#no disturbing allowed here! she must rest.

[fatexbound]

@epitomees said: Congrats Robokoto! You now have a sleepy Aigis resting her head in your lap. Don't wake her up now! (for Fool Aigis!)

Unprompted | Always accepting

A typical day in the lounge. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary except the human currently taking a nap on his lap. Was his entirely metal body not too hard to sleep on? Even at school, everyone appeared to comment on how cold and hard his structure was - even his hands when offering a handshake.

Aigis was resting now and he knew that she required sleep in order to be well rested after such a long day.

In that case...

"Entering quiet mode." While he radiated a sense of comfortable warmth for her, all of his gears worked a lot more silently. He did not wish to disturb her peaceful expression as he looked down at her and smiled to himself. "Rest well, Aigis-san." He whispered.

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part iv)

a/n: MDNI, rated 18+ ! soooo today on your weekly dose of Stark fluff, Kook Claere and Simp Cregan attempt to move their love language from acts of service to, ahem, physical touch.

The journey back to Winterfell had been quiet, the cold edge of the North still riddling them as they left the Wall behind. The vast, forlorn stretch of backvelds seemed to reflect their silence. Cregan had said nothing thereafter, allowing Claere her space to regain composure. He knew better than to provoke his wistful wife—knew that whatever mysteries she brought from beyond the Wall were hers to bear until she was prepared to unburden herself to him. And so, he let her stew in her mind's eye, his gaze wavering on her occasionally, wishing to trot his horse by her side, as she stared out the road.

He could tell she sensed his worried scrutiny, the implicit queries that clung to the air between them like her silver dragon that soared overhead. Nevertheless, he refrained. If the icy unknown beyond had terrorised her, he wouldn't be the one to pick apart the pieces. Not yet.

By the time they stopped at a small, weather-beaten inn along the Kingsroad, dusk had settled over the land, the last golden traces of daylight waning into the horizon. Inside, the air was warmer, thick with the smell of bubbling broth and firewood, but neither of them seemed inclined to feast as compared to the rest of their party. The weariness of the road remained, though Cregan suspected something graver ate at his wife.

He found her later, seated on the floor near the long, narrow window, her gaze turned skyward. The room was dim, the half-moon and stars luminous through the glass, and she sat in silence, as though the world beyond the window held more comfort than the inn’s fire. Wordlessly, he joined her side, his motions unimposing, as though he didn’t want to disturb the calm that had settled over her.

Claere didn’t acknowledge him at first, lost in whatever thoughts churned beneath that placid exterior of hers. But after a long stretch of silence, she spoke, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

"Ask me," she murmured, still looking at the stars. "You must have a thousand."

Cregan only smiled, his lips curving into a small, teasing grin. "You can keep your secrets."

He could be patient. Whatever haunted her would come out in time, as all things did. Let her hold onto them, for now.

Her indigo eyes flickered at him briefly, and for a moment, reassurance passed over her features. "I saw nothing," she echoed from before. "Nothing clear. Nothing I wanted."

He tilted his head. "What did you want?"

"Proof of my sanity," she muttered. Her gaze paused on the stars, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. “Proof that I haven’t slipped into madness… or that it won’t contain me yet.”

Cregan’s teasing grin faded, his expression hardening with understanding.

“Madness comes for us all in time. Wears many disguises, but you'll feel it," he said his voice a quiet rumble. "And you're still here. That’s proof enough for me.”

She huffed lightly, not quite convinced, but something in her softened at his words. The silence that followed was thick, not with tension but with the soft comfort of shared understanding. He made space for her, and it made her want to draw closer. So she did. She shifted to him, ever so slightly, her shoulder brushing his.

After a while, she leaned in closer, her voice no louder than a whisper as she raised her hand toward the glass pane, pointing out a faint cluster of stars.

“That one,” she said. her voice quiet, “I’ve always adored it. I call it drūmā—‘the dream.’”

"Drūmā," he managed a murmur.

He turned his head to the sky, but he was hardly glimpsing at the stars. All he could see or think was her—the way her lips curved around the word, the sweet reverence in her tone as if that distant constellation held some deep, unstated meaning. Cregan felt a swell of emotion rise in his chest. She was this beautiful secret wrapped in fire and caution, a valiant princess who had crossed the Wall on dragonback and yet still found splendour in the stars.

His heart leapt to his throat as he moved scarcely, offering her the comfort of his shoulder. Claere accepted it, fitting herself into the curve of his arm, her head resting back into the burrow near his collar, her gaze still fixed on the night sky.

Then she traced an invisible path in the air, drawing with the stars. "And there. They remind me of a dragon falling asleep. Sōvīr zaldrīzes."

Cregan, however, was watching her—studying every line of her flawless face, every swift flit of her eyes as they tracked the stars. She possessed every fibre of his being. She had him entirely.

Deaf to restraint, his hand moved to her face, fingers brushing over her cheek. “And what do you call this?” he asked, almost a rumble in the stillness.

Claere blinked, a little surprised at the question. "Mēre," she answered softly, her Valyrian slipping from her lips like melodies.

He let his forefinger graze the length of her bent nose, his eyes never leaving her face. “And this?”

“Lāmas.”

Two fingers hovered over the fullness of her lips, his breath catching as her violet gaze veered to meet his, the anticipation between them taut as a drawn bowstring.

"And these?" he asked, the words a bare whisper.

“Lēda,” she answered, voice fainter now, nearly breathless.

A lopsided smile curled on his lips. "And what do you say when you want to kiss them so desperately?"

She swallowed hard; unguarded, unspeaking.

Cregan didn’t hesitate, he had waited too long for this. He leaned in, slowly, delicately, until his lips brushed hers. The kiss was gentle, glorifying—as if he feared shattering the moment if he pushed too quickly. His palm, calloused from years of wielding weaponry and enduring the ironhearted North, cradled her face with unexpected tenderness, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. When he pulled back, it was with both relief and strain that he searched her face for any sign that he had overstepped.

But Claere didn’t pull away. Rather, with a spontaneous boldness that startled even her, she lifted her hand to his, slender fingers soft yet confident as they wrapped around his wrist, holding him close, bringing it to her fluttering lips. Her touch was gentle, wavering at first as if testing the warmth of his skin.

But when she leaned in again, kissing him back, her grip tightened—not out of force, but need. Her soft moan speared right into his tongue, robbing him of his breath. The pads of her fingers squeezed into his hand, her other palm lain against his chest, feeling the sporadic beat of his heart beneath the thin layer of tunic. She could've reached right in and crumbled it to dust, he would've gladly let her.

This time, it was she who deepened the kiss, her lips crashing his with a fervour that sent a tremble down his spine. Her fingers slid up from his chest to his jaw, stroking at the hair that brushed his shoulder, tracing the line of his powerful neck, her touch both curious and loving. It wasn’t hurried, but it was deliberate—every brush of her fingers, every urge of her lips, drawing him further into her as if she was memorising him through touch alone. Cregan could do nothing but follow, lost in the sensation of her, the heat of her skin against his.

When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close, foreheads relaxed together, sharing the same breath and heartbeat. And in the peace, the quiet between them now felt different—more familiar, more certain. It wasn’t simply a kiss. It was an oath.

His fingers threaded through her hair, lightly scratching at her scalp, drawing her closer.

"Did you like it?" she asked, her voice a fragile whisper, almost unsure. Her violet eyes flickered between his, searching for something.

He grinned, the warmth of it softening the usual harshness of his features, though his grey eyes owned their intensity, locked on her as if she might vanish in the next breath.

"Aye, more than I can say," he rasped, his voice roughened with affection and awe. His thumb now brushed at her red lips, studying the little divots there. "I'd like to do it more often."

“You would?” she murmured, her breath ghosting over his hand.

Cregan’s grip tightened on her, his thumb moving from her lips to her jaw, tracing the line of her face with a gentleness that belied his strength. "If you'd allow it, I'd spend every breath seeking more."

A hint of a smile stretched across her face, her eyes flickering between his with something like wonder. “I’ve never shared much."

He tilted his head slightly, studying her at that moment—the way her features softened in the dim light, the way her presence, quiet and strange as it was, had become something he cherished.

"I will spend my time earning them." He brushed his lips against hers, with a newfound ease that urged him to stroke her thighs and waist, striking his fingertips with lightning bolts.

"One kiss at a time," he vowed.

X

The return to Winterfell was far from triumphant. There were no banners raised, no songs sung. The people did not look upon Claere with admiration or awe; instead, they continued to whisper behind closed doors and cast nervous glances in her direction. Word had spread of her crossing beyond the Wall, and in the minds of many, it had become a tale twisted by fear. How had she returned when so many before her had been lost? What had she seen? Why did she refuse to speak of it?

Still, Claere persisted. It was unlike her to make do with her quiet resolve in such matters. Especially those he knew would never concern her. She walked through the kitchens, speaking softly to the cooks, inquiring about the meals being prepared, offering a recipe she had learned in Dragonstone.

"No, my lady. That is not the way here," one of the kitchenmaids would murmur, polite but dismissive.

Claere’s attempts to suggest improvements to the weaving of the tapestries were met with similar disinterest. "We’ve always done it this way, my lady," they would say.

She was there, present in her part, yet treated her as light as the wind. She was seen, but never truly heard.

What stung more, though, was how the mothers kept their children away. The same little ones who once flocked to her side, wide-eyed and eager for tales of her homeland, were now kept at a distance by protective hands. She had shared stories of Dragonstone, of King’s Landing, of tasting exotic Tyroshi fruits and scouting for dragon eggs in the wilds. The children had adored her for it—had laughed and clung to her skirts, fascinated by Luna, the gentle beast who towered over them, but never harmed a soul.

Claere knelt in the courtyard with her harp on her thigh, and a small group of children gathered around her. Their eyes were wide with wonder as she described the hatching of a dragon’s egg, her songful voice painting pictures for them. One of the littlest girls, with a shock of red hair, reached out timidly, wanting to touch the dragon bone pendant that hung from Claere’s neck.

Just before the girl's fingers could graze it, a sharp voice called out from across the yard. "Ellys, no!"

The child froze, her hand dropping back to her side as her mother hurried forward, her eyes darting nervously between a stoic Claere and her daughter.

"It’s time we go, love," the woman said quickly, scooping the girl up into her arms. "Let's not bother Lady Stark any longer."

The girl whimpered, still looking at Claere. "But I want to hear what happened to the pink egg!"

Her mother cast a wary glance at Claere, voice low but trembling as she clutched her child. "We’ve heard enough stories."

Then, she turned and hurried away, whispering something under her breath to another woman nearby.

From a distance, Cregan observed this, his jaw tightening. He could see Claere’s smile falter slightly as the children were excused and led away one by one, their innocent excitement replaced by a quiet, uncertain look over their shoulders. He said nothing, though it tore at him. He couldn't. These were mothers, protectors of their own, and in the North, no lord could command a mother’s fears away. Not even the gods themselves.

Later that evening, as they sat together in the Great Hall for supper, Cregan caught her drifting gaze while sliding a few more slices of honeycakes onto her plate. Claere began to pick them apart with her fingers, reducing the golden pastry into small, crumbled pieces.

"Your heart shines brighter than a few whispers," Cregan said gently, his voice meant to pull her back from her inner thoughts. "They’ll see that, in time. You need to give them that chance."

Her fingers paused, holding a tiny morsel. "Yes," she said flatly, "but time isn't always kind."

Cregan's eyes softened, seeing through the mask she wore. He leaned closer, brushing his hand along the back of her head in a gesture meant to comfort, to encourage.

"Don’t give up on them, Claere. You’re their lady, and the North is not easily won, but it can be won."

Claere’s expression barely shifted, her lips twitching into a faint, thin smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She pushed the crumb between her lips carefully.

"It does not bother me," she muttered, almost too quickly. "I have come to understand the way things are here."

He frowned slightly, knowing her well enough to sense what was left unsaid. "You may not show it, but you don’t have to carry this load alone. I am here."

She gave a small, tight nod, her voice quieter now. "I’m not giving up. But if they can’t see me, perhaps I wasn’t meant to be seen."

Cregan’s chest tightened at her words, but he stayed silent, only watching her, his hand resting protectively against her neck as she turned her gaze down, once again retreating into herself.

So Claere, ever watchful, stepped aside. She ceased trying to win the adults’ favour, knowing now that every attempt was met with indifference. Instead, she continued to watch. Like a ghost in her own home, she floated through the halls, spending hours in the glass gardens she had devised, silently overseeing their construction. Once, she had imagined them filled with life—blue roses blooming in defiance of the North’s frost—but now, they seemed as far away as everything else she touched.

It frustrated Cregan. It wasn’t enough that Claere tried, that she performed her duties with respect and vigilance. His people had judged her the moment she returned from beyond the Wall, and no amount of goodwill could shift that perception.

But it wasn’t the whispers or isolation that stirred at Cregan; it was how the distance between Claere and his people widened, even as her subtle feelings for him deepened. He was the one thing in Winterfell that did not change, that didn’t turn cold. And though she felt more and more like a foreigner in the keep, with Cregan, she had found her home.

Claere had always marvelled at Cregan’s patience—the way he tempered the demands of leadership with calm strength. But there was something else now, something more primal in her admiration, as her attention faltered on him from the castle balcony. The training yard below was alive with the sounds of clashing steel and gruff commands, yet her gaze was drawn only to him.

He cruised with effortless power, his sword sinuating around his fingertips, his broad shoulders and thick arms bared to the cold as he sparred with his men. The North had sculpted him into its image—formidable, headstrong, every inch of him hardened by years of combat and the harsh winter winds. His skin, sunkissed, stretched over taut muscles, and his stance, solid as the very stones of Winterfell, left no question that this man was the embodiment of ancient Stark blood.

Cregan had become a gentle giant of the North, the spitting image of his forebears, a regal wolf among his men. And Claere was suddenly, inexplicably lured to it—the rawness, the sheer force of his presence. She had never truly admired this side of him before, having always been more attuned to his compassion, his unfailing patience.

But now, she found herself watching him as she never had, from the eyes of a spellbound girl. Her lips parted for air, her hand curling around the cold stone of the balcony, and for a brief moment, she was lost in the sight of him. Her husband, she thought. Remarkable.

He caught her. His grey eyes flicked up, meeting hers, and though he had pretended not to notice at first, a flicker of amusement crossed his face.

With a playful grin, he raised his hand and beckoned her with a single finger.

She felt her heart skip, heat rushing to her face. Shaking her head quickly, she broke the gaze, ducking away as if she’d been caught in some intimate moment, her mind reeling from the sudden rush of feeling. She liked the excitement, the pulsations—whatever it was—a lot.

Claere had been standing so still, so intently focused on Cregan, that when she finally turned to leave, she nearly collided with a nearby servant. She staggered back, her hand brushing against the woman’s arm.

"My apologies," she murmured, eyes downcast as she quickly regained her footing. The servant, wide-eyed and unsure of how to respond, merely dipped her head, and Claere hurried off, her cheeks burning as she escaped into the corridors, her heart still racing.

Down in the yard, Cregan caught the whole exchange. He watched as she retreated, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Got her good, my lord," one of his men said with a grin, leaning on his sword. "Thought she might’ve fallen right into you this time."

Cregan’s own smile was barely contained. “She’s no doe to be startled into my arms."

"A dragon, my lady is," one of them laughed.

“Yet it seems she has taken more than a few looks at her huntsman,” another chimed in, and the others chuckled.

Cregan shook his head, though the light in his eyes betrayed his delight.

"She’s got a mind of her own," he said, turning back to the practice, though his thoughts were still on her. He pointed his sword at his men. "More stubborn than any of you lads."

As they went back to training, the conversation shifted, and for a while, Cregan focused on the clang of swords and the weight of his shield. But when Claere crossed his mind again—her shy retreat, the way she had tried to disappear after that small, flustered moment—he couldn’t help but feel ten pounds lighter. The way she was beginning to see him differently was a triumph in itself. A sweet adoration that bloomed outside of auguries and omens.

As the sun began to set, his men’s teasing returned in full force.

“Mark my words,” one of the older guards called out as they packed up for the day. “It’s about time Winterfell welcomes another Stark. A summer child, heh?"

Cregan wiped the sweat from his brow, smirking as he sheathed his sword. “When it happens, I’ll let you pour the first ale—if you can still lift the barrel.”

Subsequently, as he stood before his small council, the rising tension returned. The air in the room was thick with unease, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows over the stone walls. Every mention of the dragon princess seemed to knot their nerves tighter. They were still wary, questioning what Claere had seen beyond the Wall. While she had spoken of it to Cregan in private, with words that rang true to him, the men around the table were not as easily convinced.

“What does it mean for the North, my lord?” one of the men snapped, his voice laced with accusation rather than fear. “She flew beyond the Wall, into lands none return from. Not even crows. She’s not like us. Who knows what kind of darkness she brought back?”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the small council, emboldened by the man’s sharp tone. Another voice, colder and crueller, chimed in. “We’ve heard the whispers, my lord. Bloodmagic, hexes—things no Northerner should meddle with. What if she’s hiding something? What if her silence masks the real threat?”

The room stirred with growing boldness, the men exchanging conspiratorial glances as if they had forgotten whose hall they were in. One of them leaned forward, his eyes narrow and calculating.

“The people are afraid, and fear breeds rebellion. The longer you keep her here, the more they’ll question your judgment. Is that the kind of lord you want to be remembered as? One who brought a Valyrian sorceress into Winterfell?"

Their words were sharp as blades, probing, testing his resolve, as if daring him to falter.

He did. Cregan’s patience snapped. He rose to his full height, his shadow stretching long across the room as his eyes darkened like storm clouds brewing overhead. The council fell silent immediately, the weight of his authority pressing down on them. His voice, low and controlled, carried the kind of steel that had made men follow him into battle without hesitation.

“I will make myself clear once and for all. Claere saw nothing,” Cregan said, his words cold and unyielding. His gaze swept over the table, landing on each man in turn. “Nothing but ice and desolation. There is no curse on my wife. She flew beyond the Wall and returned for one reason: to feed her dragon. And that dragon now sleeps outside our walls, not as a harbinger of doom, but as her loyal steed."

The men shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but none dared to meet his gaze. His presence commanded the room, the force of his conviction quelling any further protest. Still, one of the older lords, his voice a murmur barely above a whisper, tried to speak again.

“My lord, we mean no disrespect, but if—”

Cregan’s hand slammed down onto the table, cutting the man off. The sound echoed through the chamber like a thunderclap.

“Enough! I've had it all!" His voice was as sharp as the Valyrian blade at his hip. “Another word of dissent against Lady Stark’s sound mind, and I swear it upon the old gods and the new—heads will roll.”

A deadly silence followed his words. The men around the table bowed their heads in submission, their once-nervous glances now replaced by wide-eyed fear. They knew Cregan well enough to understand that his threats were never idle.

He straightened back up. “Claere Stark is of this house, of this land. She is your lady. You will treat her as such. If any of you think otherwise, say it now and face me.”

None spoke.

"Fair choice. Then it is decided."

He dismissed the council and as they hurried out of the hall, their whispers stilled in their throats. Yet, even as they left, Cregan stood alone by the fire, his jaw clenched. For all his power, for all his belief in Claere, a shadow of doubt clung to the edge of his mind. She had shared little of her journey beyond the Wall, and though he trusted her with his very life, the silence that followed her return weighed heavier than he dared to admit. Something remained hidden beneath her quiet resolve. Something he could not yet see.

Later, in the hush of their chambers, the flicker of firelight danced across the stone walls. Claere sat by the hearth, pricked fingers deftly stitching the embroidery she had been labouring on for weeks. It was still sloppy work, as Cregan loved to tease her about. He lay with his head in her lap, watching her more than the flames.

These evenings had become their tacit routine—a time of shared silence that he had come to treasure. The peace wrapped around him, soothing the doubts that lingered, though they rarely exchanged words. In these quiet moments, he felt most at ease, their closeness needing no explanation.

Tonight, however, the silence felt different. Claere's hands paused in their careful craft, her gaze dipping as if gathering her thoughts. The fire crackled softly, but it seemed distant, overpowered by the tension in the room.

“Are you burdened by me before your council?” she asked, her words hesitant, hedging.

Her fingers stilled on the embroidery, resting just above Cregan’s brow where his head lay on her lap.

Cregan’s brows furrowed, his eyes searching her face. He understood what she was trying to say—her isolation, her distance from the little ones, their fear. It was finally getting to her, as it did to every person despairing in silence.

But he only shook his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Claere, I’ve carried steel, fire, and the weight of a thousand dead Starks on my shoulders, but you?” His thumb traced the side of her leg, playful and reassuring. "Your heft is that of a feather compared to all that."

Her eyes met his, doubt still lingering in their violet depths. "I hear them talk to you. Endlessly."

He snickered. "Well, you should join next time."

She pursed her lips, dismissive.

He rubbed her knee beneath his cheek, voice lowering. “Let them talk. Their empty words mean nothing when they’re blind to the truth. What matters is what you've done despite it all. Tending to the hold, hunting... the glass gardens. Their opinions change nothing.”

She opened her mouth to protest again, but before she could, he suddenly pounced, tackling her to the ground with a fluid grace that left her breathless. His arms wrapped around her waist as they tumbled, her startled gasp filling the room before it veered to their soft, unrestrained laughter.

"Cregan!" she managed, trying to push him off with little strength behind her effort, her hands half-heartedly pressing against his chest.

“You thought I didn't notice?” he teased, hovering over her with ease, his broad frame casting a shadow. His smile was wide, mischievous, as though he held a secret she had yet to discover.

“You’ve been watching me train, princess. And rather intently, might I add. Devouring me with those enchanting eyes.”

Claere’s cheeks warmed at his words, the colour blooming faintly against her pale skin. It was an expression he loved—a rare slip of emotion that made her otherwise cool demeanour seem fragile.

“I have not—”

“Little liar,” he chuckled, lowering his head toward hers, close enough that his breath ghosted over her lips. “I caught you staring more than once. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

She tried to avert her eyes, but his hand came up, cupping her jaw in his roughened palm, guiding her gaze back to him. Her protests died on her tongue, replaced by uncertainty. The playful glint in his eyes softened, a deeper warmth replacing it. He was in no rush now, not when her heart raced beneath him, not when the space between them grew thinner by the second.

Her breath hitched, and her usual blankness seemed to melt away, giving way to the bare bones of Claere—joy, tension, the edges of a smile twitching at her lips.

“I was simply appreciating the view,” she mumbled, her eyes darting away.

“The view, is it?” Cregan’s grin widened, mischief in his tone. “And here I thought your attention was elsewhere.”

She huffed, trying to maintain her composure. “I’m capable of admiring more than one thing at a time.”

He arched a brow. “Though somehow, I think it wasn’t my swordsmanship that had you swooning. Something under my plates? Or perhaps... my breeches?”

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above hers. Their laughter had long died out, the air between them thickening with tension, but it was the kind that felt like a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

He could feel her heartbeat quicken, her breath coming in soft, shallow puffs, and it was all he needed. His voice dwindled to a near-whisper, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth with deliberate slowness.

“Say my name again.”

Her violet eyes flitted up to his from staring at his lips. "Why?"

"I'd like to hear it from your mouth."

She breathed out, "Cregan."

He needed no more invitations. He closed the gap, crushing his lips to the ones that were spoken for in his name, with the care that gainsaid his size like she was a glass doll he wanted to protect. But the kiss carried more than just tenderness—it was a slow burn of the long-awaited as if he had been waiting for this moment for years. And in that kiss, he felt her response, moving her lips with his to mimic him, graceless but sweet in her own way.

As they pulled apart, her eyes fluttered open, dazed and unhesitant. She blinked up at him, lips slightly parted, and though she didn’t say a word, he could see the answer written in her expression—a soft, implicit permission.

It wasn’t long before Cregan had pulled the heavy furs from the bed, laying them out on the stone floor to make a makeshift bed. His coarse hands stretched toward her in an invitation that was far gentler than anything he had ever given her before.

Though Claere hesitated, bringing her hand to her chest, a shadow of reluctance crossing her face. “My Lord, I—"

"No, I want none of that. Speak like my wife." He abraded at her courtesy rather than anything.

"Cregan," she corrected quietly. "I don’t want to be a young mother."

An invisible fist gripped his throat. He hadn’t expected her to voice such a fear, although some of him understood. He didn’t need to hear more to know that the idea of maternity, of the expectations it carried with it, terrified her in a way she would not easily admit.

Looking at her now, so frail in her admission, he realized that what he wanted most wasn’t bound by obligation or lineage. He didn’t need heirs or any responsibilities others might want to place on them. It was her. He wanted her. Just her.

"Nor I, a young father," he shared in a rumble of breath, stretching his arms further for her.

"Until then we'll simply be us," he promised.

It was all the assurance she needed. Bearing a relieved grin, she placed her hand in his, letting him pull her into the warmth of the furs.

Claere sat on her heels, back to him, and piled her thick silver braid over a shoulder. Cregan, much obliged, opened her bodice and petticoats one by one while she sat motionless, staring into the flames. He caressed the lune of her spine, his entire hand spread over the span, her skin burning under his touch, unmarred, smooth, seeming like silk stretched over glass.

She glanced at him, uncertainly gliding off her sleeves, now bare-skinned and impassive. As if prompted by the strings of a puppeteer, she slid away from her dresses and laid back on the furs, shutting her eyes. It fell far from what Cregan had envisioned, his wife lain for him like awaiting a death knell.

Rather, he raised a quizzical brow at her. "What are you doing?"

Claere opened her eyes, startled by the question. "Isn't this what you wanted?" Almost like she was trying to puzzle him out, calm and detached. "You can... take me now. I know what is expected of me. My maidenhead is unsullied."

Cregan blinked, utterly taken aback, and then a soft chuckle escaped him, one he didn’t intend but couldn’t help.

"Take you," he repeated to himself, incredulous. His grin widened, full of humour and fondness. "What do you think this is?"

Instinctively, her hands went to cover her breasts. Her brows furrowed, confusion spreading across her features as she squinted at him, her cheeks flushing faintly.

"Is this not what happens between a husband and wife?" she asked, her voice no longer carrying the confidence she had tried to summon.

He sighed, pulling her hands away from her chest, gentle but firm. There was warmth in his gaze, despite the humour. He threaded his fingers through hers.

"Aye," he said softly, "but not like this. You’re not spoils of war, Claere. I am no king to conquer you. Or your enemy to face."

Her shoulders, once tense, unwound as she looked up at him, understanding him.

"No," she agreed.

With a tender smile, Cregan reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. His hand moved down to her cheek, cupping it gently, and he looked her in the eye.

"I will have you in love, or I will not have you at all."

And so it went—their night of perfect pleasure, ruptured only by their awkwardness about what followed next. Platitudes fled replaced by yearning, Cregan ripping at his padded tunics and eager to bring her onto his lap until the distance was insignificant. She went all too gladly, bestraddling him, and he guided her hands from his waist to his neck.

Claere followed his lead with a tentative curiosity, her body flush against his chest. But he didn’t rush her—didn’t demand. Instead, he reached for her hands, gently guiding them from his thighs, where they’d instinctively gone, up toward his neck.

His fingers wrapped softly around hers, urging her to trace the roughness of his stubble and the solid strength of his shoulders. To the lines on his chiselled chest and the bow of his lips.

“Here,” he whispered. “I want your touch, all of you.”

Her breath hitched as her fingertips brushed over the nape of his neck, hesitant but trusting. He guided her the rest of the way, showing her the places that made him shiver beneath her touch, the places he wanted her to claim as her own.

He gently closed her warm hand over his hardness, her eyes flitting up to his, confused.

Their foreheads pressed together as he sighed, his eyes half-lidded, savouring the feeling of her palm around his length. It was a distinct kind of familiarity—intimate in a way that felt more sacred than godly vows. In a trail of white-hot kisses up her neck and claiming her lips once more, he adjusted her over his lap, until she was centred right over him.

Their eyes met—he melted, burned, raged, all but perfection until mending and finding the right symphony. At that moment, no one could've loved someone the way he was loving her.

In a single movement, she plunged down, perhaps some inherent impulse, and he buried himself deep inside her. Deeper, until every fragment of space in that heat between her legs was swelled with him. Her face strained as she welcomed him, and a rasping cry muffled into his neck.

"I have you," he reassured breathily, past the stars that roiled behind his eyes, holding her at her head and waist. "I have you now."

She nodded hard against his shoulder.

"Move for me, my love," he urged.

It wasn’t possession in the slightest, not when they made those noises, not when they collided like that; especially her, like she had mounted her dragon and taken to the skies. No, this was release. This was frustration that needed to end. This was her coming undone before him, subject to sensations like she was untethered from the world itself, weightless in a way she never knew she could be. The wrath of fire and the patience of ice found a way to coexist between them. They simply were fire and ice.

Cregan's hands slid up her sides, panting in husky grunts, rough nails digging into the smooth skin on her back, anchoring her deeper into him. He revelled in the way she responded, the way her lips parted for a breathless gasp, her fingers twisted in his hair, and how his name fell from her lips like a prayer. He bore her unravelling braid like a pearly rope around his wrist, tugging her back to grant him access to her throat. Sweet and sweeter, like nectar. He expected smoke and soot when he kissed her skin.

Every gentle rock of her saintly hips sent a shiver down his spine, her breath growing shallow, her violet eyes fluttering closed as though the world had fallen to ash around them. Here, in the bare intimacy, Claere was simply herself, vulnerable and powerful all at once.

For once, there was no restraint, no hesitation. She wasn’t holding anything back, and neither was he.

“Look at me,” he whispered, voice rough and ragged, needing to see her, to meet her gaze as the distance between them disappeared entirely.

Her eyes fluttered open, heady with lust but shining with something more—conviction, maybe, or something even deeper, something he knew they both sensed but hadn’t quite named.

At this moment, they weren't simply lord and lady, wolfblood and dragonblood—they were something else, elsewhere entirely. Bound not by titles, but by the intensity that had grown between them since the first time they met. She was his match, his equal, and he swore he would follow her to the ends of the earth if only to touch her like this again.

It was as though every wall she'd ever built came crumbling down. She didn’t resist it—couldn’t, really—because with him, there was no need to hold on. The pace became feverish, rushing quicker, desperate to chase that high. Her breaths came faster, and her heart raced, but none of it felt overwhelming. She let herself fall apart for him in a sharp, trembling cry, clutching him tight.

He smothered his gruff groan and expletive into her shoulder, getting a mouthful of her hot skin, conscious of the consequences through the dizzying drop, and gently pulled her off him to empty his spend into his breeches. The waves of pleasure ravaged him, he could hear the blood coursing in his ears as he embraced her to him with an arm, coiled taut yet loosened soft, all at once.

They came down together, back to their continent, back to Winterfell, back by the fire, as a tangle of limbs over the fuzzy down, slick in sweat and gasps. Claere’s arms stayed wrapped around Cregan’s neck, her breath still coming in soft, dreamy puffs against his skin. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, not easing her grip, as if reluctant to let go of the warmth they shared.

Cregan’s tough hand continued its slow, soothing path up and down her back, tracing the soft ridges of her spine and the delicate curve of her ribs. He kissed her jaw, her temple, the spot just below her ear.

“Claere,” he murmured against her skin, his breath warm, “I could stay like this forever.”

Again, his words went by unheard. It so happened that he got used to it, that sometimes she just refused to leave her head.

As they lay in the warmth of the furs, the world beyond nothing but a memory, Claere’s fingers moved dreamily through the air, tracing invisible lines as if drawing constellations on the weathering ceiling. There was a faraway look in her eyes, as though her thoughts had taken flight somewhere beyond the stone walls of the keep.

Cregan’s eyes followed the gentle dance of her fingers, the way her hand swayed back and forth, almost in a trance, lost in some quiet reverie. He could feel the soft rise and fall of her breath against his chest, each exhale like a whisper of the wind, and yet her mind seemed elsewhere, reaching toward a distant idea.

“Do you ever wish we could just… fly away?” she asked softly, her voice drifting like her fingers, her words delicate.

Her eyes remained on the imperceptible path she was tracing, not daring to look at him just yet. Cregan felt a small tug at his heart, the way she asked not with fear but with the consequence of hope, a dreamer trying to keep her visions alive in a world that so often crushed them.

He let out a soft chuckle, his hand coming up to catch hers mid-air, stopping the slow, swaying motion of her fingers. He grasped it gently, his thumb brushing the back of it in calming strokes.

“Fly away?” he echoed, a teasing smile curving his lips as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “With Luna or..." his voice dipped lower, "have I replaced her as your favourite mount to ride?"

A small, breathless laugh escaped her. "Truly, the wolf of the North."

He bit at the skin of her jaw and pulled. "I strive to please, princess."

“Not leave for long. For a while,” she murmured, as though speaking of some impossible place, a dream she couldn’t quite grasp.

Cregan’s brow softened, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand. He understood that yearning in her voice—the wish to escape the weight of Winterfell, the duties, the judgment—but he couldn’t help but grin at her.

“Well then,” he said with a playful glint in his eye, “perhaps one day I’ll steal you away to Dornish warmth. Summer beneath a blood orange orchard. But I’m not sure the wolves would forgive me for that.”

Her lips quirked, a soft smile touching her face, though her eyes remained far off, still seeing that distant place. For a girl who owned a dragon, she ought to be well-travelled. Dorne must've been one of the many places she must've flown to.

Cregan leaned in, his forehead resting on hers, their breaths mingling.

“Tonight, I believe you belong right here,” he whispered, his voice low and affectionate.

Her fingers, no longer suspended in the air, curled around his, the trance broken but the dream still lingering in her gaze. She shifted closer, her bare skin brushing against his, her head resting on his chest, the far-off look in her eyes slowly fading.

"Yes," she eventually said, soft and certain. "Here is good."

Cregan kissed the top of her head, his lips brushing the silken strands of her hair, and as she nestled deeper into his embrace, he whispered. “Always here.”

She traced wistful, circuitous patterns on his chest, a fleeting touch that soothed the storm inside him. The words were unnecessary now. He knew, and so did she. The quiet between them was no longer a vacuum—it was full, full of everything understood, a second sight they both shared, woven between heartbeats and breaths.

Outside, the winds of winter howled, but within, they had found their haven. Now, that was enough.

X

still a little to come, I promise! hope you felt luuuuurv!

question of the day for those of you still here: what song reminds you the most of claere? what song reminds you most of cregan & claere?

taglist: @pearldaisy , @thatkindofgurl , @theadharablack , @cherryheairt , @lv7867 , @cosmosnkaz , @beingalive1 , @piper570 , @tigolebittiez

thank you all so much for your support and comments! it's what drives me to write these days <3

[princessxt]

Hi! Could you do an imagine where dean and sam have a younger sister and she has a nightmare and ends up sleeping between her brothers?

omg, sorry for the delay, I really was lacking creativity!!

You can make a request in the comments or by asking me a question!

(Please don't be shy to ask, I'm very happy when I have a request to write)

You can see the list of who I write about here

"The Monster Is Gone"

Pairing(s): Dean/Sam Winchester x Sister Reader

Gender: Angst, fluffy

Warnings: Nightmares, monsters, lots of blood and disturbing writing for more sensitive readers

——————♥︎♥︎——————

My childhood memories were never clear, only blurry images and meaningless phrases wandered through my mind when I tried hard to remember.

A part of me thanks my brain for not allowing me to remember, since I knew the images would be too disturbing for a budding teenager, but when Dad went hunting, disappeared and I had to be under the care of my older brothers during the hunts, everything changed.

I still remember when I had the first memory, it was after a hunt where a student came back from the dead seeking revenge. We were in the car, Dean was driving, and Sam was by his side, in silence while I was in the back seat, still processing the information of the case when the memory came. A blonde woman in pajamas ran through the hallways of a house with a child in her arms, who I soon realized was me.

Over the next few days, I began to dream about it, and as the dreams went on, the images became clearer. One day I realized it was nighttime, and the girl carrying me was wearing red pajamas. Two days later, I realized that the pajamas weren't red, they were white, but they were stained with blood. It was on that day that I started to avoid sleeping as much as possible, afraid of finding out whose blood was on her clothes.

That was 4 months ago, and during that time, each day that passed I saw a little more of that night, and now I knew that the woman was my mother, and the blood on her clothes was my father's, but the worst part was knowing that there was something following me and my mother.

I never told my brothers about this, I know they would be worried, and we have too many things to worry about, like ghosts and demons, and I didn't want to take their minds off work.

We were coming back from a hunt, Dean was driving, Sam was in the passenger seat sleeping, and I was in the back seat, trying my best to avoid falling asleep, but the book I had in my hands to keep me awake wasn't working, and little by little, I rested my head against the window, and fell asleep.

And there I was, crying in my mother's lap while she held me against her chest, with her body against the door, the thing that was chasing us walked calmly through the hallways, and slowly reached behind the door where we were. He knocked once. My mother put her hand over her mouth to keep from making noise. He knocked a second time. I could feel my mother's hands shaking. The third knock was so loud that my mother was pushed from the door, detaching me from her body. When we looked back, he was there.

He was tall, had no face, just a blood-stained mouth and sharp teeth. His fingers were long, and his nails were also stained with blood, just like the black suit he was wearing.

My mother, in an attempt to protect me, pushed me against the wall and covered me with her body, making a human shield. I could feel her tears wetting my pink pajamas as I heard her scream.

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, PLEASE! SHE'S JUST A CHILD"

In response, he let out a frightening laugh. In a few seconds, he pulled my mother and threw her to the floor, while she tried to fight, but the thing was strong and held her without effort. The next scene was the worst.

He opened his mouth, showing his huge teeth and then immediately struck her neck, making blood gush all over the room.

I watched that scene, cowering and scared in the corner of the room while I screamed, begging him to let my mother go, but that must have made him feel even hungrier for her, since he raised his long arm and struck her belly, cutting her skin with his sharp nails.

At that moment, I looked at my mother, who was staring at me with her lifeless eyes, wet with tears of pain.

"Y/N! Y/N, wake up!" I heard a voice call out

"Wake up! You need to wake up!" Again, and this time, louder.

At that moment I woke up. Sweaty, with irregular breathing and a dry throat. I looked ahead and saw Dean and Sam looking at me. We were stopped on a dark road.

"Is everything okay?" Dean asks, meanwhile, Sam opens the car door and gets out, opening the back one and getting in, sitting next to me.

"Okay, sure." I answer nervously, trying to compose myself.

"It didn't seem okay while you were screaming," Sam says, handing me a bottle of water, which I gladly accept.

"It was just a dream, I'm fine." I try to convince them, but by their faces, it hadn't worked.

"If it was just a dream, I'm even afraid to know your nightmares," Dean says and starts driving again.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sam whispers in my ear, and I try to hold back the tears, while I just nod my head in agreement.

"There's a motel a few minutes from here, we'll spend the night there," Dean says and continues down the road.

It doesn't take long until we arrive at the motel. It was a classic roadside motel, but it was enough.

Dean and Sam get a single room for the two of them, and one for me.

I didn't plan on sleeping that night, so when the boys went to their rooms, I grabbed some snacks from a vending machine and went to my room, turning on the TV to a channel that was showing a series, with the intention of distracting myself from the memories.

I manage not to think about my dreams for 2 or 3 hours, but at one point, sleep begins to set in, and little by little my eyes close, but I always realize that I am about to fall asleep, and I wake up with a jolt. I turn off the television and go to the bathroom.

I take off the clothes I was wearing and get in the shower. The hot water hits the tense muscles in my shoulders and relaxes them in a few seconds. I close my eyes and throw my head back, wetting my hair and face. I massage my scalp with the intention of relaxing, but I quickly tense up when I feel a sudden cold, despite the hot water.

I step out of the shower and dry my eyes with my hands, and when I look at the curtain, I can see the shadow of something behind it. Something very similar to the Being from my memories.

With my heart racing and my breathing irregular, I open the curtain in a quick movement, but relax when I find nothing on the other side.

I turn off the shower, still confused and scared by what happened before, and put on some warm pajamas.

I think about lying back down on the bed and watching the series again, but I look at the bedside table and see the spare key to my brothers' room that Sam gave me in case of an emergency.

Without thinking much, I grab the key and go to the next room, unlocking it slowly, not wanting to alarm the boys.

I open the door and close it behind me, when I turn around, I see Sam, still awake, sitting on the couch that was in the room with a book in his hand.

"Hi, did something happen?" He says quietly and puts the book aside, coming to me.

"I'm scared." My eyes fill with tears and I hug him. I feel his big arms holding me tightly, bringing me closer to his chest.

"It's okay, little one. I'm here." He kisses the top of my head as I sob against his soft shirt.

"Come, lie down with us." He pulls away and goes to the bed.

"Dean, go over there." He pokes Dean's shoulder, making him wake up half-dazed and ready to curse his brother, but stops when he sees me crying next to the bed.

Dean pulls away and I lay down next to him, Sam laying down next to me, making me be between the two of them.

"You're safe with us," Dean whispers, going back to sleep.

"You don't have to tell me what you're afraid of, but know that I'm here for you when you're ready to tell me," Sam whispers behind me.

"I'm having dreams. Actually, they're not dreams, they're memories from my childhood, before Dad adopted me. In these memories, a monster or whatever it was killed my father and mother, right in front of me."

"You don't have to be afraid. Dad told us about this story. He came when the monster was on top of your mother and killed it before it had a chance to hurt you. Sleep, and don't worry about your dreams, the monster is gone, it's dead, and your brothers are here to protect you from anything."

[gay-dorito-dust]

Do you think you could write some hcs about HSR men comforting reader who woke up from a nightmare?

Bonus if the source of the nightmare was Silver Wolf telling scary stories.

Argenti

Would immediately wake up the moment he senses that your sleep was being disturbed.

‘My sweet, what’s troubling you?’ He’d ask you, his eyes shone with concern.

‘Just got spooked by the story Silver Wolf told last night.’ You tell him.

‘Aww my beloved rose.’ He coos softly.

‘I know it’s stupid.’ You scoffed.

‘Oh no, not at all.’ He replied as he scooted himself closer to you and brought his hands up to hold your face and used his finger pads to caress your skin soothingly.

‘It’s okay to be scared for it is a reaction shared amongst all beings, but you should never feel such a way when I’m here to keep you safe.’ Argenti said as he presses his forehead to yours and began to hum a sweet, tender melody that swiftly had you drifting off back sleep within seconds.

‘Goodnight my beloved rose.’ He whispered after performing his song, pressing a kiss to your forehand and followed you in the dream realm where he could continue protecting you.

Welt

When Welt saw you had woken yourself from a nightmare and were obviously still reeling from the effects, he would wordlessly bring you into his arms slowly enough as not to frighten you and have you rest your head against his chest.

‘Are you comfortable in telling me what happened?’ He asks barely above a whisper.

‘It’s stupid.’ You replied, voice muffled from the way your face was pressed against his chest.

‘Not if it’s got you frightened this badly.’ He says against your head, his hands rubbing up and down your back soothingly.

‘It was the story Silver Wolf told last night.’ You finally tell him after debating on it for a bit.

‘It was truly a well put together story,’ Welt began as he recalled the events of last night and how tense you were the entire time, ‘I must admit I was slightly taken aback at times.’

You raised your head from his chest to look him in his warm eyes. ‘You were scared too?’ You asked.

‘Kind of.’ Welt chuckles as he brought your head back to his chest and press several kisses to your forehead. ‘Now if I’m allowed, I would like to tell you a story of my own. I must preference this beforehand that it’s not a well written one, but I hope it brings you comfort regardless.’

‘Please.’ You pleaded as you burrowed yourself further against his chest, practically clinging on to him. ‘Anything you say is better than nothing.’ You added.

‘Very well then.’ Welt cleared his throat. ‘There once was a young lady with vibrantly pink hair who had an…habit of wandering into places she probably shouldn’t have. This is merely one story out of many, many, many others…’

Blade

Is an extremely light sleeper, so any movement you made was picked up almost immeditly and he was more than ready to grab his sword when he felt your breath hitch in your throat.

He genuinely thought you were in danger, only to find out you had just woken up from a nightmare.

‘What’s wrong.’ He’d ask gruffly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

‘Nothing.’ You replied.

‘Bullshit.’ He scoffs.

‘Fine it was the scary story Silver Wolf told.’ You admitted and Blade raised a brow.

‘You do know none of it’s real right?’ He then asks while biting back a yawn.

‘Yeah no shit but that doesn’t stop the fact that it really freaked me the fuck out.’ You told him as you looked away from him, knowing you weren’t going to get much comfort out of him, seeing as how he’s never known a day of it.

Blade sighed when you showed him your back, knowing you were expecting to be comforted, as he then shuffles himself behind you and puts his arms over your waist all the while caging you against his chest.

‘Nothings going to get you, I won’t allow it.’ He reminds you as he burrows his face into your neck. ‘So there’s no need to be afraid when I’m here and am willing to put body on the line if it meant you sleeping soundly. What’s a few new scars compared to the old.’ He adds as he kept his eyes locked onto the door to the bedroom for a while, just long enough for you to comfortably go back to sleep before following soon after.

[gardens-light]

On The Run

After discovering Optimus Prime in your family barn, normality seemed to briefly throw itself out of the window.

The leader of the Autobots couldn't be anymore in your debt. For as you spend every waking moment putting him back together- repairing and replacing parts of him to the best of your skill.

Admittedly, he almost gave up on humanity. As time seemed to prove itself that they would always look after their own, and protect what's theirs- no matter the cost. Betrayal unleashed it's ugly face to him multiple times, slapping him with the reality that Earth may not be safe for him and his Autobots anymore.

Yet here you stand before him. A warm smile with an aura of glittering hope, burning away his darkness of doubt. It was as though the Universe itself spoke through you, giving Optimus a warmth he thought was forgotten long ago. But he cannot help wander... how far could his trust in you really go...?

Content: Mild coarse language. Events takes place in Transformers- Age of Extinction. (Minor spoilers.) Mention of weaponry. Reader insert.

Word count- 2,800k

Sparkmate Series: Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 (End)

"Don't move like that."

Your hands pressed against Optimus' chest plate as you stood upon the scaffolding.

"The welds are still fresh. Transforming back into your truck form could ruin them- it would be like undoing stitches on a wound."

His Spark burst like small firecrackers as your delicate fingers brushed across his chassis. Jolts of electricity rush through his wires, as your touch run up towards his neck. Heat swept through his metal plates, as you reached up towards his cheek.

"You still need to heal, Big Guy. You of all people should know these things takes time..."

Optimus' optics snapped open. Your touch still lingering upon his chest plate like a ghostly inferred sensation. The memory of the previous hours of the day, playing on repeat within his processors. The haze of sleepiness soon rubbed off, his surroundings becoming faminular again.

His optics scanned the barn, the nocturnal wildlife outside disturbed the still night air. Your small whimpers of your voice caught his attention, Optimus' spark gave a warming glow as he looked down at you.

Engine grease staining your hands, as you curled up upon an old couch. Sleeping peacefully on your side, resting your head in the crook of your elbow.

Optimus' servo touched his lower abdomen, his digits feeling a fresh weld stretching up his side. A gentle sigh left him.

She must of pulled another all nighter.

Grabbing a blanket with his free servo, Optimus carefully draped it along your body. Allowing the tip of his index finger to trace your curves.

His Spark hummed, filling his chest with gentle warmth. Optimus quickly pulled away from you, placing his servo over his Spark.

No. Closing his optics, a heavy sigh left his mouth. Shaking his helm before the thought could permanently fixed itself to his processors. Nothing like that exists. It's just a romanticide idea...

---

"Y/N!" Tessa's voice shouted from the porch.

Stopping mid-weld upon Optimus' side. Gently tapping on the metal sheet, signaling for the Autobot to hold it in place while you pulled down your goggles around your neck.

"I don't like the tone of her voice..." you looked up at Optimus. He saw the worry shining in your eyes. "Hold that tightly, it's only half welded. Hide in there."

His optics followed your pointed finger, "go underneath the floorboards. It might be cramped for you, but it keep you be safe. Don't come out till I say."

Quickly leaving the barn and closing the door behind you. Swallowing down your nerves, as the sight of multiple black cars parked all across the gravel driveway and front lawn. Followed by your dad's truck.

"Oh no..."

A helicopter hovered a few meters away from the house. Disturbing the still air. As soon as the black vehicles parked, multiple heavy armoured individuals got out and scouted the farm.

A man wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses approached you, as your dad came to your side.

"Sweetie..?"

"I donno, Dad-"

"Mr Cade Yeager, my name is James Savoy. I'm a federal agent." Savoy took a look around the property. "My men and I are trying to track down an abandoned truck."

You watched one of the men walk past Tessa. Her eyes staring something in her hands, her fingers playing with the object. You saw her adjusting her breath to a calm rhythm, before looking up in your direction.

"It's a nice spread you've got here." Your attention turned back to Savoy. "Too bad she's up for sale."

"Thanks, and she's not." Cade boldly spoke. "And do you mean that truck?" he pointed to an vintage ute covered in rust, the grass and flowers started to reclaim it for many years now.

"Afraid not... y'know Mr Yeager. We received a call from someone whom is concerned about this truck. That wasn't you?"

You briefly glanced daggers to Tessa's direction. She quickly shook her head rapidly, using her index finger to draw a cross over her heart.

"The only thing I'm concerned about is you being on my property without permission."

Savoy scoffed at your dad's words.

"You know, there's a rule about people messing with people from Texas-"

"And we don't know what truck you're talking about."

Savoy took a step towards you, taking off his sunglasses allowing his narrowed stare to burn into your eyes. "The kind that cost American lives!... Ma'am..."

Savoy studied your firm expression before turning back to his men, "search the property!"

"What? What you mean 'search the property'? You don't have a warrant!" Cade protested.

Savoy glared at him, stepping into Cade's personal space. "My face is my warrant"

You swallowed nervously, trying to keep steady shallow breaths as you watched the men move throughout the farm. Roaming into the house and approaching the barn. Voices scratched over their radios, as the buzz of drones flew above.

Cade turned and looked at you, "what is going on Y/N?-"

"I don't know, Dad..."

His brown eyes studied you, "you sure?... I'm happy to vouch for you but I need to know what it is."

You hesitated before speaking, " I. Don't. Know..."

---

"The fuck is all this junk?"

"A hoarder's yard. That's what."

Optimus looked up at the floorboards, hearing voices and footsteps of the agents entering the barn. Trying to lower himself further down in the cramped floor space, his face wincing in pain as the half welded sheet dug into his thighs. Automatically covering it up with his servo.

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

A groan escaped from an agent's lips. His footsteps retreating back to the barn doors, "there's no signs. We've got nothing."

Optimus rested his helm against the dirt wall.

"Sir! We have a live armed missile in the trash!"

The Autobot's wide optics quickly glanced up back up.

Oh no... Y/N!!

---

"Shit..." you hissed under your breath. Feeling Cade's questioning daggers immediately turning your way.

"I-I thought it was a dud." You lowly admitted. Hands clenched into fists.

Savoy's glaze switched between you and Cade.

"Look! Okay, yes. Yes, I found a truck. All right!" you admitted.

Tessa kept shaking her head. Cade leaned towards you, muttering your name.

"I towed it back for the parts, and left it here on the driveway last night. This morning it was gone." You gazed at Savoy. "When? Where? I don't know- I swear to God. That's as much as I know about him!"

You tried to approach Tessa. Eyes staring at the ground, Cade's voice shouted questions at you as he followed. But Savoy grabbed your arm.

"Ma'am-"

"What?-"

"You just said 'him'." Savoy smiled as your terrified expression told him everything. "Take them down!"

Your heart jumped into your throat. Fear running up your spine, as the agents forcefully grabbed Cade and Tessa, throwing them down against the grass.

"They don't know about the truck!" you protested. "I know! I know about it! Please, let them go!"

Savoy grabbed your jaw, forcefully making you look at him. "What kind of woman betrays her flesh-and-blood brethren, for some alien metal?"

"He's more human than you ever be!"

He groaned, wiping your spit away from his face. Savoy's fist made contact with your face, two agents restrained you by the arms holding you up. As Savoy grabbed your jaw again.

Clicking his fingers, the agents restraining Cade and Tessa pulled out their weapons. Clocking the gun and removing the safety.

"You'd kill my family?!-"

"If I have to. You've got ten seconds to tell me where the truck is."

Cade fought against the agent whom knelt against his back. "Don't you fucking dare touch my daughters! Hurt them and I'll kill you!"

Tears ran down Tessa's face as she yelled out for you and Cade. The sound of a gunshot made you flinch.

"Next one will go through your father's head." Savoy warned. "Now, the truck-"

"I've told you everything I know!" you protested. "He was here, and now he's gone! That's all I swear!"

---

"I'm telling you the truth!" your voice cried. Hearing the pain in your tone made Optimus' Spark weep. "He's not here! I swear! He's not here!"

"Tell your men to back off! Don't you dare fucking shoot my daughters!"

"Y/N! Y/N! Please!"

The cries from you and your family wurld around Optimus' head. Hearing Savoy countdown from ten, as he continued yelling his demands at you.

Optimus withdraw his cannon from his back plates. Clocking it, allowing the weapon to light up and wurl. Allowing his face guard to untuck from his faceplate and cover his mouth.

Let's roll!

Erupting from underground, Optimus opened fire at his enemies. Blowing them out of the way, and reducing the barn to splinters.

"Here I am!" his machical voice roared, standing at his full height. Allowing all to see him.

His Spark pulsating fast as his optics laid on you. Rage filled him as he changed the output of his cannon, firing non-lethal EMP's in your direction.

"Stay away from her!"

You knelt to the ground, using your arms to shield you from the blast as the agents flew away from you. Tessa and Cade quickly rushed to your side.

"What the fuck is going on?" Cade yelled over the comotion.

"Run Y/N!" you looked up at Optimus as his cannon returned to deadly rounds. "They're going to kill you! Get out of here!"

Heeding the Autobot's warning, grabbing your sister and dad by their hands. Running towards the wheatfield on the left of the farm. Two missiles came from above. Turning your once family home into nothing but rubble.

Without warning the sound of a car engine roared in the air, quickly stopping at the bottom of the wheatfield. As a white Hatchback raced down the hill, and came skidding to a halt before the three of you.

The passenger door flew open. "Hurry! Get in the car!" the male driver yelled.

"Daddy! Y/N! Get in the car!" Tessa shouted. Shoving your dad into the front passenger seat, and trying to pull you into the back with her.

"What about Optimus? We can't just leave him!-"

"Stop protesting, Y/N! And get in the car!"

"Perimeter! Optimus moving your way!" Savoy yelled into the receiver of his radio.

Optimus looked ahead. Breathing a little easier, once his scanners assured him you were at a safe distance. Seeing the Hatchback race down the road, a low groan escaped Optimus' mouth as he crouched down. Forcing his metal plates to shift, loud churning noises rumbled throughout his mechanical body, as he transformed back into a truck.

You and Tessa clung onto the roll cage for dear life, as the hatchback raced down the open fields.

"What's happening, baby? Who are these guys?" the male driver asked Tessa, looking at her reflection through the rearview mirror.

"It's the truck!" she yelled over the engine. "They want my sister's truck!-"

"Truck?! What truck?!" Cade looked at you over his shoulder. He turned to Tess, "who are 'they'?" his attention fell back onto the male driver. "Who are you? And who the hell are you calling, 'baby?'-"

Tessa and the driver paused.

"I know you heard me!-"

"He's Tessa's boyfriend!" you cried out.

Cade's eyes widened, "what?-"

"His name is Shane! I saw him leaving Tessa's room in his underwear!"

"What?!-"

Tessa punched your arm, "well Y/N brought home a Transformer!"

You punched her back. "If you're going to tell a secret. At least get it right! Optimus was already in the barn!"

"At least I tried to keep your secret!-"

"If we survive this. You two girls have a lot of explaining to do!" Cade shouted.

You and Tessa slouched back in the rear seats.

Shane bit his lip, hesitating for a moment before speaking. "Mr Yeager, this was not how I wanted us to meet ok?-"

"Introduction later!" Cade yelled. "Just shut up and drive the car!"

Two black cars appeared in Shane's rearview mirror. Putting the accelerator closer to the ground, the Hatchback raced through the neighboring paddocks.

"I'm going to try and lose them in the cornfield!" Shane spoke over the roaring engine, as he took a sharp right turn. Driving down a dirt road, kicking up dust and dirt behind him.

A scream left your mouth, as your wide-eyed gaze saw one of the black cars quickly emerging from the tall corn. "Watch out!-"

"Brace for impact!"

Heeding Shane's warning, you and Tessa grabbed hold of the handles above the passenger door. Reaching out for one another, as the car t-boned into the side of Shane.

Screams filled the car, as everyone tried to shield their eyes from the rain of glass. Forcing the Hatchback off the dirt track and into the tall field, Shane kept surprising control of the car. The vehicle swerved in and out of trees.

The speed chase continued onto the main road. Shane weaved in and out of oncoming traffic, effortlessly changing lanes and avoiding pedestrians. Other drivers bleeped their horns and flashed their headlights.

Tessa scrunched up her face, as the sound of crashing cars piled up behind as Shane drove through red lights. And sped through traffic.

Your heart beat hard against your ribcage. Anxiety and adrenaline raced through your veins. Closing your eyes and placing a hand over your stomach as Shane drifted around a corner.

"Great! Now they're firing at us!" Tessa said as bullets ricocheted off the Hatchback.

You and her quickly braced yourselves against the driver and front passenger seat.

"Man! I don't know how I'm driving so good!" Shane exclaimed with a smile. "It's like, today I've gone to a whole other level-"

"Road! Focus!" Cade shouted.

"Shane! Look out!" he drifted around another corner as Tessa's warning came to him.

Your stomach turned into a sickening knot, "I honestly don't know how long I can hold myself together-"

"Y/N! If you throw up on my jeans. I will never forgive you!"

You looked up at Tessa, giving her questioning eyes. "That's your concern right now?!-"

"Hang on!" Shane momentarily stopped the car. Skidding to the side, before putting his foot down on the pedal again and crashing through an empty cafe.

Exiting through the back alley and down an old, forgotten road.

"Lose them through the factory, Shane!"

"You got it, Babe!"

Racing around the empty car park of an abandoned factory. Swerving around corners and driving through large gaps in the building.

"I thought you knew how to drive this thing!" you shouted, as it appeared nothing Shane did was working in losing the tail chasers.

Optimus' Spark raced through his wires, as he drifted and turned through the factory. His scanners having a hard time keeping track of the little Hatchback. Metal plates shifted and groaned as he unleashed his full height, jumping from roof to roof of the factory in an attempt to keep up with you.

You quickly looked out the back window, as Optimus' voice called out for you. Your eyes widening as he rolled in the way of the black cars, causing them to slam into him and setting alight upon collision.

"Take them upstairs!" Tessa pointed from the backseat.

"We're gonna lose them on the fifth floor!" Shane agreed.

The knot in your stomach tightened as the Hatchback entered a multi-story car park. Your skin turned pale, bracing yourself against the back of your dad's seat, as the car drifted around corners and moved up the levels.

"Do that thing, Shane!"

"You know it-"

"What? What thing?" your panicky tone questioned.

"What we're about to do is gonna be kinda scary." Somehow Shane's tone didn't sound much of a warning, as he failed to hide the excitement in his tone.

Pressing the accelerator fully against the floor, Shane looked at Tessa through the rearview mirror. "Ready, Babe?"

"Got it" she said, leaning as far forward as she could. Grabbing onto the handbrake.

"Three. Two. One.. Pull!"

At Shane's command, Tessa pulled the handbrake as hard as she could. Causing the car to sharply stop, then turn right and continue racing towards a ramp that hung out of a window.

"No! No! No!" Cade cried.

The pit of your stomach lifted during the brief seconds of weightlessness. Until it dropped hard once gravity pulled you back down. A high pitch scream left your mouth, hands clutching into the back of Cade's seat, ripping the fabric. As you closed your eyes tightly.

By some miracle the Hatchback roughly landed on a ramp upon the ground. The two black cars behind you wasn't so lucky.

"You two girls are so grounded!" Cade shouted, as Shane drifted around one more corner.

Churning and clunking noises begun to erupt from the engine. The car finally came to an abrupt halt, as Shane slammed on the breaks.

Smoke begun to leak out of the hood.

"Shit! We gotta go!"

Shane and Cade quickly got out of the Hatchback. Optimus blared his horn, rolling up a few feet behind.

"Optimus!" you shouted as Cade helped you get out of the car.

The four of you ran towards the rusty truck. Quickly dodging the rain of bullets from above. Once safely inside, the Autobot sped out of the car park and raced towards the entrance to the highway.

[jujumin-translates]

[18TRIP] Ten Murakumo | [SSR] Crow Under The Full Moon | Two/Faced

Characters: ☁️ Ten Murakumo

Location: HAMA Tours - Office Floor

Momiji: Alright, finally done…!

Momiji: (I know it was a bad idea to work overtime, but it just didn’t sit right with me to rest with paperwork left to do.)

Momiji: Now I can just take it easy tomorrow…

Ten: Good work, Chief.

Momiji: Oh, Ten-kun. I thought you left already… Did you forget something?

Ten: Well, I guess you could say that. More importantly, are you done working?

Ten: Want to go out for a drink now? I’d love to treat you to a good drink as a reward for working so hard this late.

Ten: Sound good? Let’s go.

Momiji: (...This is a little suspicious. Since when has Ten-kun been the type to say something so admirable like that?)

Momiji: (But since he’s gone through the trouble of asking me…)

Momiji: Alright, but just one drink.

Ten: That’s the answer I was looking for. Miss, if you’d like to follow me.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Location: Bar

Momiji: It’s so quiet in here…

Ten: Have you been here before by any chance? Right. This is Kuguri-san’s favorite bar.

Ten: Last time he brought me here as a “reward”, I got totally hooked.

Bartender: Sorry for the wait. Here’s your Hungarian wine and Klondike Highball.

Momiji: Thank you very much.

Ten: Alright, a toast to all the hard work and effort done by you, Chief… Cheers.

Momiji: C-Cheers.

*Glasses clink*

Ten: Must be a lot having to deal with so many different types of members. Now’s a good opportunity, so if you want to complain about any of them, I’m all ears.

Ten: I am always on your side, after all.

Momiji: I know and I thank you for that.

Momiji: (Ten-kun feels a little closer today than he usually is… He’s a lot more touchy-feely than usual too.)

Momiji: (He even playfully hugged my shoulders on the way here… Just what is up with him?)

Momiji: …Mhm, the wine is really good.

Ten: Right? You don’t have to keep it to one glass, you know. Drink as much as you want.

Ten: It’s on me today, so don’t hold yourself back.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Momiji: (Yikes… I feel a little dizzy.)

Momiji: (I think I ended up drinking too much because Ten-kun kept encouraging me. Thank God I have the day off tomorrow…)

Ten: Are you drunk? Your face is so red. Cute.

Momiji: (Isn’t he way too close? I can really see how long his eyelashes are like this…)

Momiji: (Huh? Did he just glance at someone behind me?)

Momiji: (Nobody’s there… Maybe I just imagined it.)

Ten: …Ah.

Momiji: What’s wrong?

Ten: I think I’m a little bit drunk too…

Ten: Why don’t we go outside and get some fresh air?

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Location: Wharf

Momiji: Alright, keep steady. Just walk straight ahead.

Ten: Haha, you’re sooo warm, Momiji-san.

Ten: I just want to borrow your shoulder and keep walking like this forever…

*Fabric rustles*

Momiji: Uwhoa!?

Ten: Since there’s no one to disturb us, that means I’m allowed to indulge myself at least for today, riiiight?

Ten: Let me hug youuu.

Momiji: Hold on, you’re all over the place…! Be careful! I’m going to go get you some water, so just go and sit on that bench over there, and—.

*Footsteps*

Momiji: (Footsteps? Someone’s coming up to us…!)

Unknown Woman: Haah, haah… Ten…!

Ten: …You’re finally here. Took you long enough.

Momiji: Huh? W-What do you mean…?

· ❀ —– ٠ ❀ ٠ —– ❀ ·

Unknown Woman: Ten… Who is that? Is she…!?

Momiji: (S-She’s glaring at me really intensely!)

Momiji: Who is this woman…?

Ten: My ex-girlfriend.

Momiji: What?

Ten: I’m going to let you in on a “little secret”, so just listen to me for a moment, okay?

Ten: She started stalking me after we broke up. She’d always be following me around, whether I was going to campus or working part-time for HAMA Tours.

Ten: I really wish she’d just give it a rest already~. Maybe if she sees I have a new partner, it’ll snap her back to reality.

Momiji: …I see. So you’ve been putting on a show for her.

Momiji: Does that mean your drunkenness was just an act too? Did you really have to go that far?

Ten: It’s gotta be realistic. Doing stuff like that is important. Please keep up the good work for me~, Chief.

Ten: Even though I just work part-time, I’m still a member of HAMA Tours. Isn’t caring for my mental health part of the job?

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Option 1: Play along with Ten’s act.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Momiji: (I’m really curious to know about the kind of breakup that would lead to this kind of thing happening, and I’m really curious about his relationships too, so…)

Momiji: There’s no avoiding it… If you’re in trouble, I’ll help you, Ten-kun.

Ten: That’s what I was hoping to hear. That’s what I love about you, Chief.

Ten: Alright, follow my lead. I’m going to hug your shoulders, so cling to me with everything you’ve got, okay?

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Option 2: It’s better to be honest.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Momiji: …If that’s your plan, then I can’t help you. You should just be honest and talk to her properly.

Ten: I thought you’d say that.

Ten: So that’s the kind of person you are, Chief. You’re one of those people who think they can understand almost everyone if you just talk to them.

Momiji: I didn’t mean to sound that naive, I just…

Ten: I’m not so sure about that~. You’ve always been so carefully protected, so you probably wouldn’t understand…

Ten: Don’t you know that there are some things in this world that can’t be solved with lip service?

Ten: And that’s why I’ve got to reject your opinion, Chief. The show must go on.

Momiji: (H-He put his hand on my waist…!!)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Ten’s Ex-Girlfriend: Hey, stop being so secretive and say something already! Who is she!?

Ten: Do you really not get it unless I spell it out for you? You’ve been watching us all this time, so you should get it by now.

Ten: She’s my new partner.

Momiji: (He’s nuzzling his cheek against mine. Isn’t this a bit much…!?)

Ten: That’s why you need to just give up and move on to someone else.

Momiji: Be careful with what you say! You don’t want to provoke her too much…!

Ten’s Ex-Girlfriend: …Y-You don’t have any clue how I was feeling…!!

Momiji: (This is bad, she’s rushing at us…!)

Momiji: Watch out, get away from—.

Ten’s Ex-Girlfriend: Ughh, you should’ve just said so from the beginning~!! As long as you’re happy, Ten, then everything’s okay!

Momiji: (She’s smiling happily and giving us a thumbs up!?)

Ten’s Ex-Girlfriend: Ah, I’m so sorry for misunderstanding. I—.

Ten’s Ex-Girlfriend: I was just so, so worried about whether or not you were happy after we broke up. I guess I just ended up following you around by accident.

Momiji: Huh?

Momiji: What!?

Ten’s Ex-Girlfriend: This one here’s got a nice face, but he’s kind of a mess, isn’t he? And on top of that, he’s got no real life skills, he’s like the epitome of a sugar baby.

Momiji: (That sure is a whole lot something that she’s saying…)

Ten’s Ex-Girlfriend: But. He was really kind to someone like me. I just wanted him to be happy.

Ten: …Huh.

Ten’s Ex-Girlfriend: Looks like everything’s okay. I’m glad. I’ll never follow you around again, don’t worry.

Ten’s Ex-Girlfriend: I… Hope things last between you and her for a long time. I wish you both the best!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Ten: …Haah. That’s finally over with.

Momiji: Having a stalker like that is hard to believe. But I’m glad there’s someone who cares about you that much.

Ten: I didn’t ask for that, though.

Momiji: Even so, you should be more happy to see such a wonderful person, Ten-kun.

Ten: Ohoho, giving me advice, are we? So you’re talkative when you’re drunk, huh~? If you keep on talking, I might have to shut that mouth of yours myself.

Momiji: How can you even do that?

Ten: …

Ten: It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. It’s not fun when drunk people take things so seriously.

Ten: Good work, Chief-san. Let’s call it here for today.

Ten: I’ll repay you for this eventually.

[thechaoticdruid]

Hello! A scene rewrite for your consideration (no obligation of course!):

Astarion’s siblings’ reactions when they break into the party’s camp at the Elfsong Tavern and see Astarion and Winnie cuddling in bed. After the fight, Winnie asks him about not having empathy for the other spawn and Astarion says his line, “No one ever looked out for me. No one ever said a kind thing to me…you’re the only one.”

angst/hurt/comfort?

Thank you for your amazing writing! ❤️

Forever

Pairing: Astarion x Named!Tav (Winnie)

Note: I hope you don't mind, but some of it is word for word from the game while some is changed a bit, but it's pretty much the same context. This is literally one of my favorite scenes in the game! Also please ignore that the photo is not set in the same place as this oneshot. The oneshot takes place in the Elfsong!

Content: Violence, Fluff, slight angst with comfort. Nothing too bad!

Winnie had never thought she'd feel safe enough to sleep peacefully, undisturbed. Not since before the attack on the Lost Grove, her childhood home, did she ever truly feel safe. Today had been particularly tiring since Winnie, Astarion, Jaheira and Karlach had been on the trail of Jaheira’s friend Minsc. Karlach seemed super excited to meet him, apparently he was some great hero or something. Winnie had never been too educated on Faerûn’s heros. They didn't tell stories of them in the Lost Grove. Now she was resting up in their room in the Elfsong, snuggled up in Astarion's arms as he played with her hair, face nuzzled into his chest. The two of them laid on the bed together hidden away from the view of the others as the drapes closed off the room they were in. 

Astarion was awake watching over the human druid as she dozed off in his arms. The sound of the Elfsong’s ghostly songstress lulling her to sleep. Astarion leans over and plants a chaste kiss on her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of lavender and cherry blossoms, the druid’s signature scent. 

For a while she was in a peaceful slumber, but the wicked don't sleep, someone was here to disturb her rest.

Astarion’s pointed ears detected the sound of footsteps and the scent of undeath hit him hard. 

His siblings had come for a visit, slipping in through the curtains that separated them from the rest of their sleeping companions. Glowing red eyes gazed over at the couple in curiosity.

“Astarion? Finally we've found you.” A tiefling female said as she stepped through the curtains. She was followed shortly by what appeared to be a shirtless human male. The two immediately noticed Astarion curled up around his sleeping human love. Astarion mentally cursed himself for allowing his siblings of all people to witness him in such a vulnerable moment. Cazador was the last person that needed to know of his relationship with Winnie.  

“Looks like he found himself a pet mortal.” The man murmured. Astarion slipped away from Winnie and stood in front of her. 

“Oh, her? She's more of a convenient blood bag, really.” Astarion bluffed, hoping his lie would make sure Cazador didn't see Winnie as a means of leverage to use against him. Winnie shifted, exposing the faded bite marks upon her neck.

“Nevermind that brother, you're coming with us.” The tiefling said before she and the male began to corner Astarion.

Winnie slowly shifted, unconsciously feeling around her bed for her lover. Her eyes blinked open as she suddenly heard the sound of shouting. 

“GET THE HELLS AWAY FROM ME!” Astarion snarled. Winnie leapt out of bed now wide awake as she noticed Astarion backing away from two unfamiliar intruders with his fangs barred. 

“Peace brother, we've come to take you home.” The tiefling said. Winnie glared at them and moved over towards Astarion's side.

“The master needs all seven of us for the ceremony, come with us and be reborn. We'll live again.” The man said.

“You're not taking Astarion anywhere.” Winnie growled out, taking a step in front of him protectively.

“Our master needs him for the Rite. He must attend.” The tiefling woman said.

“Oh, I'm well aware of what the master needs. But don't we deserve better?” Astarion spoke up.

“Better? What do you mean?” The other male spawn questioned.

“After these centuries of torment, I know what you all want, more than power, more than to walk in the sun.” Astarion looked at the other two spawn before a devilish grin formed upon his lips. “You want to see him dead.” The other spawn looked at one another as Astarion continued. Winnie rose an eyebrow at Astarion, curious about what he had to say. “The Rite of Profane Ascension will be mine and he won't see a scrap of its glory. I am going to complete the ritual as the Ascendant and then I am going to kill him!” 

Winnie's eyes widened in surprise. He was really still trying to go through with this despite all of her warnings. Winnie wasn’t a stranger when it came to killing, but his siblings were under Cazador's control just as much as he'd been. Whatever their sins were, they weren't their own. At least that's how it was in Winnie's mind. 

“This is your chance. Name me your new master. We will get our revenge and you will live again.”  Winnie could see the lie in his smile, the hunger for power was clear as day. He'd throw them to the wolves for his own gain.  Normally Winnie would be sickened by such a rotten scheme, but being that it was her lover cooking it up she just felt disappointed. 

“Astarion, you can't be this cruel. You're asking them to die for you in that ritual.” Winnie looked at him, eyes saddened. Astarion tensed as he looked back at his lover's round puppy-like eyes, the soft pout of her lips nearly making him cave.

“Don't look at me like that. With the sweet little ‘disappointed I'm not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout. I can't take it.” He glared back at her slightly. “I can't be what you want to see in me.” 

“Die in the ritual? Whatever are you speaking of? We're going to cheat undeath.” The tiefling said, looking quite puzzled.

“Cazador is lying to you. He needs your souls to complete this ritual!” Winnie exclaimed, “why else do you think he wants Astarion back so badly?”

“The master doesn't need to lie to us. He controls us completely. Why go through the trouble of giving us hope?”

“Oh, I don't know…Maybe because he's a sadistic piece of shit?” Winnie crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at their ignorance.

“Shit. She's right, we're doomed.” The male spawn said. “Alright, we'll help you. Just tell us what to do.” Just as he was about to speak further the tiefling woman began to cry out in pain, her body glowing red.

“The bond’s hold. He owns us. We have no choice, we must obey. Get out of here, Astarion!”  She shouted before the other male began to glow red as well.  Winnie tensed, the sound of the front doors to the connecting rooms slamming open sent her into survival mode. Almost immediately she dropped down, wild shaping into her direwolf form with a loud howl to alert the others. 

Astarion quickly grabbed his rapier from under the bed as his tiefling sister came at him with claws. Astarion's blocked her with the blade, slashing her across the chest and kicking her back. Winnie immediately jumped on Astarion's brother and sank her teeth into his shoulder. While the other members of their group fought with the other invading spawn, they were able to slip right past them and make their way towards the room where Astarion and Winnie were locked in combat. 

They lunged at the transformed druid, sinking their fangs into her flesh and draining her of her precious ichor. Winnie released the spawn, jerking back with a high pitched dog like whine as the other spawns mobbed her.

“Winnie!” Astarion pushed his sister out of the way and rushed over to the druid as she was forced out of her wild shape and into her human form. The arcane trickster kicked one of his siblings off her before casting scorching ray and hitting multiple of them with it. Winnie had to take a moment to regain her composure as her head was spinning from blood loss. 

This is bad….Fuck…If only the sun was….Wait a minute!

“Sol Invictus!” Winnie suddenly cast daylight on one of the nearby chairs, sending intense beams of light at all of the nearby vampire spawn. Their skin began to sizzle and scorch. Astarion's siblings immediately made a run for the exit, disappearing into mist before they could be turned to ashes. Winnie huffed a bit, eyes glancing around at the blood and damage caused by their uninvited guests. 

“What a mess. Well at least you've met my family now.” Astarion sighed, running a hand through his hair. Winnie crossed her arms and glared at Astarion.

“Oh come on, you're not still pouting over this!” Astarion whined.

“That was low Astarion. Lying to them like that.” Winnie huffed out.

“I don't know why you're so upset. They're only six vampire spawn!” 

“Can’t you at least be a little sympathetic to others who suffered the same as you?” 

“None of them would do the same for me! 200 years or torment and no one ever said a kind thing to me! You're the only one.” He said, gesturing towards the brunette haired druid.

“Astarion.” Winnie frowned, a saddened look in her eyes. 

“Other people don't have a heart like you….You're you….No one is like that.” Astarion said softly before suddenly feeling a soft hand on his cheek as Winnie looked into his eyes.

“Star, there are so many wonderful people in this world who will love you as much as I do. You just need to open your heart to them.” Astarion placed his larger hand over Winnie's. 

“Don't sell yourself so short. I'm doing this for you too, you know. To make sure we're both safe. Forever.” Astarion smiled sweetly as he gazed lovingly back at his druid before adding a firm, “for good.” Winnie smiled at him, eyes growing soft.

“Your sweet words aren't gonna change my view on this I'm afraid.” Winnie smirked, “but I am rather happy to hear you want to protect me.” 

“Stubborn little thing.” Astarion murmured before leaning in to kiss Winnie's forehead. “I saw you get bitten quite a few times. Are you alright?” 

“I feel woozy I guess, tired.” Winnie admitted, before receiving another forehead kiss. 

“Wait here, I'll go get you something to eat.”Her vampiric love hummed.

“Ooh! Ooh! Cheese!” Winnie said giddily as her partner rolled his eyes with a smile before walking off to fetch her some food. 

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Taglist for Winnie's during campaign oneshots:

@vixstarria , @paganwitchisis , @kerwin290710

[ghostofskywalker]

I Love You, But I Love Your Cat More

Natasha Romanoff/Reader

Fictober 2023 Day 25 of 31

Words: 725

Summary: When you have a bad day, there's only one place you would even think about going.

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist

It only took two knocks for her to answer the door, and the minute she opened it, she could tell what you were there for. Today had been the worst day you’ve had in a while, and it truly felt like there was nothing in the entire world that had the capabilities of making you feel better, but there was one thing you wanted to try.

“Bad day?” Natasha asked as she opened the door, and you just nodded in response, sure that your face carried the weight of your exhaustion. “Come in, she’s on the couch.”

Natasha was your best friend in the entire world and you would do anything for her in a moment’s notice, but if she said anything or mentioned how close you were, you would jokingly tell her that your relationship was only as good as it was because of her cat. A beautifully striped gray and brown tabby with green eyes, Fig had the most beautiful purr and the unique ability to make you forget every worry you’ve ever had when she was within three feet of you.

You practically flopped down on the couch, heaving a sigh that must have clearly communicated your worries, because the next thing you knew, Fig was crawling over to you and settling in your lap. Instantly, you could feel some form of peace wash over your brain, and Natasha walked into the room to see you smiling.

She sat down next to you, and you laid your head on her shoulder. After years of friendship the two of you felt completely comfortable around each other, and this was not a new experience for either of you. Truth be told, if given the chance to progress your relationship you would probably take it in a heartbeat (you would never be able to deny the fact that she was incredibly attractive), but right now you were happy with the way that you snuggled on the couch while you gently ran your hands down Fig’s back, listening to the way she purred like some kind of fluffy comfort machine.

“You want to talk to me about your bad day?” she asked quietly, reaching to grab the pale blue blanket that rested on the top of the couch and place it over your laps.

You paused, thinking about her question as Fig got herself comfortable in the blanket, and you smiled at the way her little head popped out but her body stayed exactly where it was before. “Not really,” you said. “It’s just a lot of things that seemed to build up, you know?”

“Yeah, I do,” she said. “And you know that if you ever do decide you want to talk, I’m here for you.” Both of you have said that to each other before, and you never doubted her sincerity. But since the friendship you had built together centered more around physical comfort than long vent sessions (and the fact that you did not want to cry right now), you elected not to go into the finer details of your terrible day.

Pizza was ordered and movies were played, all from the comfort of the couch, and it was hours before you even moved from that spot. You watched as Fig played with a toy mouse on the ground, filled with a kind of sudden energy that you honestly envied a little bit, and you thanked Natasha profusely for everything she did for you.

Halfway through the second movie of the day and right after Fig had hopped up in your lap once more, you could feel your eyes closing. Natasha was right next to you, and you didn’t want to disturb the way she was settled against you, so you just closed your eyes and allowed yourself to drift off right then and there. For a beautifully blissful moment, you completely forgot about what had given you so much pain and stress earlier today, and you allowed yourself to bask in the comfort and serenity that being in this place (and with this company) brought.

You could have sworn you felt a soft kiss on your forehead as you slipped away from the waking world, but it also could have been a perfect dream. Whatever it was though, you didn’t really care, because you were right where you were supposed to be.

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[madhatterbri]

Garden | Lord Debling

Summary: Y/N often walks with her husband in their garden. A proper gentleman out in public, he can't help the way he feels about her when no one is watching. Behind the hedges, he shows her how he feels. The servants block the entrance to the garden to not let them be disturbed. At night, the maids tease her about the gardens. "He was helping me with animal sounds, nothing more,"

Author's Note: Taken from one of my headcannons. Enjoy. ❤️

Lord Debling Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @plentyoffandoms

Y/N enjoyed walks in the garden with her husband. She twirled her umbrella as it rested on her shoulder. They would often stop at various points in the garden. He would tell her facts about the birds and the insects. Their walks never dulled her.

The extracurricular activities that took place in the gardens happened to be her favorite. The way his whiskers teased her flesh. Passionate kisses were planted against her skin. Her skin always burned and begged for more. No one ever told her married life would be so grand.

The servants knew not to disrupt them while they were in the gardens. To ensure their privacy, two servants, Howard and James, would stand guard at the entrance. Lady Debling's head servant rushed towards the men. As soon as she tried to enter the garden, they stopped her.

"Lady Debling's mother is here for a visit. I must be allowed in," the older woman demanded.

"They want their privacy, Miss Ida. Let them have it," James informed her. He was the more proper of the two gentlemen.

"What could they be doing that is more important than Lady Debling seeing her mother?" Ida asked. Her hands raised in frustration. The two men looked at each other and snickered.

"Oh, Alfred!" Lady Debling moaned. Grunts and moans could be heard from a few feet away. They were behind some hedges only a few feet away.

"Oh good heavens," Ida gasped and placed her hand over her mouth. The poor old woman practically raised Lady Y/N Debling since she was a baby. She regained her composure. "Are the beds, couches, and tables not good enough for them? My word, they've been like this for a month!"

Howard chuckled. "Based on that, I'd say Lady Debling's mother is going to be waiting a little while. If they don't go for a round two,"

"Round two? Oh Lord, give me strength. Tea. I will make her mother tea and catch up with her. You two tell Lady Debling that her mother is here as soon as you see her," she ordered and pointed a finger at them. They nodded yet side eyed each other. As Ida left the men, she could hear them laughing.

That night, Lady Debling was getting ready for bed. Alfred was in his study to prepare for another trip. Two of her younger servants came in to check on her. They spotted Lady Debling and giggled lightly.

"Enjoyed the garden today, Lady Debling?" One of the women asked. Y/N peered out of the corner of her eye at the odd question.

"Any time I have with Lord Debling brings me enjoyment. Tell me, why do you ask such a question?" Y/N asked. The girl blushed darkly. In her silence, the other one decided to speak up.

"There were just some weird sounds coming from the garden today. We are glad they did not disturb your enjoyment with the Lord," she answered. Lady Debling could feel her cheeks burn. They must have heard them in passing. It wasn't like they tried to be quiet while in the gardens.

"I assure you nothing happened in the garden. Lord Debling was helping me with animal sounds, nothing more," she assured the two women. "I bid you a good night,"

The first servant giggled while leaving her chambers. "I didn't realize there was such an animal with the Lord's name,"

[achaoticeternal]

bewitched - ending 1.

check out bewitched pt. 1 here!

ending 2. — ending 3. — ending 4.

summary: after you present Aemond with the ultimatum of your marriage, he must choose between you and Alys.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

He chose you…

The days passed by silently… slowly… There was an eagerness in your bones that craved the touch of your husband. Part of you despised loving him while the other part longed for him once more. No matter how greatly the grief clinged to you, you refused to allow yourself to simply let him in. Aemond had the ultimatum… You allowed him the privilege to choose and so you waited.

Life passed by with the Red Keep continuing business as usual. Though everything seemed plain, a tension hung in the air that caused waves of anxiety to rush through the halls. The staff of the Keep were far more hushed than usual, gossiping with baited breaths when they could.

They took notice of the strange silence between you and the Prince. You only allowed yourself to be seen with Aemond at suppers or when it was greatly expected of you, so not to slack on your duty to the realm. The only other time you allowed yourself to see him was in the quick glances at him when he came to bed. Encounters at night were always silent, moving separately from each other so not to disturb what remained unspoken.

Most of your time was spent either in the gardens or the library, using your solitude as time for further entertainment. Currently, you were perched on a seat of one of the garden patios among bushes and a vineyard with your children accompanying you. You would not allow for the coldness you currently felt toward Aemond to manifest toward them as well, they were innocents. When they asked why their father was no longer frequently joining their mother in her activities, you swayed them away from the questions, wishing not to go into detail with them yet about Aemond’s infidelity.

Your son, Aemon, was pretending to joust with his wooden sword and shield on the greenery. He looked just like Aemond, even going as far as to antagonize his imaginary opponent before striking them. Maerys, your sweet daughter, sat at the steps to the patio reading a book. She was just as studious as her father. And though both children had traits of their father and the fine silver hair of a Targaryen, they had your eyes and your spirit.

It was the shift in the attendants that alerted you to another presence. You lifted your gaze to see Aemond, face stoic and arms held behind his back. With a sigh, you rose from your seat and soothed out the skirt of your dress. You waved at the attendants as to instruct them.

“Please see the children back to their rooms. Their lessons with the septas will resume shortly,” You nodded to the nurse who escorted Aemon and Maerys back into the Keep.

Both Aemond and yourself watched as the silver-haired twins disappeared indoors, leaving you both alone together. Instead of looking to your husband, you gaze rested on one of the shrubs with freshly sprouted rose buds. Words had escaped you and your mind was too foggy to think properly.

Suddenly, calloused fingers began to settle in your hand, attempting to intertwine themselves with your own soft digits. The feeling caused a wave of worry to crash through you as you quickly pulled your hand away. Aemond sighed, but his hand remained where yours was a moment before.

“It rids me with guilt that the smile that once graced your face has been replaced with tears and anger at my doing,” your husband finally broke the silence between you.

“Do you love her?” You responded, paying no mind to his previous statement.

His reply was quick to follow, a slight surprise to you, “No.”

Words were lost on you, so instead you simply nodded your head. Your gaze was still elsewhere, concerned that if you looked him in the eye your walls would crumble.

“I know that I have caused you unspeakable pain, but you will not have to worry about temptations anymore…” Aemond tried to keep a stoic tone, but the wavering of his voice revealed how much he regretted his previous actions.

Though you accepted his kind words, he needed to be explicit about what they meant, “And what of Alys… and the bastard?”

“I expect that they have sailed off the coast of Dorne by now. The witch is seeking asylum abroad in Essos where she shall be no concern of ours,” Aemond explained, “But the fault has been mine, my love. You have been a loyal wife and companion, blessing us with two beautiful children. I allowed the spoils of war to corrupt me and tempt me and I… I apologize, deeply, and this will be something I regret for the rest of my days…”

“But I love you, my sweet wife, I truly do. And if you would allow me, I would do… I would do anything to amend the bonds I’ve broken,” He looked at you, grief shining through his one good eye.

There was a quiet moment between both of you. Then, you silently outstretched your hand, taking his pale hand into your own.

[sunshine-daisies-library]

starry eyed lies | ashton irwin x pop star!reader

author's note: had been cooking this one for a while, might be really sloppy bc i had zero time to work on it lol

summary: as a publicity stunt to boost the popularity of five seconds of summer, ashton is forced to fake date you, a rising pop star that has stolen the hearts of listeners around the world.

warnings: fighting, social media, cyber-bullying?, swearing, mentions of weed, fake dating trope, Ashton is labeled a "bad boy" lol, angst

word count: 11.0k

It was supposed to be a simple “fix-all.” Following the tour for Sounds Good Feels Good, the boys were running on a high. Their names were known all over the world, and they were loved by all girls for not only their music but their looks, too. But with a running high, things must come to an end, as the boys began to falter on their positive fame streak. From negative articles to drama tabloids being released about them, the boys were torn apart by critics and haters alike for their rock star-bad boy attitude. Wherever they made a mistake -one drink too many or ending up in another drama with other celebrities- the press was right there to pick them and prod them where it hurt. The boys’ hands were tied, and it looked like it was the end for their band as they knew it. 

“I’m really at a loss here,” their publicity manager sighed, holding a news article in her hand. On the headlines it stated “Aussie Punk Rock Boys Strike Again: Another Party Gone Wrong.” Depicted in the photo were Luke and Ashton’s headshots taken by the L.A.P.D. It was yet another public disturbance report with additional fines allotted because they were under the influence. On top of that, Luke was still underage and not allowed to drink. 

“I mean, really,” she pressed, tossing the paper onto the coffee table. “Another disturbance report? I thought I told you guys to cut down on parties and alcohol. What were you thinking?”

And to be completely honest, they weren’t thinking. With press on their backs and paparazzi following them everywhere they went, the boys felt completely constricted. Stress was building up in their systems and they lacked an older figure -someone more knowledgeable in the music industry- to guide them through their early onset of fame. One mistake after the other just egged each other on, leaving them feeling hopeless and self-destructive. It got to a point where Ashton considered doing one last big stunt to end his career entirely. At least then he’d finally get to go back home and away from the drama. 

But he couldn’t do that to his boys. His best friends he more so considered brothers had dreamed of moving to L.A. and making music for everyone to hear. Hell, it was his dream, too. He couldn’t possibly throw all of that away for his own selfish desires. Ashton still had to admit that he was getting tired of constantly being under the spotlight with little reward from it. 

“I’m sorry Manuela,” Luke said, hanging his head low. “It won’t happen again, I promise.” 

“I hope I can count on you guys when you say that,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Because there’s only so much I can do on my end to get you guys out of the hole you put yourselves into.” 

Michael leaned over his knees, determined to make things right. “Tell us what we can do,” Michael insisted. “We can clean ourselves up, we swear. We promised to take this break as a time to fix ourselves and really focus on our music.” 

“See, that’s the thing,” Manuela pointed out. “Taking a break is the perfect opportunity to get out of the spotlight and focus on bettering yourselves. But, completely escaping the press and media will make you guys fade out of the music industry. So we have to find an even balance between the two.”

“How?” Calum asked curiously. A frown rested on his tired face. Anyone could tell the bad press was getting to him. It was getting to all of them. “Everyone practically hates us.” 

Manuela grabbed the remote from the table and turned on the TV, connected to her computer. “That’s where we come in,” she started, sharing her screen to the boys. “What we need is a fresh face that’s receiving positive feedback to get you guys on everyone’s good side again.” She flicked through meaningless graphs and percentages of social media engagement and views on YouTube for their tour diaries and music videos. Ashton winced at the downward trend for each graph. “My team’s first option was One Direction. But considering the break they decided to go on, it’s obviously not a viable choice anymore.” 

“So who do you have in mind?” Ashton spoke up, flicking his hand up to ask his question. 

Their publicity manager clicked the remote to change slides. On the screen was a beautiful girl, smiling at the paparazzi. You looked shy, definitely new to the L.A. music scene but confident nonetheless. 

“Woah, y/n l/n?” Michael awed. “I’ve listened to her music before. She’s sick.” 

“And also America’s new pop princess,” Manuela informed them. “After touring with Taylor Swift as her opening act for the 1989 tour, she’s gained considerable popularity. She’s just moved to L.A. and records at the studio a couple blocks down. She’s new to the industry, but she’s promising.” Manuela switched  off the TV and turned to the boys. “And she’s probably your only option.” 

“Hold on,” Ashton said. He was struggling to wrap his head around this. “What do you want us to do with her? Record a song with her? Not to be rude or anything, but her music genre doesn’t mix well with our type of stuff, and I don’t feel like writing lovey-dovey shit.” 

Manuela chuckled at his immediate disgust at the idea. “No, we weren’t thinking that,” she reassured him. “For now, at least. What we need is a good influence in your lives for the public to see. Someone like y/n.” 

“So what now?” Ashton raised an eyebrow. “We just knock on her door and become best friends?” 

“Ash,” Calum scolded him, smacking his knee. “Be nice. y/n and I are mutuals on social media and she’s had nothing but nice things to say about us.” 

Manuela snapped her fingers. “Exactly,” she agreed. “Calum and Michael are already acquainted with her. We need a bigger step to bring you guys into the limelight.” The older woman turned to Ashton, ironically the one member that was most against this whole ploy. “We need you to date y/n.” 

The four boys let out shouts of differing emotions. Michael was shocked, Calum was confused, Luke was jealous, and Ashton was no doubt opposed. 

“Why him!” Luke whined. “He doesn’t want to do it, let me! I’ll gladly date her.” 

Manuela shook her head, adamant on her decision. “It’s gotta be Ashton, I’m afraid,” she said. “His “bad boy” persona is the most detrimental to your overall image. He’s got to be the one. Not to mention, y/n requested him specifically.” 

“Oh great,” Ashton groaned, voice dripping in sarcasm. “The plan is to sell me off as some pop star’s boy toy? How come she’s in on it and I have no choice?” 

“That’s not the plan,” Manuela told him firmly. “It was created in agreement between her team and yours. She needs all the publicity she can get to boost her fame and, well, you guys are aware of your own situation. It’s all for show, Ashton. All we ask is a few dates in public and even a kiss or two for the press.”

Michael snickered. “He won’t have a problem with that,” he muttered under his breath. 

“But,” Manuela cut the boy off. “We’re not asking you to marry her. It’s just a few months and then an amicable split. She’s going on tour at the end of the year, and you boys are going on your writing retreat. By then, both of you will be able to part ways and your relationship will be a thing of the past. She gets the publicity, your reputation gets fixed. It’s a win-win situation.” 

“Not for me,” Ashton fought back. He wanted nothing to do with this. Hell, he didn’t want anything to do with the band anymore. Each night, he plotted excessive plans to escape his prison called L.A. and fly back to Sydney to be with his family. He was sick of the lights, the glamor, the fame. 

He glanced back at his friends. His heart clenched at the dark bags under Calum’s eyes, and Michael’s uncharacteristically extra pale complexion from the lack of sleep. Anxiety had riddled the entire band, and it was clear on Luke’s hands where he had been picking at his fingertips. They were a wreck, and Manuela made it seem like he was their last hope. If he said no, they could pack up their things and go home. He’d get what he wanted all along. But Ashton couldn’t let go of the sparkling looks in their eyes when they received word from One Direction that they wanted them to open up for their concerts. He saw hope in their futures, saw something bigger in store for them. In some way, Ashton could still see that innocence in their eyes, blocked slightly by their stress and nerves. He was their last chance to bring that optimism back. 

“I’ll do it,” he gave in. The boys let out whoops of joy, tackling Ashton into a hug. Ashton was frustrated beyond belief, but he faked a smile just to see his boys get their spark back. 

–

Ashton was immediately regretting his decision the moment he stepped foot into the restaurant. The restaurant was too expensive for his taste, the kind of eatery that sold mediocre food primarily for you to post on social media for your “friends” to envy you. If this place was your idea as Manuela mentioned, it was only a mere insight of your personality. And without even meeting you yet, Ashton was beginning to loathe you. 

The musician checked his watch again, keeping his head down and away from any prying eyes. You were ten minutes late, and if you kept this up, Ashton predicted you wouldn’t even show up. Ashton swore under his breath, growing more and more annoyed by you. He never should have agreed to this plan. 

Suddenly, you came bursting through the door. Your eyes peered around the store before finding Ashton’s, immediately heading to the table he had saved. Ashton fought the urge to roll his eyes at your lack of sunglasses or hoodie. It was like you were begging for attention. Which, now he thought, you probably were. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you apologized profusely, setting your bag on the ground and pulling out your notebook. A waitress immediately went to your table to take your orders. Ashton had only wanted water, but you ordered one milkshake and a side of cannolis. “Traffic was terrible, as per usual in L.A. I suppose. And then my publicity manager asked me to get my hair down for today, then she scheduled a nail appointment-” You took a deep breath, running out of air from talking so quickly. “I feel like a dress up doll,” you joked, giving the Aussie a sheepish smile. 

Ashton, however, was not amused. He barely returned your smile, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Whatever,” he murmured. “Let’s just pretend to look happy when the press gets here. We were supposed to have a ten minute prep time but since you decided to be late-”

“I didn’t decide to be late-” you fought back incredulously.

“We only have three minutes max to plan something good for the press to take a picture of,” Ashton finished, sending a glare your way for interrupting him halfway. 

You huffed, deep in thought before concocting something paparazzi worthy. “Just follow my lead, okay?” you said, watching a swarm of paparazzi approach the restaurant. The waitress set down your order and was about to dash off when you asked for two straws. 

Ashton raised an eyebrow at your idea, not exactly following along. You stuck the two straws into the glass, taking a healthy sip from it. You let out a moan of delight, smiling to yourself at the taste. Ashton fought the urge to chuckle at your almost innocent-like demeanor. He coughed to cover up his laugh, still stubborn enough to maintain his grudge against your tardiness. 

You took the paper wrapping of one straw and glanced up at the drummed in front of you. Tying the wrapper together, you raised the knot up. “Tug the other side,” you instructed. 

Ashton gave you a pointed look but pulled the wrapper nonetheless, pulling until the paper gave way and snapped in half. The knot remained on your end, making you cheer in victory. 

“I still don’t understand what the hell you’re doing,” he grumbled. 

You ignored him, closing your eyes and whispering to yourself. Ashton leaned back, not fighting back an eye roll. “Great,” he muttered. “I’m on a date with a weirdo.” How was this supposed to get the band good publicity? 

Opening your eyes again, you set the wrapper down. “I was just making a wish,” you explained as if it was the most obvious thing. “You never did that before? Tie a knot in the straw wrapper, pull, and whoever gets the knot gets to make a wish.” 

“That’s,” Ashton took a deep breath. “The biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life.” 

You scoffed playfully, cocking your head to get a good look at the paparazzi. More photographers approached the windows, taking hundreds of photos of the two of you. “Try smiling more,” you told him. “Maybe people wouldn’t crown you with the “bad boy of the band” title if you did.” 

“I’m not the bad boy of the band,” Ashton retorted, smiling nonetheless. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it satisfied the press who started flashing their cameras more frequently at the sight of it. 

Snorting, you took his hand and weaved your fingers together as you took another sip of your -now shared- milkshake. You let out a quiet giggle despite no one saying anything funny.

“You’re terrible at this,” Ashton deadpanned. 

“I’ve seen people do this in movies,” you responded, shaking your head as if he said something unbelievable. 

“Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,” he said back, responding to your head shake with a chuckle. 

You hummed, turning away and muttering under your breath, “Look who’s talking.” 

Ashton couldn’t help but be amused by your clever comebacks. He never expected you to be able to keep up with his sarcastic comments. But here you were, dishing them out faster than he can create one. 

“Anyways,” you continued breezily. “You’re so the bad boy of the band.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked, readjusting his position in his chair to prepare himself for whatever response you’d curated. 

You took a pause to collect your thoughts. You took a bite of your cannoli as you thought to yourself. “First off,” you swallowed the remaining bits of the pastry. “In your first album, you’re the only one looking away from the camera frowning. Luke’s looking away, but at least he’s smirking a little bit. That’s big bad boy energy. And the bandana? Come on, you’re trying so hard to be edgy but I see your smile behind the drums.”

Ashton rolled his eyes for the millionth time that day. “Good to know you’ve done your research.”

“I have to get to know my new fake boyfriend,” you waved him off jokingly. “What am I supposed to do? Go into this blind? Surely you’ve done some research about me.” 

The Australian musician hesitated to respond. “I may have skimmed the binder?” he responded, a little bit embarrassed. He didn’t expect to have to know everything about you and your career. 

You squeeze his hand, reminding him you were still intertwined. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other later.” 

You both turned to the windows and noticed the swarm of photographers only grew in size, all of them in huddles behind cars. “You think we gave them enough to look at?” you asked. Not waiting for a response, you placed a couple bills on the table and pulled Ashton up with you. 

“Where are we going?” Ashton questioned as you both braved the outdoors, instantly getting bombarded by the paparazzi. Taking on a protective boyfriend role, Ashton wrapped an arm around your shoulders and lent you his sunglasses to wear. 

“Don’t worry!” you said, raising your voice a bit due to the loud calls of interviewers calling out to them. “I know a place!” 

You sprinted down the street and took a sharp right, tugging Ashton along with you. Impressively enough, you were fast enough to lose the press. Soon enough, you found the place you were looking for and dove in. 

The drummer blinked a couple times, trying to regain his sight after the millions of flashes nearly blinded him. Once his vision turned back to normal, he looked around the room to see a relatively empty restaurant. The lights were dim and gave the feel of a speakeasy but also had sweet handmade decorations adorning the walls. The place was endearing to him, somehow, because of how unabashedly unique it was. 

You directed Ashton to your favorite table in the back corner while you went up to the counter to order for the both of them. By the time Ashton had gathered his bearings in his seat, you returned with a tray full of food. 

“Welcome to the “Quilted Corner,” you introduced him to the cafe. “Everyone’s favorite eatery in the darkest corner of Los Angeles. And by everybody I mean probably just me and five other people.” 

Ashton nodded dubiously, understanding the unique name for the place once he got a good look at the grandma-esque decorations. 

“And what do you have in your tray of horrors?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the assorted foods.

You began to divide the food between the two of you, the mountain of greasy foods slowly turning into a valley and then nothing at all. 

“I’m going to change your goddamn life, Irwin,” you declared, taking a napkin and wiping your hands with it. “This is the order Granny Stevenson -the owner- recommended to me when I first came here. I was lost in the city looking for a place to duck and cover from the paparazzi and came across this lovely place.”

You gestured to the spread of foods. “This is the “homesick cure,”” you told him. “It consisted of two double cheeseburgers, a side of fries, and a milkshake. All completed with Granny Stevenson’s special sauce.” 

“And a heart attack,” Ashton deadpanned. 

You ignored his statement. “This place is really special to me,” you confessed. “It actually cured my homesickness and Granny Stevenson is a grandma-away-from-home to me. This place is where I go to write songs or just get away from it all.”

Ashton poked at his order, a thin film of oil coating his fingertips. “I don’t see the inspiration factor here,” he said, his nose scrunched up. “It just looks like another fast food place in America.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sad mis-fed rockstar,” you said with a smirk. You pointed at the one last item you didn’t mention. “Behold the Grandpa Stevenson special.” You held up the dish and smelled it deeply. “A blueberry cheesecake made in-house with all the love this place can put into it. Name a place that sells that kinda love, Ashton.” 

“I’m pretty sure Burger King sold that at one point in a mall food court,” he snipped back. 

You narrowed your eyes at the pessimistic drummer. “Not sold with love,” you reminded him. “Besides, they actually make this stuff here. No processed shit, only love.”

Ashton scoffed, turning his head away from the table. Love. What a load of bullshit. If you were gullible enough to buy into the “love” this restaurant sold you, you definitely wouldn’t make it in the cut throat music industry. You were too innocent. It was only a matter of time until those producers and media companies tear you apart like they did with him and the band.

Despite his negative attitude, he took a fork and tried a piece of the cheesecake. The light dessert just about melted on his tongue, the flavors of cream, blueberry, and cinnamon dancing along his tongue. It was the best thing he’s ever tried.

“Told ya,” you sang, eating your own meal with a knowing smirk on your face. 

Ashton feigned a look of disgust. “You didn’t tell me shit,” he grumbled. “It tastes like every other cheesecake.” That was a lie. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever tasted. Somehow, it tasted like home. 

You tried to wipe your messy face with a napkin. “No one that thinks this is an average cheesecake makes that kinda face.” When Ashton didn’t understand, you sighed, preparing to make the same face. “It’s the look you get when you touch down in your hometown after an eleven hour flight. Or the face you make when you write a banger bridge for a song you’ve dedicated weeks to. Or it’s the look you get when everything makes sense in the world.” 

Ashton stabbed his cheesecake and shoveled more of it into his mouth. Pure Heaven. “Whatever,” he huffed. 

The two of you finished the rest of your meal in silence, aside from sighs of content from you because the food was that damn good. You finished off your milkshake, but not before picking up the straw wrapper and tying a knot, just like you did at the cafe before. 

“Pull away, rockstar,” you instructed. Reluctantly, Ashton followed suit and tugged at the paper, the knot ending up on his side this time. You cheered, clasping your hands together. “It’s your turn now! Your first wish that shall be granted by the straw gods.”

Ashton shot you a look before tossing the wrapper to the side. “I don’t really care for wishes,” he stated plainly. You frowned at his negative attitude and that look alone made Ashton’s heart lurch. He instantly felt bad for the way he’s been treating you; it wasn’t your fault the press hated him. But still, he couldn’t help but put some blame on you. It was better than wallowing in self hate, he supposed. 

“It’s okay,” you collected yourself. “You can save that wish for when you need it.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not going to need it,” he responded sarcastically.

You chuckled, taking a bite out of Ashton’s cheesecake. He let out a shout of protest but you paid no attention to him. “Trust me,” you assured him. “There’s always a time when you need a wish in L.A.”

–

“She’s weird,” Ashton grumbled, readjusting the cuffs of his button up. The boys were preparing for their interview with Buzzfeed in their shared dressing room, fighting for space in front of the mirror. 

It’s been a total of three months since you and Ashton started your fake relationship and the media has been eating it up. They followed the both of you everywhere you went, hiding in cars and in alleyways to get a glimpse of the so-called happy couple. You played your part well, holding his hand in public and kissing his cheek whenever you had the opportunity. From the public’s point of view, Ashton was just as taken by you as you were with him. The media fawned over his boyish grin and blush whenever you’d readjust his beanie in the winter cold. 

On your end, you were genuinely falling for the boy. Behind closed doors, he was just a boy from Australia, new to the fast paced life of being a celebrity. You saw through his cold facade, slowly cracking through the walls he put up around his heart, and you had a feeling you were growing on him. He’d still quip sarcastic comments and roll his eyes, but you didn’t miss the small smile that would rest on his face when he thought you weren’t looking. As rare as his genuine smiles were, you relished those moments because it was the only times you’d see the real Ashton, not the one he’s put out for the paparazzi. 

Ashton, however, was still holding out his grudge against you, albeit very weakly. His tough exterior was indeed toppling slowly. Your kind nature was just too sweet to not find you a little endearing. Ashton would never admit that you had grown on him a little, and a small part of him possibly looked forward to your weekly dates. He learned so much from you, it was as if he never wanted to stop listening to you. Not that he would tell you that, though. 

“That’s all you’ve ever said about her,” Michael shot back, glancing at the mirror to check his hair one more time. “Come on, mate, it’s been three months. Surely you have something new to say about her?” 

Calum agreed wholeheartedly. “Yeah, she’s come to the studio during her breaks from recording. That’s not even in your dating contract but she still does it.”

“Not to mention she gets us coffee every time,” Luke piped up. “That coffee is addictive, where does she get it?” 

Ashton couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He knew you’d always stop by the Quilted Corner -no matter how far of a walk it was- to pick up some coffee. And he knew you always tried to be slick about it, but he’d always catch you tucking away a slice of blueberry cheesecake in the band’s fridge, just for him. He’d never mention it, though. He wanted to let you have your fun. 

Calum let out a shout, pointing at the drummer accusingly. “Aha!” he cheered. “I knew she was growing on you!”

“What the hell are you going on about, Cal?” Ashton demanded, exasperated by his friends’ antics. 

Calum continued his childish shimmy, the other boys gleefully joining in. “You got that dumb smirk on your face,” Calum smugly pointed out. “You’ve got it bad for y/n, don’t you.” 

Before Ashton could respond, the director shouted, “Five minutes till shooting!” Glaring at the boys to keep them silent, Ashton made his way to the chairs in front of the camera, silently praying for this interview to be quick and over with. 

“Welcome to Buzzfeed, boys,” the director’s assistant approached them with a smile. She was petite but her voice was strong and insistent. “Make sure to always look at the camera, but above all, smile and don’t look down. The viewers want to see your faces, okay?” Nodding in confirmation, the boys readied themselves for the camera as the assistant swiftly moved out of the way. 

“Yeah Ash, don’t doze off dreaming of y/n,” Luke snickered into his ear, making the other boys chuckle along with him -aside from Ashton, of course.

–

The interview went as well as one could expect. The questions about the boys’ past were still continuously brought up but the boys answered the questions with grace they could only credit to Manuela. Luckily enough, the interviewer seemed to enjoy their responses, noting a significant maturity in the boys. They seemed to have gotten over their party phase and turned into serious musicians during their break from tours and parties. 

“Final question is for Ashton,” the interviewer shuffled through their papers. “Sources have spotted you and new singer songwriter y/n l/n around L.A. quite a bit following the end of the North American 1989 tour. Now, you both have confirmed your relationship and made it very clear you two are together. Has y/n been an influence in the reshaping of your image in the media?” 

Ashton bit the inside of his cheek. Just remember what Manuela rehearsed with you, he thought. 

“Yeah, y/n’s been great,” he answered, trying to not sound as monotone as he did during his practice runs. “She’s been such a great influence to me and the boys, always keeping a positive outlook on things. I learn a lot from her, and I’d like to think she’s learned quite a bit from me, too.” 

“Like jumping into the neighbor’s pool at midnight?” the interviewer jested, referencing the one time Ashton had drunkenly trespassed his neighbor’s home while they were on vacation. 

Ashton tried not to cringe at that one memory, heavily wanting to keep that part of him in the past. “Definitely not that,” he laughed awkwardly. “But definitely in a sense of navigating newly received fame and things like that.” 

“That’s great to hear,” they hummed. “Should we be expecting anything from you guys? Maybe a collaboration of some sort?”

The drummed shrugged his shoulders honestly. “It’s all up to her,” he responded. “We’re still taking a break from touring, but we do have an album in the works. Writing music with her is definitely on the table, for sure.” 

Ashton wasn’t sure what word vomit was spewing from his lips. Last time he checked, it wasn’t up to you whether or not you wanted to collab with the boys (you were clearly apprehensive about invading his space), he didn’t want to write music with her (possibly due to the fact that the last time you had a joint writing session, he was stuck staring at you curled up on the other side of the couch; you were just mesmerizing but he’d never admit that aloud), and he hated lovey dovey shit (because he hated the warm feeling brewing in his stomach whenever you’d smile or laugh at his jokes). But it wasn’t like he liked you, right? He had to focus on his career, his boys, his life. Not a relationship that’s destined for failure no doubt because of the media. 

 “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for you guys, thank you so much for coming to our studio today!” The interviewer finished off the closing statements for their interview while Ashton was left inside his head. 

Truth be told, he was conflicted. He had, in fact, gotten significantly closer with you, closer than he’d expected to be at the very least. He still tried to be closed off, tried to push you away from him so he wouldn’t get attached and heartbroken in the end. You just made it so damn difficult. 

“Nice responses, Ash,” Michael patted his shoulder as they gathered their things in their dressing room. “Really downplayed how much you liked her there.” 

Ashton raised an eyebrow while picking up his phone from the side table. He was stupid enough to not look at the text messages. Particularly the ones from you that stated you were on your way to the studio for your own interview. 

“What are you saying, Mike?” Ashton asked tiredly, tired of the relentless teasing and questions he’s gotten about you all afternoon. 

“Mike’s saying that we know you’re in so deep with her,” Luke spoke up from the back as he slipped on his jacket. “Like, L-word close with her.”

Love? Why the hell would he love you? This was all a fake set up for their careers, why didn’t they get that? 

“Can you guys knock it off?” Ashton snapped, finally raising his voice. “I don’t like y/n and I never will. I don’t even like her as a friend. She’s obnoxious, annoying, and so unbelievably difficult to work with; the two of us will never work out. And thank God for that because if I have to spend more than 10 months with her to save your asses’ careers, I’m leaving the fucking band.” 

“Ash-” Calum said meekly.

“No!” he cut him off harshly. “I’m sick of being pushed around like a fucking doll for publicity. The band was doomed from the start because the press won’t leave us the fuck alone. And using y/n as a last Hail Mary is as stupid as it is useless. She’s going to be nothing more than a washed up young celebrity like the rest of us and fade to the past.” 

“Ash!” Michael stopped him. “That’s enough, we get it.” 

Ashton didn’t piece together their hastiness until it was too late. He turned around to see you standing before them. He didn’t even hear the door open. Your eyes were welling up as your mouth was slightly opened by his outburst. 

“Hi guys,” you weakly greeted them. 

Ashton took a step forward, freezing when he saw you stagger back. “y/n,” he whispered, unable to know where to start with his apology. 

“I have an interview in ten minutes,” you informed them quickly. “I’ll see you around later, yeah?” 

You seemed to have taken that as final as you pushed them out of the dressing room and closed the door shut. You didn’t move from the door until you heard all of their footsteps trail off and out of the studio. You let out a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding in as you hang your head low. And to think you thought he actually might have liked you, too. 

A knock interrupted your thoughts. “Ms. l/n?” a voice spoke up. “My name’s Ryan and my buddy Shane and I wanted to know if–” 

“Sorry,” you said, opening the door sheepishly. You hoped your face wasn’t giving away your embarrassment and hurt you were experiencing. “I-um, I think I need to be alone for a sec.” 

“Oh!” the taller one exclaimed. “To call Ashton? I think I saw him walk that way.” 

You bit your lip, nodding painfully slow. “Yeah,” you croaked. “Thanks, I’ll be headed there soon.” 

You didn’t leave any time for debate or questions as you pushed through the pair and walked in the opposite direction, straight to the bathroom. The two men glanced at each other in concern. 

“What’s up with her?” Shane asked.

Ryan only shrugged his shoulders. “I guess it’ll remain unsolved,” he mused wisely.

“That’ll be a great name for a show one day!”

“I know right?”

–

You were lucky that there was enough conflict in both of your schedules to postpone your date to three weeks after the interview. To say you were anxious was an understatement. You picked at your fingernails as you waited for Ashton to arrive at the park. 

You were conflicted with the entire agreement. A part of you wanted to end the agreement, rip the contract into shreds. Ashton was right, wasn’t he? This plan was useless, and your fifteen minutes of fame were almost up. It was only a matter of time until you were no longer relevant. Then what would you do? You’d have to go back home and start over, and maybe that’s better than what you had for yourself now: a fake relationship for attention. 

But at the same time, you had fallen hard for Ashton. Behind his rough exterior was a shy musician that was passionate in what he did. He loved music, but loved his friends and family more. You admired him for that, realizing that he only had a harsh image because he was protective of who he loved. You only wished that he saved that part of himself for you, too.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” a soft voice spoke behind you.

You turned around on your bench to see Ashton standing, hands sheepishly in his pockets. His cheeks were red from the cold as his eyes were trained on the ground. 

“Of course I did,” you responded somewhat brusquely. “It’s part of the contract, afterall.” 

Ashton scoffed, making you raise an eyebrow irritatedly. You had every right to be a bitch to him. He was the one bad mouthing you in the first place. Your mixed emotions had sat in your stomach for the past few weeks. Your anger was winning out the heartsick feeling. 

“What are you scoffing about, rockstar?” you quipped, disgust filling your tone instead of affection as it usually was in the nickname you gave him. “I signed that paper as much as you did.” 

“It wasn’t like it was my fucking idea,” he shot back, frustration fueling his voice. He pulled at his hair and laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “In case you forgot, I was forced into this bullshit! And to think I was actually going to apologize to you.” 

“About which part?” you shouted back sarcastically. “The part where you called me obnoxious and annoying? Or how about when you couldn’t stand to spend any more time with me or else you’d quit the band? Oh I know! How about when you called me a washed up celebrity? Take your pick, rockstar! You’ve got plenty to choose from!”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” he raised his voice higher than he ever had before. “God, I’m fucking sick of you and your “holier than thou” bullshit! You’re only in this shit for the money and the fame. I’m tired of playing this game and being a fucking plot device to launch your career! Maybe if you actually had substance instead of putting up the “innocent girl from a small town” act, people would like you more! Because Jesus fuck I don’t!” 

What Ashton failed to realize was that your ten minute grace period between meeting and the paparazzi coming was up. The photographers circled around you like predators stalking their prey, starving for anything to satisfy their appetites. You were too caught up in your argument, too, oblivious to the prying eyes of the public. 

“Don’t act like you’re so perfect,” you spat. “You want my honest opinion about you? I think you’re nothing but a stuck up member of a boyband who’s pissy because the attention’s no longer on him anymore. Face it, Ashton! You’re just like everybody else here! Self-centered, fucked up, and ignorant as all hell. Maybe that’s why the media fucking hates you! It’s not because they twist your actions, you just are a fucking terrible person and it’s about time you realized that!” 

Ashton silently seethed, opening and closing his fists as he tried to find the right words to say. “You really think that?” he asked in a low tone. He wasn’t really sure if he wanted to hear your response. Despite his harsh words, he truly craved your validation and he knew that he wasn’t going to hear what he wanted. 

“Yes,” you swallowed. “I do.” Silence filled the cold air as you stood at a standstill. The air filled your lungs like icy needles, not yet thawed for the seasonal change that was yet to come. It was like a test between the two of you. Who was going to be the first to bite the bullet and say what’s been on your minds? 

You made your decision. “Let’s end this,” you said, voice wavering. “Let’s put the both of us out of our misery and end this once and for all. I think we both got enough of each other.”

Ashton was taken aback. He thought the same thing, but he didn’t think you’d be the one to say it. If he was being honest, he didn’t want to end it. If he could spend the rest of his life on a tightrope, teetering towards anger and frustration for eternity just to be with you, he’d do it. But he knew he was hurting you as much as you were hurting him. He knew what he had to do.

“Good,” he agreed, mustering enough strength to not cry right there. He really was losing the one good thing he had going for him. And it was all his fault. “I’ll have Manuela reach out to your manager. You can..lose my number, I guess.”

“If that’s what you want,” you told him smoothly. On the inside, you were crumbling apart.

Ashton forced a nod. “Yeah, that’s what I want.” 

–

He didn’t expect things to get as bad as they did. Ashton knew the paparazzi was everywhere, he always did. But dammit, he got so lost in his anger that it slipped his mind. And the one time it did, everything went wrong.

But for the first time, the blame wasn’t on him. Not in the eyes of the media, at least. 

Is America’s Sweetheart y/n l/n Actually a Monster? 

Pop Princess y/n l/n rips Australian Musician Ashton Irwin Apart

End of an Era: Irwin-l/n Break Up is Messy and Unexpected

Even on Twitter, you couldn’t catch a break. 

#y/nl/nisoverparty

#y/nl/nisasnake

#y/nisthebiggestbitch

#y/nl/nisOVER

On every magazine and gossip column was a picture of your encounter with Ashton at the park. Lucky for Ash, the media only got a glimpse of your rant at him and didn’t get any footage of him yelling back at you. To the public, he looked like the innocent party while you looked completely wicked. 

Oh God, Ashton thought. I just ruined her life.

The weeks that followed were rough. Manuela called for a group meeting and told them that their ratings have gone through the roof. 5 Seconds of Summer were finally back on the good side of the press and were labeled as the “innocent boys from Australia” that got “led down the wrong path.” Manuela was happy that her plan had worked; 5SOS is back on track, but she was disappointed at what it cost. 

“Is there anything we can do to help her?” Michael asked at the end of the meeting. 

Manuela pressed her lips together. “I’m afraid not,” she sighed. “y/n’s manager cut off all ties with us. I think we got the message that she wants nothing to do with us.” 

Calum checked his phone, cringing at the amount of tagged posts he was in. All of them bashing you and everything you’ve worked so hard to create. 

“We have to do something,” Calum pleaded. “She’s not just a coworker; she’s a friend. She’s always been there for us, even if Ash wasn’t here, she’d come by. We can’t leave her hanging like this.” 

“Ash,” Luke turned to his friend, blue eyes pleading and desperate. “Can you talk to her? Maybe we can work something out. Anything.” 

Ashton stammered before he responded. What could he do? He was the very last person you’d want to see right now. He got you into this mess and painted you out to be a monster. The blame should have fully been on him. You wouldn’t have yelled at him if he didn’t push you over the limit. 

“Why should it be me?” he asked. “She hates me.” 

Michael scoffed at his friend, clearly upset at his poor attempt at weaseling his way out of this. “You’re joking,” he deadpanned. “She adored you. Whether you liked her or not she was your biggest supporter. When you weren’t around at the studio, she talked the world about you. You may have not liked her, but she loved you. So you have to fix this.” 

“Boys, relax,” Manuela insisted. “I’m certain her publicity team has a plan set for situations like these. She’s probably going to keep quiet for a while then re-emerge into the public scene again once the public wounds have healed. So it’ll be in her best interest and yours if you keep quiet and not cause a scene. Not when the public finally has a positive outlook on you.”

“That’s so..” Luke huffed defeatedly. “Wrong.” 

Manuela patted his knee comfortingly. “That’s the music industry, love.” 

–

You truly fell off the face of the earth. Ashton was at a loss. After the presumed “silent break” you took, he thought you’d get back into the swing of things. Media tabloids had died down, and it seemed like the public had forgotten about your argument and moved onto the next interesting thing. But you didn’t come back. Not even to your studio, the place remained empty. You didn’t respond to his calls, all of them going straight to voicemail. Your manager only picked up her phone once, insisting he stopped calling if he knew what was best for him. Not even your friends answered his frequent dm’s. 

Your instagram was dormant. The last post was of Ashton a month back, playing his guitar and smiling down at his lyric book. He didn’t even realize you took that picture until you posted it. He was a little shocked that you kept it up, considering all things, but at the same time you didn’t post anything anymore. You used to post everyday, updating everyone about your hectic life. All that was left were the photos that remained on your page. Ashton had caught himself too many times scrolling through, just to see your smiling face again. He beat himself up over the fact that his last glimpse of you in person was nothing but a broken shell of who you once were. 

Ashton pushed the door open, entering the last place he thought of that you could possibly be in. The smell of the restaurant was the same as it always was, full of spices and sweets that made his mouth water. But he had to stay focused. He needed to find you and talk to you. 

Behind the counter, an older couple approached him. Ashton immediately recognized them as the Stevensons, the couple you adored more than their own food. It seemed like they recognized him too once they reached the counter space. 

“You must be Ashton,” the older woman said, readjusting her glasses. Her wrinkles appeared as she greeted him with a smile, a sign that she lived a life full of laughter and smiles. The kind of life you confessed you wanted desperately. “y/n has spoken so highly of you.” 

Ashton ducked his head, blushing at the compliment. Even when you were gone you still managed to light up the room and make him seem like a better person than he actually was. “That’s actually why I came here,” he told them. “I was wondering if you had seen y/n come by.” 

The gentleman beside Mrs. Stevenson shook his head. “Afraid not, son,” he responded. “Not for a while, actually. We were quite disheartened about that, but that girl is always so busy, isn’t she?” Ashton smiled, trying not to wince as he cringed on the inside. 

“Let me make you something, honey,” Mrs. Stevenson insisted, rushing to kitchens before he could refuse. 

Mr. Stevenson ushered Ashton to the booths, away from the restaurant regulars. Ashton ran his fingers through his hair, the rain soaking his brown locks. Spring was a bitch with the rain, but he knew how much you loved it. “What brings you here, son?” he asked. “You usually come with y/n. Don’t tell me she’s in any sort of trouble now, is she?” 

Ashton sat down, dusting off his jeans. “Not exactly,” he answered honestly. “H-have you not heard in the gossip tabloids?” 

“Oh no,” Mr. Stevenson waved his hand. “We were never one for those magazines. Sarah is always strict on rechilut.” 

Ashton nodded along. “I did something wrong,” he confessed heavily. “And I hurt y/n. Not physically, but honestly it feels worse. I want to make things right, but I don’t think she even wants to talk to me.” 

“That’s nonsense,” Mr. Stevenson insisted. “y/n would never cut ties with people like that. Especially you, she was very fond of you.” It seemed like everyone knew that except for Ashton himself. “y/n talked to me like I was her own grandfather. Now, all my kids are grown up and moved out of California, so they don’t come around much. I appreciated her company, and I know for a fact that you shouldn’t give up on her.” 

The drummer’s shoulders slumped guiltily. “I don’t think I deserve that,” he told him. “I was awful to her. I did everything wrong. I don’t think she’d believe me if I told her I loved her all along.”

“Do you really love her?” Mr. Stevenson asked him softly. 

Ashton looked up into the older man’s gray eyes. He saw so much life, so much wisdom in them. If he looked deeper, he saw himself in his eyes, the him he missed all along. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. “I really do.” 

Mr. Stevenson patted his shoulder affectionately. “Then lead with that,” he advised him. “I’ve lived a long life, Ashton. And most of my life has been spent with my dear Sarah. If there’s anything I learned from that, it’s that sometimes you need to shut the hell up and let your love speak for you.” 

Ashton let out a tearful chuckle at his advice. Mrs. Stevenson rushed out of the kitchen, a steaming plate in hand. The older woman set it on the table in front of him. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I guessed what your homesick cure was,” she said sheepishly. “Artie said I should stop guessing but I had a gut feeling on this one. I was right for n/n, I hope I was right for you.”  

Mrs. Stevenson set down the plate to reveal a healthy serving of spaghetti and a glass of water on the table. Ashton’s heart clenched at the sight. “Did I get it right, dear?” 

Ashton couldn’t even respond, he just nodded wordlessly like a child on Christmas morning, eager to play with his toys. Mrs. Stevenson chuckled at his response, ruffling his hair gently like a mother would. “Eat it while it’s hot, honey,” she told him. “And I’m sorry, but it seems like someone forgot to order another package of straws. You’ll have to drink from the glass, I’m afraid.” 

Artie stood up from his side of the booth, playfully rolling his eyes. “I’m on it, honey,” he responded, following closely behind his wife. Before leaving to the kitchen, he turned around and gave the boy a wink. 

Left to his own devices, Ashton tucked his hand into his jacket and nearly jumped out of his seat in shock. Pulling it out, he realized it was the knotted end of the paper straw wrapper from so long ago. Turns out he really did need that wish. 

“Let me make things right,” he wished in his head. “I just want one last chance to do the right thing.” 

Setting it on the table, all Ashton could do was hope that whatever was out in the universe heard him.

– 

Soon enough, you did emerge from the shadows of your hiatus. You were lucky to have a loyal enough fanbase to keep you afloat, and your tour was still set for that summer. You were grateful for the fans that stuck around, and the new ones that came along the way. It was a rough journey, but you tried your best to power through it to the best of your ability. 

Now, you were in your dressing room at the venue you were expected to perform in, an absolute fucking wreck. You were curled up on your couch, trembling and unable to even raise your head from your chest. Sobs filled your room, but you insisted to every manager and passersby that you needed to be alone and fix it yourself. 

To tell the truth, you never truly recovered from the media frenzy that took you and Ashton by storm. You knew you had every right to turn the tides on him, revealing to the world that he wasn’t the perfect saint everyone painted him out to be. But you didn’t, and no one on your publicity team was able to figure out why. 

 The reason was that you were still unexplainably attached to Ashton. Somehow, even though he put you in the situation where everyone started to hate you, you couldn’t help but now be able to understand why he acted the way he did. How he was overprotective of the boys and acted out of self preservation simply because of how cruel the media could be. By no means did you excuse him for putting you in that situation, but you still grasped some understanding. 

The difference between you and the drummer, however, was that he had a support system: his boys. You were practically alone to deal with the mess, cornered and vulnerable. 

You were shaking frantically in your room, unable to free yourself from your thoughts. Only one look at your phone caused your entire psyche to crumble. One fucking tweet about you shook your confidence. Some anonymous user critiqued your music, only attributing your success to your past “relationship” with Ashton. Those simple words broke down the walls you were just beginning to rebuild, and now you were stuck in your dressing room, thirty minutes before you were called onstage. 

Meanwhile, Ashton was navigating through the maze backstage looking for you. A bouquet of your favorite flowers were in one hand, a handwritten card in the other. He figured you’d be somewhere backstage, prepping for your show. He didn’t count on you being in your dressing room since you told him in the past that you loved to watch the crowd from behind the curtains. 

But to his shock, you were still in your pajamas hyperventilating on the couch. Ashton has witnessed this before; he’s experienced this before. But seeing you go through the same struggles he and his boys went through caused his heart to ache even more. 

“y/n?” he called out to you. You didn’t respond, eyes still trained on the ground as your grip around your legs tightened. Ashton set his things down on the side table, instantly kneeling in front of you. 

“Ashton?” you finally spoke, voice raspy and exhausted. For a split second, you thought you were actually hallucinating, envisioning the one man you needed but feared the most. But his cologne wafted into your nostrils, alerting you it was him in the flesh. “What are you-” You heaved a deep breath, choking out a sob. You could barely take the overwhelming stress towering over you like a deadly ocean wave. It was only a matter of time until it took you under and swallowed you whole. 

“Love, I’m going to need you to breathe,” he instructed, his hands finding yours. In your anxious state, you were able to distract yourself from your worries at the mere touch of his calloused fingertips. It was a silent calling to you, gently beckoning you back into reality but not quite succeeding. 

Ashton took your hand and pressed it against his chest, tucking it underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt. His warm skin electrified your palm, making your heart race -not from the anxiety- but from butterflies. “Pay attention to my breathing and try to copy it, okay?” 

At first, you struggled to listen to his instructions. You worked on your anxiety with your therapists over more sessions than you could count. You tried box breathing, yoga, and even journaling but nothing ever calmed your nerves, especially after the media went after you. 

But suddenly, you concentrated on the slow rise and fall of Ashton’s chest. The way his chest hair tickled your palms in a way that made you want to scrunch your nose at the feeling. How his heart was beating nearly out of his chest but you could tell he was trying to minimize it so he could attend to your needs first. 

You felt your Ashton. 

Moments that felt like hours passed until your breathing went back to normal and your tear stained cheeks dried. Ashton kept your hand against his chest, occasionally squeezing it to bring you back to reality when you teetered back into spiraling. This time, though, he rose from the ground and sat beside you. You let him move your legs over his lap as he practically held you against him. His smell was overwhelming. You could smell his cologne and shampoo, even the faint scent of weed from off his lips. He was intoxicating. He was the drug, dangling above your head, and you were weak, enthralled, captivated, addicted.

You found yourself leaning in to kiss Ashton, a real kiss this time. No corner of the lip bullshit that the press ate up every time. You didn’t expect him to kiss you back with the same fervor as you, hand wrapping around your waist and the other behind your head. It was sloppy, wet, and all shapes of perfect that you couldn’t describe. The taste of tea and weed transferred from his lips to yours as he pulled you in deeper. You gripped his shirt in your fist, hoping in your mind to mold your body against his and disappear from the world, anything as long as you were with him. His love was your poison and, at the same time, your cure. 

Reality began to sink in, making you push Ashton away forcefully and standing on your feet. He flew back into the couch, eyes wide and lips swollen. His perfectly slicked back hair was a gorgeous mess, curls gracefully falling down his face. Confusion riddled his face as he watched you curl back into yourself. 

“What are you–” 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, unsure if you were saying that to him or yourself. “Why did I do that?”

Ashton stood up and reached for your hand, only for you to jerk back. “D-don’t touch me!” you exclaimed, scared of your own volume. Anxiety began to knock at your door once again, creeping in like a deadly virus into your system. “How could I be so stupid? Haven’t you put me through enough?”

You started to pace around your room, Ashton watching you move frantically back and forth until he got dizzy. You murmured to yourself not so quietly, scolding yourself for your stupidity and cursing him out for his enticing nature. All over again, Ashton was seeing you crumble.

“y/n, stop,” he ordered firmly, gripping your shoulders. You jerked to a stop, pausing to look Ashton in the eyes. You found yourself getting lost in the pool of hazel, wide eyed and entranced. “You’re going on stage in twenty minutes. Whatever’s going through your head right now, quit it. All of that can be put on pause until after the show, you hear me? And if that voice in your head brings it up while you’re out there, shut it down. What matters now is you, your music, and your fans. Fuck that voice telling you you’re anything short of great.” 

In his empowering speech, you forced yourself to listen to his words, ignoring the person those words were coming from. Taking his advice, you cleared your mind of the past few months and only focused on this moment: your first concert of your North American tour. 

Rushing to get ready, you scrambled around your room to prepare your hair and makeup. Ashton picked out your clothes for the concert, something simple that you absolutely adored but you paid little attention to the way your heart pounded at the thought. And in those twenty minutes, you were set for the show.

Your microphone in one hand and guitar in the other, you made your way straight to the stage. Ashton followed close behind you to ensure you didn’t misstep or forget anything. Mere inches away from the stage, you whipped your head around to meet his gaze just one more time.

“Thank you,” you whispered gratefully. “I know we haven’t talked, but thank you. Can I look for you after the show?” 

Your heart shattered at the shake of his head. “I’ve got a plane to catch right after your show so I can’t come by after,” he told you remorsefully. “But if you’ll have me, I’ll be right here when you come back from tour. Maybe then we can start again, correctly this time. None of the cameras, scripts, or any of that, yeah?” 

The sound of your name being chanted by the crowd was nearly deafening, but his words reached your ears and you smiled softly at him. In the corner of your eye, your stage manager pointed at her watch to inform you it was time to go up. Wordlessly, you pressed your lips one last time against his. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Irwin,” you told him, turning on your heel and pushing through the curtains. The crowd shrieked and screamed at the sight of you, instantly bringing a proud grin to Ashton’s face. 

This was only the beginning of something new and truly beautiful, Ashton thought to himself, hands in his pockets as he made his way to the VIP section.

–

Several months have passed since your North American and European tour and it has been almost a full year since you started your publicity stunt with Ashton. Throughout the tour, you and Ashton -and the boys, of course- kept close contact with each other, never going more than a day without a phone call or video chat. Over this period, you felt like you finally got to know the real Ashton, not bits and pieces he’d accidentally let slip when he first got to know you. This time, he was real and genuine, and that only made me love him more.

You tiredly dragged your suitcase up your apartment complex’s stairs, heaving at the ridiculous weight as you made your way down to your apartment. You didn’t expect to see a certain hazel eyed drummer standing behind the door when you unlocked it.

“Surprise,” he said sheepishly, balloons and blueberry cheesecake in hand. Tears instantly filled your eyes, you dropped your suitcase and wrapped your arms around his neck, nearly causing him to drop the dessert. 

Truth be told, you weren’t expecting to see him so soon, if at all. Your journey with your mental health has been a long one, and there were plenty of ups and downs. A part of you -one you were a little ashamed of- didn’t expect him to keep to his word that he’d be here now. Despite the plenty of calls and talks you had to rekindle your relationship, that nagging voice in the back of your head kept on asking “what if?” What if he took back what he said about wanting to start over? What if it was all in your head, and he never wanted to see you again? But without fail, Ashton was there, willing to rebuild your relationship into a close-knit friendship. And now he’s here, asking to make it something more. 

“You’re here,” you murmured into his chest, taking in his smell that you missed so dearly. “I didn’t think you’d come this soon. How did you even get in?”

Ashton pulled away, holding up your spare key. “Your friend gave it to me today,” he explained. 

Grinning you brought him back down into a hug before settling in and opening the box of cheesecake. Taking out two forks, the two of you ate straight from the box and caught up on everything, though there wasn’t much considering how often you both talked while you were away. 

“I’m really grateful you let me back in,” Ashton spoke up once the box had emptied. 

You were half listening, polishing off the plate of its sweet crumbs. “You let yourself in, silly,” you snorted, not quite understanding what he meant. “You’re the one who got a hold of my apartment key.”

Ashton chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not that,” he laughed. “I mean letting me back into your life. I still don’t think I deserve it.”

“We talked about this, Ash,” you leaned back, setting your fork down. “We both said things we didn’t mean that day. We recognized it and we worked from it. We’ve moved on, and we’re friends. I think you deserve it as much as I do.” 

Ashton’s cheeks were tinged red as he tried to think of the right words to say. “I know,” he started. “But sometimes, I wish we had..more.” 

“More?” you raised an eyebrow. It took another second of you watching the drummer blush in embarrassment and vulnerability before it finally clicked. “Oh.”

Ashton stood up abruptly, wiping the invisible specks of dust off his jeans. “You can forget it,” he rushed in humiliation. “I-I just couldn’t stop thinking about that night of your first concert, how it felt, how you felt- and-”

“Ashton, slow down,” you giggled, standing up, taking his hand and tugging him toward you. A small smile rested on your face. “I still think about that night, too,” you confessed honestly. “And I want that, too. Whatever it is that you want.” 

The drummer looked up from your intertwined hands and into your eyes. He swore he saw stars in them. “Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked. “Again?”

You pulled him down into a kiss, your lips craving his all over again. “Yes,” you answered confidently as soon as you backed away to catch your breath. “I will be your girlfriend. Again.”

The two of you shared a laugh, enjoying the silent but welcoming comfort of each other. Standing in the middle of your kitchen, lips coated in sugar and blueberries. 

“What was your wish?” Ashton asked, pulling you closer to him as he broke the s. “Back at that restaurant when we first met?”

You hummed in thought, eagerly pressing your lips against his one more time to relish the moment. “My wish was that whatever we had back then,” you whispered, letting him in on your secret. “turns into something more.” 

“Well your wish came true, didn’t it?” Ashton smiled, a warm feeling bursting in his chest. 

You leaned your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed. “Yes, Ash,” you said. “Yes it did.” 

--

please like and reblog if u enjoyed! &lt;3

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

At the Cabaret Pt. 1 | Tommy Shelby x fem!character

Summary: Lenore is a dancer at the Birmingham Cabaret when she's approached by an estranged neighbor and notorious gangster, Tommy Shelby, with a business prospect. Seeing him again brings up old feelings and new conflicts that they must navigate in the topsy turvy world of Cabaret.

Warnings: Heavy misogyny (1920s Cabaret... I mean), mentions of sexual assault, and objectification. Please don't read if these topics are upsetting to you- I'm writing from a historical perspective and some of the elements I write about are disturbing. Take care while reading. This story only gets worse from here lol. I use a few modern songs in the story but imagine them in a 1920s style (aka Post Modern Jukebox). I really recommend listening to the songs I have listed below because I reference them in the story.

word count: 4125k

Come with me- Preservation Hall Jazz Band 🎶

Ain't That a Grand and Glorious Feeling? - Annette Hanshaw 🎵

Last Nite- The Strokes 🎶

PDA- Interpol 🎵

Not proofed- my b folks!

She felt powerful when she stepped on stage. She felt untouchable. She performed five days a week at Birmingham’s Cabaret Club during the late night slot when the wealthiest clientele slipped in through the backdoor to huddle around the stage. She was lucky that her life had ended up like this and not working the streets like so many girls she knew had to after the war years. She tried to get them jobs in the Cabaret but their addictions to uppers and downers and strong cocktails made it hard for them to follow the routine of Cabaret. It required discipline to arrive at the club everyday at three in the afternoon and work new routines until the doors opened at eight, and they worked hard. She wasn’t an especially good dancer but her energy and confidence on stage won her the best slot of the night and the notoriety that nicknamed her “Lady Lenore.” 

Her shows were sensual, sure, but mainly they were performances. She sang and sparkled onstage with her elaborate costumes. And sure, men often followed her backstage, seeking an encore in not so polite terms but she was the master of her own image. She was allowed to say no when she wanted to because she was “Lady Lenore.” She wasn’t a stranger to male guests coming by to visit her at night and many times, she allowed them to join her in her dressing room shared with the other performers, offering him whisky and resting her feathered head against his chest. But these were the boys she recognized from the factories her father had worked in, that her brothers had worked in before the war. She flirted with the rich cats who came by to seduce her but only the boys with coal grease still stuck in the curves of their muscles made it farther into the reaches of her corseted costume. She had a preference and she didn’t care who knew it. 

What won her fame, besides her voice, were her costumes. The early twenties offered an exciting new spread of style that she latched onto like Vicodin. She loved red, so she dyed most of her costumes a deep scarlet with millions of beads sewn onto the surface. She pulled on the red bodysuit, fixing the ropes of red beads draped around her shoulders and bare thighs. She didn’t have large breasts so the front stuck tightly to her chest but elegant bodice distracted disappointed eyes. Her blonde hair was bobbed around her heart-shaped face. Lucy, one of her friends, secured the devil cap on her head, the strap going beneath her chin. The horns were stuffed with couch stuffing to stand up straight. She under-drew her lips, creating a heart with red lipstick. The rest of her makeup was minimal, making the lipstick stand out. She buckled her nude-colored dancing heels across the top of her foot and shook out her arms nervously. 

She could hear the announcer out on stage with his squeaky voice. She pulled on her red satin gloves and made her way slowly to the curtains offstage waiting for her cue. Johnny the club manager squealed, “and now, the girl you’ve been waiting for, the queen of our hearts and the sweetheart of Birmingham, Lady Lenore!” He ran off stage and a spot opened against the curtain. 

She lifted her lips into an innocent smile and stuck her arm out through the slit in the red velvet curtain. She trailed her finger down the fabric, teasing the slit beneath the hot spotlight. The audience cheered loudly, feet stomping on the bar floor. 

“Aw come on out, darlin!” A man hollered from the audience and she laughed quietly behind the heavy fabric. Whistles followed his brave shout and she shook her finger naughtily at them, still obscured by the curtain. 

“Now, now boys. That’s no way to ask a lady. I was gonna be real nice to you tonight, and I mean real nice.” The men whistled again and slammed their hands on the drinking tables. 

“Please, honey!” 

“Come on, love!” 

She slipped her arms back behind the curtain and giggled.

“Oh, boys! You really do know how to make a girl feel so good!” She squealed, “open the curtain, Johnny!” 

The curtain swung open on its tracks and she placed her hands on her accented hips. Her bare thighs warmed under the hot spot. She switched into her Lady Lenore facade, apologizing raspily, “sorry about that boys, I was a bit nervous.” 

Men howled in the audience and stood to whistle. She put a dramatic finger to her lips, biting it gently. 

“Gee, thanks. Now let me show you what I can really do.” She chuckled darkly and nodded to the band beside the stage. “Hit it, honey.” She called with a smile. A ragtime track began and she twirled, pulling the hair from her shoulders to show off the back of the costume, her butt just peeking out beneath the underwear-like bodice. She strutted across the stage with a flick of her leg, turning into a jumpy great-vine, tap dancing without the loud clacks. She reached out her gloved hand to the audience and gasped when the music jumped, smirking as she took quick steps backwards. She did the same to the otherside, each action dominated by the sexual squeal of the trumpet. She took slow steps downstage to the drum beat and lowered herself slowly to her knees, playing with her long strand of pearls. 

“I just feel so good tonight,” she bit her lip and shook her shoulders and lay back, still on her knees, her sparkly crotch exposed to the roar of the crowd. When a man wolf-whistled she sat back up quickly, an innocent smile pulling at her painted lips. “Oops!” She giggled and crawled forward on her hands and knees. She reached the end of the stage and swung her legs over gracefully. She went over to the fat cat at the first table and stroked his long white beard. 

“Say, you look like a good boy,” She purred and sat abruptly on his lap, “now what do you want for Christmas? Or more importantly what do I want?” She pouted out her lip, thinking. The men in the audience laughed. 

“Anything you’d like sweetheart.” The man chuckled and she smiled. 

“Ohh, Daddy! That’s exactly what I wanted to hear! But say, aren’t you gonna ask me if I’ve been a good girl?”

“Well, have you?” 

“Hmm, one second, Daddy,” She stood up from his lap and cleared her throat loudly. “Do you boys think I've been a good girl?” She asked the room and smiled when she received stomps and applause. “And do you think I should get anything I want?” She added, biting her lip. 

“You’re all I want, love!” One man yelled from the bar and she clutched her heart. 

“That’s the right answer, boy!” She called back and laughed, returning to the lit stage. A microphone had been set up centerstage while she was in the audience. She shimmied up to the microphone. 

“Y’all ever been to New Orleans?” She quipped in her best southern accent and winked at the band who burst into, “Come with Me.”

A line of feathered dancers came out onto stage, flirting with the audience with their scandalous dance fan dance. 

Come with me to New Orleans

I'll show you a great time

All your dreams will come true

A' With me by your side

Her raspy voice echoed out into the small club. She scanned the crowd, her fingers cupping the wide microphone. The men in the crowd smoked cigarettes and cigars, separating them by class and income. The day-laborers sat with crushed cigarettes in ashtrays while the fat cats still smoked the same cigar they had light when the night began. 

So

Come with me to the' New Orleans

I'll show you a great time

All your dreams will come true

A' With me by your side 

She smiled as she sang, looking down at the audience through her eyelashes. She adjusted her red velvet garter, her fingers trailing up the fabric on her crotch to her stomach. The dancers behind her dipped their fans to show their cleavage. 

Come with me to New Orleans

I'll show you a great time

All your dreams will come true

A' With me by your side

She finished the song with a low voice and the audience roared once again. She took an extra fan from one of the dancers and held it in front of her body. With the large fan, she did look naked, tricking those who were drunk in the audience to believe she was nude like a game of peek-a-boo. “Ain't that Grand and Glorious” marked the beginning of a new musical number and she started singing, traveling to either end of the stage. She moved her fan to her back like a peacock, pushing what cleavage she did have forward with her arms. 

Now is there any one present

Who was ever in love

If it’s so you know how

I’m feeling right now

Everything is so pleasant

She broke out into a brief timestep combination and moved the fan to her chest, just showing her legs and face. 

You’re so full of bliss

You just feel like knocking wood

She planted and shook her hips to the knocking noise. 

And when you naturally say yes

Ain’t that a grand and glorious feeling! 

She spun around and planted the fan on the top of her butt, bending over to show off her ass to the audience who cheered. She spun again and did a quick Cincinnati step during the instrumental break. 

I’ve got something to say 

When that band starts to play

She raised the fan above her head, showing off her costume once again, as everyone in the room sang the last line with her: 

I get a grand and glorious feeling

“That’s all!” She smiled and the spot went out. She hurried off-stage with the others and ducked into her dressing room, returning hugs and hollow laughs with the other girls.

“You were wonderful, Nore!” A dancer hugged her around her stiff waist and she let out a repressed breath. 

“Thank you, thank you. Gee, I’m happy it's over with. Father Christmas in the front row got a little too excited if you know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes and the girls laughed. Clara patted her on the back and slipped through the dressing room door to go on with the following act. 

“Break a leg, Clara babes!” She teased warmly and she tittered her thanks. They could hear the crowd grow impatient as they waited for the next round of entertainment. She sat down at her place at the makeup counter and removed the horned cap from her head. Lucy slipped into the dressing room, closing it quietly behind her so the sound wouldn’t carry onstage. 

“Nore, great job as always.” She sat beside her and intertwined her fingers with Nore’s. The dancers switched their tops and bottoms, each barely covering anything of their anatomy. 

“Thanks, Luce.” She wiggled in her seat and slid the large rings off her fingers and put them in her pink jewelry box. 

“Johnny wanted me to tell you that there’s a fella in the audience that wants to see you.” Lucy grimaced. 

“I have another show tonight, I can’t.” She sighed and fixed her lipstick. 

“He said it’s important.” 

“He always says that.” She laughed curtly. 

“Sure but I think he means it this time, Nore. I would do it.” 

“Why? Is it a cat?” She raised her eyebrow at Lucy and frowned, “He is isn’t he?” 

“It's Thomas Shelby, Nore.” She whispered close to Nore’s ear and sat back again, biting her lip anxiously. 

Her heart fell into her stomach and she looked at Lucy through the mirror for a moment. She cleared her throat and looked down at her red gloves. 

“So? He doesn’t own me,” She tried to sound brave. 

“No, but he owns half of Birmingham.” Lucy retorted and started again, “and besides, he used to be a factory boy, you remember don’t you? He used to live on our street!”

“That was before the war, Lucy. He’s changed since then. We all have.” 

“Wasn’t your brother friends with Thommy?” She asked carefully, not wanting open old wounds.

“Like I said, Luce, we’ve all changed. I haven’t spoken to her in ages. The war was hard on everyone, even the Shelbys.” She sighed. Lucy looked down at her naked thighs pressed against the chair and took in a deep breath. 

“You’ll do it though, won’t you?” 

“If I don’t have a choice…” She shrugged and stared at herself in the mirror, “then I guess I will. Help me out of this corset, won’t you please?” She stood and Lucy undid the tough clasps on the back that insured the piece wouldn’t fly open during the act, no matter how many hands probed it. She shrugged the top off, her breasts sitting back against her chest. She put on the white satin bra and short set laid out for her second performance. She rolled on her stockings and clipped them into her garters to keep them from falling down. Lucy fastened a tulle train onto the back of her shorts and fixed the edges. She buckled her heels and fit the glitzy headband around her forehead. Someone switched her pearls for a necklace with small gold stars, and her red gloves for blush pink. She brushed a little kohl behind her eyes and sprayed herself with perfume, sticky and sweet. 

Her second number was more choreographed and started like this:

She and the dancers entered with chairs. The chairs were arranged with her on center stage. The audience applauded and whooped and the girls smiled as brightly as they could beneath the white hot spot. “Last Nite” strikes up with the jumpy stutter of piano. It was a straight-forward dance. The hardest part was singing as she moved, bicycle-kicking her legs above her head in the chair. She abandoned the chair half-way through the song and scat at the microphone, accompanied by the instrumental riff. 

They don’t understand

No, girlfriends, they won’t understand

A cheer went up from the crowd, beer spilling from raised glasses. 

Last night he said

“Oh, baby, I feel so down”

“And it’s turnin’ me off when I feel left out”

So I, turned around

She turned slowly, kicking the tulle train back out as she did with her heel. Her arms were raised above her head, smiling wide. 

“Oh darling no care no more

I know this for sure, I’m walking out, I’m walking out that door

And ain’t gonna understand

She winked and blew kisses to the growing crowd in the audience. She scanned the faces at the tables for Peaky Blinders. Then she saw the tell-tale peaky cap pulled down over his face. She couldn’t see his face in the darkened house but the way his table was separated from the rest in the club, and completely empty save the man sitting there with Irish Whisky told her enough. The crowd’s applause came to an end and she snapped back into character, curseying and raising her hand to the band. 

“Thank you!” She twirled once more to show off her ensemble and curled her finger at Johnny who was still standing off stage. 

“Oh, Johnny!” She called him out on stage and when he waddled over she put her chin on his shoulder, “Get these wonderful men a drink huh?” She smiled innocently. The crowd exploded with hoots and hollers. “That’s for making me meet with Shelby without asking me first, Johnny.” She growled beneath her breath and smiled at the crowd, “sweet dreams, boys!” The men waved from the audience and the girls scurried off stage. 

She was too distracted to speak to anyone right after the show. She went straight to the dressing room and removed the tulle train from her shorts, grimacing as she did though it caused her no pain. Tommy was too smart to fall for her Lady Lenore act and she silently cursed herself for making the character such a staple of her success. He would be able to see through her confidence to her fear wallowing in her eyes. Some of the girls helped her quickly slip into a blush pink dress, the drop waist brushing against her hips. She changed into her normal heels, shiny black mary janes, and pulled off her headband. She left the star necklace around her neck but removed the gloves and extra jewelry. Lucy wiped off her bright red lipstick, changing it for a more casual color. One of the younger girls, Lily, ran in and called for her. 

“Nore, Johnny said to take the spare dressing room.” 

“Got it, thanks.” She nodded and exhaled loudly, pushing air through her nose. “He has everything fucking planned out,” she cursed below her breath. “Is he going to undress me for him too?” She grumbled and wiped kohl fallout from beneath her eyes. 

“He may not want that.” Lucy offered. 

“That’s what men always want, Luce.” She responded and sighed. With one last smile, she opened the door into an adjoining room called the spare dressing room. It was called that but it had never been one. There was a bed against the back wall with wood bed-frame and carved posts. The bed was dressed with clean sheets everyday and draped with a heavy red quilt to keep out the December cold. This was the nicest room out of the lot and it was reserved for our best clientele. A table and chairs separated the bed from the main door to the hallway. A bar cart sat idly against the side wall, stocked with cheap liqueur and towels. On the opposite side was a lounge in dark red fabric to hide stains. The wood floors were cold without the heaters and she could feel the chill even through her heels. She perched herself on the arm of the lounge and settled, waiting for Tommy Shelby to arrive. 

He didn’t know when he came in, he wasn’t worried if he happened to walk in on anyone, and he just didn’t care. He avoided her eyes as he stepped into the room and closed the door, loud voices carried down the hallway like the smell of cigarette smoke. When the door was firmly closed behind him, he finally caught her eyes.  

“Hello Mr. Shelby.” She didn’t move to stand.

“Miss Panning,” he gave her a curt nod, “or shall I call you Lady Lenore?”

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Miss Panning unless you’d prefer to call me Lady Lenore.”

“Well Miss Panning,” he walked to the table and lit a cigarette, dropping the lighter and cigarette case on the table, “I’m sorry for disturbing your evening.” He gestured loosely to the direction of the stage, talking around the cigarette. 

She sighed and stood, taking a cigarette that Tommy offered out to her. She held the cigarette between her lips as he flicked open the lighter and the cigarette caught. “Did you like my performance, Mr. Shelby.” She smiled, blowing out the smoke. He looked down at his shoes and exhaled a cloud of heavy gray smoke, his hands in his pockets. When he looked up his smile was pained, his brows furrowed. 

“Eh, not really my thing.” 

“Mmm of course. From what I’ve heard you like it quick and dirty. You’re not one for a performance, are you?” She teased darkly and moved to the bed, sitting at the end. He watched her, his eyes calm and unfazed. She flicked the ash of her cigarette to the floor and crossed her legs, the slit in her dress showing her thigh. He stared at her thigh, puffing on his cigarette.

“What do you want, Mr. Shelby?” She asked him bravely. He tore his eyes from her exposed leg and  looked into her eyes. Exhaling and pulling the cigarette from his lips he rubbed his thumb across his thick lips.

“I want us to be friends, Nore.” He said finally, his voice restrained, holding back a layer of information he wouldn’t easily give up. 

“I’m Nore now?” She almost sneered. 

“We were neighbors once if you remember.” 

“Those days are far behind us now, Mr. Shelby.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked down at the ground. 

“Tommy.” He inclined his head slightly and stubbed out his cigarette. “And maybe they are but that doesn’t mean we can’t become friends again now, does it? 

He’d said something like that years before when she was fifteen, he was seventeen, and best friends with her brother. Her brother told him that she had a huge crush on him and he’d treated her kindly, offering to be her friend, though nothing more. Hearing him now brought her back to that moment in the alley between their houses, ducking beneath the laundry lines. He’d told her that maybe when she was older… but he went to war and never came back the same. He hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences to her since, plagued by guilt. She’d lost her brother in the war. 

“Why do you want to be friends, Tommy?” She asked slowly, fighting the images of her brother that entered her mind when she looked at him. 

He lit another cigarette and pulled it from his lips. 

“I think we can help each other.” 

“Oh?” She switched legs, letting the fabric slide slowly over her skin. He watched, his jaw clenched, in what she read as distaste.

“I need someone who’s willing to be my eyes and ears inside this club. I know Billy Kimber and his men meet here.” 

“Does this job require more than ‘eyes’ and ‘ears,’ Tommy?” She looked down at her cigarette. 

“It would require anything that gets them comfortable to talk to you, you can fill in the rest.” He looked over at the whiskey. “Whisky?” He asked and she nodded. 

“Yes, please.” 

He took two thick crystal glasses from the cart and poured. He rounded the table to hand her a glass and she took it, looking up into his blue eyes. He took a deep drink from the whiskey and sighed. She drank and swirled the caramel liquor around in the glass. 

“You know, Tommy, I don’t sleep with all of my clientele. Believe it or not but I prefer working boys over men like Kimber. I’m still a Small Heath girl, Tommy. That’ll never change, no matter how many rich men come in here promising me globs money in return for a quick fuck.”

He looked down at his shoes and nodded, thinking. He downed the rest of the whisky and cleared his throat. 

“Will you do it?” He asked. 

“What do I get in return?” She sighed. 

“Money and protection, of course.” He put his glass on the table and leaned against it, sucking on his cigarette. 

“Anything else?” She smiled softly.

He looked at her, expressionless, trying to determine what she wanted from him.

“What else would you like, Lenore?” He asked softly. 

She swallowed the rest of her whiskey and smiled sweetly at him, taking from her character. 

“Well, if we’re really to be friends, I want you to come to my shows.” She stood and reached around his waist to the ashtray and stubbed out her cigarette, looking directly in his eyes. 

“And besides,” she continued softly, “men like nothing more than competition. If Kimber learns that you fancy me, he’ll do whatever he can to get with me.” 

She took a step back and took a second cigarette from Tommy’s breast pocket. He lit it for her without a word. 

“Alright,” he nodded, his face unchanging, “anything else?” 

Her eyes softened and she fought back weak tears.

“Look after my father, Tommy. Make sure he’s safe too. If not for this, for James.” The mention of her brother stilled something in him. He nodded and cleared his throat. He turned and walked to the door to the hallway. 

“Tommy,” she called from the bed. He paused with his hand resting on the door handle, “you know he’s going to kill me before they tell me anything you want to hear.” She said softly, almost sadly. 

He said nothing for a moment and inhaled, looking over his shoulder though his eyes didn’t meet hers.

“I won’t let that happen.” He said evenly and left, the door closing loudly behind him. She tried to still her shaky hands, dragging on the shrinking cigarette.

_______

end part 1 here :)

[skythighs]

Calista's Dream: Hands around your Neck

It's so hard writing from Feyds POV that I worry about straying too far from his actual personality, and I don't want to ruin the vibe of the story, so I might not write from his view again. I don't own the art or visuals used. I'll link them at the end via Pinterest. This is not edited BTW so you might find some mistakes.

Warnings: sexual content and disturbing thoughts from feyd. 18+ only please

Word count:2.2k

Chapter 6

Feyd Rauth’s POV

My sweet little Duchess would adjust in time to her new home. She had no choice but to accept Giedi Prime and me as we are. I didn't want to fuck her in front of those sick old bastards, but when the Baron demands it as his heir I have to follow through. I’ve given her the day to rest and recover from the shock of it. She seemed so fragile after the ceremony and it didn’t sit well within me. I already wanted to gouge out twenty one pairs of eyes for daring to look at her. The mesh robe was the most coverage I could offer her. Knowing they heard her sweet little moans nearly made me snap. 

I did my best to be unbothered, because I know if he knows I feel anything for her he will continue to torment her. The ceremony was his form of retaliation for her words earlier that very day when I presented her to him for the first time. She was bold and didn’t show any fear even here on the home planet of her enemies. The way he spat the insult Princess Atreides at her made my blood boil but she fired back correcting him. She told him she was the Na Baroness Harkonnen now. She claimed to be mine right there in front of him and he couldn’t take it.

If it were up to him I would never have married her, but the Emperor demanded it. My uncle knows his place as much as I know mine. What the Emperor demands must be followed through on. With taking that into consideration there was no guarantee my uncle wouldn’t lock her away with the pleasure slaves. I had to be smart and calculated in my approach. I couldn’t show her too much favor or his jealousy will get the best of him.

I’ve been trying to keep her at arms length only allowing myself to stroke her hair after she has long been asleep in my bed. Nearly running away from her when she smells so tempting I feel my mouth pool with saliva. She only smells better now that I've been inside her. A coppery tang mixed in with her natural sweetness. The same copper smell as her blood. I would make her skin my home if I could. I would peel back the layers of her flesh and tissue and take up residence inside her. She would be me and I would be her and nothing would ever separate us. She would become my final resting place even in death.

I feel myself grow hard at the thought. Now that I’ve had all of her I can’t stop thinking about her. How she dared to ask for her own chambers, she was as bold as ever. There was one thing she didn’t understand, and that was that she belonged to me. Everything belonged to me. Her pain, her pleasure, every tear that fell from her eyes was mine to claim.

“Na Baron, your presence is required in the Barons chambers.”

At that my cock falls limply. I begin my trek on the familiar path. The double doors are slightly ajar and I hear Piter and the human blob speak in hushed tones. 

“Once she has given him a male child, you can dispose of her Baron.”

“She is merely a means to an end. She’s an insignificant pawn.”

I chose to interrupt them then, refusing to hear anymore of this garbage. I couldn’t afford to be implicated in a rushed assassination and if I hear anymore that’s exactly what will happen.

“Beautiful Feyd, thank you for arriving so quickly. Piter here wanted a word with you about your bride.”

Piter stepped forward slightly bowing and began speaking.

“It is imperative you breed the Atreides girl as quickly as possible. I have heard you’ve been spending most of your time with your darlings.”

I look between my uncle and his lackey. Annoyed with this conversation on the surface but deep down I was intrigued.

“I fucked her just last night. Uncle you were there.”

Vladimir chuckles heartily at that.

“My dear Feyd it may take more than once. In fact it could take several times. You heard Piter. You must breed her.”

“To what end?” I probe. 

My eyes are slit as I look between the two of them. They were obviously aware of something and they hadn’t shared it yet. 

“That's the reason she’s here, to provide a male heir for our house.” said Vladimir resolutely.

“Well if it is your wish uncle, consider it done.” 

He smiles broadly at me, so happy with my false platitudes.

“You seemed to enjoy her last night. I'm surprised you haven't had her again.” 

There was a glint behind his eyes as he spoke and I knew I had to tread carefully. 

“I must admit her Atreides cunt was warm and snug, but she is not equipped to handle my tastes.”

“You should train her then nephew. She is yours to do with as you please, but you must breed her.”

I nod my head, refusing to speak anymore, on the verge of lashing out.

“Go and insure our future Feyd.”

Interesting choice of words. He was hiding something as usual, but eventually he would share. I would make sure of it.

Later that evening I find myself lounging in the sitting area of our chambers waiting for Calista to exit the bathing chamber. I had one hand wrapped around my cock and the other gripping her discarded underclothes from today. I stroked my cock gripping it while I looked at the portrait across from me. Her untamed hair had teased me for so long I could not get enough of feeling the silken strands between my fingers now that she was more than just a vision before me.

The door creaked open and she stepped into the room without even noticing me in the dimly lit room. 

“Come here, wife.” I call lowly to her.

She tenses before turning to me. Her eyes looked wild like she couldn’t decide if she should run away or freeze. Her white nightgown was form fitting and plunged in the front. No doubt something she acquired while living here. 

“I said come here pet.”

Her umber eyes look to my lap and she gulps audibly before taking slow steps towards me. I toss away her undergarments and offer my hand to her. She accepts it and I pull her onto my lap so she can straddle me, my penis between us. I watch her closely trying to read her mood. Her pulse was fluttering so quickly in her delicate neck I wanted to sink my teeth into her there and drain her.

“Take off the dress.” I order firmly not breaking eye contact.

She slowly does as I ask. Her beautiful breasts bounce and sway slightly. Her brown nipples nearly match her lovely eyes and I feel myself leaning to take one into my mouth. I take her small hand and wrap it around my aching cock. She gasps at the feel of it, hot and heavy in her hand. I show her the right pace and grip to use. She’s a quick learner and I nearly question her about it, but I refrain. I give her tits all of my attention, sucking, biting, kissing every inch of them in tandem.

“I want you to take your pleasure tonight sweet little Duchess.”

“What do you mean?” She asks quietly.

Her hand stops stroking as she looks me in the eye.

“It means we will do this your way tonight.”

“Is this your version of an apology?” She looks hopeful. Round eyes and parted lips nearly make me say yes.

“I have nothing to apologize for, but this is the closest you’ll ever get.”

I grip her face and kiss her harshly. That’s enough fucking talking. 

“Wait. You said it’s the way I like it tonight.”

I relent and lean back on the chair and look at her expectantly. 

She slowly slides forward claiming my lips gently. She kisses me slowly with her sweet tongue gliding across my black teeth tenderly. I start to get impatient with just kissing so I grip her waist and put her bare cunt where I need it most. She removes her lips from mine and begins kissing down my neck timidly exploring things with the marvel of an inexperienced girl. Which she was. The idea that all of her first would always be mine nearly makes me impale her right then, but I don't.

“I liked it when you used your mouth on me. Back on Caladan.”

Without another word I stand keeping her in my arms as I walk to the bed. She wraps her arms around my shoulders startled. As I lay her on the bed she realizes that I’m honoring her request. I watch her slowly as I kiss her on her second pair of lips. Her core greets me with a sticky liquid coating my lips and I smear it all over her before using my tongue to flick against her clit. Her responsive little squeaks and sighs are like music to my ears. I spend my time teasing her, licking and sucking her folds as they bloom under my attention like petals covered in morning dew. Like the rain on Caladan on the lush grass. 

“Please stop teasing me. Please suck me where I need you to.” She begs.

So full of surprises and always so direct. I listen to her again and suck her swollen clit harshly and she moans. I roll my tongue like a snake over her as I suck setting a good pace for her. My fingers itch with the need to feel her grip them so I sink two fingers into her tight hole earning the loudest moan so far. Her nails dig into the back of my head no doubt breaking my skin as I feel a small trickle from one of the punctures. Fingers and tongue moving in sync I feel her walls flutter and grip me as she tense and cries out loudly. Anyone in the corridor would surely hear her pleasure filled cries. 

Once she comes down from her high she looks down at me and opens her arms beckoning me to her.

“Come here.”

Like a trained pet I did exactly as she asked. I settled on top of her between her warm thighs.

“Be gentle with me tonight, Feyd. Please.” She pulls me down to her lips and kisses me deeply. Fuck I’m obsessed with the feel of her, the taste of her. The soft give of her small body yielded to my hard muscled one. With the most restraint I’ve ever used in my life I enter her slowly. Her hiss is an improvement from last night's tears and pleas for me to stop. As I bottomed out inside of her only pleasure remained but I wouldn’t be blinded by it. I focus on keeping a languid pace she can enjoy. Excruciating deep strokes let me feel every centimeter of her, and I knew I would cum soon. She did something to me no one else ever has. She makes me feel pleasure without the pain. Something I haven't experienced in this capacity.

Feeling her now no one could convince me she wasn’t mine. She belonged to me and me alone. I would fill her up often so that my scent permanently blended with hers. So that you could not smell one of us without the other. My darlings would come to recognize the scent of her on me, and they would come to love it as much as me. I lock lips with her tongues clashing and tasting every inch of each other. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders pulled me flush against her. 

Whatever child comes from our union would be living proof of our joining. Our child would be half her and half me in the flesh and the idea appeals to me greatly. She tightened her legs around me and circled her hips as I pushed even deeper somehow. I felt myself grip her neck tightly, but she didn’t quit her movements against me. I groan deep in my throat and she screams silently as we both find our peak, but I refuse to stop. I need more, more, more. I start ramming into her much like last night but this time she doesnt ask me to stop.

She rides her wave with me never looking away from me. My grip on her neck doesn’t ease and I can’t make myself release her, not until I get what i'm searching for. I feel the tingles in my balls and a sharp jab in my lower abdomen as I force myself to cum for a second time in such a short period of time. Only when my cock has emptied every drop into her does my hand let go of her delicate neck.

Her loud gasp fills the room as she tries to catch her breath. I expect her to be upset or angry, but she isn’t. She looks satisfied, sweaty, and mine. A red ring around her neck was already forming. 

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@nemodeus

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Hiya! Have never made a fic request before, but here goesssss:

You and Andy met through mutual friends in Nashville during the summer of 2022 while he was recording some tracks for Unreal Unearth. You spent nearly three months in each other's beds before you abruptly "ghosted" him by moving to LA for your dream marketing job w/ Warner Music Group.

Now here you are, at an engagement party of your childhood best friend Stephanie to one of Andrew's childhood mates, sitting across the table from the man you never thought you'd have to see again - one who's staring at you like this:

🫣😬🫠

Wow, ehm, this was quite the specific request. I usually don't do these, as I find that my creativity works best with a bit of freedom. I somehow managed to come up with something, I don't know if it is any good though.

So please, for future requests, be a bit less specific. The idea was to just send a pic with a request for fluff or smut. It's absolutely fine to ask for a certain outfit, hairstyle, setting, trope, etc., but please don't get mad if I choose to ignore detailed requests like this in the future.

warnings: talk about past ghosting

 Gloomy eyes bore into you, staring you down from across the table with a resentment you had never seen in them before. Was he sulking? Or trying to read your mind? Or did he hope his gaze would turn into actual daggers and pierce right through you on the spot?

Whatever it was, it was working and even though you had given it your all to hold your ground these past hours, your walls firmly pulled up all evening, you could steadily feel the inner storm build that tugged on your nerves from both ends until they would eventually snap.

But beside all the grim looks he had shot your way, he had not said a single word. Not to you, anyway, and also not to many of the other guests. But as he leant in now, eyes narrowed, his elbows supporting his weight against the table, you knew that the dangerous clenching of his jaw could only mean that he was finally ready to fire his venom your way. 

You rose to your feet in an instant, the blatant noise as your chair scraped across the floor silencing every single conversation in the room. And even though all eyes were collectively resting on you now, it was that one familiar set of green orbs that forced the heat into your cheeks.

“I’ll just,” you stuttered, pointing across your shoulder to the nearest escape route into the garden. “I just need some fresh air. Be back in a sec.”

With one last apologetic look at your friend, you wasted no more time on half-hearted excuses and hurried your steps to get away from the table—from him—as far as possible. 

A cool breeze welcomed you as you stepped through the large glass doors, but you did not hold your steps until you had crossed the entirety of the terrace and your feet touched the pliable surface of the lawn. The silence was heavenly, allowing you to properly breathe for the first time tonight. 

Sadly it was disturbed by hurried steps all too soon. Probably Stephanie’s, who must have come to check on you after that suspicious stunt you had pulled mere moments ago. Good, you thought, you had a bone to pick with her anyway. How could she, after everything that had happened, invite that man without at least giving you a heads up?

“Is this your idea of a joke?” you blurted out, hoping she was already close enough to hear you. You did not care to turn, being far too angry to face her yet.

“Can’t really say it is, no.”

But the voice that answered you was not Stephanie’s at all. You spun around on instinct, wide eyes finding the outline of his familiar form against the lights that fell from the house behind him.

“Andrew.”

What a stupid thing to say. Of course it was him. However much you wished it was not. And his reply made it unmistakably clear that he did not care for your presence either.

“Why are you here?” “What do mean, why am I here?” you snapped. “I was invited, just like you, I presume.”

“You didn’t need to come,” he stated plainly, and the cold in his voice made you shiver.

“I might not have if I had known you’d be here.”

“That’s rich!” he spat. “Especially since you are the one who chose to leave.”

“I chose to, yes,” you defended yourself, taking a step towards him. Why, you did not know. Were you getting ready to throw hands with him? You would, if provoked. Or did you just succumb to the need to look into his eyes while you said what you had been needing to say for so long. “Because I wanted that job. You know how much it meant to me. But even more so,” you paused for a moment, reluctant to finally reveal the full truth. A truth you had never been able to tell before. The real reason why you had so cowardly deserted him almost two years ago. “I needed space.”

“Space?” his brows furrowed as he pondered the revelation. “So, you were running from me?”

“No, not from you.” How could he ever think you were running from him? And if that was not enough to make your heart heavy, the broken look in his eyes almost killed you. It tempted you to give in, to reach out and touch his cheek to ease the harsh creases in his forehead. But you could not. “I ran from whatever it was that you and me were. It…I couldn’t do it any longer.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

He sighed, the frustration in his tone was apparent now. “No, I don’t.”

“Because I wanted you,” you blurted out. “I wanted you so much.” And then your voice broke underneath the weight of your confession. "But not like that.”

“Like what?”

It was your turn to sigh now. Why did he have to make this extra hard for you? Why couldn’t he just understand?

“Andy, I wanted a life with you. Not some casual sex whenever I fit into your busy schedule.”

“That’s not fair. You knew who is was, what I do.”

He was right of course. You had known all of that from the start. And still you had clung to that frail thread of hope that this, you and him, would somehow be different.

“I did. But I didn’t know…” You could not bare to look at him. Not when your vision was already starting to blur. He would notice, and you could not allow that on top of everything else that was already turning this night into your personal living hell. And so you spun around.

“What? What did you not know?”

The sudden softness in his voice finally made your eyes spill over. Hot streams of tears ran down your cheeks freely now, and when he touched you, so tender, just like you remembered, there was nothing left inside of you to resist. As if your soul had left your body, you watched the scene unfold, watched him turn you back around, your heart almost leaping out of your chest when his formerly furious eyes softened instantly. It was time.

“I did not know how much I would…” you sniffled, “how much you would come to mean to me.”

There, you had said it, and it had not nearly hurt as much as you had anticipated. Actually, you were feeling a little better, lighter, somehow. But at the same time it was almost unbearably clear to you that your fate now hung in the balance of the deafening silence that loomed in the darkness all around you.

Time trickled by torturously slowly, but still no words had left his lips. You were almost beginning to wonder if he would ever speak to you again, if you should just walk away and leave it all behind. But things were different now than they had been two years ago, you were different, and so you stayed put. 

And then he moved. Carefully, as if he was afraid to scare you away, he reached out for you. His hand felt heavenly against the cool skin of your cheek and the gentle brush of his thumb as he wiped away your tears made your heart flutter. Yet it was nothing compared to his words.

“And you think you did not mean just as much to me?”

You could not speak, your tongue heavy as lead. And so you simply shook your head instead. You were still trying hard to process his words, so afraid your foggy brain might have misheard that you did not notice at first. It was only when you felt his breath crawling along your lips that you realised he was pulling you in. 

With the point of no return long passed, there was no going back now. Fisting the cool leather of his jacket, you closed the small gap that still remained and with the long lost taste of him fresh on your lips, you lost all control.

Lips moved in a fevered frenzy, tongues dancing, exploring, tasting what they had dearly missed all this time, glad to find that nothing had changed, even though everything was different now. 

You both broke away with a gasp, panting heavily as he rested his forehead against yours, your face still framed by his large hands.

“I’m sorry I fucked this up,” he pushed out between two harsh breaths.

“We both did.”

But you did not think it mattered anymore, all the pain and frustration and anger washed away as you buried your face in the soft cotton of his shirt and let his familiar scent calm your racing heart. You had no idea how long the two of you had stayed like this, his arms wrapped around you, tender lips pressing a kiss to your hair every now and then. All you knew was that you never wanted this to end. And there was only one question left to ask.

“Where do we go from here?” your words came muffled against his chest.

“How about back inside?” He must have felt you stir upon his words and so he was quick to add, “Just for a start. We can figure out the rest along the way.”

[sunshine-overload]

[BSTS] Sin Summer 2024 4* Card Story

THESE CARDS MAN— (note: Kei organised for W to stay and perform at a fancy resort, team K will arrive at a later date)

chapter 1 -resort restaurant-

saki: (Hm? On that chair over there, isn’t that Sin-san’s jacket? He must have left it behind, I’ll bring it to his room for him.)

-saki walks to sin’s room-

saki: (Oh, the door is slightly open.)

-she peeks into the room-

saki: Sin-san, are you there? Is this jacket—

-cg

saki: Ah.

sin: ……. 

saki: (Oops, he’s in the middle of getting changed… I’ll just leave his jacket hanging on the door.)

-next day, resort pool-

saki: Thanks for inviting me to hang out with you at the pool, Sin-san.

sin: When the still water’s surface is disturbed the rippling waves sink beneath. Slipping out of sight to the bottom of the pool, unnoticed by all.

saki: (Yesterday I just left Sin-san’s jacket on the door and left but I wonder if that was ok? Maybe I should have said something—)

sin: Saki. The unmarked traveller brings a mirror to the deepest depths of the abyss. What is it that was reflected in that fragmented mirror? …Yesterday, I found my jacket hanging on my room’s doorknob. Were you the one who brought it there?

saki: …Yes, that’s right.

sin: Thank you. Though, it appears you must have caught me in quite the improper state. Allow me to apologise.

saki: Oh no, I should be apologising too. I showed up at a bad time.

sin: It is fine, I am grateful you brought me my jacket. The Goddess has earned herself a rest between the swaying and crashing waves.

saki: A rest…?

sin: I think spending some quiet time here would be nice, would you like to join me?

saki: That sounds good! I want to see what relaxing on that beach chair is like. 

sin: I see… Then, do as your heart wishes.

-time pass-

saki: Whew… So this is what living in luxury feels like.

sin: I suppose.

saki: (Sin-san is reading a book in one of the hammocks… I probably shouldn’t bother him.)

sin: …Hm? Has the hammock caught your interest? If so, then you should join me.

-

chapter 2 -resort pool, day-

saki: You don’t mind if I lay in the hammock with you?

sin: I do not. Here, grab on and pull yourself up from there. As long as you don’t make any reckless movements you won’t fall out. Just take it easy.

-saki gets in the hammock-

sin: …How is it?

saki: Fufu, it’s fun! So this is what being in a hammock feels like.

sin: I see… Let me know when you’d like to get out.

saki: Ok, thank you.

saki: (Laying next to Sin-san like this… It feels so warm and safe. The sound of the ocean waves… The summer breeze… It all feels so calming…)

sin: …….. (smiling softly)

-time pass-

-resort pool, night-

saki: …Nn…Hm…?

sin: —Are you awake?

saki: Huh? S-Sin-san!?

-saki shakes the hammock-

saki: Uwah!? I’m going to fall—!?

-sin catches her-

sin: I would not let that happen. I’ve got you… Sorry, did I surprise you?

saki: N-no, it’s ok. Thanks to you being here I was able to sleep this whole time without falling to the floor.

-flashback to sin changing-

saki: (Seeing him like this… I’m reminded that Sin-san really is very…)

-flashback end-

sin: The moon reflected atop the lake’s surface carelessly forgets the blessing of the ouroboros. In the blink of an eye, it has been consumed at the bottom of the lake.

saki: Um…?

sin: …If you sleep beside a beast you may be devoured. I advise you to be more cautious in the future so that does not happen.

saki: …!? Y-yes, of course…

sin: The free spirited light is no different from an alluring sweet nectar. Those that lust over it would not allow a single drop to go unnoticed… I couldn’t just leave you on your own, as long as you permit it, I would like to protect you. Although, that depends on whether you regard me as someone that is worthy of your trust.

saki: That’s… Of course I do.

sin: (smiles) …I see. In that case I must live up to that trust.

saki: Sin-san…?

sin: The beast is shackled. You can sleep peacefully without a care tonight. —However I cannot say for sure that the shackles will still be fastened next time.

—end

[ggidolsmuts]

Do Not Disturb - APink Chorong

"Hello, we are ZBlue!" you lead your group in the greeting.

"Hello, we are APink!" Chorong replies for her members in return.

"Here's our album, sunbaenim." You bow and present your album with two hands. Chorong accepts it graciously with a smile.

"Thank you, oh, here's ours." She hands it to you casually, and you accept it politely and gratefully with both hands again. You see the glimmer in her eyes—she's a nice sunbae to other groups, but she loves lording it over you. You make a show of opening the album, slipping the piece of paper snagged on the album into your hand before anyone else notices.

"Thank you sunbaenim, fighting!"

"Sure, you too." You shuffle backwards out of the room with the rest of your members. You head back to your dressing room and hand the album off to the manager. You dearly wanted to read what was on the piece of paper, but that would have to wait, and wait, and wait, until it is your turn to perform on stage.

5 hours of waiting for your 3 minutes of glory, and in a flash it is over. It was your turn to be the ending fairy, so you smile and make cute and cool poses.

"Cut!" The PD calls out.

"Thank you! This was ZBlue, thank you very much!" You yell alongside your members. All of you huff and puff and hurry back to your dressing room. Along the way you see APink coming out—it was their turn to go on stage. You and your group hurry to make room for them.

"Fighting sunbaenim!" You shout, bowing as they walk by.

"Mmm, thanks!" Bomi waves and responds with a tilt of her head, but Chorong doesn't even offer you a response. Typical.

"Hyung!" Your member calls for you.

"Coming!" You're already zooming off to your next filming, some behind the scenes vlog. You don't get to read the scrap of paper, not that you needed to. You already know what it says.

"Hello sunbaenim." You bow.

"Oh, you're here, come in." Chorong invites you into her home. She's dressed simply in an oversized t-shirt, minimal makeup, and her hair done up in a bun, a far cry from the caked-up sunbae you saw at the music show earlier in the week. Brie and Rico peek from atop their cat tower, and you walk over, offering them a finger in greeting. They give it a sniff and a boop, allowing you to give them a scratch—you are not unfamiliar to them.

"How is your comeback, busy?" Chorong asks you as you stroke her cats.

"Not too bad, we're not that popular like you are."

"Sorry. Yeah we were pretty booked, lots of radio shows."

"Must be nice," you murmur. Not that you really minded, you have something, or rather someone, much nicer coming your way. A hand pulls yours away from Brie—Chorong wanted some attention too. It finds her waist, and you lean down to let Chorong find your lips. A firm stamp of her lips on yours, and you pull back, only for Chorong to lean back in, sucking your bottom lip hungrily.

"Enough about work." Chorong gets straight to business, dragging and pushing you to her bed. You admire her body as she pulls her t-shirt up and over her head, revealing her lack of a bra—and panties, you correct yourself as she sits on top of you, fully nude already.

"Fuck, sunbaenim..." She shuts you up as she kisses down your cheek to your neck, her breath hot on your skin. "I assume you want to go first?" You bring a thigh up between her legs, rubbing her as she grinds down on your offered "seat".

"Mm yes." Chorong's response comes out as a half-moan. Your hands roam her back as she continues to ride you, making a shiver go up her spine. They drift down to her butt, and as you squeeze her ass her movement shifts subtly, squirming sideways, trying to get your hand deeper between her legs. Her cats may be spayed and neutered, but you can smell Chorong's desire all over you. Your hand leaves her body but only briefly, snaking around her hips and moving between her legs from the front. One finger dips into her wet and sticky heat, and Chorong's head dips further down your body, leaving hickeys on your chest.

Chorong's struggling not to moan too loudly—at least, not so early on into it, god forbid you think you're too good at pleasing her! She wanted, needed, had been looking forward to this the whole week, a way for her to bleed out the stress of a comeback.

"M-More!" She curses her weakness, at how needy she sounds, but thankfully you don't say anything, and one finger inside her becomes two. Her hips move on their own, humping your hand and making sure you fill her up nicely. "Ah!" You start moving, digging into her, curling your fingers, as if to hook her closer to you. Chorong definitely gets closer, especially when you brush on a soft spot inside her. It makes her suck in her breath, and a familiar and sorely missed feeling wells inside her way too soon!

"W-wait, wait!" She taps your arm in quickly.

"Hm?"

"Towel, let me get a towel."

"No." Chorong squeaks like a mouse as you move your fingers more firmly, pushing and massaging the spot that has her legs trembling. She moans and bemoans—you can be so petulant at times!

"No no no no— Nngh! Mmmmmm!" Chorong echoes your words, and she groans and hits your arm rapidly. She tries to grab your arm to pause, but all she manages in the end is to dig her nails into you. That, and to wet your shorts and douse your hand in her juices. She moans through gritted teeth and clenches around you as you don't let up, continuing your fingering until all her fluids are spent.

"Ah..." A final relaxing gasp escapes her lips as she slumps on top of you. Chorong trembles in satisfaction as she feels your wet shorts on her skin and your slick fingers grabbing her ass once more. "Fucker... I just changed the sheets yesterday."

"That's on you, you knew I was coming over today."

"You could have let me get a towel!"

"You would have soaked through it by the time we finish." You feel her face warm up against your chest—it was true, only you could make her squirt like that. Chorong huffs, pushing herself up haughtily.

"Hmph, whatever, I'm ignoring you." She pulls off your shorts and boxers, revealing what she really wanted to get at. Chorong shows off her toned butt as she turns around, grabbing your cock and sinking her snug heat on to you. She hisses, sucking a breath in through her teeth, god she missed the stretch! You grab a pillow and settle back for one of your favorite sights—APink's leader grinding herself to dust slowly, her head tossed back, slim and toned back on full display for you. One night was all that was needed—you ran into Chorong on a rare night out, she invited you back for drinks, one thing led to another, and the two of you buried your stress in each others bodies.

"T-This is a one time thing, It's too risky."

"Right, yes of course Chorong, I mean sunbaenim."

"You should go, before someone catches you here."

Is what she had said, and yet she keeps contacting you, inviting you over. And you! You keep coming over! Chorong berates both herself and you, enabling each other and risking your careers needlessly. Yet here she is, continuing to ride you faster and harder, the pleasure building up again steadily.

"Yeah, you like fucking my cock sunbaenim? Do you fucking like my cock sunbaenim? Or do you like my fucking cock sunbaenim?" you ask her, and Chorong grinds to a stop, turning back to glare at you.

"Quiet, do not disturb me while I'm riding my cock!"

"Is that why your new song is called DND, it's about me?" Chorong grabs a pillow and flings it at your face.

"Shut up or I'm kicking you out." The breathiness of her threat lets you know that it is false, that she would at least ride you until she's done, but you listen to her and keep quiet, propping yourself further up to watch her. The new angle suits Chorong well, and you watch your cock be coated with more and more of her slick as her rhythm gets wilder. You watch her back tremble and tense, but soon that view is blocked as she runs her hands through her hair, undoing the bun and letting her locks loose as Chorong lets herself go more and more. Her hair sways like a black curtain, side to side, back and forth, becoming messier and messier, until Chorong releases a sharp moan and sinks down deeper than usual.

"Fuck..." You are the one moaning as she grips you, fitting around you like a glove. When the glove loosens you groan at her slick washing over your shaft and balls; Chorong slumps forward, barely supporting herself on her arms. You take it as your sign to take over. You are only outside of Chorong briefly as you push yourself up and over her, and a small whimper slips from her lips when you push into her from behind. 

I'm still sensitive! Chorong wants to cry out, but that would have only made you go hard right away, and so she buries her face in the sheets, whining and letting out soft moans. Unbeknownst to her you also choose to give her time, giving her a few firm thrusts before slowing down, fucking her steadily—you don't want to overwhelm her just yet. It gives Chorong a chance to stabilize, her sensitivity giving way to pleasure, allowing herself to more readily push back against you.

"You like fucking my pussy? Or do you like my fucking pussy?" she fires back, twisting her head back to face you. "Ah!" You slam into her hips, latching your lips to her earlobe before whispering hotly in her ear.

"Neither, I love fucking my pussy." Chorong clenches around your cock—just your words alone almost drive her to another orgasm. The pressure of your body over hers is lifted, and in its place is a pressure on her hips, your hands grabbing her waist tightly. Chorong's mouth drops open, and she barely makes it into the sheets before a muffled sound escapes her.

"Mmmm!"

You pull out part way, and with your fingers firmly gripping Chorong's hips you surge forward and pull her back on to you.

"Ahhh!" The sudden movement jerks Chorong's head off the sheets, and for the first of what would be many times tonight you hear her moan unsuppressed. Her fingers twist into the sheets, and you force another cry from her when you thrust again before her head has dropped back to the bed. You pump your hips back and forth, moving quickly with small motions—Chorong's the one really moving as you pull her on and off your cock and she tries to keep up with your motions.

"Mm, nngh!" Every jerk of your hips feels like a pipe entering her tight pussy as Chorong is slowly consumed by pleasure. Riding you is good and gets her off, but not like this! She tries to soften her moans, biting the sheets when she can, but your rough actions force her bite to slip, and every so often a moan spills forth from her lips. Her jaw is sore, and she knows she is going to be sore all over as you wrap an arm around her waist and pull her up into a kneeling position. One hand goes to Chorong's lips, fingers making sure they're parted, the other goes—

Oh my god!

Your other hand gently presses on her mound, and you keep it there as you push up into Chorong. The angle lets you rub your tip over her g-spot before you glide further up, bumping right at her cervix. The first sensation will make Chorong whine, the second will make her scream. And with your fingertips making sure you feel Chorong's breath coming hot and harried, there is nothing she can do—the whole floor is going to hear APink's leader get destroyed.

"Yesohmy— Hah! Nngh! Ah ah ah ah mmmmm oh my god YES!" Chorong's barely aware of her own lewd cries, the double stimulation far too much to handle. Each thrust against her g-spot makes her go weak with pleasure, and before she can resist and hold off her orgasm, the bump against her womb throws her off entirely, letting ecstasy go straight up her spine. Her arms flail uselessly, clutching and twitching in midair as her entire body is fucked into orgasmic seizure. She's not so much squirting as she is just leaking copiously and continuously down her own thighs. 

Satisfied that Chorong is no longer able to control her moans your hand drifts down her body, grabbing a breast and squeezing it harshly. You knead it greedily as you pull her against you more heavily, slamming her back against your front over and over. Her head lolls against your shoulder as her body reacts subconsciously, trying to move higher, away from your pistoning shaft, but with every thrust you pull her back down to heaven, making her throat rasp and her eyes roll. You break Chorong down and make her cum, then build her pleasure back up on the next thrust, only to smash her coherence to smithereens with the next pump of your hips. You mumble something in her ear as you feel the final domino piece placed inside you.

"Ugh, nngh, guh, mmm!" Her response is unintelligible, and you're not sure if she heard you or not, so you repeat it again.

"Gonna cum in you." You slam every word into her. Chorong only manages a non-verbal answer, a limp hand drifting to your thigh, squeezing it, weakly trying to pull you into her.

Yes!

It is enough for the first piece to tip over—Chorong yelps as she ragdolls against your shoulder, your thrusts getting wilder and more violent. Feeling your own end close, you reach further down and rub her clit. Your blood pumps loudly in your head, which is for the better as Chorong's scream would have rendered you deaf. Her mind is empty of all thought, only processing the furious pleasure shooting through her body and the explosive heat surging inside her. The two of you freeze in place, and all that is heard in the room is the pitter-patter of cum and juice that drips heavily on to the bed.

"Ah..."

The two of you collapse forwards, your arms barely strong enough to prevent yourself from crushing Chorong underneath. You kiss her sweaty neck tiredly.

"Chorong."

Social hierarchy is strict in Kpop, but the lines are blurred if both parties are fucked out of their minds, so Chorong merely turns to you, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss.

"We were too loud." Her brow furrows cutely. "I didn't say your name did I?"

"No, I don't think you screamed it."

"Shut up. Good, I'll just avoid the neighbors for the next few days."

"I can think of things we can do for the next few days then." You wrap your arms around Chorong's lithe figure as you sit up and pull her into your lap. She shudders against you as you spread her lower lips, scooping and playing with the rich load leaking out of her.

"You can't stay over, people will notice! Besides, don't you have schedules?"

"No, we're too nugu for that. You are my schedule." Your joke is sour yet saccharine, and Chorong pecks you sweetly as she reaches for some tissues to clean herself.

"You're too cute, but sorry, I have stuff to do this weekend. I'm gonna go wash up." She leaves you to sit on the clean side of the bed as you look at your phone, seeing what's going on in the Kpop world. Chorong comes out a while later, toweling her hair dry, dressed in another oversize t-shirt.

"Your turn."

"Sure, thanks." You grab your clothes and head to the bathroom, and a quick shower later you find Chorong pulling the bedsheets off, glancing at you awkwardly as you catch her doing something so mundane.

"Need to do laundry..."

"Let me help." Chorong tries to wave you away, but you're not having any of it. You roll up the sheets and yank it away from her.

"Thanks," Chorong mumbles as she watches you toss it in the washer.

"Of course. Can I stay for a bit, play with the cats? Besides, it's suspicious if I leave your apartment building so late at night." Chorong pretends she's busy pouring herself water as she debates with herself—on one hand, you're not wrong, it would be suspicious if someone saw you leave; but on the other hand, letting you stay is dangerous—her body still remembers, still yearns for your touch.

"Sure, you can play with the cats for a bit, but you have to leave later, after everyone's asleep."

"Okay." You grab a wand and play with her cats as she watches on. Chorong is deep in thought—she does feel bad for some of the things she said. Sure APink was more popular, but she didn't have to remind you how nugu your group ZBlue was. Maybe she could help with that?

"Hey, want to start a scandal with me?" Chorong blurts out. It sounded a lot better in her head.

"What?" You let Brie catch the toy as you stop moving and turn to her.

"We can, you know, start a scandal, let us get caught."

"Why would I do that?"

"It'll get you more clicks, you won't be so nugu then!"

"That would be terrible for you!"

"It'll be fine, we have a more established fanbase, I can take a dating scandal." Chorong argues more loudly, getting more invested in her crazy idea.

"No, I don't want that. I don't want to use you sunbaenim!"

"I'm letting you use me! I'll just tell the company and they'll put out an article about it, that we're meeting with 'good intentions' or whatever. Just let me know when your next comeback is, or we can just do it now too!"

"That's just straight up lying sunbaenim, plus we might not even have a next comeback." You drop the toy and go over to Chorong—her cats make themselves scarce at the sudden clatter.

"Fine, we'll do it tomorrow then, I'll just leak it to a reporter and tell my company after."

"That's not the point, Chorong!" Fuck, you are both angry and aroused, watching Chorong’s cheeks flushed red in agitation.

"Then what?" She notices your gaze, and the lick of your lips is not one of nervousness or dilemma, but one of danger.

"I only have bad intentions right now." Your hand slips instantly under her t-shirt, going to her hip as you push her down on the couch. Chorong berates herself once more—she shouldn't have let you stay, let you linger! She knew this would happen, she wanted it to happen. You make out with Chorong as you run a hand through her hair, undoing her bun once more—you like her better that way. You trail it down her cheek and neck, feeling her shiver under your touch.

Oh!" She moans quietly as you bring a knee between her legs, feeling the warm wetness of her shorts on them. It snaps you out of it—now you really are just using her.

"You need to tell me to leave," you rasp huskily, your voice suddenly hoarse with need. Chorong pushes you on your shoulder, and you take that as your signal to go, forcing yourself to get off her. To your surprise she takes a seat on top of your lap, arms wrapped around your neck. Her bottom lip quivers, she tries to bite it to stop the quiver, but it doesn't work.

"No." She pulls you towards her, darting her tongue between your surprised lips. Chorong presses herself flush against you, and you moan into her lips as grinds herself on your clothed hardness, your tongue twisting with hers. Her hands fumble on your shorts, but she pulls them down enough to reveal your cock. You want to stop her, but she's already pulled her shorts to the side, and your protests are muted by the feeling of your tip pushing against her lips, prying her pussy open. Chorong wraps her arms around your neck, pulls you into her chest, and sinks herself on to you.

"Fuck!" Chorong gasps above you. Noticing you nuzzling her clothed chest, she backs up briefly to pull her t-shirt off, giving you full access to her. You are back in her cleavage as she begins fucking herself on you, pushing her hips back and forth on top of you. You plant kisses on her tits, grabbing them and playing with her nipples—Chorong hugs you more tightly in response.

You enjoy her vocalizations, but it is only when she rides you more urgently do you realize she is moaning your name. And the moans are getting louder.

"Chorong, you should keep it down!" She ignores you, instead choosing to ride you faster and contract around you harder. That is her goal, to have everyone hear her moan your name, to let everyone know whether you like it or not, to have the word spread!

"You're so fucking stupid..." You manage to break her bear hug and pull her lips down to yours, making sure you swallow her loud moans as you grab her ass with the other hand. You slam her down on you and—

*RIIING*

It jolts the two of you out of the climb to your peaks.

"Fuck, that's one of the girls, I should pick it up." You hold on to Chorong firmly, but she whines and stretches to reach it, so you let her grab it.

"Hello?"

"Chorong unnie, we're going out soon, want to come along?"

"Ah!" Just because she's talking doesn't mean you have to stop, and you slowly pull Chorong up and down on your cock. "E-Eunji?"

"Yeah, you always stay home, you should come out!"

"Mmm, today's no good, we should do it some other hnngh— time!" Chorong smacks you arm to get you to stop, but obviously you're not listening to her. Eunji is quick on the uptake though.

"Unnie, is someone with you right now?"

"No? I mean no!"

"Really? It sounds like you are with someone right now." You grab the phone from Chorong.

"If you know then don't disturb us for now." Chorong squeals as you hang up before you can hear Eunji's response.

"Yah!" Chorong's both mad and blushing again.

"What? I don't think she can recognize me from that."

"Yeah but, ah that's embarrassing!"

"Hey, you wanted a scandal, now you can just have one only your members know about. Look, it's done, okay?" Chorong rolls her eyes, this time in frustration, but she agrees, putting her focus back on riding you. You put your focus back on finishing her off, and you ensure you keep your lips on Chorong's, in case she has any further ideas. Denied the opportunity to scream your name for all to hear Chorong bites down on your lower lip, sucking it fiercely in retort as she squeals and milks your cock needily when she cums.

"That is still the dumbest idea ever," you reiterate to her as she breaks the kiss, leaning on you tiredly.

"Worth a shot... Speaking of shots." She raises her eyebrows at you, and you shake your head—no, you hadn't cum yet. Chorong gets off your lap and on to her knees. Now it is your turn to moan her name as she kisses your tip and takes you into her mouth. She grips your base, her tongue runs along your glans, and with her large round eyes looking up at you—

"Chorong!" You lurch forward, thrusting your shaft into her mouth further and unloading down her throat. Her eyes widen, but she is game, managing to swallow your salty seed fully, and when she releases you with a pop, not a drop is spilled.

"Who's the loud one now?"

"It's not nearly as loud as your screams. Anyways, let's not do anything stupid okay? It's not the end of the world if our group doesn't do well."

"Hmph, fine."

"Do you want me to stay or go then?" you ask her as you fix your clothing.

"Help me with my bed? I still need to put the clean sheets on, then you can go."

"Sure sunbaenim." You help Chorong get the sheets sorted, and it is time for you to leave.

"Hey, maybe it's better if you stay the night?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well I'm all alone tonight, you made me unable to go out with the members, who knows what other stupid ideas I might have."

"Just don't have stupid ideas then sunbae."

"What if you stayed to make sure I don't have those stupid ideas." Chorong has you lean in to her, and her breath tickles your ear. "I don't need to have you here to moan your name loudly, you know."

"Is that a threat?"

"Maybe?" Chorong pulls on her t-shirt enticingly. "Maybe I'm blackmailing you."

"It won't work sunbaenim." You sigh and place your hand on the door handle and push down on it. Your vision is obstructed by her t-shirt landing on your head.

"Really?" The handle rattles back in place as you hug Chorong, and her legs go automatically around your hips.

"Yeah, I have lots of stupid ideas too Chorong." She can't believe herself as you carry her back to bed, to ruin a second set of sheets.

This is so stupid, this is so dangerous...

At least we won't be disturbed tonight.

A/N: So 95% of this is because I wanted to write Chorong, like 5% of this because ZBlue is a completely stupid group name I came up with lol. Tried to come up with something interesting where there’s a bit of a rivalry dynamic between the two of them. I initially wanted it to be love-hate, but I don’t really know how to do that, and once I came up with ZBlue it was too stupid to not write lol

Thanks for reading!