#not editing im too sad and tired sorry

[kingcrim]

[theythemmer]

phinktober day 11: ur fav AU

i dont rlly do AUs so i just drew them how i wish they would dress xo

(dan’s tats r carnations and snowdrops and phil’s r roses and honeysuckle. for no reason 🤗)

ALSO bonus version w makeup bc i couldn’t pick <3

[n0thingbutlov3]

need you now

in which an impulsive voicemail leads to some secrets being spilled.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader. warnings/tags: angst (sorry i’m incapable of being nice lol) hurt/comfort tho!! lil bit of fluff too because i AM capable of being nice, alcohol consumption as a coping mechanism (i’m literally just a girl…) spencer and reader are broken up :( but they’re still sooo in love and it’s soo obvious so it’s fine!! (also it kind of gets fixed at the end-ish. you’ll see *evil smirk*) reader cries a lot (real) spencer is a cutie (as always) spencer and reader sleep together…no like literally, not in a funny business way, some swearing, no use of y/n!!! wc: 3k a/n: hihihi!! so this is my first fan fiction i’ve wrote and completed ever (gulp) it’s also my first time publishing one (gulp) my writing could definitely be better and so could my grammar tbh but i HOPE if you choose to read you’ll enjoy…feedback is always appreciated (plsplspls) also like requests?? if anyone’s into that—id love to write more but inspo is difficult sometimes. if there’s any spelling mistakes im sorry, eye am very tired!! it’s 5am *eye twitching* okay i’m going to sleep, gootbye IF U SAW ME EDITING THIS 5 TIMES NO U DIDNT (i’m bad at tumblr ok..)

“Hi. This is Doctor Spencer Reid. I’m not available right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can…”

His tinny voice cut off to make way for the signature beep of the beginning of a voicemail recording.

You could hang up now—you should hang up now, save yourself some dignity and go drown your sorrows in alcohol like a normal person instead of calling your ex-boyfriend.

You should, but your mouth was opening before your finger could reach the hang-up button, and…and it was a losing battle from the moment you clicked on Spencer’s icon.

“Uh—hi, it’s…it’s me.” You huffed out a sad laugh.

“So, um, I…I tried calling, but you didn’t answer so…” The static buzz of silence hummed through your ear, just inches from where you held your phone with a shaky grip. “maybe you’re on a case or out with friends, or someone else—“ You let the implication hang in the air—the thought of Spencer potentially being in a relationship bringing a lump to your throat.

You swallowed it down.

“I just…I just had an unbelievably shitty day, Spence.” You sniffed, wiping the moisture that had escaped from your eye with your sweater sleeve. “I know you’ve never read A Series of Unfortunate Events but I think I’d give those kids a run for their money.” You tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sob.

You inhaled shakily, trying to collect yourself and remember why on earth you thought it would be a good idea to call Spencer when you’d been broken up for months. Hell, you hadn’t heard from him at all since you had parted ways—except from the odd text about returning each others’ things. It was obvious he had moved on, and here you were, filling up his voicemail with blubbering messages and making references to adolescent books.

“God, sorry about this.” You breathed out a watery chuckle. “I just…didn’t want to be alone, I guess. But that’s-um-not your problem anymore, so I’m—I’m sorry. Have a nice night.” Your voice cracked and you hung up before you could start weeping down the line. You didn’t need to look even more pathetic.

You pulled your phone away from your ear, looking down at his contact photo through blurred vision. He was smiling—not the tight, closed lip smile he gave other people, but a full, bright smile that had his dimples showing. One of your hands was wrapped loosely around his neck and the other was holding your phone just far enough away to capture both of your smiles. Your head was rested on top of his shoulder, tilted just slightly to the left so your temple was brushing against his.

It felt like looking at a vintage photograph—you knew those people and their happiness existed at some point in time, but it wasn’t tangible; you couldn’t verify it was real.

When you were with Spencer, you never doubted how real it was. All you had to was look at him across the room and he’d flash you a smile identical to the one in that photo and you’d just…know.

It felt like forever ago now that you’d been on the receiving end of that grin and it killed you. So much so that before you could consider the repercussions, you were trudging through to your kitchen and grabbing the bottle of whiskey that sat unopened in your cabinet. It had been a present—from Rossi, actually. When Spencer had first introduced you to the team, the older man had given it to you as something of a welcome gift. Of course, he couldn’t have known you weren’t much of a drinker, and since you wanted to make a good impression (and because you were sure it had cost more than all the alcohol you had consumed in your life combined) you accepted it—deciding to save it for a rainy day.

You think this qualified.

You grabbed the bottle, a glass, and padded back through to your living room, slumping onto your couch. You filled your glass up a little less than halfway before gulping it down, enjoying the burn in your throat—it was better than the constant thickness.

You poured yourself another glass before turning on the TV. You weren’t sure what was playing—it didn’t really matter anyway, your vision was already being obscured by tears again.

You thought the pounding was in your head at first—serves you right for drinking half a bottle of whiskey. Only, it wasn’t, because moments later the pounding subsided and instead, your apartment door was opening, casting your pitch-black living room in a yellow glow which temporarily blinded you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your mind hazy—again, serves you right for drinking half a bottle of whiskey. Someone was calling your name, but there was too much sensory input for you to make out who.

You certainly hoped it wasn’t a paramedic—maybe your neighbour had heard you sobbing for the last four hours and decided you needed a wellness check. Then there were hands on your face, and that had you flicking your eyes open, because you recognised those hands—impossibly soft, with a callus on his trigger finger being the only thing to mar them. Spencer.

“Spencer?” You slurred.

He sighed in exasperation (or relief) and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Are you alright? You weren’t answering your phone, I thought…” He trailed off, worry evident in his voice.

You sat up then, trying to compose yourself even though the room was spinning. Fucking whiskey. You rubbed your eyes haphazardly, blinking until you could finally see.

You should’ve stayed bleary-eyed. Because nothing could prepare you for the way your breath hitched when you finally saw him. After months of not seeing each other, Spencer was here, sitting on your couch, and he was looking at you like you were something fragile, and—God, you needed another drink. You turned away from him, reaching for the neck of the bottle as you spoke.

“I’m fine.”

Before you could lift it up, Spencer gently pried your hand away from the bottle with his own, and then slid it across the coffee table with his other.

“You’re drunk. No more of that, please.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but he left no room to argue. You probably would’ve objected anyway, if it weren’t for the way he kept his hand clasped around yours, rubbing soothing circles into your pulse point almost absentmindedly.

You glanced up to him—to stop yourself from staring at your hand in his and how natural it felt, more than anything—but that proved to be a mistake too, because he looked just as beautiful as thirty seconds prior and it felt just as natural for him to be sitting next to you on your sofa, but it wasn’t natural anymore.

“How did you get in?”

“My key.”

“Oh.”

Right. The key that he still had because you refused to meet up with him to let him return it. He tried for weeks to contact you, but you ignored him, because getting the key back meant things were finally over. You supposed he could return it now—maybe that’s why he came in the first place.

“Why did you come?” You asked, your voice impossibly small.

“You called.” He replied—as though he was talking about something as simple as the weather. You call and I come.

You searched in his eyes for any sign of a lie, but of course, there was none. He was being completely genuine—as always. You were the awful ex-girlfriend who left concerning voicemails on his phone and had him travelling to your apartment in the middle of the night only for him to look completely okay with the situation—like there was nothing he’d rather be doing than making sure you were safe.

You couldn’t help the way tears sprung to your eyes or your lip began to tremble as you lolled your head back onto the couch, pulling your gaze away from his.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

You liked to consider yourself to be a strong person. You had been through things in your life that were objectively worse than your breakup with Spencer, but something about the gentleness of his tone and the way he had let one of his many (past) petnames for you slip had your throat tightening and you ducked your head into your one hand—the other still seized by Spencer’s—to try and muffle a sob.

“Hey,” He trailed his hand that was wrapped around yours up your arm, all the way to your shoulder blade before lightly guiding you towards him. You don’t have enough energy in you to fight his magnetic pull, so you shuffle over until you can bury your head into his shirt. You inhale his scent; vanilla, neroli, and so him it makes you ache.

Stopping your tears is futile—you’d know, they’d barely ceased all night—so you just let them fall, seeping into Spencer’s tie as he rubs one hand softly up and down your back, the other cradling the crown of your head.

His breathing is quiet and slow—the exact opposite of yours—and you try to imitate it—forcing air into your lungs. When your sobbing has turned to shaky breathing and the occasional sniffle, he speaks up.

“Do you want to talk?”

Talk about what? About what had happened today—what had led you to calling him? Talk about how for the last few months, he had been the only person you had wanted to call?

“No.” You hated how pitiful you sounded.

“Okay.”

Spencer didn’t say anything else for a minute—your synchronised breathing being the only thing to stop the room from falling into dead silence.

“You need to rehydrate.” He murmured, smoothing down your hair.

You hummed into him, in no hurry to unwrap yourself from his body. You probably wouldn’t get to be this close to him again, after all.

He moved both of his hands to your biceps, pulling you back slightly so you could look at him. He knitted his brows together in a silent plea which had you rolling your eyes petulantly, your lashes still damp from tears.

“Fine.” You peeled yourself off of him, pushing yourself into a standing position. Horrible mistake. You were still incredibly drunk, turns out, and everything was spinning a little bit and come to think of it, you were also nauseous and—

“Careful, lovely.” Spencer placed his hand firmly on the small of your back, keeping you upright.

and—actually, you were fine now.

He stood too, moving his hand just slightly over to your waist so he could guide you to the kitchen. When he knew you could stand upright—even if you were relying mostly on the counter behind you—he grabbed a glass from your cabinet, moving around effortlessly to pour you some water. The sight was so domestic you almost wanted to cry again. Maybe in some alternate timeline, where you and him could’ve worked, this would be an every day thing—minus the drunk sobbing part, of course.

He handed you the glass of water, watching as you took a few sips. He raised an eyebrow, nodding his head slowly.

“Whole thing, please.”

You let out an exasperated (affectionate) sigh and gulped the rest of it down, setting it on the counter behind you.

“Happy?”

“Very.”

You smirked, trailing your gaze down his body. He was still in his work clothes which, at the very least, meant he wasn’t on a date before he came here. He always changed before dates—well, for you, anyway. You wondered if he had been on any dates since the breakup—you certainly hadn’t. It had been long enough now that it wouldn’t be weird for you to start seeing other people—but you didn’t want to. You weren’t sure you’d ever want to, to be completely honest.

The more you thought about it, the more the whole thing seemed stupid. You didn’t want anyone else, you wanted Spencer. You had tried to get over him but if tonight was any indication—it clearly wasn’t working. You can’t even remember why you broke up in the first place—it all seemed so insignificant now. No amount of pain you had ever experienced in your relationship had come close to that of living without him.

You met his eyes once more and it was like he could see the question brewing. He tried to stop you, calling your name in a quiet warning, but you ignored him.

“Why did we break up?”

He frowned, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth with his tongue in that maddening way he did.

“I—you know why—“

“No, but I don’t! I know things were difficult sometimes but that doesn’t mean it didn’t work. It worked—we worked.” Your eyes were stinging again.

Spencer pressed his index and middle finger into his eye, furrowing his brows.

“I know, I know we worked, angel—but you were sad all the time, remember? I was gone so often and it wasn’t good for you.” His true emotions were indecipherable but his tone was soft, and you wished you could be as calm about this as him. Did he just not care as much as you did?

“But It’s—It’s worse now—“ You choked out, tears falling freely now. “I was sad when you were gone, but you always came back—you don’t come back anymore.”

Spencer removed his hand from his face, flexing it at his side like he was uncertain what to do with himself before taking a stride towards you. He brought a hand to your face, wiping the tears from under your eyes delicately—like you were made of porcelain.

“Listen, sweetheart—alcohol affects your ability to regulate your emotions and I know right now it might feel worse but that doesn’t mean it always—“

“Spencer, stop! It’s not the fucking alcohol, I miss you! I miss you all of the time! Even—even when I’m having a good day—I still want you—and especially when I—when I have a bad day—“ You choked out through heaving breaths.

“Breathe.” He urges, cupping your cheek. And you’re so, so angry, and sad, and tired that you have no choice but to shut up and listen to him. When you’ve adequately calmed down, he moves his hand to your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I don’t think we should talk about this tonight but I—“ You open your mouth to protest.

“I promise we can talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober—if you still want to.”

Your lip trembles of its own volition and you frown.

“Of course I want to.”

“Okay,”

“Okay.”

He gives your eyes a final wipe before he’s—rather unexpectedly—pulling you into a hug. You all but melt into him, your head finding its home in his sternum and your arms wrapping around his middle. He tilts his head down, kissing the top of your head—and you’re certain you can’t let this go again. You will chain him down before Spencer leaves this apartment again.

Everything is wordless from there—mostly because you’re so, so exhausted that even talking seems like too difficult a task. Spencer helps you find something more comfortable to change into and you pull out an old t-shirt of his and a pair of plaid pyjama pants you had kept here for him. I guess your keeping them ‘just in case you needed them in the future’ had come in handy, after all.

As you washed your face, Spencer snuck through to the kitchen, refilling your water and grabbing two aspirin in a not-so-subtle attempt to help the inevitable hangover you were going to have in the morning.

You caught him placing them on your bedside table and mock gasped.

“Trying to drug me in my sleep so you can make a run for it in the night?”

He grinned lazily—exhaustion creeping up on him as well.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You smiled, flopping yourself onto your bed rather ungraciously. Spencer looked at you like you were something fascinating before biting his lip, clearly deep in thought.

“What?” You let out a self-effacing little chuckle.

“I was just…wondering…if you’d like me to sleep on the couch?”

You probably should’ve been more careful in your facial expressions considering you were still broken up but your thoughts about that offer were obvious.

“No, stay.” Stay in your bed, in your apartment—stay anywhere that was close to you.

Maybe you were coming on a little too strong.

“Unless you want to, I mean—“

“No, no—I’ll stay.” Forever, preferably.

He walked around to the other side of your bed—as he had done so many times before—and sat down, pulling the covers over his legs. You mirrored his movements before flicking your bedside lamp out, turning to face him.

You were a little thankful you were so out of it, because this had the potential to be very awkward otherwise. Spencer shuffled down so that he was at eye level with you, turning to face you as well.

You just stared for a moment, committing him to memory. The moonlight had a way of highlighting all the high points of his face, and the twinkle in his eyes, and—God, you were so glad the moon existed and that Spencer was in your bed that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“What?” Spencer laughed along with you, even though he had no idea what was so funny.

“Nothing. You’re pretty.”

“You’re drunk. Go to sleep.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Why?”

“Scared you’ll be gone when I wake up—like I made it all up.”

Spencer’s smile faded then, and he looked at you with something that seemed so much like the one thing you had been willing yourself to stop doing the whole time that you’d been broken up, that it almost took your breath away.

“I won’t. I promised, didn’t I?”

You nodded.

“So there’s nothing to worry about. Now get some sleep, lovely.”

You smiled, feeling Spencer’s hand inching towards yours. He intertwined them and gave yours a squeeze.

“Just in case you make a run for it in the night.”

You chuckled, your eyelids fluttering shut. Yeah, you could make it work.

part two!

[mitsvriii]

"Nothing's New"

In which your partner is never going to pay attention to you, because they’re too focused on their dead lover

Bell’s notes: “writer bell goes too far with this fic-” im /j no ones gonna say that, angst powers pls work tho, like im asdlkfjawel;fjsd;jf;lska, i cant write dude, let me like, plan this out in my head before writing nonsense, LIKE BRO, feral over angst LORD, 100k likes and you get part 2 /jjjj, growling i love angst, MWHAHAHA, sorry ely, yuka, mhie, snob, and zee if you read this 😔😔😔, i listened to “IT Girl” while writing this 😋, got carried away with Ayato’s part oopsies, i believe Guizhong for the ladies but whatever 😔😔😔, cut out Wanderer & Childe in the end because i’m TIRED, not proofread

Story details: Ayato lowkey a bitch, scratch that highkey, reader has self-doubt, Neuvilette doesn’t mean to be mean he just ISSS, GUIZHONG DID NOTHING STOP MAKING HER THE ONE IN BLAME IN THESE ZHONGLI SCENARIOS, oh and I couldn’t be bothered with Xiao’s part like a quarter through he’s such a flexible yet straight character, it’s the way you can tell when I got lazy with each part, chance Xiao & Zhongli are gonna be ooc as i’ve never written anything but short headcanons for them before

Characters & Triggers: Ayato, Neuvilette, Xiao, & Zhongli;  reader has self-doubt, mention of death, mention of martial neglect

Reader details: female reader in Ayato’s part is explicit. female reader in Neuvilette’s part can be interpreted with the way you read it. the other parts, however, shouldn’t have a specified reader type. reader’s personality, race/ethnicity, height, physical descriptions, or anything of the sort is not mentioned. if anything is let me know and i’ll edit it. 

Ayato: No surprise the Yashiro Commissioner doesn’t pay attention to his new wife, the one that he didn’t marry first. You knew that he didn’t love you, and most likely never would because you were, in fact, the second pick. Actually, it was probably in the hundreds based on the amount of marriage arrangement offers Ayato had gotten considering he was one of the biggest figures in Inazuma. It didn’t matter, but he most likely picked you because your clan was a small one to put it lightly, so he most likely chose it, and you, because it wouldn’t be a hassle with the press. But of course, he would choose the person and clan that seemed, “easy”. It hurt seeing some of the people’s sympathetic stares, such as Ayaka’s, Thoma’s, and a few of the older women working in the estate. You got used to the lack of greeting from Ayato when he got off work, the lack of warmth beside you at night. You found it hilarious, although you were hysteric at the time as you had just found out that Ayato was off that day and neglected to see you, that he never, ever laid down in the same bed as you. It doesn’t matter no matter how hard you work around the estate, how long you sit up doing his work, which you soon quit once he yelled at you like a homeless dog, or even the distinct flower you made out of one of Ayato’s favorite sweets that he ignored. Not even a glance at your general direction, either. After a while, you decided to do some digging on his past wife, only to find out that she was in fact near perfect. Perfect reputation, perfect everything, to put it shortly. Shortly after asking Ayaka what happened to her, by pulling the sad, guilty wife card, you found out she was a victim of an assassination attempt that turned into a success. Of course, Ayato and his perfect wife would only be torn apart by death. It was poetic, and it made you sick. So what were you to do but endure the slow torture that you and Ayato’s marriage was? After all, nothing you could do could change how he felt about you. 

Neuvillette: The famous hydro dragon, at least to those who knew his ‘secret’. His past lover, unfortunately, died before him, no doubt to his immortality. Of course, you would soon die, maybe in a few decades but, hey, it wasn’t like he would miss you. You could only wait awake at night as Neuvillette went to fix himself his own meal, despite you staying up to cook him one and await for his return from work. It’s not that was the only time he never paid attention to you, after all the man had most likely been grieving his wife for centuries at this point in time. So what were you to do besides stay and watch this man be emotionally constipated around you? Why did he even marry you in the first place, then? It couldn’t be because his past wife resembled you, and it certainly wasn’t because you both acted the same. Was it because he needed someone to cling to? I mean, you weren’t exactly someone who seemed to not fit the criteria of a compassionate co-worker who would comfort Neuvillette in his times of distress. Did Neuvilette only come to you because you were his way of grieving? It would make partial sense, to cling to the nearest piece of comfort to help with the pain of loss. It made you feel like nothing but an object meant for his emotional wants, but in reality, that’s all you ever are and will ever be to him. 

Xiao: The famous adeptus long ago, had someone close to him. Shame they fell to waste during the archon wars, along with the other adepti. It was no surprise that everyone familiar with Liyue stories knew about the two of them together, which unfortunately included you. It didn’t pain you that much until your oh-so-loveable boyfriend got distracted by two kids playing with a Xiao lantern and one of her. After that, it only devolved into more. The lack of visits to your room in the inn, the lack of responses whenever you left your little notes for him near your meet-up place, and the extreme lack of thank-you-notes whenever you left Xiao almond tofu. It didn’t matter that you started to skip and completely ignore doing all of these things just to see if he would notice because the adeptus failed to appear in your room just to check in to see if you were okay. This behavior was unlike him, at least in the sense of him completely ignoring you. The only answer you could think of, that logically made sense, of course, was that he was reminded of his past loved one because of the run-in with the lanterns you two had while out in Liyue. So in terms, he seemed to disconnect with you because of the memories of his past significant other? You knew the adepti didn’t die peacefully, you could tell that much from the stories, so it wouldn’t be surprising if that also applied to Xiao’s past lover. There was nothing you could do about it though, because if you knew Xiao, he wouldn’t talk about her to you nor push her aside for you.

Zhongli: Guizhong. Of course, you were familiar with the name, everyone in Liyue was. Everyone might be a stretch considering the visitors and children, but the point’s been made. Morax and Guizhong were close. Close in a sense of possibly having relationship affairs but that was only explicit to you because of the way your lover would glace at glaze lilies. You couldn’t call him your lover, could you? Not with the way he would hum to the glaze lilies, the way his eyes would also drift away from you whenever you talked as you took strolls through Guilu Plains, and the way he would opt to tell stories of specific tales of his time as Morax, ones that included Guizhong in some way. It got to the point where you had to make up tasks that you had to do daily just to get away from the walks you two took, not to hear the different-yet-similar stories of Morax and totally not Guizhong. It was childish of you to be doing so, you had yourself convinced, as you couldn’t blame Guizhong for any of it. She had no part of this besides well, besides being your number one stressor for the past few weeks. It was tiring yet somehow for the sake of not wanting a glare or side-eye from Zhongli about his stories, which you never thought you’d get that tired of hearing, you kept your mouth shut, despite how hard it was. You knew it would only take so much more, though, before you said something about it. 

[toxicaltomb]

lotf ships best to worst + reasons

JUST MY OPINION!!!! U CAN LIKE/HATE THESE IDC

jalph…duh. very basic but i like it. interesting dynamic + sad + the fics are fire :3 very los campesinos coded also but im not gonna get into that

ralmon. SO CUTESY!!! one of the only somewhat not toxic lotf ships so they’re great for fluff + angst. sometimes a girl wants fluff without second guessing it as love bombing!! underrated also. edit post-manuscript-reading: THEYRE CANON FUCK YOU

rogermon BUT ONLY IN THE CONTEXT OF CREEPY QUIET KID/BATTY QUIET KID. i hate bad boy roger x soft boy simon,,, they’re both clinically insane and don’t talk much stop making roger bad boy alpha who kicks kittens plz

ralger. kinda a crackship but it’s so fun!!! kinda like rogermon but moreso creepy quiet kid/popular kid. similar dynamic to jalph, very fun :3

raliggy. AAAAAA. they upset me GREATLY😭😭 so angsty so angsty. also underrated!! i feel like ppl don’t ship piggy w ppl cuz he’s fat SOMEONE HAD TO SAY IT! im sick and tired of piggy erasure.

pigmon. now we’re down to ships i haven’t thought much abt! this is adorable tho they would work so well together. also dead boyfs!!! :333

jager. DONT KILL ME FOR HOW LOW IT IS it’s just never rlly been a fav of mine. i like it, esp one-sided jager cuz roger would definitely attach himself to jack cuz he’s never met someone similar to him in the sense of sadism and just UGH. 😭😭😭😭 i just haven’t thought of them much

raliggymon(???). could be cute fs but i haven’t thought abt it much😓 if anyone was gonna be poly it would be these three tho they’re so trio goals

jiggy. again, haven’t thought abt it and it’s almost never appeared on my feed so ive never considered what dynamic they could even have. can’t rlly complain abt it being toxic cuz…jalph…so i have nothing to say! also rlly funny name, they’re doin a jig!! :3

rogice(???). this is roger/maurice. def a crackship more than anything, but i read it in one fic that was rlly good so im including it! very cutesy and has a nice dynamic :3

allllll other ships. sorry guys, never thought of youse!

riggy(???). roger/piggy. no. sorry the murder was too targeted. it’s just….its too weird for me. dk what dynamic they’d even have. u can ship it idc it’s just TOOOO much hate and murder

jageriggy(???). MURDER SANDWICH!!!! again it’s just TOO much hate for me </3

AGAIN, U CAN HATE OR LOVE THESE SHIPS!!! IDC!!!!! BE YOURSELF!!!!!!!! DONT LET MY OPINION SWAY YOU!!!!!!!!!!

[abrcmswrld]

Treacherous | Mike Schmidt x Reader

Summary: Reader and Mike have been best friends since childhood. After a fight, Reader is given a surprise visit.

Warnings: General Angst, General Fluff, a suggestive make out scene in the nude but nothing too crazy, mentions of feminine clothing in one part but overall gender neutral

Author's Note: IM EDITING THIS RN SO PLEASE JUST IGNORE THE MISTAKES AND LIKE DUMB STUFF This is my first fic for Mike so bear with me! I tried so hard to adhere to the movie timeline but if it seems shaky please just ignore it lmao. I'm also bad at pacing sorry. I’d love to make this a series cause I’m in love with a good friends to lovers trope.

Mike had always been a bit of a mess. All of the time that you've known him, this has never changed. You can recall times on the playground of boys calling him names for his sensitivities. How were they to know the gravity of his situation? How were you to know? But you always felt called to stand up for him either way.

So you'd hound them off. You'd grab his hand and pull him off the dirt and to a quiet corner of the playground. The two of you would sit on the wooden border, picking at the grass and watching the other kids play.

His sensitivities would quickly turn to a certain hardness that you'd never fully come to understand, even in your late twenties. He'd open up the tiniest bit in high school, after his mother had passed away. He was only 17 years old. You were still children.

You have memories of standing uncomfortably in the dress your mother had insisted you wear to the funeral. You didn't know how to approach him then. He sat alone in a chair on the far side of the funeral home, a blank expression on his face. You couldn't say a word as you took tiny footsteps towards him. And he didn't say a word either, just looked up with bloodshot eyes. You'd hugged him then, feeling his shoulders shakes against you.

Soon it was time for the two of you to start thinking about college and your lives outside of the scope of small town high school. Talks of plans to find something new and excited were quickly stomped out by the failures of his father. You can recall a 23 year old Mike begging for your company on late nights when his father's drinking had reached a climax.

And you'd gladly show up for him. Abby was only six by that time, and Mike was all she had. Mike spoke about his father with disdain to you. Never crying the way he had as child, but you could see a sad anger within the conversations. And really, you couldn't blame him.

You can remember a night on the roof of your childhood home. It wasn’t your first time sneaking Mike through the window of your bedroom. It was a cold December night, and you were home for the holidays.

“I don’t think my dad’s coming back.”

Your knees were pulled up and under your chin as you rest your head and listened to his worries. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “I mean, he hasn’t been back for three days and I think this might finally be it.”

You furrowed your brows and met his gaze.

“I’ll move back here.”

In that moment he had begged you not to. You were so close to finishing your degree and he insisted that he could not be the reason you didn’t finish. So you heeded to his wishes. You finished your final semester.

In the 6 months that you were gone after that night, his dad had not returned. Mike had stepped up to be a guardian for his sister. Family court would later assure this in legal documentation.

You had hugged him tightly the first night you were home and assured him that you would be there, for the both of them.

━━━

You would prove that to him when his original babysitter had ghosted him.

“Probably got tired of not being paid.” He had said when you asked why.

You don’t ask for pay. You had a day job that kept you stable enough to live. And as Mike’s hours were night shift, there was really no problem with the arrangement.

It would go on for a few weeks. You hadn’t seen pay, but you didn’t mind. Mike would cook you breakfast when he got home. That was payment enough for you.

But you could notice he wasn’t doing well. Dark circles had formed under his eyes. He had confided in you about the actions of his Aunt Jane. He showed you the papers with bold letters proclaiming a request for a change of custody. His stress and worry made sense to you now.

He would have to prove he was fit, a big ask in a court setting, especially for someone like Mike. You had encouraged him the best you could.

But everything had come to a head on a night when Mike had intended to actually pay you.

He woke you from your light sleep on his couch, alerting you that he was home. He sat his tired body on the recliner.

“There’s a 20 dollar bill in my jacket pocket.”

His eyes are closed as he speaks. It seems the night has been a rough one for him. “You don’t have to, but thank you.” You find the jacket lying on the kitchen table. You feel slightly bad as you reach your hand in to find the bill, but your guilt falls into confusion as your fingers brush the tiny bottle inside.

You let your eyes travel over the orange bottle in your hands. You furrow your brows. You turn to face the recliner he sits in.

"Mike."

He turns his head to face you, tired eyes falling on yours. He sees the bottle in your hands and you can see a sense of uncertainty and dread fall across his features.

"What are these? Sleeping pills?"

He immediately tenses, as if he had been avoiding this topic with everyone. But he responds quietly, “Yes.”

You fall silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. Realistically, there was nothing wrong with sleeping pills. People use them all of the time to sleep. But Mike seems hesitant to cover the topic of these pills and why he uses them.

An additional concern comes up in the way he had stuffed them in his jacket pocket. Why was he taking them to work? You hate the way your thoughts sound like the micromanagement of a mother, but all you can see is the bright yellow of the custody papers and Abby’s sweet face in your mind.

“Have you been taking these at work?”

He’s silent. It’s enough of an answer for you. You sigh as you sit the bottle down on the kitchen counter. You’ve known he wasn’t well. The incident that had gotten him fired from his last job, the dark circles under his eyes, the hardness about him, it all worried you. But you had always chose to let him live. Let him make his mistakes.

“Mike, talk to me. What’s going on with you?”

He lets out a spiteful scoff as if the conversation is beneath his worries at the moment. He lets out a shaky sigh. “I feel connected to him there. I don’t know why, but I do.”

There’s no doubt in your mind who he is referring to. His baby brother. The one he couldn’t save. You let him continue.

“If I can put myself into the right state of mind, I can see it. I can watch it over and over. And if I try hard enough maybe I might see who took him.”

He voice drifts off to a quiet and weak tone, “That’s all that matters to me.”

You can tell he’s hurt by the way that his voice comes out strained and weak, and it hurts you too. It’s not as if you couldn’t understand the pain of the situation. He’d cried to you all those years back when it first occurred. What you can’t understand is how he could let it ruin his relationship with Abby. Abby who is alive and well. Abby who, even if discreet, sees Mike as the moon and stars.

“And what about that little girl who sits around and draws you all day long?”

It makes you feel like a bitch to even say such a thing to him, but if it gives him a shake maybe it’d be worth it. “What about her?”

He stands still as a statue, emotions shifting across his face as he processes the words you’ve shot at him. You’re sure they strike like a bullet. His mouth opens and closes again, so you speak again.

“I know how badly you want to bring him back, Mike. To bring him back and be able to pretend none of that ever happened.”

He furrows his brows and you can the see the hurt flood his expression.

“But you’re going to lose them both if you don’t get your shit together.”

You sigh. You hate the way you sound like a mother scolding a child. You take a shaky breath. “Do you think that this job is really good for you? I mean-“ He cuts you off with a scoff and a laugh.

His tense attitude has you uncomfortable and defensive. You hate the way your voice becomes strained as you speak. “I just think it’s taking a toll on you.”

“I need this job, otherwise I’m never gonna see her again.”

And of course you know that. He needs a job to look good for a court that’s supposed to be able to decide if he’s right to take care of his sister. But what good does a job do on paper if the court can clearly see the way his mental stability is shaky? He hesitates and meets your eyes with a tense look as he speaks,

“You’re here to babysit Abby, not me.”

You stand silently in front of him for a moment before grabbing your coat. You turn toward him. You can see the quirk of regret on his expression, but he doesn’t speak, doesn’t take it back.

“It’s gonna take more than a shitty job that drives you crazy to keep her. I think you should find somebody else to babysit Abby.”

There’s malice in your tone and you hate it. But you can’t make excuses for him. You ignore his voice as he says your name quietly. You just let the door close behind you a you walk to your car. You wait for the door to open again behind your back. It doesn’t.

He doesn’t text you either. In fact, you don’t hear from him for another week and you wonder if he’s already replaced you and plans on holding the grudge.

You assume he must have. He must have found another babysitter for Abby. It seemed he was saving money to actually pay whoever took that role.

You can’t stop yourself from becoming more and more sad as the week goes on. You find yourself worrying more and more about Mike. And Abby. There’s no doubt in your mind that Jane was still adamant on proving in court that Mike was an unfit guardian.

You don’t know why you feel as though your presence could somehow remedy that. You don’t know why you feel an ache so deep in your heart. Friendship breakups are common. But Mike was different.

You still don’t let yourself text him. You would give him the power to choose that route. To choose you and the friendship you had given him since you were both children. And by the end of the week you have to force yourself to sleep.

And by the end of the week you get what you had secretly hoped for.

━━━

The knock on your door is urgent. You're half asleep as you rise out of the comfort of your bed. Your feet press against the cold floor as you rush to see who it could be. As you glance through the peephole you're met with those familiar black curls.

You open the door swiftly, shivering at the cool breeze that flows in. He looks like hell. Abby stands at his side. You're stunned, "Oh my God." You open the door wider and usher the two of them in.

Abby seems to be physically uninjured, while Mike's face is bloodied and bruised. You whisper to Mike,

"What the hell happened?"

He looks to Abby before he answers. "Abby should get some rest while we talk." You nod immediately. "Of course. She can sleep in my bed while I patch you up."

You lead the young girl to the bed and ensure she's tucked in. She thanks you quietly before you leave the room. You grab some first aid supplies from the bathroom cabinet on your way back.

"Sit."

You point Mike in the direction of the couch. He winces as you wipe the open cuts with alcohol wipes. You raise an eyebrow, “ You look like hell, Mike.” He scoffs in response.

“So you gonna tell me who did this to you, or am I just gonna have to keep wondering?”

Mike hesitates. You stop your movements to look at him with concern. He shakes his head, “You’re gonna think I’m crazy.” You sigh,

“Mike, I know you. Just tell me.”

And so he does. He explains everything down to the little details he can remember. It sounds crazy, it absolutely does. But you can’t bring yourself to think he’s faking it.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I know what I saw. She knows what she saw.” He points in the direction of the room Abby was soundly sleeping in.

“I believe you.”

He closes his eyes and exhales a large breath. You continue to clean the cuts along his face and head. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches.” He nods. There’s still an awkward tension between the two of you. He’s upset with himself for letting you leave the way you had, and you’re ashamed of yourself for letting him push you away. You break the silence at the same time,

“You know-“

“I’m sorry-“

You can’t help but laugh a little, and he smiles weakly back at you.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too.” You continue.

He shrugs. “You were just looking out for me. I understand that now.” It means a lot coming from Mike. He’s stubborn, not usually one to admit when he’s wrong. It makes the moment all the more sincere. You smile slightly, letting a hand brush his cheek where a bruise is blossoming under the skin.

“I wouldn’t have said what I did if I didn’t care about you.”

He nods slowly and leans his cheek into your caress. You can feel the warmth of his hand as he lets it fall to your hip. His voice falls to a whisper.

“I care about you too.”

You smile and swipe a thumb over his bottom lip, where the plush skin has split from impact and smeared blood across his pale chin. He groans as he leans up, it’s only then that you notice the large gash on his side.

He attempts to stand, hobbling on his injured leg. “Mike,” He turns toward your bedroom, ready to grab Abby and get out of your hair. When he turns his back, you can see the blood seeping through his shirt and the large tear across his back. You grab his hand,

“Mike.”

He faces you again, letting a quick glance fall to your now connected hands. “Let her sleep, she’s alright. Let me help you.”

He stands awkwardly in front of your bathroom counter. His muscles flex with each touch of your fingers around his wounds, his fingers gripping the counter until his knuckles are white.

“I think it’d be best if you took this off.”

You’re awkwardly fiddling with the hem of his long sleeve shirt. He meets your gaze in the mirror and you feel small. Your voice is nearly a whisper, “I- I just can’t see.”

You stare at the floor as he pulls the shirt over his head. The gash is messy, but not deep enough to require stitches. Regardless, it’s covered in a thick layer of blood and sweat. You usher him to turn, and you see that the cut on his side is not better.

He can see the way your eyebrows screw together. “Is it that bad?” His voice has a touch of dread hidden in its tone. “I mean,” You glance at him.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but you need to clean them or they’re gonna get infected.”

He swallows and nods. You walk to the shower, turning the knobs and adjusting the water to an appropriate and comfortable temperature. You clear your throat, “Here. I’ll, uh, I’ll let you…do your thing.”

You turn on your heels to give him privacy. As soon as your fingers touch the metallic surface of the doorknob, his hand catches your free hand, pulling gently. You turn toward him, meeting his eye. He pulls you closer and carefully pulls you into an embrace. You’re worried you’ll catch his wounds with your hands so you let them hover above his skin, not actually touching. But you want to.

You can feel his breath on your neck where he’s buried his face. He speaks into the sensitive skin, “Thank you. I don’t thank you enough.” That’s the moment you finally let your hands rest on his skin.

“You don’t have to thank me, Mike. I do it because I care about you.” You gently brush your fingers across his upper back, avoiding his cut. “Besides, you’d do it for me.”

He pulls himself from your neck, and you drop your hands from his back gently, expecting him to pull out of the embrace. But he stays close to you and only pulls back enough to see your face. Your cheeks are so hot. You can feel it and you know he can probably see it. He keeps his hands at your sides, just above your hips in a way that feels respectful. You allow yourself to put your hands on his forearms, thumbs resting in the bend of his elbows.

“Your water is gonna get cold.”

It’s a whisper as it comes out. He simply nods but doesn’t drop his hands from your sides. You smile shyly at him.

“Come with me.”

Your face is instantly hot and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the steam that’s building in the room and around the two of you. With your eyes wide and your mouth opening but no words coming out, he looks at you with hesitation, like he can’t believe the words actually left his mouth.

You can see the fear building on his expression the longer the silence drags on. Thoughts are racing through your head. You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought of this. You loved him. There’d always been a flutter in your stomach and a heat in your cheeks that let you know that perhaps it could be more than a friendship. You want that. But is this really how it’s going to happen?

You imagine the two of you going from childhood friends to becoming well acquainted with each other’s bodies in the span of one stressful night after not speaking for nearly a week. But there are no alarm bells going off in your head. You can’t bring yourself to feel ashamed.

So you kiss him. With his arms still around you and the heat from his bare chest creating a sense of protection from everything. With the whirl of water hitting the tub filling your ears. With the image of Abby sleeping soundly in your bedroom in your mind.

When you pull away, he looks at you with a sense of longing you’ve not seen on him before. You don’t want to say a word, not right now. It’ll be complicated. You know it will be. And you’ll have to have that conversation eventually, but right now the only thing you want is the heat of the water and the silk of his skin against yours.

So you finally unwrap yourself from him to begin working the buttons on your shirt. You’ve turned your brain off momentarily. Your fingers are on autopilot as they remove each article of clothing. If you allowed yourself to think, you’d surely turn in on yourself from the shame.

But when you’re finally bare and displayed in front of him, he doesn’t speak. He only looks with a fondness in his eyes that goes beyond a lustful stare. He slowly works his pants off his injured figure, wincing in the process, and soon he’s just as bare as you.

You’re shaking and cursing yourself internally for doing so. God, why were you shaking? You know he notices as he reaches his hand out to touch your arm lightly, grounding you in reality, and speaks, “Are you okay?”

You nod. More than okay.

The water feels heavenly as it beats against the skin of your back. Mike hobbles into the shower after you. He’s hesitant as you usher him to switch with you. It’s gonna hurt, but it’s necessary.

Your fingers lightly brush the wound on his back. He'd already been wincing slightly from the sting of the water, but your touch has him tensing immediately. You grab a cloth and dampen it enough to be effective in cleaning the general blood and grime from the afflicted wound.

The moment your cloth cover hand touches the  wound, he cries out through closed teeth, "Fucking- fuck!" His hands are planted against the shower wall in front of him. He bites his lip, holding in the whimpers of pain, trying his hardest not to wake Abby.

"Shh. It's okay, Mikey."

You let a gentle hand fall to his non injured side, brushing his skin. You're trying to sooth his tense and pained form as much as possible.

Soon enough you have both gashes cleaned up and ready to be bandaged. Mike turns to face you in the shower. His face still has a slight touch of discomfort to it, but he smiles weakly at you.

“Thank you.”

You smile back and nod. You’ve hardly said a word outside of attempting to sooth his pain with sweet words. The cold is starting to seep in from the tiny crack in the shower curtain. You can feel tiny goosebumps beginning to form on your skin. He frowns slightly and breaks the silence again.

“Did I cross a line…with this?”

Your head is already shaking before you can even comprehend the question. Like your body knows the answer before your mind does. “No, Mike.” He hesitates in his response, standing still and quiet before stepping towards you.

He seems to be able to move around a little better. You’re not sure if it’s the water cleaning the previously irritated wounds or if it’s the adrenaline pumping through his body. Either way you’re thankful as his hands are grabbing at your face and pulling you into another kiss.

It’s sloppier than the previous kiss you had shared, and he’s pushed you back so far that your back is hitting the cold tile of the shower wall. A fog has taken over your mind as you reach around his shoulders, digging your fingers into the plush muscle of his back.

The feeling of his tongue swiping into your mouth has sent you entirely mad. You’re whining slightly at the feeling and your eyes are half lidded. You can’t even think of the fact that this is your childhood best friend kissing you. Making you shudder. You can’t find it in you to care, you want him.

“Mikey…”

It’s a whispered moan as you let your head fall back against the tile, exposing the delicate skin of your neck to his wandering mouth.

Despite his injured form, his hands are tight around you. You'd thought of this before, in the heat of the night alone in your high school bedroom, hormones taking over completely.

You'd imagined the strong grip of his hands and the contrast of his plush lips. The bite of white teeth and soothing warmth of the hot water.

It’s absolutely divine, you think. He is divine. You know you’ll have dark bruises on your neck from the way he bites. You can’t help but run a hand through the hair on the back of his head and tug slightly. The moan is elicits rumbles through your neck and you want more.

You’re absolutely drunk off of the feeling of his body being this close to yours, nearly intertwined. You don’t even think when your nails swipe the cut on his back. That is until he lets out a yelp in the crook of your neck and promptly jump back.

You’re wide eyed immediately, realizing what you’d just done.

“I’m- I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Mike.”

You can still see the remnants of a wince on his face but he laughs. And you find yourself letting out a nervous laugh with him. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

You laugh again, holding the palm of your head to your forehead.

“We should probably get out. It’s getting cold.”

You nod.

━━━

You manage to sneak past Abby’s sleeping figure long enough to grab old clothes from your room. You find yourself thanking the universe than Abby is a heavy sleeper.

You’re also thankful that you hadn’t given Mike back an old t-shirt that he had left in your home years ago. He smiles at you when you hand it to him. He puts it on and examines the familiar print on the front.

“You’ve been holding this one hostage, huh?”

You gently nudge his shoulder and let out a chuckle. “Shut up.”

You’ve layered blankets in the middle of your living room floor. You speak as you lay pillows down on the makeshift palette. “Abby is sleeping peacefully, I’m not letting you drive home tonight, and there’s no way I’m letting you sleep on my tiny couch.”

You point exaggeratedly at the “bed” you’ve created for the two of you. “Ta-da.” You let yourself fall back onto the layers of pillows and blankets. It’s surprisingly cushioned. You sigh. “Actually not that bad, Mikey.”

He watches you with a smile from his seat on your couch. “You’ve really out done yourself.” He slides off the couch and into the layers of blankets and pillows next to you. He turns to rest on his uninjured side, facing you. It’s dark in the room, but you’ve left one lamp on. You can see his features glow under the warm light. You brush a hand on his cheek lightly.

“I’m glad you didn’t die tonight, Mike.”

He snickers, but you’re serious. The thought of his face on the news, just another tragedy at Freddy’s, haunts you. “I’m serious.”

He simply stares at you. “You’re not gonna go back there, right?” He closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna take care of her. I can’t keep a job.”

Your thumb brushes at his cheek, soothing his tension. “I’ll help you. When have I ever left you alone in this?” You shiver as you think of the only time you’d walked out on him after that heated argument. You push the thought away and close your eyes.

“Really love you, Mike. You’re my best friend.”

You open your eyes hesitantly and you can see the shine of moisture in his. “Love you too.”

You place a kiss on his lips. It’s chaste, but full of a deep warmth. It leaves you wondering what comes next.

You tuck yourself in close to him.

“Goodnight, Mike.”

[spiral-writing-stuff]

hi hi! i saw ur requests were open? (sorry if theyre closed)

Can i request a Akutagawa x gender neutral teen reader? (Platonic ofcou) basically reader looks up to Akutagawa and sees him as a older brother figure and akutagawa sees them as a younger sibling :3 can it be angst also? like where one of them is badly hurt and the other is crying and all that jazz

pls and thank you <3

authors note: Don’t worry! If my bio says requests are open then they are! I just take a while to write because there’s a lot of stuff going on in my life, so I’m really sorry this took so long! Im thinking of splitting this into 2-3 parts because I’m still thinking of how to write the rest of the story, I have the plot already in my head but I just need to put it into words. This request is sooo cute big brother akutagawa is just such a great concept:,) Also so sorry if the angst isn’t good lol I’m not very good at writing creative sad stuff! (Please give me feedback!😭) also sorry if it’s too angsty i think I went a little overboard again. I might edit this story later.

Sorry this took so long!

I also couldn’t decide if reader is older or younger than Gin so you guys decide.

I Hope it’s what you wanted!!<3

On a Silver Night

Content/Warnings: angst, gore, blood/injury, abuse/child abuse, death, Dazai being a bastard, lmk if I missed anything

For as long as you can remember, Ryūnosuke was always protecting you and gin, as if you two are the thing he lives for. which you both are at this point He has always tried his hardest to defend you, gin, and the other children from thieves and abusive adults, he didn’t do it to be righteous, nor did he do it to feel better about himself, he just did. At least, that’s what you thought, it was hard deciphering his intent because everything he did, he did with the same, emotionless stare. People would always mention this fact. Even when he was killing, stealing, or when you found some food or someone told a joke, he always had the same blank expression. You thought it was funny sometimes though he never once showed any emotion, that didn’t matter to you, his actions spoke clearer than any words could.

Like when he would sometimes hug you and gin to keep you warm during cold nights, when he found food he would share it with the two of you first. And if anyone dared to threaten or try to hurt any of you they would be dead in an instant by Rashōmon’s sharp fangs. Yes, his facial expressions didn’t matter, he was trying his hardest to keep you and Gin from experiencing the harsh cruelty of the word, but he was still just a boy himself. There wasn’t much a malnourished and frail child could do, yet he persisted, despite how many times he’d fallen. You looked up to him and had a deep respect for him because of this.

Even though it was a horrible situation all of you were living in, you were happy just to be with your older brother, sister and the other children. Among all the other children, You, Gin and Ryūnosuke were the ones you were closest to.

Until that fateful day, when a group of criminals murdered all the other children in cold blood, leaving You and Gin injured, and Ryūnosuke thirsty for blood.

~ ~ ~

Gin had helped Akutagawa escape but you three got separated amidst the chaos and confusion, you held Gin’s hand tightly as you two ran and ran until you two were exhausted, collapsing onto the damp, cold ground. The air was foggy and cold, the night dark while the moon illuminated your surroundings with a silver light. After a few minutes of struggling to catch your breath you got up from the dirty ground and remembered only Gin was with you, Ryūnosuke had ran off in search of the criminals who killed your friends. Fear and panic shot through your body, terrified that Ryū was going to get himself killed.

“G-gin! W-we have to find Ryū!” You said to Gin in a rushed shaky voice. She swiftly nodded.

You two began running, this time slower due to how tired you both were. You were heading in the direction of where the shipment was said to be taking place.

“Gin! I think we’re almost there—“ you stopped when you saw a tall man walking in your direction with a shorter person. The shorter person had a black coat draped over his shoulders, the man seemed to be waking directly to you now, a smile on his face.

“Be careful Gin.. s-stand behind me..” you got in front of Gin just in case, until you realized the shorter person was Ryūnosuke, his eyes were slightly puffy and tearful, he had been crying. your heart dropping at the sight. Immediately you throw yourself at Ryū pulling him away from the mysterious man

“Just who are you and what are you doing with my big brother?!” You frantically yell at the man, hiding Ryū and Gin behind you

The man glares at you with boredom in his face, as if this was all nothing to him, but then he started to smirk slightly “Brother? Oh, I knew Akutagawa had a sister but I didn’t know he had another sibling. What’s your name?” He said with a mischievous face, He reached out his hand to seemingly pat your head but you smacked it away immediately, surprising him a bit “you didn’t answer my question-“ you felt a hand on your shoulder and turned around “Y/n…cough it’s okay..you don’t have to worry..” Ryū weakly said to you. Your heart ached at the sight of his bloodied and bruised face, looking down you can see he has bloody scratches on his knees, arms and legs, his entire body was hurt.

“Hm? Oh, right! Sorry about that! Where are my manners?” He said rather loudly “My name is Dazai Osamu, I just got promoted to a Mafia Executive today, Which means, I now have the authority to do certain things. like taking anyone as my subordinate, and your brother here has accepted my offer.” Dazai said soft-spoken yet somehow overbearing with a kind smile that didn’t reach his eyes. You were confused by the man’s statement, many thoughts ran through your mind;

“Would Ryūnosuke really agree to join the mafia? Especially join through this guy? How would we be guaranteed safety? What if this is just a trap to exploit Ryū’s ability? What if he kills us?”

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a dangerous, slightly condescending soft voice “you don’t have to worry, if i wanted you dead, I would have done so the second I laid eyes on you.” He said to you, it’s as if he read your mind. He was staring into your eyes as you stared back, his eyes void of any emotion, much like your brother’s, except you found a deep cruelness to them, it terrified you.

“Well, it was just gonna be Akutagawa here and his sister, but I can make arrangements, just for you.” His eyes went back to a neutral state “I promise,” he puts his hand on his chest “that the three of you will be fed, clothed, housed and compensated accordingly, as long as you work under me, no one else in the mafia will dare harm you.” Dazai reached his hand out to you, a sweet smile on his face

“so Y/n, do we have a deal?”

~ ~ ~

To be continued.

Notes: it is 5am as I write this, can you believe I’ve been writing and tweaking this since April 7th??!? And this isn’t even that long. What ADHD does to a mf

Honestly I’m not sure if I should continue this, obviously if more people wanna read it than yeah since I have the story already in my head, just need the motivation. So comment and tell me that you want more!!!

Anyways hope y’all enjoyed. Stay hydrated!

[starseungs]

➳ this is how to be in love with you. hjs

pairing — han jisung x gn!reader

synopsis — dating han jisung was something you had never expected to happen, but now you wouldn't have it any other way.

genre/s — fluff. and i actually mean it this time. (a pinch of angst at the start but its over quick) • 2.1k words

warning/s — cursing, mentions of drinking

note — tbh i wrote this with a fever and dont know wth im writing aside from the fact that im so in love with han jisung it physically hurts

2022 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

It was almost frightening how easy it was to fall in love with Han Jisung.

Who would've thought that the cute part-timer at the convenience store across from your apartment building would have such a huge impact on your relatively boring life? You certainly didn't, and yet his presence alone still hit you hard like a truck.

Everything started on one particularly hard day that ended with you fighting back salty tears in the midst of your dimly lit room. It was not the best sight, nor will it ever be, despite the shimmery streaks of moonlight seeping into the space in a pathetic attempt to provide lighting around you. The clear night sky would've been beautiful to gaze at if only it didn't remind you that your day would be ending soon without a single positive thing happening in the entirety of its hours. You were so so tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep until the sun rose for another day—a fresh new start for you to leave the past behind like you've done just this morning. But it seemed like fate had other plans that prompted you to storm out of your apartment in spite-filled rage.

Admittedly, you didn't have a plan at that time—only knowing you'd be damned if you continued to swallow your frustration alone. The weather outside was average at best; there was nothing too special going on. However, it was for that exact reason that the fluorescent "open" sign of the humble convenience store right across the street seemed to attract your eyes more than it ever did before. And who were you to say no to its obvious invitation? Beggars couldn't be choosers, after all, and you desperately needed something, anything, to distract you until the day officially came to an end.

So here you were, curiously slipping inside the store to find anything that might interest you. You faintly registered the chime of the door when you stepped inside and the polite greeting of whoever was behind the cashier at the back of your mind as your sight immediately zeroed on those eye-catchingly green bottles of fun.

It was just what you needed.

You hurriedly snatched a few bottles of soju with childish glee, already thinking about how perfect this was to end your less than ideal day. Maybe you could still sneak in some enjoyment in the remaining minutes until midnight—not that you thought drinking your problems away was exactly good, but it was certainly better than bottling up your sadness when you could open another type of bottle instead. It was an okay plan, or at least in your books, it was.

"That's quite a few bottles you've got there."

The sudden voice startled your train of thought, bringing your focus back to the real world. "Wait, shit, sorry if I scared you," the voice continued in a panic. "I didn't mean to, I swear. Damn, I'm not even supposed to comment on a customer's purchase."

You blinked dazedly at the person standing in front of you. When you raised your head to find a face to connect the voice with, you didn't know, but you quickly found yourself wishing you had done so earlier.

Because, wow. That face was very attractive.

"Oh, uh—it's fine," you shook your head lightly in an attempt to stop blatantly ogling at the guy. "You're good."

Unfortunately, that only seemed to send him into another spiral of misplaced guilt since he threw out a sudden offer of, "I'll give you a discount."

Your eyes practically bulged out of their sockets at the sentence that came out of his mouth. "What? No! You don't have to, really!" was your hasty reply, to which the guy only hummed as if it were no big deal.

"Would you let me do it if I say it's because I find you cute?"

"I'm sorry, come again?"

You watched as his eyes widened comically, almost like he didn't expect those words to be said out loud—and if you were to say, that might actually be the case. "Okay, yeah, that totally backfired," he exhaled shakily; you could almost hear him screaming internally. Honestly, you couldn't blame him. You would too. "This must be so creepy—I'll place these in a bag and get out of your hair in a moment."

After a few more seconds, the situation finally dawned on you. "Hold on," you wheezed like you just heard the funniest shit ever. "Are you seriously hitting on me right now?"

"No! I mean, yes? Kind of?" The guy ended up groaning in embarrassment at his own answer, running a hand through his hair while awkwardly avoiding your eyes. His actions were oddly charming, forming an unconscious grin on your face. "I meant it when I said I find you cute. You don't have to say anything, though. Just take it as a compliment or something."

"Why thank you, kind sir," was your amused response before composing yourself and giving him a genuine smile. "I needed that."

He snorts at that. "With five bottles of soju? Who would've guessed?"

"I suppose you're not wrong," you went along with his observation, eyes trailing along the bottles he had just finished placing in a plastic bag. "Also, what the hell was I thinking? I can't finish all of this tonight."

"You can give some of them to me if you want. I'll pay you back the amount."

You quirked an eyebrow at him as you handed over your payment. Thankfully, you had half the mind to bring money with you when you stormed out earlier. "Is that really fine with you?"

"My shift is almost over, anyway. A drink after would be nice," he shrugs nonchalantly. The information had you thinking. You'd hate to be drinking alone right now, so perhaps having him as a companion for a while wouldn't be too bad.

You bit your lip lightly before asking, "Do you want to drink a bit with me?"

"Oh," he reacts blankly at first, clearly not expecting the offer. His face revealed his thought process like a window, the gears turning in his head as he tried to piece together what you had just said. It wasn't long until he caught up, though, and with a shy grin he finally answered, "Sure."

You beamed brightly for the first time that day. "Sweet. I'm Y/N, by the way."

"Jisung. Han Jisung."

And the clock strikes twelve.

Just like Cinderella, everything started changing after that night. You had gained a new friend—or at least that was what you called him for now, even if you damn well knew friends certainly did not feel this kind of attraction towards each other. It was almost embarrassing to admit how much your heart leapt in happiness whenever you two were together, and you swore that if it continued any longer, you'd end up floating amongst the clouds. His gaze alone already sent a buzzing shiver all throughout your body, your mind going into overdrive at the sheer amount of emotion Jisung was able to pull out of you with somewhat concerning ease. He could melt you to a puddle on the ground with a single word, no questions asked. Maybe it was his frustratingly smooth voice, but the guy charmed his way into your heart in a matter of literal days. Either he knew what he was doing or you were just a hopeless simp—and no, you refused to ever admit the latter out loud.

So it was to no one's surprise when you agreed to his request to take you out on a date. And after the first one, more followed. Jisung's plans were, as one would say, straight out of fiction. Stuff that you knew existed in real life but never thought would have the same spark as its literary counterpart. Well, you really should have expected it, but Jisung certainly proved you wrong. The guy was an absolute romantic, and that translated well into everything he did between you two. Though you found out through your talks that he had a big love for the angsty stuff—to which you could only wish you wouldn't find yourself in that situation too soon. It was only when you felt a warm hand casually slipping into yours with a reassuring gentle squeeze that you realized.

God, you may have already fallen for Han Jisung.

There was no doubting it. When the night sky you had just cursed out weeks ago for reminding you of the dragging day you had was replaced with waves of affection and happiness, you knew there was no way you could doubt it even if you wanted to. That whenever you closed your eyes to rest, the darkness only brought images of you and Jisung screaming each other's name into the distance in an attempt to replicate a cliched scene of professing one's love during one of your many nightly picnic dates. Joyful laughter echoed under the stars as hands held each other's, a silent promise that didn't need to be said out loud for you to know what it meant. The moon was a witness to the blooming portrait of memories being painted at the very moment when you two had made it official.

You also particularly loved the moments that you shared indoors, where it was just you and Jisung. The comfort of being alone together was one of the things that came more naturally, especially with him leaning on the introverted side. This was where you found him thriving best, and it warmed your chest to see him so in his element. Whether it was his place or yours, there was never a dull moment, even if you two weren't doing anything. Then there were also the times where you did do something—quickly developing a soft spot for your domestic activities with Jisung. The sound of the oven working its magic was faintly heard in the background while he danced you slowly in the flour-covered kitchen from your earlier baking shenanigans.

Loving Jisung felt like second nature to you, as if you'd been doing it for years. Perhaps you did. The concept of soulmates wasn't new to you; only that you hadn't given it any more attention than mere acknowledgement. Yet, something about Jisung made you feel like changing your stance on the matter. Slowly but surely, he had taken over you.

And you didn't fight it one bit.

His lips were an inviting shade of pink as he went on about his newest interest. You really didn't mean to stare, but he made it a challenge for you to not have your full attention on him alone. To the point that you hung onto every word he said, whatever topic he brought up, you made a mental note of it to bring up at other times when it might be appropriate. Oh, how you wanted to stop time and just continue to admire the man Han Jisung is.

Sometimes you couldn't even believe he was yours. You knew your eyes dripped with love every time you had your gaze fixed on him, but it always caught you off guard when you noticed the same look in his eyes—and it was directed towards you. They always shone with tender gratitude and warmth mixed with fondness, making your breath hitch at the sheer intensity. If this was all a dream, you hope you'd never wake up.

"Hey now," you heard Jisung's voice call out to you softly. Warm hands cupped your face gently to ground you back to reality. "What's with that look, baby?"

You sighed dreamily, leaning in more towards his touch. "How are you real?"

"This again?" Jisung chuckles at your misty gaze pinned at him as if he could disappear in the blink of an eye. "I am. And I'm right in front of you."

"You're so good to me," you mumbled in a quiet whisper, starting to feel drowsy from the comfort he provided you at the moment. You could hear Jisung's heart flip at your honest words.

"Which is what you deserve," he leans in closer to press a light but passionate kiss on your lips before pulling away to stare at you with eyes containing hundreds of unsaid dedication. "I love you."

"I love you more."

Dating Han Jisung was something you had never expected to happen, but now you wouldn't have it any other way.

mastertag 🔖— send in an ask if you want to be added ! 🫶

@tyuniiz @lhskokoro @bookishcalls @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @jeonginwrld

[sillysillykittygirl]

simple pinned / about me because i cant think of anything to make it fancy ;w;

i dont post fundraiser links. i cant do it for my own mental health. im sorry.

EST (i think), time of last edit 9:37AM 27/09/24

hi!! hello!! im Emma, im transfem, im 18, i dont like walking, and this is my very normal blog for very normal things (this is my nsfw blog ;w;)

it/its exclusive right now (trying that out)

i am. pretty exclusively sub i am Not good at being dominant. At All. i try sometimes but it tires me out incredibly quickly and then i get really sad. so um,, sorryyy,,

anyways u dont get my main teehee

am in a relationship with @sillypuppyprinceps i love them so much hii

dni is if ur a minor, blank blog, or u make me too upset basically.. and also follow ur own dni thanks!!

also dni if u dont care to even try for aftercare. thats important. i dont think im sorry about this. remind people to get snacks and water and tell them they did good. please. i beg of u. tell ur doms they did good especially. tyyy.

my um. my kinks. i should. write those.

i like

petplay!!!!!!!!!! (am kibty or ouppy ehehe)

edging / denial / chastity !!!!!!!!!!!

bondage!!!!!!!

dunno if it counts but i rlly rlly like being blindfolded!!!!

piss,, holding and also anything else,, oops!!!!!!!!!

pain play!!!!!!!!!

humiliation!!!!!!!!!!

degradation!!!!!!!!!!!!

praise!!!

i think its called a musk kink? that!!!!

hypno,,!!

overstimulation!!!

um. i think its called fauxcest,,,,, oopsies!!!!!!!!!!!

and alsoooo feet,, oops,,!!!

i forgot to add i also kinda like cnc ;w; oops

i also forgot breath play ;w; i do rlly like breath play ;w;

body writing !!!!!! ><

um. also kinda corruption,,!!!! ><

i dislike / wont engage with

sissy stuff,, not for me,,

things involving me being directly ignored (i need attention) (stuff like being tied up and left somewhere for later is okay though ehe)

detrans stuff,,

probably forgot things, left out things i dont have words for, etc.,, but thats generally my stuff,, yaay

[riverthebooknerd]

LINKED UNIVERSE HEADCANONS BECAUSE FUCK YOU

(mostly wild, time, twilight, sky, and wind centric cuz those are the main games i've played)

they're all trans

people think that time is the dad of the group but nah. it's twilight

four uses "we/us" pronouns (they/them but actually plural)

wild will either cook the most delicious fucking food you've ever seen in your goddamn life or a pile of rocks (canon)

wind can see ghosts. they all know this. however, sometimes he'll say that there's a spooky ghost when there's not just to freak them out (wild knows. he doesn't say shit bc it's funny)

sky can cook one (1) dish and it's pumpkin soup (he learned after he had to work at the lumpy pumpkin to repay them for breaking shit) (everything else he makes is inedible)

most of them are nonverbal (bc autism and also ptsd)

you'd think that time knows sign language but NO because he grew up in a forest around fairies who don't have? visible hands?? i think?? (he learns sign from wild)

also i've seen people say that time Doesn't Cuss which is simply Not True. let him say fuck. he deserves to say fuck.

the only one of them who doesn't cuss is probably sky. but there are exceptions

actually no i take it back. that fucker says fuck too

All Of Them Should Say Swear Words

please they're so tired just let them say fuck

the ones who have a hookshot are ecstatic to tell the ones without a hookshot about the joys of using it (ex: sky showing it off to wild, who has stars in his eyes, talking about how it'd make climbing in the rain so much easier)

speaking of sky and wild- the realize that there's a merchant named beetle in both of their eras. weird as shit. sky is like "wtf" but wild kinda just nods and goes "yeah okay why not sounds about right tbh"

nightmares

nightmares

have i mentioned nightmares? because they all have nightmares

also nearly all of them have had Queer Encounters and they vent about it!!

sky talking about how ghiriham was UNFAIRLY hot

twilight still sad over midna :( (they're gay btw don't question it they just are)

(wind is an exception bc. he's a fuckin child)

wild lowkey bein like "yeah tbh.... ganondorf before he was mummified?"

time has a wife. time loves his wife

wasn't there that one ship with hyrule/ravio?? haven't played that game so idk but they seem gay (edit: oop it was legend/ravio not hyrule/ravio lololol)

fuck what was this post about again?

they all sleep with a weapon under their pillow (or with no pillow!! just weapon! :] )

some of them (sky) are very heavy sleepers while others (time) are very light sleepers

it's a nice balance because twilight and wild will wake up at the ass crack of dawn and then wind won't wake up until noon. they make a schedule

people also portray them as being So Fucking Awkward but i disagree. have you PLAYED a zelda game? these fuckers will waltz into town, fix every single person's problems, and become the new village icon in the span of two hours. they're so fucking friendly omfg

like these fuckers have fought MONSTERS they've fought DRAGONS and CORPSES and the KING OF EVIL they ain't afraid of a little human interaction (except when they are)

hylia will throw them in a room together and they'll all be like "hi!! :] am link i go hyah" "omg no way me too!! :0 look at my shiny sword and my bag of bombs" "sick"

sky would be like so fucking guilty like "im sorry i failed and got cursed by a demon king guys :(((" and everyone else would be like "oh nah don't even worry about it lmao happens to all of us"

maybe i'll make a pt 2 once i finish my homework who knows

[heartj4yn0]

let's go for a walk.

Inspired by an instagram edit i randomly found while scrolling and thought it was cute! It made me feel safe. It made me feel like i was home (mark) and it made me feel like i was him <3 #delusionalczennie haha

You've been reminding Mark to toss the piled rubbish out, but because he's a careless person, of course, he forgot until today. The front door made a beeping sound when he did so. His shadow suddenly appeared over you as you were preoccupied with the television. halting your performance to take notice of his shadow. 

He asked you, "Babe, should we go for a walk?" with excitement. You only responded by humming. He repeated, "Do you want to go for a walk?" Knowing full well that you were preoccupied with who knows what. 

It was a cold wintery day, so you knew you needed to put on those clunky boots and your long padded jacket; you're usually cold. Mark zips up your unzipped jacket, giving you the appearance of a penguin. 

"You ready, babe?" he asks, taking your hand in his and making sure to turn off all lights except the fairy lights so it's not too dark when you guys get home. As soon as you entered the lobby, he informed you that it would be freezing outside. 

You said, leaping up and down, squeezing his gloveless hand, "Dude, it's so cold!" You didn't realize how cold it would be outside because you worked from home today and drank hot chocolate with marshmallows by the fireplace you both finally put together (actually, none of us did, the fireplace people put it together, we don't have the skills, sorry).

"Oiiiiii, it's cold babeeeeeee!!!" and Mark's never-ending "it's cold" and yet you're both still cold, refusing to go back home and warm up with hot chocolate and a hot pack.  

"Wowowow," the cheetah-like man said as you twirled about, attempting to raise your body temperature. As a result of the cold, he made some strange noises. I mean, he requested a walk. During the winter. That's exactly what you get. 

 When the wind blows, Mark immediately zips up his jacket and doesn't want the cold wind to penetrate under his light jacket. He props the camera on selfie mode, trying to take pictures of both of you when the wind ends up making an appearance aka your hair flying to places which wasn't the aesthetic you were going for but we get the gist. you've taken a mental note to print them and frame them as memoirs of the cold weather.

“It’s cold, it’s so cold~~~” he was vlogging and twirling around at the same time, it was your tradition vlogging these little moments then compiling them to be posted to your private youtube channel where your family members and friends could enjoy your chaotic yet calm daily lives. (the camera shaked more than your booty// bye im sorry)

After an hour in the cold, you decided it was time to go home because baby cheetah (mark) was tired and sleepy and hungry. You chuckled looking at his tired expression but you were glad he asked you out. No matter how cold it was, you’re always warm with him <3 

—ahhhh i'm back!!!!!!!!!! the fact that i have so many unfinished drafts is making me sad T.T but it's okay, good things take time!!! and i've been super busy :(!!!

love, erin <3

[jaydenundercover11]

Day Five

hey guys!! I know this ask has come a lot later (for my timezone anyway) than normal, I just had a very intense day and was only able to get it out now, so thank you all for your patience!!! <3

~Character in a Book Edition~

if you were a character in a book, what character would you be? (main, best friend of main, comic relief, loveable side character doomed by the plot, annoying one, etc)

what would your story be like?

what genre would you be in? (and saying sci-fi/fantasy/etc is plausible, if you imagine your story would be a 'discovering magical world' trope or something like that, as long as you provide reasons. you can make something up too, like what direction you think your story would go)

who is the antagonist of your story (currently)? (could be a literal person, an idea, a movement you disagree with, or something else. if you're one of my Christian homies doing this you can say the Devil but you must also include something else for ~drama~ lol)

what would the fandom of your book be like?

and finally, would it be a standalone, a series, etc, and why?

thank you guys so much!! I will also start to answer my own questions as well, tommorow when I'm not so tired lol.

Hii! I'm glad u managed to post today, i'm exciyed to answer this one!

First, I feel I would be the loveable side character doomed by the plot. I mean idk i feel like it suits me. I'm not main character or love interest so I feel like this is just right for me as a person

Second, the story would probably be like a rom-com type thing? (since im basing it on real life thats the most plausable) idrk lol. Mc has some love problems, side character and others help? Plot twist she gets with side character or friends? Plot plot twist side character or friends get with love interest?? Idk i'm getting these ideas from my butt lol.

Third, again, I think the story would most accurately be a rom-com js bcs I want love very badly and books are as good as it gets rn! Tropes may be like friends to lover, enimies to lover, idk

Antgonsts would obvs be the devil (hes the enemy since day one bro) and the mc may be an enemy to herself at some points? Or maybe random characters with sad backstories could be mean to her and stuff? Very basic things for a basic story

The fandom would 100% be mostly postive and cutesy. I just get that vibe from the book and the ppl who would read it!

FInally, I think it (whether or not there is a series) all depends based on the plot twists as stated above. If the side character gets the guy then yea there HAS to be a series. But if it just ends normally then maybe another series based on povs from the other characters/ friends of the mc. So yes, there would probs be a series but depending on how the first book goes changes the plot of the rest of the series.

Sorry if this is bad I did NOT sightread anything lol! This question was really good and its def one of my favorites (even tho I COMPLETELY lost topic on how i'm meant to be a character 😭)

[freebooter4ever]

Are the lines on your drawings stylistic choices or are they measurement/guiding lines? Either way, they are cool, but just wondered. I dont understand drawing at all, might as well be a magic spell to me. I was looking at the pencil (?) sketch of Malkin with the cheesecutter hat on.

i, uh, definitely did not google 'cheesecutter hat' until after i saved out these images. :/ sorry about that. if you'd like the other one broken down, i can do that too lol. my reading comprehension when im tired is kinda lazy i just saw 'cheese' and imediately thought 'omelette'. SO here's the 1) initial sketch, 2) 'clean' sketch, and 3) final lines for the omelette boy drawing instead:

also i have had a cumulative of about 9 ish hrs of sleep total for the past two days so keep that in mind for if this explanation makes no sense, its not my fault. :( anyway! the way i draw definitely has changed over the years but currently im really trying to focus on the line i "see" rather than the one that is actually "there". i've been applying this to my writing for years (story vs happening truth) and you know it never occurred to me that i could do it in my drawings too till like...a few years ago. in general these lines seem to form the planes of the subject. if you google 'stanford bunny' you can find an easy example of a 3D surface turned into triangles. I do this too - see things in relative triangle proportions, except i've been doing it long before i knew how computers worked. i cant begin to tell you how long d*sney and cartooning's obsession with round building blocks of anatomical structure fucked with my brain until i finally decided i could cast that teaching aside completely.

ANYWAY sorry off subject again. so we have these sketchy under lines, and usually as im trying to find the proportions and form of the subject these lines end up being where the light/shadow hits. here i saved out the 1) 'flat colors', 2) the 'light', and 3) the 'shadow' parts on their own (i lightened the background for the 'shadow' so its easier to see):

the light is like four or five 'overlay' layers of pale yellow/orange. you can see how each of these layers follow one of those sketchy lines i did initially. and the same with the shadow but instead its a dark red color set to 'multiply' for each layer. and when you combine everything together you get:

some bullshit :). anyway you know that anniversary edition of beauty and the beast that featured the version previewed to nyc audiences in 1990 with the glen ke*ne sketchy keyframe animation of the beast's transformation? i watched that - must have been sometime after i graduated college - and i felt robbed that THAT version was never presented as a final piece. the 'unclean' drawings had so much more life and movement and intensity to them. tldr i like the messy lines, i hate 'inking' with a passion (HATE. IT.), and when i finally allowed myself to stop giving a fuck drawing became way more interesting. but my art is shit and i will never be glen k*ane so i dont really feel like the best advocate for this "style". alas. there was this one artist on tumblr who i fucking loved whose sketches were SPECTACULAR but the asshole racists in the m*c*ha*nz*o fandom bullied her off tumblr and ive never been able to find her art anywhere else since. she was also very negative about her 'unclean' sketches and it made me so sad. there was also this other artist whose sketches were awe inspiring but all she drew was p*rn and well...we all know what happened on tumblr in december 2018.

also i 100% stole the lighting scheme from The Bear which is currently one of the most gorgeous shows on television right now in my opinion

im really really sorry if this makes no sense, if im feeling motivated maybe i'll try again when my brain is fully functioning but with the actual 'cheesecutter hat' doodle ^_^

[cerebrobullet]

Sharpe's Trafalgar Daily Book Report:

(i spelled it correctly this time 👍)

OH i take back my bitching about the telescope, the scene is here in chapter four!!!! and cornwell fucking described them both as awkward yes, absolutely thank you, merry christmas to me it's exactly what i wanted. wellesley fucking FLEEING every time he has to behold sharpe, i wanna cackle. he didn't even let the major stay and chat he was just outta there.

ah, you know lady grace is growing on me a bit. like, still not teresa but she's very cute with sharpe. i think i have figured out what sharpe needs for a Successful Relationship tho: a woman who can tell him what to do lmao. he wants to save sad little meow meow ladies from their sorrows, but what he needs is to get stepped on.

i will never get tired of people just taking care of sharpe. giving him food and blankets and just insistently looking out for him. he's a scrunkly stray kitten with his lil teefs sticking out and hissing at everything, but then they just pick him up and pat him until he calms down hehe.

sharpe about wellesley: "i dont know that i like him, but i'd like him to like me" perfect timing, i'm about to edit the new fic so 👌 thanks for the inspiration

lmao captain chase sees sharpe again and is immediately all "cool i am soooo kidnapping you to join my ship! 👀" and just walks away before sharpe can argue lol

CHASE GAVE SHARPE HIS CABIN. BRUH. B R U H. "i'm a captain who likes some company" 👀👀👀👀👀 he's fucking undressing too rn im gonna fucking McLose it

he fucking gave sharpe clothes. what the hell, guess i ship it now ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

god i appreciate how often sharpe is just like... dumb. not actively, but like banging his head on the ship and jumping because a yell startles him. they're just nice little moments that help to shave off the edge other characters like him have. he's a beast when he goes killing, but the rest of time it's just anxiety, shyness, and Doing His Best and it's a fantastic combo. you always see the softness of his heart coming through.

i have at this point entirely forgotten about grace tho, sorry. the captain chase brain rot has taken over. you cant write someone that friendly and into sharpe and expect my gay ass to not immediately plot a oneshot about it. let's be real.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Hi frank, i hope you are having a nice day! I seasoned my new wok today. its really nice and im very happy with it.

did you do anything fun or have anything nice happen?

Hi there! Sorry I didn't get back to this until now. In the process of writing and editing a paper, I did have a few moments of personal happiness. I bought a lot of spices that arrived today. They are awesome and I can't wait to use them in cooking. I also finished The Big Short (which I didn't really enjoy, to be clear) and I'm a little sad I didn't read any other nonfiction books today, though I'm reading some in the near future. I also managed to talk my way out of an argument with my roommate after my dad said something he shouldn't have; that was sort of a funny experience. (The argument was about the fact that I hadn't played with the new wok for a few hours, and he was implying that this was bad because I was "friving" it)

Thanks for the ask! I've had a good day, all things considered, though I'm still pretty tired because my dad and I were playing with my new wok in the morning and then at 10 pm I got very sick. And I was too sick to finish the paper by today.

[just-some-random-blogger]

I'm not the same person I was one fic ago

Edit: this is extremely long (like twice the length of your fic probably 💀) and unhinged and 75% incoherent but know I mean it all with love

FIRST OF ALL WHEN I STARTED READING THE FIRST LINES I WAS LIKE DAMN THIS IS GOOD then my eyes skimmed back into the a/n and I was like well fuck little to no dialogue 😔😔😔⚰️💀 my brain do be shutting off sometimes when I read little dialogue. Idk it be like that, that's why when I write I'm dialogue heavy (most of the time)

I DIGRESS MY POINT IS

IM NOT THE SAME PERSON I WAS ONE FIC AGO

This is a long ass reblog AND HONESTLY YEAH I DO THINK I HAVE TO APOLOGIZE FOR REQUOTING YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING FIC BACK TO YOU BECAUSE

DAMN

I haven't felt a rush like this in so long.WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE YOU KNOW?! WHY KILL YOURSELF WHEN YOU CAN READ DAEMON FANFICTION ON TUMBLR FOR FREE

✨✨✨✨✨Free real estate✨✨✨✨✨

ig a minute sorry for the shit spamming reblog but you must know I do this out of love because I'm an unemployed fresh grad with no spare change and this is the only way I could ever pay you. I'd give you my hair if you asked I'd go bald for you

Ok this is getting weird

Did I say I really like this already? Idk I'm too lazy to go back and check also if my words/sentences are incoherent 😬 thank you for dealing with it because I will not be going back to check if I spelled and typed everything correctly we die like women

OK WAIT I GOT DISTRACTED I MEANT TO PREFACE THIS BY SAYING I DONT LIKE LIGHT DIALOGUE ON FICS COS IDK SOMETIMES MY BRAIN IS LIKE ENOUGH BACKGROUND GIMME THE ACTION but that's not what happened at all THE CHEMICALS IN MY BRAIN ARE SO ALIVE AND HAPPY WOW NOW I KNOW WHY IVE BEEN SO SAD LATELY ITS BECAUSE I HAVEN'T BEEN READING FICS

Idk it felt daunting and scary to do so ??? And tiring and I almost didn't read this because of that IDK MY BRAIN WAS LIKE DONT DO IT IT WONT BE FUN JUST GO TO A TRIED AND TESTED SOURCE BUT DAMN YOU DA SOURCE MY DEAR I AM A DESERT AND YOU ARE MY OASIS

Maybeeeeeeeeee you're gonna be the one that saves meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhh

Ok that was a long enough preface, in coming my live (not so live) reaction

Being coached through your wedding vows is not a good omen for your marriage. At least, that is what your husband must think, by the thunderous look on his face. You fight the urge to scream at him that you have practiced for this moment and that you do not need to be coached through the vows. It would be no use. The two of you do not understand each other.

INSANE. AN INSANE OPENING.

Ok another sidenote, im on mobile and I can only add 10 pics 😔😔😔🤚 smh so I would add more mem reactions for you to vividly understand what and how I'm reacting but

🤚IN🤚SANE💅😩😖 literally just the first line, the first sentence.

WHAT SHE SAID WHATTTT 💥💥🎉🎉🤯🤯🤯🤯 THATS SOME BIG BRAIN LEVEL OPENINGS. SUCH A STRONG OPENING DAFAQ 😒 PACK IT UP EINSTEIN LEAVE SAME BRAIN CELLS FOR THE REST OF US. LIKE HUHHHHHH????????

JUST AGAIN THE OASIS TO MY DESERT UGH (you probably don't care but I used this analogy in one of my Kylo Ren fics and 😗☕👌 I ate that up tbh. I miss her. I miss her, who could write 11k shit fics of her favs 😔) IDK IDK JUST RANT I RANT A LOT IN MY FIC REBLOGS BECAUSE 💅💅💅💅 I HAVE NO FRIENDS LMAO AHHAAHHAHAHHA

🤬🤬🤬get used to it because you can't get rid of me.......... lol

Everything is strange to you in Westeros, from the language to the wedding ceremony. They make you cut your lips and hand, in a procedure you do not enjoy. Your husband does the same. Your blood flows into a goblet, from which you will have to drink later on.

NO CUZ THIS HADME SCREAAMMINNGGG HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHH SHE REALLY SAID 🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢 GET IT I GUESS WESTERNERS 🤮 DAFAQ

It's barbaric. You suppose it must symbolize the joining of bloodlines in the crudest way.

White people

At least Daemon kisses you at the end, a cold brush of his lips against yours that tells you he is still mad. He had probably felt betrayed, being forced into this arrangement you entered willingly.

RAHHH I DONT EVEN REMEMBER WHAT MY REACTION WAS TO THIS BUT IM WILLING TO BET IT WAS KICKING MY LEGS SCREAMING BLUSHING LIKE A CLOWN

If you had known he was that petty, you would have not shown your hand so fast. Your father had wanted dragons, which meant becoming part of House Targaryen. Daemon was the only one available for you to ensnare in your web.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH GIRL BOSS SLAYYYY GASLIGHT GATEKEEP GIRLBOSS SLAYYY HER FATHER ATE ok tbh I don't remember my live reaction to this either but something to do with her father. Im pretty sure at this point you had my soul in your hands I was like this kid is great at writing (and I don't mean that in a oh I'm definitely older than you or condescending way but in like a memey 'hey this guy is good' way)

Daemon had lifted his eyes from the scroll he was reading, annoyed. He had a handsome face, decorated with age lines that only served to make him look more regal. He looked more the part of the King than his brother, a decaying corpse that you had heard had also acquired his own nubile bride.

NOW I KNOW EXACTLY HOW I REACTED TO THIS. I WAS GIGGLING AND FROTHING INT HE MOUTH OVER HIS AGE LINES COS YEAH YEAH OK IM A LIL BITCH FOR IT HUH WHAT ABOUT IT SUE ME. In fact I was so distracted by it I didn't even realize there was a mention of viserys in this 💀💀💀💀🤚🤚🤚 HAAHHAHAAHAHAHHAH WE LOVE ME SOME GOOD OL ROTTING VISERYS SLANDERHAHHAHAAH IDK EVERYTIME ITS MENTIONED ITS JUST SO FUNNY TO ME LIKE I LOVE TO SEE IT HAHAAHHA

Daemon had spoken then. His words were much harsher than those of the language you were used to, lacking the airy song of the languages similar to the one from the Rhoynar. You had not understood. You did not speak a lick of the Common Tongue.

AIRYYY LANGUAGE 😩😩😩🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 I LOVE THAT DESCRIPTION. Made me think of elvish/silmarillion/Sindarin lol even though I only know the lotr movies. Also it's such a slay, so fresh and clean to have them not speak the same language. UghHHHH SUCH VIG BRAIN. Also I love the sound of rhoynar. Just the name. No idea what the language sounds like IN FACT I SPENT THE ENTIRE FIC TRYNA GUESS WHAT BONDABIL OR WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT B WORD WAS MEANT

“Daor.” He shook his head. “No.”

NO YOU DONT UNDERSTAND RAHHHHHHHH

He got me fucked up when he started teaching her. AND NIT EVEN COMMON TONGUE. HIGH VALYRIAN. ⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️ HIS presumably MOTHER TONGUE BITCH DAFAQ AITE IMMA HEAD OUT IT WAS ZO NICE KNOW ALL OF Y'ALL BYEEEE

Daemon did not oppose, nor encourage the match, but he was angry at you. Angry that you knew before him and tried to charm him into doing your bidding.

Bro mad that girls be winnin

Men like him, you learn, like to be the ones pulling the strings. They hate being treated like hounds, even if that is what they are.

GASLIGHT GATEKEEP GIRLBOSS RAHHHH. HER YES AND ERA (altho Ari be problematic) BUT SHE REALLY SAID 😒💅 ???? ITS TRUE???? 😗☕👌 WHAT ABOUT IT

You get no further lessons.

RAHHHHHH

JUST SO CONCISE. SO POWERFUL. AND DAEMON BE MAD AS FUCKKKK. SO PETTYYYYYY 🤢🤢🤢🤮🤮🤮🤮 EWWWWWWWWW MENNNNNN

As a rich man, your father had known rich men only get richer at times of unrest. And unrest was coming for the Seven Kingdoms. He could smell it in the air, hear it in the whispers of the common folk. Princess Rhaenyra wasn’t going to inherit without issue.

No cuz the speed in which I thought 'oh to be sold of to-' I really had to stop myself. I really had to take a moment and call myself out for THE SPEED the feminism left my body. NAH BUT THEN I WAS LIKE NO FUCK THAT IN THIS ECOMONY?????? IN OUR YEAR OF THE LORD 2024? TO A PRINCE??????? NAH CUZ AT LEAST HER DAD SOLD HER TO A PRINCE 🤚🤚🤚 YEAH IMMA SAY IT OH TO BE SOLD OFF TO A PRINCE IN THIS ECONOMY 😩😩😩✨✨💀💀⚰️⚰️

Your children would get dragons. You would provide funds and as many children as you could, and House Targaryen the magic in their veins. Simple business transaction. But apparently, Daemon disagreed.

... I forgot again... But slay girlie get that dragon husband yipyip

Has he forgotten you do not speak his language? You step closer and poke his arm, hard.

This wasn't my honest reaction but 💀 Daemon kinda dumb for that. BUT YEAH MY HONEST REACTION IS STILL THE SAME WHY THE FUCK DID SHE POKE DAEMON HELLO????? IN WHAT UNIVERSE IS THAT A GOOD IDEA??? LIKE??? HELLO?? I GET HE WAS SCREAMING AT YOU BUT POKING???

Like you thought you ate with that?? Girl I get punching him, slapping him, SCREAMING BACK but poking????????

Ok your honor I've thought about it and I guess she didn't want to be violent cos hell yeah daemon would knock me out one punch man style but your honor in the moment it was just confusing and a really bad idea I stand by this GIRL

乁⁠(⁠ ⁠•⁠_⁠•⁠ ⁠)⁠ㄏ乁⁠(⁠ ⁠•⁠_⁠•⁠ ⁠)⁠ㄏ乁⁠(⁠ ⁠•⁠_⁠•⁠ ⁠)⁠ㄏ u do I booo ok? I got it 😒☕👌

You are not a small woman. But you are young, and you do not train as much as he does. His looming over you feels menacing, and it reminds you once again of the fate his late wife was rumored to have suffered.

Rip lady rhea Royce, you would have loved women's suffrage

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Daemon is forcing you to walk backwards, pushing your forehead and nose with his. You either move, or get a broken nose and a concussion.

ARE WE ABOUT TO KISS RIGHT NOW

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH NO CUZ HE WAS LIKE 👹👹👹👹👹👹 IM SO SCARY IM GOING TO PRESS MY FACE REALLY CLOSE TO YOU yes yes irl it would be scary but 😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋 he's such a dummy baby girl

ALSO 👀👀👀👀 TOWARDS RHE BED???

Yes I'm a depraved daemon slut spray me with water all you want HISS HISS

You look up at him. You give him your own little snarl. Daemon pauses. It's not the reaction he was expecting. He wanted you to cry. You would never give him the satisfaction.

RAHHHH OKAY THESE MIGHT BE OUT OF ORDER COS MY CLIPBOARD AND COPY PASTE DOESNT MALFUNTIONS SOMETIMES BUT RAHHHHHHHH YOU GO QUEEN CHEW HIS HEAD OFFF GRRR BARK BARK SHE LIKE ME FR I BARK AND SNARL TOO 😖😖😖😖👹👹👹

Daemon doesn't heed the warning. He starts tugging at the buttons of your bodice, tiny pearls sent flying all over the room. The gesture is as brutal as it is calculated. It is meant to remind you of your place, always under him from now on. Daemon has a right to your body, and he intends to exercise it as he sees fit. You are no more than an object, and if you cry or scream, it is not relevant.

UGHHHHH RAHHH BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK YOUR HONOR I DONT KNWO WHAG ELSE TO SAY ITS SO DAEMN ITS SO JUICY DELICIOUS HE CAN PUKK MY BUTTRONS OFF ANYTIME IM NOT EVEN SORRY IM JUST SPEKAING M TURHT

“Daor!” You say, firmly. You push him away. Whatever he anticipated, you giving him a fight wasn't something he was prepared for. It shows in the way he folds, stunned by your behavior. You give him hard little slaps to the chest, until you manage to get him off you.

NO CUZ QUEEN BEHAVIOR. I CANNTO TELL YOU HOW MANY TIMES I SLAPPED MYSELF IN THE FACE WHIEL I SQUEALED READING THROUGH THIS. IM PRETTY SURE I WAS KNEE DEEP IN DOING THAT BY THIS PART AND SHE REALLY ATE HIM UP WITH THIS. SHE DEVOURRRREDDDD SHEEEE LEFFTTTT HIM GAGGEDD LIKE BITCH YOU MEEANNNNN WHAT I SAID DAORRR 🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚 PUT A SOCK IN IT RAGGED RAT

Daemon's scowl turns more confused than angry. He looks at you as if you are a particularly challenging riddle to crack. He rightens his clothes and starts to retreat.

THE CROWD GOES WILDDDDDDDD I CANT BELIEVE IT AHE GIRLBOSSED HERSELF TO THE SUNNNN HES BACKIN UP WITH HIS TALE BETWEEN HIS LEGS 🗣️PACK🗣️🗣️IT🗣️UP🗣️ LIZARD🗣️MAN🗣️

He sits on the edge of it, still scowling. You giggle, making Daemon madder still. You look at him with what you hope is a seductive expression and pull your bodice down.

NOOOOO CUZZZZ GIGGGLIINGGG IS SUCH A POWER MOVE SHE WAS SO 😩😩😩😩 SO OP FOR THAT WHATTTTTT

Gagged

You can feel his breath against your neck, making you shiver. His face comes closer, and closer. Daemon stares into your eyes, lips slightly parted. You mirror his expression, feeling as if you are being consumed by your lust.

He arches an eyebrow. Never been one to shy away from a challenge, you brush his lower lip with his thumb. Daemon parts his lips and sucks it in his mouth.

It's me I'm the slut for lip swiping. Fuck. Fuck me. Please I begging you. I'm on my hands and knees. You rlly got daemon goin

And I respect that

The shock must have shown on your face because he laughs, giving your thumb a playful bite. You squirm, instinct overpowering modesty, and roll your hips against his.

LAUGHING DAEMON❓BITING DAEMON❓GAGGED READER❓HUSSY READER❓DEAD ME. AND THATS ON PERIOD

The two of you stare at each other. Closer, and closer, until his features blur, until two purple eyes turn into one. A dragon turned cyclops by the mere force of lust. There is hunger and want, and confusion. Both of you are so close that you are sharing the same air, the same breath. And Daemon pulls, and you are kissing, and you shake in his arms, feeling like how you think the gods must have felt when the cyclopes formed the lighting.

You are restless as he pets you, biting at your mouth, hands sinking in his hair. You tug him towards your neck, knowing his kisses, scorching hot, would burn even sweeter along your nape and ears.

I hate her (I wish that was me)

Daemon, though, has other plans. He pulls away and pecks you on the lips. “Vūjigon ” He says. He touches his mouth. “Vūjigon”

Your honor I creamed my pants. I WISH I COULD JUST DO VOICE RECORD BECAUSE NO AMOUNT IF TEXT COULD DO THE REACTIONS IM DOING ANY JUSTICE DAFAQ THIS GOT ME CURLING MY FINGERS CURLING MY TOES SCREAMING (silently cos it's the wee hour of the night and I can't be waking up the dead now)

“Vūjigon.” You perk up, and start kissing his shoulders. Your hands pull his shirt more open, letting you bite and lick more of his flesh. The urge to consume and be consumed is overpowering, making you desperate to touch him.

SO FUCKING ME

I WILL CONSUME HIM

He pets your hair.

What if this was my last straw

Daemon laughs. He pulls you upwards. Can't he see you are starving?

🥲STOP😭MAKING💔FUN😔OF😩ME😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡 sroppp it I will cry at you kiss me right now 💔💔💔💔💔

“Daor.” He says, when you try to go back to it. You give him your fiercest pout. Daemon tuts at you.

BRAT TAME ME I DARE YOU FUCK YOU DAEMON I WILL WHINE I WILL TANTRUM SO HARD I FUCKING HATE YOU CODDLE ME RIGHT NOW I WILL CRYYYYY

He squeezes one of your breasts, making you moan, before cruelly twisting the bud. You gasp, your nails digging on his naked shoulders.

Ok

“Shhh.” Daemon soothes you, his hand going to squeeze your breast tenderly once more. “Daor?”

NO NO NIT DAOR NO NO PLEASE STOP IT I WILL CRY AT YOU

His other hand comes into your sight. Daemon makes a gesture, two fingers together, separating. You stare. He nuzzles you, his cheek against yours, before repeating it.

SISTER I KNOW IM REDUNDANT BUT IM GAGGED IM SO GAGGED NO CUZ I DOUBT HED GIVE A FUCK AND BE THIS THOUGHTFUL IF THEY SPOKE THE SAME LANGUAGE TBH HES JUST SO KDKSKJDJD FUCK OFF FUCK OFFF

Daemon rubs at your shoulders, soothingly. You understand you need to relax, and force your body to do so. He kisses you in reward, slow and sweet, coaxing you to him.

😩😩😩😩😩😩😩 finally some fucking food (kisses) I'd use the Gordon meme but I'm saving my meme reactions as I've mentioned

The sudden removal of your last layer makes you shiver a little. Your skin is wet from his previous ministrations and rapidly cooling. You plaster yourself to him, seeking warmth.

Me asf. 10/10 no notes.

He chuckles, grabbing your arse to move you slightly out of the way. You scowl, not sure why Daemon is doing so, until you realize he is taking off his breeches.

She's so me. Me 🤝 her. We are one exo (it a kpop meme ignore it if u don't know lol. Nah I'll explain just in case it's like their (kpop boy band 'EXO') tagline

Daemon smiles against your skin. He presses a finger inside you, and you squeal some more. He lets go of your breast to better gaze into your overwhelmed face, seemingly getting an enjoyment out of it.

HAHAHHAAHH NGL I GAGGED MYAELF WITH THIS MEME REACTION. THIS WASNT THE ONE I WAS THINKING OFF BUT YAH SAME. GOD BLESS DONNA. GOD BLESS MERYL

“Daor?” He asks you, one of his hands petting your cunt. It makes you shiver.

🤽‍♀️🤽‍♀️🤽‍♀️🤽‍♀️🤽‍♀️🤽‍♀️🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪YOU CHEEKY FUCKING BASTARD 😡😡😡😡😡 CLEARLY NOT THIS IS WHY MEN DONT DESERVE RIGHTS

“Vūjigon.” You demand, moving your hips just like he taught you. Daemon is too focused on aiding you bounce by thrusting upwards to pay attention to you. When he doesn't obey, you give a tug to his hair.

MEEEEEE ME AS FUCK ME ME ME HAIR PULLING YEARNING WANTING NEEDING DEMANDING I WANT HIM I LOVE HIM MOST ARDENTLY

He snarls at you. You snarl back. So he grabs your wrists and pushes sideways, and suddenly, you are under him and Daemon is still thrusting into you.

AND I OOP BUT IM NOT COMPLAINING JUST MAYBE A TINY KINDA

“Daor.” You rub at his back with your foot, gently. You hold him close, and nuzzle his neck, delighting in his scent. Never you had thought before you would enjoy the smell of sweat and some sort of aromatic oil, yet here you are. “Vūjigon.”

I wish I was her I wish I was her I wish I was her I wish I was her I wish I was her I wish I was her I 'm so jealous of her I'm fucking beefing with a bunch of lines fuck outta here

Daemon's expressions softens. He leans in and gives you a kiss. You make pleased, chirping noises, trying to show him that was precisely what you wanted.

Hey so I'm going to set myself on fire. Cool. Cool. I'm so normal. 100 percent no doubt no doubt

He complies, releasing your hands. You enthusiastically hug him. It helps you anchor yourself against the unrelenting waves of pleasure.

I love it here

You understood then why they called it a small death. You were sweating, squealing like a beast being gutted, thighs trembling under Daemon's hands. It was too much and too little, and you felt yourself reaching it, yearning for it.

😵wanna😵‍💫die😔so😖fucking😩bad🥲ha👹🤽‍♀️ha🔪

Daemon grinned at you. A fierce, proud expression, eyes crinkling in the corners. You pulled him into a kiss, and raked your nails down his back, feeling the skin yield like butter under your fingers. It spurred him on, and with a gasp and a bite to your shoulder, Daemon was shattering inside you.

He collapsed on top of you with a laugh. You smiled. Daemon pulled you to rest, back flush against his chest, and you understood each other better than those who spoke the same, common tongue, did.

I was not the same person I was one fic ago

Bestiary (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Your husband and you do not speak the same language. During your wedding night, you find out that High Valyrian and the Common Tongue pale when compared to the way your bodies allow you to communicate.

Warnings: Heavy smut, not much dialogue. P in V sex. First time.

A/N: Who would have thought the most enthusiastic consent I have ever written with Daemon would be in a fic with nearly no dialogue?

Being coached through your wedding vows is not a good omen for your marriage. At least, that is what your husband must think, by the thunderous look on his face. You fight the urge to scream at him that you have practiced for this moment and that you do not need to be coached through the vows. It would be no use. The two of you do not understand each other.

Everything is strange to you in Westeros, from the language to the wedding ceremony. They make you cut your lips and hand, in a procedure you do not enjoy. Your husband does the same. Your blood flows into a goblet, from which you will have to drink later on.

It's barbaric. You suppose it must symbolize the joining of bloodlines in the crudest way.

At least Daemon kisses you at the end, a cold brush of his lips against yours that tells you he is still mad. He had probably felt betrayed, being forced into this arrangement you entered willingly.

If you had known he was that petty, you would have not shown your hand so fast. Your father had wanted dragons, which meant becoming part of House Targaryen. Daemon was the only one available for you to ensnare in your web.

As any good hunter, you had watched your prey first, taking notes of his behavior. Only an afternoon was needed to understand you started the race with a disadvantage. His eyes followed Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys and her little daughter, but never lingered on other women.

While you might have lacked the silver hair, you did not lack the wits and charms necessary to be taken in consideration.

You had needed a few days to ready your song, but you had approached him not even a week later. He had been sitting in the library, so you had knocked on the table twice to draw his attention.

Daemon had lifted his eyes from the scroll he was reading, annoyed. He had a handsome face, decorated with age lines that only served to make him look more regal. He looked more the part of the King than his brother, a decaying corpse that you had heard had also acquired his own nubile bride.

Such was the fate of the daughters of powerful men. Sold to other powerful men, old enough to be their fathers, birthing them their own litter of sons and daughters. Sons that would grow up to become powerful men in their own right, daughters that would become pawns to establish dynasties. On and on it went.

Daemon had spoken then. His words were much harsher than those of the language you were used to, lacking the airy song of the languages similar to the one from the Rhoynar. You had not understood. You did not speak a lick of the Common Tongue.

No silver hair, no words, but plenty of resources. You had placed the book you had brought with you on the table, and looked at him.

His eyes had lit up with curiosity. He recognized the title. He spoke again, intrigued.

Despite his tone sounding much more auspicious, you had no other option than to shake your head and speak, with a tremulous voice.

“Bodmagho.” It's the only word you know, one that you have prepared especially for this. But just in case your pronunciation is not perfect, you open the book and mimic the gesture of passing the pages.

Daemon looks stunned. He says something else, still in the Common Tongue. You were able to tell from the intonation he was asking a question, but you didn't know what it was about.

“Bodmagho.” You repeated, stubbornly. You placed your book down and pointed to it.

Daemon sighed. He pointed to the chair. You sat, happy as a clam.

“Prince Daemon.” He pointed at himself. Then, to you. “Lady…?”

You told him your name. He nodded.

“Daor.” He shook his head. “No.”

You stared. He shook his head again. You understood that no, daor and shaking head meant the same.

“Daor. No.” You shook your head. Daemon squeezed your shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

Your father told you that afternoon that you were to be married to him. Just as you had made efforts to catch Daemon, your father had been setting his trap.

Daemon did not oppose, nor encourage the match, but he was angry at you. Angry that you knew before him and tried to charm him into doing your bidding.

Men like him, you learn, like to be the ones pulling the strings. They hate being treated like hounds, even if that is what they are.

You get no further lessons.

This is how you manage to get to your wedding feast only knowing two words. Teach and no. It makes you the most riveting company, and so, it's no wonder you are soon ushered into a chamber with your new husband.

You had not noticed before, but it is the first time you are alone with him since the morning at the library. To you, it had been a matter of no consequence. You had to marry a powerful man, one day. Your father decided it should be him because he wanted dragons. It was as simple as that.

As a rich man, your father had known rich men only get richer at times of unrest. And unrest was coming for the Seven Kingdoms. He could smell it in the air, hear it in the whispers of the common folk. Princess Rhaenyra wasn’t going to inherit without issue.

Your family moved here for that reason. An opportunity to get richer could not be dismissed. Your father had taken one look at the dragons and decided that they were the key to turning his legacy into an empire.

Giant war machines that could level castles in one afternoon. Raze a city to the ground in mere hours. Fire so hot it could melt stone. They could not be bought, you had to be a Targaryen to have them. It was only natural to turn into one, then.

Your children would get dragons. You would provide funds and as many children as you could, and House Targaryen the magic in their veins. Simple business transaction. But apparently, Daemon disagreed.

His face is thunderous. You can tell he is about to berate you. He starts talking, brows pinched together and an accusing finger pointed towards you.

Has he forgotten you do not speak his language? You step closer and poke his arm, hard.

It was the wrong choice. Daemon's face turns even more murderous. His lips twist into a snarl, teeth bared. His posture turns aggressive. He puffs up his chest, he advances on you. The Prince tries to intimidate you through his body language alone.

You are not a small woman. But you are young, and you do not train as much as he does. His looming over you feels menacing, and it reminds you once again of the fate his late wife was rumored to have suffered.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Daemon is forcing you to walk backwards, pushing your forehead and nose with his. You either move, or get a broken nose and a concussion.

Daemon is terrifying. You will not cross him again, you think to yourself. Only a fool goes around poking dragons with a stick. You feel your palms starting to sweat, a knot forming in your throat. You fight the urge to cry.

The back of your knees hits the mattress, and you fall into the furs with a small noise of surprise. Your husband does not lose any time. He gets right into your face, trying to intimidate you even more.

But if you hope to survive this marriage, to make it work as your father has requested, you can't bend. Daemon will never respect you if you do. He will see you as no more than a frightened girl, who will not disagree with him and serve for little beyond warming his bed. You are not that. You will build an empire, a dynasty out of his dragons and your wealth. The only thing you can do is persevere or break trying.

Daemon scowls at you. He notices the change in your eyes, the fight coming back to you.

“Daor.” You say, staring him down with all your might. It doesn't matter if you are lying down, and he is hovering over you, pinning you under him. You will triumph.

Daemon doesn't heed the warning. He starts tugging at the buttons of your bodice, tiny pearls sent flying all over the room. The gesture is as brutal as it is calculated. It is meant to remind you of your place, always under him from now on. Daemon has a right to your body, and he intends to exercise it as he sees fit. You are no more than an object, and if you cry or scream, it is not relevant.

Despite knowing why he is doing it, you can't avoid grimacing. He looks more beast than a man, snarling over you, ripping your clothes. It's a sight that would scare any woman, no matter how cold.

You look up at him. You give him your own little snarl. Daemon pauses. It's not the reaction he was expecting. He wanted you to cry. You would never give him the satisfaction.

It's a balancing act. You will have to bring him to heel, but soothe his pride in the next act, less he turns on you. Push away a man too much, and he will think you are disrespecting him. He will call you names, thinking you are the problem. Daemon feels entitled to you. You need to show him he is not, but that you are giving yourself to him. He needs to value you. The treasure to his dragon.

“Daor!” You say, firmly. You push him away. Whatever he anticipated, you giving him a fight wasn't something he was prepared for. It shows in the way he folds, stunned by your behavior. You give him hard little slaps to the chest, until you manage to get him off you.

Daemon's scowl turns more confused than angry. He looks at you as if you are a particularly challenging riddle to crack. He rightens his clothes and starts to retreat.

“Daor.” You repeat, grabbing at his shirt to keep him in place. You do not want him to leave.

Daemon wretches free from your grip on his arm. He mutters something, angered.

“Daor.” You use his trick against him, stepping right into his path and forcing him to back off. You use your body to make him advance backwards, toward the bed.

He sits on the edge of it, still scowling. You giggle, making Daemon madder still. You look at him with what you hope is a seductive expression and pull your bodice down.

“Bodmagho?” You ask him, as your dress pools around your feet, leaving you in a sheer shift. Daemon's eyes darken. His expression changes into an amused smile, and he gestures for you to come to him.

You do. You step closer and get on his lap. His hands envelop your waist, warm and calloused.

Then, the unexpected. Daemon grabs your hair and pulls, forcing your head back. You moan, pain and arousal mixing into an unknown emotion that makes the place between your legs slick.

You can feel his breath against your neck, making you shiver. His face comes closer, and closer. Daemon stares into your eyes, lips slightly parted. You mirror his expression, feeling as if you are being consumed by your lust.

He arches an eyebrow. Never been one to shy away from a challenge, you brush his lower lip with his thumb. Daemon parts his lips and sucks it in his mouth.

The shock must have shown on your face because he laughs, giving your thumb a playful bite. You squirm, instinct overpowering modesty, and roll your hips against his.

The two of you stare at each other. Closer, and closer, until his features blur, until two purple eyes turn into one. A dragon turned cyclops by the mere force of lust. There is hunger and want, and confusion. Both of you are so close that you are sharing the same air, the same breath. And Daemon pulls, and you are kissing, and you shake in his arms, feeling like how you think the gods must have felt when the cyclopes formed the lighting.

His hands go to greedily knead at your thighs, slipping under your shift. His palms feel rough against your skin, impatient. The shift rides up, up, up. You mewl against his mouth, desperately reaching for something unknown to you but that you know Daemon will help you reach.

You are restless as he pets you, biting at your mouth, hands sinking in his hair. You tug him towards your neck, knowing his kisses, scorching hot, would burn even sweeter along your nape and ears.

Daemon, though, has other plans. He pulls away and pecks you on the lips. “Vūjigon ” He says. He touches his mouth. “Vūjigon”

You kiss him, softly. “Vūjigon”

He pets your hair.

“Vūjigon.” And he points to his collarbones. You frown in confusion, thinking perhaps the word doesn't mean what you think it does. He sighs and leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the space between your collarbones.

“Vūjigon.” You perk up, and start kissing his shoulders. Your hands pull his shirt more open, letting you bite and lick more of his flesh. The urge to consume and be consumed is overpowering, making you desperate to touch him.

Daemon laughs. He pulls you upwards. Can't he see you are starving?

“Daor.” He says, when you try to go back to it. You give him your fiercest pout. Daemon tuts at you.

He squeezes one of your breasts, making you moan, before cruelly twisting the bud. You gasp, your nails digging on his naked shoulders.

“Shhh.” Daemon soothes you, his hand going to squeeze your breast tenderly once more. “Daor?”

You don't know how to tell him what you want, so you grab his hand and make him pinch the tender bud again. Daemon smiles. He kisses you, muttering something fervently on your lips.

He lays you down on the bed, despite your attempts to sit up. Daemon pins you down with a growl, hand on your chest.

You can't help it. No matter the warning, you squirm as if you were in pain. It certainly feels like it. There is some sort of hunger in your belly, making you want to rub your core against him. You can feel your shift starting to become wet right above your tailbone. Daemon has you so bothered you are dripping into the shift and the bed.

Daemon gives you another growl and leans down to bite your breast over the fabric of your shift. It's meant to be punishment, but you arch into it, gasping.

He laughs. He takes as much of it as it can fit in his mouth, sucking greedily. The noises are obscene. The sight must be, too. Your mouth, open, moaning yourself into a frenzy. Daemon, nipping, biting, sucking, like a man starved. Your shift with two giant wet spots, one at the chest and the other by your arse.

You moan, surprised at the feeling. You had never thought bodies could be used in such a way before. Nor had you hoped for him to please you so eagerly.

His lips close around your bud. His tongue twirls around it, lavishing it with attention. You grab at his hair, his nape, desperately trying to hold onto something. Daemon just sucks harder on your breast. You moan, and moan, and moan some more. Desperate little sounds, gathering in the air around a desperate girl.

He switches to your other breast. Your shift feels sticky on your skin, so you start trying to take it off. The task distracts you enough for his hand to find its way to your core, and you squeak at the first sensation of his fingers against it.

Daemon smiles against your skin. He presses a finger inside you, and you squeal some more. He lets go of your breast to better gaze into your overwhelmed face, seemingly getting an enjoyment out of it.

Another finger joins the first. You cry out. It stings a bit. Daemon shushes you, kissing your cheek. He rubs at something above your opening that makes you squirm in delight.

His other hand comes into your sight. Daemon makes a gesture, two fingers together, separating. You stare. He nuzzles you, his cheek against yours, before repeating it.

You nod with a pout.

He starts prying you open slowly, this time. Despite enjoying causing pain, it appears your cooperation has granted you privileges with Daemon. He understood the distress on your face, and read you correctly enough to know it was not going to go well if he kept going as he was.

Daemon rubs at your shoulders, soothingly. You understand you need to relax, and force your body to do so. He kisses you in reward, slow and sweet, coaxing you to him.

You nod again. Daemon moves back, settling himself by your side. He takes your shift away, pressing soft little kisses to each new inch of skin revealed.

The sudden removal of your last layer makes you shiver a little. Your skin is wet from his previous ministrations and rapidly cooling. You plaster yourself to him, seeking warmth.

He chuckles, grabbing your arse to move you slightly out of the way. You scowl, not sure why Daemon is doing so, until you realize he is taking off his breeches.

“Daemon.” You whisper, softly. There is a part of you that is already cringing at the promise of pain the loss of your maidenhead will bring.

“Daor?” He asks you, one of his hands petting your cunt. It makes you shiver.

“Bodmagho.” You grasp at his shoulders, steadying yourself. Daemon lines the two of you. You feel his member at your entrance, holding you open and threatening to spear you apart. It feels scorching against your skin.

He helps you impale yourself on his member. It's not pleasant at first. Property dictates that you should not let him see your discomfort. You should just bear it like a good wife and allow him to chase his pleasure unbothered.

But you know Daemon enjoys causing pain. He thrives on it. So you let your eyes fill with tears, and your face goes slack and overwhelmed.

He smiles. He licks your tears away, and mumbles something. You squeal, and it only excites him more.

“Bodamagho.” Daemon pinches the flesh on your hip, clearly calling you to focus. His hands move your pelvis back and forth, back and forth, until you are hissing in pleasure, your hands on his chest, doing the movement yourself.

“Vūjigon.” You demand, moving your hips just like he taught you. Daemon is too focused on aiding you bounce by thrusting upwards to pay attention to you. When he doesn't obey, you give a tug to his hair.

He snarls at you. You snarl back. So he grabs your wrists and pushes sideways, and suddenly, you are under him and Daemon is still thrusting into you.

You are desperate for closeness. You scrunch up your face and wrap your legs around his back. Daemon looks down at you, and bites your shoulder. He is not pleased with your perceived attempt to take control.

Realizing your mistake, you shake your head.

“Daor.” You rub at his back with your foot, gently. You hold him close, and nuzzle his neck, delighting in his scent. Never you had thought before you would enjoy the smell of sweat and some sort of aromatic oil, yet here you are. “Vūjigon.”

Daemon's expressions softens. He leans in and gives you a kiss. You make pleased, chirping noises, trying to show him that was precisely what you wanted.

He complies, releasing your hands. You enthusiastically hug him. It helps you anchor yourself against the unrelenting waves of pleasure.

His hands, now freed from yours, are everywhere. Twisting your buds, rubbing at your pearl, squeezing your waist. Daemon whispers nonsense in your ears, takes the lobe between his teeth. He aids you, tilting your hips with his hands, reaching deeper.

You heard a story once, about Westeros. A white hart was said to come to the greatest Kings alive. A magnificent beast, tall as a man, with skin made of the purest snow and antlers as long and imposing as the branches of an ancient tree. If a King encountered it, it was a good omen for his rule. It would be just and prosperous, blessed by the Gods.

What did they do with the hart? Keep it in Kingswood, perhaps? You had made the mistake of asking, once. You had been told that they used the best spear they had. That men held the hart down, and they gutted it from head to belly.

The perfect, regal beast, fur as pale as snow. The pristine white sheets under you. Blood tainting the white. What a way to go.

You understood then why they called it a small death. You were sweating, squealing like a beast being gutted, thighs trembling under Daemon's hands. It was too much and too little, and you felt yourself reaching it, yearning for it.

You did not care if you burned, moth to a flame, maiden to a dragon. Daemon seemed to realize it because his hand went to rub at your pearl, and he leaned in.

“….” He was talking, but it was in that strange language of his, and your ears were ringing, you felt about to explode. Your body responded to his tone, though. Gentle, loving, coaxing you over the edge with a scream so fierce you might as well have been one of those weeping women that appeared far north.

Daemon grinned at you. A fierce, proud expression, eyes crinkling in the corners. You pulled him into a kiss, and raked your nails down his back, feeling the skin yield like butter under your fingers. It spurred him on, and with a gasp and a bite to your shoulder, Daemon was shattering inside you.

He collapsed on top of you with a laugh. You smiled. Daemon pulled you to rest, back flush against his chest, and you understood each other better than those who spoke the same, common tongue, did.