#short post since I had absolutely no desire to write this

[zelenxa]

1314 - The Kensingtons, Allaires, Lottways

Festivities are high in the wake of Twelvetide. Tonight marks the eleventh day to which everyone has agreed on gathering in consideration to the Kensington’s scheduled journey back home tomorrow. And it’s likely for the best anyway, as people could truly get unruly on the final night.

The prospect is fun for Maerwynn. She sticks to her Uncle Alexandre like glue for the rest of the night, dancing. It’s undecided if it’s for Alexandre’s reveling conversation or the fact that he is the music box for the evening. It’s noted by Daywma that it’s a wonderful gig to get from the Turner family, who houses their place for the party tonight.

Emiliano, however, seems content with remaining outside. He acquaints himself with a dog just outside the front doors. He’s unsure if the dog belongs to the Turner family or is just a stray, but either way, the dog's friendliness keeps Emiliano more than distracted for the portion of the gathering.

Late into the night, celebrations show no sign of calming. It takes hustling to get everyone outside and gathered for family conversation, and even then, do they miss people like Casandra—who declined to come at all tonight—and Laurance. However, they bank on the little toddler being asleep somewhere within the Turner house. The little one is not normally up so late.

Surrounding a bonfire, the warmth is nice to both Marci and Esteban huddled up close to it. What fills their ears is joyful bickering not only from their children but also from Brynn and Kurtis. The chaos is nice and they soak in it. It’s so rare that all three families meet one another, and since Dayana’s departure from the countryside, their visits are months between each other. The times the Kensingtons and Lottways interact are even further in between in due to Kurtis’ nature. Marci’s brother has hardly ever been the one to reach out first. It was easier to manage when they were both smaller and little distance separated the two of them.

It is different now, so they soak up the moment they have now.

next (chrono) // previous

[swordgrace]

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇, 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ aegon ii targaryen x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: in the wake of his burning, aegon’s recovery is marked by rage and insecurities. he pushes you away, but it is your comforting embrace that he desires above all else.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 7.4K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), hurt/comfort, post rook’s rest aegon, aegon isn’t a good person but he’s tormented, unstable marriage, talk of insecurities, wound/scar descriptions, p in v sex, unprotected sex, gentle sex, body worship (m & f receiving), lots of kissing & comfort/reassurance, very desperate aegon, begging, sub-ish aegon, reader is on top, riding/cowgirl, mutual orgasm, fingering (fem!rec), soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is my first time writing for Aegon, so please be gentle + any feedback/critique on his character is appreciated! He’s quite difficult to write for. Either way, I absolutely loved writing this, and I hope that you all enjoy it, too! As always, thank you for your continued love & support. ❤️

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫���𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞. It spread its blazing roots to those cast within it, leaving them hideously scarred or deformed, or perhaps leaving them with nothing left at all.

Grand Maester Orwyle had said that your husband may never walk again — that he may never draw breath again.

The harrowing memory of soot-stained knights hauling your husband in on nothing more than a swath of linen tied to sticks, placing him gently onto your marital bed had haunted you for several weeks since its occurrence. You could recall the pungent scent of charred flesh, the ragged rasps of Aegon’s breathing, the labor and sweat of Maesters working tirelessly to save him.

It was the labored wheeze of his breathing that continued to linger within the recesses of your mind, a sound so hoarse and weak that you wondered if he would survive. Watching your husband become a shell of his former self was never pleasant — you wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, even your worst enemy.

Aegon showed a resilience that few thought him capable of — the will to survive, to endure and spite his brother served him well. Even if each breath made him ache and each step had rattled his bones, he continued to progress, showing an astounding level of improvement in a short amount of time.

Fire was the end of all things, but not for him.

The observant gazes of those denizens dwelling within the Red Keep often looked upon Aegon with despair, and perhaps pity — it was a pity that he despised, one that made him quiver with rage. He had been made a cripple by his brother, an undesirable.

No one would want him now — not even you, his resplendent wife, a dutiful creature who had solemnly stood by his side, even after his numerous sins he committed against you. He was burnt and ugly, half of his face marred by a web of scars, ear twisted, silvery hair missing on part of his skull.

It was contempt that fueled him now, and he continued to play the part of a wounded, forgetful dog whenever Aemond was near, but in the sanctity of his chambers, he cursed his brother to whatever Gods would hear him.

If they heard him at all.

With each passing day, Aegon regained strength, yet he used a cane to aid in his unsteady gait. He rarely emerged from his chambers, not wanting to be looked upon as if he were some wounded animal in-need of coddling. Wallowing within his own misfortune became commonplace.

You visited him each day when he was still unconscious, sitting by his bedside, holding his hand within yours, yet Aegon had convinced himself that you no longer loved him. What woman would sensibly love him, after everything he’d done? If you were intelligent, you would dissolve your marriage and find a new lover, cast him into the shadows where he belonged.

Aegon had forbidden you to see him for weeks now, likely out of his own fear of rejection, or seeing the horrified look on your face with his own eyes. Orwyle spoke of your tenderness, how you never left his side when he lay bedridden — he could scarcely fathom it, if he were honest with himself.

The evening was a dour one in King’s Landing, marked by the encroaching threat of war, and supposed riots that had broken out across the city. Aegon sometimes laughed to himself — Aemond never cared about the smallfolk nor their desires, and his former hand had discouraged him from catering to those less fortunate.

It gave him some twinge of satisfaction, knowing that he wasn’t that stupid — not as dull and thick-headed as so many believed him to be. The burden of being King had been forced upon him, even when he never wanted it, and so he had no choice but to simply adapt.

He molded himself to a role that never belonged to him anyway, attempting to fit himself into a puzzle that he was never in to begin with.

Acceptance — he had come to realize that perhaps, unseen forces had tarried and toiled to put him on a Throne that wasn’t his birthright. Even then, Aegon was still the King — but a broken one. Who would ever look to a shattered King for guidance, or to lead them?

Dusk blanketed the city, casting its shadow over the Red Keep, a starless sky — it was instead marked by the black haze of clouds that concealed all, even the moonlight. The Keep itself seemed wrought with tension, one that threatened to snap at any moment.

With Aemond on some warpath, the smallfolk calling for blood, and his own mother dismissed from the Small Council, part of him simply thrived within the chaos, the mess made by his younger brother. It was satisfying to know that even he was not fit to rule — not like he imagined himself to be.

His walk around the corridors had been cut short when he caught a glimpse of Aemond, with Orwyle taking him back to his chambers. Aegon could walk without assistance, yet the distance was never one of any merit.

Much of his unoccupied moments were spent drowning in Dornish Red, or perhaps the most surprising thing of all, reading. He was never the studious child — he preferred merriment and whoremongering over the study of High Valyrian and the histories. Being gnarled like this had forced his hand — perhaps he could still become a learned man.

The Kingsguard he had appointed were gone, sent to join the Night’s Watch or beheaded for insubordination — he had no friends here, nothing left except himself and his mind, still perfectly intact. Now, Aegon intended to sharpen what was left of it, if he could in such a short amount of time.

He spent many of his days in fear — fear of Aemond poisoning his drink or slithering into his chambers like the fanged viper that he was to torment him, or perhaps stick Aegon’s Dagger into his chest. There was time left still for his mad cunt of a brother to finish what he’d started.

As the doors to his chambers rattled, Aegon immediately grabbed the shortsword he kept alongside his cane, breathing becoming strained and heavy. “Who is it?” He barked, palm planted against the sturdy mahogany of his large table.

“The Queen, your Grace.” Ser Belgrave, one of the last decent Kingsguard left in the Red Keep, opened the door just enough for you to see your husband, alive and conscious. He stood watch for a beat, and then closed the doors behind him, leaving you alone with Aegon.

Aegon didn’t know what to say — he was rageful and bitter, and having you here to gawk at him did nothing to quell those feelings. He did admire you from across the room, taking in the plane of cerulean silk you wore, shrouded by a pale robe. Your eyes were indiscernible — he could not tell how you felt from where he sat.

You were, perhaps, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon — and he had seen so many. He recalled when he first saw you in the Grand Sept in your wedding gowns, so shy and saccharine, like the first warmth of springtime. It wasn’t a union he cared for or desired, but duty demanded that he wed you, and you would give him heirs.

So much of his time was wasted in the arms of whores who cared for nothing save the size of his coin purse, when it all should’ve been dedicated to you — the last person who truly cared for him.

“Aegon,” There was not an ounce of reproach within your voice, and instead, it was all a breathy sigh of relief. You had only seen him in-passing, walking alongside Grand Maester Orwyle or Lord Larys Strong. He had not allowed you to see him fully, until now. “I …”

“Save your pity,” Aegon quipped, turning away from you as he turned inward upon his books, instead. Gods, he felt wretched for constantly causing you such agony, but he could not endure the sight of you seeing him. “Have you come to see the withered King?” He mumbled, voice riddled with disdain.

Aegon was not an easy husband — and your union had been fraught with strife, hallmarked by his love of whores and wine, his absence felt by you each and every moment. You had passed this off as reality — this was what marriage was, and you had no choice but to accept it or crack beneath the pressure.

Even now, you were willing to forgive him.

Instead, you gathered your skirts and inched closer, longing to look upon him again with your own eyes. He had always been a beautiful man, so handsome with those regal Targaryen features that it often stole your breath away — and that hadn’t changed.

“I missed you,” You confessed, and it made Aegon’s throat become unbearably thick. Tears stung his eyes, tears born of frustration, an inner hatred and disgust, a disbelief that you truly meant any of this. “I thought that I could stay with you this evening.”

“No,” Aegon retorted, voice trembling at the bottom of his throat as he shook his head. “I do not want you here. I forbid you from seeing me. What part of that do you not understand?” His rage swelled — but not at you. He was so angry with himself that it began to manifest in uncouth ways.

It stung you, but not as much as you thought. Aegon kept you away, pushed you out to arm’s length because he feared what you might think of him. Being beloved and liked by those around him, the desire for attention and adoration, was perhaps one of his greatest flaws. When he could not find validation, it was easy to find it with a whore instead, or in the simpleminded lickspittles.

If Dornish Red could talk, perhaps he would find whatever comfort he sought there, too.

He reached for his goblet of wine, hand unsteady as he held it to his lips, and even then, he looked absolutely pathetic when taking a swig. “I cannot even drink without looking fucking pathetic,” Aegon snarled, letting out a bark of humorless laughter. “I cannot walk without being gazed upon like a wounded animal.”

At last, you began to understand where this anguish came from, where it all manifested. As much as you pitied your husband for the tragedy that had befallen him, you admired his resilience, his desire to endure and push on, even if it was most unpleasant.

“Aegon …” As your soft palm reached to rest against his shoulder, he violently jerked away, recoiling as if it were you that had burned him. “I am here for you. We are still married — allow me to continue to be your wife.” You whispered, flinching when he let out a sardonic laugh.

The scars were everywhere, enveloping half of his body, still aching with a dull pain that he muddied with poultices and Orwyle’s draughts. Aegon refused to take Milk of the Poppy, enduring his agony in different ways, ones that many would consider to be harder.

“Gods, how cunning you are — you play the role of naivety so well,” Aegon hissed, attempting to pull himself up from his table, hand reaching for his cane. “I am burnt, I am disgusting, and I am a cripple. You are not here for me — I do not want your pity!” He growled, voice raising to a tempestuous level.

You did not press him further, but you could see the tears glistening within his lilac hues, spilling down his cheeks as he began to laugh. The sound was grating and hollow, devoid of any amusement — just emptiness. He used what momentum he had to stand, grip ironclad and white-knuckled around his wooden beam of support.

“Why must you continue to push me away, Aegon? Have you not done it enough?” You questioned, voice sharp and wrought with emotion, sentiments that you had been repressing for so long, for the entirety of your marriage. “Must I always justify why I want to be your wife? We are married — I love you.”

Aegon froze, tears spilling over his face, countenance one of complete and utter bewilderment. He could not discern if you were genuine or simply conniving, or if you were being true. You had told him that you loved him before, and he always cast it aside — maybe you had truly meant it all this time, and he was too indifferent to realize it.

His back was partially turned to you, as if warding you away from seeing him. Aegon had been made to think that he was a failure all his life, that he was insignificant, made to do nothing instead of act. Whenever he did act, it was impulsive and reckless, branded acts of stupidity.

Maybe the one thing he could do right was you — mend the divide, mend the bridge that had kept you distanced for so long.

That cold, bitter laughter soon dissipated into what were choked sobs, ones of despair — he had been holding himself together for so long, for the sake of the realm, for the sake of a family that cared so little for him. His body ached and trembled, and as much as he attempted to move away from you, he couldn’t.

The nearest settee happened to be where he fell, landing against the velveteen cushions, head hung in despair, body wracked with sobs. He was undesirable, undeserving of you and your love. He was some withered husk, a shell, a monster still dressing in the clothing of a King — he was nothing.

Yet, you made him feel like something.

Silently, you crossed the cold stone to join him on the settee, sitting at his side as you gingerly let your palm settle against his back. “You underestimate how much I still care for you, husband.” You whispered, caressing along his spine with a feather-light touch.

Aegon felt drawn to you, pulled into the warmth of your comforting fire, knowing that if there was still one person left in this world who cared enough, it was you. Tears stained his visage, leaving behind streaks of red, eyes wet with many left unshed.

“Why should you?” Aegon questioned, his voice beginning to lose the fury and rage it held before, and it was melancholy. Anyone would’ve asked themselves such a question, but you didn’t — you remained steadfast. “I have brought nothing but misery upon you.”

It was complex, his statement — you had been miserable for some time, but this tragedy that afflicted you both was something worth overcoming. You were beginning to see the true Aegon, the one buried beneath the weight of the crown, the weight of inferiority.

“There is still time for forgiveness.” Your words were poignant and soft, and they were enough to move Aegon to tears again. He sat there beside you, crying to himself, breaking down completely. You had never seen him like this before — and perhaps, it was long overdue.

The comfort you provided was one he so desperately sought, even if he felt so guilty. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this, to deserve you — and yet he welcomed the grace of your palm, the sound of your songbird’s voice, soothing him with your gentle smile.

He was ashamed for you to see him this way, a man lacking the strength of physicality, the strength to hold a shortsword. It often wavered within his grasp — he would never be able to protect you. His beloved dragon was left in ruins, recovering in the Dragonpit — everything he had that made him strong had been taken.

Aegon was terrified to look upon you in such close quarters, afraid to feel the bitter jab of rejection, the horror and abhorrence within your gaze as you found his scars. He dared not turn, only keeping the intact side bared to you, still perfectly handsome.

Orwyle had harkened this to some miraculous recovery, a sign that the Gods favored him — Aegon did not feel favored, nor did he feel that he deserved it. Whatever he used to think, that his father wheezed his last breath desiring him on the Iron Throne, was nothing more than a twist of words.

There was nothing miraculous or prophetic about him — he was a sad, drunken cripple left to rot.

As much as he commiserated over his woes and the foul hand dealt to him by his brother, Larys had convinced him to live out of spite — and you convinced him that being alive, even in this wretched state, was a reality that was worth seeking.

He nearly crawled away at the sensation of your fingertips brushing along his jaw, unmarred and unscathed by the garish tangle of scars. Aegon shivered at your embrace — he had gone so terribly long without it, wondering if he would ever feel it again.

“I remember when I saw you for the first time, in the Grand Sept — I thought that you were the most resplendent man that I had ever seen,” You crooned, feeling him nudge his cheek into your palm. You gently swiped away a stray tear beneath his eye. “You still are.”

Aegon scoffed — a bitter, vitriolic sound that made his breath turn hoarse for a moment. He found it incredibly difficult to believe you, to find any merit in what you said given the circumstances. Even if you still loved him, that did not include his horrific appearance.

Tears trickled down his face, ones that you collected with your thumb before he shook his head. “Do not patronize me,” He murmured, visage furrowing together. “You cannot mean any of that. Look at me,” Aegon hissed, only slightly turning towards you. “I am a loathsome creature.”

His misery was an understatement when it came to his appearance — he looked like some monster, gnarled and withered beyond recognition. Whenever he looked into the mirror, he screamed and raged until he fell, or perhaps lost his voice.

Any Targaryen was often regarded as beautiful — pale, platinum tresses and lilac hues, a countenance as regal and as beautiful as a god. He was nothing more than a cockroach, now. He couldn’t fathom that you still desired him in a conventional way.

With a soft, tender touch, your hand then moved to rest against his shoulder. “If there is a loathsome creature here, I do not see it,” You murmured, head canting to one side. “What must I do to convince you, Aegon? Do you not believe me?”

Aegon’s trust had worn so thin that it threatened to snap, threadbare and nonexistent. He could only allow himself to trust so much — everyone he thought he could confide in or rely on had now turned against him, or attempted to slaughter him.

“It is hard to believe anyone anymore.” He murmured, staring down at his hands — one trembled, wreathed in burn scars, and the other clenched into a tight first.

He was made to believe that he was the rightful heir over Rhaenyra, when that was never the case. He was made to believe that he was a good ruler, when his Small Council plotted behind his back without his knowledge. He believed that Aemond was loyal to him, that he loved him as a brother would.

Lilac hues flickered from the void of his chambers to you, peering at you from beneath the curtain of pale tresses that still clung to his head. Despite the accusations of disloyalty he had hurled at you, his mistrust and doubt of your true intentions, you still maintained an amiable gaze.

You stared at him as if he had moved mountains, pulled the stars from the heavens for you — and he realized that no one, besides you, had looked at him in such a way before. It was profound and affectionate, wrought with a palpable adoration that came from a deep-rooted place of good.

Aegon’s throat grew tight, thick with emotion as he drank you in, tracing over the delicate plane of your features, the spark of warmth that brightened your eyes. Such divine beauty that he had robbed himself of for so long — he only felt like a fool, the greatest fool there was.

With an unsteady, quivering hand, he hesitantly reached out to you, unburnt fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw. He sucked in a sharp breath whenever you shuddered, face turning inward to press a kiss against his palm.

“I want to see you, husband.” You whispered, grasping his hand with both of yours, digits oozing with the radiance of heat that blossomed from you. The burn scars were carefully concealed behind silken garments, hidden from sight. Aegon grit his teeth together, not wanting you to see how disfigured he’d become.

“No,” Aegon quipped, shifting away from you with a scornful, wary expression. Whatever handsomeness he possessed before, it had all been burned away, turned to ash — and it left him, this husk of himself, with a physique that was repulsing to behold. “There is nothing pleasant about it — it is rotten.”

Rotten was perhaps a vast exaggeration for his wounds and scars, something that you found to be perplexing. Scars did not bother you, and you wouldn’t let your husband’s insecurities dissuade him from your comfort and care. Still holding his hand, you moved closer, pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

Aegon shivered beneath the chaste kiss, wanting nothing more than to collect you into his arms. The gnawing fear of your potential repulsion made him hesitate, and the bitter stab of rejection seemed to dig into him more than anything else.

“What woman would want this?”

Aegon’s forlorn, despondent inquiry hung above the both of you like some dour cloud. His grim outlook was something that you could sympathize with, given that his appearance had been torn apart within an instant. He swallowed the sob building within his chest, violet hues glistening with wet tears.

At last, he looked at you fully, exposing the marred, scarred side of his visage, tangled with a web of textured burns. His eye was sunken in, vessels having broken the white around his iris, ear nearly missing entirely, countenance partially mottled.

It was the same with his body, nearly half of it covered in the same fleshy web, scars spreading out like the roots of a tree. Aegon looked to you with a shattered expression, one that possessed a vehement swell of rage and frustration, yet still retained a sense of desperation. He was desperate to have your approval, for you to tell him that he was still perfect, regardless of his disfigurement.

Without a word, you moved your hand toward the maimed side of his face, expecting him to rip away or recoil entirely. Instead, he stayed there, rooted in-place, shuddering when the softness of your palm cupped his jaw. The pad of your thumb gingerly raked over his cheek, feeling along every scar and rough surface.

“I want you, Aegon,” The soft, silky resonance of your voice had brought him to heel, gaining his subservience, despite his inner battle with his insecurities. He feared being ugly in your eyes, as if his heart weren’t black and decayed enough. “I want you still.” Your lips twitched into an amiable smile.

For a moment, his eyes had fluttered shut, and he soaked in the sensation of your touch, warm and real against his cheek. It felt incredible, something he had craved for so long — it had left a gaping hole within his chest. Any tears that fell, you collected them with your fingertips, swiping them away.

Again, you inched closer, leg-to-leg with him, gaze drifting towards his lips. Aegon did not dissuade you from it, breathing becoming somewhat laborious as you pressed forward, mouth molding against his. It had been a long time since you had kissed him — truly kissed him.

A low, stirring groan reverberated within the depths of his throat, and at last, he reciprocated. Aegon’s kiss was done in a flurry of passion, realizing what he hadn’t had for so long. You tasted saccharine, warm and soft against him, mouth pliant and willing.

Gods, how blind he was — foolish, fragile, moronic.

He had abandoned you for unattainable things, for insignificant people that cared little about his wellbeing. Aegon had you — you, so devoted and loyal and forgiving, even when he deserved none of it. He very nearly sobbed again, knowing what error and sin he’d committed against you, but he shoved it down.

His insecurities seemed so small, as if they were wiped away by the curve of your mouth that so desperately kissed him. Aegon moved his good arm, bringing it to the swell of your hips, feeling your supple physique through the thin silk of your nightgown.

A sweet, simpering moan bubbled within your throat, a sound that so clearly vocalized your desperation for him, your repression and longstanding suffering. “Aegon,” You whispered, sending tremors down his spine as he kissed your jaw. “We don’t have to, we — you’re in pain.” You didn’t want to subject your husband to such agony.

Aegon shook his head, willing to push through the dull aching if it meant that he could have you again. Despite his fractured confidence, you made him feel so strong again, as if he still looked as he had before the burning. “Fuck agony,” He panted, hot breath fanning across your flesh. “I need you.”

That was enough to send a surge of molten heat throughout your belly, thighs rubbing together to alleviate some of your mounting arousal. “To bed, then.” You whispered, and Aegon swore that he moved quicker than normal, as if you had rejuvenated in some mystical way through words alone.

Using his cane to support most of his weight, he sluggishly walked toward your marital bed, feeling you hover around his side. You did not help him, and he didn’t want it, anyway. He was growing stronger by the day, capable of making it to his bed without support.

Fresh linens, silks, and feathered pillows had replaced ones used yesterday. It was all clean, smelling of lavender and honey. As he sat along the edge of the bed, he nearly chuckled at all of this — finally laying with you out of desire, and not duty, looking positively abhorrent.

If only it hadn’t taken him so long to get here.

“Are you certain, Aegon? I do not wish to hurt you, I —” Before you could prattle on about your concerns, Aegon silenced you with a kiss, coaxing you down by his side. His lips remained unblemished and unburnt, the taste of Dornish Red and sugar permeating his tongue.

“You won’t,” Aegon uttered, lilac hues raking over you, hungry and rapturous. “And if you do, you will not stop until I tell you to.” His tone retained a sternness to it, one that pleaded with you to allow him to drown in your affections, just like he always wanted.

With a gentle nod of your head, Aegon pushed your tresses away from your neck, thumb caressing along the column of your throat before he pressed a kiss there. You scarcely recalled the last time he’d done something like this, but you weren’t about to protest.

He wanted to hear your sighs and sweet whimpers, the sound of his name, breathy from your tongue. Aegon did not have the stamina he used to, but he would rather damn himself instead of stopping so quickly. He kissed and bit at your neck, soothing each mark with the languid lap of his tongue.

Gods, that sound — Aegon delighted in listening to your soft, wanton moan, pearlescent teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, kissing wherever he could reach. His burnt hand trembled, the flesh tender and still pulsating with a dull ache, but he elected to ignore it as best as he could.

Your hand pressed against his unmarred thigh, gripping into the flesh there as he groaned against you. He had finally gotten rid of that horrid, lengthy nightshirt, back to linen trousers and a silken, emerald tunic. His growing erection wasn’t subtle in the slightest.

“Let me see you.” Aegon murmured, wanting to look upon you with renewed eyes. You had always been beautiful to him, but now, you were captivating — a goddess incarnate, come to grace him with your presence. He watched as you stood, unraveling your robe as you draped it across the foot of the bed.

His mouth became dry, desire swelling within him like the urgent crash of a tidal wave. Aegon’s violet gaze remained transfixed, unable to tear themselves away from you and your perfection.

You stood in between his legs, shedding the thin, sheer gossamer of your nightgown, allowing it to pool around your feet before you nudged it aside. The last time you had undressed for Aegon, he was drunk and needy, several months ago.

His intoxication was of a different sort now, drunk upon your resplendence, your beauty, living and breathing before him. Aegon gripped your hip with his good hand, learning forward to press kisses all along your abdomen and stomach.

The sensation of your hand, so gentle and sweet, slipped against his marred cheek, gingerly caressing over his uneven web of scars, encapsulating over half of his skull. Aegon nearly groaned at your heavenly touch, the touch of a wife who loved her husband, scars and all.

He did not feel so monstrous anymore.

Aegon turned to press a kiss against the inside of your wrist, savoring the feeling of your fingertips roving across his scars. It was only when you moved to kiss the top of his head that he nearly faltered, breath warbled and wavering, surprise settling into his features.

He moved back, countenance twitching with pain for a fleeting moment, finding comfort within the silken duvet and soft sheets of your shared bed. You nearly moved to sit beside him again, but he stopped you, swallowing the growing lump within his throat.

“No,” Aegon whispered, tone a low, husky resonance, strung out with desire as he coaxed you into his lap with certainty. “Come here.” Those lilac hues were blown-out with lust and bewilderment, enthralled by you as he felt you settle down against him, thighs firmly caging him in on either side.

A grunt stirred within his chest, a dull throbbing pulsating throughout his body, but he persisted, feeling your plush form sit right in his lap. His good arm stroked along your spine and hip, faces mere breaths apart, and he kissed you with a blinding fervor.

Aegon never kissed you like this — not until now.

Whatever sentiments you felt for him, the ones that drove you to complete devotion, began to resurface — you still loved him fiercely, despite everything. “Will you allow me to see you, too?” You whispered against his mouth, digits dancing toward the hem of his tunic.

A beat of hesitation passed through your husband, who almost seemed to revert to his reclusive state. His jaw became tense, an inner war raging within him as he contemplated letting you disrobe him. Aegon looked at you, torn yet wanting, tugging you closer.

You gave him time to deliberate, not wanting to push him into something that he wasn’t prepared for. As if to soothe him, your fingertips traced along his brow line, and into the tangle of scars. “If you do not, I will understand, husband. It will not make me love you any less.”

That alone made him want to remove his tunic.

Aegon tilted forward, burying his face against your collarbone, mottled flesh textured against your own skin. He felt your palm glide against the nape of his neck, carding your digits through his wisps of pale hair. “It is hideous,” He uttered, insecurities bubbling to the surface. “I wouldn’t dare subject you to it.”

“Aegon,” The tenderness of your tone seemed to grab his attention rather swiftly, lilac hues drifting up toward your visage, perfect and comely. “It is all you — every scar and every imperfection, and I will love it all the same. My desires haven’t changed.”

His breath hitched within his throat, eyes swimming with an amalgamation of emotions, some of them too overwhelming to fully comprehend. He had sorely missed your embrace, and to further deprive himself of it seemed like an unimaginable torture.

You wanted him to take his time, neck craning as you peppered your lips against his throat — the burnt side, flesh marred and uneven, the sensation akin to a leathery surface. Aegon exhaled, gripping you tighter as he reveled in the feeling of your mouth.

It was he who initiated the removal of his tunic, attempting to pry it away and over his head, but he struggled, a low groan escaping him. Aegon wanted to feel independent, to do something himself, but he relented, accepting your assistance.

Removing the garment felt like an eternity, born out of his own nervousness and crippling insecurity of you seeing him this way, marred and mottled. Only half of him was covered in that tangled, leathery web of scars, spiraling down his entire physique.

Hovering your palm above his chest, Aegon’s lilac gaze silently pleaded with you to touch him, grace him with the touch of your resplendence. The scars were rough and uneven, innumerable and etched into his flesh like a blanket of leather.

Yet, you did not recoil or shy away, tracing patterns over his skin, pressing your sweet kisses wherever you could reach. Aegon felt his cock twitch and throb with desperation, longing to be inside of you. The tender care you showed him meant more to him than any crass or lewd act did.

You kissed his scarred shoulder, a gesture so comforting and kind that Aegon shuddered from exhilaration. That pattern of soft worship continued, as you kissed his scars again and again, reverence seeping into each grace of your mouth.

“Gods, how divine you are,” Aegon exhaled, quivering hand finally extending just enough to knead against your thigh. The palm that held your hip traced towards the warmth between your legs, and he shivered at the slick arousal there. “What a pleasant surprise.”

You squirmed, cunt aching for him in every way imaginable, hips jolting into the sensation of his practiced digits. Aegon was swift to reward your kindness with quick strokes of his fingers, tracing along your slit before caressing your clit, toying with the sensitive pearl.

The game of waiting was an agonizing one, as he longed to be inside of you, let you feel him again with renewed vigor, drown himself within your love. Aegon groaned when your lips met his, connecting with a thinly-veiled ardor, passionate yet tender.

Agony and pain became a thing of the past — even if his body ached and contorted with a continuous sting, he didn’t care. He wanted to endure for you, savoring each moment, digits greedily stroking away at your cunt in order to warm you up.

Desire made him dizzy, head beginning to spin in a delirium, induced by the growing haze of lust. He couldn’t recall the last time he laid with a woman and truly enjoyed it — but he was enjoying this — he loved your body, and above all else, he loved you.

“I want you inside of me,” You panted, hot breath fanning across the shell of his ear. A shiver cascaded along his spine, prompting him to slow the steady strokes of his digits. “Aegon, please.” With a pleading tone that brought Aegon to heel, he nodded, letting out a grunt of discomfort.

He gently removed you from his lap, but only to readjust, moving himself back against the mound of feathered pillows and cushions. Those violet hues silently observed you, rapturous and starving, like a hound preparing to devour its meal as you clamored forward again.

Your hands moved to the leather ties of his breeches, loosening them up enough to free his cock from its confines, flushed head oozing with tendrils of precum. Aegon wasn’t shy about how aroused he was, how desperately he needed you.

“Sit,” Aegon groaned, hand kneading against your hip, attempting to coax you onto his hardened length. “Please, I — I need you.” You hadn’t heard him beg before, but the sound was husky, timbre strung-out with desire as you crawled back into his lap.

As you gently lowered yourself onto his cock, Aegon nearly moaned at the sensation, head rolling back against the pillows as you sank down completely. He couldn’t move like he used to, guide you along or assist, but he did squeeze your hip, caressing all along your side.

Depriving himself of you for so long was perhaps one of the greatest faults he’d ever made, filling him with a wave of guilt. He could not make up for it anymore, properly ravage you in the way that you deserved, but he hoped that this was a start.

Everything began to ache with more of an intensity, a dull throbbing sinking into his bones, but he relented. Aegon would not deny himself, and he would not deny you, above all else. A myriad of throaty groans escaped him as you began to move, hips rocking forward, disarmingly gentle and sluggish.

You did not go quickly at all, each movement slow and steady, thighs stinging from exertion. Slowly, you reached for his hand, the one that had stayed closer to his chest, longing to hold it, if he was able. Aegon’s breath hitched when you did, gently twining his fingers with your own as you rode him.

His cock filled you perfectly, filling a void within you that had been left half-empty for so long. At last, you had your husband again — the one that you yearned for since your wedding day. With gentle gyrations, you moved yourself up and down along his length, continuing your sluggish rhythm.

The palm that cupped your hip and thigh soon slithered toward the apex of between your legs, hoping to stimulate you just as you did him. Your moans, breathy and high-pitched, filled your chambers, noises that he had been longing to hear.

The full, lovely swell of your breasts bounced gently atop your chest as you continued your ministrations, repeating the monotonous motion of rocking along his cock. Your stomach sloshed with molten heat, and it quickly spread to your loins when Aegon’s thumb caressed the pearl of your cunt.

He wasn’t going to last much longer in this state, cock throbbing with tendrils of precum that released themselves inside of you. The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

Your cunt clenched pathetically, snug around his length as you continued to ride him, his cock bottoming out within you. It was a perfect storm of sensations, between the fervent circles he traced into your clit coupled with the feeling of him inside of you, you knew that your release was near and inevitable.

A breathy sigh of ‘fuck’ emerged from Aegon’s mouth, countenance contorted into a look of complete and utter ecstasy. “Gods, do not stop,” Aegon commanded through wanton groans, hips desperately wanting to buck up inside of you, but the pain was becoming too great. “Please.” He pleaded.

Everything felt so raw and sensitive, nerves set ablaze, arousal gripping him tightly as you continued to ride his cock, ensuring that you were still incredibly gentle. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you move, cautious and mindful of him, lips agape and visage one of sheer bliss.

The delight you felt was immense, holding onto Aegon’s hand, wanting to grind yourself into his thumb. “Aegon,” You moaned, looking down upon him with reverence and awe, no inkling of disgust to be found — it was ardor and want, all tangled into one. “I—I’m close!” Your whine made him want to tear you apart.

It only took one more roll of your hips for him to fall apart, in shambles beneath you, hot ropes of virile seed filling your womb with desperation. Aegon saw stars from the intensity of his release, nearly collapsing in the aftermath of it all.

His breathing quickened, hoarse and labored as you tilted your hips forward, finding a much-needed friction as he caressed your clit even still. Watching you reach your release with his own eyes was a captivating sight, mesmerizing to behold as you shuddered, trembling and aching with relief.

He huffed, attempting to recuperate as you stayed in his lap for a moment longer, slick with your nectar and his own spent, its sheen coating the inside of your thighs. You removed yourself from him to give him some reprieve, stepping away to clean yourself up and retrieve your nightgown.

Aegon’s visage became one of immediate concern as he watched you move away, worried that he had offended you. “Where — Are you not staying?” He questioned, hastily maneuvering his breeches up around his hips again, doing his best to lace up the leather ties.

Surprised, you stopped near the basin of water sitting along the vanity, head canting to one side. “I intended on staying with you, unless you do not want me to.” You replied, sliding the silken garment back on after having taken a swatch of cloth to the warmth between your thighs.

“I want you,” Aegon’s tone had become a rather desperate resonance, as if imploring you to stay even when there wasn’t a need for him to do so. “I want you to stay.” He uttered, lilac hues somewhat shrewd as you approached, helping him put his tunic back on.

“Of course.” With a soothing voice, you pressed a kiss against the scarred side of his scalp, and then to his forehead, helping to ease him back down into bed. The draught left behind by Maester Orwyle assisted with the pain — not nearly as strong as Milk of the Poppy, but it was the best choice.

Taking a swig, Aegon sighed, feeling you climb into bed, curled against the good side of his body. He immediately collected you into his arm, feeling your cheek press into his shoulder. It was the most satisfying feeling in the world, having you by his side again.

“If you are agreeable to it,” Aegon began, tracing patterns into the small of your back, “I wish for you to stay here again, and share my bed.” He didn’t demand anything, nor did he use his title and power to force you into sharing your chambers again.

He would’ve understood if you declined, given everything that had happened between the both of you.

Aegon loathed the thought of being alone again, to return to his reclusive existence of self-deprecation and endless misery when you were still here, living perfection — his beloved wife. He turned his head just enough to kiss your crown, briefly inhaling your floral scent, one that he sorely missed.

“I would like that,” You hummed, comfortable by his side. It was the first time in many moons that Aegon felt almost entirely comfortable again, scars and all. “Know that I love you, Aegon — until my last days.” With a gentle touch, you reached for his marred hand, holding it delicately within your own.

Tears swam within his lilac hues, and he had to squeeze them shut just to alleviate that feeling of sobbing. To hear you say with certainty that you loved him — he knew that he no longer needed to fear the idea of living, not when he had you.

“I love you.” Aegon whispered, barely above a whisper. He held you tightly, cradling you close, grasp innately protective even when danger didn’t hang over your heads.

Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he was finally being transparent with himself — with his inner turmoil, with his very existence, and that he loved you too.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not copy/steal my work and claim it as your own. please do not translate my work onto other platforms.

[crazyunsexycool]

stucky x reader, where reader didn't present at a certain age so she lived most of her adult life with no designation, alpha stucky who could be mated alr, accept her into their small pack regardless and are v protective of her. One day though, during their mission she suddenly gets her heat; and not a bearable one, like heat heat. And she just smells so good and irresistible which drove the alpha's absolutely feral.

ps. i love your writing!!💗😍

Present

Pairing: alpha!stucky x reader

Word count: 3.6k

Warning: smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up!!) p in v, fingering, canon level violence, mentions of blood, a/b/o dynamics

A/N: I had most of this written a while ago and idk why I never posted it but it’s here now. I’m so sorry it took so long but I hope you enjoy it anyways. I love receiving requests for one shots or dribbles so please feel free I promise that I am working on them they help when I get stuck on other things

Never having presented the way all of your classmates, friends and family had made you an outcast. Did it hurt to be rejected by your family for not presenting? Yes but it didn’t stop you from achieving your goals. It’s how you entered Shield and became an agent. Your lack of scent was an advantage over the people you were fighting, with no alpha, beta or omega needs to tend to you easily became one of the best agents. It’s how you ended up working with the Avengers.

It’s also how you met them, Steve and Bucky the mated alphas. At first you had been extremely intimidated by them and anytime you had to interact with them you referred to them by their ranks. Little by little they showed you they were big softies. It’s how courting gifts started, your favorite coffee on your desk in the morning, a book you had mentioned delivered to your room. It was all so sweet but you had to tell them you didn’t have a designation and you didn’t want to lead them on if they wanted an omega.

“What if we just want you? We don’t care about designations.” Bucky asked as he held your hand.

“Me?”

“Mmhmm, we want you sweetheart.” Steve says as he stands behind you, his lips brushing up against the shell of your ear.

“Even though I don’t have a designation?” It was almost too good to be true. The most desirable alphas wanted you, with or without designation. The thought of being theirs and them being yours made you shudder.

“We don’t care about that, we care about you.” Bucky says confidently but hopeful. “What do you say?”

A smile appears on your lips as you nod.

“We need you to use your words Sweetheart.”

“Yes. I-I would like to be with you.” Steve turns you around and immediately connects his lips to yours as a small but deep growl rumbles from deep in his chest. He doesn’t get a chance to deepen it as Bucky pulls you away and begins to kiss you.

You having no designation didn’t stop them from continuing to court you. In the short three months you had been with them they always had small gifts for you when they came back from missions or they took you out on dates. Steve and Bucky never made you feel less than for never having presented. On the contrary they were very protective and anyone who even dared to make a comment about you had to deal with them. The super soldiers were caring, protective and sweet which made you fall fast, this was the first time in a long time in which you wanted to have a designation so that they could claim you properly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You loved going on missions with Steve and Bucky, it was always amazing to see them working. Sure they went toe to toe with other alphas but nothing compared to the Super Soldiers. This mission you were headed to was supposed to be easy. Bucky was supposed to set up with his sniper rifle not too far away, while you and Steve headed inside. Your job was to extract information from the servers after you, but mostly Steve, cleared the building.

Since starting as an agent you were always confident in your abilities but you knew there was something off today. You felt warmer than usual and your body ached, not to mention that whenever Steve or Bucky so much as walked by you wanted to pounce on them. Their scents were driving you crazy and you found yourself squeezing your thighs together to try and get any type of relief. This didn’t go unnoticed by the alphas, they weren’t sure what was going on but they kept a close eye on you during the flight.

The mission was going off without a hitch for the most part. Steve cleared the building while you got to work on the servers. It was easy and if you hadn’t been preoccupied with the shooting pain that spread low in your belly you would have considered that it was way too easy. A whine escapes your lips as you try to focus on the task at hand before a growl gets your attention. It sends shivers up and down your spine and the bitter scent that hits you is just as unpleasant.

“Well what do we have here? I see they left me something to play with.” his lips turned into a wicked grin.

You put your hand up to your earpiece. “Alphas” is all you manage to say before the one before you lunges towards you and pins you down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky had made his way down to the building from his position at Steve’s request. The building had been cleared and he had left you to do your part. They were both well aware that it was too easy to get into the building, it had minimal security considering the information it housed. Steve preferred to have Bucky close in case there were more issues especially if he considered that you were behaving a little out of character. They both had agreed on that and the fact that if they didn’t know you didn’t have a designation it felt like you had a scent. One that was sure to send them into their ruts if it had been stronger. Steve and Bucky were doing one more sweep of a lower level when they heard it. A faint growl but enough to make them turn back around and when they heard your voice through comms calling them alpha they nearly lost it. You had never referred to them by their designation.

By the time they get up two floors to your location the scent in the air hits them. It was intoxicating but laced with fear and both super soldiers knew they had to act fast. When they got to the hallway where the room you were in they felt pure rage. The door had been ripped off its hinges and there was a faint smell of blood in the air. But as they got to the room they only found your ear piece and a dead alpha on the floor. Their enhanced hearing alerted them to movement further down the hall and close to the stairwell.

They split up with Steve following the footsteps and Bucky trying to find you. At any other moment they would be calm and focused but you were in trouble and the men that had promised to keep you safe would stop at nothing to do so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N.” he says with his voice lowered so as to not scare you. His scent reaches you and you relax slightly. Bucky found you in a room hidden away from the others that Steve was following.

“Alpha, it hurts.” you whine from your spot in the corner of the room.

“I know, doll but I’m here. I’ll help you.” he coos as he finally gets closer to you. He’s fighting his instincts to claim you right on the spot, the sweet scent made stronger by your heat is driving him crazy. Instead Bucky focuses on using his own scent to soothe you.

As soon as he is crouching in front of you, you launch yourself into his arms. Bucky holds you close as he tries to find any injuries. The only thing he finds is a rip on your uniform and he’s furious, if the alpha wasn’t dead already he would have ripped his head off. But then Bucky feels the tip of your nose brush up against his mating gland and up his neck and he shudders.

“Omega.” When Bucky pulls back his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen and completely full of lust.

“Is everything ok?” Steve’s voice comes through the comms.

“Kind of. She isn’t hurt but she’s starting her heat, we have to get her out of here.”

“Meet me at the entrance. The jet isn’t too far and- fuck. Bucky you have to move her to a safer room. We have more guards coming in.”

“Fuck. Ok, moving now.” Bucky scoops you up and rushes out of the room trying to ignore the way you keep nipping and licking at his neck. He moves quickly until he finds a room he deems safe enough for you. He listens for footsteps on the other side of the door after setting you down on the table, at least he doesn’t have to worry about a sniper since there aren’t any windows.

“Bucky, what’s happening to me?”

“Doll, you’re presenting. You’re an omega.”

“Your omega?” you whisper, afraid that he’ll say no.

Your question makes his breath hitch. He turns towards you, his eyes dark and lust blown.

“Mine.” he says as he walks towards you with purpose. Standing between your legs as he pulls you in for a filthy kiss. He felt you trying to undo his belt and then the button on his pants but he stops you. “We can’t doll, you aren’t safe.”

“Please, need you.”

“You’ve got me.” He says as he moves to undo your belt and pants. With every passing moment your scent got stronger and so did your heat. Bucky knew he had to do something to help.

He pops the button on your suit pant open and then lowers the zipper, slowly his hand makes its way between your thighs. Running his fingers through your fold he groans at how wet you are. “This all for me ‘mega. Is this for your alpha?”

“Yes, alpha please.” you moan as you feel him circle your clit slowly. Your hips move on their own accord to try and get more friction. He captures your lips with his as he starts to pick up the pace, swallowing all your moans. “More, Bucky more.”

“I got you doll.” he says as he moves from your clit down to your dripping entrance and slowly pushes two fingers in until he’s knuckles deep. You whimper at the feeling. “Look at you so greedy, gripping my fingers so tight.” Bucky begins to pick up his pace before adding another finger. He curves his fingers stroking that spot that has your eyes rolling back, your mouth open in a silent scream. Your hands gripping on to his shoulders as the knot in your belly tightens.

“That’s it doll, be a good girl for me and cum.” Bucky starts thrusting his fingers faster until he feels your walls clench and he hears you scream his name as the knot in your belly unravels. “Good girl.” he praises as he slowly removes his fingers from your pussy. You whine at the loss while you rest your forehead against his chest as you try to catch your breath. He puts his fingers in his mouth and groans at the taste of you, Bucky freezes before he can say anything to you. His attention is on the footsteps rushing towards your position.

The door is kicked open and Bucky goes feral as the scent of the other alphas hit him. He hears all of them inhale and their eyes are fixed on you. Bucky moves so that his large frame keeps you hidden from them.

“We just want a little taste of your omega. She smells delicious.” One of the men says as he steps into the room. Bucky orders you into the corner of the room before he starts his assault on the men that dared even look in your direction. He’s fueled by pure rage and his need as an alpha to protect his omega.

As soon as the last of the guards hit the floor Bucky fixes your uniform before grabbing you and carries you out of the room as Steve tells him it’s all clear.

They rush from the building, Steve leading the way in case anyone else tries to stop them and Bucky has you in his arms. During this whole ordeal your head is fuzzy and all you want to do is strip your clothes and be close to them, taking in their scent. Somehow during this mess you ended up on Steve’s lap, while Bucky handled getting the jet off the ground.

“Alpha.” You call out to Steve. He growls when he hears you call him by his designation. Steve would never admit it but he’s wanted to hear you say that word for a while and hearing it along with your sweet scent and the slick that is pooling in between your thighs he’s sure to go into a rut.

“Omega?”

“Please, need to feel you.”

“You want my knot, sweetheart?” he coos. All you can do is nod. “Use your words baby.”

“Yes, I want your knot.” as you shift to straddle him. Steve rips your clothes off, your inner thighs covered in slick. He lifts you slightly so that he can lower his pants and boxers enough to free his already hard cock. In one swift move Steve buries himself in your wet heat, causing both of you to moan. No matter how many times you’ve been with them it always took you a moment before you could start moving. You relish the stretch and feel of him as you begin to move, His hands around your waist to keep you steady as you grab the straps on his shoulders. Rolling your hips a couple of times you moan as he captures your lips with his. Needing more, you begin to bounce on his cock.

“So needy sweetheart.” Steve groans “take what you need omega. Just like that.”

You mewl at his words as you try to move faster. Steve’s hands move to your hips and he begins to take control as he thrusts up into you. You throw your head back unconsciously baring your neck for him. “Fuck, you feel so good. I’m gonna mark you right here.” His teeth grace the junction between your shoulder and neck right where your mating gland is. “Do you want that omega?”

“Y-yes alpha, please.” You say in your lust filled haze, your eyes half lidded and glazed over as you hold onto his shoulders straps tighter. He continues his fast pace as one hand moves from your hip to your swollen bundle of nerves. The added stimulation causes you to clench around Steve’s cock. Pressure begins to build between your legs, you realize it’s his knot.

“I can feel you’re so close sweetheart. Let go baby.”

His words are all you need for your orgasm to wash over you with a moan of his name, his teeth sinking into your neck. You can feel the bond come to life as he laps at the mark he made. Then you feel his knot catch as his hips start to stutter. With one final thrust Steve spills into you as his knot locks you both into place. Exhaustion creeps over you and you lay with your head on Steve’s shoulder, drifting off into sleep as you hear him praise you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your eyes flutter open and taking in your surroundings you realize you’re in bed just not yours. There’s a slight ache on your neck and you feel almost guilty but you’re not sure why. When you sit up your head feels fuzzy and you groan because of your sore muscles. The sheet that had been covering falls and reveals that you're naked and you’re flooded with confusion. As you look around the room you see a water bottle on the nightstand and you grab it, drinking half of it immediately.

The door opens slowly and you cover your chest unsure of who will walk in but you only see Bucky standing at the door. He smiles at you but as his woodsy scent, mixed with Steve’s warm and comforting scent, permeates through the room a small whine bubbles up and escapes you.

“Where are we?”

“We’re in a safehouse, doll. You presented during the mission.” He tells you as he sits at the edge of the bed. Bucky is breathing heavily as he fights against his most basest instinct to mate and claim you.

Steve stands in the doorway with a tray in his hands but he doesn’t walk in. Instead he hovers around the door, guilt floods the bond. It’s a foriegn feeling to you and your hand goes to your neck as you trace the almost healed mark left there by the blonde alpha.

“Steve, are you ok?”

His smile is small, your question enough to get him to move and he places the tray on the bed opposite Bucky.

“How are you feeling sweetheart?”

“Fuzzy and hot… and really sticky.” you say and they chuckle.

“Eat first omega and then we’ll get you cleaned up ok?”

“Will you stay with me?” you mumble as you look at Steve.

“Of course.”

Steve moves to rest against the headboard and you immediately crawl on his lap. Steve and Bucky take care of you, doing exactly as they said they would, you eat a bit of the fruit that was brought in as well as some yogurt. Then Steve takes you into the shower so that you can wash up. With your new bond set in place though you want to cling to your alpha and he won’t say no to you. Even before you dated there was nothing neither him nor Bucky wouldn’t do with or for you. This moment was exactly what you needed, as you washed each other, it was intimate and comforting. You reassured Steve that you did want him to claim you and to hear you say those words lifted a weight off his shoulders and you felt relief wash over the bond. Once you were both done you headed back into the bedroom as you began to feel slick start to coat your inner thighs again.

This time Bucky would help you through it and you assured him that you also wanted him to claim you. It’s how you found yourself presenting for your alpha. A needy whine spills from your lips when you feel Bucky behind you.

“Alpha please.” you say as you look at him over your shoulder.

“It’s ok ‘mega. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Bucky takes his already hard cock and slides it through your folds. The head of his cock hits your clit and the sensation has you mewling. He groans as he lines himself up with your entrance and slowly pushes in. You wiggle your hips once he bottoms out, needing that friction more than anything.

“Please alpha, need you.” you beg over and over until he finally starts to move.

Bucky’s pace is slow at first, he wants to feel all of you. The way you flutter around him when the angle is just right. But the moaning and begging mixed with your sweet scent are all consuming and his pace quickens. Bucky keeps you in place by gripping your hips, the area will be sore tomorrow you’re both too far gone to care.

“Feel so good omega. Like you were made for me.” He growls as he snakes an arm around your body and up to your throat.

The hold isn’t tight but it’s enough for him to pull you against his chest. You take hold of his forearm and your nails dig into his flesh as he begins to tease your clit. The coil starts to tighten again low in your belly as Bucky continues to push you further into unbridled bliss. His breath hits your cheek as he begins to whisper in your ear.

“Such a good girl. Look at you taking me so well. Are you gonna cum for me? Show your alpha how good you feel?”

You nod as a strangled moan escapes you. Your head lolls to the side as pleasure takes over you. The only thing you’re aware of is Bucky claiming you just as Steve had. His hips falter for just a moment and you feel his knot swelling, locking you in place. Bucky sings sweet praises in your ear as he moves both of you into a comfortable position. You try to fight off the sleep, you want to bask in the joy of this new development but you’re too tired and the warmth Bucky provides is your undoing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You walked back into the tower a week later hand in hand with Steve while Bucky offered to carry your bags. Their ruts had started a few hours after your heat began and the week at the safe house was spent being tangled up with each other. At first you had been caught off guard when they said they wanted you to claim them, it was almost unheard of. But you did it and it was one of the most thrilling moments of your life.

Once the elevator opened up to the shared floor the rest of the team slowly filed out to meet you. It was a series of congratulations and hugs for the three of you. Tony had been the most excited about the new development. He was your closest friend and you had confided to him that you wish you could have presented.

Your childhood hadn’t been easy, being rejected by so many people made you doubt what your purpose was. But being in Steve and Bucky’s arms you realized you were meant to be more than just an omega. Never in your life did you imagine that not only would you become a highly important member of a team dedicated to saving people but that you could still be an omega and kickass. You were more than elated that you didn’t present until now because you found alphas that valued you for more than your heat. They gave themselves fully to you so you gave yourself fully to them. And you wouldn’t change a thing about it.

[nanaminsmoon]

𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝.

a/n: i don't know how i feel about this yet but i hope it's okay lol. but i do know that i need this man real bad. and i picked this song bc it just kinda reminds me of this:)) also, i'm british but i always imagine the characters i write to have american accents so that's how i write them:))

cw: throat fucking, breeding, connie calls reader 'ma', 'hermosa', and 'baby', oral (f + m receiving), connie nuts on reader, n word usage, connie speaks spanish 2x; 'lo sé, hermosa, lo sé' (i know, beautiful, i know); 'quieres un hijo, ma?' (you want a kid, ma?)

wc: 2286

you always knew connie was a problem. from the day your ex introduced you to him, and his eyes’ journey across your body was one that should not be taken by a guy your man called his ‘best friend’. connie’s treatment towards you had never held any resemblance to that of a friend. it was almost as if he had no desire to hide his want for you. shown by the way he spent the rest of that evening, at eren’s house, eye-fucking you. his eyes probing you; brushing across your entire body, making the hairs on your skin rise at his command.

after that night, his eyes would return to you; attaching themselves to any moving flesh, as you shook ass when you guys all went out together. but, once again, you brushed him off. and you could've sworn you whined on him one time but the dim lighting in the club meant that you could never confirm. it was never to the extent where he made you particularly uncomfortable, you just needed to know what the nigga’s problem was. so you asked your, now ex, boyfriend ony about it. but he had accused you of blowing it all out of proportion.

“just because the nigga looked at you, you think he wants you?”, he had scoffed, shaking his head at you.

“it’s not about him looking, ony, it’s how he looked.”, you defended, and ony had rolled his eyes and carried on with whatever he was doing. that marked the first of many arguments you two had about connie.

the turning point came when you and ony broke up, and the first person to text you as soon as it happened was…connie. it was as if he had been waiting for this very moment since he met you. and he had. but, unlike his prolonged affections for you, the message he sent you was short.

”you good?”, you looked at your screen through teary eyes, and saw that he was facetiming you. so you, hesitantly, answered and you were met with a sentimental connie, throwing condolences your way. ensuring you that you would be fine, and telling you praises like; ‘you were too good for him anyways’ and ‘i would never treat a girl as beautiful and smart as you like that. i don’t know what he was thinking’. and, as sweet as his words were, you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at his words that denounced his friend, aimed at the ears of his ex-girlfriend. but their comfort outweighed all the suspicions, so those calls became more regular. and, perhaps, that's how you got to where you are now; head upside down over the edge of his bed, with his dick fucking in and out of your throat.

“why you ain’t leave him sooner, y/n? i know he ain't ever fucked you like this”, your head tried to shake a response to him and he just laughed down at you, thinking you were absolutely adorable. even with all that spit spilling out the corners of your mouth, and your mascara running all over your face.

he had invited you over to just “chill”, but you knew better and went in a matching bra and thong—you didn’t know if it was just post-breakup loneliness, or wishful thinking because you had been feeling him for timeee. but it was a gesture he had laughed at once he took your clothes off.

“you want this dick just as bad as it wants you, huh?”, he had laughed, earning an abashed giggle from yourself. how he ended up fucking your throat, you didn't know. but you had weakened this man’s knees considerably, and now both of his hands were placed on your knees. the sight of your dainty hands toying with your clit as he used your throat as a cock sleeve made his dick pulsate in your throat. so he pulled out of you, slowly, groaning before he had two seconds to position his dick and nut all over your chest and stomach.

you no longer had loyalties to ony, so you could freely admit that connie was eating you out in a way ony never had. the pleasure he was giving you travelled through every cell in your body, even reaching your fingertips as one of your hands tried to grab at whatever parts of his bleached buzz cut it could. the other busy cramping due to how hard you were grabbing at the duvet underneath you. both of your legs rested over his shoulders as his tongue politely abused your heat. you thought you felt something in his mouth when you two kissed earlier, but the adrenaline coursing through your body had dulled your senses. but, now he had you spread open on his bed, you could feel the small ball of metal greeting your clit as he sucked it into his mouth; the combination of the cold jewellery and the warmth of his tongue making your back lift off the bed. you were so close to your end, and that gap was finally closed when the little ball started vibrating. connie’s lower face was drenched, your wetness running down his chin and neck.

not a drop of it was wasted as he wiped it on his hand and licked it all off, his eyes glued to your face the entire time. having not fully come down from your high, connie’s next movements were a blur to you. all you remembered was him pulling something out of his draw, then your legs were in his arms, your thighs meeting his hips as connie fucked into you like he would get evicted from his house if he didn't. his trimmed fingernails were digging into the flesh surrounding your thighs and his eyebrows met to furrow in the middle of his face. he no longer cared about loyalties, not with how tight you were. he would do this now, and deal with the consequences later. because how could he let his best friend get in between him and the finest girl he'd ever met?

this man fucked you mercilessly, it was as if he had a point to prove. and he did—he wanted you to know that it's him you should've been with in the first place. he would’ve been so much better to you than his friend had been. and if you couldn’t see it, you’d feel it. the tip of his dick was damn near touching your lungs, knocking out any air you had stored in them. your eyes hadn’t focused since you entered those four walls, and connie’s were clouded by you. and that cloud finally rained down when you came around him,

“c-connieee—fuck—s-so good—fuckfuckfuck”, were your final words before your second nut of the night—arousal flooding the fabric underneath you, as well as connie's lower abdomen. seeing you coat him again, and wet the places that dried after the first one, made connie’s dick throb. but he wanted you to nut again before he got his own end.

so he picked you up, and laid you on your stomach, lifting your ass up, and giving it a quick slap. the sensitivity still resounding in all your limbs exacerbated the feeling of his palm, and long fingers, meeting your soft flesh. before he spaced your legs apart, his right one knelt between them, and his left propped up beside you. in seconds he was pounding into you again. your hands were grabbing at pillows, sheets, anything to find a small grip on reality. because this man was trying to fuck you into madness. his brain had stopped working the moment your lips attached to his, and its small whisper of reason evaporated and was replaced by his dick’s harsh clamours to fuck you until he couldn’t anymore.

clamours became careless whispers telling him to nut in you, and get you pregnant so you could be his forever. something he had joked about it in your facetimes, telling you,

”i have half a mind to make you the mother of my kids. then i could take care of you forever”, your view was of him cooking shirtless, with nothing but pyjama bottoms on. and you knew there was nothing under them because of the way they sat on his hips—his v-line fully exposed. but your response had been a laugh and an eyeroll,

“shut up, bro. i’m not trynna be anyone’s baby mum”, you scoffed.

”i never said baby mum. i said mother of my kids. there’s a difference”, he had reassured, earning another eyeroll from you. that conversation replayed over, and over, again in his head. and he tried to disperse those thoughts by maintaining a firm hold on your hips, pulling you onto him as he fucked you like his life depended on it.

he was hitting you with those slow strokes that hit the right spot every single time, and it had you whining and slapping the pillows above your head,

“don't tap out on me, ma, c’mon. stay wit’ me”, and you tried, but the pleasure he was making you feel was enough to drive a grown woman to insanity.

“i'm trying con-n, but it's—nnggh—too fucking good. fuck”, he revelled in knowing he was being this good to you, even if it meant dire things for his friendship. he had always wanted to see what this pussy was like, and now he knew, he'd be back again next week. same time, same place, the only changing being the positions he bends you into.

”lo sé, hermosa, lo sé”, he smirked onto your skin as he kissed it; his plump lips starting at your shoulders, making their way down the valley in the middle of your back. his hands would travel the width of your back, before one of them wrapped around your throat to pull you up to him—your back flush against his tatted chest. his body weight rested on his heels as he fucked up into you; one hand still gently squeezing your throat, and the other gripping onto your tit like it’d fall off if he let go of it. he didn’t know what he was saying anymore, all he needed was to make you his.

”quieres un hijo, ma?”, he voiced, and you blindly just nodded, until he spoke again, ”yeah, you do? want me to put a kid in ya?”, you didn’t know if he was playing or not, but you didn’t need the mess that would come with having a kid with your ex’s best-friend. even though you were trying to collect your thoughts, your surprise caused you to tighten around him. and that just made connie go even harder.

”n-no, connie, n-no. whattabout ony-y?”, you mewled out and he scoffed at you, his grip on your throat slightly harsher.

”the fuck he gonna say? huh?”, that last ’huh’ came out through gritted pearly whites, ”how’s he gonna claim you if you got my kid in ya? huh? he ain’t gonna do shit, ma, don’t stress”, he cooed before peppering small kisses all over you.

”b-but”, you wanted to tell this man that he’d lost his damn mind, but your eyes were too busy flickering into their sockets as more whines left your mouth.

”no buts, baby, i’ll take care of you”, his mouth left open-mouthed kisses all over your neck and, with the way he was making you feel, you just nodded in agreement.

the words, ”good girl”, were the golden keys that opened the flood gates, and you came around him. that nut took all the strength from your body, and you would’ve fallen onto the bed if he hadn’t been holding you up. even still, the merciless pace which he fucked up into you with, did not falter. and you came again, crooning his name in overstimulation.

”c-conniee, fff-fuck”, your voice cracked out. he just smirked at your cute demeanour and resumed kissing your shoulders. before his groans fell deeper, and his fingertips dug deeper into your skin. his arms held you still and he came inside you—his release stealing his strength, meaning he gently dropped you onto the bed, collapsing beside you after doing so.

”you didn’t nut in me.”, you spoke quietly, and you thought the duvet had muffled you but the low chuckles rumbling from behind you told you otherwise.

”i had a condom on. you ain’t see me take it out?”, he walked off the bed, ”or did you really think i was gonna put a baby in you?”, he smirked, taking the thin layer of latex off him. his face winced at the sensitivity.

”nah.”, you spoke sheepishly, shaking your head against the duvet. he got off the bed, and made his way to the side you were laying on. once he made it to you, he grabbed you by your chin—making you sit on your legs as your body wavered. then his tatted hand was on your jaw,

”’f you want that baby, just ask and i’ll give it to ya”, his voice was quiet and the corners of his lips rose, as his eyes remained on yours. and once he saw your head make a small nod, his smile grew even bigger.

”bet.”

© Rights owned by nanaminsmoon. Do not repost without permission.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

The TTPD Deep Dive (Part ?)

It’s no secret that I have a lot of Thoughts about The Tortured Poets Department and it has lived rent-free in my head since it came out earlier this year. I’m absolutely blown away by how underneath the chaos, it’s actually an exceptionally cohesive story and is probably the closest to a concept album Taylor has ever done.

There are so many themes that have stood out to me over the last five months, and there’s one in particular that I think not only drives the entire album, but ties into previous albums to help deepen understanding of it.

This is it, my fangirl magnum opus, my months of posts consolidated into one place. This is also my disclaimer that this is just my interpretation of the album, and my summary of the story it tells, and I don’t pretend to have any special insight or authority. I’m not saying I’m correct at all, do not take any of this as fact, it’s just what it sounds like to me, and these are my silly not-so-little thoughts about it.

(Under a cut because it’s way too long and involves discussion many may not care for or be sick of.)

Come one, come all, it's happening again (I'm thinking too hard about Taylor music)

The overarching theme in TTPD to me is: Grief. If you’re looking at TTPD as a story being told (instead of just as someone’s real life), the inciting incident of TTPD is loss, and the grief from that loss is what drives the narrator’s actions and the fallout, as well as unpacks those complicated feelings and how they apply to the her life in general. By the end of the standard album, it’s also about recovering from that pain, moving on from it and learning from it.

The loss specifically is the loss of the dream of having a family (with one’s partner). One thing that is abundantly clear both on the top line and under the surface in TTPD is how Taylor (as a person and as narrator) longed not only to for marriage but specifically parenthood, and the fear and then realization of losing that chance absolutely wrecked her— which is why the next lover’s (the conman's) wooing worked so well, because it preyed on that yearning. Yet that loss also dovetails into the grief of many things: of youth, of idealism, of relationships, of ideas, even of self, which causes almost a deconstruction of a belief system to piece one’s life back together by the end.

THE CONTEXT

TTPD weaves in the topics of marriage and motherhood both explicitly and in the subtext, in various forms and scenarios. The cheating husband in “Fortnight.” The wedding ring line in “TTPD” the song. “He saw forever so he smashed it up” in “My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys.” All of “So Long, London.” Running away with her wild boy in “But Daddy I Love Him,” fantasizing about weddings and joking about babies. The imaginary rings in “Fresh Out The Slammer.” The cheating husband (again) and the friends who smell like weed or “little babies” in “Florida!!!” “You and I go from one kiss to getting married,” “Talking rings and talking cradles,” and “our field of dreams engulfed in fire” in “loml.” (And arguably: “I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all.”) “He said he’d love me all his life, but that life was too short,” in “I Can Do It With A Broken Heart.” They may not sound like much on their own, but they paint a picture about how the topics pervaded her thoughts and her writing, and in many cases express her desires, and her pain.

It’s something that goes back several albums when you pick up on context clues. You get the first hints on Reputation with “New Year’s Day,” and “you and me forevermore.” Then Lover is very forward with it: “Lover” is basically wedding vows, “Paper Rings” is very engagement-coded, “I Think He Knows” is cheeky but low-key “you better put a ring on it,” ���It’s Nice To Have A Friend” has wedding/marriage imagery in the last verse. As a self-professed diaristic writer, it’s the type of stuff one presumably doesn’t put out there unless those conversations have already happened, and she was very excited about it at the time it was released.

Then the pandemic happens and folklore comes out, and while there is still happy love there (“invisible string”), there are also the first indications that something has happened to put a halt to whatever future she once dreamed of (“hoax,” “the lakes”) and that she’s trying to reassure herself and him that it can still happen even if she’s scared it might not (“peace”). Notably, as far as I can remember it’s the first time Taylor explicitly brings up the idea of family (with her partner) with “you know that I’d give you my wild, give you a child,” which stood out at the time because it’s so incredibly vulnerable, but it’s even more poignant when you really take in that the whole song is like a confession of her deepest worries, and this is her vowing to give him these things that she holds most sacred if he’ll let her. These are what she cherishes most dearly and wants to return in kind: her youth and commitment (my wild), the family she craves (a child), unconditional support (swing for the fences/sit in the trenches) and understanding/compassion (silence that only comes when two people know each other).

Evermore follows an even darker path, and suddenly the album explores relationships that end and grappling with loss. There are toxic relationships (“tolerate it”), dangerous marriages (“no body, no crime,” “ivy”), failing/broken relationships (“Coney Island,” “champagne problems,” “happiness,” “‘tis the damn season”), as well as grief (“Marjorie,” “evermore”). Even some of the happy songs have uncertainty in them: in “willow” she’s begging for him to take her lead, like she’s still trying to decipher him and ask him to commit; in “cowboy like me,” still a beautiful love song, she’s thinking, “this wasn’t supposed to work and we were supposed to bail on each other but we fell in love instead”; “evermore” is about the depths of severe depression (and more) with the love story being the one saving grace in her darkest hour. And it’s also notable that after all the “fiction” writing, shortly after this album she writes “Renegade” where she’s telling the subject: I’m ready to start the next phase of our life now, why aren’t you? Is it me you don’t want after all? It’s like there’s something telling her that this stall might not just be a stall.

Midnights is a jumble (in a good, but in hindsight, also sad way) with the “sleepless nights” concept, but it seems pretty clear now that the themes and events and relationships she was revisiting tied into a lot of what she was feeling in her present life. I wrote the cliff notes version awhile back, but she’s questioning so much of her life that’s reflected in past events and relationships. Am I actually always the problem? How did we lose sight of each other and what we had? We only seem to work when we block out everyone and everything else. Can we ever go back to when things were good? Why are you neglecting me? I once thought I was going to lose everything but you saved me in the nick of time, can that happen again? I chased my career, but did I give up my chance at having a family in the process? Nobody knows what I really suffer from behind closed doors and I’m all alone.

And so on, which in retrospect now that we have TTPD, is very much what she was grappling with in private while writing and releasing the album. The inspiration behind the songs may have been different events and muses, but regardless of their origins they all end up feeling too familiar, like she's seen this film before (ahem). We’re seeing her view of commitment change too, or rather how she writes about it: she’s not making the outright declarations of it like on Lover, or even the implied ones on folklore, nor is she talking of the dark side of it like evermore. For the most part it’s a return to the early days of some relationships, before things got hard, or the end of them when there was nothing left, and also pushing away the discussion of it altogether by the outside world. “Sweet Nothing” is a sweet slice of life, but even at that, it’s the peace of the home in conflict with the pressure of the outside world. Now that we have “You’re Losing Me,” which was written at the same time as the rest of the album, we can probably deduce that she was going back to the start because something happened that made her doubt the future.

THE SETUP

So much of Midnights directly ties into TTPD, and I said in the post I linked that it’s like Midnights is asking the questions that TTPD answers. But there’s one song in particular on Midnights that sticks out to me as being key in the broadest sense to understanding the state of mind that led to the events of TTPD, and that’s “Bigger Than The Whole Sky,” because the way it expresses grief is reflected in the theme of mourning a life built and the dreams along with it that are never realized in TTPD. There are several instances in TTPD that are basically variations of: “every single thing to come has turned into ashes,” and that’s what makes her snap, and leaves her vulnerable to someone who promises her those things when she’s bereaved at losing them in the first place. (In other words: “the deflation of our dreaming leaving me bereft and reeling.”) The song tells a story about how that loss of hope colours one’s entire mindset, and in some ways is a bridge to TTPD to understand what such a low point feels like.

I think that that grief, and most importantly losing hope for an imagined future in its wake, is fundamental to understanding TTPD on so many levels: both the decline with one partner that kept her hanging on then led her such a dark path, and why she fell for the conman's apparent bullshitting because it offered an express pass to what she was losing with her partner. And I also feel like it plays a part into the ruminating she’s doing all over Midnights, trying to make sense of where she finds herself when she’s writing the album, which directly leads to “You’re Losing Me.” Loss permeates so many of the stories on Midnights: of lovers, of innocence, of youth, of faith, of control, of life’s work, etc. “BTTWS” is just one of the ways in which it is expressed so fully, capturing that deep depression and subsequent extinction of faith in something that once felt assured and very much wanted. (Which is also mentioned in her writing process in the “Depression” playlist on Apple Music.)

If you understand why that feeling of loss in general across so many parts of life is so important to Midnights, then it illuminates so much about the “narrative” in TTPD too. If on Midnights she’s wrestling with the seeds of grief and loss (on multiple fronts), TTPD is her reckoning with it in its full form. “So Long, London” is the song that is the most explicit about it: How much sad did you think I had in me? How much tragedy? Just how low did you think I’d go before I’d have to go be free? You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? I died on the altar waiting for the proof. It’s the sequel to “You’re Losing Me.” It’s, the air is thick with loss and indecision, I know my pain is such an imposition, I’m getting tired even for a phoenix, all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier, I’ve got nothing left to believe unless you’re choosing me, my heart won’t start anymore, but from the other side of the break.

This is highly speculative, but if you follow the thread about the topic and the relationship as told from Rep through TTPD, in broad strokes it goes: young love with a serious connection (Rep) -> growing up and making life plans (Lover) -> something happens that delays those plans or makes them grind to a halt (folklore) -> serious doubts arise and cause a loss of faith in their future (evermore) -> struggling with the loss of that future and trying to make sense of the problems in a last ditch attempt to save the relationship (Midnights) -> fallout from that grief after the blowup of the relationship (TTPD). Understanding that progression of events (through the music) explains not only the storytelling side of TTPD (e.g. the jump from the partner to the conman) but also how the experiences/muses blend in the music, and how the music that on the surface is about the short-term relationship is really driven by the destruction of the long-term one.

Following the music, it’s IMO implied that Taylor (the narrator) was holding out for marriage and family with her partner, for years, and it seems like it was at one point a shared dream until something happened to pump the brakes, and seemingly on her partner’s end. And extrapolating further, given how the sorrow expressed in former albums bleeds into TTPD, it sounds like a plan that had been concrete in some form before it had fallen apart, and losing something that once felt so tangible is what drives her in her grief to find any kind of respite from the pain. Which is why the situation with the conman becomes so appealing as the one with the partner splinters further and further.

(If everything you’ve once touched is sick with sadness and you don’t want to be sad anymore, what are you left to do?)

THE STORY

So (one part of) the story kind of sounds like this from the standard album: the relationship with her partner as well as his mental health slowly deteriorate and he withdraws emotionally (“London,” “Fresh Out The Slammer”) and physically (again, “London,” and “Guilty As Sin?”) and takes his resentment out on her (“London” and arguably “My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” even though I don't want to get into muse speculation here). As she sinks deeper into her own depression as a result, the weight of the failing relationship starts feeling like a cage— or a noose (“London,” “Guilty”), but coming to terms with the loss of their life together and the future they’d dreamed of was killing her (again, “London,” but also “I Can Do It With A Broken Heart”).

Enter the conman who she reconnects with at the very point where this is coming to a head (knowing that IRL she reconnected with him around the time Midnights was being worked on) , and if you read between the lines, she confides some deeply personal things to him (“Down Bad” and “hostile takes overs”/“encounters closer and closer,” “Smallest Man” and the entire sleeper cell spy imagery which is one of my favourite things and I could write a whole essay about the meaning of it, “loml” and “A con man sells a fool a get-love-quick scheme”). Then after she’s confided these secrets to him, he insinuates himself back into her life (“Guilty,” “Down Bad,” “Smallest Man”) and sells her a dream that HE can give her all these things she hopes for (again, “Down Bad,” “Smallest Man,” “loml,” song “TTPD,” “Broken Heart”).

But the thing is, he only knows these are the things she wants because she’s revealed it to him, and presumably, told him that was what she was losing by staying with her partner. And instead of the normal response of, “that is really sad that your partner is not supporting you and you deserve to be treated better,” to a friend in growing distress, it seems like it was, “well I can give you all those things!!!! Right now!!!! Trust me!!!!” And worked on her until she believed it, and jumped at the chance at a precarious time in her life. And one thing I want to underscore is: Taylor has agency in the situation always, it’s not like she’s been kidnapped and brainwashed. (In fact, she implores on songs like “But Daddy” that SHE is in charge of her own choices, good or bad.) She chose to rekindle the friendship and then relationship, and she chose to eventually leave her long term relationship for another man, and she reiterates on the album that she owns this all. But it’s also: nothing exists in a vacuum, and she makes choices based on emotions and information she has at the time, which is why it gives so much whiplash.

THE ALBUM

When you look at it as, the situation with the conman only happens because of what happened with the partner first and that the appeal of the conman and the fantasy he sells her is a direct reaction to that, it makes the “swirliness” of the music make so much more sense. And for much of it, even many of the “conman” songs on the surface are really “partner” songs underneath.

Fortnight

A suburban gothic allegory about a broken marriage with a distant husband with a wandering eye, which makes the rekindled romance with the neighbor so appealing. She’s miserable caged in her stifling house because she’s been abandoned by her spouse, so the reappearance of this past love reignites the passion that’s dead at home.

TTPD

“So tell me, who else is gonna know me?” “I chose this cyclone with you.” I’m gonna kill myself if you ever leave. Everyone knows we’re crazy. She’s laying it out there that she’s already in a dangerous state of mind, and she’s actively putting herself in more danger by pursuing the conman. “At dinner you take my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one people put wedding rings on, and that’s the closest I’ve come to my heart exploding,” spells this whole thing out so clearly: whether it’s an actual event (likely) or a metaphor for the promise he makes to her, the reason why it makes her heart explode is because it’s the thing she’s been waiting for forever with no movement, and here this person comes in and slips it on her finger in an instant like it’s nothing. (And eventually, as we’ll come to know, it is absolutely nothing to him.) You mean it could have been this easy this whole time?! (Well, no. Not until a certain other suitor makes his appearance later.) It feels like she’s finally getting everything she wanted in the blink of an eye! How lucky! How convenient! What was that about the get-love-quick scheme you say? (Unsaid: the reason why this feels so urgent is because there’s a sense that time is running out in so many aspects of her life and not just the obvious. Which reappears later on.)

Down Bad

“Did you really beam me up in a cloud of sparkling dust just to do experiments on?” sets the scene for this euphoric experience in the moment that starts to feel violating once the dust settles (which is then followed up in “Smallest Man” and the spy mission on her). The bridge spells out how he weaselled his way into her life, preyed upon (intentionally or not) her emotional state, sold her a dream and then vanished, without the benefit of hindsight yet we see later in the album.

The alien abduction metaphor is pretty brilliant, because it shows both how she was desperate to escape the place she found herself in, and how much it screwed her brain to then be left stranded when the affair was over. “[I loved your] hostile takeovers, encounters closer and closer,” is so evocative because it details how the situation came to be: his overtures under the guise of friendship blurred lines until he made her an offer that she eventually couldn’t refuse (hostile takeovers) as he infiltrated her life more and more intimately. The sad thing is that the song has parallels to how her relationship with the partner started too in earlier albums, in that they ran away to live in their own bubble (or planet) only for him to metaphorically abandon her as the years went on. (Oven, meet microwave.)

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

Being continually emotionally broken down by a person who knows he’s hurting you but still acts the way he does. (The original voice memo version makes this even clearer and it’s rather heartbreaking.) “He saw forever so he smashed it up,” speaks to the loss of a future the person became scared of, and the original lyrics (“he saw forever so he blew it up”) somehow cut even deeper to me because it feels so much more intentional.

Also in the original version, “he was my best friend and that was the worst part,” also speaks not only to the loss of an entire partnership in the wake of this hurt, but also to the feelings of betrayal that the person you trust so deeply has the ability to hurt you in this way too, and how it’s a one-two punch of not only losing the relationship but also your closest confidant. (It’s like the sequel to “Renegade” and the missiles firing to me.) Again, there are shades of both/many situations in the song, pointing to an unfortunate pattern in some ways. The situation in “My Boy” is part of why she was so low, and why the “get love quick scheme” was so appealing later on. And it dovetails nicely into…

So Long, London

The most explicitly “partner” song that puts a coda on “You’re Losing Me,” and is Track 5 because it’s the emotional underpinning of how she got to where she was, and drives the events of the rest of the album. It spells everything out: He withdrew, she tried to fix it for both of them, eventually even that stopped working, he was oblivious to or minimized how badly she was suffering and his (in)actions couldn’t reassure her, he wouldn’t move forward on their future plans and stewed in his own struggles, she was spiralling out of control trying to hang on and ultimately felt like she was going to die if she didn’t leave.

But Daddy I Love Him

Like a direct reaction to “So Long, London” in that she breaks free from the death of one relationship and throws herself with reckless abandon to the next, fuck the haters. How dare you judge me, when the relationship you think I should have stayed in was killing me? (Dutiful daughter all the plans were laid. All you want is gray for me.) Fuck all of you, I’m going to choose whoever I want! (So what if I have a baby with HIM, huh?! I tried doing it the proper way and look where that got me so now we're back to square one) It’s again her imagining how wonderful and freeing this “wild boy” is going to be for her, and how wrong she’ll prove everyone. THIS TIME she definitely got it right. So what if she has to run away! So what if she scandalizes the whole town! They don’t know what she really wants or needs anyway! She’s the only one of her (hee-hee-hee) and she’s the only who gets to decides how this goes. (Because: she longs for control in a situation she’ll eventually realize she has little of it in, which we’ll find out is a recurring theme in her life.)

Fresh Out The Slammer

Also spells out what happened with the partner in the first verse and the pre-choruses, which is what makes the conman so appealing as the imagined jailbreak. The bitter loneliness vs. the sultry passion she builds up in her head as she awaits her release from prison is key to understanding the two sides of the story in the album. There’s this whole outlaw imagery (which is also carried through in “I Can Fix Him”), but it’s contrasted in the end with her and her reunited lover sitting on park swings like children with “imaginary rings” — because “Ain't no way I'm gonna screw up now that I know what's at stake.” What’s at stake is lasting love and the promises that come with it (marriage/family) that are precious and time-sensitive. The imaginary rings are both a nod to the youthful dreams of her and her new/old lover, but also has a double meaning to me because those promises aren’t built on anything together; they're made up, intangible. (They’re no more concrete than the plans that went up in smoke with the partner.) Like with most of the conman situation, it’s all a fantasy in her head that has yet to happen, and as we find out later in the album, reality ends up leaving much to be desired.

Florida!!!

Broadly speaking, it’s running away from your problems and wanting to disappear from your life. (But again: the life she’s disappearing from is the cheating husband she may or may not be feeding to the swamp-- another miserable marriage.) What kind of flies under the radar though is the “I don’t want to exist,” line, which points to her dire state of mind that led her to fleeing to that metaphorical timeshare down in Destin. In many ways about cheating death.

Guilty As Sin

Yes it’s the “masturbation song,” but again the nuance is that she’s left to pleasure herself because her partner has abandoned her emotionally and even physically, i.e. “my boredom’s bone deep.” To be blunt: they aren’t even intimate anymore, so she starts fantasizing about the guy she used to have chemistry with who’s reentered her life and is making moves on her. And realizing that she’s now finding release in another man (albeit imaginary) breaks her even as it reinvigorates her because she finally understands that the relationship she’s in is effectively dead. (“Am I allowed to cry?”)

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me

This isn’t about relationships, but about society and its reaction to them in a general sense. But again, she’s left to stew in all this anger and hurt as she’s been abandoned at home, then abandoned by public opinion, and the public attack on her is part of the origin as well as the end of that story. The trauma inflicted upon her detailed in the song is the reason why she felt trapped in the first place, which led to the decisions she’s made and habits she’s leaned on ever since.

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

This is one of the few songs that is the most completely conman-coded, and shows when the delusion finally breaks at the end of the song. She spends the whole song being like, “no really, I alone can make him better! You’ll see! I know he’s gross, but he’s mine! It’ll be fine I swear! You don’t know anything! Uuuuuum hmm wait actually what the fuck—“

Loml

Oof. THE song. Again the surface reading is about the “conman” who comes in and sells her the lie, but the pain is because all the dreams she writes about are HER dreams and implied that they were the dreams she built with her partner that the conman sold back to her. I could do a deeper dive on this but most of the song is applicable to both relationships, which not only shows the “swirliness” of her writing, but also how they both ultimately did the same thing to her in different shades.

The bridge and the last chorus are kind of fundamental to understanding it all, and her ending it with “you’re the loss of my life” is about, among other things, how falling for this trap blew up the life she built and dreamed of for good. (I could talk about this one forever.) “You shit-talked me under the table, talking rings and talking cradles” to “Our field of dreams engulfed in fire” is a hell of a line and progression, and again, indicative of what the real driving force behind the whole album is. The shit-talking is because he took her dreams (of marriage and children) and hyped it back up to her tenfold whether in a moment of his own delusion or for more nefarious reasons — much like how the man prior kept promising these things but never followed through, which left her vulnerable to someone who appeared to offer them enthusiastically. The field of dreams isn’t just the one with the conman, it’s the one with the longterm relationship she’d built the dream with in the first place, because the conman’s actions are part of the reason the LTR went up in smoke. (Not the reason for the rift, but the consequence of the final break.) And THAT is why it’s the loss of her life, so completely.

When she says “I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all,” IMO it’s not just the fake future that the conman lures her into, but also (and perhaps mainly) the once-real one she had with her partner and the loss of which that made her susceptible to falling for the con in the first place. There’s honestly so much between the lines in this song that covers every theme and speaks to the grief of seeing the life she imagined slip away, slowly by the first man then annihilated by the second.

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

The juxtaposition of “He said he’d love me all his life, but that life was too short” and “He said he’d love me for all time, but that time was quite short” sums it up to me (and parallels “loml”), because they are two different situations, but they cut her just the same. In the first, “that life” IMO was the life they’d built with the dreams that went along with it and it was too short because he never followed through, and in the second, the “time” was quite short because it was the frenzy of the whirlwind romance that fizzled as quickly as it began. The life that was too short led to the time that was quite short.

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

This is definitely THE conman song. The rage, the shame, the violation, it’s all in there. But the key to it is the bridge and the espionage imagery woven through it. A honeypot scheme is when spies target a mark and seduce them to gain their trust and their privileged information for their homeland. So her likening him to a sleeper cell spy who set her up just to mine her deepest secrets and use them against her is a heavy, loaded statement. And implied: that valuable information she unknowingly held were her longings of marriage and family (the aforementioned shit-talking about rings and cradles she never got to have), and more importantly, those dreams preceded him reentering her life and then beginning his mission on her.

The insinuation then is: she confesses these are her deepest wishes which are now seemingly unattainable in her current situation (e.g. with her partner) -> he convinces her HE will give them to her and make the dreams she pines for come true -> she falls for him and blows up her life to make it happen -> he gets what he wants (thrill of the chase/sex/the idea of her/whatever his intent was) -> he abandons her when he gets what he wants, or rather it isn’t what he wants or can handle -> she’s left a) all alone b) with dreams unfulfilled c) with no answers d) feeling used at having her most sacred wishes used against her.

Again, the song is unquestionably about the way the conman absolutely destroyed her, but he was able to do that because there was this thing she wanted more than anything, that was dying in her previous relationship, that he was able to prey upon to seduce her, then discarded her and her dreams as soon as it was inconvenient for him while absolutely hollowing her inside out. (And again: the devastating thing is that this also applies to other relationships she’s written about, in different ways.)

The Alchemy

Not about either the partner or the conman directly, but it (loosely) touches on her finding herself after the whole oven-to-microwave experience and opening herself up to life and love again. #GoodForHer

Clara Bow

This isn’t about the romantic relationships on the surface, but it is about how damaging the entertainment industry and public life are on women, and how women are only valued for their beauty as commodities until they can be discarded and destroyed in the process. Which I think plays into the circumstances that led her to make the decisions that she did years ago, and why she makes the ones she does now. (But also, being valued for physical traits and appeal for the male gaze brings us to…)

The Manuscript

The “original sin” that kicks off all of this. Again, at first light this isn’t about the partner or the conman, but the person it is about is the reason why she has made all the decisions she has ever since in relationships (and that’s Mr. Plaid Shirt Days from “All Too Well”). The realization that her first serious adult relationship is what cemented these patterns, and this view of herself and her worthiness in relationships, is profoundly sad. An older man who valued her for being so mature for her age and implying that the mature activities ahem associated with that were the performance benchmarks in her ability to carry a relationship, only to leave her, was earth shattering. She placed her faith in this person, but then the way he treated her changed her view of love and of herself.

She took his innuendo about “pushing strollers” as a sign of potential commitment, whereas he ultimately meant it as foreplay, and she was too young and naive to know the difference. So not only did she learn from that that this man (and men) didn’t view commitment and family the way she did and that it was something to be toyed with, but she also learned that her value to them among other things was sex. Imagine being an idealistic 20 year old and your boyfriend ten years your senior tells you, “if the sex is anywhere near as good as our dates have been, we’re going to be making babies before you know it,” (e.g. this is relationship is serious) and then he dumps you: does that imply that the sex was not in fact that good? (E.g. that you’re not worthy after all?)

No, obviously from this side of life, it’s because he was a commitment-phobic playboy, even if he did love her, but she couldn’t have known that at 20 and instead internalized that shame. But, it did send her on a path of how she approached sex and love and relationships for over a decade afterwards. And her coming to the realization that that first act of (perhaps unintentional) manipulation is what informed her actions thereafter helped her break the pattern. Her worth to men is not just sex, she has value and her hopes and dreams have value, she doesn’t have to change into a different person to please anyone, because if that is what they want, they won’t ever want her anyway.

It’s been described here on Tumblr by people more eloquent and astute than I as a song that encapsulates the album as this: one did it slow (partner), one did it fast (conman), and one did it first (first love)— and that is haunting. After years of men minimizing her dreams and desires, if not outright using them against her, she’s finally at the point where she can let it all go and move on for good. (There’s a whole other tangent about consent and shame and manipulation, but that’s an entirely different kind of discussion. But it is so devastatingly contrasted with “you said if we had been closer in age maybe it would have been fine, and that made me want to die.”)

THE SUMMATION

This is just my interpretation of it, but in going through the standard album, it feels pretty clear how cohesive the album is about a story of love and loss and grief, then reckoning with what caused it all in the first place that set a person on this path. It’s a formative experience at a young age that was traumatic and led to certain coping mechanisms and a shaping of one’s self-perception, as well as the reaction to external pressures that try to dictate behaviours and influence how one feels one deserves out of love which makes it harder to know when one absolutely deserves more and better. And leaves one struggling to cope with loss when there isn’t anything else to hold onto. Then in light of one’s life blowing up, learning to find oneself in the aftermath all over again.

On another tangent that is somewhat related to the theme of loss, the way she writes about the two main muses on the standard album also ties into how the situations converged to create absolute carnage on her emotional and mental well-being. With one situation, she’s talking about a concrete life that crumbles under the weight of their struggles; with the other, the entire thing is a fantasy that she builds up in her head, and when it comes to fruition it falls far, far short.

If you look at the “microwave” (conman) relationship, you realize that almost everything she writes about it happens before it actually becomes reality, and it’s mostly her imagining how great it’ll be, but with few exceptions, when she writes about what actually occurred, it doesn’t even come close to living up to her expectations. “Fortnight” is an imagined future where she escapes to Florida and his touch finally starts her stalled engine (ahem). “TTPD” is perhaps the most positive retelling of their time together, but even that implies he was better off stoned and when he sobered up he succumbed to his demons all over again, and more importantly she conveys how she also is in extreme distress, barely concealed by the veneer of being infatuated with him. (E.g. saying to that she’ll kill herself if he ever leaves her — the implication is that she is absolutely serious about it when she “felt seen.”) And that the warning bells are going off in her head, but she feels like this person is the only one she can be with (because they’re equally fucked up and the chaos he brings into her life makes her feel alive when she felt so close to death).

“Down Bad” is the most explicit about being in love, but she’s also left completely confused and disoriented by him disappearing, wondering if any of it was real and the seeds of violation creep into her consciousness (“did you really beam me up in a cloud of sparkling dust just to do experiments on?” “Waking up in blood.”). “But Daddy” is her imagining she can tell everyone to fuck off for telling her what to do with her life. “Fresh Out The Slammer” is her fantasizing about this man while feeling trapped in her relationship — but never in the song is she actually reunited with him; she’s using him as the projection of all the things she’ll make right after being wronged by her partner. “Guilty As Sin?” Is very obviously about her fantasizing about sleeping with him, but again it’s such a minefield for her because it hasn’t happened yet; they’ve only just reconnected. “I Can Fix Him” is the only song other than “TTPD” that shows them actually together, and it’s the one where she keeps saying, essentially, “I know he’s gross but I can rehabilitate him into an upstanding person, trust me,” until the mic drop at the end of the song where it finally hits her that no, she can’t, because this is who he is, not the person she’s built him up to be.

“Loml” is when it all comes crashing down, and the song emphasizes everything he did and told her, e.g. that she’s the love of his life, but she doesn’t return the sentiment in the song about their time together. Because now that it’s past tense, she knows it wasn’t actually love. (And says as much in the album epilogue poem.) “Broken Heart” is her reeling in the aftermath, but again, it’s “he said,” not “I loved.” And then there’s “The Smallest Man,” where she eviscerates him: he also pursued an idea of her but didn’t care much for the real her in front of him (who else is gonna know me?), he love bombed her only to hurt her (crushing her dreams), he was constantly stoned (and not just in the funny munchies kind of way), and he wasn’t even a good lover (despite the fantasy she’d created before). That last point is especially striking because she spent albums singing about the importance of and pleasure in (sexual) intimacy in the relationship with her partner (sometimes to both their own detriment) and how it was at times the only way they could connect, but in this case, the idea she hyped up and acted on in her head about this lover never panned out in practice. She spells it out in the epilogue: it wasn’t a love affair, it was a mutual manic phase.

In contrast, there’s a lot more tangible action in the “oven” (partner) parts of the album, showing how hard she tried to make the relationship work in real life instead of just in her head. All of “So Long, London” is her detailing how she tried to break through to him and support him, even when he rejected it and pushed her away, thinking she could carry them both until they ultimately sank, but she did it because she “loved this place for so long.” (The place? Not just the city, but the home and perhaps most importantly, him.) In “Slammer” she stayed with him even as things disintegrated for “one hour of sunshine.” (E.g. holding onto the rarer good times even as they were fewer and further between, hoping things would eventually turn around.) And like in “London,” she held on despite people in her life pleading with her that it was hurting her. (Which is also echoed in “Slammer.”) In “Guilty” her boredom is “bone deep” because the passion that once drove their relationship (and papered over their problems) has finally gone out too, so there’s nothing left to hold onto, leading to her fantasizing about the new suitor, which makes her realize her relationship has passed the point of no return. “Loml” is about the conman on the surface, but the undercurrent of all the things she says about him is that he was co-opting the dreams that she was clinging onto for dear life in the previous relationship, which is why the con is so painful; the field of dreams he sets ablaze isn’t just the fake painting he sold to her, but the original artifact (her life with her partner) too.

All the physical and emotional labour she puts into the relationship with her partner ends up reflected in the fantasizing she does in the one with the conman, which is why it is so confusing in the moment and so lethal when he leaves her without any answers. She wants to get married and start a family with her partner which keeps getting stalled; the conman mock-proposes which makes her think he’s immediately serious (“TTPD,” “loml”). She feels caged by having to hide with her partner and shrink herself; the conman promises he’ll stand by her side publicly and let her shine (“Smallest Man”). She sinks into a deep depression in her loneliness as the relationship with her partner careens off a cliff; the conman convinces her they’re meant for each other in a them-against-the-world way (“Down Bad”). The intimacy (in all senses of the word) in her relationship with her partner fizzles; the conman stokes the fire by sending her secret messages and reigniting passion (“Guilty”). She spent years trying to help her partner to no avail; the conman makes her think she has the power to reform him (“loml”). She feels misunderstood by her partner; the conman acts like he’s the (only) one who truly gets her (“TTPD,” “loml”).

In short: there’s nothing that the conman does or says that isn’t a direct response to what her partner did first, and it’s even worse because the conman knew how much her partner’s actions hurt her and he used that privileged information to paint a picture of what he could give her, but in doing so in some ways aimed at her heart with even deadlier accuracy. (I’ve likened it to him borrowing someone else’s life for his own joyride, until he crashes the rental car and flees the scene.) It’s why in the aftermath, the difference in emotions are so different: she feels nothing but rage and violation towards the conman for getting in her head and using her, whereas her feelings towards her partner are more complicated. There’s anger (at her lost youth and being taken for granted), but there’s also sorrow (at their lost life and future), disappointment (that he never could step up the way he’d promised or she’d needed), even compassion (towards his struggles) and a tiny measure of appreciation (for the good times they did share).

When you look at the bigger picture, the story the album paints is just so painfully normal. You have two people (Taylor and her partner) who once loved each other deeply, and despite warning signs early on telling them they have fundamentally different needs and ways of living their lives they fight like hell to make it work (the epilogue) until those warning signs become grenades that destroy their home (“My Boy,” “London,” “Slammer,” arguably “loml”). Having already been through at least one rough patch/break/breakup that she felt almost destroyed her (harkening back to Midnights on “You’re Losing Me,” “The Great War” and “Hits Different”), the final and fatal downward spiral of the relationship (“YLM,” “London”) and the grief over losing that future sends her into a tailspin, just at the time where a flame from the past (the conman) reenters her life and tells her all the things she’s been longing to hear and feel (“TTPD,” “Down Bad,” “Guilty,” “loml”) and, crucially, missing from the relationship that was once her entire life.

So in her panic, she falls prey to the (empty) promises of the past lover (“loml,” “Smallest Man”) and decides he’s actually what will save her from the free fall, because the alternative (that she will end up in a situation she doesn’t think she can survive) is too painful to bear. When she finally acts on these circumstances (leaves her partner/runs to the conman), she snaps, acting on pure emotion and adrenaline (“But Daddy”), but before she knows it, the new lover abandons her, and she’s left to reckon with the fallout of the episode and process everything that has happened (“Down Bad,” “loml”) — with the conman, with her partner, with the choices made in her adult life personally and professionally which leads her back to the moment she feels set her down that road at the start.

The TL;DR of this unintentionally long essay is that the reason the conman affair was so serious was precisely because it was meant to fulfill the promise of what was her life with her partner. To me, a large part of the story is that she projected that life onto the conman (or he projected her life back to her for his own purposes) because she wasn’t ready to deal with that massive grief and the life raft he offered felt like the only alternative to an even darker end. Whether the conman actually believed what he told her, or he went along with it or encouraged it because it served his purpose, we’ll never know, just like we’ll never know the finer details of what went on (nor should we). But no matter what, the album is just an extreme deep dive into all the ways grief can consume us, and whether it’s a long, drawn-out death or a sudden, inexplicable one, it can turn a person’s life into such a trainwreck that they act in ways unfathomable to even them, let alone the people around them. It can also unleash repressed trauma and mental illness that can crater your sense of self. And when those situations are compounded? It makes for a nearly impossible type of breakdown to unpack. (Which is why you might need a 31 song album to process it.)

[f-t-e]

I started watching SUPERNATURAL in November 2020. I know, I know. My partner and I had been isolating alone since March. The timing felt right. I went though a wild amount of upheaval and trauma over the next year and SPN was there for me through it all. It was THE show at THE time and it kept me afloat when I needed it the most. Since November 2021 I've written just about 110,000 words of SPN fanfic, a number that seems unbelievable to me, and that too has been a real blessing to my creative life, no matter what haters say. (why didn't I write my own novels in that time? Because I have a hobby, Karen, and I love it.) And I've read about 500000x that much fanfic, which has been the biggest blessing of all. (ETA: oh right, if you want to read my fic, you can find my stuff here, I wrote a fic where Dean reads books. Lots of books.)

I know I'm a nobody in this fandom but I thought on this, our #DestielDay, I would submit my own humble rec list. I've curated this very deliberately: every fic here has just about 4000 hits or less (most under 3000) and all were published in 2020 or after. So, sort of a rec list for some lesser known and newer fics, something you maybe haven't stumbled on yet. Especially thank you to @jewishcharliebradbury, her rec lists gave me a place to start back in the day and I have tried to model the depth and quality they brought to their lists. I tried to link to everyone's tumblr, but if I missed one, let me know.

Most of all, thank you to everyone who has EVER created something for this fandom, from 2005 to 2023. I am so thankful and, honestly, honored to be among your number. You're not supposed to be cringe and say a show saved your life...but SUPERNATURAL saved me, it really did. See y'all when the movie/reboot drops, to quote Ryan Gosling in The Notebook: IT WASN'T OVER, IT STILL ISN'T OVER. And I'm glad.

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Finale Fix-It & S15 and Beyond

What The Moon Was Saying by Amiril (@runawaymarbles)

This is hands-down one of the coolest “Dean Rescues Cas from the Empty” fics I have ever read and the concept is brilliantly structured to mirror the literal and metaphorical things Dean needs to give up and let go to get free. Every scenario is very satisfying and they make sense, is there any better feeling? Dean is very open in this, but in a believable way that still has edges. And, oh, the reunion is so good. Plus all the family stuff. Just excellent, exactly what you want in a fic like this: lovely, well-written, smart, fulfilling, all the pieces clicking, the show but better.

Awake and Annoying by skycruise

I love the use and passage of time in this one, it has some real impact, and I love the way Dean gets into the Empty (so smart, fits just right) and what I REALLY love in this one is the way it lets Dean be really clear-eyed and honest about his relationship with Sam, both the strengths and the weaknesses. And the last line, very clever and moving inverse of one of fandom’s favorite things. 

Living the life you chose by allthismusic

THEEEEE post finale Sam Winchester-Outsider-POV this fandom needs. Sam is absolutely awesome in this, the most believable, loving, realistic mix of “I knew all along” and “I had no idea” versions of Sam, landing somewhere I think that’s really true and in character. It fills in and develops so many gaps and silences in what the show let Sam know in the absolute best way. Best Brother Sam is a weakness of mine and he really shines here, there for Dean in the best ways but also coming into his own, I love it so very much. (this author also has a very great 2022 Big Bang fic, hugely recommend that one too.)

your ear to the wound that whispers by EmandFandems (@lazarusemma)

Who doesn’t love a HANDPRINT FIC?!? And boy this is such a good one. It follows Dean and his thoughts on the handprint from the first touch all the way to fixing the finale and it simply buzzes with longing and desire, tenderness and rawness. It’s great insight in lot of ways into Dean’s journey. It’s short but fulfilling and oh that very perfect last line. (this author also has a lot of great Jupernatural content.)  

Somewhere Off in the Dark by magickastiel 

Another awesome fic that traces Dean’s shifting/growing feelings for Cas from when he shows up in his hotel rooms to a HEA fix it after canon. Dean, again, is handled so deftly in this one, his confusion and sorrow at all the times Cas is slipping away from him all the way through the things he won’t let himself know. He feels really true in this one, sharp and tender in the best Dean ways. Also it has an agonizingly romantic end, you love to end up there.

Pins and Feathers by theskywasblue (@buttherewasnogod)

This author has so many freaking good SPN fics, omg it was almost impossible to pick just one to include on this list. Go treat yourself with their entire list because there’s so much good stuff there! But this one, oh I am a sucker for a finale fix-it that lets Dean be this tender. While I LOVE fics where he just jumps right into Cas’s arms (and write them lol) I also feel like this is so true to Dean too: that “maybe I misunderstood, maybe I shouldn’t say anything, maybe he doesn’t still –” And on top of all that, it’s a “they go the beach” fic and it gets the details of it so right, sand in your toes and all. Tender, amazing slow-burn, real, hot, full of heart and longing and everything unspoken and just waiting. Very satisfying!

i loved you first by kalmialatifolia

A set of four short fics that create an entire world of feeling and emotion. These feel like little whispered stories told under the covers, very atmospheric. There’s one very sexy one, a haircutting one (so good) and they’re just intimate. All together a great set and did I mention they’re in the “Cas saves himself” genre which is mmmm an underrated treasure.

no other faith is light enough for this place by anonymous 

A fix-it fic that has a particularly unique and beautiful visual of both how and why Cas comes back. The mechanics behind it are fairly standard but the way this author creates the visual of it, the sheer emotion and force behind it and how it happens, it really stood out to me and stuck with me. It’s Dean being brave enough to really feel and the way that just blossoms – lovely, aching, full-tilt wonderful.

 no proof, one touch by TakeThisWaltz (@watchinghimrakeleaves)

One thing I absolutely cannot get enough of is fic where Cas is hiding out from Dean in heaven. It just hits. And the only thing better is Dean chasing him down and the WAY he does it in this fic, methodically and – well the method (sobs) it is so endearing and OBVIOUS and gives Dean a chance to shout in all the best ways. This one is just real sweet and kind of goofy and if they have to be in heaven, I want them to still be these same two dorks.

Stay by redbrickrose

This is a post S15x18 from Cas’s POV and I think it’s very true to where he would be in the moment of getting yanked out of the Empty: resigned, hesitant about what he has in front of him, still a little in shock. And then. And then. Sweet and simple and Dean gets a chance to say, say, say it. This author has a good post series AU and a lovely little spate of S15 codas, all good. And then wrote this in real-time in the week after 15x18 Despair and right before 15x19 Inherit the Earth aired (could you just sob over the possibilities?!) and then hasn’t wrote anything since and that’s a shame but, like, yeah I get it.

like a one-two punch by Muir_Wolf (@muirmarie)

Don’t you love a short fic that feels like it’s a whole novel? This goes AU after 14x20 Moriah but it is a truly delightful twist on how Chuck could’ve reacted there and it makes Dean sharp as a knife, which is one really resonant image woven through this fic. Great imagery here and so many clever solutions for the lazy plotting of S15, including simply one of my all-time favorites in any fic ever solutions to Cas’s deal (genius) and getting rid of Chuck. Brilliant like a puzzle box yet still full of so much fucking joy.

maybe i like pleasure pain by tothewillofthepeople (@kvothes)

The fact that this was written in October 2023 and is so agonizingly good fills my heart with joy and tells me Destiel will never die lol. Cas, in particular, is great in this – he’s having a hard time adjusting to being in a body and with all the fuzz of the world. I love fics where Cas struggles with coming back from the Empty and this uses a really unique approach to it: Cas facing sensory overload and not knowing how to feel but wanting it all. Lovely, hot, Dean is just right in this too.

Earlier Canon (pre S15)

Proverbs 13:12 by starlingcas (@angelcasendgame)

Many might say I am biased because Renu has beta’ed everything I have written in the SPN fandom and they can read my brain and make everything I write better. But it’s not just that. Renu has done something beautiful and delicate in this fic, which is about Dean and Cas getting trapped in a net together (forced proximity trope, yes please) and weaves a web of its own; pulling you in just as they are pulled together. This is set mostly in early S14 (before fixing the finale in the most heart-healing way) and captures that feeling so well. There’s so much that’s unsaid between them yet still conveyed and Renu absolutely nails that, along with the tender longing that was always there. This is a fic to relish.

you may tire of me (as our december sun is setting) by deludedfantasy

You know how the show just sometimes is like “uh so anyway uh then Cas…uh…left.” and it just doesn’t make one lick of sense? FINALLY FINALLY a fic where Dean says “I’ll go with you,” and then goes because he actually would do that. This is a post Tombstone fic so it is exactly where/when he WOULD go and it is tender and hesitant and aching in just all the ways it would be between the two of them at this time. It’s about needing to keep someone in sight, it’s about having another chance to say something so important, it’s slow and soft and just right for the characters in this place. I could read this one about 100 times.

the anatomy of flightless birds by cowlovely (@dollhousemary)

This fic is basically the way you feel when you get all cozy and snug underneath your favorite blanket. This is a domestic-life-in-the Bunker S9 fic where everyone behaves like they are in character and not just like they have to get Cas off screen because the writers panicked. You’ll just want to curl up in this fic and savor it the way you wrap your fingers around a hot beverage on a very cold day, there’s no better way to describe it.

virtue by JenTheSweetie

I think I’ve read this about 100 times and it still gets me everytime? It’s a five things fic about Dean and Cas hooking up and it’s all you’ve ever wished for. This is set in an amorphous S8 and it is not just agonizingly hot but also romantic and very funny. It feels really in character! Sam is hilarious, Dean is clueless but bowled over and letting himself be swept up, Cas is delighting in every second and smarter than he lets on and it ALL feels fated and lovely and sexy and just splendid. (this author only has 3 SPN fics but they are all so good and if you try sometimes, well you just might find is an absolutely brilliant deconstruction of Dean learning the differences between “needing” and “wanting.”)

Romance at the Motel 6 by shelia_amour 

This fic makes me feel like Stefon from SNL. This fic has everything: Cas and Sam pretending to be married, just the right amount of jealous Dean, Dean randomly pretending to be married to Cas, Dean realizing maybe this isn’t so fake after all, motel vibes, Cas in Dean’s clothes, Cas getting bee slippers. If you are not sold on this already, we are very different people. So good, aches just right. (set in a kind of “whenever” of canon, but I like to put it somewhere in S8.)

que sera sera by Purple_Starflower (@hauntedpearl)

The epitome of how fanfic unfolds for us all the things that COULD happen. You can’t PROVE to me Dean and Cas never snuck off to snuggle and feed Dean’s touch-starvation early in S13. I had to check when I finished because I just couldn’t believe this fic was under 4000 words because it feels so full of touch, longing, the things unspoken, and all the ways Dean was reaching, reaching, reaching. The best kind of ache, and everything by this author is lovely. 

the hard edge that you’re settling for by lesspopped (@trekkiedean)

This is some S10 Demon!Dean that made my stomach hurt and my heart ache and I absolutely loved it and I absolutely hated it and it all felt so REAL with who Demon!Dean was and could have been. There’s a TW for mildly dubious consent in this, but to me, Cas was so agonizingly true to who he was/where he was at this point in canon too. This fic is gloriously, claustrophobically intimate. I say unbearable because as a reader you know that this closeness, this intimacy, is what Dean wants/craves/deserves but can only give himself as a demon and the author does an exquisite job at getting all that across. Hurts so good! 

four of swords by sundryvillians (eurythmix) (@perenial)

Can the world ever have enough post 12x12 fic? The answer is, of course, no. Dean and Cas bake bread and in the soft space of creating something with their own hands, get so close to the words Cas said. It’s about healing and anger and making something just because you are so tired of everything breaking. If that alone isn’t enough to convince you, let me also throw in this is another one of those “possible off-screen moments in canon” that gives them something honest and tender and raw and it feels so very possible. 

Fifteen Prayers From the Faithless by koyas_cat

Short, achy, that sweet sting. A set of prayers for Cas from the beginning to the end, full of all the things Dean doesn’t let himself say outloud and just reflecting the changes in their connection over alllll the years. So good.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

loml

Request: absolutely need u to write a fic about roy kent’s controversially young ex gf writing so long, london about him and the teams reaction to the realization. happy ending or not 👀

Roy Kent x Popstar

1.7k words

Warnings: Language, angst, age gap, did I mention angst?

A/N: It's been a minute since I posted anything! This definitely put me deep in my feelings, not gonna lie. Enjoy all the emotions 😝

Roy clenched his jaw as he rounded the corner to head towards the changing room and his office. There wasn’t the usual ruckus that greeted him before training; instead, he followed the sound of what he realized was music. And it wasn’t the usual rap or energetic pop the lads usually blasted and sang along with, either. No, this was slow, haunting, something that left Roy tightening his grip around his black duffel bag.

Thinkin, how much sad did you think I had

Did you think I had in me?

Oh, the tragedy ...

So long, London

You'll find someone ...

The breath caught in Roy’s throat as he came to a skidding stop outside the changing room door. He knew that voice. He’d heard that voice humming in his kitchen. Giggling in his ear. Whispering into his chest. Sighing in his bed. For almost two years, that voice had filled his home and his heart, bringing warmth and joy to both places. And the lips that voice came from always formed the most beautiful smile, the smile he always wanted to kiss right off that pretty face- and fuck, he sure tried his best every chance he got.

Gritting his teeth, Roy took one step into the changing room, doing his best to ignore the immediate stares of his squad. He hated the looks on their faces, all filled with sympathy, reminding him way too much of the faces he saw after his retirement. He swore he saw guilt in some of their expressions, too.

Of course they felt guilty. They’d been caught listening to his ex-girlfriend’s new album. The album that had skyrocketed to the top of the charts since its release over the weekend. The album Roy couldn’t quite bring himself to listen to yet. The album, he knew, that she had written about him.

Refusing to meet anyone’s eye, Roy stalked into his office, closing the door firmly behind him. Beard and Nate were nowhere to be found; they were probably on the pitch, he reasoned. He ignored the feeling that they’d probably want to give him some space with the album’s release.

Everything had started off innocently enough. He’d taken Phoebe to one of her concerts, motivated purely by his desire to be a good uncle. Keeley had been kind enough to arrange a meet-and-greet before the show. And, while Pheebs was definitely thrilled to be meeting the popstar, it was Roy who was left completely starstruck. She was beautiful and charming, not to mention down-to-earth and so kind to his niece. He spent the whole concert enchanted, jaw slacking slightly as he watched her strut around the stage with a magnetism he wasn’t sure he’d ever encountered before.

Fuck the almost two decades between them; Roy Kent was smitten.

Apparently the feeling was mutual, because the next thing he knew he and Phoebe were invited backstage after the concert, where the young singer had shyly thanked them for coming and asked if she could come watch the Greyhounds sometime. She was so timid for someone who had just rocked a stadium filled to the brim with thousands of screaming fans; Roy found her bashful, blushing face nothing short of endearing. How could he ever say no to her?

So he didn't. For two years, he never said no to her. He wanted to adore and spoil her the way no one else ever had, and she let him. The only condition was he had to let her do the same. So, for the first time in goodness knows how long, Roy Kent let himself be loved.

It was perfect. She was perfect. Roy found himself laughing and smiling more than he ever had in his entire miserable life, and it was all her fault. Never mind the articles and tweets about their age difference, condemning him for being with what they called a “twenty-year-old girl”. (They never could differentiate between twenty and mid-twenties, Roy had thought as he rolled his eyes at yet another opinion piece about his relationship.) They had both agreed that the abundance of affection and respect between them was more than enough to ignore what she always called the “haters”, and he called “wankers with nothing better to do”.

After about a year together, Roy found himself thinking about houses. And rings. And babies. And forever. And less and less about their age difference. While he never said flat-out that he wanted to marry her, they both seemed to know where things were headed. And, thanks to her songwriting, so did her fans. Not that Roy minded; for once, he was in a relationship where he didn’t mind having his business paraded around for the world to see. Hell, he even did some of the parading from time to time.

But, like every other good thing in Roy Kent’s life, it didn’t last forever.

He could deal with the judgy headlines. He could deal with the invasive paparazzi. He could deal with the ribbing from his friends and family. He could even deal with being the subject of pretty love songs. But just as he was starting to look at engagement rings, an article came across his newsfeed. And this one, unlike the million others he’d ignored and rolled his eyes at, gave him pause.

It was about her. It was about how young she was, how in the prime of her career she was. About how Roy was going to tie her down and take her out of the spotlight. About how she could say goodbye to the already legendary career she’d spent the better part of a decade building. About how all that hard work, all that potential, would be swept away the moment he put a ring on her finger.

About how it would be all Roy’s fault.

He couldn’t do that. Not to her. So, he made up some shit about not being ready to settle down, about how he didn’t think marriage was for him, about how he didn’t want to waste her time. And she’d listened, with those understanding eyes and her mouth in a straight line. While she wasn’t afraid to shed a couple of tears in front of him, she didn’t shout or fight him. All she did was lean close and ask one little question:

“Are you sure?”

No. No, Roy wasn’t fucking sure. He had never been less sure in his entire fucking life. As she gathered her things in stony silence, Roy had to stop himself from telling her to stop, that he’d made a mistake and that of course he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. But, like the idiot he was, he just watched silently. And he watched as she disappeared from the public eye, as the papers reported their breakup, as she reemerged at the fabulous parties thrown by her fabulous friends, as her outings with various men sparked rumors of new romances; in short, Roy watched as she moved on from him.

And now, a little less than a year after their breakup, with the release of this new album, he was sure she’d cemented how over him she was.

Despite knowing he had a football team waiting out on the pitch, Roy decided he needed to listen. To one song, at least, he reasoned with himself as he opened the music app on his mobile. Beard and Nate could handle the team for a few minutes, couldn’t they?

As he skimmed the track titles, he spotted one that caught his eye: So Long, London. He’d heard that phrase in the song the guys were playing; surely this had to be the same song, right? With a trembling breath, he clicked on the song and closed his eyes.

I stopped trying to make him laugh.

I stopped CPR, after all it's no use. The spirit was gone, we would never come to.

And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.

I'll find someone.

Just how low did you think I'd go?

You swore that you loved me but where were the clues? I died on the altar waiting for the proof.

For so long, London… Had a good run… A moment of warm sun… But I'm not the one.

Every word stabbed at the heart Roy hadn’t realized was still so fucking raw. All that regret that he’d buried away under football and bottles of beer finally bubbled back to the surface, reminding him of how deeply he wished he could go back in time and stop himself from letting her go. He somehow felt even more gutted than he did the day he lied and said he didn’t want to be with her anymore.

“Fuck,” he growled, stopping the music and opening his texts. He typed that familiar name, pulling up texts that he hadn’t looked at in months. He gulped, remembering all the memes, all the texts about what to have for dinner.

She’d probably ignore his text, he warned himself as he started typing. Hell, she probably already had him blocked. Part of him hoped she did; it would be a lot better than the absolute dressing down he deserved after breaking her lovely heart.

Still. That stupid little part of him that was willing to admit that he was still completely in love with her emboldened him.

She’d always made fun of him for signing his texts, he recalled with a reflexive smirk. She’d made fun of him for lots of things; fuck, he missed her teasing, the way she’d raise an eyebrow when he growled at her to fuck off. The way she’d lean close and hum, “Make me.” The way-

Hey, just listened to ‘London’. Incredible as always. I’m sure the rest is too.

-Roy

The whistle from the mobile in his hand dragged Roy out of his reminiscing. With another gulp he looked down at the first message she’d sent in months.

Thanks, Roy! I’ll actually be in London next week. Maybe we could catch up while I’m in town.

Despite himself, a smile broke out across his face. He wasn’t much of a believer in second chances, or fate, or happily ever afters. He was so sure all good things had to come to an end eventually.

But maybe, just maybe, some things could begin again.

Tags: @i-am-mrsreckless

[twopoppies]

Are the any new fics (within the last couple months) that are good? I’m in a reading drought and I feel like I’ve read every Larry fic there is :( I got so desperate I even thought about looking into f/m fics..

NOOOOO NOT THE HET FICS. DON’T DO IT. 😆

I think I’m just going to use your ask to post my year-end favorite fics. Hope you don’t mind.

It’s been a tough year for me, and I haven’t gotten to read a ton, but these are all excellent.

Secrets, Santa? By @indiaalphawhiskey (E, 19K) disaster gay Harry in all his bumbling, endearing glory still manages to make his incredibly hot boss (Louis) fall for him. This one has snappy dialogue, great internal monologue, and scorching smut. I’d expect nothing less from this author.

your lips in the low light by etherealbliss / @givesuethemoon (E, 21K) It’s been a long time since I read a Larry Uni AU, and this one checked all the boxes. This author managed to really capture the immaturity and obsessive emotions of university age lovers arguing and breaking up, and making each other jealous, and fucking and fighting some more, and ultimately making up. Harry is bratty and sensitive and Louis is dense and long-suffering and they’re perfect for each other.

Scorpions et Madragores by Stria / @nooradeservedbetter (E, 23K) Read the tags and author’s note on this one because there are some themes that could be triggering. This is a dark fic and Harry is a pretty creepy vampire, but the story is very well told and there’s a happy ending.

2 a.m. texts by everysingleday / @sun-lt (T, 30K) This was very sweet and very funny and had just enough sexiness (although I wouldn’t have minded more. LOL!) Link is to a download.

The Doppel Effect by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright (T, 6K) the concept for this fic was so original and a really compelling read, I can’t help but hope the author gets inspired to continue this ‘verse.

Danger I Can’t Hide by CelticSky (E, 227K) This one’s got all the tension and drama you’d expect of a World War II story—life and death high stakes, friends and lovers unexpectedly torn apart, battles and heroism, plus the added stakes of classism and homophobia—then add a slow burn, high risk, scorching love affair spanning years. If you want a story that’s complex and fantastically researched, plus lovers to root for, read it. It’s long. But I couldn’t put it down. When I finally did, I picked it right back up and read it twice more. It’s that good.

one conversation by fondleeds (NR, 1K) This really is just a couple of scenes, and the story is open-ended, but, if for no other reason, read it for the beautiful way the sentences flow. My notes on every fic of theirs begin with: “I wish I could write like this.”

Night Shift by banaanipoika (E, 9K) This was incredibly sexy and beautifully written. I loved that there was such a unique setting with so much descriptive language making me feel like I could smell and feel everything in that hospital room.

On The Pull by @homosociallyyours (E, 4K) Short, but really sexy and just the right amount of bittersweet and hopeful. Loved the characterizations and the smooth writing. So few people write canon Larry these days so this was a nice change of pace.

Devil in my brain, whispering my name by @lunarheslwt (E, 9K) i i thought this author struck a great balance between the dirtiness of a demon defiling an angel and the way the angel gave in to his desire to be defiled. Super sexy.

pull you closer (kiss me harder) by @sunshineandthemoonlight (E, 6K) This was absolutely beautiful — just the perfect amount of tension and wistfulness to make me tear up. But then it was sexy and full of hope at the end. I loved how Louis supported Harry and gave him exactly what he needed (and really, H gave Louis what he needed, too).

[imnotjaesblog]

Hogwarts Dreams at Night

Intro:

Part 1: An Owl Appears

New Nct Dream Series Starring,

Huang Renjun- The Ravenclaw.

-Huang Renjun is one of the smartest students in all of Hogwarts. He's aced every exam and test. He's absolutely beloved by his teachers and students can't decide if their jealousy is from hate or desire to be as smart as him. However, Renjun had always been head-to-head with you. Both of you taking any chance to turn in even an optional extra credit assignment and an opportunity to compete. But one day on your way to your Defense Against the Dark Art class you both get stuck inside a classroom and are forced to work out your differences. Making Renjun realize he shouldn't have been competing with you but for you.

Here Now!!: Part Two: The Ravenclaw

Posted: 03/ 30/2024

Na Jaemin- Part three- The Slytherin

-Na Jaemin is a quidditch player but unlike Jeno, he could care less about the sport. He only played because his father forced him to. Jaemin would much rather spend his time in the library, but not curled up with a good book or studying for his Spells class. He'd rather fuck some pretty Hufflepuff behind the bookcases and maybe even get caught. However, when you are paired with him to work on a project in your spells class he sees the chase for you as a challenge and he'd do anything to piss Jeno off

Here Now!!!!!

Posted: 05/10/ 2024

Lee Jeno - Part four- The Gryffindor

Posted: 06/17/2024

Here Now!!!!

-Lee Jeno captain of the Quidditch Gryffindor team. Had always had everything in life handed to him. His father was a beloved Gryffindor and Jeno wishes to follow in his footsteps. He was loved for his bravery, honor, loyalty, and boldness like a true Gryffindor. However, everyone has a weakness. His recklessness, self-righteousness, short tempers, and desire to have you are what make him lose you. After countless arguments, your friendship falls apart and breaks his heart. But he'd never tell you. Until one day you rip it right out of him.

The final part is here now!

Here is the link!: Hogwarts Dreams at Night

Posted: 10/08/2024

AHHH okay. I'm so excited to write this series, you have no clue. I've always wanted to do something Harry Potter and it's finally happening.

This will be a 5 part series.

I played around with the idea a lot. Adding in members and taking some out. Changing the plot based on which members I wanted. But I knew one way or another Jaemin as a Slytherin had to be created. Then I thought I should write about a chase. Which one will Y/n choose?

Then I had to figure out who would be the other man. I knew I wanted him to be Gryffindor it was just deciding which one would be a Gryffindor. Originally it would be Jaehyun but then I changed it since I've written so much about him already. Then my mind went to Jeno and I knew I had to write about him.

Now Renjun came so quick. I just had to make him a Ravenclaw.

I wanted to write the entire 00 line but I physically could not make Haechan a Hufflepuff. So I promise he will be mentioned all of the Dreamies will be but the main 3 will be Jeno, Jaemin, and Renjun.

I hope you all enjoy this series.

See you soon:)

The series is now completed! Thank you for reading.

Happy Reading :)

[milliesfishes]

Hii! First I wanted to tell you that I've been reading almost every fic you posted and, omg, I love all of them! I really like your style, your writing is really good! 💖

I was wondering if you are okay with me sharing an idea with you. You don't have to write it if you don't like it!

I was thinking about something where Billy and reader are in a relationship but she struggles with showing affection. She does love Billy, of course, but she just can't show physical affection. Every time they kiss, when they hold hands, when they hug, it is always Billy who initiates the physical contact. Maybe she isn't able to do it because she has a trauma or she was never shown love during her childhood... or maybe she's just a tough girl, idk, it could be anything. Billy understands her and waits for her to learn, that's why he always is kissing her, hugging her, etc (of course she's okay with it, he would never do something she doesn't want him to do) but imagine his surprise when one day she touches his hair and caresses it, then another day she hugs him from behind when he's working on something, then when they're walking down the street she grabs his hand... his heart would be this 👌 close to exploding omg he loves her so much and she's finally learning how to show him she loves him too 😭

꣑ৎ౨ৎOrdinary Things꣑ৎ౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: pure fluff <3 pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: you have a hard time initiating touch and billy shows you how author’s note: anon, this is the sweetest thing, and you’re the sweetest thing and I’ve been thinking about this ever since you sent it <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Easing you in. That's what Billy reminded himself to do with you, always. Ease you in.

He didn’t mean to baby you, not really. It just came so naturally. Like right now, he had you in bed with your head on his chest while he ran his fingers through your hair, soothing you to sleep.

If you’d been dropped on his lap directly from heaven you couldn’t have been more perfect. Achingly sweet with a heart of gold, you brightened his life like nobody else had. No words could properly express his adoration, no description ever seemed to be enough.

He would put you in his pocket if he could. The day you walked into his life, you changed it forever and he had absolutely no desire to go back to whatever baseless existence he’d been floating around in beforehand.

Unfortunately, even though love was perfect, that meant nothing else could be.

As time and trust stacked on top of each other and built you enough courage, you confessed to Billy the nature of your past. Manipulation and less than ideal tactics had ruled your being for a lot longer than he’d been around. You were naturally sweet, and it was a miracle your wonder hadn’t been squashed by the demeaning nature in which you’d been raised.

Truly, you were miraculous. He could never dream of seeing you any other way. The fact that you knew how to love at all was nothing short of amazing. Billy thanked higher powers every day for that, even if there were other things that were difficult.

Due to your rough upbringing, you struggled the most with touching in any capacity. At first it had been harder. He’d reach for you and you’d flinch just a little, which was disheartening, but he knew it wasn’t about him. There were ghosts in front of your eyes.

With patience and coaxing, you were able to move past that. You allowed his touches, even encouraged them, came to be comforted by them. His happiness at this fact could not be understated. Because Billy loved touching you in any way; holding you, kissing you, hugging you. It was his protective nature, but also his way of showing love.

And he never wanted you to doubt that he loved you.

For where you’d been, you’d come a long way. As his fingers brushed through your hair, he was reminded of that. A year ago it would have been unthinkable, having you like this with your head on his chest, his heart beating against your ear.

It was onto the next stage now.

A product of the rejection you’d faced in your childhood, you were never the initiator of any touching. Hand holding, kisses, hugging. Even with how you were right now, he’d pulled you in and you hadn’t resisted. Anything that had happened before had been a result of him reading you and recognizing that you wanted to be touched. But you’d never admit it.

Exhausting his options in his head over and over, Billy resolved that the only right thing to do in this scenario was to love on you. To give you constant affection and get you used to it and show you it was okay.

And that was the easy part. Whenever he had an opportunity to be touching you he was. In public it could be subtle as an arm around your shoulders, or his fingers intertwined with yours. Every little bit helped.

When you were alone, he gave you even more, his arms encircling you nearly always. Gentle kisses were pressed to every inch of you, accompanied by muttered words that made you smile. He was pulling you onto his lap at every chance, showing you that it was okay, that he wanted you to touch him, but also that he was okay with waiting for you to be completely comfortable.

It had taken a lot of build up to be able to get the opportunity to make love to you for the first time, and it was not something he’d taken lightly. Billy knew that it was a privilege he could not mess up for the fear of scaring you away. So he’d taken it as slow as he could, making sure to tell you how beautiful you were, to make his movements careful, to make sex out to be a positive thing. It turned out to be another stepping stone that brought you closer to him, which he was thankful for.

After that first night, you became clingy. Billy was more than happy to accommodate this, enjoying the warm kisses and morning cuddles that came along. But still, it was always him reaching out first, him running his hand along your back and getting you to roll over.

And that was okay. For you, his girl, his baby, his angel, he’d wait a million years and then some. He knew in your heart you were a lover, just like him, and you weren’t withholding this side of you out of cruelty. It just didn’t occur to you. Maybe it was even a way of protecting yourself.

So in the meantime, right here in his bed he relished your presence, the way you were swaddled in his sheets so comfortably, bare underneath and trying to be modest. It was endearing, more adorable than anything in the world. With one arm under you and holding you close and the other still stroking your hair, he kissed your head and whispered, “I love you.”

Time was on the side of all things good and true, and Billy knew that well.

Living an oulaw’s life, he had long given up on the idea of having a girl, let alone one so good as you.

When he met you riding in the rain one day, he’d fallen hard and fast and nearly right away. But he hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Now, a year later, he couldn’t imagine what his life would be without you.

You had enchanted him, captivated his whole being; body, mind, and soul. Nothing he’d experienced had ever come close to the feeling of even being near you.

Until you finally touched him first.

It had been ever so casual. The two of you had been relaxing side by side under one of your favorite spots under a tree in a nearby meadow. He had one arm loosely looped around you, sticking to his idea of keeping you close.

Then he felt your fingers in his hair, touching him hesitantly, then more purposefully. He froze, but didn’t react too much in fear of startling you.

You had never done anything like that before. Since he was touching you on your midsection, normally you would have only touched him there too, a sort of give and take.

But here you were, fingers running contently through his curls, which he was thankful he’d washed recently. He smiled to himself, and nuzzled a little more into you because it felt so good.

That was the first fruit of his labors.

The next happened when he was outside, mending a fence on the property. It was close to sundown, and already he could see the sky starting to turn pink and orange and purple.

Billy heard your soft footsteps behind him, and he was about to say something when suddenly he felt a soft pair of arms wrap around his waist, and then you were pressed to his back. With your head between his shoulder blades he could have sworn he felt a kiss buried there.

He wanted to laugh or cry tears of joy but he didn’t. Determinedly casual, he allowed a smile since you couldn’t see him, and said, “Hey, baby. Doin’ alright?”

You nodded into his back. “Uh huh.”

Right away he finished what he was doing with the fence and turned around, sliding his arms around you and picking you up off your feet so you were at eye level. He pecked your nose, his happiness nearly brimming over. “Hi pretty.”

“Hi,” you smiled shyly and he could have melted.

Shifting you so his hand was under your bottom and your legs were encircling him, he kissed you softly, once. “You hungry? I can make us something.”

That made you smile. “And we can cuddle afterward?”

Oh it was like you were trying to turn him into a stuttering puddle of pure joy. “Yeah honey,” he murmured, giving you another kiss for that. “We’ll cuddle all night.”

You had finally touched him first.

But, ever the realist, he waited a bit before not counting it as a fluke. Of course he trusted you and loved you but he also didn’t want to be unrealistic, wanting to meet you where you were at, not where he wanted you to be.

Then one day when the two of you were walking through town you reached for his hand, holding it firmly once it was in your grasp. And that night in bed after putting your nightdress on, you crawled over to him and fitted your body between his legs so you could rest your head on his chest, knowing he loved holding you that way.

The next morning, when he woke, he started to stroke your hair, the memories of the previous night warming him from the inside out, his heart fuller than ever.

It nearly burst when you looked up sleepily and leaned in to kiss him once, those big baby doll eyes looking up at him almost questioningly after.

Billy wouldn’t have been able to hold back his smile if he wanted to.

He slid his hand to the back of your head and pressed another series of kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your nose; anywhere he could reach.

You giggled a little, keeping your arms around his neck as he took you around the waist and rolled you over so he was hovering over you for better access. “Billy…what’s this for?”

He kissed you once on the mouth, his eyes roving over yours with a tenderness he couldn’t have described. “I love you.”

Softly, you let your hand slide up and tangle in his hair, and in your smile he somehow knew that you knew what he meant. “I love you too, Billy.”

It hadn’t happened overnight, and he wasn’t expecting you to suddenly be all over him. Not right away. But now you had a new way of showing him you loved him. Now he’d made you feel safe enough to touch him, kiss him, caress him when you wanted.

And it brought him nothing but happiness. Because he wanted to give you everything. You deserved everything he was capable of handing to you, and everything more.

Billy leaned down and kissed you with all the love he could summon. “Sweetheart. Baby.” he nudged his nose against yours. “My angel.”

You reached up for another kiss and he knew at that moment he would never get over it. Never get used to this feeling of utter love and adoration every time he was kissed or touched or loved on by you.

And he never wanted to.

[bikananjarrus]

kanera week 2024 - day 4

prompt: outside pov

rating: teen | word count: 3.3k | ao3 link

[note: apologies for the belated posting, this got much longer than anticipated. again lol. but this was SO much fun to write! it is absolutely silly and ridiculous but i made myself laugh writing ghost crew shenanigans and that's really all that matters!]

~

Zeb thought it was cute, really, Kanan and Hera trying to hide their relationship from him, when he could smell their intermingled scents almost from the second he stepped aboard the Ghost.

And it wasn’t the smell of two people, separate, but sharing the same ship for an extended period of time. No, their scents were so intertwined that it was sometimes hard to tell who walked in a room if he wasn’t looking. It was worse with Kanan; Hera’s scent clung to Kanan’s hair like mynocks to the underbelly of a ship.

He willingly admitted to it being almost immediately that he noticed. But he would also argue that the only reason he didn’t notice even sooner was because of the chaos and adrenaline of Kanan rescuing him; and then recruiting him; followed by days of claustrophobic fear even considering staying in one place long enough to call it safe—much less a home—no matter how short the actual stay, because his last home was gone, and he hadn’t been able to protect it, and— Well. It had been a lot, okay?

So it had taken three or four days into joining their little crew for him to notice that they were, in fact, together.

He was helped along by the stench of sex in the air the morning he figured it out (which they’d both pretended way too hard that it hadn’t happened right under his nose. Or within range of his Lasat hearing.) But that was beside the point.

The point was—that he knew. And he was grappling with himself, trying to decide if he should put them out of their misery of sneaking around and just tell them that he knew. Or if he should wait and see how long they would try to keep up the charade until he caught them red-handed doing something they couldn’t deny.

He didn’t really think they were trying to keep it a secret, per se. More that they (mostly Hera) were trying to maintain a professional facade. Which Zeb respected.

He just wasn’t sure how long respect would win out against the desire to stop hearing them through the Ghost’s walls anymore. He wasn’t exactly known for being the most patient being in the galaxy. And the least they could do was make up some lie to get him off the ship once in a while if they wanted to be alone.

As it turned out, four months was his limit.

Admittedly, he’d thought about caving a month in. Then two. Once it hit the three-month mark, it started to get funnier, watching the two of them scramble to keep their relationship as covert as they could. Then the amusement wore off and Zeb was just ready for them to stop pretending around him.

The opportunity to talk to them came one early morning when he trudged into the mess. He’d been moving slow, still waking up. But not so slow he didn’t see the way Kanan and Hera yanked away from the light kiss they’d been sharing.

Hera did a better job at appearing casual, leaning against the counter and grabbing her mug of caf to sip at. Kanan, blushing furiously, was hopelessly trying to make himself look busy.

Pouring himself a cup of caf, Zeb sat down heavily in the little dining booth opposite them. Groggily, he mumbled, “You know I know you two’re together, right?”

They both blinked at him. To his sleep-hazy brain, it was only slightly creepy how attuned to each other they were.

Then, with a dramatic exhale, Kanan said, “Oh, thank the Force.”

Hera poked Kanan in the side, muttering, “I told you he knew.”

“Well, he didn’t say anything, how was I to know.” Then Kanan turned to him. “How long have you known, anyway?”

Zeb took another gulp of caf. “Pretty much since I stepped on board. Could smell it on ya both.”

Kanan frowned. “Smell it?”

Hera just gave Zeb an understanding look, then pinched Kanan’s cheek playfully. “Poor human senses.” Then, to Zeb, she added, “Here I was thinking that Chopper spilled the beans to you.”

Now it was Zeb’s turn to blink. “You think I know what that rust bucket’s sayin’?” He swallowed down the rest of his caf, getting up with a stretch. “Just…try ‘nd let me know in advance if y’two wanna have sex. The Ghost’s walls’re thick, but they ain’t that thick.”

They both flushed at that—Kanan a rosy pink and Hera a darker shade of green.

Kanan rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. We tried to keep quiet.”

“It’s alright,” Zeb replied. “For the record, you were quiet. But, y’know.” He pointed a clawed finger at his ears.

“Right.”

Zeb dismissed himself to finish getting ready for the day. On his way out, he caught Kanan looping an arm around Hera’s waist, pulling her close again. Their quiet laughter followed him into the hall.

He fondly shook his head. Yeah, they were cute or something.

::

When Sabine joined the crew a year later, Zeb was so used to Hera and Kanan by then that he didn’t even think about Sabine finding out, much less telling her.

Not that there was a lot of opportunity to have that kind of conversation with her anyway, when she first came on board, because—well. Sabine wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Especially not in those first few months. She communicated with them all when it was necessary for missions and the occasional small talk. Otherwise, she was more of a listener and a quiet observer. And that was when she was hanging around them at all; most of the time she was hidden away in her bunk.

But she was good in a firefight and a hard worker. And now that she had a safe bed to return to, she didn’t seem intent on leaving anytime soon. So, if she didn’t feel like talking much? That was just fine.

Zeb knew the girl had been through a lot. And something bad. He and Hera and Kanan could tell that just by looking at her. Not to mention the way Kanan and Hera had found her—alone and bleeding from a grievous injury in some back alley in the pouring rain.

And positively filled to the brim with anger and hurt.

They still didn’t really know any details about what had happened to her. Zeb could relate; he hadn’t wanted to talk about Lasan at all afterwards. But he knew time and patience helped. She would—hopefully—open up eventually.

Kanan had definitely managed to reach her the most. It had been Kanan who’d gotten through to her in that alley, convincing her that they were trustworthy enough to help her. And Kanan was persistent—trying to get her to crack a smile, complimenting her when she executed a particularly brilliant set of explosives, buying her a set of paints when he caught her doodling with a half dry marker one day.

She started warming up to Zeb, too. Being paired off on missions helped, and she enjoyed poking fun at him. He let her, and he didn’t mind. Seeing color return to her cheeks and a spark enter back into her eyes was worth it for a little laughter at his expense.

Only Hera was having a tough time getting through to her, and Zeb was pretty sure it had less to do with Hera herself, and rather some underlying issues on Sabine’s part.

So. All this to say—Zeb hadn’t gotten a lot of opportunities for casual conversation with her. Wondering if she knew about Kanan and Hera didn’t even cross his mind until it was right there in front of him.

He and Sabine were playing sabacc in the common area one afternoon, about six months after Sabine had joined the crew.

Hera and Kanan passed through, chattering quietly. Stopping at the ladder Kanan pressed a quick kiss to Hera’s lips.

With a soft smile, she uttered a low, be careful, and then they were separating—her down to the engine room, and Kanan up to the Phantom to head out on a quick supply run with Chopper.

Zeb observed the whole interaction out of the corner of his eye. Sabine barely looked up from her cards.

“So, um.” Zeb cleared his throat. He was pretty sure that if Kanan and Hera didn’t want Sabine to know about them, they wouldn’t have kissed so blatantly in public. But then again, they hadn’t ever mentioned to him that they’d told her. And he hadn’t said anything.

Sabine’s lack of reaction was throwing him more than anything.  

Not that it was some huge forbidden secret. He didn’t think. But the way Hera and Kanan had snuck around when he first joined up with them flashed through his mind, and he was suddenly questioning—well. Everything.

“Did you, uh,” he tried again. “Kanan and Hera, I mean.”

Sabine picked a card up from the pile in the center. “That wasn’t a full sentence.”

“Well, what I meant was—”

“If you’re trying to ask me if I saw what just happened with Kanan and Hera, well the answer would be no because my back was turned. But I know what it sounds like when two people kiss. So, yes.”

Zeb blinked. “You don’t seem surprised by it.”

“Should I be?”

“S’pose not. I wasn’t.” He examined his cards. “How’d you find out anyway?”

She shrugged. “Kanan told me.”

“Now that’s just not fair,” Zeb grumbled. “They didn’t tell me a thing! I finally had to tell ‘em that I knew the whole time.”

She gave a short, little laugh. “I mean, I’d figured it out before he told me, because he is not subtle at all. He’s always staring at Hera with a dopey look on his face.” She rolled her eyes, but it was more affectionate than anything. “Remember when he brought me those paints?”

Zeb nodded. That had been about three months ago now, after Kanan had noticed her doodling. She hadn’t said much beyond an awed thank you; but Zeb had remembered the way she practically glowed with gratitude when Kanan had given her the paints and told her that Hera said it was okay for her to paint whatever she liked in her bunk.

Sabine smiled at the memory now. “We hung out and talked for a while that day. Well—he talked. I listened, mostly, while I started painting. I don’t think he meant to, but he let it slip about him and Hera, and once he started talking about her, he just kept rambling for a bit.” She shook her head like it wasn’t that big of a deal, but he could see it had meant a lot to her. “So, yeah. I knew.”

“Good.” Zeb blew out a breath. “That’s—good.”

Her nose scrunched up and she looked up at him. “They’re just so—”

“Disgustingly affectionate?”

She laughed louder this time, and it felt like a victory. “Exactly. It’s…cute, I guess.”

They were certainly that.

Zeb was just happy to be poking fun at them with Sabine, and even more glad they could all joke with each other. It was starting to feel an awful lot like family.

::

It was after Ezra joined the crew that things started to get really fun.

Ezra had been with them for maybe two weeks when they were all relaxing in the common area together between jobs. Hera and Kanan were seated, fairly close, in the booth around the dejarik table, not acting particularly outside the norm. Kanan had an arm thrown around the back of the booth, and occasionally his fingers would brush across Hera’s shoulder, or down the side of one lek. She usually tossed him a Careful, there, look when that happened, and Kanan’s mouth would quirk up in a trouble-making smirk, eyes alight.

Zeb nearly rolled his own eyes. They were so disgustingly affectionate sometimes, it made it hard to be around them and not be at least mildly annoyed. Or envious of what they had. Yeah, mostly that one, probably.

Ezra sat on the opposite end of the booth from Kanan and Hera. He was half playing dejarik with Kanan, half chatting with Hera about who she’d bet on in the podrace taking place on Malistare next month (if she was the sort of person who would actually put money to betting on races, that is), and completely oblivious to the couple flirting through touch alone across from him.

Zeb leaned back in his wooden armchair, watching the scene unfold with amusement.

He might have suspected the Ezra knew about Kanan and Hera. If it hadn’t been for Ezra’s exasperated, “Kanan. Pay attention! It’s your turn.”

“Sorry, kid.”

Zeb caught Hera nudging Kanan’s knee under the table with her own as he turned back to the game. Ezra stared at him intently, waiting for Kanan’s next move.

Yeah—the newest addition to their crew had no clue that his Jedi Master’s thoughts were more focused on the woman beside him than the holochess game in front of him.

Zeb leaned down towards Sabine, who was on the floor, repainting her shin armor. “Psst.”

Sabine’s eyes flicked up, but she didn’t stray from her hunched over position. She gave him a look like, What?

Zeb crooked a finger at her to come closer.

With a roll of her eyes, Sabine unfolded herself and stood next to his chair. He leaned close, keeping his voice low for only her to hear, “Hey, how long until ya think the kid figures it out?”

He tipped his head in the direction of Kanan and Hera. Sabine followed his gaze, assessing the scene surrounding the dejarik table. After a moment, she smiled conspiratorially.

“Oh, if he hasn’t figured it out yet, I give it at least three months,” she whispered.

“I was gonna say four.”

“You want to put a few credits to it?”

Zeb grinned sharply. “You know it.”

Instead of the much-to-obvious handshake in present company, Sabine bumped her fist against his. It was a deal.

::

It took six months (six!)for Ezra to figure it out.

Zeb won the bet by default, since he’d guessed the longer timeline. But he wasn’t sure that was really fair, since Ezra didn’t even figure it out on his own.

Ezra came barreling into the mess one morning while Zeb was still drinking his wake-up caf, out of breath, and asked, “Have you seen Kanan?”

His ears perked up a bit at that. “No. Why?”

“He’s late for Jedi training,” Ezra said in a tone of voice like it should’ve been obvious to Zeb. And normally it might’ve been. But he was still waking up—hence the wake-up caf. “I checked his bunk and he wasn’t there. Then I looked in the cockpit and the engine room and then all the store rooms and nothing! He didn’t go into town on his own, right?”

“No, nothin’ like that,” Zeb said. Hera and Kanan would’ve told them all if that was the case. “Come on, I’ll help you look.”

They found Kanan quick.

He was trailing behind Ezra as they turned the corridor towards all the bunks when Hera’s cabin door slid open and Kanan nearly stumbled into the hall. His undershirt was untucked, only one arm shoved through one sleeve of a dark blue sweater. His hair was down and mussed; from just last night, or also this morning, it was hard to tell.

What was blatantly obvious is that Kanan had not spent the night in his own bunk.

Eyes wide, Kanan caught sight of Ezra first, then Zeb, his expression one Zeb could only describe as a plea for help. Zeb nearly broke then and there.

Especially when the next comment out of Ezra’s mouth was, “Hey—wait, why are you coming out of Hera’s cabin?

“Well, I—”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter. You’re late for Jedi training, come on!”

Then Ezra was off, shoving past Zeb and dashing back the way they’d come. Kanan looked at Zeb helplessly, blushing as he tucked his shirt in and finished pulling on his sweater.

Zeb chuckled, clapping Kanan on the shoulder as he trailed after his padawan. “Good luck, mate.”

::

Everything came to a head later, while they were en route to Garel for supplies. Zeb was in the cockpit with Sabine and Hera—who was piloting, of course. Kanan was finishing up their list of necessities in one of the storerooms with Chopper and Ezra was tucked back in the Phantom.

At one point, Kanan’s voice had called Ezra over the ship-wide comms, asking Ezra for a rundown of what needed to be restocked on the Phantom.

They were still on the ship-wide comms when Ezra asked, “So, what were you doing in Hera’s cabin this morning?”

Sabine jerked around in the copilot’s seat to look at him, her eyes comically wide. He knew he wore a similar expression.

Simultaneously, they both shifted their gaze to Hera. She continued to fly steadily, but from this angle, Zeb could see the slight way her lekku stiffened in embarrassment, a slight flush coloring high in her cheeks. Catching Sabine’s gaze, Hera just shrugged one shoulder. “What. It’s nothing you two aren’t already aware of.”

“Umm…” came Kanan’s voice over the comms.

Zeb could so easily picture him rubbing the back of his neck, trying to decide how to tell Ezra in a way that was more appropriate than, Yeah I was late to training this morning because Hera and I were having passionate sex deep into the hours of the night.

Zeb leaned forward in his seat. “Should we tell ‘em they’re on the whole ship’s comms?”

Sabine gave him a look.

But it was Hera who raised an eyebrow and scoffed, “Are you kidding?” A sly grin. “I want to see who caves first.”

So, they waited, listening.

Finally, from Kanan, “We’re partners.”

“Well, duh, you’re partners. What does that have to do with you being in her room?”

“No, I mean we were together.”

“Together?” A lengthy pause. Briefly Zeb wondered how Kanan was managing to keep Chopper from chiming in through all this. “Like…did you have a private briefing with Fulcrum this morning or something?”

“No, kid. I—” Kanan cut off, and Zeb knew he was grinding a fist against his forehead in frustration. “I mean, we are together. Like, together. Intimately, as a couple, you know.”

There was a full minute of silence. He was slightly worried either Kanan or Ezra had finally shut off the ship-wide comms, and they wouldn’t get to hear how Kanan’s misery ended.

Then, “WAIT. You’re together together? Since when?”

“The whole time you’ve known us, but thanks for noticing, kid.”

“Hold on—do Sabine and Zeb know?”

With that, Zeb couldn’t hold it in any longer. He guffawed—loudly. Sabine was bent over in her chair with laughter. Smiling broadly, Hera flipped the switch on the cockpit’s comm, so their laughter echoed through the ship for Kanan and Ezra to hear.

There were groans from Kanan’s end, exasperated yelling from Ezra, warbles from Chopper as he finally chipped in.

Moments later, Ezra was bursting into the cockpit, pointing between Zeb and Sabine. “I can’t believe you guys didn’t tell me!”

Sabine exchanged a look with Zeb, and he replied, “Well, we were kinda waitin’ for you to figure it out on your own.”

Ezra continued to grumble as Chopper wheeled in, a blushing Kanan trailing behind to take the seat behind Hera. He squeezed her shoulder, and she reached back for his hand.

“Well done, love,” she teased.

“Love,” Ezra muttered, folding his arms as he leaned against Zeb’s chair. “Unbelievable.”

That sent them all into fresh peals of laughter.

Looking at Kanan and Hera’s linked hands, Zeb had never been more grateful to them for bringing their little family together.

[end]

(p.s. everyone pray for ezra's poor 15 year old braincells 🙏 he's not dumb, just a little unobservant sometimes. happens to the best of us <3)

[max-verstappens-lip-freckle]

First Place Lovers, Second Place Friends

So my friend, who has never seen a F1 race in their life, but who has had to endure my absolute feral obsession with Max Verstappen.. decided to treat me to a little something. They gave me permission to share it here. (Also this is my first time like posting.. smut? Sorry if I don’t really know how warnings or tags work lol)

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc (long live Lestappen), dom!max, sub!charles

Warnings: Mentions of sexy times.

The two of them sat on the bed, backs to one another as they contemplated their lives. Max was still in the spotlight, the world watching his every move as he tried to maintain his chokehold on the racing world through the next grand prix.

Meanwhile Charles was still biting back jealousy, his love of the sport keeping his vitriol at bay... As well as his crush on Max. They said nothing, but they knew too damn well if they were caught it would be a scandal that puts them both in the hot seat. There was no world in which they could stop themselves. Yet Max kept pushing to see him, he couldn't stay away. Ever since their first night together after Max beat him, he couldn't seem to get enough.

Charles didn't want to give in. He hoped he was just a fling that Max would regret and they could move on. But every night, after every race, there he was. The cameras always seemed to catch them together, bumping elbows and playfully going back and forth like all racers did. But beneath it, vigilant fans could swear there was more. The longing glance, a squeeze of the hand, so many little things that couldn't be explained away by sportsmanship.

As Max finally turned and looked at Charles, he blushed. Once again Max pushed him, the muscles in his back tensing as he forced Charles to bend. A trend that the two had come to be accustomed to. He smirked, Charles' whole face turning red as Max spun around and grabbed his waist. The tight hold he had accented by the warmth of his body as he grew more and more hungry for Charles.

Max licked his lips as he whispered biting words into the ear of the bottom he turned Charles into. It could only make his mind foggier, the lust slowly building in his body overwhelming his right mind. He didn't want to admit he needed Max. He couldn't stand it, especially with how much more smug Max got afterwards. Yet they were both prepared to risk it in that moment. Tangling their bodies together in a sensual dance that was fueled by their primal need. The sounds echoing against the walls of the hotel room, the growling Max did as his fingers dug into Charles as he mounted him, Charles moaning like a bitch in heat. It was an orchestra of sexual triumph and Max was writing the score upon Charles' body with each thrust.

There wasn't much that Charles didn't love about it. The feral, breathy grunts that he could feel in his core as Max pushed deeper. The tense grip as he pulled him back onto his length. The roughness that was quickly followed by a tender kiss. That oh so tender touch that brought Max back from just an animal in heat to a lover that bubbled with a monster beneath his skin. The night went on for days, time lost to the duo as they were brought back to their senses as the sun rose.

Sweaty, exhausted and still burning with desire, Max was ready to push on but was met with a scalding glare from Charles. The games were over, they had to go back to their lives proper. But despite the reason that had cut their time together short, Max just smirked at him and they both knew they'd be together again before long.

[v3nusxsky]

Hellooo ~ Unsure if you’re still taking requests — if you don’t please just ignore this, but how about sub!Lesso being edged for days/weeks now (punishment for teasing Larissa maybe? 👀) and Larissa finally allows her to come on Valentine’s Day or her birthday? Maybe a little bit of pain play as well to put her in her place? Thank you so much 💞

Stepping into the unknown 18+

*authors note~ sinful souls how I’ve missed you🥹 god I’ve missed writing and posting sm here. I miss my ladies so much!*

Trigger warnings~ sub lesso x dom Larissa x sub r, r has abandonment issues, r is a dancer, depressed lesso, rough punishment (Lesso receiving), pet play (Leo receiving), pain play/impact play flogging (lesso receiving) r is just watching humiliation kink, mentions of struggling to orgasm, temperature play (Leo receives), degrading kink, shoe humping?, nipple clamps, oral (lesso receiving)

Prompt~ see ask^^^

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Meeting up with your boss turned crush was something you couldn’t exactly say you were looking forward to. Yet you had to return work at some point. Stepping into sinful souls you were riddled with anxious knots tugging at your lower stomach as you took in the familiar surroundings. Some of your fellow dancers muttering greetings as they continued the fight for perfection with their appearance. Lesso, despite owning the club, was no where to be seen. Unusual. You couldn’t help the nagging thought that later you, Larissa and the raven haired woman would be in Nevermore. In each other’s company. For the first time since that night. Since she left. Again.

Before you knew it the club was alive with the vibrations bouncing off the walls, dancers in skimpy costumes and customers already starting their night. Business. Tips. And still no boss. Odd. With a quick shot of liquid courage you set off to the stage for your first dance. The rhythmic beats of your first song easily providing the headspace you needed.

“Girls, we run this motha (yeah!)

Who run the world? Girls!”

The intro of the song gaining a few new points of attention as the beat continued its strong presence allowing you to give a firey strong performance. You’d be lying if you said that you hated dancing to Beyonće but this song was a fan favourite so really you’d be a fool to not lean into it.

“This goes out to all my girls

That's in the club rocking the latest

Who will buy it for themselves and get more money later”

Making sure to add an extra sway to your hips as you rounded the stage, a swish of your hair and making sure to pop your hips in time to the beat. The crowd clearly now absolutely enchanted by how well you kept the fast pace all while looking every bit as sexual and sensual as you desired.

“This goes out to all the women getting it in, you on your grind

To all the men that respect what I do, please accept my shine

Boy, you know you love it

How we smart enough to make these millions

Strong enough to bear the children (children)

Then get back to business

Cheers erupted when the beat died out and tips began to get tossed on the stages, every wolf whistle only furled your confidence to get through the night. No matter what occurred you knew either way you’d go home to Larissa. Clearly your customers still wanted to watch you dance even if your boss left you in your most vulnerable moments. You didn’t need her validation and you most definitely didn’t need the hurt that came with Lesso.

Larissa had intended to relax while you worked your shift at sinful souls, before your guest arrived. However, a certain raven haired lady had other plans. Arriving at Nevermore was simply nothing short of nerve reaching for Lesso. She knew she should be at the club, overseeing business but the knots of guilt tightened in her stomach, leading her to the gates of Nevermore. Locating her office was simple, the door covered in a shiny gold plaque being a dead give away.

The emotional tidal waves were killing her as she battled her ego and pride before knocking on the door. As it opened she was immediately in front of the principal spewing apologises for being so early and rambling in a hope to deal with the overwhelming emotions building. “Come in Lesso” she commanded before stepping aside and letting the clearly overwhelmed woman inside.

“I’m sorry I’m early. I know the dove is working and I know you said to come by later but I-“ she rambled but was cut off by the blonde principal, “I know why you’re here Leonora, let’s not pretend you are here under any other circumstances shall we?”

There it was again, the nagging, gut wrenching feeling of guilt. “I’m sorry I just I’m sorry” she murmured struggling to look Larissa in the eyes. It was like she was peering into her soul, seeing every dirty little secret she was guarding with a wall that was crumbling too fast. “Kneel” Larissa offered causing the raven haired woman to fall to her knees. Instant submission. It wasn’t until she went wide eyes that the realisation hit, the humiliation of following her command and the relief of submission hit the poor woman all at once. “I know what you need puppy, but first you have to have your punishment for hurting our precious little dove. My sweet girl sobbed for hours at your cruel actions and I simply can’t have you hurting her again.”

“You remember your colours, you can stop this whenever Leo, but you wont want to will you? Cause your just a need stray needing mommys firm hand to guide you” Larissa reiterated before moving across her office and producing the next demand. “Strip and crawl to mommy, be a good little bitch and come get your punishment.” With only a small amount of hesitation the woman slowly crawled her way to the shifter, every small step taken reminding her of how she hurt her little dove. By the time she reached the table Leonora was sure of one thing. She deserved this. Whatever Larissa had in store, she needed it.

Almost as if she’d planned it, principal weems pulled a pair of nipple clamps from her desk drawer and secured them instantly. A sharp tug given to test the grip they had resulted in a pathetic whine from Lesso. “Shut up mutt. You know you need mommy to do this. You need mommy to hurt you don’t you little stray? Need mommy to help you fix this mess hmm?” She taunted watching as tears began to build in her eyes. “I need this mommy” was all she could whimper before Larissa tugged the chain to drag her body closer. “Use my shoe mutt. Show me how much you want me to help you. To fix this mess. Show me how sorry you can be pup and maybe I’ll help you.”

Humiliation rolled off the raven haired woman in waves so strong that they would knock down buildings. Her hips rolling pathetically against the toes of her high heeled shoe. An act so filthy she should’ve demanded Larissa be in her place. Fighting her dominance would’ve been useless. Larissa knew just as well as she did that Leonora needed this. Her poor brat was caving. A slender hand reached down the valley of her perky breasts and tugged hard on the chain, “off mutt you aren’t coming yet.”

Coming home from your shift feeling accomplished and confident again you were surprised to see Larissa had your boss curled up on a pile of blankets like a dog. Tears long since dried as she worked through her emotions. You’d be lying if you said the sight didn’t make your heart clench, “Mommy?” You murmured automatically collapsing into your role. “Hello sweet girl, don’t worry love it’s all okay. Our stray is okay this is all part of the plan” she reassured coming to wrap her arms around you in a tight loving hug.

Wrapped in her arms everything faded away as you soaked in her love. A whimper caught your attention as you really looked at your boss for the first time since that night. She looked like a shell of the woman you knew. “She okay?” You whimpered trusting your dominant lover implicitly. “She’s okay sweet girl I promise, colour sweet girl and yours mutt?” A faint mumbled “green” came from the woman curled up on the floor. Her blue eyes starring into your soul as you murmured a soft green too. Your eyes failing to leave Lesso’s form for long than a few minutes. “Time for your punishment mutt” Weems demanded while gently guiding you to her office chair. “Sit there sweet girl, Lesso has something to say to you darling.”

“Now mutt, I want you to take your punishment and tell dove everything you told me earlier. 10 spanks for each crime and however many our girl thinks you need for hurting her.” She commanded while leading the raven haired woman by her chains, the teeth of the clamps digging into her soft nipples hard enough to draw small little droplets of blood. “Pup? Cane or flogger?” A few moments of silence resulted in a warning spank to her bare ass. “Flogger please mommy.”

From your seat you could see how Larissa dragged lesso to lean over her desk in the perfect position to hold your gaze. “Talk mutt” was all your mommy offered before starting to deliver the punishment. “I’m sorry dove! I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have treated you -ouch- that way. I’m sorry, -fuck it hurts Oh god- I was so scared. I don’t want to be scared anymore. I want to love you. Will you let me love you how you deserve to be? Mommy will teach me the right way. I want to be with you both. God I’ve missed you” she sobbed out through hiccups as the flogger was rained down on her now rosy pink ass. “You hurt me daddy” you whimpered as the painful memories resurfaced.

A particularly hard smack caused the raven haired woman to gasp and continue her rambles. “I don’t know how to love very well. I deserve this. I need this. Thank you mommy for giving me this. I’m sorry” she cried out, chest heaving with sobs as Larissa continued to give the required number of spanks under your watchful eyes. “Go make nice pup, you’re all done. All forgiven.” Larissa muttered gently to lesso as she immediately crawled her way to your lap. Lovingly she placed her head full of raven curls on your lap, tears soaking through your loose bottoms.

“Mommy, I don’t want to get hurt” you whimpered, limbs shaking at the woman slouching into your lap, heart clenching with anxiety. “We will be carful sweet girl, from the conversations we had whilst you were dancing my love, she’s riddled in guilt, she can’t feel anything but the overwhelming feeling of pain and loneliness. She needs us, you, just like we need her. I’m not saying it will be easy and plain sailing, she has lots of issues to work through but with the love and support we can offer I think we can help her.”

“She hasn’t?” You whispered, looking down at the woman who was now passed out due to exhaustion, head In your lap as you unclamped the clamps gasping at the droplets of blood. “Mommy!” You gasped in shock and fear that you’d hurt her by helping clean her up. “Shush sweet girl I know just what our puppy needs let’s relocate to our room shall we?”

With ease Larissa scooped the club owner up into her arms and relocated her to the bed, fetching a warm washcloth to clean the sensitive skin and throughly abused ass. Using some cooling cream to sooth the area. “I’m sorry” she whimpered, voice thick with tears as she came back to the world of the living. “Shush all done now puppy, we are here” Larissa hushed as lesso instantly reached out blindly to find your hand. “Mmm here too daddy.”

“Mommy? Can I?” You mumbled shyly gesturing with your head to show your intention. “Do you want to sweet girl? You don’t have to my love. But if you want to please the puppy then you can. She’ll be good and take whatever you give her, right mutt?” A smack rained on her inner thigh causing a yelp and rushed confirmation. From there you positioned yourself between her legs and took an experimental swipe of her dripping cunt. “‘Mm mommy it’s good” you mumbled happily. Pussy drunk even. “Is that so sweet girl? Make her cum for mommy and then we can all go to bed darling.”

Making her come for you was simply an activity you adored if your happy little mewls being swallowed by her puffy lips as your tongue brought her over the edge with ease. “Good girl puppy. It’s all okay, all done now, good girl sweetheart, you made mommy so proud. Such a pretty pussy eater for me” the praise only adding to the almost drunk state you were now in. It didn’t take much persuasion to get you stripped off and snuggled up in between your boss and the principal of Nevermore, drifting off to sleep with a new sense of hope and love in your heart. Perhaps you would finally get to have both women. Your mommy and your daddy. A happy love filed life. The road would be long and full of bumps and turns but you’d all walk it together.

[hermannsthumb]

hiiiii im a HUGE fan of your work. i was wondering if you would care to do #23-bonfire or #15-bobbing for apples off the fall prompt list?

23. Bonfire

from autumn fic prompts here

i had enough time today to bang this one out really fast, because i desperately wanted to write something halloweeny after spending all month working on the hallozine! take a short fic with some dumb boys (the best kind of boys) making out! (ALSO THANK U!!!)

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Newt usually doesn’t bother hitting up Shatterdome parties, mostly because he’s become too high-strung, like, 80% of the time to actually enjoy himself at anything that cuts into time that could be spent doing something useful in the lab (he can’t believe he’s actually saying that), but the flyers posted semi-discreetly on corkboards around the base for this year’s Halloween bash caught his eye. A rooftop Halloween bonfire. The brazenness of advertising something so clearly a massively illegal fire hazard impressed him, and in the spirit of sticking it to the man Newt felt like he was obliged to go.

He half-asses a costume an hour before the bonfire starts with the help of some random shit he finds around the lab and shows up fashionably late with a six-pack of low quality beer he shoved into the back of the lab minifridge a couple months ago. The bonfire is being held at the same rooftop he and Hermann sometimes sneak off to to bitch at each other in private when they need some fresh air, to Newt’s surprise, since he’s been operating under the assumption for several years now that they're the only two who know about it. Hermann was the one to pick the lock on the maintenance access door, after all.

The bonfire is more of a controlled campfire in a metal fire pit and being heavily monitored by a j-tech with a poker in a Frankenstein’s monster costume, but Newt finds it admirable all the same.

He trades his six pack in for something that looks moderately less awful from a booze table and takes in the party. There’s Halloween party garland and orange-purple string lights strung around the railings, a few lit up Styrofoam jack-o-lanterns smiling on the snack tables, and generically spooky instrumental music blasting from someone’s Bluetooth speaker. Most of his fellow partygoers are unrecognizable in their costumes.

Well, not everyone.

He’s more than slightly astonished to see Hermann hunched in on himself at the far end of the roof (their spot, Newt would call it, if he wanted to get all sentimental about it), illuminated by string lights, the hood of his massive green parka tucked down low over his face and his fingers wrapped tight around what looks like the same kind of beer as Newt. Hermann doesn’t really do stuff like this, you know, the whole socializing, making an effort to make an effort thing, and—on top of that—he scoffed when Newt tried to subtly imply yesterday over lunch that he should tag along with Newt to the party. Fire hazard, he said, I have no desire to be written up by the Marshal because I’m a huge kiss-up nerd with absolutely zero Halloween spirit, Newton, or, you know, something like what.

Newt makes a beeline for his colleague before Hermann can look up and make a beeline of his own straight out of here. Then again, Newt was the one to invite Hermann in the first place, so he has to imagine the guy won’t completely mind breathing the same air as him for a few minutes.

“Nice costume,” Newt says, sidling up next to Hermann. Hermann doesn’t bother greeting him like a normal human being, just sighs in the put-upon way he likes to direct at Newt alone. “What are you going as, a big nerd?” He plucks at the sleeve of Hermann’s parka. “How are you not dying in that thing right now?”

The Octobers here are very different from the quaint, chilly little New England falls Newt grew up with: warm and humid, and absolutely way too warm and humid for Hermann’s ridiculous big coat. Hermann ignores him, so as payback Newt steals and takes a swig from his beer while Hermann makes a noise of protest. "Did you at least sterilize that equipment before coming up here?" he finally says. “I don’t believe anyone will be very pleased if you get kaiju slime all over the punch bowl. What are you meant to be, anyway?”

“Obviously I’m a mad scientist,” Newt says. He snaps his work goggles down awkwardly over his glasses and pops the collar of his white labcoat, which he’d painstakingly splattered with some blue dye that vaguely resembles kaiju blood. (He was tempted to use actual neutralized blood for authenticity’s sake but ultimately decided that would be a stupid, possibly biohazardous idea.)

Hermann arches his eyebrows, apparently unimpressed.

“Whatever, dude, at least I put in some effort,” Newt says. He pushes the goggles back up and makes a face at Hermann. “I thought you weren’t gonna come to this thing anyway?” Hermann had been pretty adamant about it being a stupid idea.

“I wasn’t intending to,” Hermann says, scowling, and in retaliation swipes Newt’s untouched beer. “I happened to be here when it started—I didn’t realize it was being held at this particular rooftop. I thought I may as well stay. I haven’t got anything better to do, after all.” He takes a sip of Newt's beer.

“Ooh, you party animal,” Newt says.

He tugs Hermann’s hood down off his head so he doesn’t have to think about how bad Hermann must be sweating under it anymore. Beneath it Hermann’s hair is messy and a little staticky, sticking up in the back, and his cheeks and ears are flushed red from either alcohol or heat or both, visible even in the low light. It’s really pretty cute.

Feeling bold, Newt tugs him forward by the parka’s zipper and kisses him. He feels Hermann’s frown gradually smooth out to a stoic just-there smile beneath his lips. Hermann taps his chest gently. “Newton, not in public,” he mumbles.

Pavlovian response to kiss Hermann, Newt thinks; they make out here at least every other week. And anyway, it’s dark enough and they’re far away enough from the crowd around the bonfire that you’d really have to squint to tell who they are, so it's not really that public. Newt recognized Hermann immediately, obviously, but that’s because he instinctively looks for Hermann upon entering any given location on the base. Newt’s being so sentimental tonight. He’s not sure what’s gotten into him.

“You can just admit you wanted to check out the bonfire,” Newt says. “That’s a significantly less weird reason for lurking around in the dark than being too stubborn to leave when everyone crashed your super emo brooding time. You can have fun sometimes, Hermann.” Newt could maybe use that reminder too. “We can have fun,” he amends.

“I wasn’t brooding,” Hermann says.

“Then what were you doing?” Newt says, and at the little embarrassed flick of Hermann’s eyes to the ground, he quickly develops a hypothesis. “Dude, were you waiting for me to get here? And in our spot? Why didn't you just say you changed your mind?”

“I was not,” Hermann says, but he’s the one to close the gap between them this time. Hermann always kisses a little hesitantly at first, like he’s not sure if he’s doing it right, or that Newt is suddenly gonna change his mind three seconds in, but he also gets into it just as fast, and the payoff is always worth it. Soon he’s sliding his hand up the side of Newt’s face and toying with the strap of his safety goggles, his lips parting under Newt’s.

In public! Newt thinks to exclaim, but that’s definitely enough to cut things very, very short, so he keeps his stupid thoughts to himself and grabs the front of Hermann’s parka. “How long do you think we have before they shut this down?” Newt gasps when Hermann slides down to kiss under his jaw. “The—the bonfire, I mean.”

“Not very long,” Hermann says against his throat. “I’ll be fast.”

[jamescomjj]

Kenjaku x Jin Itadori ⁠♡

So, hi! Uuhh, first time posting actual writing here, quick reminder English is *not* my first language so sorry if something just doesn't make much sense, anyways, I think about them a lot, it's very short cause my brain doesn't have that much creativity to write big things but i love them so much I had to at least write something. Enjoy 🥺

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Kenjaku told himself it was all for the plan, he believed so for most of the time but there was a point where it became all too much to ignore, the increasing feelings of genuine care and love for Jin were becoming utterly overwhelming, something he at first brushed off as Kaori's personality rubbing on him but as time passed by pretending wasn't a need anymore, it came so naturally it was terrifying, it made him feel human again.

During his pregnancy he was spoiled and treated like a God, each day with that man was like heaven on earth, kind, caring, compassionate and completely obsessed with him - Or rather, with Kaori, though the lines got blurred at times, he passed so much time as her it was if she became a part of who he is, core and soul fused into something different, he isn't the same Kenjaku he was since he became Kaori. 

But that was the past, he now inhabits the body of someone else - Suguru Geto, someone who has his own desires, his own special someone and needs, but for some reason these don't seem to affect him as much as Kaori did, as if that spot of love has already been claimed by someone else to Kenjaku, a spot no one can take. The memories and things he felt while with Jin persist in his mind, each time Kenjaku closes his eyes he's haunted by that sweet absolute pure smile of that damned man, while in bed his body squirms under the blankets, yearning for that loving touch, that tender caress, longing for it so bad it makes him doubt everything he ever did, every cell on his body screaming to go back to that soothing moment of true peace, true happiness. 

He opens his eyes tiredly as sleep fails him once again that week, his gaze locking on the dark ceiling of the lonely room illuminated by the light of the moon coming through an open window, accompanied by the cold nightly breeze. Silence and coldness, it was all he had left.

A glimpse of a memory tingles the back of his cerebrum, the only part of him that is true, and as that scene rushes back like a movie playing in front of his eyes he realizes something. 

He wasn't able to kill Jin, he never could do such a thing, he loved him so much he couldn't take away the other man's life - he suppressed that memory to the deepest of his physique, all for Jin's sake, for his safety he forced himself to forget he spared his beloved, so they wouldn't meet again. Blurry images of a house forcefully plagued his mind, darkness and the reflection of glasses.

Not anymore. This wasn't a matter of concern now, it was pure selfish desire for that love again, to possesses that man again, after all, Kenjaku is an egotistical self-centered person, it is all about him, about what he wants, and he not only wants that back, he needed it. His desperation is so crushing that the idea of not having Jin at his side right now makes him completely miserable, a mess of what he used to be. 

Without a moment's hesitation he stood to his feet, leaving his place of stay to go in search of that man through the night out in a white shirt and baggy pants, no time to change into proper clothing.

Kenjaku didn't remember perfectly where he left Jin, the memory of that day was cloudy - with a frustrated sigh he stopped, taking a moment to breath in the cold air and put his thoughts in place, he searched thoroughly in his own brain, each step, each word they shared, each location he went to in the modern world until it finally came back to him, relief would be a understatement. 

Upon arriving at the house he found it to be rather well cared for, he didn't exactly expect for the other man to have stayed there after all those years but there it was, in better condition than he had left it. He noted the lights on by looking at the windows, glad his early meltdown wasn’t fruitless.

With a trembling hand Kenjaku reached for the handle, his fingers curling around it as he pushed and opened the unlocked door. His vision was immediately blinded by a well-known figure, being met with the sight of Jin who was reaching for the handle from the inside. 

They both stopped in place, looking into each other's eyes for painful long minutes of complete silence, Kenjaku's gaze drifted down Jin's body, taking in his older figure - it has been 16 years but somehow that man looks just as gorgeous as he remembers, aging like fine wine. Jin opened his mouth but no sound came out, Kenjaku did a similar gesture with his own lips but equally mute.

That was until a chuckle broke away from Jin, that ravishing smile tugging at the side of his lips as his eyes filled with tears. “You're surely taller, Kaori.” He said with a hint of tease, finally taking the breath he was holding back until now. “Hello again, my love. If…I can still call you that?” He questioned cordially.

“...Yes, please.” Kenjaku nodded as he finally found his words, tilting his head to the side as he slowly came back to his usual playful self. “We have a lot to discuss, my love.” 

[hunterbunter3000]

Hi! I love your page so much! From the dog/ handsome man ask, who would be the home wreckers and who would suffer in the friend zone?

Gaz and König would be the kings of the friend zoned boys while Ghost and Kruger would definitely manipulate, manslaughter, and manwhore their way in Sweetheart’s relationship. Where would the other boys be?

Hello! I'm so happy that you like my page!! I appreciate it 🙏 🫂❤️❤️

WHEW NOW YOU WENT IN BABES

(What we're referring to!)

You are very right, Gaz and König would be the absolute BALLERZ of the friend zone (or the brother zone, cause she sees them like "b r o t h e r s") and then Ghost and Krueger, like the SLUTS THEY ARE, would still be trying ONE HUNNID PERCENT

So let's use this as a pyramid system! The highest is 100% brother zone, and then going down further, you get to the Slut Homewreckers. It goes as such:

The Brother Zone

König

Gaz

Rodolfo

Alex

Roach

Horangi (The Whore Medium)

Alejandro

Price

Soap

Graves

Ghost

Krueger

The Slut Homewreckers

This was so sad to write out 😢

S I K E

Lemme start with Krueger, because he's always my favorite when it comes to Sweetheart.

Short answer: Krueger don't give a flying fuck shit.

Long answer: Krueger has been heavily obsessed with Sweetheart ever since he met her. You think that'll just E N D cause she got a boyfriend? Bitch please, that just makes him want her more. That little boyfriend is just keeping her company for now. Sweetheart belongs to Krueger, she just doesn't know it yet.

Now Ghost, he honestly can't help it. If he has his eyes set on something, he's either gonna make it his or complete it with so much determination it's scary. And that's EXACTLY what he's gonna do with Sweetheart. He didn't think he would fall in love with anyone, so she has a very special place in his heart. He's a bit heartbroken that she has a boyfriend. But as I said with Krueger, that's not gonna stop him. He's absolutely addicted to her, and his addiction can't just be leveled by being friends.

Graves... Jesus. With how much Sweetheart hates him, he's still SO PUSHY. He also can't let her go just like that. He likes their banter too much. So much so, that he sees his future with her still doing this, just with her in his arms surrounded by a white picket fence. Now everytime they fight, his brain reminds him that she has a boyfriend. Fuck, well not for long. He's gonna be the most annoying, pushy asshole she has ever seen. And he's not gonna give up.

Soap-- he was honestly gonna be in the brother Zone, but I had to think... cause I have in another ask (that I haven't posted yet, lemme alone) saying that Sweetheart and Soap are best friends first and lovers last. But g o d that's so hard now because he's fallen in love with her. They're extremely close, and for Sweetheart to not tell him that she has a partner really messes with him. He can't shake the feeling of wanting her for himself. (I can also see him being so desperate and begging. I have a problem with Soap being desperate and begging, its like my whole personality)

Price DEFINITELY wasn't gonna be bro zoned. Like come on- he's so determined in everything he does. But he will feel guilt everytime he tries to woo her. The black tendrils coiling around his being, the right from wrong really be setting in his soul and he hates it. But his desires and his heart keep pushing him to do the "wroight" thing. (Get it? It's right and wrong mixed together HAHA sorry)

Alejandro wouldn't.... but also really would. He feels a connection to Sweetheart. Platonically and romantically. But the romantic weights out the Platonic, and long story short; he wants her. He doesn't want to give up, but he also wants to respect her decision. She seems happy with this man, but wouldn't she be happier with him?

Okay so Horangi is in the middle because he would be 50/50. He would respect her choice to have a boyfriend. I mean yEAH YOU SHOULD-- IDIOT. He would tell himself that it needs to be Platonic only. He would say that when he's near her, when he's staring at her, when he's about to sleep, about to eat, about to-- you get where I'm going. But what if he would keep trying? He's a dogshit gambler though, so it may not turn out right.

Roach would be too scared to be a Homewrecker. He doesn't want to lose her completely, so he will just be Sweetheart's friend. I don't think he could take it for long though, since everyone has a breaking point. Seeing her smile with her man makes him smile, but his heart is bleeding.

Alex would be a bit disgruntled, but he would get over it. She's still in his life but just as friends. He would love to kiss her though. And to wake up next to her in the mornings and make breakfast together-- BUT YA KNOW IT'S FINE, HE'S FINE

Rodolfo hurts me, man. I feel like he would be so sensitive to love. Especially when it comes to loving Sweetheart. He would just look like a sad puppy everytime he's around her cause he knows he'll never get her like he wants to. #LOVEFORRUDY2023

Gaz will be on the cusp of crying 24/7 and being jealous everytime he sees her. And her 🤢man🤢 he will be supportive though, in whatever Sweetheart does he will always be supportive. And a friend. Only a friend to Sweetheart because that's what she wants and he'll respect it. I mean shiii he has to, he doesn't want to ruin anything this good, even if it is platonic.

König, my boy. The König of the friendzone (I LIKE TO THINK IM FUNNY) alot of people think that he's "UwU Boi babygirl nervous wreck little meow meow" (which I do agree on sometimes but also-) he grew up with alot of anger, and punching the shit outta people in school and getting into fights. He would never, EVER put his hands on Sweetheart, but he will mess up his room. And she didn't tell him? He gonna shut off for quite some time. And cry. Cry a l o t. He would have to re-wire his brain to tell himself that she's taken. She's gone.