#other companions will get their own chapter

[yazthebookish]

Maybe I'll spoil you guys and talk about Gwynriel and ACOTAR5 and anything related to it overall. I recently finished my HOFAS reread and have some fresh thoughts. I'll let my thoughts guide me and some of these points I've already addressed in my insta stories yesterday. I just rather share a lengthy post here since I'll only tag under #gwynriel.

I often see arguments about how Gwyn and Azriel can't move the plot forward because the series is centered on the Archeron sisters.

First, that's not true because Sarah is following what she called "a traditional romance route". She's following the same patterns of Nalini Singh, Kresley Cole, and Lisa Kleypas where they publish multiple books in the same series following different couples.

This is fitting for a series like ACOTAR because it's romance-centered. And Sarah have already said that each couple is getting one book and there will likely be more books beyond ACOTAR6.

Saying that doesn't dismiss the importance of the sisters to the story, Feyre already has a trilogy centered on her. The spin-off just follows different characters including the sisters.

I won't try hard to convince people on this because I've already posted almost everything Sarah said about the spin-off series and what's it's about. So if the next book is not centered on an Archeron sister, that's for Sarah to bamboozle the fandom with.

One thing that stuck out to me is when I compared the ending of ACOSF with the scene of Bryce giving Nesta Gwydion and seeming like she left Nesta with a new quest.

First, this is what the text says, and this is Chapter 80, the very last chapter in ACOSF:

Succeeding in the Blood Rite didn't mean the training stopped. No, after she and her friends told Cassian and Azriel most of the details of their ordeal, the two commanders had compiled a long list of mistakes that the three of them had made that needed to be corrected, and the others wanted to learn from them, too. So they would keep training, until they were all well and truly Valkyries. Gwyn, despite the Rite, had returned to living in the library.

1. The Valkyries are not yet a unit.

2. SJM only and specifically highlighted that Gwyn, despite the Rite, returned to living in the library. It was like "hey, remember all the talk Gwyn did about wanting to leave the library after two years? Yeah that's on hold a bit but keep that in mind". She didnt even add Emerie or the other priestesses to that sentence.

With Nesta being left with Gwydion to find out why the 8-pointed star was tattooed on her, I don't think the next book will start with "hey Elain take this sword and deal with it". Who are Nesta's main companions now? Gwyn and Emerie.

I'll be back to the Valkyries but let's just talk about Azriel for a bit.

It is so painfully obvious to me that Azriel is being handed the Illyrian plot on a golden platter. How big or small of a plot it is depends on SJM, but it's important based on the fact that she fleshed out the Illyrian's origins and tied them to the crossover AND making Truth-teller the knife of Enalius.

That is a big deal for an Illyrian like Azriel.

And I quote my friend Lacie on this, it is very poetic for Azriel to be the owner of the knife that originally belonged to the person who freed his own people from the Daglan's clutches, perhaps because he saw his people are more than just slaves to the Daglan—how powerful would it be for Azriel, who loathes his own people, to parallel Enalius.

And for years some people were against Azriel dealing with this plot because he shouldn't make peace with his "abusers", its true his own family and some Illyrians failed him but he is condemning an entire population. Good people like Emerie and Balthazar. Even Rhys's mother, who had valid reasons to hate her people especially as a female, still made sure to make Rhysand connect with his Illyrian heritage and he even goes on to say that his mother didn't forget what they did to her but still loved her people.

If both Cassian and Rhysand (and by extension the author) continue to flag Azriel's hatred of the Illyrians as an issue—then it is a damn big issue for it to be addressed repeatedly.

Okay so to address my final point about Gwyn and Azriel and how they can move the plot forward.

Now I didn't detail out much about what the next book will deal with because that's another post (and I already have a post on that).

All of our theories and predictions are based on information that is available to us. Saying Azriel and Gwyn cannot move the plot forward does not make any sense because the central plot is tied to multiple characters, Archeron or not.

If SJM wants to make a character move the next book's plot forward, she can do it because she's in control of the story. She's in control of the narrative. She's in control of the characters.

The characters are puppets and this is an unfinished story. If some characters would add more value and make for a more interesting story before the others, she can decide on that. If she wants to make Eris the protagonist of the next book, she can easily do that whether the fandom wants it or not.

Let me give you an example of minor characters that pushed the plot forward and became main characters: Yrene Towers and the Hind. These kind of arguments could've been used for them in HOEAB or HOSAB and Pre-TOD. Before HOSAB/HOFAS and TOD, could we have predicted that they would have played a crucial role before those books? Not likely because they had minimal appearances and were not part of the main cast. This is what I'm talking about.

You can't know how a character will contribute to a story until you see how it all unfolds. We can make guesses on the information we have which is why I believe three characters are likely to join the main cast: Gwyn, Emerie, and Eris.

Why is it so easy to accept that Emerie might be sharing a book with an original character like Mor but it's hard to comprehend the fact that Gwyn could also share a book with Azriel? Because Emerie showed up in ACOFAS? To me that's not really a strong argument based on Sarah's writing and what we have in the books, she doesn't really pick based on who showed up the earliest. Here's a good example: Hypaxia, who showed up earlier, didn't even get her own chapters but the Hind did.

And there's one argument I recall about how I need to rely on Nesta to have a plot focused on Gwyn or the Valkyries in the next book. Nesta's arc is clearly not over based on HOFAS, but does that mean she's getting a POV? Not necessarily. I don't think she is. Gwyn is the perfect candidate for us to see what's going on with Nesta post-HOFAS and how they all deal with the Valkyries and whatever Sarah will set up with them.

There is this whole Valkyrie/Illyrian conflict that could be triggered as a result of the Blood Rite, with Ramiel definitely being an important location to explore in the next book, we also have the Pegasi and the Prison and the implications of the crossover. It makes sense to have an Illyrian and a Valkyrie POV to deal with some plots in the next book.

"Gwyn contributes to nothing" we can't know until the book is out. How sure are we that maybe SJM won't connect her to the crossover by making her mysterious father a Worldwalker? Or Prince of Hel? Or an Asteri? Maybe I'm right maybe I'm wrong.

"But Koschei! And the Human Queens!" Koschei will always be a background player pulling on the strings until the final book as it's obvious he is the big bad in the series, unless someone even worse is revealed. But no one is dismissing Koschei or the Human Queens messing around.

Literally what's the point of the story or the fun elements of surprises or plot twists if you need Sarah to list down everything that the next books will deal with. That's not how a story develops to me. I don't need to know everything in advance to just know how it will go. That's like knowing spoilers early on and checking off with each book what happened and what didn't happen. I feel like it's close to how a lot of readers were disappointed with not having enough ACOTAR in HOFAS, because Sarah implied half of the book would be set in Prythian. So by the time the book came out and it wasn't that, people were vocal about it.

In my opinion, SJM set a good foundation for Gwyn's arc to build up on in ACOSF and her arc is not over. We won't get mentions of her still carrying the guilt of her sister's death or not leaving the library after she said she's sick of being there for two years without us seeing resolution for that. She wouldn't be in Azriel's bonus chapter if she is not involved with him.

To conclude, my reread still affirms to me that the next book with an Azriel/Gwyn book. Azriel is clearly being set in the forefront.

[jjzzhyunie]

UNDER HIS GAZE | HAECHAN #1

pairing: haechan x fem!oc

title: chapter #1 ‘me and the devil’

prologue: “Do you even know what you're doing? You don't even know how to use it correctly.”

summary: Parents murdered by vampires, Yoo-jin Seo seeks revenge on Donghyuck by hunting him down.

genre: thriller drama, vampires, modern au, vampire hunter x vampire, plot twists, enemies to lovers trope.

note: this is a series.

©️ everything belongs to @jjzzhyunie 2024

In the tapestry of time, death spins a web of tales, each moment woven with care into memories to recall. Yet Yoojin eyes afire, holds fate in trembling palms, against the hourglass' constant sand.

As Yoojin walks through the forest woods, the memories of her parents' funeral seep in, wearing a tradional korean attire in all black comes back to her. The solemn procession, the sounds of wailing, and the sight of her parents' pictures being lowered down with the coffin to the ground.

This all flickers like a tape in her mind, Yoojin pushes onwards despite all of this. Determination was a weak word for what she is feeling. The pain on that day was a fresh wound, still bleeding.

'I'll catch him.' Yoojin tells herself, like a mantra that strengthens her doubts. She will catch him.

She contiues down her search in the unknown secluded area, parts of the forest were barely lit by the sun and Yoojin can't help feeling a sense of uneasiness. The trees seem to loom over her, their shadows dancing eerily in the dim moonlight. Every rustle of leaves makes her jump, every snapped twig sounding like a potential threat. But Yoojin pushes through the fear.

Looking for any signs of life but her own, Yoojin was unsuccusful at it. Though her body was nothing but left weak. Hunger, a constant companion on the journey with her, it's presence felt in every pang of emptiness. But grief and anger, stronger than any hunger that consumes her, leaves no room for respite.

A relentless restlessness grips at her soul, as the darkness of mourning and rage take take their tol. Each step, each breath, a struggle against the troubling tide of pain, fueling her ceaseless pursuit.

Going up somewhere the soil sinks under her boots, four men start to spot Yoojin and their presence immediately setting off warn signals in her body, even before her mind had fully registered the danger. The two men behind let out a whistle of some kind, which made Yoojin's arms stand up with hair.

Their smirks were a big gateaway that they cannot be trusted, with their rifles in their hands casually held. "You look lost," was the smooth reply from one man. He looks to be older, mid forties and the leader of his three friends behind him.

Yoojin was ready to reply to them instantly. "I'm heading somewhere," she said cooly.

They looked at each other, their expressions sly as they exhanged looks. "Well, we wouldn't want a beautiful young miss like you getting lost all alone in the forest. Especially with vampires lurking around lately." One of them said.

"Maybe we can help you out?" The man in front of Yoojin said, his tone drippng with insincerity.

She grits her teeth together, her body tensing as she prepeared to defend herself in neccessary when the men took few steps forward to where Yoojin stands. She keeps her vague answers sharp.

"I appreciate the offer, but i can manage on my own." Yoojin replies with her gaze sweeping over the group, sizing them up nearly.

Yoojin quickly went past them around and starts to walk the front path to leave them, but one spoke behind Yoojin and the men hurdle to follow Yoojin anyways, despite her protest from earlier.

"Now now, lets not be hasty. We're just trying to protect you from the vampires that can be around." The sinister tone was a camouflage by the fake-pretend chivalry.

Yoojin could see right past it with her uncomfortable intuition.

Before she could react, the two leap to the front and block the path, their large bodies looming in the narrow pathway. In blink of an eye, she was suddenly pressed up against them, her rifle falling to the ground with a loud thud. And soon enough, before she knew it Yoojin felt a rough hand grab her arm and push her down. Face hitting the rough ground betwen soil and auburn dry leaves. Pinned up behind four men.

Men's laughter rang out, a cruel sound that sent chills down her spine. Yoojin struggles to get out, any sort of movement was impossible under the weight of four men. It became tiring, a tug of war rather to escape this clinch.

Yoojin grows numb real quick, despair clawing at her as the men overshadow behind. The sounds of clothes become a scary alert to her. Yoojin's eyes widen and she panics once more.

"Now isn't the time to be screaming," He laughs. "No one can hear you anyways. We're deep in the forest."

The three men that watched everything unfold suddenly turn towards the sound of a twig snapping. The three rifles turned towards the trees and steep flooring. The man pinning her down looks up too.

"Go check it out you three," their leader said nonchalantly but fimrly too. They can only glance back at him, the tension was papable in their hesition to walk up to where the sound came.

Then without a humanly possible warning, a flashing scene through the trees from above landing on one of the men with a deadly precision. There was a brief moment of shock.

"It's a vampire!"

Chaos erupts when the two remaining men saw how their friend was dismembered and killed with a single slash, the sounds of rifles being fired sets Yoojin's adrenaline on fire.

But it was too late, the figure had moved way before the human eye could counter.

The vampire dispatched the two men next, his movements like lightning came to life. Only one remaining was the leader and it wasnt long until the man moved off Yoojin to grab his rifle to deal with the vampire. He raised it up to fire at the shadow-figure only to be met with a deserved fate.

Yoojin took the advantagr to crawl closer the familar weight of her own rifle in arms. With a determined cry she rose to her two own feet, spinning around and firing both the man and unknown vampire.

He fell to the ground and mortally wounded, but the vampire was merely scratched and its eyes ablazed by the challenge.

In quick movements it lungs to Yoojin. She leapts back, her own rifle clutched title to her hands. Yoojin knew she had to run away, she did not stand a chance against this vampire.

She ran for it. Yoojin darted through the forest, her feet pounding against the ground as she ducked under low hanging branches and leapt over a fallen logs. It was as if the trees themselves were closing in on her, their trunks forming a disoreinting maze that all looked the same.

Each step forward felt like a step eeper into a nightmare, as if she was trapped in a cycle of endless chase.

Yoojin stumps her foot over a rock, tripping on the ground front face. As Yoojin stumbles and fell, her eyes catching sight of the abandoned hospital in the area. Its crumbling walls cast long shadows across the floor. Before she could even process the situation, the vampire leaned down his hand grasping her arms.

But just as he moved closer, a voice cut through the stillness breaking the tension. As Yoojin looked up, she saw Donghyuck standing there. His eyes fixed on the other vampire, his stance was tense and intimdating.

The guy looks so familar, then it all clogged Yoojin's mind. That was him. The night of her parents death, he was the last one Yoojin saw before disappering in the night.

The tone in his voice was like a challenge between sarcasm and unbothered. "What are you doing in my territory?" he echoed, his gaze narrowing studying the other vampire. He looks newly turned and batshit-crazy to Donghyuck.

His words were met with defiance, the other vampire refused to answer or move out of the area which Donghyuck has claimed since last night.

Yoojin watched in silence, her gaze flickering between the two vampires with uncertain fear and fasincation. She had never seen such an interaction, and she wasnt sure what is going to happen. What will this mean for her?

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife as Donghyuck's rolled up his sleeves, his body language was a clear gateway to how threatening he became. Before Yoojin could even react, he took a decisive step forward, his gaze locking onto the other vampire. In the moment, the vampire's face shifted to Donghyuck, dropping Yoo-jin carelessly to the ground.

"I am going to count to three, and you better run off."

For a brief moment, the vampire hesitated, as if hoping for some sort of reprieve. But Donghyuck's tone was clear, his expression firm. Before the vampire could fully proces the situation, Donghyuck's voice rang out.

"One."

Suddenly the latter ran off, he took the cue and left for Donghyuck's final number. Yoojin’s body became tense, a sense of familiar danger alerts her to run for it. She grabbed her rifle and took off running. As if her life depends on it.

Donghyuck’s eyes on her as Yoojin fled suddenly. But she didn’t dare to pause to look back at the killer of her parents.

Unfortunately, her escape was cut short when she trips up over a patch of loose soil on the edge of a steep slope.

She stumbles, losing her balance and then she starts to roll down the hill, tumbling recklessly down like a sack of potatoes.

As Yoojin lands front face to the bottom, at the base of the hill. She groans, her body aching from the rough fall and landing. She felta wave of embarssment wash over her.

Suddenly, Donghyuck's voice rang out above, and she looked up to see him standing at the top of the hill. "What an idiot," he muttered, his tone laced with annoyance, as he begins to go down the slope to get to her.

She could feel her cheeks burn with anger and shame. The humilation was enough to sent her to her early grave. Her legs felt like jelly amongst the many bruises from the fall.

Donghyuck approached her, his expression unreadable. Under his gaze was this human girl, who strangely looks at him as if she's already known him. Hated him.

But he can't seem to remember her.

Yoojin found herself in a situation sooner than she expected. She takes a small peak and saw that Donghyuck is armed with a knife, not only that, but his foot on top of her rifle when she reached for it. She was once again, weaponless.

"It's you." Yoojin said with an itch to now seek her revenge.

Donghyuck tilts his head slightly at the sound of how hateful she sounds to him, as if she already knows him. He turns to look down at the girl properly with his eyes.

"Do i know you?" He asks smoothly with an undertone sarcasm in it.

"No but i know you." Her reply begins. "You killed my parents!" Yoojin starts while turning her lips to a thin unwelcoming line. Fists clenched together.

Donghyuck's mouth twitchs slightly at the accusation. He narrows his eyes at the human girl, Yoojin was slowly getting up from the ground. Dusting off any bits of dirt remaining to the clothes.

"Killed your parents? I don't ever remember laying a finger on them, darling." Donghyuck casually said, uncared for the situation of the loss. It's more like he's certain that the accusation is wrong.

Yoojin never expected such belief that seems so real, but she saw Donghyuck that night. She remembers a face like his anywhere. "Liar, i saw you that night and i'm going to kill you."

Yoojin's hand reached out a knife to slash forward to the vampire's shoulder blade. It never crossed Yoojin's mind there would be a power difference, even though thats the most basic knowledge out there. Vampires are much superior in terms of hunting. But she didn't care for her safety. She was driven by grief and revenge more than the fear of dying.

Donghyuck was amused more than surprised by the attack. An attempt, he would call it rather. He easily pushed back Yoojin and twists her around until a single push to her back makes her fall over a large tree to the front. Completely he parried a knife, not even using his vampire genetics. More just his heightened survival.

"Do you even know what you're doing? You don't even know how to use it correctly." He said with his head tilted with arms crossed over his chest.

Was he seriously just correcting Yoojin on how to land a slash on him? She felt insulted. Belitted.

Which only caused her grief and anger to mix together, close to exploding like an erupted volcano. Yoojin turned back and lung her hand forward, the knife creating this whoosh sound in the air. Donghyuck takes simple steps back to avoid being slashed by a basic knife, a kitchen knife it looks to be.

She then ends up being tripped up, again, for what felt like a hundreth time falling over on the ground. Donghyuck saw how she was so easily tripped by his feet. Yoojin's defence was down, she's not rationally thinking. Donghyuck made sure to put a stop to her mindless swinging with a knife.

It looked like child-play to him.

Yoojin lets out a small eugh when she lands on the ground with her head slightly bumped. The rifle was somewhere on the ground between the auburn leaves, and her knife laid next to her face. Her blurry vision grew to normal, Yoojin saw Donghyuck standing above her in front.

She flashed him a glare, her hair completely roughed up with leaves in them from the fall. "What do you want?" Yoojin throws because Donghyuck was just staring at her, not impressed.

An eyebrow was raised on his face when he saw that glare on her face. He sighs tiredly.

"Get up," Donghyuck says simply looking around the area, his voice smooth yet demanding. He doesn't make any move to remove his foot from the ground, he just waits for her to get up from the pathetic ground.

Looming over her, he did see a few things in the dim light outside on her face. Donghyuck saw the minor cuts and scratches on her face, indicating it from the falls. Maybe even struggle against the troublesome people earlier.

She grunts when leisurely going up on her feet, Yoojin blows some of her messy hair away in a huff, like a small child does. Yoojin made sure there was a good enough distance between the vampire and her eyes ocasionally observe the surroudings.

"What do you want?" She asked again. "Going to kill me like you killed my parents, huh?" Yoojin slowly brought up with an intent to provoke malicous to him.

Yoojin saw Donghyuck let out an exasperted sigh, the patience starting to wear thin. He rolls his eyes slightly and crosses his arms. "I already told you, i didn't kill them." He repeats sounding frustrated.

But when he saw her eyes constantly looking down towards the rifle, he simply reached for the weapon and shown it to her. He held the rifle with his two hands. "Looking for this?" he mocks, tapping the rifle on the ground.

Yoojin tried to hold the urge to just, try and stab him again. But she failed because the next thing that happened was Donghyuck quickly dodging a knife in the air that Yoojin reached for nearby before. He gave a disappoited eye roll.

The next thing she knew, she was held in a tight grip. Wrist held by a very strong hand forcing her to drop the knife and Donghyuck wasn't being so, tolerant anymore.

His grip was pretty tight but not enough to snap a bone yet. It is strong enough to keep the girl from not atacking him every five seconds like a maniac.

His expression is unreadable as he looks down at her widen eyes full of fear, his dark eyes piercing into them. The amusement from earlier is gone and now he was simply serious on the matter.

"I'm going to let go of your wrist now, and if you try anything i'm going to break it. Got it?" Donghyuck threatens sternly. But he saw Yoojin's non verbal reply as a sign that she understood it.

Yoojin was tempted but she didn't act on it this time. In fact she stood still and slowly takes back her wrist released from his hand. Donghyuck trails off next.

"See? I'm trying to be Mr nice guy, i don't usually do that." He points out sarcastically at the sudden quiet girl, but all he got was a glare. And as if she wants to just run away. Far away from him.

He sighs again. "Look, you're hurt and you must be lost. I have enough space for you to camp in my home."

"How do i know you won't kill me?" She shot at Donghyuck, defensively holding suspicion.

He gave her a look, as if thats the most obvious thing in the world. Donghyuck matter of factly points out. "Because if i wanted you dead, you'd already be dead."

She scoffs but Donghyuck already started to make his way back up, he assumed the girl will follow. She has nowhere else to go and her chances being safe from other vampires are high with him.

"Didn't realise vampires have sense of hospitality." She sarcastically shouts but eventually Yoojin weighs the pros and cons. Ultimately she starts to slowly tag behind Donghyuck.

Maybe she can always get back at him. But not right now.

[sissylittlefeather]

A House That Has Everything: Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2 of my new series! This one came to me when I saw these amazing AI photos on Instagram made by @blackvelvetep and @_chiara975ep. (Be sure to check out their pages on Instagram!) My fic brain went crazy and this storyline was born.

Set in Regency England, Mr. Presley is the gentleman who owns and resides in Graceland Manor. Annabelle Martin is his newest maid after her parents have died and left her an orphan. Can he resist his affection for her, despite the difference in their social class?

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, masturbation (male), imagining some sexy things

Word count: ~2.4k

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Mr. Presley sighs and turns from the window. Will the responsibility of this new life never end?

******

After two weeks in her new position, Annabelle has settled into a new normal at Graceland Manor. It's not one she particularly likes or enjoys, but it's a routine at least. She's finally learned what her responsibilities are and how to do all of them. She's also met everyone in the house and learned who is worth talking to and who isn't. The other maids are not. They're both young and experienced and spend most of their time making snide comments and whispering about her. The cook, Mrs. Hall, is her favorite person, so far. She has a warm, welcoming air about her that makes Annabelle feel at home even in the big house that has no other home-like feeling. She hasn't talked to her much, but she likes her best of all anyway. And the handsome footman that answered the door when she first arrived is the cook’s son. His name is Jimmy and he's been nothing but cordial, albeit maybe a little too friendly. Most everyone else is nice enough, but she doesn't have a real companion among the group.

One of Annabelle's jobs is tending the fires in every room each morning. This means she's up before dawn every day. She doesn't enjoy that part, but it's actually quite nice to move about the house while everyone else is still asleep. Her favorite room is the library, which doubles as Mr. Presley’s private study. She never has much time to spend in there, but she does take a few minutes occasionally to look around at the books, even glancing at his desk a couple of times. He's a mess. There are papers stacked and sticking out of piles everywhere. She's not sure why, but she finds this a little endearing, even if she has sworn to hate him.

About 3 weeks after her first day, Annabelle walks into the library purposefully, ready to light the fire and try to look at the books a little. She's startled when she realizes there is a candle burning and someone sitting at the desk. There's only one person it could possibly be, so she tries to back out of the room as quickly as she can, but she hits the doorframe and it makes a loud thud. He immediately turns and stands up and she gasps.

Mr. Presley has an imposing presence even when he's not angry, so he feels almost terrifying when he is. He glares at her and Annabelle is overwhelmed with the desire to melt into the carpet.

“Where have you been?! It's freezing in here.” She shakes her head and stumbles over her words.

“I-I I'm sorry-”

“There's no excuse.” His eyes are wild and red-rimmed like he's either been crying or hasn't slept or both and his hair looks like he's run his hand through it about a thousand times. Annabelle recognizes the look of distress and her fear turns to compassion.

“Did you… have you been in here all night?” She asks in a small voice. He's obviously disarmed by the fact that she hasn't just run away from him.

“What?”

“You look like… have you slept?” She chances a step towards him and his imposing presence seems to shrink a little.

“That is none of your business! Just light the fire and get out!” He spits at her and turns away. She walks over to the fire and tends to it quickly.

As she works at the fireplace, he turns back and watches her. There was a hint of something in her voice that he hasn't experienced from anyone other than the Mrs. Hall in a very long time. Could it have been kindness?

He softens a bit as he watches her at the fireplace. Her shoulders are delicate and graceful as she works and he has the thought again that she wasn't built for this kind of hard labor. He feels an insane desire to help her, to take the task of making the fire and do it for her, but that would be inappropriate on every level. Still, something about her makes him want to throw propriety out the window and care for her the way men do in stories about knights and ladies. He's lost in this reverie when she finishes and stands up, turning back to him.

Annabelle is shocked to find him watching her when she turns away from the fire. He moves quickly to look somewhere else, but for half a second she could've sworn his expression was gentle.

“Are you finished?” He hisses, not looking at her.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Get out. Be earlier tomorrow.” His attempt to put her in the right place in his mind comes out as unnecessary coldness.

“Yes, sir.” Annabelle whispers and goes to walk from the room. But at the door, she pauses and turns back.

“You could tell me… why you haven't slept… if you wanted. No one would listen even if I tried to tell them your secrets.” For a second, he meets her eyes and the warmth he finds there soothes an ache he didn't even know he had. And then he remembers himself.

“OUT.” He tries to yell, but falters the tiniest bit. She nods and leaves the room.

Falling into the nearest chair, Mr. Presley sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. She's right that he hasn't slept. He's been holed up in the study trying to make sense of some documents since last night. Somewhere around 3am, the frustration had turned to grief and he cried for an hour or so. He was making his way back to frustration when she came in.

Why had he responded to her kindness with such cruelty? He knows the answer but isn't ready to face the reality of it.

******

In the next room, Annabelle sits in front of the fireplace crying quietly into her apron. She's so lonely and tired of the harshness with which she's treated here. There's not even anyone she could tell about her struggles. She's alone.

And why had she tried to connect with him? Not only is he a gentleman, he's her master, and not a very nice one at that. But something about him and his emotional state touched her and she felt compelled to offer herself in some way. And for no discernible reason whatsoever, his rejection hurts worst of all.

She starts to cry big, heaving sobs, knowing they're audible but no longer caring. Let them get rid of her. Maybe she could leave this miserable place and let Mr. Presley light his own fires.

******

On his way to bed, Mr. Presley hears the unmistakable sound of a woman crying coming from the drawing room. He walks quietly to the door and peeks through the crack.

The new maid.

His heart shatters when he hears the depth of her despair as she sobs. She's probably crying because he was so hateful. He lightly puts his fingertips on the door to push it open and go to her. Then he stops. It takes everything inside him to turn from the door and leave her there crying.

******

When Annabelle gets back downstairs, the kitchen is bustling with activity. Mr. Presley is entertaining later that evening, so Mrs. Hall is in a tizzy getting everything ready. Most days she does just fine by herself since she's only cooking for one man upstairs and the help downstairs, but when he entertains, she wishes she had some help. Annabelle wanders through despondently and perches on a bench.

“Love, don't you have something else to do?” Mrs. Hall asks, sweat running down the side of her face.

“Not really. I've done all my morning work already.” Annabelle kicks the floor with the toe of her shoe. She's still having to work to keep from crying.

“Get over here and help me, then. I'm assuming you know how to peel and chop.”

“Yes ma'am. I did all the cooking when I lived with my… my parents.” Her voice catches in her throat and Mrs. Hall stops and actually looks at her with her red little nose and tear-stained face.

“Love, what's got you upset?” Mrs. Hall asks as Annabelle washes her hands and takes some potatoes to peel.

“Nothing, ma'am.”

“Call me Gladys, dear.” Annabelle shakes her head.

“Oh, I could never.” Mrs. Hall laughs.

“Even Mr. Presley calls me Gladys sometimes.” Annabelle looks up at her in shock. That's far more interesting than her troubles.

“May I ask why?”

“Sure you can. I practically raised that boy. His mother passed trying to birth his twin and I had Daniel who was nearly the same age. Colonel Presley was lost for a good while after the mistress died and he paid very little attention to his son. The nanny they'd hired wasn't a very nice woman and Elvis- I mean Mr. Presley- used to spend most of his time hiding from her down here with me. He played with my boys and I taught him to cook and play the pianoforte. He's almost like a son to me, despite the difference in station.” Annabelle’s eyes widen with Mrs. Hall’s words. She tries to imagine a young Mr. Presley running through the kitchen, learning to cook and playing with servant boys. But more than the image of him as a child, it's the look that Mrs. Hall has when she talks about him that surprises her. It's a look of deep respect and love. She wonders how long it's been since Mrs. Hall has spoken with him. Maybe he has changed. “Now why don't you tell me what's got you so troubled.”

Annabelle looks down at the potato she's peeling and decides that she needs someone more than she needs to keep her own secrets.

“It's funny you mention Mr. Presley.”

“Why, love?” Annabelle sighs.

“He's the reason I was upset. Well, not the whole reason, but kind of the last thing I could handle. No one here has been very kind to me, him least of all.” Mrs. Hall nods and smiles.

“Hm. He likes you.” Annabelle looks at her with her face scrunched in shock.

“No, he does not. I assure you.”

“He likes you and he knows he shouldn't. He's trying to keep you at arm’s length.” Annabelle shakes her head.

“How do you know? Maybe he hates me?”

“If he hated you he wouldn't speak to you at all. I know my boy. He likes you.”

“No, I'm sure that's not it.” Annabelle continues peeling potatoes in silence, but her heart is pounding. Why does the prospect of Mr. Presley liking her make her knees weak?

******

That evening, Mr. Presley has several friends over for dinner. They eat and play cards and have cigars and brandy and recount their most recent adventures in London. His closest friend, Mr. Jasper Davies, asks what everyone else is wondering.

“When will you be married, then?” They're not eager to lose the company of their bachelor friend, but they know the expectation now that he's the master of a great house.

“I have no designs on marriage anytime soon.” Mr. Presley answers, knowing this won't be realistic for very long. He'll have to marry sooner rather than later. Still, he's never found any particular young lady of his station that he liked well enough to marry. There had been one girl, an actress, that he had loved quite a bit before he joined the army, but she was not a viable partner for him. None of the ladies of the county interested him and he found most of them to be rather one-dimensional and boring.

The conversation about marriage continues, but Mr. Presley has a hard time focusing. For some reason, the new maid enters his mind. He thinks about her slender white hands, too delicate for the work she does. And the way her uniform follows her curves down to her waist and then hides the rest. What he wouldn't give to be able to see her legs and feet unobstructed. He lets his imagination go even further and suddenly a picture of her naked and sprawled on his bed appears. His cock twitches in his pants and he has to adjust and clear his throat to bring himself back to reality. That's a thought he cannot have, especially not in present company.

Eventually, everyone retires to one of the many bedrooms in the house. Mr. Presley stops briefly in the library with the vague hope that the maid might be there. Of course she's not, but the brandy he's had makes his logic a little faulty. He makes it back to his bedroom where his valet undresses him and puts him in bed.

It's not long before he realizes he's staring at his fireplace, imagining the maid on her knees in front of it. This image is quickly replaced by an image of her on her knees in front of him. He curses himself for the inappropriate images in his head and the way his dick hardens at the thought of her, but he can't stop his hand from finding himself under his nightshirt. She's so pretty and kind and graceful and oh, God, he'd give anything to see her and feel her pressed up against him as they tumble naked together in the bedclothes.

He moans softly as his hand pumps his cock, sliding his foreskin back and forth, his thumb sweeping over the tip to collect the beads of precum as they gather. His hips buck into his palm and he strokes himself harder and faster. He tries to focus again on the actress that he normally thought of when he did this, but he can't. There is only the maid. The maid with her hands on him, with her mouth on him, with her thighs on either side of his hips as she sinks down onto him, with her lips parted and eyes closed as she reaches the peak of ecstasy and cries out his name. With that, he whimpers as he cums all over his hand, his cock throbbing and pulsing and leaking until his release has fully washed over him. He lays in his bed sweating and trying to catch his breath. The picture of her in his mind is so clear. He opens his mouth to whisper, but nothing comes out.

He doesn't even know her name.

******

Until next time...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity

[sugar-soda]

Kids Shouldn't be Here: Preston Garvey

Fallout 4 Platonic Companions x Child! Sole

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Child in dangerous situations

A/N: This is NOT romantic at all! This is all platonic relationships that explore how the Fallout 4 companions and game would change if the Sole Survivor was a young child. Any romantic suggestions or reblogs will be blocked.

Masterlist

______________________________________________________________

A kid shouldn't be here. 

After the bombs fell, children became a precious rarity. The radiation left many women, even those who didn't become ghouls, unable to even get pregnant. Those that were able to had a whole new hosts of challenges to face. Lack of food, safe drinking water, and proper medical equipment meant that many pregnancies ended in tragedy. Even the act of being born was deadly in the Wasteland. 

Not to mention, many had no desire to raise a child. Raiders obviously should never be trusted with anything, much less a child, but caravan merchants and guards typically had none. A life of constant walking and carrying supplies was hard enough without being impaired with another life growing inside you or on your hip.

Those who did have kids were typically settlers. Farmers who had plenty of food to feed another mouth or a shopkeep who had enough caps to buy a roof to go over the little one's head. A big, sturdy wall to keep the mutants and raiders away typically helped encourage more family units. Diamond City had a large enough wall to have a school. Even with those comforts, most kept their children glued to their hip until they were at least well into their teens. Even if a kid didn't have parents, they were kept close by grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings, any family really. The only kids alone were ones who didn't have any family left at all.

____________________________________________________________

Preston had probably seen more kids than most as a Minuteman. Constantly moving around from settlement to settlement typically leads to that. Sometimes he would hold a baby for a tired mother so she could take a nap, or tell stories to a group of children following him on a patrol so their fathers could work in the fields. He even helped with a few births, when there was no other option. He would gladly not repeat that experience though. 

However, he would rather deal with a hundred screaming mothers and bloody mattresses than be in this situation. Cornered in a decrepit museum as raiders closed in on their small group. He was firing his laser musket as fast as he could load it, but there was only one of him. The others had to stay back, knowing they would be more of a hindrance than help in a fight.

Sturges was a strong guy, but his aim left a lot to be desired. He couldn't hit a radscorpion if it was right in front of him. The Longs were farmers, not fighters, and were too distracted by the loss of their child to focus on any lessons Preston tried to give them in self-defense. Mama Murphy had apparently been a firecracker when she was younger, but nowadays she had trouble standing up on her own without the kickback of a gun to knock her over.

As Preston aimed and took another shot, he wondered if this place would be their grave.

He didn't notice them at first. The lasers were very similar looking to his own and the gunshots blended in with the raider's. It was only when he looked down his scope and watched a bullet pierce a raider's skull did he realize that someone was lending a helping hand. 

As minimal relief flooded his mind, he checked his scoop, looking for their savior.

He noticed Dogmeat first. The canine was first introduced to him by Mama Murphy. Dogmeat would come on random days and sniff at her heels as the group walked, and then would lay down next to her as they made camp and ate their rations at night. Mama Murphy would insist on feeding Dogmeat when he was around, so he had taken to giving up some of his rations to keep the old woman from losing more weight. Preston wasn't ashamed to admit he had a soft spot for the stray, but Dogmeat didn't look much like the happy pooch Preston gave scratches behind the ears to, with a raider's crotch being clamped between his jaws and enough screams to prove the raider wasn't getting out of them alive.

The buzz of a saw led him to a Mr. Handy of all things. Shooting enemies with a built in laser when they moved too far away from his buzz-saw. This one was in the best condition he's seen, with small spots of rust being the only indication of its age. Hopefully, its internal programming was in good shape. 

He saw the third last. Well, he didn't really see them. They had climbed up a building and set up a sniping spot, picking off raiders from above. They were almost completely hidden by the old air conditioning unit they used as cover. Preston could only see the barrel of their gun and the very top of their head poking out. Whoever it was, they were efficient with their shots. Whatever raider was wearing a helmet that prevented them from a clean headshot, got a bullet to their leg. That incapacitated them long enough for Dogmeat to pounce and get his fangs around their throat.

Efficient, if a little much for his taste.

As another raider fell to the Mr.Handy's buzzsaw, Preston yelled out to the sniper spot. He hoped that the mystery sniper would be willing to continue to lend their hand (and gun) to deal with the Raiders inside and their reinforcements to come.

"Don't worry, we're coming!" 

If Preston had more sleep, more food, and less distractions and lives weighing his thoughts down, he would have noticed the response sounded too high pitched, too squeaky,

too young.

But Preston didn't, so instead he hurried back inside to give Sturges an update. He would have to remove the barricade on the door to allow their help to get to them, which would expose them to the Raiders inside.

Marcy protested angrily, yelling that whoever it was could just as likely kill them too. She was technically right, but they didn't have much of an option. Even with the extra hands (or paws, in Dogmeat's case), their best chance of survival was still the power armor and minigun on the roof, which meant someone would eventually have to go outside the room to the basement to get the fusion core. 

Hopefully, the sniper was as good at hacking as they are shooting. Sturges was their most technologically savvy, but even he had trouble with the terminal.

The moment the barricade was removed, Preston started the same routine he did on the balcony. It was easier to land a hit now, all the Raiders funneled through a narrow walkway, but it gave him less time to reload.

Faintly, he could hear the sounds of more fighting near the entrance. Seems like they would have some backup.  

As the fighting got closer, he started to hear more of the trio. Dogmeat's barks, growls, and yips were the first he could hear, clear as a bell. A bit later he could hear a faint, robotic accent firing along with a laser.

It was a good amount of time later that he could hear footfalls of someone sprinting toward their location.

One raider got too close, his armor thick enough to keep him from dying and his system filled with enough Physco to not fill the pain.  A tire iron in his hand, the raider tried to muscle his way in. Preston shifted and slammed into the raider's torso with his shoulder, gritting his teeth as the tire iron came down on his back, focusing on keeping this madman out and away from the room. 

Fate, it seems, had a similar thought, as the raider was suddenly yanked away and down. A small body had pulled him back by the neck and kicked the back of his legs. Combined with the surprise of the attack, it was effective enough to send the raider toppling onto his back and on top of the other person. 

Dogmeat was here now, jaw latching around the raider's leg to keep him from getting his footing back. The Mr. Handy was also here, floating there with the same reason that Preston didn't immediately take aim at the raider.

Any shot taken at that moment would hit the other person, too. They had both arms wrapped around his neck, attempting to cut his airflow off but couldn't get a strong enough grip, as the fall seemed to knock the wind out of them. The raider seemed to realize this too, hand reaching down to feel for something.

The tire iron.

Preston swiped up the forgotten weapon and swung low like the golfers he's seen on faded billboards. He made contact with his ribs and used enough force to roll him off to the side and out of the chokehold and Dogmeat's teeth.

Which was all the signal the Mr. Handy needed. A laser shot out and hit the raider squarely in between the eyes. 

Finally, a moment to breathe.

Preston closed his eyes and sighed. Can't relax just yet. There were still Raiders outside, and they were probably going to send reinforcements. 

"Young Miss, I implore you to be more careful! You nearly caused my motor to give out," 

"Sorry, Codsworth, I saw the raider attack him and I panicked,"

Oh God no.

Preston opened his eyes to finally get a look at the sniper.

She had sat up now and was rubbing her shoulder, which was probably bruised in the fall. Dirt and blood were smeared across her face, though luckily it looked like the blood wasn't her own. A old military style duffle bag had been thrown off her shoulder and her twin braids were frayed. A pip-boy was clasped around her wrist and he could see blue and gold peeking out from behind a duster and leather chest piece. A vault dweller then.

A very, very young vault dweller. God, she was just a kid. Where were her parents? What was she doing out here joining fights she had no part in? What was he doing asking her to join a fight she had no part in? A kid shouldn't be here.

"Are you okay?" 

She stopped and looked at him incredulously. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? You were the one who decided to tank a hit from a tire iron,"

All he could give was a breathless chuckle at that. "Man, I don't know who you are, kid, but your timing is impeccable," Preston held out a hand and helped her up to her feet.  "Preston Garvey. Commonwealth Minutemen," 

"Minuteman? What the-," She questioned under her breath as she followed him back into the room. Her confusion made sense to Preston. She likely only learned about the original Minutemen in the Vault so seeing one now would seem strange. Despite her confusion, she responded. "You're welcome, Mr. Garvey. Do you mind telling me what happened?"

What didn't happen was a better question? Ever since Quincy, anything that could go wrong, did go wrong. More innocent people lost their lives everyday and he could do nothing to stop it. The closest thing to hope anyone has now is Sanctuary, which he wasn't certain was real. Mama Murphy's "Sight" has never been wrong, but he wasn't sure of it or how she used Chems to trigger her visions.

Not wanting to load everything on to the kid, Preston decided to give a very brief summary of what they were doing, he stated, "We were looking for a place to settle. Originally there were more of us but we lost a lot of people. We thought that Concord would be a safe place to settle. Guess we were wrong,”

“I'm sorry. It must be hard trying to protect everyone,” the girl frowned thoughtfully, “So, what's your plan to get out? There are still more raiders outside. If we go now they’ll turn us into swiss cheese with bullets,”

“Sturges. Tell her.”

“There's a crashed vertibird up on the roof. Old school, pre-war. You might have seen it. Well, looks like one of its passengers left behind a seriously sweet goody. We're talking a full suit of cherry T-45 Power Armor. Military issue.”

The kid seemed surprised, “Power Armor? That will certainly even the odds.”

“Heh heh heh heh, yeah, take every advantage we can. Protection, with an added bonus. We get the suit, Preston here can rip the minigun right off the vertibird. Do that, and those Raiders get an express ticket to Hell. You dig?”

Putting a hand on her chin, she replied, “Won't the suit need a power source? You can't move in those things without power. They're too heavy,”

“That's the one hitch. The suit's out of juice. Probably been dry for a hundred years,”

“What we need is an old pre-war F.C., a standardized Fusion Core. A high-grade, long-term nuclear battery. Used by the military and some companies, way back when. And we know right where to find one…” Preston said.

“But we can't get to the damn thing,” Sturges interrupted, “down in the basement, locked behind a security gate.”

Suddenly, the kid looked excited. “ A security gate? Hold on!” She quickly unzipped the duffle bag and dug around for a few seconds. “Is this it?”

There in such a small hand was the Fusion Core. If Preston wasn't already impressed and concerned by this kid, he was now.

“Well I'll be, kid. How'd you get to this thing?”

“I picked the lock,” She stated.

The Mr.Handy- Codsworth she said his name was- added, “An highly discouraged skill seems to have finally made itself useful,”

The kid grinned sheepishly then looked at Preston. “I hope you know how to use that armor, Mr.Garvey.”

“I'll be fine,” he managed. He did know to use Power Armor, but it's been years since he has used that knowledge. He never liked wearing the metal suits. They were slow, required too much maintenance, and were sweltering hot inside during the summer months. They're also, quite frankly, claustrophobia inducing. Every inch of your body is encased in thick padding and solid steel. The armor was strong, yes, but as a kid he had worried if Power Armor was strong enough to hold against a Deathclaw, or would it crush the armor alongside the person inside? Leaving them to a slow, painful suffocation and bleeding instead of a quick death of mutilation.

He never did get over his childish fear.

“You stay here with Sturges and the others. Sturges, you set the barricade back up and wait for my signal to leave.” Preston instructed.

“You got it, Boss-man.”

“Absolutely not.”

Sturges seemed fine with that plan, but the Vault dweller definitely wasn't. Her eyes narrowed and seemed to glare into his soul.

“Miniguns aren't accurate from long distances, so you’re going to have to jump to the ground. That leaves you more vulnerable, even with the Power Armor. What if one of the raiders pulls the fusion core out from behind you? Then you'll be stranded and can't move. You'll need someone to watch your back. I'll set up on the balcony you were on earlier.” She stated it as if it was the most sensible thing in the world, letting a child be a sniper while fighting off a group of murderers and thieves.

“I can't ask a civilian to join a fight like this, especially a minor,” Preston argued. He doesn't think he could handle another kid dying on his watch.

“Well then it's a good thing your not asking, I'm telling you,”

Preston had a feeling there was no changing her mind.

____________________________________________________________

Fate loved playing sick, twisted jokes on him. When they were down to the last few raiders and it looked like they could finally get out of this forsaken place, a terrible growl had shaken the ground beneath them. A giant, enraged Deathclaw had followed after, erupting from the ground and destroying an entire car.

Preston is pretty sure he aged ten years from that fight alone.

Luckily, the beast hadn't crushed him inside the armor. It did, however, damage the legs and right arm to the point of breaking. No use in it now unless they found a station to repair it. 

Now that the Deathclaw laid dead, he listened. Trying to hear the next wave of enemies or disaster headed their way. Nothing. Guess the punchline was over.

Exiting the Power Armor, he looked up at the balcony. The kid had stayed there the whole fight, even when the Deathclaw had shown up. She would aim for the legs and head, keeping it distracted long enough for Preston to reload or inject a stimpack. He had seen fully grown Minutemen with worse aim than that kid. 

He cringed internally, he should probably ask for her name instead of just calling her “kid”.

Now she wasn't there. That meant she was regrouping with the others. 

Back inside, everyone else had already moved to the entrance. Mama Murphy was already being sat down by the young sniper.

“So is he your dog?” 

“No, no. Dogmeat is his own man. He comes and goes as he pleases. It appears he is pleased to follow you for the time being, he knows your something special.”

“That or he wants the jerky in my pocket.”

That got a laugh from Mama Murphy. The first real laugh from her since Quincy. The ones she got from chems didn't count.

“Thank you for your help back there. I don't know how long we would have been messing with that terminal for if you hadn't shown up.”

She kicked at the ground shyly, embarrassed by the praise. “Happy to help, Mr.Garvey.”

“Speaking of things I don't know,” he smiled and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, “ I also don't know your name. Mind telling me what it is?”

“Oh!” She exclaimed, obviously not realizing she hadn't given her name. “I'm Sunny. Sunny Roberts,”

Preston kneeled down to be eye-level with her. “Well, Sunny, could you tell me where your parents are? I don't think they'll be pleased to hear you fought a raider band to save some strangers.”

Sunny's face fell like her namesake. “ Oh, that's- that's actually why I came to Concord. I need help.” 

She took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Now, she was acting like how Preston expected someone her age to act in this situation. Sunny’s whole body started shaking and her eyes filled with unshed tears, like the world was too scary and large and terrifying and all together not suited for the innocence of a child. Like she hadn’t looked down the sights of her gun at a raider and pulled the trigger with no hesitation. 

“Hey, it's okay, it's okay,” he soothed, placing both hands on her shoulders, “Deep breaths, start from the beginning.”

Taking a shuttering breath, she started, “ A man came-a man came into the Vault. He wasn't-he wasn't Vault-Tec. He had a gun and-and a leather jacket. He did something-he did something that caused the pods to unthaw but mine-but mine wouldn't open. Mom's did. She was holding my baby brother. Her pod opened and he tried to-he tried to take Shaun. She wouldn't let him. She told him no and then he,” She took another breath. The unshed tears from earlier finally started to fall, “and he shot her.”

Just like Preston feared.

“He shot her and took Shaun and Dad tried to get to them but he shot him too and I couldn't get out,” She was sobbing now, panic, distress, and grief now grabbing a hold of her. “I couldn't get out and the pod refroze and unfroze but they were gone and everyone was dead and IneedtofindShaunIdon'tknowwheretheytookhimbutineedtofind-”

“Miss Sunny, breathe!” Codsworth interrupted. He placed a gentle claw gently on top of her head, which Preston guessed was the closest a Mr. Handy could get to soothing her. “You will make yourself sick at this rate. Come now, deep breaths.”

As she gulped down air to the best of her ability, one of Codsworth's eyes turned toward Preston.

“You'll have to forgive our state of distress Mr.Garvey. Miss Sunny was in a similar state when she left the Vault and I fear I haven't been much better. Your predicament with the raiders seemed to have acted as a temporary distraction but now I believe her grief is back in full force.”

“It's alright Codsworth,” Preston said. “I promise to help once I get everyone here to safety. We can't stay here.”

“And where do you suggest we go?” hissed Marcy Long. She had been surprisingly silent for most of this conversation but she had to speak now. “We can't go dragging a kid around on the road. It isn't safe!” She continued, a tone of anger and protectiveness usually reserved for her husband lacing her voice. After the loss of their daughter, she likely didn't want another child to die. Preston didn't blame her.

“We go to the place Mama Murphy told us about. Sanctuary is our best bet at the moment,”

“You mean she saw it while she was high during one of her crazy visions,”

“Now Marcy,” Mama Murphy started, “You know the Sight is never wrong. Just hazy. Sanctuary is close by. I know it is,” She turned a comforting gaze toward Sunny, who had calmed down to hiccups now. “Just like I know your brother is alive.” 

Sunny froze. “You've seen him? Where is he?”

“I'm sorry, Sweetheart. I didn't see him, but I feel his life force out there. I know he is. The Sight may be hazy, but it won't lie to you.”

Sunny went from hopeful to confused, “The Sight?” 

“It's the chems, dear. They let me see a little of what has been, a little of what will be, and sometimes, a little of what is right now. Been that way since I was a girl” Mama Murphy tapped her temple indulgently. “Your brother is alive. And even I don't need the Sight to tell you where to start looking. Diamond City, the Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth.”

“Um,” said Sunny, who looked to be processing what she was just told. “I'm gonna need to know a little more information than that.”

“Look, kid, I want to help but I'm tired. You bring me some Jet and we'll see what else is I can see.” 

“No, Mama Murphy,” Preston scolded sternly. This had been an on-going battle for as long as he has known her. She would sneak any chems she could to try to trigger the “Sight”. It had proven useful multiple times over now, but the drugs were far too hazardous to the old woman's health for him to let her continue to use them. So him and Sturges have taken to confiscating any chem they found before she could take it and would carry her pack whenever they could to feel for any unexplained shifts in weight. Despite their efforts, she still snuck a few in now and again. “We've talked about this. That junk- it will kill you.”

“Oh shush, Preston. We're all gonna die eventually. We're gonna need the Sight. And our new friend here, she's gonna need it too,”

He started to argue again when Sunny tugged at his coat. 

“Mr. Garvey, Mama Murphy is right about Sanctuary. It's close by. Me and Codsworth just came from there.”

“Codsworth and I,” the Mr. Handy corrected, “but Miss Sunny is right on Sanctuary's location. Just past the Red Rocket Station and over the bridge and you'll be right there,”

That was great news, even with Mama Murphy's smug grin. 

“Alright folks. Thanks to our little friend here, we know where we are going now.”

____________________________________________________________

Sunny led the way to Sanctuary, knowing the way the best. Codsworth took up the rear, with his three eyes pointing in different directions in search of any potential threats. Dogmeat jumped around all over the place, simply happy to be there.

When they finally got to the bridge, he could see why this place was called Sanctuary even before the bombs dropped. It was out of the way, surrounded by trees, and had a river separating it from the rest of the Commonwealth.

Some of the houses had collapsed in on themselves but a majority were surprisingly stable. Sturges found a workbench and immediately started to work on patching up the walls. Marcy found melons and gourds already growing behind the same house, setting Jun and herself the task of harvesting as many as they can. Mama Murphy sat down on an old loveseat with Dogmeat lying down to be her foot warmer.

Sunny kept herself the most busy. First, she helped Preston with dragging the wood and metal debris out of the yards and road and into a pile to be broken down for materials. After that, he started on cutting the wood down for firewood and Sunny dragged out all of the still intact mattresses from the houses. Once outside, she beat them with a bat, trying to get as much dirt and dust off of them as she could.

Once she finished that and deposited the mattresses down where they could safely sleep, she started zipping around the area, grabbing everything that wasn't nailed down and depositing it to whoever she deemed needed it. At least it all seemed to have a use. Hammers, screwdrivers, wrenches, any technology, and even a few bags of concrete powder were handed off to Sturges. Seeds, garden tools, and edible plants where given to Marcy. Water, first aid items, and packaged food was set by Mama Murphy for easy access. Ammo, weapons, and armor were left on the weapons table for him to assess later.

At one point, she snuck up to him, handed him a bag that was full of chems, and whispered, “I found a lot of drugs all over the place. I didn't want Mama Murphy to find them but I don't know what to do with them now. Burning them seemed like a bad idea.”

Codsworth had taken advantage of a cooking station near the front and whipped up some sort of stew for them by sundown. Preston was finishing off his second bowl when Sunny approached him again.

“Mr. Garvey, do you have a minute? I have an idea for something we can use for defenses against raiders but I don't think I can carry them by myself,” She asked.

“Sure, I got a minute,” he smiled, “but you know you don't have to call me ‘Mr. Garvey’, right? Just ‘Preston’ works fine.”

“Alright, Mr. Preston, this way,” She said, turning on her heel and walking away. Even as Sturges laughed at him good-naturedly.

“At least she’s respectful. Could have chosen another name for ya and kept at it till it stuck.” 

Deciding that “Mr. Preston” worked just fine, he followed her to a dirt road that ran between two houses.

____________________________________________________________

“Vault 111 is up here. There were a few turrets up here that I think only need minor repairs. If Sturges could fix them, we can set them up around Sanctuary for protection. That way, even if we are all asleep, nothing can sneak up on us.” Sunny started up the overgrown path with Preston close by.

Turrets. Now that was firepower. Those things shot faster than any person and normally had a steel shell protecting it. Even one of those at Sanctuary would give him a better night’s sleep.

“I can see why you asked for my help. Those things can be heavy, especially if there is more than one. Though, are you sure you can carry one? I can go back and ask Sturges for help if we need to,”

Sunny stopped and blushed “I can carry a turret!” She crossed her arms and looked down at her feet. “I just can't carry anything else with it and I think there are at least three,” she whispered.

Preston laughs. Sunny seemed to be good at causing that to happen.

They kept walking and Preston was a bit concerned by the skeletons by the gate and overturned military vehicles past it.

“What happened here?” 

“Vault 111 residents were speciality military personnel and their families, both active and former. Supposedly, it was to thank and honor them for their service. A good many  lived in Sanctuary Hills so that's why this location was chosen. There were more non-military people who wanted in, but they weren't allowed and tried to force their way in, so the military was brought in to keep them out,” Sunny stated. Her face held a quiet sort of reverence, like she was afraid of waking the dead that laid here. She kept walking forward, toward a turret that was covered in fallen wood and started pulling it away. “The Vault closed just as the bombs fell,” She paused as she pulled the turret free. 

“They left those people to die.”

Preston crouched down at a second turret. It had some burn marks on it, but didn't seem to have any internal damage. “I'm surprised that the Vault would teach that in their school. Doesn't paint Vault-Tec in the greatest light.”

She was quiet after that, which Preston took as his que to get the last turret. Its barrel was completely snapped off from rust. If its internal mechanisms were the same, he wasn't too sure if Sturges could fix it.

Supposedly. That bothered him about what she said. Something that should have been true but wasn't. Like how reinforcements were supposedly on their way at Quincy and they would just have to hold a little longer. Instead, no one came, innocent people died, and he was left to try to put back together what little remained of his and everyone else's hope. 

“Sunny?”

“Yes?”

She sounded upset now. Not like the sobbing, wailing breakdown she had earlier, but still sad. Melancholy, like she was mourning the dead she didn't want to wake.

He took a deep breath and asked, “You said that Vault 111 was supposedly to thank and honor military personnel for their service, right?”

“That's right.”

“Well,” Preston started, “What was it actually for then?”

Sunny successfully lifted up the first turret. It was a little bigger than her torso and looked awkward for her to carry. There was no way she could carry anything else with it. Despite her heavy load, she answered him.

“Testing,” She stated “According to the terminals I read when I left, Vault 111 was actually made to test prolonged cryogenic suspension and its effects on the human body. It was just as unethical then as it is now but it was also very, very illegal.” 

Sunny sighed. This story sounded personal to her, so Preston waited, “Vault-Tec knew they couldn't tell anyone outside of their crappy company, much less market it. So they lied. Spewed a bunch of nonsense about ‘protecting our future’ and ‘state of the art technology’ and no one questioned a thing. When we got to the Vault, the scientists told us we had to be ‘decontaminated’ and that we would only be in there ‘for a minute’, but it wasn't a minute,” She was getting angry now, throwing the turret down and waving her arms as she paced and ranted. “I don't even think they thought it would be that long. As far as I can tell, the guards in the Vaults got tired of waiting to leave and rebelled against the scientists studying us, and it ended with everyone not in a stasis pod dead and unable to wake us up. Vault-tec lied to everyone that placed their lives in their hands, thinking that they may have a shot of survival, only for them to die just like everyone else here.”

Okay, more personal than Preston thought. She was right, of course, but the way she spoke.

“That must have been hard. Growing up and hearing about the betrayal that happened,”

Sunny stopped pacing, and pinning him with a look that would have been intimidating if she was older. “What are you talking about? I was there. I grew up in Sanctuary Hills.”

Preston's blood stopped cold. The stasis pods. With no one around to open them, the frozen residents were unable to be released and procreate. Sunny had said they were in there for longer than they should be, and she kept using we and us when…

“Wait a minute, are you saying you were there when the bombs fell?” He asked. She had said earlier that she had been refrozen in her stasis pod when her brother was kidnapped. But Preston couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it.

“Yep,” Sunny said, “I'm two hundred and twelve years old, give or take a few years. Codsworth's internal clock isn't entirely accurate anymore.”

Preston didn't know what to say. When he thought she had just lost her parents and brother, he already felt obligated to help. Now, it turns out she lost everything. The world as she knew it was gone and only hollowed ruins of it remained. For the pre-war ghouls, they have had time to adjust to the change, to the radiation, and crumbled buildings, and death. He had a feeling Sunny hadn't gotten that chance.

“How long?” Preston asked as Sunny picked up the turret again. His mouth felt dry and he had to lick his lips before starting again. “How long have you been out of stasis?”

Sunny shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “A couple hours at most. I had only been out about an hour when Codsworth and I left for Concord,” She turned on her heel towards Sanctuary, “Come on. It's getting dark soon and I don't want Codsworth worrying about how long we've been gone.”

Preston tucked the other two turrets under his arms and followed. He didn't know what to say.

The walk back was quiet and it was fully dark by the time they set the turrets down next to the workbench. Sturges could work on them tomorrow. By the time they got to the workbench, Sunny looked ready to pass out.

“Whew, what on earth do they put in these things to make them so heavy? I thought they were basically guns that shoot themselves?”

Preston smiled, “ I'm sure Sturges could tell you what is inside it if you ask,” his smile disappeared as quickly as it came. He remembered why Sunny came to Concord and the conversation she had with Mama Murphy before leading them here. “Are you really going to go to Diamond City all on your own?”

Diamond City is right in the center of the Commonwealth and a good, long walk from here. A walk that had ferals, radscorpions, super mutants and even mirelurks once you reached the river. As well as she handled herself at Concord, there was no way Sunny could be on guard the entire trip in order to stay alive. 

“I have to, Mr. Preston,” She said, a desperate tone seeping into her voice. “Shaun's my brother. He's my family. The only family I got left. And he's so little, he's only a baby. I don't know what that monster is gonna do to him. I've got to find him and Diamond City is my only lead. And I won't be entirely alone, Codsworth is coming too, and Dogmeat, if he's willing to come.”

That didn't make Preston feel any better. While both could provide extra protection, neither would be any help with less direct threats. Slavers, scam artists, and thieves would see a Mr. Handy as scrap metal, Dogmeat as food, and Sunny as a target. 

Looking around Sanctuary, Preston thought for a moment. This place was probably the most isolated of the attempted settlements and, therefore, the safest. And with how small their group was, it wasn't likely for anyone to know about them being there for a good while.

Preston made his decision right then. Gently pulling her wrist towards him, he punched in a marker for Diamond City.

“Sounds like you could use my help. I'll mark it on your map. We can leave after tomorrow.”

[jeon-ify]

- 𝘫𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘩𝘰 - 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 ! ⋆·˚ ༘ *

synopsis: in which the way you look after showering gets your husband worked up.

genre: romance, smut, 18+. mdni.

warnings: dilf yunho!!!!!! yunho is in his late 30s-early 40s here, nudity implied, kitchen sex, swearing, breast play, making out, female reader, big!dick yunho, hand kink, finger sucking (yunho AND reader!!) tit sucking, cervix fucking, choking kink, breeding kink, if i missed anything let me know ! :3

song for the chapter : into it - chase atlantic

happy reading !

the coconut and lime scent of your conditioner floods the first floor of your home, sending your husband into a faint distraction. the scent runs up his nostrils, up to his brain, and straight down his cock. the music you’re playing blares through your phone in the shower, your husband hearing it through to the second floor.

“I BEEN CATCHIN’ PLANES FOR THE FUN OF IT,”

you sing out extra loud, your husband pausing his speech to apologize for the background noise.

you took an everything shower today, so you already made dinner before showering— considering you’d be exhausted.

somehow, yunho put the pieces together, finishing dinner and making it the right way. you didn’t expect yunho to be so generous tonight— but here you are, standing over the stove and nibbling little pieces of the food while you waited for yunho to finish from a call he was wrapped up in.

you looked around the kitchen out of boredom, looking for things to do before you dived into the food. the way yunho’s shirt sat so pretty onto your body, riding up your thighs as your pink panties peak through the ends of the tee made your man so painfully distracted— holding himself back from fucking you over the piping hot stove.

yunho watched how the ends of your hair weren’t fully dried and how it dripped onto the back of your calves, dripping down your shiny legs. he also watched how your— his— tshirt rode up your legs anytime you reached up somewhere or bent to get something. his eyes did not leave your body.

you were still stood over the stovetop, taking little bites of the greens. you moan in how good the food is, a blend of paprika and garlic seasoning, along with the sweetness of the teriyaki sauce that yunho drizzled everywhere.

but even through the layers of seasonings he put into the food, your scent still broke through it all.

“yeah, sounds good. i’ll put in the CRA request like we mentioned previously, and i’ll email you the forums. just let me know when you need it. was there anything else i could assist you with today, mr. song?” the man on the computer responds and the call comes to an end.

you stare at how attractive he is when he’s working— all the business talk that made no fucking sense to you, but he understands it like his own language, and that in itself makes you weak.

“doll, what do you have on? it smells good.” he finally decides to speak after what felt like hours of him admiring from behind his computer screen.

a much older man admiring your hygiene is something you never thought you’d see, but yunho was drooling on the laptop beneath his fingertips.

“it’s your favorite lotion,” you look up at him through damp eyelashes and flushed cheeks, watching how his nostrils flare with every breath he takes.

it takes yunho everything in his body to not pick you up and throw you over the counter and pound a baby into your small belly. he’s much older than you are, but when he met you, he knew you’d be his companion.

“yu, this smells really yummy. you did a great job, baby.” you walk over to yunho on the other end of the table, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind him. he holds onto your hands and throws his head back onto your stomach, looking up at you.

“sweets, the last thing on my mind is dinner. let me taste you, little girl,” his soft and mature voice makes your legs quiver with excitement as yunho takes your hands in his, bringing your middle and ring finger to his mouth, sucking on the digits. you gasp in response, watching how desperate the middle aged man underneath your touch grows weak at your feet.

“i can never get enough of you. wanna fuck you all day.” he stands up to face you, bringing his lips to yours. he sucks and nibs at your bottom lip to gain quicker access to explore the rest of your mouth. you deepen the kiss, the faint taste of cigarettes cloud your small mouth, making you whimper in desperation. he slides a hand between your thighs, thumb rubbing against your clit. you’re not sure if your juices make a patch on your panties or if its from your shower. nonetheless, you are so fucking turned on right now that the last thing on your mind is dinner.

“what have you done to me, pretty girl?” he feels as though you’ve casted a spell on him. everything you do makes him feral; weak in the knees. but somehow, you make him a man.

“i’m just here, yunho. don’t give me all the credit,” you gasp at the feeling of his long fingers pushing into your tight wet cunt. he gasps in sarcasm, exploring your face as he uses your cunt to soak his fingers— bringing them up to your mouth.

you feel his fingers curl into a ‘come here’ motion, your breath hitching as he pushes against your walls. your eyes roll, grasping his forearm as he speeds up his motions. you cry out and beg for him to slow down, but he doesn’t listen.

“so pretty. look at these lips, let me kiss them.” he brings his lips to yours in an open mouthed makeout, gasping for air as he pulls away with a deep-dimpled smirk. your pussy convulses around his long fingers, as your husband groans in response.

your thighs clamp shut in an attempt to calm yourself down from how aggressively his fingers ruthlessly ravish your cunt. yunho, reaching your cervix from how long his fingers are, takes in a deep breath at how fast he’s been moving. “yu- ohh— fuck! please— i’m cumming, please i’m gonna cum!” you chant begs along with his name as if it were a mantra, feeling the way his hard cock presses into your backside.

“yeah, feels good, doesn’t it, baby? now let me feel you cum on my cock.” he brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking himself dry of your juices. you whimper in need of him inside of you. he lines himself up with your entrance as you’re bent over the counter across from the stove.

he pushes into your soaked pussy deeper, feeling his dick throb ruthlessly inside of you already. lucky for him, he was able to hold himself for almost half an hour on end while he fucks you.

“s-sir, it’s so big! i don’t think i can take y-“ you pull away from his length, feeling like you’re being ripped in half by what feels like 12 inches. he runs his hand along your back from underneath the t-shirt, in an attempt to calm you down and keep you around him.

“tiny girl, you can take me. you’ve let me fuck my cum into you hundreds of times. what’s changed, dollface?” he almost makes you cum from his voice in itself, but you decide to push back while he stays still, waiting for you to adjust to his size for what feels like the millionth time throughout your relationship.

he begins pounding into you at a quicker pace, pulling and tugging at your bare nipples from underneath you. your mouth hangs open as yunho brings his large hand to your throat to wrap itself around it. you grit through your teeth, wishing you could just cum.

you don’t feel like you want to cum, you feel like you’re going to squirt all over his body. “talk to me, baby. what’s it feel like?”

he’s being so fucking annoying and making you focus on anything else other than your orgasm, but you only moan and cry in response.

“i— ‘s too much.” whimpering and shaking in a headlock, you grasp onto yunho’s arm to get a breath of air. from the way his muscular arm wraps itself around your throat makes you cum over, and over already.

yunho gets another quick scent of your lotion and conditioner, making his cock twitch in your cervix.

“i’m almost done baby, give me another one— fuck, you smell so good. the fuck are you doing to me, baby?”

he pounds into you again, harder this time— tugging at your panties to pull you back onto his hips, planting himself deeper in you.

“nngh, oh my god!”

“oh, but i’m the one making you cry like this. give it to me, fucking milk me dry. gonna spill all my cum into your tiny stomach. let me give you my babies, hm? how’s that sound?”

he bends over so his chest is against your back as he nips at your ear. his tongue licks up your tears, planting a kiss on the end of your right eyebrow. his thrusts slow down as he holds you in place to shoot his load right into your baby maker.

“oh my— fuck! yes, so good!”

you cry out in relief that you finally got to spill out your cum onto yunho’s still cock. he lands a sharp slap on your ass before pulling you back up and planting a kiss on your forehead.

“so pretty when you cry for me. should keep a picture in my wallet.”

yunho gets down on his knees before you, licking up your thighs where your juices dried. your fingers run through his pretty softly gelled black hair.

he licks up all of your juices near your heat, using his fingers to push back the cum that threatens to drip from your pussy. your eyes roll to the back of your head as yunho places a kiss on your lower stomach, traveling up beneath your shirt to suck a generous amount of skin on your tit.

“yun— you’re sucking too hard, fuck!” he sucks and bites your nipples as if you were his lifeline,

he slaps the area he sucked on, making you gasp out in surprise. “keep my cum in you until after dinner, i’ll fuck more into you.”

so you sat at the other end of the table with your thighs clenching and unable to think about anything other than your husband pounding a shit ton of babies into you.

————————

🌷🤍🎀

well? dilfyunho anyone?????

[sinfullyrosey]

General!Lilia Vanrouge X GN!Reader

Warnings: Doggy Style, Rough Sex, Creampie, Dom!Lilia

Mild spoilers for the recent chapter because I am very limited on exactly what is happening. I just saw General Lilia and read some of his translated dialog and my brain responded as such.

Fairly short like Lilia

Just imagine General Lilia pulling you aside and away from Sebek and Silver in order to “interrogate” you. He takes you somewhere private and secluded, while Baul serves as a distraction for your Diasomnia companions.

The old fae can’t quite put his finger on it, but you and that other human bring out certain feelings in him. Feelings of deeply rooted affection and the instinctual need to protect. This only makes you all the more suspicious in his eyes as he feels hotter and more primal around you in particular.

He doesn’t know that Silver is to be his adopted son, and you, his future partner. Right now, you both are just suspicious strangers.

You make him feel weak, like he can be open and relaxed around you. He feels like he can let his guard down, despite you being a human and a stranger. It’s as if all his ingrained training just melts away when he’s near you.

And he doesn’t like it.

So, you find yourself pinned down by him, one of his hands holding your arms behind your back, the other around your throat, keeping your upper body pressed into the ground. Your uniform pants are pulled down, ass up, and his hard cock pressing against your tight entrance.

He asks you again who you and your friends are and what you want. And again, you tell him you’re not the enemy and are only here temporarily. And once again, Lilia couldn’t help but to believe your words are true.

You squirm in his hold, unintentionally rubbing your bare ass against his length and making yourself squeak at the familiar sensation against your awaiting hole. The movement makes his dick twitch and him grunt.

You felt so hot and bothered, wanting him to just shove his dick in you like he’s done so before. Despite the current situation at hand and despite your friends being not too far away, you were desperate and this younger, more serious version of Lilia was sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

“L-lilia…” you whimper.

At your needy call, the fae general found his instincts take over and finally slide his whole cock all the way in, stretching out your hole in order to accommodate his full size.

“O-oh! Oohhh~” You moaned, his tip grazing along your spongey sweet spot, making you see stars.

God, he filled you up so nicely.

Lilia didn’t waste anymore time, being just as horny as you, and began a brutal pace. He pounded into you, tight and unprepared, yet not unwelcomed. His thrusts were rough and precise, making you moan and beg incoherently.

Lilia had never been this harsh with his lovemaking before, preferring to be sweet and playful with you. Not like you were complaining about this nice change of pace.

With every sharp thrust of his hips, he brought you closer to your release. His dick reaching so deep into you, you couldn’t help but get lost in the euphoria, eyes rolling back and mouth agape as you drooled out praise and pleas.

Lilia just couldn’t get enough of you acting so adorably needy for him, watching you unravel so eagerly before him. Maybe not all humans were so bad, at least, not you anyway. 

And with one final, harsh thrust, the general releases inside of you while you squeezed around him from your own orgasm. Your vision going white as he fills you up with his creamy cum.

Once he was empty, he slid his now soft member out of you, watching as your hole winked at him, leaking some stray cum. Your face was flush and body disheveled underneath him. Truly a wonderful sight after he conquered your weak human body.

Lilia never cared much for taking any spoils from war, but if you were included in it, then he’ll gladly take you home if it meant getting to fuck you into submission like this again.

[spookyrea]

You Can Wrap Me 'Round Your Finger...

You’re having a crisis trying to pick the perfect moment to tell Loki you love him. Loki is having a crisis, too, except his is decidedly way more embarrassing. Also, your pillows keep disappearing.

(aka - frost giant biology is weird and Loki has to suffer the consequences.)

a companion to Love at First Sight (or should I walk by again?) - can be read on its own!

Chapter 1 / 2 -- read it on AO3 here

Word count: ~5k

Warnings: fem reader; Loki is CLINGY

You could just make out the rosy hue of a late-season snowfall from your vantage point behind the cockpit; it blanketed the city, turning the streets a pale orange where streetlamp light reflected off of a crisp, white coat. For a city that never slept it was strangely quiet; at just past three o’clock in the morning, not even the snow plows were out yet.

Your team was returning from a four day long deployment to San Francisco – a retrieval mission where you were tasked with tracking down and seizing off-world cargo. It had gone over surprisingly well - zero casualties, a handful of actual combat incidents, and a scant few million dollars worth of petty property damage. It did require a proper cargo plane, though, which meant that the team had to rely on a local airplane hangar to get back home. 

(Despite his truly unparalleled complaining, Tony’s choice to put the Avengers tower in the centre of a busy New York metropolitan block meant that there were certain restrictions - namely, the laws of physics - that limited the size of plane they could have on-site).

An unfortunate consequence of it all was that you were freezing. You made a face and folded your arms over your chest; you were dressed for a late February chill, in tac-pants and a knit sweater, not a snowstorm. As romantic as the snow looked, the cold was settling over you like an ache and, coupled with the early-hour and a tender bruise on your left side, your mood was only souring. You cast your eyes to the ceiling and prayed that a car was already waiting for you on the tarmac.

The quin-jet touched down a little roughly; you felt Wanda’s wince without looking at her, but Tony immediately came to her defense. “No, that was because of the snow. Poor visibility. Out of your control. Definitely. I’m passing you with flying colours - hey, get it?”

The loading ramp slid open with a pop and a hiss; your ears felt funny now that you were on solid ground, like they were full of cotton. Natasha tugged on her earlobes, then reached over and tugged on Steve’s too to be a pest. He swatted her away with a scowl. 

Moments later, attendants began to climb the loading ramp in groups of two. You scowled. They were at least dressed for the weather.

You pulled your hands from between your thighs, trying to focus on anything other than the way your core muscles were tensed against the chill, and thanked whatever powers-that-be that you could finally go home. You were half way through unbuckling your seatbelt when an automated voice warned you from overhead not to leave your seats.

“Sorry, everyone,” Tony called. “Safety or whatever. All cargo has to be removed before we can get up. Just a few minutes. You’ll be warm and in bed in no time.”

You sank low in your seat, arms crossed, and focused very hard on glaring a hole in the quid-jet floor. Who knows -- maybe you could spontaneously develop heat-vision. It would look good on your resume.

“I was beginning to think I’d have to go collect you myself.”

Crossing the jet in long strides, tall enough to peer over most attendants' heads, was Loki. Your boyfriend.  

Dressed in civilian clothing, Loki was something resplendent. His pale skin, warmed by the cool twilight haze outside, was a stark relief against his mop of riotous dark curls, and his green eyes caught the light in a mysterious way. A pair of neatly-polished shoes rattled the grated floor as he approached, weaving in between attendants, until he came to a stop at your side. With a wave of his hand, Loki manifested a fine wool cloak to drape over your shoulders. His long fingers drew the golden hook at the collar through its eye and smoothed it flat against your sternum.

“Can’t have you freezing to death,” he murmured.

You thumbed the stitching along the hem of the cloak; the thread was such a dark green that it almost blended in with the black fabric. “I would have been fine.”

“Well, if you’re too warm, I can certainly help cool you down.” Loki slid into the seat next to you and blew an icy breath across your neck, making you shriek. The grin he shot you was lecherous - truly vile , you mumbled - and sent a hot thrill from your nape to the pit of your belly.

“You are evil.”

“You should have me locked up.”

You pulled the collar of his cloak up to your face, pressing the velvety edge to your mouth. “I’m putting in a request immediately.”

Loki offered you his wrists, that sticky grin growing even wider. “Why wait?”

A flash of green seidr crackled suggestively, implying where a set of handcuffs might bind him. Your eyes snapped to the whirlwind of snow outside, cheeks hot. 

Tony gagged obnoxiously from the pilot’s seat. The comms system crackled to life overhead. “Get a room, you two.”

Loki scoffed, mock affront dripping from his lazy posture, and poured himself over your shoulders, even though the armrest was in the way and was without a doubt digging into his side. He plucked your hand from your lap, lacing his fingers through yours and drawing it up to his mouth. His lips idly traced the edge of his signet ring on your thumb while you watched the cargo roll by, box by painstaking box. 

You had only been dating for a few months, having finally confessed your mutual attraction after a tumultuous, alcohol-fueled evening together. It turned out that the entire time that you had been harbouring a monumental crush on Loki, he’d been just as gone on you - a fact you hadn’t known, since his idea of showing interest was to give you shiny rocks and hand feed you foods, and yours was whatever Tinder had going on.

Once the two of you had gotten over your - admittedly pretty embarrassing - communication barrier, you fell into a nice routine. You found that you were more confident without the weight of an unrequited crush looming over you, and Loki was eons more likely to finish his paperwork as long as you were there to play footsie with him under the table and let him ramble every fifteen minutes. He still flirted with everything that moved, but you recognized the nuances of his affection now. He never touched anyone, but he hung off of you like a limpet; he might smile and schmooze at parties, all lecherous grins and innuendo, but his eyes always sought your approval out after every punchline; and he only ever called you pet.

(And on one occasion, master. But that was a different story.)

Once the attendants had unloaded the last crate into a van, Tony gave everyone the OK to exit the plane without worrying about being trampled. Steve was the first out, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Natasha, Bruce and Tony were quick to follow, all stumbling into the first car they saw, while Wanda stayed and fiddled with a few switches from the co-pilot’s seat. Under Natasha’s suggestion, she was trying to get a proper license to fly - mostly for paperwork-related reasons, because the insurance company charged a fortune every time an Avenger ‘borrowed’ a vehicle without permission.

Before you could protest, Loki scooped up the duffle bag at your feet and started down the loading ramp into the storm, leaving you and Wanda as the last on the plane. You rapped your knuckles against the ceiling and sent her a questioning look. Decked out in her oversized headset and a fuzzy quarter-zip sweater Tony had commissioned for the team, she looked right at home behind the quinjet control panel. She shot you a thumbs up, gesturing for you to go on ahead. You blew her a quick kiss and then hurried after Loki, fighting to keep the cloak shut against the blustering wind. 

Wet snow crept under your pant legs, clinging unpleasantly to the strip of skin left exposed by your socks. Loki had already packed your belongings away in the farthest van and was waiting by the back door, held open for you. You jogged - as best you could given the weather - the last couple of feet and slid into the backseat.

Loki hauled himself through the other door a moment later. The driver - a bored looking man with a dark beard and greying temples - pushed the stick shift into gear and turned off the runway. 

You shivered, brushing clumps of snow off your ankles. Dark stains were climbing up your shins where the it bled through. Loki leaned across the seat to help you, running a shimmering hand over your shoulders to dry you off. 

Mostly satisfied, you sank back and watched the city roll by, the empty streets cast in shades of neon as the snow reflected billboards and store displays. It was a beautiful sight, the kind of morning you would normally want to commit to memory for the postcard-ness of it all – except you were exhausted and a little cranky, so you turned your eyes to stare at your boyfriend instead. 

(You made it a full three minutes without looking at him - a new personal record.)

You admired him the way an owner might creep up on a beloved pet in a sunbeam; you didn’t want him to know you were looking, in case he spooked and moved, so you kept your cheek turned and watched from the corner of your eye. He was deep in thought, luckily, which gave you some leeway to admire his profile. There was something decidedly boyish about him when he was relaxed, a softness you so rarely got to see; it made you want to kiss every inch of him just for the sake of kissing.

He drew an aimless pattern with his thumb across your upper thigh. His pinky finger was stretched comically far from the rest of his fingers, as if willing your hand to reach out and intertwine but too stubborn to ask. For a silly, love-sick moment you were overwhelmed by the need to tell him you loved him - and then your brain caught up with your heart and bludgeoned it into submission.

The knowledge that you were in love with him and the nebulous un-knowledge of how he felt about you was starting to wear on your nerves. You understood logically that he liked you - enough to court you, under different circumstances - but what you felt when you looked at him was a hurricane of emotions, a self-sustaining cycle of hot air up and cold air down, whipping the sea so hard that it formed storm clouds unbidden by the laws of nature. You knew that he felt things differently, had lived a dozen of your lifetimes no doubt filled with pretty things. Would this change your relationship? Would you breaking that last barrier make yourself less desirable somehow?

You wanted to tell him. To share the inherent joy of being in love.

It just scared you to death, was all. No big deal.

His mouth twitched; his eyes caught yours in the window’s reflection as the car entered the dark parking garage. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you squeaked. “Just tired. Sorry.”

The car dropped you off in the underground parking of the Avengers’ tower. Yours was the last of the convoy, so you and Loki slipped out of the car into an empty lot where only a few strangler attendants were unloading and taking inventory. You held one corner of the cloak in your hand, worried it would drag through the slush puddles tracked in by the cars. Loki’s hand came to rest on the small of your back while he hoisted your bag over his shoulder.

“After you, pet.”

You led him to the elevators, where you leaned against the railing and let your eyes slip shut. Loki selected a floor and then joined you, draping one arm around your shoulders to draw you into his chest.

You leaned your cheek against him. Now that you were home, the full weight of your exhaustion was bearing down on you. The pattern of knots Loki was drawing across the back of your neck wasn’t helping. You were suddenly grateful for the support of Loki’s body under you, solid and steady; you slid your hands under his jacket to hug him… then paused.

Something was… off.

You pulled back and gave him a once-over. Nothing outwardly betrayed him as different. He wore a pair of simple, straight-leg tac-pants and a white t-shirt under a brown vintage-style bomber he’d no doubt swiped from Bucky or Steve; the cut of each item flattered his narrow build exceedingly, a fact you knew he was aware of by the way he kept glancing at you during your drive home. His hair was wild and unstyled in a hopelessly endearing way - a look he’d taken to wearing often after you made a passing comment about liking it that way.

The jacket though… 

He filled it out well. Too well.

“You’re bigger,” you blurted out.

Loki raised one eyebrow in a perfect, mocking arch. “Excuse me?”

“You’re,” you waved your hand up and down his body, “bigger. Like, broader. Have you been working out more?”

Loki glanced down at his chest. “No?”

You pushed the jacket off his shoulders to get a better look at him. The white cotton of his t-shirt puckered across his chest, wrinkling under the strain of an extra inch or so of muscle, and the side seams were pulled so taut that you could see the thread. You poked him right over his heart, admiring a new, plush firmness.

The tips of Loki’s fingers wormed under your shirt. His smile took on a wicked edge as he soaked in the sight of you in front of him. When you shot him a look, he screwed his face up into something resembling innocence. “If you’re going to ogle me like a piece of meat, I think it’s only fair that I get to admire you, too.”

You hummed and slipped his jacket back into place, smoothing your palms down his chest to rest just above his waistband. Loki’s evilness washed away to something sticky sweet; he slid his hand up between your shoulder blades, his fingers splayed wide to admire the shift of your muscles under your skin. His other hand twined with yours to lift your knuckles to his mouth.

The doors slid open on his floor. With a flourish and a fleeting kiss, Loki stooped to collect your bag. His free hand trailed behind him, outstretched for you to take, but you lingered with a smile and a shake of your head.

He came to an abrupt stop under the threshold, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. He wiggled his fingers, as if you were refusing because you’d missed his offer to hold your hand. “What are you doing?”

You pressed the button for your floor. “I’m going back to my room.”

“No,” Loki whined, his hand still outstretched. “Please, darling.”

You rolled your eyes and attempted to pull your bag from his hands. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Loki.”

“But you’ll miss out on my new, broader body. Your bed will seem extra empty now in comparison. You should just skip the trouble.”

“Loki, I’m tired. And all my stuff is in my apartment.”

“You can wear something of mine.” Loki, exasperated, threw your duffle down in front of the elevator door and cornered you against the railing.

“Just for the night, Loki.” You pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth, one he didn’t return… and then seemed to regret, because only a heartbeat after you pulled away he was on you, cupping your face between both his hands and swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You huffed out a sigh and pushed on his stomach; he managed to get two more kisses in before you finally won and put some distance between the two of you.

In a perfectly Loki-fashion, Loki sulked. He stomped out of the elevator and then turned to you, his hands firmly on his hips. “You vex me. Understand that I will be taking you out for breakfast tomorrow, no exceptions.”

You hooked a finger through your bag strap, dragging it back into the elevator. “Make it a late lunch. If you wake me before noon there will be punishments.”

Loki’s eyes twitched with the briefest hint of a smirk. His voice dropped an octave. “Promise?”

The elevator doors slid shut on his leering expression. You spent the rest of the ride valiantly trying not to fall asleep. The low hum of its engine was terribly soothing.

When the elevator opened to your floor, you weren’t surprised to find PAL - Tony’s Paperwork Assistant Lite robot, who usually helped organize and retrieve files in the office downstairs - waiting by your door. Measuring just under two feet tall, PAL could navigate the halls and elevator just fine as long as FRIDAY was willing to unlock the doors for him, but your manual lock-and-key front door was an insurmountable obstacle for him.

“How long have you been here, buddy?”

As soon as he recognized you, PAL trilled with delight. His metal chassis vibrated with the effort of waiting by the door. He rounded your feet while you dug through your pants pockets for your keys, narrating the week to you in his language of whistles and beeps, and raised his tiny paper tray, straining to try and take over the weight of your duffle bag. You huffed out a laugh, leaning ever-so-slightly to the side to set it on him but not to smother; the LED display on his face narrowed, as if he was concentrating very hard on not dropping your belongings.

As soon as you were through the door, you threw your bag by your shoe rack and toed off your sneakers, leaving them in a pile on the floor. PAL set to straightening them, sweeping them to the wall with his tray ahead like a snowplow. He tried to do the same to your bag, but his treads could only pinwheel against the weight. 

You stood in the living room for a moment and folded Loki’s cloak over the back of your couch, contemplating skipping your whole routine and going straight to bed. You settled on missing a shower but washing your face - everything else could be dealt with in the morning. You made your way to your bedroom in search of clean pyjamas, then continued to the bathroom to brush your teeth, PAL close on your heels.

You had just exited the bathroom when someone knocked on your door. You tossed your washcloth into a bin on top of your washing machine and rounded the hallway to answer it.

Loki stood on the other side, dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and an oversized AVENGERS TACTICAL UNIT t-shirt. “Please, darling.”

“You have your own bed.”

“It’s too big without you.”

“You’re even bigger now. You’ll fill it out just fine.”

Loki stepped into your personal space; he hadn’t even bothered putting on shoes, wearing only a pair of grey wool socks. His hands curled around your hips as if to steady himself. “I’m afraid of the dark?”

“Try again.”

“My room was taken over by starving wolves while you were away and I only narrowly escaped.”

You sighed. You had to admit that it felt nice to have him in your arms like this, even if you knew giving in would only encourage him to lord over more of your time. “Absolutely no funny business, Loki.”

An incandescent grin split his face in two. He swooped in to kiss your cheek, then sauntered off toward your bedroom. You locked the door, made sure PAL was settled into his charging dock for the night, and then followed after your boyfriend.

You found him curled up on the side of your bed closest to the door, facing you, and holding one of your pillows hostage. He buried his nose in the fabric, a pleased sound rumbling through his chest, and watched you approach.

You swatted at him, not even bothering to round the bed, opting to crawl over his body to reach your side. Loki unfolded, abandoning the pillow to gather you up instead; his arms circled your waist and tugged you into his chest in an awkward collision of limbs, legs tangling in the comforter. You squirmed while he maneuvered you to his liking, tucking the length of his body around you tightly and nosing at the junction of your throat and jaw.

“Loki,” you chided. “I said no funny business.”

“This is a perfectly serious matter.” Loki untangled himself from you just long enough to pull the comforter over your body before sliding in beside you. One hand returned to your neck, tipping your chin back so he could press a loud kiss to your pulse point. “You don’t have enough blankets.

You stifled a yawn and pushed him to lie on his back, draping one leg over his. “Why’s that?”

Loki continued to rearrange the sheets with a scowl. “You’ll freeze to death under this thing.”

Already, your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. You hummed. “I feel like I had more pillows than this. Maybe I’ve finally lost it.”

A small voice in the back of your mind whispered that you loved him, you loved him, you loved- 

You settled with tracing a heart over his collarbone, over and over until you fell asleep.

You woke to the sound of FRIDAY’s voice through the PA system. “Mr. Laufeyson, your presence is being requested on the thirty-first floor. Mission briefing in fifteen minutes.”

You peeled your eyes open. You could tell by the slant of the sun through the curtains that it was past noon - a small victory, really. Behind you, Loki burrowed deeper into the fabric of your t-shirt, nosing along the ladder of your spine while groaning his displeasure. He drew the comforter around you tightly, trapping you under one muscular arm with a vengeance.

His voice, still deep and rasping with the last threads of sleep, rumbled through his chest. “Good morning, dear heart.”

Lovesickness bloomed like a bruise in your chest. “Morning,” you said, instead of I love you. 

You half-turned and pecked the side of his mouth before sitting up. Loki made an affronted sound and reeled you back in by a fistful of your t-shirt, sending you sprawling halfway across his chest. He kissed you soundly, licking into your mouth with a low groan.

You blinked up at him once he pulled back. “Um. Good morning?”

“I was a perfect gentleman all night and you reward me with a peck. ” A scowl twisted his pretty face, petulance dripping off him in droves. His hands slid over your ass possessively, kneading the soft flesh with purpose. “I should have you flogged for that. Put over my knee.”

“Patience is a virtue,” you mumbled.

“Wrong faith, pet. Now- wait, where are you going?”

You paused, halfway through peeling yourself out of his arms (again), and pointed at the ceiling where FRIDAY’s voice reminded him that he was needed in thirteen minutes, Mr. Laufeyson . ”You have a debrief and I have a date with my coffee pot.”

“Not after you so callously rejected me. Come down here and make it up to me.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned in to kiss him again, slowly but deeply. Loki chased your mouth when you pulled away, frustration evident in the heavy way he sighed. Lifting you by the hips, Loki deposited you in his lap and held you there, digging his thumbs into the plush of your sides. Using the resulting sigh to his advantage, Loki cradled the back of your head and bullied your lips apart, pulling a sticky kind of want from your chest, leaving you dizzy and aching all at once.

When FRIDAY gave him a five minute warning, blinking the emergency strobe in the corner of your bedroom for good measure, Loki finally drew himself away and let you catch your breath. His head tipped back against the pillow, his throat on display in a long submissive line, and his shiny mouth parted in a groan. He mumbled something in his mother tongue, your name nestled right between lilting consonants.

“What was that?”

“Nothing important.” 

“One day you’ll teach me what you’re saying,” you grumbled. “And then I’ll know all your secrets.”

Loki lazily arched one brow, smothered behind a curtain of riotous curls. “Is that so? All of them?”

“Mhm. All of it. Every last one.”

You traced a finger down the line of his nose. If ever there was a moment to tell him you loved him, now was probably it. Here, on the laziest of saccharine mornings, while the city outside was muted by a thick wall of snow and you were both ignoring responsibility to enjoy the other. And yet– doubt wove its way through your ribs, tying knots in the hollow spaces in your chest; you rolled off of him and sat up, pulling the hem of your shirt down where it had ridden up. “FRIDAY is going to bring the appliances to life if you don’t leave soon.”

Loki poised himself on the edge of your bed and snagged your wrist when you rounded it. There was nothing to the gesture – no comment, no complaint to make. He held onto you for the simple joy of owning a second of your time.

As if one cue, PAL rolled through your bedroom door, his little paper tray aloft. He chirped in greeting, then ran head-long into one of the bed frame’s legs. 

You tamped down a lingering disappointment. Later. You would tell him later.

“Pest.” Loki swatted at PAL, who had taken to repeatedly bumping into Loki’s shins to convince him to get dressed. You gasped scoldingly when Loki shot a warning green spark in the robot’s direction; PAL, undeterred, narrowed the LED display on his face and wound up, knocking the god extra hard for good measure.

“PAL, go sit in the living room. You can pick something on Netflix for us to watch. And you,” you pointed a finger at Loki. “No threatening the robot.”

You left him to dig through your closet for something to wear; the far corner was steadily developing a growth of black, Loki-sized clothing. While you busied yourself with the coffee machine, PAL chirped at the TV and then parked himself in front of your window with his face pressed against the glass. Once your coffee was poured, you left out the gaudiest mug you owned – chipped, declaring you were Thor’s Number One Fan!, which Loki hated with a burning passion – and a spoon for when he joined you.

PAL beeped distractedly when you joined him by the window; there was a tender tilt to his little head as he gazed out, studying a pair of birds who had built their nest just below. His body shuddered, as if sighing, and his LED display blinked one long, slow blink.

It started as a tiny bundle of twigs a few weeks ago, trembling in the wind but shielded from the elements in the nook between a metal support beam and the windowsill. Then a few pieces of long grass were woven in, and a handful of fresh green branches, still flexible in their newness. They must have finished their home while you were away; two mates were deep under the spell of a snowy Sunday morning, bundled up under a layer of down and straw.

A solid pair of arms wound around your waist, drawing you backwards into an equally solid chest. Loki’s hair was damp where he’d run wet fingers through it, no doubt trying to contain the curling mess of bed head he woke up with every morning. It clung to your cheek a bit, the crown of his head pressed up to your face while he nosed at your shoulder. “Oh, hi– hello.” 

“I don’t want to go,” Loki whined. He rocked you gently from side to side, resting his cheek against yours. “We should feign illness. It’s dreadfully contagious. And then we can—” a kiss, just under your ear, “stay in bed all day. To recuperate, of course.”

“As lovely as that sounds, you really do have to go. You know how Steve gets when you’re late.”

“As soon as I can I’m coming right back up here to ravish you. That’s a promise.”

PAL cooed, excited by some small movement from the birds. One of them had woken to preen the other, sweetly running its beak through its feathers.

“Look at their little nest. How cozy,” you said quietly. “Maybe that’s where my pillows went.”

The longer Loki considered the birds, the deeper the furrow between his brows grew. He seemed to be having a revelation of some kind. “I… have to speak with my brother about something.”

“Something wrong?”

“No. Just a thought. Don’t worry.”

PAL rolled backwards into Loki’s shins with purpose. He chirped sternly, as if chiding Loki in his machine-speak, who, in return, toed PAL’s chassis very gently in warning. 

You laughed. “He’s coming, buddy.”

“Actually,” Loki muttered darkly. “On the contrary. My problem is that I’m not-”. You suspected the next words out of his mouth would have been incredibly inappropriate, had PAL not rolled pointedly over Loki’s foot.

You exited the elevator on the 31st floor a few hours later. A far cry from Tony’s party, the room was empty and mostly tucked away; chairs were stacked on tables and the bar was cleared of bottles; bright, unfiltered sunlight poured through the enormous lofted windows, allowing you an unobstructed view of the skyline and the meandering streets below. A couple of interns were having lunch on one of the couches in the corner. They must have been part of the newest wave of college recruits, because their eyes lingered in a starstruck kind of way that made you feel a little embarrassed. 

You shot them a playful salute. Both startled, turning away in a rush.

Oh well. You couldn’t look Steve in the eyes for your first week on the team– you got it.

You found Loki in the farthest conference room, sat at the end of a long, round table between Steve and Bucky. You watched their fingers walk across its surface, handing a piece of folded paper between the three of them. Steve wrote something while the speaker was turned, then slipped his hand surreptitiously under the desk. Bucky coughed; from your vantage point, you saw his and Loki’s fingers unravel the note so they could read it discreetly.

Some executive droned at the other end, gesturing to a dreadfully laid out powerpoint. Matching manilla folders were spread open in front of the agents; you had a sneaking suspicion that whatever the speaker was saying was also written down and could have been read in half the time this meeting took.

You tried to catch Loki’s eye through the window but his attention was aimless, lost in some faraway place. A thought came to you; you rearranged your belongings to clasp your hands in front of you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you prayed - albeit poorly - to the god sitting a few dozen feet from you.

You peeked through one eye to see if it had worked; through the glass, Loki shot you a private smile, so sweet that it was practically a kiss. You waved him over, jerking your head toward the conference room door.

You watched him interrupt the speaker, his lazy posture rolling forward until he was sitting straight. Steve and Bucky nodded sagely, immediately following whatever story Loki had spun. Bucky pointed exaggeratedly to his metal arm, rubbing it as if it was tense.

The door opened and Loki slipped out into the hallway to meet you. Your grin bordered on becoming painful. Both your hands were folded behind your back. “You didn’t have breakfast this morning.”

“Observant.” He plucked a loose thread from the collar of your shirt and flicked it aside before leaning in for a quick kiss. You decided, even if you couldn’t say you love him, to treat him no less lovingly; you chased him when he pulled away, pressing your lips to his jaw. His grin was dazed, like you’d turned him dumb with the simple act of wanting him. “You’re even lovelier than the last time I saw you.

“I brought you something. Pick a hand.”

Loki walked his fingers down your left arm and pulled; you let him have it, your palm open – and empty. “Oh, that’s too bad.”

“Hmm. Terrible luck.” His knuckles dragged down the length of your other arm. In that hand was a take-out container from your favourite coffee shop, defaced with a smiley-face and cute message from the barista, Yvonne. It was his usual order, nothing special, but when his eyes tipped up to meet yours, there was something uncharacteristically open about his expression, a shy edge to the tilt of his smile. He leaned in and kissed you, soft and sweet like honey. “Do you think they’ll notice if I’m gone much longer?”

“Absolutely.”

Loki groaned, tipping your hips until they were flush to his. He kissed you hard enough to bend you backwards.

“I’ll come by your apartment tonight and we can get dinner?”

His fingers stilled where they were kneading your sides. “Yes, about that. Let’s… Let’s stay at yours tonight. The wolves that chased me out last night haven’t been evicted yet.”

Loki's answer confused you – he’d spent the entire night complaining that you wouldn’t go back to his room, then insulting your blanket choices, and now he wanted to stay at yours? “Ok. That works. Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” he said quickly. “Perfectly fine. You’re so tired though. Easier to stay where your belongings are. I won’t– won’t make you commute.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Behave today.”

Another groan, this one pitched low; Loki traced your cheek with his nose. “I love it when you order me around.”

“Loki! Be-have.”

“Just one more, nymph. To tide me over.”

You sent him off with three more kisses. You were starting to wonder if you were too lenient with him; he delighted in taking advantage of your weakness to weasel more affection out of you. He returned to the conference room with his little box, opened in his lap under the table. When Bucky made to swipe a grape, Loki flicked his hand away with a glare.

When you returned to your room that evening, with Loki hot on your heels and his hands already halfway up your shirt, you were baffled to find your bed down one more pillow.

“PAL, did you do this?”

He shook his little head, LED screen blinking wide doe eyes up at you. It was the strangest thing, but when he thought you weren’t looking, you could have sworn that he shot Loki a pointed look.

[ozai-the-bonsai]

Like Lovers Do

| Part 1 | Part 2 |

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: You and Daemon would dream about marrying each other before both of you became victims of political marriages, very much against your wills: he was sent to the Vale and you to the Riverlands. However, when your lord husband passes away, you return to King’s Landing, only to find out that your childhood sweetheart is now wearing a crown of his own.

A/N: Once again, I wrote too much - this is a long chapter (4.3k)! And full of smut and hot daddy Daemon... And thus concludes this mini-story (which was supposed to be a one-shot but anyways)... Hope you enjoy it! Again, you can always send me Daemon x reader requests!

Warnings: I am not a native English speaker, strong language, smut, strong smut (basically the whole chapter is a big bad smut)

Taglist: @throughgoeshamilton @mirandastuckinthe80s @xicesam @mariamyousef702 @eddiemadmunson @dont-try-pesticide @sweetybuzz25 @hc-geralt-23 @schniiipsel @ttae-yong @syrma-sensei @asiludida164 @kaitieskidmore1 @irmavanity-blog @pax-2735 @trickrtreatart @shanzeyxsyed @random-human02 @scarwicht @xcallmetaniax @instabull @niiight-dreamerrrr @my-dark-prince @stargaryenx @abaker74 @babywolff @sonnensplitter @bi-narystars @softtina @sadmonke @avalyaaa

Your feelings about dining with Daemon were complicated.

On the one side, your heart yearned to spend time with him, rekindle the bond you once shared with him and perhaps find solace in his embrace once again. However, the other part of you seethed with anger, unwilling to forgive him for disappearing from your life.

Oh, and not to mention that he was still married to Lady Rhea Royce, even though one could scarcely call it a marriage.

"I shall regret this night," you muttered to yourself as your handmaid (you had offered to bring her to King's Landing with you when you left the Riverlands) assisted you in getting ready for the evening.

In these thirty years of life, regrets have been my constant companions; what is one more to add to the tally?

"The Prince has undoubtedly ensured a feast fit for royalty, my Lady," Elyse told you while fastening the laces of your crimson dress, fashioned from the finest sateen.

You chuckled softly at the fact of how naive she was. "Oh, sweet Elyse, the dinner itself is the least of my worries." You spoke with a soft voice, only to earn a confused look from Elyse. "Don't you remember when I told you that the Prince and I go way back?"

"Oh, right - you grew up together, didn't you?" She asked, earning a nod from you. After finishing adjusting your dress, Elyse stepped away, taking a good look at you. "You are going to sweep the Prince off of his feet with your beauty, my Lady."

A soft smile formed on your lips. "You have done a wonderful job, Elyse, as always." You told her, causing Elyse's blue eyes to shine. "You may take your leave for today, darling - the hour will probably be quite late when I retire tonight."

After Elyse left you alone in your chambers, you took a deep breath and stood in front of the mirror for a while, lost in that vast ocean of thoughts circling your mind like crazy. You realised that you were scared to get the answers to those questions that had plagued your nights ever since you had left King's Landing.

Nevertheless, you deserved to know why - why he hadn't done anything to fight for you and why he had simply disappeared into the ghosts of your past.

Slowly, your feet took you to Prince Daemon's chambers. The corridors of the Red Keep were cold, the wind inside was giving you goosebumps. The white-cloak keeping watch in front of Daemon's chambers nodded at you upon seeing you and slightly opened the door to inform Daemon about your presence. A few seconds later, you were standing inside, your back facing the closed doors, a large dining table in front of you.

Daemon stood up from his seat and walked towards you, he was all in black except for the red linings on the sleeves of his black tunic. You couldn't help yourself but admire how unearthly he looked - the contrast between his silver hair, pale skin and black clothing added another layer of charm to his beauty.

He was ageing like Dornish wine.

For the third time that same day, the Prince brought your hand to his lips. "You are a feast for the eyes, my Lady."

You felt heat rushing to your face. Truth be told, you couldn't recall the last time you were showered with this many compliments in mere hours. "You flatter me, my Prince."

Daemon pointed at the table with his head. "Shall we?" He asked, earning a nod from you. You sat at the opposite ends of the giant table, which was adorned with all kinds of food: from roast duck to lemon cakes and the finest of wines...

"You remembered," you said, you didn't expect Daemon to remember how much you loved the taste of roast duck.

The Prince chuckled softly as he slowly filled his plate. "It pains me to hear your disbelief in me, love."

You raised a challenging eyebrow at him while you reached for the wine. "Forgive me for not expecting you to remember small details about me, my Prince," you spoke with a sarcastic tone, "I believed you had forgotten that I existed."

Daemon licked his lower lip, you could see that he kind of enjoyed you biting him back at every chance you got; however, you knew very well that you had to thread carefully with his patience. "You would be surprised at how much I still remember, love," Daemon spoke with a deep voice before taking a sip from his wine. "Are you planning on staying in King's Landing?"

You hated the way he changed the subject whenever he felt himself cornered.

"As long as my father holds his position as the Master of Coins, yes, I shall remain in King's Landing." You responded while taking a piece of the roast duck into your mouth. "Mmh, Daemon, this is exquisite!"

A small laughter left the Prince's lips, causing your heart to skip a beat.

"I gather roast duck is not one of the Riverlands' specialities," he muttered. "Are you planning on remarrying?" He asked, he seemed genuinely curious. Since your mouth was full, you shook your head in a short response as you swallowed your food. "A woman such as yourself does surely miss the marriage bed."

Upon hearing his last remark, you let out a loud laughter unfitting of a lady of your station; however, you didn't feel the need to force yourself to follow all those formalities when you were with Daemon - you never did.

The Prince was apparently having difficulty understanding what you found so amusing in his words.

"Miss the marriage bed?" You repeated Daemon's words. "Oh, Daemon, the day I miss my marriage bed, will be the day I ask you to burn me alive with Caraxes."

The Prince clicked his tongue. "Naive of you to think I would allow you to give voice to such absurdity, love."

Once again, you raised an eyebrow. "Absurdity, is it now?" You shook your head in disbelief as you brought your cup to your lips. "You have no idea what absurdity is, my Prince." After drinking all the remaining wine in your glass at once, you placed the cup back onto the table, your eyes finding Daemon's questioning ones. "When the lady wife of a wealthy lord becomes nothing more than a highborn whore, that is an absurdity."

"I believe your words need more elaborating, my Lady." Daemon spoke, his purple eyes moving slowly from your eyes to your lips and to your cleavage, only to return to your eyes once more. You felt warmness spreading through your body, his intense gaze was enough to make you feel dizzy.

Taking a deep breath, you fixed your gaze on the sky visible through the window, which was becoming darker by the minute. "I have told you earlier that my late husband was not able to father any children," you said, you could see from the corner of your eye that Daemon nodded at your words. "When he realised he needn't have taken me wife, he stopped seeing me except to bed me."

Slowly, you turned back to Daemon - there was something else inside his deep, purple eyes that resembled... fury?

"I became one of his whores," you spat out the words as if they were venom. "But I was the noble, wealthy, lady whore whom he could exclusively have for himself." As you spoke, the feelings of anger and disgust you had been trying so hard to suppress suddenly surfaced, making you lose control. "My only duty for the last decade was to let myself get fucked by a fat, old man over and over again! I couldn't even mother any children so that this fucked up fate of mine would be worth it all..."

You saw Daemon clenching his fists and chin in anger but you couldn't understand the subject of his fury - above all, he was the one who had done absolutely nothing to avoid both of your damned fates.

"Why, Daemon?" You asked as you pushed your seat back loudly. "Why didn't you do anything for us? Why did you leave me alone to drown in my nightmares?!"

Your voice was getting louder.

The Prince responded with an indifferent voice, absent from any kind of emotion, which only embittered you. "We were both married to different people, our destinies took us to separate places," he responded, causing your eyes to widen with shock. "It wouldn't have changed anything."

"Is this your excuse for leaving all the messages I have sent unreturned?" You asked with a disappointed tone as you started pacing up and down in his chambers. "You... You are unbelievable, Daemon!"

"Thread carefully," the Prince spoke with a warning tone.

However, at that moment, you couldn't have cared less - you wanted to trample on Daemon's damn boundaries until they were nothing but meaningless lines.

"You could have said something, done something - anything! But instead, you stood by as we were both shipped off - and to what end? You haven't spent a single night with your wife in years!" You shook your head in disbelief as you stopped walking to take a look at Daemon, who looked like an angry dragon that was about to throw fire any moment now.

"You didn't even say goodbye to me."

Then, everything happened all of a sudden.

Daemon roared in fury as he threw his plate (and multiple other plates) off the table, which ended up loudly crashing the nearby wall and falling down onto the floor, causing you to slightly jump in your place. The next thing you knew, Daemon was standing right in front of you, his right hand holding you by your chin with a firm grip, his fingers digging into the flesh of your skin.

"Because it hurt," the words left his lips silently but the power they held was immense. "I didn't bid you farewell, I didn't return to any of your ravens because thinking about you hurt me. So. Fucking. Much."

When he finally let you go, you were able to speak, though your voice sounded weak. "Then why?" you asked. "Why didn't you do anything?"

The Prince let out a scoff. "Because I am the prince, you believe I can do anything, change anything but it is not as simple as that, my Lady." As he spoke, you realised how close he was standing to you and how his figure towered over yours. You could still feel the fury circling him but he was trying to calm himself down. "There were arrangements done far beyond my reach, my station and yet you still dare blame me!"

You raised your hands in the air as you talked. "You talk as if you have tried to change the King's mind back then, my Prince." You spoke with a bitter tone, your index finger pressing against his chest as you hissed between your gritted teeth. "We both know that you did nothing of sorts - you decided it was better to bury your sorrows in some whores!"

Daemon aggressively grabbed you by your wrist, his hold was so firm it made you flinch as you felt the pain shooting through your body. "What would you have had me do?" Daemon's strong voice thundered in his chambers, causing you to flinch another time. "Take you to Dragonstone and make you my wife? Defy the King's will?"

There was a small silence for a brief moment, you could hear Daemon taking deep breaths as he waited for an answer. However, the single word leaving your lips was obviously not the answer he was waiting for.

"Yes."

It was hard to decipher the dark look in Daemon's eyes - it carried hints of anger and fury but also lust and yearning.

As the Prince slowly let your wrist go, you placed both your hands against his chest, his warm breath licking your forehead as you looked up. "Even now, I would have you take me to Dragonstone on dragonback," your voice was seductive, not caring to hide the desires spilling out with every word. "And marry me in the tradition of your House."

Daemon's breaths were getting deeper by the second, he raised his right hand to caress your face with the side of his finger as the other hand rested on your hip. "Such temptation," he spoke with a low tone while his fingers trailed down to your neck. His touch sent shivers down your spine, leaving you yearning for more. "And so eager to be mine, are you not, love?"

You wanted him to do unspeakable things to you.

At that moment, all you could think about was how it would feel to let him fuck you into oblivion - until you couldn't even remember your own name anymore.

"Please, Daemon," your voice was a mere whisper as the Prince leaned into you, his soft lips brushing your neck. "I have waited long enough."

His warm breath against the sensitive skin of your neck made you heave a sigh, which was followed by his lips leaving a small kiss. "For what?" He spoke against your neck. "Say it."

"For you to claim me as yours."

The next thing you knew - Daemon's lips rested against yours.

His lips were hungry, kissing you with so much passion as if he was trying to take away your next breath. Little did you notice that his hands were around your neck, holding your head to allow him to deepen the kiss.

You let out a small whine as Daemon slid his tongue into your mouth, claiming it as his, while pressing his body hard against yours. The heat that took over your body was insane - you felt it getting hotter and hotter with his every touch, with each brush of his lips against yours.

"Daemon," you breathed out his name when he left your lips to kiss your neck while backing you back up until your back ended up touching the cold walls.

A moan left your lips when he sucked on the skin. "Mmh?"

"You have too many layers on."

The naughty smirk he carried - you could swear it alone could make you reach your high right then and there - as he took off his cloak and his tunic was something you wanted to carve into your mind, never to forget. Before he could throw away the clothing, your hands started stroking his bare chest, moving to his well-built arms.

He looked like a Valyrian God.

"So eager, now, are you not?" Daemon spoke against your lips, his tone husky. His hands were wandering around your body, hungrily, making you almost forget how to breathe. "Let me show you how it feels to be fucked befittingly, my Lady."

His fingers quickly found their way under the skirts of your crimson dress, trailing up to the source of heat in your body. Upon feeling how wet you already were, the cocky smirk took its place on Daemon's lips.

You let out a deep breath as Daemon slid two of his fingers inside you, his other hand was holding you firmly from your waist. "I have just started touching you, and yet," the moan escaping your lips echoed in the room when Daemon curled his fingers inside you, "you are fucking wet."

Well, you were not the only person in the room literally aching to fuck - Daemon's trousers were failing to hide his hardness.

"You are one to talk, my Pri..." Before you could finish your words, Daemon found that sweet spot in you, making you cry out in bliss. When his thumb also joined his little game, circling over your clit, your only solution for silencing your cries of pleasure was placing your left hand over your mouth.

However, when Daemon suddenly stopped both stimulations, you were left confused.

Slowly, the Prince removed your hand from over your mouth. "You are not to silence anything, love." He spoke as he began to move all his fingers once again. Your hold against his arms tightened.

Biting your lower lip, you spoke with a voice that sounded no more than a soft cry. "We might get heard..."

"I do not give a fuck." Daemon responded as he brought you nearer to the edge. He breathed out your name. "You are mine, and the whole Keep shall know this."

"Fuck," you let out another moan when Daemon fastened the movement of his thumb against your clit, the heat between your legs was getting hotter with each passing moment. "Daemon, if you don't stop," you were out of breath, unable to open your eyes. "I am going to..."

Before you could reach your bliss, Daemon stopped the magic he had been carrying out with just his fingers, leaving you feeling somewhat empty. As your eyes found his darkened ones, you knew that he was about to rip your dress away from your body.

So before he could tear the exquisite fabric of your dress, you took the advantage of getting rid of his trousers, freeing his erection from the fabric. The Prince inhaled deeply when your right hand wrapped around his length, slowly moving.

"I am going to tear that dress apart," Daemon breathed out huskily as you went down onto your knees.

"Or you can simply take it off, my Prince." You whispered, seduction dripping from your words, before letting your tongue swirl around the tip of his cock.

"Bullshit," the Prince spoke but he was interrupted by a small grunt escaping his lips. "Don't tease me, love."

You clicked your tongue. "But that is where the fun lies." You responded in a naughty manner and wrapped your mouth around his cock, slowly taking him in. Daemon let out a long, low moan when you started bobbing your head.

His hands quickly got tangled in your hair, pushing his length deeper down your throat, triggering your gagging reflex. Careful not to let your teeth touch anything, you quickly pulled back, receiving a questioning look from the Prince.

"You are too big, Daemon," you said while wiping away the saliva from the edges of your mouth. "I cannot take all of you in."

Still, your hand was moving up and down his length. Slowly, you cupped his balls with your other hand, causing the Prince to gasp, his hold on your hair tightening.

"We shall work on that, love," Daemon's voice was husky when he talked, his purple eyes seemed almost black, darkened with lust. "Perhaps if I fucked your mouth every night..."

You let out a moan when the Prince lightly pulled you up from your hair, it was to signal you to stand up but your reaction to him pulling your hair only made his cock throb more.

"Interesting," Daemon whispered against your lips as his hands impatiently undid the ties of your dress, letting it fall to your feet in mere seconds. "You enjoyed that, did you not?"

His hands held you from your ass as he pulled you against his chest, you could feel his naked hardness against your lower stomach. Biting your lower lip, you nodded slowly. As a response, one of Daemon's hands moved to the back of your neck and held you tight while pulling you into a deep kiss.

Well, it was more like clashing tongues and teeth. Your hands were restlessly wandering around his god-like body, never able to get enough - each touch seemed to fuel the fire burning inside you.

A loud moan left your lips when Daemon's hand pulled from your hair, less lightly this time.

The Prince chuckled against your lips. "You are a far dirty girl than I have imagined, love." Without giving you any time to react, he held you up, your legs wrapped themselves around his waist. "That old cunt never let you explore what you like, did he?"

As Daemon let you down onto the sateen sheets of his bed, you shook your head. "I need you to show me, Daemon."

Placing a cushion under your lower back to arrange the height, Daemon licked his lower lip, he was standing at the edge of the bed. "Oh, you need not worry, my Lady," his tip was toying with your entrance, causing your breath to become deeper. "Together, we shall try even the dirtiest, sickest things known to men."

His voice, his eyes, his touch... Everything about him drove you crazy.

When Daemon gently pushed himself into you, you both let out a deep breath as he gave you some time to adjust to his size. When you nodded at him, he quickly picked up a steady pace. Still, you weren't quite sure you were getting everything out of this position. Hence, you decided to place your legs against Daemon's shoulders instead of having them wrapped around his waist.

The next time the Prince thrust into you, a loud cry of bliss left your lips without you having any control over it.

"Fuck!" You cried out as Daemon thrust deeper with a smirk on his face. "Daemon, you are so..."

"I know," he grunted the words while leaning into you. "Tonight, you shall see the stars, my Lady."

To let you try something else, the Prince picked up his right hand from the bed to wrap it around your neck. His grip was not harsh, he just applied the right amount of pressure while thrusting deep into you.

You could swear your eyes tried to roll behind your head. Several moans wanted to escape your lips but they came out muffled.

The way you reacted only made Daemon harder, as if it was even possible.

He grunted your name against your neck as he let go of you, placing the hand on your breast to toy with your nipple. "You are making me crazy," his voice was low.

"You," you were out of breath, "are sending me to another dimension, Daemon."

The Prince sucked on your neck. "I am not done with you yet."

You sent him a confused look when he abruptly stopped and pulled out of you; however, you were not expecting the Prince to literally flip you onto your stomach.

"On your knees," he commanded with a husky voice, which somehow turned you on even more as you stood on the bed on all fours. After thrusting into you, Daemon spoke once again. "Rest on your upper body and lift up your ass."

You adjusted your position as he instructed you and as soon as he picked up the pace, your cries started filling the chambers. He was continuously hitting the sweet spot inside you that sent your head over the clouds.

"Daemon," you cried out his name, "I am getting close."

"Not yet," the Prince hissed the words as you screamed into the sheets of the bed, knowing very well the muffled sounds could still be heard from the outside.

When Daemon's hands got tangled in your hair, you felt anticipation quickly growing inside you. The moment he pulled your hair with enough strength to lift your head up from the bed, your cries of pleasure only got louder.

"Daemon!" You cried out, the Prince picked up the pace with each passing second, and the slapping of his body against yours echoed inside. "Oh, fuck! I am coming, Daemon, if you don't..."

Apparently, the Prince had decided to give you your orgasm. Instead of slowing down, he let your hair go to hold you firmly from your ass with both hands as he fucked you into oblivion.

At that moment, you simply felt like an animal.

The sateen sheets wrinkled in your palms as you reached your orgasm, your whole body shaking as you screamed out Daemon's name, your sight becoming blurry.

After what felt like hours, when you finally came down from your high, Daemon turned you onto your back with a swift movement, pulling out. Before you could comprehend what was happening - mostly because your mind was still in that post-orgasm fog - Daemon finished himself with two strokes of his hand.

His warm seed landed on your stomach, on your breasts and on your face as the Rogue Prince grunted your name over and over and over again.

When Daemon let himself fall down next to you, you were finally coming back to reality. You slowly pushed yourself to sitting, not caring about the cum flowing down your cheek or your breasts.

Daemon chuckled softly. "You have no idea how dirty you look, love." His voice was low but one could still hear the remnants of your love-making.

With the idea creeping into your mind, a naughty smirk formed on your lips. "Perhaps the Prince would like me to take a hot bath," you spoke as you started playing with his silver hair. "So that he himself can join me as well."

His laugh was like a song to your ears. "I assume you could not get enough of me."

You shook your head. "I have waited more than a decade so that I could have a taste of you," the words left your lips in a bitter manner even though that was not the intention. "And that cock of yours is a forbidden blessing."

Daemon straightened as well, sitting next to you. "About that," he took your hands between his, his tone was so soft it resembled his sixteen-year-old self. "I intend to talk with my brother on the morrow."

Your eyes widened with shock as you asked with a shaky voice. "About... us?"

The Prince nodded while he left a small kiss on your forehead. "I shall take you to Dragonstone, on Caraxes, and make you my wife," he whispered. "Queen of the Narrow Sea."

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part ten —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 2.3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this chapter kicked my butt. thanks for the patience~

An ear-splitting gunshot bites the ground near your boot, close enough to feel the heat simmer through the worn leather. It takes everything in you not to freeze in terror. You grab Blue and run. 

Adrenaline kicks into high gear once again, but with her dead weight and your lack of strength, you know you can't get far. You manage to tumble behind a stack of rusted bins just as another round fires. 

Blue clings to you. "He's following us!"

Your heart sinks as your fingers reach for your bow— you left it.

"Give me your gun," you sputter quickly.

She shoves the unfamiliar weapon in your hands. A tremble consumes your body as you peek over the barrel to find your target. For a second, you see your attacker as he passes by one of the jeeps. A young man no older than yourself. 

Without hesitation, you close an eye and go for his heart, but the bullet grazes the top of his shoulder with a spray of blood. Used to a bow, you aimed too high.

He barks out a swear and then lifts his rifle in retaliation. Before he can shoot, a Grey bursts through the window of the jeep, clamping down on his neck. His throat turns to gore. The gun falls from his grip as screams of pain quickly turn to muffled groans.

Relief and horror pound through your veins. That was close. Too close. You have to get Blue out of here. But how—

There is no chance to decide. Suddenly, she screams again. You whip around to meet the slash of a long knife and the flush of cold air as your coat is torn. Someone has snuck up behind you. You fumble with the gun but the attacker knocks it out of your hand, then fists your hair hard enough to make your scalp burn. It happens so fast. You can't even get a good look at him— only the wild stare of his eyes and the strength of his stature. Whoever these people are, they are certainly better fed than that man in the woods.

You thrash against him, hurling saliva at his face. Apparently, he didn't expect that because he hisses, "Fuck."

You use the distraction to grab your own knife, the only weapon on you, and blindly drive it into the taut muscle of his thigh. He howls, letting go of your hair, and you slip away just enough to dodge the next swipe of his blade.

The fight is short-lived. You've grown stronger, but not enough to fight a man. He is skilled and bulky. Your attempts to hit him are futile. His knife catches you in the forehead, sending a curtain of blood down your face, and he grabs hold of your hair once again.

"Gonna cut your throat first," he murmurs, low and gravelly. "Then your little lamb's."

He will kill you. Then her. You can't let him. You won't. Something animalistic takes hold of you. You do the only thing left you can think of— bite. Hard. The sickening taste of human flesh and hot blood fills your mouth as you rip out a chunk of his nose.

"You bitch!" 

He clutches his oozing face. Blue shouts at you, her finger jutting toward something— the Grey. Done with its first meal, it draws toward the scent of fresh blood. Before your attacker can recover, you throw all your weight at him, which isn't much, but it is enough to make him lose his footing and veer into the Grey's path. It grabs hold and sinks another bite into his face.

Suddenly, two more gunshots ring out. One to the Grey's head, and the other through the man's eye. Both bodies flop dead to the ground. Before you can panic, a wild-eyed Ghost returns in long strides. 

"Blue!" he bellows. 

"Dad!" she yells back.

He heads straight for her, quickly dipping down to check her bandaged leg and search for any other wounds. Fear has forced her eyes to stay open, her body stiff and alert. There is a wet stain at the crotch of her jeans. 

"They tried to kill us," she cries.

“I'm here, baby. I won't leave you again.”

You wipe the blood off your face and glance around, panting so hard your lungs hurt. The air reeks of carnage and gunpowder, but the firing has ceased. 

"They attacked us," you speak in a raw shout. “Two of them. Did you— Are the rest gone?"

He nods. "Could be more nearby. Let's get out of here before we find out."

He slings the rifle over his shoulder and scoops up Blue without an ounce of the effort it took for you to do so. 

He moves fast. Retrieving your bow, you push hard to keep up with him. 

Twilight tints the sky purple. You make it past the fence and zig-zag through the medical tents when movement catches your eye again.

"Ghost, to the right!" you scream.

You knock an arrow onto the string, aiming for the distant figure. But the movement multiplies, more shadows lurking towards you with uneven gaits. Not people. Greys. The realization forms a pit in your stomach.

"They can fucking smell us," you choke out. 

"Hit the faster ones!"

Arrow after arrow, you aim for the ones that move with the stamina of a more recently infected. To your right. To your left. Ghost carries Blue with one arm and shoots with his handgun. More and more crawl out like cockroaches, no doubt catching a whiff of the blood that stains all three of you. 

Two built like linebackers run wildly up to Ghost from either direction. He shoots one, while the other grabs him by the shoulder. You launch an arrow at its skull, your aim more precise now that you're not shooting bullets, and it lets go of him with a squeal. 

When the trees grow thicker, it becomes harder to see them. Despair pushes a cry up your throat when you slap a hand back to your quiver and feel two arrows left. 

A slippery mix of mud and leaves suddenly takes you down to the ground, your knees landing on a hard tree root. You swear under your breath, fumbling to get back up, when a Grey you hadn't noticed behind you lunges on top, slamming you back down. Pain shoots through your ribs as you frantically roll around, thrusting a forearm against its throat to avoid its opened mouth and kicking your knees into its chest. Then, a fiery bullet lodges into its forehead, the Grey going limp on top of you with a splatter of brains and coagulated fluid. 

"Get up, Twix!" Ghost barks. 

You shove the body off and scramble to your feet, legs feeling like jelly, but you force them to keep running. 

You whip a brief look behind you. 

"There's too many— I'm almost out of arrows!" 

"The river," Ghost throws over his shoulder. "Those fucks can't swim."

You realize his idea when the roar of water greets your ears. Ghost doesn't hesitate to sprint onto the rusty rebar, slipping his gun away to hold Blue with both arms. 

You follow behind, forcing your eyes on the bank ahead as you slow down to keep balance. All you have to do is get across and the river will take care of the rest. Heartbeats pound in your skull, each step requiring an unfathomable amount of focus that you struggle to muster. You're about halfway there when you hear the splash of Greys falling in, and a brief glance below causes your footing to falter. 

This time you fail to grab the beam.

Cold water envelops you like a million needles.

A mouthful of water burns down your throat, and for a moment, you can't move. Can't breathe. Everything spins around you. It's not until your feet collide with something hard - the bottom of the riverbed - that your brain registers what's happening and you kick out to propel yourself up. 

You break the surface for a gulp of air before the current pulls your head back under. Your arms flail around in search of something to grab. Just when you latch onto what feels like a log, a hand seizes your ankle with a hungered screech. You slam your foot back, over and over, more water filling your mouth as you struggle to kick the Grey and hold on at the same time.

Finally, the rotten skull caves in and the current sucks it away. With your leg freed, you haul yourself up the log toward the edge of the river. You begin climbing up the cliffside, using the twisted roots as footholds, your hands digging into caked soil. You're almost to the top, but you feel numb and weak. So weak. You can't find anything else to grab. The wet sole of your boot begins to slip.

"Grab on!"

A gloved hand stretches down. Ghost is crouched above, Blue now on his back so can he lean over. You grip his hand and he pulls you up, until you collapse on the ground, wet and shivering. 

You cough up water and bile. 

"Bloody fucking hell.” 

It's been a while since you've thought about dying. You've made it this far, instinct always taking the reins and pushing you onward. But now, as the reality of the cold, wet clothes clinging to you sets in, you consider asking Ghost to just shoot you. It would be quicker than freezing to death, and a much better fate than drowning or turning Grey. At least you know Blue will be safe now.

Before you can form the words, you hear the shuffling of fabric. A jacket, a beanie. Set on the ground beside you.

"Take off your clothes. Put these on."

The rest turns into a dream. You don't remember putting the clothes on, or standing up and moving your heavy limbs. You don't remember getting to the hunter's cabin, but the next thing you know, you are curled up on the floorboards beside a small fire, inhaling the musky smell of Ghost's oversized jacket, with the blanket you brought tucked around your bare legs. You don't feel cold anymore. Your head pounds. You can hear the steady rhythm of your heart, slow but present. Behind you somewhere, Ghost tends to Blue. You know this because you hear him whisper to her as her sobs are muffled by biting onto a shirt. Amelia, Amelia, he says to her. A name you've never heard before. He must be cleaning the wound, the pain of it causing her to thrash and kick. Then, the sounds fade, and you know she is asleep. 

When your eyes finally tear away from the flames, you spot Ghost hunched over, lifting up his shirt. Dark blood and ink stain pale skin. 

"You were shot?" 

His eyes snap up. He regards you for a moment, and it is now you notice that most of the white of his mask has been stained with red from his kills. 

"Knife," he says.

You don't know why you offer, or why he silently accepts. Somehow you end up knelt beside him, your cracked fingertips cleaning the puncture wound in his torso without a single word exchanged. It's not deep enough to need stitches. You clear the blood and dab on antiseptic. The only sign he feels any pain is the flex of corded muscles beneath your touch and the occasional sharp inhale through the mask. His skin is oddly warm, a temperature that does some to ease the tension in your muscles.

When you're done, you roll the shirt back down. He doesn't say thank you, not that you expected him to. 

You break the silence with a voice that barely hovers above a whisper. "You could've let me freeze."

His brows lower. "You could've let them kill her."

"I would never do that." When he doesn't respond, you glance at her sleeping form. "She's okay?"

"Just a graze," he confirms.

"She lost quite a bit of blood. She might need a few days to rest."

Your gaze shifts back to his. You quietly add, "Did you recognize them? Were they a part of the military?" 

"Maybe. Their gear was. Didn't know them, though."

"Why did they try to kill us?"

He gives you a look. Of course. He tried to kill you for the same reason once.

"They have a camp nearby," you murmur the answer, more to yourself than to him. "Something to protect."

He gives a slow nod, then moves to grab his rifle and a hoodie to slip on in place of the thick SAS jacket he lent you. As he moves to the door, you realize what he plans to do. Keep watch.

You slip the beanie off and run your fingers over the cut on your brow when he says something just before leaving.

"For someone who once asked me to kill them, you fight hard to survive, Twix."

You don't know what to say. Just hours ago, you almost asked him to kill you again.

There's a beat of silence and then, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Do you fight so hard."

A breath sticks in your throat, and you stare at the floor. You're not sure why he is asking this, or why the answer is so hard to give.

"I... I don't know."

With that, he leaves. You watch the fire turn to dark embers. The faded adrenaline has left you with a fatigue you have grown familiar with. If you weren't so tired, maybe you would still be scared, your mind filled with fresh memories of gore and death and screaming. But you fall asleep quickly, scooting beside Blue and sinking into the warmth of his jacket. 

[angel-sweets666]

stuck together chapter II

Barbarian bakugo x princess! Reader

Your parents arranged you to the brash and rude prince of the barbarians to save their own skin.

Warnings: suicide of a character, death and dead bodies (flash backs or nightmares) mentions of war, threats of execution. Wet dreams (smut) talks of impregnating, thoughts of breeding. Slight breeding kink, swearing, slight time skip

first chap here

A/n just wanna warn yous deku is not a good person in this AU, think of like a bad ruler. Someone who acts nice and then executed like a bunch of people. A hypocrite

Bakugo tapped his index finger against the wooden table, his eyebrows furrowing. Clear frustration on his face. Staring up at the map then at the two guards before him, a blonde and a redhead. Both large men with equally frustrated looks on the faces.

“well what do you think we do?” Denki asks, staring at his two other companions “that lands too rugged, not good.” Kirishima rubs his chin in deep thought. “You idiots! It’s obvious here!” “Too close to the monoma kingdom, he’ll obliterate it the moment he sees it.” Kirishima interrupts bakugo, trying to knock some sense into the prince. The electric blonde looks back over the map, staring at the multiple empty lands. Most of which were once war grounds.

“we could… go here!” He points to a green patch, several kilometres long and wide. It be perfect, If only it wasn’t where bakugo fought in a bloody war.

flash back

bakugo heaves as he looks to his left over his shoulder, dead bodies. He looks forward. More dead bodies, most of which were of todorokis soilders. “Stand down Bakugo. Your gonna loose!” A tall red headed man booms out, standing next to a once alive horse, now dead and laying down. “No…. I won’t….” Bakugo straightens his back and grabs his sword. Letting out a loud war cry (scream) before lunging at the huge red headed man, his act of bravery to avenge his men who were now cold bloody and dead on the floor. Leaving their wives, children, siblings and parents behind just to fight in this war for him.

back to now

Bakugo snapped out of his flash back , placing a gentle hand on the large burn mark on his side, a scar from a brutal war. The scar now healed over and nothing but scar tissue. "Todoroki battlegrounds, can’t do the plan there " he mumbled to Denki and Kirishima. Neither of them had been at the war; they were still in training at the time. If only katsuki could’ve just trained at that time, he was only 18 where the first war he fought in happened

Denki rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. Like everything is Todoroki battlegrounds! It's taken your family, what, seventy years just to get Flamoria to back off? This whole continent is practically Todoroki battlegrounds!"

Bakugo glared at him but couldn't entirely disagree. "There. Still battlegrounds, but fifty nine year-old battlegrounds," he said, pointing to a large plain of land in the distance. The expanse was unclaimed by any kingdom, a constant reminder of the war's devastation.

. “Are you sure bakubro?” Kirishima asks, his pupils turning to slits. A feature almost all purebred dragons have. “It’s fine shitty scales.” Bakugo grumbled as he looks to Denki “huh?! Oh yeah.. it’s uh.. very green!” Denki stuttered, nodding his head “good, here’s final” he takes a pen and circled the large land. Chucking the pen back onto the wooden table “there, done.” Bakugo said as he arose from his chair and began walking out the room, kirishima quickly rolling up the map and grabbing it before scrambling to keep up with the two blondes

You heard the sounds of heavy footsteps echoing through the stone hallway outside your chambers. Curious and slightly annoyed, you peeked out the door to see three men you knew all too well: Kirishima, Bakugo, and Denki. Their boots clomped loudly against the floor, disrupting the quiet.

Frustration bubbled up as you leaned against the doorframe, placing your weight on one hip. "Can you three keep it down?" you shouted, your voice sharp.

Bakugo spun around, his expression already irritated. "What are you on about, woman?!" he yelled back, clearly not in the mood for any complaints.

"Can't a girl sleep?" you retorted, your tone matching his.

Denki and Kirishima scrambled to get on their knees and apologize, "We’re sorry, your highness! We didn’t mean to wake you!" They looked so apologetic and sweet that you couldn't help but smile. "It’s alright, hons. I’m yelling at Bakugo," you reassured them. Sometimes you wondered, "Why can’t Kirishima or Denki be the future king? Then I’d marry them," because they were such sweethearts.

Bakugo grumbled, "You’re not my mother."

"No, but I’m your future wife. Close enough," you teased, unknowing to bakugos already bad mood. You didn’t know that when he had nightmares or reminders of war he got angry and sometimes… physical

His eyes darkened with rage. "Excuse me? I am the future king, and you will not speak to me like that unless you want to end up in the dungeon with your head hacked off! His voice boomed as he got close to your face, causing you to back up in fear.

"Kat…Katsuki?"

"WHAT?!" he roared, his voice filled with venom, making your heart race.

You backed up again, trembling. "S-sorry…" you stammered, scrambling to get back into your chambers, your heart pounding in your chest.

“way harsh man she was only teasing..” kirishima mumbled “I don’t give a fuck she needs to learn her place.” Bakugo spits back, his flared up anger bubbling to a cool. Beginning to walk up the hall again, yanking the map from kirishimas hands and storming away. The two boys looked shocked! Bakugo was always so calm with women, rude? Sure, very. He made fun of and were rude with women, but never yelled at them. Same goes for children and the elderly. what was going on??

bakugo walked up the halls to his bedroom chambers, trying to take deep breaths. “Bakubro what’s going on man?” Kirishima asks “yeah! Ever since we thought of the plan you’ve been acting all funny!” “IM NOT ACTING FUNNY!” Bakugo yelled in response “You just threatened to execute *name* by hacking off her head.”

bakugo sighed “just..! Leave me alone. I’ll see you idiots later” bakugo walked into his chambers and slammed the door in his guards face. “Who put a stick up his ass?” Denki mumbled as the two marched to their posts outside the palace.

You sat in your room, shocked at what had just happened. How could bakugo just threaten you like that? He was rude to you, ignored you ect but never threatened you! You slowly sat down on your bed, staring off into nothing. The way he yelled at you, they were right when they said he was terrifying. You thought you two were warming up to eachother, clearly not.

you laid down in bed and tried to go to sleep, but you were very shaken up from the incident it took you a while to fall asleep. The way Katsuki looked at you like you were nothing more than a block in his way just shook you to the core. Bakugo on the other hand was completely fine! As if he didn't just threaten to kill you. He was sleeping soundly in his bed of furs.

however as time went on and the clock ticked to early in the morning, katsukis once peaceful sleep became that of a nightmare.

nightmare

bakugo heaved on the ground, a todoroki soilder standing over him menacingly. One that was particularly short. He clicked his tongue as he crouched down over bakugo “I thought you were strong? Didn’t you kill lord Izuku? That’s what they all said, you stabbed him right in the chest. Cold blooded killer you are.” He harrassed bakugo, an attempt to scare him “I didn’t fucking kill him he killed himself.” He spat back, unable to move due to the blade of the soilder right near his neck under his jaw. “ then howd they find him with YOUR blade in his chest and you gone?” The soilder asked “I- left him alone for five god damn minutes!” Flash backs of the day Izuku was interrogated and tortured by members of bakugos court, the screams of his once childhood friend turned mortal enemy rang in his ears. In a desperate attempt to escape the torture he stabbed himself with katsukis sword with scary aim

right in the dead centre of his chest.

back in real word

katsuki shot up in a cold sweat, panicking. These nightmares had been getting worse and worse, he knew izuku deserved it! But the boy was once his child hood friend, and an ally to his kingdom. Only for when he took over to put his kingdom in insane amounts of debt, poverty and famine. He was a horrible person as he got older, bakugo had to do something! The man got up, wiping up remaining sweat from his body with a rag. Taking a walk down the hallway, he paused by your chamber doors. you.

the woman who seemed to get in his way constantly.

he felt bad for you, he knew you had no choice in this. You couldn’t control if you were to be married off or not. Neither did he. He bit back his pride, knocking on your bedroom door loud enough to wake you up.

The sound of fur sheets rustling filled his ears, followed by your soft voice. "Come in…"

Katsuki opened the door and saw you in your nightgown, snuggled up in bed. "It’s me," he grumbled in a low voice.

"Oh… Baku—"

"Call me Katsuki," he interrupted, his response shocking you.

"Okay… Katsuki."

The blonde sat by your sleepy form awkwardly. "Sorry about today… I shouldn’t have gone off at you. I won't hack off your head, dumbass," he apologized, a rare occurrence.

You blinked in surprise. "Holy shit, did pigs learn to fly?"

Bakugo scoffed. "No, I'm apologizing."

"So… yes, they have. Okay… I accept your apology," you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Bakugo breaths a sigh of relief “you better” he grumbled out “I am! I’ve accepted the apology!” You sat up, staring up at him. Bakugo looked over you, checking you out for a second. A slight blush going over his cheeks but you would never see that in the darkness. You cleared your throat “so… Uhm… when’s the wedding?” You asked to try and strike up a conversation. “When was your gown fitted?” Katsuki asked “2 weeks ago..?” “Then in two weeks.” He replied calmly

“your voice is pretty when your calm..”

“hah?!”

“your voice, your always so loud and gruff…it’s pretty when your calm.” You compliment him

“Oh shut up.“

you giggle “you should get some rest, it’s late.

“early.”

“huh?”

katsuki looked at you “it’s early, it’s 1 am.” His face seemed almost like he was mocking you. “Right… yeah… early…”

katsuki stood from your bed “g’ night..” he makes his way to the door and walks out, closing the large wooden door behind him.

that visit of his was strange and oddly comforting, a late night apology from katsuki? What did kirishima do to make him do that?! You laid back down onto the mattress of your bed, staring up at your roof.

The way he walked in shirtless, he was so handsome you’ll give him that.

sleepily your eyes fluttered to a close and you soon drifted off, having a much opposite dream from katsukis.

your dream

your face was pressed into the pillows by a big hand, the feeling of hips slapping against yours being the second thing you feel.

the first thing would be the monster sized cock sliding in and out of your pussy.

katsuki grabbed your hips and pushed you down on his cock harder

“cmon you can handle… hah… it. How else am I supposed to get that heir huh? I need to.. fuck! Fill you up with a baby first to get a baby…just a little longer…” he grumbles into your neck, biting down onto skin before you feel a hot sticky fluid rush into your womb. Doing just as he said he would do to you.

hopefully one day 🙏

a/n I WONDER WHAT “the plan” ISSSSS. it is shorter but it builds up to what’s gonna happen trust the process🙏

tag list:

@literallyjusta-reader. @augustraine @audreykins45 @i-simp-for-mha-men @applepi25 @gabby-ha @@luv444lay @sillyemanusz @thecutienadq @chimeily @thephantomkid6-66 @mutsu422 @alligator-person @nottherealslimshady @therealsatorugojo

[jacesvelaryons]

His Chosen Bride (Senator!Coriolanus Snow x Capitol Reader).

Chapter 1

masterlist

series masterlist

excerpt

summary: senator coriolanus snow seems on top of the world with everything in his life ahead of him except for one thing. the perfect bride. in his pursuit, your life changes forever.

word count: 1.7k

a/n: thank you everyone for your patience as I prepared this!! i hope you all love it and show your support through likes, reblogs and especially comments of what you thought! i love hearing what my readers and other people in the fandom think about my work, so any of your thoughts would be appreciated.

requests OPEN

Upon his return to the Capitol, his reputation restored, wealth acquired from the Plinths who so generously named him the heir to their grand fortune, his path to power was paved for him and he knew he just had to take the strides to get to the prize. The Presidency.

Coriolanus Snow, scion of one of the oldest and most elite of bloodlines of the great Panem families was home, his shameful exile to District 12 remembered by no one and purged from the registry.

Enrolled in university and an apprentice gamemaker, he was eventually promoted to become Senior Gamemaker upon Dr. Gaul’s semi-retirement and her preparation to hand off the reins to her protégé. Her brain child whom she molded from the vestiges of his sorrow and pain, of his loss in the districts and what hardened him into the man he was now.

When he graduated with honours from the political science department, it was only a few months before he was elected in a landslide to become the youngest Senator in Panem’s history, relying on his contributions to the recent games, memories of his late parents to those of a certain age to secure his win.

He would have considered re-election for another term before advisors of his and other cabinet members of the old, sickly President Ravinstill were close to swearing their support but all echoed the same thing that he lacked, they said. It was not his youth, he was wise for his age they said, but he was not married. If he had a wife, they said - they would be on board for his presidential election. And it seemed that election would be sooner than later, even before his first term finished.

Coriolanus needed to find a wife, not just of good breeding, but of the most impeccable lineage, from among the most illustrious hundred or so families of Capitol society. It was a given it would be purely political and strategic, someone whom he could not love and open his heart to after his previous tragedy pursuing such.

The perfect bride. The search for the perfect companion, the woman whom he would call his wife, his future first lady, and mother of his heirs. The ideal woman who would bridge the gap between his dreams to make them a reality.

He could not just choose the first possible candidate recommended to him or that caught his eye, Coriolanus had to devise a thorough, multi-step testing process to find his perfect wife, his bride.

A rigorous procedure would be curated in finding her. Interviews, tests, exams, genealogical inquiries, fitness tests, and practice scenarios will be prompted from eligible candidates, already filtering through those only from the old, grand families upon application.

Digging through his family library into the latest edition handbook of noble and elite families of the Capitol’s upper class, the creme de la creme, ignoring recently disgraced clans, ones full of scandal and controversy, with plenty of illegitimate children, and extinct ones rotting in poverty nearly like his own had he not reversed their fortune.

He scheduled a meeting with his advisors and closest allies on creating the program, the selection process, examinations and interrogation, and how to make the announcement for the families of these eligible girls to put their names in, with their consent or not.

Coriolanus Snow was born from the upper echelon of society, and only deserved the best woman with whom he would continue his lineage with and hail his presidency with. No one had dared, rather self-important he could argue if he cared, to make as many girls clamour for his attention rather than to propose to a woman of his choice.

Just as he was about to put the book down and shut it closed, a name caught his attention. Yours. Your lineage, accomplishments, your etiquette were second to none, and he had to have you. At all costs. He would burn heaven and hell, but the question remains - would he win you over? Or will he have to force your hand no matter what?

Besides, he requires others to choose from, even if you are the most qualified. It would not do well for your ego to have the satisfaction you were chosen for. He wants you to want it, to beg for it, claim it and aspire to be one worthy to be by his side, motivated by the competition who would slit your throat and ruin your reputation for it.

And yet a lingering thought crept up his mind. He had brought life back into the Hunger Games, that was on its dying breath before his arrival, why not another? Everything is a game if you try hard enough.

…

A brightly lit room surrounded you as you grabbed a few more pieces of dandelions and baby’s breath bunches for your bouquet, in your floral arrangement lessons for the week. Under the watchful eye of your teacher, a premiere florist who is hired by the Capitol’s elite for the most fashionable and well-sought events every season.

Hailing from one of the oldest families among the Capitol’s blue bloods, your family may not be the wealthiest but definitely prosperous to be among them, yet your lineage is prominent even before Panem’s founding, the most ancient of them all.

In your family home’s perfectly manicured garden, you immerse yourself in the arrangement, something that would impress your teacher yet also something you would find pleasant in a vase by your study. No way would someone of your heritage be found associating with anything subpar.

After your studies at the Academy, your lessons and tutoring would never end, usually something different for each day. Piano, ballet, etiquette, floristry, household management, painting and so on.

As you gathered a crimson bow around the branches of your bouquet, you could hear murmurs among the uniformly dressed maids and servants around the stately home, as your mother jaunted towards you in her glossy designer heels.

“Yes, mother?” You greeted politely, observing the unreadable expression on your mother’s face.

She approached you carefully, gently taking your hands in her own, soft and having never experienced hardship.

“A great honour has been bestowed on you, daughter. A promising Senator has taken a liking to you, and wants you to be considered for his future bride.” Your mother smiles in celebration and pride, and your brows furrow in consternation.

“A Senator as old as father? A man old enough to be my grandfather-”

“Hush, darling. He is young, from a proper family of the elite family unlike those Plinths, new money scum. Senator Coriolanus Snow, the son of late General Crassus Snow and his wife Victoria Snow. He is only twenty four, I think you would like him.” She brushes your hair behind your ears, but you turn away from her, pushing her hands away.

“Twenty four, when I am eighteen?”

Your mother shrugs. “It is the way of the world I suppose. I was your age when I met your father. Eighteen and he was twenty one, a match fit for the sort like us.”

“You mentioned I was being considered but no outright proposal or courting has begun. What do you mean?”

She unveiled a large envelope she was holding behind her back, taking it out for you before a gold hued canvas invitation was unveiled.

Dear Y/N L/N and family, I hope this letter finds you well. As I have progressed through my career as a gamemaker and politician, it has been too long since I have navigated through life without a lifelong companion and wife.

You are a woman of unblemished character, accomplished in many ways, intelligent, well-bred and would fit the bill of what a man like me seeks in a future partner.

There is no guarantee that you must receive this invitation and accept, but rather that your name will be included in a pool of candidates to be considered. I hope that you and your family would view this as a position of honour, and even if you shall not be chosen, you will be compensated for your time and this shall only raise your standing in our society.

Please reply to the number and address attached below with your response, and I would be beholden and pleased to hear if you would put your name forward to possibly become my future First Lady.

Sincerely, Senator Coriolanus Snow

You could not believe it, the humiliation of not being asked directly for one’s hand in marriage but having to compete with other ladies of society and grovel for his attention.

“Are you and papa seriously making me do this? The Hunger Games to be someone’s wife and heir maker?!”

Your mother sighs, shaking her head as she crosses her arms. “You do not understand, child. I have heard of other elite families whose daughters, sisters, nieces such as the Heavensbees, the Cardews, Dovecotes, among a few have been invited and all have accepted. No one would even think to refuse a Snow!”

“But it is not guaranteed. How would I not be offended if he did not make a guaranteed offer but wants me to participate like I am in a beauty pageant. I have to close off even entertaining other suitors and I am not even assured that I will not be left dry and humiliated if I was not chosen.”

“Your grandmother was Miss Panem many years ago before the war and those rebels ruined everything, I am sure he will choose you. Even if he did not, any other unmarried peer of yours would scoop you up in no time, that if Snow perceived you as someone potential, they are from the cream of the crop.”

You sighed, putting down your shearing tools and your bunches of daisies and baby’s breath. You never liked roses.

“You have always aimed for the stars, daughter. Would you pass on an opportunity like this or be forgotten to the tombs of time?” Your mother suggests, walking over to you with a guiding hand on your shoulder. “Choose wisely if you want to make something of yourself, to not pass on opportunities like this.

Golden letter in hand, you stared intensely at the dark line above your name, signifying whether you would submit your name or not. With a bold stroke of your ink pen, you sign your fate and future away. I agree to participate.

Let the games begin.

His Chosen Bride Taglist:

(if your name is bolded, I put in your user but it didn't show up when prompted so I'm not sure if you got notified!) Please let me know if you'd like to be added and reminded every time I update.

@xsunaxrinx @bialuvss @emma0320 @callieyanderechan @crimsonred13 @starcrosslove @castellandiangelo @sylmthadmnglla13 @tragicmiserybone @o12lk22gr @anna-stasia @paumartinezsstuff @coriosbunni @nora4us @jupiterstearx @corvinaweeb @batman1asf @imperfectophelia @madmaxsalltoowell @vicky2408 @folklorelogy @bradpittwh0re @linaa20 @abcde601375 @kickmybark @emynunez21 @princessofthereach @maeve-a24 @ellie-bellie-29 @ashfromurfire @dante-pearl @yuuuumii @kxksksjjd @everythingjp @frill0 @aslalali @addriaenne @joyfulyouthlover @rbrsvb @motomami111 @imamybubbles @x-gabrielle-x @crystalstars88 @cc13723things @izzy02soph @shycandykitty @thtweirdointhecornr1917 @drpeperrlover11 @starmaiden @itz-me-cherie @papi-chulo69000 @meetmeatyourworst @sombodynotimportant @hyunjinspdf @bellaramseysgirlfriend @mari-mari12 @kis9na @lvrdilfs @mizuki80mizuki80 @deago21 @hafisjfjsit @miniatureblazellama @livid-euphoria @sugaxmamii @kropka4321 @jamesyrobin @joana2934 @kotadislikesthissite @byisy @shinae28 @atlasedelgard @eimearj123 @urfavewh0r3 @sophs-sofa @dreammie-marrie @cos-ilsee @nikolaikirche0 @bigwmc66 @mandoskenobi @theswreties @soniusstuff @1lovesnowballs @bitvhese @craftycloudcollection @byraaaaan19 @mythic-moon-moth @reading-in-velaris @bestboymikey @marytargaryen @cleverpeachheropersona @adeline32sblog @snowdrops-png @lysonal @tiffdx @bingxuu @noothemoo

[navybrat817]

Resignation

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: You get to know Andy a bit more and put in your notice, but your boss doesn't it take it well. Word Count: Almost 4.4k Warnings: Slow burn, getting to know each other, sugar daddy contraction, tension, flirting, slight insecurities, inner monologue, yelling (apologies to anyone named Sean), Andy Barber (he's a warning, okay?) Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics, Header - yours truly Previous Part: Sign the Dotted Line A/N: Welcome back to my Terms and Conditions AU! Hope you lovelies enjoy. Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. ❤️ Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The feeling of floating on cloud nine wasn't something you experienced much in your life. There were high points, of course, but nothing like the elation that filled you as Andy went to make a copy of the contract. It was almost dizzying to think that for the next three quarters of a year, everything was going to be okay. Better than okay.

All thanks to Andy.

Estelle shrieked as she pulled you to your feet. “You're a sugar baby! You're a sugar baby!” she sang, making you laugh as she did a little dance with it.

“I thought you said I was going to be his ‘companion’,” you teased.

She leveled you with a look. “It’s the same thing,” she said, grabbing her bag. “And since your new ‘companion’ is taking you to the diner, why don’t we celebrate tomorrow? You better give me all the details.”

You giggled again at the implication as she squeezed you in a tight hug. If you weren’t happy before, you would've been thanks to her infectious attitude. “You sure don’t need me to head down with you?”

“No, I’m good. You just enjoy the rest of the day,” she said, winking at you and pointing at Andy when he came back. “Have fun and be good to her or I’ll destroy you,” she told him as she walked by with every ounce of confidence you wished you had. “And nice meeting you!”

You half expected there to be an air of awkwardness once the two of you were left alone and were surprised not to feel it at all. It was hard to describe the atmosphere outside of that, but it was something both familiar and new. Maybe that was because Andy continued to put you at ease all while exciting you. The next chapter of your time would be unpredictable in ways that you were looking forward to encountering.

Did he feel the same way?

Andy chuckled after a moment, the sound bringing a smile back to your face as he held up the papers in his hand. “I realize this is probably a bit outdated since everything is done electronically, but I prefer it this way.”

“I don't think it’s outdated,” you assured him as he handed you the contract, his fingers brushing yours. Would you ever get used to the jolt of electricity you felt at his touch? “It’s less of a chance of it getting leaked.”

Though it was you he worried about, you still wanted to protect his reputation.

“Yes, it is,” he said, smiling to himself when you tucked the papers carefully in your folder. “Estelle is serious, isn’t she? She’ll destroy me if I hurt you?”

“Oh, yeah. She isn’t afraid of anyone,” you said as you shifted slightly on your feet. “But I wouldn't worry about her. I don't expect you to hurt me.”

He had to know that.

Andy took a step closer. “She’s a good person to have on your side,” he commented, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the soft look in his eyes. “And I have no intention of hurting you.”

You carefully considered his words with furrowed brows. “Aren't you supposed to say you promise not to hurt me?”

A sad smile touched his lips. “People make promises and usually do so for the right reasons, but they don't always lead to the desired outcome,” he replied as if he peeled back a small layer of himself that still left you with questions. “Take the weeklong silence, for example. I inadvertently hurt you by not reaching out.”

Your cheeks flamed, almost wishing you hadn't mentioned it. “But we talked about that. You didn't mean anything by it.”

“Yes, we did talk about it and I'm glad you told me how you felt. I still caused doubt in your mind though,” he said, his tone gentle and understanding without breaking eye contact. “So while I do want to promise that I’ll never hurt you, I'd rather promise that I have no intention of ever hurting you. Because I don't.”

It took a moment to recall that Andy was married once years ago. While you weren't sure why things ended, did his divorce give him a new perspective on making and keeping promises? Or was it his time as a lawyer?

Whatever the reason you had to respect him for his outlook.

“I appreciate that and I will hold you to that,” you said, falling in step beside him as you headed for the door.

He raised an eyebrow as he held it open for you to go through, allowing you to catch the scent of his cologne again as you walked past. You almost asked what brand it was just so you could get a bottle and spritz your worn in sweatshirts. “Isn't this the part where you promise you have no intention of hurting me?” He questioned.

“I don't think I have the power to hurt you,” you replied, not looking behind you as you headed toward the elevator. You were positive you didn't have that kind of influence nor did you want to hurt him. “But I promise that I have no intention to do so.”

You froze when he leaned in close, his beard ticking your ear and it took all of your inner strength not to turn your head toward him. “Never underestimate how powerful you are, honey,” he whispered, your breath rushing out of your lungs as he stepped back and gestured to the open elevator doors. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” you replied, your voice more breathy than you intended as you stepped inside. You swore you caught him smiling before he joined you.

“I gave my driver the afternoon off, so you’re stuck with me,” he said, pressing the button for the lowest level before the doors slid shut. “I hope that’s okay.”

“I think I can handle you driving,” you teased, happy that the two of you would be alone for part of the evening.

He chuckled before he went quiet again. The silence was comfortable, the soft dings as you passed each floor the only sound in the space. It gave you a moment to admire the man beside you. With his perfect posture, chin held high, and pristine suit, you tried to picture how he looked when he simply relaxed. No eyes on him. No one expecting anything from him.

Maybe he can show me that side of himself sometime soon.

“You’re staring,” he stated.

You smiled, not at all embarrassed that he caught you without looking your way. “I guess it’s because I’m still trying to figure you out.”

That and he was still one of the most handsome men you had ever seen.

But who was Andy Barber beyond his money? Your hero and your second chance at a better life, but what else? What did he do for fun? What did he want out of life, years from now?

Andy swung his head toward you as the elevator came to a stop. “I guess that makes two of us then.”

You found yourself in his car a few minutes later. The Audi still had that “new car” smell to it, the passenger seat sleek and not at all broken in. There wasn’t a spec of dust on the leather interior. Either he didn’t drive it often or he made sure to keep it in next to perfect condition.

Your mind drifted back to Andy’s earlier statement. What exactly was he trying to figure out? If he meant that he was trying to figure you out, he didn’t have to look too deeply. And if he was still trying to figure himself out, that was normal. Searching for your true self was a lifelong journey. And with your newfound sense of freedom at your fingertips, you’d be able to explore your own passions and visualize your ideal self.

But part of you figuring Andy out was getting to know him.

“Why the diner?” You asked, glancing over at him as he concentrated on the road in front of him. “I mean, why go there for coffee or food when you can go anywhere else?”

Maybe upscale places weren’t his usual style. He took you to the Courthouse and looked at ease there, but maybe the diner was an escape. Something different.

“I didn’t grow up with much, but my mom made it work as best as she could,” he admitted, a wistful note in his voice. “We never went hungry and she got creative with some meals so I wouldn’t get tired of eating the same thing. Things like fast food were considered a treat and diners were fine dining.”

You shifted in your seat as you listened, touched by the unexpected vulnerability. “I’ll bet she looked forward to those moments,” you said.

“She did and so did I,” he smiled over at you. “On the rare nights when she was able to save up and take us to a diner, she got a large breakfast or dinner meal for us to split. Best way to stretch her dollar and make sure neither of us felt hungry after.”

You almost reached over to take his hand, but you didn’t want to overstep. He was giving you a piece of himself by revealing a part of his past. That was more than you could ask for.

“I went to diners in college, too, when I was struggling to make ends meet,” he continued, stroking his beard for a moment. “I guess they kind of stuck with me because they reminded me of happier times. They also serve as a reminder to be thankful for what I have. It’s important to remember who I was then and who I am now.”

You let out a breath and closed your eyes as he turned onto the next street, wishing you could thank his mother for raising such an amazing man. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

His hand covered yours unexpectedly when your eyes opened. “Thank you for asking.”

You turned your wrist so your palm met his, your stomach flipping as he held it a little tighter. Opening up was never easy, even if Andy made it sound effortless. You felt closer to him after hearing that important piece of his history. Even the crackle of electricity felt different this time. Instead of a jolt, it was like a steady hum.

Maybe that closeness was the reason you didn’t want to let go when he parked his car in front of the diner.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You swallowed as you glanced out the window, the flashing lights from the sign of the beckoning for you to go in. “I just can't believe I'm actually going to quit,” you said, clutching your bag with your other hand. “I mean, I do believe it. I have my resignation letter here and everything.”

“Even when you had that bit of doubt that the contract wouldn't go through, you had your letter ready,” he smiled.

You toyed with the strap of your bag as you tried to hide your smile. “I guess I did.”

Preparation never hurt anyone.

“But if you’d rather hold off until tomorrow, I understand. I can even drive you back here if you want to wait,” he offered.

For a moment, you questioned if you should wait. As you bit your lip to fight your smile more and squeezed Andy’s hand, you made your decision. You signed the contract. You were more than ready.

Most of all, you deserved to start your path to a better future.

“I’m ready,” you assured him, reluctantly releasing his hand before you unbuckled your seatbelt. “Are you going in or did you want to wait here?”

“I’ll grab a coffee while I wait,” he said, stopping you as you reached for your door handle. “Allow me.”

You smiled to yourself as he went around to let you out. “Are you always a gentleman?”

“Not always,” he said without missing a beat, winking as you joined him on the sidewalk.

You licked your lips and gazed into his bright blue eyes. Could he see the want in yours? What would it take to make him lose control?

“I’m looking forward to seeing that side of you, Mr. Barber,” you smiled, brushing past him as he inhaled.

But first things first.

The bell rang as you walked inside and you paused to take it all in. Taking Andy’s earlier story to heart, you wouldn’t allow yourself to forget that this diner was part of your story. It not only led him to you, but also kept you from becoming homeless. It was a blessing.

“Hey,” Casey, one of the veteran servers, nodded to you from behind the counter before she looked over your outfit. She seemed to forget all about you as Andy as he walked in behind you. You didn't blame her. “Hi there. Sit anywhere you’d like.”

Andy put his hand on your lower back before he leaned in, your breath hitching slightly. “Good luck, honey,” he whispered, releasing you as Casey gawked in your direction. “I’ll just have a coffee, please,” he said as he took a seat at the counter.

The usual warmth Andy exuded was down a notch. Still friendly, but different. Or maybe you were just telling yourself that in order to feel special. “Is Sean here?”

“Yep. In the office,” Casey answered, pouring Andy a fresh cup of coffee. “Just got here.”

“I’ll be right back,” you told Andy, feeling his eyes on you as you headed through the employee only doors.

Sean had his head buried in some paperwork as he grumbled to himself. With a deep breath, you knocked on the open door. He didn't speak to you much outside of your shifts and hardly praised you for a job well done, but he wasn't a bad boss. You felt bad disturbing him, but it was now or never.

“Hi. May I come in?” You asked as he looked up.

“Yeah. Don't shut the door though. Lock’s broken,” he said, nodding to the chair in front of his desk. “Didn’t expect to see you today. What are you all dressed up for?”

“Oh, I had a meeting,” you answered, which wasn’t a lie. You did meet with Andy. “That’s actually what I needed to talk to you about.”

“A meeting?” He repeated with a frown. “Don’t tell me you’re quitting.”

Your stomach began to twist in knots. The last thing you wanted to do was disappoint your boss, even if he wouldn’t be that for much longer. Being a waitress also wasn’t your dream job, but it helped you when you needed it.

Now you have to help yourself.

“Yes, I am. I’m putting in my two weeks notice,” you said quietly, taking the letter out of your bag and placing it on the desk when he stared impassively. “I found another opportunity and I’m going to take it, but I’m happy to take any shifts I can over the next two weeks to help.”

Sean didn’t speak for a moment as he drummed his fingers on the desk. “Two weeks? No, that's not gonna work. We’re short as it is,” he said, shoving the paper away before he leaned back in his chair. Was he serious? “You're gonna have to make it four weeks and then we'll revisit after that to see if we need you to stay on longer.”

“No. I'm giving you two weeks,” you reiterated, your tone unwavering. You wouldn’t let Sean bully you into staying longer, even as guilt crept up since the place was short-staffed. “That's standard and I can't do more than that. I'm sorry.”

“Oh, no. I'm still in charge and you'll give me four weeks. That’s final,” he argued, waving his hand dismissively as you shrank a bit in your chair. “Unless you have anything else to add, I’ll see you next shift.”

You clasped your hands in your lap to keep from shaking. You didn't expect him to react this way. “No, that’s not final. I can't give you four weeks,” you said as calmly as possible, even as you began to feel more uncomfortable. “I would if I could, but I can't. I’m sorry.”

“Can't or won't?” Sean asked, almost making you jump as he raised his voice. “Listen here, you've been a solid employee and I'm not going to lose you in two weeks or four weeks. Do you understand? And if you don't show up you can forget about ever getting a good recommendation from me. Might as well kiss that ‘opportunity’ of yours goodbye.”

Your eyes burned as your mind flashed back to when you were told you were laid off from your previous job, the compassionate tone of your old boss the opposite of the man in front of you. The situations were different, but both made you feel so small. Especially since Sean was essentially threatening your future endeavors. You refused to cry though.

He wouldn’t witness your tears.

You cleared your throat and maintained your resolve. “Two weeks, Sean. That’s it. I said I’m willing to work as many shifts as I can over the next two weeks, but I can't do more than that. I won’t,” you firmly spoke as his eyes widened. “I really don't want to end this on a bad note, please.”

He pushed himself to his feet as he thrust a finger toward your face as if it would somehow make him appear intimidating to tower over you. It wouldn’t sway you. “Listen here, you little-”

“Is everything okay?”

Andy’s voice made both of you jump as you spun in your chair. He stood in the doorway but didn’t look your way. He trained his gaze on your boss, his normally bright eyes narrow and cold.

Your boss must’ve felt malice in that stare since he sat down immediately. “Oh. Mr. Barber,” he said. Did he know him as a regular customer or merely recognize his status? “It’s just an issue with an employee. This doesn’t concern you.”

“There is no issue,” you corrected him.

“Actually, she’s with me, so it does concern me,” Andy spoke as he took a step into the office, staring your boss down with a clenched jaw. The space no longer felt like Sean’s. It was as if Andy owned it along with everything in it. “If you want to raise your voice at someone, I’m right here. You won’t speak to her that way though. Do you understand?”

The deep timbre almost knocked the air out of your lungs, your heart pounding from Andy defending you.

Sean coughed a bit as color filled his cheeks. He should be embarrassed. “I didn’t realize she was with you. I wouldn’t have…” he trailed off.

Your blood simmered. He wouldn’t have raised his voice at you if he knew you were with Andy. Was this a taste of what things were going to be like? How people were going to treat you moving forward?

“Who she’s with shouldn’t matter. Not to mention, your customers and employees could hear you since your door was open,” Andy added, disappointment thickly laced in his voice. “You said she was a solid employee. Why would you speak to her like that?”

Sean’s eyes flickered to you as you waited for an answer. “We’ve been short-staffed and I’ve been stressing over it. That’s no excuse. I'm sorry,” he said to Andy, making your blood go from simmering to boiling. A customer, a powerful man, got the apology, but not you. “Won’t happen again.”

“Maybe remind yourself to be kind to the people who work for you before you raise your voice again. They’re the ones who keep your business running,” Andy said.

With a hang of his head, your boss sighed. “Two weeks, huh?” He asked, the wind completely out of his sails as you nodded. “Okay. Two weeks it is.”

“Thanks,” you whispered before Andy walked over and held out his hand to help you to your feet. Luckily, you didn’t tremble as you took it and gave it a small squeeze. It was nice that he was on your side.

“And one more thing?” Andy added as Sean glanced up. “I’m not the one you should apologize to.”

You held up your other hand when Sean looked your way and opened his mouth. “No. The only reason you’re going to say you’re sorry is because he’s here,” you stated, looking at Andy momentarily. He responded with an encouraging smile. “And I don’t want an empty apology. You can keep it.”

It was nice that Andy wanted an apology on your behalf, but it wouldn't feel believable.

Sean’s face fell, but he didn’t argue. Up until today, he treated you decently. The pressures of running a business were tough, but he had no reason to take it out on you. At the same time, you felt bad for him.

“But thank you, Sean. You gave me a job when I needed one and I won’t forget that,” you added gently. “I’ll see you next shift.”

“Why don't I meet you outside? I just want one more quick word with your boss,” Andy said as Sean audibly swallowed.

Uh-oh.

“Sure,” you said, the knots in your gut unraveling as you left the two of them alone.

You exhaled as you walked back into the dining area, avoiding the gazes from a few of the customers. Your hand shook as you gave Casey a small wave. At least she didn’t look upset with you.

“Quitting, huh? Lucky duck,” she smiled sadly. “You okay? He had no right speaking to you like that.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you nodded, taking another breath. You didn't like anyone raising their voice at you, but you wouldn't allow yourself to dwell on it and didn’t need her to worry. All you could do was make the transition as smooth as possible over the next two weeks. “Didn't expect that kind of reaction. Didn’t expect anyone out here to hear it.”

“Sean’s voice carries and he’s probably just pissed that he’s losing another good one while he’s stuck here,” she guessed, glancing over her shoulder before she added in a whisper, “Oh, and that guy you’re with? He looked furious when he heard him.”

“He did?” You asked, an almost goofy smile appearing on your face.

“Yeah, he did. He had fire in his eyes. Put a bill down, got to his feet, and immediately walked back there. And I wasn’t about to stop him,” she said, her smile widening as she leaned on the counter. “I’d say he’s smitten.”

Your heart skipped a beat. First Estelle, now Casey. Though the latter had no clue about the arrangement. “He’s really something, isn't he?”

“Oh, yeah,” Casey said, straightening up when the employee door swung open.

Andy’s eyes landed on you as he walked through, his eyes soft again as he held out his hand. He also looked pleased with himself. “Ready?”

“Ready,” you said, taking it as you gave Casey a nod. “I’ll see you soon. Hope the rest of your shift is okay.”

“Me, too. See ya,” she said before she went back to assisting other customers.

“You okay?” Andy asked softly as he led you outside.

“I’m fine,” you promised, not wanting him to worry either or get upset. “But what did you say to Sean?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he answered, shaking his head. “Listen, I’m sorry if I overstepped by intervening. I just couldn’t let him talk to you like that.”

He easily deflected your question and you decided to let him have that victory for now.

You went in for a hug but kept space for him to breathe. He wrapped his arms tightly around you before you could pull away, your body melting into his. The bustling city around you faded as you focused on the warmth of his firm body. It made you forget all about Sean’s reaction.

“I’m glad you did,” you said, stepping back with a tiny smile. It meant the world that he defended you. “I tried to hold my own.”

“You did. You could've snapped back or walked out, but you didn't. That’s commendable and powerful,” he assured you, his gaze serious. “But I don't care if it’s your boss or a stranger or your best friend, I’m not about to let someone take their frustrations out on you.”

Warmth settled in your chest. You learned something else about Andy today: He truly wouldn't tolerate anyone disrespecting you. He continued to prove that he was a man of his word.

You also experienced firsthand how things worked in his world, how people would bend toward his will. If it was a test, you wouldn’t say you failed since you stood up for yourself. It wouldn’t always be that easy. Whether someone questioned your motives or place with Andy or not, you had to learn to grow a thick skin. Not just for your own benefit, but Andy’s, too.

He needed someone strong by his side.

“Thank you, Andy.”

“And, listen, if you don’t want to work those shifts or if he gives you a hard time-”

“I’ll be fine,” you promised. You doubted Sean would make it a hostile work environment, but you could handle it if there were any issues. “But I think I’d like to go home now.”

Andy blinked and gave you a single nod. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”

Is he disappointed at the thought of me ending the day right now?

You smiled as you tugged him in the direction of his car. “I’d also like you to see my place,” you said, his eyebrows shooting up. It surprised you that you offered, too. “It isn't much, but it’s comfortable. Maybe we can order takeout?”

It wasn’t exactly the ideal way to celebrate, but he shared a piece of himself on the drive over. The least you could do was let him see your apartment. And who knew where the evening would take you?

“Only if you’ll let me pay,” he smiled.

“You're not going to let me pay for anything, are you?” You smiled back.

“Not if I can help it,” he replied, opening the car door. “Let's get you home, honey.”

We all need a man like Andy. And what's going to happen at the apartment? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Andy Barber Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[guardianofnightmares]

Sunrise

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

----------

Alright, fellas, next entry to the @blitzbee-week event is finally here)). The prompt of the second day was "Sunrise" and I decided to go more figuratively with it rather then depicting a literal "appearance of the sky" at a particular part of a day. As you can guess by a provided description, Bee basically becomes a "leading star" for a brooding Blitzwing, who, as it seems, is not that thrilled by discovery of his partner.

Just as a previous entry to a mentioned event, this picture is dedicated to my fanfic called "TFA: Icarus". Here's a [link] for the series "folder" which also includes an existing teaser (future prologue) for a story if anyone wants to give it a try. Again, can not thank you enough for all the support you've shown for it so far, I will try my best to come up with updates soon enough.

As it usually goes with such works of mine, I will provide the full snippet of one of chapters, which a depicted scene is taken from, under a cut line for anyone wishing to read more about the scene. Hope you'll enjoy it)

To the surprise of many comrades he’d worked with, the Triplechanger proved to be the most patient mech on a team when it came to long lasting missions. Usually he didn’t find it difficult to lay low and wait for orders to come, even if it meant to stay idle for several solar cycles. It was a useful trait of character which Decepticon rightfully prided himself of. 

Yet, even a seemingly boundless patience had its limits. 

“Can you see anything of use out there?” Blitzwing finally asked his unfortunate “partner in crime”.

A brightly colored mech slipped on the spot upon hearing Con’s voice but managed to regain his balance. 

“Not yet, Blitzwing, give me a klik!” A minibot shouted over his shoulder, holding on the steel bar for dear life. “Climbing is not as easy as I’m surely making it look in your optics.”

If Bumblebee planed to cheer up a Warframe with such a comment, he failed miserably, for it only seemed to sour up an already bad mood of a tall mech. 

To a Decepticon, it felt like forever since the minibot began his ascend up a steep scarp of a crumbled wall. One would think that, thanks to his light frame, he’d manage to reach the top level in no time. But even this uneven terrain, made of torn sheets of metal and broken cables, proved to be a challenge to an agile Autobot. 

The damned energy chain, which linked limbs of both mechs to each other, clearly was the greatest obstacle for Bumblebee, barely giving him a chance to move as far away from a somber mech as possible. Not to mention that a Decepticon was forced to stand on one pede in order to accommodate his companion’s slow conquest of new heights. 

Admittedly, a Triplechanger considered an option of tearing the bug’s pede he’s bound to off. But that type of cuffs always latched onto anything in their vicinity (while being activated). Meaning, the chances of getting tied to a nearby wall, as a result of said actions, reached more than 90%. 

Tearing his own pede off was not part of a Warframe’s plans. 

“If you haven’t noticed it yet, Bumblebee Prime, we don’t have plenty of time left to hide in these tunnels,” A “former” convict grumbled in response while surveying his surroundings for an up-tenth time. He didn’t notice how a Bot winced at the mention of his new title.

Minibot knew he deserved that snide remark. But it did not make him feel better about his recent promotion to an Elite Guard. Or about a decision to become one for that matter. The decision which led to a situation where an Autobot and a Decepticon got lost under an Iacon city. 

They had to hide in maintenance tunnels from the times prior to a Great War. Tunnels built by Decepticons for Autobots’ use, and left by them to slowly rot in an utter disrepair after the said War was officially ended. Sealed off since the banishment of Warframes from Cybertron, eventually the structure turned into an urban myth not many of currently living mechs remember or even know about.

An old complex Blitzwing and Bumblbee were currently navigating in was once part of the major supportive structure. Meant to protect veins and tubes once full of energon, that section was made of sturdy materials which stoically passed the test of time. 

The Decepticon would’ve lied if he’d said he’s not pleasantly surprised by that discovery. 

But it did not bright up his mood by much - they still needed to find a way to the surface level of a planet. 

“Foolish of me to expect a scout with no field experience to do a Warframe’s job,” the mech muttered under his breath, words bitter on his glossa. “Perhaps I should have been the one to search for an exit after all”.

Blitzwing had no intent for the last sentence to be heard by his peer, but an aforementioned scout, apparently, had nicely tuned audials. 

Figures. 

“And to risk exposing your Decepticon signature to raging authorities? No, thanks!” Bumblebee chirped after successfully reaching for a rod sticking out of a long abandoned structure. “It was already enough of me putting everything at risk by making stupid decisions - I don’t want to see you following my lead.”

Somehow the fact that a minibot admitted his mistakes helped to somewhat cool Blitzwing down. He said nothing in return but did glance at him once prior returning to surveying desolated surroundings. 

Bumbler’s changed since the promotion to the ranks of an Elite Guard. He seemed to act more mature, even if he’s still naive about most things happening around him. For strangers it’d be an unexpected change of character for such an optimistic and energetic Bot as Bumblebee. But Blitzwing was no random outsider, whether he liked to be on closer terms with a current companion of his or not. 

Death of a teammate has effected the minibot on a much deeper level then he’d ever admit to anybody, even to himself. Yet, despite how horrible it might’ve sounded, the Decepticon thought that that was an important lesson every soldier had to live through. And as a mech, who’s witnessed deaths of many of his comrades throughout the Great War, he had to agree that Bumbler was holding up pretty well for someone so inexperienced in mentioned matters. 

Even Blitzwing, who did not know Prowl as well as a yellow Bot did, felt the loss of a mech effecting him as well to a certain degree. No matter how secluded and cold the cyber-ninja seemed to be, he always had a special aura around him, the one that made people feel at ease in his presence. Though how he could so freely speak to a Con about importance of life and probability of peace among Cybertronians remained a mystery to him to that solar cycle.  

What was that thing black and golden Autobot’s talking about during the last conversation of theirs? 

“To have Faith not in Primus, not in The Allspark, but in each other”?

What exactly made him see it being possible back then and, especially, at a current stage of the reignited conflict between factions? Triplechanger had no answer to that question either. He didn’t view how the world should work the same way Prowl did. Could not fully comprehend the intricacies of a philosophy of an Autobot, but, at least, did not lack the courage to make it very clear during a mentioned discussion of theirs.

Blitzwing didn’t have Faith in anyone anymore, and he surely wouldn't in a foreseen future. 

For who could remain being supportive of their unhelpful, unwanted partn-… Autobot, while being lost in Allspark forsaken place with no means of escape?

…

“… -es! I see the gap in a wall!.. Blitzwing, I actually see it!”

The joyful voice tore Triplechanger from a deep melancholy state he slipped into while looking down a dark tunnel to his left. He raised his ruby optics, their faint glow barely lighting sharp features of his blue faceplates.

“Right where you’ve predicted it to be,” The Autobot added after turning around in order to face his unfortunate companion, unintentionally giving him quite a peculiar view of his small form.

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

...

Blitzwing huffed in mild annoyance at himself and his artistic side of a processor - it was not the right moment for poetic comparisons. Hope and Faith had no place in a situation he was stuck in, only cold calculations. He and Bumbler had to get out of that place, no matter the cost. And the sooner they’d get rid of an energy chain, the better.

[cherubfae]

Hello! I love your writing, it's so cute! Here's an Idea bouncing around in my head: Reader is a shy and easily flustered individual who's developed a crush on Alastor. However they try to keep their distance as they know he's Aro/Ace and doesn't want to overstep boundaries. They go to Lucifer a (somewhat) expert on romance and feelings of longing to vent, also developing a crush on Lucifer- (Reader is a hopeless romantic lol)

Anyway, hope you have a nice day and remember to drink water!

|| The Price of Love || Alastor x Reader x Lucifer

tags: gn!sinner!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, love triangle, miscommunication, blood/injuries, mild nudity mention, divorced!Luci, I had to make it a bit comical, I made this too angsty for my own liking now I'm sad 😭, protective bois

This is a one shot. I won't be writing a part two. Thank you! :)

A dreamy sigh echoes from your lips, swirling down the empty hallway. You're sitting on your bed with your knees pulled to your chest with a clawed hand over your heart. Sometimes you miss the thrum of your heartbeat against your fingers. With all of the people occupying Hell, you didn't expect to feel quite this lonely.

You stare down at the pocket watch in your hands. Such a tiny device cost quite a fortune, but it was a true antique having been manufactured in the 1920s. Your intention was to give it to Alastor. Yet, you never did.

Despite everything in your being wanting you to give him the simple gift, a token of your love and your friendship, you just couldn't. You were already internally setting yourself up for a failure that may not even come. You weren't sure Alastor would ever be into someone, let alone you. So, allowing these thoughts to fester you withdrew yourself from him. Forcing smiles when around him and the others, faking laughter; all of which Alastor could see right through. Every time he tried to seek you out, to confront you, you were already engaged with someone else or another task for the hotel.

You were actively allowing your depression to swallow you whole all the whole not realizing that if you had only asked, Alastor's feelings are the same as yours. He just didn't know how to approach you and Rosie thought it best to let you come to him; yet you never did. Even Alastor was finding it a bit hard to keep that smile on his face. Why won't you just approach him? He...He can't do it. Please.

A dreary day in Hell with violent lightning and thunderclouds and acidic rain brought you into the company of Lucifer Morningstar himself. He could smell your sadness from miles away and like clockwork, he instantly pulls you under his wings.

"Now then, sweetling, what brings you to see the Big Boss Man Himself?" Lucifer grins, crossing his leg over his knee nursing an apple martini with an apple slice hanging off the sugar-dusted edge. He serves you whatever drink you may like, alcoholic or non-alcoholic.

"I'm in love with Alastor and I don't know what to do! I'm scared to get too close to him because I'm not even sure he's into me like that and I don't want to get hurt!" You sob, the words come pooling out of your mouth like a waterfall and so do the tears.

Lucifer visibly bristles at the mention of his rival, almost choking on his drink. With a snap of his fingers, his martini glass vanishes with a poof! His full attention now on you. Gently, he takes your hand in his gloved one.

Softly, he begins. "Getting hurt is unfortunately part of the risk of being in love. It lets you know what you feel is or was real. It's not the end of the world, not by a long shot. Everyone who we meet and who we love crosses our paths for a reason. To teach us something, either for a short chapter or they'll be lifelong companions. Even in the afterlife, there are still people worth risking the hurt for." Smiling wobbly, Lucifer embraces you close. "Take a few deep breaths. If this is truly how you feel, talk to him about it. We may be magic down here in Hell but not all of us are mind-readers, darlin'."

For the first time in a long while, you smile too. Embracing him again with a laugh.

Standing to leave, you turn to your friend. "May I see you again?"

Lucifer let out a tiny gasp, a slight pink hue coating his cheeks. "I'd like that a lot!" He jumps up. "I can show you how to paint rubber ducks!"

When you finally return from your outing, you're in a much more visibly happy mood. With eyebrows raised, Alastor watches from the shadows as you whistle a happy little tune and make your way up the stairs and veer to the left towards your bedroom. A familiar scent clings to your own, one that makes his lips curl back in a vicious snarl. Lucifer.

"Now darling, I think it's time that we have a talk--" Alastor materializes from the shadows, fully manifesting into your bedroom. You shriek in surprise.

Immediately, you snap. "Alastor, what the fuck! OUT."

Alastor, who has been turned away from you, spins to face you aghast that you'd speak to him in such a manner as you never have before, only to quickly cover his eyes. You were standing in the privacy of your bedroom, almost entirely naked except for those flimsy bottoms you called your underwear. Alastor swallows thickly at the sight of your bare skin, even when you wrap your blanket around your body. He feels lightheaded.

"My apologies, dearest. Ta-ta!" In a plume of smoke, Alastor fades out of the room. By the time he returns to his radio tower, he's gasping with his palm covering his face which was now nearly as red as his hair. He's ashamed he hadn't shown more decorum and instead witnessed you in such a state. Even when angry with him, you had never looked more alluring.

Lucifer swung by the hotel rather unexpectedly, surprising Charlie with a new plant for her bedroom and crushing Maggie into a huge hug! The place was really coming along, he had to admit. There was a more inviting atmosphere to the hotel now since it was rebuilt. It almost felt cozy.

"Dad, what brings you by?" Charlie smiles, carefully handing the plant over to Vaggie.

Lucifer smiles. "I'm here to pick up a friend for a little coffee date and I figured I'd say hi to my favorite daughter and my favorite soon-to-be daughter-in-law!" He coos, squishing Charlie's cheeks between his gloved hands.

On queue, you're walking down the stairs into the foyer. "Lucifer!" You beam, a large smile crossing your cheeks. His tummy flutters at the sight. The outfit you had on was darling, suiting you to a T.

A crackle of static explodes into the front lobby, the Radio Demon taking form between you and the Morningstars. Alastor's eyes immediately narrowing at the unwelcomed guest, at least in his mind.

Laughing nervously, Charlie wedges herself between her father and friend. The air rippled with electricity as the two stared the other down.

"Okay, you two, calm down. Let's not start anything, ok?" She glances at Vaggie for help who simply shrugs her shoulders; setting Charlie's new plant baby aside. Approaching slowly you stand by Lucifer's side. Placing a hand on the King's shoulder, Alastor nearly explodes with radio feedback. An eerie green glow consuming his form.

Static voice dripping with malice spits out, "You're going out with him." It wasn't a question.

Casting a look over your shoulder, you nod at Alastor. "We're going out for coffee."

The Radio Demon is practically seething with venomous rage--not at you, but at the puny little shortstack of a King who thinks he can meddle with those in his life. "You don't deserve their attention, Morningstar."

Lucifer balks. "You had your chance, pal! You snooze, you lose." Alastor's expression turns to one of confusion.

"What do you mean?" The radio filter is gone from his voice.

Snarling, Lucifer glowers at him. "They were in love with you! And now I'm here to pick up the pieces-- oh, fuck, you didn't tell him did you, sweetling?" His gaze is gentle as he regards you. You're begging for the ground to swallow you up.

Fighting back tears, you fidget on the spot. You're looking everywhere but at the two men who have held your heart captive. There was the love you held for Alastor, pure and genuine. How you got together like pieces of a puzzle. And then there was your love for Lucifer, intimate and loving. He was able to teach a part of you that you'd long forgotten. He helped you smile again.

Alastor shoves Lucifer out of the way, his clawed hands cupping your face. He wipes away those tiny tears with a gentleness no one in the hotel had seen. "Je t'aime tellement, mon cour."

Lucifer, now in his Full Demon form, shoves Alastor aside and grasps your arm. You let out a cry of pain, making the two males jump. With the appearance of his full form his claws had accidentally sunk too deep into your skin. Red leaked from the four deep gashes slashed across your skin, staining the sleeve of your lovely shirt. Your pretty eyes pooling with tears.

Like a true beast, Alastor explodes into his demonic form, arms outstretched to shield you behind him. Lucifer can only fixate on the blood dripping down your arm. Vaggie and Charlie are tugging you away while Husk prepares the First-Aid kit.

Lucifer is only able to stare at the tiny pool of blood you had left behind and the pain in his eyes. And then there was Alastor, ever the gentleman, always the one fighting for your honor, looking damn well ready to devour the entire fucking Earth for you.

And Lucifer felt he deserved whatever he had coming to him. His own words echo in his head: "Getting hurt is unfortunately part of the risk of being in love. It lets you know what you feel is or was real."

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

[vixstarria]

My Fanfiction Master List

All fics can also be found on my AO3.

The following have accidentally turned into a series, although each can be read as a standalone.

Mostly Astarion x female Tav / reader, with appearances from other companions.

To summarise: a take on Astarion's relationship progression with a hectic, unhinged bardlock Tav. Mostly humour and banter, fluff with light angst. And then there's the smut.

Ongoing series

Bloodbang Chronicles - post-game continuation of my bardlock series (see below), Astarion x f!OC - Astarion and Asmodea are running a cabaret. Shit goes down, hilarity ensues. The horrors persist, but so do they.

Masterlist | chapter 1 of 12 (so far) - start here

One-shot series:

Fluff etc

In chronological order, as they would take place in-game:

Where my nice, simple plan fell apart - scenes of Astarion x Tav relationship progression in Act 1 generally

Another Gift - Tav tries to comfort or distract a brooding Astarion, reflections on vampirism / Astarion's past

Mark me as yours (Astarion POV) - takes place the morning after 'Missionary with the lights off' (filed below under smut) - a day of pining in camp in the life of Astarion

Down by the river (alternating POV) - 18+, takes place immediately after 'Mark me as yours' - Astarion and Tav spend a night by the river, away from camp

Something real (Astarion POV) - An evening in camp, Astarion and Tav are finally alone

Are you mine? (Astaion POV) - just flirty pillow talk and comfort

Gentle Warding Bond - short & sweet, Astarion finds the "true love's caress" and "true love's embrace" rings in the Shadow-Cursed lands and makes a decision

Admit that you love me - Act 2, Gale fucks around and finds out, Lae'zel becomes poetic and Astarion most certainly does not tell you that he loves you

Confession (Astarion POV) - title self-explanatory, love confession, tooth-rotting sweetness

The Morning After - short fic, follow-up to 'Confession', morning in camp - banter, humour, etc

Intimacy - Astarion's struggle with sex and intimacy, includes some fairly softcore smut

Communication - It has been nice, but it's time Tav and Astarion actually figured out what it is they're doing and what comes next

A night at the inn (part 1) - the gang gets a chance to let loose for a while. Humour, banter, and a lead-up to something smutty to come [Parts 2 & 3 under smut]

Smut

Also part of series.

Missionary with the lights off - Uh. Some really mindblowing sex here. No, really. Porn with plot, fluff to smut

Seeing stars - Astarion is jealous. What's more, he's eager to prove that no one could possibly compete with him.

A remedy for sleeplessness - porn no plot, Tav can't sleep and Astarion takes matters into his own hands

What do you want to do with it? - porn no plot, dirty talk, 'use your words', oral sex (male receiving) (kinda)

A night at the inn (part 2) - porn, Astarion x Halsin x F!Tav/Reader, dirty talk, oral sex, PIV and more

A night at the inn (part 3) - continuation of porn, Astarion x Halsin x F!Tav/Reader, vampire bites as an aphrodisiac edition

Sweat - porn with plot. Astarion, Halsin and Tav become a triad after the fall of the Netherbrain. This is a story of how it begins, progresses, and eventually ends. [Most recently posted oneshot]

The Sheath of Frontiers - Wyll's never been with a man. Astarion and Tav decide this must be rectified. (and yes that was an anal pun)

Challenges, shorts and misc

'Erotic Misadventures' - my entry for the BG3 April Foolishness challenge: 'write something spicy that uses the worst possible terms for body parts, sex acts'. Reader beware.

Apples - Very important questions are asked and answered about vampires, their warped sense of taste, and pussy

Untitled - Ask reply HC, Astarion accidentally attacks Tav during a nightmare

A cut - Tav accidentally cuts themselves, and Astarion scampers over like a cat to a can of tuna

Untitled - Ask reply, bonus scene following Seeing Stars - jealous giddy Astarion enacts revenge on Wyll after his failed awkward dance seduction attempt

'Gentle Warding Bond' should rightfully be here also, but it's too relevant to the 'plot' if you can call it that

Asmodea - my OC bardlock headcanons etc

(the lady in all the above fics)

Some screenshots, also here and here

Asmodea x Astarion kinky NSFW alphabet

OC Questionnaire

OC more in-depth questionnaire

Another 'get to know your Tav' post

OC songs and outfits

Why my Tav fell for Astarion

Why Astarion fell for my Tav

OC (i.e. Asmodea's, not mine) MBTI results for shits and giggles

Wow the tumblr search function really sucks, can't find jack shit through it. Anyway.

P.S. I am a whore for comments, and nothing sparks joy and feeds further inspiration quite like a simple "HHHNNNNNG ASFKJAGJLKSJF" in comments or reblog tags. And no fic is too old to receive comments on - they are ALWAYS a joy.

P.P.S Feel free to leave a comment if you'd like to be added to a taglist. :) And if so, do let me know if there are any categories you would prefer to be excluded from.

[topazadine]

Things that immediately turn me off a fiction book

I'm pretty picky with what I read, because the time I spend reading is time that I could spend writing. I generally know if I will like a book within the first chapter, and I feel no shame in giving up if I'm not vibing with it.

And no, I don't believe in the "oooh read further it warms up" because does it? Does it really? Do I want to waste time finding out?

Frankly, at this point in life, I read more nonfiction than fiction because there's just so. many. bad. books. that are getting published. Worse than fanfictions.

Anyway, here are the things that make me give up. Maybe hearing this will help you as you write your own masterpiece.

Too Many Proper Nouns

Three characters maximum in the first chapter or two. Do not throw dozens of people at me. I will get confused and give up. Let me get to know the main character, by themself or with a few of their closest companions, before you make me remember everyone else. And go deep with those characters! I want someone to stick with!

You can reference other characters, to create a sense of a deeper world, but do not go all-in on them. Make it clear that they are just there to provide a bit of context, and we don't have to remember them yet. We should only be meeting three characters maximum.

Throwing Us Immediately Into a Dramatic Action Point

This is controversial I know, but I hate when something immediately starts with a battle. I don't care if any of these people live or die. I don't know them. I haven't grown attached to any of them.

Even just a page or two to get to know them first will help. You can have them gearing up for a battle, thinking about what's going to happen, maybe talking to their friends, maybe checking their armor, whatever feels natural for them. But do not just start with stabbing people! I don't care about them yet!

Too Many Details

Many this is just me, but I simply do not care about every piece of armor your character is wearing. I don't need to hear a play-by-play of every single color of every single thing because I don't care. Pick out a few specific things for me to focus on and that's it. Stop overloading me with colors and patterns and armor styles.

Yes, yes, you've done your research on historically accurate gear. That's great. It would be good for a movie. But if I have to look up different armor pieces every five seconds, I am glossing over it and moving on. I don't care. I'm here for the story. If I wanted an infodump about medieval armor, I would simply pick up a nonfiction book (and maybe I will).

White Space Syndrome

Tell me what the overall scene looks like instead of all these hyperspecific details of certain objects, like carts or emblems or whatever. I want to know where I am!!

Don't just say "a forest." Tell me what kind of forest. Tell me if it's a young forest or an old snarly forest or a swampy forest or a cold alpine forest.

Don't just say "a castle." Tell me if it's a bustling castle or a gloomy castle or a rundown castle.

Don't just say "on the sea." Cold sea? Tropical sea? Far far away from land or is land in sight? These are the things I want!

Too Much Backstory

For the love of god do not explain the entire history of this culture in the first chapter. The first chapter is for getting to know the characters we're going to be following. You can introduce those things slowly and carefully as the story unfolds.

I get that fiction writers are delighted by all the worldbuilding (or research, in historical fiction) they have done. But the reader does not care right away. They need to get invested before all those little specifics matter at all. My eyes glaze over and I give up because I don't want to have to remember all of that all at once. It's like you just threw a college textbook at my face.

Plus, if you're doing third-person limited, you have to remember that the character is not going to be thinking all of that! They won't say all of that either! Because they know all of that!

Even a general on the brink of a major battle is not going to go "yes, this all dates back to when we took Iuanfutila back in 181, when the brave Iuanfutilans protested the rule of our Yawwbaawnwhryr leaders ...." They are focused on the present moment, and they may discuss the backstory later. Tell us what we need to know now because that is what the character would be thinking too.

"Oh, but Topazadine, how will the readers understand the context if I don't tell them??"

There's a battle. Two groups are at war. Or something was stolen. Or two people are fighting. Whatever. We understand those things. We can get the basic gist of how things are going to play out by just showing us these things happening. Then, as we have gotten a feel for the characters, you can tell us more about the context.

If you walk into a store that's being held up by an armed robber, do you give a shit about his backstory, or do you only care once that person has been arrested and you have to testify? I think we know the answer. You're not going "ohhh why is he doing this??" at first. You're going "HOLY SHIT THERE'S A GUN WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN NOW???" and then you'll care about the other stuff later.

Too Much Play-by-Play

I also do not need a play by play of a fight scene. I need to know the general movements, and then the overall atmosphere. I want to feel what the character feels rather than feel like I'm watching a football game.

Your reader will fill in the gaps if you give them enough information, but when you overload them with every single action, they're now trying to keep track of what went where instead of how this moment is supposed to feel. And now the action and drama has gone out of the writing because it's become a manual of fighting techniques.

Pointless Dumb Conversations

"Oh, could you turn around for me? I want privacy."

"Sure, of course, I'm a respectable man." Manfred knew that a lady-in-waiting would be unsettled by the presence of a strange man, so he wanted to be respectful.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Oh my god no one cares!!! No one!! We don't need this exchange. Cut it. This is stupid. Unless something is actually happening or something is meaningful about them saying this, shut up.

How to Not Write a Horrible First Chapter That Makes People Ragequit

Can you tell I'm mad today? I started and stopped three different books because they were all so bad.

Three characters max in the first chapter, with deep discussion of each. (One or two is better.) General appearance, demeanor, profession, whatever.

Restrain the urge to infodump! Dribble it out over the chapter!

Give the setting more attention than random little details that ultimately do not matter. I don't need to know the pattern of the curtains on the horsecart that's about to be burnt. Don't care.

Do not give a play by play of every single action that a character takes because it's boring and no one cares.

In media res is great but do NOT start with a big climactic intense battle or fight or whatever because we don't know these characters and don't know who to root for (or why we should care).

Your character is not going to give us a history lesson in why this conflict is happening. Do not do it yourself either. Give us just enough to get intrigued and no more. Think how your characters would think and what they would prioritize in discussions.

If a conversation is just pleasantries and has no purpose, drop it, we don't care.