#so story here would be wine

[ithacantrickster]

happy late Valentine's day everyone, i offer you odydio

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ me & my husband ]❜

ft. the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f! reader — squid game

���₊✧ you don’t need your husband to be perfect, you just want him to be honest┊3.3k words; part two (here)

contains: written before s2 came out!! probably ooc or inaccurate, angst with spots of fluff & a bittersweet ending? reader’s pov mostly, suspicions of cheating, lack of communication, mentioned age gap, random inaccurate lore for the salesman

➤ author's note: yeah, i saw the sudden uptick in notes on that gong yoo post i made and realized season 2 came out which i completely forgot about. i intend to watch it soon as possible and write fics for it as well as (probably) add new characters to my writing list, but for now, please be content with this!!

₊˚ʚ 💌₊˚✧ this fic was heavily inspired by “emotionally intoxicated” by aurasaurora!

gong ji-cheol is the poster image for the ideal husband. he’s always been like that from the moment you met him, and you can’t help but feel like you’re the luckiest woman in the world when he calls himself yours. he’s tall and handsome, someone who catches everyone’s eye despite his only being focused on you. he’s wealthy and hard-working, able to call a luxurious mansion your home, and willing to buy you anything your heart desires as long as you ask for it. he spoils you rotten with that money, gifting you expensive things even if you didn’t ask if it reminded him of you. he’s doting, always sure to smother you in affection with kisses and cuddles whenever together to make it known how much he adores you. the sex is great too, he makes you feel wanted and desirable without ever leaving you unsatisfied. 

most importantly though, you love him, and he loves you. the last two years of marriage have been so blissful, and there isn’t a single thing you would change.

at least that’s what you believe most of the time.

you like to think you know a lot about him, and in a way, you do. you know his favorite color, how he likes his coffee, what he usually orders at restaurants, the type of wine he prefers over beer, the exaggerated shocked fasces he likes to make, how his favorite chore is folding the laundry, how his least favorite is doing the dishes because he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, the name of his childhood pet, what positions he likes to cuddle or fuck in, the names he’s thinking of giving to your child when they are finally born— there are so many little details you know about him, yet at times you feel like you don't know anything at all.

you don’t really know much about his childhood aside from a few random stories, he claims there’s nothing really notable and that it was as standard as can be. you don’t know who his parents were or what they were like because he said they died when he was young, but surely that’s an important loss which must have impacted him and made youth difficult in some way? you don’t know about his past partners if he even had any, but you doubt you were his first as he was yours with a face like his. you don’t know any of his secrets, like an embarrassing moment or something sinful he might have committed in the past. 

he knew all of these things about you and the little details of your life, so why don’t you know any of the most basic things regarding your own husband?

these periods of uncertainty are few and far, but once the icy tendrils of doubt creep in, it’s difficult to shake them off when you realize you only know these things through observations and not him actually telling you. it’s a miracle your stupidity allowed you to make it this far in falling head over heels for him, getting married, and carrying his child (not that you completely regret it, you still love him, but you wish you had given it more time).

they say there are no such things as stupid questions, yet the main question you have is exactly that as it’s something every wife should know even before the marriage. it would be impressive how long you’ve been clueless about this matter if it weren’t for how often and how skilled he is in managing to evade your curiosity and steer the conversation elsewhere. you didn’t want to press on it since he seems to shut it down every time the topic is brought up and you don’t want to fight over something you technically didn’t need to know, but it weighs on you and presses into your chest with the knowledge you were being kept in the dark. 

what did your husband do for a living, exactly?

his schedule is always unpredictably changing with little rhyme or reason and it confuses you. sometimes you’ll go an entire few days without seeing him, sensing him wake up in the morning before the sun is even up, feeling him kiss you on the cheek before getting ready, and not coming back until long after you fall asleep with no communication aside from a note on the table telling you he’ll be gone for the day along with a wad of cash for you to treat yourself while he’s gone. other times he’ll be chilling at home for an entire week, waking you up with aggressive cuddles (or morning sex), making you breakfast with the morning news on in the background, and taking you out to wherever you want to go on his card in his rare casual clothing and messy wavy hair rather than the typical fancy suits and hair styled with gel. 

as far as you’re concerned, he’s a businessman of sorts, although you don’t know what company he works for or what position he has in terms of hierarchy or how an occupation of that type allows such flexibility in hours or anything at all. 

“what if he’s having an affair?”

you paused for a second before continuing the motion of slicing the cheesecake with a fork and savoring the taste in your mouth. “that’s ridiculous,” you stated simply after swallowing. “he loves me very much, and it doesn’t explain his weird schedule either.”

today was spent with some friends you met back in high school, but honestly, you were only attending out of politeness and tradition since you honestly feel like you’ve disconnected from these girls long before the current. still, you treasure the memories shared in your more formative years and wouldn’t ever say no to them if they wanted to hang out like old times. ji-cheol doesn’t bother to hide his distaste for them, calling them a miserable lot who try to drag you down at every opportunity out of jealousy for your happiness. you laugh it off, but you know deep down he’s right and yet you’re still sitting here at the cafe with them with bright smiles like their words don’t cut deep. 

“maybe he’s dating the boss— a sexy office siren type— she gives him plenty of days off and he stays with her at her beach house at jeju island or something to keep her company, and then she gives him lots of money in exchange.”

“oh my god, could you imagine?”

“can you be realistic? it sounds like you’re just writing a plot for a new drama,” you giggled, not allowing the feeling of a twisting blade in your abdomen to show on your face or the venom to drip from your words at the mere thought of the man you loved being stolen away a faceless woman who was everything you wished you were more of: more beautiful, more wealthy, more experienced, more intelligent—

“you don’t know because he’s your first love or whatever— and you’re so lucky to have been able to marry him— but men are dogs, and i don’t see why he would be the exception.”

“but he treats me so well—”

“maybe he only treats you well because you’re pregnant— he probably just feels guilty. i mean, when i was pregnant and had my first, my husband wasn’t attracted to me anymore and demanded a divorce unless i lost the baby weight.” she shrugged like it was so simple, so common, like the notion of marriage wasn’t something so deeply important and could be thrown away so easily.

“we aren’t suggesting you get a divorce, but we’re just saying you should keep an eye on him— you know? a handsome guy like him was always bound to get a lot of attention…” her laugh was shrill and high-pitched, making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“right… thanks guys…”

that night, you couldn’t stop twisting and turning on the large sectional couch with thoughts rushing through your head of your husband with some other woman. the jealousy from these fictional scenarios without evidence of existence plagued you. it made you want to vomit up the negative feelings and go back to the person you were a few hours ago without the images of him cheating planted in your mind, which didn’t go unnoticed by him and caused him to ask what was bothering you as it wouldn't be good for the baby.

you hesitated for a moment, “could you tell me about your exes?”

“why are you suddenly curious about that?” he chuckled, knowing damn well that it was because of those stupid snakes masquerading as people (it truly takes one to know one) running their mouths again, but still feigning obliviousness for your sake. 

“just wondering,” you muttered. “i mean, you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, but you’re a bit older than me so…”

“and i hope to be the only one too,” he smirked confidently, making you laugh as he plopped down on the ground and rested his head on the cushion next to yours. 

it was such a casual setting in such a vast space, bringing you back to the days in your little apartment inviting him over for chicken and beer before you knew about your immense wealth and got embarrassed over your cheap dates when he was so used to expensive restaurants. he found it very endearing though, knowing you liked him for him and not his money.

“well, if you’re so curious…” he trailed off, but you weren’t quite sure if it was because of hesitation or because he simply didn’t know where to start. you can’t remember the last time a conversation like this was held to learn more about him since it was usually about you, maybe back when you first started dating and briefly discussed his late parents.

he started with his crush when he was in middle school since that was his earliest recollection of feeling love, who didn’t really count as a girlfriend or love because nothing was established and because of their age, but she was his first kiss that he ran away from right after because of how nervous he was, and it was never addressed again. apparently it was his second girlfriend who taught him everything he knew before he met you, saying she basically “trained him like a dog” to create a gentleman out of an inexperienced boy who still wasn’t quite sure how to treat a woman like a queen. she was a bit mean though, and he didn’t realize he dodged a bullet until later after realizing she was unnecessarily cruel to him for no reason multiple times if he didn’t do things exactly her way.

you suppose you always knew your husband wasn’t always the suave charmer you know him to be, but the image of younger him being clueless on matters of romance made you burst out laughing because of how you could hardly picture it.

he reached over to pinch your cheek affectionately, “are you of all people really making fun of me when you were too scared to hold my hand for me to escort you out of my car?”

“oh my god, that was on our first date, i can’t be blamed! i was shaking like crazy on that day— you had to tell me that you didn’t bite.”

“i was actually thinking about calling off our date last minute because of an emergency at work,” he confessed, “but i’m glad i didn’t and met the love of my life instead.”

“aw, you flirt.” the memory made you smile and feel all giggly inside, all the fears you had about him possibly having an affair falling away, yet there were still some lingering at the back of your mind with the mention of his job. “what happened at work?”

“nothing that important,” he said instantly like clockwork. “just some boring business things.”

you didn’t push it, not wanting to ruin the mood, but once again, your curiosity was just itching to ask more questions about his work life even if it was truly as boring as he says. you wanted to know every mundane detail whether it was what his office looked like or what the annoying co-worker did on a daily basis, anything to satiate your need to know more about this mysterious man you had made life-long vows with.

it all came to a head one night while you were cooking dinner, you heard the doorbell ring a dozen times in quick succession and answered it to find an older man with fiery red hair that seemed to match his temper. when he addressed your husband by name and verified your relationship with him, he began spewing all kinds of insults about the blood he had on his hands by luring innocent people to their deaths and you felt your heart drop. you tried to reason with him that there must have been some sort of mistake, barely able to get your words out in a fit of confusion and surprise at the absurd accusation, but he wouldn’t hear you out and pointed a finger in your face, asking if you had any idea what gong ji-cheol was doing behind your back. 

at that very moment, he was suddenly seized by two anonymous men in all black, causing him to yell out in panic as they dragged him away and stuffed him in the back of a car before quickly driving off into the night without a trace. it all happened so fast, you just stood there with your mouth open in shock, wondering if you should call the police on what looked like an abduction. 

then your husband comes running up the steps with his locked briefcase in hand, shouting out your name, asking you if you’re okay, pulling you back inside the comfort of your shared home, and checking you all over to make sure you aren’t harmed in any way. when you ask about who that man was and what he was talking about, he simply told you he was some crazy customer who was dissatisfied with the company, was looking for someone to blame, and promised to tell you the details later. 

you didn’t tell him that you didn’t believe him, just pursed your lips and furrowed your brow for a second then let go of the topic like you always do, taking his coat off his shoulders with a peck on the lips asking how his day was. he reciprocated the kiss, said it was fine without anything special, and that he would shower before having dinner, something he didn’t really need to say since you already knew but stated anyway as per evening routine. 

as he headed up the stairs and disappeared from sight, you stared at the locked briefcase resting crookedly on the little entryway table and paused for a moment. if you did this, it would be a breach of privacy and a sign of growing distrust in your husband, but it could also answer all of the questions that never cease. 

your hands wouldn’t stop shaking involuntarily as you felt the cold black metal underneath your fingertips, marveling at the smooth material clean of any scratches or dents. fidgeting with the built-in combination lock, six number sequences started rushing through your mind as you started to hastily run through your options with a focus on dates. you were determined to only do this three times since you had no idea if an alarm would be set off or if it would close off permanently.

his birthday?

an electronic beep went off indicating you were incorrect, making you nervous.

your birthday?

wrong again, you only had one attempt left. you swallowed, shaking the accumulating sweat off your hands.

the date of your wedding?

you gasped as the locks suddenly flipped open and lightly knocked against the briefcase. it was undone, you could open it at any moment now and see it all.

and yet you still hesitated during this golden opportunity. was it the fact that the passcode to his most secret possession was the day you got married? was it guilt for going behind your husband’s back for answers instead of directly asking him? was it because you were afraid of what you would find if you discovered the red-haired man was telling the truth?

whatever it was, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and locked it again, leaving it looking untouched and went back to playing dinner.

there was a heavy tension present at the dinner table that night, the only conversation present being him interrogating you about what the red-haired man talked about word-for-word. not really interrogating since his tone of voice was still calm and gentle as he asked questions, but you could see him fidgeting with his fork and not leaving much room for any other topic until he was sure you told him everything. he then sighed and claimed the man was insane, a gambling addict who was too deep in debt to afford treatment and was trying to drag him into his misery after meeting at the subway station. 

“ji-cheol?”

he froze for a second, not used to hearing you use his real name rather than a pet name. “yes?”

“what do you do for a living, exactly?”

a pause, you watched him fidget with his chopsticks and shift the grains of rice around. “you know, business stuff— nothing you need to concern yourself about—“

“but i don’t know! that’s the thing!” you felt tears starting to well up behind your eyes, letting two years of frustration trickle through. “i know it doesn’t seem that important for me to know, but is it really so important that you leave me in the dark about it for the three years we’ve been lovers? and now some guy comes to our doorstep and tells me about how your job is playing games with people at the subway station to make them participate in death games?!” you took a deep breath, calming yourself down, “please, be honest with me, that’s all i want…”

“i-i…” that was the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter, and if the situation wasn’t so tense, you would be proud you finally got one-up on him. “i can’t say… it’s for your own safety and mine.”

“so he was right?”

he remained silent, trying to think of some way to counter what seong gi-hun had told you, but if you didn’t believe the elaborate lie he already told you and wanted to learn more, then he knew this was the end of the road. 

“i-i need some time to think…” you looked defeated and it broke his heart. “i’m going to my mom’s house tonight, i’ll be back tomorrow—“ you got up, not bothering to pack anything aside from your phone and your wallet.

he had prepared for you to start screaming and crying (not that he would blame you, i mean, who would willingly stay with a man who was complicit in mass murder), demanding a divorce and packing your things to shut the door for him never to be seen again with your unborn child. the strangely calm reaction was both a relief and extremely unsettling to him.

“i won’t be mad if you decide not to come back” he stated plainly, defeated in a state you’ve never seen him in before. “whatever choice you make, i’ll support you, just know i love you— more than anything else in this world.”

you stared at him blankly through the open doorway. perhaps your husband isn’t the perfect man you believed him to be, but he was as honest as he possibly could have been with you regarding the matter, and that’s enough. 

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning.” that’s how you feel at the moment, but you don’t know if you’ll feel the same way tomorrow morning when it sinks in.

[unintentionalseductress]

My Beloved Boys

Warnings: MDNI, sex, virginity loss, threesome, oral (m rec), clit play, childhood friends to lovers trope. Liberties taken with the timeline, this is not the canon timeline, ages have been changed for story convenience. ANGSTY. A/n: Caleb got me ya'll. I tried, I tried really hard, I promise. And now this is what my ovulating brain has cooked up. Please enjoy it. I know this wasn't on my upcoming but I couldn't help it. Also please note, reader, Caleb, and Zayne are all the same age aka 18 here. Not proofread, expect raw text and descriptions.

It had been a few weeks since you’d joined UNICORNS and Tara invited you over to her place for a girls’ weekend. All of you were comfortably laid out in different parts of her living room, drinking wine and eating slices of pizza from the box.

The night had been fun, and with an entire bottle now empty, the women were loosening up and the topics were getting more and more risque. From complaining about exes to sex, to size measurements, they had finally arrived on the subject of virginity. 

“So, what was your first time like?” All eyes are suddenly fixed on you and you feel self-conscious. Taking a sip of your wine, you try not to flush as you vividly remember all the details like it was yesterday.

“Oh, you know. Awkward. Shy. The usual.” You try to act nonchalant but Tara leans forward with a gleam in her eye. 

“Oh come on! Tell us!”

Looking at the crowd of eager faces, you empty your glass before confessing, “My first time…was with two people.” You wait with bated breath, and slowly, one by one, everyone’s eyes widen with comprehension.

“Excuse me?” Tara squeals and sinks her fingers into your arm. You wince and pry her off.

“A threesome for your first time?” One of the other women joined in, a huge grin on her face. “Did it hurt?”

“Why a threesome? Was it something you fantasized about?”

You shake your head no at all the questions. “No. Growing up, I had two best friends and I loved them dearly. I just…couldn’t choose between them both.” 

“Tell us everything.” Tara sits down on the carpet and all the women gather in a tight circle looking eagerly at you. You sigh and extend your glass.

“Get me more wine.”

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

~Flashback~

It was the summer after graduating senior year. You were enjoying what would possibly be the last summer before everyone went their separate ways. Life had been rough for you, losing your family several years earlier. But now, you had a grandmother, and 2 best friends who had been through everything with you. Still, the memories brought back a sense of bittersweet nostalgia. Your nextdoor neighbor Zayne, and your grandmother’s other ward Caleb, were your inseparable companions since you had moved in with Josephine after the devastating wanderer attack that had destroyed most of Linkon City. 

Zayne and Caleb were alike, yet different. Both of them were tall and intelligent. Zayne was stoic and introverted, whereas Caleb was extroverted and easygoing. Somehow, the three of you became a unit, never seen without the other two in tow. Any escapades or shenanigans were always done together. You’d done homework together, fell asleep on the living room floor watching cartoons, and shared many meals in the last few years. The idea of being without them seemed unthinkable. Impossible in fact. You’d assumed you would all stay together in Linkon forever.

That had all changed last year, the summer before your senior year. You had been looking forward to spending the summer with Zayne and Caleb. But as the three of you had sat down at your usual boba tea spot, Zayne became very quiet as you started discussing plans for the summer. 

“What’s wrong with you? Is your tea not cold enough? You can just use your evol right?” Caleb had teased, sipping his drink. He gives Zayne a playful jab and Zayne glares at him, adjusting his glasses that had slipped down his nose. 

“Zayne?” You reach out and cover his hand with yours, hoping he’ll talk. There was a strange expression on his face. “Talk to us.”

“Yeah, Zayne. Talk to us.” Caleb widens his eyes and covers your hand with his. “We’re here for you boy,” he says with a tinge of mockery, making his voice sound high and feminine and you give him a withering look, pulling your hand out of the pile.

Zayne sips his milk tea, then quietly says, “I might not be here for most of the summer.” Caleb and you exchange a look before glancing back at Zayne. 

“What do you mean?”

Zayne looks apologetic like he regrets not sharing this news earlier. “I’ll be touring colleges most of the summer. And my parents decided to make it a road trip.”

“Colleges?” Caleb looked intrigued. “You already started applications?”

“I did. And…several of them have already sent in offers for next fall.” 

“What?!” You’re louder than you had intended to be. Zayne winces and you lower your voice. “You’ve already received acceptance letters and didn’t bother telling us?” 

“I’m sorry.” Zayne holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up. Neither of you had mentioned college and I didn’t want to talk about it if you weren’t ready.”

“But Zaynie!” Caleb puts a hand on his chest looking wounded. “We’re a family bro! Why wouldn’t you tell us?”

Zayne shakes his head and drinks his tea. You’re about to as well when realization washes over you. “Wait. You said you had several acceptance letters.”

“I do.”

“Well, where are they? You’re staying in Linkon right?” You ask, and for some reason, your heartbeat is increasing. You wait for Zayne to say, of course, one of them is in Linkon and that’s his first choice. 

“I did receive an offer from Linkon Medical University. However…there are better programs.”

“Really? So you might move for college?” Caleb regards Zayne passively. 

“It’s not out of the question.”

An unnatural silence falls at the table as the three of you drink your teas. This was wonderful news for Zayne. You were happy for him, but inside, it felt like your heart had been tied into a painful knot. You knew Zayne was the smartest of your group and that he was destined to be a doctor. But you hadn’t even thought it would mean Zayne might not be in Linkon City anymore. From a professional standpoint, it made sense. He deserved to go to the best college. But it left you feeling hollow like his impending departure had fractured the carefully crafted life you’d built since you’d been taken in by your grandmother. 

“When are you leaving?” Caleb breaks the silence and you’re relieved. 

“Sometime in July.”

“Oh, great! We still have a month then.”

“Well…”

Caleb’s eyebrows knit together in dismay. “What?”

“I have some extra classes I need to take. I’m hoping to get a head start on the pre-med requisites.”

“So, you’re going to be in school all of June?” You try to hide your disappointment. 

Zayne sighs. “Unfortunately. I’ll still be around. We can make time to hang out.” 

You nod unenthusiastically, then hiss as you feel Caleb step on your foot under the table. His purple eyes give you a sharp glance and he gestures towards Zayne and you realize this wasn’t about you; Zayne had shared news that he knew would affect your dynamic but had done so thinking he would have the support of his friends. Caleb reminding you of your manners was humbling and you lowered your gaze.

“I’m really happy for you Zayne.” You murmur, then rearrange your features into what you hoped was a pleasant look of approval. “Congratulations.”

Zayne’s eyes seem to lighten at your appreciation. “Thank you. It took me by surprise actually.”

“Seriously Zaynie. That’s really impressive. So we’re gonna have a doctor amongst us. Hey, you better give us the good drugs if we ever come to you.” Caleb pats Zayne on the shoulder in an acclamatory fashion. Zayne’s demeanor visibly relaxes and you try to keep up a happy face for the rest of the evening.

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

The sun was starting to set by the time you got home, the lazy streaks of tangerine painting the sky vivid shades of pink and orange. There was a feeling of uneasiness in your stomach as you changed into pajamas and brushed your teeth. It had taken years for you to get some semblance of a family, and now someone was going away. AGAIN.

You try to reassure yourself that this wasn’t the same thing. Zayne might be going away for college but it wasn’t until next year. You still had your senior year left to build some precious final memories. Somehow, he seemed older all of a sudden, like he had become an adult within a few hours of telling you about his acceptance letters. You knew you’d be going to college too but hadn’t given much thought about any of it. After the Linkon City disaster, you had decided you didn’t want to wander too far away. You didn’t want to leave Grandma Josephine all by herself. Although Zayne seemed to have made up his mind about attending a college somewhere else, you reminded yourself that you still had Caleb. 

Caleb hadn’t talked about college much, but you knew he wanted to attend. He didn’t know what he would major in, but he was naturally gifted in mechanics. You assumed he would be an engineer or something similar. He and Zayne had inherited the math skills, and you’d managed to get a decent grade by studying with them, or rather, getting bullied by them, with Zayne trying not to snap explaining how he got the answer versus Caleb taunting you saying you’d never graduate high school if you were this stupid. It was then you had decided perhaps a career in science wasn’t for you. But perhaps something in the arts, or communications. Perhaps languages. You wondered if maybe you were kidding yourself by not already sending out applications, or at the very least, making a list of where you’d like to attend.

Restless and unable to turn off your mind, you go next door to Caleb’s room and knock.

“Enter at your own risk!”

Rolling your eyes, you walk in and see Caleb sprawled out on his bed, holding his Switch over his head as he gamed.  “Oh, pipsqueak. It’s you.”

You sit on the edge of his bed, fiddling with the corner of the quilt as he continues to play. As you waited, you looked up at the ceiling, where little airplane models, all built by Caleb’s own hands, had been carefully strung up using fish wire and hooks. Little glow-in-the-dark stars littered the spaces in between. You sigh and draw your knees up to your chest, wondering what would happen to the models if he left for college.

Noticing your morose expression, Caleb exits the game and sits upright. “What’s the matter with you?” 

You shake your head and squeeze the bridge of your nose. “It’s Zayne. Did you know he had already applied to colleges?”

“No.” Caleb leans on his bed assessing you. “But I’m not surprised. And he has a point.”

“Which is?”

“Colleges are really competitive these days. Like even with excellent grades and extracurriculars, some people still have to take a gap year because they didn’t get in or they got put on a waiting list.”

You consider his words. “Do you think we should be applying too?”

“If we were smarter, we’d have already applied.” Caleb runs a hand over his face. “But it’s ok. We have the whole summer to plan. I think applications reopen sometime over winter break. We can apply then. You know, like normal students, and not nerds like Zayne.”

You laugh weakly, giving Caleb a reprimanding look. “That’s not a nice thing to say about our friend.”

“He’s not around is he? Anyway. Don’t fret pipsqueak. You’ll get in somewhere too.”

“You’ll stay close to Linkon right?” You lean closer to Caleb, your eyes boring into his. “We can’t leave grandma by herself.”

“Of course. Don’t worry.” Caleb puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you towards him. Your head rests on his shoulder as he traces circles into your arm. The action is comforting and familiar, and a sense of calm washes over you. 

“I don’t like it when people leave.” You confess quietly and Caleb sighs.

“I know. You used to cry all the time when you first came here. You cried when grandma left to get groceries. You cried when I left for soccer practice. You cried when it was time for Zayne to go home. Honestly,” he smirks and pinches you, making you yip in surprise. “You’re such a crybaby that I’m surprised you want to attend college at all. You know you’re gonna have to live with strangers in the dorm right? Are you gonna cry into your little bear plushie?”

He grins and dodges a blow from you, a bark of laughter escaping him as you try to roughhouse. He indulges you for two missed attempts then leaps and pins you to the mattress. You squirm and shriek under him, trying to escape as he tickles you relentlessly.

“Caleb! Caleb stop!” There are tears in your eyes from the hilarity of the situation.

“Aw, are you gonna cry when you’re being tickled now too? Crybaby crybaby!” Caleb continues to mock you before you pull a dirty move; you angle your knee against his crotch and grin as you instantly feel him go still.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Caleb’s breathing has stilled, and he’s warily looking down at you as you prepare to play your trump card. 

“I’ve done it before and won’t hesitate to do it again.” Knowing you had him in the palm of your hand, you look him deadpan in the eye.

“Get off.” Caleb complies immediately and you sigh, trying to calm your unsteady heart.

“You’re really heartless sometimes ya know?” Caleb’s voice is heard near your head and you turn to face him.

“I had to learn.”

A moment of peace falls between you both and Caleb softly cups your cheek. “Everything will be ok. I promise. You won’t be left behind. You’ll always have a family. We’ll never be too far away from you.” 

“You’d better not.” You huff and suddenly feel exhausted. “Caleb?”

“You can stay here tonight.”

“I didn’t-”

“I already knew. I knew from the second Zayne said he’s not going to be around this summer.” Caleb shifts and pulls you under his quilt. You bury your nose into his chest and close your eyes.

“This doesn’t mean I’m not independent.” You quip and a rumble emanates from Caleb’s chest.

“Of course not pipsqueak. Miss independent.” He strokes your hair and your eyelids grow heavy. Caleb tucks your head under his chin. “But you can be as dependent on me as you want.” Those are the last words you hear before falling into a deep slumber.

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

You barely see Zayne for the next few weeks. His classes kept him busy and he always had homework. Caleb had suddenly become secretive after the night you’d spent in his room though he kept reassuring you that he was fine. You sulk as you watch TV by yourself, Caleb having locked himself in his room again. You wondered what had made him behave so differently. The last few times you’d tried to talk to him, he’d unceremoniously shoved you back out. 

“Boys need their privacy sometimes,” Grandma had reassured you, noticing the way you were glowering at the TV. “Would you like to help me run errands?” 

Josephine's list wasn’t terribly exciting, but you were still bitter from being snubbed by Caleb, so you went anyway. Several hours later, you return feeling accomplished. Just as you’re about to help Josephine put away the groceries, you hear footsteps on the stairs and Caleb finally makes an entrance. 

“Oh look at that! Our groundhog has made a rare appearance!” Josephine teases as Caleb grins sheepishly. 

“Ooh, apples!” He says zealously seeing you unbag the bright red fruits. As he’s about to grab one you smack his hand and he withdraws with a yelp. 

“What was that for?” He rubs his hand looking offended. 

“Only people who helped buy the groceries are entitled to eat them.” You put them away neatly into the fruit basket on the counter, refusing to look at Caleb. With Zayne being awol you had thought Caleb would be a little more sensitive towards you and you were still quite annoyed at his lack of consideration. Caleb huffs, then hoists himself onto the kitchen counter, his long legs dangling off the edge.

“What were you doing all this while anyway?” Josephine asks as she puts away more groceries. “Summer vacation usually means I can’t get a hold of you two even if I needed to. I thought you were planning to go to the beach? Play volleyball with some of your friends?”

“Yeah, and we will. Even if this little gremlin is mad at me.” Caleb hesitantly looks at you, hoping you’d simmered down but you shoot daggers at him and he shakes his head. “I need to talk to you both.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. You turn to look at him but Caleb’s eyes are fixated on Josephine, who’s looking curious. 

“What is it? Nothing serious I hope?” The old woman sits down at the kitchen table. 

“No, it’s not serious. But. It’s kind of sudden.” Caleb’s refusal to make eye contact with you was now starting to scare you. “Grandma, we told you about Zayne and him already getting ready for college right?”

“You did. I always knew Zayne would excel at whatever he put his mind to. Clever boy that one.”

“Well, his news was sort of a wake-up call for me. What I was doing all these days was looking at colleges, and I think I know what I want to do.”

The evening summer sunlight falls charmingly on Caleb’s face, illuminating his smooth skin, the dark hair falling elegantly into his eyes and for a moment, you feel the same sensation you had felt after Zayne had told you about college. You heart was already twisting into nervous knots, and you waited with bated breath as Caleb continued. 

“I’ve decided I want to be a pilot.” His eyes are lit up with ambition as he says the words. Josephine cups her cheeks with her hands, a smile growing on her wrinkled face.

“That’s wonderful Caleb! I’m very happy for you.”

“Yeah. And. There’s something else I found out while doing my research.” Josephine immediately leans forward attentively. You listen quietly, but you can’t help but feel a slight sense of betrayal. Why would Caleb need to hide this from you? It wasn’t a secret that he wanted to go to college, and he loved talking about planes and jets. You felt like there was a piece he was hiding, saving it for fear of losing their attention. 

“The Deepspace Aviation Administration has an apprenticeship-based degree which guarantees I’d graduate as a pilot. It’s a degree in Aviation Engineering. Grandma.” Caleb’s voice has softened, and he looks at her beseechingly.“They’re offering a month-long crash camp this summer. A lot of the students that go have better chances of making it into the program. There’s one slot left. Can I please go?”

There it was. That’s what he’d been hiding. A month. Without Caleb. Silently, you resume unpacking the groceries, turning your back to Caleb as you do so. Josephine’s face was lined with delight. 

“Oh, Caleb! I’m so happy you’ve figured this out. Of course, you can go!” She rises from her seat and makes her way to Caleb who slips off the counter to hug her. She barely came up to his waist but she’s brimming with pride. 

“Go fill out the application before someone else gets it! Go!” She slapped him on the back and Caleb, looking like he’d just been told he’d won the lottery, sprinted back upstairs. Silence fills the small kitchen. Pretending to act normal, you start gathering ingredients to prepare dinner.

“Annoying loser.” You mutter under your breath. “He hasn’t even offered to help cook dinner the last few days.” You feel a hand on your shoulder and turn to see Josephine standing right behind you. 

“It’s ok to be upset.”

“I’m not upset.” You start washing the potatoes at the sink. Josephine sighs, then wraps her arms around your waist, giving you a gentle hug.

“Take your time. You know where to find me if you want to talk.” The woman hobbles out of the kitchen, and you put the washed potatoes on a cutting board. Your hand trembles as you pick up the knife, and the backs of your eyes feel hot and prickly. You didn’t understand why you felt like this. It was just a month. Caleb hadn’t applied for college yet. And even if he ended up at Deepspace Aviation it wasn’t too far away. But why did you feel like you were being left behind? Like everyone had their future planned but you? And none of their plans seemed to involve you at all?

You angle your knife to slice the potatoes, then let out a frustrated huff; memories of being a little girl, while Caleb held your hand in his as he taught you how to quickly dice your vegetables, patting your head with praise as he did so. You weren’t quite sure why potatoes were making you feel this way. Unbidden, a tear rolls down your cheek and you dash it away with your finger.

“Didn’t even offer to help with dinner.” More tears stream down your face and you let out a quiet sob. 

“There’s no one to help me make dinner.”

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

“C’mon pipsqueak, at least say goodbye to me!” 

Caleb was standing at the door, ready to leave for camp. You stood, arms crossed, refusing to speak to him. Josephine softly gives you a push.

“Go on now. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“No, I won’t. Besides he’ll be back in a month. It’s not like he’s staying there forever. Like they’d let him. They’ll probably call us begging to to take him back within a week.” Your snarky attitude hadn’t improved since he’d announced his acceptance. 

Josephine looks at Caleb and shakes her head helplessly. She’d attempted to ameliorate your temper for the last 2 weeks and had gotten nowhere. You had avoided Caleb altogether, even when he’d come knocking on your door to talk. There was a vindictive satisfaction in knowing that your ignoring him was bothering him. A little taste of his own medicine. Didn’t feel so good to be shut off from your best friend now, did it? The thought made your lip curl even as your stomach churned from the knowledge that you would be by yourself for the next month. 

Caleb checks his watch and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m getting late. Pipsqueak please.” Caleb opens his arms, giving you the most apologetic look he could muster. “Come say goodbye.”

You stood firm, even though every fiber in your being was burning to leap into his arms and hug him tight. 

“The bus won’t wait forever.” Caleb quickly strides towards you and before you can step away he’s wrapped his arms around you, and you’re stuck in his embrace. Tears form in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. Your arms remain stiff at your sides even as Caleb continues to hunch, silently bidding you farewell. When he finally lets go, he ruffles your hair. “I’ll see you next month. You can always reach me on my phone.” With a final wave, Caleb sprints out the door to board the bus.

You spend the day coming up with various ways to kill the time but nothing works. Video games felt lackluster and your mind refused to engage with the book you tried reading. For dinner, Josephine ordered burgers from your favorite restaurant to try and cheer you up. You sat quietly, unable to savor the food. Finally, before bedtime, you cave. Anything was better than this crushing, empty feeling in your stomach. You walk into Caleb’s room, and curl up under his quilt, inhaling the familiar scent. It was hard to believe he had been there just a few hours earlier, and you hugged his pillow, regretting your earlier actions. You pull out your phone and make a video call.

“Pipsqueak! Miss me already?” Caleb grins widely at you. The background is filled with activity, filled with high school students wandering around and acquainting themselves. 

“Shut up.” You say but your voice quivers. “Caleb I’m sorry.”

Caleb’s eyes soften. “It’s ok. You don’t have to be.”

“But I was so mean to you.”

“Yeah, you were. But what can I say? How can I be mad at my family?” His words break the shield you’d built around yourself and you sniffle, letting the tears fall. 

“Please don’t cry all over my pillow. It’ll get soggy.” Caleb tries to joke but your tears are eating away at him. He knew what this would do to you, which is why he hadn’t told you his plans before they were solid. “I’ll be back before you know it. Be good for grandma ok?”

You nod, a lump forming in your throat. “I miss you, Caleb.”

“I miss you too. Please don’t be miserable the whole time I’m gone. Try to focus on things important to you too. Maybe make your list of colleges.”

“Yeah. I will.” You wipe away your tears. “Will you make dumplings for me when you come back?”

“Is that all I was good for?” Caleb asks in an offended tone but he’s grinning. “Yeah I will. I promise. Now go to sleep.”

He hangs up and you find the knot in your heart has loosened slightly. Caleb was right. You needed to focus on you. You turn over and are about to go to sleep when a text lights up your screen.

“Ice cream tomorrow?”

It was from Zayne. You smile. They’d never really leave you all alone. You text him a yes and fall asleep contentedly.

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

“How are you feeling with Caleb gone?”

You’re seated across from Zayne with a huge banana split sitting on the table between you. You twirl the spoon between your fingers, thinking.

“It’s strange. I miss him of course. The house feels empty.” You sample some of the ice cream. “It’s even emptier without you.”

Zayne looks guilty as he also takes a bite of the sundae. “I’m sorry. I know it must seem strange given how much time we all spent together. Believe me, if I had known Caleb wasn’t going to be here I would have put in more effort to check in on you.”

“It’s not your fault.” You lay down your spoon, contemplating. Zayne cocks his head.

“Something on your mind?”

You twitch your mouth to the side and try to explain. “Well, I recently realized I seem to have a problem with being by myself. And I’m trying to change that.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because. It’s illogical for me to think I’ll always have you or Caleb or grandma around. I know a lot of it stems from losing my parents. But I can’t be this way every time I have to be away from you guys.” You stab the spoon into the mound of whipped cream at the top of the ice cream. “We’re all going to college next year, and we might go months without seeing each other. I’m trying to be more independent and in control of my feelings. Otherwise, how am I supposed to survive?”

Zayne nods emphatically as you speak. “That’s a very rational way of thinking. However, I don’t think I can fault you for not wanting any of us to move away.”

“Really?” You carefully fish out a cherry from the top of one of the ice cream scoops. 

“Of course. It’s natural to want to stay close to the people who have been a constant in your life.” Zayne glances away from you before continuing. “My parents are doctors. They’re busy most of the time. I work around their schedule. But I’m always more relaxed when one of them is at home. It’s natural to want to be around one’s family. Your feelings are completely natural.”

You let out a breath and laugh. “Well geez Dr. Zayne,” you tease. “Thank you for the psychological assessment.” 

“Anytime.” He offers you a wry smile. “But I think it’s good you’re taking the initiative to adapt. The most successful people aren’t the smartest, but the most adaptable.”

“Oh? So am I smarter than you?”

“Hardly,” Zayne smirks as you pout, “I happen to be both.”

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

Now here you were, senior year finished, the summer that you had hoped would take its time in arriving sitting at your doorstep like a lost puppy begging to be let in. You had opened a window and a cool breeze was blowing past your face. You look out at the neighborhood of Bloomshore, remembering how intimidating it had looked when you first moved here, and now how you could never imagine leaving.

Zayne had returned from his road trip the past summer with a million photos and tales from each city he had visited with his parents. He’d brought back snacks and small trinkets from each place, and every few days, you’d find a postcard from him in the mailbox. You’d saved each one and put them away into a little keepsake box. When he had finally come over after his trip, Josephine had almost giggled herself silly because Zayne had tanned so much during his absence; a lighter ring had formed around his eyes like a raccoon where the sunglasses had perched. You’d laughed when you saw him, and Zayne had merely shook his head in exasperation. 

Caleb had returned from camp with a whole new attitude towards his future. He seemed more confident, and couldn’t stop talking about engines and how being in a cockpit felt.  Being the extrovert he was, he’d also come back with many new friends, some of whom lived just a few blocks from your house. You had initially disliked these new friends because it intensified the feeling that you had been replaced. Until one of them had mentioned that Caleb always looked at your picture before he fell asleep at night. Caleb had acted nonchalant but a dusting of pink had appeared on his face at the remark. 

As you had predicted, Zayne had settled on and formally accepted an offer from one of the colleges. He had decided to attend a prestigious medical university at Snowcrest, a city that you knew was near the Arctic, frigidly cold, with short and mild summers. Although not impossibly far, it was still a long journey to reach Snowcrest, and you had felt some of the hope that was in your chest being crushed. Reminding yourself that you were trying to become a more assertive, independent woman, you had heartily congratulated Zayne while Caleb had teased that it was because Zayne would melt if he continued living in the temperate climate of Linkon City. 

Caleb had immediately applied for the program at Deepspace Aviation Administration after coming back and was accepted into their engineering program, news he had received over winter break. You could still remember him dancing around his pajamas early in the morning after reading the email on his phone. He’d barged into your room, startling you from your deep slumber, and scooped you out of bed, spinning you around in his arms as he exuberantly announced his acceptance. Josephine had woken up from the ruckus, making her way up the stairs to investigate, and when she had reached your room, Caleb had tossed you back on your bed before picking up Josephine too, giving a quick circle that lifted her off her feet before carefully putting her back down. They found him baking shortly after; Caleb baked when he was happy. 

Although you had applied to your fair share of colleges, you didn’t hear back until spring, and you had sighed in relief when you saw the acceptance letter from Linkon University. It was exactly as you’d hoped. Even though Caleb would need to move to Skyhaven, it was still closer than Snowcrest, meaning you could see him every month if you wanted to. 

There was still time before everyone went their separate ways. You knew that yet it felt like time had fallen into a strange vacuum where nothing was happening yet everything was happening all at once. Sometimes your pulse started to skyrocket for no reason at all. Thinking about college made you anxious just as it made you excited. New people, new challenges, the classes, getting lost on campus, all these thoughts swirled in your head like a snow globe being violently shaken. 

You knew you’d make friends but there was a pang at the thought of not seeing your best friends. Suddenly it felt like you had taken all these past years for granted. You found yourself reminiscing over small aspects of your friendships with both boys. Like the time you’d turned down Zayne to go to the movies because it was a documentary, or when Caleb had asked for help to paint a model airplane and you’d refused because it was the third model that week. These minor indiscretions now felt like heavy bags of guilt weighing on your conscious. 

Perhaps this is why you were all being separated now, you think self-deprecatingly. You had always thought you had forever with them and hadn’t spent enough time with them when they’d asked you. Now you didn’t know when you’d see them next. 

A knock on your door disrupts your thoughts and you turn to see Caleb standing there. 

“Ready to go?”

“Where?” you ask blankly.

Caleb gives you a questioning look. “To Zayne’s house. He got that new game and asked us to come over remember?”

It takes you a moment to recall, then you put a hand to your forehead. “Yeah, that’s right. I forgot.” You look down at your clothes and decide it’s not worth changing. It was hot outside, and it was Zayne’s house; he’d seen you in rattier things than the denim shorts and T-shirt you were currently wearing. You follow Caleb out of the house, the summer breeze whipping your faces as you walk. Caleb seemed content to walk in silence and after a few yards, you catch hold of his wrist, slowing down his pace.

“Everything ok?” He peers down at you and you nod yes. 

“Caleb. I’m sorry for all those times I refused to paint model airplanes with you.”

“What?” There’s levity in Caleb’s voice. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about those model airplanes you built. You asked me to paint them with you and I always found excuses to avoid it. And now I don’t know when we’ll do something like that again.”

Understanding fills Caleb’s expression and he frees his wrist so he can drape his arm over your shoulders. “You’re thinking too much again.”

“Am not.”

“Sure you are. We’re officially done with high school. You’ve been tweaking out about this since last year. How many times do I have to tell you, it’s going to be ok. And it’s not like we’re depending on carrier pigeons to communicate. Text me, call me, a million times a day if you want to. I’ll always reply.”

The feeling of his warm arm on the back of your neck makes you want to pull him into a hug right now. Caleb and Zayne were so different than most boys their age. Neither of them made you regret expressing vulnerability in front of them. You wondered if they would meet someone when they went to college. Zayne would probably get swept off his feet by another medical student. And Caleb…Caleb exuded such candid energy that girls were always drawn to him. The thought made you uncomfortable for some reason and you push it out of your head.

“If this apologizing thing is gonna continue, then please don’t apologize to Zayne for that day I used my evol to hurl snowballs at him through his window.” 

You burst out laughing at the memory, Caleb’s gravity control effortlessly pitching snowballs into Zayne’s room while you kept watch for the grown-ups. “We ended up drenching his sheets that day,” you say in a sober voice. “I do feel kind of bad now.”

“What’s a little prank between friends hmm pipsqueak? Like that time Zayne and I let that possum into your room.”

“That was you two?!” You jerk back and Caleb doubles over, cackling. “I screamed so loudly that the poor possum keeled over playing dead! But I thought it had really died and I had killed it! Grandma had to put it outside and then showed me how it got up before I stopped crying!” 

Caleb had tears in his eyes as you indignantly frowned at him. “I hate you,” you muttered and continued down the road towards Zayne’s house. Caleb jogs to catch up with you.

“You don’t hate us pipsqueak. You’re going to remember all of this and be reminded that, despite everything, you had a good childhood.” Caleb puts his hand on your head. “I know I will.”

You roll your eyes and keep quiet but know that he was right. 

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

Several rounds of Mario Kart later, the three of you are sprawled out on the floor in Zayne’s room. Both his parents were on-call that night and were working at the hospital. 

“There’s pizza for dinner,” Zayne says lazily as he gazes at the last few rays of the disappearing sun. Although it was well past dinner time, none of you felt hungry. There was something sweet about the calmness of this moment, and no one seemed willing to break it to go down to the kitchen. You’re in between both boys staring at the ceiling fan which was rotating in a hypnotizingly soothing way. The soft whir of the blades was making you drowsy. 

“When I was at camp, there were helicopters with blades like 50 times that size. The military choppers are huge.” Caleb says in a relaxed voice. “Can’t believe I’m going to be piloting those things in my third year.”

“Third year? Not after you graduate?” Zayne asks as the sunlight reflects in his amber-green eyes. 

“Nah. They start showing us flight basics in the third year. That way we can take the exam in the final year and we’re good to fly right after graduation.”

Zayne hums contemplatingly at the explanation.

“I’m guessing you won’t perform your first operation for another 10 years or so right?” you ask, enjoying the camaraderie. 

“They start you off with simple procedures that are low risk. But I want to be a cardiologist. Ten years might not be a bad estimate.” Zayne turns onto his side so that he can look at you. “Do you know what you want to do after graduating college?”

“I just graduated high school. I’ll figure it out along the way. Not everyone has answers about their long-term careers like you guys do.” Zayne gives you a small smile and you chuckle. 

“Do you guys remember the summer right after I first moved in?”

“Yeah. We were 6 years old. Why?” Zayne asks. 

“Remember I wanted it to snow because it was too hot at the time?”

“Oh yeah. Zayne and I came up with a little trick there didn’t we?” Caleb also rolls to his side and props himself on his elbow. Fondness is etched all over his face at the memory.

“I think I’ll tell that story everywhere I go.” You gaze nostalgically at the ceiling. “My two best friends literally made it snow for me.”

“It was the first time we tested our evols together,” Zayne says reminiscingly. He looks over at Caleb. “Want to do it again?”

“What do you think pipsqueak? Will it make you happy?”

You close your eyes. “It would. If you don’t mind snowflakes falling all over your carpet Zayne.”

“The heat should melt them before they touch the floor.”

The two boys look at each other, and then Zayne extends his palms toward the ceiling. Soft flakes of snow start to form on his palms, and then Caleb points a finger toward Zayne. The snowflakes lose their gravity, delicately floating into the air, and dancing near the ceiling. Both of them hold their evol until the air is filled with them.

“Ready?” Caleb asks, and you can feel joy radiating from him. 

“Ready!”

Caleb disengages his evol and the snowflakes make their way back to earth, melting away as they do so. Even at this age, it was still magical, and you feel a sudden constriction in your throat.

“I’ll miss you guys,” you murmur, then hold their hands as the remaining snow starts to fall around the three of you. 

“We’ll do this for you whenever we meet,” Zayne says solemnly, observing your expression. You sniff and smile, your eyes overbright. You turn and find yourself face-to-face with Zayne. You hadn’t realized he was so close, and you can see the surprise in his eyes. The world seems to stop spinning, frozen in the moment. In the blink of an eye, without thinking, you lean forward and clumsily press your lips to Zayne’s. 

You weren’t sure what you were thinking, but all you knew was that words weren’t enough to describe how much you’d miss him. When you lean back, Zayne’s eyes are wide but he doesn’t look displeased. You reach out to pat his cheek.

“I’ll miss you.”

You hear shuffling on the carpet and suddenly feel warmth against your back as Caleb presses his body against yours. This wasn’t an alien reaction to you; You and Caleb cuddled all the time, even slept in the same bed from time to time since you were kids. But somehow, his breath on the back of your neck was telling you this was different. You feel Caleb’s lips press a soft kiss to your nape and you jerk at the sensation, trying to look at him over your shoulder.

“I’ll miss you too my little one,” Caleb whispers, tipping your face to his by your chin. Enamored by the tenderness of his gaze, you allow him to give you a chaste kiss, your eyes fluttering closed at the feeling.

Your heart races as you become aware that you are sandwiched between Caleb and Zayne, and neither one is moving away. Instead, strong arms, one from each of them, come over your waist, effectively holding you into place.

“Are you ok with this?” Zayne murmurs into your ear. “Us showing you that we’ll miss you?” Your eyes squeeze closed as you realize you have just experienced your first kiss. Correction. Kisses. Your face turns red under their watchful gazes but right now, you were consumed with the idea of being in this moment for as long as you could.

“Yes.” You whisper the word out loud. 

Hearing your breathless consent, both of them move impossibly closer, and you gasp as you feel Caleb softly kiss your ear. “Tell us if you want to stop.” His warm breath tickles the sensitive skin and you squirm. 

 Zayne strokes your arm and it sends tingles down your spine. You feel yourself going light-headed at their touch. They feel safe, and your mind enters into a state of connection. You can hear their heartbeats, the low, masculine sighs welling up from their throats as their hands gently explore the contours of your body over your clothes. 

Your legs were the most exposed part of you, the shorts having ridden up from all the movement playing video games, and rolling around on the carpet. It’s Zayne who boldly touches your knee first, sending a jitter of electricity up into your core. The blood rushes to your ears, and you almost jump as Caleb chuckles before sinking his teeth into one of the lobes. The little nip was unfamiliar, but it felt good and your hand grips the front of Zayne’s T-shirt as the minor sting passes.

“Are you feeling hot?” Caleb moves some hair away from your shoulder to kiss and lick the crook of your neck. “Your ears are so red right now.” His words cause you to flush. Your skin felt uncomfortably warm, and your heart was pounding inside your chest as their hands stroked every inch of you. A strange throb was beginning to make itself present between your legs now; it was in time to your heartbeat, as though your sex had developed a rapid pulse of its own. You move to try and get comfortable and your panties chafe against your folds. 

“What is it? Zayne sneaks his hand over your waist and onto your back, his head leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I feel…” your voice trails as you struggle to find words to describe it. “Light. But also…strained? Like I’m hot everywhere. And tingly.” You knew you must have sounded ridiculous but Zayne gives a comforting pat on the small of your back. 

“Arousal,” he murmurs, pushing your hair away from your face. “All the signs point to that. According to my pre-med textbooks anyway.” 

“Oh…” 

Arousal. 

You’d learned that word in biology but you had never thought about what the implications of it would be in the real world. Zayne peppers your face with small kisses and your eyes flutter shut as they reach your cheeks, your chin, the tip of your nose, and then finally your lips. He hovers uncertainly for a second before he does so, and it feels like a little light has been ignited inside of you. His lips were soft, warm, and unparted. Gaining courage, and your curiosity getting the better of you, you open your mouth and hear a groan issue from Zayne. Experimentally you give him your tongue, exploring the crevices of his mouth, and feel a delicious, liquidy pull, in your lower abdomen. Excitement pulses through your body as Zayne’s tongue timidly touches yours, participating in the erotic dance as you kiss. 

Caleb has now left kisses all over your neck and shoulders, and you can feel his hands starting to grow mischievous and he walks them along the front of your collarbone, starting to stroke down on the swells of flesh under your Tshirt but not daring to cup them completely.

You and Zayne part and his eyes are smoldering, green embers growing in the irises. “I don’t want to continue this on the floor.” 

Your brain is in a haze and it takes a second for you to register what he had said, and you hasten to move, but are prevented from doing so as Caleb hooks his arms under your upper body, and Zayne gently cradles your legs from the knees below. They lovingly move you to the bed and resume their positions on either side of you.

The softness of the bed is alluring, and all of you sink into it, you feel their hands flirting with the edge of your T-shirt. Feeling shy, you glance up at them and raise your arms. Taking your cue, Zayne pulls off the garment, then he and Caleb follow suit, discarding their shirts with yours. You drink in the sight of their bare upper bodies. You had seen them half-naked before when you’d gone to the pool and the beach with them, seen their bodies wet with water and sweat. But the longing and hunger in their eyes as they looked at you made it feel like you were seeing them differently; now as men rather than childhood companions. 

Goosebumps form over your skin as your upper half is exposed to them, and you tentatively reach out to put a hand on each of their chests. They tremble at your touch, and the knowledge emboldens you, knowing they were as affected by you as you were by them. The direct skin-on-skin contact was soothing, their warm, firm bodies pressing up against your softness. Caleb traces a finger along the inner crease of your cleavage, then looks at you for permission. You nod, curving towards him so he can unhook your bra. A mixture of nervous excitement fills you as the small piece of fabric slips off your body and you quickly cling to Caleb, hiding your breasts from view. 

He strokes your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It’s ok my little one. I’m sure you’re beautiful.” 

You feel a persistent ache in your breasts and press up against Caleb’s hard chest, surprised at how the ache lessens as you do so. Caleb lets out a low, guttural groan, and at the same time, Zayne closes in to kiss down your back, licking random little lines on your skin that have you pressing deeper into Caleb’s body. You gasp and wriggle in surprise as Zayne bites down on the curve of your waist, then soothes the bite with his thumb.

“Won’t you let us see you?” Zayne’s deep voice requests you, and feeling like you’d burst into flames from the embarrassment, you finally let go of Caleb and lie back on the bed, covering your eyes with your hands as you do so. You hear their collective breaths being drawn as they take in the view of your soft breasts, the nipples hard from their affections. 

“How cute,” you hear Caleb growl. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel your breasts being cupped and squeezed, and then suddenly, light floods your vision as Caleb tugs your hand away from your eyes.

“Aw look at you. You’re blushing.” He teases but it’s said with gentleness. Zayne watches your expressions intently, and you let out a moan of pleasure as they continue to play with your breasts. 

“Are you enjoying it?” Zayne’s voice cuts through the buzz in your head and you nod, a heady twirl of sensation shooting up your spine. Your toes curl into the mattress as they mindfully pull your nipples, feeling your arousal grow as they do so. You nod breathlessly at Zayne’s question and feel an urgent pulsing between your legs. You’re desperate to touch and relieve yourself. You were no stranger to pleasuring yourself after all but could you do it with these two watching?

The thought sends an arrow of lust straight into the deepest depths of your core. You’re about to speak up but all that comes out is a noise of desire as Caleb licks your nipple, savoring the taste of your skin before suckling the little bud into his mouth. Zayne repeats the action on the other side and you feel like you can’t catch your breath, each soft suck sending you into a dizzying spiral. You feel like nothing is solid under you like you’re floating on a cloud, where the only thing that existed was the sweet stimulation of their mouths on your body. You try to discreetly rub your aching clit against your panties, the barely there friction making you feel like you might go insane. 

You shiver as Caleb releases your moistened peak, caressing your hair and kissing his way down to your navel. Both their large hands stroke the length of your legs, intensifying the need building inside your core. Your nails sink into the covers as you quiver under their touch. 

“Feeling ok?” Zayne cups your cheek as he notices your tension. You crack your eyes open and nod.

“I feel hot. I need…I need to…” You blush as you try to form the words.

“What?” Caleb prompts you and moves back up to take your hands, stroking your palms. “Tell us.”

I need…more…” you manage to say, then gasp as Zayne ghosts your belly button before his hand dips below the waistband of your shorts. Your breath hitches as he strokes the soaked gusset of your panties, just a few inches shy of your clit.

“Show us.” Caleb catches your lips in an unexpected kiss. 

Zayne’s hand withdraws and he slides down your shorts over your legs, little ripples of electricity running through your body as he does so. 

“You’re so wet.” Caleb’s voice is laced with arousal as he moves toward your feet and sees the patch of moisture on your panties.

“It’s natural,” Zayne reassures you and squeezes your hand and you nod, your embarrassment giving away to your instincts. Your hips raise slightly as Caleb removes your panties, displaying your swollen sex to their eyes. Zayne moves next to Caleb as you part your legs, and take a finger into your leaking core, drawing up the slick towards your clit. Whimpers leave you as you stroke light circles onto the swollen bud. 

“That’s so hot,” Caleb says as he watches the erotic view in front of him. Zayne quietly observes you for a few minutes, then you feel a jolt burst through you as he reaches his fingers into your drenched folds and copies your moves.

“Like this?” 

“Y-Yes…” you whisper breathlessly, your legs parting shamelessly to allow him better access. The pads of his fingertips were gentle, and the sensation of someone else touching you was so starkly different from when you did it. The air becomes balmy, and you writhe passionately under his gentle ministrations.

“Such a good girl for us.” Caleb strokes your thighs and you moan as your hips roll, trying to reap all the pleasure you can get. Your feet plant into the mattress and suddenly, you feel a different set of fingers, a little thicker than Zayne’s, softly probing at the wetness of your core. 

“Breathe for me baby girl.” You hear Caleb’s encouragement and breathe deeply as he inserts his fingers into you. It was done carefully but you were already lucidly wet and his fingers sink in with ease. Your moans start to keen as Caleb slowly strokes your inner walls, his movements uncertain but soft as he watches your face for discomfort. Zayne continues circling your clit and the sensations from both of them were driving you mad.

You feel yourself clench, your body tensing under their tender ministrations, pleasurable mewls filling the air as they work your body to the edge. The separate sensations were unlike anything you could have ever imagined in your wildest fantasies. Even when you’d touched yourself before, you’d imagined a faceless stranger. But now with these two, it was even more heady than you could imagine.

“Don’t stop.” You pant as you feel your body tip into the abyss. They don’t relent and keep up the pace and your eyes squeeze closed in ecstasy as an orgasm builds and explodes inside you. Your body quakes from the pulses of delight flowing through you and your sobs fill the quiet bedroom as you fall apart, a puddle of tangled, sensual desire.

“How was it?” Your chest rises and falls as you try to catch your breath and you see Caleb curiously lick at his fingers, tasting the fluid collected from your body. The sight was so lewd and yet arousing, and you can’t help but stare as he cleans up his digits.

“Good it was…good.” 

Caleb turns away and you see him fiddling with the fabric of his sweats and something clicks in your head. “Are you both…?”

You glance down and Zayne doesn’t try to hide it, but he averts his eyes shyly as you see the hard bulge in his shorts. Slowly, you roll over and crawl over to them. “Can I see?” you ask curiously, and a nervous glance flashes over their faces before they oblige. Your eyes widen as their cocks spring free of their confines, thick, veiny, and pulsing with heat. 

Your hands move automatically, reaching out to stroke them, and both of them hiss at your touch, your small, soft hands already pushing their inexperienced bodies toward the edge of bliss. You’re surprised at the firmness, and the velvety the skin was stretched over their arousals. Growing bold, you give a slight squeeze, and both of them groan, the noises heavy with want.

It emboldens you, hearing the desperation in their voices, seeing the way drops of pearlescent fluid start to form in their slits. Your mind craved to know what they tasted like, how their desire might feel on your tongue. Leaning forward, you cautiously taste Caleb first. His abdomen tightens, a low moan escaping from him and he grips the covers.

“Ca-careful…” he says in a trembling voice. You hear the thin restraint in his words and repeat the action on Zayne, tongue darting out to sample him. Zayne lets out a huff followed by what sounded like a snarl. 

Drunk with the power you held over them, you continued to test their boundaries, sampling, sucking, giving soft kitten licks, never taking more than a few inches of them into your mouth at a time. Their patience was wearing thin and their eyes had a primal haze to them when you dared to look up.

Caleb jerks you away from him, momentarily stunning you before you’re wrapped up in his strong arms, and he pins you underneath him, his erection grazing your thigh as he does so. His body was like a furnace and you nuzzle your face into his chest, his heart beating like a caged bird in his chest. He moans as he pushes his hips against you, trying to soothe the ache in his cock. 

Zayne shifts towards your head, his facade of control slipping as lust pours into his system. You reach out a hand to stroke him again and he bites his lip, eyes fluttering closed. 

“I think…I’m ready,” you say quietly and 2 pairs of eyes fixate on you.

“Are you sure?” Caleb’s tone is ragged as he tries to control himself from being selfish. 

You nod and stroke his hair with your free hand. “I’m positive. With you two…I’m not scared.”

Caleb laughs nervously. “Got us all wired up here baby girl. You think this is something I have practice with?”

You sense his insecurity and murmur, “It doesn’t really matter.” 

Caleb takes a deep breath, then moves, your legs spreading apart as he adjusts, grabbing his cock and probing around near your entrance. You tense slightly and feel Zayne move so that he can put your head on his lap. He strokes your face, then leans down to kiss you, easing your worries, and you feel your core flutter in anticipation.

Caleb finally notches in, and he pushes with care, pausing as he hears a muffled gasp escape from you, spilling into Zayne’s mouth. The sensation was strange, it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as you thought it would, but it wasn’t the most comfortable either. It felt like unused muscles were being stretched inside you, then suddenly…you were split apart and he was there, filling an unfamiliar cavern that had been untouched all these years.

“Fuck…” he hisses as he feels the tightness of your walls, the wet clench of them around his cock. Caleb’s movements are shaky as he soaks in the glorious feeling of your body, not daring to push too far in for fear of losing control. Your eyes are clouding over as you gaze up at Zayne’s face, your body rocking with each of Caleb’s thrusts. You moan loudly as he dares to bottom out once, then he quickly pulls out, his breathing shallow. 

“I can’t…Not in you…” he mumbles, then starts to pump himself in his hand. You cup Zayne’s cheek, and understanding, he moves carefully between your legs. He kisses your pubic bone, and like Caleb, strokes himself before using his hand to guide himself inside you. You were prepared for the sensation this time but marveled at how different Zayne felt inside you compared to Caleb. Your pussy stretches and accommodates him easily, the muscles relaxed and loose as he enters. 

Zayne brushes away hair from your face, his movements tender like Caleb’s and just as inexperienced. To you, however, they felt amazing, and you’re in awe of the human body, the way it could feel and bask in these sweet feelings and touches. Zayne’s breath grows ragged with each passing thrust and all too soon, he’s pulling out as well.

The sight of both them pumping their lengths, of knowing you put them in this frenzied sexual haze, stroked your ego. Caleb lets go first, his nose scrunching up in pleasure as he releases his load, the warm sticky fluid splattering on your belly as it happens. Zayne follows not too long after, jets of seed spilling out of his swollen tip to join Caleb’s.

The rest of the night was a blur. You remember being carried to the shower, by which one, you couldn't remember. They had washed you, murmuring how you’d be their girl forever. After helping you dry off, Zayne had lent you a change of clothes, and you fallen asleep wearing his hoodie and shorts, both of which were baggy and loose. It was past midnight when Caleb had roused you, reminding you that you needed to get back to Grandma’s house. He packed your clothes into a plastic bag, and after you had hugged and kissed Zayne goodnight one more time, he’d held your hand on the way home. Once back at your own home, Caleb had led you to his bed, and held you snugly against him as you fell asleep once more.

It was the perfect ending to the summer. You felt deeply content and sighed against Caleb’s chest. It was rare to find one person that loved you so wholly but two? That was nothing short of a miracle.

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

~End Flashback~

The group of women were gazing at you in wonder, their cheeks flushed as the wine they’d been sipping intoxicated their system. Tara’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates. 

“And?” she prompts in an awed hush as you conclude your story.

“And what?”

“Don’t play dumb!” Tara pouts. “Where are they? Are you guys…in a poly situation?” Shr grins slyly.

Her question makes your heart twist painfully. Trying to keep your composure, you finish the rest of your wine. Taking a deep breath, you say the final, painful, part of the story. 

“My grandma’s house was blown up during the attack on Bloomshore district last year.”

Tara’s eyes change from teasing to horrified. “I’m so sorry!” She covers her mouth as the rest of the group becomes somber at your admission. 

“My grandma and Caleb didn’t survive the blast.” Your voice trembles.

“And…Zayne?” Tara’s voice is hushed.

“Zayne and I lost touch. He used to send letters regularly then, his last one to me, stated that he’d been asked to be part of a research program for developing a cure for Protocore Syndrome. It was some sort of high-clearance project, privately funded. He stopped writing after that.”

“No!” Tara looks absolutely beside herself. “So Zayne is alive…but you don’t know where he is?”

You shake your head no and excuse yourself, escaping to the balcony. None of the women follow you and you’re grateful for the moment of privacy. The night wind whips your hair and you breathe it in, the air feeling fortifying despite the chill. 

The seasons might change, but to you, they’re all the same. In your mind, you’re stuck in a perpetual state of summer, the memories of your two lovers echoing through your mind. 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

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[pellucid-constellations]

I Have A Feeling You Got Everything You Wanted

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Falling in love with Azriel had never been in the cards. Falling in love with anyone other than the husband your father appointed to you had always been a far-fetched notion. And that was a truth you had lived by. 10 years ago.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Yearning, pining, all that is longing and angst and exes to lovers <3

a/n: Guys I adored writing this so I hope you love it!! Inspired by 'We Hug Now' by Sydney Rose. I so so appreciate hearing what you think. Thank you for reading!!

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

You fiddled with the ring on your finger, passing it over your knuckle and twisting it back down. 

Your stomach hurt, pain and nausea mingling with such severity you feared you would be sick. The thought was comical, in a way. The company at the table would be so concerned over their dresses and the obscenely expensive tablecloth that you could probably sneak away. But that would still be a feat considering the heavy palm resting on your thigh. 

Warren was a nice man. He fulfilled his duties as the man you were to marry with dutiful purpose. He learned your favorite foods, how you liked your tea in the morning, and the shops you frequented. He touched you kindly, respectfully, and he was always nice to your friends. He was nice. But you were not in love with him. 

In Warren’s defense, you were never going to be in love with him. Your father had decided that you should be, however, so you were promised to him from a young age. That was typical of the high fae with your family’s rank, and you had evaded that duty for some time now. Your father had given into your whims for several years, allowing you to “galavant around”, as he would say, acting as the Winter Court’s emissary until Warren’s family grew impatient. 

Your return to Winter had been met with immediate wedding planning. You had been called upon for floral arrangements and the menu and to finalize the color scheme. Warren had done his best to quell his incessant mother’s demands, but the wedding was a court affair and everyone was thrilled. 

Well, most were. 

Before you had stepped foot in the Night Court ten years ago, you had been indifferent about the wedding. Sure, it wasn’t optimal to have to marry a man you knew so little about, but it had been an expectation since your birth. Warren may not have been your choice, but he was certainly not the worst choice when compared to the other eligible bachelors in the pool. You had left to act as emissary with a gentle begrudging that cared little for the future. 

You had returned with so much indescribable longing that you had trouble speaking to others. 

Every decision you made was accompanied by an inundating weight that threatened to crush you. You chose daisies for the aisle and you thought of him. You wore that ridiculous wedding dress with the high neck and drapey sleeves and you remembered how he used to touch you. You sat at this dinner, celebrating the joining of two families, and you reminisced on how it felt to sit with him, with his family, and to feel that you belonged somewhere. 

The urge to be sick persisted as your future mother-in-law hoisted her glass in the air, bubbles losing weight and flying up to the rim. 

It was cruel—all the mundane things that reminded you of him. 

“To my son,” Warren’s mother toasted, white furs puffing around her cheeks. “And his new bride-to-be. We are overjoyed that the long-awaited day meets us!” 

You gritted through your smile, raising your glass to your lips. The edge hit your teeth and the sound of the impact vibrated your brain. 

“Oops,” you giggled, the splattering of fae wine against cobblestone suddenly hilarious. “Who did that?” 

“I believe you are the only one in this alleyway, my love.” Azriel’s smooth voice sent a pleasant warmth up your spine. 

You whirled around, night air kissing your bare shoulders. It felt electric when accompanied by Azriel’s adoring smile—addicting. 

“You followed me,” you mused, curling your glass into your chest and stepping closer to the Shadowsinger. 

Azriel met your steps without pause. “Of course I did.” You smiled at him, light and airy. He brought soft fingers up to brush along your face as he asked, “Are you alright?” 

“More than alright,” you were quick to reply. “Just needed some air. It gets so hot in there.” 

He hummed, eyes tracing over your features. “Want to go home?” 

“I feel that Mor would be angry with me.” 

“She would only be angry for a day. Buy her those shoes she was eyeing.” 

“And why should I choose to go home with you?” 

Azriel pressed his lips against yours in a tender kiss. He moved back, only an inch, and whispered, “Come with me and you’ll find out.” 

“That reminds me of when Warren climbed that icy tree in the courtyard. Oh, what a silly child he was!” A boisterous aunt clapped her hands as she shouted, snapping you out of the memory with a small jump. 

Your chest ached as you breathed out a laugh and rejoined the table. 

Beside you, Warren chuckled, his hand brushing lightly near your knee. “Please, do not bring up anything I’ve done before the age of twenty,” he pleaded. His eyes shone their pretty blues. His hair looked enticingly soft. “I don’t need y/n to have those images in her mind.” 

He turned slightly, flashing you a small smile that spelled marital secrets and private conversations through eyes. 

Where you should have felt the lightness of new love elating you, buzzing at your skin, you felt the increasing urge to cry. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t cry. You hadn’t cried since the night you left him. 

“I’m sure it would only make you that much more endearing,” you teased, swallowing hard when Warren took your words as an opening to dive into a tale of the past. 

He didn’t deserve this, in all honesty. 

Warren was a nice man. 

But Azriel— 

“You are so beautiful.” 

“You’re supposed to be watching, Az,” you admonished, tucking your face into his arm to hide the heat on your face.

“I am watching,” he argued. He leaned down, your back pressed to his chest, and kissed the skin above your ear.

“Not me. The stars,” you clarified. 

You tilted your head slightly, meeting the crook of his elbow where it rounded your shoulders. He kissed you again and again, mapping out the top of your head with the delicate pecks. You laughed and that only egged him on. He turned you and pressed you back until your spine met the railing of the balcony, and then he was kissing your cheeks and your temple—the bridge of your nose and your brow. 

“Azriel,” you tried again, but his smile was against your skin and he wasn’t listening. “You’re missing Starfall!” 

“I can see it next year,” he murmured against you.

“And you can kiss me whenever you want.” 

He paused, pulling back to catch your eyes. You smiled, confused at the serious moment in the otherwise light mood. He had no response to your confusion, only leaning back in to brush his nose against yours. 

Maybe he had known. 

You had foolishly thought this all to be avoidable, figuring your father would understand that you had found happiness. That he would have cared and given up on this unwanted marriage. 

He hadn’t.

“Isn’t that right?” 

You blinked, turning to your fiance with a haze in your eyes.

You hadn’t been listening. 

The cake on your plate was becoming stale, its untouched state starkly contrasted with the empty glass of champagne to the left. You pulled your lips into a line, searching Warren’s encouraging eyes as he tried to help you. It didn’t work; you had no idea where the conversation was left. 

“I’m sorry,” you bluntly stated, voice turned up into the posh tone your father had ingrained in you. You turned to address the table. “I seem to have been lost in my head. I didn’t sleep very well last night. Catch me up?” 

Warren gave your knee a fond squeeze before removing his hand to place it on the back of your chair. He leaned down slightly, his voice lowering as he offered a gentle excuse for you. She has been so incredibly busy, he offered warmly, she’ll be even busier when the wedding is over. 

You felt as if you were underwater. Your face lit up with another asinine smile and it was difficult to breathe. Not because you weren’t used to this setting—not because Warren was a bad man. This was supposed to be your life. This was what you were supposed to be doing. 

There had never been any indication of a different path.

“I love you.” 

You whipped your head to the side, abandoning the sketchbook in your lap as your charcoal rolled into the seat cushions. 

“What?” 

Azriel smiled. He leaned over the pillow separating you, tucking your knees further into your chest as he closed the space on the loveseat. “I said I love you,” he repeated, breath fanning over your lips. “I’ve told you before, but you haven’t heard me.” 

You let out an incredulous huff of laughter, your gaze bouncing between both of his eyes. “When? I don’t remember that.” 

“At the Sidra yesterday. Last week at the shops. Three days ago when you fell asleep on me.” 

“No, you didn’t! I would have remembered.” 

Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear and left his hand resting on your cheek. “You are often oblivious to your surroundings, my love. Especially when something is interesting in front of you like fish or jewels.” 

You scoffed. “Not true. My father made sure I was very observant. My tutor would smack the back of my neck any time I got distracted.” 

Azriel tutted, disapproval darkening his eyes as he brushed his scarred hand to cup the back of your neck. He shifted on the loveseat so you were sat on his lap, his other hand finding a home on the side of your thighs. 

“That is cruel,” Azriel remarked. “Being distracted is in your nature. I don’t know if there is a time you are not distracted.” 

“There are many interesting things to look at,” you mused, humming as his fingers inched up your scalp. 

“I’m sure.” A pause. Azriel had the gall to look unsure. “You do not have to love me back.” 

Your posture stiffened, the words leaving you before you could consider them. “I love you, Azriel. I love you, too.” 

He seemed to slump against you at that, tension you didn’t know was there leaving his body. He offered you a warm smile and then kissed you—and kissed you and kissed you. 

It had seemed like there was another path. 

“If you’ll excuse us,” Warren announced to the table. A musician had begun to play the harp in the corner of the restaurant. “My bride and I have much to discuss tonight so we must retire. Please, continue to enjoy the night.” 

Confused and disoriented, you took his gloved hand in yours and said goodbye to the correct people. You weren’t supposed to be the first to leave. This was your rehearsal dinner. 

Warren guided you into the winding hall, his grip soft and reassuring. You attempted not to trip on your dress as you went, your head throbbing with an invisible pain that seemed to linger these months back in Winter. 

It had been months without seeing him. 

You were getting married the next day.

It would be final then. 

The first step outside the restaurant was both invigorating and unpleasant, the cold air assaulting your senses. It did the job of snapping you out of your thoughts, but then you were left standing in the snow before Warren, and that was a similar form of torture. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he prompted, tugging your cloak over your shoulders. You had missed him grabbing it from the coat check. “You’ve been off since you returned but it’s worse tonight.” 

Warren had known you peripherally before you left for the Night Court. You were to be married, so he made it a point to at least meet you before you were gone. He had not known you would be gone for years, but neither had you. The last time you spoke to Warren before you had met Azriel, a wilted salad sat between him and your father, the pair discussing politics and import prices. 

Warren would not have known something was wrong, he hardly knew you, but he did anyway. Because he had made it a point to be a good husband. 

That’s what made this even more tortuous. 

Maybe, if he were terrible, it would be easy. 

Your chin wobbled for a moment of breath. You’d pass it off as a chill. 

“Nothing is wrong,” you smiled, cheeks already stiff from the cold. “I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.”

Warren closed his eyes, breath a white puff before him. “Don’t lie.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“I’m not!”

Azriel tugged his hand through his hair. His face was flushed, feet taking him in a disorganized line around the room. “You are engaged.” 

“Not by choice. I don’t know him, not really. I could tell my father—” 

“You would be shunned—cut off. I know how noble families are, y/n.” 

The use of your name struck you, a stark contrast to the soft, endearing terms Azriel so loved to use around you. You flinched unconsciously, eyes darting around his room to find some sort of explanation for this. 

“I don’t care about any of that,” you urged. You remained rooted in the doorway, unable to move. “I’d stay here. I wouldn’t go back.” 

“You would leave your family? Your… fiancé?” Azriel spit out the last word. The crumbled missive crinkled in your hand as you clutched it tighter. 

“I would do anything to be with you.” 

“Don’t say that. Don’t make this my decision.” 

The paper fell from your fingers. You brought your palm to your chest, ignoring the harshness of his tone. “No, I know. This isn’t—this is my choice, Azriel. I want to stay here. To be with you.” 

“I can’t be the reason you abandon your family. Your responsibilities. You—You lied, y/n. You never told me about any of this,” Azriel bit out, hands curled into fists. 

“I’m sorry! I wanted to—I did—but I was so afraid you would be angry. And then I fell in love with you and—” 

Azriel held his hand up, abruptly stopping your teary explanation. His chest visibility heaved. “You should go.” 

“What?”

“Answer your father. Tell him you’ll comply with the date.” 

Tears wet your cheeks, the silence following his demand pressing them down in heavy streaks. He stared back at you and he looked so angry, his eyes a calculated cold. He had never looked at you like that. 

“You’re hurt,” you spoke, voice a mess of tears. “You don’t mean that.” 

He only shook his head slightly. “I do.” 

“Azriel, I love you. I was promised to marry him when I was born. I don’t—” 

The muscle in his jaw feathered, effectively silencing you. His shadows were going haywire, half of them wrapped around their master, protecting him, the other half twining around your chest. Did they know you were in pain? Did they know your chest wouldn’t move?

“Okay,” you relented. More tears fell when Azriel only gave you a hard stare. “Okay, I—I’m sorry, Azriel. I love you—” 

You choked on a sob when he turned around, apparently unable to watch as you broke down. 

And that's what made this the most torturous of all; you could leave Warren—maybe—and Azriel still wouldn’t want you back. 

You decided you wouldn’t lie to Warren just as you didn’t to Azriel.

“I fell in love.” 

Warren nodded, barely blinking at your admission. “In Night?” 

Your brow furrowed. “Yes, but—you aren’t angry?” 

“I couldn’t expect you to tie yourself to me. You didn’t know me when we were engaged and I didn’t do the best job at getting to know you when we came of age.” 

“I left.” 

“To meet your soulmate, it seems.” 

“We had no mating bond.” 

Warren’s mouth ticked up at the corner. He adjusted the collar of your cloak and dusted the snow from your shoulder. “A mating bond is not always the answer.” 

Faelight from the post beside the restaurant gleamed off the bronze hues in Warren’s hair. He leaned back, hands encasing your upper arms. “I’ve missed my chance then.”

Something soft fractured inside of you—because he was right. Warren could be all things kind and loving and he wouldn’t be Azriel. No one would be. 

“I’m sorry,” you softly spoke. “I never meant—” 

“Don’t apologize. Go to him.” 

Your lips parted. “Warren, I couldn’t. We’re to be married tomorrow. I wouldn’t do that to you. And our families would be enraged.” 

“I’m hardly concerned about our families. As much as I would have enjoyed marrying you—and I would have, please do not get that misconstrued—there are several noble ladies my mother has lined up and already ready, I’m sure. And as for your family… to be honest, y/n, you came back from Night brighter than I remember you. It seems you have another family waiting for you.” 

It all sounded wonderful—wonderful and so, so easy. You’d have Warren as an ally and you could return to the people you’d called home for so many years. You’d feel at home. The loss of your homeland would sting, but it was a worthy sacrifice. 

But then you remembered the anger and hurt in Azriel’s eyes, and this was no longer easy. 

The light extinguished from your eyes, shoulders deflating in Warren’s hold. “I can’t. He was so angry with me.” 

“When?” 

You met the blues of his eyes, chest hollow. “He found out about our engagement the night before I returned. He told me to go. He was—Warren, he wouldn’t want me back.”

Warren clicked his tongue. “I can guarantee that he’s kicking himself over that. He didn’t mean it. Imagine you learned he was engaged after so many years together. That can’t have been easy.” 

“I know,” you mumbled, ashamed. 

“But—” he continued “—if he loves you, he would have regretted that the moment you left. Go back to him. Speak with him. If he turns you away we can still be married in the morning.” 

“You would still marry me?” you deadpanned, brow raised in amusement. 

“It’s either you or the girl my mother surely has on standby.” 

You scoffed out a laugh and pushed at his chest. He grabbed his sweater in mock pain, a charming smile playing on his face. 

Despite the task that awaited you, you felt lighter. You let out a resolute sigh before saying, “You’re going to be a wonderful husband, Warren.” 

He looked up at you from where he had bent his neck, peeking out from below his lashes. “Just not to you?” he asked. 

“Not to me,” you affirmed. 

~~

The air in the Night Court felt different—shimmering, somehow, although that may have been chalked up to the anxiety coursing through your veins. The crystalline silk dress still adorning your frame stood out against the dark hues of the court. 

It had been a feat to get up to the house. After winnowing into the outskirts of Velaris, you had prayed Mor was home to the tune of several knocks on her door. She was—thankfully—and seemingly more than happy to see you. She had rushed through a tale of how terrible Azriel was doing without you that quickly morphed into a lecture about how pissed she was that you left without a proper farewell. 

You had apologized, and she had sent for someone with wings. 

Cassian appeared next, rattling off much of the same as Mor only with more shouting and less snapping. After several apologies, Cassian brought you up to the House and then promptly left to the opposite side of the House. 

And so, you were left alone with an insurmountable task. 

The halls of the House were painfully familiar, each step a reminder of the life you once thought to be forever. You passed your room—only used for the first few months before you made a home in Azriel’s—several sitting rooms, the kitchen; Azriel’s door was closed. 

You hadn’t knocked on it in years. 

You sucked in a breath, allowing it to fill your chest and then your stomach, and then you knocked. And knocked again. 

“I told you to leave it, Cassian,” came Azriel’s reply. “I don’t wish to talk about it.” 

His voice was rough and thick. You knocked again, listening close to the wood for the sound of footfall or movement. You only heard Azriel’s bed shift. 

You knocked again.

No answer. 

Well, if you were going to do this it wasn’t going to be halfway. 

You turned the knob, the metal cold and reassuring under your palm. You had done that before. 

Azriel’s room was much of the same. Some things were missing; paintings on the wall had been removed, the side of the bed you typically slept on looked all but bare, his curtains had been changed. 

Your gaze went out before it went in, and when it went in, you saw him. Hunched over on the side of his bed, Azriel sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His fingers were threaded through his hair, his room almost unseeably dark. He didn’t look up when you entered. 

“I want to be left alone,” he grunted out. He sniffed. “Tell me after she’s married and only then.” 

He knew you were getting married tomorrow. He had kept track. 

Obviously, that had been a possibility, but you had expected more avoidance. He was angry with you—at you. He couldn’t even look at you when you left, hadn’t told you he loved you as you packed your things and vanished. It would have made sense if he resented you. If he stayed away from all things that involved you. 

“I am not getting married.” 

His head snapped up at a vicious speed, hands falling into his lap just as quickly. His shadows, once in a clump at his feet, exclaimed in the air before cautiously edging towards you. He took you in, eyes roving over your figure in a panic. You caught the reflection on his cheekbones in the small amount of light filtering past his curtains. His eyes were swollen, his face gaunt. 

His voice cracked as it formed the sounds of your name. 

Nerves caught up with you. You closed the door behind you and stayed rooted in the same spot you had left him in, feet creating an indent by the wall. You played with your fingers at your waist. 

“Um, hello,” you greeted, clearing your throat. It hurt to look at him, you realized. You tore your eyes from his ruined expression to gaze down at your hands. “I realize you told me to leave. And I did—I had every intention of following my father’s requests as you told me to do. But—um. Warren could tell something was off. I was trying my best, I swear I was, but it was hard to fall back into that role after spending so much time here. After being comfortable here. With you.”

You chewed at your cheek for a moment. A bad habit you had picked up in the months back in Winter. Azriel’s bed creaked. He’d stood up. 

He was going to leave. You needed to get this out, quickly. 

“I know you’re angry and I’m so sorry, Azriel. I had foolishly thought I could avoid the fate my father had set out if I just ignored it. If I just lived out my life here with you. I thought it would all go away so I never told you about Warren and—” 

“Please,” Azriel interrupted. “Stop saying his name.”

You could feel his presence. Now directly in front of you, his shadows became more comfortable and had taken to sliding along your skin. Azriel stepped forward until you could hear his breath, but you refused to look up. You couldn’t. 

You apologized instead. “I just came back because… I just wanted you to know that you have become my family. You had said that I was making a choice between you and my family, but that’s not true. I feel at home here. And you can tell me to leave again. You can and I’ll—” 

“Look at me.” 

You sucked in a breath, picking at the skin of your palm. 

Azriel placed his thumb and forefinger on your chin, tilting your face up to his. The first touch of his skin against yours had warmth blooming in your gut, but it was quickly replaced with a tight ball of anxiety when his eyes met yours. 

“Gods, I’ve missed your eyes,” he all but sighed. You backed up a step until your back met his door. He followed. “Is it my turn to talk?”

You pressed your lips together and nodded. 

“Letting you leave—speaking to you like that—has been my greatest regret,” he began, the gravelly nature of his voice conveying more than his words ever could. His lashes were damp as they fanned against his cheeks. 

“I didn’t tell you the truth. You had every right—” 

Azriel pressed his thumb to your bottom lip and trained his eyes on the skin he displaced. He winced with a slight shake of his head. “I’m talking, my love.” 

He continued. “I did not have the right. I was hurt, you were correct, but I wasn’t listening. It was unfair of me to react that way. I wanted you to come back the moment you left.” 

“Then why didn’t you come get me?” you whispered. 

“I thought you had everything you wanted. I figured—y/n, I have never been the best option. I’m a killer. I have hang-ups. I wanted you to have a way out.” 

“I didn’t want a way out,” you stressed, gripping Azriel’s wrist. He had moved his hand back to cup your jaw. “I wanted you. I didn’t care about any of that. I was willing to throw away my entire life in Winter to stay.” 

“I know.” 

“And then you told me to leave.”

“I know.” 

“It’s not fair.” 

Azriel let out a tortured breath. His shoulders sagged and his forehead met yours, even though he didn’t ask, even though you weren’t sure who was mad at who anymore. You kept your eyes open as his closed, watching his face twist. 

“Wanted?” 

You drew back. “What?” 

Azriel’s eyes opened. “You said wanted. That you wanted me. That you were willing to stay.” 

You could only stare at him. 

“Does that mean… is this irreparable?” 

“Why do you think I’m here, Azriel?” A broken, defeated smile donned your face. “I don’t think we could ever be irreparable. I don’t think I’d have the strength to keep that up.” 

He was kissing you, a hurried press of his lips against yours, and his sticky cheeks became wet once more as they brushed against yours. His hands found the back of your head, your waist, pulling you in closer. His wings came around to keep you in place—unnecessary. You weren’t going to leave. 

He pressed harder still, barely enough air between you to breathe. He took the small amount that was there, whispering apologies and declarations against your lips. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“I know, Azriel.” 

“Please don’t marry him.” 

“I won’t.”

“I love you. So much.” 

You kissed him more, softer, and he let you set the pace. At some point, his feet had guided you to the plush surface of his bed, positioning you at the head without ever breaking from your lips. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again—a kiss to your jaw, one along your temple. “I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Showing you how much I love you.” 

“It’s okay, Azriel. I’m sorry too—” 

“Don’t. Please. I played out you returning to me so many times in my head. You never apologized in them. You have no reason to.” 

You threaded your fingers through the hair on his nape, eyes cast softly up as he hovered above you. “I could have been more open.” 

“I’ve thought about that. I—I was foolish to think you’d want that future. You are nothing like the woman they have forced you into the mold of.” 

A small smile. “So you’ve noticed?” 

Azriel only kissed you once more before a seriousness cast over his face. “Were you… treated well?” 

“Treated well?”

“I believe his name is Warren.” 

You fought back a laugh at the way he mumbled the words. “You’re worried he was cruel?” 

“Among other things. I know how noblemen can behave.” 

“And when did you begin to worry about that.” 

“From the moment you said his name was Warren.” 

You did laugh that time, shifting on the bed until Azriel laid on his back. You rested along his side, palm flat on his chest. Like a moth to a flame, Azriel’s wings captured you in their own hold. “Warren would have made a good husband. He is a kind man—doting, even.” Azriel tensed beneath you, but you only smoothed your fingers down the plane of his chest. “But I didn’t love him. Maybe I could have tried, before I met you. But not after.” 

Azriel rested his hand atop yours, squeezing your fingers. “I will thank him then. For caring for you when I did not.” 

You looked at him softly, removing your hand to brush stray hairs from his forehead. “He told me to go to you. I was at my rehearsal dinner. I think if I had opened my mouth I would have said your name.” 

He responded with a hand rubbing circles into your back. You laid your head on his chest. “Things will be different now. I can’t go home for a while.” 

“You are home,” he replied. “Things may be different, but I will never be different. Not when it comes to you.”

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

[sbcdh]

I believe the English phrase is “odd duck.” Yes. Jan Kargad was an Odd Duck. He was born in 1922, right after Georgia joined the Soviet Union, in a commune outside of Batumi. But this was not a normal commune no. His parents were strange people. A small group of Dutch fuckers, very protestant people, started a winery in the countryside where they could read their bibles. You would think they did not get along with the Marxists, but you would be wrong. They loved work. The bible loved work. There was no problem.

Well, that is not entirely true. Jan was a bit of a problem. He was born with a “weak constitution.” We do not know what that meant exactly, but farmwork would give him seizures and very high fevers. He was not a good child for farm work. So, they taught him arithmetic. Young Jan was in charge of counting grapes and bottles of wine and so on. Maybe the Apparatchik did not mind a child doing all the counting, maybe he was bribed, maybe he did not give a shit. I do not know. But Jan was in charge of all the counting and, what is the fucking word- logistics. Yes. Logistics. And he was very good at logistics. 

There are theories as to his upbringing yes. Studying the bible alongside Marx and Lenin and so on. But I do not believe this. In Chechnya in those days many studied the bible and Marx like Jan Kargad, but we did not become like Jan Kargad. I think perhaps it was the fevers. One sees things with a fever when it is bad enough, yes. 

Kargad also studied the capitalists. He was very good at this. He read Adam Smith, but also Issac Newton, the South Seas bubble, and most famously the Tulip Panic. They say his journals were filled with pressed tulips. He was a bit of a, what is the fucking English word- pervert. A pervert for organizing things and numbers and so on. Jan Kargad loves logistics like a man loves his wife, and tulips are a symbol of this for him. They became a microcosm for him. You see how the bud unfolds into many petals, its is very similar to how capitalism unfurls into its many aspects in the world. But, I am getting ahead of myself. 

One day, after all of his schooling, Kargad has a terrible fever, more terrible than any fever he has ever had. This is in the early 1940s some time. After this fever he becomes strange. Well, stranger than he already was. He speaks of men with golden dog masks, their necks chained to the sun, tulips growing from their eyes, all of that shit. He never goes outside again. He becomes fearful of the sun. He does not let it touch his skin. 

He writes intensely for the next three years. I have seen his original notebooks and they are stained with sweat. This man is not well, but he writes. He does not get help, because he is very good at analyzing agricultural output. I believe it grounded him some how, to spend days without sleep, reading spreadsheets about grapes and wheat and so on. 

He is no longer christian. He throws out all of the crosses in his home, and replaces them with grape-cutters. They are similar to a sickle, but with a long handle, for reaching up and cutting off high bunches of grapes. He becomes obsessed with this idea of the grape cutter, and he begins to paint. And this is where many first learn of him. He influences a group of artists who become famous in the southern soviet union, though they are occasionally derided as being “mystical.” I personally? I love the drawings. Many figures reaching up to pluck grapes from the sun. It becomes the central theme of his work.

Here people discover his strange writings. But first he is considered a strange mystic. His early writings are still very christian yes, and this influences how he is read in the west. Many think he is speaking of hyper-economics or whatever fetishistic bull shit the americans are calling it. But I do not think so. His work is very soviet. There are stories yes, of good soviet men drinking coffee and loving spreadsheets like a man loves his wife, and in this they become a little bit like Jan Kargad. They are –you do not have an English term for this– cutting grapes from the sun. But this is not a serious phrase you understand. These men are perverts.

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats

Aegon ii Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, angst, violence. S2 SPOILERS

“I can’t be ‘Aegon the Magnanimous.’ No one knows what Magnanimous means.” Aegon drawls, slumped over in his throne. The hour is late and there are many places he’d rather be. Namely with his beloved wife, who he’s scarcely seen, since taking on his duties. Their children will already be asleep, but if they wrap things up here soon, he may have a few moments with Y/N before bed.

“Aegon the dragon cock.” One of the piss drunk men raises his cup to the king.

“That’s more like it,” Aegon claps his hands together.

The men hoot and holler at the name. Dissolving into laughter.

“Speaking of,” Aegon rises to his feet, “I must get back to my wife. I did not wed her to admire from afar.” Aegon tosses back the remainder of his wine, throwing his gauntlet down beside the throne. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

He wastes no time, taking the stairs two at a time up to his chambers. His queen is already abed, waiting up for him with a bit of light reading. “What story is that now, my dearest love?” Aegon asks, pulling off his boots.

“It’s a book about the plague.” Y/N bends it open at the spine, setting the bound pages on the bedside table.

“Seems a bit morbid.” Aegon frowns, “especially in these times, wouldn’t you say?”

“Do you have something better in mind, your grace?”

Aegon doesn’t miss the bitterness in her voice. “You are my equal, here of all places. Don’t do this to me, please. Do not ice me out, I cannot bear it.”

Y/N sighs, crossing both arms over her chest. “Helaena is frightened of the rats. I’ve been looking into their behaviors and customs.”

Aegon flops onto the mattress, unceremoniously. “The rats?”

Y/N nods, “to be honest, I’m not particularly fond of them either. Although, they are interesting.”

“No vermin shall touch you so long as I live, darling girl. The only thing nibbling your toes will be me.” He wiggles his foot against hers for emphasis.

Y/N huffs a laugh. Allowing the silence between them to hang heavy.

“I am sorry about your brother.” Aegon says, despite ordering his own brother, Aemond, away at the news and holding her through sobs, he’s yet to say the words. “I cannot stand your suffering. It’s made it nearly impossible to be away from you to perform my duties.”

Y/N brings his hand to her lips, kissing the knuckles.

“I want you to attend the petitions,” he decides. “At my side, in my lap, seated directly on my cock; whatever suits you.”

“Directly on your cock?” Y/N chortles, “your mother would have my head.”

“She will do no such thing, you are queen. You may do as you wish.”

“You spoil me,” that’s what everyone says anyway.

“You’re mine to spoil. They’re jealous is all.”

“Shall we practice then? For the hearings?”

“If you wish.” Aegon rolls onto his back, sliding both arms behind his head.

Y/N grins, devilishly as she slides off his clothes, allowing his cock to spring free. Her own nightgown and small clothes follow before she swings a leg over his hips and slides down his length.

“Seven hells,” Aegon groans.

His wife leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“A tenth of my flock has been taken, your grace.” Aegon tells her, repeating one of the smallfolk’s concerns.

“Your what?” Y/N blinks at him.

“Sheep,” he continues, “a tenth of them gone, taken by your guard, just before winter. What say you, my queen?”

“Give them back.” Y/N sighs as his hands finally land on her hips, guiding her movements.

“That’s what I said,” Aegon hums, thrusting up to meet her.

“Did they listen?”

“No.” Aegon purses his lips, “they might need them to feed the dragons.”

“It’s much harder to concentrate this way, my king.”

“I know,” he coos, “but you’re doing so well.”

“The dragons,” Y/N pants, “have never required sheep from the smallfolk before.”

“We have never been to war.” Aegon says, through gritted teeth as she clenches around him.

“My mother will want revenge for Lucerys.”

“And I want this matter resolved peacefully.” Aegon assures her, “still I cannot give my brother up for the slaughter.”

“I don’t see how this can end peacefully now,” Y/N laments, feeling the coil in her belly tighten. “It will end in fire and blood.”

“What would you have me do?”

Y/N shakes her head, “We must stop Aemond from claiming Harrenhal at the least.”

“Consider it done.” Aegon beckons her down for a kiss.

The clatter of metal against the floor breaks them apart, “what was that?” Y/N’s eyes search the room.

“Twas only the wind, my dearest love.” Aegon smiles up at his wife.

The hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. “No. Something is wrong.”

“I agree,” Aegon takes her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it to a taut peak. “You stopped moving.”

“Aegon,” she warns, “please.”

“Shhh,” he gentles her back to a steady grind. “I’m here. You are safe.”

Y/N offers a shaky smile. Still something seems amiss, though she can’t think much more about it with Aegon’s free hand toying with her pearl.

“Cum on my cock, then we will look into it, if you feel so inclined.”

Y/N nods, bouncing faster, harder. Trying to ignore the worry twisting at her gut.

Aegon’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you.”

“More than anyone or anything, save for our children. I want you to remember that…always.”

Y/N nods, feeling herself teetering on the precipice. “I-” she wants to say it back, only her brain doesn’t seem to be working.

“Hush, sweetheart.” Aegon groans, because he knows. Rubbing his fingers harshly against her pearl to push her over the edge. Shaking and crying her release as she milks his cock. “Good girl.” Aegon fills her pulsing cunt with his spend.

She leans toward her husband, capturing his lips as they ride out their high. Once she has caught her breath Y/N rolls away, off of the bed, shuffling back into her nightgown.

Aegon follows her lead, redressing in his tunic and trousers. “Head to the children’s room, wait for me there. I’ll have the guards help me search the floor for any sign of…rats.”

Y/N wrings her hands, knowing how silly it sounds. “Thank you, Aegon.”

He closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to her forehead and cheek. “You’re more than welcome.” He watches her leave the room before heading in the opposite direction. Where is everyone? The keep is never so quiet, even at night.

Y/N scampers down the hallway to the nursery, it takes a moment for her mind to make sense of the scene before her. Helaena with a knife held to her throat by a strange man. His counterpart hovering over the children’s beds with a blade at the ready.

“What are you doing?” Y/N breathes, clutching a hand to her chest.

The man holding Helaena shoves her aside.

Y/N catches the woman in her arms, smoothing down her white tresses. Helaena clings to her. “It’s ok.”

The children sleep better together, they always have. Besides the maids prefer Aegon and Y/N’s children close to Aemond and Helaena’s for practical reasons, until they are older.

“Which of them are yours?” The first man demands.

“All of them,” Y/N lies. “All of them are mine.”

“You have but four children,” Cheese insists. “Here lie six, tell me which are yours and I will spare them.”

“If I don’t tell you and you’re wrong, my mother will have your head.” Y/N clenches her jaw. “For all I know of our true queen, this was not her request. So who’s was it?”

“A son for a son, that’s what’s fair.” Blood insists.

“What did they offer you? Gold?” Y/N wonders, “I’ll double it if you leave now.”

The men look to each other, undecided.

“Or you could take me instead. I’m worth more to my mother than any bounty.” Rhaenyra’s eldest child offers.

————————————————————————-

Aegon completes his sweep of their chambers, along with the rest of the royal floor. Nothing is amiss. He moves to the children’s quarters and finds Helaena, curled up on the floor. “What’s happened?”

Helaena takes her brother’s outstretched hand. “They wanted to kill the boy.”

The boy? “My boy?”

Helaena shakes her head, “mine.”

Aegon looks to his nephew, still sleeping soundly. “Where is Y/N?”

“They took her instead.”

“Where the hell is Cole?” Aegon demands. “Where in the seven hells is anyone?”

“I don’t know,” Helaena sobs.

Part 2

[ohgodthevoices]

going crazy over how husband material osamu is, hear me ouuutttt

tags : fluff, time-skip, f!reader, tattoo , he listens to, he cares , and he cook , i’m thirsting m sorry

osamu would be the type of bestfriend that knows damn well you want him bad but keeps on teasing you and acting clueless just to see how far you can go before you crack

as childhood friends, it was normal for you to be touchy and generally comfortable with each other but it raised his suspicions when you now looked away when he was topless around you. it’s not like you were uncomfortable with it ?

you’ve basically lived your whole life with the miyas, you’ve seen osamu wet the bed as a kid, get rejected by his middle school crush you’ve even witnessed him putting his hand in his pants and scratch his butt, seeing him topless in the comfort of his apartment was a casual thing so why the hell would you look away , did he lose his shape ? no, he still worked out frequently even if he’s not an athlete anymore…

either way osamu always took care for you, he was always so careful when it comes to you , sure he’d playfully hit you here and there but it was nothing you couldn’t handle

just imagine him cooking you a nice heart-warming meal, glancing at you every now and then while you’re sitting on the counter looking like a mess after a long exhausting day , wine glass in hand and rambling your worries away. it really became a ritual for you to swing by his place unannounced after a bad day.

he’d open the door with his signature lazy smile “ya had a bad day?” you finally let you shoulders relax “long story..” he steps back, inviting you in “i got time”.

sometimes osamu gets this weird feeling he can’t explain when he realizes he’s seen you grow into a real woman, it really freaked him tf out when you told him you had your first time with some boy he never heard the name of.

he scolds you after a bad decision for sure , but he’s always there to comfort you right after. SO imagine his surprise when during a drunken confession after you finally listened to him and dumped your toxic bf, you admit to him between sobs that broke his heart into pieces

“why can’t i find a guy that actually likes me—?” your face was buried in his now wet tshirt , his strong arms holding you tight as if they were gonna protect you from feeling hurt, your words were muffled, melting together “why can’t i find someone like you samu…im so jealous of the girl that’s gonna be yours” holy fucking shit how was he so blind to never realize this…

thank god that night was complete blurry in your mind , so when you woke up the day completely hung over and found your beloved best friend making you breakfast with a bed hair and his sleeves rolled up showing off his forearms that you find really hot for some reason , your slight blush was explained.

omfg the day he showed up to your workplace during his break with a well crafted lunch box he made full of delicious onigiris because he listens and he remembers that your annoying coworker kept flaunting her relationship to you and it pissed you off and you wanted to show her that you can pull too

ever since he realized the power he had over you, he wouldn’t stop just picking at you and seeing how far he can go, he was basically testing the waters by stretching until his shirt lifts up, hold eye contact for a lil longer than what he should, and how he praises you don’t get me startedddd

“yer actually pretty decent at this” when you cook dinner with him, “look at ya bein all confident and independent !” when you actually tell the waiter they got your order wrong, “yer pretty distractin’ yk that? that’s kinda dangerous.”

osamu was a pretty touchy guy, not overly cuddly or anything but he did enjoy proximity, he’d usually hold your wrist when passing crowds but for some reason he now held your waist, his touch gentle yet firm on you. istg his hand placement is impeccable

there’s just something about him keeping a hair tie on his wrist for you that’s so endearing, so caring and attentive to your lil daily struggles.

it all happened when you got your first tattoo, he had sent you to his friend whom he deemed good enough to ink your body. he was nervous and excited as if he was the one getting tattooed but that’s mostly because you wanted to keep it a mystery, he knew that when he came home after closing the shop he’d find you there already.

there was just something so intimate about him coming back from work and finding you already at his place , he liked it, he could get use to it.

“ ‘m here !” he yelled out closing the door behind him , analyzing you from head to toe as you pop infront of him with his tshirt and shorts on displaying an almost mischievous smile, his eyebrows creasing as he doesn’t see any trace of a tattoo on your arms or legs, maybe it was on your shoulders?

he plopped down on his couch , man spreading “soo… are ya gonna show me or ?” you happily turn to the side, his eyes widen as you lift up the shirt enough to reveal a sideboob tattoo. he sits up the shock visible on his face “holy shit cmere” you obey him , getting closer for him to get a better look. with a swift motion his arm was now around your hip , pushing you to sit on one of his legs

he clearly recognized his friend’s intricate style, the design cupping the side of your boob, he wanted to admire his work but damn he felt a lil jealous that he worked so close to you. he finally looked at you only now noticing your reddish face

his face was just inches from yours, his previously shocked expression fading as he met your eyes. he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your jaw, and for a split second, everything around you felt quiet, just the two of you in that small space. he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, though, breaking the tension as he nudged you lightly

“didn’t know you had it in ya to do somethin’ like that” he whispered.

before you could answer, his hand found its way to the back of your neck, gently pulling you in. his lips brushed yours, just a soft, teasing touch, before pulling back slightly with that same smirk. “couldn’t resist,” he muttered under his breath, and this time, when he kissed you again, it was longer, deeper—no more teasing, just the feeling of the moment taking over.

i’m currently such a sucker for time skip osamu he’s all i’m thinking about

[bagholes]

English subtitles for Johanne Sacreblue

You've probably heard of a parody of Emilia Pérez (produced by a Mexican trans woman!!!) called Johanne Sacreblue. The whole thing is in Spanish (and French, obviously), so I translated the whole thing to English (see read more)

While I wasn't involved in the production of the original short, I'm Mexican and I have a degree in Translation and Applied Linguistics, so hopefully you'll enjoy my translation. Please give the video some love and don't give Emilia Pérez more attention!!

!!!!!!!! ENGLISH SUBTITLES !!!!!!!!!

(Hey! I'm a professional translator, and I translated the whole thing in English. Please upvote so more people can enjoy this video!)

Ah, nauseating France.   

Home of wonderful food such as baguettes, croissants, and more.

Lots of wonderful people live here.

Obviously, we’re French. 

This might look like a love story,

but open your eyes and pay attention!

In France there’s rising burglary rates. 

But why tell you about France when I can show you?

Welcome to la France!

♫

Welcome to la France.

A unique and special country.

Where you’ll know what it means to truly love. Love, love from France.

Live the experience of this place. 

[Homer Simpson voice] Wow, classy.

Maitre D': Good evening, sir. Would you please leave without a fuss right now?

Homer: OK.

Welcome to la France

where you’ll get your heart stolen,

and your wallet, too.

Welcome to la France,

but if you’re Muslim, homosexual, or Black,

I want you to stay back. 

Crêpes? Les crêpes? I didn’t shower today. 

I’m not worried. I smell just fine. 

Like rats, sweat, and wine.

The cheese I eat smells better than me,

but my perfume can take care of it. 

I love feeling superior. 

Here’s some rapping just because. 

Oh, mon ami. Merci. Sacré bleu. Comment tu t’appelles? Merci. Déjà vu. Bon voyage! Pizza, kwason. 

It’s croissant, croissant, croissant!

Welcome to la France

where you’ll get your heart stolen,

and your wallet, too.

Welcome to la France,

but if you’re Muslim, homosexual, or Black,

I want you to stay back. 

Hit it, Mbappé. 

Viva Cinco the Mayo!

Long live cakes!

Marie Antoinette! 

Long live cakes!

My fucking crêpe still hurts when I think of you

Part 1: surprise and challenge.

Maybe all those years living in a ranch were good for him.

He wasn’t living in a ranch!

He lived in Mexico City for ten years.

Same thing. It might as well have been a jungle.

Mexicans are savages. 

Do you know what they do to cheese over there?

They eat it fresh!

I don’t think he copied their ways.

He’s still a good Frenchman.

He better be. I expect no less.

He’s my only son. 

All the suffering in Mexico must’ve gotten rid of his rebel nature. 

He’ll be the perfect man. The perfect male successor for the largest baguette company in France.

My son. My manly son. 

Did I already mention that my son is a man?

He’s here!

Maman, papa… bonjour!

Son of a-

[title credits] Johanne Sacreblue. Directed by someone with ADHD.

What were you up to in Mexico?

I learned how to open a beer using a bill.

Jonathan is using a dress, Bridgitte. And he has breasts! What do you think he was up to in Mexico?

Now my name is Johanne.

Nonsense! You’re not getting the company. No way. 

That’s fine. I don’t even want it. 

Honey, it’s your future. You’re our only DAUGHTER. You have to take the position. 

You’ll get the company. End of story. 

You don’t even want me to own the company!

Because I didn’t think it’s what you wanted!

Why did we stop speaking French?

What did you say?

Nothing. I got confused.

I’ll tell you something: remember the Ratatouille? They gave us this letter. They challenged us to the national France competition to decide once and for all what’s better: baguettes or croissants. 

Do you want to enjoy your fortune? Win this competition and manage the company. Or go back to Mexico to eat guacamole.

For the last time, no! You won’t get the company. 

I’m the only one who’s always loved croissants.

I’m the oldest son. It’s my right. 

Your right? How can think that about your brothers?

Any of them could do a good job.

Hugo can’t get over his artistic phase and he’s addicted to sniffing paint thinner!

I’m not just sniffing paint thinner! Yellow paint makes me happy.

Mario Hugo! Good luck with his twangy voice.

Mario Hugo: I agree with my beloved brother, but I love you, my family. 

No one knows what you’re saying!

Dugo is young! Why can’t it be me?

Well, first of all, you don’t have a penis!

Oof. Gotcha.

I’m trans. Other than that, I haven’t changed at all. 

Does it really affect you that much?

I’ve made myself clear: anything that affects our family affects me!

It’s not that we don’t love you, honey, it’s just that… you embarrass us. 

You’re not even an Hugo!

Yes, I am! I’m [French accent] Arturo! (Translator’s note: the rhyme got lost in translation. Sorry about that). 

“Arturo” isn’t “Hugo”!

Yes, it is! Ar-tu-ro!

Where did you get that?

Well… Chofls!! The letter!

The Sacrebleu have invited us to the Great Paris Competition. We will show once and for all what food item best represents our country! If you beat that family’s stupid transexual, you’ll get the company

I don’t know what to do, bestie. I don’t want to own that goddamn company. 

And why don’t you learn how to do something?

Because if I do it, they’re gonna cut me off, and I’ll be an unemployed, 28-year-old trans woman who has no life skills. 

Why don’t you just tell your father that you don’t want to do it and that you won’t do it?

It’s too late. I have no choice. 

Bestie, I’m so sorry you can’t enjoy your fortune with no commitment.

It’s awful…

Good evening, ladies. What can I get you?

I’ll have some French molletes.

I’ll have chicken.

Of course, ma’am. How shall we cook it?

Anything is fine as long as you kill it as cruelly as possible. 

Excellent choice, ma’am.

Anything else? Would that be all?

That’ll be all. Well, actually, I think I also want-

You said that would be all! You must assume the consequences of your decisions. Rot in hell! [spits]

Oh my, what a great service!

I know! They have the best customer service in France! Okay, so are you signing up for the competition?

I really don’t have a choice…

Bestie, you can do anything. You’re stronger than every woman I know, and I’m not just saying this because you used to be a man…

Thanks for the clarification.

You’re gonna compete and you’re gonna win.

Emily, you have no idea how much that means to me. You’re the only reason I wanted to come to Paris. I wanted to see my friend Emily in Paris. It was the only reason I wanted to come tot this city: see Emily in Paris.

Oh là là, I know! Everyone tells me that! What I don’t get is why you don’t want to compete. This is such an honor for France-

It’s just that there’s a lot of things I don’t understand since I came back. Why are we so impolite? Why do we love animal cruelty? And why exactly do we hate Muslims? 

Because it’s fun!

Yeah, maybe, but have you ever considered that it’s wrong?

Oh my God! You’re right! I’d never thought about it! We’re awful!

Oui!

What we do to birds… we drown them in cognac! Why are we doing it? Who thought of that?

I don’t know.

I feel.. dirty! I want to take a shower!

I knew I wasn’t crazy!

Seriously… I never thought that we were doing something wrong. I always thought that people who get minimum wage liked how we treat them. No wonder they sent you to Mexico… You’re crazy.

I got sent to Mexico for being trans.

They sent you to Mexico because you’ve been hallucinating. You’re seeing Marie Antoinette.

I’m not hallucinating! It’s the actual ghost of Marie Antoinette.

Marie Antoinette: don’t listen to hear. She dresses like a Guatemalan. I’m as real as my tragic death. They should behead her for having such damaged hair.

There’s no point in knowing the truth about France. At the end of the day, I’m just an ordinary French millionaire with enough money to live for four days. There’s nothing I can do.

Marie Antoinette: [unintelligible] sleep paralysis at night.

If you win, all of France will listen to you.

Ladybug: Welcome to the most important competition of la France, where France’s most important families will make a very important decision.

Cat Noir: that’s right! We’re here to make a very important decision. What food best represents France: baguettes or croissants?

Our fellow citizens will know what we’re talking about, but for those dirty foreigners that only know how to use soap…

Wear perfume!

We’ll explain the rules.

There’s two events: whoever wins both will be victorious!

The first even will be a race! The first one to reach the Eiffel tower, touch it and say our catchphrase “we give up!” will be the winner!

Without further ado, we’re heading to the competition!

It’s the best race I’ve seen years!

The Ratatouille throw a croissant to the Sacreblue and almost slashes her throat. It’s cat-tastic!

But Johanne takes the lead with 400 rats, and she wins the race!

Rats! Meow!

Here she comes!

Vive la France!

Your love for croissants ends here. What an embarrassment!

Don’t feel bad, honey. I never really expected anything from you. 

Arturo, I’m not gonna lie…

Brother, defeat will only make you stronger.

What?

You’re a great man. You’ll make it. 

Can I have five French dollars to buy yellow paint? I want to paint. 

Later that night in some French dumpster

♫

I’m just a trash man in Paris.

Another piece of trash in Paris.

But I’m also the greatest trash

I’m the trash man.

I’m such trash that I made a fortune using other cultures.

I’m such trash that I enjoy cancelling last minute

because I’m scared 

that they’ll see my tiny baguette.

I don’t have the guts to say that I fucked up.

I’m scared to know what people think of me

If I’m a good guy or just a bald bad guy

I’m such trash that it’s embarrassing.

I thought Karla Sofia was from Puebla.

I’m such trash that I wrote a musical about narcos.

“Penis to vagina, woman to man.”

What the fuck was that shit, bro?

I’m disgusting, don’t you see? 

I’m disgusting, don’t you see? 

Part 2: from hate to love

Why did you ask me to meet you here?

[sigh] I came to ask you to stop fighting over something as dumb as bread.

Baguettes are just bread, but croissants are France itself. It’s in our veins, in our wine, in the air we breathe!

Arturo, wait, don’t do it!

[coughing]

You can’t take a deep breath in France. Dumbass.

Whatever. You’re just saying this because you’ve been away for a long time. You’re nothing but a chimichanga lover. 

Cinco de Mayo!

How dare you!

Does it make you feel good to be a man hitting a woman?

Actually, yes. Now I get why we do it.

I’ve had enough! I can’t take it anymore! What’s wrong with France? Why do they like to hit women? Why do they like racism? Can’t you see that what we’re doing is wrong?

Actually, no. I had never thought about it. I never considered that… Oh my God… We’re monsters! What are we doing? We must put an end to this!

But how?

You’ll do it with me. With your amazing arguments, we’ll change France. 

Do you think it can be done? But how?

Oui, mademoiselle. If you let me win the second event, it’ll be a tie, and they’ll have to listen to us according to the French rules I hadn’t mentioned before. 

I don’t know if I can trust you.

Trust me, mademoiselle. Trust this stinky French heart.

Alright. Kiss me.

Do you want me to kiss you?

Yes. Give me a French kiss.

Here it’s just “a kiss”, stupid

Welcome to the second competition!

This is the most fabulous competition! It’s the racism competition!

That’s right, Cat Noir! And for those stupid Americans who don’t know what we’re talking about, in this competition, participants are given a total of 30 minutes to deport and catch as many immigrants as possible.

Everything is allowed: from making up crimes to blackmailing! 

Each Muslim is worth 5 points. However, participants can get extra points from hate crimes against Muslims, Black people, Latinos, members of the LGBT community, and fans of Emily in Paris!

Let’s watch the racism competition!

We apologize for the technical issues. Cat Noir had a fanatic episode. 

It was amazing! With a great lead, our winner, Arturo, was victorious. So we’ll have to call this a tie. 

Oh! For the first time in more than ten years, we’re getting some words from our ten French emperors!

Stop!

There… won’t be… a tie!

This decision will no longer be postponed. 

 Declaramos abierto el duelo final.

And it’ll happen right now.

Because I love Queen Marie Antoinette.

The final duel…

It’s the fight to the death with baguettes!

Good luck! And may the Frenchest win. Yes. Oui. Oui. Oui.

[Elmo]

Part 3: destiny

Fight to the death with baguettes?!

Fight to the death with baguettes?!

Fight to the death with baguettes?!

I think there’s gonna be a fight to the death with baguettes.

What? Fight to the death with baguettes? What’s that?

Oh, fight to the death with baguettes. I’ve heard about it. I think they’re gonna fight to the death… with baguettes.

[gasp]

Johanne: I don’t want to fight to the death with baguettes with you.

Arturo: Neither do I, but we have no choice.

J: Yes, there is. Haven’t they considered that this is wrong?

No!

Arturo: Papa Johns!

Papa Johns: I pitted your families against you with a little help from whom you love the most… your butlers. 

Arturo: Chofls!

Johanne: Wigles, why?

Wiggles: I’m sorry, madame. I need the money, and you haven’t given me raise in 25 years. 

Papa Johns: I’ll destroy you so the greatest French food gets recognition: French fries!

Johanne: You’re losing a lot of wine.

Johanne: you have a rat on your head!

Papa Johns: this tiny chef taught me his secrets, and I used them for evil. 

Wigles: I think I got Stockholm syndrome due to so many years of labor exploitation.

And that’s how we got away from the bad guy, Mr. French ambassador. 

Controlled by a rat… The nightmare of every French. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s how Johanne Sacreblue and Arturo Ratatouille restored the glory of France. What a captivating story you’ve brought us, full of pain and social commentary. Is there anything else you would like to add before we run out of funds?

Well, actually, yes. As many of you know, I went to Mexico, and my fellow Mexicans asked me to bring a gift to France when I came back, and what a better person to give it to than the ambassador? 

Oh, what wonderful surprise have you brought from Mexico? Could it be some wonderful Mexican tortillas?

Wait… Is that-

Yes, a cake. Un gâteau. 

[Credits]

And that’s the story of how your parents saved la France.

Thanks for telling me these stories, grandma.

My grand-son. My grand-son, a boy…

[sigh] 

♫

Tito, my grandson Tito (translator’s note: another rhyme that got lost in translation. Sorry again). Tito, tito. My grandson Tito. 

You smell like frog legs in the morning.

You smell like you haven’t showered in weeks. 

You smell like a moldy baguette.

You smell like the omelette that I ate. 

You smell like cheese. Smelly, smelly!

You smell like your grandma.

Tito, Tito, Tito, my grandson Tito. 

You smell like snails. You smell like escargot.

You smell like France. 

[whos-the-seme]

Shen Yuan is actually a cuddle bug. Had a ton of Luo Binghe body pillows back home not just for the merch reasons but because he needs something in his bed to squeeze when he's sleeping.

Since he started having weekly planning (boozing and bitching) sessions with Shang Qinghua, he sometimes accidentally sleeps over. After he's finished his paperwork and started on some of Qinghua's, sometimes the wine gets to him and he's just so sleepy. Or, sometimes, Shang Qinghua will let the other read some of the short stories he had written early on in his transmigration when fighting to not lose his mind. Shen Yuan would critique them, before harassing him to publish them anonymously.

("Oh, so you are capable of writing more than papapa trash."

"Aw, you like it?" "...it's good." 🙄)

But by the time he finished them, it would be so late, and it didn't make much sense to leave when a bed was right there. And Shang Qinghua had custom ordered goose feather pillows and blankets, which was so unlike his porcelain pillows, and Shang Qinghua himself is right there. Therefore. The man himself becomes his new object of comfort when asleep.

At first, Shang Qinghua used to just wave it off. Then he started to playfully complain and tease about how clingy Shen Yuan was in his sleep, and Shen Yuan would grumble and turn bright red and turn his back on him... only for them to wake up with Shen Yuan basically curled around the other like an octopus in the morning. And then it just became normal because, of course, they really only had each other, so like why not? It brought them both comfort and two people could totally cuddle platonically.

Before long, more than half the week, Shen Yuan was spending the night over, and some rare times, Shang Qinghua goes to the bamboo house. Shang Qinghua learns when to give up his piles of paperwork when his friend starts getting tired and to get more fucking rest himself. Otherwise, Shen Yuan will just walk in, curl up on his lap with his head resting on Shang Qinghua's shoulder, and fall asleep there.

("Really? I ordered those extra stuffed pillows for you, you know. Go to bed, I'll be done in a minute."

"Ugh, shut up, sleeping isn't the same when you're out here ordering new fighting posts for Bai Zhan Peak for the 5th time this month. I'll just wait here for you to finish."

"In my lap...? That's kinda gay--" 😏

"Qinghua."

"Shutting up and finishing the work." )

Those of An Ding Peak, being the peak that was basically the backbone of the entire sect and kept it running through sweat, blood, and some other bodily fluids, knew how to keep secrets from other peaks. You don't become a disciple there without knowing how to keep your mouth shut when outsiders are around. But between each other, whispers abound.

"I don't think Shen-shibo has left in two days," one disciple murmurs to another when they see Shen Qingqiu flouncing around yet again, ordering one of the disciples to bring some two small meals to their Shifu's rooms for a late dinner.

"Do you think they're... you know?" Another asks quietly after delivering some new contracts to their Shifu. The door to his bedroom had been slightly ajar, and through the cracks, green leaf-pattern outer robes were on the ground.

("I'm not sleeping in these, okay! You should have written in pajamas while you were busy adding in chocolate, and whatever else doesn't exist in Ancient China, to PIDW!" 😒

"Oh my god, just sleep in your inner robes, then! Better yet, borrow some of my clothes. But you're sure as fuck not sleeping naked on my silk sheets, bro!")

The disciples on Qing Jing Peak certainly notice when the bamboo hut isn't occupied for the night. At first, they just thought that their Shizun was extra silent in his house now, but once, Ming Fan had to go to Shizun for a small issue late in the evening, and he wasn't there. Nor was he there the next night, or the next. They're not sure where he is, or what he's doing, but he's always there in the morning, so they don't worry too much.

On the fourth night, Shizun was home, but Shang-shishu was also there. And... stayed there. The lights went out, and the disciples who were sent out to spy came back and reported that Shang-shishu had never left.

("He... is Shang-shishu still in there?"

"I think so. M-maybe he stayed in the extra bedroom?"

"..." 👀

"..." 👀)

The disciples eye each other and simultaneously agree to never let those outside the peak know about this. When crossing paths with A Ding disciples, there are discreet looks and nods of understanding, and they pass each other by with not a word.

(Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua?)

----

One bright and sunny morning, Liu Qingge slams his way into Shang Qinghua's office. He is followed by Mu Qingfang, and Yue Qingyuan, all needing to speak with Shang Qingqua to figure out Shen Qingqiu's whereabouts. He wasn't in his bamboo hut this morning, nor was he anywhere else that he typically frequented.

Mu Qingfang because it was time for his bimonthly check-up to ensure that his treatments with Liu Qingge were progressing as they should. Yue Qingyuan due to peak matters (though, technically, he could do it on his own, but if he got to see Xiao Jiu--). Liu Qingge because the beast that he had dropped on his doorstep yesterday afternoon had yet to be removed, which was odd. And also, he had ordered new fighting posts a week ago, and usually they would have been delivered by now, which was also odd.

Wei Qingwei and Qi Qingqi also follow along because they could smell drama. And also they were a tiny bit worried about their shixiong. Whenever he disappeared for too long, it was likely that he had gotten kidnapped or poisoned. Again.

Shang Qinghua scrambles out of his bed chambers with hastily thrown-on outer robes, blurry-eyed, screaming "Whoosit!?" He barely has time to open his mouth before he is instantly bombarded with several requests, most of them pertaining to the apparent missing peak lord. Liu Qingge also asks about his fighting posts, which Shang Qinghua pretends not to hear.

"We've not seen him in a few days," Mu Qingfang says to him over the noise, with an apologetic smile for waking up his overworked shixiong. "I know you two are somewhat friends, so if you see him soon, please tell him he really needs to come to Qian Cao for his next physical."

"Wait, who's missing? Ah, please don't touch that." The last part is directed at Qi Qingqi, who is combing through his shelves. "Shen Qingqiu is apparently missing, according to this bunch," Qi Qingqi says, smirking at him. She pokes the figurine he told her not to touch. Oh well, she'll realize why he told her not to touch it soon enough.

"Shen Qingqiu? What do you mean, he's--" Shang Qinghua instantly closes his mouth, hoping that no one heard that. "I-I mean, yeah, I'll let you guys know if he stops by! No problem, will absolutely send him your way--" "What was that?" Liu Qingge narrows his eyes at him. "You were about to say something. You know where he is. Tell me."

Shang Qinghua begins to sweat immediately. "Whaaat? No, you must have heard wrong. Seriously, I'll let you guys know if I catch him. Now, if you guys can be on your way--" He starts trying to herd people out.

Unbeknownst to him, his bedroom door cracks open and a figure, eyes barely open, shuffles out and heads towards him. Wei Qingwei, idling in the office, is the first to notice the person wearing another set of An Ding Blue outer robes over soft Qing Jing Green inner ones. His jaw drops.

"Qinghua?" A soft, sleepy voice murmurs in his ear, arms circling around his waist and a head laying on his shoulder from behind. "It's too early, come back to bed." A small yawn.

Shang Qinghua can feel himself freeze with a nervous smile on his face.

Shit.

[snoopyracing]

grapes and good fortune // ln4

pairing: lando norris X reader

word count: 4.7k

warnings: cursing and alcohol use

includes: friends to lovers, mutual pining, and fluff

summary: when your plan to find love on new year's eve doesn't work a certain someone may just fix those plans.

a/n: surprise! here's a cute little lando nye fic for you! it was so fun to write and i hope you all enjoy :)

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s not the end of the world to be single. You’ve gone your whole life technically being single– each guy you’ve had a thing with never resulted in a full fledged relationship. It never really seemed to bother you that much, you’d learned to be more independent and learned that your time is in fact more valuable than men think. Though, as the years passed and your friends started to get into serious relationships you couldn’t help but feel a little left behind.

You knew everyone’s time would come and seriously you were in your early to mid twenties – you still had a whole lifetime ahead of you. But the third wheeling you seemed to be a professional at by now was starting to get embarrassing. Also, holidays just really seemed to suck while being single. You knew there was more to life than being in a relationship, but god dammit you’re a human. You crave love and affection and no matter how independent you are– you still want to love and be loved. 

Your friend group had unsuccessfully tried setting you up with more guys than you could count. Each one you really did try and give a chance, but there was nothing there. You didn’t think you had high standards by any means, but if you didn’t feel anything with these guys then why waste your time? 

“You went on how many dates this month and none of them piqued your interest?” Your friend grills you as the two of you are sitting on the balcony of your apartment. You’d come back from another unsuccessful date and decided to drown your sorrows with a bottle of wine and a yapping session. 

“Genuinely think there might be something wrong with me at this point.” You complain as you sip the sweet wine in your glass. 

“There isn’t anything wrong with you.” The two dates a week for the past month say different, but you weren’t going to actually disclose that number to her. “Maybe your heart has already laid claim to someone else?” 

“I think I would know if I was in love with someone.” She doesn’t say anything, but the way she inconspicuously sips her wine is telling you what she’s wanting to say. “Not this again.” 

She puts her hands up in defense all while having a shit eating grin on her face. “I didn’t even say anything, but you immediately assuming that’s who I’m talking about says it all.” 

“I’m not in love with Lando.” 

Yes you were. 

“I mean he’s one of my closest friends and it would just make things weird. He also for sure does not look at me in any way other than platonic. He’s got models flocking to him and literally thousands of other girls– I couldn’t compete.” Your friend remains silent once again as she sips her wine and watches the scene in front of her unfold. “Ok– just because I drunkenly admitted last year that I might possibly have a little tiny miniscule amount of feelings towards him does not mean I’m in love with him.” 

“Yes it does.” Your friend replies without missing a beat. 

“No it doesn’t” You say with a huff. 

“Y/N, babe. You don’t see what everyone else sees and maybe your brain is trying to protect itself from the small chance of destruction, but you two are so in love it’s actually ridiculous.” 

“I don’t think he’s looking for a relationship right now. If this season so far is any indication of what next season is gonna be like, do you really think he’ll want a serious relationship to juggle too?” You’d chugged the last bit of wine in your glass and immediately filled it back up. 

A loud scoff comes from your friend. “With some girl he just met? No. You are a whole different story though. You two have history and are quite literally each other’s person. Two peas in a pod. Match made in heaven.” 

You didn’t understand why your friend was so adamant about Lando and you getting together. What if it ended in flames and your friend group is stuck having to play children of divorce? You don’t want that. 

“Do you hear yourself right now? I think you’ve had too much wine because that’s not true.” 

She sits up on the edge of the wicker couch with an annoyed expression painted across her face  “Do you hear yourself? I’ve never seen someone deny themselves happiness like you.” 

“I don’t think I have actual feelings for Lando though. I really think it’s just because we are the only two single people in our friend group and it’s like I feel obligated to somehow have feelings for him. I just need to find the right person and whatever I may be feeling about Lando will go away.” 

If someone could professionally roll their eyes your friend would be a pro. “You’ve already found the right person though!”

Before you can argue back for the hundredth time tonight the familiar tune of an incoming facetime call fills the air. Your phone that’s sitting on the glass coffee table lights up and Lando’s face fills the screen. You glance over at your friend who’s got a smirk on her face that could rival the Cheshire Cat. 

“Speak of the devil.” She laughs. 

You let it ring, fully knowing that if you answer it your friend will be insufferable the whole time you’re talking to him. You do send him a quick text to make sure everything's alright and of course he immediately responds with-

everything's all right.. just missed you is all. 

Which has you locking your phone and stuffing it in the pocket of your hoodie. When you reach for your glass and realize it’s empty again you decide to just grab the bottle and drink straight from it. 

“Drinking from the bottle because you’ve come to terms with how dumb you’ve been?” Your friend teases. 

“Nope. It’s from having to deal with you all evening.” 

Alright so maybe you did have actual feelings for Lando, but you were never going to fully admit that to your friend or anyone else for that matter. You didn’t want to risk ruining what you two already had, which was an amazing friendship. So for the following months you continue to go on an endless amount of dates and with each one that fails your friend's voice rings in your mind.

Maybe you wouldn’t be able to find someone else if you subconsciously compared every guy to Lando. They were never funny enough or charming enough or took themselves too seriously. In the end it was simply the fact that they weren’t Lando. So maybe your heart had already dug its claws into Lando, but you weren’t going to give up without one last battle. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

New Year's Eve. The final night of the year and the one party of the year that celebrates ends and beginnings. You’d hoped that with the plan you had for tonight that your streak of horrible dates would end and the next one would be the one. The trend of eating twelve grapes under a table at midnight on New Year’s Eve had been all over your social media. According to the internet if you were to do this you’d find love or your soulmate the following year– which was something you were so desperate for. So, your said plan was to bring some grapes with you and find a table to sit under. 

As you were taking one last final look in the mirror a familiar British accent echoed through your apartment. “Are you almost ready?” 

You quickly slipped on your heels and grabbed your bag off the dresser, but by the time you turned around there stood Lando, leaning against your doorframe with a slight smirk on his face. “Been waiting forever. It’s gonna be next year by the time we get out of here.” 

His teasing, which usually always got a reaction out of you, was ignored. The sight of him had you frozen in your tracks for a moment. He had on a white button up, which he always looked good in, but it was the couple of undone buttons at the top and the necklace you got him for his birthday last year around his neck that got your attention. There was always something about seeing Lando in things you got him that made that funny feeling bloom in your stomach. Perhaps it was the fact that everytime he chose to wear them you knew he was thinking about you and that when he was away a part of you was always with him. 

“Quit staring.” 

You're knocked out of your trance and the blush that creeps onto your cheeks from getting caught is almost as embarrassing as being caught. “I wasn’t staring. I was admiring my good taste. Should have gotten one myself.” You try to play it off and push your way past him with what little amount of confidence you have at the moment. 

“I’ll get it for you, then we can be matching.” Lando says as he follows behind you. 

“I can buy it myself.” 

“Yeah, but I’m still gonna get it for you anyways.”

You stop in the kitchen and grab the little bag of grapes out of the fridge. “I don’t need you to get it for me Lan.” You’re too preoccupied with figuring out how to fit everything into your small purse to see the utterly confused look on Lando’s face. 

“Ok forget about the necklace. Why the hell are you bringing grapes with you?” 

“Incase I get hungry.” You reply without missing a beat. 

“There will literally be food at the party. I even made sure Max got those little cocktail sausages you like.” 

And there he goes again, making those feelings you’ve tried and are still presently trying to push down come to the surface all because of some damn cocktail sausages. “I appreciate that Lan, but I’ve been on a grape kick lately. Just can’t seem to get enough of them.” 

With your purse finally closed with the grapes securely inside, you head towards the door, more than ready to get to the party. 

“I’ll text Max and tell him to get some grapes delivered.” Lando mumbles as he closes the door behind him. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You’d never considered yourself much of a party girl, but there must have been something in the air tonight because you were living it up. From the dancing to the drinking and then to top it off somehow in the middle of everything you showed off your DJing skills with Lando. 

Somehow you’d managed to unglue yourself from Lando for a moment and ended up in the kitchen among the various kinds of alcohol. You’re pouring the last bit of coke into your coke and malibu when Max comes up beside you. 

“I see you finally escaped from Lando for a moment.” 

An airy laugh emits from you. “Yeah, he’s been a little clingy tonight.” You state as you turn and lean back against the counter, facing the large crowd of people. 

Max copies your actions, but not before grabbing a beer. “What are you talking about tonight? When he’s back home it’s like you two are conjoined at the hip.”  Which was true, but you didn’t get to see Lando as much as you’d like, so you make the most of what you can. “Oh forgot to tell you, your grapes are in the fridge.” He motions towards the stainless steel appliance with his beer bottle. “Lando better pay me back. Do you know how much I paid to get that damn bag delivered? Absolutely insane.” 

Your mouth forms an ‘O’ shape at Max’s words. “I heard him mention something about asking you to get some when we were leaving. I thought he was just joking.” 

Max scoffs. “There is no such thing as Lando joking when it comes to you. Think he’d chop off his own arm to make sure you were happy. Hell if you needed an organ he’d be the first one in line to give you one.” 

This time it’s your turn to scoff. “No he wouldn’t.” 

“Why do you do that?” Max groans. 

You narrow your eyes at him, confused as to what he was referring to. “Do what?” 

“Act like he doesn’t think the world of you.” 

Your mouth opens to reply, but no words come out. Instead you bring your cup to your lips and fill the void with your drink. What Max had said was true, but you couldn’t help it. You figured if you forced yourself to think that Lando didn’t care that deeply about you, then those feelings that you harbor for him wouldn’t rise to the surface. It didn’t help that his behavior recently had you thinking that perhaps he felt the same about you and when you have your mutual friends in your ear implying that to be true it just makes things that much harder for you. 

“You probably haven’t even noticed that he’s been practically watching us talk this whole time have you?” 

You can feel your heart rate start to speed up just at the thought of it. As your eyes scan the room they finally land on the Brit standing in the corner with some other people, but he’s not actually engaging in the conversation, he’s too busy staring back at you. Somehow from across the room you can still see those pretty mixture of blue and green eyes of his sparkle and when he realizes you're finally looking back at him a shy smile spreads across his face before he’s quickly looking away. 

“Wish you two would stop dancing around each other and just admit what we all already know.” Max mumbles before taking a swig of his beer. 

Maybe it’s the mixture of alcohol and the fact that you’ve once again got someone in your ear about Lando and you, but you can sense those feelings starting to claw their way back up and you aren’t sure if you can push them back down tonight. 

“Ten minutes until midnight!” The DJ’s voice travels through the apartment and you’re sure Max will be getting some kind of fee taped to his door in the morning. 

Max says something about talking to you later before exiting the kitchen and you realize with ten minutes till midnight that you’ve got to get your grapes and find a table to fit under. For the moment you push Lando to the back of your mind and focus on your very important task at hand. 

Luckily for you Max had a decently sized dining table in his apartment so with your grapes in hand you crawled under the table, which thankfully was shielded by a tablecloth, and settled in for your feast. 

Lando on the other hand had been searching for you everywhere since the ten minute announcement. He’d literally just seen you in the kitchen with Max and then when he looked back again you were both gone. He’d gone in the bathrooms, the bedrooms, the closets, every single place he could think you would be and it’s like you had vanished. Max had a large apartment, especially to be living in London, but it wasn’t that big to allow for you to not be found. His texts to you had gone unanswered and he began to think maybe you had left, but he knew you would have told him if you were leaving, so that theory went out the window. 

When the five minute announcement hit his ears he began asking people if they had seen you and with each no or i think she was in the kitchen a while ago he received his hopes of finding you before midnight started to diminish. 

He’d finally worked up the courage to tell you how he’d felt tonight. After years of holding himself back and not wanting to ruin what you two already had, he’d decided that life was too short and that he would come to regret not allowing himself to truly love you like he should. He knew you were the one and there wasn’t a bone in his body that didn’t think you didn’t feel the same. So, he was finally going to bite the bullet tonight and he wanted you to be the person he was kissing as the clock struck twelve. But if he couldn’t find you, then how in the world was he supposed to do that? 

Lando was honestly starting to get worried over not being able to find you, screw the whole love confession at this point. What if something had happened to you? He’d been all over Max’s place countless times and he still couldn’t find you. With the official countdown echoing through the apartment he decided to just say fuck it and head to your place and see if you had gone home.

As he was heading to get his coat a familiar sparkly heel sticking out from under the dining table caught his attention. It was the same type of heels he’d seen you put on earlier and he did somewhat of a double take. He wondered if it was the couple drinks he’d had messing with him because why would you be sitting under Max’s dining table? 

He crouches down and slowly lifts the table cloth up, unsure of what he’s going to find underneath it. Everyone is only getting louder and with five seconds until midnight what he finds staring back at him under the table is not at all how he expected his night to end up. There you are with your now empty bag of grapes on the floor and your cheeks stuffed full of said grapes. You resemble something of a chipmunk and Lando can’t help but laugh at you. 

“What the hell are you doing down here?” 

The excessively loud shouting of happy new year from everyone while noise makers and confetti fill the air distract both Lando and you for a moment. He didn’t think this is the position he’d be in right now, he figured he’d be in that crowd with his lips on yours like so many others right now. While you on the other hand didn’t think you’d be caught in such an embarrassing situation, not to mention you hadn’t even gotten all your grapes down, so this stupid thing was probably all for nothing. 

His attention is back on you in no time and he really wants to know what you were doing. Were you that addicted to grapes that you had to hide under the table while you got your fix? If so, he may need to have a talk with you. 

“Seriously, why are you hiding under the table stuffing grapes into your mouth?” He prods again. 

Your mouth is still so full of the grapes that you can’t really talk and all you can manage to get out is leave while simultaneously trying to jab his leg with your heel. You were embarrassed and at this point scared you might choke on the grapes, and you’d rather go out in peace then have Lando cause a scene because you were choking. 

“Ouch!” Lando yelps as your heel finally makes contact with him. You know he’s being dramatic because you barely even kicked him, but you would try anything for him to drop that table cloth and let you be. “Come on, come out from under there.” Lando grabs your arm and practically forces you to come out from under the table.

Luckily, everyone else was too preoccupied with still ringing in the New Year to see you crawl out and as you dust yourself off you're still chomping on the last couple grapes left. The party only seems to be getting crazier and you don’t really feel like staying here until the party inevitably ends at an ungodly hour in the morning, especially now that your plan for love has undoubtedly failed. 

You finally swallow the last couple grapes and take a deep breath, the fear of choking and embarrassment now behind you. “Do you care if I leave? Not really feeling the party that much anymore.” 

Lando doesn’t even question your request. “I’ll walk you home, let me grab our coats and tell Max we are leaving.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The cold England air hits you as you exit Max’s apartment building and you’re thankful that your place isn’t very far from his. It’s silent between Lando and you for some time, the sound of your heels on the pavement, fireworks in the distance, and other people celebrating are the only things you two hear. 

“Can I ask you something?” Lando finally breaks the silence. 

“Shoot.” 

He takes a deep breath fully knowing once he opens this locked away side of him that there’s no going back. “Have you ever thought about us?” 

You feel your heart skip a beat at his question, yet you try to remain cool and collected. “What do you mean?” 

He stops in his tracks causing you to mimic his actions. “Like,” he motions between the two of you, “us.”

There’s not a doubt in your mind about what he’s referring to and yes you do think about the two of you. Yet your brain feels scrambled once you're actually confronted with the possibility of Lando feeling the same as you. You’d tried so hard to ignore the feelings, hell you’d tried something you saw on the internet to hopefully bring a different man into your life to finally squash those feelings. You’d just never thought you’d be in this position though and it’s throwing you into a whirlwind. 

Lando isn’t sure what your silence means and he figures he’s already started, he might as well just fully admit it at this point. 

“Fuck it. I told myself I was going to do this tonight and I’m not gonna chicken out again.” His cheeks are rosy from the cold and you can tell by the way his pretty eyes dart all around your face that he’s trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say. “I’ve got feelings for you.” He finally blurts out.

“No scratch that I’m in love with you Y/N. Think I have been for some time now. I’ve tried telling you how I felt for what seems like ages, but I’ve always been too scared to. I’ve been afraid that you wouldn’t feel the same and to me I’d rather bottle up my feelings and keep you in my life then tell you how I feel and lose you. But clearly I’ve grown tired of that and realized that the reward would be higher than the risk. You’re my person Y/N. I couldn’t imagine life without you and to have you be mine would make life that much better. So here I am baring my heart to you on some street in London on New Year’s Eve. I actually had a whole plan on how I was-” 

His rambling while you loved most of the time was cut off by your desire to shut him up with your lips on his and you did just that. You grabbed him by his coat and pulled him into you, your lips crashing together. It takes him a moment to realize what's happening, but when his brain finally starts to work and he kisses you back it’s everything you could have imagined and more.

Kissing Lando is like heaven on Earth and the way his soft lips feel against yours has you wishing you would have just stopped being so stubborn and listened to your friends ages ago. His large warm hands come out of his pockets and he cups your face as he deepens the kiss, which has you feeling lightheaded and warm all over. 

There’s fireworks being let off not too far away that light up the sky above you, but you’re too engrossed in each other to pay them much mind. It’s truly like a scene straight out of a movie and you know you’ll remember this moment forever. 

You two finally pull away to breathe and it’s like you can see the world in a whole new way. The depressing grey landscape of London in the winter time suddenly looks like it was painted in technicolor and neither of you can wipe the cheek hurting grin off your faces. “So I guess you feel the same?” He asks. 

“Yes Lando Norris, I’m in love with you too. Have been for a while and like you I didn’t want to ruin what we already have. To me there was no possible way that you felt the same and I hate rejection and the idea of losing you. So, I went on a million dates trying to find someone that would replace how I felt about you, but I guess you can’t replace someone who your heart has already laid claim to.” 

You feel Lando intertwine your fingers with his and it’s like everything just feels right in the world. 

“I’m glad we stopped being so stubborn and that I don’t have to see you out with all those random guys anymore.” 

“Believe me, none of them even came close to comparing to you. It was like going on a date with a sack of potatoes most of the time.” 

His infectious laugh fills your ears and you feel your heart swell. You can’t believe this was what you were depriving yourself of for so long. 

The rest of the walk back to your apartment is spent walking hand in hand. All while little giggles escape each of you ever so often and Lando occasionally kisses you on the head or lifts your intertwined hands up to plant a kiss there. 

“I have to ask again. It’s really been bugging me. What were you doing under that table?” Lando asks as you near your apartment building. A loud groan emits from you and there isn’t anything less that you would want to talk about than that. “Come on, just tell me!” 

“Fine! I saw this thing on the internet that if you eat twelve green grapes under a table at midnight that it’s supposed to bring you luck in the love department in the New Year. Like you’d find your soulmate or something. I was so desperate to try and get over these feelings I have for you so what we had wouldn’t be ruined that I was willing to try anything.” 

He’s silent for a moment and then he looks at you with the biggest smile on his face. “Well I’d say it worked didn’t it? You’ve found love and not to be overzealous, but I’d say your soulmate too.” 

You’re stunned for a moment when you realize that yes, the grapes did work, just not in the way you planned. The universe had put Lando in your life years ago and for some weird reason had you wait this long to finally truly be in one another's lives, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Hell, you’d eat a whole package of grapes if that meant Lando and you got to be together in every lifetime. 

“They did, didn't they? I guess almost choking to death was worth it in the end.” 

“I mean I know I’m every woman’s dream, but you didn’t almost have to kill yourself to get my attention baby.” 

You playfully slap his arm as he laughs at you. That big head of his was sometimes fully ego and you realized you were going to have to put up with it all the time now. “Oh shut up.” 

“Yeah, but you love me.” He states before pressing a kiss to your lips, which has your mind feeling like TV static once again. 

When you pull away and look him in the eyes there’s nothing but pure love staring back at you and you know that this is who is meant to be in your life, till the end. “More than you’ll ever know.” 

The next morning you receive a group text from Max with Lando and you in it.  

max: why have i found an empty bag with what looks to be a grape stem in it under my dining table??? i fully know it was one of you.

you: i don’t know what you're talking about. 

lando: me either. no grapes were consumed by us last night. must have been someone else. 

[dmitriene]

it's takes time with simon, patience, to wait for him until he warms up enough to crawl out from beneath his shell towards you, a shelter he built around, a place he let you approach, but never really left it, even when you started a relationship, a thing much closer than just a greetings and small hugs, ravenous kisses, long embraces, whispered, searing pet names, he still hesitated.

to let you see how his life looks, the military part of him, aside from a dirty gear he comes back home in, his friends, stories, his apartment, spacious, but too empty to be related as a home, his soul, the triggers and traumas that forever here to haunt him, simon never really leaves behind the ghost of himself, something he embraced instead.

so when he takes you with him to the town pub, not to spend time together, but to let you meet face forward with the curious, bewildered gazes of his military comrades, even his captain startled to see simon bring up anyone alongside himself, the realization makes something in you squeeze, throbbing right against your thumping, racing heart, overcoming with the sting that makes your eyes blink rapid, until a heavy arm tugs you almost forcefully close.

simon cradles you close to the curve of his side, fitting right against the slope of his waist, encircled fully with his draping hand, a protective gesture, a sharp, intent undertone to his smoldering eyes, catching the dim light of the room, he tongues at his cheek, gives a little bite to the tender flesh on the inside, calloused fingers spanning across the curvature of your hip, when his chest rumbles, reverberates through you whole, how he introduces you, his girl.

it's settles deep, the acknowledge, or a confession, hooking and tearing in your skin, sparkling like something long awaited, forgotten as a thing that would likely never happen, but it's there, voiced out to the stilling air between you all, the open mouths of his friends, simon's nose nudging in the crown of your head, leaving there a tender, flaming kiss that travels to your cheeks with heat, as you stutter, squeak a weak greeting, and their eyes soften, sweet and hopeful.

you hear a lot about simon this evening, how cool he is, hard as a rock, a good man, settled shy and pliable on his one thigh, muscular and solid beneath the suppleness of your body he holds tight, barking a laugh, crooked grin here and there while they talk, telling you things that seem like a secrets, but they're told in his presence, so you soak everything in, every little detail you're now have a permission to hold, close to your heart, nodding, giggling tender and raw, thanking every minute of what's happening.

his team is good, you scroll in your head when you both leave the pub, biding farewells out in the nighty, cold street, simon's jacket heavy and smelling with something heady over your shoulders, they loved you, made some affectionate nicknames that you're would definitely called again if you'll meet in the future, and it's stacks in behind your ribcage, heavy and bubbling, you suppress it all the way back to home, leaning on the sturdy warmth of the body you're cradled close to.

it's spills out unexpected, like a cork popping out from the wine bottle, pouring seemingly unstoppable, when simon lays you down on the cottony, cold sheets of your shared bed, tingling shivers trailing up from your curling toes at the contact, at the contrast of his chapped, scorching lips over your body and face, peppering sugary, gentle kisses, you sense the hunger in there, see through blearing haze at your eyes how his jawline tightens, teeth's grinding together, as he undresses you down.

you cry when he sheathes himself deep in, soppy, spasming cunt squeezed tight and wet around his bothered, engorged cock, walls seizing at the slip of your emotions, at the sob you let out, scaring something from simon that makes him pull you close instantly, bending awkwardly, tugging you against his sweating, firm chest, heart hammering beneath your ear and wet, tear streaked face as he rasps worried, short questions, listening at the way you choke small whimpers.

simon holds you still until you calm down enough to tell him, share all the worries you had, how patiently you waited for all of this, to hear how he proudly calls you his, introduces to his another slice of life, takes you forward with him hand in hand, as you weep, giggle during your speech, and he chuckles, not rude, brushing off way, it's as raw as your tears, hoarse, joyful in another kind, and he whispers then, voice mirroring yours in it's wetness, thanking you for being there all this time.

now his, for forever, and only, with nothing to wait for no more.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[itsrlymine]

i apologize for the really long ask but i really wanted to share my thoughts and i would make my own loa blog but i dont have it in me to deal with anons so i fear i will dump them all on you 😔 first off i want to say THANKKKK YOUUUUUU you literally changed my manifestation journey i used to be really into manifestation back in 2021/2022 and i was trying to manifest my dream face but it never happened no matter how much i affirmed or listened to subs or anything so i was just like fuck it this manifesting stuff isnt real imma just move on with my life and thats how i went about my life until you popped up on my dashboard a month ago and usually i would click not interested on any loa content but i was like you know what lemme give this stuff a chance again bc i did try the non manifesting route and it didnt work out bc when i tell you my life went DOWNHILL i used to protect myself from negative experiences by having the belief that i was simply the exception to terrible stuff but the moment i left the loa behind and was like no thats unrealistic anything can happen well guess what!! so many bad stuff happened in my life the last 2 years its genuinely crazy. so i was like lemme try this again and i went through your blog and really tried to materialize everything you were saying and read it with the attitude that what you are saying IS real instead of the doubting attitude i had towards loa advice/info back in 2022 and things really shifted for me.

so the first thing i learned is that MANIFESTATION IS REAL and more importantly NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE what i went through these past two years was proof to me that manifestation is real because once i adopted that negative mindset and dropped any positive beliefs i had my life became a nightmare and all those terrible thoughts manifested right before my eyes. for example i used to believe that i always looked pretty no matter what, this was just something part of my belief system but when i abandoned the law and everything i told myself no thats crazy i cant mAniFeSt looking pretty its unrealistic if im not pretty then im just not and bro when i tell you i was at my lowest appearance wise I WAS AT MY LOWESSTT my classmates at school would come up to me and tell me i looked so different and so dull even my mom would say the same stuff to me and tell me i changed i also noticed a difference when i looked in the mirror. the reason why i felt like manifestation wasnt real was because it just seemed really crazy to me, i felt like things materializing out of nowhere and appearances changing drastically was just like something fantastical and just not possible here in the real world. well i am here to tell you that is NAWT THE CASE! the world is not logical and im gonna tell you why. most of us here have grew up religious, and whats more illogical than religion? there are so many stories in the bible where illogical stuff happen like youre telling me some guy can turn water into wine? doesnt that sound like something out of a fantasy movie? but it happened, right? you believe in the bible so you believe in all the stuff that happened in it even the magical stuff. and another thing with growing up religious is that we always hear stories about miracles where for example a neighbor who was really sick suddenly woke up completely healthy. and we also were taught that we can ask god for anything and that god can make anything happen. i remember when my dad would teach me about religion he would say that god can make the grass is purple if he wanted to. it isnt just in religion but also in another spiritual communities and stuff they also have their own stories where things that dont really make sense logically happen. this goes to show that the world and humanity were never logical and that illogical things can happen, they've been happening since the dawn of time. people just came up with their own explanations. so get that thought that you cant change your entire face because its too crazy out of your head because it isn't. anything is possible. we literally live on a rock and we somehow move and speak and talk and somehow atoms exist so pls get with the program aint nothing logical in this life and the sooner you come to terms with that the better. nothing is too crazy because existence itself is crazy.

the second thing i learned was that MANIFESTATION IS NOT A PROCESS. i used to hear this all the time back in 2022 and it never made sense to me i was always like what tf are yall talking about???? my understanding was that manifestation is the act of trying to get something, but i was so so wrong. everything changed for me when i started approaching manifestation with the attitude that i was reminding myself of what i have, not trying to get what i want. basically stop thinking of manifestation as manifestation if ykwim. to really understand this im gonna have to talk about the whole "decide that you have your desire > affirm that you have it > keep presisting" thing and break it down.

so what do people mean when they tell you to decide that you have your desire? does it mean saying out loud "i have __" and then a few seconds going "alright wheres my ___?" no. it means you in your mind decide that its ALREADY YOURS and that you ALREADY GOT IT. i dont know how to word this any differently because its so simple its literally in the words. im gonna try an example. im assuming that youre reading this with your eyes so you have eyes. are you trying to 'manifest' having eyes? when you say "i have eyes" are you using an affirmation to get eyes? is having eyes a desire youre trying to 'manifest'? no because you literally already have eyes bro how else are you reading this with your bootyhole??? so when you say "i have eyes" you arent manifesting via affirming, youre just saying it to remind yourself because well you have eyes. you arent trying to manifest eyes because you already have them. thats what it means to decide that your desire is yours. it means to stop treating what is yours as a desire because its literally yours. stop seeing it as something youre trying to manifest because you already have it, wtf do you need to manifest for? do you get it? don't think of doing this as you tricking your mind into thinking you have your desires because AGAINN you arent tricking anything you literally already have it. when you say "i have eyes" and you have eyes are you trying to trick gour brain? no. that sounds silly. im sorry that this is so repetitive but its literally that simple idk what everyone else is doing complicating the most simple thing ever.

and now, what do people mean by affirm that you have it? does that mean using affirmations to manifest your 'desire'? (i put desire in quotations bc you already have it since you decided you do) no. it simply means reminding yourself that you do. ill go back to the eyes example. if you were to say "i have eyes" right now would you understand that as some woo woo manifestation affirmation technique? no because you already have eyes. what youre doing is simply stating a fact and reminding yourself of it for funsies. you arent trying to manifest anything because you already have it. affirming doesn't mean tricking your brain or your subconscious that you have your desire or whatever, its just you reminding yourself.

and finally, what does it mean to persist? does that mean fighting for your life trying to convince yourself that you have your desire? no. because you already have it. it simply means that everytime you ask yourself "oh why isnt this showing up in my 3d?" you tell yourself "bro what tf are you on about were not manifesting anything we already have it are you crazy?" that's all. going back to the eyes example, you know you have eyes, so if someone came up to you rn and was like "hey did your eyes come in yet?" you'd probably think they hit their head or something because your eyes are literally right there its how youre seeing their dumbass. that's the same attitude you have to have towards your 'desires'. stop thinking of your 'desires' as desires, stop thinking youre trying to manifest anything, stop thinking you have to wait for anything to show up in the 3d or that the 3d is lagging behind or whatever, stop seeing manifestation as manifestation, stop imagining yourself sending in success stories asks when you get your desires, basically just stop dawg. you already have it. "dont contradict yourself" (although again you arent contradicting anything bc you already have it im just running out of ways to simply something thats already so simple). thats what it means to manifest instantly.

anyways thats all i wanted to say. im so sorry for the horrendously long ask i would make it even longer by talking about my success now but i think you would beat my ass if i did. bye bye love u

!!!!! you ate this whole thing up. y'all better come read this.

[oceandolores]

ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 | chapter I

General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

"in her eyes shone the sweetness of melancholy."

summary: In the grandeur of ancient Rome, you are the secret daughter of Commodus, living a quiet life as a servant in the imperial palace. Everything changes when you meet General Marcus Acacius, Rome’s honorable and stoic leader.

Though devoted to duty and loyalty to the princess, Marcus is drawn to you in a way he cannot ignore. A forbidden passion ignites between you both, and an affair begins—one that threatens the very foundation of loyalty, power, and honor. As you fall deeper into your dangerous love for Marcus, each stolen moment becomes a fragile, dangerous secret.

warnings: 18+ only, 14 YEARS AFTER GLADIATOR 1, ANGST, Fluff, A LOT OF SMUT, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, mentions of violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, mentions of death, Innocent and pure reader, Loss of virginity, Infidelity, more warnings will be added throughout the story

Chapter I

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The palace is alive with preparation, a beast of marble and gold that never rests. Its veins are the labyrinthine halls, pulsing with servants like you, carrying trays of delicacies, wreaths of flowers, and jugs of wine.

Its heart beats to the rhythm of whispered orders, clinking metal, and the distant echo of the marketplace beyond its gates. Tonight, the beast awakens for another feast.

You adjust the folds of your simple tunic, careful not to brush against the elaborate tapestries that line the walls. Each thread tells a story of conquest, glory, and power—legends you’ve only heard murmured by those old enough to remember.

You are not part of those tales, nor their lineage. You are a servant, a shadow cast by the towering figures who walk these halls.

The kitchen is a tempest. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet figs. Claudia, the head cook, barks orders, her voice slicing through the chaos like the edge of a Roman gladius.

You pass her with a nod, your arms laden with trays of fruit—gleaming apples, plump grapes, the kind of bounty the common people outside these walls could only dream of.

Livia catches your eye from across the room. Her presence is a steady anchor in the storm, her face worn but kind.

“Have you checked the wine?” she asks, her tone soft but urgent.

You nod. “It’s ready, Mother,” you reply, the word slipping out as naturally as breath.

She is not your mother—you know this much—but she is all you have.

The story of how you came to be here is one you’ve heard countless times: a baby abandoned at the servants' chamber door, cradled in a basket of woven reeds, with nothing to mark your origin save for a scrap of fine cloth that no one in your station would dare to own.

Livia found you there, swaddled in whispers of mystery, and against all odds, she chose to keep you.

Raised among the laboring hands of the palace, you were given no privilege beyond survival and no legacy but that of work.

The great marble halls and gilded frescoes became your entire world, a place as eternal and unmoving as the gods themselves—or so it seemed.

The servants’ quarters where you lived were nestled in the hidden bowels of the palace, far from the glittering feasts and marble statues.

You learned to scrub floors and pour wine long before you understood the language of wealth and power that filled these walls.

Your life had been carved out in the shadows, molded by the soft voices and calloused hands of those who raised you.

Today, like every other, begins in service to Rome's ever-churning hunger for spectacle.

The air hums with anticipation, thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, a stark contrast to the stench of poverty that lingers just beyond the palace gates.

“Are the platters for the atrium ready?” Livia’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“They are,” you reply, glancing at the polished silver laden with grapes and apples, their skins shining like jewels under the torchlight.

“Good.” Livia’s sharp eyes soften, though her expression remains tense. “Take the fruit out yourself. And stay close to the kitchen. Today will bring trouble, I feel it.”

You nod, understanding the weight of her instincts. Years of serving in the palace have taught her to sense the storm before it strikes.

As you lift the platters, Claudia, calls over her daughter, Alexandra.

“Go with her,” Claudia orders, waving a ladle for emphasis.

Alexandra groans dramatically but obeys, rolling her eyes as she grabs one of the platters.

“She can’t let me rest for a moment,” she mutters, her tone more amused than annoyed.

You chuckle softly. Alexandra has always been like this—bold where you are cautious, quick to speak where you stay silent.

She is your only true companion here, older by four years and infinitely more daring.

As you and Alexandra arrange the fruits on a grand table in the atrium, she leans closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The Princess will be here tonight.”

You nod absently, focused on ensuring the grapes cascade just so. “Of course, she will. She is the Princess after all.”

“No, I mean, I haven’t seen her in years,” Alexandra continues, ignoring your tone. “Not since I was a kid. That was ten years ago. You know she moved out of the palace after marrying the general.”

You don’t reply immediately, your hands steady as you arrange the fruit. Alexandra has always loved to gossip, but you prefer to keep your thoughts unspoken.

“Can you believe it’s been ten years, and she hasn’t had a child? Not one with him,” Alexandra muses.

“Maybe it’s their choice,” you say quietly. “It’s not our place to wonder.”

Alexandra scoffs lightly. “I’m just saying, after her son—what was his name? Lucius?—after he was taken and killed by her brother, Commodus…” She trails off, her voice tinged with something between pity and fascination.

You remember Lucius vaguely, a boy with a quiet demeanor and a sad smile.

You were too young then to understand the weight of his loss, but the servants whispered of curses and tragedies surrounding the imperial family.

“It’s not good to talk about the great emperors like that,” you murmur, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Before Alexandra can reply, the sound of heavy boots echoes through the atrium.

The guards step forward, their polished armor glinting in the firelight. “Make way for their majesties,” one announces, his voice carrying over the growing murmur of the guests.

You and Alexandra immediately bow your heads, the platters forgotten as the twin emperors enter the room.

Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla are a study in contrasts.

Geta, an imposing figure, commands the space with a cold and calculating gaze. His every step seems deliberate, as if the weight of the empire rests on his shoulders alone.

Caracalla, by contrast, walks with an erratic energy, his pet monkey perched on his shoulder. Dondus, the creature’s name, chatters and hisses, a mirror of its master’s unpredictable moods.

You feel the weight of their gazes as they sweep the room. Geta’s lips curl into a smile—or is it a smirk?—as his eyes linger on Alexandra.

There have been whispers, rumors of an affair, though Alexandra denies them with a laugh.

Caracalla’s gaze lands on you, and for a moment, his expression softens. Unlike his brother, he has always been strange but oddly kind to you.

When you were a child, he would find you in the halls, offering you small trinkets or asking you to keep him company.

“Your Majesties,” Alexandra says again, her voice like honeyed wine, sweet but strong.

She curtsies with practiced ease, her eyes cast downward, yet her boldness hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable.

You follow her lead, bowing deeply, but your heart pounds in your chest like the war drums of a distant legion. In the presence of the emperors, the room feels smaller, the air heavier.

To serve Rome, you think, is to breathe in the will of its rulers, no matter how suffocating.

Geta's gaze lingers on Alexandra, traveling from her head to her feet, as though she were a statue he might commission or a possession he already owns.

His smirk deepens, the corner of his mouth curving with an indulgence that unsettles you.

“Alexandra,” he drawls, his voice smooth as polished bronze. “Why do I find the table half-dressed? Are my guests to dine on the promise of fruit alone?”

You glance at the platters, perfectly arranged but not yet fully adorned with the remaining dishes. Your pulse quickens; you know the punishment for displeasing the emperors can be swift, unpredictable.

But Alexandra, bold as always, doesn’t flinch.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” she says, her tone measured yet edged with defiance. “The final trays are being brought out as we speak. The delay was unforeseen.”

Geta arches a brow, his smirk turning sharper, more dangerous. “Unforeseen,” he repeats, as though savoring the word.

“I wonder, Alexandra, if you’ve grown too accustomed to... distractions.”

You know the meaning behind his words. Everyone does.

The whispered rumors of their affair swirl through the palace like incense smoke, clinging to every corner.

Her mother Claudia knows, though she turns a blind eye, perhaps thinking it wiser not to provoke the wrath of an emperor.

Beside him, Caracalla shifts, uninterested in the exchange. His pet monkey, Dondus, chitters softly on his shoulder, its small, beady eyes scanning the room.

Caracalla’s gaze falls on you briefly, but it is not unkind. He has always been more erratic than cruel with you, there is a peculiar understanding in his glances—a shared knowledge of solitude.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” you say suddenly, your voice trembling like a bird caught in a net. The words tumble out before you can stop them, and the weight of the room shifts.

Geta’s eyes snap to you, sharp as a blade. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake.

But then he laughs—a low, indulgent sound that sends shivers down your spine.

“Ah,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “The little dove finds her voice. How curious.”

You stiffen under his gaze, your knees threatening to buckle. It feels as though he is peeling back your very skin, seeking something hidden beneath.

“You’re the youngest servant here, aren’t you?” Geta muses, his tone light but with an edge that cuts.

“A curious creature, so quiet and unassuming. And yet…” He trails off, his eyes narrowing, as if piecing together a puzzle.

The weight of unspoken rumors presses against your chest.

The whispers about your lineage, the murmurs that you are more than a servant—that you are the illegitimate daughter of Commodus himself, a shadow of Rome’s bloody past.

You’ve heard them before, though never directly. Livia, your steadfast mother in all but blood, dismisses them as lies, the gossip of bored tongues.

But in moments like this, when Geta’s piercing gaze locks onto yours, it feels as though the marble walls around you whisper secrets only they can hold.

Secrets of your origin, of what blood may or may not flow through your veins, encased in the silent austerity of Rome’s cold embrace. You feel the weight of it, a shroud both invisible and suffocating.

Geta doesn’t believe the rumors entirely, but he cannot ignore them either. To him, you are a thorn he cannot pluck without proof.

If the whispers are true, if you are indeed the hidden scion of Commodus and the only living grandchild of Marcus Aurelius, you would be a danger to his rule.

Rome, after all, has loved its Aurelius lineage fiercely.

The plebeians would rally to your name like vines twisting toward sunlight.

Still, no woman has ever ruled Rome.

The Senate, the soldiers, and the gods themselves would balk at such a notion. But Geta knows that power is not always rooted in precedent—it is rooted in the hearts of the people.

And the people would love a descendant of Marcus Aurelius far more than they could ever love him.

“You wear the palace well,” Geta says finally, his tone dripping with mockery. “A little too well, perhaps.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks but keep your gaze respectfully lowered. His words are like serpents coiling around you, their venom lying just beneath the surface.

Caracalla hums softly, breaking the tension. He strokes Dondus, the little monkey perched on his shoulder, as though soothing himself rather than the animal.

“Leave her, brother,” he mutters, his tone flat but carrying weight. “You scare the child.”

Geta casts his twin a glance, his smirk briefly faltering. With that, he straightens, clapping his hands once in finality. “Finish the table,” he commands, the sharpness of his tone slicing through the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you and Alexandra reply in unison, bowing deeply as the emperors turn and walk away.

Their robes ripple like molten gold, catching the light as though the gods themselves had woven the fabric.

The moment they are gone, you exhale shakily, the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipping from your lips.

The grandeur of the palace, so often a thing of wonder, now feels oppressive—a prison of marble and ambition.

Alexandra nudges you gently, her smile faint but reassuring. “It’s fine,” she murmurs, though the tightness in her voice betrays her unease.

You nod and return to your work, the routine motions of arranging platters grounding you once more. But the unease lingers, like a storm cloud that refuses to dissipate.

Later, after the feast preparations are complete, you retreat to the servants’ quarters. The hallways grow quieter as the palace begins to prepare for the night’s debauchery.

Your mother, Livia, finds you there, her expression tight with concern.

“Are you all right?” You nod quickly, not wanting to worry her further.

Livia’s sharp eyes search yours for a moment before she exhales heavily. “Stay away from them tonight,” she warns. “There will be soldiers, senators, politicians—men who think they own the world. And women and men from the brothels to entertain them. It will not be a place for a child like you.”

“I understand,” you say softly, though the thought of the gathering makes your skin prickle.

"Go to your chamber and stay there.” You nod, obedient as always, and Livia cups your face briefly before bustling away.

But as you walk toward your chamber, the stillness of the afternoon draws you elsewhere.

***

The sun bathes the palace gardens in a golden light, soft and warm, like an embrace from the gods themselves.

The sky is a flawless stretch of azure, and the air carries the faintest scent of blooming jasmine.

Unable to resist, you veer toward the gardens, seeking solace in their quiet beauty.

You make your way to the small pond at the edge of the grounds, where the world feels simpler, untouched by the weight of marble columns and imperial decrees.

This is your sanctuary, a place you’ve tended with your own hands.

The hedges are trimmed neatly, the flowers arranged in bursts of vibrant color—crimson roses, golden marigolds, and pale violets that seem to glow in the sunlight.

The pond reflects the sky like polished glass, its surface rippling gently in the breeze.

You settle onto the cool stone bench nearby, pulling out a small parchment and charcoal.

Writing has always been your escape, a way to make sense of the labyrinth that is your mind.

The words flow from you like water from a spring, each line capturing fragments of your thoughts and fears.

To live in the shadow of gods is to forget the warmth of the sun.

You stare at the words you’ve written, sentences about Rome and its people, the empire’s endless hunger that devours the poor while the rulers gorge themselves on the spoils.

It isn’t rebellion that drives you—at least, not yet—but a quiet, gnawing sense of wrongness.

You have lived your entire life within the confines of this palace, its gilded walls both a sanctuary and a prison.

Outside, beyond the Forum and its grand marble temples, the streets of Rome teem with despair. You’ve seen it, fleeting glimpses on the rare occasions you ventured beyond the palace gates.

Children with hollow eyes and grime-streaked faces.

Men broken by war or taxation, their shoulders bowed under invisible yokes.

Women clutching bundles of rags that you realized, with a sick lurch, were infants too still to be alive.

These thoughts weigh heavily on you as you sit by the pond, the garden’s beauty unable to shield you from the world’s harsh truths.

You lower your quill, pressing trembling fingers to your lips, when the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you sharply from your thoughts.

You stiffen, the air in your lungs turning to stone. It isn’t one of the servants; their steps are lighter, quicker.

This tread is deliberate, measured, carrying a weight of authority. When you glance up, your breath catches.

The man before you is not adorned with the opulence of the Senate nor the ostentatious silk of the emperors.

You know who he is. How could you not?

General Marcus Acacius.

Rome’s shield and sword, the hero of distant campaigns whose name is whispered with both reverence and fear.

You have never seen him in the flesh, for he seldom resides in the palace, choosing instead to live with Princess Lucilla far from its labyrinth of intrigue.

But his likeness is everywhere: etched in marble statues, painted in frescoes, immortalized as Rome’s protector.

Yet, here he stands, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if the gods themselves have sent him.

The crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders glints faintly in the golden light, its hem embroidered with intricate patterns that seem to tell the story of the empire’s conquests.

His tunic, simple yet stately, is cinched with a polished belt, a gleaming buckle bearing the proud insignia of the wolf of Rome.

Unlike the ornamental decadence of the Senate or the twin emperors, his attire speaks of purpose and practicality—beauty tempered by utility.

And his face—by Jupiter, his beautiful face.

It is a map of victories and sacrifices, weathered yet noble. The lines carved by years of sun and battle only enhance the sharpness of his features, as if the gods had personally molded him for their own designs.

His hair, dark and streaked with silver like the gleam of moonlight on a blade, curls faintly at his temples.

His beard, neatly trimmed, frames a mouth set in the hard line of a man who has spoken a thousand commands and swallowed a thousand regrets.

But it is his eyes that strike you most: deep, piercing, soulful-brown eyes.

They are the eyes of a man who has seen the best and worst of humanity and bears the weight of both.

Your breath catches as his gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sight of a young servant clutching a parchment like a shield.

He regards you with a sharp, assessing gaze, his eyes like iron tempered in fire—unyielding yet reflective.

His presence is commanding, a gravity that draws everything into its orbit. You are struck by how different he is from the emperors.

Where Geta and Caracalla exude indulgence and cruelty, Acacius carries himself with the disciplined grace of a man who has known the weight of true responsibility.

“Not many choose the gardens for their thoughts,” he says, his voice deep, steady, and tinged with curiosity.

It is a soldier’s voice, devoid of the honeyed pretense of courtiers.

You scramble to your feet, clutching your parchment to your chest. “General,” you manage, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

He raises a hand, the gesture more commanding than any shout. “At ease,” he says, a faint flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossing his face. “You are Livia's daughter?"

His question hangs in the air like the distant clang of a bell. You nodded, your name feels small in your mouth when you finally say it, barely audible against the rustling of the garden’s leaves.

Acacius nods, as though filing the information away. His eyes flick to the parchment in your hands. “A poet?”

You hesitate, “I... I write, sometimes. Thoughts.”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet strangely grounding. He does not reach for the parchment, but his gaze lingers on it as though he could read its contents by sheer will alone.

“Thoughts on Rome, perhaps?” he asks.

His tone is even, but there is an edge to it, a subtle weight that suggests he already knows the answer.

Your throat tightens. To speak of the empire’s flaws to a general of its armies feels like standing on the edge of a blade.

Yet something in his bearing—a quiet patience, a restrained curiosity—compels you to answer honestly.

“Yes,” you admit softly. “About Rome. And its people.”

Acacius’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly, a shadow crossing his face. He looks away, toward the pond, his gaze distant now, as if seeing not the still water but something far beyond it.

“The people,” he repeats, almost to himself. “The heart of Rome. And yet, the heart is always the first to be sacrificed.”

The words are spoken quietly, but they carry the weight of experience, of battles fought not just with swords but with conscience.

You watch him, your earlier fear now replaced by a cautious curiosity.

"Do you... believe that?" you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling like a fledgling bird daring its first flight.

Marcus halts, his crimson cloak swaying like the banner of a legion stilled in the wind.

He turns to you, his eyes—sharp as a polished gladius—softening for the briefest moment, as if your question has reached a part of him long buried under layers of duty and steel.

“Belief,” he begins, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of a man who has lived lifetimes in service to an empire, “is a luxury in the life of a soldier. I deal in action, not faith. But I have seen enough to know that Rome’s strength lies not in its emperors, but in its people. And we are failing them.”

The honesty in his words strikes you like the tolling of a great bronze bell, reverberating through the quiet garden and deep into your chest.

It is not what you expected from a man like him—a hero to some, a sword-arm to the empire—but here he stands, speaking not as a general but as a man, his voice laced with something unguarded. Regret, perhaps. Or hope—fragile and faint, but alive nonetheless.

“Do you believe in Rome, little one?” His question falls like a stone into still waters, and you startle, unprepared to have the conversation turned toward you.

“I—” Your words falter, and you look down at your hands, clutching the parchment that now feels like an accusation.

But then, something inside you stirs—something that refuses to shrink back beneath the weight of his gaze.

You lift your eyes to meet his, the courage in your chest kindled like a flame drawn from embers.

“I believe in what Rome could be,” you reply, your voice steadier now.

“I believe in the Rome that lives in the hearts of its people—the ones who work its fields, who build its roads, who kneel at its altars not out of fear, but out of love. That is the Rome worth fighting for. But the Rome I see now…” Your throat tightens, but you press on.

“...has forgotten its people. It worships marble statues and golden coins while the streets crumble and the people starve. How can an empire endure when its foundation is so neglected?”

Your words spill forth, unchecked and unmeasured, and it is only when you see the faintest flicker of something in his expression—respect, perhaps, or surprise—that you remember who stands before you.

The weight of your boldness sinks in like a gladiator realizing they’ve overstepped in the arena.

“Forgive me, General,” you murmur, lowering your gaze. “I forgot myself.”

But Marcus shakes his head, a wry smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Do not apologize,” he says, his tone gentler now, though no less commanding.

“You are young, but your words carry the wisdom of one who has not yet been corrupted by power. Few speak with such clarity, and fewer still with such courage.”

His gaze lingers on you, searching, and you feel it like the sun breaking through storm clouds.

“You remind me,” he says, his voice quieter, almost reverent, “of someone. He believed, as you do, in the strength of Rome’s people. He would sit in gardens much like this one, speaking of justice and duty, and wonder aloud whether the empire could ever live up to its ideals.”

Your heart quickens, the weight of his words settling over you like the cloak of a goddess.

The way Marcus looks at you—as though he sees not the servant, but the soul beneath—makes you feel for a fleeting moment.

“I am no philosopher,” you say softly, your fingers tightening on the parchment. “But it is hard to remain silent when I see so much suffering.”

“A Roman citizen has every right to speak of their empire’s failings,” he says, stepping closer now.

“Do not mistake me for a politician, child. I am a soldier. My loyalty is to Rome—not to the men who rule it."

You nod, the words settling over you like a cloak woven of both gravity and reassurance.

The air between you feels charged, alive with the kind of understanding that is rarely spoken but deeply felt.

You watch him, his form cast in the golden hues of the setting sun, the crimson of his cloak vivid against the muted greens of the garden.

There is something about him that draws you—not merely his reputation, not the legends whispered in the palace halls of his valor and victories, but him.

The man behind the titles and statues.

You swallow, your heart a restless bird in your chest. You should not linger, not with him, not now.

And yet, you find yourself unable to walk away.

Words rise to your lips, hesitant at first, but then they spill forth, tentative and careful, like a child offering a wildflower to a god.

“Forgive me, my lord, but shouldn’t you be inside?” you say, your voice trembling under the weight of its boldness. “The palace is bustling with your celebration—wishing you fortune for your campaign, for Rome’s glory.”

He turns his gaze to you, the faintest flicker of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Rome’s glory,” he repeats, as though tasting the phrase on his tongue, finding it bitter.

He lets out a soft chuckle, low and warm, a sound that feels oddly out of place amidst the solemn grandeur of the garden. “Let them feast. Let them toast. I’ve no appetite for gilded words tonight.”

You blink, surprised by his candor. He is not what you imagined—not the marble statue immortalized in the Forum or the hardened general whose name echoes in the chants of soldiers. He is… more human than that.

“I’m waiting for my wife,” he adds, his tone casual, though his eyes seem to linger on you as if measuring your reaction.

Princess Lucilla.

The name hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of legend. Rome’s Princess. The only daughter of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor. You’ve never met her, though her shadow looms large over your life.

“She was delayed,” he continues, glancing toward the palace, though his stance is relaxed, unhurried.

Princess Lucilla, her legend precedes her, a name spoken with reverence, and sometimes, in hushed tones, with fear.

Your mother, Livia, has served her since she was but a girl.

Livia, who moves through the world with a quiet dignity, has always spoken of the princess with unwavering loyalty. “She carries Rome on her shoulders,” your mother would say, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. “The weight of a crown rests on her brow, even though it does not sit there.”

Your thoughts drift, but his voice pulls you back to the present.

“Your mother,” Marcus says, his tone shifting to something softer, more contemplative, “she’s a loyal servant to our household, isn’t she?”

You nod, feeling a strange warmth rise to your cheeks. “She is, my lord. My mother adores the princess. She always speaks highly of her.”

At this, Marcus smiles faintly. His expression, though guarded, carries a warmth that feels rare, as if he’s allowing himself a brief reprieve from his usual stoicism.

“Livia is wise, then. Lucilla is… more than most know. Rome sees her as Marcus Aurelius’ daughter, but to me—” He pauses, his voice lowering to something almost reverent.

“She is a woman of strength, far greater than any man I’ve known. Her loyalty to Rome and its people… it humbles me.”

For a fleeting moment, his mask of a hardened general slips, and you glimpse something deeper.

A man bound not just by duty but by love.

His words hang in the air, gilded with affection, and you feel a pang of longing, though for what, you cannot say.

“I’ve never met her,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

He turns to you, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Lucilla?”

You nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious beneath his scrutiny. “I’ve only heard stories. My mother always told me about her strength, her grace. But we’ve never crossed paths.”

Marcus regards you for a long moment, as if seeing something in you he had not noticed before. “She would like you,” he says at last, his voice steady, though something lingers in his tone, a note of intrigue.

“Are you coming to the feast tonight?” he asks, the question catching you off guard.

You hesitate, glancing toward the palace where the distant hum of celebration filters through the evening air. “Servants are not permitted to attend such events, my lord,” you say, lowering your gaze. “I am only a servant after all,"

His brows furrow slightly, as if the answer displeases him. “Rome is built on the backs of those it calls servants. Do not diminish yourself.”

You blink, unsure of how to respond. There’s a weight in his words, one that feels both heavy and freeing.

Before he can say more, hurried footsteps echo through the garden. You turn, and there stands Alexandra, one of the palace attendants, her expression tight with worry.

“My lord,” she says, bowing her head quickly as her wide eyes catch sight of Marcus.

The respect is immediate, almost reflexive. General Acacius commands not just authority but admiration.

Men respect him, but women… they speak of him in hushed tones, a figure both distant and impossibly magnetic.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Alexandra continues, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. “Your mother is looking for you,"

Marcus looks at you, his expression softening. He steps aside, the movement graceful despite his formidable frame, as though making room for your escape.

"Tell Livia my apologies for keeping her daughter here," he says, his voice low yet deliberate, as though each word is a promise carved in stone.

His gaze lingers on you, longer than it should, and it feels as though he is reading something beyond the surface—a map of your heart, perhaps, etched in the lines of your face.

For a moment, the world narrows to just this: the garden bathed in the golden light of a setting sun, the faint murmur of the distant feast, and the weight of his eyes, heavy yet strangely gentle.

There is something about you, his expression seems to say—something unspoken but undeniable.

You feel it too, a spark that flickers to life beneath the layers of duty, expectation, and fear.

“I’ll see you at the feast tonight,” he says, the words more a statement than an invitation, leaving little room for protest.

There is a finality to his tone, yet also a quiet insistence that stirs something within you.

Before you can respond, he dips his head ever so slightly—a gesture of respect, or perhaps acknowledgment—before turning and striding away, his crimson cloak flowing like a banner in his wake.

You bow reflexively, watching him disappear into the shadowed corridors of the palace, his figure swallowed by the grandeur of Rome itself.

Yet even as he leaves, his presence lingers, an echo in the air, a weight in your chest.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps fades, Alexandra is at your side, her face alight with barely contained awe.

“Was that… the general?” she whispers, her voice tinged with something between disbelief and reverence.

“Yes,” you reply, though your own voice feels distant, as though it belongs to someone else. Your thoughts are still tethered to the garden, to the quiet intensity of his gaze.

“By the gods,” she breathes, clutching your arm as though you might disappear. “He’s… he’s even more handsome up close.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Careful, Ale,” you chide gently, though there’s no malice in your words.

“I’ve heard so much about him,” she continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“About his loyalty to Maximus Decimus Meridius—the late general—and how he served under him during the great campaigns. They say he adored the princess even then. Some even whisper that his loyalty to Maximus was why he stayed so close to her after his death, marrying her to protect her.”

You glance at her, your brow furrowing slightly. “You know far too much for someone who spends their days in the laundry.”

She grins, unrepentant. “The laundry is where all the palace’s secrets come to dry.”

You shake your head, though her words gnaw at the edges of your mind.

You’ve heard the stories too, in bits and pieces from the older servants: tales of Lucilla’s love affair with Maximus, and Marcus’s steadfast devotion not only to his commander but to the empire itself.

A marriage born of loyalty, they say, not love. And yet, there’s something in the way Marcus spoke of Lucilla earlier that makes you wonder.

As Alexandra chatters on, her words a tide of gossip and speculation, your thoughts drift back to Marcus.

To the way he stood in the garden, his form framed by the soft glow of the setting sun. To the depth in his eyes, like wells carved by the gods themselves—deep enough to drown in, and yet you couldn’t look away.

You feel a strange restlessness in your chest, a stirring you can’t quite name. It isn’t admiration, nor fear, but something more complicated. Something heavier.

Marcus is unlike anyone you’ve ever known—unlike the indulgent senators with their honeyed words, unlike the cruel twin emperors whose laughter carries the sting of a whip.

He is a man of iron and fire, tempered by years of battle, yet beneath that hardened exterior lies something softer. Something… human.

And perhaps that’s what unsettles you most.

You’ve spent your life surrounded by women: your mother, Livia, with her quiet strength and unshakable loyalty; the other servants, who taught you to navigate the palace’s labyrinthine halls.

Men were distant figures, their power felt but never seen up close. Fathers, you’ve only heard about in stories—abstract concepts, not flesh and blood.

But Marcus is no abstraction.

He is real, tangible, a presence that feels larger than life yet undeniably mortal.

To see him, to feel him, is to glimpse a side of the world you’ve never known—a world shaped not by whispered orders or silent sacrifices, but by action, by conviction, by the weight of decisions made on the edge of a blade.

You shake your head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they cling to you like the scent of blooming jasmine in the garden. “It’s nothing,” you tell yourself, though your heart betrays you with its restless rhythm.

“Nothing at all,” you murmur, though even the words feel like a lie.

[mononijikayu]

widower! nanami who found himself lingering by the window in the evenings, catching glimpses of you tending to your garden or sitting on your porch with a cup of tea.

nanami kento couldn't quite explain the comfort he found out he could feel just because of your presence.

ever since he moved here and met you, with your bright smile and your kindness to a grieving soul like him, it brought a quiet solace amidst the storm in his broken heart.

widower! nanami who, despite his reluctance to let anyone in, found himself knocking on your door one rainy evening to return the favor you have him when he first moved in.

he stood there, holding that it bottle of red wine and his little whisper of a quiet "thank you for the bread."

you smiled at him tenderly, not caring for his shyness or his awkwardness. "its my pleasure, neighbor. come by anytime. i'll make something good for you.we'll have a good conversation over this wine."

he blinks at you, slowly turning flustered as you nodded. "ah….yes. that would….that would be lovely."

widower! nanami who, over time, found that conversations day by day with you started to feel like a lifeline.

you always spoke with warmth and patience, never prying but always listening. you shared stories of your life, your interests, and little joys that painted the world in colors he thought he'd forgotten.

somehow, it was the good distraction he needed from the quiet. its a way to keep himself present to the world around him, when he would have let himself wallow in the loneliness. and it was because you made him feel safe. he was thankful to you for making him feel normal.

widower! nanami who caught himself smiling—truly smiling—when you laughed at one of his dry jokes. even though you knew that it wasn't that funny.

it was a small moment, one that fould have been a footnote to a day lived in this life but it reminded him of the man he used to be before grief consumed him. he was reminded that he was someone.

widower! nanami who, one night, confessed to you over tea on your porch that he hadn’t felt this kind of peace in years. that he hadn't found himself living in so long.

you didn’t respond with pity or empty reassurances. instead, you looked at him and smiled with empathy. you simply placed a gentle hand over his.

“take your time. healing isn’t a race, kento–kun.”

he nodded at you then and then he smiled, squeezing your hand with his other free hand in thanks. he was grateful that it was you who understood him best.

widower! nanami who realized that the heavy ache he had long felt in his chest was slowly being replaced by something different—something warm and hopeful. something that reminded him of life beyond loss.

widower! nanami who started looking forward to the mornings again, who started thinking about what to wear on his daily walks, knowing he might see you across the garden fence or hear your knock on his door.

little by little, he began to live, not just exist.and that was something he felt like was a gift that could only have come from someone as good as you.

widower! nanami who, for the first time in years, started waking up early not out of duty, but out of anticipation. he’d make coffee and glance out his kitchen window, hoping to catch the sight of you stepping outside to greet the day.

when you did, he’d offer a small wave, and sometimes, you’d wave back with a smile so genuine it warmed something deep within him.

"good morning, kento—kun!" you greeted cheerfully, waving from your garden, kneeling over your sunflowers.

he smiled at you, waving back shyly. he stops from his walk to make sure he sees you and you see him. "good morning to you too."

"come here, ill give you some sunflowers! oh, and come join me for breakfast. i have new bread for you to test!"

widower! nanami who found excuses to linger in his front yard when you were outside enjoying the sun and the breeze of the summer winds.

one time, he found himself pretending to fix his mailbox or tidy up the bushes—just for the chance to exchange a few words with you. sometimes he'd say he found a new cat fiend taking his produce from the garden.

he found as many excuses as he could, just to be with you. just to have a moment to see you smile. just to have those moments of connection with you, ones that no matter how brief, became a balm for his weary soul.

widower! nanami who one day noticed you struggling to carry groceries from your car and instinctively walked over to help.

he hadn’t felt the urge to extend himself in so long, but with you, it felt natural. you had joked about him being your knight in shining armor, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he laughed—really laughed.

and soon enough you followed, laughing and bellowing with joy beaming in your eyes. nanami kento was sure it was the loveliest symphony he'd ever heard.

widower! nanami who began to share little by little all those pieces of himself with you, bits of his past life that he hadn’t spoken about in years.

you were such a darling to him, listening without judgment, your eyes filled with endless empathy and care for him. and when he mentioned his late wife, you didn’t recoil or change the subject. instead you held his hand in the hardest moment in a long long while.

instead, you smiled at him kindly and said to him ever so softly, “she must have been an incredible person to have been loved by someone like you.”

nanami kento was touched. he could have sworn he had truly found the wonder of the world when he looked st you in that moment. you were all that was good and he knew it.

widower! nanami who found himself opening up more and more, slowly but surely. you didn’t push him to move faster than he was ready, but your quiet understanding made him feel safe—something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

in the world which was rough and cruel, there was only kindness when he looked in your eyes. a kindness that was made specifically for him by the warmth of your existence.

widower! nanami who, one evening, invited you over for dinner. it was the first time he’d cooked for someone since she’d passed, and though his hands shook as he prepared the meal, your smile of gratitude when you arrived made it worth it.

you both shared stories over simple dishes, the evening stretching into the night as conversation flowed effortlessly between you. you laughed, you sang, you cheered. it was something that nanami kento would not forget.

"thank you for inviting me to dinner, really." you told him, smiling from ear to ear. "everything was fantastic, kento."

"you shouldn't thank me. if anything i should thank you." he says, a small smile on his lips. "im happy to thank you with something like this, even if its so simple."

you giggled. "simple is best, no?"

he nodded, his eyes fondly looking at you. "indeed it is."

widower! nanami who, after you’d left that night, stood in the doorway of his home and realized he did not feel like any place he was in was as empty as it once was. somehow, the world seemed illuminated in light.

there were still shadows of his grief, yes, but for the first time in years, he felt a flicker of something he thought he’d lost forever—and that was hope.

there was hope that there was something after the pain. that there was warmth inside of him growing for the hope of continuing to live a life with a smile on his face.

widower! nanami who began to wonder if, maybe, it was okay to let the walls he’d built around his heart start to crumble, one small piece at a time.

would you catch him if he let himself fall? or would the weight of his past be too much for you to bear? would you be the one who could stand by him despite the world weighs heavy on his shoulder?

widower! nanami who decided one quiet evening, as he watched the light in your window, as you danced to your favorite song, that he couldn’t keep waiting for the perfect moment to act. life had already shown him how fragile time could be.

he didn’t want to waste another second letting fear hold him back, no. he was still alive. and there were many colors of life he still had to know. and one of it was the color of your joy when music makes you happy.

widower! nanami who knocked on your door the next morning, uncharacteristically nervous, clutching a small bouquet of sunflowers he’d picked up on a whim.

when you opened the door, seeing him with that look of surprise. but it was easy to see the bright light in your eyes. you were truly delighted to see him before your eyes.

he cleared his throat and said softly, “i wasn’t sure what flowers you’d like, but these felt…bright. like you.”

widower! nanami who took you out on a simple walk later that day, both of your hands brushing together gently as you strolled through the neighborhood.

the silence between you wasn’t awkward, that was to be sure. but filled with an unspoken understanding, a connection neither of you needed to explain. it was contentment, in the look of love being as tender as the touch of love even in tender brushes.

widower! nanami who stopped abruptly by a quiet park bench, turning to face you with a look that was equal parts vulnerability and determination.

you smiled at him as you waited for him to say something. the way you looked at him, it was as though he was the only one in the world. it was as though he was a galaxy you marvel at each and every night. it was like he was the morning sunrise tenderly brushing against you in the fleeting echoes of dawn.

“i don’t know how to do this correctly, not anymore." he admitted. “and i don’t know if i'll ever stop grieving her. but… i know that when i’m with you, the world doesn’t feel as heavy. and i think i want to try, if you’ll have me.”

widower! nanami who felt the weight of the world lift just a little when you smiled up at him, your hand slipping into his with quiet assurance. you nodded at him.

“I’m not asking you to forget." you said gently. “but maybe we can figure this out together…..if you would have me."

he smiled at you, bright eyed. "i'd love to have you. happily."

you giggled. "then it's settled. you are stuck with me."

"i could say the same thing about you too." kento laughs.

widower! nanami who, for the first time in years, allowed himself to hope—not just for healing, but for happiness, for love, and for the possibility of a future where he didn’t have to face the world alone.

because he knew that life would be fine now, life could be worth living. and its thanks to you, you whom became his relief in this world, as long as time may allow.

[always-just-red]

Hi!

Can I request a fic where the reader starts realizing they have feelings for Sylus and gets so nervous around him that they can’t resonate anymore?

And Sylus thinks that the reader is scared/disgusted by him again so the reader is forced to confess their feelings to not create a bigger misunderstanding

Thanks!

- 🌻

The moment I got this request I was like HELLO— sunflower anon, you just get me 😌 Anyway! Am back from my break and I hope everyone’s ready for some Vulnerable Sylus™️, because I have got him hot to go!!!

A Gentle Touch

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You really can’t let Sylus into your head this time— he’s living there rent-free already.

Genre: Angst + Fluff (& some Luke and Kieran shenanigans because they were not feeling the angst)

Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, injury detail, mentions of possible trauma, humour, some intimacy at the end 😘, Luke and Kieran are having the time of their lives

| Word count: 3.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

If you asked, Sylus would tell you.

You catch glimpses: dark, sharp flickers of something monstrous, maybe even infernal. Blood, everywhere— thick in your mouth and your nose. All over your hands. You feel it, too: a yearning, so intense, and you couldn’t say whom it belongs to. Then there’s death. Searing white. Bottomless black. In the middle of all of it— crimson eyes like dying stars.

Every time you resonate, it envelops you, is laid out bare before you: a nightmare you’re caught in the centre of but forced to watch from outside. An other, a spectator. It’s a show, just for you, but it isn’t quite ready yet; someone’s still rehearsing their lines.

If you asked, Sylus would let you see it. It’s a power you have over him, a constant, self-sacrificial: you want it? It’s yours. So you don’t ask. You never ask. Like words mumbled in a haze of wine or sleep, you let him hold onto it. His hands are open, yes, but you don’t have to take.  

Besides, you have your own, world-changing little secret, and he’s going to see it too.

He’s slumped in front of you, blood sheeting down from two bullet wounds just below his shoulder. He catches his breath— one, two— before he peeks over this desk you’ve overturned for cover. You should be peeking over as well: should be counting your enemies, scouting your next move.

Instead, you’re looking at him and holding back. One minute ago you had no idea where he was, how he was, and it’d been eating away at you from the moment you got separated. Now he’s with you— he found you— and the relief is desperate, gushing; it has to escape somehow. It drips: forbidden daydreams, one after the other, like…

How you want to hold his face and urge him to speak so you can just hear his voice.

How you want to press a hand to his heart and feel the beat of it beneath your palm.

How you want to kiss him, want to taste the blood on his split lip, because this is your story, isn’t it? Messy. Violent. Defiant.

He looks at you, that same blood carving a thin line through the pale of his chin. It drops down onto his silk shirt. “What are you thinking about, kitten?” he grins. His best guess: “This is a fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, hmm?”

It’s a fine mess he got you into. “Yeah.” You make yourself look away from him, glancing over the desk to assess how much worse the situation is getting. The answer? Significantly. 

Sylus chuckles, drawing your eyes back as he reloads his gun. “Don’t say I never treat you to anything, sweetie.” He fires a few rounds towards the encroaching danger.

Voices go up across the room. Gunshots ring out, louder. Sylus slinks back down, wincing, holding his shoulder, and his fingers turn red. He deftly undoes the first few buttons on his shirt, peeling it back so he can examine his wounds. His jaw clenches; the punctures aren’t closing over fast enough. It’s too much blood, too quick, and he’ll—

He catches you staring. There’s a sheepish sincerity in the way he smiles, as honest and vulnerable as the holes in his shoulder. He holds out his hand. “Time for an energy storm, don’t you think?”

“No,” you snap. “Save your energy. We might need it later.”

“Oh?” An eyebrow perks up in interest, and it’s just like him to spot a double entendre in the midst of all this chaos.

But you’re staring at his chest through his open shirt and you’re such a hypocrite. “Things might get worse,” you explain.

“Worse?” he repeats as bullets fly over your heads, striking the wall across from you and scattering plaster over the floor. He watches it crumble. “Paint me a picture, kitten— what would worse look like?”

Even Rafayel might struggle with that particular creative prompt.

“Come on,” Sylus insists, using the excuse of your silence to push his hand closer to you. “Now’s not the time to play coy.”

“Sylus, I really don’t—”

He grasps your hand, his fingers locking with yours and squeezing tight. Your heart jumps at the touch. It strangles the protests in your throat and stays there, strung up by anticipation and dread.

You’re feeling so much that it takes you too long to realise nothing is happening.

Sylus’s eyes are fixed on your connected palms. He’s squinting, concentrating, and when that doesn’t work— when your hand is paling in the vice of his— he loosens his grip, his thumb feathering over yours as he mumbles a quick: “forgive me.”

He doesn’t let you go. You can still feel him, all of him, imploring to just let him in.

You don’t, and his eyes meet yours, for a moment— like another bullet has bitten through his flesh. Your mouth drops in fake surprise; you’re always so innocent when you pull a trigger on him.

This time, there’s no wound you can push your hands against in a guilty effort to staunch the bleeding. You have to apologise. Have to stitch it up with every word you’ve been guarding, saving, and it isn’t supposed to be like this. “Sylus, it’s not what you think. I—”

Something metal clatters across the floor behind you, bounces like a failing, stuttering heartbeat, then explodes.

…

“Good news, boss! We figured it out!”

Sylus groans, looking up from a report he’s not really been reading as two figures crash into his room. Not good, he thinks, as Kieran flings himself into the nearest armchair. Whatever this is, it’s not good. Luke settles on its arm.

With a sigh, Sylus removes his reading glasses. They stay, hooked on a finger, as he pushes his hair back like he can feel a headache coming on. His eyes flutter closed, and when they open, the twins are both leaning forward, bristling with excitement.

“Ask us,” Luke whispers in a way that makes Sylus think he might not realise he’s speaking out loud.

Another sigh. “What did you figure out?”

Kieran whips out a tired-looking notepad from behind his back. He clears his throat— “ahem!”— then starts to read: “Reasons why Miss Hunter was not able to resonate with you. Number one...”

“How did you find out about—”

“Sshhhh,” Kieran interrupts, putting a finger to where his lips should be. Sylus’s eyes widen in indignation, and Luke comes to his twin’s rescue, silently indicating Mephisto with a few tips of his head. The crow shrinks down on his perch.

“Number one,” Kieran repeats, matter-of-factly. “Your height.”

“My… height?”

Luke nods solemnly as Kieran continues: “humanityandconquer.com/power-dynamics describes tallness as a ‘natural advantage when trying to dominate a smaller individual.’ You are very tall. Try crouching when you speak to Miss Hunter.” He glances over the top of his notepad. “If you approach her at her level, she’ll know you mean no—”

“Nope. Next,” Sylus dismisses, waving his hand in a fast-forward motion. That headache is coming on.

“Reason two,” Kieran acquiesces, gaze falling, “your eyes.”

“Oh, for gods’ sake—”

“They’re red,” the twin pushes on, “and red means danger. In fiction, red eyes are symony—” he stops, spells it out— “synonymous with the supernatural. Vampires especially. Plus, lots of bad stuff is red.” He’s going off-script. “Blood. Fire. Sunburns.”

“Sunburns are pink,” Luke muses.

“No, like, bad sunburns, y’know?”

“Oh right, yeah.” There’s a shrug of agreement.

Sylus’s will to live is hanging by a thread, and they really don’t have a care in the world, do they? It must be nice. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for your little investigation. If that’s all, I would—”

“Reason three!” Luke chirps, wiggling the same number of fingers, and Sylus’s head lolls back against the sofa.

“Miss Hunter is struggling to separate this version of you from your first impression,” Kieran says.

Sylus looks up. “What?”

Luke is rubbing his hands together eagerly, like they’ve finally gotten to the good stuff. “Well, you remember how you and Miss Hunter met,” his twin explains.

Words won’t do it justice, apparently, because the man begins to act it out. He reaches to grip Luke by the throat and Luke pretends to choke, fingers clawing at the grasp. Then Kieran stands up— throws Luke down into the chair and pins him there with his foot before snatching up his hand.

“See what I mean?” Kieran asks over his shoulder. “I mean, it must have been pretty traumatic. You kinda tore her away from everything she knew. Forced her to use her power, et cetera, et cetera.”

Sylus has gone quiet. He’s vaguely aware that the twins are moving, saying more, but he can’t hear it. He feels sick. Then he feels something different: someone poking at his arm. A hand is waved in front of his face, but he doesn’t react.

“Oh, we so got it,” Luke whispers conspiratorially behind him.

“Hell yeah we did!” Kieran whispers back.

There’s the sound of them high-fiving, and it spurs Sylus into action. He’s up out of his seat, out of their shadows, and then the door as well— long before they can stop him. He needs to breathe. He needs the cold night air and the quiet, and his strides drive him towards it, but not fast enough.

He’s about to use his Evol. To let himself evaporate so he can be whole again somewhere else, somewhere easier, but then he stops. He’s by an open door, glancing in at a decadent living room, where you’re sprawled over a black leather couch. This isn’t easier. This hurts, and it hurts more as he forces himself to close the distance between you.

You’re still asleep. You’ve been unconscious ever since that grenade went off, and it’s for the best, really; getting out of that place was… messy. Sylus’s shoulder still aches, the blood on his shirt now crusty and dark. Some of it’s his. Some of it’s yours.

He’s not sure why he’s still wearing it.

The twins did a pretty good job of patching you up, but— looking over you— he would have done better. It was his role, after all. His duty to you, or maybe just a reason to get close to you. He couldn’t do it today. Couldn’t touch you, no matter how noble the intention. And a little part of him was glad for the excuse; his hands always shake.

A blanket is half on your legs, half on the floor, and Sylus stoops to collect the edge of it. He draws it over your shoulder, adjusting it around your arms— at rest by your face. He’s close, now, and he…

He can’t help himself. When has he ever been able to help himself? He lifts his hand slowly; he wants to kiss you. Even though your blood is still drying on his shirt and it’s all his fault.

…

Someone’s hand is on your face.

The touch draws you back into consciousness, tender, careful, then suddenly sharp. “Ah,” you hiss. “Sylus?” Always first on your mind and your lips.

“Not even close,” quips the shadow above you.

“Kieran?”

“Bingo.”  

You use your hand to block some of the room’s light as you open your eyes— a birdlike silhouette taking shape through the gaps in your fingers. “Where’s Sylus?” you ask, teeth clenching as the twin applies a thin strip of surgical tape to a cut on your cheek. “Is he ok?”

“Sheesh, relax. He’s fine,” Kieran tuts, then seems to reconsider, “well…”

“He’s brooding,” chimes a voice from behind you. “Out on the balcony.” Luke.

You rub at your eyes, still drowsy with sleep. “Why’s he brooding? What did you do?”

“Told him he traumatised you,” they speak in unison.

“What?! Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s true,” Kieran shrugs. “That’s why you and boss couldn’t, you know…” He twinkles his fingers.

Resonate? Ugh. You slide your feet onto the floor, sitting up straight for a solid second before you bury your face in your hands, omitting a few, pained whines. This is such a mess, and it only got worse while you were asleep. First that stupid grenade, now the twins.

A hand pats at your back. “There, there,” Luke soothes.

You turn to glare at him. His hand retreats.

Forget it; you have to find Sylus.

…

You step out onto the balcony, head full of apologies you’ve had all of a minute to prepare, and it isn’t enough. It felt fitting, in the middle of a shootout— everything was allowed to be frantic and from the heart. Here it’s calm, and if you ruin something— break anything— it’s going to be obvious. There’s no other violence to blame.

Sylus must hear you join him, but he doesn’t turn. He’s leant forwards against the rail, one arm folded upon it, the other outstretched: sporting a glass of liquor that hangs from the tips of his fingers and that he swirls gently, his gaze far away.

The twins really weren’t kidding.

“Hey,” you greet, and it’s sort of pathetic, but you don’t know what else to say.

“Hey,” Sylus returns, “are you—” he looks back at you over his shoulder— “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you smile warmly. “I mean, the twins are giving me a headache, but that’s, like, standard.”  

He smiles back: a courtesy. You’ve seen him grin through almost every type of pain imaginable, but this one is new. Think about what Luke and Kieran said. What he must be thinking. “Sylus, I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he stops you, turning his body towards you. “Honestly, I’d… rather you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he chuckles, masking a deeper hurt as he lifts his glass to his lips. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

You are; you hold his gaze as he takes a deliberately slow sip of his drink. He smirks, surrenders at once and admits: “I’m really not that strong, sweetie. That’s why.”

“What if I want to explain?”

The smirk falters, and his eyes make their own, sad, silent confession. If you want to explain? He’ll let you. He’ll stand here, listening patiently while you call him a thing of nightmares. While you break him, bit by tortuous bit, by reminding him just how frightening he is.

He turns back to the view, shrugs, but none of the tension leaves his shoulders. “Go on, then.”

“Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t scare me, you know.”

His hand tightens around his glass. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Pity me,” he grimaces. “I don’t need it. I know what I am. I’d just… forgotten what I was to you.”

Your captor. Your monster. Except that was a lifetime ago and he’s been so many more things to you since then. Tell him. “Sylus…”

“I felt it,” he snaps, because your voice is still so reluctant, and he’s going to save you the trouble. “When we tried to resonate, I felt it— your fear— just as deep as it used to be. I heard that same voice in your head, the one saying you wouldn’t let me in, couldn’t let me in, so don’t tell me I don’t scare you, sweetie.” The term of endearment tastes sour, you can tell. “I know how you feel. I know—”

“I like you, Sylus.”

“…What?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “I like you,” you say again, and your heart is beating too quickly for eloquence, so you just have simplicity. “You don’t scare me at all, Sy. I care about you. A lot.”

Sylus stares at you, his eyes wide. There’s no confidence. No smile or drawn-out breath of relief. He sets his glass aside on the railing, gaze leaving yours for a moment, and you get the feeling he needs that moment as much as he needed the drink itself.

Then he looks at you again. Asks in a way that makes you ache: “do you mean it?”

Look at him. Your throat stings. “Of course I mean it.”

“Say it again.”

“I mean it, Sylus. I care about—”

His lips are on yours and the rest of your words are lost in his mouth. You, you say with the way you kiss him back, soft and slow, like you’re relishing something that might slip away. You, you insist— your hand finding his face, his hair, as he kisses you deeper, and you, you, you, when he doesn’t stop.

“Is this alright?” he murmurs, his fingers around your chin and his thumb tugging at your bottom lip.

“Mmm,” you confirm, equally breathless.

He laughs as he withdraws a little, still caressing your face like you’re something of a dream. “You’re not making this easy, kitten.”

“Worried you might traumatise me again?”    

It's a low blow. He scoffs. “Luke and Kieran said—”

“Luke and Kieran once bought arts-and-crafts feathers for Mephisto because they thought the colours would make him, and I quote: more aerodynamic.” You pinch his ear playfully. “I can’t believe you let them get to you.”

“I know,” he groans, lifting your hand so he can press chaste kisses along the line of your knuckles. “Not my finest moment.” He guides your palm to his cheek— leans into it as he leans into an idea. “They said you hated my eyes,” he pouts.

You can’t help giggling. He frowns. “I mean— aww, no,” you scramble, but you’re still laughing. You can’t stop. “Your eyes are… yeah. So pretty.”

“You had to think about it?”

“There were just too many adjectives, y’know? I was struggling to—”

He kisses you again, saving you: crushing your laughter with his own, lightheaded smile. His hand finds yours as his lips move against you, your fingers interlocking as you resonate— chasing an instinct, a need to be impossibly closer— and you let him see everything. Feel everything.

It’s a mad tangle of opposites. Heaven. Hell. Life. Death. You don’t know what any of it means, but it’s yours and it’s his and it doesn’t scare you half as much as it should. Sylus breaks your kiss. He pushes his forehead against your own with a sigh of contentment, and it doesn’t scare him, either.  

Savour each second. Think of some better adjectives, while you still have the time.

He’s going to earn every single one.

…

✨Epilogue✨

Inside, staring out through the floor-to-ceiling windows that separate the room from the balcony, Luke and Kieran stand, looking awfully smug.   

“Mission accomplished,” Kieran nods, flipping closed his notepad, aptly titled: 101 Ways To Get Boss Laid! (There are only, currently, fifty-two.)

Luke’s arms are folded. “We’re like, the best wingmen ever.”

Kieran is silent. He repeats carefully: “Wingmen. Wingmen.”

The beaks of the crow masks gradually turn to face one-another. There’s a mutual epiphany, and both twins almost fall over laughing.

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Better when you're here ⭑

Masterlist

Pairing: Sad!king!aegon x sister!reader

A/N: #needthat

Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, pure filth, aegon whines so much I lost count, heavy mommy kink, sub aegon, fingering, piv sex, slight handjob, titty sucking (yes again), sad aegon.

Summary: Sad and needy Aegon just needs mummy to make him feel better :((((

Word count: 2.2k (pretty short blurb)

The gardens were your favourite place in the Red Keep, it was often quiet. And not to mention the beautiful view of the sea. You sat at one of the table’s in an alcove, it was nice and tucked away, giving you your own private space.

You read some book for a while and enjoyed your wine and lemoncakes. Because you never knew when it would be the last time you could sit here. You had been of age for two years now, and even though you have avoided marriage for quite a while, you never knew what your grandsire Otto Hightower had in mind. 

Now you had at least some security since your eldest brother Aegon was now king and everyone was distracted by the war that loomed over Westeros like a black cloud. Only a few more drops of rain to form before the whole thing came crashing down. 

Frustration and anxiety filled everyone's hearts and it was hard to pretend nothing was wrong. But the person you feared most right now was Aemond, he seemed to lose control everyday and he shocked the realm when he killed his own fourteen year old nephew at Storm’s End. However he was now to marry too, to some Baratheon girl and you knew that soon they would use you too, to make alliances with houses. Binded by a meaningless marriage.

You felt like it was all you were good for, and you saw how it affected Helaena and Aegon. Your heart broke for her, she wanted nothing more than to be left alone and live in peace, yet she must be queen. Aegon was of course also affected by this, ever since he became king he drank more than ever before and had even grown a bit of a belly. Still he remained of a nice physique. 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you rode your dragons with him. He didn’t have much of a relationship with Helaena, seeing her more as his quiet sister than his wife and queen and for some reason it seemed better that way. She would be left alone more. 

But you and Aegon were a different story, you liked to sneak around and have fun with him. He might not be a great king or a good man but he was a good brother to you. And you saw things in him that no one else seemed to. The crown seemed to only stress him out and you knew that he just wanted to live out his days drinking wine and relaxing but your mother and grandsire had other plans. 

As of late you couldn’t see him much, council meetings took a great part of the day and he would always hide in his chambers afterwards. Your mother seemed to keep you away from him, for what reason you didn’t know. Your days went from watching Aemond train, flying around KIng’s Landing with Aegon and running around the Red Keep with friends to praying at the Sept, locked inside your chamber or helping Helaena with embroidery. That is why the gardens offered a nice escape.

Soon you would pay a visit to your elder sister and her twins. After a morning at the sept with your mother and sister you needed some alone time. But Helaena was always a calming and nice presence and it was good to keep her company.

After reading the last sentence of a chapter you closed the book, and decided it would be nice to sow with Helaena. As you walked through the halls of the red keep numerous ‘your grace’ and ‘princes’ surrounded you, staff getting out of your way. You ascended the stairs in the throne room, it was empty. Soon it would be supper time but there was enough time.

When you reached Helaena’s door you could already hear your niece and nephew playing, which put a smile on your face. You knocked twice and a handmaiden opened, letting you inside. Helaena was sitting on some blankets and pillows, already embroidering what looked like a blanket. She looked up and slightly smiled when you joined her side, children playing on their own blanket. 

Getting handed some thread, a needle and a new fabric, as was the routine, you began to work on something for Aegon and if you worked hard enough you could bring it to him tonight. When you were about finished, a servant came in to fetch you and Helaena for supper with the family.

But when you arrived only Aemond, Alicent and Otto were there, Aegon’s seat was empty. Silently you both joined them and began eating without him. Supper was tense and silent as it had been for about a month now. When you had finished, you excused yourself and fetched the doublet you had finished before supper, wanting to bring a gift to your brother. 

When you had fetched it you hurriedly made your way up to the king's bedchambers, you knew something was wrong with Aegon, all the stress had probably gotten to him. When you had almost reached the door Ser Criston Cole stood guard there. He bowed his head before he spoke; “Princess, the king does not wish to be disturbed right now.” He said politely. 

“I understand, but I have something to cheer him up, so please, let me enter.” Ser Criston seemed to think about it, before releasing a sigh and opening the door for you, very softly as to not disturb his grace. You stepped inside and Cole just as softly as he opened the door, closed it again. It was now dark and Aegon’s fire was lit as he sat in a chair in front of it, you could hear the sobs coming from him. It broke your heart. 

You quietly made your way towards him. “Aegon?” You called out. He didn’t lift his head. You walked around him so you were standing in front of him, he looked up with red stained cheeks, and red, tear filled eyes. “Oh Aeg- what happened?” You asked him, instead of answering he buried his head into your stomach, his hand gripping your dress as he sobbed into it. The doublet falling on the ground.

You caressed his messy short silver locks and he continued to sob for a while, in your embrace. Then he seemed to speak up; “They- don’t care about- me-” He choked against you in between sobs. “Who doesn’t care about you?” You were confused but he lifted his head from your now tear stained dress. “The- the- council- mother- my own hand- they don’t- care-!” He sobbed as he looked at you desperately. 

But to your surprise he pulled you in his lap as his hands were still clinging to your dress. You gasped as you landed on his thighs, he buried his face in your chest instead and continued to cry, the doublet on the ground, forgotten. “Aegon they do care, especially mother, they just want the best for you. To help guide you since they have knowledge of war-” “No! They all hate me- everyone of them!” His breath on your skin gave you goosebumps. His hand now rested on your hip, keeping you in place. 

“You’re the only one who loves me- I see that now- my beautiful smart sister.” He seemed to have exhausted his tears as they now stopped, he breathed heavily against your chest, nuzzling his face against your breasts. He must have had wine. “You love me? Right sister?” He mumbled against your breasts. “Of course I do, so incredibly much. I would do anything for you.” You soothed him, hand still grazing through his silver locks. His purple eyes stared up at you and he smiled slightly.

“Anything?” He asked softly. “Of course, you are not only my brother but my king.” You smiled, placing a kiss on his forehead. This stirred something in him and he breathed heavier again. His face and especially his nose grazed your neck and jaw, lips ghosting over the warm skin. Your own breath hitched in your throat at the feeling. “Aeg-” He ignored you and started to kiss and nip at the soft skin. You lightly gasped at the feeling, and then you felt something hard against your thigh. 

“Brother I don’t think we should-” He stopped and looked at you with teary eyes. “I need this- I need you. Please- just- just let me make you feel good. To thank you. Please mummy.” That last part was whined against your chest where he let his hand graze the low neckline of your dress. Since it was warm earlier, it was quite thin and loose. Your body felt hot at his words, your lower stomach filled with an ache you didn’t understand.

His hand started then at the bottom of your leg, underneath your dress, as he caressed your leg moving up and up where you didn’t know you needed him. “I’m so hard for you mummy. All because of you.” He whined. His hand had finally reached your core, two of his fingers rubbing over your smallclothes, which were already wet with your slick. “Aegon-” You moaned, sparks went off in your body at his touch, you had no idea what he was doing to you but seven hells did it feel good. You hoped he would never stop, but still it felt wrong and guilt consumed you. Yet you didn’t stop him.

His other hand that didn’t tease your clothed clit was still busy with your neckline. The dress was loose enough for him to pull it down so your tits would fall out. He wasted no time in sucking on them. The feeling of his warm wet tongue sucking on your nipple made you release a moan. It felt way too good, it had to be a sin. Aegon himself moaned around your breast, bucking his hips up in need for friction. All your will to stop him had left you. Desire clouding your mind. You moved so that both of your legs were now on either side of his lap, the chair was big and comfortable enough to allow this. 

Aegon released your nipple but never moved his hand from teasing you. But when you sat down, his hand trapped, he removed it and pulled at your dress, eager to remove it. You didn’t know why you did it, but you needed him. You helped him remove your dress and shimmied out of your small clothes as well. “Need to be inside you mummy.” You gasped at his fingers sliding through your now bare slit. His fingers then stimulating your clit. Your breath hitched when he put a finger inside you, going deeper until he found that spot that would make you see stars. He stretched you out a bit for a while until he got too impatient and grabbed your hand to place between you, over his bulge. 

You instinctively squeezed it making him gasp. He moved your hand and quickly undid his breeches himself. He then reached for your hand again and helped you stroke his thick veiny cock. Pre cum started to dribble out over both your hands. And Aegon groaned at the sight. When he was almost about to cum for your hand alone, he removed it, as he did, he removed his fingers inside your cunt as well. Grabbing your hips instead, his cock was so hard it hurt and the feeling of his tip hitting your warm slick entrance almost made him cry out. He used one hand to guide his cock better inside you and you winced in pain. “It’ll be better soon, I promise.” He said softly. 

You whispered okay and he buried himself deeper inside until he was fully sheathed inside you. Your clit hit his pelvic bone and a bolt of pleasure shot through you. You felt so sensitive and weak. When you felt like the pain went away you slowly started to grind and bounce on his cock, testing the waters. He whimpered in response, it just felt so good for him. He held on to your hips so you could start a steady rhythm and he knew he wouldn't last long. “So tight mummy- feels so good.” He sobbed. Squelching and slapping noises filled the room and you both forgot all about a certain guard outside. 

Both of your moans filled each other's mouths as you held on tight to each other. Lost in pleasure you chase your release and started riding him faster, Aegon started to fuck up into you in response chasing his own high. “Mummy- I-I’m close- please- gonna fill you so good.” Aegon whined. This only spurred you on and soon you clenched down on his cock, fire striking through you, you had never felt such insane pleasure in your life. Aegon did not stop fucking into you though and only moments later he cried out as his warm seed filled you. He squeezed you against him tightly to hold you in place. 

He came so much it started to drip out along his shaft, onto his balls and some drops even landed on the floor. You both caught your breath and Aegon didn’t let go of you. But after a few moments his grip loosened and you winced when his softening cock left you. He whined at your warm body getting up but you soothed him, just getting the rest of his clothes off and helping him to the bed. You laid down as well and he immediately crawled up against your chest. “Thank you mummy.”