#the last problem set that they said was supposed to be easy and take only a few hours took me like 20 hours

[otaku553]

I am bored and sad about schoolwork so I want to interact a little bit,,, please send me some asks!

Can’t promise any fancy pieces but if you want a small doodle of a character (preferably not ocs please) feel free to send in a request as well!

[holdinggrudges]

what's my flavor?

pairing: sam winchester x reader

content: EXPLICIT 18+, oral (fem!receiving), vampire!sam, blood drinking, bloodplay (surprisingly little though tbh), fem!reader (afab anatomy + the word girl used in reference like three times or so), feeding being explicitly referred to as similar to drugs/getting high, mentions of serious illness (made up for plot reasons but still)

word count: 10.5K

summary: Working your way through college, you find a secretary job with great pay and more than enough downtime on the clock to get your coursework done. The only downside is that it leaves you with no choice but to attend night classes. But it's not so bad, especially with Mysterious Hot Guy attending them as well. Oh, and there's been blood bags going missing, but you're pretty sure that's not going to be relevant to your life any time soon.

notes: this was supposed to be pwp. it was also supposed to be posted on halloween. clearly, neither of those things happened. but fuck it, we ball.

crossposted on ao3

You don’t understand how anyone could get through college without a job. You hear about people surviving off scholarships all the time, and you try your first year, you really do. But, God, something has to change. You can’t imagine working your way through school could be any more stressful than the budgeting, and the skipping meals, and the cards declining at the grocery store. 

So you get a job. A good one, too; a secretary job at an office ten minutes away from your apartment, and only twenty minutes away from campus. The job is easy, with plenty of downtime for you to work on your coursework, and the pay is good. Better than good, even. The only problem is the hours; 9-5 is great, generally, but not very convenient when setting up a college schedule. You’re relegated almost exclusively to night classes. Which is fine. Not ideal, but fine. 

You take four classes, two a night, and it leaves your Fridays wide open after work. It would truly be a perfect schedule if it didn’t mean you were on campus until 11 o’clock most nights. But the classes are relatively empty and none of your professors are total hardasses, so it’s not so bad. Actually, you start to really enjoy it. 

You make a little game out of studying the other students, trying to figure them out. The woman who sits in front of you in your statistics class is a stay-at-home mom, you think. The older man a few rows down in english is retired military. It’s interesting, and it gives you a reason to actually make it to class everyday. Well, that and Mysterious Hot Guy. 

Mysterious Hot Guy (or MHG, for short) is in two of your classes: your 6 o’clock political science class on Mondays and Wednesdays sitting a row down from you, and sitting beside you in your 8:30 biology class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He first caught your eye because, frankly, he looks more like he should be on a movie set than night classes at a dinky community college. He’s drop dead gorgeous, and that’s putting it lightly. Even so, that’s not what has you so intrigued. Something about him is off somehow, strange in such a way that it has you completely captivated. Alluring in a way you can’t quite put your finger on, even outside his appearance. 

MHG hardly ever speaks. You’re pretty sure he’s only said one word to you the entire four weeks of the semester so far, and he sits literally a foot away from you every other day. He’s also, apparently, a genius. He never takes notes, never writes a single thing down, he never asks questions and never answers them either, for that matter. Still, you happened to catch a glimpse of his grade on the test your biology professor handed back last week, and he got a perfect score. 

He also doesn’t have a car. Or, rather, he doesn’t have a car of his own. Every Tuesday and Thursday as you’re walking back to your own car at almost 11 PM, he’s climbing into the passenger seat of an absolutely gorgeous vintage Chevrolet Impala that makes you simultaneously green with envy and desperate for him to push you up against the side of it. Or push you down against the backseat. Or the front seat, which you find out is a bench seat after some minor googling. Car like that, you’re not exactly gonna be picky about where. 

Still, even after all your observing, you don’t learn a single useful piece of information about MHG until six weeks into the semester—two weeks out from midterms—when your biology professor announces that you will be choosing your partners for the midterm project. You barely even let the words leave his mouth before you’re turning to your right, pouncing with what you hope is a normal amount of enthusiasm, although you’re so damn intrigued by this guy that all you can do is pray you don’t come across as a total stalker. “Hey. Would you wanna partner up?” 

MHG turns to you, his eyes wide in a way that leaves you a lot less hopeful about how normal your greeting was. “Uh. Me?” he asks, and his voice is…warm in a way you weren’t expecting. He could do audiobooks, or a podcast, or something—he has a nice voice is what you’re getting at.

You laugh. You’re almost a little starstruck—it makes sense; you’ve definitely turned this guy into your own personal celebrity. “Who else?” you respond, holding out your hand for him to shake. “I’m ____.” 

He eyes you for a moment before he clasps your hand and gives it a shake. Jesus, this guy must have anemia or something because his hand is fucking freezing. “Sam. Uh, Winchester. Sam Winchester.” His touch lingers for a moment before he tugs his hand back. “And…yeah. Yeah, we can…partner up.” 

Sam Winchester. Finally, a name to put to the face. No more thinking of him as Mysterious Hot Guy for you; you and MHG are on a first name basis now. “Awesome,” you say softly, and you really, desperately hope your smile looks less manic than it feels. “So. Sam. Would you mind giving me your number or something so we can set up a time and place to meet up?” 

He hesitates, but he does scribble a number down on the corner of his empty notebook page. “I, uh. I can’t do…daytime,” he tells you as he slides it over. 

Okay. Weird way to phrase that, but you assume he’s like you, he works during the day or something. So you shrug and take the proffered paper. “Me neither. I have work.” You pinch it between your fingers with a grin. “We’ll make it work.” 

He smiles at you, a shy sort of thing that makes your chest ache to draw out more. “Yeah. Okay.” 

You plug the number in your phone almost as soon as you get home, but it takes you almost an hour to actually text him. You go through probably a hundred different drafts before you finally land on: ‘hey!! it’s ____. does friday work for you? my only day without classes lol’ 

Once you press send, you figure you’ll probably have at least five minutes to freak out and overthink. Sam doesn’t really seem the type to be glued to his phone. Which is why, you suppose, that you nearly have a heart attack when your phone buzzes with a response no more than 30 seconds later. ‘Friday works. 7 at the library?’ 

‘see you then :)’ You debate over the smiley face for a solid minute and a half before finally sending it and then violently throwing your phone across the couch and screaming into your throw pillow. 

When you do finally work up the courage to pick your phone up again, he’s sent two texts back. ‘See you then.’ And then another one, a small bubble containing two characters: ‘:)’ Embarrassingly, you giggle alone in your living room. Oh, this guy is going to be the death of you. 

You spend the rest of the night googling Sam Winchester and coming up with absolutely nothing. He seems to have absolutely no social media presence at all, not even an old MySpace or a private Facebook account. The only reference you can find to his name at all has it listed as one of two sons of some random serial killer from, like, the 1800s, which is obviously useless. 

You give up your fruitless search with a sigh, closing your laptop and shoving it aside. Your tv is playing on some local news station—doesn’t matter which one, they’ve all been reporting the same story for weeks. You click it off, 100% disinterested in hearing about the blood bags going missing from local clinics for the millionth time this month. 

You go to bed and dream of brown hair and eyes that you just can’t quite place the color of, but you can swear you see them flash red.

Friday finds you at the library almost a full hour early. You’d agonized over your outfit all day yesterday, and for another half an hour after work to boot. In the end, you’d decided to go casual. After all, it is just a study date—and actually, not a date at all! A study meet-up. A study hangout, at best. The fact that you did your make-up and your hair for it is entirely irrelevant. 

It’s 6:45 when a cough draws your attention up from your phone. Sam is standing in front of you with another one of those shy smiles, and two coffee cups in his hands. Coffee cups from your favorite cafe. He shoves one in your direction. “Uh. I’ve noticed that you have drinks from here pretty often. And- I hope you don’t mind, but I…I read one of the cups? So. This is for you.” 

Your eyes flick over him, your heartbeat practically pounding out of your chest. So he’s been watching you too. Or—Jesus, not watching, that makes it sound creepy. Observing is a better word for it. He noticed a pattern in your coffee cups. He read one to find out what it was you were drinking. “Thanks,” you tell him, taking the cup from his hand. Turning it to read the writing, you find he’d gotten it right. Maybe you should find it creepy, actually. As it is, you’re sort of having a hard time not swooning. You beam at him. “I’ll…have to return the favor.” 

For some reason, that makes Sam laugh as he sits down across from you. “Sure.” He opens his backpack and takes out his laptop. “So, this project.” 

Sam, as it turns out, is a genius. Or at least exceptionally smart. A project that would’ve taken you hours on your own is done in record time with him, which leaves the two of you there at 7:30 with a fully completed midterm project and half-empty coffee cups. You don’t want to leave, and it seems Sam doesn’t either, as he closes his laptop and asks, “Why are you taking night classes?” like he’s really, genuinely curious. 

So you tell him. You tell him about trying to get through college on your own, deciding you needed a full time job, how it’s probably the best job you’ve ever had. You ask him the same question, and he tells you about his brother, who is, apparently, the one who drives that fucking awesome car. He drops Sam off at classes, and pretty much anywhere else he needs to go.

The two of you chat for an hour and a half before Sam gets a text that says his brother is literally going to leave him there if he doesn’t shag ass and get in the car pronto. So Sam walks you out of the library. 

“You know,” you blurt out before you can lose your nerve, “I feel like our classes would be a lot easier if we put our heads together like this. You know, regularly. Like, every Friday, maybe.” 

He ducks his head, smiling that same shy smile he’d had when he gave you the coffee. “Sure. Every Friday. Sounds…helpful.” 

You don’t realize until you get home that he never actually told you why he takes night classes. It turns out to be a pattern for him, as the two of you meet up week after week. You simultaneously feel like you know everything and nothing about him, and every week you like him more and more for it. Well, for that and the coffee that he gets you every time. 

It takes a week before he moves seats in your political science class. The Monday after the second Friday you meet up with him, you almost sit in the wrong seat because you’re so used to him sitting two rows ahead of you. Of course, when you realize what’s happened, Sam’s staring at you with an amused grin on his face, like he’s trying really hard not to laugh at you. So, you decide, you are friends, at least. And as far as friends go, Sam’s a pretty good one.

You and Sam text, constantly. Despite seeming relatively unplugged, he responds to you instantly almost every time. You hate to get your hopes up, but by the time finals roll around, you’re starting to really like him. You’re starting to think he really likes you too. 

He finishes his biology final on the last Thursday of classes long before you, but when you leave the classroom, you see him leaning against the wall, waiting. Again, you don’t want to get your hopes up, but when he lifts his head and sees you approaching him, you swear to God, you see his whole face light up.  He looks a little pale, maybe. But it also might just be the fluorescent lights of the hallway.

“How do you think you did?” he asks, falling into step beside you.

And, you think, it’s now or never, now, isn’t it? Classes are over. You may never see Sam again (although, you like to think the two of you are close enough now that you would at least remain friends outside of having classes together, but still, the sentiment remains). So you change the subject and ask, “Would you wanna get dinner with me on Saturday?” 

He pauses, freezes in place pretty much, and you stop to match him. “Dinner, like…dinner?” he asks, as if that question makes any sense. 

You laugh, a little awkward, and adjust your backpack straps. “Uh, yeah. Like, dinner.” You don’t want to explicitly mention it being a date. You feel like he likes you, you really do, but if you’re wrong…that rejection is going to sting. So you don’t say it, not explicitly. 

But still, Sam’s face lights up with a grin. “Yeah. I’d…really love to get dinner with you, actually. I’ll have to—I’ll text you. But…yes, yeah. I’d love to.” 

You’re pretty sure the smile on your face matches his. “Okay. Then, I’ll see you on Saturday. And you’ll text me.” 

“I’ll text you,” he agrees. 

The two of you linger for a moment before parting, and you have never been more excited to say goodbye to someone in your entire fucking life. 

When you get home, you have a text message. ‘I’ll pick you up. Does 7 work for you?’

You have to take a moment to squeal into your pillow before answering that yes, 7 does work for you, and you’re excited to see him then. And then, as an afterthought, your address.

God, you need to find something to wear.

Saturday comes around, and you’re fully ready by 6. Sam’s almost always shown up early, after all. Your TV plays news footage, stating that the clinics have taken to putting up extra security around their blood banks to no avail. You couldn’t care less, too giddy and girlishly excited to even think about the stolen blood bags. 

6:45 rolls around. Sam isn’t there. That’s…fine. He’s not obligated to show up early. You set up a time to pick you up for a reason, right? There’s no reason for the sinking feeling in your gut. 

7:00. No sign of Sam. But that’s no reason to worry. Maybe he got stuck in traffic. People are late sometimes, and you don’t need to panic just because Sam’s never been late before. 

At 7:30, you shoot Sam a text. ‘are you okay? don’t tell me you forgot about me :( lol’ You don’t get a response. 

You don’t change back into lounge clothes until 8, and you don’t take off your makeup until 8:30, and that’s only because you’re pretty sure you’re about to start crying and ruin it anyway. 

The real kicker is that you thought Sam, at the very least, considered you a friend. Or at least friendly enough to let you down easy rather than agree to a date and then stand you up. Clearly, you severely misread the entire situation. You entirely misunderstood Sam in general, if he’s really the type of person to do this sort of thing. 

Wiping hot tears off your face, you cork open your expensive bottle of wine. Desperate times, right?

Two hours and half a wine bottle later, you’ve swung from devastated to angry. How dare he stand you up? You’re a catch! You’re gorgeous, you’re funny, you’ve ignored all of his weird quirks and red flags, and for what? To cry into a glass or five of overpriced wine on a Saturday night? Screw that. You should call him and give him a piece of your mind.

Or…no, you’re pretty drunk, actually, so you probably shouldn’t call him. But you could text him. Yeah. You fumble for your phone, furiously typing out a text and hitting send without a second thought. ‘if u werent interested in me u cldve just said so. didnt have 2 ghost me’ 

Next thing you know, you’re opening your eyes the next morning with a killer headache, a damn near empty bottle of wine, and no response from Sam. While you’re curled over the toilet, the alcohol isn’t the only thing turning your stomach. There’s a worry brewing there too. 

Because the more you think about it, the more that this really just doesn’t feel like Sam. Now that you’re further out from it, you can acknowledge that much. When you ask yourself if you truly believe that the guy who bought you your favorite drink every time you met up, the guy who remembered every single thing you ever told him, the guy whose face totally lit up when you asked him to dinner—when you ask yourself if that guy would stand you up, you truly, honestly don’t believe he would. So the real question is: why did he?

You fight through the worry until about halfway through your shift on Monday when you realize that with finals over, you have absolutely no idea when, or even if you’ll see Sam again. You call him. It rings all the way through until you get his voicemail, and you wish the sound of his voice could calm you, but it only reminds you that he’s not answering. You don’t leave a message, sending him a text instead. ‘seriously, are you okay? please at least let me know you’re not dead.’ You’re not surprised to find you haven’t gotten a response the next time you check your phone, walking to your car at the end of the day. Desperately, heart-clenchingly worried, but not surprised. 

You open your laptop the second you get home, furiously searching anything you can think of. You search for his name again, hoping to find anything that could point you towards family or friends, to the brother he mentioned. You search local obituaries, John Does, anyone who might even bear the slightest resemblance to Sam, but there’s nothing. Nothing, until you accidentally click on one of the articles about the blood theft. There, in a blurry screenshot of footage from the new security cameras one of the blood banks had installed, you see it. You recognize his brother’s gorgeous fucking car. 

Your eyes go wide. Holy shit, you’ve been flirting with a criminal. You scroll up through the article, reading furiously, but it doesn’t even mention the car, focusing instead on the blurry, shrouded figure entering the doors. Is this why Sam went missing? Laying low until he can be sure no one will connect the footage of the car to him or his brother? Why the fuck is he stealing blood bags in the first place? Needless to say, the discovery leaves you with more questions than it does answers. 

The world, unfortunately, does not stop with this revelation. You go to bed. You get up, you go to work, you come home. You think about Sam. You have no idea what you’re supposed to do in this situation. Should you go to the police? It’s not like he’s killing people but…it’s still illegal to steal blood bags. Also morally wrong, probably. Plus, you now have information that could help forward an ongoing police investigation. You’re not entirely sure what counts as aiding and abetting, but you’re not exactly itching to find out where the line is. 

On the other hand, Sam never seemed particularly…criminal-like to you. Strange, sure, but he was nice. Kind, even. You never in a million years would’ve pegged him as some sort of criminal mastermind. That’s got to count for something. Right? At the very least, you think it allows him the benefit of the doubt. So…late Tuesday night, you send him another text, the last one you’ll ever send him. Probably. ‘hey so keep ignoring me if im wrong but are you the one stealing blood from the clinics?’ 

He doesn’t text you back, and you pretend that means you’re wrong. That you can clear your conscience and go to sleep. That you can go to work and stop worrying about vintage cars in blurry security footage. 

Then the sun goes down on Wednesday, and someone knocks on your door. 

The man on the other side of it is unfamiliar to you. He’s wearing a leather jacket, an amulet hanging off his neck. There’s absolutely no reason you should recognize him as quickly as you do. Except that he has this quality about him, something unreal or maybe inhuman, and you’ve seen it before. You can’t quite tell what color his eyes are.

He smiles at you, and confirms it. “You’re ____, right? Sam’s told me all about you.” This is Sam’s brother, the one with the car. The car that you recognized in the blood bank footage. “I’m Dean. Can I come in?” 

You keep your hand on the edge of the door, ready to slam it in his face if need be. “How’d you get my address?” you ask, instead of answering the question. This man could be dangerous. You trust Sam, mostly, but his brother…that’s a different story.

“Sammy had it. Remember? For your little date.” Dean says, taking a step towards the threshold. You take a step back. “Can I come in now?” 

You ignore the fear raging down your spine, the urge to turn tail and run away. Sam carries himself differently than Dean, presents himself in such a way that instead of cowering away from him, you want to keep looking. His strangeness is intriguing, not off-putting. Dean, though, he takes those same qualities and twists them on their head. Dean looks at you, and your entire body screams Danger! Like he’s some sort of predator. “Why are you here?” 

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” he snaps. He takes another step forward, but stays notably on the other side of the door. Just barely. “Sam needs help. Are you gonna invite me in, or not?” 

He could be lying. He could be manipulating the affection you already have for his brother to get you to let him in so he can off you, maybe the only person who’s connected him to his crimes. But, if that was the case, why wouldn’t he have just forced his way in? And also, why the fuck would he go that far just to cover up some stolen blood bags? “What’s wrong with Sam?” you ask, stepping back from the door to allow him inside. When in Rome, right?

His lips press together, like he’s irritated, though you can’t imagine why. You’re letting him in, which is what he wanted. He stares at you for a moment before sighing, world weary, like he’s holding the weight of a hundred lifetimes of idiocy on his shoulders. Jesus, this guy’s dramatic. “You have to invite me,” he grits out. 

Your confusion only grows, but you oblige anyway. “Okay…come in, then.” 

Dean steps into the apartment almost as soon as you’ve said it, like you’ve only just now opened the door. You back up a few steps further. 

“Just so you know,” you say, standing up taller and trying to act less terrified than you feel, “I have a gun. So don’t- don’t try anything ‘cause I’ll shoot you.” You’re completely bluffing, of course, but there’s no way Dean could know that. 

“No, you don’t,” Dean says, like he definitely knows you were bluffing. Well, great. “Besides, I’m not here to hurt you. My brother needs help, you think I’m gonna kill the only person who can help him?” 

He doesn’t look like he’s lying. Then again, you’re pretty sure this man is a criminal, so maybe he’s just a really good liar. “Yeah, you said that before. If he needs my help so bad, why didn’t he just tell me himself?” It’s not like you slammed the door in Sam’s face and told him to leave you alone. You’ve sent him four texts and a phone call since he dropped off the face of the earth last week. He’s had every opportunity to ask for your help. 

“Cause he’s sick,” Dean tells you. He lifts his hands before he approaches you, like you’re some sort of wild animal that he doesn’t want to spook. Embarrassingly, it works. “Really sick.” 

You shake your head, bemused. “I don’t understand—what does that have to do with me? If he’s sick, he needs a doctor. Not…a random college student.” 

Dean nods. “Yeah, he would. But he’s got…it’s complicated.” He pauses in his approach and nods his head toward you. “Can I come closer, or are you gonna shoot me, tough girl?” 

You roll your eyes, but gesture him closer. “Be my guest, so long as it means you’re gonna tell me something that actually makes sense.” You’re tired of the riddles, frankly. If he doesn’t give you real answers soon, you don’t care how terrifying he is, you’re gonna have to do something drastic.

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, I can see why Sam likes you,” he mutters, shaking his head. “See, me and Sam…we’re not exactly normal. If I took him to a doctor, not only would they not be able to fix him, they’d probably kill him.” He stops beside you, forcing you to look up at him as he speaks. He cuts an intimidating figure, even without the air of a predator about him. You really, really wish you actually owned a gun.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask, voice quiet in the face of this hunter. “That you’re not normal?” 

He grins, big and sharp and toothy. And then his illusion drops. Your eyes seem to fail you, like someone’s dropped the floor out from under you and then told you the floor was never real in the first place. His eyes catch your attention first, blood red and striking. And then, of course, you see his teeth—no, his fangs. Two long, sharp, killer fangs where his canines used to be. “Welcome to the night of the living dead, sweetheart.”

Vampires are real. There’s a monster in your fucking living room. This is crazy. You should be screaming. You should shove this man out the door and lock it behind him and maybe never leave your apartment again. Instead, you blurt out, “So that’s why you were stealing blood bags.” Honestly, a lot of things are starting to make way more sense now. You’re almost embarrassed you didn’t think of it before. 

Dean laughs. “Right on the money.” You flinch as he claps you on the shoulder, and he laughs at you again. 

“So…I’m guessing Sam doesn’t just have a regular old stomach bug, then?” You really feel like you should be having a more extreme reaction to this situation. You just found out that not only are vampires real, but you’ve been actively flirting with one. You think maybe you’re in shock. “This is some sort of weird…vampire virus, or something?” 

“Smart girl,” he says, pointing at you approvingly. “Though it’s not exactly a virus, more like…food poisoning. Actually, we call it blood poisoning. Comes from drinking stale blood—bagged blood, for example—rather than fresh from the source.” 

You frown. “Why drink bagged blood, then, if it makes you sick?” 

“Why do people go vegan even though they need protein?” Dean counters. “Harm reduction. Plus, it doesn’t always make us sick. It’s pretty rare, actually. More common now than, you know, the olden times, but it happened back then too. Storing blood in vials, bottles, anything can make blood go stale, but it means you don’t have to hurt as many people getting it. Some things are worth the risk.” 

That much, at least, you can understand. “So this…this stale blood, whatever—it makes you sick,” you repeat, that same worry for Sam from before roiling in your stomach again. “How sick?” 

Dean grimaces, so whatever it is is clearly not good news. “It can kill us. Pretty easily, too. I have to tell you, I don’t know exactly how it works. Sam’s way better at this sort of thing.” He taps his fingers against your coffee table. “But I do know how to fix it.” 

It’s pretty easy to guess. Dean’s here, despite the fact his brother is apparently dying, and there’s really only one thing you have that they don’t. “He needs blood,” you say quietly, beating Dean to the punch. “Fresh blood.” 

He nods and shoots you a stilted smile. “Quick on the draw, huh?” The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he sighs, shaking his head. “Sam hates what he is. Doesn’t matter that he’ll die without it, he won’t hurt anyone. He just won’t.”

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly uncomfortable with Dean’s intense stare, like he can see straight into your soul. “So- so, what am I supposed to do about it?” you ask, your shoulders shrugging helplessly. “I’m still a person. I can’t force him to do something he doesn’t want to do.” 

Dean takes a step toward you, and this time you don’t step back or shrink away. He’s dangerous, sure, but not to you. Not as long as you’re the only thing standing between his brother and certain death. “Look, Sam really likes you. If he knew I was here right now, and he wasn’t on his deathbed, he’d kill me. But I just—I’ve tried. It’s been a week, and I’ve tried so hard—” He ducks his head as he cuts off, his jaw working over clenched teeth. “I know that you care about him, right? I mean, I saw the texts; I know—I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t desperate. I can’t just sit around and watch my little brother die. I had to try. I have to try.” 

Seeing him now, you almost can’t believe you were afraid of him. He looks almost terrified himself. And despite the uncertainty you feel, the fear, well…there’s a clear answer here. Yes, there’s a chance Sam refuses to feed from you, but there’s also a chance to save him. You can’t just stand back and let him die because you’re scared. “Okay.”

Dean’s eyes snap to yours again. They sparkle with hope, and even though the illusion is dropped, even though his eyes are red and his teeth are viciously sharp, for the first time since you first saw him, he looks human. “Okay?” 

“Take me to him,” you tell him, moving past him to grab your coat off the hanger by your door. “Let me try to save him.” 

Dean gives you the key to the apartment and a wish good luck, but stays in the car (which, yes, is just as nice as you imagined, though you wish you’d gotten to experience it under different circumstances). He tells you as you climb out the passenger door, “If this goes the way I hope it does, you two aren’t gonna want me there. Trust me.” 

Apprehension keeps you rooted outside the locked door, biting a hole through your bottom lip. There’s a lot of ways this could go. Quite a few of them could end up with you dead, and you’d be a fool not to acknowledge that. Then again, you’d also be a fool not to acknowledge what you know about Sam, what Dean’s told you about him today. Kind, gentle Sam, who is sick and dying, but apparently still refuses to hurt anyone. Who drinks from blood bags, despite the risk, simply because it means he can live without harming others. He doesn’t deserve to die.

You take a deep breath, and unlock the door. 

The apartment is…Well, it’s a little dingy, but it’s cozy. Homey. There’s clutter and trinkets on every shelf, books that look so old that you fear they’d disintegrate if you touched them. It occurs to you, then, that you don’t know how old Sam actually is. A memory flashes in your mind of his name mentioned in records from the 1800s. Holy shit. 

“Dean?” You recognize Sam’s voice, but it’s thin and croaky. Weak. Really sick, Dean had said. “Are you home?” 

  You follow the sound of his voice into a bedroom, and the stale smell of illness almost makes you stumble back from the doorway. It doesn’t smell bad, necessarily, so much as still and wrong. Sam’s been in this room, wallowing in sickness, for a week. Your heart aches for him. “Not Dean,” you say quietly, hoping not to spook him. You approach the bed, and only just keep from gasping at the state of the man curled up in it. Sam is pale and sunken, visibly weak and malnourished. He’s trembling, shaking all over with chills, maybe, or just tremors in general. 

His face changes when he hears your voice, his brows furrowed in confusion. He opens his eyes and peers up at you over his cocoon of blankets. His eyes, like Dean’s, are red, but unlike Dean’s, they’re glassy and tired, his eyelids fluttering like he’s struggling to keep them open. “____? What…what’re you doing here?” He pushes himself up to sit, and you can see the effort it takes him to do even that, his arms shaking under his own weight. 

You sit gingerly on the edge of the bed beside him. “Dean sent me,” you tell him, ratting Dean out immediately. 

Sam groans, rubbing his hands over his eyes. The veins in his hands are standing out, ugly, mottled red under pale skin. As if the blood really had poisoned him. “I’m gonna kill him.” Wow, Dean hadn’t even exaggerated, huh?

“Not like this, you’re not,” you mutter, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “Jesus, Sam…” He’s ice cold to the touch like he’s been out in the snow for hours. You curl your hands around his, trying to warm him. 

His gaze flicks to them, your hands barely covering his. “Sorry I missed our date,” he says, mournful like he really is repentant, like standing you up is the worst sin he could’ve possibly committed. “It…was a date, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it—I meant for it to be.” You huff out a laugh, sympathetic as you smile at him. “And, you know, somehow I can’t find it in myself to hold it against you.” 

Sam laughs, and for the first time, you catch a glimpse of his fangs. They’re just as viciously sharp as Dean’s, but they somehow look less dangerous on Sam. You’d worry you’d been charmed or something (isn’t that supposed to be something vampires can do? You have to admit, you’re a little out of the loop of vampire lore), if you weren’t certain that Sam would never do something like that. No, not charmed, not in any sort of magical sense. “I’ll die happy then.” 

Wow, you see the dramatics run in the family. “You’re not going to die,” you say firmly, releasing Sam’s hand to brush his bangs out of his face. He’s freezing all over. It makes you want to wrap him up in your arms, make sure he never goes cold again. You settle for pressing your palm against his cheek, your fingers cupping around his jaw. 

“I am, though,” he shoots back, like he’s arguing about who’s answer on the homework is right, not about his actual, literal life. “I’m going to die. But that’s—it’s okay. It’s been a week, so I’ve sort of come to terms with it.” 

“Screw that.” You turn more firmly towards him, pulling your legs under you to kneel on the bed. “Seriously, screw that. I can help you. If you think I’m just gonna- what, stand aside and let you die, then you really don’t know me at all.” 

“Sure. And you’re just gonna fix me, huh?” He shakes his head, turning it away from you with a huff. “All sunshine and rainbows after that. Not like I’ll have to bleed you to get better, right? Oh, wait.” Oh, he’s such a fucking diva, even on his deathbed, apparently.

“Oh, my God—yeah! I sort of figured it wouldn’t exactly be pleasant.” You didn’t spend all that time hesitating at the door because you thought it would be a walk in the park. “But if the choice is between that and letting you die, there’s no contest. I don’t understand why you’re so set on it when I’m sitting here offering you a solution!” 

“Maybe I don’t want to be saved!” His outburst silences you, especially because it seems to take a lot of energy from him to snap at you like that. He stares you down, red eyes meeting yours, and you…you don’t know what to say to that. 

You can lead a horse to water, but… “Sam—”

He cuts you off with another shake of his head. “Dean…he used to tell me that what we are doesn't make us monsters, it’s what we do. And I really wish I believed that, but the thing is, I…am going to die if I don’t feed from someone, like- like a fucking parasite. What is that if not monstrous?” 

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” you tell him. Slowly, cautiously, you reach for his face and replace your hand on his cheek, turning his gaze to meet yours. “I actually happen to think you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. I don’t know what kind of monster would’ve apologized for getting deathly ill and accidentally standing me up.” 

His eyes flick over your face, like he’s searching for something. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” His voice, thin and mournful, is heartbreaking. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know—I’ve never been sick like this before. It’s possible I won’t have a lot of control if I feed on you like this.” 

That’s sort of what you were afraid of. But that’s the benefit of him feeding from you, rather than some random person off the street, right? You know what’s going on. “I won’t let you go too far,” you assure him. “Sam, please. I want to do this for you. Let me…let me help you.” 

His eyes meet yours, and he seems to find what he’s looking for. He lifts his hand and brushes your hair back off your neck. “If I do this—if—it’ll hurt, at first,” he tells you, placing his hand on your shoulder. Just resting there. It sends sparks down your spine all the same. “But not for long. It’ll start to feel good, kind of like getting high. But if I—I’m not going to bite you if I’m not sure you’ll be able to stop me if I take too much.” 

“I’ll stop you. If I have to.” You trust him, mostly. But you’re also aware that he hasn’t fed in a week, so you’re prepared to have to at least alert him to your blood loss. 

His fingers trail along your neck, goosebumps following in his wake. His eyes follow the path of his touch, and his hands may be hesitant, but you can see the hunger in his eyes. Maybe you can make the horse drink, after all. “Are you sure?” he asks, and his hand moves to the back of your head. Bracing. 

“I told you—” you say, your voice coming out almost as quiet as a breath— “I want to do this for you.” 

“Okay.” He leans forward until you can feel his breath on your neck. It’s almost cold, unnaturally so. “Tilt your head a little more, that way—there you go,” he instructs, and that tone in his voice is…yeah. You are definitely glad Dean didn’t come in with you. His lips brush your skin when he speaks next, “Ready?” 

“Yes.” You’re not sure how you manage to get your voice to come out as stable as it does. You bring your hands up to brace on his shoulders, and your grip goes a bit tighter when you feel his fangs press, just barely, against your skin. “Yeah, I’m—go ahead.” 

You’ve never been bitten by a vampire before. You have no frame of reference of whether this is what it’s like every time, or if it’s just a Sam thing. Or if it’s just a you and Sam thing. But the whole process is intensely intimate in a way you weren’t expecting. Even when he first sinks his fangs in and it stings, makes you draw in a sharp breath. He’s a little uncoordinated, you think, and maybe goes in at a weird angle, because he draws his teeth out to sink them in again, but not before his tongue flicks out to catch the blood that drips down the side of your neck. The gasp that escapes you this time is not just from the pain.

He was right, of course. It does hurt at first. But the pain is offset by his hand on your head, his fingers curling just so to grip your hair. You swear you can feel in real time as he gets his strength back. As your blood flushes the sickness out of him. You’re not sure there is anything more intimate than that. 

You think maybe you expected a transition between pain and euphoria, but there is no slow fade. In between one blink and the next, the pain disappears, replaced with a floaty, echoing pleasure that has your fingers clutching at Sam’s shirt. Everything around you goes a little unfocused, fuzzy, except for everywhere Sam touches, where you swear your nerves are lighting up with sparks and ecstasy. You might be making noises. It’s a little hard to tell, your senses dampened as they are. 

“Sam…” You shove a little at his shoulders when you notice your hands start to shake. He hums, and you feel it on your skin. You can see, now, why he likened this feeling to getting high, although you’re not sure it’s the feeding that you can see yourself getting addicted to. You shove him a little harder. “Gettin’ dizzy here.” 

He pulls back from your neck, and your senses return to you in a rush of sound and a pinprick sort of ache where his teeth had sunk into your skin. You watch, full focused vision returned, as Sam wipes at his mouth and then drags his tongue over his hand, now free of mottled veins, to catch the blood that had, you assumed, spilled as he drank from you. Like he can’t bear to waste a single drop. You swallow thickly, your mouth suddenly very dry. 

“You taste like…” He trails off, and then his mouth is on you again, but not biting. No, his tongue drags up your throat, and it occurs to you—vaguely, through the fog of earth-shattering, soul-bending lust that settles over you—that if blood had spilled down his mouth, then it stands to reason that it had made a mess of your neck as well. Not that you’re complaining, if this is the result of a little mess. He makes a soft noise against your skin, his breath hot now in a way it hadn’t been before. “Taste like…” His voice peters off again, distracted or just unable to find the words to describe it.

Yeah, screw this. “Let me find out for myself,” you murmur, your hands moving from his shoulders to his face—and his skin, too, is warmer now, almost the temperature you would generally expect it would be—until you can drag him into a kiss. The answer, as it turns out, is blood. You taste like blood, although you sort of assume it tastes different to him. Strangely, the flavor isn’t as off-putting as you would assume, especially not when he groans and uses his grip on your hair to tilt your head, kiss you deeper. !You lick into his mouth, tasting your actual, literal blood on his tongue, and you…don’t have the words to describe how absurdly hot it is.  

He’s not careful with his fangs, not really, lets them catch on your bottom lip and draw out pinpricks of blood that he soothes with his tongue. It makes the whole thing a little messy; he’s got blood smeared over his lips when you pull back to breathe. Your eyes track his tongue as he licks it up. 

His hand, the one that’s not braced on the back of your head, brushes against the skin of your waist under the hem of your shirt. “Is this okay?” he asks quietly, still so close that you can feel the words on your lips. 

Is this okay? You almost have to laugh at the question. As if you hadn’t wanted him since the first moment you saw him. “Yeah,” you tell him, a little smile tugging at your lips. “It is so absolutely more than okay.” 

At your confirmation, he smiles too, and his hand rests more firmly on your waist, almost grounding. “Well, I didn’t buy you dinner first. Wouldn’t want you to think I was ungentlemanly,” he says, drawing a soft laugh from you. 

“Aw, well. You did try.” You press forward, leaving a short kiss on his lips as your hand shifts from his face to tangle your fingers through his hair. “Plus, I mean…technically, I—”

Sam cuts you off with a kiss, but you can feel his grin against your mouth. “That does not count,” he protests.

“I dunno,” you say, a little sing-song in your voice as you grin at him. “I did quite literally just save your life. I think we might be a little past dinner.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head at you. He’s not annoyed though. You can tell, because his fingers flex on your waist and then move, brushing up your side. “Uh-huh. Sounds to me like I’m slacking.” He ducks his head and presses two short, soft kisses to your neck, right on top of the pinprick aches. “I’ll have to repay you. You did just save my life, after all.” 

Almost subconsciously, your fingers tighten in his hair. Anticipation settles in the small space between you, a space that grows even smaller when his hand presses against the small of your back and tugs your closer. “I did just save your life,” you repeat, your voice significantly breathier than it was before.

He laughs, a little puff of breath against your skin, and his lips drag down your throat in a line of open mouthed kisses until it lands at your pulse point. You swear to God, time slows down as he breathes in, slow and deep like he’s smelling your blood beneath your skin, and then presses his teeth to it until you can feel the points of them, precarious like water pooled on top of a penny. He doesn’t bite down, doesn’t break the skin, but fuck, you almost want him to. It seems like he wants to, too, as he closes his mouth with a snap. “Fuck…” He pulls back and lifts his eyes to yours. “Can I taste you? Please?” 

It takes you a second to understand what, exactly, he means. He’d already tasted you; if he wanted more blood, he could’ve just bitten you again. Then, it clicks, and you…well, what are you supposed to say to that? Sam Winchester, all big, cow eyes and mouth smeared with your blood, so politely asking to eat you out, like you’d be giving him a gift. How could you possibly turn that down? “Yeah. Yeah, fuck, that’s—yeah.” 

You only see his answering smile for half a second before his lips are on yours again, kissing, biting, while his hand caresses over the bare skin of your stomach. His kiss, his touch, is almost overwhelming, doesn’t leave you much room to think about anything else but him. Not that you really want to. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, pulls back just far enough from you to speak, and even then you can feel his lips move against yours as he asks, “Can I take this off?” 

You really do laugh this time, drawing your hands down his neck and over his shoulders. “I appreciate the whole gentleman thing, I really do, but Sam, baby, I’ve wanted you since before I even knew your name. So let’s just assume that whatever you wanna do, I really fuckin’ want it, too.” 

His eyes flick over your face, and you can literally feel the cocky ass grin he gets at that. It is, unfortunately, like everything else he does, ridiculously sexy. “That long, huh?” He’s such a dick. You want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your entire life. He tugs back and drags his gaze down your torso, his hand leaving your hair to join the other in toying with the hem of your shirt. “Guess I shouldn’t keep you waiting any longer, then.” His hands brush against the skin of your stomach as he pulls your shirt up and over your head before tossing it aside, not caring where it lands. You’ll find it later. Or you won’t. 

His eyes lave over your newly bare skin, his hands following shortly behind. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing his palms flat against your stomach and dragging them up your ribs. “Can you lay back for me, darling?” he asks, even as his hands press you back against the mattress before you can respond. 

You go easily, not in the least because the name knocks the breath out of you. “Darling?” you echo, shifting until you’re resting comfortably against the nest of pillows at the head of the bed. 

Sam climbs over you, his knee nudging yours until you spread your legs to make room for his hips to settle between your thighs. “Is that alright?” he asks, ducking his head to press his lips to the hinge of your jaw. 

More than alright, if the fluttering in your stomach is anything to go by. “It’s fine,” you say, playing it cool. Then, because his hands are rubbing up and down the bare skin of your sides and his teeth (the blunt ones, not the fangs, because he has much more self control than you do) are nipping at the skin of your neck, you play it decidedly uncool and continue, “Darling.” 

You feel his answering smile against the skin of your collarbone as he and his kisses and his teeth travel down the line of your neck and chest, pausing at the edge of your bra. He lifts his eyes to meet yours through his lashes as his lips press the softest of kisses there. “‘M gonna take this off, now,” he tells you, his voice deep and rumbling. His hands move up your back, and you arch your spine to allow him room to do so. He undoes your bra clasp without removing his lips from your chest, tugs the garment down your arms and tosses it vaguely in the same direction as your shirt without a second thought. 

“I thought about this, you know,” he says, softly, against the skin in the valley of your breasts. “Getting my mouth on you. How it would feel.” He shifts his attention, his lips closing over your nipple while his hand palms your other breast. It draws a soft gasp from your lips, your fingers twisting in his hair. “How you’d sound,” he continues, his voice a little cocky now. 

“Sam…” His name falls from your lips on an exhale, like you’re breathing him in, like he’s pumping through your veins the same way you’re now pumping through his. 

He smirks. If you thought he was cocky before… “Yeah, pretty much—” He presses that smirk against one nipple and brushes his thumb over the other, and while your head is dropping back onto the pillows with a moan, he laves his tongue over it to make you moan even louder— “just like that.” He's got you so distracted, you almost don't notice his free hand trailing down your stomach, brushing along the waistband of your jeans, not until his fingers undo the button with practiced ease. 

“Oh, God, you are so unfairly hot.” You lift your head to watch as he kisses his way down your stomach until he finally reaches your waistband with his mouth, too, and leaves a nippy little bite there. 

He laughs, glances up at you with that fucking smirk as he drags your jeans down your hips. “Unfair to who? You?” The two of you maneuver a bit until he can tug your pants off your ankles and toss them aside, another clothing casualty lost to the war on your sanity led by the swooping in your gut whenever Sam looks at you like that. 

“Not me,” you elaborate, although it’s hard to do so when Sam’s hands are settling on your hips and his thumbs are rubbing slow circles on your skin and dipping just so under the elastic of your panties on every other pass. “But, like, every other guy. How is anyone supposed to compete with…this?” 

This being Sam motherfucking Winchester, who had spent months shyly testing the waters and cautiously flirting so subtly that you were terrified you’d read him wrong, suddenly suave and confident and practically begging to eat you out. Oh, and also being, objectively, the hottest monster. This man has been terrorizing the dating pool for maybe centuries. You shudder to think how many women’s standards he has completely obliterated. 

Continuing the streak of obliterating your standards, he ducks his head, that shy smile on his lips again. “I mean, I should hope no one is competing with me in this particular instance,” he says, voice hesitant as if there’s a chance on Earth you’d ever turn him down. 

You shake your head, and honestly, you can’t help but laugh because a literal vampire is about to go down on you, and somehow the most unbelievable part of this situation is that he thinks he has an ounce of competition. “Are you actually asking me if I want to be exclusive right now?” you ask, drawing a hand up and through his hair, brushing his fringe off his forehead. “Because I feel like I made it so obvious how much I like you. Obviously, there is no competition.” 

You have the honor of watching Sam blush for the first time, and knowing that you made it possible. Your blood flushes his cheeks, makes his face go the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen. 

 “Obviously,” he echoes, his words brushing against the skin just above your panties. His hands brush down your thighs, and he pulls one of your legs up and over his shoulder so your heel rests against his back. He turns his head, and with your thigh now bracketing his head, it’s easy for him to press an open-mouthed kiss there, and then another, and then another until he’s brought you back practically to panting again. 

“‘M gonna make you see stars,” he tells you, his lips pressed against the crease where your thigh meets your hip. “And then, because I am a gentleman, I’m going to buy you dinner. And I’m gonna be thinking about this—” He nips at your skin, bares his fangs this time and draws a well of blood and a gasp from you simultaneously— “The way you taste; the way you feel—I’m gonna be thinking about it the whole time.” He draws his hands back up to your hips just to tuck his fingers under the elastic of your panties, lifting his eyes to yours as he tugs on it. “Can I take these off?” 

You think you might die if he doesn’t. “Please.” 

His fangs seem to glint in the light when he grins, but he ducks his head before you can look again, a sort of hyperfocus to his posture as he shifts your hips and legs until he can pull your underwear off your ankles, and finally, finally, leaves you bare to him. He doesn’t waste a second, his hands dragging up your thighs and then spreading them further, his eyes roving over you like you’re the most beautiful work of art he’s ever seen. “Gorgeous.” His voice, breathy and sweet, washing over you is the only warning you get before his lips press against you in a surprisingly gentle kiss. 

Your lungs expand on a gasp, and then deflate on a moan as he laves his tongue between your folds, the muscle pressed flat and soft like a tease. Or a preview. You’re not totally sure you’re going to survive this actually. You might die with Sam’s tongue licking over your pussy, and honestly, what a fucking way to go. 

“Taste so good all over, huh?” Oh, holy fuck, he’s still talking. His lips brush over your skin and make you whine, and you’re pretty sure you can feel the vibrations of his voice better than you can hear him. “Feel like I should thank you. Letting me feed from you, and now this?” He makes it sound like it’s some sacrifice to let him go down on you, like you’re not gripping his hair so tight you’re surprised you’re not pulling it out. “You’re perfect.” 

“Oh, my God,” your voice comes out high and tight as he closes his lips over your clit and sucks. Your back arches off the bed, but as your hips shift to press up against his mouth, you find his hand pressed low on your stomach, pinning you down. “Sam—oh, my God.” 

You can feel as much as hear the soft, contented hums he’s making, like he’s never wanted to be anywhere more than with his head between your legs and his tongue drawing circles over your clit. His fangs, sharp and dangerous, are almost artfully pressed against your skin, just barely enough to feel the points of them. His free hand, the one not pressing you down against the mattress, keeps trailing up and down the outside of your thigh, making you shiver and press your heel into his back. And it’s so obvious he’s loving this maybe even as much as you are, his whole body shifting as he grinds down against the mattress, and God, that feels almost as good as his mouth on your cunt does. He’s getting off on the taste of you, on making you squirm and whine and moan.

It’s over the second he presses his tongue against your entrance and his nose smushes against your clit—everything after that is a jumble of sensation. The feeling of his tongue fucking in and out, his nose rubbing against you with every movement of his mouth, his hand grabbing at your thigh and holding your legs open when your muscles go tense and tight and anticipatory. 

He draws his tongue out of you with an obscene slurping sound that just has you hurtling even faster towards the edge, your hands grabbing at his hair for dear fucking life, white knuckled. “Are you gonna come?” he asks, his voice low and gruff and almost fucked out. You squeeze your eyes shut, nodding as if it wasn’t obvious from the constant stream of noises spilling from your lips. “Yeah? Go on, come on my tongue. Give it to me, darling, let me taste it.” 

How could you resist that? His words and his stupidly talented mouth draw you over the edge, your pussy spasming as you do exactly as he asked and come on his tongue. True to his word, he does, in fact, make you see stars, lights sparking behind your eyelids. His mouth works you through it until you’re whining and using your grip on his hair to tug him away, oversensitive as you come down from an explosive fucking orgasm. 

He presses kisses on your inner thigh as he shifts it off his shoulder, your body loose and pliant now. “There you go, good girl.” The words make your cunt give a valiant twitch, even as he draws himself up your body until he’s laying beside you and pressing kisses over your face. “Was that good?” 

You peek one eye open to look at him, incredulous. “Was that good—you’re so ridiculous, c’mere.” You turn your head to draw him into a slow, lingering kiss. Much like the taste of your blood in his mouth, the taste of your pussy on his tongue is, frankly, life-changing. You’re addicted already. 

He draws back with a soft laugh, his eyes traveling over your face with such obvious fondness that you have to press another quick kiss against his lips. “Okay, understood.” He brings his hand up to brush over your face, soft and gentle and such a contrast to the obscene pleasure he’d taken in going down on you that it makes your cheeks go warm. “So when can I buy you that dinner?” 

The question gives you pauses, and your eyes flick down his body, curious. “Did you not want me to…” 

You watch your blood, again, flood his cheeks as he laughs and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s not—I really like giving head,” he explains, as if that is not literally the hottest thing he could’ve possibly said. 

Fuck dinner, you wanna go five rounds with him back to back right now. “Okay,” you say, because he’s very sweet and he wants to be a gentleman and who are you to take that from him? “You can take me to dinner, if you swear you’ll let me suck you off when we get back. Deal?” 

The way his face lights up is worth having to wait. “Deal.”  

“And,” you continue, your hand smoothing over his hair where your grip had mussed it up, “next time you need blood, let’s just skip the whole ‘I’m a monster’ thing. I am more than willing to supply you; I have a vested interest in keeping you around.” 

He rolls his eyes, but the way he kisses you, fangs and all, tells you he gets it.

[entitled-fangirl]

Rumors and the bastards of one Aegon Targaryen II.

Aegon Targaryen II x wife!reader

Summary: Aegon spent his time on the Silk Streets; rumors always spread. When Aemond encourages the truth of one, Aegon's wife is mortified.

Warnings: brothels, alcohol, being drunk, rumors, miscommunication

A/n: I am an Aegon hater BUT listen listen listen- I hated the fighting pit allegations with his "bastard children" that the twins talk about in the show. Do I think he had bastards? YES. Do I think he did all that? NAH. Also- this was supposed to be based on an ask but I may write another one with that ask cause I don't think I did that part justice

Masterlist

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His wife was not a useless woman who spent her time doing deemed "meaningless" tasks like embroidery. She was well studied, and well spoken. She was not pushy. Alicent would never have let a woman control her son like that. But she found easy ways to state her thoughts while still being considerate to her husband. 

A woman like that felt like one of a kind.

Aegon knew that in his mind. Somewhere deep down. 

But he didn't change his habits when she came around. He still spent some of his nights in the streets of King's Landing, causing trouble and problems everywhere he went. 

Everyone knew of Aegon's "night adventures," though none talked of it. It was not something you bring up during a council meeting or spoke of in the corridors.

…

After a particularly long night out, Aegon rolled over in his bed, covering his eyes as he cringed at the sunlight streaming throughout his room.

This is why he didn't want to be king. Duty awaited him.

He was reminded that with the insistent knock on his door and his servant reminding him of the council meeting only minutes away.

He yawned, groaned with a stretch, and stood to slowly dress himself.

He could take his time, after all. No meeting started without the king.

…

Now a little more conscious, he entered the council room with a creak of the large doors. It earned the attention of everyone at the table.

Criston sat at the King's right side. The queen dowager was next to him and Aegon's wife after that. Aemond at the end. The table went round with others as well, but none were as connected in the king's life as those four. 

Y/n had always gotten along with Aemond. When Aegon was off sullying the Targaryen name, she spent time with Aemond in the castle's large solar, studying quietly alongside him. Different topics, but the shared silence was comforting.

And Aemond almost felt a guilt when he looked at her. Especially today when her husband entered the council meeting late with a staggered step and a clear look that said 'I did things I shouldn't have last night.'

The council was quiet at first, the awkwardness eating any things they had to talk about.

But once the talk of war started, the two brothers began to argue and the council meeting had truly begun.

The queen stayed quiet, her eyes set on the table, her fingers fidgeting absentmindedly with her stone and its place at the table.

Aegon never really had his arse in his seat. He loved to pace. When the arguing grew to anger, he set his anger on anything that annoyed him, prompting him to once point out his wife's fidgeting. Her cheeks turned red and she forced her hands away from the table.

But soon Aemond stood as well, eager to point out his plan in their map. As he did so, he took the long path around, passing by his brother's wife. In his hand was his own stone, which he set on the table in front of her without even looking her way or slowing his pace. 

It rolled towards the edge of the table and she caught it, silently thanking his support.

He felt like he owed it to her for what he had done yesterday.

…

"I'll never understand," Aemond muttered, breaking the prolonged silence of their studying.

Her eyes never moved from her page. "Understand what?"

He rolled up the scroll he had focused on and set it aside. "Him. Being so irresponsible."

Their eyes met, and neither had to question who he was speaking of.

"He did not want this," was her soft reply.

"Neither did you. And still you defend him. You did not wish for a man who spends his time with ale and women rather than home and duty."

Her eyes softened as his words hurt her. "I am Queen of the Realm. Me. Anyone would kill for my seat. One woman of the millions here."

"That means nothing." His eye pierced hers deeply. The gaze of Aemond Targaryen, though only half the gaze of a normal person, was double in the way it would see right through you. It made even tough men flinch. He leans over his papers. "He should be here, spending his time with his wife so she may do her duties."

"H- He does," she tries to defend. "Sometimes."

"Right before he passes out from all he's drank." There's no defense for that. He was right. "My queen, it's not that he can't make heirs with you. He just doesn't with you."

"What?"

His eye darkens. "How do you fancy an adventure down the Silk Streets of King's Landing?"

…

The meeting was over with the wave of Aegon's hand, thank the gods, and they all stood to leave.

"Except you, brother. You'll stay."

Y/n takes her time leaving, seeing both brothers' eyes roam over her for a moment before she left them to talk.

…

She sat by the fire. Since she had lived here, the servants had all begged her to sit in chairs or sofas near the fire rather than on the hard floor directly in front of it, but none held the same feeling that she desired.

She always had a cloak or fur of some sort on the floor, a small nest of sorts always awaiting for her to come back to the flames.

She had asked for a needle and thread, struggling to embroider on one of her skirts as she tried to relieve stress. But she'd never really done so before and it looked messy and her hands were too gruff with it.

Aegon entered after a few minutes. He didn't knock. He never did.

His eyes took in the room slowly until they settled on her. He tilted his head and stepped further into the room until he could feel the heat of the fire. "Aemond doesn't know what he speaks of."

"Aemond only told me the truth. I don't see why you have to lie."

He shifts his weight. "I-I told him to stop meddling in your affairs. He's far too close."

She turns her head but doesn't look over her shoulder. "He's been kinder than… most."

That hurt Aegon more than he wanted to admit. "What did he show you? What did you see?"

She begins to sew faster, as if it's a quick sport. "Does it matter? You're the king. Your affairs are none of my bu-"

"-I want you to speak to me," he said with a desperate tone. "How can I keep a kingdom together if I cannot even communicate with my wife?"

"How many?"

His head tilted again in confusion. "How many what?"

She turned her body this time, pausing her efforts on the fabric to look at him. "How many of your bastards run around King's Landing?"

Silence.

This was not a comforting silence like the solar with Aemond. 

This was a silence that suffocated you.

Aegon tore his gaze from her face in embarrassment to look down at his shoes. Like they needed his attention over the woman in front of him.

She tried again. "How many, Aegon?" Her voice quivered with his name and it send sharp spikes down his spine.

When he dared to look back up at her, he saw unshed tears pooling in her eyes.

"I-" he stopped himself. What answer did she want? What answer did he even want? "I don't see how that's relevant."

His deflection forced a sob out of her. It was light and painful, a slow withering of her from the inside out. 

Aegon deemed himself useless when it came to tears.

His jaw went slack for a moment, his eyes just watching in slow motion as his stomach jolted. He blinked and shift his weight again. "I…. I d- stop doing that."

It was a ridiculous ask. They both knew that. But she turned away from him as if keeping it from his sight was enough. 

He watched her shoulders shake with each weep as her fingers tried to pull the needle through the fabric. He closed the distance more, now daring to kneel at her side. He had no idea how to comfort a situation like this. "You have never liked needlepoint," he softly pointed out.

It was a long while before she answered. Sniffle. "I have never liked you either. Yet here I am with both."

That forces him back to rock on his heels. She was quick and had a sharp tongue. It was thoroughly impressive- when it wasn't painful like this.

The only sounds that echoed in the room were her sniffles and the occasional clicks and pops of the fire in front of them. And her tugging of the thread through the fabric.

Finally, he spoke.

"Two."

Her fingers paused. "What?"

"I've fathered two bastards."

Her head snaps back to him, but he makes no hurry to look at her. The flames dance in his eyes as he stares off. 

"Only two?"

Aegon finally lulled his head to look at her. "Two."

"You sound sure."

"I am sure. I'm very sure." He reached up, wiping away a stray tear off her cheek. Once gone, he returned his hand to his lap, pulling at the skin around his nails.

"There are rumors about your bastards…a… at the fighting pit-"

"-Who told you those?" He said in annoyance.

She hesitated. "There were so many of them there. They had your hair."

"Most bastards here do. Does not make them mine." He sighed. "Do you ever think that perhaps I'm not the only Targaryen that has roamed the Silk Streets at night?"

"You're saying-"

"-I'm saying that they could be Daemon's. They could be my father's. They could be his father's, or his father after him. But they're not mine." His kind eyes set on her. "I won't be blamed for all of King Landing's problems. Only the ones I cause."

She set the needlepoint aside and rubbed her hands over her face. "I just wished…"

Aegon waited patiently for what she would say.

"I just wish you would spend more of your energy here. With me. You're forcing me to neglect my duty." She ran a hand through her hair. "I cannot take your mother's insistence again. She's relentless."

He sighed again. He loved to drink, and that usually ended with him stumbling into the brothel with the help of his friends. That was his release from this prison they all called 'duty.' But perhaps there could be silver linings in all of it.

He couldn't say no when he never gave her a decent try.

"Fine. I'll… hold back on the drinking. And the… the late nights. If it guarantees your happiness. I want to make you happy." It would be hard. No, it would be like torture to not drink as often, to not spent hours forgetting life and having to return to it with a headache a few hours later.

But she deserved a decent try from him.

"Thank you. And when I am with child, we can… assess it all once again." She tucked a stray hand of his hair behind his ear. "Thank you. Truly," she added again.

"Of course," he smiled sheepishly. "Just promise me to never assume the trust of the rumors of King's landing. Just ask me. I've done awful things, but I'll admit them to you at least."

For once, she smiled. "That's easy enough. I never should have gone with Aemond last night."

"From now on, the streets will see little of their King and Queen," Aegon smiled back. With a hesitant stretch and groan, he stood. "I have petitions soon. Perhaps you'll wait for my return?"

She pushed herself up to stand, taking Aegon's hand when he immediately offered it. "Of course. But not here. I'll be in the solar."

His brows furrowed. "What's wrong with here?"

"If I have to pull that needle through fabric one more time, I will stab it in my eye." She said it with no emotion, and it caused a bright laugh to pull from Aegon's chest. 

She was witty.

Finally, she broke into a breathy laugh and moved to collect her things for studying.

He followed her for a moment, curious to see what she had before he left.

"In the least, Aegon," she spoke over her shoulder. "Think of the money you'll save when you're away from it all. Whores and drinks are expensive, I'd wager."

His voice was low in her ear as he stood next to her. "Darling, when you're King, they all beg to buy a drink for you. I haven't bought myself a drink in almost a year."

She shivered at his proximity and she spared him a glance- almost one of offense. "Then you spend it all on women?"

He shook his head as if it was a dumb thought. It was true that he spent a lot on the streets. But now that he considered it, no one had ever really asked where it went. The crown just provided it and that was that.

"Then where-"

He put a finger over her mouth. "There are two children with no father to provide for them." He tilted his head side to side, "Perhaps their mothers find themselves with… extra money from a donor of sorts."

Her eyes widened. And just as she opened her mouth to ask more, he walked away, leaving her to her thoughts.

How wrong she had been about King Aegon Targaryen II

.......................................

[sathavious]

bro-code.ᐟ | y.itadori x f!reader

synopsis : You're megumi's little sister, that means hands off you according to bro-code, only problem is yuuji's so in love with you. Will he risk going against his best friend and breaking bro-code?

warnings : profanity, somewhat mean yuuji, making out, megumi walks in, mutual pining, they’re shirtless.

wc : 2.5k

You were Megumi's sister, he'd known you since the start of high school, and his feelings for you just continued to grow.

5:10 pm

you heard a knock on your door, You open it and you see your brother's cute best friend Yuuji standing outside the door with what looked like a disk for a console game in his hand.

"Megumi home yet? He was supposed to be here to play with me"

Yuuji says breaking the silence.

You snap out of it, realizing you had been staring at him for the past 2 minutes.

"No sorry he isn't, You're welcome to stay inside and wait for him."

You shrug and give him an awkward smile pointing to the inside of your apartment, the tension in the air getting thicker and thicker.

"Sure! I'll come in and wait for him."

Yuuji says, entering your apartment and making himself comfortable on the couch.

You shut the door and follow him.

Although the both of you know each other, you've never had a conversation that lasted more than 5 minutes. 'This is going to be awkward' The both of you seem to share the same thought, unaware of how the other feels.

"Yuuji, why don't you text him."

You say trying hard to find any reason to talk to him.

"That's.. a good idea."

Yuuji says, pulling out his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

"Hey dude, how long until you get here? I'm already here, you're sister let me in."-5:16 pm

Yuuji texts Megumi, and his phone buzzes again a minute later.

"Got busy with something, be there by 8."-5:17 pm

He shuts off his phone and puts it on the coffee table, stretching his feet out and getting comfortable. 'I'm gonna spend almost 3 hours alone with her? I really hope I don't bore her or make her hate me.' Yuuji thinks to himself, looking at you.

"Megumi's gonna be home by 8, I'm gonna wait here for him, if that's alright with you."

Yuuji asks you, hoping you say yes.

"Yeah, sure if you don't mind being alone with me."

You respond, letting out a small laugh at the end of your sentence. He lets out an awkward chuckle in response.

'This is my chance.' The both of you think to yourself as you clear your throat trying not to let the conversation die.

"You said you were going to play with him right? How about we play to kill the time? I'm not as good as Megumi but I'm sure you at least won't die of boredom."

You say, your eyes lighting up with a glimmer.

"Sure, I hope you're not a sore loser because I'm not going to go easy on you."

He says as he gets up and turns on the TV and the console then proceeds to enter the disk, handing you the controller as he sits back on the couch.

"I'd like to see you try to win."

You say, clearly excited to play as you take the controller and ask.

"You ready Yuuji? Better start getting ready to lose now."

"As if, I'm gonna win."

Yuuji says as he sets up a custom FIFA match for you.

"Need a recap of the controls? Don't want you saying you didn't know how to do that after you lose."

"Nah I'm good."

You and Yuuji share a cocky smile as you divert your attention back to the screen. 3…2…1..START the TV screen reads as the room gets silent, the only sounds heard are the beeping of the controller and the game noises.

6:07 pm

Game over. Yuuji wins!

He looks at you with a mischievous grin on his face.

"Sucks to suck loser."

He chuckles and gives you a fake look of sympathy.

"That was only warmup, Let's play more, best of 3."

You say pouting and looking away.

"Sure princess. I'd be happy to defeat you a second time."

Yuuji says, leaning in closer to you as his voice gets deeper and his eyes glisten. He's clearly trying to flirt but doesn't want to make it too obvious.

You blush at the nickname but you try not to let it bother you. 'It probably meant nothing,' you say to yourself as you brush it off and give him a serious glare.

"Let's go then. The loser does whatever the winner wants."

"Sure what are you waiting for."

He says with a determined look on his face. He was gonna win at any cost.

You turn your attention back to the screen again as you play another round.

6:51 pm

Game over. Yuuji wins.

Your face turns into a face of defeat as you look down trying not to meet eyes with him.

"Getting shy now that you lost princess?"

Yuuji says as he moves in ever so close to you.

"The loser does whatever the winner wants."

He reminds you as you're rendered speechless, your face inches away from his as you feel yourself getting redder. You take a good look at him, analyzing his face.

He's so fucking pretty. He has pretty brown eyes, long eyelashes, plump pink lips, and a good smile, he has an undercut with pink dye and he smells like the ocean mist. He's not that muscular but just enough to the point where he has buff arms and toned abs. You're so in love with him and you've barely ever spoken to him. You just want to kiss him so bad. You snap out of your trance as you say.

"What do you want me to do pretty boy?"

Your crush on him is so fucking obvious, he doesn't seem to mind though, in fact, it looks like he's planning something.

'Shit, Megumi's gonna kill me for breaking bro code but I've come so far, no use backing down now.'

Yuuji thinks to himself, upon hearing you call him a pretty boy, his face is stained with a deep pink hue.

'I'm gonna do it.' he thinks to himself.

He leans closer to you his lips slightly parted.

"What? Are you too scared now pretty boy, You don't have to do it you know you could jus-"

He closed his eyes as he placed a gentle kiss on your lips, not wanting to pull away but he did, his mind started overthinking as he opened his eyes to look at you.

You're brains scrambled, and you're dazed for a second, it's clear you enjoyed the kiss, you pause for a second as you move closer to him, reducing the distance he put between you.

"If you wanted to do that you could've just told me, you didn't have to stop me mid-sentence. Although I'm not opposed to it either."

You say smirking as you look at him, your face turning to a dark hue of red as you give him a small but comforting smile.

"I've wanted to do that for so long, you have no idea. Wait does this mean you like me? Because I like you, I've liked you for so long, didn't know how to say it thought."

He says kinda embarrassed but also happy after that kiss.

"God yes, I like you so so much."

You say laughing as you grab his hand and intertwine it with yours.

"Does this mean we can y-you know um date and stuff?"

Yuuji asks, his eyes lighting up as he looks at you, curious about how you answer his question.

“Of course Yuuji my pretty boy”

You respond giving him a soft smile.

You both were still visibly flustered, eyes meeting each other, as you leaned closer feeling his warm breath on your face.

“I guess this is a good time…”

Yuuji says as he looks at your mouth, wanting to kiss you again, his eyes are still locked onto yours, waiting for you to say something.

“Good time to what?”

You ask, leaning in even closer.

“To do this princess.”

Yuuji pauses before he softly presses his lips against yours kissing you deeply with his eyes closed, his hands wrapping around you, he holds you close to him as he deepens the kiss.

“..so good…baby...”

You say mumbling as you grab onto him bringing him closer.

He kept going, closing his eyes as he kissed you. It was hard for him to stop now, not that he wanted to. He pulled away for a moment, opening his eyes as he breathed heavily.

“Your lips are so addictive I can’t stop.”

Yuuji looked at you as he spoke, slightly parting his lips. He was planning on doing something.

He got closer to you, kissing you again.

You felt his tongue run against your lower lip. His hands come over to your head, as they run through your hair.

“You’re making me want to do this princess.”

His tongue went further in, touching the roof of your mouth as his eyes stayed on yours.

“Don’t stop pretty boy…”

You say letting out soft whimpers and moans.

He had a playful look in his eyes as he kept going, he got a little more aggressive as his tongue got deeper.

You rake your fingers through his pink fluffy hair as your other hand cups his cheeks bringing him impossibly closer.

He let out a low moan when he felt how you were pulling him in closer. He was clearly very flustered.

Your hand pulls on his hair causing him to let out a few more moans as your other hand drops from his cheek to his shirt tugging on it.

He broke away from the kiss for a moment, pulling his shirt off as he threw it to the side cupping your face and kissing you again.

His actions were flirty and playful as he kept kissing you, you could see his toned body and muscles now.

“Gosh, baby you’re so hot.”

You say between muffled kisses as you stare intently at his body.

His face went a little red, his heart beating a lot more, you really were making him flustered.

“mm I’m really glad you think so princess.”

His tongue went deeper again as he kept kissing you.

You move your hand to his abdomen, tracing the outlines of his well-defined body as your other hand remains in his hair, pulling harder.

He gets a little more confident and seductive as he moves his hand down to tug on your shirt, pulling it off you.

Your face went redder, he was teasing you, and he knew exactly what to do.

“..your body is perfect just like you princess…”

He says completely pulling your shirt off you, now kissing and sucking on your neck as one of his hands grabs your waist pulling you closer and the other one fiddles with your chest then moves to your hair.

He leaves deep purple marks on your neck then goes back to kissing you.

All sounds drown out as the both of you continue making out completely mesmerized and your faces turning bright red.

7:37 pm

Just then the keys jingle and the door opens Of course the both of you, too involved with each other don't hear when it happens, and when Megumi walks in, he sees the both of you on his couch he says with his voice raised

“WHAT THE FUCK YUUJI??”

Both of you pause for a moment as you pull away your eyes widening in shock. You turn around to look at a disappointed Megumi as he sighs

“You’re really breaking bro code I thought I told you my sister was off-limits.”

Megumi says to Yuuji as he facepalms himself.

“And you…”

He says turning around to you.

“You’re really not that innocent either. Kissing MY best friend on MY couch…”

He’s furious at you, you can feel it in his eyes as you look down avoiding Megumi’s gaze lips parted but not saying anything.

“You’re both shirtless too what the fuck were you even planning on doing. Is this a one-time thing that’s going to make it awkward for me to hang out with either of you again or do you actually like each other.”

Megumi is so mad. That's what you and Yuuji think as you both share a glance.

“I'm sorry bro but I really like her, I really do.”

Yuuji says pleading to Megumi as he hands you your shirt.

You put your shirt back on as you say.

“It's true Megumi I really like him too..”

You say trying to calm Megumi down and explain to him that you and Yuuji have liked each other for a long time and are dating now.

He freaks out a little but eventually comes to terms with everything.

“If you really like each other it’s fine. It's okay to break bro code if your feelings for each other are genuine. Next time though, don't make out on my couch.”

He says huffing as he looks at you and lets out a little laugh. Megumi really is the worst, you think to yourself.

You grab a pillow off the couch and hit him in the face.

“Go away now you’re ruining the moment.”

You say, Yuuji and you laughing at Megumi’s annoyed expression.

“Gross, get a room.”

He says as he walks away going to his room and putting headphones on.

“The moment’s ruined now isn't it?.”

Yuuji breaks the silence looking at you with a soft smile.

“Totally. Megumi’s a dickhead.”

You respond breaking out in laughter.

“I really do like you though princess.”

Yuuji says sounding a little more nervous now.

“Me too. I really like you too pretty boy.”

You say blushing a little more.

“Lunch date tomorrow? An official date now that you’re my girlfriend and I’m your boyfriend. I’ll pick you up at 12.”

Yuuji shrugs, not meeting your gaze as he asks you.

“I would love to.”

You say giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He ruffles your hair and gives you a kiss on your forehead as he says.

“Gonna go hang out with Megumi’s now, bet he’s probably pissed. See you tomorrow, princess.”

He winks at you as he gets off the couch.

“Yeah, he’s probably pissed. I’ll be in my room then. See you tomorrow indeed, pretty boy.”

You say pouting as you get off the couch too making your way to your room.

He goes to Megumi’s room apologizes and then hangs out with him.

“I know you broke bro code but I think I can make an exception.”

Megumi says as he invites Yuuji next to him on the bed flicking his forehead and then handing Yuuji a controller.

“Thanks. I promise not to break her heart.”

Yuuji says smiling

“Good. I’ll kill you if you do.”

Megumi says with a serious expression on his face.

You walk into your room closing the door behind you as you plop onto your bed smiling after what happened. You look for your headphones as you listen to your playlist and text your best friend about what happened.

Both you and Yuuji were still smiley and blushing. Still thinking about each other.

[ice-knife]

hide your bloodshot eyes (i think too much)

~1.9k words, bellarook (pre-relationship), hurt/comfort. one thing to know about me is that i love an antivan crow who is scared to navigate sincere interpersonal relationships but tries anyway. title is from “losing streak” by paper planes. spoilers for the act 2 datv quest “the demon’s bargain” since this takes place immediately after it

The dust hasn’t even had a chance to settle after the last demon has been slain before Bellara suggests “Let’s get Hamuel and Yenarel back to camp.”

“Shouldn’t we go after Cyrian first?” Russo asks, startled. It would only make sense to solve this problem first, since it’s reared its head now. They can keep going, and the other Veil Jumpers could find these two soon enough—

Bellara first answers with silence, and coming from her that says plenty before any actual words can. By the time he’s turned to look at her properly, she’s rearranged whatever expression she’d had before into something… not flat, but trying to be. It’s too dark to manage that.

“He’s gone,” she says finally. Then, with a quick breath and a peppier tone, she adds: “C’mon. Let’s signal the others.”

Russo just nods, and he doesn’t say anything about how she had backed away from Cyrian’s outstretched hand. He can’t forget about it, though. Bellara — who grabs the nearest forearm for emphasis when explaining something exciting, who had hugged Neve after she returned from Minrathous — had recoiled from her little brother’s offer of touch.

He thinks to check in to see how she’s feeling, now that the worst is over. It’s only when he tries to think of what to say, though, that he realizes he doesn’t know where to even start.

Instead, he offers to help set up the signal flare.

⁂

“We need to stop him. No matter what.”

It isn’t an easy conversation for anyone involved. Cyrian was supposed to be dead, and all of the Veil Jumpers who’d known about him had believed that he was. But since he’s apparently alive and working for a Forgotten One, the conversation must be had. Strife is, Russo thinks, trying to be gentle as he talks about what needs to be done, but there’s no doubt in his voice.

“I know, Strife, but…” Bellara still leaves uncertain space around her words, even as she lifts her chin to speak. “I can get through to him. I know I can.”

Irelin voices the thought that had crossed Russo’s mind immediately: “And… if you can’t?”

Bellara’s expression falls, and her gaze goes down with it. At first, Russo thinks she’s gathering her thoughts before answering. As the silence goes on a little longer, he assumes she’s gathering her strength instead. It wouldn’t be surprising.

But then, she finally lifts her eyes again. She looks to him, not to Irelin or even to Strife. There’s strain written all across her face, from the thin line of her lips to the crease between her eyebrows where they’re trying to knit together. His stomach drops as though the earth has started to crumble away under his feet.

“Right,” he says, then realizes that he’s said it. He looks toward the other two and gives a quick nod. “Come on. We should head back to the Lighthouse.”

It isn’t a graceful exit, but it’s a necessary one. Neither of the other Veil Jumpers argue, and Russo turns to follow Bellara, who’d started marching toward the Eluvian as soon as he’d suggested returning.

They don’t say anything during the trip back, as short as the trip from Arlathan Forest to the Lighthouse is. By virtue of her quick pace, Bellara leads the way forward, and Russo isn’t about to ask her to slow down. He wouldn’t know what to say to her even if he could ask, and that’s assuming she would listen.

Something aches between his ribs, the pain present since he realized he didn’t know what to say to comfort her.

Comfort, in his experience, is hard to come by. He’s long since taught himself how to get by with a brave face and a focus on other things. That doesn’t mean, though, that he can’t recognize that Bellara is clearly trying to keep herself together in the wake of so much earth-shattering news. She needs comfort right now. He can’t just leave her to deal with this alone.

She disappears into the Eluvian to return to the Lighthouse while he’s still thinking. Losing sight of her makes that ache throb, and he picks his pace up into a run.

She’s kept her purposeful stride, which means she’s halfway out of the chamber by the time Russo catches up. “Bellara, wait,” he calls as soon as he sees her again, hoping to get her attention even if she doesn’t stop.

But then, she does. She doesn’t turn to face him, but she does stop walking. He slows to a stop just one pace behind her, but his heart keeps going as though in a dead sprint.

“…Bellara,” he repeats. “I’m… I…” Try as he might, he can’t find the words to follow up.

But he could put a hand on her shoulder. Would she appreciate that, when she’d backed away from Cyrian’s hand?

“C… Can I…?” The words still aren’t coming, so he tries anyway. He reaches his hand out to rest on the back of her upper arm. It would be easy for her to shrug him away if she didn’t want him there. The warmth of her skin seeps through her shirt and his thin glove.

She moves suddenly, and he takes his hand back. Surprisingly, he realizes he can see her face; she’s looking up at him again, her eyes glittering and her chin wobbling dangerously from the intense curve of her frown—

He has just long enough to register her expression before it’s been hidden in his shoulder, and her arms are wrapped around his ribs.

Stunned, he stands rigidly in place as he takes stock of what’s happened. Not only had Bellara not actually shrugged his touch away, but now she was pressed against him with her whole body. Her hands had curled into fists and found purchase on his cape, and she’s holding onto him as though letting go would mean drifting away. It doesn’t quite make sense. Not, at least, until a keening sob escapes her, and she buries her face further into his shoulder.

He realizes, then, that his heart is still pounding.

He realizes as well, shortly afterward, that Bellara is trembling a little against him.

With a shuddering exhale — had he been holding his breath? — he’s able to command his limbs again, and he wraps her in a hug of his own, arms securely around her shoulders. She makes another little noise as he does, a gasp in between sobs, but she doesn’t try to move away at all. Instead, she burrows against him even closer. Encouraged, he closes his eyes and bows his head a little, resting it against hers.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

She says something that’s probably meant to be an answer, but it’s lost in the fabric of his cape. No matter. He tightens his grip in a squeeze for a moment before giving slack again, to reaffirm for her that his words were true.

Somehow she starts crying harder in response, which sends a bolt of panic through him. He doesn’t have the benefit of practice to know whether or not this is a bad sign, or if there’s anything he isn’t doing that he should be doing. However, she doesn’t let him go even as she weeps, and so he holds on just as she does.

“…‘Msorry,” she mumbles after some time.

“Hey,” he answers, his voice gentle. “It’s all right.”

“I-I know you… don’t like to touch…”

It’s true, and he knows she knows that. He also knows she’s prone to forgetting things, although she’s been consistent about asking for permission before touching him, ordinarily. More than that, though, he knows this — her dead brother appearing in the flesh to tell her he’s been killing her fellow Veil Jumpers under the orders of a Forgotten One — is far an ordinary circumstance.

“It’s all right,” he repeats. “You’re all right. I… I think you need this.”

Bellara sniffles, then nods against his shoulder. “Yeah…” Her voice catches on the single syllable, and another sob follows it.

“I’m here,” he swears.

That must be the right thing to say, because even as she hides her face once more, he can feel the tension in her shoulders ebb away little by little. He keeps her close, as close as she needs, as her crying becomes more and more quiet.

Time always feels a little strange in proximity of the Eluvian. He could have already been holding her for a few minutes or a few hours, or even a few days, and he wouldn’t know the difference. As long as she’s solid in his arms like this, he doesn’t think it matters too much.

By a certain point, she’s stopped trembling but still hasn’t let go. Russo starts to wonder if she’s now just crying silently. Hoping to help without rushing her, he shifts his weight slowly from one foot to the other, bringing her with him as he moves. She leans into him more, he notices, as he starts to sway like this.

“Feeling any better?” he asks, a little cautiously still.

“A little.” He hadn’t been expecting her voice to sound as clear as it does — she isn’t back to normal yet, and he wouldn’t expect her to be, but her tears must have stopped.

He stops swaying and lifts his head away from hers, and she lifts her head out of his shoulder as well. The red in and around her eyes brings the ache he’d felt earlier to the fore once again. When he looks at the rest of her face, though, despite the tear tracks across her face and the texture of his cape imprinted onto her cheek, he finds a soft smile. Soft and, most importantly, free from the effort of trying to hold herself together.

“You look better.”

“Pfff.” He hadn’t meant the remark as a joke, but he doesn’t stop her from laughing. “No, I don’t,” she continues. “I’m sure I look like a mess. O-Oh, no, I just cried all over you…”

Ah. She’s already three emotions ahead of him again. “Bellara, it’s all right,” he assures. “Like I said, you needed this. I really don’t mind.”

She opens her mouth like she’s about to correct him, but something seems to make her second-guess that approach. Instead, she blinks, and then that soft smile returns. “Okay. …Thanks, Rook. I really, really did. Need this, I mean.”

“I’m glad I could help.” He finds himself smiling, too, the feeling comfortable in his cheeks.

He feels her grip on his cape loosen; taking this as a cue, he finally lets go of the hug. Almost immediately her absence leaves him feeling cooler, the emptiness of the space she no longer occupies now a tangible thing. She doesn’t stray far just yet, and she first wipes at her face with her hands, then puts her hands behind her back, the way she does when she’s thinking.

“Do you… Do you want some tea?” she asks. “I should probably have something to drink, after all of that. We could ask Manfred to make some. I bet he’d like to.”

Oh. She doesn’t want to part ways just yet. “Sure. Tea sounds really good.”

He’s ready to follow her out to the courtyard, but she falls into step beside him. The flapping bird of his heart finally calms as they walk out of the chamber together.

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

�� Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

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

Chapter Four

Today was the day. No more hesitations, no more doubts. I was going to take the first step toward proving everyone wrong.

The early morning light filtered through the blinds, casting faint patterns on the floor as I stretched and rolled my shoulders. My apartment was still half-furnished, cluttered with notebooks, sketches, and car model parts scattered across every available surface. It didn’t look like much, but to me, it was the starting line.

I wanted to celebrate this shift in energy—maybe manifest success by starting the day right. Pancakes seemed symbolic. Who didn’t love pancakes? The only problem was I hadn’t factored in my inability to cook. The first batch was already charred, smoke curling from the pan in thick waves before I even had time to flip it. I panicked, fumbling with the dial and turning the heat up instead of down.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

The fire alarm shrieked, and I grabbed a dish towel, waving it wildly as I opened windows, trying to force out the smoke. My heart hammered as the beeping continued, echoing off the walls.

Then came the knock.

I froze, mid-flap of my dish towel, and glanced at the door. Great. The neighbors probably thought I was burning the building down. Hesitating, I padded over and cracked it open, ready to apologise and potentially get kicked out.

The man on the other side of the door looked like he’d walked off a movie set—tall, broad-shouldered, with black curls that fell loosely over his forehead. His hazel eyes were warm yet sharp, scanning the smoky chaos behind me.

“Everything okay?” His voice was smooth, a little amused.

“Totally fine,” I said, coughing on a puff of lingering smoke. “Just… uh pancakes.”

He arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Pancakes?”

I sighed. “Catastrophic pancakes.”

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “Mind if I step in before we all die of smoke inhalation?”

I nodded, stepping aside as he walked straight into the kitchen. In minutes, he had the stove off, the windows wide open, and the smoke clearing out. Meanwhile, I stood awkwardly clutching the mixing bowl, wishing I’d at least brushed my hair before attempting this domestic disaster.

“Let me see that,” he said, nodding toward the batter.

I handed it over, watching as he poured perfect circles onto the pan. He flipped them effortlessly, golden brown and fluffy.

“How?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Cooking’s not that hard,” he teased, glancing back with a grin. “You just need to pay attention.”

“I was paying attention.”

“To what? The fire alarm?”

I glared, but his smirk softened it. “I’m Damian, by the way.”

“Ayl—” I hesitated. “AJ. AJ Banks.”

“So, AJ,” he said, sliding the last pancake onto a plate and handing it to me. “You always start your mornings with near arson, or was this a one-time thing?”

I rolled my eyes, taking the plate. “It was supposed to be a motivational breakfast. You know, new city, fresh start, endless possibilities…” I trailed off, suddenly aware of how desperate it all sounded.

He didn’t laugh like I thought he would. Instead, he grabbed a fork, stole one of my pancakes, and said, “I get it. Sometimes you have to fake it ‘til you make it.”

“Exactly.” I pointed my fork at him. “That’s the plan.”

“So what’s the dream?” He leaned back against the counter, eyes curious but not judging. I hesitated. I wasn’t used to talking about this, especially to strangers who looked like they had their lives together. But something about Damian’s easy confidence made it feel safe.

“I want to design Formula 1 cars,” I said, setting my fork down. “Not just work on them—actually design them. Make something that changes the game.”

His eyebrows lifted. “That’s big.”

“I know.”

“Big is good,” he said simply, like it wasn’t crazy at all.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“But let’s be real,” he added, stealing another pancake. “You’re not getting there by burning down your kitchen.”

“Noted.”

His smirk returned. “Lucky for you, I make a mean breakfast. And, since we’re neighbors, I guess I’ll have to keep you alive.”

I shook my head, but I couldn’t help smiling.

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

Damian insisted on walking me out of the apartment complex. The sun was brighter than I expected, making me squint as we stepped outside.

“You’ll be fine,” he said when we reached the street. “Just don’t let them scare you.”

I swallowed. “Thanks. For the pancakes. And the pep talk.”

“Anytime.”

I took a deep breath in before stepping into what could be my future. The design company was sleek and intimidating, the kind of place where every surface gleamed and the people walking through the halls looked effortlessly important. Even the receptionist seemed polished, her hair in a perfect twist and nails painted a sharp, glossy red.

She barely looked at my sketches before sliding them into a folder, her smile tight and professional.

“We’ll be in touch,” she said, and just like that, the meeting was over.

I walked out feeling smaller than when I’d walked in, clutching my portfolio like it was a lifeline. I told myself this was just part of the process—that everyone faced rejection before they made it. But as the days dragged on in silence, my confidence began to unravel.

I kept refreshing my email, triple-checking my phone to make sure I hadn’t somehow missed their call. Nothing. The longer it went on, the harder it became to stay positive.

I tried to keep busy, pouring over my designs, tweaking lines and angles, convincing myself that if they saw more, they’d have to call back. But every sketch started to look the same, and no matter how many ideas I put down on paper, it didn’t stop the doubt creeping in.

Maybe I hadn’t impressed them. Maybe I wasn’t good enough to stand out.

The thought made my stomach twist. I hated how quickly insecurity had replaced excitement. I’d come here ready to take on the world, and now I felt like I was already falling behind.

By the third day, the waiting started to feel personal. I stared at my phone, daring it to ring, but the screen stayed blank. My apartment, which had once felt like a space full of possibility, now felt stifling. Sketches were overflowing the bin, and instead of inspiring me to try harder, they just reminded me of how far I still had to go.

I knew I should keep pushing forward—keep designing, keep applying—but it was hard to drown out the doubts circling in my head. What if I’d already blown my only shot? What if this dream I’d chased so hard wasn’t meant for me after all?

I was pulled out of my thoughts when a loud knock landed on the door.

I opened it to find Damian standing there, his curls messier than usual, like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“You alive in there?”

I laughed weakly. “Barely.”

He stepped inside without asking, glancing at the notebooks and sketches scattered across my desk.

“What’s going on?”

“I applied to a design company, but it’s been days, and I haven’t heard back.”

His expression shifted. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because it’s not a big deal?” I tried.

He shook his head. “I used to race, AJ. I know people in the industry. Let me help.”

“You raced?”

“Yeah. Retired early, but I still have connections.”

“And you failed to mention this before why?”

He just laughed, shaking his head before calling out for me to hurry up or risk being left behind. I couldn’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through me that I hadn’t felt in days. Maybe just maybe the world wasn’t as against me as I’d thought.

The company Damian took me to felt even more intimidating than the last one—like it had been designed to impress and intimidate at the same time. The marble floors gleamed under the soft glow of recessed lighting, and the glass walls made every movement visible, like the entire building operated under a spotlight.

The people inside looked like they belonged on magazine covers—sharp suits, designer watches, and an air of confidence that made me feel out of place in my slightly wrinkled blouse and scuffed heels.

Damian, however, moved like he owned the place. He strode straight to the receptionist without hesitation, flashing a charming smile.

“I need to speak with the director,” he said, leaning casually against the counter.

The receptionist blinked up at him, clearly recognising him, before quickly making a call. Minutes later, we were ushered into a sleek office where the director sat behind a desk so polished it could’ve doubled as a mirror.

Damian wasted no time talking me up.

“She’s not just creative,” he said, flipping through my sketches as though they were worth millions. “She’s sharp—understands aerodynamics, engineering, the whole package. Look at this—no one’s designing like this right now.”

The director leaned back in his chair, studying my sketches with an expression I couldn’t read. His fingers tapped against the glass desk as he flipped through the pages.

“This is... interesting,” he finally said, nodding slowly. “You’ve got a good eye. I like what I’m seeing.”

I held my breath.

“I’ll consider it.”

Not a promise, but not a rejection either. It was enough for me to cling to.

The sun hung low in the sky as Damian and I made our way toward the exit, my mind still filled with everything I’d just seen. The polished hallways, the sleek car models, the legendary names etched into plaques—it all felt unreal. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I was finally moving forward.

But just as we reached the glass doors, footsteps echoed behind us.

“Miss Banks! Wait!”

I turned to see the receptionist from earlier hurrying toward us, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. She looked slightly out of breath, clutching a folder in one hand.

My stomach twisted. Had they made their decision? Had I been rejected again?

“Yes?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

The receptionist paused to smooth down her skirt before speaking. “One of our lead racers just reviewed your portfolio, and he’s interested in hiring you as his personal car designer.”

I blinked. “What?”

Damian’s head snapped toward me. “Are you serious?”

She nodded. “He saw your sketches and specifically requested to meet with you.”

I couldn’t stop the grin that broke across my face. My chest felt light, like the air had shifted and I could finally breathe properly.

“Oh my God,” I breathed. “He wants to hire me?”

“Yes, but there’s one condition.”

My excitement faltered. “What kind of condition?”

“He wants to remain anonymous until your meeting next week.”

Anonymous? My brows knit together. “So... I can’t know who he is?”

“Not until the meeting,” she confirmed. “He’ll discuss the contract and expectations with you then.”

It didn’t make sense. Why the secrecy? Still, I wasn’t about to question it. This was the break I’d been waiting for—what I’d dreamed about for years. I wasn’t going to let a little mystery stop me.

“I accept,” I said quickly. “Tell him I accept.”

The receptionist smiled. “Perfect. I’ll send you the meeting details soon.” She handed me a business card and nodded. “Congratulations, Miss Banks.”

I turned to Damian as soon as she walked away, my heart racing. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Damian grinned, grabbing my arm and giving it a quick squeeze. “I told you—you’ve got talent. Now the rest of the world is starting to see it too.”

I was too stunned to speak, but the smile on my face said everything. We stepped outside, and the cool air hit me like a wake-up call. This wasn’t a dream. It was real.

Damian led me toward his car, but my mind kept drifting as we walked. I couldn’t stop replaying the moment over and over again—the receptionist’s words, the feeling of validation, the rush of excitement that still hadn’t worn off.

I’d finally done it.

I’d proven them all wrong.

My mom, who told me I was chasing a fantasy. The teachers who said I didn’t have the technical skills. The so-called friends who laughed behind my back when I said I’d make it.

They were wrong about me.

And so was Jungkook.

I thought about the way he’d looked at me like I was just another nobody trying to claw my way into his world. He’d brushed me off like I wasn’t worth his time—but now I’d get the chance to prove him wrong too.

Next month’s World Grand Prix would be my moment.

I imagined walking alongside the driver who’d hired me, standing in the pit lane while the cameras flashed. Jungkook would see me then. He’d see how far I’d come and how I wasn’t going anywhere.

I leaned back in my seat as Damian pulled out of the parking lot, letting the hum of the engine steady me.

“You’re quiet,” Damian said, glancing over.

“Just... thinking.”

“Good thoughts, I hope.”

I smiled. “The best.”

But even as the city lights blurred past the windows, my mind drifted again—to the mysterious racer who’d chosen me, to the designs I’d have to perfect before the meeting, and, despite myself, to Jungkook.

I wondered how he’d react when he saw me standing where he thought I’d never belong. Would he regret underestimating me? Would he even care? One thing was certain—I wasn’t backing down. Not from him, not from this opportunity, and definitely not from the future I’d spent my whole life chasing.

Next

[lale-txt]

❈ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐰/ 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 & 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐠𝐧)

@bas-writes asked: That was supposed to be a joke but I can't get it out of my mind after our extra conversation 😭😂 Could I request Gojo or Geto (still can't decide sorry aklskdd) taking bath or shower with their tall afab s/o - or rather, attempting to because when the average height is like 185cm nothing possibly can be easy 🤭 Thank you! ❤

a/n: ngl this drabble sent me into a deep dive of how certain parts of a shower are called because somehow i forgot them in all three languages LMAO it ended up being a short drabble and only slightly suggestive at the end, but the scenario was just too funny for me to take the full blown nsfw route asdfhjks but i hope you'll enjoy it anyway! thank you for your request, Bas! you're always giving me such fun prompts to work with, hehe.

word count: 637

“Uhm, excuse me, personal space?” 

You let out a small huff when someone squeezes into the shower with you, basically cornering you with his tall frame. It’s not like you were small to begin with, and yet Gojo still could rest his chin on top of your head if he wanted to–and right now there was almost no other choice than to do so. This shower wasn’t built for a person above average height, even less for two of your kind.

“You didn’t seem to mind me in your personal space last ni–OI!”

Note to yourself: Shower head aimed directly at his face can make Gojo shut up for an approximate span of two seconds. He’ll never get rid of the house cat accusations, huh?

Gojo grabs your hand that’s holding the cursed tool and gently nibs at your neck (again with the cat behavior…) before he puts the shower head back where it belongs. He’s not bothered by your protests and reaches to adjust the temperature of the water from a pleasant medium high to something that could best be described as close to boiling, filling the already too small shower with so much steam you practically go blind. Not much of a problem for the Six Eyes though.

“You could have just waited till I got out of the shower, you know?”, you grumble, trying to find your shampoo bottle but continue to grab anything but said bottle, maybe because Gojo is everywhere your hands reach out to in this cramped space. He hums, a deep sound in his chest that was close to purring, his big hands running over your body playfully with his chest pressed against your back. 

“But Ichiji texted me that he’s already waiting for us outside, even before I got into the shower. I’m just being time-efficient here”, Gojo coos and presses a kiss on the back of your neck. His wet hair tickles your skin while his hands sneak around your waist—a moment of defenselessness, leaving him unprepared for you abruptly bending over to grab your shampoo from the ground and pummeling your boyfriend out of the shower with the sheer force of your arched back.

Freedom never tasted sweeter than in this moment; to finally move around somewhat freely in your shower again without bumping into this brick of a man. Sure, you still had to duck slightly to stand under the shower head, but at least it wasn’t getting blocked by another giant. You love Gojo, with all your heart, but you learned very early on in your relationship that showering together wasn’t this romantic and cute scenario for you two to enjoy–it was war.

“Oi!”

The shower curtain gets dramatically pulled aside and once the hot water steam sets slightly, you see your butt-naked lover with his hands on his hips, bright blue eyes on you, probably thinking of a hundred creative ways to make you pay for your crime. You would be intimidated if he didn’t look like a soggy wet Norwegian cat which makes you bite back a laughter forming in your throat.

“Don’t come back in here, I swear, this shower is too small for–”, you threaten him with a laugh, already reaching for your weapon–the shower head–again. 

With one big step Gojo is back in the shower with you, cornering you once more, his mouth finding your neck and trailing kisses up to your ear before he bites it gently. He chuckles quietly at the small noise you let out and you know he won’t stop until he charms out many, many other sounds. Something tells you that you won’t be getting out of this shower anytime soon and you make a mental note to send Ichiji a gift basket for putting up with your demeanors. It probably won’t be the last time.

[shivunin]

for the tarot card prompt: the world for Fenris/Maria!

Thank you my dear! Have some fluff c:

From the tarot prompts for "the world" (fulfilment, experience, completion)

No End

(998 Words | Hawke & Varric, Fenris/Hawke | No warnings)

“You happy, Hawke?” 

Hawke, roused from the scene before her, leaned back against the porch support and looked at Varric. 

“Do I not seem happy?”

“Nah,” he waved a hand. “Not an observation, just a question. It’s, ah—not the ending I might have written for you. That’s all.”

“No?” she smiled. “Let me guess the ending, then, hm?”

Varric chuckled and leaned back, mirroring her position. Hawke could hear the lilt of Merrill’s voice inside and the answering hum of Leander’s response. She’d been rather worried her son would harry poor Merrill with questions, but the two had taken to each other easily enough. She rather supposed nobody had ever found the bounds of Merrill’s knowledge when it came to magic, and if there was one thing Leander never stopped asking about, it was magic. 

“I know you too well to suppose you’d want a tragic ending, so I suppose I can set aside all notions of a valiant and heroic death fighting against impossible odds,” she began. 

Varric snorted. 

“As if I haven’t tried to talk you out of danger half the time you’re thinking about getting into it again.”

“As if you didn’t talk me into the other half to begin with,” she laughed in response, taking a sip of sweet, dark wine and remembering a crossbow bolt through the shirt of a thief, a stranger in an alley and the offer he’d made.

Her rose arbor bloomed in the far field before them. The heads of the blossoms bobbed every now and then when the wind blew through them, an unending dance of crimson and pale cream. The twins had gone through the lot of them last spring, fingers yellow with pollen, and the bevies of roses that’d followed had been striped red and white, pink with red tips, and any number of other bizarre combinations. When she’d realized what’d happened, Hawke had laughed so hard that she’d had no choice but to sit down or fall. 

“I’ll admit that much,” Varric allowed, but gestured for her to go on. 

“Well, then no ending full of intrigue and influence either. You wouldn’t wish that sort of thing on a friend.”

“Not the ones I actually like,” Varric agreed. 

“Hmm,” Hawke mused. “Let’s see, then. In your ending, I single-handedly solve all the problems of the world. After personally informing every fool of a noble and self-absorbed courtier of their very particular flaws and resolving all outstanding conflicts, I ride home to a hero’s welcome and take up a life of leisure in Kirkwall, where I am universally loved and adored. I am readily available for dinner on Tuesdays and perfectly willing to handle the day-to-day running of the city when my very dear friend gets too bored and slips the clutches of his advisor. Am I close?” 

Varric laughed, tipping his own glass until some of the beer inside sloshed into the dirt beneath the porch. Before them, Carver stood, one of the twins perched precariously on his shoulders. She couldn’t hear him from here, but she could see his smile even so. 

“Close enough,” her friend said, and they sat in silence for a time while the light grew golden on the fields behind her house. 

There came the sound of breaking glass inside, followed at once by Isabela’s laughter. Hawke smiled in response, leaning back on her hands. 

“It’s a beautiful sort of chaos, but what isn’t?” she told Varric. “If I were writing the story, that’s how it would end anyhow. Chaos, and me in the middle of it all.”

“Chaos,” he said, watching her hound race after Carver. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Come now, Varric,” she said, nudging him. “Don’t go easy on me. It’s always been chaos with me, you ought to say.”

Her old friend cast her a look, then stood creakingly and rolled his shoulders. 

“If you know already, I shouldn’t need to say it,” he told her. “There aren’t any real endings, anyway. Not in real life. Only breaks in the action, pauses for thought.”

“Bold words for an author,” she laughed.

“I suppose I’ll take that,” she told him. “Chaos, and no endings.”

Varric answered her, but he was turned away and opening the back door already. The words faded into the sunset and Hawke did not try to chase them. Footsteps sounded on the porch beside her and she knew exactly whose they were. Something worth waiting for, as they both knew very well. 

“The first is certain,” Fenris said from her left. Hawke turned to him, smiling, and he crouched to kiss her cheek. 

“But life would be ever so dull for you if I knew what I was doing,” she told him. 

“Mmm,” he said, noncommittal, and kissed her other cheek. “But you do know.”

“If you say so,” she said, and he caught her laughter between their lips. They kissed for only a moment, the rising noise inside the house indicating a pressing need for their attention, but it was sweet even so. It always was. 

Fenris rose first, hand brushing over her shoulder as he stood. 

“I’ll go,” he said, and followed Varric through the door without waiting for an answer. 

Maria watched him until he was gone, still smiling, but she did not rise at once to follow. Beyond the hill, the roses nodded in the early evening breeze and the bees hummed their way home for the night. In the yard, Hawke’s brother dashed across the yard with two of her children tucked laughing under his arms. Somewhere inside, her other friends and her beloved had gathered in the kitchen and likely waited for her now. She spoke to all them as much as she spoke to herself, hand wrapped around the wooden post beside her. 

“No end,” she said. The early evening did not answer, nor did anyone else. That was perfectly fine. She hadn’t expected them to.

“No end. I do like the idea of that.”

[neuroticbookworm]

FRIENDS. FRIENDS.

Cooking Crush is undoubtedly one of the best shows airing at the moment.

Today's episode gave me so much life that I don't even know where to begin, but I'm gonna try my best to pull two (2) coherent thoughts out of my melting brain.

1. The Three Must-Eat-eers Conflict and Resolution:

Last episode had set up such a perfect conflict that's rarely handled well in any media: the bruised feelings of the single friend when the rest of the gang gets into committed romantic relationships. Most of the time this scenario shows up in media, one party will be framed as selfish and/or jealous. None of that nonsense here; Cooking Crush has always taken the friendship of its characters very seriously, especially Prem, Dynamite and Samsee. Samsee’s feelings were hurt not just because of his own fears of being abandoned by his friends, he was also (rightfully) mad that he ended up as the only friend who was kept out of the loop of knowing that his best friends had boyfriends now. But Prem and Dynamite did not intend to do this, and they were also right to set their own pace in making their relationship public, but it’s just that the string of accidental reveals happened in an order that made Samsee feel like a third-wheeler in his own home, twice over.

Cooking Crush treats its characters with a lot of kindness and empathy and it shows. Prem and Dy wanting to keep their relationships under wraps for the time being is valid. Samsee feeling hurt and lost, and opting out of the competition is valid. This episode begins with the drama of the cooking competition and works its comedy (thank you for the chuckles, wildly gesticulating White Man) and romance (my poor heart swooned all over my rib cage when Ten helped Prem into his chef clothes). And when the time came for the big reconciliation, the show does not sweep away Samee’s very hurt feelings just because Prem and Dy struggled without Samsee for most of the first round of cooking. He apologizes for ditching them and Dy was having none of it.

(Dy, my perfect child, oh how I love you with my entire heart)

Perfect resolution. and a well-earned, most adorable group hug to bookend it. I truly could not be more in love with this show. Or can I?

2. Miscommunication? Nah.

Well, this episode also featured the Annoying Asshole Chef dude who’s determined to pursue Prem even though it is very clear that Prem is not interested and would reject his advances, if only he stuck around long enough to actually get rejected and not run away from him like a goddamn coward. I was furious when he positioned himself as an actual option for Prem to Ten in this episode, and thoroughly enjoyed every moment Ten chose to call him out on his bullshit.

But y’all. The very inappropriate hug. The well-deserved punch to his stupid face. The storm-off. All of it had me very concerned that this is all barrelling towards a classic miscommunication moment.

BUT NO.

THE SHOW SAID THERE WILL BE NO STUPID MISCOMMUNICATION.

NOT IN THIS HOUSE.

My problem with the miscommunication trope is that it ultimately positions the couple we are supposed to be rooting for as a weak team. Honest communication and vulnerability in a new-ish relationship is not easy, and it takes a lot of courage to take that step to be the one to spell out the facts, and trust that the other person likes them well enough to keep an open ear, and believe them when they say a meddling cowardly asshole is trying to get in the way of their relationship. Ten’s bravery was perfectly contrasted with the sliminess of the Annoying Cowardly Chef (I refuse to learn his name, he is not worth my braincells).

Oh but Ten wasn’t done yet!

I absolutely adore how he moves the conversation away from that pesky little pest of a human towards something that matters more: his desire to make things official with Prem. The Annoying Asshole Chef was not the focus of the conversation, Ten and Prem are. And it all culminates in an incredible kiss and a camera swoop that already has a permanent little shrine in my silly little head.

TAKE MY HEART, COOKING CRUSH. TREAT IT WELL.

[apomaro-mellow]

Demon!Eddie 5

At some point, Eddie had cleaned Steve up a little and dressed him in a tank top and shorts. The shirt had a band he’d never heard of but maybe Eddie would tell him about it sometime. Steve had tried to get up on his own only to immediately fall back onto the bed when he felt a sharp pain. That would be last night, coming back to literally bite him in the ass.

“Job hunting’s gonna have to wait”, Eddie grinned.

Eventually they migrated to the couch back in the apartment, Eddie lying on his back and Steve right on top of him. He found it very easy to imagine if the rest of his life was like this. In Eddie’s clothes, in his place, completely surrounded by him.

Steve didn't even know where his clothes from the first night went and he didn't give a flying fuck. Not when he was laying on top of Eddie, getting his lower back rubbed.

"Don't get a big head about it. That was the first dick I ever took."

“I didn’t say anything”, Eddie said.

“I can feel it in your hands”, Steve replied before letting out a soft hum as Eddie’s fingers pressed a spot on his spine. 

The morning was spent so lazily and for the first time in a long time, Steve wasn’t thinking about his future or what he was supposed to do about it. He just relaxed in Eddie’s hold. The only time he worried was when Eddie got up to say he was making breakfast. Steve ignored any soreness to confirm if his suspicions were correct.

And to his horror, Eddie dumped ground coffee into a pot, filled it with water, and then set it all on the stove. 

“You’re an animal”, Steve said.

“I think we established that last night”, Eddie smirked.

“I’m talking about your coffee set up. Where’s your coffee maker? Your filters?”

“What’s wrong with the way I make coffee?”

“Tony the tiger wouldn’t make it that way.”

Eddie’s retort was cut off by a knock on the door and a man’s voice. “Eddie? Edifice Edacity Edger you open this door right now!”

“Shit!”

“Who’s that?”, Steve asked.

“Uhh, that would be my uncle. Stay here for a second and don’t make a sound.” Eddie pushed Steve towards the magic door and before Steve knew it, he was floating in a dark abyss.

He wasn’t in the lavish bedroom from before, nor was he in any of the places Eddie took him yesterday. It was just an endless void with no gravity. Steve was no stranger to hiding in girls’ closets, but this was definitely different.

“His uncle, huh...”, Steve whispered just in case. He wondered what he was like. Probably terrifying if Eddie was trying to hide him. Maybe he was closer to a more traditional demon and would’ve eaten Steve up or sucked our his soul.

Steve felt like he was flying and floating and descending all at the same time and just as he was starting to feel disoriented, he saw the light of the door opening right next to him and Eddie reaching in. Steve took his hand and was pulled back into the apartment.

“Wayne, this is Steve, my current contractor. Steve, this is my Uncle Wayne.”

Uncle Wayne looked more like the kind of guy who spent his free time at hardware stores and bait shops than a demon. But now Steve felt like it would be rude to ask.

“Hi there, sir. Nice to meet you.”

Wayne’s hands were on his hips as he looked Steve up and down. “Hmph. He’s easy on the eyes, I’ll give ‘im that. But you should know better than to be swayed by a nice face.”

“I’m not being swayed”, Eddie said. “It’s just taking some time to fulfill his request.”

Wayne gave him a disappointed look. Steve knew they were talking about him but couldn’t see what the exact problem was.

“You know how this story ends, son.”

Eddie crossed his arms. “No actually, I don’t. Why don’t you enlighten us, oh wise storyteller.”

“Eddie, don’t be rude to your uncle”, Steve chastised. 

Wayne held up a hand. “He’s a brat, but he ain’t misbehavin’. But my official designation is ‘storykeeper’.”

“A what?”

Wayne waved a hand and glowing tomes materialized all around them. “Every single person that has ever existed, has a story to tell. Demons too. When a life ends, everything gets compiled and their story comes into my hands.”

“So...you know everything that’s ever going to happen?”, Steve asked in awe.

“I’m not omniscient. I only know what happens when the story’s over. But after doing this for as long as I have, you start to notice patterns.”

“And what’s my pattern?”, Eddie raised a brow.

“How does bullheaded young buck gets too caught up in one deal sound? Does that sound like a fit?”

“I’m not-” Eddie rolled his eyes but made the mistake of looking at Steve while doing so and had to quickly avert them.

“I don’t understand how any of this works, but is Eddie doing anything wrong? We have a deal and he’s seeing it through”, Steve said in his defense.

“Most demons ain’t so thorough”, Wayne answered.

“You and I both know most demons ain’t honest either”, Eddie said.

“Eddie, get the deal done. And move on.”

Eddie didn’t respond but Wayne wasn’t waiting for one, already on his way out the door. Steve waited for the door to close to speak again.

“Am I....are you breaking any rules because of me?”

“Rule breaking is a part of my creed, baby. But technically, no. Wayne’s right, most demons would’ve set you up in a new place with a new name and considered their job done. But I pride myself on my customer service.”

Steve smiled. “Right. You serve all your customers the same way?”

Eddie saw the way Steve was looking at him and faltered. “N-no. No, I don’t. But you’re special.”

It certainly made Steve feel special to hear it straight from Eddie. He got the deeper meaning of Wayne’s warning. They were both supposed to be very short chapters in each other’s lives. Ships passing in the night or whatever. Steve knew, once he had figured out what he wanted, Eddie would leave and he’d never hear from him again.

“I think I’m all rested up now. Let’s keep looking.”

“You sure?”, Eddie asked.

“Yeah. After we get some decent coffee.”

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

Maybe it was because of his uncle’s words, but Eddie kept his distance for the next few jobs. Steve tried not to mind too much. He was going to have to do whatever he chose without Eddie anyway. He spent the rest of the morning into the early afternoon in a summer camp, working as a sports counselor. 

He had plenty of fun teaching some boys the basics of basketball and running them through drills and even getting through a mini game that they all seemed to enjoy. After a couple periods though, he had a free moment and explored the camp. He ended up being wrangled by a group of boys who needed some muscle for a satellite project.

“I didn’t even know we did this kind of thing at this camp”, he admitted, while lugging around machinery he couldn’t even begin to name.

“Yeah, no duh. You sports counselors barely leave Jock Row”, one kid snarked.

“You should come by the Arts and Sciences building some time”, another said. “We’re always doing something cool.”

“Even if it’s not totally legal!”, the one who had grabbed Steve beamed.

“Uh, what’re you guys’ names again?”

“I’m Dustin, the nice one’s Will, and those two are Lucas and Mike.”

“How does Will get ‘nice one’?”, Lucas asked.

“You know Will’s the reason your cabin didn’t get Cinnamon Toast night, right?”, Mike said.

Dustin gave such a gasp, Steve was worried he’d swallowed a lung.

“Our cabin had to do it with biscuits! How could you?”

“They made it a competition and that’s the one kind I can win”, Will shrugged.

They made it to their destination and Steve followed their disjointed directions but eventually the satellite was built and they were talking to the girls camp across the lake. It was completely juvenile and fun and Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something like this. 

The lunch bugle rang and Steve was approached by a black and red frog while the campers went off to eat.

“And what have you been up to? Frog stuff?”

Eddie croaked, then hopped a couple times in place. Steve crossed his arms.

“I’m not picking you up like this. You’re all, slimy. And you look poisonous.”

Frog-Eddie croaked and hopped onto his shoe, still urging at him but Steve was a rock. Eddie transformed back into himself, wearing the camp t-shirt and red shorts that was the counselor uniform.

“You weren’t so picky about my fluids last night”, Eddie smirked, while wrapping his arms around Steve.

“Yeah there’s a difference.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, beautiful~ Lunch and then on to the next?”

“Let’s.”

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

Eddie had zero idea why Steve wanted to work in an office. But hey, who was he to judge? At least he wasn’t trying to be a cop anymore. 

Steve really just wanted to experience office culture for himself. It was the sort of thing his father had been setting him up for. Before the ritual sacrifice of course. He was put on mailroom duty and that was where he met his worst enemy - Robin Buckley.

She sneered and scoffed at him most of the time. And when she deigned to use words, her comments were always biting. Delivering mail wasn’t too bad, except the fact that most of the employees barely looked him in the face while delivering. He came to the break room and Robin was already there. He tried to ignore her while getting a yogurt from the fridge.

He leaned against it when another guy came in. Steve was pretty sure his name was Kenneth.

“Hey, it’s the mailroom crew!”, he smarmed while refilling his mug with coffee. “You know Robin you should, maybe not scowl so much the boys here appreciate a nice smile.”

Kenneth walked out before he could see Robin’s megawatt dirty look. She glanced at Steve and saw he had the same look as her.

“What an asshole”, Steve said.

“That’s putting it lightly. There’s so much as, there’s no hole left”, Robin snarked.

Steve slid over closer to her so they could continue to talk in whispers. The people here were jerks but he might choose to work with them one day.

“At least he’s better than Nick.”

Robin wretched with her tongue out. “You know he slept with Norma at the Christmas party?”

Steve raised a brow. “Nick? With the ring on his finger and the happy family picture in his cubicle?”

“Yeah.”

“Scumbag.”

They spent more than was probably allowed on their break, trading gossip. Steve only got distracted when he saw a very attractive janitor roll by with his mop and bucket. Without a word, he walked off and followed him right into the closet.

“You’ve been wandering around more”, Steve said as the door closed.

“Just tryina give you space baby. Wouldn’t wanna influence your decision”, Eddie grinned, taking the cap off his head.

“And what if my decision was to blow off work and have some fun with the cleaning guy in the broom closet?”

“Sounds like the opposite of climbing the corporate ladder”, Eddie grinned while unzipping his jumpsuit.

“The opposite of climbing is what again?”, Steve said as he sank down to his knees.

Part 7

Tag Team

@swimmingbirdrunningrock @flustratedcas @estrellami-1 @weirdandabsurd42 @lololol-1234 @chaoticvictorianspirit @giopandaonice @marklee-blackmore @blackpanzy @kacatshi @stevesbipanic @goodolefashionedloverboi @panicatthediaz @gregre369 @littlewildflowerkitten @starryeyedpoet17 @envyadams-vs-me @abbiecadabi-blog @genderless-spoon  @stxrcrossed186 @l0st-strawberry @willowsmelody @bornonthesavage @mxmakessense @roaringgoodshow @potato-of-the-lord @actualwakingnightmare @meccaminayah @irregular-child  @cherr1ehead @anaibis @finalmoondragon @sani-86 @bestwifehaver @tinyplanet95 @mc-i-r @abstractnaturaldisaster @livgil273 @crowley--aziraphale @formacoon @slv-333 @just-a-tiny-void @beckkthewreck @awkwardgravity1 @plasticcrotches

[helloalycia]

the king’s ward [one] // morgana pendragon

summary: when you and your brother travel to Camelot to compete in a fighting competition, there's one problem: women can't fight. So, naturally, you convince him to switch places with you whilst you have your chance to fight. And impressing the King's Ward is merely a bonus.

warning/s: mentions of fighting and violence.

author's note: hello! so this was impulse written not long ago when i rewatched merlin bc who doesn't love katie mcgrath? it's inspired by that merlin ep where arthur uses a decoy in his jousting (?) match! and it's kind of like she's the man if you think about it haha, so do enjoy! it's a multi-part imagine :)

two / three / four / masterlist / wattpad

"This is gonna be amazing, Y/B/N," I said with a grin, trying to contain my excitement as we approached the tournament grounds.

"Reign it in," he said lightheartedly, though I knew he was right. I wasn't supposed to be competing, he was, so I had to play the part.

Every year, Camelot held a fighting tournament that anybody could compete in, even those who weren't knights. There were no rules and it was an open competition, however despite nothing explicitly saying women couldn't compete, it was a given. And so every year, I only dreamt of competing so that I could see if I was as good as I hoped. Finally, I came up with the genius idea for my brother, Y/B/N, to pretend to compete whilst I actually did the fighting. It wasn't foolproof, but I was desperate, and he agreed after much convincing.

We'd arrived in Camelot last night, our first ever visit to the kingdom, and were staying in the full to-the-brim tavern in a room above the pub. It wasn't ideal, but it would do the job. The real reason I was here was right before me and I couldn't be more excited.

"Y/B/N Y/L/N?" a voice called, and my brother and I both spun around to see a servant boy approaching. "You're up first. You can use the tent over there to get into your armour, if you have any."

"Thank you," Y/B/N said with a nod before we both headed over to his – AKA mine – tent.

"This is perfect for making the switch," I said with a contained grin, looking around the enclosed space.

"You heard the boy, you're up first," Y/B/N said with a smile, before dropping our bag on the bench. "Let's get you suited up."

He helped me pull my armour over the top of my clothes, a bulky-looking but lightweight set that fit us both and was easy enough for me to manoeuvre in whilst also hiding any distinguishable feminine body parts that could give me away. After that, he handed me my sword and gave me a supportive nod.

"Good luck out there," he said, my helmet in his hand. "You're gonna smash it, sis."

I grinned. "I will indeed. They aren't going to know what's hit them."

He laughed and helped me put on my helmet, the metal covering my whole head except for some slits in the eyes to let me see.

"You ready?" he asked once more, and I gave him a thumbs up, already committing to staying quiet. He patted my back. "Go and win!"

Taking a deep breath, I left the tent and headed to the grounds, the sight of all those people watching only exciting me more. All I'd ever dreamt of was showing people my skills, for them to take me seriously. Not as a woman or a man, but a fighter. And this was my chance, finally. I wasn't going to let it slip by.

"I'm sure you're all excited about the tournament, as am I," the King began to speak, silencing everyone in seconds. "It's going to be a magnificent week of fighting, skill and talent. We shall see who the best fighters of Albion truly are. Starting with our first match of the tournament – Y/B/N Y/L/N versus Henry Wright!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as my opponent and I walked in the centre, our chosen weapons at our side. The King looked down at us both with anticipation, waiting for quiet. And then when he was ready, he raised his hand.

"You may begin," was all he said, and I barely had chance to take a breath before my opponent, Henry, swung first.

His mace, spiked and heavy, almost took my head off if I didn't move in time. The crowd 'ooh'd' as it did and I tried to tune them out, focusing on the fight. I couldn't afford distractions.

As Henry kept moving forward, slashing his mace at me and trying to touch my armour, I dodged effortlessly. Henry may have been strong, but he was slow, and his weapon of choice was particularly terrible. Once he'd worn himself out, it was my turn to take a swing at him, my sword coming down on his gauntlets in a wide arc. Contact was made and he grunted loudly, grossly, and stepped back. I slashed a few more times, to which he was now on the defensive, using his clunky weapon as a barrier. But it didn't faze me as I kept on slashing, trying to back him into the side.

Once he was trapped, I let him take a shot at me, only to roll to the side at the last second and swipe his legs out from beneath him. He hit the ground as quickly as I directed my sword at his neck. Lifting his hands in defeat, I couldn't fight the grin from my lips.

The crowd erupted into cheers, yelling my brother's name, and I lowered my sword before offering out my hand. Henry let me pull him up before letting go bitterly, walking off the grounds. I laughed to myself before looking around me at the crowd, waving a little too cockily. I couldn't help it – I'd won! My first match!

When I turned to face the King, I saw he was clapping in his chair, impressed at my handiwork. Seated beside him was his ward, Morgana, and I'd heard so much of her but never seen her before. I wasn't prepared for her beauty, nor the vibrancy of her green eyes in the sun, even from a distance. And once again, I couldn't help but let my cockiness get the better of me. Between waving, I blew her a kiss, facing her directly in a way that I hoped she knew it was for her. Judging from the way she immediately turned pink in the face, I knew I'd succeeded.

After soaking in the glory a moment longer, I left to return to Y/B/N who was waiting for me in the tent. As soon as he saw me, a grin was on his face.

"Sounds like you gave them a good show," he commented as I rushed to remove my helmet and armour.

"Y/B/N, it was like nothing I've ever experienced," I admitted, still buzzing with adrenaline and excitement. "It was perfect. And you should've seen the way I got the other guy on his butt!"

He chuckled as I helped pull the armour onto him. "I'm sure it was something special. It's a shame I can't watch."

"We can't risk you being caught," I reminded him, before handing my sword and helmet. "Go on. Do your final waves. Don't forget to rub it in their face that I won, yeah?"

He rolled his eyes playfully. "I'm not doing that."

I laughed as he left the tent. My smile was permanent as I stood alone. One round down, several more to go.

"The other guys are pretty rough," Y/B/N said as we hung back to watch the other matches and get a better feel for the competition. "You sure you're up for it?"

"Don't even joke," I said to him with a knowing look. "You know it's all I want. They don't scare me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Hey, I was thinking more about them. They're gonna get smothered and not even know it. You don't wanna give them a chance?"

A smile grew on my lips as I shoved him in the side. "You're so stupid."

He mirrored my smile before paying attention to the fights. We stayed there until the last fight before chatting about what we'd seen by the tents. The crowd was dispersing and the other fighters were talking about getting a drink at the tavern, even inviting my brother to join them. He found it strange, the attention, especially since he knew it wasn't for him. I assured him he had to be a team player and not raise suspicion, but he wasn't impressed.

As we were chatting, I couldn't help but notice a blur of black hair in my peripheral vision, and when I looked, I saw the Lady Morgana walking by with her handmaiden. She spotted my brother and I and, naturally, her attention was on my brother. She flashed him a smile, to which he awkwardly returned, and then began to approach us.

"Er, why is the Lady Morgana coming to talk to us?" Y/B/N asked nervously.

"No idea," I said, though my own smile was tempting to break out as my eyes wandered over her figure. She was seriously stunning.

"Hello there," Morgana spoke when she stopped before us. "It's Y/B/N, right?"

He nodded slowly, before clearing his throat and bowing. "A pleasure to meet you, my lady."

"Please, no need for the formalities," she said with a slight laugh, one that I knew I'd be dreaming of for days. "I just came to say that you put up a good fight this morning. I look forward to seeing your performance throughout the week."

"Thank you, my lady," was all he said, and I almost rolled my eyes at his dense self. Couldn't he see she was interested him?

"And who is this pretty lady?" she continued, and I realised she was speaking to me.

"I'm Y/N, my lady," I introduced myself with a smile. "Y/B/N's twin sister. Not identical, thankfully."

Y/B/N rolled his eyes as Morgana laughed at my joke.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Y/N," she said, eyes lingering on mine. "Might I say, you have a very talented brother."

I hummed in agreement, biting my tongue and trying not to laugh. Talented... I'd take it.

"I should be going, but have a good evening, both of you," Morgana finished, glancing between us before leaving.

"Y/N, what did you do? Why is she suddenly interested?" Y/B/N asked as I watched her walk away, entranced.

"Nothing," I reassured him, before tearing my gaze from Morgana and looking to Y/B/N. "What? I didn't do anything!"

He rolled his eyes and shoved me before walking away. I bit my lip to contain a grin and skipped after him. I was beginning to like it here.

The next fight was soon upon me and it was safe to say that I was nailing it. My opponent was supposed to be a challenge, but I could swear it was only getting easier. He was over six feet tall and towering over me. Compared to me AKA Y/B/N, he was huge. Luckily for me, height wasn't an issue as my brother and I were close enough in height, a solid five foot eight and nine respectively, so it wouldn't give us away.

The fight was over in minutes, with me landing a winning blow to my clown of an opponent, right in the gut. As soon as he was down, the crowd were up and out of their seats, cheering me on. The intensity of their cheering surprised me at first, as I didn't realise they loved me so much. It took them longer to calm down, and a few flowers were thrown from the stands, making me grin as I waved at them. When I looked to the King, he was surprisingly smiling as he clapped his leather-gloved hands heavily. Morgana was stood up beside him, clapping with the crowd, and I couldn't stop myself.

Without thinking, I picked up a flower from the ground, dusted it off on my armour and threw it up to her. I was relieved when it landed at her feet, worried I'd missed, and she seemed surprised as she picked it up. When she looked at me, I bowed respectfully, making the crowd cheer even louder, and I tried to pretend I couldn't see King Uther losing his smile as he looked at me with suspicion. Oops?

I jogged back to the tent, feeling lightweight and overwhelmingly happy. Y/B/N clapped me on the back in congratulations before we exchanged gear and he headed back out to reveal his face, waving once more.

After he soaked in the glory for a little longer, I packed up our things and we left the tent to get some water. A few knights, to our surprise, approached us and began chatting to Y/B/N about his technique. He played along perfectly, since he was a decent fighter himself, and I merely watched as they spoke of my moves and skill, grinning to myself. Clearly I was doing better than I thought if the knights of Camelot were complimenting me.

"Hey, Y/B/N," a voice called from behind, and we both turned to see a flirtatiously-smiling Morgana walking past. She nodded at my brother, saying, "The flower was cute."

Poor Y/B/N was clueless. "The flower?"

Morgana laughed, thinking he was joking, and left. I suppressed a smile as we both turned to the knights. One of them gave Y/B/N a knowing look.

"Bold move giving the King's ward a flower right in front of the King himself," they said with a snicker, before leaving.

Y/B/N blinked and began to turn to me. "I did what?"

I smiled sheepishly. "What? She was impressed by my skill! How could I resist?"

"Y/N!"

"Look, she's pretty and she deserved it, okay?" I said nonchalantly. "It's no biggie."

He facepalmed and I could tell he was already regretting changing places with me.

Later that same evening, Y/B/N and I were making the most of the training grounds that Prince Arthur was letting the contestants use for the week. To everyone else, I was merely practicing with him, but to us, he was actually helping me practice. 

For the third time in five minutes, I knocked Y/B/N on his butt and laughed at the expression on his face.

"C'mon, at least give me some sort of challenge," I teased, holding out my hand for him.

He let me help him up as he gave me a knowing look. "Don't be too good or people will suspect."

I scoffed. "Nobody will think twice about me."

"Oh yeah, because you're so inconspicuous dressed like that," he said sarcastically.

I ignored him, though I knew he was only looking out for me. Ladies wore frocks and dresses, not pants and shirts. But I didn't like to be restricted – why was that such a bad thing? I hated that I had to put myself in a box just to make others feel comfortable. It wasn't fair.

"Are you ready?" I asked, readying my sword.

He nodded and did the same before coming at me without warning. I held my own well enough, even with him giving his all, and with the utmost satisfaction, I managed to land him on his butt yet again. He narrowed his eyes at me and I began to laugh before pissing him off that little bit more by twiddling the hilt of my sword on my forefinger in the air, watching it spin before catching it. It was a silly little celebratory move I liked to do, one that Y/B/N hated because it usually meant I had beaten him.

Grumbling to himself, Y/B/N helped himself stand up as I watched on with amusement.

"Impressive."

Surprised, I turned around and definitely didn't expect to see the Lady Morgana approaching us.

"You're almost as good as your brother," she commented, looking at me.

Smile fading slightly, I tried not to draw anymore attention to myself. "Something like that."

She lifted a brow curiously. "It's a shame you couldn't compete. You're better than half the men in this competition."

"It's just how it is, my lady. The King's rules," I said, though I was secretly smiling because she thought I was good. As me, the real me, not my brother.

"If it were up to me, I'd have loved to watch you fight," she said, making me smile to myself. I risked glancing at her and saw she was watching me with her own smile, before looking to my brother.

"Good luck tomorrow," she said to him considerately.

"Thank you, my lady," Y/B/N said, bowing.

She nodded her head at him before catching my staring, offering a smile, then leaving.

"Gosh, she's so pretty," I said, unable to look away from her.

"Not here, not now," Y/B/N said in a warning tone before slapping me on the back.

"I'm gonna win just to see her smile," I decided, finally looking away from her retreating figure.

Y/B/N rolled his eyes, shaking his head with disbelief. I raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"Another round?"

"No way," he said immediately, making me laugh as I watched him walk away.

"Like you always do," I whispered to myself as I stood face to face with my next opponent. "Come on."

My opponent carried a sword and shield and was very good with both, as I'd seen him using it these past few days. Probably the first real challenge I had, I was a little nervous, but one look at my sword reminded me why I was here and what I was capable of. I wasn't going to let this man throw me off.

As we fought, I quickly realised he wasn't going to tire out easily. As quick as he was skilful, he dodged all of my slashes, blocked all of my stabs and avoided all of my feigned shots. He was too good, keeping me on my toes. I was growing tired as the minutes dragged on and he knew this, using it as his opportunity to slam his shield against me, knocking me back. I tuned out the audience's reactions, shaking my head to get back into it.

I let him believe he was going in for a strike before rolling out the way and slashing the back of his legs. He groaned as he spun around, blocking my next hit. This seemed to piss him off as he came at me quick and hard, striking every second and driving me further and further backwards. One sturdy hit with his shield and I was on my back. Just as he tried to strike me, I rolled out the way and stood up, putting some distance between us.

Collecting myself, I saw that he pulled his shield over him once more and knew I needed to use that to my advantage. He wasn't going to let it go, no matter how hard I hit it. And I was already growing tired, my body battered and bruised, my energy depleting. If he kept going like this, he'd surely win. And I couldn't let him.

A stupid idea came to my head and I figured it was worth a shot if I was already losing. Why not?

Running directly at my opponent, I watched as he tucked in, shield up and ready to block my hit. Just when he was about to shove it towards me, I used the momentum to jump on it, over his head and hitting the ground, just about. I was so shocked it worked that I almost forgot to use his own surprise to my advantage. Without wasting a second, I spun around and smacked the hilt of my sword at the back of his head, knocking him to the ground. Worried I'd hit him too hard, I kneeled down to listen in.

When he let out a breath, I sighed with relief and stood up, eyes closing for a moment. Then the stands shook as everyone stood up, cheering and yelling and clapping, and I opened my eyes with a smile. As I waved my sword hand in the air, bowing, the cheering only intensified and I couldn't stop grinning. Admittedly, the thrill of it all got to my head and I began to show off, waving to the crowd on all sides. Just because I could, I twiddled my sword on the tip of my gloved forefinger in the air and threw it up before catching it by the hilt. The crowd seemed to love it and a grin was permanently fixed on my face as I left the grounds to return to my tent.

"That's the loudest I've ever heard them," Y/B/N said as soon as he saw me. "What did you do?"

"Whatever I could," I said between a laugh, before pulling off my helmet. "Get me out of this, I'm so hot."

He chuckled and helped me out of it, and I helped him into it as usual. Giving him his sword and helmet, I sent him off before taking a deep breath and drinking lots of water. My body was aching and there were definitely bruises all along my legs and chest, but I didn't care because that was insane. How the hell did I manage that?! Whatever it was, it was incredible and I couldn't wait to do it again in my next fight.

Y/B/N returned after soaking in the glory, pulling off the armour and ready to help me pack it all away, but to both of our surprises, Prince Arthur walked in the tent.

"Hello," he greeted awkwardly, before looking to Y/B/N. "You fought excellently today. I wanted to ask if you'd have a word with me outside."

I hid my smile as my brother nodded, exchanging glances with me before following after the prince. Prince Arthur was impressed by me? No way. There was no way! I'd have to fight him soon enough, since he was also competing, but who cared? He was impressed!

I tried to contain my excitement as I went about packing away my armour, stuck in my own daydream land. So much, in fact, that I didn't hear anybody enter the tent behind me.

"It's you!"

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a familiar voice came out of nowhere. Spinning around, I was surprised to see the Lady Morgana standing there with a shocked smile on her face.

"Huh?"

She licked her lips, stepping fully inside the tent and glancing behind her, before looking to me. Lowering her voice, she said, "It's you. The fighting out there. It's not your brother, it's you."

When I finally managed to stop getting distracted by her pretty smile and listened to what she was saying, my own smile faded.

Swallowing hard, I played dumb. "What? That's crazy."

I tried to busy myself with packing my bag whilst also panicking inside, but she kept going with it.

"The sword trick at the end," she stated with confidence. "Where you twirl it on your finger. You did the same thing when you beat your brother yesterday. It's you, isn't?"

I closed my eyes, cursing myself at my stupidity. The damned sword trick. Why did I have to let my cockiness get the better of me?

"Maybe," I admitted, turning to face her, and she smiled to herself.

"I bloody knew it! Well– okay, maybe I didn't, but it makes sense," she said. "Your brother acts like a completely different person out on the grounds compared to when he's literally anywhere else. Because it's not him."

I stayed quiet, both embarrassed that I'd been caught out and nervous to what it meant for me.

"Wait," she realised, pausing, and I could practically see her brain working everything out. Green eyes met mine as she asked, "The flower. Blowing me the kiss. That was... that was you?"

If only the earth could swallow me up there and then.

"I was committing to the role...?" I said dumbly, making me her chuckle. Beginning to panic even more now, I said, "Look, if I'm in trouble, please don't punish Y/B/N. He didn't even want to do this, but I made him. It was the only way I could compete. I just wanted to see how far I could get."

She furrowed her brows, a confused smile on her face. "Y/N, you're not in trouble."

I blinked, taken aback. "I'm not in... huh?"

"I won't tell a soul," she promised, expression softening. "Keep doing what you're doing. You've single-handedly impressed every member of the court, all the knights, the prince and the King himself. You're amazing, Y/N."

At her words, I began to smile, feeling a sense of pride take over. "Why are you doing this?"

She shrugged, playing coy. "Maybe it's women sticking together. Maybe it's because I enjoy watching you fight. Or maybe I don't want to see you getting punished for being such a good fighter."

I sighed quietly, a sense of relief spreading through me. "Whatever it is, thank you, my lady. Truly."

"It's Morgana," she corrected, eyes flickering between mine.

I pursed my lips to stop my smile from widening, and then she stepped forward and kissed my cheek, making me freeze at the contact.

"And thank you for the flower," she whispered in my ear, before stepping back.

My mouth went dry as I watched her red lips curled into a smile before she left the tent. I was certain I was as red as her lipstick, my heart racing in my chest. A grin soon formed on my lips and I couldn't stop.

Moments later, Y/B/N returned and seemed surprised with his chat with Prince Arthur, but I was too distracted thinking about Morgana, my cheek still tingling from her touch.

"The prince wanted to personally congratulate me on my progress thus far," Y/B/N shared. "He hopes to see me make it to the finals so he can see what I'm all about up close."

His words went in one ear and out the other. Did Morgana always smell of jasmine, I wondered?

"Seriously? I thought you'd be dying to know more," Y/B/N said with suspicion.

"What?" I finally tuned back in, kind of. "Yeah, that's great, Y/B/N."

He studied me curiously. "I just saw the Lady Morgana leave here. What did she want?"

"Huh?" I asked, half listening.

"Y/N!" he said, startling me.

Finally, his words settled and I answered, "She just wanted to compliment how great you did today."

"How kind," he said, not believing me.

I couldn't tell him that she actually knew the truth – he'd get cold feet and back out of the competition, and then I'd never get to prove myself. Besides, Morgana said she wouldn't tell anyone, so we were still good to go. What Y/B/N didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Wait," I said, finally acknowledging what he said earlier. "What did Prince Arthur say about me?"

Y/B/N groaned dramatically and grabbed the bag of armour, ignoring me. I was forced to chase after him, doing his head in about everything the prince said.

[brooooswriting]

melissa barrera where R gets an anxiety attack on set and she helps?

ANXIETY

Melissa Barrera x reader

Growing up with anxiety wasn’t easy, especially when it got worse at your teenage years. Ever since then a lot of things tend to freak you out, groups of people, too much stress, people screaming at you, loud sounds and chaos. It changes your life in every situation, you had panic attacks and anxiety attacks at least every two days, but lately things have gotten a bit worse. You were stressed due to your work which made everything worse. After a quick discussion with your therapist you were allowed to up the intake of your medications, the only problem was that it didn’t complete cancel then out. A lot of stress could still trigger them.

Your cast mates knew that you had small problems with anxiety, you liked to keep the problem on the low. If people knew they wouldn’t wanna work with you anymore because it makes it a lot harder. That’s what you told yourself at least. Some of them still knew, or rather guessed. You were good at hiding them but some of them, even when they were mild where noticeable to some people. Just like Melissa. She noticed every single one of them but she never said anything. As your girlfriend she obviously knew about them but you kept the fact that they were getting worse hidden. She’d be too stressed herself.

By now you wished you had told her, or anyone, as it might have prevented this situation. You were supposed to be filming but all the loud noises and the pressure were triggering you. A lot. “I need a minute” you quickly mumbled before hurrying into your trailer. Or at least that was your plan but before you could even reach it your lungs cramped and your legs have out. You sank to the ground gasping for air, your brain was a mess and you couldn’t focus on anything except your dark thoughts and the way your lungs cramped.

Melissa went to the set where you were supposed to film, her scene got done a couple of minutes ago and she wanted to see you. Often you looked carefree while acting, you looked happy. But when she arrived everybody sat around, it was quiet and there were no cameras rolling which was rather confusing. “Where’s y/n?” She asked one of your coworkers, she was nice, a friend of your by now.

“She suddenly disappeared, saying she needed a minute. I wanted to follow her but she made it clear that she didn’t want that” she told her, she sounded rather confused too. Melissa nodded and went to look for you, your trailer was her first thought.

She was about to turn the corner to your trailer when she heard a gasp from her right, quickly turning to find you leaning against a wall while trying to regulate your breathing. “Honey, what’s wrong?” The brunette quickly jumped to your aid as she kneeled in front of you taking your hands in hers. “It’s alright. Deep breaths” she said calmly, her thumbs stroking the back of your hands in regular circles.

You tried to follow her breaths as best as you could but it was no use. “I can’t” you gasped out, pulling one of your hands from hers to massage over your sternum. You were trembling and had tears streaming down your face.

“It’s going to be alright. Come here, let’s take breaths together” Melissa grabbed your hand and placed it on her chest so you could follow the up and downs. It helped, your breathing slowed to the point where it was nearly normal. One of your girlfriends hands raised to wipe the tears from your face as she send you a small smile which made you smile too.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled but the brunette shook her head and sat next to you, grabbing your hand and placing it in her lap. She knew you liked your quietness after an attack to regulate yourself.

“It’s not your fault. I just want you to be fine” she told you as she wrapped her arm around you to help you up.

“I need to go and film my last scene” you told her, your voice showing clear evidence of tiredness and exhaustion. It took a bit until you could convince Melissa to let you go back to filming.

“I’m staying there and as soon as you’re done we’re going home! Oh, and if you feel another attack coming you’re immediately stopping alright?!” She was stubborn when it came to your health so you chuckled and nodded before grabbing her hand and pulling her to set.

She sat on a chair watching you act as if nothing had happened, you were a great actress she couldn’t deny that. When you were done she stood by the door waiting for you, you quickly ran to her and fell into her arms letting her hold most of your weight. “Let’s go home, I’m exhausted” you mumbled as you parted from her so you could walk. Before you could get to far she wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into her, hoping to give you some comfort.

She sat in your trailer quietly as you changed into your everyday clothes. Once you were done she drove you home, the car quiet as she was deep in thoughts.

“It has been getting worse for a bit now right?” She suddenly asked when she pulled off her shoes making you freeze. You had hoped that she didn’t notice but it seems like you were mistaken.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” it was a terrible lie but it was worth a try, you didn’t want her to worry more than she already did. You knew that she wasn’t pitying you but it still felt wrong.

“You’ve been sleeping less, you’ve been zoning out, you need new medication quicker than normal which means that you upped the Dosis, you’ve been to more therapy and you started to pull on your fingers again. Something you only do when your anxiety gets worse” she listed while studying your face. She knew that you didn’t want her to worry but she loved you more than anything else so how was she supposed to not worry? And if she knew she might be able to help you, or at least be there for you. It’s the least she could do but that was only possible if you told her about your well-being.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you” you looked at the brunette like a dog who got kicked or a child who was caught doing something bad. You did feel bad hiding something from her and your mind was going crazy when you lied to her but you thought you were doing it for her. “I didn’t want you to worry, having anxiety sucks. It doesn’t just make life harder for myself but also for the people around me. I didn’t want that for you” you confessed.

“Y/n, I asked you to be my girlfriend with full knowledge about your anxiety and depression. It’s something that I wish you didn’t have because I see how much it destroys you but I don’t care about having to go out with you because it’s too full or having to take breaks during arguments so we can calm your nerves. I love you because of who you are and I wanna be able to help you when you feel like this” she told you as her hand found your cheek carefully stroking over it.

You could have cried but instead leaned forward to kiss her. Again you were falling in her arms, the attacks exhausted you more than you’d like to. “Let’s sit down” Melissa whispered into your ear before you walked to the couch. She prepared dinner quickly before joining you.

“We are watching scream 6” you told her with a grin, knowing that she wasn’t going to deny you even if she hated watching herself so she only grumbled.

During the movie you fell asleep cuddled into her chest, her arms around your waist while she pressed a kiss to your forehead every now and then. She settled onto the couch, she wasn’t going to wake you once you finally fell asleep.

[thesaintofpatience]

🔥!!

🔥- Name a crackship, now convince me why it would work!

In all honesty the problem (?) with TLT and this question is that it's so easy to find justifications for nearly all ships. As Archimedes never said, 'give me a situation big enough and I'll make those blorbos kiss'

I mean, whatever it is, it can't be one of the Lyctors - God's duplicitous sluts will get it on with anyone, in any permutation, given enough time and 10,000 years of emotional fuckery to draw from. There's some absolutely killer fics out there pairing various lyctors with Palamedes, and they all slap.

So, leaving out the Lyctors (much as I adore them) gives us this rather darling random selector as below, non-exhaustive but I think I hit the main beats:

Putting in a break here because this gets long:

Spin 1 gave me Ianthe and Alecto which would seem to be ill-fated given that (1) Alecto's out to kill God, which Ianthe doesn't want (yet) and (2) Their first meeting was a literal slap in the face to Ianthe, which may not be a deal-breaker but certainly wouldn't help

But if we wind canon back a tad and give ourselves a world in which John didn't imprison Alecto on the Ninth, the Mithraeum set-up looks a little different. Here's Ianthe confronted with the same power dynamics we see in HtN, albeit with the addiiton of one extra who:

Is God's undisputed favourite

Scares the shit out of the other Lyctors (what a power play!)

Exists as a very literal manifestation of Resurrection magic, Ianthe's chosen topic of interest.

Ianthe can't lie to Alecto - nobody can - and she's not going to win her over with kindness and good graces, but she's not above using vulnerability to her own ends and Alecto (six foot, blonde, quite possibly bears more than a passing resemblance to Coronabeth) might find herself confronted with somebody who very honestly and earnestly wants to spend time with her and get to know more about her, even if she isn't necessarily being honest about why that is. Meanwhile, Alecto - who has spent the last 10,000 years on a spaceship with only John and the other Lyctors for company - is lonely. And here's somebody new, and bizarre, and potentially interesting. At the very least they might chat. Alecto 'this is how meat loves meat' the First might find herself quite comforted by someone who's all too willing to lean into brutality and take everything at face value if that's what's required of her.

(Where's Harrow in this AU? Good question - not only does Gideon not exist in an AU where Dios Apate never occurred, it's quite possible that neither does the Ninth House; we know it was never supposed to, and whatever it is, it doesn't have the theological weight of the Tomb behind it, which diminishes its already-shaky claim to status. Either Harrow doesn't exist at all, or she does, but she wasn't invited as a scion to Canaan House with the rest)

I'm just saying, I could see it.

Anyway, just to labour the point further:

Spin 2 gave me Palamedes and Wake which I grant you is significantly more tricky but let me give it the old college try:

Okay, so first we have to concoct a situation in which Palamedes and Wake would ever get to meet, which is somewhat hampered by the fact that she died when he was two years old. But we don't let a little thing like death stop us in the necromancy books, do we? There are options with regard to revenants (e.g Palamedes Ascends to Lyctorhood and meets Wake-in-Cytherea - what a confusing interaction that would be for the poor fellow) but I'll constrain myself to actual living Wake for the thought exercise.

Option 1: Taking the above AU for sheer convenience, if the Tomb is never sealed and Dios Apate never occurs, Wake doesn't die on the Ninth. She's alive (wahey!) and therefore free to meet the Master Warden at a later date.

Option 2: Wake does crash on the Ninth but survives and makes good her escape, living to fight another day

Option 3: Wake does crash on the Ninth, survives and is taken prisoner, kept on Ninth for a brief period before being presumably picked up and taken away by the Cohort (from where she can escape, be murdered by them, hostage exchange, indoctrination, all manner of options)

In either options 1 or 2 we have the option of introducing Wake at Canaan House as one of the BOE operatives working with Cytherea intending to pick over the rubble of the various dead Lyctors, only slightly inconvenienced by the fact that (1) Wake wants Palamedes dead and (2) even if she didn't, he rather unhelpfully kills himself

So instead, let's do a necro-cav roleswap because frankly I love them and examine cavalier Palamedes Sextus. Still immensely smart, still writing letters to Dulcinea, still inseparable from Camilla Hect. Could Camilla Hect be the Master Warden? Arguably. Could Palamedes Sextus be a cavalier primary? Alas, I doubt it - I can imagine a world in which he doesn't have necromantic aptitude, but not one in which he has physical coordination. In this AU he probably ends up on Sixth forever (in data) except that he's still writing to Dulcinea, concertedly studying non-medical necromancy and writing increasingly impassioned papers about how 'necromancy for everything makes one lazy' and shouldn't we all be thinking a little less about animaphilia and a little more about basic curative practices (and can we please stop stabbing ourselves with implements that haven't been appropriately sterilised, how we haven't all died of sepsis by now is God's own mystery) -

And he starts to make a name for himself, and draw a reputation, because if Palamedes Sextus is anything it's chronically unable to shut up. Which is to say, you've been headhunted and it's off to the Cohort with you, chum. Non-necromantic medics are a rarity, but very useful for thanergetically-depleted environments where it's inconvenient to start killing off the population just to heal your cav's broken ribs. Now we have a Cohort Palamedes (under significant duress), separated from Camilla (heartbreaking, sorry) and Dulcinea (likewise) operating in the field primarily in environments which are inhospitable to necromancers - thalergenic planets, the outskirts of Empire - and therefore able to potentially run into BOE. Now we're talking!

From here, options. Hostage situation? Palamedes gets captured by BOE and talked around to the evils of empire as we see in As Yet Unsent. More likely, operating as a Cohort medic out on the fringes and in the thick of the action, I think we might start to see Palamedes doing this of his own volition - and in a situation in which he finds himself with a room full of people who need healing, he's not going to give much of a fuck who is Cohort and who is BOE, he's far more concerned with who is dead and who is instead merely dying and therefore somebody he can help.

Anyway, one engineers a meeting between Palamedes (cocky, jaded, I think significantly spikier from a) not being a necromancer b) separated from his loved ones c) generally fucked off by the crushing reality of imperialism and war) and Wake (landmine person, takes no shit). Necromancer Palamedes and Wake are a non-starter, but as a cavalier - and a medic, no less - he's a useful tool for her. They'd fight like cats in a bag but I think he'd be impressed by her, and she might be amused by him. He bickers and argues and generally makes himself a nuisance. She's a firebrand leader with an absolute singleminded focus. I can definitely see charged moments over wounds and bandages, that's all I'm saying.

Look, am I saying that I'm going to start shipping Ianthe/Alecto or Wake/Palamedes anytime soon - probably not. But !! Every time I see a 'crackship' or something totally new where someone's figured out a way to get different bozos into the same get-along t-shirt, an angel gets its wings. Absolutely no offence to all the people out there writing modern (frequently college) AU griddlehark but nothing thrills me more than seeing a ship tag and having to do a double take because ??? who put them in the same room?

I don't know if that answered your question at all actually but thank you for asking it ilu aust <3

[gx-gameon]

Gotta ask how's Seto's relationship with the rest of Yugi's friends in this au? How'd the gang take the news that Seto and Yugi were dating? What about when they got engaged and married on the same day?

Okay so we are actually going to see a lot of this in the story itself.

So right now I’m editing all the rough drafts I posted here. I think I have three more to do and then it’s brand new content.

I think I’ll have somewhere between 2 to 3 more chapters from there. I have them all scripted out I just need to actually write them.

That will finish the first arc of this au. Jaden getting adopted and the afterlife adventure.

It will also be the end of the first book.

I think from there we will go into the second arc which will focus on two things. 1) Jaden and Atem adjusting to life 2) Yugi and Seto

The story will set up Gx season one. I think it will take place over Jaden’s first year or two in the family and then we will time skip to Gx.

I might do some one-shots with young Jaden and the DM crew in the time skip eventually (like Seto and Yugi’s proposal/wedding. But that could also be the last chapter so arc 2 I’m still scripting the second arc.

So we are going to have a whole little adventure dedicated to the two of them.

But it boils down to Seto realizing he has feelings for Yugi starts trying to so affection, as only Seto Kaiba can.

Jaden and Yugi are getting harassed by paparazzi? Now they had a security team following them ‘from a distance’

Things like that.

Problem: Yugi thinks this is Seto sending people to follow them to get him or Atem to duel.

He goes over to Seto to be like. ‘Hey we’re friends now. If you want something from me, like a duel, just ask me. Don’t send a goon squad to follow me. It’s freaking Jaden out.’

Seto hears two separate statements. ‘If you want me ask.’ And ‘security is scaring Jaden’ he will take care of that later.

He takes care of number 1 first and asks Yugi out. Yugi’s brain kinda breaks. Looking back he can see how everything Kaiba has been doing can be seen as either sweet or flirty in the most Seto Kaiba way ever. Because of this, and the fact that he’s not used to people actually flirting with him, made him totally miss the fact that he was being flirted with? Courted?

(All the people who flirt with him at tournaments actually want Atem or so he thinks. It’s hard sharing a body with someone for years because people outside their group don’t know. Yugi just naturally assumes that anyone that flirts with him really wants Atem, because Atem’s confident and wonderful. Yugi still has only kid insecurities.)

Seto also has no idea how to human when it comes to things like dating. He was raised to conquer businesses. He’s pretty sure your not suppose force people to date you (Mokuba said no) and your not suppose to pay them. So he has to get Yugi’s attention some other way. Mokuba is the point of reference and reason. “Do something nice for him. Talk to him. Show him you care.”

But he’s Seto, rich boy, Kaiba and he’s pursuing Yugi, if I’m near anything expensive I’ll have anxiety about breaking it, Muto. Yugi, for better and worse, isn’t interested in his wealth.

What is Yugi interested in?? Games and his friends.

He already hired Yugi and Atem to Kaiba Corp.

this is before he started pursuing Yugi. It was because he over heard them taking finances once. Its was going to be hard having Yugi, Atem, Solomon, and Jaden in one house.

He can’t just give them money, Yugi and Atem would refuse. He thinks Solomon might burn it to prove a point.

Yugi is going to college, Atem though is new to the world and still figuring out his place. Seto offered him a job at play testing games. Atem will probably beat all of them, but it will help show the flaws in the program, were things are to easy or to hard, and no one knows how to think outside the box quite like Yugi and Atem.

Atem is skeptical at first, thinking the job is just dueling Seto all day long. Which fun but no. But after hearing the actual job and pay. He takes it. (He talks with Yugi before doing so and they agree)

Later at the end of Yugi’s semester they have a final project to create a game. Their freshman so it’s not suppose to be that impressive. Yugi knocks it out of the park. Like a few tweaks and it’s ready to be sold.

He starts getting offers from other businesses. Pegasus, Zigfried, and others to higher him.

Seto isn’t losing his rival to another company. (And ya maybe the crush played a role but you can’t say Yugi didn’t earn his spot) so he highest Yugi as a game designer.

This makes there failed flirting worse and better. Because some co-workers think Seto only higher Yugi because he likes him. This gets swiftly shut down because of Yugi’s skill at his job, but there are still whispers of favoritism. They are also the most entertaining water cooler gossip of all time. Especially once they start dating. They go through all the proper channels to make dating an employee as ethically sound as possible. (They’re 19 and have known each other forever, it’s not surprising to outsiders. But Seto is still a CEO and held to certain standards when starting a relationship.) but all the other workers get a free show of watching their boss trying to flirt with his boyfriend.

It back to topic. They already have jobs so he can’t offer them that and they won’t take money without reason.

Yugi is interested in games and friends. So Seto will play games and ‘help’ his friends.

Problem. All these people are used to Seto only doing ‘nice’ thinks when he wants something (which he wants something but he’s genuinely not trying to trick them, he for once is trying to be nice) and they are not having it (Seto’s over here like I get it but let me grow as a person)

He’s trying to flirt with Yugi. A part of liking Yugi is being around his friends (preferably getting a long with them) everyone thinks Seto is finally joining the friend group but they are wary (some more than others, Joey and Tristian)

He’s someone who only knows how to show he cares through taking care of someone (you have a problem he removes it) (his love language is acts of service you can’t convince me otherwise wise)

unfortunately he’s not the best at telling people what he’s doing or asking them how they want help. He will learn but it’s ruff in the beginning.

Leading us back to. ‘Hey your goons are scaring my kid. Can you maybe call them off? If you want to duel just ask.’

‘Will you go out with me?’

They talk it out. Seto revealing all the nice things he’s done.

‘So is this why you hired me?’ ‘No I hired you because you’re competent. But I do like you because you’re competent.’

‘The goon squad?’ ‘Reporters weren’t leaving you and Jaden alone so I made them leave you alone.’

‘Joey’s sponsorship?’ ‘I wouldn’t have offered if he was going to embarrass me. He’s not on our level but he is, (big sigh) a good duelist. You value your friends so I value your friends. He earned his spot in the pro leagues. Money should be the thing that stops him from entering.’

This is also the time that Seto reveals he’s started planning duel academy because he wants Jadne to be able to have a ‘normal’ high school experience. Plus it’s a solid business move and the more he looked into it the better it was. He’s actually making 5 schools all around the world. It started out of love for Jaden but will now help so many kids.

And look Yugi always had a crush on Seto. But they have both grown and changed as people. To see Seto now verse the Seto he knew at the start of season 1. He’s grown a lot.

They talk out a lot of things. Mainly Seto’s instinctual need to fix his loved ones problems vs actually talking to them about what they want/what he’s doing.

The do end up on that date though.

Now everyone else’s reactions….. that’s a story for another time.

[bengiyo]

Only Friends Ep 4 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Boston played to win and achieved his goal of hooking up with Top again. Nick moved in with Sand and secretly recorded audio of Boston's hookup with Top. Boston convinced Top that Mew is lying about being a virgin and playing games with him and Ray. Mew is playing this virgin card too hard and is now losing. Ray continues to play hard for Sand, but threw him away to run to Mew. Cheum is the only one properly focused on their project. Yo is the only person in a stable relationship.

Yes, show. Remind us about how loudly Top was moaning in that car. He was present for that.

"Emergency Contact." Loving the names of these episodes.

I like the choice to use a 4:3 aspect ratio for the past sequence. Khaotung would have been just as beautiful in the 90s.

Man, I hated calls like this. You feel so powerless, but you feel like you have to do something when you think your friend is going to harm themselves.

Oof. We called that Ray has been like this for a while, and this was as sad as I thought his depression would be.

I feel bad for Mew. It couldn't have been easy to reject Ray when he's in a constant emotional spiral. You want to help your friend, but you also don't want to give him false hope.

Boston is such an ass for recording them. I get the curiosity and how it probably felt like a joke at the time, but he used it in such a malicious way.

Mew is unsubtle, but you end up being that way when you have a friend who's always intoxicated. They miss cues.

Mew needed to set that boundary with Ray. He can't get used to taking advantage of him like that.

We didn't get to see Mark and First work together much in Moonlight Chicken. I like the rapport they built for these characters. Sand is like, "Boston? Really?"

Okay this 80s style synth track sent me into orbit. I'm obsessed.

Top is good at this game they're playing.

Big bass drop on the question about the model plane.

It's interesting in this A-B shot with Ray begging Sand to let him spend the day with him that they put Sand center frame when we see his face, but he's almost offscreen when we see Ray. It feels like Ray is crowding him.

I hate that I'm getting used to Ray being drunk all the time.

I like that Sand can clearly state how he feels. Sucks that he knows he's falling for a problem.

Damn, Top destroyed Boston in that elevator, and not in a way Boston hoped for.

Top is still getting his on the side, but he's not messing around with Boston anymore. Mew really think he has this man on lock because he wants that virgin ass so bad.

Unsurprisingly, Nick is not afraid to go through this man's phone.

So, Boston gave a reasonable proscription against taking photos, but that only makes Nick more jealous because of the Top photos. Boston says Nick is always welcome, but that's dependent upon Nick being nice and lovely. He ain't ready for Nick.

He said, "It's Mr. Nick, if ya nasty."

Top is so fascinating. As soon as he understood what Nick wanted he took total control of that conversation, and he literally ends the meeting looking down on Nick.

So Top definitely fucked one of Sand's boyfriends. That beef felt specific and personal.

Thank you for confirming that, Sand.

Ray really came over here to piss with Mew after trying to snuggle back in with Sand. This man is a mess.

Yes, Mew, share your big secret that your friend still has a crush on you and you kissed once.

"I'm not an addict." Gurl.

Now, Mew. You already have an addict as a friend. Why would you even consider using transactional sex to encourage your would-be boyfriend to quit? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.

Top is rich. He does not care about the little hit he just threw away. It's a small price to pay for victory.

No penetration? Oh lord I'm about to get trampled by the disk horse.

"I only have you." Top is now winning.

Damn, I can't even really believe that Top actually cares about Mew's feelings.

Oh, Sand. You know, and yet he's just too charming. I get it.

Looks like we're setting up for the spiral next week.

TOP IS BACK TO LIVING UP TO HIS NAME! Incredible week for him. He decimated every single character he encountered.

Mew, you lost, baby; he played you.

Nick and Boston, both of your half-formed plans looked tired this week and you both need to retool.

Sand and Ray, you are the only two straightforward characters and I am so looking forward to the havoc you will wreak when you are finally pushed over the edge.

Sand, you in particular will be my champion; you keep telling everyone exactly who you are and they keep fucking with you. Let me know when you need your bat, king.

[siriannatan]

Embrace the Unknown

This idea has been rattling vaguely in my brain for ages and I finally got an idea I liked :}

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62696962

Scott unknowingly became a bound rider of a stubborn dragon, despite being the worst candidate to be a dragon rider.

Scott was fucked. Thoroughly and totally. Why?

Well, he got too close to dragons Nest. He thought he'd be safe if he just visited the small town at the edge of dragon-infested woods. Enjoying some comforts on his adventures. Where he met him

A not-too-tall, not-too-short, pretty man with bright ginger hair and an even brighter smile. That is when he wasn't glaring at the bartender. He even bought Scott a couple of drinks and didn't seem to mind his pointy ears too much.

Some things weren't that easy to hide with magic.

In general it was a pleasant evening. Or would be if the next day Scott didn't wake up with a sparkling silver band on his forearm.

Dragon rider's mark. And the only person he talked to last day for longer than a few minutes was fWhip.

So after a hasty breakfast he made his way to the Nest and demanded to talk to fWhip. Who he was certain was a dragon. No human could leave that mark on him. And that the ginger-haired woman was leading him along a narrow path that went by dragon caves was an even clearer sign.

“fWhip, you have a guest,” she said and after some grumbling gave Scott a pat on his back. “Good luck,” she said before she was gone. How was Scott supposed to find his way out?

Well, he'd have to make fWhip take him to the base of this accursed, dragon-infested volcano. For now, he bravely entered the cave and was met with dragon fWhip. Scott didn't know how big he was for a dragon. But he was certainly sizable. With deep red scales spikes and familiar stormy eyes looking at Scott.

“Take this off,” Scott demanded as he presented his arm to fWhip. 

‘Don't wanna,’ fWhip's voice rang out right in Scott's head. Telepathy. Grand. He'd have to watch out for what he was thinking. 

“Why?” Scott grimaced, now he was arguing with an oversized lizard.

‘Because,’ the dragon seemed to shrug and Scott groaned in annoyance. ‘I need a rider and I like you,’ he finally gave some explanation.

“I'm an elf, I can't be a dragon rider,” Scott was not giving up on getting rid of this thing on his arm and fWhip.

‘We have a couple elves around, I don't see the issue,’ Whip sounded annoyed Scott wasn't just going along with it. 

What a stubborn prick. “What would you do if I didn't come here? Snatched me off the road?”

‘Nothing, but now that you did come here they won't let you leave,’ the dragon said and shrunk to his human form. 

He still had some visible scales. His eyes had vertical pupils. His ears were pointy but not as much as Scott's. His skin was pale and his hair bright orange, matching his wings. His shirt exposed his arms and sides. His pants were loose and he didn't wear any shoes.

Scott didn't need to think that fWhip was handsome or how it would feel to touch his dark crimson horns or his tail. 

“On the upside, you won't have to worry about accommodations,” he grinned that brilliant toothy grin of his.

“Maybe I enjoy travelling?” Scott huffed, arms crossed.

fWhip shrugged. “How about you give it a try for like a month? If you don't enjoy flying I'll remove the mark and let you go? I just want a break from being bothered about getting a rider.”

Not bad conditions. The problem is Scott knew he would enjoy flying. But he couldn't tell fWhip that. He'd have to explain too much if he did. 

“Fine,” Scott said, set on simply not enjoying flying. Easier said than done.

After that everything happened fast. Scott got introduced to the group of rookies fWhip was part of. Despite apparently being a bit old for it. Then breakfast and a quick trip to training grounds.

Scott was to fly a dragon with no previous training. Grand. At least the spires they climbed for the exercise were above a lake. 

With fWhip mentally instructing him he somehow was first to saddle his dragon. He also noticed no one else but him and fWhip (save for the instructors who included the woman who showed him to fWhip's cave) had the mark. Or they were simply not exposed.

‘Get on,’ fWhip said mischievously as Pearl and Gem (the instructors) were busy. 

Scott thought what the hell. Worst they can do is chase him away which they likely wanted to do anyway. So he climbed into the saddle. Did the security straps fWhip pointed out and….

And fWhip took off running. Ignoring everything.

He had a second to cling close to the dragon. Gem’s screams died down as all he could hear was the whistling of wind and fWhip's laughter in his head. It was exhilarating to feel the wind like this.

The crazy dragon dove straight down. Wings close to his body as they practically fell towards the massive lake under the training grounds. It wouldn't do much to help falling off a dragon. 

At the last second fWhip pulled up. And with just two massive beats of his wings, they were gaining height. 

Scott could barely breathe with the intense changes of direction knocking the air out his lungs. But he quickly adjusted to fWhip zipping between spikes of rock sticking up high out the water.

‘fWhip get back to the ground!!!’ They both heard Gem’s voice in their heads.

‘Don’t interfere, he agreed to this,’ fWhip bit back and sped up as Gem and Pearl started catching up. Was he really about to race a senior raider? 

‘Please don't provoke him, I've got this,’ Scott said sternly. Focusing on holding on as fWhip took narrow corners far too fast.

They raced for a while. While Pearl might have caught them easily in the open air, fWhip and Scott weaved between rock spires with more agility than she seemed capable of. And Scott could not stop smiling widely.

‘Right, all the way around and towards the landing,’ he hissed as he used his magic to force Gem out of their conversation. fWhip just laughed but listened. ‘Up!’ he yelled in their minds just as they were about to enter the cave. 

Pearl was fast, yes, but fWhip was more agile. And maybe as insane as Scott. It certainly seemed so by the maniacal laughter and roar fWhip let out as Gem and Pearl had to perform an emergency landing.

‘They’re going to be so pissed,’ the dragon laughed, perching on one of the spires. Staring at where Gem and Pearl were surrounded by other dragons and riders from their group. ‘You’re insane. What if I didn't pull up fast or sharp enough?’

‘I knew you could do it,’ Scott shrugged and chuckled as he patted the dragon. ‘Pearl might be fast but you're more agile,” he explained following a curious hum.

fWhip huffed and jumped down without warning to land them next to where Pearl was trying to calm Gem down.

Scott wasted no time jumping down. Just so fWhip can't change his mind. ‘Saddle,’ the dragon instantly demanded. Scott rolled his eyes.

“Give me a second, I think you rearranged something in my brain there,” Scott grumbled as he stretched.

fWhip was free of the saddle when Pearl and Gem marched up to them. “What the hell was that?!” 

“He can handle it,” fWhip shrugged, as he turned to his human form.

“Next time warn us before doing something like this,” Gem said sternly. “No more flying for you two until it's time to get back to the Nest. Use the rest of the time to learn to communicate,” she said sternly and returned to the rest of the group.

fWhip huffed, and even in his human form released a thick puff of smoke. “I'd say we have that handled. How did you get my sister out of our heads?” He turned to Scott.

“I'm an elf fWhip. We all know at least some magic, and your telepathy is magic,” Scott shrugged and lay on the hard stone floor of the training cavern. fWhip sat next to him and stared at him with those stormy blue eyes. 

“Was it fun?”

Scott sighed. It was more than fun. The next best thing to flying himself. “Yes,” he admitted with a sigh. 

“Told you,” the dragon beamed as Scott collapsed to the floor of the cave. 

“How many do you think will manage to stay in the air longer than a few minutes?” Scott asked, suddenly sitting up on his elbows. 

fWhip hummed as he eyed the group. 

Katherine's raider was a timid and scared of dragons girl. Lizzie was too busy messing with her rider. A rather short human who kept insisting he was of average height. Sausage and his rider, Pix from what fWhip picked out, seemed to have some understanding. Sausage even had a saddle on already. Jimmy and his raider kept apologising to each other.

“One, maybe two of Lizzie starts taking it seriously,” fWhip hummed, nose scrunched. He felt bad for Gem. Why did she and Pearl agree to be trainers for a new flock? Out of the whole group, fWhip was the oldest. Everyone else, even Sausage despite his impressive size were hatchlings compared to fWhip. 

Only reason fWhip was here was his refusal to pick a rider. Scott, shockingly, he could stand. Which is why he marked him last night. And he was right, Scott was a great rider. He didn't try to make fWhip adjust to him but instead adjusted to fWhip. Or maybe they were just the same brand of crazy.

“Generous, I say only Pix and Sausage make it into the air. Jimmy's too nervous, same with his raider. And Lizzie's having too much fun, she might take it more seriously tomorrow.” Scott was always good at reading people. He liked to think he could get a good understanding of people fast. 

fWhip hummed and nodded. “Yeah, Lizzie is hard to get to focus on things she doesn't find fun,” he nodded with a toothy grin.

That had Scott fully sitting up. “They could let us go back early. We're clearly capable,” he complained and fWhip nodded. He wanted his rider to move to his cave…. Did he?

fWhip hummed and crossed his arms as he thought about Scott. The elf was pretty. That was undeniable. Cyan hair tied in a braid. Long lashes. Skin free of all blemishes or imperfections. Tall, with strong limbs despite how lithe he looked. From what fWhip knew all elves were like that. Not that he knew much. Elves lived rather secluded and really didn't like dragons.

“That's enough for one day,” Pearl eventually announced and they scrambled to their feet. “Use the time until the next lesson to get to know each other, move into the caves unless anyone's got any complaints about their pairing?” 

No one voiced any complaints so the dragons were told to turn and the long walk down started. “We can just fly,” fWhip huffed and Scott nodded while yawning. “Got you that tired?” The dragon smirked.

“Adrenaline crash,” Scott shook his head. “One moment my whole body was in overdrive and the next we were sitting down relaxing,” he explained.

“That was so cool by the way,” Tango grinned as he caught up with the two of them. Others chose to stay away from the troublemakers. “One moment I thought you were about to crash and then foosh we were staring at the instructors,” he rambles and fWhip grinned all proud.

“That was Scott's idea but all my skill,” he grinned and Scott just shrugged.

“It pays to understand what your partner is capable of,” he said simply. But it only got Tano more impressed. Jimmy just walked there close to his rider. Nodding along with a goofy smile. 

Ride to the Nest was even longer. Somewhere along the way Scott fell asleep. Leaning on fWhip for support despite the difference in their height. fWhip shook him awake when they arrived and didn't leave him for a second until they were settled for the night. fWhip in his cave and Scott in modest living quarters attached to it.

All the dragons of the Nest lived in the mountain that was a long inactive volcano. Be it the inside or outside walls. fWhip was on the inside. With a solid view of the lake that formed at the bottom of the volcano.

With the dragon curled in his nest. Seemingly for the rest of the night, Scott retreated to his space. Where he removed his heavy coat with a sigh and dropped his disguise. Stretching his two snowy white feathery wings. This was the most private space he had since….

Scott's thoughts got cut short by s loud gasp. He turned around to see fWhip staring back with wide eyes and slightly open mouth.

“Please don't tell anyone,” Scott said before anything better came to mind.

“Why are you hiding from them?” fWhip asked as he slowly got closer to Scott. At least he didn't look repulsed. 

“I'm technically an exile. Which is why I hide these and travel so much,” Scott admitted. Maybe fWhip would let him go now? “My family was afraid my wings would draw dragon's wrath and reignite the war,” Scott sighed and fell to the ground..

“Well, I'm not going to start any wars over it, over them kicking you out maybe,” fWhip grinned and tried to joke. “Can I touch them?” He seemed to be plainly fascinated. So Scott nodded.

“Just be careful, they're sensitive,” Scott warned and was soon fighting the urge to melt.

Even in his humanoid form fWhip got really sharp nails which made dislodging broken feathers and pebbles and other debris that got stuck in the magically hidden but never gone wings easy. And extremely pleasurable for Scott. So pleasurable he was soon letting out soft sounds somewhere between owls hooting and moans.

“It must feel really good,” fWhip chuckled, shifting behind Scott for better access and Scott lay in the floor. A barely aware puddle of relief. 

“What do you do if you need to get rid of bad scales or whatever? I know nothing about dragons,” Scott asked. He was using his arms as a pillow.

There was a perfectly serviceable bed that would fit them both available. But that would require them to move.

“I till in some rocks or sand or just rub against a tree and then jump in a lake,” fWhip seemed to shrug as he focused on certain particularly stuck broken feathers. 

As he observed Scott's wings something felt off. “Are your wings ika? Aside from all the broken feathers and twigs?” He asked, slow and gentle.

Scott instantly tensed up before relaxing with resignation. He might as well say it. “I wasn't as much exiled as chasers off… they're…. Broken. I can't fly, not on my own….” He said, already feeling tears well up at the memory.

fWhip was silent. Scott assumed he was done playing with his wings, as regrettable as it was. He did kind of kill the mood. “We should go to sleep,” he hummed but fWhip shook his head.

“We can, but I'm staying,” the dragon insisted. Scott saw no reason to refuse the best heater he knew. The quarters were nice but a bit chilly for him. He was always cold and couldn't use his wings all that well even as a blanket. 

They quickly fell asleep after fWhip promising multiple times Scott's secret was safe with him.