#that damn quarter necklace

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 10

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Eira has a shiny new spine, Azriel threatens to murder and the shadows keep torturing Elaine's floral arrangements and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

“And if something happens…”

“We do know how to contact you,” Mor drawled drily from her seat on the couch. “Velaris will still be standing when you return, High Lord,” she told Rhys sarcastically. Az bit back a smile while Amren huffed.

"And you're alright with taking care of Nyx?" Feyre checked carefully. It was already dangerous enough for the High Lord, the High Lady, the General and the Spymaster to be out of the Night Court at the same time. There was no need to add the Heir to the Night Court to it as well.

Mor rolled her eyes. "He'll be alive and happy when you return," she promised Feyre.

Rhys sighed as he watched Feyre fuss over Nyx, who was sitting on the ground beside her, playing with what looked like a stuffed toy of some sort. A bat, now that he was looking at it with more interest. 

He wondered where exactly he had gotten that from for a moment. 

"He’ll be in good hands, love," Rhys assured Feyre, walking over to place his hands on her shoulders.

"And don't give her too much milk!" Azriel heard his mate exclaim, fussing about the little kitten that followed behind Eira everywhere. Snow, or Snowflake, as Eira had christened her, would stay with Cerridwen and Nuala...and Eira was fussy about it. Had been for days. 

Azriel had more than once been jealous of a damn cat because it got all of Eira’s attention. And then he looked at Eira smiling at her, at playing with her with a ribbon, at how she coaxed her to eat little pieces of chicken from her hands, and scratched her underneath her chin, all of this with that expression on her face that told him that she was incandescently happy and he wasn’t jealous anymore. Eira loved her. How could he be jealous of that?

Eira appeared just a moment later, Snow still wrapped in her arms. She was clad in a green coat over a cream dress…if one could call it a coat? Azriel had absolutely no clue about fashion but it was a weird coat. It only had three-quarter-length sleeves and the neckline was open, with a shawl collar that bared her clavicle...and right there rested a necklace featuring fat emeralds that he knew the shadows had given her.

His shadows twined around her, whispering their approval for how pretty she looked, and he couldn’t disagree. 

Eira was… She was stunning. She always was, of course. But that simple - yet still lovely - dress, the necklace, and her hair that was pinned up carefully with combs in it...Perfect.

He took her in, the slender, elegant lines of her figure in the dress, the dark gold strands of her hair in the elaborate braided hairstyle that revealed her lovely neck, and those blue-grey eyes that met his as a blush stained her cheeks.

She was beautiful.

"Where did you get that necklace from?" Amren suddenly demanded, staring at the necklace resting around Eira's throat with hungry eyes that made not only Azriel's brows raise.

Eira froze, and her fingers moved up to the emeralds that sat against her skin.

"The...?" she stumbled over her words a little bit, her glance shifting nervously between him, Amren, and Mor and Feyre, who had both also turned to look. "I...the Shadows got it for me," she said quietly, her cheeks darkening further.

What is this about? he demanded from the shadows, which seemed to nearly preen with something.

The Tiny Ancient One wanted it. We bought it first, they answered drily. Petty. So Petty.

He had to bite his lip to avoid snickering.

Of course, the Shadows had stolen something Amren had wanted from right under her nose. Of course, they had.

She still hasn’t apologised to her, the shadows sniped. It’s her own fault.

True. Amren was back in the city because Rhys would prefer his second and third to be there, but that came with strict instructions. Azriel wasn’t quite sure what exactly had been said, but the shadows had promised him that The High Lord had been more than clear with Amren. 

A little mrrrrp from Snowflake in her arms brought attention down to the kitten, and Azriel reached out to fondly stroke the little ball of fluff. Eira giggled as Snowflake leaned into his touch, pressing her face against his fingers and continuing to purr.

"She likes you," Eira said with a little smile, watching the little cat with fondness.

"I think the feeling is mutual," Az murmured quietly, as he gently scratched Snowflake's head, and she just continued to press against his hands for more. Another mrrrp escaped the little cat, and Eira giggled a little.

"There we are!" Cassian exclaimed at that moment, Nesta trailed behind him. "I hope Helion still knows how to throw a party!"

"Or how to host one at least," Azriel grumbled under his breath, as he withdrew his hand from Snowflake's head. Rhys chuckled at the comment, as Feyre rolled her eyes.

Eira next to him stayed quiet, and he could see the nervousness in every line of her body. He offered her his arm and she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, as she placed Snow on the ground.

"It will be alright," he promised her. It would be alright. It was only a wedding. Even if that meant facing Elain and he knew how nervous Eira was about that…He wasn’t nervous. He had promised himself an iron-clad grip on his temper. It would not flare. He would not actually kill Elain. Regardless of if he thought she deserved it for what she had done to them. “I’ll be there,” he added after a moment.  He wasn’t going to leave her to face her demons alone. Not when she had grown even paler at the thought of facing Elain. Her fingers were gripping his arm almost like a vice.

"Everybody ready?" Rhys asked. "We'll winnow into the Courtyard of Sunray Palace."

A chorus of confirmations met his question, as Azriel placed a little kiss against his mate’s head, while her fingers in the crook of his elbow remained as tight as iron.

“Ready as we’ll ever be, I guess...” Cassian muttered, and Azriel silently agreed.

The shadows wrapped around them, and Azriel took a moment to make sure Eira was wrapped in them as well before they vanished from the River House. And rematerialised in the Day Court.

His first thought was...it was bright.

Very bright.

The brilliant sun was shining overhead, and the courtyard they appeared in was large and lovely, if a bit...showy. Similar to the House of Wind, The Sunray Palace was carved into the stone of a Mountain, that was covered in lush grass. He looked up to see a group of Pegasi fly up to their home in the highest tower.

He turned his head to check on Eira, catching her pale face and the nervous gulp as she took the Palace in, and his worry spiked. She was shaking like a leaf, and her knuckles were white where she clutched his elbow.

And then he watched as her shoulders went back and her chin went up, her jaw clenched nearly imperceptively. "You look lovely by the way," he whispered in her ear, making her blush. "Green suits you. Though I am partial to blue."

The compliment drew a flush of colour to her cheeks, and her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly as a little smile appeared on her face.

“Of course, you would say that,” she shot back, the slight tremble in her voice still there. “You’re biased. And don’t try to distract me.”

He chuckled even as he led them forward, the two of them easily slotting into place between Nesta and Cassian, Nesta throwing her younger sister a look. Azriel could read the worry into it but he shook his head nearly imperceptively. Eira was doing well. Better than he thought she would at any rate.

Eira still looked nervous. Extremely nervous. Her hand still had a death grip on his arm, and she was walking stiffly beside him, and yet...she still had her chin lifted high, her eyes forward. He had to admire the courage she was putting on.

The doors to the Palace suddenly opened, and Helion stepped out, grinning brilliantly. “Well, well, well, you all are a sight for sore eyes,” he said, his voice drawling out the syllables in that typical Day Court fashion.

“Don’t you know it, High Lord,” Cassian replied in his usual easy, charming tone, and Helion chuckled as his gaze travelled over the group with a smirk. Suddenly the smirk faltered as his gaze landed on Eira and the shadows wrapped around her.

His eyes widened, and Azriel didn't know what this was about before Helion continued. "We prepared rooms for you all. Why don't you arrive properly and then we'll have lunch?"

The suggestion was casual, but Azriel still thought that Helion's gaze remained on the way the shadows swirled up her body. It did result in the shadows hissing

"Thank you," Rhys drawled, easily matching the Day Court High Lord's tone. "We'll do that, and we'll see you for lunch."

The High Lord nodded, and retreated back into the Palace, while the group headed in the same direction.

When he glanced at Eira again, her face was paler than before, her hands trembling even more.

"Breathe, love," he whispered to her quietly, his voice soft, hoping it would soothe her a little bit. She gave him a weak nod in response, and he could see her forcing herself to take a shaky breath in. Azriel didn't know entirely what was going through her head, but he had the feeling it was not a happy thought, by any means.

They were shown to their suite of rooms, arranged around a shared living room, and he led her to a marigold yellow sofa. She collapsed like somebody cut the strings holding her up.

He had half a mind to curse, but her paler face, the trembling hands, stopped him. Instead, he carefully lowered himself down onto the sofa beside her, pulling her onto his lap without a second thought, and wrapped her in the shadows around them.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he repeated, as one of his hands stroked gently up and down her back, while the other cupped her cheek.

She leaned against his touch willingly, as another shudder wracked her frame.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she whimpered.

His heart wrenched in his chest at the tremble in her voice. "There's nothing wrong with you, love," he assured her quietly. "Nothing at all. You are nervous to face Elain. That's alright."

She sighed softly, but relaxed against him, bedding her head against his shoulder.

"Looking awfully comfy there," Cassian drawled and her cheeks flushed scarlet. She moved to get off his lap but Azriel held her in place gently until she stilled.

He wrapped his arm a little bit tighter around her, keeping her from getting off his lap, as he shot Cassian a quick glare, while the hand rubbing her back continued the slow and gentle motion.

He could almost hear the Shadows whispering their own displeasure at Cassian in the back of his mind. Azriel could hear a sharp smack and he just knew that it must have been Nesta.

He turned his head to send a glare in Cassian's direction, as the Shadows snickered in his mind.

"Sorry, I am sorry, Eira" Cassian hurried to add, as Feyre stifled a laugh behind her hand.

Eira said nothing, just curled tighter against him, resting her temple against his shoulder. 

"We got three bedrooms, not four," Rhys said with a sigh, apparently having surveyed the rooms in the meantime. "They clearly expected Azriel and Eira to share a room.”

Azriel wondered if that was on purpose. If that was Elain’s doing. Her attempt at making Eira uncomfortable. Eira, the one of the sisters that kept the most to human ideals of modesty, that blushed if he as much as kissed her cheek…that only kissed him when they were alone. And even then it were quick pecks against his lips. 

Not that he would ever protest against one of Eira’s kisses. He wanted to hoard each touch of her plush, soft lips against his like a dragon hoarded its treasure. 

But now he could feel Eira's body stiffen in his lap once more, and he glanced down at her. She was very pale again, her fingers trembling where they were wrapped around his jacket. He wanted to smack his head against the nearest wall, or at least something, but he refrained from doing that, and instead just pulled her further against his chest with a quiet huff.

"Their error," Nesta said drily. "Eira and I will share."

The Shadows were practically sulking in his head. 

He shut them up with a growl. 

Even when he wouldn’t have laid a single finger on Eira if they did share a bed, that clearly was a step too far for her. It would have made her uncomfortable. And he wasn’t going to push her. Not ever. 

He had never asked, but there didn’t seem to be any human suitors in her past. Kissing seemed foreign to her, making her nervous and excited, her heartbeat quickening and she stared at him with this expression of wonder on her face. 

"Alright, that works as well," Feyre agreed, and Azriel silently echoed that. 

He could feel how tense Eira still was in his lap, though. Still trembling nervously under his touch. He continued to rub her back slowly, still trying to soothe her. 

“Cassian can share with Azriel,” Nesta declared. 

“Oh come on,” Cassian muttered. 

The Shadows muttered their displeasure as well. 

Azriel rolled his eyes, his fingers still rubbing her back soothingly.

"You're a grown male, Cassian," he said, his voice dry. "I'm sure you'll live."

A huff from the General, and Azriel just rolled his eyes again, his glance down to his mate again.

She still looked quite pale. The hand on her back continued the gentle rubbing. 

"Interesting that it wasn't Elain and Lucien that greeted us," Feyre said drily. "Given that it's their wedding we are supposed to attend."

"Very interesting," Rhys agreed, as Azriel continued to eye Eira in his lap.

She was still tense against him, still pale, still trembling a little bit. Her nervousness and fear were rolling in waves towards him, through the bond.

"Elain will be at the lunch, no doubt," Feyre said, and Rhys just hummed in agreement.

The Shadows continued to whisper angrily in his mind, upset at the way their Mate was feeling.

"Or maybe Elain is terrified of what the shadows will do to her now," Nesta quipped darkly.

Azriel couldn't help but smirk a little bit at that.

He could practically hear the Shadows preen. Cassian let out a bark of laughter, and Feyre tried to hold hers back, while Rhys tried to keep a serious expression.

You'll behave, he told them sternly.

Maybe , they hissed back, though they were still clearly preening over the compliment.

He rolled his eyes and glanced down at Eira again.

I mean it. You will behave. You do not attack her, he reiterated in his head. 

A few displeased mutterings echoed in his head, but they did quiet down. He refrained from rolling his eyes this time, and his glance went back to the female in his lap. She was no longer pale, the tremors and shakes having died down, and while she was still nervous, she now appeared relaxed. At least a little bit.

"Let's get changed for Lunch," Nesta said easily.

"You literally just put on a dress before we arrived here," Cassian said with a snort.

"You don't need to understand females, Cassian," Rhys said easily. "Just deal with it."

Cassian grumbled, as Feyre stifled another laugh and Azriel held in a snicker.

Nesta held out her hand for Eira, who took it and let her sister pull her to her feet, giving him a small smile and his hand a squeeze before they, together with Feyre, disappeared into one bedroom.

He watched her go, a strange feeling of loss creeping up once she was out of his sight.

Azriel was tempted, so tempted to get up and go after her, pull her back onto the sofa, onto his lap, into his arms, but he managed to stop himself from doing so.

He leaned his head back against the back of the sofa, and a long sigh escaped him.

"You're absolutely besotted." His head snapped up to see Rhys staring at him, his violet eyes sparkling with smug amusement. The Shadows immediately hissed in agreement his mind at Rhys' observation.

"Shut up," Azriel just grumbled.

Rhys smirked at him in response, and Cassian just laughed. "Whatever you do tonight, if your shadows start sweetly caressing me like they do to Eira, I'll scream," Cassian muttered.

"That won't happen," Azriel immediately shot back, the words practically hissed through his teeth.

At the same time, the Shadows muttered their own disapproval of that possibility. Only our Mate, they whispered.

Cassian just rolled his eyes.

"Do you think she'll manage?" Cassian asked, growing serious. "She seems awfully...nervous."

A heavy sigh escaped him, as he sat up straighter in his seat, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't know," he admitted. "She...is very nervous. But she's trying not to be. She's trying to stay brave."

"And you?" Rhys asked quietly. "How are you holding up?"

He took a deep breath, contemplating the question.

He was angry. Furious. Worried about his mate, his heart clenching every time he felt her distress through the bond.

But he had to stay strong. For her. He needed to keep it together.

"I..." he mumbled, his voice faltering. He had to pause for a moment to collect himself. "I'm hanging in there."

Silence followed his admission, and Cassian and Rhys were studying him. He knew his friends could see through his facade, knew that they knew how worried he was. His face must have given all away.

"You have every right to be angry," Rhys said quietly. "I don't know what I would do in your place."

"What I want to do is to take her home," he admitted, his voice quiet and gruff, his eyes fixed on his lap, where he was clenching his hands into fists. "I want to take her home. I don't want her here. I don't want her to face Elain. Hell, I don't even want her to meet Elain at all. I..." He took a shuddering breath. "But she needs this. She needs this closure. I think Eira knows that herself."

Another heavy sigh escaped him, as he lifted his head and met Rhys' eyes.

"I just hate...seeing her so scared. She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve to feel frightened and scared because of...Elain," he said, bitterness seeping into his voice as he said her name.

"What did she see?" Cassian said suddenly. "Elain had a vision of you and Eira and worked to make sure it wouldn't come to pass. But what did she see?"

"Cass..." Rhys said carefully, but Azriel shook his head. It was alright.

"She saw...She saw Eira and a little girl in a garden. A little girl with her hair and freckles and my wings and eyes. She saw me coming home to them...picking up our daughter and kissing Eira...they saw my hand on her swollen belly...another child in her womb. She saw our children Cassian." There was a heavy pause after Azriel's words.

Cassian just stared at him, wide-eyed and silent, while Rhys' mouth was set into a thin-lipped grave line.

His voice had started shaking a little bit, towards the middle of his story, and he clenched his jaw against the emotions building in his chest.

"That you didn't outright kill her is a fucking miracle," Cassian seethed.

"I damn near came close," Azriel muttered darkly, while anger coursed through his veins.

His jaw was set, his hands were clenching and unclenching almost of their own accord, while the Shadows kept muttering angrily in the back of his mind. They were furious, furious that their Mate was distressed.

"Why did she do it?" Cassian demanded. "Because she is the prettier one? Because if she couldn't have Azriel, Eira shouldn't have him either? Because of jealousy ?!"

"Jealousy and spite," Azriel said darkly. "That's what it comes down to. Jealousy and spite ."

He wanted to break something. Preferably Elain. He wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze.

He took a shuddering breath to collect himself, as he felt himself slowly losing control of his temper.

But he needed to stay in control. He had to. He wasn't going to explode, not in front of Cassian and Rhys, and certainly not in front of Eira.

"I...hate...her," he bit out, his voice strangled, as his hands clenched and unclenched, even as he tried to keep control over his temper. "I hate her so much. Hell, I want to destroy the very thought of her. I...I want to make sure she can never hurt Eira again. And if it's the last thing I damn well do," he continued, and his voice was venomous. "She. Will. Never. Lay one finger on my mate ever again."

"And I'll make her suffer," he snarled, his voice almost a growl. "By the Mother, I won't just kill her. I'll make her suffer first. For what she did to Eira. For what she did to us. For the thought of that future that she denied me. I will make her pay."

A strangled breath escaped him, his lungs straining with the effort of keeping himself from going on a rampage right then and there.

He closed his eyes, and took a long shuddering breath, as fury continued to course through his veins, while the Shadows hissed and whispered in his mind, their mutterings murderous in nature.

He let out a shuddering breath, as he tried to will his raging temper to abate. He needed to calm down. He needed to, for Eira. She was nervous enough as it was. He couldn't go to her like this. He...He wouldn't do it. He refused to upset her further.

He kept his eyes closed, as he tried to force his emotions to a simmering rage.

Another shuddering breath escaped him, as it took all his strength to calm down. He forced the tension from his body, slowly loosening his clenched jaw. His hands were still clenched into tight fists, but he continued to just breathe deeply, willing his temper to die down.

It felt like an eternity before he finally felt in control of his own emotions again.

He opened his eyes again and met Rhys and Cassian's stares.

Neither of them said anything, silently watching him, and he leaned back against the sofa with a sigh.

"I'm alright," he said and was slightly surprised that his voice was steady, even if he still felt like he was full of rage. "I'm fine. I'm alright," he repeated, and it was more of a reminder to himself than anything else.

"You need to not react like that when you see her," Rhys said quietly, and Azriel couldn't tell if it was a warning or a mere observation.

"I know that," he said between clenched teeth. "I know that, Rhys. But I have every right to be furious. Hell, I have every right to rip her apart."

"You do," Rhys agreed quietly. "But it won't do anyone any favours if you get like this when you see her. You need to keep your temper in check. For Eira ."

***

Eira was staring at her reflection in the mirror, struggling to recognise the person looking back at her. 

Her eyes were wide and anxious, her breathing quick and nervous, and her hands were trembling. A part of her was wondering how she was even managing to stand at the moment, seeing how her legs felt like they were close to giving in underneath her.

But she was also...she was also dressed in a tissue-thin gown out of pleated silk in a lavender colour, cinched in around the waist by an embroidered ribbon she had made. Her hair was pulled back from her face, diamond encrusted haircombs that she had no clue from where these had come from fastened in her hair...( One day she would need to actually get the shadows to stop buying her things. ), a diamond bracelet tightened around her wrist…They had even clipped earrings to her lobes, diamonds as well, dangly and pretty and in the Human Lads would be considered to be too much for a simple luncheon. 

But here in Prythian, the shadows didn’t seem to think twice about it, to wrap her in more diamonds than most people had ever even seen in the same place. 

Once they judged her ready,  a tendril of shadows curled itself back around her wrist, while another picked up the small train of her dress.

"You know, I am kinda jealous. You have a handmaiden wherever you are," Feyre said drily.

Eira let out an embarrassed little laugh, the sound shaky and weak as her heart felt like it was going to pound its way out of her chest.

"They are...very helpful," she admitted, as she gave a small, nervous glance to Feyre.

Nesta finished pinning her own hair into her usual coronet, smoothing the blue-green fabric of her dress. "You do not need to accept her apology," her eldest sister said fiercely. "Remember that, Eira."

She swallowed, the familiar nervous butterflies back in her stomach, and she gave a shaky nod.

Feyre placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, as she gave her a gentle squeeze. It was a little steadying and helped quell some of her anxiousness, even as the nervous tremors continued to wrack through her body.

"I...know," she said quietly.

Right. There went nothing.

She took a few more, long, deep breaths, to calm her nerves.

She was going to be alright. She was going to be just...fine.

You're going to be fine, she repeated to herself as she squared her shoulders.

Azriel was waiting for her as she left the bedroom, in a quiet conversation with Rhys and Cassian. He looked up as soon as he came out, his expression softening.

His eyes widened momentarily as a breath caught in his throat at the sight of her in that dress, and a small smile started spreading across his lips.

"Eira," he said quietly, taking a tentative step towards her. "You...You look beautiful, sweetheart."

She gave a shaky smile, her eyes meeting his as those familiar little butterflies came to life in her belly.

"Thank you," she whispered, her heart fluttering at the affectionate endearment.

"Ready?" Rhys asked.

She exhaled, steadying her breathing, willing her trembling body to not shake.

Eira gave a shaky nod, even as the familiar anxiousness threatened to overwhelm her, and she swallowed past the lump forming in her throat.

"Ready," she whispered.

She just needed...She reached out for Azriel's hand before she could help herself, not caring how inappropriate this was. They weren't married, they weren't even engaged and still, she claimed his hand with hers, threading her fingers through his.

The feeling of scarred skin against her home, grounded her, giving her something to hang onto. 

The shadows that kept closer to him than usual, hiding behind the wings he had snapped close to his body, dusted over her arms for just a moment, like they wanted to assure Eira that they were there as well, before returning to their mater, leaving her with a few wrapped around her wrist and another tendril keeping her skirt in place. 

For a brief moment, Azriel looked down at where their fingers were woven together, before lifting his head again and giving her fingers a firm, reassuring squeeze. She felt his warmth through his skin, the steady beat of his pulse, and it was comforting...comforting to know that he was right next to her.

She took a few more, deep breaths, the anxiety continuing to flutter in her stomach, but...

But Azriel was here, she reasoned.

Azriel was right there...right next to her, holding her hand...and she could do this. She could get through this. All she had to do was stay close to him.

They were let to a dining room, with high ceilings, beautifully appointed in white and gold. 

“I swear I told them to put white jasmine and blush roses in here and not yellow carnations and orange lilies!” she heard her sister’s voice before she saw her. 

Seconds later, she got her first glance at her twin sister. Lucien and she made a lovely couple, always had. And Elain did look as utterly beautiful as she always had. Elain had always been extraordinarily lovely, but that hadn't changed in her transformation into a High Fae. Now she was utterly beautiful. 

Even when… with a blink Eira realised how harried-looking Elain was, fiddling with the flowers on the table.  Her heart clenched at the sight of her, mixed with the swirling, anxious emotions in her stomach, and she couldn't help the shuddering breath that escaped her as they walked into the room.

Azriel's hand clenched around hers.

Her eyes snapped to his. His face was a mask of ice. She had never seen him look ...like that before. Never seen...this tightly controlled murderous rage.

The shadow tightened around her wrist. She wasn't sure if it was in warning, but she didn't care anyway.

He was hers. Hers in every bit of this murderous rage. 

They came to a halt, and she felt the way Azriel clenched his jaw as his eyes met with Elain's across the room.

He was furious, she could practically feel the rage simmering under the surface, the only thing keeping him in check was his ironclad control...and the fact that he was holding onto her hand.

She would leave the diplomacy to Feyre and Rhys, the useless pretty words. She didn’t trust herself to say anything that was actually nice. Instead, she tugged Azriel along to find their seats at the table, pasting a smile on her face.

They sat at the table, and Azriel kept a firm hold of her hand, never loosening his grip on her. The shadows kept themselves firmly around her wrist and continued to cling unto her, even as they settled into place at the table.

And a part of her could feel how Azriel was tensed, how he was wound up so tight she was afraid he might snap.

Cassian sat down next to Azriel, with Nesta bracketing Eira's other side, fully ignoring whatever seating arrangement had been put down by the Day Court. 

Eira wasn’t stupid, she knew exactly why Cassian had been put there. In the event of Azriel losing his temper, Cassian may had a chance at subduing him. Though she somehow doubted that would actually work. 

With them right there, and Azriel holding onto her hand, she felt...steady. She felt secure...secure enough to withstand this dreaded luncheon.

Feyre and Rhys sat down next to Helion, Lucien and Elain, and she could feel the tension in the room.

She could sense Elain's gaze on her, sitting directly across from her. , but didn't dare to meet her eyes as the anxiousness roiled in her stomach, even as Azriel's fingers continued to grasp hers, and one of the shadows curled around her wrist, giving a small, reassuring little squeeze.

"It's so nice that you could make it," Elain said, a smile on her face, masking her nervousness. She was glancing at the shadows that were topping up Eira’s water glass, clearly making a pest out of themselves, to put bread on her plate and drag the butter dish closer to her. 

For just one moment Eira wondered if they did that on purpose. Were they trying to scare Elain?

"We wouldn't have wanted to miss this," Feyre said, her voice carefully neutral.

There was a stiffness in the air, palpable enough that it could be cut with a knife, the tension as so thick that one could drown in it, and Eira just sat there, her fingers tightly wrapped around Azriel's hand.

There was a moment of silence, where nobody commented.

And then...her heart hammered against her ribs, her stomach twisting in knots, as those doe-like brown eyes landed directly on her. "You look...good, Eira. Healthy. I hope everything healed well," Elain said sweetly.

Her breath caught in her throat as she fought down the nausea that welled up in her stomach, and she forced a tight smile onto her lips.

"Everything healed up just fine," she said, her voice shaking, only to be steadied by the firm squeeze Azriel gave her hand.

It was the truth. Nothing but a thin white line underneath her left breast. Nobody but her would probably ever see it. 

"And the... lightning ?" Lucien wondered. "I hope your cauldron-given gift didn't give you too much trouble," he quipped, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Elain mentioned that you…defended yourself quite well.”

The nausea that welled up in her throat was nearly immediate. Defended herself. She had defended herself. She had also killed 4 males. 

"Lightning?" The High Lord of Day asked, sounding fascinated. He was looking at her like she was an exceptionally interesting specimen.  

Her stomach roiled, the nausea continuing to grow inside her, as her heart thundered in her chest.

“No,” Eira said, struggling to keep her voice even. “It...It wasn’t too much trouble,” she continued, even as the nausea continued to rise, and she felt like she might retch all over the table.

"She's learning to control it," Rhys said evenly. "She's doing as well as one could expect."

Her heart fluttered at Rhys’ words. He was trying his best to...deflect the attention away from her. Trying to help.

“So she really can generate lightning then?” Helion spoke up, sounding utterly fascinated.

"She can," Rhys confirmed, his voice even. His words were simple, but the tone of them was almost warning, and she could feel Azriel tense even more next to her. And that was enough to pique Helion’s interest.

“Extraordinary,” he said, and he sounded way too fascinated with her wretched blessing.

Her heart skipped a beat, the nausea continuing to grow in her stomach until she feared she might vomit at any moment. Her hand clenched around Azriel's, fingers practically digging into his skin, while the shadows around her wrist squeezed reassuringly. And all the while, she could feel Elain's eyes on her, her stare practically boring into her.

"Do the shadows help control it?" Elain asked hesitantly. Only now, Eira realised that more had come to swarm around her, banding around her midsection and chest, like trailing black ribbons. Their touch was gentle, and soft. 

"No," came Azriel's reply, and his voice was so filled with cold fury that she was amazed he could even get the words out.

He was tense, like a coiled spring, holding onto her hand like a lifeline, while the shadows continued to cling to her, continuing to twine around her wrist in a firm, reassuring grip.

"They like touching Eira because she's Azriel's mate," Cassian said, his voice icy. Her heart stuttered in her chest at Cassian's words.

His blunt, to-the-point declaration of her belonging to Azriel...the words had stunned her, and it seemed they had stunned Elain too if the way that she stiffened was any indicative.

"Ah, yes...we should talk about that," Helion said with a sigh. "Elain?"

The tension in the room immediately ratcheted up even more higher, and Eira could feel it, as a chill settled over the room. She was so tense, she was struggling just to breathe, and her hand was trembling where it was held in Azriel’s ironclad grip.

"I am sorry," Elain said quietly.

Her heart skipped a beat at her twin sister’s words, her stomach twisting in knots, as her eyes flicked towards her. Elain’s voice was soft but sincere, and her brown eyes were wide and vulnerable, and there were tears in her eyes... Tears in her eyes as she spoke.

"I am sorry, Eira," she said again, her voice trembling. “For...for everything.”

And suddenly...suddenly the fear, the nervousness went away, replaced with ice-cold anger. "You are sorry ," she repeated flatly. Sorry .

The anger in her voice was not missed, and she heard Nesta and Feyre inhale sharply. Elain's eyes widened at the tone in her voice...at the anger in Eira’s words, and she gave a small, shaky nod, her chin trembling slightly.

"I am sorry. I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have tried to keep you and Azriel away from each other. I was...I shouldn't have done that."

Eira clenched her jaw, the anger still boiling in her blood as she continued to hold her sister’s gaze.

"No," she replied, her voice so flat it was as if it was made of ice. "You shouldn’t have done that," she repeated coldly. "But that's not all you did, Elain," she spat out. "You saw that vision. You know what you did." What she had done. Namely, keep Eira's babies from being born .

Her heart lurched in her chest, and she felt Azriel squeeze her hand tightly as if he knew what had been going through her thoughts.

Her throat was tight, and her breathing was laboured, as she continued to hold her sister’s gaze, her eyes cold and furious as she spoke.

"You did a lot more than keeping me away from Azriel',” she hissed.

And the worst part was, her sister didn’t even try to deny what she had done. Didn’t even try to fight back. All she could do was sit there, looking like a wounded puppy, which only fuelled the anger in Eira’s chest.

“You tried to take everything from me,” she hissed again.

"It all worked out!" Elain defended herself. "You and Azriel seem to be..."

She couldn’t be serious, could she? 

It all worked out?

It all worked out?!?

"It is not all ‘worked out’!" she snapped, her voice cracking as she fought back a frustrated scream bubbling in her chest. "You tried to take everything from me!" she repeated, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. The tears weren't for her. 

The tears were for her babies. 

The anger ratcheted in her chest and she could feel the lightning underneath her skin, begging to be released. Begging for her to let go of her grip on it and let it find its target. Let it find Elain. Let it hit her. 

She clenched her jaw, forcing that feeling down, as she met her sister’s eyes with a cold glare. "You tried to take my children from me," she hissed at Elain. " My children. "

The temperature in the room seemed to drop to below freezing, and she could feel Nesta and Feyre’s gazes on her. She didn’t care though. Her eyes were entirely focused on her twin, and the words had come out in a deadly hiss, the anger steaming out of her in waves.

"You tried to take our babies ," she repeated, her words cracking again as she spoke.

She felt Azriel’s grip on her hand tighten even more, the shadows clinging to her wrist once more, as if trying to both keep her grounded and hold her back.

And it was the only thing keeping her from lunging across the table and grabbing her sister by the throat.

Her skin was itchy, that strange, foreign energy writhing underneath the surface, and she fought to keep it reined in, to keep it from escaping, even as the room went silent, the tension so palpable you could taste it in the air.

It hurt, keeping it restrained, and her heart thudded against her ribs, her breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.

Her whole body was tense, and all she wanted was to let the lightning free. To let it roar.

"You are my twin sister, Elain," she said, biting out every word. "We spend 9 months sharing our mother's womb. I trusted you with my life. And you did this to me."

Her sister just sat there, her eyes wide and watery, as if somehow even that had been a shock to her.

"We spent years together," she continued, her words sharp and cold. "I never thought I would need to worry about you betraying me."

Her chest hurt like something was sitting on it, making it hard to breathe, as she continued to hold Elain’s gaze.

Elain’s eyes were wide, watery, and wounded, and she might have been almost sorry that she looked so hurt…if not for the fact that Elain was the one who had caused Eira to be in this position in the first place. Elain was the one who did this to her…hurt her so badly she didn’t know if it’d ever heal.

"I…I…" Elain started, her voice cracking. She looked like she was going to cry, and Eira felt herself waver slightly at the sight of her distraught expression. But then…her mind flashed back to the vision of her daughter , so small and beautiful…and that small, weak flutter of sympathy in her chest died.

"I trusted you," she hissed, her voice thick as she desperately tried to hold back the tears that were burning at the corners of her eyes. "I trusted you and look what you did to me. What you took from me."

Her sister let out a watery gasp, her lower lip quivering, and the tears slid silently down her face. And for a moment, Eira felt her resolve waver…only to remember the image of those two babies. The ones that should have been hers.

Anger flared again at that thought, her heart squeezing in her chest, as her breath hitched.

All the sympathy that she had felt was gone, and all that was left was the all-consuming rage coursing through her veins.

She had every right to be angry, she told herself. She had every right to feel this way.

She was so angry, so incandescent with rage, that her entire body was shaking, and she felt like she needed to just scream. To shout and rage and fight…fighting was all she wanted to do.

She gritted her teeth, her fingers wrapping tightly around Azriel’s hand, as she tried desperately to rein in the storm of emotions warring within her chest.

Azriel’s grip on her hand tightened as if he was sensing how close she was to breaking.

“Eira...” Elain said tremulously. Her sister’s voice was quiet, almost timid, and it was enough to snap something within her.

"Don’t. Don’t speak to me. You are the last person who gets to speak to me right now," she snarled, her voice cold as steel. "I loved you," Eira snapped. "I loved you and you did this to me. And now you want to tell me that everything is alright because it WORKED OUT?!"

Her sister looked like she was going to start sobbing, her lower lip quivering faintly, while her brown eyes were like large, round pools. But Eira was done feeling sorry for her. Done feeling sympathy towards her.

“You don’t get to talk to me about what’s alright or not,” she hissed, fighting the urge to reach forward and throttle her. "I just want to know one thing. Why?" she snapped." WHY? Why did you do it?” she shouted bitterly.

Elain looked like she had absolutely no idea how to answer that. She looked like a lost child, and it took all of Eira’s strength to keep her seat and not lunge across the table to grab her by the shoulders and shake her.

She knew her eyes were probably like ice when they met her sister’s, and her glare was hard as steel as she waited for her answer. "Why?" Eira repeated icily.

Her sister’s lower lip was trembling, just as much as her shoulders, as she raised her head to meet Eira’s furious glare.

"I…" Her voice was small and watery, and her eyes were now wide and pleading. "I…I was jealous," Elain whispered.

Eira’s jaw dropped at the words. At the admission, she had just heard. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting her sister to say, but a quiet confession of jealousy hadn’t been it.

Her sister’s chin trembled, her shoulders hunching slightly as she let out another sniffle. She sounded utterly small and looked almost pathetic in that moment as she slowly raised her head to meet her sister’s eyes.

“Of you and Azriel,” Elain admitted, her voice quiet, and trembling. "You...we just...we just got out of the cauldron and this was...one of the first things I saw. You didn't have visions. You weren't going insane. You...you adjusted so much quicker. Not a week later and you were making soup in the kitchen in the House of Wind and...you…were alright."

Alright. 

Eira thought back to these first few days after the cauldron. Thought back to the terror that had clawed under her skin. Thought back to too loud noises and every piece of clothing feeling like sandpaper against her skin. 

She thought back to how she hadn’t been able to sleep. How she had locked herself in the bathing chamber to hysterically break down because she had never wanted it. How she had pulled at her ears, too big, too pointy. How she had wanted to cut them off. How she had wanted to die. How she had thought that throwing herself off the balcony would be a solution . 

"I locked myself into the closet. I hid underneath the bed. I rocked back and forth and back and forth and hummed to myself to stop hearing heartbeats and breathing and birds," Eira spat out. "Yes, I was making soup. For you. Because somebody needed to," Eira said, her voice icy. “I wasn’t alright, Elain. I kept stuffing my ears with cotton wool for the better part of 2 years so I could sleep!”

Her sister looked like she was going to start crying yet again, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, and it only fuelled the rage in Eira’s chest. 

“You were jealous of that ? Jealous that I was making soup? That I was taking care of you?” she repeated, her tone hard and cold. “Of the fact that I was trying to make a positive out of a shitty situation. That I was trying to move on with my life? That I tried not to give Feyre another thing to worry about? And you were jealous? Jealous of what ?!" 

Of the breakdowns she had daily? 

Her sister didn’t reply, her shoulders shaking as if she was trying to hold back a sob

“You were jealous of the fact that I was trying not to scream, not to break down crying,” she repeated, her voice now dangerously quiet. “Of the fact that I wasn’t moping around feeling sorry for myself, because somebody needed to make sure that you didn’t starve to death? That I was trying not to give Feyre or anyone any more of my baggage?”

"And that you got Azriel," Elain whispered. "You got...I saw you with him. With a kind man. I saw these children and I was...I wanted that. I wanted what that vision promised you. So I thought that if I..."

Her breath caught in her throat at her sister’s words, her heart twisting in her chest.

It was sick, what she had done. Horrible. And part of her had known that Elain had a crush on Azriel…but Eira had never thought she’d be spiteful enough to try and rip her children away from her just for that.

“So you wanted it," she stated coldly, her eyes like chips of ice. "You wanted what you saw me having. So you tried to take it for yourself.”

Her sister’s shoulders slumped, and she looked small and pathetic as she curled in on herself. That rage and anger were still burning hot inside her, but along with it, there was the slightest flicker of sympathy starting to burn within her again.

And Eira hated it. Hated that part of her that still felt sorry for her, even after what Elain had done. 

"And later? After you and Lucien figured things out?" Why did you continue it?" she snapped.

Her sister’s face screwed up, and she looked like she wanted to burst into tears yet again. Her chin quivered, her entire form trembling. And she looked so small and fragile, that that small flicker of sympathy flared again within her, and Eira found herself hating it.

"I was...I was angry," Elain muttered softly. "I was furious. I thought Azriel and I...there was something growing between us and then he...he called trying to kiss me a mistake."

Her sister’s voice was quiet and sad, and Eira could see her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Because it was," Azriel said, his voice quiet. "It was a mistake. You had a mate that was literally sleeping upstairs. I never should have laid a single finger on you."

Her sister flinched at Azriel's words and hunched even further in on herself, as if she wanted to crawl into a corner.  "Later it was revenge on me, wasn’t it?" Azriel said, ice dripping from his voice. 

Her sister looked as if she couldn't quite meet Azriel's gaze, her eyes lowered onto the table, her body trembling. She nodded. 

And part of the anger that was currently roiling within Eira burned hotter at that. How dare she look so pathetic now, like she was the damn victim and everything that had happened was Eira’s fault?

Eira’s free hand clenched into fists, and she could feel the sparks dancing across her skin, the strange energy writhing beneath the surface. Azriel, noticing this, gripped her hand tighter, his shadows snaking around her wrist again as they tried to rein in those sparks of lightning.

She didn’t want to hurt him. 

That was what made her reign it in. 

She was still boiling with rage, the anger thrumming through her veins like fire, and she desperately tried to calm herself, tried to get a hold of her temper.

She didn’t want to cause any damage, to break anything or hurt anyone, and the part of her that was still rational, still logical, forced her to rein in whatever was itching to get out. She breathed in and out, forcing herself to calm as those sparks danced across her fingers, and those shadows snaked up her arm. A part of her couldn’t help but notice how Elain’s eyes kept darting to the sparks and the shadows, her body tensing every time they appeared, and a small, vindictive part of her couldn’t help but be glad of it.

Her head was throbbing as that rage continued to thrum through her, but she took in another breath, forcing her mind to concentrate on the sensation of Azriel’s hand wrapped around her own. His skin was warm against hers. 

"I hope nobody ever does the same to you," Eira finally said, her voice quiet.

Her sister lifted her gaze, her eyes watery, and she looked as if she’d been slapped. She looked as if she was shocked at her words.

There was another pause, another silence, as the two sisters sat facing each other, and her words hung in the air.

Elain’s chin trembled again, as if she was fighting the urge to burst into tears once more. 

"I think we can all agree that Elain did not handle this...properly," Lucien said carefully.

Lucien’s words broke the silence, and Eira couldn’t help but feel a pang of irritation as he spoke. 

"No, she surely didn't," Rhys said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Her sister flinched at Rhys’s words, as if she had been struck, and her shoulders drooped even further than before. 

"I think that's an understatement," Nesta snapped.

Her sister’s eyes widened as if the sound of Nesta’s voice startled her. Elain’s head jerked to look over at her eldest sister, who was scowling at Elain with an almost furious look of disapproval.

Eira almost felt a little bad for her sister at that look in Nesta’s eyes, but that sympathy was quickly squashed as she remembered the pain that her sister had put her through.

Her chest ached, the memory of what she had lost still too fresh and raw, and a part of her knew that it would take a long time for the pain to subside.

And even then, she wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to forget what Elain did to her, and that knowledge sat like a lead weight in her stomach, making her feel like she was going to be sick.

Elain shrunk back at the look on Nesta’s face, her eyes even wider as she looked over at her eldest sister. And for a moment, just for a moment, it looked as if Nesta was going to reach across the table and smack her sister. The eldest sister’s hands were clenched into fists, and she looked like she was restraining herself, only just managing to rein in her own temper.

A pause. Another silence. Elain sat, looking small and fragile across the table, Lucien’s chair positioned right beside hers with a possessive arm wrapped over the back.

Azriel’s hand was still gripping hers. He was still sitting beside her, the Shadowsinger’s eyes glittering with fury whenever he looked over at her sister. And his fingers were still rubbing gentle circles on her wrist, the shadows still coiled against her skin, and Eira couldn’t tell if he was doing it to comfort her or himself.

"I am going to say this now," Azriel said quietly. " Once . If you ever do anything remotely similar to your sister again, it will not end well. Do you understand me?"

Elain’s chin quivered, and she looked as if she was struggling to keep herself from bursting into tears again.

She swallowed as Azriel’s words, before slowly lifting her head, forcing herself to meet his eyes with her own. “I…” She took in another shuddering breath. “I understand,” she whispered.

[charliemwrites]

Part 6 of Charmed Slasher Simon!

Simon really ought to teach you not to look at him like that. Those big watery eyes and pouty lips make his teeth feel too sharp for his own mouth. He wants to sink them into you, find out if you taste as sweet as you look. He knows you would, knows it like he knows the slick heat of fresh viscera.

“What.” he demands, voice hard to keep the rasp of dark desire from it.

“I have a little favor to ask.”

He arches an eyebrow, does not believe you. Not when you’re looking at him so beseechingly. He’ll have to get you to make that face again, maybe when he’s got you on your knees, asking to suck his cock.

“Go on.”

You seem ridiculously, foolishly charmed by this stoic, unimpressed front he puts on for you. A little beam of sunshine refracting off of a black mirror. Wonders sometimes what cruel maker built you so unintentionally self-destructive.

“There’s this work trip coming up…”

He has to cross his arms to keep himself from snatching you up and locking you in the bedroom. Mistaking the gesture, you hurry to continue.

“And I have to go, but! We’re allowed to bring plus ones.”

Satisfaction curls warm in his gut, a purring predator cat. He wants to hear you ask, though.

“I’m not hearing the favor.”

“Riley….” you complain, face adorably embarrassed.

“I’m waiting, luv.”

You damn near stomp your little foot at him. “Will you please come as my plus one?”

He arches his eyebrows. “That’s a big ask.”

You could ask for the stars and moon and he’d make them bleed for you. Paint the sky crimson and make a necklace of the heavens to collar you in.

“I know and I understand if you don’t want to - but… but that coworker you met, Brandon? He’s going too, and he’s been looking at me weird all week. Please, Ri? I-I don’t want to go by myself and you make me feel safe.”

Oh it was a sure thing that he’d be going with you, but now there’s no question. He’s so glad for the video cameras; he going to milk himself dry tonight listening to you say please like that. Admitting that he makes you feel safe. His poor, stupid, fragile thing. It’s a good thing he found you.

“Alright, alright,” he soothes. “No waterworks now. I’ll go with you.”

Like a switch, you light up and throw yourself into his chest.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you trill. “I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise.”

He snorts. You’ve done him the favor by giving him an excuse to follow you - but he’s not about to correct you.

“You let me worry about that. Just send me the details and I’ll be there.”

—

Your job has rented out a ski lodge for this little trip. Not only is it secluded, the booking is for the middle of the week. There will be few, if any, people over than instructors and your coworkers.

He couldn’t plan it better.

The day is spent pretending to care about your coworkers’ names and babysitting you along the slopes. You nearly crack your head open twice, each time he scoops you up, frowning down at your giggly face.

You also nail him in the head with a snowball too. That. That’s he’s going to get revenge for.

When night falls, you squeeze his hand at the door to your room. He leans his palm against the door over your head, relishes in the way you fluster as you tilt your head to look at him.

“Thank you for coming, Riley,” you murmurs. “You’ve made this really fun.”

He lets himself smile at you, just a bit. Knows it’s lopsided and probably a little too sharp, should raise alarm bells in your pretty little head, but you only smile back at him.

“Mm, you’ll have to make it up to me. Doin’ you this big favor ‘n all.”

You laugh. “Yeah? Let me know when you want your pound of flesh.”

Oh he’ll be taking more than a pound.

“Better be ready when I come to collect.”

“Ooh, so scary!” you tease, sticking your tongue out.

“You’ve no idea.”

—

A storm hits that night. A wicked, frigid thing that brews up and boils over in a matter of hours. Whiteout conditions. The power goes out a quarter past 11.

Well, you’ve had your fun. Now it’s time for Simon to have his.

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[amywritesthings]

chocolate-covered silver. / a levi ackerman valentine's ficlet.

pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) word count: 1.8k summary: Happy Valentine's Day readers. Why not celebrate with some Levi Ackerman smut? note: set in the universe of silver underground

tags: 18+ MINORS DNI! pre-aot, levi's pov, explicit language, secret relationship, gifts, eating desserts, sexual tension, oral (f!receiving), touch-starved idiots credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

He could kill Hange for this.

A nice gesture, they said — as if he doesn’t already wait on James hand and foot whenever the other Scouts aren’t looking.

She’ll love it, they promised — but not without adding a probably after the sourpuss scowl started forming on his face.

He’s been her close friend for over a decade. 

He’s been in her bed for a fraction of that.

So why does walking to her quarters with a tiny bouquet of hand-picked flowers and imported chocolate from Wall Sina feel like such a death march?

“I’m only trying to help you out,” Hange quipped last week, interrupting his perfectly-happy afternoon tea. “Is it not a day people celebrate in the Underground City?”

“We don’t celebrate stupid shit in the Underground,” Levi corrects, fingertips locked around the mouth of his cup. “And besides, it’s a married couple’s holiday.”

“Not always,” Hange argues, finger lifting in a contrarian manner. “People who date celebrate.”

“That’s not us.”

He’s not technically wrong.

You’re not dating, but he doesn’t know what the hell this is.

Hange’s smile only widens at that. “Friends celebrate, too.”

“Then where’s my flowers, shithead?” Levi retorts.

That earns a bark of a laugh from the Section Commander. “If you want me to go pick you some flowers to put in your stallion’s hair, Levi, make no mistake — I will run out there right now.”

“That’s a present for my horse, not for me.”

Hange waggles their brows, leaning over the table and ruining his peace. “Gives you ample opportunity to pick some flowers for our hardworking Lieutenant, too.”

He told them to go away.

Now, six days later, he’s here.

He’s showing up like a dumbass at her doorstep trying not to run the other way before you know. 

Are you going to think he’s an idiot for partaking in holidays that mean nothing to them?

The only gift he’d ever given you was that damned necklace you never take off. It was the only thing he could afford back then, down there, while they fought for their lives.

Although they may be still in the fight for their lives here, too, he can afford much, much more for you now.

He will buy you a thousand silver necklaces if you want them.

Clearing his throat, the Captain takes a moment to collect his resolve before tapping a knuckle against the wooden door frame.

You shuffle behind it. You must have been going over presentation plans Erwin sent over.

He debates on putting the flowers behind his back or—

“Levi?”

Shit.

Too late.

He stares at you when you open the door, blinking twice. You mirror the movements, blinking between the box and the bunch of flowers in either hand.

Mistake.

Mistake, mistake, mistake—

“Are those…?” you start, trying to hide your amusement.

Levi scowls and holds out the bouquet. “Yeah, it’s stupid.”

“I was gonna say ‘handpicked’,” you reply with a snort, taking the flowers gently from his hand. Levi can feel his heart beating a mile a minute as he waits with a forced stoicism. “What’s the occasion?”

He stops breathing altogether when you lean down to smell the aroma of the bouquet. The way your face melts from stress to enjoy the moment, the scent, has him weak in the knees.

For someone that’s been labeled humanity’s strongest, you sure have a way of making his knees buckle from nothing.

“It’s… Valentine’s Day up here,” he carefully states, hating every syllable of it.

“Valentine’s Day?” you repeat, holding the flowers close to your chest. You step back, allowing him access to your quarters. Levi doesn’t hesitate to enter.

“Some holiday where people celebrate—”

“—lovers?” you finish for him, and the captain feels like he’s trudged in quicksand. “I know. Hange mentioned it to me the other week.”

Fucking Hange.

“Funny that they did,” Levi grumbles, before turning on a heel. You close your door as he extends his arm with his second gift. “You’re supposed to spend the day with someone special to you. Someone — well, it can be a friend —”

“Oh, we’re friends?” you tease him as you take the box of chocolates.

You’re going to kill him.

“James.”

“What? It’s nice to reaffirm — oh, shit.”

He stops in his tracks, painfully aware that you’ve gasped. His eyes slide to the now-opened box full of exquisite chocolate, throat now tight with uncertainty.

Maybe you hate it.

He really shouldn’t have listened to Hange.

“This is real chocolate,” you whisper, and that uncertainty melts into something so very warm.

“As opposed to fake chocolate?” he asks to keep his wits about him. To see you scowl.

“You know what I mean, Ackerman,” you snip, and he fights every muscle in his face to keep a smile at bay. “Where the hell did you get this stuff?”

“Don’t worry about it. Here.”

He steps confidently across the bedroom floor boards to pluck a piece of chocolate out of the box, holding it up towards your lips.

“Open.”

He knows that shift in your gaze when your eyes meet.

Yeah, Valentine’s Day is known for stuff like that, too.

(He can show you.)

Obediently you part your lips, widening your mouth so he can fit the chocolate right between your teeth. It catches, and you use your tongue to pull it into your mouth.

The pleasure is instantaneous. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, the real-time image burning the back of his mind, and he can’t hold back anymore.

“Is it good?” he asks, placing his hands on your hips.

“Better than good.” You hold out a piece for him. “Open.”

He hesitates when the little ball comes to his lips, but eventually he opens his mouth. You’re not wrong — it’s delicious. They don’t make anything like this underground. 

It’s a luxury, though he had intended only for you to enjoy them.

Of course you’d include him.

“See what I’m talking about?” you ask with an excitement that’s damn adorable.

“It’s fine,” Levi answers, knowing the indignance that’s bound to flutter over your face. He huffs a breathless laugh before swallowing the chocolate down. “Come here.”

Lifting one hand to your chin, he pulls you in with nonexistent resistance. Your lips brush against his, at first slow then sensual.

He wants to tell you.

(Your lips taste like chocolate, but you taste better.)

But he’d rather show you.

He glides forward, using the hand on your hip to steer.

You easily comply with his steps forward, guiding you back to your bed. His plan must be in the back of your mind as he kisses you like it’s his last, but he can feel it — the way your lips curve in that knowing smile.

“What are you doing?” you murmur, voice velvety with want. It drives him insane.

“Celebrating you,” Levi mumbles in return, pushing your body backwards.

You easily fall to the bed and he drops with you, knee to the mattress. Levi crawls down, down, to the edge of the mattress with his hands preoccupied with the zipper of your casual trousers. 

You don’t ask what he’s doing — all you do is giggle when he impatiently tugs the fabric down.

“As a lover or a friend?” you tease once your legs are freed.

Levi doesn’t answer.

Not verbally, anyway.

He wraps an arm around your hips, keeping you in place as he swats your legs wider. Your breath hitches from surprise — good, you’re too mouthy right now and he intends to remind you.

Friend, lover, it doesn’t matter.

It’s all synonymous to him.

You’re everything.

His past, his present —

And if he can bury his face into your pussy for the rest of his days, then it’s one hell of a future he can get behind.

The squeak of surprise rips from your lungs faster than you can stop the noise, and Levi is wholly satisfied by the sound. His tongue drags along your slit, coating his mouth with the taste of you mixed with the chocolate still lingering on his taste buds, and he groans.

This.

This is the only thing he needs for this dumb fucking holiday.

“Le—”

You can’t even finish his two-syllable name. You squirm, curse, arch, as he laps once, twice, before paying special attention to your clit.

Yeah, you won’t think straight now.

He knows you.

When his eyes flicker up from his work, he sees the way you struggle to watch him with that flushed face; how your chest heaves in that cotton shirt; how you want to encourage him, beg him, but your mind’s blank whenever his tongue swirls that precious clit of yours.

With his eyes, he says everything he needs to:

This is what I want. This is my gift from you.

Then he sucks lightly on your clit, rhythmic and calculated, and you have to slam your hand over your mouth to avoid screaming. 

Good. 

Fight to keep this a secret.

Because if it was his choice, he often thinks about ruining this — the image of a captain and a lieutenant, platonic and brave, like you’re not riding him in the middle of the night after a hard day of exploration and failures.

Like he’s not finger fucking you in the hallways as a reward after dealing with the higher ups in meetings upon meetings upon meetings.

Like you’re still two teenagers sneaking around, an underground flipped upside-down.

He hums and the vibrations make your legs shake. He has to keep from grinning, too focused on getting you to the edge by his mouth and his mouth alone.

You grow quiet when you’re almost there.

It’s been dead silent for several seconds.

He works overtime, arms locked around your hips to keep you in his orbit, as he licks and sucks and flicks his tongue side to side when—

That devastating sob.

The way your body arches like a woman possessed.

Thighs slam into his ears, making him feel dizzy, but he doesn’t stop.

Not until you whimper and tug and push at his hair to go away, and even then—

One last lick, for doing such a good job.

“You’re a menace,” you finally breathe, letting go of your mouth as your palm rests on your sweat-beaded forehead instead.

Levi lazily kisses down your inner thighs as you come back to planet Earth, proud of just how fast it took this time to get you there. He’s getting better at this, every single day.

Soon enough you won’t last a minute.

He’s determined for it.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m not sorry about it,” he murmurs, lips shiny and red from his efforts.

You laugh, and his heart swells.

“I think I like this holiday.”

Yeah.

Levi thinks he can get behind this holiday, too.

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 13 | chapter 14

"We'll arrive at Sunspear in a week's time," Oberyn announced, approaching you leaning against the railing on the quarterdeck, facing the vast ocean ahead.

Darkness had started to loom around the ship, waves almost as black as a squid's ink. The sun was almost a quarter visible as it was being consumed by the horizon, obliterating any light. The only thing shining across the distance was the red patch of sky encircling the edges of the sun. If it weren't for the torches surrounding the deck, you wouldn't be able to see the Dornishman standing beside you. "How do you feel about that? A lot has changed since we left home."

"Indeed," you said. "I thought I'd look forward to my warm bed and the fresh air of Dorne back home. Now, it seems like I'm terrified setting foot on some land I thought was my birthplace."

"You don't have to be," he assured you. "You're not alone, you know. And your sister is the Queen—"

"She doesn't even know who I am, does she?" You turned to look at him.

Oberyn shrugged. "She will. In time."

You sighed, avoiding his gaze. The sky had turned blood orange. "And I . . . I don't think I'm worthy to be a Targaryen as much as I'm a Martell."

"Don't be so hard on yourself-"

"I'm a bastard, if any, I'm just good at being a bastard. That's all I'll ever be. You know, I think I probably prefer being a bastard, with no one expecting me of anything—"

"The blood of Rhaella Targaryen runs through your veins," Oberyn interjected. "You don't know yet of its importance but you will in time."

"I—" You immediately stopped talking upon seeing Cersei walk around the deck, with a handmaiden following behind her, her eyes on the horizon beyond, witnessing what little of the sun left before it was devoured by the ocean.

"Because of her, right? You've grown fond of her," Oberyn said, sighing. "You're even wearing her damn necklace."

As if she knew you were looking, Cersei turned towards the quarterdeck, her eyes meeting yours in a tensed gaze. Your hand grabbed against the wooden railing a bit too hard. Oberyn was far from wrong. It was because of the Lannister woman.

This was all too easy and perfect if you were just you — a bastard from the Martell house. You would serve Cersei, even if your family would despise you. But sometimes, people fall in love with someone they can't have.

You missed the Queen Mother terribly, her striking green eyes piercing right through yours, observing what you two could possibly be talking about for making you frown that bad.

All you wanted to do at that moment was hold her, and tell her that you still wish to marry her if she also felt the same about you.

"I . . . I do," you confessed softly, avoiding Cersei's eyes. "She's . . . She's my weakness."

"It will pass, Y/n."

You then turned to glare at Oberyn. "What's that supposed to mean? When you fell in love with Ellaria, did it pass too?"

"That's different, Y/n. You think Cersei will feel the same about you if she only knew?" Oberyn scoffed. "The Lannisters were one of the houses that ended the line of Targaryens. They even paid mercenaries to assassinate Queen Daenaerys herself and she's in another continent. If Cersei knew you were Daenaerys' sister, bastard or not, she'd kill you herself. Did you forget what they did to Robert's bastards?"

Cersei had now walked towards the stern, staring into the darkness ahead. Her golden hair billowing against the wind was the only brightest thing in that ship.

"All I'm saying is," Oberyn went on. "You ought to be careful. End it while it's still early. Cersei is a woman of ruthless nature. She wouldn't see you through."

Oberyn then placed a hand on your shoulder before he left.

You sighed, right hand curling into a fist on your side, mind fighting between leaving and heading towards the woman down below. Yet, the heart wanted what it wants as you began to climb down the stairs leading to the stern.

"You said you'd always want to have your own ship one day," you started, approaching Cersei, her perfume infiltrating your nostrils. The wind gently blew the Queen's hair against all directions, and it was such a wonderful sight.

Cersei raised a hand towards the handmaiden, making the latter bow before leaving you both alone.

"You remember," she replied, her eyes still on the dark horizon.

"Of course." You smiled, walking closer. "How could I not? Did it meet your expectations then, Your Grace?"

"It's not my first time riding a ship, although a lot has changed. The waves are somewhat smaller than I remember years ago. And the sunset has never been that red before."

You were now standing side by side with the Lioness, your hand on the railing, at least an inch away from where Cersei's hand was.

"It hasn't for a long time. People in Dorne believe that red skies are often associated with warnings or change. That whenever a sky is as red as blood, any decision you put forth on that day should be carefully done, unless you don't regard any bad omen coming your way."

She chuckled softly. "And what do you say to these beliefs?"

Cersei turned her head to look at you, expecting your reply, a glint in her eye.

Your eyes never left hers, travelling from her mouth back to her eyes. "I . . . I just think that it's such a beautiful occurrence to see. And I don't care about the consequences."

Cersei stopped smiling, understanding you weren't talking about any Dornish myths or beliefs anymore. Both of your fingers were barely brushing, distance diminishing each second. It would seem apparent that you two were leaning forward to each other.

Until Ellaria coughed behind you, stopping you both. "Supper is ready."

~~~

Being a Martell, you thought travelling by water would have made you immune against seasickness, but maybe it was the remnants of The Mountain's strength that had weaken you.

The trip to Dorne would take almost a week, and it only took three days before you started feeling nauseated. Going back and forth to the head just to eradicate the upset churning in your stomach had drained your energy. Ellaria had took mercy, bringing you a bucket to use beside you.

Cersei's presence was the only thing that made it bearable. You would join her at the dining cabin at night time, talking for hours that even Oberyn had almost fallen asleep on the table.

On the fifth night, you had excused yourself from dinner and surrendered to the confines of your cabin. Maybe it was the way the ship was swaying against the huge tides from the forecasted storm or the stale food you ate during breakfast. Either way, you had secluded yourself to recover.

The Queen Mother was having none of it though, knocking against your door some time later that night and bringing you a steaming hot bowl of soup.

"It's Venison," Cersei said, as she sat on the side of your bed. "I had our cook made it. Hot liquids can help calm an upset stomach. Tommen would always have them when he's sick."

"Thank you, Your Grace," you replied, straightening yourself as you leaned your back against the headboard of your bed. "You shouldn't have troubled yourself."

But instead of giving you the bowl, she insisted to feed you with a spoonful, leaning closer to you. With cheeks flushed from the act of endearment, you let the woman coddle you.

"You never come to me as someone who gets sick travelling by sea," she teased, a smile on her face.

"Well, I normally don't," you argued, making the Queen laugh.

"Quit being cocky and let yourself be taken care of."

One of the Dornish servants suddenly barged through the door, eyes wide upon seeing you not alone. There was a crate of supplies for your wound on her arms.

"Leave it," Cersei ordered, making the servant drop the crate unto a table nearby.

After you have finished the bowl, Cersei brought her hands to the hem of your tunic, attempting to pull it off you. Heart skipping a beat when you felt her fingers brush against your skin, you immediately stopped her, wrapping your hand around her wrist. "What are you doing?"

The Lannister woman smirked as she stood and walked away instead, taking the crate of supplies from the doorway. "I'm changing the dressing of your wound."

After a few moments of hesitation, you finally let Cersei get rid of your tunic. Her eyes softened upon the sight of her necklace's golden lion pendant on your chest and the bruised skin, now had gone purple close to healing.

She then began delicately cleaning the wound on your chest, her thumb purposefully brushing your nipple, every touch bringing you shivers. You swallowed, cheeks red as you attempted to move away from her.

"Stop moving," Cersei said, giggling.

"Stop teasing me then," you countered back.

After she had managed to change your dressing, you noticed a tent growing under your breeches. Everything seemed to freeze at that moment as you quickly took one of your pillows to hide it when Cersei was looking away.

Yet, there was nothing the Queen could miss as her curious eyes began wondering why there was a pillow on your lap. She sat back on the side of your bed, leaning forward and closer to your body.

Her sultry voice near your face made you harder than you were before, your cock straining painfully from the weight of the pillow. "Do you also need help with something else, My Lady?"

"Your Grace, I don't think—"

"Stop thinking," she whispered into your ear, her hand slipping inside your breeches and stroking your hardening cock. "Just breathe, Y/n. Let yourself go. Take pleasure in my hand."

Letting out an embarrassingly loud groan, you threw your head back against the headboard, eyes rolling deep into the back, hands clutching against the sheets on both sides.

Cersei's eyes darted towards your cock when she managed to pull it out from your breeches, twitching against her touch. It had never looked this painfully hard before, you thought you wouldn't last a second longer.

"You have a pretty cock, you know," she cooed, her lips nipping the skin on your jaw and neck. Her hand moved expertly, squeezing you tight as if milking you, and she did manage, her thumb tracing over the small cum leaking from your head then spreading it on your entire length.

"Cersei. . ."

The sound of your whimpers made Cersei turn to stare at you, observing your every reaction, with your eyes shut close and mouth agape. "You looked so prettier under my control."

"Cersei, I'm close. . ."

"Good," she said.

You opened your eyes to see what she meant, but what you saw only made you lose it. The Queen took the entire length of your cock into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down in a fast pace. The sight itself, the wetness and warmth from her mouth and the moan she let out when she took you made you explode right into her.

And she took it all, swallowing everything there was to milk. You cursed profanities into the silent night, grunting your release, releasing a lot more when she took you deeper.

It seemed like eternity when you had finally come down from your high, watching Cersei clean your shaft before licking the side of her lips from any residue. She then tucked your cock back into your breeches and leaned forward back to you.

"I would have hated wasting a single drop," she finished with a smug smile on her face.

I truly appreciate your continued support in reading my stories. You can help me create more stories by supporting my writing thru this link. Thank you so much ❤🥰

[houseofhyde]

“aemond, i’m out shopping…”

pairing. modern!aegon targaryen x fem!reader synopsis. ...but you’re under aegon and he’s not stopping. ( read part one here ) warnings. modern au, best friend's brother!aegon, drummer!aegon, fuckbuddy!aegon, references to alcohol & drug usage, smut ( aegon is giving switch vibes ngl, f oral, fingering, m masturbation, pussy pronouns bc aegon straight up talks to it like it's a sentient being independent of the reader, exhibitionism, hair pulling, sweat kink?, spit as lubrication, cum tasting, one single slap, mentions of sex toys & tribute pictures, dubcon but only bc the reader protests even though she doesn't mean it ) word count. 5.2k hyde’s input. my modus operandi is making a silly smut fic ( that involves aegon or aemond fucking around with their brother's love interest ) and then ( quite some time later ) writing a part 2 that accidentally trips and falls into a whole load of plot that simply must be further explored, and then oh no! a series is born! the horrors! read on ao3.

Aegon Targaryen is no stranger to waking up naked in a stranger’s bed.

It’s an occurrence that’s marked his formative years, truly. Drinking hard, partying late. Crashing harder, waking later. Last night's clothes strewn across the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen floors, an arm gone numb with the weight of the head that rests upon it. Hair of black, blonde, brown, red, blue tangled on the pillow next to his own. He’s never been picky with who he takes to bed. A warm body is a warm body, and Aegon Targaryen is but a creature of cold blood searching for some reprieve.

This, however, is new to him.

Awakening to unfamiliar walls still dressed in last night’s clothes and laying completely alone. There’s a pounding in his head that beats at his skull, harder than his foot kicks a bass drum. The smell of cheap liquor sticks to his skin — vodka, or tequila, or rum; he can’t pinpoint which he drank more of. The spot next to him is empty, cold to the touch as a hand stretches across the mattress, searching for some sign of life.

Last night is a blur of nicotine in his lungs, glitter in his hair, and far too many broken drum sticks. He needs to stop snapping them over his knee at the end of every solo. The band had been playing at some new bar, that much he does remember. Then, their set finished, and the drinks began to flow, and more than once he was called into the bathroom for a sniff of snow.

When things can’t get worse, they often do.The scream of an alarm clock, somewhere to the left of him and completely out of arm’s reach. With a groan and a grimace, Aegon’s rolling over, tangling himself in floral sheets and, there he finds the damn noise-maker, sitting pretty on a nightstand, living in the space between a pile of well-read books and a scented candle burnt down three quarters of the jar it lives in. An ashtray filled with trinkets, and earrings, and necklaces, and a single cigarette butt, sits right next to a phone, a glass of water, and two unlabelled white pills, one simple note attached. 

Went 4 run. Don’t burn down apartment.

Aegon can’t even get offended by the comment. He once set Helaena’s carpet on fire, with nothing but a bottle of nail polish remover, a box of matches, and a whole lot of morbid curiosity. More than once, he’s left a pot on the stove and come back to find flames engulfing it. In a world of pyromaniacs, Aegon is a pyro-misfortunate, too typically present when things go up in flames — literally or figuratively.

Right now, the only fire is in his head, and the safety of water lies within a glass. His fingers scramble along the bedside table, grasping at straws to pick up the two pills. As one presses into the palm of his hand, the other slips off the edge. He tries to catch it as it falls. It has the opposite effect, the pill he’s captured slipping through the crack between his fingers and crashing against the floor, exploding in a powder of white. The other tablet is in no better state.

He could cry. He almost does, as he throws the upper half of his body off the bed, dangling down to scrape up the salvageable remnants of his pain relief.

“Every time I think you can’t get more pathetic, you prove me wrong.”

The voice of Aegon’s salvation.

You appear to him, an angel in the doorway. Upside down, clad in a sports bra, running shorts, and mismatching socks, your skin glistening with its own sweat, backlit by the unforgiving shine of an afternoon sun. And it’s all a hallucination, no doubt, because Aegon has not so much as heard from — never mind seen — you.

Not since that last Sunday you’d spent kneeling on his van floor.

He thought your words were nothing but a bluff. This can’t happen again. It was a bluff every other time, a silly thing to comfort the part of your conscience that feels it owes Aemond some kind of unwarranted loyalty, only to then forget about it the next time his text buzzes in, a misspelt nmeed you, or lemmesee you 2moro, or ur pxssy my mouth pls? lighting up the screen. Nearly a month since he watched you slip out his van door, it seems the only way to see you is in a come-down, hungover state of delirium.

But you’re moving towards him, and crouching down to grasp the tablets he’s left to perish, and sitting him up right, leaving his limp body to collapse back against the bed — your bed? A hand racks itself through his disjointed hair, a momentarily soothing touch, until it tightens into a fist and tugs at his roots, angling his head till his blues meet your eyes. A moan slips its way past Aegon’s lips, the delicious burn at his scalp waking his easily aroused mind.

“Look at you,” you practically spit your disgust at him, but the pity in your stare lessens the blows of your anger-laced voice. Your voice, oh how he’s missed it. “There’s a little more life in those eyes than last night, but, god, you look like shit.”

“Hmm, love it when you degrade me, baby,” he says, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips. “Gets me so hard.”

You recoil within an instant, hands off him like he’s a flaming ball of fire and you’re a barrel of oil, impending doom awaiting when both casualties collide. Aegon chases after you, however, and so you don’t make it far, his arms snaking around your waist and pulling you down into the sheets with him.

Twisted limbs, wrinkled sheets. You weakly thrash against his hold, his arms tighten around you. Burrowing itself in the crevice where neck kisses shoulder, Aegon’s face seeks the refuge of darkness and burrows itself in the smell of skin, your skin.

“Ew, Aegon!” A cry from above, his warm tongue slivering out the cavern of his mouth and dragging itself along a patch of sweat stained skin. Salty, sweet, musky. Everything he likes, everything you. “Let me go, I’m all- You’re making me sweat all over my sheets!”

“Well, that’s no fun,” the pout practically drips off his voice, giving away his expression as if you can’t already feel it pressed right up against your neck. Mind of their own, his hips grind against the leg trapped between his, the swell of his waking cock slowly making itself known. “I’d rather make you sweat, without the s.”

“Weat,” the cooling damp of your skin soothes his burning headache, the perfect remedy to last night’s cocktail of bad choices. Undulating hips, setting an unsteady rhythm that nurtures the hardness between his thighs, feeds its growing hunger slowly. Too slowly. Too long since Aegon last felt you, since Aegon last felt anything. “You’re saying you want to make me weat.”

“Wet. Sweat without the s,” seizing the opportunity, he takes it upon himself to grab a hold of control, flipping you onto your back with a lack of elegance that can only be justified by his hungover state. With your earlier protests still echoing in his mind, you seem to have no issue spreading your legs and making a space for him between them, inviting the Targaryen boy to drape himself over you, face in neck, crotch against crotch, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. “Phonetically.”

“Wow, that’s a big word for you, Aegon!” Despite your grinning mouth and facetious words, deft fingers slip into the crack between your bodies and work at the buckle of his belt, worn leather leaving speckles of itself on your fingertips. “Did Aemond teach you it?”

“Ha, ha.” His hands pinch at your side, an unseen eye-roll at the mention of his younger brother. Perfect Aemond, always finding a way to make things about himself, even when he’s not in the room. The cut feels a little deeper when you’re involved, the only thing of Aemond’s that Aegon has ever dared try take for himself, a sick prize in the depths of his perverted mind. “Who needs big words when you have a big coc-”

The doorbell rings and interrupts him.

Both of you freeze, hands burrowed in hair and fingers tracing over flesh. Aegon’s quick to recover, dragging his attention back to the shape you make up beneath him, a sight that brings him physical ache. He lets his gaze wander over the length of your torso, over the slopes and curves and dips of your body, and hooks his thumbs under either side of your nylon shorts. 

“Ignore it,” he says, relishing in how easily the tenseness in you melts away as your eyes find his again, stiff muscles melting as easily as candle wax.

Layers of clothing shed away, his liquor-stained shirt now a pile of cotton by the door, your shorts tossed blindly over his shoulder. He sinks back down, your own limbs following suit, folding beneath his on-coming body. Mouths find one another, like a moth finds a flame, and refuse to part.

Aegon’s missed you. He won’t say it, but he feels it. In every brush of his tongue against your own, and every spine-tingling touch your hands drag over his naked back, and every breath he pulls in stained with the smell of your shampoo. It’s too overwhelming to think of, and so he forces himself to focus on a far more pressing matter: his fingers dipping beneath the waistline of your panties.

As thumb meets navel, a phone screen lights up on the bedside table.

He tries, so desperately, to chase your mouth as your head flees, and one less hand, five less fingers touch his skin, reaching out to grasp your buzzing phone, the name on the screen rousing contempt within him.

“Don’t answer,” he’s pleading, even as he watches your thumb swipe up on the green. “Please, don’t.”

Your eyes refuse to meet his own, you put the phone to your ear.

“Aemond,” a sucker punch to the gut, a name that reminds him of the pounding in his head. Aegon recoils from you, resting back on his haunches, the pathway to your thighs a trail laid out before him. “Hi, sorry.”

He wants to admit defeat. Crawl off your bed, scoop up his shirt, lace up his boots — wherever they are. Spare not even a fleeting glance as he takes his leave, let you stay focused on the brother that clearly owns more of your attention than him. And the worst thing is, Aegon cannot pretend this feeling is rational.

Aemond is your friend, your best friend. The one you call when you need saving, the one who pulls the weight of your textbooks out of your arms and into his own, the one who wins a smile out of you like it’s as easy as breathing air. Whereas Aegon can’t even claim he’s losing the race to his little brother, because he’s not even on the same track. 

Unfortunately, defeat just isn’t in his nature.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m,” his hand on your knee, you don’t even flinch. Still won’t even look at him. The hand smooths up your thigh, a light squeeze of flesh as it reaches halfway. “Not in. Aemond, I’m out shopping.”

He snorts back a laugh and, finally, your eyes are on him. Wide, panicked, and pleading for silence.

Aegon ignores it.

Fingers dance up the expanse of your thigh, a pleasant hum rumbling out his chest at the warmth of your skin. He can hear his brother on the other end of the line, unintelligible words blending with the familiar sound of his voice. He can almost picture Aemond, a wrinkle free shirt and tailored trousers, looking up at your building from the entrance, phone pressed to his ear and frown creasing his forehead. The image stays fresh in his mind as his fingers smooth over the soft skin that melts your thighs into the curve of your hips, and sneak their way under the elastic band of your panties.

He pulls at it and releases, watches the way it snaps back down onto your skin. A foot weakly kicks at his side, that stare of yours growing deadlier.

“Are you okay? What happened?” God, the way you want to comfort Aemond, it makes him sick. Or maybe that’s just his hangover. Yeah, that makes more sense.

All is forgotten, for a moment, as he traces over the slope of your mound, finger flexing to press against your clit, hidden out of sight beneath damp cotton. You try to play it cool, like his touch doesn’t faze you, but Aegon’s too quick to notice the hitch in your breath, the way you seem to take a moment too long to reply to his brother.

“Can’t you try to speak with your professor about it, Aim?”

The nickname you speak has Aegon laughing again, a facetious chuckle he presses into your knee, spine curved as he bends down to kiss it. Another kick, this one hits his ribs. Like a saddled horse, it spurs him on, tells him to move faster, touch you more.

It’s hard to pick which sight gets him harder: the peeling back of your panties to reveal the mouthwatering view of your cunt, shining with slick and inviting him to dive right in, or the way your faux composure crumbles, for an instance, back arching reflexively and teeth pressing down against the pillow of your bottom lip, your eyes glued right on his.

“That’s bullshit,” you seem to remember Aemond’s still there, ranting along his own woes in your ear. Again, Aegon wonders if he’s outside. “You’re literally the top student in your year. Hell, you’re probably one of the top students on our whole campus.”

Aegon can’t even disagree. Resident brainiac, the younger Targaryen has always been the overachieving student, winning every useless award and wearing every golden medal. And maybe, were you not two feet below him, dripping wet in nothing but a sports bra, he’d be interested in hearing where this conversation goes, find out what exactly his do-no-wrong brother has fucked up enough not even his flawless grades can save him. His finger is dipping into you before he can even let the thought repeat itself.

“My poor girl,” he mutters aloud, eyes glued on the pretty sight between your legs, hypnotised with how the digit disappears into your pussy, all the way in till knuckles kiss the pillowy soft lips. “So tight. Has mummy not been taking proper care of you, hm? Not letting someone stretch you out, fuck you real good like you deserve?”

“Would you shut up?” You hiss from the pillows, interrupting his reunion with his best friend. He curls his finger up, gently, pressing into the spongy wall of your cunt, just to delight in how easily the animosity flees your eyes as they roll back. Only to shoot wide open again, pressing the phone tighter against your ear. “Sorry, that wasn’t aimed at you! There’s- There was just some creep harassing me about the queue. Yes, I’m okay. No, you don’t have to come get me.”

“This is a private conversation,” Aegon’s free hand pinches the skin of your thigh, that devilish grin of his unwithering as he watches the subtle grind your hips give, fucking his finger deeper into the heat of your cunt. Even in anger, you want him. “Think I need to give her a present, something to keep her nice and stuffed,” he draws the word out, slipping a second finger into you.

You squirm away, for a moment, but his hand chases after you and you’re giving right in, at his mercy, one hand clutching the sheets, the other keeping the phone pressed tight against your ear. Two pumps of his fore and middle finger, until he lets them drift apart, a gentle stretch to your clenching walls.

“Or is my baby more of a Rose toy kind of girl, huh?” Whether on purpose or on instinct, words fall louder each time he opens his mouth. The very same mouth that’s leaning down to meet you in a gasp-worthy kiss, lips pressing sweetly against the throb of your clit, tongue coming out to play in a flurry of three kitten licks, all the while he works his wrist into a dull ache, each thrust forcing his fingers deeper than the last. “Something to soothe this little clit and something to fuck this tight pussy, is that what she needs?”

The hand on the mattress finds his hair, a harsh tug that has him parting with a few strands. He doesn’t care. In fact, he hopes the near-white locks get lost in your sheets if only to be found by a curious Aemond next time he can’t be bothered masking his way home and crashes at your place. What he wouldn't give to see the look on his brother’s face, holding up the hair to see it’s not even half the length of his well-groomed, pin-straight hair.

You’re talking again, doing your best to keep your voice neutral and your breathing even, hand still tangled in Aegon. He half expects you to pull again, kick him again. Tell him to focus on getting off of you, instead of getting you off. But you don’t do that. No, actually, you’re pulling him closer, keeping his mouth pressed to your soft skin, making sure his tongue continues to dance along the nerve-buzzing runway of your cunt, lapping up the taste of you till he’s sure it’s going to seep into his DNA, alter his genetic make-up so you’ll always be a part of him, even when you’re apart from him. 

The throb between his own legs is growing, pulsing your name in morse code. As much as he wants the sweet release of flipping you over, arching your back, and feeling your walls clench around the girth of his cock, he’s too attached to the taste of your skin, head burrowing itself deeper, nose smushed against your clit as the tip of his tongue knocks at your slit, soaked fingers spreading your lips open. His own desire will need to find a different method of salvation.

A free hand, switching between gripping at your waist and squeezing the meat of your thigh. It departs from your body with a muted hesitation, a momentary pause before it shrugs away his empty belt buckle and fishes out the lever to his zipper. A swift tug, his pants loosening their snug fit around his hips, leaving his fingers with the freedom to dip beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs and grasp at his aching cock.

“Mhmm,” you almost moan, disguising it as an agreement to whatever his brother is saying to you now. In turn, Aegon lets himself give into it, moaning loud enough for the two of you, letting the sound vibrate into your soaked cunt. “Sorry, repeat that, I- I can’t hear you.”

Shameless as he’s always been, he lets his cock spring free from the confines of the nylon material, standing to attention and slapping against his lower stomach, the tip already dribbling with pre-cum.

“See how much I’ve missed her, baby?” This time, he’s talking to you, lips in a wicked grin, shining with your own wetness. Brushing dry fingers over the mess he’s made between your thighs, a mix of spit and arousal, he relishes in watching how easily you get his fingers soaked. One curl of three fingers, pressing teasingly at that spot he knows too well, then he’s pulling away, extending his hand out towards you. “Spit. Now.”

Your eyes watch his, wide and impatient. The cool air must be soothing, he thinks, brushing against your now abandoned pussy, yet he doubts you find any solace in it. You’ve always been the kind who wants to melt, not freeze.

Phone angled away from you, Aemond’s voice still pouring out its speaker, you lean forward and let it drip: a string of spit.

Basking in the proper attention you’re finally giving him, Aegon wraps the newly soaked hand around his cock, letting the head of it slap back against his torso before he really puts the mixture of your fluids to use. Tight fisted, lips parted, he finds himself leaning back on his haunches, free hand splayed out behind him and holding the weight of himself as he puts on a show for you, stroking his cock. The bed beneath you both creaks as he lets himself fuck up slowly into his hand, a cacophony of pretty moans and desperate whines filling the space between you. Can Aemond hear? God, he hopes so. 

The sight of your own hand snaking its way down between your legs is enough to remind him of his mission, the whole reason he’s not given into his want, his need to bury his cock inside you.

You barely brush over your clit before he’s slapping your hand away with a tut, a non-verbal protest as his lips reunite with your cunt, the hand between his own legs beginning a new pace, stroking over his hardness in rhythm with the strokes of his tongue and the speed of his fingers pumping into you.

Hang up, he wants to demand, but he’s got a mouthful of you and he intends to savour it until the end.

“Aemond,” your teeth bite down on your lip in sync with how his own drag over your clit, a silent warning against saying his brother’s name again. Next time, I’ll bite harder, he’s promising, only partially wishing you’ll tempt fate. “Shit, sorry, I have to go, I’m- yeah, next in line.”

Not even a goodbye.

Your thumb presses messily at the red button, the caller ID fading off your screen as the phone fades away into obscurity, left to get lost in the sheets as you give him what he’s been missing all alone, the sweet melody of moan, after moan, after moan falling from your lips, fingers pulling once more at the tresses of his hair.

“Hmm, d’ya think he can hear us, baby?” A nano-second, lips parted from your skin, his eyes flickering to the open window. “Think he’s out there waiting on your doorstep like a loyal hound, while you’re letting me get a taste of heaven?”

You’re close. He can see it, feel it, taste it, each stroke of his tongue greeted with a fresh wave of your sweetness. Both of you are a mess of unintelligible noises, hips rising off the mattress, and thrusting into open palms, sullying yourselves in the paint of pleasure. 

He calls your name softly, whiplash against the intense feeling swelling within you.

“Let me see it,” he’s begging, no shame. Glassy eyed, hungover, pussy drunk, wishing you’d give him the one thing he’s been missing all these weeks without you. “Cum. Go on. Cum for me. Please.”

The chord of tension snaps and at last you’re an uncontrollable mess beneath him. Eyes rolling back, back arching up, thighs shaking with a force of nature, the prettiest cries of his name. He’s there with you, the whole time, tongue, and mouth, and hand coaxing you through the maze of lust that consumes you in your orgasm, guiding you safely to the end.

You don’t calm with ease, still trembling as he places one last chaste kiss against you before he lets his face rest on the warmth of your thigh, smearing the stains you’ve left upon him onto your own skin as he continues bucking into his hand, each thrust more desperate, erratic, pathetic than the last, chasing the fast-approaching end.

Until your hand tugs at his hair and he’s frozen beneath your gaze, mouth hanging open, chest heaving in shallow breaths, hips stuttering as he fails to fully control his urges, the tip of his cock blushing red with angry desire, desperate for release. He’s awaiting your dismissal of his own touch, waiting for you to replace it with yours, remind him of just how well you know his body. Your hand does meet his skin, but not how he expects.

You slap him.

A sting in his cheek in the wake of it, and a rush of blood to his groin, eyes rolling back for a split second. “Hmm, next time hit me harder. Promise I won’t break.”

“How could you do that?” You heave out, no doubt intending your voice to hold more power, but it’s weak, and breathy, and turning him on even more. “Aemond was- He could’ve- Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen again.”

“If it’s any consolation, you tried. Haven’t answered my texts in weeks,” he’s aware he sounds desperate. Because he is. Or is that just his hangover again? “Would think you’d died or something, if I didn’t have to hear your name come out of Aemond’s mouth everyday.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s the one in the wrong.”

A blanket of silence engulfs you both, heavy and uncomfortable over your sweaty bodies. His hand still sits tight around the base of his cock, begging for attention, but he can’t bring himself to move.

Not until he knows you’re okay.

“I’m sorry,” the shape of it is foreign on his tongue, scarcely said and never with a speck of honesty. “I shouldn’t have put you in that situation. I just- I guess I just thought if you remembered how I could treat you… thought if I could just make you feel good, you’d-” He cuts himself off, words hardly making sense in his own head.

You heave a sigh, smooth your hand down the side of his face that still stings. “You don’t just make me feel good. You make me feel better than anyone else, and that’s the problem. First man to touch me, and now all the others can’t compare.”

Aegon is a fiend for praise, so used to words of disappointment and looks of disgust. But then one day, he dove between a woman’s thighs and heard her calls of pleasure, listened as she praised his efforts, revered his good job, delighted in his skills upon the mattress. It’s no wonder he began to find solace in the pleasures of the flesh, the first and only thing he’s done right in his life. 

“You let others touch you?” A silly thing to get hung up on, yet he can’t let it slip away. The hand around his cock skates forward, stroking slowly before smoothing over the sensitive tip with the palm of his hand.

You nod your head.

“Sometimes. Guys can get touchy at frat parties, but I’m sure you know all about that.” He doesn’t bother to negate it, he knows you know him too well. No doubt Aemond shared every anecdote of Aegon during his short-lived frat days. A hiss slips past his lips as he continues the slow caress of his aching length. You clear your throat. “Stop denying yourself. Just cum, it’s okay.”

Sometimes, he can follow orders.

Especially one like this, that leaves him reaching once more for the sweet relief of release, wave after wave of it rolling down his spine as his hand works himself to completion.

“Can I,” he stutters over a moan, cutting himself off and getting swept away in the rapid currents of reignited lust, each touch more frantic than the last.

You finish the thought for him. “Cum on me, Aegon.”

White, thick, hot. Rope after rope of his spoils spill down onto your naked skin, a painting so beautiful he almost wants to picture it and sell it on as modern art. It’s better than anything Aemond’s ever made with his easel and brush.

Time melts away into nothing, fading to obscurity as he floats on cloud nine, body weightless, mind rested. Tingles down his spine, up his thighs, on his face where you still touch him, thumb smoothing over his cheek.

A giggle pulls his mind back into his body.

“I told you this wouldn’t happen again, and now look at me!” Your tone is softer than earlier, even if your voice has regained its usual energy. “God, I just might be the biggest idiot.”

“Don’t say that. You’re smart,” you shoot a sceptical look his way, wanting to negate him, but he doubles down. “You are. Don’t forget I know your best friend, I hear all the shit you’re achieving on that campus. You’ve got me beat, at least. Couldn’t even make it past my first year before I dropped out.”

“I look like I belong at some conceptualist’s art exposition on tribute pictures.”

“I could give you a real tribute picture,” his eyes are glued to yours, even as he swipes a finger over his cum upon your lower belly and brings it up to his mouth, teasing his tongue with the salty taste. “Just need my phone camera, a nice big cheesy grin from you, and a printer.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, I will.”

Throwing a leg off the bed, he tests his stability, hand reaching down to tuck his limp dick back into his trousers and zip the fly up halfway. Despite the dizziness that threatens to cloud his mind, he manages to get his second foot on the ground.

“I’ll leave you to your shower, sweaty,” he calls over his shoulder, making his way over to the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” He could almost coo at you, wide-eyed gaze, legs tangled in floral sheets. You’ve sat up, and don’t seem to care about the way his cum drips down you onto the bed. All you care about is him, even if it's just for a moment, and Aegon has to physically stop himself from stumbling back over and engulfing you with his body once more.

Instead, he leaves you with a shrug and a simple explanation, “you fed me, now let me feed you.”

By the time he’s got eggs cooking on the stove and bread warming in the toaster, the sound of running water fills your apartment. A familiar buzz rings out, leading Aegon over to where his phone lays, buried in the cracks between your couch cushions. The screen lights up.

One missed call - Mother. 

Unlocking at the sight of his face, he swipes up on the screen. It opens onto a chat log. Your chat log. His stomach drops as he scans over the messages, dreading what inebriated-Aegon had gone and texted.

Needyou - 04:47 am

Plase - 04:49 am

Thinik Imgonna K Hole in nnnnn bathroOm - 04:52 am

All three messages are in blue.

Beneath them, your reply lives in a muted grey bubble, yet it somehow has his eyes watering. Maybe he just needs to turn the screen brightness down.

Send me your address. I’ll be there ASAP - 04:53 am.

The pop of the toaster scares him out his own skin. He turns his head only to curse under his breath. Flames engulf the small frying pan, the food within charred black. He gives a gentle call of your name.

“I hope you like your eggs well-done.”

+extra hyde.

so, how are we feeling? do we want more of these two weirdos ( affectionate )?

i stopped doing taglists a while back bc i lowkey always forget about them but @481theralicat dmed me a while ago asking to be tagged if i ever wrote a second part to drummer!aegon and that message was partially what gave me the motivation to finish part 2, so i feel like the least i can do it tag them. i hope you enjoyed it & the wait was worth it <3

[dirtysvthoughts]

woozi PLAGUES my mind every hour, even when I’m sleeping…BUT RECENTLY I I can’t help to imagine literal woozi during that NANA tour highlight/teaser when they were on the yacht🙏🙏 WITH HIS QUARTER ZIPPED HOODIE AND SUNGLASSES??? I literally want him to manhandle me and play with me till I’m crying of overstimulation bcs honestly I’d get down on my knees obediently for this guy Bcs yk damn well he’s such a he wants that respect

BESTIE WHEN I TELL YOU I CANT WAIT FOR THAT EPISODE TO DROP FOR THAT ONE REASON ALONE 😭 (adding said teaser for reference 😋) he’s so hot without even trying! 😩 also you’re so real for this, the jihoon brain rot is something else

also bestie, what you said reminds me of this song i’ve been listening to nonstop: never lose me by flo milli, some of the lyrics:

“i’ve been thinkin bout you on the road, we havin rich sex on a boat, he it back to back like it’s dope..”

“you know you can call me if you need me, tell me you ain’t never ever leavin, when i suck it i look in your eyes, you better fuck me like you mean it..”

especially the “rich sex on a boat” part? we all know man’s has stacks for days, imagine him taking you for a weekend drive on his yacht, just the two of you (and a driver he hired). when you guys are far out enough to sea, that’s all it takes for him to press his lips onto yours- and it’s so very addicting.

jihoon’s hand caresses your jaw, bringing you closer to him - and you physically melt into his touch, craving more of him as he lays you down on your back, the soft cushions in the seating area coming in contact with hot body. jihoon’s removing your cover up and your bikini pieces like a starved man and your hands move to zip his hoodie all the way down, defined chest coming into view, his $18k necklace in center, dangling in front of your face.

“mmm, my baby girl,” he moans as he feels up your body, admiring your moans and cute little whines. “daddy’s gonna make you feel so good..”

all you can do is fiercely nod and bite your lip, a needy look on your face that has jihoon going feral. he’s rushing to take off his shorts and boxers so he can give it to you.

which he does, because mere minutes later, he has you nearly screaming, tears brimming your eyelids from how intense his thrusts were. “j-jihoon! mmm, i can’t, daddy, i c-can’t hold it anymore!” but before he can say anything, you feel you juices spread down your legs and all over jihoon’s dick.

“shit, hoon, i’m sorry, but i couldn’t take it anymore,” you whine, desperately hoping he wouldn’t be too upset. he scoffs as he brings your knees up, his face going to your wet folds. “wait, jihoon- ah!” you gasp out as his tongue licks you up and down, smirking at how loud you were becoming and how you were pulling on his hair to bring your closer to another orgasm.

jihoon continues to lap at you until you come get again, this time all over his lips and chin. when he comes up from between your legs, he licks his lips seductively, watching how your eyes refused to leave his tongue. he goes right back to where it all started off, kissing you so you can know how good you taste. it’s messier and a little sloppy than last time, but you love it so much.

when you pull away, he holds you by your waist as you look into his eyes, “think you can come for me again? i wanna finger your cute little cunt while you whine out my name.. you make it sound so pretty, baby girl.”

“i’ll come as many times as you want daddy.”

[nelapanela94]

The music blasts in the dining hall. The band plays non stop. The night is enlivened with alcohol and mountains of food sponsored by the Reeves. Flustered cheeks; people dance, swinging and clashing tumblers, spilling booze on the tables and floor. A pair of bored gray eyes scan the room. The back of his hand threatens to leave a red mark on his cheek. Hange pours more beer, he watches them askance, mindlessly swirling his cup.

Too noisy.

Too hot.

Sweat drops paint a map on his back. He closes his eyes, scrunches his forehead, and wishes he could be somewhere else. At the stables or his quarters.

Signing never ending stacks of files.

Reading.

Wiping the window frames.

He imagines himself sweeping a finger, feeling the grit, his nerves raking against a chalkboard.

A vein is popping in the side of his head.

“Relax” someone elbows him on the side and his eyebrows snap, then sink into a frown.

Hange. “Look, Y/N is coming this way.”

And his nerves tense even more. Every inch of his skin is burning, his cheeks tingle like every time you come around. That dreadful sensation creeping under his chest.

He takes a deep breath. You look beautiful in that dress. He’s not used to seeing you in a dress.

He clears his throat, looks away. Ignores you. He tries. Damn for eyes is waving at you.

“Hey.”

That sweet voice that soothes his strings.

“H…hey.”

“You look very handsome tonight.” The red on his cheeks deepens. His heart is banging, trying to breach out, but the music clobbers his erratic thump. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“He would’ve never missed it.” Hange winks and Levi doesn’t bother anymore. They slide to the end of the bench and shove a finger over their shoulder, pointing to the buffet. “You should taste the ham.” Finally, alone.

With you.

His Adam’s apple bops, he rubs his clammy hands down his thighs. “You look pretty.”

“Thanks.” You fiddle with the pendant of your necklace. “I was wondering if you’d dance with me.”

His eyes widen, staring in disbelief. “I can’t… I don’t dance.”

A little smile curves your lips. “It’s never to late to learn. Besides,” you reel closer, your mouth whispering to his ear. He smells like sandalwood, notes of amber, vanilla. Confidence switches on. “It’s an excuse to be closer to you.”

[lunarw0rks]

https://www.tumblr.com/lunarw0rks/731568595581140992/i-cant-stop-thinking-about-fake-dating-with-soap

PRACTICING PDA! practice kissing, practice fucking—just in case yk!! 🫠

fakedating!soap | m.l.

this whole fake boyfriend act was beginning to weigh on you. the incessant bickering and strain of constantly having to look the part. soap was never a close friend, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t chemistry.

before the arrangement, he was the missing piece you needed. chaotic, spunky, and kind-hearted — always the man you’d call if you needed help.

why was now any different? it seemed, as soon as you two began faking a relationship, all natural chemistry went out the window. his determination to would clash with yours, instead of harmonize.

then came today. you weren’t sure why you showed up at all.

the faces that turned — fellow soldiers and staff — all looked at you like you’d been there a thousand times before. so, johnny had been bragging about you, just as you predicted. it didn’t matter, as long as he kept the spotlight on his ‘perfect’ self.

"why the hell am i here, johnny?" you ask, closing the door to his quarters behind you. he perks up, setting down the folder in his hands. this is the first time you're seeing him in uniform; cargo pants and a compression tee. and his mohawk is carefully maintained, slicked, and in place.

“calm down, bonnie.” to your distaste, he speaks nonchalantly, then takes a few steps closer. he begins fussing with the collar of your shirt, adjusting the necklace you have on until it’s straight.

you stand there and take it, rolling your eyes at his sudden tedious behavior; nothing else about the man is organized. why does he care if you are? it’s obvious his fellow men aren’t questioning the relationship.

before you can open your mouth and spit out another impatient question, soap finally speaks. “need to practice.”

you huff, “practice what?”

"bein' us." he asserts, cupping both your cheeks. you've grown used to his touchiness if that was even possible. though, you didn't have the slightest clue what he meant — and living in the vague seemed to be his forté.

“i won’t even pretend to know what that means, johnny.” you shook your head, an increasing frustration bubbling within you. it was no lie, if this arrangement was going to work, you two needed to be efficient.

he chuckled a bit, rubbing his thumbs against your cheekbones. "the only thing you should be knowin' about is being convincing." soap retorted, effectively silencing your compaints. "now... kiss me."

your breathing hitches, "excuse me?" first, you had him making up imaginary rules. and now he's bossing you around — this won't do. but you need him, whether you care to admit it or not.

"ye heard me. kiss me." his words finished with a grin like the Cheshire cat. it was then that you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face — but that was always damn near impossible. very little scared johnny off or falter his credence. especially where you're concerned.

"you can't just ask— no order me— to kiss you, johnny, and if you think—" you were jerked forward suddenly, yet felt no true pain. his nose clashed against yours, only giving way to when he tilted his head. at first, you had an urge to push back; and couldn’t.

he breathed heavily into the kiss, keeping it only a kiss. no tongue, no biting, no roaming hands — just “practicing” a kiss.

your hands hovered over his chest, frozen in the shove that you never followed through with. soap pulled back, a dazed expression despite being the one to initiate. “see? not so bad. it’s kissin’.” his lips glinted against the dodgy lighting, slightly puffy and glossy.

you wanted to take a step back, to argue, yet couldn’t. shouldn’t you have hated that more? shouldn’t you have kicked him in the jewels and fled the room? short answer: it felt good to kiss him. and you despised him for it.

eventually, you blinked away your daze and smacked his chest. “you don’t get to just… do that, johnny. that’s not how this works.” you motioned toward the both of you, but it had little effect. for someone so worked up, your attempts at distancing yourself were pathetic.

soap stepped forward and bridged the gap you had made seconds ago, once again playing with your necklace. he seemed to be ignoring you again, playing off your grievances; if that label could even be used. he kissed you and you liked it — that’s it.

although, the problem lies with enjoying the intimacy. it’s not supposed to be “intimacy” at all — the relationship should be more like a series of play acts.

you began to step backward again, feeling the cold cement wall against you, giving you a visible shiver. you had run out of room and he wasn’t giving him more. goddammit, you shouldn’t be admiring his dog tags dangling in your face; you should loathe them.

“johnny, don’t.” you muttered, reaching up to comb a piece of hair from your field of view. but he beat you to it — his thumb relocating the strand with a sweep across your forehead. the rough pads of his fingers made you buzz, made your cheeks singe.

still, he leaned in again, lips parted slightly as he pressed into your jawline with the same thumb, as if running it over his own blade. “do ye really want me to stop?”

he got you there; your protests sounded like encouragements. the aroma of his cologne made your head spin, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was on purpose. could you chalk the butterflies up to a love spell? something malicious on his end?

you met his gaze again, unable to find a sliver of sinister intentions in his azure eyes. “no.” a simple one word answer, one you weren’t surprised came out of you before you thought it through.

was it true what they say about anger, that the truth bleeds through while enraged? could the same apply for being flustered? that no surely wasn’t being regretted right now, whilst his lips brushed against the sides of your neck.

your fingers hooked under the sleeves of his compression shirt, merely fiddling with them as his breath tickled you. his hands lay flat on the wall, either side of your waist, as if you were a flight risk. that plan had long passed, johnny knew, but he didn’t want to let you go. not just yet.

his wet lips brushed against that sweet spot on the side of your neck, drawing a hitch in your breathing. you finally gathered enough courage to place your palms on his sides, clenching your eyes shut in anticipation.

no sooner, the door swung open. “soap, there’s a—” your head snapped over, returning the same wide gaze as the young man in a blue cap. “—oh.” he cut himself off, assuming the two of you were seconds from ravishing one another against the wall.

minutes ago, his assumption would’ve been wrong. but now? he’d be right. of all the times for an interruption, it couldn’t have been when you two were bickering.

you took advantage of the awkward silence, reading the: Sgt. Garrick etched into the man’s shirt pocket. a name you didn’t recognize from one of soap’s babbles, but you sure as well wouldn’t forget it after this first impression.

johnny’s brows knitted together, obviously forcing more frustration than he actually felt. “knock, why don’t ya?!” he bellowed, using his body to shield your fluster. he had to pretend gaz interrupted a steamy moment, didn’t he?

“i’m gonna— i’ll go.” sergeant garrick stammered, a sudden stiff demeanor before he slammed the door shut. soap’s intense focus fizzled away quickly, you greeted by a clammy expression.

fixing your hair and shirt, you shimmied out of his way, making sure you had your bag back over your shoulder. “i’ll be going.” you spoke speedily, exiting his quarters.

gaz was immediately to your right, still waiting to relay what you can assume is work related. you avoided eye contact, practically jogging down the halls the way you came. he looked you up and down, trying to shake the images of you and soap’s possible hookup from his brain.

soap exited behind you, as if he was going to call out and stop you. yet, he didn’t have the slightest clue what he’d say to you — let alone with his mortified sergeant right there. “not a word.” he hissed, catching a glimpse of you as you turned the corner. admiring you, without shame.

in a way, maybe garrick had prevented you from making a big mistake; from fucking this whole thing up. sleeping together would surely do that.

let this be a lesson in restraint and… time and place for practicing.

⋆꒷꒦‧₊˚𓆩 divider cred. - cafekitsune 𓆪˚₊‧꒦꒷⋆

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hellooooo

I saw that ur requests are open so here I am :)

Can I request a leo valdez x hermes kid reader please? (Not headcanon I hate it 😅)

Here you go <3 [there wasn't a lot of info in the ask so I sort of created a plot and stuff, sorry it took so long]

No head canons as requested :)

┈┈┈┈┈◦•✩•◦┈┈┈┈┈

Despite the fact the gods were absolute [REDACTED] little [REDACTED]’s, your father had at least had the courtesy to not make you allergic to strawberries. The green stems still scratched your ankles as you strode through the fields, but that was a given, and you’d taken to wearing yellow gumboots as you collected the crates 

At least three quarters of Camp Half-Blood were kneeling in the dirt, gloves and wide brimmed hats on as Pollux and Katie directed them around the rows of produce they were supposed to be picking. 

The warm summer air carried the scent of the berries strongly, and disguised the stench of Pegasi poop fertilizer, thankfully. You adjusted your beaded camp necklace and looked around for Clarrisse, who was supposed to be in charge of getting the Ares kids to load the crates of strawberries into the van. She was found quickly, yelling at one of her brothers to ‘stop lazing around and get your ass moving!’ 

You tucked the clipboard under your arm and strode over, stepping over a discarded spear, “hey, all the crates packed?”

“For the first lot,” she grumbled, picking up the spear and jabbing at one of the kids who had taken a bite of the strawberry in their hand. “These buggers won’t be finished in time for the second one today- hey you! Yeah you, get your gods-damn ass up and quit whining!”

You rocked on your heels for a moment, and then decided to make an escape before she put that spear to use. All of the order’s in the first lot were for surrounding roadside cafes and grocery stores, so it’d only take a few hours.                                                                         Argus chucked you the keys as you made your way over to the pink van, which had a large ‘Delphi Strawberry Farms, Long Island Sound’ logo printed in a darker shade of pink. “Thanks dude.”

He just grunted back, and you opened the door, checking behind you that none of the crates were out of place. The perks of being a child of Hermes were far and few, extra bunkmates that didn’t want to be there and general shame on your cabin because of a certain scarred blonde never helped, but now you were the oldest, save Connor and Travis, which meant roads, traveling, and trades was your area of expertise.                                           

That's why you were listening to the jingling of the Totoro keychain on the van keys and the radio, wondering if the nearest drive through was open. It’d be a busy afternoon dropping crates of the red berries off and signing clipboards, but anything was better than dishes duty, so you volunteered happily, as one of the only demigods who could [legally] drive. 

You were out of the Camp Half-Blood border when you heard the first thump behind you, but to be fair, there was a pothole, probably because of a monster, so you ignored it, assuming a strawberry crate had tipped over. Then there was a more alive like sort of sound, and you were already reaching for where your perfectly crafted weapon sat on the passenger seat. 

The rearview mirror didn’t give away what sort of monster was hiding in the back of the van, so you eased off the accelerator and gulped, keeping one hand steady on the wheel and the other on your weapon. ANother glance to the rearview mirror, and you caught a glimpse of the monster's shadow, lit up by the soft afternoon sun. 

Then the van skidded on the road a little from lack of attention, and you whipped back to the front. You heard a loud screech behind you. Your ill-used weapon flew from your hand as the wheel spun out of control. The seatbelt cut into your chest as you were yanked forward. 

There was a sudden impact, a crash, and then a heavy silence. 

Your breathing was only just audible over the pounding of your heart, and you wiggled each of your limbs one at a time, but all that you felt were dull thuds of pain and shock through your bones. 

The next thought came to mind when smoke billowed in front of you. The bonnet was on fire. Of course. Then something fell in the back of the van, and you were scanning the trashed front seats for something to defend yourself with. 

“Holy Hephestus, that was intense.”

“Valdez?” You felt the muscles under your eye strain as a twitch formed. You turned slowly to see a sooty son of Hephaestus wiping a squashed strawberry off his cheek. The eye twitch turned to a glare. “You are so dead.”

“How is this my fault?” He scoffed, sitting up a bit and prodding at the nasty looking bruise on his jaw with a grimace. 

“You literally hid in the back of the van without telling me, and then scared the life out of me, and we hit a,” You peer through the billowing smog outside and see a brown and green shape. “Tree.”

“In my defense, you were the one that was steering the-” He must have noticed your expression, because he narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips slowly. “I’m gonna stop talking now.”

“And then fix the van.” 

“RIght, imma go fix the van,” He nodded quickly with a grin, like this was just a fun outing, and after a few pitiful tries, slid the door open. “Good idea.”

┈┈┈┈┈◦•✩•◦┈┈┈┈┈

Leo Valdez was an interesting boy. If interesting means a greasy annoying know it all with a cute face and a knack for fixing slightly dented strawberry vans. 

You were unloading all of the previously stacked wooden crates to see which ones were still sellable, and which ones would be taken back to camp and served as strawberry pie. Once that was done though, and a few orders were crossed off the list and added to the lot two clipboard, you sat on a crate going back to camp, and watched him in a totally not creepy way.

You masked it with a firm glare, which he only winked at. It was infuriating really, but then he’d stick his tongue out as he concentrated on whatever had happened under the bonnet, and maybe you could look past that.

It wasn’t your fault you were so drawn to him, it’d been him who’d showed up at the camp shop five minutes before closing to restock the windchimes the Nyssa had been making for Katie, who ran the store. And Katie was the one who’d asked you to stay behind and lock up once he was done.

Although it sort of was your fault you’d sat on the bench organizing the cash register for half an hour and bantered with him, then taken two ice creams out of the freezer and handed one over, which only resulted in the boy trailing after you like a lost but content puppy for the following weeks. It wasn’t too bad, he was funny, and brought plates of bread, cheese and olives when your shifts at the camp store ran through lunchtime.

Somehow that friendship had blossomed into stalking and van crashing, although the latter was being reversed as you basked in the sun, watching it glow from behind Leo like a halo.

He brushed the grime and oil off his hands and onto his cargo pants, smiling at you and oblivious to the greasy handprints now decorating his legs. You just raised your eyes back with a little smile and stood up, carrying the crates you could still deliver without getting sued to the back of the van.

You slid them into place, and turned around to see Leo’s arms shaking as the wooden box he held slipped a little, his face screwed up with effort. The determination on his face stopped you from rolling your eyes, instead, you took it off him. Well, tried to take it off him, but you accidentally grabbed the bit he was holding, stopping him from moving his hands away.

Leo had the faintest patch of little freckles along the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones, which were flecked with scars. 

“Uhm, sorry” he sputtered, freckles hidden by a deep red in mere seconds, and tugged his hands away, shoulders tensed. “I was just tryna-”

You blink, and realize you’d been staring a little. Then you whipped around with the crate in your arms and prickling skin. Was it obvious that you wanted to find out the story behind each of his faint scars and maybekisseachofhisfreckles? “Thanks.”

There was silence behind you as the rest of the crates were put into place, and you pulled the door shut, finally finished. You swing the van keys around your fingers, “so why were you stalking me?”

“Was not!” Leo argued, “I was…shopping.”

“...In the back of the Delphi van.”

He sighed, pulling a list out of one of his many magic pockets on his toolbelt, and handed it over. “I was gonna sneak out of the van when you stopped and go get everyones stuff, cause Chiron said we can’t go out this week, cause it's strawberry picking.” 

‘I am Kenough’ hoodie [Piper]

Giant wolf teddy [da bad boy supreme]

Peanut MnM’s [Nico]

Bluetooth speaker [Thalia]

“Thalia’s tryna get him into her music,” Leo explained, hands in his pockets, “she thinks Taylor Swift should be illegal.” 

“Huh?”

“It’s Jason’s birthday, the day after next. I was elected for present buying, cause I’m the smallest and best at hiding, and Piper thinks I’d get in less trouble. Dunno why.”

Oh gods.

 His friends knew that you liked him, that’s why he’d been sent to get the presents and hide in the back of the van. Piper was a daughter of Aphrodite, of course she knew. But Piper was nice, not that you knew her very well, but still… she wouldn’t use you… Would she?

You took a shaky breath and turned around, frowning. Then you squinted at Leo, “how were you planning on getting back after you snuck out of the van?”

“I… To be fair I wasn't in charge of planning, and I'm more of an act then think about what i fucked up kinda guy anyway.”

“Yeah, I figured.” You mutter, and open the driver's seat door, hopping in and starting the engine. The smoke billowing from the bonnet was long gone, and the van smelt of warmth and strawberries instead of fear. You pull your seatbelt over your chest and click it into place. When you glanced out the window, Leo was still standing outside in the grass, looking lost. 

You beep the horn twice and roll down the window, “you gon’ walk back to camp or you gon’ hop in?”

A grin split across his face, making your chest light and fluttery.

┈┈┈┈┈◦•✩•◦┈┈┈┈┈

“Does it matter which coloured wolf it is?”

You turn to Leo, holding up the two fluffy wolf teddies, one on either side of your head as if you were one as well. His smile wobbled across his face and he held up another one, “What about green?”

“Shrek Four, more wolves.” 

“How original,” he teased, throwing up the green wolf into the air and then failing to catch it, instead the toy face planted onto the shiny floor of the store and rolled. The Shrek wolf let out a long pitiful squeak.

They both froze, until you squeezed the pink one in your hand, and it made another sound like a dying kitten. Leo blinked a few times. “Are they- did we… Are they dog toys?” 

“We are the dumbest humans alive,” you choke, and toss the pile of multicolored dog toys back into the rack, along with the rubber balls and bone shaped plushies. Now that you actually thought about it, it was pretty obvious these weren’t for humans. 

Leo ran a hand through his hair. “Where else are we gonna get a wolf teddy? All the shops will be closing soon anyway!”

“Will he know?”

“What?”

“Will Jason know it’s a dog toy?” You ask, raising your eyebrows apprehensively. Leo’s warm eyes widened, and a little smirk turned into a big smirk in a matter of seconds. “I mean, does he mind squeaky things?”

“I mean, he was raised by wolves, maybe he’ll like it?”

┈┈┈┈┈◦•✩•◦┈┈┈┈┈

“Last one, you’re kinda good at this,” you note, passing Leo the clipboard and pen, then clambering into the back of the van to grab the last two crates, which were being delivered to the cafe between Camp Half-Blood and the closest Mcdonalds. 

Leo grinned over his shoulder as he headed to the girl in a fluorescent yellow jacket tucked into a pair of overalls waiting at the back of the cafe. “It’s my natural charm!”

You jump back out holding the stack of wooden boxes and follow him, rolling your eyes, which you had been doing far more than you usually did in the last few hours. Then again, your cheeks were sore from smiling so much, and the electricity you could feel in your veins hadn’t faded yet. 

“You have no natural charm, Valdez.”

“Course I do,” He winked, then handed the sheet to sign to the girl. “You put up with me right? I’ve definitely charmed you.”

You freeze, and then move to the palettes by the back door and dump the strawberry crates, giving the Delphi Strawberry Farms stamp on the pale wood one last look, and then getting back into the van. Only then could you let out your breath and sink into the leather seat a little, eyes wide. 

Was he catching on? Or just joking around?

There were a few more moments of silence and thoughts spinning like a whirlwind, before Leo scrambled up into the passenger seat, letting out an exaggerated sigh when he made it up. “Man, are these things built for giants or something? What normal person is expected to get up that high?”

You just shrugged, checking behind you in the rear view mirror as you pulled out of the car park. “Dunno.”

The atmosphere changed immediately as Leo glanced at you with wide eyes. He’d probably been expecting you to make a short joke at his expense, hell, he’d set you up for it. He looked away though, while you turned up the staticky radio and drove you both onto the small highway. 

The seconds ticked by painfully slowly, trees, clouds, and green hills of flowers whizzing past the windows. You could feel eyes on you every few minutes, but didn’t look back. 

Was this all at your expense? 

Was Leo in on Piper’s pretty obvious now when you thought about it, plan? Was he using your soft spot for his faded freckles and stupid smile to get out of Camp Half-Blood unnoticed?

His tapping got annoying after a while, on his legs and the seat and the door. Chewing his fingernails and pulling bits and bobs out of his toolbelt. They stopped suddenly, and a second later he turned to you, gulping. “Did I say something wrong?”

You turn the radio down til all you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears and Leo’s desperate ramblings. “I kinda do that a lot, it’s a bit of a problem, but if I said something bad I didn’t mean to make you angry. Was it when I teased you about me charming you? It was just a joke and-”

“Was it?”

Leo faltered. “What?”

Your knuckles were stiff on the wheel with how hard you were gripping it, and you had to take deep breaths so that you could focus on the road in front as well as the friendship you were messing up. “Did Piper… Did she use her powers on me to find out? Is that how you know?”

“Know what?” 

“Don’t be thick, Valdez. You know what I'm talking about.” You snap, then shut your mouth tight, guilt trickling into your veins. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. Just forget it.”

“No, no.” Leo interrupted, “Piper’d never do that, she’d not like… She wouldn’t do that, I promise. And it really was just a joke, but…”

“But what?”

“Pull over,” he blurted, reaching for where your hand sat on the wheel quickly. You check behind you, heart racing not just in your ears but everywhere, pounding through your body, dragging nerves and fear through your limbs. 

There was an inkling of monsters, always monsters, in the back of your head as you pull over to the side of the road, stopping the van in the grass. But, there was another thought in there as well, a mere fantasy, really, but- but that thought was wiped, along with every other one in you hear when calloused fingers pressed against your jaw, moving your head so-

Leo unclipped his seatbelt in a second you didn’t even register, because time stretched out and squeezed back into place like a yoyo, until you didn't know if the kiss had been a peck, or hours of soft lips and tight chests. 

His eyes were warm and brown and fearful as Leo shrunk back a little, like he was only just registering what he’d done as well. 

“You kissed me.”

“I’m sorry you were just saying all this stuff like I didn’t kinda sorta really like you back and I kinda sorta wanted to kiss you as well for ages but…”

“You were kinda sorta scared?” You filled in his silence, and Leo dipped his head, nodding a few times. You didn’t have enough time to sort out all the emotion in your head at that moment, so instead you unbuckle, and lean back over the console. 

Leo was still looking down, so you had to tilt his head up. “Well… Why don’t we practice til it isn’t scary?”

All you got in response was a wide eyed stare, and you backed down after a moment, shame curdling in your gut. The moment you let go of his chin, Leo was moving forward, your orange shirt balling in his fist and his other hand reaching to cup your face. You let him.

One of the many things you found out about Leo as you kissed him, apart from the fact his lips were chapped and he really liked tracing his fingers along your jaw, was that he had been eating strawberries on the sly all day. You could taste the berries in and on his mouth, which moved against yours in sync, like you were one and the same.

You pulled away gently, and looked down, not even knowing when your arms had slipped around his waist, but he was pulled a lot closer then he had been at the start. You didn’t mind. At all. 

“Better?”

His eyes were lidded and he was quite possibly the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. Leo grinned, his lips puffy, and tilted his head to the side a little. “Maybe a ​​​more practice. Just to check.”

“Good idea,” you mutter into another kiss. There was a little thud, and Leo moved over the gear stick between you and onto your seat, never breaking the contact. Contact between everything, really, your lips and his. Between his arms and your neck as he held you closer. Between your hands and the soft scarred skin on his sides that was warm under your fingertips. 

He shivered as you circled your fingers, ducking his head and taking a breath. When he looked back up at you, his eyes were hazy. “So, like… I'm guessing this means you aren’t mad at me anymore?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” 

“I might’ve convinced everyone I should go buy Jason’s presents cause I wanted to hang out with you…” Leo smirked, his eyes crinkled and sparkling. You sighed, but you weren’t annoyed with him, and you didn’t think you would be again. Unless he caused you to crash the van again, then she would rain hell down on the boy. 

You pressed your lips against his softly, and pulled away again. Gods, you could do this forever. “You’re an evil genius, Valdez.”

“But I’m a good kisser, right?”

[wheels-of-despair]

Draw Me Like One of Your Dwarf Girls, Eddie Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie decides to work on his drawing skills, and accidentally awakens a monster in the process. Contains: Titanic references, female nudity, a brush with death. Word Count: 1.3k-ish

"Draw me like one of your dwarf girls, Eddie," you say in a sultry voice, trying your hardest not to laugh.

"What did I tell you about talking?" He pauses to give you a pointed look, since he's already told you to pipe down several times. You roll your eyes, and he returns to his drawing with a renewed vigor.

It's early 1998, and you've recently dragged your poor Eddie to a theater to see that damn Titanic movie everybody and their mother keeps raging about. All 3 hours of it. You may have neglected to mention the runtime when you bought the tickets. You owe him.

He survived, but was suddenly faced with the desire to "work on his people-sketching skills." Which of course meant it took him less than a week to convince you to strip and pose like Rose on the couch, wearing only that red guitar pick necklace he's had since high school.

You're stretched out and exposed and already bored. Two hours ago, he'd adjusted your hand a quarter of an inch this way, your knee a quarter of an inch that way, and you'd been instructed not to move.

Well, it felt like two hours, but it was really only about 30 minutes.

With nothing else to do, and being mildly disappointed that he didn't find your commentary amusing, you watch his eyes follow the pencil scratching across the paper you can't see. He's cute when he's concentrating. Tongue poking out, brow furrowed, that spark of creativity in his eye. It must be going well, because he smiles occasionally. He even giggled once. If you had to guess, you'd say it probably had something to do with a nipple. It was a little chilly.

"Just as I thought; it's a masterpiece."

"Are you done?" You'd only been in this position for an eternity.

"Oh yeah, this baby's getting framed." Ignoring you, he holds his sketch pad out to view it at an arm's length, beaming at his creation.

"Can I move now?!"

"Yeah, you can move."

You stretch your stiff limbs and get up off the couch, reaching for the flannel he'd discarded on a chair nearby, buttoning a few buttons as you pad over to where he sat admiring his work.

You place a hand on his back and look over his shoulder at the figure on his sketchbook. You're confused, but you can't take your eyes off of it. You can't think of anything to say. Until…

"What. The FUCK. Is THAT."

He looks up innocently and says, "What? I was just following instructions. You kept talking, figured I better listen."

You have no words.

You do, however, have a fucking BEARD in Eddie's drawing.

He sits there, looking up at you with a proud grin on his face, waiting for you to react.

You stare at him wordlessly, still in a state of shock.

Until he laughs at you. LAUGHS AT YOU.

Your brain begins to swirl furiously, until it flashes one word: KILL.

You clench your fists, and he begins to sense that you're not going to start laughing with him. His eyes widen, and he jumps out of his chair, vaults over the coffee table, and stands on the couch.

"I can explain," he says quickly, trying to sound calm, steps unsteady on the cushions.

You can explain too. Explain to the responding officers how one Edward James Munson met his gruesome demise.

"It's Tolkien."

You ignore him and advance slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. Eyes unblinking. Blood boiling. Steam probably coming out of your ears. He jumps off the couch as you approach the coffee table.

"It's from a book!" He's walking backward, holding out his sketch pad like a lion tamer with a chair.

His eyes bulge as he hits something solid. You've backed him into a corner. Literally.

"Tolkien! Middle-earth! The Hobbit! Nerd shit!"

Nerd shit won't save you now, Munson. You narrow your eyes and prepare to go in for the kill. He panics.

"Dwarf women have beards! It was a joke! I'm sorry! I love you!"

The "I love you" makes you pause, just as you were about to pounce and slash your prey to pieces. The hell?

"What?" you ask, giving your head a slight shake in confusion.

"Dwarf women have beards. In the books. You said to draw you like a dwarf. It was a joke. I thought you'd know what it was."

"You thought I'd know some random detail from a book I haven't read in over a decade?"

"I mean, it's a pretty memorable detail…"

You roll your eyes, heave a sigh, and pinch the bridge of your nose. Why is this not surprising?

"So you're not gonna kill me?" He's still backed into his corner. You consider it for a moment, deciding that you've played with him enough for today.

"Not tonight, Munson."

He exhales and leans his head back against the wall.

"But I WILL get you for this," you threaten, pointing a finger at him. He nods, used to this constant back-and-forth game you'd both been playing for over a decade. He knew you'd never really hurt him, just like you knew he wouldn't hurt you either. It was just a game.

You turn to walk away, and hear him whisper to the abomination he's still clutching: "Don't worry baby, you're still gettin' framed."

You whip around, eyes flashing. He gulps. You step closer, making him lean further back into the wall. He's cute when he's scared.

"Give it."

He stares at you with those big, beautiful brown eyes of his.

"Give it," you repeat, holding out a hand and waiting for him to place his sketchbook into it.

Reluctantly, he hands it to you. You maintain eye contact as your fingers find the thick cover page, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of looking at his ungodly creation again. You slam it shut and he flinches.

"What are you gonna do with it?"

Beat your nerdy ass to death with it.

Still clutching his sketch pad, you step back silently and gesture for him to walk on by with your free hand. He slowly peels himself off the wall and begins to move with an apprehensive look in your direction, and a thought occurs to you.

As he scurries past you, you smack him on the ass with his sketchbook. He whirls around with a yelp, hands clutching his cheeks. It's cardboard, you drama queen. You step closer and swing the book at his arm.

"You made me lay there for AN HOUR! While! You! Drew! That!" You punctuate each word with another smack of the sketch pad. He continues overreacting to each hit and falls to the floor with a wail when you finish yelling, clutching his imaginary wounds. You lift the book above your head with both hands, ready to finish him.

"It started out real! But I couldn't make it look like you! It wasn't pretty enough!" You graciously decide to let him continue, still holding the sketchbook in an attack position, just in case. "I tried," he explains calmly now, "but it wasn't working out, and then you said the dwarf thing, and I thought it would be funny. I'll make it up to you."

"Damn right, you will." You lower the book and release it. It lands on his chest with a light thud. He grins from his position on the floor. You step over him and make your way toward the bedroom.

"Starting now," you inform him from the hallway, not slowing or turning around. You hear him scramble to get up, knock something over, and curse before he hurries in your direction.

He's lucky he's cute.

[felysline]

SPORTS GAME-DAY LOOKBOOK: NBA TEAMS INSPIRED 🏀🕹️

01. LOCKIN' QUARTERS, general fit. hair ⭒ earrings ⭒ necklace ⭒ top ⭒ skirt ⭒ watch ⭒ shoes

02. WAVIN' BLIZZARDS, okc thunder-infused fit. hair ⭒ earrings* ⭒ top ⭒ shoulderbag** ⭒ nails ⭒ shorts ⭒ shoes ⭒ socks # *: midam earrings › **: chain pouch leather bag.

03. ICIN' LEAVES, boston celtics-infused fit. hair ⭒ glasses ⭒ necklace ⭒ top ⭒ nails ⭒ handbag ⭒ pants* ⭒ shoes** # *: courtney pants. › **: platform sneakers 01.

04. BUZZIN' STARS, houston rockets-infused fit. hair ⭒ shirt ⭒ jacket* ⭒ skirt ⭒ boots # *: farrah bomb jacket.

thanks to all cc creators: @rimings @sclub-privee @pralinesims @busra-tr @trillyke @charonlee @bergdorfverse @glacierbrand1 @xurbansimsx @arethabee @jius-sims @ceeproductions @babyetears @vittleruniverse @ts4eve!

this lookbook was made in honor of boston celtics, oklahoma city thunder, and houston rockets who all won yesterday! as a fan of them i'd never thought such things would ever come, especially at once. i literally was bawling. so, i tried to infuse the teams' main colors into each outfit; combining sporty looks with something chic, casual, semi-formal, and edgy. especially for rockets, damn, the outfit really reminds me of toyota center. also, icin' leaves is basically just sweet-tatum-infused, lmaooo.

the fits are not too nba-game-day vibes, i'm aware. but game-day is all about having fun and it's coming together! i just had so much fun creating these. so, please, enjoy. ˙ᵕ˙ ⭑

[t0ast-ghost]

S3 EP13 (Elaan Of Troyius) fully don’t know what to expect.

Start it up:

- Spock and McCoy banter in the turbo lift and Kirk gives them a smile before leaving

- Kirk is immediately a little hostile towards the ambassador

- I like how Kirk just looks around like ‘guess we should bow now’

- They stopped Spock’s infodump to Kirk. Sad.

- “Captain, the Dolman is dissatisfied with the quarters provided.” Spock is already done. So done.

- things getting thrown

- Kirk is also done. He’s so done.

- I like episodes where they’re on the ship with someone vaguely annoying

- Time to play ‘who does the random spaceship belong to’

…. That’s right! It’s the Klingons!

- Oh yep. She killed the ambassador. Who would’ve guessed. (Edit: he lived lol)

- “A man whose flesh is once touched by the tears of a woman of Elas has his heart enslaved forever.” So.. who’s it going to be? I’m guessing Kirk right now

- She should have the right not to marry someone. Like it’s not great that they’re basically selling her even if it’s for peace

- Every time someone slaps them, they just slap them back

- Kirk is THAT BITCH

- Did the red shirt get his neck snapped?

- Kirk planned to have Spock shoot the guards. He’s feral omg

- YEAH! Bite him!

- what. this is her problem? Or no she was manipulating him to make him touch her tears. Great… and they’re kissing

- WAIT SHE ASKED ABOUT THE SPANKING (whoever said Star Trek was for kids is a fucking liar. Side note: why did my parents show me TNG)

- Her guards are working with the Klingons aren’t they

- WHAT IS THIS

- They both caught him

- Kirk’s walk over to McCoy and Spock is so awkward

- “(Talking to Spock)Well, we’re in trouble. (Turns to Kirk) Now, listen, Jim. Petri told Christine that the Elasian women have a sort of biochemical substance in their tears that acts like a super love potion, and according to him, it doesn’t wear off.” Only Star Trek would have tears that act like a super love potion

- Stop just letting people on the bridge

- Only people who can break Kirk of his love potion are Spock and McCoy

- Kirk’s character is all about loneliness. How someone can be captain, an entire crew to watch over and command, but he’s always lonely. Spock and McCoy may be the closest thing he has, but they can never know about his feelings because he has to protect them under any and all circumstances

- Swivel chair

- “I’d say our strategy wasn’t totally effective.” I like how Spock just nods along with him

- “I want to die with you.” He considers this a minute because imagine that, someone who wants to be there with you as you die

- IT WAS A NECKLACE OF DILITHIUM CRYSTALS ?!?

- She gives him her dagger..

- “Bye.” “Good-bye.” I love the shortness of their farewells.

- damn McCoy was so happy to bring the antidote to Spock (he wants Spock to be happy with him)

- “In this particular instance, Doctor, I agree with you.” McCoy is shocked

- They share this look and then remember not to kiss on the bridge

This episode was… interesting.

Masterpost

Episode written by John Meredyth Lucas

[starblue2406]

Ok, here are some concept arts from the Arceus and the Jewel of Life movie.

I don't have much to say. Pichu's (Pili in my fic) designs are so cute! Any of them was better than the end, so now it's time to draw Pili in each of her intended appearances.

I just have one thing to point out, it's more mine than something important and objective... But damn it! Apparently, The sign that Damos wore on his necklace was, so to speak, "the family crest."Which, while not obvious, was a valid possibility, however, what bothers me is, Oh my God, I didn't hit that!

It was such a fact that I didn't consider this, that the family crest of Mew's chosen ones is just a poorly done modification of a real-life surname, while the sign on the necklace... Well, I programmed it with a meaning completely unrelated to anything religious or familiar and yes, I know you're thinking "it's your fanfic, you can tell the canon to hell" but As I said, that's more my thing and I don't even understand why I'm so upset, but oh well, I'll get over it.

And here's the icing on the cake... Marcus' concept design... My god, what did they do to my boy.Ok, I realize that the artists had it in for Marcus' hairstyle from the beginning.Apparently, they wanted him to look like Cyrius here and to be honest, it's good that this stayed as a concept.The face looks awful and the rest is very meh.It's good that they put the crown on his forehead to at least make the design more tolerable,I also appreciate that they added the bandages on his arms since then everyone comes up with a bold and dramatic head canon (if I got a quarter for every time I heard a cool head canon of Marcus' bandages I'd have two, which isn't much but it's rare that it happens twice) and lastly, I prefer the clothing tweaks of the final design a thousand times over.

In conclusion, although they never really hit the nail on the head with the hairstyle, they did everything else very well and it's a good thing that the concept art was only about how NOT to do Marcus.My boss Marcus He's too cool and handsome for this world, it's just his hairstyle that makes him so misunderstood, but other than that, everything's fine.

[artdivadej]

Survivors Remorse (XX)

Part one | Part 11+

2 Days Later

Peeta sat on his bunk, twisting the new snell knot Finnick showed him down in the bunkers, when Haymitch came to get him. He needed something to do while the others were on the rescue mission.

“They’re back”

“Is she-?”

“She’s with them. Just waking up. They’d been gassed before pick up so it's wearing off. You can see her now”

Peeta had never moved so fast in his life as he flew towards the hospital wing, fingers clasped tightly around the pearl that he’d had attached to a necklace in his pocket. He felt jealousy whip through him when he heard Annie’s loud, joyous cry.

“Finnick!”

She looked a little smaller than he’d seen her on the tribute selection from the Quarter Quell, but she didn’t look like she’d undergone any kind of physical torture. When his eyes landed on Johanna he could see she’d not been as lucky. They’d shaved her head, not needing to parade her in front of cameras, and she was heavily bruised everywhere the hospital gown didn’t cover. Clearl,y they’d been starving the both of you, but it hadn’t made Johanna lose any of her fire as she tore the needles from her arm and snarled for food. Haymitch pointed the way to the room they had you separated in.

“Hey loverboy, I need to talk to you!”

“Not now” Peeta growled, slipping into the room to see you sitting on the bed, facing away from the door.

Your hair lay against your exposed spinal cord, the hospital gown drowning your tiny body. There were lashes and deep multi-hued bruises littering your back on almost every inch his eyes could take in. As he took in your entire visage, Peeta had to remind himself, this was not one of his nightmares where you’d fade away as soon as he reached out to touch you. No, this time you were really here. The nurse left the room quickly, when seeing Peeta and Haymitch enter the room. When Peeta calls your name, you raise your head quickly in a jerk reaction and slowly turn to look over your shoulder, watching him walk around the bed to stand in front of you.

“Love...it’s really you”, he breathed, reaching out slowly to cup your cheek, wondering why you wouldn’t speak.

Without any warning, you snarl and lunge for Peeta’s throat, blunt nails clawing up his chest as you snap your jaws towards his trachea. Haymitch calls your name again but you don’t listen, continuing to try and rip out Peeta’s throat, nails digging into the sides to try to keep him still. Peeta’s eyes are wide as he struggles to keep your mouth from meeting its goal, his hands on your shoulders keeping you at bay, barely. You’d managed to topple the three of you to the ground as you wrestled to get at his throat. To be so malnourished, you were still strong and he had a feeling, fueled by something other than adrenaline. Your dilated, marble pupils as you snarled and chomped at him, a clear indicator. This was what Johanna was trying to warn him of. They’d done something to your mind and both he and Haymitch were losing the war of pulling you away from his throat.

It wasn’t until Boggs had knocked you upside the head, knocking you unconscious in the process, with a metal pan did you finally loosen your grip on his throat. You slumped against his chest, Peeta wheezing as he looked around at the other two men and the 3 nurses flying into the room now that you were unconscious.

What the hell was happening!?

He didn’t care that you just tried to kill him, he gathered you in his arms and held on tight, despite the nurses attempting to pry you out if his arms. Haymitch huffed irritably, yanking a morphine needle from one and shoving them backwards out the room as he handed it over to Boggs.

“Give the boy a damn minute! She’s asleep, you can poke and prod her later!”, he snarled at them.

Boggs slid the needle into your neck and slid to a corner away from the two of you, allowing Peeta to weep with joy as he rocked you in his arms. He didn’t care what they did to your mind. He would fall for you a million times over and brave any storm to make it back to you. Whatever this was, he would weather the storm with you.

“We protect each other”, he choked through his sore throat, brushing your hair from your face, lying a kiss to your forehead. "I've got you. From now on, let me protect you love"

“Peeta...we’re gonna have to-”

“I know. I know. Just, please.....let me have right now”, he pleaded, arms tightening around you, as he looked up at Haymitch with tears spilling over his cheeks.

Haymitch hadn’t seen Peeta look so much like a child since the day they’d met. He gave a small nod and sank to the floor with him, wrapping his arms around the both of you and squeezing tightly.

“We’ll fix this. I swear”

Excerpt from Chapter 20-Burned Bread available on Wattpad at Maddinkart

[bleachbleachbleach]

[Bleach 080]

Things I Love Thinking in Circles About

How big, area-wise, the Seireitei is

What regular Gotei work looks like when we're not looking

What did the early bird VCs do the entire time they were sitting around in Conference Room 2 waiting for people to show up?

--

1. How big, area-wise, the Seireitei is

According to Yoruichi, walking from one gate to the next would take 10 days, which initially makes the Seireitei seem really damn big. The city of Ann Arbor, Michigan has a population of 120,000 people. If we're meant to believe that there are 6000 shinigami (citation: Ooetsu?), I find it difficult to believe that the Seireitei's population would be much larger than 120k, if that. (Personally, I proceed as though it's a lot less than that.) Like the Seireitei, Ann Arbor is also circular, ringed not by a Seireimon but a necklace of Interstates, but it's only like 10 miles across. It really wouldn't take that long to walk 1/4 of the way around its rim.

You'd have to walk around a quarter of the entire country of Spain for it to take 10 days:

Obviously Google is not taking into account tired feet or needing to like, sleep, with this estimate, but STILL. The Seireitei is not the size of SPAIN.

A) Let's say it would really take 10 days. This gate-to-gate trek might need to take terrain into account (which Google sometimes does and often doesn't lol). The area Ichigo et al ended up in seemed pretty civ where the gate matches up with Junrinan, but maybe a shade north and the terrain is much more difficult!

B) Let's say it really would not take 10 days. Yoruichi might have been exaggerating, because she doesn't want to walk to another damn gate and also it's not as though there aren't also shinigami waiting at...the other gates... So she nips that in the bud and directs her party's attentions elsewhere.

Or maybe she knows that even this close to the Seireitei, in Rukongai time gonna wime, and space-time are not going to exist in a constant relationship with each other.

C) Let's say Matsumoto's "half-day" comment probably isn't about geography, either. Half a day would make the Seireitei approximately the size of like, Indianapolis? (population 882k, area 368 sq. miles/950 sq. km) if we were basing it purely on area. But also, shunpou?? So I really feel like the "length of time it would take people to arrive"half day" comment is less a function of physical distance and more about the fact that they're all busy and have tasks they'd need to extricate themselves from before they started walking/running/sauntering/gamboling over.

Which leads me to--

2. What regular Gotei work looks like when we're not looking

I think we've seen enough evidence that the way the Gotei has built itself does not lend itself well to rapid response. Their response to the ryoka invasion was not particularly rapid, nor organized. Their response to AIZEN'S MURDER was nearly non-existent. Winter War prep was also kind of rough, and I guess TYBW 1 was kind of a surprise attack, but I think my point still stands that it's just not their forte. I think part of this is because the Gotei is legitimately just kind of bad at being functional; we all know this. They all know this. I think the other part is that rapid response is very, very hard.

Given that they are heavenly court guards, you'd think rapid response to potential threats would be more of a priority, but you could say that about a lot of real-life things that, in reality, do not work that way (and perhaps cannot, in the absence of radical reinvention). To use a near universal example, see Exhibit C: COVID responses lol. Even outside of that very particular example, I'm part of a direct action organization and even though it's relatively small and its politics are activist-minded, rapid response is still very, very hard.

I just love thinking about, okay, where are the Gotei bottlenecks, what's the red tape, where's the sludge in the workings, where to the capacities fall through, what jobs haven't been invented that they really need, what jobs exist that really shouldn't, how much is logistical, how much is political, how much is cultural, how much is personal? *this is my bulletproof kiiiiiiink*

If it's going to take 4-12 hours to get all the officers in one place, it makes me think that yes, the alarms are going off, but it's a rapid response priority only for those who were assigned to quadrant 6 or whatever. Yes, this meeting call went out, but the threat is not yet at a level where you need to drop everything and haul ass. It's serious, but not more serious than the rippling consequences of ignoring the essential tasks you were already engaged in that are really going to fuck things up in domino-like ways if you don't do them right now.

For Ichigo et al, rescuing Rukia is Priority #1. For the Gotei, the ryoka invasion is this major world event that slammed on top of their already-full calendars of other shit they're supposed to do today. Big meeting? That's great, but it's going to have to wait or else a whole deployment's going to ship out late, the payroll office is going to close before those forms get signed, and Z isn't going to have the Y report that's required in order to start the X project.

3. What did the early bird VCs do the entire time they were sitting around in Conference Room 2 waiting for people to show up?

The meeting was called to address Ichimaru's behavior in dealing (or not dealing) with the ryoka, so we can assume it was called relatively quickly after Yamamoto got wind of that. Renji just took Rukia to Fancy Prison, but it doesn't seem like there's yet been dissemination of an official report, because he doesn't actually know if Ichigo got killed by Ichimaru or not. But the meeting is still going on when the ryoka invade successfully via The Sky.

In the interim, Ichigo et al hung out with the denizens of Junrinan, met Ganju, walked out to bumfuck to find Kuukaku's house, got introduced to the cannon and the cannonballs, practiced with the cannonballs, ate dinner, gained proficiency with the cannonballs, and blasted themselves through the sky.

Which makes it seem like the VCs who got there early literally did have to wait around for half a day before everyone showed up. Keep in mind THEIR MEETING DID NOT EVEN HAVE AN AGENDA. They were just supposed to stage in Conference Room 2!

So what did they do? Did they bring any work with them? Did they shoot the shit for six hours? Play games? Nap?

...Orgy?

(Orgy.)

[hyugaruma]

Helpless (Ice x Reader)

♪

re: ice can’t save you… no one can.

i love this man and genuinely don’t feel like i’ve done him justice here, but oh well have it anyway

♪

He knew he was doomed from the moment he saw you. That creeping feeling crawling up from his gut, settling thickly in his chest; he felt like he could suffocate. He felt helpless.

Who was Ice to be enamored by some woman? There were plenty to go around, and go around Funk Jungle they did. He had his fair share of them, could have pointed to just about any one of them and with one look had them back in his room within the hour. So why, why, did it feel like he’d been knocked back from the blast of an explosion when he first laid eyes on you? He wanted you, had to have you…

But he couldn’t. You belonged to Doubt.

Ranmaru and his goons had you tight within their clutches, one of their newest batch of kidnapped women and you being their lucky, shiny prize. They’d sell you for a pretty dollar to the highest bidder. Their cash cow. No, there was no way that Doubt would have given you up.

Ice considered it, greatly ruminated over it… just paying the damn fee. Anything to get you away from Doubt, even if you rejected him, fled entirely. He wouldn’t have blamed you. So long as you didn’t end up in the hands of some sick fuck whose plans weren’t something he even wanted to imagine. But, Ice held back. He knew how the others would look at him, how weak he’d look buying some woman off of Doubt, just to then attempt to woo her. How embarrassing. How pathetic. He couldn’t do it.

You sat on a black, leather sofa in the private quarters of Mighty Warriors’ nightclub, fiddling at a frayed piece of string coming from the hem of your skirt. Ice stood at the edge of the room, absentmindedly talking with 9, and although the room was filled with various members of Mighty and Doubt alike, he somehow found his eyes constantly wandering back to you. You looked meek, small. Like something in need of saving. Hell, he guessed you were in need of saving considering your position beneath Ranmaru’s power. Your eyes never left that string; it was like you were afraid to meet the gaze of someone, anyone else in that room who might take offense to your existence. Ice hardly noticed the way his grip tightened on the glass in his hand.

But 9 did. 9 quietly scoffed, but not without being caught by Ice. Ice’s gaze snapped to the older man, clearly expecting an answer to his sudden expression. 9 shook his head and looked towards you. That was when Ice knew he had made a mistake. He was making himself, his intrigue, too obvious. “That’s a bad choice,” 9 spoke, taking a sip of his drink and shaking his head again. The golden necklaces at his neck clinked together at the movement. “Ranmaru ain’t gonna let you have that one, Ice.”

Ice took a small, inconsequential sip of his own drink. The bitterness of the alcohol burned his tongue, scorched his throat, but it was a much needed reprieve from the way he was feeling at the moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

9 leaned back against the railing behind the two of them and shrugged. “I’m just telling you how it is, man.”

“I’m not looking to have her,” Ice replied.

“Okay.” 9 clearly wasn’t convinced.

Ice couldn’t help himself. He found his eyes slowly navigating back in your direction, like their only solace was when on you. This time, though, you were looking back at him.

9, exceptionally observant, took note of this mutual perception. “I wouldn’t—,” 9 tried to warn Ice, but Ice was already halfway towards you before he could finish his sentence. 9 sighed, took another swig, and decided to watch how things played out.

Your gaze snapped back down to the string, that damn string, before Ice even made it to stand before you. He stopped, hardly a foot away, greatly considering his next choice of action. You kept your eyes cast downward, clearly trying to avoid the man standing just front of you. But now, finally standing right within your presence, Ice felt he had no choice but to do something. So, he took a seat next to you on the couch.

You tensed noticeably. Ice cleared his throat, trying to garner even an ounce of your attention just once more. He could tell you were holding back, trying to spare yourself from even the slightest bit of arduous extenuation. Though, ultimately, you couldn’t help but to look up and find his eyes again.

Ice rattled his brain trying to think of something, anything to say. He was in it now. He had made his advance. Even if all he did was take a seat next to you, it was obvious enough why a man would choose to suddenly approach a woman like so. Anyone in the room could’ve seen it. He had sold himself out. But, looking at you, in the moment he didn’t really care.

The silence was thick. Palpable. Nerve-wracking. Finally, Ice realized that he had to say something. So, he held up his drink in gesture. “You want anything?”

You looked to the glass, brows knitting together, clearly none too trustful of anything anyone within that room could have said or done. Ice included. He guessed he couldn’t blame you there. “A… drink?” You clarified.

He nodded.

You slowly shook your head. There was no way you could have trusted any semblance of niceties by anyone within that room. Even if Mighty Warriors, if Ice, had nothing to do with your being there, they still occasionally worked with Doubt. Though, you seemingly couldn’t help the tension that slowly dissipated from your shoulders. At the very least, it was the first kind gesture you had received since your kidnapping…

Ice nodded in understanding, taking one last sip of his drink before sliding it onto the coffee table and leaning back to make himself comfortable on the couch. His eyes left you, less than willingly, to scan the room. To be sure no one was taking too kindly to the sight of him and you. 9 was indiscreetly watching, though that was to be expected. 9 had always been someone that Ice felt he could trust, so he felt no fret at the onlooker. Everyone else seemed to be within their own realms of conversation, flirtation, discussion, what have you… That is, everyone except one.

Takano. The very culprit behind your nabbing, his lecherous, beady eyes resting dutifully on Ice and you. Watching every movement, searching out every word. Ice knew. He knew that Takano was vying for even the slightest hint to Ice’s motives.

“Um…” came your voice, and Ice’s attention instantly snapped back to you. Regardless, though, he could still feel those beady eyes boring into the back of his skull. But, there was no way that Ice could relent even the slightest bit of attention that you were willing to give him. His eyes implored you to keep going. So you did. “You’re… Ice, right?”

He couldn’t help the small smile that ticked at his lips. The fact that you knew him, knew his face, knew his name. He could still feel Takano’s eyes. “The one and only.”

He thought he saw the ghost of a smile threatening your own lips, though it was gone in an instant the second you realized its potential existence. Smiling while in your position was risky. One whiff would have given Doubt the only reason it needed to wipe that smile off your face.

It was then that Ice realized he hadn’t the slightest clue as to your name. Hell, no one within the room probably did. And wherever Ranmaru was, he probably didn’t know either. There was little reason for Doubt to ask your name. To them you were just a face, body, and price tag. So, Ice figured that first thing’s first… “What’s yours?”

“Huh?” You replied.

“Your name,” he iterated. “What’s your name?”

You hesitated. He could see the worries swimming through your head, as if giving up your name was giving up the last bit of freedom that you had. But, ultimately, your curiosity of the man before you won out over any reluctance. So, you told him your name.

Ice repeated your name back aloud, feeling the way it moved from the back of his tongue to its escape through his lips. It came out a bit too smoothly, Ice thought, like he was meant to be the one saying your name. Those were dangerous thoughts, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He smiled again, this time unable to withhold it. “I like that name.”

And you, just as well, just as dangerous, couldn’t find yourself to hold your own small smile back either. Finally, your fingers stopped fiddling with that string from your skirt. “Actually,” you ventured shyly. “I’ve been here before. I have a friend… she brought me here once.”

“Yeah?” Ice waited for you to continue. If he could have had any wish in that moment (other than the obvious), he would have wished to hear you talk forever. Something about it, hearing your voice, soft like satin, brought a wave of calm over him. It was like it was just the two of you in that room. Ice glanced back over his shoulder to see if the onlooker was still watching. Takano was gone.

“Yeah,” you continued, wrapping your arms around your chest as if to repress something. Good memories that would only serve to make your current circumstances all that much more bleak, probably. “It was fun. This felt like an easy place to have fun.”

Ice couldn’t help the way his eyes darted down to your lips as you gently chewed at your bottom one, before forcing them back up to your all-too-earnest eyes. “That’s what I want this place to be,” he said. “No worries, no problems. Just being in the moment, you know?” Ice almost smacked himself the moment the words left his lips. Who was he to preach ‘no worries, no problems’ to you when your very being there was the definition of a worry and a problem.

But still, you smiled and nodded nonetheless. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s nice to have a place like that to go. Some people don’t have that.” Your face fell slightly, tinged by sadness as you tightened your arms bounding your chest. Like you were trying to squeeze all the fear away. He could tell you wanted to go on, but maybe weren’t quite sure how to say what you wanted to say. You finally continued, though your eyes were now fixed on your lap. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

You paused, like the words were stuck. He waited patiently. “Why… Why are you working with Doubt?”

Ice didn’t know how to answer that. Well, at the very least he knew the answer to the question. Although ‘money’ didn’t seem like the appropriate response, even if it was the correct one. He knew he needed to answer you, he just couldn’t. So he didn’t.

You waited for him to answer, but when you realized it wasn’t coming, you looked back up to him. Like you were trying to search for the truth somewhere within his cool silence. Like maybe, if you looked hard enough, the words would appear out of thin air.

Just as you were about to open your mouth to try again, the door behind Ice that led into the private room flew open with a bang. He didn’t even have to turn around to know. The look on your face told him everything. Within an instant, your fingers began grasping at that skirt string again.

“Oi,” came the newcomer’s taut voice. A voice all too recognizable. Daunting and acrimonious to a fault. Ice didn’t have to look to know exactly who it was. Ranmaru.

Ranmaru gave a quick, commanding nod in gesture, beckoning you to his side without another word. No other words were needed, because you had no choice.

Ice’s eyes never left you. Watched as your eyebrows knotted together, as the corner of your lips turned downwards, the way you thickly swallowed the words in which you were about to say back down. Too afraid to move, but knowing that you had to. Like a rabbit trapped in a snare that was Ranmaru’s authority.

You willfully looked back to Ice, silently begging. Begging. He knew what for. To step in, to save you.

But he couldn’t.

The chatter within the room had silenced, and everyone’s eyes were on the two of you. Expectant. Like watching the dramatization of a play unfold right before their very eyes, so distanced to the scene before them.

“Ice—,” you tried, but Ranmaru’s voice came cutting through once more.

“Let’s go,” Ranmaru said.

You waited for something, anything, some kind of miracle or selfless gesture from the man before you. Anything that would save you from being forced to follow in the footsteps of the tyrant of a man.

But the help never came.

You stood, oh-so-reluctantly, from your seat and gave Ice one last small smile. And from that smile, he understood so much more than you could have ever said.

And with that, you walked towards the entryway and followed Ranmaru from the room. The door closed loudly behind you. You were gone.

The conversation within the room slowly reestablished itself in the newly formed absence. Though, it was hushed, like it was cautious to startle the tenseness left behind.

Ice grabbed his drink from the table and leaned back against the spine of the couch. He felt as if its plush cushions could consume him, devour him whole and leave behind a wake of nothing. He took a sip of the drink. It didn’t even burn anymore. He looked up, glazing over the sea of people. They had all gone back to prior business, without even a semblance of attention on him. Except one.

9 shot Ice a sympathetic look.

Ice took another sip, a significantly greater one. If only the alcohol could wash that stupid, nagging feeling away.

If only he weren’t so goddamn helpless.