#the black parade wasn't out yet

[earlycuntsets]

can't wait for the black parade to come out

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

After last episode I’m thinking what if Aegon tells his wife what happened when he wakes up and she goes ballistic on Aemond because the man she loves was hurt in battle, by his own brother nevertheless. (Maybe she sees the dagger that normally sits in its sheath on Aegons hip)

Request: Aegon returning to King’s Landing after Rook’s Rest. His wife worries about him and stay by his side

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—

You became sick with worries when you saw Aemond and Vhagar return to King’s Landing, alone.  

He walked into the Red Keep and called for a small council meeting to report about Rook’s Rest. You sat in the seat beside the King’s empty one, listening as Aemond recounted that the plan he and Ser Criston had come up with got crashed by the Blacks, who sent Rhaenys to Lord Staunton's aid. 

‘’What of His Grace?’’ you asked, having seen Aegon depart from the dragonpit hours ago. 

Aemond lowered his gaze, making the knot in your stomach tighten. No war was bloodier than one with dragons. Meleys was a large dragon, and she had battle experience. Mayhaps something happened to Sunfyre? You knew Aegon would refuse to leave his side if anything happened to him. 

‘’There was an incident involving the King,’’ he began. 

You held your breath as Aemond continued. 

‘’While I was waiting for Cole's signal, His Grace engaged in a one-on-one with Meleys, but the latter brutally attacked Sunfyre, causing him — and Aegon — to freefall in a nearby forest with great force before I could take the sky and come to their aid.’’ 

Everyone fell completely silent. 

You felt your vision blur as the room began to spin. Your face paled, and a cup of water was brought to you. You took a small sip, but you were still feeling unwell. 

You should not have let him join the battle. He had no military training, it was reckless. 

‘’Where is Aegon now?’’ the dowager Queen asked her younger son, her voice filled with maternal concern. 

‘’At Rook's Rest,’’ Aemond replied. ‘’Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne are marching back to King’s Landing with what little remains of the Green army. They are bringing his critically injured body.’’

⁂

Three days later, Ser Criston’s army arrived at King’s Landing. You had not slept since being informed about Aegon’s fall, your mind filled with worried thoughts and dark fears. Your handmaiden had suggested you take a draught for sleep, but you declined. You couldn’t risk being in a deep sleep when Aegon would come in through the gates. 

While they were parading Meleys's slain head through the city, six knights walked through the Keep, holding their King in a closed litter that hid him completely. He was brought to his chambers where several maester began working on him. 

‘’Is he alive?’’ you asked, trying to get information on your husband's state. 

The maesters couldn't answer, feeling a pulse so faint they didn't want to give you false hopes. You were escorted out as they worked on removing the armor which had melted onto Aegon's left arm. The image was not one a Queen should see, they said. 

You found yourself at Alicent's doors, needing someone to share your fears and worries with. She invited you to sit on her couch and had camomile tea brought to you to calm your nerves. You had not been this anxious since the birth of your first child. 

Noticing your shaking hands, the dowager Queen took the one who was not holding the teacup in hers. ‘’He’s strong, like his father,’’ she said softly. ‘’He’ll recover.’’ 

⁂

Late into the night, you were allowed back in the King’s chambers. Aegon had not yet woken, laying in the bed with his eyes closed. Half of his body was wrapped in bandages, covering the burns. 

All he wanted was to prove the realm that he wasn't useless. And now, he laid in bed, badly burned with a broken hip, and numerous broken ribs.

You sat all night by Aegon's bedside, refusing to leave him.

‘’You should get some rest, Your Grace,’’ the Grand Maester suggested when he came in to check on Aegon in the morning, noticing you were still in yesterday’s dress. 

He was probably right. Your eyes felt dry from lack of sleep and the shadows under them were dark. 

‘’I will rest when he wakes,’’ you replied. 

⁂

A tear fell down your face when Aegon woke days later, mumbling your name with his dry throat. He was in severe pain from his injuries, so the Grand Maester administered him a strong concoction of milk of the poppy to sooth his pain. It made his mind cloudy, and very sleepy. 

That night, you allowed yourself to sleep in a bed. 

⁂

For the duration of his recovery, you were moved to Aegon's old chambers. 

They had not been occupied since the coronation. When you walked in, you noticed everything was the way it always was, the way Aegon liked. 

It felt strange to be there without him. 

As you sat on the bed in your nightgown, you were reminded of life before he was crowned. Times were simpler back then. The realm was at peace and Aegon didn't have to put himself in danger to prove he was worthy of the crown. 

You missed that time. 

⁂

While Aegon was bedstruck, you took seat on the Iron Throne to rule in his absence. He trusted you with his life, and would want no one else than you to wear his crown. His mother and grandsire ruled in his father's absence through his long illness and manipulated everything and everyone around them. Aegon didn't want that happening to him. 

Although you didn’t know how to rule a war, you listened to the men sitting at the small council table, seeking their opinions and counsel. Now you understood why Aegon said they all bore him. Sitting there and listening to Lord Larys’s report of whispers, Lord Tyland’s financial complaints, and other reports that came by ravens made you want to indulge in wine. 

‘’What is the next move, Your Grace? Our men have recovered from the battle at Rook’s Rest and are ready for the next move. More men have been trained and knighted, and are waiting for the next commands.’’ 

You glanced at the map to your left, studying the pins of the houses who had bent the knee to Aegon and the ones who had not, trying to come up with a strategy, but before you could answer, Aemond spoke. 

‘’The Riverlands. Me and Cole will be heading north-west and amassing an army to march against Daemon Targaryen and Harrenhal.’’

You directed your eyes back to the table, looking straight forward at Aemond. ‘’Since when are you in charge of leading our armies, Prince Aemond? The last time you and Ser Criston plotted without my husband’s authority, it ended in a carnage of our army and put our King in a critical condition. I reject your strategy and forbid you from plotting without my authority by risk of being removed from this council.’’

After the small council meeting was over, you returned to Aegon’s side and were surprised to find him awake. He had been given him a gentle sponge bath by the maids while you were absent, his silver hair damp on his pillow. You also noticed that the maester had changed his bandages. 

‘’Where is Sunfyre?’’ Aegon asked when you sat, speaking coherently for the first time in weeks. 

‘’Near Rook’s Rest,’’ you replied. ‘’He was so badly maimed that he's not even able to be moved back to King's Landing. Ser Criston stationed men near to guard him while he is recovering. You need not to worry, my love.’’ 

You took his hand that was not strapped and resting against his chest in yours, trying to ease his worries. He hated being apart from Sunfyre, especially knowing his dragon was injured and in pain. Aegon vividly remembered his cries of pain when they were attacked by Meleys’ claws and teeth. He wished he could go to him. 

‘’My memory is blurry, but he saved me. When we crashed down backward, Sunfyre was going to kill me with his weight, but he angled his body to avoid crushing me.’’ 

Aegon tried to shift into a more sitting position, but groaned as pain shot through his whole body. His burns were healing nicely under the bandages, but his broken hip and ribs were going to take a lot longer. 

You reached on the night table and poured him a small cup of milk of the poppy. ‘’Here.’’ 

It would make him sleepy, but at least it’ll relieve his pain. 

Until the effects kicked in, you informed him of what happened while he was unconscious. 

‘’The crown must look great on you,’’ Aegon said, the corner of his mouth curling in a small smile. 

Any form of facial expression caused his tender, burned skin to sting, so he refrained from them most of the time. 

You huffed, remembering the words of the men at the council when you sat in the King’s seat. ‘’Your council is not happy with me ruling in your stead. They claim that a war should not be led by a woman and that it makes the war look ridiculous as it began with not wanting a woman on the throne. 

‘’Whoever dares question your seat and ability to rule should be removed from my council.’’ Aegon's face was dead serious. No ill tongues will be tolerated speaking about his wife. Not in his court, and certainly not from his council.

Unfortunately, you could not do that. What would the small council become without a Master of Coins or a Master of Law?

You continued with other news. ‘’The beast who is responsible for your fall got taken down by Aemond. His rider, Rhaenys Targaryen, perished with her. Now, the Blacks are down from another dragon. It’s a victory for us, but our army suffered severe losses due to dragonfire.’’ 

At the mention of dragonfire, flashes of the battle blurred Aegon’s mind. ‘’What has my brother told the council?’’ 

You recounted what Aemond said, and Aegon’s frown deepened as his memories became clearer. 

His grip on your hand tightened. ‘’It is not what happened at Rook’s Rest. You must listen to me. It is not Rhaenys who aimed at me with dragonfire, it was Aemond.’’

⁂

Aegon’s words echoed in your head as you bathed that night. Had he confessed about his brother’s betrayal to someone else, they would say he was delirious and confused from the milk of the poppy, but you knew he was not. He was perfectly conscious, his memories from Rook’s Rest slowly coming back to him. 

From what you knew, Aemond never showed signs of bad intentions toward his brother. As Aegon often said, Aemond was his blood and fiercely loyal. He trusted him. So why would Aemond turn on him during a battle and unleash dragonfire at Aegon? There must be a motive for him to intentionally harm his kin, his brother. 

It was difficult to discern any emotions from Aemond. He was always composed and cold. Mayhaps his facade hid jealousy for his older brother? It was frequent among second sons. Although, Aegon never was the favorite son. It was always Aemond. 

Until teh Conqueror’s crown was placed on his head. Mayhaps he had a secret thirst for the throne? It would explain his military ambitions and his desire for a place at the council table. The best way to kill a King is to get close enough to stab him when he least expects it.

You sighed and leaned back in the tub, closing your eyes as your body was covered by the warm water. The memory of Aegon's pained expression as he recounted his brother's betrayal — a treason to the crown — haunted you. 

‘’He is my blood,’’ Aegon had whispered, his voice trembling. ‘’Why would he do this?’’

⁂

In the early morning, you requested a private audience with Aemond. 

‘’I wish to know what really happened at Rook’s Rest,’’ you said firmly. ‘’As your Queen.’’ 

Aemond stood in front of you, clad in his usual leathers and an emotionless face. ‘’I gave my full report to the small council when I returned from King’s Landing. Nothing else is to be said.’’ 

You pressed on, your voice unwavering. ‘’It was told to the smallfolk Aegon had slain Meleys, which is false as you have told us it was Vhagar who killed her. This discrepancy makes me question if there are more lies woven into your truth. You reported that Meleys had brutally attacked Sunfyre with her claws and teeth but you never mentioned dragonfire. Yet burns cover half of His Grace’s body.’’

If Aemond felt any hint of nervousness at your probing, he did not show it.

‘’Are you questioning my truth, Your Grace?’’ he asked, his tone cold.

You knew that saying ‘yes’ would turn your question into an accusation of treason. By suggesting that he had harmed the King, Aemond could easily twist the accusation back on you. And what proof did you have? Your husband, who lay crippled in bed, dulled by milk of the poppy for most of the day? His moments of lucidity would not be believed by anyone.

Perhaps you could ask Ser Criston or Ser Gwayne what they had witnessed. Or bring the matter to the dowager Queen; she might decipher her son's body language better than you could.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something familiar caught your eye.

‘’This is Aegon’s dagger,’’ you pointed, recognizing the handle sitting on Aemond’s hip.

‘’Indeed. He lost it during the battle at Rook’s Rest. I retrieved it from the forest,’’ Aemond replied.

‘’And why is it sitting on your hip, Prince Aemond? The Conqueror’s dagger has been given to him during the coronation, along with his crown. It should be in His Grace’s chambers, where it belongs.’’

Aemond's eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression remained unreadable. ‘’I kept it safe, as any loyal brother would. Would you rather it had been lost forever?’’

You met his gaze, unflinching. ‘’Give it back to me.’’ 

Aemond stiffened at your words, his jaw clenching. He placed a hand on the hilt of the dagger, a defensive gesture that he couldn’t help but do. ‘’And if I refuse?’’ 

Your heart beat faster at Aemond's defiance, but you refused to back down. Taking a step forward, you locked eyes with him, your gaze steely ‘’Do not defy your queen. This is not a request, it's a command. The dagger belongs to Aegon. Give it to me, now!’’

Aemond hesitated for a moment, his fingers still gripping tightly to the dagger’s hilt. But your stern demeanor and unwavering command made it clear that there was no alternative. 

With reluctance, he pulled the dagger from his hip and held it out to you, handle first. 

You took the dagger from Aemond, your fingers grazing against his as you did so. ‘’I suggest you kiss goodbye to that dream of yours, my Prince. I know what you are. And when Aegon is strong enough to speak his truth, you will pay for what you did.’’

—

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[gremlingottoosilly]

König x Ballet dancer!Reader?

You passed through years of training. Being accepted into one of the famous ballet schools of Vienna was nothing to snooze about - and you were on track to become yet another nameless swan in the second row. With a shelve life of just about 10 years, your life was set to be a parade of mediocrity from the start. Without a rich sponsor to give you connections and without any of your professors looking at you twice, you exited college with a stable job in the background. Sometimes, accepting scraps being thrown at the main dancers, you knew your place - you ached for dance and beauty, and you got it. This is why a bouquet of blood-red roses sitting heavily in your hands still feels like a dream. The man in front of you is not a normal opera guest. His suit is tailored - not for the sake of showing off the price, but because this man is simply too huge for anything made in-store, no matter how expensive the store is. His suit is tailored professionally and yet, he still looks uncomfortable. A mountain of a man confined into the prison of tight fabric - you tilts your head to the side, wondering what is he doing here. He is wearing a black mask, which is normal for many patrons - especially the older ones, still afraid to die after what happened just a few years ago. You can only see his eyes and you're getting lost in the cold. It reminds you of a mountain snow. Of the white fabric of your dress - and suddenly, you almost feel like breaking your perfect posture. You don't look into the viewer's seats while you're dancing, but you can't shake the feeling that you recognize this heavy stare from somewhere. He was following your every movement while you were on the stage, not caring for the beauty of the front dancer and the elegant movements of your peers. You're painfully average in everything - but his attention never fails to get on you. He is giving you gruff, cut-out compliments. Something about your legs, your hips. Something dirty about the way you look in that tight tutu, and you almost gather the strength to slap him, but then he flashes his credit card, and it feels like a ticket out of mediocrity. Always the second last in the deep row, you never had any fans looking at you like this. With this amount of longing, of depravity. You start getting better roles after he started to show up. You're not sure why and how - he has money, that's for certain, but he definitely doesn't seem like the type to have connections in the industry. If you had to guess, you would see him as working in the military - but no one from Austrian army would have as much influence, not in your country. If you had to guess, this guy is dangerous, and you're almost terrified to see the dark red flash of flowers every time you exit backstage and see him. But, oh, he presses you against the walls and kisses you. But, oh, he can lift you up so easily and force you to grind on his knee in search for pleasure - you have stamina, all dancers have it, and he knows he can go for much longer than with a regular girl. Your affection is bought with compliments and euro bills stuck in your leotard like you're a cheap whore, but you almost feel like a French girl while he is holding you like this. He asks you about retirement. Tells you he would build you a dance studio in his house - something big, with space and perfect light. Give you all the attention you need. You almost feel yourself getting lost in his awkwardness. Little did you know he wasn't really asking.

[glassrowboat]

Princess. Boothill.

Summary: The summer is always the best time to sit back and enjoy the sounds of nature on a horse back ride, especially when it's with you by his side.

Word Count: 1,800+

The trot of horses on an old path was a welcome one as the trees covered the sky above, blocking out the beaming sun in a canopy of the most vibrant greens. Birds singing in tune with a stream nearby, one you know well from your many times running to it as the heat got the best of you just to kick at the waters for the chance of being splashed with a refreshing cool.

Fortunately enough, today wasn't unbearable. Hot, still, but that's nothing new.

“What's with ya and always takin’ it slow, princess?” A voice called out to you, trying to distract you from the task at hand. That being: getting used to riding a horse in the first place.

Your teacher for…well..the mare you were currently on top of.

“Cmon girl, I swear I taught you how to gallop by now. Less ya scared?” A snort came from him, unlike the ones the horses huff out after being ordered to go into a different direction than the one they wanted.

Stubborn creatures they were, but your teacher had assured you the one you were riding on, Crafty, was the least stubborn of the bunch. A ‘tamed lass’ or something along those lines. At least that's what he claims, but you've personally experienced being bucked off before.

It was unpleasant, to say the least. The moment you hit the rough patch of dirt, grass tickling your skin, you were unable to breathe despite your attempts to gasp for air. Quite literally knocked out of you as you choked on the spot. Your body refused to fill your lungs.

Now, you had never been much of a smoker but in that moment you would have gladly taken a puff from a spit covered end if it meant getting what you longed for.

It was only when you were breathing again that you noticed a certain someone (a complete prick) was standing above you holding Crafty's reins in hand and laughing.

“Well, it was bound to happen ‘ventually.”

Those words made you want to punch him as your teacher leaned down, hand taking your own, and helped you up.

Afterward, you immediately ran off to shower. The need for a break and a good wash far too tempting to resist after getting knocked off your ass.

Since then you had been dubbed-

“Princess?”

That.

You glanced over at him, despite knowing you should keep your eyes forward lest Crafty follows the direction you're gazing at, to catch the sight of his black and white hair thrown up in a messy ponytail. Hat, as always, perched right on top of his head.

“Everytime you call me that, I want to call you Cruella De Vil.”

Your teacher awwed at your words, cooing the harsh tone in your voice. “You wanna give me a nickname now? I didn't know we were at tha’ stage in our relationship yet.”

“We are in nothing close to a relationship.” You snapped.

“Wowy pardner, way to-” You glared at him, waiting for your teacher (Cruella) to dare and even try to finish his sentence when you both knew he was going to attempt to say something along the lines of ‘shit on my parade’- “rain on my parade.”

“Yeah, that's totally what you were going to say.”

“Obviously.” He said, drawing out they ‘ly’ the same way you would when mocking how a country singer says the word whiskey.

You found yourself going “uhuh,” nodding in agreement just to get him off your back. Shame it didn't work as well as you wanted it to as Cruella over there kept jabbering. Stuffing your ears full of words like a tamale.

“Ya know, if it gets any hotter I'm sure we could fry an egg just by puttin’ it on a rock to sizzle up real nice. Would you like that, princess, me cooking you up a meal? Maybe we can have a beer or two to top it-”

Eventually, you found your legs squeezing the horse below you, signaling her to pick up the speed. Your hips meeting the same beat hers did as she ran, just like you were taught.

it's easier that way, apparently. Puts less stress on your body.

Hoofs beating against the well-worn path, but your teacher was far more comfortable going at a faster pace, making him catch up with you easily as he whistled at the horse to slow down. Her legs were already betraying you as they moved back into a slow trot all the way to a stop. Crafty staring back at you like she was expecting you to give her a treat for the treacherous behavior.

Well, she was certainly well trained, at least. Maybe he did have a point in saying Crafty was a tamed lass.

“Tryin' to run from me now?” He asked, laughter in his voice even as your teacher clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

“You were the one complaining about us going too slow earlier.”

“Huh? Can't seem to recall that.” Reaching over, he took the reins from your hands, slipping them as easily from your gasp as any trained pickpocket might. “Mind getting off ol Crafty here so we can talk?”

“I'd rather not.”

“Course not. Real shame you're always so stubborn.” If he wasn't so close, you might have missed the part your teacher whispered about how he should have expected you to be harder to deal with than a newborn foal.

Yeah, fuck you too cowboy.

Running a hand over Crafty's neck, you couldn't help but cringe slightly at the feeling of her fur being so coarse. You'd have to remember to brush them down after cleaning out their hoofs. Something you like to do before and after every ride. After all, they deserve it for carrying you around like this.

“I don't know how you put up with Cruella over here.” You say to her. “Not when I'd never know when he's planning to turn my hide into a hat.”

Your teacher barked out a laugh as he picked his hat off his head, waving it slightly in front of your eyes so you could get a proper view of it. “It's not even made out of horse hide, ya see?”

“Yet.”

“Yet.” He repeated with a raised brow.

“Yeah, I'll give it until Crafty's leg finally gives out.”

The last thing you saw before your vision was covered was your teacher rolling his eyes right before he placed that dusty hat on your head. If you remember correctly, didn't that mean something like you were his girl or….

Ah.

Ah!

With a face as hot as the blazing sun shining down on you two, right in the midst of summer, no less, you shoved the hat back towards him. “That's sweaty and gross! I don't want it!”

Laughter caught on the wind as he took it back, holding it to his chest as your teacher pouted.

“Ya wound me. Here, a simple cowboy is offering you something to block out that blasted sun, and you don't even make use of it?”

“I can manage just fine without it.” You hissed.

“You have also been riding with narrowed eyes this entire time, princess. It kinda gives you away.”

“I said,” taking the reins from his hands you pulled them back into your grasp, careful not to accidentally kick Crafty up by startling her, “I'm fine.”

Turning around on the path you both had been riding down, you were met with the sight of the lush greenery you two had passed and two sets of horseshoe prints littering the ground.

“And I'm heading back.”

“All on your own? Didn't know you could handle that by yourself.”

“Yes, on my own, cowboy.” You said with a firm nod. “I'll fill the hay and everything so there's no need to worry about it.”

Even if it meant getting that blasted stuff in your bra. It always had a way of sneaking in there despite your best efforts and highest collar shirts.

“All covered then, eh?” He asked as Crafty nickered underneath you.

This time you didn't grace him with a response as you made your way down the path, the sound of the bird chirping and Crafty's tail trying to wack any bugs away from her your only company as your teacher watched you go.

“She's so stubborn, ain't she?” He found himself asking. Though the grin on his face was a clear indication that the thick headed nature of yours wasn't exactly minded.

“Guess I gotta try harder to build up a romantic mood to confess next time. I'll get her to listen for sure. I just need a bit of time.”

In return, your teacher was met with the huff of the horse he was sitting on as his hand moved up to block the sun in his eyes.

Back then his hand was flesh and blood.

But now?

His metal hand was blocking out the full moon, bright as it could be as he gazed up at the stars reflected on the aluminum coated surface he was still learning to get used to. The way they moved was nothing like real fingers that would hurt at the slightest papercut.

He would always stick the hurt finger in his mouth and say that would do the trick even as the little miss royal ass would insist he wash off.

Soap and water.

He needed a bath, or at least his hair needed to be washed off. The rest of him maybe needed a shining? Maybe a good wipe and oil capped off?

Boothill dropped his hand, letting it fall to his side as he looked back up at the sky.

If he closed his eyes right now, could he pretend it was sunny as can be? That the leafs above and Boothill’s hat were the only thing keeping his eyes from being blinded, that there was a stream right down the way he could hear just as clearly as the trot of two horses side by side?

Could he, just maybe, hear your voice?

Yet all he heard was his own breathing that was…altered in a way. Affected, just like the rest of him the moment he took on this hunk of a junk body.

It was agonizing to wake up from such a peaceful dream. One he wanted to go back to despite it long since having burnt to ash. Crumpled between warm fingers that had once touched your hand, now gone like the rest of him.

Grabbing his hat, Boothill got up where he was standing, trying his best to once again walk away from your memory. The same way he did as Boothill realized he had to flee that fateful day without erecting some sort of monument for everyone in their honor.

For Nick.

For Graey.

For his little girl.

For his princess.

[oizysian]

Don’t Fight With The Birthday Girl

Summary: It’s Lizzie’s birthday and you have a special surprise for her

Word count: 2k

AN: I wrote this a few years back for Lizzie’s birthday but never posted it here, so here it is! Happy birthday to the loml, Lizard ❤️

•

"Elizabeth, your girlfriend's here!" Ashley called out into the crowd of people.

I smirked at the birthday girl's reaction; a blush and a huff as she approached us and pushed her sister - only half jokingly.

"In case you forgot, Ash, I'm married."

Ashley turned to me and rolled her eyes before walking off, presumably to find Mary-Kate and mingle a bit. I looked at the retreating back of her older sister before returning my attention to the woman of the hour.

"You look beautiful, Lizzie." I smiled brightly, taking in her appearance.

She was wearing a black knee length dress with short sleeves, her hair was up in a cute little ponytail and she wore very minimal makeup. She looked ethereal.

"Thanks, Y/N." She smiled, her eyes shining brightly with happiness.

"Did you open your presents yet?" I asked, knowing that I did arrive a little on the late side.

She shook her head and gestured to the table along the back wall lined with gifts. My eyebrows raised in surprise, impressed by the amount of gifts she'd received.

"Wanna open mine first?"

"Should I?" She bit her lip and smiled, looking down at her hands for a second before returning her gaze to my own. "I don't wanna play favorites."

I took a step closer to her, barely brushing my lips against her ear.

"You know I'm your favorite."

I pulled away, watching as she shuddered ever so slightly at the feel of my hot breath on her. With a wink, I walked past her, intending on getting myself a drink and having a good time.

At the drinks table, I met up with the twins who animatedly told me all about their new Spring collection that was coming up. They seemed excited so I couldn't help but be excited for them too. They were both a little tipsy, and handsy - not that I minded because we were all very close. Mary-Kate gave me a nudge and gestured with her head towards someone behind me.

"Looks like someone's a little grumpy."

I looked over my shoulder, spotting the birthday girl with her husband, chatting with some people I didn't know. But Lizzie wasn't paying attention to the conversation - she was staring daggers at us.

I shrugged and returned my attention to the twins, taking a big gulp of my drink.

"I offered to give her her present early." I smirked to myself. "She didn't wanna show favoritism by opening mine and not anyone else's."

"Oh, so that's why she looks like that." Ashley laughed, giving Mary-Kate a knowing look. "She's got a lot of ... built up tension."

I snorted at her words. Elizabeth had tried being so careful to hide her affair from everyone, but the two people she could never lie to were her older sisters. They probably knew about it before she did.

"She missed her chance." I turned back towards her again and gave her a small shrug and only a slight look of pity.

She chose to parade around as the perfect wife instead of getting her gift early.

"You're with us now," Ashley said with a smirk, sliding up to my side. "She'll have to get in line."

I wrapped my arms around both of their shoulders, pulling them close.

"I've never been with twins before." I laughed, and they joined in, all of us enjoying our time together.

I would never hurt Lizzie by sleeping with her sisters. It was all just jokes and I was sure she knew that. A tap on my shoulder got my attention and I released the twins to come face to face with a very unhappy Lizzie.

"Hello there, birthday girl." I smiled at her, finishing off my drink quickly.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" She shot a glare at both her sisters before returning her attention to me again. "Alone."

I nodded at her and she grabbed me by the arm, dragging me away. I could hear the snickers from her sisters as we left and I realized they purposely got me in trouble for fun. Oh boy.

I followed behind her as she led me to an upstairs guest room. I was really in for an earful now.

"Elizabeth ..." I started, attempting to explain what she had seen.

She closed and locked the door behind us, stomping over to me angrily.

"What the hell was all that?"

"All what?"

"That!" She spat. "With my sisters!"

"We were just hanging out." I replied simply, shrugging as I sat on the bed. "Plus, you were mingling with Robbie. What did you want me to do with myself?"

"I certainly didn't want you to flirt with my sisters!"

"Elizabeth," I started softly, placing my hands on my knees and leaning towards her slightly. "I'm not fucking your sisters."

She crossed her arms over her chest and I held my hand out to her, which she chose to ignore.

"I'm fucking you."

"And is that all it is to you?"

My hand dropped at her words, confused as to where this was coming from.

"I should be asking you that."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're the married one, Elizabeth!" I shouted, standing from the bed. "I've been faithful to you this whole time! I haven't even looked at another woman."

Her eyes softened at my confession. She took a step towards me and took my hands which were clenched at my sides.

"I'm sorry," I whispered softly. "I don't want to fight with you on your birthday. I'll just go."

I pulled my hands away from her, swallowing roughly at the hurt expression on her face. Before I could make a move towards the door, she was in front of me, her hands cupping my cheeks.

"Don't." She whispered, her lips pressing against mine in a fevered kiss.

I kissed her back, knowing all this tension and frustration stemmed from the double life she chose to live. I was just as guilty as she was and respected her desire to keep me a secret, but it didn't mean I was always happy about it.

I pressed her up against the door, my hands slipping up her dress as she kissed me sloppily, hungrily, as if she had never tasted my lips before.

"Do you want your present now?" I whispered softly.

She nodded and I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her panties, tugging them down around her knees. My hand slipped between her parted legs, two fingers ghosting against her slit teasingly.

She wriggled the rest of the way out of her underwear, kicking them away once she got them down to her ankles so I could access her wetness without struggling.

"So, that's why you're so grumpy." I breathed against her lips, my fingers just barely caressing her clit. "You're so wet."

"I've been wet since you teased me earlier." She squirmed underneath my weight, trying to get my fingers to move. "I hate when you do that."

"That's why I do it." I dipped my fingers into her heat, gathering her wetness on my fingers before pulling away from her.

"What -" She gasped breathlessly as I used my free hand to undo my pants.

She got the hint and helped me free her birthday gift from the confines of my dress pants. My thick, purple cock sprung out at her and she gasped, running her fingers along its length.

"Is this new?"

I nodded, sticking my wet fingers in my mouth and grabbing her hand, guiding her as she stroked it carefully, as if it would break.

"Happy birthday." I removed my fingers and smiled.

"It's too big." She whispered, almost in awe at the size of it.

"You can take it." I let her guide it between her legs, rubbing the tip against her throbbing clit.

She gasped softly, her hands reaching to grab my shoulders, letting me take control of her.

"You're gonna look so pretty with me inside you."

She let out a breathy moan that I swore I could get drunk on, and I gripped at her thighs, trying to pull her up my body. She jumped and wrapped her legs around me, the cock fully pressing into her heat as I grind my hips against hers, drawing loud, needy moans out of her.

"Be quiet, sweetheart," I whispered into her ear as I adjusted the cock between her thighs. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear you."

I slipped inside her easily and she threw her head back against the door, crying out at the intrusion. Realizing she was a little too vocal, she took a fistful of my shirt into her mouth, biting down as I slowly inched the rest of the cock into her.

"That's right, baby," I cooed, my hips jerking slightly with the urge to just fuck her like an animal. "Take all of my cock. You're such a good girl."

I heard her let out a pathetic whimper as I began to thrust up into her, the sound of our bodies crashing together deliciously loud in the quiet room.

"H-harder, Y/N." She whined, her teeth still buried in my shirt. For once, I was thankful that she wasn't biting me.

I knew that if I slammed her up against the door someone would hear, so I turned us around and clumsily walked us over to the bed, dropping us down as gently as I possibly could.

She released my shirt and took my hand, placing it over her mouth so I could silence her as I fucked her into oblivion. I pressed her down into the bed and slammed my hips into hers, the sounds of her moans driving me absolutely mad.

"You like when I fuck you like this?" I bent down and whispered in her ear, the disgusting sounds of passion and desire she was making fueling my inner fire.

She squeezed her eyes tight and came, her pathetic, needy moans stifled by my hand as her body tightened and jerked beneath me. I waited until she quieted down to release her, her mouth agape, panting heavily as she tried to catch her breath.

"My beautiful girl." I whispered softly, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "You look so pretty when you cum hard for me."

"Please," she whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut at my gentle touch. "More."

"More?" I questioned, pressing a kiss to her lips. "Can you handle more?"

"Mmm, yes." She smiled up at me, rolling her hips into my own.

She bit down on her lip, keeping up the rhythm and I decided it was time for her to take control.

I flipped us over, her small squeal of surprise drawing a small chuckle out of me. She got comfortable on top of me, pressing her hands onto my breasts and lifting her hips to slam down into mine. I groaned at the power behind her thrust, grabbing onto her hips as she fucked herself on me.

"Oh, oh fuck." She moaned, her brow furrowing as her second orgasm built up inside her.

She threw her head back, a silent scream slipping past her lips as she came again, her wetness soaking me and the bed. Oh fuck.

As she came down from her high, she sighed contently, sliding herself off the cock she feared she would be unable to take. Boy, was she wrong. She laid down next to me, her legs dangling off the bed, and I got up, getting down on the ground in front of her and tugging her towards the edge of the bed. I wasn't done with her yet.

"Y/N, I don't know if I can ..."

"Shh," I hushed her softly, my tongue darting out to clean the cum off of her inner thighs. "I need to clean you up."

I heard her slap her hands against her mouth once again as my tongue swirled along her clit, dipping between her folds teasingly as her hips thrust up into my face. I gripped her thighs tightly as I explored her delicious wetness, her legs twitching around my head. I made sure to absolutely devour every inch of her, feasting on her as if she was my last meal, as if I'd never have this chance again.

I heard her squeal from above me and I knew she was close. I slowly inserted two fingers into her, her pussy tightening around me as I fucked her until her body gave in, sending her into her third climax of the night.

As her slick gushed out of her, I eagerly licked it up, doing as I promised and cleaning her up. She writhed on the bed and I placed a kiss on her mound before rising back up and kissing her fully on the lips. She was dazed, her eyes heavy as I let her taste herself on my tongue.

"Happy birthday, my love."

[jaylienpotter]

Part 2 of Let them be | 1k words

< Part 1 | Part 3 >

Let boys wear skirts

James had started a protest against the school rules not allowing females to wear trousers. How? By breaking the dress code. Of course Sirius was going to follow up and also put on a skirt. His brother Reggie desperately needed to change uniforms.

What he wasn't expecting was how it felt. The fabric was nice and it was much more freeing, refreshing. But there was something else. He felt different. He felt pretty. I mean, he was always gorgeous. But not like this. He was looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, turning to see the skirt from different angles. He put his long black strands behind his ears and smiled. Sirius didn't know what it meant. He wasn't like Regulus. He wasn't trans. He liked being a bloke. He never felt discomfort with his body. The knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry I'm going!" Taking the towel and his pajamas, he opened the door to a Moony in a skirt. Obviously they had all agreed to it but he just looked so awkward and cute, with high socks to hide the scars. But Remus would look good in anything. At least in Padfoot's eyes.

Lupin didn't budge when the bathroom got free. He stared, looked his friend up and down.

"What?" Did he look bad? Did he wear the skirt upside down? Did he just look ridiculous with his hair like that, which made him look even more feminine?

"I- uh- nothing, I just… It suits you." Was Moony blushing? Did Sirius only have to wear a skirt to catch his crush's attention this whole time?

"You think?" Pads did a little twirl. The skirt was a little short but what did he care?

"Yeah. You look… Pretty."

"Thanks. I kind of like it, actually…"

"I see. Uh Pads, can I use the toilet?" Sirius stepped aside and ever so slightly glanced at the boy's arse. Lupin looked a lot more modest. It made sense with his 'problem', as well as anxiety and low self confidence in general. Black didn't expect him to follow the protest. The four of them were in, though. Even Wormtail. Lily's skirt was slightly tight but he said it was fine since it was for a good cause. He could use a spell to largen it but none of them had mastered those yet. They'd end up making a skirt big enough for the squid.

There were whistles from the Gryffindor table as soon as he walked in for breakfast. Mckinnon was hyping her friend as usual.

"Look at her!" She was joking, of course. But it hit Sirius. He felt a knot in his (her?) stomach. Why did he like that? He was fine with male pronouns, never had a problem. Still didn't. Shrugging it off, the drama queen paraded to the table, followed by an anxious werewolf.

"Don't worry Moons. If anyone looks I'll just be flagrant and get the attention off you."

"Thanks Pads." He smiled, his cheeks still slightly tainted. Perhaps he was too hot from the high socks and long sleeves in the hot weather?

"Good morning, lads! How are we feeling? I see Padfoot is confident, great. Wormy is getting used to it. Moony, you good, mate?" Potter was such a mum. People would think that Remus being the most sensible out of the four, he would have the responsible, more parent-like role. To be quite frank, he didn't give a shit. If his friends made a fool of themselves he'd laugh. Prick. Hot prick, though.

"Yeah." He looked to his left and back at Prongs. "I'm okay."

The day went as expected, they got detention quite soon, the first class was thankfully History of Magic and their ghost of a teacher didn't even know he was dead, let alone what his students were wearing. They received plenty of comments. Some cheering, mostly from girls, some were snarky, and some of the students called them girls, which Black didn't seem to mind at all. And of course, there were lots of stares.

The Marauders walked together everywhere, to be stronger and avoid being attacked. James was incredible, swagging around the castle with his head held high.

"Hey, Prongs? Can I ask you something?" It wasn't until they were in their pajamas that Sirius gained the courage to talk about it.

"Of course."

"How did you feel wearing a skirt? Were you uncomfortable? Did you like it?"

"Well…" Potter twisted his mouth to the side, as he always did when thinking. "It was fine, I suppose. I wouldn't say I liked it, I wouldn't choose to wear one. But for the cause it didn't bother me."

"Hm." Pads's gaze was distant. He had time to figure it out, they were going to keep wearing skirts until a teacher heard their complaints. At least Sirius and James were.

The next day, Marlene joined the protest, borrowing Sirius's trousers that were oversized for her. The lads had gone downstairs and she was in their dorm with Black, getting ready. They had no problem changing in front of each other since both were gay.

"You seem to be enjoying the skirt." That tone meant she was onto something. The fucker could always read Sirius. Even better than James, at times.

"Yeah… I suppose so. Makes me feel pretty."

"Just pretty or more like a girl?" Bloody hell, she had figured it out even before Sirius.

"I'm not sure…" Marlene put on her tie, done getting ready.

"Do you want to borrow my makeup? It might help." Pads turned around nervously yet excitedly.

"You sure?"

"Yeah mate. You also have to repaint your nails, they're all chipped. Wait here, I'll get my stuff."

"Thanks Marls…" She winked and left, coming back a few minutes later.

"I also brought a small mirror. Sit, we're having a beauty session." It was funny. Marlene wasn't that feminine. She didn't wear makeup all that often and when she did, it was more of a rock punk look with smudged black eyes. It wasn't anything like Evans or Mary, which were a lot more elegant and traditional.

"You don't want to eat first?"

"I'd rather get you all prepped up to see people's faces when you show up all girly."

And the faces did not disappoint. Black and Mckinnon walked into the Great Hall with wrapped arms. She had her hair in a messy bun, her shirt not fully buttoned up with her tie loose, the trousers covering her feet and a bit of a black smudged eyeshadow. Sirius, on the other hand, wore the skirt from the previous day, which was slightly short but still covered up everything, the shirt also not buttoned up all the way as per usual, and the red and gold tie undone, sitting on his shoulders. Some black nail polish and winged eyeliner, too. He couldn't deny it, it felt pretty good.

The best face was Remus's, who literally dropped his toast. The pink cheeks were definitely not from the weather. It sparked a little hope in Padfoot, that maybe his dreams of being with his best friend would come true. However, Moony would probably forget about it as soon as the protest ended.

It took a while until that happened. Pads and Prongs wore skirts for around two weeks (and some of the girls wore pants - Marlene, Lily, Mary, Dorcas, Pandora), eventually Reg felt comfortable enough to join, he had never felt so good at Hogwarts.

Mcgonagall was the one who spoke up about it, saying it was getting ridiculously out of hand and that she saw no problem with girls wearing trousers 'But for the love of Merlin, boys, put on some trousers'.

Dumbledore agreed to change the rules, as the protest was distracting the students' focus during classes. Fully aware the Gryffindors weren't going to back down.

Regulus was ecstatic and thanked all of them. Sirius was happy for his brother but he was going to miss the skirt. In this journey of self discovery, he had come to the conclusion that he felt both masculine and feminine, some days more than others. All the pronouns felt right, but he did prefer being called pretty over handsome. Maybe Sirius would be able to wear a skirt again someday. Until then, makeup was the only way of expression. He would also miss Moony's glances, he ought to come up with a new way to lure the Gryffindor boy.

[theunholybastard]

Kinktober: October 3rd - Angry Sex (Papa Emeritus II x Female!Reader)

Tags: Dom!Secondo, Sub!Reader, Degrading, Hair-Pulling, Light Blood Kink, Spanking, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Slut-Shaming, Dub-Con, Abuse Of Power, Face-Fucking, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Breeding, 3rd Person POV

Secondo has always been a cold, cruel man. At least, that's what everyone saw him as. When a new Sister of Sin arrived in the Ministry, he thought she was going to be like all of the others; terrified of him. Why wouldn't she be? But no, when she first was introduced to him, she smiled warmly, even held eye contact while she shook his hand. She didn't treat him like a beast, cowering away from his presence, nor did she even suck up to him and treat him like a higher being; she treated him like everyone else. That's what drew Secondo to her initially.

Soon after she would be assigned to be Secondos personal assistant. All of his previous assistants quit within a few weeks, unable to keep up with his strict policies, constant demands, and especially his temper. But she stayed, and did a damn good job despite his nearly impossible standards. He was impressed, and his interest in this beautiful young Sister grew more.

But when he got to know her is when he became truly doomed. The more she sweetly chatted with him as she got her work done, talking to him about her day, all while smiling and laughing comfortably around him made his heart flutter with a newfound life. By the time he recognized what he was feeling, there was no going back.

She made him soft. She made his permanent scowl melt into a bashful smile with one look. She made him feel weak, powerless, but in a strange way, he liked it. But even in his softest state, Secondo to his core is greedy, possessive. In his mind, she was his and his alone, even if she didn't know it yet.

When he saw a Brother of Sin flirting with his precious assistant, he felt a deep, bubbling rage grow within him. But what sealed her fate was when she flirted back, batting her eyelashes and pressing her body up against him. What gives her the right to parade herself to another man like some common whore? That man, no, that boy couldn't make her feel half as good as he could. Why would she want some simpleminded sibling over a Papa?

He sits in his office, his cock painfully hard as he thinks about her. His jaw is clenched so tight you could hear his teeth grinding furiously against each other. He waits for her, his mind set on teaching her a lesson. She arrives eventually, late, which only fuels his anger. He watches her intently as she clumsily shuffles into the room and sets a pile of paperwork down at his desk. He slowly gets up from where he was sat, locking the door, her too focused on her work to realize.

"I'm so sorry I was late, Papa. I was-" She begins to excuse herself before he deliberately interrupts.

"You were what? Too busy whoring yourself out for the whole Ministry?" He hisses accusingly. She's taken aback by his words and sudden hostility. Her brows furrowed in confusion as her gaze now falls on his enraged expression. A chill runs up her spine.

"Papa, what are you talking abo-" He cuts her off again.

"I saw you. I saw you with Brother Francesco after black mass. How he looked at you. How you looked at him. You want to fuck him, hm?" He interrogated.

"...Is that a crime?" She bit back, scoffing. Surely Secondo wasn't being serious, she thought. No way the Papa of a church that celebrates lust would have a problem with that. Her sass makes his fists clench tight. She notices and instantly regrets her retort.

"You think you can just walk into my office and tempt me with that sinful body of yours every day, just so you can go and give it up for some useless sibling instead?" He growled. Slowly, she starts piecing it together. Oh. Her eyes widen.

"P-Papa I didnt-" She cuts herself off this time, sucking in a sharp breath as he approaches her. She's pressed up against the desk, his body centimeters away from hers, keeping her in place. She couldn't escape from him even if she wanted to. And honestly, she really didn't. This situation she was in, while it terrified her, also sent a jolt of arousal right to her core. Her heart was beating rapidly, not taking her eyes off Secondo for a moment, tracking his every move.

"Do you think he deserves to fuck you more than I do? You want him more than you want your Papa?" His voice was low and thick with malice. He slid a gloved hand up her habit, caressing her bare thigh, while the other hand securely gripped her hip. She gasped at the touch, her knees buckling. She shook her head. He lightly slapped her thigh in warning, not satisfied with that answer.

"Speak, bitch." His words made her shiver. She gulped. "N-no, Papa. I don't- I don't want him. H-he doesn't deserve t-to..." She hesitated. "To fuck me..." She breathed shakily. His grip on her hip became bruisingly tight.

"You work for me, putanna." She could almost feel the rumbling of his voice in her own chest. "Your job is to please me, si? Keep me satisfied?" She nodded again, causing him to growl and give another firm slap to her thigh.

"Y-yes, Papa." She stuttered out. His gaze was piercing, like he could kill her with just one look. She never understood why all of the siblings were afraid of him, until now.

"Then do your job and get on your knees." In an instant, she obeyed, her brain too fogged with lust to think for herself. Swiftly, he takes out his thick, leaking cock. She gasps in shock seeing his impressive length for the first time, a wave of nervousness suddenly hitting her. Sensing her hesitation, Secondos gaze softens.

"You must tell me now if you don't want this. Once I start, I fear I won't be able to stop." His voice was low and serious. His expression tried to remain neutral to not put further pressure on her, but on the inside he was praying she wouldn't reject him, that he would get to see tears stream down her cheeks as she choked and sputtered on his cock.

"I want this, Papa. Please." She manages to whimper out, fueled by determination and desire. Secondo let's out a soft groan, pleased with her response. Not waiting any longer, he held his cock to her lips. "Suck." He commanded.

She opened wide, taking just the tip in her mouth to start, gently swirling her tongue around it. This caused him to growl frustratedly, fisting her hair in his hands and yanking her down on the rest of his length. She gags helplessly as he mercilessly thrusts into her mouth, holding her head firmly in place. "Much better." He grunts, tipping his head back in sadistic pleasure.

His pace was unrelenting, roughly hitting the back of her throat with every thrust, causing tears to form quickly in the corner of her eyes. Each retching sound made his smile grow wider, finally living out his sick fantasies. His cock pulses, a familiar feeling stirring within him. Before he can finish, he yanks her off, hissing at the sudden lack of warmth that was provided by her mouth. She coughs dryly and looks up at him, confused.

"W-why'd you sto- Oh!" She yelps in surprise as he lifts her off the ground, slamming her over his desk and flipping up the skirt of her habit. Like a wild animal, he rips off her undergarments, the sound of tearing fabric filling the room along with some primal grunts from Secondo. She mourns the loss of her stockings and panties for a brief moment, but soon forgets once she feels the tip of his cock caress her folds.

"So fucking wet already just from sucking my cock, hm? Putanna." He spits, coating his length with her arousal. She whines, trying to push back against him in a desperate attempt to get him inside of her. "Please, Pap- ah!" She lets out a borderline pornographic moan as he slides inside of her, his cock stretching her out and filling her perfectly.

He wastes no time, thrusting in and out of her at a rapid, animalistic pace. She screams in a mix of pleasure and overstimulation, the brutality of his hips slamming against hers almost too much to handle. "P-Papa, please! S-slow down, fuck!" Her pleas earn her a harsh spank, causing her to clench around him.

"Last time I checked, you weren't the one in charge." He panted heavily, completely lost in his own pleasure. "W-whos in charge here, hm? Oh, f-fuuck..." She tries to reply, but all that can come out are wanton moans and nonsensical muttering. He spanks her again. And again. Harder and harder each time, leaving bright red handprints on her ass, surely to bruise by tomorrow. "S-say it! Merda!"

"Y-you, Papa! Oh, s-shit! Gonna c-cum!" She cries, the knot in her stomach growing tighter and tighter until finally it releases, her eyes rolling back and her mouth hung open in ecstasy as she coats him with her juices. She comes down from her high, but his pace doesn't relent, moving a gloved hand down to rub her clit, further stimulating her. She desperately gasped for air and tried to wiggle away from his touch, but he holds her close, spearing her in place.

"We're not stopping till I drain every last drop of my seed inside you. Understood?" He huffs, fucking into her as if he's just using her body as a means to let out his frustrations. Tears stream down her cheeks , the pleasure so intense it's bordering on pain, but God, it feels too good to stop. He grips ahold of her hair, pulling on it painfully and lifting her body closer to his, burying his face in her neck.

"Gonna breed you like a bitch in heat. Maybe then you'll remember who you f-fucking belong to, huh?" He pants against her skin, getting close himself. She hisses in pain, her scalp burning, but she still can't help but clench tighter around him at his words. "I bet that stronzo Francesco would stay far away from you once your body starts to swell with my child. Everyone in this whole fucking Ministry will know you're Papas personal slut. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Cazzo, t-tell me you want it..."

She feels the tightness in her abdomen return once again, all logic in her mind now completely gone as she focuses solely on the pleasure she's receiving, itching to cum again. "W-want it, Papa! P-please... please cum... cum in me!" She chokes out a sob, degraded to nothing more than a pathetic, horny mess. His thrusts grow sloppy and uncoordinated, his breath hitched, as he lets out one final groan of expletives.

He bites down on her shoulder to silence himself, hard enough to draw blood, as he releases himself inside of her, thick spurts of his seed already leaking out of her hole from the obscene amount. At the feeling of his cock kicking inside of her, mixed with the sharp sting of his bite, her warm blood sliding down her shoulder, she cums almost in sync with him, wailing helplessly and shuddering against him.

She fully collapses over the desk, face hitting the hard wood, but she's entirely too exhausted to care. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he slowly pulls out, wincing at oversensitivity. Staring at her limp, heaving body, a sense of clarity washes over him, swiftly being hit with reality.

"A-are you okay, mia cara?" He asks gently, all the anger and tension from before quickly melting away seeing her in such a fragile condition. He felt a pang of guilt for doing this to her, to someone he worked with, to someone he loved. How would this affect their relationship moving forward?

"P-Papa..." Is all she can manage to whimper out, her throat raw and abused, along with the rest of her body. His gaze softens, and without another word, he carefully lifts her into his arms like a ragdoll, laying her down on the couch. He cleans her up tenderly, treating her as if she's some fragile object that could shatter at the slightest touch.

They sit in silence for a while, him soothingly rubbing all the marks he left on her body while she struggles to say awake. "I..." He clears his throat, unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I took advantage of you. It won't happen again. Let's just... pretend this never happened, si?" He says regretfully, looking down at the ground beneath him with a scowl. She frowns.

"Secondo..." She sighs, trying to hide her slight hurt from his words. "I told you I wanted it."

"I know that, but-"

"No. We were two consenting adults, there's nothing wrong with what we just did. And..." She gulps. "And there's no reason we shouldn't do this again." He blinks, looking up at her in surprise.

"You'd... you'd want to?" He asks, sounding unsure of himself, like maybe he heard her wrong. She smiles, that damned soft smile that he's come to adore so much.

"I'd like that a lot." She admits bashfully. "Only next time, can I not have to flirt with Brother Francesco to get you to sleep with me?" Secondo raises an eyebrow and smirks, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"Did you... did you flirt with him just to make me jealous?" He asks in amused disbelief. She bites her lip, avoiding eye contact. "Maybe..." She mutters, grinning mischievously. He scoffs, playfully slapping her ass. He pulls her in for a kiss, not too rough, but still firm and possessive.

"Piccola diavola." He murmurs against her sweet lips. "I'm going to have to punish you for that." She pulls away and pouts exaggeratingly. "Haven't you punished me enough? Have some mercy on me, Papa!" She jokingly complains. Secondo laughs heartily, trailing his kisses down to her neck, causing her to shiver.

"Oh, amore. If you want mercy..." His grip on her tightens. "You're going to have to beg for it."

-

[savannahsdeath]

MDNI ! haven't posted much bout ellie lately .. but rockstar!ellie makes me go feral . especially when she likes to have secrets, like a cute groupie backstage. a clever groupie, who wants to be more than a secret

❥︎ i hope nobody catch us ,

but i kinda hope they catch us , anyway ...

"you told anyone?" she cooed in a sweet voice. an overly sweet, too sweet, like the calm before the storm. she had you settled on her lap, making you hold the hem of your skirt — cheap fabric scratching your sensitive fingertips and upper thighs, even though it wasn't the friction you desired. you knew you have to, so your body will be on display for ellie, revealing what she wanted. she looked down at her well deserved gift with lust in her eyes, ready to make a move... yet something was holding her back. her head rested in the crook of your neck, leaning on your shoulder. her fingers left your knee, abrading through your thighs, her knuckles chafing your skin in a light touch, barely palpable, nevertheless enough to give you goosebumps.

"what if i did?" you suggested in an innocently naive tone, which ellie found suitable for an illiterate. it wasn't troublesome to use your brain and interpret her intonation — she was not in the mood to quarrel. her hand abruptly landed on your panties, the raw, cold agitation making you freeze. you gritted your teeth, letting out a strangled seethe, followed by a shake of your head. "i didn't."

you studied the area around you, glancing at all of the instruments left by the other band members. what were they doing now? perhaps they were parading around the building, ( whose storage compartment you were in ) giving autographs for rapacious fans. sooner or later, one of them will notice that something's off — not everyone decided to greet their admirers.

"where's ellie williams?"

this question must be asked, moreover the explanation wasn't known yet. ellie's friends will have a difficult time finding an answer. you had the honor to know. to know where she was and what she was doing. the way her eyes closed in pleasure showed she wasn't embarrassed of her actions at all.

the next thing you took note of was the microphone, stuck in a tripod, which fell down right next to you. you stretched your hand and grabbed it, letting your skirt limply cover up your thighs. as you heard ellie hum, your fingertips quickly moved the snap and put the mic back in its place. it noiselessly rolled away, and even though it was still near, you had to squint, creating a cute wrinkle in the corner of your eyes. after you used enough effort, you stopped struggling to notice a green dot. you blinked a few times — your eyelids fell down... and opened again. but you weren't wrong. there was, definitely, a little light, glowing blurry in your vision. its color was outstanding — an significant, tinted part, evident in the plain black handle. and you knew what it means;

mic on !

ellie unknowingly laughed and withdrew four of her fingers, only the middle one remaining pressed to your lingerie, slowly sliding towards your clit. "of course you didn't," she whispered in your ear.

if you were right — if the microphone was connected to all of the speakers in the pub — no one should hear that murmur. but once any of you whimpers, whines or lets any other pornographic moan out ... there will be a clear excuse for williams' absence.

i kinda feel insane rn . too crazy ? yes Ok

i swear you turned the mic off right after that n nothing happened im not insaneeee 😹😹😇😇😇 and not horny AT ALLLL

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Let's Hear it For the Boy

Day #10 - Prompt: Pride | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Famous Older Corroded Coffin, Pride Parade

Eddie tugs at the hem of his shirt, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. 

"What's wrong?" Steve asks, showing up behind Eddie in the mirror.

"Well, for starters, it's mesh," Eddie says, "and I feel a little on display.  I'm not exactly twenty-five anymore."

Steve runs his hands around Eddie's middle, hugging him from behind. 

"You look damn good and you know it," Steve says, fingers pressing into the bare skin of his stomach under the mesh crop-top.

Eddie isn't so sure about that, but he appreciates the thought, anyway. He doesn't have time to argue, because the hotel room door bangs open, and Gareth is standing there.

"How hot do I look?" Gareth asks, and Steve laughs as he heads over to greet him.

"So hot," Steve says, and Gareth twirls around, like he's a six-year-old girl and not a forty-six-year-old man. 

"Am I the first?" Gareth asks, and he is, nobody else has turned up yet and they are supposed to leave for the parade in ten minutes. 

Corroded Coffin was asked to be grand marshals of this year's Pride parade, and they decided to go for it. The community embraced Eddie long ago, and it's about time he really did something to pay that kindness back. 

Gareth is wearing the sparkliest eye makeup Eddie's ever seen, and Eddie lived through high school in the 80s. He could put Chrissy Cunningham to shame, Eddie thinks, and feels a pang in his chest. 

Before he can dwell on it, the door swings open again, and Goodie's there, decked out in all leather, his hairy belly on full display.

"Well, don't you look beary sexy?" Eddie teases, grinning ear-to-ear as Goodie tips his leather muir cap.

"You can call me daddy if you want, big boy," Goodie says, and Eddie would really rather not. And, using Eddie's turn of phrase against him, is honestly dirty pool.

"I think I'll pass," Eddie laughs, but he's impressed Goodie's gotten into this as much as he very clearly has. "Where's Jeff?"

"There was a pants problem," Goodie says, and that's as much as he chooses to elaborate, before adding, "Robin's helping."

And Steve laughs, which makes Eddie smile. He's sure they're both getting the same mental image of Robin trying to dress Jeff. Too tight pants? Split up the ass? Eddie doesn't know, but he's sure it's hilarious, either way.

"We can't be late, we're the grand marshals," Gareth says.

"We won't be late," Steve assures, and Eddie's sure that's true. Steve Harrington never lets them be late to anything. Hasn't yet, in nearly thirty years. He's not gonna start today.

They stand on the street corner and look out over the sea of color. Rainbow flags waving in every direction. Everything, and everyone, is just so bright. It's a vast change from looking out over the crowd at a Corroded Coffin show where the majority of clothing is just shades of blacker than black.

But this is full color. Everything about it is, and it's fun in a different way. A rainbow in every direction he looks. They're branching out, and Eddie is determined to embrace that. There's no reason not to, he figures, and they were invited for a reason. 

Because they were all wanted here.

The float they're supposed to get on is garish and bright, but everyone seems excited to see them, so Eddie smiles back. Accepts the hand offered to help him up onto the platform. Steve is with him, and with Steve, he can do anything. Even this. 

Jeff's stuck zipper problem fixed, Robin is now hugging person after person, and it's her they have to thank for this whole idea, Eddie knows. Without her, they'd have never been asked. Eddie's absolutely sure about that. And that's fine. This isn't really his scene. But if they want him to participate, wave a rainbow flag, whatever, he'll do it. It's the least he can do for the community that accepted him, and his friends, when that wasn't always a given. 

They didn't grow up in a time or place where being this out and proud was ever even conceived of, let alone done so publicly. So it's nice to see the change that has occurred in just a few decades of his lifetime. Things are different now, and that's pretty damn cool.

He may not want to be so front and center here, but being asked, being seen as some sort of gay icon, is flattering. He can't deny that.

The metal band, filled with members that are all some sort of queer, wasn't always destined to make it. They did anyway, beating the odds that were stacked against them. 

They built up a whole community around themselves, and later a fandom, honestly, that loves them for exactly who they are.

The music is pumping off the float, and it feels straight out of Babylon. The thumpa-thumpa, alive and well. Gareth's found some sort of rainbow streamers, and he's waving them above his head. 

Goodie has to be sweating buckets in all that leather in this heat, but he's standing at the edge of the float with Jeff, throwing out beads like it's Mardi Gras. Only, these are in rainbow colors. Jeff is wearing jean shorts that are cut so short, Eddie's scared anyone beneath him might be getting a free show. 

Steve's standing on a chair, clapping and screaming with the music, creating a chant, "Let's hear it for the boy!"

Eventually, this ends with a mic in Eddie's hand as he climbs up to the top of the float, where he can see and be seen.

He raises both hands over his head and waves, and hears the screaming pointed back in his direction.

He finds Steve's eyes, blows him a kiss, and tips his head back and laughs.

"Happy Pride!" Eddie screams into the mic, and the crowd goes wild. It's not a Corroded Coffin show, that's for damn sure, but he feels very loved.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe Colors Ep. 12 The Black Parade Episode

I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also. It's just colors and vibes here. Y'all done told be EVERYTHING, so I know the entire plot now.

THAT WAS A TEAR! KENTA IS CRYING!

I thought it wasn't just sweat last week but knowing he is actually crying as he thinks about their past did immediate damage to me, and now they are ALL standing there in the dark with Way and Pete highlighted by the blue, and, and, and . . . Kentana are you gonna die? You and Waymond are stressing me the fuck out!

Now that I know they are both enigmas, I can't see them the same. Are they using their superpowers on each other right now? Are they reading each other's minds? Are they trying to figure out how to get Kentana back, so they can make this poly?

Kentana, how many times are you going to have this man spit in your face before you realize that he ain't shit? Go to your room, turn on Billie Eilish's "Happier Than Ever" and really hear it. "Never told anyone anything bad cause that shit's embarrassing. You were my everything, and all that you did was make me fucking sad."

The blue keys in front of the red product placement is all I need to be reminded that this show refuses to allow me peace.

Shocking absolutely fucking nobody, Kentana did not listen to "Happier Than Ever"

And now someone is gonna die because there are only so many ways for you and Waymundo to redeem yourselves, and if you have Jeffrey in all black, I'm worried it's gonna be your funeral we will be planning next, Kentana.

There is one episode left and I am death gripping the one time Vegas' Hedgehog wore blue because I will never get it again. I hate them.

Real question: Is Barbie pregnant? I know he is sad Charles is "dead" *eye roll* but he is taking pills, getting fruit thrown at him, and staring out into space. I would love to believe he is going through his Edward-left-Bella-so-she-was-super-duper-sad era, but now that I know pregnancy is on the table, that's all I can see.

Oh, thank goodness! Someone actually has a tracker on his phone! But Kimberly has been kidnapped, caught up in human trafficking, and is now beating up children. Bro, what was your life before it all went to shit? Do you ever call your mom and tell her these are your friends now? Are you even still racing? Nevermind. Go catch those kids.

The problem with black is the shades. Waymond's jacket looks green. Peter's pants look blue. And yet it still feels like we are preparing for a funeral. A real one this time. Not fake like someone else's *cough* Charles *cough*

Kentana, are you betraying Jeffrey as Big Red watches? Or are you asking him how Peter's been? Has he been well, without you? Is he dating anyone? What is his status with Way? Well, Jeffrey wouldn't know, but Peter x Waymond could be poly if you get out of that fucking house and stop kidnapping people!

Going from Kentana in that House of Horrors to Pete looking like this makes me understand why Kentana is out there kidnapping people. I'd feel some type of way too if my childhood crush looked like this and was getting chummy with a dude who looked like Way Way. Damn.

What the hell is this?! The cover of a boy band album? A meeting to discuss poly? The Thai version of Barbie where Ken(tana) explains why he won't leave the Mojo Dojo Casa House? AND WHY ARE ALL OF YOU WEARING BLACK?! Someone is gonna die.

Did Big Red know Kentana went to see Barbie and the other Kens?! Was he sent there by Big Red?! Kentana is really breaking my heart on his knees hugging this man like this. I want to slap Kentana all the time, but I also want to hug him and tuck him into bed with a moon nightlight calmly lighting up the room.

Let's stick him in a video game, so he can learn to love himself.

Push him down the stairs, Kentana! Do it. PLEASE! Shoulder check his ass at least.

Oh Lord, NO! Waymond, do not take a fucking bullet for anyone. You canNOT die by Whiny Winifred's bullet. I refuse to let you go out like that. You finally used your powers for good, but this is not the time to die.

Y'ALL DIDN'T EVEN GRAB THE BAG!

This is Mission Kim Possible all over again! How do you not grab the damn bag?! Waymundo looks so damn good in his suit, so thank God he is still alive, but what the fuck guys?! One job! SECURE. THE. BAG.

I hate how good everyone looks in black because I keep swinging through emotions. I'm terrified for everyone yet very attracted to everyone. All the guys connected to Big Red have been in black this episode regardless if it was their color or not, so I'm hoping that means the funeral will be Big Red's.

A cult meeting, in this economy? Villains make the dumbest decisions.

Waymond has some white on . . . over black. Please Mary, mother of God, do not let him do something stupid.

Alan, did you just say "eff them kids"? No. Not my Alan. He'll be back for them. Right. Right?

Peter is gonna Regina George his way into this Halloween party that he was not invited to just to cause some havoc. Mad respect.

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

How the hell did Charles get there?! Did Barbie's dad tell him to go to the cult meeting? Dressed like that though? Did his spidey sense go off? So many questions, but all I know is Kentana better let them go, so he doesn't have to die.

Whiny Winifred better not get better at aiming in the final episode because I still need both of these two to wear blue TOGETHER.

WAYMOND, NO!!!!!!!!!!

Good to know it only took being kidnapped twice and (possibly) someone dying for Jeffrey to finally commit to the blue.

My nerves are wrecked. There was too much black this episode. Someone is going to die, and as much as I want it to be Big Red, I just don't feel good that Kentana is still on his bullshit, and Waymond keeps jumping in front of guns. Peter needs both of his boyfriends to live.

Also, Barbara, I already know you are immediately going to hug Charles next week, instead of having a moment to be pissed all the way off at him like you should be, so I'm going to start meditating on that right now. I've been mad at Charles the entire season, so I'll hold this grudge for both of us in the finale.

[synthanimal]

Wait until it fades to black, ride into the sunset...

I absolutely cannot believe that My Chemical Romance's album Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge turns 20 years old today!

Back when I was about 10 years old in the summer of 2005, I was hanging out at a friend's house. We were watching MTV that afternoon when the music video for "Helena" started playing. Everything about the video and song drew me in— the ominous grandeur of the church funeral setting, the stunning black and red attire, the eerie and fluid choreography of the dancers, and most remarkably, the vocalist's dark, pained expressions and exaggerated movements. There was something so beautiful and off-putting (in the best way!!) that drew me into their world building.

Though it wasn't until a few years later when The Black Parade came out that I would rediscover MCR in a different, yet similarly poignant moment, I still have such a fond, vivid memory of that day even decades later.

This album and band have redefined my life in almost every way imaginable and I am forever grateful.

Happy birthday, Revenge <3

[curio-queries]

SMERALDO GARDEN MARCHING BAND

My thoughts prior to the release of MUSE. I've avoided pretty much all reactions and analysis posts until I finished this so I have no clue if anyone else has come up with better words to describe some of these concepts but here's my take on it. I wanted to get this out prior to MUSE so that I can see how my view evolves with further context but here's where I am now.

Initial Reaction:

I'd actually had a few issues that night so I wasn't in the best headspace to take in a new song but I did listen to it on Spotify first and then watched the mv twice, once without subs and once with. (And yes, I know it's technically not called an mv...deal with it lol)

Anyways, I definitely wasn't immediately sold on it - which is expected from me, it's EXCEEDINGLY rare that I like any song on first listen but SGMB only took a couple of runthroughs before I was on board. One thing that helped me reframe it in my mind and with my previous expectations is to remember the first part of Jimin's self-proclaimed attributes: Cutie, sexy, lovely. SGMB leans very solidly into the cutie aspect, a little near the lovely side but far deeper into Cutie than anything we've seen in his solo releases. (RememberCute was an answer in the seossword puzzle). That got me thinking about where the rest of his songs would be in comparison and here's the placement I've landed on. Some of these have changed over the past few days but I'm curious where y'all disagree with my placements.

Good old Serendipity, a perfect balance of the three in my opinion. All of FACE is firmly in the Sexy section with Like Crazy leaning more evenly into Lovely. Lie is also right there with LC but more closely on the border. My beloved Promise and Letter holding down the Lovely section with CTT straying closer to Cutie. If you forgot about the cutie circle though, SGMB would have seems like it was complete out of the expected range. I am curious if we'll ever get something that's a mix of cutie and sexy, I can't comprehend what that would be like but I wouldn't put it past our JM to find a way!

Theories?

So, how do I think I did with all of my theories? Let's go through them one by one:

Open Locker Meaning: nothing to prove/disprove this yet. There were an awful lot of references to Serendipity in the mv though, so maybe that's the tie-in? I don't know, this one was a streeeeeetch in any case.

Sound Effects Interlude: we know we're getting an interlude but we'll have to wait for MUSE and any behind info to learn if it's sound effects that Jimin recorded himself like Dive.

Rooms Going from Dark to Light: Yes! I mean we knew it was going to be a lighter album than FACE but I think the word BRIGHT is all over SGMB. And I think this technique in both of those videos was trying to highlight that for us.

SGMB as an Actual Band: Yes! Definitely right here too! I'm going to talk about this more below because I think this is actually a very important part of this song.

The Emoji Poll from the Insta Chat: Yes! I think some people are still trying to make the argument that each option is supposed to represent different songs on muse. And while the others may lean more into any of these specifically, SGMB definitely has elements of all of them as well

An Actual Band?

So, like I mentioned in the theory above, I had the thought that SGMB could be portrayed as a fictional band itself, very similar to what MCR did with the Black Parade. And since Jimin decided to use this as the song's title; as well as make it the pre-release track, I think this is an important topic to delve into.

First, this allows Jimin a perspective shift to share with us his career outside the lens of BTS. Not because he NEEDS or WANTS to separate himself from them but he has had his own journey as an artist that may differ from his experiences from the perspective of a BTS member. Obviously BTS is completely woven through this journey and he gives us an acknowledgement of that with the line about 12 June and the handsign.

(Sidenote, whenever I see any of them do that now, I instantly think of that moment in Jimin's pixid ep where he said they don't anymore...I think we may have been misled...) 😝

Second, the frame of SGMB from a band's perspective also puts the song firmly in the categorization of 'work' rather than 'personal'. With FACE being such a deeply personal projectregarding his very deep human experiences, i love that he'svery upfront with us about MUSE being a work project. I've said this before, and it's one of my absolute favorite things about Jimin's music: he crafts it so that we can easily adapt it to our own interpretations. There's a lot of loving and beautiful imagery in the lines of this song that can have special meaning in all levels of relationships; platonic or not. But his delivery if this message to us, is professional. This is reinforced by the suits Jimin has worn in all of the material released so far. He's following a work dress code. (If you happen to see this post within a week of release, we have a poll regarding Jimin's suits on @bts-polls )

ME + US = MUSE

I just want to touch on this briefly here as I expect there'll be more once the album releases but there are some hints already. Like I discussed in my FACE post, Jimin has again come up with some key words to weave through the project. In FACE, it was several sentences but MUSE seems to be focusing on the following:

ME: Jimin himself

US: Jimin's view on his audience

MUSE: His awareness of us and how that effects his creations and manner of artistry.

SGMB and CTT are both bursting with these references and viewpoints. But I honestly don't think of SGMB as a traditional 'fan song'. I have another post where I talk about the different kinds of fan songs. Like I said above, SGMB details Jimin's experience as an artist and how his audience plays into that process. Not like CTT that's literally a diary of our journey with him. Maybe an extremely nuanced take but SGMB just doesn't feel like it belongs in the same 'fan song' categorization that CTT does.

The End for Now

Does anyone know anything about that little hand-wave Jimin does during the bow at the end? He repeats it. Is just an additional flourish that he's added in himself? I've never seen anyone do that during bows after a performance so I'm wondering if it's a cultural/industry thing.

What do y'all think? I'd love to hear your thoughts! If any of you have made posts about SGMB, I'll try to read them now but rumblr is not very forgiving if you miss something in the timeline. I'm very happy for you to share links to your posts in the comments!

[probably-enjolras]

random aro!enjolras drabble for pride month

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

The parade was passing through and Enjolras felt like he was missing something. He wasn't as decked out as his friends; no flag around his back or flower crown in his hair, but he had his shirt off to show his top surgery scars, a "he/him" pin on his lanyard that showed information for Les Amis de l'ABC, and Courfeyrac talked him into wearing a stack of rainbow and trans flag bracelets along his arm. Yet in the place he felt the most at home - being himself with his friends - something wasn't in place.

Enjolras began perusing the stalls and stands that different groups had set up. He had made sure to keep a stack of paper money with him for donations, giving them out to community and local organizations. Les Amis had a stall set up at the Café, but they were all taking turns manning the stall versus enjoying the festivities.

As Enjolras continued walking, a stall caught his eye. The stand had a few flags hanging on it with different shades of purple, green, grey, white, and black. Enjolras recognized the purple ones as the asexual flag, but the green flag caught his eye. He steadied himself and walked over to the stall.

The stall was being operated by two college-age kids, someone who looked to be in their mid-thirties, and an older man with a thick beard. When Enjolras stopped, the man stood up and gave him a smile.

"Hey son," the man said, looking at Enjolras' pin. "What can I help you with? Flags? Pins? Maybe a few zines by these lovely people behind me?"

Enjolras looked around the stall and his eyes fell on the green flags again. "What do the green flags mean?" he asked. "I know the purple is for asexuality, but I don't recognize the green one." He felt his face flush as he asked the question. Enjolras liked to think he was in the loop of all things queer; his friends had so many labels and have taught him so much more than his conservative family taught him, but admittedly he was more aware of political theory than identities.

"Oh!" the man said, smile widening. "It's the aromantic flag." Upon seeing Enjolras' slight look of unrecognition, the man continued. "It means they don't experience romantic attraction. Some people are just aromantic and never experience romantic attraction, some use the term greyromantic because they sometimes feel attraction, feel attraction but to a very low level, or feel somewhere between aromantic and alloromantic, and some use demiromantic because they don't get romantic feelings until a very deep bond is formed." The man pointed at each flag as he talked.

Enjolras stayed quiet for a second. He hadn't realized this was an option. All his friends talked about their crushes and romantic relationships, and while Enjolras enjoyed hearing about it, he never had anything to share, and he wanted to keep it that way.

"How do you know if you're aromantic?" he asked, feeling sheepish.

The man gave him a knowing smile. "It's a process of finding yourself, but sometimes you just know."

Enjolras looked at the little green and grey pins on the table. Everything felt like it was clicking into place. All the years of trying to be in romantic relationships hoping romantic feelings would form and ending up having to break up and losing a friend because he couldn't do it. All the confusion of what he thought were crushes but the idea of being more than friends made his stomach churn. Every time he changed the subject when his parents asked him about settling down because settling down with someone was so foreign to Enjolras in a way he couldn't express. All of it was suddenly a shade of green, calming like summer trees and fresh cut grass.

Enjolras pulled out his wallet and gave the man a few dollars.

"I'll take a pin please."

[nrilliree]

https://www.tumblr.com/miss-dollette/751777149185376256/wake-up-call-for-ballistic-team-black-and-rhaenyra?source=share

Why the fuck put that in the Daemyra tag ?

Plus, we love seeing them bring out the same bullshit that we've already contradicted a billion times.

Also, I don't understand their obsession with saying that Rhaenyra got herself into trouble for her marriage under the pretext that she could marry whoever she wanted ?

Precisely she could marry whoever she wanted, and she didn't find anyone she wanted. Namely someone she could love and co-run with. She doesn't just choose a husband but a future king.

Like, we blame her for not finding someone she likes (as if that's can be controlling...) to one of the countless idiots we've seen parade around ? WTF ?

Also, let's be realistic, the only person Rhaenyra wanted to marry is also the only one Viserys will never leave her, namely Daemon.

Plus, if I remember correctly, this situation wasn't so much about giving Rhaenyra a choice to marry whoever she wants, but about making her feel like she had a choice so that she would finally get married.

Literally Viserys had a discussion about it with Alicent !

To get Rhaenyra to marry the way Viserys wanted, he had to make Rhaenyra feel like she had a choice. So it was just the illusion of a choice from the start.

Additionally, Viserys literally choose Laenor in order to right his own mistake with the Velaryons, so a selfish behavior. He simply took the opportunity of having discovered Daemyra's escapade because of Otto to finally impose on Rhaenyra a marriage that would suit him.

Like... these people are blaming Rhaenyra for following her feelings for Daemon ? Oh yeah, she's such a spoiled brat for that.

Because it's such a spoiled person's behavior to want to be with the person you love !

I'm not even going to bother with the false mention of Daemon being a pedophile yet...

Besides, Daemon, so hungry for the throne, never really does anything to get it ? Whether it's in Fire and Blood or HOTD, the statement that he's so hungry for the throne makes me laugh. Is thinking too hard for these people ?

And sorry, but no, Daemon wouldn't have touched the Greens kids if it hadn't been for the usurpation.

He literally never had any threatening behavior towards them. He never showed the slightest interest in them, even negative. He is literally content to ignore their existence.

The fact that Daemon is ready to kill the Greens after the usurpation is not proof that he would have done it before (and I'm talking about the show). At that point the Greens have to kill Viserys for him, in addition to usurping his wife and causing the loss of his unborn daughter. And he suspects that soon they will come for them. You surprise me that he wants to get rid of it after all this mess !

The only children we see being threatened with their lives in danger throughout the show are literally the Velaryon children from the Greens. In addition, we also have proof that for the usurpation, they would have killed Rhaenyra and her family. They would have been killed if they had stayed after dinner in episode 8 ! And what's more, they wanted to take Daemyra's sons hostage !

Anyway, the only reason this argument exists is because... Otto says it. That's all.

Other than that, there's no indication that Daemyra would harm Alicent's children, you have to stop the bullshit after a while.

Everything proves that Greens are the aggressors for Blacks children. Not the opposite.

Tired of this bullshit.

Oh and this person is visibly neutral which... amounts to being a green no for me anyway.

Because such people want to attract attention so that later they can cry "TB they come uninvited and are rude :( :((".

Rhaenyra didn't want to marry a 10-year-old, or an 80-year-old, or a sexist Lannister who would force her to give up the throne to Aegon? What a spoiled, horrible brat! It's all her fault! Because you understand - her forced marriage to Laenor is her fault and she is not a victim. But Alicent and her forced marriage to Viserys, whom she visited alone in his chambers for half a year without saying a word that her father told her to, is a complete victim of the marriage. Not like Rhaenyra. Neither does Laenor. NO. Only Alicent is THE victim. Besides, I bet that if Rhaenyra had chosen Harvin, for example, she would have been advised against it so they could use her to fix Viserys' mess.

My favorite argument is always "Daemon doesn't want Rhaenyra, he just wants the throne." So why did he show interest in her when HE was the heir, not her :D?

And if Daemon and Rhaenyra wanted Alicent's children to be dead, they would be dead. They would meet with accidents over the years, because if Daemon could organize B&C, he could do this too. But he didn't. Because it was the TGs who had a plan to murder Rhaenyra and her family. Not the other way around.

[vibrantbirdy]

Dissent: A Cassian Andor x Female Reader Story - Chapter 1

Title: Dissent Fandom: Star Wars Setting: Post Andor, Pre Rogue One Genres: Sci-fi; Action/Adventure; Hurt/Comfort; Romance Pairings: Cassian Andor x Female Reader Warnings for Chapter 1: Contains mature themes - Moderate-Strong descriptions of violence/injury detail and Imperial brutality including an instance of whipping - not gratuitous, mainly lead up and aftermath - and brief references to execution; Very strong language; Canon-typical angst; (Please bear in mind that Chapter 2 will include sexual content and mature themes (but there will also be fun romance too) Chapters: 1/2 Word Count: C.6k Summary: You are an ex-Imperial sharpshooter who defected from the Empire and forged a place for yourself in the Rebellion working intelligence. As part of a team led by Captain Cassian Andor to the planet of Divach, your mission is to uncover the reason behind the Empire's sudden interest in the small world. Following a disastrous start to the operation with severe consequences for Andor, you and he are thrown together to investigate further, and this seemingly simple directive becomes more complicated than you ever imagined.

Author's Note: I've been sitting on this one for months and months, working on it here and there and Part 1 is finally done. I'm extremely busy in real life at the moment and I wasn't going to split this story but it has become so long, and it has been ages since I've posted any writing so I felt like I need to produce something! As always, thank you for all your interactions with my stories - I am very grateful! Masterlist of my writing here.

The first time you meet Captain Cassian Andor, you almost break his nose.

Since you arrived on Yavin 4 five months ago, you've been grounded, spending much of your time carrying out menial duties on the base at Rebel Alliance Headquarters. Your fellow Rebels have not yet warmed to you, but you hope this is only temporary until you can prove yourself when you are finally cleared to run missions by Command.

When you'd handed yourself over to the Rebel contact you'd managed to source on Coruscant, someone had come up behind you and shoved a hood over your head. Your hands were bound behind you back and then you were roughly bundled onto a cold, rattling transport where you sat for hours in blackness, uncomfortable and confused. When you'd finally reached Yavin 4 in the Outer Rim, you could heard the jeers and the taunts as you were paraded, blind and disoriented in binders through a bustling Rebel base with the Imperial insignia still emblazoned on the sleeves of your jacket.

It hardly made for a subtle arrival, nor the best first impression, but you understood that this was a test of sorts. And so you've learned to tolerate the suspicion and snide remarks for the most part.

But Rek Ryker? That man really knows how to push your buttons.

That's why, one jibe too many, and you're sitting atop the big man on the floor of the mess hall, his arms firmly pinned beneath your knees. There's a crowd around you shouting and jeering. As you draw your fist back to give Ryker a right hook across the jaw, someone grabs your arm from behind, preventing your strike. Immediately, you twist around and deliver a cross-body punch with your left fist square into this new assailant's face.

The stranger lets go immediately and staggers backwards, his hand flying to the point of impact and he pinches his nose, tilting his head backwards and pacing a tight circle as if he might walk off the pain.

"Captain Andor," you hear Ryker acknowledge beneath you and with your arm still extended across your body, teeth still bared, you snap your head back to look down at him. He raises his eyebrows at you, the most infuriatingly smug expression plastered across his face.

"Get up, both of you," Andor orders in an accent you don't recognise, his words muffled through his hand which remains firmly clasped to his face.

You leap to your feet and turn to the Captain, snapping your hand to your forehead in a salute which sends Ryker and his companions into fits of mocking laughter behind you.

Andor, at least, seems too preoccupied with his tender nose to take much notice but your cheeks burn with embarrassment and you let your arm drop back down to your side. You're still unsure of what's expected of you in terms of protocol here. The performative motions with regard to rank hierarchy seem much less ridged than the Imperial command structure.

Although, you think glumly, brawling in the mess hall and striking a superior officer is probably still frowned upon, even amongst Rebels...

Andor finally lets go of his nose, revealing an angular face with a well defined jawline, sharp cheekbones and dark, sombre eyes. He's perhaps not yet thirty, but the rather grim expression that sits on his otherwise attractive face gives the impression that he's already experienced much hardship in his short lifetime.

You watch as a small trickle of blood escapes from his right nostril and runs down through his short moustache, across the downturned line of his lips and catches amid the stubble on his chin. Gingerly, he reaches up to touch his nose again and this time, as he takes his hand away and examines it, a small patch of crimson glistens on his fingers. Still, the damage appears minimal.

Thank the stars, you think.

"Ryker, I'll deal with you later," Andor says over your shoulder, before addressing you directly, "You, come with me."

Trying to ignore the multitude of eyes that bore into you as you exit the mess hall, you follow Andor like a chastened child. The Captain leads you out into the deserted corridor where he rounds on you.

"What the hell was that?"

"I've been here for months," you erupt with a candour surprises even yourself, "I've complied in Draven's countless interrogations, I've taken the whispers and the insults without complaint, I've cleaned so many blasters in the armoury that I can't get the oil stains out from under my fingernails. I gave up everything to be here. I didn't defect to sit in this kriffing base and rot. I can be useful..."

"You're the Imperial sharpshooter, right?" Andor interrupts your tirade, his tone impatient, "Right?"

"Ex-Imperial sharpshooter," you correct him through gritted teeth, unable to help yourself.

The Captain gives you an exasperated look as he pulls a data pad from the pocket of his worn brown leather jacket.

"Is that not your name?" he asks, pointing to what looks like a duty roster. You lean in to examine the text on the device. Your name is indeed on the list. "General Draven had cleared you to run with me on my next op. Tomorrow."

You don't know what to say, bitter disappointment forming hot and solid in your throat like a lump of molten durasteel and constricting your words. You were so close to the chance to actually do something and you didn't even know it. Now you've blown it.

You look up and examine the face of the man before you, trying to decipher what he might be thinking. Those dark eyes are set hard and cool, glinting like obsidian. Yet there is a glimpse of something concealed underneath, something almost wild, and you have this notion that if you could just mine through that impenetrable surface, you'd find yourself swept away in the tumultuous, endless ocean raging at the centre of his existence.

But today, the man is almost impossible to read.

"Captain...I..." you start, but you trail off, defeated.

"Get out of here," Andor says quietly, his expression suddenly softening as he inclines his head towards the door at the other end of the corridor, "Cool off before tomorrow, I need you with a clear head."

Your heart leaps at the realisation that he's not going to take this opportunity away from you, and it's like a rush of oxygen after the stranglehold of your regret.

"Thank you, Captain," and you can't help the grin that spreads across you face.

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, thinking you glean the faintest trace of a smile on his lips and a new, elusive warmth in his eyes. You nod a farewell, and take off to your quarters to prepare for your first assignment.

*********************************

1 year later

“An hour?!” Andor's frustrated query crackles through your com link.

"I'm sorry, Captain," comes Brox's meek reply, "I blew the circuit on the transmitter and I can't make the replacement charge any quicker than that."

The young man sounds miserable, close to tears, and you suddenly feel a rush of sympathy for him. He's barely eighteen and it's his first field op. He's a talented electronics tech, but he's just a kid and his nerves are all over the place. Ryker should have been checking his work, lazy brute that he is.

You listen to the disaster unfolding through your com link with increasing exasperation. There is little you can do from up here, perched high in the bell tower at the south-eastern corner of the market square.

Your position affords you a bird's eye view of the maze of streets below. Like most urban settlements on the planet of Divach, Kinafor is made up of looming, ramshackle houses topped with rooves of black slate from local quarries squeezed together in almost impossible proximity. It gives the impression that the structures themselves are fighting for space. The aged buildings seem to sag with fatigue over the filthy streets paved with the same grey cobblestone.

The dark skies and lashing rain manifest muddy pools which flood the rutted, poorly kept roads. It does little to alleviate the dour atmosphere. But despite the torrential downpour, the streets are teaming with people going about their daily business, their heads bent against the weather, jostling with each other to get where they are going.

Overcrowding is rife in Divach's towns and cities. You've done your research - this is partly an ongoing effect of the rapid industrialisation that took place prior to the Clone Wars under the auspices of the Separatist Confederacy. Yet the population of Kinafor appears to have doubled in only the last year and the once quiet market town just doesn't have the infrastructure to support the sudden influx of people and it appears that everyone is suffering for it.

It's no coincidence that there has been a marked increase in Imperial activity in the sector. Like many planets caught in the wake of the Empire's relentless progress, Divach's natural resources are being scoured and plundered, with most remaining rural communities being forced off their ancestral lands and into the urban centres.

Rebel Command want you to find out why the sudden Imperial interest in this particular planet, and today, you have that opportunity. Your fellow operatives, Brox and Ryker, are currently bugging Kinafor's Imperial Bureau in the hopes of capturing a meeting taking place between the Imperial whom whom the Empire have recently set up as Magistrate, Dek Perrin, and Senator Josen Stoker, a politician renowned for his love of Empire and his unwavering loyalty to Emperor Palpatine.

Ostensibly, your look-out is under shelter, the ancient, behemoth of a bell and its inner working protected by a sturdy slate roof. However, the rain is now blasting in horizontally through the open arches of the tower. On the short time you've been on this little planet you've come to realise just how unpredictable the weather is here and you wish you'd brought something waterproof. Even your boots are filled with water, and your clothes, simple travelling garb of leggings and a loose, lightweight shirt, stick to your skin uncomfortably. At least it's not cold - this is what counts for the summer season on Divach.

Aware that Ryker and Brox are almost out of time, you rub the rain water out of your eyes as best you can and look again through the sight of your binoculars.

A tall, middle aged Imperial Officer with a long, elegant gait is floating his way down the main street with an entourage. You recognise him instantly as the target, General Perrin, the two rows of red and blue pips on the front of his dark, grey uniform indicating his status. Next to him is an older, balding man, scurrying to keep up with the General on account of his short little legs. He is dressed in refined, but rather strained looking purple robes which are tailored in the fashionable Coruscanti style. He can only be the other mark, Senator Stocker. Four Stormtroopers armoured in their soulless, white shells bring up the rear of the party.

“I just need more time to...”

“Do we abort?" Ryker's rough brogue cuts across Brox's message, "Andor? Andor?”

The overlapping chatter on the coms is making you nervous. How many times have you told Ryker to keep to essential communications when pieces are moving on the board? There are so very few things you miss about your days as an Imperial operative, but coms discipline out in the field is definitely one of them.

“Andor, Perrin and Stocker are approaching your location now,” you interject quickly.

“Hold your positions and keep working," Andor's order comes through, his voice low and urgent, "We need this intel and we won't get another chance. I'll get you your hour. I'm going dark - Bird, you have command.”

"Acknowledged, I have command," you say and despite your growing apprehension, you feel a rush of warmth at the use of your nickname.

Less than a week after your first mission with Rebel Intelligence, somehow, Ryker had discovered that your Imperial sharpshooter callsign had once been Raptor. For weeks after, he'd insisted on calling you Bird-Brain. Once the joke had worn thin, even for Ryker himself, the Bird part just seemed to stick around. Secretly, you've grown fond of it, especially the way it sounds as it rolls off Andor's tongue.

You hold your breath as you realise Andor is walking straight towards the Imperial delegation. As he reaches the party, he roughly and deliberately shoulder barges past Senator Stocker who reels backwards, a pudgy hand clutched to his chest in affront.

You lift your binocs to your face, fighting to get them to focus through the visual noise of the relentless downpour, and succeeding just in time to see Andor's usually handsome features twist into a vicious sneer. His mouth moves as he passes the Senator, and you can just about make out his words.

“Fuck the Empire."

That'll do it, you think, grimly.

************************************

As a Stormtrooper grabs him roughly by the shoulder and spins him around, shoving him back towards Perrin and the Senator, Cassian Andor thinks this might be the stupidest thing he's had to do in a long time. Deliberately risking capture as a diversion tactic was not on his to do list today.

But Cassian knows that the Empire aren't looking for spies on a backwater planet like Divach. Espionage is not the biggest threat to Imperial power here.

Insurrection is. Dissent.

So today, Cassian dissents.

“What did you say?” A mortally offended Stocker manages to stutter out in his pompous Coruscanti accent.

Behind the Senator, Perrin's face is reddening, painting a crimson canvass of indignant rage at Cassian's overt and brazen insolence. The General is clearly infuriated to have his authority undermined and challenged on his planet - and in front of an Imperial Senator no less. Cassian might as well have spat in the face of Emperor Palpatine himself.

The spy feels a strange thrill of satisfaction. Since joining the Rebellion, the covert nature of espionage - the sneaking and stealing and lying for intelligence - has afforded him very few chances to show his contempt for the Empire so simply, so directly. It makes him feel suddenly, gloriously human and so alive.

The memory of the day his adoptive father was murdered by a fledgling Empire flashes into his mind. Clem Andor had been trying to protect his neighbours, to keep the peace in the streets of Ferrix City as Clone Troopers marched through the town, signalling the beginning of Imperial residency on the planet. For his efforts, caught up in the unbridled confusion of furious anti-Imperial feeling, he was falsely accused of anarchy and carted away for summary execution.

Cassian closes his eyes for just a moment and he feels the ghost of cold metal in his hand, the phantom weight of a baton in the grip of his fist. He tastes in his mouth the ice of Ferrix's frigid, winter air. The years fade away and it's if he is still that thirteen year old boy, rushing headlong in a reckless, hate-fuelled frenzy towards a clutch of the occupying Troopers.

The image of his father hanging in the square at the end of Rix Road, falling snow gently gathering on his still body, is never far from Cassian's consciousness. But today, something old and familiar flares deep within him at the remembrance. The embers of the white-hot fury he keeps smothered by cold, learned dispassion for the sake of his clandestine occupation suddenly ignite.

It feels like freedom.

Cassian welcomes it as he repeats the provocation with a snarl.

******************************

“What's going on, Bird?” Ryker's distorted demand bursts through your com link, the ragged edge of panic at the threat of possible discovery tangible in his voice, “Do we abort?”

“No, you heard the Captain, hold your position, keep working" you reply, "Andor is... He's causing a … scene.”

You mean to say distraction but it's quickly becoming more than that.

You wince as the closed fist of a Stormtrooper catches Andor hard in the mouth, and he spins to the ground in a spray of rainwater. He tries to rise but a heavy, white boot lands between his shoulder blades and slams him face down in the dirt.

General Perrin barks an order, his once serene face now aflame with self-righteous anger. The Trooper with the savage right hook hauls Andor to his feet, a gloved hand twisted viciously in the spy's dark hair. He's bleeding from his mouth, his face and once cream coloured shirt spattered with black mud.

“What?" Ryker presses, "What do you mean, a scene?”

“Never mind!” You hiss into the com, “He's bought you and Brox some time, just get on with the job. I'll let you know if anything changes.”

If it was anyone else at the centre of the commotion unfolding on the street below you, you might think that this chosen course of action had been conceived of panic.

But this is Andor. You've observed first-hand his uncanny ability to adapt to the unexpected, calculating his next move based on shrewd observations and then acting with swift, often ruthless efficiency. It's what makes him such an effective weapon against the Empire. He is, by all accounts, a sharp, precise instrument.

And while necessity has rendered today's choice of tactic rather blunt and a little rougher around the edges than his usual style, you know that this isn't panic.

It's instinct.

A resistant Andor is dragged past the street where, even now, Ryker and Brox are bugging Perrin's office and you exhale a breath you didn't even know you had been holding as you realise that he has succeeded in drawing attention away from the others.

The relief is short-lived and your heart sinks as Andor is frogmarched in front of your position and towards Kinafor's main square. You can't resist leaning over the stone balustrade of the bell tower and peering down into the street below. Fleetingly, the Captain raises his gaze to the heavy, grey sky. There is a look of resigned acceptance on his filthy, bloody face and as his eyes meet yours for the briefest of moments, you think you catch the trace of a grim, rueful smirk on his lips.

********************************

Dedication to the Rebellion sometimes makes things incredibly simple. Cassian has long become accustomed to an existence of constant jeopardy, where the illusion of choice is often stripped away and his actions are dictated by necessity and urgency. There is no choice in rebellion but to decide how to resist; how to keep moving. To push, to scramble, to crawl, to climb, anything to keep ahead of the ever-grasping Imperial reach.

Cassian knew, even as he'd crushed his com link under his boot, that this particular decision would cost him. He knew the outcome would be unpleasant. He knew that it would probably hurt.

He'd supposed, perhaps naively, that he would be hauled off to be roughed up in a filthy back ally somewhere until Perrin and Stocker were satisfied that he'd been suitably chastised for his impudence. It wouldn't be the worst thing he'd suffered through for the Rebellion, and Cassian knew many who had sacrificed much more in the name of the Cause.

But as he is led into the market square, the reality of the situation he has created for himself finally sets in. A Stormtrooper with an orange shoulder guard designating his rank as a Squad Leader, is standing next to a tall, sturdy-looking wooden post, the base of which has been securely screwed the cobble stones. The Trooper is caressing the tail of a whip through his gloved hands as if it is a strand of his lover's hair.

There doesn't appear to be a gallows in Kinafor yet. That day will come, Cassian muses bitterly. It is inevitable. It will simply appear one day, hastily erected in the name of a savage, polluted vision of justice and when it does, the people of Divach will either be too paralysed from the shock of the first exhibition of unspeakable, deadly barbarity, or otherwise ground so far under the Empire's leaden heel to even flinch.

He thinks again of his father.

The Trooper who has been diligently prodding Cassian in the back the whole way to the square now shoves him forwards towards the post and orders him to remove his shirt.

"What, you're not going to buy me a drink first?"

It's a stupid time for a cheap jibe and Cassian knows it. It earns him a stinging backhand to the face, the impact sending a new stream of blood trickling from his already split lip. He glares at the Trooper as he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, before pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the wet ground at his feet.

The Trooper secures him to the wooden column, affixing his arms above his head where heavy magnetic cuffs snap closed around his wrists and lock tightly. He suddenly feels overwhelmingly vulnerable, strung up half naked and exposed, and his entire being rails against the unnatural, paralysing feeling of abject restraint.

Cassian swallows his fear as best he can, reminds himself that he took the only course of action available to him. Ryker and Brox's imminent discovery would have blown the entire operation and the capture of agents under his command is no option at all. At least whatever happens next gives them a fighting chance to complete the mission.

Then, he thinks of you and a small flash of reassurance passes through him. Over the year that he's known you, you've proven yourself to be a capable and determined operative. Above all, you are pragmatic, and he knows he can trust you to be courageous enough to get him out of here if - when - you can, but that you are not likely to risk the intel, nor the lives of the others in the process.

Cassian allows himself a moment of escapism, taking comfort in the thought of seeing your face, of indulging once again in the lingering, stolen glances that seem to intersperse your otherwise strictly working relationship more and more these days. He wonders if you know just how meagre a thread his professionalism hangs by in those rare moments you find yourselves alone together.

“The Empire is the uniting, stabilising force in our Galaxy.”

Perrin is standing with his back to Cassian, the Senator by his side. He is addressing a sombre crowd of citizens whom Stormtroopers have hassled away from their daily business to stand, huddled together against the ceaseless rain to observe this spectacle. The faces in the crowd are grave and solemn. There is sympathy in their expressions and grim expectation, even some contempt directed towards the Imperial presence. But there is no panic. No confusion.

This has happened before, Cassian realises, and it rekindles some of the furious fire in his belly temporarily snuffed out by his apprehension.

He should have predicated something like this. Perrin is exactly the type of man to favour a public display of violence as a mechanism of control. Pain and humiliation are simple but effective tools of spreading fear amongst the Empire's subjugated populaces, especially when an Imperial zealot like Perrin can claim to be prescribing them as a remedy to unrest and disorder.

As his dogmatic drone continues, the General's voice is almost fatherly, a stark contrast to the brutality he is about to oversee.

"Disrespect against the Empire will not be tolerated here on Divach where we all benefit from the guidance of the Emperor's steady hand. I hope that the regrettable example I am forced to make today will assure you that I will act always swiftly to protect the integrity of our thriving community wherever such disloyalty is exposed."

At Perrin's finishing words, Stocker's eyes appear to gleam with pious reverence.

Perrin turns and nods at the Squad Leader over Cassian's shoulder.

Almost immediately Cassian hears the whip whistle through the air behind his head and he braces the front of his right shoulder against the post, allowing his cheek to rest against the wood which smells newly cut. He inhales deeply, trying to ground himself in the earthy, reassuring scent.

A strip of fire erupts across his shoulders and upper back, and the sheer power of the blow snaps his head back and forces his mouth open, ripping a strangled shout from his throat. Cassian sets his jaw and clenches his hands into tight fists, steeling himself for the next strike.

********************************

He doesn't know how many times the Stormtrooper has brought the whip down across his back. He lost count some time ago, one savage, agonising blow blurring into the next and the next and the next. All Cassian knows is that it has finally, finally stopped.

He realises that he is now sagging against his restraints, the cold metal of the cuffs digging into the red raw skin around his wrists and he tries to take advantage of the break in proceedings to straighten his posture again, unwilling to give Perrin or the Stormtrooper any further satisfaction in the effect their ruthless work has had upon him.

But the reprieve, such as it is, doesn't last long. Perrin is there, suddenly behind him, winding his sharp, skeletal fingers painfully through the spy's wet hair, roughly pulling his head back and forcing his gaze upwards to the leaden sky.

The rain is still hammering down, sharp pinpricks in his open wounds, and now the drops pelt down onto his face as well, mingling with the sweat on his brow and temples and trickling salty water into stinging eyes. He squeezes them shut.

Over the ringing in his ears, Cassian realises Perrin is speaking to him.

“Say it again,” the General seethes.

He wants to. Cassian really, really wants to.

A strained growl rumbles in his throat and he grits his bared his teeth.

Despite what he knows they will bring him, those three incendiary words are already forming on his tongue like a compulsion. He yearns to spit them out and watch as the Imperial bastard's face falls. He wants to yell them at the top of his lungs - Fuck the Empire! - each syllable it's own purging, cathartic release.

But as Perrin releases his vice-like grip on Cassian's hair and the spy blinks the rainwater from his eyes, he catches a glimpse of your face amid the crowd over the General's shoulder.

An overwhelming sense of relief floods over him, and douses the blaze of his temporary madness. You would never leave your post unless Brox and Ryker had sent confirmation that the job was complete - that they were out and they were safe.

You've come back for him.

Cassian's dark eyes flick back to Perrin's, and he keeps them locked there for as long as he dares, his chin tilted upwards in defiance. This final show of resistance is rewarded as he sees the General's steady, cold stare appear to falter just for the briefest of moments.

The spy revels in this small victory until, reluctantly, he averts his gaze and looks down at the wet ground in a gesture of capitulation, the best his pride will allow.

It seems enough to satisfy Perrin who leers at him in triumph, before slapping the release button on his captive's restraints. Exhausted and agonised, Cassian's body fails him, his legs give way and he collapses, hard, to all fours on the cobblestones in the mud.

Get up, Andor, he orders himself, get the fuck up.

*************************************

“Kriffin' hell,” Ryker says, jumping up from his seated position on the ramp of Andor's U-Wing, “What happened to you?”

The sudden absence of his considerable weight sends the ramp rocking so violently it unbalances Brox to the point that he is also forced to stagger to his feet to prevent himself toppling off the side.

Andor removes his arm from around your shoulder where it has been slung all the way from Kinafor's town centre to here in the junk yard on the outskirts where the ship and the rest of the team are waiting.

It hadn't been difficult to extract him. By the time you'd pushed your way through the subdued crowd that the Troopers were busily dispersing, Perrin and Stocker were already halfway back to edge of the square, engaged in some casual conversation as they made their way toward the Bureau to carry on with the business of their day.

They'd got what they'd wanted from Andor - an example, a potent, brutal, tangible reminder of the consequences of challenging the Empire's authority. You try to comprehend the men's palpable disinterest towards the barbarity they'd just inflicted, but you can't, and thinking about it only makes your blood boil.

Disentangled from your support, Andor takes laboured, stilted steps towards the U-Wing, obviously determined to make a show of making his own way back to his own ship. You don't fuss, choosing to give him space and allow him this moment to restore some semblance of his bruised pride if this is how he feels he needs to do it.

The Imps have made a real mess of him. He is soaked through, his dark hair set in jagged points against his forehead which send raindrops trickling down his face to drip off the end of his sharp nose. Darkening blood from his split lip where it met with the Stormtrooper's gauntlet is caught in his stubble, and there are new abrasions, one on his right cheek where the rough wood of the post has grazed his skin, and two more on his wrists, rubbed raw where they have taken his bodyweight against the biting metal restraints.

There had been little point in trying to puzzle his sodden, filthy shirt back on to his body. It would've only stuck to him and chafed against the angry, red welts that criss-cross his back, evidence of the cruel leather which has bitten deep into his flesh. His exposed skin glistens from the rain amid a mixture of mud and sweat and blood.

“We needed a distraction,” Andor replies flatly, his voice strained as he slowly ascends the ramp of the U-Wing, "So I made one."

Brox looks crestfallen at the sight of the Captain. His mop of curly blonde hair is wild, as if he's been constantly running his hands through it in despair. His usually bright blue eyes are bloodshot. It's clear that he's been crying, overwrought with a feeling of responsibility for the situation that no one in their right mind could ever fairly place on his young shoulders. Andor must see it too because he claps the boy briefly on the shoulder just before he passes through the doorway into the ship.

“Cassian?”

K-2SO, Andor's reprogrammed Imperial security droid sounds just about as distraught as is possible for a mechanical lifeform to be as he twists in the pilot's chair and catches a glimpse of his returning master from the cockpit.

“I'm fine, K,” Andor says, rather sharply “Just get us out of here as soon as you're sure Command is receiving the transmission, then set a course for back home."

K-2SO is uncharacteristically silent.

"Say you understand, K," Andor growls through gritted teeth.

"I understand, Cassian," K-2 relents, as his master turns away towards the back of the ship.

"I've got him," you mouth to the droid.

K-2's inner workings whirr as he gives you a nod of his mechanical head, the bright, white bulbs of his visual receptors shining with something so human that it could almost be mistaken for gratitude.

You have a real fondness for the droid. Usually unrelentingly verbose, his reprogramming has gifted him with several quirks including a brazen sense of independent thought and a sarcastic sense of humour. It seems odd to feel an affinity with a machine, but you do. Those first few monotonous months of eating alone in the mess hall had quite often been interspersed by the company of the huge, lumbering droid, even though he had no need to eat at all. He was intrigued by you, as you were by him. A couple of ex-Imperials, finding a new purpose, a new freedom within the Rebellion.

You follow Andor as he stumbles through the cramped corridor of the ship until he reaches the cargo and passenger compartment. You hear Brox traipsing after you, but you turn to him and silently shake your head. He means well, but a crowd won't help. He gives you a look of understanding that is coupled with relief and scurries back through the ship to sit behind Ryker and K-2 in the cockpit.

Andor starts rummaging around clumsily in the med supply drawer, discarding equipment here and there, sending instruments and bandages sprawling across the durasteel floor. He seems in a trance, blinded by his pain and oblivious to your presence. He's unsteady on his feet, staggering this way and that, and you just wish he'd sit down. Finally, he finds a bottle of pain pills, tips several - probably too many - into the palm of a shaking hand, and swallows them greedily.

You feel the ship rumble and vibrate as K-2 fires up the engines and soon the U-wing starts to climb towards orbit. Andor loses his balance during a brief moment of turbulence and crashes unceremoniously to the floor.

You crouch down on your haunches in front of him. He is already trying to rise.

“Andor, let me...”

You reach out and touch him gently, desperate to snap him out of his reverie, and you accidentally graze one of his wounds where the tail of the whip has snaked over the front of his shoulder and down to his collar bone. He recoils from you like an injured animal and slumps back to the floor.

“Sorry, I'm sorry," you raise your hands in a placating gesture, "Just...please, Cassian, let me help you."

The use of his first name seems to ground him in some way. He looks up then, suddenly and with unguarded, anguished eyes that focus on you with an almost desperate intensity. He looks lost, a vulnerability radiating from him that you've never felt before - a raw, elemental hurt so great that you think he couldn't verbalise it even if he wanted to.

You feel an overwhelming need to reassure him that it hasn't all been for nothing - that this reckless, physical manifestation of the resistance he's dedicated his life to has meant something. He saved Ryker and Brox. He saved the mission. It was, perhaps, the bravest, most selfless thing you'd ever seen anyone do.

But tongue-tied and unable to put any of these grandiose feelings into words, you instead place your palm gently on Andor's cheek. Silently, he brings his own hand up to rest on top of yours and he closes his eyes as he leans, ever so slightly, into your touch.

It's enough for now.

To be continued

[dr-trafalgar-law]

Trafalgar Law X CisFem Reader

17

The second you opened the door you were scooped up into a bear hug.

"She's not a plushie." Law grumbled.

"I'm fine." You giggled as Rocinante set you back on your feet.

Law protested again as the blonde turned and wrapped his arms around him before losing his balance and ultimately taking them both to the floor.

"I've missed you both." He grinned, brushing himself off as he stood.

"It's only been a couple of weeks."

"He means we missed you too, Roci." You smiled, shutting the door.

"Thank you, F/N." Your soon-to-be father-in-law winked at you before looking around the room, "What a cute little space you have here."

"You're being too kind." You chuckled, "I haven't done much with it because we both work so much."

"No, it's just cozy enough. Law doesn't like cluttered spaces anyway."

Law pinched the bridge of his nose, "She's free to put up whatever decorations she wants."

"Ok,ok." Roci held his hands up, "How about a quick tour."

With that Law took his bag and showed him the room he'd be staying in for the weekend.

___________________

The suit shop was very different from where you chose your dress. The walls were painted in dark neutrals and the far right was a whiskey bar/humidor offering an array of cigars.

Suits and tuxedos hung all around you in a surprising variety of colors. You imagined Law would pick something simple and black. He often wore suits to work when he had consults and meetings so this wasn't as foreign to him as picking a fancy dress was to you.

The salesman that met you at the door ushered you back to a more private space. Much like the dress store there was a large mirror facing a pedestal and a black leather loveseat. After getting you settled with Roci on the sofa, Law and the salesman headed back to the changing rooms.

"How have things been?" The blonde asked, sipping the whiskey he was provided.

"We're getting along." Your face heated up and he smiled mischievously.

"I see."

"I...I mean -"

"Say no more," he interrupted you with a chuckle, "I'm glad the two of you are getting to know each other. The wedding is just a formality. You can go at whatever pace you're comfortable with."

"As long as there's a kid in two years." The weight of what you'd just said hit you in the gut.

He hummed, "I never liked the timeline."

You couldn't imagine that version of yourself yet. Mother to Law's child - a wife.

His wife.

That word still felt heavy, but not quite in the same way it had a few months ago. Things were ok now, sure, but would they get better? More importantly would they stay that way? Could he truly love you?

Before you could voice your next opinion your fiance rounded the corner.

His black hair was parted neatly to the left. He was in a classic black tuxedo with a black cummerbund and bowtie. You'd expected something simple, but not devoid of personality. It wasn't that he didn't look amazing - he absolutely did. This just didn't feel like the suit.

Law glanced at you in the mirror, "F/N, what do you think?"

"It's a good start, but you have suits at home that are more exciting."

He smiled softly, "We can do better."

"And maybe not a bowtie." Roci added earning an eye roll before Law stalked off to change.

There was a parade of outfits that were too flashy, too bland, too dark, too light or Roci didn't like it. Law was indifferent about the majority, but always asked for your opinion. There were a few that you liked so he'd set them aside to narrow down, but there was one last suit.

When he stepped out your stomach flipped. It was a three piece deep navy blue. The velvet jacket was paired with a champagne vest that had a vine pattern that matched the appliques on your dress. Maybe not exactly but it was close enough. He tugged a little at the navy tie while you looked him over, finally stopping at the rich dark brown spectators on his feet.

He turned from the mirror and met your gaze with a knowing smirk, "This is the one."

You nodded and stood motioning for him to lean down, "I just need to fix this."

Running your fingers through his hair, you smoothed it back earning a soft chuckle from Roci behind you.

"Much better." The blonde agreed as you stepped back.

Law straightened out and cleared his throat, "Thank you."

"It's perfect. I don't even think you need to have it tailored." You really had to work hard to not stare at him.

How had you gone months living with this ridiculously handsome man without noticing?

He smiled down at you and spoke in a low tone, "Would you like to take a picture?"

"Wh-No-hush." You looked away as your ears practically burst into flames.

"Alright, let's pack it up." Roci clapped his hands reminding the two of you that he existed, "I'm starving."

The day moved on with a quick lunch and running a few errands. You'd also taken Roci by your shop to pack up some of your more popular treats to send back to Olympia with him.

By the time the three of you arrived home it was after dark. Rocinante decided to treat you to a nice dinner in and ordered delivery.

"So, F/N, will I get to meet your parents before the wedding?"

Law glanced over watching you frown very briefly.

"They won't be making an appearance." You shrugged.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He murmured feeling he'd upset you.

"No worries," You smiled, "I expected it to come up. They aren't really present in my life. I mean, lucky for them their arrangement worked out but I was a requirement."

Law shifted next to you. He'd already known this information, but it still pissed him off.

"I was nannied and shipped off to boarding schools while they did whatever it is they do. The law is to have a kid, how you take care of them is a different story I guess."

The blonde clenched his fists, "I'd like to throttle people like that. None of this was your fault."

"It's fine. I think I turned out ok and I have a lot of chosen family and one cousin that I'm close to."

"Well, now you're part of our family." He said enthusiastically, "I couldn't be more proud."

"Thank you." You almost whispered, fighting back the urge to cry.

Roci stood abruptly to hug you, spilling his drink across the table.

After dinner the three of you sat in the living room chatting with some soju. This was a side of you Law didn't even know existed. You sat on the floor in front of the coffee table refilling the small saké cups before pushing them back to Law and Roci. Your face was slightly flushed from the alcohol and a soft smile rested on your lips.

Complete relaxation sat before him humming and giggling at the lame dad jokes he'd heard his adopted father unload a million times. He watched you in quiet appreciation while you were too distracted to notice.

Bubbly - not a word he'd associated with you before. Here you were laughing harder than he'd ever seen, appearing to not have a care in the world. Of course the soju was helping with that.

But the days were much easier and nights were comfortable.

When you were apart he thought about you, texted you, worried when you took a little too long to answer. He wanted to come home to you.

He'd gotten used to your weight in the bed, your soft snores and how you stole all the blankets at night only to kick one of your feet out to cool yourself down.

"I think this old man needs to put himself to bed." The blonde chuckled slowly pulling himself to his feet.

"G'night, sweet dreams~" You sang while he used the wall to keep himself upright and shuffled to Law's room.

"I think it's time for you to get to bed too." Law was already standing next to you offering his hand.

"Oh, how kind~." You chortled, allowing him to assist you, "You let me have all the fun tonight."

"I had a good time too." He guided you to the bed to sit down.

"It's too stuffy." You complained leaning back to wiggle out of your leggings.

"Do you need help?" He asked closing the door.

"You just want to undress me."

Law glanced away fighting to keep a neutral expression.

"I'm trying to be a good partner." He corrected.

"I was only teasing." Your pouty voice was nearly lost in the rustling sheets as you covered up.

"I know," He sighed, removing his shirt and turning out the lights, "Do you feel like you might get sick?"

"No." You yawned, "Can you come to bed already?"

Drunk you was going to be the death of him.

"Zero patience." He teased, moving the blankets back.

You only giggled and moved to face him as he settled next to you.

"Law?"

"Hm?"

"I like you."

"...I like you too F/N."