan and run a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends. It’s gotten a lot longer recently but you seem to like it. In fact, part of the reason he hasn’t cut it yet is because you keep complimenting the way he’s been styling it. He wonders if you like how it feels between your fingers. 

To his own surprise, Jisung is the first to use tongue. He feels your lips part and uses the opportunity to slide his tongue between them like you had with your business card. You moan again and this time you grind down on his lap for real. 

It catches you both off guard. Jisung’s hips follow the movement of yours, chasing your heat even when you lift yourself off of him in a panic. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t be,” he murmurs, trying to hide a smug grin, “it’s a perfectly normal reaction.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “I guess I deserved that.”

“Mhm- mph!” You kiss him before he can get another word out, this time shoving your tongue in his mouth. 

Now that you know it’s okay to grind on him, you don’t hold back. You seem so eager. If Jisung didn’t know better he’d think this had been your plan all along. 

“God, baby,” he whimpers, shocked at how shattered his own voice sounds. “This feels so good but if you don’t stop I’m gonna-” he can’t bring himself to say it. “I’m not going to last.”

You slow down and lift your head from the crook of his shoulder. “Do you want to stop?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know how far you’re okay with going but...”

“We can go as far as you want, Ji. You’re the one...” you don’t finish the sentence but Jisung knows what you’re implying. It isn’t hard to guess. It’s why he’d been given that stupid nickname freshman year. 

“You’d... you’d want me in that way?” he asks. He’s almost afraid of the answer because he doesn’t think you feel the same way about him. Even if you are down to fuck, he doesn’t think it’s because you have a big giant crush on him like he does you. Maybe you’re just horny or maybe you’d be doing it as a favor.

“Of course.” It’s not an answer that quells the burning questions he’s been holding onto since he met you but it does enough to temper the flames a bit. You want him. It’s enough. “But... you don’t care that your first time would be with a stripper?” 

He knows that’s not what you mean. He knows you’re worried that he feels like it’s inorganic. That it’s part of the job you had been hired to do. But he knows the truth. That isn’t what it is at all. 

He shakes his head. “My first time would be with my best friend. There’s no one else I’d rather it be with.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

[empty-movement]

OLD SCHOOL ANIMATION NERDS, I SUMMON THEE TO ASSIST

Hey! Vanna here! So I recently, in a rage at the loss of the end-of-series lot of production materials, bought a cheaper lot I had been curious about, and I kinda struck animation history gold with it! Try as I might to pull the whole context together, I need y'alls help accurately naming and identifying what I have!!! There are MANY MORE of these, all from the same episode, an Utena one, a LOT of Nanami, and a group shot even, all following this similar formula. But let's be honest, Vanna and Yasha wanted that sweet Touga smugness. Analysis and questions below the cut! These aren't ALL the sheets, there are ones for the face shape and sleeve also but to demonstrate. Also, fucking amazingly, I also have the storyboards for this episode, so I can even tell you the shot number is 287 ISNT THAT COOL

So Utena fans. You may or may not know, but episodes 6 and 8 had very chaotic productions, and did end up getting swapped in the end. Per Ikuhara's directory commentary in the Nozomi Blu-ray:

He makes explicit reference here to Akemi Hayashi, credited as the animation director for the episode. I can't recall where I saw it now, but I know the difficulty of drawing Touga on model is mentioned somewhere in all the production stuff I have.

Now. Here's the problem. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW WHAT THEISIWEUGWEYGF what do I callll these. My understanding is the the douga is the final line art, transferred onto the cel, and that is the only thing that you call a douga. A douga is the 1:1 match to its cels in a sequence. With an anime like Utena, it's pretty often going to be included with the cel, if you obtain one. These are douga, the final line art that creates the animation, scans donated by JadeSabre and edited into sequence. The frames are numbered in the top right, and there are no notes or anything drawn on the sheets.

Now. That is NOT what I have above. So none of these materials are douga, they are...genga? Help? (This will get wild with Nanami, where I even have a green sketch that is clearly like, VERY FIRST draft of the shot...)

What I have are the key frames, to my understanding. Meaning these represent a point much earlier in the production process. On first glance, the white sheets are significantly cleaner, but they are also so far off model they're flying along with the Voyager probes in interstellar space. They're very capably drawn, don't get me wrong, but they're clearly done by someone who is not on the Dorito face bandwagon. This is apparently pretty common? You get your initial key frame sketches (genga??) made, and then the animation direction (Hayashi??) grades your work by making messier, but more on model versions of the shots. These are the yellow 'correction' genga?

The douga of this shot are likely with the cels. There are 11 distinct cels of Touga's face (others for the sleeve), guided by the 4 key frame sketches I have here. Looked at individually, I can even see where the filled in frames struggle a bit more to be on model than the key ones, even in the final product.

So clearly, what I have are some pretty early process materials where there was a bit of a back and forth about how to draw the characters. The others I have are similar corrections, but this is the absolute most drastic one. It's like they said 'just do it like kinda shoujo and we'll iron it out later.'

The question I have is...can I safely assume these yellow correction sheets are actually Akemi Hayashi originals? Or would there have been another person in this process doing this correction work instead? Would there be a way to know who drew the original ?genga? That may not be possible to ascertain, but it would be really cool to try, since this episode was a Chaos Production, since I have the actual storyboard for it, since I now have a neat piece of context about what the Chaos might have meant. This shot always stuck out to me in the first arc, because it's true that for a lot of the first arc, Touga and Saionji look....far more like the first drafts here. The strict adherence to the Hasegawa style gets enforced later in the series, but this is an example of the exchange that needed to occur to get folks on board with what was a pretty unique art style.

PS. This is torture, the shape of these means I actually need to make two scans of each one and stitch them together, which is nervewracking when you want them to overlap properly and also you don't want to wreck your toilet paper ass production materials pressing them into the scanner bed. Also several are fucking taped together and lemme tell you, 25 year old 'clear tape' don't stay clear and don't stay sticky.

Basically, any context or knowledge anyone can impart I would appreciate a lot! I know I've got something really cool here, but I am struggling to get much clear information about it, because Google is broken.

[crookedteethed]

WORLD'S sluttiest assistant | r.c.

[warning] 18+ smut (pinv), oral (m receiving) face fucking, language, abuse of power, degradation, dubcon, porn with little plot, mentions of spit, Dacryphilia

You were always told to knock before entering Mr. Cameron's office, no matter the circumstances.

You wait for his response, your body shaking, not only because of the piping hot coffee (a request from Mr. Cameron) burning your hand but also the fear you feel for whatever lies behind the door in front of you because you know you had fucked up, bad.  

"Come in." you hear him say. His tone rich in annoyance, but what else was new?

You entered his office on his command a wobbling mess.

"Y-your coffee, sir. One black coffee. No sugar or cream.”

You didn't mean to stuttter, it was just something you often found yourself doing in the presence of your boss.

It was his cold cerulean stare that always made you feel so small.

As you walked the coffee to his desk, you made sure to watch your ever step--because even the slightest thing could tick off your boss.

When you placed the coffee on his desk, Rafe was quick to take it, taking one long sip from it. He let out a pleased sigh when he was done.

Then you watched as he stood up from his desk, walked to his glass cabinets, and pulled out a thick cream folder.

Your body tensed as Rafe slowly brought himself to the edge of his desk, nearly inches away from your body.

"Look over this for me." he told you, handing you the cream folder, a condescending smile tugged on his lips.

Instantly, you recognized your work. The same work you did overtime for the night before and left on Rafe's desk.

"What is this?" Rafe asked you when you were done skimming through the folder.

"I-it's the paperwork for our client, Coldwater Creek..." you trail off, unsure whether to continue, as you couldn't tell if this was good news Rafe was hearing or the opposite.

Nonetheless, you continued.

"This paperwork finalizes their demolition process, Sir.”

Rafe hums.

"So, this is the paperwork for Coldwater Creek?" he asked you, which couldn't have been more then a trick question.

You nod anyway.

You watched as Rafe visibly gotten angry, his eyebrows furrowing and is eyes turning wild.

"The same Coldwater Creek we dropped a few weeks ago, correct?”

Rafe stood up from his desk, his tall stature hovering over you like a skyscraper; it was right then that you wanted to kick yourself in the teeth, realizing you had settled the wrong paperwork for the wrong company.

You felt yourself get teary eyed, tears piled up in your tear ducts just waiting to be released.

Rafe continued. "Do you know how pissed the President of Coldwater Creek was to find out one of his branches had gotten demolished by our wrecking crew, Y/n? He'd threaten to sue."

It was the anger in his demeanor but the lack of it in Rafe's tone that made the first tear slip down your cheek.

"Jesus Christ, what are you crying for? This affects me more than it does you." He smacks his teeth.

He sighs.

"You can stop crying because I talked Mr. Cobblestone down, luckily, and he won't sue. However, this means that Cameron Development now has to build a free property for a company that owes us money. Like, Wow, Y/n, do you know what you have done?" He sounds astonished.

"I don't mean to sound rude when I ask you this, but, what the fuck? Are you that much of an idiot, Y/n?" He asks you.

You couldn't tell if he really wanted you to answer the question, but even if you could, you couldn't as you been a standing crying mess in front of him.

"Can you stop fucking crying!" He shouted for the first time, which ironically made you cry even more.

"Shit." Rafe gritted, palming himself. "Get on your fucking knees, now." He commanded, pushing you down by your shoulders and fumbling with his belt buckle and pushing down his slacks.

Rafe doesn't let you process what is even happening before taking your face and slamming his cock down your throat--all nine inches of him, causing a gag to elicit from your mouth. 

A forceful tear escapes from your closed eyes as Rafe brings your head as close as possible to his body to where his cock is pressed deep into the back of your throat.

He stays like this for a moment, sighing and relishing in the feeling of your warm, wet, pathetic mouth taking him whole. 

You stared up at him with pleading, teary eyes--with the occasional "GAK!" that would irrupt from your mouth. 

Then suddenly, Rafe begins getting himself off with your mouth. 

"Fuck, that's it, honey." He cooed, with a fist full of your hair bobbing back and forth. 

"D-do you know how bad this makes my company look, Y/n?" Rafe continued the conversation as if you weren't gagging on his cock right now. 

"Do you have any idea how bad this makes me look?”

Nothing in life could have prepared you for this very moment--giving your boss a bj while he yells at you about how much you'd fuck up. 

You hated yourself for how much you liked this.

Your cunt was dripping by the minute. 

"This makes me and my company look unprofessional. When people think of Cameron Development, they think of me, not a bimbo slut like you." Rafe told you, each thrust growing aggressive.

"Any little fuck up you do, will always get pinned back to me." He said through gritted teeth. "Do you understand that?" 

As Rafe continues to face fuck you, your jaw begins to grow sore, and you can't help but notice the saliva that drips down your chin. 

"Dicks got your tongue? Didn't you hear me?" Rafe had gripped your head. "I said, do you understand me?"

Why did he have to make it so hard on you? 

Pathetically, you nod, hoping he will give you a break. But to your dismay, Rafe said:

"I don't think you do understand me, Y/n. I guess I'll have to show you." 

And before you knew it, Rafe was lifting and bending you over the edge of his glass desk. 

The cool touch of the glass against your skin sent shivers down your spine as he tore through your tights with an almost animalistic urgency.

You could feel the adrenaline building as you surrendered to the moment.

It wasn't long until Rafe was shoving you to the brim with his cock.

Rafe's movements were primal and his grip on your hips were firm, yet possessive, as he held you in place.

Skin-on-skin slapping and quick breaths filled the room.

The sensation of the deep drag of Rafe's thick cock penetrating inside of your cunt had you blurring the lines between pain and ecstasy. 

You could feel the tension building, a delicious pressure that threatened to overwhelm you.

Now and then, Rafe would either degrade you about how much of a dumb slut you were or praise you for having such a tight cunt--which would only add to the tension building in your core. 

It was when you began meeting Rafe with his thrust did he stop insulting you and started focusing on one thing: his sweet release in your cunt. 

With each meeting of your hips, the intensity grew, and Rafe's focus sharpened. His breaths became ragged, and the primal urgency in his movements spoke volumes more than words ever could.

The heat was building up inside of you.

Rafe's grip tightened around your waist, guiding you to match his pace, urging you to meet him thrust for thrust.

With each thrust, Rafe's focus deepened, his eyes locked onto your heart shaped ass with intensity.

As the tension reached its peak, you felt yourself teetering on the brink, the world around you blurring into a whirlwind of pleasure.

Rafe's movements became more urgent, his breaths more frantic, and you knew he was close and the thought of his release sent a thrill through you, pushing you closer to your own climax.

In that moment, nothing else mattered as both you and Rafe came undone.

Rafe's urgent thrusts drove you both to the edge, and as he lost himself in the depths of pleasure, you felt the wave of your climax crashing over you.

It was a powerful release, a culmination of desire that left you breathless and trembling.

And like every time after you had fucked, Rafe was in such a hurry to act like nothing had happened. 

By the time you could strengthen yourself and fix your tattered and bunched clothing, Rafe had already been at his desk and typing away on his laptop, finishing up his coffee. 

And just as you were leaving his office, Mr. Cameron told you: 

"I've seen enough of you today; take the rest of the day off, and come back with your head screwed on right tomorrow."

[ballroamblitz]

caramel pie | J.P

summary: james smells caramel pie on the amortentia potion

james potter x fem!reader

word count: 3.750 content: teeth rotting fluff, angst warnings: crying, reader blushes notes: one thing about me is i love me some amortentia fic with a side of james fluff ughh also i listened to glue song by beabadoobee while writing this :) p.s i accidentally posted this on my side acc so if anyone wanna be mutuals my main blog is @beastofbrden :)

- Someone please, kindly remind me why I decided that continuing Herbology after the O.W.Ls was a good idea? - Y/N huffed out, sitting at the Gryffindor table for lunch.

The four boys sitting around her laughed. 

- Learned a lot today, uh? - Sirius asked, ironically. 

- Oh yeah, loads! We had to feed toad flesh to those terrible toad-eating plants. For some reason, mine just didn't feel like eating it without regurgitating it all back on me! 

The boys went hysterics, and even the girl couldn't help but laugh along. 

- There's still a little piece there - James pointed. - Here, let me take it out for you.

He took out a small chunk of toad flesh off her hair. 

- Well, may I remind you, Y/N, that no one told you to keep up with Herbology. We all dipped from it while we could and no one else has pieces of toad on our hair - Sirius noted, clearly getting a good laugh out of the girl's toad disaster.

- I just didn't want to hurt Sprout's feelings! 

She sighed and brushed her hair with her fingers, only then looking at the food in front of her.

- Merlin, I'm starving! Could eat anything right now.

- Even toad? - Remus joked, sending the group on another laughing crisis.

By the time of dessert, Y/N started scanning the table for something. Clearly not finding it, her panic started showing. 

- Oh no. Where's the caramel pie? 

- They didn't serve any today - James replied, needing all the strength on his body to stay deadpanned. The other three boys were deep in conversation, and him being the one sitting closer to Y/N (as always) only he noticed the girl's agitation. 

- What??? What do you mean they didn't serve any? In the six years I've been here they never not served it and I can't believe they chose today to…

- I'm just joking - James pulled a plate that was hidden behind the steak pudding, smiling playfully at the girl - Saved it for ya.

- James! I would go mad if they stopped serving this pie, y'know! - she let out a relieved breath. 

- Nah, don't worry. They will keep serving it, or I would fight the elfs for ya. 

- One day I’ll hide your figgy pudding, then we’ll see.

- You wouldn’t dare, missy.

James watched with a soft look on his eyes as the girl took the first bite of her favorite dessert.

- Thank you for saving me a piece, Jamie - she leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment to show gratitude. When she got closer, he smelled the vanilla scent of her hair and the caramel pie on her lips.

After lunch, the five went straight to Slughorn's classroom. 

- Good evening, dears, good evening! Now if you could get up and get closer, I want to show you something!

The whole class shifted near the table Slughorn was sitting behind. 

- Here, we have a very special potion. - He pointed towards a bubbling caldron full of a crystal clear liquid - Very tricky to make, very characteristic and perhaps one of the most dangerous we can brew. Can anyone tell me it's name?

Y/N's hand rose in the air.

- Yes, ms. Y/L/N. 

- It's Amortentia, or simply the love potion. Since true love can't really be produced by any sort of magic, it causes more of a crush or an obsession. 

- Correct. Ten points to Gryffindor! - Slughorn smiled.

- Nerd - James whispered,  messing up Y/N’s hair.

- Sod off, Potter.

- You see, one of the most intriguing things about Amortentia is its scent. Everyone smells something different, because its scent is completely dependent on what each person feels personally attracted to. Now, who wants to come forward and tell me what it smells like? 

No one volunteered. No wonder, since it's a very particular thing to simply say in front of a whole classroom.

- No one? I'll pick someone then. Let me think... - Slughorn scanned the faces around. - Ah! Mr. Potter, you will do. 

James was caught by surprise. He had been distracted by the warmth radiating off Y/N, that was almost resting her head on his chest. 

- Me? - he asked and pointed towards himself.

- Of course you! Is there any other Mr. Potter?

The whole class laughed as James stepped closer, his signature boyish grin splashed on his face. 

- Now Mr. Potter, lean in and smell the potion.

James ran his hands through his hair and did as told. One single sniff and his smile fell off his face completely. The scent was unmistakable: vanilla and caramel pie. Vanilla body cream, caramel pie for dessert, everyday. He had the urge to see if Y/N wasn't standing next to him, but he knew she hadn't moved from across the table. He knew he had to lie. If he said what it smelled like to him, everyone would know it was Y/N's smell.  

- So, Mr. Potter. Whenever you are ready to share. 

He looked at where Y/N was. She was looking at him, just as well as everyone else. She looked relaxed, the potion's glow making her look specially pretty, angel-like. Think of something, fast. Something not at all related to what you are really smelling, something like...

- It’s wood and broomstick polisher.

- Very well then Mr. Potter. Looks like you've got a thing for Quidditch, uh?

The class laughed, and everyone looked convinced. James Potter, Quidditch captain, smelling broomstick polisher and wood? Fitting. James high-fived himself for his quick thinking, and let out a relieved sight. Now, no one would go around thinking the wrong things. 

Later that night, in the common room, however, the potions class was almost burning a hole through James' head. Slughorn said Amortentia smelled of what attracted each person the most.  Attraction was romantic, sexual attraction. But Slughorn had been pretty vague, hadn't he? He could've meant attraction in any context. It could mean anything. It could mean platonic love, right? If Slughorn didn't think much of James smelling Quidditch, it probably meant it could smell of anything the person liked a lot, right? But it was a love potion. That caused passion. And Slughorn said he had a thing for Quidditch. A thing. But he didn't have a thing for Y/N! He loved her, of course. Everyone knew she was his best friend, they did everything together and she was probably his favorite person in the world. Yeah, maybe he went to extreme lengths to see her happy, and yeah, maybe he was a bit too affectionate with her, but she was his best friend.

- Can't do homework anymore. - James was ripped off his thoughts by Y/N's presence. She threw her backpack at the ground in front of the sofa he was in and layed down - My brain feels like mush.

James looked at her. Her head was resting on his lap, and she looked extremely comfortable. That was obvious, since they always had been this affectionate towards each other. They both were very touchy people, and it felt natural to be in constant physical contact. James was always happy, eager even, to be like this with her. In a platonic way. Obviously. Today, however, her skin on his felt like it burned. 

- How was it? - James asked, coughing to conceal the way his voice failed a bit in the first word.

- Homework? Awful. It's not that difficult, but it's too much. And it just seems pointless, you know? What will I actually learn from writing 19 inches about toad eating plants? Nothing, I tell you what! - The girl sighed and closed her eyes again - Just wanna go to sleep, really.

He didn't know what to answer. He normally would have made a joke about the plants, added more criticism about essays or something. But he didn’t even do his homework, with how paranoid he was. For the first time ever, he was completely speechless in her presence. Her eyelashes were resting peacefully on her pink cheeks. The light from the fireplace made her skin look more flushed, and her hair had a golden glow to it. She looked awfully pretty. James knew that, of course. She had always been pretty. But tonight.. when she moved her head a little bit, he smelled the amortentia smell. Vanilla and caramel pie, just as strong as it was that afternoon. 

- You are way too quiet today, Jamie. - She opened her eyes and he felt something weird in the pit of his stomach  - Ate too much pudding? 

- Yeah, probably. 

She stretched and yawned, sending another wave of vanilla and caramel pie to James' nostrils. 

- Going to bed - she got up. Her hair was messy and the light from the fireplace behind her looked like a halo. - Night, Jamie.

She lowered herself and pecked his cheek lightly. 

- Sleep well - her soft voice was way too close to his ear, turning James' legs into jelly. 

He watched her going up the stairs to the dormitory, and the place she had kissed burned long after she was gone. 

He had no reason to be this nervous for the potions class the next morning. Slughorn had already moved on from amortentia, since it was a difficult, dangerous and time-consuming potion to make, but James was half hoping the potion would be brought up again, and half hoping everyone would collectively forget about it completely. Slughorn didn't mention the potion again, moving on directly to Felix Felicis. He watched the whole class on the edge of his seat. He had decided he would ask the teacher about the potion just to calm himself down. Just to make sure. Everyone had been really concentrating on making the best draught of living death the whole period, but James just wanted the class to end so he could ask Slughorn and stop eating himself alive.  

- Alright, alright. Congratulations mr. Snape on your draught. Truly outstanding! - Slughorn said, raising a round of applause - Class dismissed!

Everyone started to gather their backpacks and leave, but James made sure to stay back. He pretended to be very interested in a weird type of algae that Slughorn kept in a little ampoule. Just a few more moments and then he'll say that no, I don't have romantic feelings for Y/N and that i just really like caramel pie or something, and then i'll stop going mental... 

- Gillyweed. - Slughorn’s voice dragged James off of his daydreams 

- Uh? - James frowned in confusion, wondering what the teacher was talking about.

- The algae you're looking at, Mr. Potter. Gillyweed. Helps the person breathe underwater. 

- Oh, yeah, right. Professor Slughorn, I was wondering if I could ask you something.

- Sure, my boy, ask away - Slughorn encouraged while distractingly stacking some parchments.

- I was wondering… about the Amortentia potion.

Slughorn stopped his movements and lifted his eyes directly to James. 

- Oh, I see - He looked very amused, for some reason. - What were you wondering?

- Let's just say a friend of mine smells it and it reminds him of someone. It could smell like someone he just truly cares about, couldn't it? Like, it doesn't necessarily mean he's in love with the person that the scent reminds him of, right? 

Slughorn's lopsided smile grew bigger.

- I'm afraid, no, my boy. 

- What? - James felt like the classroom got three times smaller and hotter by the minute - But I smelled wood and polishing oil, and I'm not in love with a broom, am i? 

- Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter... - Slughorn chuckled. - I think we both know you didn't smell any of that. 

James felt his face getting warm and red. 

- But, if you did, that would mean you have a crush on a Quidditch player, let's just put it like that. Amortentia is a very strong love potion, and we can only smell things in it that romantically attract us very deeply. Those of us that aren't in love with anyone would smell something quite abstract. But if this friend of yours smelled amortentia and recognized the scent as someone's, then boy do I have news for him. Does this answer your question? 

      - Hm, yeah, sure. - James agreed. He felt like he was gonna fall down from the absurd speed at which his mind was racing. - Thank you, Professor.

- Anytime. - James began to leave, completely out of it. - Oh, and Mr. Potter?

- Yes? - James turned around, hopeful that Slughorn would start laughing and admit he was joking.

- Tell your friend I wish him the best of luck with this new, blossoming love. 

As James went out of the classroom and up into the common room, he deeply regretted not stealing that ampoule of gillyweed and swallowing it whole. That way, he could spend the rest of his days in the black lake with the merpeople. I bet amortentia wouldn't smell like anything down there, he thought. 

For the rest of the week, James spent every waking hour trying to not think about what Slughorn said and what it meant, and he was succeeding. He kept himself busy with classes, Quidditch and even homework. He also did his absolute best to avoid everyone. He ate before anyone else and made sure he was far away from the great hall by the time he knew Y/N and the rest of the Marauders would go down to eat. In classes, he sat very distant and left early. He even pulled some pranks he didn't even feel like pulling on Filch to get detention in the nights he couldn't schedule Quidditch practices. He walked the halls in the invisibility cloak. Anything to keep his thoughts away from the big fire alarm going off inside his head. The only problem was that he missed Y/N in all of those moments. When he was doing homework, he missed the sound of Y/N's pen scratching the parchment next to him. While he ate, he missed the warmth of her body next to his, the satisfaction humming while she ate her pie . He missed laying down together after homework. He missed seeing her on the stands at practice. He even realized that the real fun in pranks wasn't the actual thing, but to see Y/N laughing hysterically afterwards. To put it quite simply, it felt like he was sleep walking all the time. He couldn’t go on avoiding her forever, but what he was gonna do, he had positively no idea.

Until Friday night.

It was late, and he had been in detention. Filch had made him write “I shall not turn the school’s trophies into pigeons” a hundred times, and his hand was hurting from all the repetitive writing. Normally, he would have complained, but this time, he was glad for the distraction. Enjoying detention, he thought bitterly while crossing the fat lady, I must be really going mad. His grouchy thoughts were interrupted by a sound. It sounded like.. crying. Or better yet, it sounded like someone was sobbing their heart out. He looked around the empty common room, but didn’t see anyone. He followed the sound to the sofa near the fireplace, where he and Y/N always rest after studying. Before you turned into a chicken. 

Y/N was laid on the sofa, her face buried in a cushion, her whole body shaking with her sobs. James was flooded with panic.

- Y/N, baby, what happened? - he cooed, his voice altered with anxiety. Y/N never cried, except when something very serious happened.

Y/N looked up like she thought she was seeing visions. 

- Jamie? - her voice was soft and shaky, her eyes were puffy and bloodshot red, like she had been crying for multiple hours. The hurt on her eyes broke James’ heart in a thousand pieces. 

His mind raced with possibilities: maybe someone was mean to her? Maybe someone died? Maybe she was hurt? The thought of her being in pain panicked him even further. He sat down and pushed her into his lap, laying her head on his shoulder. 

- Are you hurt, baby? Where does it hurt? Please, tell me. 

She cried violently on his shoulder. He inspected her legs for bruises, but she seemed well physically. 

- Y/N, tell me what’s wrong, I can’t stand to see you like this - he begged. -  Did someone hurt you?

The question seemed to trigger something on the girl, because suddenly she was on her feet, out of his arms. 

- Did someone hurt me? Seriously? - the tears streamed down her face, but her eyes glimmered with something new: anger.

James was confused, to say the least. He noticed that she was wearing one of his old sweaters, one that had vanished from his suitcase a few weeks ago. 

- Baby...- he begged some more.

She looked as if he had twisted a knife on her wound.

- Don’t you dare “baby” me, James. Not after ignoring me like the plague for a whole week! 

Oh. Oh. James had been so involved with his own confusion regarding the amortentia incident that he forgot almost completely that Y/N didn’t know what he was doing, or why. She was crying because he hurt her feelings. That was a lot worse than if she was crying because of another person: he could’ve gone out to kick said jerk’s ass. But if he hurt her, what was he supposed to do? Punch himself? 

-Y/N - he cooed, apologetically. - Y/N, I…

She showed him her palm, urging him to stop talking.

- You don’t have to explain wanting to be away from me. I’m sure you had your reasons. But you could have at least told me that you wanted some space from me, or something, because I’ve been miserable, and…

She thought he wanted space from her. The sorrowful shaky breath that escaped her lips mid-sentence threw him over the edge. 

- No, no, no… - he repeated while pushing her back into his lap - Oh my god, Y/N, no…

He caressed her hair while she sobbed violently on his shoulder. Her fists were closed tightly on his shirt, her tears dampened his neck, and he couldn’t recall the last time his heart ached this badly.

- Did I do something? Did I bother you? I’m so sorry.. - she whispered softly, like she was voicing what had been repeating in her head over and over again during the last few days. Her words were laced with anger, resentment, but, above all, hurt. He wanted to double over in pain.

- Listen - James lifted her chin up gently, forcing her to look into his eyes. - I’m the one who’s sorry. 

The tears kept coming, but she was listening.

- I shouldn’t have avoided you last week, and it’s not your fault, okay? It’s my fault. I’m the one who got scared. 

She looked confused.

- Scared? Of me? 

James would have to confess what happened at Slughorn’s class. He had given zero thought about his messy feelings, and even though unraveling them in front of Y/N scared him endlessly, he would have to do it, because he could never let her think that he wanted space from her. That he wanted anything but to be close to her, at all times, if he could. 

- Please - she asked, incisively, noticing his wariness. - Tell me.

He took a deep breath, feeling vulnerable, raw. As if he would undress himself fully in front of her.

- Remember Slughorn’s class about amortentia? - Y/N nodded, encouraging him to move on - He asked me to smell it, right, and I…

- You said it smelled like broom polisher. 

- Well, yes. But I lied. - he decided to avert his gaze to the ceiling, or else he would never talk. - It was caramel pie and vanilla cream. So, I smelled… you.

Silence. A moment, two. He couldn’t muster the courage to look at the girl. He felt her hand grazing his cheek, urging him to look at her.. 

- Jamie… - She looked wonderstruck, and his heart seemed like it wanted out of his chest - Really?

- Really.

James was sure he’d never seen something as beautiful as Y/N after his response. She was smiling the biggest, most shiny smile he had ever seen on her face. Her eyes shined like gemstones at him, so soft he wanted to cry.

- Do you want to know what I smelled? - she asked, soft as a feather. 

His heart somersaulted when she brought her face closer to the side of his neck. She whispered on his ear:

- I smelled… - She sniffed his neck once - Sandalwood - another sniff, followed by a chuckle  - Broomstick polisher…

She distanced herself, looking deep into his eyes.

- And homework parchment. And fireplace naps. And figgy pudding.

His heart was hammering against his ribcage. Y/N smelled him. On the amortentia potion. Him.

- Y/N - James whispered, all warm and fuzzy on the inside. - Really?

She didn’t answer, just grabbed his hand, the warmth and softness of her skin overwhelming his senses. Placed his hand on top of the point of her chest where her heart was. Through the fabric of his shirt, he could feel her heart beating faster than a hummingbird's. She never unglued her soft eyes from his. 

She likes him. Suddenly, all the thoughts he had been avoiding throughout the week came crashing down on him, like a dam.

James was an affectionate friend. He liked physical touch. But he never liked it half as much as he did with her. James was a thoughtful friend. He remembered things about his friends. But he remembered every single thing about her. He was a sensitive friend. He hated to see his friends suffering. But every time he saw her cry, it was like his heart was being crushed. James was an attentive friend. He loved spending time with friends. But when he was away from her, he couldn’t even function properly, like he was missing one half of him. Y/N is his best friend. But she is more, too. He loves her. But there’s something else: he is in love.  Amortentia never lies, after all.

When his hands tangled on Y/N’s hair, he smelled vanilla cream. When he kissed Y/N’s lips, he tasted caramel pie.

[two-white-butterflies]

how can beauty that is living, be anything but true?

Description: Daemon being adored and treated well by his loving wife while they talk about war and its aftermath.

Pairing: daemon targaryen/reader

A/N: quite short.

"I feared the worst when the King sent his letter," you say.

Daemon has always been unpredictable. He did as he pleased, took and took until the entire realm inevitably bent to his desires. "- three years away in war, and not a single word." You glared, seeing him take a step inside of your shared chambers.

Your handmaidens tell you that he returned during the night, and slept in a separate chamber lest he interrupt your sleep.

"I tried to write, my lady, but the enemy would strike our ravens down." He replies, amused. "You should've marched here on foot," you snapped, accepting his reason, but not letting him know.

"Targaryen princes have been taken by fickler things than war." You provided a reminder, but he silences you with a kiss to your forehead. Followed by a silent stare, a reminder that there is nothing in this world that would keep you from him.

"Yet, I am alive." He responds, though there were many nights he spent wishing otherwise. "Barely alive," you corrected. "I've heard rumors." You added with a prolonged sigh. There were at least five different rumors of his death, some say that he was impaled by arrows, hit by dozens of swords, or drowned, never to be seen again.

His expression changes for a second, but he composes himself before you even notice. "Rumors are skewed versions of the truth." He wraps his arms around your body, inhaling your scent that he has forgotten after three years smelling only sea and sand. "- but they still hold somewhat of a truth." You hiss.

"You promised me that if anything were to happen to you, that you'd return immediately." You held that promise above his head.

"Dragons don't run with their tails in between of their legs," he argues. "So, you were hurt in battle?" You raised an eyebrow.

You were aware of his duties, that he couldn't abandon them easily, but he could've at least whispered information about his welfare. "A scratch compared to the soldiers who will never return to their families," he answered the question without answering the question.

"What happened, Daemon?" your voice turns sweet at the utterance of his name. "Arrows, fire, swords, and a couple wounds to remember them by." He still refuses to tell you the whole truth. "Show me," you plead. Something behind his eyes shifts. His pupils become watery, almost leaking tears - but your husband does not cry.

He'd rather hide his sorrows behind a mask of cold callousness.

He does not take his eyes away from yours. He focuses on your features, your eyes, your lips, your nose - features that he's engraved in the back of his head to save him from the brutal pictures that unfolded in front of him during battle.

He gently unbuttons his tunic. He takes your hand and places it on the healed skin. A wound that spanned from his shoulder down to his stomach diagonally. "All I could think about while fighting that battle was how stupid my brother and his hand are for believing that I want to supplant Rhaenyra and claim his throne as mine." Daemon laughs.

"Men like that, my lady, those who sit on iron thrones know nothing about war. Soldiers die on the battlefield to ensure our safety, to ensure that our stone castles remain fortified against invaders. They know nothing of the mothers and wives that have lost their sons and husbands. I scorn my brother, I really do." He whispers, lest anyone except you hears his confession.

"I cannot even imagine the depths of your sorrow, lord husband." Your eyebrows merged together, wrapping him in a warm embrace. "I made it mine advocacy to return home. I could not bear to think of your sadness. Young, very beautiful and widowed." He breathes.

"I love you, Daemon."

"Likewise, my lady."

[songmingisthighs]

Pitiful, You're Pitiful

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ch. v

group : ateez

pairing : aged up!wooyoung × aged up!reader

genre : angst, mature

word count : 5.2 k

warning : adultery, cheating, negative depiction of wooyoung, name calling, (y/n) finally growing a damn spine frfr

a/n : i'm finally updating this oh my god has it been so damn long I am saw sawrey for skipping updating in july. let's hope I can update twice on September or just not forget to update in september lmaoooooo i

buy me coffee ?

Ever since that day at the hospital, you felt like you've been living your life on autopilot. Scratch that, it felt like you were just watching your life happening like a movie. You couldn't quite feel anything and it was as if life's choices were already made for you.

Oh yeah. Choices.

As if that word meant anything to you.

You were reluctant to go back to see Wooyoung at the hospital as he had once again been put on a 24-hour observation period because he had exhibited signs of mental distraught on top of his back pain. Ironic. Your plan was to pack some of his shit up, throw it at him and tell him that he could finally go live with his whore and just make an exit from his life and maybe for once you could work your children into your decision instead of it going the other way.

But of course, life had a different plan because the devils must be making snowmen in hell.

Once your children were made aware of the situation their father was in (all thanks to San, one of Wooyoung's partners who struck up a conversation with Dayoung when he came by the house to drop off some things Wooyoung had requested from earlier in the morning), they immediately asked to be taken to him. At that moment you wanted to tell them that it wouldn't be possible since you and Wooyoung were splitting or separating or whatever the correct term was. But seeing their distraught face and hearing them beg you broke your heart, it was obvious that you couldn't break their hearts at that moment. So you relented, you took them to the hospital the next day, allowing them to skip school against your better judgment. You can see how stereotypes about children being spoiled after their parents divorced came to be.

Wooyoung was honestly surprised to see you through his door. He had thought that you would never show your face again but there you stood in front of him, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. But before he could say anything (nothing you wanted to hear anyway), you raised a hand and told him the situation, including the fact that your children knew nothing and that you weren't planning on telling them until the two of you could sit them down together and have a proper discussion when the time is right, so until then, you promised to remain civil as long as he promised to do the same and also not involve his affair partner with their children yet. Wooyoung attempted to protest because he felt like he needed to let you know that he was well on his way to breaking up with her before the incident and he had even told her to not come to the hospital and to not visit him at all. Unfortunately, you didn't want to hear what he had to say and you simply opened the door to let your children in, rushing to their father with tears in their eyes from being so worried.

During the whole visit, you stayed in the far corner, looking at your children interacting with their father for a good hour before you suddenly left the room. You came back with one of Wooyoung's gigantic Prada travel bags, plopping it on his bed before instructing your children that their dad needed to rest. They had attempted to bargain with you, telling you that they weren't going to school anyway so it wouldn't hurt if they were to stay and take care of their father. It astounded you that Wooyoung had the audacity to tell them that they'd have plenty of time with him when he come home. It was one of the rare times your anger took over you but you let slip that Wooyoung would not come home with you. You immediately regretted saying that.

"What do you mean dad's not coming home with us? He's sick, mom," Dayoung scoffed, tightening her grip on Wooyoung's arm angrily. Still, you stood your ground, "I... Am not equipped to care for a sick man. He hurt his back again after three weeks of me taking care of him so obviously someone else could take care of him," you cleverly took a jab at the bitch he had been with and Wooyoung was well aware of it as seen from the way his face grew red and his eyes started to well up with tears. Unfortunately for you, Woohyun saw this and he immediately climbed up to his dad's bed, frantically wiping his tears, "Daddy don't cry!" he whimpered, and he too started tearing up seeing his dad with tears in his eyes and seeing how much his son loved him, Wooyoung started crying as well, overwhelmed from the way his children cared for him which pushed his guilt into its maximum level because he had finally realized the other people he had hurt with his inexcusable decision.

You were very much aware of why Wooyoung was crying and again, you couldn't help but let your feelings overtook you as you rolled your eyes. Dayoung, seeing you reacting the way you did, took a big offence since she had clearly seen you with Yunho and based off of the wrong conclusion she drew, she took your behaviour as you trying to leave Wooyoung for his own friend. But of course, she couldn't reveal her knowledge just yet.

"Mom, how could you be so cruel?" she spat, "I swear, if something happens to dad because you wouldn't take him in because you're so selfish, I will never forgive you," she declared.

And that was how you ended up spending the next 4 days sleeping on the couch with Wooyoung sleeping in your bed. The man who broke your heart slowly started to break your back in a new way, a way unlike he had done a long time ago. The time when you both were still in love. The time when it was all still good.

"Thank you."

A voice broke you out of your trance and when you looked around, you saw Wooyoung leaning against the bathroom door, looking somewhat bashfully at the floor before his eyes moved to yours from the mirror. Unfortunately for him, you immediately shifted your gaze to the pile of towels you were folding and storing into the cabinet.

"For letting me stay here," he finished, offering you a small smile as a gesture of goodwill as if you were expecting him to thank you. You'd very much like to say that his gesture meant nothing to you and that you no longer felt anything for him. What's more infuriating was the smile he gave you was still the mirror image of the boyish grin that managed to charm you into trying yourself to him, it was the same boyish grin that made your stomach flutter even at that moment, despite him hurting you and betraying you. You hated it. You hated him for making you feel like that and you hated yourself for letting yourself feel like that.

You cleared your throat, willing yourself to hold your emotions at bay despite feeling like breaking down out of sadness and frustration. "Don't thank me, Wooyoung," Wooyoung felt his stomach drop from the way you called his name out and it instinctively made him swallow the lump in his throat, "If you must thank anyone, thank your children. Particularly your daughter whom I'd have to admit is quite the master extortionist and manipulator, I'd wonder more about where she inherited those traits if I'm not more concerned that she has what it takes to be a politician one day," you said, avoiding looking at Wooyoung with absolute determination which hurt him but he had to admit he absolutely deserved. But he didn't want to push his pity party on you so he swallowed his feelings and stepped into the bathroom, "You... I don't think the couch would be a very comfortable place to sleep in and you've been at it for four days so," you cut him off with a scoff, "I can say with absolute confidence that the couch was very uncomfortable for several good night's rest, especially considering the fact that after the torture, I still have to cater to your children and also you." That time you really wanted to drive in the hostility to let him know that you definitely did not let him stay out of the goodness of your heart. "Well you could've joined me in our bed," he sighed, saying the words as if he didn't know what he was saying and the gravity of it all.

But if he was oblivious to his words then the glare you gave him once you turned around conveyed all the feelings you reserved for him. "You know damn well why I couldn't have, Wooyoung," you spat, shoving the towels into the cabinet harshly as you sped up your work so you could get out of the room faster. "We might be fighting and all, (y/n) but if it's costing you your rest and your wellbeing then-" "Fighting? You think we're-" You held yourself from screaming at him and pushed past him to peek outside, wanting to make sure that neither one of your kids were nearby to hear the conversation. Wooyoung took this as you leaving the room to not talk to him so he was surprised when you turned back to push him inside the bathroom, this time with you near the door.

"Get this into your head, Wooyoung, we didn't fight, we didn't have a disagreement, it wasn't a misunderstanding between us, you fucking CHEATED on me with the first doe-eyed slut bitch who was willing to open her legs and break up a family probably because she was just so stupid and deluded enough to think that she could make her own family with you, so no, I couldn't share that bed or other beds or any other surface where one could rest on with you because you have ruined me, Wooyoung, you have ruined our marriage, and you have ruined my inner peace so all you could do now is get the fuck better so I can either kick you out or leave without being manipulated by anyone just because you're physically injured when I'm absolutely dead. You killed me, you killed my soul. You and that whore." you spat before turning and leaving him in the bathroom as quickly as you could so he couldn't stop you. Tears were brimming in his eyes as he let the words you hurled at him pierce his heart but he couldn't even complain. After all, he hurt you a million times worse so he had no excuse for himself.

You rushed to the kitchen, the only place you could think of to cool down and not just because you downed a tall glass of iced water that did nothing for your anguish. To make things worse, as you were still trying to calm yourself, your daughter came strolling in on her phone, being absolutely clueless over your distress.

"Hey Mom, can we order that soup from that place Dad likes for dinner? He seems rather down and y'know... Flimsy lately, I just want him to get his strength back."

Oh, how you wanted to ask her why she cared so much for her dad but she couldn't spare common decency to you. By all means you were not a vindictive person nor were you petty. But God, at that moment you wanted to turn around and ask her, "What about me? What about what I like? What about what I need? What about how I've been broken for months now because your father is a cheating son of a bitch?" Unfortunately, you were not your husband. You were not selfish. You were too good even to those who had betrayed you and then some.

"Mom?" She called, an eyebrow raised along with her face from her phone when she didn't hear you answer her. Sighing, you immediately gather yourself to make your leave quickly, "We can talk about this later, I need to pick up Woohyun from the Academy, his class is ending soon."

Dayoung didn't find that answer acceptable so she pressed, "No way, you'll be gone for a while and if we 'talk' about it later, Dad would have to wait to eat and that would be bad for someone who's sick!" "I really can't talk right now sweetie, I promise I just need to go now," you said, turning around to make your leave only to see Dayoung in your way, glaring at you. "Why are you rushing to go to the Academy?" It was such a confusing question because while the answer is easy and you were sure she even knew but her tone made it seem like she was alluding to another meaning. You opened your mouth to answer but she beat you to it, "Who are you rushing to see, Mom? Is it Uncle Yunho? Are you rushing so you could spend more time with him? Perhaps you're hoping to get more hugs from him or maybe something more?" The accusation dropped on you like a thousand tons and your jaw slacked from surprise, "Mind your tone, young lady. What are you trying to say?" "I saw you and Uncle Yunho hugging in front of our house. Mind telling me what all of that was?"

In your daughter, you saw a glimpse of your husband and it infuriated you. Her defiance, her stubbornness, her instinct to pursue the truth. While all of that might be good in life when applied properly, you couldn't help but be sure that your girl had crossed a line with you.

"I don't need to talk to you about that and you don't need to know more than the fact that it was nothing, it was between me and my friend and your tone is disrespectful so I would suggest you drop this attitude RIGHT NOW," you didn't mean to sound so harsh and you felt bad when Dayoung's bottom lip quivered before she dashed out of the kitchen, going God knows where. A tired sigh escaped your lips, you truly were under a lot of pressure and even though you were stressed, even though you were emotional, you shouldn't have snapped at your daughter like that. You knew you had to make it up to her but at that moment, you really do need to go get Woohyun so you simply grabbed your bag and your keys and left the house.

Meanwhile, Wooyoung jumped slightly when Dayoung came barging into his room, huffy and her face all red. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion seeing her in such a state. "Dayoung, what ha-" "How do you stand her?" she asked, cutting Wooyoung off. "What?" "How can you stand Mom? She's such a bitch," she hissed, wiping the tears off her cheek.

Wooyoung was taken aback at the language Dayoung used to describe you. "Hey, don't talk about your mother like that," Wooyoung scolded, voice firm and he stood up from his bed, "I didn't raise you to use such language on your mom." "But she IS a bitch!" Dayoung screeched, "You don't know what she's been doing behind your back, Dad. God, she's so manipulative, you don't even know!" Wooyoung felt his body vibrate with anger because he couldn't let his own daughter talk about you like that. "You drop this, Jung Dayoung, you drop this right now because you don't know what you're talking about and I'm not willing to listen to you talk smack about your own mother," he warned in a low voice. Usually, when Wooyoung spoke to her like this, Dayoung would drop it and say sorry, wanting to go back to her dad's good graces. But not this time, not when she felt that her father had been wronged by you. "Oh Dad, believe me, I know A LOT of stuff. For example, I know that there is stuff going on between Mom and Uncle Yunho," Dayoung said pointedly.

There was something that was like a tug on his heart hearing your name and Yunho's in a sentence that was put in such a way. But he knew that you were not like that and his daughter shouldn't talk about her own mom like that. "Jung Dayoung, I'm warning you, drop this right now," he sternly said. Despite seeing the seriousness in her dad's eyes, Dayoung pressed on, "You don't think I noticed that there's something going on between you two this past couple of months? The tension is palpable and don't even get me started on Mom sleeping on the couch and saying that it was because you needed the space to heal. WAKE UP DAD, MOM'S CHEATING ON YOU!" she yelled out.

"SHE COULDN'T BE CHEATING ON ME BECAUSE I WAS THE ONE WHO CHEATED ON HER!" Wooyoung yelled louder, causing Dayoung to jump back in shock not just because of his volume but also because of the information Wooyoung just revealed. The moment the words left Wooyoung's mouth, it felt like cold water was splashed on him. Harshly. But he couldn't take it back, he couldn't go back from this.

"I... Cheated on your mother... And then she found out. She told me she found out that day I got hurt because..." Wooyoung paused, suddenly deciding that he shouldn't tell Dayoung that he was with his side piece when you found out. Not that it helped because Wooyoung's sudden reluctance to finish his sentence was a dead giveaway. "I was the asshole in this situation and (y/n)- your mother has been sleeping on the couch because she couldn't bear sharing a bed with me but you and Woohyun had asked me to stay so she held it in. She did what she was asked and she did it despite her own personal apprehension. She loves you so much that she'd rather suffer silently rather than disappointing you and Woohyun." The more Wooyoung spoke of your action and about your altruism, the more he realized how much he fucked up by cheating on you. He had gotten everything he wanted from you, heck you put it on a silver, golden, platinum platter stacked over one another and when it got hard for you, when you needed him the most, he took your kindness and love for granted and pursued the suddenly missing 5% from you. He hated himself. And by the look Dayoung gave, it seem like he isn't the only one.

For the first time ever, Dayoung looked at her father with such hurt and disappointment that even Wooyoung could taste the hatred on his tongue.

"So your mother doesn't deserve to be called a bitch because she is far from one. She's a saint for putting you, me, and Woohyun over her own self so you will show her the respect she deserves. The respect we all owe her," he stated firmly but his voice shook around the part about you deserving respect. Wooyoung was sure that no one could think of him lower than he already thought of himself. Though people could easily conduct a poll.

With chest heaving, Dayoung took a step back, then another, then another until she reached the door and her hand reached for the handle, "Don't talk to me like that, I am nothing like you in this equation." As if she couldn't bear another second with her father, Dayoung left the room the same way she came in, by slamming the door. Wooyoung had braced himself to receive backlash but to hear his own daughter harshly stating how she was not like her father truly hurt him. But it was all deserved and he couldn't even complain.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It would appear that the day had been kinder to you than expected because you had planned on postponing coming home late by allowing Woohyun to take his time packing his stuff or taking him out to dinner and maybe get some dinner for Wooyoung and Dayoung at another place. Maybe another city. But as it appears, Woohyun's class ran longer than expected since they had a special guest teacher who came in from another country. Hearing this, you were about to leave the premises to wait in your car or go to a convenience store when you heard Seonghwa, one of Wooyoung's former dance crew mates turned business partner and teacher of the academy, called you up.

"Hey (y/n), how's it going?" He asked, beaming with happiness. Pissed that your friend cheated on me with one of your staff, you thought, "Good, Seonghwa. How are you? How's dating life?" you teased which made him roll his eyes, "Oh shut up, I should have settled down in my late 20s like you told me to. The girls who approach me only approach me because they have daddy issues and I don't know what to do with that information." Still better than my marriage I'd guess, you snarkily added in your head. "I was just about to step out for a bit until Woohyun finished his class, so..." You trailed off, trying to give him the hint that you were trying to get away but it simply went over his head. "Actually, I have some things for Wooyoung to look over, I know he's supposed to be back soon but these are just a couple of plans, budget details, and meeting minutes he can look over to catch up. I was planning to give it myself later tonight but since you're here, would it be okay for me to ask you to give them to him?" he smiled a bit too gleefully for your taste because you were in such a bad state. But you couldn't fault his nonchalance as he was not aware of the situation happening at home. So you nodded at Seonghwa, returning his smile though it wasn't half as genuine as his, "Sure, you can give it to me." "Great, thanks! Wait here, I'll go to the office and get them for you!" Seonghwa then jogged in the direction of the joint office in the back, leaving you at the waiting area where the receptionist is and also other students with their friends and some younger ones with their parents.

"Mrs. Jung?"

That voice froze you not just because you were surprised, but also because that voice was the one voice you didn't want to hear calling for you.

"Mrs. Jung!" Harin called before she jogged over to stand next to you, "Hello, it's nice seeing you again!" she smiled cheerfully which made you want to slap her face as hard as you could but you kept your composure. Even if the inner side of your cheek took the brunt to the point of nearly bleeding. You mustered all of the patience in your body to hum in acknowledgment and gave her the most neutral, polite smile you could give. "A-are you here alone? What are you doing at the Academy?" she asked. What bitch, you were hoping that Wooyoung's here too? And this is his academy that his kids have been part of since before you came here two years ago, I'm welcomed here unlike you in my fucking marriage. "Woohyun," you simply said before you averted your gaze, purposefully turning around in hopes that she'll get the hint and leave you before you maul her like a rabid cat. "I like Woohyun, he's so nice to me," Harin chuckled a bit too innocently for your liking due to the insinuation and the situation, "He always calls me pretty and compliments me. Of course, he's just a generally nice kid because even the other dancers like him. And of course, they also like Dayoung who's just so opinionated and strong and bright. They truly are the mirror image of their dad."

That was fucking it.

"Really!?" you snapped at her with a voice so sharp it should've turned her into ceviche. Harin jumped slightly from the sharpness of your tone as she looked at you in surprise, taking in how you were squinting your eyes at her in disbelief. "I-I'm sorry, wha-" you cut her stupid mouth off, not even wanting to hear her feigning confusion as the why you would react that way considering the fact that she had just acted like she knew your kids enough on top of having the nerve to talk all intimate-like about your husband. "You think you can talk to me that way about MY kids after everything?" "w-w- what did I say? I-I was just saying that I adore them," Harin tried to defend herself but your anger had made it seem like you doubled in size and you were towering over her. "And who do you think you are to adore my children?" it was obvious that you were no longer holding back your anger and while a part of you dreaded this, another felt glad that you were finally able to stand up for yourself. "I know everything, you slut," you sneered, taking a step closer to get a better look at the way her face fell, "I know you've been screwing my husband behind my back. He confirmed it to me."

By then you had caught the attention of the people around and you were sure that they had heard you but you didn't care. You stood over her, watching as she stuttered, looking as stupid as a fish out of water. "What? Nothing to say now? Nothing about my kids being the mirror image of the man you slept with multiple times and even shamelessly claimed to be your husband at the hospital?" you taunted, "You might have skipped this lesson in whore school, but when you see the wife of the man you're screwing, you blush, avert your eyes, and you scurry away like a roach, got it?" maybe you took it a step too far by humiliating her like that but you couldn't help the satisfied look on your face when she stared at you with reddened cheeks and a very displeased look on her face. The crowd gathering around you didn't make things any better for her because they were starting to whisper among themselves and you recognized some of them as the affluent stay-at-home moms whose husbands fall under the stereotypical cheating trope. So hearing you say all of that, they immediately started to look at Harin with disgust, and a small part of you, the evil part that was created due to hurt, took that as a win.

"Mommy?"

You turned around to see Woohyun standing not too far away from you with Seonghwa standing next to him, looking more surprised than your son who just looked concerned. Before you could react, Woohyun rushed to stand in front of you, glaring at Harin who looked at him with guilt. If you didn't know any better, you would've guessed that she was finally facing another innocent person who got affected by her selfishness. But you weren't as willing to consider her to have any semblance of humanity in her.

"Mommy, can we go home now?" Woohyun asked without looking at you but still keeping his glare on Harin. It was obvious to you that he was trying to distract you, trying to get you out of the uncomfortable situation which made you wonder about how much he knew or even understand. But you didn't want to hash it out in such a public place with him so you nodded and took his hand, automatically causing his attention to shift to you. "Yeah, of course, we can go home now sweetie. Have you gotten all of your things?" you asked in a tone so sweet that it caused Harin's spine to tingle from the palpable difference. It didn't help that once Woohyun turned away, he too, sported an innocent smile, nodding along and showing you his things that he had packed.

Turning around with Woohyun in tow, you shot Harin one last glare before stepping to face Seonghwa with a polite smile, "Is that the file you want to give my son of a bitch husband?" Seonghwa felt his knees buckle from fear but he tried his best to stabilize himself and smile at you, "Y-yeah, Wooyo-" The sudden shift to anger on your face when you heard your husband's name almost made Seonghwa shit his pants but he immediately corrected himself, "I-I mean, t-that son of a-a bitch, needs to review this and get back to me a-at, uh... YOUR earliest convenience?" your curtly nodded and offered him a polite smile whilst covering Woohyun's ears, "Thank you Seonghwa, and I'm sorry to have done this confrontation so publicly. It was not ideal but I was pushed to engage and since it's both out in the open and both it and my husband are hypocritical cowards who will not bring this up themselves, can I trust you to report this case to HR and see to it both of them get disciplinary action because it does break the inappropriate relationship rule and not to mention this could open you up to lawsuits should the bitch expand her reach and screw all of you as well? Thank you." Seonghwa immediately nodded his head and he was about to say something to comfort you but you had started your journey out of the academy, leaving Harin in the middle of the room, being pointed and whispered at by the people around, moms, and random people like other dancers and staff. Some had even fished out their phones and began to type away and Harin could only imagine that it was about her.

Humiliated, Harin was about to run away when a figure stepped out from the crowd and blocked her. She looked up to see Yunho staring at her with a less-than-pleased look on his face which terrified her because he was always the mood-maker.

"I think it would be best if you come with us to HR," he said in a low voice, briefly looking at Seonghwa who was immediately on his phone, looking distressed and frantic as he tried to get HR to immediately gather in the meeting room along with the other people who might be related.

Defeated, Harin hung her head and muttered under her breath, "That fucking bitch," she exhaled shakily which was easily heard by Yunho who clenched his jaw and with a tightly closed fist, hit the wall next to him hard enough that a loud BOOM echoed, surprising the people around who immediately dispersed whilst simultaneously causing Harin to cower.

"Mind your language because as of the moment (y/n) told Seonghwa hyung to report you to HR, anything and everything you said is a testament to your character and action and from what I'm seeing, you should not be calling (y/n) a bitch," he said through gritted teeth, forcing Harin to drop her face in absolute shame and simply followed when Yunho gestured for her to walk down the hallway (in shame).

"If I were you, I'd fire up my LinkedIn again because if you think Wooyoung would fight for you to stay, you'd end up wasting your time, his time, and frankly, everyone's time."

network :

@cultofdionysusnet @sandsofire @kflixnet @pirateeznet

taglist :

@atinyreads @strawberry-yeo @soobiverse @vixensss @smally97 @maidens-world @yunhoswrldddd @imcoenffl @nescaffei @miaatiny @showmehoseok @tmingi @wlv-asteria @sunwoosbaby @hyukssunflower @remi-young

@staytiny816 @dearinsaniiity @scentednerdenemy @melanchobtch

permalist :

@kodzukein @phenomenalgirl9 @skzatzloveismonsterous @memorymonster @surveilenceysystem @dreamlesswonder86 @maddiebabyxoxo @imababywolf @do-you-actually-care @marievllr-abg @ilsedingsx @wasteitonserendipity @bbymatz @noonaishere @honeyhwaaa @ateezourstars @yoonjunshi @yoongiigolden @camillelafaye @charreddonuts @kpopnightingale @starryunho @atinct @mirror-juliet @hyuckilstan @jayb17

[vaokses]

Anger, a daughter (Pirtir, Ch.1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You return to Dragonstone after nearly two years away, having done what was expected of you and secured your mother's standing with the Great Houses. The safety that you felt after once again doing what was expected of you is taken once you learn that in your absence, your family arranged for you to marry Aegon.

Word Count: 4.5k 

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Threats of violence. The usual Targaryen incest stuff.

Some AU/Setting stuff: Reader is a bastard of Daemyra (claimed by Laenor of course), firstborn child of Rhaenyra and heir to her mother’s claim. It is mentioned she has Valyrian features (the hair). She rides Vermithor. She and Aegon had a thing when she was still in King’s Landing. How relevant or impactful that ‘thing’ was depends on who of the two you ask. I’ve stretched the timeline a bit. Rhaenyra spent a few years more in King’s Landing (making Aegon around 16/7 when she leaves, and the Reader, the eldest of the Velaryons, around 14/5). Instead of six years in Dragonstone, the Blacks have spent around three there in this story. Viserys still lives (and is rotting slightly slower), Aegon and Helaena did not marry. Mysaria left for Dragonstone with Rhaenyra, but is still the information broker of the first season, just working from afar. The Reader has spent nearly two years touring Westeros, as her mother did, in search of a husband.

A/N: No Aegon or any of the greens yet, but I wanted to set up some things, so this can be considered a prologue of sorts. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!

Title is from the "anger, a daughter" by volatilepoetry (link to the piece here, I couldn't find the author's socials)

“Cousin.” You greet with a wide smile, taking the riding gloves off as she comes closer, a mirror of your own smile on her lips. 

“Sister,” Baela greets in kind in well-practiced Valyrian, at your reprimanding glare answering with a defiant one of her own. She grabs your hands in hers, smile wide and mirrored in your own face. “I thought you would return to Dragonstone, at the end of your…tour.” 

“Even I tire of politics, of playing,” You admit, linking your arm with hers and letting her guide you towards the Driftmark castle. “I wish to rest for a while, before I am to report back to f-…to Daemon. I hoped our grandmother would grant me a few days here?” 

“I’m afraid it won’t be possible,” She tells you, pulling from her belt a rolled up message and offering it to you. “A raven brought this shortly after dawn.” 

You immediately recognize Daemon’s handwriting, as well as the parting message he directs at his daughters and you in place for a goodbye. Fly, daughter. 

Your sister is needed at home, tell her to return to us at once. You must ready yourself to fly to Dragonstone at my command. I’ll send word. Sōvēs, tala. 

“So, who did you choose? Whoever it is, you made father angry.” 

“Your father.” You correct, but she pays it no mind, as she always does. 

“So, who will be the lucky man?” 

You turn to face her as you both stand in the base of Driftmark’s stairs. 

“I didn’t choose anyone.”  

Of course, a Tyrell knight caught your eye and your attention for a while, and you could use the strength of the alliance marrying Vaemond Velaryon’s son would bring, or Rickon Stark’s. You even considered the proposal of Hobert Hightower’s grandson, if only to see your mother breathe fire at the mere idea of it, were you to propose such a union. 

But the tour was never organized for the purpose of finding you a husband, this you knew from the beginning. It is the reason you agreed to such a circus in the first place. As Rhaenyra’s first-born child, heir to the Iron Throne and future Princess of Dragonstone, you were sent throughout Westeros to remind the noble Houses of the pledges they made, of where their allegiance is to lie if they hope to remain on the Crown’s good side. 

What foolish Lord you couldn’t charm with a well-placed smile or compliment, Vermithor’s presence in their city would remind promptly of the risk of turning on your House, of undermining your mother’s claim. What wouldn’t bend to your will, you would remind how quickly you could break. Such was your task, what was demanded from you, and you played your part as you have always done. 

It matters not if by the end of this tour, after twenty months away from home -though a part of you reminds you it has been much longer than that, it has been over three years-, donning whatever face was deemed ideal to realize your objective; you cannot really remember who it is you were before it all. It matters not if it has been months since you’ve been able to meet your own gaze in a mirror, in fear of seeing a stranger -or worse, a familiar face, your mother’s, your father’s, Lady Mysaria’s- looking back. 

Your eyes meet Baela’s, and you whisper, “Have you heard I am to marry?” 

She hesitates, and that is enough of an answer. You shake your head, step away, stumble over your own feet. 

___ 

You almost feel a young girl again, in the worst possible way, dragged like a dog on a leash after your mother as she departed King’s Landing, gritting her teeth at your cries and answering with soft caresses of your silver hair to your promise that you would never forgive her for taking you from your home. 

Now, over three years later, you are to be dragged back to the city that saw you be born, away from your mother’s side, from your brothers’ and stepsister’s sides. And the people responsible for arranging for such a thing are set on hiding, on ignoring you since your return to Dragonstone. 

For a time, especially since your aunt’s death and Aemond’s claiming of Vhagar, you believed your mother and Daemon kept you unmarried, kept you here, so that if war were to break out, they would have you and Vermithor to send to battle, to which he is no stranger. You believed if you would one day have to marry, it would be to defend your own claim, offering your hand in exchange for an army, to a man that would know to bend the knee before his queen and before his wife alike. 

You believed they kept you near, they let you remain unbound and unmarried, because you served a purpose while free. You believed by playing your part as was demanded from you, twisting and turning to fit into whatever face you were expected to wear, you would have some control over any of it, you would be safe. How foolish, childish, those notions were. 

Since Vermithor flew you into Dragonstone, your mother has secluded herself in her rooms, and you have only Daemon to ask for answers to the madness that brews past the safety of the island. 

“I do not wish to leave. I will not leave, unless you tell me what awaits me in King’s Landing.” 

But you know, some part of you knows, and that part of you is gnawing at you, at your composure, at your resolve. 

Daemon shrugs one shoulder, “Why? It was once your home. That shithole of a city saw you be born, after all.” 

“My home is, as has always been, Dragonstone.” Lie, lie, lie. You remember the halls of the Red Keep better than you know the halls of this very castle. 

“Then you must be used to homesickness by now. Five and ten years raised in King’s Landing, nearly two years touring Westeros. You have spent…what? A year settled here?” 

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t much care, walking past you to pour himself a cup of wine. He lifts an empty cup your way to offer a drink, but you hold your ground, and insist, 

“I detest games, Daemon.” 

“You sound like your mother when you talk like that,” He quips, with cruel humor, chuckling at a joke that only amuses him. You turn to look at him with narrowed eyes and jaw set tight, and he lets out another mad little chuckle, “You also look like her when you glare like that.” 

“I only ask that-…” 

“When in your life have you asked for only one thing?” 

“And yet you have always indulged me. Indulge me now,” You ask, walking to him, forcing the tension in your shoulders to loosen and your face to reflect the softness of the child he has always had a weakness for. What is expected, what is needed, if you are to win this particular battle. Your mother, your brothers, they are to be faced with callous strength, with a temper and a certainty you inherited from the man who made you who you are; but the man himself is to be faced with the pleading eyes of his daughter, with the docile manners of a maiden who needs his guidance, his protection. And so, you show the face required to get the upper hand. Quietly, softly, you plead, “Do not insult me or my intelligence by acting as if I cannot understand whatever game is being played.” 

“You wield lies effortlessly,” He concedes, head lolled to the side as he considers you, “But you should know better than to try with me.” 

You allow yourself a smile, despite yourself, and let go of pretenses. Even so, you aren’t sure if the face you show Daemon now is an honest one, or merely yet another mask to try and gain his favor. 

Shrugging one shoulder as you lean against one of the stone pillars, you admit, 

“It was worth a try.” 

“It is more of an instinct than a choice by now, I’d say,” Daemon corrects, taking a few steps in your direction. You don’t miss the fact that he has positioned himself between you and the door, a physical reminder that whatever he is about to say is as inescapable as this room. “A useful instinct, now that you are to marry.” 

Your refusal is immediate, “No, I’m not.” 

At his answering look, halfway between surprise and anger, you wonder absently if this is the first time you’ve denied him since he married your mother. 

“You are aware this is not a request.” 

“I’ll feed to Vermithor whatever man you try chaining me to. You are aware this is not an empty threat,” You tell him. It feels good, to admit such a thing, to promise such a thing, because it feels true. “I told you I wouldn’t marry unless the war demanded it.” 

“It does. You are to avoid war, and marry my brother’s son, Aegon,” He promises, and he knows it, you see it in his eyes, that at the uttering of a single name your threat is made null. You realize then why it is your mother hides from you. “It is done, a deal has been brokered with my brother and his wife, y-…” 

“You have no right to make arrangements in my name.” You blurt out, a desperate attempt, not unlike a cornered beast lashing out and wounding its own maws as it bites the approaching spear. Now this, shamefully, terribly, this feels yours. This anger, this desire to hurt. With all the venom of a lifetime of wasted deference, of useless loyalty, you ready yourself to speak a lie once again, “You are not my father. Whore out your sons to the Hightowers if you wish, but you have no right t-…” 

Your words die in a gasp as Daemon hurls the cup in his hand at a wall and advances towards you, quick strides until he stands before you, towering over you with quickened breath. He doesn’t strike you, never has. But it is no less of a threat. A warning not to step out of line, a reminder of what your lies protect you from. 

A twitch in his expression, a glimpse of a snarl, before he warns, 

“Careful now.” 

“We both know there are things my mother won’t forgive,” You answer, “It is you who ought to be careful.” 

“She has approved of this union.” 

You doubt it. You want to doubt it, need to. It is one thing to try and link the warring branches of the House of the Dragon by joining Jacaerys, kind and gentle Jacaerys, and your sweet aunt Helaena. 

It is another to send her only daughter, her heir, to one of Alicent’s sons. 

Still, because some part of you, small and still in the carriage as it drives away from King’s Landing, grasping your mother’s hand in yours even as you curse her and her choices, cannot stand the thought of standing corrected, of being made to face that for the security of her claim Rhaenyra would give you away to a man on the far end of the Crownlands; you do not voice an argument, and instead clarify,  

“I was speaking of what you are threatening to do with your hands,” Daemon leans back with a thoughtful hm that does nothing to hide the way he still bristles at the faintest reminder of powerlessness. Careless, you push forward, insist, “Let us wait, let me stay, and…” 

“And what, hm? Let war come to us? Let those vipers continue to undermine your mother’s claim? Let them put Otto Hightower’s pawn on the throne our forebears forged?” 

You are shaking your head before he is even done speaking, and you can only offer a sigh as an answer, a plea as a retort, 

“Let me fight.” 

“You will fight as I see fit that you do,” He answers, simply, carelessly. “You will play your part, as is your privilege, your duty.” 

“If I had been a son, y-…” 

“I have had a lifetime of hearing your mother speak the same nonsense. I will not hear it,” Daemon interrupts, before leaning closer and reminding you, cruel, mocking, “You are not a son.” 

“I ride the second largest dragon in the world, I-…” 

“Then you should find it easy to tame a smaller one,” Daemon promises, not without cruelty. “We will depart in a month. The betrothal will be officially announced then, with us all in King’s Landing. Plenty of time to say your goodbyes.” 

“There have been…whispers of a royal event for months now. I didn’t know, I-…” 

“Did you think they were setting up a tourney for one of those shits? Or that my brother had somehow managed to sire another child?” 

You shake your head, but your heart races and your breath quickens, because how could you not see it before? 

You served your purpose, without faltering, without question. You amended the bonds your mother’s carelessness and her husband’s viciousness had broken, you strengthened the claim her mistakes had weakened, you lied and charmed to protect your brothers from the fate she imposed upon them. And now your use is through. 

The reward for your deference is a noose around your neck. 

“You had me travel the entire continent, entertaining countless proposals from the most insufferable of men and breaking bread with the most boring fucks alive, while you planned on giving me away.” 

“The tour was never meant to find you a husband, you knew that. A future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, birthing children for a…a���Tyrell? Or a Stark?” Daemon asks, as if the mere idea is unfeasible, ridiculous. “You are the blood of Old Valyria, and as wretched as that little cunt is, Aegon is my brother’s. A Targaryen.” 

You do not care for his tales of superiority, you do not care for those fantasies. Instead, you merely insist, “You plotted against me, while I was far from home.” 

“No. There is a plot, but it was not against you. If anything, this was done in your name, for your benefit,” He argues, pragmatically. Daemon leans closer, head bowed to meet your eyes. “Everything I’ve done has been to secure your claim, to ensure your ascension after your mother’s.” 

“To ensure your blood sits the Iron Throne.” 

He doesn’t deny it, and you don’t expect him to. The faintest of gestures of his head towards the door orders you to walk. You follow the unspoken command, for what else can you do but obey, and walk towards the door. 

“It is settled.” He calls out after you. At the absence of your answer, of your compliance, Daemon barks a call of your name. An order, a threat, even if it isn’t voiced as one, making you stop in your tracks. “You are a loyal daughter, and you know better than to forsake your duties to your mother. You won’t betray her.” 

“What you are asking of me is betrayal,” You argue, turning to look at him over your shoulder. “To marry our enemy, to lay with him, what is that if not a betrayal of my mother, of her claim?” 

“It is a sacrifice,” He corrects, but such appeasements, such manipulations, better suit Lady Mysaria. He has too much pride for the deceit to work, and so the lie stumbles in his tongue, rushing forward a truer sentence, “And I don’t ask.” 

___ 

Lady Mysaria finds you in the eastern balcony overlooking the sea, welcomes herself into the room and walks towards you, stopping only a few steps behind you She doesn’t announce herself nor ask for permission to speak, and you know better than to expect her to do either, after years of knowing her as your parents’ advisor. 

“I’m guessing you do not come here bearing good news.” 

“What would be good news to you, Princess?” 

“A freak dragon-riding accident leaving my future betrothed somewhere in the depths of the Narrow Sea?” You ask, rueful smile curving at your lips. 

“You speak as if you wouldn’t grieve for him.” 

“I would not grieve Aegon, or any of them, for I do not know the people they have become in these passing years.” 

“Is that why you ask my spies about him when they reveal themselves to you in your travels? To know the man he has become?” 

You sometimes wonder why you bother arguing with her. Not once have you been able to hold the upper hand for more than a breath. 

“I asked once.” 

You were wary, and far from home, and the flutter in your chest when Alasdair Tyrell laid a crown of Dragon’s breath on your lap -after his victory in the tourney organized to welcome you into the Reach- had felt familiar but wrong. Nostalgia and something else, something far more stupid, overwhelmed you, and you summoned one of Lady Mysaria’s spies, sent with you as a handmaiden, and asked her to tell you what she knew about how Aegon fared, who he had become in these passing years. 

You told yourself that while you knew better than to reach for a past and a bond long gone, neither could hurt you, so many years removed from the girl you were, so many miles away from what you once called home. And it didn’t, the past didn’t hurt you. What could have been did, however. 

“I will concede that you have learned to request information more subtly, but it does not mean you don’t ask, Princess.” 

“No, your spies offer information freely. Information I do not ask for,” You argue, but she breathes a short little laugh in response. It irks you, unsettles you, and you find yourself arguing further, explaining further, “I wanted to know if he was well, long ago, a-…” 

“And my spies told you he wasn’t.” 

“And so I never asked again.”

“It is a smart choice, to feign ignorance, but you should know better than to attempt to hide something from me.” 

“I have hidden nothing, for there is nothing to hide.” 

She hums lowly, considering her words with a sly smile on her lips. 

“You must refrain from defensiveness if you are to lie efficiently, Princess.” 

You grit your teeth but refuse her the satisfaction of knowing she prodded at a still-unarmored part of you. Instead, you bow your head as you did when you were barely five-and-ten and she had issued her first lesson on how to survive a world such as this. 

“Of course, Lady Mysaria.” 

“I would have expected you to be relieved, if nothing else, at the revelation of who you are to marry,” She muses. If she understands the threat written in your eyes when you turn to look at her, she cares not for it, and presses on, “You were quite close when you were younger.” 

“I was close to all of them.” 

“I mislike repeating myself. You cannot hide things from me, Princess.” 

You take a breath that feels a tad too shallow, you grit your teeth until you hold yourself under control, you hold your tongue until you’re certain it won’t betray anger, sorrow, something else. It feels invasive, unbearable, like fingers prodding at a well-hidden wound. 

“It was nothing. A passing infatuation of youth.” 

“Passing fancy,” She corrects. “The words the Queen used were passing fancy. If you are to shield yourself with the words of others, do so properly.” 

The troubling and annoying thing about sharing a home with someone that trades secrets is that none can be kept from her, and the frustrating thing about counting amongst those closest to you the person that taught you to lie and deceive is that you find it impossible to fool her. And with no secrets, with no lies, there is no fun in playing the game anymore. 

“What is it you mean to ask, Lady Mysaria?” 

“Aren’t you at the very least relieved? Contented?” 

You shake your head. 

“I do not know who Aegon is any longer. Who I-…” The revelation stumbles in your tongue, remains sealed past closed lips. The admission that you have forsaken yourself somewhere in the road to this day is something she might know already, but you refuse to admit aloud. “I have spent the last two years on lands foreign to me, many of them hostile to me. I am…I am wary, and I do not wish to do so again. I am tired of feeling…defenseless.” 

Mysaria lets silence linger for a few moments as you both watch your brothers’ dragons at flight in the skies above you. 

“You want war,” She states, “You deem fire and blood the only future in which you are safe.” 

It is a truly horrifying talent that she possesses, that uncanny ability of hers of digging under your skin until she finds the truer face out of all you wear and brings it to light in all its ugliness and its monstrousness. 

But perhaps that is why you can allow yourself to speak in honesty now, for the first time since you left Dragonstone for a royal tour, or perhaps for the first time since you left King’s Landing. 

“In war, me and my dragon are useful here, defending my claim. In war, I remain unbound, able to fight back,” You tell her, not caring about considering your words, about guarding your back. Turning your head to look at her, you argue, “In times of peace, I am sent away. Twice over, I have lost my home for the sake of peace.” 

“Hm,” Mysaria muses, and when she walks past you towards the balcony, you cannot help but follow. Your eyes seek the horizon, while the White Worm’s linger on Arrax and Vermax playing in the clouds above you. “You will not find yourself without allies, Princess. A spider can spin a web anywhere in the world, it needs only time.” 

“Speaking of time,” You start, straightening yourself and turning on your side to face her. You bow your head, in goodbye and in something else, something closer to gratitude than your hurt and your pride let you admit right now. “I fear our time together has come to a close.” 

“Your family isn’t leaving for King’s Landing for another two days.” She argues, but she knows, you are certain she does. It is no coincidence, that she has come to find you now, that she has come to say goodbye. 

Because honesty comes easy with her, you admit, “I dislike feeling like prey.” 

You could swear there is the beginning of a smile curving softly at her lips, but Mysaria merely bows her head and whispers a wish of, safe travels, Princess. 

___ 

Daemon approaches, you know him by the cadence of his footsteps by now, as you stand on one of the cliffs near the castle. He says nothing, joins you in watching as Vermithor stands before you, proud and stubborn, head held high despite your request that he bow it to allow you to climb onto his saddle. 

“Are you two having a fight?” 

“The old brat doesn’t want to leave the Dragonmont, and thinks we have a choice in the matter!” Your last words, hissed in Valyrian as you argue with the old dragon, make Daemon chuckle. “If I ask that Silverwing fly with us, y-…” 

“You know better than to ask that from us.” 

“He doesn’t want to leave her side. Vermithor, sweet thing, I feel for your broken heart, I truly do. But I won’t go by boat, much less carriage,” Vermithor answers with a huff of steam, and flaps his wings slightly, a warning that he will shake you off like he would a bothersome fly if you attempt to mount him regardless. You heave a sigh, “Stubborn fuck.” 

Vermithor understands the Common Tongue, you are certain he does, for he lowers his head for a moment as if to taunt you to try, and the call that echoes from deep in his chest truly sounds mocking. 

“It is your own restlessness, your own fear, that make him refuse you. You do not wish to leave, and so he doesn’t want to take you there.” 

“I did not want to visit half the places we did during my tour, and yet he took me anyways.” You argue, and though for a moment you think to ask him if he will try to stop you, you refrain.  

Daemon somehow knows that you have decided to take flight to King’s Landing tonight, and he has chosen not to stop you. Perhaps he understands the restlessness that has only grown in you since you were told of your betrothal, as perhaps that same restlessness consumed him once, when he was also young and sent off to marry for duty. 

“You weren’t afraid during your tour.” Daemon argues, but you shake your head. 

“Of course I was afraid. I did it anyways, because…because it was what you and mother demanded from me, but I was terrified,” You admit. Perhaps it is the darkness and quiet of a night in the vast openness of the Dragonmont, perhaps it is the defeat that clings to your very bones like the most bitter cold, but you do not care for lies, for masks, right now. “I haven’t stopped being afraid since we left King’s Landing.” 

Daemon turns to you, but you cannot look at him. You dread to look into your father’s eyes and see disappointment at your admission; you dread to see anger at your weakness. Most of all, however, you dread to see a shadow of regret, at what he’s done, at what he has failed to do. 

For it wouldn’t change a thing. You would still be sent off, you would still be given away, you would still be left with no control over any of this. 

At your silence, Daemon turns back to look upon the Bronze Fury. 

“And yet you do not want to return. And your dragon defies you because of it.” 

“He took me there once already, you know. A month or so before the tour began,” There’s a ghost of a smile playing at your lips as you share the memory. “It was…the worst storm I can remember, and he had us fly right through it. I cursed his name until I was hoarse and once it was over, I demanded he take me home at once. He took me to King’s Landing.”

"Did you land?"

"Of course not. It is hostile territory."

“It is your birthright,” Daemon promises. It used to feel liberating to hear him reaffirm your claim and your mother’s. Now it feels heavy. The weight of a crown you do not yet wear is entirely too great, and you bow your head. Daemon continues, “It was Vermithor who called to you, who allowed you to claim him. Vermithor, a dragon who only ever bonded with Kings.” 

“But I am no King,” You argue, returning your gaze to him. “For I am not a son.” 

Thank you for reading, i hoped you liked it! I would love to hear your thoughts on this!

Next chapter >>

[mbbmz]

Long time no see, Ms. VP

꩜ Chapter 1.

꩜ Synopsis. The life of the party wasn’t really for you. An unexpected encounter happens, for the better or for the worse.

꩜ Paring. Bonten!Ran x Fem!Reader

꩜ Chapter warnings. None

꩜ WC. 2.1k

꩜ a/n. Not particularly proud of this one but it’s mostly an introduction chapter, so no smut, sorry! But wait for next chapter ;)

The sound of multiple voices echoed through the hallways, where students were waiting for class time. Some were mindlessly chatting between themselves while others were reading or studying, or whatever.

Ran, however, was attending his favorite activity of the day. The only thing that was worth him leaving his bed so early in the morning.

- "Haitani! Stop playing around and put it on!"

A feminine voice echoed in the hallway. Her uniform was neatly worn, her shirt ironed and her skirt covering her knees. The scowl on her face was the reason he still came here in the first place. Well, that and the fact he wanted to graduate from highschool.

- "Chill out, what’s the big deal? It’s just a tie…"

He almost couldn’t stop an amused smile to form on his face. It was just so funny to him, how dedicated she was for something so small.

- "It’s a dress code violation!"

She corrected, her face scrunching up even more. It was always the same with him. He’d always find a way to piss her off for God knows what reason.

A loud sigh escaped his lips, his fingers circling the edge of the glass. There were days like this. His sleep schedule was off, work was shit, traffic was bad and the bartender somehow managed to fuck up his drink the first time.

He was bored out of his mind. It wasn’t in his habits to stay on the side, but he didn’t seem to find anyone interesting.

His gaze trailed down on the first floor where a mass of people was dancing, bumping into each others. He couldn’t distinguish any any faces, not like he really cared. For some reason, his eyes landed on a girl, chatting with what seemed like her friend. She had a beautiful smile.

- "You should smile more often, suits you."

- "Stop being so stuck up for once, smile and have a good time."

- "There’s that beautiful smile~"

Those memories seemed almost foreign to him. He wasn’t expecting those particular memories to flood through his mind. What was her name?.. He didn’t remember.

- "Chill, VP. You’re gonna get all wrinkled."

He almost chuckled. It’s been a long time since the last time he thought about her. The recollection of her signature scowl felt bittersweet.

- "Huh? You didn’t hear? She moved…"

He still remembers the churning of his stomach at those words. The confusion, the disbelief, the anger.

Why didn’t she tell me?

Ah, who cares anyways.

It was years ago, he didn’t remember her face, let alone her name… No need to dwell over this.

So why did he find himself walking down the stairs of the club, his eyes fixated in her direction?

He needed another drink.

He got closer to the bar, ignoring the lingering thought to just go and see that woman, just to get the confirmation she wasn’t who he thought she was. Suddenly, he felt something, someone bump into his back.

The woman apologized, but it was all white noise to him. He shrugged it off with a gesture of his hand, before walking away.

- "Haitani ? Is that you ?"

He heard a voice, realization hitting him. Ah, he remembered her name now.

- "Haitani ! You’re late again !"

- "Why do you keep getting yourself in trouble, Haitani ?!"

- "Haitani… You again…"

He turned around, a small smile on his face. The first one of the night.

It really was her. How amusing.

- "Well, well… Isn’t it our dear student council vice president ?"

You looked around the place, a hint of nervousness in your eyes. You never really enjoyed the atmosphere in clubs. It was packed, loud and hot. But tonight wasn't about you. Tonight was your best friend bachelorette party, and what she says goes, even if it meant keeping her company in this ridiculously fancy club.

- "(Y/N) ! Why aren't you having fun ?"

You heard her crisp voice directed at you. She was a bit pouty, something you wouldn’t expect from a grown woman like her, but you were used to it by now.

- "I am having fun !"

You lied. After all, you weren’t going to tell her the truth about being bored and annoyed out of your mind at her big night. You didn’t want to ruin it.

She rolled her eyes, getting closer to you. She leaned in closer in a slight wobbly demeanor, probably to whisper something. Yeah, she was definitely tipsy.

- "Do you know why I chose this club ?"

She asked, her voice teasing and playful. It was your turn to roll your eyes.

- "Because you would take any occasion to spend your money in luxurious establishments ?"

You arched a brow, even though your tone was a bit playful as well. She scoffed, light-heartedly nudging your shoulder.

- "Because… I was thinking… if there is a chance a man took interest in you… let him at least be rich !"

She said humorously, making you roll your eyes again. You swore you’d end up cross eyed by the end of the night.

- "But seriously though, you’re thirty and still single !"

Her words made you wince slightly. You were aware that the more you waited, the harder it will get to find someone. It wasn’t your fault, you were just… not really good at flirting. You sighed, on your way to get another drink.

As you made your way to the bar through the mass of dancing people, you bumped into someone. You immediately apologized, not yet looking at the face of the lanky man you bothered. As you looked up, trying to get a better look at the stranger, you were met with a familiar pair of violet eyes.

- "S-Stop looking at me like that, Haitani!.."

- "Like what ?"

- "Like you’re coming up with an evil plan or something…"

But before you could say anything, the man turned his back at you, making his way to the bar. Panic filled you, not wanting to let him go, for some reason.

- "Haitani ? Is that you ?"

You found yourself saying, unable to stop the words from coming out of your mouth. You needed to know if it was him. It probably wasn’t, but the worst that can happen was an embarrassing moment. However, you saw the man stop, he had that smile on his face.

- "You know you’re creepy, Haitani…"

- "Damn, you really have no filter, do you ?"

- "It’s the way you’re smiling… like you have something on your mind."

You never wanted to admit how much you loved that smile.

- "Well, well… Isn’t it our dear student council vice president ?"

His words made your eyes widen. It was him. The troublemaker that managed to lighten up your high school years. You were faced with a mixture of clashing feelings. Of course, you were surprised, pleasantly so. So why didn’t you find the strength to smile at him ? Was it because it has been such a long time ? Or was it because of the gnawing guilt that crushed you ?

You left without saying goodbye.

You managed to give him an awkward smile. You didn’t really know what to do. Part of you wanted to talk to him, but the other part was calling you stupid. You knew what you were doing when you moved. You knew you wouldn’t tell him anything, you knew you wouldn’t tell him goodbye. You knew you would hurt him.

But… past was past, right?..

- "It’s been a while since the last time I’ve been called that…"

You laughed awkwardly, still trying to get your head around the fact that Ran Haitani was standing in front of you. He was… well, how could you even describe your relationship?..

You were polar opposite. You were part of the student council, and he was your worst nightmare. At first, at least.

You only saw him smile, but somehow, it didn’t hit the same as it did in high school. Maybe because it wasn’t the smile you remembered.

This wasn’t his teasing, shit eating grin. It was more like a cold, calculating smirk. Scrutinizing you, sizing you up. Almost hypocritical. It was an unpleasant feeling.

He had changed. A lot. Of course, it has been more than ten years but… you wouldn’t have recognized him if it weren’t for those lazy violet eyes of his. You remembered the way you would lecture him on his long hair, and how it wasn’t “appropriate for school” or bullshit like that. His short hair made him look more… mature, in a way. You almost found yourself wanting to run your hand in the lilac strands. You cleared your throat, trying to find something to say. But it was hard with his studying gaze fixated on you. But before you could say anything, you saw him taking out a pack of cigarettes.

- "Care to join me for a smoke ?"

The chilly wind made you shiver slightly, but it was still better than the suffocating atmosphere inside the club. Maybe you should’ve worn a longer dress to accommodate the cold weather of November. You looked at the tall man beside you, who didn’t seem bothered by the cold. You sighed, feeling the wind blow the smoke of his cigarette in your direction. He had a somewhat distant look, one you don’t think you’ve ever seen before.

- "So, you came back, after all."

You heard him saying, still looking into the distance. You glanced at him inquisitively, not quite understanding his statement.

- "In Tokyo, I mean."

He clarified, making you hum in acknowledgment. You moved out of Tokyo when you were seventeen, in the middle of the school year. Well, it was about that time too, in November. You still remember your class already thinking about Christmas, planning winter outings with their friends, Christmas dates… You even remember planning to get a gift for him. But that was before you got the news that you would go live with your mother. This sudden change didn’t enchant you, but you didn’t really have your say on the matter.

- "Yeah… I came back to go to college."

You finally answered, not really looking at him. You didn’t want to talk about how you left without saying anything, even though you knew you would have to, eventually. What were you thinking, back then ? Maybe you just didn’t want to say goodbye, so you didn’t. If only you could remember.

You looked back at him, only to find out he was staring right at you. You felt almost small under his piercing gaze. You wish you could find that easiness and that tranquility from back then. But you couldn’t. Now the air was heavy and it felt like there was a wall between the two of you. You wish you had the strength, the right to break that wall, but you couldn’t. Nothing was like before, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

Was it wrong to want it to be like back then ? You were both adults now. You couldn’t afford that nonchalance you both had years ago. Those days, so far away yet so vivid in your memory. You remember now.

You were in love with him. Maybe that’s why you were so scared to say goodbye.

The silence felt heavy on your shoulders, and none of you were saying anything. You were just standing there while he was smoking his cigarette. Back then, he would’ve already tried to piss you off at least 3 times. But he didn’t.

- "What ?"

You asked, wanting to know why he was staring at you so much. In fact, you dreaded the question you knew was on the tip of his tongue. After the few seconds, he spoke.

- "Nothing. This dress looks nice on you."

You didn’t know how to react. Maybe it just… didn’t matter to him. You wished it did, though. You gripped the guardrail, looking at one of Tokyo’s tall buildings. The old you would’ve stammered over her words at a compliment from him. But it wasn’t the Ran you knew, you realized that. It was no use reminiscing the good ol’ time, it was all gone.

- "Thank you."

Then the silence again. You wondered why you even followed him in the first place. Perhaps you were looking for an occasion to justify yourself. It was crazy, because none of it would even matter if you hadn't landed on him tonight. All of those memories would’ve stayed locked up deep into the abyss of your mind if his eyes hadn’t met yours. Suddenly, a small vibration cut through the heavy silence. You took out your phone, looking at the text you just received.

|Bitch where r u 12:47am

|Im worried 12:49am

You sighed, knowing it was time to part ways. You would probably not see him again, maybe it was for the best.

- "I should go, my friend’s looking for me."

He didn’t say anything for a moment, silently bringing the stick to his lips.

- "Yeah."

He simply answered. You didn’t know whether to be disappointed or glad he was letting you go this easily. You finally decided you shouldn’t care.

You turned away, walking back inside the building, not sparing him a last glance, the air filled with unspoken words.

Hi guys! I hope you are all doing okay. Im back with my first long fic, and i hope you'll like it! Dont hesitate to point out mistakes i might have made, english isnt my first language. If you have any questions about it, my inbox is open! Tell me if you want to be tagged.

I unfortunately didn’t manage to tag everyone, sorry about that.

Taglist. @honeygonebads-blog @thesadvampire @nahoyaandsouya @onyankaponsbae @shadowstar123

[littleplantfreak]

Grocery Shopping Headcanons 1

I said I'd do these a while back and someone requested I do them when I was taking requests for my 100 followers event so uwu)/ one request fulfilled!! There will be a part two with the others coming eventually...Once I get through the rest of my requests.

____________

Umemiya Hajime

-One of the funnest people to go grocery shopping with tbh.

He's talking you into buying a few extra snacks/food by holding them up in front of you and puppeting them at you, asking in a silly high pitched voice if you'll please buy them because they've heard your pantry is the best vacation spot in town! He gets so silly with it.

-The older people in town tell him when and where the best sales are, which makes budgeting a lot easier. Don't tell anyone, but sometimes if one of them is in front of you in line, they'll have the cashier use their senior discount for your stuff as well. Don't try to fight them on it, though; they'll insist the only thing they need is for you both to visit them every once in a while, which you planned to do regardless.

-Gets upset if he hasn't found you in the store for a while after leaving to pick some things up. Once he does see you, he acts like it's been weeks and refuses to leave your side for the rest of the shopping trip. He's quite literally stuck to you like glue.

-The type to have really funky or cute looking reusable bags.

Choji Tomiyama

-Can't stay on task to save his life. If you're pushing the cart, he will stand on the other side of it being pushed around. He insists he'll take turns, but he gets a bit too enthusiastic with how fast he should be going through the aisles. Nearly runs a few people over before you decide maybe just pushing it normally works best.

-Do not let him disappear on you; he'll end up at some other grocery store two miles down the street.

-Sometimes he knows your tastes better than you do. If you're deliberating over trying something new, 9/10 times he's correct about how you'll like it. He actually pays a lot of attention to what you like to eat and drink.

-Calls Togame and not only asks him what he wants from the store, but tells him to come down by the time you guys are done to help carry your stuff. He hasn't said no to Choji yet.

-He's feeding you both all the samples he can find until you realize you snacked so much you're not even hungry for dinner anymore.

Suo Hayato

-He's pretty relaxed compared to the other two. He'll let you take the reins for the most part since he's got all the stuff written down and knows each aisle it's in. He doesn't often stray from his normal foods so it's almost muscle memory now.

-When he does try something new, it's weird stuff. Like you didn't know this was in the store weird, what aisle does that even go in? You look around to see, and find nothing. He either took the last one or he was in the forbidden part of the grocery store.

-Sometimes, if he knows you're getting a lot, he brings the collapsible grocery wagon. (don't even play with me, this is the hottest thing someone could do for grocery shopping.)

-Watch out if you lose sight of him or he goes to grab something without you, because he WILL jumpscare you and you WILL have to try to smother your yelp.

Nirei Akihiko

-Extreme couponing Nirei edition tbh he's got it down to a science

-Knows a surprising amount of recipes by heart, so if you're trying hard to remember what you need for what you wanna make? Don't even get out your phone to struggle with finding enough bars (because for some reason grocery stores are iron fortresses that don't have cell service?) Nirei has it all up there in his beautiful brain.

-He's never in a rush and doesn't really separate from you (why would he want to?) He's just thrilled to spend time with you.

-Also one to have a bunch of different reusable bags.

-If you have a certain diet or need a certain ingredient, he knows all the specialty food stores around and is more than okay with making the extra stop with you.

-He has a certain type and brand of ice cream he likes to get as a treat every time, and although he tells you he doesn't need it, if they happen to be out of stock, he deflates a little.

Sakura Haruka

-You wouldn't think someone could be bad at grocery shopping, but....he's bad at it. An excess of meats and carbs is what comes home if you send him by himself, so it's best just to go together.

-Also you could swear he's giving a nasty look to the vegetable section hoping you don't pick any terrible ones up (though what's terrible to him is most of them)

-You catch him trying to hide if he sees someone he knows because to him, it'll just make it a longer grocery trip, and honestly, he just wants to go home with you. Point out who he's hiding from and say hi and watch the look of betrayal as he's turning red and grumbling.

-It takes him a bit, but after a few trips he starts to get the hang of things. He can tell the better meat cuts, and now knows to check the eggs to make sure they're not cracked. Sometimes, he texts you a picture of the vegetables you're looking for to make sure they're the right ones or to make sure they're your preferred ripeness if you're not there

The self checkout becomes his best friend, that way he doesn't have to worry about making small talk. He's screwed when he picks up meats, though, because the scale never picks up the weight properly, and then he's sweating waiting for one of the workers to come help him out.

-Refuses to let you carry the bags in, and is also one of those people who insist on loading up all the groceries on his arms at once. There will be no second trips to the car.

[melanieph321]

HI!! I love your writing!! 💓💓 I read that you will make 7 days of requests so I sent you one, I wanted to ask you for rubén.

where reader is pep's daughter and is secretly with rubén, she is a physiotherapist but from manchester united, when one evening they all meet at pep's house for a team dinner, reader's older sister hits on rubén and so when he's not there anymore reader takes him to his childhood room and they do dirty things 🫢, but when they finish and go out there's pep outside and in the end they confess and he simply replies "I already knew".

THANK YOU IF YOU HAD TO DO IT I LOVE YOU 💓💓💓

Love this request. Made a couple of changes to the plot, I hope you don't mind.

Thank you ❤️

SEVEN DAYS OF REQUESTS 3.0

(DAY 4)

Ruben Dias x Reader - Meet And Greet

+18

Reader is Pep Guardiola's daughter and is dating Ruben without her dad's knowledge. However, that changes during a family BBQ.

Enjoy!

You couldn't believe your eyes. Your dad told you to come home for the weekend because he was hosting a BBQ. However, he never told you that he invited the entire Manchester City squad as well.

You were watching from your bedroom window. Watching how your backyard flooded with a sea of world-class football players, all munching on burgers, hot dogs, and your dads famous smoked paella.

"Y/N, Y/N!"

There was a knock on your door, followed by your little sister stumbling into your room.

"What is it, Nadia?"

"Papa wants you to come downstairs."

"Let me get dressed first. I'll be down in a minute."

"Okay, I'll tell him you said that." Giddy with excitement, she rushed out of the room, only to rush back through the door a split second later. "Oh and Y/N...."

"What?"

She grinned. "Ruben is here."

Your heart skipped a beat. However, you tried to play it cool. "Did he ask about me?"

"Yes, he told me to tell you that he's saving a seat for you at the table. But don't you think it would be stupid of you two to..."

"I got it Nadia. Thank you for the message."

"I'm just saying...." She continued, again reminding you to never ask an eight year old to keep a secret. "....won't dad be suspicious seeing you all cozy with one of his players?"

"Nadia, please." You sighed. "I need to get dressed. I promise to come downstairs in a minute."

"Okay." She shirrped and skipped out of your room, down the hall and back downstairs.

You were left to do your makeup, but you decided to keep it clean and natural. You then went over to your closet, anxious to pick the appropriate outfit. It was a family gathering, meaning you should present yourself as homely and tidy. However, knowing that Ruben was amongst the guests fueled a desire in you to keep things interesting. It was risky. Nevertheless, you came downstairs wearing your favorite summer dress. Correction: Ruben's favorite summer dress.

¡Cariño, ahí estás! (Honey, there you are!)

You had just stepped foot into the backyard when your dad, as always, decide to embarrass you.

"Everyone, say hello to my daughter, Manchester United best physiotherapist!"

He got some giggles for his troubles. However, the joke about your profession was getting old. Everyone had accepted it. Even the media had stopped writing ironic articles about it.

"Hi, honey. You look lovely."

"Thank you, Mami." You kissed her cheeks, unlike your dad. She was happy to see you, but not enough to announce it to the entire world.

"Are you hungry? There's plenty of food."

"Yes, I'll grab something. Just let me say hello to everyone."

You took a lap around the crowded backyard. Except for the Man City squad, your dad also invited the neighbors, making it a block party at its finest. Your first thought was, "How did all these people get here?" You had seen some of the players pull up in their luxury vehicles, but you hadn't expected an invasion of this magnitude. The backyard was usually quiet and peaceful, a place where Nadia could escape the chaos of school, chasing her favorite butterflies. Now, it was a bustling party scene.

"Y/N, Y/N, look who I found."

Speaking of the devil. You were ambushed by your sister, who seemed to enjoy running amongst the many guests. She grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the swimming pool, where a bar had been set up. A bar, surrounded by people and one particular person who caught your eye.

"I told him to wait for you to get dressed." Said Nadia, who eagerly guided you towards your boyfriend.

"Hi." Ruben smiled.

"Hi." You blushed.

"Oh, I know!" Your sister squeald. "I can keep dad distracted if you want?"

"Great idea, Nadita! You do that."

You were relieved to see your sister make her way through the crowd, leaving you and Ruben alone.

"I'm sorry if she's been bothering you."

"No need to apologize." Ruben chuckled. He looked so good and charming in his knewly cut hair, and he wore a shirt and jeans that complimented his fairly tanned skin.

"Have you grabbed anything to eat yet?" He asked.

"No, you?"

"Yes, actually. Who knew your dad could make a mean cheeseburger?"

"Please don't." You chuckled. No one had more experience than you when it came to your dad's BBQ obsession. You looked over to where he stood, tending the grill. He expertly flipped the steaks while chatting with guests. Your mom was busy too, refilling plates and passing out cold drinks to some players.

"Who knew?" Ruben mumbled.

"Yeah, I guess it's his thing besides coaching you guys."

"Yeah, no. I'm not talking about that."

You turned to find Ruben's eyes on you, or your dress to be exact.

"Who knew a person could look so good in a dress." He said, leaning forward, surprising you with a kiss on the cheek.

"Baby?" You gasped. "Not here. Not where people can see."

"Then take me somewhere no one can." His eyes said it all, a devious glimpse reflected in them. You shook your head at the audacity. Still, the whey Ruben's fingers nipped at the hemn of your dress was more than tempting.

"How about a tour of the house?" You whispered.

"After you."

It was a quick house tour, skipping most of the rooms downstairs, heading straight to the second floor.

"....Here's our bathroom. Over there you have my parents room, Nadia's room. And here....." You led Ruben down the hall, stopping at the end of it. "Here you have my room."

Ruben took it in, his eyes wandering from the floor to the sealing. He admired the pictures on your walls, along with the photographs of you as a child, missing a couple of front teeth.

"Cute." He chuckled.

"I was ten."

"A cute ten year old."

"Creepy, but thanks." You wrapped your arms around his neck, guidning Ruben to the middle of the room.

"I'm creepy?" He said, allowing you to lead him across the room, towards your bed. There the two of you laid down and let your lips collide for the first time that night.

"Yes. But only a little creepy." You giggled.

"Oh, yeah? Does it turn you on?"

"You wish."

Ruben laughed but took the liberty to fold the bottom of your dress, revealing your polkadot panties. "Polkadots, interesting."

"My mom is doing laundry. Don't laugh at them."

"Who's laughing?" Ruben scooted down, aligning his face with your pelvis, draping your legs to rest on each of his shoulders. "I love polkadots."

You bit down on your lip as Ruben kissed the insides of your thighs. He knew what he was doing. Ruben always knew exactly what he was doing to you. Your hands made a mess of his hair. Gripping a bundle of it to prevent yourself from moaning his name. He was licking you now. Ruben had pushed your panties to the side just so he could swipe his tongue across your center, making his way upwards, then downwards, repeating the motion until you were pliant. Pliant enough to fit the size of his fingers.

"Ruben." You slapped a hand against your mouth, never meant to let such a rough moan escape.

Ruben drummed a laugh below your stomach but seized to please you with the same intensity. "You taste so good, I couldn't help myself." He came up to kiss you, his weight pressing you down against the matress.

"We have to get back to the party, or else my dad might notice that I'm gone."

Ruben looked down. "Great."

"What?" You chuckled.

"You totally made me lose my boner."

"Me?" You gasped.

"Yes, you." Ruben pressed a swift kiss to your lips before backing off. He offered you a hand, helping you up and out of your bed. He then waited for you to straighten out your dress, as well as change your panties.

"To mention your dad, my coach, should be illegal when I'm trying to fuck you." He said, as the two of you made your way downstairs, back to the party in the backyard.

"Well, at least now I know how to get you off of me." You teased.

"Eww, no. Please don't."

The two of you made your way through the crowd, on your way back to the pool. There the two of you could have some privacy, far away from your dads grill.

"Y/N!"

You flinched at the sound of his stern voice. You and Ruben had just walked past it, the grill, when your dad, out of nowhere, popped his bald head in front of you like a jack in a box.

"Dad....what's up?" You immediately let go of Ruben's hand, forgetting that you had been holding onto it as you left the house.

"Did he like it?" Your dad said, with his usually taunting smile.

"Did who, like what?" You frowned.

"Ruben." He folded his arms. "Did he like our home, considering the two of you were gone for so long."

"Oh."

Heat rose to your face. You could sense Ruben's angst bedside you too as your dad darted at him with laser in his eyes.

"Coach, I can explain...."

"No need, son. I already know."

"What?" Heads briefly turned with your sudden exclamation. "How do you know about me and Ruben?" You said, eager to know.

"Well, firstly...." Your dad perked up. "I am a very smart man. A very very smart man."

"Dad, please." You sighed.

"Okay, fine. Your sister told me."

"Nadia?" You gasped. "That traitor."

"That's what happens when you ask a eight year old to keep a secret."

"I should have known." You mumbled.

"Anyway." Your dad cleared his throat. "I'm assuming that this has been going on for a while."

"A year." You nodded and felt slightly guilty about lying to him for so long. You grabbed a hold of Ruben's hand, squeezing it. "I only kept it from you, though. Mom also knows."

"Great. You give your children life, a home and this how they repay you."

"My apologies, coach." Ruben stepped up. "It's mainly because of me that Y/N wanted to keep our relationship a secret. I just never wanted to put you in a position where your job as my coach has been compromised."

"Well, we're way past that, don't you think?"

Ruben blushed.

Your dad chuckled and stepped in between you, wrapping his arms around the both of you. "No more lying, okay."

"Okay." You nodded and so did Ruben.

"Alright." He rubbed his hands together, making his way back towards the grill. "If there's nothing else you wish to tell me I say, welcome to the family, Ruben."

"Erm....thanks." Ruben scratched the back of his head. You, on the other hand, couldn't be happier, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend while whispering the words "Thank you." to your dad who raised his spatula in a celebratory gesture.

THE END

[tooth-com]

Jimmy just constantly gets away with it, again and again. Even when he dies it’s a form of getting away with it. That’s what I think is so ironic about his death, he KILLS HIMSELF instead of getting in that cryochamber. He doesn’t get in that cryochamber and if they get saved 20 years down the line, tell those people what actually happened to the tulpar crew.

He just passes off responsibility on to Curly by putting him in that cryochamber who can’t even tell anybody. (Not saying Jimmy should’ve been the one to go in there but whatever I don’t have a better alternative) It lets Curly live with his actions, maybe because he was the one that let this happen but also you can’t blame him for everything and his fate isn’t completely deserved. His fate isn’t a form of karma because we don’t take joy from his suffering !!!

Jimmy just can’t even take responsibility right and turns escaping his actions into some kind of heroic act just like how he twists the image of Curly in his mind to be a bad person to justify his actions. It’s all just a justification sort of thing I think? Correct me if I’m wrong haha

There’s probably more stuff to be said about his death that tbh I can’t really phrase right☹️

Just a little stupid ramble about my favourite game rn and now I swear I’ll shut up forever 👍