#since the short hair was his hair for so so long

[onceinablueberrymoon]

i spy | husband!salesman x pregnant!reader

scenario: after their “chance” meeting a couple months prior, pregnant!reader befriended gi-hun, and the two began meeting up occasionally for lunch, much to the salesman’s dismay. but now that reader’s gained gi-hun’s trust, it’s the perfect opportunity to gain some intel. setting: a few months after season 1; please read part 1 and part 2 first for added context! word count: 1.7k warnings: pregnant!reader; deception (poor gi-hun); no use of y/n; second person POV notes: i love domestic salesman so much (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) he will remain alive in my heart lol. there’s at least three parts left to this series, culminating in season 2 events. the next one should be coming soon, so stay tuned! this part is a big one, with lots of fluff, as always. please enjoy! borders by @enchanthings-a and @strangergraphics-archive!

Sunlight filtered through the curtains of your bedroom. You cracked open your eyes. It was morning. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw your husband, still asleep. His expression was peaceful. ‘Good,’ you thought, ‘he needs it.’ He rarely got a good night’s sleep as he was regularly plagued by nightmares of his traumatic past. 

You sat up slowly, resting one hand on your back and the other on your large stomach. With the baby due in a few short weeks, you tried not to overexert yourself. Not that your husband would let you, anyway.

You picked up your phone from the nightstand and noted the time: 10:00 a.m. It’d been a long time since you slept in this late.

Most of your unread messages were spam, but one text caught your eye.

Message from Seong Gi-hun: Would you like to meet for lunch? I’ll be passing by your area today. 

You’d been rather proud of your connection with Gi-hun. Ever since you first met him at the Incheon Airport subway station, you’ve maintained a casual friendship. While he had never spoken a word about the Games, he often told you stories about his daughter and his friends. You suspected he was quite lonely and isolated, and he had yet to use much of his winnings. Even so, you had somehow become his friendly confidante. 

You put your phone to sleep and closed your eyes, leaning your head back on the bed’s headboard.

Your husband and you had agreed that you would need to start asking Gi-hun for information about the Games soon. Although you knew where Gi-hun was most of the time, you didn’t know what he was planning on doing if he found your husband. He seemed determined to interfere with the Games, but you weren’t sure how he would go about doing that. 

The goal was to learn more from Gi-hun, and you would begin executing your plan today.

You felt a shifting movement from beside you, and you looked down to see your husband cuddling into your side. When he couldn’t put his arm around your large bump, he wrapped it around your thigh. 

“Comfortable?” you chuckled. He nodded sleepily, pressing closer to you. You ran a hand through his fluffy, mussed-up hair. He lifted his head to softly kiss your belly. Your heart swelled – you loved him so much.

“While I would love to stay in bed and cuddle, I have to get ready. Gi-hun offered to meet me for lunch.” You gently unraveled yourself from your husband’s hold. This seemed to have woken him up more.

“I’ll send some guards to keep an eye on you.” He sat up, reaching over to his nightstand to make a call using the landline phone that was reserved for work.

You groaned, “I’ll be fine. Gi-hun wouldn’t dare touch me, not while I’m pregnant. And besides, I have a cover story. I’ll say I saw you playing ddakji with someone on the subway, but keep the details vague. Easy peasy.”

Your husband didn’t look convinced. 

“I’ll tell them not to wear their uniforms. They’ll be undercover.”

You let out a big sigh. You weren’t winning this one.

“Fine. But I’m not bailing them out if they get caught.”

“So I saw something odd the other day…” You said nonchalantly, taking a bite of your sandwich. Gi-hun seemed intrigued as he dug into his own sandwich.

“These two men were playing ddakji in the middle of the subway station.” Gi-hun froze, mid-bite. You continued, “Can you believe it? I thought ddakji was just some kid’s game, not something played by grown men.”

You ignored his bewildered expression. “And to make it even weirder, one man slapped the other after he lost!” Gi-hun looked at you with a thousand-yard stare. You cheered in your mind – you knew you had gotten to him.

“Gi-hun-ssi?” You questioned, blinking your eyes innocently. 

“...What station?” He whispered.

“I’m… I’m not sure. Maybe Yaksu? My mind’s been all over the place late-” 

Gi-hun cut you off. “Was he dressed as a businessman? Did you see where he went afterwards?”

You nodded, “He was in a grey suit. My train came while they were still playing.” You paused. This was the moment of truth. “What’s going on? Do you know him?”

Gi-hun took a deep breath. “You may not believe me, but that salesman… He works for an organization that kills people by forcing them to play children’s games for money.”

You snorted. “Children’s games? Like what, hide and seek?”

His expression hardened. “Exactly. But it isn’t just games. People died. I was there.” His voice dropped to a whisper, “I won.” 

He proceeded to tell you everything. About the pink guards, the types of games he played, the frontman in charge… Nothing you didn’t already know, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

“And that man you saw, the salesman… He recruits players by playing ddakji. If you win, he gives you 100,000 won and a card to join the games.”

You did your best to look skeptical. Really, it wasn’t hard since most people would think he was out of his mind by this point. 

But you gave him hope.

“I believe you, Gi-hun-ssi.” You turned to face him. His intense gaze softened. “If I see that man slapping people again, I’ll let you know.” 

Technically, you weren’t lying, since your husband didn’t slap you at home (unless you asked, of course). You had both agreed that slapping people’s faces was strictly a work thing.

Gi-hun’s hand lurched forward to grab yours, but his grip loosened out of fear of hurting you. 

“Promise me,” his voice shook, “promise me that you won’t approach him. Who knows what he’ll do… Especially in your condition.” Both your gazes wandered down to your swollen belly. 

“I would never endanger my baby.” You placed a protective hand over your stomach.

Gi-hun gave you a tight-lipped smile. “I recently called my former loaner and he’s agreed to assemble a team to search for the salesman.” He let his head drop into his hands. “We have to find this man before the next games start.”

“This loaner of yours… How do they plan on finding the salesman?” You asked cautiously.

Gi-hun lifted his head. “They plan on searching the subway stations from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. The salesman will surely be out recruiting people during that period.” He turned to you again. “I didn’t mean to bring you into all of this. If you see that salesman again though,” he looked at you, his eyes pleading, “call me immediately. I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you.”

Again, you nodded, this time with more conviction.

The rest of your time together was silent for the most part, an uneasiness lingering in the air. All that mattered, though, was that you had fully gained Gi-hun’s trust. But how much longer would you be able to keep it?

Returning home from your lunch appointment, you open the front door to see your husband lounging on the sofa, his feet propped up on the low coffee table. Upon noticing your arrival, he closed the book he was reading and put it aside. 

“I’ve got some key information!” You sang, waving your arm to greet your husband. He smiled, standing up to meet you at the doorway. 

“What did my detective learn today?” He took your hand and led you to sit on the sofa. He helped you put your legs up, then sat near your feet and began massaging them. 

“Lots. For one, Gi-hun calls you ‘the salesman’. Funny, isn’t it? You’re not selling anything, but with your devilishly good looks, I’d buy anything from you.” He chuckled at your comment. 

“He also said that he hired his former loan shark.” You let out a giggle. “His loan shark! The guy that Gi-hun signed his physical rights away to! I couldn’t believe my ears.” You continued, “Anyway, the loan shark and his team will be searching the subway stations for you.” You grimaced. “It’ll interfere with your schedule. They start at 10 a.m. and go until 10 p.m.” 

Your husband let out a heavy sigh and pinched his nose. “So, the entire day.” 

You nodded. “I can find more prospects aboveground. Parks, markets… There must be some in the suburbs too.” 

He seemed lost in thought as he continued rubbing the soles of your feet.

“Another thing… Gi-hun told me to promise I’d call him if I saw you again.” Your husband looked at you and quirked an eyebrow. You took your phone out of your bag on the coffee table. “Since I found you, should I let him know..?” You teased, your phone dangling loosely from your hand. 

“Oh?” Your husband smirked. “If you did,” he moved his hands up your legs to massage your thighs, “What would you say?”

You shuddered when he massaged a particular spot on your thigh. 

“I’d say… ‘Wow, that salesman is incredibly handsome.’” Your husband chuckled. You laughed, “Then, to really rile him up, I might say, ‘Maybe I will play a game with him after all.’” You cocked your head, a mischievous smile on your face. “Or do you think that’d give him a heart attack?”

Your husband laughed. He moved his hands back down to massage your ankles.

The conversation flowed between the two of you for over an hour, when your husband finally tired of massaging your aching body. He escorted you to your bedroom, where you immediately demanded that you resume your cuddling session from earlier that morning.

As you snuggled into him, you sighed. “I’m going to miss this.”

He nodded, one hand drawing circles on your belly. Just then, you both felt the baby kick. Nothing out of the ordinary, but a kick nevertheless.

“Well, maybe I won’t miss that.” 

Your husband’s repetitive circles were making you sleepy. But before you fell asleep, you heard him murmur, “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

As much as you also wanted everything to stay the same, you knew things were about to change. In your career, in your family, in your friendships… The next chapter of your life would soon begin, and boy, were you in for a ride.

[ikkyfics]

Midnight Reverie

Sirius Black x f!reader

Summary: “You know what's funny?" His voice is low, drawling, like a secret whispered against your wrist. "What?" Your own voice trembles. "I swear my plan was just to make you sleep." His teeth graze your skin lightly. "But you're not helping, doll."

Warnings: language, est. relationship, suggestive, love bites, no use of y/n, the marauders' reaction when they saw that you spent the night in the boys' dormitory

A/N: sirius' m.list is my oldest draft (from early december), but only now have I dared to do something with it, I hope it didn't turn out too bad <33

Masterlist

Your footsteps on the stone staircase barely make a sound as you climb toward the boys' dormitories in Gryffindor Tower. The castle is drowned in the silence of the early hours, and the only light illuminating your path comes from the weakly dancing flames in the common room fireplace far below.

You've been here before. Many times. The path to him is as familiar as Sirius himself.

Reaching the top of the staircase, you push the door open slowly, slipping into the dark room. The air is thick with the dormitory’s woody scent and something unmistakably his—a mix of leather, smoke, and Sirius.

The other boys sleep deeply, their steady breathing filling the space. But your gaze is drawn to the bed at the far end, where crimson curtains are partially parted, revealing a cascade of black hair spread across the pillow.

Sirius lies on his side, one hand tucked under his face, his breathing slow and deep. The moonlight slipping through the window cracks casts a silver glow over him, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the soft shadows beneath his closed eyes, the dark hue of his long lashes against his pale skin.

You move closer, soundless, kneeling beside his bed. Your heart pounds in your chest as you lightly trace your fingers over his arm, the tip of your nail grazing the warmth of his skin.

"Sirius..." your voice is barely a whisper.

He stirs, frowning slightly before his eyes slowly flutter open. Sleep-clouded gray meets yours, and a shadow of a smile tugs at his lips.

"Ah," his voice, rough and drowsy, slides through the silence like a secret. "So my imagination has finally materialized into flesh and bone?"

His lazy, slightly teasing tone sends warmth flooding through your chest. You smile softly. "If you're dreaming of me, then your imagination is terribly dull."

Sirius lets out a short chuckle, rolling onto his back and stretching an arm toward you. "Since you're already here, come on."

You don’t hesitate. The bed creaks slightly as you slide in, molding yourself against the warmth of his body. Sirius shifts to make space, pulling the curtains closed around you both with a lazy flick of his wand before murmuring a silencing charm. The world outside disappears.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his bare chest. The heat of his skin is comforting, and you can feel the slow, drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, his lips brushing the top of your head.

You shake your head against him, feeling the movement of his smile before you even see it.

"Lucky me, then."

"Why?"

"Because now I have an excuse to do this." His fingers trail idly up your arm, skimming over your shoulder, your neck, until finally threading into your hair. He plays with the strands absentmindedly while his other arm tightens around your waist, as if making sure you won’t slip away.

You sigh, sinking further into him.

Sirius tilts his head, pressing his lips lightly to your forehead for a lingering moment, his breath warm against your skin before he murmurs:

"Want me to tell you a story?"

You lift your face to look at him. "Since when do you tell stories?"

He shrugs, a lazy glint in his eyes. "Since now. I have a very selective and highly demanding audience to entertain."

You laugh softly but nod. "I do."

Sirius thinks for a moment, his gray eyes lost in the shadows of the bed canopy. Then, in a deliberately dramatic tone, he begins:

"Once upon a time, there was a great hunter in the sky. He was strong, invincible, arrogant as hell, but handsome enough to make up for it—"

"This is about Orion, isn’t it?"

"Hey, who’s telling the story here?"

You smile, resting a hand on his chest. "Go on, then."

Sirius clears his throat theatrically. "As I was saying, Orion was a legendary hunter. But he was also a little impulsive—and pissed off powerful people, which, let’s be honest, is a familiar trait."

The implication in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed. You smile against his skin, feeling Sirius's muscles relax beneath your fingers.

"He boasted that he could defeat any beast on Earth," Sirius continues, lowering his voice to a deep whisper. "And the gods, being the bastards they are, didn’t like that. So they sent a scorpion to kill him. And just like that, the invincible hunter fell."

He pauses, his eyes locked onto yours.

"But the gods placed him in the sky," he finishes softly. "A bright constellation, never to be forgotten."

The silence between you is filled only by the sound of your soft breaths and the slow beat of Sirius’s heart under your palm.

"Tragic," you murmur.

Sirius smiles faintly. "All the best stories are."

You watch his face in the dark, the soft fall of his dark hair over his eyes, the strong line of his jaw softened by the dim light. He looks caught between two worlds—one where he is Sirius Black as everyone knows him, and another where it’s just you and the way he melts into you.

You touch his face lightly, letting your thumb graze the curve of his mouth. "If you were a constellation, which one would you be?"

His lips part slightly under your touch, something warm flickering in his gaze.

"If I could choose..." he murmurs, "any one that’s next to you in the sky."

Your heart clenches.

Sirius seems to notice, because he leans in and presses his lips to yours in a slow, lingering kiss, as if trying to trap the feeling of you here, as if trying to make this moment eternal.

And in a way, it is.

The kiss starts soft. The kind of kiss Sirius gives when he wants to savor, when he wants to feel. But there’s something about you—the way your fingers tangle in his hair, the way your body molds against his, the way your lips return to his without a shred of hesitation—that makes him lose his patience.

The sound he makes against your mouth is deep, almost a low, satisfied purr, and then the softness dissolves. His hands tighten on your waist before sliding up your back, pulling you closer. You feel the tension in his muscles beneath your fingers, his breath becoming more uneven against yours.

Sirius kisses like it’s hunger.

And you surrender.

You get carried away.

Your bodies fit together in an almost desperate way, his hands traveling up your neck, into your hair, his fingers firm against your skin, as if he wants to memorize you. He takes your mouth with more insistence now, deepening the kiss in a way that makes it hot, consuming.

When you let out a quiet moan against his lips, Sirius exhales an almost exasperated sigh and flips you over in one swift motion, pinning you beneath him. His weight is comfortable, warm, and you feel every inch of him against you.

Sirius' gray eyes gleam in the dark, intense, hungry. He leans down, brushing the tip of his nose along your jaw, trailing slowly down your neck, letting his breath warm your skin. A shiver runs through you.

"You know what's funny?" His voice is low, drawling, like a secret whispered against your wrist.

"What?" Your own voice trembles.

"I swear my plan was just to make you sleep." His teeth graze your skin lightly. "But you're not helping, doll."

The shiver rolls down your spine even before you feel the first bite.

Sirius presses his mouth to your neck, sucking slowly before biting—not hard enough to hurt, but enough that tomorrow, you’ll see the marks and remember exactly how they got there.

You cling to him, fingers digging into his bare back, feeling the satisfied chuckle he lets out against your collarbone before biting there too, as if he’s claiming you, leaving his signature on your skin.

You feel him smile against your shoulder before he trails his lips up to your jaw, then back to your mouth. The kiss now is slower, more deliberate, as if he’s savoring the effect he has on you.

Then, as abruptly as he started, Sirius stops.

His lips still brush against yours, but he doesn’t push forward. His breathing is fast, just like yours, and for a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze hazy, intense.

The silence between you is thick, full of everything that doesn’t need to be said.

Then, with a sigh, he lets out a low, husky laugh. "If I keep going, you’ll never sleep."

He doesn’t pull away completely, but you feel the weight of his restraint in his shoulders when he closes his eyes for a moment, controlling his breathing.

Your fingers touch his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the tension beneath his warm skin.

Sirius opens his eyes again, and there’s something so devastatingly intense in them that your heart clenches.

He gives you a faint smile, lips still a little swollen. "You’re killing me, you know that?"

You smile back, sliding your arms around his neck. "If it’s any consolation… we’re dying together."

Sirius lets out a short laugh, then kisses your forehead and pulls you against his chest.

"Now sleep, my love." His voice is low, laced with the sleep that’s finally catching up to him.

Sirius' body is a warm shelter against yours, his chest rising and falling steadily as he holds you tightly, but not trapping you. He lazily runs a hand up and down your back, tracing invisible patterns with his fingertips, the touch so tender it makes your heart ache.

"Breathe with me," he murmurs into your hair, his voice still thick with sleep.

You obey, inhaling when he does, exhaling in the same rhythm. His chest vibrates against you when he lets out a contented sigh, and then, in a tone so soft it feels meant just for you, Sirius starts to hum.

The melody is gentle, little more than a low, resonant hum against your ear. He doesn’t sing words, just lets the sound fill the space between you, as if he’s lulling you into a song only he knows.

And it works.

Your muscles slowly relax, your eyes grow heavy, and the last thing you feel before finally slipping into sleep is the warm press of Sirius' lips against your forehead.

Morning arrives lazily, with the sun filtering through the heavy curtains and spreading a golden glow across the room. You're still deeply asleep, nestled against Sirius' chest, while he rests his hand possessively on your back, his fingers lazily curled in the thin fabric of your blouse.

Sirius is awake, but he doesn’t move. He just stays there, watching the way your relaxed face looks even more beautiful in the soft light, the way your breath against his collarbone sends shivers down his skin.

He could stay like this all day.

Unfortunately, the world has other plans. The bed curtain is abruptly yanked aside.

"WHAT THE F—"

"Shhh! For Merlin's sake, James!"

Potter’s shout barely has time to echo through the room before it's interrupted by the urgent whispers of Remus. Sirius narrows his eyes, irritated.

"Fuck off, James, shut up," he grumbles, his voice still thick with sleep.

James raises his hands in surrender, but his eyes are still wide as he stares at the scene before him. Remus just rubs his face, exhausted before the day even begins.

Peter, who has just lifted his head from the pillow, gapes and immediately looks anywhere but at the two of you. "Merlin!" he murmurs, his skin flushing instantly.

Sirius, now burying his head against your neck, lets out a low chuckle. He moves just enough to pull the blanket over his body, not because he wants to hide the marks—he’s actually completely satisfied with how they look—but because he prefers no one else sees them.

James, standing at the foot of the bed with his glasses askew and a scandalized look on his face, points an accusing finger. "Those are marks, Sirius!"

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Do you really have to shout about it? Fuck, she’s still sleeping."

"It’s impressive! You were irresponsible!"

"I was passionate," Sirius corrects, a cheeky smile forming on his lips.

Remus, who’s seen worse, just lets out a sigh. "Can we at least pretend to be adults?"

Sirius shrugs, lazily looking at them before simply pulling you a little closer against him.

"You guys talk too much in the morning," he murmurs, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear.

James grimaces. "I’m going to puke."

"Then puke outside."

Peter makes a muffled sound, clearly too embarrassed to contribute to the conversation.

Remus, always practical, crosses his arms and watches Sirius with an unreadable look. "You’re a shameless dog."

Sirius grins—a lazy, insolent smile that clearly says no, he definitely isn’t ashamed.

"Guilty," he says, his voice drawling.

James shakes his head, frustrated. "Merlin, Black. Could you at least try to look sorry?"

Sirius just smiles more.

And then, in an absurdly possessive gesture, he lowers his face and places a lazy kiss on your exposed shoulder, as if wanting to make it clear to everyone that yes, the marks are his, and yes, he wears them proudly.

"Now, if you don’t mind," he says, pulling the blanket over both of you and closing his eyes again, "get out of here before I get even more graphic."

James lets out a horrified grunt.

Peter rushes to grab his things and leave.

Remus just sighs, clearly used to this.

And Sirius, satisfied with himself, settles back against you, completely ignoring the chaos he’s caused.

[ink-stainedkiss]

Nerd Gojo Headcannons

A/N: I’m so sorry for my lack of activeness. please forgive me🙏🙏 I’ve had so much stuff with school and yesterday was my birthday so my schedule has been packed. I wanted to give you guys something small for now so my accounts not collecting dust, but i promise more will be coming in days prior!! Love you all!💕

Nerd!Gojo who is still completely shocked you chose him out of everyone on campus. Gojo was a known geek, someone who got excited about the latest comic and his grades never fell below an A+. Well lucky for him, you found the fact he was so nerdy to be extremely cute.

Nerd!Gojo who loves planning adorable dates with you, but it’s never commonplace. He will set up picnics right in front of a beautiful lake, taking you to a pottery class and giggling at how dumb your ‘masterpieces’ look, or simply creating a candlelight dinner in your apartment.

Nerd!Gojo who adores you and he makes it extremely known. For someone so shy when the two of you first met, he definitely has warmed up to you. Before, he was too scared to even stand next to you because he was afraid he would slip up and embarrass himself, but now he never leaves your side. You can’t exit the same room with him without giving him a long kiss goodbye, even if you're just grabbing ice from the hallway. Hugs, kisses, handholding, cuddles, you name it, Gojo loves it.

Nerd!Gojo who isn’t the best at taking care of himself. He often stays up late to finish homework or a project that could easily be done the next day, but unfortunately he’s a try hard and will force himself to stay awake until it’s done. Before you, he relied on energy drinks to keep him up and when all of the work was done, he would sleep the weekend away, barely leaving his dorm. Even now, you have to scold him for his unhealthy studying habits.

You were peacefully chatting with your friends, going on about the tests and assignments being piled on top of each other. As you spoke, your group’s eyes shift behind you, but you couldn’t turn before two lanky arms were sliding around your waist. Soft lips gently landed on your exposed neck and in your peripheral vision you saw a puff of white hair. Of course it was Gojo. Your friends did not hold back their cheeky looks, some of them turning and looking off in another direction while muffaling their giggles.

Blush rose to your cheeks instantly and you heard your boyfriend speak up,”Hi Baby.” He’s obviously tired, his voice groggier than normal, but he still has the energy to cover you in his love. You shift your body to face him, cupping his cheek, and you get a good look at his face. Like you expected, he looks on the brink of passing out. His usually bright eyes were a bit dimmer and there were vague shadows coating his under eyes. His own hand reached up and held the one of his face, turning his head to plant tiny kisses to your palm.

“Have you been sleeping?” Gojo sees the disappointed frown on your face, because you already knew the answer. He sighed, leaning into your touch,”Maybe.” The short response was enough to finalize your question. It didn’t help that he had shut his eyes and was practically sleeping against your palm. Turning to your friends, you excused yourself, dragging a half-asleep Gojo on your side the entire time you left.

Nerd!Gojo who knows he should listen to your stern lectures on why he needs to stop doing all nighters, but even if he felt like shit after, without fail the two of you would cuddle on his bed and take a long cat nap. You were never as tired as Gojo, so most of the time you would be awake, reading, or scrolling on your phone, while Gojo slept soundly on your lap.

Nerd!Gojo who may or may not do your homework if you leave it out. He tells himself he shouldn’t, since you tell him it’s not his responsibility to do your own work, but he can’t help it. You’re his girlfriend after all and it would be mean of Gojo to not fill out the first half of the paper and maybe the back half if he has time. (He does it regardless)

Nerd!Gojo who nearly cries when you get him a figurine of his favorite superhero character. He constantly gushes about how cool they are and doesn’t notice how you aren’t even listening to the topic, just focusing on how his eyes light up with pure joy. You have adapted to Gojo’s interest, never denying a trip to the movies with him to see a new action film he has been freaking out about. Holidays are like Gojo’s heaven because you always end up getting him another item for his very large collection. Each time you are smothered in kisses then dragged to his room to watch him rearrange his overcrowded stock.

Nerd!Gojo who is so thankful for you and some nights, wakes up to watch you sleep calmly. His fingers rake over your face and images of your future together flash in his head.

[messedupfan]

Chapter 26

Summary: Wanda and Y/n take the next step in their relationship.

A/n: Hello! How is everyone? This is a short one. Sorry about that. Hope you enjoy!

Masterlist | All Stories Taglist  | All Chapters

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Since the two of you spent so much time apart, Wanda insisted that you stay with her for the week. She went with you to your apartment to spend time with you while you packed your bag. She hung off of you while the two of you watched television in the living room with her mom. She would openly kiss you while the two of you cooked together. She would whisper sweet nothings into your ear as the two of you say together in the mornings for coffee. You could not believe how confident she has become in treating you as a romantic partner in front of her mother. 

On Saturday morning, you sit up in her bed with a heavy sense of dread. Of course you want to have your daughter back. You just don't want to leave Wanda's house and you don't want to deal with Jean and Anna. Wanda wraps herself around you from behind and kisses from your cheek down to your shoulder. You hum in delight as she does. 

“Good morning,” she whispers in your ear. 

“I'm not ready to go,” you say as you hold her arm to your chest. 

“I'm not ready for you to leave,” she says with a heavy sigh. Then she pats your chest. “We can't take too long. Vision is unpredictable when it comes to returning my boys.” She kisses your cheek again before attempting to move away from you. But as she does, you spin around and hold her arm. You swiftly pin her to the mattress and kiss her lips. Shel squeals and giggles as you do. 

“I needed that for the road,” you whisper before letting her go. She runs off to the bathroom as you clean up and collect your things. To remove any trace of you in the house. When you're done, she meets you at the front door to kiss you goodbye, messing up your hair in the process. Each step you take back she is taking another step forward keeping her lips attached to yours. “Okay, I'm going to need my lips in order to drive,” you chuckle softly as she keeps you close. 

Wanda groans and steps back. “Fine, I love you. Drive safe,” she says as she squeezes your bicep. 

“I love you too,” you say as you open the door and step out. As you turn around, you freeze when you see Vision and the boys walking up towards the front door. You hope you have a moment to dash out of there before they see you but they are running towards the door because they recognize your truck. 

“Y/n! What are you doing here?” Billy asks excitedly. You panic internally as you come up with an excuse. 

“I uh, my washer and dryer are broken. Your mom was nice enough to let me do some laundry here,” you say as you fix your hair and avoid eye contact with Vision. 

“Babe wait you-Oh!” Wanda says as she walks out the door with your phone in her hand in only a robe and slippers. She plasters on a smile as her boys come up and hug her. She greets them happily and you awkwardly pluck your phone out of her grasp. “Bye Y/n,” she waves with her boys. You wave back as you pass Vision, who is quietly stewing as there are obvious signs that you in fact were not doing laundry. Unless, of course, laundry was your pet name for Wanda. 

You make it all the way to your truck without having to talk to him. But you want to make sure he doesn't do anything to Wanda. So, you pull your truck down the driveway and park by the sidewalk so that you have full view of him and Wanda. The boys stay by their mother and Vision looks between them and you before walking off to his car. Once his car is out of sight, you leave and head to your apartment to clean up before having to pick up Rachel. 

Later that week, Tommy and Rachel are goofing off in their science class. They know they shouldn't because the teacher has warned them plenty of times that they will be separated if they don't learn to behave around each other. But for some reason or another, they cannot help themselves. 

And unfortunately because they are male and female friends that are close, other students have assumptions about them. “You guys are so cute together, I wish I had a boyfriend,” a girl boasts to the two when she and her partner are teamed up with them. 

Tommy makes gagging noises and Rachel makes a face. The girl looks confused. “Gross dude, that's my sister,” Tommy exclaims. 

“Well, not technically but in a way, Tommy is like my brother,” Rachel corrects as she lightly punches his shoulder.

“No, you're going to be my sister,” he clarifies and now Rachel looks confused.

“What are you talking about? We were told that was never going to happen,” Rachel whispers to him. 

“You mean, Billy didn't tell you?” Tommy looks at her with wide eyes and looks at him as though he has three heads and no brain. Sometimes she believes there's nothing but oxygen up there. “The two of you are constantly gossiping but this he keeps secret.” Tommy shakes his head and looks at the other two who are eavesdropping and he sighs. He writes a note that says to destroy after reading about what he and Billy saw on Saturday morning. Rachel's face contorts as she reads them her eyes widen as she processes then it contorts again. Then she shakes her head as she rips the paper. 

“That doesn't mean anything. You know how the two of them are, they're weird,” she scoffs at the idea. Tommy makes a face because he's not convinced. 

“Mom accidentally gave us one of their shirts because it got mixed in the laundry,” Tommy whispers. “And Grandma made a face at mom when she couldn't come up with a good reason,” Tommy says. 

“You and Billy need to play more video games. Who pays attention to their parents this much?” Rachel scoffs as she starts to turn her attention to her notes. 

Tommy shrugs, “Things used to be really bad at home. You kind of can't stop paying attention after that. Y'know?” Rachel nods as she has heard stories from him and Billy about their dad. Things get tense between her parents but she's never heard her mom cry out in fear of you. She's heard her mom curse you out a few times, some of the times you were there for it and sure, you yelled back in frustration but never anything harmful. Never anything serious or worth remembering.

“Okay, but whatever you're thinking is going on is not going on,” Rachel states. “Now let's focus,” she says as she reads the assignment again. 

The next evening, Tommy and Billy are playing basketball with their uncle Pietro because they need the practice. Vision agreed that Billy can take dancing lessons as long as he still tries out for the school sports teams. But he has to actually try. Tommy still cannot get it out of his head that you are seeing his mom. He's convinced. He needs to know not only the truth but he needs to know if you are as good of a person as they all think you are. You are divorced and that worries him a little as to what brought on that divorce. Rachel blames her mom but he's not certain. 

“Hey, Uncle Pietro,” Tommy starts as he's mindlessly dribbling the ball while his uncle takes a water break. “You've worked with Y/n for a long time, right?” Pietro frowns as he looks at his nephew with curiosity. He confirms that he has. “Are they a good person? Do you trust them?” 

Pietro starts to get a little worried. “Well, that depends on why you're asking me. Did something happen?” 

Tommy shakes his head, “Nah nothing serious.” 

Billy rolls his eyes, “Gee, way to make Y/n not sound like a predator.” 

Tommy widens his eyes at the implications, “Oh shoot! No! No! Nothing like that! I just… I don't want to make a big thing out of nothing. Rach is already annoyed with me about it.” 

Pietro looks over to his other nephew. “Billy, mind filling me in?” 

Billy laughs with a nod. “Yeah, it's nothing crazy, it's just when dad dropped us off  over the weekend… Y/n was there and Mom called them babe. Tommy's been freaked ever since.” 

“Have not!” 

“Have too!”

“Shut up! I have not! You're such an idiot!” Tommy gets defensive and Pietro has to step in to calm the boys down. 

“Okay, okay, just, calm down. It's natural to be confused and concerned. So let's focus on your question. I do trust Y/n. I trust them with my life every day at work. I trust them with your cousin whenever Rachel invites her for a sleepover. I trust them with you guys. And I'd even trust them with your mom if that were to even happen. Does that answer your question?” Tommy nods and walks away to shoot some more hoops as he thinks. Pietro stands next to Billy as they watch him. “You really heard your mom call Y/n babe?” He asks. 

Billy nods and pops the p when he says, “Yup.” 

The next morning, Pietro greets you with a smirk and you look at him like he's losing it. But you try to ignore it as you go on with your work. Unfortunately, he doesn't make it easy to ignore. He continues to look at you and even approaches you a couple of times as if he's going to say something but then backs down. It's distracting and your mind is racing. What could he possibly want from you? 

By lunch time, you've had it. “What's going on with you today?” 

“Are you dating my sister?” Pietro blurts out instead of answering your question. You grow nervous because you and Wanda have been messaging back and forth about when and where and how the two of you want to tell everyone. This is a difficult situation to figure out on your own. 

He's your friend and your boss but he is also Wanda's twin brother. This isn't something you can discuss without her presence. So instead of denying anything, you turn away from him and text Wanda after telling him to hold on. You wait for the go ahead and instead she calls you. 

“Put me on speaker,” she says with determination in her tone. 

“O-kay,” you drag out the word as you follow her orders.

“Pietro, you can't get mad. You cannot fire Y/n. I am a grown ass woman. I know myself better than you do. I've learned from my mistakes. I love them and they love me and I don't care what you have to say about it if it's negative.” Wanda states very clearly in a strong tone. You're not on the receiving end of it and you feel terrified. Pietro is quiet for a moment. You start to worry that he might kill you. Wanda asks what's going on and you dumbly reply that you don't know. 

As you continue to grow even more nervous, Wanda grows more and more frustrated. Then suddenly, Pietro pulls you in for a big hug. “I'm so happy for you guys!” He shouts as he squeezes you tightly. It's muffed for Wanda so she is asking what's happening and you are struggling to breathe. When Wanda threatens to show up, Pietro takes your phone. “Relax little sister. We are hugging. We are happy. I am happy,” he says in a sweet tone you've never heard before. Well, once when he was talking to his baby. 

“Really?” Wanda says as she starts to get choked up. She has never had her brother's approval before. Not that she needed it before, but it feels pretty good to have it. 

“Yes, Wanda. I'm excited actually. I figured something was up a while ago but yesterday the boys expressed some concerns and I've been dying to ask Y/n all day and… I'm just very happy!” Pietro rambles on and on with the widest grin you've ever seen on his face. 

“Thank you, that means a lot,” you say gratefully. 

“So, when are you guys telling the kids? Tommy is waiting to give you the talk.” He says into the phone while holding eye contact with you. The question makes you cringe internally. Not because of what Tommy wants to do, you're proud of the fact that he wants to protect his mother. The thing that makes you cringe is knowing why he's preparing himself. 

“Soon, we were hoping to make it a year before telling the kids. But that plan kind of got derailed last weekend,” you say as you scratch the back of your neck uncomfortably. 

“I heard, she called you babe,” Pietro teases. 

“They told you?” You sigh.

“Yeah, they told me,” Pietro says as he pats your shoulder. “Billy thinks the two of you are just weird friends. But Tommy, he's definitely on to you guys.” You nod as you take your phone from him to talk to Wanda. 

“I know you wanted to wait until Thanksgiving but I think we need to do it sooner than that.” You speak to Wanda directly. 

Wanda sighs, “Yeah, I agree. We can talk about it with the kids on Friday. How does that sound?” 

“Like a great plan. I'll bring the pizza,” you say with a grin. “And I'll let Rachel know that you'll be picking her up along with the boys on Friday.” 

“I'm kind of scared that she'll freak out on me like she did with Daisy,” Wanda says softly. You chuckle at the thought. 

“You forget who was leading the plan to get us together,” you remind her. “She wants this possibly more than we do.” 

“It's one thing when it's a fantasy. It's another when it's reality,” Wanda debates. 

“It's going to be fine,” you assure her. The both of you end the call and loudly claim your love for one another in front of Pietro. He laughs then when you hang up the phone he tells you to not hurt his sister. You promise that you'll do your best. 

Friday night, you are knocking on the front door with three pizza boxes, a family sized salad and cheesy bread in your hands. Billy is the one who answered the door. He shouts pizza as he runs away from the door. You chuckle as you walk through and gently kick the door shut behind you. As you walk through the house with the sound of video games and kids running around, your heart fills with excitement. This is going to be your family. No. This is your family. 

You set the boxes down on the kitchen island and tell the kids to set the table while you organize everything. You set each box next to each other and you set the salad on a separate countertop. Wanda comes out of her office, where she was getting some work done while the kids played, as she hears her son screaming about the food arriving. Wanda takes slow breaths as she grows anxious about telling her kids about dating you. It has suddenly dawned on her that she has never had this conversation before with her kids. 

She has no idea how they will respond to the idea. Yes, she knows that they were plotting to get you and her together for a time. But she's worried that now that they're a little older, things are different. They've already been told to let go of that idea once. Now how is she supposed to explain this?

She is too anxious to eat as she sits at the table with everyone. Only a serving of salad on her plate. You can tell something is wrong but the kids are excitedly recapping their week and you want to give them your undivided attention. If they knew, you could just hold her hand. But then again, she wouldn't be this nervous. 

After a few minutes you decide that you can't let your girlfriend starve. So you clear your throat and grab their attention. Wanda looks at you and subtly shakes her head because she's not ready. But you take her hand and give it a soft squeeze to let her know that it's okay. 

“Kids, I know you guys are going to have questions and might be a little confused but Wanda and I have grown closer. We know that we sat you guys down a little while ago and said that this relationship wouldn't happen but, life is funny that way. And things change,” you ramble nervously. You had practiced a speech all day. Pietro and the other people on the crew helped you write it. But now you have it all backwards. You close your eyes and shake your head. “I'm sorry, let me start again.” You sigh and rub your eyes. 

“Okay, we have been meaning to tell you guys something. It's about our relationship. It has grown from a friendship in the way that you guys had once hoped for us. Tommy, Billy, I love your mom. And I want us all to become a family one day,” you state softly as you look at them. 

Wanda smiles softly as she puts her free hand on your arm and looks at your daughter. “Rachel, I love your baba very much. I also want us all to be a family someday,” she says with a layer of worry in her tone. 

The three kids are quiet as they exchange glances and then they all nod. “Cool,” Billy says. 

“About time,” Rachel mutters just before she bites her pizza. 

“And you guys called me crazy!” Tommy says with a grin while grabbing another slice.

Wanda almost instantly relaxes and smiles. She looks at each of the unbothered children. She cannot believe it was this easy to talk to them. “Do you guys have any questions for us?” The kids shake their heads as they continue to eat their pizza. You look at Wanda and gently cup her cheek as your eyes bounce around her face trying to get a good read on her. 

“Well, we did it,” you say as your body relaxes. Wanda closes her eyes and nuzzles into the palm of your hand as she accepts the reality. She has told her family. She has told her friends. Finally she has told her children. “And the world isn't burning. It's not going into chaos.” You move your thumb back and forth on her cheek as you continue to comfort her. 

“No, I suppose it isn't,” she chuckles softly as she opens her green eyes to gaze into your kind eyes. She cannot believe she has you. This is her life. This is her family.

Chapter 27

Taglist: @princessprudy @sayah13 @awkwardmandalorian @bentleywolf29 @thatshyboy1998 @artisannat @thisischaismagic @wqndanat @madamevirgo @likefirenrain @tearsofglitter @feltlikethat @natashasilverfox @karsonromanoff @aloneodi @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous @jovialsublimecomputer @natasha-maximoff @iliketozoneout @doudouneverte @druggedduck @diealittlesometime @when-wolves-howl @lifespectator @justyourwritter69 @wandaromamoff69 @awesomelygayasf @nekoannie-chan @diaryoflife @wuwu96 @wandanats-goodgirl @sincerely-indi @blueredg52 @sisiofthemultifandom @fuzzyuniversityeclipsefriend @arcturusseer @scarlettwidow34 @chasethemoon @raven-ss @canyonyodeler @sokovianbaby @alexawynters @bittysworld @hopeless-romantic17177 @spongebobtentacles @the-ox-fan20 @shaniiwm @casualreadersstuff @neopolitan-torchwick @inarayofmoonlight @elle161989 @crimsonwidow666 @vael-altieri

[pineapple-downside-up-cake]

I've gone a bit feral over the inexperienced Simon agenda. I'm also a little obsessed with the 'size kink but in the not-feeling oversized' post.

It was supposed to be short and dirty... Before I knew it there were 3k words. I don't even know if it's still smut or if it's just a sex scene, but it's being released into the wild, anyway. Enjoy!

18+, MDNI

CW: use of sex toy; inexperienced Simon Riley, mentions of weight insecurity

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There are no waifs in your family line.

Peasants, farmers, horses... a dwarf or nine? Quite possibly.

It's not that you're fat, per se.

You're just solid. A bulwark of a woman in a world that venerates the narrow-boned, slim sculpted beauty that was never in your cards.

You’ve had lovers in the past, not all of them terrible. A few with enough reciprocity even to prioritize your pleasure, and it’s not entirely their fault if you’ve deliberately put brains over brawns – your friends might point out that your type skews heavily towards ‘spindly legged nerds’.

It’s not so much preference as happenstance. These are the people you are around, the kind of men you can talk to long enough to form a basis for intercourse. And, you remind them as you remind yourself, intelligence and personality are supposed to be desirable qualities, as well. Things that matter more to a relationship than appearances.

But you’ve always been aware of the physical imbalances, always careful to balance your weight, to curb your strength and pleasure to avoid breaking your twiggy lovers. It wasn’t bad. Just…measured.

Restrained.

Restraint you wish you could cast unto the last guy you dated, who went all in that first night on the couch in his apartment, a night that has haunted your psyche since.

You’d lost your balance, landed a little too heavily – and the man had fucking laughed, letting out an uninhibited “crush me, mommy” that sent you running for the hills, feeling the least sexy you've felt since your last high school dance.

It put you off men for months, because how the hell does someone recover from that?

But when Simon - gorgeous, intelligent, you-are-the-brute-squad Simon fucking Riley - asks you out?

Well.

You say yes. Obviously.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was supposed to just be a kiss at the door.

A goodbye kiss - a good goodbye kiss, because a man with honey eyes like that deserved a little tongue in his farewell - but then you were eye to eye with him on the top step and his shoulders were just there like the only shelter you'd ever need, and of course you wrapped your arms around his neck, and suddenly your goodbye kiss at the door moved inside the door, then behind the door, and then against the door.

And you don't find yourself regretting it at all.

Kissing Simon is every bit as wonderful as you had imagined. His mouth is warm and wet and you love a man who knows how to use his tongue - not bullying, but teasing, and when he scrapes his teeth across your lip something explodes in your brain.

Kissing Simon is better than you imagined.

Your fingers curl in the back of his hair and you push yourself against his erection, suddenly wishing you were a lace and skirt kind of girl, that you didn't have two layers of denim between you, because you aren't sure you've ever been this turned on, and how good would it feel to have his warmth pressed all the way against you?

There's no way you could possibly get either pair of pants off, not without stopping, and that's not an option you're ready to consider, so instead you grip him tighter with your thighs and let the ache between your legs grow, fluttering around nothing and getting wetter by the second, arousal seeping out.

It's a kiss that last eternity, but not long enough, because soon Simon is pulling away when he should stay glued against you forever, and you reluctantly lower your legs from their new favorite spot wrapped around his waist. He rests a forearm on the wall next to you like he needs grounding or he'll fall apart without it, and you melt just a little, grateful that your legs still seem work. He drops his forehead to your shoulder, both of you quiet and gulping as you reacquaint yourselves with the taste of air.

"Fucking hell, you are..." He lifts his head to search your face like he's not quite sure it's real. That you're real. "You are all woman, aren't you?" His voice is hoarse, and you don't know if it's supposed to be a question because you were the last time you checked - granted it has been a while - but honestly what does that even mean?

His lips are plump and thoroughly kissed, glistening - by you, you did that - and you have to rip your eyes away to form a sentence.

"Do you want to stay the night?"

Simon had held you against the wall like you weighed nothing, like he didn't even have to think twice about your thighs in his hands, about strength and leverage and slotting himself perfectly between your legs, and you are so, so weak - if he decides not to stay the night, you have absolutely no shame in getting yourself off to the memory of this alone later.

You can see it in the way he forcibly pulls himself back, tension warring with responsibility, that he wants to stay. Instead you watch him coil his desire like he has to weigh anchor to get away from you.

"I've got to work in the morning. I - I should go."

And you let him go, because you can be disappointed but respectful at the same time, but you give him a hug - not another kiss, no starting that, neither of you fully yourselves again - and a smile.

"Goodnight, Simon."

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Returning to his graveyard of an apartment is hard. It's far emptier than he remembers it being when left a few hours ago. He hates that he left, but he really does have to get up early for an exercise with the recruits. And if it spared him a little longer, it wasn't such a bad thing.

You had felt right in his arms. Maybe even too right - you'd locked together like a scope to a well oiled rifle, flush and secure and so fucking perfect. He’d nearly come undone right there in your hallway, fully clothed like a teenager, and what an unimpressive end to the night that would have been.

He heads straight for a long, cold, useless shower, and does his damnedest to think about the logistics order. It’s midnight when he finally crawls into bed and sets his alarm for 0600.

Normally, Simon sleeps, if not well, at least on command – a side effect of military life. But he’s still thinking about what could have been fifty-seven minutes later, and he should have known better than to prolong the inevitable.

He's no stranger to an attitude adjusting wank. His palm isn’t particularly special or exciting, but it can usually get the job done well enough. Tonight, as he slides down the elastic of his sweats, he finds his imagination has returned with a vengeance.

He’s hard again and he hasn’t even touched himself.

He’d give anything right now to know what you felt like skin to skin. If your nipples were sensitive – if he could make you come with his mouth alone, or if you preferred top or bottom – is that something he’s supposed to ask about? He wants to find out.

His cock jumps in agreement and he surrenders, gripping himself haphazardly and picturing you.

Not intimidated by him at all. Eyes glazed and full of soft noises. The way your thighs fit into his hands and how you’d felt when he pressed up against you – were you wet? If he had stayed, if he had gotten to touch - would you have wanted him as much as he wanted you?

He thrusts into his hand almost involuntarily at the thought, thinking of you pliant and willing and gasping his name – and suddenly he’s short of air and stifling the mess with the bedsheet.

0100.

Fuck.

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When he comes over on Friday, both of you are a little shy - the afterimage from earlier very much on your minds. Quiet, deliberate, you sit together on the couch in silence, not moving towards each other, making stilted conversation about your day.

Eventually you give in.

"Simon..." It's not going get it out of your system - you can tell sex with Simon isn't a one time affair - but at least it would clear the air. "I have to be honest. The other night? That was basically the hottest thing that's ever happened to me." The confession is quiet, sheepish, and you can see him breathe a sigh of relief, big shoulders slumping back away from his ears - what did he think you were going to say?

"I can't stop thinking about it. I've been dreaming about jumping your bones all week. Do you want to go upstairs?"

Simon has never wanted anything more in his life. Not another magazine, or air support, or Soap to stop speaking in tongues. He chases you up the stairs, heart thumping in his chest like it's his first time.

It's not. He's had sex before - it's been a while (a long while), but he's not a virgin. It wasn't really good - he'd describe it as 'okay' sex, which makes him sound like a snob, but he has one of those inconveniently sized packages that require signature on delivery - too big for comfort for the women who were chasing burly soldiers like him.

Practically, it means your slow makeout session is...not so slow. Simon has your shirt off before you ever hit the bed, painting a path across your neck with his lips, and by the time you're comfortable, your pants have disappeared like you were never wearing any to begin with.

The only time he falters, hesitates at all, is when you finally wrap your hand around the bare length of him, everything exposed at last. He's got this look on his face like he's waiting for you to panic, the corner of his mouth turned up with a ready response.

You like a challenge, and while you won't tell him he exaggerated - he really, really didn't, you let him know you aren't scared off, either.

A cocky smile, and a spark in your eyes, you let him know how much you appreciate it. "I can take it. Or I'll die trying, which wouldn't be so bad, either."

It's amazing, that with all the blood in his engorged cock, that Simon still has enough left over to blush.

It's better, easier, especially this first time, with you on top, where you can control the pace, so you push at his chest (and what a chest it is - a bare hint of blonde fuzz, but mostly pecs you could eat and the cutest little man nipples you've ever seen.)

You have to pay for it with a kiss, but eventually Simon rolls over to his back, laid out for you in his full naked glory.

He’s not some narrow, stick figured man you cling to like a fire pole – wrapping yourself around Simon Riley is like wrestling a refrigerator, every inch of you spread wide to take him in. Your thighs nudge that much further apart and you can’t explain it but it brings a fresh surge of arousal – he’s got you split open and broken in half for him before he’s even in you.

And when he does - when he slots the throbbing head of himself against you, nudges in -

Your eyelashes flutter and you scrabble for purchase, nails biting into his chest as he slowly presses into you, savoring that first glide as he scrambles your brain.

There's no room for anything, any thoughts other than Simon, like he possesses your entire being, filling you with an exquisite stretch that makes you feel like you'll explode.

He’s not even doing anything special – this is sex at its barest, but it’s better than anything you’ve had before – the angle, the depth, knowing he could pick you up and flip you over without breaking a sweat.

"You are so obscenely hot. Do you know how good it feels to sit on you and not worry about breaking you?" You laugh breathlessly, because it's hard to find room for air when you're trying to relax around him.

He slides so easily in your slick, but your muscles fight it as you slowly sink deeper onto him, and you help as you much as you can, clenching and relaxing and adjusting a little at a time until there's nowhere else to go.

He moans, low and deep, clutching at your thighs - to make you stop or to make you keep going, he's not sure - and you can feel him twitch inside you. "Do - do you know how hot it is that you just....you took the whole thing? Taking my dick so well, I can't believe it."

His head drops back against the pillow, eyes shut like he's afraid he's dreaming, that if he opens them it may all end. But you're still there, looking at him like you're enjoying yourself.

You could spend all night here, speared on him, spread wide, filled to completion with his head hot and pulsing inside you, knowing you will be ruined for your stupid spindly men forever.

It takes a second for you even to think about moving, but eventually you inch your way into a slow glide.

Beneath you, Simon finds he can cant his hips just a bit, and your eyes really do roll back into your head which is fascinating so he does it again, and again, and your slow glide gets a little out of control -

You bounce and he thrusts and your rhythms are the perfect level of unaligned to have him slip out of you, catching the thickness of his head between your bodies on a hard downslide and suddenly he's lost, losing himself into the condom with a few jerks of his hips.

Ever a man of few words - a long, drawn out moan is all you get out of him, and you help him finish, as unsatisfying as it might be, with a few more rolls of your hips against where he's trapped, until he stills you with a hand to the thigh, spasming like he's been shocked.

Simon Riley, dethroned king of never p-in-v, has a new complex he'll never recover from. He drags your pillow over his face with both hands, like he would smother himself if he thought it would help.

“'M so sorry,” he mumbles from under the pillow. His chest and neck are flushing the most fascinating shade of red, and it’s so attractive – not to mention flattering – that you can’t imagine how anyone finds it in themselves to be offended.

Reassurance falls on deaf ears. You try, anyway, sliding off his softening cock as he shudders once more. “It doesn't happen all the time for women. I still enjoyed it.”

He hears you, but it’s wrong. It has to be wrong. Simon wants to learn how to make you come every time, possibly all the time, if you can stand it. Wants to see you shivering in ecstasy, mind full of nothing but him and how good he makes you feel.

If he could melt into the mattress and disappear, he would.

"I'll make it up to you," he promises, and you've no doubt about that. He seems like the kind of guy that takes commitment seriously.

Lying next to him, you pull the pillow gently away and nuzzle his neck, sliding a slow hand up his bare chest. He’s spent, limp and boneless. He should be basking in afterglow, and instead he looks miserable. Tormented.

What the hell, you’re a modern woman.

You roll half off the bed to snag something from the night stand and hold it up for his inspection. It’s a garish pink that hurts his eyes, but Simon can't look away. He understands what it is. Never seen one before, though. Definitely never seen it used.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little intimidated.

"Do you think you can hold on to me?" You dangle the vibrator from loose fingertips, and maybe you shouldn't tease him but you also need him to know it really isn't a problem - that A in B isn't the only way to have sex.

He finds it in himself to nod. His throat is tight and he wishes his body would respond to how badly he wants you, but despite his best attempts he remains limp. Dick dead to the world, and to you, and he almost wishes he could take a bullet, instead.

You straddle him again, supported by his knees behind you. It takes a little lift to get the angle right, but when you do the thick end of the vibrator slides in with no resistance. You know what you're missing, now, and it doesn't fill you nearly as well as Simon, but you smile at him because you can tell by the awed look on his face that you’re about to blow his mind.

You would be the first to admit it's not your usual strategy - this is a tactical vibrator, a high efficiency stress reliever that helps you sleep on restless nights. The thing has at least 10 settings and 3 intensity levels. You're only acquainted with two of those, but you know exactly how to make them work for you, and tonight that's what matters.

You guide one of Simon's hands to your hip, and the other to the button on the vibrator, and you hesitate - more bluster than confidence at this point, but he's got a way of making you feel like a sex goddess just by touching you with those hands that span half your ass, and you go straight to your favorite setting.

Convenient, that the slow ramp mimics exactly how you'd like to ride him, if he could last forever. The pulse burns through both of you, rumbling in his chest and sending lighting through your core.

His fingers splay across your hips, digging into the ample flesh, his torso so broad just straddling him takes you to a whole new level of arousal, and he helps you rock on the vibrator where it's pinned to his abs.

He's looking at you like you're the hottest thing he's ever seen, molten heat and promise in those dark brown eyes of his, and you can almost hear all the things he wants to do to you, and so you close your eyes and imagine it instead, imagine it's him you're riding, that you could watch him rut into you as careful, thoughtful Simon fucked you into oblivion.

"So good Simon, so close - " He doesn't understand why it's his name that escapes your lips - he's not doing much, just along for the ride, but somehow it makes him feel wanted and not like a dud.

Like he might still have a shot with you, that he didn't ruin this, and he's speaking before thinking for once in his life - "Give it to me, love, want to see you come."

It's enough. It's more than enough, tension rising in a flood and you need it now. Squeezing his flanks with your thighs, you lose all capacity for words, gasping for air, and you grab his hand and help him push the wand exactly where you need it until the heat rushes up and drowns you, making you shudder violently against him.

You have all of a half second before it becomes too much, and you nudge Simon's hand out of the way as you roll off him and yank out the vibrator in one go, flinging it over the edge of the bed, a problem for tomorrow.

You collapse facedown next to Simon like a ragdoll, gooey satisfaction still spreading through your limbs. It's silent except for the sounds of your breathing, and you sidle over to press up against Simon, to lay with your head on his chest.

He pulls you in tight, wrapping one of those massive biceps around your back, to comfort you or because he's afraid you'll disappear he isn't sure, but then you bite him, sink your teeth into the bare flesh of his pec - not hard, but it gets him out of his head.

"You're wonderful." You mumble, post-coital sleepiness coming in fast.

"You're...incredible," he whispers back. "That was... I don't even have words for that. Hell." He does have words, words like 'you're the best thing that's ever happened to me' and 'I only want to fuck you for the rest of my life', but he knows without being told that it is way too early for that.

Instead, the two of you fall asleep together, your leg tangled with his. When you wake up, he eats you out like he's never had a proper meal in his life, shows you with his mouth what he won't say yet.

You don't really need convincing, but you won't complain.

[miniwheat77]

Lies. (Captain Price x Reader.)

!SHORT FIC, nsfw, smut, price being a meanie, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pregnancy, MINORS DNI!

“Why don’t you have any kids Cap?” Ghost asks.

“Ah, old man’s been shooting blanks since his 20’s.” Gaz smirks. “Christ Garrick.” Price rolls his eyes. “He’s not wrong but.. I’m unable to have kids.” He sighs. “I’m sorry to hear.”

“It’s alright. After I broke up with my high school sweetheart, I didn’t want any.” He laughs. “Why not?”

“Terrible break up, didn’t want to go through it again.” He sighs. “Understandable.”

That's also what he told you when the two of you got too drunk at the bar. The entire task force had gone out drinking. Those are the words he whispered into your ear when you whined about him finishing inside of you.

Neither of you know how it happened, too much to drink. Shared glances. It led the both of you to being in the pub bathroom. Luckily the music was loud enough to conceal the sound of the two of you in the bathroom. You shouldn't have trusted him about it, but he was your Captain after all. You trusted him with your life.

He had a death grip in your hair, your face pressed up against the wall as he hammered his hips into yours. “Wait- you don’t have a condom on Captain.” You hiss. “I can’t have kids, just trust me.” He growls.

“Fuck!” You hiss. Tightening around him.

———

A few weeks later, you're approaching him. You've got the stick behind your back.

"Y/N? What can I do for you?" He asks. The two of you hadn't spoken about what happened that night. You'd kept it to yourselves and returned the professional relationship the two of you shared before.

“Just had a question. Are… are you sure you can’t have kids?” You’re standing in front of his desk. He's looking at his laptop on the other side. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’re completely sure?” You swallow hard.

“Yeah, the girlfriend I had in my 20’s made me get tested, opened the envelope herself.”

“Hm..” you mumble. “What’s going on?” He asks.

“I think she faked your results sir.”

“What? Why do you say that?” He puts his pen down, finally looking at you. “Because. You’re the only person I’ve slept with and I’m very pregnant.” You raise the pregnancy test. He freezes up. “What? Y/N… that’s not possible.” He sighs. “It clearly is. I haven’t slept with anyone else.”

He shakes his head. “Y/N. I don’t know why you’d lie about this. But it’s very out of character.” He sighs. Your eyes widen, you can't believe him. "You're joking. I'm not lying about this."

He shakes his head. "Excuse yourself from my office please." He sighs.

You can't believe this.

———

It's a few weeks later.

John decides to confide in Gaz about it. He talks to him about how he thinks it's best you're removed from his base and relieved of your duties on the task force, seeing as you're pregnant. Gaz approaches you and knocks at your door.

You answer it, seeing the look on his face.

"What's going on Gaz?" You ask.

He sighs. Pushing past you. "He... he told me about what happened. He sent me here to... tell you that he's taking you off the base."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"No.. sorry Y/N." He mumbles.

"Okay. Whatever. Nothing I can do to change it."

"Is it really his?" He asks. You look at him, bewildered that he'd even ask that. "Yes. It's his. I haven't been with anyone else in years, you know that Gaz. We were drunk and..." You trail off with a groan. "I can't believe him." You sit down on your bed. "Could always prove it to him with DNA." He shrugs. "I guess so but obviously he doesn't want this so I guess I'll figure things out on my own. Thanks for stopping by Gaz. How long?" You ask.

"He said he's starting the paperwork today. A month at most." He nods.

You turn your back to him and he feels bad. He doesn't know what to believe.

———

A couple weeks later, John is in the grocery store.

“John?”

He turns to look at her, he hasn’t seen her in years. Not since they’d split up in his 20’s.

“I almost didn’t recognize you.” She smiles. “Oh. Hey.” He nods.

“Still in the military I see.” She smiles. “Uh.. yep. Captain now.”

“Married? In a relationship?” She asks. “Oh uh.. it’s complicated.” He laughs. “Really.” She smiles. “I figured you’d be married with kids by now.” She laughs. He freezes. “Uh.. yeah."

Kids? Why would she say kids?

"I actually had a question I’ve been waiting to ask.” He throws the box of granola bars into his cart. “Did you fake that paperwork all those years ago?”

She laughs. “I did. Yes. I wasn’t ready for kids and didn’t know how to tell you.” She laughs. “You.. did know that. Right?”

“Yeah, course I did. I’ve got a baby on the way.” He mumbles. “On the way? Jesus.” She laughs. “Late.”

He nods. “Yeah. Very late.” He laughs. “I’ve.. I’ve actually got to get going.” He turns away. Leaving the cart behind.

He has a fucking baby on the way.

She thinks it’s weird, but John was always secretive.

When John is out of her sight, he’s in a full sprint to get to his truck.

He reaches the base, surprised by the fact that he doesn’t get pulled over on the way with how fast he’s going.

He gets inside, hurrying down hallways. Nearly running right into Gaz. "Captain? What's going on?" He asks. He takes a deep breath. Wiping his face. "I'm an idiot, that's what. I just ran into my ex-girlfriend and she told me she faked those results all those years ago and that fucking baby is mine. Do you know where Y/N is?" he asks. He's out of breath. "I think she's just getting ready to leave, Captain. Better hurry." He smiles. He watches him rush down the hallway to your room. A story he didn't expect he'd ever tell between the two of you.

He should knock but forgets completely, barging right into your room. A gasp leaves your lips and you scramble to cover yourself. “Shit! I- sorry.” He should cover his eyes but doesn't. Shutting the door behind himself. “Christ John! What are you doing?” You throw a shirt over your head, but not before John sees it. Your growing baby bump.

He feels like such an ass.

“Y/N…” he sighs. Before you even have a chance to put pants on, he’s closing the gap between you. He grasps your hand, forcing you back into the bed behind you. You sit down on the edge and he drops right to a knee. He kisses the back of your hand. “I owe you… the biggest apology.” He sighs. “What? What’s going on?” You try to stand but he doesn’t let you. “I.. I found out that she did fake it. That.. I can have kids.”

He clenches his eyes shut, holding your hand to his face. “And I am so sorry for how I’ve treated you.” He breathes.

You don't know what to say. You just look down to where he's got your hands. You still don't have pants on.

"You should be sorry." You breathe. "I'm leaving tonight, thanks for the apology."

"You can't leave. Not yet."

"You signed that paperwork. You can't take it back now."

He shakes his head. "Yes I can." He stands.

"Why would you? You don't want this." You look up at him.

"This is my fault. I'm the one who..."

You look up at him, a sly smile on your lips. "Who what?"

You cross your arms. He raises his eyebrows. Surprised smile on his face. "Oh it's like that?" He laughs. "I'm the one who told you I couldn't have kids and came inside you."

"Yeah. I trusted you and you treated me like shit and called me a liar. You were gonna take me off your base."

"I swear I thought you were lying, I believed her when I shouldn't have. That fucking... snake." He sits down next to you. Pulling you into him. "I'm sorry darling. I am so fucking sorry." He sighs. You rest your head on his shoulder. "I'll forgive you but you better make it up to me." You roll your eyes. He laughs. "Anything you want doll. Swear on it."

"For now uh.. can I put pants on?"

He laughs harder than he should. "Yes. You have my permission to put pants on."

You punch his shoulder playfully. "I know exactly what I want, too."

"Yeah, what's that?"

———

"This is really what you wanted?" Gaz looks at you, leaning forward from the middle seat where he sits in the back.

You look happy as a clam in the passenger seat of your Captains truck. Mouth full of fries.

"Mhm."

You've got a McDonalds bag in your lap, having convinced John to take the entire task force to get McDonalds.

"Christ you're adorable." Gaz laughs.

"Maybe he should get her pregnant more often, since we get stuff out of it." Soap laughs. He's holding a burger in the back seat next to Gaz and Ghost. Gaz sits between the two of them. "Agreed." Ghost laughs. He's got his mask pulled up just enough to eat his food.

John rolls his eyes in the drivers seat. "Christ. Didn't even need to physically be able to have kids to have them."

He raises his own fries to his mouth. Each of you laughing.

———

“Oh. Hey again John.” She smiles. It’s the same store, a different isle this time. He glances at you, seeing you approach. “Oh um.. is this… your niece?” She asks. “No. This is Y/N. My wife.”

Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “Jesus.. didn’t realize you liked them so young John.” She laughs. “This her?” You side eye her while looking at him. He nods his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She laughs nervously.

“Oh.. nothing. He just mentioned something about a woman he’d had a past with. Something really fucked up she did where she told him he couldn’t have kids and he believed it for the longest time. Is.. is that really you?” You scoff. “I.. I mean I’ve done some fucked up things but that… that takes the cake.” You laugh. “I.. I was young and stupid-“

“Yeah. I mean. I have to thank you, it really worked out. I mean. John can really lay it down.” You cross your arms with a smirk.

“He has kids you know.” She mumbles. “Yeah. With me. And he’s a great dad.” You smirk. Stepping to the side. She can see your little girl sitting up in the cart. She’s chewing fiercely at her dad’s jacket. “Well.. congratulations. I have to get going.” She turns away.

He smiles. He liked seeing your aggressive side.

The both of you make your way up to check out, pushing your daughter in the cart.

"You alright?" You ask him. "Mhm." He sighs. Wrapping a hand around your lower back, tugging you closer to him.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard for that." He growls into your ear.

"Jesus!" You laugh.

[writingwisterias]

WAITER! WAITER! Need me different era leons reacting to reader starting sobbing during rather chill argument. Idk if this make sense😭😭😭 i mean like if theres no fights or loud talking during the argument, leon is just complaining and being real abt it but it hurts reader bc they are sensitive and they start crying

HIII!

I actually love this, I'm the type of person to cry out of anger and super sensitive LMAO! I hope you enjoy <3

Warnings: Arguments, comfort, GN! Reader

RE2:

You weren't really sure where the argument had come from at first, the day had seemingly turned out okay at first until you both got home

Maybe he was just overwhelmed from adjusting back to normality after the 2 years training

But it didn't mean he needed to pick at your outfit or just get annoyed at you in general

You tried not to let it get to you but after his 3rd comment you broke

His complaints weren't meant to be taken to heart but he forgot about how sensitive you were. How you haven't been through what he has

He's quick to change his tone, one that's more soothing and comfortable as he eases you.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear, pressing you as close to him as he can in a hug to ensure you calm down with scent of him

He will apologize don't worry

RE4R:

It was barely an argument more of a disagreement over chosing the film to watch

He wasn't listening to why you wanted to watch your comfort film. Why today was hard so watching the horror he has lined up was not good

It was a short comment, one that you wouldn't have been bothered about normally but today you felt extra fragile

When he hears your sniffles he freezes in place it goes straight to his heart

He's smothering you with his love and affection because he feels bad, the comfort film is on and you won't be leaving his arms until he is sure you are okay

Infinite Darkness:

He's stressed at work, it's not his fault he's slightly short with you

And it's not your fault you didn't read his tone very well

He wasn't angry at you rather complaining about an ache he couldn't shake since his last mission

When offering ways to help he snapped saying that he could deal with it on his own

you didn't take offense to it understanding his need to be independent but it struck a nerve causing you to tear up

It only made it worse when he started to apologize and cuddle like you deserved it

You did. It wasn't your fault but somehow you wired your brain to think you made it worse for him

When you start sobbing he's moving faster to make sure you calm down, he knows your over reaction also isn't your fault and he should know to word his sentences differently

Damnation:

He didn't really notice that there was an off tone in his voice so he also didn't notice you were upset until he heard your sniffles

I think he would be confused at first a bit reluctant to give you the affection you needed to calm down but he's genuinely confused

He wasn't angry just annoyed at something and you are acting like he's stabbed your family member

Eventually he does comfort you and it's a long intimite comfort session.

I'm talking cuddling and running his fingers through your hair. He would apologise as well, its only a small gruff one but he knows your reaction isn't your fault.

He find it's cute how much you care, despite it being overwhelming sometimes.

RE6:

Again he relieves Raccoon City again almost within the events of the game

He keeps most of his composure until he gets home

You get the brunt of his anger and frustrations. Having to tip toe around him as he relives trauma.

It's not until you see he only acts this way with you that you snap. You can't help it you are angry with how he's treating you

I feel like hell attempt to come up with some bs that he's just that comfortable with you he shows a different side but he's not even falling himself

Promises to work on it and you have some understanding of his situation

You will get kisses and cuddles after

Vendetta:

He's a mess, you know it, I know it

So he's going to be snappy,short or even just not himself

He's really struggling at this point so when you do snap I think he's going to respond negatively at first

As he sees you grow more sensitive he will start to feel bad and it's actually his apology that makes you cry

The idea that even in his struggles he still cares about what you think is enough to make you cry

He's sorry for being a dick but also just confused at how him simply admitting that is enough for you to cry

Death Island:

Not in a harsh way but he would start to laugh, only because he finds it so cute

He's reassuring you that he's not actually angry his tone just doesn't always match his words or the joke doesn't come out the way he wanted it

His laugh makes you laugh and helps calm you down

I imagine he's very good at distracting you from everything that made you upset. A stable wall for you to use in order to calm down.

[the0p]

studio

bf!hongjoong, fluff, a lot of kissing, both are idols, mlm, some of ateez mentioned (not all), short story for once!

I sat on the sofa, waiting for my turn to record drifting in and out of sleep as san and seonghwa argued next to me about which Lego set seonghwa should buy next. I leaned my head against Sans shoulder as he was the closest to me and closed my eyes, knowing it would be a long wait and being too tired to try and fight the sleep that was creeping up on me. san didn't protest as we were all relatively affectionate with each other, so it wasn't anything new as I drifted off to sleep. time passed by, and I was being woken up by hongjoong. The rest of the members were nowhere in sight, only him and me in the studio. "Hey y/n...wake up" his voice soft as he looked down at me with a small smile on his face. I sat up from the sofa I had been layed on, guessing by san, since I had fallen asleep on him originally rubbing my face a bit before standing up and stretching. "sorry hongjoong I didn't mean to fall asleep." he shook his head the same smile on his beautiful face as he brushed some hair away from my face. "it's okay. we all have done that at least once." his words are soft and comforting. "Come on, let's get done with recording so we can get ourselves back home." he said, his hand placed on my lower back pushing me gently towards the recording room.

I walked inside the room, putting on the headphones flipping through the sheet music, checking my lyrics, and warming up my voice before we finally got started. it did take a bit, and one crash out from me before i was finally done and hongjoong was pleased. I took the headphones out and took the sheet music with me, placing it on his desk, walking behind his chair, draping my arms over his shoulders, and resting my chin on top of his head. "Are you gonna finish it tonight or??" I asked as I watched him compose the whole thing together. he hummed, leaning back in his chair, tilting his head back, looking up at me as I looked down at him. "Probably tonight." I stayed quiet, already expecting that answer. "You don't have to sta-" I cut him off with a short kiss. "I'm staying. what type of boyfriend would I be if I didn't? " he chuckled but didn't protest. I pulled away from him, taking a chair nearby, placing it next to his, and sitting down, staying quiet and letting him work his magic.

he worked, putting everything together, asking for feedback from time to time, making sure everything was perfect, as I sat next to him, scrolling trough my phone, not having anything else to do just here to provide company so he isn't alone. he got halfway done when he pulled himself away from his precious computer and leaned his head on my shoulder, watching my tiktok feed with me. "Are you finished??" I asked, glancing at him. "No, but halfway there." it was obvious he didn't wanna do it anymore, his voice tired. I turned my phone off, placing it on the table before turning to look at him fully, a hand on each cheek, before I attacked him with kisses, making sure not to miss anything. he laughed as I showered him with love and affection, kissing his cheeks, forehead, nose, and lips numerous times before ending it with one long kiss on the lips. he returned the kiss, smiling into it. he finally broke the kiss, looking at me, the tips of his ears slightly red. "What was that for?" I shruged, taking my hands off his cheeks and sitting properly now. "You seemed tired. had to cheer you up a bit, plus who else will finish the song." I said, trying to play it off as no big deal. he rolled his eyes, placing a kiss on my cheek.

"You love me." he whispered a small smirk on his face.

"Sadly, I do"

[rosedustdreams]

Almost maybe pt2

pt1

The next few days on set felt... off.

Walker wasn’t avoiding you, not exactly, but something had changed. He still cracked jokes with the others, still threw himself into scenes with the same enthusiasm, but when it came to you—there was a shift.

No more playful nudges. No more exaggerated reactions whenever you said something funny. And definitely no more trying to sit next to you at every opportunity.

It shouldn’t have bothered you. You had Charlie. Charlie, who always made you laugh, who never made you doubt where you stood with him. Charlie, who, at this very moment, was running a hand through your hair while you leaned against him between takes, scrolling through his phone.

And yet, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at Walker.

He was sitting a few feet away, flipping through his script with a furrowed brow. His knee bounced, a habit you’d learned meant he was restless. Normally, he’d be talking to you by now. Normally, he’d be annoying you just for the fun of it.

But now? Nothing.

Charlie noticed before you did.

“You and Walker good?” he asked casually, his voice low so only you could hear.

You blinked up at him. “Huh?”

Charlie nodded toward Walker without looking. “He’s been weird lately.”

You hesitated. “I mean… I guess?”

Charlie smirked. “You guess?”

You sighed, sitting up a little. “I don’t know, he’s just been quiet. Maybe he’s tired.”

Charlie hummed, unconvinced. “Or maybe he’s still recovering from his tragic backflip attempt.”

You laughed, nudging him. “That might be it.”

But even as you joked, the thought nagged at you.

Later, when you were heading back to your trailer, you caught sight of Walker sitting alone outside. He had his AirPods in, staring at nothing in particular, a barely-touched plate of food beside him.

You hesitated for only a second before walking over.

He didn’t notice you at first, but when you sat down beside him, he took one earbud out, glancing at you. “Hey.”

“You okay?” you asked.

He looked away, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “Yeah. Just tired.”

The same excuse.

You gave him a look, unconvinced. “You’ve been acting weird.”

Walker let out a short laugh. “I don’t know what you mean.”

You sighed, picking at the edge of your sleeve. “Is this about the interview?”

He tensed slightly, jaw tightening. “Why would it be?”

You shrugged. “The internet kind of… ran with it.”

Walker scoffed. “The internet runs with everything.”

He wasn’t wrong. The fan edits, the TikTok theories, the deep-dive Twitter threads analyzing every single look he’d ever given you—it was overwhelming.

But still…

“That doesn’t mean there’s nothing to it,” you said quietly.

Walker was silent for a long moment. Then, he exhaled, running a hand through his messy curls.

“Look, I get it. You’re with Charlie,” he said, finally meeting your gaze. “And he’s great. He really is.”

Something in your chest tightened.

“So if that’s the case,” Walker continued, voice softer now, “then why does it feel like we both know that’s not the whole story?”

Your breath caught.

Because maybe… just maybe… he wasn’t wrong.

And that was a problem.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Walker watched you for a second longer, then gave a small shake of his head, a humorless smile on his lips.

“Forget it,” he muttered. “I was just—whatever.”

He shoved his AirPod back in and turned away.

And for the first time since meeting Walker Scobell, you had no idea what to say to him.

A/N: i love this i feel like a made it to depressing tho. also i don't like the name of this should i change it??

Tags: @izzystylinson, @sophand4n4, @kaiwrites092, @shellsarepretty, @cheoriemoawa, @prettiesteyess,  @vintagewntr10, @hecallmebigpurrr420, @killualovbot, @iloveneilperry

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Fire on the Mountain - Chapter Two: Gods and Monsters

Pairing: Otto Hightower (House of the Dragon) x OFC (Lia Costayne) Warnings: Angst, arranged marriage, canon typical sexism. Word count: ~10.2k

Chapter summary: A terrible secret threatens to bring an abrupt end to Lia's friendship with Rhaenyra and Alicent, and Otto finally shows his hand with regards to his intentions for her.

Author's note: Header by @foxinthegodswood who also beta read this for me - this story would be nothing without you. Thank you for the care and attention you have put in both myself and my writing. I love you.

“My darling Lia, 

I hope you are faring well. By the time you read this, it shall be your name day. I can hardly believe that you are now fifteen. It seems as though it was just yesterday that you were placed into my arms, red faced and squawking – Ser Otto tells us you are growing into quite the young beauty, I hope that we may lay our eyes upon you ourselves soon. Alas, we cannot make the journey to the capital to deliver our warm wishes in person. I have recovered from my fever, but my health remains delicate – I must remain abed until I have regained my strength. Short walks in the sea air are helping to keep my spirits lifted, but I fear a journey across the continent would be too much for me. I hope you understand. Please do not be disheartened, and try not to worry.

Enclosed is a gift for you – a token of our love, but also a reminder of your house, so that in your absence you do not forget it. “The First to Rise”. I hope you shall wear it with pride. Your father and your brothers, Robert and Leon, send their love and their well wishes. I hope you are conducting yourself in a manner that would make us all proud.

Happy name day, my only daughter.

Your loving mother, 

Lady Dyana Costayne.”

Lia allowed the parchment to flutter down upon the table top;she had read it so many times now that she was certain she could recite it by heart. Once more, she snatched the brooch from the now torn paper it had been wrapped in, turning it around in her fingers, watching as the silver of it caught the light. It was a chalice, one of the symbols that adorned the sigil of House Costayne. It was pretty, but pretty was not enough to placate the hopeless sense of abandonment that plagued her. She allowed the brooch to drop heavily on top of the letter it had accompanied, just as its shape began to blur from the tears that obscured her vision.

It had been six months since the King’s tourney for his now deceased son, six months since Lia had first received news of her mother’s ill health and learned that her family would not be attending. Each month since had delivered news that was much the same;sudden bouts of fever that left her mother confused and bedridden. She knew she should not be surprised that they would not come to see her for an occasion as trivial as her name day, the last time she had seen any of them had been when she had first arrived in King’s Landing. They had come to enjoy the hospitality of Viserys, and to offer Otto their congratulations on his recent elevation to the position of Hand of the King – it had not even been a visit to see her.

She remembered the smell of almond oil that had clung to her mother’s hair and skin as she had pulled her into a tight embrace. It was cloying and sweet, and overwhelmed her senses. She had not seen her mother for two years and, at the age of eight, such familiarity following a long separation was jarring. It had left her feeling sick. A similar nausea settled within her stomach as she cast her eyes away from her writing desk, breathing deep in a desperate bid to will away her melancholy. She would not cry upon her name day, even if she felt she had every reason to. Not a single person, save for her immediate family, appeared to have remembered, and their gift seemed so impersonal; a simple brooch did little to ease the weight of loneliness that fell upon her delicate shoulders. Though, how could they have given her anything else? As her gaze fell upon her bed, taking the crisp, white linens that were pulled taut at every corner, it occurred to her that she was more familiar with every thread that had been woven together to make up the sheets upon where she slept than she was the face of the woman who gave her life. She was as much a stranger to House Costayne as they were to her, and what could you possibly gift someone unknown to you that would hold any meaningful sentiment?

Lia rose from her seat, leaving both letter and brooch discarded upon her writing desk, and walked towards the floor length looking glass that was propped against the wall nearest the privacy screen where she dressed each morning. She leaned towards the reflective surface, dabbing beneath her eyes with the pads of her fingers, ensuring no trace of her sorrow remained before she faced the world. She turned her head, ensuring her raven curls remained fastened into a tight bun at the nape of her neck; satisfied that they had not shifted, she smoothed her hands over the bodice of her powder blue gown, and headed for the door.

Rhaenyra almost fell against her as she opened it, her own hand in the motion of pushing it inwards. Lia rolled her eyes as she caught the other girl by the shoulders, steadying her in the doorway.

“Gods, ‘Nyra, do you ever knock?” she asked exasperatedly. It was a rhetorical question; Lia already knew the answer was a resounding no. Rhaenyra was a princess, and now the heir to the Iron Throne. She never had to ask permission, she just took what she wanted, including her own friend’s sense of privacy.

“You are so ugly when you scowl,” Rhaenyra teased, a soft smile upon her lips as she raised her hand to stroke her fingers across the peachy softness of Lia’s face. “Come with me.”

Her gaze was soft, yet imploring, her blue eyes sparkling with mischievous intent and, as she withdrew her hand, Lia could not help but notice the state of her fingernails – they were clean. It was not unusual for Rhaenyra to stroll about the castle clad in her riding leathers, stinking of dragon, with her hands caked in grime from the pits in which her mount, Syrax, resided. Today, however, she smelled of bergamot. The faint scent clung to her skin, her long silver hair falling about her shoulders but not quite obscuring the loose peplum that adorned the cream coloured gown she wore. She had either just come from a meeting of the small council or was on her way to one. It seemed she was taking her duties as heir seriously. It was an odd sensation to see Rhaenyra lend any sort of care to what others thought of her, like telling the tide not to turn or the moon not to wax and wane. 

“Where are we going?” Lia asked, stepping out into the corridor and pulling the door closed behind her.

“To choose the newest addition of the Kingsguard,” Rhaenyra replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Lia wanted to protest, to tell her that it was not her place to decide such things, her involvement was needless. The words died upon her tongue as Rhaenyra interlocked the fingers of her left hand with those of Lia’s right. Her grip was loose yet intimate, allowing for their arms to swing gently between them as they walked. In that moment, as they held hands, all of Lia’s sorrow surrounding her name day seemed to vanish, her entire world narrowed to the sensation of Rhaenyra’s hand in hers. A sense of calm settled over her as she stole glances at her friend as they walked purposefully through the winding labyrinth of Maegor’s Holdfast.

‘I hope you will hold my hand forever.’

“Will Alicent not be joining us?” Lia asked as they stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the inner courtyard of the Red Keep.

“No,” Rhaenyra replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, stepping onto the set of wooden steps that had been placed in front of the stone balustrade to allow her to see over it better.

Lia wanted to press the issue, however, off to their right was Ser Harrold Westerling, his gaze steely, and posture rigid as he stood tall in his armour and white cloak. His presence did not broker a welcoming atmosphere for idle gossip, so she fell silent, allowing her gaze to sweep across the men gathered below, awaiting their audience with the princess.

It struck her as she looked upon them that they were spread out in a similar fashion to how cyvasse pieces are placed upon a board. She wondered if she called out for a dragon to remove an elephant from the board if they would assemble themselves to mirror the move as it is played in the game. She smiled to herself at the thought, blue eyes sparkling with amusement, until she felt the familiar weight and heat of a hand upon her shoulder, causing her to startle slightly. The smile disappeared from her face, her gaze remaining fixed ahead as she willed her heart to cease its sudden thumping against her ribs.

“Is there something that amuses you, Lady Lia?” Otto asked quietly, the subtle disapproval in his tone unmissed by her. His breath was warm against her ear and the gentle brush of his beard against the exposed juncture of her neck sent a shiver up her spine.

She had not been anticipating the Hand’s presence, and silently cursed herself for not having a witty response as she meekly shook her head, a timid sounding “no” leaving her lips.

Otto hummed in acknowledgement, stepping away from her to stand beside Rhaenyra’s elevated platform. She could still feel his hand upon her shoulder like a brand – it happened every time he touched her of late; a gentle hand upon the small of her back to guide her as they walked together, the soft brush of his fingers upon her temple as he tucked away an errant curl, they all left a blaze of heat in their wake, an uncomfortable coiling in Lia’s belly that made her cheeks flush and her mouth run dry. She hated it. She craved more of his touch while simultaneously never wanting for him to ever lay a hand upon her again.

As Ser Harrold called out each of the Knight’s names, listing off their attributes and history of service and battle, Lia’s attention was not focused on the men below, but instead how Otto loomed over Rhaenyra, whispering to her.

“You might thank him for his leal service,” she heard him advise.

She knew that as Hand of the King it was Otto’s duty to help with the recruitment of the Kingsguard, to ensure the best possible knight was placed in service of protection of the ruling monarch, and yet she could not shake her jealousy, nor could she understand it. As Otto leaned conspiratorially towards the princess and she in turn lifted her face to his, Lia was grateful for the long bell sleeves of her gown, for they hid the way her hands balled into angry fists. He used to whisper like that to her. Ever since he had begun orchestrating visits between Alicent and the King, it seemed she was of no use to him; she could not tell him anything he did not already know. A bitter, acrid taste rose up in her throat, enveloping her tongue. She was certain that if she were to speak now then every word would hang in the air, dripping with poison.

Forcing herself to look ahead, she bites back a scoff as Ser Criston Cole steps forward. The very same knight that had looked up at Rhaenyra during the tourney, and requested her favour with moon-eyed adoration. Lia’s head snapped to the side, wide eyed in disbelief and annoyance as she heard Rhaenyra state him as her choice.

“He is the only one to have known true battle, the rest are tourney knights,” she reasoned to Otto.

It was so like Rhaenyra to pick someone who fawned over her, and it was becoming more than apparent to Lia that her presence here was not really needed at all. She pushed away from the balcony edge, stepping quietly back through the doors of the Keep. There were enough reminders of her own unimportance, what with Rhaenyra being named heir and Alicent secretly courting the widowed king, without Lia being given another reason to feel like a spare part.

She walked the winding halls until she found her way to the Godswood, seating herself against the peeling white bark of the trunk of the Heart Tree, and turned her face up towards the vivid red and orange canopy of its leaves. The ground was hard beneath her, the roots lumpy against her backside, doubtless dirtying her skirts, yet she could not find it within herself to care. The sun shone warm and dappled through the branches, drawing Lia into a doze she was powerless to resist, yielding to the heaviness of her eyelids as they drifted closed.

“There you are.”

She awoke to the sound of Alicent’s voice and the gentle touch of her hand upon her shoulder, giving her a careful shake. Her eyes blinked open, vivid blue meeting those of warm brown and, for a moment, she wondered where she was. 

‘Such a pretty view, have I died and the Maiden has come to guide me?’

Her brow furrowed in confusion as she took in her surroundings, green grass and gnarled roots in place of soft sheets and pillows. Realisation settled upon her as she looked back up at her friend who wore the slightest smile of amusement upon her lips as she gently plucked a stray crimson leaf from Lia’s dark curls, allowing it to flutter delicately to the ground.

“What are you doing sleeping out here? Rhaenyra and I have been looking for you,” she scolded gently, offering out a hand to help Lia to her feet.

Lia gratefully accepted her outstretched hand, moving to dust off the back of her dress as she stood. Her voice was still sleepy, nonchalant as she answered Alicent’s question while craning her neck behind her to see if her skirts were muddy. “‘Nyra wanted me to help choose a knight for the Kingsguard.It was boring so I left.”

Alicent’s loud, disapproving sigh drew Lia’s attention back to her. She turned, eyes raking over her friend from head to foot. She was wearing another of her mother’s dresses – this one a deep, royal blue with cutouts spanning the length of each sleeve. To Lia, she looked ridiculous, a little girl playing at dress up to appear more grown up than she actually was. She held her tongue, deciding it was not worth the quarrel for her to tell her so.

“Come,” Alicent said, her tone leaving no room for argument as she looped her arm through Lia’s, “your presence is needed elsewhere.”

Lia groaned, yet allowed herself to be led away. “I have had just about enough of my presence being needed today.”

“You will enjoy this, I promise,” Alicent smiled, tightening her arm in Lia’s reassuringly as they walked.

The solar had been filled with wildflowers, delicate hues of pink, yellow and white adorning every available surface. Lia took in the beautiful sight, eyes wide and lips parted in quiet admiration. Rhaenyra stood before the rounded table at the room’s centre, a wide smile upon her face and her hands clasped in front of her as Lia entered.

“You thought we had forgotten, did you not?” Rhaenyra teased, stooping to grab a silver platter laden with lemon cakes and Tyroshi honey fingers and carrying it towards her and Alicent.

“You did all of this for me?” Lia asked in quiet wonder as she turned in a full circle to admire the flowers, before looking upon the assortment of sweet treats held out before her.

“Happy name day, Lia,” Alicent said fondly, finally releasing her arm and reaching up to place a flower crown upon her head of raven curls.

The three girls reclined upon couches set in a semi circle around the table, the cakes and pastries now placed back upon it. Lia watched in quiet amusement as Rhaenyra leaned forward, plucking the candied lemon slices from each square of cake, placing them whole into her mouth. She had always had a larger appetite for everything than her and Alicent, and Lia supposed it was an inevitability of being royalty – when you were worth more, you needed more, an unbreakable cycle, an inherent hunger.

“So, how shall we spend the rest of our afternoon?” Lia asked, plucking idly at the tassel fringe of a cushion she held against her torso, as she sprawled out on her side against the plushness of the couch.

“I thought we might go to the sept,” Alicent offered, her attention focused upon a daisy that she twirled between her fingers. Her head rested against the cushions of the settee she laid upon, her legs bent at the knee.

Lia bristled at the suggestion, unable to stop her disgust from making itself apparent on her face as her features twisted, lips drawing downwards and nose wrinkling as she turned to look for any hint within Alicent’s serene expression that would suggest she was making a rare jest. Lia found none, but was mercifully spared the need to object by Rhaenyra.

“Why ever would we want to do that?” she asked haughtily, licking honey from her fingers as she lounged upon her front, silver hair falling forward around her like a silken curtain.

“I would like to pray for my mother,” Alicent said matter of factly, moving to sit up and swinging her legs over the edge of the couch, “and I thought we might pray for yours too.”

The room fell silent, and Lia immediately felt rotten for having reacted negatively to Alicent’s suggestion. From the way Rhaenyra slowly moved to prop herself up on her elbow, her gaze downcast, it was apparent the sentiment was one that was shared.

“The sept it is then,” Lia agreed softly, tugging her flower crown free from her hair as she rose to stand.

Despite the drafty, old stone of the Grand Sept, it was stiflingly hot within as they descended the steps, the heat of the candles burning bright within making sweat prickle upon the back of Lia’s neck. Alicent led her and Rhaenyra towards the large, circular dais that sat in the room’s centre, the top of it laden with lit votive candles. White wax dripped in enormous stalactites from the edge.

“I come here to be close to my mother,” Alicent told them, taking a wick and lighting her own candle, “I thought perhaps you could do the same, Rhaenyra?”

Lia shifted uncomfortably, twisting the rings upon her fingers as she looked upon the flames. The Hightowers were a pious house, and though the Costaynes followed the faith of the Seven, they did not observe quite as strictly as those they were sworn to – at least Lia did not.

“I would not know what to say,” Rhaenyra confessed, clearly sharing in Lia’s discomfort as she hesitated beside her friend.

“Then do not say anything,” Alicent insisted, giving her sleeve a gentle tug, “just contemplate quietly.”

Lia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as Rhaenyra complied, kneeling beside Alicent and clasping her hands in front of her. She wondered if in some unknown realm, leagues away, a god of Old Valyria looked upon Rhaenyra’s actions with disdain. She pondered how Daemon, or even Viserys would react if asked to do the same, and fought the urge to smile.

“You too, Lia,” Rhaenyra said, turning her head to look up at her.

“I have no one to pray for,” she admitted, shrugging slightly, “none of my family have…have died.”

She felt almost embarrassed to allow the last of the words to leave her mouth, as though she was being prideful in flaunting something she had that they did not. If either Rhaenyra or Alicent felt that way, they did not show it.

“No one needs to have died for you to pray for them,” Alicent explained, keeping her hands folded in prayer as she turned to look at Lia. “Just kneel with us.”

Lia gave a slight nod, sighing softly as she knelt beside Rhaenyra. She placed her hands together and closed her eyes, but she did not pray. Instead her mind wandered to the last time she had visited this very same sept with her mother, when her family had visited King’s Landing all those years ago.

“Now, Lia, you must light a candle and pray for our safe travels back home,” her mother had urged her, pushing her towards the dais with a firm hand upon her back.

Lia had not prayed for her family’s safe return for the Whispering Sound. Instead she had prayed that her family could stay with her, so that she could be as happy as both Alicent and Rhaenyra were, surrounded by loved ones.

Her prayer had gone unanswered, and her family had left the next day. From that point onwards, Lia never prayed again, deciding that if there were any gods at all that they had decided she was unworthy of listening to, in which case she thought they were unworthy of speaking to.

As Lia made her way back to her chambers, she was met by Otto. He strode purposefully towards her door, drawing up to his full height in front of her as she paused at the sight of him. Her hand stilled its movements upon the door handle as she looked quizzically at the small wooden box he held in his hands.

“I had not forgotten what day it is,” he told her, the corners of his eyes crinkled in softness as he looked down at her. “Forgive me for leaving it so late, I have been otherwise occupied, but I have a gift for you.”

Lia’s eyes moved from the box, up to Otto’s face and then back again, a mixture of nerves and suspicion fluttering in her belly at the kindness and warmth he regarded her with. “What is it?”

“Allow me to show you inside,” he gestured towards the door, and Lia nodded, pushing it open and stepping forward as he followed close behind.

She watched curiously as Otto made his way towards her writing desk,her maidservant having long since tidied away her brooch and the letter from her mother, and set the box down upon it, taking a seat in the same chair that she had sat in that very morning.

“Come closer,” Otto gestured, before reaching for a sheet of parchment and the lit candle that sat upon the table.

Lia stepped towards him, her body feeling like a tightly coiled spring. She had never felt so uneasy in his presence before, and a part of her longed to flee from the room, to burst into Rhaenyra’s bedchamber just as the princess had done to her that morning, and demand sanctuary from the uncomfortable sensations that swirled within her body.

She bit back a gasp as Otto’s hands reached for her hips, firmly but not forcefully guiding her to perch upon his knee. It was nothing she had not done before – as a child, she and Alicent had shared Otto’s lap countless times while he read to them from history books. Alicent had always paid rapt attention, while Lia usually fell asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by the comforting scent of sandalwood that seemed to permeate Otto’s very essence. Sitting on his lap now, however, caused a stirring within her that made Lia’s cheeks blaze. She was so tense she feared she may shatter apart at the slightest touch. 

“I had this made specially for you,” Otto explained, clearly oblivious to her discomfort as he pulled a block of golden yellow wax from the box and melted it over the candle, letting it drip onto the parchment he had in front of him. 

As it pooled upon the page, Lia could see that it was the same shade of yellow as her house colours. Without realising, she leaned back against him, allowing her back to rest against his broad chest as he took a stamp from the box, encouraging her to grip the wooden handle as he wrapped his much larger hand around hers to guide it.

The contact made her breath hitch, and she sat frozen, only able to focus on the sensations of his warm, calloused palm against the back of her hand, and his sturdy thigh pressing into the underneath of her clenched thighs.

Otto pressed the stamp firmly into the wax, holding her hand there for a few seconds, before pulling it back. “If you press too lightly, the stamp will not take,” he explained, “there, can you see that?”

He let go of her hand, taking the stamp from her as she leaned forward over the desk to examine the impression that had been left in the wax. It was a circular sigil, and she recognised within it two roses from that of House Costayne, however, in place of chalices there were flames.

“What are those?” she asked, hovering her finger over a flame, careful not to press it into the still solidifying wax.

“Ah,” he rumbled from behind her, and Lia was certain she could hear a smile in his voice, “those are the beacon flames of House Hightower.”

“But why?” she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion as she twisted around in his lap to look at him.

Otto smiled softly, but his expression gave nothing away. “You will make much use of this, I am sure,” he told her, patting her softly on the hip as he made to move from his seat.

Lia sprang off of him as though she were a cat on a hot roof, though found herself suddenly heavy with disappointment at the loss of his proximity.

“Now, get to bed,” he said cooly, standing and smoothing his doublet, his expression once more becoming the look of stern disapproval she had grown used to, “the hour is late.”

She lifted the parchment as he strode from the room, examining the rose and flame sigil, pondering its meaning. She was overcome by the sense that once she discovered the truth of it, she would not like what she found, and allowed the page to slip from her fingers. It fluttered to the tabletop just as the door closed heavily behind Otto.

Lia came to stand beside Rhaenyra the following morning, as the princess looked out upon the gardens from the wall walk of the Keep. Despite the gentle breeze and warm sunshine that shone down upon them, making the lush greens of the gardens seem more vibrant than usual, Rhaenyra’s expression was pensive, her gaze hardened, mouth pinched in the way it did only when she was annoyed. Lia followed the line of Rhaenyra’s sight, catching a glimpse of Viserys walking beside Laena Velaryon. Laena looked tiny compared to Viserys, and Lia could not help but silently wonder what the King would want with a child.

“Lord Corlys has seen fit to offer a betrothal between his daughter and my father,” Rhaenyra said, as though sensing Lia’s thoughts, her tone was clipped with annoyance, her eyes never leaving the gardens below.

“She is only twelve though,” Lia said, her eyes widening in horror, trying her best to push the images that flashed through her mind away, none of them pleasant.

“Well, apparently, Rhaenys has told her that she will not have to bed him until she is fourteen.”

Rhaenyra turned to look at Lia then, and though her expression remained angry, there was a desperate sadness held within the depths of her gaze. Lia tilted her head sympathetically, reaching out to give her friend’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

“He named me as his heir, why must he remarry?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

Lia did not know how to answer that, but knew her silence would offer little comfort either. “He is not attempting to replace you,” she offered gently, “but he is the king, he is expected to take a wife.”

Rhaenyra scoffed, shaking her head as she looked back towards the gardens, her expression hardening to anger once more.

“If not Laena, it will be someone else eventually,” Lia told her.

Lia followed as Rhaenyra walked away. She had meant to offer comfort, but it was obvious that in speaking the truth she had unintentionally hurt her. As they rounded the corner of the wall walk, Rhaenys came into view, sat upon a wooden bench, clearly observing the same view that they had just been.

“It bothers you, does it not?” she asked Rhaenyra with a cat-like tilt of her head.

Lia shot Rhaenyra a look of apology as she slipped away, acknowledging the elder princess with a bow of her head before going back inside. She had never felt comfortable in the presence of Rhaenys. Much like the ferocious Red Queen, Meleys, whose back she flew upon, Lia always had the sense that Rhaenys possessed the ability to tear people apart, though with words instead of rending jaws and blistering fire. She had no desire to hang around for the inevitable dressing down that Rhaenys would give her friend, lest the attention be turned upon herself. Silently, she withdrew without even a farewell to either woman, and slipped into the halls.

Alicent balked at the sight of Lia, her eyes widening slightly and her lips pressing into a tight line as they happened upon each other in the empty corridor. 

“Another present for me?” Lia asked teasingly, lifting the lid of the small wooden box that Alicent held in her hands.

“Must you be so nosy?!” Alicent snapped, snatching it away and slamming the lid closed once more, but it was too late, Lia had already seen what was inside.

She recognised the small stone dragon from the model of King’s Landing that Viserys kept within his apartments. Rhaenyra had snuck them into the room when they were younger, and they had giggled raucously as they had moved the little models about the makeshift city streets, finding the very idea of a dragon visiting the Street of Silk so funny that tears of laughter had rolled down their rosy cheeks. It had been less funny when Ser Westerling had happened across them and they had received a scolding for their trespass, mercifully lenient owing to the princess’ involvement.

“Why do you have that?” Lia demanded, her stare piercing as it fixed upon Alicent’s.

“It is none of your business,” she answered simply, leaving Lia to stand there and watch as she walked away.

Really, she did not need to ask, she knew Alicent had continued her visits to Viserys at the request of her father. It was a secret she hated keeping, and for that reason alone she hoped that Viserys would agree to marry Laena Velaryon. Her friendship with Rhaenyra and Alicent would never be the same again if Otto had his way.

Lia kept a distance from Rhaenyra and Alicent over the next few days. She loved them both dearly, but Rhaenyra’s petulance regarding the inevitable betrothal of her father and Alicent’s continued secret courting of him put her in a position that made her squirm with discomfort. She preferred to exist in solitude than endure a situation where she would unleash chaos by speaking the truth or be complicit in deception if she did not.

She sat upon the settee in her chambers, her legs tucked beneath her as she leaned back against the window sill. The early afternoon light that streamed in illuminated the pages of the book she read, the tome perched precariously within the fingers of her right hand – it was a tale of a heroic knight, rescuing his lady from the clutches of a monster.

Lia scoffed as her eyes trailed over the part where the knight valiantly draws his sword, challenging the beast that holds the maiden captive.

“Wait until he realises she is friends with a princess and rides off to save her instead,” she murmured quietly to herself.

She looked up as a soft knock fell upon her door, snapping the book closed. “Come,” she called out, watching curiously as a timid looking page boy opened her door the smallest of fractions, peering through.

“Apologies for the intrusion, my lady. The Lord Hand has requested your presence in his apartments.”

“What for?” she asked curtly, annoyance prickling at her at the hesitation in the messenger’s tone and body language. It was borne of politeness, she was sure, but she found it far ruder to have to address a floating head than she would if he simply stepped into the room.

“Forgive me, my lady, he did not say.”

The boy’s expression was simpering, apologetic and, unable to stand his presence a second longer, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “I shall be there momentarily.”

It was a short walk from the space that Lia occupied within the castle to where Otto resided. She knew the route well, could have traversed it with her eyes closed, and yet she found herself dragging her feet, prolonging the journey. The memory of him pulling her into his lap burned fresh in her mind, if she closed her eyes she could still feel the press of his chest against her back, the touch of his hand as it guided her own. It was not the proximity that she wished to flee from, however, but the way she craved more of it.

“Did the messenger not impress upon you the need for haste?” Otto asked, brow pinched in annoyance as she entered his apartments, keeping her spine rigid against the solid wood of the door as she closed it gently behind her.

“I am afraid he did not,” she said, eyes raking over him from head to foot. He stood before the lit fireplace, which served as the only source of light in the large chamber. He cut a formidable silhouette within the gloom of his surroundings, dressed in the green of House Hightower, strapped into the iron plating that protected his middle.

She wondered how he had looked in his youth, when he had served as a knight, if he had been as stern then as he was now, or if he had charmed his way into the heart of Alyrie Florent with kisses to the hand and demands of her favour.

His lips pressed into a tight line, an expression that made Lia immediately want to grin triumphantly as she knew she had frustrated him. “I need you to assist me with my armour,” he told her, beckoning her closer.

Lia stepped towards him, the heat of the fire coupled with the feverish blush that broke out across her pale skin made her want to claw herself free of it. Instead, she busied herself with tightening the straps that held his faulds fastened. “It looks as though your squire has done most of the work for you already,” she commented, “could Alicent not help you with the rest?”

“Alicent is with the king,” he replied firmly.

Lia was grateful for the fact that Otto had his back turned to her, so that he missed the way her eyes flashed with anger as she glared at the back of his head. He was not even trying to hide it from her anymore.

He turned, holding his arms out towards her, and she reached over to the table where his gloves rested, picking one up and focusing on the feeling of the supple leather beneath her fingertips as she tugged it gently over his large hand. “Where are you going, anyway?” she questioned, attempting to mask her fury with curiosity as she lifted her eyes to meet his intent gaze.

“To Dragonstone,” he replied, as she helped him into his other glove, “and that is all you need to know,” he added quickly, as if sensing she would press for further information.

He was right of course, a thousand questions raced through her mind – what could he possibly need upon that desolate rock? It sat empty, the seat of House Targaryen that Rhaenyra would inherit one day and do as she pleased with. Otto had no business being there.

She sighed, allowing her gaze to drop as she stepped away from him, but Otto was quick to follow, closing the space between them as he gently grasped her delicate jaw in his hand, urging her to look back up at him. The leather of his glove was soft and warm, and she fought the urge to nuzzle into it.

“It is important that you grow accustomed to assisting in this manner, Lia,” he told her earnestly, “it will become a routine for you sooner than late.” 

Her brow furrowed in confusion, unable to make sense of his meaning. He raised his other hand to rest upon her cheek, cradling her face as his expression softened considerably, his hazel eyes searching the blue of her own. “You will be good while I am gone?”

Her breath hitched, it felt as though all the air had been stolen away from her lungs. She placed her hands against his chest, her fingers clutching the thick quilting of his doublet, as she forced herself to grin, an attempt to dissipate the tension. “I am always good.”

Lia could still feel the press of Otto’s gloves upon her face as she leant against the balustrade of the wall walk that overlooked the gardens. Despite the crispness of the air, her skin still felt heated, even though more than an hour had passed since Otto had departed from King’s Landing.

“You look as unhappy as I feel,” Rhaenyra’s voice startled Lia from her thoughts, and she turned her head to see the princess coming to stand beside her, resting her forearms upon the stone ledge as she leaned forward to look out to the horizon.

“I would rather not speak of it,” Lia sighed, turning her attention back to the gardens below. “And what of you?”

“My uncle,” Rhaenyra said bitterly.

“I suppose that makes a change from it being your father,” Lia smirked, “but what has he done? Your father told him to return to the Vale.”

“Since when has Daemon ever done as he is told?” Rhaenyra scoffed. “He has stolen the egg meant for my brother and taken up residence upon Dragonstone.”

Lia’s lips parted in shock at the realisation, as the reason for Otto’s swift departure now made sense. She could not envision Otto being able to convince Daemon to stand down without there being significant bloodshed – the two men despised each other. She knew Rhaenyra was well aware of this too and, as she turned to look at her, she could see from the determined set of her jaw and her piercing gaze that it was not something the princess would leave unchallenged.

“You want me to talk you out of doing something stupid?” Lia asked, turning to face her fully.

Rhaenyra shook her head, pushing away from the balustrade and reached for Lia’s hand, keeping it clutched between both of her own. “I would go to Alicent if I needed to be convinced not to do something. I am asking for your support, and your silence in this.”

Lia sighed, her shoulders sagging as she cast a withering look at her friend. “‘Nyra, I–”

“Lia, please,” Rhaenyra begged, her brows arched in a look that bordered upon despair. “My uncle will listen to me, you know he will, but I need to leave here without my father or Alicent knowing, because they will try to stop me. If they ask after my whereabouts I need you to lie. Promise me – promise me – that you will give me time to get to Syrax before you say anything.”

In answer, Lia tugged her hand free of Rhaenyra’s, and pulled her into a crushing hug. The scent of bergamot mixed with smoke filled her nostrils as she pressed her face into her long, silver hair. “Please, please be careful.”

Come nightfall, neither Rhaenyra or Otto had returned yet, and Lia’s thoughts raced, anxiety coiled like a serpent within her belly as she sat up against the pillows in bed, unable to shake the idea that Daemon had hacked them to bits with Dark Sister.

Her door being gently pushed open followed the soft knock upon it, and Alicent stepped tentatively through it, the pink of her nightgown so pale it could easily be mistaken for white in certain light. She held her hands in front of her, her cuticles picked bloody as she stared at Lia with uncertainty in the depths of her brown eyes.

“It has been a long time since I have fallen asleep without both my father and Rhaenyra here,” she explained quietly, shifting nervously from foot to foot, “and…forgive me, it was a childish thought…”

“No, wait!” Lia called out, as Alicent turned back towards the door. “It isn’t childish, I do not wish to be alone either.”

Lia pulled back the covers, patting the space beside her, and Alicent’s face softened, a small smile tugging at her lips as she moved towards the bed and climbed in beside her friend. For a long moment, Lia was convinced that Alicent would simply fall asleep as the silence stretched heavy and uncomfortable between them. Her fingers stroked idly at the soft linen of the bed sheets until finally Alicent spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think I am a good person?” she asked.

Lia huffed back a soft laugh, as though it were the most ridiculous question in the world. “You imbecile.”

‘You are the best of any of us.’

Alicent smiled, though it was a tight and uncomfortable thing that did not reach her eyes. “I fear Rhaenyra will no longer think I am…”

“I am guessing you know where she has gone?”

Alicent gave a slight nod. “Word of it got back to Viserys from the dragon keepers. He is furious.”

Lia glanced sideways at Alicent, it puzzled her how she could speak so casually of the king, as though she was being allowed to peer in on a secret that she had no business knowing.

“Do you wish to marry him?” Lia dared not speak his name or title, to mention either would be to fabricate it into something tangible, something that could not be undone.

“My father wants me to,” she replied simply, clutching the bedcovers tight against her chest.

“That is not what I asked,” Lia chastised softly. It had always irked her the way that Alicent made a habit of avoiding speaking her own thoughts and desires, simply existing through the whims of others. “But you know, Laena may end up being the one, and then…then you would be free.”

“I am not sure free is a word I could ever use to describe myself,” Alicent leaned in, resting her head upon Lia’s pillow, and Lia moved closer. She had no words of wisdom to offer, nothing that could quell the worry in Alicent’s heart, she simply hoped her presence was enough. Sinking down into the bed, she allowed herself to be lulled to sleep by the comforting presence of being cuddled near to the closest thing she would ever have to a sister.

Lia squealed, her heart practically leaping in her ribcage with happiness as she flung herself towards Rhaenyra the next morning. She had strode towards Lia in the courtyard, a proud smirk upon her face, still clad in her riding leathers. She was dirty and smelly, and the stench of brimstone was an assault on Lia’s senses as she crushed the filthy leather of the princess’ chest against the pristine brocade of her own. It mattered not, she had never been more pleased to see her.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Lia teased gently as she pulled back, discreetly checking Rhaenyra for any sign of injury.

“I am unharmed,” Rhaenyra reassured her.

“And the egg?” Lia asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Back where it belongs,” Rhaenyra’s glove clad hands tugged Lia by her forearms into the nearest alcove, her voice becoming hushed. “I have been thinking about what you said, about Laena.”

“And?” Lia urged, unresistant to Rhaenyra’s manhandling of her. She cocked her head impatiently.

“It occurred to me when I confronted Daemon how easily he could have cut me down, to reclaim his position as heir, what he believes is rightfully his,” Rhaenyra explained, never relinquishing her grasp of Lia. Lia wrapped her slender fingers as best she could around the sleeves of Rhaenyra’s riding jacket, an attempt to mirror the gesture. “I am all that stands between Daemon and the throne. Perhaps…perhaps it would not be so bad if my father were to remarry, if only for any subsequent children he sires to push Daemon further down the line of succession.”

Lia felt relief wash over her like a refreshing wave, heaving a gentle sigh. “It gladdens me to hear that, it is inevitably going to happen at some point, whoever it is–”

“It must be Laena,” Rhaenyra insisted, and Lia’s relief dissipated so quickly it may as well have never existed at all, “it would unite the last of the Valyrian houses in the realm and ensure the continuation of our bloodlines.”

Lia gave Rhaenyra a tight smile, hoping desperately that her face did not betray the secret she harboured for Alicent, nor the disgust that roiled within her belly at her friend’s explanation. The incestuous customs of House Targaryen had always seemed strange to her, and something she avoided paying any mind to as much as possible. “Of course,” she said quietly, “it should be Laena.”

“Where are you going?” Lia asked, her arms dropping limply to her sides as Rhaenyra pulled away from her and turned to walk inside.

“To receive the scolding I am owed,” she called over her shoulder with a smile.

‘Gods, please let it be Laena that Viserys chooses.’

The next time that Lia saw Otto, he was striding towards the small council chamber, with Alicent at his side. He did not spare Lia a second glance, his steps quick and purposeful as his daughter hurried to keep pace with him. Alicent never attended meetings of the small council, and as she passed Lia, their eyes met for the briefest of moments. Lia immediately knew from the haunted look in Alicent’s stare and the grim line her mouth was pressed into what was about to happen – Viserys had made his choice.

She felt sick to her stomach, and though she knew it was better to stay away, she was unable to resist the pull towards the closed doors of the chamber. Lia kept a safe distance, so as not to be told to go away by the white cloaks posted outside to keep watch and prevent intrusions. She paced nervously, certain she must be wearing down the stone of the floor as she walked back and forth, twisting the rings on her fingers as she silently prayed to any god who might listen that Viserys would choose the Velaryon girl, and not tear apart the only thing in this lonely place that brought her any joy.

After what felt like an eternity, Lia froze, her pulse racing as the doors to the chamber burst open and the hulking frame of Corlys Velaryon stormed down the corridor, his dark features twisted into an expression so angry it was almost a snarl. It was not the face of a man who had just been given the news that his daughter would be queen; it was the face of a man spurned. Lia’s heart sank like a stone in a pond. For the second time in her life, Lia affirmed that if indeed the Seven did exist, they were deaf to her pleas.

Rhaenyra hurried out shortly after Corlys, and it was the sight of tears streaming down her cheeks that finally spurred Lia into action as she moved towards her friend.

“I hate her, I hate her,” Rhaenyra choked out, not resisting as Lia wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close. They remained that way, awkwardly stumbling through the Keep, back towards Rhaenyra’s quarters, as Lia attempted to hush Rhaenyra and soothe her angry sobs with gentle words and calming sounds. The pair were so fixated on one another that neither stopped to notice if anyone else in the castle might take note of their commotion, and if they had then neither Lia or Rhaenyra would care.

Rhaenyra came to perch on the edge of her bed, eyes red and watery as she swiped at the tears upon her ruddy cheeks with jerky, angry movements.

“I am afraid I do not have a handkerchief,” Lia said softly, sitting beside her, their hips grazing slightly. It was a meek attempt at comfort, to lighten the mood, to take Rhaenyra’s mind and her own off of the fact that their happy little trio had been torn asunder. It was unsuccessful.

Rhaenyra’s fists bunched in the skirts of her golden gown, exhaling heavily to calm herself. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “My father is going to marry Alicent. Alicent! Of all people, how could she do this to me?”

Lia reached out, placing a hand over one of Rhaenyra’s hands as it continued to ball up the silk of her dress, and squeezed gently. “It was not her choice. Her father made her.”

She realised what she had said the moment Rhaenyra recoiled from her, blue eyes widening momentarily as she snatched her hand away, as though scalded by Lia’s touch. “You knew.”

It was an accusation, not a question, and Lia could not bear the weight of it. She turned away, placing her hands in her lap as she lowered her gaze. Shame was never an emotion that Lia had worn well, and in this very moment she had never felt uglier than beneath the scrutinising stare of one of her dearest companions.

“You knew and you did not tell me,” Rhaenyra’s voice had grown quiet, voice laced with spiteful anger, the beginnings of a dragon drawing back to spew forth fire.

“It would not have made a difference if I had,” Lia admitted sadly, a look of pleading in her eyes as she finally raised her head to face her.

Rhaenyra was too far gone in her fury to be reasoned with. Her eyes narrowed in contempt as she regarded the girl next to her with something akin to hatred. “Out,” she commanded.

Lia shrank back slightly, but made no further attempt to move, her heart twisting painfully in her chest as tears of her own blurred her vision. “‘Nyra, please–”

“Out! Get out!” Rhaenyra shouted angrily, jumping to her feet and shoving forcefully at Lia. Lia stumbled backwards, grasping fruitlessly at the princess as fat, hot tears rolled down her cheeks. “Get out!”

Lia managed to duck out through the door, quickly closing it behind her just as a hair brush clattered loudly against the wood. She made no attempt to compose herself, walking quickly through the winding corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast, with a hand clasped over her mouth to muffle the sobs that forced their way out of her throat, threatening to choke her. As Lia rounded a corner, she came face to face with Alicent, her own eyes tearful as she pulled to a stop, looking utterly miserable as she stood in front of Lia.

“I am sorry,” Alicent whispered, her fingers plucking absentmindedly at her fingernails as she clasped her hands in front of her.

Lia breathed a watery sigh, lifting her eyes to the ceiling as she smoothed a hand over her curls.

Not now. Not now. Not now.

“So am I,” Lia finally told her, meeting her stare, “but right now…right now I cannot bear to look at you.”

She moved around Alicent, walking away, not trusting herself to look back, selfishly focused upon her own upset. Lia knew that the moment she looked upon her friend’s sad, vulnerable face her resolve would crumble to ash and she would shove all she felt aside to comfort her. Right at this moment she needed to wallow in her own misery, not tend to anyone else’s.

Lia wallowed for weeks, existing within the Keep as a mere spectre, mourning the loss of her friends. She knew that she should reach out to Alicent, that she must be feeling every bit as scared and sad as she was, if not more – after all, she was having to marry a man she had not asked for. But she could not bring herself to take the first step and bridge the chasm between them, the idea of doing so felt like a betrayal to Rhaenyra. She had not spoken to Rhaenyra since she had demanded that Lia leave her room, and Lia doubted that appearing to have taken Alicent’s side would shift them closer to reconciliation. She felt stuck, trapped in her own misery, and she knew that Otto Hightower was to blame – the man who had pushed his only daughter towards the king, in the pursuit of his own ambition. She avoided him as much as she could, speaking to him as little she could get away with, not trusting herself not to erupt at him just as Rhaenyra had done to her. The confusing rush of heat she felt whenever in his presence had not gone away, but it had been dwarfed by bitter resentment.

The morning of Alicent and Viserys’ wedding, Lia caught sight of Alicent as she walked past her chambers. The doors had been left open, to allow for the scurry of maidservants all coming and going as they attended to her, readying her for the ceremony.

Alicent stood elevated upon a wooden step stool, in front of a full length looking glass, draped in a backless gown of ivory lace. Her auburn curls were piled high upon her head, adorned with a high set tiara inlaid with iridescent pearls and sparkling diamonds. She looked beautiful, but it was not this that struck a chord with Lia, it was how tiny, vulnerable and alone she appeared. She still looked every bit the little girl playing at dress up, just as she had in her mother’s clothes when her courtship with the king began. But this time Lia was not left fighting the urge not to mock her, this time she wanted to offer comfort to her friend, because she looked absolutely terrified.

Lia stepped into the room, silently unapologetic as she was met by the frustrated huffs of the maidservants she pushed past in order to get to her friend. She came to stand beside her, meeting Alicent’s gaze in the reflective surface. Alicent remained upon her step stool as a stout woman knelt before her, placing hasty stitches into the hem of her dress, but she reached out an arm, draping it around Lia’s shoulders and pulled her against her waist. Lia clung tightly to her, as though grasping a lifeline after weeks of being set adrift.

“Do you hate me?” Alicent asked quietly as she continued to look at Lia in the mirror.

“You imbecile,” Lia breathed, hugging her tighter. ‘I love the bones of you.’

The ceremony itself was a tense affair. Despite the fact that the grand sept was filled to capacity with well wishers for the impending nuptials, Lia’s gaze was honed in upon Rhaenyra, who sat on the opposite side of the aisle to her. Lia could practically feel the ire radiating off of her. The princess kept her gaze fixed ahead, eyes filled with malice as she watched her father drape his cloak around Alicent’s shoulders. Her lips were drawn into a petulant pout as she kept her arms crossed around her middle.

“You ought to be watching the wedding, not the princess,” Otto leaned in to whisper to her from where sat beside her.

Lia scowled at the flush of pink that dusted across her cheekbones at the brush of his beard against the shell of her ear, and wordlessly turned to face the front. She would not grant him the privilege of her attention or her response.

She barely touched her food at the wedding feast, but the same could not be said of the wine. Seated between Otto and his son, Gwayne, at the head feasting table, Lia did not look at either of them, her attention focused solely upon the jug in front of her. She repeatedly lifted the pewter receptacle to fill her cup with Dornish red. The burn in her throat was a pleasant distraction to the misery that sat further down the table on either side of Viserys. She found the gradual lightheadedness helped her to care less about how subdued Alicent appeared, to pay no mind to Rhaenyra’s sullen face. Were it not for the jaunty tune being played by the musicians in the corner of the hall, the atmosphere could easily be mistaken for a funeral and not a wedding.

“Perhaps you might speak to Gwayne?” Otto urged gently as he leaned in to speak quietly to her. “He has traveled from Oldtown to be here today.”

“I have nothing to say to him,” she said, her tone dripping with petulant defiance, content to ignore the red headed young man beside her.

As she reached forward for the wine jug again, Otto gently grasped her wrist, staying her hand. “I think you have had enough,” he warned, the stern intonation one she was painfully familiar with.

“Allow me to respectfully disagree,” she slurred slightly, a lazy grin spreading across her face as she finally turned to look at Otto, “must you be so boring?”

“Up. Now,” Otto commanded, rising from his seat. Though he kept his voice low enough for only her to hear, the anger that blazed within her eyes as he stared expectantly down at her left no room for argument.

A stone settled in Lia’s stomach as she rose from her seat, unsteady on her feet as she followed him through a side door, into a quiet and empty passageway of the Keep.

He rounded on her as the door closed behind them, the anger in him now at a simmer instead of boiling over. “You are in your cups, and I think it best you retire for the evening, lest you embarrass yourself.”

“I am not yours to command,” Lia bit back, staring up at him defiantly, even as she swayed with the effects of the wine, her limbs feeling much too heavy to cope with the fuzziness that clouded her mind.

“Must you always be so disagreeable?” he demanded, nostrils flaring in irritation.

“Must you always ruin everything?!” she shouted back, hating the way her voice wobbled as a lump formed in her throat.

Otto furrowed his brow, eyes searching her face in confusion. “What exactly do you mean?”

Inhibitions lowered, Lia allowed the floodgates to open, hiccuping around sobs as she lunged towards Otto, slapping her hands weakly against the crushed forest green velvet of his doublet as she raged at him. “You have married Alicent to Viserys! You made her! You took away my friends! Alicent will be queen, but what of me? What of me? You have forgotten me!”

He caught her wrists, holding them tight against his chest, until the fight left her, and she slumped against chest, crying quietly. Only then did he release her, his arms coming to wrap around her, holding her gently against him. The smell of sandalwood surrounded her, soothing her, and she allowed her eyes to close as he gently stroked her hair.

“My darling girl, I could never forget you.”

His voice was the gentlest she had ever heard him sound and she pulled back slightly, her large tearful eyes meeting the soft understanding reflected in his as he looked down at her.

“I wanted to wait until the wedding was over to tell you, but it seems there is no point in delaying any longer,” he said, his hands coming to rest upon her shoulders.

“Tell me what?” Lia asked, feeling dread begin to coil within her belly.

“When Gwayne returns to Oldtown, you will go with him. The two of you are to be married.”

Otto broke the news with a prideful look upon his face, eyes glittering as he smiled down at her, as though bestowing a great gift upon her.

Lia felt the bottom fall away from her world, her heart and stomach dripping endlessly with it.

‘I do not want this. I do not want this.’

She felt as though she could not breathe, the urge to tear at her bodice to ease the restriction of her ribs became almost overwhelming. Pulling out of Otto’s grasp, Lia turned and ran, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the unwelcome news he had just delivered as possible.

For the third time in her life, Lia found herself beseeching to gods she did not believe in.

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[blluesiide]

Three months.

Three months is a long time.

Three months is also short, compared to how long it takes Spencer to process. You're only grateful that he's let you stay by his side. It wasn't easy. Not at first. Of course, you didn't expect it to be. Who could possibly be okay after all of that?

It's been a year since Millburn, and all of your touches remain fleeting. Soft touches on the arm with plenty of warning beforehand. The brushing of your shoes under the table. The soothing circles along his back on the nights he wakes up screaming, a gentle hand brushing away his tears, or petting his hair when he buries himself deep enough into your chest that he hopes it muffled the ugly sounds leaving his lips.

He's only now slipping out of survival mode. You're incredibly proud of him. You also miss him. You'd never rush him or cross his boundaries in any way, but you'd missed the tenderness you'd worked so long for. The comfort in knowing a delicate approach had lead both of you to work towards shared intimacy.

Tonight you feel it more than ever. You watch his side profile, his eyes blinking slowly. It takes a while for him to fall asleep, always frightened of what might be hiding behind his eyes, in the back of his mind.

"Spencer," you whisper.

He's far away, but your voice slowly registers in his mind, and he turns his head to look at you. "Hm?"

You tentatively scoot closer, watching him carefully for any signs of distress. When you find nothing but curious eyes, you gently lay your head on his chest. The pressure of it causes him to let out a breath, one he didn't know he was holding.

It takes a moment, his brain having to correct the signals to tighten his muscles. Slowly, his body relaxes. Then he's wrapping his arms around you, burying his nose into your hair, inhaling like he needs it, needs you.

For the first time in a year, the tight coil in his chest loosens ever so slightly, and he thinks that maybe, everything will eventually be okay, even if he will never be the same again.

He knows his love for you is unwavering. And maybe that's enough.

[livingformintyoongi]

The Hunger Games | Kim Taehyung

a/n: Yes, this is not as well produced as the rest of my work because it's a stupid project I'm doing based on this publication I made, because if I'm going to push people to show their never finished projects, then I'm also going to participate showing this fragment I wrote a LONG time ago :))

Warnings: THG!AU, a little angsty, Reader is rather clumsy and soft (yes, I like characters that are shown to be weak, condemn me), and just that, it's short 🙂

"Are you still awake?" Taehyung whispered over your hair, both arms wrapped protectively around your waist. You were almost sure he hadn’t taken his hands off you since he set foot on the arena.

"Yeah, it's hard to sleep knowing that at any moment someone could jump on us to attack," you murmured, snuggling even closer to his chest, clinging to the false hope that this way, you might find some peace.

"No one would dare approach us. Our allies are some of the strongest—we have Chaewoon and Yoongi, two of the most ruthless winners. Then there’s Sooah, Jiwon, and Jungkook, some of the strongest fighters. And, of course, we have Namjoon. He won the games purely with his intelligence. We have nothing to worry about—"

"Taehyung," you interrupted before he could continue, turning to face him. It was still nighttime, and neither of you was willing to light a fire, so the only illumination was the moonlight. Your delicate features stood out even more under the blueish glow, and Taehyung couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked, even in a situation as hopeless as the Hunger Games.

"We may have the strongest and smartest players, but everyone in this arena has won a game before. And let’s not forget the fact that they all did it by their own merit..." You paused for a moment before continuing, a small pang in your chest making it hard to say what had been weighing on your mind ever since they announced you would be fighting in the Games again. "Everyone except me."

"Honey—"

"No, Taehyung, don’t try to make it seem like I did something incredible, like my victory was as legendary as everyone else’s," you kept your gaze lowered, unable to meet his eyes as you let out all the fears you had kept bottled up until now. "The only reason I won the Games was because I got lucky. We both know it—everyone knows it! That’s the only reason people even remember me out there. ‘How did she dodge that arrow?’ ‘What were the odds that a beehive would fall right onto that player?’ ‘How did she find food that another tribute couldn't get to because of the distance and difficulty?’"

Your grip on Taehyung’s suit tightened slightly, your forehead pressed against his chest as if it could shield you from his gaze.

"I never killed anyone, not a single person. My weapon is completely clean. If someone were to attack us right now, I wouldn’t be able to defend myself. I never passed any trials, not even the agility test..." You licked your lips before continuing, the lump in your throat tightening now that you were finally voicing your deepest fear. "I’m a burden to all of you, Taehyung," you whispered against his chest, feeling how his arms tensed around your waist. "If another team comes after us, you’d be too busy keeping me alive to worry about yourself, and the same goes for the others. I’m a liability, and everyone knows it. There’s no way I can be of any help. I can’t even swim. I can barely run properly without tripping halfway through. And it’s too dangerous for you to keep carrying me on your back all the time."

"What are you trying to say, Y/N?" Taehyung murmured, his grip on you tightening even more. He couldn't even tell where he ended and where you began. "Because if you’re telling me all this just to say we should split from the group, then—"

"You don’t have to come with me," you shook your head, pressing your face against his chest, needing to feel him as close as possible, to the point where you could hear his heartbeat growing louder. "I don’t want you to. I want you to live, Tae. I want to stop being a burden to you."

"You are not a fucking burden, Y/N. You are my fiancée," he growled softly, resting his face in the crook of your neck. You were fully aware of how much this conversation angered him—you had been from the moment the thought first crossed your mind. But it was the best thing, for everyone, for him, and he had to understand that somehow.

"I can’t just leave you behind and go as if you don’t matter to me, because you are the best thing that has ever happened in my life. I don’t want to do it, and I won’t. You want to leave the group? Fine, do it. But I’m going with you," he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours desperately. He needed you to understand how he felt, that he would never, ever leave you alone, no matter what.

"I’ve respected every single one of your decisions, no matter how ridiculous they seemed to others. But with this? With this, you don’t get a choice, baby. I’m going wherever you go. Always."

"It’s dangerous for you to be with me."

"It’s dangerous for you to be alone."

"I don’t want you to die because of me."

"And do you think I do? You said it yourself—you’re clumsy, you don’t know how to handle a weapon properly without hurting yourself. If I leave you here alone… just thinking about it, I—"

He pursed his lips, studying your face intently. He lifted a hand to your cheek, caressing it as if your skin were made of the most delicate and precious material in existence. And to him, you were.

A fragile body, a heart too soft, too easily broken. To him, you were the most beautiful woman in the world—if not the entire universe. You were the love of his life, someone he never thought he would get to meet. But there you were, lying beside him, looking only at him, wearing a ring that, in a few months, would bind you together for life.

"I love you too much to risk your life for nothing, Y/N."

He rested his forehead against yours, noses brushing, lips just inches apart, breathing the same air.

"Don’t do this to us, please, I beg you," he whispered against your lips, running his hands through your golden strands before resting them on your nape. His dark eyes locked onto yours, a quiet smile forming inside him as he saw your pupils dilate, as he felt your much smaller hands clutching his clothes like your life depended on it.

You could say you wanted to go your separate ways, but your body told an entirely different story.

"Stay with us," he murmured, his lips barely touching yours as he spoke. "Stay with me."

Before you could respond, Taehyung closed the distance, his fingers tangling in your hair, his arms pulling you closer until every inch of your body was pressed against his.

You had kissed before, many times—sometimes briefly, other times with deeper emotion. But this? This was different from any kiss you had shared before.

It felt like a last one.

More desperate than any other, yet filled with uncertainty and a silent plea neither of you dared to voice. The hand he had kept on your cheek now tried to wipe away the tears that had started falling—tears he was sure you had been holding back for days.

The kiss didn’t last more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours. Hours neither of you wanted to end.

When you pulled away for air, Taehyung followed, seeking more, needing more. He didn’t want to let you go. He didn’t want to lose you.

"I’m scared, Tae," you whispered between soft sobs, looking at him with so much desperation and fear that he felt his heart clench.

His eyes locked onto yours with determination, trying to appear as confident as possible, to make his words feel like undeniable truth.

"I’ll get you out of this alive, baby. I’ll get both of us out. I promise."

[reyesstrand]

I wish you would write a fic where Carlos is very sleep deprived and becomes a snuggle monster but TK has a shift and is trying to leave the loft

He comes in late.

The pre-dawn skies are pale grey and fill the loft with blue shadows when he finally makes it up the stairs, since the elevator’s out of service and will be at least until tomorrow morning.

Carlos has been getting better at it; at establishing boundaries and forcing himself to log off his computer and file away his cases at an appropriate hour. Tonight, though, a stakeout led to a debriefing, which led to water-cooler talk with Sam and Dante, which led to lukewarm coffee poured into his thermos as the three of them embarked into the caverns of the parking garage, just past three in the morning. So, in short: Carlos is so exhausted his vision is blurring out at the corners, and it’s a bit of a miraculous thing that he makes it into their home and locks the door behind him and manages to peel out of his uniform before collapsing into bed next to his husband, the lamp TK left on for him near their shared desk still glowing a soft amber.

“Mhm,” TK murmurs, barely conscious, the moment Carlos scoops his arms around him and presses his face into his neck. This is always where he feels most comfortable—inhaling TK’s sweet, citrusy, scent; feeling the gentle thrum of his pulse like the flutter of a bird's wings. Carlos presses a kiss there and it’s the last thing he’s conscious of before he drifts off into a dreamless, deep sleep.

Only…it doesn’t last as long as it should. There’s an incessant buzzing what feels like five minutes later, and he grumbles deep in his throat as he tries to ignore it. He grips tighter around the warm body in his arms, leg strewn over the tops of thick thighs, and when he feels the delicate drag of fingers tracing over his face, he scrunches his nose and frowns and slowly peels his eyes open.

“Hey baby,” TK murmurs, a wonder of a sight for poor eyes. His hair’s a rumpled nest of bed head and there’s creases from his pillow etched into his cheek, but he’s the most beautiful thing Carlos has ever seen. “Sorry, I normally wouldn’t wake you up, but—“

“Tired,” Carlos groans, burying his face into TK’s neck again and holding him against his chest. “‘s too early, baby, let’s just go back to bed.”

TK lets out a soft laugh. “I wish I could, but I have a shift. I need you to let me go.”

“Never,” Carlos says, a little petulant about it, still not quite aware of what’s happening. He gets TK’s fingers pushing through his curls in response, so maybe he said the right thing.

“Carlos, I gotta shower,” TK says, his voice light as air, his favourite melody. He curls his fingers around Carlos’ arm and lifts, shimmying his body slowly out of the tight hold. “It’s my turn to pick up coffee, Nance’ll have my head if I don’t get her order right.”

Carlos grumbles something that sounds like baby. Like five more minutes.

“Here, hold this,” TK suggests, and Carlos is too lost in his sleep-addled brain to complain when TK replaces himself with his pillow. Carlos inhales deeply, the smell of TK’s shampoo and their shared detergent filling his senses, and by the time he’s come aware to the fact that it’s not the same as his husband, TK’s already got the water running in their ensuite.

Carlos drifts in and out as sunlight spills through their bedroom windows; as birdsong erupts and comes to life with their street. He opens his eyes to slits when TK comes back into their room, clad in black jeans and holding a towel to his hair, the lines of muscle in his back flexing as he digs through their drawers for a comfy t-shirt to wear until he gets to the firehouse. Carlos stares at it, at him, at the softness around his edges and the way those jeans accentuate his ass, seizing his moment when TK plops down on the end of the bed to put on his sneakers.

He crawls to TK, wrapping his arms around him from behind and peppering kisses against the back of his neck, into his still damp hair, trying unsubtly to pull him back under the covers.

“Babe,” TK laughs, turning his head and planting a kiss of his own to the swell of Carlos’ bicep. “I have to go to work.”

“Not fair,” Carlos murmurs, resting now with his head against TK’s shoulder and his arms looped around his middle. He strokes his thumb over the warm thin skin of his side, where TK always gets a little ticklish. “Should be able to cuddle with me.”

“I want to,” TK insists, reaching up to nestle his fingers in Carlos’ hair. “But I gotta work, baby. I’ll be home before you know it.”

Carlos kisses the faint, lingering scar where TK’s shoulder meets his neck. “Mhm. I’ve gotta meet Campbell later, finish paperwork.”

“Well, I’ll be waiting for you when you get home,” TK says. “Promise.”

“Love you,” Carlos murmurs, sleep already tugging at his insides once more. He can hear the smile in TK’s voice as he returns the declaration, before gently pushing Carlos back so his head’s on his pillow. He pulls the covers over Carlos, and presses a kiss to the crinkles around his eyes; the little crease between his brows.

“Get some sleep, baby,” TK’s murmuring, as Carlos already starts drifting off. There’s TK’s thumb stroking under his eye and another kiss to the corner of his mouth and then Carlos is truly gone—dreaming of seaside views and his husband’s peachy skin; of TK, always.

[overadores]

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ somewhere in italy

When Sophia returns to her family’s summer home in Italy for the first time since she was ten, she’s determined to immerse herself in European culture while helping renovate the house. But when she steps into a quaint local bookstore, she meets a perceptive bookstore clerk who immediately clocks her as a tourist. What starts as a simple exchange—asking for recommendations on where to eat and what to see—quickly turns into something more. As they explore the city together, Sophia finds herself drawn not just to the charm of Italy, but to the person showing it to her. However, with her time in Europe limited and emotions growing deeper, she must decide whether this summer is just a fleeting adventure or the start of something real.

02. first meeting (wc: 565)

The bell chimed softly as Sophia stepped into the bookshop, the quiet atmosphere a stark contrast to the bustling crowd from the day before. She took a slow breath, appreciating the scent of old paper and freshly printed books as she wandered in, her eyes scanning the shelves. She was here for one reason—a cookbook in English. As she moved through the aisles, her gaze landed on a red-haired girl carefully organizing books on a shelf.

“Hi, uhm, Yunjin?” Sophia called out hesitantly.

Yunjin froze, a book still in her hands. When she turned, she found herself face-to-face with Sophia. Her mind short-circuited for a moment.

Pretty.

That was the first thought that shot through her brain, and for some reason, it left her flustered. She knew English well enough—fluent even—but suddenly, her tongue felt heavy.

“I—uh—I don’t speak English very well,” Yunjin blurted out before she could stop herself.

Sophia blinked, confusion flickering across her face as Yunjin quickly spun on her heel, practically scurrying toward the counter. She watched as Yunjin whispered something to another girl behind the register, her hands gesturing in a panic. A moment later, the girl—Y/N—approached with a composed smile, her presence instantly soothing.

“Hi, what can I do for you?” Y/N asked, her voice smooth and warm.

Sophia almost melted right then and there. It wasn’t just the kind smile or the gentle lilt in Y/N’s voice—it was the accent, the way her words flowed effortlessly.

“How’d you know I speak English?” Sophia asked, trying to mask the way her heartbeat quickened.

Y/N chuckled softly. “Well, I can usually tell when someone’s a tourist. And I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

Sophia smiled, nodding. “You got me there. I’m looking for a cookbook in English.”

“Of course, I can help with that.” Y/N turned toward the shelves, leading Sophia through the store. As they walked, she pointed out different options, recommending a few of her personal favorites.

“You know, if you’re here for food, there are some great places you should try,” Y/N added, her excitement shining through. “There’s a little café down the street that has the best pastries, and if you’re looking for something more traditional, there’s a restaurant near the coast with amazing seafood.”

Sophia listened intently, absorbing every word. “That all sounds incredible,” she admitted. “But I’m actually not here for long. Just helping my parents renovate their summer home.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly. “That sounds like a big project. Need an extra set of hands?”

Sophia blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—you’d help?”

Y/N shrugged, smiling. “I like helping people. And I know a thing or two about fixing things up.”

There was a moment of hesitation. Sophia barely knew Y/N. She had met her five minutes ago. Yet something about the offer—about her—felt so easy, so natural. Before she could overthink it, she found herself nodding.

“Yeah,” she said, almost breathless. “I’d like that.”

Y/N grinned. “Great. Let’s exchange numbers then.”

Sophia barely registered what she was doing as they swapped contacts. Her fingers trembled slightly as she saved Y/N’s number, her mind still catching up to how easily this moment had unfolded. When she looked up, Y/N was already smiling at her, something playful in her eyes.

And just like that, Sophia knew—this was only the beginning.

𓂂 𓇼˚｡ • masterlist next

taglist:@fruityg0rl @wtfisthisnoclueman @goofymickeyr @falling-intoo-deep @itzkatflixs @spongebobtentacles @sibwol @kyanavanzinigf @leotapes

[joocomics]

1k followers celebration event — ⌞⌗ p1h drabble⌝

𓂃⠀𓈒 fuckbuddy!keeho x fem!reader

genre: smut — 18+ wc: 0.9

request: “let’s give them a real reason to be jealous” + “all yours”

contains: friends with benefits to lovers trope, sub!reader, exhibitionism kink, (semi public) mirror sex, dirty talk, pet names, headlock, hair pulling, sprinkle of jealousy

[ event masterlist | p1harmony masterlist ]

You knew they were going to be here, your ex and his new girlfriend.

You’re not surprised nor bothered. He's the brother of one of your friends and for relatives they're pretty close, because he's just a year older. Every time your friend throws a party, he’s there; naturally, at first it was a bit difficult for you to watch him have fun while you were hurting behind closed doors, but today your heart is healed and you barely even notice him.

Especially on a night like this when Keeho is with you. Every date you've been on, ever since he made it clear he's interested in turning your friendship with benefits into something more serious, has been leading to the two of you making it official. And there's something special lingering in the air that has you wondering if that establishing moment is near.

“Is that your ex over there?”

Unlike you, Keeho has noticed the pair of eyes that have been following you closely, and continue to do so, as you're now sat on the sofa with few of your close friends across from you. His usually playful demeanor is now laced with something unfamiliar.

“How did you know?” Your gaze flickers across the room until you spot him.

He doesn't even bother to look away when your eyes meet. His girlfriend notices too, there's displeasure settling on her face.

“Baby, every single person here has figured it out,” Keeho exhales a short dry laugh before taking a sip from his drink. “He’s been staring at you non-stop.”

“Ignore him,” you lean in, touching his shoulder with yours, “I already have.”

Keeho tilts his head towards you and you instantly catch a spark in his dark eyes - a sign of satisfaction, perhaps.

“Good,” he murmurs as his lips twitch in approval. “I don’t plan on sharing your attention.” His deep voice drops lower, causing the confidence behind his words to shine even more evidently. “Not tonight.” A pause. “Or any other night.”

“I like the sound of that…” You bite your lip with a hint of mischief, sliding your hand over his thigh, slow and deliberate.

Keeho's fingers grab your chin, tilting it up to peer into your shiny gaze; as if to figure out what’s going through your head which doesn’t take long.

“There’s something on your mind.” He muses, studying the subtle change in your expression.

He’s good at reading you - too good.

You nod, playful smirk widening as you swing one leg over his lap.

His hands instinctively find your waist, allowing your figure to move boldly against him as an invitation. Adrenaline rush shoots through his veins, causing sudden tightness inside his pants.

“Should we give them a real reason to be jealous?” He raises a brow at you, slightly tightening his grip as you lower to his mouth with warm breath brushing against his plump lips.

Yes, you whisper just for him to hear and he chuckles, letting his hands roam along your back before settling at the curve of your hips.

“Well...” he smirks as if he's considering your plan, “if they want to stare so bad we might as well put on a show.”

Before you can respond, Keeho cuts the distance.

The R&B music blasts around you as the party keeps going in full swing, but all you can focus on is how his lips move against yours; how his fingers touch and press into your body with desire to feel your skin through your clothes. The kiss isn't rushed, but it's powerful, possessive like a statement.

Every small motion of your hips brings an irresistible friction that soon enough stops; Keeho stands up and heads towards the near bathroom while still holding you in his arms.

The way he slams the door after you doesn't grab only your ex boyfriend's attention.

“See?” Keeho pants close to your ear. His fingers, somehow gentle and slightly rough at the same time, don't let go of the roots of your hair; he wants to keep your head up in order for your eyes to stay strictly focused on the mirror above the sink in front of you. “Told you we can do better than that.”

He holds you pressed against his toned chest, in a headlock that has your fingers grasping onto his arm as your knees weaken like jelly. Moisture trickles down your inner thighs that keep shaking every time his fierce hips crash against yours.

“Now everyone knows who's fuckin' this pretty pussy. This is what you wanted, right?”

You nod with teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Your half-lidded eyes watch his arm fall from your shoulders in search for your clit. The gentle circles of his fingertips cause his cock to finally slow down the pace; the gliding of his length is deep and precise, concentrated on how you clench around him more intensely than before.

“Fuck—” His heavy sigh of pleasure heats up your skin further, followed by a long awaited confession, “...want you to be mine... just mine.”

“I am,” you utter breathlessly, but with strong assurance; your one hand moves up to touch the side of his face which is half-hidden in the crook of your neck. “I'm yours.”

Keeho looks up. His gaze slightly softens as he memorises the appealing fucked out glow from your reflection.

“Can you say it again?”

“I'm all yours, Keeho.”

You’ve had sex so many times already, in every room of your home and his. But this feels brand new; extra special. And despite the place not being the most convenient or ideal, it’s still unforgettable.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[daflangstlairde-art]

"thoughts that breathe" 2,239 words

Part 4 of ocean depths

Work Summary:

Almost six years now. And almost four since he met Color. One year and seven months since they moved in together. …And still, he woke up like this. Far too frequently. Craving and– …and fearing the burning touch of tentacles.

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

Killer woke up with a sharp inhale and… confused.

It was weird. He felt disoriented. It was weird that he even recognized he felt disoriented. He was never 'oriented' to begin with, or at least he hadn't been for ages, or at least that's… what he thought. Though it felt wrong.

Yep. He was confused, to put it mildly.

He raised a hand, but he wasn't sure what he was trying to achieve with that, so he simply rubbed his face.

There was… something… lingering. Like a bad dream he couldn't quite remember. Like burning cold seeped into his bones. Like whispers in the back of his awareness, wrapping around him and clinging and–

What… where was he? It was a bedroom. It was familiar. And yet it wasn't, it felt like he couldn't quite bring it into thoughts and shapes. Just a oh, yeah, of course I'm here without knowing quite what 'here' meant.

'Here' was… his room? But that couldn't be right. His room was small and dark and cold, always infused with crushing isolation and despair, never comfortable. This place was comfortable. It was… lived-in, in a visible manner, whereas his room was more haunted by him.

But it was his room. He knew that was the wardrobe, and how much that hoodie on the floor cost, and that the hairs on the carpet were from a cat.

Did– did he switch bodies with someone or something–?

But… no. Looking at his palms, those were Killer's. Untethered, like he was swimming through air (or through dark, numbingly cold water), Killer pushed away the blanket. Placed his feet on the ground (soft slippers…?). Stood up.

There was a mirror on the inside of the wardrobe, on one of its doors. He knew that even though both doors were closed at the moment/ Because he didn't want said mirror always uncovered. Because… it made him… it made him feel…

…He didn't feel. That's not something he was even capable of.

Killer trailed over to the wardrobe. With a hand that surely belonged to him, he grasped the handle and opened it.

It wasn't quite a full length mirror, but it was long. It showed enough.

Killer stared.

He was… in a casual T-shirt and shorts. His bones looked so white from the light streaming through the windows, bright. Not dark.

His eyes were black and empty.

But his soul…

His soul– he–

Wrong. It was wrong, it was so wrong, it shouldn't be– why was he– what was happening to him? Why was it like– it was–

It was the wrong shape. Why were his hands shaking? Were these actually his hands? He was empty inside, but when he stared at the mirror, he saw a wide-eyed expression, trembling and hunched, all of which spoke of fear and confusion.

Where was he?

Not– not just physically. Emotionally. Where was he in the timeline of his life? It all felt so– torn and out of order. What is this pocket of time? What existence was this?

Killer nearly jumped out of his skin when there came a soft knock at the door. There was a razor-sharp– feeling that went through him, immediate awareness of who that was, he knew who it was, of course he knew, who else could it be?

Killer felt nothing. But his hands were shaking severely and he was sweating and his chest felt tight, but he felt nothing, how– what was happening to him?

His eyes were pinned to the door. He knew who it was because there was only one being in the world his mind really recognized as real.

Yes, he would never knock, especially not so softly. Unless he was fucking with Killer's brain. Which he could be because that's what he did, it's what Killer went to him for.

Because he needed it. Because it was right, it was his place, it was real.

…Except, then, why did all of him want to get away? Why did the image of that door opening feel like the worst possible outcome?

"Killer?"

That. Was… not his voice.

It was neither Dust's nor Horror' voice as well. Not even Cross.

…And there was… meowing?

What?

"What," Killer called back, flat and sharp. He wasn't weak. He wasn't. He could be watching all his teeth fall down in real time and he would still bite.

"Can I come in? Boxer misses you," Color said through the door with a louder meow as the cat recognized his own name.

Because… it was Color. Because this was Color's house. Except it was Killer's. They… lived together.

Factually, he knew it was true. In every other way, it was wrong.

"I don't care," Killer replied.

The door opened a crack, soft, patient. Literally, as Color's flames were noticeably cyan. Because of the souls. And their associated traits. That he had within him. And Killer knew all that because he knew Color.

And yet, his being screamed who is that? and Killer itched to summon a knife and attack.

His eyes were pinned on Color as the other stepped into the bedroom, his bedroom. He didn't close the door behind him.

Faster than either of their decision-making, Boxer rushed in and Killer stiffened as the cat began weaving between his legs. Nuzzling his calves so hard, like he was trying to push Killer over, and purring up an absolute storm.

Hehe. He was always such a motor engine.

Which… Killer knew because… because that was his cat. His and Color's, but his most of all. Boxer's fur was short and a bright orange. That's where his name came from — the Bravery kid had chimed up excitedly with options. Killer found the name hilarious. It stuck.

His fur had been so coarse and mattled before, but over time, with careful bathing and brushing and a good eating schedule, it had softened and built up its healthy oils. Killer could feel it against his legs. It felt… it felt more real than…

As if in a trance, tentatively, dazedly, slowly he crouched lower. Placing his hand on Boxer's head and petting down his back. The cat pushing his muzzle into his palm like he wanted to break through it, haha.

Killer's head snapped back to Color as he stepped forward again, and Color stopped. He stared back. Patient. Calm.

Killer didn't need to look down to pet the damn cat (as much as Boxer tried to hog his attention). So he didn't. He kept his gaze on Color.

Boxer didn't care if Killer's hands shook. He had no way of knowing it's because Killer was restraining himself from summoning a barrage of attacks.

He… wasn't… sure why he was restraining himself. He… knew Color could handle it. He wouldn't even be mad.

…Why wouldn't he be mad?

It was– that was weird. He should be mad. Killer wished he would attack. Adrenaline was already making his metaphorical heart race, his breathing speed up, heat at his face. Right? He was itching for a fight. He was itching for violence. Right. It had to be adrenaline. That was… that's what was…

Killer wished Color would attack. The only thing that felt tangible was Boxer's face butting into his hand. He needed– he needed more. He needed to hurt, he needed to be real, he needed his soul to be normal. Not this– not this weak, gross heart-shaped insult.

Killer–

Killer needed Nightmare. The real Nightmare. The Corrupted Nightmare. Nightmare was the only being that knew what Killer really needed, what he was made of, what he was made for. The only being that could really give it to him.

Except he thought of getting that wish and realized it would just be… that… ugh. Night. Night, who still visited as much as it pained him, to check on Killer's well-being. Because they were… not friends, but they were connected in a way that just couldn't be severed.

But that's not what Killer wanted, what he needed.

He craved Nightmare.

It was the burning cold. It was the dark depths. It was the whispers in the back of his mind, like tendrils ghosting over his skin and raising metaphorical goosebumps.

Whispering you'll never be free. You can never change what you are. You will never escape me.

You can never move on from this. You're mine.

And here Killer was.

Proving him right.

"What the hell do you want," he said flatly, because Color still hovered.

"…Just to– make sure you're alright," Color replied, keeping himself from reacting to Killer's attitude. Like he was familiar with it. Because he was familiar with it.

Killer barked a humorless laugh.

Hah. Him? Alright? That concept didn't even exist for him. Objects like him weren't meant for 'alright'. It just didn't fit them. Like jamming a heart-shaped plastic peg into a tiny circular hole.

"I'll be better if you piss off," Killer said through his mean, bared-teeth grin.

The flames gently flickered through a darker blue. Then, purple. Finally, a touch of orange but primarily green. That might've meant something.

"Can I sit here instead?" Color pointed to the floor right where he stood. "I'm not going to touch you. I'm not going to hurt you," with a flicker of that dark blue. Killer wished he wasn't telling the truth.

He shrugged. "I don't care."

"Okay," and Color sat down. Just there. On the floor. Killer was still crouching even though it was killing (heh) his knees, but he wasn't about to deprive Boxer of attention, what a heresy. It would be easy to snap up and lunge at Color. Take advantage of the split second he'd need to get up.

He didn't.

He continued crouching, neither sitting down nor getting up. He continued petting his cat. Feeling the fur underneath his fingertips. The movement and warmth of something alive, so fragile and trusting. The vibrations of the ceaseless purring.

He… he missed Nightmare, but… Nightmare was long gone, wasn't he? It was… how long now?

Killer glanced to the side briefly, and oh, what would you know, a calendar was there. Almost six years now. And almost four since he met Color. One year and seven months since they moved in together.

…And this was Killer's bedroom. With his carpet and his clothes and his large window to let in the daylight. His cat. His friend.

His mirror to see his soul.

…And still, he woke up like this. Far too frequently. Craving and– …and fearing the burning touch of tentacles. Wrapped all around his body. Squeezing until he heard bones start to crack. Until they felt tangible. Real.

Killer slowly exhaled. And then he breathed in. It felt like the first inhale for his entire morning.

"Five things you can see?"

His gaze lifted back up to Color. "What?"

Color gestured around the room. "Five things you can see?" he repeated easily.

Killer stared at him. Watching the flames of energy waver and flow.

"…You. Boxer," he remembered to keep petting the cat, "…My bed. The carpet. The calendar,"

"Nice," Color smiled a bit, "four things you can hear?"

"Boxer," constant purring, like he was happy to be around Killer. Not fearful. Not hateful. "Your pestering," he added, and there was no heat behind it. He wasn't sure if… he'd meant for there to be any. "The clock, and, uh…" he wracked his brain. Couldn't really hear anything else. "Ugh, this house is too silent," he complained gruffly.

Color snorted quietly. "I'll turn the TV on in a moment,"

"Great,"

"Three things you can–" and then Color paused. Realized he'd messed up the order, and then decided to keep going at it anyway, "Three things you can feel?"

"How giving him a bath the other day was a good idea," Killer joked about the cat. Soft, smooth fur. "Uh, the floor, and my shirt I guess," he traced his free hand over both items as he mentioned them, feeling their textures.

"Heck yeah," Color nodded. "Two things you can–"

"You can stop, you know," Killer intercepted. "I'm probably not going to stab you. Unless you get too close, heh,"

"I know," Color didn't take it personally. Killer liked that in him. "But I want to. Two things you can smell?"

"That's four for four for Boxer," Killer cackled, "And… I don't know, clothes?" and sweat. He was cooling off now, though.

"One thing you can taste?"

Metal. Like he'd bitten a tongue he did not have. He swallowed, trying to clear it.

"My spit," he said instead, "Why, wanna try it for yourself?" he teased.

Color snorted, grinning. Fair enough — Killer was hilarious.

"You wanna talk about it?" he offered. Steady. Easy. Like it was an everyday thing. Like it wasn't raw and vulnerable and heavy.

And Killer realized…

…Maybe. Maybe he would.

Not know, not with ghostly frost crawling over his bones. Not with the blade of weakness pressed to his throat.

"C'mere idiot," he waved Color over.

With no sudden movements, easy and smooth, Color pushed himself up to his feet. Not for long, because it was soon that he crouched beside Killer. Close enough to touch only if Killer wanted to.

Which he did. With his free hand, he grabbed onto Color's hand. Killer's grin remained sharp and guarded, but the way he held onto Color's hand was tight. Like a lifeline. An anchor. Color squeezed back.

Killer breathed out.