#so does wit fortunately

[tiraam]

The more people spread hate, the more his fans show how much they love him.

And I 🫶 that for him.

[alexiroflife]

"megumi is annoyed with gojo for getting distracted with you and being late for everything because of it, so he makes it his life’s mission to ruin gojo’s chances of dating you..."

fluff, crack

gojo has a severe issue with constantly following you like a puppy dog wherever you go. after that day he had run into you on a whim at the park, your pretty (e/c) eyes locking with his as you both shared passing glances the moment your shoulders brushed, he was stuck to you. gojo stopped dead in his tracks, calling out to you and asking what your name was. you turned over your shoulder, stuttering to a stop upon realizing that handsome guy had been talking to you. you told him your name, that you attended the university down the block, and he was set.

gojo was sure to secure your number before you parted ways that day, approaching you as interested in friendship rather than someone completely enamored by your beauty and desperate to get to know you more. he would text you every day, from then on, pressing further about your hobbies and inserting himself into your daily routine, which you fortunately did not mind. the two of you end up spending a lot of time together, thoroughly enjoying each other’s presence.

megumi, ten years old, witnesses gojo’s clinginess with you fast because it quickly has an affect on how often gojo fulfills his responsibilities in looking after him. megumi remembers the first time gojo forgot about him because he was distracted by you. he had been meant to purchase and drop of megumi’s weekly groceries, but he ran into you at the supermarket and ended up helping you take your groceries home instead. megumi had to wait three hours for gojo to bring him his next week’s supply of food. things like this continued to happen the longer you to knew each other, but megumi knows it isn’t your fault that gojo is attached to you at the hip and flirts with you shamelessly but won’t muster up the courage to tell you he likes you. 

megumi’s last straw is when he is left stranded outside of his elementary school for forty-five minutes because he ran into you “eating at a cafe by yourself and you needed company.” the ten year old watches gojo pull up slowly with you in the passenger’s seat, waving at him apologetically with a kind smile. his blood boils as gojo smiles, shrugging bashfully and saying he lost track of time. megumi decides with a hastiness that he would ruin every chance gojo takes to flirt with you after the twenty one year old suddenly announces that he is driving twenty minutes opposite of his house to drop you off at your dorm. 

gojo first senses something is off when you are over at megumi’s house one day after school, looking for snacks in the cabinets. gojo and megumi are sitting at the kitchen island while megumi does his homework and gojo watches you move around with a soft smile on his lips, chin propped in his palm. you turn over your shoulder and ask the two if they have any chips, to which megumi beats gojo to answering: “gojo ate them all. he’s always eating everything in my house. i try to get him to stop, but i guess he just gets too hungry.” the white haired man slowly turns to face megumi as you carry on about your business, eyes wide and a mortified smile on his face. megumi doesn’t look at him, continuing his english homework. 

gojo knows he’s being targeted the second time around, when he suggests that you sleep over in his room because it is getting late and megumi advises you not to because he allegedly saw a nonexistent redhead leaving his room last night and is ‘worried about your exposure to lice.’ gojo chases the spikey haired kid around his living room later on after you inevitably go home, threatening to take him back to the zenin clan. 

the day megumi outright proposes that you get a boyfriend during a car ride over to your campus, gojo almost loses control of the steering wheel and decides he has to keep you as far away from megumi as possible. megumi gets his wish when gojo begins to pay more attention to the days he’s supposed to pick him up from school and separates his days with you from them accordingly, but megumi doesn’t plan to let this slide so easily. for weeks, he suffered the aftermath of gojo getting distracted by being your shadow, and for weeks gojo would suffer his karma.

when he hears you on the phone with him, megumi barges in the room and loudly asks to talk to you. you, overhearing, welcome the conversation gladly and ask gojo to hand over the phone while he glares animatedly at the boy’s blank face. he has to wait twenty minutes for megumi to finish talking monotonously about his day into the speaker, and by the time gojo gets his phone back, you have to head to a meeting with your classmates. the call ends and gojo ponders over why his kid is praying so intently over his downfall. 

and of course there are the days when you ask to come over to see gojo and megumi, and gojo is physically incapable of refusing quality time with you or telling you no in any regard. he practically begs megumi on his knees to behave five minutes before you arrive, to which the fushiguro blatantly ignores. the blue eyed sorcerer is fuming with rage as he sits across from you and megumi, watching as you help him with his science project after him asking for your assistance, a stunning, bubbly grin on your face. gojo’s initial frustrations shift into envy for your attention, and before you know it he’s pouting with his arms crossed in silence. 

megumi is satisfied with himself, concluding that gojo is officially fed up and has given up completely on pursuing you. he commends himself mutely for his successes after working so hard, though his actual enjoyment of your tranquil company made the experience more tolerable. he runs off to take a shower when you’re grabbing your belongings, preparing to uber back to your dorm. normally gojo pesters you about letting him drive you home when you’re over, so when he only flashes you a smile and holds the door for you as you walk through, you immediately think something is wrong.

the blue eyed man’s lips press together, eyes blank as he shakes and tells you everything is okay. your eyes slim in suspicion as you look over his face, unconvinced by his horrible lying skills. you ask again and he smiles again, telling you he is fine and to go enjoy the rest of your day without him. you furrow your brows in confusion before realizing that you had been busy with little megumi all day and hardly paid attention to your friend. he’s jealous. you giggle, and find it cute the way his half smile melts and he broods, perplexed by your laughter. 

you tease your friend of a few months, telling him that the next time you hang out, you two will spend the day alone. pink rises to gojo’s cheeks. “you still wanna spend time with me?” he asks and you scoff. “yeah, why wouldn’t i?” “i don’t know, i just thought megumi convinced you not to like me…”

you laugh again, the sound ringing like church bells in his ear. you tell him he’s ridiculous for getting worked up over a ten picking on him and puffs his lips and rolls his eyes. you know there is a mutual attraction shared between you and gojo. you’ve liked him since the second he asked for your number, but never said anything because he limited your relationship to what you assumed ws platonic flirting. now, watching him pout over the thought that megumi pushed you away makes you realize that there may be something real to his attachment to you.

a smug smile lifts to gojo’s face and his mood immediately improves. he tells you he’ll pick you up from your math class tomorrow for a ride, just the two of you. you hum in agreement and lean up to your tiptoes, holding the side of his face with your fingers and pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. “it's a date,” you say. you pull away and his expression is dopey, eyes dazed and grin bright. 

megumi runs back into the living room at the wrong time. he goes to grab his bookbag from the sofa and return it to his room when he catches a glimpse of the horror, his face scrunching in disgust as you peck gojo’s cheek at the front door. megumi turns grim, mourning over his failed plan. oh well, he tried. he wishes you luck dealing with that freak, and figures that the next time gojo annoys him, he can just save himself half the trouble and log him out of the shared netflix account.

you are halfway out the door, smile making your cheeks ache and heart bursting, when you hear megumi shouting from inside. “wash your mouth when you get home, (y/n)! you don’t know where he’s been!” you hear the front door slam and dramatic, muffled complaining follow as you walk to your uber stifling a laugh.

[suiana]

this is inspired by inês and pedro from portugese history or smth BUT imagine being a servant to some noble princess and she marries your future yandere! king who falls for you instead of his wife.

you're loyal to your princess and don't reciprocate his feelings obviously. also, you're just a mere servant, not even of any noble blood. you can't dare to imagine being with a king. that doesn't stop the man from wanting you all to himself though.

he's never felt anything like this before. like yes, he's seen beautiful peolple but it doesn't even match up to the feelings that stir inside him when he as much as thinks about you. everything he feels makes him feel like a pre-pubescent boy that wants you carnally. it's a bit embarrassing. he's the king of a kingdom after all. always calm, always composed, never rash or impulsive. not like this.

but you're perfect.

he must have you. he's worked so hard, surely he deserves some compensation in the form of someone he really adores. so what if he has a wife? it was just an arranged marriage anyway. he bets his wife doesn't even like him and has a secret lover somewhere else.

you're the one he wants. not this random princess.

so he pursues you, wanting nothing more than for you to love him back. to love him and only him. all his council men and advisors tell him not to do it. that it's not wise to go after his wife's servant, some no name commoner. he doesn't care.

unfortunately for you, you succumbed to his advances. fortunately for him, you began to show him the love he so desperately craved.

and thus began your not-so-secret relationship. it was... quite wonderful, actually. he was an amazing lover. he treated you to the finest delicacies and spoiled you rotten. he truly only ever wanted the best for you and it showed in his actions. so much so that everyone was aware of how fond he was over you. even the queen (your princess) was supportive of your relationship with him.

however, all good times have to come to an end.

as expected, his parents weren't happy with your relationship with their son. are you serious? this random ahhh commoner is the one their son loves?? no way. this does not match their agenda.

you were charged with treason and sentenced to death not long after. your beloved king couldn't even do anything about it because he was in another kingdom attending to important affairs. truly the most despicable of parents.

you were set to be executed on the gulliotine in the middle of the kingdom. public humilation, is it? you made your way to your death bed, staring at the masses of people who commented about how pitiful you were. alas was the fate of an unlucky commoner.

"thank you, my love."

and you shut your eyes, never to open them ever again as the blade came falling down on your neck.

"stop!"

it was too late. the blade had already sliced your head off your body, blood pooling on the ground as your lifeless body remain limp on the gulliotine.

all was quite, except the laboured breaths of the kingdom's king as he shakily made his way over to your head. his hands were cold, eyes wide open in horror as he mutters to himself as though it would comfort him.

"no, no, no... hey, this is just a joke right? this..."

everyone in the area could only stare silently as their king silently wept over your death. his once pristine white garments now stained red as he cradles your head in his arms.

"why? why you? anyone but you..."

who knew that your death would be witnessed by your lover too? that your death day would coincide with his homecoming?

and just as fast as his despair and sadness came, so did rage.

all was calm except for the screams of his parents as his sword plunged deep into their chests. his face was dark, jaw tight as he gave a mere glance back at the crowd.

"kill everyone. make sure no one leaves alive."

at his order, all hell broke loose. where was the calm and benevolent king they knew?!

screams of pain and agony, cries for mercy... the crowd could only watch as their king stood beside your body. there wasn't a hint of remorse in his face. in fact, they couldn't read what he was even feeling. all they could see was the face of a man who was utterly crushed and desperate for his lover.

...

a few days after his massacre, he had divorced his ex wife and crowned you as his new spouse. he had carefully sown your head back onto your body, not wanting anyone else to touch what was his.

"you're beautiful, my darling."

he kisses your cold lips, helping you get dressed in your coronation outfit. his hands were soft, gentle as they always were with you. he wouldn't let anyone touch you. no, they didn't deserve to touch you. only he did.

he gently carried your body out to the grand hall, not caring about the terrified glances and looks from his advisors and the royal court. right, he had also brutally murdered anyone related to your death. the executioner, the advisors who agreed to your execution... no longer was he the benevolent king he was once known as but a mad dog.

"bow down to your new ruler."

he'll make sure you get recognised as what you were supposed to be recognised as.

how dare they try and kill you like you weren't his one and only? how dare they think so little of you and get rid of you when he wasn't in the country? that is a royal crime. not only are they looking down on you, but on him as well.

"from now on, you will listen to every demand and word that my spouse says."

if the air around the ballroom wasn't so thick, it might have come out as a joke. after all, you were dead. how were you to talk every again?

"welcome our new ruler."

that wasn't a question. it was a demand.

your king will make sure you get the love and respect you deserve. and who knows, maybe he'll get you back with how dedicated he is. he knows a thing or two about dark magic, perhaps the next thing he'll do is bring you back to life.

yes, that is a good idea. that way you and him can truly be together once again.

[thebarontheabyss]

This tale starts with your death.

Read WIP here

(Current wordcount: 240k!)

You remember only the moth, carrying you through the cosmos.

And so, the Abyss beckons you.

Now, you are a spirit, immortal. After a meeting with the Grim Reaper, Death, you were gifted with a peculiar inheritance: a bar.

This mysterious establishment and the Abyss around it serve as a nexus, connected to every realm in existence. It's a haven where spirits and deities, devils and angels, converge to drink and revel.

Yet, beneath the surface, an unease stirs. A voice calls out in your dreams—a loneliness that echoes through the Abyss. Why does it seek you?

A motley crew of spirits and immortals, each hailing from distant corners of the realms, stands with you. Bonds are waiting to be formed, or even love that transcends death itself—perhaps even with Death themself.

Manage your bar, where serving a drink to a god or an eldritch entity is just another day's work. Unravel a cosmic mystery, go on a date in infernal Hell, witness the universe's creation, or unlock the arcane secrets of magic.

Your new afterlife awaits.

A narrative-driven experience focused on character development and storytelling.

Play as any gender or none.

Shape your personality through meaningful choices.

Engage in deep and complex relationships with a diverse cast of characters.

Romance mortals and immortals alike - if you want poly, purely physical, or asexual - they will respond in kind.

Explore the afterlife, visit realms of immortals and gods, and uncover the dark secrets of the bar.

M\F\NB (Poly or Monogamous paths) Death reveals a surprising warmth beneath their eternal duty.

Is there room for love within their everlasting embrace? Read more >>>

M\F (Poly or Monogamous paths) This devilish being, a powerful magnet of desire, seeks more than power in the bar’s shadows.

Who dares to pursue the heart behind the flame?

Read more >>>

M\F (Poly or Monogamous paths) The Witch, with their feline companion, seeks a lost soul, their magic stirring trouble and passion alike.

Can a mortal love thrive in the spirit realm?

Read more >>>

M (Monogamous path)

A mercenary turned security guard, Hastur carries an immortal burden, guilt born of past battles and sacrifices.

Will your love heal his wounds?

Read more >>>

NB (Monogamous path) The spectral diva enchants with their voice, their performance a dance of beauty tinged with the sorrow of eternal life.

Can your love find a new song for them?

Read more >>>

M\F\NB (Monogamous path) A shade keeps the bar’s order, and his silence holds the weight of cosmic secrets and the tapestry of existence.

Will your heart fall for the being behind the shadow?

Read more >>>

With feathers dark and wit sharp, The Raven’s history is as rich as the bar itself. He offers piercing insight beneath a layer of humor.

Read more >>>

The stern soothsayer-turned-accountant Yaga guards the bar’s fortune while wrestling with her own spectral regrets and wisdom.

Read more >>>

Shelly, the bar’s assistant, brings life-affirming warmth but seeks a new family to fill the void of her lost one.

Read more >>>

Welcome to the cosmos: the tapestry of existence, a complex weave of ever-changing realms. Each domain is a thread in the grand design.

Read more >>>

Feedback on any typos, grammatical errors, or other textual issues.

Notes on any continuity errors to ensure a smooth and logical progression.

Thoughts and opinions on the plot, characters, and overall narrative experience.

Don't be shy about sending your feedback - as small as it may be. I'll be answering and taking each into consideration. You are very welcome to post your reviews here!

The game explores themes of Death in various forms, including suicide.

Alcohol indulgence and its various side effects (hangovers, vomiting, etc.)

Sexual themes (currently only non-explicit)

[cakelitter]

Strawberry Scented

Older! Leon x Bunny! Reader

warnings: somnophilia, p in v, fingering, oral, pet names, praise

summary: You remain still, blissful as ever. Your dreams must be nice, hopping in meadows and basking in the sun; or is that too stereotypical of him? Wonder if you dream about him, does your mind replay the sweet and innocent time you spent together? Or do you get dirty dreams about him like he does?

words: 1.8k

a/n: uni is literally taking up all of my time, but i'm glad that i get to finally post. so sorry for the inactivity, hope you enjoy!!

His pretty bunny.

Your chest rising and falling, mellow breaths, the only thing that can be heard when he steps into his room. Always so clingy, following him like his shadow whenever he’s home, wrapping your arms around his as he takes care of the chores around the house. Snuggling up on his lap whenever he sits on the couch.

And when he’s away, you curl into a ball on his bed. Your fingers loosely gripping the sheets the way you grip his shirt while laying on his chest. Bunny hybrids can’t talk, your self-expression confined to either drooping or perking those fluffy ears of yours. However, he understands you pretty well, droopy means no, perky means yes, nose twitch is a maybe, and a tail twitch means “you’re getting on my nerves”.

While there is no way for you to verbally express how much you miss whenever he’s not around; your actions tell him all that he needs to know.

Funny how the universe just dropped you off at his doorstep, no like literally. Walking out of his house, fifteen minutes late is a regular occurrence for him, but tripping and almost breaking his fucking face on the pavement isn’t. Leon is not clumsy; can’t afford to be, a single slip up on a mission and he’s not making it back home.

However, he had his fair share of tripping over a things. A curb, a rock, his own damn foot, but tripping over a bunny hybrid is definitely a first.

You were curled up on his door mat (one which is certainly uncomfortable) lifting your sleepy head to give him the nastiest stare for disturbing you before going back to sleep like nothing happened. That stare was so nasty, he almost apologized for stepping out of his own house. Judging by that, he’s most probably not your first victim.

He didn’t shoo you away, didn’t have the heart to. Got a soft spot for animals, especially homeless ones. And while you’re a good seventy percent human, somehow that principle still applies.

And so, you took this as an invitation to sleep there every night. It didn’t bother him, actually left a blanket and other things out for you. Day by day, he started getting attached. You became part of his routine, and it seemed like you enjoyed his company too.

Two weeks later, he decided to let you live with him. Watching you cautiously walk into his house, double checking for approval with every step you take; scared he might yell at you for existing on his property like others would.

Leon never classified himself as a good care taker, can’t even take care of himself. On one hand, he was scared his shitty work schedule would lead him to neglecting your needs. But on the other, letting you sleep out in the open in a world that views you as a freak of nature surely isn’t the best; plus, the idea of you finding a better place to rest than here, leaving him alone the way most people did would feel like a stab to the heart.

And so, he decided to give it a chance.

The fear of neglecting you dissipated the minute you gave him a hug of gratitude; the first unspoken word of yours was a “thank you.” You became all he could think about, missing your warmth on missions and getting work done as fast as possible because he knows how lonely you must feel.

He goes above and beyond when it comes to you. Buying products that cost a fortune for your sensitive ears and the best shampoo for your soft hair. Making sure your lotion smells like strawberries because that’s your favorite, and making sure the fridge is packed with all your favorite snacks.

Bathing you is a whole process, making sure you’re squeaky clean and smelling like three thousand different products by the time he’s done; had you for less than a year and you already have twice as many belongings as he does.

Inching closer to the bed, he lays next to you, placing his hand on your waist and dropping a kiss on your forehead. Your sweet scent engulfs him, wiping away his bitter day and relaxing his tense muscles. His fingers run through your hair, moving the stray pieces covering your face.

Your haircut isn’t the best, mostly because he had to do it himself; hair salons aren’t very fond of hybrids, even the ones that look as agonizingly beautiful as you do. And although he’s been cutting his hair for longer than he can remember, he underestimated how difficult it would be to cut in a straight line.

You sigh at his touch but remain asleep, smiling he kisses your temple. You’re adorable, and he constantly reminds himself not to squeeze too hard—afraid you might burst. But deep down, he imagines that if you did, glitter and flower petals would spill out.

He’s drunk, not on whiskey like he used to, but on your scent. It’s everywhere, on his clothes, the couch, your bed, his bed; can’t escape it, not like he’s trying to anyway.

His pretty bunny.

Rewiring his brain and putting him under an unspoken spell. His finger trails down your abdomen, eyes fixated on your tender lips calling his. Slipping beneath the waist band of your panties, his finger makes contact with your clit, rubbing soft circles as he watches your expression.

You remain still, blissful as ever. Your dreams must be nice, hopping in meadows and basking in the sun; or is that too stereotypical of him? Wonder if you dream about him, does your mind replay the sweet and innocent time you spent together? Or do you get dirty dreams about him like he does?

His fingers drop down to collect some of your arousal. You’re wet, bunny pussy is always wet, always needy. He bites his lip as he feels your dripping hot arousal, rubbing your cute clit till it’s slippery. You shuffle, subconsciously opening your legs further for him to continue.

Another delicate sigh leaves your lips as he pushes his middle finger inside you; moving it in and out before adding another one. The sounds coming out of your dripping cunt makes his dick painfully hard.

He rubs his cock through his jeans, muttering curses beneath his breath. So warm and tight around his fingers and he hasn’t done much yet. Your brows furrow, lips opening before closing again. Unbuttoning his jeans with his free hand, he pulls his cock out, moving his hand up and down the length.

Pulling his fingers away, he brings them up to his mouth. Groaning as he tastes you on his tongue, you taste as sweet as you smell. And surprisingly, you haven’t woken up yet. Apparently, fingering is not enough to wake you up; noted.

Craving more of your taste, he gets up and settles himself between your thighs. His finger hooks your panties and flimsy shorts, pulling them to the side, revealing your sobbing cunt to his hungry eyes.

He might cum just from the sight, glossy and looking extremely edible. Pulling the hood of our clit back, he kisses the bud before licking up your slit. His large hands hold your thighs in place as he sucks on your weeping pussy.

Your sleepy head lifts up, the same look plastered on your face as the day you both met. Your eyes connect, crow feet forming as he smiles; took you long enough. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

Your brows furrow as he fucks his tongue into you. Doing as your told, you lay your head back down, your mind unable to focus on sleeping nor staying awake.  You begin to buck your hips at the pleasure, whining as you do so.

“Missed you so much, baby.”

He can sense your orgasm approaching as your thighs begin to quiver. He pulls away, causing you to lift your head back up. The hand that was beneath your knee slips down to your inner thigh, patting it reassuringly.

Getting up, he removes his jeans and underwear quickly before laying next to you.

“Come here.” He manhandles you to lay on his chest, thighs bracketing around his torso. Peppering a soft kiss on your head, he pushes your panties over to the side again positioning his throbbing cock at your entrance.

His hand grabs your hips, as he penetrates into you gently. Pussy so tight, he might just cry. Burying your face in his chest, your fingers grip his shirt tightly. “I know, I know. You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

Another tender kiss gets placed on the crown of your head as he rubs your back soothingly. His hips remain still, letting you adjust around him before beginning to thrust shallowly. He groans, eyes closing shut as he focuses on the movement of his hips.

Bunnies are born to be bred, only logical explanation for how tight you are around him, for how constantly wet your cunt is without even being turned on. The wet patch on your underwear always evident whenever you slip them off to get into the bath, had his brain all fuzzy when he first noticed it. May or may not have stolen some of them, for personal use.

Picking up the pace, he opts for deeper thrusts, the head of his cock kissing the opening of your cervix. The mixture of your fluids dripping down the base of his length and down his balls. Your whines get louder, thighs beginning to quiver once more.

He can feel wet patches of tear drops seep through his shirt as pleasure overtakes your senses. Whimpering, you continue to squirm above him. Your orgasm nearing causing him to suck in a breath of air through gritted teeth as your cunt squeezes around him. “Yeah, just like that- fuck.”

Your walls flutter, creaming his cock till a white ring forms at the base. He curses underneath his breath, grabbing your hips harshly as he slams into you with vigor. “Gonna cum inside you, sweetheart. Don’t even think this cute cunt will let me pull out.”

His dick throbs as he releases into you, thrusts becoming slower as hot white strings coat your walls. Best orgasm he’s had in years, balls completely empty. His movement ceases, taking in a deep breath and running his fingers through his hair.

Glossy eyes make contact with his, a smile forming on your lips as your nose twitches. Pinching your cheeks, his hand tries to fix your now tangled hair; gotta brush that later. Crawling up his chest, he hisses at the overstimulating feeling. You drop a soft peck onto his lips, happy plastered all over that cute face of yours.

Maybe he should wake you up like this more often.

divider by: @/jimzittos @/kthice

[erosiism]

GENSHIN MEN AND…

prompt: HOW THEY WOULD REACT IF YOU SACRIFICED YOUR LIFE FOR THEM

character(s): diluc, zhongli [part one] childe, ayato [part two, out]

warnings(s): angst ofc—mention of blood, my first post on tumblr so my writing style may be a little icky, inaccuracies since I haven’t looked up genshin lore for a hot minute 

note(s): male reader, second person, present tense, not beta read

DILUC

There’s a lot of things you haven’t told him yet. Things you wished you had told him—but everything’s fine, because in this single action you are willing to do for him—your feelings will come inevitably with it and it’s a torrent of emotions that you’re about to burden him with.

He’s been your childhood friend for seventeen years now. All those times you have seen him, smiling, his merry laughter carrying over the breeze, his lips purple from sampling grapes, to the time where that very laughter and smiles disappear to smoothen into a stone face. After the death of his father, Diluc has become reserved, cold, and rather distant. Bitter.

You two were close, once.

You two had a bond that many could not quite interpret— it was as clear as day that you both trusted each other fully, but each always had secrets to hide. Some say proximity is the reason why both of you got close — your manors were near to each other, but truthfully, it was as simple as it was: you two had the same social standing. Both you and Diluc were, for each of their families, supposed to be close for the sake of future alliances and unions, but the friendship soon turned genuine, only for it to crumble under the weight of guilt and grief.

Only for it to crumble on the day Crepus died.

You still remember it vividly; in all its sickening, gruesome, heart wrenching detail. You were fortunate enough not to witness it, but etched in your memory, all you can think of is Diluc’s ravaged expression when he trembled before his father’s corpse.

You were helpless then. You could have extended an arm, you could have done something.

You didn’t.

But now would be different. You know the archons have it in for him when the incident happens the same way it happened with his father: via a carriage incident. 

You laugh then at its bitter irony.

Bandits come, a whole load of them, and this time Diluc fights while you are there helpless once again, trembling when you hear the clash of swords and arrows. When you hear his claymore smash against flesh. You don’t have a vision. Diluc has. You don’t have any particular skill in handling a sword; Jean has tried to teach you once, but it has failed. Your brain may be quick and witty, but your steps aren’t. 

The bandits have delusions. The archons really are cruel.

You see it before he does. There’s a burst of electric power that he's battling, the elementals clashing with each other—you’re still lagging behind, barely missing the whizzing arrows that skim your flesh, your heart wrenching as you see Diluc’s pained expression. You know what he’s thinking of, and it isn’t you. His memories are reverting back to his father’s death. His birthday. And perhaps that’s why his usual sharpness is wearied down.

You see the sword about to plunge his back before he does.

You scream to tell him.

Your body moves before anything.

Your fingers fumble to clasp the fabric of your clothes, before you tug him out of the way. You feel the weight of a sword against your back; you feel the way it slices through your skin before it presses against your flesh. You taste blood on your tongue, before a myriad of colors burst out; crimson, carmine. All the shades of red. You wobble then, choking out blood, before you stumble. You hear a few slices; razor, swift sharp ones. Then the last of the assailants falls down, and you are made aware that your decision has been the right one.

Diluc has survived. 

You stumble. You feel your body hit the ground. Murkiness runs your vision.

“[Name],” you hear a soft, whispering voice carry to your ears. You try your best to cling onto the words. But pain is burning within you—it’s ironic, how they feel more scorching than Diluc’s flames have ever felt. You try your best to swallow down your pants and your pained noises, but it ends up slipping from your mouth in broken, mottled syllables.

Your blurry vision makes out a face.

He cannot be Diluc. He’s crying. And the last time you have seen Duluc cry is when—

Oh.

“Don’t cry,” you say weakly. “Don’t cry, Diluc. I’m sorry I wasn’t of much help.” You try to reach out to his cheek. You regret it a split second afterwards because blood stains his cheeks wet from tears. You end up smearing red all over his face.

“Why?” Diluc says, and it sounds guttural, like the words have been punched out from him. “Why, [Name]?” You hear a flurry of footsteps behind. You assume it’s some surviving witness who has gone to call for backup. But you doubt you’ll survive.

You don’t even know why. To begin with, you aren’t even sure if you are in love with him. The swirling butterflies that flutter about when you see him tells him you are, but society’s expectations push those down. You have been in love with him for as long as you can remember; you have loved him. You have annotated every inch of him down to your memory, every contour, every bit. In your dreams he visits you, smiling sweetly. And you try to remember him when you wake up, trying to pretend that he’s still there, that he’s no longer bitter. 

“I don’t know.” Your words come out broken, punctuated by the gurgling of blood from your windpipe. 

It’s a half truth. You love him. You don’t know if you do.

“I’m sorry.”

Diluc is sobbing now. It’s uncharacteristic of him. You are brought back to the night when you saw him break down in front of his father’s corpse. And you aren’t yet a corpse: your heart is still beating faintly, your lips are still moving, your body is still trembling. “There’s a lot of things I wanted to tell you, Diluc.”

“Don’t die,” he pleads fervently. His lips graze your forehead, then—and before you know it, he’s embracing you, his tears wetting your shoulder. His begging is childish. Does he not know that the Archons have long abandoned their people? Does he know the sky is empty, and that no amount of pleads can bring a person back to life? You doubt so. “Don’t die, [Name]. I love you.”

He loves you. You smile. He loves you. Words have never felt so sweet befor, and it curbs the bitterness of death upon your tongue. “I love you, [Name]. I love you, so don’t die.”

He loves his father too. But still his father had perished. Similar to you.

“I’m so happy to hear that,” you smile weakly. Your finger starts to fall. “I’m really happy to hear that.”

You don’t have enough time to say those three words back, but it’s fine.

Your actions already did. 

ZHONGLI

note(s); reader is an adepti, takes place during archon war

A God has seen their fair share of grieving. So have Adepti. Some come with age—it’s normal for mortal alliances to die before those who are immortal, after all. There is also the Archon War, which has already torn away Zhongli’s beloved companion, Guizhong. And everyday he chokes down the bile in his throat and continues to annihilate and fight. He’s always been built for this, after all, he’s an Archon. He’s a ruthless one at that, known for his brutality and his power. And everyday he looks at you and can only pray again and again to Celestia, that you remain alive.

Guizhong and you have both been his favorites since you two have met. It was Guizhong and you first, before Zhongli met you. Both you and Guizhong were best friends; almost; like sisters and brothers. Guizhong was gentle and sweet, reprimanding at times. You were sweet too, but could be more uncouth. Strong language littered your sentences at times, and Zhongli would see it then; the way Guizhong tugged at you to scold you, or the way you would smile at her. Brother and sister.

Naturally, when Zhongli grew close to Guizhong, he grew close to you. It was funny to see that you hardly knew much about history, though Guizhong clearly loved it. And so it was almost a cycle. Whatever Guizhong taught Zhongli, he taught you. Guizhong had remarked a few times, what an incredible person he was to make even you listen to facts you had earlier called boring.

(“You mellowed a lot, Morax,” Guizhong had told him once. “[Name] mellowed you. You really do care alot for him, don’t you?”

“I suppose.”)

Gods aren’t meant to be mellowed. They are meant to be powerful. Strong enough emotionally so as to not bat an eye when it comes to deaths.

But everything falls apart when Guizhong dies.

He sees you fall to the ground, sobbing and sobbing and crying at the loss of your beloved sister. He sees the way  you touch her statue, turned to stone, cradling her face and wishing you were touching soft skin, instead of cold stone. Not sister by blood, but sister in name. He sees the way you break apart after that; Zhongli feels a human sense of emptiness and pain that comes with her death.

It’s all right, he told himself repeatedly. In his grief he has started to flood himself with reassurances. I still have [Name]. I still have [Name]. I still have [Name]. 

He sees the way you lose yourself in battle after that. Your attacks become sloppy, you become more careless. You become more injured. Zhongli never bothered with your skill. You were talented and strong enough. But now he finds himself protecting you the times you stumble, the times you start to choke out sobs during battle, the times you go wild and bloodthirsty against those you assume have contributed to her death. 

Guizhong has said once that he loved you. Zhongli never bothered to think about that. He assumed he would know it himself, when time came. He didn’t need to worry about being in what mortals called a relationship—he would get this war finished with you, become a mortal, and love you freely. It didn’t matter if you didn’t love him. Zhongli could love you at a safe distance. It would all be all right. 

He never imagined your declaration of love towards him would come so easily and devastatingly.

Zhongli sees you struck by a burst of elemental power before anything. He sees the way you shoved him inside; he sees the irony. He was so preoccupied with watching you. He hadn’t seen the enemy crawl up to him or nearly kill him. Like how he was watching you, you were watching him. And now his care has killed you.

“[Name].”

There’s an avalanche of emotions. First, he’s furious. He will leach out the killer and will inflict a thousand times more pain on them. Second, he’s heartbroken. He’s terrified of losing you. He can feel your life ebbing away with each passing moment, and he has seen enough wounds to know no healer can save you. He feels your pulse thrumming beneath your skin and he knows you’re dying.

You smile. It looks more like a grimace. “Just survive this goddamn war.”

Zhongli isn’t sure if he will. He feels like he might kill himself, that he might lay his body down next to yours, so that after death your souls would be intermingled, of sorts. It sounds romantic, but there’s absolutely nothing romantic about your death. He does what the Gods are not supposed to do. He feeds into his humanity; he cries.

“Afterwards, just live as a human. I don’t know. Be a dusty collector of antiques. Be a funeral planner or something strange like that. Just live, okay? You look like you want to die.”

You continue to ramble on. Your sentences become connected with each other. Your eyes start to flutter. Your words become faint and faltering.

“I can’t live with you,” he whispers. “First Guizhong, then you…” it’s all his fault. He should have seen it. He should have been more aware. He should—he should…

It’s too late. You’re dead, and he mourns just like a human; sobbing, aching, and dying a little inside.

For a brief moment Zhongli isn’t a God. 

hope everyone liked it! it’s my first post so im apprehensive haha be sure to like/reblog & leave a comment if u can

[seospicybin]

INEXPERIENCED.

Han x reader. (s)

Synopsis: One of your subordinates wasn’t performing the way you would have liked, you invited him for a drink in the hopes of encouraging him only to discover that he's inexperienced in other things too. (7,5k words)

Author's note: Let me know if you want a second part. Oh, and happy birthday, Hannie! ♡

"Goddammit!"

The chief's voice is sharp and loud like a crack of thunder but instead of lightning, it comes with a stack of papers hurling toward you.

Fortunately, it's breezing past the side of your head as it scatters in the air and the papers float before they make a quiet landing on the floor.

"Have you been teaching those under your wing right?" The chief yells again, this time personally aimed it toward you with his nostrils flared and his neck gets all red whether from the anger or his collar is too tight, or both.

"Don't make light of our work here!"

It's always safe to apologize first and explain later, it's even better if there are no explanations at all and admit right away that it's your fault.

"We're very sorry, sir!" You sincerely say while keeping your head down, you secretly glance to the side to check on someone and he does the same thing too.

"I'll take responsibility for this," you openly accept the blame as a good senior would do.

"Enough with your apologies!" The chief lowers his voice as he rubs on his wrist and you guess he got hurt from hurling the papers at you with all of his strength.

"Just go back to your work and do it right!" The chief yells once more as he hides the pain around his wrist.

You nod and put on a courteous smile, "Please, excuse us," you say.

You quickly make your way out of his office along with your junior co-worker and none of you say anything until you both turn into the hallway that leads you back to your office.

The person next to you, Han, stops walking and turns to face you, he's looking down at his feet when he apologizes, "I'm sorry. It was my mistake but I dragged you into this."

With a job comes a responsibility and when you get tasked to take him under your wing, you are fully aware that he's your responsibility and his mistake will be your mistake too. Since he's new, it's understandable that he stumbled on things but the problem is he's done it a couple of times already in the last five months he's been working here.

However, you remember you were once in his position and you've experienced how stressful it can be when everyone is pressing you from all sides, you don't want that for him so you try to be a compassionate senior for him.

You gently place your hand on his shoulder and smile at him, "The most important thing is you acknowledge your mistake and apologize. Now, we can just laugh it off," you tell him.

Han lifts his head, showing how sorry he is with his eyebrow downturn and wistful eyes, "We can't just laugh it off," he meekly says.

You put your hand on the small of his back and whisk him away to continue walking down the hallway, "Let's just laugh it off and have a few drinks tonight," you console him.

"Maybe just one drink," he says, feeling concerned with what you mean by a few drinks.

"Let's drink until morning!" You jokingly say, linking your arm with his.

"We can't drink until morning," Han meekly says as you keep dragging him along with you.

"Oh, come on!" You gently slap him on the chest and get surprised by the firm muscles he has under his crisp white shirt, "It's my treat."

-

What's a high-paying job when he earns more stress than money?

Han should consider himself lucky that he has you as a senior. Not only that you're nice, you are so kind and patient with him, you teach him everything he needs to know about his job and the company. You always try to cheer him up when he gets chewed off by the chief. You're not only making this job bearable to him, you make it possible for him to enjoy his work with you around.

"Oh, no!" You gasp as you see the sign taped on the front door of the bar.

"Our sanctuary!" You cry with your lips pursed and your shoulders sagged.

Closed for renovation, it says on it.

It's such a shame that the bar that you both regularly visit is closed on days like this when he needs to drink his sorrow away and just decompress.

"Shall we go somewhere else?" He suggests while scratching the back of his head, raking his brain for any bar he knows in this area.

Your face brightens as the light bulb in your head dings with an idea, "How about we drink at my place?"

"Huh?" His eyes burrowed in slight shock and confusion.

"Come on! It's just around the corner," you don't wait for his answer, you link your arm around him and whisk him away with you.

Turns out, you're not lying about your place is just around the corner. You live in a small house with a miniature garden in the back and everywhere he looks, there's a potted plant sitting in the corner of the room.

It creates such a contrast to the hustling and bustling of the city and the stressful environment at work, it offers a pleasant atmosphere that instantly puts him at ease.

Keeping the window open, the wind chime sings a tune every time a gust of wind brushes in between, sending them clinking against each other.

"How do you manage to take care of all of these plants?" He asks in wonder, foolishly touching the tiny thorns on one of your succulents.

"It's easy," you answer from the kitchen, "You just need to water them."

Han saunters into the kitchen, ready to offer his help as you stand on your tiptoe to get glasses from the top cabinet. He notices the big jar of dark brown liquid with something floating on the surface.

"What is that?"

"That's what we'll be drinking tonight," you answer with a smile.

Being the gentleman he is, he carries the big jar of mysterious drink to the living room, carefully puts it down on the table, and then sits on the floor, looking at it with curious eyes.

"It's cherry brandy," you inform.

"You made it yourself?" He wildly guesses.

"I am," you answer with a proud smile, opening the jar with all of your strength.

As soon as the lid cracks open, Han is already intoxicated by the sweet, alcohol-tinted aroma that is wafting around the room. He watches as you dip the ladle and meticulously pour it into the glass. He knows now that the things bobbing on the surface are the cherries.

"But how?" He asks in wonder as he observes the drink in his hand.

"It's just cherries, sugar, and vodka, put them in the jar, shake them, put them in the dark for weeks, and voila!" You easily share the recipe and the comprehensive steps for making it.

"No, I mean, how do you have time to do all these?" He asks, utterly befuddled.

Work is draining enough to him that he has no energy left to do other things than rest, and when he gets time, he uses it on something as frivolous as playing video games. That explains why he can't relate to your way of life because how?

You look at him and snort as if his question is inane and the answer is obvious. You get up from the floor as you say, "I'm going to get the cheese."

"Please don't tell me you also made the cheese yourself," he jokingly asks because he already has so much respect for you.

This cherry brandy is dangerous. The cherries mask the taste of the alcohol and all Han can taste is the sweet and tangy flavor of the cherries, but he's aware that he's getting lightheaded with every sip of it. The worst part is he can't stop drinking it.

You're using his drunk state as a chance to tease him and he starts grouching, slurring his words doing it.

"What I'm saying is you always change the topic to me apologizing," he whines with his lips forming a cute pout.

"I'm not," you deny, taking a piece of cheese in between sips.

"I know I am incompetent," he grumbles then hisses at the alcohol burning down his throat.

"I beg to differ. I don't think you're incompetent."

"What then? Incapable? Pathetic? Useless?"

"I think you're just... inexperienced and that's okay," you pause to pick a handful of cherries from the jar with the ladle, "I know that you're sorry and you'll keep trying to be better. I have faith in you, Han."

Han didn't know that he needed to hear that until now. Suddenly, the tightness in his chest loosens, and he feels liberated. He can finally breathe and enjoy his drink with ease.

"Let's impress the chief with our next presentation, okay?" You softly smile at him, raising your glass to invite him for a toast.

Returning the spirit, Han smiles and raises his glass, clinking it with yours as he promises himself to prove that you're not wasting your faith in him.

"Damn! This cherry brandy is so good," he praises with his nose scrunched reacting to the aftertaste.

"Can you do this?" You pop a cherry into your mouth while holding the stem between your thumb and index finger.

"Do what?"

You put the stem into your mouth next and begin moving your mouth, almost like chewing it. After a while, you stick your tongue out, revealing the stem is knotted now. It's impressive, yes, but his eyes are focusing on your lips and how they're glistening wet, probably tastes as sweet as a cherry too.

"That's kind of uh..." he's not sure if what he's about to say is appropriate so he decides not to finish his sentence, "Wow!"

"They say that if you can do this that means you're a good kisser," you remark as you fish out more cherries out of the jar with the ladle.

He hesitates but considering that he's not in a workplace and the alcohol dulls his brain, it can no longer tell what's appropriate or not anymore.

"Are you?"

"Mmh?" You hum in question with a cherry tug between your teeth.

"Are you a good kisser?" He daringly asks.

You bite through the cherry and he can the juice flooding your mouth, you're chewing it as you're looking at him, making him wait for your answer in anticipation.

Then you lean forward on the table, you prop a hand under your chin and slightly tilt your head to the side, "Want to try?"

The way you both execute it is like two teenagers doing seven minutes in heaven. You're both sitting facing each other on the floor with your legs folded under you and awkwardly looking at each other.

All of a sudden, you lean in close until both of your faces are merely inches away from each other. Your lips slowly curl into a smile as you stare into his warm brown eyes.

"You have beautiful eyes."

He can't only handle that much and smiles at your compliment, "Thank you."

"But I need you to close them for now."

"Okay," he obeys your order and closes his eyes.

A minute later, Han just realized what he'd done to himself. With his eyes closed, he can't see what you're doing and he can only wait in anticipation with his heart pitter-patter in his chest.

"Where should I start, mmh?"

He hears you mutter and he knows that it's a rhetorical question, you don't need an answer, you do that just to build his anticipation.

In the next moment, Han feels your breath fanning over his ear, sending goose bumps down his neck, then softly, you press a kiss to his left temple.

“Hmm... where to now?” The words are spoken softly against his skin, each one a caress.

He knows it's yet another rhetorical question but it's enough to send his heart rattling like someone sets firecrackers in his chest.

The tip of your nose grazes his skin as you move lower and you surprise him with a kiss on his cheek, making him close his eyes tightly as impatient sears through him.

As if you hear his thoughts, you land the next kiss on the corner of his mouth, so close yet not exactly where he wants your lips to be.

Then you rest your hand on his jaw, holding him in place as you press an innocent peck on his lips. A tingling sensation bounces around in his chest and a second after you pull away only to sink your lips on his again.

This time, you take the lead, you're showing him how it's done, drawing the kisses out. When your tongue slips between his lips, he goes stock-still. He can't comprehend that your tongue is in his mouth, hot and wet, swirling around his tongue.

This is it. This is kissing and kissing is this good. Oh, man, no one tells him that it's this good!

When you break the kiss, he almost lets out a whimper of complaint from the sudden loss of contact.

"What do you think?" You ask, biting your lower lip but he notices a grin peeking around the edges of your mouth.

"The best kiss I've ever had," he honestly admits.

You let out a soft laugh, "We're not at work. You don't have to suck me up," you say, not entirely buying his words.

"B-but I'm not lying," he assures you with his eyebrows downturn and his dark eyes looking at you.

You take your glass of cherry brandy and have a small sip, "Well, if the only other person you've ever kissed is your mum, then I'll take you on that," you jokingly say.

Something catches in his throat and it's the truth. Han doesn't plan on telling anyone about it or ever for that matter but he deems you're trustworthy enough to keep this secret for him.

"I'm a virgin," he meekly confesses.

The handle of the ladle slips off your fingers and it clatters to the bottom of the jar, "Pardon?"

"I have never had sex with anyone," the hesitation makes his voice quiver at the end of his sentence.

You bring your glass close to your mouth but not drink it, "When I said you're inexperienced, I didn't think that it included the dating area."

Now it feels like he's just told you his defect and his nerves are being replaced by a wave of regret. His eyes wander off, his voice turns small.

"Was that a turn-off?"

You take a cherry from your drink and shove it into your mouth, as you chew on it a sly smirk rises on your face. You lick your lips and then lean forward, "If I say that I'll pop your cherry..."

Your hand reaches for his face and the pressure of your fingertips on his chin makes him face you again, leading him to believe you want eye contact.

"What would you do?"

-

The tension is climbing fast when you both enter your bedroom, he can't even see his surroundings as both of your lips are locked in a rapturous kiss and you lead him in one direction, the bed.

The moment you have him lying on the bed and you pin him under, his skin gets hot and sensitive, his pulse drumming with eagerness. His cock digs in his slacks, reminding him that it's real and it's not some fantasies he's making up in his head. He is sure he's been turned on before but he can't remember when, even if he did, he's sure it wasn't this much.

From there, it's raining kisses on his lips, and in between the aching presses of your lips, your tongue caresses him, making his skin tingle. When he tries to capture your tongue to take into himself, you evade him. You tease him more by brushing at his lips and dip your tongue inside for a mere second, then quickly withdraw, making him almost groan in frustration.

Okay, he gets it, you're a good kisser so stop playing, he complains in his head.

The way you smile against his lips only means that you know what you're doing and enjoying it. Impulsively, Han decides to seal your mouth with his and touches your tongue with his, an explosion of taste in his mouth, sweet, tangy, tart, so. fucking. addictive.

As he's drunk in your kisses, you run your hand down his body and eventually discover his member poking through the front of his slacks.

"Wow!" You lowly gasp yet continue rubbing his clothed bulge, "You're already this hard?"

Since it's his first time, he doesn't know how to properly react or respond, but he's familiar with this feeling tugging inside him, insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he meekly apologizes.

You gently cup his jaw and stare into his dark, round eyes, "What to be sorry for?"

To assure him, you place a long, lingering kiss on his lips and then sit straddling him on the bed. You untuck the hem of your blouse out of your skirt and bring your fingers to the top button.

"My junior pops a boner on me..." you maintain eye contact with him as you continue undoing all the buttons on your blouse, "Then I can't just look and do nothing."

It's a mystery how he doesn't get blind from seeing your bare upper half body but he knows his eyes are almost out of their sockets the second you take your blouse off, revealing your soft mounds hanging beautifully on your chest.

You're already gorgeous with your clothes on but like this, it's too much for him. He swallows hard as you glide your hand down your sternum and he sees how your fingers lightly graze your nipple as you cup the underside.

You take both of his hands and put them on your breasts, then, you let them go just to see what he's going to do with them.

Nothing. He does nothing but look at his hands holding your breasts and you almost grin at how he looks at them with eyes filled with childlike wonder.

You tilt your head to the side, "So what do you think?"

"They're so soft," he innocently answers.

You hold his hands and move them together, fondling your breasts together with him, you gesture his thumb to play with your hardening bud. Soon, he's doing it himself, kneading on your breasts and once in a while, rubbing his fingers over your nipples.

After a while of letting him touch them, you deem he's ready for more, "Want to kiss them?"

His eyes glance up from your chest to your eyes and then stifle a nod. You scoot a little to the back as he rises from the bed, and this new position brings his mouth close to your breasts.

Sensing his hesitation, you say, "Go ahead. Put your mouth on them."

As he stares at them in silence, Han swallows air, sending his Adam's apple bobbing inside his throat before softly landing his small, pouty lips on the valley of your breasts, a long peck that leaves a searing feeling on your skin and then buries his head in between.

A ragged breath escaped your mouth as you encircled your arms around him, drawing him closer. You tangle your hand in his hair, dark, loose curls, caught between your fingers.

Seconds stretched into minutes and Han hasn't done anything but rests one side of his head on your sternum.

"You're not falling asleep, are you?" You jokingly ask.

"No," his voice is small and low, almost like a whisper.

You reckon he needs some pointers on ways to play with them, you glide your hand to the back of his head and tilt his head slightly upward, just enough to make him look at you.

"How about we put them in your mouth?" You ask with your hand softly scratching the tendrils of hair on the nape of his neck.

You lead him by placing your hand on his jaw and with your thumb, you trace his lower lip, then slowly, you part his mouth open with it. You let him do the rest and he catches up fast, he opens his mouth a little wider and takes your ample flesh, then closes his mouth around it.

Han is following his instincts, he tightens his grip around you and pulls you closer so he can feast on you. He has your breasts in his face, his mouth, rolling on his tongue. He can play with them all day.

As you gaze down at your chest, you see his lips wrapped around your nipple and his hand kneading on the other, both stimulations sending you twist and arch your back, your ass making friction on his crotch.

"You like them, huh?"

Without detaching his mouth from your nipple, he answers, "I like this."

He moves his mouth to the other nipple and sucks on it, "and this."

It's such an erotic sight that you feel a tingle down there. You bring your hands to the side of your breasts and push them to the middle so he can suck them all at once.

Han doesn't need more pointers, he knows what he wants and going for it. More importantly, he knows this is no fantasy playing in his head. This moment, you, and his undeniable attraction to you are all real.

He's slowly yet surely claiming your body in any way he can, he drags his lips up your throat, along your jaw, back toward your mouth, kissing you like it's his lifeline and he's hanging on a thin thread.

A murmuring sound hums in your throat as you kiss him back while your hands go down his back, taking the tail of his shirt out of his slacks. You draw your hands back to the front, unbuttoning his shirt and your patience wears thin as you get to the last one, you end up ripping it open.

A sigh escapes your mouth as you place your hand on his bare chest, but it's the swell of his chest muscles that distracts you from your exploration. You never touch hard rounded flesh like this before and his skin is searing hot under your fingertips. Gosh! You want to touch him all over.

As you sink your mouth into his again, you run your greedy hands over his arms, his chest, and his abs. You also admire his exceptional shoulders-to-waist ratio.

On the other hand, Han isn't prepared when you stroke over the fly of his pants, a jolt of pleasure coursed through him and his cock twitches in excitement, and a hoarse groan falls out of his mouth. His mind goes haywire as you unbutton and unzip his slacks, then you withdraw the hard length of his cock. He's almost losing it when your eyes go dark with so much want.

"Oh, so hot," you breathlessly gasp as you wrap your fingers around his swelling member, "mmh... so hard for me."

It's obvious that you have the experience, you seem to know where to touch, what would please him the most, the rhythm he prefers, and know when to pick up the pumping of your hand around his length.

"Am I doing good?" You casually ask, acting like you don't see the effect of your stimulations on him.

"Good," his voice is trembling with so much intensity.

As much as he likes it, he doesn't want to risk coming all over your palm, he wants to explore more of you and more ways to do that to you.

"Want... to... touch you," That's all he can mutter after forcing his brain to form a coherent sentence.

"Want to touch me?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"There," he lowly whispers that he doubts you can hear it.

You give him a haste kiss before answering his request by sitting on your knees, you swiftly undo the hook fastening at the side of your skirt and then ease the zipper over the sweet curve of your hip. Instead of sitting back down, you get off his lap and slowly lay yourself down on the bed. You raise your hips to lower the skirt down and then out of your legs.

"Now, come here," You're patting the space next to you.

It puts him in a trance seeing you lying naked on the bed with only your white underwear on, the fabric is so flimsy it leaves nothing to the imagination.

After a struggling minute, his brain finally manages to process your command, he lays next to you. You waste no time but gently hold his chin, then bring his head close for a kiss.

Maybe it's because you're too good at this that makes Han feels he needs to rise to the level. He does more than a kiss, he licks, he nibbles at your lips, and his tongue daringly invades your mouth to get as much of that sweet taste of you.

A hand finds him and you're taking it with you, placing it on you, guiding him to where you like to be touched. Your neck, across your chest, the underside of your breasts, around the navel and you keep leading him south, not stopping until his hand meets your clothed sex.

"It's wet," he blurts out as he feels the dampness of your underwear against his palm.

"It's even wetter underneath," you mutter against his lips.

Curiosity gets the best of him, he checks right away to see if what you said is true. He slips his hand under the fabric and immediately gets the answer. You're drenched and it gets all over his fingers the more he touches you.

"Oh, my God..." you arch your back against his hand, offering more of you to touch.

He feels encouraged to please you more, he pulls your underwear to the side and slips one finger into you. Low murmurs tumble from your lips and it tells him that this is what you want. He works a second finger in, and the stretching sensation has your head falling back and your heels dug into the bed.

"Curl them," you instruct as you push into penetration.

Han doesn't obey your words right away, he allows his fingers to ease in and out, feeling you out and catching you off guard, he curls his fingers inside you, startling a breathless gasp from you.

With your eyes closed, you lick your lips and then ask, “Are you sure it's your first time?"

His insecurity kicks in again as you show sheer doubt in your question, “What do you mean by that?”

You open your eyes and slyly smile at him, “It means so far you’re very good at it.”

The moment he hears that his insecurity turns into confidence. He applies slow, measured movements and does what he thinks would please you, using your lewd noises as the guide. The motions seem to calm you even as they put you on edge.

Your hand hikes its way up to his arm then nestles in his tousled hair, "My, my! You really are a capable boy when you try," you praise with dazed eyes and a sly grin.

This should offend him but it does nothing but stroke his ego in the best way. Other than that, he just wants to please you more and more even though he has no idea how. The better question is: what to do next?

"Do you mind taking my underwear off for me?"

He doesn't answer but hurriedly gets himself to do it, fingers tugging at the waistband of your underwear, then slowly, pulling it down your legs. The scrape of his nails on your skin sends a shudder down your spine.

"There you go!" You delightfully exclaim once the underwear is off of you.

You get comfortable on the bed, propping an elbow on the mattress as you lie slightly to the side, "Now, take your clothes off."

He's just realized now that his shirt is still loosely draped around his shoulders and his slacks are bunched around his thighs with his hard-on hanging out of his boxer.

With naughty eyes, you watch as he removes the pieces of clothing until there's none left but miles of miles of honey skin. You run one hand down your front then part your legs open, you don't seem to be embarrassed touching yourself in front of him and he finds that very sexy.

Little does he know, what you're about to do next is far sexier.

You put your hands on the back of your knees and then slowly, you pull them apart, exposing your glistening wet core to him.

Han admits that he hasn't seen enough to know but he's sure he's looking at one of the prettiest pussy he's ever seen, glistening wet, pulsating with so much desire, and so damn inviting. Looking at it makes him swallow air, hard.

He wants to play it cool but he fails at it, he wants you so much, he becomes this one big ache of wanting.

As he's about to lower himself on you, you block him from coming closer with your hand on his chest, "Oh, we almost forgot the condom."

You twist your body to the side, hand reaching for the handle of your bedside drawer and pull it open. To cut time, he grabs it for you from a box full of condoms inside the drawer.

"Want me to put it on?" You offer.

"Yes," he shortly answers, not caring if he sounds so eager.

You tear through the foil wrapper and take out the rubber, you give his length a gentle stroke before rolling the rubber down, then you pinch the end to make room for his completion.

You lay back on the bed, head resting on the pillow and a smile lingering on your face, showing him that you're comfortable enough to continue.

"You know what to do next," you say as you rub your hand up and down his forearm.

As he hesitates, you wrap your hand around his cock and rub it between your folds, milking more essence to prepare you for penetration. You're getting impatient for him but you let him decide when to enter you.

After a while, Han finally aligns his cock to your entrance, and with a shallow breath, he pushes just enough until his tip disappeared inside you.

Oh, the face he makes as he enters you, it's priceless.

"I can take a little more," you assure him with fingers lightly scraping the skin of his arms.

"I just—" he bites back a groan and tugs his lower lips between his teeth, "Give me a moment. This is my first time."

As you lay underneath and hear that, you find him hot and cute at the same time, butterflies explode in your stomach and fly around in amok.

"Kiss me," you sweetly ask, bringing his head close with your hand holding his chin.

Han fulfills your wish, lowering his mouth on you again as you wrap your arms around him. As he calms down from the rising tension, you bring your hands down to his hips and nudge him to push more into you.

"Oh..." his groan is hoarse and raw, spilling into your open mouth.

"I want all of you inside me," you whine against his lips.

Conveniently, what you want aligns with what he wants, he pushes the rest of his length inside you until he's fully sheathed in your warm, velvety walls.

A shaky breath escapes his mouth and he buries his head in your neck, you can hear every shudder of his breath, getting heavier with each passing second.

The two of you savor the moment—not speaking, not moving, not doing anything, just being with someone. The room is so quiet you hear the cars driving by outside and the occasional sounds of the wind-chime from the living room.

With a passionate kiss on your lips, he begins moving, he withdraws then thrusts, and the pace turns quick all of a sudden. You understand that this is his first time but he can't fully enjoy it when he's going at a light speed in a second.

"Hey, slow down," You calmly say with a soft peck on his lips and jaw, "don't rush."

He abruptly stops moving for a second and lets out a low sigh, "Sorry, I can't help myself."

Why he has to be this cute in a heating moment like this? You can't help but smile and peck his small lips again. You keep your hand on his neck, feeling the blood rushing in his veins.

"This is our first time," you say, "I want it to be special."

"Okay," he says with repeated nods.

Our first time. That sounds like you're hinting that this will be the first of many. Han feels a flutter all over his body hearing that.

Our first time, he replays it in the back of his head for his own amusement.

Keeping your words in mind, he continues where he left off, thrusting into you again at a moderate speed until he finds his pace. You give him the closeness he seeks by spreading your legs wider and wrapping them around his dainty waist.

In between kisses and moans, you tenderly gaze into his eyes and ask, "So, how do I feel?"

He forces his brain to try and compute words, "You feel hot... slippery and tight."

He pauses to clear his throat and adds, "You feel so good."

"I know," You softly smile and land a peck on his lips, "You feel so good inside me too."

Gosh! If he knew that sex felt this good, he would have done it sooner. He believes that it's all because of you. There's no guarantee that it would feel this good with someone else.

The way you keep clenching tighter around him means that he's doing well but on the other hand, it brings him closer to the edge. How long does sex usually last? He doesn't know but it seems like he can't hold himself back anymore.

"I'm sorry but I think I'm about to come," he says through his gritted teeth.

You hastily kiss his lips, "do you want to cum, mmh?"

Now that you asked him, he doesn't feel good about saying yes because you seem like you still want to continue. He changes his mind, convincing himself he can hold back a little longer.

"No, I can't— I shouldn't," he mutters while shaking his head.

"You hold back so much despite it being your first time," you say with a sly smile.

You put your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him, and swiftly, you roll him to the side, forcing him to lay back on the bed while you get on top of him.

"Alright then..." you sigh as you run both hands down his chest, "Try not to come as hard as you can."

Han should've taken your warning seriously. He gaps so loudly as you start rolling your hips against him, back and forth, then in circular motions, painstakingly slow. He's hopelessly grasping at the last shred of sanity left in him.

It's impossible to hold back anymore when you're fucking him good and he's watching you enjoying it with your breasts bouncing along to the slightest of movement, your nails clawing at his chest and the sexiest part of all is that blissful smile plastered on your face.

For a timeless moment, Han hovers on the brink, breathless, until the orgasm crashes over him and he grips at your thighs as you drive into him relentlessly. He hasn't finished with his orgasm yet he can feel your muscles fluttering around him and clamping him down.

With a hoarse groan, you surge into him one last time and come around him, then slowly, you lower your shaking body to the bed.

Without thinking, Han holds you close like you are his. He puts his arms around you and you burrow your head into the crook of his neck as you hold him back.

"Congratulations!" You whisper.

"Mmh?" He asks with dazed eyes.

"Your cherry has been popped!"

-

Han jolts awake the next morning, he's seeing you sleeping next to him, in your room and the sun is shining so brightly outside. The first thought that comes to his mind is he's late for work and panicked.

He rises from the bed and gasps, "Oh, God! Did I oversleep?!"

You put your hand on his chest and pull him to lay back on the bed, "It's Saturday," you sleepily croak.

"Oh? Right..." His panic turns into embarrassment and he blames his body clock for that.

You scoot close to his side and put your arm across his chest, fingertips lightly trailing his collarbone. It feels nice, and snug. Why would he try to leave this heavenly feeling of lazing on the bed with you?

But he's aware that he should also consider that you might want your personal space back and he doesn't want to overstay his visit.

"I uhm... I probably should go," he says yet not moving an inch.

He hears you draw a breath then drop your hand to cup his jaw, "Okay."

Again, Han remains still on the bed, lying so close next to you and in your warm embrace. You suddenly lift your head and roll to the side, overlapping his body with yours.

"Before you leave, want to shower with me first?"

This is unexpected but he's not complaining at all. He reminds himself to keep calm and try to come up with a playful response.

"So we can have sex again?"

You crack a laugh at that and rest your chin on his chest, you gently tap his cheek with your index finger, "Now that you're no longer a virgin, you think you're so hot, huh?"

It hasn't completely sunk into him that he had sex for the first time last night and the reminder makes his heart flutter.

He keeps his cool and nonchalantly shrugs, "Just a little."

-

As much as he tries his best to resist it, Han keeps following you with his eyes.

Yes, he's aware of how creepy it is and he wants to act normal, it makes it obvious that he feels something toward you.

Or rather, why are you able to act normal about this?

He admits that he likes that part about you, you are aware that this is a workplace and there shouldn't be personal business involved within.

However, Han can't help but wonder if he's the only one still thinking about that night.

Now that he thinks about it, you and him never really agreed on what to call this relationship, is it just casual or do you want to take it further, and is not talking about it an adult thing to do?

"Ugh, I don't know," he doesn't mean to let it out loud but thankfully, no one is there to hear it.

His eyes hovering over you again, he slightly swivels his office chair to the side and watches you checking files from one of your juniors. He finds it attractive that you have a crease between your eyebrows whenever you're focused on something and the way you flip the page then hold it between your fingers, oh, it does something to him.

"It looks good," you say as you put the files back, "You can proceed with this one."

Your junior takes the file back from you and holds it in front of her as she asks, "Will you come to our company dinner tomorrow night?"

You don't even consider it but answer right away, "Yes, sure, I'll be there."

Your junior responds with a warm smile, "That's great!"

After your junior leaves, you collect some files from your desk, get up, and bring them with you as you make your way toward his desk.

He doesn't know why but he shoots up from his chair as if he gets caught doing something. You stop by his desk and you have no idea how thankful he is, imagine if you walked past his desk, he would be so fucking embarrassed.

"Han, these are the documents for the next meeting," you say, showing him the files you're holding, "Can you organize them for me?"

"Absolutely!" He answers without a beat.

He thinks you have nothing else to do for him but you linger by his side and then slowly lean into his side while keeping the files open, covering half of your faces.

"Isn't the day after tomorrow is your birthday?" You ask.

His breath hitches either from the proximity or the fact that you know about this birthday, "Yes. How do you know?"

"Oh, well..." You slightly shrug instead of telling him the answer.

Taking him by surprise, you lean in closer and then place a soft kiss on his cheek. His breath catches in his throat and he feels a hiccup coming. He looks around to see if anyone saw that but the official remains lively as usual.

"What's that for?" He manages to ask while holding his cheek as if he is trying to hide the mark even though there is nothing but the searing feeling it leaves on his skin.

"An early birthday present," you simply answer with a smile then walk back to your desk.

Han used to dread company dinner because it requires him to drink and he's bad at drinking.

The first round is at a barbecue place, the drinking is moderate, and he can slow down the drinking by shoving food in between.

On the second round, they're going for a karaoke bar and that's when it gets tricky, someone will somehow notice if he hasn't drunk enough and force him to get on their level. If only they had any ideas that he'd be likely blacked out from drinking as much as them.

By the time the second round ends, Han finds himself stumbling on his way out of the karaoke bar. He's not drunk but he knows he's one drink away from it. Someone grabs his arm and without looking, he knows that it's you. No one likes to link their arms with him, except you.

"Hey, do you want to get out of here?" You keep your voice low to not let anyone else hear it.

"Yes," he answers without thinking and frankly, you can take him anywhere you want.

"Round three! Let's go!" The team manager shouts, half slurring his words and leading everyone to go.

"But–but how about...?" He stutters, pointing at their co-workers walking away and he's afraid that the two of you might get in trouble for ditching everyone else.

"Don't worry about it," you assure him, walking to the other way of where everyone else is going and at the end of the street, you hail a taxi.

It's obvious that he doesn't know where you're taking him until you tell the taxi driver to pull over and he steps out of the taxi, finding himself at the front of a hotel.

He follows you as you walk across the lobby, coming toward the reception to check in for a stay. The process only takes a few minutes and you get handed a keycard.

He can simply ask you why you're taking him here but it would be so naive of him, right? The most important thing is he likes where this is going.

Arrive at your floor, you lead the way to the room and even though he's still feeling a little lightheaded, his eyes can't seem to look away from watching your back figure as you walk in front of him with your hips swaying side to side and that pencil you always wear to work does nothing but accentuate the shape of your—

"I'm sorry, Han," you suddenly apologize as you walk up to a door and he guesses it must be the room you're assigned to.

"Yes?" He asks, confounded.

Instead of getting into the room first, you turn around on your feet and stand with your back facing the door while holding the keycard in your hands.

"You see I don't really know what you'd like for your birthday so..." your voice turns lower the more you speak but it's the soft gaze and the way you're looking at him through your lashes that suddenly makes it hard to breathe.

"I was thinking we could go shopping together but I can't help myself."

There's no physical contact whatsoever but he gets hot all over, he licks his lips as his eyes flick to your lips that tempted him to kiss.

"I've been thinking about being alone with you and all the things we could do together."

He is right to not ask the question but God, he likes the answer to it.

"So... will this do?" You ask, your eyes filled with wild, naughty glints.

Instead of answering, he takes the keycard from your hand and puts it close to the scanner on the handle of the door, it automatically clicks open.

Now, you know the answer. He couldn't ask for a better birthday present than what's going to happen in this hotel room.

-

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[pinkanonwrites]

"Oh! That's What That Does?!"

All art by @archie-sunshine

G1 Rumble/ Mechanic Reader - 2400+ Words NSFW, Valveplug, Plug 'N Play, Mild Sparkplay, Accidental Stimulation, Edging, Human Reader, GN Pronouns

Ahh, the inherent eroticism of repairing your machine.~ I've had this one cooking for a while, so I hope you all enjoy! I've also gotten pretty attached to this mechanic Reader, so they'll likely pop up again with other cassettes (and maybe even some other Decepticons!)

NSFW WRITING AND IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT!

“Ey… EY! Careful wit’ dat! It’s touchy!”

“Rumble,” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You're making this way more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I wouldn't be complainin’ if you'd stop touchin’ all up on bits that don't gotta be touched! Rootin’ around in there like I'm one’a your crappy organic machines!”

Removing your hands from Rumble’s open chest, you tossed them roughly into the air. “Y'know what? Fine. Do it yourself. Better yet, get Frenzy to pull the shrapnel out of your chest. That'll go great.”

You would have slid off of Rumble’s lap and stormed off, if not for his massive servos closing around your wrists with an unexpected delicacy. Your efforts to remove your hands only reinforced his grip, using just enough force to keep you from leaving without crushing your wrists entirely.

“H-Hey, no need ta be so hasty! Look, I’m just steamed cause'a the battle, dat’s all. Frenz’ can't do dis, it's gotta be someone more… dainty. Y’know. Little human hands and all dat.” The harsh glow of his visor had dulled slightly as his gaze cast down to your hands. You rolled your eyes, wrists finally slipping from his grip as you settled back in. 

Dangling wires and sparking shrapnel dotted his open chest cavity, illuminated by the light of his spark chamber. Rumble had staggered off-balance into your workshop whining about the prodding pieces of broken metal keeping him from transforming properly, yet you’d barely managed to get two wires back in place before he started squirming and whingeing and slinging verbal abuse at you.

 Not that you weren't used to it, any interactions with Rumble and Frenzy usually involved some level of bullying. Fortunately, the two cassettes are also incredibly predictable. As soon as you would threaten to take away or withhold what they're asking for, they’d start falling all over themselves with apologies and placations. After all, you may not have been the only mechanic in the area, but you were certainly their favorite.

“Are you going to actually let me work? Or are you going to start yelling at me again?”

“Yellin’? Who's yellin’? Yer the mechanic here, my spark is in your squishy little hands. Do your magic, doc.” He sat back again, servos clutching the edges of your workbench in a show of effort, a genuine attempt to keep them still (or however genuine any show of rule-following from Rumble could be.)

“That's what I thought. Now let me actually fix a few things before you start whining again.” Your gloved hands dipped back into his chest cavity, skirting the edges of his spark chamber to pick away at the bits of loose shrapnel stuck in some of the wires. His frame shuddered, a hiss of steam escaping through his dentae as your knuckles brushed the underside of the spark casing.

“C-Careful,” He said again, with significantly less bite to his tone.

“Does it hurt?”

“Somethin’ like dat.”

“I'll be careful, so let me know if it gets to be too much.” You smoothed a palm down the armor covering his stomach, flinching back when you heard another sharp hiss of steam.

“I’m fine! It's fine! Just… do ya gotta be all on top’a me like dis?”

“I can't reach properly if you're laying down. If you're standing you might keel over on me, and I really don't feel like being squished to death today.” He let out a low grumble as you jacked another cable back into its proper port. “I'll try to be quick, that way you won't have to worry about my ‘human germs’ and you can get outta here. Deal?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just-”

“Be careful. I know.”

And with that you went to work, separating and organizing cables, taping off leaky tubing and removing pieces of scrap metal as gently as you could. Every once in a while Rumble would jerk or twitch beneath your touch, letting out a muffled curse or huff but sparing you from his usual complaints. It was… uncharacteristically quiet, for sure. This was the most extensive repair you'd ever done on him, though, so maybe he was just having surgery jitters.

“Okay, I've gotten most of the shrapnel out. But there's a piece right behind your spark casing.”

“Well? Get it outta there!”

“I'm going to, but I need to get my whole hand in there. I'm warning you now because it's going to be bumping up against your spark casing a lot. I'm going to do my best but you have to tell me if it hurts too much.”

Rumble let out a long, pathetic groan. “Actually doc, maybe you can just leave dat one in there? F-For funsies?”

“Eh?! Rumble, I’m not gonna just ‘leave it in there’! It's gotta come out.”

“Something's gonna come out if you keep proddin’ around in there like dat…”

“What was that?”

“Gh! Nothin’! Don't worry ‘bout it!”

“...Okay. I’m gonna start now. Are you ready?” Rumble only responded with gritted dentae and a tense nod. Working your gloved hand under his spark chamber, you could feel the ambient energy making the hairs on your arm stand on end as you felt for the jagged edge of broken metal. Your glove blocked your view entirely, so you were left blindly groping your way up the metal surface, feeling for anything bent or out of place. When your fingers could no longer reach any further while still avoiding the casing, you slid forward and ducked slightly into Rumble’s open chest, the back of your hand pressing up against the underside of his spark chamber.

CLANG!

You jumped, and if it weren't for Rumble’s arm wrapping around you and almost crushing you into his open chest you may have jostled the sensitive chamber even further. You slid your hand back again, easing off of the reinforced glass, and his grip receded.

“What the hell was that? And what was that clang?”

“I said don't worry ‘bout it!” He hissed, voice glitchy with static. “Everythin’s totally normal, I dunno why you're getting all jumpy ‘bout- MMNGH?!” You moved your hand up again into the same position, and Rumble let out an embarrassingly high whimper. You glanced up at his face, a flush of pink behind the usual grey and beading with coolant… and something clicked.

“Oh my God are you getting off on this?”

“N-No!”

Behind you you heard a sharp snikt, and the sound of pressurizing hydraulics.

“...Maybe?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“H-Hey, don't go gettin’ a big head or nothin’! A bot’s spark chamber is sensitive! Don't go thinkin’ this is cause of your squishy frame or your soft little digits or nothin’!” He seemed to almost shrink in on himself, face plate practically glowing as his shoulders pulled up around his helm. You'd never say it to his face, but he looked surprisingly… small, at this moment. You heaved an exhausted sigh.

“Okay. Okay. I'm going to get this last piece out, alright? It's the last one. And whatever happens while I'm doing that..? It just happens. We won't bring it up again, no need to be embarrassed. Deal?”

“‘Deal?!?’” He squawked, positively scandalized. “How do I know yer not gonna gossip with Frenz’ the next time he's in for a tune-up?”

“Well Frenzy usually never lets me get a word in edgewise, first of all.” You huffed. This was way more than you'd signed up for. “I'm not going to make fun of you, Rumble. Let’s just get you patched up, then you can head home. Okay?”

His mouth was pulled into a tight, wobbly frown as he glanced down at you, choking out a single word. “...Promise?”

“I promise.”

“...Slag. alright, let's get dis over with.” He lolled his head back against the table with a clank, resigning himself to his fate. This time, when your knuckles brushed his spark casing, he couldn’t stifle his soft moan. Your fingers felt further and further up, until almost your entire hand was behind the glass bubble containing his pulsing spark. Finally, you could feel the jagged piece of metal. You wrapped your fingers around it and gave it an experimental tug. It stuck fast, and your hand bumping against Rumble's spark only pulled another surprised moan from him.

“W-Watch it!” He yelped, sounding too fucked-out to come across as actually threatening.

“It's really stuck in there. I'm going to start working it out, so let me know if you need me to stop.”

“Wh… workin’ it out? Whadda ya- ohhh…~” 

With your thumb and forefinger gripping the edge of the broken metal, you began to wiggle it gently back and forth to ease it from the plating and wires around it. Each time you moved the back of your hand rubbed up against the far side of his spark chamber, warmth radiating through your glove as Rumble started to vent more harshly.

“Slag… slag! Don't think it's ever been touched back there before. Feels… feels crazy.” He moaned. The metal of your work table shrieked and crumpled like cardboard under his iron grip, desperate to keep his servos off of himself or, Primus forbid, you. The piece stuck firm, and as you braced your other hand against the outside paneling of his chest to readjust your balance he let out a sharp, staticky yelp. “S-STOP!”

You froze immediately. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

A few shuddering vents were your only response for a moment, Rumble’s visor lights flickering frantically as he tried to steady himself. “Whooo… Almost blew my top for a second there.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Yer the one that told me to tell ya if I need ya to stop! I'll be slagged to the Pit before I let some ‘squishy’ run my charge like dat.”

“...Can I start again? I’m making some progress here.”

“...Y-Yeah. Yeah. Yer good.”

You let out another soft sigh, trying to focus on the rhythmic sktch sktch sktch of metal on metal rather than Rumble’s shivering whines. His vocalizer pitched and warbled with static, attempts to stifle his own words slowly giving way to a deluge of fucked-out babbles.

“Ah! Gh! Ohh, mmnh, stupid little hands feelin’ all- nnh!~ Jus’ get it outta there! Please?”

I’m working on it. You’re doing good, just hang in there.” Your placations only resulted in another desperate moan. After what couldn’t have been more than another thirty seconds or so, he blurted out again.

“Ah! Stop!”

You retracted your hand for a moment, letting Rumble gasp for breath above you in a futile attempt to cool his core. You rubbed at his chest paneling as he shivered beneath you hard enough that you thought bolts were going to start coming undone. Even the paneling you were seated upon was burning up, heat seeping through the fabric of your coveralls. His glowing face plate was slick with coolant. Without thinking, you reached up and swept away a bead of it with your thumb, making him jump.

“H-Hey, quit dat…” He groaned, all bite lost from his tone.

“Rumble… The more you keep stopping me the longer this is going to take.”

“You think I don’t know dat?!” One of his arms draped dramatically over his face. “I’m tryin’! But you just keep pokin’ around in there and it’s all touchy and it’s makin’ me feel like my spike’s gonna burst and I can’t take it anymore!” He sniffled. Could Cybertronians even sniffle? You weren’t sure, but he sounded close to tears.

“Rumble… Have you ever actually edged yourself before?”

“Whu- Whuh? How’s dat any of yer business?”

“I’m just thinking…” You ran a placating hand down his shivering plating. “If you haven’t it can be really overwhelming, and-”

“I can handle it! I-I can!”

“Let me finish. It can be really overwhelming, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself further. Just… take a deep breath for me, okay?” You took a slow, steadying breath, and after a second he mimicked it. “Good. Just think about letting go, okay? I’m not going to judge you. Just think about it.”

He let out a low, pitying grumble, peeking at you from behind his arm plating. “...You can start again.”

Once again, your hands dipped into his chest cavity. Only this time you slid both hands up behind his spark casing, gripping as much of the broken metal as you could reach. As you rocked it back and forth Rumble’s moans returned with a fervor, one servo finally flying to cup your lower back.

“Ah! Ah! Slag, oh slag please! Please don’t stop I’m so fraggin’ close.” He fisted the back of your uniform, crumpling the cheap fabric between his digits. “C’mon, c’mon c’mon c’mon I need it!”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby. Just let it happen.”

With a metallic shriek and a gush of brackish oil the shrapnel popped free, the force enough to send you sprawling if not for Rumble’s servo in the small of your back. Of course, said unexpected force also slammed the backs of both your hands right into the underside of his spark chamber, and Rumble’s voice box screeched into a wail of radio static. Something hot and sticky splattered up the back of your coveralls; said something you decidedly were not going to look at until later. His frame rattled and shivered beneath you, steam venting and joints glitching and spark pulsating a near-blinding glow.  Finally, after a burst of noise and sparks and twitching, he went slack beneath you, helm clanking against the workbench as his optics flickered.

As delicately as you could, you removed the oil-slick shrapnel and let it clatter onto the floor before shedding your gloves and dabbing at his face plate with the cuff of your sleeve. With the whir of an old monitor blipping back to life, his visor blinked back up to its standard brightness.

“Whuh… Wheh?” He garbled.

“How you feeling, hun?”

“Like I got struck by lightnin’... but in like a nasty way.”

You choked back a snort. “Well, I’ve got all the worst of it over with. Feel free to rest for a while if you need it. I’m gonna go change my jumpsuit.” 

He let you slide off his lap without a fight, not even commenting until you’d turned around to make your way over to your office. Only then did he let out a low, salacious whistle when he’d finally caught sight of the back of your uniform.

“Comm me next time yer free, doc. Then I can repay da favor.”

[orikiys]

🔖 、FOUND HOME

ᘛ 𓏧     ࣪    𖠵 희승 ☓ fem!reader. ꔪ ﹏ ᘒ fluff established relationship implied flirting warning kissing petnames not proofread & 744 words

“do you think we’d still be a couple in an alternate universe?” you groan at the question and cover your face with your arm.

“go to bed.”

“what if we already got married and had five kids?” he mutters with a tone as serious as ever. even though it’s dark you can just feel that he’s not sleepy at all.

“go to bed,” your eyes are still closed yet you can’t hide the sleepy smile stretching your lips out.

a soft laugh escapes your throat when he places an arm over your waist and pulls you closer. even though the bed was big enough, it’s the warmth the radiates off his body that helps you fall asleep every day.

opening your eyes, you look up at him. from the dark all you are able to make out is his messed up hair which is unevenly falling over his eyes and his lips that fortunately never stop smiling.

“can’t sleep?” you whisper, extending your arm towards him and brushing the hair off his forehead. instantly, he closes his eyes with relief spreading all over and manages to mumble out a “no”.

his arms pull you in even more if possible and he tucks your head in his chest holding you as if you were his teddy bear.

“hmm why are you so soft today?” you tease him and when he chuckles, it reverberates in the walls of the room and your chest fills up with fondness at the sound of it. it doesn’t even need to be seen how heeseung would look when he laughs. the corner of his eyes would form crescents like the moon does and there’s always a sparkling glint in his eye that reminds you of all the liveliness and love he is filled with.

“did you go back to sleep, princess?” he mutters and raises his hand to cradle your jaw. his fingers brush against your cheek tenderly and a moment later you feel his warm lips come in contact with your forehead. he places a gentle kiss but doesn’t pull away without making the sound of a loud smooch.

“i wonder where all this love is coming from. is it because i let you watch your football match over my series?” you whisper looking up at him intently. there’s an unspoken agreement that passes between the two of you as heeseung lowers himself just where his lips hover over yours.

without giving it another thought, he holds you by the back of your neck, smiling softly as his lips meet yours in a sweet kiss. when he leans away, his hands still stay glued and distracted from tracing the outlines of your cheek as if it was the easiest thing to do.

“you’re beautiful,” is all he says as he plants another kiss this time heading for your forehead. your eyes remain closed in peace as you relish these moments with him.

living with heeseung has never felt like a mistake. every extra minute you spend with him is a reminder of how many more memories the two of you make. even the corners of the room are a witness of the gas called love that always floats in the air, trapping and holding down the two of you together.

“let’s sleep?” you suggest when you notice how quiet the guy beside you has fallen. turning around so that your back faces him, you drape his arm over your waist and place your hand over it slowly. heeseung shuffles a bit before back hugging you tightly and rests his head in the crook of your neck.

he breathes softly and his face is already at ease considering how all of his muscles have relaxed.

it reminds you of the times when he used to play basketball, he always had the same expression towards the things he adored; you noticed. be it his favourite fruit or his birthday, his eyes can never lie especially when it comes to things called love. and you do consider yourself lucky because one of it is meant just for you.

“i love you,” is the last thing you hear before you hear soft breathing and that’s the time when the world announces that he’s asleep.

you grab his hand softly and raise it to your lips, muttering back the exact words he did before you find sleep pulling you over.

nothing matters at the end of the day except you being wrapped by his warmth.

[genshin-impact-updates]

Stalwart Strider

"He sees and hears everything, as if he had the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox, like some kind of mythical beast. Fighting tooth and nail, he drove away bandits and ruffians like devils with all the auspicious momentum of the suanni."

— A plaque of gratitude received by the Sword and Strongbox Secure Transport Agency from a merchant whose caravan was safely escorted by Gaming

◆ Name: Gaming

◆ Title: Leonine Vanguard

◆ "Sword and Strongbox" Transport Guard

◆ Vision: Pyro

◆ Constellation: Leo Expergiscens

If you happen to hear the sound of drums and gongs as you're walking through the streets of Liyue Harbor, let your ears lead the way. With a bit of luck, you might just be fortunate enough to witness a performance of Gaming's remarkable Wushou Dance.

When he puts on his mask, he shakes his head and blinks like a waking beast. The vast array of emotions he conjures up, the unpredictable twists and turns... Following his every move with rapture, the audience can't help but cheer and applaud.

"Thank you for your support, everyone! And remember, if someone you know's thinking of booking a Wushou Dance, don't forget to recommend the 'Mighty Mythical Beasts'!"

It's just a shame that, more often than not, he receives nothing but applause in return. But Gaming doesn't let this get to him — he laughs it off, saying that the audience's attention is all the recognition he needs.

Once the crowd has dispersed and his mask is off, Gaming swiftly returns to being a "guard" and thinking of work matters once more: How many cargo shipments still need delivering? Which clients does he need to escort? And so on...

Usually, when there's nothing urgent on, he heads to Xinyue Kiosk to while away the time with some dim sum — a pot of tea, a selection of bite-sized nibbles, and leisurely chatter in the company of good friends.

As a guard, the task of escorting goods from Yilong Wharf to Liyue Harbor couldn't be easier for Gaming. But as the head of the "Mighty Mythical Beasts," his dream of making the Wushou Dance a regular occurrence in Liyue Harbor still has a long, long road ahead of it...

So in the meantime, why not sit and enjoy another cup of tea?

[stylespresleyhearted]

THE MAJOR’S WIFE

warnings: mentions of miscarriage, adultery, nsfw, marital problems, oral (m! receiving), spanking, being turned on even when your brain isn’t in it, bucky in 1x04, bucky married pre-war, slight age gap bc reader can come off slightly immature (i think?) angst, historical inaccuracies, new mediocre writer be nice

summary: John Egan gets to know his wife again

word count: 9.7k

notes: i’m not sure where this came from i wrote it all today and got no part of my research paper done. there’s really no point to it and also irl john egan was actually really close to his mother so i emphasized that here. he wrote to her so much. no disrespect to any of the real people, this is based on the show/show timeline as well.

Lila gets the call on the 2nd of October and her dreams come true.

Not entirely, no. The real dream would be having him home safe and the tragic war being over but she knows how fortunate she is to have the next best thing happen. Her husband’s been granted a few days leave and Colonel Harding believed it would do Major Egan some good to have his sweet, young wife join him during those days overseas. For the good of John’s mental health the Colonel or the President - or whoever was in charge, Lila really had no idea - had agreed to pay for her ticket and their hotel. There was only one thing they asked for in return and although it wasn’t explicitly said, Lila caught their drift: sort your husband out.

Lila knows it would do her no good to sit and wonder how horribly John must be doing in order for them to declare an all expenses paid trip for his spouse. All she does is worry for him anyhow so she forces herself to focus on the one good thing of the entire ordeal - she’s going to see her man.

There’d been letters, although not as many as she liked and she tried not to let it show how it hurt as every other wife received more than one letter at a time. Her John wasn’t the sort, she knew that when she married him. He was the kind of person who needed endless skies and land to maintain his sense of stability. Having him cooped up would do him no good and she partly wondered how much of what he was struggling with was the trauma he witnessed in the air and how much of it was feeling caged on base. At least his plane, good ol’ Mugwump (he wrote about her quite often) offered him the opportunity to head anywhere he wanted.

The only person he wrote consistently and readily to was his mother. It was rare if a week went by and she received no letter. During these instances it was more times than not an issue with the postal service.

Be that as it may, Lila knew who she married and it made her love him no less so she tried not to let it get to her. His mother was a saint. Firm and strong and loving all the same. Lila would have never survived sending John off if his mother wasn’t who and how she was. She held Lila at night when her cries woke her and she let Lila sleep in his old childhood bed. She kept food on their table and ensured everyone got their work done through the worry.

When John first left and Lila was sick to her stomach and vomiting multiple times of the day it was his mother who consoled her through the night when her sheets turned a crimson red and any ideals of having their baby through the war was lost.

Frances Egan was the glue holding them together. All of them, even her son who was an entire ocean way - so no. Lila would not be angry that she was John’s preferred pen-pal.

“You fix him right up,” Mama Egan had said in lieu of goodbye when leaving her at the airport, “you give him the loving he needs as his wife and the smacks he needs from me to get on the straight and narrow before sending him off to continue saving the world. You do it for him, not for any of them war bastards. You hear me?”

All Lila could do was nod. Dropping her bags on the floor and clutching her pseudo mother tightly. She was excited as she was frightened.

They had only gotten two months together before he had been pulled away. She didn’t want to complain, loads of women had gotten less time at all while others had only ever been left with the promise.

But her two months as Mrs. Egan? They’d been a dream. Her man was a romancer. He hadn’t hesitated in introducing her as the newly (and younger) Mrs. Egan, always resulting in an arm slap from his mother, he held open doors and he never stopped courting her; however she thinks the best times were when he was teaching her how to act married.

In their bed, at a home he had spent a year building for them. Using any extra pennies he had to pay off younger boys to help him hurry it along. Giving her the wrap-around porch she had always envisioned.

He showed her how to kiss. How to undress him. He had laid her underneath him, using his large frame to cover her completely, protecting her from the cold as he threw the sheets off them and making her feel tiny compared to him. She had never felt safer.

It had hurt the first time but he had held her through it. Never allowing any inches of space between their bodies; as if telling her they were in it together. She’d always known he was large, everything about him was large in general, but she never thought how much it would hurt to have all of him fit inside her. Lila hadn't wanted to disappoint him so she tried to muffle her tears and whimpers but he had swallowed her cries and gone slow, soft.

“If this is it, it’ll be enough,” he had promised, only about half way inside her and wiping away her tears with his thumbs. As a thank you she had taken that calloused thumb into her mouth and sucked. He allowed her; hiding his face in her neck and pressing wet kisses along there.

And for the first few times that had been it. She couldn’t take all of him and his thrusts couldn’t get too deep so he would only slip inside until her tight hole resisted and pulsed and he’d hump against that spot until reaching his pleasure.

“Do other girls take all of it?” She had asked a couple days later, trying to wrap her head around it.

She was no idiot. John Egan was no virgin.

“Yes.” Lila could always count on him to be honest. At least there was that. Meanwhile she couldn’t even fully pleasure him. She was failing as a wife. “Hey,” he lay facing her and she lay on her back. He tapped her cheek until she turned her face. “You’re my wife. That’s what makes this feel better.”

And she had beamed at his reassurance even though she didn’t feel much better. She knew John would never push her, and he couldn’t stand to see her cry, so if she ever wanted to learn to be a good wife she would have to take it upon herself.

So that’s what she did.

He was always on top and she was always on her back. That’s the first thing she had to change. From her understanding of it, from her talks with friends that always ended in giggles and blushing cheeks and from what she learned from John, it could be done in many different ways.

“I prefer to be in charge,” her school friend, Linda, had admitted to her. “Not like that -” she clarified, cheeks pink, “Just - if I’m gonna take it, I’d rather do it at my pace. Be on top. Some husbands are good like that. They’ll allow it.”

And knowing her husband wasn’t just good, he was great, she knew he would hold no qualms about it. The next time they lay in bed kissing it was easy to turn him over and straddle him. Move her wetness against his belly to let him know there was still more she just needed him to accept it.

Except he thought she was asking him to do it so he flipped her on her back again. And without breaking their kiss, she turned him over again.

It was more like they were wrestling.

Lila pulls away from his mouth, reluctantly, noticing his lips were wet and red and swollen and wondering if hers were much the same. They had been kissing for so long her mouth felt raw.

She loved it.

Straddling him, she reached behind her, feeling him standing straight and hard against her backside in between her cheeks. Sticky.

He gasped, bucking into her fist with a loud, guttural groan. It was so manly she rocked against his stomach again in need.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, “what’re you doing?”

“I want to try it like this,” she breathed, leaning over to whisper in his mouth, her tiny hand still wrapped around him and lining her up to her hole. “I want it all.” Lila clarified.

And John allowed it, like she knew he would. Let her take control and go at her pace. Let her swivel her hips on the way down to help with the tightness of being stretched so wide and thick.

Nothing but curses and promises of love leaving his lips. Gasping mine, mine, mine and my perfect fucking wife and I’m gonna fuck you forever.

He felt large inside of her, like if she was being split in two but it felt so good as the tip of him repeatedly hit a spongy part inside that had her coming with no contact to her clit for the first time.

She was beautiful, red splotches appearing on her body from the heat of their love-making, her hair tangled in his fists, her mouth falling open as she threw her head back - all of it was too much. He was flipping her over and pounding into her trying to chase his peak and a second one from her, their headboard banging against the wall in rhythm with his thrusts.

Things changed from then on. Sexually, that is. Becoming aware of how badly she needed to feel like she was pleasing him, John was not above using it against her. Like letting him lick at her.

“Good wives allow their husbands everything,” he would say, lips wide in a smile and eyes bright at the prospect of getting his way but Lila always knew the choice was really hers. He would respect what she wanted.

He was just too damn addicting. She couldn’t stand to tell him no.

His favorite times were when she allowed him to sit her over his face and let him feast. It drowned the outside world for him and he kept at it even after she had reached multiple orgasms and was pulling on his hair and the only thing keeping her up was his forearms locking around her thighs.

Her favorite was when he allowed her to taste him at the same time he was licking her. It was a tie between those times and when he held her down until all of him was in her mouth and she was spluttering, choking, gagging. Knowing she made a filthy vision and he adored it did something to her.

Now she was in London, closer to him than she had been in years, and all their intimacies were within reach. She could almost taste him, feel him petting back her hair and settling a hand at the low of her back. She still remembers the smell of his after shave and sweat, how he’d come into the kitchen asking for some of her homemade lemonade to help with the heat.

Jack Kidd was tasked with picking up Mrs. Egan from the airport and having her arrive at base with him. She remembers meeting him a couple of times before John shipped out early. Originally she was meant to wait for John at their hotel but there had been an issue when planning her flight and she arrived sooner than intended.

“Ma’am,” he greeted, placing a friendly kiss on her cheeks and taking her bags from her. “Bucky’s gonna be happy as hell to see your face.”

The tone in his voice - relief? alleviation? - had some of her happy wife's facade crumbling. How badly was her Johnny hurting that everyone was looking at her at his only chance to remain sane or alive?

Stop it. Maybe everyone’s just aware Johnny misses you. You’re his wife.

“Not as happy as me, I wager,” she returned with a smile. “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay, Jack. Glad to see you still kicking.”

His shrug didn’t soothe her worry but she saw him try to mask it with a smile.

“All we boys can do is pray.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, gathering his attention. “You boys have got the prayers of our entire country protecting you.”

Jack simply nodded in response.

For the most part the ride to base was quiet. Her bags would be kept in the trunk until her and John were ready to drive out to London in a couple of hours and until then, she’d be his surprise at the officer’s club. Silver Wings, Jack called it. Where all the boys gathered and had drinks and celebrated accomplishments. And where some chose to mourn, too.

Her stomach was turning as she neared the hut, following Jack’s footsteps. There was so much that could go wrong and although this was meant to be a surprise, the U.S Army showing their gratitude towards a brave Major, she suddenly wished she would have called John and told him. She wished he knew so that she wouldn’t have to walk in feeling alone and unwanted.

Not that Lila thought John would turn her away, she simply wanted to have him hold her hand as she walked through the threshold.

“Stick close by,” Jack murmured, being respectful of where he touched her before deciding to lead her by her shoulder. “It gets crowded but I’ll take ya to him.”

As she walked through different groups, she felt the offending eyes of men and women alike. Wondering who she was. With a pang in her heart she realized she had met John’s squadrons before but all these crews were new. The boys she met, most of them at least from what she could tell, hadn’t made it. John never wrote about who passed away (except to inform her of Curt) ; most of their letters were him expressing his love and how he missed her so and asking what she got up to.

Having walked around the roundabout bar in the center of the room, her stomach in knots and fingers tangled in front of her - she caught sight of her husband smack middle in the dance floor. Pressed against a beautiful brunette.

Lila caught sight of him before even Jack did. That’s how connected she was to her husband. Jack whistled from beside her to gain Gale’s attention who was resting against the bar holding his signature ginger ale, also watching John Egan chat up the woman he was swaying with with something like disapproval in his eyes.

His large hands were occupying most of the space of her waist, keeping her body tethered to his as she laughed.

“Lila,” he gasped, eyes wide. He was smart enough to not turn and look at his buddy. To act as if nothing was amiss and she expected nothing less from Gale Cleven, “damn it all to hell. You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mrs. Egan.”

Because he was close to John, he didn’t hesitate in wrapping her up in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to her tinted cheeks. He knew John wouldn’t mind.

When he pulled back she patted his chubby cheek in return, “You still shame the rest of us with your good looks, Gale,” she laughed. “I’ll let Marge know when I see her next.”

Lila also knew she would share with Marge that while Gale was being loyal, standing off to the side her husband was exchanging oxygen with a woman on the dance floor.

His cheeks tinted at the mention of his girl. Buck and Bucky were both aware Lila and Marge wrote to one another and visited each other whenever time made it possible.

“Colonel Harding said Major Egan was in need of something from home,” she said, studying his reaction to see what she could read but Gale had always been aloof, cold. He wasn’t close to her like he was with Marge and John.

Gale thought back to a few moments earlier when John had disrespected their Colonel and all his actions before that too - disrespecting superiors, drinking more consistently, becoming angry - hopelessness in his eyes.

“He’s in need of you Lila,” Gale clarified and it wasn’t lost on either one of them that he they were referring to was currently on the floor wooing another woman.

“Holy shit! It’s Mrs. Egan!” Hambone animatedly announced and suddenly it felt like the eyes of everyone in there were on her. Her cheeks tinted pink, never having been one for the spotlight like her husband.

She was greeted with welcoming cheers and hugs.

John, for his part, disentangled from the woman he was holding at the mention of his missus. He was sober enough to appear sheepish and guilty, but in the next second it was gone as he stalked towards her. Determined. Quick. His smile growing the more he neared like he was becoming more aware she was really there and it wasn’t a fucked up scenario in his head.

“God, Lila,” she managed to hear him say before she was elevated in the air, his arms tight around her waist and lifting her high so they were at face level and he could kiss her. Channeling his love and exuberance and aggression into kissing his wife. “It’s you, it’s you, it’s really you,” he was saying in between smooches, “I missed you. So fucking much, doll.”

Basking in his love she didn’t feel the need to mention the woman that was so kindly keeping him preoccupied before she entered.

She couldn’t help the first tear from falling or the rest from following. It was like the tightness in her chest unlocked as she finally got to hold him and feel his heat surround her. He still smelled of after shave and the same hair gel that was kept in their bathroom at home but he tasted strongly of whiskey and cigarettes and strawberry lipstick.

John tucked his face into her neck, setting her down and bending to her level. Sniffling in there as he continued to hold her.

“None of that,” she did her best to stop her voice from wobbling or breaking, “we’re together. That’s all that matters.” She drew his face out from where he had hidden to pepper him with a few more kisses.

None of it was enough.

The rest of the guys were kind enough to return to the dance floor and act like they couldn’t see them.

“Who? What - why? How?” He was obviously having trouble forming coherent thoughts in between the kisses he continued stealing from her.

She was crying and laughing and trying to return all his touches. It was a terribly difficult ordeal but she had never been happier.

“Colonel Harding called and said you had a weekend leave. He said he talked to some of the higher ups but they couldn’t allow you a leave home so this was the next best thing,” she explained, cupping his cheek as she rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. He had minor scars that weren’t there before.

She wanted to kiss every single one of them.

He was still bent towards her height, taking her in as she was taking him in.

She forgot how blue his eyes were.

He was whole. Complete. Hers.

“You’re here for the entire weekend?” He asked to confirm and she nodded, laughing when he lifted her again with a loud whoop to celebrate. That got a few of the guys to join in although they had no idea what their Major was celebrating.

“I need you,” his voice suddenly dropped, setting her down as he turned to the door. “Let’s go.” He was buckling up her coat to make sure she was protected from the freezing London air. She was lucky he was too far gone to scold her for arriving with it unbuckled in the first place - she could get sick.

“John, John - relax, my sweet man,” she laughed, cupping his cheek to get his attention. “We can stay for a while. We don’t have to go yet.”

It’s why she was at the officer’s club in the first place. She had arrived early.

John turned stiff in her hold, straightening to his full height as he suddenly loomed over her. “I’ve got you in my arms for the first time and you want to stay here?” His voice was tight. His face stern.

“Yes - no, I -” she was unsure of where she went wrong or how to fix it. She clasped his hands in hers but he didn’t allow her to thread their fingers together so it was just her holding on. “I just meant we’ve got time, John.”

The way he was looking at her made her want to cry. She felt her lower lip quivering.

She felt ashamed, whispering, trying to get him to keep his cool.

“Time? Time?” He laughed loudly. She was mildly aware of Gale breaking away from a group of guys to near them, worried but she was mostly focused on John. The tense lines on his face even as he laughed and the quirked eyebrow even though she found no amusement in their situation. “You think I’ve got time? You have no idea what it’s like up there.”

She shook her head but didn’t try to verbally explain herself. She wasn’t sure she could manage a few words before breaking into tears.

“Come on, Bucky,” that was Gale stepping in to save the day. Perhaps the only person who could get John to listen. “When have you ever left before dancing with your girl? You gotta show these rookies how it’s properly done right?”

With Gale slapping a hand to John’s shoulders, he seemed to snap out of it. Releasing a deep breath and seemingly all the tightness in body with it.

He leaned down again, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clasping a hand around her neck so she wouldn’t pull her head back. As their eyes locked she felt a tear fall again and this one wasn’t happy. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. It’s this place. It’s fucking with my head.”

And she chose to believe him, nodding her head in understanding and trying not to think about how she wasn’t his preferred person to write letters to or the one who could clear his head.

Maybe the Colonel should have allowed a weekend pass for Gale and John.

Lila swallowed the thought, allowing John to pull her to the dance floor as he lost all anger and aggression and became charming and loving all over again.

“Everyone, this is my wife!” He bellowed and everyone cheered in response. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and -” he hiccuped and she realized he was drunker than she thought, “and I bet we can out dance any couples here tonight!”

So for the next hour she found herself being twirled around the dance floor by her husband. She almost forgot their prior negative interaction; his love and energy was so infectious. For the slow songs he would hold her close and she would rest her head against his chest, letting it lull her to a relaxing state. He was alive and she was with him. That had to be enough. For the more upbeat songs, he was challenging any couple beside them. Asking those sitting who were better dancers? Who could perform certain dance moves better?

And all throughout, he was like he used to be back home. Loud and happy and the center of attention, keeping everyone entertained. He kept announcing to his boys that his beautiful wife was there and then he’d place a wet kiss on her mouth that had their cheeks (and hers) turning red but all he would do is smile and continue on.

She was finally able to disentangle herself from him when Crosby pulled him in for a conversation. Lila wonders if her state of disheveled hair and panting breaths made him want to aid her in allowing her to sit and grab a refresher.

Once she accepts Crosby’s hug and cheek kiss, she excuses herself to go grab a drink. John only pulls her back once to steal a kiss before she gets too far.

Her lips might be bruised by the time they leave if he kept it up.

She orders a cup of ice water from the man tending the bar, looking back out at her husband as she waits. He’d always been tall and strong, but she notices the change in his posture. The bulges in his arms as he twirled her around and lifted her in the air. His eyes were only bright when he forced it. They had lost their shine and she wishes she brought the picture from back home. Where he looks young and full of life and joyful. Even when he smiles he seems hollow; hopeless.

She’s there but he doesn’t really care because in his head he’s already thinking of when she leaves again.

She wasn’t used to that. Her John only lived in the moment.

“He keepin’ you busy?”

Gale settles up behind her and pushes the glass water towards her. She didn’t even notice when it was put down.

“Dizzy, more like,” she jokes and gets him to crack a smile. She thinks to when she walked in and seen Gale, how he’d been watching the scene unfold but with a disapproving look in his eyes. How he didn’t try to hide the scene from her or excuse it. He let it be. And she knows John has never shied away from attention. He’s always been handsome and charming and girls always swarmed but Lila wasn’t aware she had to be around to keep him loyal. She thought he just was. And she knows it’s not too long before they leave now so she decides to be direct with him. “So, does that happen often?”

She sees Gale’s expression split for a second, like he debates playing dumb before deciding against it and she respects him even more for it.

“I think you should talk to John about it.” He decides on.

“Is it something that needs to be mentioned?” She doesn’t like playing this game with him but she knows at the first words of cheating and adultery Gale is going to excuse himself and her chance will be lost.

She can’t be simple and ask: Does my husband cheat on me?

“Another ginger ale, Marty,” Gale raises two fingers to grab the man’s attention and mutters a thanks as his drink is immediately refilled. He turns his attention back to Lila. “He still loves you, Lila. It’s just - hard. Being out here.”

“You seem to be coping fine.”

She feels bitter. Crazy. There’s a sob she has to choke back.

Lila’s too embarrassed to meet Gale’s gaze. Ashamed that everyone knows what’s been going on and she was the ditzy woman being twirled on the dance floor.

“I think I was used to loneliness. He isn’t.”

And he says nothing else as he leaves her behind heading back to his boys. It’s just Lila and her shattering heart and her husband calling to beckon her back to the dance floor.

Luckily they didn’t stay much longer. She walked over to Bucky but he wasn’t able to pull her back out for a dance - it’s my song, Lila! - because Jack Kidd was approaching, letting them know it was time to leave them at the train station.

Lila waited in the car while Bucky ran into his quarters to pack his bag. He didn’t have many things to take, he would be stuck wearing his uniform anyway. Gale walks him back out to the car and despite the earlier conversation Lila exits the safety of the interior to say her goodbyes.

“Take care of yourself, Major,” she squeezes him, “I need you to stick around after this weekend to look after my man.”

“It’s a hard job but I try,” he replies, both of them ignoring Bucky’s protests.

Besides that, Bucky’s quiet on the ride to the train station. He carries her bag on board but he’s quiet for the duration of the train ride. Lila doesn’t disturb him; he might be tired or hungover or both.

And if she’s honest she’s scared of him snapping at her like the night before.

Instead she takes the time to take him in. He’s handsome in his suit. Tall and big and strong, his sharp jaw and powerful mouth, his eyes blue like a sunny day and his curls coming undone from the gel after all the dancing he did.

Lila doesn’t allow her mind to wander down this path too often but suddenly she can’t help it. Would their baby have looked like him or like her? She wishes more than anything they would have had his ears. She wishes they would have had his heart and his strength - but her loyalty. Her faith in them.

It’s crazy when she stops to think she was nineteen when she married him and now she’s twenty-one. She’s loved him for more than she’s been allowed to have him. She has changed without him like he has without her and it’s frightening to think neither of them could be accepting of those changes. Whatever they may be.

Lila shuts those thoughts out, closing the distance between them to sit on his lap. Passerby’s and his horrible mood and what scares her could be damned to hell - all she wants is her man.

John doesn’t deny her; she admits she was a little scared he would.

“I love you,” she tells him, catching his eyes.

“I know.”

He doesn’t return the words as they continue staring at one another but she refuses to let it get her down. This is her husband. She has the rest of her life to get to know him; new or old habits, she doesn’t care.

So instead, Lila plasters a smile onto her face. “What’re you gonna show me first in London, Major?”

“Well I really wanna show you our hotel room,” he plays along, allowing her to trace the edges of his mustache. She lets out a knowing chortle. “And I really want to show you -” he cuts himself off to look around, making sure no one was near them as he leans in to whisper, “- my cock, Mrs. Egan.”

She turns a bright red, trying to sputter out a proper response for that but all she can do is indignantly scold him. “John Clarence! If your mom were here -” and they both break out in loud laughter at the many possibilities of what his mother would exactly do to him if she heard his wicked mouth.

“Wanna grab some grub first?” He asks instead, knowing she hadn’t eaten at the officers club and before then she had been stuck on a plane. “I know a few places.”

Lila nods happily, pressing a kiss to his mouth. His lips are warm and as plump as she remembers them. His mustache tickles her.

“Let me feed you first, woman!” He groans, trying to be a gentleman. “When’s the last time you ate?”

She puckers her lips to think about it and that’s the only answer he needs: food is definitely first.

When they arrive at the hotel John enters to check them in but he slips a few bills into the bell boy’s hand with strict instructions to leave the bags in their room before pulling her back out to the London streets.

Lila felt underdressed surrounded by women in diamonds and fancy hats, and it didn’t help that John was beside her in his uniform looking dapper and catching the eye of many. They were stopped multiple times on the way to the diner; men wanting to shake his hand and show their gratitude while the women introduced themselves, uncaring of Lila under his right arm.

As long as he wasn’t ignoring or dismissing her she realized she didn’t really care. It wasn’t much different back home; everyone knew and loved John Egan.

The diner he chose was small and cozy and his legs were too long to fit under their table so his boot and his knee kept bumping into her own and she adored it. She wanted to feel close to him and since sitting on his lap currently wasn’t an option she figured this would have to do.

He tells her many stories but none of them are sad or tragic. He only shares the happy ones. He talks about how he convinced the Colonel to allow Buck, Curt, and himself a London weekend pass one time and they had shoved Gale into a haberdashery where he tried on a multitude of top hats worth more money any of them would ever see combined. But because they were soldiers and majors at that, the owner allowed it. There’s a museum nearby he talks about wanting to take her too, it showcases art from as early as the 1400s and he says he’s gotten lost in there plenty of times and it was lovely.

All the while, she listens without hearing him. Choosing to take him in and letting her mind wander to how it would be if things were different. It pains her to think how much older he looks since she last saw him. Looking more like it was ten years instead of the measly two. John’s always been one to smile freely but the wrinkles by his mouth, eyes, and forehead aren’t from smiling or laughing too much.

Lila knows they’re from worrying and stressing and being scared and she hates that she can’t understand him or be there for him. No matter how hard he tries.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes when a sob breaks free. She curls in over the table and John’s reaching over to rub her shoulders. She grabs a hold of her hand in his. “I just missed you so much.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t think I know how to not miss you.”

John doesn’t say anything but he motions a server over to settle the bill and once that’s done, he’s taking her hand and pulling her out the chair.

“You got enough food in you?”

All she can do is nod.

Her body feels electric on the short walk back to the hotel. He doesn’t do more than hold her hand and she thinks that is what has her nerves jittery, his palm in her hand sets her alight. She can feel his rough skin and the calluses on his fingers and the fingertips he runs over her skin and she bites back a moan.

Moaning in the middle of a bustling London street? She’d be thrown into an asylum she’s sure.

Beside her he’s quiet but his steps are quick. She has to lightly jog to keep up with long strides. He pulls on her hand to help her keep pace. It makes her think he’s as impatient for it as she is so she was surprised when upon closing the hotel room behind him he stays by the door. Not nearing or touching or kissing.

Just - nothing.

Her throat becomes tight again as she remembers the girl from the night before and her conversation with Gale. Is that the reason why?

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says before she can spiral any further. Approaching her and bringing their lips together in a searing kiss, wasting no time in sliding his tongue alongside hers.

“I love you,” she responds and once again he doesn’t say it back. She figured he wouldn’t but she wanted to try. He takes her mouth in his again.

She gets irrationally angry, suddenly feeling the need to claim him so she bites at his bottom lip. He pulls back to press a finger to his lip, wiping the blood there.

Lila pulls on his belt, dropping to her knees right there in the middle of the room.

Mine. He’s mine.

“Make me your wife again,” she’s not sure but it sounds like she’s begging as she manages to unbuckle his belt and pull them around his strong thighs.

“God,” he breathed, “fuck. Look at you.”

Swollen lips parted for him to put to use. John wrapped his fist around her long hair to maintain a good grip, allowing the tip of his cock to hit the back of her throat. There was no resistance, no gag, her body remembering how it was taught to take all of him even though time had passed. John loved that fucking mouth and he found himself angry as thoughts entered his mind - if anyone had fucked her mouth while he’d been away - and he jerks his hips more forcefully. Rough.

This time Lila does gag. Her hand goes to push against his hip but he doesn’t allow her to pull away.

“Did anyone else do this?”

She splutters, eyes on him and confused with a mouthful of cock, unable to talk.

“Did you suck someone else’s cock? This is mine, Lila. Mine.”

He holds her down for a couple of more seconds before allowing her reprieve. She sputters and coughs, looking at him the entire time.

His dick is still hard and long, standing to attention, and he’s not sure whether he should apologize before she’s taking his bobbing dick back into her mouth. To the back of her throat and gulping and fondling his balls. Her nose kissing the coarse hairs on his belly trail and although it feels fucking amazing - he can feel the anger too. Her anger.

How dare he accuse her.

When she pulls off there’s a strand of saliva connecting his prick to her tongue. She has half a mind to go back for more but he’s pulling her back by her hair.

“I’m so lucky to have a wife who’s cock hungry,” he groans, pulling her to her feet by her hair and connecting their mouths in a rough kiss. Their teeths crash and tongues wrestly and he feels fucking crazy that she tastes like him. Simultaneously ripping each other’s clothes off.

Lila didn’t have any warning. One second she was kissing him and ripping open his shirt and the next she was bent over the bed with her ass in the air. John ran a finger over the wet patch on her underwear. The bite on her cheek was also unexpected and she clawed at the sheets, sure she could come from the feeling alone.

“This is mine, Lila,” he leaned in close, burying his face in her underwear. “Mine.”

All she could do was whimper and agree.

John smacked her ass so hard it jiggled. Lila yelled and after the pain ceded, time seemed to stop. Nothing but their rough breathing filling the room. John had never done that before.

She wasn’t sobbing but there were tears escaping. She was sure he didn’t know. He was waiting for a reaction.

Lila wasn’t sure where this side of her husband came from. Had he held back those two months? Did he learn it in Europe? Was that why there was another woman - because she couldn’t satisfy him?

She can’t lose him.

“Please,” she begs, hiding tears in the duvet, “do it again.”

Lies. It was all lies but John believes her and he strikes again. She yelps, fisiting the sheets. He believes it’s in pleasure.

Ten slaps. That’s how many she endures before he begins shushing and petting her again. He runs his fingers through her folds and although she didn’t enjoy the punishment mentally - she did nothing wrong, he was the liar - her body certainly did. She’s sopping wet, she’s gonna have to throw out her underwear because they’re destroyed.

“Did you enjoy that?” He grabs a fistful of her hair to sit her up, her back against his sweaty, matter chest. “You like being spanked, baby?”

“Yes.” It’s only half of a lie.

“Now - now, I’m going to fuck you. Nice and hard, just how you like it,” she wants to scream at him. She wants to hit him. When did she ever like it hard? When was hard ever nice? Who was he thinking about because it wasn’t her.

But at the same time she rocks back against him to feel his cock hard between her cheeks. She can’t say she doesn’t want it. Him. This.

He pushes her back down at her teasing, using his now free hands to spread her cheeks and show her tight asshole. Untouched and pure. He presses the tip of his cock against it but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t move.

She jerks at the pressure. Drools on the mattress as she tries to bite down to temper her screams.

Do it.

No, don’t.

“One day,” he promises, pressing deeper so her hole opens but not deep enough to push. “But today, today I want this.” And without any prepping like she’s used to, without any more warning, he’s sliding down and pushing into her. Hard. Deep.

She screams, can’t help it, claws at the mattress in an attempt to crawl away.

It hurt but it felt so good.

Who was she?

“You think you can go be with other men? Let them use the holes I trained? The ones that belong to me?” He pumps into her deep. Once, twice. She’s so wet the noises filling the room are pornographic, her yelling and his panting and her sopping wet vagina smacking against his thighs and taking his cock so well. “You like it like this, Lila? Like when I fucking own you?”

“Yes, yes,” she swears and this time she isn’t lying. It’s all she can manage; she thinks she’s gone cock dumb. There are no words, no feelings, just the feeling of him filling her.

She clenches tight when he slides out. She wants him inside her forever.

He releases his hold of her hair, stepping away. He’s tired of muffling her moans and words. He’s tired of not being able to see her beautiful face.

John’s favorite face in the entire world.

“Turn around,” he commands.

Lila kneels on wobbly legs as she turns over, having little to no energy and bouncing as her body lands with no grace on the mattress. John grabs one of her jiggling breasts in his large hand, squeezing tightly.

“I fucking missed these.” He takes one in his mouth, biting down on her nipple hard. She shrieks but holds his head to pull him closer.

Her thighs are forced open by his hand and then he’s taking hold of himself and thrusting in deep again. Releasing her breasts from his mouth in order to look at her mouth. Lila’s face when he’s fucking her is as close to heaven as he thinks he’ll ever get. She’s incoherent but she’s begging for more - that much he can make out. She manages to gather the strength to grab hold of him and pull him down, clawing at his back.

He hisses at the pain and bites on her collarbone to reciprocate it.

When she grabs the nape of his neck, the cool touch of her wedding ring against his skin, it gives him pause. This was his wife. His wife.

John has been gone so long he thinks he forgot he was married.

“I love you,” he finally says it, pressing his forehead against hers as he slows down. He sniffles then, leaning down to press a wet open-mouthed kiss against hers and swallow her moans. John can’t believe he forgot he had this; can’t believe he forgot for a minute how lucky he was. She’s gorgeous (and not just externally) and he’s quite sure he somehow managed to dream her up. “I love you,” he swears again.

This time she’s the one who doesn’t say it.

She clutches at neck and pulls him down to take a boob in his mouth. Looking him in the eye hurts too damn much. Why did he have to do this now? She was lost in the pain; she had been taking her punishment.

Lila squeezed her eyes shut, moaning loudly as she thrashed around the bed. Her orgasm taking over her body. She wrapped both legs tighter around John, squeezing and pulsing around him and dragging him to the edge with her.

“Fuck, fuck,” he roared, “so damn tight. Yes, Lila. My perfect wife.”

For a couple of seconds, they lay in the aftermath. Lila could feel the heat of John’s breath against her neck. She counted how many breaths they shared in between one another as they recuperated.

Forty-seven that’s how many breaths they shared as they stayed connected.

Forty-eight that’s when John managed to lift his head and place a peck against her mouth. One she didn’t return.

Forty-nine that’s when John pulled back in concern. Lila was so still.

Fifty. That’s the breath she used to say, “you cheated on me,” looking him right in the eyes as she broke out in uncontrollable sobs.

She cried and cried underneath him. Unable to move because her legs felt like jello and they held no power. Unable to push him off because she didn’t want to let him go. Unable to speak because she was suffocating in her heartbreak.

John watched her until he couldn’t, until he was afraid she was going to choke on her own tears and then he was sitting her up, trying to ignore the way she fought against his touch.

I’m sorry, I’m here, he kept saying.

I hate you, she thought but didn’t say.

Until finally, “don’t touch me!” She yelled when he got too close and made to wrap her up in a hug. “Get away from me, John. Stay away.” She crawled to the edge of the bed and curled herself into a tiny ball. Aware she was fully naked and he was still leaking out of her but she couldn’t find it in herself to do anything except cry.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t open her lungs and get any air in. She slapped at the headboard, aware that she was having a panic attack as suddenly everything hit her all at once. It was entirely consuming and she couldn’t do anything to fight against it except cry. All the feelings rushed her at once.

This was going to be it. The weekend of two lovers reunited was the weekend from hell and this was going to be it. She was going to return home in a day and he would stay in Europe and continue to fight the war and seek out other girls and when he returned she wouldn’t be his wife anymore.

Lila would be scornful and full of resentment and miserable and he would leave her. This last time was going to be all she had and she hated him for ruining it.

Why couldn’t he hide his affairs better?

Why did she have to surprise him?

She was perfectly happy not knowing. She was worried and stressed to hell and crying every night missing him but, oh God, all that was better than this.

Lila isn’t sure how long it’s been since she last took a breath but she feels herself fading. She’s shivering and naked in their bed and she can only slightly take in that John’s wrapping her up in the duvet and curling himself around her to warm her up. She’s trying to tell him she can’t breathe, she’s suffocating, at the same time he’s blowing air in her face.

She’s fading when she feels it. A sting on the left side of her face. Hard and sharp and enough to have her gasping for a deep breath.

“Baby, please, wake up,” he’s crying over her, his head on her chest, “wake up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her chest aches. She coughs.

He whips his head up so fast she almost laughs. Almost.

“Lila,” he holds her against his chest, rocking them back and forth on the bed as she takes in her surroundings. She isn’t sure how long she was out or how long she was panicking for. Had the sun been setting while she lost her shit? It was dark outside now. “Don’t leave me, you can’t leave me. Please.”

She taps at his arms to get him to release. She doesn’t think she can talk.

John allows her the space but he doesn’t remove himself from the bed. He stays kneeling, watching her. His hands keep twitching like he wants to reach out and touch her but he’s trying to respect her wishes of not being touched.

She doesn’t lay back down, she stays resting against the headboard. Breathing hurts. She’s scared of suffocating once more. Her left cheek begins burning and she wishes she had the strength to go look in the mirror. Did he mark her? She hopes he did.

Lila’s glad he made it hurt.

“You need to go,” she finally manages to say, ignoring the way he’s already shaking his head in defiance. “Leave me here, John. I want you to go. Get another room.” Find another woman. “I leave in a day.” She wishes she never came to stupid London. She wishes she could forget this entire trip.

“Lila it’s the war,” he starts, shaking in his own tears. “It’s all the shit I see, baby. None of it was because of you okay? None. You don’t fucking know what it’s like up there for us but I stay alive in hopes of coming home to you.” He promises.

She shakes her head, fighting back any more tears. How the hell could she still have any tears left?

“But Gale didn’t cheat,” it bursts out of her before she can stop it and she knows it’s the wrong thing to say entirely.

John stops his apologies, clearing his throat as he gets up and begins dressing into his suit. She doesn’t stop him. She doesn’t take back any of what she said. She gets tired of sitting so she lays on her side, staring out the window and noticing London doesn’t have many stars. Is that why it’s so horrible here? Because there were no stars to wish upon.

She could hear his boots stomping on the ground as he reached the door. “Maybe you should have married Gale fucking Cleven then.” And the door slams shut behind him.

She wonders if he’s angry enough to find a girl and sleep with her. Her eyes blur. The time on the clock is six p.m and London’s already dark. She realizes she hasn’t slept since her plane ride. About 19 hours awake - her and John.

Lila allows her eyes to close, hoping when she wakes everything will be better.

Shadows over her eyelids wake her up. Lila finds she hasn’t moved. She’s in the same position facing the window. Facing London, only now bombs are dropping over it. The prettiest colors burst forward in the window but she knows it's truly only tragedy and loss. Murder.

She recognizes John sitting in the arm chair and she wonders when he got back. He isn’t facing her, he’s watching bomb after bomb drop and land no more than mere miles away from them. He’s holding a whiskey on ice, twirling the ice so it hits against the glass.

Lila wonders then if it was the shadows or the noise that woke her up.

“I must have punched in my card a long time ago,” his voice is strong in the dead of the night, seemingly even louder than when he’s singing in the pub. “It must be the reason for all of this. Karma.” He scoffs.

I deserve this, is what he’s trying to say.

Lila feels her stomach twist and spin and there’s bile sitting in her throat. She closes her eyes to stop herself from imagining John in a plane, dropping a bomb that lands on children. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the hurt sitting on his shoulders.

She remembers how angry she was when he first signed up. Before they were married. They had been dating for over a month, barely, and she already scribbled ‘Mrs. Egan’ over her notebooks. She’d heard it from his younger sister, Eileen, and she felt her world stop. She hadn’t hesitated to run to the stables he worked at and confront him in front of all the men.

“You’re leaving me,” she had accused him. “You’re gonna leave! I’ll never forgive you, John Egan.”

And in front of everyone he’d knelt down and produced a ring, the one his father had given his mother and said, “Marry me.” He didn’t ask because they both knew it wasn’t a question.

She was already his.

And he was hers.

Lila had forgiven him and promised to love, honor, and obey for the rest of her life.

She doesn’t have the strength to stand so even though her throat burns she speaks. “Lay with me,” she croaks. Her voice is raspy and broken and even clearing it aches.

John shakes his head. “You don’t want me to.”

“Lay with me,” she repeats, firm. “I just want to fall asleep with you.”

He looks at her like he's scared to believe. Trying to figure out whether she’s simply being cruel and going to kick him out in her next breath. Or more likely, he’s scared she’ll lose her shit being near him again.

John, hopeful and never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, sets his drink down and nears the bed. Lila keeps her eyes locked on his and he does the same. Their moves and tension resemble a game of chicken, one of them afraid any sudden change can have the other running off.

“Take off your uniform,” she says when he pushes back the covers while still fully dressed. He jerks his head in confusion and she bites her lip to contain a laugh at his dirty mind. Sex is the last thing on her mind. “I want to feel you, that’s all.”

John does as she asks, setting his cap down and shredding every layer before he’s naked and gorgeous and sliding in beside her. She doesn’t allow herself to think about what it means when she immediately slides closer.

Lila’s the one to wrap her arms around him.

Lila’s the one to intertwine their legs.

John follows her lead, lifting an arm so she can raise her head and use it as a pillow. She scoots her face closer and she nuzzles into her armpit, smelling his deodorant and feeling his hairs poke at her nose. She moves further along, escaping the cocoon of his armpit to press her cheek against his chest. She clutches his dog tags in her palm, tight, so he can’t get up in the middle of the night.

“Can we fall asleep together?” She asks, but when she looks up John’s already there.

The next time Lila wakes up her palm aches. She releases what she’s gripping, remembering how she clung to John’s dog tags when he slid into bed beside her. She lifts her head and finds John already looking at her.

He’s got the saddest eyes she’s ever seen and she hates that she’s partly why.

“We should talk,” her voice is low and cracks from not being used. John nods his head but makes no move to begin.

Lila lays her head back on his chest, lightly picking at his matted, curly chest hair. She presses her lips to a freckle near his nipple and his intake of breath lets her know he felt it,

“I’m not the one you write the most letters too,” she starts, finding it easier to not have to look him in the eye. “You write the most to your mom. And I’m not the one who can calm you down when your anger gets the best of you,” she’s so tired of crying, “that’s Gale. “And I can’t even be here for you at the end of a mission to console you or kiss you or help you forget,” she chokes on a sob. “That’s whoever else.”

I couldn’t even keep our baby healthy, she leaves out.

“What’s your point with all this, Lila?”

Lila lifts her head from his chest, “My point is I’m a horrible wife. I - I don’t know if it was too soon or just not thought out but this - I- ” she can’t get the rest of the words out.

“Don’t say that,” John sits up against the headboard, forcing her up as well. He grabs both her wrists in one of his hands to pull her closer and grab her attention. “Don’t fucking tell me that, Lila.”

“I don’t make you happy,” she shakes her head.

“You do. Everything I do, everything I’m doing - it’s for you Lila.”

“I don’t want to marry Gale. Or someone like him. I love you. Only you. But I’m scared that I don’t make you happy. You deserve better.”

“Oh you dumbass,” John coos, suddenly finding the entire situation amusing. He pulls her in for a hug. “You’re my entire fucking heart, Lila Egan. You don’t think you make me happy? You’re the only thing in my life, in my head, that makes me happy.”

She pulls away to hold his face. “If you’re gonna leave me John you need to tell me now. I don’t care about the girls if all they are is to pass the time. And I don’t care that you write to your mom more than me and I don’t care that Gale is the one you listen to but I just need to be the one you love the most. I need to know I’m making you happy.”

His heart aches at the fact that he made her feel she was ever anything less than the most important person in his life. “Lila,” he presses a kiss to her lips, “Rose,” another kiss, “Egan,” another. “Are my only reason for staying alive.”

[haikyu-mp4]

Fussy

word count; 1176 – f!reader

Not usually favouring sports, you’re in the journalism club to make use of your great eye for design and writing. After watching one of your school’s volleyball team’s official games last season, you took notice of the boring brochures they handed out with the players’ information. You hadn’t yet chosen what to do for your project this semester and decided to lend your talents to making a better representation of the team’s charms and talents. What you didn’t expect to get out of the project was a date.

You received permission from their coach and captain and set up some equipment to take your photos in a room adjacent to the gym during practice. Hopefully, you can encourage them all to pose confidently. In order to not disturb their whole practice, you ask one grade to join you at a time, starting with the first-years and ending with the third-years. Good luck!

You already know the captain of your school’s volleyball team. Sometimes you wondered if Kuroo knew everyone. The two of you have a lot of classes together and you would be lying if you said you hated hearing his charming comments and finding fun ways to quip back at him. Perhaps you even developed a little crush. So when you decided on the project for your club, you asked him with the biggest possible doe eyes to approve it and help get his players to cooperate. He was more than happy to help you and arrange everything, despite telling you that you owe him.

Fortunately, the first years were easy. Absolute sweethearts that were so excited to show off. You had almost finished with the second-years when you met your first obstacle of the day, unless you count Lev being too tall for you to photograph without a stool to stand on and Inuoka not being able to stand still so most of the pictures ended up slightly blurry. No, this was an actual problem.

Kenma was having a bad day and didn’t want to.

Nekoma’s pampered prince was really not in the mood for this today, and with every pose you didn’t approve of as good enough, he got more fussy. His facial expressions were very expressive, especially now that he was annoyed, it just wasn’t the emotion you wanted. You sighed and stomped your foot a little, looking at him with a slight frown. “Can’t you try a little harder, Kenma?”

“Does it really matter? Just use the first ones,” he complained, sounding incredibly bored.

You were trying to resist saying you would snitch on him to Kuroo like a little kid, but it was getting gradually more difficult. “This project is important to me, I want to make all of you look good.”

“Are you saying I look ugly?” Okay, now he was being childish. The two of you glared at each other for a second before Yamamoto stepped in to yell at his teammate about how a pretty girl needed their help and Kuroo told them to do everything you say and then hurry back to practice. On the contrary, that only made Kenma more apathetic. “I won’t start posing up a storm just because Kuroo has a crush on her.”

You froze, biting your lip as a blush flushed over your cheeks at the reveal. He has a crush on you? Yamamoto started waving his hands as if stressed about the information being revealed, but he only stuttered out a few syllables that didn’t turn into anything usable. You pick up your camera and look through the pictures you had taken of Kenma again, still chewing on your lip as you try to focus on the task at hand. “Can you do this again, please? Last one.” You held up the camera to show him the reference photo and he silently agreed, standing ready for you. You change the angle a bit and do your best to adjust the lighting before finally dismissing the second-years. When Kenma was about to leave, you carefully tapped his shoulder, not really meeting his eyes. “Is it true? About Kuroo…”

Kenma heard his best friend talk about you all the time. Your wit and charm matched his and he was especially obsessed with how you started doing your hair lately. The setter didn’t look so annoyed with you anymore, which made you glad. “Yes. Please date him or something so he’ll stop whining to me about it.”

You were a bit nervous when the third-years arrived, switching between avoiding Kuroo and coming on too strong. How do you act when you know someone you like likes you back?

Yaku and Kai were great, following your instructions and easily giving you several options for what photo to use of each. As Kuroo stepped up to the plate, he talked to you while you got the camera ready and fetched the little stool you used for the first years. “I hope no one gave you any trouble today,” he said, sounding like he would rather have a normal conversation right now.

“Your best friend and I got into it but we came to an agreement,” you said, gaining a bit more confidence as you went along. That made him chuckle, a fond look on his face as he didn’t doubt Kenma would fight the spotlight. You smiled at him before holding up the camera again, making sure the lens was on him when you kept talking. “I didn’t know you had a crush on me!”

Oh, the betrayal. As Yaku’s laughter burst behind you, you watched through the camera lens as Kuroo faltered and his smile fell, snapping as many photos as you could. His face suddenly matched the uniform and his shoulders were sky-high. “Huh?” he said. He was flustered, brain trying desperately to decide if he should deny it or follow the flow. Damn it, Kenma. Suddenly, Kuroo regretted how he had stolen some of Kenma’s snacks earlier. “You’re not going to use those pictures, are you?” he ended up saying, unusually awkward. It was fun, seeing Kuroo stumble.

Yaku and Kai end up throwing in a little comment about being finished anyway and leaving the area, giving the two of you some space. When he came back to the gym, Yaku threw an arm over Kenma’s shoulder and ruffled his hair, giving him a confusing mix of praise and scolding.

Meanwhile, you were smiling at Kuroo as he stepped a little closer to you. “Of course not, they’re for my special collection.” You wiggled your eyebrows and Kuroo finally felt his shoulders relax a little.

“I did say you owe me one for this project, how about I take you out this weekend?” he asked, usual charm back in place along with his crooked smirk.

“That sounds great, Tetsuro,” you agreed, taking a moment to say anything else as you stared at him up close. Your cheeks were burning at this point and you fumbled with the camera. “Now, come on. We have to show off Nekoma’s captain!”

“You got it, boss.”

/please note that Yaku calls Kenma their «pampered prince» in season 4, so that is not me making a nasty comment about Kenma. I just think it’s a very cute nickname that fit the scenario!

the Flyer Series ║ masterlist

/taglist: @cottonlemonade @dira333 @cosmiicdust @nagi-core

[the-writer-arrived]

Voice lines and habits that give me unholy thoughts

Synopsis: it doesn't need much for your cute little brain to go haywire with desire for him... (un)fortunately for you, he's quick to catch on the signs and use them against you.

Characters: wriothesley, alhaitham.

Warnings: afab!fem!reader; explicit smut; established relationship; a bit of plot since i like the build up to the horny part; use of handcuffs, oral f!receiving, fingering & overstimulation (wriothesley); semi-public/office sex & oral m!receiving (alhaitham).

A/N: wrio's teaser and web event messed with my brain :D hoyoverse def knew what they were doing when they created him.

This work has sexual themes and is not suitable for minors. If you click on read more, I am not responsable for any discomfort you may feel reading this. You have been warned.

"...Sweetheart, did you hear me or were you too busy staring intensely at my hand?"

"...Oh! I, uh... was just thinking about an answer to your question!"

"Does my question of whether you want more tea or not need that much pondering over?"

Wriothesley rests his cheek on his hand, not even trying to hold back a smirk as he watches the redness of your cheeks becoming more proeminent.

Shit. So much for thinking you were being discreet about it.

You decide to exercise your right to remain silent, taking the teapot and filling your own cup, promptly ignoring the chuckle coming from the man before you.

At the corner of your eyes, you see the handsome bastard has the audacity to return twirling and moving that dastard pen again, as if to taunt you.

...Is feeling jealous of an object too concerning of a sign?

----------

Wriothesley was seeing you out of his office, a stack of documents in your arms that needed to be delivered to Neuvillette about the recent happenings of the Fortress, a task that you were more than happy to do for him.

As you were finishing your conversation, you hear a commotion coming from the Coupon Cafeteria. With a shared glance between you two, the warden walks towards the scene to investigate, you following a few steps behind.

There, you see a group of inmates-- no, it's more like one inmate is causing a ruckus while the others are trying to cool him off... without much success apparently. In fact, things are quickly getting out of control when the riled up man begins to fight anyone opposing him.

Your boyfriend is known to be level-headed, always trying to resolve internal conflicts by talking things out to reach an agreement. Cases like this one, however, require a more... on hands approach.

It all happens too fast. The prisoner turns around to hit the next person that dared to touch him so casually, only for his sloppy attack to be dodged with ease by none other than the Duke himself. One could easily see the color draining from man's face, any trace of his anger disappearing in a flash.

You gasp at the scene ahead of you, having to lean on the large pipe next to you as your legs suddenly feel weak.

Make no mistake, your reaction isn't fear by the violence you witness, far from it. Rather, it is because of the sudden wave of arousal you feel as you watch Wriothesley pin the troublemaker underneath him, pulling his arms behind his back to cuff him.

Fuck. For a split second, you wish you could trade places with the inmate.

'...What in the world. Get a hold of yourself!'

You shake your head in an attempt to clear the indecent thoughts... Which proves to be futile at the way the stern and cold look of your lover melts into a soft and warm one when his eyes turn to you. All while 'adjusting' his loose tie, aka pulling it lower and revealing a bit more of his scarred skin that you adore kissing it.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? Sorry, did that scare you?"

His duality makes you crazy horny-- t-that is, deeply in love with him!

"No! No, no, I wasn't scared! I was just, um... feeling a little faint due to the heat, yes!"

You wave a hand in front of you make it more believable... which don't seem to be working very we'll, seeing the frown on Wriothesley's face. So you start your plan B: run away.

"Ah, I-I better go deliever this documents to Monsieur Neuvillette then. Seeyouathomeloveyoubye!"

Wriothesley watches as you scurry off to the elevator, clutching the files in your arms like a lifeline. He shakes his head, a hand covering the grin.

"Oh darling, you're too easy to read."

----------

"Y-You mean-- ahh, that you k-knew all along?!"

"How could I not, when your eyes were almost begging me to fuck you? You should reward me for my self control, sweetheart."

Any retort you had dissolve into a shaky moan when Wriothesley curls his two fingers inside your core, hitting that deep spot that turns your brain into mush.

You want grasp the sheets, you want to scratch his back, you want to cover your face, ANYTHING. But you can't, not with your hands locked with his handcuffs to the bedpost. You hate it and you love it.

"Wrioooo..."

"Now, now princess, don't tug the handcuffs so hard, it'll hurt you and we can't have that." His free hand trails up your arms, lightly dragging his nails to make you shiver at the ticklish feeling, until he holds your wrists in place. "Be a good girl and focus on me, yeah?"

Jokes on him, that's what you've been doing the whole day. Thinking about your dear boyfriend, his sweet personality, his cute adoration for tea, his godly body, his great strength and how you wished for nothing more than to be bent over his desk and--

"C-Close, close... Gonna-!" Your babbles are interrupted by a gasp, Wriothesley's fingers speeding up and his palm brushing against your clit over and over that it takes just a few seconds for you to see white, body taut, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure washes over you.

The Duke slows down his movement until his hand stops completely, kissing your temple and cooing at you when you whine at his fingers leaving you empty.

You sigh when his mouth meets yours in a languid kiss, helping your heartbeat return to normal... until it races again when you realize his lips going down, down and down your body...

"W-Wrio... what are you-- Ahh!" You squeal at the sudden cold sensation in your sensitive pussy, attempting to wiggle your hips away. Your very mean lover just chuckles, wrapping his strong arms around your thighs and drags you back to his face, the asshole shooting you a smirk after he uses cold tongue to lick your folds again.

"Surely you didn't think I'd stop at one round, after you used your bedroom eyes at me the whole day, right? So..."

"Don't run away now, sweetheart."

"W-What did you say?!"

"...I said, don't let any of it, the treasure, roll away now."

Your lover looks at you with a quizzical look, not comprehending your unusual reaction to his words. You, on the other hand, are silent praying to all the Seven archons for your face to not be as red as you think it is.

In any case, you decide to turn your back to Alhaitham to get the rest of the treasure inside the chest, while he keeps on look out for any other hilichurl or abyss monsters lurking around.

You see, it's not common for you two to go adventure together around Sumeru, much less to see the scribe in action with your own eyes. So, you can't be blamed when you've been too distracted by the way his toned arms flex as he swings his sword(s), his cape gracefully flowing at each movement, the focused expression as the Chisel-Light Mirrors cut down the enemies...

Anyway, you were far too busy gawking over your boyfriend and how unfairly hot he is to actually notice the chest spawning right in front of you. And those words that he had said? It's no surprise your mind went to the gutter.

You just hope you weren't acting so obviously down bad for him as you fear...

----------

"So good... Always so good to me. Fuck, I'm getting close...!"

You really don't know how you got here. The memories from returning to Sumeru City from adventuring in the wilderness to being on your knees, sucking on Alhaitham's cock while in his office are a blur.

But, honestly? You can't bring yourself to care about these minor details.

You drag your head back slowly, torturously forcing the man above you to feel every inch of your mouth until only the tip, angry red and drooling pre cum, remains inside.

The harsh suck you give at the sensitive area earns you a groan, a growl almost, that leaves you rubbing your thighs together. Looking up at your beloved, you watch his chest rise and fall rapidly, a pretty flush on his cheeks and eyes sending you a glare.

A side of you wants to be mean, to give him a taste of paradise before taking it away, just like he so adores to do with you. You want him to be frustrated, to beg you for release, a taste of his own medicine...

But you can't. You shouldn't.

Regardless of the locked door, anyone might come knocking, requiring the presence of the scribe for some unimportant business and, archons forbid, hear what is happening inside the office.

You try not to acknowledge the dampness of your panties from this thought.

And then you feel it, three taps of his fingers on the back of your head, the sign you two came up with to tell the other when you're about to cum.

You release his shaft with a "pop" and Alhaitham is ready to question your cruel actions, but whatever words he had wanted to say get thrown out of the window when you swallow him again without warning, taking as much of his cock as you can.

With one, two shallow thrusts of his hips, he paints your throat white with his release, head thrown back, eyes tightly shut and a moan that most certainly would be heard by everyone in the Akademiya halls had the scribe not covered his mouth.

You try, you swear to Celestia that you try your hardest to swallow every single drop of cum, but there's too much and you can control your breathing only for so long. With much dismay, your mouth lets go of the slowly softening member, covered with a mix of his seeds and your saliva.

Chuckling at your dejected look, Alhaitham raises your chin to make you look at him, thumb gathering the very same mix that has escaped from your mouth to smear it over your lips, his next words making you shiver in arousal but also embarrasment of the knowledge that he had known all along what had gone through your mind during your adventure earlier.

"Don't let any of it roll away now, my love."

thanks for reading <3 likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated <3

heart divider made by @/cafekitsune

red wriothesley and alhaitham banners (smut) made by @/the-writer-arrived aka yours truly ;)

[obsessedwhyyes]

Fangs, Wit and Charm - An Astarion Quote Prompt List

Writing in Astarion's voice is a lot of fun. His language use and speech patterns are absolutely fascinating to me, so I thought I'd create some little Astarion-style quotes (Astarionisms, if you will) for general use! Drop me a tag if you use any of these - I'd love to see them in action!

Gif by @wolfsong-the-bloody-beast on Tumblr!

"Trust me? Oh, that's adorable. And terribly unwise."

"Ah, the things I do for... Well, me, primarily."

"Darling, eternity is a long time to hold a grudge. But I'm willing to try."

"Feelings? How dreadfully inconvenient."

"I assure you, my bite is worse than my bark. And far more enjoyable."

"Loyalty? Oh, please. Let's not ruin a perfectly good arrangement with such tedious concepts."

"Darling, if you wanted my attention, you needn't go to such extremes. A simple 'please' would suffice."

"Your heartbeat is rather distracting. Mind keeping it down?"

"My dear, in my experience, the most dangerous traps are the ones you walk into willingly."

"Ah, the moral high ground. I hear the view is lovely, but I much prefer the shadows."

"Centuries of existence, and here I am, playing hero. How dreadfully cliche."

"Trust is a fickle thing. Like a neck, really - so easily broken."

"I've been called heartless before. Technically true, but so unimaginative."

"Eternity is overrated. But it does wonders for one's wit."

"Ah, the sweet sound of screaming. Reminds me of home."

"Redemption? Please. I'm far too interesting for that nonsense."

"Eternity is a long time to regret one's choices. Fortunately, regret and I parted ways centuries ago."

"My dear, your naivety is almost as charming as it is hazardous to your health."

"Your blood smells divine. I mean that as a compliment, of course."

"Careful with your heart, darling. I've been known to bite."

I also write Astarion fanfic! Masterlist can be found here!

Astarion smut quote prompts!

[the-fiction-witch]

You are not a Queen. You are The Queen. My Queen.

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Aegon Targaryen Couple - Aegon X Reader Reader - Alysanne Targaryen (Daughter of Rhaenyra, wife of Aegon) Rating - Sweet AF Word Count - 2437

The carriage bumped and bustled through the king's landing streets, the crack of the whip of the horses echoing in the mad rush. 

Alicent sat across the carriage in her impressive green dress, with golden chains and symbols of the faith of the seven. The crown she has always worn as queen nettled in her brown hair with her veil trailing down her back. She sighs and hardens herself for what must be done. 

Aegon sits dressed in his finery even if he shivered and he slightly cried trying to think of any way he could escape this fate. "Do you love me?" He asked his mother his voice plaid it like a joke but she didn't know the strength it took for him to utter those four words, and the deep tethers within him that those words and her answer would hold. 

"You imbecile," she shook her head, 

Her answer was enough of an answer for him to understand, but he felt compelled to speak once more, "Where is Alysanne?"

For a moment there was silence, and it spoke more than her words ever could, but after a time she speaks, "I send word for her but she could not be fetched. We couldn't wait."

He chuckled, "She is my wife." He glared, "We couldn't wait five minutes for her?" 

"every moment we wait risks the wrath of dragon stone."

"Yet you had time to change your dress?" he glared, 

"She would remain where she is safe, with the children." 

"So if Rhynera comes to burn the red keep we will all be in the dragon pit, except my wife who is in the red keep." 

"That is not what I intended-"

"Maybe not but its a helpful circumstance," 

"We should not speak of this," 

Aegon tried to protest but they arrived at the dragon pit, before anyone had much time to think Aegon was forced from the carriage and taken inside no matter his arguments.

The High Septom prepared the oils as the smallfolk were forced through the streets and ushered into the dragon pit until it was full, A small stage was set up with Alicent, Otto, Cristen, Helena and Aemond all waiting, preparing for this moment. 

Otto steps out to address the crowd, "King's Landing! Today is the saddest of days! Our beloved king, Viserys the peaceful... is dead!"

Muttering of shock comes from the crowd, 

"But it is also the most joyous of days!" he continues, "For as his spirit left us, he whispered his final wish that his firstborn son Aegon should succeed him"

more muttering but soon applause echos through the dragon pit, 

Members of the city watch rush the dragon pit pushing smallfolk as they do, they make a path to the stage half to keep smallfolk out, and half to keep aegon in. Horns ring out in royal tones as the armoured men raise their swords. 

Aegon does not wish to do this but he is forced out, so he takes slow and gradual steps a tear slipping from his eye as he begins the walk, the swords dropping behind him one by one, Each step makes him want to run, makes him want to fight his way out but with each one he is cementing his fate. 

His family's fate. 

His people's fate. 

His city's fate. 

His realm's fate.

He glances back and sees the swords are preventing his way, he really has no way back now. 

He holds 

"It is your good, great fortune to be here, to witness this. A new day for our city. A new day for our realm. a new king to lead us." 

He looks up and meets eyes with his mother a rage boiled inside him, that all this was her doing. 

When he climbed the steps she came and held his cheeks kissing his forehead, leading him by the hand to the Steptom of the faith of the seven. 

He looks to Otto who two gives him no choice he simply nods to him,

So Aegon kneels, 

silence rings out, 

"May the warrior give him courage, may the smith lend strength to his sword and shield, may the father defend him in his need, may the crone lift her shining lantern and shin his way to wisdom." the Septom says and with each anoints his head with oil, 

The crown is then taken from its pillow. The crown of Aegon the conqueror, sharp spikes of Valyrian steel with gems and jewels of finery. 

"The crown of the conqueror, past down through generations." Sir Criston takes the crown and places it on Aegons head even if the crown doesn't fit him right, "Let the seven bear witness, Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the iron throne." 

For the first time in what feels like hours, Aegon lets out a breath, feeling the weight of the crown on his head, he gets to his feet and looks to everyone in attendance seeing how each bows to him,

"All hail his grace! Aegon second of his name, king of the Andals the Roynar and the First Men. Lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm!" 

The bells toll out as cheers erupt for him, 

Aegon looks out to see the faces of all those who cheer, all those who look at him with joy, none of them know the death and destruction he brings. But even so, he can't help but feel a pride, and a swell of his ego as he takes Blackfyre from his belt and thrusts it into the air. For a moment he is swept up in his own family's pageantry and feels a joy to be king. 

But it doesn't last, as a rumble comes from below and suddenly dust and stone erupt up from the floor of the pit, people scream and try to run but there is no way to get away as the floor crumbles under their feet the red queen comes though the floor the dragon crushing smallfolk and killing hundreds in her wake otto tries to demand the doors to be opened but people are already dying, as Rhaenys sits on top of her dragon as the dust clears.

Alicent jumps in front of Aegon putting herself between the dragon and him,

The Red Queen screeched at everyone before turning and flying out and away into the sky. 

Aegon remains in the dragon pit, the pageantry of the moment long faded, the true death toll of his day hitting him, the weight of the sword in his hand and the crown on his head causing him to ache. He had such conflict in his heart, as he truly thought it all though. 

He never wanted this... and yet it was done. 

He never thought he was the heir... yet now the crown rests on his head.

His coronation... left hundreds dead. 

This moment... had surely begun a war that would tear apart his family, his realm, his house and all that he held dear. 

And in all of it, he stands alone, or so he thinks. 

Alysanne walks the up the stairs he walked up, her eyes looking only at him. Her gown is a body of green velvet, with silver threat lacing the bodice, black leather sleeves tight to her skin all the way to her wrists, a large skirt of green velvet with black flames embodied on the bottom, a long cape from her shoulders of a sheer black fabric cut like dragon wings. Her hands behind her back as she reaches the stage, she bows to him dipping her knees and lowering her head before her eyes meet his once more. 

His wife, in this moment, she is the light in this darkness. but there is so much sadness in him as he looks at her starlight eyes. 

"I am sorry Alysanne," He told her, 

"I hardly believed it to be true," she began, "Once word reached me." 

He felt unable to speak,

"Oh Aegon..." she said, "what have you let your mother do to you?"

Aegon looks at her with a mixture of guilt and shame, his throat tightens with emotion as he takes in her words. "I didn't have a choice,"

"I know." she nodded, "You are the king," She said almost not believing her own words,

He looks away, his mind filled with sorrow and anger, he is king, but he isn't happy. "This... already ways heavily on me... I cannot carry it alone." 

"If you are a king... I suppose that makes me a queen," 

He feels the weight lift a little, to know that she is beside him in this, "I am not a King. I am the king. You are not a queen. You are The queen. My Queen." he gives her an affectionate smile,

"so it would seem," A smile escapes her, but soon fails, "what- What is to happen to our children?" Her voice was full of fear,

Aegon's heart sinks as she asks, he knows his children are in danger, he feels already like he has failed them and his wife, he knows no matter what he can't protect them from this. "I do not know..."

"Forgive me, I should not sour your victory with my concerns."

"You should, concerns are now my most important matters." He told her, "I am sorry Alysanne, truly, I wanted to share this moment with you more than anyone. I am so sorry you were left behind,"

"... well, it's over now. it doesn't matter."

"It does. you are my queen and the fact you where not beside me for this moment... it breaks my heart."

"I admit... I am upset. that your mother had called this, not just for the politics and the show of the realm but... she wore her finest dress, her gold and her jewels, brought your family here, coronated you in front of thousands, gave you a crown, a sword, and the title of king... and I. Was left at the red keep with our children. Like a nursemaid." she explained, "I wish I could have been here is all..." 

He felt his blood boil that she felt this way, he took her hand and squeezed it, "I wish you could have been here, I wanted this to be for us. I wanted to take the crown with you by my side to take your own. I wanted our children to be here to witness the crown that may one day be theirs. and my mother robbed us of that... I am sorry, truly sorry. and I know I can never repay the injustice done to you." he explained, "You are my queen... and... you do not even have a crown." 

"I do." she said, as she revealed her other hand, "She gave me this when they arrived back to the red keep." she said and in her hand sat a small tiara of gold and green. No larger than a hair clip, and for a moment he remembers the crown his mother had worn today a large headband of gold and emeralds His own wife. His queen. Was tossed a crown, Without even being given a coronation. "I... I hardly wish to wear it at all... seems... foolish," 

Aegon stares at the tiny tiara and feels an intense surge of anger at the treatment his wife has received. It is a reminder of her insignificance in his mother's eyes, and it hurts him deeply. But he doesn't want her to be sad, he wants her to be proud of her new station. He looks at her, her face filled with a mixture of anger and sadness, and he doesn't want her to feel that way. He wants to make her happy and to make her feel wanted and accepted. "Wear it." He says, firm but gentle. His voice is a command, but also an appeal. He wants her to wear this crown, to let the world know that she is his wife and his Queen and that he is proud of her. He wants everyone to know that she is the Queen, no matter what his mother says or does. 

"There's no point..."

"Here," He takes her by the hand and tugs her with him to stand in front of the banners, he takes the small tiara from her and smiles, he gives it a clean on his shirt to make sure no fingerprints are on it before he does is most epic and dramatic voice for her, "May the warrior give her courage, may the smith lend strength to her sword and shield, may the father defend her in her need, may the crone lift her shining lantern and shin her way to wisdom. May the mother be an ever-sweet light in her life, may the maiden keep her safe, and may the stranger's visits be few," He explained, "The crown of ... uhh... the most beautiful of queens," he makes up as this crown had no name, 

she chuckles at him and he gently but sweetly presses the tiara into her hair, crowning her as his queen, his hands run down her hair and he kisses her lips softly, 

"Let the seven bear witness, Alysanne Targaryen queen of the seven kingdoms." he proclaimed, "All hail her grace! Alysanne Targaryen, queen of the Andals the Roynar and the First Men. lady of the seven kingdoms, protector of the realm, beloved bride and mother. My queen. My sweet queen," he cooed, 

"Thank you Aegon," she smiled, 

"You're welcome, and I promise you. You shall have a crown more worthy of your beauty and title." He smiled, 

"I think we have more pressing matters than a crown Aegon," she said,

"True," He nodded as his heart sank, "... you said once, not long after our children were born, that perhaps it would be best to cut or losses, to fly to Dragonstone with the children to meet with your mother, to cleave to your mother and beg for her mercy." 

she shook her head, "... it's too late for that Aegon, no matter what side we are on. Blood will be spilt, and the only way to keep our children alive is to be on a side of our own." 

He nodded and briefly smiled, "You took to talking queen fast," He chuckled, 

She smiled, "Aegon darling, I have been talking and acting like a queen for as long as I can remember. Our family ensured that. Come. The children wish to see their new king, and we have much to do." she explained taking his arm, he nodded and squeezed her hand happily walking with her even if the two were beyond scared of what now was to be done. 

[mangomonk]

i thought that i was dreaming when you said you loved me

↳ summary: read this drabble first! goodie two shoes!remus, afraid of being perceived as other, stumbles into a relationship at the expense of y/n. ↳ content: angst, one-sided fake dating ↳ a/n: a little nervous because this is my first time writing for remus pls be gentle w me! for full enjoyment, listen to ivy by frank ocean (i looped it the entire time i wrote this). the more i wrote this, the more i realized i could turn this into a full blown million word fic, but i tried to keep it as condensed as possible, hence some time skips/summarization. pt. 2 here!

When Remus Lupin confesses — no, announces — that he likes her in the middle of the Great Hall, she thinks she's dreaming. Surely, she didn't hear that correctly. Only hours earlier, she had witnessed the doe-eyed boy unleash a slew of curses beneath his breath. I guess everyone has bad days, she had thought. Even Remus, who she had always pegged as straight-laced and well-mannered.

So when a half a dozen heads turn to stare at her directly, Y/N turns to see if there's anyone behind her. When she sees no one, she turns back forward. It's when Remus Lupin's soft, brown gaze meets hers that her heart stutters dangerously in her chest. She can't help it despite the bewilderment she feels — everyone in the castle has to have some sort of crush on the fluffy-haired boy. He's all soft, disarming smiles and beautiful, brown eyes and knitted jumpers and gentle laughter and—

—and Y/N goes red in the face right away. It doesn't help when Remus tilts his head to the side slightly and offers a small, uncertain smile. Merlin, help me, Y/N thinks as she stares back, wide-eyed, her confusion and any thoughts briefly neutralized at the way his eyes crinkle into little half-moons.

— — — — —

Y/N has always prided herself on being a sharp judge of character. It soon became clear to her, however, that Remus Lupin was a strange, but intriguing case of contradicting character.

Following his confession — rather, announcement — in the Great Hall, she becomes overly conscious of the tall boy. It feels as though she's suddenly very aware that they have most of their classes together, that he sits only a seat away from her in Charms, that he has chicken scratch for handwriting when she passes him in the library. The latter comes as a surprise — perhaps unfairly, she would have pegged him as a swooping cursive type of boy. In any case, it soon becomes the case that Y/N realizes that she can find Remus easily in a room of crowded students, and the more she does, the more she begins to realize that Remus is a boy full of surprises.

This doesn't seem to matter though, because strangely, after his confession in the Great Hall, Remus does not once approach her. Occasionally, she catches him glancing at her with an odd expression, but outside of an increase in being stared at by the other students, little changes in her life.

It isn't until a week later when her seat partner in Charms is out that their paths cross again. When she trudges to her seat in class, she becomes very quickly aware that they're separated only by an empty chair. She doesn't look away fast enough because Remus looks up as she pulls her chair out, his gaze snagging on to hers with an intensity that she doesn't expect from the softness of his eyes.

"Good morning," he says slowly, almost uncertainly. Up close, Y/N can see a splay of pale freckles across his cheekbones. His lashes are unfairly, distractingly long as he gazes up at her.

"Hi," Y/N says, equally uncertain, though she tries to keep her voice light and casual. No one's ever really had a crush on her before, and she finds herself floundering on how to act. Shouldn't he be the nervous one, and not her? Somehow though, she can feel her palms begin to sweat, though Remus doesn't look nervous at all. Just sharp and assessing. Fortunately though, before the air between them can turn any awkwarder, a mussed-haired head pops up from around Remus.

"Y/N, right?" James Potter asks with a wide grin. His glasses are skewed and crooked on his face as he peers around Remus at her rather owlishly.

Next to him, Remus blinks a few times as she nods, opening her mouth to speak when Professor Flitwick clears his throat to begin class.

She tries to focus on taking notes, but it's difficult when she can see Remus casting her sidelong glances from her peripheral view. She gives up on trying to focus on class entirely when a folded piece of parchment flits over the gap between them with a familiar chicken scratch.

Can we talk after class?

After class, Y/N has a ridiculous, irrational flash of self-consciousness that the humidity has made her hair begin to frizz. Remus doesn't seem to notice as she rakes a hand quickly through her hair because a nervous, almost agitated, energy is rolling off of him as he paces in the courtyard.

When he catches sight of her, he stops, a warm smile breaking across his face, though Y/N feels that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. But the new knowledge that Remus has a dimple on his left cheek and his smile is just slightly crooked is enough to disarm any wariness. Unexpectedly his nervous energy seems to dissipate immediately. "Hi," he says, "You came."

"I got your note," Y/N says, inwardly grimacing — of course he knew that already, he had been sitting next to her.

"Right, well, I, er—" Remus begins choppily, his hand rising to rub at the nape of his neck. "I was wondering about... Earlier, last week, when you saw me... Did you say anything to anyone?"

Y/N blinks at him once, then twice, blankly. "Earlier?" She questions, before the heat begins to rise to her face. He must have been referring to his confession. "I haven't said anything to anyone."

Remus's brows furrow for a moment before his face relaxes. He's surprisingly difficult to read — it feels as though any trickle of emotion is covered with a disarming soft smile. "I see," he says after a moment, his shoulders relaxing. "Right, well, Y/N," he begins, looking around them distractedly. "—shall we date?" Y/N straightens with a jolt as he continues. "I won't be offended if you say no. In fact, I'd understand if you said no, we've barely—"

She doesn't know what it is exactly. Maybe it was the curious thought that Remus might not be the charming prince he seemed to be. Maybe it was the dimple in his left cheek. Maybe it was the way he said her name. But something in Y/N slipped through her confusion and the unceremonious nature of the whole thing, because she finds herself speaking before she can stop herself. "Yeah. Let's date."

Remus's face goes slack. He looks a little startled, Y/N thinks, like she's clubbed him over the head. "Are you sure?" He blurts, eyes widening a fraction. It's perhaps the most emotion she's seen him show so far. Y/N writes it off as nerves and incredulity.

She nods once, firmly.

"I guess that's settled," he says weakly with furrowed brows, though he looked neither pleased nor displeased.

— — — — —

Initially, Y/N and Remus are as awkward as can be. She's not sure if it's because neither of them have really ever been in a relationship before, but it feels clumsy in the beginning.

Their dates start off mostly as study dates in the library, but Y/N doesn't mind — to her pleasure, she finds that they eerily work well together and she likes the calm peace of Remus's presence while she's studying. She likes to think that he also finds comfort in her presence because it's become ritual for him to ask her about the book she's reading, and vice versa. In a few weeks, they start reading the same books. Maybe it's because they spend so much time together studying that it becomes gradually more comfortable.

When they go to Hogsmeade for the first time together, Y/N finds that they end up walking around the village and chatting nearly until curfew. She tells him about what it's like growing up with three brothers — "It doesn't seem very different from the Marauders," Remus observes with a wry laugh — and he tells her stories of how despite moving around periodically during his child, his mother always found a little corner in the yard to start an herb garden.

He does all the things she'd imagine a boyfriend might — Remus is a gentleman, expectedly. He holds the door open for her, gives her his jumper when there was a draft in the library, walks her back to the Common Room at night.

But, unexpectedly, it isn't Remus's soft smiles or considerate aura that Y/N finds herself straining to see. But it was when he threw his head back and laughed himself breathless at James holding his wand on the wrong end that Y/N found it impossible to tear her eyes away from him. Or when he shot her a dour look the first time she teased him on his illegible chicken scratch. Or when Remus cursed like a sailor when he knocked his ink pot over onto his parchment because he was always so uncoordinated and graceless.

It was perhaps impossible not to fall in love with Remus Lupin. Though maybe she already knew this from the start when he first looked at her, and even more so the first time he said her name.

She liked the way he would groan and complain and grumble as he stretched out his lithe limbs in preparation of helping Peter with his essay that he had procrastinated on, even after she could see the exhaustion begin to pool under his pretty eyes. She liked that he could silence the boys with just one baleful look. She liked the way he fell asleep on his books when he thought no one was looking. She liked his dry remarks and his wolfish grin and his grumpy mood. She liked all the rough edges that Remus showed her when he would forget to put up a soft smile.

It was too easy to love Remus Lupin, though it seemed like he didn't know that himself.

It only takes four full moons for Y/N to understand what the Marauders meant whenever they quietly referred to Remus's furry little problem. In the first place, they weren't always discreet — it was easy for them to forget she was there when she was studying in the background. In the second place, Remus would apologetically cancel their studying plans around the same time each month, and he would disappear for a few days and come back exhausted with fresh scars. It wasn't difficult to put two and two together, really.

But while she understood why he didn't tell her, she couldn't help but give him a tighter hug when she realized.

"Something wrong, love?" He had asked, reaching up to caress the back of her hair as she squeezed his abdomen.

"No," she had mumbled into his shirt, breathing in his familiar scent. She could feel affection swell inside her so violently she felt a little dizzy as she gave him another squeeze. "Just wish I could always be hugging you."

"No one's stopping you," Remus had responded dryly. She smiled into his chest as he rested his chin on the crown of her head. "Certainly not me."

— — — — —

When Y/N tries to discreetly deliver a small care package of chocolate and books a few nights before the next full moon, she accidentally overhears Peter ask James when Remus was ending his fake relationship.

"I doubt it'll raise any suspicions now that no one's pestering him about not having a girlfriend," she hears Peter say.

James makes a noncommittal sort of noise. "You know how Remus is about these things. He's always on edge that someone will think he's the odd one out—"

She feels like the ground beneath her has stuttered and shifted into an open chasm as her mind whirls to make sense of their conversation. For a moment, she thinks she's wrong, but like it was with Remus's furry little problem, if she thinks back on the stranger moments of the past four months, it's not difficult to piece it together. She begins to feel a little ill.

How many times did he force himself to smile at her stories? How many times after walking her back to the Common Room at night did he sigh with relief when she left? How many times did he wait for other students to be around to hold her hand? All the heart-fluttering moments she had thought had been magical and wonderful and incredible with Remus had been entirely one-sided. How humiliating. She feels used and dirty and pathetic, but the worse thing is that she can't feel angry.

She doesn't know how long she stands paralyzed outside, just that it's difficult to breathe or think properly. All she can feel is a numbing ache in her chest, and the feeling tightens when she hears a familiar voice behind her.

"Hmm?" Remus hums, a smile breaking across his face. The dimple in his left cheek appears briefly. "What are you doing here, love?" When she doesn't respond, he steps closer to her and peers at her face carefully, his big, brown eyes soft. "What's wrong?" He asks, gently looping his arms around her waist. Y/N goes perfectly still under his touch. "I knew you'd be studying for the Ancient Runes exam all day, so got some cakes from the kitchen for—"

"Remus," she interrupts suddenly, her throat gone cottony and dry as she raises her gaze to finally look at him. It sends a sharp pang through her chest again. "Are we ever going to kiss?"

Bizarrely, scarlet splotches appear swiftly on the high points of Remus's cheek as his eyes widen a fraction. "Kiss," he repeats, sounding strangled as he stares at her wide-eyed, looking as though she had clubbed him over the head. "You want to kiss?" He asks after a moment, his voice hoarse as his eyes flicker down to her lips.

"Do you want to kiss me?" She asks quietly, watching his throat bob as he swallows thickly.

"I've wanted to since—" Remus says softly, a little nonsensically, his eyes darting back down to her lips. His pupils are blown wide and dark as he swallows, his throat bobbing. “Y/N,” he murmurs, and she can feel his breath brush against her nose. She tries to control the thumping in her chest as he slowly leans in and raises his hand to cup her face. Remus looks down at her with a sweet adoration she knows cannot be real. She's seen this sort of soft look from him countless times before and now she knows better than anyone that it's just another cover. Perhaps it was perfectly clear since the start, but she had let herself get swept away with naive hope. The start of nothing. She feels like a fool.

Remus's head ducks slightly as the space between them closes. Y/N goes perfectly still as she watches his other hand rise, his fingers trembling a little as they reach to curve around her jaw.

For a moment, she entertains the thought and wonders what would happen if she just closes her eyes. She could close her eyes, could lean in and feel his eyelashes brush her cheek, could let him kiss her senseless. It would be so easy. It scares her a little how much she wants that.

Before she can betray herself, Y/N closes her hand around his wrist. “You can stop now,” she says, her voice low and steadier than she felt.

Remus freezes, his dazed expression crumpling in confusion. She takes a steadying breath, swallowing back the bile in her throat as she schools her expression with difficulty. Y/N places his wrist back down away from her face and lets go as she continues, despite the dull ache in her chest. “I wanted to know how far you would go,” she continues quietly. “How far you thought I would be willing to go.”

“I don’t understand—” Remus begins, a myriad of stricken dismay, alarm, and something else flickering across his face. For a moment, she thinks it’s the residue of desire, but she quickly remembers how good of an actor Remus is, and doesn’t let herself entertain that thought that it’s anything else besides panic for being caught.

"I know you're just using me," Y/N says, her throat dry. Her voice, to her mortification, cracks and comes out as a croak. Any sense of anger deflates immediately and all she can feel is this crumbling sense of defeat. “I should have known that something was strange when you suddenly confessed. We had never even really talked before that. I mean, I thought that I was dreaming when you said you liked me—"

“No, it's because—”

"I know why you did it," she whispers. Remus freezes, the color draining from his face. "The worse part of all this is that I can't find it in myself to hate you for using me. But I had just thought that you didn’t think so little of me as to…” She doesn’t finish as she stares down at the space between them, swallowing thickly. She feels ill. The last sentence had come out before she realized it. So that was what it was — disappointment.

"Did you even know my name before James said it?" She asks with a bark of a forced laugh as she straightens, setting her shoulders now though she still has a difficult time looking directly at him.

Remus swallows thickly as he steps forward. His pause is enough of an answer. "Let me explain,” he begins quickly, his words tumbling out in a frantic mess. “Y/N, wait,” he starts, reaching out.

“Don’t touch me, Lupin,” she says dejectedly, stepping away from him. Remus flinches and freezes, his expression falling, but she can't bring herself to look at him in the eye anymore. Y/N stares at the worn patch of carpet by her shoe as she swallows thickly before turning to leave. "You can tell everyone that you broke up with me if it helps you."

— — — — —

a/n: thx for reading! pt. 2 here my masterlist here