#mostly about great companionship

[iftitah]

have you ever wanted warmest shade of orange hearts on a brain emoji

[an-excellent-choice]

Head canon where one morning Gale comes out of his tent with not one, not two but three hickeys high on his neck. High enough that a high collared robe couldn't cover it.

Everybody in camp hoots and hollers at Gale all morning while he preps and cooks breakfast for everybody.

Karlach laughs at Gale and waggles her eyebrows at him about having a hot night.

Laezel clucks her tongue but does say that such marks are a great sign of companionship(romantic)

Halsin agrees with Lae'zel and deems it romantic to bear a lover's mark.

Wyll will have a teasing remark "A romance for the ages". He also teases that Gale will need to reciprocate these marks with a necklace or earring(maybe even a ring) to have a more constant sign of one's love to keep up with Tav

Gale blusters and blurts out that he doesn't mind the maintenance of such marks.

Astarion and Shadowheart definitely will be tag teaming Gale with snarky teasing. How marks like this are a sign of a possessive, passionate and insatiable lover. How could Gale ever keep up.

They use this as an opening to start giving lewd tips that Gale is adamant he doesn't need but he doesn't make any other attempt to silence them.

Everybody in camp are having a fun time teasing a blushing Gale when Tav stumbles out of Gale's tent just as breakfast has finished cooking.

Bleary and half asleep Tav plops down on a log near Gale. Astarion is about to make a teasing remark about Tav doing most of the work last night when they finally look at Tav's outfit

The first thing they notice is the shirt that's mostly unbuttoned, giving everybody an eyeful of Tav's cleavage and skin they don't usually show.

The second thing they notice is dozens of hickeys and bitemarks littered across Tav's neck and chest.

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

The Alchemy

AU where Harry is the star quarterback at his college and y/n is an English major.

Based very loosely off The Alchemy by Taylor Swift

CW: Smut

Word Count: 6,871

Leaving my family to go to University was a bittersweet decision. My heart tugged at the thought of being away from them, but my passion for mastering the art of English pulled me towards my dream. My family had always been my biggest supporters and I wanted to make them proud by becoming an English professor. This meant leaving behind my comfortable life in a small suburban town in Florida to study abroad at one of the most prestigious universities. The campus was nestled in the very heart of where literary greats had once roamed and created their masterpieces. It was as if the walls exuded inspiration and creativity, urging me to chase after my dreams with even more fervor. Though I missed my family dearly, I knew that this journey would lead me to become the best version of myself and honor their unwavering support and love.

It was a whirlwind of experiences as I made my way through the unfamiliar streets. The currency conversion was a constant challenge, with every transaction feeling like a game of guesswork. And then there was the driving - on the opposite side of the road no less - which required all of my concentration to avoid any mishaps. But perhaps most daunting of all was the non-stop partying at pubs, a culture shock for someone like me who had grown up in a small town in America.

Thankfully, I was able to find a flat that was within walking distance from the school, and even luckier to have another American girl as my roommate. Mia was a sweet, bubbly girl from the middle of nowhere Kansas, embracing every aspect of British culture including the pub scene and the charming local lads.

Living with Mia meant constantly having people over, and it seemed like every night brought new faces into our home. I didn't mind too much, mostly enjoying the lively atmosphere and meeting new people. However, there were definitely some moments that tested my patience, like when one of Mia's friends named Arthur ended up getting sick and leaving his mark in our kitchen. Despite these occasional hiccups, I was grateful for this experience abroad and all the unique encounters it brought my way.

Though Mia's social butterfly nature could be trying at times, I appreciated her warm companionship in this foreign place. It was on one such night, after we had cleaned up the remnants of Arthur's ill-fated escapades, that we found ourselves cozied up with mugs of tea and watching the rain patter against the windows. 

Mia was unusually pensive as she stared out into the drizzly Manchester night. "You know," she began softly, "sometimes I wonder if I'm chasing the wrong dreams. My parents wanted me to become a doctor or lawyer, something stereotypically successful, but I just wanted adventure. Now here I am, living it up in England, but it all feels...empty, like I'm still searching for meaning."

I nodded thoughtfully, sensing the vulnerability in her words. Though Mia put on a bubbly facade, there was more depth to her than met the eye. 

"I think the great thing about being here is that we have time to figure it all out," I offered gently. "We're writing our own stories, not just following someone else's script." 

Mia smiled, some of the spark returning to her eyes. "You're right. That's exactly why I love being here with you."

As the rain continued to drum against the windows, Mia and I sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally, Mia turned to me with a curious expression.

"Do you ever have doubts about your dreams, too?" Mia asked, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

I considered her question for a moment before responding, "All the time. Sometimes I wonder if I'm on the right path or if I'm just going through the motions."

Mia nodded understandingly, her eyes reflecting the shimmer of uncertainty. "It's scary, isn't it? The idea that we might wake up one day and realize we've been chasing a dream all along."

I placed a comforting hand on Mia's shoulder. "It is scary, but it's also part of the journey. We're allowed to question and evolve along the way."

She smiled weakly, her gaze drifting back to the rain-splattered window. "I guess that's what makes life interesting, right? The uncertainty of it all."

Our conversation was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Mia got up to answer it, revealing a group of our friends who had decided to brave the rainy night for an impromptu gathering.

"Come in, come in!" Mia exclaimed cheerfully, ushering everyone inside. The room quickly filled with laughter and chatter as our friends settled in.

As I looked around the group, my eyes landed on a few familiar faces who have crossed paths with me several times before. Among them was Arthur, a friendly face that always brought a sense of comfort and familiarity. As everyone piled into the room, my gaze wandered to him - Harry Styles, the renowned quarterback of our school's football team. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of excitement at being in the presence of such a well-known athlete. When I first arrived from the United States, I had assumed the term "football" referred to what we call soccer back home. But as I soon discovered, American Football was just as beloved and popular in the UK.

Harry noticed me looking his way and met my gaze. There was an intensity in his green eyes that made me quickly avert my own, focusing instead on my friend Grace who was animatedly sharing a story next to me. 

I tried to tune into her words, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the handsome footballer across the room. By all accounts, Harry was cocky, brash, and a bit of a player. And yet, I couldn't deny there was something magnetic about him. He carried himself with a self-assured swagger, his athletic frame filling out his clothes in a way that betrayed his strength. 

I scolded myself internally. Just because he's nice to look at doesn't change the fact that he seems like an arrogant jock. Still, when our eyes met again, I felt a flutter in my stomach I couldn't ignore. 

Harry said something to his friend that made the group erupt into laughter. He flashed a crooked smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I quickly looked away once more, but the image of his smile lingered in my mind.

Get it together, I told myself sternly. Harry is off-limits. With his reputation, getting involved would only lead to trouble. I turned my focus back to Grace, pushing all thoughts of Harry's eyes, smile and broad shoulders out of my head. 

For the rest of the night, I avoided looking in Harry's direction, though I could feel his gaze on me periodically as the hours wore on. By the time people started trickling out, I felt certain I had avoided any direct interaction with the dashing footballer. 

That is, until I went to lock the door behind the last guest and found him standing there. He flashed that crooked smile again as he leaned against the door frame. "See you around, Y/N," he said, holding my gaze for a moment before disappearing into the night. I stood frozen, my heart racing as I replayed those five simple words in my head.

As I stood there in shock at Harry's unexpected presence, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling inside me. His parting words echoed in my mind, leaving me slightly breathless and unsure of what to make of the situation. Gathering my composure, I locked the door behind him and turned to find Mia watching me with a knowing smile.

"Looks like someone caught your eye, Y/N," Mia teased, nudging me playfully. "Harry Styles, huh? Quite the charmer."

I flushed slightly at her comment, trying to brush off any implications. "Oh, come on, Mia. It's not like that," I deflected, hoping to downplay the significance of the moment.

But Mia wasn't convinced. "Sure, sure," she replied with a wink. "Just remember, not all that glitters is gold."

Her words lingered in my mind as I bid her goodnight and retreated to my room. Sitting on my bed, I couldn't shake off the image of Harry's smile or the way he had looked at me in that brief moment by the door. The conflicting thoughts swirled in my head, leaving me restless and contemplative.

The following day at school, as I made my way through the bustling halls, I noticed a familiar figure leaning against the lockers up ahead. It was Harry, his usual confident demeanor on full display as he chatted with his friends. As our eyes met briefly, he flashed a grin in my direction before turning back to his conversation.

Feeling a surge of boldness, I approached him tentatively. "Hey, Harry," I greeted him, trying to keep my tone casual despite the flutter in my stomach.

"Hey there, Y/N," he responded with a smirk, his green eyes twinkling mischievously. "Didn't think you'd show up here again so soon."

I felt my cheeks flush at his words. Clearly he was referring to my abrupt exit last night after our brief encounter at the door. I scrambled to think of a clever response. 

"Well, we do go to the same school," I pointed out, trying to keep my voice light despite the nerves I felt. 

Harry chuckled, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he regarded me with amusement. 

"True enough," he conceded. "But I got the sense you were trying to avoid me last night. Did I make you nervous?"

His bluntness took me aback. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Harry's eyes danced with mirth at my flustered state. 

"Cat got your tongue?" He teased. 

I took a steadying breath, determined not to let him get the best of me. "You wish," I retorted, hoping the bravado in my voice sounded more convincing than I felt. 

Harry laughed, a rich warm sound that made my knees weak. Our eyes locked and in that moment, it was like the noisy hallway melted away and there was only the two of us.

"Feisty. I like it," he murmured. Before I could respond, the warning bell rang, snapping us both back to reality. 

"See you around, Y/N," Harry said with a wink before disappearing into the swarm of students heading to class. 

My body froze in place, heart thudding against my ribs as I gazed at the infamous Harry. He exuded an undeniable air of trouble, and yet, as our charged banter replayed in my mind, I couldn't deny the adrenaline pumping through my veins. With a determined stride, I made my way to class, refusing to let this boy be the cause of my tardiness.

I took a seat in my Studies of Shakespeare class, the one subject I truly loved. The works of William Shakespeare never failed to captivate me, and if you could understand the Elizabethan lingo, his witty humor shone through brilliantly. Unfortunately, this particular teacher seemed to have a talent for draining all the life and humor out of these masterpieces.

I tried to focus as the professor droned on about the themes in Romeo and Juliet, but my mind kept wandering back to my encounter with Harry. Something about our charged banter had awakened feelings in me that I didn't quite understand. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a folded piece of paper land on my desk as if taken out of a scene from a movie. I looked around furtively before opening it. In an unfamiliar scrawling handwriting it read:

"What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." - H

I felt a thrill run through me and quickly tucked the note into my bag before the professor could notice. So Harry was in this class too? I scanned the room subtly until I spotted him a few rows behind me. He caught my eye and gave me a roguish wink.

I turned back to the front, trying to ignore the simmering exhilaration I felt. Over the next few days, the notes kept coming during Shakespeare class, each with a quote or two from the Bard himself. They were usually cheeky and flirtatious, hinting at some blossoming rapport between us.

I found myself anticipating each one, my heart skipping a beat when I would spot a new folded note on my desk. Our eyes would meet across the room, a hidden smile just between us.

After class one day, as I gathered my things, I sensed Harry approach my desk. "So when's our study session?" he asked nonchalantly, though there was a glint of something more in his eyes. I hesitated, knowing I should keep my distance, yet unable to deny I was intrigued.

I nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, trying to appear nonchalant. "Well, I don't know... I've heard you're not the most dedicated studier," I teased, giving him a playful smile.

Harry chuckled, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong. I may not look like it, but I'm quite the Shakespeare aficionado," he replied with a grin.

I raised an eyebrow in skepticism. "Is that so? Well, I suppose we could arrange a study session... if you can prove your expertise," I challenged, a hint of challenge in my tone.

His grin widened, accepting the challenge. "Consider it done. How about we meet at the library tomorrow after school?" Harry suggested, his gaze unwavering.

I hesitated for a moment, the thrill of anticipation coursing through me. "Alright, it's a date then," I agreed, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Harry flashed me one last grin before disappearing into the bustling hallway. My heart raced with both nervousness and exhilaration as I packed up my belongings, eager for our upcoming study session.

The following day at the library, I found myself anxiously scanning the room for Harry. My pulse quickened when I spotted him sitting at a table in the corner, a stack of Shakespearean plays spread out in front of him.

I made my way over to him, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside me. "Ready to impress me with your Shakespeare knowledge?" I asked with a teasing smile as I took a seat across from him.

Harry flashed me a charming grin. "Just watch and learn," he said confidently, picking up a copy of Romeo and Juliet and flipping to a random page.

As he began to recite lines from the play with passion and flair, I couldn't help but be captivated by his enthusiasm. His eyes lit up as he delved into each line, bringing the centuries-old words to life in a way that was both mesmerizing and captivating.

By the time our study session ended, I found myself completely enthralled by Harry's interpretation of Shakespeare's works. As we gathered our things to leave, he turned to me with a twinkle in his eye, he knew a lot more about the works than he let on to.

Harry turned to me, “So now that I’ve shown you i’m smart, I know Shakespeare, when are you coming to one of my games?” he asked confidently.

I was taken aback by his forward invitation. Attending one of his football games felt intimate in a way that made me nervous. 

"Oh, um, I don't know..." I fumbled over my words, suddenly feeling shy. 

Harry tilted his head, giving me a crooked smile. "Come on, it'll be fun. I'll even give you a personal tour of the field afterwards," he joked. 

I bit my lip, considering it. There was no denying I felt drawn to him, despite trying to keep my distance. And the thought of seeing him command the field sent a little thrill through me. 

"Alright, I suppose I could stop by," I finally conceded, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear self-consciously. 

Harry's face lit up. "Brilliant! Our next game is on Friday. I'll leave a ticket for you at will call," he said eagerly.

I nodded, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. "Okay, yeah. I’ll see you then," I replied softly. 

Harry gave me a dazzling smile and I felt my knees go weak.

Friday night arrived and I found myself filled with nervous excitement as I made my way to the football stadium. I couldn't believe I had actually agreed to come watch Harry play. As I approached the ticket booth, I gave my name and they handed me the ticket Harry had left for me. 

I found my seat in the packed bleachers and waited anxiously for the game to start. When the players rushed onto the field, I immediately spotted Harry's mop of curly hair. He looked focused and determined as he took his position on the field. 

As the game began, I was immediately drawn in by Harry's commanding presence on the field. His movements were fluid and precise, each pass and dodge executed with passion and skill. With each successful play, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, mirroring my own excitement. It was impossible not to join in, jumping to my feet and cheering for Harry along with everyone else.

At halftime, Harry made his way over to the sidelines, sweat glistening on his forehead and tattooed arms, his chest heaving from exertion. As he scanned the crowd for familiar faces, his eyes locked onto mine and a wide grin spread across his face. He waved enthusiastically, causing my cheeks to flush as I shyly waved back in return. 

In the second half of the game, Harry's presence seemed to radiate even more brightly. With each touchdown he scored, his fists pumped triumphantly in the air. The crowd roared and cheered as he ripped off his helmet and hoisted it victoriously above his head, his teammates swarming around him in celebration.

As the stadium emptied out, I stayed behind with a swarm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I couldn't wait to see Harry once again. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he emerged from the locker room, his hair still damp from his post-game shower but his eyes shining with joy.

"So, what did you think?" he asked eagerly as he approached me.

"You were truly spectacular out there," I gushed earnestly. A wide grin stretched across Harry's face.

"Come on, let me give you that promised tour," he said playfully, offering me his arm. Laughing, I happily took it and followed him onto the empty field, my heart racing with excitement and admiration for the amazing athlete by my side.

Harry led me onto the empty stadium field, the night air crisp and cool against our skin. He pointed out spots on the grass where pivotal plays had happened, describing them with a passion that revealed his deep love for the game. 

I found myself enthralled, leaning into him as we walked, his arm solid and warm beneath my hand. When we reached the middle of the field, he turned to face me. His eyes were soft, searching my face in the dim glow of the stadium lights. 

"You know, I was afraid you wouldn't come tonight," he admitted quietly. 

I tilted my head. "Why's that?"

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "You never seemed to like me much before. I figured I wasn't your type."

Heat rose to my cheeks. He wasn't wrong - I'd unfairly judged him as arrogant and cocky. But tonight had shattered those assumptions. 

"I guess I realized there's more to you than meets the eye," I said softly. 

Harry's smile widened. He lifted his hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My breath caught at his touch. Slowly, he leaned in. I let my eyes fall shut in anticipation...

But suddenly, the stadium lights flickered off, plunging us into darkness. We jumped apart in surprise. 

Harry laughed. "Guess that's our cue to head out." 

He took my hand, interlacing our fingers, and led me towards the parking lot. I walked close beside him, hyper-aware of his palm pressed against mine.

As he towered over me, Harry's eyes scanned the street, searching for a car. "Where did you park?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth.

I shifted nervously on my feet, avoiding eye contact. "Oh. Uh. I didn't drive. I just live around the street," I murmured, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The thought of navigating English roads was terrifying to me.

A warm chuckle escaped from Harry's lips as he looked back down at me. "I can drive you home, love," he offered, extending a hand towards me. His scent wafted towards me - a mix of cologne and something woodsy - and I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my stomach at his closeness.

As Harry and I walked towards his car, our hands still entwined, I felt a sense of excitement and anticipation build within me. "So, tell me more about this amazing game-winning touchdown," I teased, trying to break the silence that had fallen between us.

Harry laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced at me sideways. "Oh, you mean the one where I body-slammed the other team's runner into oblivion?" He pretended to flex his muscles playfully. "That was pretty epic, if I do say so myself."

I shook my head, feigning disbelief. "You're such a show-off," I said with a grin. "I bet you were the star of the school playground too."

Harry snorted. "Hardly. I was more of a loner growing up. Spent most of my time with my nose buried in books."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "And here I thought all jocks were brain-dead."

He laughed again, his laughter echoing through the empty streets as we walked towards his car. When we finally reached it, Harry unlocked the door and gestured for me to get inside. As I slid into the passenger seat, I couldn't help but notice how perfectly he filled the driver's seat - broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and long legs. The image of him all sweaty and wet from a shower flashed through my mind, making my cheeks heat up again.

"So," Harry began as he started the engine and pulled out onto the road, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, "tell me more about yourself."

I felt myself blush even harder at his directness but decided to play along. "Well," I said slowly, thinking quickly. "I'm a huge bookworm too - Harry Potter is probably my favorite series ever."

Harry chuckled softly as he glanced at me briefly before looking back at the road. "I can see why you fit right in here in England then."

We drove through the quiet streets in companionable silence for a while before Harry spoke up again. "You know, you don't have to act all tough around me," he said quietly, his eyes still on the road as he slowed down at a stoplight.

I turned to face him fully now, surprised by his words. "I wasn't trying to be tough," I said defensively. "I just didn't want you to think that... well, never mind what I didn't want you to think," I muttered under my breath.

Harry's face softened into a gentle smile as he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear once again - a gesture that sent shivers down my spine despite the warmth of the car interior. "It's okay," he murmured soothingly as he took my hand in his once more and squeezed gently before letting go when the light turned green again.

The rest of our drive was filled with more easy conversation punctuated by moments of awkward silence broken only by the sounds of our breathing and occasional traffic noises outside. When we finally pulled up outside my house I found myself hesitating before opening the car door knowing that this was goodbye.

Under the dim glow of the street lamp, I tentatively turned to face Harry. "Thanks for...for tonight," I stammered out, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. 

His emerald eyes twinkled mysteriously as he simply nodded and began unbuckling his seatbelt. His eyes never left mine, setting off a simmering warmth between us that was hard to ignore. 

"I should probably walk you to your door," he said softly, accentuating each word with an inexplicably seductive lilt. My heart pounded in my chest as we exited the car and made our way towards my apartment.

Once at the front door, we stood facing each other in silence, the air around us thick with unspoken words and desires. I felt his strong fingers gently cradle my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. The intensity of this simple touch sent sparks racing down my spine, pooling heat in places I hadn't even known existed.

"Can I come inside?" His voice was barely a whisper but it echoed loudly in my ears.

My mind screamed caution but my body had other plans. “Yes,” I breathed out, unlocking the door and pulling him inside.

Inside, Harry's lips found mine in a searing kiss that left me breathless. His tongue teased against mine, creating a warm and delicious friction that sent shivers down my legs. As he pressed his hips against me, I could feel the unmistakable hardness growing between us. Our hands roamed freely over each other's bodies, exploring new territory and seeking pleasure through every touch.

Harry's fingers made their way to the waistband of my skirt, pulling it down over my hips and letting it fall to the ground. He lifted me up onto the edge of a nearby table, spreading my legs slightly as he stood between them. The feel of his fingers brushing against my inner thigh caused me to gasp and arch my back in anticipation.

Harry pulled back abruptly,“I’m sorry,” He started, “that was really inappropriate.”

As Harry apologized, his eyes were drawn to the hint of my arousal peeking out from between my legs. His hesitation vanished as his fingers brushed against my wetness once more, this time without pulling away. He groaned in approval and leaned forward, pressing his lips against mine once more. I craved him in the worst ways.

Our tongues tangled as he pushed me back onto the table, spreading my legs further apart. His hands found their way under my shirt, skimming over my stomach before lifting it up, exposing my bra-clad breasts. He took a deep breath, inhaling my scent and trailing his fingers lightly across one tight nipple.

"Harry," I moaned, cavinginto his touch. "Please don't stop."

He smirked wickedly down at me before pulling back slightly. In one swift motion, he yanked my shirt over my head, tossing it aside carelessly. Grabbing hold of both sides of my bra, he pulled it down too with such force that my breasts were freed from their confinement.

I gasped at the sudden rush of air hitting my sensitive nipples but before I could catch my breath, he took one of them into his mouth sucking hard while pinching the other between two fingers, teasing it mercilessly.

"Fuck," I whimpered, clawing at the table underneath me as pleasure coursed through me like lightning. The intense mix of pain and pleasure sent waves of desire crashing over me as I felt myself becoming wetter with every passing second.

Sliding one hand down towards his pants, I slowly undid the button and zipper before slipping my hand inside his boxers to grip him firmly around his growing erection. He groaned into my breast at the contact sending shivers down my spine.

"You want me to fuck you?" he whispered hoarsely against my skin leaving a trail of saliva along my collarbone as he ran his tongue upwards caressingly .

"Yes," I breathed out between parted lips unable to form complete words due to the intensity of emotions running through me. 

My heart raced as his erection throbbed in my hand. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, mixed with the desire that seemed to emanate from him. His other hand slid down my back, over my ass cheeks, and gripped them roughly, pulling me closer against his hardness.

"Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are? You and your little shy good girl act" he growled into my neck, nipping at the skin there softly. With one swift movement, he lifted me up onto the countertop, pushing my legs apart with his hips. His mouth trailed kisses along my jawline, down my throat, and on my breasts. 

I arched my back slightly offering myself to him more fully as he took a hungry mouthful of one of my nipples into his mouth sucking on it hard while pinching the other between his fingers causing a sharp intake of breath from me which made him smile devilishly before moving on to devour the other one.

My body trembled with anticipation as he bit my neck playfully, his rough hands sliding over my hips and ass cheeks before pulling me against him. His cock twitched against my wet core, making me whimper in want. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice low and husky. "You're so fucking beautiful."

"Harry," I moaned, my voice reduced to a desperate whimper as he continued teasing me with his words and touches. "Please..."

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with our ragged breathing and the occasional moan. I could feel myself getting lost in the sensations, my body responding eagerly to his movements. His hands were everywhere, tracing over my curves and gripping me tightly as he pounded into me.

My own hands were roaming his back, digging into his flesh as I tried to hold on to something amidst the overwhelming pleasure that was coursing through me. Every inch of my body felt on fire, and I couldn't get enough.

"Fuck," he grunted, his face contorting with pleasure. "You feel so good."

I whimpered in response, unable to form any coherent words as he continued to move inside me relentlessly. My whole world had narrowed down to this moment – his body against mine, the sound of our bodies coming together in a perfect rhythm.

My mind was blissfully blank as he increased his pace, his thrusts becoming rougher and more urgent. I could feel my climax building up within me, like a fire threatening to consume me whole.

And then it hit me like a tidal wave – intense and all-consuming. My back arched off the counter as I cried out his name, my body trembling with pleasure as every nerve ending exploded with ecstasy.

He followed soon after, letting out a loud groan as he spilled himself inside me. We stayed still for a moment, trying to catch our breaths and bask in the aftermath of our passion.

But eventually reality came crashing back around us. Panic started creeping up inside me as I tried to gather my thoughts and make sense of what had just happened. 

As I lay there, my heart still pounding in my chest, he gently pulled out of me and straightened up. His eyes, dark with desire just moments ago, now softened with a mixture of tenderness and regret.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of our heavy breathing. "I shouldn't have let things go this far."

I sat up slowly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me – confusion, guilt, and a lingering sense of pleasure that refused to dissipate. 

"It's not just your fault," I murmured, avoiding his gaze as I tried to gather my clothes around me. "I wanted this too."

He reached out a hand to touch my arm, but hesitated before making contact.

"We should talk about this," he said finally, his tone serious. "About what it means for us."

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words settling between us. What had started as a moment of passion had now morphed into something more complicated, something that demanded attention and discussion.

As we dressed in silence, the air in the room felt charged with unspoken thoughts and emotions. The intensity of our physical connection lingered like a ghost between us, refusing to be ignored.

We began to gather our clothes from around the room, now tainted with the evidence of our reckless choices. Harry buried his face into his shirt before pulling it on, perhaps ruminating on what just occurred, or maybe trying to drown out the reality with the lingering scent of his cologne.

"Y/n," he started after a long silence, pulling his trousers up. His voice sounded strained, an indication that he was struggling with the right choice of words. "I... I didn't mean for this to... I mean, I like spending time with you." He sighed heavily, rubbing his face between his large palms.

I remained silent as I fastened my bra. The finality in his voice was suffocating, making it harder for me to breathe with each passing moment. I felt my heart thumping loudly in my chest – a crude reminder of the complication we had willingly dived into.

"I like you, Y/N," he said finally, his voice a hoarse whisper. The words hung in the air between us, hovering like a dense fog, obscuring any clarity that might lie beyond.

I stopped fumbling with my blouse, my fingers stilled by his confession. "Harry," I began, my voice barely audible. Fear clung to me, making my words tremble.

"I know," he cut me off before I could finish what I started. "I know we're both in different places... Me with football and you with your studies." There was a tingling silence after his statement, as if he was waiting for me to confirm or deny his declaration.

I sighed heavily, tugging at the hem of my blouse, feeling the cool fabric against my still heated skin. "It's not that simple Harry," I admitted, blinking back tears that had started to sting my eyes. "This," I motioned around the room, encompassing our discarded underwear strewn haphazardly around the room - a silent testament to the passion that had just consumed us, "this complicates things."

He ran his hand through his tousled hair and nodded solemnly. "I understand," he replied, a hint of resignation etching lines onto his face. His gaze was heavy with something akin to regret as it met mine.

My breath hitched in my throat at the intensity of his stare. I wanted desperately to reach out and ease the burden that seemed to weigh heavily on him. But reality was an insidious shadow that lurked in our midst, reminding us of the impracticality of our desires.

"I think it's better if we keep our distance for now," Harry broke the silence after what felt like an eternity. His words were like cold water dousing the fire that our bodies had kindled only moments ago.

A feeling of sudden emptiness clawed at me. His words, though probably said in goodwill, felt like a punch to my gut. I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

I nodded, unable to bring myself to utter a word. He stepped towards me and for a moment I thought he would pull me into his arms one last time. But he merely extended a hand that I shook lightly, the gesture felt impersonal after the intimacy we had just shared.

Without another word, he turned and left the room. I stood still in the silence that followed, the sound of his departing footsteps echoing in my ears long after he was gone.

Mia came home later that night, oblivious to the charged atmosphere that still lingered, suffocating and heavy in the air. Her chatter about an extra credit assignment she’d completed was a stark contrast to the silence that had enveloped the room just hours ago. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” she asked suddenly, noticing my distant gaze. I gave her a weak smile in response before excusing myself to bed.

As I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Harry's words echoed through my mind. "I think it's better if we keep our distance for now." His voice was etched into my memory, roughened by regret and something else I couldn't quite place. His face bore an expression that told me this was as hard for him as it was for me.

The next day was a blur. My classes seemed trivial compared to the turmoil swirling in my mind. My interactions with others were mechanical and flat as if I was watching myself from outside my body.

Football practice was going on when I walked past the field on my way back from the campus library. My eyes instinctively sought out Harry among the sea of players. I found him focused on his game, every muscle in his body straining as he kicked the ball towards the goalpost.

His world seemed unchanged—still revolving around football—while mine felt like it had been knocked off its axis.

The following weeks were no easier. Everywhere I went, I could feel his presence like a phantom pain - a dull ache that refused to fade away. In every conversation, every song playing in the background, every corner of campus - Harry was there.

I knew we had made a rational decision, given our circumstances. But my heart couldn't comprehend what my mind had already accepted.

Months passed and winter set in, blanketing Manchester in white. Serene and beautiful yet so melancholy it mirrored my mood perfectly. The once familiar campus looked different under the soft glow of the snow as if to mirror the change that had occurred in my life.

One evening, as I was walking back from the library, I spotted Harry sitting alone on a bench, bundled up in a thick coat, his breath misting in the frigid air. His eyes were trained on the football field, currently blanketed by snow, and his hands were tucked into his pockets, his usual energy replaced by a pensive quietness.

I hesitated, weighing my options. We hadn't spoken since that night – the night when our worlds collided and then abruptly fell apart. But something drew me towards him – an inexplicable magnetism I had been fighting for so long.

Stepping tentatively closer, I cleared my throat to announce my presence. "Harry," I said softly, trying not to startle him.

He looked up at the sound of my voice, surprise flickering across his features before they settled into guarded neutrality. "Y/N," he responded with a curt nod, but made no move to invite me to sit.

Taking a leap of faith, I lowered myself onto the bench next to him, maintaining some distance while also bracing for the icy cold through my jeans. For several minutes we sat in silence, lost in our own thoughts as we stared out at the snowy field.

"I've missed you." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

He turned toward me then, his emerald eyes soft and searching as they met mine. His lips opened as if to say something but closed again as if reconsidering his words.

"Y/N..." His voice trailed off and there was a long pause before he continued. "I’ve missed you too."

Relief washed over me at his confession but it was quickly replaced with a gnawing sadness as I realized that missing each other wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between us. Our realities were still the same - he was still the star football player with ambitions bigger than Manchester itself and I was still an English major trying to carve out a place for myself in academia.

“Do you ever think about…?” I started, swallowing hard as I tried to voice the question that had been eating at me.

“Us?” He completed my sentence, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was heavy but he held it steady, openly showing the vulnerability he usually kept hidden beneath his star athlete facade. “All the time.”

The honesty in his confession hit me harder than I expected. We were both stuck in our respective worlds, looking at each other from afar but never truly reaching out.

I took a deep breath, feeling the biting winter air fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. “We can’t keep doing this, Harry,” I said finally, breaking the silence that had fallen between us.

He looked at me then, his gaze filled with understanding and something else I couldn't quite place. “I know,” he replied softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

The future was uncertain and full of challenges. But if there was one thing I had learnt from this whole ordeal, it was that some chances are worth taking. No matter how daunting they may seem.

[ahli-stuff]

Yeah!

I didn't want to make the reblog chain any longer but I just wanted to say I actually don't consider Fyodor's attachment to Dazai as one sided because of this statement from Asagiri: "There are rare moments when Dazai shows his very “human” side. That is when he talks to another superhuman who is on the same level with him. The other is when he talks about his old friend who has passed." But like you mentioned, they're on opposite sides so they're totally doomed hehe. Some fyozai fans like to create AUs where Dazai convinces Fyodor to embrace goodness, but I like thinking about the reverse where Fyodor convinces Dazai to embrace evilness. 😈Imagine how terrifying that would be to have the both of them as antagonists? Nobody would be able to stop them.

AH, hello rblogger! It’s funny that you said you didn’t want to make the reblog chain longer, because I was making a another separate post in my drafts for that exact same reason. This is the current tag of that post:

And that quote! I’ve never seen it before, that’s so interesting! It recontextualizes what I previously thought about about Dazai’s feelings towards Fyodor. Funny how a certain redhead isn’t included in the people Dazai shows his “human side” to, isn’t it? (I’m sorry skk shippers please don’t kill me.)

To me, it seems that there are two faces to Dazai’s “human” side. There is the part of him that good be traditionally considered “good” and the part of him that could be traditionally considered “evil.” A paraphrased version of a quote I almost remember by heart, is when Oda tells Dazai: “if it makes no difference to you whether you kill or save people in this world, be on the side that saves people.”

In the context of the quote you mentioned and the one I just did, Fyodor represents “kill” and Oda represents “save,” the two ends of the spectrum of what kind of “human” Dazai could be.

With this information, I would consider fyozai’s dynamic requited, but I also think… that’s only if Oda’s character ceases to exist.

I firmly believe that in every universe that Oda and Dazai exist, Dazai chooses Oda. Above Fyodor, above Chuuya, above Atsushi, above the armed detective agency, above the entire world—Dazai will screw up the lives of everybody as long as he can save Oda.

This is evidenced in the Beast universe: a world where Dazai does exactly that.

It could then be plausibly believed that Fyodor and Dazai have a chance at being ride-or-die partners in crime in an alternate universe where Dazai exists and Oda doesn’t—but I highly doubt that. Dazai and Oda’s fates are so intertwined across universes that in every universe where Dazai lives, Oda dies. The opposite is also true; in the only universe that Oda lives, Dazai dies.

Out of billions of universes, the only one where Oda lives, Dazai must die. I argue this shows the sheer extent to which Dazai and Oda’s fate are intertwined, and because they are intertwined, Oda is a central part of Dazai’s character development in every universe.

Of course Dazai being friends with Fyodor and Dazai being friends with Oda aren’t mutually exclusive things, but any kind of relationship Dazai would willingly entertain with Fyodor would always be colored by Oda’s influence, if you know what I mean?

It’s like… having a very memorable ex, even though I don’t ship Odazai.

It is my of my opinion, canonically, that Oda is the only person with the capacity to significantly change Dazai. That is what I mean by Fyodor and Dazai’s dynamic being unrequited—it could be requited, Fyodor understands Dazai, so he could theoretically change him, but it will never be to the degree that Oda changes Dazai. I believe Dazai will always put Oda’s words above everyone else’s, and I believe Oda exists in every universe Dazai exists in.

[lowkeychenle]

Irrevocably [ZCL] (M)

Description: You were friends with benefits with Chenle until he got a girlfriend...fast forward months later, and now they've broken up--leaving Chenle to come back to you, very much in need of a distraction.

DID YOU MISS ME?! It's been so long someone should chop my hands off omg

Genre: Smut. Angst. Read at your own discretion!!! Read the warnings first please! It's mostly smut tho tbh

Also it's not proofread or anything crazy like that but I do hope y'all like it...I've been so busy sos

Content Warnings: Explicit, rough, unprotected sex (don't do the unprotected part), Chenle says pretty girl again (not sorry) and also slut because duality (again?), overstimulation, multiple orgasms (both), cum eating (like he actually eats his...own cum...), he's pretty pussy drunk in this he cums twice, Chenle is manipulative as hell in this!!! he is not a good guy in this fic!!! Do not read if you don't like it!!!!! Also I'm not sure if this can be considered infidelity but if you're sensitive to that topic read with caution!

Word Count: 4,877

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader (mentions of Mark Lee x Reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Juliet's Masterlist | Requests

You can’t even say you haven’t heard from him in a while. That’s far from the truth—and in your opinion, maybe you hear from him too often. Your friendship was constructed long before any other aspect, but for as long as you could remember, it’s been you and Chenle.

Now there’s you, and there’s him. Inherently separate.

Your situation with him was simple—friends with benefits. And everything was working great at first, and the end wasn’t traumatic and the world didn’t crumble. You weren’t in love with each other, and you both mutually understood that the second someone has the potential to become more in one of your lives that you’d stop immediately.

So, when Chenle started talking to his now girlfriend, you did the right thing. The respectful thing. You backed off, and you wouldn’t say you regret it. He’s happy—happier than he was before, and that’s all you want for him. You’ve been friends for forever, after all, and what would that make you if you had ill wishes for him?

It was three months after he started dating his girlfriend that he introduced you to one of his friends, Mark. Fortunately, you got along with him well, and he gave you a much needed distraction from the empty void Chenle had left in your life. He’d been more than sex, but less than love. He gave you company and companionship, even if it was in an unconventional way.

You’d been up front and honest with Mark about your relationship with Chenle, but he didn’t mind as long as you were sure there hadn’t been feelings involved. For Chenle, you weren’t sure if he ever told his girlfriend about you. You wouldn’t blame him if he hadn’t, but considering you’d been sleeping together up until their first date, it might have been a good thing to mention.

The difference was simple—you and Mark weren’t anything, not really, but Chenle and his girlfriend were, in their words, serious. In fact, in the past four months, you hadn’t even slept with Mark. The most he was at this point was someone to keep you company.

And then everything blew up.

Chenle called you at 9 p.m., almost nine months after he started dating his girlfriend. You were in your apartment by yourself, watching the same TV show for the 70th time. You stare at your phone screen in confusion before you answer it.

“Hey,”

“Hey.” He lets out a breath, and the defeat in his voice hints something’s wrong.

“Everything okay?” you ask him, sitting up on your couch.

“We broke up.” Chenle pauses, maybe to contemplate what he says next. “Can I come see you? I know it’s random, and I probably shouldn’t, but to be bluntly fucking honest, I’ve missed you.”

“We talk all the time,” you mention and cradle your knees to your chest. 

The thought of allowing Chenle here so late scares you—old habits die hard. You feel like you owe more than that to both Mark and Chenle. Mark, because while you two aren’t together, you’ve grown quite close over the past few months. Chenle, because he’s probably not thinking straight at the moment.

“You’re the only one I can talk to about this,” he mumbles.

Your heart sinks. “It was because of me?”

“I…Not exactly. It wasn’t you at all. It was us. And it was me for not saying anything.” He sighs, and you envision the way he tugs his fingers through his hair.

“You never told her?”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he says. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Oh, hey, by the way, I used to fuck one of my closest friends on the regular, but now that you’re here, I stopped.’ That doesn’t sound great.”

“Better than her finding out some other way.” You chew on your bottom lip. “I told Mark.”

“That’s different,” Chenle replies. “You’re not dating Mark.”

A moment of silence passes between you two, and when you don’t respond, he clears his throat.

“Oh. You are.”

“It’s not like that.”

“So, what is it like? Is it like what we were?” He sounds shorter, as if he’s no longer enjoying the conversation.

You scoff. “It’s none of your business, Chenle. Mark is nice. And you’re the one who introduced us anyway.”

“Mark is nice,” he repeats, snorting. “You act like I don’t know you. Nice isn’t exactly your type.”

“You can come here if you stop being a dick,” you tell him. “But we’re only talking.”

“Good. I’ve got a lot to say.”

You debate changing after he hangs up, but Chenle’s already seen you at your worst. Your shorts and T-shirt won’t faze him in the slightest. Nerves like this haven’t swarmed you since the first time you slept with him. Clearly, your body doesn’t get the memo that this isn’t a booty call.

And when he arrives, you realize how well he fits. The dim, golden lighting reflecting off of his skin, the dark, oversized clothes he likes to wear, the way his hair is parted. Everything about him is exactly as you remember. It’s odd to think that way, because really, you’ve seen him as often as you used to. Things were just…different.

And under these circumstances, it’s awkward. But even when he was dating his girlfriend, there were times where the two of you were alone—nothing ever happened, of course, but it hadn’t ever been so nerve wracking until now.

It isn’t for long, though. Within seconds of your thoughts running wild, he’s closing the distance between you and pulling you into a tight hug. You exhale in relief and return the gesture with no hesitation. He takes a deep breath, almost as if he’s inhaling your scent.

Something about this hurts. Your ribcage suddenly feels like a prison, and all you want is for your heart to be free. Why does it feel like something’s stabbing it?

“I’m sorry for asking to come over so late,” he whispers. “And for being a dick about Mark. It’s not my business.”

There’s a twist deep in your chest. You wonder if there’s truly anything left in there.

“It’s okay, Le.” Your voice is muffled by his shirt. “Let’s sit and you can tell me what happened.”

You move away from him, lightly grabbing his hand to lead him over to your couch. When you’re both seated, he rests his head on your shoulder. You reach up to play with his hair, and instinct you became familiar with when he needed comfort back when you two were messing around.

“She asked about you.” His fingers toy with yours, warm touch gently grazing your skin. “Really, I had no idea what to say. There isn’t much to say, you know? So, that’s what I said. I told her we’ve been friends for forever and…that’s it.”

“Technically not wrong.” You chuckle, but the ache within you only grows.

“I went to shower and when I got out, she was going through my phone. By the time I realized what she was doing, she’d already found more than enough to be pissed.”

“What was it?”

“Pictures. In our text conversations from like…almost a year ago. I get why she was upset, you know? But it’s not like they were recent. Or even in my camera roll, for fuck’s sake.” He shuffles a bit closer, his warmth pressing into you. “But I should’ve checked and made sure. Or something. So, I’m sorry someone else saw those, (Y/N).”

“Did I look good at least?” you joke.

“Oh, fuck off.” He laughs, shaking his head. “You always look good and you know it.”

You get a sudden, overwhelming urge to look at him. His words make your stomach turn, and you’re desperate to figure out what the hell is going on with you.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He ponders for a moment. “I thought I’d be a little more upset, but the only thing I was really thinking about was coming to see you.”

Chenle sits up, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he takes you in. His gentle brown eyes trail over you, unrecognizable emotions swimming around in his irises. You find him still as extraordinary as ever. His features so sharp, lips perfectly full. You fight the craving to reach out and trace his jawline.

“It’s just…” he murmurs. “It just always comes back to you, doesn’t it?”

“Chenle…”

“It’s been so long,” he continues. “Since I’ve seen you like this.”

“We hung out all the time.”

“No. Not like this. I know why you did, but you got so distant from me. Didn’t you ever think about me? That whole time?” He wets his lips.

“How could you ask me that?” you breathe out. “I thought about you all the time, but you weren’t mine to think about.”

“When I thought of you, it used to hurt. I used to have to distract myself from you because it was wrong to want you when I had everything else.” His gaze flicks down to your lips, and you feel every ounce of you crumble to pieces.

“It’s not…wrong anymore,” you say.

His eyes flutter shut, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, and the next thing you know, his mouth is on yours. You let out a shaky breath against him, but quickly reciprocate what he gives you. All hesitation is out the window now, all thoughts of him being too upset at a moment like this fly from your brain.

It’s Chenle. He’s kissing you. This is familiar. Right, even.

“God, it’s been too long.” He reaches up to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing your skin. “Need you, baby. Never wanna lose you like that again.”

Your heart is beating so fast, you’re not exactly sure how to respond to that. The longer you take in every word leaving his mouth, the quicker you realize what’s happening to you.

You haven’t slept with Mark because you do have feelings for Chenle. It hits you like a freight train, and the fear sinks in only for a second before you slam your lips back to his. Being with him like this feels good, like nothing could go wrong.

The quietest moan slips from his mouth into yours, and just like it used to, heat floods your core. His hand slips beneath your shirt, his scalding touch trailing across your side before settling on the small of your back.

You pull away from him and gently push against his chest. “Do you even know what you’re doing right now?”

“Need a distraction.” He swallows hard. “That’s what we are for each other right? She’s out of the picture, so I get to have you again?”

You shake your head. “Only when we’re both available. Not just you.”

“Did you fuck him?” Chenle tone drops, a dark hint of jealousy gracing those narrowed brown eyes. One of his hands drops down to your thigh, tracing along the hem of your shorts. “Is that why you don’t want me anymore? He’s better or something?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I—Chenle, I haven’t.”

Wetting his lips, his touch trails higher, his skin burning against yours in the best way. “Don’t you miss me? Or at least the way I made you feel? When’s the last time someone made you cum?”

He notices when your legs press together, desperate for any sort of friction between them. You’re fighting every urge you have, wanting nothing more than to have Chenle right here on your couch, but something holds you back.

Leaning closer, he hums lowly in your ear, “You know what I can do.” His lips press against the spot below your ear, slowly heading down until his tongue runs along your pulse.

“Damn it,” you groan, pushing him back. “Take your pants off.”

As you stand up to push your shorts and panties to the floor, he lifts his hips to push his sweats to down his legs. He reaches into his boxers and strokes himself slowly.

“C’mon, baby.” He smirks at you. “Sit on it.”

You straddle his lap, bracing your hands on his shoulders as he pulls his cock out. One hand grips your hip and he holds you above him.

“Do we need a condom?” he asks, gaze glazed with want.

“I haven’t slept with anyone,” you mutter, face heating up for more reasons than one.

“It was just…” he trails off and gulps. “You know. I’m clean.”

The idea of him with her is almost enough to snap you out of it, but the last thing you plan on doing is getting off his lap. You ignore the sting of your heart and instead trade it for the sting of your walls stretching to accommodate Chenle with no prep. Whining at the pain, you stop after a couple inches.

“S’okay, baby,” he encourages you. “Take it slow.”

You dig your nails into his shoulders, lifting up before sinking back down to take a bit more of him than the last time. He breathes heavily, biting down on his bottom lip while his chest heaves.

“Just a little more.” Chenle slowly pulls you closer until he’s fully seated inside you.

The stretch has your legs shaking, whimpers escaping you as he whispers praises to you.

“Such a good girl,” he coos. “Letting me fill this pretty pussy with my cock.”

Chenle tugs your shirt over your head, freeing your bare breasts. He lets out a small sound at the sight before leaning down to kiss them, teeth nipping and tongue flicking your nipple.

Unable to hold back anymore, you push him back harshly. His lips part as you grind, sweet moans escaping him at the same time yours do.

“So tight,” he groans. “You waited ‘cause you knew no one else could do this to you, huh?”

“Shut up,” you command him.

His eyebrows raise for the briefest moment, until you start bouncing on his cock. Wetness starts squelching around the two of you, aiding you in your quick movements on top of him.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby.” Chenle thrusts up to match you, hands trailing around your body to squeeze your ass harshly. A slap comes next, the sound resounding through the room.

Your hips jolt, thrown off your rhythm at the stinging sensation on your skin. Nails leaving angry, red crescent moons in his skin, you rock back and forth to stabilize yourself before continuing. The sound of your arousal would embarrass you under any other circumstances, but the fucked out expression on Chenle’s face is enough to keep you going.

You don’t hold back your moans, letting the needs of your body take over instead of whatever the hell is going on in your head. He feels so fucking good inside you, the rough slide of his length against your walls, the way he throbs with want for you. The twitch of his cock inside you has a knot tightening in your stomach.

“Look at me,” he says roughly.

You don’t bother listening, too focused on your own pleasure to justify stopping.

“I said fucking look at me.” He grabs your face, pulling you close so you're inches away from him, hooded, hazy brown eyes devouring you. “Keep fucking yourself on my cock.”

You let out a weak moan, legs aching as you continue, but you know you need more. Trying to grind down, you do whatever you can to get friction on your clit. Whines slip past your lips, with the mind-shattering high just out of reach.

“Use your words, pretty girl.” Chenle slaps your ass again.

“Close,” you practically whimper. “Touch me. Fuck, please.”

Immediately, he lets go of his harsh grip on your cheeks, reaching between you two and quickly finding your clit. Your nails scratch down his shoulders, leaving marks as his fast circles push you over the edge.

You scream out in pleasure, your vision blacking out as you’re swept up in your climax. Crumpling into him, you squirm on top of him until he wraps his arm around your waist, warm seed coating your insides.

His chest heaves, lips parting as he rests his head back on the couch cushion. He gulps and strokes your hair while still slowly rocking up into you. You finally work up the energy to get off of him, but he holds you down.

“No,” he murmurs, breathless. “Not yet. Not done.”

Your body heats all over again, the idea of another round sends tingle down your spine. Goosebumps form on your skin, but you listen. Something has to make up for the lost time between you two.

“Need you again.” He nips where your neck and shoulder connects. “Can I take you to your room?”

You nod, unable to speak. He lifts you deftly from the couch, carefully walking over to your room like he’s done hundreds of times before. You hold onto him desperately, never wanting to let him go for more reasons than one.

As soon as you’re both on your bed, he’s already beginning to thrust again. You dig your nails into his back, but he grabs both of your wrists and pins them above your head.

“Be good,” he warns, filling you up over and over, ever so slowly. “Little pussy’s so greedy, sucking me in like this.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, the weight of him on top of you making you whine until your throat’s raw.

Every nerve-ending is on edge from your previous high, skin tingling and burning wherever his fingers trace shapes on you. You can barely keep your eyes open, the gentle brush of his chest against yours has your weak-minded state reading into this much more than you should.

If you could form actual words, you’d probably accidentally confess to him. He works through his own overstimulation, his jaw clenched tightly as he works your body expertly.

“I missed you,” he whispers, dipping his head down to nip along your neck. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” you force out, barely able to muster up the words. “God, yes.”

He hums, tonguing along the pulse in your neck. “You didn’t fuck him ‘cause he can’t make you feel like this, can he?”

You want to be mad at him for bringing Mark up at a time like this, but his words only make you shiver. He’s right. You can’t be mad at him when he’s right, and certainly not when your brain is fuzzy with the pleasure of his cock rubbing so, so slowly against your inner walls. Nobody could ever fill you like Chenle does.

“Answer me.” He thrusts particularly hard, jolting you up the mattress.

“Fuck, he can’t make me feel like you do.” You’re not entirely sure if your words are coherent, but Chenle seems satisfied by what you said.

“And you’d better remember that, too.” He releases your wrists and reaches between you two, resuming circles on your clit. “Could fuck you all night. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Getting your cunt filled with my cum as many times as you can handle?”

You wrap your legs around his waist in a desperate attempt to keep him close, the angle allowing him slightly deeper inside you. Between the delicious stretch of your walls and the uniform, skilled rubbing on your sensitive bud, your body shudders uncontrollably. Your back arches and your hands fly to his hair, loud, obscene moans pouring from your lips.

Chenle’s thrusts pick up as he helps you ride out your high, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to keep his steady pace. He slows to a stop, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead, he kisses you, tongue already slipping past your lips to dominate your mouth the same way he’s dominated the rest of you.

“Think you can get on all fours for me?” he asks, his breath fanning across your face.

“Again?”

“Please, baby, I’m close already, just need a little more.” He presses kisses on your cheeks and the tip of your nose. “I need it so bad.”

You nod, shakily removing your legs from around his waist. He guides you to the position he wants, your head resting on the mattress as he squeezes your ass.

“You’re still so fucking wet,” he groans, a slap resonating around the room. “Might wanna hold on, pretty girl. I’m not going easy on you.”

Despite being an absolute rag doll, you clench in excitement at the idea of having him inside you again. You push back toward him, urging him to fuck you. He uses his knee to nudge your legs apart, and even though they’re shaking, you plan on letting him pound into you until they fucking give out.

He runs the head up and down your folds, switching between barely pushing his tip inside and tapping it on your clit.

“God, I can’t fucking take this anymore,” Chenle growls, and the next thing you know, he’s thrusting inside you with as much force as he can. You scream, gripping onto the sheets and biting down on a pillow to attempt to silence yourself.

With all the stimulation, you feel constantly on the edge of another orgasm. His hips slap against your ass, the clapping sounds emphasizing your pleasure. Squelches of wetness float around too, the stickiness dripping down your thighs onto the bed the longer he has you in this position.

He shifts slightly so his balls smack your twitching clit with every thrust. You’re barely able to think straight, and you’re half-sure you’re drooling, but Chenle slams you into your third orgasm of the night rather easily. Your legs threaten to buckle, and he loops his arm around you to keep you up.

After a couple more thrusts, he moans loudly and spills deep inside you, chest heaving at the effort. Both of you wait in silence for a few moments, him to regain composure and you to remember how to breathe. He gently pulls out of you, turning you to drop your back down on the mattress. Once he gets out of bed, he stops in front of you and pulls you to the edge by your ankles. Nudging your legs apart, he sinks down to his knees.

“What are you doing?” you ask, rising up to your shaky elbows.

“Need a taste,” he says, mesmerized by the mess leaking out of your entrance. Swiping some of it up on his finger, he offers it to you. “Taste us, pretty girl. We’re so good together.”

You lean closer and wrap your lips around him, giving a harsh suck before you release him.

“God, baby, your pussy is so perfect when you’re leaking my cum.”

You’re not expecting him to move forward and flatten his tongue against your core. He holds your hips down to the bed, tentatively licking your slit. Without much effort from him, he’s reduced you to a mewling mess again, core throbbing with sensitivity even when he barely touches you. Your arms immediately give out, slumping you back onto the sheets as he works your core with his tongue.

It’s odd how much the idea of him eating you out when he came inside you turns you on. As limp as your body is, you relish in all of the pleasure he’s willing to give you. His tongue dances around your slit, alternating between slipping it between your folds and flicking your clit. You lazily tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging just enough for him to moan against you.

Your hips jerk when his lips wrap around your bud, and next thing you know, his hands hold you down. You call out his name, pulling with the grip you have on his hair to tell him you’re much too sensitive to continue.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, blowing cold air on you. “Just a little bit more, okay? One more time.”

And then he’s back at the apex of your thighs, working much faster and harsher with his movements to get you to the edge faster. You shatter all over again, a mantra of noises passing by your lips as your thighs clench around his head.

You must actually black out for a moment, because when you come to, Chenle has pulled away from your core, his lips and chin coated with your arousal. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression equally as exhausted as yours.

He grabs a towel to clean you up, but both of you are beyond tired from all the activity. You shift up on your bed, not bothering to say anything else to him as you slide beneath your blanket. When you and Chenle did things before, he always stayed. He always pulled you into his chest and whispered sweet nothings into your ear until you fell asleep.

You’re not sure if that will be the case today.

Except he does. He carefully crawls into bed next to you, turning you toward him and pulling you to him. Kissing the top of your head, he taps his fingers against your arm.

“I really missed you,” he says.

“Me, too.” You nod, but something makes your heart twist in your chest.

“Can I be honest for a second?”

“Of course.”

“I knew the pictures were there,” he whispers. “Maybe it’s shitty, but I couldn’t delete them. Sometimes, I looked back at our old conversations—not the sexual ones—and just…thought of you. I couldn’t do anything to erase you and what we did from my life. I didn’t want to.”

You wonder if that’s his idea of a confession. If he’s trying to tell you he has unresolved feelings for you.

“Then why did you stay with her?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Everyone liked her. My mom told me she thought I’d end up marrying her. She obviously didn’t know about…this. But I couldn’t fucking stop, (Y/N). Everything came back to you.”

“We’ll talk about this in the morning,” you offer. “I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah…” Chenle takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Let’s talk in the morning.”

You and Chenle wake at the same time, to the sound of his phone on the bedside table. Groaning, you massage your forehead and turn away from him. When he answers it, your interest is piqued.

“Hey.” Sleep still weighs on his voice, making it scratchy. “No, I’m not at home.”

There’s a pause, and the vague sound of the other person responding makes your heart twist violently in your chest. It’s her.

“Would you stop jumping to conclusions? I’m at Jisung’s.” Irritation laces in his tone.

You should say something. Let her know somehow that he’s lying, but you don’t. You stay silent in your hurt and wait to see what he could possibly do next.

“Yeah, forgive me for not wanting to be alone after what happened.” Chenle scoffs and runs his fingers through his hair. A sigh follows. “Damn it, I told you that was done. I’m sorry you saw those, okay? They’re from…over a year ago. It didn’t seem relevant to bring it up, and she’s still my friend, so.”

Friend. You almost laugh out loud, but again, you don’t say a word.

“Yeah, of course. Where?”

Another pause from Chenle.

“Yeah, I’ll stop by my house and then I’ll be over there. I’ll see you in half an hour?”

Your heart feels like it’s being shredded into a thousand tiny pieces.

“Thank you.” He sighs, his body deflating. “I’m so sorry for all of this, you know that, right? I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

Tears sting your eyes, and as soon as he hangs up the phone, he hops up to go grab his clothes from the living room. You sit up in your bed, blanket clutched to your chest as you watch him scramble to get dressed.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), I have to go,” he says, walking back into your room. Leaning in, he attempts to press a kiss to your lips. You turn away from him, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“Where are you going?” you ask, even though you already know the answer.

“She…She wants to talk it out. And I have to go. You understand why, right?” His eyes widen as he scans over your face.

When you say nothing, he sighs.

“I’ll text you later. You can answer or not. Whatever you want to do.” He walks toward the door to your bedroom, but you stop him when he reaches the threshold.

Your eyes sting, your body’s sore, and all you wanted was to tell him the truth this morning. Now it’s clear to you—he’ll never feel the same way for you. He’ll drop anything and everything—you included—if it meant getting her back.

“Chenle.”

He stops, turning to you.

“She’s going to make you choose,” you warn him. “Between her and me.”

Chenle pauses, fingertips gripping the frame. “I know.”

With that, you have nothing else to say, and he wouldn’t have time to hear it anyway. He leaves without another word to you, and when he’s far enough away, your tears finally fall. You want to scream and yell, but your throat is too raw from the long night before to even attempt it.

[comfortless]

for your consideration, dearest syl: hybrid Flemish giant rabbit!König 🐇💭

flemish giant rabbit hybrid! König x fem, coyote hybrid! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. hybrids: König is (mostly) human! he just has bunny ears and a cute lil tail & the same goes for reader!, kind of dark- mentions of what is essentially cannibalism, violence, scent & breeding kink, dubious consent to everything. please heed the warnings!

hello lil wisp! sorry!! this veered off a bit from what i usually write. there is still some fluff and sweetness here if you squint real hard…

Winter is setting in.

You could feel it on your bare skin, the chill that sweeps past the trees like breath from a ghoul’s rotting throat: something dead and wretched, so cold it steals your breath and halts the blood in your veins. If you weren’t careful, staying ahead of yourself and the rest of the things lurking in the woods, that ivory death would creep up, grab you by the neck and drown you out in the snow.

With the season comes the need to feed. You don’t have the luxury of hibernation settled into the primitive roots of your brain. While everyone else tucks themselves into dens carved out from mountains or beneath the earth, settled in with the roots of vast trees, you’re still left in smothering snow, heavy as the weight of the hunger.

You were born for this, the hunt: to feel your fingernails dig into the fallen leaves and forest debris, curl in carving your name into the earth, bite and rip and tear. “Little coyote,” the birds would call, seated up on tree limbs so, so far above that the sunlight would burn your eyes if you dare to look at them, “let us watch.”

You always put on the show, always stage the fight with grace. A lost, blubbering sheep one day; the wool ‘round her ears dried your throat, her mournful bleating only died down when your teeth found her throat. The canopy above echoed your pride, they were always grateful to have something to scavenge later, whether it be finger or eye or ear; your hunger wasn’t the only that raged out here in the forest.

This winter would have to be your last alone. You could feel the way a life of roaming without pack or anything to settle with had eaten away at not just your body, but that little illusion of a soul somewhere tucked a long way down inside of you.

It would be a simple one, too— drag some creature to your den to keep your flesh warmed and your stomach full, survive this loathsome season and flourish with the spring. When the leaves returned and the lakes thawed, you could settle into some foreign pack. Flash your neck, hide your teeth and hope they wouldn’t rip you apart as you have so many others.

You think to yourself that a deer would do, some meek little doe that would bat her eyelashes and plead that you only wait the winter out with her, curling against you to keep you warm as you keep her safe until finally…

You didn’t like to think about it too much.

As much as the chase and the thrill had a hold on you, thinking about the loss of life, the ghosts that cling to your shoulders and wail, waiting for your turn to join them was far different. You couldn’t fight your nature, but you knew well enough you could never entirely swallow down the guilt that came with it, either.

There was a pain in your legs as you walked, exhaustion that would go unsatisfied until your plan had been laid out proper. It begins to feel dismal when you realize you have not seen another creature in miles, no prints, either. The only thing that brings you any companionship are the first flakes of snow, sifting down from far above, the great bone white and gray of an falsified sea.

You crouch and wait, curling your arms around your midsection as you shiver. Time passes, but you can’t be certain of just how much… mere seconds, maybe hours. The sky gives nothing away.

Now, there’s a rabbit.

You catch the scent of it on the breeze, musky and floral. Poor thing has probably only basked beneath evergreens, lived in sprawling gardens its entire life, kissed the sun and held flaking petals in its hands. So very unlike you who only knows the shade, the blood, and the hunt.

Your charge is determined, the soles of your feet torn and bloodied from angry thorns springing up from the crushed leaves on the cold soil; teeth bared as you hurtle through the brush of dying plant life. Its so close, so terribly close you can already feel the way your teeth will rend its flesh, feel saliva pooling up on the back of your tongue.

Reaching the forest’s edge you spot… him.

The rabbit is huge, stood in the midst of the deadened field with his back turned to you. The tall, decaying grass just barely brushes against the backs of his knees, low hanging fog veiling his face. If not for the puffy, fawn-colored tail situated just past the expanse of the pale, toned back, you would have assumed you were faced with some sort of bear.

This is not your usual prey.

No matter the sharpness of your claws or the ferocity of your bite, you know well enough that someone like this could never be brought down by yourself alone. It’s too risky, even as your belly aches and you itch to be back in the warmth of your den, surrounded by the pelts of the four-legged imitations and the fire roaring in its pit…

Rabbits were simple, at least. You press your face against them and cuddle, whisper sweet things in their ears and they melt, begging to be swallowed whole without any idea that you’ve only ever meant it literally.

You approach him with cautious, gentle steps, allowing your body language to remain open and friendly as you present him with the view of you bare, claws turned inward into your own palms and teeth hidden away by soft, warm lips. Your ears lie back to rest against your head, tail tucked between your thighs: all a display of utter submission, and a trickery that has worked time and time again.

“It’s getting cold..,” you murmur, voice low and as pitiful as it can get. “Will you keep me warm?”

Your rabbit cocks his head at you, one flopped ear lifting in curiosity. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t startle… The poor, stupid thing remains in place as his stare drinks you in, almost adoringly as you pad right up to him. There’s no hope of your faces being level, you merely use that to your advantage, putting on a cute pout and placing your palms flat against his bare chest.

“Ja,” he murmurs, gently coaxing your chin up to look him properly in the eye. Cute prey was easy, but never… never in your life had you found your prey to be handsome. Even with those silly ears bouncing with each cloudy puff of breath he takes, his face is still something of a myth. The old humans would have made statues in his honor from his build alone, but that face would have given him the look of a warrior of myth— brutish, yet charming with the wide grin he gives you when you meet the sea holly color of his irises. “Come here.”

He lifts you into his arms with ease and your shivering immediately ceases, he’s warm like the summer sun.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers into one of your triangular ears, causing it to involuntarily flick from the rush of his breath and press tighter to your skull.

Your intent was to take him to your own den, but as he begins to move it winds up being the opposite; there are mountains, an ice covered stream all laid out before you as he huffs more sweet words in a foreign tongue against your temple. It takes some time to understand that what you had intended to do and what he intends are entirely different. The mouth of a vast cave comes into view right as he dips his head, huffs several breaths against you, panting like a dog.

You’re only dropped when he kneels down to enter the den— his, ripe with the scent of sweat and musk and something floral. The rabbit has supplies stowed away for the winter, an array of preserved food, ample pelts likely stolen away from some other poor creature. He has weapons scattered about, stolen away from what remained of the old humans and their buildings, some sharper and more deadly than even the claws that crest the peeks of your hands. Your heart only plummets… you’re not in the presence of some stupid bunny, but a behemoth.

You begin your protests in a hiss, only to have your lips met with dried fruit, something sweet and red laid out on your tongue that tastes of sugar. He pulls you up and over his lap as he fits you both into the bed of animal skins and feeds you by gently guiding the food to your lips. The only think still spitting and crackling is a fire pit at the center as you allow yourself to somewhat settle.

The rabbit man only hums his contentment against your throat as your back presses to the expanse of chest behind you, and his hands trail away from your mouth, down further until they’re spreading your legs for him. Your pulse races as your eyes map the daggers across the floor down to the fur he’s seated you with him upon.

There’s only a hiss of breath that leaves your lips when his already leaking cock does press against the heat of your core. You don’t fuck prey— that would only spoil it, and you suppose that you are satisfied in knowing that he has no intention of harming you, only filling you with his seed, perhaps even his kits…

As his tip snags at your entrance, he purrs finding you already wet, bared open for him with his hand still steadying your thigh.

“Coyotes mate for life, hm?,” he rasps against the back of your neck, his own thigh trembling with the sheer excitement of the prospect of breeding you, tethering you to him for not only the rest of this winter.

You can hardly bite back the moan as he pushes through your folds again, nudging your bud as he spreads your arousal over the girth of him.

“Answer,” he commands in a sharp whisper, using his free hand to guide your chin up again. And you do, only in a weak nod.

He stuffs you full then, leaves you a panting heap as he repositions you onto your knees and covers you in himself. The furs smell of him, not the animals they’ve come from. Just the scent of lonely nights and a bitter, masculine stench that you whine and whimper into; all while he grunts his approval and praises about your tightness, your warmth, how you look somehow prettier now, capsized in his bed. Even has the audacity to whisper how long he’s watched you dart through the forest and waited for you to come to him as you sink your claws into hay and fur to steady yourself from the punishing pace he sets.

He only seems more fervent and adoring when he brings you to a rapturous bliss, keening whines and and tight praises pulled free from your throat as your cunt drools around him.

“You want kits?,” he purrs behind you, around you, everywhere as his voice lowers to an almost growl with each word spoken. In your trembling state, addled by sheer bliss as his cock soars into you to grind against your deepest places, you’ve barely the mind to refuse him anything. You merely mumble into the fur, something akin to a yes that has him grasping at your hips as though you’re his last tether to life itself.

When he’s finished, your stomach full of fruit and cunt full of him, he whispers into your ear about how the old humans believed in fate. His hands trail over your back, your waist, every curve only to rise and cup your cheek. His ears raise when he kisses you then, tender, as if trying to push his faith that you belong here right past your teeth.

[damneddamsy]

renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part iii)

Prince Aemond and Princess Aemma's indefinite courting had dwindled in importance with the announcement of the princess' two brothers' betrothal to their cousins, Baela and Rhaena. After a bloodstained session in court with regards to the beheading of Lord Vaemond Velaryon on the account of calling the Princess of Dragonstone a 'whore' and her declaring her children 'bastards', it was only right that optimistic matters were in order.

Of course, on the note of sweet intrigue, Aemond and Aemma's courtship blossomed in private. As it ensued with their companionship and their mischiefs, it was in strict confidence that the two of them pursued each other. Prince Aemond had doted on her since their youth, now it was up to the young princess to make a real statement.

It wasn't just every other morning. Every morn of Aemma's finite time in the Red Keep, Aemond would commence his day and end his night in her chambers. Her Grace grew frustrated with his proclivity toward the princess, missing his training and dinners. That, of course, did not stop Aegon from taking the piss out of his brother at his own sweet time.

"If there's one lady in this court I am starving to be inside of, it's that gorgeous excuse of a bastard," Aegon would whisper to him during supper, smirking. "Such a temptress deserves to be handed out gold dragons by the dozen. She'd flourish in Flea Bottom."

Aemond's hands fisted and he spoke through his teeth. "That is your niece you slander."

"And?" Aegon chewed his pie loudly. "Am I not caring for her? I'd care even more if she was on her knees before me, mouth wide."

Aemond shut his eyes, recovering his self-control. These were just empty words from a vulgar mouth. Not worth it. And what could he say? Any tongue that rose against the heir to the throne, much less supporting his half-sister's deformed children, would only incite more chaos among his family.

Besides the empty talk from the highborns, Aemma didn't mind the company at all. She had missed Aemond dearly and conversing with him was a breath of fresh air, but it started to get challenging to see him as her friend anymore, especially when he lavished his affection on her so audaciously.

To fan these flames, Aemond would come bearing gifts, particularly of her interests. Some of which was a book of illustrations about the many ancient Targaryen dragons, a medieval gold coin dating back to Old Valyria, and a scaled drawing of an old battleship that had sunk beneath the waves in war. Surely, this should be enough to sway her sentiments.

She couldn't deny how handsome he had come to be either. At almost seven and ten, he was dangerous, lithe and strapping, and despite the loss of his eye, regarded as one of the finest swordsmen and aggressive dragon riders of his age, yet he showed no interest in warfare or tourneys. His steed was Vhagar, an ineradicable power in the world, and he commanded her. It made his might unlike any other.

One bright morning, Aemma greeted the prince who said nothing but took her hand and hurried her to the dining table to present her with a withering brown scroll.

"I went through plenty of hardship to rob this for you, princess," he said, curling his lip.

Aemma received it gladly. The piece of scrap was nearly in shreds and moth-eaten. "Is this how you are to curse me; have me read an old hex and afflict myself?"

He rolled his eyes. "Ever so dour. Open and see."

She laughed at his impatience and pushed some plates aside to unfold the long paper. Before them was the incomplete map of a place a great many miles east of Essos called the Shadow Lands, a mostly uncharted mountainous territory with valleys and canyons, where it was written in fables that demons and dragons had originated.

Aemond held her index finger to drag it over the lines of high cliffs by the Jade Sea which was unfinished. "The explorer who lived to tell the tale has not gone that far. I have read about this place. The water glows green at night. The grass grows black. Ancient dragons lurk in the cliff caves."

"Horrifying. I love it."

"Maybe we'll see it all and finish this map together."

Aemma tilted her head up at him, warmed to her very core. He had given this gift great thought and admiration. He said every word like it'd been destined, spoken about so much that it was bound to happen.

She reached up to touch his cheek out of pure habit, her eyes deeply moved. "Soon, my friend. Adventure calls to me every day."

He leaned his head upon her touch to press a deep kiss to her palm. As always, Aemma came apart with a huff and returned her hand to her neck. She hadn't yet come to familiarize herself with his impulsive touches.

"How much longer are you going to keep this up, hm?" he grunted, sitting by her side. He crossed his legs over the table, clutching a few berries in his hand. He appeared as a champion in his prime, so unguarded and free before her.

He spoke with a blackberry between his teeth and punctuated the sentence with a chew. "Personally I'd like to hurry this along, and have you as my wife by the end of this moon."

Aemma shifted her gaze back to the map, leaving him unanswered. He was prone to haranguing her of this wedding constituent. It gave her a piercing headache.

"See, that," he cited with a light accusatory finger. "You evade me."

She made a derisive noise at the back of her throat. "I do not. If anything, it's the contrary. I outface you."

"Yet you call me 'your friend'?"

"You are my friend. What else am I to call you?"

"Lord husband? My love. Dearest, perhaps."

She glanced at him impassively.

Aemond bared a mischievous smirk and chucked her cheek with a knuckle. "'Tis but a jest. Here, eat something."

He bit into half a blackberry and offered her the other half. She gaped at it like it was a Gordian knot for her to solve before hesitantly accepting the half-eaten blackberry.

Aemond regarded this with a furtive smile, as she pushed the fruit between her lips. He wanted his own soldered against hers, discovering what she hid away beneath with his tongue. He couldn't look away, every look of her was worth eyeteeth.

These recent nights Aemma seemed to haunt his dreams, not in the way he was accustomed to. Before, it was innocent. Immature in the face of fantasies. Now, he would imagine kissing her breathless, opening her bodice, brushing at the peaks of her breasts, getting mouthfuls of her warmly perfumed skin, gathering her skirts, pressing his lips to the seam between her legs, tasting her shocking sweetness, pulling out moan after moan from those lovely lips—then he would wake up with a start, the sun in his eyes and pouring with sweat. It got more unendurable, more debased as the nights wore on. He wondered if she dreamed of him, all the same.

Quietly, Aemma allowed herself some bread and cheese, nibbling on a few almonds and berries while continuing to inspect the old map. The wildness of not knowing what awaited her, the scaling mountains, soaring on Vhagar... but her concentration staggered, her mind kept sidling toward Aemond who continued to silently wag his feet and watch her every movement with marked care. As if she were a plump goat for sale.

She suddenly threw her hands in the air in frustration. "Aemond!"

He bit the inside of his cheek in amusement, blinking at her.

"You just—" She rolled her lips into her teeth to suppress her words. It seemed so silly to indict him for simply observing her. She inhaled deeply, collecting her thoughts before nodding to herself. She rolled up the map carefully and set it aside.

Aemond, sensing her gravity, set his feet back on the floor and straightened his spine. Aemma dragged her chair closer, facing him head-on. She held on to his hand, stroking the veins over the bones, and exhaled her unease.

"Closer," she beckoned.

He immediately complied, his nose inches away from hers. "Closer?"

She threw a withering look at him before itching her scar again.

He drew in an obsessive, faint inhale, filling his lungs with heady lavender. Some parts of him approved of that perfume too much. He stirred a little.

"What if I told you," Aemma drawled out quietly and looked around the room as if she were talking of treason, "that this whole matrimony custom is... I mean, the sept, the odd vows, Septas, strangers—I don't care for it. It's not what I want."

He instantly understood and a conviction washed over in his eyes. "Fuck the Faith. I'll have you the right way; the Valyrian way."

"You don't mean that." She looked down at their hands, her voice ragged and strained. "It is not within the law. Your mother and grandsire would be delirious."

He stroked his lip, musing to himself. "Hmm, well. Fuck them, too."

"Aemond," she sighed.

"We are the blood of the dragon, merely exercising discretion in our ancestral ways. 'Tis perfect, Aemma."

She was still hesitant. "What if—"

"I'm not about to resign you over to some northern scum because you think some shallow tradition is shit." He squeezed down on her hand to get her to look at him. "Is that what has been troubling you? You expected me to deny you this?"

She nodded, grimacing. "Anybody would've denied me this. Taboo."

He unclenched his jaw, relaxing a little. Aemond believed his heart would distend and crack right through his ribs. That was all the princess wanted from him. In fact, it was all he wanted from her. Aemma wanted Aemond as himself, all to herself. An austere, indestructible bind. He longed for nothing more.

Beside him, Aemma held her head in a hand, two fingers easing an ache between her eyes. This seemed to occur often, Aemond noticed, possibly a symptom of her dire fall on Driftmark.

He dropped to his knees, brushing the hair from her face. He'd rather not have her hiding her face from him, he's gone without seeing it for too long.

"Shall I call for the maester?"

"It'll fade shortly," she tiredly waved him off, "it's these damn walls, suffocating me. I need some fresh air."

He leaned in to press his lips to the scar above her eyebrow. Aemma's hand fisted against his collar, inhaling sharply, and minutely bringing him closer.

"Come with me," he whispered against her skin, breathing in her maddening scent. "Let's go on a jaunt."

Arm-in-arm, the prince and princess crossed Maegor's Holdfast to make their way down to the courtyard. Aemond hailed for his horse only for Aemma to cut in and request one for herself. She had a sly wink for him when the soldier left to heed his orders.

"Like you could outrun me," he contested with a prideful smirk as he fluidly mounted his horse.

"Is that a challenge?"

Her smile twisted in defiance, resting her forehead against the horse's, forming a tender bond, prior to effortlessly bestriding it. It was no easy feat, so captivating, especially with all those layers of skirts. She took her reins and moved to the wide-open front gates.

The pair shared a conspiratorial glimpse before they took off down the streets and out the King's Landing gates with a starting cry to their horses.

Aemond was quicker having been tirelessly trained for this mastery all his life, no doubt, but he delighted in Aemma's melodic laughter when she overtook him. It was a mild game of tag until the open fields past the barriers of the castle, with no eyes to witness their amity but the blazing sun. They slowed to trot when Aemond noticed Aemma was winded and struggling to catch her breath.

"You're right, my friend," she panted out loud, pressuring her abdomen.

"Always," he said, smug.

"No." She sucked in a deep breath. "I meant your outrageous proposal that day."

He waited for her to finish, thrown for a loop.

"None of those lords can truly discern my ideals." She shrugged. "How could they? No time nor distance will allow me to assume a single thought that is not us or ours. You matter to me, Aemond, more than I can bear."

Aemond clenched his reins tighter to hide the tremble in his fingers. He stared at her for the longest moment, her words eventually clicking into place. The world could've exploded beneath his feet, but the only sound that echoed was hers. When he opened his mouth to respond, she had silenced him to cup his unscathed cheek.

"I can't offer anything but myself in this marriage," she whispered. "I will promise to stand behind you and fight for you as a knight, take your side as a dear friend, and never part from you henceforth. I would be honoured to call you my husband."

An expectant pause flitted between them.

He leaned closer to her to mutter, "Get off the horse."

Her brows arched, agitated. "Did you even—"

"Get off the fucking horse, Aemma."

Dazed, she carelessly dismounted and faced him halfway. The intensity of feeling from Aemond's stormy single eye cowed her, but it wasn't until his lips found hers, urging them apart, that she was heady from it, vying for more, crashing harder into him. He kissed her deeply, softly, wildly, stopping at nothing even as their breaths came out as restless gasps and he could not bring her any closer to him. He had been starved of her, haunted by her, and this would never be enough.

She pulled away first to find her calm, leaning her forehead against his mouth. "So that's what it feels like," she sighed, laughing quietly.

He continued to coast little kisses wherever he could; her scar, her eyes, her temple, her nose; unable to suppress the grin on his lips. If this was what kissing her felt like, he was going to make up for all the lost time pursuing a lot more of this.

"This very evening," Aemond said, his tone final.

Aemma steadied her unwavering gaze on him.

"Come sundown, we will fly together to Dragonstone where you'll wed me before the old gods of Valyria." He stroked a thumb down her lips. "You'll be mine. No one can stop us hereafter."

She closed her eyes, smiling. "I like that."

"Tonight," he assured. Not in urgency, but a surety.

X

you can read part iv here!

[ghcstao3]

I can’t stop thinking about Ukrainian!Simon and Gaelic!Johnny

like what if Simon and Tommy are traveling in between hostiles and they end up in the UK? And what if Soap and his friend Gaz are also traveling / backpacking and end up in the UK as like thier first stop.

What if Simon and Tommy get separated and Soap and Gaz get separated and somehow, with each others help, Simon and Johnny reunite! Simon gets to show off his English and Johnny gets to try some Ukrainian but it’s sounds awful with his thick Scottish accent, but Simon doesn’t mind. It’s cute in an endearing way :(((

sorry if this is long I. Just can’t get them out of my brain

ukrainian ghost my beloved. also riley brothers my beloved

quickly i'd like to apologize because i just changed it a little bit to be tommy&gaz, ghost&soap instead since i misread the prompt and finished writing this before i realized 🗿 i hope that is ok. also this got so much longer than i intended

(other language dialogue will just be in bold italics. this takes place between ghost and soap's first meeting and soap's trip to ukraine)

-

For as long as Johnny has been travelling in his adult life, every trip he's made thus far has been solo—mostly. Beyond pit stop visits with friends living in other countries and that one incredible experience with Simon the Ukrainian (Johnny had, unfortunately, never learned his surname), his backpacking travels have always been taken by his lonesome.

It was always easier that way—it was cheaper, easier to keep track of only himself and one schedule, and he was more than sociable enough to find companionship in the locals.

However, that isn't to say he's entirely against organizing something with a friend—hence why he has Kyle along with him.

Or, had.

Being that the trip they were soon to be properly embarking on was the kind of thing Kyle wasn't used to, one of Johnny's suggested preparations is to first stay in a hostel somewhere within the UK to ease Kyle into the kind of arrangement not everyone finds all that... comfortable. Hell knows Johnny would rather forget the first few times he'd ever stayed in a hostel.

They'd be somewhere familiar enough but not too familiar, and once a few days have passed then they'd move on to their first real destination. It was a good plan—a great plan, even, if johnny had to say anything about it.

At least, it would be, if he and Kyle hadn't managed to get separated before they've so much as checked in.

This, thinks Johnny, is exactly why I said we should take a test run.

He wishes it were so simple as calling his friend and setting a rendez-vous point, or just meeting up at the hostel, but unfortunately it had been Johnny with the address and directions, and Kyle with the dead phone he'd forgotten to charge.

Surely... surely Kyle couldn't have gotten too far, right? It's all Johnny can hope as he searches the area, repeatedly calling out his friend's name.

But no dice. He slumps onto a nearby bench, slipping his pack from his shoulders just to take a moment to compose himself, burying his face in his palms. They're barely a day into this—he shouldn't already be this stressed.

Then he hears his own name being called, distant and uncertain, and for a brief, hopeful moment, Johnny wonders if the universe is actually on his side today despite the rough start.

And, well, it is—albeit in a different way than expected.

Johnny lifts his head, squinting out in the direction of the voice. Once adjusted to the distance, Johnny's eyes widen upon realizing who it belongs to.

"Simon?" Johnny exclaims.

Once he closes the space between them, Johnny is happy to confirm that yes, that crop of blond hair and shy, crooked smile are most definitely familiar.

Simon slides onto the bench beside him as Johnny moves his pack to make room. Simon himself isn't carrying anything, but Johnny assumes that's because he—unlike a certain two someones—actually got the chance to check-in somewhere before going out to explore.

"Hi," Johnny breathes, still left speechless by the warmth of Simon's coffee-coloured eyes. "How are you?"

He winces, knowing how accented his Ukrainian is no matter how desperately he's tried to correct himself, but to Simon's credit, his only reaction is a wider smile.

"You've been learning," Simon remarks in English. The lilt of his accent is far more pleasant in a foreign tongue than Johnny's own, he's most certain of it.

"A little bit," Johnny admits sheepishly. It had been a difficult venture, learning a language entirely new from his first, but he had been putting the work in—not only for having been inspired by Simon, but almost maybe for the off-chance they'd meet again.

Like this.

Simon replies with something in Ukrainian, something Johnny only understands pieces of. His confusion must show in his face, as Simon just looks at him, laughs quietly to himself, then says, "I said, 'Your pronunciation is good... for a beginner.'"

Johnny snorts, playfully shoving Simon in retaliation along with an indignant protest. A proper laugh bubbles out of Simon's throat this time, all too pleased with himself and the teasing insult.

"Sorry we can't all master a new language right away," Johnny says, shaking his head awfully fondly—already, just as Simon had, he's noticed improvement in the other man's English, though far more significant that Johnny's own progress. "Maybe you'll just have to start teaching me."

Simon shrugs a casual shoulder, a mirthful grin still lingering on his face, though far more subdued than it had been seconds before. He remains silent, so Johnny continues, the moment somewhat reminiscent of their first meeting when Johnny had mistaken Simon's quietness as an invitation to fill the gaps—he knows better now, however.

"So, what're you doing here?" Asks Johnny, offering a much gentler nudge with his shoulder.

Simon hesitates just briefly, and initially Johnny chalks it up to him trying to find the words in English, but then his expression falls somber, his brow furrowing with concern.

"I'm here with my brother, but then he..." he begins explaining, slow like he's unsure of something. He makes a vague shooing gesture as he chews on whatever irks him. "...and now I don't know."

Johnny frowns, trying to decipher what Simon is talking about—then comes to the realization that he's in the exact same situation as him; currently in search for a lost travel partner with a tendency to wander.

"Well... can you call him? Or where are you staying?" Johnny questions. "He could just have gone back there, aye?"

Simon hums assent. "He didn't answer. I was walking back, when I saw you. You looked…”

He trails off, whether it be to avoid adding insult to injury or just because Simon didn’t have the vocabulary.

“Troubled?” Johnny supplies. “Distraught? Stressed?”

Simon nods.

Johnny huffs, slumping back on the bench. “‘M in the same boat. Lost my friend and his phone is dead,” he sighs. “He might be at the hostel, though. Or heading there. It’s as good a place as any to check, at this point.”

“A hostel?” Simon asks. “Maybe it’s the same one.”

“Same one?” Johnny raises an eyebrow before understanding hits him—and yeah, maybe the universe really is on his side today. How convenient it would be to have an excuse to spend more time with Simon, if they were staying at the same place. “Aye, could be. Why don’t I come with you, anyway?”

Simon doesn’t refuse him, so Johnny stands and slings his pack over his shoulders before offering a hand to Simon. Despite doing so, a part of Johnny is still surprised Simon accepts, his palm warm and lightly callused.

Then Johnny’s phone starts to ring. He pauses, pulls it out; it’s an unknown number. He glances at Simon, who jerks his chin toward the device as if to say go ahead and answer.

He accepts the call and puts it on speaker. “Hello?”

Kyle’s voice is suddenly in his ear, not quite frantic but nor is it completely calm—breathless, is really what he is. “Tav? That you, mate?”

“Aye, it’s me.” Johnny glances at Simon again, who just shrugs. “Where are you? What are you callin’ from?”

“Borrowing someone’s phone. Says he didn’t know enough English to help,” Kyle explains. “Can you tell me the address of this place? I’ll just meet you there.”

Johnny rattles off the address of the hostel, not at all ignorant to the way Simon’s face lights up with recognition—definitely the same place, then.

“Thanks a lot. I’ll just—“ Kyle suddenly cuts himself off, and Johnny can hear quiet murmurs on the other side. He waits impatiently to see what it’s all about. “The… he’s saying something about his brother. He knows the place.”

Simon’s brows arch, and Johnny would bet he’s thinking something similar about how coincidental it would be that Kyle would be enlisting Simon’s brother for help just as he’s also searching.

Tentatively leaning closer to the phone, Simon asks, “Tom?”

There’s a brief rustling on the other end along with some more mumbling before a new voice cuts through the phone. “Simon?”

Johnny wordlessly passes the phone off to Simon before he starts into a tirade of rapidly-paced Ukrainian directed at his brother. Again, Johnny is back to understanding only bits and pieces, but he has to imagine it’s something along the lines of cursing and telling off for not answering the phone earlier and other kinds of brotherly arguments. He’s all too familiar with that tone, having both given and received such talks to and from his own siblings.

Finally, Simon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “See you there,” he grumbles. Then, in English, presumably for Kyle’s benefit on the other end of the line, “Me and Johnny will meet you at the hostel. Sorry for…”

“No worries,” Kyle replies. “And—was that Johnny, you said? Tav, I thought—“

Johnny seizes his phone and hangs up before Kyle can finish. Simon regards him curiously, but ultimately says nothing. They finally set off to their destination.

Johnny is glad, at least, that everything seems to have worked out.

*

Reunion at the hostel is a well-needed burden off Johnny’s shoulders, more than happy to finally check in and get settled somewhere before enjoying their next few days in town.

Simon goes back to scolding his brother as soon as they’ve all arrived, pulling him aside to talk whilst Kyle and Johnny get everything figured out. Johnny minds his own business, of course, until their voices suddenly drop and he glances over out of curiosity—and watches as a splotchy, pink blush suddenly spreads across Simon’s face.

Kyle elbows him in the side. “So, Johnny, huh?” He teases, likely now since Johnny can’t simply end a call. “Thought no one was allowed to call you that.”

Johnny scowls at Kyle. “Haud yer wheesht, would you?” He hisses. “It’s not like that. It’s not like anything.”

“Uh huh,” Kyle says, entirely unconvinced. He does, in fact, shut up for a moment—but then there’s a smug grin growing on his face that Johnny doesn’t like in the least. “Wait—don’t tell me that’s the Simon.”

Unfortunately, Johnny can’t help his face going red.

“It is!” Kyle whisper-shouts. “Oh, this is too good. Hey, Simon!”

Both Simon and his brother turn at the sudden interruption. There’s still remnants of a blush on Simon’s own face.

Johnny wishes the world would just open up and swallow him whole.

“We were gonna head out to dinner,” Kyle says, much too loud. “Care to join us?”

Simon glances at Tom and asks him something quietly, to which he nods after a moment of consideration.

Simon nods as well. “Sure. We’ll come.”

Johnny decides then and there that he’s taking back everything positive he might’ve thought about the universe and his luck today. He can already see the way Kyle is scheming, and something tells Johnny a plan is already formulating in his head—all because of that silly nickname.

Though, Johnny supposes, it’d probably be pretty easy for Kyle to connect the dots without that part.

Oh well. He wanted to spend more time with Simon anyway, right? He shouldn’t take today’s many coincidences for granted just yet.

And hell—denying this would be a waste of an opportunity to get to know Simon and his family better, if he were ever to go ahead with that surprise visit to Ukraine in the future.

[irradiatedrosegarden]

Benny Gecko headcanons

disclaimer: these are all my personal headcanons for him, no worries if they don't align with yours! everyone's interpretation of this guy is different, and that's pretty cool imo :3

5'7" and wishes he was taller.

Bisexual (I mean, look at him)

Trans man

Changed a lot (maybe the most, out of all the Boot Riders) after becoming the Chairmen, both mentally and physically. "Ciao to the old ways, baby - time to swing in style. If the shoes fit, you wear 'em." He adjusted the fastest out of all of the Boot Riders/Chairmen, as well, adopting his new persona flawlessly - from the wardrobe, to the vocabulary, to his new dreams of one day running the city himself. He molded perfectly with the Vegas lifestyle, gained weight once he wasn't walking through the desert for days on end and had every meal already secured, and thanks to the New Vegas Medical Clinic, was able to medically transition. He thrives off of the luxury, but has to pretend he doesn't miss the old Boot Rider days sometimes.

Mostly, what he regrets about transforming the Boot Riders into the Chairmen is the loss of some of their camaraderie. There's a different kind of companionship, of ride-or-die bonding that comes with being one of a band of nomads, relying only on themselves and each other to survive the harshness of the desert. The Chairmen are still incredibly loyal to one another; the sole reason no one other than Bingo opposed Benny's choice to move into the Tops once he was the leader - not enough to physically do anything about it, anyway. But some of that closeness they used to have was lost. Benny grew distant from the rest of his tribe, rising to great heights as the leader of the Tops, the one in charge - even being adopted as House's protégé - and leaving the others in his dust.

(this is pretty much canon but) he never had a second thought about agreeing to House's offer. He never thought for a second that the Boot Riders shouldn't become the Chairmen.

Trust Issues™

Terrible at controlling his facial expressions, often pulls involuntary faces (grimaces, scrunching his face/nose, pouting, grinning humorously, etc.) (all very briefly, just a split-second reaction to something or nothing) - often there's nothing going on that would elicit such an expression; it just happens involuntarily.

Gets random muscle spasms throughout the day, mostly in his hands or feet/legs. He'll accidentally hit/kick stuff, knock stuff over, or drop anything he's carrying.

Likes to sit on the floor while he eats, but doesn't like other people to know that. He'll sometimes lock himself in a bedroom or bathroom just to eat on the floor without being given funny looks.

Gets along best with Arcade, out of all the companions/roommates living in the Lucky 38. Has semi-frequent spitting matches with Cass that start out genuinely spiteful, but eventually transform into the one way they really bond: sibling-esque bickering. They get into a fistfight pretty early on, though, after Benny makes the mistake of calling Cass "Whiskey Rose" after learning that she hates it (dick move on his part, to be fair, but did he deserve his nose broken?).

Struggles with mental illness, has hallucinations and delusions that he takes medication for (which he gets from the New Vegas Medical Clinic), but has a very low alcohol tolerance as a side effect; he tends to avoid drinking.

One of his delusions is that the city of Vegas is somehow actually, truly alive, and it chose him specifically to rule it, to lead it to a new glory - a new independence. He believes he, and he alone, can run the city the way it was meant to be run - the way it needs to be run.

Maria was given to him as a gift from House, along with the checkered suit, the wingtip shoes, and the keys to his new home: the Tops Hotel and Casino.

Even before becoming the Chairmen, living the rich man's life in Vegas, Benny had a liking for the finer things in life. Especially nowadays, he appreciates spending the extra caps for the finest of the fine, smoking a distinctive, expensive brand of cigarettes, wearing his nice suit even on a trek through the desert, etc. His favorite food is oranges, another notably expensive thing to regularly eat (they aren't exactly common in the wasteland), part of the reason why he loves them so much.

One of his favorite ways to show affection toward someone is by peeling an orange for them, handing them slices one by one.

Speaking of affection, Benny is very showy, often cheesy, in how he shows it. The grander the gesture, and more importantly, the bigger the reaction it garners, the better. He loves surprising his partner, with anything from gifts to kisses.

His breath usually smells like cigarettes and oranges, very occasionally with a hint of alcohol.

Drinks water out of wine and champagne glasses, partly for the expensive aesthetic, partly to hide the fact that it's only water that he's drinking.

Very intelligent and cunning, but tends to be short-sighted. He has these big, great plans, but overlooks the finer details, and ultimately ends up failing more often than not. (See: plotting out the courier's ambush and murder, but neglecting to ensure they were actually dead; figuring out how to (with help) reprogram an entire Securitron, but then double crossing the person who helped him; successfully sneaking all the way into the Fort, with the Platinum Chip in hand(!!!), but getting caught because he didn't wear a helmet so as to not mess up his hair, etc.).

Sleeps around; canonically a pretty boy, very much plays into the persona of the smooth-talking, sensual, gorgeous casino-owner. Either intentionally or not, his good looks can't be denied as part of the reason the Tops is as popular as it is. Who doesn't want to patronize a casino with a charming, handsome owner - who can often be found hanging out on the ground floor, overlooking the tables, talking up whoever will listen? There are some rumors, shared in a hush underneath the rolling of the roulette wheels, the overhead swing music, that Benny is the town bicycle; rumors of people he's supposedly had a fling with. He's a regular Casanova.

Paranoia™

this man is doomed by the narrative and it's making me insane

His hair is curly, but he styles it with so much gel (gotta look like a 1950s gentleman, y'know) you can't tell, save for the single curl that always seems to fail to remain smoothed back. Living with Daisy (my courier six!), especially during the recovery after Benny is rescued from the Fort, he wears his hair loose, which Daisy particularly appreciates (she loves when he lays his head on her lap/chest and she plays with his hair; much nicer when it's not all crusty or greasy with hair gel or spray).

Small feet

Canonically disappears for days - sometimes weeks - at a time, deciding on a whim to wander who-knows-where around the Mojave and be alone for a while. Brushed off by the others back in Vegas, namely by Swank, as "a cat needing some time to swing," but they get worried when the days turn into weeks. No one really knows where he goes. All they know is that in seven years, he hadn't ever failed to return - the Fort changed that (in my game, he was held captive there for several months).

Loves physical contact as a way to show affection, loves hugs, hand-holding, massages, and people playing with his hair. So does Daisy, which makes for a pair of absolute lovebirds once they're living together; they're inseparable, pretty much always touching one another, even if it's just a hand resting on the other's shoulder or waist, an arm around their shoulders, hand in hand and side by side. They're practically glued at the hip.

Bottom™

Runs his hands through his hair as an anxious habit (maybe the reason for the aforementioned loose curl), taps his feet, and bites his lip, often to the point of bleeding. He tries to be subtle in his anxious stimming, but if you know him, and know how he acts, you'll always be able to tell when he's nervous.

Used to be married to Swank, but after too much changed - after Benny changed too much - when the Boot Riders became the Chairmen, they divorced. It was Swank's idea, coming to Benny's suite one night and explaining honestly how he felt, how he felt things would continue to change moving forward, and how he realized that, in order for things to continue going smoothly, the nature of their relationship needed to change. Swank wasn't going anywhere - he had Benny's back, and nothing would change that - but he couldn't, in good conscience, continue to be Benny's husband. Too much had changed; he felt like Benny was trying to hide their relationship, treating him differently in front of others, even the other Chairmen. It didn't feel right.

Still calls Swank by the name he had before they became the Chairmen.

Never stopped wearing the wedding ring Swank gave him; switches it to his right hand after he marries Daisy.

Writes little letters, (like "Thanks, baby") and attempts to write little poems, for his partner. His . . . unique vocabulary comes across in writing, but the romance of said writing is . . . debatable.

Good leader. Like it or not, he earned his place as chief of the Boot Riders, and kept up that leadership position after the transition to the Chairmen, for seven years and still going strong when the courier comes and messes everything up.

Has big dreams, big, big ideas and hopes and ambitions. Sometimes, they're too big. Sometimes, they end up with him falling flat on his face when he tries to reach too high, to admittedly dangerous unattainable heights. Does that stop him from trying? Fuck no.

Terrible nightmares and night terrors, goes on long walks outside (usually staying within the city limits) when he's scared at night.

[nevertheless-moving]

“The other day,” Skar added, “he was talking about what he’s doing there. It sounded an awful lot like he was learning how to read.” The men shifted uncomfortably. “So?” Kaladin asked. “What’s the problem? Sigzil can read his own language. Storms, I can read glyphs.” “It’s not the same,” Skar said. “It’s feminine,” Drehy added. “Drehy,” Kaladin said, “you are literally courting a man.” “So?” Drehy said. “Yeah, what are you saying, Kal?” Skar snapped. “Nothing! I just thought Drehy might empathize.…” “That’s hardly fair,” Drehy said. “Yeah,” Lopen added. “Drehy likes other guys. That’s like … he wants to be even less around women than the rest of us. It’s the opposite of feminine. He is, you could say, extra manly.”

Different possible explanations for this scene, to be taken up depending on which headcanon would be the funniest for a given fic:

While being gay is more broadly acceptable than being unmanly, conflating gender roles with sexuality is not uncommon; the other guys have just gotten more than one drunken lecture from Drehy about how he hates being treated womanly just because he likes dick. Kaladin was obviously working those nights.

Under Vorinism, Gender roles are rigid, but a range of sexualities are perfectly fine. The ardent who visited Kaladin's hometown was just a freak who hated gay people so much it was unreal, and took great pains to explain to the boys of this isolated rural town the unhinged idea that marrying a man was OBVIOUSLY womanly and therefore Bad. He mostly unlearned that shit after joining the army but is a bit confused. It doesn't come up often.

There was one (1) elderly queer couple in heartstone growing up, and one of the men was super gnc, which made people uncomfortable but his parents always told him that you shouldn't shame people for harmless joy. so, yeah, Kaladin just sort of figured that in a relationship between guys, one of them is the woman. He assumes Renarin is gay and I mean. He's not wrong. Part of the reason he never accepted friendly offers of soldier companionship. Not that there's anything wrong with it. He never asked Drehy who was who, because its none of his business and he didn't want to know.

the only times Kaladin has personally ever noticed being attracted to another man is when the guy was doing something womanly. Is it a kink? Is it an extremely dense man needing someone to stand on top of clearly marked social signposts and wave their arms for him to even register them as a sexual being? who knows! not Kaladin! he doesn't have time to unpack any of that. anyway he assumed that all same sex attraction worked the same way and obviously never actually talked about it with a living person. actually I'm expanding this to cover all of Kaladin's sexuality just to make him extra stupid. first time he noticed Tarah was when she punched a dude.

[gabessquishytum]

Okay so hear me out, Hob made choices and he got into a bad way when he lost his family, but he was good/is good at being a doctor. He managed to just barely hold on to his license, so his little clinic isn't selective about the people he treats. He might, through no active solicitation on his part, become a/the doctor to the 4 or 5 Mob families who run his city.

His clinic is mostly protected neutral ground, and he spends his nights taking out bullets, sewing up knife wounds, and setting broken bones. He's used to treating the flunkies and muscle, he never expected one of the princes of the city to grace his table, but when Matthew brought Morpheus Endless to him bleeding out of at least 2 holes in his body, Hob couldn't worry about his status and had to worry about fixing what he could.

He definitely isn't expecting to be summoned (picked up while he was out getting his morning coffee and danish; he really wanted that coffee) and brought to an audience with Morpheus. He certainly looked better than the last time Hob saw him, and seemed to be healing. Hob offered to check him over, just to stop him from pontificating about not wanting to be in Hob's debt.

Hob didn't need or want anything from Mr. Endless - and was actually amused he was being so insistent. Hob guessed he could use a friend, but doubted Morpheus was in the market for a friend.

Assddfghjj yeah, this is great!

I’m imagining that Morpheus agrees that yes, he’ll be Hob’s friend. Just so he doesn’t Hob owe anything. They can meet weekly for coffee and have… friendly conversations. Just for a year, and then the debt will be absolved. It’s all pretty funny to Hob, and he’s happy to agree.

Each Saturday morning Hob arrives at a coffee shop (one of the businesses under Morpheus’s protection), orders his cappuccino, and waits for the pretty mob boss to show up. Morpheus is always accompanied by his body guards, who take seats at another table and do their own thing. Morpheus is forced to attempt conversation with this random middle aged doctor who he neither knows nor cares for. Of course, Hob ends up doing the talking. He tells stories from his clinic (all stories that Morpheus probably already knows, since Hob is talking about HIS flunkies), about his family a little bit, about the city. Morpheus contributes very little, and always leaves after an hour.

Hob doesn’t mind. He uses it like therapy, and it’s nice not to be lonely. He knows that Morpheus doesn’t give a shit about him but it’s better than talking to himself, right?! It’s all fine until he has the gall to suggest that MORPHEUS might be lonely, that he’s showing up to coffee with Hob because he craves companionship.

After that, Hob doesn’t see Morpheus again. He doesn’t show up on Saturdays. In the clinic there are hushed whispers about a kidnapping. One of the big families had a son taken by a rival mob. Hob knows better than to ask questions. He just stitches wounds and shows up at the cafe on Saturday, hoping for the best.

It takes years. But one morning, Hob is sipping his coffee and waiting as usual. And suddenly there’s Morpheus, right in front of him. He’s thin and pale, and there are no body guards. Hob lurches up and hugs him so tight he’s afraid Morpheus might crumble. He takes Morpheus straight to his home above the clinic, no questions or hesitations, Morpheus is pathetically grateful. He curls up on Hob’s couch like he never intends to leave.

And Hob doesn’t pretend to understand. Just rests Morpheus’s head in his lap and strokes his shaggy hair until he falls asleep. He’s not sure now if his friend is the most powerful man in the city, or nobody at all. But it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s home.

[shepherds-of-haven]

hi!! So. i like writing for Trouble and my MC but i spend so much time clowning on him and making up silly scenarios that now i have no idea how to write him actually catching on to one of the moves she makes and what kinds of moves he cant explain away. Please do you have any tips or crumbs to throw my way to help? I need to write him making out sloppy style w my girl PLEASE!!

Anyway I really love shoh and I think about Trouble and my MC almost every day so tysm for the lovely gift of him <3 i also wrote this ask intending to be silly but if it sounds demanding or rude i am SO sorry I would never demand anything of u and will love anything you may kr may not respond with whether that be in 17 minutes or 17 years 🩵

Aw, thank you so much for this sweet message, it made me so happy to receive! 💖 Please don't worry about sounding rude at all, your words were so kind and made me grin ear-to-ear, so thank you!

To answer your question, I like this excerpt from the old novels to explain how I think Trouble can be in a romance: I usually envision him being casual or friendly and light-hearted, and then catching onto something--some shift in the mood or a lingering glance--and then kind of abruptly shifting into a more intense version of himself. It's not a side of himself he shows very often--we're mostly exposed to the goofy, jocular Trouble, but that 'intense' dominant Trouble is there, lurking underneath it all, and that's kind of the part that he struggles with because it's also tied up in his ferocious past and his temper. It's the same Trouble who can go from smiling and laughing with his friends in a bar to completely unsmiling and intimidating when he overhears some guy being a dickhead to a server nearby, except obviously in these scenarios it's sexual/romantic tension he's responding to (even if he doesn't fully know it's that) rather than regular like situational tension. I don't know if you have access to the alpha build, but the scene in the cave in Chapter 7 when he's warming up MC's hands or the abrupt change from "yay we're having fun" to "something just happened" in his latest day off (when Cordy flirts with you) are good examples of this, too! This sort of stilted "everything is great 95% of the time and then 5% of the time something happens and he can't control it" that's impeding him and MC's easy friendship is what's really throwing Trouble for a loop; he starts to feel guilty and confused and tormented about it because he thinks he's the only one feeling these things and getting in the way of what should be a smooth companionship, so he's just... feeling a lot of things and not knowing what to do with them, lol.

So I imagine 'heated makeout' tends to happen during one of these sudden changes to 'intense Trouble,' when he catches on to something he can't ignore--but I generally don't think it happens because of an outright flirtation or hint of MC's, because he can usually just laugh those off as them just joking around, so he doesn't really respond to those like one might expect? He's dazzlingly good at not catching on to things like that (short of an outright serious confession), so maybe that's why you're having trouble imagining it! I tend to imagine it happening entirely randomly, during some moment of unthinking intimacy, like in the cave in Chapter 7 or during a mission when emotions are high or something like that. Here's another example of what I'm thinking of!

...Or something like that, idk lol! Obviously take all of this with a huge grain of salt and don't let me influence you; however you write Trouble and MC's romance is fantastic! Hopefully some of these tips help you in some way!

[myjlla]

Hello! First of all I hope you’re having a great day! ^^ Could I ask you a fic of Cha Woo Min (Go kyungjun’s actor) as your boyfriend and the reader being Latina? Only if you’re fine with it!

Thank you so much and have a great day!!🫶🏼

Cha Woomin as boyfriend

Pairing ✮⋆˙ Cha Woomin x Latina!Reader

Summary ✮⋆˙ Who's your green? Because I think you're mine.

☆ I hope you're having a great day too anon! I am sorry it took me so long to reply but I hope you like my work and will stay with me longer!♡

"✮⋆ Cha Woomin being your boyfriend"

Shared Passion for Reading

Woomin and you would bond over your love for books, often spending evenings curled up together with a good novel or discussing your favorite authors and genres

Comfortable Silence

You would also cherish moments of quiet companionship, where you can simply sit together, enjoying each other's presence without the need for conversation

Attentive Listener

Woomin would be an attentive listener when his partner discusses their thoughts and feelings about the books they're reading

Respecting Boundaries

He would understand if his partner needs some alone time to read or rest and would respect boundaries while still being there for you

And more for reader as Latina <3 Learning Spanish

Woomin might take the initiative to learn Spanish, allowing for discussions about everything with you, your friends and family

Celebrating Traditions

He would celebrate cultural traditions and holidays with you, understanding the importance of events like Día de los Muertos for example

Cooking Together!

He would enjoy cooking traditional dishes together, showing interest in learning family recipes and even learning to cook them himself to surprise you

Bilingual Conversations

Your relationship would be followed by bilingual conversations, with Woomin encouraging you to express yourself in your mothertongue, whether it's Spanish or English. Like I said before he would will to study it himself for the best of understanding you <3

Empathy and Support

Woomin would be supportive regarding any challenges you might face as a Latina, mostly social issues while being in South Korea. Would provide you with security and would try to give you a lot of safe space for you to express yourself

✮⋆˙ julliet - I know it took me so long..

Written by @myjlla on Tumblr; do not steal !!

[yanderes-galore]

Hey man. I have a question. Is it possible to do an Yandere Concept for Miles Tails Prower (Either Romantic or Platonic is Fine).

Sure! Here you go! Obviously doing Modern Tails for this. This is primary platonic but eludes to something else, yet it never actually goes anywhere. I think I depicted "Yandere in denial" well in this :)

Yandere! Miles "Tails" Prower Concept

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Denial/Lucidity, Overprotective behavior, Stalking, Jealousy, Fear of abandonment implied, Tails is mentioned to have a crush but doesn't entirely pursue it, Slight delusional behavior, Guilt, Trackers mentioned, Clingy behavior mentioned, Manipulation, Blackmail mention, Implied violence, Isolation, Dubious companionship.

Platonic or romantic I feel Tails would be really sweet.

He genuinely just wants to help and impress you, maybe even be more like you.

He'd be like a best friend who has a budding crush on you.

He knows he wants to do anything he can for you… he just doesn't know the extent of it yet.

Tails is a fox who gained his confidence through his adventures with Sonic.

He still gets insecure and dependent on others at times, but he has grown from when he was younger.

He has grown to realize his genius when it comes to technology and is definitely a different fox from when he first met Sonic.

I personally feel Tails can meet you around Sonic Forces or sometime during the IDW comics as he is most mature there for his character. Maybe even the start of Prime?

However I'm going to keep this concept general.

I have a feeling Tails would express hopeful/delusional yandere behavior.

He's naive but very positive and loyal.

Tails would most likely be content with just being a close friend, but if he had a crush he'd be hopeful that you reciprocate.

Tails is calm and mostly spends time working on his inventions.

Speaking of which… he would use inventions to aid him in his “little” obsession over you.

Tails probably met you through Sonic or you being a rookie if we're talking forces.

When you become a new ally you may appeal to Tails in some way.

For example, you listen to his technobabble with intrigue.

You even ask questions to learn more.

It probably isn't hard for Tails to be attached to a new friend.

Especially if you spark something within him.

You just make the fox feel all… fuzzy?

He doesn't entirely understand but he always finds the feeling lingering when you're with him… even when you leave.

Tails seems very naive about how he feels towards you.

As time passes he sees you as a great friend, one he treasures like Sonic.

Although… Maybe there's something hidden within that?

Something more intense? Something darker?

He isn't sure… but he likes how you make him feel!

Tails would be a yandere concerned about your safety like most yanderes in this universe (Hero yans, not really villains).

He'd also make drones and tech to aid/watch you.

Yeah I feel Tails, like most scientist yanderes, would stalk you through tech like cameras and drones.

He tries to tell himself and you he means well… but deep down he isn't entirely sure if that's true.

Tails has grown to be independent yet he may have lapses where he's clingy.

I feel Tails may fall into the category of the yandere who looks cute and innocent… but is darker deep down.

He tells you he means well and you trust him.

He's your friend!

When in reality something darker is brewing.

Tails would feel insecure if you didn't include him in your daily life.

It starts with events, he wonders why you don't invite him to hang outs with some people and it gets to him.

His insecurities would drive some of his actions which pushes him to be clingier.

Being included in your life soothes his obsession and makes him calm.

When away from you… he wonders if he's good enough.

Tails is also not the most demanding yandere.

He wants attention but he is more willing to smother you in his.

Tails would do anything for you and not ask for anything in return except maybe your attention.

He just likes making you smile, it makes him smile!

Tails seems like he'd adore hugs as his preferred form of affection.

They're innocent and not very invasive.

It works if he's a best friend, even if he has a hidden crush.

If anyone is bothering you, Tails will listen to your rants and comfort you if you cry.

I really can't see Tails murdering… it just isn't him.

He'd be more likely to manipulate them away from you with threats or blackmail.

Unless that's what he wants you to think…

Maybe he is the reason you never see anyone who was with you again… you didn't notice any red stains on him, did you?

The second option isn't really his character… but people will do anything for love and adoration, yeah?

Tails would hide his obsession, always playing the lovable fox friend.

He'd make it hard for you to suspect him of anything.

Any manipulation, stalking, picture taking, or violence is cleverly hidden from your eyes.

He even hides it from Sonic and the others.

If they found out… they could take you from him!

… take you from him…

Oh no.

Tails doesn't really like these darker thoughts of his.

You're just friends… aren't you?

Does he even know?

All he knows is he wants to be by you… but what are these other thoughts?

Why's he so violent?

Why does he feel so irritated?

He… he doesn't want to hurt anyone, right?

Well… maybe… as long as they don't take you from him.

Tails isn't even sure if he can be away from you.

He worries things will get worse.

In fact, they might.

Especially when he starts thinking about isolating you with him… sticking trackers on you… upping security.

He's sure it'll pass!

He's in denial.

He can fix this!

Can he, really?

Tails would be a yandere who breaks from his delusions at times and hits denial about his actions.

He isn't sure if he should reprimand himself or tell himself he's okay.

This isn't normal… he knows this as he falls into darkness.

Yet he can't seem to clear his mind of you.

He's too far in… He can't go back now…

It can't get much worse than this… can it?

He hopes not….

[triforce-of-mischief]

Spirits and Hands

Summary: On his way to save Zora's Domain for the second time, Wild and his companions encounter a terrifying enemy.

Warnings: totk spoilers, panic attack, hands

AO3

Please reblog to show your support! Likes do nothing.

The journey to Zora’s Domain was already turning out to be a lot better than Wild had expected it to be. Any traveler he passed would have thought that he was making the trip alone, but he was far from it. Two glowing, spirit-like forms were at his side.

One, a young Rito with a bow on his back, had joined Wild last week after his physical counterpart had discovered his abilities as a sage. The spirit was useful for flight and fight, but his inability to emote more than a tilt of his head left his companionship a little lacking. Wild liked to talk to him, but Tulin’s avatar seemed to be more willing to communicate with beings on a similar level.

Wild’s other companion had been a constant presence ever since he had woken up on the Great Sky Island. Well, they hadn’t appeared in this form at first. He was one of many companions who visited Wild one at a time. Today, Wild was accompanied by a mostly-incorporeal Hero of Winds.

Unlike Tulin’s avatar, Wind was fully present and intelligent in this state. Time travel magic, yada yada, they didn’t really know or care about the differences between heroes and sages. What they did know was that although Tulin was unable to process too many new thoughts or allow Wild to touch him, Wind had no such limitations. The sailor claimed that he wasn’t dead, but all three of them agreed that he was more alive than the sage’s avatar.

Which brought them to this moment, meandering around the Zora River as Wild tried to avoid stepping in the thick sludge that had invaded the area. The spirits chattered with each other, audible only in Wild’s mind.

“And that’s when I looked up and realized that the dragon’s tail was the perfect shape for my grappling hook!” Wind said.

Tulin flapped his wings excitedly. “You could use it to wiggle the ceiling loose and crush the monster!”

“Exactly!”

“Stay close, guys,” Wild said quietly. “We’re about to enter the Tabahl Woods.”

The spirits agreed to finish the story later, mostly so Wild could concentrate on their surroundings. Unlike a few years ago, no Lizalfos could be heard near this stretch of the river.

“Gloom ahead,” Tulin pointed out.

Wild glanced in that direction, spotting a churning puddle of black-rimmed red. “Good eye. We’ll stay clear of that.”

The champion brought them closer to the river, letting the patch of gloom fall behind his line of sight. He had barely passed it when he saw Tulin prepare his bow out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t tell me I missed a Lizalfos,” Wild groaned, setting a hand on his sticksword and turning around.

His heart dropped.

Wind shouted, “What are those?”

The puddle of gloom was creeping closer, tearing across the wet grass and turning the very air red as if a blood moon had appeared mid-afternoon. Flakes and tendrils of the evil substance floated above the concentrated mess, making Wild cough as it entered his lungs. With a demonic screech, a half dozen gnarled arms rose from the gloom, each topped with a hand and a malicious eyeball staring from its palm.

“Run!” Wild yelled, tripping on his own feet as he hurried to do just that.

“I got it!” Tulin called, and Wild heard the rapid thwip of his arrows.

“It won’t work!” Wild reprimanded, sprinting mere inches ahead of snatching fingers. “I tried that last time, they- ack!”

The hand found purchase on his ankle, draining precious energy before he managed to wriggle free. The pursuit resumed immediately, rendering Wild exhausted within seconds. He had lost track of both Wind and Tulin, the spirits left behind as Wild struggled to escape. The hand gave up the chase, but any relief Wild felt was extinguished by a familiar shrill scream.

Wild whirled around, finding that the gloom hands were now preoccupied with the smaller targets. Tulin had managed to fly out of range, sending useless arrows into the monster’s eyes. Wind, however, had been surrounded completely. A hand was clamped around his face, holding him suspended in the air while his feet kicked at nothing. More hands gathered around him, grabbing and squeezing and smothering.

Wind couldn’t feel pain, but judging by his panicked cries, that didn’t matter when he could still be scared.

A surge of protectiveness gave Wild the final burst of strength he needed to run away from the monstrosity’s field of influence. The hands shrieked and shriveled in the returning sunlight, vanishing and releasing Wind.

Tulin’s avatar swooped beside Wild, who told the Rito to go scout. Wild crashed to his knees beside Wind, giving him an instinctive once-over. The boy’s translucent body was unharmed, though Wild couldn’t be completely sure. Wind was curled around himself, knees tucked to his chest and hands clamped over his ears.

“Wind, are you…” The remainder of the question faded away, and Wild tried again when the sailor didn’t move. “Wind?”

In a voice more small and broken than Wild had ever heard it, Wind asked, “Is it gone?”

“Yeah… yeah, they’re all gone.”

Wind was perfectly still, but Wild could hear muffled crying.

This was a new experience, and Wild didn’t know how to react. Wind rarely cried, putting on a brave face around the older heroes and defending himself with youthful bravado. Wild had seen him wrapped in Warriors’ scarf a few times, even hidden away in Time’s arms once or twice, but Wind had never sought comfort from Wild. With the kid so vulnerable before him now, Wild could only hope that he could balance comfort and respect so he didn’t ruin the moment.

Wild asked, “Can you try to sit up so I can see that you’re not hurt?”

Wind hiccuped and slowly pushed himself upright, keeping his hands close and his head bowed. Wavy sea glass-green hair concealed his face, and Wild carefully reached out to rest his finger under the spirit’s chin. Wind flinched the slightest bit at Wild’s touch, but allowed him to tilt his head up for inspection.

Just as Wild had expected, Wind was completely unharmed- physically, at least. His cheeks were free of marks like the ones Wild could feel burning his ankle, left behind by dragging fingernails. No bruises from being grabbed, no patches of angry flesh sizzling with remnants of gloom. Satisfied with his findings, Wild braced himself before finally looking into Wind’s eyes.

Like Tulin’s avatar, Wind’s eyes were simple pools of light that held far less emotion than his true form. So when Wild saw that they were wide and shimmering, that glowing tear tracks were streaming down Wind’s face, he knew that something was very wrong.

“Wind, please,” Wild whispered. “What can I do to help?”

A ragged wail tore through Wild’s mind, and the champion had no time to prepare himself before the spirit launched himself forward. Wind was weightless in Wild’s arms, but tangible all the same as he quickly pulled him into a proper hug. The sailor made himself as small as possible, hiding from the world as he cried. Raw sobs and hoarse screams that would have caused a lot of pain if he had been able to feel such a thing, wave after wave of catharsis that came from vocalizing pure, overwhelming fear.

Wild waited in silence, knowing that words couldn’t help this situation. He remembered how afraid he had been in the aftermath of his own first encounter with the gloom hands. Only adrenaline had kept him going long enough to reach the Mount Lanayru Skyview Tower before he had crumbled in the snow, hyperventilating and hallucinating the horrible screams.

But as scared as Wild had been, Wind’s reaction was so much worse. The boy was trapped in his panic well after Tulin gave the all clear, never calming down even a little. Was it because he was so young, or was Wind reliving trauma that Wild didn’t know about? Something more was going on, but honestly, Wild found that he didn’t care. In this moment, all he wanted to do was comfort his little brother.

[hold-him-down]

🤝 - Some help performing a basic task

✥ I Got Something For You ✥

Trigger warnings: semi-explicit noncon. 18+ only.

Notes: 2-ish months into West Peterson.

✥ ✥ ✥

When the doorbell rang, and Mr. Peterson inclined his head toward Leo, that should have been the first warning. The, “I got something for you,” should have been the second. Neither, though, prepares Leo for who greets him on the other side. When Leo opens the door to find a man, no older than he is, with short black hair and deep, charcoal eyes, wearing a Department of Labor Services branded t-shirt staring at him, there’s only a brief moment of confusion before the pieces fall into place.

✥ ✥ ✥ 

[Weeks Earlier]

“Come over here,” Mr. Peterson calls to him one night, abrupt but not exactly unexpected. Leo finishes the plate he is cleaning and sets it aside. He dries his hands, unrolls the sleeves to his crisp black button-down, pours himself a glass of wine, and makes his way over to the older man who currently holds his contract. 

He sits down cautiously, and Mr. Peterson offers him a genuine smile. “I'm– I'm just going to cut to the chase, Leo. I’ve been giving this some thought..." He reaches for his tablet and turns it on. “Now that you’ve been here for a few months, and you know– well, you know how fond of you I am,” he continues.

Leo returns the smile and nods, mouthing a soft, 'thank you,' to be on the safe side.

“I just have been thinking it’s too much for one person,” Mr. Peterson continues. Leo takes a breath, his eyebrows rising. “All of this. And, not just that. But they said, uh–” He runs his hand over the back of his neck and takes a long sip of his scotch. “Well, they said you like interacting with your peers. That you crave companionship. Something like that.”

A silence buds, and so Leo, eager to prevent the void from growing uncomfortable, says, “I suppose neither of those things are untrue.”

“Great. So I've– I’ve been thinking it has to be hard on you. When I’m away, or when I’m otherwise occupied. I thought it might be nice to… I don’t know, procure you a… a companion. To help keep you sharp, and uh– to help keep you happy, I guess,” he finishes. 

Leo swallows, tilting his head to one side, as Mr. Peterson turns his tablet so he can see the screen.

“I know that some might think of this as some type of perversion of justice,” he continues, immune to Leo’s curiosity shifting into something more tense. Leo takes a long sip of wine, peering at the screen. “I asked the director at Greenwood to pull a few options for us." Leo's jaw drops. "Before you say anything,” Mr. Peterson adds quickly, “I want you to know that I’m doing this as much for me as I am for you, and I don't... I'm not asking you for permission here, or for your blessing. I think it’ll be good for you to have someone here, but it’ll also be good for me.

"All that said, I do want your input." Mr. Peterson shows him the picture of a worker, and Leo forces himself to remain neutral, if for no other reason than to disguise his discomfort. At seeing this. At getting his first glimpse into this side of things.

“I don’t need you to make any type of final decision about the suitability of these boys,” Mr. Peterson continues. “My attorneys will review their files and ultimately determine if they’re a good match to my, and by extension, your needs. But I’d like to give you the opportunity to veto any, or if you feel strongly attached to any, I’d like to know that, too. Ideally, I'd like to find someone we both find attractive, and someone who may hold your interest through the duration of your contract.”

The evening is spent scrolling through the pictures of seventeen workers, with Leo mostly silent, entirely focused on keeping himself calm, and Mr. Peterson running a verbal pros and cons list for each one. Occasionally, he requires commentary from Leo, and in these instances, as subtly as he can, Leo tries remind him of their humanity. And all through it, Leo actively avoids thinking about the last time Mr. Peterson did this, about his own image appearing on the screen. What he had said then, with whom he had reviewed these files. Inevitably, those thoughts do creep in, but Leo shuts them down as quickly as he can.

And when Mr. Peterson closes the last of the files, glancing finally at a stunned silent Leo, and then, perhaps because he notices something in Leo's expression, excuses himself to bed, Leo finishes his wine in silence and promises himself he will not think about this night. Ever again.

✥ ✥ ✥ 

“Oh,” Leo says now, opening the front door wider. He shakes his head in a kind of detached disbelief, then steps aside, turning in time to see Mr. Peterson making his way to the foyer. “Mr. Peters–”

“You must be Will,” Mr. Peterson says, and Leo, in that moment, wishes he could be anywhere but in this room. Will is… around his age, he guesses. Around his height, around his build. Dark eyes, easy smile. He can’t help but think that Mr. Peterson has a type, and he also can’t help but wonder what– 

“Leo, introduce yourself,” Mr. Peterson says, sharply enough that Leo doesn’t hesitate to reach out his hand.

“I’m Leo.” He smiles, as he would greet any other of Mr. Peterson’s guests. “It’s nice to meet you,” he continues.

Will takes his hand, offering a gentle, if not a little bravely assertive, handshake. He watches Leo closely, holding his eye contact for just a moment too long.

“Well,” Mr. Peterson says, loud enough that Leo drops his hand abruptly, locking his fingers behind his back. “Looks like you two will be just fine.” He nods, as if to punctuate the thought.

Leo can’t shake the unease he feels as Mr. Peterson looks over Will once, then lets his gaze shift to Leo.

✥ ✥ ✥ 

They spend the first few days falling into a new routine. Leo, on edge since the day Will showed up, waits for the other shoe to drop, and Will puts a razor-sharp focus on assimilating with as little fanfare as possible. And he’s good at it.

Will, who, it turns out, is one year younger than Leo but has been in the system since the day after he turned eighteen, is, in a lot of ways, a perfect product of the training. He meets Leo in the kitchen every morning at seven, and while Leo makes breakfast, Will sets the table. While Leo cleans the bathroom, Will does the laundry. While Leo helps with the restaurant, Will does the yard work. 

Will seldom attempts to speak to him, but when he does, he keeps it light. It’s almost too easy, Leo thinks constantly, so at the end of their fifth night together, when Mr. Peterson stops Will from going to his bedroom with a terse, “Wait,” Leo immediately goes rigid. Partly because it has, he’s decided, been way too easy, and partly because Mr. Peterson is on his third scotch, but mostly because of the way Mr. Peterson looks not at Will as he speaks, but at Leo.

“Sit down,” Mr. Peterson says, and he inclines his head toward Leo. Will feels the danger here, too, Leo thinks. He’s hesitant in his step, maybe not noticeable to Mr. Peterson, but noticeable to Leo, who has watched him navigate the house with nothing but undiluted confidence for the last week. “I want to try something,” he says then. 

Leo nods, and Mr. Peterson says, “Finish your drink,” and so Leo does so without waiting, taking two big gulps of thousand-dollar wine, and then discarding his glass. “Would you like another?” he asks, and Leo eagerly agrees. Mr. Peterson looks to Will, who fills both of their glasses, and he watches as both of his workers body their drinks.

“I thought maybe,” Mr. Peterson eventually says (and here, he has the audacity to sound nervous), “I thought it might be nice for the two of you to get to know one another a little bit better.” He stands, stretching, and says, “I’m going to help myself to another scotch. When I get back, I trust you’ll both be ready to move things along here.” He looks only at Leo, with an expectant stare that makes the hairs on Leo's arm stand up.

Leo waits until Mr. Peterson has retreated out of sight before he speaks.

He looks straight ahead as he speaks, but he knows Will is listening. In his peripheries, Will leans forward, and takes a slow sip of his wine.

“Whatever happens," Leo hears himself saying, shoving his hands under his legs to keep them from shaking, "I want you to know that I didn’t want this." He keeps his voice low, loud enough to reach Will but not loud enough to reach the bar. “Whatever he makes me do, or whatever he makes you do, just know that I didn’t… I didn’t choose this.” There’s a panicked edge to his tone that grows with each word, and he knows he needs to lose it quickly. He takes the deepest breath he can, as his eyes track Mr. Peterson making his way back to the living room.

“I know,” Will responds, equally softly. And then, as Mr. Peterson lowers himself back down onto the sofa, he says, “It’s okay.”

✥ ✥ ✥ 

Leo waits until he’s sure both Mr. Peterson and Will have fallen asleep before he allows himself to stand, unsteady on his feet but eager for this night to end. He walks as calmly as he can to the bathroom before he doubles over the toilet, expelling everything his stomach has to offer before letting his forehead rest on his arm.

The feeling of Will’s hands on him, of Will’s mouth on him while Mr. Peterson coaches every movement. Mr. Peterson's voice, look at his face, and he likes that, and god, fucking perfect, and keep going, and use your tongue, and don't be afraid to go a little rougher, and fucking hands down, Leo, and you're doing good, and you're so fucking hot, and every word plays through Leo’s head on repeat and Leo wants to scream to make it stop, but he can't. There's no stopping it, and there's no end to it, and it reminds him, in some ways, of how... He thought he was done, but as images of Mr. Peterson's weight landing on the sofa next to him, of Mr. Peterson stopping Will to look at him, to touch him, as Mr. Peterson's guides Leo's hand, he doubles over the toilet once more–

A knock on the door pulls Leo back to the moment, and there's a second of sheer, perfect panic where he realizes he was too loud, and someone's awake, and things are going to get infinitely worse, before he looks up. And it's... it’s Will who stands in the doorway, backlit by the dull yellow of the hall light, and Leo can breathe again.

“I was that bad, huh?” Will asks, kneeling to a crouch next to him. Will smiles, an apologetic, soft smile that Leo isn’t accustomed to, because frankly, he's not accustomed to Will speaking to him at all, before he lets the back of his hand sweep the slightly overgrown hair from Leo’s neck.

“It’s not you,” Leo says, voice hoarse and still teetering on the edge of hysteria. “It’s me.” 

Will laughs then, and it's a genuine sound that Leo hasn’t heard in years, and something about it is all too much, setting off the months, or maybe years, of pent up anxiety, and Leo can’t stop the cascade of tears that silently begins to fall.

Will, for his part, sits next to him, and with no pressure for him to stop, and no one waiting for him to get his shit together, Leo cries harder.

Until eventually, he takes a long, deep breath, and he forces himself to calm down.

Several minutes pass, with both boys silent and processing the events of the evening, before Will finally says, “Did I hurt you?”

Leo replies, almost instantly, “No.”

“Okay," Will says. "Good.” He pauses, leveling his gaze on Leo. The silence draws out again, until finally, Will stands, putting his hand out to help Leo up. “I wish I could promise it won’t happen again,” Will says, quietly. “I… whatever I can do to make it easier, I’ll do. But I’ve been with guys like Mr. Peterson before, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and I… I think this wasn’t the end of something, it wasn’t a satisfaction of some dark repressed urge he had as a one time thing. I think it was the beginning of something.” Will opens the door and gestures Leo out first, but squeezes his shoulder as he does.

“I know,” Leo replies.

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