#my notes are flooded with it and it's very exhausting to read

[couldawouldashoulda50]

From Completely Different Worlds - The Sweden Chapter - Part Seven "The End"

Previous parts 1 2 3 4 5 6 7a) In continuation of @misshoneyimhome's birthday celebration, this is the final part of this entire series From Completely Different Worlds. This chapter I believe is the longest one out of them all. I know how I originally wanted this chapter to end - the thing is I could have kept going but I thought perhaps I could do a follow-up summary for this, as I have other blurbs in mind too.

I do fear repeating myself, but I feel endlessly grateful for the notes throughout this storyline. The comments and asks that have come my way have made me laugh, made me beam and some really made me question and explore motives behind thoughts and actions of the characters.

I want to take the opportunity to anyone who even stops just to look at the cover - I wish you all the very best for the remainder of this year - joyous holidays - and the mindset to pursue all of what you dream of in 2025.

Word count on this one - I am truly sorry - I hope this is not arduous to read - approx 13.5k Warnings - Profanity. I can't believe I wrote all of this and there's no smut.

William sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, staring at the unanswered messages he’d sent over the past two days. He knew that something was off. Loren always replied, even if just a quick "busy but will call later." But now, nothing.

Hey, just landed. Hope you’re having a good day. Can’t wait to see you soon.

Miss you. Let me know when you’re free.

Everything okay?

Loren?

As the hours stretched on and his unease grew, his texts became shorter, more direct, a mix of concern and frustration. By the second morning with no reply, his messages bordered on frantic.

Loren, talk to me. Please.

Is something wrong? I’m really worried.

Just let me know you’re okay.

Finally, his phone buzzed with a notification. He exhaled sharply, relief flooding him—until he opened the message. It wasn’t a response to any of his questions. Instead, it was a series of screenshots from Loren.

William’s brow furrowed as he scrolled through them. Margot’s name at the top of the thread made his stomach drop. His eyes darted over the words, disbelief quickly giving way to anger. The photos—the interview link—all of it. It felt like a sucker punch.

Before he could begin to type out a response, his phone rang. Loren’s name flashed on the screen. Without hesitation, he answered, his voice filled with concern.

“Loren?”

He could hear his heart in his ears in the silence that followed . Then came her voice—hoarse, croaky, and broken.

“William.”

He knew immediately—she’d been crying.

“Jesus, what’s going on? Talk to me,” he urged, his voice softer now, desperate to understand. “Please.”

The faint sniffle on the other end was like a dagger to his heart. “I—I don’t even know where to start,” she finally managed, her words shaky and congested.

William ran a hand through his hair, frustration simmering through layers of worry. “Start anywhere, Loren. Please just talk to me.”

Her hesitation felt like an eternity before she finally spoke. “I’ve been sitting with this—those messages, those photos—for days, William. They’ve said a lot. Showed me a lot of things I didn’t know about.”

The words hit him like a freight train. Days. She’d been holding onto this while he’d been tied up at the rink with medicals, team meetings, and the whirlwind of preseason media.

“Loren,” he started, his voice thick with emotion. “Please, let me explain.”

Her exhale traveled through the line, heavy with exhaustion and doubt. “I don’t know if I want to hear it. The messages from Margot, the interview responses are one thing, but the pictures... those pictures—they’re pretty self-explanatory.”

William clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the phone as he paced the room. He forced himself to stay calm when he thought about Margot sending her those messages. “Those pictures - they…they’re not what they look like,” he said, his voice steady but urgent. “I swear, Loren, it’s not how she’s making it seem.”

“That’s a pretty standard response, eh? ‘It’s not what it looks like’.” Her tired voice cracked, the emotion breaking through. “William, I let my guard down because I thought—I believed—this was becoming something real. I get it - you know, I really do. Or I tried to at the beginning - I was ok with being the non-exclusive, noncommittal, go-with- the flow girl. But I allowed you to lead me on with saying you missed me and all the rest of it. William - seeing those pictures, your words in the interview confirming that there’s ‘a lot of women’….what, that you’ve been dating? Spending time with? And then, receiving messages from your side piece, Margot, confirming that there are more side pieces... holy fuck, I’m an absolute fucking idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” he said quickly, his voice firm. “Loren - Margot wasn’t my side piece - I told you the truth when you first came to see me in Stockholm. She’s twisting things because she’s bitter and—”

“She’s bitter because you fucked her, William and she wanted more - I get it.” Loren’s tone was low and matter of fact. “You told her there might be a chance for another time. And not just her. She said you’ve got others in the city, ready and waiting for your call*.*” Her voice cracked again, softer this time. “I guess that just makes me part of all of that pussy that’s always so available.”

William’s mind raced back to their candid conversation in the hammock.

William tried to calm his temper - he had been honest about how it worked with women when she asked him, and it felt like she was using that against him now. The silence that followed was deafening. William stopped pacing, his hands started to hurt from gripping the phone as he struggled to find the right words. “You’re not - that’s so unfai - that’s not how I think about you,” he finally said, his voice raw. “You’re not just another girl, Loren. I wouldn’t have asked you to visit me - I brought you into my world—introduced you to my family, my friends—you’ve become - or always have been….so, so important to me. I care for you so much, Loren.”

Her sniffle was faint, but he caught it. “None of this makes any sense to me, William. But I can’t ignore everything that she sent to me. I can’t unsee any of it. And I’m sorry William but usually, where there’s smoke, there’s fire….”

“But Loren - do you think I have been out seeing other women since you’ve been back here? We talked, we’ve been talking everyday almost,” he said, the frustration evident in his tone. “Margot... she’s bitter because I didn’t want anything serious with her. The one time I slept with her, that was before I understood how I felt about you —and then you came to visit and everything changed. I want - I want to be with you,” William finally admitted. “And those other pictures... I’m telling the truth. Yes, they’re hugs, but they’re random people, fans just saying hello—I don’t even remember exactly because it’s just how it has been for so long…a fan - or like an acquaintance comes up and they want a hug. It’s all been twisted around to make it look like something it’s not.”

“But then there’s the reporter, William - your eyes in that interview,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You looked at that reporter like... she really wowed you. I could feel your attraction towards her. I’ve seen that look - you’ve given me that same look. You could see it, William.“ Loren began to cry once again. “Even if it’s all innocent, this kind of thing will be a constant occurrence. There will be other women claiming the same as Margot. Sending messages. Photos. Fuck William - you smile at some girl and they post it like there’s something between you - it might be delusional and I know it’s totally out of your control but….William,” Loren sighs before continuing, her voice cracking once again. “True or not, I'll be on the receiving end of this. It will be me that has to try and decipher what’s bullshit and what’s not. And that’s not the worst of it. It breeds resentment and bitterness, William. I’ll be the one always left wondering what is true - do you know what that does to a person over time? I’ve already gone through my fair share of deceit at this stage of my life. I don’t want to be mistrusting. I don’t want to feel like one day I’ll just happen to follow your stare into the crowd and wonder if there’s a women that’s caught your attention. I don’t want to feel that way towards you.”

“Loren,” his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Please, give me a chance to prove to you that this isn’t what it looks like. This isn’t what it will be like.”

Her silence felt like an eternity. When she finally spoke, her words were barely above a whisper. “You can’t say that last part with any kind of certainty. You cannot anticipate what lengths other people will go to in order to get your attention.”

It broke William hearing her voice so defeated.

“I don’t know if I can do this, William. I care for you so, so much but I really don’t know if I can handle this part of your life.”

—

For days, Loren’s lifeline was her work. She tethered herself to it, filling every available moment with tutoring sessions, group home shifts, and hours spent editing the language content for her growing online audience. Just like before, she went through the motions of her day-to-day life, wearing a proverbial mask to hide how hollow she felt, and kept to herself as much as possible.

Every once in a while, as she scrolled through social media, photos of William would appear from Leafs preseason events. There he was, smiling with his teammates, laughing, looking completely at ease, as if nothing had changed. He didn’t look broken—not like she felt. Seeing him appear so carefree only deepened the ache inside her, solidifying her belief that William knew exactly how to make things look perfect on the surface while leaving chaos underneath. She closed her phone and wept.

Her parents, Kathy, and even Alice—Simon Benoit’s girlfriend with whom she became fast friends with—had noticed the change in her. Their questions were gentle but persistent. Loren brushed them off, offering unconvincing reassurances. “I’m just busy, that’s all.” They weren’t fooled, but they respected her space.

It was early one morning when it happened.

Loren was running late and had just downed her green drink as she flew out the front entrance of her house and hurriedly locked the door. She rummaged through her tote bag making sure she had everything she needed for the day and slung it over her shoulder with her keys in hand.

The air was cold that morning, visible in the puff of her breath as she exhaled deeply while quickly walking down the steps of her front porch.

That’s when she saw him.

William stepped out of his car near the end of her driveway. His eyes were locked on Loren as she stood on the middle step of her porch. He walked toward her slowly, and there was nothing hiding the weight in his expression. His usual easygoing demeanor was replaced with something heavier, and the faint dark circles under his eyes hinted at restless nights.

Loren froze, her breath hitching. Her keys jangled in her trembling hand.

His voice broke the silence, soft and hesitant. “Hey.”

She swallowed hard, struggling to muster a response. “Hi, William.”

“I know I shouldn’t just show up like this,” he said, taking a cautious step toward her. “But I didn’t know what else to do. You won’t answer my calls, any of my messages—I just… I don’t know how to fix this.”

Her chest ached at his words, but her guard shot up instantly. She tightened her grip on the strap of her tote bag and didn’t move closer. Her voice came out quiet but steady. “I’ve been trying to figure out this absolute shit-show, William. And the truth is... I don’t know.”

“I just need you to let me explain,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Please.”

Loren’s throat tightened as she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’ve spent days trying to make sense of everything. And I’m not asking to hear all the details right now, because I don’t think I can really handle anything else. But please try and understand - there wasn’t just one message. There was a barrage of messages full of information about you that completely bulldozed me. It wasn’t just one photo either - there were multiple photos. Your words in that interview - none of it was rehearsed William. Those words were your words, you confirmed you’ve been dating women - and there’s a lot of them. It was a total landslide of all of this shit hitting me all at once. I’m overwhelmed. I don’t know who to believe…because there’s just so fucking much of it.”

“I do understand how it looks,” William said, his hands outstretched, almost pleading. “But it really is not what you think. I know I keep saying this but it’s Margot—she’s gone out of her way to play this fucking game of twisting lies and making them sound like the truth. She didn’t even translate parts of the interview right - I never said there was a lot of women. I said there were a lot of rumours about my dating life.”

Loren’s voice cracked, but she kept her tone measured. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t erase how this feels. Do you understand that? It’s the hurt. I’ve tried not to have doubts and I know I have my insecurities - I battle really hard to let go of the negative thoughts that creep into my head. But this whole thing just feels like a punch in the face. At this point, I’m not trying to figure out the why’s or how it happened - all I feel now are the bruises and the pain because of it.”

William raked a hand through his hair, his expression desperate. “Loren, I don’t know what to do if you won’t even let me sit down with you. Talk to you.”

“It’s not that I won’t let you,” she said quietly. “I’m so confused and I need time to let my thoughts settle a little bit. I can barely think straight…I’m just overloaded now.”

Her expression seemed to darken and she knew she might be crossing a line with her next remark. She didn’t even know why it popped into her mind. “But hey - based on the team posts that seem to be everywhere, you look like you’ve managed all of this just fine. I really don’t know that anything actually phases you.”

“That’s not true, Loren. Pictures aren’t always what they seem - someone could look happy because they have to - just to get through the moment, but can never fully know what’s going on behind the smile,” William bit back. His icy words hung in the morning air, each one landing like a heavy weight between them.

Loren looked down, her fingers brushing the edge of her tote bag. “I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have said that.” She kept her head down. “But, I do have to go,” she added, her voice barely above a whisper.

As she moved toward her car, William’s voice broke again. “Wait. Please Loren.”

She paused, her head hung downward as tears threatened, but didn’t turn to face him.

“I’d planned to ask you something before... everything happened,” he said softly. “I had planned to invite you to the home opener.”

A lump formed in Loren’s throat. She swiped at the tears that pricked her eyes and steadied her voice. “I’m already going.”

William’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“The organization gave Gary tickets to make up for him missing the Easter Seals skate,” she explained flatly. “He’s supposed to meet some of the team, afterward I think - or before, I’m not sure.”

“Oh,” William said, nodding slowly, as if trying to process her words. “That’s... that’s good. He’ll love that.”

There was a long pause, the tension between them almost unbearable. William’s gaze remained fixed on her as walked down the steps. “So, I’ll see you there?” he asked, his voice laced with a mix of hope and hesitation. “Maybe we could—”

“I’ll be working,” Loren interrupted gently, her voice remained distant. “I’ll probably see you there, William. But I really have to go now.”

He nodded, watching as she walked toward her car and slid into the driver’s seat. His heart twisted as he stepped back, giving her the space she so clearly needed but wishing he could close the ever-growing gap between them.

As Loren pulled out of the driveway, William stood and watched from the walkway, his breath visible in the chilly air. He’d come here hoping to make progress, to try and explain, to see her. But now, watching her drive away, he felt lost. He hoped he hadn’t made things worse.

—

Loren sat cross-legged on the Benoit’s couch, gently patting little Adelaide Benoit’s back in soothing, rhythmic motions. The baby let out a burp, then another, and Loren cooed softly, relieved as the baby’s fussing finally began to settle. She shifted Adelaide to a more comfortable position, and soon the little one was fast asleep against her chest. Across the room, Alice slumped into the love seat, her damp hair wrapped in a towel. She exhaled deeply, exhaustion still etched across her face despite the reprieve of a hot shower.

The team had left the day before to do their traditional team-building getaway north of the city, and Loren had offered to stay with Alice while Simon was away.

[Speaking in French] “Thank you for this,” Alice murmured, her eyes closed and her voice heavy with gratitude. “I don’t know what you’re doing differently—she’s been fussy with me since Simon left, but she’s an angel with you.”

Loren subtly shook her head. “You’re exhausted, Alice. You needed a break. Besides,” she added playfully, “I’m auditioning for the role of your number one babysitter when you and Simon start doing date nights again.”

“You’re hired. You could just move in with us. Rent out your house, work one job instead of what, three? Four?” Alice stretched out on the cushions, adjusting a pillow to account for the towel still wrapped around her head. “And hey, if you get this mess with Willy sorted, we could even be WAGs together.”

Loren chuckled lightly, though the idea of being a WAG felt about as likely for her as a trip to Mars. One hand cradled Adelaide’s bottom while the other gently stroked her back. “I really don’t know what to believe, or even what the right thing is to do—for me, anyway. It’s getting to the point that it’s not just the Margot stuff anymore, or what he said in that interview, or the way he gazed at that reporter—” Loren rolled her eyes, her voice sharpening with indignation at the word gaze.

She sighed, her eyes dropping to the baby in her arms. “It’s all of it, and then add the fact that he’s turning into this huge celebrity. I mean, he already is, but with that docuseries coming out in a couple of days, it’s going to catapult him into a whole other realm of stardom.”

Alice opened her eyes, studying Loren carefully, but stayed quiet as she let her friend pour her heart out.

“It goes back to how I felt when I first met him,” Loren began. “I mean—it was Willy Nylander, one of the “core four”, a star forward for the Leafs, right? Young, hot, wealthy—and insanely talented. Every time we got together, I assumed it would be the last time, that he’d just move on to the next girl because he could, and why wouldn’t he,” Loren admitted, reflecting on when she and William first met in March.

“But then I got to know him. His personality, his quirks, how caring and funny he is. And suddenly, it wasn’t ‘Willy Nylander, the hockey player.’ He was simply William—I would literally forget “what” he was and I loved spending time with “who” he was,” she said, her expression softening with a small smile.

Her voice dropped, tinged with uncertainty. “But now, with everything—the messages, the past hookups, all of the attention he gets, all of it—I feel like I’m back to being just another girl that he’ll eventually pass over - like, another stop along the way. But all the feelings I have for him? They’re still there.” Her eyes lifted to look at Alice. “Does that even make sense?”

Alice leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “It makes perfect sense, Loren. But listen to me—because you’re overthinking this. You’re not being ‘passed over,’ and you’re not just ‘another stop along the way.’ If that’s all you were to him, he would have passed you over already and he sure wouldn’t have invited you to Sweden. He wouldn’t have brought you to meet his family, his friends, the places he loves. That’s not something someone does for a fling.”

Loren opened her mouth to argue, but Alice held up a hand. “I’m an overtired Mommy now so you have to listen to me. Look Loren - I get it. It’s scary. The guy has options—more than most people will ever dream of having. And yeah, he’s maybe got a reputation, but based on what? Reputations don’t tell the whole story. You said it yourself: when you’re with him, it’s not about ‘Willy Nylander, the hockey player.’ It’s about William. And let me tell you something—my feeling is someone like William doesn’t waste his time on people he doesn’t care about.”

Alice softened her voice. “And about those messages? Of course they rattled you. That’s what they were meant to do and pretty much anyone in your position would feel the same. But if he’s been trying—really trying—to explain and make things right, don’t you think that says something? The question - to me anyway - is whether you can let your guard down enough, just to hear the guy out.”

Alice gave Loren a wry smile, sitting back on the couch. “And for the record? You’re the only person I’ve seen get that guy to light up the way he does when he looks at you. So maybe you should give yourself a little more credit and for the love of God, get out of that head of yours.”

Loren paused for a moment before shaking her head. “Agh - you just had a baby and here I am blathering on about my boy troubles. I hope you know how much I appreciate you,” Loren smiled.

“I appreciate you too, especially if you’d put Adelaide in the bassinette so I can crawl into bed? I’m so tired,” Alice said groggily.

“Of course - I’ll take the dogs out for a walk too.”

After doing some tidying up, Alice and Adelaide were long tucked away for a nap and Loren soon ventured off with the dogs. October weather in Toronto could bring multiple climates together in one week, or in one day, depending. That day, it felt almost like summer was beginning again, and Loren felt her mood lightening as she walked briskly with the dogs towards the large off-leash dog park near the Benoit’s home. The walk also gave Loren time to sit with her thoughts, and with Alice’s remarks about the situation with William. The morning he waited for her outside of her house, their conversation resulted in William relenting and giving Loren her space. The steady flow of messages that he had been sending her prior to that morning ceased. Now, with no communication, an even greater fear of the unknown toyed with her mind.

The hardest part wasn’t about deciding whether to trust William—if he still wanted to even pursue a relationship with her. No decision regarding William came with a guarantee. She couldn’t know if walking away would spare her from future heartache anymore than trying to mend things between them would.

At the park entrance, Loren gently commanded the dogs to wait as they began to pull excitedly toward the gate. Determined to refocus them, she stopped and gave the leashes a light tug. “Wait,” she said firmly. The dogs turned their attention to her, and with a sharp “sit,” they obediently complied. Loren rewarded them with praise and their favorite dried liver treats.

Once inside, she latched the gate behind her, laughing softly as the dogs’ focus shifted from her commands to the excitement of the park. She unclasped their leashes, and they bolted off, running in wide loops to sniff and explore.

Her phone chimed with an incoming call. The screen lit up with “Benny,” Simon’s team nickname.

Loren answered quickly, unsure why Simon would be calling. “[In French] Hi, Simon. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Simon replied, though his voice carried a note of concern. “I’ve been trying to call Alice, but she’s not answering.”

Loren smiled. “She’s asleep, and so is Adelaide. I took the dogs to the park to give them some exercise and a little extra quiet for their nap.”

“Oh, perfect. Phew. I was getting nervous… but yeah, makes total sense now. Dad nerves are real. Holy shit,” Simon said, laughing now, the tension in his voice easing.

Loren and Simon talked about Alice and the baby, eventually shifting to their plans for Thanksgiving dinner at Loren’s. They quickly agreed on a few menu details before Simon asked to see the dogs. Switching to FaceTime, Loren angled her phone toward the open grassy field. Simon laughed as he watched the dogs zoom around, darting and weaving like kids playing tag.

After a few moments, Simon glanced over his shoulder and back at the screen. “Looks like I’m being waved over. I’d better go. But hey—Loren, thank you so much for everything. I’ve been able to focus and even relax knowing you’re there with my ladies… and manning the zoo.”

“I love your ladies, and your zoo, so I’m happy to help. Go have fun, and message me if you have any other ideas for next Sunday,” Loren said with a smile.

“Will do. Thanks again, Loren. À bientôt,” Simon replied with a grin before ending the call.

As Simon pocketed his phone, Ryan Reaves walked up alongside him. “Talking to Alice? Everything okay at home?” He paused. “Wait—don’t tell me Alice is there with little Cashew and your mini-farm all by herself.”

Simon chuckled at the name “Cashew” that the team voted on for his baby girl, before he and Alice decided on Adelaide. “Actually, Loren’s staying with her. They hit it off when they met and have gotten pretty close. Really thankful she’s there. Alice and the baby are asleep right now, and Loren’s out with the dogs.”

Within earshot, William overheard their conversation. At the mention of Loren, his stomach flipped—an uncomfortable mix of butterflies and a twisting ache. Even here, surrounded by teammates and fans, his thoughts constantly drifted to her and the icy wall between them.

He’d been thinking of her almost non-stop but forced himself to continue giving her time and space. But hearing Simon mention her, he was desperate to hear her voice. Swiping open his phone, he tapped Loren’s contact before he could overthink it.

When she picked up, her voice was slightly breathless. “William—hi! Sorry, just a second.” He heard muffled sounds and the sound of a zipper, followed by her clear commands: “Okay, boys - sit. Good. And break!”

William chuckled softly, his chest warming at the sound of her voice.

“Sorry about that,” Loren said, her heart racing as she refocused on the call. “I’m out with Benny’s dogs right now. They’re a handful.” She laughed lightly. “How are you? How’s Bracebridge?”

Relief washed over him. She sounded more like herself again. “Good. Up here is nice. You know, usual team bonding stuff,” he said, his voice carrying a smile.

“Oh, right… just another day being William Ny-laaan-der,” Loren teased.

He laughed. “So you’re out with Benny’s dogs?”

“Yeah, just helping Alice out for a couple of days. Extra set of hands, that type of thing,” Loren replied, brushing off her helpfulness.

“You should grab Pablo and Banksy for a doggie playdate,” William teased.

Loren’s heart sank at the mention of his dogs. “Well, thanks for bringing them up—it’s not like I was missing them or anything,” she teased, her sarcasm very apparent. “I’ll just lie down here in the dirt and cry,” she said wistfully with a chuckle. She fell quiet for a moment, the weight of her feelings pressing down on her. She did miss them terribly. But the truth was, she missed William even more.

“They’d be happy to see you,” William added gently.

Loren swallowed the lump in her throat, unsure how to respond. “I read - or well, saw that awful fall during the game last week…are you okay?” she asked tentatively.

“Not my finest moment,” he replied with a chuckle. “But I’m okay.”

Silence hung in the air, which was rare for them.

“Oh! I almost forgot, I was going through the millions of pictures and videos from Sweden….I had taken some photos of the boys by the water - I think they turned out pretty well. Can I send them to you?”

Loren’s voice sounded so timid and uncertain, reinforcing how uncomfortable she now felt with him. That realization twisted the dagger already lodged in his heart. He hated how far they’d drifted—how the easy connection they once shared had been replaced by awkward silences and hesitant words.

William squinted his eyes shut for a moment. The fact that she now felt the need to ask for permission to send a simple picture was almost unbearable. “Loren—you can send me anything you want, anytime you want.” The words came out steadier than he felt. If he could slip through the phone and magically appear in front, he wouldn’t hesitate to hold her and let her melt into him. She had admitted once or twice to him that wrapped in his arms was her favourite place to be.

Loren could hear voices and rustling in the background at William’s end and sensed their conversation was winding down. “Sounds like you’re on the move - I’ll let you go, okay?”

As William stepped into one of the conference rooms at the hotel, he hesitated. He wanted more—wanted to see her, to address her concerns, to air out everything that had happened between them. The impatience and longing tormented his mind, but he knew he had to tread carefully. The call had been unplanned, and for the first time in weeks, she didn’t sound withdrawn or despondent. Her voice carried a liveliness and openness he hadn’t heard in far too long.

“Yeah, okay—we’re just starting something here, so—” William paused, trying to steady the flurry of thoughts racing through his mind. “Do you—could I reach out again when I’m back? Oh—and, yeah, the pictures… I’d love to see what you’ve got.”

Loren lightly kicked at the dirt beneath her shoe. “Sounds good, William. And for sure, I’ll send some along. Enjoy the rest of your time, okay?”

Some time after the call ended, as he sat listening to the Event Coordinators, his phone buzzed with a new notification. Loren had sent the first picture. He glanced at it briefly, noncommittally at first, but then he froze and did a double take.

Loren’s description of the photo did not come close to doing it justice. The image of the two dogs sitting side by side on the dock, silhouetted against the wildfire hues of an orange-red sunset, was breathtaking. The lake was utterly still, its surface like flawless glass, reflecting the wild colors of the sky.

William’s throat tightened with a sudden rush of emotion. It wasn’t just the beauty of the picture—it was the way it transported him back to the bliss they had shared in Sweden. He desperately hoped they could find that same happiness again, this time while sharing their lives in Toronto.

—

The days following her conversation with William felt like uncharted territory. Loren sent a few more photos from Sweden, each one met with brief but heartfelt replies from William. Their exchanges were light, almost painfully polite, but beneath the surface, yet one could sense a mutual longing that neither could bring themselves to fully express.

Though the sting of the Margot situation had begun to fade, it was gradually replaced by a deeper ache—one that came from missing William in ways she almost did not want to admit, even to herself. She missed their conversations most of all, the easy way they used to connect, and the warmth he brought to her life. But no matter how much she longed to see him, she couldn’t ignore the weight of the conversations that still needed to be had - conversations about Margot, their future, and everything in between.

With William busy with practices and going on the road—first in Detroit, then Montreal, and finally New Jersey—their chances of being in the same place at the same time were nonexistent. The physical and emotional distance between them gnawed at her, and only exasperated how she was already feeling.

Loren, however, had more than enough on her plate to keep her busy and her mind occupied. A handful of new students, classmates of her existing clients, had reached out requesting help with literacy and speech practice in French. The influx of tutoring sessions provided enough of a financial boost that she could scale back to more sustainable hours at the group home.

Meanwhile, her online audience continued to grow as her digital language content gained traction. Her marketing manager was thrilled with her output and began brainstorming new opportunities for Loren to be involved in, some of which even included potential travel. As her schedule filled and her prospects expanded, Loren couldn’t help but feel good about the path she was carving for herself.

One afternoon as her last student left, Loren let out a deep sigh, finally allowing herself to relax. She decided to keep things simple for the night—cooking wasn’t in the cards, so she threw together a platter of fruit, vegetables, and snacks.

With her plate balanced on her lap, she poured herself a glass of red wine and sank into the couch. The first sip brought a flush to her cheeks, the warmth of it displayed by blotches on her neck. Scrolling through streaming options, she couldn’t settle on anything, her mind wandering as the quiet of the evening began.

Her phone began to vibrate and dance on the end table beside her. Glancing at the screen, her cheeks went from flushed to white hot when she saw William’s name on the screen.

Hesitantly, she picked up the phone and tapped on the green icon. She answered with a soft and friendly “Hi.”

William’s voice was low and gentle, the same one that always had an effect on her. “Hey - um, just wanted to call and see what you’re up to?”

Loren smiled . “Oh, well - hmmm,” she paused as she shifted her body to a more comfortable position. “I wish I could come up with some fantastic answer but I unplugged my brain about an hour ago. So, really, nothing interesting…looking for something to watch, right now.” She tried to sound blasé, but the smile in her voice gave her away. “What about you?”

“Some Leaf fan you are—you’re not following the schedule?” he teased. “We’re playing tonight. First game of the season. Against Montreal.”

Loren’s cheeks flushed deeper, this time in embarrassment. “Ah, shit…I completely forgot. Thanks for the guilt trip. Arrête de m’énerver, William,” she added with mock drama in French.

His trademark laugh sounded through the phone. “See - yeah, I was thinking you could remind me of some of the French things you told me in Paris so I could shout them at Cole Caufield during the game.”

The wine combined Loren’s adrenaline fueled her banter. “William, I think the French things I said to you in Paris would be wildly inappropriate to shout at Cole during a game.”

William’s laugh turned staccato, that contagious sound that always made her giggle too.

“However,” she continued, her tone faux-serious, “Va chier basically means ‘Screw you.’ Honestly though, I really don’t know how much French Cole understands anyway, so I think you just need to give up this idea altogether, William.”

"You could still remind me of those other words,” William replied, borderline flirtatious. “Inappropriate or not, it might throw him off his game.”

Loren paused, grinning. “I guess if anyone could pull it off, it’s you.”

The two continued to chat, the flow of their conversation sounding more at ease.

Before ending the call, William asked again if Loren still planned to be at the game that coming Saturday. She confirmed she would be.

As William lay stretched out on the bed in the hotel in Montreal, he felt the tension lifting more and more between them. If he could just keep inching the momentum forward, he felt confident they could get back on track.

The past month had humbled him in ways he didn’t expect. When the pictures and messages from Margot first reached Loren, she could have lashed out—screamed at him, hurled threats or insults, or done any number of things to exact revenge. Instead, even in her pain, she had handled it with a kind of control that still amazed him.

It wasn’t something he’d recognized immediately, but his parents had pointed it out after learning what had happened. His mother had been especially vocal, emphasizing how rare it was for someone to respond with restraint instead of anger—to simply articulate her hurt feelings in the face of what felt like a violation of trust.

The more William thought about it, the more it reflected who Loren truly was—steady, thoughtful, and kind, even in moments of turmoil. She hadn’t shut him out as a malicious attempt to make him twist in the wind. She had needed space and time because he realized what they had developed was too important not to press pause.

In the quiet moments between games, William considered how he might have reacted if the roles were reversed. If someone had sent him photos and messages implying Loren had been making a fool of him —whether about an ex, a fling, or anything in between—he would have shut down. His walls would have gone up immediately, trust shattered, and he wasn’t sure what lengths Loren would have had to go to earn it back — if he even allowed her to. It wasn’t a side of himself he was proud of, but it was one he couldn’t deny existed.

At the end of the day, he missed her. Her absence from his life this time hit especially hard. He had no idea if any of their future conversations that they would certainly need to have would fix any of this.

At the end of the day, he missed her. Her absence hit him harder this time, and the knowledge that she might not remain in his life left a knot in his stomach. He had no idea if the conversations they still needed to have would fix things.

For now, he pushed those worries aside. Years of sports psychology had taught him to quiet his mind before a game, especially when personal issues arise. But before he did, he allowed himself one more glance at a photo he’d taken of Loren in Monaco—her long hair flowing, a flower tucked behind her ear, her eyes fixed on his full of affection and desire. It was one of his favorites.

—

Michael Nylander sat on the couch in their Stockholm home, the glow of his laptop screen reflected off his face as he watched the first game of the new NHL season, with the Leafs playing the Canadiens in Montreal. He gently blew the steam from his mug of tea, his eyes remained fixed on William, who almost got a tip-in goal on a power play.

Michael audibly sighed as the puck traveled down the length of the ice after William’s attempt.

[In Swedish] “How is the game so far?” Camilla asked as she padded across the room, her hair slightly tousled and her eyes heavy.

Michael patted the spot next to him on the couch, and soon Camilla’s head rested on a pillow in his lap. “Was the volume too loud - did I wake you?” he asked.

Camilla shook her head and smiled, reaching for the blanket that was folded neatly on the back of the couch. She covered herself followed by Michael lovingly stretching the blanket over her body.

“It’s only just begun - Leafs just finished a power play. William had a good chance, the team looks pretty good so far,” Michael replied softly. He strokes Camilla’s arm as the resume watching the game in comfortable silence.

“I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about Loren and William,” Camilla wearily admitted.

Michael nodded. “It’s certainly a mess. I can’t get my head wrapped around what would possess Margot to go after Loren like that?”

Camilla shifted under the blanket. “I never asked but I think something happened with her and William during our family vacation.”

Michael was silent for a moment. Taking a sip of his tea, his eyes remained fixed on the laptop screen. “So, it’s jealousy. I think I can see it coming together now,” he sighed.

Camilla continued. “I’ve seen everything Margot sent to Loren. It was upsetting enough for me to read the way that information was positioned to Loren. There was a nastiness to her messages, almost like Margot was trying to befriend Loren by ripping apart William,” she explained. “I don’t know if Margot really understands the magnitude of what she has done. I know maybe William doesn’t help by getting into these situations to begin with, but all of that damage done to Loren—”, Camilla stopped speaking as Montreal just scored the first goal. She adjusted herself to nestle into Michael’s side. “I just wonder if I should reach out to Loren. William’s got the start of the season going on - and it’s already been a month….” Camilla’s voice trailed off. “I could help her understand what the truth is. That’s what William has said, that Loren’s so confused - she doesn’t know what to believe, and rightfully so. She hasn’t shut the door on anything and Michael - William adores her - I hate to think that they’re both in misery when they don’t have to be.”

Michael nodded. “You are so wise and kind, my wife - and I don’t think it could hurt to talk to Loren.”

She paused to watch the game for another minute before she stood up, tied her hair in a pony tail, grabbed another laptop and walked toward the study.

“You’re doing it now?” Michael called after Camilla.

All he heard his wife says is “No use wasting time getting this fixed.”

—

Loren had long passed out on the couch after her conversation with William and her one glass of wine. She forgot where she was momentarily when she awoke to her phone pinging and vibrating on the end table next to her. She rubbed her eyes and grabbed her glasses to first look at the time and then the text notifications. Her heart raced furiously when she saw the text was from Camilla.

The message was kind and apologetic, asking if Loren could join a video call. She was completely bewildered by Camilla’s request - but mostly because it was in the early morning hours in Stockholm. Her stomach was in knots thinking about all of the possibilities of the purpose for her call. Loren messaged her back right away and opened her laptop, connecting to the call shortly thereafter.

Loren greeted Camilla with a wide smile, although all of her emotions are just under the surface.

“It’s so nice to see your face, Camilla. How are you? Are you up watching William’s game?” Loren asked.

“I’m doing well, my darling. Yes, Michael is watching- I had seen enough when Montreal scored,” Camilla admitted with a chuckle. “I hope I didn’t take you away from anything?”

Loren’s tone was sheepish. “I actually fell asleep on the couch,” she admitted with a grin. “I’m just exhausted lately.” Loren immediately regretted say she was exhausted - it felt like a hint to her goings on with William.

Camilla lowered her gaze for a moment before her blue eyes found Loren’s once again. She smiled warmly at Loren but her furrowed brows showed immense concern. “Loren, I know this might not be my place but I wanted to call, first to ask how you are and second, to tell you how sorry I am about everything you and William are going through.”

Loren’s throat felt tight, wrought with emotion. She could feel her face begin to twist as she tried to hold back her tears. “I’m - I’m doing okay, Camilla. I really appreciate you calling,” Loren said, her voice wavering.

Camilla continued carefully. “I would not normally interfere - I want my children to sort out their own business. But, I have to tell you I have not been able to think about much else since I heard about the messages Margot had sent you. I can’t even imagine how you’ve been feeling.”

Loren’s throat began to ache from being constricted with trying to suppress her emotions. “It’s been tough - it’s just such an odd - no…I guess upsetting and confusing situation.”

“It absolutely is,” Camilla agreed. She gave Loren a comforting smile through the screen. “Loren, Michael and I think so highly of you. When you were here, and we saw the two of you together, we could feel how much you care for one another. I don’t know if William told you this but he and I spoke at length while you and his dad made lunch that day before you left. He wanted you to stay so you both could return to Toronto together. The way he looked, the way he expressed himself Loren - I honestly don’t know if he’s ever felt this strongly about someone before,” Camilla added.

With this admission, the flood gates opened with Loren. She could not hold it back any longer as she ripped away her glasses and covered her face with her hands, tears streamed through her fingers. Camilla’s heart aches watching as Loren’s body began to tremble from the force of her sobs.

“Oh, Loren.” Camilla’s voice is tender as she speaks soothingly through the speakers. “Let it out. It’s okay, just let it all out.”

Loren continued to weep, apologizing to Camilla for letting her emotions get the better of her.

“Please don’t apologize for being upset. Loren, you have every right to feel the way you do. I’m just glad I can be here for you,” Camilla comforted.

After some time, Loren’s tears began to subside, and she began to speak. “I’m just - it’s such an awful feeling. I mean - at first, all I could think about were Margot’s messages - the amount of distrust that I allowed her to plant in my mind about William. But then, and I hate saying this to you - but they’ve earned the reputation of being players in every capacity so I just feel like I’m blindly tripping along here not knowing what to think,” Loren said, her voice still full of anguish.

“I can understand that,” Camilla began thoughtfully. “But I’ll tell you something—when it comes to my boys, I’ve always worried about how easy it’s been for them to attract girls. They never had to try; the girls just flocked to them, like moths to a flame. It always concerned me—what if they didn’t know, or worse, didn’t care, if someone truly special crossed their path? Would they even recognize it? And if they did, would they know how to treat her—or would they simply expect her to always be there for them, without ever giving back?”

Camilla paused, her voice softening as she smiled at Loren. “But while you were here, I saw something different in William. Yes, his family will always be everything to him, followed closely by his friends—but you, Loren…” She leaned closer, her voice sincere. “I feel he’s created a very special place for you in his life.”

Loren remained silent, her expression still clouded with sadness as she considered what Camilla had explained. More and more, Loren felt the distrust toward William fading. What she felt added up perfectly in September with all of Margot’s “evidence”, now it made less sense than ever before.

The two women sat in silence for a moment before Loren spoke. “I have been able to work past what Margot said in her messages and while the other things she said bothered me, I can explain most of it away. It’s just the pictures now that I keep coming back to, but even those…he said they were just random people saying “hi”….they weren’t what Margot made them out to be at all,” Loren expressed, still riddled with confusion.

Camilla’s expression turned to regret. “I know, Loren - I understand your need to protect yourself and it’s hard when there just seems to be so much information that leans on way. I was not there myself to say one thing or the other. But, if I may, Loren, I just cannot see William doing that to you - not after seeing how the two of you are around each other.”

Loren swiped away the fresh tears that ran down her cheeks and put her glasses back on, smiling at Camilla now that she could see her more clearly.

“Loren, älskling, being with someone like William isn’t easy. I can only speak from the experience of being a wife of a professional player, and the mother of two more. There are things I have seen and heard that I would have preferred not to. There are hurt feelings and moments of frustration. For William, I can absolutely understand why you have reservations about his life and how it will affect you in your relationship with - hmmm, so much “interest” in him. There are so many challenges, even with the greatest and strongest of loves, but there are also choices. Every day, you’ll have to decide if the love you share is worth those challenges. And he’ll have to make that choice too,” Camilla concluded, followed by a warm smile.

Loren nodded her head. She took a deep breath and looked back at Camilla through the screen. “We’ve been talking a little, William and I,” Loren said quietly.

Camilla’s eyes brightened with Loren’s admission, her smile widening. “That’s wonderful, älskling,” she said softly, her voice full of encouragement.

Loren swiped away some dust from her keyboard, almost lost in thought. “Maybe we’ll get a chance to talk once the home opener is over,” she smiled.

Loren tried to sound optimistic but she could not begin to guess how this all might turn out.

—

The second Saturday in October was circled on calendars across Toronto and beyond, a date that marked months of anticipation after the Leafs shortened playoff run. For Maple Leafs fans, it wasn’t just a game—it was the event, the beginning of a new season brimming with hope. Across the country, hockey reclaimed its spotlight, and Scotiabank Arena stood as a glowing beacon, welcoming the return of one of the league’s storied Original Six franchises.

Kathy stepped out of the elevator from the parking garage, holding the door as Loren guided Gary’s wheelchair toward the large glass doors of the office tower bordering the square in front of the arena. Though they were still 45 minutes early before the gates even opened, the blue of their home jerseys quickly blended into the growing sea of fans. The city’s sights and sounds converged around them as Loren and Kathy maneuvered Gary through the bustling crowd. Fans milled about, snapping pictures and chatting animatedly about the new season, the coaching staff, and the newly minted captain, Auston Matthews.

Locating Gate 1, the three queued in line, with Gary completely mesmerized by the massive murals of current players displayed above the doorways. Being among the first to arrive, a Security Officer approached, offering guidance on what to do once the doors opened. When Kathy mentioned they were meeting with Fan Services, the officer nodded, spoke into his radio, and quickly disappeared, leaving them to wait amidst the growing line of fans.

Passing through security, they were greeted by Eriika from Fan Services, a wide smile on her face as she introduced herself. After a few pleasantries, she guided them on a quick tour, pointing out the key spots designed for accessibility, including the section where Gary could get a perfect view of the Leafs during warmups at ice level. Finally, Eriika led them to their seats, ensuring they were settled comfortably before leaving with a friendly reminder to flag their usher if they needed anything.

For once, Gary was completely speechless. He slowly scanned the area, looking from the banners of retired players to the banners of their championship wins. Loren could not have been more thrilled for Gary. His life were the Maple Leafs. If anyone bled blue, it was him. He never bad mouthed the team, his support was rock solid. To see him gaze with such an air of both disbelief and awe, made her heart swell.

Eriika had arranged for a wheelchair escort, Josh, to assist Loren and Kathy with navigating the different levels and accessible entryways. He guided them through the maze of hallways and ramps until they emerged at ice level, the freshly cleaned sheet of ice, with the Maple Leaf emblem in the centre, illuminated by the low lights of purple and blue. Gary’s face remained in awe as he absorbed his beloved team’s arena.

Josh leaned down toward Gary. “Let’s see this sign you’ve got,” he said with a grin. Gary proudly held it up, revealing a poster with a large arrow pointing downward and the caption, “Hey Boys! Look all the way down here. Next Leafs Power Forward ON WHEELS - pass me the puck!”

Josh’s grin stretched from ear to ear, his laughter echoing above the hum of the arena. “Man, this is gold,” he laughed, giving Gary a fist bump. “This should definitely get some attention—just be ready….those pucks can come flying over the glass pretty quickly,” Josh light-heartedly warned, saying it more to Loren than Gary.

“That’s why I bring her,” Gary said, jerking his thumb toward Loren. “It’s her job to protect me—she gets paid for it, so she can take the puck to the head, not me.”

Josh laughed at Gary’s apparent heckling of Loren, who just shook her head and rolled her eyes at Josh. “Gee, thanks Gare. You really are such a charmer.”

Gary waved off Loren’s remark with a smile and placed the sign carefully on his lap as they waited.

Soon Kathy joined them at the glass, and they took turns taking pictures of their group with the arena as the backdrop.

Through her smile however, Loren couldn’t shake the nervous energy building inside of her. Her stomach churned—not just for the sheer excitement of waiting to see Gary’s reaction to warmups but also because she knew William was close by, getting dressed and preparing to hit the ice.

The thought of seeing him again made her heart race. She had not seen him since their bittersweet moment at Arlanda airport, when he placed soft, lingering kisses on her mouth before she stepped out of the vehicle. Beyond that, she and William hadn’t spoken since their brief conversation before the season opener. As much as she felt that the conversation was light with hints of amusement, it was still far from their usual easy chats. They were both far too aware of the things that still needed to be said.

During the drive into Toronto, Loren had filled Kathy in on the latest development with William - her call with Camilla. She explained how Camilla had calmed so many of the worries that still plagued Loren’s mind. The fact that Camilla didn’t “choose sides” - she acknowledged Loren’s feelings and gave her gentle guidance, with the understanding of what it might feel like to navigate William’s whirlwind life. It was as though Camilla was reassuring Loren, in her own way, that with her strength and the kind of person she is, that she’ll be more than okay no matter what she decides.

The sudden image of the exit from the Leafs dressing room appeared on the jumbotron screen, couple with the announcer’s voice, was met with the rumble of growing cheers from the crowd. Loren looked at Kathy and inhaled, while Kathy shot Loren a knowing smile while mimicking the Lamaze breathing technique for some much needed humour to ease the tension.

As they showed the players being lead out by the newest Leafs goaltender, Anthony Stolarz, Kathy and Loren positioned themselves on either side of Gary, holding up the sign for him and trying to make it as noticeable as possible. At this stage, all Loren really hoped for is that someone saw Gary’s sign, and would give him something tangible as a memory for that evening.

Loren fished out her glasses and slid them on - if a puck did come flying over the glass, at least she’d have a better chance of seeing it with her glasses on.

Bright white lights suddenly lit up the entire arena as Stolarz and the first handful of players stepped onto the ice, their blades audibly slicing through the surface as they skated their practice laps.

One by one, the Leaf players in their blue home jerseys emerged from the tunnel. Loren could not figure out where to look first as the players whipped by the glass with the sound of pucks ricocheting off the boards.

She finally saw the unmistakable jersey number 88 through the sea of jerseys that flew by her line of sight. Seeing him in person again sent a jolt through her entire body and her head started to pound with the sudden rush of adrenaline. Unaware that Loren had already spotted him, Kathy discreetly nudged her arm and nodded toward William, who was still on the opposite side of the ice, practicing some of his stick handling moves.

William had only been out on the ice for a couple of minutes, but he swore he glanced up and down the faces at the glass about a hundred times, with no luck in seeing Loren. He went about his routines - skating low and fast while making tight turns with the puck never leaving the tape on his stick. After a few turns, he shot the puck at the empty net which naturally went in.

He skated toward the blueline, sending a few pucks in different directions before turning back around. A sign caught his attention which had an arrow pointing downward - the sign seemed to dance along the glass until it was shifted to the side and revealed a man, barely visible at the glass, sitting in a wheelchair with a woman standing behind him.

He hadn’t recognized her right away with her glasses on, but the second he had, his heart swelled - the mixed feeling of relief, happiness and nervousness coursed through his body. She looked even more beautiful than ever - her locks swept up into a pony tail, her skin still miraculously golden despite autumn being in full swing.

When Loren spotted him gliding toward their spot at the glass, the pounding in her head gave way to a twisting knot in her stomach. Her eyes followed him as he read Gary’s sign, a smile tugging at his lips before he interacted briefly with a couple of players leaning against the boards.

Loren shifted nervously behind Gary’s chair, her fingers gripping its handles tightly. She prayed she looked poised and composed on the outside, even though her insides were anything but.

William’s gaze locked on hers, his lips curving into a subtle smile. He motioned for her to catch the puck he was about to flip over the glass. Loren’s eyes darted upward to the tall glass panels that separated them, and then back to him with a panicked expression that made him grin. The background music and chatter from the crowd drowned out his laughter as she exaggeratedly mouthed, “It’ll probably hit me in the mouth,” punctuating it with a wry roll of her eyes.

Still grinning, William motioned for her to head toward the camera hole in the glass. Loren hesitated for only a moment before moving toward it, the surrounding kids pressing closer to see what was happening.

Sliding off his glove, William scooped up a puck and reached through the opening. Loren stepped closer, her hand brushing against his as she took the puck. Her gaze lifted, and as she smiled softly to say thank you, his fingers lingered, gently wrapping around hers for a brief moment. Had it not been for the handful of children that converged around them, their shared moment might not have ended so quickly.

Loren made her way back towards Gary. She turned to see William using the blade of his stick to balance and vault pucks over the glass to the awaiting fans that had gathered. She handed Gary the puck she had been given, and glanced back towards William who needed to get on with his warmup. Before skating away, he looked at Loren and motioned for her to show him the back of her jersey. It was same the Auston Matthews jersey she was sporting the first time they met. Mocking his disapproval and exaggerating his disappointment, William gave Loren a confident grin as some fans cheered at his antics before he skated away.

A spectator hollered from his seat nearby “He may have asked you out if you had the right jersey on!” the man laughed.

Oh, the irony of that comment Loren thought.

—

Josh had guided Loren and Gary back to their section and their seats, and the two silently watched the video segments on the overhead screen as the clock wound down for the start of the introductions. A wide smile spread across Gary’s face as the lights dimmed, and the familiar voice of Mike Ross echoed through the arena. Loren couldn’t help but smile as she watched Gary’s reaction between each introduction -from the staff, the coaching team, and then the players—each called out in ascending numerical order.

Loren found herself gripping the armrest of her seat, her knuckles whitening as she counted down the moments. She hadn’t consciously realized her reaction until her heart gave an unexpected jolt when she heard the unmistakable, deliberate style of Mike Ross’s voice announcing, “From Stockholm, Sweden, number 88—William KNEEEE-LAAAAN-DER!”

The eruption of cheers was exhilarating. Loren instinctively whooped and hollered as she applauded, her smile stretching wide as her heart swelled with pride. She couldn’t stop herself from beaming at the sight of him stepping onto the ice, his easy smile flashed across the jumbotron as he skated to his place along the blueline next to Ryan Reaves.

In that moment, everything about William came into sharp focus. He wasn’t just the hockey star with unwavering self-assuredness or the man who was often a breath of fresh air to her. He was both. He was William—one of the most exciting players to watch on skates and the man who made her laugh until her cheeks hurt. She finally saw both parts of him converge in front of her eyes and her realization that she could be in awe of both versions simultaneously. This realization was coupled with knowing she missed him more than ever.

It was not long before the arena fell silent for the national anthems, and William stood in his usual spot at the bench and faced the flags as he had done countless times before. The camera swept across the team, lingering briefly on him. He was aware of it, the way players always were, but he didn’t adjust his expression. Instead, his eyes scanned the crowd, focusing on the accessible seating sections until he spotted her.

There she was, standing beside Gary’s chair, her hand resting lightly on the handlebars of his backrest. His grip tightened slightly on the shaft of his stick, the curved blade supporting his chin as he leaned against it. He stood still, watching her sing—or at least mouth the words—her glasses perched on top of her head where she would always unconsciously put them.

Seeing her through the glass partition during warmups had pushed his longing for her to the limit. The words about a thousand women versus one woman had played on his mind since she first said them. Now, amongst the faces of thousands of women, hers was the only one that he cared about seeing. He just hoped he could steal five minutes of her time after the game to tell her that.

But first, they had their home opener to win.

The game progressed quickly, with the Leafs improving as each period unfolded. Early in the second, William scored his first goal of the regular season, a perfectly executed play set up by Max Domi. His reaction was priceless—grinning widely, he pointed toward Max as if to give full credit to his teammate. Skating past the bench for the customary fist bumps, the thought of Loren in the stands, undoubtedly cheering along with the rest of the fans, gave him an extra spark of pride.

In the final minute of the third period, with the Penguins’ goalie pulled, William secured an empty-net goal, sealing the Leafs’ 4-2 victory. This time, as his teammates surrounded him, he caught a glimpse of Loren on her feet, clapping enthusiastically. The sight gave him a flicker of reassurance that maybe, just maybe, the night wasn’t over yet.

As the final seconds wound down and the team left the ice, Kathy approached Loren and Gary’s section. She bumped into Eriika, who had arrived to escort them down to the dressing room.

Eriika led the way through a maze of back hallways, the cheers of celebrating fans still echoing from the concourse above. Loren followed quietly, pushing Gary’s wheelchair while Kathy walked alongside them. The muted hum of the arena gave way to the buzz of media activity as they neared their destination. Off to the side of the dressing room entrance, Loren could already hear Mitch Marner’s familiar voice carrying through his post-game media scrum.

Eriika waved the three through, mentioning as they entered, “A few players, including Morgan, have something special for you, Gary—a signed jersey. They’ll be by shortly.”

The dressing room buzzed with post-game energy, the players scattered between chatting, packing their gear, or doing media interviews. Max Domi was the first to spot Gary and Loren, his face lighting up as he strode over, still partially in his gear.

“Hey, buddy! Great to see you again—and you brought the ‘ole ball and chain, I see,” Max teased, throwing Loren a playful wink.

Gary didn’t miss a beat. “I’m not allowed to call her that anymore,” he deadpanned in a slow drawl, looking up at Max. “She said she’d roll me off a cliff if I said it again.”

In the next room, William could faintly hear the conversation and laughter as he waited for his media availability. He was in a good mood from the win, but his focus was split. All he wanted was to get this part of the night over with and find Loren as soon as he could.

Standing shirtless, his hair slicked back under a backwards ball cap, William showed his typical casual demeanor as he answered questions about what he saw on Max’s play. But thirty seconds in, there was a slight pause in the reporters’ questions which seemingly gave him an opportunity to exit the scrum.

“All good? Thanks, guys,” William said, pushing himself off the wall, and started to walk away with a cheeky grin. The reporters paused for another second until one began asking another question, keeping William from escaping, eliciting some chuckles in the crowd. William was good-natured about the continuation of questions, and laughed at his attempt to make a run for it and getting caught in the act.

After fielding the remainder of questions, most of which could be considered obvious, William tossed a quick “Thanks” over his shoulder and left the reporters while giving the next player up, Anthony Stolarz, a friendly grin as the media readied themselves for the next round of questions.

William slipped back into the dressing room, immediately scanning the room until he spotted Loren standing next to Simon Benoit and the two Max’s, Domi and Pacioretty. He watched as she laughed at Simon explaining the story behind the team vote to name his little baby daughter “Cashew” before he and Alice settled on Adelaide for her name. “All because I call Alice peanut,” Simon chuckled, while Loren laughed and shook her head.

William’s heart raced as he approached the group, his eyes fixed on Loren. She did not notice him right away, her attention still on Simon who was explaining his excitement for the next day’s Thanksgiving dinner with Loren.

When her sights finally landed on him, everything around her seemed to slow. Her lips fell slightly open as her eyes first fell upon his bare chest, and then the rest of him. The second her eyes finally locked on his face, it was like a bolt of lightening traveled through her body.

Loren was so overwhelmed by the sight of him, she constantly averted her eyes in order to not simply melt into a puddle.

William appeared relaxed as he greeted Loren with a quiet “Hi” and a hug. In that one moment, his body felt starved for her.

“Can I borrow you for a sec?” William asked Loren, the tone of his voice serious.

With an air of uncertainty, Loren nodded. They excused themselves from the group, and he was soon leading her down a small corridor.

“Shit - sorry William, just two seconds - let me just let Kathy know, okay?” Loren said quietly as she turned back towards the main dressing room. William followed, realizing in that moment that he had yet to say his hellos to Gary.

Kathy sat with Jake McCabe and Morgan Rielly in Morgan’s stall, with Gary by their side and his newly signed “Rielly” jersey. Kathy was deep into explaining the sordid details of Gary’s early life experiences.

Loren approached Gary’s chair from behind and she rested her hands on his shoulders. Gary looked up at her as though he had found heaven on earth sitting in the dressing room. She patted his shoulders and apologized for interrupting.

William lowered himself to Gary’s line of sight. “Hey Gary - it’s great to see you again - how’ve you been man?”

Gary’s eyes lit up. He struggled at first with his words but Loren’s reassuring hands on his shoulders grounded him as he spoke. “Been real good. I think you’re gonna have a good year, Willy.” He slowly began to hand William the jersey in his lap. “Will you sign this for me?”

Kathy smiled at William and handed him a marker. Her eyes briefly connected with Loren’s as if to say “Go and get this sorted out with him now.”

William scribbled his signature on the shoulder of the jersey, and handed it back to Gary. He could see Gary’s eyelids started to droop from exhaustion and that Kathy and Loren need to get him home soon. “Gare - it’s good to see you again - and really nice to meet you,” he smiled at Kathy. “I won’t keep her but I just need Loren for a minute, is that okay Gary?”

“Agh - you can keep her,” Gary waved them off and chuckled when he saw Loren’s less than impressed expression.

“You know you’re not funny - right, Gare? Anyway, Kathy - I’ll be back in a sec.” Loren then turned to Jake and Morgan. “It was really great seeing you guys. And Congratulations again to you and Tessa on your little man, McCormick,” Loren grinned as Morgan and Jake leaned in for a hug.

Loren stepped back as William touched her shoulder, nodding his head subtly back toward the hallway. Loren’s nerves gripped her stomach as she followed his lead. She watched in mild amazement of how he glided past the buzz and the noise of the post-game activities without distraction. Somehow, he was still discreet as he lead her down a short corridor that ended at an unmarked door. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he opened it, revealing what appeared to be a small medical supply room.

While passing by, the only person that seemed to notice William and Loren was the new coach, Craig Berube. Fucking guy works fast, I’ll give him that he thought as he chuckled to himself .

William stepped aside to let her enter. She stepped though, her heart racing as he followed her in, the door clicking softly behind them, muting the laughter from the dressing room.

A singular fluorescent light flickered on, and Loren glanced around the room just to get her bearings. Her hands fidgeted, subtly but compulsively pulling at the hem of her jersey as she stood across from him. Her cheeks burned as she glanced at William, still shirtless, still with his backwards cap, and still the man she cared deeply for, and missed every day.

William leaned against a counter, watching her nervous movements. His heart sank seeing how unsure she appeared to be.

Despite her nervousness, she broke the ice with William immediately. “I’m disappointed I didn’t get to see you in your garters.”

William broke into a wide smile and hung his head. “Oh yeah? I carry them off pretty well, do I?”

“It’s humbling to know that you still are the sexier one in garters between the two of us,” Loren grinned.

“Says you - I think most men on the planet might disagree,” William chuckled.

Although their conversation had a lightness to it, silence eventually fell between them. William could see Loren struggling to keep control of her emotions.

She was cracking inside. Her shoulders drew together as she tensed, not wanting to break in front of him.

But it happened as soon as he asked her how she has been.

Her head lowered, hands soon covered her face as she wept. William himself felt tears prick at his eyes seeing how upset she was.

He gently pulled her into him, and felt her warm wet tears against his chest. As her body shudder, his arms completely enveloped her. He soon felt her palms along the side of his body which eventually circled around to his back.

His hand moved up to her hair, cradling the back of her head as she leaned her forehead against his chest. He felt her tears falling as they landed near the waistband of his shorts.

When Loren finally spoke, her voice hardly registered above a soft whisper. “I got it all wrong, didn’t I?” She let out a sob as her body trembled. Her fingertips pressed firmly against his skin.

“Loren, fuck. No. No.” William spoke into her hair. “You did not cause any of this. This was never - none of this was your doing. I need you to understand that.” William’s words were gentle but firm. “What else could you have done with all of that shit that was sent to you?”

It took a moment before Loren responded. “I don’t know, William,” she sniffled.

“I should have thought - I should have maybe thought to mention that interview stuff to you, just so you understood why I said what I did. It’s no excuse but I’m so used to these questions but - I’m not used…used to having someone in my life that I needed to explain this stuff to. I hope I’m making sense?”

Loren nodded her head.

William continued. He could feel Loren’s body beginning to loosen up in his arms as he pulled her a little closer. “The rest of it. I mean, some of the stuff I had planned to sit down with you once we were together and just sort of hash out, like - my past…"single" activities…in the offseason with a girl here and there.” His voice was soft as he spoke, stroking Loren’s hair as her sniffles began to subside.

“The two weeks you were with me - Loren, I was just - amazed - you amaze me - and how great that time together was, and I knew I wanted to - want to - whatever the fucking label is - be together, be in a relationship, date you - whatever it’s called. So I figured we’d have all the serious talks once I got back…but then all of this happened.”

Loren’s hands dropped down to his lower back, her forehead still resting against his chest.

“I know - or I feel like I’ve been the one that’s sort of fucked things up, more that a few times with you…and I know I suck when it comes to saying the right things…but I am so sorry, Loren, for the all of the shit I have put you through. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and a lot of shit decisions that I regret.

William paused, wanting to allow Loren to say something, but she remained silent, save for the odd sniffle. She stood still, absorbing William's words. She believed that they were genuine and heartfelt. His apology began to diffuse the pain of the past month, offering a glimpse of the regret he carried for the months that preceded this moment.

When she did finally speak, he wasn’t expecting her response. “You really need to wear a shirt—I’ve got tears and…other stuff all in your chest hair,” she said, her voice congested.

He released her body temporarily and grabbed some cotton pads nearby.

Loren tried to conceal her face a little as William pulled her back towards him. “I’m a fucking mess,” she said, embarrassed. “Yes, I’m a ugly crier too.”

William cradled Loren’s face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing her damp cheeks. He leaned in, his forehead pressing lightly against hers. “There’s nothing about you that comes close to ugly -- you’re absolutely beautiful.”

Loren let out a small laugh, shaking her head as her hands rested on his chest. “I’m a puddle - nothing like smeared mascara and tears all over your chest to impress you,” she muttered, dabbing under her eyes and then swiping the pad across William’s chest.

“I can handle the mascara, the tears… and hmmm - whatever else you’ve got going on here,” he smiled. “Anything to make things right again, I’ll do, Loren.”

She reached around William’s shoulders, and he responded by wrapping his arms around her body, lifting her up and turned to set her on the counter. His hands fell to her hips as he positioned himself between her legs.

As he scanned her face, his expression became more reflective. “I’ve missed you so much. I don’t want to rush you so whatever you feel - whatever you want to do, just tell me, okay?”

“I’ve missed you too - so much, William.” Loren looked at him, her eyes soft with a hint of regret. “I know we need to talk - a little - or a lot more about things, but I’ve gotta get Gary back.”

William squeezed her hips - he tried to think of a way for her to stay with him. “I guess it would be shitty if you just let Kathy handle Gary on her own,” he said as he answered his own internal question. “What about tomorrow?”

Loren toyed with the gold chain around his neck. “I’m having Benny and Alice for Thanksgiving. I think he’s mentioned it to a couple other guys but they might do something else - it was up in the air, last minute kind of thing.”

“So - like turkey and stuff?” William smiled coyly. “I like turkey,” he hinted playfully.

“You’re welcome to come up, if you want to. There’d be enough to feed an army of Nylanders - knowing how much you guys like to eat,” Loren smirked. “If Alex is around and wants to, he’s more than welcome to come too.”

“Pablo and Banksy?” he asked.

She nodded. “Especially those two.”

Loren glided her hands down the front of his chest. The only thing on her mind was her mouth on his. She leaned forward, and brushed her lips against his. The kiss started softly but quickly deepened as the past unresolved emotions funneled into their longing for one another.

His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as their connection ignited.

William’s hands found their way under her jersey, he slowly pulled away slightly from their kiss and looked at the jersey again, shaking his head.

“We really need to get you a new fucking jersey - and not one with Matthews on the back.”

Loren raised her eyebrows. “McCabe?”

William chuckled and shook his head.

“Wait - “ Loren darted upwards muttering last names of the Leafs roster.

William raised an eyebrow as he nodded his head. “Ahhhh - I see it now…you’re using me to get to….”

“Pacioretty?”

William laughed his iconic laugh. He was truly dazzled by this woman.

Loren cocked her head to the side, her voice soft but teasing. “Nylander - I always sort of liked him. But he’s super hard to get.”

“Not if you ask nicely,” William countered with a smirk, leaning in closer. “And maybe if you agree to model it for me sometime, throw on those stilettos and the garters we just talked about, and I can definitely get you a Nylander.”

[gay-impressionist]

it's very funny bc right now my notes are divided btw the post i made about the riots in france after a kid was killed by a cop and my post about new queer rights around the world

deux salles deux ambiances mdrrr

[synamartia]

“ Need A Hand … ? „

“ Let's make your thoughts a reality … „

synopsis ┊ ◜ For the weeks following your one-night stand, Alastor was beside himself with a desire still fairly new to him - his mind constantly occupied with thoughts of you and your shared evening. Night after night, he would watch you from the shadows, a familiar ache in the pits of his belly winding tighter and tighter as you tried to recreate the very same event in your mind's eye with your silicone toy. Eventually, having had enough of your failed attempts at self-gratification, Alastor takes pity on your tortured soul and decides to offer his assistance . . . ◞ wc ┊ ◜ 4,130 ◞ warnings ┊ ◜ Alastor x Reader ✧ Afab!Reader ✧ Non-sex repulsed Alastor ✧ No pronouns or Y/N used ✧ Explicit / 18+ Only / MDNI ✧ Sexual situations ✧ Slight Stalker!Alastor ✧ Shower masturbation (Reader) ✧ Mutual masturbation ✧ Vaginal fingering ✧ Tentacles ✧ Hand job ◞ notes ┊ ◜ Can't believe we're already two weeks down! Time sure does fly when you're having fun, huh? Go check out last week's work linked down below on the Coven's Kinktober 2024 masterlist, and don't forget to give some likes, a few reblogs, and a follow to my darling wives~! Heaven and hell knows they deserve it! And to all my Haunted fans: this was a scene I had planned out for Haunted, but decided to cut it after writing 4+ chapters of pure smut. I wanna try to focus on the plot real soon! But don't worry, there will be more sexy times in that series! So for now, enjoy this little snippet~! ◞ links ┊ ◜ syn's masterlist ✧ coven kinktober 2024 ◞

It was only supposed to be a one-night stand; a friend helping out another friend; a one-off occurrence contingent entirely upon your careless mistakes and Alastor's prowess as a deal-making sinner. Weeks had gone by, and you hadn't uttered a single word to one another about it, dancing around the subject almost as if you were afraid to speak of it. As if talking about it outside the safe confines of Alastor's bedroom would make the heated memories disappear and any unspoken thoughts or desires evaporate into thin air, along with the few scraps that remained of your now tattered business relationship and friendship.

But you still found your mind wandering back to that night, struggling to hide the way your cheeks would flush a bright red at the memories flooding your brain; how your voice would crack with both nervousness and excitement when speaking to him about an issue with the hotel or a resident; or how you would rub your thighs together for the smallest bit of friction when he would enter the room and flash you that wide grin of his, the knowledge of your endeavors dancing behind carmine irises.

And in the late hours of the night, after everyone in the hotel had long since gone to bed, you would desperately try to recreate your experience in your mind's eye as your fingers drew fast circles on your clit, your silicone toy plunging deeper and deeper into your needy cunt - Alastor's voice at the forefront of your mind, coaxing you closer and closer, just as he did back then. But you failed every single time; your imagination was simply not enough to get you there, your fingers and toy nothing but a cheap imitation.

It had become a nightly ritual of sorts; when it wasn't done properly, Alastor felt more restless than usual - unable to read more than a single paragraph of his favorite book or properly hunt the deer scampering through his bayou pocket dimension without it. At the end of the day, after all of Charlie's redemption exercises and your basic duties as an employee, you would immediately slink off to your room under the false pretense of exhaustion from a long day's work.

Although you were none the wiser, Alastor was never far behind, slipping into the shadows as you stripped yourself of the hotel's uniform the second you heard the lock on your door click into place. A rush of pride would wash over the Radio Demon when he noticed that you were wearing the new undergarments he'd gifted you, to replace the ones he'd made a mess of so many nights ago - followed by a sense of possession when he eyed the faint bruises and scratch marks on your thighs and breasts that had yet to fully heal.

Once completely nude, your discarded clothing laying in a heap at the foot of your bed, you would saunter off to the connected bathroom, turning the knobs of your shower until steam filled the small space, obscuring your view of anything more than five feet away. He'd listen quietly as you washed off the day's dirt and grime, the hot water relaxing your tense muscles and lulling you into a false sense of security and solitude, the now all too familiar scent of your shampoo wafting through the air and clouding his senses. And he would wait patiently for that tell-tale sigh; the same one you made when he touched you, signaling that his new favorite broadcast was about to start.

The steam was thick, making it so that your silhouette was all Alastor could see as you removed the detachable shower head from its hook, tracing the steel object down your front until you felt it against your heated core. Excitement coursed through his veins as he imagined the expressions you were making, hands gripping tight his microphone as his own muscles flexed beneath his now much too restricting clothes. Eventually, you would begin to moan quietly as the pleasure began to build, raising your leg high enough to rest your foot on the grab bar, using your free hand to spread your folds apart and turning the head until the warm water sprayed directly on your clit.

And when he caught a faint whisper of his name as it fell from your lips, he would sink his teeth into the inside of his cheek to keep himself silent. It was a grand symphony, the sounds you made, and the last thing Alastor wanted to do was interrupt such a beautiful performance before its crescendo and climactic end. He waited with bated breath as your moans rose in volume, your hips moving involuntarily as you chased that elusive high, but like so many nights before, it wasn't enough. Your body felt tense once more as you teetered on the edge of release, unable to push yourself off that cliff despite your intense desire for the freefall into ecstasy.

Soon, the pleasure died down, your orgasm eluding you once again and you eventually gave up on the shower head, a frustrated groan slipping from your throat as you moved to shut off the water. Alastor dissolved into the shadows just before you stepped out of the tub, reaching for a towel folded neatly on a nearby shelf and wrapping it around your body. Careful not to enter your line of vision, he manifested nearby and admired your skin, beads of water rolling down your body to be absorbed by the plush fabric wrapped around your torso and upper thighs, or the bath rug beneath your feet.

For a split second, Alastor had gotten distracted by a faint bite mark behind your left ear made by him during your escapades, and barely avoided being caught in the mirror when you wiped away the thick layer of steam and condensation blocking your view.

Blissfully unaware of your company, you went about your usual nighttime routine, starting with your dental hygiene, then your skin care, then your hair. By the time you finished gently raking your brush through your damp tangles, your skin had dried almost completely despite the humidity of the steamy bathroom, and you discarded your used towel in the hamper near the door as you reentered the main room of your suite. Your frustration was clear by your stiff movements as you made your way to your wardrobe for a fresh set of undergarments and pajamas.

He almost felt bad enough to end your nightly routine in that moment, to help you reach your end that you had been chasing after so desperately night after night. But the promise of an even greater, more illustrious second act in an already superlative performance helped him to steel his resolve and remain hidden from your eyes. And just as he had watched you do so many times before, you closed the doors after picking out something to sleep in and turned on the balls of your feet, walking over to the side of your bed and tossing the clothes on top of the duvet.

Alastor had memorized this scene, eyeing your naked form as you grazed one hand over your abdomen, letting it drift up to your left breast and cradling its weight, slender fingers pinching the sensitive bud between your thumb and forefinger. With a light tug followed by an experimental twist, you sighed as you squeezed the squishy mound, your other hand coming up to mirror its twin. Another sigh, followed by your eyes closing shut and your head lolling back, and then another frustrated groan after a few seconds of teasing your own nipples.

"I should just go to bed..." you would whisper to yourself, your hands dropping back down as you reached for your panties and slid them up your legs. He eyed the way the lace bit into your flesh where the elastic wasn't as stretchy, baring his teeth as he fought back the urge to reveal himself and tear the offensive fabric from your body. Then you reached for the oversized tshirt, pulling it over your head and slipping your arms through, pulling it down until it covered the panties hugging you close.

Alastor wasn't sure why you bothered with clothes - you would end up removing them later on during your efforts. But who was he to question the mind and the methods of an artist as talented as you?

You stood there for a few minutes, looking between your bed and the table beside it, contemplating if you should even make an attempt tonight. You were almost positive that you would fail, just as you had the night before, and the one before that. Maybe if you tried a visual aid, that might help?

With another groan, you didn't waste any more time thinking about it and turned to the night table by your bedside, reaching into the bottom drawer for the obscene toy that had worked wonders for your tense muscles and stressed mind before he ruined your vivid imagination. Tossing it onto the bed, you slid your panties back off before climbing onto the soft mattress, crawling to the center and lying flat on your back. Spreading your legs open, Alastor inhaled sharply when he saw the glistening sheen of your slicked hole, his fingertips overlapping the shaft of his microphone and digging into his palm.

You sighed again, placing one hand on your clothed breast and giving a gentle squeeze, trailing it downwards until you touched bare skin. Grabbing hold of your toy, silicone heavy in your hand, you lowered it to your aching cunt and rubbed the tip between your folds.

Alastor's brows furrowed together in confusion when he realized you had skipped a step, not teasing yourself with your fingers like you had so many nights before. You seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, which was odd but not entirely out of place for your behavior throughout the day. You skipped breakfast that morning, rushed through your work, barely ate any food during the communal dinner Charlie forced everyone to attend, and you had excused yourself much earlier than usual - now you were skipping steps in your nightly endeavors? Something was wrong. Perhaps he had waited too long to initiate a second encounter, and you were beginning to lose interest? Or perhaps you had fallen ill.

"Alastor..." you whispered, rubbing the length of your silicone toy against your clit for a moment or two, then lowered it until it was lined up with your entrance. Part of you wanted to give up before you even tried, knowing full well how this would end from past experience. Closing your eyes, you pushed the toy inside, wincing at the painful sting caused by the stretch, silently cursing yourself for not preparing before this step. But you thought, maybe switching it up might help in the long run, even if it was painful at first.

Alastor watched you from the shadowy corner of your dimly lit room, shamelessly palming himself through his slacks as you took your time in sliding the toy deeper into your aching heat. Part of him wanted to wait longer, to see how long it would take you to come to him, to ask for his assistance. But several weeks had already gone by, and he was beginning to lose what little sleep he was able to get just watching you try and fail over and over again. As much as he wanted to hold out, his impatience was getting the better of him.

"Need a hand?"

"H-huh-?!" you yelped, eyes shooting open and head snapping to your left at the sound of Alastor's static filtered voice. At first you thought you had imagined it, expecting there to be nothing there when you turned your head. "Oh my god!" you screeched when your eyes locked with Alastor's, your entire face turning a brighter shade of red than his hair. He was laying there on his side, head propped up on his elbow and eyes teasing, reveling in your scared reaction.

"Not even close, dear."

In a panic, you pulled the toy from your core and threw it to the side in an attempt to hide it, your legs slamming shut as you moved to sit up. But Alastor stopped you with a single hand to your chest, pressing you back down into the bed as he cradled his own with his free hand. "A-Alastor, what the hell are you-?!" you started, but he only pressed a single clawed digit to your lips, the corners of his mouth pulling up even further than usual. He waited until you were completely silent, then trailed his finger down your chin to your neck until he reached the collar of your t-shirt, tugging on the hem as his eyes traveled further south.

Humming to himself, Alastor looked back up at your face and raised a single brow at the confusion he saw in your eyes. Were you actually confused, or were you just pretending to be shy and embarrassed to get a rise out of him? "Let's not beat around the bush, darling. I know what you've been doing every night since our last encounter," Alastor told you, causing your face to flush an even brighter red, looking away from him as you fidgeted beneath his gaze. "I don't... how?" you asked, only to have him raise a brow at the question, as if he were asking you, 'really'?

Grinning wider, Alastor let his gaze travel back down along with his hand, slipping between your thighs effortlessly and grazing two fingers over your slick entrance. He didn't miss the gasp of surprise tumbling from your lips followed by that same delectable little sigh he'd come to enjoy so much - the same one that had him crossing his legs during Charlie's redemption exercises or pressing himself into the side of the island countertop to hide his growing arousal when you would taste test his dishes.

Dipping his fingers inside your quivering hole, Alastor gave a few shallow pumps before retracting his hand altogether, raising it up just enough for you to see your own slick glistening on his fingers. "Would you like me to help you?" he asked you as calmly as he could possibly manage, enunciating each word as he patiently waited for the consent he just knew you would give.

Releasing a shaky sigh, you didn't hesitate in making your decision, a rush of exhilaration you hadn't felt since the last time you were together coursing through your veins. "Yes," you whispered, staring at his face as something carnal took over, wanting nothing more than to feel his hands on you again, to have his lips pressed against yours, to feel the burning stretch of his cock inside your needy cunt as he pounded into you with reckless abandon.

"Very well, dear. But first," Alastor responded, letting his hand slide between your legs again. "My price."

Of course. You knew Alastor was going to want something in return, which was why you didn't go to him after your first week of struggling to reach orgasm - there was no telling what he would ask of you, and seeing as his motives for even being at the hotel in the first place were still very much so a mystery to everyone, you were being overly cautious. And then there was the whole deal-making sinner Overlord thing. But something else that was plaguing your mind: why did he have to say it like he was taking pointers from your resident porn star? "Okay, Angel. What do you want?" you asked, unable to resist teasing him a bit by emphasizing the name.

"Ha! Funny," Alastor said, and suddenly his hand was gone from between your legs and your cheeks were being squished together between his clawed digits as he gripped your chin tight. "I want you to tell me all the naughty little things you thought about each night while you were fucking yourself with that toy," he spat the last word, almost as if he were offended that you chose a piece of plastic over him. And for a while, he was - which is one of many reasons why he waited so long to initiate a second encounter. He wanted you to suffer the burning ache of a lost orgasm every time you decided to use that thing instead of coming to him and asking for his assistance.

Alastor wanted you to be completely dependent on him for your pleasure, and until you learned to swallow that silly little pride of yours, he had planned to let you suffer every single night - plagued by the blissful memories he'd given you, unable to recreate them no matter how hard you tried.

But oh, best laid plans and all that, right?

"S-seriously?" you squeaked, your face somehow becoming an even deeper crimson as Alastor stared into your eyes, face unchanging as he rubbed his index finger against your bottom lip. "Deadly," he responded, pupils changing to radio dials for a split second, pushing his finger past your lips and against your tongue to let you taste yourself. A black tendril out of your line-of-sight slithered between your legs, prodding at your wet entrance unexpectedly. "Ah! Huh-?!" you gasped, looking down between your legs at the sudden contact.

It was only a second, but it was enough to have him gripping your chin once more and forcing you to look back at his face. "You know better than to look away, my dear," he chided your simple mistake, pushing a second finger into your mouth and pressing both of them flat against your tongue. When the tendril pushed past the first ring of muscle into your dripping cunt, you whimpered around his fingers, sucking gently at your fluids that still coated them.

Fuck, he's barely touched you and you're already so much closer to an orgasm than you had ever gotten by yourself.

Reaching up to grab hold of his wrist, you pulled his fingers from your mouth so that you could speak. "Alastor..." you started, a soft moan interrupting your speech as the tentacle pushed deeper into your core, a squelching sound filling your ears as it pumped slowly, your juices coating its black surface.

"Tell me, did you think about me?" Alastor asked, urging you on as he moved to wrap his hand around your neck, squeezing gently when you nodded your head. "Yes," you admitted, your walls clenching around the tentacle when it began to pick up speed. He hummed at your response, his hand moving further south to the bottom hem of your shirt and sneaking under it. "Did you think about me touching you like... this?" he asked, his fingers pinching the hardened nub of your breast, making you inhale sharply at the pain followed by the pleasure of him kneading the soft mound.

"Yes," you answered, your moans progressively becoming louder as the tendril began to move with more force, now pumping in and out of you at a steady pace. "Y-yes, Alastor... I thought about you," you breathed, digging your fingers into the duvet you were laying on. "About the way your voice sounded when you would praise me," you continued, inching your mouth closer to his as he released your sensitive bud, pulling it from beneath your shirt entirely, much to your dismay.

"Is that all?" Alastor asked you, to which you shook your head no, taking a moment as you searched for the confidence to continue with this debauchery.

"I thought about... how your lips felt on mine, and your tongue on my skin," you whispered, hearing the sound of his belt buckle being undone, but you dare not look away as the pleasure began to build higher and higher with each pump of his black tendril.

"And...?" he urged you on, his own face inching closer to yours as he pushed his trousers and briefs down far enough to free his leaking cock from their confines.

"And I thought- ... fuck-! Hahhh..." you moaned, fighting the urge to look down as you felt his hand take hold of yours. You were so, so close! The last thing you wanted to do was irritate him in any way, potentially risking him edging you even further than you had edged yourself night after night. "... I thought about the way you fucked me with your hand, and your tongue," you moaned when you felt a second tendril bump against your clit, rubbing up and down on the sensitive little bud.

"Keep going," Alastor told you, guiding your hand to his hard length and wrapping your slender digits around it, urging you to pump him - slowly, at first. But as your pleasure built higher and higher, your moans becoming more frequent and louder in volume, he gradually gained speed, wanting to match the pace of the tendrils as they pushed in and out of your squelching cunt. The sounds you made were divine, so much more beautiful than the ones you made with that thing now laying on the floor, completely forgotten by you.

Faster and faster, they moved, and soon it became difficult for you to form a coherent thought, focused solely on the way the tentacle stretched you open wide and the other applied the most delicious amount of pressure to your throbbing clit. "I thought... I thought," you tried to speak, jaw falling slack as you were right on the cusp of release, your walls quivering and thighs shaking as the knot wound tighter and tighter in the pits of your belly. "... I-I thought... about your cock in me," you gasped, your hips rising from the bed just barely and grinding down against the tentacles involuntarily, desperate for that blissful release.

"Don't stop..." Alastor whispered as he lowered his head, his lips mere centimeters from yours as he began to buck into your hand, his own orgasm not far off as he forced you to tighten your grip on his aching cock. Taking a little initiative, you angled your wrist and pressed your thumb to his leaking slit, smearing his precum and using it as lube to pump his cock faster. With the way that he gasped and how his hips jerked forward, you knew he was close to his own release.

"I thought about how you..." you swallowed hard, it was becoming difficult to keep your thoughts straight, to follow his no-looking-away rule, to keep jerking your hand up and down his hardened length as your muscles contracted almost painfully the closer you got to your end. "I thought- ... oh fuck, I'm gonna cum, Alastor-!" you gasped, eyes barely open as you reached with your other hand to lace your fingers in his hair, nails raking over the backs of his ears.

"Say it! Say it, and I'll let you cum," Alastor promised, his breath hitching in his throat as his cock twitched painfully in your hand, a third tentacle joining the first inside your wet walls and pounding into you roughly now, coaxing you closer and closer. Your eyes began to water as you felt the first tether snap, signaling your end as you opened your mouth to do as he obliged.

"I thought about the way you filled me up, and how you made me yours," you said, arching your back as you inhaled deeply, pulling his head further down until your foreheads were pressed together. "A-and about how you made me cum on your cock, over and over aga- ahhn, fuuuck!" you cried when, finally, the coil snapped, and your release crashed over you, your walls clamping down on the tentacles and your vision going white.

"Marvelous..." Alastor praised you as his hips bucked wildly into your hand, his own wrapped around yours and forcing you to maintain your tight grip through your orgasm, chasing his own as you rode yours out. It wasn't long before he was spilling his seed all over your hand and duvet, some of it landing on your bare hip as his own stuttered through each spurt.

"Fuck, fuck..." you mumbled, trying to regain your senses as you tried to come down from your high. You couldn't make sense of the world around you yet, barely taking notice of the tentacles retracting from your pulsing heat and his body from your own. When your vision finally cleared, you looked around for Alastor, soon finding him sitting on his knees between your legs. One clawed hand was stroking his half hard cock until it stood at full attention again, the other pressing against your overly sensitive mound, drawing lazy circles into your clit and sending jolts of pain and pleasure through your whole body.

"Let's make your thoughts a reality, my dear..."

story ┊ ◜ synamartia ◞ header ┊ ◜ synamartia ◞ dividers ┊ ◜ kodaswrld ✧ strangergraphics ◞ summoning ┊ ◜ @hazelfoureyes ✧ @minkdelovely ✧ @sugoi-writes ✧ @fraugwinska ✧ @macabr3-barbi3 ◞

Please do not copy or repost as your own! Thank you!

[flowerandblood]

Play with my heart (Epilogue)

[ modern actors • Aemond x Strong • female ]

[ warnings: semi-public sex, smut, angst, fluff, sexual tension, little domination & praise kink ]

[ description: He gets the main role in a series about a great family and dragons, which could change his career. He is set to play the uncle and love interest of his childhood friend. When he meets the actress who plays her role, he begins to lose track of what is an acting and what is his real feelings. Sexual tension, grumpy, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: Yeah. I talked about it and I did it. You don't even know how much fun I had doing this. Of course, my characters play in a series whose script is an exact copy of my story The Fall from the Heavens. In this universe, Aemond (playing the One-Eyed Prince) and Rhaenys (playing the Princess) are of course not related – the other characters are also just actors. This three-part series is my gift to all fans of the original series, thank you so much for your support. "Rhaenys" in this story is her artistic pseudonym which she use instead of her real name. You can read this as a standalone story.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

The first months after the shooting were both wonderful and terrifying for him. Contrary to his grandfather's predictions, he did not stop thinking about her; moreover, he missed her so much that he did not know what to do with himself.

He got used to their daily conversations, the embrace of her warm arms, falling asleep between her soft breasts, watching Disney movies together with her with a big bowl of popcorn.

She brought a breath of fresh air into his life, a smile, lightness and laughter, forcing him to let his inner child that he had always suppressed within him come to the surface.

With her, he was not ashamed to be weak, tired, sad, discouraged. She gave him the comfort of knowing that all his feelings as a human being were natural and desired by her, no matter how ashamed he might be of them.

They tried to see each other every two weekends, taking turns visiting each other. Although he wanted to spend time with her walking around museums and parks, they usually ended up staying in bed all the time off, trying to make up for lost time.

They also saw each other at interviews to promote the series, for which the producers sent the actors in pairs, and unfortunately, although they tried to hide it, a few gestures and glances during them caused both her and him to be flooded with a wave of comments from fans so large that they had to block them from being added to their profiles.

Nooo, they're not a good match. 😫

It's just a promotional trick. They're going to break up after they finish airing the series. 😒

Leave my prince alone!!! 🤬🤬🤬

I'd love to fuck her myself, not gonna lie 👀

It's already clear where the chemistry between them comes from, lol. Pathetic. 🤮

Both of them were very much affected by the nasty comments and criticism, fearing that the production would draw some consequences against them, but it turned out that this made the whole project generate even more interest before the premiere, which pleased them.

However, in between the nasty, bitter remarks, they also received messages filled with good emotions, wishing them luck, saying that they were great to watch, that they complemented each other perfectly in interviews, that it was clear from the trailers that there was genuine affection between them.

They tried to cope with it all by talking for hours on the phone, sometimes crying together from sadness and exhaustion, falling asleep with speakerphone on, waking up in the morning and seeing that they hadn't hung up all night.

He felt he was ready to move on and thought everything through, at the same time wanting to surprise her.

"– how was your audition? –" She asked softly, excitement in her voice.

"– unfortunately, not very successful –" He lied, fiddling with his pen between his fingers, sitting at his desk, having just exchanged emails with the director of her theatre, with whom he had spoken personally a few days before about the terms of his future employment.

"– oh no – I'm very sorry – how are you feeling? –" She asked clearly worried, making him feel remorseful for a moment that she would believe he was suffering.

"– fine – I wasn't feeling that role – I'm lucky that I can be more choosy now – and how are you, little one? –" He hummed, writing back in an email that, as agreed, he would turn up in three days to sign the contract in their town.

His girlfriend grunted, clearly very excited by the news she had to share with him.

"– apparently they've hired a new actor in our theatre, but no one knows who it is – the director is very mysterious –" She said, her voice light and warm, filled with joy.

"– mmm – are you excited to have a new colleague on stage? –" He murmured as he sent the email, closing his laptop with a quiet click.

He heard her laugh at his words.

"– not in the way you suggest –" She said.

"– are you a good girl when I'm not around? –" He hummed, licking his lips involuntarily, feeling the pulsation in his trousers at his words.

"– well –"

"– are you touching yourself? –"

"– I –"

"– answer me – don't lie –"

She was silent for a long moment making him grin, biting his lower lip.

"– so you haven't been a good girl, or am I wrong? –" He sneered and heard her swallow hard.

"– you know what happens to bad girls, don't you? –" He asked, looking at the display of his screen, feeling his heart pounding fast.

"– but –" She finally mumbled out in embarrassment.

"– mmm – I'll see you soon –" He murmured and hung up, knowing that he had left her in complete shock for sure with her panties wet with her moisture.

The third thing he enjoyed most right after fucking her and talking to her was teasing her.

The next day the removal van took his things to the flat he had rented on short notice figuring they would find something together later, and after two days he drove to her town straight to the theatre building.

He went inside through the main entrance and ran quickly upstairs, praying not to meet her on the way, heading for her director's office. The man welcomed him warmly, saying that he was very happy that an actor with such charisma would be performing on his stage.

From the audience it was impossible to see whether his eye was real or fake, and his scar could be covered up with make-up if necessary.

His grandfather was furious, saying that he was giving up a world-class career for second-rate theatre, but he was relieved.

He didn't want to go through again what he was going through now – being torn apart by paparazzi and fans, being in the spotlight all the time.

He was tired of it and decided that, although it was a great adventure, like her he wanted to work in theatre, where artistic sense, monologues and dialogues counted more than nudity and sex.

It was what he wanted for both of them.

The director said it was time to introduce him to the whole crew.

"– I kept it a secret from everyone so that she wouldn't accidentally find out about anything –" The director laughed, a short, grey-haired man with a warm voice and a good-natured face, a visionary and a lover of the classic literature he was staging in his theatre.

"– I can see you with the eyes of my imagination in the roles of Hamlet and Ophelia – you've been wonderfully matched, I have to give you that –" He said softly, and he nodded, thinking in the back of his mind that indeed, this was a fantastic idea.

He felt excited like a little child and thought in the back of his mind that it was because of her, that she had changed him, making him fight for his fulfilment, his comfort, his joy.

"– my dears –" He called out, stepping onto the stage during their rehearsal for The Wedding of Wyspianski, his Rhaenys dressed in Slavic folk costume and a garland on her head turned towards them along with several other people.

Her eyes grew big in disbelief at the sight of him.

"– I would like to introduce you to your new colleague, who from now on will be playing on the stage of our theatre – I am very pleased –"

Everyone looked at her and she just stood there, looking at him and his grin full of satisfaction, breathing loudly through her mouth, her bright eyes hot with affection, disbelief and happiness that apparently shook her body.

Several people laughed as she threw herself into his arms and burst into a loud, panicked sob, whooping and panting with her own tears, his broad hands stroking her hair and back while his lips placed warm, reassuring kisses on her face hot with emotion.

"– shhh – it's okay, little one –"

She looked at him in disbelief, gushing with energy and joy as she introduced everyone to him one by one. He was relieved by the warm welcome given to him by the other actors, some of whom could have been his parents or even grandparents.

They seemed very close to each other and addressed each other warmly.

He was allowed to stay in rehearsal to see how they worked, so he watched as his girlfriend played a young bride, a village girl marrying a nobleman, during whose wedding many unexplained, mysterious events occur.

He smiled the whole time, watching her, satisfied that apart from one brief kiss there was no intimacy on stage between her and her partner, exactly as she had described it to him in their telephone conversations.

When it was all over she ran up to him in her folk costume, all hot, breathing loudly through her mouth, field flowers entwined together on her head.

"– what do you think?! –" She asked, and he hummed under his breath.

"– I really like your staging – I need to read this drama – you look amazing –" He hummed. He smiled under his breath as she sat on his lap – the seats in the audience were sunk in darkness so the people on stage couldn't see very well what they were doing.

"– I can't believe it – you've been lying all this time –" She muttered simultaneously embittered and delighted. He shook his head at her words.

"– I told you I had an audition – I just didn't say where –" He stated.

"– you said you did badly –" She said, wrinkling her eyebrows – she squealed as he caught her around the waist and pulled her closer, making her feel the hard bulge in his trousers.

"– that was my subjective assessment which was clearly not shared by your director –" He grinned, looking at her with his lips slightly parted. They both sighed as her hips rubbed against his pulsing erection, her gaze hot and misty.

"– my little girl can't stand it? – shall I take you to the toilet? –" He sneered and she swallowed hard, red with embarrassment and nodded.

Nothing more than panting and moans left their throats as they locked themselves in one of the cabins, their mouths immediately clinging to each other in greedy, loud, messy, sticky kisses. Their saliva clicked each time their lips pulled away from each other, his hands pulled up the material of her skirt and petticoat, pulling her panties off her thighs.

"– turn your back to me –" He commanded, and she did so without a word of objection, in a natural reflex leaning over and bucking her buttocks towards him, knowing what he wanted to do. His hands exposed her bare hips to him and what was between them, her opening glistening from her wetness, pink and swollen.

He hit her womanhood with a sharp, short slap and she jumped up with a quiet squeal and whimpered.

"– quiet – I warned you – I said: no touching – didn't I? –" He asked, gently rubbing and massaging the little spot that pulsed all over and leaked from his stroke, teasing the puffy bud between her plushy folds.

"– 'm sorry – I tried –" She confessed with embarrassment, panting heavily, rolling her hips to the rhythm of the strokes of his hand, trying to find a better source of squeeze.

"– the deal was different –" He said coolly, parting and rubbing her throbbing, dripping wet slit, her cheek pressed against the wall all red with pleasure, her lips parted in a helpless moan.

"– it's all mine – the sight of your fulfilment, your moisture, your little cunt is meant for my eyes –" He continued, as if he was explaining to her some essential, eternal principle, something obvious and logical that she could not change. She trembled as two of his fingers slipped between her slick, throbbing walls, stretching her core.

"– yes – I'm sorry – I missed you so much –" She mumbled, rocking her hips to the rhythm of the thrusts of his fingers, which teased and pressed the spongy bud between her fleshy folds deep inside her, from which a trickle of her moisture ran down her thigh.

"– mmm – I know, baby – I missed you too –" He confessed, recognising that although he wanted to, he couldn't last much longer. This sight and the euphoria that gripped his body made him let go of her as his hands slid down to the belt of his trousers, undoing it – her eyes opened in hope, her breath accelerated and uneven.

"– please –" She muttered.

"– shhh –" He hushed her, grabbing her by the waist, the other releasing his throbbing, fat erection, the tip of which he guided to her leaking, swollen slit.

"– thaat's it – there you go – fuck –" He exhaled, slowly forcing his way between her hot, fleshy walls, clenching greedily around his cock, sucking it inside her.

"– yes – yes, God, please, yes –" She mewled, immediately beginning to roll her hips to the rhythm of his impatient, fierce thrusts, fitting his pulsing erection inside her again and again, though they tried to restrain themselves, their panting and moans echoed around the restroom.

"– Rhaenys –" He muttered, sinking his face into her fragrant, hot neck, her scent wonderfully familiar, her insides moist and warm, welcoming him with ease. He thought about it, thrusting into her with slick, sharp stabs – how deep he was in her body, how much they united in this chaotic, viscous act of desire.

"– Aemond – o-oh, fuck, fuck, oh, God –" She cried out as he imposed a fast, aggressive pace on her, pounding into her with the deep, sharp pushes of his hips, opening her wide with his manhood throbbing painfully with longing.

"– shhh – shhh, little one – just a little more – yes, that's my girl –" He praised her, panting heavily as he felt her reach the edge, her breath heavy and loud.

Nothing more than moans and grunts left her lips, her little cunt gave him a few more thirsty, steady squeezes before she shuddered with sweet fulfilment, her wetness running down his thighs as with the last, loud slaps he reached his peak inside her with a sigh of delight.

Since she was taking the pills, he could fuck her whenever and wherever he wanted.

"– fuck –" He breathed out, embracing her tightly from behind, while still rocking his hips inside her and hugging her like a little, longing child.

He wished she would say that they were going to watch some new cartoon or comedy in the evening, that they were going to lie in their sweatpants, spread out comfortably on her bed, cuddled up, eating popcorn, kissing and caressing each other.

"– m-maybe – maybe let's go to my place – we'll watch something and relax – I can cook you something, but we need to do some shopping –" She whispered, stroking his arm, and he purred, delighted by her words.

"– yes – yes, that's what I need –"

[lanasblood]

BIG EYES, BIG LIES | neteyam x reader

pairing: neteyam x f!metkayina!reader  summary: you've had suffered silently from years of bullying within the metkayina clan, never sharing your pain with anyone, not even your boyfriend neteyam, until one day, there's no other option, resulting in a huge argument between the two of you but also a moment of understanding and healing.  word count: 5.8k warnings: angsty beginning, fluffy end, !!!severe mentions of bullying, injuries, violence, blood!!! (read at your own risk), established relationship, protective neteyam, angry neteyam, healer boyfriend neteyam, difficult past, lying, insults, some suggestive comments, let me know if i forgot something. note: all characters are aged up; the following na’vi words were used: tsurak - skimwing, skxawng - idiot, pxasìk - screw that/no way, kurkung - asshole, kalweyaveng - son of a bitch (lit. 'child of a poisonous spider‘), tsantu - good guy

* gif's not mine. 

The familiar sound of your name said over and over again lured you into consciousness. You had lost all sense of the space-time continuum, not knowing where up or down was, whether you were alive or dead. 

Only the pain was omnipresent, it told you it was real what you felt. It burned and pulsed, throbbed and tingled. You surrendered to this pain for what felt like an eternity, groaning again in agony because every movement, no matter how tiny, hurt.

"You are awake."

A bright voice made you widen your eyes. Everything was dark, shadowy, intangible, strange.

Panic flooded your body and only now did you feel the cold around your legs, your aching body. It was dark, almost black. The kind of perfect darkness you saw in shades of dark grey in front of your eyes as a result of signals from the optic nerves. You were lying on the ground of the empty marui near the seawall terraces. 

"No, don't move. Please." 

You only heard a single voice, but you felt many more echoing in your pounding head. Hands were on your shoulders, apparently wanting to prevent you from making too hectic movements or even getting up, which increased your panic.

"Right, uh, light, light, light, mhm — Ah, there! Wait here!" 

You squinted against the darkness again, hoping to see something, but the only thing you could really see clearly was a beam of soft dancing lights coming through the small crack under the entry into the marui you were in and the faint outline of the person kneeling in front of you.

Before you could reply anything, the light coming from a bioluminescent seashell was held in your face without warning and you squinted your eyes again, trying to protect them from the purple light. 

"I'm so sorry, y/n I should've warned you," you heard the person in front of you speak who happens to be none other than Neteyam's brother, Lo'ak. "Damn! You don't look good at all!"

Thank you.

"What happened?"

"I guess, I, um…" Quick, you had to think of a good lie now, "I didn't feel so good after today's training. You know, high intensity under the sun can be exhausting," You looked down at yourself and noticed your bloodstained upper piece. "And it, uh, caused nose-bleeding…" You noticed the many bruises on your legs. "I must've fainted because of it, hurting myself." 

"I can see that," Lo'ak looked pitifully at the left side of your face, right under your eye, then shifted his gaze to your bruised upper lip, and back at the place right under your hairline. "Did you fall face-first or something? That looks so baaaad."

Thanks again, appreciated.

"I, uh, yeah, can you help me up?" 

A sharp pain shot through your chest as Lo'ak pulled you up by your arm and you had to grab the wall to catch your breath. You coughed uncontrollably as whatever it was that caused that pain left you breathless. Lo'ak patted you gently on the back, carefully, but every touch hurt.

"I didn't know you had to train so hard. I thought you had a fun day as we did, playing with the ilus."

"My teacher's very strict unfortunately."

"Hmm."

"What are you doing here anyway? It's the girls' communal marui."

Lo'ak's eyes widened at your question, "I swear I'm not some kind of creep," he quickly said, "Tsireya said she lost her hair band so I figured I look for it here," he looked at the ground beneath his feet, which was smeared with dirt and blood – your blood, "but maybe it's not here, yeah, anyway, good thing I came here or else you would've died or something."

"I wouldn't have died," you said, amazed at his dramatic exaggeration.

Lo'ak shrugged his shoulders, "Not so sure about that."

You followed his gaze and your reflection in the mirror caught your attention. Your skin was sticky, your clothes were damp with blood and sweat, and you felt gross. 

"I, uh," Feeling a sense of embarrassment, Lo'ak gestured with his finger towards the spot behind the marui, "I'll just quickly go… there, uh, for a moment. Will you be okay?" You nodded. "Neteyam is near, by the way, we have a chill round with Tsireya and Ao'nung and the others, how about you come with me?" You stared at him as if frozen, but eventually managed to nod once more. "Perfect. Okay. See you in a minute." With that, he left you alone, and you felt your breath quicken. 

On one hand, a sense of relief washed over you at the thought of Neteyam being nearby and able to be there for you when you needed him. On the other hand, you had no idea how you would talk your way out of this situation. He would ask questions, and it would become uncomfortable. Old lies would threaten to resurface. The thought made your stomach churn.

You noticed how your shawl, which you had wrapped around yourself, had absorbed the blood, leaving the fabric irreparably stained. In this condition, going home was out of the question. Not only would your mother be beside herself upon seeing you, but you also had to pass through the communal areas to reach your marui. Once Lo'ak was out of sight, you struggled to slip the fabric off your shoulders, feeling the pain in every single bone. You realized that even your upper piece hadn't been spared as you held the shawl under the water and noticed the stains on your upper body.

Outside the marui, you kneeled down with an effort, and decided to wash your hands and face in one of the pool's water. A drop of pinkish-red-colored sweat dripped from your chin into the water, or maybe it wasn't sweat at all, who knew, it could be tears as well, you shouldn't just limit it to sweat.

"That's what I get for lying," you hissed at yourself, while your hands dunk back into the water, getting everything else around you, including half of your upper body, wet.

You decided to wash the red stains out of your shawl, the water changing its color around your hands to a washed-out reddish blur.

There was a clearing of the throat in the distance, perhaps just a few meters away from you.

"I'm coming back, y/n, okay?"

You cursed under your breath, focussing solely on removing the stains as you washed the shawl in your hands even more aggressively now, the noise of the splashing water being louder than your own thoughts.

"Let's go!" Lo'ak stood behind you.

Before you knew it, you had torn the light blue fabric in your hand. You closed your eyes in defeat and suppressed another curse word. It was a shame actually, because you liked combining the shawl with matching loincloths over various chest pieces you were wearing most of the time. You at least convinced yourself that you wouldn't have gotten the bloodstains out anyway, so the fate of the garment was sealed from the start, even before you had accidentally torn it.

Setting aside the damp piece of torn fabric, you stood up with a sigh and turned to Lo'ak, ready to follow him to wherever he would take you. At least you had washed most of the blood off your body.

"Thank you for not dying on me," Lo'ak joked next to you and all you could manage was a small smile. Your entire body ached, and every step you took felt as if you could collapse at any moment.

In the distance, you could discern a gathering of young Na'vi near the shoreline, forming a circle as they enjoyed each other's company. Some sat or reclined in the sand, while others perched on rocks, and a few stood, perhaps sharing tales. Their laughter resonated through the air, creating a joyful ambiance against the backdrop of the shimmering water and the twinkling stars above.

Just a few meters away, Lo'ak gave you a final thumbs-up, leading the way to the group with you by his side, and the clamor of voices grew increasingly chaotic, enveloping both of you in its midst.

"No, of course not, it should fear us!"

"What are you talking about? Not even my grandma would fear you!"

"Your grandma isn't a fish, is she?"

"Don't say anything against my grandma!"

Your head felt like exploding any second. Not because of the boys, but because you felt the need to lie down. That's what you thought until you suddenly heard Neteyam's calm voice, and instantly, you felt a little bit better.

"If you approach it with the right mindset and undergo the necessary training, I have no doubts you will succeed!"

"No, he definitely has no chance, look at him, like a squid in armor."

Tsireya, who had refrained from the heated discussion, was the only one who looked up. As her eyes met yours, they widened, and she quickly rose from her seat, approaching you. With a gentle and questioning gaze, she placed a hand on your arm, showing her concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a soft voice searching your gaze. Appreciating her care, you placed your hand on hers, mustering a small smile.

You heard how Lo'ak cleared his throat, as it seemed that nobody else had noticed you.

"Don't mind them, y/n," Lo'ak turned to you, as your presence remained unnoticed by the boys, "You can take my seat over there next to Tsireya's while I go find you a new shawl." 

"No, here, take mine," Tsireya suggested already putting her shawl over your shoulders, the piece hugging your torso. 

After that it got quiet very quickly, because when your name was mentioned, Neteyam looked up, and with him the others.

Immediately he got up from the rock he was sitting on and in a few steps he stood right in front of you, hesitating whether he should hug you, and finally decided to do so. When he carefully put his arm around you and pulled you close, you hissed slightly out of pain and suddenly felt even more fragile and broken than in all of the previous weeks. 

"I go and bring some new clothing for her," you heard Tsireya's voice, "and maybe some wound dressing from my mother." You saw out of the corner of your eye how Lo'ak nodded gratefully when Tsireya was already hurrying away. 

You didn't feel like crying, but you felt so weak and helpless and wanted to just stand there for hours while Neteyam hugged you.

"What happened?" he asked softly, his voice thick with concern. 

"Is that blood?" you heard the other boys whisper among themselves.

"Did you see her face, man?"

Rotxo's voice stood out more than the others as he addressed his question directly to you, repeating Neteyam's words, "What happened, y/n?"

You stayed quiet and pressed closer to Neteyam despite the pain, and Lo'ak did the answering for you, "The training today under the sun made her nose bleed out of exhaustion or allergy or something so that she passed out," he explained hastily, heading back to his seat.

You felt Neteyam stiffen in the hug and you squinted to escape reality for a few more seconds.

"First of all, what kind of lie is that even?" Your heart sank when you heard one of the boys – you guessed Ao'nung – talking loudly, questioning the course of action, and before long everyone else was about to join in the conversation, one at a time. And with every sentence you felt the urge to leave the place on the spot. 

"Ask y/n, I swear that's what happened! I found her near the marui by the seawall terraces."

"She might have been passed out but pxasìk — I don't buy that!"

"What were you doing there, Lo'ak?" someone else with longer hair asked. 

"None of your business, bro."

"And second of all, she rather looks like she was beaten up." At that, Neteyam pushed you slightly away from him to give you a questioning look and inspect you more closely. His eyes alternated between yours and you recognized how the hint of suspicion crept into his eyes.

"She was clearly beaten up!" The girl on the far left, Neteyam's sister, Kiri, unexpectedly supported Ao'nung's statement, which was highly unusual for her. It wasn't her cold demeanor towards you that was atypical, but rather her agreement with Ao'nung that caught you off guard.

"Yeah, right! I mean, look at her." Every head turned to you now, inspecting you from head to toe, as if you were some kind of object.

"That's not true," you argued weakly, supporting yourself on the tree with your left hand, and grabbing Neteyam's hand with your right one because your feet threatened to buckle any second. Noticing that, he lead you to the rock right in front of you and carefully helped you sit down.

"The real question is who did that to poor y/n?"

"Why? You wanna beat up some girls for her?"

"Girls? I thought it'd be some kurkung from the tsurak taming team."

"Hey, don't say that, they're cool."

"Yeah, and don't cuss when Kiri and y/n are here."

"They are no children."

"Tsireya's back!" Lo'ak's voice drowned out the others, not surprising given the fact how loud he announced the return of the soft-spoken girl. Apart from you no one seemed to pay any attention to him, they were far too busy arguing amongst themselves.

"Nah, man, what kinda skxawng beats girls? Not me for sure." 

"Let's teach those guys a lesson then."

"So now you wanna beat up guys for her?"

"Why not? She's Neteyam's girl, she's one of us." 

"True words." You frowned as you realized how much they had gotten into the discussion when Tsireya handed you a neatly packed bag with fresh clothing inside which you gratefully accepted.

"Why would you all choose violence all of a sudden?" Tsireya looked around with an irritated expression, not sure what she had missed in the last couple of minutes.

"Those kalweyavengs deserve it!"

"You skxawng don't talk like that in front of my sister."

"But, you said—"

"Everybody quiet!" You winced slightly when you heard the anger in his voice vibrate through his body; he who had kept quiet the whole time, just observing, never speaking. Instantly it fell silent at the beach and all eyes were on Neteyam, except for yours. 

"It has gotten late," he added, quieter but clearly audible, "We should all go back to the village." You expected a protest to erupt, but you were wrong again. Without a word, the individual heads of that group got up from where they sat on rocks or the sand, and left the beach, heading in the direction of the village, one after the other. 

"Thank you, brother," Neteyam spoke as Lo'ak passed by, giving him a grateful pat on the back of his head. You caught Lo'ak nodding at him and giving you a pitiful look, and you managed to mouth a 'thank you' as well before he left. 

"Why did you lie to him?" Neteyam nodded his head in the direction of his now-gone brother. "To Lo'ak, I mean."

You stared at your hands on your lap instead of answering him, so he sighed and knelt in front of you, positioning himself between your legs. With a gentle touch, he placed his hands on each of your thighs, right at the hem of your loincloth.

"I'm seriously worried, y/n, and it's almost a miracle I'm staying calm right now. What happened?" He cocked his head and looked up, searching for the gaze you were trying so hard to avoid. "Please talk to me." The gentle touch of his hands on your thighs, which you usually never got enough of, now felt like a burning sensation, causing inner agony within you.

"I didn't want to tell him the truth," you finally said, answering his first question.

"Do you want to tell me?"

"It's nothing, Neteyam, I—"

"Nothing?" He laughed wryly, letting go and walking away from you as he walked around in a circle and turned back with an ironic smile that didn't reach his eyes, his tail whipped aggressively behind him, "That certainly doesn't look like nothing to me." He gestured to you with both hands.

You covered your face with your hair because you could only imagine how terrible you must've looked, how disgusted he must've been with you, that he thought you weren't beautiful.

"You're in pain. You have bruises everywhere. You're covered in blood! And yet you say it's nothing. Do you listen to yourself?"

"I can handle it," you replied, adding more quietly, "It's not that I'm not used to it."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," you said quickly, irritated by his questions, "I mean nothing at all. Can… can you help me change into these?" You held up the bag from Tsireya which provided a good change of subject. It would be impossible for you to raise both arms and put the pieces on by yourself. On second thought, Neteyam would see the bruises on your chest that way, and the mere thought made your stomach ache. Therefore, realizing that the shawl provided good cover and not wanting to part with it, you added a quick, "Nevermind, I'll do it myself."

As if he had read your thoughts, he approached you with a determined gaze. Your breath caught as you felt his hand pull the shawl from your shoulders. Quickly, you clung to the fabric, stopping mid-movement, and placed your other hand on his to stop him from exposing your skin.

"Please," you looked him in the eyes, your voice barely audible. You didn't know what you begged him for. To stop him from seeing your injuries? To stop touching you? To stop asking questions? To stop digging for the truth? Did you want him to stop in the first place? Or did you want him to find out and free you from your net of lies?

He gently slipped your shawl off your shoulders, and then sucked in a sharp breath and bit the inside of his cheek, apparently trying to keep himself from swearing but the restless movements of his tail gave him away.

You didn't have to look to see that a huge wound must have been looming on your collarbones and on your side right under your breasts. Judging by the pain, you wouldn't be surprised if some ribs were broken.

"Who did this to you." It was no longer a question driven by curiosity, as he had asked earlier. This was serious. He wanted names and locations. He wanted to know who had done such a dreadful thing to his loved one. Who dared to harm you in any way. Judging by the fire in his eyes, he wanted to see that person bleed the way you did. 

"Are you going to beat up some girls for me?" You playfully repeated the question you'd heard one of the boys say before. However, the way Neteyam clenched his jaw showed you it wasn't time to crack up some jokes.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Y/n."

"Neteyam."

He studied you intently, examining every facial expression, every subtle gesture, before speaking again, "You never slipped down any cliffs last week, did you?" he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "And what about last month when you said you—"

"I lied, okay?" you shouted at him, unleashing the pent-up frustration, as if he were the cause of your misery. "I made it all up. Every single bit of it. I'm a liar, and I'm a coward. Are you happy now?" 

"Happy? It pains me to see you like that," he retorted, his voice rising with frustration, "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"What was I supposed to say!?" you shouted back, your voice filled with exasperation. "Cry like a baby and point at them for being mean to me?"

"No, but someone could've helped. Everything is better than that!" His tone was raised as well when he pointed at your bruises.

"They won't! I tried!" you hissed, the bitterness evident in your voice, "Once, when I was little and foolishly believed that my parents would trust and listen to me. But what did they do? They forced us to hug and pretend to be friends again, dismissing it all as a mere misunderstanding among children. And you know what happened next? They sought their revenge by cutting my hair," you swallowed hard, the memory of that painful incident resurfacing, "I cried so much that day. That's when I made a promise to myself that I would never tell anyone anything again." 

"I am here now, I hear you, I see you," he responded gently, his voice filled with empathy, "Please, let me help." You shook off the hand that he tried to place on your shoulder. He silently acknowledged this, a hurt expression crossing his eyes, which he quickly concealed.

"There's nothing you can do. I've learned from my mistake today: Don't confront them when it's four against one. Simple solution," you stated firmly, emphasizing your resolve.

"I am eager to find out who they are," he expressed with a determined tone.

"It's not important."

"Y/n," Neteyam shook his head, his expression firm, "I won't be at peace unless you tell me their names."

"Don't ask me!" you once again raised your voice against him. "I won't say anything. You make it worse for me."

"I am the one making it worse?" he asked, seeking confirmation.

"Yes," you said firmly, causing him to blink in surprise. "Please, Neteyam, for the love of Eywa, stop asking!"

"Understood," he nodded, his nose flared up and his tail on edge.

"You're pissed, I can understand that… but I don't deserve the way you treat me right now. You're pushing me too much." 

"What do you exactly want me to do?!" His voice erupted with anger, his frustration visible, "Yes, I am pissed. But not because of the lies or because of your bruises. I am pissed because of you. Because of the way you're behaving right now. Your eye and the bruises on your face and body were not an accident, that's a fact we both are aware of. Yet, you choose to protect them. But why? It seems you're too proud to admit the truth, to tell me the truth."

"That's not true!" you yelled at him angrily, annoyed by repeating yourself over and over again.

He let out a groan of frustration, seemingly struggling to maintain self-control, "Just tell me who did this to you and I will make sure they regret ever laying a finger on you!"

He waited for your response.

You remained silent, holding your ground against his warning gaze for a long moment.

"Good," he interrupted the eye contact and nodded his head, "Then don't trust me, it's fine."

"Neteyam…"

"This is pointless." Neteyam brushed you off, walking back towards the village, not giving you another look when he passed your shoulder.

"Neteyam, don't walk away from me," you snapped out, feeling anger flare up inside of you. You reached out and grabbed his arm. 

He stopped, slowly turning to face you.

"Just… stop for a second, okay?" you said in an irritated tone.

"Why?" He retorted. 

He was staring at you, and you were staring back at him, and you were suddenly hyper aware of how close he was standing to you. Both of you breathing heavily, anger and frustration ebbing between the two of you; you were standing close, so close. You were suddenly struck by how attractive he was, his eyes flashing as he stared at you, searching your face for any answers when he took another step closer. 

"If only you knew how much it hurts to be pushed away like this."

Before you knew what was happening, he brushed off your arm again, and walked away, leaving you to yourself and your lies. And this time, you didn't stop him; you only focussed on the point where he was standing just seconds ago, thinking of his words that left a deep pain in your chest, making you choke on your own words and tears falling from your eyes.

A little later, as you sat on the sand, lost in your thoughts, you hopefully perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching in the sand. Your heart fluttered with hope, and you hastily wiped away the tears from your face, turning around with anticipation, expecting to see Neteyam, but to your surprise it was just Kiri.

"Where's Neteyam?" she asked you.

"Gone." You put the little shell you were playing with back on the sand and traced the pattern with your finger.

"Well, you're here, so I'm sure he'll come back." You strongly doubted that, considering the way he had last looked at you.

"He was really angry," you mumbled, thinking back to your little argument. You spoke more to yourself than to Kiri. In fact, you didn't even think she heard you or paid any attention to you when you heard her gather and pack up the two pillows and the seaweed blanket that she forgot before. Yet her next question made you look up in surprise.

"But can you blame him?" Kiri narrowed her eyes in annoyance as she looked at you.

"I'm sorry?" you looked at her expectantly.

Kiri puffed bored, "My brother has always been courteous and polite towards you. He was the  perfect definition of tsantu. Oh, Great Mother— he stripped his soul for you and gave you everything you wanted. Do you really blame him for getting angry for once?"

You focused your gaze back on the sand in front of you. The little shells looked like they were expecting an answer from you that never came for you didn't know what to reply to that.

"You are a grown girl. You have to be able to take a little criticism," Kiri added as she headed back to the village, "And I'm sure you both will fix it again. Buck up and get well soon." You nodded your thanks as she raised her hand in farewell and left again.

A heavy, uncomfortable silence fell over you, enveloping you like a suffocating blanket. At that moment, you felt utterly alone, isolated from the world around you not even caring of your body's aches anymore. Mirroring the depths of your solitude under the dark skies, the vast expanse of the ocean stretched out before you. Its endless waves, crashing against the shore, seemed to echo the tumultuousness of your thoughts. 

You had no idea how long you had been sitting in the sand, lost in contemplation of your life when you heard footsteps behind you once again that night. This time, you didn't bother to look up, for you knew it would be one of the others who had forgotten something (though you were unsure what, as Kiri had taken everything), or perhaps your parents, searching for you.

Without a word, the person sat down across from you on his knees and reached out with his arm to pull you closer to him so that your thighs were between his knee and his between yours.

In an instant, the unmistakably pleasing scent of him infused with a mix of dew-kissed leaves and the earthy allure of sandalwood, clung to you like a whispered secret, caressed your nose and relaxed your muscles. 

You endured it silently as he took a cloth out of the bowl of water he brought with him, wrung it out briefly and then carefully dabbed the area under your eye with it. He did this with so much caution and care that you felt bad for emotionally pushing him away from you. You watched his forehead furrow in concentration and he paused and waited every time you flinched at the pain.

"Since when?" you heard him speak, his voice pleasantly calm and understanding.

"Too long," you said, to which he sighed, not annoyed but rather disappointed because you continued to hold onto the emotional wall you had built long ago. "I'm sorry, Neteyam, it's just…" you struggled to find the right words.

"There's no need for apologies if you're content with staying the same."

"I'm not," you clarified honestly. "You have no idea how burdensome these lies are. I want to confide in you — it's just that I was scared of your reaction." As you spoke, you noticed how his tail twitched with interest, and his gaze shifted from the wound on your face to meet your eyes. "I was afraid that you would see me as weak and pity me. I had hoped that the lies would help me preserve this fragile facade. But I now realize I was mistaken, and for that I'm deeply sorry, Neteyam, I've never wanted to hurt your feelings."

"Y/n," Neteyam whispered, his hand tenderly caressing your cheek with a touch filled with love and affection, "my beloved, the one who holds my heart, I am sorry for pushing you before and I will wait until you are ready to talk but, please, tell me how I can help you. Tell me everything."

You shrugged, shaking your hand, looking everywhere but him.

"Neteyam, I know you want to help, but I don't want you to mess with these girls," you then looked him serious in the eyes, "Promise me that first."

A cocky smirk appeared on his lips, "Baby, if you really think I'm scared of some—"

"Neteyam," you interrupted him, your tone serious, "They may be bullies, but they're not completely stupid. They won't direct their actions towards you; they'll most likely take their anger out of your siblings."

His smirk vanished in an instant, "You know, I won't let that happen."

"I know," you affirmed sincerely. "You are their brother, and you will protect them, but you can't be everywhere all at once. You can't keep a constant watch over Tuk while also looking after Lo'ak or Kiri, for instance. Please don't risk it. I can handle it, really. I couldn't forgive myself if something happened to one of them because of me."

"I am yours, and you are mine, remember?" He smiled at you, his eyes shining. "So, you are not alone in this. I will go to any lengths to ensure your safety and well-being. I will protect you, y/n, but you must allow me to be there for you."

As the words hung in the air, a moment of silence passed between you, the weight of the conversation lingering. Then, Neteyam reached out, his hand gently intertwining with yours. The touch sent a comforting warmth through your body, bridging the emotional gap that had momentarily separated you.

With a tender squeeze of your hand, he continued, his voice filled with unwavering determination, "You are my family, too." 

Feeling a surge of emotions, you took a deep breath, your heart swelling with love. You looked into Neteyam's eyes, seeing the unwavering commitment reflected back at you. With a soft smile, you nodded, letting your walls come down, and whispered, "I trust you." 

The atmosphere between you shifted, charged with a newfound closeness and vulnerability. It was as if an unspoken understanding passed between your souls, fueling the desire for a deeper connection. In that very second, the world around you faded into the background, leaving only the two of you standing there, hearts entwined. With the tension of unspoken words lingering in the air, you couldn't resist the magnetic pull drawing you closer to him.

So leaning in, you pressed your lips onto his soft ones — not too gently and not too forcefully, but just right. You caught sight of his eyes widening in surprise and his body remained still, but you mustered up the last bit of courage to close your eyes and hope for the best. When you felt the feathering of his eyelashes brush against your lids, you knew he, too, had his eyes closed. Then he leaned in ever so slightly, and his hands reached up to cup your uninjured cheek and the other behind your head.

Your heart pounded so loudly and harshly that you didn't think your chest could handle it, your stomach fluttered and churned with a mess of emotions that you didn't know if they'd ever go away, and your mind flooded with thousands of unanswered questions that you thought you might faint again anytime soon. But then you pulled away, your lips and his seemingly too reluctant for the loss of contact as they attempted to remain connected until the very last second, and your eyes fluttered open to the world which had frozen still; it had been a short kiss, that's for sure, but it was one that you'd remember for years to come.

"You do something to me that I can't explain," he whispered against your lips before he retrained. 

"You do the same to me," you whispered back, "but I think I can explain."

"What is it?"

"I see you," you breathed, leaning up to kiss him again.

He backed away to put some distance between you and you raised an eye questioningly.

"If I kiss you again – and believe me, every cell in my body wants to," With a nervous laugh, he scratched the back of his neck before his lustful gaze turned back to you and you physically felt the  excited shimmyflies in your stomach threatening to break out, "I just know, I won't be able to stop."

"Then don't."

"Oh, sweets, you love to make it hard for me, don't you?"

An inappropriate thought crossed your mind at that but you chose not to say it out loud. You didn't have to, because Neteyam's smirk looked like he knew exactly what was going through your head.

"C'mere, we need to patch you up first, and then—"

"Then we'll go to our place?" you asked excitedly.

"After I inspect you properly and decide that you don't need to see Tsahìk which I'm not so sure of yet – yes, then we could go to our place, and watch the stars or—"

"Why don't you properly inspect me at our place?" you interrupted him with a seemingly innocent look. He licked his lower lip in amusement, shaking his head.

"You're something."

"Your something," you corrected.

He looked at you in awe, as if you are the most precious thing he had ever seen. "My something," he agreed chuckling to himself and pressed a soft kiss on the top of your head. "Now hold still so I can clean your wounds." 

thank you all for reading ♥︎ I hope you enjoyed this piece of writing. looking forward to your comments and feedback 💕 (p.s. for anyone wondering about the other boys, i imagined ao'nung's "bully" friends nash'vi, koro, and ongu to sit with them)

[miss-tc-nova]

S/O with Sleep Apnea - Leona, Jade, Floyd, Malleus

Okay, so this one kinda threw me for a loop. Sleep apnea is weirdly vague treatment wise, so I had to kinda...guess how to go about this. But I hope this lives up to your expectations, Anon!

Sorry about Jade and Floyd, this is actually my first time writing them. Lol

Premise: The boys find out their s/o has sleep apnea

Words:

Leona: 594

Jade: 610

Floyd: 689

Malleus: 702

~~~~~

Leona

Leona is no stranger to daytime drowsiness, having his own wrecked circadian rhythm. Seeing you tired and maybe grumpy is like having a kindred spirit. Hell, he doesn’t even mind the snoring. It’s kind of cute; plus he can always tease you about it later.

However, the seriousness of your sleep malady becomes all too real when the lion drowsily rises to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. On his return, rounded ears note a distinct, unnerving silence. His gaze immediately honing in, Leona sights you still fast asleep on his bed—suspiciously still. A shock of adrenaline floods his system as Leona snatches your shoulders. The jostling is just enough to remind your unconscious mind to adjust your throat muscles and asleep you remain.

But Leona will not be getting anymore sleep that night. Grumbling, he tries to shrug it off and get back to bed, but the moment he suspects it’s been too long since he heard your snore, his head promptly leaves the pillow to check on you.

Whether you’re aware of the apnea or not, Leona confronts you the next day, exhausted and irritable.

This sparks the first motivated study session Leona’s had in a long time. He reads up on the condition and treatment, even during class time. He’ll be damned if he loses sleep over having to worry about you while he sleeps. No, he does not worry about you.

First off, he gets one of those mandibular splint things. Being part of the SpellDrive club…Never mind, he finds Ruggie—being part of the SpellDrive club—to help shape your new mouthguard to fit. If that doesn’t work, he’ll consider the more expensive options. Do you get a say? No. Which is why he’s starting out small.

Unfortunately for Big Kitty, other non-surgical treatments include routine and healthy habits.

Fuck.

Suddenly, alarms are much more important. On his phone, on your phone, and even on Ruggie’s phone, there are two to three morning alarms. Goodbye sleeping in. It is now mandatory for BOTH of you to attend morning SpellDrive training. Doesn’t matter that you can’t fly nor does it matter if you’re any good, Leona’s up, so you are too.

Probably the most killer part is the nap regulations. No longer are you allowed to have random naps throughout the day. They must be before 2 AM and no longer than 30 minutes. Maximum. He hates every bit of it.

By the time evening comes around on the first day, both of you are suffering, so abiding by a new bedtime is no problem. But for a while, things get worse from the exhaustion. Admittedly, Leona considers kicking you out, but the thought of losing his favorite body pillow easily throws him off that idea. So the lion sticks it out.

And his efforts pay off. As the two of you struggle through a new routine, the grogginess and irritability gradually fade. Hell, even Leona has been less grumpy as he settles in, but don’t push it. Of course, the sleep apnea never truly goes away, but you sleep better with a proper routine. And Leona sleeps better without that nagging worry ticking in his brain.

“Oi, wake up. Nap’s over. I don’t care that you’re still tired; so am I. Get up. If you don’t get up right now, you can forget about sleeping in my room tonight. I ain’t putting up with your jacked up snoring. No, I’m not lying. Wanna try me? Hey! Don’t roll back over! Ugh, stupid herbivore. Shut up.”

Jade

Jade was very surprised at the snoring. He’d heard of the phenomenon, but never heard the sound first hand. He didn’t know what to make of it, but eventually attuned and accepted that this is how you slept.

He was not aware that your brand of sleeping was…wrong?

Having ventured into his beloved mountains, Jade ends up returning from later than expected. Well informed, you’re already fast asleep upon his return. As he unpacks and gets cleaned up, a small smile etches onto his lips as he listens. Then it stops. His attention turns to find you perfectly still. Alarm quickly grows, spurring him to your side. An arm beneath you and your name on his lips is enough of a shift to clear your throat. The snoring resumes.

And Jade will not be getting any sleep. The young man resolves to observe you for the remainder of the night. His late night investigations lead him to sleep apnea. The symptoms check out: perpetual exhaustion, a smidge of insomnia, headaches, and yes, he had to concede that you could be irritable at times. Oh, and look at that, your particular snoring isn’t that normal.

From that moment on, the eel begins formulating a plan. From what he could conclude, sleep hygiene played a considerable role in the management of sleep apnea. He starts with monitoring your daily routines, taking notes on the things that need to be corrected—you know, the things you do just trying to survive the day.

After a week, he finally begins implementing his little tricks. It starts with a morning routine. It’s not jarring alarms that wake you in the morning, but Jade’s gentle coaxing until you’re up and ready. At the same time, every day. He ensures you’re too distracted for any afternoon naps, asking for your assistance with his work or perhaps doing some little activity together.

And you don’t even notice him starting to regulate your caffeine intake. Post 2 PM and you’re cut off. Whatever tea and/or coffee you drink comes decaf. Alternatively, he preempts your caffeine craving with something without the addictive substance. He knows your tastes well enough to provide something to make you forget about your caffeine deprivation.

About thirty minutes before your new, undisclosed bedtime, Jade, himself, becomes a distraction. This could be reading a book, listening to music, preparing for tomorrow, or just having an entertaining discussion with him. Whatever it is, it involves no screens for you.

In addition to your new, wind-down routine, Jade prepares the room to perfection. The bed is comfortable, it’s not too hot or too cold, no light permeates the darkness, and even a pleasant scent lulls your sleepy mind.

Thanks to your fastidious boyfriend, it’s quite easy to conform to this new routine. It helps alleviate some symptoms of your sleep apnea and does wonders for your mood. While the sleep apnea won’t be cured, Jade makes them easy to endure, even on the worst of nights. And honestly, it takes months before you even put together what he’s done.

“My dear, shall we start on the next chapter of our story? I’m quite invested in what will happen next. Hm? I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. You think I would manipulate my lovely partner in such a way? I see. Your suspicion wounds me. Oh? Hm-hm. You got me. I wondered how long it would take for you to notice. It’s only been three months. No, no, I’m flattered you would be so comfortably oblivious around me. I’m glad you’re feeling better. That’s all the payment I need. Well, I wouldn’t say no to a kiss.”

Floyd

For like a solid week, Floyd thought snoring was the funniest thing. He’s not sure if snoring can even happen underwater, but he’s never heard it before. So needless to say, that part didn’t bother him at all. It did get him all miffed when you would get snippy with him, but he had to relent when you would complain of a headache.

One night, there’s a disaster in the Lounge and Azul keeps all the staff late until it’s clean—Floyd included. So when he gets back to his room rather late, it’s no surprise that you’re there, already fast asleep and snoring away. Just as he finishes changing and is about to get into bed, he pauses.

It’s quiet—too quiet. Lazy eyes fall across his sleeping partner. The usual snoring he’d come accustomed to is gone. You weren’t breathing. His first reaction is to reach out, calling out to you. By the arm, he shakes you enough to jump start your breathing, yet somehow not wake you. Suspicious, he watches you for a moment, waiting for it to happen again. But it doesn’t take long for Floyd to get bored and join you in bed.

He mentions the occurrence to Jade and Azul. The snoring is fine, but he’s not particularly fond of the not breathing thing. That’s kind of important for land-dwellers, right? The trio quickly discovers what sleep apnea is.

At first, Floyd lets the whole thing go. But the longer the information lingers in his brain, the more the symptoms begin to eat at him until he finally admits that this sleep apnea thing really sucks.  

The sophomore gets Azul and Jade to help him figure out how to fix this. Honestly, there’s not much he can do, let alone with his own erratic behavior. But he starts with little things that he remembers.

He’s not very nice about it if he catches you napping, immediately waking you up, consequences be damned. Though he does try to make you less grumpy for it with favors and snacks.

And these snacks HAD to be Floyd-approved. Anything after dinner is confiscated and caffeine is off the table after 2 PM. And so dedicated to his task, Floyd will recklessly devour any treats unable to be saved for later, but only because he got in trouble for hurling them across the room. By multiple people. No, it doesn’t matter if it screws him over—chugging something too hot or wired and wide awake later. He’s being chaotic, but he’s doing it for you.

Lastly, Floyd is aware that how you sleep can help keep your airways clear. He acquires an extra pillow—from Azul’s room—to help elevate your head. If you weren’t a side sleeper before, you are now. Sometimes, in the dead of night, the eel just sits up like the living dead. Bapping hands assess your situation, pushing and pulling until you’re sleeping on your side, head propped up on your new pillow.

These new habits soon alter your own. You give up on naps, fed up with being violently rattled awake. You stop wasting money and effort on food and drinks you know you’re not supposed to have. You can’t even sneak any of those things because Octavanelle is full of snitches. Actually, it’s full of people afraid of Floyd, but same thing. With these regulations, your sleep schedule slowly stabilizes—it’s not perfect, but better. Even the grogginess and headaches are significantly more manageable. And Floyd is rather proud of himself about the whole thing, knowing that he’s the reason you’re doing better.

“Heeeeey, what’s that you got there? Looks like something loaded with caffeine. I don’t think you should have that. Gimme! Huh? Gross. This isn’t caffeine. Man, I was hoping for something good. Huh? Yeah, looks like you’re being good. And you have been sleeping better. So, do I get a reward? Whadya mean what for? For fixin’ your jank sleep. C’mon, at least give me something better than this decaf crap. Mmm, I guess a kiss will do—but like a million of ‘em. You better get started.”

Malleus

Malleus is fully aware you’re a rough sleeper and he adores it anyway. He knows of your general disdain of being awake and is sensitive of your frequent headaches. This man thrives on learning about you: the good, the bad, and the noisy.

As a nocturnal fae, he’s often awake well after you’ve gone to bed. It takes mere days for an incident to occur. Content in the presence of your sleeping form, he listens and takes in the confirmation that you’re here with him.

So it comes as a startle when he realizes the room is dead silent.

Fear immediately overtakes his rationale when he turns to find you perfectly motionless. Swiftly dragging you into his arms, he rushes for the door. Then freezes. In his arms you lie, still fast asleep, now snoring again.

He does not join you in bed this night, far too afraid that you might slip away while he sleeps. It nearly makes him sick, but he’s filled with relief when you awake the following day.

That’s the day Malleus learns about sleep apnea. He doesn’t like it at all. He thought he loved everything about you, flaws and all. But this is detrimental to your health and happiness and he must do something.

He seeks guidance in books and his friends. Lilia is of little help with his recommendations of hare-brained remedies. Silver and Sebek are quick to shut those down for the sake of an innocent soul. Still, with their help, they’re able to come up with a plan.

Malleus would readily fund any treatment you’re willing to try, from the smallest medical device to the most extensive surgery. As the issue at hand is not currently life threatening, he won’t push too hard for surgery—for now.

Still, other lifestyle changes are an option. This turns into a very difficult time for him as he loathes denying you literally anything. Waking you from cozy naps nearly breaks his heart. Taking away treats you’re preparing to enjoy makes him feel like a villain. He’s invariably torn between his guilt and adoration of your pouty face. Only his wishes for your well-being keeps him going.

However, his favorite part of this whole thing has to be the new bedtime routine.

It starts with closing the curtains, blocking out all outside light from coming through. The temperature of the room is adjusted to comfortably cool while the scent of sweet briar roses wafts through the air. Songs fill the silence while a gentle interruption of whatever task you had at hand brings your attention fully to him. There’s no arguing with him, not this late. And you dance. Just peaceful swaying as you talk of anything and everything. Whatever you have to say, he’ll hear it. Because this is your time together.

Just as your eyes begin to flutter and the first yawns interrupt your sentiments does Malleus send you off to brush your teeth, put in your new mouth splint, and get dressed for bed. If for some reason, you fend off sleep long enough, he’ll coax you from bed to sway again. Or perhaps you’ll sit at the window while he tells you fairy tales he was taught as a hatchling. Once you start nodding off again, he returns you to bed. He’ll repeat this as many times as he has to until you’re truly asleep.

If you opt to accept surgery, your sleep apnea is practically cured and you’ll be incredibly pampered through recovery. If not, Malleus’s efforts still pay off. Not only has your health significantly improved, but so has your mood. And any new incidents are practically non-existent. While Malleus feels your bond has become significantly stronger with these changes, he pleased that, above all else, you’re feeling better.

“Come now, my love. It’s time to put the pen down. I’ll help you with the rest tomorrow. How was your day today? I’m glad. You haven’t been having any headaches lately, have you? Hmm, I suppose that’s still better than it was. I’ll have to ensure we have more painkillers tomorrow just in case. Of course I’m going to. I have to take care of you after all. I always will.”

~~~~~

Nova's Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

[nectardaddy]

notebook paper | hinata shoyo

chapter fourteen | your mom [ ✎ ]

masterlist

no smau parts in this one.

cw: idk how to say it but that moment when the stress hits you all at once

He couldn't help the small chuckle passing his lips, leaving as a snort as brown eyes tracked scrawled words on a piece of paper. Repeatedly reading over the worksheet he volunteered himself to grade, but stopped at an answer he had found particularly funny. "Is 'deez nuts' the right answer to what can describe an object's motion?" He asked sarcastically through a chuckle.

The woman next to him let out a laugh at his question, "no way they wrote that." Looking over to the worksheet he had in front of him with a silly smile, "oh my god," speaking through a giggle as her eyes caught the answer. "I'll grade that one," she mused, "we can trade. I love writing notes on their papers when they write stupid answers."

They both sat at the kitchen table of her apartment. Papers and colorful pens strewn about and her laptop open to a draft of a lesson plan, long forgotten as she helped the man grade beside her. She slid the paper that was once in front of him towards herself, and gave him the paper she was grading instead. "Oh god, what are you going to write?" Questioning her with laugh, seeing as she had already started writing.

"You'll see," she mused. And he watched as she furiously wrote on the paper in red ink, a smirk pulling at the edges of her lips.

Leaning over to see what the woman was writing, arm brushing over her own as he did, he let out a loud cackle at only the first two words. Boldly written, with an arrow pointing to the very answer he said aloud, "holy shit!" He said within a laugh, "you did not just write your mom!"

Her smirk pulled further into a brighter smile as she finally stopped writing, placing the pen down and looking over to him. Just under the cheeky note, there were parentheses reading: (won't like the grade you're going to get with this answer. Do it over again.) "They think the notes are funny," she shrugged with a chuckle. "Most of the time they'll do it over again, too."

There was a brief moment of pause, barely lasting more than a few seconds but one the man found himself enthralled with. "You really don't know how amazing you are, do you?" Breaking the silence as he thought aloud, looking to her like a moth to a flame. Tracing over every feature of her face as if to memorize it, as to never forget how bewitching she truly was. "You're a really good teacher."

"You're just saying that," brushed off the compliment with a small laugh. Averting her eyes to look back at the worksheet with baited breath.

"No I'm not," he defended. "Majority of these papers are good grades, or at least looks like they're trying. You're teaching it in a way they understand it," he reasoned. "And you do things they think is funny; they obviously like you."

He saw the woman falter, her smile fall slowly as she thought about his words - an impact she never knew was possible. "Yeah," was all she could say before lifting her hands to her face, letting out a loud sigh as she did. Putting her hands to her eyes and dragging down, an exhausted look now taking center stage of her emotions.

He felt his heart plummet, thinking he, somehow, took a misstep with his words. Taking in a version of her he'd never seen in person, but allowing the space all the same. "Hey," trying to draw her attention, "you alright? I didn't mean to upset you, I just thought you needed to hear it."

His question hung for a moment, voice kind and tone nothing but caring, looking over at her with a concern beyond him. "I did," her voice was soft, a crack within her comment that caused his shoulders to drop. Oh fuck I made her cry. "You have no idea how much I did."

He wanted to comfort her, to remedy whatever flood he had caused within her mind; wanted nothing more than to see her smile again rather than look away with watery eyes. So it was a natural instinct for him to gently draw her forward, to pull her cautiously within his arms - to hug her. "I'll tell you every day then," giving her a small, rather anxious, smile. One she didn't see as she closed her eyes, not wanting the man to see the large effect his words had, but hugging him back regardless.

yes the answer and what yn wrote is my experience lmao

if a man doesn't treat you like this LEAVE HIM

suga is freaking out in his room over this interaction. hell yeah he was eavesdropping

hinata got her coffee too on his way there <3

if you want to know the real answer though it's speed and direction (the middle school answer at least)

this chapter was supposed to be funny but turned into feelings idk but I like it a lot more than the original plan

taglist under cut

@muyyie @wyrcan @eggyrocks @eclecticeggknightpsychic @nbcvs

@marzzn @naweirdo @yukii-1 @girlkissersco @yuminako @kunimix

@empress-pug-pug @cherrypieyourface @lvtilzs @punkhazardlaw @localgaytrainwreck

@crownj1min @sereniteav @madiexuberant @st4rdusttx @chizunata

@le000xxgrd @iheartpinky @muskratlove @mollyrolls @cryptictheseus

@theycallmenanamisgirl @jaeminsbuckethat @deluluforcarlos55 @bunninio @jeonsfizz

@causenessus

[its-actually-minicika]

Dragon Sickness

Part 2;

Pairing: Bookcanon!Aemond x Strong!Niece!Reader;

Warnings: No usage of Y/N, bookcanon Greens, potential spoilers for Fire&Blood (but not really), dubious consent, allusions to sex, to male masturbation and oral from Aemond (female receiving - he just wants to tickle your pickle with his fingers and mouth but yk), slight angst, minor and major character death, vague descriptions of death by asphyxiation;

For the sake of keeping characters as close to canon as I can, the eye that Aemond lost was his right, not his left!

Word Count: 7k+;

Author's Note: Repost because yeah...

Reblogs would be really appreciated, since I believe I was shadowbanned :") ♡

Sorry for taking so long with getting this next part out ♡ I wanted to make sure it's perfect (or as close to perfect as I can get it), because the last thing I desire is to post something I'm not proud of/I wouldn't personally read :")

This gif was made by the love of my life and the moon to my sun - @aemondx here on Tumbr ♡ if you aren't already following her, definitely follow her right now now. I'll wait. The story will wait. She is absolutely amazing, and the sweetest person ever.

I also dedicate this chapter to my literal soulmate @diamantesprincess , who beta-read this whole shit-storm for me, and supported my insane antics ♡

Young girls dream about their wedding day. And women prepare themselves for the humiliation bestowed upon them by the raptures of the night.

Her cheeks flushed with the expectancy that was thrown before her – the avid sting that prickled her skin, flooded her veins and broke her soul. She could feel her smooth-green gown stick to her contorted form. The horrid fires of lashing out already licking at the corners of her downturned mouth.

The Velaryon thus swallowed thickly, whilst flickering her eyes by nigh to each corner of the squaring table. She needn’t glance into the silver plating to ensure what she had known, simply owed to the salacious heat that downed her heart in poisoned terror. How vexing it had been for her to hear the former Queen about – darting to her wedding night, hinting at her lack of purity. How terribly uncertain she’d felt, when Aemond all but abandoned her on that rueful and exerting night.

She’d searched feverishly for his company, trying to converse with him, to allude him to take interest, to inspire him to like her. But her attempts were answered with indifference, with clumsy lines of conversations, which never led her far in musings.

“– Even so, I trust that you understand your duty.”

She couldn’t have been quiet for long. For she felt how her mouth lulled opened, if only to blurt out a passive admission to Alicent’s extended words. Still she felt the decades pass, turning her old, and mean, and cold, as an ample flood of pain engulfed her sparring and incisive heart. The Queen Dowager sighed, either by lack of blitheness or by wry exhaustion, and merely shook her head at the sight of the conflicted bastard.

She supposed she should be grateful – for a private bedding brought across no prying eyes upon her form, upon her skin and womanhood; upon the shame she would soon feel, to spread her legs for the Qybor who slayed her kin. But a private bedding meant she'd have to be alone with him. A private bedding was unsafe, for it meant her maiden blood wouldn't have to be the one staining their rivetting sheets. And Aemond had killed men before, his flesh and blood, innocent spawn – so was there anything that would ensure he wouldn't cut her very throat?

A silent tear obscured her view, and one of Helaena’s beetles boldly flew nearby her plate.

Satin green and oryx white, silky blue and striking violet.

To be born a female was a wright cursed account.

Upon her birth, she belonged to her father. And when he died, she fitted Daemon. She suited to her brother, Jace, to the whims of the New Seven, and very soon to those of Aemond.

When she was young, her Septa was the one to tell her the story of her feeble birth – how she was good and quaint and quiet, how she had not ensued hard labour. How her mother cried when she saw her small and portly face. And how she sighed with half restraint at the notion of her naked sex.

To be born the cursed sex stripped one of their whole autonomy.

Benevolence was to be found within the weakness of a poor female.

‘The girls are easier than the boys,’ The woman nodded as she spoke, ‘They're less rowdy and quick to anger. Easier to marry, too.’

To be born a female meant a deconstructive marriage. Simply something that must happen, not a matter of debate.

To be born a female meant fantasizing about that marriage. Salaciously filling your head with hopeful dreams of charming knights, or handsome princes and comely lords.

To be born a female was underestimated work. Work put up by sons and fathers, whose sole purpose of providing to the girl they had to care for was to find her a good husband.

A future to be predecided, set in stone and judged throughout – all in valour of a missing cock, and a lack of tiny stones.

When Rhaenyra married Daemon, she was happy for her loving mother.

‘I want to be just as beautiful on my wedding day!’ Her voice chirped through the halls of Dragonstone, whilst rotating about the room, chased by an ongoing Jace, ‘We’ll have a pigeon cake the size of a young hatchling, and a venue bigger than that made of the smallfolk of King’s Landing!’

‘Maybe one that smells better, though,’ Jace snickered inside her ear, earning a brisk tickle from his younger sister, ‘But you’re right, my darling sister, it’s better to stay realistic!’

A loud fit of giggles erupted from the waiting children. Rhaenyra only glanced at Daemon, who in turn shook his head, bemused by her swallowing visions.

‘Whatever prompts you to even believe your mother and I will allow such a thing?’ The Rogue Prince graced her with a trumping smirk, as the girl’s face fell to a slouch.

‘I’ll have to get married one day!’ She rebutted her stepfather, ‘With a strong knight in shining armour, or a chivalrous Lord from an important House!’

‘I would be very careful with what I want,’ He mimicked a serious and grieving tone, ‘So far you could only marry Tyland Lannister or Kermit Tully!’

‘There will be yet some time before that happens, sweet girl.’ Rhaenyra grinned at her daughter’s eagerness, pushing down the rotten feeling that gnawed beneath her bludgeon gown. She placed her hand atop her cheek and gingerly grazed the youth’s plumpness with a soft, motherly touch. ‘A couple of years from now on, at best!’ She hummed into her tender caress and opened her mouth to speak again, 'till Jacaerys’ mellow voice cut the base of her new words.

Her eyes widened to the size of two round plates, and the young Velaryon merely scrunched her nose up in dissatisfaction. ‘Kermit wouldn’t be that bad…’ She tried to reason with herself, ‘And his sister, Celia, is very nice! We would get along quite well.’

‘Of course, of course –’ Jace nodded in understanding, before throwing Luke a mischievous look, ‘Or you could always marry Aemond – he’d be quite a match, you know!”

Silence ensued for a while, until all three children broke down in their hysteric fits of laughter.

‘Oh, Gods be good…!’ She murmured lowly, shock and aversion evident on her once impatient face.

She’d found herself someone who loved her, someone whom she could amply trust. A man that’d be reliant for her, in her times of greatest fraught.

When the War of Ravens first ensued, it was he and her small brothers who went to deliver envoys. When Luke died, it was he who mended and arranged the curdling scheme of Blood and Cheese. And when Aemond took a hold of Harrenhal, cruelly burning at their allies’ lands… it was he who gave his life in an attempt to free their folk.

“Gods be good…!” Her voice strained through the musings of her handmaiden, so preoccupied with lacing up her constricting and excessive corset. “Could you go in any tighter?” Her snapping question deterred the young girl to remove her calloused hands from the fine silks that engulfed her. All of the other women who tended to her hair and eyes took a backwards convoluted step and, as if whipped across the face and wholly burnt by dragon fire, they froze up in minute poses – all of them gripping their hands, and looking down in taught submission.

Breathless and submerged in bashness, her reddened lips pressed to a line, as her gaze followed their in suit, falling on the stone below her.

“I’m sorry,” She began with a taut pitch, while expelling one of her brisk and tantalising breaths, “I didn’t mean to shout at you. That was below any level of discretion.”

"W-Would you like us to continue, Your Grace?" One of the older-looking wenches dared to ask the fair Velaryon.

No, she ached to bring herself to say, I'd stay like this, still half-undressed. Unpresentable for him to take.

"Of course," Her meek voice echoed in reply, "You must make haste to get me ready. The wedding is in but an hour."

Tens of dozen of pairs of hands flooded her every sensation with their ceaseless and insistent prodding. The softest of the cluster played with the slicked ends of her charcoal hair, adorning it with a myriad of pins and jewels, grazing her scalp with heavy and relenting hairstyles. Now there was prudence in her tying corset – as if she were a rabid beast who’d sink her claws into their necks, if only she’d feel indisposed by their way of picked-up working.

For the first time since her ladies swarmed into her darkened chamber, the girl’s leer settled on the gown before her. She took in a quick breath through the margins of her teeth, whilst feeling her stomach wail and churn with an unkept overzeal.

Her dress was of a deep set black, which seemed more fitting for a funeral than for a joyous feast precarred soon after by a most imposing wedding. Yet upon a closer look, the brims which laced its puffy bottoms smiled to her in rueful red.

Surprise etched upon her face, and the coy women must have noticed, for they all stopped forthwith again. She brought a hand to the light fabric, and grazed it slowly with her fingers.

She almost hummed in chasmal worry, before fixating her eyes away.

“Apologies, but who told you to bring this dress?” Her voice reverberated with a faint but levelled question, and a retort came back her way.

“The Prince Aemond, Your Grace,” What she assumed was a slight seamstress replied for the whole gathering, “He requested that his vest should also bear your House’s symbols.”

Surprise merged with upheld amusement, until her judgement simmered down to a least lenient of views – since the Blacks were there no more, what point was there for an exorbant gown with any shades of ghastly Green?

No matter his good-hearted message, Aemond hadn’t done it for her. Just like Alicent hadn’t proposed a marriage with her son for her clemented and invested sake.

There was no more point for her to wear his sickly green. There was no reason for the usurpers to display their endless rows of utter power.

Her family was dead. All she knew had gone with them – swallowed wholly by the sea, or by Sunfyre, by Vhagar.

“I see,” Her vocal cords strained with her roughened and perturbed reply, “It’s very beautiful,” She whispered not a heartbeat later, as she turned to the appraised seamstress, “Thank you. You must have worked very hard.”

As everyone resumed their tasks, a trailing truth pierced through her heart – she now had no family left to lead her to the Greater Sept.

His collar fell too tight on him.

He noticed late, as she approached him.

He swallowed thickly once before her, as his burnt brother gripped her hand.

Her softened smile lit up her face, though the disgust within her eyes unveiled her sickly mild facade. A rattled thought surged through his chest, mending with akin distraught. He knew full well she didn’t love him, but at the least, he’d have to try. The subtlety of her rejection stabbed right through his nervous gut, but still the Prince looked down upon her, gracing her with a half-smile.

The ease with which she then returned it relieved the throbbing underneath his leather patch, and as she mouthed him her timid greeting, the man bowed deeply in reply.

“You may now cloak the bride, and bring her under your protection.” The Septon’s voice instructed deeply, snapping both out of their trance.

His calloused fingers unclasped the belts from his broad and heaving shoulders – the cape fell heavily into his hands, yet Aemond still approached his Lady, and placed the Targaryen embroidered mantle atop her tense and fragile shoulders.

Brown eyes clashed with an unnerving lilac – both bride and groom sucked in a breath, and yet refused to look away.

The silence of the Sept was deadly, and as Aemond closed his eye, allowing his relentless thoughts to slip into a hurried prayer, he swore that every witness to their union would hear the keen beats of his heart.

The High Septon clasped his wrinkled hands together, drawing a faint and muffled noise which reverberated through the clearing – signalling to the lost children to place their hands into the other’s.

His Lady was the first to reach him. Shyly she grazed his palm with the smooth padding of her index finger, flattering an anxious probe which distilled his wilted heart, and brought heat into his cheeks.

Her small diversion urged him to press back into her – with a doubting and reserved caress made with his thicker middle finger.

The man bit into his inner cheek, as he aligned his palm to hers, and waited patiently for the Septon to bind their hands with the white linen.

“In sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity.”

Her thumb gently caressed his own in an attempt to soothe his breaths. Though her smile had broadened yet, her eyebrows twisted to a brazen furrow. The old man hummed with unturned patience, and he nodded at their leisured and unhurried movements.

“Look upon each other and say the words.”

His chest tightened with unruly pride, as her cheeks flushed with a deep colour, which grew to match the lacings of her fitted cobbler – both took a moment to compose themselves, before Aemond’s voice filled the room with the silk-smooth baritone of his levelled and protruding tone.

“Father, Smith, Warrior,” His lone orb swirled with both uncertainty and desire, as her own voice ushered him suit, “Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.”

Her chest heaved with a weighty exhale, and her pushed bosom shifted in her dainty dress. Abashed by his sexual intrusion, Aemond focused his left eye on the shape of her inviting lips.

Though they said the words in unison, only her better half beset his ears, “I am his, and he is mine.”

“From this day, until the end of my days,” The Targaryen hushed in return.

Thousand of cheers erupted in the Great Sept, and Aegon even whistled lowly, but nought of the crowd’s boastful words engrained themselves into his mind.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love.”

His mouth pressed hungrily against her own, with a force and desperation that dispersed her every hope for a chaste, intimate peck. The shape of his lips moulded against her with an ease that left her wanting – wanting for it to end, for him to stop, for him to keep going.

His scent invaded her diluted senses, and flashes of her brothers’ faces danced across her hazy view. And just as Aemond was about to deepen and take his uncouth ministrations further, the greying Septon interjected with a subtle but alluding cough.

Despite the fact that he refused to speak to her since the incursive night of their engagement, the palpable need and excitement that seemingly had gathered in him burst for all high lords and petty maidens to see. Coveting whispers reached the girl’s reddened ears – each muttered truth more beguiling than the last.

‘A Kinslayer and a bastard… what an ill match for the grandeur of the Great Sept.’

With her mouth slightly agape and her breath still somewhat staggered, the former Velaryon avoided his stare, with an adamant and willful steer.

Her own eyes began to water. And the aching sadness that curled into her vrying soul muted out any reminder of the crowd’s elated boasts.

What had happened was now irreversible; and the Greens would host a banquet in honour of the newlyweds. Goblets would drown her violent sorrows, food would fill them like fattened-up pigs for cutting.

Aemond would breach her with his cock if he felt disposed to do it. Then he might smother her face, or cut her throat with the same dagger that he used on her late brother.

For why else would he deny a prim and proper bedding ceremony?

Though her eyes still looked at him, and a smile still spurred her lips, the girl swallowed down a prayer.

Perhaps he had grown to like her. She’d been good to him in those past weeks.

The High Septon yelled over the cheering crowd, cutting down each thought that breached through her weary and misguided mind.

“Let it be known that they are now one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder!”

Then cursed be she, in the light of the Seven.

The dizzying nature of the fifth waltz of the night left everyone in the Great Hall drained and panting – fully taken by the mistifying anticipation caused by the encapsulating ardour of Prince Aemond’s wedding reception. Roaring applauses erupted from the few women seated at the high tables – Aegon’s eyes followed the wanton skirts of the lowborn maidens, and even Helaena disregarded her fattened caterpillar to grace the crowd with her absent-minded stare.

At the centre of the King’s table stood the Court’s styled “star-crossed lovers”, each seemingly preoccupied with avoiding any further dancing at any and all occuring costs.

The girl’s fingers traced over the rim of the wine goblet, glancing from time to time at her newly acquired husband, who seemed hammered in his seat and not at all wanting for chatter. The dim lighting of the candled room sprawled its shadows all across his tired features, which loomed all the more sharp and perusing with each notion of a passing hour. His lack of joyful disposition was clear and evident for all to see – for even his contented mother had chastised him under her breath.

Alas, any notion of stability had at large been long repressed, and not even her able chirping managed to pry at her son’s attention.

As her eyes trailed lower yet, over the arch of his broad chest, and the poignant veins of his clenched fist, the Targaryen gasped at the obvious arousal restrained in his black leather pants. Her face turned promptly to the side, before anyone’s conviction should follow her indiscreet trail.

Another smile graced her red lips, as a very drunkened Lord tripped across her narrow view. He approached her with bemusing boldness, borne out of believed renown, and introduced himself as Quince Webber: a lower lord within the Reach, ‘right across the Arbour seat’. His puffy face was basked in red, an indication of his mind’s plied state – and as he blabbered on his woven lapses on what wedded life should be, the Lady bowed her head with grace, thus managing to stop his spiel.

He slurred over his predicted wordings in a heavy and relentless breath, but still managed to congratulate the twain for their well-thought-out alliance.

“Thank you, my Lord, I am indeed very lucky.” Her cheeks hurt from all the smiling, but still she forced herself to laugh, “Aemond has been very kind to me.” She turned to face his stare, abashed, and allowed her hand to touch him. The charcoal leather of his broidered vest burnt her at the faintest touch, and the girl had to stifle a gasp at the arid heat which charred her palm.

“He has, he has!” The lord of Coldmoat agreed well-pleased. A wolfish grin spread across his droopy face, pulling both his plump cheeks higher. An impish laugh beleft his lips, as he took a swing of liquor from a nearby empty glass.

The corner of her smiling eye darted back to that of Aemond, who merely glanced through the drunk lord with a horriedly vexated look.

“Although,” He teased them with a slurred hic, “I can’t say he’ll be nice to you when the bedding ceremony will ensue!”

Wholeheartedly amused at his inappropriate and shrivelled joke, the old man began to laugh, much to Aemond’s disarray.

His fists came into contact with the sprawled-out wooden table, shaking every cutlery which remained scattered across it. The lively whispering of the Great Hall ceased with his vicious display, and even his contented brother jerked his shoulders in dismay.

“Aemond,” Alicent spat out his name, as her face turned cold and wary. “Perhaps it’s time you two retire.”

A restless snarl etched from his throat, and he looked ready to pounce – were it not for the soft hand that touched him, and the sanity utter of her voice, which managed to somewhat reground him, and contort poor Webber’s choice.

But as cruel fate would weave and have it, another end would spend their night.

“Aemond,” His Lady tried to coax him in, “Let’s listen to your mother… please?” Her fevered eyes adamantly searched for his, until a strange yearning and passion registered on his reluctant face. His hand gripped hers in pure devotion, and his large thumb ran over her flaring knuckles, as she'd done so many times before for him.

The lord’s lost face painted over with uncouth excitement, and he turned his back around, almost hitting Daeron’s face.

“It’s time for the bedding ceremony!” He announced the crowd quite loudly, and tens of voices of plastered men rose with every passing second. Some of them swarmed close to the couple, some tried to pick the girl from her leering resting place. Most barely launched up their feet, struggling to uphold their balance.

“There will be no bedding ceremony tonight.” Aemond’s dark and frigid voice thundered through the cluttered hall. Women sighed in great relief, while the men and boys began to bicker.

“It’s tradition!”

“I’ve been told specifically that it would take place.”

“Such stupidity!”

“I bet Renly six gold dragons that –”

“The King long announced there would be none.” Otto’s otherwise calm voice resounded with a harshened tone.

“Has he now?” A slurring lord took three wide steps in the direction of the pressured lady. Her whole face morphed into preleened discomfort, as she placed both her hands upfront. “Oh, don’t you even think about it…!” She warned him with a throaty hiss, but before his hand could graze her, Aemond grabbed his arching fists.

When his nervous gaze settled on his face, he smiled.

The lord clawed at his darkened neck, for Aemond forced him in a kneeling stance, and wrapped his hands around his throat. The timber in his chilling voice rained affront with his obduring malice, sending a shiver down the bent spines of the mere on-watchers, “You wish to gaze upon my wife tonight, Lord Ashford?” The callous ends of his slim digits dug into his purple skin, “You want to see her naked form, and compare her dripping sex to your own wife’s loosened cunny?”

The older man opened his mouth – but the pressure on his wielded neck impedimented his speaking manner and, much like a fish that’d been hoisted out of water, he could barely form a word.

“N…No-n-no – I’m s-s-”

“You’re sorry?” His eyebrows rose in feigned surprise. His wails of anguish pierced his heart – and yet his grip didn't uncurl. “You’re sorry now, are you?”

“Aemond, that is enough!” Alicent’s chastising shouts failed to break his unsound trance. Among the mistifying flock of ladies, the Velaryon stood high, but frozen. Her parlous specks of deep brown eyes bore into the shocking scene, as her own transfigured hand prodded at her covered neck.

"You've heard, perhaps, what happened with little Luke Strong, the bastard.” Her own eyes widened at his cruel retorts, and her deft fist grabbed at her skirts. Despite it being aimed to scare the stupid and unbashful lord, Aemond’s dicey did nought else but expose her to the whole crowd whole.

The heated blade of loss and ire impaled her through her aching chest, cutting both her breath and temper and deterring her to simply shake.

“– I'll gouge your eyes out and present them as a wedding gift to my wife."

Little Luke. Jace. Rhaenyra. Daemon.

Joff. Rhaenys. Corlys. Allyn.

Baela. Rhaena. Viserys. Aegon.

“I-I’m b– begging you–”

Little Luke. Jace. Rhaenyra. Daemon –

“Then beg. Beg my wife for her forgiveness.”

Joff. Rhaenys. Corlys. Allyn –

“My L– My Lady, p-please…!”

Baela. Rhaena. Viserys. Aegon.

Mother, mother, mother, mother –

“Please, Aemond, stop! Just stop!” Her own voice screeched into the balling clearing, as the sound of breaking bones and the smell of copper blood menged right through her very veins. “Stop. It’s enough. It’s alright. I’m alright. Please–”

Her panicked breathing flooded her ears. Her lack of presence drowned her in.

Her husband threw her an affrighted look, as he instantly let go of the man’s entwisted neck.

He crawled closer to his own wife’s feet. His piqued-up breathing staggered for a brief momentum.

For two or three seconds they waited.

And then quietness enwrapped the Realm.

Her honeyed voice had reached his ears.

"We're man and wife now, you and I.” She began with a faint murmur, and a small smile on her lips, “We must start talking to each other. Eventually, I mean."

She spoke to him in utter earnest, despite her voice’s nervous edge.

Alas he must not have replied to her, for her body shifted in her narrow seat, ducking away from him in recluded and uptight tension. “I’d like there to be no secrets between us – I’d like for us to tell each other whatever happens to be on our mind.”

The alluring scent of her dark hair, the creamy skin of her bare shoulders…

His breathing turned close to erratic, as he morphed his hands to fists. But two waltzes he had danced with her, before he felt his breeches tighten, bringing forth his quaint undoing.

He would have stayed in bitter silence, focused on the passing hours – were it not for the unlucky words that the brittle lord had uttered.

Oh, and how she looked into his eye; full of shock and brittle terror.

She must have been scared of him. For she was shaking like a leaf.

The walk to their marital chamber loomed with ever-pressing silence.

If only he could read her thoughts – then he might just mend his error.

“I rather liked the pigeon pie.” Her voice came out as weak and gruff, “Though it was far too big for those at present.”

When his answer wouldn’t beckon, the Lady turned and closed her eyes. She snapped her head in his direction, faltering her present smile. “I think that what you did was very chivalrous and brave, my Prince.”

The corner of his left eye widened, as her words registered in. The margins of her flimsy skirts kissed the ground atop her form – the swish and flicker of the candles remained the only source of noise.

The corners of his mouth bent slightly, at her ludicrous but fair assertion. Whether he had meant to thank her, or kiss her on that very spot, the Prince failed to puzzle out. Though his step halted in place, and his face turned briskly to her.

“Aemond,” He sighed, reluctant, whilst awaiting for her change of heart, “You said it yourself, we’re man and wife. You should start calling me Aemond.”

Her daring eyes looked up right through him, dissolving to a kindred stare. “Then you should also use my name… Aemond.” She uttered with a playful tone, testing his name upon her lips. “Though I… much prefer it when you call me ‘wife’.”

His reply was fast, forthright, “I’ll call you whatever you wish.”

“Then…” She began with a weak mutter, allowing her hair to hide her face, “No, forgive me, never mind.”

“Tell me,” He commanded with grave urgency.

Tell me of anything and I will make it yours.

“Mayhaps,” His Lady paused a while again, “You’d agree to call me your ‘dear wife’?”

His cock twitched inside his pants. The blood that pigmented his face descended lower in its lax pursuit.

All that you need do is ask.

“Anything you want,” His voice rumbled in a breathless timber before he could stop himself, “Dear wife.”

She must have thanked him with a smile again. All she did those days was smile.

She smiled when that low lord approached her. She smiled at her engagement feast. She smiled when Aemond took her dancing.

“I trust,” Alicent had swallowed deeply, “That your mother already taught you what’ll occur after the wedding.”

Better said during the bedding. When she’d be forced to spread her legs for the one man who’d damned them all.

She smiled when Aegon named her bastard. She smiled at the mention of her sweet dead brother.

She hummed as she touched her fingers, rotating her golden rings.

“What of Aly Blackwood?” Her eyes pried at her heavy conscience, “You said that if I marry Aemond, you’d think of a way to release her and make peace with Benjicot’s House.”

–

Her trail of thought was pulled before her, like a feeble dream which she won't reach.

The handle of a leaden door was yanked, pulsing the quaint hall with clatter, and basking her with a warm light.

“We’re here.”

Though wailing dread flooded her senses, her voice came out in slight bemusement.

“It isn’t furnished.”

“I wanted you to have a say.” The depthness of his mellow tune carried out his crass remark, “I didn’t know how many dresses you’d have.”

The notion of her moving in, of sleeping side by side with him, of sharing a bed and a mattress and a bath with him – it hadn’t failed to make her snort.

Hidden from his plane of sight, she allowed a distant scowl to break in her pretty features.

She wanted to scream and shout. To lash out in grave disconcern the moment his revolting hands came in contact with her lower back, urging her to step inside. She wanted to laugh at him – at the sight of his scarred face, his forceful probe and lack of honour.

“You’re so thoughtful, Aemond. Thank you.”

A grave unease surged in her gut. Pure fright prickled at the apex of her thighs. Her once loose dress seemed to constrict her form from running – from hitting him over the head and at last make her escape.

A pained sigh escaped his lips – the One-Eyed Prince who killed her family.

The Kinslayer. The Trident’s Terror. The Prince Protector of the Realm.

Almost as if he could sense her worry, the lithe Targaryen beckoned her in.

There’d been a moment when he only looked at her, bearing holes into her face and the front lobe of her skull, as his thick brows twisted slightly, jarring in misguided silence. Her jaw clenched involuntarily, as his face hithered in closer. She closed her eyes for two, three seconds, before she opened them again.

The lack of ease with which he gawped at her would have dearly made her laugh. The great and feared Aemond Targaryen, so incursed, taken aback.

He exhaled deeply in connived frustration, and simply took a few steps back. A rumbled hum of welting havoc trailed behind his high-arched lips, and a simple look of ardour was engraved on his sharp face.

The hands which had been snaked around her let her go within an instant, and as a curse sprung from his throat, the man found refuge and retreat towards the blazing fireplace. The girl followed his lenient steps, which faltered near the goatskin armchair.

His hands moved in accord with stress. Stiffly he had poured himself a hefty glass of liquid courage – swallowing it down with haste, and indifference towards the spectacle that he made with his demeanour.

His hands were shaking. His gulps of dark and bitter wine accentuated with every guise of stolen looks he dared to throw and hatch her way. At one point through his fretful jitter, the Prince snapped with a scorned hiss.

"Do you reckon you need help with your black dress, my dearest wife?” The rattled edge within his voice echoed through the room's long walls – his tone was mystified by pain, by torturous need, and want, and lust.

"N-No, my love, that I do not." She tried with shear to reach her lacings, as her mouth quirked with a smile. The desolation in her orbs spun the man to heave a sigh – his wobbled hand to reach his collar, and pull at it with forced renown.

Multitudes of scattered feelings reveled on her softened face – pain and fear, disgust and anger, lack of confidence and broad distress.

Inch by inch she thus revealed patches of her creamy skin. Feeling all her fingers stiffen with perturbed stilling discomfort, shame and angst and staid mistrust.

Although her corset was now loosened, the source of air within her lungs remained scarce and all the same.

She maintained his carnal stare, watching how his one eye darkened, turning to an opaque black. His lips pressed into a line, his furrowed brows deepened his stare – he gulped another hoist of wine and swallowed thickly at her chaffing stare. His adam's apple bobbed up and down in repressed bewilderment and apt surrender. His weary mind surged with a vast contrast of thoughts, each one more torturous and sparse than the mentioned fleeting latter.

He felt utterly inadequate.

He'd touched and fucked women before – handmaidens that caught his eye, wenches that offered their heat, servant girls who lured him in.

But none had managed to prepare him for the unrelieved pressure of her. Of the one woman he loved, of the one he wanted most.

She'd been kind to him when they were children – and remained polite throughout when he dared to rain his anger on his ludicrous half-sister.

He regretted every hostile instance where he hurt her with his words. And every bite full of prone venom, that he threw her brothers' way.

He regretted how he acted, when he killed the raucous lord. How he taunted him with perverse pleasure, how he named Luke's shocking perish right across from his sweet wife – knowing somewhere all too well that she'd take offence to it.

His face felt numb, his limbs felt heavy. He wanted to denude her slowly, to prode at the extended nature of her smooth and nuanced skin. To devote himself to her fair pleasure, to worship the slickness of her womanhood with a reverence and love perturbed.

He longed to lay his masculinity at the altar of her maidenhood, get on his knees and devout his being to making her peak with him – on his tongue, on his slim fingers, on his chin, or on his face.

He’d read the ways to get a cunt wet – it would take no less good skill and incredible amounts of patience; but for her, he’d gladly wait, and gently stretch her virgin hole, with the aid of his firm touch and the pulsing of his deepened voice.

He closed his eye in a small prayer, as he begged his Gods for guidance – to be able to bring her to the heightened cliffs of sinful rapture, to be able to prove himself as a man fit for her needs.

To make her love him in return, perhaps, and make her see his side of things.

As he remained hammered in place, trying his hardest to regain control over his trembled conscious and his indulgent thoughts, the man failed to notice how his Lady made impressive progress into her methodical and empty musings.

Her head hung low as she undid the lacings of her fitted garment. Her eyes were cast in shadowed doubt and in utter lack of certainty – her breathing came as fast and laboured, and her hands with-held a tremor with every new poignant display of another patch of skin.

Unbeknownst even to her, hot tears of merciless aversion rolled off her rosy cheeks, landing on her petticoat and the cold stone ground below them.

The Prince sucked a jarring breath, as she turned to face the bed with a heartbreaking and crushed compliance. Her softened eyes peered at his form, and a forceful smile unfurled along the corners of her swollen lips.

His expression must have tightened, and his form recoil in slightly – for her hazy eyes enwrapped him, and her shapely brow rose up.

“Aemond…?” She tried to lace her voice with sweetness, “Do you–” The latter words died on her lips, and she remained with her mouth parted, until her thoughts surged loudly clear.

“Should I… d-do you want me to sit in any way?”

The hoarseness in her tender voice made the man pale in disgrace.

“You’re scared of me.” He long admitted, with a rough and neutral tone.

Aemond’s feet carried him slowly, towards the place in which she stood. When his hand came to rest over her wet cheek, she stiffened up and almost winced.

“Why are you so afraid of me?” The desperation in his utter broke the silence of their spacious room, “I would never hurt you. I would sooner die than see you in pain.”

Realisation settled in, and her lost face morphed with awareness. She brought her palm smooth on his own, and searched despairingly to entwine their hands together. When she opened her mouth to speak, she blinked away her forming tears.

“No, my P– Aemond. I could never be afraid of you.”

“Yet here you stand,” He murmured weakly, “Half-naked before me, and shaking.”

“The chamber just feels very cold.” His wife hung onto the excuse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t – I swear to you that I do want this –”

“I will not bed you.” He hummed as he wiped off her tears – a soft and feeble grazing led about by the callous ends of his smooth pads.

Her face breached forward with mistrust, as her weary mouth lulled open, “W-What? No, Aemond, believe me, I–”

“I will not bed you,” The Prince repeated to her gently, “Not until you ask me to.”

A disgruntled and affronted sigh left the high arch of his lips, yet an understanding look rained across his lustful stare. The one hand which hung loosely by his side trailed a slow path to her jolting shoulder. He swallowed thickly before speaking, pushing down his burning desire.

"Ziry iksos ao qilōni lurksas issa kesīr." The meek admission in High Valyrian made her relax into his touch, "Nyke jāhor daor gaomagon mirros bona mazverdagon ao zūgagon."

The Prince staggered with a shaky breath, whilst looking her into the eye. "Skoro syt kostagon ao ūndegon bona?"

Although she tried so hard to speak, not a word etched from her throat. She nodded in undisplayed wonder, and gripped her husband by the shirt.

He took her balling fists in his, and kissed atop the even skin.

Thoughts strengthened with affirmed abhorrence steered clear through her befuddled mind – there may be hope to fix the error that she so tactlessly set off that night.

And yet before she could place Aemond’s hands down the shape of her small back, the Prince grabbed his sharpened knife, and merely nicked his open palm.

Droplets of deep-crimson liquid seeped into the whitened sheets, and the girl remained upright and frozen, as she watched him clean his blade and rummage through his modest cupboard for a piece of airy cloth.

With one hand he gripped the footboard – and began to firmly shove it into the stone wall up ahead.

The avid creaking of the bed turned into a pleased refrain. One not too fast, but not too slow, which carried on for a few minutes.

Outside their petulant and guarded door, whistles of men and cheers from women crassly seeped into their ears. Though most were muffled down by the sensitive and leal guards, some managed to blurt out half-enthused encouragements upon their midnight escapades.

A flow of compliments descended upon Aemond’s lasting pace – and some of the more improper ladies even dared to coo at her.

“It’ll feel better once you give it time, sweetling!”

“You simply must confine in us what it was like to ride a dragon!”

How utterly humiliating.

Like all bad things within the world, their idle and unseemly chatter ceased after a little while. Aemond sighed and stopped his motions, while granting her a knowing look.

“I’ll remain here for mere more moments. Then I’ll leave you for the night.”

‘N-No!” Her eyes widened in mistrust, as she gnawed her bottom lip. Almost too soon for her own well liking, she’d begged incessantly for him to stay. “Please remain near me, sweet husband… I so long to sleep by you.”

When her words seemed to elude him, she reached for his wounded hand, giving it a slight caress. She pressed her lips atop his cut, and devotedly looked up at him.

“Ao vestretan bona nyke udrāzma ao kesīr. Nyke lurksas bona ao umbagon issa rūsīr."

Aemond drew in a sharp breath, and merely settled on the bed.

“As you wish, my darling wife.”

Translations:

"Qybor" = uncle - specifically, from the mother's side;

"Ziry iksos ao qilōni lurksas issa kesīr. Nyke jāhor daor gaomagon mirros bona mazverdagon ao zūgagon. Skoro syt kostagon ao ūndegon bona?" = 'Tis you who commands me here. I will not do anything that leaves you frightened. Why can’t you see that?

“Ao vestretan bona nyke udrāzma ao kesīr. Nyke lurksas bona ao umbagon issa rūsīr." = You said that I command you here. I order that you stay with me.

[socius-animae]

‌

˖ ⁺ ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺ *ੈ. 𑁍 ༘. ⋆

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Dull || Yandere! Male OC x Reader

Summary:

Suffocating in a crimson-tinted reality, you teeter on survival's edge, and your captor's perfect illusion consuming you.

Note:

1.1k words count, it can be any character you think is suitable, but this is my oc who I haven't named yet and my story writing where he becomes one of the love interests (reverse-harem story). Sadly is still in the Prologue which I got writer's block hh. I also used this scenario in my writing community project Sfragments, but it has changed quite a lot from the original.

Cw:

Contains disturbing themes of psychological, emotional and physical abuse, coercion, control and trauma, all the yandere things in general. Read on your own risk.

Dull. The word lingers in your mind, a bleak shadow over your thoughts.

You lay quietly, a passive observer in your own life, eyes vacant as you watch the world move around you. Each sigh escapes effortlessly, a testament to your resignation. Bound by chains (literally and metaphorically), you allow him to shape your days, his will unchallenged.

The room is drenched in red, a color that wraps around you like a suffocating blanket. At first glance, it’s vibrant, but up close, the hue becomes oppressive. Red curtains, red blankets, red pillows, red carpets, and red lampshades—every surface bleeds the same color.

You catch yourself wincing at the intensity, memories of angry outbursts flooding back. You've torn at the red countless times, your frustrations laid bare, only to collapse into exhaustion and acceptance. It’s a relentless cycle, unfair yet inevitable.

“My dear, why do you seem so lifeless? Today I brought you ....” His voice trails off, and for a moment, you forget his role in your unraveling.

He stands there, his beauty as striking as the crimson that dominates the room. His presence is like a tempting apple, sweet yet deadly. You wonder about the worth of such beauty when it poisons your very essence. Your existence has dwindled to mere awareness, a shell without the desire to live.

“Cheer up, I'll take you out. Isn't this what you've always wanted?” His words, gentle and coaxing, blend into the background noise. Indifference has taken root, extinguishing any hope for change or escape.

He reaches out, guiding your gaze to meet his. The irony stings—once you were a discarded toy in his hands, and now he holds you tenderly, as if you were his prized possession. His fingers brush your bangs softly, a stark contrast to the emptiness you feel. Resistance seems pointless; submission feels like the only option left.

His eyes gleam with amusement as they lock onto yours. “Say something, please?” he whispers, his tone playful yet seductive undertone, dropping intimate nicknames to draw you deeper into his charm. Are you fall in already?

You both know the truth without speaking it.

Ignoring his face, so close becomes second nature. His voice, once enchanting like a lullaby, now serves as a reminder of the magic lost. You watch as the spell breaks, your sense of self fading away.

You mutter a string of vowels, barely acknowledging his plea.

He pulls you into an embrace, savoring the illusion of connection. “We're going on a picnic, okay? Don't attempt anything unexpected,” he murmurs, his touch gentle, gentle enough similar to saving a fragile person.

Without more word from you, he lifts the blanket, unlocks the chains around your ankles, and prepares for the outing with meticulous care. His hair, neatly tied, reminds you of who you once were—someone who admired him. He removes his gloves, pressing firmly against your legs in a gesture that feels more like ownership than care.

His actions speak of a desire to consume every part of you, masking his control with a façade of affection. Time has eroded any chance of protest, leaving you drained and compliant.

He massages your immobilized legs, believing he's offering kindness. The irony isn’t lost on you—he's the reason of your captivity.

“How does your leg feel? Is it improving?” he asks, eyes searching for approval. You see the emptiness behind his facade, the self-serving nature of his so-called love.

With no response, he adjusts your position, lifting you to lean fully against him. His lips brush your head, a gesture that highlights your vulnerability.

As he walk, his voice fills the air—criticizing your weight loss while praising his own efforts to keep you alive. The truth remains: you never asked for his care.

He is an arrogant narcissist, forcefully inserting himself into every aspect of your life, but you remain silent, eyes glazed over, lost in a distant haze.

Outside, the sunlight outside is more intense than what filters through the red curtains, its warmth a stark contrast to the oppressive room. It touches you, igniting a faint spark of desire within your darkened existence.

“What do you think? I made your favorite sweets,” he announces, spreading a cloth beneath a tree and arranging the picnic with practiced precision. Your eyes, drawn to the light, reluctantly shift toward him.

So unusual.

You nearly forget how miraculous sunlight and fresh air once felt. A soft sigh escapes your lips, a subtle sign that doesn’t go unnoticed.

Once deprived of words, he transforms into the picture of a gentleman, catering to your every need—except your mental freedom. He leads you to his meticulously maintained yard, where your room remains a personal prison and the basement a hidden torture chamber.

A walk outside is a privilege granted only to those who have fully surrendered. Nothing could be more perfect, yet it’s the greatest deception of your existence.

The courtyard blooms with pastel flowers, a deceptive beauty that fails to mask his repulsive nature. You hold no particular grudge against the blossoms, but their allure is tainted by the man who arranged them.

Mechanically, you open your mouth, allowing him to feed you treats in your favorite flavors. Cakes, puddings, candies—each bite a reminder of attention you never sought. Sitting on his lap, you feel his eyes on your lips, searching for something more, while you remain acutely aware of your own powerlessness.

Draining your life force isn't enough for him. In this world, no divine intervention can save you from his grasp.

[fictionalslvr]

SYNOPSIS: Your lieutenant has something against you, treating you differently from others. One day, you're exhausted and slap him on the face. But strangely...he asks for one more?

PAIRING: Lieutenant¡Ghost x F Sergeant¡Reader

WORD COUNT:2.138k

WARNINGS: SMUT/NSFW Dom¡Ghost. Masochist¡Ghost. Dirty talk. Ghost being slapped. F¡Being fingered. Masturbation. Cumming in gear. Praises and petnames! Hate sex(kinda?)

NOTES: I've been wanting to write for Ghost for a long while, now that i got time and the perfect plot, here's the meal <3 (want to write König next)

It's been a long while since you joined task 141, and since then, you have a big of a problem to deal with. Your lieutenant, Ghost, is a huge man, who wears a balaclava and a skull mask, that only makes him even scarier, he make you very scared whenever he's around, sneaking close without making sound, and you just notices by the big shadow forming behind you, and when you turns, you see him, standing with his arms crossed on his chest, looking down at you with a face you couldn't read, even if you tried your best, he's impossible to read. You can't know what he thinks about you, he doesn't talk too much, and when he does, it's only to make you foam in anger.

Some days, everyone is training, while Ghost keep an eye at the rookies, walking slowly close to them, his arms crossed on that damn big chest as his boots made a big stomp sound on the ground, each time he's getting closer, and it scares the shit out of you that he's staring at you. He comes closer, and says in his cold deep voice, not showing any emotions at all.

—"You're making it all wrong. Start all again, rookie." —His voice floods your brain, what are you doing wrong? You're doing just like the others. He notices how hesitant and scared you look at him, his voice gets a bit louder and commanding.

—"Do. It. Again." —He says leisurely for you to understand, there's no empathy in his voice. And you start all over again, recounting how many seconds and reps you're doing all over.

And after it, it just keeps going worse, he yells with you almost every day. Making you do more repetitions than the others, making you clean the bathroom on days that weren't yours, making you run for more time than the other, making you do more push-ups. You simply can't believe he's doing this only with you, you're the only one he keeps teasing and making do that kind of thing. It makes you completely angry, you breathe in and out and count to ten, trying to remain calm by the way he keeps treating you. Every damn day, he keeps yelling at you with his harsh voice, he's very rough with his words and his eyes don't show any sip of emotion. You're sure that the problem isn't you, he is the one that has some problem.

—"Here. Clean the bathroom." —Ghost says in his same tone, while he hands you the mop and other things for the cleaning. You sigh and it's decided. You won't accept his orders this time, it's insane how you're the only one he keeps messing with.

—"No." —Gathering the best courage you could, you gulp down and say. Looking him in the eyes, you were confident while standing in front of him.

—"I said…clean the bat—" —He's interrupted by your firm voice, saying it again.

—"And I said I won't do it. It's not my day of cleaning."

You're trembling, your firm voice disappearing slowly as you finish your sentence. You look him in the eyes, your pupils don't stop moving, while you can see that he lifted a brow at you.

—"Who said I care? I'm commanding you to do so, and you will. Because i'm your superior." —Ghost hisses out for you, leaning closer to your figure and pointing at your chest, his voice sounds a bit angry this time. You made him show some emotion, at least.

—"I won't do it!" —You said a bit louder, not looking him in the eyes this time, you look away and say firmly, your fists clenching.

—"How dare you talk to me like this, rookie? Have you lost your mind?" —He grabs you by your chin, forcing you to stare into those deep cold eyes that are eating you alive. Your patience is at the limit, you lift your hands and look away, giving him a full handed slap on his face covered by the mask and the balaclava

You lean back at the same instant, your eyes wide as you notice what you just did. You put your hand in front of your mouth as you gasp. Slowly you step back, wanting to run away from that place and never returning. Ghost is silent, without a word as his face is turned to the other side due to the slap.

—"Do it again."

—"What?!"

—"Slap me again."

Oh my, you are officially a dead woman, you made a big mistake and you're going to regret this. You gulp down and look at his face, he's still looking the other way, and you can't notice anything on his voice as always.

—"I…. i'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." —You tries to step back one more time, but this time, Ghost catches you by your wrists and brings you closer with no gentleness.

—"Do it again."

—"Sir, i can't—"

—"Don't call me sir now." —You start to feel dizzy, feeling your throat becoming dry as you gulp down one more time, you're starting to lose count.

—"Just do it again, it's an order." —With his order, you just close your eyes and do it again, this time a bit more gently. And you hear Ghost groans roughly, his hand on the cheek where you slapped him, even with the mask on.

—"Shit." —He mumbles against his breath, and you can finally notice something different in his voice. Something that you never felt in his voice before, some kind of emotion. He turns his face to you, and you take a good look at his eyes, seeing how for the first time he has a sparkle on it.

—"It's the…first time someone had the audacity to slap me in the face." —Ghost groans again, still feeling the tingle sensation on his cheek.

—"Do it again, it's so goddamn hot." —For a moment, you're silent, as your jaw falls open in shock. Is your lieutenant…liking this?

—"What did you say?!"

—"You heard it. It fucking turns me on." —He leans closer to you, pinning you against the closest wall as his breath hits your face. He's breathing heavily, his body wandering above you as he's groaning like an animal.

—"Sir…this is…" —There's no words to describe how shocked you are. In that small basement room where Ghost pushes your body against the wall, you can feel something hard against your thigh for the proximity, that makes your eyelids flutter

—"Just…just do it again." —And you do so, this time a bit more roughly as you bite your lower lip, a bit confused about what you're doing. But it just felt right, somehow. Ghost is completely amused by the sensation of it, he groans loudly, it's very animalistic.

—"Shit…that's it…" —He mumbles, his breath getting even more heavy as he keeps pushing you into the wall, you're feeling the "thing" on your thigh getting even more bigger, and your eyes are wider than a scared deer. For the first time you hear Ghost chuckles, and he does while looking at you, it makes your core ache for a moment.

—"I knew you were something more, rookie." —Ghost presses you the max he can against the wall, he leans closer to you, his voice breathing warm against your ear as he whispers to you.

—"Then why did you keep treating me differently?"

—"Because I knew you were the perfect one." —His voice is low and drips in desire, it's very new for you. —"Asking for more push-ups...for more reps only so I could see your perfect body, didn't you ever notice?"

Ghost look you into the eyes, the proximity, your bodies glued together, the air of this room keeps getting thicker and your mind blurrier with the desire you're feeling for that man that could only make you foam in anger some minutes before.

—"I never…noticed…" —You whisper, your voice sounding so weak and pathetic. Ghost just chuckles and brings you closer

—"Soldier…let me show you how much I've been craving for your body. How much I was making you angry just to have a look at you. How much I crave for you while jerking off every damn day."

Your face is all red as you're shocked by it, your hands go to his arms, and you grip there, so you wouldn't fall after hearing that. Your knees are weak as his deep voice keeps going into your brain. It's weird to see a man that you could swear that hates you, craving for you now. Every fiber of him yelling in desire as he keeps breathing closely to you.

—"Let me touch you…please?" —He's…asking you permission to touch your body. Your mind is messy, you can only nod with your head and whimper softly. His hands immediately goes to your body when you give him permission, traveling to your waist, and you look so small compared to him.

—"Are you sure?"

—"Yes…yes you can touch me."

—"Good girl, I love hearing you use your words." —His knee goes up from your thighs, only to find his way in your throbbing core, he could feel how much you were wanting this. Ghost chuckles, changing his knee to his hands, going down to your body to meet your wet pussy.

—"My lord…look at this. Already that wet?" —Ghost groans at the feeling of your wetness against his fingers, he even took off his gloves for that, his fingers playing with that thick liquid on your pussy. He chuckles softly.

—"It's okay, baby….you liked slapping me, don't you?" —Your brain is a full mess, you can only grip tight on him as he keeps talking dirty to you. Ghost plays with your clit as he's staring into your soul.

—"Look at me while i play with your clit." —He whispers to you, you lift your pleading eyes to meet him, his eyes have a sparkle of desire that he didn't have before. His fingers go at a fast pace, playing with your intimate part like it was everything he's been wanting for all these months. His fingers are fast, lengthy and he has no pity for you.

Ghost keeps playing with your mental sanity, sending you to the edge of the pleasure while inserting one finger inside your core, and you could only moan loudly for that sensation, it almost made you fall, if you weren't holding his arms, it makes your heart flutter and the pleasure it's making you nonsense. You close your eyes, hiding your face into his big chest, your whines muffled by his body as you keep closing your legs against his hands.

—"No, no…spread those legs for me." —He's playing with the rest of your sanity, making you insane. His other hand forces your leg to keep open, just so he could keep fingering you like this. The sensation can't be described, you felt your anger fading away as he kept touching you like this. Ghost inserts two more fingers in once at you, without any warning. That made you feel all the rest of your sanity vanishing away.

—"Oh sorry…I didn't prepare you well? Come on, I know you can take it."

His voice sounds so hot like this, he keeps groaning at seeing you having your pleasure, it's enough to him, only hearing your soft sounds and how your body reacts to his fingers. He keeps fingering you without shame, his pace getting faster and faster and you're feeling you're getting close to your climax.

—"I'm…close!" —It's all you can manage to say, the words slipping from your tongue with difficulty as you keep being a moaning mess from him. You feel Ghost enjoying this as much as you, as he groans against your ear.

—"Cum for me, princess…you're doing so well." —His whisper is all you needed to hear. A bit seconds after his words, you just came, arching your back a lot as you moan like never before for your lieutenant. You never thought you would do that for someone like him, and Ghost enjoyed it a lot, moaning with you as you came. You're driven to heaven and it's back in seconds, it's overwhelming, you feel your body trembling as you try to recover your breathing slowly. Ghost slowly takes off his fingers, showing the mess you made into his fingers.

—"What about…you?" —Your bashful voice asks, still a little dizzy from the recent climax reached. Ghost just chuckles and shakes his head to the side.

—"Don't worry, your pleasure is everything that matters to me. And after all…i just came together with you."

You look down and notice that his gear is a little wet close to your thighs. He just came with the sight of you having pleasure.

[cinnamoodles]

the language of flowers — part two, irises

warnings: more angst than part one which is great, also reader throwing stuff bc she’s a badass, and in character Anthony which is honestly more of a red flag than ooc Anthony but you love him anyway you nasty :)

word count: 1.4k (wow I impress myself sometimes)

author’s note: we love this part bc reader stands up for herself and Anthony is one major daddy issues boy.

read the other parts! — part one, daises | part three, peonies

i don’t consent for my work to be reposted or copied, translated, or transferred to any other platform, or this one, in part or whole.

--------- . . . ---------

ii. 1804, iridaceae versicolor. irises, trust

Anthony paced the length of this study—which wasn’t all too large, but stress relieving nonetheless. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a tempestuous mix of newfound worry and lingering doubts. Today marked one year, one year without his father, one year his mother was cast into a depressive state, one year since he had taken on the mantle of viscount, and become the father figure that his youngest siblings did not have.

It had been far too long since he had last spoken to you—days? Weeks? He had never gone so long without even seeing your face, and that was a stretch. He’d spent his last few months mourning, brooding, and perhaps being a tad overbearing on himself, but he had to, for the sake of his family’s honour, it’s prestige. 

There’s a sharp knock on his door, it’s most likely Colin or Daphne, who are frequent in irritating him. He makes no effort to open the door, and with a practiced gesture, he dips his quill into the inkwell, resuming his task of poring over the estate's financial matters. How often had his father sat here, absorbed in these very same calculations? A pang of longing pierces through him at the thought, his heart echoing the emptiness his father's absence had left behind.

Another knock.

It must be Colin, his eyes sparkling, attempting to irritate him once again. “I’ve got a job,” he snaps, “and I suggest you get one as well, one that does not involve vexing me at every given minute.”

The door creaks open, candlelight flickering over the stacks of leather bound tomes and haphazardly organized scrolls, casting lanky shadows over his face, playing upon the strong angles, highlighting the lines of exhaustion that marred his usually composed countenance. His normally impeccable attire was slightly disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through his hair in frustration, and his ink-stained fingers spoke of long hours spent in diligent work. He wasn’t in a position to meet anyone, much less usher yet another one of his young siblings out of his room.

“Oh, I vex you? Is that why you've been evading me like the plague?” Your presence was like a sudden burst of sunlight piercing through the storm clouds—startling, yet warmly welcomed. The quill slipped from his fingers as his eyes widened in surprise, locking onto your face, a vision that brought back a flood of memories and feelings he had attempted to suppress.

Your stormy eyes burned through his deep brown ones, and you crossed your hands across your chest. Your soft hair was tucked behind your ear, and your eyes were wide, as if staring directly into Anthony’s soul, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to become lost, to dream, and to gaze into them as if he was merely a boy again, holding you in his arms.

“Say something, Anthony! I’ve not seen you in weeks, properly, and you’ve barely held a conversation with anyone other than your butler, and frankly, I—” 

Anthony quickly wrapped you in a hug, burying his face in your shoulder, your cotton dress soft to the touch. He mumbles. “I missed you.” He can feel you stiffen, but soon gently relax into his arms.

“That is why I came,” you smile, and pull away, holding him at an arm’s distance. “Oh, and my brother is getting married. I wanted to invite you personally to the wedding.” Your oldest brother, twenty eight years of age, was getting married, Anthony recalled. He was, of course, to be the next Duke when your father inevitably passed.

Anthony rubbed his eyes. “My sisters will come, of course, but I may not be able to.” Your invitation was tempting, and the prospect of seeing you again filled Anthony with a mix of excitement and trepidation. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed you until this moment, when you walked in the door. But his responsibilities as the viscount weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he feared that leaving the estate at this crucial time might jeopardize his mother’s already precarious emotional situation.

"I wish I could attend, truly," Anthony replied with a hint of regret in his voice. "But with the estate's financial matters in such disarray, I can't afford to be away for long. I must attend to my duties here."

You frowned slightly, concern glazed across your soft, delicate features. "Anthony, you can't carry the burden of the entire estate on your own. There must be someone who can assist you, even for a short time."

"I've considered that," Anthony admitted, his mind aching from the internal struggle. "But finding someone trustworthy, capable, and knowledgeable enough to handle the estate's affairs is not an easy task. I fear leaving things in someone else's hands might cause more harm than good.”

You crossed your arms, frustration evident in your expression. "Anthony, you can't keep shutting yourself off from the world. Your family's honor and prestige won't matter if you run yourself into the ground!"

He takes a step back, feeling defensive under your stern gaze. "I am taking care of things. I'm doing what I need to do to ensure the estate's survival, which is all that matters to me, at this point in time."

"Are you?" you snap, your voice tinged with disappointment that Anthony could see etched in your face. "You've barely spoken to anyone, including me, for weeks. You're burying yourself in work, and for what? To prove some sort of point? That you’re fit to be the man of the house?"

"I don't have a choice," Anthony replied tersely. "As the viscount, it's my duty to oversee everything. And after losing my father, I can't afford to let anything else slip through my fingers."

"You can't live in the past, Anthony," you urged, taking a step closer to him. "Your father's gone, and while it's natural to mourn, you can't let grief consume you. Of course, you have responsibility—"

His jaw clenched, and he shot back, "Responsibility? What would you know of responsibility? You don't understand the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. I can't just leave everything behind and go gallivanting off to weddings, like an immature child."

Pain flashed across your face, but Anthony was much too in his head to take a look at his surroundings. He continued, as if possessed by some spirit. “You’ve never had to work a day in your life. You’re spoiled, and the only thing your family has ever thought of doing for you is getting you married.” He spit. “So why don’t you worry about your responsibilities, and I’ll worry about mine.”

A single tear fell from your eye, and in that moment, Anthony wished he could take it all back, swallow the poison he had thrown at you so mercilessly. “I…” you bite your lip, and he wanted to take you in his arms, comfort you, and hold you.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I’m sorry for whatever sin I’ve done to have you treat me like this.” You quickly wipe your tears and rush to the door. Anthony wanted to stop you, to scream about how he didn’t mean any of the words he said.

You quickly turn around, revealing a bouquet of irises, the specific ones Anthony had commented on the last time he visited your estate. He could barely remember when. “By the way, I bought you flowers. I thought they’d cheer you up,” you retort, before throwing the delicately tied bunch of flowers straight to his head, hitting his nose.

The door slammed, and Anthony was once again left alone, only this time, he’d have done anything to bring you back. Slowly, the petals of the irises cascaded down onto the ground, fracturing the flowers, and Anthony noticed a small piece of paper.

The Guide for Flora for Debutantes: In the quaint world of botany, the charming iris blooms have long been regarded as symbolic emissaries of trust and faithfulness. Like an ancient scroll unraveling before our very eyes, the iris, with its alluring hues and delicate petals, unravels the story of steadfast devotion and allegiance. Just as an honest man's handshake vouches for his sincerity, the iris bestows its trust upon those who approach with an open heart and gentle touch, and a receiving of this gentle bloom from either gender discloses that the gifter trusts you with their whole heart. Its regal demeanor, reminiscent of a gallant knight in armor, instills in us the assurance that this flower is a beacon of loyalty and constancy.

Trust. You had trusted him, and what had he done with that? He’d tossed it away, and your gift had broken. Anthony wasn’t usually one for symbolism, but these broken irises were pretty damn apparent.

[devilworeprada]

‘can i get a bump?’

summary: drugs, sex and alcohol.. when your best friend throws an end of semester rager, you mix a bad habit of partying with sarah’s arrogant kook older brother and his best friend - what could possibly go wrong? 18+

pairing: rafe cameron x topper x fem!reader

warnings: NSFW, heavy drug use, heavy drugging, DUBCON, NONCON, threesome, coercion, dumbification, degradation, corruption, all around mature themes.

notes: hi! this is my first dark fan-fiction, after reading so many I decided to start writing some of my own works, apologises if this isn’t the best I do love writing and hopefully this gives me a chance to get better <3 this will be in 2 parts enjoy!

© to devilworeprada. no translations/reposts.

part 1.

Last night.

The sky was midnight blue, specks of white fluttered across the horizon. The crackling of your lighter distracted you from noticing Sarah’s shiny black volvo, quietly pulling up on the road next to the beach.

Watching the waves greeting each other comforted you, you heard your best friend scrambling around to find her belongings in her car.

“Oh my fucking gooooood…” the feminine voice whined from a distance.

You turn your head slightly behind you to see your friend Sarah dragging herself onto the beach.

A look of exhaustion seen across her face, “finals are killing me… please find a new best friend i’m going to die” she uttered before dramatically collapsing onto the warm sand.

You smiled at her scene, cigarette smoke leaving your mouth as you spoke “very funny Sarah, but i don’t have the funding for your funeral right now”.

Sarah lifted her head from the sand, giggling to herself while she sneakily tried to grab your idle pack of lucky strike cigarettes. You playfully smacked her hand as she successfully grabbed one.

“hey, Y/N it’s been a long fucking time since we’ve had a party.. like a rager type shit right..?” Sarah questioned while lighting her cigarette.

“I mean with finals and moving out, i guess i forgot how to get fucked up” you joked.

“you… Y/N… the bitch who did K with Mr. Johnson from history class? forgetting how to party? you’re so fucking unserious” sarah remarked, her laughter filling the air with how silly the concept sounded.

“Oh my god why did you remind me of that” you put your hands in your hair internally screaming, no. embarrassed, at the memories flooding your mind.

Your history teacher for last year, Mr. Johnson, a 6’5, 29 year old dirty blonde heartthrob had gotten fired for smoking in his classroom. Being the outgoing, bubbly and fun loving girl you were, you invited him to one of sarah’s infamous parties - long story short JJ and sarah walked in on Mr. Johnson, shirtless and dazed, snorting Ket off of your inner thigh.

Sarah too stunned to speak and JJ not being able to hold in his laughter, the night shortly ended for Mr. Johnson as he ran out the cameron’s front door - not wanting to spend the rest of that night in holding.

“But a rager… sounds interesting, i mean finals are over and it’s the end of our semester right?” you added, quickly trying to change the topic as your cheeks flushed with those blurry flashbacks of that night.

Sarah stretched her arms over her head and flicked away whatever was left of her tiny cigarette before she mentioned happily, “my parents aren’t in town either!”

“fuck.. Rafe is though..”

Her face darkened, knowing the history the both of you shared.

That name. Rafe fucking Cameron.

Just hearing it made your shoulders feel heavy, Rafe was Sarah’s older brother, and god did you wish she had no relation to the arrogant cunt.

You always had bad blood with rafe, completely one sided.. he just hated you for being a pogue. Years of constant frosty glares being exchanged, passive aggressive comments and the occasional threat from the taller blonde.

But the tipping point of your cold war with Rafe was when he found out you were an addict. Rumours of your bad habit spread throughout school, you didn’t care though knowing you had friends who lived the same almost worse lifestyles.

However, when Rafe heard of this, he chose to purposefully buy out your supplier just to fuck with you. As if he got off on knowing the withdrawals drove you crazy.

You were snapped out of thought when the small blonde put a light up to her lips, turning the end of the pale cigarette an amber hue, handing it to you with care.

“Y/N i know how you feel about Rafe so i’ll tell him to keep out of your way, kay?” she looked at you, able to tell you were bothered.

“I’ll tell him and his idiot friends to get us some drugs n’ let JJ and Pope take care of the drinks this time” hoping it would lighten you up.

“Thank you” you spoke, with a grin entering your face again while you took a drag of your cig.

“Rager it is then!” you exclaimed, getting up and dusting the sand off your shorts. Sarah shouted happily in response, both chuckling in unison and running off into her car.

Tonight.

A noisy somewhat crowded street could be seen from afar, bass filled music bumping and college kids drunk of out their mind to care about who was looking, a full moon gleaming ahead - brightening the landscape of teenage recklessness.

“Y/N! Sarah!” two male voices yelled in the distance, jogging up to the pair of you in the black car, it was JJ and Pope urging you both to hurry up. The two boys holding booze in each hand meticulously making sure they didn’t drop it.

“One minute my mascara is pissing me off” Sarah complained, grabbing at the silver tube on her lap, you both consulted about outfits with each other at your place, getting ready to 2000s era songs.

The two of you came to a conclusion, you were wearing a shiny ruby toned halter neck dress, the texture was velvety- rich and it hugged all of your curves. Which Sarah then shamelessly praised you on while walking to her car.

Sarah adorned a cream colour tube dress, the sleeveless dress showcasing her dainty frame focusing on her neck and chest.

“You look so fucking hot y/n” JJ ogled, earning a playful smack on the head from Pope.

“I’ll bite you JJ” you teased back.

“Let’s fucking do this thing” Sarah yelled in joy, stumbling to get out of the car just as Kesha started roaring from the ivory estate across the street

Upon stepping into the Cameron mansion, you were welcomed with the strangely sweet smell of weed and fruity puff bars. Immediately you headed into the kitchen bumping past a few senseless shoulders to get yourself a drink, if you were going to run into Rafe you at least wanted to be fucked up enough to forget the interaction.

The kitchen island was scattered with a myriad of booze, all different flavours and brands. Without hesitation you grabbed an idle red solo cup and poured in the nearest tequila.

“Isn’t that a bit too much for a girl your age” a familiar voice questioned, perking up from the overly loud rendition of Poker face booming amongst the large room.

“Topper..” you replied rolling your eyes, venom stained in your voice.

“I get it, not much of a talker anymore since the dealer shit right?” the taller male responded trailing on.. “you seen Rafe around?”.

“I’m 18. shit for brains, i can drink whatever the fuck i want, and no i haven’t seen Rafe. Do i look like a cop to you?” you spat back, looking at Topper as he lit his joint, the sides of his mouth smirking at your remark.

“My bad, just thought Rafe’s little pet would know where he was at all times..” he boasted, running a free hand through his hair.

You gritted your teeth at the edge of the solo cup, gnawing at it, wishing it was his skull.

“Don’t let him catch you looking like this.. I know i’d eat you alive” he mentioned while gawking at you, dark blue orbs creeping up and down your body. His eyes feeling like a violation, fixating on your hips.

“Eat a dick Topper” you snapped back, causing the older male to wheeze in response.

You walked off, heels clicking and bottle of tequila in hand to find JJ, hopefully talking to him while he was off it would cause your mood to brighten up.

The living room was packed with people pulsing to a techno beat, smoke filled the air while an array of various coloured lights swished back and forth. ‘I need some fucking coke’ you thought to yourself, getting bumped around like a rag doll trying to get out of the haze and up the stairs.

Slamming doors open and shut on a mission to find JJ was tiring, assuming Rafe was with a girl in one of the guest bedrooms soured your mood. It made your frantic search for JJ faster, just for the night maybe you could fuck JJ? Your thoughts trailed off as you took a swig of your tequila.

“‘Do i want to fuck Rafe?’.

end of part 1.

[thexsanctuaryx]

ʚ♡ɞ I'll Follow You Into the Dark ʚ♡ɞ

{ CHAPTER TWO }

➳ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Summary: A different kind of morning after. Marc learns a little more about what Emma is going through and Emma becomes more certain than ever that Marc might just be an honest to God angel. Pairing: { eventual } Original Character { Emma Harper } x Marc Spector, Emma Harper x Steven Grant, and Emma Harper x Jake Lockley Contents: mental hospitals, psychiatric hold, slight bullying by another patient, angst { I guess? I don't know what else to call it. }, hurt/comfort-esque vibes Warnings: severe mental illness { psychosis, hallucinations, depression }, main character is actively in psychosis, I've done my best to write it in the least triggering way but there are a lot of heavy themes that will take place in this series, so forewarning. Marc is a danger to himself here but it's only really alluded to in this part. mental hospitals. bullying by Emma's roommate. typical misunderstanding and misinterpretation that comes with psychosis. due to the nature of Emma's psychosis, things are very unhealthily skewed in a religious context. triggering themes related to the aforementioned. Author's Note: I recently finished reading Tear Down My Reason by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction and it inspired me to work on an idea I've been playing with about Emma and the Boys meeting while both in a mental hospital at the same time. I wanted to write a series that would help other people with severe mental illness feel seen and heard as there really AREN'T works out there like this, especially not actually written by people with firsthand experience of things like psychosis. This series is being written with a lot of love and care so I truly hope that it can be cathartic for those who read who might also live with mental illness because you DO matter and your stories DO deserve to be told. Word Count: 1,599 Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

The next morning, Marc wakes up on too little sleep, vaguely aware of the nurse wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm.

He takes in a deep breath, forgetting where he is for a second before the memories come flooding back to him.

He releases the breath in a heavy sigh, inwardly hating himself for winding up here. Again. The nurse finishes taking his vitals and tells him they’ll be leaving for breakfast soon.

Somehow, eating food seems like the last thing he wants to do and he debates whether or not to stay back.

His eyes pop open with a start when he remembers her. His resolve to talk to her again is challenged by both his exhaustion and the self-loathing belief that he couldn’t possibly help her.

‘I want to see her again, Marc…’ Jake sounds off.

‘And you need to eat something—can’t go runnin’ around on nothing…’

“I don’t plan on doing any running, Steven…”

‘Marc…’ Jake presses.

Marc pushes out another sigh, swinging his legs out and leaning over the side of the bed, burying his face in his hands.

He walks over to the small plastic cubby on the wall that holds his clothes, pulling on an oversized sweatshirt and running a hand over his face.

He steps out into the hallway, looking in either direction, and notices he’s one of the first to be up. Typical. He releases a yawn and moves toward the day room to see if she’s in there.

The room is all but empty but he finds a seat, slumping back the same way he had the night before.

‘I hope she’s doing a bit better today…she looked so frightened last night…’

Marc doesn’t want to show any concern for her, a girl he doesn’t even know, but there’s an underlying worry in his gut.

“Me too, buddy, me too…” He mumbles, telling himself it’s only for Steven’s sake.

More patients filter into the room and still she’s nowhere to be seen.

Half an hour later they’re calling everyone to line up if they’re going to breakfast.

He pushes from the chair and makes his way to the line.

She catches his eye, coming out of the room furthest to the end of the hallway on the right, just before the locked entrance to the wing. He notes that she’s still wearing a standard issue hospital gown instead of real clothing.

She’s talking to one of the floor staff, looking confused the same way she did last night, before they usher her to the end of the line.

Marc abandons his place near the middle to join her.

“Hey…” He gently greets her. “How’d you sleep?” He asks, hoping she’s more lucid today.

“Sleep?” She repeats, her mind working over his question.

Another voice chimes in over her, “she slept in the shower after she put on my clothes…” Another girl says grumpily, before she really looks at Marc.

When she takes him in, she clears her throat, straightening up a little bit and smoothing out her clothes. “You’re new…” She says, brightening a little.

Marc pays less than an ounce of attention to her after she explains what happened with Emma.

“Are you okay?” He asks her softly and frowning, wanting to reach out to give her some kind of physical comfort but knowing he shouldn’t.

Emma’s eyebrows pull together, shaking her head quickly just before their attention is pulled away to the staff leading them out of the wing and down through the building to the cafeteria.

As they go through the line, Emma takes hardly anything to eat which only settles more worry in Marc’s stomach.

She goes to sit alone, setting her tray down and pulling her hands into her lap, fiddling anxiously with her fingers.

Marc makes his way over, eyeing all of the other tables of people who’d grouped up.

Her roommate can be seeing staring at her from one such group, clearly gossiping about ‘the new girl’ to avid listeners.

“Can I sit with you?” He asks, keeping his voice as light as he can.

Emma nods quickly, scowling at her lap.

“Thanks,” He replies, trying to get her to talk as he slides into the chair next to her that intentionally blocks her from her roommate’s view.

“You should try to eat something, it’ll make you feel better…” He suggests.

Emma shakes her head, avoiding his eyes.

Marc nods, scrunching up the side of his face, “yeah…I’m not really hungry either…”

The other two in his mind watch quietly with bated breath.

“Y’know, I wanted to say last night…you’re not dead, you’re in the hospital, this isn’t—”

Emma looks up at him wide-eyed, so sure once again that it’s a test. She can’t even form coherent words.

Marc pauses, able to tell that no matter what he says, she’s just not capable of understanding right now.

“Are you scared of me?” He asks gently.

Emma is quick to shake her head.

She wants to tell him that she’s sure he’s an angel, sent to guide her through this process.

After all, no one had been nearly as kind to her since she’d gotten here. And he had been there as soon as she’d landed here, wherever here was.

Her response provokes Marc to worry that if Steven or Jake were to come forward she might become scared.

He tries to find a way to tell her without perpetuating whatever confusion is going on in her brain right now.

‘Careful, Marc…’ Jake reminds him.

Emma seems to be lost in her own thoughts as Marc watches her. He can almost see her battling people within her own mind.

“Are you hearing people in your head?” He asks, keeping his tone in check.

Emma nods quickly, casting her eyes to her lap again.

“I know what that’s like…” Marc nods.

Again, he wants so badly to explain to her about Steven and Jake but he knows how tricky it would be to do so without scaring her in her present state.

“Sometimes—…” He starts.

He presses his lips together with another scowl.

“Sometimes, I might not be…me…sometimes you might see Steven…or Jake…they’re friends of mine and we…we sorta—share— a body…”

Emma’s eyes fly to his, widening again, looking more than a little nervous, her voice tremoring, “l-like possession?”

‘Well done, Marc, scare the poor girl…’ Steven rolls his eyes.

Marc keeps his tone light, with a quiet, tense laugh. “More like roommates…in my brain…”

“A-are you sure they’re not…demons?”

“I’m sure…” He nods, taking no offense to the question as he starts to piece together what her brain is going through at present.

“Is that what you think you’re hearing right now?” He asks.

Emma nods quickly and then shakes her head, “That is what I’m hearing…and—I think some of the people here might be—ya know—” She pauses, giving him a look, “too…”

Marc glances around, nodding again with a pinch of his eyebrows. “I can see why you’d say that. But they’re not…they’re just sick…”

Emma stares at her untouched meal tray, swallowing, unconvinced.

“I promise if you see Steven or Jake, you don’t have to be afraid of them, in fact…they help me when I’m  scared…”

“Th-they do?” She stammers.

Marc gives her a look of certainty, nodding slowly with a warm hum of an, “Mhmm…”

“So they’re more like, angels then?” She asks hopefully.

Marc can’t help a soft but good natured laugh, “Yeah, kinda I guess…”

His laughter puts her more at ease. She nods in seeming understanding.

Marc eyes her tray, knowing it can’t possibly be good for her condition to not eat.

“I’ll eat three bites if you do?” He offers, strategically inserting a number of significance to the kind of spirituality that her brain seems fixated on.

Emma summons a deep breath and lets it out in a huff of a sigh through her nose, scowling at her plate.

But her brain deduces that three is a good number, like God. So she agrees.

Marc can just see the gears turning in her brain, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been hoping using the number three specifically wouldn’t make her more inclined.

She reaches for her fork, stabbing at her eggs haphazardly. She gives him a questioning look when she raises the first bite to her mouth, waiting for the go ahead.

Marc nods and offers a quiet smile, likewise reaching to take a bite of his own.

Emma watches him carefully, waiting for him to do it with her.

As they take the bite together, in some indescribable way, it makes her trust him.

She takes the second bite more easily, doing so without him but still keeping an eye on him to make sure he’ll eat too.

She’s not sure if angels eat human food, but her logic is that if it’s good for her to eat, it must also be good for him. And despite everything, she wants so badly to help him too.

Marc takes a sip of orange juice and then repeats the bite from before.

This affirms to her that he keeps his promises and she takes the final bite.

‘Nicely done, Marc—think she’s starting to like you…’ Steven tells him more genuinely this time, the grin in his voice evident.

Marc likewise can’t keep another light smile from his lips as he finishes his own third bite.

It doesn’t even occur to him, that in this moment, he’s all but completely forgotten the real reason he’s here.

[gravitytrips]

Bits of Glass 12

From the Organized Medical Journal of Felix Ludwig.

File name: Bits of Glass

Note: This document will be written in English so that the Lady Administrator may read it with ease.

Date: 14.02.1969

Unfortunately, my illness persists. I have been caring for myself as much as possible so that I may return to Jeremy’s side.

Tragedy struck last night. Mick has fallen ill as well.

I assume that this is because of his visit in the vents.

He attempted to isolate himself in his camper van, but eventually had to come back inside due to his flooding of his van’s facilities.

Of the four hours he has been in here, he has been in the bathroom for at least three. The sickness is coming from both ends, to put it nicely.

I have put him on the same medication that I am taking, so he should be well soon enough.

I will be well enough to return to Jeremy’s side tomorrow. 

———————————————————————

Good news! My fever broke almost immediately after my previous entry. After a few hours, I was well enough to return to caring for Jeremy.

When he first saw me, he was incredibly frightened. I had completely forgotten to approach him slowly and gently in my rush to ensure his health. I am also sure that my disheveled appearance may have surprised him.

Fortunately, I caught myself in time and retreated to make a slower approach.

When Jeremy recognized me, he seemed relieved. Mikhail informed me that all of them were very worried while I was gone.

Jeremy’s health has seemingly remained constant, so I will instead write on Mick’s health.

He is bad off.

Fortunately, the diarrhea has stopped, but his ceaseless nausea continues. None of the nausea medicine I give him helps. He dry heaved for nearly an hour before his body was too exhausted to go on. He is asleep in my office now.

I need to give him his medicine, but I hate to wake him. Sleep is a kind path out of illness and he struggles to get into this state. If I wake him now, he may not be able to go back to sleep, and that would be quite the curse.

He is sweating profusely, but cannot keep any fluids down. I worry about how dehydrated he is becoming.

I have been able to force him to keep solid medicine down, so he shall hopefully recover soon.

I will update tomorrow.

@aerowolf

@callme-adam-iguess

@paranoidginger

@wokeuptraveledstraightintothesun

@ratlordsarah

@treatsf

@scouts-cosplays

[drawingdroid]

Melting Point: Chapter III

A Sculptor Din Djarin x Art PhD Reader Series

Read Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II

Chapter III: The Father/Yield Strength

Summary: It's your first day working for Din Djarin and you learn some personal things about him, but the highlight of the afternoon is seeing again the little boy!

Words: 3306

Warnings: In this chapter topics about war are discussed! It's brief but if that triggers you, take care! This is a slow burn, you've been warned!; a lot of talking about Art and PhD life; Reader is not Grogu's nanny but this is very Grogucentric if that makes sense; And Reader is Din's employee too; Very grumpy and antisocial Mando; Grogu is human but the only thing described are his eyes; Reader appearance is left blank; Age gap of 10-15 years; Fluff fluff fluff

A/N: Happy New Year y'all! Wow, holidays are exhausting and I just wanted to isolate and write, so I'm glad to have this out finally. I'm so thankful for your comments and notes, they made the world to me! Even though I don't answer, (it's in my New Year's resolutions to overcome that anxiety) I read you and my heart warms up! Anyway, hope you enjoy ol' gruff Mando, I promise he's warming up the next chapter, but I love to stay truthful to the character and write him rough around the edges. Tell me what you think!

In the end, you could have saved yourself the embarrassment of asking for his name, because it was all over the work contract he emailed you the next morning. After the realisation that you knew each other from the opening, you had asked briefly about his son and left awkwardly. Why he hadn’t said anything was a mystery to you, although you suspected that he, indeed, didn’t like you. But it didn’t make sense that he hired someone he didn’t like. You sighed, realizing you were overthinking again.

Still not able to recover from the fact that your new boss was also the attractive dad you had met at the art exhibition, you walked through the faculty to meet Professor Armorer again. She didn't greet you this time, concentrated on a piece she was hammering. You waited by the forge, mesmerized by the sheer force she possessed and the hypnotizing colours of red hot beskar. It was a beautiful spectacle. Finally, she was satisfied with the piece, she introduced it in cold water, provoking smoke to form.

"You've met him." She said after the prolonged silence, the visor of her mask fixated on you now while she discarded her plier. You nodded, growing every day more accustomed to the economic use of the language of both your professor and your boss.

"He definitely needed help." You commented, picturing the hell of a table where he had his documents piling.

"I think you'll be able to learn a lot from each other." your tutor said mysteriously. You didn't know how you were supposed to teach anything to a professional sculptor like him, you'll be happy just giving him a hand, but you didn't say anything.

"I'm grateful for this opportunity Professor, I'll be able to stay in Nevarro thanks to you both." You said with humility and she nodded in acknowledgement.

"Now that you're more established, I'm arranging a meeting for you to know your colleagues. I'll send you the details soon." You'd been eager to meet the members of your investigation group since you had read the articles they published in prestigious art magazines. Their work was outstanding, and they were pioneers in a laser technique that revolutionized art restoration. You felt like a nobody in comparison to them. Probably that was why you didn't receive the scholarship.

"I'm looking forward to meeting them." You tried to sound cheerful but your feelings of unworthiness were starting to flood your insides. If your professor noticed it, you were unaware of it.

"One more thing. I'm emailing you a list of the readings you must prepare before the meeting. You'll be able to find most of them in the faculty library." You smiled at the prospect of immersing yourself in new knowledge and nodded, this time enthusiastically. Then she returned to her work without saying anything more and that was your cue to leave but you couldn't get your feet to move.

"Professor." She lifted her gaze from the anvil, letting you know you had her attention. "Who was the scholarship given to?" You asked in a small voice. She took her time responding.

"Genetic Engineer. Penn Pershing." She revealed and then started to melt Beskar again. 

You left the workshop buried deep in thought, but feeling a bit relieved. It was normal that the university prioritised something as important as generic engineering over art. You convinced yourself to feel a little less bad about the scholarship. Art didn't save lives, you reflected. Discovering the formula for organ clonation did. You decided to move on and start focusing on the present moment. Your research, your job and your writing, so you decided to head to the library to find the books Professor Armourer had sent until it was time to head to work. 

The sky was as grey as Beskar when you left the library with a pile of books in your arms. Luckily, they had most of them as your tutor had said, but you'd have to be imaginative to find the most rare of them. 

The volcanic activity of Nevarro sometimes made the sky this heavy colour, but today it looked more like a storm was forming as the breeze was cold and smelled like rain. You ran to the bus, not wanting under any circumstance that the books you had just lent ended molten because of the weather. On the bus ride, you started reading one of the books that had caught your attention the most: Ritual Weapons of Mandalorian Culture. An anthropological view. There was a dense introduction about the importance of weapons in Mandalorian religion and then the first chapter depicted the most important of them, something called The Darksaber. You observed the drawing of the sword. It looked like how you imagined a black hole to be and the view gave you shivers. According to the writer, it was lost in The Purge, as the majority of Mandalorian devices and art. You sighed and closed the book, noticing you had arrived at your destination. You looked up to check the sky. It was darker than before and you'll swear you could hear thunder. Great.

Your boss had told you yesterday that he always left the door unlocked so you could just slip in without knocking every time, so you went inside the workshop carrying the heavy pile of books and deposited them in your workspace 

"I'm here!" It looked like he was nowhere to be seen, and you started preparing your computer to open the spreadsheet where you had been tracking all his documents. No way you were using the 90's antique he had lying on the desk.  

After 20 or 25 minutes, you grew worried. His truck was at the door, so he had to be inside. Your overactive brain started to generate possibilities. Maybe he'd had an accident and was lying in some corner of the studio? Bleed dry? Unconscious? You just got this job, your boss couldn't die the second day at work! You checked your phone but you didn't have any message from him, so you started wandering around the studio.

Soon you forgot you were looking for your boss's corpse. You hadn't had the opportunity to see any of his sculptures since the wire he had been welding yesterday didn't have any information about the project he was working on. But when you ventured further into the workshop, finally you saw some pieces of his in different states of completion here and there. It was clear that his primary material was metal, but you could see some stone and clay ones too. There was something familiar in all of them, but you supposed it was that they took inspiration from traditional Mandalorian art.

The styles were diverse, it didn't look like he stuck with one but more likely he explored different techniques depending on the project. For some reason, no finished piece was to be seen, but there were two sculptures in a corner that caught your attention. They looked more traditional than the other artwork since there were clearly two human busts, a man and a woman, portrayed in a semi-realistic way. They were made from molten bronze that looked like lava cooled down, which made them very expressive, but your favourite detail about them was the missing parts of the faces as if the sculptor had forgotten part of the model's features as he had been modelling them. 

You observed the sculptures for some time until a cough behind you made you jump.

"Sorry! I didn't want to pry…" You turned in your heels to be welcomed by the wall of your boss's expansive chest. You felt so embarrassed you could die right there but then you noticed.

He wasn't wearing the mask.

Angular jaw covered by stubble, beautiful aquiline noise and plump lips framed by a neat moustache. You couldn't get yourself to meet his eyes though. It was already impolite how you were staring at his face.

"You work here." He said simply in his beautiful baritone voice as if that gave you full permission to nose around the studio. "Sorry for being late." Then you noticed he had been caught in the rain as his shoulders looked soaked. You were so mesmerized by the sculptures you didn't notice that indeed, the storm had started.

"No worries." You responded. Finally, you dared to not evade his gaze and be polite enough to look up.

 Oh, Maker. Were those the warmest pair of eyes you had ever seen?

They looked kind, and welcoming. And also sad and tired. Terribly sad. You felt a knot in your throat and had to look away. 

"This…this bust they're…incredible." You said deflecting the attention from the effect that gaze had had on you, even though you regretted not having picked a better word to depict your admiration. Looking again at them after having seen his face, you noticed something. "Are they your family?" You ventured. The look-alike was evident even though the portraits were fractioned. He lifted his brows with a hint of surprise and took his time to answer. You regretted being so nosy immediately.

"My parents." He answered in a raspier voice than usual. You nodded and smiled kindly, but still wondered if you had made him upset.

"I see." You fidgeted uncomfortably. For some reason, any of you were moving. The air was tense. "I should be starting with that paperwork." You finally got yourself together and looked at his face again. His head was a bit tilted to his right as if he was deep in thought. You noticed his soaked hair was dark and wavy, now plastered to his head because of the rain. "You should probably go dry yourself a bit." His dark chocolate eyes fixated on yours and he slowly nodded, moving so you could return to your desk.

You smiled again and returned to work. Now that you were under his gaze, you noticed how wild your heart was racing. He was your boss, you had to put yourself together. It didn't matter that he was crazy talented and incredibly handsome. After some deep breaths, you were able to calm yourself and return to work when he made an appearance again. Apparently, he had changed his overalls for dry ones and thank god he was wearing his usual welding mask.

"I've restocked the fridge uh…and there's a kettle if you want some tea." He was fidgeted with a towel he probably had used to dry his hair, because the strands were now looking into every direction. "It's starting to get colder." 

"That's thoughtful of you, thanks." You tried to be relaxed and natural. It was easier without having those incredible eyes staring at you. He nodded and then left you with the paperwork. Soon you could hear the familiar sounds of the cutting machine and then a hammer. Today he didn't turn on the radio.

After finally achieving to order all the invoices by date and introducing all the data about suppliers in your growing spreadsheet, you gave yourself permission to stretch and make use of that kettle.

The kitchenette was old but clean and it had everything one could need. You looked through the cupboards and, to your surprise, your boss had a good collection of teas. You decided to go for a comforting blend called Apple pie chai. Cute, you thought. You wondered if he would fancy some too and prepared two mugs. While waiting for the water to boil, you stuck your nose in the fridge. There were sweet and savoury snacks and some fruit too. You went for the apples to complement the tea and cut them into bite-sized pieces for both of you and then put some dark chocolate next to them. When the tea was ready, you put everything on a tray and went to the bench he was working on.

"Snack?" You asked softly offering the tray. He lifted his gaze from his work and it took a bit for him to react until he nodded and lifted his welding mask.

"Thank you." He picked the mug closer to him with his orange-fingered gloves still on. Closing his eyes, he smelled the aroma of the tea. "It's been a while since I've had this one."

"Though it matched with the autumn weather." Even though it was still the beginning of September, the temperature drop looked more like a full autumnal afternoon. Then both of you enjoyed your drinks and snacks looking to the rain through the huge windows for a while until he talked.

"Will you arrive home safely with this storm?" He then asked. It didn't look like it was going to stop anytime soon and you looked worried at the pile of books you had brought from the library, frowning. "I can give you a ride." He offered, noticing your worry for the precious cargo. You'll normally brush away an offer like that, but it wasn't a single possibility that you and the books would arrive dry to your dorm. 

"I'll appreciate that a lot, but only if is not a bother. I live a bit far away from here." 

"Don't worry about it." He then finished his tea and put his welding mask down again, resuming work. That was your cue to return to your desk now, but first, you washed everything you had used and dried it.

The rest of the afternoon was quiet, the incessant rain just interrupted by thunder from time to time, and after some time a a lot of sticky notes, you had organised a huge part of the table not only by theme but by date too. You didn't want to pry much, so you had been just overeading the documents a bit. Electricity bills, client invoices, supplier info, everything was now in neat stacks. You hadn't checked the time. It was almost 17:00. Your boss had noticed too, because he approximated you and stopped in his tracks when he saw the piles of documents.

"This is…" He observed everything like he couldn't believe it. "Thank you." He added sincerely, now looking at you. 

You smiled smugly, knowing you were efficient.

"I have a system, I can explain it to you tomorrow, but in the meantime, it would be great to get some folders." You said while picking your things. "I'll also start digitalizing everything and entering the data in a spreadsheet so it's easier to find everything." He nodded slowly. It wasn't clear who was the boss at this moment. 

He nodded again in approval. Your gaze met his mask, fixing the t-shaped visor in it. You had liked working in silence with him this afternoon. Sometimes you had observed how he welded the thick wire or bent it at his will. It looked like he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“We should be going,” Din said before starting to remove his mask and gloves. You nodded and picked up the pile of books you brought from the library. He disconnected the electricity and put on his brown leather jacket and you both were ready to leave. His truck was parked at the door, but the rain was pouring so hard you thought you better run for the sake of the books, nevertheless without a word, your boss opened a battered umbrella and covered you. “Go inside.”

You looked at him wide-eyed for the kind gesture and obliged, rushing to the passenger door. He opened it for you and in a heartbeat was seated in the driver’s seat. You gave him your address and he started the car. The truck was indeed old, but under his hands, it worked like clockwork. He drove with confidence even in the storm with terrible visibility. You noticed through the mirror the baby car seat behind. 

“Thank you for the ride, I wouldn’t have survived this storm” you said softly, looking at the road. He hummed acknowledging your words and continued driving in silence. You were tense and weren’t sure if you should try small talk or not, a million thoughts going through your mind.

“I need to pick up Grogu before dropping you,” he said after a while, a hint of something you didn’t recognize in his steady voice. 

“Of course, it’ll be great to see the little guy again!” You were surprised but happy to meet the cute toddler so soon. He was just so cheerful, especially in contrast with his gruff dad. It looked like mentioning his son softened him a bit because it was him who gave small talk a try.

“Uh…you have a lot of books there.” You smiled and looked at him and he passed his right hand through his hair. 

“Those were the ones Professor Amorer told me to read for my thesis,” you explained. “I already started one about weapons, it’s so interesting.”

“How so?” 

You shifted in your seat, growing excited to speak about your favourite topic. “There’s an entire chapter dedicated to this ancient weapon, The Darksaber. Almost anyone has seen it and the text leaves unclear what it is exactly, but the stories say that the one who has it shall rule Mandalore.”

Din visibility tensed and clenched his jaw and you wondered what had you said to fuck up. Ever his knuckles grabbing the steering wheel turned white.

“It isn’t like there’s anything left to rule anyways.” His tone was sour and you felt terrible for being so unthoughtful.

“I’m truly sorry for your loss, I’ve been tactless.” You lowered your head in shame, not looking at him. After the Great Purge, Mandalorians were refugees without a land to come back to, and you sometimes forgot that in your excitement, even though that was the destruction of Mandalore was first reason you were driven to study and preserve Mandalorian Art. Watching so much heritage being destroyed in The Purge, some of it stolen or trafficked in the black market, gave you the push to focus on the topic. You remembered being a girl and watching the bombings on the TV, the horror. It was a genocide and the annihilation of a beautiful culture. For you, preserving their Art was, in a way, to preserve their memory.

“It’s alright, it’s been a while.” He looked sad now, although you couldn’t really tell because of his permanent scowl. You didn’t talk again until he stopped the truck. “We’re here, it’ll be just a moment.”

With the umbrella from before, he rushed to the front door of a single-family home. Despite of the heavy rain, you could see the lawn was well taken for. A woman appeared from inside, and you could see she had long hair and a kind smile. She handed the boy to Din and waved to them when they left. You noticed a little girl appeared behind the woman and waved to them too. You wondered who they were.

“Here you are…” Din strapped the kid in his seat and you couldn’t help but turn to greet him. 

“Hi little man, how was your afternoon?” Grogu squeaked excitedly, giving you a toothy smile.

“It seems like he remembers you.” His dad had returned to the driver’s seat and he looked softer now. You couldn’t help but feel relieved, the conversation had been a bit tense before. “Did you have a good time with Winta?” He asked the child, and the little one started an incomprehensible debriefing with his dad.

“That looks like a lot of fun!” You commented, and the kid looked at you with those dark, bright eyes. You smiled at him and he reached with his hand to you. Obliging to his silent petition, you let him grab your hand with his little one. It was when you heard something you weren’t expecting and warmed your heart. 

Din Djarin chuckled.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @technicallykawaiisoul @dameron-grant-spector @booksarekindaneat

[romantic-withdrawals]

Date Night Part 1/2

Title: Date Night

Pairing: Taron Egerton X Reader

Word Count:

Warning: None, it's just cute. Swearing...I'm Canadian, it's gonna be in there

Summary: Taron takes the reader on her dream date. It's messy, but who could resist his sweet, clumsy awkwardness. It's the effort that counts, after all.

Author's Note: I had a disastrous first date with my (now) boyfriend, but his effort to improve things throughout the evening made me fall entirely in love with him. This is inspired by that evening. Enjoy <3

Taron had just returned from a morning shoot. The new movie was an action-packed story, so he returned to his rental exhausted with a body full of bruises. He was more torn down this afternoon because of the early morning jump-start, so into his bed, he jumped.

The sunlight sneaking past the hem of the curtains was almost gone; Taron was still in sleep heaven, dreaming of nothing he would remember when he woke.

His phone on his bedside table lit up, the notification sound melting into a soft clang in his dream sequence. The time read 5:28pm, and the notification below was from Y/N.

'Hey Taron, just got home from work. I might run a little late. Can we move the date to 6:30 instead of 6? I'm so sorry for the last-minute text.'

Taron stirred in bed. The sheets now comfortably lie on his chest. His eyes are too heavy to open wide, but that dreamland has been abandoned. After a few seconds of silence, a stretch or two, and a huff of contentment and relaxation, he opened his eyes to look around.

Noticing the darkness outside and the time on the hotel clock he jumped out of bed, picked up his phone and blurted out that four-letter Anglo-Saxton word in a repetitious trail.

"FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"

He darted for the shower leaving the phone on the bed with 5 notifications.

'All ready. Let me know when you're on the way' 6:24pm

'Is everything okay? Are you getting my messages?' 6:42pm

'Are we still on for today?' 7:32pm

'It's okay if you need to cancel, but can you, at the very least, communicate' 7:38pm

'I guess it's cancelled. I'll talk to you when I talk to you.' 8:00pm

The last text appeared while he was already in the shower. That's 2 hours later than he was supposed to go on the date. This was a mess, and he still needed to start the date.

He finished his military shower in 3 minutes and started throwing on the clothes he neatly hung beside the dresser labelled 'Date Night.' Dressing as quickly as possible he picked up his phone and called her while squeezing the device between his shoulder and his jaw so he could pull up his pants. The phone rang until it transferred to voicemail.

Once again that cuss left his mouth, “fuck”.

As fast as the traffic would let him, he drive through every single kilometre with great anxiety. First dates are nerve racking to begin with. Being two and a half hours late without any communication is as bad as it can get.

On the way, as he stood waiting for a red signal, he spotted some potted flowers outside a hardware store. Her voice flooded his mind, remembering their conversations on bouquet gifting.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love flowers. But why kill it? Where did this tradition begin? Who looked at flowers and thought ‘Hey! Flowers! Imma murder them, stuff ‘‘em in plastic and hand a collection of dying flowers to the first lady I find.’ Gimme flowers, but let them live you know.”

He took a sharp right and into the store, picking up the best 6 inch Hibiscus Braid they were selling. He careful placed it into his car securing it with the seatbelt. It’s been a disaster date so far, he couldn’t afford another mishap.

Responsibly speeding on the road, Taron finally made it to her house. He parked in her parent’s driveway and rushed to the front of her door. He rang the doorbell and waited there, expecting the worst. Her father opened the door.

“Oh I thought you cancelled your date” dad asked, now sceptical of the boy he was once impressed by.

“I’m very sorry sir, I know I should’ve called and told her I was running embarrassingly late. I’m very sorry for showing up late. I know I have no right to call on her. I just want to see her and explain and then I’ll leave. I promise” he rambled.

Y/N, overhearing their interaction came down the stairs and towards the door where her father was standing.

“It’s okay da, let me talk to him.”

Her hair and makeup was still done but she opted for a comfortable sweats, a tee and an unzipped hoodie. She wasn’t angry, just disappointed. He still thought she looked absolutely beautiful.

His heart was racing to look at her. What could he possibly say to make things right? She waited for him to start talking, a soft look resting on her face. Somehow it made things worse for him.

"I'm so incredibly sorry--"

"Stop apologizing," she interrupted. "You said you wanted to explain..." she started, prompting him to continue.

"I made this perfect plan for our date, and I still do if you want to go on this date with me." He began rambling again but changed courses when her body language shifted. "I was sent home early today because it was already an extremely physical day and insurance and all that. I had already picked the outfit and made the reservations and all the plans, so I decided I'd take a nap until my alarm went off. Except I didn't wake up with the alarm and raced over as fast as possible. On the way...Oh, wait" He stopped himself, ran to his van, and pulled out the plant he had purchased for her. He presented it to her as sweetly as he could. "I remember you saying you don't like murdered flowers, so I got you a potted one instead."

Between his nervous ramble and the potted plant, she was starting to forgive him, not that she would let him know.

"Look, I know my lack of communication was childish and rude, and you are under no obligation to forgive me, but you should know that I really like you and want to get to know you better. I know you've had a tough week, and I just wanted you to have one fantastic evening. I have been thinking of you for days ever since we talked that entire night. I love talking to you, and today I just hoped to keep talking to you...forever. I know you said to stop apologizing, but I am sorry."

She hadn't said anything; she kept her eyes on the plant he had gifted her while he rambled away.

"I'm sorry again." He mutter as he began leaving. He sat in his van and began driving away. Just as he backed out of her driveway and onto the street, he received a notification.

'If the reservation has been made, we can't not show up, can we?'

His heart skipped a beat as he saw her name. Looking up to see the look on her face, her soft smile while hugging tightly the plant he gifted her warmed his heart.

'Reverse the car and wait a sec. I'll be right down.'

She sent the text and reentered her home with the plant still in hand.

He backed the car and waited inside. He debated whether or not to leave the engine on to heat the car. It was of course the coldest time of the year so he left the heater on.

In less than 20 minutes he noticed the porch door swing open and out she came in a beautiful maroon dress and a (fake) furry cover. He jumped out of his car and ran to open the door for her.

“You look beautiful,” he smiled. A cliché line, but he truly meant it. He watched her as she sat in his car and adjusted the bottom of the dress.

"Aren't we on a tight schedule?" She looked up at him, still staring at her.

He immediately closed the door and ran to the other side of the car to join her inside.

“You look absolutely beautiful” he said, holding absolutely still.

To his surprise this made her laugh. “Are you gonna take me on this date or are you gonna keep flirting with me on this driveway until I blush myself to death?”. She let her urge to reach for his hand and gently touch him win.

He smiled again, grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“Let’s get out of here”. He said driving away.

—————————————————————————

THATS IT FOR PART ONE!!!!!!

Spoke to my boyfriend about our date to write this more from the man’s perspective. Let me know if you want me to do that more often.

I was originally going for only a quick thing but it would have been too long. I’ve already started on Part 2 so the next one shouldn’t be too far away.

Let me know if you want me to explore any other ideas (smut welcome lol)